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“Get under the gate,” Grace hissed from above. “You can’t just stand around ogling each other during a battle—”
Jesse blinked as if snapped out of a dream. “That’s good advice,” he noted.
Lucie could only agree. She took hold of Jesse’s arm and half dragged him into the shadows of the gateway: it was deep, almost a tunnel leading through to the Dean’s Yard on the other side.
“Lucie.” Jesse slammed his bloody sword into its scabbard and caught hold of her. He pulled her close, his back against the stone wall. She tossed her axe aside, taking hold of his gear jacket, clinging to him tightly. “I thought you were gone forever. I thought I’d lost you.”
It seemed so long ago now, the night she’d left him, placing the folded note under his pillow. “I know,” she whispered, wanting to lay her head against his chest. Wanting to touch his cheek, to tell him she hadn’t spent a moment since without thinking of him, of getting back to him. But there was no time. “I know, and I’m sorry. But Jesse—I need you to hold me.”
“I want to.” He brushed his lips against her hair. “I’m furious at you, and desperately glad to see you, and I want to hold you for hours, but it’s not safe—”
“Remember when I said I’d never seen the ghost of an Iron Sister or Silent Brother?” Lucie breathed. “That wherever they were voyaging, I’d never gone that far? Well, it was true I’ve never seen them. But I’ve heard them. I realize that now.”
“Heard them? What—?”
“Every time I was with you, every time I touched you and I saw that darkness and heard those cries—Malcolm was wrong, I think. I don’t believe being with you makes me closer to Belial, more vulnerable to him. I think because of what happened to you, it brings me closer to the other side. Where souls go, the ones who don’t linger here.”
Outside the archway, an explosive went off, scattering dirt and sending smoke drifting into their hiding space. Lucie’s stomach turned over; Grace could hold off the Watchers for only so long.
“Jesse. The sign I kept seeing—it wasn’t that it was Belial’s symbol; the symbol was holding them back, keeping them imprisoned—”
“Lucie,” he said quietly. “I don’t understand.”
“I know, and there’s no time to explain.” She pushed herself up on her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Trust me, Jesse. Hold me. Please.”
He pulled her close. She gasped in relief, pressing herself against him. “Well,” he whispered against her hair, “if we’re going to do this—”
And then he was kissing her. She hadn’t expected it consciously, but it seemed her body had: she pushed up harder on her toes, her hand stroking the back of his neck, tasting dust and salt on his lips, and something sweet and hot beneath that. Her skin prickled with yearning, and then the surge of longing became a buzzing in her head. She felt the narrowing of her perception, darkness encroaching, tunneling her vision.
She closed her eyes. She was in the great darkness, the shimmer of stars in the distance. She gritted her teeth, even though she could no longer feel them, as she reached out. Reached out to hear them, the voices, the awful cries that had become so familiar. They swelled somewhere beyond her imagining, the cries of the lost, desperate to be found. Of the unknown, desperate to be recognized.
And she recognized them now. She knew exactly who they were. And though her own body was beyond her awareness, she cried out to them with her mind. “Iron Sisters! Silent Brothers!” she called. “My name is Lucie—Lucie Herondale. I want to help you.”
The howling cries continued; Lucie had no way of knowing if she’d been heard or not. No way of knowing if she could reach them, but she had to try; she could only deliver her message and hope.
“I understand now what you’ve been trying to tell me,” she called out. “Your souls are voyaging, but still you remember your bodies, still you might return to them one day. And Belial came and violated them—he stole you from the Iron Tombs and put his demons in your bodies to use as he wishes. He can be stopped. I swear he can be stopped. But you need to help me. Help me, please.”
She paused. She could still hear the wailing in the distance. Had it grown louder? She could not tell.
“Fight back!” she cried. “Reclaim yourselves! If you thrust the demons from your bodies, I swear we know how to destroy them! You will be freed! But you must try!” The cries had died away; there was a great silence now. She floated in it, in the darkness and the silence, utterly untethered. She had gone further than she had ever gone before, reached further than she had ever reached. Whether she could return or not, Lucie did not know. She raised her face to the stars, that were not really stars, and said, “We need you. The Nephilim need you. We have fought so hard.”
Her vision had begun to dim, her consciousness slipping away. Lucie whispered, “Please come back to us, please,” and then her mind was swallowed up by darkness, and she could say no more.
35 WINGED WITH LIGHTNING
But see the angry Victor hath recalled
His ministers of vengeance and pursuit
Back to the gates of Heaven: The sulfurous hail
Shot after us in storm, overblown hath laid
The fiery Surge, that from the precipice
Of Heaven received us falling, and the thunder,
Winged with red lightning and impetuous rage.
