The werewolf shuddered and changed, bones popping and fur flowing away, and in a few long, agonizing moments Alec found himself with his arms wrapped around a girl dressed only in the torn ribbons of a dress. She was very nearly naked.
Alec looked more uncomfortable than he had when she was a wolf. He let go quickly, and Marcy slid to a sitting position, her arms clutched around herself. She was whimpering under her breath. Magnus pulled off his long red leather coat and knelt to wrap it around her. Marcy clutched at the lapels.
“Thank you so much,” said Marcy, looking up at Magnus with big beseeching eyes. She was a fetching little blonde in human form, which made her giant, angry wolf form seem funnier in retrospect. Then her face tightened with anguish, and nothing seemed funny at all. “Did I . . . please, did I hurt anybody?”
“No,” said Alec, his voice strong, confident as it only very rarely was. “No, you didn’t hurt anyone at all.”
“There was someone with me . . .” Marcy began.
“She was scratched,” Magnus said, keeping his voice steady and reassuring. “She’s fine. I healed her.”
“But I hurt her,” Marcy said, and put her face in her blood-stained hands.
Alec reached out and touched Marcy’s back, rubbing it gently as if this werewolf stranger was his own sister.
“She’s fine,” he said. “You didn’t—I know you didn’t want to hurt her, that you didn’t want to hurt anyone. You can’t help being what you are. You’re going to figure it all out.”
“She forgives you,” Magnus told Marcy, but Marcy was looking at Alec.
“Oh my God, you’re a Shadowhunter,” she whispered, just as Erik the werewolf waiter had, but with fear in her voice instead of scorn. “What are you going to do to me?” She shut her eyes. “No. I’m sorry. You stopped me. If you hadn’t been here—whatever you do to me, I deserve it.”
“I’m not going to do anything to you,” said Alec, and Marcy opened her eyes and looked up into Alec’s face. “I meant what I said. I’m not going to tell anyone. I promise.”
Alec had looked the same when Magnus had spoken of his childhood at the party when they had first met. It was something Magnus hardly ever did, but he had felt spiky and defensive about the advent of all these Shadowhunters in his house, at Jocelyn Fray’s daughter, Clary, showing up without her mother and with so many questions she deserved answers to. He had not expected to look into a Shadowhunter’s eyes and see sympathy.
Marcy sat up, gathering the coat around her. She looked suddenly dignified, as if she had realized she had rights in this situation. That she was a person. That she was a soul, and that soul had been respected as it should have been.
“Thank you,” she said calmly. “Thank you both.”
“Marcy?” said her friend’s voice from the door.
Marcy looked up. “Adrienne!”
Adrienne dashed inside, almost skidding on the tiled floor, and threw herself to the ground and enveloped Marcy in her arms.
“Are you hurt? Show me,” Marcy whispered into her shoulder.
“It’s fine, it’s nothing, it’s absolutely all right,” said Adrienne, stroking Marcy’s hair.
“I’m so sorry,” said Marcy, cupping Adrienne’s face. They kissed, heedless of the fact that Alec and Magnus were standing right there.
When they broke apart, Adrienne rocked Marcy in her arms and whispered, “We’ll figure this out so it never happens again. We will.”
Other people followed Adrienne’s lead and came in by twos and threes.
“You’re pretty snappily dressed for a dogcatcher,” said a man Magnus thought was the bartender.
Magnus inclined his head. “Thank you very much.”
More people swirled back in, cautiously at first and then in far greater numbers. Nobody was asking where exactly the dog had gone. A great many of them seemed to want drinks.
Perhaps some of them would ask questions later, when the shock had worn off, and this night’s work would become a situation that needed clearing up. But Magnus decided that was a problem for later.
“That was nice, what you said to her,” said Magnus, when the crowd had completely hidden Marcy and Adrienne from their sight.
“Uh . . . it was nothing,” said Alec, shifting and looking embarrassed. The Shadowhunters did not see much to approve of in kindness, Magnus supposed. “I mean, that’s what we’re here for, aren’t we? Shadowhunters, I mean. We have to help anyone who needs help. We have to protect people.”
The Nephilim Magnus had known had seemed to believe the Downworlders were created to help them, and to be disposed of if they didn’t help enough.
Magnus looked at Alec. He was sweaty and still breathing a little hard, the scratches on his arms and face healing quickly thanks to the iratzes on his skin.
“I don’t think we’re going to get a drink in here; there’s much too long a line,” said Magnus slowly. “Let’s have a nightcap back at my place.”