City of Fallen Angels

“We would like to capture Camille. Alive,” said Maryse. “We want to question her. We need to know why she has been killing Shadowhunters—and these Shadowhunters in particular.”


“If you sincerely hope to accomplish this, I hope you have a very clever plan.” There was a mixture of amusement and scorn in Raphael’s voice. “Camille is cunning even for our kind, and we are very cunning indeed.”

“I have a plan,” said Luke. “It involves the Daylighter. Simon Lewis.”

Raphael made a face. “I dislike him,” he said. “I would rather not be a part of a plan that relies upon his involvement.”

“Well,” said Luke, “isn’t that too bad for you.”


Stupid, Clary thought. Stupid not to bring an umbrella. The faint drizzle that her mother had told her was coming that morning had turned into nearly full-blown rain by the time she reached the Alto Bar on Lorimer Street. She pushed past the knot of people smoking out on the sidewalk and ducked gratefully into the dry warmth of the bar inside.

Millennium Lint was already onstage, the guys whaling away on their instruments, and Kyle, at the front, growling sexily into a microphone. Clary felt a moment of satisfaction. It was largely down to her influence that they’d hired Kyle at all, and he was clearly doing them proud.

She glanced around the room, hoping to see either Maia or Isabelle. She knew it wouldn’t be both of them, since Simon carefully invited them only to alternating gigs. Her gaze fell on a slender figure with black hair, and she moved toward that table, only to stop midway. It wasn’t Isabelle at all, but a much older woman, her face made up with dark outlined eyes. She was wearing a power suit and reading a newspaper, apparently oblivious to the music.

“Clary! Over here!” Clary turned and saw the actual Isabelle, seated at a table close to the stage. She wore a dress that shone like a silver beacon; Clary navigated toward it and flung herself down in the seat opposite Izzy. “Got caught in the rain, I see,” Isabelle observed.

Clary pushed her damp hair back from her face with a rueful smile. “You bet against Mother Nature, you lose.”

Isabelle raised her dark eyebrows. “I thought you weren’t coming tonight. Simon said you had some wedding blah-blah to deal with.” Isabelle was not impressed with weddings or any of the trappings of romantic love, as far as Clary could tell.

“My mom wasn’t feeling well,” Clary said. “She decided to reschedule.”

This was true, up to a point. When they’d come home from the hospital, Jocelyn had gone into her room and shut the door. Clary, feeling helpless and frustrated, had heard her crying softly through the door, but her mom had refused to let her in or to talk about it. Eventually Luke had come home, and Clary had gratefully left the care of her mother to him and headed out to kick around the city before going to see Simon’s band. She always tried to come to his gigs if she could, and besides, talking to him would make her feel better.

“Huh.” Isabelle didn’t inquire further. Sometimes her almost total lack of interest in other people’s problems was something of a relief. “Well, I’m sure Simon will be glad you came.”

Clary glanced toward the stage. “How’s the show been so far?”

“Fine.” Isabelle chewed thoughtfully on her straw. “That new lead singer they have is hot. Is he single? I’d like to ride him around town like a bad, bad pony—”

“Isabelle!”

“What?” Isabelle glanced over at her and shrugged. “Oh, whatever. Simon and I aren’t exclusive. I told you that.”

Admittedly, Clary thought, Simon didn’t have a leg to stand on in this particular situation. But he was still her friend. She was about to say something in his defense when she glanced toward the stage again—and something caught her eye. A familiar figure, emerging from the stage door. She would have recognized him anywhere, at any time, no matter how dark the room or how unexpected the sight of him.

Jace. He was dressed like a mundane: jeans, a tight black T-shirt that showed the movement of the slim muscles in his shoulders and back. His hair gleamed under the stage lights. Covert gazes watched him as he moved toward the wall and leaned against it, looking intently toward the front of the room. Clary felt her heart begin to pound. It felt like it had been forever since she’d last seen him, though she knew it had been only about a day. And yet, already, watching him seemed like watching someone distant, a stranger. What was he even doing here? He didn’t like Simon! He’d never come to a single one of the band’s performances before.

“Clary!” Isabelle sounded accusing. Clary turned to see that she’d accidentally upset Isabelle’s glass, and water was dripping off the other girl’s lovely silver dress.

Isabelle, grabbing a napkin, looked at her darkly. “Just talk to him,” she said. “I know you want to.”

“I’m sorry,” Clary said.