Chain of Iron

“I saw my father’s Voyance rune was missing,” Cordelia said, “and in the courtyard, when Filomena’s body was there, I thought I noticed her Strength rune missing from her wrist. It could have been nothing, my own memory playing tricks—but after I noticed my father’s rune, I had to ask….”

She could feel the weight of Brother Enoch’s gaze, as if he were staring at her, though she knew he did not see as ordinary people did. She tried to keep her face expressionless. She hoped the others were doing the same. Lying to a Silent Brother was more than difficult: if Enoch chose to rummage in her mind, he’d see easily enough that it had been Filomena’s ghost herself who’d hinted at the truth.

He took my strength.

If she told the truth, though, there would be inquiries—prodding—questions that might turn toward Lucie. She willed herself to look pleasant and blank, as James did when he wore the Mask.

“But what could it mean?” James said, the sharpness in his tone cutting the tension like a knife. “The fact that two of the victims are missing runes? It’s not possible to steal runes, and even if one did, what use would they be?”

“As some sort of trophy, maybe?” Lucie said, with a grateful look in Cordelia’s direction.

Christopher looked slightly ill. “Jack the Ripper took … parts … of the people he killed.”

Lucie said, “Or as proof the person is dead? If the killer was acting at the behest of someone else—if he had hired himself out, perhaps, and had to prove he’d done the deed—”

That could not be. It is not that the skin where the rune is inked has been cut away, said Enoch. The rune itself has been taken. Its spirit. Its soul, if you will.

Anna was shaking her head. “But what could one do with a rune that’s been removed? It’s bizarre—”

She broke off as Enoch went suddenly, perfectly still. He held his hands up, as if to stop all noise. He was speaking with the other Silent Brothers in his head, Cordelia realized. She knew they were all connected, a strange and silent chorus bound together across the globe.

After a long moment, Enoch lowered his hand. His blind gaze swept over the group. I have received a message from my brothers. Lilian Highsmith has been murdered, and an arrest made. The Inquisitor believes he has found the murderer.

Cordelia could not prevent herself from shooting a quick look at James. Someone had been murdered while James had been literally bound and imprisoned: it was impossible for him to have done it. Relief went through her in a wave, followed immediately by horror and shock: horror that someone had died, shock that the culprit might have been found.

“Who have they arrested?” Anna demanded. “Who did this?”

I believe it is someone you know, said Enoch, his silent voice grim. Thomas Lightwood.

 

The carriage hurtled through the streets of London, whipping in and out of traffic: thank Raziel it was a Sunday, and the roads were not crowded. It had barely come to a stop in the Institute courtyard before James had flung open the door and leaped down onto the flagstones.

There was already a crowd in the courtyard: Shadowhunters milling about, murmuring among themselves and stamping their feet in the cold of the morning. Some were in gear, others in their normal day dress. Cordelia and Lucie were scrambling down after James; the second carriage pulled in after them, disgorging Anna, Matthew, and Christopher. Everyone looked as stunned as James felt. It was some kind of thundering, bitter irony, like an awful revenge of the angels, he thought, giving the crowd a wide berth as he headed to the front door of the Institute. No sooner had it been proven that he was not guilty of the murders than Thomas was falsely accused.

And James knew it was false. Someone was playing a trick, a horrible trick, and when James got ahold of them, he would slice off their hands with a ragged seraph blade.

As he careened up the steps, the others quick on his heels, someone in the crowd shouted out, “You! Lightwoods!”

Christopher and Anna both turned, Christopher with an inquisitive look on his face. It was Augustus Pounceby, who had been muttering with the Townsends, who had called out. Anna gazed at him as if he were an insect she planned to feed to Percy.

“What?” she demanded.

“Get your parents to open up the Institute!” Augustus yelled. “We’ve heard they caught the murderer—we deserve to know who it is!”

“The Institute’s locked?” Lucie whispered. Usually anyone with Shadowhunter blood could open the front doors of the cathedral. Institutes were locked only in times of emergency. James took the remaining steps two at a time and seized the heavy door knocker.

The sound echoed through the Institute. Anna continued to look at Augustus as if he were a bug. A few moments later the front door of the cathedral opened a crack, and Gabriel Lightwood ushered them all inside.

“Thank the Angel it’s you. I thought I might have to chase off more nosy Enclave members.” Gabriel looked haggard, his brown hair sticking up in spikes. He hugged Anna and Christopher before turning to the rest of the group. “Well, this is a fine mess, isn’t it? How’d you find out?”

“Brother Enoch told us,” Matthew said shortly. “We know they found Thomas with Lilian Highsmith’s body, and they’ve arrested him.”

“Brother Enoch?” Gabriel looked puzzled.

“He’d dropped by with a recipe for mince pies,” said James. “How are Aunt Sophie and Uncle Gideon? And Eugenia?”

“They raced here as soon as they found out,” said Gabriel as they reached the second floor. “Just ahead of the crowd, thankfully. They’re frantic, of course—Thomas wasn’t just found with the body; he was covered in blood and holding a knife. And of all people to find him, it had to be Bridgestock.”

“The Inquisitor?” Cordelia looked dismayed. Come to think of it, James had seen Mrs. Bridgestock outside, though there had been no sign of Ariadne—or Grace, either, for that matter.

“He happened to be on patrol in the area,” said Gabriel. They had reached the library; they all spilled inside to find James’s aunt Sophie pacing back and forth across the polished wood floor. Lucie raced over to her. James stayed where he was; he felt wound impossibly tight, as if he might explode with rage if he touched anyone.

“Where is he?” James demanded, as Lucie seized their aunt’s hands and squeezed them. “Where’s Tom?”

“Oh, darling. He’s in the Sanctuary,” Sophie said, looking as warmly as she could at all of them. Her forehead was furrowed deeply with worry. “Bridgestock brought him back here and insisted he be locked up and the Council notified. Gideon went straight off to fetch Charlotte, and as soon as the Inquisitor got wind of that, he hared off to try to get to Mayfair first.” She passed a hand across her forehead. “I don’t know how word gets around so fast. We had to lock the doors—we were afraid we’d be mobbed by Enclave members who heard rumors that a suspect had been apprehended.”

“Will the rest of the Enclave be informed?” James asked, thinking of the angry crowd in the courtyard. “That Thomas is the suspect?”

“Not yet,” Sophie said. “Bridgestock grumbled, but even he saw the sense in keeping quiet until Charl—until the Consul arrived. He swore his patrol partners to secrecy too. There’s no reason to raise everyone’s ire, since Thomas is obviously innocent.”