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Dahlia could only stare.

Lilith. The First of All Demons, the mother of warlocks. She was beautiful as a work of art might be beautiful, her face a study in sculpture and symmetry, her hair a cloud that moved of its own accord despite the lack of wind.

"Of course I am here," she said. Her gaze had flicked over James, Cordelia and Dahlia and rested now on Belial. "When you cast me from my realm, Prince of Hell, I came to this world. Beliya'al, liar, ruin-lover, I could not believe you would have broken the trust of millennia—would have tried to take from me the land granted to me by Heaven itself." 

"Heaven," Belial sneered. "Heaven has no place in Edom, and no use for you, Lilitu." 

"I wandered the voids between the worlds," Lilith said. "And how the infernal realms were abuzz with the news that Belial had been brought low by his grandson, who could see the shadow realms. How the lower demons chattered that you had been wounded, truly wounded, by the blade Cortana. I realized then that your obsession with this world was an obsession with your own bloodline. That you had managed to sire grandchildren who combine your blood with the blood of Nephilim—and you would never leave that alone." 

"Spoken like the barren creature you are," sneered Belial. "Your loins bring forth only monsters, thus you must batten on my offspring, Lady of Owls?"

Lilith curled her lip. "So what has prevented you from seizing your grandson and forcing him to your will? Cortana. You fear Cortana like you fear nothing and no one else. It bears within it a feather of the archangel Michael, who cast you down into the Pit. And the bearer of Cortana is the bride of your grandson. This world is rich in irony indeed."

Belial spat. "Scorn me as you will, Lilith; you cannot touch me. You swore the oath, and Hell's Oath binds you. You cannot harm a Prince of Hell."

"Indeed, I cannot harm you," said Lilith. "But my paladin can." 

"Paladin," Belial breathed. He turned to look at Cordelia and Dahlia, his expression half fury, half amusement. "That explains it. You are Nephilim, not an archangel. I should have been able to defeat you." 

 "Me?" Cordelia said. "No—I am not her paladin—"

"Foolish child," said Lilith. "You are mine. And while Belial, in his newform, might have been able to defeat a bearer of Cortana, he cannot defeat one who is my paladin."

"That is a lie. I swore fealty to Wayland the Smith—" 

"You swore fealty to me," said Lilith. Shadow passed across her, and she changed: a tall man, burly, with close-cropped hair, now stood on the frozen grass where Lilith had been. He wore a bronze torque, and blue fire burned in its center 

Dahlia tried to recall when she or anyone had told her they had seen Wayland the Smith. Her mind came up blank. It was at times like this Dahlia wished she had used her precision rune.

Something else flashed across her mind. A bronze torque with a blue jewel. A blue necklace. Sapphire earrings. A ring with a blue stone. The same jewels. The same color. 

Wayland-Lilith smiled. "Do you not remember the oath you swore me?"

"No," Cordelia whispered. Her voice was the defenition of pure horror.

Lilith was herself once more, the blue stones burning softly at her throat. She turned her serpent gaze on Cordelia.

"I am the Queen of Demons," she said. "In the shape of a Nephilim woman, I touched the hilt of your sword, causing it to burn you from that moment on. As a faerie, I came to you at the Hell Ruelle to tell you of the smith who might mend it. As Wayland himself, I took your oath as my own, made you my paladin, and removed my curse from your blade. As Magnus Bane, I brought you close to Edom. As myself, I sent the Hauras and Naga demons to entice you into battle, to show you what a paladin could do. I choreographed each decision you made, each step you took." There was pity in her voice. "Do not blame yourself. You are but mortals. You could never have known." 

Belial was looking directly at Dahlia now. His sharp green eye seemed to cut through her. They were not to soft, innocent, green eyes Matthew had, they was cold and cunning.

His eyes seemed accusing. Dahlia simply could not understand why. 

Lilith said, "I cannot harm you directly, Belial, it is true. I am not an oath breaker. But as a woman I am well accustomed to using methods other than brute force. With a paladin and Cortana at my disposal, the oath cannot stop me. When I learned that you'd recruited your stupidest brother to invade this world, I knew you must be desperate, and that your confrontation with my paladin would happen soon. And here we are." She spread her hands out, smiling a sideways catlike smile. 

"What do you want, Lilith?" Belial demanded.

 "Edom," said Lilith. "Return my realm to me and I will remove my protection and power from Cordelia. You can slay her and end this business as you see fit. I wish only my kingdom back." 

"You would try to force me?" Belial demanded. His eyes were green fire. "You would try to make demands of me, you who never learned obedience? Who were cast out because of it?"

"I may have been cast out," said Lilith. "But I did not fall."

"You will never best me." Belial raised his blade, and for a moment, he seemed to be Jesse—a young Nephilim warrior with a shining sword, gleaming in the sunlight. "Send your paladin against me. I shall give her back to you in pieces, and your realm in ruins!"

"Cordelia," Lilith said, her voice a low flame. "Take up your sword. Kill Belial." 

"No." Cordelia said, yanking her hand from James. Dahlia had barely noticed James edge near Cordelia.

Something silver flashed past Dahlia; James had hurled a throwing knife. It shot toward Lilith, who raised a slim white hand and caught the knife by the blade. 

James swore. Dahlia could not look to see Lilith's reaction: she was walking toward Belial, who stood smirking, his blade gripped in his hand.

"Kill him," Lilith hissed.

 Cordelia flung herself at Belial. Dahlia watched helplessly as blades clashed and grinded against each other.

Lilith scream in rage as the Blackthorn sword nearly swept Cordelia off her feet, and suddenly she was spinning back, heedless of the danger, her sword whirling in her grasp— 

James cried out. There was a flash of movement as something darted between Cordelia and Belial, arms outstretched wide to protect him. 

Not something, Dahlia realized. Someone. 

Lucie.

But Cortana was already moving, ripping a path through the air that would cut Lucie apart.

 Cordelia wrenched her body sideways, obviously against Lilith's will. Her sword thrust went wide as she staggered, collapsing to her knees before pushing herself immediately upright again. She turned back toward Lucie, pain evident in her eyes. Lucie's eyes were huge, pleading with Cordelia: Daisy, don't do it. Daisy, no. 

"Lucie!" James called, starting toward his sister. "Lucie, get out of the way!"

Lucie shook her head wildly. She looked impossibly small and fragile, her arms flung wide, shielding Belial. "I know why you want to hurt him," she said. "But you can't—I summoned Emmanuel Gast, he told me everything—Jesse is innocent—"

"There is no Jesse," James said, coming closer. "That's his body. What animates it is Belial. Jesse Blackthorn is dead, Lucie."

"No," Lucie said, "he isn't dead, not the way you think. He can be saved, he can be brought back—"

Belial chuckled. "I must say, this is very entertaining."

 Lucie looked at Cordelia, wide-eyed and beseeching. "Daisy, listen to me—" 

"No." Lilith's voice was low, throaty. "Listen to me, paladin. Rise and strike down Belial. If Lucie Herondale stands in your way, kill her, too."

Cordelia took a lurching step forward. Blood dripped down her chin. "Lucie," she gasped. "You have to get out of the way."

"I won't," Lucie said defiantly. "Daisy, I know you wouldn't hurt me."

To Dahlia it seemed that Cordelia wouldn't hurt Lucie, but this wasn't Daisy, this was Cordelia controlled by Lilith. Only the Angel knew what she would do.

"Lucie, please, for the love of the Angel, get out of the way—"  Dahlia started.

Belial snarled something in a language Dahlia had never heard; his freehand went to his belt, pulling the Colt pistol free. He aimed it at Lilith, his upper lip curled back, and pulled the trigger. 

The hammer came down with a dry click.

 Lilith laughed. "A gun?" she said. "Beliya'al, have you become foolish, demented in your old age? You, who brought nations into darkness? Shall I finally be able to tell the infernal realms you have gone mad, lost even the image of the Creator?"

"Grandfather!" James shouted. He flung a hand in the air. Belial, who had been glaring at Lilith, looked at him in astonishment. James stood straight as an arrow, his golden eyes blazing, his hand outstretched. He threw back his head and cried out, "I have come to bring fire on the earth!"

"Kill them!" Lilith shouted, her black hair whipping about her face, her serpent eyes darting. "Paladin, now! Kill them both!" 

Cordelia's hand jerked forward savagely.

 She raised Cortana. Tears mixing with the blood on her face. "Lucie, Lucie, please—"

Belial took a step back—and flung the Colt revolver to James.

James pivoted. The gun seemed an extension of his own body as he sighted along his arm, aimed at Lilith—and pulled the trigger. The gunshot was loud as a cannon in the still air. 

The bullet punched into Lilith with a force that lifted her from her feet. With a howl, she burst apart, scattering into a dozen black owls; they took to the air, circling and screeching. 

Cordelia crumpled to her knees, clutching Cortana. She gasped, breath sawing in and out of her lungs.

The owls rose overhead, their awful screeches echoing in Dahlia's mind.

The screeching faded. The air smelled of cordite and blood, and someone was laughing.

Belial was chortling as if immensely amused, the Blackthorn sword dancing in his hand. "James, James," he said. "Do you see what we can accomplish if we work together? You have banished the Mother of Demons!" 

"She's not dead," James said flatly. 

"No, but gone and weakened," said Belial cheerfully. "Are you ready to fight again, Carstairs? For I think you will find it quite a different experience to battle me without the power of Lilith to protect you." 

Shaking his head, James pointed the gun at Belial. "Let her alone," he said, sounding exhausted. "Go from this place. I will not try to follow."

Belial snorted. "You know you cannot harm me with that. I am not Lilith; I have no weakness where the Three Angels are concerned. Besides," he added with a twisted grin, "your sister does not want me hurt." 

Dahlia looked at Belial furiously.

"My sister doesn't understand what you are." James gestured with the muzzle of the gun. "Lucie. Move out of the way." 

"No." Lucie set her jaw stubbornly. "James. Jesse is still there, part of this body. He's inside. James, he saved your life. In Highgate Cemetery. You were dying, and he gave me this locket"—she touched her throat—"because it had his last breath inside it. He gave it to me to save you." 

The way she spoke about him, with affection and fierceness, the same way Will spoke of Tessa. It hit Dahlia like a bolt of lightning. Lucie was in love with Jesse Blackthorn.

"His last breath." James was still pointing the gun at Belial, his aim unwavering, but he spoke the words as if they had some puzzling, unknown meaning for him. "I saw him—"

"Enough. You dull, disobedient children," said Belial. "Shoot me if you like, James; it will make no difference. Nor can the paladin protect you now." He lifted the Blackthorn sword, moving easily, lightly, with no sign of weariness. "I shall cut down your wife, your sister-in-law and your sister as easily as scything grass." 

"No," James said raggedly.

"You know what choice you have to make." Belial took a step toward James, shoving Lucie out of the way; she stumbled aside. "You know what you must give up. Your family, the Institute, all depends on you."

Lucie's eyes widened. "James? What does he mean?" She turned to Belial. "Jesse," she said. "Don't do this—I know you're inside there, I know you don't want this—" 

"Be quiet," Belial snapped. "You, girl, do not matter. Your little talent with ghosts does not matter. When I heard you were born, I wept tears of fire, for you were female, and you could not see the shadow realms. You are useless, do you understand? Useless to me, to the world."

"Arsehole." Dahlia muttered under breath.

But Lucie—slight and small, without a weapon in her hand—only looked at him steadily. "Talk all you want," she said. "You certainly don't matter. Only Jesse matters." She held out her hands. "Jesse," she said. "Be yourself and only yourself. Cast Belial from your body." 

 Belial burst into laughter. "Oh, granddaughter, that is adorable. But I am not so easily gotten rid of."

"Jesse." Lucie whispered. Dahlia sucked in a breath. "Jesse, I know you told me never to command you unless you asked me to. But this is different. A terrible thing was done to you." Lucie's voice shook. "You have never had any choice. But you can choose now. To trust me. To come to me. Please, Jesse."

"Ugh." Belial looked faintly nauseated. "This is quite enough." 

"Jesse Blackthorn. I command you," Lucie said, her voice rising, "to cast Belial from your body. Be yourself."

"I said enough," Belial roared, and then his body jerked, the Blackthorn sword flying from his hand as he doubled over. He fell to one knee, his head thrown back. His mouth and eyes flew open, stretching impossibly wide.

Cordelia staggered to her feet, lifting Cortana.

"Not yet!" Lucie cried. "Daisy, wait—" 

Belial spasmed. Dark light burst from his eyes, his mouth: a flood of blackness, pouring into the air like smoke. He turned, twisted, like a bug impaled on a metal spike. His body bent back, an impossible, awful curve, his shoulders nearly touching the ground as his hands flailed, reaching out to catch at nothing.

 "Deus meus!" Belial screamed, and Cordelia understood: he was calling out for his Maker, the Creator he had rejected thousands of years ago."Deus meus respice me quare me dereliquisti longe a salute mea verbadelictorum meorum—"

There was the sound of a great tearing. The shadow that poured from Belial's eyes began to coalesce, a shower of darkness that swirled and turned in the air. Jesse's body crumpled to the ground, going limp as the animating force of Belial's spirit left it.

Lucie dropped to her knees next to Jesse, her hands on his chest. She made a little broken keening sound. Dahlia wanted to run to Lucie, but she stood still, Caliburn clenched in her hand.

Above Jesse's body hovered Belial.

Though it was not quite Belial. He was form and shape, but no substance—translucent as colored air. Dahlia could see through him: he wore a robe of white samite, edged with graphic black runes, jagged as lightning bolts. Behind him, she could see the shadow, the suggestion of wings: great, black, ragged wings, their edges as serrated as knives. 

 Darkness leaked from a slit in the material over his chest: the still bleeding wound she had given him in the shadow realm. Malevolent eyes gazed from a face of thunder, fixed on Lucie with loathing. "Oh," he said, and his voice sounded different now that it was no longer emerging from Jesse Blackthorn's throat—darker, and freighted with the promise of a terrible threat, "how you do not know what you have done."

"Leave us," said James. He had come close to where Lucie and Cordelia were on the path. His eyes were blazing; his hand with the gun in it hung a this side. "This is over."

"This is no end," said Belial, "but a beginning you cannot even imagine. "His voice rose, raggedly; it was like listening to the crackle of a fire burning out of control. "'For I will set my face against you so that you will be struck down before your enemies; and those who hate you will rule over you, and you will flee when no one is pursuing you. If also after these things you do not obey me, then I will punish you seven times more for your sins. I will break down your pride of power; I will make your sky like iron and your earth like bronze—'" 

Cordelia charged at Belial.

She staggered back, despair clutching at Dahlia's heart. If Cortana could no longer harm him—if there was no substance of him she could strike at— 

"Daisy!" Lucie cried. "Be careful!"

 "Indeed, be careful," Belial sneered, drifting closer to her. There was a stench in the air around him, like old rubbish burning. "Little stupid child, little helpless human. You know where your power comes from now—from Lilith. Not from good as you thought, but from evil. She is off now licking her wounds, but she will return, and she owns you. Anytime you draw a weapon, she will be summoned. You will never escape her." 

Cordelia cried out. She raised Cortana again.

 James was there, throwing an arm around her from behind. He seemed heedless of Cortana as he drew her back against him. He whispered something in her ear. Then they became shadows, except Cortana. It shone golden and true.

 Cordelia leaned forward—James's arm still around her—and plunged the blade into his chest, directly below a wound. 

Belial twisted, impaled on Cordelia's blade as a darker shadow—blood? essence?—spilled from the new wound; head thrown back, he shrieked soundlessly at the sky. 

And the sky answered. Briefly, the world seemed to yawn apart—the clouds parted like tearing fabric, and Dahlia saw past them to a vast plain of darkness, starless and infinite. Out in that darkness swirled the great horrors of the voids between worlds, the emptiness where evil grew hungry and intemperate, where the Princes of Hell stalked in all their power, the cold rulers of nothingness. 

Belial stretched up toward that nothingness, reaching out his hands. Cordelia jerked Cortana free—for a moment.

Belial seemed to look at Dahlia and Cordelia, his face a mask of ferocious hatred—and then it was as if he was seized, and carried up into the outer darkness. There was a flash of whiteness, the ragged flapping of wings—and he was gone.

Slowly, James let go of Cordelia.

Color came back to the world, color and sound: Dahlia could hear birds again, the sound of wind in trees, distant voices. She could hear Lucie, whispering words of farewell.

Dahlia opened her hand, releasing Cortana. It fell to the ground, striking the earth with a sound like a tolling bell. She spun around, looking for a head of golden hair.

"James!" called a puzzled voice, Dahlia's eyes flew to Matthew who was waving from beside the bronze statue. He looked utterly baffled; he was kneeling beside Charles, who was sitting up with his back against the side of the fountain. Charles looked pale, his hand to his chest, but seemed very much alive.

"James!" Matthew called again, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting. "What on earth is going on?"

The four of them—Lucie, Dahlia, James, and Cordelia—bolted back across the park toward the Fairchild brothers. James fell to his knees beside Matthew, who still had his stele in one hand. His other hand rested on Charles's shoulder. 

It was quickly clear that Charles and Matthew had been frozen the moment Belial had entered the park; no time had passed for them at all. As far as Matthew was concerned, he'd looked up between one moment and the next to find James and Cordelia standing at the other end of the park with Lucie, who seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

"Charles? What on earth?" Lucie gasped; she was already white as a sheet, and the sight of Charles bleeding on the ground didn't seem to be helping. "I don't understand—" 

"Neither do I," said Matthew grimly, drawing two more healing runes on Charles's bare forearm. Charles seemed only half-conscious, his eyelids drooping, his shirtfront wet with blood. "We need to get Charles to the Institute—they can summon the Silent Brothers—" 

James shook his head. "Not the Institute. It won't be safe." Matthew's forehead creased in confusion. "Why wouldn't it be safe?"

James explained, as quickly as he could, what had happened. It  seemed to have taken no time at all: already the events were ablur of motion, shock, and blood. 

 Charles was resting against his brother, breathing harshly but steadily. Lucie said, "I don't understand. Why would Lilith—Lilith, the Queen of Demons—think that Cordelia was her paladin?"

 "Because I am." Cordelia was sitting on the edge of the fountain.

She had placed Cortana back in its scabbard. Her posture was rigid—she looked like someone who'd been dealt an awful blow and was tensed for another. "I swore fealty to someone I thought was Wayland the Smith." Dahlia saw Matthew's expression change; he looked down, suddenly, at the ground.

Dahlia was on her knees in front of him in a second, "Math, angel, look at me my love." she whispered, cupping his face with her bloody hands.

He looked at her with stricken green eyes. "Nothing, is your fault. Okay? Nothing." she murmured.

"But it was Lilith, disguised. I was foolish to assume Wayland the Smith would want me as a paladin. It was a trick." Cordelia was saying.

"We were all tricked, Daisy," said Lucie. "We all believed it was Magnus Bane we spoke to at the Shadow Market. You were not foolish."

"I was arrogant," Cordelia said. "If it had not been for James—and for you, Lucie—this might all have ended in more disaster."

"That is not true," said James intently. "You are the one who delivered the second blow to Belial—without you, I could never—" 

"Don't go." The voice was a hoarse whisper. Dahlia froze; it was Charles. His eyelids fluttered, though he seemed barely conscious still. His head moved restlessly from side to side, his bare hand clawing at the ground. Matthew laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, guilt and worry etched on his face, just as Charles said, very clearly, "Alastair. Don't leave." 

 They all stared at each other in astonishment—all except Cordelia and Dahlia. Dahlia went rigged.

Matthew blinked. "He's hallucinating," he said gruffly. "He needs another blood-replacement rune—"

"I'll do it," Dahlia said, and was in the process of following through when Lucie cried out and leaped to her feet, pointing toward the main entrance of the park. Riding toward them through the gates, on a brown bay horse with a white star on its nose, was Malcolm Fade, High Warlock of London.

Catching sight of them, he dismounted from his horse and strode over. Dahlia, feeling she had lost the ability to be shocked or surprised by anything, finished the blood-replacement rune and rose to her feet. "Mr. Fade," James said as Malcolm approached. "What are you doing here?" 

"Just happened by," said Malcolm, crouching down to peer into Charles's face. He put a gloved hand under Charles's chin and muttered a few words in a low voice. There was a spark of dark purple flame, and Charles jolted, blinking around as if he'd just woken up.

Matthew stared. "Is he—all right now?"

"He ought to see one of your Silent Brothers," said Malcolm. "But he's better, certainly. Whoever he is." He squinted. "Is that the Consul's son?" 

"Warlocks never just 'happen by,'" James said. "Not that we don't appreciate your help—" 

For some reason Malcolm looked sharply at Lucie. She stared back at him, her expression hard for Dahlia to read. At last Malcolm straightened up. "The gate between worlds has closed," he said gruffly. "Leviathan has been forced out." 

James sprang to his feet. "The attack on the Institute—it's over?" 

Malcolm confirmed that the Institute had been attacked, the attacker had been a single monster: the Prince of Hell, Leviathan, who had slipped through a door, a gap between dimensions. "There were a few injuries, and quite a bit of property damage—but your people were very lucky, in fact. The Portal connecting Leviathan to Earth was very small, only about the size of the Institute courtyard." 

"That doesn't seem small," said Cordelia. 

Malcolm smiled thinly. "For Leviathan, it was as if you wished to enter your house through a mousehole. He could only poke a few of his lesser tendrils through." 

"Those were his lesser tendrils?" James said. He pushed his hair back out of his face; there were bloodstains on his hands. "It's because the sigil wasn't completed. Because Charles didn't die."

"I'm feeling much better," said Charles, though James would not have described him as looking much better. He was still quite pale, his lips bluish. There was only so much quick spells and blood-replacement runes could do. He squinted at Malcolm. "Are you the High Warlock?" he said. "I'm delighted to make your acquaintance at last. I'm Charles Fairchild—you might know my mother, the Consul."

"Charles," Matthew muttered through clenched teeth. "You've just been stabbed."

 Charles was undeterred. "I regret, of course, that we didn't meet under more auspicious circumstances—" 

Dahlia could only sigh.

"Save your strength," Malcolm said, rather curtly. "You'll never get your political career off the ground if you die of your wounds today." He turned to James. "This talk of a sigil is very interesting, but I can keep mundanes out of this garden for only so long. There is a school here, and a church; fairly soon there will begin to be a commotion. I suggest we return to the Institute."

"Not without Jesse," said Lucie. "He fought back, he—" She broke off, looking at Malcolm. "He ought to have the Shadowhunter funeral his mother denied him years ago." She turned to Matthew. "Math, could we borrow your ridiculous overcoat? To wrap Jesse in?"

Matthew looked both sympathetic and slightly vexed as he shucked off the coat. "Yes," he said, "but it isn't ridiculous."

 "It isn't nearly your most ridiculous overcoat," Dahlia allowed. "But it is also far from your least."

Muttering, Matthew rose and handed the overcoat to Lucie. James and Matthew maneuvered Charles to his feet, draping his arm over Matthew's shoulder. The group made their way the short distance across the park to where Jesse's body lay, the Blackthorn sword fallen nearby.

Lucie knelt down and, with her fingertips, closed his eyes gently. She laid the sword on his chest and folded his arms over it, tucking his hands over the hilt. 

"Ave atque vale, Jesse Blackthorn," said James. 

Flame sparked from Malcolm's fingers as he began to open a Portal through to the Institute. James wrapped Jesse's body in Matthew's medium ridiculous overcoat, and Malcolm scooped him up as though he weighed no more than a child. Matthew and Charles approached, slowly; Charles was walking under his own power, although leaning heavily on Matthew. Dahlia was helping Matthew support Charles, much to her disdain, but the bastard had been stabbed. Cordelia had taken hold of Lucie's hand, and she held it tightly as—without a glance back—Malcolm went through the Portal carrying Jesse.

The rest of them followed.

♕