City of Fallen Angels

Page 32

 

  Clary shrank back. "I do not want the gifts of your lady," she said, "for they come freighted with lies and expectations. I will not owe the Queen anything. "

  "It is not a gift," Kaelie said impatiently. "It is a means of summoning. The Queen forgives you for your earlier stubbornness. She expects there is a time soon in which you will want her help. She is willing to offer it to you, should you choose to ask. Simply ring that bell, and a servant of the Court will come and bring you to her. "

  Clary shook her head. "I will not ring it. "

  Kaelie shrugged. "Then it should cost you nothing to take it. "

  As if in a dream Clary saw her own hand reach out, her fingers hover over the bell.

  "You would do anything to save him," said Kaelie, her voice thin and as sweet as the bells ring, "whatever it cost you, whatever you might owe to Hell or Heaven, would you not?"

  Remembered voices chimed in Clarys head. Did you ever stop to wonder what untruths might have been in the tale your mother told you, that served her purpose in telling it? Do you truly think you know each and every secret of your past?

  Madame Dorothea told Jace he would fall in love with the wrong person.

  He is not beyond saving. But it will be difficult.

  The bell clanged as Clary took it, folding it into her palm. Kaelie smiled, her blue eyes shining like glass beads. "A wise choice. "

  Clary hesitated. But before she could thrust the bell back at the faerie girl, she heard someone call her name, and turned to see her mother making her way through the crowd toward her. She turned back hastily, but was not surprised to see that Kaelie was gone, having melted away into the crowd like mist burning away in the morning sun.

  "Clary," Jocelyn said, reaching her, "I was looking for you, and then Luke pointed you out, just standing over here by yourself. Is everything okay?"

  Just standing over here by yourself. Clary wondered what kind of glamour Kaelie had been using; her mother ought to be able to see through most. "Im fine, Mom. "

  "Wheres Simon? I thought he was coming. "

  Of course she would think of Simon first, Clary thought, not Jace. Even though Jace had been supposed to come, and as Clarys boyfriend, he probably ought to even have been there early. "Mom," she said, and then paused. "Do you think youll ever like Jace?"

  Jocelyns green eyes softened. "I did notice he wasnt here, Clary. I just didnt know if youd want to talk about it. "

  "I mean," Clary went on doggedly, "do you think theres something he could do to make you like him?"

  "Yes," Jocelyn said. "He could make you happy. " She touched Clarys face lightly, and Clary clenched her own hand, feeling the bell press into her skin.

  "He does make me happy," Clary said. "But he cant control everything in the world, Mom. Other things happen-" She fumbled for words. How could she explain that it wasnt Jace making her unhappy, but what was happening to him, without revealing what that was?

  "You love him so much," Jocelyn said gently. "It scares me. Ive always wanted to keep you protected. "

  "And look how that worked out," Clary began, and then softened her voice. This wasnt the time to blame her mother or fight with her, not now. Not with Luke looking over at them from the doorway, his face alight with love and anxiety. "If you just knew him," she said, a little hopelessly. "But I guess everyone says that about their boyfriend. "

  "Youre right," Jocelyn said, surprising her. "I dont know him, not really. I see him, and he reminds me a little of his mother somehow. I dont know why-he doesnt look like her, except that she was also beautiful, and she had that terrible vulnerability that he has-"

  "Vulnerability?" Clary was astonished. She had never thought anyone but herself thought of Jace as vulnerable.

  "Oh, yes," said Jocelyn. "I wanted to hate her for taking Stephen away from Amatis, but you just couldnt help wanting to protect Celine. Jace has a little of that. " She sounded lost in thought. "Or maybe its just that beautiful things are so easily broken by the world. " She lowered her hand. "It doesnt matter. I have my memories to contend with, but theyre my memories. Jace shouldnt bear the weight of them. I will tell you one thing, though. If he didnt love you like he does-and its written all over his face whenever he looks at you-I wouldnt tolerate him for even a moment. So keep that in mind when youre being angry with me. "

  She waved off Clarys protestation that she wasnt angry with a smile and a pat on the cheek, and headed back toward Luke with a last appeal for Clary to get out among the crowd and mingle. Clary nodded and said nothing, looking after her mother as she went, and feeling the bell sear against the inside of her hand where she clutched it, like the tip of a burning match.

  The area around the Ironworks was mostly warehouses and art galleries, the kind of neighborhood that emptied out at night, so it didnt take too long for Jordan and Simon to find a parking space. Simon jumped down out of the truck, only to find Jordan already on the sidewalk, looking at him critically.

  Simon hadnt packed any nice clothes when hed left his house-he didnt have anything on him fancier than a bomber jacket that had once belonged to his dad-so he and Jordan had spent the afternoon prowling the East Village for a decent outfit for him to wear. Theyd finally found an old Zegna suit in a consignment shop called Love Saves the Day that mostly sold glitter platform boots and sixties Pucci scarves. Simon suspected it was where Magnus got most of his clothes.

  "What?" he said now, self-consciously pulling down the sleeves of his suit jacket. It was a little too small for him, though Jordan had opined that if he never buttoned it, no one would notice. "How bad do I look?"

  Jordan shrugged. "You wont crack any mirrors," he said. "I was just wondering if you were armed. You want anything? Dagger, maybe?" He opened his own suit jacket just a bit, and Simon saw something long and metallic glinting against the inside lining.

  "No wonder you and Jace like each other so much. Youre both crazy walking arsenals. " Simon shook his head in weariness and turned to head toward the Ironworks entrance. It was across the street, a wide gold awning shadowing a rectangle of sidewalk that had been decorated with a dark red carpet with the gold image of a wolf stamped into it. Simon couldnt help being slightly amused.

  Leaning against one of the poles holding up the awning was Isabelle. She had her hair up and was wearing a long red dress, slit up the side to show most of her leg. Loops of gold laddered her right arm. They looked like bracelets, but Simon knew they were really her electrum whip. She was covered in Marks. They twined her arms, threaded their way up her thigh, necklaced her throat, and decorated her chest, a great deal of which was visible, thanks to the plunging neckline of her dress. Simon tried not to stare.

  "Hey, Isabelle," he said.

  Beside him Jordan was also trying not to stare. "Um," he said. "Hi. Im Jordan. "

  "We met," Isabelle said coldly, ignoring his proffered hand. "Maia was trying to rip your face off. Quite rightly, too. "

  Jordan looked worried. "Is she here? Is she okay?"

  "Shes here," said Isabelle. "Not that how she feels is any of your business. . . "

  "I feel a sense of responsibility," said Jordan.

  "And where is this feeling located? In your pants, perhaps?"

  Jordan looked indignant.

  Isabelle waved a slim decorated hand. "Look, whatever you did in the past, its past. I know youre Praetor Lupus now, and I told Maia what that means. Shes willing to accept that youre here and ignore you. But thats all you get. Dont bother her, dont try to talk to her, dont even look at her, or Ill fold you in half so many times youll look like a tiny little origami werewolf. "

  Simon snorted.

  "Laugh away. " Isabelle pointed at him. "She doesnt want to talk to you, either. So despite the fact that she looks totally babelicious tonight-and if I were into chicks I would completely go for her-neither of you are allowed to talk to her. Got it?"

  They nodded, looking at their shoes like middle schoolers whod just been ha
nded detention slips.

  Isabelle unpeeled herself from the pole. "Great. Lets go on in. "

  Chapter 15

  BEATI BELLICOSI

  The inside of the Ironworks was alive with ropes of shimmering multicolored lights. Quite a few guests were already sitting, but just as many were milling around, carrying champagne glasses full of pale, fizzing liquid. Waiters-who were also werewolves, Simon noted; the whole event seemed to be staffed by members of Lukes pack-moved among the guests, handing out champagne flutes. Simon declined one. Ever since his experience at Magnuss party, he hadnt felt safe drinking anything that he hadnt prepared himself, and besides, he never knew which non-blood liquids were going to stay down and which would make him sick.

  Maia was standing over by one of the brick pillars, talking to two other werewolves and laughing. She wore a brilliant orange satin sheath dress that set off her dark skin, and her hair was a wild halo of brown-gold curls around her face. She caught sight of Simon and Jordan and deliberately turned away. The back of her dress was a low V that showed a lot of bare skin, including a tattoo of a butterfly across her lower spine.

  "I dont think she had that when I knew her," Jordan said. "That tattoo, I mean. "

  Simon looked at Jordan. He was goggling at his ex-girlfriend with the sort of obvious longing that, Simon suspected, was going to get him punched in the face by Isabelle if he wasnt careful. "Come on," he said, putting his hand against Jordans back and shoving lightly. "Lets go see where were sitting. "

  Isabelle, who had been watching them over her shoulder, smiled a catlike smile. "Good idea. "

  They made their way through the crowd to the area where the tables were, only to find that their table was already half-occupied. Clary sat in one of the seats, looking down into a champagne glass full of what was most likely ginger ale. Next to her were Alec and Magnus, both in the dark suits theyd worn when theyd come from Vienna. Magnus seemed to be playing with the fringed edges of his long white scarf. Alec, his arms crossed over his chest, was staring ferociously into the distance.

  Clary, on seeing Simon and Jordan, bounced to her feet, relief evident on her face. She came around the table to greet Simon, and he saw that she was wearing a very plain gold silk dress and low gold sandals. Without heels to give her height, she looked tiny. The Morgenstern ring was around her neck, its silver glinting against the chain that held it. She reached up to hug him and muttered, "I think Alec and Magnus are fighting. "

  "Looks like it," he muttered back. "Wheres your boyfriend?"

  At that, she detached her arms from his neck. "He got held up at the Institute. " She turned. "Hey, Kyle. "

  He smiled a little awkwardly. "Its Jordan, actually. "

  "So Ive heard. " Clary gestured toward the table. "Well, we might as well sit. I think pretty soon theres going to be toasting and stuff. And then, hopefully, food. "

  They all sat. There was a long, awkward silence.

  "So," Magnus said finally, running a long white finger around the rim of his champagne glass. "Jordan. I hear youre in the Praetor Lupus. I see youre wearing one of their medallions. What does it say on it?"

  Jordan nodded. He was flushed, his hazel eyes sparkling, his attention clearly only partly on the conversation. He was following Maia around the room with his eyes, his fingers nervously clenching and unclenching on the edge of the tablecloth. Simon doubted he was even aware of it. "Beati bellicosi: Blessed are the warriors. "

  "Good organization," said Magnus. "I knew the man who founded it, back in the 1800s. Woolsey Scott. Respectable old werewolf family. "

  Alec made an ugly sound in the back of his throat. "Did you sleep with him, too?"

  Magnuss cat eyes widened. "Alexander!"

  "Well, I dont know anything about your past, do I?" Alec demanded. "You wont tell me anything; you just say it doesnt matter. "

  Magnuss face was expressionless, but there was a dark tinge of anger to his voice. "Does this mean every time I mention anyone Ive ever met, youre going to ask me if I had an affair with them?"

  Alecs expression was stubborn, but Simon couldnt help having a flash of sympathy; the hurt behind his blue eyes was clear. "Maybe. "

  "I met Napoleon once," said Magnus. "We didnt have an affair, though. He was shockingly prudish for a Frenchman. "

  "You met Napoleon?" Jordan, who appeared to be missing most of the conversation, looked impressed. "So its true what they say about warlocks, then?"

  Alec gave him a very unpleasant look. "Whats true?"

  "Alexander," said Magnus coldly, and Clary met Simons eyes across the table. Hers were wide, green, and full of an expression that said Uh-oh. "You cant be rude to everyone who talks to me. "

  Alec made a wide, sweeping gesture. "And why not? Cramping your style, am I? I mean, maybe you were hoping to flirt with werewolf boy here. Hes pretty attractive, if you like the messy-haired, broad-shouldered, chiseled-good-looks type. "

  "Hey, now," said Jordan mildly.

  Magnus put his head in his hands.

  "Or there are plenty of pretty girls here, since apparently your taste goes both ways. Is there anything you arent into?"

  "Mermaids," said Magnus into his fingers. "They always smell like seaweed. "

  "Its not funny," Alec said savagely, and kicking back his chair, he got up from the table and stalked off into the crowd.

  Magnus still had his head in his hands, the black spikes of his hair sticking out between his fingers. "I just dont see," he said to no one in particular, "why the past has to matter. "

  To Simons surprise it was Jordan who answered. "The past always matters," he said. "Thats what they tell you when you join the Praetor. You cant forget the things you did in the past, or youll never learn from them. "