Chapter 19
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ry looked at Jace, appalled. “You want to give me to
them?”
“I want them to help you.” Jace leaned across the table,
so close she could see the darker amber flecks in his
light eyes. “Maybe we don’t get to look for the Cup,” he
said softly. “Maybe the ve will do that. But what’s in
your mind belongs to you. Someone’s hidden secrets
there, secrets you can’t see. Don’t you want to know the
truth about your own life?”
“I don’t want someone else inside my head,” she said
weakly. She knew he was right, but the idea of turning
herself over to beings that even the Shadowhunters
thought were creepy sent a chill through her blood.
“I’ll go with you,” said Jace. “I’ll stay with you while they
do it.”
“That’s enough.” Simon had stood up from the table, red
with anger. “Leave her alone.”
Alec nced over at Simon as if he’d just noticed him,
raking tumbled ck hair out of his eyes and blinking.
“What are you still doing here, mundane?”
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Simon ignored him. “I said, leave her alone.”
Jace nced over at him, a slow, sweetly poisonous
nce. “Alec is right,” he said. “The Institute is sworn to
shelter Shadowhunters, not their mundane friends.
Especially when they’ve worn out their wee.”
Isabelle got up and took Simon’s arm. “I’ll show him
out.” For a moment it looked like he might resist her, but
he caught ry’s eye across the table as she shook her
head slightly. He subsided. Head up, he let Isabelle lead
him from the room.
ry stood up. “I’m tired,” she said. “I want to go to
sleep.”
“You’ve hardly eaten anything—” Jace protested.
She brushed aside his reaching hand. “I’m not hungry.”
It was cooler in the hallway than it had been in the
kitchen. ry leaned against the wall, pulling at her
shirt, which was sticking to the cold sweat on her chest.
Far down the hall she could see Isabelle’s and Simon’s
retreating figures, swallowed up by shadows. She
watched them go silently, a shivery odd feeling growing
in the pit of her stomach. When had Simon be
Isabelle’s responsibility, instead of hers? If there was
one thing she was learning from all this, it was how easy
it was to lose everything you had always thought you’d
have forever.
The room was all gold and white, with high walls that
gleamed like enamel, and a roof, high above, clear and
glittering like diamonds. ry wore a green velvet dress
and carried a gold fan in her hand. Her hair, twisted into
a knot that spilled curls, made her head feel strangely
heavy every time she turned to look behind her.
“You see someone more interesting than me?” asked
Simon. In the dream he was mysteriously an expert
dancer. He steered her through the crowd as if she were
a leaf caught in a river current. He was wearing all
ck, like a Shadowhunter, and it showed his coloring
to good advantage: dark hair, lightly browned skin, white
teeth. He’s handsome, ry thought, with a jolt of
surprise.
“There’s no one more interesting than you,” ry said.
“It’s just this ce. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She
turned again as they passed a champagne fountain: an
enormous silver dish, the centerpiece a mermaid with a
jar pouring sparkling wine down her bare back. People
were filling their sses from the dish,ughing and
talking. The mermaid turned her head as ry passed,
and smiled. The smile showed white teeth as sharp as a
vampire’s.
“Wee to the ss City,” said a voice that wasn’t
Simon’s. ry found that Simon had disappeared and
she was now dancing with Jace, who was wearing
white, the material of his shirt a thin cotton; she could
see the ck Marks through it. There was a bronze
chain around his throat, and his hair and eyes looked
more gold than ever; she thought about how she would
like to paint his portrait with the dull gold paint one
sometimes saw in Russian icons.
“Where’s Simon?” she asked as they spun again around
the champagne fountain. ry saw Isabelle there, with
Alec, both of them in royal blue. They were holding
hands like Hansel and Gretel in the dark forest.
“This ce is for the living,” said Jace. His hands were
cool on hers, and she was aware of them in a way she
had not been of Simon’s.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you mean?”
He leaned close. She could feel his lips against her ear.
They were not cool at all. “Wake up, ry,” he
whispered. “Wake up. Wake up.”
She bolted upright in bed, gasping, hair stered to her
neck with cold sweat. Her wrists were held in a hard
grip; she tried to pull away, then realized who was
restraining her. “Jace?”
“Yeah.” He was sitting on the edge of the bed—how had
she gotten into a bed?—looking tousled and half-awake,
with early morning hair and sleepy eyes.
“Let go of me.”
“Sorry.” His fingers slipped from her wrists. “You tried to
hit me the second I said your name.”
“I’m a little jumpy, I guess.” She nced around. She
was in a small bedroom furnished in dark wood. By the
quality of the faint lighting in through the half-open
window, she guessed it was dawn, or just after. Her
backpack was propped against one wall. “How did I get
here? I don’t remember …”
“I found you asleep on the floor in the hallway.” Jace
sounded amused. “Hodge helped me get you into bed.
Thought you’d be morefortable in a guest room
than in the infirmary.”
“Wow. I don’t remember anything.” She ran her hands
through her hair, pushing draggled curls out of her eyes.
“What time is it, anyway?”
“About five.”
“In the morning?” She red at him. “You’d better have
a good reason for waking me up.”
“Why, were you having a good dream?”
She could still hear music in her ears, feel the heavy
jewels brushing her cheeks. “I don’t remember.”
He stood up. “One of the Silent Brothers is here to see
you. Hodge sent me to wake you up. Actually, he offered
to wake you up himself, but since it’s five a.m., I figured
you’d be less cranky if you had something nice to look
at.”
“Meaning you?”
“What else?”
“I didn’t agree to this, you know,” she snapped. “This
Silent Brother thing.”
“Do you want to find your mother,” he said, “or not?”
She stared at him.
“You just have to meet Brother Jeremiah. That’s all. You
might even like him. He’s got a great sense of humor for
a guy who never says anything.”
She put her head in her hands. “Get out. Get out so I
can change.”
She swung her legs out of bed the moment the door
shut behind him. Though it was barely dawn, humid
heat was already beginning to gather in the room. She
pushed the window shut and went into the bathroom to
wash her face and rinse her mouth, which tasted like old
paper.
Five minutester she was sliding her feet into her
green sneakers. She’d changed into cutoffs and a in
ck T-shirt. If only her thin freckled legs looked more
like Isabelle’snky smooth limbs. But it couldn’t be
helped. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and
went to join Jace in the hallway.
Church was there with him, muttering and circling
restlessly.
“What’s with the cat?” ry asked.
“The Silent Brothers make him nervous.”
“Sounds like they make everyone nervous.”
Jace smiled thinly. Church meowed as they set off down
the hall, but didn’t follow them. At least the thick stones
of the cathedral walls still held some of the night’s chill:
The corridors were dark and cool.
When they reached the library, ry was surprised to
see that themps were off. The library was lit only by
the milky glow that filtered down through the high
windows set into the vaulted roof. Hodge sat behind the
enormous desk in a suit, his gray-streaked hair silvered
by the dawn light. For a moment she thought he was
alone in the room: that Jace had been ying a joke on
her. Then she saw a figure move out of the dimness,
and she realized that what she had thought was a patch
of darker shadow was a man. A tall man in a heavy robe
that fell from neck to foot, covering himpletely. The
hood of the robe was raised, hiding his face. The robe
itself was the color of parchment, and the intricate runic
designs along the hem and sleeves looked as if they
had been inked there in drying blood. The hair rose
along ry’s arms and on the back of her neck,
prickling almost painfully.
“This,” said Hodge, “is Brother Jeremiah of the Silent
City.”
The man came toward them, his heavy cloak swirling as
he moved, and ry realized what it was about him that
was strange: He made no sound at all as he walked, not
the slightest footstep. Even his cloak, which should have
rustled, was silent. She would almost have wondered if
he were a ghost—but no, she thought as he halted in
front of them, there was a strange, sweet smell about
him, like incense and blood, the smell of something
living.
“And this, Jeremiah,” Hodge said, rising from his desk,
“is the girl I wrote to you about. rissa Fray.”
The hooded face turned slowly toward her. ry felt
cold to her fingertips. “Hello,” she said.
There was no reply.
“I decided you were right, Jace,” said Hodge.
“I was right,” said Jace. “I usually am.”
Hodge ignored this. “I sent a letter to the ve about all
thisst night, but ry’s memories are her own. Only
she can decide how she wants to deal with the contents
of her own head. If she wants the help of the Silent
Brothers, she should have that choice.”
ry said nothing. Dorothea had said there was a block
in her mind, hiding something. Of course she wanted to
know what it was. But the shadowy figure of the Silent
Brother was so—well, silent. Silence itself seemed to
flow from him like a dark tide, ck and thick as ink. It
chilled her bones.
Brother Jeremiah’s face was still turned toward her,
nothing but darkness visible underneath his hood. This
is Jocelyn’s daughter?
ry gave a little gasp, stepping back. The words had
echoed inside her head, as if she’d thought them herself
—but she hadn’t.
“Yes,” said Hodge, and added quickly, “but her father
was a mundane.”
That does not matter, said Jeremiah. The blood of the
ve is dominant.
“Why did you call my mother Jocelyn?” said ry,
searching in vain for some sign of a face beneath the
hood. “Did you know her?”
“The Brothers keep records on all members of the
ve,” exined Hodge. “Exhaustive records—”
“Not that exhaustive,” said Jace, “if they didn’t even
know she was still alive.”
It is likely that she had the assistance of a warlock in her
disappearance. Most Shadowhunters cannot so easily
escape the ve. There was no emotion in Jeremiah’s
voice; he sounded neither approving nor disapproving of
Jocelyn’s actions.
“There’s something I don’t understand,” ry said.
“Why would Valentine think my mom had the Mortal
Cup? If she went through so much trouble to disappear,
like you said, then why would she bring it with her?”
“To keep him from getting his hands on it,” said Hodge.
“She above all people would have known what would
happen if Valentine had the Cup. And I imagine she
didn’t trust the ve to hold on to it. Not after Valentine
got it away from them in the first ce.”
“I guess.” ry couldn’t keep the doubt from her voice.
The whole thing seemed so unlikely. She tried to picture
her mother fleeing under cover of darkness, with a big
gold cup stashed in the pocket of her overalls, and
failed.
“Jocelyn turned against her husband when she found
out what he intended to do with the Cup,” said Hodge.
“It’s not unreasonable to assume she would do
everything in her power to keep the Cup from falling into
his hands. The ve themselves would have looked
first to her if they’d thought she was still alive.”
“It seems to me,” ry said with an edge to her voice,
“that no one the ve thinks is dead is ever actually
dead. Maybe they should invest in dental records.”
“My father’s dead,” said Jace, the same edge in his
voice. “I don’t need dental records to tell me that.”
ry turned on him in some exasperation. “Look, I
didn’t mean—”
That is enough, interrupted Brother Jeremiah. There is
truth to be learned here, if you are patient enough to
listen to it.
With a quick gesture he raised his hands and drew the
hood back from his face. Forgetting Jace, ry fought
the urge to cry out. The archivist’s head was bald,
smooth and white as an egg, darkly indented where his
eyes had once been. They were gone now. His lips
were crisscrossed with a pattern of dark lines that
resembled surgical stitches. She understood now what
Isabelle had meant by muttion.
The Brothers of the Silent City do not lie, said Jeremiah.
If you want the truth from me, you shall have it, but I
shall ask of you the same in return.
ry lifted her chin. “I’m not a liar either.”
The mind cannot lie. Jeremiah moved toward her. It is
your memories I want.
The smell of blood and ink was stifling. ry felt a wave
of panic. “Wait—”
“ry.” It was Hodge, his tone gentle. “It’s entirely
possible that there are memories you have buried or
repressed, memories formed when you were too young
to have a conscious recollection of them, that Brother
Jeremiah can reach. It could help us a great deal.”
She said nothing, biting the inside of her lip. She hated
the idea of someone reaching inside her head, touching
memories so private and hidden that even she couldn’t
reach them.
“She doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to
do,” Jace said suddenly. “Does she?”
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