Chapter 12
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“No.” Dorothea spoke the word almost reluctantly. “I’m
sure she’s still alive. For now.”
“Then I have to find her,” ry said. The world had
stopped tilting; Jace was standing behind her, his
hand on her elbow as if to brace her, but she barely
noticed. “You understand? I have to find her before—”
Madame Dorothea held up a hand. “I don’t want to
involve myself in Shadowhunter business.”
“But you knew my mother. She was your neighbor—”
“This is an official ve investigation.” Jace cut her
off. “I can alwayse back with the Silent Brothers.”
“Oh, for the—” Dorothea nced at her door, then at
Jace and ry. “I suppose you might as welle
in,” she said, finally. “I’ll tell you what I can.” She
started toward the door, then halted on the threshold,
ring. “But if you tell anyone I helped you,
Shadowhunter, you’ll wake up tomorrow with snakes
for hair and an extra pair of arms.”
“That might be nice, an extra pair of arms,” Jace said.
“Handy in a fight.”
“Not if they’re growing out of your …” Dorothea
paused and smiled at him, not without malice. “Neck.”
“Yikes,” said Jace mildly.
“Yikes is right, Jace Wand.” Dorothea marched into
the apartment, her purple tent flying around her like a
gaudy g.
ry looked at Jace. “Wand?”
“It’s my name.” Jace looked shaken. “I can’t say I like
that she knows it.”
ry nced after Dorothea. The lights were on
inside the apartment; already the heavy smell of
incense was flooding the entryway, mixing
unpleasantly with the stench of blood. “Still, I think we
might as well try talking to her. What have we got to
lose?”
“Once you’ve spent a bit more time in our world,” Jace
said, “you won’t ask me that again.”
7
THE FIVE-DIMENSIONAL DOOR
MADAME DOROTHEA’S APARTMENT SEEMED TO
HAVE ROUGHLY the sameyout as ry’s, though
she’d made a very different use of the space. The
entryway, reeking of incense, was hung with bead
curtains and astrological posters. One showed the
constetions of the zodiac, another a guide to
Chinese magical symbols, and another showed a
hand with fingers spread, each line on the palm
carefullybeled. Above the hand Latinate script
spelled out the words In Manibus Fortuna. Narrow
shelves holding stacked books ran along the wall
beside the door.
One of the bead curtains rattled, and Madame
Dorothea poked her head through. “Interested in
chiromancy?” she said, noting ry’s gaze. “Or just
nosy?”
“Neither,” ry said. “Can you really tell fortunes?”
“My mother had a great talent. She could see a man’s
future in his hand or the leaves at the bottom of his
teacup. She taught me some of her tricks.” She
transferred her gaze to Jace. “Speaking of tea, young
man, would you like some?”
“What?” Jace said, looking flustered.
“Tea. I find it both settles the stomach and
concentrates the mind. Wonderful drink, tea.”
“I’ll have tea,” ry said, realizing how long it had
been since she had eaten or drunk anything. She felt
as if she’d been running on pure adrenaline since she
woke up.
Jace sumbed. “All right. As long as it isn’t Earl
Grey,” he added, wrinkling his fine-boned nose. “I hate
bergamot.”
Madame Dorothea cackled loudly and disappeared
back through the bead curtain, leaving it swaying
gently behind her.
ry raised her eyebrows at Jace. “You hate
bergamot?”
Jace had wandered over to the narrow bookcase and
was examining its contents. “You have a problem with
that?”
“You may be the only guy my age I’ve ever met who
knows what bergamot is, much less that it’s in Earl
Grey tea.”
“Yes, well,” Jace said, with a supercilious look, “I’m
not like other guys. Besides,” he added, flipping a
book off the shelf, “at the Institute we have to take
sses in basic medicinal uses for nts. It’s
required.”
“I figured all your sses were stuff like ughter 101
and Beheading for Beginners.”
Jace flipped a page. “Very funny, Fray.”
ry, who had been studying the palmistry poster,
whirled on him. “Don’t call me that.”
He nced up, surprised. “Why not? It’s yourst
name, isn’t it?”
The image of Simon rose up behind her eyes. Simon
thest time she had seen him, staring after her as
she ran out of Java Jones. She turned back to the
poster, blinking. “No reason.”
“I see,” Jace said, and she could tell from his voice
that he did see, more than she wanted him to. She
heard him drop the book back onto the shelf. “This
must be the trash she keeps up front to impress
credible mundanes,” he said, sounding disgusted.
“There’s not one serious text here.”
“Just because it’s not the kind of magic you do—”
ry began crossly.
He scowled furiously, silencing her. “I do not do
magic,” he said. “Get it through your head: Human
beings are not magic users. It’s part of what makes
them human. Witches and warlocks can only use
magic because they have demon blood.”
ry took a moment to process this. “But I’ve seen
you use magic. You use enchanted weapons—”
“I use tools that are magical. And just to be able to do
that, I have to undergo rigorous training. The rune
tattoos on my skin protect me too. If you tried to use
one of the seraph des, for instance, it’d probably
burn your skin, maybe kill you.”
“What if I got the tattoos?” ry asked. “Could I use
them then?”
“No,” Jace said crossly. “The Marks are only part of it.
There are tests, ordeals, levels of training—look, just
forget it, okay? Stay away from my des. In fact,
don’t touch any of my weapons without my
permission.”
“Well, there goes my n for selling them all on
eBay,” ry muttered.
“Selling them on what?”
ry smiled ndly at him. “A mythical ce of great
magical power.”
Jace looked confused, then shrugged. “Most myths
are true, at least in part.”
“I’m starting to get that.”
The bead curtain rattled again, and Madame
Dorothea’s head appeared. “Tea’s on the table,” she
said. “There’s no need for you two to keep standing
there like donkeys. Come into the parlor.”
“There’s a parlor?” ry said.
“Of course there’s a parlor,” said Dorothea. “Where
else would I entertain?”
“I’ll just leave my hat with the footman,” said Jace.
Madame Dorothea shot him a dark look. “If you were
half as funny as you thought you were, my boy, you’d
be twice as funny as you are.” She disappeared back
through the curtain, her loud “Hmph!” nearly drowned
out by rattling beads.
Jace frowned. “I’m not quite sure what she meant by
that.”
“Really,” said ry. “It made perfect sense to me.”
She marched through the bead curtain before he
could reply.
The parlor was so dimly lit that it took several blinks
for ry’s eyes to adjust. Faint light outlined the ck
velvet curtains drawn across the entire left wall.
Stuffed birds and bats dangled from the ceiling on thin
cords, shiny dark beads where their eyes should have
been. The floor wasyered with frayed Persian rugs
that spit up puffs of dust underfoot. A group of
overstuffed pink armchairs were gathered around a
low table: A stack of tarot cards bound with a silk
ribbon upied one end of the table, a crystal ball on
a gold stand the other. In the middle of the table was a
silver tea service,id out forpany: a neat te of
stacked sandwiches, a blue teapot unfurling a thin
stream of white smoke, and two teacups on matching
saucers set carefully in front of two of the armchairs.
“Wow,” ry said weakly. “This looks great.” She took
a seat in one of the armchairs. It felt good to sit down.
Dorothea smiled, her eyes glinting with a sly humor.
“Have some tea,” she said, hefting the pot. “Milk?
Sugar?”
ry looked sideways at Jace, who was sitting beside
her and who had taken possession of the sandwich
te. He was examining it closely. “Sugar,” she said.
Jace shrugged, took a sandwich, and set the te
down. ry watched him warily as he bit into it. He
shrugged again. “Cucumber,” he said, in response to
her stare.
“I always think cucumber sandwiches are just the
thing for tea, don’t you?” Madame Dorothea inquired,
of no one in particr.
“I hate cucumber,” Jace said, and handed the rest of
his sandwich to ry. She bit into it—it was seasoned
with just the right amount of mayonnaise and pepper.
Her stomach rumbled in grateful appreciation of the
first food she’d tasted since the nachos she’d eaten
with Simon.
“Cucumber and bergamot,” ry said. “Is there
anything else you hate that I ought to know about?”
Jace looked at Dorothea over the rim of his teacup.
“Liars,” he said.
Calmly the old woman set her teapot down. “You can
call me a liar all you like. It’s true, I’m not a witch. But
my mother was.”
Jace choked on his tea. “That’s impossible.”
“Why impossible?” ry asked curiously. She took a
sip of her tea. It was bitter, strongly vored with a
peaty smokiness.
Jace expelled a breath. “Because they’re half-human,
half-demon. All witches and warlocks are
crossbreeds. And because they’re crossbreeds, they
can’t have children. They’re sterile.”
“Like mules,” ry said thoughtfully, remembering
something from biology ss. “Mules are sterile
crossbreeds.”
“Your knowledge of livestock is astounding,” said
Jace. “All Downworlders are in some part demon, but
only warlocks are the children of demon parents. It’s
why their powers are the strongest.”
“Vampires and werewolves—they’re part demon too?
And faeries?”
“Vampires and werewolves are the result of diseases
brought by demons from their home dimensions. Most
demon diseases are deadly to humans, but in these
cases they worked strange changes on the infected,
without actually killing them. And faeries—”
“Faeries are fallen angels,” said Dorothea, “cast down
out of heaven for their pride.”
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“That’s the legend,” Jace said. “It’s also said that
they’re the offspring of demons and angels, which
always seemed more likely to me. Good and evil,
mixing together. Faeries are as beautiful as angels
are supposed to be, but they have a lot of mischief
and cruelty in them. And you’ll notice most of them
avoid midday sunlight—”
“For the devil has no power,” said Dorothea softly, as
if she were reciting an old rhyme, “except in the dark.”
Jace scowled at her. ry said, “‘Supposed to be’?
You mean angels don’t—”
“Enough about angels,” said Dorothea, suddenly
practical. “It’s true that warlocks can’t have children.
My mother adopted me because she wanted to make
sure there’d be someone to attend this ce after she
was gone. I don’t have to master magic myself. I have
only to watch and guard.”
“Guard what?” asked ry.
“What indeed?” With a wink the older woman reached
for a sandwich from the te, but it was empty. ry
had eaten them all. Dorothea chuckled. “It’s good to
see a young woman eat her fill. In my day, girls were
robust, strapping creatures, not twigs like they are
nowadays.”
“Thanks,” ry said. She thought of Isabelle’s tiny
waist and felt suddenly gigantic. She set her empty
teacup down with a tter.
Instantly, Madame Dorothea pounced on the cup and
stared into it intently, a line appearing between her
penciled eyebrows.
“What?” ry said nervously. “Did I crack the cup or
something?”
“She’s reading your tea leaves,” Jace said, sounding
bored, but he leaned forward along with ry as
Dorothea turned the cup around and around in her
thick fingers, scowling.
“Is it bad?” ry asked.
“It is neither bad nor good. It is confusing.” Dorothea
looked at Jace. “Give me your cup,” shemanded.
Jace looked affronted. “But I’m not done with my—”
The old woman snatched the cup out of his hand and
sshed the excess tea back into the pot. Frowning,
she gazed at what remained. “I see violence in your
future, a great deal of blood shed by you and others.
You’ll fall in love with the wrong person. Also, you
have an enemy.”
“Only one? That’s good news.” Jace leaned back in
his chair as Dorothea put down his cup and picked up
ry’s again. She shook her head.
“There is nothing for me to read here. The images are
jumbled, meaningless.” She nced at ry. “Is there
a block in your mind?”
ry was puzzled. “A what?”
“Like a spell that might conceal a memory, or might
have blocked out your Sight.”
ry shook her head. “No, of course not.”
Jace leaned forward alertly. “Don’t be so hasty,” he
said. “It’s true that she ims not to remember ever
having had the Sight before this week. Maybe—”
“Maybe I’m just ate developer,” ry snapped.
“And don’t leer at me, just because I said that.”
Jace assumed an injured air. “I wasn’t going to.”
“You were working up to a leer, I could tell.”
“Maybe,” Jace acknowledged, “but that doesn’t mean
I’m not right. Something’s blocking your memories, I’m
almost sure of it.”
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