4. After Life

Mel's composure crumbled once Bilis disappeared. She dropped down to her knees and hung her head. Her shoulders shook and Jem knew she was crying. He did not know how to comfort her. He was used to the idea that he would die young – Shadowhunters never had long lives, and his yin fen addiction had been a sword over his head for years. Now that he was actually dead, he did not know how to react. He supposed he should feel devastated like Mel, but he felt nothing.

Jem knelt next to Mel and put a hand on her back to comfort her. She shrugged away from him and moved to lean against one of the pillars, hugging her knees and hiding her face in them.

"Mel…" Jem began, trying to find the words to say to console her. But the words did not come. So he just sat quietly next to her.

Eventually, he heard her stop crying, though she still hid her face from him. "You know what's the worst, Jem?" she suddenly asked, her voice muffled. "I died on fucking Blackfriars Bridge. On a bloody bridge, surrounded by strangers. It's so messed up."

"If it's any comfort, I think I died there too," Jem said. That made her look up at him. Her tears had caused her eye make-up to run down her cheeks and looked like dried tears of blood.

"How?" she asked.

Jem hesitated. He usually did not discuss his illness with anyone. But he was dead. What was the point of keeping it a secret? So he told her about it all – the yin fen, the poison that ran through his veins, the attacks and the final one on the bridge. As he did so, he pulled out his handkerchief and gently wiped her face with it. By the time he finished his story, he had wiped off all of her make-up, revealing a girl who looked even younger and more innocent than he had thought.

"How about you?" Jem asked. "If you don't mind my asking, that is."

Mel sat up and squared her shoulders. "I've been epileptic since I was a kid," she said. "I must've had a seizure. The last thing I remember is crossing the road at Blackfriars Bridge. I remember there was a small gap in the traffic and I thought I could make it across. But then everything went hazy and there was a bright light. Then a car must have hit me and I found myself crashing into you. Oh god, that must have been when I died."

"I'm so sorry," Jem said quietly.

Mel continued: "I guess I'm like you. I always knew, with these seizures... I just never knew how little time I really had." She laughed, a short ironic laugh and forced her face into a cheerful mask.

"Well, if this is the after life, I can't say I think much of it," she said, sounding more like herself. "I thought there'd be angels and God and my dear departed relatives here to greet me. Not some creepy bloke and a quest to save the world. I thought you're allowed to leave the problems of the world behind once you checked out."

Jem had a slightly different view of how much responsibility the dead had. The bodies of dead Shadowhunters were burned and their ashes used to strengthen the wards that protected the living. "Sometimes we can do more good with our death than with our life," he said. "Look at what Mr Manger said. If it is true, then we could help save those we have left behind."

"Do you believe him?" Mel asked.

Jem shook his head. "I confess, I do not," he admitted. "Everything about him reeks of treachery and secrets. He has not told us everything nor fully explained what he wants of us or why he chose us."

"Maybe cos we both died on the same day, at the same place. That can't just be a coincidence," Mel suggested.

"I highly doubt you were there when I died. I would have noticed you," Jem said.

"What do you mean by that? I stick out? I do not stick out!" Mel said.

"Well, you are dressed rather… um…" Jem faltered as Mel gave him a warning glare. "Differently," he finished lamely. "Don't you feel a little… um… exposed?" he asked, blushing hard.

Mel looked down at her outfit, then at his, and then back at hers again. Jem saw that she was trying to understand what he was saying.

"Oh for Christ's sakes!" she exclaimed, getting to her feet. Jem was perplexed but also jumped up. "Give me your coat," she ordered.

"Pardon?"

"Your coat. Gimme," she repeated.

Jem quickly shrugged off his suit jacket and held it out to her. "What are you doing?" he asked. She did not answer but began to unbutton her waistcoat and undo the pouch strap around her waist. "Mel…" Jem's eyes widened.

"Relax, I'm not taking my shirt off in front of you," Mel said. That did not reassure Jem at all. "Oh, turn your back if you have to," she said, grabbing the jacket from him. Jem immediately spun around. He did not know what she was up to but heard the rustling of fabric. "Seriously, where are you from? I've never met anyone with a problem with tank tops before."

"Ladies don't generally show so much of their… um… bosoms where I'm from," Jem said. "Not that what you're wearing is not lovely. I'm sure it's perfectly suitable in your circles."

"You talk like the Queen, Jem. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

"No. I've never been told that."

"You know, we both died at the same place but I didn't see you there either. You dress funny, talk funny and act funny. You've got that weird stick thing. You can't be much older than I am. Oh my god, it must be like those things on the telly. Time travel. Like, when you're dead, it doesn't matter when you're from or what language you speak. Which year are you from, Jem?" Mel asked. "And you can turn around now. I'm done."

Jem slowly turned. Mel had put on his jacket but, as it was too big for her, had wrapped it around her body kimono style and used her waistcoat and the strap of her pouch as a makeshift belt. She was mostly covered up now, which relieved Jem. "Now you can look at me instead of some point over my head," Mel said cheekily. "So, back to the question. What year are you from? I'm… was… in 2029."

"1877," Jem answered.

"Who's the king?"

"Queen," Jem corrected. "Victoria."

"I knew it!" Mel exclaimed, punching the air. "Victorian era. All the gaslights and fog and stuff. Sherlock Holmes and Jack the Ripper. Do you hang out in Whitechapel? Did you see those murdered prostitutes?"

None of these made any sense to Jem. "I'm just 16," he told her. "I do not frequent brothels."

"Hey, me too. 16 that is. Sorry, I just got excited about it. I like the Victorian era. A whole golden age where everything changed. The Industrial Revolution and…"

Jem interrupted her. "Mel, could we perhaps not talk about this right now? I believe we have other concerns."

"You're perfectly right," Mel agreed. "Like I said, sorry. I tend to talk too much. Just tell me to shut up and I'll get right on it." Jem could not help but smile at her.

He walked over to the door at the far side of the room and examined it. Mel came up and stood beside him. "So, Mr Manger said we had to go through this door to begin the quest," Jem recalled. There were no markings or indications of where the door might lead. "What do you think?"

Mel came and stood beside him. Her hand touched the door, as if to ascertain if it was real. "Well, I, for one, do not want to be stuck in this room for all eternity. We might as well find out what's in store for us."

With that statement, she gave Jem a wink and pushed the door open.