♕

The next day proved bright and beautiful. Regent's Park seemed to shine in the late afternoon sunlight, from the York Gate to the green lawn stretching down to the lake. By the time Cordelia and Alastair arrived, the east bank was already crowded with young Shadowhunters. Colorful woven blankets of bright cerise and sky-blue cotton had been thrown over the grass, and little groups were seated around picnic hampers and crowded down by the lakeside.

Some of the younger set were floating miniature boats on the water, and the white sails of them made the lake look thick with swans. The older girls were in pastel day dresses or skirts with high-necked blouses, the young men in knit sweaters and plus fours. Some were decked out in mundane rowing gear—jackets and trousers in white linen, though white, for Shadowhunters, was traditionally the color of mourning and usually avoided.

Dahlia and Aridane were running late, again. This time there were no ducks but Ariadne had forgotten the picnic basket when they were half way to the Park.

The Bridgestocks were supposed to be early so they could reveal some thrilling news as Dahlia's parents had put it that morning, so the adults had set out leaving the two girls behind. Maurice Bridgestock as very displeased at their tardiness. 

The Inquisitor and his wife were sitting on a large lilac picnic blanket, Dahlia's father noticed the girls struggling through the crowd with a large basket and motioned for them to hurry.

As they rushed they passed Cordelia Carstairs and Anna Lightwood. Anna blew Dahlia a kiss as they passed, Dahlia smiled at Anna and looked nervously at her sister. Ariadne was looking anywhere but Anna.

"Sorry, let's go." Dahlia muttered softly. Ariadne walked fast, almost tripping. Dahlia ran up behind her sister, "Ari, are you okay?" she asked her softly, so their parents wouldn't hear them.

Before Ariadne could reply, their parents called out. "Dahlia! Ariadne!" yelled their mother. 

The settled the basket in the center of the blanket, Dahlia patted her sister's hand and looked at her father apologetically. "Sorry father we-"

"Oh never mind that, I have some wonderful news! Matthew, my boy, come out please!" he said, cheerfully. Dahlia stared at her father as if he had lost his mind. Matthew revealed himself from behind a tree.

Maurice stood up, holding his hand out for Dahlia. She hesitantly placed her hand in his and hauled herself up, now at eye level with Matthew. "Matthew follow me if you please." he said, walking in fast paces, Dahlia's hand still his, Dahlia struggling to catch up with his fast paced walking and Matthew walking next to him with infuriating ease.

There was a small Italian folly near the lake, complete with white pillars. That was where the Inquisitor led the two Shadowhunters.

"So I have spoken with the Consul, and she has agreed to this as well." he said, looking pointedly at Matthew, who was looking back at Maurice with lazy amusement. As usual.

"You two are to be married!" he said happily. Matthew's eyes flickered for a second, he glanced at Dahlia with a look that clearly meant: I told you so.

Dahlia sighed deeply and waved her hand discreetly at him. Matthew smiled slightly, "Oh that's wonderful! See, I have been courting Dahlia for a few months now." he said looking at Dahlia endearingly. Dahlia nearly gagged.

She forced a loving smile on her face, "Yes father, I am quiet in love." 

Matthew glanced at her, "In fact-" he started, dragging Dahlia to the center of the park.

Dahlia made a small sound of protest, but went with it her eyes half lidded with annoyance.

He turned around, "I'm going to try to make this memorable, do your part Bridgestock." 

Dahlia rolled her eyes, "Yeah, yeah get on with whatever your doing." 

"IF I MAY HAVE EVERYONE'S ATTENTION!" Matthew yelled, looking to the group of Shadowhunters. Everyone turned to look at Dahlia and Matthew, their voices dimming to a pleasant silence.

He dropped down on one knee in front of Dahlia. There was a collective soft gasp.

"Marry me Dahlia, marry me and be Dahlia Fairchild, or Dahlia Bridgestock. But marry me and make me the happiest man on Earth, bless me with your presence in my life forever." he said, his voice earnest. He looked at her with a calculated expression. Dahlia almost vomited, but she forced tears to stream down her face by looking at the sun briefly.

"Oh Matthew! Yes!" she said, her voice teary but happy. Matthew slipped her ring in her hand and lifted her up and kissed her. The was a huge round of whoops and claps.

His lips were soft against hers, he smelled of brandy and wheat.

Dahlia made a gasping sound, "Bloody hell Matthew. This was not in the job description." she hissed against his lips.

"Will you shut up? Everyone is looking at us." he hissed back.

He set her down gently on the grass with Dahlia glaring up at the blonde man, her lips tingling.

"Seriously Matthew?" she whispered softly. He rolled his eyes.

James and Cordelia who were near the folly, the one Matthew and Dahlia had been at merely a few minutes ago, stared at them. Matthew slipped his hand into Dahlia's and rushed her to a blanket where Thomas, Christopher, Anna and Lucie were settled.

Christopher looked upset, "Dahlia, you didn't tell me-" he started. Dahlia yanked her hand out of Matthew's and poked Matthew's chest.

"That was a bit much, Fairchild. Honestly, do you need a book on how to propose?? One does not simply just lift their fiancee in the air and kiss them you bloody bastard. Especially if it's fake." she scolded like a mother. Matthew rolled his eyes.

"What did you want me to do woman? Let all of London believe we were to have an arranged marriage??" he asked.

Dahlia stared at him annoyed for a moment and tore her gaze away from him.

"I suppose you had a reason, but still." she hissed, sitting next to Christopher and angrily eating a lemon tart.

"It's fake???" asked Christopher, bewildered. Dahlia placed her hand on Christopher's shoulder.

"Of course it is, Chris. You know how much I hate Matthew, I could never be courted by him. Much less fall in love with him. " she said. Anna tilted her head back. "Thank the Angel, for a second there I thought you forgot to enlighten me in a tiny detail." she said, her words obviously directed at Dahlia.

Dahlia sighed, "Like I would ever." 

Thomas placed a hand on his chest, "I was about to have a heart attack." he said.

Matthew laughed, "I apologize Tom." he said, sitting down.

"I see Cordelia is returning," said Anna. She was leaning back on her elbows, the sunshine bright on her dark hair. "But without James. Interesting."

Cordelia was indeed making her way back toward them, stepping carefully between the brightly colored picnic blankets. She sank down beside Lucie, fanning herself with her straw bonnet. She was wearing another ghastly pastel dress.

"Did James get what he deserved?" Lucie asked.  

"Did you keelhaul him?" asked Dahlia, eagerly.

Cordelia's smile was bright. "He is thoroughly abashed, I assure you. But we are good friends again."

"Where is he, then?" Thomas inquired. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and Dahlia could just glimpse the edge of the colored ink design on his left forearm. It was unusual for Shadowhunters to get tattoos, as their skin was so often Marked by runes, but Thomas had done just that in Spain. "Did you bury his body in the park somewhere?"

"He went to speak to Grace Blackthorn," said Cordelia, selecting a bottle of lemonade.

 "I didn't realize she was here." Christopher helped himself to a sixth lemon tart.

"She is," Matthew said, "Apparently, Charles promised last night to bring her here in our carriage. We had to detour out to Chiswick to fetch her."

"Did you get a look at Lightwood—at Chiswick House?" asked Thomas. "I hear it's in utter disrepair."

Matthew shook his head. "Grace was waiting for us at the front gates when we arrived. I did think it a bit odd."

Chiswick House had once belonged to Benedict Lightwood and was meant to pass to his sons, Gabriel and Gideon. Everything changed after Benedict's disgrace, and in the end the newly named Chiswick House had been given to Tatiana, even though she had married a Blackthorn.

Tatiana had famously let the place fall to pieces—perhaps because after Jesse had died, she had not felt there was anyone of Blackthorn blood to whom the house could be left. Grace was Tatiana's adopted ward, not her daughter by blood. When Tatiana died, the house would pass back into the hands of the Clave, who might even return it to the Lightwoods. Tatiana would probably rather burn it down than have that happen.

Lucie shivered and glanced down toward the lake, Dhalia followed her gaze. Everything was comfortingly ordinary—Charles and Ariadne chatting with Barbara and Oliver; Alastair skipping stones across the lake with Augustus Pounceby. Rosamund and Piers Wentworth looking smug about something. Catherine Townsend sailing a small boat with remarkable skill.

She heard Cordelia, beside her, murmur to her about how it seemed as if it might rain. A few dark clouds scudded across the sky, casting shadows across the silvery surface of the water. She caught her breath. She was imagining things, surely—the reflections of the clouds could not be getting thicker, and darker.

"Cordelia," Dahlia whispered. "Do you have Cortana?"

Cordelia looked puzzled. "Yes, of course. Under the blanket."

"Reach for it." Dahlia rose to her feet. Dahlia was aware of  aware of Cordelia drawing her shining gold blade without another question. She was about to call out when the lake water burst apart as a demon broke the surface.

♕

Dahlia's first thoughts were Christopher. She needed her Seraph blade, she had handed Christopher her's and an extra for him earlier at the institute in the morning. She wasn't sure Christopher still had it, she rushed up and out stretched her hand to Christopher.

"Chris, darling, my Seraph blade." she said urgently. Christopher searched his coat pockets and handed her one. She hauled his up to his feet as Cordelia unsheathed Cortana, the demon had sprung from the water and directly onto Piers Wentworth. He went down with a howl of pain, kicking and thrashing.

Dahlia winced, Rosamund wouldn't be to happy about that.

There was instantly a melee. Shadowhunters were screaming—some had leaped for Piers, including Alastair and Rosamund, and were trying to peel the creature from his body. Charles had shoved Ariadne behind him—she looked exasperated—and was shouting for everyone to get away from the lake. Barbara was screaming, words that sounded like "What is it? What is it?"

Dahlia was about to impale Charles. 

Then she realized Piers might as well be dead by now, her eyes widened. She raced toward the shore. She could see Alastair's bright hair among the scrum of people. As she neared them, she saw Piers lying motionless by the water's edge: the rim of the water was scarlet, and more scarlet was billowing into the lake. Rosamund was on her knees beside him, screaming. The demon had vanished, though Cordelia had not seen anyone kill it.

Alastair had backed away from Piers; Ariadne was on her knees next to the fallen boy, her dress in the blood and sand. 

Dahlia fell down next to her sister, "Is he okay, Ria?" she whispered hurridly staring at the boy's pale face.

"I don't know Dahl, he's breathing but....well he's motionless." she whispered, gravelly. Dahlia covered her mouth with her hand.

"Oh, poor Piers, Rosamund- they were talking to happily and Piers was- Oh my." Dahlia rambled in despair.

Ariadne patted her younger sister's hand. "I need you to make sure everyone else is okay Lia." 

Dahlia nodded quickly, looking around wildly.

Shadowhunters were running everywhere, knocking over hampers and trampling picnic food underfoot.  She could hear Cordelia whispering to her brother; "What happened, Alastair? What was it?"

She stood up and pushed her way out of the crowd, she looked around for any injured person, or even anyone that had fainted or been trampled in the midst of the chaos.

The sky had darkened, stained everywhere with clouds: in the distance she could see mundanes hurrying away from the park, wary of approaching rain. The water of the lake had turned from silver to gray, rippled with strong wind. A small crowd had formed at the lake's edge. The picnic had been abandoned: bottles and hampers had been kicked over, and everywhere Shadowhunters were seizing up weapons. Dahlia caught sight of Matthew and Lucie among the throng: Matthew was handing Lucie an unlit seraph blade from his own belt.

Anna and Thomas broke through to Dahlia. "What-Is Piers-?" Thomas stuttered. Dahlia shook her head, "Ari says he is in a state of.....well I don't know really. She's over there." Dahlia said pointing to the center of the crowd.

Thomas and Anna dropped on their knees beside Ariadne, Thomas tore off his jacket and pressed it against Piers's throat, there was so much blood. So, so, so much blood.

Dahlia closed her eyes briefly, to block any tears from escaping. She was a weapon of the Clave; weapons don't weep.

The wind was rising, skirling the leaves on the ground into minor cyclones. 

The park was a gray landscape through which the wind rushed: the lake was black, and the boats on it twisted and sagged strangely. Clouds the color of bruises scudded across a steel-colored sky. The only brightness he could see was a clear golden light in the distance, but it was trapped among the crowd of Nephilim like a firefly trapped in a jar; she couldn't identify what it was.

The boughs of the trees whipped back and forth in the rising wind. They were full of shapes—ragged and black. Clawed shadows torn from a greater darkness. How many, Dahlia couldn't tell. Dozens, at least.

Springing down from the trees, the demons rushed at them. 

The demons raced like hellhounds across the grass, leaping and surging, utterly silent. Their skin was rough and corrugated, the color of onyx; their eyes flaming black. They tore through the park under the dark, cloud-blackened sky.

Dahlia called out for Ariadne. Ariadne's head whipped up at the sound of her sister's voice, then her face morphed into horror at something behind Dahlia. 

Dahlia whirled around to be face-to-face with a demon.

"Micheal!" She yelled, the low gleam of the blade became a bonfire. There was a sudden riot of illumination as seraph blades blazed up everywhere; Dahlia could hear the names of angels being called, but the Shadowhunters' voices were slow with astonishment. It had been a long time of relative peace, and no one expected demonic activity during the day.

Yet it was here. The demons surged like a wave and crashed down upon the Nephilim.

 Two demons with feral, doglike faces flung themselves at Charles and Ariadne; he stepped in front of her and was knocked aside. Dahlia heard someone call out Charles's name: a moment later the second demon was upon Ariadne. Its jaws closed on her shoulder and it began to drag her body across the grass as she kicked and struggled.

Dahlia screamed, her face the same color as the clouds above.

"ANNA!" she yelled, slicing through the shadow that was looming above her.  Ichor spilled, and she nearly stumbled. She whirled to see that Anna had raced to Ariadne's side, a long silver dagger in her hand. She plunged it into the attacking demon's back, and it vanished in a spray of ichor.

More demons surged forward. Anna cast a helpless look at Ariadne lying in the bloodstained grass and turned back with a cry; she was soon joined by others—Thomas, his bolas sailing through the air, and Barbara and Lucie, armed with seraph blades.

Ariadne, her sister, the only other person other than Christopher she would give her life for. She heaved a pained gasp.

Dahlia saw Christopher rushing to her side, with a lit Seraph blade.

"Dahlia." he said, his eyes held all the sympathy in the world. Dahlia was sure what she felt now was shock, later she would break down. Not here. If she survived. Dahlia shook her head, and opened her mouth the say something before there was another scream.

It was Rosamund Wentworth, who had refused to move from her brother's side. She crouched over his bleeding body as a demon snapped its jaws at her.

James raced toward her across the grass, seraph blade blazing at his side. He sprang into the air, landed on the demon's back, and thrust his seraph blade into its neck. Ichor spilled as the demon vanished. Dahlia saw him spin around, his eyes searching the grass and finding Matthew. Matthew, who had a curved blade in his hand, stood by Lucie, as if he meant to drive off any demon who came near her. 

Suddenly it was very clear to Dahlia who owned Matthew's heart. 

Blood rushed to her ears, there was another scream. It was Barbara Lightwood. Sweet Barbara who had made her tea in the dead of night when Dahlia was upset, her closest friend.

One of the shadow demons pounced, slamming Oliver to the ground and closing its jaws around Barbara's leg. She cried out in agony and collapsed.

A second later Dahlia was there; she flung herself at the creature on top of Barbara, knocking it to the side. They rolled over and over, the Shadowhunter and the demon, as screams tore through the crowd of assembled Shadowhunters.

She kicked it away, her dress ripping. She threw a dagger from her belt, it sank into the demon's side; spitting and hissing, the demon vanished.

And there was silence.

Dahlia didn't know if the demons had been defeated, or if they had scurried away in retreat or victory. Perhaps they had done all they had meant to do in the way of damage. There was no way of knowing. Frozen in shock, battered and bloody, the group of Shadowhunters who had come to Regent's Park for an afternoon picnic stared at each other across the bloody grass.

The picnic area was in shreds: patches of grass burned with ichor, hampers and blankets scattered and destroyed. But none of that mattered. What mattered were the three still figures that lay in the grass, unmoving. Piers Wentworth, his shirt drenched in blood, his sister sobbing at his side. Barbara Lightwood, being lifted into Thomas's arms—Oliver had his stele out and was drawing healing rune after healing rune on her dangling arm. And Ariadne, crumpled in a heap, her pink dress stained with red. Charles knelt with her, but her head was in Anna's lap. Dark blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

The demons might have gone, but they had left devastation behind.

♕