Eva should've learned the Portal rune sooner. They began Portaling everywhere in New York, visiting every Downworld hideout they could think of to let them know of Valentine's plans. Word travels fast in the Downworld and everyone had already heard Luke Garroway and Raphael Santiago were gathering their numbers to head over to Idris. The warlocks of New York had gotten their information from Catarina, and Tessa had retreated to the Spiral Labyrinth to let others know. Eva managed to get in contact with a Seelie Knight that Isabelle once dated, but he was quick to shut her down, saying the Seelie Queen wanted nothing to do with Valentine's war. Hodge insisted there was no use trying to bargain with the faeries.

"Well, how's it going?" Eva asked as she walked into the main ballroom of the Dumort. It was already nightfall and the dim electric lights of the ballroom were flickering against the gilded entrances. "Any luck?"

"You coming into the Dumort como Juan por su casa isn't helping the situation," Raphael grumbled with his hands in his pockets. "My vampires don't want to be involved."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?" He looked especially peeved. "They want the Daylighter."

"Oh if they knew!" Hodge sang sarcastically. It earned him a scornful look from Raphael.

"Quiet, Starkweather—you're not in shark-free waters yourself." His dark brown eyes shifted to meet Eva's; they melted at the sight of her, as they always did. "Lo siento, mi vida, but I've done my part. I told them Simon is in Alicante and they've agreed to wait in Brocelind Forest for the Clave's answer, but that's their bargaining chip."

"I'm assuming it's what every vampire clan wants, then?"

"Nightshade's already over there with the Los Angeles Clan and others are following. If I were Simon, I'd go with our clan—it's better to choose el diablo que conoces."

"If he chooses to join your clan then all the other clans will be outraged," Hodge pointed out. "I've read enough of Night Children politics to know it's either all or nothing."

Eva immediately understood, and she dreaded the answer. "If he joins you, the others will revolt against you, but if you kill him, then no one can have him and all the clans can work together."

"Charming, isn't it?" Raphael smirked coldly. "As the vampires say, we're stuck between a stake and an open window."

"There has to be a way you all can help and not have to kill Simon."

"I'll figure something out," Hodge said. "You focus on finding Ithuriel; we need to be ready for when Valentine decides to attack the city."

"I keep calling Ragnor but he doesn't answer," Raphael said. "We need him to open the—"

"He told me to tell you he's fine—I don't know what he meant by that but that's what he told me," Eva said before pulling out her stele. "Besides, we don't need a warlock to open a Portal."


Eva Portaled the New York vampire clan into Brocelind Forest. There were other vampire clans already there and Raphael left her side to speak to the leaders. Being the odd ones out, Eva and Hodge stood by the outskirts of the forest. The moonlight was providing them with just enough visibility to see each other's outlines.

"Are you nervous?" he asked. He was carving runes on her arms: agility, balance, luck, stamina, soundless. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"You should stay here with Rapha," she said. "He's really stressed, and you calm him down."

"By being his punching bag," he chuckled. He finished a swiftness rune on her upper arm before placing the stele on his belt. "I'll try to brainstorm some alternatives for Simon, but I don't want to get your hopes up."

"There has to be some historical precedent," she said, checking to make sure all her gear was in place. "Some trickery that can be done to get him out of this pickle."

"I'll ask the fey," he joked.

After a quick farewell, Eva disappeared into the darkness of the countryside. She used her witchlight to guide her steps, the various sight runes on her skin allowing her to scan the distance for the countryside manor she looked for. On her way, she came across Alicante's City of Bones. Eva had seen it enough in pictures: it looked like a miniature village of white marble houses, storing the remains of fallen Shadowhunters lucky enough to die on their land.

Eva wanted to keep moving forward, but she couldn't help but venture inside for one quick peek. She scanned the names on the gravestones, some well-known names of powerful Shadowhunter families and other names of equally brave Shadowhunters. Eventually, she found the names she was looking for.

MARIGOLD STARKWEATHER, B. BRANDYBUCK

JAMES JOHANN STARKWEATHER

It was eerie to see her alias on a gravestone. A child born and registered, but had never truly existed. Eva sighed softly as she ran her fingertips over her mother's name, feeling the intricate carving of each letter. The woman she never met and will never meet—the woman that suffered so much and still had enough compassion in her to sacrifice herself for her husband and child.

"Ave Atque Vale, Marigold Starkweather," Eva whispered, drawing her hand back from the gravestone.

The Wayland Manor wasn't too far from the graveyard. There was a strong glamour on the house, urging her to move away from it. The rune against glamour was burning on her skin the closer she got—Hodge was clever to carve it on her. He knew Valentine wouldn't leave a manor housing an angel unwarded.

When she entered the manor, she held her witchlight in one hand and clutched her seraph blade in the other. Plumes of dust floated in the columns of moonlight beaming through the windows, spinning rapidly whenever Eva walked too close. Despite her light footsteps, dust always seemed to burst from the carpets and the wooden floors always creaked. It was freezing; Eva could see her breath everytime she exhaled.

Suddenly, the corridor began to tremble. The dust spun in fervor, the knickknacks and chandeliers rattled. A powerful gust of wind swept through the corridor, blowing the scent of old furniture and dust into Eva's face. She grimaced and covered her nose and mouth with the crook of her arm.

As quickly as the miniature earthquake came, it was gone, and the stillness of the manor returned. Just as she lowered her arm, familiar voices cut through the unnerving silence.

"Clary? Are you all right?"

"Fine. Aside from the fact Amatis will probably kill me when we get back."

Eva's stomach dropped at the unmistakable sound of Jace and Clary's voice. What the hell were they doing here? She went into a sprint in their direction. "Jace! Clary! It's Eva!"

The thundering sound of footsteps erupted and soon, they met in an expansive hall of mirrors. Eva and Jace immediately embraced one another, happy to see each other after what occurred in the Institute's courtyard in New York City.

"Is Izzy okay?"

"She's fine; your fire message helped, especially the part about not telling me about Clary," Jace smirked, nodding towards the redhead standing next to him. "Now she's keeping herself busy with feeding Simon in the Gard."

"Simon got arrested?"

"The Inquisitor's interrogating him, trying to get him to say we're all in collusion with Valentine," Clary chimed in. "He thinks that by starving him, he'll get Simon to talk."

"It's just one bad Inquisitor after another," Jace mused. "How'd you get here?"

"I Portaled using a special rune Clary taught me," Eva smiled and Clary returned the grin. "I'm assuming that's how you two managed to get here, but why are you two here?"

"Looking for the Book of the White," Jace said. "Our mother hid it here in the library inside another book called Simple Recipes for Housewives."

Eva let out a laugh. "I thought Ragnor had it."

Jace and Clary eyed each other sadly before Clary spoke, "Ragnor's dead. I went to his house with Sebastian Verlac and Magnus was there. He said Ragnor was killed by something demonic."

Eva frowned, remembering Ragnor's ragged voice when he spoke to her on the phone, insisting she tell Raphael that he was fine. Did he know he was going to die?

Eva shook the feeling away as Jace asked, "Why are you here? Don't tell me you're related to the Waylands in one way or another?"

"Ithuriel is here, in the cellar," she said. The color seemed to drain from Jace and Clary's faces. "I named my seraph blade Raziel again, and he told me where to look."

"There's no cellar here," Jace shook his head.

They walked through the dark manor, Eva quickly telling them she'd Portaled Maia and the New York werewolf pack to Idris under Luke's orders while he was gathering nearby packs to help against Valentine's forces. When Jace asked about Raphael and the vampires, Eva rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"The price for their help is Simon," Eva said, purposefully leaving out the only foreseeable solution to gain the help of the Night Children: killing the Daylighter. "Hodge is with Rapha and the New York clan; they're trying to broker a better deal."

When they entered the library, they looked through the many books lining the shelves. It didn't take long to find the one book that stood out against the many texts of dead languages and Nephilim history.

"Greek," Jace said, looking over the open Book of the White in Clary's hands. "Of the ancient variety."

"Can you read it?"

"Not easily," he surprisingly admitted. He looked up at Eva. "How's your Greek, Eva?"

His voice was a distant murmur. Eva's ears were suddenly buzzing with the sound of angelic whispers, of music you'd likely hear in a church or a religious ceremony. There was a deep voice woven into the harmonic sounds, a voice that made her heart beat faster.

My child. I am here.

"Eva?" Clary's voice cut through her reverie. Eva realized, with a start, that her skin was covered in a thin veil of cold sweat. Her hands were trembling, making the witchlight's beams waver all over the room. An unknown force seemed to draw her to one of the many shelves in the room, drawing her to one specific line of books, dusty with years of unuse. With her arm, she swept the books off the shelf, making them tumble to the floor and dust explode from their bindings.

The sound of machinery began whirring to life, a series of clicks and high-pitched grinding. The wall in front of them groaned open, a roughly hacked doorway with a descending staircase appeared before them.

"There's your cellar, Jace," Clary said.


The cellar was dark, illuminated by Jace and Eva's witchlights. Bones crunched beneath their boots—some animal bones, some not. The far corners of the room sprang into focus when their witchlights flared up. Three rooms were empty, but the fourth was covered by a cloth. A silhouette was behind the sheer cloth, a humped shape that moved sluggishly. Eva's ears rang again with a whisper.

I'm here.

Eva rushed forward, Jace and Clary at her heels. Finally close enough, she grabbed the cloth and tore it aside. Their witchlights shone upon the shape of a man wrapped in dirty and torn rags, crouched on the floor on his knees. Manacles were clamped over his wrists and ankles, the pale skin raw and red. The chains were driven into the stone floor lined with glowing pentagrams and runes. His face was a mask of horror, his body frail and thin, pallid skin lined with scars alternating between cuts and burns. Hollow black sockets where his eyes should've been—what should've been blazing sockets of gold and heavenly fire. His feathered wings unfurled from behind him, unfolding like crescent moons against the light. Despite the dirtiness of his body and rags, the wings looked unscathed and pure.

Eva felt her stomach turning. The angel sitting before her, chained to the floor like an animal and scarred with years of endless torture, was her father. The chains clanked with his weak movements, his lips parting as if wanting to speak, but no words came forth. Eva could only look into the dark tunnels of where his eyes were scooped out. His long, golden hair lay shaggily over his forehead and sunken cheekbones.

My child. My beautiful child. His voice was weak even in her head. It is shameful you must see me this way.

"There must be something—" Jace's voice broke, "something we can do."

The angel opened his mouth again, and this time, a sound erupted from him. A single singing note of piercing golden music. It grew higher and higher, a sound enthralled with pain and joy.

All their minds connected as one. A flood of images flashed before their eyes like a movie, spliced to show key scenes and information. They saw Valentine and Jocelyn, young and in love. They saw Valentine summoning Lilith and receiving a goblet of pure black ichor and the Lady of Edom instructing him that the child born with her blood will have his humanity burned out of him. More images of Valentine torturing Ithuriel for information on the Mortal Instruments, scarring him and exsanguinating him of his pure golden blood.

They returned into their own bodies, back into the dark and damp room. Ithuriel folded his wings tightly, his mouth now closed tightly as he waited for them to regain their senses.

"That doesn't make any sense," Jace whispered. "How can I have demon and angel blood in me?"

Eva knew why. As she looked into her father's hollow sockets, she finally connected the dots of the final mystery. Jace had to be Stephen Herondale's son, not Valentine's. He was the baby boy Hodge cut out of Celine. She didn't know where the other boy was; perhaps he did die in that fire and Valentine kept Jace as his surrogate son instead. Perhaps the demon blood in the other child proved too much and killed him.

Eva jumped when Clary appeared at her side and knelt before the various runes and pentagrams surrounding Ithuriel. With Jace's stele in hand, she carved new runes of release and openness rather than binding and imprisonment. Eva looked down at Clary and the girl smiled, patting her arm before approaching Jace.

"Let's give her a minute, Jace," she said and led Jace up the dark stairs and out of the cellar.

With tears in her eyes, Eva knelt before Ithuriel and reached out. Hesitantly, the angel raised his hand and took it. Eva winced; his skin was a block of ice.

My child, Ithuriel's voice echoed in her head. My beautiful Evangeline.

I'm sorry you've had to suffer so much. Eva's tears rolled down her cheeks. I'm so sorry this all happened.

It cannot be helped, and it is in no way your fault, or your mother's, Ithuriel said, squeezing her hand. You were innocents dragged into the malice of one man.

I spoke to Raziel. He told me where to find you. He told me you could help me stop Valentine from destroying the Downworlders and the Nephilim.

You are not of Heaven and you are not of Earth, he said, repeating Raziel's words. We as His messengers, guardians of His creations, and soldiers against evil must follow His commands, but you, my child, can choose your own path. You can awaken Heaven's blood in you and become what was once His plan.

What Jesus was meant to do: bridge the gap between Heaven and mankind.

Jesus died a mortal death, but as a child of Gabriel, he was given a place in Heaven, Ithuriel explained. Mary of Nazareth, as she who produced a child of Heaven, was also given a place in Heaven.

Eva's jaw dropped as Ithuriel continued, If you were to die a mortal death, you too shall have a place in Heaven. As your mother, Marigold was given a place in Heaven, as well as for her sacrifice.

A sob left Eva with little restraint. Her hands were trembling; if it wasn't for Ithuriel holding her, she would've doubled over. Even in her mind, her voice was wavering, She's alive?

Her spirit lives on.

It was odd to cry for a woman she never knew. To think that Eva could one day meet her and speak to her, even if it was only her spirit. It was heart-wrenching to think of how Hodge would feel.

Jesus never had the chance to rise to the height of Heaven, Ithuriel continued. Eva lifted her head, his beautiful and scarred face blurred with her tears. He died a mortal death before he could Ascend and fulfill his duty as he was meant to.

Eva's breath hitched in her throat as Ithuriel made images appear before her eyes. Flashes of heavenly fire, of runes she's never seen in her life, of gleaming weapons and armor. An image of a beautiful angel with fierce golden eyes and unruly hair like her own, feathered wings that spread out beyond the boundaries of her vision.

Clary had seen her in this form. Her sketch was a perfect rendition.

I used what little energy I had to make your paths cross, Ithuriel explained. You and Clarissa and Jonathan. It was I who gave Jonathan the strength to continue life under Valentine's care, it was I who influenced your Inquisitor's decision to place Hodge Starkweather and the Lightwood family in New York City, and it was I who guided Clarissa to you.

You are all my children. You all carry my blood. Ithuriel cupped her hands in his. They were so large and yet so frail. She could see the fading scars of runes on his pale skin. But you are part of me; a part of Heaven. You were not created by the union of love, but you are loved. You, as well as Clarissa and Jonathan, are destined for greatness. Your paths have always been intertwined; they will part ways eventually, but will always be intertwined.

Eva blinked her tears away and squared her jaw. Tell me what I have to do.


"Maybe it's happened before," Clary suggested. "I'm sure there's someone out there with both angel and demon blood."

"Tessa said her mother was a Shadowhunter and her father was a Eidolon demon," Jace said. "Perhaps that's what happened to me."

"We would have to ask her—" Clary was cut off when the floor beneath her began to tremble. She met Jace's eyes, wide and just as confused as her own. The manor began to groan, wood began to splinter, shelves began to topple over and glass began to shatter. Jace whirled around and dashed for the cellar staircase, but it collapsed before he could get within arm's length of it.

"Eva!" Jace cried out. He was clawing at the rubble blocking the cellar entrance. Dust and debris was spraying all over him and Clary. The twinkle of glass exploded all around them like misty rain. He was crying out her name, but the massive groan of the manor drowned him out.

"We have to go, Jace!" Clary shouted as she tugged at his arm.

"I'm not leaving her! Not again!" Jace still remembered the day he left her behind at the Dumort. He assumed correctly that she'd be fine, that she could handle herself. But when Raphael barged into the Institute and knocked him in his face and set him straight, the vamp had a point. She was his sister and he was not about to make the same mistake again.

"The cellar's gone!" Clary cried out, choking on the dust around her. "We need to leave!"

Letting out a howling cry, Jace whipped around, gathered Clary up in his arms, and dashed for a broken window. He jumped out of it clumsily; he landed as cleanly as he could but the momentum had them tumbling down the depression between the two hills adjacent to the manor. He shielded her with his body out of pure instinct.

It was raining debris and dust and broken glass. The house gave one final roar before finally collapsing entirely. Birds began cawing and circling the air above, startled by the sudden disturbance.

"Ithuriel was attached to the manor," Jace said through ragged gasps. "If the angel dies, the manor collapses."

"But angels can't die," Clary said. She was mortified to see Jace's golden eyes swell with tears. "Angels can't die, Jace."

"That one did." His voice wavered. "And so did Eva."