Chapter 39
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She met his eyes for a moment. There was a challenge
in them, and something more, as if he were daring her
to exin her reluctance. With a scowl she stalked over
to the desk and snatched the telephone out of his hand.
She didn’t have to think before dialing. Simon’s number
was as familiar to her as her own. She braced herself to
deal with his mother or his sister, but he picked up on
the second ring. “Hello?”
“Simon?”
Silence.
Jace was looking at her. ry squeezed her eyes shut,
trying to pretend he wasn’t there. “It’s me,” she said.
“ry.”
“I know who it is.” He sounded irritated. “I was asleep,
you know.”
“I know. It’s early. I’m sorry.” She twirled the phone cord
around her finger. “I need to ask you for a favor.”
There was another silence before heughed bleakly.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not kidding,” she said. “We know where the Mortal
Cup is, and we’re prepared to go get it. The only thing
is, we need a car.”
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Heughed again. “Sorry, are you telling me that your
demon-ying buddies need to be driven to their next
assignation with the forces of darkness by my mom?”
“Actually, I thought you could ask Eric if you could
borrow the van.”
“ry, if you think that I—”
“If we get the Mortal Cup, I’ll have a way to get my mom
back. It’s the only reason Valentine hasn’t killed her or
let her go.”
Simon let out a long, whistling breath. “You think it’s
going to be that easy to make a trade? ry, I don’t
know.”
“I don’t know either. I just know it’s a chance.”
“This thing is powerful, right? In D&D it’s usually better
not to mess with powerful objects until you know what
they do.”
“I’m not going to mess with it. I’m just going to use it to
get my mom back.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, ry.”
“This isn’t D&D, Simon!” she half-screamed. “It’s not a
funny game where the worst thing that happens is you
get a bad dice roll. This is my mom we’re talking about,
and Valentine could be torturing her. He could kill her. I
have to do anything I can to get her back—just like I did
for you.”
Pause. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know, this isn’t really
my world. Look, where are we driving to, exactly? So I
can tell Eric.”
“Don’t bring him,” she said quickly.
“I know,” he replied with exaggerated patience. “I’m not
stupid.”
“We’re driving to my house. It’s in my house.”
There was a short silence—bewilderment this time. “In
your house? I thought your house was full of zombies.”
“Forsaken warriors. They’re not zombies. Anyway, Jace
and the others can take care of them while I get the
Cup.”
“Why do you have to get the Cup?” He sounded
rmed.
“Because I’m the only one who can,” she said. “Pick us
up at the corner as soon as you can.”
He muttered something nearly inaudible, then: “Fine.”
She opened her eyes. The world swam before her in a
blur of tears. “Thanks, Simon,” she said. “You’re a—”
But he had hung up.
“It urs to me,” said Hodge, “that the dilemmas of
power are always the same.”
ry nced at him sideways. “What do you mean?”
She sat on the window seat in the library, Hodge in his
chair with Hugo on the armrest. The remains of
breakfast—sticky jam, toast crumbs, and smears of
butter—clung to a stack of tes on the low table that
no one had seemed inclined to clear away. After
breakfast they had scattered to prepare themselves,
and ry had been the first one back. This was hardly
surprising, considering that all she had to do was pull on
jeans and a shirt and run a brush through her hair, while
everyone else had to arm themselves heavily. Having
lost Jace’s dagger in the hotel, the only remotely
supernatural object she had on her was the witchlight
stone in her pocket.
“I was thinking of your Simon,” Hodge said, “and of Alec
and Jace, among others.”
She nced out the window. It was raining, thick fat
drops spattering against the panes. The sky was an
imprable gray. “What do they have to do with each
other?”
“Where there is feeling that is not requited,” said Hodge,
“there is an imbnce of power. It is an imbnce that
is easy to exploit, but it is not a wise course. Where
there is love, there is often also hate. They can exist
side by side.”
“Simon doesn’t hate me.”
“He might grow to, over time, if he felt you were using
him.” Hodge held up a hand. “I know you do not intend
to, and in some cases necessity trumps nicety of
feeling. But the situation has put me in mind of another.
Do you still have that photograph I gave you?”
ry shook her head. “Not on me. It’s back in my room.
I could go get it—”
“No.” Hodge stroked Hugo’s ebony feathers. “When your
mother was young, she had a best friend, just as you
have Simon. They were as close as siblings. In fact,
they were often mistaken for brother and sister. As they
grew older, it became clear to everyone around them
that he was in love with her, but she never saw it. She
always called him a ‘friend.’”
ry stared at Hodge. “Do you mean Luke?”
“Yes,” said Hodge. “Lucian always thought he and
Jocelyn would be together. When she met and loved
Valentine, he could not bear it. After they were married,
he left the Circle, disappeared—and let us all think that
he was dead.”
“He never said—never even hinted at anything like that,”
ry said. “All these years, he could have asked her—”
“He knew what the answer would be,” said Hodge,
looking past her toward the rain-spattered skylight.
“Lucian was never the sort of man who would have
deluded himself. No, he contented himself with being
near her—assuming, perhaps, that over time her
feelings might change.”
“But if he loved her, why did he tell those men he didn’t
care what happened to her? Why did he refuse to let
them tell him where she was?”
“As I said before, where there is love, there is also
hatred,” said Hodge. “She hurt him badly all those years
ago. She turned her back on him. And yet he has yed
her faithfulpdog ever since, never remonstrating,
never using, never confronting her with his feelings.
Perhaps he saw an opportunity to turn the tables. To
hurt her as he’d been hurt.”
“Luke wouldn’t do that.” But ry was remembering his
icy tone as he told her not to ask him for favors. She
saw the hard look in his eyes as he faced Valentine’s
men. That wasn’t the Luke she’d known, the Luke she’d
grown up with. That Luke would never have wanted to
punish her mother for not loving him enough or in the
right way. “But she did love him,” ry said, speaking
aloud without realizing it. “It just wasn’t the same way he
loved her. Isn’t that enough?”
“Perhaps he didn’t think so.”
“What will happen after we get the Cup?” she said.
“How will we reach Valentine to let him know we have
it?”
“Hugo will find him.”
The rain smashed against the windows. ry shivered.
“I’m going to get a jacket,” she said, slipping off the
window seat.
She found her green and pink hoodie stuffed down at
the bottom of her backpack. When she pulled it out, she
heard something crinkle. It was the photograph of the
Circle, her mother and Valentine. She looked at it for a
long moment before slipping it back into the bag.
When she returned to the library, the others were all
gathered there: Hodge sitting watchfully on the desk
with Hugo on his shoulder, Jace all in ck, Isabelle
with her demon-stomping boots and gold whip, and Alec
with a quiver of arrows strapped across his shoulder
and a leather bracer sheathing his right arm from wrist
to elbow. Everyone but Hodge was covered in freshly
applied Marks, every inch of bare skin inked with
swirling patterns. Jace had his left sleeve pulled up, chin
on his shoulder, and was frowning as he scrawled an
octagonal Mark on the skin of his upper arm.
Alec looked over at him. “You’re messing it up,” he said.
“Let me do that.”
“I’m left-handed,” Jace pointed out, but he spoke mildly
and held his stele out. Alec looked relieved as he took it,
as if he hadn’t been sure until now that he was forgiven
for his earlier behavior. “It’s a basic iratze,” Jace said as
Alec bent his dark head over Jace’s arm, carefully
tracing the lines of the healing rune. Jace winced as the
stele slid over his skin, his eyes half-closing and his fist
tightening until the muscles of his left arm stood out like
cords. “By the Angel, Alec—”
“I’m trying to be careful,” said Alec. He let go of Jace’s
arm and stepped back to admire his handiwork. “There.”
Jace unclenched his fist, lowering his arm. “Thanks.” He
seemed to sense ry’s presence then, ncing over
at her, his gold eyes narrowing. “ry.”
“You look ready,” she said as Alec, suddenly flushed,
moved away from Jace and busied himself with his
arrows.
“We are,” Jace said. “Do you still have that dagger I
gave you?”
“No. I lost it in the Dumort, remember?”
“That’s right.” Jace looked at her, pleased. “Nearly killed
a werewolf with it. I remember.”
Isabelle, who had been standing by the window, rolled
her eyes. “I forgot that’s what gets you all hot and
bothered, Jace. Girls killing things.”
“I like anyone killing things,” he said equably. “Especially
me.”
ry nced anxiously toward the clock on the desk.
“We should go downstairs. Simon will be here any
minute.”
Hodge stood up from his chair. He looked very tired,
ry thought, as if he hadn’t slept in days.
“May the Angel watch over you all,” he said, and Hugo
rose up from his shoulder into the air cawing loudly, just
as the noon bells began to ring.
It was still drizzling when Simon pulled the van up at the
corner and honked twice. ry’s heart leaped—some
part of her had been worried that he wasn’t going to
show up.
Jace squinted through the dripping rain. The four of
them had taken shelter under a carved stone cornice.
“That’s the van? It looks like a rotting banana.”
This was undeniable—Eric had painted the van a neon
shade of yellow, and it was blotched with dings and rust
like splotches of decay. Simon honked again. ry
could see him, a blurred shape through the wet
windows. She sighed and pulled her hood up to cover
her hair. “Let’s go.”
They sshed through the filthy puddles that had
collected on the pavement, Isabelle’s enormous boots
making a satisfying noise every time she put her feet
down. Simon, leaving the motor idling, crawled into the
back to pull the door aside, revealing seats whose
upholstery had half-rotted through. Dangerous-looking
springs poked through the gaps. Isabelle wrinkled her
nose. “Is it safe to sit?”
“Safer than being strapped to the roof,” said Simon
pleasantly, “which is your other option.” He nodded a
greeting to Jace and Alec, ignoring rypletely.
“Hey.”
“Hey indeed,” said Jace, and lifted the rattling canvas
duffel bag that held their weapons. “Where can we put
these?”
Simon directed him to the back, where the boys usually
kept their musical instruments, while Alec and Isabelle
crawled into the van’s interior and perched on the seats.
“Shotgun!” announced ry as Jace came back around
the side of the van.
Alec grabbed for his bow, strapped across his back.
“Where?”
“She means she wants the front seat,” said Jace,
pushing wet hair out of his eyes.
“That’s a nice bow,” said Simon, with a nod toward Alec.
Alec blinked, rain running off his eyshes. “Do you
know much about archery?” he asked, in a tone that
suggested that he doubted it.
“I did archery at camp,” said Simon. “Six years running.”
The response to this was three nk stares and a
supportive smile from ry, which Simon ignored. He
nced up at the lowering sky. “We should go before it
starts pouring again.”
The front seat of the car was covered in Doritos
wrappers and Pop-Tart crumbs. ry brushed away
what she could. Simon started the car before she’d
finished, flinging her back against the seat. “Ouch,” she
said reprovingly.
“Sorry.” He didn’t look at her.
ry could hear the others talking softly in the back
among themselves—probably discussing battle
strategies and the best way to behead a demon without
getting ichor on your new leather boots. Though there
was nothing separating the front seat from the rest of
the van, ry felt the awkward silence between her and
Simon as if they were alone.
“So what’s with that ‘hey’ thing?” she asked as Simon
maneuvered the car onto the FDR parkway, the highway
that ran alongside the East River.
“What ‘hey’ thing?” he replied, cutting off a ck SUV
whose upant, a suited man with a cell phone in his
hand, made an obscene gesture at them through the
tinted windows.
“The ‘hey’ thing that guys always do. Like when you saw
Jace and Alec, you said ‘hey,’ and they said ‘hey’ back.
What’s wrong with ‘hello’?”
She thought she saw a muscle twitch in his cheek.
“‘Hello’ is girly,” he informed her. “Real men are terse.
Laconic.”
“So the more manly you are, the less you say?”
“Right.” Simon nodded. Past him she could see the
humid fog lowering over the East River, shrouding the
waterfront in feathery gray mist. The water itself was the
color of lead, churned to a whipped cream consistency
by the steady wind. “That’s why when major badasses
greet each other in movies, they don’t say anything,
they just nod. The nod means, ‘I am a badass, and I
recognize that you, too, are a badass,’ but they don’t
say anything because they’re Wolverine and Mao
and it would mess up their vibe to exin.”
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