City of Lost Souls (54 page)

“I wanted to give you enough time to change your mind,” said Magnus, not taking his eyes off his boyfriend.

“But we can Portal from here,” Simon said. “I mean, you could do that for us.”

“Yeah,” Magnus said. “But like Alec says, we don’t know what we’re up against in terms of numbers. I’m a pretty powerful warlock, but Jonathan Morgenstern is no ordinary Shadowhunter, and neither is Jace, for that matter. And if they succeed in raising Lilith—she’ll be a lot weaker than she was, but she’s still Lilith.”

“But she’s dead,” said Isabelle. “Simon killed her.”

“Greater Demons don’t die,” said Magnus. “Simon… scattered her between worlds. It will take a long time for her to re-form and she will be weak for years. Unless Sebastian calls her up again.” He pushed a hand through his wet, spiked hair.

“We have the sword,” Isabelle said. “We can take out Sebastian. We have Magnus, and Simon—”

“We don’t even know if the sword will work,” said Alec. “And it won’t do us much good if we can’t get to Sebastian. And Simon isn’t even Mr. Indestructible anymore. He can be killed just like the rest of us.”

They all looked at Simon. “We have to try,” he said. “Look—we don’t know how many are going to be there, no. We have a little time. Not a lot, but enough—if we Portal—to grab some reinforcements.”

“Reinforcements from where?” Isabelle demanded.

“I’ll go to Maia and Jordan back at the apartment,” said Simon, his mind quickly ticking over possibilities. “See if Jordan can get any assistance from the Praetor Lupus. Magnus, go to the downtown police station, see about enlisting whatever members of the pack are around. Isabelle and Alec—”

“You’re splitting us up?” Isabelle demanded, her voice rising. “What about fire-messages, or—”

“No one’s going to trust a fire-message about something like this,” said Magnus. “And besides, fire-messages are for Shadowhunters. Do you really want to communicate this information to the Clave via fire-message instead of going to the Institute yourself?”

“Fine.” Isabelle stalked around to the side of the car. She yanked the door open, but didn’t get inside: instead she reached
in, and drew out Glorious. It shone in the dim light like a bolt of dark lightning, the words carved on the blade flickering in the car light:
Quis ut Deus?

The rain was starting to paste Isabelle’s black hair to her neck. She looked formidable as she walked back to rejoin the group. “Then we leave the car here. We split up, but we meet back at the Institute in an hour. That’s when we leave, whoever we have with us.” She met each of her companion’s eyes, one by one, daring them to challenge her. “Simon, take this.”

She held out Glorious to him, hilt-forward.

“Me?” Simon was startled. “But I don’t—I haven’t really used a sword before.”

“You called it down,” Isabelle said, her dark eyes glossy in the rain. “The Angel gave it to you, Simon, and you will be the one who carries it.”

Clary dashed down the hallway and hit the steps with a clatter, racing for the downstairs and for the spot on the wall that Jace had told her was the only entrance and exit from the apartment.

She had no illusions that she could escape. She needed only a few moments to do what had to be done. She heard Sebastian’s boots loud on the glass staircase behind her, and put on a burst of speed, almost slamming into the wall. She jammed the stele into it point-first, drawing frantically:
a pattern as simple as a cross, new to the world—

Sebastian’s fist closed on the back of her jacket, jerking her backward, the stele flying out of her hand. She gasped as he swung her up off her feet and slammed her into the wall, knocking the breath out of her. He glanced at the mark she had made on the wall, and his lips curled into a sneer.

“The Opening rune?” he said. He leaned forward and hissed into her ear. “And you didn’t even finish it. Not that it matters. Do you really think there’s a place on this earth you could go where I couldn’t find you?”

Clary responded with an epithet that would have gotten her kicked out of class at St. Xavier’s. Just as he started to laugh, she raised her hand and slapped him across the face so hard, her fingers stung. In his surprise he loosened his grip on her, and she jerked away from him and flipped herself over the table, making for the downstairs bedroom, which at least had a lock on the door—

And he was in front of her, grabbing the lapels of her jacket and swinging her around. Her feet went out from under her, and she would have fallen if he hadn’t pinned her to the wall with his body, his arms to either side, making a cage around her.

His grin was diabolical. Gone was the stylish boy who’d strolled by the Seine with her and drunk hot chocolate and talked about belonging. His eyes were all black, no pupil, like tunnels. “What’s wrong, little sis? You look upset.”

She could barely catch her breath. “Cracked… my… nail polish slapping your… worthless face. See?” She showed him her finger—just one of them.

“Cute.” He snorted. “You know how I knew you’d betray us? How I knew you wouldn’t be able to help it? Because you’re too much like me.”

He pressed her back harder against the wall. She could feel his chest rise and fall against hers. She was at eye level with the straight, sharp line of his collarbone. His body felt like a prison around hers, pinning her in place. “I’m nothing like you. Let me go—”

“You’re everything like me,” he growled into her ear. “You infiltrated us. You faked friendship, faked caring.”

“I never had to fake caring about
Jace
.”

She saw something flash in his eyes then, a dark jealousy, and she wasn’t even sure who he was jealous of. He put his lips against her cheek, close enough that she felt them move against her skin when he spoke. “You screwed us over,” he murmured. His hand was around her left arm like a vise; slowly he began to move it down. “Probably literally screwed Jace over—”

She couldn’t help it, she flinched. She felt him inhale sharply. “You did,” he said. “You slept with him.” He sounded almost betrayed.

“It’s none of your business.”

He caught at her face, turning her to look at him, fingers digging into her chin. “You can’t
screw
someone into being good. Nicely heartless move, though.” His lovely mouth curved into a cold smile. “You know he doesn’t remember any of it, right? Did he show you a good time, at least? Because I would have.”

She tasted bile in her throat. “You’re my brother.”

“Those words don’t mean anything where we’re concerned. We aren’t human. Their rules don’t apply to us. Stupid laws about what DNA can be mixed with what. Hypocritical, really, considering. We’re already experiments. The rulers of ancient Egypt used to marry their siblings, you know. Cleopatra married her brother. Strengthens the bloodline.”

She looked at him with loathing. “I knew you were crazy,” she said. “But I didn’t realize you were absolutely, spectactularly out of your goddamned mind.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s anything crazy about it. Who do we belong with but each other?”

“Jace,” she said. “I belong with Jace.”

He made a dismissive noise. “You can have Jace.”

“I thought you needed him.”

“I do. But not for what you need him for.” His hands were suddenly on her waist. “We can share him. I don’t care what you do. As long as you know you belong to me.”

She raised her hands, meaning to shove him away. “I don’t belong to you. I belong to
me
.”

The look in his eyes froze her in place. “I think you know better than that,” he said, and brought his mouth down on hers, hard.

For a moment she was back in Idris, standing in front of the burned Fairchild manor, and Sebastian was kissing her, and she felt as if she were falling into darkness, into a tunnel that had no end. At the time she’d thought there was something wrong with her. That she couldn’t kiss anyone but Jace. That she was broken.

Now she knew better. Sebastian’s mouth moved on hers, as hard and cold as a razor-slice in the dark, and she raised herself up on the tips of her toes, and bit down hard on his lip.

He yelled and spun away from her, his hand to his mouth. She could taste his blood, bitter copper; it dripped down his chin as he stared at her with incredulous eyes. “You—”

She whirled and kicked him, hard, in the stomach, hoping it was still sore from where she’d punched him before. As he doubled up, she shot by him, running for the stairs. She was halfway there when she felt him grab her by the back of her collar. He swung her around as if he were swinging a baseball bat,
and flung her at the wall. She hit it hard and sank to her knees, the breath knocked out of her.

Sebastian started toward her, his hands flexing at his sides, his eyes shimmering black like a shark’s. He looked terrifying; Clary knew she ought to be frightened, but a cold, glassy detachment had come over her. Time seemed to have slowed. She remembered the fight in the junk shop in Prague, how she had disappeared into her own world where each movement was as precise as the movement of a watch. Sebastian reached down toward her, and she pushed up, off the ground, sweeping her legs sideways, knocking his feet out from under him.

He fell forward, and she rolled out of the way, bouncing to her feet. She didn’t bother trying to run this time. Instead she grabbed the porcelain vase off the table and, as Sebastian rose to his feet, swung it at his head. It shattered, spraying water and leaves, and he staggered back, blood blooming against his white-silver hair.

He snarled and sprang at her. It was like being slammed by a wrecking ball. Clary flew backward, smashing through the glass tabletop, and hit the ground in an explosion of shards and agony. She screamed as Sebastian landed on top of her, driving her body down into the shattered glass, his lips drawn back in a snarl. He brought his arm down backhanded and cracked her across the face. Blood blinded her; she choked on the taste of it in her mouth, and its salt stung her eyes. She jerked up her knee, catching him in the stomach, but it was like kicking a wall. He grabbed her hands, forcing them down by her sides.

“Clary, Clary, Clary,” he said. He was gasping. At least she’d
winded him. Blood ran in a slow trickle from a gash on the side of his head, staining his hair scarlet. “Not bad. You weren’t much of a fighter back in Idris.”

“Get off me—”

He moved his face close to hers. His tongue darted out. She tried to jerk away but couldn’t move fast enough as he licked the blood off the side of her face, and grinned. The grin split his lip, and more blood ran in a trickle down his chin. “You asked me who I belong to,” he whispered. “I belong to
you
. Your blood is my blood, your bones my bones. The first time you saw me, I looked familiar, didn’t I? Just like you looked familiar to me.”

She gaped at him. “You’re out of your mind.”

“It’s in the Bible,” he said. “The Song of Solomon. ‘Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse; thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck.’” His fingers brushed her throat, looping into the chain there, the chain that had held the Morgenstern ring. She wondered if he would crush her windpipe. “‘I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love.’” His blood dripped onto her face. She held herself still, her body humming with the effort, as his hand slipped from her throat, along her side, to her waist. His fingers slid inside the waistband of her jeans. His skin was hot, burning; she could feel that he wanted her.

“You don’t love me,” she said. Her voice was thin; he was crushing the air from her lungs. She remembered what her mother had said, that every emotion Sebastian showed was a pretense. Her thoughts were clear as crystal; she silently
thanked the battle euphoria for doing what it had to do and keeping her focused while Sebastian sickened her with his touch.

“And you don’t care that I’m your brother,” he said. “I know how you felt about Jace, even when you thought he was your brother. You can’t lie to me.”

“Jace is better than you.”

“No one’s better than me.” He grinned, all white teeth and blood. “‘A garden enclosed is my sister,’” he said. “‘A spring shut up, a fountain sealed.’ But not anymore, right? Jace took care of that.” He fumbled at the button on her jeans, and she took advantage of his distraction to seize up a good-size triangular piece of glass from the ground and slam the jagged edge of it into his shoulder.

The glass slid along her fingers, slicing them open. He yelled, jerking back, but more in surprise than pain; the gear protected him. She slashed the glass down harder, this time into his thigh, and when he reared back, she drove her other elbow into his throat. He went sideways, choking, and she rolled, pinning him under her as she yanked the bloody glass free of his leg. She drove the shard down toward the pulsing vein in his neck—and stopped.

He was laughing. He lay under her, and he was laughing, his laughter vibrating up through her own body. His skin was spattered with blood—her blood, dripping down on him, his own blood where she had cut him, his silver-white hair matted with it. He let his arms fall to either side of him, outstretched like wings, a broken angel, fallen out of the sky.

He said, “Kill me, little sister. Kill me, and you kill Jace, too.”

She brought the glass shard down.