“Coincidences happen.”
“On occasion,” said Luke, “but they are rarely the most likely answer. Tonight Maryse will be summoning Raphael to interrogate him about Camille’s role in these murders. If it comes out that you knew something about Camille—that you’ve had contact with her—I don’t want you to be blindsided, Simon.”
“That makes two of us.” Simon’s head had started pounding again. Were vampires even supposed to get headaches? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one, before the events of these past few days. “I met Camille,” he said. “About four days ago. I thought I was being summoned by Raphael, but it turned out to be her. She offered to make me a deal. If I came to work for her, she’d make me the second most important vampire in the city.”
“Why did she want you to work for her?” Luke’s tone was neutral.
“She knows about my Mark,” Simon said. “She said Raphael betrayed her and she could use me to get back control of the clan. I got the feeling she wasn’t enormously fond of Raphael.”
“That’s very curious,” said Luke. “The story as I’ve heard it is that Camille took an indefinite leave of absence from heading up the clan about a year ago and made Raphael her temporary successor. If she chose him to lead in her place, why would she move against him?”
Simon shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just telling you what she said.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about her, Simon?” Luke said very quietly.
“She told me not to.” Simon realized how stupid this sounded. “I’ve never met a vampire like her before,” he added. “Just Raphael, and the others at the Dumont. It’s hard to explain what she was like. Everything she said, you wanted to believe. Everything she asked you to do, you wanted to do. I wanted to please her even though I knew she was just messing around with me.”
The man with the coffee and doughnut cart was passing by again. Luke bought coffee and a bagel and sat down on the edge of the fountain. After a moment Simon joined him.
“The man who gave me Camille’s name called her ‘the ancient one,’” Luke said. “She is, I think, one of the very, very old vampires of this world. I imagine she would make most people feel fairly small.”
“She made me feel like a bug,” Simon said. “She did promise that if in five days I didn’t want to work for her, she’d never bother me again. So I told her I’d think about it.”
“And have you? Thought about it?”
“If she’s killing Shadowhunters, I don’t want anything to do with her,” said Simon. “I can tell you that much.”
“I’m sure Maryse will be relieved to hear it.”
“Now you’re just being sarcastic.”
“I am not,” said Luke, looking very serious. It was at moments like this that Simon could put aside his memories of Luke—Clary’s sort-of stepfather, the guy who was always around, who was always willing to give you a ride home from school or lend you ten bucks for a book or a movie ticket—and remember that Luke led the biggest wolf pack in the city, that he was someone to whom, at crucial times, the whole Clave had listened. “You forget what you are, Simon. You forget the power you have.”
“I wish I could forget it,” Simon said bitterly. “I wish if I didn’t use it, it would just go away.”
Luke shook his head. “Power is a magnet. It draws those who desire it. Camille is one of them, but there will be others. We’ve been lucky, in a way, that it’s taken this long.” He looked at Simon. “Do you think that if she summons you again, you could get word to me, or to the Conclave, letting us know where to find her?”
“Yes,” Simon said slowly. “She gave me a way to contact her. But it’s not like she’s just going to show up if I blow a magic whistle. Last time she wanted to talk to me, she had her minions surprise me and then bring me to her. So just having people hang around with me while I try to contact her isn’t going to work. Otherwise you’ll get her subjugates, but you won’t get her.”
“Hmm.” Luke looked considering. “We’ll have to think of something clever, then.”
“Better think fast. She said she’d give me five days, so that means by tomorrow she’s going to expect some kind of signal from me.”
“I imagine she will,” said Luke. “In fact, I’m counting on it.”
Simon opened the front door of Kyle’s apartment cautiously. “Hey there,” he called, coming into the entryway and hanging up his jacket. “Is anyone home?”
No one answered, but from the living room Simon could hear the familiar zap-bang-crash sounds of a video game being played. He headed into the room, holding in front of him like a peace offering the white bag of bagels he’d picked up from Bagel Zone on Avenue A. “I brought breakfast. . . .”
His voice trailed off. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected would happen when his self-appointed bodyguards realized he’d sneaked out of the apartment behind their backs. It had definitely involved some form of the phrase “Try that again, and I’ll kill you.” What it hadn’t involved was Kyle and Jace sitting on the futon couch side by side, looking for all the world like newly minted best friends. Kyle had a video game controller in his hands, and Jace was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, watching intently. They barely seemed to notice Simon’s entrance.
“That guy over there in the corner is totally looking the other way,” Jace observed, pointing at the TV screen. “A spinning wheel kick would put him out of commission.”
“I can’t kick people in this game. I can only shoot them. See?” Kyle mashed some buttons.
“That’s stupid.” Jace looked over and seemed to see Simon for the first time. “Back from your breakfast meeting, I see,” he said without much welcome in his tone. “I bet you thought you were very clever, sneaking off like that.”
“Medium clever,” Simon acknowledged. “Like a cross between George Clooney in Ocean’s Eleven and those MythBusters guys, but, you know, better-looking.”
“I’m always so glad I have no idea what you’re vacantly chattering about,” said Jace. “It fills me with a sense of peace and well-being.”
Kyle set his controller down, leaving the screen frozen on a close-up of an enormous needle-tipped gun. “I’ll take a bagel.”
Simon tossed him one, and Kyle headed into the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a long counter, to toast and butter his breakfast. Jace looked at the white bag and waved a dismissive hand. “No, thanks.”
Simon sat down on the coffee table. “You ought to eat something.”
“Look who’s talking.”
“I’m out of blood right now,” Simon said. “Unless you’re offering.”
“No, thanks. We’ve been down that road before, and I think we’re better off as just friends.” Jace’s tone was as lightly sarcastic as ever, but this close up, Simon could see how pale he looked, and that his eyes were ringed with gray shadows. The bones of his face seemed to be sticking out more prominently than they had before.
“Really,” Simon said, pushing the bag across the table toward Jace. “You should eat something. I’m not kidding.”
Jace glanced down at the bag of food, and winced. The lids of his eyes were grayish blue with exhaustion. “The thought makes me sick, to be honest.”
“You fell asleep last night,” Simon said. “When you were supposed to be guarding me. I know this bodyguard thing is mostly a joke to you, but still. How long has it been since you slept?”
“As in, through the night?” Jace considered. “Two weeks. Maybe three.”
Simon’s mouth opened. “Why? I mean, what’s going on?”
Jace offered the ghost of a smile. “‘I could be bounded in a nut shell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.’”
“I actually know that one. Hamlet. So you’re saying you can’t sleep because you’re having nightmares?”
“Vampire,” said Jace, with a tired certainty, “you have no idea.”
“Hey.” Kyle came back around th
e counter and flung himself down in the nubby armchair. He took a bite out of his bagel. “What’s going on?”
“I went to meet Luke,” Simon said, and explained what had happened, seeing no reason to hide it. He left out any mention of Camille wanting him not just because he was a Daylighter, but also because of the Mark of Cain. Kyle nodded when he was done. “Luke Garroway. He’s the head of the downtown pack. I’ve heard of him. He’s kind of a big shot.”
“His real name isn’t Garroway,” said Jace. “He used to be a Shadowhunter.”
“Right. I heard that, too. And now he’s been instrumental with all the new Accords stuff.” Kyle glanced at Simon. “You know some important people.”
“Important people are a lot of trouble,” Simon said. “Camille, for instance.”
“Once Luke tells Maryse what’s going on, the Clave will take care of her,” said Jace. “There are protocols for dealing with rogue Downworlders.” At that, Kyle looked at him sideways, but Jace didn’t seem to notice. “I already told you I don’t think she’s the one trying to kill you. She knows—” Jace broke off. “She knows better than that.”
“And besides, she wants to use you,” Kyle said.
“Good point,” said Jace. “No one’s going to off a valuable resource.”
Simon looked from one of them to the other, and shook his head. “When did you two get so buddy-buddy? Last night it was all, ‘I’m the most elite warrior!’ ‘No, I’m the most elite warrior!’ And today you’re playing Halo and giving each other props for good ideas.”
“We realized we have something in common,” said Jace. “You annoy us both.”
“In that vein, I had a thought,” Simon said. “I don’t think either of you are going to like it, though.”
Kyle raised his eyebrows. “Let’s hear it.”
“The problem with you guys watching me all the time,” Simon said, “is that if you do, the guys trying to kill me won’t try it again, and if they don’t try it again, then we won’t know who they are, and plus, you’ll have to watch me all the time. And I assume you have other things you’d rather be doing. Well,” he added in Jace’s direction, “possibly you don’t.”
“So?” said Kyle. “What’s your suggestion?”
“We lure them out. Get them to attack again. Try to capture one of them and find out who sent them.”
“If I recall,” said Jace, “I had this idea the other day, and you didn’t like it much.”
“I was tired,” Simon said. “But now I’ve been thinking. And so far, in my experience with evildoers, they don’t go away just because you ignore them. They keep on coming in different ways. So either I make these guys come to me, or I spend forever waiting for them to attack again.”
“I’m in,” Jace said, though Kyle still looked dubious. “So do you just want to go out and wander around until they show up again?”
“I thought I’d make it easy for them. Show up somewhere everyone knows I’m supposed to be.”
“You mean . . . ?” said Kyle.
Simon pointed to the flyer taped to the fridge. MILLENNIUM LINT, OCTOBER 16, THE ALTO BAR, BROOKLYN. 9 P.M. “I mean the gig. Why not?” His headache was still there, full force; he pushed it back, trying not to think about how exhausted he was, or how he’d push himself through the gig. He had to get more blood somehow. Had to.
Jace’s eyes were shining. “You know, that’s actually a pretty good idea there, vampire.”
“You want them to attack you onstage?” Kyle asked.
“It’ll make for an exciting show,” said Simon, with more bravado than he really felt. The idea of being attacked one more time was almost more than he could stand, even if he didn’t fear for his personal safety. He wasn’t sure he could bear to watch the Mark of Cain do its work again.
Jace shook his head. “They don’t attack in public. They’ll wait till after the show. And we’ll be there to deal with them.”
Kyle shook his head. “I don’t know . . .”
They went a few more rounds, Jace and Simon on one side of the argument and Kyle on the other. Simon felt a little guilty. If Kyle knew about the Mark, he’d be a lot easier to persuade. Eventually he cracked under the pressure and reluctantly agreed to what he continued to insist was “a stupid plan.”
“But,” he said finally, getting to his feet and brushing bagel crumbs off his shirt, “I’m only doing this because I realize that you’ll both just do it whether I agree or not. So I might as well be there.” He looked at Simon. “Who would have thought protecting you from yourself would be so hard?”
“I could have told you that,” Jace said, as Kyle threw a jacket on and headed to the door. He had to work, he’d explained to them. It appeared he really was a bike messenger; the Praetor Lupus, despite having a badass name, didn’t pay that well. The door closed behind him, and Jace turned back to Simon. “So, the gig’s at nine, right? What do we do with the rest of the day?”
“We?” Simon looked at him in disbelief. “Are you ever going home?”
“What, bored with my company already?”
“Let me ask you something,” Simon said. “Do you find me fascinating to be around?”
“What was that?” Jace said. “Sorry, I think I fell asleep for a moment. Do, continue with whatever mesmerizing thing you were saying.”
“Stop it,” Simon said. “Stop being sarcastic for a second. You’re not eating, you’re not sleeping. You know who else isn’t? Clary. I don’t know what’s going on with you and her, because frankly she hasn’t said anything about it. I assume she doesn’t want to talk about it either. But it’s pretty obvious you’re having a fight. And if you’re going to break up with her—”
“Break up with her?” Jace stared at him. “Are you insane?”
“If you keep avoiding her,” Simon said, “she’s going to break up with you.”
Jace got to his feet. His easy relaxation was gone; he was all tension now, like a prowling cat. He went to the window and twitched the curtain back restlessly; the late-morning light came through the gap, bleaching the color in his eyes. “I have reasons for the things I do,” he said finally.
“Great,” Simon said. “Does Clary know them?”
Jace said nothing.
“All she does is love you and trust you,” said Simon. “You owe her—”
“There are more important things than honesty,” said Jace. “You think I like hurting her? You think I like knowing that I’m making her angry, maybe making her hate me? Why do you think I’m here?” He looked at Simon with a bleak sort of rage. “I can’t be with her,” he said. “And if I can’t be with her, it doesn’t really matter to me where I am. I might as well be with you, because at least if she knew I was trying to protect you, that might make her happy.”
“So you’re trying to make her happy despite the fact that the reason she’s unhappy in the first place is you,” said Simon, not very kindly. “That seems contradictory, doesn’t it?”
“Love is a contradiction,” said Jace, and turned back to the window.
8
WALK IN DARKNESS
Clary had forgotten how much she hated the smell of hospitals until they walked through the front doors of Beth Israel. Sterility, metal, old coffee, and not enough bleach to cover up the stench of sickness and misery. The memory of her mother’s illness, of Jocelyn lying unconscious and unresponsive in her nest of tubes and wires, hit her like a slap in the face, and she sucked in a breath, trying not to taste the air.
“Are you all right?” Jocelyn pulled the hood of her coat down and looked at Clary, her green eyes anxious.
Clary nodded, hunching her shoulders into her jacket, and looked around. The lobby was all cold marble, metal, and plastic. There was a big information desk behind which several women, probably nurses, were milling; signs pointed the way to the ICU, Radiation, Surgical Oncology, Pediatrics, and so on. She could probably have found the cafeteria in her sleep; she’d brought Luke enough tepid cups of coffee from there
to fill the Central Park reservoir.
“Excuse me.” A slender nurse pushing an old man in a wheelchair went past them, nearly rolling the wheels over Clary’s toes. Clary looked after her—there had been something—a shimmer—
“Don’t stare, Clary,” Jocelyn said under her breath. She put her arm around Clary’s shoulders, turning them both so that they faced the doors that led to the waiting room for the lab where people got their blood taken. Clary could see herself and her mother reflected in the dark glass of the doors. Though she was still half a head shorter than her mother, they really did look alike, didn’t they? In the past she’d always shrugged it off when people said that. Jocelyn was beautiful, and she wasn’t. But the shape of their eyes and mouths were the same, as were their red hair and green eyes and slight hands. How had she gotten so little of Valentine’s looks, Clary wondered, when her brother had gotten them all? He had had their father’s fair hair and startling dark eyes. Though maybe, she thought, if she looked closely, she could see a little of Valentine in the stubborn set of her jaw. . . .
“Jocelyn.” They both turned. The nurse who had been pushing the old man in the wheelchair was standing in front of them. She was slim, young-looking, dark-skinned, and dark-eyed—and then, as Clary looked at her, the glamour peeled away. She was still a slight, youthful-looking woman, but now her skin was dark blue, and her hair, twisted up into a knot at the back of her head, was snowy white. The blue of her skin contrasted shockingly with her pale pink scrubs.
“Clary,” Jocelyn said. “This is Catarina Loss. She took care of me while I was here. She’s also a friend of Magnus’s.”
“You’re a warlock.” The words came out of Clary’s mouth before she could stop them.
“Shhh.” The warlock woman looked horrified. She glared at Jocelyn. “I don’t remember you saying you were going to bring your daughter along. She’s just a kid.”
“Clarissa can behave herself.” Jocelyn looked sternly at Clary. “Can’t you?”
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