CITY OF BONES

“Do you?”


He shrugged slightly. “She raised you, didn’t she?” He glanced toward the glass roof. “The sun’s almost set.”

Clary got to her feet. “We should head out to the hospital. I’ll pay for the cab,” she added, as an afterthought. “Luke gave me some cash.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Jace’s smile widened. “Come on. I’ve got something to show you.”


“But where did you get it?” Clary demanded, staring at the motorcycle perched at the edge of the cathedral’s roof. It was a shiny poison green, with silver-rimmed wheels and bright flames painted on the seat.

“Magnus was complaining that someone had left it outside his house the last time he had a party,” said Jace. “I convinced him to give it to me.”

“And you flew it up here?” She was still staring.

“Uh-huh. I’m getting pretty good at it.” He swung a leg over the seat, and beckoned her to come and sit behind him. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

“Well, at least you know it works this time,” she said, getting on behind him. “If we crash into the parking lot of a Key Food, I’ll kill you, you know that?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Jace. “There are no parking lots on the Upper East Side. Why drive when you can get your groceries delivered?” The bike started with a roar, drowning out his laugh. Shrieking, Clary grabbed hold of his belt as the bike hurtled down the slanted roof of the Institute and launched itself into space.

The wind tore her hair as they rose up, up over the cathedral, up above the roofs of the nearby high-rises and apartment buildings. And there it was spread out before her like a carelessly opened jewelry box, this city more populous and more amazing than she had ever imagined: There was the emerald square of Central Park, where the faerie courts met on midsummer evenings; there were the lights of the clubs and bars downtown, where the vampires danced the nights away at Pandemonium; there the alleys of Chinatown down which the werewolves slunk at night, their coats reflecting the city’s lights. There walked warlocks in all their bat-winged, cat-eyed glory; and here, as they swung out over the river, she saw the darting flash of multicolored tails under the silvery skin of the water, the shimmer of long, pearl-strewn hair, and heard the high, rippling laughter of the mermaids.

Jace turned to look over his shoulder, the wind whipping his hair into tangles. “What are you thinking?” he called back to her.

“Just how different everything down there is now, you know, now that I can see.”

“Everything down there is exactly the same,” he said, angling the cycle toward the East River. They were heading toward the Brooklyn Bridge again. “You’re the one that’s different.”

Her hands tightened convulsively on his belt as they dipped lower and lower over the river. “Jace!”

“Don’t worry.” He sounded maddeningly amused. “I know what I’m doing. I won’t drown us.”

She squinted her eyes against the tearing wind. “Are you testing what Alec said about some of these bikes being able to go underwater?”

“No.” He leveled the bike out carefully as they rose from the river’s surface. “I think that’s just a story.”

“But, Jace,” she said. “All the stories are true.”

She didn’t hear him laugh, but she felt it, vibrating through his rib cage and into her fingertips. She held on tightly as he angled the cycle up, gunning it so that it shot forward and darted up the side of the bridge like a bird freed from a cage. Her stomach dropped out from under her as the silver river spun away and the spires of the bridge slid under her feet, but this time Clary kept her eyes open, so that she could see it all.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


I WOULD LIKE TO THANK MY WRITING GROUP, THE Massachusetts All-Stars: Ellen Kushner, Delia Sherman, Kelly Link, Gavin Grant, Holly Black, and Sarah Smith. Also, Tom Holt and Peg Kerr for encouraging me before there ever was a book, and Justine Larbalestier and Eve Sinaiko for giving me their thoughts on it once there was. My mother and father for their dedication, affection, and unswerving belief that I would eventually produce something publishable. Jim Hill and Kate Connor for their encouragement and support. Eric for vampire motorbikes that run on demon energies and Elka for looking better in black than the widows of her enemies. Theo and Val for creating beautiful images to go with my prose. My glamorous agent, Barry Goldblatt, and my talented editor, Karen Wojtyla. Holly for living through this book with me, and Josh for making it all worthwhile.