I don't think any of you want to hear my pathetic excuses as to why I haven't updated since August...but I will promise you that this story will be finished. There are only two chapters left to go.

I came to with an abrupt jolt, a shudder ripping through my body as my wrists met cold metal. I clenched my fingers into fists and jerked my hands upward, but the manacles refused to give.

A cracked, moldy plaster ceiling was my only view, an empty, windowless room my only companion. It took me longer than it should have to turn my head and realize that there was nothing else in the room besides the cot I was chained to. Cuffs encircled my wrists and ankles, shackling me to the floor. I was no longer wearing my gear; instead someone had dressed me in an unflattering beige corduroy dress that scratched against my skin when I shifted positions. I prayed that it hadn't been Meliorn.

I moved my gaze down to the iron cuff, searching desperately for some sort of weakness in the metal—a keyhole, anything—but they were smooth and perfectly circular, molding around the exact shape of my wrists; it was impossible to see how they had even been forced onto me. My heart dropped into my stomach as I realized that I was completely useless against faerie magic. Then again, I was completely useless anyway, but it extinguished any spark of hope I might otherwise have had. What were they planning to do with me? Starve me? Leave me languishing here until I rotted? Or had they devised some other sort of torture? I had read in the Codex that the faeries had once publicly executed a Shadowhunter for attempting to steal from them. God, I had been so blind and naïve.

So this was my fate, then. My punishment for thinking that the faeries would help me save Jem. I knew there was no use in agonizing over my unbelievable stupidity right now—surely I would have more than enough time to do that later. The Seelie Queen would want to keep me alive, at least for now. I was the clockwork queen.

Clockwork queen. The words ran around my brain in endless circles as I stared blankly up at the ceiling. What did that mean? Was I in control of the automatons? They had been reanimated with my blood, after all…my last memory was a blur; I recalled one of the automatons shoving me to the ground while I cried and struggled, pressing a cloth over my nose and mouth. It had a faintly sweet scent, and inhaling the chloroform was the last thing I remembered.

I turned my head to the side and flexed my fingers, checking to see if there was any possible way I could wriggle my hands free—and froze as I noticed, for the first time, that my left hand was bare.

"No," I gasped, as the horrifying realization sunk in: the Carstairs ring was missing from my hand, as was the Cartwright ring, Jem's mother's pendant, Maxwell's dagger, my seraph blade, and stele. I should have been expecting it. If the faeries had taken my gear, they would surely take the items that were the most precious to me as well. I felt bare; stripped of my identity.

I could feel tears of frustration building up in my eyes as I thrashed around on the cot, but I knew it was no use. The chains were likely designed to hold something much stronger than me, and they would probably prove useless against my seraph blade even if I had it. Faerie magic was an area still largely undocumented by even the Codex. The only beings that held any sort of immunity to it were demons…but where on earth could I possibly get demon blood? I was no longer wearing my gear, and I doubted that the faeries kept stores of demon blood lying around—

Except that I did have demon blood.

Tessa's father was an Eidolon demon, from whom—which?—she had inherited her immortality and shape-shifting ability. He—it?—was my ancestor—my great-great-great grandfather, as related to me as Benedict Lightwood was. Despite the distant family ties, I must still have a trace amount of demon blood. That kind of thing wouldn't die out after only five generations, right?

Suddenly feeling a spring of hope, I looked down at my wrists. The handcuffs were uncomfortably tight, and I had struggled against them enough to irritate the skin, but hadn't yet drawn blood. So I fought against the chains once again, this time with newfound vigor. The clash of the metal rattled my eardrums, and I hoped I was isolated enough so that nobody could hear me. I winced as the edge of the cuffs finally tore into my skin, pain shooting through my fingers.

One long, terrifying second passed—it hadn't worked—and then, just as I was ready to cry out in panicked frustration, there was a loud click and my wrists were suddenly free. I could do nothing but stare down at my hands in pure shock—there were bloody scrapes circling my wrists and my skin felt as if it was on fire—but I was free. My heart leapt straight up into my throat, hardly daring to believe that my spur-of-the-moment idea had actually worked.

I sat up dizzily, not waiting for my head to stop spinning before I reached down and shook a drop of blood onto the chains around my ankles. Those immediately snapped open, too, and it was with utter disbelief that I swung my legs over the side of the cot and carefully stood up, checking my balance and taking a few tentative steps forward. Thankfully I was relatively unscathed aside from a few minor injuries, which were nothing an iratze couldn't fix.

When I was certain that I could walk reasonably normally, I made my way over to the door, and when I discovered that it was locked from the inside, I forced myself to take several deep breaths and knelt down to peer through the keyhole. I could see nothing except for the wallpaper on the opposite end of the corridor—so I was off of a hallway, then—which was a putrid shade of yellow. There was just enough room for me to stick my smallest finger through the hole and reach around to the lock on the other side.

An idea suddenly sprang to mind, and I reached around to grab the nearest open handcuff, pulling the chain away from the wall as far as possible. Stretched out to its full length, the chain was exactly long enough for it to reach the door, the handcuff exactly large enough to fit through the keyhole. I paused for the briefest of moments at the coincidence, but I didn't have time to give it much thought—after yanking the edge of the cuff through the keyhole as hard as I could, I felt the lock break, and jumped aside as the door swung open.

I leapt to my feet again and hesitantly peered around the door. My cell opened up into a narrow hallway, plastered with that decaying yellow wallpaper and paired with a matching musty carpet that reminded me of mothballs and dust. The image of a hotel—or an abandoned apartment complex—came to mind as I slowly crept along the hallway. There was no visible way out aside from a door standing ajar at the end of the corridor. I swallowed hard, one hand on my chest as if to slow down my racing heart. This was the moment that I usually turned tail and ran away as fast as I possibly could. But there was nowhere for me to escape to now except the cell. Jem, Tessa, Magnus, Mom, Grandma…they couldn't save me now.

I instinctively reached up to touch my throat where the pendant was usually located, but my fingers only brushed bare skin. A small gulp escaped my lips, and I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle the noise. It would be just like me to ruin everything before I even started.

The entire place was silent. Too silent, like a tomb. Unfortunately, I doubted that I was in the Silent City. I placed a hand against the wall to steady myself as I kept my eyes fixed on the door in front of me. The architecture and paneling were like nothing I'd ever seen in Idris, or even London for that matter. Where was I? Surely the Seelie Queen had me ordered to a place far removed from anyone who could or would possibly help me. I could be in the middle of the ocean, for all I knew. What if trying to escape would prove more dangerous than staying where I was?

My heart kicked off again in terror and my vision began to blur at the edges. No, I told myself firmly, forcing my shaking legs to continue moving forward. I can't have a panic attack. I can't have a panic attack. Not now—

"Abby?"

My head snapped up at the soft, achingly familiar voice, cracking like a violin's strings. Standing in front of the door was a pale, ethereal boy, all silver and shadows. My mouth parted open in surprise at the sight of Jem standing in front of me—not Brother Zachariah, but Jem.

"Oh, God," I breathed. My legs began trembling madly and I felt dizzy. "What are you doing here?" I gasped. "Jem. Jem. How—but you are a Silent Brother!" I stumbled forward, barely able to form coherent words. Jem reached his arms out to me, his silver eyes gentle and kind, and I fell into them, tears already beginning to fall from my eyes.

"Shhh, shhh," he soothed as I sobbed into his shirt, inhaling the familiar scent of yin fen tinged with something else, something I couldn't quite place. His arms around me were stronger than I remembered them being. I rested my head against his chest, shudders tearing through me. I couldn't feel his heartbeat.

"How is this possible?" I asked him, gripping the thin material of his shirt and staring up at him, hating my tearstained face. He smiled wanly down at me. "Jem. I thought—I thought I would never get to see you like this again." I took a deep breath, willing my shudders to stop while he rubbed my back soothingly.

And then I suddenly remembered where we were, and how much danger I was in. "Jem, we have to leave," I said urgently, reluctantly tearing myself from his arms and beginning to walk toward the door, still clutching his hand. "The faeries abducted me—I don't know what they're planning to do, but I have to leave." He refused to move, still smiling at me.

I paused. "Jem?" I was saying his name far more often than I had to, but I would never get tired of it passing through my lips.

"It's dangerous for you out there, Abby," he said, the smile fading from his face. "It's safer for you back there."

I stared blankly at him, trying to comprehend. "What do you mean? Jem, we have to leave now. The faeries—"

"Abby, they knew you would try to escape," Jem said, his tone calming and almost pleasant. "They purposely made it easy for you. They wanted to see what you would do."

I let go of his hand. I could feel my heart pounding against the inside of my chest. My face felt uncomfortably hot. "They…they knew?" I asked in a horribly pitiful voice. "The fact that it was so easy for me to unlock the door…it was a trap?"

Jem nodded. His eyes were glowing peculiarly. Not even when he had been ill with fever had they ever looked so bright. "You must go back to your room," he told me. "I just want you to be safe."

I took another step backward. "I don't see how being stuck in there will make me any safer."

"Abby, please trust me," Jem said, holding his hand out to me, trying to close the space between us. "It's me. It's your James Carstairs."

"No," I said, my head giving the tiniest of shakes. I felt as if I was no longer being governed by my rational mind. Some hidden part of me hissed, "Eidolon."

And then Jem's eyes glowed red, and his silvery hair began to fade away. It was an eerie, unearthly sight; I gaped stupidly at him for a long moment before finally realizing where I was, and made a desperate run for the door, slamming and locking it behind me.

My eyes wildly scanned the room for something I could use as a weapon. It appeared to have once been a small office, with a bare mahogany desk in the center and a small window in the corner. There was another door directly opposite me; I began to sprint toward it, but skidded to a halt when I saw my gear piled neatly against the wall, with all my belongings stacked up on top of it.

There came a loud crash from behind me, as if something had just slammed its body against the door, and the wood actually splintered. I froze like a deer in a car's headlights, still torn, but I was too late: the Eidolon demon sprang through the destroyed doorway, back in another form, four-legged and fearsome, like some sort of rabid crocodile. It opened its jaws, exposing a mouthful of long, sharp fangs, and growled at me so loudly that the room shook.

And then it sprang at me.

I dove aside, smashing into the wall; the demon grazed my leg with one of its claws and I felt blood instantly begin to drip down my skin. It reared back and prepared to launch itself at me again, but this time I was ready, and grabbed my seraph blade, shoving it into the demon's flesh as it struck me again. It let out a deafening, almighty howl and I ducked, covering my head as ichor splattered the room, staining the walls and floor. But it wasn't defeated that easily: I scrambled aside as it struck again, this time slamming into the wall. Dust and plaster rained down on me as I scrambled to my feet, brandishing my seraph blade. But the demon was nowhere to be seen, and I wondered if it had been thrown right through the wall.

I bent down to hurriedly gather up my belongings, stupidly taking an extra moment to slip the Carstairs ring back onto my finger, and that was when the Eidolon dealt its final and most deadly blow. I watched in horror as Jem climbed out of the debris. The demon, now mortally wounded, was relying on me not being able to kill it. Even though I knew, obviously, that it wasn't actually Jem, I still wouldn't be able to kill it. I couldn't deliver the final blow. I was too weak.

The Eidolon knew it had me trapped; sweat dripped down my face as I slowly backed away. I couldn't escape out either of the doors, and the window was too small for me to fit through. I could see murky sunlight filtering through the dirt-encrusted glass, as if it was taunting me for not being able to reach it. Meanwhile, the demon was beginning to close in on me again. I wasn't worried that it would kill me—clearly the Seelie Queen wanted me alive for some reason—but any chance for my escape was gone. They had known from the very beginning that I wouldn't be able to kill a demon that was taking the form of Jem. It was torture in the very worst way—it was as if I was tantalizingly close to freedom, only to have it ripped from my very grasp by the person I loved the most.

What would Jem do if he was in my situation? Would he fight a demon that was taking my form? Or would he be deceived by appearances, succumbing to illusions?

Jem doesn't exist anymore, I told myself fiercely. He is in the Silent City. He is Brother Zachariah. He will never look like this again. It's a lie.

"Abby," I heard the demon breathe, and I was suddenly struck by a memory of warm skin, of tangled sheets, of kisses and pleasure and love, and I was angry.

I looked the Eidolon demon squarely in the eyes. "Shut up," I hissed, and leapt at it.

The force of my jump sent both of us crashing to the ground and rolling straight into the desk. The demon—I refused to think of it as Jem—grabbed my fingers and tried to pry them away from my seraph blade. I held on as tightly as I could, pushing the blade as far away as possible. As soon as I felt it graze unnaturally hard flesh, the demon slammed his other fist straight into my windpipe. I immediately rolled away, choking and gasping as I clutched my throat. The demon took advantage of that and grabbed my seraph blade, charging at me so fast I didn't have time to avoid the blow. My back slammed into the opposite wall and all of the air was knocked out of a second time. I flailed uselessly against its grasp, twisting away as I saw the flash of my own seraph blade flying at me. It pierced into the wall inches from my left ear.

I immediately feigned injury, letting myself go limp and waiting for the demon's grip to relax before straightening and kicking upward as hard as I could. Probably not expecting such a dirty trick, the demon doubled over and stumbled away from me. I took the opportunity to grab it by the neck and slam its head into the desk with all my strength, nausea twisting my stomach as I heard the sickening crack jolting me back to my senses. And then I watched Jem fall to the ground, blood seeping through his silver hair from the injuries I'd inflicted upon him.

Not Jem! I screamed at myself, trying to force the bile back down my throat. The blood was too dark to be human, anyway, and already the demon was beginning to morph back into its true form.

Knowing I had very little time left, I leapt up onto the desk and gathered momentum before jumping directly at the window. My boots smashed into the glass, and I flipped backwards in midair, the room spinning around me once, turning up into down, before I landed safely in a crouch away from the broken shards of glass, breathing hard. That had been one of Will's favorite tricks—I'd meant to show it to Jem…the real Jem—but I'd never gotten the chance.

Sun poured into the room, turning my hair even lighter than it already was and illuminating the Eidolon demon. Destroyed by sunlight, it exploded in a revolting shower of ichor and guts. I slowly got to my feet, watching ichor dipping silently down the walls, the only reminder of its presence.

Are you proud of me now, Dad? I thought inexplicably. As if my mind had somehow been severed from my body, I watched the other Abby, the one who didn't feel like me anymore, walk over to the pile of clothes and leave the room without a backward glance. I was inhabiting my own body without feeling like I was truly present. I wondered if this was an aftereffect of shock.

There was a dark, narrow set of stairs that led to the ground floor. When I reached the bottom I quickly changed into my gear and glamoured myself against any strange glances I might receive. Before I opened the front door, I took a deep breath and tried to prepare myself for wherever I might be. I would have to find some way to get back to Idris—I wouldn't be surprised if the faeries had taken me to some far-flung island in the middle of nowhere, completely isolated from any sort of society.

But when I stepped out into blinding sun—so bright I had to shield my eyes—I stopped in my tracks. As soon as I saw a familiar street lined with brightly-colored houses, a steep hill leading down to the bay, and a streetcar slowly making its way down the road, a rush of pure, unadulterated relief swept over me, followed by pure, unadulterated fear.

I was in San Francisco.

"Mom," I breathed—what had the faeries done to her? Had Magnus been able to hold them off?—and I began to run through the crowded streets, dodging around mundanes and feeling the hot sun beat onto my sweaty hair. They had to have brought me here for a reason—why? To taunt me? To hold my mother as some sort of bait? She was a mundane; she had no idea how to defend herself against the Shadow World, not when she'd shunned it for so long. But surely Magnus would help her—

By the time I finally saw the bright red shutters of my house in the distance, I was panting and my legs were burning, but I continued to push myself forward. I wasn't being pursued—at least I didn't think I was—but even so, I glanced behind me just in case; there was no one in sight except for an elderly woman walking her dogs.

I realized too late that I was barreling straight for the house with no chance of stopping, and the front door was coming at me with more force than I would have liked. I braced myself for the impact, but instead it swung open and I tumbled into the front hallway, landing on my face.

I groaned loudly, letting out a few of the more colorful words in my vocabulary that I'd picked up from Will, and spat strands of hair out of my mouth as I pushed myself back to my feet. Why had the door been unlocked? It didn't look like there had been any sort of struggle in the house—from what I could see, all of the furniture was right where it should be, and there were no suspicious bloodstains on the walls…

"Mom?" I called, my voice edging further into hysteria as I checked the living room and kitchen, which were both empty, before taking the stairs two at a time. "Grandma? Magnus?"

But I never received an answer. After I was forced to conclude that the house was empty, I skidded into her bedroom and began tearing the place apart, looking for any signs that might point to where she had gone. I looked in all of her standard hiding-places—under a loose floorboard, under her pillow, in the very back of her closet—but I found nothing except for a crumpled-up piece of paper that looked like it had my father's writing on it. Deciding to read it later, I stuffed it into my pocket and continued my frantic search.

"They're not here."

I spun around, brandishing my seraph blade, but came face-to-face with the blue-skinned faerie, Hyacinth, who was standing at the door with her lips pursed. "They're in Alicante," she explained, taking a step towards me. "Magnus Bane Portaled them there when they heard that you were missing."

I didn't care whether she was there to recapture me or not; all I wanted to know was if my mother was safe. "But my mother is a mundane," I argued. "She can't—"

"She is willing to drink from the Mortal Cup," Hyacinth told me. "If it means she can help find you."

"No," I gasped. "She wouldn't." But even so, I remembered a dream I'd had of my mother in Idris, screaming my name…"So what are you doing here?" I demanded, rounding on Hyacinth. "Shouldn't you be trying to capture me?"

"I was sent here as a guard in case you showed up," Hyacinth admitted, unable to meet my eyes. "My queen ordered you captured alive in case you escaped…the faeries wanted to bring you somewhere far away from Idris where you wouldn't be able to interfere with their plans. But I am unable to do so. I am willing to risk the consequences if I am ever discovered because of your relation to Elizabeth Gray. She saved my life and I have yet to return the favor. Besides…" she paused. "I saw the way you loved James Carstairs, and he you."

I worried my bottom lip, suddenly not wanting to think of Jem. "If you wish to help me, Hyacinth, then answer this," I said slowly. "What are the faeries planning to do?"

"The automatons running on the Greater Demon's energy and powered with your blood are planning to march to Alicante and kill as many Shadowhunters as possible," Hyacinth explained. "Mortmain stored his automatons with my queen in case of his defeat. He played on our bitterness towards Shadowhunters for the way they treat us as monsters."

"But I am the clockwork queen," I said, beginning to pace in agitation around the room. "If I am able to command the automatons to stop, the army may be defeated…I must go to Idris."

"Yes," Hyacinth told me. "But there is no way to travel to Idris without my queen knowing you have done so. They are monitoring every Shadowhunter who is Portaling in and out of the country."

I stared at her blankly, my mind working a mile a minute. Surely there must be another way to arrive in Idris other than by a Portal…

And then the answer hit me; it was so obvious that I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it straight away. How had Jem and I been planning to travel to Alicante for our honeymoon? If mundanes passed straight through the borders of Idris without knowing it, then Shadowhunters must be able to pass, right? "I don't suppose," I began slowly, looking hopefully at Hyacinth, "You have any way of forging an airplane ticket?"