City of Bones (The Mortal Instruments, #1)(66)

“Melted?” murmured Magnus. “How dreadful.”

“I want to know who did it.” The man bared his teeth, showing long pointed canines. Clary stared in fascination. They didn’t look at all the way she’d imagined vampire fangs: These were as thin and sharp as needles. “I thought you swore there’d be no wolf-men here tonight, Bane.”

“I invited none of the Moon’s Children,” Magnus said, examining his glittery nails. “Precisely because of your stupid little feud. If any of them decided to sabotage your bike, they weren’t a guest of mine, and are therefore …” He offered a winsome smile. “Not my responsibility.”

The vampire roared with rage, jabbing his finger toward Magnus. “Are you trying to tell me that—”

Magnus’s glitter-coated index finger twitched just a fraction, so slightly that Clary almost thought he hadn’t moved at all. Mid-roar the vampire gagged and clutched at his throat. His mouth worked, but no sound came out.

“You’ve worn out your welcome,” Magnus said lazily, opening his eyes very wide. Clary saw, with a jolt of surprise, that they had vertical slit pupils, like a cat’s. “Now go.” He splayed the fingers of his hand, and the vampire turned as smartly as if someone had grabbed his shoulders and spun him around. He marched back into the crowd, heading toward the door.

Jace whistled under his breath. “That was impressive.”

“You mean that little hissy fit?” Magnus cast his eyes toward the ceiling. “I know. What is her problem?”

Alec made a choking noise. After a moment Clary recognized it as laughter. He ought to do that more often.

“We put the holy water in his gas tank, you know,” he said.

“ALEC,” said Jace. “Shut up.”

“I assumed that,” said Magnus, looking amused. “Vindictive little bastards, aren’t you? You know their bikes run on demon energies. I doubt he’ll be able to repair it.”

“One less leech with a fancy ride,” said Jace. “My heart bleeds.”

“I heard some of them can make their bikes fly,” put in Alec, who looked animated for once. He was almost smiling.

“Merely an old witches’ tale,” said Magnus, his cat’s eyes glittering. “So is that why you wanted to crash my party? Just to wreck some bloodsucker bikes?”

“No.” Jace was all business again. “We need to talk to you. Preferably somewhere private.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. Damn, Clary thought, another one. “Am I in trouble with the Clave?”

“No,” said Jace.

“Probably not,” said Alec. “Ow!” He glared at Jace, who had kicked him sharply in the ankle.

“No,” Jace repeated. “We can talk to you under the seal of the Covenant. If you help us, anything you say will be confidential.”

“And if I don’t help you?”

Jace spread his hands wide. The rune tattoos on his palms stood out stark and black. “Maybe nothing. Maybe a visit from the Silent City.”

Magnus’s voice was honey poured over shards of ice. “That’s quite a choice you’re offering me, little Shadowhunter.”

“It’s no choice at all,” said Jace.

“Yes,” said the warlock. “That’s exactly what I meant.”


Magnus’s bedroom was a riot of color: canary-yellow sheets and bedspread draped over a mattress on the floor, electric-blue vanity table strewn with more pots of paint and makeup than Isabelle’s. Rainbow velvet curtains hid the floor-to-ceiling windows, and a tangled wool rug covered the floor.

“Nice place,” said Jace, drawing aside a heavy swag of curtain. “Guess it pays well, being the High Warlock of Brooklyn?”

“It pays,” Magnus said. “Not much of a benefit package, though. No dental.” He shut the door behind him and leaned against it. When he crossed his arms, his T-shirt rode up, showing a strip of flat golden stomach unmarked by a navel. “So,” he said. “What’s on your devious little minds?”

“It’s not them, actually,” Clary said, finding her voice before Jace could reply. “I’m the one who wanted to talk to you.”

Magnus turned his inhuman eyes on her. “You are not one of them,” he said. “Not of the Clave. But you can see the Invisible World.”

“My mother was one of the Clave,” Clary said. It was the first time she had said it out loud and known it to be true. “But she never told me. She kept it a secret. I don’t know why.”

“So ask her.”

“I can’t. She’s …” Clary hesitated. “She’s gone.”

“And your father?”

“He died before I was born.”

Magnus exhaled irritably. “As Oscar Wilde once said, ‘To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose both seems like carelessness.’”

Clary heard Jace make a small hissing sound, like air being sucked through his teeth. She said, “I didn’t lose my mother. She was taken from me. By Valentine.”

“I don’t know any Valentine,” said Magnus, but his eyes flickered like wavering candle flames, and Clary knew he was lying. “I’m sorry for your tragic circumstances, but I fail to see what any of this has to do with me. If you could tell me—”