City of Fallen Angels (The Mortal Instruments #4)(27)
Author: Cassandra Clare

Isabelle shrugged. "It has something to do with vampire politics. That’s all I know."

"Do you think he’s all right?"

Isabelle sounded exasperated. "He doesn’t need you to protect him anymore, Clary. He has the Mark of Cain. He could get blown up, shot at, drowned, and stabbed and he’d be just fine." She looked at Clary hard. "I notice you didn’t ask me why I hate Simon," she said. "I assume you knew about the two-timing thing?"

"I knew," Clary admitted. "I’m sorry."

Isabelle waved her confession away. "You’re his best friend. It would have been weird if you didn’t know."

"I should have told you," Clary said. "It’s just-I never got the sense you were that serious about Simon, you know?"

Isabelle scowled. "I wasn’t. It’s just-I thought he would take it seriously, at least. Since I was so out of his league and everything. I guess I expected better from him than I do from other guys."

"Maybe," Clary said quietly, "Simon shouldn’t be dating someone who thinks they’re out of his league." Isabelle looked at her, and Clary felt herself flush. "Sorry. Your relationship is really none of my business."

Isabelle was twisting her dark hair up into a knot, something she did when she felt tense. "No, it isn’t. I mean, I could ask you why you texted me to come to the church and meet you, and not Jace, but I haven’t. I’m not stupid. I know something’s wrong between you two, passionate alley make-out sessions notwithstanding." She looked keenly at Clary. "Have the two of you slept together yet?"

Clary felt the blood rush into her face. "What-I mean, no, we haven’t, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything."

"It doesn’t," said Isabelle, patting her knotted hair into place. "That was just prurient curiosity. What’s holding you back?"

"Isabelle-" Clary pulled up her legs, wrapped her arms around her knees, and sighed. "Nothing. We were just taking our time. I’ve never-you know."

"Jace has," said Isabelle. "I mean, I assume he has. I don’t know for sure. But if you ever need anything…" She let the sentence hang in the air.

"Need anything?"

"Protection. You know. So you can be careful," Isabelle said. She sounded as practical as if she were talking about extra buttons. "You’d think the Angel would have been foresighted enough to give us a birth-control rune, but no dice."

"Of course I’d be careful," Clary spluttered, feeling her cheeks turn red. "Enough. This is awkward."

"This is girl talk," said Isabelle. "You just think it’s awkward because you’ve spent your whole life with Simon as your only friend. And you can’t talk to him about Jace. That would be awkward."

"And Jace really hasn’t said anything to you? About what’s bothering him?" Clary said, in a small voice. "You promise?"

"He didn’t have to," Isabelle said. "The way you’ve been acting, and with Jace going around looking like someone just died, it’s not like I wouldn’t notice something was wrong. You should have come to talk to me sooner."

"Is he at least all right?" Clary asked very quietly.

Isabelle stood up from the bed and looked down at her. "No," she said. "He is very much not all right. Are you?"

Clary shook her head.

"I didn’t think so," Isabelle said.

To Simon’s surprise, Camille, upon seeing the Shadowhunters, didn’t even try to stand her ground. She screamed and ran for the door, only to freeze when she realized that it was daylight outside, and that exiting the bank would quickly incinerate her. She gasped and cowered back against a wall, her fangs bared, a low hiss coming from her throat.

Simon stepped back as the Shadowhunters of the Conclave swarmed around him, all in black like a murder of crows; he saw Jace, his face pale and set like white marble, slide a broadsword blade through one of the human servants as he passed him, as casually as a pedestrian might swat a fly. Maryse stalked ahead, her flying black hair reminding Simon of Isabelle. She dispatched the second cowering minion with a whipsaw movement of her seraph blade, and advanced on Camille, her shining blade outstretched. Jace was beside her, and another Shadowhunter-a tall man with black runes twining his forearms like vines-was on her other side.

The rest of the Shadowhunters had spread out and were canvassing the bank, sweeping it with those odd things they used-Sensors-checking every corner for demon activity. They ignored the bodies of Camille’s human servants, lying motionless in their pools of drying blood. They ignored Simon as well. He might as well have been another pillar, for all the attention they paid him.

"Camille Belcourt," said Maryse, her voice echoing off the marble walls. "You have broken the Law and are subject to the Law’s punishments. Will you surrender and come with us, or will you fight?"

Camille was crying, making no attempt to cover her tears, which were tinged with blood. They streaked her white face with red lines as she choked, "Walker-and my Archer-"

Maryse looked baffled. She turned to the man on her left. "What is she saying, Kadir?"

"Her human servants," he replied. "I believe she is mourning their deaths."

Maryse flipped her hand dismissively. "It is against the Law to make servants of human beings."

"I made them before Downworlders were subject to your accursed laws, you bitch. They have been with me two hundred years. They were like children to me."

Maryse’s hand tightened on the hilt of her blade. "What would you know of children?" she whispered. "What does your kind know of anything but destroying?"

Camille’s tear-streaked face flashed for a moment with triumph. "I knew it," she said. "Whatever else you might say, whatever lies you tell, you hate our kind. Don’t you?"

Maryse’s face tightened. "Take her," she said. "Bring her to the Sanctuary."

Jace moved swiftly to one side of Camille and took hold of her; Kadir seized her other arm. Together, they pinioned her between them.

"Camille Belcourt, you stand accused of the murder of humans," Maryse intoned. "And of the murder of Shadowhunters. You will be taken to the Sanctuary, where you will be questioned. The sentence for the murder of Shadowhunters is death, but it is possible that if you cooperate with us, your life will be spared. Do you understand?" asked Maryse.

Camille tossed her head defiantly. "There is only one man I will answer to," she said. "If you do not bring him to me, I will tell you nothing. You can kill me, but I will tell you nothing."

"Very well," said Maryse. "What man is that?"

Camille bared her teeth. "Magnus Bane."

"Magnus Bane?" Maryse looked flabbergasted. "The High Warlock of Brooklyn? Why do you want to talk to him?"

"I will answer to him," Camille said again. "Or I will answer to no one."

And that was that. She said not another word. As she was dragged away by Shadowhunters, Simon watched her go. He did not feel, as he had thought he would, triumphant. He felt hollow, and strangely sick to his stomach. He looked down at the bodies of the slain servants; he hadn’t liked them much either, but they hadn’t asked to be what they were, not really. In a way, maybe neither had Camille. But she was a monster to Nephilim anyway. And maybe not just because she had killed Shadowhunters; maybe there was no way, really, for them to think of her as anything else.

Camille had been pushed through the Portal; Jace stood on the other side of it, gesturing impatiently for Simon to follow. "Are you coming or not?" he called.

Whatever else you might say, whatever lies you tell, you hate our kind.

"Coming," Simon said, and moved reluctantly forward.

Chapter 12

SANCTUARY

"What do you think Camille wants to see Magnus for?" Simon asked.

He and Jace were standing against the back wall of the Sanctuary, which was a massive room attached to the main body of the Institute through a narrow passageway. It wasn’t part of the Institute per se; it had been left deliberately unconsecrated in order that it might be used as a holding place for demons and vampires. Sanctuaries, Jace had informed Simon, had gone out of fashion somewhat since Projecting had been invented, but every once in a while they found a use for theirs. Apparently, this was one of those times.

It was a big room, stone-bound and pillared, with an equally stone-bound entryway beyond a wide set of double doors; the entryway led to the corridor connecting the room to the Institute. Huge gouges in the stone floor indicated that whatever had been caged here over the years had been pretty nasty-and big. Simon couldn’t help wondering how many enormous rooms full of pillars he was going to have to spend time in. Camille was standing against one of the pillars, her arms behind her, guarded on either side by Shadowhunter warriors. Maryse was pacing back and forth, occasionally conferring with Kadir, clearly trying to sort out some kind of plan. There were no windows in the room, for obvious reasons, but witchlight torches burned everywhere, giving the whole scene a peculiar whitish cast.

"I don’t know," Jace said. "Maybe she wants fashion tips."

"Ha," Simon said. "Who’s that guy, with your mother? He looks familiar."

"That’s Kadir," said Jace. "You probably met his brother. Malik. He died in the attack on Valentine’s ship. Kadir’s the second most important person in the Conclave, after my mom. She relies on him a lot."

As Simon watched, Kadir pulled Camille’s arms behind her back, so they circled the pillar, and chained them at her wrists. The vampire gave a little scream.

"Blessed metal," said Jace without a flicker of emotion. "It burns them."

Them, Simon thought. You mean "you." I’m just like her. I’m not different just because you know me.

Camille was whimpering. Kadir stood back, his face impassive. Runes, dark against his dark skin, twined the entirety of his arms and throat. He turned to say something to Maryse; Simon caught the words "Magnus" and "fire-message."

"Magnus again," said Simon. "But isn’t he traveling?"

"Magnus and Camille are both really old," said Jace. "I suppose it’s not that odd that they know each other." He shrugged, seemingly uninterested in the topic. "Anyway, I’m pretty sure they’re going to wind up summoning Magnus back here. Maryse wants information, and she wants it bad. She knows Camille wasn’t killing those Shadowhunters just for blood. There are easier ways to get blood."

Simon thought fleetingly of Maureen, and felt sick. "Well," he said, trying to sound unconcerned. "I guess that means Alec will be back. So that’s good, right?"

"Sure." Jace’s voice sounded lifeless. He didn’t look all that great either; the whitish light in the room cast the angles of his cheekbones into a new and sharper relief, showing that he’d lost weight. His fingernails were bitten down to bloody stumps, and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

"At least your plan worked," Simon added, trying to inject some cheer into Jace’s misery. It had been Jace’s idea to have Simon take a picture with his cell phone and send it to the Conclave, which would allow them to Portal to where he was. "It was a good idea."

"I knew it would work." Jace sounded bored by the compliment. He looked up as the double doors to the Institute swung open, and Isabelle came through them, her black hair swinging. She looked around the room-giving Camille and the other Shadowhunters barely a glance-and came toward Jace and Simon, her boots clattering against the stone floor.

"What’s all this about yanking poor Magnus and Alec back from their vacation?" Isabelle demanded. "They have opera tickets!"

Jace explained, while Isabelle stood with her hands on her hips, ignoring Simon completely.

"Fine," she said when he was done. "But the whole thing’s ridiculous. She’s just stalling for time. What could she possibly have to say to Magnus?" She glanced back over her shoulder at Camille, who was now not just manacled but bound to the pillar with lengths of silvery-gold chain. It crisscrossed her body across her torso, her knees, and even her ankles, holding her totally immobile. "Is that blessed metal?"

Jace nodded. "The manacles are lined to protect her wrists, but if she moves too much…" He made a sizzling sound. Simon, remembering the way his hands had burned when he’d touched the Star of David in his cell in Idris, the way his skin had run with blood, had to fight the urge to snap at him.

"Well, while you were off trapping vampires, I was uptown fighting off a Hydra demon," Isabelle said. "With Clary."

Jace, who had evinced only the barest interest in anything going on around him until now, jerked upright. "With Clary? You took her demon-hunting with you? Isabelle-"

"Of course not. She was already well into the fight by the time I got there."

"But how did you know-?"

"She texted me," Isabelle said. "So I went." She examined her nails, which were, as usual, perfect.