Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

James had worn his most voluminous coat; Oscar used to hide in the pockets when he was a puppy. He drew out the hand mirror they had taken from Chiswick, and then a pair of handcuffs he’d located that morning in the Sanctuary.

“Handcuffs,” Matthew observed as Thomas and Christopher exchanged a look of alarm. “This would seem to portend something very dangerous, or very scandalous. Or both?”

“The handcuffs are to protect me,” James said. “From—”

Christopher frowned. “It says here that Tatiana used the mirror to contact Belial. You’re not—”

“He is.” Matthew sat up straight, his green eyes flashing. “James, you’re going to try to contact Belial?”

James shook his head and shrugged off his coat, tossing it onto the sofa. “No. I’m going to try to spy on Belial.”

“What on earth makes you think that’s going to work?” Thomas asked.

Jesse sighed and crossed the room to lean against the mantel. James had already talked him around the night before, though Jesse had pointed out that he’d had enough of people meddling with Belial in his lifetime.

“My mother did use this mirror to speak with Belial,” Jesse said, and went on to explain that after Belial had instructed her to destroy it, she had kept it instead, using it as a sort of scrying glass to spy on the Prince of Hell.

Thomas looked baffled. “She liked watching him? Just… watching him?”

“My mother is a very strange woman,” said Jesse.

“Catoptromancy,” said Christopher brightly. “The use of mirrors in magic. Dates back to the ancient Greeks.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Mirrors were the way Tatiana used to contact Grace.”

“It’s strange that you know that,” Matthew said.

Christopher busied himself flicking through the papers. Matthew was not incorrect, James thought, but it did not seem the line of questioning they ought to go down just now.

Thomas frowned. “It still seems dangerous. Maybe Tatiana believed that Belial didn’t know she was watching, but we have only her word on that. And she isn’t reliable.”

“You’re not wrong, Tom,” James said. “This is a desperate measure. But these are desperate times.” He looked around the room at the Merry Thieves. At Jesse, who had brought him this information against his own better judgment, against even his own will not to be reminded of his mother’s actions. “I never realized the significance of my connection to Belial before. I was so focused on controlling it, keeping it at a distance. It was only when it was gone that I realized: if it were not for the knowledge I gained through that connection, each of our previous confrontations with him would have ended in ruin. If Belial has severed this bond we had, it must be because it is better for him for it to be cut. Which means that it would be better for us if we could at least see what he was doing.”

Thomas rubbed the back of his neck. “Have you tried turning into a shadow lately?”

“I have,” said James, “but it doesn’t work. I think whatever Belial has done to shut me out also prevents me from going into shadow. There has to be something he doesn’t want me to see—if I can get sight of it, it would be worth the effort.”

“Is he always this reckless?” Jesse said to Thomas.

“You get used to it,” said Thomas.

“I’ve always thought of it,” Christopher said loyally, “as admirably heroic.”

James nodded. If he was only going to get support from someone who regularly blew himself up, he would take it. “Thank you, Christopher.”

Thomas rested his big hands on the table. “So,” he said. “I assume you know how the mirror works?”

“Yes,” James said. “There are instructions among Tatiana’s notes.”

“I suppose—it does seem worth a try,” Thomas said.

“No!” said Matthew sharply. James turned, surprised. Matthew was upright, his arms crossed, his pale cheekbones stained with red blotches of anger. “Why are we even entertaining this mad idea? James, you can’t risk yourself like this. If Belial is leaving you alone, then let him leave you alone!”

There was a startled silence. Of them all, James was likely the most surprised. He would have expected a protest from Matthew a few months ago, even a few weeks ago, but the sheer fury and denial in Matthew’s voice shocked him now.

“Math,” James said. “Belial will come for me—perhaps not today, but soon. Wouldn’t it be better to see him coming, and have some inkling of his plans?”

“When he comes for you, we’ll protect you,” Matthew said. “We’re not going to let him have you.”

“It’s not only me. Lots of people stand to suffer if he succeeds.”

“Lots of people suffer all the time,” Matthew said. “But they aren’t you.”

“I know,” James said. “But I am the only one who can do this. The only one who has a chance of making it work. I don’t wish it were that way, Math. It just is.”

Matthew took a deep, ragged breath. “Explain it, then. How you use the mirror.”

“I put my back to the wall,” said James quietly. “We handcuff me to something fairly intractable—I’d suggest the fireplace grate; it probably hasn’t moved in centuries. I gaze into the mirror and picture Belial’s sigil in my head. I don’t know if the handcuffs will be necessary, but I don’t want to be drawn into the shadow realms. They’re a precaution.”

“Fine,” said Matthew. “Fine—on one condition.”

“All right—what is it?”

“I will be holding on to you,” Matthew said, “for the entire duration.”

He stood straight, not leaning against the chair, color blazing in his face. He reminded James of the Matthew he had tied himself to at their parabatai ceremony so long ago: a Matthew who seemed to fear nothing: not shadow, not fire.

“Yes,” James said. “That, we can do.”

In the end, James ended up sitting on the floor by the fireplace, his legs crossed awkwardly. Matthew sat next to him, his hand looped through James’s belt. Jesse held the mirror while Thomas fixed the handcuffs so one cuff went around James’s wrist, and the other through the fireplace grate.

Jesse took one last look at the mirror before he leaned forward to pass it over to James. Their hands touched; Jesse looked into James’s eyes, his own very dark. He was showing immense strength, James thought, in being willing to take part in a ritual that involved the demon who had once possessed him.

Jesse sat back with Thomas and Christopher, who were on the floor facing James and Matthew. Christopher gave a slight nod, as if to say, Begin.

James gazed down at the mirror. It was heavy, heavier than metal and glass should have been. It seemed to weigh down his hand as if his arm were being forced down by an iron grip.

It was not without beauty, though. The dark metal that surrounded the glass had its own somber glow; it gathered in light and held it, and the inscriptions carved into it shone like glass.

The glass reflected his own face, darkly, a shadowy version of himself with a harsh curve to his mouth. As he gazed at the reflection of his face, he thought of Jem, of what Jem had taught him about controlling his thoughts. He pictured Belial’s sigil, the sign of his power; he concentrated on it, giving it all his attention, letting the image fill the glass.

The mirror began to hum and buzz in his hand. The glass seemed to turn to mercury, a liquid, silvery substance. Shadow poured from it, expanding and rising, until James could still feel Matthew’s hand gripping his belt but could no longer see Matthew at all. He could see only shadows, ever growing, until he gazed on a world of shadow, illuminated by the light of alien stars.

And in the shadows was Belial. He sat upon a throne James had seen before; a throne of ivory and gold, massive in size, so even Belial was dwarfed by it. Though it had clearly been created for an angel, Belial had bastardized it with his sigil: the symbol, spiky and vicious-looking, was scratched all over the ivory and marble, and down the gold steps that led up to the seat.

James drew in a sharp breath and felt Matthew’s hand tighten at his side. What was Matthew seeing? he wondered. What did this look like, to the others? James was still in the Devil Tavern, still chained, yet in Belial’s realm at the same time.

Belial was not the only demon in the shadows. Surrounding him—crawling about at his feet, pawing at the foot of his throne—were a swarm of piglet-sized demons: wormlike, humped and creeping, their skin gray and almost featureless save for a pair of glowing green eyes.

Chimera demons.