The phone stopped ringing, then started up again, loud and insistent. Clary frowned—her mom must really be freaking out. She half-turned away from Jace and began digging in her bag. By the time she unearthed the phone, it was on its third set of rings. She raised it to her ear. “Mom?”
“Oh, Clary. Oh, thank God.” A sharp prickle of alarm ran up Clary’s spine. Her mother sounded panicked. “Listen to me—”
“It’s all right, Mom. I’m fine. I’m on my way home—”
“No!” Terror scraped Jocelyn’s voice raw. “Don’t come home! Do you understand me, Clary? Don’t you dare come home. Go to Simon’s. Go straight to Simon’s house and stay there until I can—” A noise in the background interrupted her: the sound of something falling, shattering, something heavy striking the floor—
“Mom!” Clary shouted into the phone. “Mom, are you all right?”
A loud buzzing noise came from the phone. Clary’s mother’s voice cut through the static: “Just promise me you won’t come home. Go to Simon’s and call Luke—tell him that he’s found me—” Her words were drowned out by a heavy crash like splintering wood.
“Who’s found you? Mom, did you call the police? Did you—”
Her frantic question was cut off by a noise Clary would never forget—a harsh, slithering noise, followed by a thump. Clary heard her mother draw in a sharp breath before speaking, her voice eerily calm: “I love you, Clary.”
The phone went dead.
“Mom!” Clary shrieked into the phone. “Mom, are you there?” CALL ENDED, the screen said. But why would her mother have hung up like that?
“Clary,” Jace said. It was the first time she’d ever heard him say her name. “What’s going on?”
Clary ignored him. Feverishly she hit the button that dialed her home number. There was no answer except a double-tone busy signal.
Clary’s hands had begun to shake uncontrollably. When she tried to redial, the phone slipped out of her shaking grasp and hit the pavement hard. She dropped to her knees to retrieve it, but it was dead, a long crack visible across the front. “Dammit!” Almost in tears, she threw the phone down.
“Stop that.” Jace hauled her to her feet, his hand gripping her wrist. “Has something happened?”
“Give me your phone,” Clary said, grabbing the black metal oblong out of his shirt pocket. “I have to—”
“It’s not a phone,” Jace said, making no move to get it back. “It’s a Sensor. You won’t be able to use it.”
“But I need to call the police!”
“Tell me what happened first.” She tried to yank her wrist back, but his grip was incredibly strong. “I can help you.”
Rage flooded through Clary, a hot tide through her veins. Without even thinking about it, she struck out at his face, her nails raking his cheek. He jerked back in surprise. Tearing herself free, Clary ran toward the lights of Seventh Avenue.
When she reached the street, she spun around, half-expecting to see Jace at her heels. But the alley was empty. For a moment she stared uncertainly into the shadows. Nothing moved inside them. She spun on her heel and ran for home.