The Siege of the Hotel Du Mort
When Lilith sent demons to procreate with humans to create warlocks, she wanted to give birth to a new species. She wanted her own children to take back what she thought was hers by birthright, that which god had denied her when he expelled her from the world. But, when she sent demons to infect humans with vampirism and lycanthropy she didn't want to create but to destroy; to plant the seed of humanity's demise.
Among the demon diseases she unleased, the one that infects the Children of the Night is perhaps the most pernicious. It takes its hosts to the threshold of death, to the very limits of their humanity, but without allowing them to completely cross over or to become demons. Thus, once the disease changes them, vampires remain forever in a state between life and death; not truly alive, not dead either. While lycanthropy also transforms its hosts, werewolves remain mortal and, thus, their humanity endures, and sometimes becomes stronger than their demonic side. Vampires are the ones who truly walk the fine line that separates life and death, this world and the next. They are the ones who must always walk in darkness and dwell in places the sun cannot touch, places that resemble the antechambers of hell. As a result, vampires are the most susceptible to further demonic poisoning as well as the ones who struggle the most to control the urges that come with demonic diseases.
In the darkness of his room in the Hotel Du Mort, Raphael Santiago lifted his face in the air, closed his eyes and sniffed, searching for the scent of the one who, since this nightmare began weeks ago, had become both the cause of his despair and his only source of hope. He quickly sorted in his mind the mixture of aromas the air brought him: the smell of Chinese and Indian food from the restaurants down the street, the peculiar combination of fur and skin that characterized the werewolves standing guard outside the hotel, and the already familiar scent of the Shadowhunters who arrived a few nights ago seeking refuge. When his nose finally registered the familiar mixture of wild flowers, lemongrass and pheromones that was the unmistakable fragrance of Isabel Lightwood, Raphael breathed in deeply as if wanting the scent to wash away all the pain and struggle of the last few weeks.
This morning, the presence of her scent in the air alerted Raphael that Izzy had arrived for guard duty hours before it was expected. He walked towards the covered window and run his fingers down the thick black fabric, and for the hundredth time, he was tempted to draw the curtains and look outside. He imagined resting his gaze on Izzy's beautiful figure, her thick and lush black hair, or her haunting black eyes just a second before the sun turned his own eyes into ambers and ash. He imagined feeling the confusing mixture of happiness and relief that would come both from seeing her, and from finally being freed by death from the agony of not being able to have her. But he didn't draw the curtain. Instead, he attuned his sharp hearing to the sound of Izzy's voice, trying to catch the conversation that she was having with Clary and Luke outside the Hotel.
Since that night that she walked into his room, Raphael had refused to answer Izzy's calls or meet with her. But, since she, Luke and his pack started guarding the hotel, he had been spying on her as she stood by the door of the building at night; following her with his eyes when she went on rounds; listening to her voice and musical laugh when she talked to the others; and gazing at her pensive expression when she was alone and thought no one was watching. When sunlight kept him locked in the darkness of his room, he had guessed her location and her movements by how the freeze blew her fragrance in his direction. In time, he had learned to guess her moods by the changes in her scent and could tell when she was worried, sad, scared, angry, and –his favorite of Izzy's moods –resolute. He had told himself many times that he would stop searching for, or spaying on her. For while her presence brought him comfort, it also reminded him of how unreachable she was, how futile was to continue hoping.
This morning, the air brought him a different scent, a scent that alerted him that something was about to happen. Izzy was in a state that was a mixture of panic, anger and determination. That is why, he listened carefully to her conversation with her friends, and that is how Raphael learned that The Clave had ordered the extermination of his clan.
The news should have outraged or, at the very least, scared him, but he was tired. He was tired of fighting the effects of the demonic poison that, since the attack at the New York Institute, had been slowly chipping away at both his instinct for self-preservation and his faith in god. If it wasn't for the sense of responsibility he felt towards his clan, and the knowledge that his death would cause Izzy suffering, he would have sought the end long ago.
Raphael and his clan had begun to feel the effects of the demonic poison just a few hours after the attack. One of the clan members, Jessy, a young vamp who used to hang out at the park, dragged himself into the Hotel Du Mort just minutes before sunrise, a wild and disoriented expression on his face. His clothes were soaked in blood, his eyes were bloodshot, and his stomach was distended from too much feeding. He collapsed in the front lobby and when two other clan members, Nadine and Carl, tried to help him, Jessy threw up all over them, a foul combination of blood and a substance as black as tar splashing and staining the floor and walls. When he smelled the foulness, Raphael, who had arrived to assist Jessy right after Nadine and Carl, knew that something was wrong. What came out of the young vampire smelled of copper, sulfur and putrefying flesh, and rather than dissipating after they cleaned up, the stench remained and quickly spread throughout the hotel.
Over the next few hours, Nadine and Carl began to exhibit the same insatiable thirst that had affected Jessy, and shortly after, Raphael himself began to feel the same symptoms. Jessy, Nadine and Carl became irritable, almost rabid, and completely ruled by their instincts. Other clan members had to physically restrain them, lock them in their rooms and use physical force to prevent them from escaping and wracking havoc in the city. The poison affected Raphael in the same way and only his tremendous capacity for self-control, his unshakable faith in god, his sense of duty towards his clan, and his love for his family, now dead for years, kept him from succumbing to the same urges that ruled the other three members of his clan. Still, by the end of the first day, he dragged himself to his room determined to lock himself in until he died of thirst.
However, when he entered his room, he experienced an unexplainable sense of relief. It wasn't that the thirst, the irritability or the urge to hunt disappeared. Rather, it was as if he had taken medication that dulled the pain without doing away with it. That was when he noticed the box that had magically appeared on the coffee table sometime over the previous few hours. He recognized the box and the ring inside. He had seen it in Magnus' loft years before and, while there was no note, he understood Magnus had sent it to him.
Over the next few days, the demonic poisoning that Jessy had released into the air spread to almost the whole clan, and only the magic effects of Magnus' ring allowed those nearby to maintain some modicum of self-control. Knowing that sooner or later, The Clave would realize that the clan was diseased, Raphael ordered them to horde as much blood as possible. He then sequestered the clan in the hotel under strict prohibition to leave. Thankfully, Izzy had come through and soon the werewolves began to deliver blood and guard the hotel.
Yet, even with the magical help of Magnus' ring, the effects of the poisoning didn't go away. Not only did the thirst remain, but, in fact, it seemed to increase no matter how much blood the vampires drunk. And, in time, the thirst became not just a physical need for blood, but a hunger, a desire, a yearning and, ultimately, an irresistible longing for things lost when vampires became undead. Unable to satisfy it, the thirst morphed into something else, a deep melancholy that no amount of blood, reassurance or love could cure. It was as if unable to give free reins to instincts, other deeper unsatisfied desires took over, as if the thirst opened a void in the center of one's chest, a void that swallowed everything that was good and left only sadness, absence and darkness.
Eventually, it was not the insatiable thirst but the melancholy, absence and longing that were the poison's most devastating effects. A week after Jessy showed the first symptoms, he sneaked out of his room, climbed to the roof of the hotel and, with slow but determined steps, walked out into the midday sun. As the sun slowly blistered and then burned his skin, Jessy called for his mother, dead for over a hundred years; for his sisters; for the children that he never and could never have. He cried for a human life that should have been forgotten but wasn't, and for an old age he would never reach. He cried until nothing but ashes and tears were left of him. After Jessy's death, Raphael ordered all doors and windows be sealed. Still, two more had died by their own hand since then, drowning in their own despair.
Raphael understood what drove Jessy and the others to suicide; for since the poison took hold of him, he had felt more than ever before in his long life the loss of everything he left behind when he became a vampire. Of all of it, the loss of love was the hardest: the loss of his mother and siblings' love, and the loss of god's love. But most of all, it was Isabel Lightwood, that near yet still unreachable and untouchable temptation that symbolized the biggest loss. She was that which Raphael couldn't have but couldn't stop desiring either; that which while reminding him of his loss, he couldn't send away. That is why, despite the torture that it was not to be able to touch her, he followed her with his eyes and nose; for Izzy was his biggest weakness and his major source of strength, his major cause of despair and his only source of hope.
Despite housing creatures who lived in darkness, Raphael had always made the effort to infuse a sense of style, cleanliness, order, and even elegance into hotel. As days and weeks went by, however, the place began to resemble more and more a tomb, a place of death, and sometimes, an asylum for the insane. The vampires stayed mostly in their rooms and the hallways and ballrooms remained in darkness. Only the occasional whimper or scream of agony, and the regular sounds of the werewolves knocking on the side door to deliver blood broke the silence. That, and the arrival of Clary, Catarina and a few others seeking refuge a few nights ago.
Now, the routine would finally be broken because The Clave was coming to put Raphael and his clan out of their misery. Listening to the discussion between Izzy, Luke, Clary and the others, and their planning for a strategy to safeguard the hotel and the vampires, Raphael felt once more the odd mixture of relief, sadness and hope. He knew Izzy would not give up on him, even though he wished she did. He knew that he should fight, that he should come out of his room and organize a defense but an unrelenting exhaustion and a desire to die had, because of the poison, taken root in the center of his being. So, he just stayed locked in his room resigned to whatever fate destiny had in store for him.
Suddenly, several other unfamiliar scents, mixtures of adrenaline, fear, anger and hate, reached Raphael and he knew that the Clave representatives had arrived. His ears registered rapid movements as the werewolves and his Shadowhunter friends took defensive positions outside the hotel, determined to block the entrances and prevent the other Nephilim from entering. The hotel went deadly silent all of the sudden, as the other vampires registered the presence of the new arrivals. Perhaps some of them readied themselves to fight not caring whether they died as long as their agony ended. The situation was about to become volatile, Raphael thought, but the realization wasn't enough to snap him out of his stupor, not enough to shake him into action. Except for the sorrow that he felt knowing that Izzy would mourn him, he was beyond caring.
As Dearborn ordered his team to surround the hotel, he was disgusted, but not completely surprised to see Jace Herondale and Isabel Lightwood blocking their way. Not only had Jace and Isabel disobeyed his orders to eliminate the vampire infestation, but they had obviously betrayed their duty to the Nephilim by opposing him. Sadly, theirs was not the first act of rebellion he had had to deal with that morning.
In fact, a couple of hours ago, he had been enraged when the Shadowhunters remaining at the New York Institute had refused to obey his order to attack the Hotel Du Mort. Even Scarcherry, member of one of the oldest and most honorable families of Idris had defied him, arguing some nonsense about the vampires not presenting a threat.
"It doesn't matter what you think," he had said to Scarcherry between clenched teeth and in front of all his teammates. "I am giving you an order and you must obey it."
"I cannot," had been Scarcherry's stubborn answer. "My consciousness doesn't allow me to follow an order that is morally wrong."
At the end, Dearborn had ordered the rebellious Shadowhunters back to their rooms, and after contacting Acquaclara, had the warlock prisoner that had transported him and his team to New York open a new portal. She had arrived a few minutes later with a team they had assembled from loyal Shadowhunters from different Institutes, and they had taken over the operation that would finally put an end to the vampire infestation, the Shadowhunter rebellion and, Dearborn hoped, the warlock attacks.
The inquisitor thought that the rebelliousness of the New York Shadowhunters was the result of The Clave's permissive attitude when it came to the Nephilim assigned to the Institutes; of the absence of rules that prohibited fraternization with downworlders; and of the unwillingness of The Clave to punish Shadowhunters who behaved inappropriately. The Clave had been too permissive, too lenient, he thought, and, thus, had allowed the Downworld to contaminate the purity of the Nephilim.
The Inquisitor feared that The Clave had become corrupt when they gave council seats to the Downworld in exchange for their help in the war against Valentine. The moment The Clave opened the door, they lost control, he thought. And now, the Nephilim were comingling and fraternizing with downworlders, allowing themselves to be polluted. Isabel Lightwood's rumored relationship with a vampire, and worse, her brother's disgusting relationship to that warlock were clear evidence that he was right.
The Clave had even begun to question his methods. All because some Downworld representatives had launched complains. It wasn't his fault, Dearborn thought, that the Barcelona Shadowhunters had gotten overzealous and killed a couple of werewolves and a fairy by mistake. Those people all looked the same; after all, they were all part demon. The Consul was now demanding that he return to Idris to explain his actions, but as long as the Idris borders remained closed, all the Consul could do was to scream at him through the phone line, while Dearborn continued doing his work.
If he could only stop the warlock attacks, he thought but then reconsidered. Perhaps it was for the best. The longer the attacks continued, the longer The Clave would remain sequestered in Idris and the more time he would have to clean up the corruption from among the Shadowhunters. He would begin with the New York Institute and Alexander Lightwood. Once The Clave saw that his treatment to eliminate demonic influences worked, they would never doubt him or his motivations again.
Who would have thought that The Clave would become so weak, so open to the corrupt influence of the Downworld? Dearborn asked himself as he took position a few meters from the Shadowhunter traitors and their werewolves allies who formed a line of defense in front of the hotel. No wonder Shadowhunters like Alexander Lightwood had become easy targets for demonic corruption. But no matter, he was confident that he would be victorious at the end; that he would not only end the vampire threat, but would also capture Alexander Lightwood, Magnus Bane and his two warlock accomplices, Catarina Loss and Kat-Ata-Killa.
He had divided his team into three groups: the first, under Acquaclara's command would keep the werewolves occupied while he and a smaller team went into the hotel in search of the fugitives. A third team was in charge of setting explosives and fire bombs around the hotel. The plan was to have the building and everybody in it reduced to ashes and debris by the end of the morning.
"Jace Herondale," Dearborn spoke in a commanding yet still nasal voice, "you and any other Shadowhunters currently in the premises are hereby ordered to leave." He thought he should give Jace the chance to vacate the premises. He was, after all, a Herondale, and Dearborn didn't want the boy's family to accuse him of not having done all in his power to get Jace out of danger. If the boy disobeyed, he would at least be able to say that Jace had had every chance to change his mind.
"I am afraid we cannot do that, Inquisitor," replied Jace in a tone that struck Dearborn as terribly impertinent. "The vampires haven't hurt anyone and, as per their request, they are currently under Nephilim protection."
"I have not heard of, nor do I recognize any such request," replied Dearborn. "Mr. Herondole," he said trying his best reasoning tone, more for the other Shadowhunters to hear than because he cared to convince Jace. He wanted to make sure that none of his action would be subject of scrutiny by a family as powerful as the Herondales. "I must insist that you let me handle this threat. The vampires are dangerous; dangerous indeed."
"I must disagree," replied Jace in a commanding and certain voice. "If you try to come in, you will have to go through us."
"Well, no one can say that I didn't try," he whispered to Acquaclara. "You know what to do. Oh, and make sure to bring any bodies into the hotel afterwards. Since they prefer to die rather than give up the vampires, they should burn with them."
Dearborn had never been one for blood or battle. He was more of a bureaucrat, and thought his calling was to give orders rather than to get his hands dirty. So, as the Shadowhunters under Acquaclara's command got their seraph blades out and began to approach the front entrance, he and his team, made their way towards the side of the building where two of is men were about to break a door. By the time he heard the first clash of blades, he was already away from the unfolding battle.
Alec, Magnus and Kat stepped out of the portal and into one of the hotel's dark ballrooms. Immediately, Alec got his blade out and checked that his bow and quiver were properly strapped to his back. They had hoped to have more time to prepare but as soon as they set foot in the hotel, they heard the sounds of battle coming from outside. Inside, the hotel was immersed in tense silence and darkness. As they cautiously made their way out of the room and through the first set of corridors in the direction of the front lobby, Magnus kept his hands at the ready just in case they run into one of Dearborn's people, or a rabid vampire and he needed to perform magic. About a hundred meters down the corridor they made a turn and run almost head first into Catarina.
"Thanks god you are here Magnus," she said in her usual dry tone. "I had begun to think that you had gotten lost in the desert once again." Catarina continued walking along the corridor as she waved her hands in front of every door.
"What are you doing?" asked Magnus.
"What do you think?" she said. "I am sealing the doors so we do not have a stampede of rabid, confused and sick Vampires in our hands. Why don't you stop asking silly questions and help? Alec, Clary and Jeremy are in the front lobby guarding the inside of the door," she added turning to the Shadowhunter.
"Okay, I will go help them," stated Alec. "I suspect Dearborn is going to try to burn the hotel. Magnus, is there anything you can do to stop the building from catching fire?"
"I can try," replied Magnus.
"You two go on then," interjected Kat as she rolled up her sleeves and got ready to perform magic. "I will help Catarina."
Magnus and Alec continued silently making their way down to the first level. As they walked by closed door after closed door, they heard faint sounds of crying, whimpering and moaning coming from inside the rooms. He had been in the hotel only a couple of times, and his visits had never been cordial. But tonight, the sounds, combined with the darkness, gave the hotel an even more eerie and unnerving feeling than Alec remembered. There was also a lingering and distinctive smell in the air, as if days or perhaps weeks before, someone had left something to rot somewhere in the hotel and the remnants of the stench remained even after whatever it was had been removed.
"Will you be okay if we run into Dearborn or Acquaclara?" Magnus asked Alec in a barely audible voice. He was concerned that once they run into the Inquisitor, he would try to trigger Alec's rune again. The situation they were in was potentially explosive and not only because the Nephilim were trying to burn the hotel. The vampires were unpredictable in their present state and if Dearborn and his people made it into the building, Alec and his team might find themselves at a disadvantage. Very few werewolves would risk entering the Hotel Du Mort on account of age-old feuds between the two Downworld species. At the end, it might be just them against who knows how many Nephilim.
"I will be fine Magnus," Alec replied and Magnus recognized in the voice the tone Alec used when he was in command. Alec was not the gentle lover or the caring partner right now, but the soldier on a mission, a mission to defend those who, at least at the moment, couldn't defend themselves. Magnus experienced a moment of profound pride, for Alec was brave and selfless when it came to putting his life on the line for others. He just hoped that bravery would not fail him at the end, and if it did, the anger Alec felt towards Dearborn would compensate.
A minute later, they found Clary and Jeremy by the front entrance, their blades at the ready. The sounds of battle raging outside could be heard through the massive front door: the unmistakable sound of blade against blade, of bodies colliding with one another, of running and pushing against the door.
"I should go outside," said Alec as he readied his weapon, its blade glowing even more brightly in the dark hallway.
"No," said Clary putting a hand on his arm. "Jace wants us to stay here and stop anyone coming in as well as any vampire trying to get out. If anyone makes it past the door, we have to stop them from going further."
"Is anybody keeping an eye on the Inquisitor?" asked Alec. "I suspect that he will try to sneak in unseen."
"He is sneaky bastard and a coward," said Magnus. "I wouldn't put it past him to use the attack as a decoy to sneak in through a tunnel."
"And we need to look for any teams setting explosives; their ultimate goal is to burn the hotel," Alec added. He thought that if he had planned the siege, he would not just rely on a frontal attack. If they had just had more time, Alec thought, they could have planned a more comprehensive defense strategy. But again, they were just a small group, even when considering the werewolves. And, Dearborn's people were likely skilled Shadowhunters.
"Don't worry, Maya and a small group of werewolves are looking into that," replied Jeremy.
Abruptly, a loud explosion shook the ground and the chandeliers that hanged from the high ceilings, and when they turned in the direction of the bang, they saw a streak of sunlight breaking the semidarkness at the end of the corridor leading to the east wing of the hotel. Almost at the same time, a loud crash cracked the front door, and the sound of screams, cries, and bangs broke the silence of the upper levels of the hotel where the vampires were locked in their rooms.
Magnus and Alec looked at one another with dread. Jace's line of defense outside the door had been breached, and someone had just blown a hole in the side of the building. They were about to be assaulted on two fronts.
"The explosion was near Raphael's chambers," said Magnus, alarm evident in his voice.
"Catarina sealed his door, but that explosion could have disrupted the magic," said Jeremy, his voice barely audible over the increasingly loud banging, and the creams and cries coming from the upper levels.
"You guys go," said Clary as she widened her stand and tightened her grip on the blades in her hands. "We got this."
Alec heard voices and boot steps coming from the opposite wing from where he and Magnus were heading, and as he glanced back, he saw three Shadowhunters and two werewolves join Clary and Jeremy at the precise moment that the front door finally gave in.
The door at the end of the east wing corridor had been blown out of its hinges and the walls and carpets were bathed in bright sunlight for the first time in decades. Magnus and Alec walked cautiously but with determined steps, their backs to the wall. Half way down the corridor, they took a turn that led them to the entrance to Raphael's rooms. That door had also been broken but this time not by an explosion, but by the push of a strong body, or perhaps by the use of magic.
As they walked into the apartment, Alec unstrapped his bow and nocked an arrow, and Magnus rolled up his sleeves even higher, tiny purple sparkles emanating from his fingers. Magnus had the distinctive suspicion that they were walking into a trap and he was about to say as much to Alec when the door behind them closed shut, locking them inside Raphael's barely illuminated rooms. Too late, thought Magnus, as he took a deep breath and gave Alec a resigned look. They were on their own at least for now. He felt his heart beat pick up speed but then the echo of Alec's steady heartbeat on his chest forced his own to settle. Alec was alert but not scared or panicking despite the uncertainty of their situation.
A few steps into Raphael's apartment, the corridor ended at a hallway that separated the apartment into two opposite wings. Alec signaled for Magnus to walk in one direction while he walked in the other. The situation wasn't ideal, thought Magnus as he saw Alec walk away, neither of them knew how many people might be waiting for them, but they didn't have much choice; splitting was the only way to quickly search the whole apartment.
Magnus walked by a bathroom and an empty bedroom, their doors ajar, and continued on until he reached a closed door at the end of the hallway. As he was about to snap his fingers to throw that last door open, two pairs of strong arms caught his hands and trapped them behind his back.
"We got you your filthy warlock," said an unknown rough voice with an Swedish accent coming from somewhere behind him. "We knew you were going to try to help your vampire friend."
The same strong arms pushed him into the dark room, and as soon as they were inside, someone else punched Magnus in the stomach with such surprising strength that Magnus instinctually bent over, the air knocked out of his lungs. With his hands trapped behind his back, he couldn't activate his magic powers before a kick to his knee sent of jolt of sharp pain up his leg and spine. If it wasn't for the arms holding him, he would have fallen to the ground. More punches and kicks to his head and stomach followed in quick succession, and Magnus began to feel disoriented, and he tasted blood in his mouth. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't master sufficient concentration to call on his powers. That had always been his problem; he needed to have control of his hands to perform magic.
Suddenly, he felt a jolt on his chest, and the echo of Alec' heartbeat picking up speed told him that his Shadowhunter was himself in trouble. Before panic overtook him, Magnus closed his eyes and concentrated in determining how many assailants were with him in the room. There were at least four, he thought: two holding him upright and two beating him up. One of them took out a seraph blade, its glow cutting the darkness in the room, and Magnus thought this was his end.
"We have orders not to kill you, warlock," said the voice with the Swedish accent, "but nothing prevents us from doing a little damage. See if you can perform magic without fingers or hands."
That was when the Shadowhunters made their most critical mistake. When one of them forced his arm from behind his back and out so the one with the blade could amputate his fingers, Magnus got sufficient leverage to release a stream of red magic that pushed out of him with enough strength to knock the Shadowhunter with the blade backwards and against the wall. Magnus then twisted with enough speed to surprise the men holding him and, releasing an even stronger stream of magic, sent both of them flying through the air. They hit the opposite wall with a loud thump and they fell on a heap on the floor. He turned again, but this time he wasn't fast enough to prevent the fourth assailant from slashing his side with the blade he had managed to take out. A blinding pain briefly disoriented him, and he involuntarily brought a hand to his side where a deep cut was beginning to profusely bleed.
"You just cut one of my favourite shirts," Magnus said in a tone of forced mockery.
"That is not all I am planning to cut your filthy demon spawn," replied a German accented voice.
With quick snaps of his fingers and circular waves of both his hands, Magnus called on the energy that always floated in the air and redirected it in the man's direction. As the energy obeyed his command, it became as solid and silvery as a steel blade which, with another push of his magic, Magnus drove deep into the man's chest.
"You Nephilim need to learn new insults," he said as he turned to leave the room. "Those ones are getting old and repetitive."
Alec cautiously walked into what appeared to be the apartment's vast seating area and kitchen. He had a bare recollection of the place from when he had come to get Izzy the night he found out about her yin fen addiction months ago. He had been angry back then and had punched Raphael with an ire that had surprised him. Now, he was back here; but this time, he hoped to save the vampire that meant so much to his sister.
Something told him that he wasn't alone in the room, but the place was dark and he couldn't be sure. Walking alone and without back up into a dark room was not an ideal situation, thought Alec, as he turned and pointed his arrow from one side of the room to the other trying to get a sense of the situation. He needed Jace at this moment; he was always the one to barge in blind, which allowed Alec to walk a step behind and provide cover. He was now on his own and felt more exposed than during any previous mission.
Suddenly, a sharp pain hit him on the rune on his chest, a pain as intense as the stab of a knife and his hold on his bow weaken. Alec made a superhuman effort to keep his hold on his weapon, even though he knew he would not have the muscle to hold the bow or release an arrow. Another burst of pain cut through him and flashes of light on the periphery of his vision threatened to blind him. He involuntarily relaxed his hold on the bow and the weapon fell to his side. He searched for a blade hanging from his belt and as he released it from its hold, the blade glowed in his hand adding illumination to the dark room.
"Mr. Lightwood," came the familiar nasal voice of the Inquisitor from the sitting room where a table lamp came on. "I am so glad to get you alone finally; you and I have some businesses to conclude."
"Unless it is about you ending this attack, you and I have nothing to discuss," replied Alec as he took two decisive steps in Dearborn's direction.
The inquisitor turned the stele in his hand and its tip dug deeper into the rune on his opposite arm. An even sharper pain cut through Alec and he fell to one knee. He involuntarily let go of the blade as one hand reached for his chest and with the other he stopped himself from completely crumbling to the floor. He made an herculean effort to take a deep breath, to take control of his pain and to clear his mind from the rush of images and memories that threatened to cloud his thoughts, but the pain made it almost impossible for his lungs to expand.
"You left before your treatment was finished and I am afraid that you have become even more confused since then." The Inquisitor stood up and took a few steps in Alec's direction, the tip of his stele twisting once again against the strange rune on his arm. "As I told you, Mr. Lightwood, I can cure you; I can stop the demonic curse that has taken control of you before it completely corrupts you. Don't you want to be cured? Don't you want to be normal, become a respected Shadowhunter, someone your family will love and accept?"
"There is nothing wrong with…uggh," exclaimed Alec, the pain so intense that he felt he was being turned inside out. A rush of images run at blinding speed through his mind: Magnus' cat eyes turning black as tar, and is face transforming into the face of a monster; his hands cutting him as they caressed him; and the voice of the Inquisitor in his mind, telling him that Magnus was evil. Alec clawed at the rune on his chest and focused his whole attention on one single memory, the one memory he never wanted to let go of, the memory of the words with which Magnus had repaired his broken heart: 'I love you Alexander Lightwood.' As he recalled the words, he began to chant them in his mind and imagined the words erasing all the false images, all the planted memories, all the dark thoughts with which the Inquisitor had attempted to poison his mind and his heart.
As he chanted Magnus' love declaration in his head, Alec's mind cleared somewhat and a thought occurred to him. It was a memory of something Kat had said about the mysterious rune on Acquaclara's arm, something he hadn't paid much attention to at the time, but that now acquired importance.
"The rune can create almost the same link as a parabatai rune," Kat had said. "It allows the bearer of the rune to inflict pain."
"Mr. Lightwood, you had made so much progress; so much progress indeed," said the Inquisitor as he twisted the stele once more sending a rush of heat through Alec, a heat that felt like flames blistering his skin. Alec gasped loudly as he struggled not to lose concentration, not to lose the idea forming in his mind. "I can make things so much easier for you if you just let me help you."
With shaking hands, Alec reached for the stele strapped to his leg, and focussing every thought on Magnus' words and on the idea forming in his mind, pointed it against his own chest. If the rune is like the parabatai rune, its connection works both ways, he thought as he dug the stele's tip into the center of that hideous rune on his chest and twisted. Unbelievably, the pain increased even more, heat, cold and stubbing pain threatening to undo him. But pushing through the pain, Alec poured all his energy into that singular spot on his chest; all his anger; all his love, happiness and even sadness; all the loyalty he felt towards his people; all his memories of Magnus, of the feeling of Magnus's magic flowing through him when they made love under the stars.
He heard Inquisitor Dearborn gasp in either surprise or pain, and almost at the same time, Alec felt as if the flow of energy that had been running from the Inquisitor towards him reversed course, and the pain receded a fraction. He gathered the remaining of his physical strength and pushed himself up, standing on his two shaking legs.
"There is nothing wrong with me," Alec said through clenched teeth as he twisted the stele against his chest, "which is more than I can say about you Inquisitor."
Dearborn looked at Alec with an shocked expression, but then twisted the stele once again. This time, however, Alec was ready and with a twist of his own pushed against the power of the dark rune. Dearborn gasped and his face contorted in pain.
"Painful, isn't it?" said Alec as he took two aching but decisive steps towards the Inquisitor. "You have no right to torture people simply because they do not fit within your moral compass. I will see to it that all Nephilim learn what you did to me."
As he finally reached the place where the Inquisitor stood Alec swung his arm with all the strength he could master and hit the Inquisitor with such force that the stele fell from Dearborn's hand and hit the floor with the faint sound of glass hitting a hard surface. As the pain finally left him, Alec felt a blind rage take over him, and grabbing Dearborn by the lapel of his jacket, he pushed him back against the wall. He then wrapped one hand firmly around his neck and pushed up, lifting the smaller man a few inches off the floor. Dearborn flailed his arms about, evidently surprised by the turn of events.
Alec looked into the mouse-like eyes of the Inquisitor and at his freckled face and saw, for the first time, how small and insignificant this man truly was, how scared of things he could not change or understand, how narrow-minded. Alec understood that the Inquisitor wasn't worth him sacrificing his own integrity and honor.
"You are not worth it," Alec said with a derisive tone as he let go of the man, and turned to leave.
As he turned his back on him, Alec heard the Inquisitor cough and then the familiar sound of a blade being unsheathed. He turned swiftly ready to defend himself. But just at that moment, a luminous stream of red and orange fiery energy flew through the air and caught the Inquisitor in the center of his chest, lifting him off the ground and trapping his arms to the sides of his body. A surprised squeak escaped Dearborn and he let go of his weapon.
"I believe Alexander just spared your life," came the cool and calm voice of Magnus from the doorway. "It would be impolite to attack him, don't you think?"
"Your filthy inverted abomination," said the Inquisitor, his voice strained as if his chest was being squeezed, which likely it was.
"Now, now, that is not very polite either," said Magnus, his voice sarcastic, as he took a few steps towards where his powers had the Inquisitor suspended in the air. "Are you okay Alexander?" he asked looking at Alec with concerned eyes.
"I am fine," replied Alec.
"I believe you owe Alexander an apology," Magnus said turning once again to the inquisitor.
"I don't owe you anything," said the Inquisitor. "You are a disgusting degenerate. I will see to it that you never be a Shadowhunter again, your filthy, corrupt…"
"I don't want to be a Shadowhunter if it means to hide for fear of rejection" Alec interrupted. "I am going to live my life out in the open, and I promise I am going to fight for others to do the same. I am not alone or afraid anymore."
"You are finished…" Dearborn started to say but Magnus cut his words short by increasing the pressure of his magic around the Inquisitor's chest. Dearborn began to emit shocking sounds as the magic squeezed the air out of his lungs.
"You are the one who is finished," said Magnus, the sarcasm and coolness gone from his voice, only the dead calmness left. He waved his arms in a decisive half turn and Dearborn's face went even paler.
Alec looked at Magnus and saw that the glamor from his eyes was completely gone and that his cat eyes gleamed with unusual brightness. At that moment, Magnus was more a warlock than Alec had ever seen, his demonic side surfacing with a force that threatened to overpower the human side. Alec should have been scared, but instead, he felt an irresistible tenderness towards the part of Magnus that had spent over three hundred years listening to people like the Inquisitor call him an abomination; the side of Magnus that now came to his aid, to Alec's defense rather than to his own.
"It is okay," Alec said gently placing a hand on Magnus' arm. "Warlock, just let him go, he is not worth it."
Magnus turned and looked at Alec as if seeing him for the first time. In those eyes, Alec saw plainly written the struggle waging inside Magnus between the human and the demonic. He also saw how the struggle was decided, becoming a stalemate between two sides that could agree on only one thing at that moment: their feelings towards the Shadowhunter.
Magnus let go of his magic hold on Dearborn and turned to follow Alec out of the room.
For the second time in as many minutes, Dearborn's treasury and pride got the better of him. He was not about to just let Alec and Magnus go. He was the Inquisitor and no one turned his back on him and dismissed him with such disdain.
"You filthy degenerates…" he said and he took a knife out of his belt, aimed it and got ready to throw it at Magnus.
However, Inquisitor Dearborn didn't have time to release the knife. For suddenly, the dark figure of Raphael Santiago detached itself from the shadows in a corner of the room and with blinding speed approached the Inquisitor from behind. With superhuman strength, Raphael's fist punched a hole through the Inquisitor's back, piercing flesh and bone until it reached his heart.
"No one calls my friends degenerates," he said as he yanked the heart out of the Inquisitor, the organ beating for the last time when it was already outside the Inquisitor's body and in the grip of Raphael's hand.
With a look of utter surprise, the Inquisitor looked down at his chest for a brief moment and then back at Magnus and Alec before collapsing to the floor, his eyes and mouth open in an expression of incredulity and astonishment.
Time seemed to slow down as several things happened at the same time. Alec and Magnus turned just as the Inquisitor looked up from his chest and collapsed dead on the floor. At that moment, a crash alerted them that someone had broken the door to the apartment and less than a second later, Jace, Izzy and Catarina run into the room, blade and whip in hand.
Raphael looked at his bloody hand and at the strange sight of the Inquisitor's heart in its grip. His fangs instinctually came out as the uncontrollable thirst he had been fighting against for the last few weeks finally got the better of him. Raphael became all instinct and hunger, the animal that, since he became a vampire, he had refused to be. All thought and reason gone, he kneeled on the floor and sank his teeth in the Inquisitor's neck searching for the last of the fresh blood cursing through the man's body.
Alec heard Izzy gasp as she approached him and Magnus, but before she could attempt to get closer to Raphael, who was now kneeling over the Inquisitor's body, his fangs sank on the dead man's neck, he grabbed her. "He is beyond reach," he softly told Izzy.
"No, he is not," she replied, her voice pleading. "He will listen to me, let me go."
"Izzy, it is too dangerous," Alec tried to reason. He looked at Magnus seeking support or suggestions but Magnus' face reflected the same stunned expression that Alec suspected was also written on his own face.
"Let me go, Alec," said Izzy once again as she struggled to free herself from Alec's grip. "I can get through to him; trust me."
Alec let her go, not because he believed that she would get through to Raphael, but because he knew that his sister was stubborn and would never forgive him if he didn't give her at least the chance to try. As Izzy cautiously approached Raphael, Alec picked up his bow and nocked an arrow he hoped never to have to release.
"Raphael," Izzy called him softly and gently, her voice carrying the tone used by lovers. "Raphael, listen to me, I am here and I won't let anything happened to you."
Raphael stopped feeding for an instant, distracted by the sound of a voice he couldn't quite place. The sound annoyed him as if it was a perky insect flying around his head. As Izzy called his name once again, he cocked his head and when he saw the others in the room, he bared his teeth as a threat to anyone trying to take his prey away from him. Everybody, except for Izzy stood still not wanting to provoke the vampire.
"Raphael, it is me, Izzy," Izzy said, her voice calm and loving. "You know me, I am the girl you have been watching through your window for the last few weeks."
Raphael looked at Izzy with a confused expression, the words sounding familiar, and as Izzy extended her arm tentatively towards him, her scent reached him over the coppery smell of blood. It was a fragrance that he would remember for eternity, the scent of wild flowers, lemongrass and pheromones. Suddenly, a flow of memories returned him to reason: the memory of Izzy standing guard outside the hotel, walking on rounds around the building, laughing and talking with her friends; the memory of her small body against his that night she came to see him, and of her lips soft and sensual.
It was as if one moment his mind had been completely empty, and the next, thoughts, reasons, feelings and memories rushed back to him with a violence that almost threw him backwards. With the memories and thoughts, his consciousness and awareness returned and he saw what he was doing, his bloody hands and the taste of the dead man's blood on his tongue. Raphael let go of the body and with blinding speed retreated to the corner from which he had witnessed the exchange between the Inquisitor, Alec and Magnus. There, he crouched low on the ground and put his head in his hands.
Izzy followed him there and crouching beside him, wrapped his arms around the big body of Raphael Santiago, not caring that his frame barely fit in her much smaller arms.
"Oh boy, what are we going to do now?" asked Magnus as he approached the Inquisitor's body and looked at it as if it was some annoying piece of evidence that needed to be disposed of. The screams and shouts of the rest of the vampires still locked in their rooms could be clearly heard and Magnus suspected they were getting more agitated by the scent of fresh blood. Catarina approached the body beside him and waving her hands put a spell on it that stopped the smell from spreading.
Alec looked at Jace and they both nodded as if reaching a silent agreement. "We are the only ones who saw what happened," he said. "We will tell The Clave that the Inquisitor died in a battle with the vampires, which is not strictly a lie."
"I wrote to our parents this morning telling them that Dearborn had ignored the vampires' request for protection and was planning a massacre," said Izzy from the corner, her voice soft and even. "They will go to the council and speak the truth."
Abruptly, a sound that resembled a roar interrupted their discussion. It was as if the vampires had become even more restless and were now not only screaming and calling out in a panic, but also banging at doors and walls. Raphael lifted his head from his hands and sniffed the air.
"Fire," he said and stood up careful not to move too fast for Izzy.
"But we had things under control," said Jace as he headed for the door followed by Magnus and Alec. "Luke and his pack had Dearborn's people captive outside the hotel," he added as he peeked out on to the corridor.
"Not all of them," said Magnus looking in the direction of the rooms where he had been attacked. "At least two of them may be loose."
As they walked out of Raphael's apartment and down the corridor, they run into Clary and Jeremy who were walking in their direction.
"What is going on?" asked Clary. "Why are the vampires so restless?"
"They smell fire," said Jace.
The phone in Jeremy's pocket vibrated and he took it out and brought to his ear. After a moment of silent, he hanged up. "Two of Dearborn's men tried to set a fire bomb on the back of the hotel," he informed Jace. "Maya and her companions caught them."
At that very instant, a clanking noise came from the end of the corridor where the Inquisitor and his people had blown the door to gain entrance into the hotel. They all turned in the direction of the sound and saw that someone had thrown into the corridor a cylindrical device, which was still slowly rolling in their direction.
"That's bomb," said Jace taking a step back. "It has enough power to bring the whole hotel down on our heads. We don't have much time. Clary, get out of here," he added turning back to look at Clary.
"Magnus, can you contain the explosion?" asked Alec.
"Possibly," said Magnus rolling up his sleeves and getting ready to perform a spell.
"But he cannot stop a whole building from falling; at least not for long" said Catarina who had just joined them.
"And we don't have enough time to evacuate everybody, especially not in the middle of the day," added Jeremy.
"Can we diffuse it?" asked Jace grasping at straws
"No," replied Alec. "It is pressure sensitive; the moment someone touches it, it will go off."
"You must leave," came Raphael's determined voice from the darkness of the entryway to his apartment. "You have done enough; it is time for you to go."
"No," said Izzy, her voice full of desperation, her hand firmly grasping Raphael's. "I won't leave you."
A door opened half way between where they were standing and the gaping hole at the end of the corridor, and the small figure of a girl with pixie red hair stepped out of a broom closet. The sunlight streaming into the corridor almost touched her skin and she wistfully looked in the direction of the morning light. She looked no older than eighteen or perhaps twenty and was pretty despite the paleness of her skin and the blue shadows under her eyes. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a flower design on the chest and was barefooted. She turned away from the sunlight and looked in Raphael's direction and smiled, admiration and affection written all over her face, and then turned back and with slow but decisive steps walked towards where the bomb lied on the carpet.
"Nadine, what are you doing?" asked Raphael, his voice a mixture of surprise and distress.
"I cannot live like this anymore Raphael," Nadine replied, turning briefly before continuing on, her voice youthful and almost musical. "There is no hope for me and I am tired. I have lived long enough; I am done."
Jeremy took a few tentative steps in Nadine's direction, determined to stop her, but concerned that any sudden movement would set the bomb off. Alec followed behind hoping that between the two of them could prevent what he already knew Nadine was about to do. But before anyone could reached her, Nadine –the girl that had survived the demonic poisoning longer than any of the vampires, the one that hadn't hesitated to come to Jessy's aid the day he collapsed in the lobby, the one whose smile always lighted the room –picked up the bomb and run in the direction of the sunlight at the end of the corridor. The last thing Alec saw right before she stepped out into the sunlight was a youthful smile drawing on her face when she looked up as if wanting the sun to kiss her skin after many years living in darkness.
Alec felt an immense force pushing him backwards almost at the same time as the air at the end of the corridor caught fire and a loud explosion shook the ground. He hit the floor with surprising force and the impact of the explosion knocked the air out of him. Just before he lost consciousness, he saw Magnus run in this direction, his arms outstretched, magic pouring out of his hands as he tried to shield him from the wall of fire approaching from the place where Nadine had just disappeared.
I am sorry that this chapter is a bit long, but I am starting to tie lose ends before the end… Also, it took me a little time to figure out a suitable end for Dearborn.