Chapter Six

Warning: this chapter contains implied rape. Reader discretion is advised.

"Listen up," said Clary sharply, calling the Conclave to attention. It was already more quiet than Simon had ever seen a Conclave session; there was a heaviness in the air that seemed to snuff out any conversation. They were gathered in the Conclave Hall. It was a large, square room at the back of the Institute, lit by a witchlight chandelier and filled with dozens of long wooden benches. Simon, sitting in the first row beside Isabelle, turned his attention to Clary and Jace, who were standing at the front of the room. "We have a lot to discuss, so let's get started."

She nodded at Alec, and he stood and faced the rest of the Conclave. "We've discovered two murders linked to an insurgent group calling themselves the Scourge of Raziel," he said.

As Alec talked, Simon watched Clary. Her face remained calm and emotionless; if he hadn't known her daughter's life was being threatened, he never would have guessed.

It had only been a day since they had all found out about the Scourge of Raziel and their plan to kidnap Lexie. The birthday party was abruptly concluded, the room hastily cleared, and plans made to convene a Conclave the following morning. In all the commotion, Simon hadn't been able to talk to Clary alone. Every time he looked for her, she was answering a phone call or organizing evidence or doing some other important task. Still, he saw how drawn she looked, and how often her gaze flickered to Lexie.

"Simon and Isabelle Lightwood have agreed to lead a mission," Clary was saying. Simon started at the sound of his name and tried to look like he had been paying attention. "The object is to enter Faerie, find the Scourge, and learn more about their intentions. We won't be moving against them yet."

"Why not?" called a voice from the back.

"That information is on a need-to-know basis," Jace said, his voice clipped. They had all agreed that it was best to keep Lexie's role in the Scourge's plan secret until they were sure of what that role was. They knew that striking too early could put Lexie at further risk—they didn't know how far the Scourge's reach extended and they couldn't risk incensing the faeries further against the Shadowhunters—but if they waited too long, the Scourge might take Lexie before they could stop them. There was too much hanging on this delicate balance, Simon thought, but without more information, they were locked in inaction. He tried not to think of how much was riding on this mission, how much Clary and Jace were relying on him to get this right...

He reached for Isabelle automatically. She squeezed his hand reassuringly, and he forced his attention back to Clary. "We'll need volunteers to join Simon and Isabelle," she said.

Three men stood up together. Simon vaguely recognized them from previous Conclave meetings. The one in the middle was tall and sturdily built, with dark hair that swept neatly across his head and grew thick around his jaw. On his left was a shorter, squatter man, with sloping shoulders and a flat nose. To the right was a man with sandy-blond hair and a thin, lanky frame. They all looked to be in their forties.

"We will go," said the man in the middle.

"Bainewright," said Clary, noting down his name, "Bullridge, and Aldertree. Thank you for volunteering. Stick around for your instructions. Otherwise, if there's nothing else, we can conclude this meeting."

People began to get to their feet, dispersing or else gathering in small groups to murmur amongst themselves.

"Simon," Isabelle said, touching his arm. "We should go."

He stood. The three men who had volunteered were lingering at one side of the room, talking to each other. Isabelle began to walk toward them, but Simon glanced over his shoulder; Clary was alone by a table, gathering papers.

"You go on," Simon told Isabelle. "I just want to talk to Clary for a minute."

Isabelle nodded and went over to the men by herself. Simon saw her shake hands with them before he turned and made his way to Clary.

"Hey," he said. She jumped and looked around. "It's just me," he said quickly.

"Hi," she said shortly, before continuing to collect the papers.

"We haven't really gotten a chance to talk," said Simon. "Are you—"

"Simon," Clary said firmly, "I can't do this right now, okay? I need you to focus on the mission. Can you please just do that for me?"

Simon opened his mouth and closed it again. "Yeah," he said, nonplussed. "Yeah, okay. Sorry."

She made a noise of acknowledgement and gathered the rest of the papers into a neat stack. "Here," she said, handing it to him. "I made copies of the details of the mission."

"Thanks," said Simon.

Clary looked over her shoulder. Bainewright was saying something to Isabelle; Simon knew her well enough to discern the coldness behind her placid smile.

"Be careful with those three," said Clary quietly. "Bainewright has a strong personality, and Bullridge and Aldertree will do anything he tells them to. Don't let him steamroll you. He'll take over the mission if he gets the chance."

"Got it," said Simon. He shifted, wanting to say something to her, to reassure her somehow that it would all be fine. "Clary—"

"Good luck, Simon," said Clary, and then she was gone, disappearing back into the Institute. Simon let out a breath, squared his shoulders, and walked across the room to where Isabelle was standing with the men.

"There you are," said Isabelle as Simon joined them. "This is Simon," she told the others, "my husband."

Simon gave her a quizzical look, but she didn't take her gaze off Bainewright. "Hi," said Simon uncertainly, holding out his hand. They each shook it in turn.

"Gaius Bainewright," said Bainewright as he clasped Simon's hand. His voice had an unctuous note to it, and his blue eyes seemed to glitter when he smiled. "This is Grayson Bullridge—" he indicated the squat man on his left, who grunted— "and Nicholas Aldertree." The thin man nodded in greeting.

"Aldertree," Simon said. "You, uh, wouldn't happen to be related to the former Inquisitor, would you?"

"He was my uncle," said Aldertree shortly. He had a high, reedy sort of voice, but his tone was cold, and the way he looked Simon up and down told him that Aldertree probably knew Simon's history with the Inquisitor.

"Cool," Simon muttered.

"I was just complimenting your wife," Bainewright told Simon. "She's very beautiful. But I suppose I don't need to tell you that, do I?" He gave a bark of laughter, and his friends sniggered. Simon saw Isabelle's jaw tighten out of the corner of his eye.

"She's gorgeous," Simon agreed, "but I promise that's the least interesting thing about her."

Bainewright's grin only widened. "I don't doubt it," he said. "I hope you'll tell us all about her."

"I'm right here," Isabelle said under her breath, so only Simon could hear.

"Let's talk about the mission," he said. "We'll meet at Turtle Pond at eight P.M. We'll enter through the pond, and a faerie will be waiting on the other side to admit us. After that, we'll be on our own to—"

"Hang on," said Bullridge brusquely. Privately, Simon thought he was aptly named; he looked a bit like a bull, with his wide forehead and dull eyes. His deep, grumbling voice matched his frown. "We're relying on a faerie to get us in? Thought we were supposed to be fighting them."

Simon and Isabelle exchanged a wary look. "We're not fighting anyone tonight," said Isabelle. "And we can trust Adrastos. He's only there to get us through the Seelie Court and into Faerie."

"And we're sure we can trust him?" said Bainewright, looking at Simon.

"I just said we can," said Isabelle, but all three men were watching Simon.

"Yeah," Simon said, confused. "She did. And we can."

Aldertree and Bullridge glanced at Bainewright, as if awaiting confirmation. He nodded. "Suppose we can always kill him if he's any trouble," he said with another sharp laugh. Neither Simon nor Isabelle smiled, but the others exchanged smirks.

"Dras won't be a problem," said Simon.

Bainewright shrugged. "If you say so."

"Right," said Isabelle briskly. "Once we're in, we have three locations to check out. We'll start at—"

"I think maybe the leader of the mission should be giving us instructions," said Bainewright, smiling at Isabelle the way one might smile at a child.

"We're co-leaders," Isabelle said, her voice ice-cold.

"Sure you are."

Simon saw Isabelle grit her teeth. "You know what?" she said. "I think I'd better start putting together supplies. You can handle this, can't you, Simon?" And without waiting for an answer, she spun on her heel and stalked away, her long ponytail swishing.

"Feisty one, isn't she?" Bainewright said. Simon didn't like the huskiness in his tone or the way he was watching Isabelle leave. Feeling a hot flush rise in his neck, Simon thrust the papers into Bainewright's arms.

"This is everything you need to know," he said. "Be at Turtle Pond by eight." He left them behind and followed Isabelle into the Institute.

He found her in the armory, filling a duffel bag with weapons. She barely glanced at him as he walked in. "Hey," he said. "Need any help?"

"Pass me a few seraph blades."

Simon retrieved them from the table and handed them to Isabelle. She tossed them into the duffel bag and zipped it up with considerably more force than necessary. "Are you okay?" Simon asked tentatively.

She grunted. "I'll just be glad when this mission is over," she said. She blew out a breath. "Men like that are so frustrating."

"I know," said Simon, offering her a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry. I'll try to get them to be nicer to you."

"Oh, they're plenty nice," said Isabelle irritably. She imitated Bainewright's smooth voice. "'You're gorgeous, you know. Your smile is so beautiful. Why don't you use it more?'" Her lip curled in distaste.

"We'll only have to put up with them for a couple days, if we're lucky," Simon reminded her.

"I have to put up with them, you mean," Isabelle said, her voice sour. "They get along fine with you." She slung the bag over her shoulder. "Come on, let's get home. We should rest up before the mission."

"Hey," said Simon, taking her hand as they went into the corridor. "I love you. And I love you because you're a strong, kickass, demon-slaying warrior."

"I don't need you to tell me that," said Isabelle, but she looked slightly mollified.

"I know," Simon said, "and I love you for that too."

She smiled softly and squeezed his hand. "Thanks," she said. "You're not so bad yourself, you know."

"Don't lay it on too thick, it'll go to my head," said Simon.

Isabelle laughed, but as they passed the kitchen, Simon caught sight of Lexie's high chair through the doorway. He felt a sudden heaviness settle on him, and Isabelle must have felt it too, because her smile faded. "Come on," she said quietly. "It's going to be a long night."

It was drizzling lightly when Isabelle and Simon arrived at Turtle Pond. The surface of the pond rippled, distorting the reflection of the round yellow moon above them. Isabelle automatically swept her gaze around the area. Alec had said that Dras told him the Scourge didn't know they were coming, but experience had taught Isabelle to expect the worst.

The men were already waiting at the edge of the pond. Isabelle met Bainewright's smile with a dispassionate stare, but it didn't seem to deter him; he raked his eyes across her body and she felt herself flush, knowing how her gear liked to cling to her curves. She fought the urge to cover herself and instead threw her shoulders back and raised her head defiantly.

"Let's go," she ordered them, and she made to step into the pond, but Bainewright held out an arm to stop her.

"Let us go first, sweetheart," he said, and he and his friends moved past her, splashing through the water.

Isabelle turned to Simon in disbelief. "Sweetheart?" she mouthed. He grimaced sympathetically. She scoffed and followed the men into the pond.

Bainewright reached the center first. He turned around, winked at Isabelle (she frowned), and fell backward into the reflection of the moon, disappearing into the water without a trace. Bullridge went next, then Aldertree. Simon gestured for Isabelle to go ahead, so she turned and let herself fall, feeling the water close over her head.

She landed on her feet, bending her knees to absorb the impact and straightening immediately. They had fallen into the hall outside the throne room, which was blocked off by a curtain of ivy. Bullridge and Aldertree were shaking water off themselves, scowling, but Bainewright simply slicked his hair back and gave Isabelle what he clearly thought was a charming smile. A moment later, Simon fell beside Isabelle, landing in a sprawl on the ground. He got to his feet, cursing and shivering. "Forgot how cold it was," he said, his teeth chattering.

"I might have an extra jacket or two," said Bainewright, still smiling at Isabelle. "You want one, sweetheart?"

"Nope," said Isabelle, squeezing out her ponytail. She tossed it over her shoulder and was not at all displeased when it smacked Bainewright in the face, making him splutter. She heard Simon stifle a laugh behind her. "Oops," she said.

The ivy shifted and a dark-skinned faerie emerged into the hall. "Welcome to Faerie," he said, bowing. Isabelle and Simon bowed back respectfully, but they were the only ones; Bainewright, Bullridge, and Aldertree remained resolutely straight-backed, eyeing the faerie distastefully.

"You must be Adrastos," said Isabelle, slipping into more formal speech. "My brother told me of all your help. We thank you for it."

"It was the honorable thing to do," said Dras.

Bainewright snorted; Isabelle shot a glare over her shoulder at him. "I suppose you think the faeries in the Scourge have honor too?" he said to Dras, his voice full of derision.

"No," said Dras quietly. "That is why I go against them." He turned to Isabelle, producing from his pocket a white silk ribbon wrapped in the stems of delicate blue flowers. "A gift," he said, offering it to her. "It will prevent time slippage whilst you are in Faerie."

"Thank you," said Isabelle. She took it and wrapped it around her wrist.

"Come," said Dras, turning away. "I will lead you out of the Court."

They set off. Isabelle walked beside the faerie in silence. Though she suspected he was a low-ranking member of the court, as spies were, he still had a regal air about him. He walked tall and straight, as if he had a crown on his head, but his eyes were shadowed, flickering up and down the hall cautiously. Isabelle found herself wondering about his intentions. Apparently, Alec had offered Dras a role in the Alliance, noting that they needed a faerie representative, but Dras had declined, saying, "My place is with the Seelie Queen." It seemed he had made the choice, of his own accord, to warn the Shadowhunters of the Scourge, knowing there was nothing in it for him. Isabelle glanced back at the three men, who were muttering and snickering to each other, and reflected quietly that this faerie had more honor than the three of them combined.

Several minutes later, the tunnel opened out onto a wide plain. Isabelle had thought it would be dark outside, as it was in New York, but she had forgotten about the stars. They twinkled above her in all different colors—icy blue, neon pink and yellow, seafoam green—and lit Faerie across miles with an incandescent glow. Isabelle wished she were in a position to appreciate the beauty of the place.

"This is where I leave you," said Dras as the others emerged from the tunnel behind Isabelle. "You have the map?" Isabelle nodded, putting a hand to her pocket. "Then I wish you luck, though I hope you will not need it." And with another bow, he headed back the way they had come.

Isabelle unfolded the map, aligning it with the constellations above her. "We should search the base of this hill first," she said, pointing at the mark on the map, then ahead at the hill. "We'll make our way around from there."

She felt warm breath on her neck as Bainewright leaned over her shoulder. "Can I help you?" she said through gritted teeth.

"Just making sure," he said. He ran a finger along the map, then pointed ahead. "This way."

"Yeah, I just said—"

But he was no longer listening. He beckoned to his friends and they all headed in the direction Isabelle had indicated. She shot a look at Simon, who quickly strode ahead of the men.

"Isabelle and I will lead," he said. "You three bring up the rear." They grumbled, but fell back, and Isabelle took her place next to Simon, seething. "It's just a few days," he said in a low voice. She grunted in response, folding her arms and stalking ahead.

The area around the hill was deserted. Bainewright was loudly wondering if the faerie had led them astray when Isabelle discovered a door cleverly disguised in the mossy side of the hill. Not that it seemed to matter to the men; for all the thanks she got, the wind might have opened the door for them.

Bainewright strode into the hollowed-out cavern inside the hill, casting his witchlight into the corners. The walls were bare and smooth, the cavern empty, but something glimmered across the room. "Nothing here," he proclaimed. "Not surprising. Let's keep moving."

"Hang on," said Isabelle. She took out her own witchlight and walked to the back of the cave, stooping to examine the floor. A leaf caught the light, and she picked it up. She straightened and held it up to examine it.

"A leaf?" Bullridge snorted.

Isabelle folded her arms. "Did you read the case file?" He shrugged. "This is silvershadow," she said. "And since I don't see a plant in this cave, that means the Scourge was probably here at one point."

"So?" said Aldertree, cleaning his nails with the tip of his dagger.

Isabelle frowned. "So Dras's information was good."

Bainewright grinned and held up his hands. "Okay, okay, your faerie friend got one thing right. Let's see if he can be of any more use, all right, sweetheart?"

"Stop calling her sweetheart," said Simon quietly.

Bainewright rolled his eyes. "If you insist."

Isabelle bit her tongue to keep from snapping at him and opened the map. "We should get going," she said. "This way." She led the way out of the cave, "accidentally" elbowing Aldertree as he made to go ahead of her.

The next location, an open cave on the other side of the hill, was deserted as well. But as they approached the third, a large clearing ringed with low bushes and bordered on one edge by woods, they heard voices. Simon signaled to the others to dim their witchlights. Isabelle crouched behind one of the bushes, listening intently.

"—cannot condone this, Orrin." The voice was female; Isabelle peered through the bush and saw two figures standing in the clearing. The starlight made their pale hair look almost iridescent. Behind them, Isabelle could see a few small campfires with shadows gathered around them. She estimated at least twenty people.

"Then leave," said a second voice, cool and male. Orrin, Isabelle deduced. "The Scourge grows, sister. If you wish to abandon us, you are free to do as you will."

"I won't abandon you," said the girl. "You are making a mistake."

"I believe in the cause."

"What cause?" The girl's voice had a note of derision in it now. "Death and more death? How many will be enough?"

"You act as if we are doing something reprehensible," Orrin scoffed. "We are ridding the world of murderers. And if it distresses you so much, you needn't participate in the rest. We only need three more. We can manage without you."

"And then what? You think I will stand back and let you harm a child?"

"Alexandra Herondale is the key to all of this. I am sorry if you do not have the stomach for it, but I will do what is necessary."

"Orrin, listen to me." The girl grabbed the boy's arm. "Caladrius is wrong. There must be another way to stop the Angel."

Orrin chuckled. "Caladrius is wrong. Not about the ritual," he added—the girl had made a sound as if about to speak. "But about our potential. Why stop with the ritual? The Scourge has enough power to wipe out all Nephilim if we only choose to wield it."

"Caladrius—"

"Is ignorant," Orrin said smoothly. He moved away from her and began to pace past the bushes where Isabelle and the others were hiding. From here, she could see that his eyes were a pale shade of green. "He does not understand what Shadowhunters have put the Fair Folk through. The Cold Peace was only the tip of their cruelty. If we stand back, they will burn us to the ground. All Downworld would benefit if the tyrants were struck down."

"I fear for you, brother." The girl's tone had softened. "Do not go through with this."

Orrin stopped pacing. He went to his sister and touched her shoulder lightly. "Have faith. Together, we can build a better world." His sister turned away, and Orrin's hand fell to his side. "It is late," he said, his voice hard. "Let us sleep." They walked together toward the camp.

Simon motioned for them all to move. They snuck away from the camp and into the shadows of the woods.

"We could take them," said Bainewright, once they had found a small pocket in the trees. "Four-to-one's not bad odds. I say we—"

"You're not leading this mission, Bainewright," Simon ground out.

Bainewright faced him. "No," he said. "But a leader ought to be upfront with his team, don't you think?"

Simon's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"

"The Herondale girl." Isabelle saw Simon's shoulders tense. "You kept that quiet," said Bainewright.

"Like Jace said," Simon said in a carefully measured tone, "it was need-to-know."

"And you think we didn't need to know that the head of the Institute's kid is part of this?"

"No," said Simon shortly. "It wasn't important to the mission. Our priority was keeping Lexie safe, and the less people who knew, the better."

Bainewright shook his head. "If anything, this gives us more incentive to go after the Scourge now. I'm sure Jace and Clary would want us to." Aldertree and Bullridge nodded behind him, Bullridge cracking his knuckles aggressively.

"Jace and Clary gave us specific orders," Simon said firmly. "We're not striking tonight."

Aldertree opened his mouth, but Bainewright held up a hand. His gaze was locked with Simon's; Isabelle's eyes flicked back and forth between them, but Simon held fast.

"Fine," said Bainewright grudgingly. "We can follow orders."

"That's news to me," Isabelle muttered under her breath.

"Good," said Simon. "Let's settle down for the night. We'll head back in the morning."

They all unpacked their bedrolls; Aldertree disappeared into the woods and returned with an armful of sticks, which Bainewright managed to kindle into a small fire. After a meager meal of trail mix and fruit, Bainewright said, "We'll take first watch." Simon and Isabelle both laid down; the last thing Isabelle saw before she closed her eyes was Bainewright sharpening his dagger by the light of the fire.

It felt like she had only been asleep for a few minutes when she woke suddenly. She opened her eyes; the stars were a rainbow blur above her. She could hear some sort of commotion—it took a moment for her to register it as the sound of screaming.

She was on her feet instantly, uncoiling her whip. "Simon," she said sharply. He stirred in his bedroll. She nudged him with her toe. "Simon! Get up!"

"Wha..." He sat up sleepily.

The other bedrolls were abandoned, the three men nowhere to be found. Isabelle ran toward the screams, hearing Simon clamber to his feet and follow her.

Nothing could have prepared her for the carnage she found. Bodies were strewn across the clearing, blood puddling darkly beneath them. Isabelle nearly tripped over one; the faerie was still alive, groaning as he clutched a huge rip in his stomach. The field was smoldering from the scattered embers of the campfires, and faeries were running, crying out in pain and fear; if any had engaged in battle, that time was clearly long gone.

Isabelle heard Simon emerge from the bushes behind her, panting. "Son of a bitch," he spat. "Where are they?"

"I don't know," said Isabelle. She bent beside the faerie, putting a hand to his stomach; his gaze met hers and he gave a gurgling gasp as the light drained out of his eyes. She swallowed back a wave of nausea.

"We'll split up," said Simon, drawing his sword. "You take the woods—"

"No," Isabelle said. She could see some of the figures stirring feebly on the ground. "We can't leave these people here."

"Fine, then you stay—"

"You're better at first-aid than I am," said Isabelle. "I'll find the others. Just try to help the faeries."

He nodded tersely and sheathed his sword. They split apart, Simon hurrying to one of the twitching bodies and Isabelle running into the woods.

As she fought her way through the trees, hacking away at branches, she could hear voices up ahead:

"Please, no...stop...please..."

"Shut up, be quiet, I said—"

A clearing came into view. Isabelle crept forward, trying to see what was happening. A hulking silhouette filled up most of her vision; he was on his hands and knees, rocking back and forth over something—someone—

"No!" Isabelle screamed, but hers was not the only voice that cried out. As she sent her whip forward and wrapped it around Bainewright's neck, yanking him backward so he choked and flailed on the ground, a figure shot out of the trees. The girl staggered to her feet and ran; Isabelle caught only a glimpse of blonde hair and heard a wrenching sob before she disappeared into the woods. Bainewright fought himself free of Isabelle's whip and pushed himself to standing, but the other person—a faerie, the leader with the pale hair and eyes—slashed out. Bainewright shouted; a thin stream of blood trickled down his left bicep where Orrin had cut him.

"You're dead, Shadowhunter," the faerie snarled before following the girl into the trees.

Bainewright was still exposed; he zipped himself up, panting. "She was asking for it," he told Isabelle, his face contorted in rage. "She was with the Scourge, you heard her—"

Isabelle slapped him, hard enough that her hand stung and Bainewright actually stumbled back. As he raised a hand to his face, Isabelle flicked her whip, winding it expertly around both his wrists.

"If you try to fight me," she said in a deadly low voice, "I'll cut your goddamn hands off."

Bainewright smiled, a horrible leer that made Isabelle's stomach turn. "All right, sweetheart," he said. "I'll come quietly. I haven't done anything wrong."

"Move," Isabelle ordered him, tugging on the whip and forcing him to walk forward. She walked in front of him, pulling him along behind her. Her free hand curled into a fist to keep from shaking. She couldn't get the scene out of her mind—him pinning the girl to the ground, her whimpers of pain. Isabelle's chest filled with burning hot anger.

"So," Bainewright drawled, "what are you planning to do with me, sweetheart?" Isabelle clenched her jaw. Don't react, she told herself, don't give him the satisfaction. "Take me back to the Clave? They won't do anything. They'll agree we were right to take the Scourge down, to bravely face their warriors—"

"They were young and untrained!" Isabelle burst out, unable to stop herself. "And you knew that, you knew they'd be easy to attack!"

"Not that you can prove," said Bainewright smoothly.

"The Mortal Sword will prove it," Isabelle spat. "It'll prove that you're a worthless, spineless, cowardly little—"

As they emerged into the Scourge's campsite, Isabelle felt a sharp yank on the whip. She turned around just as Bainewright freed himself, his fist swinging toward her. She ducked and spun, sweeping her leg around to meet his. He stumbled toward her, but she realized too late that his steps were measured. He seized her by the neck and pinned her against a tree, knocking the whip from her hand and the breath from her lungs.

"Isabelle!" Simon shouted from across the field. "Get your hands off her!"

Choking, Isabelle brought her knee up, driving it between Bainewright's legs. He grunted, his grip on her slackening, and she drew her fist back and punched him square in the face. His eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the ground, unconscious. Isabelle cursed, shaking out her hand—unsurprisingly, Bainewright had a very thick skull.

"Izzy!" Simon jogged over to her and grabbed her shoulders, checking her for injuries. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, shrugging him off.

"Did he hurt you? Did he touch you?"

"No." The image of Bainewright hunched over the girl came again unbidden to Isabelle's mind. She shuddered.

"Izzy?"

"Not me," she said. "He didn't hurt me."

Simon's brow creased. "Who..."

"The girl." Isabelle forced herself to say it—she had to say it, she had to get it out of her head. "He took her—" She pointed into the woods. "And he was—he—"

Simon blanched. "No. God, no."

Isabelle sucked in a breath, holding it for a long moment before exhaling. Her mind cleared; her hands stopped shaking. Action now, she thought. Emotions can come later. She pulled out her stele, knelt beside Bainewright, and inked a sleeping rune into his neck. "That should hold him for now, but I want to tie him up too," she said. Simon rooted around in his backpack and pulled out a coil of rope. Isabelle used it to bind Bainewright's wrists and ankles tightly. "The faeries?"

"I stabilized as many as I could," said Simon. Looking past him, Isabelle could see that some of them were sitting up, propped against rocks and logs. "I could use your help, though."

She shook her head. "I should try to find Bullridge and Aldertree. Keep doing what you can."

Simon looked down at Bainewright, his face twisted in disgust. "What do we do with him?"

"Leave him here for now," said Isabelle. "We'll take him back to the Institute when we're done." She picked up her whip, its familiar weight in her hand grounding her. Simon reached for her, but she stepped away. "Just help these people," she said softly.

He gazed at her, his eyes offering comfort that she didn't know how to accept. "I'll try," he said.

Gripping her whip tightly, Isabelle went in pursuit.

The storm was crackling on the horizon, more fierce and violent than it had been last time; the crumbling city in the distance shook, stones tumbling down the sides of buildings. The wind wailed, swirling in the pavilion and echoing off its ceiling. Clary rooted her feet into the ground, struggling to keep her balance as the wind threatened to knock her down.

A low chuckle seemed to worm through her head, and she shuddered and clamped her hands over her ears. Mist swirled before her until it solidified into Leviathan.

"You've done it now," he said, grinning.

Clary let her hands fall. "What are you talking about?"

"Your mission, of course." Clary felt the blood drain from her face. "You thought I wouldn't know? I see everything."

"What did you do?" Clary demanded.

Leviathan laughed. "I? Oh, no, my dear, I had nothing to do with this. You have only yourself to blame for what occurred tonight."

Clary's first thought was of Simon and Isabelle. She put a hand to her shoulder where her parabatai rune was inked, but whether it was because she was dreaming or something worse, she felt nothing.

"No, no, your friends are fine," Leviathan reassured her, his lips twisting into a cruel smile. "The same cannot be said of the faeries, however."

"What happened?" Clary whispered.

He only smiled wider. "Let it be known," he said, "that whatever happens next, it will be on your head."

There was a strange buzzing noise in her ears. Leviathan tilted his head, as if he could hear it too. "Wake now, and face the consequences, Clary Fairchild."

Clary woke with a jolt. The buzzing continued, and she dug her nails into the mattress, thinking she was still dreaming, before she saw the light dancing on the ceiling. She rolled over, snatched up her phone, and pressed it to her ear. "Simon?"

"Clary. Sorry to wake you, but we need to talk to you both." His voice sounded labored, as if he were carrying something heavy.

"What's going on?" Clary said sharply. Beside her, Jace sat up and turned on the lamp, leaning toward her to listen.

"I can't explain right now, but we're almost back to the Institute. Meet us downstairs."

He hung up. Clary got out of bed and pulled on her robe, hearing Jace do the same behind her. She tucked her phone and the baby monitor into her pockets and dashed out of the bedroom.

Simon was panting; he and Isabelle had lugged the unconscious Bainewright all the way back from Central Park, the three of them hidden from mundane eyes by glamor runes. Now they pulled him up the front steps of the Institute, shouldering open the doors. As they came into the entrance hall, Clary and Jace hurried down the stairs, both still in their pajamas.

"What is this?" said Jace, staring at them.

Isabelle flung Bainewright to his knees, grabbing his hair before he could fall flat on his face, and slashed her stele across the sleeping rune she had put on him, inactivating it. Bainewright's eyes snapped open and he began to fight against his restraints, swearing.

"Talk," Isabelle ordered him. He snarled at her and told her to do something anatomically impossible. She backhanded him.

"Isabelle!" Clary cried, looking shocked.

"Talk," said Isabelle again. Bainewright spat at her feet. Her face hardened in rage. "Fine, I'll talk." She faced Clary and Jace. "We found the Scourge," she said. "We got the information we needed, but apparently that wasn't enough for Bainewright and his friends. They attacked the faeries while they slept. They killed half of them." Clary went paper-white. "And then Aldertree and Bullridge ran off like the cowards they are. And him—" Isabelle pointed a shaking finger at Bainewright. "I found him in the woods with a girl. This disgusting—this piece of shit—"

"So I screwed a faerie!" Bainewright shouted. "What does it matter? She was a filthy Downworlder anyway, and she was working for the Scourge—"

"You raped her!" Isabelle shrieked.

"She was a willing little piece, I can promise you that," said Bainewright, sneering. Isabelle moved forward, her fist drawn back, but Simon grabbed her.

"Isabelle, enough," said Jace sharply. Isabelle gave him a murderous glare but retreated, shaking Simon off. Jace approached Bainewright, staring coldly down at him. "Is it true?"

"And what if it is?" Bainewright said defiantly.

"Then you've broken the Accords."

"The Accords," Bainewright scoffed. "I've been signing the Accords since you were still in diapers. They don't mean anything to anyone who matters."

"We disagree."

"You would," Bainewright spat. "Downworld-lovers. I know the kind of company you keep. And others may ignore it, but I haven't forgotten he used to be one." He jerked his chin at Simon. "He's tainted, and so are you."

"Enough." Jace radiated cold fury. "You'll stand trial before the Conclave. Until then, you can spend some time in a cell in the Silent City. Will you come quietly, or will Isabelle have to knock you out again?"

"Screw all of you," Bainewright snarled. "You can't make me—"

Isabelle strode forward and hit him sharply in the forehead with the butt of her whip. He crumpled once more to the ground.

"I meant with a sleeping rune," said Jace, looking unconcernedly down at Bainewright.

"If he wakes up with a headache, all the better," Isabelle said venomously, winding her whip back around her wrist. "A trial, Jace? Really? You think that's enough payment for this?"

"It's the most we can do." Now that he was no longer talking to Bainewright, all the energy seemed to have drained out of Jace. "Most of the Conclave will be on our side, but some won't. We have to be sure they won't be able to say we treated him unfairly." Isabelle set her jaw and looked away; Simon knew it was her way of saying Jace was right, even if she didn't like it.

Jace turned to Simon. "I need you to help me get him to the City of Bones. Isabelle, we'll need a record of everything that happened tonight. Clary can help you." Clary was frozen, pressed up against the banister, but at the sound of her name, she gave a small nod. "I'll get dressed," said Jace, and he went back up the stairs.

"Clary?" said Simon softly. "Are you okay?"

She sank onto the steps; she was shaking, her eyes shimmering with tears. "Sebastian," she whispered.

"What?"

"Sebastian," she said. "Before the Burren...he overpowered me, and..."

"By the Angel," Isabelle breathed. "He didn't..."

"He didn't," Clary said, wiping at her eyes. "But he could've. He almost did." She laid her head in her hands. "God, that poor girl..."

"Bainewright will pay for this," Simon said fiercely. "They'll strip his runes, or turn him into a Forsaken."

"It won't change what he did to her," Isabelle snapped. "Nothing will fix this. I should kill him right now." Her fingers twitched across her weapons belt.

"You're not a murderer," said Simon quietly.

"You think he deserves to live?" Isabelle blazed at him. "After what he did? After the way he's been treating me all night?"

"I'm sorry about that—"

"I don't care!" Isabelle screamed, and Simon was shocked to see tears spill down her cheeks. Her face was blotchy and red. "You don't know what it's like, watching them leer at me, knowing they'd have me next if they could—you didn't see him holding her down, you don't know—"

Clary stood and touched Isabelle's elbow gently. Isabelle whirled on her. "Izzy," she whispered, and she wrapped her arms around Isabelle. Isabelle went rigid, then slumped in the embrace, pressing her face into Clary's shoulder. Hesitantly, Simon reached out and put a hand on Isabelle's shaking back.

"I'm sorry," he said again, softly. "You're right. He deserves to die. But Jace is right too. We have to do this by the book, as frustrating as that is."

Clary looked up at him over Isabelle's shoulder. Her eyes were wet too. "It's my fault," she whispered. She pulled away from Isabelle, pressing her palms into her eyes. "This is all my fault. I shouldn't have sent them with you. I knew the kind of person Bainewright was, I should have seen it coming."

"It's not your fault." Jace had rejoined them. He put a hand on Clary's shoulder. "It's no one's fault but Bainewright's. And the more energy we spend thinking about what we could have done differently, or how we could have prevented it, the less we have to focus on what we can do now." His face tightened. "The Scourge will be angrier than ever now. If they hated Shadowhunters before—"

"But we helped them," said Simon. "We tended to their injuries. We probably saved a few of their lives."

Isabelle shook her head. "Shadowhunters helped them, and Shadowhunters killed them," she said thickly, rubbing her sleeve across her eyes. "The first part won't matter as much as the second. Bainewright and the others basically declared us their enemies."

Jace grabbed Bainewright under the arms and dragged him to standing; Bainewright sagged, his head lolling. "We should get moving," he said.

Simon looped an arm through Bainewright's, holding him under the shoulder, and he and Jace tugged Bainewright toward the doors, his feet scraping against the ground. Just before they crossed the threshold, Simon looked back—Clary and Isabelle were sitting on the steps, Clary stroking Isabelle's hair. They both looked up at him with twin hollow expressions on their faces, and he had to wonder how little he really understood about the lives they led.

He stepped out into the black night, the doors closing behind him with a thud.

A/N: Yeah. This one was hard to write.

Please consider this a trigger warning for the remainder of the story. The rape will continue to be referenced and the aftermath will not be ignored. If that is a trigger for you, I would advise you to not continue reading. Thank you for your support thus far.