A Surfeit of Annas #3
While Anna did up her shirtfront, Ari sat at the desk, took the pewter letter opener, and began going through the letters.
“Oh dear, so many perfumes mixed together makes a very strange scent,” Ari remarked.
“Dearest…Beloved…Darling…ugh, Most Sensual.” She looked up at Anna.
“Apparently you have ruined a number of lives.”
“I guarantee,” Anna said wearily, “if I start looking through those, I will have met less than half of them.”
The letters were only the start. The news of Anna’s unavailability for romance had clearly spread swiftly through Downworld.
The afternoon, and the evening, and the next day, and the day after that, became to Ari a whirlwind of weeping damsels, tearstained notes, no less than a half-dozen warbling hired troubadours, two (two!) string quartets, and a belly-dancer quickly chased off by a constable.
One night a tall, thin faerie with a lizard’s tongue, hands, and feet, scuttled about on the facade of their building until Anna chased her off with a broom, leaning out the sitting-room window.
Even their mundane neighbors seemed taken aback by what they could see of the proceedings.
The old widow down the street, who sat in a rocker outside the greengrocer with her head completely swathed in black mourning crepe, rocked all the harder with every new scandalous appearance.
On the third day, Ari returned from the chemist’s to find Anna arguing on their front step with a woman in a pince-nez and a dress about twenty years out of fashion, although she looked about Ari’s age. Ari had never seen her before in her life.
“It’s not about you,” the woman was saying earnestly. “It never was.”
“How can it not be about me?” Anna demanded, but the woman had caught sight of Ari approaching and stepped back as if stung. She gave Ari a considering, not particularly friendly stare.
“Hello,” Ari said.
“Oh, I know who you are,” the woman said. Anna bowed her head and pinched the bridge of her nose with her hand. Ari thought she might be counting to ten.
“Well, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Ari said sweetly.
“This,” Anna said with her eyes still closed, “is Honoria Glossop. She is the president of”—she stopped and gathered herself—“my appreciation society.”
“The Anna Lightwood Appreciation Society,” Ms. Glossop said, nodding.
“Founded in 1901 in celebration of the coronation of King Edward, by myself and my school chum, Topsy. And you,” she added, thrusting a finger at Ari like a rapier, “are Ari.” She shook her head.
“Oh, the Society has not yet extended their appreciation to you, I can tell you that much.”
In the face of this rudeness, Ari nodded at Anna by way of silent greeting, pushed past Honoria Glossop, and went up the stairs to scream into a pillow.
A few minutes later Anna came in and sat down on the bed next to where Ari was lying. Ari felt Anna’s graceful warm hand begin petting her back. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s not your fault,” Ari said. “It’s not even your responsibility. You stood up for yourself, and for me, at the Hell Ruelle, and I’m glad. But,” she added, rolling onto her side, “just out of curiosity, how much longer do you think this might go on?”
“I think it’ll burn itself out in another day or two,” Anna said, though she didn’t sound confident. “There might be a few who hang on longer, but they’ll lose interest soon enough. And if not, well, that’s why we carry weapons.”
“I mean,” said Ari, “that’s not why we carry weapons.” She hesitated. “It’s quite a lot of pressure, you know,” she said, carefully keeping her voice light. “Being the one you gave everything up for. Not pressure from you,” she added quickly. “Just pressure from…from all of London, it feels like?”
“Darling,” Anna said, and kissed her. And then whatever else Anna was going to say was delayed by about ten minutes.
“Darling,” Anna said again, “I love you. And it was not so long ago that I would have said I did not believe in love and would never engage in it. But now, I will shout it to the heavens—or to a roomful of drunk, belligerent, and highly stimulated Downworlders.”
Ari reached for Anna again but managed to only wildly kiss her for around two more minutes.
Breathlessly, Anna said, “But let me assure you, now that I have given up the life I led, I miss it not at all. Not only because you make me feel altogether different than any person ever has, but also because that life seems childish and frivolous to me now after everything else that’s happened.”
A dark cloud passed over Anna’s eyes, only for a brief second, but it made Ari want to kiss her again.
“Do I really make you feel different than anyone ever has?” Ari said, teasing.
“Yes,” said Anna. “It’s a skill of yours.”
“Hm,” said Ari thoughtfully. “Do you mean this skill?”
And then the conversation was over, and the next time Ari was aware of anything other than Anna, her eyes, her skin, her mouth, her hands, it was already time for dinner.
—
Anna was, thankfully, correct in her estimates.
The deluge of letters began to let up the next day, and by the time a full week had passed, there was only the occasional mauve envelope or inexplicable token of affection left on the doorstep.
Things had returned to normal, Anna had gone for a shopping day with Matthew and enjoyed herself greatly, and Ari felt the problem was beginning to recede into the past.
She was on patrol with Lucie Herondale a few nights later, a routine night among the typically demon-light streets of St John’s Wood.
They’d run into a werewolf pack on a determined, grim-faced mission, who when questioned revealed their goal was to acquire drinks nearby.
And there had been some oddly amphibian faeries who were trying and failing to break into Lord’s Cricket Ground for some kind of frolic.
Otherwise, a quiet time, and while Ari always enjoyed Lucie’s company, she was looking forward to getting back to Anna.
Lucie was amused by the response to Anna’s speech, but when Ari finished telling her about the Anna Lightwood Appreciation Society president, her brows knitted. “Are you all right, though?”
Ari waved this concern off. “It’s hardly the first time I’ve run into someone wailing and lamenting over Anna. Though usually they don’t all come at the same time.”
“It must be quite hard on Anna, also,” Lucie said.
“I can’t imagine how I’d feel if people were constantly appearing to tell me that I had ruined their lives.
Well.” Her cheeks reddened a touch. “If they were readers telling me that they had wept over the death of a beloved character, I would quite like it. But suitors? Terrible business. Ah well. It will be a grand story for you and Anna to laugh about when you are old and gray.”
They’d reached the peak of a small hill, from which could be seen a small garden, illuminated by moonlight. Ari was about to respond to Lucie when the words caught in her throat. Anna was walking through the garden, alongside a pretty girl who Ari didn’t recognize.
It was strange. Very strange. Anna hadn’t said anything about going out, and she was dressed for an elegant event, in a blue velvet suit that would certainly complement her eyes.
“Well—how odd,” Lucie said, uncertainly. “Do you think she’s another suitor?”
“Anna is allowed to know people I don’t know,” Ari said slowly. “She knows many more people in London than I do.”
“She didn’t say anything about meeting anyone tonight, or going out?” Lucie asked.
“No. But she has a perfect right to do so. It’s just odd,” Ari added. “It’s not like her. She hasn’t wanted to go out much at all since…you know.”
“Since Belial took over London and Tatiana Lightwood murdered Christopher?” said Lucie grimly.
“Yes, that,” Ari said. “It’s especially odd she’d go out now, when there’s been such nonsense swirling around her for the past week.”
“Well,” Lucie said. “I knew Anna before you and I know Anna now, so I know without the slightest doubt that she loves you, more than she’s loved anyone. She is not about to return to her old ways because her appreciation society demands it.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Ari said, and she meant it, one hundred percent. Well. Perhaps ninety percent, but that would have to do.
—
Once patrol ended, Ari rushed back to Percy Street.
She passed the widow in front of the greengrocer, who she was sure was glaring under her black crepe, and hurried up the stairs of the flat.
Bursting into the sitting room, she found Anna in a green-striped dressing gown, her legs curled under her on the couch, reading and not at all looking like she had been walking in Regent’s Park twenty minutes before.
She looked up at Ari, surprised at her energy.
“How was your evening?” Ari said, aware she looked a bit wild.
Anna yawned. Her hair was adorably mussed. “I’ve had four cups of tea and my book is very dull; I’ve only been staying up waiting for you, to be honest. But,” she said, sitting up straighter, “what about you? Did something happen on patrol?”
“Nothing of note.” Ari walked past Anna into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe. Anna rose and followed her, curious.
The suit that Anna had been wearing in Regent’s Park was hung up just where one might expect it to be, and showed no signs of having been worn. She turned around to find Anna behind her, looking curious.
Rather than answering the unasked question, Ari pulled Anna into an embrace.
She pressed herself closely against her, inhaling her scent, reaching up to tip Anna’s head down to hers with her finger.
They kissed; Ari lingered. She drew her head down to kiss Anna’s neck, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat.
One of her hands gently slipped under the lapel of Anna’s dressing gown.