The Mortal Instruments (Book 1-3)

19. The Demon Abbadon

Jace scratched the side of his neck. "Somehow, I thought it would be bigger."

"That's what she said—"

Isabelle immediately cuffed Daphne, shutting her up. The girl let out a yelp of protest, scowling as she rubbed her head. 

 "It's a perfectly nice size." Clary said indignantly. The Cup was about the size of a wineglass, but it looked much heavier. Power thrummed through it, so much so that the others could feel it even from where they stood. Even so—

"Oh, it's big enough," Jace said patronizingly, "but somehow I was expecting something...you know." He gestured with his hands, indicating something roughly the size of a house cat.

"It's the Mortal Cup, Jace, not the Mortal Toilet Bowl." Daphne deadpanned.

"Are we done now?" Isabelle said. "Can we go?"

Dorothea had her head cocked to one side, her beady eyes bright and interested. "But it's damaged!" She exclaimed. "How did that happen?"

"Damaged?" Clary looked at the Cup in bewilderment.

"Here," said the witch, "let me show you," and she took a step toward Clary, holding her long, red-nailed hands out for the Cup.

In a flash, Jace was standing in front of Clary, his hand held out to stop Dorothea, left wrapped around the seraph blade at his belt.

"No one touches the Mortal Cup apart for us." His eyes were narrowed, his posture defensive.

Dorothea looked at her for a moment, and that same strange blankness returned to her eyes. "Now," she said, "let's not be hasty. Valentine would be displeased if anything were to happen to the Cup."

With a soft snick, the sword at Jace's waist came free. The point hovered just below Dorothea's chin. Jace's look was steady. "I don't know what this is about," he said, "but we're leaving."

The old woman's eyes gleamed. "Of course, Shadowhunter." She said, a malicious grin on her face. She backed up to the curtained wall. "Would you like to use the Portal?"

Daphne's eyes widened. "Don't touch that—!" She snapped. Her wrist shot out, but it was too late; Dorothea jerked down the curtains hanging along the wall with an evil cackle. They fell with a sound of soft collapse. The Portal behind them was open.

Alec sucked in his breath. "What is that?" Daphne had caught only a glimpse of what was visible through the door—red roiling clouds shot through with black lightning, and a terrible dark, rushing shape that hurtled toward them—when Jace shouted for them to get down. He dropped to the floor, yanking Clary, who was closest, down with him. Daphne quickly lunged back, and watched as the rushing dark thing strike Madame Dorothea, who screamed, thrusting her arms upward. 

Rather than knocking her down, the dark thing wrapped her like a shroud, its blackness seeming to seep into her like ink sinking into paper. Her back humped monstrously, her whole shape elongating as she rose and rose into the air, her bulk stretching and reforming.

Daphne grimaced. "Well that looks pleasant."

Behind her Jace whispered something in disbelief. Next to him, Alec in a choked voice said, "But you said there wasn't much demonic activity—you said the levels were low!"

"They were low," Jace growled.

"Your version of low must be different from mine!" Alec snapped, as the thing that had once been Dorothea howled and twisted. It seemed to be spreading, humped and knobbled and grotesquely misshapen—

Jace stood, pulling Clary after him. Isabelle and Alec stumbled to their feet, gripping their weapons. The hand holding Isabelle's whip was trembling slightly.