She smiled. “The Mark, silly boy. The Mark of the Wanderer.”
Simon opened his mouth, then closed it again. How does she know? Very few people knew of the Mark that Clary had put on him in Idris. Raphael had indicated it was a matter for deadly secrecy, and Simon had treated it as such.
But Camille’s eyes were very green and steady, and for some reason he wanted to do what she wanted him to do.
It was something about the way she looked at him, something in the music of her voice.
He reached up and pushed his hair aside, baring his forehead for her inspection.
Her eyes widened, her lips parting. Lightly she touched her fingers to her throat, as if checking the nonexistent pulse there. “Oh,” she said. “How lucky you are, Simon. How fortunate.”
“It’s a curse,” he said. “Not a blessing. You know that, right?”
Her eyes sparked. “‘And Cain said unto the Lord, My punishment is greater than I can bear.’ Is it more than you can bear, Simon?”
Simon sat back, letting his hair fall back into place. “I can bear it.”
“But you don’t want to.” She ran a gloved finger around the rim of her wineglass, her eyes still fixed on him. “What if I could offer you a way to turn what you regard as a curse into an advantage?”
I’d say you’re finally getting to the reason you brought me here, which is a start. “I’m listening.”
“You recognized my name when I told it to you,” Camille said. “Raphael has mentioned me before, has he not?”
She had an accent, very faint, that Simon couldn’t quite place.
“He said you were the head of the clan and he was just leading them while you were gone. Stepping in for you like —like a vice president or something.”
“Ah.” She bit gently on her lower lip. “That is, in fact, not quite true. I would like to tell you the truth, Simon. I would like to make you an offer. But first I must have your word on something.”
“And what’s that?”
“That everything that passes between us this night, here, remains a secret. No one can know. Not your redheaded little friend, Clary. Not either of your lady friends. None of the Lightwoods. No one.”
Simon sat back. “And what if I don’t want to promise?”
“Then you may leave, if you like,” she said. “But then you will never know what I wished to tell you. And that will be a loss you will regret.”
“I’m curious,” Simon said. “But I’m not sure I’m that curious.”
Her eyes held a little spark of surprise and amusement and perhaps, Simon thought, even a little respect. “Nothing I have to say to you concerns them. It will not affect their safety, or their well-being. The secrecy is for my own protection.”
Simon looked at her suspiciously. Did she mean it? Vampires weren’t like faeries, who couldn’t lie. But he had to admit he was curious. “All right. I’ll keep your secret, unless I think something you say is putting my friends in danger. Then all bets are off.”
Her smile was frosty; he could tell she didn’t like being disbelieved. “Very well,” she said. “I suppose I have little choice when I need your help so badly.” She leaned forward, one slim hand toying with the stem of her wineglass.
“Until quite recently I led the Manhattan clan, happily. We had beautiful quarters in an old prewar building on the Upper West Side, not that rat hole of a hotel Santiago keeps my people in now. Santiago—Raphael, as you call him—was my second in command.
My most loyal companion—or so I thought. One night I found out that he was murdering humans, driving them to that old hotel in Spanish Harlem and drinking their blood for his amusement.
Leaving their bones in the Dumpster outside. Taking stupid risks, breaking Covenant Law.” She took a sip of wine. “When I went to confront him, I realized he had told the rest of the clan that I was the murderer, the lawbreaker. It was all a setup. He meant to kill me, so that he might seize power. I fled, with only Walker and Archer to keep me safe.”
“So all this time he’s claimed he’s just leading until you return?”
She made a face. “Santiago is an accomplished liar. He wishes me to return, that’s for certain—so he can murder me and take charge of the clan in earnest.”
Simon wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear. He wasn’t used to adult women looking at him with big tear-filled eyes, or spilling out their life stories to him.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally.
She shrugged, a very expressive shrug that made him wonder if perhaps her accent was French. “It is in the past,” she said.“Ihave beenhiding out in Londonall this time,looking for allies,biding mytime.ThenIheard about you.”
She held up her hand. “I cannot tell you how; I am sworn to secrecy. But the moment I did, I realized that you were what I had been waiting for.”
“I was? I am?”
She leaned forward and touched his hand. “Raphael is afraid of you, Simon, as well he should be. You are one of his own, a vampire, but you cannot be harmed or killed; he cannot lift a finger against you without bringing down God’s wrath on his head.”