The City of Fallen Angels (Mortal Instruments 4)(98)

The legend says she tried over and over to have a child, but they were all born dead.

Eventually she swore she would have vengeance against God by weakening and murdering infant humans. You might say she’s the demon goddess of dead children.”

“But you said she was the mother of demons,” said Maia.

“She was able to create demons by scattering drops of her blood on the earth in a place called Edom,” said Alec.

“Because they were born out of her hatred for God and mankind, they became demons.”

Aware that they were all staring at him, he shrugged. “It’s just a story.”

“All stories are true,” said Isabelle. This had been a tenet of her beliefs since she was a child. All Shadowhunters believed it. There was no one religion, no one truth—and no myth lacked meaning. “You know that, Alec.”

“I know something else, too,” Alec said, handing her back the card. “That telephone number and that address are crap. No way they’re real.”

“Maybe,” Isabelle said, tucking the card into her pocket. “But we don’t have anywhere else to start looking. So we’re going to start there.”

Simon could only stare. The body floating inside the coffin—Sebastian’s—didn’t appear to be alive; at least, he wasn’t breathing. But he clearly wasn’t exactly dead, either. It had been two months. If he were dead, Simon was fairly sure, he’d look like he was in a lot worse shape than he did. His body was very white, like marble; one hand was a bandaged stump, but he was otherwise unmarked. He appeared to be asleep, his eyes shut, his arms loose at his sides. Only the fact that his chest wasn’t rising or falling indicated that something was very wrong.

“But,” Simon said, knowing he sounded ridiculous, “he’s dead. Jace killed him.”

Lilith placed a pale hand on the glass surface of the coffin. “Jonathan,” she said, and Simon remembered that that was, in fact, his name. Her voice had an odd soft quality when she said it, as if she were crooning to a child. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”



“Um,” said Simon, looking with loathing at the creature inside the coffin—the boy who had murdered nine-year-old Max Lightwood. The creature who had killed Hodge. Had tried to kill them all. “Not my type, really.”

“Jonathan is unique,” she said. “He is the only Shadowhunter I have ever known of who is part Greater Demon.



This makes him very powerful.”

“He’s dead,” Simon said. He felt that, somehow, it was important to keep making this point, though Lilith didn’t seem to quite grasp it.

Lilith, gazing down at Sebastian, frowned. “It’s true. Jace Lightwood slipped up behind him and stabbed him in the back, through to the heart.”

“How do you—”

“I was in Idris,” said Lilith. “When Valentine opened the doorway to the demon worlds, I came through. Not to fight in his stupid battle. Out of curiosity more than anything else.

That Valentine should have such hubris—” She broke off, shrugging. “Heaven smote him down for it, of course. I saw the sacrifice he made; I saw the Angel rise and turn on him. I saw what was brought back. I am the oldest of demons; I know the Old Laws. A life for a life. I raced to Jonathan. It was almost too late. That which was human about him died instantly—his heart had ceased to beat, his lungs to inflate. The Old Laws were not enough. I tried to bring him back then. He was too far gone. All I could do was this.

Preserve him for this moment.”

Simon wondered briefly what would happen if he made a run for it—dashed past this insane demon and threw himself off the roof of the building. He couldn’t be harmed by another living creature; that was the result of the Mark, but he doubted its power extended to protecting him against the ground. Still, he was a vampire. If he fell forty stories and smashed every bone in his body, would he heal from that? He swallowed hard and found Lilith looking at him with amusement.

“Don’t you want to know,” she said in her cold, seductive voice, “what moment I mean?”

Before he could answer, she leaned forward, her elbows on the coffin. “I suppose you know the story of the way the Nephilim came to be?

How the Angel Raziel mixed his blood with the blood of men, and gave it to a man to drink, and that man became the first of the Nephilim?”

“I’ve heard it.”

“In effect the Angel created a new race of creature. And now, with Jonathan, a new race has been born again. As Jonathan Shadowhunter led the first Nephilim, so shall this Jonathan lead the new race that I intend to create.”

“The new race you intend—” Simon held up his hands. “You know what, you want to lead a new race starting off with one dead guy, you go right ahead. I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

“He is dead now. He need not remain so.” Lilith’s voice was cool, unemotional. “There is, of course, one kind of Downworlder whose blood offers the possibility of, shall we say, resurrection.”

“Vampires,” said Simon. “You want me to turn Sebastian into a vampire?”



“His name is Jonathan.” Her tone was sharp. “And yes, in a sense. I want you to bite him, to drink his blood, and to give him your blood in exchange—”