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“It’s a girl,” Jace said, recovering his composure. “Surely you’ve seen girls before, Alec. Your sister Isabelle is one.”
“I know,” he said. “Pretty name. Like the herb, clary sage. In the old days people thought eating the seeds would let you see the Fair Folk. Did you know that?”
She must have made some noise, because he twisted around on the stool, blinking into the shadows. “Alec?” he said. “Is that you?”
“Well, you didn’t leave me much choice, did you?” he asked. “Not after you decided to leap merrily through that Portal like you were jumping the F train. You’re just lucky it didn’t dump us out in the East River.”
Jace was glaring at the cat. “I told you to bring me to Alec! Backstabbing Judas.” Church rolled onto his back, purring contentedly.
“He’s not a liar at all. Not about important things. He’ll tell you horrible truths, but he won’t lie.”
Do not fear, said his voice inside her head. It would take more than a single human cry to wake these dead.
Clary thought. “So they’re good enough to let live, good enough to make your food for you, good enough to flirt with—but not really good enough? I mean, not as good as people.”
Alec held out his hand for the paper, glanced at it with a shrug, and handed it to Jace. “It’s a party invitation. For somewhere in Brooklyn,” he said. “I hate Brooklyn.”
“Well, I’d certainly hate to interrupt your pleasant night stroll with my sudden death.” He blinked. “There is a fine line between sarcasm and outright hostility, and you seem to have crossed it. What’s up?”
“What welcome?” Magnus asked. “I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, but it wasn’t. Not that you aren’t all fairly charming, and as for you—” He dropped a glittery wink at Alec, who looked astounded. “Call me?”
There might be a God, Clary, and there might not, but I don’t think it matters. Either way, we’re on our own.”
His eyes widened, though. “You did that?”
