City of Bones (The Mortal Instruments, #1)(38)

“I wouldn’t say he was worried,” said Pangborn. “More curious. We all wondered if you were still alive. Still recognizably human.”

Luke arched his eyebrows. “And?”

“You seem well enough,” said Pangborn grudgingly. He set the Kali statuette down on the shelf. “There was a child, wasn’t there? A girl.”

Luke looked taken aback. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb,” said Blackwell in his snarl of a voice. “We know the bitch had a daughter. They found photos of her in the apartment, a bedroom—”

“I thought you were asking about children of mine,” Luke interrupted smoothly. “Yes, Jocelyn had a daughter. Clarissa. I assume she’s run off. Did Valentine send you to find her?”

“Not us,” said Pangborn. “But he is looking.”

“We could search this place,” added Blackwell.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” said Luke, and slid off the desk. There was a certain cold menace to his look as he stared down at the two men, though his expression hadn’t changed. “What makes you think she’s still alive? I thought Valentine sent Raveners to scour the place. Enough Ravener poison, and most people will crumble away to ashes, leave no trace behind.”

“There was a dead Ravener,” said Pangborn. “It made Valentine suspicious.”

“Everything makes Valentine suspicious,” said Luke. “Maybe Jocelyn killed it. She was certainly capable.”

Blackwell grunted. “Maybe.”

Luke shrugged. “Look, I’ve got no idea where the girl is, but for what it’s worth, I’d guess she’s dead. She’d have turned up by now otherwise. Anyway, she’s not much of a danger. She’s fifteen years old, she’s never heard of Valentine, and she doesn’t believe in demons.”

Pangborn chuckled. “A fortunate child.”

“Not anymore,” said Luke.

Blackwell raised his eyebrows. “You sound angry, Lucian.”

“I’m not angry, I’m exasperated. I’m not planning on interfering with Valentine’s plans, do you understand that? I’m not a fool.”

“Really?” said Blackwell. “It’s nice to see that you’ve developed a healthy respect for your own skin over the years, Lucian. You weren’t always so pragmatic.”

“You do know,” said Pangborn, his tone conversational, “that we’d trade her, Jocelyn, for the Cup? Safely delivered, right to your door. That’s a promise from Valentine himself.”

“I know,” said Luke. “I’m not interested. I don’t know where your precious Cup is, and I don’t want to get involved in your politics. I hate Valentine,” he added, “but I respect him. I know he’ll mow down everyone in his path. I intend to be out of his way when it happens. He’s a monster—a killing machine.”

“Look who’s talking,” snarled Blackwell.

“I take it these are your preparations for removing yourself from Valentine’s path?” said Pangborn, pointing a long finger at the half-concealed duffel bag on the desk. “Getting out of town, Lucian?”

Luke nodded slowly. “Going to the country. I plan to lie low for a while.”

“We could stop you,” said Blackwell. “Make you stay.”

Luke smiled. It transformed his face. Suddenly he was no longer the kind, scholarly man who’d pushed Clary on the swings at the park and taught her how to ride a tricycle. Suddenly there was something feral behind his eyes, something vicious and cold. “You could try.”

Pangborn glanced at Blackwell, who shook his head once, slowly. Pangborn turned back to Luke. “You’ll notify us if you experience any sudden memory resurgence?”

Luke was still smiling. “You’ll be first on my list to call.”

Pangborn nodded shortly. “I suppose we’ll take our leave. The Angel guard you, Lucian.”

“The Angel does not guard those like me,” said Luke. He picked the duffel bag up off the desk and knotted the top. “On your way, gentlemen?”

Lifting their hoods to cover their faces again, the two men left the room, followed a moment later by Luke. He paused at the door, glancing around as if he wondered if he’d forgotten something. Then he shut it carefully behind him.

Clary stayed where she was, frozen, hearing the front door swing shut and the distant jingle of chain and keys as Luke refastened the padlock. She kept seeing the look on Luke’s face, over and over, as he said he wasn’t interested in what happened to her mother.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Clary?” It was Simon, his voice hesitant, almost gentle. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head, mutely. She felt far from okay. In fact, she felt like she’d never be okay again.

“Of course she isn’t.” It was Jace, his voice sharp and cold as ice shards. He took hold of the screen and moved it aside sharply. “At least now we know who would send a demon after your mother. Those men think she has the Mortal Cup.”

Clary felt her lips thin into a straight line. “That’s totally ridiculous and impossible.”

“Maybe,” said Jace, leaning against Luke’s desk. He fixed her with eyes as opaque as smoked glass. “Have you ever seen those men before?”