Chapter 16
Font Size:
A
A+
A++
“Simon,” she said. “Enough.”
Simon shot her a look as if to say, Whose side are you
on? but ry ignored him. She was still watching Jace
as they turned onto Kent Avenue. The lights of the
bridge behind them lit his hair to an unlikely halo. She
wondered if it was wrong that she was d in some way
that the men who’d taken her mother were the same
men who’d killed Jace’s father all those years ago. For
now, at least, he’d have to help her find Jocelyn,
whether he wanted to or not. For now, at least, he
couldn’t leave her alone.
“You live here?” Simon stood staring up at the old
cathedral, with its broken-in windows and doors sealed
with yellow police tape. “But it’s a church.”
Jace reached into the neck of his shirt and pulled out a
brass key on the end of a chain. It looked like the sort of
key one might use to open an old chest in an attic. ry
watched him curiously—he hadn’t locked the door
behind him when they’d left the Institute before, just let it
m shut. “We find it useful to inhabit hallowed ground.”
“I get that but, no offense, this ce is a dump,” Simon
said, looking dubiously at the bent iron fence that
surrounded the ancient building, the trash piled up
beside the steps.
ry let her mind rx. She imagined herself taking
one of her mother’s turpentine rags and dabbing at the
view in front of her, cleaning away the mour as if it
were old paint.
There it was: the true vision, glowing through the false
one like light through dark ss. She saw the soaring
spires of the cathedral, the dull gleam of the leaded
windows, the brass te fixed to the stone wall beside
the door, the Institute’s name etched into it. She held the
vision for a moment before letting it go almost with a
sigh.
“It’s a mour, Simon,” she said. “It doesn’t really look
like this.”
“If this is your idea of mour, I’m having second
thoughts about letting you make me over.”
Jace fitted the key into the lock, ncing over his
shoulder at Simon. “I’m not sure you’re quite sensible of
the honor I’m doing you,” he said. “You’ll be the first
mundane who has ever been inside the Institute.”
“Probably the smell keeps the rest of them away.”
“Ignore him,” ry said to Jace, and elbowed Simon in
the side. “He always says exactly whates into his
head. No filters.”
“Filters are for cigarettes and coffee,” Simon muttered
under his breath as they went inside. “Two things I could
use right now, incidentally.”
ry thought longingly of coffee as they made their way
up a winding set of stone stairs, each one carved with a
glyph. She was beginning to recognize some of them—
they tantalized her sight the way half-heard words in a
foreignnguage sometimes tantalized her hearing, as if
by just concentrating harder she could force some
meaning out of them.
ry and the two boys reached the elevator and rode
up in silence. She was still thinking about coffee, big
mugs of coffee that were half milk the way her mother
would make them in the morning. Sometimes Luke
would bring them bags of sweet rolls from the Golden
Carriage Bakery in Chinatown. At the thought of Luke,
ry’s stomach tightened, her appetite vanishing.
The elevator came to a hissing stop, and they were
again in the entryway ry remembered. Jace
shrugged off his jacket, threw it over the back of a
nearby chair, and whistled through his teeth. In a few
seconds Church appeared, slinking low to the ground,
his yellow eyes gleaming in the dusty air. “Church,” Jace
said, kneeling down to stroke the cat’s gray head.
“Where’s Alec, Church? Where’s Hodge?”
Church arched his back and meowed. Jace crinkled his
nose, which ry might have found cute in other
circumstances. “Are they in the library?” He stood up,
and Church shook himself, trotted a little way down the
corridor, and nced back over his shoulder. Jace
followed the cat as if this were the most natural thing in
the world, indicating with a wave of his hand that ry
and Simon were to fall into step behind him.
“I don’t like cats,” Simon said, his shoulder bumping
ry’s as they maneuvered the narrow hallway.
“It’s unlikely,” Jace said, “knowing Church, that he likes
you, either.”
They were passing through one of the corridors that
were lined with bedrooms. Simon’s eyebrows rose.
“How many people live here, exactly?”
“It’s an institute,” ry said. “A ce where
Shadowhunters can stay when they’re in the city. Like a
sort ofbination safe haven and research facility.”
“I thought it was a church.”
“It’s inside a church.”
“Because that’s not confusing.” She could hear the
nerves under his flippant tone. Instead of shushing him,
ry reached down and took his hand, winding her
fingers through his cold ones. His hand was mmy, but
he returned the pressure with a grateful squeeze.
“I know it’s weird,” she said quietly, “but you just have to
go along with it. Trust me.”
Simon’s dark eyes were serious. “I trust you,” he said. “I
don’t trust him.” He cut his nce toward Jace, who was
walking a few paces ahead of them, apparently
conversing with the cat. ry wondered what they were
talking about. Politics? Opera? The high price of tuna?
“Well, try,” she said. “Right now he’s the best chance I’m
going to have of finding my mom.”
A little shudder passed over Simon. “This ce feels not
right to me,” he whispered.
ry remembered how she’d felt waking up here this
morning—as if everything were both alien and familiar at
the same time. For Simon, clearly, there was nothing of
that familiarity, only the sense of the strange, the alien
and inimical. “You don’t have to stay with me,” she said,
though she’d fought Jace on the train for the right to
keep Simon with her, pointing out that after his three
days of watching Luke, he might well know something
that would be useful to them once they had a chance to
break it down in detail.
“Yes,” Simon said, “I do.” And he let go of her hand as
they turned through a doorway and found themselves
inside a kitchen. It was an enormous kitchen, and unlike
the rest of the Institute, it was all modern, with steel
counters and ssed-in shelves holding rows of
crockery. Next to a red cast-iron stove stood Isabelle, a
round spoon in her hand, her dark hair pinned up on top
of her head. Steam was rising from the pot, and
ingredients were strewn everywhere—tomatoes,
chopped garlic and onions, strings of dark-looking
herbs, grated piles of cheese, some shelled peanuts, a
handful of olives, and a whole fish, its eye staring
ssily upward.
“I’m making soup,” Isabelle said, waving a spoon at
Jace. “Are you hungry?” She nced behind him then,
her dark gaze taking in Simon as well as ry. “Oh, my
God,” she said with finality. “You brought another
mundie here? Hodge is going to kill you.”
Simon cleared his throat. “I’m Simon,” he said.
Isabelle ignored him. “JACE WAYLAND,” she said.
“Exin yourself.”
Jace was ring at the cat. “I told you to bring me to
Alec! Backstabbing Judas.”
Church rolled onto his back, purring contentedly.
“Don’t me Church,” Isabelle said. “It’s not his fault
Hodge is going to kill you.” She plunged the spoon back
into the pot. ry wondered what exactly peanut-fish-
olive-tomato soup tasted like.
“I had to bring him,” Jace said. “Isabelle—today I saw
two of the men who killed my father.”
Isabelle’s shoulders tightened, but when she turned
around, she looked more upset than surprised. “I don’t
suppose he’s one of them?” she asked, pointing her
spoon at Simon.
To ry’s surprise, Simon said nothing to this. He was
too busy staring at Isabelle, rapt and openmouthed. Of
course, ry realized with a sharp stab of annoyance.
Isabelle was exactly Simon’s type—tall, morous, and
beautiful. Come to think of it, maybe that was
everyone’s type. ry stopped wondering about the
peanut-fish-olive-tomato soup and started wondering
what would happen if she dumped the contents of the
pot on Isabelle’s head.
“Of course not,” Jace said. “Do you think he’d be alive
now if he were?”
Isabelle cast an indifferent look at Simon. “I suppose
not,” she said, absently dropping a piece of fish on the
floor. Church fell on it ravenously.
“No wonder he brought us here,” said Jace disgustedly.
“I can’t believe you’ve been stuffing him with fish again.
He’s looking distinctly podgy.”
“He does not look podgy. Besides, none of the rest of
you ever eat anything. I got this recipe from a water
sprite at the Chelsea Market. He said it was delicious—”
“If you knew how to cook, maybe I would eat,” Jace
muttered.
Isabelle froze, her spoon poised dangerously. “What did
you say?”
Jace edged toward the fridge. “I said I’m going to look
for a snack to eat.”
“That’s what I thought you said.” Isabelle returned her
attention to the soup. Simon continued to stare at
Isabelle. ry, inexplicably furious, dropped her
backpack on the floor and followed Jace to the
refrigerator.
“I can’t believe you’re eating,” she hissed.
“What should I be doing instead?” he inquired with
maddening calm. The inside of the fridge was filled with
milk cartons whose expiration dates reached back
several weeks, and stic Tupperware containers
labeled with masking tape lettered in red ink: HODGE’S.
DO NOT EAT.
“Wow, he’s like a crazy roommate,” ry observed,
momentarily diverted.
“What, Hodge? He just likes things in order.” Jace took
one of the containers out of the fridge and opened it.
“Hmm. Spaghetti.”
“Don’t ruin your appetite,” Isabelle called.
“That,” said Jace, kicking the fridge door shut and
seizing a fork from a drawer, “is exactly what I intend to
do.” He looked at ry. “Want some?”
She shook her head.
“Of course not,” he said around a mouthful, “you ate all
those sandwiches.”
“It wasn’t that many sandwiches.” She nced over at
Simon, who appeared to have seeded in engaging
Isabelle in conversation. “Can we go find Hodge now?”
“You seem awfully eager to get out of here.”
“Don’t you want to tell him what we saw?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” Jace set the container down and
thoughtfully licked spaghetti sauce off his knuckle. “But if
you want to go so badly—”
“I do.”
“Fine.”
He seemed awfully calm, she thought, not scary-calm
as he had been before, but more contained than he
ought to be. She wondered how often he let glimpses of
his real self peek through the facade that was as hard
and shiny as the coat ofcquer on one of her mother’s
Japanese boxes.
“Where are you going?” Simon looked up as they
reached the door. Jagged bits of dark hair fell into his
eyes; he looked stupidly dazed, ry thought unkindly,
as if someone had hit him across the back of the head
with a two-by-four.
“To find Hodge,” she said. “I need to tell him about what
happened at Luke’s.”
Isabelle looked up. “Are you going to tell him that you
saw those men, Jace? The ones that—”
“I don’t know.” He cut her off. “So keep it to yourself for
now.”
She shrugged. “All right. Are you going toe back?
Do you want any soup?”
“No,” said Jace.
“Do you think Hodge will want any soup?”
“No one wants any soup.”
“I want some soup,” Simon said.
“No, you don’t,” said Jace. “You just want to sleep with
Isabelle.”
Simon was appalled. “That is not true.”
“How ttering,” Isabelle murmured into the soup, but
she was smirking.
“Oh, yes it is,” said Jace. “Go ahead and ask her—then
she can turn you down and the rest of us can get on
with our lives while you fester in miserable humiliation.”
He snapped his fingers. “Hurry up, mundie boy, we’ve
got work to do.”
Simon looked away, flushed with embarrassment. ry,
who a moment ago would have been meanly pleased,
felt a rush of anger toward Jace. “Leave him alone,” she
snapped. “There’s no need to be sadistic just because
he isn’t one of you.”
“One of us,” said Jace, but the sharp look had gone out
of his eyes. “I’m going to find Hodge. Come along or
not, it’s your choice.” The kitchen door swung shut
behind him, leaving ry alone with Simon and
Isabelle.
Isabelledled some of the soup into a bowl and pushed
it across the counter toward Simon without looking at
him. She was still smirking, though—ry could feel it.
The soup was a dark green color, studded with floating
brown things.
“I’m going with Jace,” ry said. “Simon …?”
“Mmgnstayhr,” he mumbled, looking at his feet.
“What?”
“I’m going to stay here.” Simon parked himself on a
stool. “I’m hungry.”
“Fine.” ry’s throat felt tight, as if she’d swallowed
something either very hot or very cold. She stalked out
of the kitchen, Church slinking at her feet like a cloudy
gray shadow.
In the hallway Jace was twirling one of the seraph
des between his fingers. He pocketed it when he saw
her. “Kind of you to leave the lovebirds to it.”
ry frowned at him. “Why are you always such an
asshat?”
“An asshat?” Jace looked as if he were about tough.
“What you said to Simon—”
Source:
? by
? by
? by
? by
? by
? by
? by
? by
? by
? by
? by
? by
? by
? by
? by
? by
Articles you may like
?
?
?
Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org.
?
? Ads by