∞

In the dream, Elizabeth lay once again tied to the narrow brass bed in the Dark House. The Sisters leaned over her, clacking pairs of long knitting needles and laughing in shrill high-pitched voices. As Elizabeth watched, their features changed, their eyes sinking into their heads, their hair falling out, and stitches appearing across their lips, sewing them shut. Elizabeth shrieked voicelessly, but they did not seem to hear. 

The Sisters vanished entirely then, and Aunt Harriet was standing over Elizabeth, her face flushed with fever as it had been during the terrible illness that had killed her. She looked at Elizabeth with great sadness. "I tried," she said. "I tried to love you. But it isn't easy to love a child that isn't human in the least... ." 

"Not human?" said an unfamiliar female voice. "Well, if both of them aren't human, Enoch, what are they?" The voice sharpened in impatience. "What do you mean, you don't know? Everyone's something. These girls can't be nothing at all... ."

Elizabeth woke with a cry, her eyes flying open, and found herself staring at shadows. Darkness clustered about her thickly. She could barely hear the murmur of voices through her panic, and struggled into a sitting position, kicking away blankets and pillows. Dimly, she recognized that the blanket was thick and heavy, not the thin, braided one that belonged to the Dark House. 

She was in a bed, just as she had dreamed, in a great stone room, and there was hardly any light. She heard the rasp of her breath as she turned, and a scream forced its way out of her throat. The face from her nightmare hovered in the darkness before her—a great white moon of a face, its head shaved bald, smooth as marble. Where the eyes should have been there being only indentations in the flesh—notas if the eyes had been ripped out, but as if they had never grown there at all. The lips were banded with black stitches, the face scrawled with black marks like the ones on Will's skin, though these looked as if they had been cut there with knives

She bit back a scream of horror because it seemed quite rude to the person in front of her. Instead, she screamed for her sister. "Where's Tessa? Where is my sister?" Elizabeth demanded, backing away slowly.

"Miss Gray." Someone was calling her name, but in her panic, she knew only that the voice was unfamiliar. The speaker was not the monster who stood staring at her from the bedside, its scarred face impassive; it had not moved when she did, and though it showed no signs of pursuing her, she began to back away, carefully, feeling behind herself for a door. The room was so dim, she could see only that it was roughly oval, the walls and floor all of stone. The ceiling was high enough to be in black shadow, and there were long windows across the opposite wall, the sort of arched windows that might have belonged in a church. Very little light filtered through them; it looked as if the sky outside was dark. "Theresa Gray—"

"Elizabeth." Elizabeth corrected instinctively, it was normal for people to mix them up. "of course, I am sorry. It was not our intention to frighten you." The voice was a woman's: still unfamiliar, but youthful and concerned. 

"I'm not frightened, I am mere, um, surprised that's all." Elizabeth managed to try to cover the fast beating of her heart and the panic flooding her veins. She was sure if she didn't calm down she would have one of her anxiety attacks.

She breathed in, her body shaking despite her attempts to conceal it.  She could see now. She was in a storeroom whose central focus was a large, four-poster bed, its velvet coverlet now rucked and hanging sideways where she had dragged it off the mattress. Tapestry curtains were pulled back, and there was an elegant tapestry rug on the otherwise bare floor. The room itself was fairly bare. No pictures or photographs were hanging on the wall, no ornaments cluttering the surfaces of the dark wood furniture. Two chairs stood facing each other near the bed, with a small tea table between them. Chinese screen in one corner of the room hid what was probably a bathtub and washstand.

Beside the bed stood a tall man who wore robes like a monk's, of a long, coarse, parchment-coloured material. Red-brown runes circled the cuffs and hem. He carried a silver staff, it's head carved in the shape of an angel and runes decorating its length. The hood of his robe was down, leaving bare his scarred, white, blinded face.

Beside him stood a very small woman, almost child-size, with thick brown hair knotted at the nape of her neck, and a neat, clever little face with bright, dark eyes like a bird's. She wasn't pretty exactly, but there was a calm, kindly look on her face that made the ache of panic in Elizabeth's stomach ease slightly, though she couldn't have said exactly why. In her hand, she held a glowing white stone as the one Will had held at the Dark House. Its light blazed out between her fingers, illuminating the room.

 "Miss Gray," she said. "I am Charlotte Branwell, head of the London Institute, and this beside me brother Enoch—"

"Tell me if it's rude to ask, my sister usually tells me what is rude to ask, but is, uh, Brother Enoch a wizard?" Elizabeth asked in a horrified kind of wonder. "Or a monster, both would make sense."

Brother Enoch said nothing. He was entirely expressionless.

When she was not given an answer she continued with her next question, "Where is William?" 

"He's here," Mrs Branwell said calmly. "In the Institute."

"Did he bring me here as well?" Elizabeth whispered.

 "Yes, but there is no need to look betrayed, Miss Gray. You had struck your head quite hard, and Will was concerned about you. Brother Enoch, though his looks might frighten you, is a skilled practitioner of medicine. He has determined that your head injury is slight, and in the main, you are suffering from shock and nervous anxiety. It might be for the best if you sat down now. Hovering barefoot by the doorlike that will only give you a chill, and do you little good."

 "Please do not call me Miss Gray, Elizabeth is just fine." 

"Of course, Elizabeth."

"Right, now if I asked to leave would you let me?" Elizabeth asked.

"If you demand to get away, as you put it after we have talked, I will let you go," said Mrs Branwell."The Nephilim do not trap Downworlders under duress. The Accords forbid it."

"The Accords?"

Mrs Branwell hesitated, then turned to Brother Enoch and said something to him in a low voice. Much to Elizabeth's relief, he drew up the hood of his parchment-coloured robes, hiding his face. A moment later he was moving toward Elizabeth; she stepped back hurriedly and he opened the door, pausing only for a moment on the threshold. 

At that moment, he spoke to Elizabeth. Or perhaps "spoke" was not the word for it: She heard his voice inside her head, rather than outside it. You are Eidolon, Elizabeth Gray. Shape-changer. But not of a sort that is familiar to me. There is no demon's mark on you.

Shape-changer. He knew what she was. She stared at him, her heart pounding, as he went through the door and closed it behind him. Elizabeth knew somehow that if she were to run to the door and try the handles would once again find it locked, but the urge to escape had left her. Her knees felt as if they had turned to water. She sank in one of the large chairs by the bed. 

"What is it?" Mrs Branwell asked, moving to sit in the chair opposite Elizabeth's. Her dress hung so loosely on her small frame, it was impossible to tell if she wore a corset beneath it, and the bones in her small wrists were like a child's. "What did he say to you?"

"Am I a monster?" was all Elizabeth asked. She felt vulnerable in a way only Tessa knew. She wanted her twin sister now more than ever, but only God knew where her sister was. 

Mrs Branwell looked at her in horror. "First," she said, "please call me Charlotte, Elizabeth. Everyone in the Institute does. We Shadowhunters are not so formal as most. Second, no dear you are not a monster."

Elizabeth nodded, feeling her cheeks flush. "It was a stupid question, I'm sorry," she murmured. Charlotte tenitavly put a hand around Elizabeth and when she didn't draw back she hugged her.

"Charlotte," Elizabeth said, experimentally a few moments afterwards. 

With a smile, Mrs Branwell—Charlotte—leaned back slightly in her chair, and Elizabeth saw with some surprise that she had dark tattoos. A woman with tattoos! Her marks were like the ones Will bore: visible on her wrists below the tight cuffs of her dress, with one like an eye on the back of her left hand. Elizabeth looked at Charlotte with wonder. If Tessa were here she would be utterly scandalized.  "Third, let me tell you what I already know about you, Elizabeth Gray." She spoke in the same calm tone she'd had before, but her eyes, though still kind, were sharp as pins. "You're American. You came here from New York City because you were following your brother, who had sent you a steamship ticket. His name is Nathaniel." 

"I know that Will found you in the Dark Sisters' house," Charlotte said. "I know that you claimed someone named the Magister was coming for you. I know that you have no idea who the Magister is. I know that in a battle with the Dark Sisters, you were rendered unconscious and brought here." 

Elizabeth sat frozen. "You realize that sounds a tad bit creepy you know all this right?"

Charlotte smiled a little, "You are taking this better than your sister did."

"Mrs Black," she whispered

"Dead," said Charlotte. "Very." She settled her shoulders against the back of the chair; she was so slight that the chair rose high above her as if she were a child sitting in a parent's chair. 

"And Mrs Dark?"

 "Gone. We searched the whole house, and the nearby area, but found no trace of her." 

"The whole house?" Elizabeth's voice shook, very slightly. "And there was no one in it? No one else alive, or ... or dead?"

"We did not find your brother, Elizabeth," Charlotte said. Her tone was gentle. "Not in the house, nor any of the surrounding buildings."

 "You—were looking for him?" Elizabeth was bewildered

"We did not find him," Charlotte said again. "But we did find your sister's letters."

"You read them?"

"We had to read them," said Charlotte in the same gentle tone. "I apologize for that. It is not often that we bring a Downworlder into the Institute or anyone who is not a Shadowhunter. It represents a great risk to us. We had to know that you were not a danger."

The backs of her eyes stung; tears were threatening, and she willed them back, furious with herself, with everything.

"You're trying not to cry," Charlotte said. "I know that when I do that myself, it sometimes helps to look at a bright light directly. Try the witchlight." 

Elizabeth moved her gaze to the stone in Charlotte's hand and gazed at it fixedly. The glow of it swelled up in front of her eyes like an expanding sun. "So," she said, fighting past the tightness in her throat, "you have decided I am not a danger, then?" 

"Perhaps only to yourself," said Charlotte. "A power such as yours, the power of shape-shifting—it is no wonder the Dark Sisters wanted to get their hands on you. Others will as well."

"Ah, I see. So why exactly am I in your institute?" Elizabeth asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is it out of obligation you ought to do something because if it is-"

"Itis not charity," Charlotte said. "It is my vocation. Our vocation." 

Elizabeth simply fixed her with a black look. 

"Perhaps," Charlotte said, "it would be better if I explained to you what we are—and what we do."

 "Nephilim," said Elizabeth. "That's what the Dark Sisters called William." She pointed at the dark markings on Charlotte's hand. "You're one as well, aren't you? Is that why you have those—those markings?" 

 Charlotte nodded. "I am one of the Nephilim—the Shadowhunters. We are ... a race, if you will, of people, people with special abilities. We are stronger and swifter than most humans. We can conceal ourselves with magics called glamours. And we are especially skilled at killing demons."

"Demons...like Satan?"

"Demons are evil creatures. They travel great distances to come to this world and feed upon it. They would ravage it into ashes and destroy its inhabitants if we did not prevent it." Her voice was the intent. "Asit is the job of the human police to protect the citizenry of this city from one another, it is our job to protect them from demons and other supernatural dangers. When there are crimes that affect the ShadowWorld, when the Law of our world is broken, we must investigate. We are bound by the Law to make inquiries even into the rumour of Covenant Law being contravened. Will told you about the dead girl he found in the alley; she was the only body, but there have been other disappearances, dark rumours of mundane boys and girls vanishing off the city's poorer streets. Using magic to murder human beings is against the Law, and therefore a matter for our jurisdiction."

"You know, William seems young to be a demon policeman," Elizabeth said smiling a little.

"Shadowhunters grow up quickly, and Will did not investigate alone." Charlotte didn't sound as if she wished to elaborate. "That is not all we do. We safeguard the Covenant Law and uphold the Accords—the laws that govern peace among Downworlders."

"Downworlder, what is that?"

"A Downworlder is a being—a person—who is part supernatural in origin. Vampires, werewolves, faeries, warlocks—they are all Downworlders." 

Elizabeth stared, a strange excitement bubbling inside her. "Those exist?"

"You are a Downworlder," Charlotte said. "Brother Enoch confirmed it. We simply don't know what sort. You see, the kind of magic you can do—your ability—it isn't something an ordinary human being could do. Neither is it something one of us, a Shadowhunter could do. Will thought you were most likely a warlock, which is what I would have guessed myself, but all warlocks have some attribute that marks them as warlocks. Wings, or hooves, or webbed toes, or, as you saw in the case of Mrs Black, taloned hands. But you, you're completely human in appearance. And it is clear from the letters that you know, or believe, both of your parents to be human."

"Right, so about that my parents are dead," Elizabeth said, emphasizing dead. Charlotte winced.

Before she could speak further, the door opened, and a slender, dark-haired girl in a white cap and apron came in, carrying a tea tray, which she set down on the table between them. "Sophie," Charlotte said, sounding relieved to see the girl. "Thank you. This is Elizabeth. She will be a guest of ours this evening."

Elizabeth smiled widely at Sophie, waving. "Hello, Sophie!" 

Sophie straightened, turned to Elizabeth, and bobbed a curtsy. "Miss," she said, but the novelty of being curtsied to was lost on Elizabeth as Sophie raised her head and her full face became visible. She ought to have been very pretty—her eyes were a luminous dark hazel, her skin smooth, her lips soft and delicately shaped—but a thick, silvery ridged scar slashed from the left corner of her mouth to her temple, pulling her face sideways and distorting her features into a twisted mask. 

Elizabeth paid not to mind to it. "Oh no don't do that, I'm in no power here. May I hug you?"

Sophie looked surprised for a moment but nodded. Elizabeth squeezed the living daylight out of the other girl. "You are very pretty," Elizabeth said smiling. Sophie only bowed her head. "Thank you, Miss."

"Sophie," Charlotte said, "did you bring in that dark red dress earlier, as I asked? Can you have brushed and sponged for Elizabeth?" She turned back to Elizabeth as the maid nodded and went to the wardrobe."I took the liberty of having one of our Jessamine's old dresses made over for you. The clothes you were wearing were ruined."

"You are most generous," Elizabeth said. 

"Miss Gray." Charlotte looked at her earnestly. "Shadowhunters and Downworlders are not enemies. Our accord may be an uneasy one, but I believe that Downworlders are to be trusted—that, indeed, they hold the key to our eventual success against the demon realms. Is there something I can do to show you that we do not plan to take advantage of you?"

"Well, actually, do you happen to have canvas or paints or easels?" Elizabeth asked reculantly. Charlotte tilted her head but nodded. "I'll have that arranged, anything else?"

"Where is my sister?" Elizabeth asked.

"In a room, we have prepared for the two of you," Charlotte said. "Sperate rooms, I did not know if you slept in the same room despite being identical twins."

Elizabeth shook her head, honestly grateful for some space for herself. "No that is quite alright, thank you Charlotte."

"One last thing, please do not ask me to Turn if I do not wish to," Elizabeth asked. Charlotte nodded solemnly.

"If," Charlotte said, "you do not wish to use your power, then no, we will not force you to. Though I do believe you might benefit from learning how it might be controlled and used—"

"No!" Elizabeth's cry was so loud that Sophie jumped and dropped her brush. Charlotte glanced over at her and then back at Tessa. She said, "As you wish, Elizabeth. There are other ways you could assist us. I'm sure there is much that you know that was not contained in your letters. And in return, we could help you to search for your brother." 

Elizabeth's head went up. "You would do that?"

 "You have my word." Charlotte stood up. Neither of them had touched the tea on its tray. "Sophie, if you could help Miss Gray dress, and then bring her in to dinner?"

"Dinner?" After hearing such a deal about Nephilim, and Downworld and faeries and vampires and demons, the prospect of dinner was almost shocking in its ordinariness.

"Certainly. It's nearly seven o'clock. You've already met Will; you can meet everyone else. Perhaps you'll see that we're to be trusted."

And with a brisk nod, Charlotte left the room. As the door closed after her, Elizabeth shook her head mutely. Aunt Harriet had been bossy, but she'd had nothing on Charlotte Branwell. 

"She has a strict manner, but she's very kind," Sophie said, laying out on the bed the dress Tessa was meant to wear. "I've never known anyone with a better heart."

Elizabeth touched the sleeve of the dress with the tip of her finger. It was dark red satin, as Charlotte had said, with black moiré ribbon trim around the waist and hem. She had never worn anything so nice. 

"Would you like me to help you get dressed for dinner, miss?" Sophie asked. Elizabeth remembered something Aunt Harriet had always said—that you could know a man not by what his friends said about him, but by how he treated his servants. If Sophie thought Charlotte had a good heart, then perhaps she did. 

She raised her head. "Much obliged, Sophie. I believe I would."

∞