I knew that I was dead.

There was nothing around me but darkness. Choking, stifling—we are dust and shadows—and I was a shadow, now. The darkness had swallowed me whole.

Until a tiny pinprick of light burst into view from somewhere far, far above me. I didn't have arms or legs—or even a body to speak of—but even so, I struggled toward it with what little sliver of consciousness I had left as it steadily grew closer and closer.

I realized that I was no longer formless, and my vision cleared into a sharper point than it had ever been before. The shining light didn't hurt my eyes—in fact, now they seemed to absorb it, refracting and reflecting so that I was staring into a brilliant rainbow.

I was safe, content in a way I couldn't ever remember feeling in life. Through the light, I glimpsed a sparkling river beyond which there were trees, thick and full with emerald green leaves. A small boat floated peacefully on the edge of the embankment, and I could see there was a figure standing on the opposite side.

Someone was waiting for me.

I could see his blond hair glowing in the light even from my distance, and he was dressed in a long white tunic like I imagined angels wore. As if he could sense my gaze, the figure reached out his arm, beckoning me to him.

"Dad," I whispered, and reached my own arms out to him. But his form was already blurring, fading away. I felt a tugging from beneath me, and I tried to resist it, to fight, but it was too strong. And then I was suddenly in the abyss again, hurtling head over heels through the darkness. The light began to fade, and I wanted to scream, but no sound came out of my mouth as I hurtled through the empty vacuum—

An explosion of golden light seared through my eyelids and I was slammed back into my own body, gasping, my eyes flying open. The sky whirled dizzyingly around me as all my senses rushed back at once.

Someone was cradling my head in their lap, long fingers brushing the hair from my eyes. I reached my arm up to catch Jem's hand in my own; a jolt of almost painful energy shot through my fingers and I quickly jerked my hand back. I had never seen such an expression on a Silent Brother—mingled horror, grief, and relief all at once. "Jem," I breathed. "What happened? It was so dark…"

"You were dead," Tessa said before he could answer, her voice thick. I pushed myself up onto my elbows so that I could see better, Jem still holding me, and immediately wished I hadn't. I was lying in a pool of blood, staining my hair and clothes. Both Jem and Tessa were soaked in it, but neither of them seemed to care. The Cartwright dagger lay inches from my right hand, the entire blade bright crimson. In awe, I moved my hand from Jem's to my chest, where the skin was perfectly smooth and whole, as if there had never been a wound at all. "Jem saved you," she continued, seeing my expression. "I summoned Raziel like you asked…and his one wish was for you to be brought back."

"Jem?" I croaked, twisting my head around to see his face. He leaned over and placed his lips on my hair; it was as if the runes that had made him a Silent Brother had been momentarily overpowered. There was no question, Abby, he said, sounding strangled. I—we—would never let any harm come to you.

"You were supposed to wish for him to be cured," I accused Tessa, what little respite I had felt at being alive seeping out of my chest. My only two options—the faeries and the Mortal Instruments—had been exhausted, and now there was absolutely nothing I could do. Nothing.

Being human again means nothing to me if you are not present, Jem told me. Tessa didn't look apologetic in the least, either. Disappointment surged through me; I could taste the bitter weight of failure on my tongue.

It was only then that I remembered what I had died for. "What happened?" I asked, glancing around the lake; the scene seemed utterly calm and peaceful, and the army of automatons were now nothing but heaps on the ground. Black-clad Shadowhunters were already beginning to surround them.

"The Clave has just arrived," Tessa explained. "Buford Fairchild killed the demon. Abbadon's curse on your family is now lifted."

I blinked, unable to believe her words. "For good?"

"Yes. And the automatons are destroyed for good as well." She paused. "The Clave is going to want to hear your testimony."

"Great," I groaned. "I'm going to have to tell my mother everything." But I knew that was a small price to pay for being alive. "Help me think of an excuse," I begged Tessa, but her lips were pursed and she was staring at something in the distance. My heart sank.

"ABBY!"

I heard my mother's familiar shriek, and I wearily lifted my head from Jem's shoulder to see her sprinting towards me, with Grandma and Magnus not far behind.

"They're going to want to bring you to the Basilias," Tessa muttered, getting to her feet. I knew the Basilias was a hospital of sorts in Alicante, but I didn't feel sick. For someone who had just been dead, I felt perfectly healthy. I turned to meet Jem's blind gaze, which hadn't wavered from my face since I had opened my eyes.

"I was lying when I told you that I don't love you anymore," I whispered. "Do you know that?"

I know, he said simply, and gently helped me to my feet before pulling his hood back up over his head.

By now the others had reached us; tears were streaming down my mother's face, and she pulled me into a tight hug. I'd barely wrapped my arms around her in return, and she was lecturing me before I even had a chance to open my mouth. Slowly drawing back from her, I was prepared to grin and bear her admonishment—at least until I noticed that her arms were decorated in spidery black runes, and a shining seraph blade stuck out of her pocket. "Mom," I gasped in utter shock. "You're a—you're a Shadowhunter?"

She couldn't hide her guilty expression. "Yes, Abby. I am."

"But how?"

"Since I had already been a candidate for Ascension, and the Clave knew that it was a dire situation, I was given permission to drink from the Mortal Cup," Mom said. "I would do anything to save you. I wish I had done this sooner…but you might have been left without both parents. But that is not your burden to bear."

I was still unable to speak, to see my mother in this changed form. In the end, it was Grandma who broke the silence. "I think you have some explaining to do, Abigail," she told me.

"Mom…Grandma," I began, looking back and forth between them, and exhaled loudly. I wasn't entirely sure I was in the same reality anymore. "It's a long, long story."

Neither Jem nor Tessa left my side as we Portaled into the Basilias, where I was thoroughly examined by the Silent Brothers, who were, I guessed, less concerned with my current condition and more curious about my encounter with Raziel. I sat still patiently enough until Brother Enoch, who had drawn a vial of blood from my arm, straightened up and studied it closely. There is an anomaly in this sample, he mused. An added element I have not come across before in the blood of a Shadowhunter.

I yanked my sleeve back down and turned my gaze to him; I had been staring at the others who were standing just out of earshot, Tessa explaining something in a low, urgent voice to my mother and grandmother, with Zachariah beside her, a silent mediator. Magnus stood a ways apart from them, arms crossed, looking as if he would rather be anywhere but here. I didn't blame him. "But I'm otherwise healthy, right?" I asked the Silent Brother before me, swinging my legs off the cot I had been lying on. "I can leave now?"

Enoch slipped the vial of blood into his robes; I could feel him scrutinizing my face. It would be wise for you to stay overnight as a precaution, he said. But I will not force you.

"Good," I said, and immediately stood up. I was looking forward to changing out of my gear and into something less bloodstained. Sleep would also be nice, as I was completely exhausted. Unfortunately, it didn't look like I would be getting that luxury anytime soon.

Since the automaton battle had ended before it had even gotten a chance to begin, no Shadowhunters had been wounded, and so I was the only patient in the Basilias. I took a moment to stare around at the rows of empty beds, something like mingled relief and pride washing over me. I had done what my father would have. And yet…I still didn't feel worthy. I still felt like Abby.

Maybe that was the point, I thought. You didn't need to be a certain kind of person to be brave. I hadn't inherited Dad's reckless heroism, like I'd inherited his hair and eyes, but I had still chosen this. I had chosen courage, not because I felt obligated to prove to myself that I could be just as brave as he was, but because I had known it was the right thing to do. And maybe that was all that mattered.

When I turned back to the others, still lost in thought, I noticed with a twinge of displeasure that they had been joined by Irina Cartwright and Andrew Lightwood. As I drew closer, to my surprise, I realized that Grandma was the one speaking now, and she didn't sound thrilled in the least; in fact, her tone was downright accusatory.

"When I left my granddaughter in your care, Irina, I expected that she would be taught well and trained properly. Instead, you kept her locked in a bedroom and endangered her life when you enacted a scenario that may well have killed her." Now she turned on Andrew, her eyes narrowed. At least he had the sense to shrink back from her glare. "I fail to see what you were thinking when you allowed an untrained girl to participate in an exercise that was meant for fully-trained Shadowhunters. It was sheer luck that she survived—"

"It wasn't luck," I said quietly, stopping next to Zachariah and feeling his attention shift to me. "And I am a trained Shadowhunter. Perhaps not fully, but I am trained."

The only person who looked more shocked than Grandma was Irina herself. "That is a preposterous notion," she snapped. "That requires years of training—"

"Or months in a dangerous environment." I cut her off, dimly surprised at my sudden boldness. The same decisive calm that had taken over me on the airplane was enveloping me again, pushing me forward. "And I have lived that." I paused, and fixed my gaze squarely on hers. "Summon the Inquisitor and call the Clave into session. I shall speak the truth under the Mortal Sword."

"Abby," I heard Tessa warn under her breath, but I didn't look away from my great-aunt. Irina's jaw was working furiously, and she looked as if she wanted nothing more than to turn around and storm out of the infirmary. But after a long minute of tense silence, she finally gave a short, terse nod.

"I shall do so at once," she said. "I expect it will have to take place tomorrow, as the majority of the Clave are likely still busy clearing up the remains of the automatons." She leveled a hard gaze at me, but I refused to look away.

I will procure the Mortal Sword, Zachariah said, stepping between us. His mental voice was flat, unemotional; my heart suddenly sped up as I wondered if this was a wise idea after all. Perhaps I should have asked him—and Tessa—if they did not mind the truth finally being made public. But it was too late, I supposed; there was no time to think up an elaborate lie, and besides, the Seelie Queen was bound to speak the truth when the Clave questioned her. My stomach twisted itself into a painful knot as I watched Irina disappear, with Andrew following her. As soon as the arched doors had closed behind them, I turned to Grandma beseechingly.

"Who is the Inquisitor?" I asked her. "Are they likely to be sympathetic?"

A dry, humorless grin crossed her face. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid not," she replied, and my heart sank. "Irina is the Inquisitor."

After I had finished speaking, the Council Chamber echoed with my words, soon fading away into silence. I was kneeling on the dais in the front of the room, gripping onto the hilt of the Mortal Sword, my head bowed. I didn't dare to look up at the faces that I knew were staring at me; there had been more than a few gasps after I'd recounted certain parts.

I told them nearly everything: my arrival in 1878, the mysterious Portal that had brought me halfway across the world and back in time, the hospitality of those at the London Institute, Mortmain and his automatons, the Greater Demon that had been tasked to follow me, the Seelie Queen explaining that Mortmain had stored an army in her court to someday overthrow the Shadowhunters, my abduction by the faeries, and finally, the realization that I'd had to sacrifice myself in order to stop the automatons from attacking Alicante.

Irina had been ruthless in her questioning, not allowing me to pause for even a second. And when she'd asked if I had told her everything, I had answered in the affirmative, despite the tug of the Sword telling me that wasn't the entire truth. While I had mentioned that I'd become very close with the members of the Institute, I hadn't mentioned my engagement to Jem—not that they would have known who he was, anyway—or even what Brother Zachariah's true identity was. The Clave wouldn't be interested in such personal matters.

I finally worked up the courage to raise my head and look up at Irina, who was standing over me with an unfathomable expression on her face. "You say that the automatons could only be activated with Shadowhunter blood," she said. "How did the Queen of the Fair Folk convince you to do such a thing?"

My mind went blank, and I stared dumbly up at her, scrambling for a reasonable explanation. Luckily, Zachariah inclined his head to Irina, his robes swishing across the marble floor as he paced the length of the chamber. If I may, Inquisitor, the Seelie Queen uses lies and manipulation to coerce others into acting along with her wishes. She could have conceivably threatened Abby by any number of means.

Irina still didn't look satisfied, but she couldn't well argue with a Silent Brother, nor doubt my testimony under the Mortal Sword. She turned back to the gathered Clave, who wore expressions ranging from shock to suspicion. "Assuming all of this is true," she began, "We should expect retaliation from the Fair Folk. They will not be pleased that their plan ended so poorly."

"They will not retaliate," a small voice said from the back row, and Hyacinth appeared in my line of vision, her blue skin and pointed ears a sharp contrast to the Shadowhunters who surrounded her. Had she been there all along? "None of the Fair Folk except for my Queen knew of this deception. She is too fearful of the Nephilim's wrath to attempt any sort of confrontation. It is likely that she will wish to renegotiate a peace treaty."

I let out the breath I'd been holding in a long relieved sigh, hardly daring to believe her words. I knew that Hyacinth was telling the truth—she, like the Seelie Queen, could not lie, but at least her words weren't misleading. Another long second passed, and the Mortal Sword was suddenly yanked out of my hand. I slowly got to my feet, seeing that I was no longer the center of attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Magnus wink at me just before he slipped out of the door.

Heedless of the Clave, I immediately jumped to my feet and sprinted after him, but he had already disappeared. Skidding to a stop in the middle of the corridor, I glanced desperately around me, needing to talk to him, needing to apologize. But Magnus was nowhere to be seen, and my shoulders slumped in dejection. Maybe I could ask Tessa to track him down and pass on my message. It wasn't likely he would even want to talk to me, anyway—

A hand suddenly shot out and grabbed my shoulder, and it was all I could do not to shriek in surprise as a familiar warlock pulled me back into the Council antechamber, cat eyes glittering. Magnus put a finger to his lips as a shimmering Portal burst into existence in front of us, illuminating the shadowy hall. "Quickly, before they find you," he hissed, and I wasted no time in leaping straight into it, tumbling head over heels through the light until the world again solidified. I stumbled backwards onto a cobblestone street, imposing rows of identical marble houses towering on either side of me. The sun was blazing; after so many months spent living in rainy London and then being locked up in Cartwright Manor, I was unused to it and I was forced to shield my face with my hand.

"Where are we?" I asked, glancing around with interest; there were no mundanes in sight, although we were clearly in an urban area.

"Le Marais," Magnus replied, ushering me forward and up the steps of the nearest house.

"That sounds French," I remarked, tilting my head back so I could see the gargoyle statue on the roof; it had an old-world feel, almost reminiscent of Idris. There was no way I would have ever come across something like this in San Francisco.

"That's because it is," Magnus said dryly. A key had somehow materialized in his hand even though I hadn't seen him reach into his pocket, and he pushed open the door.

"Paris?" I guessed, and he nodded. I followed him inside to a large, sprawling foyer with high ceilings and whitewashed walls, a long gilded mirror running along the east wall that I was certain was one of Magnus's personal touches. I hadn't imagined I would be back in the city so soon—or at all—and I found myself wondering if Artemis had made her way back home to Mrs Daly.

"So do you have a house in every country, then?" I asked as Magnus led me through the entryway into a living-room opposite. It was strangely empty aside from a wingback chair in the corner facing a pair of French doors leading to a balcony, and a few oil paintings on the walls. I guessed he didn't spend a lot of time here.

"Of course not," Magnus scoffed, gesturing for me to take a seat while he opened the doors. "That would be excessive even for me, not to mention the extraordinarily tedious business of filling out taxes every year. I try to limit myself to one every continent."

Despite myself, I grinned, a warm spring breeze blowing in from the street and ruffling my hair. "Even Antarctica?"

He shot me an unamused look and leaned against the door so that he was standing half-inside, half-out. "You really sound like him, you know."

"Who?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

Magnus raised his eyebrows. "Jonathan. Listen, I couldn't stand the kid, but you should be proud of who you've become. And don't ask me to elaborate—you've nearly exhausted my daily quota of sentimentality."

"I never thought I'd hear someone say that," I remarked, letting a bit of ruefulness slip into my tone.

Magnus looked almost thoughtful, turning his head to stare out at the street. "He was more like the Herondales. You're more like the Blackthorns. Or maybe you take after your mother's family—I wouldn't know."

At finally hearing the words I'd been desperate for since I was a child—that I was like him, like Dad—I had to pause and take a moment to properly digest them. Magnus Bane seemed like an odd candidate for fulfilling such a wish, but I wasn't about to complain. Still, there wasn't an instant rush of pride and relief as I had imagined there would be, and I didn't think it was because Magnus was lying. I did believe him; had known what he meant for quite a while. I was like my father, but I wasn't my father. I had never needed to live up to some unattainable ideal of him because, not only would it be impossible to reach, I was Abby, a person in her own right. Maybe being Jonathan Cartwright's daughter was enough, I thought. Maybe being Abby was enough.

"Now spit it out," Magnus said suddenly, looking closely at me. I hadn't realized the conversation had stopped until he spoke again.

I blinked slowly and refocused on him, still lost in thought. "Huh?"

"What you ran away from the Clave to tell me about," he said patiently. "It must have been important. If you're asking me if I have some magic potion to cure Brother Zachariah, I'm afraid you're out of luck. Will and Tessa exhausted all possible options a century ago, believe me."

"No, it's not that," I stammered, wrenching my mind back to the present. "I—I wanted to apologize."

I could have sworn I saw surprise flit across his face before he carefully composed an unaffected expression again. "Why?"

"I told the Clave that you were the one who created the Portal," I explained. "They'll come after you—exile you—"

"Hush," Magnus interrupted my babbling. "No, they won't. They're terrified of me enough as it is, especially that horrid Cartwright woman. They'll think I'll send them back to the Dark Ages, which is actually quite an attractive notion come to think of it."

"But what if they want to use your powers to change the past or the future?" I could imagine a dozen different scenarios that could go horribly wrong playing out in my head like a TV show, only infinitely more terrifying.

Now a wicked grin spread across his features. "Sweetheart, they know as well as I do that nothing can be changed."

"It…it can't?" I asked weakly.

"Haven't you heard of a thing called destiny?" Magnus shot back. "You Shadowhunters built your entire lives around this sort of melodramatic concept." He waggled his fingers in disdain. "Now, I'm not saying I believe in that hocus-pocus—"

"Says the man who can do magic."

"—But you seem to be in one piece. Did the world stop turning when you returned here?"

"Debatable," I muttered.

He ignored me. "I'm just saying that if I were to go back to 1887 and accidentally steal the blueprints for the Eiffel Tower while in pursuit of a particularly rambunctious vampire, it would still have been built."

"Are you sure you're not speaking from personal experience?" I asked, half-teasing. I expected a lighthearted response, but Magnus suddenly turned a very unbecoming shade of red and clapped his hands together loudly, making me jump. Some things never changed.

"So, are we done here?" he announced. "I'd invite you to stay for dinner, but I'm afraid I don't have any food here that is suitable for mortals. The Clave isn't exactly lining up at my door to visit."

"Can't I stay here anyway?" I questioned, giving him my best wide-eyed, hopeful stare.

Magnus didn't even blink. "Good one, kid." He moved back inside the room and closed the French doors with a click, pulling the blinds back into place over the windows. Sensing defeat, I reluctantly stood up and moved back into the foyer. I wondered if the rest of the apartment was as bare as the living-room.

"You'd let Tessa stay here if she asked," I remarked, slipping my feet back into boots and tucking my hair behind my eyes.

"So?" he asked, seemingly unimpressed.

"I am her great-great-granddaughter…"

Magnus made a strange choking noise that sounded almost like laughter. "You're also Will Herondale's great-great-granddaughter. Nice try."

"Worth a shot," I sighed, and turned towards the door, but Magnus was suddenly there, blocking my path. I nearly collided into him but quickly recovered myself—not without catching my foot on a loose floorboard and nearly toppling over. Maybe it was fortunate I wasn't staying.

"Do you have anywhere you can go?" he asked. His eyes and voice were unreadable.

"Yeah, I do," I said breathlessly once I'd recovered my balance. It surprised me that I didn't even have to think about my answer, and stared hopefully up at Magnus. "I don't suppose you could help me find her? Her name's Dorothy."

Tessa's cottage was hardly large enough for two people, let alone four, but I had the sense that she was just delighted to have guests. I sat cross-legged in the middle of her living-room, my hands curled around a mug of tea. Mom and Grandma were both sitting on opposite ends of the small, worn couch, while Tessa herself perched on a rocking chair in the corner. We'd all been quiet since the kettle had whistled, as if it was some sort of signal for an awkward silence, and the only sounds were birds twittering outside. Stubbornly, I refused to speak first. Mom had been furious that I'd run away from the Clave meeting and then spent a night in Paris without telling her; thankfully, Grandma stopped her before the entire population of Alicante heard her lecture.

I couldn't say that I blamed my mother for being worried and upset with me; there was so much I had been keeping from her over the past weeks, especially when everything had changed so quickly. I had gone from being a relatively normal teenager to the target of a Greater Demon within days, not to mention my decision to sacrifice myself in order to stop an automaton army. That would have sufficiently baffled Mom even if I hadn't confessed that I'd spent six months in 1878 training to become a Shadowhunter and fallen in love with a boy whom she would later know herself as a Silent Brother. I supposed, then, it was no wonder that she didn't know how to treat me anymore. She had made her own sacrifice to drink from the Mortal Cup in order to try to save me when she hadn't done the same for my father. But she had been young and scared then; not so far removed from myself. Watching my mother struggle to comprehend what had happened to me, I got the feeling that our relationship would never quite be the simple mother-daughter dynamic we'd had before, and felt a gnawing sadness at the thought. Maybe in time, as she learned more about the Shadow World, she would begin to understand me.

Grandma, on the other hand, seemed to be proud of me more than anything else, positively beaming every time someone mentioned what I had done. I was the granddaughter she had never known, the daughter of her only son, and I'd lived up to all of the expectations she'd had for me and then some. To her, I had proved myself worthy of the Cartwright name. She had taken me aside and told me that I was welcome to complete my training at the Los Angeles Institute if I wished. "You have family there," she'd said. "The Blackthorns have already taken quite a liking to you."

I'd smiled wearily and replied that I would definitely consider it, but hadn't given her a straight answer. Now, it seemed, I would be forced to choose.

Unsurprisingly, Grandma was the one to break the silence. "Well, Abigail, you need to make a decision," she said brusquely, her sharp blue eyes boring into mine. "You can't stay in Idris forever. The Clave has instructed that you finish your training at an Institute of your choice."

I carefully set down my mug and looked up at her. I'd tried to prepare my words beforehand, but of course my answer came out in a jumbled mess anyway. "I—I think I'd like to go to Los Angeles and live there," I began haltingly. "I want to get to know my extended family. And when I've completed training, I want to go to New York and attend Juilliard."

Grandma coolly raised her eyebrows. "Juilliard?" she repeated.

"For music," I clarified. "It's something I've always wanted to do. I can live at the Institute there and still be a Shadowhunter. I'd just have to get used to, well, little to no sleep, but I'm sure I could manage."

She stared at me, but not at me; I knew right away that she was seeing my father—Dad, who had also played the piano. Dad, who would probably have gone to Juilliard, too, if he wasn't a Shadowhunter. "I suppose that can be arranged," Grandma said after a moment, and to my surprise she looked away first. Her eyes were misty. "We will leave tonight, then."

"Before you go, Abby, the Silent Brothers would like to see you at the Basilias." Tessa spoke up, her voice soft. "It's nothing urgent, but Brother Enoch said it is imperative you are informed."

I blinked, swallowed hard, and took a deep breath, hoping no one saw my hands begin to shake at the mention of the Silent Brothers. I couldn't care less what Brother Enoch had to say; there was only one Silent Brother I cared about. "All of them?" I asked, forgoing subtlety in order to get a straight answer.

"Abby," my mother said softly, but quieted when Tessa's gaze moved briefly to hers.

"I would imagine so," Tessa replied. She was still watching Mom; I caught the edge of some inconceivable sadness in her eyes before she turned back to me and was her usual mild-mannered self again. "Would you like us to accompany you?"

I looked around the group, realizing with a dawning clarity that we had all lost someone. Tessa had lost Will. Grandma had lost my grandfather, Samuel. Mom had lost Dad. And I had lost Jem. Was there some sort of curse on the females in my family? Doomed to lose those they loved? I shook my head, though it was as much to banish the ridiculous thought as it was to answer Tessa. "No, thank you," I told her. "I think I'll be fine on my own."

Seeing that Grandma was about to protest, I sent Tessa a pleading glance. Help me, Tess, I thought imploringly, and as if she could somehow read my thoughts, she cleared her throat and said, "Gail, would you mind helping me with the tea and biscuits?" Her tone was even but brooked no contradiction—it was almost amusing, and beyond strange, to see Grandma, a middle-aged woman, being given orders by her own grandmother, who looked thirty years younger.

Mom and I handed our empty mugs to Tessa and Grandma, and the two women disappeared into the kitchen. It took me another moment to realize that Tessa had given me time to talk to my mother, and when I turned to look at her, expecting to be rebuked, I saw that she was smiling gently at me. "Aren't you upset?" I asked, slightly confused.

"Upset about what?"

"Well—this," I said, gesturing to the room at large. "This conversation. I mean…I'm going to Los Angeles to live with Grandma. An hour ago you were upset that I went to Paris with Magnus."

"I don't think the two situations are comparable," Mom said. She looked thoughtful. "Looking at you…you're only sixteen. You have so much left to learn, and yet sometimes I forget you are the same age I was when I met Jonathan."

"What do you mean?" I said.

She tilted her heard slightly as she regarded me; I couldn't remember ever seeing such an expression on her face before. She looked…proud. "You are wiser than I was, Abby. You've always been so independent."

It took me a moment before I was able to answer, as stunned as I was. "What about when I was seven and cried so much at the dentist you had to hold my hand?"

Mom laughed. I wondered what it was that had her in such a good mood. Was it the air? Was it because of the fact that she was now a Shadowhunter? Was it simply the fact that I was alive? "There are always exceptions," she said lightly.

I got to my feet and sat down beside her on the couch, resting my head against her shoulder the way I used to as a child. I was relieved that she wasn't angry at me anymore—really, she was being remarkably calm about the entire situation—but there was still an elephant in the room that I knew she wasn't going to bring up first. "Why did you hide Dad's letter from me?" I asked.

The guilty expression that flashed across her face was all the answer I needed. "You found it, then, didn't you?" she murmured. "I hid it for the same reason I didn't tell you that I was offered the chance to become a Shadowhunter and refused. I was scared."

"I would have found out someday regardless," I said quietly.

She smiled sadly. "I know, Abby. I know. And when I made the decision to drink from the Mortal Cup, even when there was a good chance I wouldn't survive, I did it because I hoped to save you. Now I only wish I had done it sooner, and maybe I could have saved your father as well."

"It's not your fault, Mom."

She gave a tiny shrug, looking away from me to stare out the window onto the front porch. "Maybe, maybe not. What's done is done. Now go to the Basilias and see the Silent Brothers. Be back before dark," she said, with a tiny grin.

"I promise," I said, clasping one hand over my heart and standing up. "Scout's honor."

I was halfway to the door when she called after me. "Zachariah is the most human out of all of them. He still loves you, Abby. More than you know."

I stopped in my tracks and slowly turned back around to face her, sure the shock was visible on my face. "W—what?"

"Brother Zachariah. Gail told me his name was once James Carstairs." She paused. "I wouldn't have believed a word about what happened to you if I hadn't seen the way you look at him. Speaking as a mother…it terrifies me. But speaking as someone who once loved a boy more than life itself, I understand."

"Mom, I…" My voice cracked, and I felt the warm sting of tears against my eyes. She had never spoken to me like this before. "I don't know what to say."

She chuckled. "I'm not expecting an answer, Abby. You're not the same daughter I left behind at that motel. But maybe I'm not the same, either. Buford said that this transformation would be as much mental as it is physical."

Somehow, out of all of that, I could only focus on one word. "Buford?" I croaked.

Mom glanced down at her hands, and I chose to believe that I was just imagining the flush on her cheeks, because any other explanation didn't make sense. "Fairchild," she explained. "He offered to train me. But that's not the point—"

"I think it is, actually."

"Abigail," she chastised. "Listen to me. I don't know exactly what happened between you and Brother Zachariah—and mark my words, I will eventually—but whatever it is, it cannot be ignored. You were willing to die for him." She twisted her wedding ring around her finger before pulling it off completely and regarding it with an unfathomable expression. Her voice was nearly a whisper. "Perhaps it is better after all to be separated permanently through death than continuing to live apart."

I had to leave the room for good then before either of us broke down, and took a moment in the hallway to compose myself. I knew that if I started crying now, I wouldn't be able to stop, so I struggled to pull myself together and pressed the jade pendant to my lips until the shudders had finally ceased. When I was certain I could speak again without my voice wavering, I took a deep breath and strode forward into the kitchen to bid goodbye to Tessa and Grandma before heading back outside onto the winding path that led to Alicante.

Are you familiar with the substance known as heavenly fire, Abigail? Brother Enoch asked me, his mental voice grave. I shook my head, feeling as if I had been called to the principal's office when I'd done nothing wrong.

"Should I be familiar with it?" I countered, glancing over at the other Silent Brother standing next to Enoch. Jem had been the one to greet me at the entrance to the Basilias, and though we'd been alone as he led me through the winding corridors to the room where Enoch was waiting, I hadn't dared to speak. I was being careful—so careful—now, trying to beat down the feelings that rose up in me at the sight of him now: guilt for failing to cure him, and disgust at myself for pushing him away so callously at Cartwright Manor, even if I had done it in an attempt to help him; an attempt which had ultimately failed. He had said that he knew I hadn't meant it, that he knew I still loved him, but what if he didn't truly believe me? Was that why he seemed so distant today? My heart thudded as I stared up at him, at his closed eyes and rune-marked cheekbones. Jem, my Jem, I thought helplessly, hoping he could hear me. I love you. I never stopped loving you, not even for a second. Please believe me.

Abby, he said, his voice a familiar sigh in my mind, and I knew his answer was just between the two of us. I do believe you. Tessa explained the situation to me. Do not think that I am angry with you.

Before I could even consider an answer, he raised his voice to include Enoch, answering my previous question. Heavenly fire is the divine fire of Heaven and the power that runs through the veins of angels. It infuses all seraph blades and steles. In very rare cases, however, it has been known to inhabit the bodies of human beings.

I remembered the blazing golden light as I'd been slammed back into my body; remembered the peculiar shock when my skin had touched Jem's, and was suddenly sure I wouldn't like where this was going. I stiffened and waited for his next words.

Such possession would normally kill mundanes and cause great injury to Shadowhunters, at the very least, Jem continued, folding his hands in front of him. It occurs during direct contact with an angel.

"So when Raziel brought me back to life, he infused me with heavenly fire," I finished, and stared down at my hands. I'd thought my skin had looked more golden than usual, but hadn't put any more contemplation into it. "Is that the anomaly in my blood?"

Yes, Enoch answered this time. It is very small—a trace amount—but it is nevertheless present. Although it appears to be inflicting no damage to you, there is always a chance it may transfer to others. Until we discover a method that will eradicate it from your blood completely, you must exercise precautions with those with whom you are close.

I understood what he meant well enough: I wasn't allowed to touch anyone else, not even accidentally, until the Silent Brothers devised some sort of way to get it out of me. I didn't want to explain to Mom why I couldn't hug her when I left. Exhaling softly, I gave a short nod. "I will," I promised.

The only other recorded case of a similar situation occurred a century ago, Jem explained. Since it concerned a warlock and not a Shadowhunter, there is little information in the archives.

"Tessa," I breathed. She had told me that after Changing into the angel Ithuriel, she became feverish and ill, unable to stand the transformation. It had had a lasting effect on her abilities as well; she'd no longer been able to touch the minds of those she Changed into. "So why has the heavenly fire not affected me as it did her?"

She was consumed by it, Jem replied, and I wondered if he was recalling the memory. There is a far lesser quantity in your blood. Additionally, the nature of the opposing forces within her—angelic and demonic parentage—prevented the immediate dissolution of the heavenly fire.

I was trying hard to sound nonchalant, but I couldn't keep a hint of worry from entering my voice. "Then this won't harm me?"

It is highly unlikely, Enoch said, and my shoulders sagged in relief. However, you will need to be monitored closely in case there are any changes. In the meantime we will continue to peruse the archives for any pertinent information.

Did this "close monitoring" mean that I would get to see Jem more often? I hoped Enoch couldn't sense my sudden delight as he inclined his head and strode away, leaving Jem and I alone in the room. I wondered if he had done it on purpose—but no, that was ridiculous.

"I suppose Tessa told you that I'm leaving, then," I said quietly, staring down at my feet. Damn it, where was my newfound courage now? I knew I would regret it for days if I didn't take as many chances as I could to look at his face.

Yes, Jem replied. There was a minute pause, a beat of silence longer than I'd anticipated, and then, If I may ask, what path have you chosen to pursue?

I gingerly raised my eyes to meet his blind gaze—my heart stuttered—and I admitted, "Well, according to the Clave, I have no choice but to finish my training. I became a Shadowhunter out of necessity, and it looks like I'll have to complete my training out of necessity, too. After that…I'm thinking of going to New York and studying music. It's what I've always wanted to do."

I know, he said, and I felt a faint surprise. I had told him that, hadn't I, over a century ago. The notion that he remembered such an inconsequential fact about me nearly brought tears to my eyes. And your mother is remaining in Idris?

I nodded, grateful for a change of topic. "The Clave isn't too thrilled about it, but she has no choice now. Buford Fairchild offered to train her." I paused. "He's a descendant of Charlotte and Henry, right?"

Jem inclined his head. A great-grandson. They would be proud.

I smiled, but my stomach twisted painfully. Would Will be proud of me? What would he have said, all those years ago, if he had known "future girl" was one of his descendants? I wasn't sure whether Tessa was proud of me or not; she had certainly made it clear that she didn't agree with all of my decisions. I looked up at Jem, wanting so badly to ask him about Will, but I didn't want him to hurt him by mentioning his parabatai, not when he had lost so much already. So I opened my mouth and, predictably, said the stupidest possible thing I could have uttered: "I—I—I guess this is goodbye, then."

Jem noticeably stiffened, although his mental voice was steady as he answered, Yes, I believe it is.

I swallowed hard. "Will you visit the Los Angeles Institute?"

As often as I can. He paused, as if about to say something else, and then halted. If Silent Brothers could be flustered, I would have no doubt that he was struggling for words. Abby, I must tell you that what you attempted to do for me—the risks you took—He abruptly cut himself off, and his hand went to his eyes. He turned away from me, his shoulders hunched as if holding back some deeply buried well of emotion. I cannot properly express the gratitude I feel, and yet—

It was almost painful, hearing him try to form complete sentences, to call forth his composure again. But if I could spark such a reaction in one who had spent the past century cut off from humanity, what did that say about me? I had the horrible, panicked sense that I was running out of time to speak, that at any moment Brother Enoch would reappear and we would be separated for good, and I had to tell him I loved him before it was too late. "Jem, wait!" I said desperately, and unthinkingly reached forward to grab his wrist.

The second my fingers touched his skin, a blazing, white-hot pain shot through my hand and up my arm, causing me to jump back as if I had been electrocuted. Jem stumbled back too, and with utter shock I saw that his robes were on fire—flames licking his body, engulfing him—

I screamed, but it was too late; the fire was spreading through me, too, and now it felt like I was touching a hundred hot irons at once—I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe—

And then the agony was suddenly, simply gone, and I was left doubled over, gasping, with my hands braced against my knees. The ceiling of the Basilias with its design of healing runes spun above me, and I dimly felt my eyes roll back up into my head before everything disappeared.

"Abby? Abby, can you hear me?"

The voice was my mother's; I groaned and reluctantly opened my eyes, giving a small start when I saw her hovering over me. "Geez, Mom, could you get any closer?" I muttered, pressing my hand to my forehead and sitting up.

For a moment I forgot what had happened; I was still in the Basilias, still in my gear, only this time Mom was with me and the world outside the windows was dark. But then it all came rushing back at once—my conversation with Jem, grabbing his wrist to prevent him from leaving, the flames enveloping him and the blinding, scorching heat in my own body. I stared frantically around the room, but I was the only occupant. "Where's Jem—Brother Zachariah?" I demanded, turning to her. "He was burning—I did something to him—"

"I don't know," Mom answered, looking slightly alarmed by my vehemence. "All the Silent Brothers told me was that something happened with the heavenly fire."

I jumped to my feet, the world tilting on its axis and making me dizzy. "No," I said, shaking my head madly. "I did—I killed him—"

You did not kill him, a different voice echoed in my head, and Brother Enoch ghosted into the infirmary, closely followed by Tessa and Grandma, both of whom were pale and white with shock. In fact, you did not even harm him.

"What do you mean?" I snapped, harsher than I'd intended, impatiently shrugging off Mom's attempts to hold me back. "I saw the fire. It consumed him—"

Yes, that much is correct, Enoch replied, sounding unfazed by my hysteria. The direct contact transferred the heavenly fire in you to Zachariah. But rest assured that he will live.

"I still hurt him though, didn't I?" I searched Tessa's face for clues first and then Grandma's; both were clearly shaken. "Where is he?"

Tessa spoke this time, and her voice was thick, as if she was holding back tears. "Abby, please take our word for it that Jem is fine. Only the Silent Brothers are allowed to see him at the moment."

But I hadn't come this far, hadn't bargained with the faeries and nearly sacrificed myself just to sit back and wait to find out what had happened to him. Without another word, I broke into a run and sprinted out of the infirmary, ignoring the calls after me.

I found myself in a long, winding corridor dimly lit by witchlight, flickering shadows dancing across the floor and licking up the walls. Everything was deathly silent. Heart in my throat, I jogged down the corridor, twisting deeper into the Basilias, peering into the rooms that lined the hall but finding them all empty. Tessa had said only the Silent Brothers could visit him; I prayed that didn't mean he was back in the Silent City.

"Abby."

The voice sounded, very quietly, from behind me. But it wasn't my name that caused me to freeze—it was the voice itself, the peculiar musical quality to it, that made me stop in my tracks. A voice that I would recognize anywhere, maybe even better than my own. But up until now, I had only heard it in my mind.

I turned around, very slowly, and my eyes fell on a boy standing some ten feet away. He wore the parchment robes of the Silent Brothers, and yet he was not a Silent Brother. His hair was dark now, an inky black that was matched only by the color of the night sky, and his eyes were just a shade lighter than his hair. Two faint runes were Marked on his cheekbones, and the edge of a long-faded parabatai rune was visible above his collar. He was slim and pale, but no longer alarmingly so. And he was staring at me with an expression so utterly overwhelming that I didn't have a proper word for it.

"Jem?" I croaked. It was both a statement and a question. There was no possible way it could be him—not Zachariah, not the ethereal boy of my memories, but someone healthy and human. My panicked mind shot back to the Eidolon demon that had posed as Jem—

And then he moved forward, closer to me, and the look in his eyes was one that no demon would ever have been able to mimic. A thousand emotions were chasing themselves across his face, and his eyes looked very bright, as if he was holding back tears. "It is you," I murmured, and a shudder passed through his body at the sound of my voice. "How—?" I wanted to close the distance between us, to throw my arms around him and never let go, but I was still frozen to the spot. I couldn't even blink.

"It was the heavenly fire," Jem said, though he seemed only partly concentrating on the words. He was staring at my face, at me, with wide eyes, as if he was seeing me for the first time. "It burned the yin fen from my body and therefore undid the rituals that tied me to the Brotherhood. And only I am left." He broke our gazes and stared down at himself almost wonderingly.

It was a long time before I was able to form proper words again. "So you—you're—" I stammered, "No longer a Silent Brother? You're free?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up in something close to amusement. "I highly doubt they wish to keep me around, so yes, I am…free." He paused, as if he couldn't quite believe it himself. "I was searching for you. Brother Enoch told me you were hurt."

"Don't worry about that," I whispered. "I'm fine. Jem…" I blinked furiously, trying to chase away the blurred tears so I could see him clearly. "I love you," I blurted out. If this was all a hallucination, I might as well make the most of it.

His eyes softened, and I could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the movement of his throat as he spoke. "Wǒài nǐ, Abby," he murmured. "You have saved me. It has…it has always been you."

The sound that came out of my mouth was either a choke or a sob—maybe both—and then suddenly I was in his arms, so much warmer and softer and more human than Zachariah's had been. Jem's strength appeared to have failed him too—we were suddenly on the floor together, our bodies a tangle of arms and legs. I didn't remember falling, nor did I care. Like our very first kiss in the London Institute's carriage, I had no idea who had stepped forward first, who had initiated the first move. Maybe it was both of us.

"Abby," Jem breathed, his breath tickling my skin, and then stopped. He gave a tiny shudder and closed his eyes, as if he couldn't believe it, as if he was trying to pull himself back together. "May I—"

"Yes," I whispered, without knowing what he was about to ask. "Anything."

I saw him swallow, and then he raised his hand to mine, trembling slightly. He was so close that I could feel our distance like a physical ache, and I had to force myself to keep still. Jem's eyes were wide as his fingers brushed my skin, very lightly, his hand cradling the shape of my face. I automatically leaned into his touch, my lips parting, and he exhaled shakily. Slowly, carefully, he touched my lips, my eyes, my face, as if he was a blind man seeing for the first time. I was so warm that I felt as if I was about to burst into flames; the fire in my veins burned hotter than ever before.

"Kiss me," I gasped, the words tumbling from my lips before I could stop them. We were so close, and yet so far apart—his touch was feather-soft, but I couldn't stand it. "Jem, please."

I almost expected him to refuse, or at the very least, slowly lean forward—but I was not expecting the tenderness of his previous touches to translate into something wild. His arms tightened around me, pulling me so close to him that his grip was almost physically painful, so that I could hear and feel his breath coming fast and loud against my skin and his strong heart pounding away in his chest. I reached out blindly for him and our mouths finally met in a desperate, ragged kiss. I heard him gasp against my lips, and Jem placed one hand on the back of my head so he could draw me closer to him, the other wrapping around my waist as his fingers splayed against my shirt, bunching up the material. For someone who was a hundred years out of practice, he was quite adept at kissing.

When we broke apart, breathing hard, there were tears clinging to my eyelashes but I didn't care. Jem was shaking madly, his arms still tight around me. "It will take some time, I think, for the humanity to completely return to me," he said, sounding breathless, and gave me a hesitant, crooked smile that was so Jem-like I had to restrain myself from kissing him again. He might have been the one coming back to humanity, but I hadn't quite dwelled on what a healthy Jem would mean for me.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, and he chuckled gently, catching my wrist in his own.

"Do not be sorry, Abby," Jem murmured. "I am just…overwhelmed. Brother Enoch warned me that this would be a gradual process. For so long, I was existing, but not truly living. It was like being encased in ice. I was not allowed to grow, to change, as Will and Tessa were. As you might imagine, it is a rare Silent Brother indeed who chooses this path at such a young page. I am both one hundred years old and seventeen years old."

I pulled back an inch to stare at his face. There were golden flecks in his eyes now, and a single streak of silver in his hair—the last remnant of the yin fen. "After all I tried to do—all of it failed, except for this," I whispered. "Something I didn't even anticipate."

"The Angel works in strange ways," he said, looking thoughtful. "After you have seen all that I have, you cannot deny the existence of a deity. I did not truly believe in God until I became a Silent Brother."

I paused, lowering my head to stare at our intertwined hands. Jem's long fingers were holding mine with a grip that wouldn't have been possible when he was ill. "And what about Will?" I asked haltingly. "What do you believe happened to him?"

Jem's mouth twitched upwards in a slight but wistful smile. "I shall see him again someday," he replied, his voice taking on an edge of almost hopeful sadness. "My faith in that has never wavered." He followed my gaze down to our linked fingers, his thumb catching on the Carstairs ring. "You still wear it," he murmured.

"Yes," I said, baffled. "I haven't taken the ring or the pendant off. Do—do you want them back?"

Jem's eyes widened slightly. "No, of course not," he replied hurriedly. "They are yours now. It was never conditional. I fear you may not have understood that."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"No matter what happened to me, I always wished for you to have them as a symbol of what we once shared," Jem whispered. His eyes were locked on mine. "I gave them to you when I believed I would die. It was…foolish of me, I see that now, to ask you to marry me when I knew we would have only a few months together, if that. But I was selfish, and I thought they would be a reminder of me when I was gone and you were back home. I asked you to throw your life away for me, but you were never obligated to wear my father's ring or my mother's pendant."

My voice was hoarse when I answered. "Never think that I was throwing my life away, Jem, because I wasn't," I said firmly. "It was my choice to marry you, and I would never have hidden the jewelry, even if I lived to be a hundred years old myself. But I…when Tessa told me about Changing into Ithuriel, she said that she burned with heavenly fire, too. If she had touched you then, you would have been cured."

"Yes, I believe so," Jem said quietly.

"If you had known, then, would you have chosen it?"

I expected Jem to consider it, to word his answer in a way that didn't hurt my feelings, but he spoke as if he already knew what he was going to say, and I realized too late that he had come to this conclusion long before I had, that he already knew the answer. "No, I would not have done it, Abby," he whispered. "I would have waited for this. For you. And I will still wait for you, if you…if you still wish for us to be together. If you still want me."

"I will always want you, Jem Carstairs," I murmured, and rested my forehead against his.

One Month Later

I now pronounce James Carstairs and Abigail Cartwright man and wife, Brother Enoch announced, and the Accords Hall rang with applause. Jem placed a light hand on my waist and drew me close, his dark eyes burning with emotion, and I stood on my toes to kiss him as I wrapped my arms around his neck. His short, almost surprised intake of breath made me smile against his lips, deepening the kiss for one tantalizing second before we broke apart.

And that was it. We were finally married, after everything we had gone through, after all the time that had passed. When I turned to look at the row of guests, Jem pulling me close against his side, I marveled at just how different this was from what I'd envisioned the day he had proposed to me. We weren't in a church in London, but in the Accords Hall in Alicante; the witnesses weren't made up of Will and Sophie and Charlotte and Henry, but of Mom and Tessa and Grandma and Magnus. But most of all, Jem wasn't silver-haired and ill anymore; he was dark-haired and healthy, with an entire life left ahead of him. While we had been reciting the marriage vows and drawing runes on each other, I hadn't been able to take my eyes off of him, and silently kept thanking the Angel that somehow, fate had finally turned in Jem's favor. And I couldn't believe that he still wanted to marry me; that whenever I looked in his eyes I still saw the same tenderness and dizzying love that I had in 1878.

The days leading up to the wedding had been the worst—I'd barely left Jem's side, terrified that something would take him away from me again, this time for good. And even now that all was said and done, and I bore the Wedded Union rune on my skin and had signed my name as Abigail Carstairs, I still couldn't quite comprehend that we were now married. I had a feeling it would take some time to get used to the notion.

But there were worse things to get used to, and I was counting the seconds until our wedding night. I had been careful around Jem, allowing him to slowly regain his humanity piece by piece. I knew he was still overwhelmed at times, even if he didn't outwardly show it, and the last thing I wanted was to push him too far too soon. Our kisses had been slow and gentle at first as he gradually became used to touch again, but I could tell that he was beginning to grow impatient with the pace as much as I was. Even as inexperienced as I was, I knew that we would consummate our marriage as soon as possible. Jem might have been a Silent Brother for a century, but he was still a man.

After the ceremony, Magnus had agreed—after much cajoling by Tessa—to create a Portal that would take us to Shanghai, where we would spend our honeymoon. While we wouldn't be staying at the Institute there—Jem told me that the memories he had of the place were still painful for him—I knew that he wished to return there, even if it was just for an afternoon. I was looking forward to him showing me around the city he'd been born and raised in, as different as it undoubtedly was today. We would have two weeks to ourselves before I was called back to Los Angeles to complete my training. While Jem was, technically, no longer an active Shadowhunter—the Clave had agreed he'd served them more than enough over the years—he would still accompany me to the Institute and assist in my studies. As for what would happen after that, I had no idea, though I had never quite given up on my dream of New York and Juilliard. Jem had made it quite clear that he would follow me anywhere I wanted to go. "I have seen enough of the world, Abby," he'd told me when I questioned him. "Now it is your turn."

Remembering the soft smile he had given me as he spoke, I turned my head up to him as we descended the stairs, interlocking our fingers together. As if he could sense my gaze, Jem glanced down at me and I could see his pupils dilate. He bent down to press his lips to my hair just before we reached the others, and my heart stuttered. I didn't think it would ever stop doing that whenever he touched me. I love you, I thought, for the thousandth time that day.

My mother reached us first; she had started crying before I'd even walked up the aisle, and unfortunately didn't seem close to stopping anytime soon. "You look so beautiful, Abby," she sniffled, throwing her arms around me. I cast Grandma a helpless glance over her shoulder, and to my relief she came to my rescue, gently drawing Mom away from me. "Careful, Grace, you don't want to ruin her dress," she said, and thankfully my mother obeyed.

Tessa was up next; she wasn't crying, but her gray eyes were bright and shining as she took both of my hands in her own, Will's anniversary bracelet gleaming on her slim wrist. "Congratulations, Abby," she said fervently. "You and Jem have waited for this day for so long. I cannot think of anyone who deserves happiness and peace more than the two of you."

"Thank you, Tess," I replied, squeezing her hand. "And thank you for the heels—they fit perfectly."

She gave a watery smile. "I thought they might."

The pair of gold heels I wore had once belonged to Lucie, and had been worn on her own wedding day. Tessa had been gracious enough to allow me to wear them in turn. My dress had been purchased from a local shop here in Alicante, and its delicate threads glittered like the sun. My hair was twisted up into an elegant bun like the ones Sophie used to weave, and the diamond earrings hanging from my ears belonged to Tessa herself.

A loud meow sounded from under my feet, and I glanced down to see Church winding around my dress, a gold ribbon tied around his collar. I laughed; it figured that the cat was still alive and well a hundred years later—whatever experiments had been done to him had apparently made him immortal. It wasn't at all surprising that, despite his vast life experience, he was still every bit as grumpy as I remembered.

"Oh, Church," Tessa sighed, and gathered him up in her arms. "You're just happy Jem is back."

"That makes two of us," I remarked, and we shared a grin.

It was then that I noticed the figure leaning against the wall at the back of the chamber; a figure who had most certainly not been there before. The smile slowly faded from my lips as I stared at him: a boy who couldn't be more than a year or two older than me, with messy blond hair and dark eyes. His face was turned towards me, and his arms were crossed over his chest.

"I'll—I'll be back," I choked to Tessa, and with a quick glance over at Jem, who was talking with Magnus, I gathered up my dress and hurried across the chamber to him, afraid that if I took my eyes off him he would disappear—

But he was still as corporeal as ever when I reached him. He was dressed in Shadowhunter gear and had a rugged look to him, as if he had just stepped out of a battle. With my heels on, I was nearly as tall as he was. "Dad," I breathed. I was blinking rapidly, thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me. "How—how are you here?"

"I have always been here, Abby," my father said. "I have always been beside you."

"But—I—why—"

He laughed so loudly I almost expected the others to hear him. "I couldn't miss my daughter's wedding, could I?" he replied. "I wanted to tell you how proud I am. You are a better Shadowhunter than I ever was."

"Dad—"

"I mean it." His face suddenly grew serious. "I cannot spend much time here, Abby. I have already spent far too long in this form. I just wanted to speak to you directly, for you to know that you have never been alone."

I wanted to reach out and touch him, but part of me knew that my hands would only meet empty air. "I think I always knew that," I admitted.

He smiled, and his face was a cross between a handsome teenager and someone far older. Like Jem was now. "The others miss you," he said. "They send their love."

"The—the others?" I stammered, though it was a rhetorical question. Will's face popped into my mind. "They're watching, too?"

"As they have always been." Dad's eyes flickered to something behind me, and I saw his face relax. "He will be good to her," he mused. Turning, I saw that he was watching Mom and Buford Fairchild, whose heads were bent together as they whispered to each other. Buford had one hand resting on her shoulder.

I raised my eyebrows. "But there's nothing between them. She never even looked at another man when I was growing up."

"No, but I wish she had," Dad said plainly. "Grace deserves someone who will not rush blindly into danger as I did. But she knows this. I have spoken to her, too."

I blinked. "You have?"

"Yes. Why do you think she accepted your marriage so easily?" A tiny smirk appeared on his face, and he straightened up, his form beginning to flicker at the edges. "And now it is time for you to begin again. Goodbye, Abby."

I watched in dismay as he began to fade away. "Dad—" I protested, not wanting him to leave, but it was too late: he had already disappeared.

I sensed Jem's presence behind me even before he took my hand and raised it to his lips. I leaned back into his embrace, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. "Is it time to leave?" I asked.

"Not quite yet," Jem replied. "Come with me. Keep your eyes closed."

Confused, I did as he asked, allowing him to guide me forward. The sound of chatter slowly faded away as he led me into what I assumed was the antechamber, placing a steadying hand on my back as we descended a set of stairs. He moved at my pace, never speeding up or betraying any sign of impatience. I supposed that he knew my already poor balance wasn't made any better by my current footwear.

When I couldn't contain my curiosity any longer, I finally said, "Jem, where are you taking me?"

"I want to show you something," Jem replied just as we came to a stop at last. I felt him usher me inside a room and close the door behind us. "Do you remember the day Gabriel Lightwood burst inside the Institute and told us that Benedict had turned into a worm?"

"Vividly," I said dryly.

Jem laughed softly. "Then you recall me telling you that I wished to show you something."

I nodded. "Unfortunately, you never got the chance."

"Well, I have the chance now. Open your eyes, Abby," Jem said, and I did, stifling a gasp at the sight before me.

We were in a large gallery—not the size of the Accords Hall, but large enough to comfortably fit at least a hundred people—and musical instruments were scattered throughout the hall, from a church-organ to a grand piano in the corner. A stained-glass ceiling sent a kaleidoscope of colors whirling across the floor, red and green and blue. I slowly pivoted in the center of the room, trying to take it all in. "What is this place?" I asked.

"The Clave stores their instruments here between celebrations," Jem explained. "Only a select few others know of it, Silent Brothers included." His mouth quirked upwards, and my heart began to beat faster when I saw he was holding a violin in his hand. "I came here on occasion when I had business in Idris," he said, his eyes taking on a faraway look as he twirled the bow in his fingers. "After Will and Tessa left the London Institute, I had nowhere else I could play the violin." He glanced up at me almost hesitantly. "I wrote you a song," he confessed. "My music began to change shortly after your arrival, and I am ashamed it took me so long to realize why. I wished to play this for you on our wedding night, but I was never given the opportunity."

"Jem, I…" I began, and then trailed off. I didn't know what to say. I wasn't even sure I could speak. Luckily Jem seemed to know that my silence was a stunned one, and for the first time since I had seen him again, he raised the bow to his violin and began to play.

The melody began softly, sweetly; Jem's eyes drifted shut and it was as if he was harnessing the music instead of playing it himself; his fingers moved across the strings so deftly that I couldn't keep track of which notes he was playing. The music rose and fell and then rose again, its tempo beginning to quicken and rise in intensity. I was riveted to the spot, my mouth open, unable to move even if I'd wanted to. The world seemed to spin around me, empty of anyone but Jem, and I felt as if he was giving his very soul to me, as if he was playing his very self in the music—

And then it stopped abruptly, the note cut off instead of naturally fading into silence. It took me a long time to gather my composure again and choke out, "Why—why did you stop? That's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."

"Because," Jem said, with a beatific smile, "Our story is not finished yet."

I wiped my eyes, still breathless, and managed to gasp, "I—I have something for you, too." Without waiting for his response, I walked over and took a seat at the piano, running my fingers over the keys. I hadn't played Jem's theme in so long—not since I'd left 1878—but there would never be a better opportunity to play it than today.

The first notes were shaky, and I feared that I had forgotten it—but then I felt Jem slide next to me on the bench, our knees brushing together, and it all came back to me in a whirl of memories. So, keeping my eyes fixed on the keys, I played the song I had unconsciously written for him. I played the fear I had felt when I'd first arrived in the past, and Jem being the first one to comfort me. I played the horror of his illness, and the first time we had kissed, and the night we had made love. I played of his proposal and the stolen kisses in the Institute corridors, of the summer nights spent sleeping side by side. And lastly, I played of my return to 1978 and my joy that he was still living, albeit in a changed form, and the emotions that had run through me when he'd been transformed; emotions that could not be properly expressed in words. When I finished, my fingers were sore and I felt a slight jolt as I was pulled back to the present. After a moment of silence, I hesitantly peered over at Jem.

I had never seen him cry before—not properly, anyway—but there was no other word to explain what he was doing now. His cheeks were wet, his chest heaving, and the look in his eyes was so intense I couldn't hold it for more than a brief moment. "Abby," he murmured, opening his mouth and then closing it again. He was lost for words.

"Does that mean you like it?" I asked shyly, trying to hide my grin.

Jem didn't even bother answering that—he pulled me toward him and kissed me until I was dizzy and delirious. We would likely have gone even farther if I hadn't taken my lips off of his long enough to whisper, "I think I finally understand what it all means. What I'm supposed to do."

"And what is that?" Jem asked. He was tracing circles around my bare throat, and I shivered, wanting very badly to be alone in a bedroom with the entire night ahead of us, but I had to concentrate before I forgot how to speak entirely.

"Everyone is asking me what I'm going to do with my future, if I want to remain a Shadowhunter or not," I said, pulling back just enough so that I could meet his eyes. "But I'm realizing now that it doesn't matter. Nothing matters, as long as you and I are together."

So, I'm aware that I have a lot to answer for when it comes to my erratic (at best) updating schedule for the past twenty-four months. I intended to finish this story in 2014, and it's been two years since then. I don't have any excuses for that, and I am truly sorry. Not to mention the fact that it's been over a year since my last update, and I'm sure a lot of people thought Chapter 39 was the end. Again, that's my own fault, and to the people who are still here, thank you so much.

That aside, I'd like to say that this is definitively the end of Clockwork Queen and Abby's story. The whole thing was really a labor of love and, although I am no longer an active part of the Shadowhunter fandom, I can honestly say that this story is one of my greatest achievements, fanfiction or not. I've met so many amazing people over the past three years, and I would never have finished this without your support. I will admit that I considered writing a sequel, but I don't think that would work for a number of reasons—the first and foremost being that Abby and Jem deserve to have a quiet life after all they've been through (well, as quiet as life can be when you have one foot in the Shadow World) and I simply don't have the heart to throw anything else at them. You're free to imagine what happens down the line, though! (Personally, I like to think they eventually have a daughter, Violet Theresa, and two sons, Jonathan William and Jonah Maxwell).

But with that being said, I have written a number of "extras"—deleted and additional scenes—that I've included in a separate story, which is entitled Clockwork Kingdom, and can be found via my profile. I may add more scenes from time to time; I'm not refusing to ever write about Abby and Jem again!

And now with everything said and done…I think that's it. On a closing note, I want to give a heartfelt thank you to everyone who has read, favorited, and reviewed this story. I love you all.