Ari's blessed knife flew straight into the vampire's chest whose screech tore through the night with so much rage, she could not hear the sound of his skin sizzling against the adamas — the metal of angels. His eyes burned with murderous flames as he fell to his knees. His hand closed around the blade, blistering, and removed it with a quickness that should have been impaired by the holy weapon's effects. Fuck — she reached for her sword in her back scabbard but her fingers clenched emptiness. Double fuck.
Her own weapon glinted dangerously in the vampire's scorched hand. If he launched the blade her way, she would not be able to jump out of the way, no matter how many speed runes Ed had drawn on her before their mission. But he surprised her and did what may have been much worse. He flung it upwards, through the skylight dome at the top of the high-ceilinged room.
Eyes wide, she wasted no time in watching the weapon reach its target. She ran and slid beneath the bar at the other end of the deserted room. What looked like millions of shards fell from the sky in a glittering rain that would have looked beautiful had she not been too preoccupied by her own survival and that of her parabatai, wherever he was. She could sense him, could not see him. The fire-alarm had stopped ringing, but mundanes had yet to return into the club which was most likely what Ed was doing. She had no time to think about it.
She rolled onto her stomach to allow a better view of her environment, eyes darting all over the place as she took out her stele. Moonlight drenched the center of the dance-floor with its glow, otherwise plunging the rest of the room in flickering darkness as the flashing light in the club reverberated on the cutting glass. A few chairs had been knocked over or abandoned in the upper corner of the VIP section, the hazer was still clouding the room with unfortunate smoke. She could not see the vamp anywhere but she could hear the sound of boots on broken glass.
Mendoza was a rogue vampire who had been caught drinking blood from the vein. The Clave — the government of the Shadowhunters, like Ari, who were in charge of ridding the world of demons — no longer considered such an act to be against the Accords they agreed to with the Vampire Clans of the World. Drinking from the vein without consent was another story.
Ari drew agility, soundless and night vision runes with her stele as her heart pounded in her chest. Mendoza could be wild at times, though she never expected him to go rogue. Who knew what he would dare do to her if he felt cornered! At the moment, she certainly felt like she would not let her throwing knife miss his heart if she were to try again. Him or her, the choice was easily made.
She struggled to her knees, doing her best not to stab herself with a shard of glass that might have slid under the bar. She needed to find him before he would escape. Movement caught her eye to the upper left side of the room. She was ready to launch herself—
She yelped and launched herself to the side. A seraph blade, its adamas glowing, had pierced the bar and almost impaled her like a fucking chicken kebab! She heard someone shuffle above her as to lie flat on the bar, face down, and suddenly Edward Longford's face popped from above, strawberry blond hair spilling over the counter.
"Arianne, darling, it's not like you to hide!" He joked with a devilish smile.
"Shut up! Where the hell have you been, you could've —"
Her eyes widened at the sight she caught behind him. Ed didn't need to see what she saw. He grabbed her extended hands with practiced movements and pulled her from under the bar deftly. He let go of her as she pushed against the floor with her legs, jumping high enough to kick a rushing Mendoza in the chest. She crashed gracelessly on the ground, though quick to get back up and pull a seraph blade from Ed's weapon's belt. They were back to back, eyes fleeting across the room, searching for a Downworlder who could run faster than any other living thing.
"Told you you didn't pack enough," he smirked.
"Focus, Ed," she snapped with a heavy French accent. "Here!"
He whirled around to face in the same direction she did. Mendoza looked too nonchalant for someone who had been caught committing a capital offence. Dry blood still stained his chin, his eyes still screamed bloody murder, only the curl of his lips told her he was playing. He was done running.
"Come on, Mendoza. You know fighting will only make it worse," she said in the hopes she could convince him to go quietly.
"Am I supposed to just follow you to the gallows, Dragonnoir?"
Ed walked to the vampire's left, she to his right. They were not enough shadowhunters to possibly call it a circling strategy but it did the trick all right. If Mendoza was not willing to cooperate, they would have to deal with him with force. The point, in respect to the Accords, was that he should not be harmed pending trial. His resistance would not make it easy.
"Better the gallows than the pyre, right?"
"Not helping, Ed." He was too cheerful, too taunting for this kind of mission. Mendoza was old, he should be dealt with care. She stepped a bit closer to her parabatai. One hand in her pocket.
"You can't run, vampy, might as well make it easy."
"You are barely an adult in the eyes of the Clave, even less so in mine. You don't stand a chance against me," he smirked with the arrogance of old age. The one that came with years of learning only to believe you knew everything.
"Oh really?"
Mendoza hissed as he showed his growing canines and sped towards Ed with a rapidity that caught him off guard, because he was a fucking idiot. She, on the other hand, came prepared. She flung the content of her pocket at the vampire, dusting him with a cloud of powdered silver. Silver could be poison to a child of the night, if injected, it was powerfully incapacitating when they came in contact with it.
He roared, rolled himself on the ground unable to speed away, unable to see. He was like a blind animal caught in a trap. It took him a few seconds to free himself of the effects of the silver, when he finally did, eyes red and skin healing in white patches of dried puss, he found his hands bound, his neck inches from a seraph blade, and an oak stake right above his heart.
"Don't you think the Clave has other things to do, aren't you at war against your own kind?" The vampire grunted as the two young Shadowhunters pushed him through the streets of Montpellier.
"Sebastian Morgernstern is hardly our kind," Ari grunted.
"But you are correct in assuming we have more important matters to deal with than your unbelievable reckless behaviour."
"Nobody died," Mendoza rolled his eyes. "It was just a bit of fun. You won't actually kill me for it."
"An illegal bit of fun, vampy, illegal," Ed said with a playful smile. "Which is why it needs to be dealt with."
"What will you do then, if you're so busy and stuff?"
"Benoît requested it be dealt with your Clan leader directly," Ari told him.
He stopped dead in his track, forcing Ari and Ed to pull on his arms, struggling to drag him through the street. All his nonchalance and playfulness had been drained from his traits. He paled considerably for someone with no blood flow and his eyes blew wide open.
"No, you can't take me to Marcel, I'll take the Clave's punishment. Take me to Idris, just- Dragonnoir. Please-"
"I'm sorry, Javier," she said and she meant it.
Marcel was know for his ruthlessness, for his intolerance for those who did not abide by the law and for his harsh punishments. He was one of the oldest vampires alive —older than the shadowhunters— yet, he agreed to the Accords, even encouraged his peers to accept change, collaboration and modernity.
Maybe that was the reason why he was still alive, he decided to live in the present. His methods of ruling however, remained somewhat archaic; they were also the reason why no one dared to challenge him.
She had known Mendoza ever since she arrived at the Institute of Montpellier. He was never kind nor was he ever someone she talked to much but he was part of the Downworlder's she knew from afar. She wondered how many times she had seen him talk to a Mundane he would later drain of her blood without ever doing anything about it. Maybe she was not that sorry after all.
"You made your bed, Mendoza." This time, Ed's voice was grave.
1 AM, Place de la Comédie. Marcel's Clan was one that learned many centuries ago how to hide in plain sight. The Place de La Comédie was the busiest plaza in town whether it be during the day or during the night. Its eighteenth-century buildings were alight with nightlife, mundanes walking by completely unaware of the two glamoured shadowhunters or their prisoner. The chic bars bordered the square, the statue of the Three Graces stood above all on their fountain and most importantly, the Opera House —after three fires, a Revolution and more wars than one can count— still stood proud.
Inside, the first thing Ari noticed was the original statue of the Three Graces displayed beautifully under the low ceiling square where the two marble staircases on each side of their little group joined on the second level. The low ceiling and the high ceilings were beautifully decorated with paintings that reminded her of Marseille's and Rome's institutes — the splendour of the Renaissance and its genius artists being replicated in this much younger Opera House. Most of the decor, the architecture and even the three great windows over three meters high, followed eighteenth century refineries that allowed much light into the entrance of the building.
That meant the vampires spent most of their time inside the theatre itself during the day, which sounded very dreary.
"This place is like, beautiful and creepy at the same time."
She shushed Ed as they climbed up the stairs where the moon reverberated beautifully on the ivory and roman mosaics. They dragged a struggling Mendoza into the theatre, where things got even eerier. Everything was still inside the dark theatre. She could feel hundreds of eyes crawling over her in the thick silence. She suppressed a shiver despite her hair rising and waited like she was supposed to, by the stage — ever thankful for her night vision rune.
Then a shadow on the railing above, and boom. The shadow fell on the stage gracefully, yet with a loud bang that signalled the beginning of the ceremony. Marcel rose menacingly in the darkness in front of them. The vampire Clan crowded the upper boxes where an audience of noble birth might have sat in days of yore. They were observing from their seat — Mendoza's judgement rendered to be a spectacle.
"Javier Mendoza," called Marcel. His voice echoed against the walls, pure, loud, and deep. "You have been accused of killing mundanes as it is forbidden by the laws established by the Montpellier Clan under the rule of Marie of Montpellier Queen of Aragon and reinforced by the Accords made with the Nephilim, the Warlocks and the Fair Folk. What do you plead?" The strong man raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips curling.
Mendoza did not answer.
Marcel stepped out from the shadows.
"Behold!" he exclaimed raising his arms in the air. "For Guiltiness will speak, though tongues were out of use."
His flair for the theatrics bore a cruelty Ari found hard to stomach despite his faults. She knew he lied about not killing anybody, she knew he had taken something without those mundane's consent. It was despicable, horrifying in a way that turned her stomach. She was glad he would be punished. She was sick Marcel chose to make a show of it. She almost wished the French Conclave insisted on taking care of it themselves.
Shadowhunters had no say in Downworlder's affairs if mundanes weren't involved, and when they were, the French Conclave tended to look the other way if sufficient punishment was enforced by the Downworlder factions. In these times of war especially, they found little interest in how it was applied.
"Your silence speaks," the vampire added. "Friends," he called out to the crowd. "This man brought shame upon our clan." A murmur of agreement passed through the entire clan. "This man had no respect for the frailty and the substantiality of human-life, our life source!" he said louder. The murmur amplified itself. "This man put all your lives at risk by breaking the Law!" The crowd roared and asked for the prisoner's head. "Shall he be punished?!" Marcel finally shouted. And the Clan broke into a chaos of yells, shouts and screams, but when Marcel spoke, Arianne and Edward could still hear him very clearly, even though he did not seem to strain his voice, his face torn by his grin. "Shadowhunters, stay and witness that justice has been served."
A death sentence was one thing, the torture that ensued was another. Ari's head was still filled with Mendoza's screams as she walked inside Montpellier's Institute. The institute of Montpellier had no entryway that could be gone through by Mundanes.
Not only was it glamoured — thus magically hiding the place — but its entrance was a portal, leading to the Sanctuary, a place where Downworlder and Shadowhunters alike could meet.
Jacques Morisseau, a warlock raised by monks who believed his abilities were holy rather than evil, created the portal centuries ago, imbuing magic in the arch of the institute so that it would feed the doorway to many locations around the region and Idris. It was unlike the Fairchild portals for it could not be closed. Not the normal way anyway.
The sound of Ari and Ed's feet shuffling on the ground echoed in the empty room. It was not unusual for them to find the premises of the Institute empty. Unlike the Institute of Marseille where Arianne had spent her childhood in the company of dozens of passing shadowhunters at a time, the Institute of Montpellier was… Well, empty. It was manned by three shadowhunters total: one head of the institute and member of the clave and two young Shadowhunters, barely of age now. More Nephilim of the French conclave lived nearby, but none of them cared for the Château d'Halabi.
"Good thing I'm not Sebastian Morgernstern or you would both be dead."
Putain de merde! It took as long for Ari to whirl around weapon in hand as it did for the voice to register: Mélodie Renarusé, captain of the guard in Idris and former head of the Institute of Marseille. What the fuck was she doing here? Ari looked at her with unwavering expectancy. She was not going to welcome this woman into her home if that was what she was waiting for. Furthermore, the middle-aged woman was much too fucking close to the lever that could destroy the portal forever and though she was a well trained shadowhunter, it made Ari uneasy. When she saw she would not get any help from either of them, Renarusé clicked her tongue.
"I'm here to see the head of this institute."
"He's presently dealing with the pack of the Gévaudan, but if you wish to wait for him in the study, I'm sure he'll attend to you as soon as he returns," Ed said. Wanker. He did not have to be nice to her, did he? She did not deserve kindness of any kind, or even politeness. She certainly had no care for others, why should they do her this courtesy.
"I see at least one of you grew up."
Ari scoffed out a laugh. Right, because taunting a rogue vampire was a sign of maturity. The girl desperately wanted to ask but bit her lip raw not to, under the watchful eyes of her parabatai. There was no point in asking, the answer would be the same: "I cannot tell you." She walked inside the Institute without another word and she hoped Renarusé would do her the courtesy of doing the same. Yet again, Ari was disappointed in the woman.
"Pack up your bags while I wait, we are evacuating the premises."