The Mortal Instruments - Complete Collection (158 page)

“You’ll love it,” Isabelle said. “They know how to party.” She waved good-bye to her parents and they set off toward the plaza, Clary still fighting the urge to cover the top half of her body by crossing her arms over her chest. The dress swirled out around her feet like smoke curling on the wind. She thought of the smoke that had risen over Alicante earlier that day, and shivered.

“Hey!” Isabelle said, and Clary looked up to see Simon and Maia coming toward them up the street. She hadn’t seen Simon for most of the day; he’d gone down to the Hall to observe the preliminary Council meeting because, he said, he was curious whom they’d choose to hold the vampires’ Council seat. Clary couldn’t imagine Maia wearing anything as girly as a dress, and indeed she was clad in low-slung camo pants and a black T-shirt that said
CHOOSE YOUR WEAPON
and had a design of dice under the words. It was a gamer tee, Clary thought, wondering if Maia was really a gamer or was wearing the T-shirt to impress Simon. If so, it was a good choice. “You heading back down to Angel Square?”

Maia and Simon acknowledged that they were, and they headed toward the Hall together in a companionable group. Simon dropped back to fall into step beside Clary, and they walked together in silence. It was good just to be close to Simon again—he had been the first person she’d wanted to see once she was back in Alicante. She’d hugged him very tightly, glad he was alive, and touched the Mark on his forehead.

“Did it save you?” she’d asked, desperate to hear that she hadn’t done what she had to him for no reason.

“It saved me,” was all he’d said in reply.

“I wish I could take it off you,” she’d said. “I wish I knew what might happen to you because of it.”

He’d taken hold of her wrist and drawn her hand gently back down to her side. “We’ll wait,” he’d said. “And we’ll see.”

She’d been watching him closely, but she had to admit that the Mark didn’t seem to be affecting him in any visible way. He seemed just as he always had. Just like Simon. Only he’d taken to brushing his hair slightly differently, to cover the Mark; if you didn’t already know it was there, you’d never guess.

“How was the meeting?” Clary asked him now, giving him a once-over to see if he’d dressed up for the celebration. He hadn’t, but she hardly blamed him—the jeans and T-shirt he had on were all he had to wear. “Who’d they choose?”

“
Not
Raphael,” Simon said, sounding as if he was pleased about it. “Some other vampire. He had a pretentious name. Nightshade or something.”

“You know, they asked me if I wanted to draw the symbol of the New Council,” Clary said. “It’s an honor. I said I’d do it. It’s going to have the rune of the Council surrounded by the symbols of the four Downworlder families. A moon for the werewolves, and I was thinking a four-leaf clover for the faeries. A spell book for the warlocks. But I can’t think of anything for the vampires.”

“How about a fang?” Simon suggested. “Maybe dripping blood.” He bared his teeth.

“Thank you,” Clary said. “That’s very helpful.”

“I’m glad they asked you,” Simon said, more seriously. “You deserve the honor. You deserve a medal, really, for what you did. The Alliance rune and everything.”

Clary shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, the battle barely went on for ten minutes, after all that. I don’t know how much I helped.”

“I was
in
that battle, Clary,” Simon said. “It may have been about ten minutes long, but it was the worst ten minutes of my life. And I don’t really want to talk about it. But I will say that even in that ten minutes, there would have been a lot more death if it hadn’t been for you. Besides, the battle was only part of it. If you hadn’t done what you did, there would be no New Council. We would be Shadowhunters and Downworlders, hating each other, instead of Shadowhunters and Downworlders, going to a party together.”

Clary felt a lump rising in her throat and stared straight ahead, willing herself not to tear up. “Thanks, Simon.” She hesitated, so briefly that no one who wasn’t Simon would have noticed it. But he did.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her.

“I’m just wondering what we do when we get back home,” she said. “I mean, I know Magnus took care of your mom so she hasn’t been freaking out that you’re gone, but—school. We’ve missed a ton of it. And I don’t even know …”

“You’re not going back,” Simon said quietly. “You think I don’t know that? You’re a Shadowhunter now. You’ll finish up your education at the Institute.”

“And what about you? You’re a vampire. Are you just going to go back to high school?”

“Yeah,” Simon said, surprising her. “I am. I want a normal life, as much as I can have one. I want high school, and college, and all of that.”

She squeezed his hand. “Then you should have it.” She smiled up at him. “Of course, everyone’s going to freak out when you show up at school.”

“Freak out? Why?”

“Because you’re so much hotter now than when you left.” She shrugged. “It’s true. Must be a vampire thing.”

Simon looked baffled. “I’m hotter now?”

“Sure you are. I mean, look at those two. They’re both totally into you.” She pointed to a few feet in front of them, where Isabelle and Maia had moved to walk side by side, their heads bent together.

Simon looked up ahead at the girls. Clary could almost swear he was blushing. “Are they? Sometimes they get together and whisper and
stare
at me. I have no idea what it’s about.”

“Sure you don’t.” Clary grinned. “Poor you, you have two cute girls vying for your love. Your life is hard.”

“Fine. You tell me which one to choose, then.”

“No way. That’s on you.” She lowered her voice again. “Look, you can date whoever you want and I will
totally
support you. I am all about support. Support is my middle name.”

“So
that’s
why you never told me your middle name. I figured it was something embarrassing.”

Clary ignored this. “But just promise me something, okay? I know how girls get. I know how they hate their boyfriends having a best friend who’s a girl. Just promise me you won’t cut me out of your life totally. That we can still hang out sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Simon shook his head. “Clary, you’re crazy.”

Her heart sank. “You mean …”

“I
mean
that I would never date a girl who insisted that I cut you out of my life. It’s non-negotiable. You want a piece of all
this
fabulousness?” He gestured at himself. “Well, my best friend comes along with it. I wouldn’t cut you out of my life, Clary, any more than I would cut off my right hand and give it to someone as a Valentine’s Day gift.”

“Gross,” said Clary. “Must you?”

He grinned. “I must.”

Angel Square was almost unrecognizable. The Hall glowed white at the far end of the plaza, partly obscured by an elaborate forest of huge trees that had sprung up in the center of the square. They were clearly the product of magic—although, Clary thought, remembering Magnus’s ability to whisk furniture and cups of coffee across Manhattan at the blink of an eye, maybe they were real, if transplanted. The trees rose nearly to the height of the demon towers, their silvery trunks wrapped with ribbons, colored lights caught in the whispering green nets of their branches. The square smelled of white flowers, smoke, and leaves. All around its edges were placed tables and long benches, and groups of Shadowhunters and Downworlders crowded around them, laughing and drinking and talking. Yet despite the laughter, there was a somberness mixed with the air of celebration—a present sorrow side by side with joy.

The stores that lined the square had their doors thrown open, light spilling out onto the pavement. Partygoers streamed by, carrying plates of food and long-stemmed glasses of wine and brightly colored liquids. Simon watched a kelpie skip past, carrying a glass of blue fluid, and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not like Magnus’s party,” Isabelle reassured him. “Everything here ought to be safe to drink.”

“
Ought
to be?” Aline looked worried.

Alec glanced toward the mini-forest, the colored lights reflecting in the blue irises of his eyes. Magnus stood in the shadow of a tree, talking to a girl in a white dress with a cloud of pale brown hair. She turned as Magnus looked toward them, and Clary locked eyes with her for a moment across the distance that separated them. There was something familiar about her, though Clary couldn’t have said what it was.

Magnus broke away and came toward them, and the girl he’d been talking to slipped into the shadows of the trees and was gone. He was dressed like a Victorian gentleman, in a long black frock coat over a violet silk vest. A square pocket handkerchief embroidered with the initials M. B. protruded from his vest pocket.

“Nice vest,” said Alec with a smile.

“Would you like one exactly like it?” Magnus inquired. “In any color you prefer, of course.”

“I don’t really care about clothes,” Alec protested.

“And I love that about you,” Magnus announced, “though I would also love you if you owned, perhaps, one designer suit. What do you say? Dolce? Zegna? Armani?”

Alec sputtered as Isabelle laughed, and Magnus took the opportunity to lean close to Clary and whisper in her ear. “The Accords Hall steps. Go.”

She wanted to ask him what he meant, but he’d already turned back to Alec and the others. Besides, she had a feeling she knew. She squeezed Simon’s wrist as she went, and he turned to smile at her before returning to his conversation with Maia.

She cut through the edge of the glamour forest to cross the square, weaving in and out of the shadows. The trees reached up to the foot of the Hall stairs, which was probably why the steps were almost deserted. Though not entirely. Glancing toward the doors, Clary could make out a familiar dark outline, seated in the shadow of a pillar. Her heart quickened.

Jace.

She had to gather her skirt up in her hands to climb the stairs, afraid she’d step on and tear the delicate material. She almost wished she had worn her normal clothes as she approached Jace, who was sitting with his back to a pillar, staring out over the square. He wore his most mundane clothes—jeans, a white shirt, and a dark jacket over them. And for almost the first time since she’d met him, she thought, he didn’t seem to be carrying any weapons.

She abruptly felt overdressed. She stopped a slight distance away from him, suddenly unsure what to say.

As if sensing her there, Jace looked up. He was holding something balanced in his lap, she saw, a silvery box. He looked tired. There were shadows under his eyes, and his pale gold hair was untidy. His eyes widened. “Clary?”

“Who else would it be?”

He didn’t smile. “You don’t look like you.”

“It’s the dress.” She smoothed her hands down the material self-consciously. “I don’t usually wear things this … pretty.”

“You always look beautiful,” he said, and she remembered the first time he’d called her beautiful, in the greenhouse at the Institute. He hadn’t said it like it was a compliment, but just as if it were an accepted fact, like the fact that she had red hair and liked to draw. “But you look—distant. Like I couldn’t touch you.”

She came over then and sat down next to him on the wide top step. The stone was cold through the material of her dress. She held her hand out to him; it was shaking slightly, just enough to be visible. “Touch me,” she said. “If you want to.”

He took her hand and laid it against his cheek for a moment. Then he set it back down in her lap. Clary shivered a little, remembering Aline’s words back in Isabelle’s bedroom.
Maybe he’s not that interested in you anymore. I mean, now that it’s not forbidden.
He had said
she
looked distant, but the expression in his eyes was as remote as a faraway galaxy.

“What’s in the box?” she asked. He was still clutching the silver rectangle tightly in one hand. It was an expensive-looking object, delicately carved with a pattern of birds.

“I went to Amatis’s earlier today, looking for you,” he said. “But you weren’t there. So I talked to Amatis. She gave me this.” He indicated the box. “It belonged to my father.”

For a moment she just looked at him uncomprehendingly.
This was Valentine’s?
she thought, and then, with a jolt,
No, that’s not what he means.
“Of course,” she said. “Amatis was married to Stephen Herondale.”

“I’ve been going through it,” he said. “Reading the letters, the journal pages. I thought if I did that, I might feel some sort of connection to him. Something that would leap off the pages at me, saying,
Yes, this is your father.
But I don’t feel anything. Just bits of paper. Anyone could have written these things.”

“Jace,” she said softly.

“And that’s another thing,” he said. “I don’t have a name anymore, do I? I’m not Jonathan Christopher—that was someone else. But it’s the name I’m used to.”

“Who came up with Jace as a nickname? Did you come up with it yourself?”

Jace shook his head. “No. Valentine always called me Jonathan. And that’s what they called me when I first got to the Institute. I was never supposed to think my name was Jonathan Christopher, you know—that was an accident. I got the name out of my father’s journal, but it wasn’t me he was talking about. It wasn’t my progress he was recording. It was Seb—It was Jonathan’s. So the first time I ever told Maryse that my middle name was Christopher, she told herself that she’d just remembered wrong, and Christopher had been Michael’s son’s middle name. It had been ten years, after all. But that was when she started calling me Jace: It was like she wanted to give me a new name, something that belonged to her, to my life in New York. And I liked it. I’d never liked Jonathan.” He turned the box over in his hands. “I wonder if maybe Maryse knew, or guessed, but just didn’t want to know. She loved me … and she didn’t want to believe it.”

“Which is why she was so upset when she found out you
were
Valentine’s son,” said Clary. “Because she thought she ought to have known. She kind of
did
know. But we never do want to believe things like that about people we love. And, Jace, she was right about you. She was right about who you really are. And you
do
have a name. Your name is Jace. Valentine didn’t give that name to you. Maryse did. The only thing that makes a name important, and yours, is that it’s given to you by someone who loves you.”