“The runes only come to me in those moments.”
“Maybe that’s because you haven’t yet been trained in how your power works. Think of Magnus; his power is a part of him. You seem to think of yours as separate from you.
Something that happens to you. It’s not. It’s a tool you need to learn to use.”
“Jace said Maryse wants to hire a rune expert to work with me, but it hasn’t happened yet.”
“Yes,” said Luke, “I imagine Maryse has other things on her mind.” He took the key out of the ignition and sat for a moment in silence. “Losing a child the way she lost Max,” he said. “I can’t imagine it. I should be more forgiving of her behavior. If something happened to you, I . . .”
His voice trailed off.
“I wish Robert would come back from Idris,” said Clary. “I don’t see why she has to deal with all this alone. It must be horrible.”
“Many marriages break up when a child dies. The married couple can’t stop blaming themselves, or each other. I imagine Robert is gone precisely because he needs space, or Maryse does.”
“But they love each other,” Clary said, appalled. “Isn’t that what love means? That you’re supposed to be there for the other person to turn to, no matter what?”
Luke looked toward the river, at the dark water moving slowly under the light of the autumn moon. “Sometimes, Clary,” he said, “love just isn’t enough.”
PRAETOR LUPUS
The bottle slid out of Simon’s hand and crashed to the floor, where it shattered, sending shards flying in all directions. “Kyle’s a werewolf?”
“Of course he’s a werewolf, you moron,” said Jace. He looked at Kyle. “Aren’t you?”
Kyle said nothing. The relaxed good humor had gone out of his expression. His hazel eyes were as hard and flat as glass. “Who’s asking?”
Jace moved away from the window. There was nothing overtly hostile in his demeanor, and yet everything about him implied a clear threat. His hands were loose at his sides, but Simon remembered the way he had seen Jace, before, explode into action with almost nothing, it seemed, between thought and response. “Jace Lightwood,” he said. “Of the Lightwood Institute. What pack are you sworn to?”
“Jesus,” said Kyle. “You’re a Shadowhunter?” He looked at Simon. “The cute redheaded girl who was with you in the garage—she’s a Shadowhunter too, isn’t she?”
Taken aback, Simon nodded.
“You know, some people think Shadowhunters are just myths. Like mummies and genies.” Kyle grinned at Jace.
“Can you grant wishes?”
The fact that Kyle had just called Clary cute did not seem to have endeared him to Jace, whose face had tightened alarmingly. “That depends,” he said. “Do you wish to be punched in the face?”
“My, my,” said Kyle. “And I thought you all were so gung ho for the Accords these days—”
“The Accords apply to vamps and lycanthropes with clear alliances,” interrupted Jace.
“Tell me what pack you’re sworn to, or I’ll have to assume you’re rogue.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Simon said. “Both of you, stop acting like you’re about to hit each other.” He looked at Kyle. “You should have told me you were a werewolf.”
“I didn’t notice you telling me you’re a vampire. Maybe I thought it was none of your business.”
Simon’s whole body jerked with surprise. “What?” He glanced down at the shattered glass and blood on the floor.
“I didn’t—Idon’t—”
“Don’t bother,” Jace said quietly. “He can sense you’re a vampire. Just like you’ll be able to sense werewolves and other Downworlders when you’ve had a bit more practice. He’s known what you are since he met you. Isn’t that true?” He met Kyle’s icy hazel eyes with his own. Kyle said nothing. “And that stuff he’s growing on the balcony, by the by?
That’s wolfsbane. Now you know.”
Simon crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Kyle. “So what they hell is this?
Some sort of setup? Why did you ask me to live with you? Werewolves hate vampires.”
“I don’t,” said Kyle. “I’m not too fond of their kind, though.” He jabbed a finger at Jace.
“They think they’re better than everyone else.”
“No,” said Jace. “I think I’m better than everyone else. An opinion that has been backed up with ample evidence.”
Kyle looked at Simon. “Does he always talk like this?”
“Yes.”
“Does anything shut him up? Other than getting the crap beaten out of him, of course.”
Jace moved away from the window. “I would love for you to try.”
Simon stepped between them. “I’m not going to let you fight with each other.”
“And what are you going to do about it if . . . Oh.” Jace’s gaze trailed up to Simon’s forehead, and he grinned reluctantly. “So basically you’re threatening to turn me into something you can sprinkle on popcorn if I don’t do what you say?”
Kyle looked baffled. “What are you—”
“I just think you two should talk,” Simon interrupted. “So Kyle’s a werewolf. I’m a vampire. And you’re not exactly the boy next door either,” he added to Jace. “I say we figure out what’s going on and proceed from there.”
“Your trusting idiocy knows no bounds,” Jace said, but he sat down on the windowsill, crossing his arms. After a moment Kyle sat down too, on the futon couch. They both glared at each other. Still, Simon thought. Progress.
“Fine,” Kyle said. “I’m a werewolf. I’m not part of a pack, but I do have an alliance.
Have you heard of the Praetor Lupus?”
“I’ve heard of lupus,” said Simon. “Isn’t it a kind of disease?”
Jace gave him a withering look. “‘Lupus’ means ‘wolf,’” he explained. “And the praetorians were an elite Roman military force. So I guess the translation is ‘Wolf Guardians.’” He shrugged. “I’ve run across mentions of them, but they’re a pretty secretive organization.”
“And the Shadowhunters aren’t?” said Kyle.
“We have good reasons.”
“So do we.” Kyle leaned forward. The muscles in his arms flexed as he propped his elbows on his knees. “There are two kinds of werewolves,” he explained. “The kind that are born werewolves, with werewolf parents, and the kind that get infected with lycanthropy through a bite.” Simon looked at him in surprise. He wouldn’t have thought Kyle, slacker-stoner bike messenger, would have known the word “lycanthropy,” much less how to pronounce it.
But this was a very different Kyle—focused, intent, and direct. “For those of us who are turned by a bite, those first few years are key. The demon strain that causes lycanthropy causes a whole raft of other changes—waves of uncontrollable aggression, inability to control rage, suicidal anger and despair. The pack can help with that, but a lot of the newly infected aren’t lucky enough to fall in with a pack. They’re on their own, trying to deal with all this overwhelming stuff, and a lot of them turn violent—against others or against themselves. There’s a high suicide rate and a high rate of domestic violence.” He looked at Simon. “The same goes for vampires, except it can be even worse. An orphaned fledgling has literally no idea what’s happened to it. With no guidance, it doesn’t know how to feed safely, or even to stay out of sunlight. That’s where we come in.”
“And do what?” Simon asked.
“We track down ‘orphaned’ Downworlders—vampires and werewolves who’ve just been Turned and don’t know what they are yet. Sometimes even warlocks—some of them don’t realize what they are for years. We intervene, try to get them into a pack or a clan, try to help them control their powers.”
“Good Samaritans, aren’t you.” Jace’s eyes glittered.