♕

The last time Dahlia had been this scared was ten years ago. When Dahlia and Ariadne's parents had died in Bombay from the Ventis demon attack. She remembered how everyone in the Enclave had looked at them with pity, she wasn't able to understand why everyone was looking at them like that and why her sister was a sobbing mess. She remembered calling out to Ariadne, "Kamala, where are they? Kamala??". Her sister had not responded, instead she had hugged her fiercely.

She felt that fear now, mixed with horror and unexplainable devastation. 

Dahlia watched Cordelia lean close to Lucie as they jolted through the streets in the Institute's carriage, surrounded by the blurred traffic of omnibuses, motorcars, and pedestrians. Advertisements whirled past. THE HORSESHOE HOTEL. THREE-GUINEA STOUT. NEW PALACE STEAMERS. Signs advertising tailors and fishmongers, hair tonic and cheap printing. A world incredibly distant from the one Dahlia had just left behind in Regent's Park. A world where small things mattered.

Matthew was sitting across from them on the upholstered carriage seat, gripping the seat cushions with his fists. His hair stuck out madly. Blood and ichor stained his linen jacket and silk tie.

The moment the demons had gone, James had taken off on Balios, one of his father's horses, hoping to reach the Institute and prepare them for the arrival of the wounded. Charles had bolted off with Ariadne in the Consul's carriage, leaving Matthew to cadge a ride with Dahlia, Lucie and Cordelia.

Dahlia had been beyond furious once she found out Charles had left with her sister without informing her. More than ever she had wanted to chop him into pieces and throw him into the pits of hell.

"I still don't see how it's possible," said Lucie. "Demons don't come out during the day. They simply don't."

"I've heard of them appearing under thick cloud cover before," said Cordelia. "If no sunlight could get through—"

Matthew gave a hoarse laugh. "That was no natural storm. Yet I have never heard of demons who could control the weather, either."

He drew a silver flask from his waistcoat pocket. Lucie shot him a sharp look before glancing away.

"Did you see the wounds?" she asked. "I have never seen anything like it. Barbara's skin was turning black at the edges where she was bitten—"

"You have never seen anything like it because there never has been anything like this," said Matthew. "Demons who bring their own night with them? Who attack us when we are vulnerable because we believe we cannot be assailed?"

"Matthew," said Cordelia sharply. "Stop frightening Lucie when we do not even know what we are dealing with yet."

He took a swig from the flask as the carriage rattled through Ludgate Circus and onto Fleet Street. Cordelia could smell the sharp, sweet perfume of the alcohol, familiar as childhood. "Lucie doesn't get frightened, do you, Luce?"

Lucie crossed her arms over her chest. "I am frightened for Barbara and Ariadne, and for Piers," she said. "Are you not concerned? Barbara is our family, and Ariadne one of the kindest people I know."

"There is no special protection in this world for kind people," Matthew began, and broke off as Dahlia glared at him. He took another swig from his flask and bared his teeth. "Yes, I'm being a beast. I know that perfectly well."

"Will you shut up? My sister might as well be dying and you're here acting as if nothing is wrong you disgusting bastard."  Dahlia yelled.

"My father always said that to panic before you have all the facts was to fight the enemy's battle for him." said Cordelia, obviously trying to ease the tension.

"But who is the enemy?" said Lucie. "Demons, I suppose, but demons usually attack without strategy or method. These demons avoided every mundane in the park and went straight for us."

"Demons aren't always random in their actions," Dahlia said. "Perhaps a warlock who has summoned a pack of demons is responsible, or even a Greater Demon amusing themselves. Ordinary demons are like animals, but if I understand it rightly, Greater Demons can be quite like people."

They had reached the Institute. Matthew shot her a swift, surprised look as the carriage rolled under the gate with its Latin motto: PULVIS ET UMBRA SUMUS.

We are dust and shadows.

As they came to a sliding stop in the courtyard, Matthew reached to throw the carriage door open. He leaped down and turned to help them after him. The courtyard was already full of carriages—Dahlia recognized the symbol of the Inquisitor's family, an arched bridge, on one of them. She could also see Balios, his reins tied to a post near the front steps. His flanks were foamy with sweat; James must have ridden hell-for-leather through the streets.

Dahlia broke free of Matthew's grip and ran to the institute, aware of Lucie yelling at her to slow down.

Dahlia had never seen the infirmary like this before. During her lifetime there had rarely ever been more than one or two patients in the sickroom. Thomas had once ended up there for a week when he'd fallen out of a tree and broken his leg. They'd stayed up nights playing cards and eating Dahlia's jam tarts. 

The scene was very different now. The room was already crowded: there were many Shadowhunters who had been burned by ichor or who had cuts and bruises. An impromptu nursing station had been set up at the counter, where Tessa and Will—with help from the Silent Brothers—were dealing out bandages and healing runes to whoever needed them.

The three more seriously injured Shadowhunters had been placed in beds at the end of the room, where a screen partially shielded them from the chaos in the rest of the infirmary. 

Dahlia rushed to where Ariadne was, tears already streamign down her cheeks. She wiped them away quickly.

Brother Enoch crouched by Ariadne, his aspect grim. Dahlia's parents were huddled not far from their her sister, exchanging fearful looks. Dahlia kneeled by her sister, despite Brother Enoch's warning shake of a head.

Dahlia held her sister's hand, it was a soft gentle touch. "Please, Kamala, don't leave me. Don't leave me like our parents did, please." she whispered to her sister, her voice sound beyond shattered.

Maurice placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder, "Dahlia, darling, I feel it would be best if you left the room." he said sharply. Dahlia's heart nearly collapsed but she left the room numbly.

The moment she was out of the room she neared a wall and rested her head against it, she let the tears she hand been holding in fall.

She cried so hard she was sure everyone in the institute could hear her, she didn't care as long as they couldn't see her.

Thomas came out of the room, his eyes hollow. He looked down at Dahlia, who was a mess on the floor, and sat down next to her. She clutched on to his shirt and cried.

"Thomas, h-he, I-Christopher." Dahlia managed to stutter out. Thomas smiled weakly at her, "I have the sample Lia, we'll get to him." he said determination lacing is voice. Dahlia placed her head on his shoulder and stared at the wall. Thomas abruptly stood up, his hand out for Dahlia. She stood up with his help and both of them paced the hallways.

Thomas' eyes suddenly brightened for a second as Jem, James and Will exited teh music room. Jem and Will left them, leaving James with Dahlia and Thomas.

"Jamie-" Dahlia started. "My parents are here," Thomas said, in a low voice. "James, I need something to do. Something that might help our sisters. I think I might go mad otherwise."

"Of course—we all must help Barbara," said James. "And Ariadne." he added at Dahlia's look. "Thomas, in the park, Barbara saw the demons before everyone else. She was the one who warned me."

"She had perfect Sight even before she got her Voyance rune," Thomas said. "Perhaps because my mother was a Sighted mundane before she became a Shadowhunter. We've never been sure—Barbara wasn't terribly interested in testing her abilities—but she always had unusually keen senses."

"It is almost as if she could glimpse my shadow realm," James murmured.

"We need to round up Matthew and Christopher," James said. "I have an idea of what we can do."

Some of the color came back to Thomas's face. "Christopher has just returned from Chiswick," he said. "I saw him in the entry hall. But as for Matthew..."

Dahlia sighed, "Matthew must be somewhere around, it isn't as if he is going to just leave." 

♕

Dahlia was right, they had found Matthew singing inside a carriage with a flask in his hand.

"We must bar the doors," said James. "They don't lock, and we can't be interrupted." He frowned. "Matthew, can you stand?"

The ballroom had been closed up after the ball; it was rarely used except for social functions. The room was warm and close as James, Christopher, and Thomas threw off their jackets and stripped down to shirtsleeves. Most were still wearing the same weapons belts they'd had on in the park.

Dahlia had changed into a more comfortable dress she had found in a closet; her bloody battered dress left on the floor. Her belt was wrapped securely around her waist with an assortment of weapons.

Only Matthew was unarmed. Blinking and disheveled, he found his way to a plushly upholstered chair and fell into it. "I am quite all right," he said, waving an airy hand. "Please continue with your plan." He squinted. "What was your plan?"

"I'll tell you in a moment," James said. He was quite sure none of them were going to like it. "Thomas?"

Thomas nodded, seized hold of a heavy sideboard, and began to shove it in front of the ballroom doors. Christopher looked worriedly at Matthew. "Perhaps some water?" he said.

"I'm quite all right," Matthew repeated.

"I found you drinking from a flask and singing 'Elsie from Chelsea' in the Baybrooks' carriage," said Thomas darkly.

"It was private there," said Matthew. "And well-upholstered."

"At least it wasn't the Bridgestocks' carriage, because they have already experienced enough tragedy today. Nothing bad has happened to the Baybrooks," said Christopher, with great sincerity. Dahlia shook her head at her parabatai.

"Nothing until now," said James. "Christopher—was everything all right, dropping off Miss Blackthorn?"

He tried not to sound as if he were too invested in the answer. Matthew raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Oh, perfectly," said Christopher. "I told her all about culturing bacteria, and she was so fascinated that she never spoke a word!"

James had gone to pile chairs in front of the doors to the withdrawing room. He hoped Grace had not expired from boredom. "Did you have to tell Mrs. Blackthorn what had happened at the park? She can't have been pleased."

Christopher shook his head. "I confess I didn't see her. Miss Blackthorn asked that I drop her at the gates, not the front door."

"She probably doesn't want anyone to see the state of the place," said Matthew, yawning. "The gates alone are festooned in rust."

James eyed him. "Dahlia," he said, in a low voice. "Maybe a healing rune?"

Dahlia sighed, she took a stele from a fold in the dress and went up to Matthew. As she neared him, he looked at her suspiciously. "Bridgestock, you don't intend on killing me with your stele do you-?"

Dahlia rolled her eyes, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and parting it to expose an area of his chest. There she drew an irtaze in careful strokes. Matthew blinked.

"It seems somehow blasphemous to use Marks to rid oneself of the effects of alcohol," Matthew added, as Dahlia put her stele away. The Mark in question gleamed, new-made, on Matthew's chest. He looked already more clear-eyed, and less as if he were about to fall asleep or be sick.

"I've seen you use your stele to part your hair," said Dahlia dryly.

"The Angel gave me this hair," replied Matthew. "It's one of the Shadowhunters' gifts. Like the Mortal Sword."

"Now that is blasphemy," said Thomas. Christopher had joined James in checking the window fastenings.

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever, Thomas," said Matthew. "James, why are we locking all the windows? Are we afraid of overcurious pigeons?"

James slammed a bolt home and turned to look at the others. "I have spent the past four years of my life trying to train myself not to do what I'm about to do. I don't wish to even consider the possibility of being interrupted."

"By a pigeon?" said Matthew, but the look in his eyes was sympathetic, despite his lightly mocking words. "Jamie, what are we doing here?"

James took a deep breath. "I am going to deliberately send myself into the shadow realm," he said.

Everyone exploded in a chorus of protest. Matthew stood up, his eyes glittering. "Certainly not," he said. "The danger—"

Just as Dahlia hissed at James. "James Herondale, you better not! I will personally send you to Hell." 

"I do not think there will be danger," said James. "I have been in and out of the shadow realm many times in my life. It has been ages since I fell accidentally into that world. Yet in the past week, I have seen it three times, once just before the attack today. I cannot think that is a coincidence. If I can use this ability to help Barbara, Ariadne, all of us—you must let me do it."

"Bloody hell." Matthew rubbed at his eyes. "If we don't help you here, you'll just try to do this after we're all gone, won't you?"

"Clearly," said James. He tapped the daggers at his waist. "I'm armed, at least."

Matthew twisted the signet ring on his finger, marked with MF. It had been a gift from James when they had become parabatai, and he tended to fiddle with it only when distressed. "Very well, James. As you wish."

James cleared his throat. "All right. Let's get on with it."

He was met with the gaze of eight expectant eyes.

"Well?" Thomas said hopefully, after a long pause. "Go on into the shadow realm, then."

James concentrated, his eyes fluttering shut.

He opened his eyes and yelled. A pair of eyes was staring directly into his, so close that he could make out the details inside the green irises, the faint splotches of brown and black. "Matthew!"

"I really don't think staring at him is going to help, Fairchild," said Dahlia, and Matthew took a reluctant step back from his parabatai. "Jamie, is there anything that might help you begin the process? We've all seen you do it.... You start to get shadowy, and turn a bit blurry around the edges."

"When I go into the shadow realm, the realness of my presence here begins to fade," James said. "But it is not what drives me into the shadow realm. More of a side effect of being there."

"Often it happens when you are upset or shocked," said Christopher. "I suppose we could try upsetting or shocking you."

"Given everything that's happened, that shouldn't be too hard," said James.

"Nonsense," said Matthew, hopping up on a nearby occasional table. It was quite frail-looking, with thin gold-painted wooden legs. "The last time I saw you shocked was when that Iblis demon was sending Christopher love letters."

"I have a dark charm," said Christopher sadly. Dahlia patted his back sympathetically.

"Please recall that I am the pale neurasthenic one and you are the stern heroic one," Matthew said to James. "It is very tedious when you mix up our roles. We will have to think of something quite impressive to startle you."

"So what is my role?" said Christopher.

"Mad inventor, of course," said Matthew promptly. "And Thomas is the one with a good heart. Dahlia is simply the bitch."

Dahlia smiled at him, "Thank you, Mr. Banana hair." she said spitefully. 

"Lord, I sound dull," said Thomas. "Look, James, come here for a second."

James moved toward Thomas, who seemed to have decided on something: in moments like this, he looked very like his mother, with her brilliant hazel eyes and ferocious mouth.

A fist came sailing out of the air and landed squarely in James's solar plexus. He went flying backward, hitting the floor with a gasp.

Dahlia covered her mouth with her hand.  "Thomas!"  she gasped.

Matthew dropped down by his side, as James heaved himself up onto his elbows, gasping. "Thomas!" Matthew yelled. "What were you trying to—?"

"I was trying to surprise him!" Thomas yelled back. "This is important, Matthew!" He darted a worried look at James, belying his angry words. "You don't mind, do you, Jamie?"

"It's all right," James said breathlessly. "Only it didn't work. If I turned into a shadow every time something hit me, I couldn't patrol." He stared up at the ceiling, which had mirrors on it. 

Dahlia sighed, shaking her head. "Boys." she murmured. She kneeled down next to James and brushed hair out of his eyes. She bent down and whispered, "Do you need an iratze ?" 

James shook his head, messing up his hair again. Dahlia smiled fondly and stood up.

She turned around to see Christopher reaching up to pull something down from the wall. Her eyes widened. "Christopher-? What are you do-" Dahlia never got to finish her sentence because an arrow shot past her head. One of the windows shattered, and Matthew threw himself against James. They tumbled to the floor again. 

Dahlia goggled at Christopher, who was clutching one of the bows that had been hanging on the wall.

"In case anyone was wondering if those were purely ornamental," said James, getting to his feet, "they are not."

"Thank you Sherlock Holmes." said Dahlia bitterly.

"In the name of a million bloody angels, Christopher, what the hell did you just do?" Matthew demanded, leaping up after James. "Did you try to kill James?"

Christopher lowered the bow. Dahlia thought she could hear noises in the Institute: doors slamming in the distance and running feet. Bloody hell.

"For the Angel's sake Christopher. Come here." Dahlia said, beyond the point of exasperation.

"I was not trying to kill James," said Christopher in an injured tone. "I was hoping the shock of the arrow flying past would startle him into the shadow realm. Pity it didn't work. We must think of a new plan to grievously alarm James at once."

"Christopher!" James exclaimed. "I cannot believe you would say that! I also cannot believe you would shoot at me."

Dahlia shot James a furious look. "I cannot believe you would even think Christopher would do that on purpose! He would never-" she said angrily, but Christopher interrupted her.

It had a seventy-two percent chance of working, in perfect laboratory conditions—"

"We are not in perfect laboratory conditions!" James shouted. "We are in the ballroom of my house!"

"For the sake of the Angel, will you two shut up?!?" Dahlia yelled. 

At that moment, the doors of the ballroom rattled. "What's going on?" It was Will's voice. "James, are you in there?"

"Bloody hell. My father," James said, casting about. "Look, all of you—get out through the windows. Well, the broken one anyway. I'll take the blame. I'll say I shot the window out."

"In the ballroom?" Thomas said practically. "Why would you do such a rattle-headed thing?"

"I'm capable of anything!" James made a grab for Christopher's bow; Christopher ran around behind Dahlia as if she were a maypole. "Come on, Kit, give it over—"

Thomas rolled his eyes. "He's going to say, 'Because I'm a Herondale,' isn't he?"

Dahlia snorted, "Probably."

The pounding on the door increased. James turned his fiercest glare on them. "I am a Herondale," he said. "And I am telling you to get out of my Institute so the only one who gets punished here is me."

"Answer me, James!" Will shouted. "Why have you blocked this door? I demand to know what's going on!"

"James isn't here!" Matthew called, moving closer to him. "Go away!"

James looked at Matthew, puzzled. "Really?"

"I heard breaking glass!" Will called.

"I was practicing fighting moves!" Matthew answered.

"In the ballroom?"

"We're trying to distract Thomas! It's been a very emotional day!" Matthew shouted back.

"What?"Will's voice was incredulous.

"Don't you blame this on me!" Thomas whispered.

"Dahlia too!" Matthew called at Dahlia's glare at Matthew.

"James." Matthew put his hands on James's shoulders and turned James toward him. "If you're going to do this, you need to do it now."

"I know," James said. "Math—help me."

It was an old nickname for Matthew, given to him by Will, after the Welsh king Math ap Mathonwy—the keeper of all wisdom and knower of all things. Will always said Matthew had been born knowing too much. There was a dark awareness in his gaze now as he leaned in toward James's ear.

"Jamie," he whispered. "I'm sorry to have to do this." He swallowed. Then Matthew whispered something to James which made James jerk back, Dahlia's face drained of color. Whatever Matthew had told James, it had to be bad. Bad enough for James to start fading at the edges. Matthew's face went white. 

"By the name of Raziel. Hurry Matthew." Dahlia whispered loudly. Matthew shot her an annoyed glance and looked at the doors which were beginning to crack open.

♕