Immortality can be a burden. You think of the days that stretch out before you, when you have been everywhere, seen everything. The one thing I hadn’t experienced was growing old with someone — someone I loved. I thought perhaps it would be you. But that does not give you the right to make the length of my life
“I know.” Alec’s heart raced. “I know, and I wasn’t going to do it—”
“I’ll be out all day,” Magnus said. “Come and get your things out of the apartment. Leave your key on the dining room table.” His eyes searched Alec’s face. “It’s over. I don’t want to see you again, Alec. Or any of your friends. I’m tired of being their pet warlock.”
Alec’s hands had begun to shake, hard enough that he dropped his witchlight. The light winked out, and he fell to his knees, scrabbling on the ground among the trash and the dirt. At last something lit up before his eyes, and he rose to see Magnus standing before him, the witchlight in his hand. It shone and flickered with a strangely colored light.
“It shouldn’t light up like that,” Alec said automatically. “For anyone but a Shadowhunter.”
Magnus held it out. The heart of the witchlight was glowing a dark red, like the coal of a fire.
“Is it because of your father?” Alec asked.
Magnus didn’t reply, only tipped the rune-stone into Alec’s palm. As their hands touched, Magnus’s face changed. “You’re freezing cold.”
“I am?”
“Alexander…” Magnus pulled him close, and the witchlight flickered between them, its color changing rapidly. Alec had never seen a witchlight rune-stone do that before. He put his head against Magnus’s shoulder and let Magnus hold him. Magnus’s heart didn’t beat like human hearts did. It was slower, but steady. Sometimes Alec thought it was the steadiest thing in his life.
“Kiss me,” Alec said.
Magnus put his hand to the side of Alec’s face and gently, almost absently, ran his thumb along Alec’s cheekbone. When he bent to kiss him, he smelled like sandalwood. Alec clutched the sleeve of Magnus’s jacket, and the witchlight, held between their bodies, flared up in colors of rose and blue and green.
It was a slow kiss, and a sad one. When Magnus drew away, Alec found that somehow he was holding the witchlight alone; Magnus’s hand was gone. The light was a soft white.
Softly, Magnus said,
“What does that mean?”
Magnus disentangled himself from Alec’s grip. “It means I love you. Not that that changes anything.”
“But if you love me—”
“Of course I do. More than I thought I would. But we’re still done,” Magnus said. “It doesn’t change what you did.”
“But it was just a mistake,” Alec whispered. “One mistake—”
Magnus laughed sharply. “One mistake? That’s like calling the maiden voyage of the
“It was just — She offered, but I thought about it and I couldn’t go through with it — I couldn’t do that to you.”
“But you had to think about it. And you never mentioned it to me.” Magnus shook his head. “You didn’t trust me. You never have.”
“I do,” Alec said. “I will — I’ll try. Give me another chance—”
“No,” Magnus said. “And if I might give you a piece of advice: Avoid Camille. There is a war coming, Alexander, and you don’t want your loyalties to be in question. Do you?”
And with that he turned and walked away, his hands in his pockets — walking slowly, as if he were injured, and not just from the cut in his side. But he was walking away just the same. Alec watched him until he moved beyond the glow of the witchlight and out of sight.
The inside of the Institute had been cool in the summer, but now, with winter well and truly here, Clary thought, it was warm. The nave was bright with rows of candelabras, and the stained-glass windows glowed softly. She let the front door swing shut behind her and headed for the elevator. She was halfway up the center aisle when she heard someone laughing.
She turned. Isabelle was sitting in one of the old pews, her long legs slung over the back of the seats in front of her. She wore boots that hit her midthigh, slim jeans, and a red sweater that left one shoulder bare. Her skin was traced with black designs; Clary remembered what Sebastian had said about not liking it when women disfigured their skin with Marks, and shivered inside. “Didn’t you hear me saying your name?” Izzy demanded. “You really can be astonishingly single-minded.”
Clary stopped and leaned against a pew. “I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose.”
Isabelle swung her legs down and stood up. The heels on her boots were high, making her tower over Clary. “Oh, I know. That’s why I said ‘single-minded,’ not ‘rude.’”
“Are you here to tell me to go away?” Clary was pleased by the fact that her voice didn’t shake. She wanted to see Jace. She wanted to see him more than anything else. But after what she’d been through this past month, she knew that what mattered was that he was alive, and that he was himself. Everything else was secondary.
“No,” Izzy said, and started moving toward the elevator. Clary fell into step beside her. “I think the whole thing is ridiculous. You saved his life.”
Clary swallowed against the cold feeling in her throat. “You said there were things I didn’t understand.”
“There are.” Isabelle punched the elevator button. “Jace can explain them to you. I came down because I thought there were a few other things you should know.”
Clary listened for the familiar creak, rattle, and groan of the old cage elevator. “Like?”
“My dad’s back,” Isabelle said, not meeting Clary’s eyes.
“Back for a visit, or back for good?”
“For good.” Isabelle sounded calm, but Clary remembered how hurt she had been when they’d found out Robert had been trying for the Inquisitor position. “Basically, Aline and Helen saved us from getting in real trouble for what happened in Ireland. When we came to help you, we did it without telling the Clave. My mom was sure that if we told them they’d send fighters to kill Jace. She couldn’t do it. I mean, this is our family.”
The elevator arrived with a rattle and a crash before Clary could say anything. She followed the other girl inside, fighting the strange urge to give Isabelle a hug. She doubted Izzy would like it.
“So Aline told the Consul — who is, after all, her mother — that there hadn’t been any time to notify the Clave, that she’d been left behind with strict orders to call Jia, but there’d been some malfunction with the telephones and it hadn’t worked. Basically, she lied her butt off. Anyway, that’s our story, and we’re sticking to it. I don’t think Jia believed her, but it doesn’t matter; it’s not like Jia wants to punish Mom. She just had to have some kind of story she could grab on to so she didn’t
The elevator stopped rising and came to a crashing halt.
“Got Sebastian on the run,” Clary repeated. “So we have no idea where he is? I thought maybe since I destroyed his apartment — the dimensional pocket — he could be tracked.”
“We’ve tried,” said Isabelle. “Wherever he is, he’s still beyond or outside tracking capabilities. And according to the Silent Brothers, the magic that Lilith worked — Well, he’s strong, Clary. Really strong. We have to assume he’s out there, with the Infernal Cup, planning his next move.” She pulled the cage door of the elevator open and stepped out. “Do you think he’ll come back for you — or Jace?”
Clary hesitated. “Not right away,” she said finally. “For him we’re the last parts of the puzzle. He’ll want everything set up first. He’ll want an army. He’ll want to be ready. We’re like… the prizes he gets for winning. And so he doesn’t have to be alone.”
“He must be really lonely,” Isabelle said. There was no sympathy in her voice; it was only an observation.
Clary thought of him, of the face that she’d been trying to forget, that haunted her nightmares and waking dreams.
They reached the stairs that led to the infirmary. Isabelle paused, her hand at her throat. Clary could see the
