There was always a lot of work to be done in Idris, which made it easier – for a while – to push any emotions aside. Lydia threw herself into it as soon as she was healed from her wounds. Working up her strength in the training room took its fair share of the time, of course, and then there were reports from the various Institutes to be read, memos to send back, policy recommendations to be made, research to dig into, diplomatic relations to handle, and eventually, actual demon slaying missions in the outside world.
Victor Aldertree might have been given the New York Institute and the Clave might have deemed her ineffectual but those were only minor setbacks. On a lower level, she was making a name for herself. Her own name, not just the one handed down to her by illustrious ancestors. People said, "Oh, so you're Lydia Branwell? I've heard of you!" and if there was a hint of a smirk on their faces at times (gossip travelled fast in Idris), more often there was respect, even trust.
She was in the middle of a training session with the head of her team, Angelica Trueblood, when Angelica's eight-year-old daughter came running in and broke the news: "Valentine's been caught!"
Lydia landed the final punch and the paused. "Really?"
"Yeah. But he's killed a lot of people. Like, a lot. Shadowhunters and Downworlders both."
That was no childish exaggeration, she found when the rumours turned into actual reports. The exact number of dead, while still uncertain, was somewhere close to 50, and surviving Downworlders were unsurprisingly in uproar, especially since it seemed that Jace had accidentally done the actual activation of the soul sword.
She hadn't really been in touch with New York since she left, but the situation called for it, and so she sent a message to Alec: "I heard the news. Congratulations on capturing Valentine. How tragic that it had to come at such a cost. Are you okay?"
He wrote back: "I'm fine. Lost some good people. Thank the Angel that Magnus got out in time."
As she stared at his words, a raging fire bubbled in her body. Her hands shook over the message, and she snatched them away, sitting down on them to keep them still.
Never, during her ill-advised engagement with Alec, had she felt a moment of jealousy over Magnus Bane, nor the kind of emotional connection to Alec that would motivate such feelings. They had been business partners, perhaps something bordering on friends, but that was all. Magnus was a good man and she was happy for him and Alec. Truly. So why now, when the whole thing was over and done with….?
Of course she didn't wish that Magnus had died. That would be horrid.
But why would he get a miraculous last-minute escape, when John...
Why would the Angel guard them, and not him?
She pushed away from her desk and stood up, knowing that if she replied right away, she'd say something she'd regret.
When Jace was given the Institute, and promptly handed it over to Alec, there was a lot of talk in Idris and people kept throwing Lydia long glances, half sympathetic and half sensationalistic, as if they expected her to blow her top. One brave soul even dared to ask her opinion on the whole matter.
"Good for Alec," she said and she meant it. She could begrudge him a living boyfriend, but not an Institute. Those were both easier to come by, and less devastating to lose. And there was no doubt in her heart that he'd be up to the task.
Still, it was a relief when Angelica sent her to London to sort out a list of complaints from the head of the Institute, Evelyn Highsmith. Those sort of petty squabbles was a way to keep her mind occupied.
Compared to New York and even Alicante, the London crew were traditionalists, at least in terms of interior design. Computer screens were hidden behind oak panels, with antique chairs in front of them, and the decorated lamps hanging under the roof beams let out a warm, yellowish light. Maybe that was what you got, when the head of the place was pushing eighty.
It was quaint in its own way, though after half an hour in Ms. Highsmith's office listening to her woes, Lydia was starting to long for modern ergonomics.
"I understand that you are short-handed at the moment," Lydia said when there was a pause for her to speak. "But that's a problem worldwide. The Shadowhunters are depleted and we've had to send several of our best to New York to deal with the Valentine situation..."
"Oh, New York," Ms. Highsmith scoffed. "They brought it upon themselves, with their leniency towards the Downworld. I've heard what goes on there, filth and perversion spreading into our ranks."
Lydia had bitten her tongue a lot lately, but found that unless she unleashed it this instant, she'd end up bashing the old lady's head in with the nearest blunt object. "New York has a fine and dedicated staff who have made a lot of sacrifices in the battle against Valentine. As, need I remind you, have their Downworlder associates." She took a deep breath and barged ahead with a new subject before Ms. Highsmith could get a word in. "Now, where your maintenance cost and weapons inventory are concerned, I'll go through it, see what we can do. But I must tell you, this budget seems excessive."
A young woman, or possibly a girl in her late teens, stopped outside the window and peered in. She was pretty in a doll-like way, with blonde curls, round eyes, and a rosebud mouth. Her long and flowing dress looked more like a 19th century chemise, or possibly a nightgown. Altogether, it gave the impression of someone having just stepped out of a Romantic painting. She should have been struggling across a windswept moor with her hands pressed against her chest, or sitting in a boat with her gaze mournfully on the horizon like the Lady of Shalott.
Lydia stared. The London Institute might be old-fashioned, but so far it hadn't extended to its inhabitants.
"What about strategic planning?" Ms. Highsmith asked. "I don't think it's too much to ask for Idris to take a personal interest. After all, this is one of the oldest and most revered Institutes, and if I'm to make do with half the staff size that I'd need, I'd very much like to hear your ideas on how on Earth I'm supposed to accomplish that."
"Yes, of course," Lydia said automatically.
The girl outside gave Ms. Highsmith a long, disdainful glance and formed her hand into a yapping mouth. She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated way and then smirked at Lydia in shared understanding
Lydia bit her lip and closed her eyes for a second to keep the laughter down. When she opened them again, the girl was gone.
"So, do I have your word?" Ms. Highsmith asked.
Pulling herself together, Lydia replied. "I'll bring it up with my superiors. Now, shall we start with the weapons inventory?"
The business in London took longer than Lydia had expected, though in hindsight she should have seen that Ms. Highsmith would grab at any opportunity to hold onto a Clave representative as long as possible.
Upon her return to Alicante, she heard of Valentine's escape and put in a request that same day for a transfer back to New York. One that was just as promptly refused by Inquisitor Herondale herself.
"We don't need more insurgents in New York at this point," the Inquisitor said.
Lydia clenched her jaw. "I'm not an insurgent."
"Not on your own, perhaps. But that place... those people... are a bad influence on you."
'Those people' like her grandson, though Lydia knew better than to voice it out loud. Anyway, she knew Jace wasn't the one implied in that statement. Though the Inquisitor had allowed Alec's promotion, based on his overall field proficiency, there was still that bubbling moral resentment underneath, if somewhat more veiled than in the likes of Evelyn Highsmith.
"Bern's had a bit of a problem lately," the Inquisitor said. "I'm sending you over."
Bern did turn out to have an unusually persistent infestation of tatzelwurms. Lydia took the mission without much enthusiasm and brought over some of the Clave's volumes that had information about the creatures.
The staff was noticeably chilly at the intrusion to their ranks, with the exception of the leader of the Institute, a young man named David Baumgartner who greeted her with a firm handshake and a used-car-salesman smile.
"Welcome!" he said. "How's Idris these days? I've only been back for two years but I miss the old place. Things get so isolated around here."
"Idris is fine," she said, slamming her books down on the conference table and pulling up a chair. "Now, what can you tell me about these tatzelwurms?"
Tatzelwurms, as it turned out, were smallish demons, only about the size of a ten-year-old child, with lizard bodies and cat faces.
"You can get them easily enough with a seraph blade," said second in command Florian Siegenthaler, a bearded man in his forties who compensated for his colleague's wide smile by having no expression at all. "But there are too many of them now. You cut one down and there's a dozen where it came from."
"Do we think someone summoned them, or...?" Lydia asked.
He shrugged. "There have always been a few, here and there. Not like this."
"Right. Well, take me out to their lair. I want to see for myself."
A few hours later, she silently cursed this policy of seeing for herself, as she used an iratze to mend her shredded skin, and wished for an equally simple rune to mend her gear. Sewing it up would hardly even be worth the effort.
The claws she had been prepared for, but she hadn't expected the damned things to jump.
But at least the excursion had given her what she needed, personal experience to complement what she could read in books, and she hit the research with a bit more insight.
"Can't we just burn the damn place down?" she asked after hours of exasperating dead ends.
"These buildings belong to the Old City," said Baumgartner. "Cultural heritage."
"It's just the cellars," she said. "Surely we can..." But she envisioned fire spreading towards the nearby buildings. Destroying cultural heritage sites was inevitable in some cases, but doing so deliberately because some tiny demons didn't know when to stop multiplying was another matter altogether. "No, you're right. Forget it."
She leafed through the reports, trying to work out the timeline: "So a year ago, there were lots, but no more than you guys could handle, and you had them down to only a few. Then nothing at all until spring, when you got some scattered ones here and there."
"But really ferocious ones," said Siegenthaler, speaking from bitter experience.
"And now there's a boom, coming from... they had babies. Of course. The ferocious ones were mothers, the pups are only now becoming old enough to hunt."
"Makes sense."
"But where were they all winter? Even if the young ones were only born this spring, the old ones must have been hiding somewhere. Or did they just pop back to hell and return now?"
"They could have been hibernating," Baumgartner suggested off-handedly. "According to some of the sources, they do that."
The room fell quiet as they took this in. Hibernating wasn't the same as dead – but a hibernating creature was a hell of a lot easier to kill. Especially if you control the where and when of the hibernation.
"So tell me," Lydia asked, "what's the official policy of freezing a cultural heritage site?"
"They're under three whole blocks," Siegenthaler said. "We don't have anything that could freeze all that."
"We don't, but I'm betting the warlocks do."
"No, no, no," Baumgartner protested. "No Downworlders. And we can't afford warlocks anyway. Do you know what those bastards charge? It's a frivolous expense."
"Not if it can save lives," Lydia said.
"Oh, will Idris pay for it, then?"
"Barbegazi," Siegenthaler said, loud enough to drown them out. "A lot cheaper than warlocks, and more helpful too."
"Is that a word I'm supposed to know?" Lydia asked.
"They're a kind of Seelies, creating ice and snow. And they have a soft spot for mundanes, so I think I can convince them to help out."
"That's still Downworlders," Baumgartner said.
Lydia ignored him, focusing her attentions on Siegenthaler. "You'd rather trust Seelies than warlocks?"
"In this particular case, yes."
"All right," she said. "I'll allow it."
With that, they dispersed the meeting and Siegenthaler went to make his contacts.
Working against the wishes of the head of Institute made for some bumps in the road, but Lydia powered through, figuring a few bruised egos was worth it to solve this problem once and for all.
The barbegazi turned out to be a dour-faced little dwarf with frost in his long beard, and was surprisingly easy to negotiate with. Siegenthaler spoke of the danger to mundanes, appealed to the barbegazi's generosity of spirit, and in the end all it took was the promise of protection for a few snow-covered mountain tops.
With the barbegazi's help, the tatzelwurm lairs were soon frozen, and the Shadowhunters could move through them, sticking seraph blades into dozing bodies to send them back to the hell from whence they had come. If Lydia had any qualms about the sportsmanship of stabbing unconscious creatures, the fangs and claws on even the youngest tatzelwurms quickly dispersed her of that notion.
By the end of the night, she was shivering and tired, even with the application of runes for both heat and wakefulness, but the lairs were finally empty, and the buildings above them started to thaw.
"I can't wait to go to bed," Lydia admitted, rubbing at her eyes.
Baumgartner grinned. "Want some company?"
She pulled herself up to her full length, suddenly wide awake. "Pardon?"
"You and me, a bit of fun. I'll buy you a drink. Or we could go to dinner tomorrow, if you're going to be all proper about it."
"I shall be doing no such thing."
"Oh, come on, don't act all high and mighty." Baumgartner was still grinning, though there was just the slightest edge of malice. "I know your story. Lost the man you loved at twenty-three, threw yourself at the nearest guy who would have you after that. Too bad he turned out to be gay. Ditched at the altar..." He whistled. "Beggars can't be choosers, eh?"
His hand came up to touch her cheek, and she wrenched it away, with enough force that she could hear bones crack and Baumgartner let out a surprised whimper before she let go. "Mr. Siegenthaler!" she called, striding ahead. "Please arrange for a portal to Idris at your earliest convenience."
Siegenthaler must have been as tired as she was, but didn't say a word in reproach as he got them back to the Institute and ordered up the portal. Nor did he act in any way surprised at Baumgartner's dark looks at Lydia or the fresh iratze he'd given himself.
Lydia didn't say another word to Baumgartner, or he to her, but she did give Siegenthaler a last parting smile before passing through the portal.
"It's been a pleasure working with you."
"And you," Siegenthaler said. "Thanks for the help. Good luck in Idris."
"Thank you," she said, and stepped through.
The gossip in Idris may be trying, but at least it didn't come with any wandering hands.