𝗨𝗟𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗘 | 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝

𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞: 𝒂 𝒑𝒚𝒙𝒊𝒔, 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆, 𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒄𝒌

♕

The Devil Tavern was a half-timbered building on Fleet Street with vast glittering windowpanes that seemed to divide light, leaving the interior of the pub darkly shaded. There were very few people inside, only a few men hunched over tankards of ale, but a grizzled werewolf barkeep and his wide-eyed barmaid watched Lucie, Cordelia, James, Christopher, Dahlia and Matthew cross the room and ascend the steps, their gazes curious.

Thomas sat upon a low horsehair sofa was placed directly across from a fireplace whose mantel boasted a bust of Apollo,, a book in his hand. His broad shoulders were hunched, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. Still, his face lit up when he saw his friends.

"Tom," said Dahlia. She went and sank down next to her friend on the worn sofa, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

Thomas set down the book he'd been holding.  "Cordelia," he said. He sounded weary, as if his voice had been slowed by grief. "Lucie. I'm glad to see you."

"Welcome to our sanctum, ladies," said Matthew, unscrewing the cap of his flask. "Christopher salvaged quite a bit of this furniture for us. Like King Arthur and his knights, we prefer to sit at a round table that we all might be equal."

Dahlia threw a stray book at him, "And yet he disregards me like a piece of cloth." she said, rolling her eyes at Thomas. He cracked a small grin.

"Also," Christopher added, taking a book down from the shelves and handing it to James, "it was the only table my mother was willing to spare."

"I couldn't go to Idris," Thomas said rather suddenly, as if someone had demanded of him why he was still in London. "I wish to see Eugenia, but I need to stay here. I need to help Kit find the cure for this demon disease or poison or whatever this is. What happened to my sister cannot happen to someone else."

"Sometimes grief and worry must take the form of action," said Dahlia. "Sometimes it is unbearable to sit and wait."

Thomas shot her a grateful look. "Exactly that," he said. "So—Christopher told you all about the shards?"

"Yes," Christopher interjected, "and James realized the shards are from a Pyxis."

"A Pyxis?" Thomas echoed. "But they were destroyed after the Clockwork War. They're unsafe—remember what happened at school."

"Most Pyxides were destroyed after the Clockwork War," said James. "In Gast's flat, though, I found a drawing. It looked rather like a sketch of an ordinary box—he wasn't a very good artist—"

"Ah, the drawing with the wobbly runes around it?" Matthew said.

"They weren't runes," James said. "They were alchemical symbols—the kind you'd carve onto a Pyxis box."

"Oh!" said Lucie. "The markings on the shards. They were alchemical symbols too. Of course."

"That wasn't all," said James. "On the paper Gast had scrawled a word in Old Persian. Cordelia was able to translate it."

He looked at her expectantly.

"It was a demon's name," Cordelia said. "Merthykhuwar." She frowned. "In modern Persian it would be Mardykhor. But Shadowhunters—Shadowhunters call it a Mandikhor. They are said to be viciously poisonous."

"You think Gast summoned up a Mandikhor demon?" Matthew asked. "But aren't they meant to be extinct? And what've they got to do with Pyxis boxes?"

James flipped open the book Christopher had handed him and slid a pair of small gilt reading glasses onto his nose.