Fragile Hearts (TID - Will Herondale fanfic)

Chapter 72: The Lovalaces

ELEANORA'S POV
That night is the night of the Enclave's annual Christmas party. It is the first time I've seen the ballroom at the Institute thrown open and filled with people. The enormous windows glow with reflected light, casting a golden sheen across the polished floor. Beyond the dark glass, snow is falling, but inside the Institute all is warm and golden and secure.

There are no advent wreaths, no carols sung, no Christmas crackers. There is a tree, though it is not decorated in the traditional fashion. A massive fir, it rises to nearly touch the ceiling at the far end of the ballroom. (When Will had asked Charlotte how on earth it had gotten in there, she had only waved her hands and said something about Magnus.) Candles balance on each branch, though I have no clue on how they were fastened or supported. They cast even more golden light over the room.

Tied to the branches of the tree-and dangling from sconces, from the candelabras on tables, the knobs of doors-are crystalline glittering runes, each one as clear as glass yet refracting light, throwing glimmering rainbows through the room. The walls are decorated with intertwined wreaths of holly and ivy, the red berries glowing against the green leaves. Here and there are white-berried sprigs of mistletoe. There was even one tied to the collar of Church, who is hovering under one of the Christmas tables and looking furious.

And the food. The tables are laden with carved chicken and turkey, game birds and hare, Christmas hams and pies, wafer-thin sandwiches, ices and trifles and blancmanges and cream puddings, jewel-colored jellies, tipsy-cake and Christmas puddings flamed with brandy, iced sherbet, mulled wine and great silver bowls containing Bishop Christmas punch. There are horns of plenty spilling treats and candies, and Saint Nicholas's bags, each containing a lump of coal, a bit of sugar, or a lemon drop, to tell the receiver whether their behavior that year had been mischievous, sweet, or sour. There had been tea and presents earlier just for the inhabitants of the Institute, the group of us exchanging our gifts before the guests had arrived-Charlotte, balanced on Henry's lap as he sat in his rolling chair, opening gift after gift for the baby due to arrive in April. (Whose name, it had been decided, is going to be Charles. "Charles Fairchild," Charlotte had said proudly, holding up the small blanket that Sophie had knitted for her, with a neat C.F. in the corner.)

"Charles Buford Fairchild," Henry had corrected.

Charlotte had made a face. Tessa, laughing, had asked, "Fairchild? Not Branwell?"

Charlotte had given a shy smile. "I am the Consul. It has been decided that in this case the child will take my name. Henry doesn't mind, do you, Henry?"

"Not at all," Henry had said. "Especially as Charles Buford Branwell would have sounded rather silly, but Charles Buford Fairchild has an excellent ring to it."

"Henry. . ."

I had simply laughed.

Tessa is now standing near the Christmas tree, watching the members of the Enclave in all their finery-women in the deep jewel tones of winter, dresses of red satin and sapphire silk and gold taffeta, men in elegant evening dress-as they laugh and converse with each other. Sophie stands with Gideon, glowing and relaxed in an elegant green velvet gown; there is Cecily in blue, dashing here and there, delighted to be looking at everything, and Gabriel following her, all long limbs and tousled hair and adoring amusement. There is music, too, soft and haunting, and Charlotte seems finally to have found a use for Bridget's singing, for it rises above the sound of the instruments, lilting and sweet.

Will approaches Tessa, and from my hiding spot, I see them both laughing.

I, on the other hand, feel homesick. I remember Christmas with mum and Caspian. We would sit in a circle and make a Christmas song out of the life of a Shadowhunter, and we would always exchange gifts.

"Ella?"

I turn and see Taylor. I raise an eyebrow.

"What are you doing here?" Taylor asks. "You're hiding from the party."

I shake my head. "You need not worry about me, Taylor. It's alright."

Taylor nods slowly. "It's snowing outside."

I laugh. "Do you want to go out?"

Taylor nods enthusiastically. I laugh once more and take his hand, standing up. I wear a dress, because it's a party, but my coat hangs on the coat hanger beside me. The balcony is a long forgotten place, and I have taken refuge to observe the party and also to remember.

I shrug on my coat, and realise that Taylor already has one on. I lead him out of the ballroom, through the secret staircase, and out of the Institute.

The moment we step out, cold air hits us. Taylor shivers, but he has a smile on his face.

"Snow," He whispers.

I feel a light breeze by my shoulder and turn.

"Merry Christmas, Ella."

I let out a shuddering breath. "Jessie."

I see Jessie's ghostly smile, and my heart aches with hurt. A gaze meets mine, level and dark. The rest of her is not so much transparent as edged by silver: the blond hair, the doll-pretty face, the white gown she had died in. Blood, red like a flower, on her chest.

I choke back a sob, wanting nothing more than to hug her as Taylor goes to play with the snow, oblivious of what is happening up on the steps.

"Jessie, I am so sorry," I say, tears streaming down my face. "I am so sorry."

Jessie smiles sadly. "You shouldn't be. I am here because in life I did not wish to be a Shadowhunter, to guard the Nephilim. I am charged now with the guard of the Institute, for as long as it needs guarding."

"And you do not mind?" I ask, quickly wiping my tears away. "Being here, with us, when you could have passed over..."

She wrinkles her nose, such a real life gesture that I feel myself ache with loss. "I did not care to pass over. So much was demanded of me in life, the Angel knows what it might be like afterward. No, I am happy here, watching you all, quiet and drifting and unseen."

I smile at her. "Jessie, I am glad I can talk to you again. I am so sorry, for what happened."

"Oh, quit apologising, Ella dear. It was not your fault," Jessie says. "I have heard you and the boy talking. His name is Taylor Lovelace?"

I sigh sadly. "Yes, Jessie. That is his name."

Jessie smiles. "He looks like my papa."

I never wanted to hug someone so badly.

Taylor comes trotting back to us. He sees Jessie and his eyes widen.

"You are a ghost," He says, then looks at me with eyes widened. "You never said that there were ghosts here."

I'm not sure how to answer.

Then Jessie looks down at Taylor and says, "my name is Jessamine Lovelace."

Taylor smiles and nods. "You remind me of my papa."

And then I'm crying, my hand over my mouth, tears silently streaming down my face as Jessie turns away from Taylor.

Taylor is smiling. "You are family."

Jessie nods. "I am."