Cecily began to fight her way through the crowd toward them. Halfway there she dropped her dagger, picking up a long-handled axe that one of the automatons had dropped. It was surprisingly light in her grasp, and made a very satisfying crunch when she drove the blade into the chest of a mechanical demon that had reached to seize her, sending the automaton spinning backward.
And then she was leaping over a crumpled pile of fallen automatons, most of which had been hacked apart, their limbs scattered—no doubt the source of the hand that had seized her ankle. At the far end of the pile was Bridget, whirling this way and that as she beat back the tide of clockwork monsters threatening to advance on Charlotte and Henry. Bridget spared Cecily only a glance as the younger girl darted by her and dropped to her knees beside the head of the Institute.
“Charlotte,” Cecily whispered.
Charlotte looked up. Her face was white with shock, her pupils so wide, they seemed to have swallowed the light brown of her eyes. Her arms were wrapped around Henry, his head lolling back against her fragile shoulder, her hands locked about his chest. He seemed entirely limp.
“Charlotte,” Cecily said again. “We cannot win this fight. We must retreat.”
“I cannot move Henry!”
“Charlotte—he is past our help now.”
“No, he’s not,” Charlotte said wildly. “I can still feel his pulse.”
Cecily reached out a hand. “Charlotte—”
“I am not mad! He is alive! He is alive, and I will not leave him!”
“Charlotte, the baby,” Cecily said. “Henry would want you to save yourselves.”
Something flickered in Charlotte’s eyes—she tightened her grip on Henry. “Without Henry we cannot leave,” she said. “We cannot make a Portal. We are trapped in this mountain.”
Cecily’s breath went out of her in a little gasp. She had not thought of that. Her heart pounded a sharp message through her veins: We’re going to die. We are all going to die. Why had she chosen this? My God, what had she done? She raised her head, saw a familiar flash of blue and black at the corner of her vision—Will? The blue reminded her of something—of sparks rising above the smoke—
“Bridget,” she said. “Get Magnus.”
Bridget shook her head. “If I leave you, you will be dead in five minutes,” she said. As if to illustrate her point, she brought her blade down on a charging automaton as if she were splitting kindling. The creature fell to both slides, sliced down the middle in two equal parts.
“You don’t understand,” Cecily said. “We need Magnus—”
“I’m here.” And he was, appearing above Cecily so suddenly and soundlessly that she stifled a scream. There was a long cut along his collar, shallow but bloody. Warlocks bled as red as humans did, it seemed. His gaze fell on Henry, and a terrible, fathomless sadness crossed his face. It was the look of a man who had seen hundreds die, who had lost and lost and lost and was facing loss once more. “God,” he said. “He was a good man.”
“No,” Charlotte said. “I am telling you, I felt his pulse—do not speak of him as if he is gone already—”
Magnus dropped to his knees and reached a hand out to touch Henry’s eyelids. Cecily wondered if he planned to say “ave atque vale,” the requisite farewell for Shadowhunters, but instead he jerked his hand back, his eyes narrowing. A moment later his fingers were against Henry’s throat. He muttered something in a language Cecily didn’t understand, then slid closer, his hand rising to cup Henry’s jaw. “Slow,” he said, half to himself, “slow, but his heart is beating.”
Charlotte took a ragged breath. “I told you.”
Magnus’s eyes flicked up to her. “You did. I’m sorry for not listening.” His gaze dropped back down to Henry. “Now be quiet, everyone.” He raised the hand that was not pressed to Henry’s throat, and snapped his fingers. Instantly the air around them seemed to thicken and warp like old glass. A solid dome had appeared over them, trapping Henry, Charlotte, Cecily, and Magnus in a shimmering bubble of silence. Through it Cecily could still see the room around them, the battling automatons, Bridget laying waste right and left with her black-smeared blade. Inside, all was quiet.
She looked quickly at Magnus. “You’ve made a protective wall.”
“Yes.” His attention was on Henry. “Very good.”
“Couldn’t you just make one around all of us and keep it that way? Keep us all protected?”
Magnus shook his head. “Magic takes energy, little one. I could hold such a protection together for only a short time, and when it fell apart, they would fall upon us.” He leaned forward, murmuring something, and a spark of blue leaped from his fingertips to Henry’s skin. The pale blue fire seemed to burrow in, striking a sort of fire through Henry’s veins, for as if Magnus had touched a match to one end of a line of gunpowder, trails of fire burned up his arms, tracing his neck and face. Charlotte, holding him, gasped as his body spasmed, his head jerking forward.
Henry’s eyes flew open. They were tinted with the same blue fire that burned through his veins. “I—” His voice was rough. “What happened?”
Charlotte burst into tears. “Henry! Oh, my darling Henry.” She clutched at him and kissed him frantically, and he threaded his fingers into her hair and held her there, and both Magnus and Cecily looked away.
When at last Charlotte let Henry go, still stroking his hair and murmuring, he struggled to sit up, and slumped back down. His eyes met Magnus’s. Magnus looked down and away, his eyelids drooping with exhaustion and something else. Something that made Cecily’s heart tighten.
“Henry,” Charlotte said, sounding a little frightened, “is the pain bad? Can you stand?”
“There’s little pain,” Henry said. “But I cannot stand. I cannot feel my legs at all.”
Magnus was still staring at the floor. “I am sorry,” he said. “There are some things magic cannot do, some injuries it cannot touch.”
The look on Charlotte’s face was awful to see. “Henry—”
“I can still make a Portal,” Henry interrupted. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth; he wiped it away with his sleeve. “We can escape this place. We must retreat.” He tried to turn, to look about him, and winced, whitening. “What is happening?”
“We are far outnumbered,” said Cecily. “Everyone is fighting for their lives—”
“For their lives, but not to win?” Henry asked.
Magnus shook his head. “We cannot win. There is no hope. There are too many of them.”
“And Tessa and Will?”
“Will found her,” Cecily said. “They are here, in the room.”
Henry closed his eyes, breathed in hard, then opened them again. The blue tinge had already begun to fade. “Then we must make a Portal. But first we must get everyone’s attention—separate them from the automatons so that we are not all sucked through the Portal to the Institute together. The last thing we need is any of those Infernal Devices winding up in London.” He looked at Magnus. “Reach into the pocket of my coat.”