City of Fallen Angels

“Okay,” said Isabelle, putting away the first aid kit with a brisk gesture. They were in one of the Institute’s many spare rooms, meant to house visiting Clave members. Each was plainly furnished with a bed, a dresser and a wardrobe, and a small bathroom. And, of course, each one had a first aid kit, with bandages, poultices, and even spare steles included. “You’re pretty well iratze’d up, but it’s going to take a little while for some of those bruises to fade. And these”—she ran her hand over the burn marks on Clary’s forearm where the demon blood had splashed her—“probably won’t go away totally till tomorrow. If you rest, they’ll heal faster, though.”


“That’s fine. Thanks, Isabelle.” Clary looked down at her hands; there were bandages around the right one, and her shirt was still torn and bloodstained, though Izzy’s runes had healed the cuts beneath. She supposed she could have done the iratzes herself, but it was nice to have someone take care of her, and Izzy, while not the warmest person Clary knew, could be capable and kind when she felt like it. “And thanks for showing up and, you know, saving my life from whatever that was—”

“A Hydra demon. I told you. They have a lot of heads, but they’re pretty dumb. And you weren’t doing such a bad job with it before I showed up. I like what you did with the athame. Good thinking under pressure. That’s as much a part of being a Shadowhunter as learning how to punch holes in things.” Isabelle flopped down onto the bed next to Clary and sighed. “I should probably go look up what I can find out about the Church of Talto before the Conclave gets back. Maybe it’ll help us figure out what’s going on. The hospital stuff, the babies—” She shuddered. “I don’t like it.”

Clary had told Isabelle as much as she could about why she’d been at the church, even about the demon baby at the hospital, though she’d pretended she was the one who’d been suspicious, and had kept her mother out of the story. Isabelle had looked sick when Clary had described the way the baby had looked exactly like a normal baby except for its open black eyes and the little claws it had instead of hands. “I think they were trying to make another baby like—like my brother. I think they experimented on some poor mundane woman,” Clary said. “But she couldn’t take it when the baby was born, and she lost her mind. It’s just—who would do something like that? One of Valentine’s followers? The ones who never got caught, maybe trying to carry on what he was doing?”

“Maybe. Or just some demon-worshipping cult. There are plenty of them. Although I can’t imagine why anyone would want to make more creatures like Sebastian.” Her voice gave a little jump of hatred when she said his name.

“His name’s really Jonathan—”

“Jonathan is Jace’s name,” said Isabelle tightly. “I won’t call that monster by the same name my brother has. He’s always going to be Sebastian to me.”

Clary had to admit Isabelle had a point. She had a hard time thinking of him as Jonathan too. She supposed it wasn’t fair to the true Sebastian, but none of them had really known him. It was easier to slap a stranger’s name onto Valentine’s vicious son than call him something that made him feel closer to her family, closer to her life.

Isabelle spoke lightly, but Clary could tell that her mind was working, ticking over various possibilities: “Anyway, I’m glad you texted me when you did. I could tell from your message that something weird was going on, and frankly I was bored. Everyone’s off doing some secret thing with the Conclave, and I didn’t want to go, because Simon was going to be there, and I hate him now.”

“Simon is with the Conclave?” Clary was astonished. She had noticed that the Institute had seemed even more empty than usual when they’d arrived. Jace, of course, wasn’t there, but she hadn’t expected him to be—though she hadn’t known why. “I talked to him this morning and he didn’t say anything about doing something for them,” Clary added.

Isabelle shrugged. “It has something to do with vampire politics. That’s all I know.”

“Do you think he’s all right?”

Isabelle sounded exasperated. “He doesn’t need you to protect him anymore, Clary. He has the Mark of Cain. He could get blown up, shot at, drowned, and stabbed and he’d be just fine.” She looked at Clary hard. “I notice you didn’t ask me why I hate Simon,” she said. “I assume you knew about the two-timing thing?”

“I knew,” Clary admitted. “I’m sorry.”

Isabelle waved her confession away. “You’re his best friend. It would have been weird if you didn’t know.”

“I should have told you,” Clary said. “It’s just—I never got the sense you were that serious about Simon, you know?”

Isabelle scowled. “I wasn’t. It’s just—I thought he would take it seriously, at least. Since I was so out of his league and everything. I guess I expected better from him than I do from other guys.”

“Maybe,” Clary said quietly, “Simon shouldn’t be dating someone who thinks they’re out of his league.” Isabelle looked at her, and Clary felt herself flush. “Sorry. Your relationship is really none of my business.”