There was a cut on the back of his hand too, a nasty one. The cloth came away stained green and black. Looking up and down the empty street, he scrubbed the sleeve of his coat across his face, trying to rub away the ichor that stung and burned his skin. He didn’t even mind the smell of it-smoke and rope and tar, foreign spices mixed with the dirty river-water smell of the Thames. It was easy to lose yourself in a place like this. That the area was a sailor’s haunt, and consequently full of gambling hells, opium dens, and brothels, didn’t hurt either. Will liked Limehouse, liked the feeling of being on the edge of the world, where ships left each day for unimaginably far ports. At the moment it was deserted even the drunks staggering home from the Grapes up the road had found somewhere to collapse for the night. It was as narrow as its name suggested, lined with warehouses and lopsided wooden buildings. Narrow Street cut across Limehouse, between the docks beside the river and the cramped slums spreading west toward Whitechapel. With a shrug Will headed back the way he had come. No Jem there perhaps he had gone back to Narrow Street in search of better illumination. Through the gap Will could see the dark outlines of docked ships, a forest of masts like a leafless orchard. He glanced behind him, to where the street narrowed into a passage that gave onto the black, heaving water of the Thames in the distance. He frowned in annoyance-it was much less fun showing off without Jem to show off to.

“Where are you? Did you see that? Killed it with one blow! Not bad, eh?”īut there was no answer to Will’s shout his hunting partner had been standing behind him in the damp and crooked street a few moments before, guarding his back, Will was positive, but now Will was alone in the shadows. The demon itself, of course, had vanished-dispatched back to whatever hellish world it had come from, though not without leaving a mess behind. He swore and tossed the weapon aside it landed in a filthy puddle and commenced smoldering like a doused match. The viscous acid of the demon’s blood had already begun to eat away at the shining blade. William Herondale jerked back the dagger he was holding, but it was too late. The demon exploded in a shower of ichor and guts.

Clockwork Angel by Cassandra Clare