Chapter 23
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ry wasn’t sure if Isabelle was talking to her or to
Simon, so she said nothing. Isabelle’s hair tickled her
face, smelling of some kind of vani perfume. ry
fought the urge to sneeze. She hated vani perfume.
She’d never understood why some girls felt the need
to smell like dessert.
“So how did it go at the Bone City?” Isabelle asked,
flipping her menu open. “Did you find out what’s in
ry’s head?”
“We got a name,” said Jace. “Magnus—”
“Shut up,” Alec hissed, thwacking Jace with his closed
menu.
Jace looked injured. “Jesus.” He rubbed his arm.
“What’s your problem?”
“This ce is full of Downworlders. You know that. I
think you should try to keep the details of our
investigation secret.”
“Investigation?” Isabelleughed. “Now we’re
detectives? Maybe we should all have code names.”
“Good idea,” said Jace. “I shall be Baron Hotschaft
Von Hugenstein.”
Alec spit his water back into his ss. At that moment
the waitress arrived to take their order. Up close she
was still a pretty blond girl, but her eyes were
unnerving—entirely blue, with no white or pupil at all.
She smiled with sharp little teeth. “Know what you’re
having?”
Jace grinned. “The usual,” he said, and got a smile
from the waitress in return.
“Me too,” Alec chimed in, though he didn’t get the
smile. Isabelle fastidiously ordered a fruit smoothie,
Simon asked for coffee, and ry, after a moment’s
hesitation, chose arge coffee and coconut
pancakes. The waitress winked a blue eye at her and
flounced off.
“Is she an ifrit too?” ry asked, watching her go.
“Kaelie? No. Part fey, I think,” said Jace.
“She’s got nixie eyes,” said Isabelle thoughtfully.
“You really don’t know what she is?” asked Simon.
Jace shook his head. “I respect her privacy.” He
nudged Alec. “Hey, let me out for a second.”
Scowling, Alec moved aside. ry watched Jace as
he strode over to Kaelie, who was leaning against the
bar, talking to the cook through the pass-through to
the kitchen. All ry could see of the cook was a bent
head in a white chef’s hat. Tall furry ears poked
through holes cut into either side of the hat.
Kaelie turned to smile at Jace, who put an arm around
her. She snuggled in. ry wondered if this was what
Jace meant by respecting her privacy.
Isabelle rolled her eyes. “He really shouldn’t tease the
waitstaff like that.”
Alec looked at her. “You don’t think he means it? That
he likes her, I mean.”
Isabelle shrugged. “She’s a Downworlder,” she said,
as if that exined everything.
“I don’t get it,” said ry.
Isabelle nced at her without interest. “Get what?”
“This whole Downworlder thing. You don’t hunt them,
because they aren’t exactly demons, but they’re not
exactly people, either. Vampires kill; they drink blood
—”
“Only rogue vampires drink human blood from living
people,” interjected Alec. “And those, we’re allowed to
kill.”
“And werewolves are what? Just overgrown puppies?”
“They kill demons,” said Isabelle. “So if they don’t
bother us, we don’t bother them.”
Like letting spiders live because they eat mosquitoes,
ry thought. “So they’re good enough to let live,
good enough to make your food for you, good enough
to flirt with—but not really good enough? I mean, not
as good as people.”
Isabelle and Alec looked at her as if she were
speaking Urdu. “Different from people,” said Alec
finally.
“Better than mundanes?” said Simon.
“No,” Isabelle said decidedly. “You could turn a
mundane into a Shadowhunter. I mean, we came from
mundanes. But you could never turn a Downworlder
into one of the ve. They can’t withstand the runes.”
“So they’re weak?” asked ry.
“I wouldn’t say that,” said Jace, sliding back into his
seat next to Alec. His hair was mussed and there was
a lipstick mark on his cheek. “At least not with a peri,
a djinn, an ifrit, and God knows what else listening in.”
He grinned as Kaelie appeared and distributed their
food. ry regarded her pancakes consideringly.
They looked fantastic: golden brown, drenched with
honey. She took a bite as Kaelie wobbled off on her
high heels.
They were delicious.
“I told you it was the greatest restaurant in
Manhattan,” said Jace, eating fries with his fingers.
She nced at Simon, who was stirring his coffee,
head down.
“Mmmf,” said Alec, whose mouth was full.
“Right,” said Jace. He looked at ry. “It’s not one-
way,” he said. “We may not always like Downworlders,
but they don’t always like us, either. A few hundred
years of the ords can’t wipe out a thousand years
of hostility.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t know what the ords are,
Jace,” said Isabelle around her spoon.
“I do, actually,” said ry.
“I don’t,” said Simon.
“Yes, but nobody cares what you know.” Jace
examined a fry before biting into it. “I enjoy the
company of certain Downworlders at certain times
and ces. But we don’t really get invited to the same
parties.”
“Wait.” Isabelle suddenly sat up straight. “What did
you say that name was?” she demanded, turning to
Jace. “The name in ry’s head.”
“I didn’t,” said Jace. “At least, I didn’t finish it. It’s
Magnus Bane.” He grinned at Alec mockingly.
“Rhymes with ‘overcareful pain in the ass.’”
Alec muttered a retort into his coffee. It rhymed with
something that sounded a lot more like “ducking ss
mole.” ry smiled inwardly.
“It can’t be—but I’m almost totally sure—” Isabelle dug
into her purse and pulled out a folded piece of blue
paper. She wiggled it between her fingers. “Look at
this.”
Alec held out his hand for the paper, nced at it with
a shrug, and handed it to Jace. “It’s a party invitation.
For somewhere in Brooklyn,” he said. “I hate
Brooklyn.”
“Don’t be such a snob,” said Jace. Then, just as
Isabelle had, he sat up straight and stared. “Where
did you get this, Izzy?”
She fluttered her hand airily. “From that kelpie in
Pandemonium. He said it would be awesome. He had
a whole stack of them.”
“What is it?” ry demanded impatiently. “Are you
going to show the rest of us, or not?”
Jace turned it around so they could all read it. It was
printed on thin paper, nearly parchment, in a thin,
elegant, spidery hand. It announced a gathering at the
humble home of Magnus the Magnificent Warlock,
and promised attendees “a rapturous evening of
delights beyond your wildest imaginings.”
“Magnus,” said Simon. “Magnus like Magnus Bane?”
“I doubt there are that many warlocks named Magnus
in the Tristate Area,” said Jace.
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Alec blinked at it. “Does that mean we have to go to
the party?” he inquired of no one in particr.
“We don’t have to do anything,” said Jace, who was
reading the fine print on the invitation. “But ording
to this, Magnus Bane is the High Warlock of
Brooklyn.” He looked at ry. “I, for one, am a little
curious as to what the High Warlock of Brooklyn’s
name is doing inside your head.”
The party didn’t start until midnight, so with a whole
day to kill, Jace and Alec disappeared to the weapons
room and Isabelle and Simon announced their
intention of going for a walk in Central Park so that
she could show him the faerie circles. Simon asked
ry if she wanted toe along. Stifling a
murderous rage, she refused on the grounds of
exhaustion.
It wasn’t exactly a lie—she was exhausted, her body
still weakened from the aftereffects of the poison and
the too-early rising. Shey on her bed in the Institute,
shoes kicked off, willing herself to sleep, but sleep
wouldn’te. The caffeine in her veins fizzed like
carbonated water, and her mind was full of darting
images. She kept seeing her mother’s face looking
down at her, her expression panicked. Kept seeing
the Speaking Stars, hearing the voices of the Silent
Brothers in her head. Why would there be a block in
her mind? Why would a powerful warlock have put it
there, and to what purpose? She wondered what
memories she might have lost, what experiences
she’d had that she couldn’t now recall. Or maybe
everything she thought she did remember was a lie
…?
She sat up, no longer able to bear where her thoughts
were taking her. Barefoot, she padded out into the
corridor and toward the library. Maybe Hodge could
help her.
But the library was empty. Afternoon light nted in
through the parted curtains,ying bars of gold across
the floor. On the desky the book Hodge had read
out of earlier, its worn leather cover gleaming. Beside
it Hugo slept on his perch, beak tucked under wing.
My mother knew that book, ry thought. She
touched it, read out of it. The ache to hold something
that was a part of her mother’s life felt like a gnawing
at the pit of her stomach. She crossed the room
hastily andid her hands on the book. It felt warm,
the leather heated by sunlight. She raised the cover.
Something folded slid out from between the pages
and fluttered to the floor at her feet. She bent to
retrieve it, smoothing it open reflexively.
It was the photograph of a group of young people,
none much older than ry herself. She knew it had
been taken at least twenty years ago, not because of
the clothes they were wearing—which, like most
Shadowhunter gear, were nondescript and ck—but
because she recognized her mother instantly:
Jocelyn, no more than seventeen or eighteen, her hair
halfway down her back and her face a little rounder,
the chin and mouth less defined. She looks like me,
ry thought dazedly.
Jocelyn’s arm was around a boy ry didn’t
recognize. It gave her a jolt. She’d never thought of
her mother being involved with anyone other than her
father, since Jocelyn had never dated or seemed
interested in romance. She wasn’t like most single
mothers, who trolled PTA meetings for likely-looking
dads, or Simon’s mom, who was always checking her
profile on JDate. The boy was good-looking, with hair
so fair it was nearly white, and ck eyes.
“That’s Valentine,” said a voice at her elbow. “When
he was seventeen.”
She leaped back, almost dropping the photo. Hugo
gave a startled and unhappy caw before settling back
down on his perch, feathers ruffled.
It was Hodge, looking at her with curious eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, setting the photograph down
on the desk and backing hastily away. “I didn’t mean
to pry into your things.”
“It’s all right.” He touched the photograph with a
scarred and weathered hand—a strange contrast to
the neat spotlessness of his tweed cuffs. “It’s a piece
of your past, after all.”
ry drifted back toward the desk as if the photo
exerted a maic pull. The white-haired boy in the
photo was smiling at Jocelyn, his eyes crinkled in that
way that boys’ eyes crinkled when they really liked
you. Nobody, ry thought, had ever looked at her
that way. Valentine, with his cold, fine-featured face,
looked absolutely unlike her own father, with his open
smile and the bright hair she’d inherited. “Valentine
looks … sort of nice.”
“Nice he wasn’t,” said Hodge, with a twisted smile,
“but he was charming and clever and very persuasive.
Do you recognize anyone else?”
She looked again. Standing behind Valentine, a little
to the left, was a thin boy with a shock of light brown
hair. He had the big shoulders and gawky wrists of
someone who hadn’t grown into his height yet. “Is that
you?”
Hodge nodded. “And …?”
She had to look twice before she identified someone
else she knew: so young as to be nearly
unrecognizable. In the end his sses gave him
away, and the eyes behind them, light blue as
seawater. “Luke,” she said.
“Lucian. And here.” Leaning over the photo, Hodge
indicated an elegant-looking teenage couple, both
dark-haired, the girl half a head taller than the boy.
Her features were narrow and predatory, almost cruel.
“The Lightwoods,” he said. “And there”—he indicated
a very handsome boy with curling dark hair, high color
in his square-jawed face—“is Michael Wand.”
“He doesn’t look anything like Jace.”
“Jace resembles his mother.”
“Is this, like, a ss photo?” ry asked.
“Not quite. This is a picture of the Circle, taken in the
year it was formed. That’s why Valentine, the leader,
is in the front, and Luke is on his right side—he was
Valentine’s second inmand.”
ry turned her gaze away. “I still don’t understand
why my mother would join something like that.”
“You must understand—”
“You keep saying that,” ry said crossly. “I don’t see
why I must understand anything. You tell me the truth,
and I’ll either understand it or I won’t.”
The corner of Hodge’s mouth twitched. “As you say.”
He paused to reach out a hand and stroke Hugo, who
was strutting along the edge of the desk importantly.
“The ords have never had the support of the
whole ve. The more venerable families, especially,
cling to the old times, when Downworlders were for
killing. Not just out of hatred but because it made
them feel safer. It is easier to confront a threat as a
mass, a group, not individuals who must be evaluated
one by one … and most of us knew someone who
had been injured or killed by a Downworlder. There is
nothing,” he added, “quite like the moral absolutism of
the young. It’s easy, as a child, to believe in good and
evil, in light and dark. Valentine never lost that—
neither his destructive idealism nor his passionate
loathing of anything he considered ‘nonhuman.’”
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