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CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

❝ East Of Eden ❞

Esme screamed. Simon's ears rang with her wretched, ugly cry — the whole boat rang with it. She wailed so loudly that even Maia stopped twitching and stared. It felt as if a limb had been ripped from her body with bare hands. Simon fell. She threw herself across the floor to reach for him, to touch him, to hold him. He was bleeding profusely from the wound but he was not dead yet — not dead dead, at least. Valentine seized his collared and started to drag him.

Esme threw herself over Simon's body, holding him to himself as she screamed at Valentine madly. Her throat ached and she tasted blood, swallowed it, and bared her bloody teeth at Valentine in a snarl. A feral animal clutching its soul.

Valentine, unbothered, kicked at Simon. "Show her what you've been hiding, dead thing."

"You don't have to do anything he says, Simon," Esme said it so quickly that she knew at once that she both believed Valentine and feared the truth of him. Simon, Simon, Simon, just open your eyes, open your goddamned — 

She held herself in place, catching his fangs now extended over his lips. Her head jerked back, Valentine had pulled her by her hair. Her hand reached instinctively towards it. He snarled, "You see the truth, mundane girl? That's the truth! You think he can wear a man's skin and walk around, just like that — "

Esme cut him off by leaping at him as if she meant to bite his nose off, and he let go and stepped back at the sudden movement, the sword at her throat. She said, "I've known a monster in man's skin. Simon is nothing, nothing like him."

"Look at him," Valentine snarled. 

Without wanting to, she did. His eyes were hollow and dead and fang-bared lips and whitening skin as the blood drained off him. He looked like he had not been alive for years. It was impossible to not see how white his skin was, how removed from humanity, how stretched thin from time away from a pulse.

Simon Lewis had died.

This was all that was left. That was the truth.

Esme's body was a riot of shivers. She had loved this. This thin, cold memory of a human.

Because it was Simon, he read her silence as easily as her words. She felt it haunt her thoughts and then pass out the other side.

He hissed, "I love you."

She took a deep breath. "Don't you go. Don't you dare go away. I love you."

And she meant it.

Esme didn't care that he — it — Simon — was strange and inhuman and frightening. She knew that he — it — Simon — was strange and inhuman and frightened, and she knew that she loved him anyway.

She hugged it. Him. Simon. She didn't care if he wasn't quite human anymore. She would keep calling whatever this was Simon for as long as he wanted to be called Simon. And she was glad that he could read her thoughts in that moment because she wanted him to know how thoroughly she believed that.

Her body went icily cold as Valentine ripped Simon away from her arms. "In another world, we could have avoided all this," he told her. "If only you weren't such a failure." He jabbed the hilt of his sword at her head. Then, from the exhaustion or the sadness or the broken heart, she fainted.

She was awoken by shaking and immediately reached her hand out to claw at whatever it was. A shout. A thud — the sound of someone falling. She peeled her tear-ridden eyes open and stared. She saw the small, curvy figure, braided hair, dark brown eyes. Maia. And beside her, a petite body, a riot of red hair, swirling Marks on pale skin. "Clary?" her voice was whispered. Then, "Clary!" She threw herself at the girl and sobbed in her shoulder. "Simon — he's — he's gone. Clary Simon's gone! Valentine — he — !"

Clary, only half understanding the devastated words of her friend, turned to Maia. "Simon's dead," Maia repeated for Clary, but of course it was the first time Esme had heard them.

"Dead?" Clary stared at Maia as if she'd spoken in an unknown language. "He can't be dead."

Maia said nothing, just watched her with sad, dark eyes.

"I would know." Clary sat up and pressed her hand, clenched into a fist, against her chest. "I would know it here."

"I thought that myself," Maia said. "Once. But you don't know. You never know."

Clary scrambled to her feet. Jace's jacket hung off her shoulders, the back of it nearly shredded through. She shrugged it off impatiently and dropped it onto the floor. It was ruined, the back scored through with a dozen razored claw marks. She drew a long, ragged breath. She could hear her own heart pounding, but that sounded distant too. "What — happened to him?"

Esme clamped her mouth shut with her hands, still crying blood.

Maia was still kneeling on the floor. "Valentine got the three of us," she said. "He chained us up in a room together. Then he came in with a weapon — a sword, really long and bright, as if it was glowing. He threw silver powder at me so I couldn't fight him, and he — he stabbed Simon in the throat." Her voice faded to a whisper. "He knocked Esme out. He cut Simon's wrists open and he poured the blood into bowls. Some of those demon creatures of his came in and helped him take it. Then he just left Simon lying there, like some toy he'd ripped all the insides out of so he had no use for it anymore. I screamed — but I knew he was dead. Then one of the demons picked us up and brought us down here."

Clary pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, pressed and pressed until she tasted salty blood. The sharp taste of the blood seemed to cut through the fog in her brain. "We have to get out of here."

"No offense, but that's pretty obvious." Maia got to her feet, wincing. "There's no way out of here. Not even for a Shadowhunter. Maybe if you were . . . "

"If I were what?" Clary demanded, helping Esme to her feet. "Jace? Well, I'm not." She kicked at the wall. It echoed hollowly. She dug into her pocket and pulled out her stele. "But I have my own talents."

She shoved the tip of the stele against the wall and began to draw. The lines seemed to flow out of her, black and charred-looking, hot as her furious anger. She slammed the stele against the wall again and again and the black lines flowed up out of its tip like flames. When she drew back, breathing hard, she saw Maia and Esme staring at her in astonishment.

"Girl," Maia said, "what did you do?"

Clary wasn't sure. It looked as if she had thrown a bucket of acid against the wall. The metal all around the rune was sagging and dripping like ice cream on a hot day. She stepped back, eyeing it warily as a hole the size of a large dog opened in the wall. Clary could see steel struts behind it, more of the ship's metal innards. The edges of the hole still sizzled, though it had stopped spreading outward. Maia took a step forward, pushing Clary's arm away.

"Wait." Clary was suddenly nervous. "The melted metal — it could be, like, toxic sludge or something."

Maia snorted. "I'm from New Jersey. I was born in toxic sludge." She marched up to the hole and peered through it. "There's a metal catwalk on the other side," she announced. "Here — I'm going to pull myself through." She turned around and stuck her feet through the hole, then her legs, moving backward slowly. She grimaced as she wriggled her body through, then froze. "Ouch! My shoulders are stuck. Push me?" She held her hands out.

Clary took her hands and pushed. Maia's face turned white, then red — and she suddenly pulled free, like a champagne cork popped from the bottle. With a shriek, she tumbled backward. There was a crash and Clary stuck her head anxiously through the hole. "Are you all right?"

Maia was lying on a narrow metal catwalk several feet below. She rolled over slowly and pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing. "My ankle — but I'll be fine," she added, seeing Clary's face. "We heal fast too, you know."

"I know. Okay, my turn." Clary's stele poked uncomfortably into her stomach as she bent, prepared to slide through the hole after Maia. She peered inside. The drop to the catwalk was intimidating, but not as intimidating as the idea of waiting in the storage space for whatever came to claim them. She turned over onto her stomach, sliding her feet into the hole — 

And something seized her by the back of her shirt, hauling her upward. Esme gasped, her hand going over her mouth. She backed away. No, no, no, this couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening — she heard her own breath stop, catch. No, she was not going to die here. Not here. Not today. 

She looked around the room and walked up to a wall. Her hand seized a metal pipe stuck to it and she pulled. She pulled on it with all her might, the muscles in her arms stretching and burning with strain. She groaned and she pulled — and she fell back to the floor. With a grunt, she pushed herself straight, then paused and looked at her hands. Her fingers were still curled around the pipe - she had wrenched it out of the wall.

She heard a click in the door. She pushed herself to her feet, hold tightening around the pipe, pointed straight at the entryway. Not a moment later the door opened, she was charging at whoever it was. It demon, for sure, but she did not know what kind. It had a set or razor-sharp teeth and was blocking her way out. That was all she saw. She twirled the pipe in her hands and stabbed it through the demon. She knew it wouldn't stay down long — the weapon was not seraphic. So she ran as fast as she could.

She turned around the corner and found a set of stairs. Her feet were aching at the thought of climbing them but she pushed herself too. Pipe in hand, she charged up the steps, straight at the oncoming demon. She impaled it and flung it over her head assisted by her maddening momentum. All she saw was red — red, red, red, Simon, Clary, Simon, Clary. Valentine.

She rattled the doorknob with deadly urgency. Behind her, she could hear the scuttling, the hissing, the crawling as the demons got back up again. She cried in frustration and pounded against the door. Kicked at it, punched then — she backed up a few steps and threw herself at it.

It flew open generously, dislocating her shoulder in the process. She stumbled out. She was on the deck of the ship. The light stabbed her eyes, made it impossible to see for a moment. Then her gaze adjusted and widened and stayed wide.

She looked down the length of the ship. It looked like a Bosch painting of hell. The darkness was full of demons: lumbering, howling, squawking, and slashing out with claws and teeth. Nephilim darted back and forth, their weapons bright in the shadows. Esme could see already that there weren't enough Shadowhunters. Not nearly enough.

Nearly crumbling to her feet, she balanced herself and kicked at one of the seraph blades in the deck. It toppled over and the wall of light vanished. 

Beyond it was chaos. Dark shapes hurtled to and fro on deck, demons clambered over crumpled bodies, and the air was full of smoke and screaming. She strained to see anyone she knew in the melee. Where was Nico? Jace? Alec? Isabelle? Were they here? No, no, they can't be, they shouldn't be — God, don't let them be.

She sunk to her knees in the middle of the battle — blood raining over her like the sky was bleeding. Her limbs ached and sadness twisted in her like a coil. It would be so good, so easy, she thought, to just lie here. Down here just for a minute. To close my eyes and — 

Hands grabbed her shoulder and hauled her to her feet. Almost dead weight, she fell forward like a domino but firm hands steadied her. Cold, blood, and ichor smeared fingers took hold of her face and forced her gaze on them. And suddenly she was looking at a shocking electric blue color that seemed to bring some color back to her. Some kind of sigh or cry left her lips and her knees buckled again.

Alec's hand slipped from her face to her elbows, holding her up. He said, "Esme," but there was a weight to his words she hadn't heard before. A franticness or worry she hadn't ever found before.

Hesitantly, she reached and touched his face. She didn't know if he'd want that or she should do it or not. But her touch barely had any weight, she pressed her fingers over his cheekbones and said. "I didn't think you'd be worried."

Alec made some sort of strangled sound. He straightened her and pushed her behind his back, his weapon raised to counter an oncoming blow. Esme watched as he pulled back and impaled straight through the demon in one strike, ichor flying everywhere. 

Esme took great pains to make her voice normal. "Did anyone else come?"

 Alec, a moment later, replied. "Everyone did." She whirled around to see the scene again. Not enough, not nearly enough. "It's — " Alec began to say something, but broke off when he spotted someone, " — Jace."

Esme turned to find the blond head of hair kneeling over a bag — no a body. Esme glanced around once, hoping not to find who she was looking for on this deck. Alec surged towards his parabatai, one arm extended and holding hers, pulling her with him.

Alec seized hold of the back of Jace's jacket and hauled him to his feet. Jace clapped a hand to his belt — realized he was weaponless — and twisted around to see a familiar pair of blue eyes staring into his with utter incredulity.

"You're alive," Alec said — two short words, but there was a wealth of feeling behind them. The relief on his face was plain, as was his exhaustion.  He clutched a bloody guisarme in his right hand and Jace's collar in the other.

"I seem to be," Jace admitted. Then he glanced over at the battered figure of Esme, "So does she. I won't be for long if you don't give me a weapon, though."

With a quick glance around, Alec let go of Jace, took a seraph blade from his belt, and handed it over. "Here," he said. "It's called Samandiriel."

Jace barely had the blade in his hand when a medium-sized Drevak demon scuttled toward them, chittering imperiously. Jace raised Samandiriel, but Alec had already dispatched the creature with a jabbing blow from his guisarme.

"Nice weapon," Jace said, but both Alec and Esme were looking past him, at the crumpled gray figure on the deck.

Esme asked hesitantly, "Is that the Inquisitor? Is she...?"

"She's dead," Jace said.

Alec's jaw set. "Good riddance. How'd she get it?" Esme slapped his arm with the back of her hand.

Jace was about to reply when he was interrupted by a loud cry of "Alec! Jace!" It was Isabelle, hurrying toward them through the stench and smoke. She wore a close-fitting dark jacket, smeared with yellowish blood. Gold chains hung with rune charms circled her wrists and ankles, and her whip curled around her like a net of electrum wire.

She held her arms out. "Jace, we thought — "

"No." Something made Jace step back, shying away from her touch. "I'm all covered in blood, Isabelle. Don't."

A hurt expression crossed her face. "But we've all been looking for you — Mom and Dad, they — "

"Isabelle!" Jace shouted, but it was too late: A massive spider demon reared up behind her, jetting yellow poison from its fangs. Isabelle screamed as the poison struck her, but her whip shot out with blinding speed, slicing the demon in half. It thudded to the deck in two pieces, then vanished.

Esme and Jace darted toward Isabelle just as she slumped forward. Her whip slipped from her hand as he caught her, cradling her awkwardly against him. He could see how much of the poison had gotten on her: It had splashed mostly onto her jacket, but some of it spattered her throat, and where it touched, the skin burned and sizzled. Barely audibly, she whimpered — Isabelle, who never showed pain. Esme pushed back the black grimed covered hair out of the girl's face.

"Give her to me." It was Alec, dropping his weapon as he hurried to help his sister. He took Isabelle from Jace's arms and lowered her gently to the deck. Kneeling beside her, stele in hand, he looked up at Jace. "Hold off whatever comes while I heal her."

Jace couldn't drag his eyes away from Isabelle. Blood streamed from her neck down onto her jacket, soaking her hair. Esme gripped the pipe in hand tightly, feeling as if everything was caving in. "We have to get her off this boat," he said roughly. "If she stays here — "

"She'll die?" Alec was tracing the tip of his stele as gently as he could over his sister's throat. "We're all going to die. There are too many of them. We're being slaughtered. The Inquisitor deserved to die for this — this is all her fault."

"A Scorpios demon tried to kill me," Jace said, wondering why he was saying it, why he was defending someone he hated. "The Inquisitor got in its way. Saved my life."

"She did?" Astonishment was clear in Alec's tone. "Why?"

"I guess she decided I was worth saving."

"But she always — " Esme broke off, her expression changing to one of alarm. "Jace, behind you — two of them — "

Jace whirled. Two demons were approaching: a Ravener, with its alligator-like body and serrated teeth, its scorpion tail curling forward over its back, and a Drevak, its pale white maggot-flesh gleaming in the moonlight. Jace heard Alec, behind him, suck in an alarmed breath; then Samandiriel left his hand, cutting a silvery path through the air. It sliced through the Ravener's tail, just below the pendulous poison sac at the end of its long stinger.

The Ravener howled. The Drevak turned, confused — and got the poison sac full in the face. The sac broke open, drenching the Drevak in venom. It emitted a single garbled scream and crumpled, its head eaten away to the bone. Blood and poison splattered the deck as the Drevak vanished. The Ravener, blood gushing from its tail stump, dragged itself a few more paces forward before it, too, disappeared.

Esme said, "Efficient."

Jace bent and picked up Samandiriel gingerly. The metal deck was still sizzling where the Ravener's poison had spilled on it, pocking it with tiny spreading holes like cheesecloth.

"Jace." Alec was on his feet, holding a pale but upright Isabelle by the arm. "We need to get Isabelle out of here."

"Fine," Jace said. "You get her out of here. I'm going to deal with that."

"With what?" Alec said, bewildered.

"With that," Jace said again and pointed. Something was coming toward them through the smoke and flames, something huge, humped, and massive. Easily five times the size of any other demon on the ship, it had an armored body, many-limbed, each appendage ending in a spiked chitinous talon. Its feet were elephant feet, huge and splayed. It had the head of a giant mosquito, Jace saw as it came closer, complete with insectile eyes and a dangling blood-red feeding tube.

Esme sucked in her breath. "What the hell is it?"

Jace thought for a moment. "Big," he said finally. "Very."

"Jace — " It was Nico, arriving, causing Esme's eyes to widen. Despite the chill in the air, his black hair was plastered to his cheeks and forehead with sweat. His clothes and skin were streaked with blood and there was a long rip in the sleeve of his armored jacket as if something jagged and sharp had torn it open. Esme felt her heart, stop, skip and restart — beating faster, harder, better.

He did not look at her.

Jace turned and looked at him, and stared. Then turned and looked at Esme, and then at Alec and Isabelle. Something inside him told him that this might very well be the last time he ever saw them, and yet he still wasn't afraid, not for himself. He wanted to say something to them, maybe that he loved them, that any one of them was worth more to him than a thousand Mortal Instruments and the power they could bring. But the words wouldn't come.

"Alec," he heard himself say. "Nico. Get Isabelle to the ladder, now, or we'll all die."

Alec met his gaze and held it for a moment. Then he nodded and pushed Isabelle, still protesting, toward the railing. Nico helped him pull her up onto it and then over, and with immense relief, Esme saw her dark head disappearing as she began to descend the ladder. And now you, Nico, she thought. Go.

But Nico wasn't going. Nor was Alec. Isabelle, now out of view, cried out sharply as her brothers jumped back down from the railing, onto the deck of the ship. Alec's guisarme lay on the deck where he'd dropped it; he seized it now and moved to stand next to Jace and face the demon as it came.

He never got that far. The demon, bearing down on Jace, made a sudden swerve and rushed toward Alec, its bloody feeding tube whipping back and forth hungrily. Nico spun to block Alec, but a different demon was on him. Esme heard herself scream, as if from a distance. Jace moved to push her back help Alec but the metal deck he was standing on, rotted with poison, crumbled underneath him. His foot plunged through and he fell hard against the deck.

Alec had time to shout Jace's name, and then the demon was on him. He stabbed at it with his guisarme, plunging the sharp end of it deep into the demon's flesh. The creature reared back, screaming a weirdly human scream, black blood spraying from the wound. Alec retreated, reaching for another weapon, just as the demon's talon whipped around, knocking him to the deck. Then its feeding tube wrapped around him.

Somewhere, Isabelle was screaming. 

Esme twirled the pipe in her hand, casting a glance towards Nico, fighting another demon, his jacket shredded and she strode towards Alec. Lifting the pipe over her head, she struck it between the small space between his neck and the demon's feeding tube. Alec looked at her warningly, but she ignored him. Twisting the pipe in the feeding tube, she gave a mighty pull. Cut in half, the limb fell on the ground, writhing and twitching.

Esme looked up, fire in her veins.

Jace raised Samandiriel. Light blazed forth from the seraph blade, bright as a falling star. The demon flinched back, making a low hissing sound. It relaxed its grip on Alec and for a moment Esme thought it might be going to let him go. Then it whipped its head back with a sudden, startling speed and flung Alec with immense force. Alec hit the blood-slippery deck hard, skidded across it — and fell, with a single hoarse cry, over the side of the ship.

Nico was screaming Alec's name; his screams were like spikes being driven into Esme's ears. Samandiriel was still blazing in Jace's hand. Its light illuminated the demon stalking toward them, its insectile gaze bright and predatory, but all Jace could see was Alec; Alec falling over the side of the ship, Alec drowning in the black water far below. He thought he tasted seawater in his own mouth, or it might have been blood. The demon was almost on him; he pushed Esme to the side, sending her skidding to the floor and raised Samandiriel in his hand and flung it — the demon squealed, a high, agonized sound — and then the deck gave way beneath Jace with a screech of crumbling metal and he fell into darkness, his ears ringing with Esme's calls of his name.