The coins were hurting her. They had to come off. But would removing them do more damage? Magnus could heal, but it had never been his specialty as it was Catarina’s, and he had not had to heal werewolves often. They were so resilient. He could only hope she would be resilient now.
He lifted the coins as gently as he could, and threw them against the wall.
It was too late. It had been too late before he’d ever entered the room. She was blind.
Her lips parted. She said, “Is my brother safe?”
“As safe as can be, sweetheart,” said Magnus. “I’ll take you to him.”
No sooner had he said the word “him” than he felt the cold blade sink into his back and his mouth fill with hot blood.
“Oh, will you?” asked Valentine’s voice in his ear.
The blade slid free, hurting as much on the way out as it had on the way in. Magnus gritted his teeth and gripped the back of the chair harder, kept himself arched over and protecting the child, and turned his head to face Valentine. The white-haired man looked older than the other leaders, but Magnus was not sure if he was actually older or if cold purpose simply made his face seem carved from marble. Magnus wanted to smash it.
Valentine’s hand moved, and Magnus only just managed to catch Valentine’s wrist before he found Valentine’s blade in his heart.
Magnus concentrated and made the clasp of his hand burn, blue electricity circling his fingers. He made the contact burn as the touch of silver had burned the girl, and he grinned as he heard Valentine’s hiss of pain.
Valentine did not ask his name as the others had, did not treat Magnus as that much of a person. Valentine simply stared at Magnus with cold eyes, the same way anyone might stare at a loathsome animal in their path and impeding their progress. “You are interfering in my business, warlock.”
Magnus spat blood into his face. “You are torturing a child in my city. Shadowhunter.”
Valentine used his free hand to deal Magnus a blow that sent Magnus staggering back. Valentine wheeled and followed him, and Magnus thought, Good. It meant that he was moving away from the girl.
She was blind, but she was a werewolf, smell and sound as important to her as sight. She could run, and find her way back to her family.
“I thought we were playing a game where we said what the other person was and what we were doing,” Magnus told him. “Did I get it wrong? Can I guess again? Are you breaking your own sacred Laws, asshole?”
He glanced at the girl, hoping she would run, but she seemed frozen to the spot with terror. Magnus did not dare call out to her in case it attracted Valentine’s attention.
Magnus lifted a hand, sketching a spell in the air, but Valentine saw the spell coming and dodged it. He leaped into the air and then bounded off the wall, Nephilim-swift, to lunge at Magnus. He scythed Magnus’s legs out from under him, and when Magnus landed, Valentine kicked him brutally hard. He drew a sword and brought it down. Magnus rolled so that it caught him a glancing blow along the ribs, cutting through shirt and skin but not hitting vital organs. Not this time.
Magnus dearly hoped he was not going to die here, in this cold warehouse, far from anyone he loved. He tried to rise from the floor, but it was slippery with his own blood, and the scraps of magic he had were not enough to heal or fight, let alone both.
Marian Whitelaw stood in front of him, her blades drawn and new runes shining on her arms. Her hair shone silver in his blurred vision.
Valentine swung his sword, and cut her almost in half.
Magnus gasped, salvation lost as quickly as it had been found, then turned his head toward the sound of more footsteps on the stone.
He was a fool to have hoped for another rescue. He saw one of Valentine’s Circle, standing in the doorway with his eyes fixed on the werewolf girl.
“Valentine!” Lucian Graymark shouted. He ran for the girl, and Magnus tensed, coiled himself for a leap, and then froze as he saw Lucian pick the girl up and wheel on his master. “How could you do this? She’s a child!”
“No, Lucian. She’s a monster in the shape of a child.”
Lucian was holding the girl, his hand in her hair, soothing and stroking. Magnus was starting to think he might have really misjudged Lucian Graymark. Valentine’s face was as white as bone. He resembled a statue more than ever.
Valentine said slowly, “Did you not promise me unconditional obedience? Tell me, what use have I for a second-in-command who undermines me like this?”
“Valentine, I love you and I share your grief,” said Lucian. “I know you are a good man. I know if you stop and think, you will see that this is madness.”
When Valentine took a step toward him, Lucian took a step back. He curved his hand protectively over the werewolf girl’s head as she clung to him with her small legs locked around his waist, and his other hand wavered as if he might go for his weapon.
“Very well,” Valentine said gently, at last. “Have it your way.”