xviii. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

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(trickery and lies)

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(trickery and lies)


HIGHGATE MANSION WAS AN IMPENETRABLE FORTRESS of hewn stone and curling vines. It looked eerily mesmerising underneath the pasty glow of the moon and the thick fog that consumed London like a large grey ash cloud. 

As Jem helped me out of the carriage I warily eyed the green ferns that found their way through the crevices of the brick wall surrounding the mansion. An old, iron gate prevented any curious wanderers from entering the land on which the colossal building sat upon. It loomed proudly, with only it's dark mansard roof visible to the three of us.

''Well,'' Jem began unsurely. ''Should we go inside?''

''No, I find standing here in the freezing chill rather pleasant- yes we should.'' I deadpanned. 

Will snorted.

''Apologies Jem- I,'' 

''Forget about it, this evening has been-'' Jem paused and Will and I simultaneously flushed. ''Stressful.''

I said nothing. Jem's normally indifferent tone seemed almost warning, as if he too, knew what occurred between Will and I was illicit and shouldn't've taken place. We weren't good for each other. We were both raging fires, only adding more fuel to each others violent infernos. It wasn't only Jem who'd think this, I knew without a doubt every other member of the Institute would too. Will and I too alike, far too alike. 

Jem took our tenuous silence as an agreement and stepped forward to trace an opening rune on the iron gates. They shrieked loudly as they opened. Will's eyes were feverish as he muttered, ''Michael,'' under his breath. His seraph blade lit up like a beacon as I drew Lazarus. 

As I pressed on the front doors, oddly enough they swung inward- unlocked. I glanced at the two boys who's spines straightened, now on edge. 

From the current state of disrepair the mansion was in, it was clear it had been built a while ago. The cracked alabaster staircase seemed to have once been polished to perfection and the gilded stain glass windows, despite missing panes, cast dancing colours across the tiled floor.

''This can't be right,'' Jem whispered. ''It looks as if no ones stepped foot in here for fifty years.''

''Something's wrong- we should leave. Now.'' I said firmly. The hairs on the nape of my neck had risen as creaks sounded above.

Will and I instinctively inched closer until we were back to back- our preferred fighting stance. New energy flooded my bones as I felt the warmth of Will's back hit mine. Jem hovered behind us, eyes scanning the open doorways. 

Suddenly a shuttering cackle echoed from the top of the staircase. I whirled around, my grip on Lazarus tightening. There on the top cracked step stood Mrs Dark. A shapeless dark robe consumed her as the Warlock swung her sisters severed head giddily. 

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 → Will Herondale¹Where stories live. Discover now