♕

After gathering what they needed from the weapons room—Dahlia was loaded down with more than a dozen of Christopher's specially designed throwing knives—the group made their way down Ludgate Hill and Cannon Street as the sun set over the City. 

Dahlia was walking with Christopher, talking about what Christopher was thinking and helping him with any new invention ideas.

"Seraph blades with demonic rune??" Dahlia exclaimed. Christopher looked at her sheepishly. "Well I feel like if it were created then it would be called Demonic blades." Dahlia said. Christopher brightened up instantly.

They were in front of the bridge; though it was quite dark now and the gas lamps were lit, there was still a good amount of traffic—even the occasional motorcar purring along Tower Bridge Approach.

The others had begun to gather around.

Magnus stepped to the railing along the river's edge, where a high wall dropped down to a stony beach that ran beside and below the bridge. With a flourish, he drew off his gloves and tucked them into his waistcoat pocket. Then he held out his hands. Blue fire sparked at his fingertips.

Light arced over the Thames. Bright as a thousand naphtha beacons, it formed a glimmering path laid from bank to bank of the Thames. Dahlia gasped in wonder as the light rose and twined, forming the ghostly shape of a shimmering Tower Bridge made of light. It was perfect down to the last detail, from the towers to the spiderweb cables and gleaming chains.

Magnus lowered his hands. He was breathing hard. 

"It's spectacular," said Thomas, and there was a look of real wonder on his face. "But—"

"It will not appear to mundanes as it does to you," said Magnus. "They will not see the real bridge. They will see this instead. Look."

He indicated an oncoming hansom cab with a wave of his hand. The small group of Shadowhunters gaped as it swung toward the glimmering illusion of Tower Bridge and onto the bridge deck. The wheels of the hansom rattled over the glimmering tarmac.

"Oh, good, I was afraid the bridge was going to collapse," said Dahlia, as more carriages followed the cab.

Magnus seemed to have thrown up a glamour over the entrance to the real bridge, as all the traffic, pedestrian and even omnibuses, seemed to be swerving unconsciously toward Magnus's secondary, shining structure.

"Magnus would never create a bridge that would collapse," said Matthew. His green eyes were shining.

Magnus just shook his head slightly. "Good luck. Don't get killed."

Dahlia turned and made her way through the archway that led to the steps up to the bridge, the others close behind and around him. All of them held seraph blades except Cordelia; as always, Cortana glimmered in her hand. 

♕

It came screaming out of the air like a diving hawk—a demon the size of an omnibus, its yellowish coat streaked with dried blood. It shot straight for James, a blur of black teeth and red talons—and a haft of gold, where the hilt of James's knife protruded from its shoulder.

James stood upright on the bridge, his right arm outstretched, and flung a second blade. The demon ducked out of the path of the knife and landed on the bridge, taloned feet splayed. It began to move toward the Nephilim.

Cordelia raised Cortana, its golden blade slicing the air. 

All around Dahlia she could hear voices as angel blades were named and blazed up in light: "Eleleth!" 

"Adamiel!" 

"Jophiel!"

The demon bared its teeth as seraph light illuminated the bridge. Dahlia could see it more clearly now: the body of a mangy lion with elongated legs, each one ending in a massive, taloned paw. Its head was snakelike and scaled, with glittering red eyes and a triple row of serrated jaws. Its scorpion's tail lashed back and forth as it paced toward James, a low growl coming from its throat.

By the Angel, Dahlia thought. We were right. It is a Mandikhor.

James caught up a seraph blade as the demon paced toward them. "Raguel!"

The blade flared up as the demon lunged, teeth bared. James flung himself sideways, avoiding its slashing claws. Matthew dropped the Pyxis and ran forward to flank James, seraph blade flashing. The tip sliced across the demon's shoulder as it leaped back, causing it to howl. It reared up, and Dahlia heard Lucie cry out as the demon seemed to tremble all over. A grotesque lump swelled under the skin of its side—swelled and swelled and then burst into a sticky black thing. Dahlia tried not to gag as the thing peeled away from the Mandikhor, dropping to the ground. As it rose to its feet, Dahlia recognized it as one of the creatures that had attacked them in Regent's Park. A Khora demon.

It shot toward Matthew, who swore and slashed out at it with his seraph blade. Dahlia charged forward, only to be met with another of the Khora demons. The demon had shed several others: two leaped toward Christopher and Thomas, springing through the air like black spiders. Lucie ran to join them, impaling one of the Khora from behind: it vanished, spattering ash and ichor, as Christopher and Thomas dispatched the other. 

Cordelia whipped Cortana forward with a slashing motion, shredding the demon in front of her with such force that the blade passed through the Khora, carried on, and embedded itself in the granite railing of the bridge. She yanked it free as the demon disappeared with a howl. 

Dahlia slashed at the demon in front of her. She plunged her blade into it, and ichor splattered all over Dahlia's gear.

"Oh for the love of the Angel! This was handmade, you bastard!" Dahlia cried. The demon looked at her with dark eyes. She glared back, stabbing the demon making it disappear with a howl.

It didn't matter how many of these shadow creatures they killed, Dahlia knew. The Mandikhor could make an infinite number of Khora: it was the source of them, and the source had to be destroyed.

She couldn't advance on her plan as she head a cry from THomas. "Christopher!"

Dahlia's world stopped.

She spun and saw that a group of Khora were starting to circle Christopher. Even as Christopher tried to fight his way free, the circle tightened. Dahlia and Thomas raced toward him—James and Matthew leaped down from the railing. 

Cordelia, raising her sword, raced the other way, toward the Mandikhor.

The group slashed shadow after shadow, freeing Christopher. Dahlia hugged him, her heartbeat pattering like a thunderstorm.

"Christopher, Christopher." she whispered, hugging him tighter. The fear one felt at the thought of almost loosing their parabatai  was unimaginable.

Then she remembered watching Cordelia charging the Mandikhor.

She let go of Christopher and spun around. 

Cordelia hurled herself forward, Cortana sinking deep into the creature's torso. Hot ichor spilled onto her hand, and the world seemed to tilt around her, the color rushing out of it like blood from a wound. She stood on the bridge among black-and-white shadows and twisted, gnarled trees—the suspension cables hung like rotting vines, blackening in the night air. She yanked Cortana back, gasping, and fell to her knees. 

Matthew rushed to her, wrenching her up. His face had become very pale. "Cordelia—"

"She's all right!" Lucie exclaimed, spattered with blood and ichor, clutching the Pyxis box. The others had fanned out around Cordelia: James had his blade in one hand, his gaze trained on the roaring, bleeding Mandikhor.

The bridge was empty of Khora. Cordelia had distracted the Mandikhor just long enough for them to kill the shadow creatures; but the Mandikhor was growling now, another lump already beginning to swell on its back. "Now!" Lucie cried. "We must get it into the Pyxis!"

Christopher stepped closer to the Pyxis. The Mandikhor, realizing what was happening at last, charged.

Christopher shouted, in a voice that cut through the noise of battle: "Thaam Tholach Thechembaor!"

The alchemical symbols carved on the Pyxis box lit as if the lines on the wood were burning: they seemed to bloom on the wood, glowing like coals.

A spear of light shot from the Pyxis, and then another, and another. The beams of light arrowed along the bridge, wrapping around the Mandikhor in a bright cage. It gave a howl—the cage of light flared up one last time and was sucked back into the Pyxis, the Mandikhor vanishing with it.

There was a long silence. James mopped at the blood on his face, his golden eyes burning. Matthew's hand was still wrapped around Cordelia's arm.

"I don't mean to put a damper on things," said Dahlia at last, "but—did that work? Because it seems rather—"

The Pyxis exploded. The Shadowhunters yelled and dived out of the way as wooden shrapnel blew in all directions. Wind tore across the bridge, flattening Dahlia to her knees, a howling hurricane of fire-scented air.

At last the howling died down. The bridge was empty and silent, only the wind blowing a bit of discarded refuse back and forth across the roadway. Dahlia rose to her feet and reached down a hand to help Christopher up after her. Ahead, she could still see the glimmering light of Magnus's bridge, mundane traffic still making its way across it.

"—too easy," Dahlia finished. 

"Bloody hell," said James, reaching for a knife, just as the world seemed to explode around them.

Out of the wind and air, the Mandikhor suddenly appeared, twice as big as it had been before, and clothed in ragged darkness. It rose above them like a shadow drawn in blood, its head thrown back, each of its talons gleaming like a dagger.

Dahlia screamed as it advanced on James, then suddenly James disappeared. The Mandikhor was blurred on the edges, like James usually would be when he was sent on visits to the demon realms.

Dahlia placed a hand on her mouth, then the world blacked out. She opened her eyes to Christopher shakign her, "Dahlia, Dahlia!" he was saying. Dahlia blinked.

"Cordelia-" he started, Dahlia jolted up her eyes looking for Cordelia wildly. Cordelia had slipped into the river.

Lucie's eyes widened. "Daisy!" she cried.

James spun, Cortana in hand. 

Everyone ran to James, Dahlia was being hauled up by Christopher, "Where is she?" Matthew gasped as he neared James. "Where's Cordelia?"

"She's in the river," James said, and began to run.

♕

If only there were a rune for drying clothes, Dahlia thought mournfully. She felt as if she were definitely squelching. She had jumped into the river despite Christopher's yelling that she would probably drown and she had come up once she heard a collective cry fro Daisy.

Cordelia was pressed up against Matthew in the back of the hansom cab on a bench seat that faced Thomas and Christopher. Matthew had thrown his gear jacket over her shoulders since her own was wet; he was in shirtsleeves, one arm around her, holding her steady. 

 She had been choking and gasping, her body convulsing as her lungs emptied of water. James had drawn iratze after iratze onto her arm as the Merry Thieves crowded around.

At some point Matthew had arrived to take over while James hurried to Lucie, who had fainted on the riverbank. Magnus was there too, reassuring them that Lucie was fine and suffering from nothing more than shock. The shining bridge Magnus had summoned had vanished, and traffic had resumed over the real Tower Bridge, so it had been easy for him to get hold of two hansom cabs and firmly separate the group: Lucie and James to go to the Institute, and the remaining Merry Thieves to accompany Cordelia to Kensington.

He had also told James, in no uncertain terms, that if James didn't pass on the information to Will and Tessa that the demon responsible for the attacks was a Mandikhor, he would do it himself.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Thomas inquired, not for the first time. He sat opposite Cordelia, his knees knocking into hers. People Thomas's size were not made for ordinary hansom cabs.

"I'm fine," Cordelia insisted. "Utterly fine."

"It was amazing the way you charged at that demon, absolutely capital," said Christopher. "I really thought you had him in your sights, until you fell into the river, that is."

Matthew's shoulder shook with silent laughter.

"Yes," said Cordelia. "I was under the same misapprehension myself."

"What happened, exactly?" Thomas said. "How did Lucie get you out of the water?"

Obviously startled, Cordelia furrowed her brow. "I don't know," she said slowly. "I don't understand it. I did hear Lucie calling—calling my name—and then I just woke up on the bank, coughing."

"The current could just have brought her ashore," said Dahlia. "Thames currents can be quite strong."

Matthew looked at her curiously. "When we were on the bridge, when James was fighting the Mandikhor, it looked as if the demon was speaking to him. Did you hear it?"

"No," she said. "Just sort of a growling noise. Not any words."

The cab came to a stop; they had arrived at the Kensington house, gleaming white in the moonlight. The street was quiet and peaceful, a low wind rustling the tops of the plane trees.

Dahlia wasn't exactly sure how it happened, but she, Thomas and Christopher wound up waiting in the cab as Matthew escorted Cordelia to her front door, past the black-and-gold railing that circled the gardens.

"Are you all right Dahlia?" Christopher asked her the minute Matthew and Cordelia left. Dahlia gave her parabatai a weak smile, she felt sick. Beyond sick, she wanted to throw up and cry at the same time.

"Fantastic." she said, forcing a bright smile. He looked at her suspiciously.

"You fainted, Lia, then you jumped into the Thames after Daisy." Thomas argued. Dahlia simpl glared at him.

"Honestly, does it really even matter what I do?" she huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. Christopher sighed. "Of course it does, Lia-"

"No, it doesn't. I do not need to be babysat, I can go for days without eating if I please, I-I can throw Matthew into the Thames if I wanted to. I could-" she was interrupted by Matthew returning to the cab. 

"Let's go." he said shortly. Dahlia sighed and looked back out the window.

She had not felt very useful today, she was sure she wasn't. Just a pain to everyone.

She really ought to stop fainting in the worst of times.

♕

It was late afternoon by the time Dahlia was able to leave her house and head to Grosvenor Square to meet the rest of the Merry Thieves. Her parents had been worried sick about her coming  home in the dead of night last night. She had nearly thrown up after dinner which she could only eat two slices of bread from and had passed out nearly dead on her bed. 

After letting herself into Matthew's house with Christopher's key, Dahlia paused for a moment on the steps that led to the cellar. She knew her friends were in the laboratory: she could hear their voices rising up toward him like smoke, could hear Christopher chattering-She could feel Christopher's presence, this close to her parabatai, like one magnet coming within range of another.

She found everyone seated around a high, marble-topped laboratory table. Everywhere were instruments of curious design: a galvanometer for measuring electrical currents, a torsion balance machine, and a clockwork orrery of gold, bronze, and silver—a gift from Charlotte to Henry some years ago. A dozen different microscopes, astrolabes, retorts, and measuring devices were scattered across the table and cabinet tops. On a plinth rested the Colt Single Action army revolver Christopher and Henry had been working on for months before all this had happened. Its river-gray nickel plating was deeply engraved with runes and a curving inscription: LUKE 12:49.

Christopher's brass goggles were pushed up into his hair; he wore a shirt and trousers that had been burned and stained so many times he had been forbidden to wear them outside. Matthew could have been his mirror opposite: in blue-and-gold waistcoat and matching spats, he stood well away from the flames of the Bunsen burners, which had been turned up so high that the room was the temperature of a tropical island. Oscar napped gently at Dahlia's feet.

"By the Angel, Christopher, darling I had the worst of nights yesterday." she said sighing dramatically, reachign down to pet Oscar's head and scratch him behind the ear. She had only wanted to talk to her parabatai but the others were here and Dahlia didn't have the energy to shoo everyone away.

"I almost died!" she said cheerfully.

"Why didn't you???" asked Matthew as if she had committed the most hendious of crimes.

"Well, you see, my body simply did not want to shut down, so instead it made me awaken the next day for an other twenty four hours of pure misery and agony." she retorted, rolling her eyes.

"A shame." he responded.

"What's going on, Kit?" said James, who Dahlia had failed to notice had entered. "Testing to see the temperature at which Shadowhunters melt?"

"My hair is certainly ruined," said Matthew, pushing his hands through the sweat-darkened strands. "I believe Christopher is hard at work on the antidote. I am assisting by providing witty observations and trenchant commentary."

"I'd rather you handed me that beaker," said Christopher, pointing. Matthew shook his head. Dahlia grabbed the beaker and passed it to Christopher, who added a few drops of its contents to the liquid simmering in a retort by his elbow. He frowned. "It's not going well, I'm afraid. Without this one ingredient, it doesn't seem likely to work."

"What ingredient?" James asked.

"Malos root, a rare plant. Shadowhunters aren't supposed to cultivate it because doing so violates the Accords. I have been searching, and I asked Anna to try to get me some in Downworld, but we've had no luck."

"Why would anyone be forbidden from growing some silly plant?" said Matthew.

"This plant only grows in soil that has been soaked by the blood of murdered mundanes," said Dahlia examining the scorched walls.

"I stand corrected," Matthew admitted. "Ugh."

"Dark magic plants, is it?" James's eyes narrowed. "Christopher—can you draw me a sketch of the root?"

"Certainly," said Christopher, as if this were not at all an odd request. He took a notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket and began to scribble on the back. The liquid in the retort had begun to turn black. 

"There were some forbidden plants growing in Tatiana's greenhouse," James explained. "I told Charles about it at the time, and he didn't seem to feel they were of great concern, but—"

Christopher held up the sketch, of an almost tulip-like plant with sharp-edged white leaves and a black root.

"Yes," James said, his excitement rising. "I remember those—they were in the greenhouse at Chiswick. They struck me because those leaves looked like knives. We could go there now—is there a carriage free?"

"Yes." Matthew's excitement matched James's own. "Charles had some sort of meeting, but he left the second carriage in the mews. Put your goggles down, Christopher—time for some fieldwork."

Christopher grumbled slightly. "All right, all right—but I have to go change. I'm not allowed out in these clothes."

"Of course not! Oh for the love of the Angel, I'll pic out your clothing and go downstairs. You wore a bright purple waist coat with bright yellow the other day. I was horrified and nearly stabbed you." Dahlia said indignantly.

"Just switch off anything that might burn down the house first," said Matthew, catching hold of James's arm. "We'll meet you in the front garden."

James and Matthew fled through the house (pursued by Oscar, barking in excitement), then paused a moment on the front steps, breathing in the cool air. 

Dahlia quickly set out clothes for Christopher as he turned off the ovens and stoves. She rushed downstairs breaking free of the contaminated air of inside, breathing in the crystal air.

The sky was heavy with clouds; a bit of weak sunlight peeked through, illuminating the path from the Fairchilds' front steps to the wall of the front garden, and the gate that led to the street. It had been raining earlier, and the stone was still wet.

"Where's Thomas?" James asked, as Matthew tipped his face back to look up at the clouds: though they did not look rain-heavy, they had an energy to them as of an oncoming electrical storm. 

"Patrolling with Anna," said Matthew. "Remember, Thomas is the most elderly of our group. He is required for day patrol."

"I am not sure just eighteen is precisely elderly," said James. "He should have some years before senility sets in."

"I get the sense sometimes that he rather likes Alastair Carstairs. Which would indicate senility has already set in." Dahlia said, scaring both of the boys.

"By the Angel, Dahlia." James said. Dahlia smiled at him and glared at Matthew.

Nothing different.

"I am not sure he likes him precisely," said James, "but rather feels as if he ought to be given a second chance after his behavior at school." James paused. "And perhaps he is right. Perhaps we all deserve one."

"There are some people who do not deserve one." Matthew's voice was fierce. "If I ever catch you considering befriending Alastair, James—"

"Then what?" James said, arching an eyebrow.

"Then I will have to tell you what Alastair said to me the day we left the Academy," said Matthew. "And I would rather not. Cordelia should never know it, if nothing else. She loves him and she should be allowed that."

Cordelia.There was something about the way Matthew said her name.

"Fairchild- That- oh my Angel. I am so bloody done with you both." Dahlia exclaimed, uncorking  green potion she had found in Christopher's pots. It was really a potion, per say, it was more of a probably poisoned drink.

"She probably gives you butterflies." she said, rolling her eyes.

She wouldn't mind. She was done with the world, she would really not mind if she was to be struck dead tomorrow by lightning.

Christopher had burst out the front door, pulling on gloves. He wore a hat, tilted sideways on his head, and a green scarf that matched none of his other clothes.

"Christopher!" Dahlia scolded, dropping the vial, it shattered at her feet. She groaned.

"Boys." she hissed angrily, and stepped on the glass to shatter it to a fine powder.

"Must you wear that green monstrosity??"

Christopher sighed. "Yes-"

Dahlia shook her head in disappointment.

"I am disowning you. And you too Fairchild. And you Herondale. I will keep Thomas, he has not made me want to poison myself yet." Dahlia said, shaking her head.

"Where's the carriage?" he asked, descending the steps.

"We were waiting for you, Christopher, not fetching you a carriage," said James, as the four of them crossed the front garden to the mews, where a large carriage house held the Consul's horses and means of transportation. 

"Besides, I'm fairly sure Darwin said something about it being healthful for scientists to walk." Dahlia said, ruffling Christopher's hair.

Christopher looked indignant. "He certainly didn't—"

The front gate rattled. Dahlia turned to see shadows perched atop it. No, not shadows—demons, ragged and black. They leaped soundlessly to the ground, one after another, stalking toward the Shadowhunters.

"Khora demons," James whispered; Matthew already had a shortsword out, and Christopher a seraph blade. It crackled as he named it, like a broken radiometer. Dahlia took out her chakaras from her dress folds where they resided, always. 

James whipped a throwing knife from his belt, turning to realize that they had been cut off from retreating to the house. The demons were circling them, as they had tried to circle Christopher on the bridge.

"I don't like this," said Matthew. His eyes were burning, his teeth bared. "At all."

The hat had fallen from Christopher's head; it lay sodden on the damp, stony ground. He kicked at it in frustration. "James? What next?"

"We cut through the circle of demons, there"—James pointed, talking fast—"and duck into the carriage house. Lock the doors behind us with a rune."

"Brings new meaning to the saying 'don't frighten the horses,' " Matthew muttered. "All right. Let's go."

They spun toward the area James had indicated, knives flying from James's hands like arrows from a bow. Each met its target, sinking deep into demon flesh. The Khora demons skittered away, howling, and the Shadowhunters bolted through the gap between them toward the mews, just as the sky crackled with thunder.

They sprang through white tendrils of fog; James reached the gate to the mews first and kicked it open, then nearly doubled over, pain shooting through him.

He turned to see that a Khora had seized hold of Matthew and thrown him. Christopher was battling another of the shadowy creatures, his seraph blade describing a sputtering arc of light as he slashed at it. Dahlia let her chakaras fly like soaring discs of gold cutting through the dark shadows.

A flash of gold sprang between Matthew and the shadow, sending the Khora reeling back.

It was Oscar. The retriever sailed past the demon, missing a savage blow from its claws by barely an inch, and landed near Matthew.

The Khora started back toward the boy and the dog. Matthew threw his arms around Oscar—the puppy James had saved and given to him so long ago—curving his body to protect his dog. Dahlia spun, producing a knife in each hand, and let them fly.

The knives sank to their hilts in the demon's skull. It blew apart; one of the other demons screamed, and Matthew leaped to his feet, seizing up his fallen sword. Dahlia could hear him shouting at Oscar to go back into the house, but Oscar clearly felt he had scored a great victory and had no intention of listening. He growled as Christopher paused at the mews gate, shouting for the others to follow him.

James turned. "Christopher—"

It rose up behind Christopher, a massive shadow, the biggest Khora demon Dahlia had seen yet. Christopher started to turn, raising his seraph blade, but it was too late. The Khora had reached around Christopher, almost as if it meant to embrace him, pulling his body back toward it. His weapon went flying.

Dahlia started to run toward Christopher, skidding across the wet ground, but there was no time. The demon's great clawed hand raked across Christopher's chest.

Christopher screamed, and the Khora demon shoved him away. He crumpled to the ground.

Dahlia screamed, it wasn't a normal kind of scream. It was a scream of horror and unimaginable, indescribable fear and pain.

"Christopher!"

She crawled to his crumpled form. Tears welled in her eyes, it was from both the pain she felt from the wound on Christopher and the fear of loosing Christopher.

"Jamie, they've gone," Matthew called. "They've all gone—"

The front gates burst open with a ringing clang of metal, and a carriage rolled into the front garden. The doors flew open, disgorging Charles Fairchild; Dahlia dimly realized that Alastair Carstairs was also there, looking around himself with a stunned expression. She he could hear Charles demanding to know what was going on.

Matthew shouted back, asking if Charles was blind, couldn't he see Christopher was hurt and needed to go to the Silent City? Charles kept demanding what had happened to the demons, where had they gone, he'd seen one when they'd first crashed through the gates, but where were they now? Dahlia wanted to kill him. She wanted to kill Charles Fairchild, so, so so, much. More than she ever did.

I will take him, Alastair was saying. I will take him to the Silent City. But the words seemed to echo from some far-off place, someplace where Dahlia was not kneeling in the wet and the fog next to a motionless Christopher, whose chest had been scored across by the ragged lines of demon claws. Someplace where Christopher was not still and silent no matter how much Dahlia begged him to open his eyes. Someplace where Christopher's blood was not mixing with the rain on the cobblestones, surrounding him in a pool of crimson. Someplace where her heart didn't feel like it was being ripped out; the heart she shared with her parabatai. Her best friend, her brother, the person who did not deserve this at all. Someplace better than this.

♕