It's been two hours, and still no word.

Hodge was pacing the corridor frantically, his face pinched in a dark frown and shoulders stiff with stress. Alec and Jace leaned against the wall adjacent to the infirmary's entrance. Jace indeed had a few fractured ribs, but they'd been fixed nicely with iratzes, as were Alec's cuts and bruises. Hodge had quickly made them all a calming tisane to drink, but it didn't affect them too much. They were all on edge.

Their stomachs dropped when one of the Silent Brothers emerged from the infirmary. He was the oddest one on the two: his eyes and mouth were not sutured together and he had a full head of dark hair with a single streak of silver in it. The only thing that denoted his rank in the Brotherhood was his parchment robe and the scars on his cheekbones.

She has been stabilized, Brother Zachariah spoke in their minds and they all let out a collective sigh of relief. She is still unconscious and will not wake for the next few hours.

Eva lay on the bed limp and pale; only the slow rise and fall of her chest gave her any sense of life. Her bloody clothing was thrown out and she was now dressed in a soft hospital gown that blended into the bedding underneath her. Thankfully, the blood that stained her lips and jawline when she coughed it up had been wiped away. Aside from her frizzy and tangled hair, she was perfectly neat.

Isabelle looked up as they entered the room. Her look of despair had long dissolved away and was now replaced with utter relief and exhaustion. Her hand was holding onto Eva's gently.

We have extracted the poison from her, the second Silent Brother, Enoch, began. Have her on a liquid-based diet for the next few days to allow her body to recover from the trauma.

"I'll brew some tisanes," Hodge nodded, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept in a month. They all did.

While we worked, Isabelle explained what occurred, Brother Zachariah spoke. However, his voice only resonated in Hodge's mind and in Brother Enoch's. Evangeline called upon Raziel.

Hodge slid his glasses back on, his eyes trailing over the teenagers huddling over Eva's bedside. Seeing as they were not paying attention to him, Hodge nodded quickly in response.

This is not surprising, Enoch chimed in. Throughout history, those who have been foolish enough to call their blades after the Angel have been consumed by heavenly fire and turned to ashes, but Raziel could not refuse her summons.

Hodge nodded again, slower this time. His eyes were fixed on Eva, on her peaceful, sleeping face.

She was recently bitten by a vampire, Brother Zachariah said. Everyone's head perked up, meaning he spoke to them all. The Brother seemingly floated to Eva's side and with a gentle hand, turned her head to reveal two small puncture wounds on her jugular. Who drank from her?

"Raphael," Hodge spat bitterly. Eyes wide with blinding rage, he turned to the only person who would know the details of Eva's personal love life: Isabelle. "He's been feeding from her? Using her for easy meals?"

"I suggested he bite her," Alec stepped forward. "She was losing blood, and I've read vampire saliva acts as a stimulant, increasing the red blood cell count in the body and temporarily strengthening the bitten person."

You are correct, Alexander Lightwood, and I commend you for your quick thinking, Brother Enoch said. Vampire saliva has restorative properties; it temporarily halted the effects of the demonic poison in her body and allowed for easier extraction.

"Is that the only bite mark on her body?" Hodge was still fixed on the issue. His pale cheeks were flushed and his fists clenched at his sides. Hodge wasn't a fighter, but his students were shocked to see he looked about ready to march down to the Sanctuary and give Raphael a right hook to the jaw.

We saw no other puncture wounds anywhere on her body, Hodge Starkweather, Brother Zachariah reassured him. New or old. This is the first and the only one.

Hodge's shoulders slumped, but his expression was still bitter.

"Speaking of the vamp, we should get down there and give him the news," Jace said, his arms crossed over his chest. "He's probably going crazy."


Crazy was an understatement. Raphael had not tossed the furniture in the room because they were not his. Otherwise, every chair, table, and decoration in this Sanctuary would've been turned over and shattered. Instead, his frustration and fear simmered just below the surface of his pale skin, his head in his hands as he sat on one of the many cushioned chairs. His legs were bouncing nervously, the heels of his expensive dress shoes echoing in the empty and dim unhallowed hall. His white shirt was ruined with Eva's drying blood and after unclasping his golden cufflinks and stuffing them into his pocket, he rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. He felt like he was suffocating, despite not needing to breathe.

The doors of the Sanctuary opened and Raphael was on his feet, his eyes glaring daggers into Jace Wayland and Alexander Lightwood.

"How is she?" he asked hastily, meeting them halfway as they walked inside the Sanctuary. "Is she going to be alright?"

"Alec was right; your magic saliva worked," Jace grinned. "She's unconscious for the next few hours, but she's going to be fine. Liquid-based diet for a few days to help her recover."

"And you might want to watch out for Hodge," Alec said. "He wasn't too happy to hear you bit Eva—the Silent Brothers said there weren't any other bite marks on her, but I think Hodge is convinced you're using her for free meals."

"And if you are, we'll kill you," Jace threatened with a smile on his face.

"I'm afraid you'll have to get in line," Raphael rolled his eyes. "Isabelle has already threatened to kill me if I break her heart, and now with your mentor that's two, so I suggest you work on deciding who will be third and fourth in line on your own time."

Raphael swallowed his pride and asked them to tell Isabelle to let him know the moment Eva woke up. They agreed to pass on the message and led him out of the Sanctuary and onto the sidewalk behind the Institute. He thought about projecting and appearing in the infirmary, but it only made bitterness rise in his throat. He wouldn't be able to touch her, to hold her or kiss her. He would only be able to look at her and the thought of seeing her unconscious made his stomach turn. He would prefer to hear her voice, at least.

His motorcycle was where he left it in front of the Institute. The engine rumbled to life as he neared it and the moment he swung his leg over it and settled down, a voice touched the innermost part of his mind. Raphael Santiago.

A string of rapid curses left him as he whipped his head around to catch the sight of two Silent Brothers, their features obscured by their parchment hoods.

You bit Evangeline in an attempt to save her life, one of them said. Raphael assumed it was the same one who called out to him, but since their mouths didn't move and their body language was nonexistent, it was difficult to tell who spoke. Did you consume her blood?

Raphael was still feeling the gnawing guilt from indulging himself when he bit her. He only wanted to sink his fangs into her and let his saliva flow into her bloodstream, but he couldn't resist drinking three full gulps of her blood. It was delicious and sweet like tangy wine. Just remembering the taste of it was making his skin crawl and his fangs itching to slide out.

He was disgusted with himself.

"It was inevitable to drink from her," he chose his words carefully.

You will find that from this day onwards, the things that once hurt you will hurt you no longer.

Again, Raphael had no idea which one of the two spoke to him. "What do you mean?"

The two Brothers said no more and simply drifted away, the streetlights casting no shadows on them, nor did their footsteps make any noise on the street. They disappeared into the darkness of the night, leaving Raphael pondering over their words.

He revved his motorcycle and took off into the night sky, flying over the millions of city lights and into his old neighborhood. It was close to two A.M. but the lights inside Santa Cecilia Catholic Church were still lit. The building was concrete and wood, constructed in 1923, and was now painted ivory as opposed to the dark brown it once was when he was a child. Clenching his jaw, he approached the doors of the church. Normally, being so close to a door bearing the cross of Christ would make him cringe as an otherworldly force urged him to move away.

He didn't feel it.

He pressed his palm against the wooden door and pushed it open. Squaring his shoulders, he took a step inside, hearing the hardwood floors creak underneath his dress shoes.

No crippling pain. No migraine. No revulsion.

He forced his legs to take him forward. He was walking on hallowed ground, and yet, he felt absolutely nothing. Raphael stood in the aisle with rows of cushioned benches on either side of him and looking up, he met the eyes of Jesus overlooking the entire room, his enormous stone head curled into his shoulder, his arms outstretched and hands bloody where the nails crucified him to the cross. Over his head covered in thorns were the letters I.N.R.I.

"Do you need a place to sleep, young man?" a voice echoed in the empty hall. Raphael turned to see a priest in his mid to late-forties in a black shirt, matching pants, and white clerical collar around his neck. When he was close enough, the priest's eyes immediately trailed down and he visibly paled. Raphael realized what he was looking at immediately.

"That isn't blood," he said smoothly, looking into the priest's eyes intently and charming him with the encanto. "I spilled wine on my shirt."

"I can get you a set of clean clothes, if you'd like," the priest suggested, the color returning to his face as he smiled.

"That's alright, I won't be here long." Raphael turned back to the crucifix of Jesus Christ. He's never been able to look directly at the Son of God and not flinch and gag. Despite all the rigorous training he put himself through to pass as normal, the pain it caused him never left entirely. Raphael simply learned to tolerate it.

"How long has it been since you've entered God's house?"

Fifty years would be the correct answer, but Raphael said, "A long time."

"He will forgive you, my son," the priest reassured him. "He understands and He will forgive you."

"Forgive me for what?"

"For whatever it is that's troubling you," he said. "He knows everything."

Raphael nodded and after the priest reminded him that he could stay the night if he wished, Raphael turned on his heel and went for the door. Just before he could walk through the doorframe, he caught sight of the marble basin filled to the brim with perfectly still and clear water. Holy water.

Without hesitating, he dipped his fingers into the basin. A surge of amazement rushed through every fiber of his body as he saw the water dripping from his slender fingers when he held them up to the dim light. It didn't hurt him, nor did it burn his skin off and leave blisters behind. With the adrenaline pumping through him, he brought his hand to his lips and licked the holy water off his middle finger.

It was tasteless and cool.

A howling laugh left his throat. He could feel the confused state of the priest behind him, but Raphael couldn't care less. He took the edges of the basin and submerged his head into it as if he were baptizing himself. He laughed under the water, making it gurgle and create bubbles on the surface. He pulled himself out and the water ran down his neck and soaked his collar and shirt. He then raked his fingers through his drenched hair, licked his lips, and blinked the droplets of water from his lashes.

He left the church laughing hysterically.