Chapter 8: The Other Side of a Mirror


The Dark Sister's attitude brooked no argument. Will, by habit, ended up in the front of the line behind the yellow-eyed Mrs. Dark. Tessa fell into step behind him, never dropping her regal demeanor as she glided after him. Jem, out of habit too, ended up last, preferring, as always, to bring up the rear and watch Will's back. The short and fat Mrs. Black ended their line, bookcasing their little group in more too-bright taffeta.

The silver-veined walls reflected the Dark Sister's garish clothing back at them, so that they moved in a riot of flashing blue and green light. As the warlock led them through a maze of dark hallways, Jem found himself studying the back of Tessa's head. Her hair was made even darker by the lack of light, and the pale skin of her neck even paler where loose wisps of hair curled against it. The silver painted on her skin and twisted in her hair glinted in the dim light, making her look even more like she was wearing starlight. It occurred to him that perhaps this was more than an ordinary admiration of a pretty girl, that she was more special than that, but he pushed those thoughts away quickly. They had no place in a situation such as this.

They stopped a hall that he and Will hadn't explored which was lined with several closet sized rooms, nearly all of which were occupied by costumed fighters nursing varying states of bloody wounds. They were taken past these occupied cells to three empty ones at the end of the hall. Mrs. Dark pushed Will into the first and Mrs. Black closed her hand around Jem's arm, pushing him towards the second. Even through the layers of her glove, his gear and the faux gear on top of it, he felt like her touch was clammy and hot and when she let go of him, he wiped at his arm.

She didn't leave him alone in his cell, as he expected her too. When he looked up from scrubbing at his arm, she was still standing there, holding her hand out to him, palm upturned. In the center of her aquamarine glove was a small vial filled with silver liquid. She smiled at him, showing off her yellowed and uneven teeth:

"Take it."

Jem eyeballed the vial with disdain, even as his blood began to sing in his veins. Even though he'd taken enough of the powder earlier to allow him to the survive the fight, it was as if just the presence of the substance made his body ache just a little bit less. As if his proximity to it could assuage his cravings and soothe his pain. It took great effort for him to reply:

"I'll take my chances without it, thank you," he said through gritted teeth, even as his body betrayed him by starting to reach for the vial. He had to concentrate very carefully balling his hands into fists and keeping them at his sides. His joints throbbed from the effort, but remained stationary. He could resist. He would be fine if he resisted. The warlock merely cackled in response.

"You're weak, little angel boy," she sneered. "Pathetic. Just take the drug. You want it. You need it." When he didn't move, her lips curled into a growl. "Take it, all of it. Gives us a good show tonight and I won't put the dark angel in a red match tomorrow."

"I think you're bluffing," Jem said fiercely, ignoring the way his blood pulsed in his ears, almost deafening in its desperation for the yin fen, ignoring the flash of panic at the thought of Will in a red match. "I think you bully and threaten people into doing what you want. I think you have a bet on my winning and will do anything to get your money. I think the Magister won't let you decide who goes into red matches. And I think he doesn't give a damn about the show I give to the audience."

He didn't believe that last bit. Tessa had been training them to create a good show since the invitations to the match arrived, but he didn't think this warlock knew that. He was a good actor-a force of habit that came with living with his illness as Will's parabatai. He had learned from very early on that if he wanted Will to treat him like he wasn't made of blown glass he couldn't allow how much pain he was in to be obvious. It wasn't easy and it wasn't always pleasant, but it was better than being treated like an invalid. Unfortunately, the warlock woman didn't seemed to be phased by his bravado.

"But what you think and what you know aren't the same thing, little angel boy," she said in a sick singsong voice. "Are you certain that I am bluffing?" She smiled at him and shrugged. "Risk your blood brother's life. Be my guest."

He could tell that there was more of the drug in that vial that he'd usually consume in a week. Taking it mean a painful withdrawal later. Taking it would mean that he'd need more of it in the future in order to simply function. Taking it would cut months, maybe years off of his life. Jem knew that if Will got hurt because he refused to take the drug, his parabatai would not hold it against him. Jem know that if Will were standing beside him right now, he would say something incredibly rude and that would be the end of it. Will would never allow him to shorten his life for sport.

But Jem's life was already short and Will was not there to protest.

He took the vial and drained it in one gulp. The effects were almost immediate. The warlock's cackling laughter faded as the air around him began to glow, and then practically sizzle with an otherworldly sort of energy. He knew he should be angry, and, somewhere deep inside, he was furious, but as the drug took hold of his body, he suddenly wanted to laugh out loud. He felt hot and strong and fast. Better than he had in ages. He hadn't expected that. For his pain to lessen, yes, but to not to this degree. It wasn't something he'd ever felt before and it was spectacular. He wondered why he'd deprived himself of the drug for so long.

He was vaguely aware of a man, Mortmain, his brain supplied, grabbing his arm, of magic pulling him out of the cell and into a new place, but didn't come back to himself until he saw Will. His parabatai's hand rested just over the rune carved into his shoulder and the expression he wore was so utterly confused that it brought Jem down from his high almost immediately. Of course Will would feel the effects of the drug. Of course he would notice the surge of energy and, later, Will would be drained of his own energy as Jem drew on it as the drug left his system. By taking the yin fen, he'd weakened both of them. A fresh wave of fury accompanied his horror, leaving his face and body a burning mass.

He didn't hear the bell ring, didn't see the way the lights surrounding the platform they were on flare, both signaling the beginning of the fight. The roar of the crowd was lost on him, on both of them. They could have been anywhere, on the top of a cliff or in the dining room of the Institute, and it wouldn't have mattered. The silent horror on Will's face was all Jem saw.

Until, with a flash of iridescent ink and dark skin, Will was on the ground.

The sound of the crowd, the glare of the lights, and the hulking form of the man who was half djinn standing over Will's limp body, laughing, came into abrupt focus. Anik made eye contact with him from across the ring and Jem felt something inside him snap. There was no cold of battle this time. None of the sharp focus that settled over him like a familiar jacket that came with fighting demons. There was just a sudden, white-hot fury.

Before he knew what he was doing, he'd launched himself across the platform and into the halfling. All notions of what Tessa had taught him of Anik's weaknesses evaporated like water spilt on a hot stovetop. But it didn't matter. The combination of righteous indignation, anger at himself, and the drug coursing through his veins made him untouchable.

He tackled Anik, and the djinn was so surprised by the sudden attack that Jem bowled him off his feet. Jem's momentum rolled them over twice, all flashing tattoos and silver hair in the stage lights. It was with a little luck that Jem came out on top, pinning the larger man to the ground and hitting him so hard that the crack of his nose breaking was heard above the din of the crowd.

Anik roared in pain and used his legs to push Jem off of him, flinging him to the other side of the ring. Jem somersaulted across the space and landed lightly in a crouch, his silver eyes glittering. He could see that Will wasn't unconscious, though he was still on the ground. Years of training poked holes in his blind rage long enough for him to put together a plan, crude and unformed. He hoped Will would understand it.

Quickly, he moved so that his parabatai's prone body was between him and Anik, stood up straight, and called out:

"Over here, you great, stupid creature!"

The djinn jumped to his feet and shook his head, spraying blood across the mat. When he saw Jem, his eyes narrowed and he charged Jem, ignoring the fact that Will still lay between the two of them.

He was rather rudely reminded of Will's presence when the boy kicked out both legs, his feet connecting with the backs of the halfling's kneecaps, effectively causing Anik to fall on his face while the crowd roared with laughter. Jem took advantage of his confusion, and grabbing him by the hair, hauled him to his knees. His fist connected with the djinn's face at the same as his knee connected with his stomach and he felt the air leave the man's body in a great whoosh.

He didn't stop there. He channeled all his fury and horror and rage into his fists, beating the man again and again, enjoying the way the small bones in the djinn's face felt as they popped and broke beneath his knuckles. The cheers of the audience were too loud for him to hear the bones breaking, but he found he didn't much care.


Will, fighting a wave of dizziness, sat up and stared in a sort of fascinated horror as Jem continued beating the halfling. The man was mostly limp and only upright, Will suspected, because Jem was holding him that way. The fierceness and bravado that had been in Anik's expression when he'd entered the ring was gone, forsaken in favor of pure terror, and still Jem hit him. Will had never seen his parabatai like this. Jem was always the one advising Will to exercise restraint. Having the tables reversed was baffling. Everything about this was wrong, right down to the weird energy Will felt in his very blood as his heart pumped beneath his parabatai rune. When the djinn's eyelids fell closed and didn't rise again, Will finally called out over the shouts of the crowd:

"James, let him go now. It's over."

Jem stopped at the sound of Will's voice and gave the man a long look. The audience stilled too, tensing collectively as they looked on. They had been angry when Will had entered the ring, jeering as he stalked in his corner, but something had changed when the djinn had come onstage. Apparently, he was more disliked than the Nephilim as a whole. The mob had only gotten louder when Jem joined them.

But now they were all riveted on what Jem would do next. And when he lashed out one more time, his fist cracking across the Anik's jaw, before he dropped him, the crowd went wild, their shouts shaking the floor beneath their feet. Jem paid them no attention. He would have stalked right out of the ring had the Magister not appeared in a push of smoke and grabbed his arm to raise it in victory. He gestured Will over to join them and the crowd grew even louder.

"Gwilym!" Will only heard it once over the roar of audience, but it made him stop in his tracks. There was no mistaking Cecily's voice in the fray. Mortmain grabbed his arm and joined it with Jem's, raised it over their heads and the mob's cheers grew even louder, drowning out his sister's voice. Mortmain was murmuring something about the length of the match and how they likely could have drawn it out longer, but Will was only half-listening. He scanned the stands for his sister, for some sign of other Shadowhunters, but couldn't see much beyond the glare of the stage lights.

"-in spite of the rush."

Before Will could ask what he was talking about, Jem spoke, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd. "We'd like to stay and watch the next match, to begin with."

It was hard to tell whether Mortmain was displeased or amused by Jem's request, but he inclined his head over so slightly. He didn't let go of their raised hands, and they vanished from the audience's sight as a group. The magical transport was unpleasant and left Will's head spinning and even though he'd done it four times now, it was just as disconcerting as the first.

They were in some sort of private box, which allowed for a clear view of the stage, but not the best purview of the audience below. The smaller of the Dark sisters was there, and the knowing smile she gave Jem when she noticed them made Will's skin crawl. However, she maintained her distance, watching them with her beady eyes. That didn't allow Will to relax, but it was a slight comfort. Mortmain gestured to seats on the opposite side of the box and he and Jem slid into them quickly.

"You're lucky the audience disliked Anik so much," Mortmain said, gazing at the restless crowd below them. "A whirlwind of a match like that against anyone else would have elicited a terrible response." He wrinkled his nose, as if looking at something distasteful. "It doesn't hurt that I'm not particularly fond of Anik myself. His sister however," at this, his pale eyes brightened. "I do expect Anila to put on a good show. I'll return shortly. Do refrain from doing anything stupid."

Though the words were delivered amiably, there was no mistaking the warning in them. Mortmain winked and disappeared without his customary puff of smoke. Will could only assume that sort of chicanery was saved for the audience. He stood and leaned against the railing, as if he were just observing the crowd. Jem, sensing his disquiet, joined him a moment later.

"My sister is here," Will murmured in Mandarin, as he gazed out over the theater. It had been quite pretty once, before the stage had been turned into a boxing ring and stained with sweat and blood. He hoped that Mrs. Black couldn't hear him over the rumbling of the crowd and, if she could, didn't speak Jem's variation of Mandarin.

"Oh?" Jem asked, sounding for all the world like Will had just told him that the sky was blue as he gazed impassively at the audience.

"She called for me. In my native tongue." He had to circumvent the word "Welsh," because there was no Mandarin equivalent for it and, with his luck, Mrs. Dark would pick that word up beyond the din of the audience. "I would know it anywhere."

Jem nodded, but said no more. No more needed to be said. They were both scanning the audience for Cecily or some other sign of the Shadowhunters. There were far more people inside than it seemed the theater ought to be able to hold, and it was hard to make out any faces from this high up. Will itched for his stele, itched to draw a Far-Seeing rune on his arm. But the stele was hidden in Tessa's room, lest it be found on Jem's person and confiscated. He would have to make due.

He didn't have much of a chance. The lights dimmed only a minute later and, as if on cue, the crowd hushed. Then a brilliant flash of red that made them go ballistic. When Will was able to see past the spots dancing before his eyes, the first thing he saw was Jem's hands tightening into fists atop the box's railing. And then he saw why.


Author's Note: Thanks to my anon reviewer, Eemmah, who I can't thank in a PM. I appreciate your review! :)