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CHAPTER FOUR:

❝ City Of Ashes ❞

Alec was waiting for them outside the library. He was wearing black leather Shadowhunter armor over his clothes. Gauntlets protected his arms and Marks circled his throat and wrists. Seraph blades, each one named for an angel, gleamed at the belt around his waist. "Are you ready?" he said to his brother. "Is Max taken care of?"

"He's fine." He held out his arms. "Mark me."

As Alec traced the patterns of runes along the backs of Nico's arms and the insides of his wrists, Esme glanced over to where Isabelle was marking Clary. Nico whispered something to Alec who looked at him studiously, then said, "You should probably head home." It took Esme a moment to realized he was talking to her. "You don't want to be here when the Inquisitor gets back."

"I want to go with you," Esme said, the words spilling out before she could stop them. "I am going with you."

"But you haven't got any training," Alec argued. "You'll just be a liability."

Esme glared at him. Then at Nico. "Don't make your brother fight your battles," she said. It stung. She didn't care. Alec looked at Nico with delicate caution - there was a fire behind his eyes that was indescribable.

Nico said, "Well, maybe I don't want you crying in our ears when we face a demon."

Esme scoffed. Decidedly not in love with him. "It wasn't me who was doing the crying, the last time we faced a demon."

Clary jumped in then, putting her arm out to hold Esme back before she ripped out anyone's hair. She said, "Hey, maybe you should go back. You won't be able to go inside the Silent City anyway."

Now Esme looked at her, eyes narrowed in skepticism. She reviewed her words, ran them over and over in her head to see if she was lying, then sighed. "Whatever," she said. She pulled herself out of Clary's hold harshly and threw another venomous look towards Nico before leaving them.

She hated it. She hated this. Being stuck in the middle of these worlds - having the knowledge of it, but not being able to do anything about it. But if they thought she'd go away just like that, they had another thing coming.

When Nico ducked out of the Silent City, he did not expect there to be a flood of light, blinding him. He blinked as adjusted his vision as Jace said, "Witchlight."

They'd found him badly battered up, bands of blood around his wrists where he'd tried to rip his manacles from. Inside the City was a massacre, a terrible sight he had not expected to see. Spattered all along the walls were blood and strewn across the floor were the bodies of the Silent Brothers. The Silent Brothers were supposed to be indestructible, and they had found them tossed aside like rag dolls, joints broken, neck twisted, drenched in their own blood. The images tainted his mind, and he could not forget them even if he blinked hundreds of times. The Bone City might have been beautiful once, but it was terrifying now.

Light stabbed into his eyes. He could faintly see the Angel statue that stood at the head of the stairs, backlit with brilliant golden light, bright as day. He stared in half-amazement half-terror and the brutally beautiful sight.

The garden was full of Shadowhunters — twenty, maybe thirty, of them in dark hunting regalia, inked with Marks, each holding a blazing witchlight stone.

At the front of the group stood Maryse, in black Shadowhunter armor and a cloak, her hood thrown back. Behind her ranged dozens of men and women all bearing the Marks of the Nephilim on their arms and faces. One of them, an ebony-skinned man, turned to stare at Clary and Isabelle — and beside them, at Jace, Nico, and Alec, who had come up from the steps and stood blinking in the unexpected light.

"By the Angel," the man said. "Maryse — there was already someone down there."

Maryse's mouth opened in a silent gasp when she saw Isabelle. Then she closed it, her lips tightening into a thin white line, like a slash drawn in chalk across her face.

"I know, Malik," she said. "These are my children."

A muttering gasp went through the crowd just when Nico's phone buzzed. He discreetly checked, and the text said: I'M HERE.

It was also accompanied by emoticons of an angry face and a muscled arm that either meant that she was strong or she was going to punch him or both. Nico thought she really was going to be the death of him. He ran his wild gaze over the crowd and spotted her immediately. She stood out immensely in her burnt orange overcoat, hands shoved defiantly in her pockets, a wiry thin smile on her lips. Her eyes said that she was furious with him, but they softened when he frowned.

"By the Angel." Maryse's incredulous gaze swept from Alec to Nico to Jace, passed over Clary, and returned to her daughter. Jace had moved away from Alec the moment Maryse spoke, and he stood a little way away from the other four, his hands in his pockets as Isabelle nervously twisted her golden-white whip in her hands. Alec, meanwhile, seemed to be fidgeting with his cell phone, mirroring his twin brother, though Clary couldn't imagine who they might be calling. "What are you doing here, Alec? Isabelle? Nico!" The name stung his ear like prices of a thorn, sharp and edged and made for cutting. When Maryse said Nico, it meant: Son, knife, warrior. "There was a distress call from the Silent City — "

"We answered it," Alec said. His gaze moved anxiously over the gathered crowd. Clary could hardly blame him for his nerves. This was the largest crowd of adult Shadowhunters — of Shadowhunters in general — that she herself had ever seen. Alec continued, "You weren't at the Institute—and we couldn't raise anyone—so we came ourselves."

"Alec—"

"It doesn't matter, anyway," Alec said. "They're dead. The Silent Brothers. They're all dead. They've been murdered."

This time there was no sound from the assembled crowd. So Esme's quiet gasp was easy to hear. Some turned to look at her, and stared. A Sighted mundane mingling with Clave business was uncommon, so they kept staring. She pushed through the crowd, a few of them glared when their shoulders hit hers, but she didn't seem to care.

"Dead?" Maryse repeated. "What do you mean, they're dead?"

"I think it's quite clear what he means." A woman in a long gray coat had appeared suddenly at Maryse's side. Esme stopped short. In the flickering light she looked all sharp angles and pulled-back hair and eyes like black pits scraped out of her face. She held a glimmering chunk of witchlight on a long silver chain, looped through the skinniest fingers Esme had ever seen. "They are all dead?" she asked, addressing herself to Alec. "You found no one alive in the City?"

Alec shook his head. "Not that we saw, Inquisitor."

So that was the Inquisitor, Esme realized. She certainly looked like someone capable of tossing teenage boys into dungeon cells for no reason other than that she didn't like their attitude.

"That you saw," repeated the Inquisitor, her eyes like hard, glittering beads. She turned to Maryse. "There may yet be survivors. I would send your people into the City for a thorough check."

Maryse's lips tightened. From what very little Esme had learned about Maryse, she knew that Nico's mother didn't like being told what to do. "Very well."

She turned to the rest of the Shadowhunters—there were not as many, Esme was coming to realize, as she had initially thought, as she pushed through them and came to a stumbling stop at the very beginning of the line.

Her eyes met Clary's whose green seemed to darken. She did not want her here. Nobody wanted her here. Then why was she here? She was here because - because she had thought they were her friends, and because they were in need of help. And because she was done feeling useless.

Maryse spoke to Malik in a low voice. He nodded. Taking the arm of the silver-haired woman, he led the Shadowhunters toward the entrance to the Bone City. As one after another descended the stairs, taking their witchlight with them, the glow in the courtyard began to fade. The last one in line was the woman with the silver hair. Halfway down the stairs she paused, turned, and looked back — directly at Clary. Her eyes were full of a terrible yearning, as if she longed desperately to tell Clary something. After a moment she drew her hood back up over her face and vanished into the shadows.

Now Esme's presence was even more noticeable and the Inquisitor regarded her with an edged gaze, like a shard of a broken mirror. "Why is there a mundane here?"

Before Clary could speak, Nico said, "She's a friend." He looked at Esme when he continued. "She was worried, too."

Esme did not seem likely to forgive him anytime soon, but this made her eyes shine with gratitude. She was worried. Even if Jace was an asshole most of the time, she was worried about him.

The Inquisitor looked at Nico, dry of any amusement. Maryse broke the silence. "Why would anyone murder the Silent Brothers? They're not warriors, they don't carry battle Marks—"

"Don't be naive, Maryse," said the Inquisitor. "This was no random attack. The Silent Brothers may not be warriors, but they are primarily guardians, and very good at their jobs. Not to mention hard to kill. Someone wanted something from the Bone City and was willing to kill the Silent Brothers to get it. This was premeditated."

"What makes you so sure?"

"That wild goose chase that called us all out to Central Park? The dead fey child?"

"I wouldn't call that a wild goose chase. The fey child was drained of blood, like the warlock. These killings could cause serious trouble between the Night Children and other Downworlders—"

"Distractions," said the Inquisitor dismissively. "He wanted us gone from the Institute so that no one would respond to the Brothers when they called for aid. Ingenious, really. But then he always was ingenious."

"He?" It was Isabelle who spoke, her face very pale between the black wings of her hair. "You mean — "

Jace's next words sent a shock through Clary as if she'd touched a live current. "Valentine," he said. "Valentine took the Mortal Sword. That's why he killed the Silent Brothers."

A thin, sudden smile curved on the Inquisitor's face, as if Jace had said something that pleased her very much.

Alec started and turned to stare at Jace. "Valentine? But you didn't say he was here."

"Nobody asked."

"He couldn't have killed the Brothers. They were torn apart. No one person could have done all that."

"He probably had demonic help," said the Inquisitor. "He's used demons to aid him before. And with the protection of the Cup on him, he could summon some very dangerous creatures. More dangerous than Raveners," she added with a curl of her lip, and though she didn't look at Clary when she said it, the words felt somehow like a verbal slap. Clary's faint hope that the Inquisitor hadn't noticed or recognized her vanished. "Or the pathetic Forsaken."

"I don't know about that." Jace was very pale, with hectic spots like fever on his cheekbones. "But it was Valentine. I saw him. In fact, he had the Sword with him when he came down to the cells and taunted me through the bars. It was like a bad movie, except he didn't actually twirl his mustache."

Clary looked at him worriedly. He was talking too fast, she thought, and looked unsteady on his feet.

The Inquisitor didn't seem to notice. "So you're saying that Valentine told you all this? He told you he killed the Silent Brothers because he wanted the Angel's Sword?"

"What else did he tell you? Did he tell you where he was going? What he plans to do with the two Mortal Instruments?" Maryse asked quickly.

Jace shook his head.

The Inquisitor moved toward him, her coat swirling around her like drifting smoke. Her gray eyes and gray mouth were drawn into tight horizontal lines. "I don't believe you."

Jace just looked at her. "I didn't think you would."

"I doubt the Clave will believe you either."

Alec said hotly, "Jace isn't a liar — "

"Use your brain, Alexander," said the Inquisitor, not taking her eyes off Jace. "Leave aside your loyalty to your friend for a moment. What's the likelihood that Valentine stopped by his son's cell for a paternal chat about the Soul-Sword, and didn't mention what he planned to do with it, or even where he was going?"

"S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse," Jace said in a language Clary didn't know, "a persona che mai tornasse al mondo..."

"Dante." The Inquisitor looked dryly amused. "The Inferno. You're not in hell yet, Jonathan Morgenstern, though if you insist on lying to the Clave, you'll wish you were." She turned back to the others. "And doesn't it seem odd to anyone that the Soul-Sword should disappear the night before Jonathan Morgenstern is supposed to stand trial by its blade—and that his father is the one who took it?"

Jace looked shocked at that, his lips parting slightly in surprise, as if this had never occurred to him. "My father didn't take the Sword for me. He took it for him. I doubt he even knew about the trial."

"How awfully convenient for you, regardless. And for him. He won't have to worry about you spilling his secrets."

"Yeah," Jace said, "he's terrified I'll tell everyone that he's always really wanted to be a ballerina." The Inquisitor simply stared at him. "I don't know any of my father's secrets," he said, less sharply. "He never told me anything."

The Inquisitor regarded him with something close to boredom. "If your father didn't take the Sword to protect you, then why did he take it?"

"It's a Mortal Instrument," said Clary. "It's powerful. Like the Cup. Valentine likes power."

"The Cup has an immediate use," said the Inquisitor. "He can use it to make an army. The Sword is used in trials. I can't see how that would interest him."

"He might have done it to destabilize the Clave," suggested Maryse. "To sap our morale. To say that there is nothing we can protect from him if he wants it badly enough." It was a surprisingly good argument, Esme thought, but Maryse didn't sound very convinced. "The fact is—"

But they never got to hear what the fact was, because at that moment Jace raised his hand as if he meant to ask a question, looked startled, and sat down on the grass suddenly, as if his legs had given out. Esme rushed, she was only a few steps away, as Alec knelt down next to him, but Jace waved away his concern. "Leave me alone. I'm fine."

Nico held back Esme by extending his arm in front of her, and gave her a look that meant behave in front of the Inquisitor. She glared. How was he not more concerned?

"You're not fine." Clary joined Alec on the grass, Jace watching her with eyes whose pupils were huge and dark, despite the witchlight illuminating the night. She glanced down at his wrist, where Alec had drawn the iratze. The Mark was gone, not even a faint white scar left behind to show that it had worked. Her eyes met Alec's and she saw her own anxiety reflected there. "Something's wrong with him," she said. "Something serious."

"He probably needs a healing rune." The Inquisitor looked as if she were exquisitely annoyed at Jace for being injured during events of such importance. "An iratze, or—"

"We tried that," said Nico, letting go of Esme's arm. "It isn't working. I think there's something of demonic origin going on here."

"Like demon poison?" Maryse moved as if she meant to go to Jace, but the Inquisitor held her back.

"He's shamming," she said. "He ought to be in the Silent City's cells right now."

Alec rose to his feet at that. "You can't say that—look at him!" He gestured at Jace, who had slumped back on the grass, his eyes closed. "He can't even stand up. He needs doctors, he needs—"

"The Silent Brothers are dead," said the Inquisitor. "Are you suggesting a mundane hospital?"

"No." Alec's voice was tight. "I thought he could go to Magnus."

Isabelle made a sound somewhere between a sneeze and a cough. Nico raised both eyebrows, though he seemed more composed. Esme noted, with great irritation, he always seemed different as a Shdowhunter. He was Nicholas Lightwood, descendent of Angels, fighter of demons. She turned away as the Inquisitor looked at Alec blankly. "Magnus?"

"He's a warlock," said Alec. "Actually, he's the High Warlock of Brooklyn."

"You mean Magnus Bane," said Maryse. "He has a reputation—"

"He healed me after I fought a Greater Demon," said Alec. "The Silent Brothers couldn't do anything, but Magnus..."

"It's ridiculous," said the Inquisitor. "What you want is to help Jonathan escape."

"He's not well enough to escape," Isabelle said. "Can't you see that?"

"Maybe you should at least consider it, before dismissing it," Nico said, all formal, but there was little gentleness in the way he said it.

"Magnus would never let that happen," Alec said, with a quelling glance at his brother and sister. "He's not interested in crossing the Clave."

"And how would he propose preventing it?" The Inquisitor's voice dripped acid sarcasm. "Jonathan is a Shadowhunter; we're not so easy to keep under lock and key."

"Maybe you should ask him," Alec suggested.

The Inquisitor smiled her razor smile. "By all means. Where is he?"

Alec glanced down at the phone in his hand and then back at the thin gray figure in front of him. "He's here," he said. He raised his voice. "Magnus! Magnus, come on out."

Even the Inquisitor's eyebrows shot up when Magnus strode through the gate. The High Warlock was wearing black leather pants, a belt with a buckle in the shape of a jeweled M, and a cobalt-blue Prussian military jacket open over a white lace shirt. He shimmered with layers of glitter. His gaze rested for a moment on Alec's face with amusement and a hint of something else before moving on to Jace, prone on the grass. "Is he dead?" he inquired. "He looks dead."

"No," snapped Maryse. "He's not dead."

"Have you checked? I could kick him if you want." Magnus moved toward Jace.

Esme muttered, "He's my favorite person here." It made Nico frown.

"Stop that!" the Inquisitor snapped, sounding like Esme's third-grade teacher demanding that she stop doodling on her desk with a marker. "He's not dead, but he's injured," she added, almost grudgingly. "Your medical skills are required. Jonathan needs to be well enough for the interrogation."

"Fine, but it'll cost you."

"I'll pay it," said Maryse.

The Inquisitor didn't even blink. "Very well. But he can't remain at the Institute. Just because the Sword is gone doesn't mean the interrogation won't proceed as planned. And in the meantime, the boy must be held under observation. He's clearly a flight risk."

"A flight risk?" Isabelle demanded. "You act as if he tried to escape from the Silent City—"

"Well," the Inquisitor said. "He's no longer in his cell now, is he?"

"That's not fair!" Nico argued. "You couldn't have expected him to stay down there surrounded by dead people!"

"Not fair? Not fair? Do you honestly expect me to believe that you and your brother and sister were motivated to come to the Bone City because of a distress call, and not because you wanted to free Jonathan from what you clearly consider unnecessary confinement? And do you expect me to believe you won't try to free him again if he's allowed to remain at the Institute? Do you think you can fool me as easily as you fool your parents, Nicholas Lightwood?"

Nico turned scarlet. Something flared in Esme, just under her heart, burning like a matchstick. Magnus cut in before she could reply. "Look, it's not a problem," he said. "I can keep Jace at my place easily enough."

The Inquisitor turned to Alec. "Your warlock does realize," she said, "that Jonathan is a witness of utmost importance to the Clave?"

"He's not my warlock." The tops of Alec's angular cheekbones flared a dark red.

"I've held prisoners for the Clave before," Magnus said. The joking edge had left his voice. "I think you'll find I have an excellent record in that department. My contract is one of the best."

Was it Esme's imagination, or did his eyes seem to linger on Maryse when he said that? She didn't have time to wonder; the Inquisitor made a sharp noise that might have been amusement or disgust, and said, "It's settled, then. Let me know when he's well enough to talk, warlock. I've still got plenty of questions for him."

"Of course," Magnus said, but Esme got the sense that he wasn't really listening to her. He crossed the lawn gracefully and came to stand over Jace; he was as tall as he was thin, and when Esme glanced up to look at him, she was surprised how many stars he blotted out. "Can he talk?" Magnus asked Clary, indicating Jace.

Before Clary could respond, Jace's eyes slid open. He looked up at the warlock, dazed and dizzy. "What are you doing here?"

Magnus grinned down at Jace, and his teeth sparkled like sharpened diamonds.

"Hey, roommate," he said.