Chain of Gold

There was a sound like the whistle of a train at night, and smoke billowed from the open Pyxis, bringing with it a foul, burnt smell. Cordelia coughed, raising Cortana. She heard James call out, “Barachiel!” and the light of his seraph blade cut through the smoke, followed by the blades of the others—Matthew, Christopher, and Lucie.

Something was rising through the smoke—something like a massive caterpillar, greenish in color, with a segmented, undulating body and a smooth head slashed across by a lipless mouth. The mouth cracked open, showing row upon row of blackened teeth. Then, to Cordelia’s surprise, it spoke.

“At last I am free,” it hissed. “I, Agaliarept, am free to recover the domain of my master, stolen from him by a demon of great cunning. I shall retrieve his lost world and flood this one with blood and death.” Its blind head turned toward the Shadowhunters. “Those who have freed me, what is thy bidding? Speak! I am commanded to do anything you ask.”

“Anything?” said Matthew curiously.

There was a flash of light as James’s seraph blade arced through the smoke and plunged into the demon’s middle. Black ichor sprayed as the demon shrieked in a high, chittering voice. The candles guttered and went out as James pulled his blade free; he was spattered with black fluid, his jaw set, his eyes glittering.

The demon howled and vanished, leaving only smoke and stink behind. Lucie staggered back, coughing, her face screwed up in disgust.

“But it would have done our bidding!” Matthew protested.

“It seemed untrustworthy,” said James, wiping ichor from his face with his sleeve. His seraph blade had gone dark.

“I thought he seemed all right, for a demon,” said Christopher. “You know.”

“What is going on here?” said a loud voice.

They all spun around, Cordelia raising Cortana reflexively. She waved smoke away from her face and stared.

Someone had come in through the door to the street outside. A tall man—very tall, with a shock of black hair. His skin was brown, a shade darker than Cordelia’s own, his eyes gold-green and slit-pupilled like a cat’s. He was dressed as if for a summer wedding, in a gray frock coat and trousers, with gray suede gloves and boots. The outfit was topped off by a magnificent waistcoat of gray-and-magenta brocade, a walking stick, and bright magenta spats.

“Magnus Bane?” said Matthew, with a mixture of amazement and horror.

Magnus Bane walked some distance into the Sanctuary, shaking his head as he studied the scene before him. “I want to know what you’re doing, but I must confess I’m afraid to find out,” he said. “A spot of demon-summoning, I gather?”

“It’s a bit complicated,” said James. “Hello, Magnus. It’s good to see you.”

“Last time I saw you, you were facedown in the Serpentine,” Magnus said cheerfully. “Now you’re fiddling with a Pyxis. I see you have decided to follow in the long Herondale tradition of poor decision-making.”

“So have I!” said Lucie, determined not to be left out.

“I came all the way from Jakarta to have a meeting with Tessa and Will about this whole daylight demon plague business,” Magnus said. “Yet when I knocked on the front door, no one answered. Thus I was forced to come in through the Sanctuary.”

“It’s odd they would have asked you to come here now,” said Thomas. “Everyone over eighteen is out searching for the demons responsible for the attacks.”

Magnus furrowed his brow. He lifted his hand to stare at the expensive-looking watch on his wrist and groaned. “It seems that I forgot to turn my watch backward and therefore have arrived six hours early. Bloody hell.”

Matthew looked delighted. “We could have tea. I am a true enthusiast of your work, Mr. Bane. Also, your personal style. Your waistcoats alone…”

“Matthew, do shut up,” said Thomas. “Mr. Bane doesn’t want to talk about waistcoats.”

“Untrue,” said Magnus. “I always want to talk about waistcoats. But I admit I’m more curious about this Pyxis.” He drew closer and poked at the box with his Malacca walking stick. “Am I correct in deducing that you opened the box on purpose and let a Palpis demon out?”

“Yes,” said James.

“… Why?” said Magnus.

“We need to be able to use the Pyxis,” Matthew burst out. “To trap a demon. So it had to be empty. We were just—clearing it out.”

James sighed. “Matthew, you would be a terrible spy. You might not break under torture, but you’d tell someone anything they wanted to know in exchange for a nice pair of trousers.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Cordelia said. She turned to Magnus. “You want this demon business over, right? You don’t want any more Shadowhunters to die?”

Magnus looked startled to be addressed so forcefully. “I am generally not on the side of murderous demons, no.”

“Then perhaps you could help us,” James said, and quickly outlined their plan, or at least as much of it as he could tell without breaking faith with Ragnor. Their belief that they were seeking a kind of demon that could only be trapped by a Pyxis. James’s vision of the shadow realm and reason to think that the demon would be on Tower Bridge. As he spoke, Magnus looked more and more curious. By the end of the story, Magnus had seated himself on the edge of the fountain, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

“This is quite a collection of suppositions,” he said, when James was done. “But I must ask, especially you, Lucie and James—why do you not seek your parents’ assistance with this? Why the secrecy?”

“Because we made a promise,” said Matthew. “To the person who gave us the key that unlocked a great deal of this information. And we can’t break it.”

Magnus smiled an odd sideways smile. “Ragnor told me that he trusted you with some information, and it appears that you have not betrayed his trust. Not many Shadowhunters would honor such a vow made to a Downworlder. Since I am Ragnor’s best friend, or at least the only person who can tolerate him for long stretches, I will keep your secret.” He glanced from James to Lucie. “In days past, when I knew your parents well, they probably would have been spearheading this plan.” He stood up. “But now they are no longer children. They are parents, and thus devoted to something they love more than their own lives. So indeed, perhaps they should not be told.”

Even Matthew had no response to that.

“Well, good luck,” Magnus said, picking up his walking stick. “I suppose I shall go to Hatchards for a few hours. There is no better distraction in this world than losing oneself in books for a while.”

Cordelia stepped forward, her hands held out as if to prevent him from leaving. “Mr. Bane,” she said. “I know it is a great deal to ask, especially when you have promised to keep our secrets. But would you help us?”

Magnus tapped gloved fingers on the head of his cane. “You’re a Carstairs, right? Cordelia Carstairs?”

“Yes, I’m Jem’s cousin,” Cordelia said. “Look—we know this is a wild plan, but it could save many lives. You needn’t help us directly, or get involved in the fighting. I understand you feel loyalty to our parents. But you could help us very much just by casting a spell to keep mundanes off Tower Bridge while we venture onto it. It would be safer for them, too.”

Magnus hesitated. It was utterly silent in the Sanctuary. Cordelia imagined she could hear the sound of the blood pounding in her ears as Magnus considered her request.

At last the warlock shrugged a silk-suited shoulder. “Very well,” he said. “Even though that green bastard Ragnor has hared off to Capri, I don’t think he would have wanted you to put yourselves in danger because of a promise to him. I’ll keep an eye on you, but remember—if I see anything I think Will and Tessa need to know, I will tell them about it posthaste.”

* * *

After gathering what they needed from the weapons room—James was loaded down with more than a dozen of Christopher’s specially designed throwing knives—the group made their way down Ludgate Hill and Cannon Street as the sun set over the City. James caught himself stealing glances at Cordelia when he was sure he wouldn’t be observed; she was deep in conversation with Lucie, their heads bent together as they walked. Cordelia’s flame-dark hair had been pulled back into a smooth chignon, leaving the light brown nape of her neck exposed.

James tried not to think about the fact that he knew what it was like to curl his fingers around the back of that neck while he kissed her mouth. He was sure that if he did think about it, it would drive him mad and he would be no further use to anyone.

Those moments in the Whispering Room with Cordelia had been like nothing else in his life. No other experience was comparable, and certainly no moment with Grace. But what did that say about him? Hadn’t he loved Grace, and wasn’t love the same as desire? Didn’t the one grow from the other? And he couldn’t love Cordelia. It wasn’t possible for him to have been in love with Grace mere days ago and have transferred his affections so quickly.

He wished to talk to Cordelia, desperately, but what on earth would he say? He couldn’t tell her he loved her, but neither could he express regret for what had happened the night before. If he had to choose between a long life of peace and happiness and another five minutes like the ones he’d spent with Cordelia in the Whispering Room, he dared not guess what he would choose.

“Are you all right?” To James’s surprise, Magnus had joined him as they passed the church of St. Margaret Pattens. “I have to admit,” Magnus added, “I had been hoping to talk to you tonight, so perhaps this development is fortuitous.”

“Why would you be hoping to talk to me?” James slid his hands into the pockets of his gear jacket. It buttoned closely to the body, allowing for ease of movement while fighting. “If you are concerned that I have continued my career of shooting chandeliers, you will be relieved to know that according to the Clave, I have moved on to vandalizing greenhouses.”