The London fog clung to the windows of the Institute like a living thing, damp and heavy. Inside, sat at a mahogany table, her fingers tracing the worn edge of a card from the Shadowhunter Tarot deck.
"I'm thinking about what the cards don't say," she replied, finally turning the card over. The illustration showed a warrior—not unlike herself—standing before a rising sun, a massive gold-hued blade held aloft. "They show the glory of the hero, the sharp edge of the steel. They never show the hand that bleeds from holding it." Cordelia_tarot_Cordelia.epub
James stepped closer, his gaze falling on the Tarot deck spread out between them. He reached out, his thumb brushing the edge of another card: , depicted with a tragic, ethereal beauty. The London fog clung to the windows of