I assume the demon who identified your grandfather was the Cerberus demon in the greenhouse in Chiswick, said Jem. James didn’t contradict him; it was close enough. It could be that this demon, having been bound to Benedict and Tatiana, had heard your name and said to you whatever it felt could hurt you most. Demons are deceptive. It might not be the truth.

“But what does it mean if it is true?” James whispered. “If I am descended from a Prince of Hell?”

It means nothing about who you are, said Jem. Look at your mother, your sister. Would you claim some flaw in them? You are your mother and father’s son, James. That is what matters. What has always mattered.

“You are being kind,” said James. “Kinder than the Clave would be, if it turns out to be true.”

Jem took James’s face in his hands. His touch was cool, as always, and his face was young and old at the same time. How could he look no older than James and at the same time, ageless?

If you saw humanity as I can see it, Uncle Jem said. There is very little brightness and warmth in the world for me. There are only four flames, in the whole world, that burn fiercely enough for me to feel something like the person I was. Your mother, your father, Lucie, and you. You love, and tremble, and burn. Do not let those who cannot see the truth tell you who you are. You are the flame that cannot be put out. You are the star that cannot be lost. You are who you have always been, and that is enough and more than enough. Anyone who looks at you and sees darkness is blind.

He let go of James abruptly, as if he had said too much.

It is not enough, is it? Jem said, his silent tone somehow resigned. The uncertainty has been planted. You feel you must know.

“Yes,” James said. “I am sorry.”

Very well, said Jem. I will call on an old friend, on one condition. You do not mention this again, to anyone, until we hear from him.

James hesitated. He was keeping so many secrets already—secrets for Grace, the secret of the attack in Chelsea, the secret of Emmanuel Gast. Before he could reply, though, the sound of clattering wheels echoed from outside; there was a crash, and James heard the front doors of the Institute fly open.

He raced to the window. Jem was beside him instantly, noiseless as a ghost.