City of Heavenly Fire
Page 25
“That is impressive, considering the presence of faerie blood in that Blackthorn boy,” said Sebastian. “One might have thought they’d be attuned to it. What are you planning on doing with him, anyway?”
“He has faerie blood; he is ours,” said Meliorn. “Gwyn has claimed him to join the Wild Hunt; he will be dispatched there.” He turned to the Queen. “We have need of more soldiers,” he said. “The Institutes are emptying: The Nephilim are fleeing to Idris.”
“What of the New York Institute?” Sebastian demanded sharply. “What of my brother and sister?”
“Clary Fray and Jace Lightwood have been sent to Idris,” said Meliorn. “We cannot attempt to retrieve them quite yet without showing our hand.”
Sebastian touched the bracelet on his wrist. It was a habit of his the Queen had noted, something he did when he was angry and trying not to show it. The metal was written on in an old language of humans: If I cannot reach Heaven, I will raise Hell. “I want them,” he said.
“And you shall have them,” said the Queen. “I have not forgotten that was part of our bargain. But you must be patient.”
Sebastian smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “We mortals can be overhasty.”
“You are no ordinary mortal,” said the Queen, and turned back to Meliorn. “My knight,” she said. “What do you advise your Queen?”
“We need more soldiers,” Meliorn said. “We must take another Institute. More weapons would be a boon as well.”
“I thought you said all the Shadowhunters were in Idris?” Sebastian said.
“Not quite yet,” said Meliorn. “Some cities have taken longer than expected to evacuate all the Nephilim—the Shadowhunters of London, Rio de Janeiro, Cairo, Istanbul, and Taipei remain. We must have at least one more Institute.”
Sebastian smiled. It was the sort of smile that transformed his lovely face, not into something lovelier but into a cruel mask, all teeth, like a manticore’s grin. “Then I shall have London,” he said. “If that does not go against your wishes, my Queen.”
She could not help but smile. It had been so many centuries since a mortal lover had made her smile. She bent to kiss him, and felt his hands slide over the petals of her gown. “Take London, my love, and turn it all to blood,” she said. “My gift to you.”
“You’re all right?” Jace asked, for what felt to Clary like the hundredth time. She was standing on the front step of Amatis’s house, partly illuminated by the lights from the windows. Jace was just below her, his hands jammed into his pockets, as if he were afraid to let them free.
He had stared at the burn marks he’d made on the wall of the shop for a long time, before tugging his shirt down and practically yanking Clary out into the crowded street, as if she shouldn’t be alone with him. He’d been taciturn the rest of the way home, his mouth set in a tense line.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Look, you burned the wall, not me.” She did an exaggerated twirl, as if she were showing off a new outfit. “See?”
There were shadows in his eyes. “If I hurt you—”
“You didn’t,” she said. “I’m not that fragile.”
“I thought I was getting better at controlling it, that working with Jordan was helping.” Frustration curled through his voice.
“You are; it is. Look, you were able to concentrate the fire in your hands; that’s progress. I was touching you, kissing you, and I’m not hurt.” She put her hand against his cheek. “We work through this together, remember? No shutting me out. No epic sulks.”
“I was figuring I could sulk for Idris in the next Olympics,” Jace said, but his voice was already softening, the edge of hard self-loathing filed away, wryness and amusement taking its place.
“You and Alec could go for pair sulking,” said Clary with a smile. “You’d get the gold.”
He turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand. His hair brushed the tops of her fingers. Everything around them seemed still and quiet; Clary could almost believe they were the only people in Alicante. “I keep wondering,” he said against her skin, “what the guy who owns that store is going to think when he comes to work in the morning and sees two handprints burned into his wall.”
“‘I hope I have insurance for this’?”
Jace laughed, a small puff of air against her hand.
“Speaking of which,” said Clary, “the next Council meeting is tomorrow, right?”
Jace nodded. “War council,” he said. “Only select members of the Clave.” He wiggled his fingers irritably. Clary felt his annoyance—Jace was an excellent strategist and one of the Clave’s best fighters, and would have greatly resented being left out of any meeting that was about battles. Especially, she thought, if there was going to be discussion about using the heavenly fire as a weapon.
“Then maybe you can help me out with something. I need an armaments shop. I want to buy a sword. A really good one.”
Jace looked surprised, then amused. “What for?”
“Oh, you know. Killing.” Clary made a hand gesture she hoped conveyed her murderous intentions toward all things evil. “I mean, I’ve been a Shadowhunter for a while now. I should have a proper weapon, right?”
A slow grin spread over his face. “The best blade shop is Diana’s on Flintlock Street,” he said, eyes alight. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon.”
“It’s a date,” Clary said. “A weapons date.”
“So much better than dinner and a movie,” he said, and disappeared into the shadows.
5
MEASURE OF REVENGE
Maia looked up as the door to Jordan’s apartment banged open and he raced inside, almost skidding on the slippery hardwood floor. “Anything?” he asked.
She shook her head. His face fell. After they’d killed the Endarkened, she’d called the pack to come help them deal with the mess. Unlike demons, Endarkened didn’t just evaporate when you killed them. Disposal was required. Normally they would have summoned the Shadowhunters and Silent Brothers, but the doors to the Institute and the Bone City were closed now. Instead Bat and the rest of the pack had showed up with a body bag, while Jordan, still bleeding from the fight with the Endarkened, had gone to look for Simon.
He hadn’t come back for hours, and when he had, the look in his eyes had told Maia the whole story. He had found Simon’s phone, smashed to pieces, abandoned at the bottom of the fire escape like a mocking note. Otherwise there’d been no sign of him at all.
Neither of them had slept after that, of course. Maia had gone back to wolf pack headquarters with Bat, who had promised—if a little hesitantly—that he would tell the wolves to look for Simon, and try (emphasis on try) to reach the Shadowhunters in Alicante. There were lines open to the Shadowhunter capital, lines that only the heads of packs and clans could use.
Maia had returned to Jordan’s apartment at dawn, despairing and exhausted. She was standing in the kitchen when he came in, a wet paper towel pressed to her forehead. She took it away as Jordan looked at her, and felt the water run down her face like tears. “No,” she said. “No news.”
“He has faerie blood; he is ours,” said Meliorn. “Gwyn has claimed him to join the Wild Hunt; he will be dispatched there.” He turned to the Queen. “We have need of more soldiers,” he said. “The Institutes are emptying: The Nephilim are fleeing to Idris.”
“What of the New York Institute?” Sebastian demanded sharply. “What of my brother and sister?”
“Clary Fray and Jace Lightwood have been sent to Idris,” said Meliorn. “We cannot attempt to retrieve them quite yet without showing our hand.”
Sebastian touched the bracelet on his wrist. It was a habit of his the Queen had noted, something he did when he was angry and trying not to show it. The metal was written on in an old language of humans: If I cannot reach Heaven, I will raise Hell. “I want them,” he said.
“And you shall have them,” said the Queen. “I have not forgotten that was part of our bargain. But you must be patient.”
Sebastian smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “We mortals can be overhasty.”
“You are no ordinary mortal,” said the Queen, and turned back to Meliorn. “My knight,” she said. “What do you advise your Queen?”
“We need more soldiers,” Meliorn said. “We must take another Institute. More weapons would be a boon as well.”
“I thought you said all the Shadowhunters were in Idris?” Sebastian said.
“Not quite yet,” said Meliorn. “Some cities have taken longer than expected to evacuate all the Nephilim—the Shadowhunters of London, Rio de Janeiro, Cairo, Istanbul, and Taipei remain. We must have at least one more Institute.”
Sebastian smiled. It was the sort of smile that transformed his lovely face, not into something lovelier but into a cruel mask, all teeth, like a manticore’s grin. “Then I shall have London,” he said. “If that does not go against your wishes, my Queen.”
She could not help but smile. It had been so many centuries since a mortal lover had made her smile. She bent to kiss him, and felt his hands slide over the petals of her gown. “Take London, my love, and turn it all to blood,” she said. “My gift to you.”
“You’re all right?” Jace asked, for what felt to Clary like the hundredth time. She was standing on the front step of Amatis’s house, partly illuminated by the lights from the windows. Jace was just below her, his hands jammed into his pockets, as if he were afraid to let them free.
He had stared at the burn marks he’d made on the wall of the shop for a long time, before tugging his shirt down and practically yanking Clary out into the crowded street, as if she shouldn’t be alone with him. He’d been taciturn the rest of the way home, his mouth set in a tense line.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Look, you burned the wall, not me.” She did an exaggerated twirl, as if she were showing off a new outfit. “See?”
There were shadows in his eyes. “If I hurt you—”
“You didn’t,” she said. “I’m not that fragile.”
“I thought I was getting better at controlling it, that working with Jordan was helping.” Frustration curled through his voice.
“You are; it is. Look, you were able to concentrate the fire in your hands; that’s progress. I was touching you, kissing you, and I’m not hurt.” She put her hand against his cheek. “We work through this together, remember? No shutting me out. No epic sulks.”
“I was figuring I could sulk for Idris in the next Olympics,” Jace said, but his voice was already softening, the edge of hard self-loathing filed away, wryness and amusement taking its place.
“You and Alec could go for pair sulking,” said Clary with a smile. “You’d get the gold.”
He turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand. His hair brushed the tops of her fingers. Everything around them seemed still and quiet; Clary could almost believe they were the only people in Alicante. “I keep wondering,” he said against her skin, “what the guy who owns that store is going to think when he comes to work in the morning and sees two handprints burned into his wall.”
“‘I hope I have insurance for this’?”
Jace laughed, a small puff of air against her hand.
“Speaking of which,” said Clary, “the next Council meeting is tomorrow, right?”
Jace nodded. “War council,” he said. “Only select members of the Clave.” He wiggled his fingers irritably. Clary felt his annoyance—Jace was an excellent strategist and one of the Clave’s best fighters, and would have greatly resented being left out of any meeting that was about battles. Especially, she thought, if there was going to be discussion about using the heavenly fire as a weapon.
“Then maybe you can help me out with something. I need an armaments shop. I want to buy a sword. A really good one.”
Jace looked surprised, then amused. “What for?”
“Oh, you know. Killing.” Clary made a hand gesture she hoped conveyed her murderous intentions toward all things evil. “I mean, I’ve been a Shadowhunter for a while now. I should have a proper weapon, right?”
A slow grin spread over his face. “The best blade shop is Diana’s on Flintlock Street,” he said, eyes alight. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon.”
“It’s a date,” Clary said. “A weapons date.”
“So much better than dinner and a movie,” he said, and disappeared into the shadows.
5
MEASURE OF REVENGE
Maia looked up as the door to Jordan’s apartment banged open and he raced inside, almost skidding on the slippery hardwood floor. “Anything?” he asked.
She shook her head. His face fell. After they’d killed the Endarkened, she’d called the pack to come help them deal with the mess. Unlike demons, Endarkened didn’t just evaporate when you killed them. Disposal was required. Normally they would have summoned the Shadowhunters and Silent Brothers, but the doors to the Institute and the Bone City were closed now. Instead Bat and the rest of the pack had showed up with a body bag, while Jordan, still bleeding from the fight with the Endarkened, had gone to look for Simon.
He hadn’t come back for hours, and when he had, the look in his eyes had told Maia the whole story. He had found Simon’s phone, smashed to pieces, abandoned at the bottom of the fire escape like a mocking note. Otherwise there’d been no sign of him at all.
Neither of them had slept after that, of course. Maia had gone back to wolf pack headquarters with Bat, who had promised—if a little hesitantly—that he would tell the wolves to look for Simon, and try (emphasis on try) to reach the Shadowhunters in Alicante. There were lines open to the Shadowhunter capital, lines that only the heads of packs and clans could use.
Maia had returned to Jordan’s apartment at dawn, despairing and exhausted. She was standing in the kitchen when he came in, a wet paper towel pressed to her forehead. She took it away as Jordan looked at her, and felt the water run down her face like tears. “No,” she said. “No news.”
