and James, rising to his feet, stabbed it through the back.
But there was no time to rest: more demons had come. Matthew leaped down from the railing and ran toward them. He threw himself to the ground and slid the last few feet across the wet pavement—a great sacrifice for Matthew, who loved his clothes—hurling a chalikar into the mass of demons. One went down, but there seemed a dozen others. Alastair was hurling spears with deadly accuracy, Cordelia was laying about her with Cortana like a warrior goddess. They were all fighting well, and yet—
The largest demon rose up in front of James. Without a second’s hesitation, he plunged his seraph blade into the creature. Ichor splashed black against his hand, spattering the ground at his feet. The demon gurgled and seemed to crumple, its froglike legs giving out under it. James raised his blade to dispatch it, just as it looked up at him with its deadly black eyes.
He saw himself reflected in those eyes as if they were mirrors. He saw his own black hair, his pale face, the gold of his pupils. He saw the same expression he had seen on the face of the Deumas in the alleyway near Fleet Street.
Recognition.
“Herondale boy,” the demon said, in a voice like the last hiss of dying fire in a grate. “I know you. I know all about you. The blood of demons burns in your veins. Why would you slay those who worship your mother’s father? Why destroy your own kind?”
James froze. He could see several of the others twist to look over at him: Matthew looked furious, the others horrified. Lucie had her hand over her mouth. Alastair, who stood the closest to him, was staring with wide dark eyes.
James exhaled a shuddering breath. “I am not your kind,” he said.
“You do not know what you are.”
Enough, James thought. This is enough. “If you worship my grandfather,” he said savagely, “then go, in his name. Not back to Chiswick House—back to the dimension you came from.”
The demon hesitated, and as it did, all the other demons went still. Every figure at the riverside was turned toward James.
“We will go, then, as you say, to show that we honor your blood,” said the demon. “But there is one condition. If you or your friends speak a word of what happened here, tonight, to any member of the Clave, we will return. And your families will pay in blood and death for your betrayal.”
“Don’t you dare—!” James began.
The demon grinned. “In the name of Hell’s most cunning prince,” it said, in a voice so low only James could hear it.
Then it vanished—they all vanished. As quickly as the world had exploded into motion and noise, it went still again. James could hear the river, the harsh breath of Alastair nearby, the pounding of his own heart.
He dropped his still-burning blade to the ground. He saw Lucie and Cordelia lower their weapons. Thomas and Matthew staggered to their feet; there was a cut along Matthew’s face, and Thomas’s shirt was torn, his arm bleeding badly.
They were all staring at James. He felt numb.
He had known his grandfather was a Greater Demon. But Princes of Hell were another matter. They were fallen angels. As powerful as Raziel, but evil and rotten to the core.
Hell’s most cunning prince. He couldn’t help but look at Lucie, but it was clear she hadn’t heard the demon’s final words: she was smiling and saying something to Cordelia.
Demons lied. Why should Lucie have to torment herself over a possible untruth? His mind raced ahead: he had to talk to Uncle Jem again, as soon as possible. Jem was the one who had been looking for their grandfather. Jem would know what to do.
It was Christopher who broke the silence. “What just happened?”
“Demons vanished,” said Matthew, dabbing blood from his face. “The leader seemed to feel it was an old friend of James’s grandfather.”
“Oh, the demony grandfather?” said Christopher.
“Yes, obviously the demony one, Christopher,” said James.
“The other one’s Welsh,” said Thomas, as if this explained things. He directed this statement in Alastair and Cordelia’s direction.
“No need to explain about Herondale,” said Alastair, with an unpleasant smile. “I imagine this happens to him fairly often.”
Cordelia stepped on his foot.
Grace had emerged from the shadows. She walked toward the rest of the group, her hands clasped in front of her, her face white and stiff. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to fight—”
“It’s all right,” James said, “it’s