Chapter 29


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    Jace unhitched himself from the railing as ry


    emerged. He fell into step beside her, not speaking.


    He seemed lost in thought. Isabelle and Alec, hurrying


    ahead, sounded like they were arguing with each


    other. ry stepped up her pace a little, craning her


    neck to hear them better.


    “It’s not your fault,” Alec was saying. He sounded


    weary, as if he’d been through this sort of thing with


    his sister before. ry wondered how many


    boyfriends she’d turned into rats by ident. “But it


    ought to teach you not to go to so many Downworld


    parties,” he added. “They’re always more trouble than


    they’re worth.”


    Isabelle sniffed loudly. “If anything had happened to


    him, I—I don’t know what I would have done.”


    “Probably whatever it is you did before,” said Alec in a


    bored voice. “It’s not like you knew him all that well.”


    “That doesn’t mean that I don’t—”


    “What? Love him?” Alec scoffed, raising his voice.


    “You need to know someone to love them.”


    “But that’s not all it is.” Isabelle sounded almost sad.


    “Didn’t you have any fun at the party, Alec?”


    “No.”


    “I thought you might like Magnus. He’s nice, isn’t he?”


    “Nice?” Alec looked at her as if she were insane.


    “Kittens are nice. Warlocks are—” He hesitated. “Not,”


    he finished,mely.


    “I thought you might hit it off.” Isabelle’s eye makeup


    glittered as bright as tears as she nced over at her


    brother. “Get to be friends.”


    “I have friends,” Alec said, and looked over his


    shoulder, almost as if he couldn’t help it, at Jace.


    But Jace, his golden head down, lost in thought, didn’t


    notice.


    On impulse ry reached to open the pack and


    nce into it—and frowned. The pack was open. She


    shed back to the party—she’d lifted the pack, pulled


    the zipper closed. She was sure of it. She yanked the


    bag open, her heart pounding.


    She remembered the time she’d had her wallet stolen


    on the subway. She remembered opening her bag,


    not seeing it there, her mouth drying up in surprise—


    Did I drop it? Have I lost it? And realizing: It’s gone.


    This was like that, only a thousand times worse.


    Mouth dry as bone, ry pawed through the pack,


    shoving aside clothes and sketchpad, her fingernails


    scraping the bottom. Nothing.


    She’d stopped walking. Jace was hovering just ahead


    of her, looking impatient, Alec and Isabelle already a


    block ahead. “What’s wrong?” Jace asked, and she


    could tell he was about to add something sarcastic.


    He must have seen the look on her face, though,


    because he didn’t. “ry?”


    “He’s gone,” she whispered. “Simon. He was in my


    backpack—”


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    “Did he climb out?”


    It wasn’t an unreasonable question, but ry,


    exhausted and panic-stricken, reacted unreasonably.


    “Of course he didn’t!” she screamed. “What, you think


    he wants to get smashed under someone’s car, killed


    by a cat—”


    “ry—”


    “Shut up!” she screamed, swinging the pack at him.


    “You were the one who said not to bother changing


    him back—”


    Deftly he caught the pack as she swung it. Taking it


    out of her hand, he examined it. “The zipper’s torn,”


    he said. “From the outside. Someone ripped this bag


    open.”


    Shaking her head numbly, ry could only whisper, “I


    didn’t …”


    “I know.” His voice was gentle. He cupped his hands


    around his mouth. “Alec! Isabelle! You go on ahead!


    We’ll catch up.”


    The two figures, already far ahead, paused; Alec


    hesitated, but his sister caught hold of his arm and


    pushed him firmly toward the subway entrance.


    Something pressed against ry’s back: It was


    Jace’s hand, turning her gently around. She let him


    lead her forward, stumbling over the cracks in the


    sidewalk, until they were back in the entryway of


    Magnus’s building. The stench of stale alcohol and


    the sweet, uncanny smell ry hade to


    associate with Downworlders filled the tiny space.


    Taking his hand away from her back, Jace pressed


    the buzzer over Magnus’s name.


    “Jace,” she said.


    He looked down at her. “What?”


    She searched for words. “Do you think he’s all right?”


    “Simon?” He hesitated then, and she thought of


    Isabelle’s words: Don’t ask him a question unless you


    know you can stand the answer. Instead of saying


    anything, he pressed the buzzer again, harder this


    time.


    This time Magnus answered it, his voice booming


    through the tiny entryway. “WHO DARES DISTURB


    MY REST?”


    Jace looked almost nervous. “Jace Wand.


    Remember? I’m from the ve.”


    “Oh, yes.” Magnus seemed to have perked up. “Are


    you the one with the blue eyes?”


    “He means Alec,” ry said helpfully.


    “No. My eyes are usually described as golden,” Jace


    told the inte. “And luminous.”


    “Oh, you’re that one.” Magnus sounded disappointed.


    If ry hadn’t been so upset, she would have


    laughed. “I suppose you’d bettere up.”


    The warlock answered his door wearing a silk kimono


    printed with dragons, a gold turban, and an


    expression of barely controlled annoyance.


    “I was sleeping,” he said loftily.


    Jace looked as if he were about to say something


    rude, possibly about the turban, so ry interrupted


    him. “Sorry to bother you—”


    Something small and white peered around the


    warlock’s ankles. It had zigzag gray stripes and tufted


    pink ears that made it look more like arge mouse


    than a small cat.


    “Chairman Meow?” ry guessed.


    Magnus nodded. “He has returned.”


    Jace regarded the small tabby kitten with some scorn.


    “That’s not a cat,” he observed. “It’s the size of a


    hamster.”


    “I am kindly going to forget you said that,” said


    Magnus, using his foot to nudge Chairman Meow


    behind him. “Now, exactly what did youe here


    for?”


    ry held out the torn pack. “It’s Simon. He’s


    missing.”


    “Ah,” said Magnus, delicately, “missing what, exactly?”


    “Missing,” Jace repeated, “as in gone, absent, notable


    for hisck of presence, disappeared.”


    “Maybe he’s gone and hidden under something,”


    Magnus suggested. “It can’t be easy getting used to


    being a rat, especially for someone so dim-witted in


    the first ce.”


    “Simon’s not dim-witted,” ry protested angrily.


    “It’s true,” Jace agreed. “He just looks dim-witted.


    Really his intelligence is quite average.” His tone was


    light but his shoulders were tense as he turned to


    Magnus. “When we were leaving, one of your guests


    brushed up against ry. I think he tore her bag open


    and took the rat. Simon, I mean.”


    Magnus looked at him. “And?”


    “And I need to find out who it was,” said Jace steadily.


    “I’m guessing you know. You are the High Warlock of


    Brooklyn. I’m thinking not much happens in your own


    apartment that you don’t know about.”


    Magnus inspected a glittery nail. “You’re not wrong.”


    “Please tell us,” ry said. Jace’s hand tightened on


    her wrist. She knew he wanted her to be quiet, but


    that was impossible. “Please.”


    Magnus dropped his hand with a sigh. “Fine. I saw


    one of the vampire bike kids from the uptownir


    leave with a brown rat in his hands. Honestly, I figured


    it was one of their own. Sometimes the Night Children


    turn into rats or bats when they get drunk.”


    ry’s hands were shaking. “But now you think it was


    Simon?”


    “It’s just a guess, but it seems likely.”


    “There’s one more thing.” Jace spoke calmly enough,


    but he was on alert now, the way he had been in the


    apartment before they’d found the Forsaken. “Where’s


    theirir?”


    “Their what?”


    “The vampires’ir. That’s where they went, isn’t it?”


    “I would imagine so.” Magnus looked as if he’d rather


    be anywhere else.


    “I need you to tell me where it is.”


    Magnus shook his turbaned head. “I’m not setting


    myself on the bad side of the Night Children for a


    mundane I don’t even know.”


    “Wait,” ry interrupted. “What would they want with


    Simon? I thought they weren’t allowed to hurt people


    …”


    “My guess?” said Magnus, not unkindly. “They


    assumed he was a tame rat and thought it would be


    funny to kill a Shadowhunter’s pet. They don’t like you


    much, whatever the ords might say—and there’s


    nothing in the Covenant about not killing animals.”


    “They’re going to kill him?” ry said, staring.


    “Not necessarily,” said Magnus hastily. “They might


    have thought he was one of their own.”


    “In which case, what’ll happen to him?” ry said.


    “Well, when he turns back into a human, they’ll still kill


    him. But you might have a few more hours.”


    “Then you have to help us,” ry said to the warlock.


    “Otherwise Simon will die.”


    Magnus looked her up and down with a sort of clinical


    sympathy. “They all die, dear,” he said. “You might as


    well get used to it.”


    He began to shut the door. Jace stuck out a foot,


    wedging it open. Magnus sighed. “What now?”


    “You still haven’t told us where their is,” Jace said.


    “And I’m not going to. I told you—”


    It was ry who cut him off, pushing herself in front of


    Jace. “You messed with my brain,” she said. “Took my


    memories. Can’t you do this one thing for me?”


    Magnus narrowed his gleaming cat’s eyes.


    Somewhere in the distance Chairman Meow was


    crying. Slowly the warlock lowered his head and


    struck it once, none too gently, against the wall. “The


    old Hotel Dumont,” he said. “Uptown.”


    “I know where that is.” Jace looked pleased.


    “We need to get there right away. Do you have a


    Portal?” ry demanded, addressing Magnus.


    “No.” He looked annoyed. “Portals are quite difficult to


    construct and pose no small risk to their owner. Nasty


    things cane through them if they’re not warded


    properly. The only ones I know of in New York are the


    one at Dorothea’s and the one at Renwick’s, but


    they’re both too far away to be worth the bother of


    trying to get there, even if you were sure their owners


    would let you use them, which they probably wouldn’t.


    Got that? Now go away.” Magnus stared pointedly at


    Jace’s foot, still blocking the door. Jace didn’t move.


    “One more thing,” Jace said. “Is there a holy ce


    around here?”


    “Good idea. If you’re going to take on air of


    vampires by yourself, you’d better pray first.”


    “We need weapons,” Jace said tersely. “More than


    what we’ve got on us.”


    Magnus pointed. “There’s a Catholic church down on


    Diamond Street. Will that do?”


    Jace nodded, stepping back. “That’s—”


    The door mmed in their faces. ry, breathing as if


    she’d been running, stared at it until Jace took her


    arm and steered her down the steps and into the


    night.


    14


    THE HOTEL DUMORT


    AT NIGHT THE DIAMOND STREET CHURCH


    LOOKED SPECTRAL, its Gothic arched windows


    reflecting the moonlight like silvery mirrors. A wrought-


    iron fence surrounded the building and was painted a


    matte ck. ry rattled the front gate, but a sturdy


    padlock held it closed. “It’s locked,” she said, ncing


    at Jace over her shoulder.


    He brandished his stele. “Let me at it.”


    She watched him as he worked at the lock, watched


    the lean curve of his back, the swell of muscles under


    the short sleeves of his T-shirt. The moonlight washed


    the color out of his hair, turning it more silver than


    gold.


    The padlock hit the ground with a ng, a twisted


    lump of metal. Jace looked pleased with himself. “As


    usual,” he said, “I’m amazingly good at that.”


    ry felt suddenly annoyed. “When the self-


    congrattory part of the evening is over, maybe we


    could get back to saving my best friend from being


    exsanguinated to death?”


    “Exsanguinated,” said Jace, impressed. “That’s a big


    word.”


    “And you’re a big—”


    “Tsk tsk,” he interrupted. “No swearing in church.”


    “We’re not in the church yet,” ry muttered,


    following him up the stone path to the double front


    doors. The stone arch above the doors was beautifully


    carved, an angel looking down from its highest point.


    Sharply pointed spires were silhouetted ck against


    the night sky, and ry realized that this was the


    church she had glimpsed earlier that night from


    McCarren Park. She bit her lip. “It seems wrong to


    pick the lock on a church door, somehow.”


    Jace’s profile in the moonlight was serene. “We’re not


    going to,” he said, sliding his stele into his pocket. He


    ced a thin brown hand, marked all over with


    delicate white scars like a veiling ofce, against the


    wood of the door, just above thetch. “In the name of


    the ve,” he said, “I ask entry to this holy ce. In


    the name of the Battle That Never Ends, I ask the use


    of your weapons. And in the name of the Angel


    Raziel, I ask your blessings on my mission against the


    darkness.”


    ry stared at him. He didn’t move, though the night


    wind blew his hair into his eyes; he blinked, and just


    as she was about to speak, the door opened with a


    click and a creak of hinges. It swung inward smoothly


    before them, opening onto a cool dark empty space,


    lit by points of fire.


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