“I know.” Cordelia looked around the room—everyone was milling about, talking in low voices: Will and Tessa, Lucie and Jesse and Thomas, Matthew and James. Only Ari sat by herself in an armchair, looking down at her hands. Anna had run back to the Institute with Alexander, not waiting for Tatiana to be dealt with, and was in the infirmary with him and her parents. He was being looked after by Brother Shadrach, who had said that while the injury might heal slowly, the rune had not been completed: no lasting harm had been done.
Cordelia knew Will would have preferred to have Jem looking after his nephew, but James had summoned Jem to arrest Tatiana at the house on Bedford Square and escort her to the Silent City, and Jem was busy with that. Meanwhile, Bridget had put out rather mad sandwiches （mince pie and pickle, sugar icing and mustard） and a great deal of very hot, very sweet tea, which she seemed to feel was the cure for shock, but nobody was eating or drinking much.
“But how did she get out? I don’t understand what happened,” Thomas was saying. “Tatiana was found barely alive on Bodmin Moor. She was awaiting transport at the Cornwall Institute. In the Sanctuary. How did she get to London so quickly, and without any sign of being hurt?”
“It wasn’t Tatiana,” Tessa said. “I mean, in Cornwall. It was never her.”
Will nodded wearily. “We heard from the Silent Brothers—too late, alas. It was all a trick.” He drew a hand across his eyes. “The thing Pangborn found on the moors was an Eidolon demon. Brother Silas was sent to retrieve Tatiana, but when he arrived at the Cornwall Institute, all he found was a bloodbath. The demon slaughtered everyone in the place before it fled. A reward for its service to Belial, no doubt. It did not spare even the mundane servants. The body of a young girl was found on the front steps, horribly mutilated—she had crawled there, no doubt trying to summon help.” His voice shook. “Awful stuff, and all simply to fool us into believing Tatiana was not at large.”
Silently Tessa took Will’s hand and held it in her own. Will Herondale was like his son, Cordelia thought; both felt things strongly, however they might try to hide it. When they had all returned to the Institute, bloody and scratched but with the news that Tatiana had surrendered, Will had rushed over to make sure Lucie and James were all right. Once he had reassured himself, he looked down at James and said in a flat, humorless voice, “You did good work, James, but you broke a promise to do it. This night’s events may have worked out, but they very easily could have gone terribly wrong. You might have been hurt, or your sister, or you might bear the responsibility for someone else’s death or wounding. Don’t do something like this again.”
“Forgive me,” James had said, standing very straight, and Cordelia recalled him saying to her, I’ll have to beg his forgiveness later. He could have protested, she had thought; he could have told Will that they could not in good conscience have failed to act on Jesse’s convictions. But he said nothing. He was proud and stubborn, Cordelia thought, just as she herself was. And she thought of Lucie.
You—you’re so proud, Cordelia.
It had not been a compliment.
Will had only touched James on the cheek, still frowning, and led them all upstairs to the drawing room. Cordelia glanced over at Lucie now, but she was in quiet conversation with Jesse and Thomas.
“But what about the wards?” Ari asked. “At the Cornwall Institute. I understand that they let the demon into the Sanctuary, but shouldn’t the wards have prevented it, or sent up some kind of warning?”
“It seems Pangborn had let the wards around his Institute lapse.” Will shook his head. “We all knew he was old, probably too old to have the job he did. We should have done something.”
“It was a clever trick,” said Matthew, who was leaning back in an armchair. He had used all his chalikars in the Mantid battle, and there were bruises on his neck and collarbones. “But if it had not been Pangborn’s weakness, Belial would have found some other way to play it.”
“It meant we let our guard down,” said Tessa. “At least where Tatiana was concerned. The Institute is well warded against demons, but not against Shadowhunters.”
“Even really evil Shadowhunters,” added Lucie fiercely. “They should have stripped her Marks at the Adamant Citadel.”
“I’m sure they will now,” said James, “since the Mortal Sword will drag the truth out of her and reveal all her past crimes. Perhaps we’ll finally discover something useful about Belial’s plans as well. I am sure they do not end here.”
“Speaking of Belial,” Will said in a heavy voice, “the Inquisitor has called a meeting for tomorrow. To discuss the issue of our family.”
“I do not see how our family is any of his business,” James began hotly, but to Cordelia’s surprise, Lucie cut in.
“He is going to make it his business, James,” she said. “The Institute may be the only home we’ve ever known, but it doesn’t belong to us. It belongs to the Clave. Everything we have and everything we are is subject to the Clave’s approval. Think how many of the Enclave have always been awful to Mother just because she was a warlock—because she has a demon parent. Before they ever knew he was a Prince of Hell to boot.” Her voice was tight, lacking any of Lucie’s usual optimism; it hurt to hear. “We should have known that they would turn on us the moment they found out about Belial.”
“Oh, Lucie, no.” Cordelia bolted to her feet before she could stop herself. Lucie looked at her in surprise. In fact, Cordelia could feel every eye in the room on her. “The Inquisitor can fuss and fume all he wants,” she said, “but the truth is on your side. The truth matters. And the Enclave will see it.”
Lucie looked at Cordelia calmly. “Thank you,” she said.
Cordelia’s heart sank. It was the sort of thank you that you’d offer to someone you didn’t know very well after they’d apologized for stepping on your foot at a party. But before she could reply—or even sit down in embarrassment; everyone seemed to be staring at them—the drawing room door flew open, and Christopher came in.
He looked as if he had run halfway across London. He was coatless, his boots and trousers splashed with icy mud, his bare hands red from the cold. His eyes, behind his glasses, were wide and stunned. Cordelia was reminded for a moment of someone else—and then realized it was Alexander, as Tatiana tormented him, his eyes full of a terrible confusion that anyone could wish to cause him pain.
“What happened?” he said, in a half whisper, and then Thomas, James, and Matthew were surging over to him, hugging him tightly, their voices overlapping as they explained that Alexander was fine, that Tatiana had been caught, that his little brother was being taken care of in the infirmary. That he would be all right.
“I just don’t understand,” Christopher said, the color coming back slowly to his face. He was clinging to Matthew’s sleeve with one hand, his shoulder touching James’s. “Why Alexander? Who would want to hurt a baby?”
“Tatiana wants to hurt us, Kit,” Tessa said. “She knows the best way to do it is through our families. It’s the worst pain she can think of to inflict. Any of us would gladly suffer in place of our children, but to have them suffer in our place is… horrifying.”