Why are you asking me about Tessa? Jem said. It was as if cold fingers were touching his spine. He did not like this warlock. He did not like her interest in Tessa and Will.
“Because you have been in the Shadow Market, asking many questions about her. About her father. Her demonic father.”
She let the head roll from her lap.
“As I said, I knew Mortmain,” she said. “Since you have been asking about him and how Tessa was created, news has trickled back to me—one of his only remaining friends. I believe you are curious about how Mortmain created Tessa. You seek the demon he summoned to be her father. If you put your weapon away, perhaps we can have a conversation.”
Jem did not set down his staff.
“She might not have been too curious about her demon father before”—Leopolda played with the gold netting in her hair—“but now that she has children . . . and those children show signs of their demon heritage . . . I imagine things are very different?”
Jem stood coldly stricken. It was as if she had reached into his mind and touched his memory. Standing on Blackfriars Bridge with Tessa on a cold January day. The fear on her face. I do not want to trouble Will . . . but I worry so over Jamie and Lucie. . . . James despairs of his eyes, calls them doorways into Hell, as if he hates his own face, his own bloodline. If I but knew who my demon father was, perhaps I could know, prepare them and myself . . . and Will. Jem had feared even then that it was a dangerous errand, that knowledge would gift them only further worries and doubts. But it was something Tessa had wanted for Will and the children, and he loved them all too much to say no.
“Your friend Ragnor’s queries have finally borne fruit,” said Leopolda. “I know who Tessa’s father was.” She narrowed her eyes. “In exchange I only need something small. Just the smallest amount of blood from a living Shadowhunter. You will not even feel it. I was going to get it from the girl, the one who dresses as a boy. I like her very much. I would like to collect her, if I could.”
You will stay away from her.
“Of course I will,” Leopolda said. “I will help you as well. Just the smallest amount of blood, and I can tell you of Tessa Herondale’s true father.”
“Brother Zachariah!” he heard Anna yell.
Jem turned for one moment, and Leopolda moved toward him. He flung up his staff, knocking her backward. She let out a hiss and darted away faster than seemed possible. She lifted her curved blade.
“Do not toy with me, James Carstairs. Do you not want to know of your Tessa?”
There was another cry from outside. Jem had no choice. He ran in the direction of Anna’s voice.
Outside, Anna and the other girl were in a fierce fight with at least six Raveners. They were pressed to the wall, fighting back-to-back. Jem swung out with his staff and brought it down on the back of the closest one. He continued swinging until Anna and the girl were able to regain some ground. Jem took down another, while Anna destroyed two at once with a long swing of her blade. There was but one Ravener left. It extended its spiked tail and pointed it at the other girl’s chest. In a second, Anna was diving through the air, knocking the other girl out of the way. They rolled together, Anna’s arms around the girl, shielding her. Jem struck out at this last demon, landing a blow on its head.
The street fell quiet. Anna was in the girl’s arms, very still.
Anna. Jem raced over. The Shadowhunter girl was already tearing away Anna’s sleeve to get to the wound. Anna hissed as the poison stung the surface of her skin.
Behind them, Leopolda stepped out of the house and began to simply walk away.
“I’m fine,” Anna said. “Go after her, Ariadne.”
The other girl, Ariadne, exhaled and sat back. “The poison did not enter your system. But it did get on your skin. We must wash the site with herbs, immediately. And your wound is deep. You will need several iratzes.”
The girl looked up at Jem.
“I’ll take care of her,” she said. “I am well trained in healing. I was taught by Silent Brothers while I lived in Idris. Anna’s right. Go after the warlock.”
You are sure? Anna will need an amissio, a blood-replacement rune—
“Quite sure,” the girl said, easing Anna to her feet. “Believe me when I say Anna would rather lose a bit of blood than have her parents find out what we did tonight.”
“Hear, hear,” agreed Anna.
Take care of her, said Jem.
“I will.” Ariadne spoke with a firm confidence, and from the way she was handling the wound, her words appeared true.
“Come,” Ariadne said to Anna. “My house is not far. Can you walk?”
“With you,” Anna said, “I can go anywhere.”
Thus assured, Jem turned in the direction of Leopolda Stain.
* * *
They walked back to Ariadne’s house, Anna occasionally leaning on her friend for support. The poison on her skin was starting to have an effect, which was a bit like having too much wine, too fast. She tried to keep herself steady. They were glamoured now, walking unseen through the street.
When they arrived, Ariadne let them in quietly through the front door. They took the stairs gently, so as not to wake anyone. Luckily, Ariadne’s room was on the opposite side of the house from her parents’ room. Ariadne led Anna in and shut the door.
Ariadne’s room was like the person who inhabited it—perfumed, perfect, delicate. There were lace curtains on the large windows. The walls were papered in silver and rose, and there were fresh-cut lilacs and roses in vases around the room.
“Come,” Ariadne said, leading Anna to her bureau, where there was a water basin. She removed Anna’s jacket and pushed up her sleeve. Having mixed a few herbs into the basin, she poured the mixture over the wound, which stung.
“It is a nasty injury,” Ariadne said, “but I am a good nurse.”
She moistened a cloth and gently cleaned the wound with soft strokes, careful to wipe away any poison that had splashed on Anna’s skin. Then she got her stele and drew an amissio rune to speed blood replacement and an iratze to encourage healing. The wound began to close.
Throughout all of this, Anna was silent, breathless. She did not feel pain. She felt only Ariadne’s careful hands on her.
“Thank you,” she finally said.
Ariadne set her stele down. “It is nothing. You sustained this wound while saving me. You stepped in front of me. You protected me.”
“I would protect you always,” Anna said.
Ariadne looked at Anna for a long moment. The only light came in through the pattern in the lace.
“My dress,” Ariadne said softly. “I think it is quite ruined. I look a fright.”
“Nonsense,” Anna replied. Then, after a beat, she added, “You have never looked more beautiful.”
“It has blood on it, and ichor. Help me remove it, please.”
With trembling fingers, Anna undid the many buttons on the front of the dress, and it slid to the ground in a pile. Ariadne turned so that Anna could undo the stays of her corset. Ariadne wore a cotton chemise underneath, trimmed in delicate lace. Her chemise and bloomers were stark white against her brown skin. Her eyes glowed.
“You must rest a bit, Anna,” Ariadne said. “You cannot leave right now. Come.”
She took Anna by the hand and led her to the bed. Anna realized as she sank into it how exhausted she was from the fight, and also that she had never been so awake and alive.
“Lean back,” Ariadne said, stroking Anna’s hair.
Anna put her head down on the pillow. Her boots were gone. Her hair had come down, and she pushed it back impatiently.
“I would like to kiss you,” Ariadne said. Her voice shook with a fear Anna understood all too well. Ariadne was afraid Anna was going to push her away, reject her, run screaming. But how could Ariadne not know how she felt? “Please, Anna, may I kiss you?”
Unable to speak, Anna nodded.
Ariadne leaned forward and pressed her lips to Anna’s.
Anna had lived this moment in her mind a hundred times or more. She did not know her body would grow so warm, that Ariadne would taste so sweet. She returned the kiss, then kissed Ariadne along her cheek, her chin, down her neck. Ariadne made a low sound of delight. She brought her lips up to Anna’s again, and they fell back against the pillows. They were tangled together, laughing and warm, intent on only each other. The pain was gone, replaced by rapture.
* * *
During the day, the streets and alleys of Soho could be hard to navigate. At night, they became a dangerous and confusing warren. Jem kept his staff aloft. At this late hour, the only people about were drunkards and ladies of the night. The alleys smelled of refuse, and there was broken glass and the assorted detritus of a London day.
Jem made his way to a storefront on Wardour Street. He knocked, and the door was opened by two young werewolves, neither of whom seemed surprised to see him.
Woolsey Scott is expecting me.
They nodded and guided him through a dark and empty shop that sold buttons and ribbons and through a door. On the other side was a dimly lit but tastefully furnished room. Woolsey Scott was stretched out on a low divan. Sitting opposite him was Leopolda Stain, surrounded by a half a dozen more werewolves. She seemed calm and composed, and was even sipping from a cup of tea.
“Ah, Carstairs,” Scott said. “Finally. I thought we’d be here all night.”
Thank you, said Jem, for looking after her for me.
“It was no trouble,” said Scott. He tipped his chin at Leopolda. “As you know, this one arrived a few weeks ago. We’ve been keeping an eye on her ever since. I didn’t think she would go as far as she did tonight. Can’t have her egging on idiot mundanes to raise demons. It’s the sort of thing that inspires anti-Downworlder sentiment.”
Leopolda seemed to take no offense at the way he spoke.
Woolsey rose to his feet. “You had said you wanted to speak with her,” he said. “Shall I leave the matter with you?”
Yes, Jem said.