Chapter Text
December 2012
The defining characteristic of Blue Sargent’s life was that she didn’t have magic.
Anywhere else, this would have been normal. Expected. Having magic would have been the thing that branded her different.
The problem was, Blue lived in a house full of warlocks.
300 Fox Way was packed with magical women. The most impressive thing Blue could do was live forever. Maybe.
Most ifrits died or vanished into obscurity. There wasn’t much information on the life span. Just Blue, with her magical adoptive mom and faint green veins webbing under her skin. Blue thought that as warlock marks went, looking like a tree wasn’t the worst one.
The morning everything started hadn’t seemed out of the ordinary at first. The dishes were doing themselves, under Orla’s semi-attentive eye. Jimi was making the herbs grow faster. Persephone was knitting in the air behind her head while she worked on her fifty-third thesis paper.
When the knock came on the door, Calla answered it.
“Hello,” a man said. “I’m looking for some information.”
“Information about what?” Calla asked. She didn’t seem to notice Blue, perched at the top of the stairs, peering down into the cramped front hall. Up to that point, this also seemed ordinary. 300 Fox Way was known to the mundane population of Henrietta, Virginia as a house full of self-proclaimed psychics, and to the Downworld population as a house full of warlocks. People came asking for information, help, and answers almost every day.
“About magic,” the man said. He shifted, and Blue caught sight of a black Mark at the edge of his throat. Shadowhunter.
Calla had clearly noticed it, too. “I thought your kind didn’t deal in magic.”
“I am not like most of… my kind,” the man said. “I’m wondering if you could tell me how it might be possible to give someone magic.”
Blue couldn’t see Calla’s face, but she knew at least one eyebrow was raised. Possibly, that eyebrow would be raised enough to try escaping Calla’s face altogether.
“To amplify it?” Calla asked. “To increase someone’s power?”
“No,” the man said. “To give someone magical power, like yours, when they didn’t have any previously. To make someone a warlock, essentially.”
“Not possible,” Calla said.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe me, don’t believe me. I’m telling you how it is,” Calla snapped.
“Well,” the man said. “Then I suppose I will have to find the answer I want some other way.”
“Look all you want,” Calla said. “You won’t find anything.” She slammed the door in the man’s face. Then she whirled around to face Blue.
“Stay away from that one,” she said. “You hear me? You see that man, you cross the street immediately.”
Blue nodded. She believed her.
o-o-o-o-o
Four Months Later
March 2013
Richard Campbell Gansey III didn’t think he was a very good Shadowhunter.
For starters, he loved magic. For finishers, he hated killing things. And somewhere in the middle, he didn’t have much interest in weapons, unless they’d spent the last thousand years in a tomb somewhere.
None of this meant he didn’t love being a Shadowhunter. He did love it. He just wasn’t very good at it.
Ironically, his parabatai was the exact opposite. Ronan Lynch was a very good Shadowhunter, but he hated being a Shadowhunter. Possibly this was what made them a good team.
Right now, though, Gansey didn’t feel like they made a good team. He felt like Ronan was going to be the death of him.
“Has anyone seen Ronan?” Gansey asked. The library of the D.C. Institute was packed with Shadowhunters. The entire Conclave had been summoned to some sort of emergency meeting. One member was notably absent.
“No,” Henry Cheng said. “Did you check the roof?”
Gansey swore under his breath.
“Please don’t,” Henry said. “You just can’t pull it off, Ganseyman.”
Gansey sighed. “No, I didn’t check the roof. My mother will murder him if she catches him up there again. How long do we have?”
Henry shrugged “Who knows? I’m new here, remember? How do these things work?”
Gansey hadn’t remembered. It felt like Henry had been with them for years, not just a couple of months. He was on his travel year from the Seoul Institute.
“I’ll go look for him.”
Gansey was too used to Noah’s sudden appearances to jump.
“No, it’s all right. You two stay here. I’ll get him down.”
Gansey ducked out of the room and started down the hall. The D.C. Institute was very plain, styled to his mother’s tastes. Everything had a purpose, and everything served that purpose. Nothing was ever out of place here.
“Dick?”
Helen had evidently seen him leave. She was standing in the hallway behind him, eyes narrowed. “Where are you going?”
“I’m getting Ronan off the roof.”
“Hurry up, then.”
Gansey didn’t stick around. He jogged down the hall to the elevator and took it up to the top floor. The D.C. Institute was housed in the Smithsonian Castle, in a glamoured wing that Gansey was fairly certain did not exist on the regular plane of reality. The hypocrisy of Shadowhunters using magic to that extent did not escape him.
The top floor was cluttered attic space. The trapdoor in the roof was propped open. The ceiling was low enough that Gansey had to crouch; he pulled himself out onto the roof.
Washington, D.C. sprawled out in front of him. The view was blocked by Ronan Lynch.
He was balanced on the edge of the roof, arms outspread, gazing out over the city.
“Ronan.”
Ronan didn’t turn around.
“They’re looking for you downstairs.” They weren’t yet, but they would be soon.
“Whatever.”
“This is important.”
Ronan snorted. He still hadn’t turned around. “The fuck it is. Probably just another update on those demon attacks in… where was it, Jersey?”
“That was weeks ago. By the Angel, Ronan. It’s one meeting.”
“It’s never just one meeting.” But Ronan stepped back from the edge of the roof.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t give yourself too much credit. I saw Declan’s car.”
Gansey groaned.
o-o-o-o-o
Gansey’s mother, Margaret, was standing at the front of the library, next to the massive desk that had once belonged to some president Ronan couldn’t be bothered to remember. Gansey would know. She gave Ronan a narrow-eyed look as he entered. Declan, standing next to her, gave him a nearly identical stare.
Ronan slouched against the wall, already regretting every decision that had led him here.
“…increasing concern being expressed by Downworlders in the area,” Margaret was saying. “Obviously, this is a time for us to step in. Likely there’s a simple explanation. I don’t think anyone needs to be alarmed. Still, we need to look into it.”
“What’s going on?” Gansey whispered to Henry.
“Apparently there’s some kind of problem in Southern Virginia,” Henry said. “Is that near here? Yes. A few hours, right?”
Gansey nodded.
“Anyway, there have been some disappearances. A couple of Downworlder children’s bodies have turned up.” Henry’s voice was light and airy, but his face betrayed how he really felt.
Ronan didn’t bother to disguise his tone. “That’s fucking sick. Why haven’t we stepped in yet?”
“We are now,” Gansey muttered. “But you’re right. It sounds like-”
He was cut off by his mother. “There are several notable Downworlder groups in the area,” she was saying. “Most of the bodies have turned up in the town of Henrietta, which is home to one of the nation’s most territorial werewolf packs, as well as one of the only organized groups of warlocks outside the Spiral Labyrinth.”
Ronan felt like someone had mentioned that to him at some point. He hadn’t really been paying attention.
“Our team will be tasked with looking into both groups, as well as investigating any other suspicious Downworlder activity in the area,” Margaret said. “Is there anyone who feels they have anything to contribute?”
Ronan had something to contribute. He called, “Why are we investigating Downworlders? They’re the ones being murdered.”
“Ronan,” Declan said. Ronan kept going.
“Seriously. Open your goddamn eyes. Why the hell would Downworlders be killing their own kids?”
“That is what we aim to find out, Mr. Lynch,” Margaret said. “If no one has further questions, this meeting is adjourned.”
Gansey raised his hand. “Who’s going on the mission?”
Margaret nodded. “You.”
o-o-o-o-o
Gansey had never led a mission before. He was probably going to blow it.
He and Ronan waited in his mother’s office with Henry. Noah was floating in the corner, but Gansey didn’t think Henry or Ronan could see him.
Ronan was fuming. Gansey didn’t blame him.
The office door swung open. Declan Lynch stepped in.
“Ronan,” he said. “You can’t just jump in and start defending every Downworlder—”
“Like hell,” Ronan said. “Just because you’re so desperate to be Consul one day, you can’t even admit we’re Downworlders, too!”
“There’s nothing to admit,” Declan snapped. “That’s an open secret. But if you draw attention to it, how long is it before someone starts looking into exactly who our grandmother is? Starts asking where Matthew came from?”
That shut Ronan up. Sometimes, Gansey thought his younger brother might be the only thing Ronan cared about.
“You need to get ahold of yourself,” Declan said. “Now. Let’s focus on the real action item. We’ll leave the rest of it for another time.” He slid in behind Margaret’s desk and pulled a file from one of the drawers.
“This is everything we have on the Henrietta murders. Gansey, you’ve been tasked with leading the mission, which is to uncover the murderer or murderers and bring them back to the D.C. Institute to face justice. Obviously, whoever it is has violated the Accords, so you can use lethal force if necessary.”
Ronan opened his mouth. Gansey got there first.
“Is there any evidence to suggest the murderer is a Downworlder?” Gansey asked.
“Only circumstantial,” Declan admitted. “There is a ley line running through the town, which is why there are so many warlocks. They’ve been killing a lot of the demons in the area, and the werewolves take care of the rest. As a result, there hasn’t been much reason for Shadowhunters to be in Henrietta before now. We know the bodies were drained of at least some blood, which suggests vampires, and many had body parts missing. It could be for spell ingredients, which suggests the warlocks. I’ll be honest. We know very little about what you’ll be facing.”
“That’s terrific,” Henry said. “I’m sure we’ll all enjoy having our faces torn off by rabid demons or cult mundanes or whatever is causing this.”
“I’ll admit, you three wouldn’t have been my first choice,” Declan said. “Gansey, maybe. Your interest in magic is well known, and as I said, there is a ley line. Henry, this is a chance for you to see how we run missions here. Ronan… well, I suppose you and Gansey are a package deal.”
This was very true.
“Get some rest,” Declan said. “You Portal out first thing in the morning.”
o-o-o-o-o
That night, Ronan dreamt.
His dreams were full of trees, as they usually were. Tonight, there were no monsters come to kill him, no demons stalking in the shadows. There was just a forest, and a boy crouched in the center of a clearing.
“Hello?” Ronan called. “Who the fuck are you?”
The boy looked up. He seemed to blend into the forest behind him. Ronan couldn’t make out his face.
“Help us,” the boy said.
Ronan woke up.
o-o-o-o-o
The Portal dropped them off just outside Henrietta, at the side of the main road into town. Gansey took one look at the place and fell in love.
It was so different from D.C. Here, everything seemed so much smaller, so much more manageable. Charming, bite-sized pieces of life, all strung together into a full experience. All the secrets tucked away underneath, waiting to be discovered.
Noah was floating slightly, hovering behind Gansey and the others, watching the town with something like pain on his face. Perhaps he was simply remembering how it had felt to be alive.
“We’re here,” Gansey said.
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Ronan replied. “Let’s catch a murderer.”
o-o-o-o-o
There was no Institute anywhere near Henrietta, but the Clave did own and maintain a small apartment in the town. Gansey led the way through the streets, navigating by the map Declan had given him.
“Here, apparently,” he said, stopping in front of an abandoned warehouse. “Monmouth Manufacturing.”
“Here?” Henry arched his eyebrows. “I guess the Clave has no standards.”
The warehouse was clearly abandoned, and it wasn’t a glamour—that was real ivy climbing up the walls. The window in the front was really broken. Gansey sighed.
“I guess we don’t have to stay here,” he said, though there was nowhere else to stay.
Ronan was already opening the front door.
Inside, the first floor was littered with dirt and debris. Ronan led the way up a rickety staircase to a door at the top, which he opened.
“Well,” Gansey said. “It’s clean, at least.”
“Oh, it could definitely be worse,” Henry said. He dropped his duffel bag of weapons next to the sofa and collapsed onto it.
The apartment was plain—a sofa, table, desk and bed; a bathroom that doubled as a kitchen; two extra bedrooms. Ronan claimed one, and Henry the other, leaving Gansey to unpack his things in the main room.
“Okay,” Gansey said, once the distasteful contents of the duffel bags were emptied. “I was thinking we should split up.”
“That’s how people get killed in horror movies,” Henry said. “At least according to Lynch. I don’t watch horror movies.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Ronan said, flashing his sharklike smile.
“I think I can live without watching the innocent, funny sidekick die a gruesome death, thank you,” Henry said.
“Anyway,” Gansey said. “Splitting up.”
“Why the fuck would we do that?” Ronan asked. “Cheng’s right, that’s how people get killed.”
“We can cover more ground that way,” Gansey said. “We have next to nothing to go on. We’re going to have to talk to some people, and we might as well start with people who know more about the Shadow World here.”
“You mean Downworlders,” Ronan said.
“Yes,” Gansey said. “Relax, Ronan. I’m not accusing anyone of murder.”
Ronan did not relax. Gansey knew Ronan too well to think it was him Ronan was mad at, so he continued. “Ronan, Henry, you guys talk to the werewolves. I’ll take Noah to see the warlocks.”
“Yay,” Noah said gloomily. Gansey arched his eyebrows.
“Would you rather go to the werewolves?”
“Nah.” Noah tentatively reached for the doorknob; his fingers fell through it, and he frowned. “I’ll stick with you.”
“You want us to separate?” Ronan asked. “Really?”
Gansey had known Ronan would point it out before he’d suggested it. “I’m the only one who can reliably see Noah,” he said. “And I know the most about magic. It makes sense.”
Ronan clearly didn’t like it, but he nodded. “Fine. Whatever. If you die, I’ll fucking murder you.” He glanced at Henry. “Come on, Cheng.”
o-o-o-o-o
Ronan wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this—a run-down trailer park at the edge of Henrietta. The road was dust, the air was dust, the people were covered in dust. Ronan thought if he had any hair left, he’d have been washing dust out of it for a week.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Henry declared. Ronan would never admit it, but he agreed.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Henry led the way into the trailer park. Ronan followed, one hand on his weapons belt, where a collection of throwing knives, seraph blades, and a sword hung. Henry had a bow and quiver strapped across his back.
The werewolves eyed the Shadowhunters as they passed, their expressions ranging from terrified to hungry to bored.
Ronan wasn’t sure where they were going, but Henry stopped in front of the trailer in the middle. The door was propped open, and there was a boy on the front steps. His dusty brown hair fell into his eyes, and the shadow of a bruise marked one cheek. His skin was a light tan, and his hands were busy with a set of wires and a metal box on his lap.
He glanced up at Ronan and Henry as they approached. His hands never left the wires. Ronan found himself staring, transfixed. The boy’s fingers were twisting the wires this way and that, doing Angel-knew-what with them.
“Hello, friend,” Henry said. “We’re looking for the alpha of this pack.”
The boy looked away. “Who are you?”
“Henry Cheng,” Henry said. “And my charming companion here is Ronan Lynch. We’re with the D.C. Institute—well, technically I’m also with the Seoul Institute.”
“What do you want?”
Henry opened his mouth to speak, but Ronan cut him off.
“We’re solving a goddamn murder mystery. Where’s the alpha?”
The boy’s eyes flicked to Ronan. He tipped his head to the side slightly, considering him. Ronan was certain he’d been judged, and found wanting.
“This way,” the boy said, pushing himself to his feet. He abandoned his wire box on the stairs and started up, into the trailer. Ronan and Henry exchanged a glance, then followed.
The inside of the trailer was simple—just a kitchenette, a sofa, and a crappy TV against one wall. A hallway led out of the main room.
There was a man on the sofa. He had a beer in one hand, and he was watching what looked like football on the television. When he saw the boy, he stood up.
“Who’s this, then?” he growled.
“Some people who wanted to see you,” the boy said. His gaze was fixed on the man’s shoulder. “I don’t know why.”
“What have I told you about bringing these useless—” the man cut himself off. He was staring at the side of Henry’s neck. A thin white scar was visible, forming the top part of a healing rune. “Shadowhunters.”
“Yeah,” Henry said. “Are you the alpha of this pack?”
The man threw himself back down on the sofa. “I am. Name’s Robert Parrish. What’s it to you?”
“We were wondering if you could tell us anything about the recent murders in this town,” Henry said. “We’ve been sent by the Clave to—”
He never finished his sentence. Robert stood up again, bounding across the trailer in a heartbeat. Henry’s hand flew to his bow. Ronan grabbed for his throwing knives.
Claws flew out of Robert’s hand, and he slammed into Henry, pinning the collar of Henry’s gear jacket to the wall. The boy flinched back against the far wall. Ronan’s knife landed inches from Robert’s fingers.
“Let him go,” Ronan said. Cool and deadly.
Robert snarled. “You come into my home and accuse me of murder—”
“No one’s accusing—” Henry started. Robert dug his claws in deeper, and Henry stopped talking. Ronan’s next knife left his hand.
Robert howled and lunged away, ripping the blade out of the back of his hand.
“Next time,” Ronan said, “I won’t miss.”
Henry was panting, clutching at the side of his neck. Ronan could see blood between his fingers.
“We’re leaving,” he snarled. He grabbed Henry’s other arm, tugging him backwards down the stairs, leaving Robert Parrish behind.
Ronan guided Henry away from most of the werewolves, worried about what they’d do if he let his guard down around them. He deposited Henry at the base of the road.
“Let me see,” Ronan snapped. Henry moved his fingers.
The wound wasn’t as deep as Ronan had feared. There was blood, but it didn’t look life-threating. Ronan fished his stele out of his pocket and sketched an iratze next to the injury. Henry sighed as the skin knit itself together.
“You need a blood-replacement one?” Ronan asked, wondering if he even remembered how to draw the rune.
“I’m good, I think,” Henry said. “Thanks, Lynch.”
“Mention it again and I’ll finish the job myself,” Ronan said.
o-o-o-o-o
Gansey hadn’t had any trouble finding 300 Fox Way. He’d followed Declan’s map, and the one time he’d gotten turned around, Noah had redirected him.
“How do you know your way around here?” Gansey had asked. Noah just shrugged.
Now, they stood in front of 300 Fox Way (Gansey stood. Noah floated). Gansey raised his hand and knocked.
“Just a second!” someone inside called, so Gansey waited.
The door swung open. The first thing Gansey noticed about the woman were her antlers—big, polished, smooth antlers that sprouted from either side of her head.
“Quit staring,” the warlock woman snapped, and Gansey jerked his gaze back down to her eyes. “It’s rude. Who are you, Shadowhunter? And you, ghost?”
“You can see Noah?” Gansey asked. He was used to being the only one who could. The ability to see ghosts ran in the Gansey family, so while Noah often used what strength he had to make himself visible to others, it was usually just Gansey, talking to seemingly empty air.
“Obviously,” the warlock woman said. “Do you have a name?”
“Richard Gansey,” Gansey said. “I prefer to go by my surname only.”
“I’m Calla,” the woman said. “Make it quick, Shadowhunter. We’ve had a few too many visits from your kind of late.”
“Other Shadowhunters?” Gansey asked, then sighed. “May we come in? I promise to keep this brief.”
Calla considered them. Gansey wore no visible weapons except for a single seraph blade dangling at his side, and Noah was dead. They didn’t look particularly threatening.
“Fine,” Calla said. “Don’t you dare pull a blade on anyone in my house, Richard Gansey.”
o-o-o-o-o
“My name is Maura Sargent,” a different warlock woman said. “I’m going to ask that you leave that seraph blade on the table, Mr. Gansey.”
Gansey unhooked the seraph blade from his belt and set it down at the edge of the table in the reading room. He had, at Ronan’s insistence, three daggers in each of his boots and a short sword strapped along his spine. He didn’t plan on using them, though, so he kept quiet.
Maura was less terrifying than Calla had been, but only slightly. Her own warlock mark was the pair of feathered wings that spread out from her back. She sat in a chair that had clearly been specially designed to accommodate them, across the table from Gansey and Noah.
“I was wondering,” Gansey said, “If you, or any of the warlocks living in this town, had any information on the murders that have been happening here. I’ve been sent by the Head of my Institute to investigate them.”
Maura raised her eyebrows. “Nice to know the Shadowhunters care about the deaths of Downworlder children. Seems like it only took the Clave being sent into exile and the Consul marrying a warlock to make it happen.”
Gansey didn’t respond to that. Maura was right, but he didn’t have time for a discussion on ethics, as much as he would have liked to have one. “Does anyone know anything?”
Maura sighed. “A few months ago, a man came to the door. A Shadowhunter. He didn’t give a name, but he was looking for a way to give someone magic.”
“Give someone magic?” Gansey asked. “Warlock magic?”
“That was Calla’s assumption. I believe he worded it—” Maura glanced at Calla, who had been lingering in the doorway. “How did he say it?”
“He asked if there was a way to essentially turn someone into a warlock,” Calla said darkly.
“Yes. You know, I’m sure, that warlocks have a demon parent. Unless there is a way to change someone’s parentage after they’re born, there is no way to do what that man was asking. He left after Calla explained that to him. The first body was found two days later. I’m not certain it’s related, but it’s all I know.”
“Well,” Calla said. “There is the thing at the school.”
Gansey’s head was spinning. A Shadowhunter, investigating magic? That was the sort of thing only Gansey did, and he certainly wasn’t killing children for it. “What about a school?”
“I work at Aglionby Academy. It’s a private all-boy’s school here in Henrietta,” Calla explained. “Perfect if you’re a white teenage boy or his rich father, but the bane of your existence if you’re anyone else. Several of the students have gone missing in the last two weeks. All mundane boys, as far as I’m aware. One of the bodies turned up in town, marked up with demonic runes.”
“Damn,” Gansey said. At his side, Noah’s edges were fading, and his outline was beginning to tremble.
Gansey turned to face him. “Noah, are you alright?”
Noah was gone before Gansey could finish the question.
“Noah?” Gansey turned back to Calla and Maura. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure where he went.”
“Anything that frightens the dead isn’t something I want to be mixed up in,” Calla said. “You should go, shadow boy.”
Gansey nodded and stood. “Thank you,” he said.
Then he made his way out of the house.
o-o-o-o-o
Noah was outside on the front lawn, talking to a girl Gansey had never seen before. As Gansey got closer, he noticed the girl’s green veins, glowing faintly through her dark skin.
Both Noah and the girl looked up as Gansey drew closer. “Sorry about inside,” Noah said softly.
“Don’t be,” Gansey said. “You did nothing wrong.”
“Hi,” the warlock girl said. “I’m Blue. You’re Gansey, right?”
“I—yes,” Gansey said. “Can we help you?”
“I want to help you solve these murders,” Blue said. “I know the town better than any of you. I know people in the town. I know the Downworld. You’re just a group of DC Shadowhunters who couldn’t find your way around a vampire den without a cross.”
“Oh,” Gansey said. “I think I could talk my way out. Are there vampires in the area?”
“Obviously,” Blue said. “Lucky for you.”
“Well, I appreciate the offer,” Gansey said. “But I don’t think I would want to put you at risk, Blue.”
“I’m already at risk. I’m a Downworlder kid in Henrietta. Two of the boys they took were older than me,” Blue said.
“Those boys were mundanes.”
“I’m as defenseless as one,” Blue said. Gansey wasn’t particularly good at reading people, but he could tell it cost Blue something to admit it. Her shoulders straightened, and her chin tipped upward, making her seem a little taller. “I’m an ifrit. No magic.”
“Oh,” Gansey said again. He had never met an ifrit before. “Are you immortal?”
“Gansey,” Noah hissed.
“I apologize if that was insensitive,” Gansey said immediately.
“It was, a little,” Blue said. “Honestly, I don’t know. Now tell me if you want my help, so I know how difficult it’s going to be to make you accept it.”
The problem was, a big part of Gansey wanted to say yes. Blue was right, they probably could use her help. And there was something about her that made Gansey want to stay and talk to her more.
Ronan would have called it “that goddamn Gansey curiosity.” It was true that Gansey had never met an ifrit before, but it was also true that Gansey had only met one other person as stubborn as Blue seemed to be.
And Noah liked her, so that counted for something.
“Alright,” Gansey said. “Please try not to get yourself killed.”
Blue glared at him. “I said I didn’t have magic, not that I can’t handle myself.”