Chapter 20 : THE DEMON'S SECRETS
The Moloch demon died badly.
Jace's blade had opened its belly. Izzy's whip had taken an arm. But the killing blow was mine — seraph blade driven through the creature's skull, holding it pinned while it thrashed and screamed.
I could have let it die clean.
Instead, I opened myself to the hunger.
The demon's essence flowed into me like ice water through my veins. Memories that weren't mine crashed against my consciousness — centuries of existence, countless kills, the particular perspective of a being that had never known anything but malice.
And underneath all of it, fragments of something else. Something useful.
A European castle, rebuilt from ruins. Valentine standing before a gathering of shadows, human and demon alike. Plans discussed in languages older than humanity.
"The Cup is secondary now," Valentine's voice echoing through the demon's memory. "The boy will be ready soon. Jonathan's gifts make the Cup unnecessary."
A figure in the shadows. Young, beautiful, wrong. Eyes that held no light, smile that held no warmth. Valentine's hand on his shoulder, pride in his expression.
"My true heir. My perfect weapon."
The memory fractured. I gasped, releasing the blade, stumbling back from the demon's dissolving corpse.
"Alec?" Jace caught my arm, steadying me. Through the damaged bond, I felt his concern — genuine but complicated by the horror of what he'd just witnessed. "What the hell was that?"
"Intel," I managed. My hands shook. Nausea twisted my stomach. "Valentine's plans. I can see... fragments."
"By eating demons?"
"By consuming their essence." I forced myself upright, ignoring the way my legs wanted to buckle. "It's how my ability works. I told you about the rune perception. This is... related."
Izzy's face was pale. Through the secondary bond, I felt her revulsion warring with loyalty. "Alec, that was... it looked like you were..."
"I know what it looked like."
Like a monster feeding on another monster.
The demon's memories churned in my mind, demanding attention. Valentine had a son. Not Jace — Jonathan, the real Jonathan, raised in Edom among demons. Sebastian. The show had revealed him later, after everything else had gone wrong.
Now I knew he existed before anyone else did.
And I couldn't tell anyone.
"What did you see?" Jace's grip on my arm tightened. "Valentine's plans — what are they?"
I met his eyes, feeling the weight of necessary lies pressing against my chest.
"He's building an army. Demons and rogue Shadowhunters. The Cup was supposed to be his recruitment tool, but now that it's secured..." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "He'll adapt. Use what he already has. Strike before we can prepare."
"When?"
"Soon." The truth, if incomplete. "Days, maybe less."
"We need to warn the Clave."
"The Clave won't believe a report based on demon-consumption visions. We need more." I pushed away from Jace's support, forcing my body to cooperate. "I'll contact our intelligence sources. You two get back to the Institute and start reinforcing the wards."
Jace's expression hardened. "You're hiding something."
"I'm always hiding something." The honesty surprised us both. "But what I'm telling you now is true. Valentine is coming. We need to be ready."
We separated at the next intersection. Jace and Izzy toward the Institute; me toward... I wasn't sure. My feet carried me through Brooklyn's streets while my mind processed the demon's gift.
Jonathan. Sebastian. Valentine's true heir.
The boy raised in Edom, fed demon blood from infancy, shaped into something that wore humanity like an ill-fitting mask. In the show, he'd been charming and deadly, manipulating everyone until his true nature was revealed.
How long until he arrived? How much had my interventions changed that timeline?
I stopped walking. The night pressed around me, cold and uncaring.
Valentine had a demonic son. The Cup was secured but the real threat was still out there. And I had consumed another demon's essence, feeling it settle into the hollow spaces of my soul like water filling cracks in stone.
What am I becoming?
My hands still trembled. The nausea had faded but the wrongness remained — the sense that something fundamental was shifting inside me with each consumption.
The Gray Book marginalia had warned about this. What you gain, you lose. What you take, takes you.
I looked at my hands in the streetlight. They seemed normal. Human. But they'd done inhuman things tonight.
And they'd do worse before this was over.
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