Cassandra Clare - City of Lost Souls

Simon stood and stared numbly at the front door of his house.

Hed never known another home. This was the place his parents had brought him back to when he was born. He had grown up within the walls of the Brooklyn row house. Hed played on the street under the leafy shade of the trees in the summer, and had made improvised sleds out of garbage can lids in the winter. In this house his family had sat shivah after his father had died. Here he had kissed Clary for the first time.

He had never imagined a day when the door of the house would be closed to him. The last time he had seen his mother, she had called him a monster and prayed at him that he would go away. He had made her forget that he was a vampire, using glamour, but he had not known how long the glamour would last. As he stood in the cold autumn air, staring in front of him, he knew it had not lasted long enough.

The door was covered with signs Stars of David splashed on in paint, the incised shape of the symbol for Chai, life. Tefillin were bound to the doorknob and knocker. A hamsa, the Hand of God, covered the peephole.

Numbly he put his hand to the metal mezuzah affixed to the right side of the doorway. He saw the smoke rise from the place where his hand touched the holy object, but he felt nothing. No pain. Only a terrible empty blankness, rising slowly into cold rage.

He kicked the bottom of the door and heard the echo through the house. Mom! he shouted. Mom, its me!

There was no reply only the sound of the bolts being turned on the door. His sensitized hearing had recognized his mothers footsteps, her breathing, but she said nothing. He could smell acrid fear and panic even through the wood. Mom! His voice broke. Mom, this is ridiculous! Let me in! Its me, Simon!

The door juddered, as if she had kicked it. Go away! Her voice was rough, unrecognizable with terror. Murderer!

I dont kill people. Simon leaned his head against the door. He knew he could probably kick it down, but what would be the point? I told you. I drink animal blood.

You killed my son, she said. You killed him and put a monster in his place.

I am your son

You wear his face and speak with his voice, but you are not him! Youre not Simon! Her voice rose to almost a scream. Get away from my house before I kill you, monster!

Becky, he said. His face was wet; he put his hands up to touch it, and they came away stained: His tears were bloody. What have you told Becky?

Stay away from your sister. Simon heard a clattering from inside the house, as if something had been knocked over.

Mom, he said again, but this time his voice wouldnt rise. It came out as a hoarse whisper. His hand had begun to throb. I need to know is Becky there? Mom, open the door. Please

Stay away from Becky! She was backing away from the door; he could hear it. Then came the unmistakeable squeal of the kitchen door swinging open, the creak of the linoleum as she walked on it. The sound of a drawer being opened. Suddenly he imagined his mother grabbing for one of the knives.

Before I kill you, monster.

The thought rocked him back on his heels. If she struck out at him, the Mark would rise. It would destroy her as it had destroyed Lilith.

He dropped his hand and backed up slowly, stumbling down the steps and across the sidewalk, fetching up against the trunk of one of the big trees that shaded the block. He stood where he was, staring at the front door of his house, marked and disfigured with the symbols of his mothers hate for him.

No, he reminded himself. She didnt hate him. She thought he was dead. What she hated was something that didnt exist. I am not what she says I am.

He didnt know how long he would have stood there, staring, if his phone hadnt begun to ring, vibrating his coat pocket.

He reached for it reflexively, noticing that the pattern from the front of the mezuzah interlocked Stars of David was burned into the palm of his hand. He switched hands and put the phone to his ear. Hello?

Simon? It was Clary. She sounded breathless. Where are you?

Home, he said, and paused. My mothers house, he amended. His voice sounded hollow and distant to his own ears. Why arent you back at the Institute? Is everyone all right?

Thats just it, she said. Just after you left, Maryse came back down from the roof where Jace was supposed to be waiting. There was no one there.

Simon moved. Without quite realizing he was doing it, like a mechanical doll, he began walking up the street, toward the subway station. What do you mean, there was no one there?

Jace was gone, she said, and he could hear the strain in her voice. And so was Sebastian.

Simon stopped in the shadow of a bare-branched tree. But Sebastian was dead. Hes dead, Clary

Then you tell me why his body isnt there, because it isnt, she said, her voice finally breaking. Theres nothing up there but a lot of blood and broken glass. Theyre both gone, Simon. Jace is gone.

TWO WEEKS LATER

How much longer will the verdict take, do you think? Clary asked. She had no idea how long theyd been waiting, but it felt like ten hours. There were no clocks in Isabelles black and hot-pink powder-puff bedroom, just piles of clothes, heaps of books, stacks of weapons, a vanity overflowing with sparkling makeup, used brushes, and open drawers spilling lacy slips, sheer tights, and feather boas. It had a certain backstage-at-La-Cage-aux-Folles design aesthetic, but over the past two weeks Clary had spent enough time among the glittering mess to have begun to find it comforting.

Isabelle, standing over by the window with Church in her arms, stroked the cats head absently. Church regarded her with baleful yellow eyes. Outside the window a November storm was in full bloom, rain streaking the windows like clear paint. Not much longer, she said slowly. She wasnt wearing any makeup, which made her look younger, her dark eyes bigger. Five minutes, probably.

Clary, sitting on Izzys bed between a pile of magazines and a rattling stack of seraph blades, swallowed hard against the bitter taste in her throat. Ill be back. Five minutes.

That had been the last thing she had said to the boy she loved more than anything else in the world. Now she thought it might be the last thing she would ever get to say to him.

Clary remembered the moment perfectly. The roof garden. The crystalline October night, the stars burning icy white against a cloudless black sky. The paving stones smeared with black runes, spattered with ichor and blood. Jaces mouth on hers, the only warm thing in a shivering world. Clasping the Morgenstern ring around her neck. The love that moves the sun and all the other stars. Turning to look for him as the elevator took her away, sucking her back down into the shadows of the building. She had joined the others in the lobby, hugging her mother, Luke, Simon, but some part of her, as it always was, had still been with Jace, floating above the city on that rooftop, the two of them alone in the cold and brilliant electric city.

Maryse and Kadir had been the ones to get into the elevator to join Jace on the roof and to see the remains of Liliths ritual. It was another ten minutes before Maryse returned, alone. When the doors had opened and Clary had seen her face white and set and frantic she had known.