Chain of Iron
Thomas had lost one sister already that year, in the Mandikhor attacks. No wonder he looked so sick with terror. James went to put an arm around him as Cordelia turned to Risa.
“Please call the carriage,” she said. “We must get to the Institute, as fast as possible.”
There was already a crowd at the Institute when they arrived. The gates had been propped open, and Xanthos sped cheerfully below the arch, as if glad to be home.
A small crowd had gathered at the base of the front steps. Among the group, Cordelia recognized many of the older Shadowhunters—the Inquisitor and Charlotte, Cecily Lightwood—along with Lucie, Anna, and Matthew. (Cordelia was glad to see he’d turned up, though Oscar did not seem to be with him.) All of them looked shocked, their expressions grave.
As their driver pulled the carriage to a stop in the courtyard, the crowd parted and Cordelia saw a pale bundle lying at the foot of the steps. Thomas threw the carriage doors open and she realized: no, not a bundle. A body, covered in a white sheet. The sheet was stained red with dried blood. From one corner of the sheet, a hand protruded, as if reaching out for help.
At the edge of the sheet was a spill of dark hair.
Thomas leaped down to the ground. He looked frantic. James followed; as he stepped off the running board, Lucie bolted over. Anna, wearing a caped greatcoat and a grave expression, followed more slowly with Matthew. Cordelia found herself wondering where Christopher was, especially since he was currently residing at the Institute. Perhaps inside, with his father?
Lucie threw her arms around James. “I should have waited for her,” she sobbed, her small body shaking. “It’s my fault, Jamie.”
James held his sister tightly. “Who was it?” he demanded. “Who’s dead?”
“Please,” Thomas said, looking sick. “Just tell me—”
“Filomena di Angelo,” said Anna. “Stabbed to death, just as Basil Pounceby was. The Silent Brothers are on their way to bring her to the Ossuarium.”
“I thought—” Thomas began, and broke off. Shock, relief, and guilt at that relief played across his face. Cordelia could not blame him—she too was glad it was not Thomas’s sister. And yet Filomena had been so young, so lively—so excited to be on her travel year, so in love with art and culture.
“Were you worried about Eugenia?” Anna said, laying a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “Poor darling. No, Eugenia is still quite peacefully asleep on my sofa. She may have been sick in a plant pot last night, but she is perfectly well.”
“My parents,” Thomas began. “Do they know—?”
“My mother sent a runner to them with a message,” said Matthew. “They ought to be on their way.”
“When did Filomena leave the party?” Cordelia asked. “Did she depart with anyone?”
“She was at my flat until almost dawn,” Anna said. “She left then—insisted on going home alone.” She scowled. “I should have gone with her. Someone should have gone with her.”
“So close to sunrise,” James said thoughtfully. “So this must have happened sometime in the last few hours.”
“Anna, this isn’t your fault,” Cordelia said. “You couldn’t have known.”
“I ought to have waited and made sure to take her home—” Lucie began.
James swung about with a stern look. “You shouldn’t have walked home by yourself, Luce, not in the middle of the night. Promise me you won’t again. It’s too dangerous.”
“But I—” Lucie clamped her mouth shut. After a moment she tried again: “None of us should be out alone, I suppose. Poor Filomena.”
“Where’s Christopher?” Thomas asked.
“Apparently Father set up a patrol to search the neighborhood for any evidence,” said Anna. “Christopher volunteered. They’re still out looking.”
“Poor Kit, he was distraught,” said Matthew. “Said he’d had quite a nice chat with Filomena at the Wentworths’ party, about botany. I didn’t even know you could have a nice chat about botany.”
“I volunteered as well, but Uncle Gabriel said if anything happened to me he’d never hear the end of it from Mam,” said Lucie, looking disgruntled.
A Silent Brother—Enoch, Cordelia thought—had emerged from the Institute. He knelt down, his parchment robes brushing the snow, and peeled back a corner of the sheet to examine the body. Cordelia looked away.
“Where was she killed?” she asked. “Near Anna’s?”
“No,” James said quietly. He had pulled off his gloves and was worrying them with his bare fingers. The day had warmed, the bright sunlight falling through the bare branches of the nearby trees making a delicate pattern of latticework across his face. “She was killed somewhere else. Close to here.”
Anna looked at him in surprise. “Yes, on Shoe Lane,” she said. “She almost made it all the way back to the Institute.”
James was crushing his gloves in his hands. Lucie stared at her brother, a peculiarly blank look on her face, as if she didn’t quite recognize him, or were looking past him at something else. But there was nothing else there.
“I’m starting to remember,” James said.
Matthew laid a hand on James’s shoulder. Cordelia could not help but wonder if she should have done that—surely she should be comforting James? But the thought of touching him in public frightened her. Not because it was inappropriate, but because of what it might reveal. Surely her emotions would be written on her face. “Jamie,” Matthew said, in a low voice. “Did you have another dream?”
“I didn’t remember it when I first woke up,” James said, not meeting Cordelia’s eyes. “But now—it’s coming back in pieces.” He dropped the gloves into the melting snow, stark black against the white. “There was a girl, she was singing—singing in Italian—Raziel, and there was blood—so much of it—”
“James,” Anna said sharply, moving to block him from the view of those crowded around Filomena’s body. She glanced around at their small group. “We need to get inside.”
James nodded, white-faced. He was leaning quite hard on Matthew, who had an arm around him. “Yes. I’ll take us through the Sanctuary.”
“I’ll catch you up,” Lucie called as James led the others toward the nearly hidden entrance to the Sanctuary—the one chamber in the Institute where Downworlders could comfortably come and go, since it was without wards against them. It was often used as a meeting room, and in a pinch, a holding cell for troublemakers, since there was another set of doors inside that kept it secure from the rest of the Institute. Cordelia glanced back worriedly, but Lucie made a gesture that she hoped communicated Don’t fret. I’ll be there in a moment.
She bent down to pick up James’s gloves, just to seem as if she was doing something; by the time she straightened, the others had disappeared through the Sanctuary door. She edged around the side of the Institute, just out of sight of the front steps. Gazing directly at an odd patch of shadow, between two bare trees, she said, “All right. You might as well show yourself again.”