The City of Fallen Angels (Mortal Instruments 4)(51)

He’d passed that on to Jace before they’d gotten here. Jace had seemed both miserably relieved and also disappointed, all at the same time, which was impressive.

“Hey, hey,” Kyle said, ducking through the curtain. “We’re just about ready to go.” He looked at Simon closely. “You sure about this?”

Simon looked from Kyle to Jace. “Did you know you two match?”

They glanced down at themselves, and then at each other. Both were wearing jeans and long-sleeved black Tshirts. Jace tugged on his shirt hem with slight self-consciousness. “I borrowed this from Kyle. My other shirt was pretty filthy.”

“Wow, you’re wearing each other’s clothes now. That’s, like, best-friend stuff.”

“Feeling left out?” said Kyle. “I suppose you want to borrow a black T-shirt too.”

Simon did not state the obvious, which was that nothing that fit Kyle or Jace was likely to fit his skinny frame. “As long as everyone’s wearing their own pants.”



“I see I have come in on a fascinating moment in the conversation.” Eric poked his head through the curtain.

“Come on. It’s time to start.”

As Kyle and Simon headed for the stage, Jace got to his feet. Just below the hem of his borrowed shirt, Simon could see the glittering edge of a dagger. “Break a leg up there,”

Jace said with a wicked grin. “And I’ll be down here, hopefully breaking someone else’s.”

Raphael had been supposed to come at twilight, but he kept them waiting almost three hours past the appointed time before his Projection appeared in the Institute library.

Vampire politics, thought Luke dryly. The head of the New York vampire clan would come, if he must, when the Shadowhunters called; but he would not be summoned, and he would not be punctual. Luke had spent the past few hours whiling away the time by reading several of the library’s books; Maryse hadn’t been interested in talking and had spent most of the time standing by the window, drinking red wine out of a cut-crystal glass and staring at the traffic going by on York Avenue.

She turned as Raphael appeared, like a white chalk drawing on the darkness. First the pallor of his face and hands became visible, and then the darkness of his clothes and hair.

Finally he stood, filled in, a solid-looking Projection. He looked at Maryse hurrying toward him and said, “You called, Shadowhunter?” He turned then, his gaze sweeping over Luke. “And the wolf-human is here too, I see. Have I been summoned to a sort of Council?”

“Not exactly.” Maryse set her glass down on the desktop. “You have heard about the recent deaths, Raphael? The Shadowhunter bodies that have been found?”

Raphael raised expressive eyebrows. “I have. I did not think to make note of it. It has nothing to do with my clan.”

“One bodyfound inwarlock territory, one inwolfterritory, one infaerie territory,” said Luke. “Iimagine your folk will be next. It seems a clear attempt to foment discord among Downworlders. I am here in good faith, to show you that I do not believe that you are responsible, Raphael.”

“What a relief,” Raphael said, but his eyes were dark and watchful. “Why would there be any suggestion that I was?”

“One of the dead was able to tell us who attacked him,” said Maryse carefully. “Before he—died—he let us know that the person responsible was Camille.”

“Camille.” Raphael’s voice was careful, but his expression, before he schooled it into blankness, showed fleeting shock. “But that is not possible.”

“Why is it not possible, Raphael?” Luke asked. “She is the head of your clan. She is very powerful and famously quite ruthless. And she seems to have disappeared. She never came to Idris to fight with you in the war. She never agreed to the new Accords. No Shadowhunter has seen or heard tell of her in months—until now.”



Raphael said nothing.

“There is something going on,” Maryse said. “We wanted to give you the chance to explain it to us before we told the Clave of Camille’s involvement. A show of good faith.”

“Yes,” said Raphael. “Yes, it is certainly a show.”

“Raphael,” said Luke, not unkindly. “You don’t have to protect her. If you care for her—

”

“Care for her?” Raphael turned aside and spat, though as he was a Projection, this was more for show than result.

“I hate her. I despise her. Every evening when I rise, I wish her dead.”

“Oh,” said Maryse delicately. “Then, perhaps—”

“She led us for years,” said Raphael. “She was the clan head when I was made a vampire, and that was fifty years ago. Before that, she came to us from London. She was a stranger to the city but ruthless enough to rise to head the Manhattan clan in only a few short months. Last year I became her second in command. Then, some months ago, I discovered that she had been killing humans. Killing them for sport, and drinking their blood. Breaking the Law. It happens sometimes. Vampires go rogue and there is nothing that can be done to stop them. But for it to happen to the head of a clan—they are supposed to be better than that.” He stood still, his dark eyes inwardlooking, lost in his memories. “We are not like the wolves, those savages. We do not kill one leader to find another. For a vampire to raise a hand against another vampire is the worst of crimes, even if that vampire has broken the Law. And Camille has many allies, many followers. I could not risk ending her. Instead I went to her and told her she had to leave us, to get out, or Iwould go to the Clave. Ididn’t want to do that, of course, because I knew that if it were discovered, it would bring wrath down on the entire clan. We would be distrusted, investigated.