QUINN
Quinn Blackthorn was running through the dark streets of London with her best-friend, Cecily Lightwood. Most would think that they were sketchy, but they were just doing their usual routine; search the streets for something that wouldn’t usually be there, slay the demon, and then to it all over again. Now, though, they had found a Hellhound. Most commonly known as a demonic-dog. The girls would probably have killed it, sending it back to its original dimension, but tonight they were slacking.
“Quinn, did you actually want that book?” Cecily asked, fiddling with her crossbow and tracing the angels sketched onto it. Quinn looked over at Cecily, stepping over a puddle, and meeting her eyes; flecks of grey were scattered in her ocean-blue eyes, giving it a type of thunderstorm look. Quinn wanted her eyes, the beauty of them.
“I guess,” Quinn replied, itiching her neck. She’d worn a black, short-sleeved turtleneck, but was regretting it. The summer air, which was unusual, breezed through the streets that they were roaming. The sky was open to the stars, giving the moon a glow that reminded her of when whenever someone would rune themself.
They were currently by Beckenham, but Quinn wasn’t paying attention to streets. That was her mistake, though.
“Are you really liking it, though?” Cecily was a book-nerd. Her whole world revolved around books and anything that she could learn from. She would normally spend her days in the London Institute’s library. Institute; where Shadowhunters normally stayed or visited. Both Quinn and Cecily stayed there with their parents; the Lightwoods and the Blackthorns. Quinn and Cecily were both too young to run the Institute, but being 16 was only two years away for them.
“Cecily—“ The sound of something crashing made both the girls jump, but they recovered quickly. Being a Shadowhunter usually did that for you; a breed of half human, half angel. They were decedents of Jonathan Christopher, who was the original Nephilim. “It’s here,” Quinn said, taking out a dagger and positioning herself firmly in a position that she was taught to do when you never knew who/what was coming for you. Cecily mirrored her, putting an arrow in her crossbow. Quinn bit her lip, gripping Dumah. Her hands felt sweaty as she glided her other hand across the blade, soothing herself. She always got nervous whenever she’d had to fight or hunt, because she couldn’t be runed. Runes; the tattoo like markings that most Nephilim used to protect themselves or heal. Quinn Blackthorn was not lucky, though. She could never be runed. It was a huge setback for her, and she was insecure about it. At the age of 12, when most Shadowhunters get runed, she was runed, but the side effects were what most humans would get from being runed.
“Are you sure?” Cecily asked.
Quinn nodded in reply, moving closer to the dark, creepily silent alley. Trash from the club next door was scattered along the ground. The alley looked almost scarier than compared to others that Quinn and Cecily have fought in; the remains of a dumpster was everywhere, it’s green metal scattered, and a sickly smell of demonic was in the air. Quinn gasped, covering her nose with her shirt and stepping into some sort of purplish goo. She knew what it was; demons.
But not just any demon, but a Hellhound. Quinn had fought several over her Shadowhunter years, but the smell was different.
“It’s not a Greater Demon!” Quinn cheered, doing a type of dance that most of her peers would cringe from. She wasn’t a very good dancer, so she just sort of flailed her arms around in a mentally-unstable fashion. Cecily laughed, putting her crossbow behind her back.
“Yeah, but—“ Cecily stopped mid-sentence to the sound of ruffling of paper, and Quinn stopped her dance.
What, Quinn thought to herself.
“I think it’s…” Quinn walked over to the newspapers that were clearly old and picked up something: a dog. “Look!” She cheered, walking across the alley, her black-combat boots clattering against the concrete, and shoving the dog into Cecily’s face.
“Is this a mutt?” Cecily questioned, holding the dog out and examining it. It looked normal to Quinn.
Quinn took a closer look and noticed something: it wasn’t a dog.
“Drop it!” Cecily did as told and lightly set it on the ground, giving Quinn a strange look. Quinn grabbed ahold of her friend’s hand and dragged her out of the alley, trying to get away. One thing her instructors always told her was to run. Run as fast as you can until you can get ahold of yourself and make a good blow. Quinn was ready for neither.
“What’s wrong?” Cecily asked as they were racing down some residential street. Quinn looked over at her friend; Cecily had dark brown, wildly curly hair that was usually in a pony when they went patrolling. Quinn bit the inside of her cheek as she and Cecily pushed a few garbage cans in the street, trying to slow down the Hellhound. Quinn heard the familiar growl of the demon; a raspy, menacing growl that no dog or wolf could muster. Only a creature of Hell could. And that’s where it had come from.
“It’s a Hellhound, Cecily,” Quinn whispered, pulling Cecily and her behind a building that looked abandoned. Quinn pulled out two daggers, one for each hand.
The look on Cecily’s face was all understanding: the dog, the growl, the sudden rushing of getting the hell out of that alley. She pulled her crossbow from its safe place behind her back and pulled an arrow along with it. The crossbow had gold detailing that reminded Quinn of different runes. Except they were normally black.
“You know the drill.” Quinn pulled her wavy, strawberry blonde hair into a pony, tying it off with an elastic. Cecily walked onto the sidewalk and Quinn slipped into the shadows, concealing herself.
Quinn was reminded of the many, many times she had done this with Cecily. The usual routine of patrolling. Quinn had always gotten nervous and had made a habit to calm herself; rubbing her leather-gloved hands together until she could feel herself calming down and into battle mode.
“Come here, you fat dog!” Cecily yelled in her British accent that both she and Quinn shared. She was the one who distracted the demons while Quinn slayed. It was just to make sure Quinn stayed safe and not killed. Her parents had enforced the rule, and Quinn hated it. She’d always liked the high of slaying something, but she wished that her parents, Lydia and Joshua Blackthorn, would find a different rule. There were peaks of her family running the Institute, but there were also flaws. Ones that she couldn’t, but wanted to, name at the moment.
Quinn raised Dumah, the blade illuminating in the moon light, and waited for Cecily to give the single. A simple tap of the ear told her that she was ready.
The Hellhound finally came into view, standing in front of Cecily. The dog that they had seen was now a full-fledged creature from Hell; its body was the color of charcoal, scales trailed along its body from head to toe, spikes were mounted on its back and head, and its eyes were fire. Literally. When it opened its mouth, fire was visible, waiting to escape. Its eyes glowed with the same fire.
Cecily tapped her ear, giving the single. Quinn did as told and charged toward the beast, her chocolate eyes narrowing as she got closer. She made a warrior call, a huge mistake, and she felt her ankle slip under her, her body colliding with the concrete. Quinn grunted, slowly recovering. The hound took the opportunity and jumped on her, its paws scraping against her cheek. Quinn felt the crimson blood before it even started spilling out. She gasped.
Cecily called out, running toward Quinn but stopped when the Hellhound barred its yellow teeth. “Quinn!” Cecily yelled. Quinn knew she was probably thinking of ways to break the Hellhound’s hold on Quinn, but it was impossible.
“Get off, you ugly Chihuahua,” Quinn grunted, pulling her arm free and pulling out a dagger from her belt. She felt the hilt in her hand and quickly made her move; slicing part of the Hellhound’s shoulder, but it did help. It screeched, a deafening noise, and both Quinn and Cecily covered their ears. The monster stumbled back, whimpering. Quinn almost felt sorry for it. Almost.
She recovered, standing up, and grabbing Dumah from where she dropped it on the slick concrete. She made sure not to do a warrior call this time, and told Cecily to help her slay the beast.
Cecily did as she was told and aimed her crossbow at the Hellhound. Quinn had no time to react when Cecily’s arrow plunged into the hound, sending it back to wherever it came from. It made one last noise before it turned into dust and purple oozed splattered everywhere, landing on them.
“You know, remind me next time to not have you shoot a Hellhound?” Quinn rubbed the back of her head and felt a sticky liquid on above her neck. “Cecily,” she whispered, feeling dizzy. Quinn wasn’t one for blood, and often fainted or had to rush out of the room when one was injured. This time, though, she had her own blood on her fingers. Its crimson color was running down her neck, giving her hair a red tint. Quinn swallowed quietly.
“Quinn, we need to get you back. Now.” Cecily rushed over to her friend, taking out her stele. Quinn supported herself against the building’s wall, stuffing Dumah into her belt and holding up a hand.
“You know you can’t.”
“But you have to try! You might have a concussion,” Cecily responded, putting a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “And your cheek.”
“It’ll get better.”
Quinn held up a hand, taking no other opinions. She had to heal like any other person would; not like a Shadowhunter. She had to be strong, just like her parents always told her to. But she didn’t feel strong. She felt weak.
Probably from the blood loss, she thought to herself.
Quinn closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and calming herself. She stood up, stumbling in the process, and walked toward the sidewalk. She turned around and met Cecily’s eyes. Worry filled them, but was quickly replaced with the need to do something. To help someone, to help Quinn.