“Chantelle? Who ae you talking to?” The Younghunters breathed, too astonished to speak. But right away, Chantelle reached out for Ares. She could find the bond again—it was still there.

She reached out for him, about to embrace him, but her fingers were touching nothing but air. She tried again, each time his silhouette flashed for a moment, and it was just air. She reached further, her finger went through him, as easy as it were to cut across air, as if Ares was never there.

Chantelle found her voice. “Ares, are you… a ghost?” She gulped. Chantelle only saw a few ghosts in her life, but if vampires and werewolves were real, so were ghosts.

“No, I’m not. Just that my body is still over on the other side, and my soul is here.” Ares spoke, and his voice was still the same.

“What do you mean by ‘the other side’? Death?”

“You’re quite correct. It was Death who trapped me. But I am referring to Death’s realm, Channy.”

Chantelle gulped some more. “Death’s realm. You mean hell.”

“Urm, sorry to interrupt Channy, but you’re talking to air.” Andre said. None of them could see Ares like Chantelle could. Chantelle remembered her first lesson.

She spun towards them. “Ares is here with us, as I speak. But you have to know he’s there, only then you can see and hear him.”

“Channy, are you okay—“

“Believe me! Please…”

Finally, Andre saw a change. He focussed hard, and the image came to light. “By the angel, Ares…”

“The first time ‘by the angel’ is said so many times, I bet.” Alive or—how do I describe the current situation--, Ares still had his sarcastic humor, which was a Herondale trait.

“I don’t see anything…” Laressa whined, curious on what she was missing out on. But at the thought ‘missing out on’, it meant she believed he was there, and she finally saw Ares.

“Ares! You’re so pale…” Even after they broke up, Laressa cupped his face gently, before letting him go. She heard the talk about hell, but only the parts when Chantelle talked. “You’re in Hell now? So you’re dead right?”

“No, that’s the problem. I’m not dead, so by right I shouldn’t be in Hell—Death’s realm—so my body is forcefully there, but my soul remains in this dimension.” He pointed to the old grandfather’s clock that creeped Laressa out a lot when she was little. “Every midnight, my soul will return to this dimension.”

“Hell, is that place scary?” Questioned Andre, whose brother could see Ares not long after Laressa could.

Ares buried his face in his hands, not before Chantelle could see the fear in his eyes at the thought. She never seen Ares so frightened before, except the day she climbed onto a roof of a four-storey building and fell, and lost consciousness. The wind was knocked right out of her chest, and Ares thought she would die. “I never thought I’d say this, but it is. It’s a nightmare come alive, for all those who committed serious sins to seek punishment.” He took a moment to calm down, for the memory was too painful. “Hot ash and lava wherever you go. Those who tell lies—serious ones--, like lies to commit crimes, the people get their tongues cut out, and they turn to the Tongueless. Those who murder serve Death themselves, for they are bound to Death. You hear people screaming and food for Death are those that have sins, and the cries of children. It’s horrible—this is only the start of it.”

Chantelle gulped. She knew that if Ares said it was horrible, what he really means is that that place is worse than dying—no pun intended. “How does Death look like?”

“It’s basically a shape of your worst nightmare. If you have arachnophobia, it has spiders crawling on it. It takes the shape of what is the worst combination of creatures to you. Most people die at the sight of Death.” Ares said, and he shook his head, as if to clear his own image. Chantelle wondered how Death looked like to Ares, and what exactly was the fear mentioned by Laressa and Zachary. This news took a while to sink in.

“What does Death want with you?” Laressa asked.

“I don’t know, I’m just bait for something.”

“We’ve been assuming somebody wanted Channy. We guarded the wrong fellow.” Andre noted.

“I bet Ares is bait for me.” Chantelle said, trying to mask the fear she felt at setting foot into Hell. Surely Hell would be… hell, the worst thing in the world.

“I’m checking. In the meantime, don’t think like that and do anything stupid, alright?” His question was directed at Chantelle, and he was worried the girl would bear thoughts about stepping into such a terrible place. He rather stay there and rot than let Chantelle see a place so scary. He wanted to protect her so much…

“Fine.” Chantelle replied. Ares had blocked the earlier thought about protecting her, so Chantelle didn’t know he thought like that. He felt through the bond, ransacking for Chantelle’s thoughts of what she would do, but they were well-hidden. There was a limit to what parabatai could do. Ares was sure she was plotting something. Her mind could not be as blank as he had felt.

“How long will you remain here?” Asked Zachary.

“For 29 days, and I come at midnight and leave when Death wants me to.”

“The Consul said he and his members saw you commit suicide.” Andre told him, and Ares’ face turned grim. This was also one of his fears, dying a dishonourable death. Oblivion. Committing suicide meant oblivion.

“My guess he had some sort of wager, forcing him to tell such a lie.” Ares said. He swore terribly, spitting curses at the Consul. “He’s trying to make me look horrible. This lie will ruin the bloodline of the Herondales. Even after I’m gone, the Herondales will all be gone, and even if they are found, this will tarnish the beautiful bloodline and image my ancestors left.” Somehow, he felt as though this was his fault.

“We have to find a way to prove that you didn’t resort to suicide.” Laressa said.

“You can’t doubt the Consul. Who will believe us?” Pointed out Andre.

“But if you didn’t commit suicide, who took you to Hell?” Chantelle asked, looking at Ares.

“A demon possessed Mabel. Mabel is a dead girl.”

“So demons are working for Death? Even Asmodeus?” Asked Laressa. She grew up knowing Asmodeus was a powerful demon, she thought he controlled everything.

“All demons work for him.” Corrected Ares. “And so does Asmodeus. Though I wouldn’t say work for him. Asmodeus wouldn’t like the thought of working for someone. I would say their mission is to get things to Death. They’re the bridge, Death the recipient.”

“That’s really really bad.”

“It is, sadly.”

Chantelle gulped, and bit into her cheek without realising it. “After 29 days, will you die?”

“No. I wish I could just die, but Death is not so kind. I will be his servant.” Ares said, and to be honest, no matter how brave he was, he was scared to death—no pun intended again. He would be living his worst nightmare for eternity, trapped in Death’s dimension. He would see what he was most afraid of, and whenever he overcame that fear, he would see his next.

And it would be forever like this.

“Eternity?” Laressa asked in disbelief. She herself was horrified to death at the thought of it.

Ares nodded slightly, and the remnants of Chantelle’s world came crashing down again. Forget about cutting off the Herondales bloodline, ten times worse was a disgraceful death of Ares Herondale, formally the best Shadowhunter of this generation. Ten times worse was the Consul and important people of the Clave played a part in this, and finding a way out would be near impossible. Hundred times worse was that Ares would relive his worst fears every day—for eternity.

“那怎么行？”Chantelle found her voice at last, and found that the world seemed far away, like she was underwater, drowning with grief and sorrow for someone who was a part of her—quite literally, considering the parabatai bond. How is that possible? She repeated in English in her mind, the question bouncing around, but to no progress. Finally, she was lunging to Ares, her fingers closing around his shirt… his shirt? She could touch solidness without her fingers going through, and she didn’t care about the world, she just leaned like that, her head pressed to his chest, to his heart.

“You don’t have a heartbeat.”

“I don’t need one to feel, and to tell me what I should do. I will find a way out, I always do.” His arms closed around the girl, feeling her warmth. Being a dancer, Chantelle could move silently and delicately, but she was strong, amazingly strong for a girl. Even if she had little muscle, she was strong. She had scars like the other Shadowhunters, exposing them frequently, but a scarred Chantelle was beautiful a whole new way. It was Ares who convinced her she need not hide scars. Holding her like that, Chantelle was strong, filling with energy.

“What if you can’t?” Chantelle asked. Outsiders might avoid such a question, but such etiquette is not necessary between the parabatai, for they were as one.

“If I can’t, I can only pray you all forget me as soon as possible.” He looked across the room. Laressa was holding onto Zachary for support as she closed her eyes, with overwhelming sorrow. Andre simply looked too astonished to speak. To mourn someone’s death seemed like child’s play as compared to this—to have someone go through such a horror.

“I can’t ever forget you.” Chantelle said softly, only for Ares to hear, as a tear streamed down. She left tears for horrible moments, and this topped the list, probably. “Do you remember when we took the oath? Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried. The Angel do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me. This isn’t death, so we shall not part.”

“Nor will we part with you, brother.” Zachary said, and the others agreed.

“You can’t expect me to bring you all to Hell…” Ares said.

Zachary took a step forward, placing a hand on his best friend’s shoulder just as Chantelle and Ares parted. He could feel barely Ares’ skin, slightly shimmering. “No, but we can find out information there. We will go, someday.”

Ares protested. “You all will be too scared to speak to Death, no offense.” He didn’t mean to underestimate his friends like that, but no one spoke unless asked in Hell, or they would be one of the Tongueless.

“We can find a way.” Insisted Chantelle, and Ares knew she meant it. Her eyes were dark and persistent, and if she felt any fear at all at heading to Hell, she didn’t show it. She meant to speak again, but the same voice she heard in her mind rang out, stopping any words she meant to say next.

Good, come to me. Come to me, Chantelle. You were meant to be Death’s servant, the gifted child. The chosen Nephilim as my servant, a joke it would sound.

Come to me and you won’t find a way out.