CITY OF ASHES

The moon what? Shaking her head, Clary stepped out into the pond. The water was shallow and clear; in the bright starlight, she could see the black shapes of tiny darting fish moving past her ankles. She gritted her teeth as she waded farther out into the pond. The cold was intense.

Behind her, Jace moved out into the water with a contained grace that barely rippled the surface. Simon, behind him, was splashing and cursing. Isabelle, having reached the center of the pond, paused there, up to her rib cage in water. She held out her hand toward Clary. “Stop.”

Clary stopped. Just in front of her, the reflection of the moon glimmered atop the water like a huge silvery dinner plate. Some part of her knew that it didn’t work like this; the moon was supposed to move away from you as you approached, ever receding. But here it was, hovering just on the surface of the water as if it were anchored in place.

“Jace, you go first,” Isabelle said, and beckoned him. “Come on.”

He brushed past Clary, smelling of wet leather and char. She saw him smile as he turned, and then he stepped backward into the reflection of the moon—and vanished.

“Okay,” said Simon unhappily. “Okay, that was weird.”

Clary glanced back at him. He was only hip-deep in water, but he was shivering, his hands hugging his elbows. She smiled at him and took a step backward, feeling a shock of icier cold when she moved into the shimmering silver reflection. She teetered for a moment, as if she’d lost her balance on the highest rung of a ladder—and then fell backward into darkness as the moon swallowed her up.

She hit packed earth, stumbled, and felt a hand on her arm, steadying her. It was Jace. “Easy does it,” he said, and let her go.

She was soaking wet, rivulets of cold water running down the back of her shirt, her damp hair clinging to her face. Her drenched clothes felt as if they weighed a ton.

They were in a hollowed-out dirt corridor, illuminated by faintly glowing moss. A tangle of dangling vines formed a curtain at one end of the corridor and long, hairy tendrils hung like dead snakes from the ceiling. Tree roots, Clary realized. They were underground. And it was cold down here, cold enough to make her breath puff out in an icy mist when she exhaled.

“Cold?” Jace was soaking wet too, his light hair almost colorless where it stuck to his cheeks and forehead. Water ran from his wet jeans and jacket, and made the white shirt he was wearing transparent. She could see the dark lines of his permanent Marks through it and the faint scar on his shoulder.

She looked away quickly. Water clung to her lashes, blurring her vision like tears. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” He moved closer, and she could feel the warmth of him even through his wet clothes and hers, thawing her icy skin.

A dark shape hurtled by, just out of the corner of her eye, and hit the ground with a thud. It was Simon, also soaking wet. He rolled onto his knees and looked around frantically. “My glasses—”

“I’ve got them.” Clary was used to retrieving Simon’s glasses for him during soccer games. They always seemed to fall just under his feet, where they were inevitably stepped on. “Here you go.”

He slid them on, scraping dirt off the lenses. “Thanks.”

Clary could feel Jace watching them, feel his gaze like a weight on her shoulders. She wondered if Simon could too. He stood up with a frown, just as Isabelle dropped out of the heavens, landing gracefully on her feet. Water ran from her long, streaming hair and weighed down her heavy velvet coat, but she barely seemed to notice. “Oooh, that was fun.”

“That does it,” said Jace. “I’m going to get you a dictionary for Christmas this year.”

“Why?” Isabelle said.

“So you can look up ‘fun.’ I’m not sure you know what it means.”

Isabelle pulled the long heavy mass of her wet hair forward and wrung it out as if it were wet washing. “You’re raining on my parade.”

“It’s a pretty wet parade already, if you hadn’t noticed.” Jace glanced around. “Now what? Which way do we go?”

“Neither way,” said Isabelle. “We wait here, and they come and get us.”

Clary was not impressed by this suggestion. “How do they know we’re here? Is there a doorbell we have to ring or something?”

“The Court knows all that happens in their lands. Our presence won’t go unnoticed.”

Simon looked at her with suspicion. “And how do you know so much about faeries and the Seelie Court, anyway?”