On a cold November night, in the London Institute, the Herondales had come over and were gathered around the table, set for their fourth Thanksgiving dinner. It was eleven in the evening, and it seems as if everyone else living in the Institute had already went to bed.
Ever since Tessa told them about America and the ways of the people who lived there, the family started celebrating Thanksgiving. Tessa cooked the food, in spite of Bridget and the other servants' offers of help; Will set the table; little Lucie watched Tessa; and seven-year-old James helped Will. This was their idea of a perfect Thanksgiving.
"I thought Americans cooked roasted turkeys during Thanksgiving. Why do we always have roasted duck instead of turkey?" James said, to no one in particular.
Tessa looked up from her plate, stifling a laugh, while Will, who hated ducks with a passion, grunted.
Revenge, Will thought.
"Well, you see, James, it's... a long story. But once, back in the old times, ducks were evil. You can even ask Uncle Jem– he knows! You should never, ever–" Tessa cut Will off from rambling.
"Oh, stop it, Will! You're traumatizing James," Tessa said, chuckling.
But James, who inherited Will's stubbornness, protested. "No! It's alright, tell me more! What did the ducks do to you and Uncle Jem?" James said to his father, eager to learn more.
Lucie yawned, not that impressed by the idea of ducks, and kept consuming her food. Tessa sat there, laughing, remembering the old days when ducks really were evil. James, who was named after his Uncle Jem, seemed enthralled with his father's peculiar story. And Will, looking like he was seventeen again instead of thirty-two, kept telling the tale of the evil, heartless ducks.
Just as light knocking on the Institute doors was heard.
Who could be visiting this late at night? Will thought.
"Stay right here, I'll check who's at the door," Will said.
"Alright, I think Lucie's exhausted. I'll bring her to one of the rooms here," Tessa said, holding Lucie's hand.
James seemed a little disappointed when he realized his father's story had to be cut short, but when he saw his Uncle Jem– or Brother Zachariah– walking towards them with his father, he became more thrilled to discover more about his father's odd past. He didn't know why he felt the need to know, but in the end, James, with curiosity that could kill, still didn't understand why ducks were evil. He just thought Will's stories were humorous.
"Humorous? Really, James? The stories were true, right, Jem? And remember–"
Yes, William, they were true. But frankly, they were humorous.
"So now you're siding with him? Of course, the annual William Herondale is a lunatic meeting–"
It's biannual. And no, we are not going to have that meeting.
And so, Will, James, and the older James kept bickering like 10-year-olds, even if Jem knew that the reason Charlotte Branwell summoned him was to just keep them company, and he was supposed to do other Silent Brother stuff. Even if James was quite tired and could only manage to laugh at a Shadowhunter and a Silent Brother who were once parabatais quarreling.