The City of Fallen Angels (Mortal Instruments 4)(80)

Clary set her chin. “Well,” she said, “it’s done now.”

Jace gave the ghost of a laugh. “They could always kill me, you know,” he said. “Bring things back into balance.”

Her hands tightened on his arm. “Don’t be ridiculous.” But her voice was thin. She tensed further as Brother Zachariah broke away from the tight group of Silent Brothers and approached them, his feet gliding silently over the Speaking Stars. He reached Jace, and Clary had to fight the urge to push him away as he bent down and placed his long fingers under Jace’s chin, raising the boy’s face to his. Zachariah’s fingers were slim, unlined—a young man’s fingers. She had never given much thought to the ages of the Silent Brothers before, assuming them to be all some species of wizened and old.

Jace, kneeling, gazed up at Zachariah, who looked down at him with his blind, impassive expression. Clary could not help but think of medieval paintings of saints on their knees, gazing upward, their faces suffused with shining golden light. Would that I had been here, he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle, when you were growing up. I would have seen the truth in your face, Jace Lightwood, and known who you were.

Jace looked puzzled but didn’t move to pull away.

Zachariah turned to the others. We cannot and should not harm the boy. Old ties exist between the Herondales and the Brothers. We owe him help.

“Help with what?” Clary demanded. “Can you see something wrong with him—

something inside his head?”

When a Shadowhunter is born, a ritual is performed, a number of protective spells placed upon the child by both the Silent Brothers and the Iron Sisters.

The Iron Sisters, Clary knew from her studies, were the sister sect of the Silent Brothers; even more retiring than their brethren, they were in charge of crafting Shadowhunter weapons.



Brother Zachariah went on. When Jace died and then was raised, he was born a second time, with those protections and rituals stripped away. It would have left him as open as an unlocked door—open to any kind of demonic influence or malevolence.

Clary licked her dry lips. “Possession, you mean?”

Not possession. Influence. I suspect that a powerful demonic power whispers into your ears, Jonathan Herondale.

You are strong, you fight it, but it wears you down as the sea wears down the sand.

“Jace,” he whispered through white lips. “Jace Lightwood, not Herondale.”

Clary, clinging to practicalities, said, “How can you be sure it’s a demon? And what can we do to get it to leave him alone?”

Enoch, sounding thoughtful, said, The ritual must be performed again, the protections laid upon him a second time, as if he had just been born.

“Can you do it?” Clary asked.

Zachariah inclined his head. It can be done. The preparations must be made, one of the Iron Sisters called on, an amulet crafted. . . . He trailed off. Jonathan must remain with us until the ritual is finished. This is the safest place for him.

Clary looked at Jace again, searching for an expression—any expression—of hope, relief, delight, anything. But his face was impassive. “For how long?” he said.

Zachariah spread his thin hands wide. A day, perhaps two. The ritual is meant for infants; we will have to change it, alter it to fit an adult. If he were older than eighteen, it would be impossible. As it is, it will be difficult. But he is not beyond saving.

Not beyond saving. It was not what Clary had hoped for; she had wanted to be told that the problem was simple, easily solved. She looked at Jace. His head was bowed, his hair falling forward; the back of his neck looked so vulnerable to her, it made her heart ache.

“It’s fine,” she said softly. “I’ll stay here with you—”

No. The Brothers spoke as a group, their voices inexorable. He must remain here alone.

For what we must do, he cannot afford to be distracted.

She felt Jace’s body tighten. The last time he had been alone in the Silent City, he had been unfairly imprisoned, present for the horrible deaths of most of the Silent Brothers, and tormented by Valentine. She could not imagine that the idea of another night alone in the City would be anything but awful for him.

“Jace,” she whispered. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do. If you want to go . . .”

“I’ll stay,” he said. He had raised his head, and his voice was strong and clear. “I’ll stay.

I’ll do whatever I have to do to fix this. I just need you to call Izzy and Alec. Tell them—

tell them I’m staying at Simon’s to keep an eye on him.



Tell them I’ll see them tomorrow or the next day.”

“But .. .”

“Clary.” Gently he took both her hands and held them between his. “You were right. This isn’t coming from inside me. Something is doing this to me. To us. You know what that means? If I can be . . . cured . . . then I don’t have to be afraid of myself when I’m around you anymore. I’d spend a thousand nights in the Silent City for that.”

She leaned forward, heedless of the presence of the Silent Brothers, and kissed him, a quick press of her lips against his. “I’ll be back,” she whispered. “Tomorrow night, after the Ironworks party, I’ll come back and see you.”

The hopefulness in his eyes was enough to break her heart. “Maybe I’ll be cured by then.”