Chapter 36
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Now where am I going to sleep? Not that she minded
sharing a bed with Simon, but he hadn’t exactly left her
any room. She considered poking him awake, but he
looked so peaceful. Besides, she wasn’t sleepy. She
was just reaching for the sketchpad under the pillow
when a knock sounded on the door.
She padded barefoot across the room and turned the
doorknob quietly. It was Jace. Clean, in jeans and a gray
shirt, his washed hair a halo of damp gold. The bruises
on his face were already fading from purple to faint gray,
and his hands were behind his back.
“Were you asleep?” he asked. There was no contrition
in his voice, only curiosity.
“No.” ry stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door
shut behind her. “Why would you think that?”
He eyed her baby-blue cotton tank top and sleep shorts
set. “No reason.”
“I was in bed most of the day,” she said, which was
technically true. Seeing him, her jitter level had shot up
about a thousand percent, but she saw no reason to
share that information. “What about you? Aren’t you
exhausted?”
He shook his head. “Much like the postal service,
demon hunters never sleep. ‘Neither snow nor rain nor
heat nor gloom of night stays these—’”
“You’d be in major trouble if gloom of night did stay you,”
she pointed out.
He grinned. Unlike his hair, his teeth weren’t perfect. An
upper incisor was slightly, endearingly chipped.
She gripped her elbows. It was chilly in the hallway and
she could feel goose bumps starting up her arms. “What
are you doing here, anyway?”
“‘Here’ as in your bedroom or ‘here’ as in the great
spiritual question of our purpose here on this? If
you’re asking whether it’s all just a cosmic coincidence
or there’s a greater metaethical purpose to life, well,
that’s a puzzler for the ages. I mean, simple ontological
reductionism is clearly a facious argument, but—”
“I’m going back to bed.” ry reached for the doorknob.
He slid nimbly between her and the door. “I’m here,” he
said, “because Hodge reminded me it was your
birthday.”
ry exhaled in exasperation. “Not until tomorrow.”
“That’s no reason not to start celebrating now.”
She eyed him. “You’re avoiding Alec and Isabelle.”
He nodded. “Both of them are trying to pick fights with
me.”
“For the same reason?”
“I couldn’t tell.” He nced furtively up and down the
hallway. “Hodge, too. Everyone wants to talk to me.
Except you. I bet you don’t want to talk to me.”
“No,” said ry. “I want to eat. I’m starving.”
He brought his hand out from behind his back. In it was
a slightly crumpled paper bag. “I sneaked some food
from the kitchen when Isabelle wasn’t looking.”
ry grinned. “A pic? It’s a littlete for Central Park,
don’t you think? It’s full of—”
He waved a hand. “Faeries. I know.”
“I was going to say muggers,” said ry. “Though I pity
the mugger who goes after you.”
“That is a wise attitude, and Imend you for it,” said
Jace, looking gratified. “But I wasn’t thinking of Central
Park. How about the greenhouse?”
“Now? At night? Won’t it be—dark?”
He smiled as if at a secret. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
17
THE MIDNIGHT FLOWER
IN THE HALF-LIGHT THE BIG EMPTY ROOMS THEY
PASSED through on their way to the roof looked as
deserted as stage sets, the white-draped furniture
looming up out of the dimness like icebergs through fog.
When Jace opened the greenhouse door, the scent hit
ry, soft as the padded blow of a cat’s paw: the rich
dark smell of earth and the stronger, soapy scent of
night-blooming flowers—moonflowers, white angel’s
trumpet, four-o’clocks—and some she didn’t recognize,
like a nt bearing a star-shaped yellow blossom
whose petals were medallioned with golden pollen.? N?velDrama.Org - All rights reserved.
Through the ss walls of the enclosure she could see
the lights of Manhattan burning like cold jewels.
“Wow.” She turned slowly, taking it in. “It’s so beautiful
here at night.”
Jace grinned. “And we have the ce to ourselves. Alec
and Isabelle hate it up here. They have allergies.”
ry shivered, though she wasn’t at all cold. “What kind
of flowers are these?”
Jace shrugged and sat down, carefully, next to a glossy
green shrub dotted all over with tightly closed flower
buds. “No idea. You think I pay attention in botany
ss? I’m not going to be an archivist. I don’t need to
know about that stuff.”
“You just need to know how to kill things?”
He looked up at her and smiled. He looked like a fair-
haired angel from a Rembrandt painting, except for that
devilish mouth. “That’s right.” He took a napkin-wrapped
package out of the bag and offered it to her. “Also,” he
added, “I make a mean cheese sandwich. Try one.”
ry smiled reluctantly and sat down across from him.
The stone floor of the greenhouse was cold against her
skin, but it was pleasant after so many days of
relentless heat. Out of the paper bag Jace drew some
apples, a bar of fruit and nut chocte, and a bottle of
water. “Not a bad haul,” she said admiringly.
The cheese sandwich was warm and a little limp, but it
tasted fine. From one of the innumerable pockets inside
his jacket, Jace produced a bone-handled knife that
looked capable of disemboweling a grizzly. He set to
work on the apples, carving them into meticulous
eighths. “Well, it’s not birthday cake,” he said, handing
her a section, “but hopefully it’s better than nothing.”
“Nothing is what I was expecting, so thanks.” She took a
bite. The apple tasted green and cool.
“Nobody should get nothing on their birthday.” He was
peeling the second apple, the skining away in long
curling strips. “Birthdays should be special. My birthday
was always the one day my father said I could do or
have anything I wanted.”
“Anything?” Sheughed. “Like what kind of anything
did you want?”
“Well, when I was five, I wanted to take a bath in
spaghetti.”
“But he didn’t let you, right?”
“No, that’s the thing. He did. He said it wasn’t expensive,
and why not if that was what I wanted? He had the
servants fill a bath with boiling water and pasta, and
when it cooled down …” He shrugged. “I took a bath in
it.”
Servants? ry thought. Out loud she said, “How was
it?”
“Slippery.”
“I’ll bet.” She tried to picture him as a little boy, giggling,
up to his ears in pasta. The image wouldn’t form. Surely
Jace never giggled, not even at the age of five. “What
else did you ask for?”
“Weapons, mostly,” he said, “which I’m sure doesn’t
surprise you. Books. I read a lot on my own.”
“You didn’t go to school?”
“No,” he said, and now he spoke slowly, almost as if
they were approaching a topic he didn’t want to discuss.
“But your friends—”
“I didn’t have friends,” he said. “Besides my father. He
was all I needed.”
She stared at him. “No friends at all?”
He met her look steadily. “The first time I saw Alec,” he
said, “when I was ten years old, that was the first time
I’d ever met another child my own age. The first time I
had a friend.”
She dropped her gaze. Now an image was forming,
unwee, in her head: She thought of Alec, the way
he had looked at her. He wouldn’t say that.
“Don’t feel sorry for me,” Jace said, as if guessing her
thoughts, though it hadn’t been him she’d been feeling
sorry for. “He gave me the best education, the best
training. He took me all over the world. London. Saint
Petersburg. Egypt. We used to love to travel.” His eyes
were dark. “I haven’t been anywhere since he died.
Nowhere but New York.”
“You’re lucky,” ry said. “I’ve never been outside this
state in my life. My mom wouldn’t even let me go on
field trips to D.C. I guess I know why now,” she added
ruefully.
“She was afraid you’d freak out? Start seeing demons in
the White House?”
She nibbled a piece of chocte. “There are demons in
the White House?”
“I was kidding,” said Jace. “I think.” He shrugged
philosophically. “I’m sure someone would have
mentioned it.”
“I think she just didn’t want me to get too far away from
her. My mom, I mean. After my dad died, she changed a
lot.” Luke’s voice echoed in her mind. You’ve never
been the same since it happened, but ry isn’t
Jonathan.
Jace cocked an eyebrow at her. “Do you remember your
father?”
She shook her head. “No. He died before I was born.”
“You’re lucky,” he said. “That way you don’t miss him.”
From anyone else it would have been an appalling thing
to say, but there was no bitterness in his voice for a
change, only an ache of loneliness for his own father.
“Does it go away?” she asked. “Missing him, I mean?”
He looked at her obliquely, but didn’t answer. “Are you
thinking of your mother?”
No. She wouldn’t think of her mother that way. “Of Luke,
actually.”
“Not that that’s actually his name.” He took a thoughtful
bite of apple and said, “I’ve been thinking about him.
Something about his behavior doesn’t add up—”
“He’s a coward.” ry’s voice was bitter. “You heard
him. He won’t go against Valentine. Not even for my
mother.”
“But that’s exactly—” A long nging reverberation
interrupted him. Somewhere, a bell was tolling.
“Midnight,” said Jace, setting the knife down. He got to
his feet, holding his hand out to pull her up beside him.
His fingers were slightly sticky with apple juice. “Now,
watch.”
His gaze was fixed on the green shrub they’d been
sitting beside, with its dozens of shiny closed buds. She
started to ask him what she was supposed to be looking
at, but he held up a hand to forestall her. His eyes were
shining. “Wait,” he said.
The leaves on the shrub hung still and motionless.
Suddenly one of the tightly closed buds began to quiver
and tremble. It swelled to twice its size and burst open.
It was like watching a speeded-up film of a flower
blooming: the delicate green sepals opening outward,
releasing the clustered petals inside. They were dusted
with pale gold pollen as light as talcum.
“Oh!” said ry, and looked up to find Jace watching
her. “Do they bloom every night?”
“Only at midnight,” he said. “Happy birthday, rissa
Fray.”
She was oddly touched. “Thank you.”
“I have something for you,” he said. He dug into his
pocket and brought out something, which he pressed
into her hand. It was a gray stone, slightly uneven, worn
to smoothness in spots.
“Huh,” said ry, turning it over in her fingers. “You
know, when most girls say they want a big rock, they
don’t mean, you know, literally a big rock.”
“Very amusing, my sarcastic friend. It’s not a rock,
precisely. All Shadowhunters have a witchlight rune-
stone.”
“Oh.” She looked at it with renewed interest, closing her
fingers around it as she’d seen Jace do in the cer.
She wasn’t sure, but she thought she could see a glint
of light peeking out through her fingers.
“It will bring you light,” said Jace, “even among the
darkest shadows of this world and others.”
She slipped it into her pocket. “Well, thanks. It was nice
of you to give me anything.” The tension between them
seemed to press down on her like humid air. “Better
than a bath in spaghetti any day.”
He said darkly, “If you share that little bit of personal
information with anyone, I may have to kill you.”
“Well, when I was five, I wanted my mother to let me go
around and around inside the dryer with the clothes,”
ry said. “The difference is, she didn’t let me.”
“Probably because going around and around inside a
dryer can be fatal,” Jace pointed out, “whereas pasta is
rarely fatal. Unless Isabelle makes it.”
The midnight flower was already shedding petals. They
drifted toward the floor, glimmering like slivers of
starlight. “When I was twelve, I wanted a tattoo,” ry
said. “My mom wouldn’t let me have that, either.”
Jace didn’tugh. “Most Shadowhunters get their first
Marks at twelve. It must have been in your blood.”
“Maybe. Although I doubt most Shadowhunters get a
tattoo of Donatello from the Teenage Mutant Ninja
Turtles on their left shoulder.”
Jace looked baffled. “You wanted a turtle on your
shoulder?”
“I wanted to cover my chicken pox scar.” She pulled the
strap of the tank top aside slightly, showing the star-
shaped white mark at the top of her shoulder. “See?”
He looked away. “It’s gettingte,” he said. “We should
go back downstairs.”
ry pulled her strap back up awkwardly. As if he
wanted to see her stupid scars.
The next words tumbled out of her mouth without any
volition on her part. “Have you and Isabelle ever—
dated?”
Now he did look at her. The moonlight leached the color
out of his eyes. They were more silver than gold now.
“Isabelle?” he said nkly.
“I thought—” Now she felt even more awkward. “Simon
was wondering.”
“Maybe he should ask her.”
“I’m not sure he wants to,” ry said. “Anyway, never
mind. It’s none of my business.”
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