Chain of Iron

Cordelia felt a flush of pleasure. Our house. Risa had come in after her, and the boys—overjoyed to see coffee—burst into a rousing rendition of “For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow.” Matthew leaped up from the cushions to cajole Risa to dance, but she simply smacked him smartly on the wrist with a spoon and withdrew from the room, dignity intact.

“In case you are curious,” James said, as the other boys fought over the coffeepot, “Christopher is utterly furious to have been left out of the goings-on yesterday and has decided to have revenge upon us with a large pile of books.”

“If he wishes to revenge himself with books, he has picked the wrong audience,” said Cordelia, taking a seat on an ottoman beside Lucie. “Where’s Anna, by the by?”

“On patrol,” said Lucie. “We elected her to tell Aunt Charlotte exactly what happened at the factory yesterday—and Aunt and Uncle, too, since they have charge of the Institute while Mama and Papa are in Paris.”

“Exactly what happened?” Cordelia raised an eyebrow. “Every bit of it?”

Lucie smiled primly. “Quite. She told them she was wandering in Limehouse yesterday, when her necklace alerted her to demons nearby. She followed its warning to the abandoned sailcloth factory. Upon entering, she was accosted by an Ourobas demon, which she destroyed. Further investigation revealed Filomena’s shawl, and the bloody cloak.”

“Quite a coincidence,” said Cordelia, accepting a cup of coffee from James. He had put milk into it, no sugar, as she liked. She smiled at him, a little surprised.

“Chance is a fine thing,” said Lucie, her eyes sparkling.

“I assume she didn’t say anything about the—about Filomena’s ghost? Either of the ghosts, in fact?”

“It would have strained credibility, I think, to try to explain that Anna had happened on the demon, the cloak, and Filomena’s ghost,” said Thomas.

“What about the factory?” said Cordelia. “Has the Enclave searched it?”

“Yes—there was a meeting last night, and then a group went over to Limehouse,” said Thomas.

“Father went with them,” Christopher added, taking off his spectacles and cleaning them on his shirt. “They turned the place upside down, but they didn’t find anything but an abandoned Ourobas nest. They’ll keep an eye on it, but …”

“No one really thinks the killer’s likely to return,” James said. “Why he dumped the cloak there, we don’t know—presumably he didn’t want to be caught wandering about London in bloody clothes.”

“They’ve tried Tracking the killer with the cloak, but no luck, even with the blood on it,” Thomas said. “They’ll probably hand it over to the Brothers for further investigation.”

“I can’t help wondering, ought we to tell the Enclave about the other ghost? The one who guided us to the factory?” asked Lucie. She was twisting her skirt around one hand anxiously.

“No,” James said firmly. “Ghosts talk to each other, don’t they? There’s no reason to think that your Regency gentleman had anything to do with the murders. And if the Enclave finds out that ghosts are appealing to you, Luce …” He sighed, leaning his back against the frame of the ottoman. His hair was even untidier than usual, his eyes a dark, somber gold. “I don’t like the idea. They’ll start poking and prodding at you, seeing if you can get other ghosts to approach you, seeing if they can use you to get clues. And not all the dead are friendly.”

Lucie looked horrified. “You think they’d do that?”

“Bridgestock would certainly want to,” said Matthew. “James is right.”

“Then let’s think about something else instead,” said Cordelia. “What of the killer’s motive? Filomena was barely known by anyone, and why would anyone who wanted Pounceby or Gladstone dead have something against her as well?”

“Your brother, Alastair, said something last night, at the meeting,” said Thomas reluctantly. “I gather he reads mundane newspapers. Among mundanes, there are mad people who kill just to kill. Perhaps there is no motive.”

“When there is no motive or personal connection, only indiscriminate hate, it may be nearly impossible to find a murderer,” said Matthew.

“But the killer isn’t being indiscriminate,” Lucie said. “He killed three Shadowhunters. We’re a specific group. Mundanes don’t know about us, so it can’t be one of them killing randomly. Though I suppose … I suppose it could be someone with the Sight killing within Downworld.”

“If that were the case, Downworlders would turn up dead as well,” said James. “As for Shadowhunters, we kill for our livelihood. They put weapons in our hands when we are children and tell us, ‘Kill monsters.’ Such violence might make anyone mad.”

“What about a possessed Shadowhunter?” said Lucie. “Under a warlock’s control or—”

“We cannot be possessed, Lucie,” said Christopher. “You know that. We have the protection spells we are given at birth.”

“If Filomena returned as a ghost to tell us what she knew about her murder,” said Thomas, “isn’t it a bit odd she didn’t really tell us very much?” He looked at Cordelia apologetically. “What she said in Italian—”

Cordelia froze. She could hear Filomena’s eerie voice in her mind. “She spoke about how I stabbed Belial.” She tried to keep her voice steady. “She wanted to know why, if I did that, I couldn’t help her. She asked why I didn’t save her.”

She did not mention Cortana. She couldn’t bear to. What if Filomena had been wrong? What if she was not a heroine, not the true bearer of Cortana? What if the sword had decided she didn’t deserve it?

Cordelia looked down at her hands. “I failed her.”

There was a murmur of dissenting voices; she felt a hand brush her arm. She knew it was James, without having to look. “Daisy,” he said. “We are Nephilim, not angels themselves. We cannot be where we do not know we are needed. We cannot know all things.”

“I, for instance,” said Matthew, “know very little.”

“And I do not know why I am seeing these deaths in dreams.” James set down his cup. “There is some reason I am connected to all this. Though I could quite understand if none of you wanted to be involved.”

“I believe the spirit of our organization is that we do want to be involved,” said Matthew, “when it comes to each other.”

“That is why we should be looking into oneiromancy, the study of dreams,” said Christopher brightly. “I have brought quite a few books on the topic, to be distributed among us.”

“Do any of them have love scenes?” inquired Lucie. “I’ve been working on mine.”

“If they do, I am sure they are quite disturbing,” said James.

“These books are very interesting,” said Christopher sternly. “There are stories of necromancers who have traveled in dreams, even killed and collected death energy in dreams.”

“What exactly do you mean when you say ‘death energy’?” Lucie asked. If Cordelia wasn’t mistaken, she looked a little pale. “You mean, what necromancers use to raise the dead?”