Angel Wings

“By the Angel, it’s freezing out here.” Aisling Wayland shivered and rubbed her hands together. “Why didn’t Raziel give us a warming rune, or one that conjures tea out of mid air?” she grumbled as she followed her parabatai, Ruth Thrushcross down an alley to avoid a group of late night revellers.
Limerick was a small enough city, but it earned an Institute of its own, an abandoned Franciscan church on Henry Street, due to the distance from the ones in Dublin and Cork. It was also the closest city to Poll na mBron, the Seventh Sacred Site where Jonathan Morgenstern was last seen. As a result of that, the amount of Shadowhunters in Limerick had tripled, making any excuse to get out of the crowded Institute, even for patrol on a freezing November night, a welcome one.

“I just don’t get all the patrols,” Aisling continued, as they walked side by side down Sexton Street. “I can hardly see Valentine’s son sticking around here.”

“Well it was your mother who ordered us out here, take it up with her,” Ruth replied in an amused tone as they turned past a mundane school, closed up tight for the weekend.

“She’s running the Institute while Dad’s in Idris, and that awful Margaret Aldertree will accuse her of favouritism if she takes me off patrol. Just ‘cause her husband was Inquisitor. . .”

“He was Inquisitor for less than two weeks before Valentine got him. Cut the woman a bit of slack.”

“She’s still a bitch.”

“Whatever, Wayland. And personally I don’t think that stinking creep Morgenstern is anywhere near Limerick either right now but we can check. Anything we find here could help us catch him before he opens the gate on Wrangl Island and our world becomes the plaything of demons.”

Aisling shivered again, but not from the cold. “Did you hear about the present he sent Maryse Lightwood?”

Ruth paused, turning to face Aisling in the streetlight. “No, what was it?”

“Angel wings.”

“What!” Ruth sagged backwards, a look of horror on her face. “You mean, actual living breathing heavenly angel wings?”

“Yeah.” Even thinking about it made Aisling feel ill. I heard Consul Penhallow telling Mam. She looked like she was gonna get sick telling her. Jonathan somehow managed to capture an angel and he cut off its wings and sent them to the New York Institute. Sawed them off, is what the Consul said.”
Ruth had turned green. “Mother of God, we have to stop him.” In silence they continued down the street, past several old houses and a car part shop.

“Hey Ash, hold on,” Ruth called softly as she cast her witchlight in the door of an abandoned house, the opening blocked by a wire mesh. “Hmm. . .”

“Don’t hmm like that woman, what’s in there?”

“Ichor. It’s spattered on the walls.” Reaching to her pocket Ruth took out her Sensor. As she checked the demon energies of the area Aisling slid a seraph blade from her belt.

“I’m getting low levels but we should check inside just in case.”

“Oh I was so hoping you’d say that,” Aisling muttered, then whispered “Ophiel.” The blade in her hand flared to life as Ruth opened the padlock on the mesh gate with her stele.

“Keep your blade out, watch my back. I’ll go ahead with the Sensor,” she said, pushing the rusted wire aside and gesturing for Aisling to follow.

“Ew.” Aisling wrinkled her nose at the stench as they walked into the hallway. It smelled of damp, of rot and stale urine, mingled with the faint whiff of demon.

“Shush,” Ruth whispered, as she held the sensor close to her eyes. “Demons, upstairs,” she mouthed, pointing up. Aisling pointed back to the door and raised her eyebrows but Ruth shook her head. They wouldn’t need back up.

The stairs weren’t too rotted not to support them, but Aisling was still thankful for her Soundless rune. It masked every footstep and creak that could have given them away to whatever was upstairs. As they turned onto the landing the smell of demon grew stronger, and seemed to be emitting from the room at the back of the house. Aisling took the lead, placing her hand on the door handle while Ruth drew a seraph blade. “Count of three,” she whispered, raising Ophiel in her other hand. “Three. . . two –”

The door exploded outwards. Aisling gave a yell as something big threw itself at her through flying splinters. Dimly, she heard Ruth shout “CamaeI”, as she slashed wildly in front of her. There was a shriek, and she felt Ophiel connect before whatever it was pulled itself off her and backed up, hissing.

Ruth was at her side, pulling her to her feet. “A Scorpios demon,” she shouted, as the two of them charged simultaneously. It shrieked again and its stinger flew through the air towards Ruth. Swinging her blade, Aisling managed to sever it just as Ruth ducked low and stabbed forward, getting the demon in the stomach. It backed up, spraying them both with ichor. With a yell of disgust Aisling threw herself under its claws and stabbed upward, her blade going through its head from below. The demon collapsed on top of her, folding in on itself and vanishing.

“Oh dear God, I need a bath,” she sighed, looking down at her ruined gear. “Looks like that was the only one Ruth. . . Ruth?”

She turned. Ruth stood behind her, frozen with horror and staring at something in the corner. Aisling raised Ophiel, and in the light saw the shape of a man, curled up on his side and covered in blood, except blood wasn’t gold . . .

Ruth spun around and retched, her body heaving. All Aisling wanted to do was run, drop her blade and run out of the old house and not stop, but she found herself walking towards the wounded angel on the ground. Tentatively, helplessly, she crouched down beside it, her hand hovering over its shoulder. Its back, where its wings should have been, was a tortured, bloody mess. Even as she watched, it drew a shaky, rattling breath, and the wound on its back burst into flames. With a scream she scrambled back, watching in terror and awe as the angel’s broken body was consumed by white-gold flames. Ruth looked up, wiping her mouth and met Aisling’s eyes.

“We gotta call the Clave.”

“I agree.” Aisling shuddered. “That must have been the angel that Morgenstern . . . the wings . . . oh God.” She forced down her nausea and stood up straight. “Right, go down outside Ruth, and call my mother. I’ll stay up here.”

“You sure?” Ruth placed a hand on Aisling’s shoulder as they stared at the charred patch of floor in front of them.

“I’m sure. Someone needs to guard this place.”

Ruth nodded and left the room silently. Slowly Aisling walked to where the angel’s body had been and knelt down. The floor was blackened, with smears of gold from the angel blood. A cold fury rose inside her, fury at anyone who could torment anything so pure and sacred. She felt a burning desire to destroy Jonathan Morgenstern, or die trying.