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CHAPTER FIVE:

❝ The Seelie Court ❞

"YOU," Esme was fuming. "You have NO RIGHT to tell me to go home!"

Nico squirmed restlessly under her stare. He hated when she was angry at him. He hated when she was angry, period. He watched her drive her car (he did not know the make or the model and neither did he care) angrily. She had called him over and now she was berating him as she drove uphill somewhere he did not know. All he knew that this drive was going to kill him. He was pressed too hard against the seat and even the seat belt strapped over his body did not make him feel safe enough at this speed.

He leaned on the cracked black vinyl of the passenger side door and chewed on his nails as he listened to her tell him off. The air in the car tasted like gasoline, a flavor that struck Nico and reminded him of the mixtape Esme had given him to listen to and to make him "catch up to the indie rock angry girl music" she thought he desperately needed.

He thought of Valentine. He thought of the dead Silent Brothers. He thought what might it be like - dying. When Nico had been smaller and more forgiving of miracles, he'd considered the moment of death with rhapsodic delight. In his life, death in battle was considered the highest of sacrifices, and received the highest of honors.

He bit on his nail, his teeth slipping and the sound was too loud in the car. Esme stopped talking. She looked at him and said, "Were you even listening to me?"

He was not.

After a long moment, he said decidedly, "No." Then, "I'm not sorry, you know." He turned to her. "At least not about telling you to stay back. I am about raising my voice, that was wrong."

Esme went quiet and her gaze stayed on the road. He could see the periodically passing streetlights shining in her eyes. Behind them, the Sun was rising. He did not know where they were going. He did not want to stop.

He looked away from her when the car came to a stop. They were on a dirt road. He roamed his gaze around the valley. There was a chasm nearby, he could hear the water rush in.

It was a good time of year to show off the town. It was a paint box of colors. Green hayfields, golden cornfields, yellow sycamores, orange oaks, periwinkle mountains, cerulean cloudless sky. The road was black and snaking and inviting. The air was crisp and breathable and insistent on action. Nico inhaled. Nico closed his eyes. Nico exhaled.

When he opened them again, he found Esme had already slipped out of the car and was now nowhere to be seen. He opened the door and ducked out, eyes squinting in the afternoon sun and then, on the dusty unpaved walk, footsteps.

There stood Esme, arms extended out like wings unfurling to fly. She stood at the edge of a cliff, her hair moving as the wind did. Nico thought she and the cliff seemed one entity -- a ship and its figurehead.

Esme had her eyes closed and she breathed. She breathed and she lived. She smiled. Wind moved around and about her, finding its way like she wasn't even there. Maybe she wasn't. Maybe her foot would slip and she would fall and she wouldn't be here. Or maybe falling, she'd catch a branch sticking out of the cliffside and flail her legs, the air still wouldn't care. Maybe her hands would sweat and her fingers would cave in, and, once again, she would fall. The thought made her heart leap. Once upon a time, the same thought and the edge of the cliff had made her thought leap for a completely different reason - an escape, an invitation. This time, she didn't want it. Her foot moved slightly away from the edge. The fall didn't seem inviting anymore. She did not want to jump from this cliff. Behind her, she heard Nico shuffle. There was a different cliff now. And a different fall. And her feet were still on the ledge.

She turned and almost slammed right into Nico. This close she could see the color of his eyes were a rich brown. She looked away just as quickly. She circled around him, walking towards the car again. As she was walking, she said, "What was it?"

Nico pretended not to have heard as they crossed across the dirt road.

"Nico. What was it about?"

"What?"

"The telling me not to go. Asking me to stay back, though asking is maybe stretching it too far."

"It was friendly," he defended.

It was not unlike the Nico to be friendlier to Esme than the world was, but it was unlike Alec. "Tell me you won't tell me, but don't tell me a lie."

Nico made a big fuss over combing his hair back out of his eyes. He didn't look at Esme as they arrived beside the car. "I don't want to fight."

Esme's eyes hardened. "Nico."

Nico's eyes went to her furtively and then back to his hair in the rearview mirror.

"No way," Esme said. "What. Nico."

She didn't know exactly what she was accusing Nico of. Just – she knew what Nico wanted for her, and she knew how Nico got things.

"I don't want to fight," Nico repeated.

He reached for the car door; Esme put her hand on it, preventing him. She opened her mouth to say something but Nico was saved by a buzzing from his person; his phone was ringing. He retrieved the phone and twisted the face so that Esme could see it. Two things struck Esme: First of all, the call said it was from Alec, which it probably was, and secondly, Nico's phone said it was 6:21, which maybe it was.

Esme's position changed subtly, no longer blocking Nico from entering the car. She slid into the driver's seat, comfortable behind the wheel, and heard Nico's door slam shut after him. As she revved the engine and started to take a U-turn, Nico put the phone to his ear. "Hello? Oh. Alec, I'm not in New York. Well, I am but not in the city. No, tell her she's an idiot. No. Of course, I will.  Esme? Come on. No, I'm not - well, I am. Thanks. No, we'll be there."

The phone was hung up, put away. Nico said, "We gotta meet them at Turtle Pond."

Esme made a noise in the back of her throat in annoyance. "Now what?"

He told her. About how Alec, Clary, and Simon had gone to visit Jace at Magnus', which she knew about already. And how Valentine had taken the Soul Sword. Then about the Downworlder murder in Central Park last night, about a faerie child that was killed and the body drained of blood. Then a warlock, killed in an apartment tower down by the South Street Seaport. His neck and wrists cut and the body drained of blood. And a werewolf killed at the Hunter's Moon a few days ago. Throats cut in all cases.

"It sounds like vampires," Esme had said.

"I don't think so," Nico had replied. Then he'd told her about Raphael who had said it wasn't the Night Children's work. "He seemed adamant about it."

"I wouldn't trust him."

Then he told her about Valentine's attempt at the Ritual of Infernal Conversion.

"The what of what now?" Esme asked, changing gears as they headed back on the city road.

"The Ritual of Infernal Conversion," Nico said. "That's what Valentine's trying to do. Every magical object has an alliance," he explained. "The alliance of the Soul-Sword is seraphic — like the Shadowhunter weapons, but a thousand times more so, because its power was drawn from the Angel himself, not simply from the invocation of an angelic name. What Valentine wants to do is reverse its alliance — make it an object of demonic rather than angelic power."

"That sounds really bad."

"As the Angel's Sword, Maellartach's use to Valentine would be limited," said Nico. "But as a sword whose demonic power is equal to the angelic power it once possessed — well, there is much it could offer him. Power over demons, for one. Not just the limited protection the Cup might offer, but power to call demons to him, to force them to do his bidding."

"A demon army?" asked Esme. "This guy is big on armies."

"Power even to bring them into Idris, perhaps," Nico finished, albeit sounding more depressed.

"I don't know why he'd want to go there, though," Esme said. "That's where all the Shadowhunters are, aren't they? Wouldn't they just annihilate the demons?"

"Demons come from other dimensions," he told her. "We don't know how many of them there are. Their numbers could be infinite. The wardings keep most of them back, but if they all came through at once . . . " 

Infinite, Esme thought. She remembered the Greater Demon, Abbadon, and tried to imagine hundreds more of it. Or thousands. Her skin felt cold and exposed. She exhaled a shuddered breath. "What does it have to do with the dead Downworlders?" They were in the city now, and the characteristic New York awakeness could be felt all around.

"Magnus said to perform the Ritual of Conversion, you need to seethe the Sword until it's red-hot, then cool it four times, each time in the blood of a Downworld child. Once in the blood of a child of Lilith, once in the blood of a child of the moon, once in the blood of a child of the night, and once in the blood of a child of faerie."

"Oh my God," said Esme. "So he's not done killing? There's still one more child to go?"

"Two more. He didn't succeed with the werewolf child. He was interrupted before he could get all the blood he needed." 

Esme sat in silent shocked horror. As her hands slipped off the steering wheel, Nico realized they had stopped somewhere around the corner of 79th, Central Park only a few paces ahead. She asked, "Then what are we doing here?"

"Isabelle says the Queen of the Seelie Court has requested an audience with us."

"Who's the Queen of the Seelie Court?" said Esme.

"She is the Queen of Faerie," Nico told. "Well, the local one, anyway."

"Is it safe to go there?" Esme asked.

"Of course it's not safe," Nico said as if she'd asked the stupidest question he'd ever heard. This was the stupidest idea he'd ever heard. "But Isabelle seems to think it's a good idea." He glanced ahead. "And so do our sadistic companions."

Esme followed his line of sight and spotted them. Clary, Jace, and Simon. Alec was nowhere to be seen and Isabelle must be somewhere inside. Esme could not believe her life somedays.

Thick tendrils of moss and plants surrounded the rim of Turtle Pond like a bordering of green lace. The surface of the water was still, rippled here and there in the wake of drifting ducks, or dimpled by the silvery flick of a fish's tail.

There was a small wooden gazebo built out over the water; Isabelle was sitting in it, staring out across the lake. She looked like a princess in a fairy tale, waiting at the top of her tower for someone to ride up and rescue her.

Not that traditional princess behavior was like Isabelle at all. Isabelle with her whip and boots and knives would chop anyone who tried to pen her up in a tower into pieces, build a bridge out of the remains, and walk carelessly to freedom, her hair looking fabulous the entire time.

On the walk over, Nico had thundered on the Clary-Jace-Simon trio about freeing Jace and its implications but the thought of trading his twin brother with Magnus for Jace's freedom had made him double over in laughter.

"Izzy," said Jace, as they neared the pond, and she jumped up and spun around. Her smile was dazzling.

"Jace!" She flew at him and hugged him. 

Nico said, "Don't I get one?"

Isabelle seemed to consider as she ran her eyes over him, before reluctantly throwing her arms around his shoulders. When she pulled back, she said, "You smell like gasoline and countryside." All eyes fell on Nico and he scratched his head. 

"Maybe Aurora likes that kind of smell," Jace said.

Simon asked, "Who's Aurora? The Seelie Queen?"

"No," Jace edged. "No one knows the Seelie Queen's mortal name. Aurora," he said meaningfully and glanced at Nico, "is Mr. Lightwood's girlfriend."

Esme's mouth tightened when she tried to form a smile. She looked at Nico and said, "Really?"

"No," Nico denied. Then to Jace, "No! She's not. She's jus - she was - she - "

"We get it, brother," Isabelle said.

"Oh, you get it," Jace said to her. Isabelle drifted over, Jace a pace behind her. She was wearing a long black dress with boots and an even longer cutaway coat of soft green velvet, the color of moss. "I can't believe you did it!" she exclaimed. "How did you get Magnus to let Jace leave?"

"Traded him for Alec," Clary said.

Isabelle looked mildly alarmed. "Not permanently?"

"No," said Jace. "Just for a few hours. Unless I don't come back," he added thoughtfully. "In which case, maybe he does get to keep Alec. Think of it as a lease with an option to buy."

Isabelle looked dubious. "Mom and Dad won't be pleased if they find out."

"That you freed a possible criminal by trading away your brother to a warlock who looks like a gay Sonic the Hedgehog and dresses like the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?" Simon inquired. "No, probably not."

Jace looked at him thoughtfully. "Is there some particular reason that you're here? I'm not so sure we should be bringing you to the Seelie Court. They hate mundanes."

Simon rolled his eyes upward. "Not this again."

"Not what again?" said Clary.

"Every time I annoy him, he retreats into his No Mundanes Allowed treehouse." Simon pointed at Jace. "Let me remind you, the last time you wanted to leave me behind, I saved all your lives."

"Sure," said Jace. "One time — "

"The faerie courts are dangerous," cut in Isabelle. "Even your skill with the bow won't help you. It's not that kind of danger."

"I can take care of myself," said Simon. A sharp wind had come up. It blew drying leaves across the gravel at their feet and made Simon shiver. He dug his hands into the wool-lined pockets of his jacket.

"You don't have to come," Clary said.

He looked at her, a steady, measured look. She remembered him back at Luke's, calling her my girlfriend with no measure of doubt or indecision. Whatever else you could say about Simon, he knew what he wanted. "Yeah," he said. "I do."

Jace made a noise under his breath. "Then I suppose we're ready," he said. "Don't expect any special consideration, mundane."

"Look on the bright side," said Esme. "If they need a human sacrifice, you can always offer us. I'm not sure the rest of you qualify anyway."

Jace brightened. "It's always nice when someone volunteers to be the first up against the wall."

Nico's expression had darkened. He looked at Esme who was avoiding his gaze. What had she been thinking? Of course, there'd be someone else. Love is a lie, love is pain. Waiting for love is the longest of waits.

"Come on," Isabelle said. "The door is about to open."

Esme glanced around. The sun had set completely and the moon was up, a wedge of creamy white casting its reflection onto the pond. It wasn't quite full, but shadowed at one edge, giving it the look of a half-lidded eye. Night wind rattled the tree branches, knocking them against one another with a sound like hollow bones.

"Where do we go?" Clary asked. "Where's the door?"

Isabelle's smile was like a whispered secret. "Follow me."

She moved down to the edge of the water, her boots leaving deep impressions in the wet mud. Esme followed, glad she was wearing jeans and not a skirt as Isabelle hiked her coat and dress up over her knees, leaving her slim white legs bare above her boots. Her skin was covered in Marks like licks of black fire.

Esme put her arms out to balance herself and felt hands wrap around them. She jerked her hand back like lightning had struck. Nico's expression was hurt. Esme didn't know why she'd done it. She was angry he hadn't told her about Aurora. She didn't understand this anger, though. Why should he have? It was just that - she loved Clary and she loved Simon - she had thought she could have loved Nico, too, another friend who truly knew her.

Simon, behind her, swore as he slipped in the mud; Jace moved automatically to steady him as they all turned. Simon jerked his arm back. "I don't need your help."

"Stop it." Isabelle tapped a booted foot in the shallow water at the lake's edge. "Both of you. In fact, all five of you. If we don't stick together in the Seelie Court, we're dead."

"But I haven't — " Clary started at the same time as Nico said, " What did  I - 

"Maybe you haven't," Isabelle said to Clary, "but the way you let those two act..." Isabelle indicated the Jace and Simon with a disdainful wave of her hand.

"I can't tell them what to do!"

"Why not?" the other girl demanded. "Honestly, Clary, if you don't start utilizing a bit of your natural feminine superiority – I just don't know what I'll do with you." She turned towards Nico. "And you," she grumbled, "don't even get me started." She turned towards the pond, then spun around again. "And lest I forget," she added sternly, "for the love of the Angel, don't eat or drink anything while we're underground, any of you. Okay?"

"Underground?" said Simon worriedly. "Nobody said anything about underground."

Isabelle threw up her hands and splashed out into the pond. Her green velvet coat swirled out around her like an enormous lily pad. "Come on. We only have until the moon moves."

The moon what? Shaking her head, Esme stepped out into the pond. The water was shallow and clear; in the bright starlight, she could see the black shapes of tiny darting fish moving past her ankles. She gritted her teeth as she waded farther out into the pond. The cold was intense.

Behind her, Nico moved out into the water with a certain practiced step that barely rippled the surface. Simon, behind him, was splashing and cursing. Isabelle, having reached the center of the pond, paused there, up to her rib cage in water. She held out her hand towards Clary who was just behind her. "Stop."

Clary stopped. Just in front of them, the reflection of the moon glimmered atop the water like a huge silvery dinner plate. Esme knew that it didn't work like this; the moon was supposed to move away from you as you approached, ever-receding. But here it was, hovering just on the surface of the water as if it were anchored in place.

"Jace, you go first," Isabelle said and beckoned him. "Come on."

He brushed past Clary, smelling of wet leather and char. She saw him smile as he turned, and then he stepped backward into the reflection of the moon — and vanished.

"Okay," said Simon unhappily. "Okay, that was weird."

Clary glanced back at him. He was only hip-deep in water, but he was shivering, his hands hugging his elbows. She smiled at him and took a step backward, and vanished. Esme blinked. And then Isabelle was shoving her forward. She felt a shock of icier cold when she moved into the shimmering silver reflection. She teetered for a moment, as if she'd lost her balance on the highest rung of a ladder — and then fell backward into darkness as the moon swallowed her up.