“No,” Lucie said, “he isn’t dead, not the way you think. He can be saved, he can be brought back—”

Belial chuckled. “I must say, this is very entertaining.”

Lucie looked at Cordelia, wide-eyed and beseeching. “Daisy, listen to me—”

“No.” Lilith’s voice was low, throaty; it echoed in Cordelia’s mind. “Listen to me, paladin. Rise and strike down Belial. If Lucie Herondale stands in your way, kill her, too.”

Cordelia took a lurching step forward. Blood dripped down her chin. Her lip felt torn open, but the pain was a distant buzz. Far more intense was the pain of resisting Lilith’s will. It felt as if her veins were burning. “Lucie,” she gasped. “You have to get out of the way—”

“I won’t,” Lucie said defiantly. “Daisy, I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Energy was gathering in Cordelia’s hands, wrapping them around the hilt of Cortana. Her arms ached with the effort of holding herself back; she knew if she let her control slip for even a moment, she would run Lucie through. “Lucie, please, for the love of the Angel, get out of the way—”

Belial snarled something in a language Cordelia had never heard; his free hand went to his belt, pulling the Colt pistol free. He aimed it at Lilith, his upper lip curled back, and pulled the trigger.

The hammer came down with a dry click.

Lilith laughed. “A gun?” she said. “Beliya’al, have you become foolish, demented in your old age? You, who brought nations into darkness? Shall I finally be able to tell the infernal realms you have gone mad, lost even the image of the Creator?”

“Grandfather!” James shouted. He flung a hand in the air. Belial, who had been glaring at Lilith, looked at him in astonishment. James stood straight as an arrow, his golden eyes blazing, his hand outstretched. He threw back his head and cried out, “I have come to bring fire on the earth!”

“Kill them!” Lilith shouted, her black hair whipping about her face, her serpent eyes darting. “Paladin, now! Kill them both!”

Cordelia felt her arm savagely jerked back, as if by invisible wires. She raised Cortana. Tears mixing with the blood on her face, she said, “Lucie, Lucie, please—”

Belial took a step back—and flung the Colt revolver to James.

It seemed to take an age to reach him, an age during which Cordelia struggled, the muscles in her body screaming as she fought not to move Cortana, not to slice the blade across Lucie’s throat, where her gold locket glimmered. An age during which the gun flashed through the air, nickel and silver, turning end over end before it smacked into James’s palm.

James pivoted. The gun seemed an extension of his own body as he sighted along his arm, aimed at Lilith—and pulled the trigger.