The Lost Herondale

Traveling by Portal was significantly worse.

Once he’d regained his balance and his breath, Simon looked around—and gasped. No one had mentioned where they were Portaling to, but Simon recognized the block immediately. He was back in New York City—and not just New York but Brooklyn. Gowanus, to be specific, a thin stretch of industrial parks and warehouses lining a toxic canal that was less than a ten-minute walk from his mother’s apartment.

He was home.

It was exactly as he’d remembered it—and yet, wholly different. Or maybe it was just that he was wholly different, that after only two months in Idris, he’d forgotten the sounds and smells of modernity: the low, steady hum of electricity and the thick haze of car exhaust, the honking trucks and pigeon crap and piles of garbage that had for sixteen years formed the fabric of his daily life.

On the other hand, maybe it was because now that he could see through glamours, he could see the mermaids swimming in the Gowanus.

It was home and not home all at the same time, and Simon felt the same disorientation he had after his summer in the mountains at Camp Ramah, when he’d found himself unable to fall asleep without the sound of cicadas and Jake Grossberg’s snoring in the upper bunk. Maybe, he thought, you couldn’t know how much going away had changed you until you tried to go home.

“Listen up, men!” Scarsbury shouted, as the final student came through the Portal. They were assembled in front of an abandoned factory, its walls streaked with graffiti and its windows boarded up tight.

Marisol cleared her throat, loudly, and Scarsbury sighed. “Listen up, men and women. Inside this building is a vampire who’s broken the Covenant and killed several mundanes. Your mission is to track her down, and execute her. And I suggest you do so before sunset.”

“Shouldn’t the vampires be allowed to deal with this themselves?” Simon asked. The Codex had made it pretty clear that Downworlders were trusted to police themselves. Simon wondered whether that involved giving alleged rogue vampires a trial before they were executed.

How did I get here? he wondered—he didn’t even believe in the death penalty.

“Not that it’s any of your concern,” Scarsbury said, “but her clan has handed her over to us, so that you children can get a little blood on your hands. Think of it as a gift, from the vampires to you.”

Except “it” wasn’t an it at all, Simon thought.

“Sed lex, dura lex,” George murmured beside him, with an uneasy look, as if he was trying to convince himself.

“There’s twenty of you and one of her,” Scarsbury said, “and in case even those odds are too much for you, experienced Shadowhunters will be watching, ready to step in when you screw up. You won’t see them, but they’ll see you, and ensure that you come to no harm. Probably. And if any of you are tempted to turn tail and run, remember what you’ve learned. Cowardice has its price.”

*

When they were standing on the curb in the bright sunlight, the mission had sounded more than a little unsporting. Twenty Shadowhunters in training, all of them armed to the gills; one captured vampire, trapped in the building by steel walls and sunshine.

But inside the old factory, in the dark, imagining the flicker of motion and the glimmer of fangs behind every shadow, was a different story. The game no longer felt rigged in their favor—it no longer felt like much of a game at all.

The students split up into pairs, prowling through the darkness. Simon volunteered to guard one of the exits, hoping very much that this would prove similar to those gym class soccer games, where he’d spent hours guarding the goal and only a handful of times had to fend off a well-aimed kick.

Of course, each of those times, the ball had sailed over his head and into the net, losing the game for his team. But he tried not to think about that.

Jon Cartwright was stationed at the door beside him, a witchlight stone glowing in his hand. Time passed; they did their best to ignore each other.

“Too bad you can’t use one of these,” Jon said finally, holding up the stone. “Or one of these.” He tapped the seraph blade hanging from his belt. The students hadn’t been taught how to fight with them yet, but several of the Shadowhunter kids had brought their own weapons from home. “Don’t worry, hero. If the vamp shows up, I’m here to protect you.”

“Great, I can hide behind your massive ego.”

Jon wheeled on him. “You want to watch yourself, mundane. If you’re not careful, you’ll . . .” Jon’s voice trailed off. He backed up until he was pressed against the wall.

“I’ll what?” Simon prompted him.