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How hopeless under ground
Falls the remorseful day.
—A. E. Housman, “How Clear, How Lovely Bright”
Cordelia ran.
She ran through the ice-blasted streets, under a red sky streaked with black and gray. The cold air froze her lungs, and she could hear her own breath whistling, the only sound in the noiseless maze of streets around the Institute.
Though she knew they shouldn’t be noiseless. London never truly went to sleep; there were always late-night wanderers and barrow boys, policemen and lamplighters. But the streets were utterly empty, as if London had been scraped clean of its people.
Cordelia ran, deeper into the tangle of side streets between the Institute and the river. She ran with no clear plan, only the knowledge that Grace could not possibly face down her mother on her own. That she would certainly be killed. That perhaps Cordelia shouldn’t care, but she did. Christopher’s words echoed in her ears: If we don’t do that, if we are consumed by the need to pay Grace back for what she has done, then how are we any different from Tatiana?
And then there was Tatiana. She couldn’t get away. Not again.
Cordelia ran, and her hair came out of its bindings and flew out behind her like a banner. She turned a corner, nearly skidding on the icy street, and found herself in a cul-de-sac where a short paved lane ended abruptly in a wall. Grace and Tatiana were both there—Grace, a knife in her shaking hand, seemed to have trapped her mother, like a hound trapping a fox. And like a fox, Tatiana bared her teeth, her back against the wall. Her white hair was a startling contrast to the red brick behind her.
“Are you going to attack me, girl?” she said to Grace; if she noticed Cordelia, she gave no indication. “You think I didn’t know about your little training sessions with Jesse?” She laughed. “Were you the finest of all the Nephilim, you could not touch me. Belial would strike you down.”
Grace shivered—she was still barefoot, still in only a light dress—but did not lower her knife. “You are deluding yourself, Mother,” she said. “Belial cares nothing for you.”
“It is you who care nothing for me,” snapped Tatiana, “after all I have done for you, after every advantage I gave you: the clothes, the jewelry, after I trained you in proper manners, after I gave you the power to bring any man to heel—”
“You made me cold and hard,” Grace said. “You taught me there was no love in this world, only power and selfishness. You closed my heart. You made me what I am, Mother, your blade. Do not now complain if that blade is turned on you.”
“Weak.” Tatiana’s eyes glowed luminous in the ugly light. “You have always been weak. You could not even peel James Herondale away from her.”
Grace started, and turned; it was clear she had not realized Cordelia was there until that moment. Cordelia flung her hands up. “Keep the blade trained on her, Grace,” she said. “We must bind her hands, get her back to the Institute—”
Grace nodded determinedly. She kept the blade level, as Cordelia moved forward, already thinking about how she could secure Tatiana: if she caught her arms behind her back, she could march her forward—
But as she approached, Tatiana, with the speed of a striking snake, lunged for her with a pearl-handled blade—the twin of the one she had thrown at Christopher. Cordelia ducked out of the way, knocking into Grace, who dropped her knife. It rolled into the middle of the street, the metal blade striking sparks off the cobblestones.
Cordelia stared at it, her heart beating fast. There was nothing for it. And perhaps, in some dark corner of her heart, she wanted what she knew would come next if she touched the weapon at her feet.
“Run, Grace,” she said in a low voice, and caught up the knife.
Grace hesitated for a moment. Then the brick edifice that rose before them began to open—somehow, impossibly—the bricks grinding and turning to smoke, and Lilith stepped from the dark doorway, wearing a dress of green overlapping scales, and with black serpents wriggling from her eye sockets.
Lilith smiled. And Grace, wisely, ran. Cordelia did not move, but she heard the rapid patter of Grace’s bare feet on stone, mixed with the harsh gasps of Tatiana’s breathing.
“My paladin,” said Lilith, grinning like a skull. “You have finally come to your senses, I see, and taken up arms in my name.” Her serpent eyes darted, looking Tatiana up and down. One of the serpents flicked out a silver tongue. Tatiana did not move, seeming frozen in terror and revulsion. “And how clever, Cordelia,” said Lilith. “You’ve got Belial’s little minion at the end of your blade. Now go ahead and cut her throat.”
Half of Lucie wanted to bolt to her feet and run after Cordelia, but she knew she did not have the energy—she would collapse halfway to the Institute gates.
What energy she had left was concentrated on Rupert. If she loosed her grip on his spirit, he would be torn back to the darkness she had pulled him from. And Jesse—Jesse was already approaching Rupert’s ghost, drawn by his father’s beckoning hand.
She was dimly aware of James and the others milling around at the bottom of the steps. She thought she heard Anna’s voice, sharply raised, but everything outside the small circle of her and Jesse and Jesse’s father seemed as if it were occurring on a shadowy stage. She gripped the edge of the cold stone step tightly as Jesse came to a stop a few feet from Rupert.
His father’s ghost regarded him with a calm sadness. “Jesse,” he said.
“But how?” Jesse whispered. He had a cut on his cheek, still bleeding; he was shivering with the cold, though Lucie doubted he’d noticed. He had never looked more human and alive than he did standing beside a ghost, a ghost who was nearly the mirror image of Jesse as he used to be. “If you’re a spirit—how was I a ghost for so many years and I never saw you?”
Rupert raised a hand as if he could touch his son’s face. “Your mother made sure of that,” he said. “But Jesse—we have little time.”
He was right, Lucie knew. He was slipping away from her, already growing more indistinct around the edges. His fingers were turning pale, translucent, the edges like smoke.
“I was asleep,” Rupert said, “and have been awakened, but only for this moment. I died before you were ever born, my child. Yet after death, I have seen you.”
