“It isn’t nearly your most ridiculous overcoat,” James 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, looking at the pale face he remembered from Highgate Cemetery. The ghost who had saved his life. Hail and farewell, my brother. I wish I had known you.
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. 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.
26 OLDER THAN GODS
With travail of day after day, and with trouble of hour upon hour;
And bitter as blood is the spray; and the crests are as fangs that devour:
And its vapor and storm of its steam as the sighing of spirits to be;
And its noise as the noise in a dream; and its depths as the roots of the sea:
And the height of its heads as the height of the utmost stars of the air:
And the ends of the earth at the might thereof tremble, and time is made bare.
Will ye bridle the deep sea with reins, will ye chasten the high sea with rods?
Will ye take her to chain her with chains, who is older than all ye Gods?
—Algernon Charles Swinburne, “Hymn to Proserpine”
The Portal deposited them just inside the front gates of the Institute.
Lucie had tried to prepare herself, but her first glimpse of the church was still a shock. The courtyard had been rucked up like a rug. Stones lay in great uneven piles, scattering the ground from the iron gates to the front steps. Water ran in rivulets through the cracks in the remaining flagstone, smelling of brine and ocean. A massive hole in the center of the courtyard seemed punched there by a giant.
For once, Lucie didn’t feel as if any of this would make a good subject for a novel. She felt drained and exhausted, and worried for Cordelia. Since finding out she was Lilith’s paladin, Daisy hadn’t smiled once; she seemed locked away in her own private unhappiness, the way James often did. Matthew kept glancing at Cordelia covertly, his own expression troubled.
They had battled both Belial and Lilith and survived, Lucie thought, yet it felt very little like a victory. She was finding it more difficult than she would have thought to preserve the impression that she and Malcolm barely knew each other, and had very definitely not previously had several intense and secret conversations about necromancy. Secrets were horrible things to keep, she reflected: she’d only barely remembered before they stepped through the Portal to warn James that their parents thought she’d spent the previous night at Curzon Street instead of haring off to Chiswick House to try to prevent Belial from again possessing Jesse.
“I would prefer not to walk into the Institute carrying the body of a Shadowhunter,” said Malcolm. “I fear it might create the wrong impression.”
“I’ll bring you to the Sanctuary,” Lucie said. “We can lay out Jesse’s body there.”
James kissed her forehead. “Don’t take too long. I expect once Mam and Dad realize we haven’t all been tucked safely up at Curzon Street, they’ll be desperate to see you.”
Lucie led Malcolm toward the Sanctuary, picking her way among the rubble. Fade strode behind her silently, carrying Jesse; he was gazing around speculatively, as if assessing the damage. Lucie couldn’t help but wonder: Was the Institute damaged inside as well? Would they need to move? She could see a few ragged places where stones had been torn from the front edifice, but it seemed to be standing strongly.
A cloaked figure came around the corner of the building, near the door to the Sanctuary. Ghost, Lucie thought at first before she realized: no, this was someone real and alive. The figure turned, and she saw Grace, wrapped in a dark gray cloak, only a bit of her hair and face visible beneath the hood.
“Hush,” Malcolm said, causing Lucie to bristle slightly—it wasn’t as if she’d been about to call out Grace’s name. She wasn’t a fool. “I told her to meet us here. Come.”