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“Move it along, teenagers. The only person who gets to canoodle in my bedroom is my magnificent self.” “Canoodle?” repeated Clary, never having heard the word before. “Magnificent?” repeated Jace,
“I’m pretty sure turning mundanes into rats is against the Law.”
“I can’t believe you just left him—he’s probably terrified—” “If he hasn’t been stepped on,” Jace pointed out unhelpfully.
“The effect of the cocktails is temporary. No point working up a transformation spell; it’ll just traumatize him. Too much magic is hard on mundanes; their systems aren’t used to it.”
“Don’t bother,” Jace said. “Why mundanes always insist on taking responsibility for things that aren’t their fault is a mystery to me. You didn’t force that cocktail down his idiotic throat.”
“You know how you lot tend to turn into bats and piles of dust when you’ve downed a few too many Bloody Marys.” “They mix their vodka with real blood,”
“Hey, pretty thing,” he said. “What’s in the bag?” “Holy water,” said Jace, reappearing beside her as if he’d been conjured up like a genie.
“When the self-congratulatory part of the evening is over, maybe we could get back to saving my best friend from being exsanguinated to death?” “Exsanguinated,” said Jace, impressed. “That’s a big word.”
“In the name of the Clave,” he said, “I ask entry to this holy place. In the name of the Battle That Never Ends, I ask the use of your weapons. And in the name of the Angel Raziel, I ask your blessings on my mission against the darkness.”
Demons have been on Earth as long as we have. They’re all over the world, in their different forms—Greek daemons, Persian daevas, Hindu asuras, Japanese oni.
“I’ve been killing demons for a third of my life. I must have sent five hundred of them back to whatever hellish dimension they crawled out of. And in all that time—in all that time—I’ve never seen an angel. Never even heard of anyone who has.” “But it was an angel who created Shadowhunters in the first place,” Clary said. “That’s what Hodge said.” “It makes a nice story.”
“Hotel Dumort,” Jace said when she pointed it out to him. “Cute.” Clary had only had two years of French, but it was enough to get the joke. “Du mort,” she said. “Of death.”
“We don’t fly,” Clary felt impelled to point out. “No,” Jace agreed. “We don’t fly. We break and enter.” He started across the street toward the hotel. “Flying sounds like more fun,” Clary said, hurrying to catch up with him.
He’s killed more demons than anyone else his age. You didn’t kill that many demons by hanging back reluctantly from a fight.
“Walk with me, I’ll take you to the subway.” “We know where the subway is,” said Jace. The boy laughed a soft, vibrant laugh. “Claro. Of course you do, but if you go with me, no one will bother you. You do not want trouble, do you?” “That depends,” Jace said, and moved so that his jacket opened slightly, showing the glint of the weapons thrust through his belt. “How much are they paying you to keep people away from the hotel?”
“I told you—” “And I heard you.” Raphael waved a dismissive hand. “What are you going to do about it? I can’t get back out the way we came in, and you can’t just leave me here for the dead to find… can you?” “I’m thinking about it,” Jace said.
leading up into blackness. The remainder of the staircase ended just above their heads, in midair. The sight was as surreal as one of the abstract Magritte paintings Jocelyn had loved. This one, Clary thought, would be called The Stairs to Nowhere.
know what they look like. They are paler, thinner than human beings, but very strong. They walk like cats and spring with the swiftness of serpents. They are beautiful and terrible. Like this hotel.”
Clary licked her dry lips. “I know what I’m doing. Get him on his feet, Jace.” Jace looked at her, then shrugged. “All right.” Raphael snapped, “This isn’t funny.” “That’s why no one’s laughing.” Jace stood,
“Do not use Clave language on us, Shadowhunter. You have broken your precious Covenant, coming in here. The Law will not protect you.”
He looked down at the captive rodent with an expression of distaste. “Man, I thought he was Zeke. I wondered why he was copping such an attitude.” He shook his head, dreadlocks bouncing. “I say she can have him, dude. He’s already bitten me five times.”
You think we do not hear the rumors, the news that is running through Downworld like blood through veins? Valentine is back. There will be no Accords and no Covenant soon enough.” Jace’s head jerked up. “Where did you hear that?” Raphael frowned scornfully. “All Downworld knows it. He paid a warlock to raise a pack of Raveners only a week ago. He has brought his Forsaken to seek the Mortal Cup. When he finds it, there will be no more false peace between us, only war.
Wolves. “Now this,” said Jace, “is a situation.”
“They do. They never come to each other’s lairs. Never. The Covenant forbids it.” He sounded almost indignant. “Something must have happened. This is bad. Very bad.” “How can it be worse than it was before?” “Because,” he said, “we’re about to be in the middle of a war.”
“This is bad,” said Jace. “You said that before.” “It seemed worth repeating.”
Jace whistled. “Raphael is really having an exceptionally bad night.” “So what?” Clary had no sympathy for the vampire. “What are we going to do?”
Jace threw himself against the door. It didn’t budge. He cursed. “My shoulder will never be the same. I expect you to nurse me back to health.”
Below, Clary could hear cars honking, ambulance sirens wailing, and buses puffing to their stops, but she didn’t dare look down. “Only some of them can!” “How did you know this was one of them?” “I didn’t!” he shouted gleefully,
“You should look down!” Jace shouted. “It’s awesome!”
“You’ve endangered other people with your willfulness. This is one incident I will not allow you to shrug off!” “I wasn’t planning to,” Jace said. “I can’t shrug anything off. My shoulder’s dislocated.”
“No. I have a high pain threshold. In fact, it’s less of a threshold and more of a large and tastefully decorated foyer. But I do get easily bored.”
Same
“Do you remember back at the hotel when you promised that if we lived, you’d get dressed up in a nurse’s outfit and give me a sponge bath?” “Actually, I think you misheard,” Clary said. “It was Simon who promised you the sponge bath.” Jace looked involuntarily over at Simon, who smiled at him widely. “As soon as I’m back on my feet, handsome.”
“How are you feeling?” “Like someone massaged me with a cheese grater,”
“Because he left me behind!” he shouted. “Normally I’d be with him, covering him, watching his back, keeping him safe. But you—you’re dead weight, a mundane.” He spit the word out as if it were an obscenity. “No,” Clary said. “I’m not. I’m Nephilim—just like you.” His lip curled up at the corner. “Maybe,” he said. “But with no training, no nothing, you’re still not much use, are you?
because you’re in love with him. It doesn’t have anything to do with—” Alec moved, blindingly fast. A sharp crack resounded through her head. He had shoved her against the wall so hard that the back of her skull had struck the wood paneling. His face was inches from hers, eyes huge and black. “Don’t you ever,” he whispered, mouth a blanched line, “ever say anything like that to him or I’ll kill you. I swear on the Angel, I’ll kill you.”
“Is she sleeping with Jace?” Clary’s squeak of surprise turned into a cough. She glared at him. “Ew, no. They’re practically related. They wouldn’t do that.” She paused. “I don’t think so, anyway.” Simon shrugged. “Not like I care,” he said firmly. “Sure you don’t.” “I don’t!”
“Also,” he added, “I make a mean cheese sandwich. Try one.” Clary smiled reluctantly and sat down across from him.
“What else did you ask for?” “Weapons, mostly,” he said, “which I’m sure doesn’t surprise you. Books. I read a lot on my own.”
“No friends at all?” He met her look steadily. “The first time I saw Alec,” he said, “when I was ten years old, that was the first time I’d ever met another child my own age. The first time I had a friend.”
Luke’s voice echoed in her mind. You’ve never been the same since it happened, but Clary isn’t Jonathan.
“No, she doesn’t,” he said, to her surprise. “You just make her nervous, because she’s always been the only girl in a crowd of adoring boys, and now she isn’t anymore.” “But she’s so beautiful.” “So are you,” said Jace, “and very different from how she is, and she can’t help but notice that. She’s always wanted to be small and delicate, you know. She hates being taller than most boys.”
It was at first almost as if he hadn’t wanted to kiss her: His mouth was hard on hers, unyielding; then he put both arms around her and pulled her against him. His lips softened.
“Is he spying on you?” Clary hissed. “Hodge, I mean.” “No. He just likes to come up here to think. Too bad—we were having such a scintillating conversation.” He laughed soundlessly.
“Are you going to sleep?” He’s just being polite, she told herself. Then again, this was Jace. He was never polite. She decided to answer the question with a question. “Aren’t you tired?” His voice was low. “I’ve never been more awake.” He bent to kiss her, cupping her face with his free hand.
“I didn’t invite him into bed,” Clary snapped. “We were just kissing.” “Just kissing?” Jace’s tone mocked her with its false hurt. “How swiftly you dismiss our love.” “Jace…”
“Stop it,” she said. “Stop being like that.” His smile widened. “Like what?” “If you’re angry, just say it. Don’t act like nothing ever touches you. It’s like you never feel anything at all.” “Maybe you should have thought about that before you kissed me,” he said.
I was laughing at you because declarations of love amuse me, especially when unrequited. She hadn’t stopped to wonder what he was talking about, but now she knew.
He leaned against the door frame, ignoring the kick of adrenaline the sight of her produced.
Words were weapons, his father had taught him that, and he’d wanted to hurt Clary more than he’d ever wanted to hurt any girl. In fact, he wasn’t sure he had ever wanted to hurt a girl before.
“And remember when I drew the Ace of Cups? Later when I saw the statue of the Angel, the Cup looked familiar to me. It was because I’d seen it before, on the Ace. My mother painted the Mortal Cup into Madame Dorothea’s tarot deck.”
