The Malevolent Tides

October 1904

Vienna, Austria-Hungary 

When Matthew set out on his travels, he knew there were three cities he absolutely had to see in Europe: Venice, Prague, and Vienna.

He had done the former two - and about two dozen other cities as he zig-zagged through the continent, taking trains with strangers he met over coffee and parting a new city they explored together as friends - but he had saved Vienna for last. It hardly made logistical sense; he had railed through the city multiple times, and after this trip he would have to travel West once more before catching his steamer bound for New York. But there was something sentimental about saving Vienna - a city he knew would dazzle him - for last.

And dazzle him Vienna had. Matthew could see why the city produced so many talented artists and musicians and writers; every building was an elaborately designed masterpiece, every square full of music and every street bursting with life. Matthew had gone to the opera and listened to words in a language he could not understand, and he had cried at the beauty, nonetheless. He had gone to bakeries and indulged in little croissants and Austrian coffees, and he had wandered the streets for an entire afternoon in search of an English bookstore, to pick up a novel for his upcoming voyage. It was the beautiful thing, Matthew thought, about traveling alone; he was free to spend his days as he pleased, learning new things about himself by being with himself in a foreign environment.

Matthew was alone on his travels, but that did not mean he was lonely; in fact, he had made connections deeper and far more quickly than he had imagined, at night in his inn or at various Downworlder haunts. It didn’t take him long to learn that all travelers shared a sense of connection, a deep, powerful feeling composed of gratefulness for all they had seen and all they had met along the way, and grief for the knowledge that those places and people were out there, but that they had left them behind as their journey continued. Matthew did not think there was a word for it in English - perhaps Luce would know one - but a Brazilian man he had met in Riga called it “saudade.”

Matthew sighed now, a deep wave of saudade settling in his bones. He had just finished packing his trunk - his train was leaving from Wien Hauptbahnhof tomorrow morning - and he could hardly believe the European leg of his journey was coming to a close.

But Matthew Fairchild was never one to waste a night. He grinned to himself now, taking Oscar for a walk and then leaving him curled up on his Institute bed, sound asleep, as he headed for If Werewolves Run Free, a local Downworlder speakeasy.

That was another thing Matthew had learned about travelers; it was always someone’s last night, someone’s birthday, some reason to celebrate. Travelers went out every single night, and Matthew - while he did not partake in the alcohol - loved the dancing and electric energy of the clubs. It was his last night in Vienna, after all - he might as well enjoy it while he could.

Matthew sidled up to the bar - it was early, and none of his former acquaintances had arrived yet - and ordered a black coffee from the bartender, who gave him a long look before putting on a pot to brew.

Matthew drummed his fingers against the bar while he waited, glancing around in interest. The room was still fairly empty - two werewolf girls were dancing in the corner, though the jazz band had not started playing yet, and a white-haired warlock was slumped against a table, already unconscious. A vampire took a long sip from a glass frothing with dark-colored liquid Matthew did not want to study too closely. A cluster of pixies giggled loudly in the corner. Esme Hardcastle was holding her damned research notebook-

Matthew froze, doing a double take. Esme Hardcastle?

It had been many months since Matthew had seen anyone from the London Enclave and, admittedly, when he imagined reuniting with his friends back home, Esme Hardcastle was not at the forefront of his thoughts. Seeing her here now felt unnatural, rather as if Esme were a child who had wandered into an adult store and would need to be escorted out. She was someone he knew, but she belonged in London; he struggled to process the thought of her here, in Vienna, outside of her silly family tree research and gossip sessions over tea with Eugenia.

“Esme Hardcastle?” Matthew asked, disbelief coloring his voice.

Esme turned around, her eyes widening in similar emotions to those Matthew had just experienced: disbelief, confusion, and a small hint of glee. It always was nice, Matthew knew, to see something familiar in a foreign place (even, he figured, if that familiar thing was the boy you had a crush on five years ago at Shadowhunter Academy, who had later turned out to be an alcoholic with both trust and commitment issues.)

Esme, at least, did not appear to be thinking this latter part.

“Matthew Fairchild?” she asked, padding over to the bar. She was not in gear, Matthew saw, but a simple day dress with a traveling cloak thrown over it - she probably had not yet dressed for the evening. “What are you doing here?”

“I- Just visiting,” Matthew said, getting up as she approached. He did not quite know how to greet her - hugging her would be improper, but he could hardly shake her hand like a business partner. He could just offer her a seat-

Esme surprised him by wrapping him in a hug; it may be improper, but Matthew knew Esme was not an entirely proper girl.

“It is always good to see a familiar face when one is abroad,” Esme said, stepping back from the embrace and sliding into the stool next to Matthew’s. Well, at least I found someone to talk with for a bit. “It makes a foreign place feel a little less distant.”

“Certainly,” Matthew replied, retaking his seat - and his coffee, which the bartender was offering to him. Matthew was still stunned, but he found he still had his manners about him. “Care for a drink?”

Esme bit her lip, glancing at Matthew’s coffee.

“I’ll just have what he’s having,” she said, shooting a charming grin to the bartender, who rolled his eyes as he pulled back out the coffee pot. “Thank you, Stephen.”

Matthew shook his head, his mind still struggling to catch up. “You know Stephen?”

“Well, of course I do,” Esme said, grinning as she untied her cloak - it was warm in the tavern, Matthew realized, especially for October. “I’ve been living here for about a month now.”

“Are you on your travel year?” Matthew asked, also shucking off his jacket. “Vienna is a good pick.”

“I am,” Esme said, tucking her notebook away into a satchel at her side, “but not for long. I decided to do one month in a different country, each - twelve countries total. Tonight is my last night here - hence my attire,” she said, blushing a little as she looked down at her dress. “I was just going to grab something quick before packing my trunk, but now that you’re here I must stay and chat! Tell me, how have you been, Matthew?”

“I’ve been…” Good, Matthew thought, but that wasn’t the whole truth. Not that he wanted to spill his heart out to Esme Hardcastle - she was just Esme, after all - but she was right about the relief of seeing someone familiar in a foreign place.

Matthew sighed. “I’ve been incredible. But also guilty, and confused, and lonely at times, but more often amazed by our ability to connect with total strangers rather than truly feeling lonely.” 

“I understand that,” Esme said. She set her elbow on the bar, and leaned her cheek against her palm as she smiled at Matthew. Matthew’s mind was still struggling to catch up to the events unfolding around him – what was Esme Hardcastle doing so far away from home, looking entirely at ease in a foreign Downworlder club? “When you travel alone, it is the most liberating, eye-opening way to experience the world. But there is an inextricable guilt tied to that freedom, for by very nature of exploring new places, it means you are leaving everyone and everything you know behind.”

“That’s exactly it,” Matthew said, shaking his head. “Sorry, I just cannot believe you’re here.”

Esme raised her eyebrows, and Matthew felt his blood rush to his cheeks. Why was Esme Hardcastle, of all people, suddenly making him flustered? It really must be the effect of seeing someone familiar in a place so entirely foreign; prior to this, Matthew had hardly thought of Esme at all. She had been James’ first friend at the Academy, but Matthew had not seen much of her after he left the school year early; she stayed to finish up her course and Ascend, and once she moved to London she was always hanging around different people than he was. Eugenia always said how kind she was, though, and Matthew had seen it himself; hadn’t she defended the Herondales against that awful Inquisitor Bridgestock, and tried to help mundanes once the Watchers first took over London?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you owned Vienna, Mr. Fairchild,” Esme said, though her smile and sarcastic tone gave away that she was just teasing, “If anything, I should be surprised that you are here. I have been here for all of October – when did you arrive in the city?”

“Just three nights ago,” Matthew conceded, unable to help flashing her The Smile. Her eyebrows only arched higher, and Matthew began to fear that she may be one of the odd few who were immune to his devilish charm. “So you have bested me, I suppose.”

“Just like we were back at the Academy,” Esme mused, flashing Stephen a grin when he unenthusiastically shoved a mug of coffee in front of her. “It must have been embarrassing, losing at swordplay to an untrained mundane. And a girl.”

“False,” Matthew laughed, remembering the awful lessons out in the burning Idris sun, with Professor Ravenscar pairing up the Shadowhunters and mundanes and watching them pummel one another around with wooden practice swords. “It is never embarrassing to lose to a mundane, or to a woman. Personally, I’ve never bested many a woman at swordplay – Cordelia Herondale, Anna Lightwood-”

“But they’re really good,” Esme pointed out, laughing now too. “You just never tried at all.”

Matthew shrugged. “Angel, I wanted to get kicked out of there so bad. Did you know I lied to Mr. Herondale when James got expelled? I told him that James and I were going to be parabatai, though we never discussed it before. James just went along with it,” Matthew reminisced, all the feelings he felt when he thought of James rushing to surface – fondness, protectiveness, a deep longing due to the distance between them and, most of all, gratefulness for having his parabatai in his life. “It all worked out in the end.”

“Though you did blow up part of the school during your dramatic exit,” Esme laughed. “They were still fixing the South wing when I Ascended at the end of the following year.”

Matthew laughed, though the explosion made him think of Christopher; he felt fondness at the memory and intense grief, together, like a scar that reopened each time his lost friend crossed his mind.

“Not my best moment,” Matthew admitted, smiling past the sudden lump in his throat. “What made you decide to Ascend, in the first place? Female students at the Academy are rare, and female Ascendents even more so.”

“Honestly? I was bored, and it seemed like a path to a more exciting life than the one I was living,” Esme shrugged, though Matthew saw something in her expression flicker shut, like a door closing. “I guess I’ve never really been known to think things through. I do not regret it, though – I’m grateful that I can live my life this way now, outside the constraints of mundane society. Now I can do things like this – travel alone to foreign countries and meet all these incredible people from such different walks of life. It’s all so different from my childhood, but in a good way.”

Esme still looked guarded – Matthew could tell there was something that she was not sharing – but he could not help but realize, then, that he knew very little about her. He didn’t even know where she was from, much less what her life had looked like before the Academy. Where was her family now? Did she still talk to them, even though it was against the law?

“What was your childhood like?” Matthew asked, and Esme looked startled. “If you do not mind sharing, I mean. I just realized that I hardly know anything about you, except when we crossed paths at the Academy.”

Esme hesitated; she leaned in closer, raising her voice a little to be heard over the jazz band’s increasing volume.

“Just sad and boring,” she said, trying and failing to act nonchalant. “I grew up in Glasgow. In an orphanage.”

Matthew opened his mouth in surprise, his first instinct to apologize, and Esme shook her head. “I don’t know who my parents are,” she said, her eyes glistening with barely concealed emotion, “You don’t need to apologize.”

“The family trees,” Matthew said, realization dawning on him. “Is that why you’re so fascinated by them?”

Esme nodded. “I never knew my own family history, and I wish more than anything that I could. That’s why I’m trying to document everything now. For future generations… I know it sounds silly-” she began, but Matthew cut her off.

The club was starting to fill up now – Matthew saw some of the werewolves he had been talking to the night before, sitting in a corner by the jazz band – but with faint surprise, he realized that he would rather keep talking to Esme than join the party tonight, even though it was his last night here, in Vienna.

“It’s not silly,” Matthew said, making up his mind. “Do you want to get out of here? It’s getting loud.”

Esme hesitated, and Matthew grinned.

“I see my bohemian reputation proceeds me,” he teased, dropping some bills on the bar for their coffees as he helped Esme with her cloak. “Just to go for a walk by the river.”

“Famous last words, coming from Matthew Fairchild,” Esme laughed, but she let Matthew lead her out into the night nonetheless.

Many hours of talking and laughing later Matthew realized that his bohemian reputation did not, in fact, always need to proceed him.

It was true that Matthew was no stranger to dalliances with beautiful strangers; he had slowed down a little since everything that had transpired with Cordelia earlier in the year, but travelers never could go for too very long without intense affairs blossoming during their brief periods of crossover. Matthew had been with a werewolf girl in Rome, and then a man he believed to be a Hungarian prince in Budapest, and then a man he was very certain stole art from galleries for a living in Milan, and then a woman in a hot air balloon in France…

But Esme was different. Matthew laughed harder than he had since he had last seen James, and she made him smile with her ridiculous stories like Lucie, and she was scandalous like Anna and kind like Thomas and she even made him roll his eyes at her wry wit like Alastair often did. Being with her felt like coming home, in a strange way, but also like an entirely new adventure, just like the foreign city they explored together.

Though Matthew wasn’t too distracted with the sights of Vienna; he was so focused on Esme that he hardly took in the view as they wandered through the historic district, down towards the summer palace and River Wien. He barely even noticed when they sat down by the side of the river, the cold autumn air stirring their hair and chilling the ground beneath them, because he was too busy laughing when Esme pointed out that he was incorrect about this river, and that the Danube was farther north.

When it got too cold to bear, they ran back towards the city, laughing about the ridiculous things they had seen Charles do at Enclave meetings over the years, and stopped to buy hot chocolates from a stall on the side of the street before heading back towards the Institute, shivering beneath their coats and pressing their foam mugs of coco against one another’s faces to warm them up.

Matthew’s stomach hurt from laughing so hard by the time they got back to the Institute, and Esme’s cheeks were bright red from the cold and joy. With a start, he realized he did not want to stop talking to her, even though she was thanking him for the company now and saying she needed to pack-

“I’ll help you,” Matthew blurted out, before worrying that was an improper thing to say. “With your trunks, I mean.”

“I’m perfectly capable of packing my own trunks, Mr. Fairchild. Or my singular trunk, I should say. I do not require a second for brushes and cravats, like you do,” Esme teased, but her eyes were sparkling as she led him to her room.

“You’re leaving as soon as my trunk is packed,” Esme warned, shoving a finger in his chest outside her bedroom door, “No funny business.”

“None at all,” Matthew promised, miming crossing his heart to make her grin.

Esme rolled her eyes and pushed open her bedroom door, and Matthew trailed behind her into her room. He did not know why he was so nervous suddenly; Esme had a standard Institute bedroom, like him, and it was fairly neat already-

“Your trunk,” Matthew began, “It’s already packed-”

“It’s almost packed,” Esme said, wandering into the adjoining washroom to begin collecting things. Matthew stood in the middle of her room awkwardly; he did not want to go through her things without permission, nor did he want to-

“You can sit on the bed,” Esme snorted, emerging with a collection of cosmetics and soaps, which she began to carefully pack away. “It will hardly awaken and renounce me as ruined.”

Matthew grinned, perching carefully on the edge of her bed. He watched her as she rearranged some things in her trunk; her hair had started to pull out of its ribbon, the blonde waves falling loosely around her face. She was muttering to herself, and a thin line had formed between where her brows had drawn together in concentration. She shifted, suddenly, trying to sit on top of some of her clothes to compress them down, and Matthew couldn’t help but laugh. No wonder Eugenia finds her so funny-

“I’m sorry, is my plight a joke to you?” Esme huffed, bouncing once more atop the dresses and gear. “It all fit before I left London.”

“Do you want me to help you?”

“Absolutely not,” Esme panted, snapping the trunk shut decisively. “See? Victory is mine.”

“You forgot your notebooks,” Matthew said, motioning to her satchel that she had tossed atop the chest of drawers, “And do you intend to sleep in your day dress?”

Esme glared at Matthew for a moment, before throwing a stray pillow at him from across the room.

Matthew laughed in surprise, struggling to keep his hot chocolate upright. “Esme!”

“Do not question my packing skills, Mr. Fairchild,” Esme sniffed dramatically, crossing her arms before sitting beside him on the bed. “The satchel is meant to stay out, and who says I need any clothes to sleep in?”

Matthew felt his blood rush to his cheeks, and Esme laughed out loud.

“You are fun to mess with,” she said, and Matthew couldn’t even be mad; when she really, truly smiled, it transformed her whole face. “So, where are you off to tomorrow?”

“Back to London, before catching a steamer bound for America. I’m going to spend some time in New York.”

“Ah, my home country.”

“I thought you said you were from Glasgow!”

“I said I grew up in Glasgow - my father was supposedly Scottish, though clearly I never met him. I was born in America. Down South, though,” Esme added, wrinkling her nose. “I reckon you’ll be better off up North-”

“Who are you?” Matthew asked, and Esme grinned. “Next you’ll start telling me all about your winter adventures in Africa-”

“It was Asia, and it was last summer,” Esme said, and Matthew was fairly certain he gaped at her. “I was in Bangkok and Hoi An for a couple months, and that’s why I wasn’t in London to beat the living daylights out of that prick Augustus Ponceby when he decided to-”

“You’ve been to Thailand? And Vietnam?”

Esme nodded, her eyes wide. “That’s my job, Matthew. I’m not just a Shadowhunter – I’m a historian for the Clave. The family trees are a passion project, really – honestly I made up all those ones in London, they’re just to make Eugenia laugh – but I am going around and documenting a lot of things. I specialize in the intersection between Downworlder, Shadowhunter, and mundane relations. A lot of Institutes and families are trying to cover up certain things, and erase unfavorable parts of their history in the face of our changing social norms- did you not know I did this?” Esme asked, finally catching sight of Matthew’s expression.

“I am utterly floored,” he said, “About the career options that could have existed should I have applied myself at Shadowhunter Academy.”

Esme snorted. “Oh, please,” she said, “You had nothing to prove. I have to show something, I think, for this chance I’ve been given. Otherwise, why was I the one who got to get out…?” Esme trailed off, shaking her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“You can tell me,” Matthew said, and he realized that he meant it. Never before had he been alone with a girl in her bedchambers and just wanted to talk, but Esme was full of surprises – even to himself, it seemed. “I mean, if you want to.”

Esme hesitated; her cheeks colored pink, and she glanced towards the floor, suddenly shy. Privately, Matthew was surprised; he remembered her as a loud, confident mundane girl in an Academy full of Shadowhunter boys, and shyness was not an emotion he would have associated with her.

“I just had a really bad childhood,” Esme shrugged, looking down at her swinging feet – she was shorter, like Lucie, and her feet did not quite reach the floor from the lofted mattress. “The orphanage was… horrendous. Abusive. I don’t like to talk about it – I do not want to be pitied,” Esme said quickly, glancing up at Matthew with large, worried eyes. Matthew had thought they were brown, earlier, but he could see now that they were hazel; they looked faintly green, in the light of the room’s dim lamps. “But it doesn’t matter. I just meant that, well, it was luck I got to go to Shadowhunter Academy. I ran away from the orphanage multiple times, and during the last time I was picked up by a Shadowhunter on patrol. Mrs. Roseburr, acturally, do you know her?” Esme asked, and Matthew was faintly surprised. The Roseburr’s lived in Scotland most of the year, but they spent some of the winter months in London. Matthew had never quite understood why they moved south just for the winter – surely London was just as dreary, and wouldn’t they be better off spending their winter months abroad in Portugal or Italy or Greece? – but he did know them, from various functions and balls at the Institute.

Matthew nodded, and Esme smiled a little shyly – it was clear she held great affection for the Roseburr’s, no matter their odd migratory patterns.

“Well, she took me back to her home and nursed me back to health. I was so terrified of her husband – I was terrified of all men, back then – and I think she figured out what happened to me at the orphanage. Or she guessed, at least,” Esme mumbled, her smile falling once more. “She told me that, if I went to the Academy, the Clave could get me away from all of it for good – from the orphanage and Glasgow and all the fear that had controlled my life up until that point. And so I said yes,” Esme shrugged, but her eyes were full of emotion. “They took me to Idris six months later, and I trained and Ascended. And I fell in love with history along the way,” she added, rolling her eyes lightheartedly, “And with making up fake family trees. On my last draft of the one in London, by the way, I put you down as marrying Alastair Carstairs. I hope that’s okay, because the sexual tension between you two is so obvious-”

Matthew grabbed her hand, effectively silencing her. Esme bit her lips, and her eyes immediately started to water.

“Don’t pity me, Matthew,” she whispered, her eyes not straying from his despite her tears. “Do not-”

“I’m a recovering alcoholic who accidentally poisoned my mother and- and made her lose my unborn sibling,” Matthew said, quickly, like ripping off a bandage. Esme did not pull away, but her eyes did not stop watering, either. “I tried to run away with my parabatai’s wife, because I was unable to accept that anyone or anything could ever love the messy truth of me; I thought I was a murderer, condemned to a life of either agony or oblivion deep in the bottle. Do you pity me?”

“No,” Esme whispered, quickly shaking her head. “I guessed it – your dependence on drink, I mean. I could tell ever since I moved to London – but you’ve gotten better now, haven’t you? I could tell, before you left on your tour – you’ve been sober.”

“I’ve been sober, but it doesn’t mean that I- that the urge to drink is gone,” Matthew said carefully, rubbing his thumb softly across the back of her hand. “James always says that I’m being brave, but it doesn’t feel that way. But you, Esme – you are very brave.”

“I’m not,” Esme whispered, shaking her head. “I’m a coward. I ran away rather than confronting my issues, and then I started burying my head in the past – in history – rather than focusing on anything in the present-” Esme broke off, and Matthew couldn’t help himself; he touched her cheek, lightly, and while Esme’s eyes widened she didn’t back away.

“It takes bravery to start over,” Matthew said, lightly tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. It was cut short, the ends just brushing the top of her shoulders, and Matthew couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder; here he had thought Esme was the most familiar thing in this foreign city, but it turned out she was just as thrilling as exploring any new place, full of secret layers and complicated histories and parts that were hidden from most casual visitors. Matthew realized he did not want to leave before he got a chance to know her; she was a city like Vienna itself, that had surprised him with its complexities and secret depths, and he wanted to stay longer and get to know her better.

But his train was tomorrow morning, and she was also leaving. And they were heading off in different directions – Esme had told him, earlier, that she was taking a portal to the Cairo Institute tomorrow.

Matthew swallowed and set his hand against her cheek. “It takes bravery to leave everything you know behind – whether that’s joining the Clave or taking a voyage to try to find yourself somewhere along the way,” he said, and Esme visibly softened. She covered his hand with her own; they had moved closer together, and Matthew realized, suddenly, that Esme was very beautiful. There was something a little bit wilder and more untended about her beauty - her nose was covered in a smattering of pale freckles, her hair pulling a little bit out of the ribbon she had tied it half-back with – and she was undoubtably pretty, with big eyes and full lips that curved up at Matthew’s words.

“Matthew, listen to yourself,” she said, grabbing his arm. “If I am brave, then you certainly are, too. It takes tremendous strength to face your dependence as you have, and to stay committed to your sobriety even while traveling and trying to figure out what’s next,” Esme said, smiling up at him sweetly. “I’m proud of you - in case you haven’t had anyone from home tell you that lately. I hope-”

And Esme broke off, because Matthew could not wait any longer; he closed the little space between them, and pressed his lips to hers.

Esme’s response was immediate; her hands strayed to his shoulders, her lips opening beneath his. Matthew knew that Esme was not a shy girl, and it showed in the way she deepened the kiss; before Matthew knew it, Esme was straddling his lap, her hands in his hair and his knotted in the fabric of her day dress, gripping her hips.

The kissing was not new – Matthew had kissed many people throughout his lifetime, had done far more than just kissing – but the sudden flood of sensation that came along with kissing Esme nearly made him break off in shock. He was aware, suddenly, of how much was in his hands; how precious and rare it was to earn Esme’s trust, how little he knew about her and how maddeningly he wanted to know more.

Matthew moved his lips from her mouth to her neck, and Esme made a startled little gasp as she rocked against him, her fingers tightening in his hair. Matthew blearily opened his eyes, looking up at her through a haze of passion and desire – but also protectiveness, adoration, and a sudden fear that he was doing something wrong.

Distantly, he thought that he didn’t want Esme to be like all the others; she was a piece of home he had found in a foreign land, a marvel that reminded him that home could still change and grow; he could come back from his travels, and his life would not be over. It was just beginning, and there were still so many things to explore – and people to explore them with.

Matthew broke off; Esme looked as he felt, dazed and happy and slightly rumpled, her lips swollen and her dress slipping off one shoulder.

Esme blushed, and tugged up her dress. She moved to climb off his lap, but Matthew stopped her, his hands on her hips.

“I promised no funny business,” he reminded her, and she grinned at him. “I suppose I am an awful liar.”

“A bohemian at heart,” Esme agreed, though she looked worried. “Matthew, I don’t think-”

“We should stop,” Matthew said, and Esme nodded.

“You’re heading to America soon, and I leave for Egypt tomorrow,” she whispered, and put her arms lightly around his neck. “We’re both using our travels to heal, I think. To become the best versions of ourselves – versions that are brave enough to return to London, and face the future there.”

Matthew nodded; her hair was entirely disarrayed, now, and he smiled a little wryly as he undid the ribbon and pulled it from her hair. Her hair all fell forward, and he smiled, twisting a finger through the strands.

“You’re very wise,” he said.

“I know,” she whispered, “That’s why I was top of our class at the Academy, and you couldn’t even make it one year.”

Matthew snorted; he laid back on her bed, pulling her with him so they were side-by-side in the dark, his arm around her back and her head on his chest.

“I didn’t know you were so funny,” he said softly, tracing her spine. “I didn’t know you were a lot of things, Esme Hardcastle. I am surprised it took meeting you here to realize.”

“I’m not,” Esme said, pushing herself up to look at him. “When we travel – when we leave our familiar environments behind – we only have ourselves, then. We can no longer fall back into old patterns that may have controlled how we acted before; we are left with just the truth of ourselves, however messy they may be. And maybe the messy versions of ourselves – the real versions, I think, that exist beyond London society and expectations – maybe they needed to meet here, far from what’s familiar.”

“But they still need to heal,” Matthew agreed, running his fingers through her hair, “Before they go home, and see what’s next.”

Esme nodded, her eyes bright. “For the first time in my life, I am finally figuring out who I want to be. For the first time, I feel free. From all of it,” she said, shaking her head. “Perhaps you feel similarly. About… about needing to find yourself, first.”

Matthew nodded. The words were messy and unkempt, but he could feel the truth in them. He was still figuring out how to move through the world – and, rather, who he wanted to be in that world – without drink. The purpose of his voyage was to decern that on his own – not to define himself as anyone’s son or parabatai or friend or lover, but to just be Matthew. To get to know Matthew – sober Matthew – and figure out who he would be. The raw, true Matthew that Esme was alluding to now.

“I feel it too. The freedom, for the very first time, to figure out who I will be. The whole world feels open to me now, and I want to see it all. I want to experience everything I can, now that I- now that I truly can.”

Esme smiled, and laid back down beside him.

“I believe we all cross paths for a reason – and if we’re meant to, we’ll cross paths again,” she said, and Matthew grinned against her hair. He could listen to her talk about philosophy and life and travel all night, and he very nearly had; her bedside clock showed the hour hand was already well past three in the morning. “Maybe we’ll cross paths again, one day. One day when we’re both more ready.”

That made Matthew freeze. He always knew he’d go back to London after his journey – James was there, and Thomas, and his whole family – but did Esme not intend to return?

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Esme said, and Matthew realized he must have voiced his worry out loud. “I work for the Clave as a whole, so I can really live anywhere. I was in London to see the Roseburr’s, really, but I can always just visit them there in the winter-”

“But you’re part of the London Enclave,” Matthew protested. “You always liked Will and Tessa – I remember you sticking up for them, at that awful meeting with Inquisitor Bridgestock-”

“I do like Will and Tessa – they have been very kind to me, ever since I moved to London. They helped me find a flat to let when I first relocated. But – as you said, the world is so big. And I finally feel like the wind is blowing my way, to take me wherever I want to go.”

Matthew sighed; his hands were trembling as he smoothed her hair. “I will miss you awfully if you go,” he said, “Then we will never get to see the next iteration of your family tree. How many children will Alastair and I have?”

“At least six,” Esme replied automatically, “And all their names will rhyme. You’ll start a family band.”

“That’s awful,” Matthew protested, “No child of mine will be instructed in something as beautiful as music by someone as vile as Alastair Carstairs.”

Esme snorted; her eyes had fluttered shut, and Matthew was fairly certain that she was about to fall asleep against his chest. He found he didn’t mind; he felt comforted, holding her, in a way he had not in a very long time.

“Wake me up before you leave,” she mumbled, confirming his suspicions. “I don’t need to say goodbye to you, but I want to see Oscar before you go.”

Matthew feigned annoyance, but found himself chuckling softly. “Will you write to me?” he asked, and she opened her eyes; he felt bad, but he did not want her to drift to sleep – drift away from him – before he knew. “And keep me updated on how Cairo is, and where you go next?”

“Only if you write to me,” she grinned, more awake.

“Will you be in London? When I get back, in ten months’ time?”

“I don’t know-”

“But I want to see you again,” Matthew whispered, the darkness making him brave. “I know I barely know you, Esme, but I’ve been with a lot of people, and I’ve never- I’ve never felt like this before. Like I could talk to you forever and not get bored, like I could lay with you like this and never want anything more. And I know I need to be on my own right now – I know I need to figure a lot of stuff out, still – but I don’t want to never see you again.”

Esme’s gaze softened; she smiled up at him, setting a hand against his chest. “What if we plan to meet back here, when you’re back from America? We can meet in ten months’ time – so that will be next August – here in Vienna. And then we can see what happens next.”

“I’d really like that,” Matthew whispered, brushing back her hair. “I really like you, Esme.”

“You seem alright too, Matthew,” Esme teased.

She drifted to sleep shortly after, and Matthew fell asleep, too. For once, the nightmares didn’t haunt him, and he fell asleep with the thought that his future could be beautiful, after all.

August 1905

Vienna, Austria-Hungary

Matthew shook his leg a little nervously, checking his pocket watch once more. It had been over 300 days and countless letters since he had last seen Esme Hardcastle, and, as ought not to have surprised him, she was late for their long-awaited reunion.

Of course, Matthew had learned over the course of their letters that Esme was late for a lot of stuff; she was late for a boat from Thailand to Laos, which required her to spend a night in an off-putting lodging house deep in the jungle Thailand, and she was late for a train from Budapest to Constantinople, which forced her to befriend and crash with local werewolves in the city.

Her letters were always full of such stories; Esme told him all about her time seeing the pyramids in Egypt, and swimming in cenotes deep in the heart of the Yucatan Peninsula, and seeing mountains like she had never dreamed of while trekking through Patagonia. She told him all about the people she met, and how she was slowly learning that, despite her childhood, more people in the world were good than bad. She wrote to him about the brief time she was in America – a few days in Boston, to compile some paperwork – but Matthew was out West by then, exploring the gold towns out in California, and they had not been able to find a time to meet up.

Still, it always felt like Esme was with him. Matthew had carried her words as a sort of beacon throughout his travels, a mantra to remind him what he was looking for, and what he hoped to become – and who he hoped to be with, moving forward. Over time, Matthew realized the first person he wanted to share things with was changing; before, he would write to his parents or James when he saw a particularly beautiful landscape, or met an interesting person on his travels. And while he still wrote to them constantly – no one would ever replace James or his parents, he knew – he often founding himself addressing his letters to Esme, without thinking. She understood him, in a way everyone back home could not; she was also looking for herself around the world, and they helped one another on their separate journeys.

Except now, like two trains on divergent tracks, their paths were crossing once more. Matthew would be lying if he said he were not nervous; he had been in London, the week prior, and James had teased him lightly every time Matthew expressed his worries, though Matthew knew James was happy for him. He only wished he could share James’ faith – and Esme’s faith, too – that everything worked out the way it was meant to, in the end.

When Esme appeared at last, a little breathless and explaining that she had not been late, but her train had been behind schedule, Matthew could hardly restrain himself. He leapt out of his seat, put his arms around her, and kissed her in the middle of the street, for everyone to see.

Thankfully, Vienna was a liberal city, and far more progressive than the staunch expectations of London society. Nobody really paid them any mind – and Matthew found he preferred it that way, because the only person he really cared to hear from was Esme.

Esme broke off with a surprised laugh, and Matthew held her close to him; he had seen so much of the world, but he realized, now, that he was holding so much of what mattered to him in his arms.

“Well, hello,” Esme said, and Matthew cupped her cheek in his hand, the other still wrapped around her waist. He could not believe he was seeing her in person again; they had been apart for so long, but he felt like he knew her as if they had spent the last ten months together. In a way, they had; their letters had been a long chain of past stories and confessions and nightmares and dreams, and Matthew had never thought he could feel so much for a person who was so far away. Perhaps that was what had drawn him to Esme in the first place; she was a paradox, something familiar in a faraway place that turned out to be more than he ever could have imagined before, and later a person he knew so well, who was so very far away. She was better than any voyage, any world tour, and foreign city that had centuries of history wrapped up in its architecture; she was Esme, a dynamic, evolving, fearless woman, who he knew he would never grow tired of exploring.

And she was beautiful – so much more beautiful than Matthew had remembered. Her blonde waves now fell just past her shoulders, her hazel eyes sparkling in the dazzling Vienna light. Her freckles were more pronounced than they had been last year, and Matthew realized it must have been from the sun; her cheeks were colored pink, and Matthew wondered idly if she had been burnt. Her lips-

Matthew forced his gaze back to her eyes; she was smiling, now, her dazzling grin that made him think he would do anything it took, just to make her laugh and draw it out time and time again.

“I missed you,” Matthew said, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of her nose. Esme laughed again as he pulled out her chair – he had been sitting outside a café, waiting for her – before circling the table and sitting opposite from her. “But in a way, you felt very close to me. Thank you again for all your letters – I cannot tell you how much it meant to me, to hear your words throughout my travels. Every time I got frightened or lonely… you made it easier, Esme. You made me braver than I would have been otherwise.”

Esme softened, reaching across the table to grasp his hand.

“I missed you too, Matthew,” she said, her eyes full of sincerity as she squeezed his fingers. “I don’t really have a family, you know, or anyone to write home to. It was nice to share my travels with you; it was nice to think that someone cared about where I was.”

Matthew took a steadying breath. He thought about all the scary unknowns he had faced while voyaging around the globe – nights where he found himself with no accommodation in a place where he did not speak the language, days where his friends and family and London felt so impossibly far away that he wondered if he would ever make it back – but this was by far the most frightened he had ever been on his travels. This final stop at the end, which so much of his future – the future he had dreamed of for himself, at least – relied upon.

“I care about you a lot, Esme,” Matthew began. His hands trembled – he was distantly embarrassed, as he was normally so good with words – and Esme took them both in his hands, squeezing reassuringly. “I have been thinking a lot recently about what you said that night – about how we both needed this time away from London, to figure out who we are going to be and what we want for our futures.”

Esme nodded, her expression encouraging. Matthew continued: “Well, I figured it out. What I want, I mean.”

“What’s that?” Esme whispered.

Matthew felt it all around him, then: the sights and sounds of Vienna, this wild, bohemian city that had dazzled him with its artists and its liberalism and its eccentric, extraordinary people. Everything he had ever dreamed of in a place… but he couldn’t stop looking at Esme.

“You,” Matthew said, and Esme’s eyes widened. “I want you, Esme. I’m not promising anything – I cannot tell what the future holds, any more than you can – but I’m ready now, and I want to try to- to make a future with you.”

“Matthew-”

“I’ve seen so much of the world, now,” Matthew said, shaking his head, “So much of everything I ever dreamed of experiencing, and yet I constantly found myself running back to my room so I could write about it to you. This funny, brilliant girl from back home, who I had travel the world to see with new eyes,” Matthew said, and Esme laughed – her own eyes were glistening, and Matthew prayed they were with happy tears. “I do not think I could feel for you as I do, Esme, if I had not gone on this voyage. But this version of myself – this changed, raw, real version – this version wants to try things with you. The girl whose letters helped him become who he is.”

“Is he a crazy, cravat-obsessed, shameless flirt who only refers to himself in the third person?” Esme asked, her eyes still glistening.

Matthew nodded resolutely, and Esme laughed thickly. “He is,” Matthew said, “He knows being with him might be rather wearisome, as he will take longer to get ready in the mornings – this hair doesn’t happen by itself, Miss Hardcastle – and he unfortunately comes along with a pack of lunatic friends, which unfortunately includes one Mr. Alastair Carstairs. His family, too, can be a rather tedious burden, as his older brother is a pill and his infant twin sisters put everything in their mouths, from fingers to hair to-” Matthew broke off, surprised, when Esme leaned against the table and pressed her lips to his.

“He sounds like quite the catch,” Esme whispered against his lips, and Matthew grinned. “Is he available, or will all the single girls in London positively despair to learn he has been paired off?”

“No, he’s not available,” Matthew said, cupping Esme’s cheek, “He’s entirely besotted with one Miss Hardcastle, a vagrant traveler who hardly gives him the time of day, as she would rather trot about the globe than be forced back to London. And he understands, because London has some truly heinous features: not enough sun, and far too much Alastair Carstairs-”

“Stop talking about Alastair while you try to confess your feelings to me,” Esme whispered, playfully swatting Matthew’s shoulder, “Or I swear to the Angel I will publish a family tree where you have married him, and future generations will praise your tale as the greatest love story ever told.”

“You are a cruel woman, Esme,” Matthew laughed; his cheeks hurt from smiling, and he took her hands once more. “I know you might not return to London,” Matthew said, looking down at their interlocked hands, “and I would not want to take you away from the freedom and purpose you have found in your work abroad. But I also wanted to tell you how I feel... I love you, Esme. I fell in love with you through your words, through the way you saw and experienced the world around you, through the bravery and intelligence and raw honesty of everything you ever sent me,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Love – or what I used to think of us love – never quite felt like this to me before. I always felt so anxious, so desperate to hide the truth of me. But with you – through our letters – for the first time I felt like I could be completely honest with another person, and not worry about them rejecting some false, idyllic version of myself. I showed you the whole truth, and you didn’t stop writing. And I- I fell in love with you, even oceans apart. Even without the distractions I always sought in relationships before. And I wanted to let you know, because-”

Matthew broke off; Esme released his hands, and his stomach dropped as if he were aboard a boat on a tumultuous sea. I thought she would feel the same way, he thought, I thought we would-

Esme sniffed; she was digging through her satchel, now, and she pulled out a stack of papers. She passed them to Matthew; at his questioning look, she nodded, and Matthew began to flip through them.

“Esme-”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, and Matthew’s heart felt like it would burst from his chest. “I realized it back when I sent you that letter from Brazil – the one where I talked about the family I stayed with, and how it was one of the first times I saw a loving family so close. And I could not stop thinking about you,” she sniffed, and Matthew took her hand. “I wrote to Brother Sadicah after that, and asked if I could be based in London next year to write up all of my findings from this year. Because I want to be with you too, Matthew. I want to try. I love you.”

And Matthew could take it no longer; he dropped a couple of bills on the table (though the two had ordered nothing), took Esme by the waist, and kissed her on the street once more… and in the lobby of his hotel… and in his bedroom, the feel of her in his arms the most perfect completion to his voyage, the answer to so many of the questions he had asked himself. He could kiss her for hours and hours – for the rest of time, really – and not grow bored; she was travel and adventure and discovery, something that felt intimately familiar and exhilarating each time-

“Is that your trunk?” Matthew panted, breaking off as he studied the object in the corner of his room. It had not been here earlier, when he left for the café…

“Yes,” Esme breathed, smiling mischievously. “I figured this was going to happen, so I asked the porter to send it up. If you want, I could go downstairs and request my own room-”

“Absolutely not,” Matthew whispered, his hands tangled in her hair and his lips on her neck, “I love you, Esme Hardcastle. Even if you are going to make me foot the bill for the room.”

“You know me so well,” Esme grinned, and then Matthew lost himself in her entirely… but, just like traveling, he knew getting lost was just a part of the adventure. As always, Esme would lead him home again.