“Ooh! Pests!” Lucie cried in outrage as two of the creatures caught at her skirts, tearing at the velvet rosettes. With no room to swing her weapon, she began to club at them with the handle of her axe. Cordelia sliced out with Cortana, a bright golden line of fire against the night. She saw one demon puff into ash; the other, squealing, released Lucie’s skirts and darted into the center of the square, where it joined the rest of the scamps in trying to trip and unbalance the Shadowhunters—lunging and jabbing them with sharp little talons, laughing and cackling all the while.
One leaped at Matthew, who jammed a chalikar into its throat with both hands, not even bothering to throw it. The demon crumpled, gurgling, and disappeared. Another came from behind; Matthew turned—stumbled, and slipped. He went down, slamming hard into the icy ground.
Cordelia started toward him, but James was already there, hauling his parabatai to his feet. She caught a glimpse of Matthew’s white face before he drew a seraph blade from his belt: it blazed up, its brightness searing a line across Cordelia’s vision. She could see Christopher laying about with his blade, James with a long knife. The night was filled with shrieks and hissing, their feet churning the snowy ground into a stinking mess of ice and ichor.
It all seemed almost silly—the Hauras were ridiculous-looking creatures—until Lucie screamed. Cordelia whipped around and ran toward her, only to see the ground between them, all ice and dirt, erupt. Something long, slithering, and scaled burst from it, scattering clods of earth.
A Naga demon. Cordelia had seen illustrations of them in India. This one had a long snake’s body and a flat, arrow-shaped head, split by a wide mouth lined with yellow, spiky teeth. Its eyes were black saucers.
Cordelia heard James give a hoarse shout: she looked over to see the boys trapped behind a wall of Hauras demons. The Naga hissed, curled, and lunged toward Lucie, who leaped aside just in time, her hand axe going flying; she fumbled for a seraph blade—
A bolt of energy thrummed up Cordelia’s arm; she leaped forward as the whole world seemed to turn to molten gold. Everything had gone slow and still—only she was striking like lightning, like a rain of gold. Cortana described a fiery arc against the night; the Naga writhed as the blade stabbed into its side. Ichor flew but Cordelia felt no burn, no sting: she no longer even felt the cold of the air. She felt only a savage triumph as the Naga howled, dropping to the ground to slither behind her.
She spun as it rose above her, its flat head outspread like a cobra’s. It swayed back and forth, then plunged its head toward her, faster than sparks rising from a fire. But Cordelia was quicker still: she whirled as it opened its saw-toothed mouth, and plunged her blade upward, stabbing through the roof of its mouth. It reared back, spraying ichor: it turned to slide away through the snow, but Cordelia gave chase. She shot after the slithering demon, the ground blurring under her feet. She drew alongside it, lifted the ichor-soaked sword, and brought it down in a last clean sweep that cut through scale and bone, severing the Naga’s body in half.
A gush of steam rose from the body. The head and tail twitched before dissolving in a wet, stinking mess that soaked into the ground. Cordelia lowered the sword, gasping; she had crossed Nelson Square in what felt like only a few seconds, and she was quite a distance from the others. She could see them—shadows, pushing against the mass of Hauras demons. James broke away from the others, angling toward her just as a shrill scream split the air.
Cordelia stared. It was not a human noise, nor was a human making it. One of the larger Hauras demons stood a few feet away, goggling at her with its gray-white eyes.
“Paladin!” the Hauras demon wheezed. “Paladin! We dare not touch!”
Cordelia stared. How could the demon know she was a paladin of Wayland the Smith? Had he marked her in some invisible way?
A cry rose from the other Hauras demons. They began to scatter. Cordelia could hear her friends’ shouts of surprise; James vaulted a low hedge, heading straight for her.
“Paladin.” The Hauras demon held out its gnarled hands toward Cordelia. Its voice had taken on a whining quality. “Forgive. Tell your master. We did not know.”
With a quivering bow, the demon turned and ran, joining its fellows in slinking retreat. A few yards away, Matthew, Lucie, and Christopher were looking around in puzzlement as their attackers vanished. Cordelia barely had time to sheathe her blade before James was beside her. She started to open her mouth, to explain, but he was staring at her—at the terrible ichor burns up and down the front of her dress, on her sleeve. In a strangled voice, he said, “Cordelia—”