⋆ ˚ 。⋆ ✧ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ✧ ⋆ 。˚ ⋆

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE: ZOYA'S CURSE

❛everything was getting better

and now

it's not.❜

⋆ ✧ ⋆

Nothing about the cave seemed to be the same, save for the pungent scent of damp air that somehow managed to creep beneath Zoya's skin. The humidity touched her temples in effortless brushes, letting loose the translucent droplets of cold sweat. The tops of her fingers brewed with sheer excitement, the cold steadiness sneaking its way into the girl's flesh and blood and calling for a thrilling battle. This was what Zoya was born to do; with a weapon in hand and Emma by her side, she was meant to look danger in the eye and wish it a peaceful death.

"People came through here earlier," Emma uttered quietly, her chin gesturing toward the rocky path they strode across. "A lot of people."

Zoya was glad to have her skin decorated in runes, for they amplified her sight and allowed her to notice the disturbed pebbles even in the pitch-black darkness. None of the Shadowhunters even considered activating more than one of the witchlight stones, knowing that the bright illumination would attract unwanted gazes and announce their presence.

"Followers?" Julian questioned in an equally hushed manner, soundlessly trailing behind the parabatai girls with Mark by his side.

"We can't be sure," Zoya replied curtly, overlooking the dim passage. Along the steep walls, stretching were the marks clawed by human nails, sending unpleasant shivers down Zoya's spine.

The main chamber, too, was unrecognizable. The bronze layer that covered the walls a few days ago was swallowed in an all-consuming darkness, making the room appear much vaster than it was. The tricky portholes that led Emma and Zoya into the bottom of the freezing ocean weren't there either, but the words of the familiar poem blazed in everyone's eyes like lone stars in the dark sky.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

I and my Annabel Lee—

With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven

Coveted her and me.

The wingèd seraphs of Heaven.

Julian was the one to lift his witchlight up and illuminate the cavern, although Zoya wished he hadn't done so.

The moment the reduced rays escaped the tiny holes in between the boy's fingers, everyone was capable of noticing a stone table. It rose before them, rough and surrounded by white chalk. Upon it rested the youngest of Blackthorns ー Tavvy.

His frame was still, eyes closed and dark locks messily outlining his soft cheeks. The sight was almost capable of fooling everyone into believing that the tiny boy was sleeping, but the moment their gazes skimmed over the iron chains attached to his ankles and a copper knife that rested beside the boy's head, they were washed in a wave of frigid realization.

"Tavvy!" Livvy cried out, lunging herself toward her baby brother. Julian wasted no time in curling his hand around the girl's wrist and pulling her back. "We need to save him. We need to get himー"

Zoya understood Livvy's eagerness to save her sibling, as did Julian. But their eyes have noticed the very thing that prevented them from easily rescuing the boy.

"Livs," Zoya uttered, her finger gesturing toward the chalk circle. "You can't just run through there. If you pass the protection circle without a charm, there's a high chance of you ending up dead."

A few hushed murmurs were exchanged, but died down the second a soft echo of approaching footsteps broke against the tall ceiling.

"Be quiet," Mark warned, shoulders jerking in alarm. "Someone's coming."

The Nephilim became one with the shadows of the narrow tunnel, quieting their breaths in hopes of not giving away their presence.

A moment later, a hooded silhouette stepped onto the platform. Black gloves that covered the person's hands matched the hue of their thick cloak.

Zoya didn't need a clarification; Rook had previously explained that the Guardian always showed wrapped in dark robes. Her heart, wild and unstoppable, throbbed against her rib cage as she observed the figure passing the protection circle and nearing its head to Tavvy.

Zoya could sense the reeking fear the Blackthorns were radiating setting its hand on her shoulder. She could feel Emma's shoulders shaking from beside her ー or maybe it was Zoya who was shaking. She wasn't sure.

"No!" Livvy's voice shattered the curtain of deadly silence, ripping her hand from Julian's grip and running toward the bent figure. "Step away from my brother, or I'll kill you, I'll kill youー"

The black figure stiffened, head lifting up and hands pushing the large hood down. A familiar tattoo of a koi fish greeted the Shadowhunter group. "Livvy?"

"Diana?" Ty was the first one to show his astonishment, emerging from the dark tunnel and standing beside his sister.

Diana's eyes widened. "By the Angel," she breathed out. "How many of you are here?"

"All of us," Julian responded steadily, although there was an ounce of betrayal hidden within.

"Even Dru?" Diana inquired. "You don't understand how dangerous this is ー Julian, you have to get everyone out of here."

"Not without Tavvy," Emma joined the discussion. "Diana, what the hell are you doing? You told us you were in Thailand."

"If she was, no one at the Bangkok Institute knew about it," Diego added, stepping out of the shadows. "I checked."

"You lied to us." Emma's lips parted ways in bewilderment. "And you've barely been here, this whole investigation, like you were hiding something from usー"

Zoya didn't want to believe the possibility of Diana somehow operating with Malcolm. "Emma, wait," she said. "I don't think Diana'sー"

"Zoya, can't you see?" Emma shook her head, glancing at her parabatai. "What other reason could she have for not being hereー"

A faint reverberation of yet another set of boots clicking against the cobbled path interrupted Emma's heated argument. Diana's gaze narrowed at the Shadowhunter group. "Get back ー get awayー"

Zoya reacted without holding back, instantly grasping Emma's hand and hauling her back among the shadows. A minute later, Malcolm Fade stepped into the cold chamber.

The warlock looked exactly the same as the last time Zoya had seen him. He had been dressed casually; jeans and a white jacket to match his hair, blue-purple eyes accentuated.

"It is you," Diana stated, her gaze clashing against Malcolm's.

The warlock didn't appear disturbed; if anything, his face bore signs of amusement. "Diana Wrayburn," he exclaimed. "Now, now. I didn't expect to see you here. I rather thought you'd run away."

Diana stood her ground, shoulders held high. "I don't run."

He examined the woman, eyes coming to rest upon Tavvy. "Step away from the boy."

Diana didn't listen to the warlock's commands, blood thrilling with determination.

"Do it," he said, hand hovering above the Black Volume that peeked from his jacket. "He's nothing to you, anyway. You're not a Blackthorn."

"I'm his tutor. He has grown up in my care."

"Oh, come now," Malcolm scoffed. "If you'd cared about those children, you'd have taken the post as head of the Institute years ago. But I suppose we all know why you didn't do that."

Malcolm's face lit up like a Christmas tree, hands raising in the air and creating an invisible pattern. A moment later, Diana was expelled from the protection circle, a noisy yelp escaping through her clenched teeth. The woman lifted herself off the ground, staggering toward Tavvy once more.

This time, however, she couldn't pass through the barrier.

"No human thing can cross that barrier," the warlock informed. "I'm guessing you had a charm to get you through the first time, but it won't work again. You should have stayed away."

"You can't possibly hope for success, Malcolm," Diana countered, hand rubbing a part of her skin that seemed burned. "If you kill a Shadowhunter, the Nephilim will hunt you for the rest of your days."

"They hunted me two hundred years ago. They killed her," Malcolm spoke with distant bitterness, a feeling foreign to Zoya. "And we had done nothing. Nothing. I do not fear them, their unjust justice or unlawful laws."

"I understand your pain, Malcolm," Diana tried her luck. "Butー"

"Do you? Do you understand, Diana Wrayburn?" Malcolm's pupils grew wide, but his lips relaxed. His arms joined behind his back, making the man spin on his foot and glance around the room. "Maybe you do. You have known the injustice and intolerance of the Clave. If only you hadn't come here ー it's the Blackthorns I despise, not the Wrayburns. I always rather liked you."

"You liked me because you thought I was too frightened of the Clave to look closely at you," Diana pointed out, mirroring Malcolm's actions. "To suspect you." She mouthed a quiet 'run' to the group of Nephilim before facing the warlock again.

Zoya spared Emma a silent glance before turning to her left. Julian, along with Theodore and Mark, began slipping down the narrow passage. Before becoming one with the growing darkness, he spared her a single nod ー he wanted her to trust him.

The raven-haired girl's hand curled around Lazarus.

"Who told you?" Malcolm inquired curiously. "Was it Rook? I didn't think he'd guessed." He clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth. "No. You weren't sure when you got here. You suspected. . ." A vile glint passed through his eyes. "It was Catarina, wasn't it?"

Diana's face was unreadable. "When the second line of the poem was deciphered and I heard the phrase 'Blackthorn blood', I realized that we weren't searching for a killer of mundanes and faeries. That this was about the Blackthorn family. And there is no one more likely to know about a grudge that goes back years than Catarina. I went to her."

"And you couldn't tell the Blackthorns where you went because of the reason you know Catarina," said Malcolm. "She's a nurse ー a nurse to mundanes. How do you think I found outー?"

"She didn't tell you about me, Malcolm," Diana barked in his way. "She keeps secrets. What she told me about you was simply what she knew ー that you'd loved a Nephilim girl and that she'd become an Iron Sister. She'd never questioned the story because as far as she knew, you'd never questioned the story. But once she told me that, I was able to check with the Iron Sisters. No Nephilim girl with that story had become one of them. And once I realized that was a lie, the rest began to come together. I remembered what Emma and Zoya had told us about what they'd found here, the clothes, the candelabra. Catarina went to the Spiral Labyrinth and I came hereー"

"So Catarina gave you the charm to get you through the protection circle," connected Malcolm. "Unfortunate that you wasted it. Did you have a plan or did you just rush here in a panic?"

Diana's lips were pursed, no words coming out.

"Always have a plan," Malcolm scoffed. "I, for one, have been crafting my current plan for years. And now here you are, the proverbial fly in the ointment. I suppose there's nothing to do but kill you, though I hadn't planned to, and exposing you to the Clave would have been so much more funー"

A silver throwing star escaped Diana's hand, lunging for the warlock. Though it had a good path and right speed, it missed Malcolm completely. The warlock vanished from his place, appearing across the room and out of reach from Diana and her weapons.

Angry sparks of magic poured out of his fingers, directing toward the Wrayburn woman and pinning her against the wall. She rolled down, but when she tried to get up ー she couldn't. Her limbs were trapped in invisible shackles, holding her in place.

"You won't be able to move," Malcolm stated, unbothered. "You're paralyzed. I could have killed you instantly, of course, but well, this is quite a trick I'm about to perform and every trick needs an audience." The corners of his lips tugged up. "I suppose I shouldn't forget the audience I have. It's just that they aren't very lively."

The chamber was washed in glowing light, shadows shrinking into nothingness and revealing rows of seats filled with still figures.

"Followers," Ty muttered into his chin, eyes wide.

Zoya's heart trailed a steady pace; she had seen these people before. An army of brainwashed servants, ready to follow Malcolm's every command ー just because they believed he had something to give them. 

"Emma, Zoya," Cristina whisper-yelled from the shadows. "We must attack. Diego thinks we can surround Malcolm, that enough of us could bring him downー"

"We can't," Zoya uttered hesitantly. "Jules, Theo and Mark went through the tunnel. We have to wait."

Emma glanced at Zoya before nodding at Cristina. "Wait."

"Wait?" Cristina's expression was wild. "We need toー"

The brunette's words died down as soon as Malcolm began walking across the circle, eyes glued to Tavvy's unmoving frame. His hand, steady and slow, pulled a cloth that covered a sharp object ー the candelabra Zoya and Emma had seen.

This time, the sharp needles meant for candles had hands stabbed upon them.

"Do you know what this is?" Malcolm questioned. "Do you, Diana?"

Diana struggled to talk, face bruised from Malcolm's gruesome wave of magic. "Hands of Glory."

"It took me quite a long time to figure out that this was what I needed," Malcolm chuckled. "This is why my attempt with the Carstairs family didn't work. The spell called for mandrake, and it was a long time before I realized that the word 'mandrake' was meant to stand in for main de gloire ー a Hand of Glory." The twisted grin never left his face. "The darkest of dark magic."

"Because of the way they're made," Diana retorted. "They're murderers' hands. The hands of killers. Only a hand that has taken a human life can become a Hand of Glory."

"Oh." Ty echoed. "I get it now. I get it."

Zoya glanced across the tunnel; Ty peered at the rest of the group.

"Diego and Theo said it was weird," Ty whispered, "that the murder victims were such a mix ー humans, faeries. It's because the victims never mattered. Malcolm didn't want victims, he wanted murderers. It was why the Followers needed Sterling back ー and why Belinda cut off his hands and left with them. And why Malcolm let her. He needed the murderer's hands, the hands they'd killed with ー so he could do this. Belinda took both hands because she didn't know which one he'd killed with ー and she couldn't ask."

A fire smoldered within Zoya's heart.

"This is wrong, Malcolm." Diana cried out. "I've spent days talking to those who've known you for years. Catarina Loss. Magnus Bane. They said you were a good, likable man. That can't be all lies."

"Lies?" Malcolm echoed. "You want to talk about lies? They lied to me about Annabel. They said she had become an Iron Sister. All of them told me the same lie: Magnus, Catarina, Tessa. It was from a faerie I found out that they had lied. From a faerie I learned what had really happened to Annabel. By then she was long dead. The Blackthorns, murdering their own!"

"That was generations back. The boy you have chained to that table never knew Annabel. These are not the people who hurt you, Malcolm. These are not the people who took Annabel from you. They're innocent."

"No one is innocent!" Malcolm sneered. "She was a Blackthorn! Annabel Blackthorn! She loved me, and they took her ー they took her and walled her up and she died there in the tomb. They did that to me and I do not forgive! I will never forgive!" Malcolm's chest shook, hands curling into fists. "Thirteen Hands of Glory and Blackthorn blood. That will bring her back, and she will be with me again."

The warlock strolled toward the youngest Blackthorn, picking up the knife that rested beside the boy.

Zoya's hand had already picked Lazarus, allowing it to rest beside Cortana. Everyone was looking at her and Emma; Diego, Cristina, Ty, Livvy and Dru.

Zoya could see the knife nearing Tavvy's chest, mind bursting with the thoughts of Julian. We can't wait for Julian, she wanted to say to Emma. She wanted to yell at the top of her lungs, just so she could avert Malcolm's attention from his victim, but her words seemed to have become tangled in her throat.

"Go," Emma commanded instead, as if she had registered Zoya's silent wishes.

Then, all hell broke loose. Ty, Livvy, Cristina and Diego, along with Emma and Zoya lunged for the warlock.

He seemed abashed, mouth flying agape and knife slipping through his fingers. For a curt, ever so short, moment Malcolm allowed them to think of him as helpless. Then, as his glowing eyes began scanning the equally distributed group of Nephilim, the warlock laughed. It was a piercing sound, easy to blend with the ricocheting noise of the Shadowhunters trying to break the protective circle.

"Surround Malcolm!" Emma shouted eagerly. "He can't stay in the protected area forever! Circle him!"

Zoya found herself sprinting toward her parabatai, taking a stance on her left ー like she always did. She found herself opposite Livvy, eyeing Malcolm with a burning rage. Betrayal was a feeling she never wished on anyone.

"Malcolm," she warned. "Even you know that you can't stay in there forever. We areー"

The smirk on the warlock's face widened as he bent down to pick the coppery knife. "I won't stay here forever, Zoya," he sneered, turning to face the crowd of his silent servants. "Just until you fall dead." His arms were lifted up, lilac eyes smoldering with a raging determination. "Rise! My Followers, rise!"

In sync and with a cacophony of low howls, the dazzled crowd rose up to their feet. They walked mechanically, following Belinda who eagerly hurried toward Cristina, her sharp nails clawing at the girl's face.

With a sharp hiss passing her lips, Cristina tore herself from the woman and slashed her throat with her butterfly knife. The woman didn't even flinch; her body appeared untouched.

Cristina blinked a few times, trying to pry away the confusion. Thankfully, Diego swung his ax and cut Belinda's head off ー sending her into her doom. The cut was precise and swift, but it had left the boy completely exposed to the attack of yet another nameless follower.

Zoya cried the Centurion's name, warning him to duck down and allow her throwing knife to pierce the middle of the Follower's forehead.

Everything that followed after was a mess.

Emma and Zoya, gazes clashing, nodded at each other and began their well-rehearsed strategy. Whenever they faced demons, they had an unspoken plan ー Zoya took their enemies on the left and Emma on the right. Years and years of training allowed them to work like a well-oiled machine, parabatai bond allowing them to sense each other as they fought their way through enemies' rows.

Cortana and Lazarus tasted the flesh of Malcolm's servants, dropping body after body to the cave's ground. The girls twisted and turned their frames, as if the light breeze carried them through the chains of people, eyes focused on the Blackthorn children.

Dru was fast on her feet to assist Diana in breaking from the invisible shackles Malcolm had trapped her with. Her blade pierced through the dead skin of the woman who tried putting her hands on the girl, destroying a life that was already taken. Livvy and Ty were nearby, saber and seraph blade wielded proudly.

There was a tiny moment that hurtled by Zoya, allowing her to hear the sound of cracking as Ty's seraph blade met one of the Followers' bodies. It was the same noise Lazarus created as it sentenced Zoya's opponents to their doom.

"Seraph blades!" Emma shouted, eyes meeting Zoya's. "Everyone! Use your seraph blades!"

The blonde girl was by her parabatai's side, Cortana flashing golden.

"We have to get to Tavvy," Zoya kicked a red-haired woman that lunged toward her, pushing her back into the crowd. "Malcolm's got the blade again."

Emma didn't need to be told twice. She cut through the wall of Followers and toward the protection circle, allowing Zoya to brandish Lazarus and execute those who tried to harm Emma from the sides.

It was when they were close to the invisible shield that their ears registered the thumping sound of hooves hitting the ground. It was a thunderous, petrifying noise ー bouncing off the high ceiling and freezing Malcolm's hand as if pierced through young Tavvy's shirt.

Windspear ー Kieran's loyal steed ー emerged from the dark tunnel. Julian rode it fiercely, fingers knotted in its mane. Mark was behind his brother, clearing the way for Theodore who unleashed his electrum-laced bolas.

As soon as the horse broke through the barrier and sailed above the table, Malcolm staggered back clumsily, nearly meeting the ground as Julian landed down.

Zoya felt her breath hitched in her throat, a sharp jab of pain spreading through her temples as the protective circle began to dissolve in a brilliant shimmering rain.

Malcolm groaned in bewilderment, racing toward Tavvy. His hand hovered above the boy's bare chest ー almost begging for it to be knocked away.

Kieran seemed to be keen on fulfilling Malcolm's wishes, for he fell from the air and sent the warlock directly to the ground. His hair, obsidian with streaks of midnight blue, fell into his eyes, matching the shade of the sharp blade that was produced within his fingers. It flew straight to Malcolm's chest, but it never quite succeeded into licking the man's skin. Malcolm rose to his feet and sent the Unseelie prince flying across the room.

With burning annoyance guiding his soul, Malcolm's magic burst from his fingers, threatening to turn Kieran into particles of dust. He would have done so ー hadn't Mark bravely navigated Windspear toward his owner and pulled Kieran out of the way.

Take care of Malcolm.

Emma's words echoed loudly in the back of Zoya's mind, even though her lips were yet to make a movement. Gripping Lazarus tightly in her hand, the raven-haired girl ran after her parabatai, crossing the protective barrier with empty lungs.

Zoya didn't know what charm Malcolm had embedded into the chalk circle, but it cut through Zoya and Emma like thousand sharp knives. And yet, despite the lingering throbs, the Caldwell girl threw herself in between the warlock and her friends. Her weapon, glowing and sharp, threatened the grinning warlock who collected himself from the floor with a few loud coughs escaping his mouth.

Though Lazarus and Zoya were offering Cortana and Emma enough time to break Tavvy's chains and send Julian away with his brother in his arms, Malcolm didn't seem to care about them. The moment he felt the shackles breaking, his magic erupted in a cloud of purple and the warlock lunged for Ty and Livvy.

Zoya's mind worked at an unfathomable speed, eyes catching a sight of Malcolm's Hands of Glory scattered across the floor. She didn't have the time to glance around the room and witness the glorious way in which her friends fought, just like how she didn't have the time to glance at Emma and see her wielding Cortana toward the warlock.

"I still need Blackthorn blood," Malcolm chuckled, pulling at the rope that he had managed to secure around Dru's legs. "And yours will do as well as your little brother's would have. In fact, you look like you'd have a lot more of itー"

"Stop!" It was Emma who shouted, piercing the air and making Malcolm spin on his foot.

The blonde Shadowhunter had taken a confident stance beside her battle partner, eyes drifting in between the warlock and the candelabra of hands that rested within Zoya's palm.

"No spell will work if you don't have these. Right Fade?" Zoya's voice was a distant blizzard, thundering as it pierced Malcolm's ears.

"The hands of thirteen murderers," Emma hummed, tilting her head to Zoya. "Not so easy to collect."

Malcolm sneered in the girls' way, hand releasing the rope that held Dru a prisoner and allowing her to pull yet another weapon from her belt. "Give it back."

"The possibility of that is highly unlikely," Zoya countered. "But I appreciate your optimism."

"Call them off." Emma's chin gestured toward the restless crowd. "Call off your Followers, and we'll give you back your Hands of Glory."

"But then again, I'm not feeling as generous as my parabatai," Zoya added. "I might just bring them home to redecorate, you know?"

Malcolm's gaze flickered with fury. "Deprive me of my chance to regain Annabel, and you will pay with agony."

"Can't be worse than the agony of hearing you talk," Emma retorted. "Call them off or I'll cut these disgusting things into tiny pieces." Cortana was lifted up toward the candelabra Zoya was holding. "Let's see if you can do a magic spell with those."

Malcolm carefully calculated the parabatai girls' next move, cursing under his breath when he noticed there wasn't an ounce of joking tone to their words. His hands flew up and the Followers dropped down to the floor, resembling a scene where a massacre took place.

Kieran and Mark, both clutching to the horse, eased. Cristina, along with Theo and Diego rushed toward the Blackthorn children, picking them up and making sure they weren't injured.

Follow me.

Emma's words greeted Zoya's mind once again and, before she knew it, the raven-haired girl was sprinting in the opposite direction of the angry-looking warlock. She jumped over the elevated table and down the rows of sharply lined chairs, the heavy weight of the candelabra slowing her down.

She didn't look back; putting distance between her and Malcolm was of crucial importance. She had to lure him out of the cave and secure the safety of her friends. So, trailing after Emma, Zoya kept on pushing her limbs.

The faint illuminations of Cortana served as a beacon for the Caldwell girl, leading her through the narrow corridors of the hollow hill. Distant, but fast echo of footsteps sent her heart into an overdrive. She knew that Malcolm was on their tail, so she didn't even complain when Emma took a sharp turn left ー not stopping for a second in order to think whether it was a better idea to turn right.

It was only the girls' luck when they stumbled upon a large glass door ー porthole. It was similar to the one they've fallen through a few days ago, but much grander in size, nearly taking up the whole wall.

Cold, alluring ocean smiled at the two girls.

"Oh, Emma and Zoya," Malcolm's voice greeted the frozen pair. "You took the wrong path, didn't you? But one could say that about so much of your lives."

Zoya gripped the candelabra close to her, extending Lazarus toward the warlock. "Do remember that I still have these," she pointed out. "I'd watch it if I were you."

Malcolm chuckled. "Do you have any idea how precious those hands are?" He sneered, low. "For the fullest potency, they had to be severed just after the murder was performed. Setting up the killings was a feat of skill and daring and timing. You can't believe how annoyed I was when you took Sterling from me before I could collect his hand. Belinda had to bring me both of them so I could discern which was the murdering instrument. And then Julian calling me for help ー a stroke of luck, I have to say."

"It wasn't luck," Emma argued. "We trusted you."

"And I trusted Shadowhunters once," Malcolm replied bitterly. "We all make mistakes."

We have to keep him talking, Zoya thought.

"Johnny Rook said you told him to tell me about the body dump at the Sepulchre," Emma began. "Why? Why set me on your trail?"

Malcolm took a step toward the girls, but Cortana flew up toward the hands instantly. The warlock froze in place, lifting his arms up in surrender. "I needed you distracted. I needed you focused on the victims, not the murderers. Besides, you had to learn about the situation before the faerie convoy arrived on your doorstep."

"And asked us to investigate the murders you were committing? What did you get out of that?"

"I got the absolute promise that the Clave would stay out of it," smiled Malcolm. "Individual Shadowhunters don't frighten me, girls. But the whole mess of them could be a mess indeed. I've known Iarlath a long time. I knew he had connections to the Wild Hunt and I knew the Wild Hunt had something that would make you move Heaven and earth to keep information from the Clave and the Silent Brothers. Nothing against the boy personally; at least his Blackthorn stock is diluted by some good, healthy Downworlder blood. But I know Julian. I knew what he'd prioritize, and it wasn't the Law or the Clave."

"You underestimated us," Zoya proceeded. "You didn't think we'd figure it out, but we did."

"I thought they might send a Centurion or two, but I never guessed they'd be someone you knew. Trusted enough to take into your confidence despite Mark. When I saw the Rosales and Montclaire boy, I realized I didn't have much time. I knew I'd have to take Tavvy right away. Thankfully, I had Iarlath's help, which has been invaluable. Oh," he grinned wickedly. "I heard about the whipping. I'm very sorry about that. Iarlath has his own ways of having fun, and they aren't mine."

"You're sorry?" Emma echoed coldly. "You killed my parents, and you're apologizing? I'd rather be whipped a thousand times and have my parents back."

"I know what you're thinking. You Shadowhunters all think alike. But I need you to understandー" Malcolm began, but his stare grew distant in the matter of seconds. "If you understood," he added, "you wouldn't blame me."

"Why don't you tell us what happened, then?" Zoya questioned carefully. Her voice had dropped to softer tones, as if wanting to offer the warlock comfort. It was the farthest of things she had wished to do, but she knew that she had to give time to her friends to retreat and come up with a new plan.

"You went to Faerie," Emma uttered, reading Zoya's intention. "When you found out that Annabel wasn't an Iron Sister. That she'd been murdered. Is that how you know Iarlath?"

"Despite not being born gentry, he was the right hand of the Unseelie King back then," Malcolm explained. "When I went, I knew the King might have me murdered. They don't much like warlocks. But I didn't care. And when the King asked me a favor, I did it. In return, he gave me the rhyme. A spell custom made to raise my Annabel. Blackthorn blood. Blood for blood, that's what the King said."

"So why didn't you just raise her right then? Why wait?"

"Faerie magic and warlock magic are very different," recollected Malcolm. "It was like translating something from another language. It took me years to decipher the poem. Then I realized it was telling me to find a book. I almost went out of my mind. Years of translation and all I got was a riddle about a bookー" His eyes glimmered when they met Emma's. "It was just chance that it was your parents," he proceeded. "They returned to the Institute while I was there. But it didn't work. I did everything the spell book said, and Annabel didn't stir."

"My parentsー"

"Your love for them wasn't greater than my love for Annabel," Malcolm argued. "I was trying to make things fair. It was never about hurting you. I don't hate the Carstairs. Your parents were sacrifices."

"You'reー" Zoya began.

"They would have sacrificed themselves, wouldn't they?" He ignored Zoya's words, glancing at Emma. "For the Clave? For you?"

Zoya's chest burned with Emma's rage; she knew that it was a struggle beyond this world to remain calm under Malcolm's constant provocations.

"So you waited five years?" Emma shook her head, voice involuntarily breaking. "Why five years?"

"I waited until I thought I'd gotten the spell right," Malcolm stated. "I used the time to learn. To build. I took Annabel's body from her tomb and moved it to the convergence. I created the Followers of the Guardian. Belinda was the first murderer. I followed the ritual ー burned and soaked the body, carved the markings onto it ー and I felt Annabel move." His eyes were a deep purple, blazing in darkness. "I knew I was bringing her back. After that nothing could have stopped me."

"But why those markings?" Zoya questioned, feeling the fire that spread through her arm. The candelabra was becoming too heavy. "Why the Unseelie King's poem?"

"Because it was a message!" Malcolm shrieked. "I don't expect you to understand, but Emma? For someone who's talked so much about revenge, who's lived it and breathed it, you don't seem to understand much about it. I needed the Shadowhunters to know. I needed the Blackthorns to know, when the youngest of them lay dead, whose hand had dealt them that blow. When someone has wronged you, it isn't enough that they suffer. They need to look at your face and know why they suffer. I needed the Clave to decipher that poem and learn exactly who would be their destruction."

"Destruction?" Emma nearly shouted. "You're insane. Killing Tavvy wouldn't destroy the Nephilim ー and none of them who are alive even know about Annabelー"

"And how do you think that feels?" He argued equally as fierce. "Her name forgotten? Her fate buried? The Shadowhunters turned her into a story. I think several of her kinsmen went mad ー they couldn't bear what they'd done, couldn't bear the weight of the secret."

"What about the poem?" Zoya prolonged. "How did Edgar Allan Poe know? He wrote the story with exceptional detailsー"

The warlock's knuckles paled as he glanced at the raven-haired girl. "When I heard it, I thought it was a sickening coincidence," he answered. "But it obsessed me. I went to talk to the poet, but he had died. 'Annabel' was his last work." He licked his lips. "Years went by, and I believed her to be in the Adamant Citadel. It was all that comforted me. That she was alive somewhere. When I found out, I wanted to deny it, but it was the poem that proved the facts of it ー Poe had learned the truth from Downworlders, learned it before I did ー how Annabel and I had loved as children, how she would have left the Nephilim for me, but her family heard of it and decided death was preferable to life with a warlock. They'd walled her up in a tomb by the Cornwall sea, walled her up alive. Later, when I moved her body, I kept it near the ocean. She always loved the water."

Malcolm's grief was immortal. The melancholy and sheer pain laced his voice, breaking it into brittle sobs.

"They told me she'd become an Iron Sister. All of them lied to me ー Magnus, Catarina, Ragnor, Tessa ー corrupted by Shadowhunters, drawn in by their lies! And I, oblivious, grieving for her, until finally I found out the truthー"

A distant melody of Shadowhunters' yells echoed from the tunnel, but Malcolm wasted no second. A snap of his fingers was enough to build an impenetrable wall of deep purple.

"Don't think that we won't destroy the hands, Malcolm," Zoya warned, offering the candelabra to Emma. "Because we will."

Malcolm had a glint of lunacy written in his irises, magic burning at the top of his fingertips. "I could let you go," he reassured. "Let you live. Swim away through the ocean like you did before. You could carry my message back for me. My message to the Clave."

"I don't need you to let us go." Emma's chest shook, sending an arrow of raw emotions through Zoya's ribcage. "We'd rather fight."

Fade shook his head. "You and your sword, no matter its history, are no match for a warlock, Emma."

"What do you want from us?" Zoya demanded steadily. "What do you want, Fade?"

"I want you to understand," he barked out, eyes bulged in rage. "I want someone to tell the Clave what they're responsible for, I want them to know the blood on their hands, I want them to know why."

"Your why doesn't matter," Emma breathed out. "Maybe you did what you did in the name of love. But if you think that makes any difference, you're no better than the Clave."

The warlock began striding toward the girls once again, making Zoya flung the candelabra at him. It was a desperate move, but she and Emma needed leverage. There were the two of them, two weapons yearning for a fight, but even then ー Malcolm was right. They were no match for his brilliant streaks of magic.

The parabatai moved swiftly, like flowers dancing to the wind. They kept track of the splashes of magic, Zoya using the size of her weapon to distract the warlock as Emma unleashed Cortana and managed to cut a hole in Malcolm's jacket.

"The death of your parents was necessary," Malcolm told the blonde girl. "I had to see if the book worked."

"That's a lie and you know it." Zoya ducked a wave of purple, turning Lazarus in her hand and knocking the handle into Malcolm's stomach, sending him back. "You shouldn't have even remotely considered raising the dead!"

Malcolm chuckled, arching his eyebrows up. "Because if Julian died, you wouldn't try to bring him back?" Zoya felt her lungs exploding, the tension easing only when Malcolm glanced at Emma. "You wouldn't bring your mother and father back? Oh, it's so easy for you, as it is for all Shadowhunters, standing there, making your moral pronouncements, as if you're better than the rest of usー"

"We are better," Emma yelled. "We're better than you. Because we're not murderers, Malcolm."

Zoya didn't have the time to grasp onto Emma's plan, the shock of her sudden attack on Malcolm keeping her frozen in place. Cortana was outstretched in Emma's hand, driving into Malcolm's chest ー and stopping.

The moment Cortana slammed into the warlock, a jolt of pain went through Emma's arm ー and Zoya's. Malcolm used the distraction to his advantage, unleashing his magic and knocking Emma into the magic wall.

Zoya had to dive her teeth into her bottom lip and hold onto everything she had not to fall to her knees. She gripped Lazarus and came to shield her parabatai from the common enemy, obstructing Malcolm's exit route.

"Oh, that was precious," Malcolm exclaimed in victory, hand producing the Black Volume that saved his life. "That was amazing. That was the hand of God, Emma!"

Zoya heard the sound of Cortana colliding with the ground, but knew that she couldn't turn around and help Emma. If she did so ー she would be as good as dead. So, instead, Zoya took her fighting stance and glared at the warlock who acquired the Hands of Glory.

"These Hands of Glory would have been very hard to replace," Malcolm stated. "Now, Blackthorn blood, that'll be easy."

"Yーyou will not touch them." Zoya didn't know why her voice shattered, but she could feel a wave of white-hot flame biting at her skin.

"Zoya Caldwell," Malcolm snarled in her way. "Always eager to protect the Blackthorns. You wouldn't have done so if you knew the monsters they are."

"Did you always hate them with such a passion?" She uttered through her teeth.

"Always," he confessed calmly. "Even when it seemed like I loved them."

"You're hating them for the sins of their ancestors." Zoya's eyebrows furrowed together, blue gaze growing colder as it observed the warlock.

Malcolm chuckled. "You were always the one to watch me with caution, always questioning everything that was presented to you," he said. "Do you honestly think that I didn't encounter you in this equation?" Malcolm's hand rose up toward Zoya, a wave of purple finding its way to the girl's head.

As if touched by the hand of death itself, Zoya's ears began to bathe in the familiar ringing sound that didn't seem to possess a wish to leave her alone. The familiar ringing she felt whenever the possibility of someone dying or facing grave danger was high.

"The ringing in your ears increased," Malcolm whispered, enacting concern. "Didn't it? Can you guess who's behind that?"

Malcolm's hand rose up ー and so had Zoya's screams. Her hands were clutching to the sides of her head, but to no avail. Her mind kept on pulsing, sending unpleasant shivers down her skin and twisting her gut.

"Did you drink all of the tea I gave you, Zoya?" Malcolm laughed pitifully, the corners of his lips curving into a vile grin as he met the aquamarine gaze of the girl. "Yes, it was me who made sure that it grew more constant, more dangerous. But I guess I can't take all the credit for it. I have to thank Julian for making sure you drank it."

Zoya gritted her teeth together, hands resting on the rough stone floor beneath her. She could feel the tears clouding her vision, thick and warm, but it all stopped when Malcolm kneeled beside her. His fingers, calloused and rough, lifted her chin up and made her stare into his eyes. She could hear Emma's low grunts of pain from behind, but no matter what she did, Zoya couldn't look away.

He was so close.

"You know," he began. "I was rooting for the two of you. Love does bring me joy, but I couldn't help myself but question ー how was it possible for a Shadowhunter to hear such a noise? What was the meaning behind it?" His question lingered above their shoulders, purposefully left unanswered. "I knew I had to do my research."

Zoya scowled at him, intensely. She hated that she was so weak before him, so weak that it made him smile.

"Caldwells were always known for sensing certain things," Malcolm informed Zoya. "Some of your ancestors could feel the presence of demons, some could register darkness. It was only logical that you inherited something, as well."

Zoya remained silent. 

She had never been introduced to that side of her family ー but could she really trust Malcolm's words? What if he was trying to trick her, play with her mind? What if he wanted to feel the thrill of satisfaction as he watched her break before his very own eyes?

"At first, I thought you could perhaps sense danger ー maybe even death," the man proceeded. "So, I decided to test you. I made a special mixture of tea leaves that would profound your talents."

"Profound?" Zoya echoed, teeth clenched together. "But I thoughtー"

"You thought that I was healing you?" A wicked laughter bubbled in Malcolm's throat. "Foolish of you, really. I was making it more frequent, louder ー I wanted to push you past your limits, Zoya."

The girl's heart thundered within her chest. She had wanted to spit in the man's face, grab Lazarus and drive a hole through his chest for giving himself permission to make them his marionettes.

"You're sick," Zoya uttered, the corners of her eyes creasing and forming a dagger-like glare.

"Ah." Malcolm's tongue clicked against the top of his mouth as he shook his head. "I doubt it. You see, I did you a favor." His purple eyes clashed against the infinity of blue, invading the bittersweet ocean of blissful lack of knowledge. "At first, I thought you had only one ability, but then Julian told me that Emma's rune healed you from Rook's poison." He paused briefly. "No normal Shadowhunter's rune should have been able to do that."

Zoya swallowed a gulp that formed in her throat. "Emma's my parabatai. The runes shared by us are more powerful."

"You're a foolish girl, Zoya," Malcolm chuckled. "How do you explain the fact that you could feel everything that Julian felt?"

Zoya said nothing. She didn't know.

Malcolm sighed. "You see, contrary to you, I have taken time to trace your family tree." He looked at her from above, as if he held her in the palm of his hand. "I could have gone all the way back, but it seemed to be a logical, rather smart decision to stop upon the first irregularity. I am sure that the name Margaret Caldwell rings a bell in the beautiful brain of yours."

Zoya had recognized the name almost instantly. Her memory had awakened, taking her back within the walls of the York Institute. She could nearly picture the younger version of herself cascading down the corridors of the old church, examining the strict portraits of her ancestors. Among the various pictures ー there was always one that stood out; a beautiful, mahogany-haired girl of angel-like features and warm brown eyes. Margaret Caldwell was her name; she was the first Caldwell to take guardianship of the York Institute and establish it as a sanctuary for the Caldwell family.

"No husband she had, or at least that was what the records said," Malcolm muttered softly. "And yet, she had a son and a daughter ー Levi and Miriam." The man's forehead creased as he let go of Zoya's chin. "Peculiar, isn't it?"

"There's a thing called adoption," Zoya mumbled to the man. "In case you haven't heard. Accepting parentless children among our kind is no foreign policy."

"Of course," Malcolm said. "But even you know that it wasn't Margaret's case. She bore children, passing them the ability of not just her family, but the family of her loved one." Malcolm's lip tugged up. "I pitied her back in the days. Such beauty and such brains, but drawn to the wrong crowd. Everything wasted on that arrogant, cursed bastard that always looked at me as if I were crazy. As if I were less than him."

Zoya didn't want to believe a word of what the warlock was saying, but deep down ー she had known Malcolm was speaking the truth. She had seen the deep hatred, a glimpse of buried memories flickering within his eyes; the emotions were far too raw to be enacted.

She had been taught her family's history at a very young age, the names of her ancestors engraved in her brain. But her knowledge ended there; she was always told that Margaret didn't have a husband. She was always kept in the dark ー knowing only a half of her history.

"Milo Herondale was his name," Malcolm uttered, as if the words were the poison on his tongue. "In case you wondered."

Zoya's eyes widened as she pushed herself up, frame weak and knees buckling beneath her. "What are you saying?"

"Isn't it obvious, Zoya?" With a mad glint in his eyes, Malcolm faced her. "History has a strange way of joining Herondales and Carstairs."

He was implying that she was a Herondale.

Zoya stole a glance at Emma who had her back leaned against the wall. Her mouth had been opened in confusion, pupils dilated. She mirrored physically the bewilderment Zoya felt inside.

"No," Zoya was ready to oppose Malcolm's claim. "You'reー"

"Wrong?" Malcolm echoed. "But don't you see, Zoya? It's all true. You may have been raised a Caldwell, but that damned Herondale blood stains your veins." His eyes flickered, taking in the sight of her. "Blue eyes, dark hair. Tall frame and a poisonous tongue. I'd recognize those features anywhere. Always so damn close to the Blackthorns and Carstairs, protecting them as if it was the duty angels had entrusted them with."

Zoya's throat had gone dry, her skin peppered with cold sweat. She didn't want to believe him. She couldn't be. . . a Herondale. She didn't want her whole life to be a lie. It just couldn'tー

"Don't look so stunned, Zoya," Fade chuckled, circling her like a beast. "Your family ー Caldwells ー were always of gentle hearts. They chose to take the curse Herondales bore like their own, choosing to embrace the darkness and keep it tamed."

"I don't believe you," Zoya uttered, lifting Lazarus off the ground and gripping her fingers around it. "Besides, I fail to see how Herondales were ever cursed."

"That should be explained by your friends, Jem and Tessa," Malcolm responded, raising his hands toward her. "If you don't believe me you're cursed, look at your own veins, Zoya."

Blinking away the confusion and imprisoning her own broken heart, the girl hesitantly glanced down at her wrists. Where usually were the striking blue-purple blood vessels, now were petrifying black veins. They knocked the air out of Zoya's lungs, climbing up her arms and disappearing beneath her gear like evil snakes.

"What are you doing to me?" Zoya breathed out the question, lifting her chin up. 

"I am doing nothing," Malcolm confessed. "Just revealing what you're made of. All-consuming, evil, deadly darkness."

"Noー"

"I'll just mention to you that there is a reason why your runes are peculiarly strong," he said. "That's a power that's not supposed to exist and even you know that. How long do you think it takes until it overpowers you? How long before it interacts with your empathic abilities and destroys not just you, but Emma, as well? She's tied to you, isn't she?" He smiled, cruelly. "What happens to one, happens to the other. And the bond like yours ー I haven't seen it in years. The more the delight when you find out what awaits you."

Zoya felt hollow, as if the weight of the whole world was dropped upon her shoulders. It couldn't be true ー it couldn't.

"You're a liar," Zoya whispered through her teeth.

But the darkness didn't lie.

It was a child-like wail, quiet and barely-audible. It was so low that it gave Malcolm the impression that she had finally broken down, drawn to a world of pain and betrayal ー his own world.

"I am not a liar, Zoya Herondale," Malcolm chuckled, lifting his hands and sending a wave of purple magic in Zoya's way, pinning her to the wall. "In fact, let me tell you one last truth before you close your eyes for good."

Out of breath and with an unbearable pain licking at her back, Zoya flinched when Malcolm came to stand before her. She tried breaking free, trashing and twisting her limbs, but nothing happened. Malcolm's magic kept her a prisoner.

"Go to Hell," Zoya spat in the warlock's face.

"I am sure we will meet each other there, when my time comes." His hand picked a loose lock of obsidian, tucking it behind her ear. "Your death will be a mercy to everyone you love. Remember that, Zoya Herondale."

It was then that the raven-haired girl's vision filled with red dots, her ears overwhelmed with the rich sound of warning. She might have screamed, but the cry was unmeasurable with the alarm Malcolm had set free.

Zoya felt the shackles loosening, allowing her back to glide to the floor. She tried opening her eyes, only enough to notice a blur of golden lunging toward Malcolm.

An arrow of lilac ricocheted against Emma Carstairs' arm, sending her to her knees at the same time a pulse of agony travelled down Zoya's body.

"You can do it, Em," Zoya whispered, tasting the copper on her tongue. She was bleeding.

A determined, loud cry pierced through the air as the blonde girl rose to her feet and let herself be under guidance of raw rage. Cortana gleamed a brave golden in her hand, bathing in Malcolm's blood.

"You took my parents from me," Emma uttered to the warlock, yanking her sword free. The candelabra he was gripping scattered to the floor, a pool of blood escaping his gut. "But you will not take Zoya."

Zoya felt tears brimming at the corners of her eyes; they were of pain, brutality and shattered reality.

"I'll tell you about Zoya's curse," Malcolm choked on his words. "No one else knows of it. Kill me and you'll never learnー"

Emma's left hand flew to the lever on the wall, pulling it down and allowing the glass door to open. Controlled waves escaped their bounded state, grasping onto Malcolm and wiping him from their view.

Then, the glass door slammed shut and Emma and Zoya were embraced by deadly silence.

Zoya swallowed a choked sob that rested in her throat as Emma slouched down next to her. Her chest felt heavy when Emma's hand grasped her own, allowing a glimpse at the burned endurance rune that stood out on the blonde's skin.

"Hーhow much did you hear?" The black-haired girl uttered to her parabatai, heart falling apart. What if Emma hates her?

Two squeezes for the disturbance of mind.

"All of it." Emma voiced out, lungs collapsing. Two squeezes.

The magical wall that separated the two girls from the rest of their friends dissolved into a cloud of dust, leaving the two broken-hearted girls to stare at the dark tunnel and listen to the growing shouts of their own names.

"Emma!"

"Zoya!"

The sound of distant steps ceased and two familiar silhouettes emerged from the dark passage. Both, wide-eyed and out of breath, Julian and Theodore hurried toward the parabatai.

"Zoya." The raven-haired girl registered the hushed tone of Julian's whispers in her ears, feeling the way his hands knotted into her hair. "God, you're bleeding from your nose and ears. Zoya, what happened toー"

I am doing nothing. Just revealing what you're made of. All-consuming, evil, deadly darkness.

"Nーnothing, Jules," Zoya said slowly, closing her eyes as the boy's forehead leaned against her own. "What about Tavvy and the rest ofー"

"Tavvy's fine. Everyone's fine," Julian reassured, allowing his lips to hover above Zoya's and pulling her into him. He didn't seem to care about Emma and Theodore who were, for the first time, not trying to bite each other's head off. "God, Zoya. I thought I lost you."

Your death will be a mercy to everyone you love. Remember that, Zoya Herondale.

The only thing Zoya could do was let out a splintered laugh, knowing that life had played the biggest joke on her ー allowing her to believe she was someone who she was not.

⋆ ✧ ⋆

NOTE:

EXCUSE ME, WHAT?

I NEED to hear what you think! Tell me EVERYTHING. How do you feel? Did you see this coming?

This chapter might contain some mistakes, but I was literally dying to post it. Sorry, not sorry.

Also, if anyone doesn't understand what happened - please feel free to ask me questions. This chapter is tied to my other works (Icarus and The Wayland Chronicles) , but they don't need to be read for you to follow this story. However, if something's unclear to you - feel free to ask me. I'll be glad to explain.