Invisible string~ Matthew Fairchild {1}

One

Amelia was crouching on a rooftop in London, a dagger in each hand, taking in the scenery. It wasn't particularly beautiful; empty bottles of gin littered the streets, and the sky wasn't visible as it was in Idris. The once beautiful sky was polluted with grey clouds, as a clear night in London was about as rare as an honest politician or an interesting lecture on plaiting bacteria from Christopher.

She jumped when she heard a shout, a sound she could recognize from anywhere. It was the voice of Matthew Fairchild. Out of the corner of her eye, Amelia saw a dark figure jump from the rooftop: James Herondale, Matthew's parabatai.

After a moments hesitation, Amelia followed, soaring in the air for a moment before hitting the ground with a jolt and nearly tripping over her skirts. She heard a large thud from down the alley. She whipped around in a frenzy. Could it be a demon? It had been nearly a year since the group had encountered one, and she wasn't exactly dressed in gear. Far from it, in fact. She was currently wearing a new dress she had been gifted by her cousin Anna. She knew she would never hear the end of it if the fine dress was ruined.

A demon emerged from the shadows. Amelia cursed under her breath, gripping her twin daggers tighter as she stared blankly at the demon.

The demon had a ribbed, grey body, a sharp, curving beak lined with hooked teeth, and splayed, paw like feet that sharp, knife-like claws protruded from. It was a Deumas demon. If Amelia remembered correctly, they exploded when killed, leaving behind a slime of devastation.

This is going to be fun, she thought grimly. It seemed incredibly typical that the first demon anyone had encountered in nearly a year would be one of the messiest, most dangerous demons known.

The Deumas demon roared, making a beeline for James, who prepared to throw a knife. The demon's eyes fixed on him, lighting up in recognition. Except most demons couldn't recognize an orange, much less an individual Shadowhunter. Lesser demons were nothing more than cruel creatures driven by pure hatred and sometimes a warlock or greater demon.

Amelia began to rush towards James, but he had already slipped into the shadows. He was still visible, but his skin had lost the little color it had, and he seemed more blurry. She shrugged it off, figuring it to be a trick of the light, a hallucination.

Amelia was too focused on her cousin to notice her other friends approaching, and Thomas pulling the demon off of James's body. Behind Amelia's brother and parabatai was Christopher with his bow, and Matthew armed with his seraph blade.

The demon hit the ground with a thud just as James threw both of his knives. One landed in the demon's forehead, the other in its neck.

"Matthew-" James said, right before the demon exploded in a spectacular fashion, drenching Amelia and her companions in Ichor and the Goo of Devastation.

"How- wha-?" Christopher stuttered, as if waking up from a fever dream covered in disgusting demon remains.

"You mean how is it possible that we finally tracked down the last demon in London and it was also the most disgusting?" James asked. "Ours is not to question why, Christopher."

Amelia glared at James, looking down at her ruined dress. It would surely be a conversation piece when she returned home. She looked around at her friends: Thomas was scrubbing at himself with a dirty handkerchief, James was currently staring blankly at Thomas, and Christopher still looked thoroughly confused.

Matthew's seraph blade was nearly extinguished and drowned in the ichor. He tossed it to the ground. "This is an outrage," he said. "Do you know how much I spent on this waistcoat?"

Amelia scowled. "This dress was a gift from Anna! Do you know what will happen to me if she knows? She will never let me live it down! She will hold it over my head until the day I die!"