City of Lost Souls

“Hey, little brother.” It was Sebastian’s voice, floating under her door from the living room. “Is it done?”


There was a long silence. Then Jace’s voice, oddly flat and colorless. “It’s done.”

Sebastian’s breath drew in sharply. “And the old lady—she did as we asked? Made the Cup?”

“Yes.”

“Show it to me.”

A rustle. Silence. Jace said, “Look, take it if you want it.”

“No.” There was a curious thoughtfulness in Sebastian’s tone. “You hold on to it for the moment. You did the work of getting it back, after all. Didn’t you?”

“But it was your plan.” There was something in Jace’s voice, something that made Clary lean forward and press her ear to the wall, suddenly desperate to hear more. “And I executed it, just as you wanted. Now, if you don’t mind—”

“I do mind.” There was a rustle. Clary imagined Sebastian standing up, looking down at Jace from the inch or so that divided them in height. “There’s something wrong. I can tell. I can read you, you know.”

“I’m tired. And there was a lot of blood. Look, I just need to clean myself off, and to sleep. And…” Jace’s voice died.

“And to see my sister.”

“I’d like to see her, yes.”

“She’s asleep. Has been for hours.”

“Do I need to ask your permission?” There was a razored edge to Jace’s voice, something that reminded Clary of the way he had once spoken to Valentine. Something she had not heard in the way he spoke to Sebastian in a long time.

“No.” Sebastian sounded surprised, almost caught off guard. “I suppose if you want to barge in there and gaze wistfully at her sleeping face, go right ahead. I’ll never understand why—”

“No,” Jace said. “You never will.”

There was silence. Clary could so clearly picture Sebastian staring after Jace, a quizzical look on his face, that it took her a moment before she realized that Jace must be coming to her room. She had only time to throw herself flat on the bed and shut her eyes before the door opened, letting in a slice of yellow-white light that momentarily blinded her. She made what she hoped was a realistic waking-up noise and rolled over, her hand over her face. “What… ?”

The door shut. The room was in darkness again. She could see Jace only as a shape that moved slowly toward her bed, until he was standing over her, and she couldn’t help remembering another night when he had come to her room while she slept. Jace standing by the head of her bed, still wearing his white mourning clothes, and there was nothing light or sarcastic or distant in the way he was looking down at her. “I’ve been wandering around all night—I couldn’t sleep—and I kept finding myself walking here. To you.”

He was only an outline now, an outline with bright hair that shone in the faint light that filtered from beneath the door. “Clary,” he whispered. There was a thump, and she realized he had fallen to his knees by the side of her bed. She didn’t move, but her body tightened. His voice was a whisper. “Clary, it’s me. It’s me.”

Her eyelids fluttered open, wide, and their gazes met. She was staring at Jace. Kneeling beside her bed, his eyes were level with hers. He wore a long dark woolen coat, buttoned all the way to the throat, where she could see black Marks—Soundless, Agility, Accuracy—like a sort of necklace against his skin. His eyes were very gold and very wide, and as if she could see through them, she saw Jace—her Jace. The Jace who had lifted her in his arms when she was dying of Ravener poison; the Jace who had watched her hold Simon against the rising daylight over the East River; the Jace who had told her about a little boy and the falcon his father had killed. The Jace she loved.

Her heart seemed to stop altogether. She couldn’t even gasp.

His eyes were full of urgency and pain. “Please,” he murmured. “Please believe me.”

She believed him. They carried the same blood, loved the same way; this was her Jace, as much as her hands were her own hands, her heart her own heart. But—“How?”

“Clary, shh—”

She began to struggle into a sitting position, but he reached out and pushed her back against the bed by her shoulders. “We can’t talk now. I have to go.”

She grabbed for his sleeve, felt him wince. “Don’t leave me.”

He dropped his head for just a moment; when he looked up again, his eyes were dry but the expression in them silenced her. “Wait a few moments after I go,” he whispered. “Then slip out and up to my room. Sebastian can’t know we’re together. Not tonight.” He dragged himself to his feet, his eyes pleading. “Don’t let him hear you.”