Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,149

Christopher, consulting the book. “Since we don’t know what kind of demon is already in there, we don’t know if there will be enough space. Pyxides are bigger inside than they appear, but still finite.”

“Well, then we have to empty this Pyxis out,” Lucie said practically. “Anything could be in there. It could be a Greater Demon.”

“What ho,” said Christopher sadly.

“I’m sure it isn’t,” said James. “Still—let’s relocate to the Sanctuary. No matter what happens, we can at least keep it contained until help arrives.”

“Why not?” said Matthew. “Surely there’s no way this plan can go wrong.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Have you got another idea?”

“I think we should do it,” said Thomas. “It’s ridiculous to come this far and turn back.”

Lucie sniffed. “Well, you’d all better hope it works. Especially you, James, because if Mam and Papa find out you released a demon in the Sanctuary, they will feed you to it.”

James shot Lucie a dark older-brother glare that almost made Cordelia giggle. She had always been a little jealous of the closeness Lucie and James shared, something she had always wanted with Alastair but never had. It was nice that at some moments they were perfectly ordinary.

They relocated themselves to the Sanctuary, James carrying the Pyxis carefully, as if it were an infernal device that might explode at any moment. Cordelia found herself walking beside James and Lucie. She wondered if she and James would ever discuss what had happened the night before in the Whispering Room or if she would be left to go quietly mad wondering about it.

“Don’t worry,” Lucie said to her brother. “It won’t be like it was with Papa.”

“What do you mean?” Cordelia asked.

James said, “When he was a child, my father opened a Pyxis with tragic consequences. My aunt Ella was killed.”

Cordelia was horrified. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“This will be different,” Lucie said, and Cordelia wasn’t sure if Lucie was reassuring herself or James. “We know what we’re getting into. Papa didn’t.”

They had arrived at the Sanctuary, the only room in the Institute where Downworlders could freely enter without being invited in by a Shadowhunter. It was warded all around with spells preventing them from entering the main body of the Institute. Meetings with prominent Downworlders were often held there, and Downworlders could even seek refuge in a Sanctuary under the Accords.

It was certainly clear that the London Institute had once been a cathedral, and a large one. Massive stone pillars stretched up to a vaulted roof. Thomas had produced a box of vestas and was moving around the room, lighting a dozen enormous candelabras, their sconces stuffed with fat white candles that cast a glimmering light. The tapestries and pillars were all traced with the designs of runes, as were the tiles of the floor. Cordelia had to admit that if one was going to release a demon, this seemed one of the better places to do it.

In the middle of the room was a dry stone fountain, in the center of which stood the statue of an angel with folded wings, its stone face streaked with black lines like tears.

James set the box on the floor, directly on top of a rune of angelic power. He knelt down, studying the Pyxis. After a moment, he took an unlit seraph blade from the inside of his coat.

“Arm yourselves, everyone,” he said.

Cordelia unsheathed Cortana; the others drew seraph blades as James had done, save Thomas, who took out his bolas. James reached out and took hold of the handle of the Pyxis.

Cordelia’s hand tightened on the hilt of her sword.

James twisted the handle sideways, as if turning a corkscrew. There was a loud click as the Pyxis popped open. All through the Sanctuary, the white candles spat and guttered. James sprang back, raising his blade.

There was a sound like the whistle of a train at night, and smoke billowed from the open Pyxis, bringing with it a foul, burnt smell. Cordelia coughed, raising Cortana. She heard James call out, “Barachiel!” and the light of his seraph blade cut through the smoke, followed by the blades of the others—Matthew, Christopher, and Lucie.

Something was rising through the smoke—something like a massive caterpillar, greenish in color, with a segmented, undulating body and a smooth head slashed across by a lipless mouth. The mouth cracked open, showing row upon row of blackened teeth. Then, to Cordelia’s surprise, it spoke.

“At last I am free,” it hissed. “I, Agaliarept, am free to recover the domain of my master, stolen from