Cassandra Clare: The Mortal Instruments Series (75 page)

“What did Isabelle want?” Jace asked.

Alec hesitated. “Isabelle says the Queen of the Seelie Court has requested an audience with us.”

“Sure,” said Magnus. “And Madonna wants me as a backup dancer on her next world tour.”

Alec looked puzzled. “Who’s Madonna?”

“Who’s the Queen of the Seelie Court?” said Clary.

“She is the Queen of Faerie,” said Magnus. “Well, the local one, anyway.”

Jace put his head in his hands. “Tell Isabelle no.”

“But she thinks it’s a good idea,” Alec protested.

“Then tell her no
twice.”

Alec frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, just that some of Isabelle’s ideas are world-beaters and some are total disasters. Remember that idea she had about using abandoned subway tunnels to get around under the city? Talk about giant rats—”

“Let’s not,” said Simon. “I’d rather not talk about rats at all, in fact.”

“This is different,” said Alec. “She wants us to go to the Seelie Court.”

“You’re right, this is different,” said Jace. “This is her worst idea
ever.”

“She knows a knight in the Court,” said Alec. “He told her that the Seelie Queen is interested in meeting with us. Isabelle overheard my conversation with our mother—and she thought if we could explain our theory about Valentine and the Soul-Sword to the Queen, the Seelie Court would side with us, maybe even ally with us against Valentine.”

“Is it safe to go there?” Clary asked.

“Of course it’s not safe,” Jace said, as if she’d asked the stupidest question he’d ever heard.

She shot a glare at him. “I don’t know anything about the Seelie Court. Vampires and werewolves I get. There are enough movies about them. But faeries are little-kid stuff. I dressed up as a faerie for Halloween when I was eight. My mom made me a hat shaped like a buttercup.”

“I remember that.” Simon had leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “I was a Transformer. Actually, I was a Decepticon.”

“Can we get back to the point?” Magnus asked.

“Fine,” Alec said. “Isabelle thinks—and I
agree
—that it’s not a good idea to ignore the Fair Folk. If they want to talk, what harm can it do? Besides, if the Seelie Court were on our side, the Clave would
have
to listen to what we have to say.”

Jace laughed without any humor. “The Fair Folk don’t help
humans.”

“Shadowhunters are not human,” Clary said. “Not really.”

“We are not much better to them,” said Jace.

“They can’t be worse than vampires,” Simon muttered. “And you did all right with them.”

Jace looked at Simon as if he were something he’d found growing under the sink. “Did
all right with them?
By which I take it you mean we survived?”

“Well . . .”

“Faeries,” Jace went on, as if Simon hadn’t spoken, “are the offspring of demons and angels, with the beauty of angels and the viciousness of demons. A vampire might attack you, if you entered its domain, but a faerie could make you dance until you died with your legs ground down into stumps, trick you
into a midnight swim and drag you screaming underwater until your lungs burst, fill your eyes with faerie dust until you gouged them out at the roots—”

“Jace!” Clary snapped, cutting him off mid-rant. “Shut up. Jesus. That’s enough.”

“Look, it’s easy to outsmart a werewolf or a vampire,” Jace said. “They’re no smarter than anyone else. But faeries live for hundreds of years and they’re as cunning as snakes. They can’t lie, but they love to engage in creative truth-telling. They’ll find out whatever it is you want most in the world and give it to you—with a sting in the tail of the gift that will make you regret you ever wanted it in the first place. “He sighed. “They’re not really about helping people. More about harm disguised as help.”

“And you don’t think we’re smart enough to know the difference?” asked Simon.

“I don’t think you’re smart enough not to get turned into a rat by accident.”

Simon glared at him. “I don’t see that it matters what you think we should do,” he said. “Considering that you can’t go with us in the first place. You can’t go anywhere.”

Jace stood up, knocking his chair back violently. “You are not taking Clary to the Seelie Court without me and
that is final!”

Clary stared at him with her mouth open. He was flushed with anger, teeth gritted, veins corded in his neck. He was also avoiding looking at her.

“I can take care of Clary,” Alec said, and there was hurt in his voice—whether because Jace had doubted his abilities or because of something else, Clary wasn’t sure.

“Alec,” said Jace, his eyes locked with his friend’s. “No. You can’t.”

Alec swallowed. “We’re going,” he said. He spoke the words like an apology. “Jace—a request from the Seelie Court—it would be stupid to ignore it. Besides, Isabelle’s probably already told them we’re coming.”

“There is no chance I’m going to let you do this, Alec,” Jace said in a dangerous voice. “I’ll wrestle you to the ground if I have to.”

“While that does sound tempting,” said Magnus, flipping his long silk sleeves back, “there is another way.”

“What other way? This is a directive from the Clave. I can’t just weasel out of it.”

“But I can.” Magnus grinned. “Never doubt my weaseling abilities, Shadowhunter, for they are epic and memorable in their scope. I specifically enchanted the contract with the Inquisitor so that I could let you go for a short time if I desired, as long as another of the Nephilim was willing to take your place.”

“Where are we going to find another—Oh,” Alec said meekly. “You mean me.”

Jace’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, now you don’t
want
to go to the Seelie Court?”

Alec flushed. “I think it’s more important for you to go than me. You’re Valentine’s son, I’m sure you’re the one the Queen really wants to see. Besides, you’re charming.”

Jace glared at him.

“Maybe not at the moment,” Alec amended. “But you’re
usually
charming. And faeries are very susceptible to charm.”

“Plus, if you stay here, I’ve got the whole first season of
Gilligan’s Island
on DVD,” Magnus said.

“No one could turn
that
down,” said Jace. He still wouldn’t look at Clary.

“Isabelle can meet you in the park by Turtle Pond,” said Alec. “She knows the secret entrance to the Court. She’ll be waiting.”

“And one last thing,” Magnus said, jabbing a ringed finger at Jace. “Try not to get yourself killed in the Seelie Court. If you die, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”

At that, Jace broke into a grin. It was an unsettling grin, less a flash of amusement than the gleam of an unsheathed blade. “You know,” he said, “I have a feeling that that’s going to be the case whether I get myself killed or not.”

Thick tendrils of moss and plants surrounded the rim of Turtle Pond like a bordering of green lace. The surface of the water was still, rippled here and there in the wake of drifting ducks, or dimpled by the silvery flick of a fish’s tail.

There was a small wooden gazebo built out over the water; Isabelle was sitting in it, staring out across the lake. She looked like a princess in a fairy tale, waiting at the top of her tower for someone to ride up and rescue her.

Not that traditional princess behavior was like Isabelle at all. Isabelle with her whip and boots and knives would chop anyone who tried to pen her up in a tower into pieces, build a bridge out of the remains, and walk carelessly to freedom, her hair looking fabulous the
entire time.
This made Isabelle a hard person to like, though Clary was trying.

“Izzy,” said Jace, as they neared the pond, and she jumped up and spun around. Her smile was dazzling.

“Jace!” She flew at him and hugged him. Now that was the
way sisters were supposed to act, Clary thought. Not all stiff and weird and peculiar, but happy and loving. Watching Jace hug Isabelle, she tried to school her features into a happy and loving expression.

“Are you all right?” Simon asked, with some concern. “Your eyes are crossing.”

“I’m fine.” Clary abandoned the attempt.

“Are you sure? You looked sort of . . .
contorted.”

“Something I ate.”

Isabelle drifted over, Jace a pace behind her. She was wearing a long black dress with boots and an even longer cutaway coat of soft green velvet, the color of moss. “I can’t believe you did it!” she exclaimed. “How did you get Magnus to let Jace leave?”

“Traded him for Alec,” Clary said.

Isabelle looked mildly alarmed. “Not
permanently?”

“No,” said Jace. “Just for a few hours. Unless I don’t come back,” he added thoughtfully. “In which case, maybe he does get to keep Alec. Think of it as a lease with an option to buy.”

Isabelle looked dubious. “Mom and Dad won’t be pleased if they find out.”

“That you freed a possible criminal by trading away your brother to a warlock who looks like a gay Sonic the Hedgehog and dresses like the Child Catcher from
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?”
Simon inquired. “No, probably not.”

Jace looked at him thoughtfully. “Is there some particular reason that you’re here? I’m not so sure we should be bringing you to the Seelie Court. They hate mundanes.”

Simon rolled his eyes upward. “Not this again.”

“Not what again?” said Clary.

“Every time I annoy him, he retreats into his No Mundanes Allowed tree house.” Simon pointed at Jace. “Let me remind you, the last time you wanted to leave me behind, I saved all your lives.”

“Sure,” said Jace. “One time—”

“The faerie courts
are
dangerous,” cut in Isabelle. “Even your skill with the bow won’t help you. It’s not that kind of danger.”

“I can take care of myself,” said Simon. A sharp wind had come up. It blew drying leaves across the gravel at their feet and made Simon shiver. He dug his hands into the wool-lined pockets of his jacket.

“You don’t have to come,” Clary said.

He looked at her, a steady, measured look. She remembered him back at Luke’s, calling her
my girlfriend
with no measure of doubt or indecision. Whatever else you could say about Simon, he knew what he wanted. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

Jace made a noise under his breath. “Then I suppose we’re ready,” he said. “Don’t expect any special consideration, mundane.”

“Look on the bright side,” said Simon. “If they need a human sacrifice, you can always offer me. I’m not sure the rest of you qualify anyway.”

Jace brightened. “It’s always nice when someone volunteers to be the first up against the wall.”

“Come on,” Isabelle said. “The door is about to open.”

Clary glanced around. The sun had set completely and the moon was up, a wedge of creamy white casting its reflection onto the pond. It wasn’t quite full, but shadowed at one edge, giving it the look of a half-lidded eye. Night wind rattled the
tree branches, knocking them against one another with a sound like hollow bones.

“Where do we go?” Clary asked. “Where’s the door?”

Isabelle’s smile was like a whispered secret. “Follow me.”

She moved down to the edge of the water, her boots leaving deep impressions in the wet mud. Clary followed, glad she was wearing jeans and not a skirt as Isabelle hiked her coat and dress up over her knees, leaving her slim white legs bare above her boots. Her skin was covered in Marks like licks of black fire.

Simon, behind her, swore as he slipped in the mud; Jace moved automatically to steady him as they all turned. Simon jerked his arm back. “I don’t need your help.”

“Stop it.” Isabelle tapped a booted foot in the shallow water at the lake’s edge. “Both of you. In fact, all three of you. If we don’t stick together in the Seelie Court, we’re dead.”

“But I haven’t—,” Clary started.

“Maybe
you
haven’t, but the way you let those two act . . .” Isabelle indicated the boys with a disdainful wave of her hand.

“I can’t tell them what to do!”

“Why not?” the other girl demanded. “Honestly, Clary, if you don’t start utilizing a bit of your natural feminine superiority, I just don’t know what I’ll do with you.” She turned toward the pond, then spun around again. “And lest I forget,” she added sternly, “for the love of the Angel,
don’t
eat or drink anything while we’re underground, any of you. Okay?”

“Underground?” said Simon worriedly. “Nobody said anything about underground.”

Isabelle threw up her hands and splashed out into the
pond. Her green velvet coat swirled out around her like an enormous lily pad. “Come on. We only have until the moon moves.”

The moon
what?
Shaking her head, Clary stepped out into the pond. The water was shallow and clear; in the bright starlight, she could see the black shapes of tiny darting fish moving past her ankles. She gritted her teeth as she waded farther out into the pond. The cold was intense.

Behind her, Jace moved out into the water with a contained grace that barely rippled the surface. Simon, behind him, was splashing and cursing. Isabelle, having reached the center of the pond, paused there, up to her rib cage in water. She held out her hand toward Clary. “Stop.”