Prologue

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December, 1903
Tatiana Blackthorn stood in the ashes of Blackthorn  Manor in Idris, her thoughts drifting morbidly towards her son Jesse once again. It had been so long since his death and yet she missed him everyday, as well as her husband and father. Three of the most important people in her entire life were dead because of the bastards running the London Institute. They had no right to be in charge, Will Herondale and his prissy little warlock, muddying up the pure Shadowhunter blood. Not that Tatiana had much love for anyone in the world of the Nephillim, not even her adopted daughter Grace.

Grace had given Tatiana's life some semblance of meaning, for a while. But then, as everything else in the world did, that sense of meaning, too, faded. As soon as she had found out about Grace's tragic love affair with the Herondale boy she could not condone the potential feeling of tenderness she had towards the girl. The Herondales. The Lightwoods. The Fairchilds. By the Angel, even the Carstairs were a disgrace to everything the Nephillim were and stood for.

Tatiana wasn't trying to lie to herself. No, she knew that she could be imprisoned for the lengths she went to to bring back her beloved son. But this was different. Jesse would have dedicated his life to upholding the sanctity of being a Shadowhunter, if only he had gotten the opportunity. Of course, he was cruelly ripped away before he had even truly escaped the boyhood that still clung to the cheekbones and lanky form of his ethereal self. Alas, Tatiana knew what still needed to be done. The Clave could not stop her from doing everything she could to bring back the light of her life. And she has some help that they could never hope to stop. She looked approvingly at the pentagram she had just finished drawing on the ruined carpet and picked up a nearby spellbook to finish summoning Azazel.

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