read the first 100 pages of city of bones

7/23/2019 Read the first 100 pages of City of Bones

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#1New York Timesbestselling author

NOW

A MAJOR

MOTION

PICTURE


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Starring

Lily Collins as Clary Fray

Jamie Campbell Bower as Jace Wayland

Robert Sheehan as Simon Lewis

Kevin Zegers as Alec Lightwood

Lena Headey as Jocelyn Fray

Kevin Durand as Emil Pangborn

Aidan Turner as Luke Garroway

Jemima West as Isabelle Lightwood

Godfrey Gao as Magnus Bane

with CCH Pounder as Madame Dorothea

with Jared Harris as Hodge Starkweather

and Jonathan Rhys Meyers as Valentine Morgenstern

Read the books before you see the filmAvailable in paperback and eBook from all good booksellers

IN CINEMAS AUGUST 21Based on the first book in the internationally

bestselling series by Cassandra Clare

City of Bones


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Heres the first 100 pages from

City of Bones

Clary Fray is seeing things: vampires in Brooklyn and

werewolves in Manhattan. Irresistibly drawn towards a group of

sexy demon hunters, Clary encounters the dark side of

New York City and the dangers of forbidden love.


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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

are either the product of the authors imagination or, if real, used

fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information

and material of any other kind contained herein are included for

entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for

accuracy or replicated as they may result in injury.

Text 2007 Cassandra Claire LLC

The right of Cassandra Clare to be identified as author of this work has been

asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act

1988

This sampler has been typeset in M Garamond

All rights reserved. No part of this sampler may be reproduced, transmitted

or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means,

graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping

and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.


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I have not slept.Between the acting of a dreadful thing

And the first motion, all the interim isLike a phantasma, or a hideous dream:The Genius and the mortal instruments

Are then in council; and the state of man,Like to a little kingdom, suffers then

The nature of an insurrection.

William Shakespeare,Julius Caesar


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I sung of Chaos and eternal Night,Taught by the heavnly Muse to venture down

The dark descent, and up to reascend . . .

John Milton,Paradise Lost


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P A N D E M O N I U M

YOUVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME, THE BOUNCER SAID,folding his arms across his massive chest. He stared down at

the boy in the red zip-up jacket and shook his shaved head.You cant bring that thing in here.The fifty or so teenagers in line outside the Pandemonium

Club leaned forward to eavesdrop. It was a long wait to getinto the all-ages club, especially on a Sunday, and not muchgenerally happened in line. The bouncers were fierce andwould come down instantly on anyone who looked like they

were going to start trouble. Fifteen-year-old Clary Fray, stand-ing in line with her best friend, Simon, leaned forward alongwith everyone else, hoping for some excitement.

Aw, come on. The kid hoisted the thing up over his head.It looked like a wooden beam, pointed at one end. Its part ofmy costume.

The bouncer raised an eyebrow. Which is what?The boy grinned. He was normal-enough-looking, Clary

thought, for Pandemonium. He had electric-blue dyed hair thatstuck up around his head like the tendrils of a startled octo-pus, but no elaborate facial tattoos or big metal bars through


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his ears or lips. Im a vampire hunter. He pushed down onthe wooden thing. It bent as easily as a blade of grass bendingsideways. Its fake. Foam rubber. See?

The boys wide eyes were way too bright a green, Clarynoticed: the color of antifreeze, spring grass. Colored contactlenses, probably. The bouncer shrugged, abruptly bored. What-ever. Go on in.

The boy slid past him, quick as an eel. Clary liked the lilt tohis shoulders, the way he tossed his hair as he went. There was a

word for him that her mother would have usedinsouciant.

You thought he was cute, said Simon, sounding resigned.Didnt you?

Clary dug her elbow into his ribs, but didnt answer.

Inside, the club was full of dry-ice smoke. Colored lights playedover the dance floor, turning it into a multicolored fairyland of

blues and acid greens, hot pinks and golds.The boy in the red jacket stroked the long razor-sharp bladein his hands, an idle smile playing over his lips. It had been soeasya little bit of a glamour on the blade, to make it lookharmless. Another glamour on his eyes, and the moment thebouncer had looked straight at him, he was in. Of course, hecould probably have gotten by without all that trouble, but it

was part of the funfooling the mundies, doing it all out inthe open right in front of them, getting off on the blank lookson their sheeplike faces.

Not that the humans didnt have their uses. The boys greeneyes scanned the dance floor, where slender limbs clad in scrapsof silk and black leather appeared and disappeared inside therevolving columns of smoke as the mundies danced. Girls tossed

their long hair, boys swung their leather-clad hips, and bare skinglittered with sweat. Vitality justpouredoff them, waves of energythat filled him with a drunken dizziness. His lip curled. Theydidnt know how lucky they were. They didnt know what it was

1 0 C I T Y O F B O N E S


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like to eke out life in a dead world, where the sun hung limpin the sky like a burned cinder. Their lives burned as brightly ascandle flamesand were as easy to snuff out.

His hand tightened on the blade he carried, and he hadbegun to step out onto the dance floor, when a girl broke awayfrom the mass of dancers and began walking toward him. Hestared at her. She was beautiful, for a humanlong hair nearlythe precise color of black ink, charcoaled eyes. Floor-lengthwhite gown, the kind women used to wear when this world

was younger. Lace sleeves belled out around her slim arms.Around her neck was a thick silver chain, on which hung adark red pendant the size of a babys fist. He only had to nar-row his eyes to know that it was realreal and precious. Hismouth started to water as she neared him. Vital energy pulsedfrom her like blood from an open wound. She smiled, passinghim, beckoning with her eyes. He turned to follow her, tasting

the phantom sizzle of her death on his lips.It was always easy. He could already feel the power of herevaporating life coursing through his veins like fire. Humanswere so stupid. They had something so precious, and theybarely safeguarded it at all. They threw away their lives formoney, for packets of powder, for a strangers charming smile.The girl was a pale ghost retreating through the colored smoke.

She reached the wall and turned, bunching her skirt up in herhands, lifting it as she grinned at him. Under the skirt, she waswearing thigh-high boots.

He sauntered up to her, his skin prickling with her near-ness. Up close she wasnt so perfect: He could see the mascarasmudged under her eyes, the sweat sticking her hair to herneck. He could smell her mortality, the sweet rot of corrup-

tion. Got you,he thought.A cool smile curled her lips. She moved to the side, and

he could see that she was leaning against a closed door. noadmittancestorage was scrawled across it in red paint.

P A N D E M O N I U M 1 1


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She reached behind her for the knob, turned it, slid inside. Hecaught a glimpse of stacked boxes, tangled wiring. A storageroom. He glanced behind himno one was looking. So much

the better if she wanted privacy.He slipped into the room after her, unaware that he was

being followed.

So, Simon said, pretty good music, eh?Clary didnt reply. They were dancing, or what passed for it

a lot of swaying back and forth with occasional lunges towardthe floor as if one of them had dropped a contact lensina space between a group of teenage boys in metallic corsets, anda young Asian couple who were making out passionately, theircolored hair extensions tangled together like vines. A boy witha lip piercing and a teddy bear backpack was handing out freetablets of herbal ecstasy, his parachute pants flapping in the

breeze from the wind machine. Clary wasnt paying much atten-tion to their immediate surroundingsher eyes were on theblue-haired boy whod talked his way into the club. He wasprowling through the crowd as if he were looking for something.There was something about the way he moved that remindedher of something . . .

I, for one, Simon went on, am enjoying myself immensely.

This seemed unlikely. Simon, as always, stuck out at the clublike a sore thumb, in jeans and an old T-shirt that said madeinbrooklynacross the front. His freshly scrubbed hair wasdark brown instead of green or pink, and his glasses perchedcrookedly on the end of his nose. He looked less as if he werecontemplating the powers of darkness and more as if he wereon his way to chess club.

Mmm-hmm. Clary knew perfectly well that he cameto Pandemonium with her only because she liked it, that hethought it was boring. She wasnt even sure why it was that sheliked itthe clothes, the music, made it like a dream, someone



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elses life, not her boring real life at all. But she was always tooshy to talk to anyone but Simon.

The blue-haired boy was making his way off the dance floor.

He looked a little lost, as if he hadnt found whom he waslooking for. Clary wondered what would happen if she wentup and introduced herself, offered to show him around. Maybehed just stare at her. Or maybe he was shy too. Maybe hedbe grateful and pleased, and try not to show it, the way boysdidbut shed know. Maybe

The blue-haired boy straightened up suddenly, snapping toattention, like a hunting dog on point. Clary followed the lineof his gaze, and saw the girl in the white dress.

Oh, well,Clary thought, trying not to feel like a deflated partyballoon. I guess thats that.The girl was gorgeous, the kind ofgirl Clary would have liked to drawtall and ribbon-slim, witha long spill of black hair. Even at this distance Clary could see

the red pendant around her throat. It pulsed under the lightsof the dance floor like a separate, disembodied heart.I feel, Simon went on, that this evening DJ Bat is doing

a singularly exceptional job. Dont you agree?Clary rolled her eyes and didnt answer; Simon hated trance

music. Her attention was on the girl in the white dress. Throughthe darkness, smoke, and artificial fog, her pale dress shone out

like a beacon. No wonder the blue-haired boy was followingher as if he were under a spell, too distracted to notice any-thing else around himeven the two dark shapes hard on hisheels, weaving after him through the crowd.

Clary slowed her dancing and stared. She could just makeout that the shapes were boys, tall and wearing black clothes.She couldnt have said how she knew that they were follow-

ing the other boy, but she did. She could see it in the waythey paced him, their careful watchfulness, the slinking graceof their movements. A small flower of apprehension began toopen inside her chest.



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Meanwhile, Simon added, I wanted to tell you that latelyIve been cross-dressing. Also, Im sleeping with your mom. Ithought you should know.

The girl had reached the wall, and was opening a doormarked noadmittance. She beckoned the blue-haired boyafter her, and they slipped through the door. It wasnt anythingClary hadnt seen before, a couple sneaking off to the dark cor-ners of the club to make outbut that made it even weirderthat they were being followed.

She raised herself up on tiptoe, trying to see over the crowd.The two guys had stopped at the door and seemed to be con-ferring with each other. One of them was blond, the otherdark-haired. The blond one reached into his jacket and drewout something long and sharp that flashed under the strobinglights. A knife. Simon! Clary shouted, and seized his arm.

What? Simon looked alarmed. Im not really sleeping with

your mom, you know. I was just trying to get your attention.Not that your mom isnt a very attractive woman, for her age.Do you see those guys? She pointed wildly, almost hitting

a curvy black girl who was dancing nearby. The girl shot heran evil look. Sorrysorry! Clary turned back to Simon. Doyou see those two guys over there? By that door?

Simon squinted, then shrugged. I dont see anything.

There are two of them. They were following the guy withthe blue hair

The one you thought was cute?Yes, but thats not the point. The blond one pulled a

knife.Are you sure? Simon stared harder, shaking his head.

I still dont see anyone.

Im sure.Suddenly all business, Simon squared his shoulders. Ill get

one of the security guards. You stay here. He strode away,pushing through the crowd.



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Clary turned just in time to see the blond boy slip through thenoadmittancedoor, his friend right on his heels. She lookedaround; Simon was still trying to shove his way across the dance

floor, but he wasnt making much progress. Even if she yellednow, no one would hear her, and by the time Simon got back,something terrible might alreadyhave happened. Biting hard onher lower lip, Clary started to wriggle through the crowd.

Whats your name?

She turned and smiled. What faint light there was in thestorage room spilled down through high barred windowssmeared with dirt. Piles of electrical cables, along with brokenbits of mirrored disco balls and discarded paint cans, litteredthe floor.

Isabelle.Thats a nice name. He walked toward her, stepping care-

fully among the wires in case any of them were live. In the faintlight she looked half-transparent, bleached of color, wrapped inwhite like an angel. It would be a pleasure to make her fall. . . .I havent seen you here before.

Youre asking me if I come here often? She giggled, cover-ing her mouth with her hand. There was some sort of braceletaround her wrist, just under the cuff of her dressthen, as he

neared her, he saw that it wasnt a bracelet at all but a patterninked into her skin, a matrix of swirling lines.

He froze. YouHe didnt finish. She moved with lightning swiftness, striking

out at him with her open hand, a blow to his chest that wouldhave sent him down gasping if hed been a human being. Hestaggered back, and now there was something in her hand, acoiling whip that glinted gold as she brought it down, curlingaround his ankles, jerking him off his feet. He hit the ground,writhing, the hated metal biting deep into his skin. She laughed,standing over him, and dizzily he thought that he should have



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known. No human girl would wear a dress like the one Isabellewore. Shed worn it to cover her skinall of her skin.

Isabelle yanked hard on the whip, securing it. Her smile

glittered like poisonous water. Hes all yours, boys.A low laugh sounded behind him, and now there were hands

on him, hauling him upright, throwing him against one of theconcrete pillars. He could feel the damp stone under his back.His hands were pulled behind him, his wrists bound with wire.As he struggled, someone walked around the side of the pillar

into his view: a boy, as young as Isabelle and just as pretty. Histawny eyes glittered like chips of amber. So, the boy said.Are there any more with you?

The blue-haired boy could feel blood welling up under thetoo-tight metal, making his wrists slippery. Any other what?

Come on now. The tawny-eyed boy held up his hands,and his dark sleeves slipped down, showing the runes inked all

over his wrists, the backs of his hands, his palms. You knowwhat I am.Far back inside his skull, the shackled boys second set of

teeth began to grind.Shadowhunter,he hissed.The other boy grinned all over his face. Got you, he said.

Clary pushed the door to the storage room open, and steppedinside. For a moment she thought it was deserted. The onlywindows were high up and barred; faint street noise camethrough them, the sound of honking cars and squealing brakes.The room smelled like old paint, and a heavy layer of dust cov-ered the floor, marked by smeared shoe prints.

Theres no one in here,she realized, looking around in bewil-derment. It was cold in the room, despite the August heatoutside. Her back was icy with sweat. She took a step forward,tangling her feet in electrical wires. She bent down to freeher sneaker from the cablesand heard voices. A girls laugh,



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a boy answering sharply. When she straightened up, she sawthem.

It was as if they had sprung into existence between one

blink of her eyes and the next. There was the girl in her longwhite dress, her black hair hanging down her back like dampseaweed. The two boys were with herthe tall one with blackhair like hers, and the smaller, fair one, whose hair gleamedlike brass in the dim light coming through the windows highabove. The fair boy was standing with his hands in his pockets,

facing the punk kid, who was tied to a pillar with what lookedlike piano wire, his hands stretched behind him, his legs boundat the ankles. His face was pulled tight with pain and fear.

Heart hammering in her chest, Clary ducked behind thenearest concrete pillar and peered around it. She watched asthe fair-haired boy paced back and forth, his arms now crossedover his chest. So, he said. You still havent told me if there

are any other of your kind with you.Your kind?Clary wondered what he was talking about. Maybe

shed stumbled into some kind of gang war.I dont know what youre talking about. The blue-haired

boys tone was pained but surly.He means other demons, said the dark-haired boy, speaking

for the first time. You do know what a demon is, dont you?

The boy tied to the pillar turned his face away, his mouthworking.

Demons, drawled the blond boy, tracing the word on theair with his finger. Religiously defined as hells denizens, theservants of Satan, but understood here, for the purposes of theClave, to be any malevolent spirit whose origin is outside ourown home dimension

Thats enough, Jace, said the girl.Isabelles right, agreed the taller boy. Nobody here needs

a lesson in semanticsor demonology.Theyre crazy,Clary thought.Actually crazy.



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Jace raised his head and smiled. There was something fierceabout the gesture, something that reminded Clary of documen-taries shed watched about lions on the Discovery Channel,

the way the big cats would raise their heads and sniff the airfor prey. Isabelle and Alec think I talk too much, he said,confidingly. Doyouthink I talk too much?

The blue-haired boy didnt reply. His mouth was still work-ing. I could give you information, he said. I know whereValentine is.

Jace glanced back at Alec, who shrugged. Valentines in theground, Jace said. The things just toying with us.Isabelle tossed her hair. Kill it, Jace, she said. Its not

going to tell us anything.Jace raised his hand, and Clary saw dim light spark off the

knife he was holding. It was oddly translucent, the blade clear ascrystal, sharp as a shard of glass, the hilt set with red stones.

The bound boy gasped. Valentine is back! he protested,dragging at the bonds that held his hands behind his back. Allthe Infernal Worlds know itI know itI can tell you wherehe is

Rage flared suddenly in Jaces icy eyes. By the Angel, everytime we capture one of you bastards, you claim you knowwhere Valentine is. Well, we know where he is too. Hes in

hell. And you Jace turned the knife in his grasp, the edgesparking like a line of fire. You canjoin him there.

Clary could take no more. She stepped out from behind thepillar. Stop! she cried. You cant do this.

Jace whirled, so startled that the knife flew from his handand clattered against the concrete floor. Isabelle and Alec turnedalong with him, wearing identical expressions of astonishment.

The blue-haired boy hung in his bonds, stunned and gaping.It was Alec who spoke first. Whats this? he demanded,

looking from Clary to his companions, as if they might knowwhat she was doing there.



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Its a girl, Jace said, recovering his composure. Surelyyouve seen girls before, Alec. Your sister Isabelle is one. Hetook a step closer to Clary, squinting as if he couldnt quite

believe what he was seeing. A mundie girl, he said, half tohimself. And she can see us.

Of course I can see you, Clary said. Im not blind, youknow.

Oh, but you are, said Jace, bending to pick up his knife.You just dont know it. He straightened up. Youd better

get out of here, if you know whats good for you.Im not going anywhere, Clary said. If I do, youll killhim. She pointed at the boy with the blue hair.

Thats true, admitted Jace, twirling the knife between hisfingers. What do you care if I kill him or not?

Be-because Clary spluttered. You cant just go aroundkilling people.

Youre right, said Jace. You cant go around killingpeo-ple. He pointed at the boy with blue hair, whose eyes wereslitted. Clary wondered if hed fainted. Thats not a person,little girl. It may look like a person and talk like a person andmaybe even bleed like a person. But its a monster.

Jace,said Isabelle warningly. Thats enough.Youre crazy, Clary said, backing away from him. Ive

called the police, you know. Theyll be here any second.Shes lying, said Alec, but there was doubt on his face.

Jace, do youHe never got to finish his sentence. At that moment

the blue-haired boy, with a high, yowling cry, tore free ofthe restraints binding him to the pillar, and flung himself onJace.

They fell to the ground and rolled together, the blue-hairedboy tearing at Jace with hands that glittered as if tipped withmetal. Clary backed up, wanting to run, but her feet caught ona loop of wiring and she went down, knocking the breath out



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of her chest. She could hear Isabelle shrieking. Rolling over,Clary saw the blue-haired boy sitting on Jaces chest. Bloodgleamed at the tips of his razorlike claws.

Isabelle and Alec were running toward them, Isabelle bran-dishing the whip in her hand. The blue-haired boy slashed atJace with claws extended. Jace threw an arm up to protect him-self, and the claws raked it, splattering blood. The blue-hairedboy lunged againand Isabelles whip came down across hisback. He shrieked and fell to the side.

Swift as a flick of Isabelles whip, Jace rolled over. Therewas a blade gleaming in his hand. He sank the knife into theblue-haired boys chest. Blackish liquid exploded around thehilt. The boy arched off the floor, gurgling and twisting. Witha grimace Jace stood up. His black shirt was blacker now insome places, wet with blood. He looked down at the twitchingform at his feet, reached down, and yanked out the knife. The

hilt was slick with black fluid.The blue-haired boys eyes flickered open. His eyes, fixed onJace, seemed to burn. Between his teeth, he hissed, So be it.The Forsaken will take you all.

Jace seemed to snarl. The boys eyes rolled back. His bodybegan to jerk and twitch as he crumpled, folding in on himself,growing smaller and smaller until he vanished entirely.

Clary scrambled to her feet, kicking free of the electricalwiring. She began to back away. None of them were pay-ing attention to her. Alec had reached Jace and was holdinghis arm, pulling at the sleeve, probably trying to get a goodlook at the wound. Clary turned to runand found her wayblocked by Isabelle, whip in hand. The gold length of it wasstained with dark fluid. She flicked it toward Clary, and the end

wrapped itself around her wrist and jerked tight. Clary gaspedwith pain and surprise.

Stupid little mundie, Isabelle said between her teeth. Youcould have gotten Jace killed.



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Hes crazy, Clary said, trying to pull her wrist back. Thewhip bit deeper into her skin. Youre all crazy. What do youthink you are, vigilante killers? The police

The police arent usually interested unless you can producea body, said Jace. Cradling his arm, he picked his way acrossthe cable-strewn floor toward Clary. Alec followed behind him,face screwed into a scowl.

Clary glanced at the spot where the boy had disappearedfrom, and said nothing. There wasnt even a smear of blood

therenothing to show that the boy had ever existed.They return to their home dimensions when they die, saidJace. In case you were wondering.

Jace, Alec hissed. Be careful.Jace drew his arm away. A ghoulish freckling of blood

marked his face. He still reminded her of a lion, with his wide-spaced, light-colored eyes, and that tawny gold hair. She can

see us, Alec, he said. She already knows too much.So what do you want me to do with her? Isabelledemanded.

Let her go, Jace said quietly. Isabelle shot him a surprised,almost angry look, but didnt argue. The whip slithered away,freeing Clarys arm. She rubbed her sore wrist and wonderedhow the hell she was going to get out of there.

Maybe we should bring her back with us, Alec said. I betHodge would like to talk to her.

No way are we bringing her to the Institute, said Isabelle.Shes a mundie.

Or is she? said Jace softly. His quiet tone was worse thanIsabelles snapping or Alecs anger. Have you had dealingswith demons, little girl? Walked with warlocks, talked with the

Night Children? Have youMy name is not little girl, Clary interrupted. And I have

no idea what youre talking about. Dont you?said a voice inthe back of her head. You saw that boy vanish into thin air. Jace isnt



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crazyyou just wish he was.I dont believe inin demons, orwhatever you

Clary? It was Simons voice. She whirled around. He was

standing by the storage room door. One of the burly bouncerswhod been stamping hands at the front door was next to him.Are you okay? He peered at her through the gloom. Whyare you in here by yourself? What happened to the guysyouknow, the ones with the knives?

Clary stared at him, then looked behind her, where Jace,

Isabelle, and Alec stood, Jace still in his bloody shirt withthe knife in his hand. He grinned at her and dropped a half-apologetic, half-mocking shrug. Clearly he wasnt surprisedthat neither Simon nor the bouncer could see them.

Somehow neither was Clary. Slowly she turned back toSimon, knowing how she must look to him, standing alone ina damp storage room, her feet tangled in bright plastic wiring

cables. I thought they went in here, she said lamely. But Iguess they didnt. Im sorry. She glanced from Simon, whoseexpression was changing from worried to embarrassed, to thebouncer, who just looked annoyed. It was a mistake.

Behind her, Isabelle giggled.

I dont believe it, Simon said stubbornly as Clary, standing

at the curb, tried desperately to hail a cab. Street cleaners hadcome down Orchard while they were inside the club, and thestreet was glossed black with oily water.

I know, she agreed. Youd think thered be some cabs.Where is everyone going at midnight on a Sunday? She turnedback to him, shrugging. You think wed have better luck onHouston?

Not the cabs, Simon said. YouI dont believe you.I dont believe those guys with the knives just disappeared.

Clary sighed. Maybe there werent any guys with knives,Simon. Maybe I just imagined the whole thing.



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No way. Simon raised his hand over his head, but theoncoming taxis whizzed by him, spraying dirty water. I sawyour face when I came into that storage room. You looked

seriously freaked out, like youd seen a ghost.Clary thought of Jace with his lion-cat eyes. She glanced

down at her wrist, braceleted by a thin red line where Isabelleswhip had curled. No, not a ghost, she thought. Something evenweirder than that.

It was just a mistake, she said wearily. She wondered why

she wasnt telling him the truth. Except, of course, that hedthink she was crazy. And there was something about whathad happenedsomething about the black blood bubbling uparound Jaces knife, something about his voice when hed saidHave you talked with the Night Children?that she wanted to keepto herself.

Well, it was a hell of an embarrassing mistake, Simon said.

He glanced back at the club, where a thin line still snaked outthe door and halfway down the block. I doubt theyll ever letus back into Pandemonium.

What do you care? You hate Pandemonium. Clary raisedher hand again as a yellow shape sped toward them throughthe fog. This time, though, the taxi screeched to a halt at theircorner, the driver laying into his horn as if he needed to get

their attention.Finally we get lucky. Simon yanked the taxi door open and

slid onto the plastic-covered backseat. Clary followed, inhal-ing the familiar New York cab smell of old cigarette smoke,leather, and hair spray. Were going to Brooklyn, Simon saidto the cabbie, and then he turned to Clary. Look, you knowyou can tell me anything, right?

Clary hesitated a moment, then nodded. Sure, Simon, shesaid. I know I can.

She slammed the cab door shut behind her, and the taxitook off into the night.



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S E C R E T S A N D L I E S

THE DARK PRINCE SAT ASTRIDE HIS BLACK STEED, HIS SABLEcape flowing behind him. A golden circlet bound his blond locks,

his handsome face was cold with the rage of battle, and . . .And his arm looked like an eggplant, Clary muttered toherself in exasperation. The drawing just wasnt working. Witha sigh she tore yet another sheet from her sketchpad, crumpledit up, and tossed it against the orange wall of her bedroom.Already the floor was littered with discarded balls of paper, asure sign that her creative juices werent flowing the way shed

hoped. She wished for the thousandth time that she could bea bit more like her mother. Everything Jocelyn Fray drew,painted, or sketched was beautiful, and seemingly effortless.

Clary pulled her headphones outcutting off SteppingRazor in midsongand rubbed her aching temples. It was onlythen that she became aware that the loud, piercing sound of aringing telephone was echoing through the apartment. Tossingthe sketchpad onto the bed, she jumped to her feet and raninto the living room, where the retro-red phone sat on a tablenear the front door.

Is this Clarissa Fray? The voice on the other end of the


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phone sounded familiar, though not immediately identifiable.Clary twirled the phone cord nervously around her finger.

Yeees?

Hi, Im one of the knife-carrying hooligans you met lastnight in Pandemonium? Im afraid I made a bad impressionand was hoping youd give me a chance to make it up to

SIMON! Clary held the phone away from her ear as hecracked up laughing. That is so not funny!

Sure it is. You just dont see the humor.

Jerk. Clary sighed, leaning up against the wall. Youwouldnt be laughing if youd been here when I got home lastnight.

Why not?My mom. She wasnt happy that we were late. She freaked

out. It was messy.What? Its not our fault there was traffic! Simon protested.

He was the youngest of three children and had a finely honedsense of familial injustice.Yeah, well, she doesnt see it that way. I disappointed her,

I let her down, I made her worry, blah blah blah. I am the baneof her existence, Clary said, mimicking her mothers precisephrasing with only a slight twinge of guilt.

So, are you grounded? Simon asked, a little too loudly.

Clary could hear a low rumble of voices behind him: peopletalking over each other.

I dont know yet, she said. My mom went out thismorning with Luke, and theyre not back yet. Where are you,anyway? Erics?

Yeah. We just finished up practice. A cymbal clashedbehind Simon. Clary winced. Erics doing a poetry readingover at Java Jones tonight, Simon went on, naming a coffeeshop around the corner from Clarys that sometimes had livemusic at night. The whole bands going to go to show theirsupport. Want to come?

S E C R E T S A N D L I E S 2 5


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Yeah, all right. Clary paused, tugging on the phone cordanxiously. Wait, no.

Shut up, guys, will you? Simon yelled, the faintness of

his voice making Clary suspect that he was holding the phoneaway from his mouth. He was back a second later, soundingtroubled. Was that a yes or a no?

I dont know. Clary bit her lip. My moms still mad atme about last night. Im not sure I want to piss her off by ask-ing for any favors. If Im going to get in trouble, I dont want

it to be on account of Erics lousy poetry.Come on, its not so bad, Simon said. Eric was his next-door neighbor, and the two had known each other most of theirlives. They werent close the way Simon and Clary were, but theyhad formed a rock band together at the start of sophomore year,along with Erics friends Matt and Kirk. They practiced togetherfaithfully in Erics parents garage every week. Besides, its not

a favor, Simon added, its a poetry slam around the blockfrom your house. Its not like Im inviting you to some orgy inHoboken. Your mom can come along if she wants.

ORGY IN HOBOKEN! Clary heard someone, probablyEric, yell. Another cymbal crashed. She imagined her motherlistening to Eric read his poetry, and she shuddered inwardly.

I dont know. If all of you show up here, I think shell

freak.Then Ill come alone. Ill pick you up and we can walk

over there together, meet the rest of them there. Your momwont mind. She loves me.

Clary had to laugh. Sign of her questionable taste, if youask me.

Nobody did. Simon clicked off, amid shouts from his

bandmates.Clary hung up the phone and glanced around the living room.

Evidence of her mothers artistic tendencies was everywhere,from the handmade velvet throw pillows piled on the dark red



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sofa to the walls hung with Jocelyns paintings, carefully framedlandscapes, mostly: the winding streets of downtown Manhattanlit with golden light; scenes of Prospect Park in winter, the gray

ponds edged with lacelike films of white ice.On the mantel over the fireplace was a framed photo of

Clarys father. A thoughtful-looking fair man in military dress,his eyes bore the telltale traces of laugh lines at the corners.Hed been a decorated soldier serving overseas. Jocelyn hadsome of his medals in a small box by her bed. Not that the

medals had done anyone any good when Jonathan Clark hadcrashed his car into a tree just outside Albany and died beforehis daughter was even born.

Jocelyn had gone back to using her maiden name after hedied. She never talked about Clarys father, but she kept thebox engraved with his initials, J. C., next to her bed. Alongwith the medals were one or two photos, a wedding ring, and

a single lock of blond hair. Sometimes Jocelyn took the boxout and opened it and held the lock of hair very gently in herhands before putting it back and carefully locking the box upagain.

The sound of the key turning in the front door roused Claryout of her reverie. Hastily she threw herself down on the couchand tried to look as if she were immersed in one of the paper-

backs her mother had left stacked on the end table. Jocelynrecognized reading as a sacred pastime and usually wouldntinterrupt Clary in the middle of a book, even to yell at her.

The door opened with a thump. It was Luke, his arms fullof what looked like big square pieces of pasteboard. Whenhe set them down, Clary saw that they were cardboard boxes,folded flat. He straightened up and turned to her with a smile.

Hey, Unhey, Luke, she said. Hed asked her to stopcalling him Uncle Luke about a year ago, claiming that it madehim feel old, and anyway reminded him of Uncle Toms Cabin.Besides, hed reminded her gently, he wasnt really her uncle,



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just a close friend of her mothers whod known her all herlife. Wheres Mom?

Parking the truck, he said, straightening his lanky frame

with a groan. He was dressed in his usual uniform: old jeans, aflannel shirt, and a bent pair of gold-rimmed spectacles that sataskew on the bridge of his nose. Remind me again why thisbuilding has no service elevator?

Because its old, and has character, Clary said immediately.Luke grinned. What are the boxes for? she asked.

His grin vanished. Your mother wanted to pack up somethings, he said, avoiding her gaze.What things? Clary asked.He gave an airy wave. Extra stuff lying around the house.

Getting in the way. You know she never throws anything out. Sowhat are you up to? Studying? He plucked the book out of herhand and read out loud: The world still teems with those motley

beings whom a more sober philosophy has discarded. Fairies andgoblins, ghosts and demons, still hover aboutHe lowered thebook and looked at her over his glasses. Is this for school?

The Golden Bough? No. Schools not for a few weeks. Clarytook the book back from him. Its my moms.

I had a feeling.She dropped it back on the table. Luke?

Uh-huh? The book already forgotten, he was rummaging inthe tool kit next to the hearth. Ah, here it is. He pulled out anorange plastic tape gun and gazed at it with deep satisfaction.

What would you do if you saw something nobody elsecould see?

The tape gun fell out of Lukes hand, and hit the tiledhearth. He knelt to pick it up, not looking at her. You mean

if I were the only witness to a crime, that sort of thing?No. I mean, if there were other people around, but you

were the only one who could see something. As if it wereinvisible to everyone but you.



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He hesitated, still kneeling, the dented tape gun gripped inhis hand.

I know it sounds crazy, Clary ventured nervously, but . . .

He turned around. His eyes, very blue behind the glasses,rested on her with a look of firm affection. Clary, youre anartist, like your mother. That means you see the world in waysthat other people dont. Its your gift, to see the beauty andthe horror in ordinary things. It doesnt make you crazyjustdifferent. Theres nothing wrong with being different.

Clary pulled her legs up, and rested her chin on her knees.In her minds eye she saw the storage room, Isabelles goldwhip, the blue-haired boy convulsing in his death spasms, andJaces tawny eyes. Beauty and horror.She said, If my dad hadlived, do you think hed have been an artist too?

Luke looked taken aback. Before he could answer her, thedoor swung open and Clarys mother stalked into the room,

her boot heels clacking on the polished wooden floor. Shehanded Luke a set of jingling car keys and turned to look ather daughter.

Jocelyn Fray was a slim, compact woman, her hair a fewshades darker than Clarys and twice as long. At the momentit was twisted up in a dark red knot, stuck through with agraphite pen to hold it in place. She wore paint-spattered over-

alls over a lavender T-shirt, and brown hiking boots whosesoles were caked with oil paint.

People always told Clary that she looked like her mother,but she couldnt see it herself. The only thing that was similarabout them was their figures: They were both slender, withsmall chests and narrow hips. She knew she wasnt beautifullike her mother was. To be beautiful you had to be willowy

and tall. When you were as short as Clary was, just over fivefeet, you were cute. Not pretty or beautiful, but cute. Throw incarroty hair and a face full of freckles, and she was a RaggedyAnn to her mothers Barbie doll.



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Jocelyn even had a graceful way of walking that made peo-ple turn their heads to watch her go by. Clary, by contrast, wasalways tripping over her feet. The only time people turned to

watch her go by was when she hurtled past them as she felldownstairs.

Thanks for bringing the boxes up, Clarys mother said toLuke, and smiled at him. He didnt return the smile. Clarysstomach did an uneasy flip. Clearly there was something goingon. Sorry it took me so long to find a space. There must be a

million people at the park todayMom? Clary interrupted. What are the boxes for?Jocelyn bit her lip. Luke flicked his eyes toward Clary, mutely

urging Jocelyn forward. With a nervous twitch of her wrist,Jocelyn pushed a dangling lock of hair behind her ear and wentto join her daughter on the couch.

Up close Clary could see how tired her mother looked.

There were dark half-moons under her eyes, and her lids werepearly with sleeplessness.Is this about last night? Clary asked.No, her mother said quickly, and then hesitated. Maybe

a little. You shouldnt have done what you did last night. Youknow better.

And I already apologized. What is this about? If youre

grounding me, get it over with.Im not, said her mother, grounding you. Her voice

was as taut as a wire. She glanced at Luke, who shook hishead.

Just tell her, Jocelyn, he said.Could you not talk about me like Im not here? Clary said

angrily. And what do you mean, tell me? Tell me what?

Jocelyn expelled a sigh. Were going on vacation.Lukes expression went blank, like a canvas wiped clean of

paint.Clary shook her head. Thats what this is about? Youre



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going on vacation? She sank back against the cushions. Idont get it. Why the big production?

I dont think you understand. I meant were all going on

vacation. The three of usyou, me, and Luke. Were going tothe farmhouse.

Oh. Clary glanced at Luke, but he had his arms crossedover his chest and was staring out the window, his jaw pulledtight. She wondered what was upsetting him. He loved the oldfarmhouse in upstate New Yorkhed bought and restored it

himself ten years before, and he went there whenever he could.For how long?For the rest of the summer, said Jocelyn. I brought

the boxes in case you want to pack up any books, paintingsupplies

For the rest of the summer? Clary sat upright with indigna-tion. I cant do that, Mom. I have plansSimon and I were

going to have a back-to-school party, and Ive got a bunch ofmeetings with my art group, and ten more classes at TischIm sorry about Tisch. But the other things can be can-

celed. Simon will understand, and so will your art group.Clary heard the implacability in her mothers tone and real-

ized she was serious. But I paid for those art classes! I savedup all year! You promised. She whirled, turning to Luke. Tell

her! Tell her it isnt fair!Luke didnt look away from the window, though a muscle

jumped in his cheek. Shes your mother. Its her decision tomake.

I dont get it. Clary turned back to her mother. Why?I have to get away, Clary, Jocelyn said, the corners of her

mouth trembling. I need the peace, the quiet, to paint. And

money is tight right nowSo sell some more of Dads stocks, Clary said angrily.

Thats what you usually do, isnt it?Jocelyn recoiled. Thats hardly fair.



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Look, go if you want to go. I dont care. Ill stay here with-out you. I can work; I can get a job at Starbucks or something.Simon said theyre always hiring. Im old enough to take care

of myselfNo! The sharpness in Jocelyns voice made Clary jump.

Ill pay you back for the art classes, Clary. But you are com-ing with us. It isnt optional. Youre too young to stay here onyour own. Something could happen.

Like what? What could happen? Clary demanded.

There was a crash. She turned in surprise to find that Lukehad knocked over one of the framed pictures leaning againstthe wall. Looking distinctly upset, he set it back. When hestraightened, his mouth was set in a grim line. Im leaving.

Jocelyn bit her lip. Wait. She hurried after him into theentryway, catching up just as he seized the doorknob. Twistingaround on the sofa, Clary could just overhear her mothers

urgent whisper. . . . Bane, Jocelyn was saying. Ive been call-ing him and calling him for the past three weeks. His voicemail says hes in Tanzania. What am I supposed to do?

Jocelyn. Luke shook his head. You cant keep going tohim forever.

But ClaryIsnt Jonathan, Luke hissed. Youve never been the same

since it happened, but Clary isnt Jonathan.What does my father have to do with this? Clary thought,

bewildered.I cant just keep her at home, not let her go out. She wont

put up with it.Of course she wont! Luke sounded really angry. Shes

not a pet, shes a teenager. Almost an adult.If we were out of the city . . .Talk to her, Jocelyn. Lukes voice was firm. I mean it.

He reached for the doorknob.The door flew open. Jocelyn gave a little scream.



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Jesus! Luke exclaimed.Actually, its just me, said Simon. Although Ive been

told the resemblance is startling. He waved at Clary from the

doorway. You ready?Jocelyn took her hand away from her mouth. Simon, were

you eavesdropping?Simon blinked. No, I just got here. He looked from

Jocelyns pale face to Lukes grim one. Is something wrong?Should I go?

Dont bother, Luke said. I think were done here. Hepushed past Simon, thudding down the stairs at a rapid pace.Downstairs, the front door slammed shut.

Simon hovered in the doorway, looking uncertain. I cancome back later, he said. Really. It wouldnt be a problem.

That might Jocelyn began, but Clary was already on herfeet.

Forget it, Simon. Were leaving, she said, grabbing hermessenger bag from a hook near the door. She slung it overher shoulder, glaring at her mother. See you later, Mom.

Jocelyn bit her lip. Clary, dont you think we should talkabout this?

Well have plenty of time to talk while were on vacation,Clary said venomously, and had the satisfaction of seeing her

mother flinch. Dont wait up, she added, and, grabbingSimons arm, she half-dragged him out the front door.

He dug his heels in, looking apologetically over his shoulderat Clarys mother, who stood small and forlorn in the entry-way, her hands knitted tightly together. Bye, Mrs. Fray! hecalled. Have a nice evening!

Oh, shut up,Simon, Clary snapped, and slammed the door

behind them, cutting off her mothers reply.

Jesus, woman, dont rip my arm off, Simon protested as Claryhauled him downstairs after her, her green Skechers slapping



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against the wooden stairs with every angry step. She glancedup, half-expecting to see her mother glaring down from thelanding, but the apartment door stayed shut.

Sorry, Clary muttered, letting go of his wrist. She pausedat the foot of the stairs, her messenger bag banging againsther hip.

Clarys brownstone, like most in Park Slope, had once beenthe single residence of a wealthy family. Shades of its formergrandeur were still evident in the curving staircase, the chipped

marble entryway floor, and the wide single-paned skylight over-head. Now the house was split into separate apartments, andClary and her mother shared the three-floor building with adownstairs tenant, an elderly woman who ran a psychics shopout of her apartment. She hardly ever came out of it, thoughcustomer visits were infrequent. A gold plaque fixed to thedoor proclaimed her to be madamedorothea, seeressand

prophetess.The thick sweet scent of incense spilled from the half-opendoor into the foyer. Clary could hear a low murmur of voices.

Nice to see shes doing a booming business, Simon said.Its hard to get steady prophet work these days.

Do you have to be sarcastic about everything? Clarysnapped.

Simon blinked, clearly taken aback. I thought you liked itwhen I was witty and ironic.

Clary was about to reply when the door to MadameDorotheas swung fully open and a man stepped out. He wastall, with maple-syrup-colored skin, gold-green eyes like a cats,and tangled black hair. He grinned at her blindingly, showingsharp white teeth.

A wave of dizziness came over her, the strong sensationthat she was going to faint.

Simon glanced at her uneasily. Are you all right? You looklike youre going to pass out.



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She blinked at him. What? No, Im fine.He didnt seem to want to let it drop. You look like you

just saw a ghost.

She shook her head. The memory of having seen somethingteased her, but when she tried to concentrate, it slid away likewater. Nothing. I thought I saw Dorotheas cat, but I guessit was just a trick of the light. Simon stared at her. I haventeaten anything since yesterday, she added defensively. I guessIm a little out of it.

He slid a comforting arm around her shoulders. Come on,Ill buy you some food.

I just cant believe shes being like this, Clary said for thefourth time, chasing a stray bit of guacamole around her platewith the tip of a nacho. They were at a neighborhood Mexicanjoint, a hole in the wall called Nacho Mama. Like grounding

me every other week wasnt bad enough. Now Im going to beexiled for the rest of the summer.Well, you know, your mom gets like this sometimes,

Simon said. Like when she breathes in or out. He grinned ather around his veggie burrito.

Oh, sure, act like its funny, she said. Yourenot the onegetting dragged off to the middle of nowhere for God knows

how longClary. Simon interrupted her tirade. Im not the one

youre mad at. Besides, it isnt going to be permanent.How do you know that?Well, because I know your mom, Simon said, after a

pause. I mean, you and I have been friends for what, tenyears now? I know she gets like this sometimes. Shell think

better of it.Clary picked a hot pepper off her plate and nibbled the edge

meditatively. Do you, though? she said. Know her, I mean?I sometimes wonder if anyone does.



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Simon blinked at her. You lost me there.Clary sucked in air to cool her burning mouth. I mean,

she never talks about herself. I dont know anything about her

early life, or her family, or much about how she met my dad.She doesnt even have wedding photos. Its like her life startedwhen she had me. Thats what she always says when I ask herabout it.

Aw. Simon made a face at her. Thats sweet.No, it isnt. Its weird. Its weird that I dont know anything

about my grandparents. I mean, I know my dads parents werentvery nice to her, but could they have been thatbad? What kind ofpeople dont want to even meet their granddaughter?

Maybe she hates them. Maybe they were abusive or some-thing, Simon suggested. She does have those scars.

Clary stared at him. She has what?He swallowed a mouthful of burrito. Those little thin scars.

All over her back and her arms. I haveseen your mother in abathing suit, you know.I never noticed any scars, Clary said decidedly. I think

youre imagining things.He stared at her, and seemed about to say something when

her cell phone, buried in her messenger bag, began an insistentblaring. Clary fished it out, gazed at the numbers blinking on

the screen, and scowled. Its my mom.I could tell from the look on your face. You going to talk

to her?Not right now, Clary said, feeling the familiar bite of guilt

in her stomach as the phone stopped ringing and voice mailpicked up. I dont want to fight with her.

You can always stay at my house, Simon said. For as

long as you want.Well, well see if she calms down first. Clary punched the

voice mail button on her phone. Her mothers voice soundedtense, but she was clearly trying for lightness. Baby, Im sorry



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if I sprang the vacation plan on you. Come on home and welltalk. Clary hung the phone up before the message ended, feel-ing even guiltier and still angry at the same time. She wants to

talk about it.Do you want to talk to her?I dont know. Clary rubbed the back of her hand across

her eyes. Are you still going to the poetry reading?I promised I would.Clary stood up, pushing her chair back. Then Ill go with

you. Ill call her when its over. The strap of her messengerbag slid down her arm. Simon pushed it back up absently, hisfingers lingering at the bare skin of her shoulder.

The air outside was spongy with moisture, the humidityfrizzing Clarys hair and sticking Simons blue T-shirt to hisback. So, whats up with the band? she asked. Anythingnew? There was a lot of yelling in the background when I

talked to you earlier.Simons face lit up. Things are great, he said. Matt sayshe knows someone who could get us a gig at the Scrap Bar.Were talking about names again too.

Oh, yeah? Clary hid a smile. Simons band never actu-ally produced any music. Mostly they sat around in Simonsliving room, fighting about potential names and band logos.

She sometimes wondered if any of them could actually play aninstrument. Whats on the table?

Were choosing between Sea Vegetable Conspiracy andRock Solid Panda.

Clary shook her head. Those are both terrible.Eric suggested Lawn Chair Crisis.Maybe Eric should stick to gaming.

But then wed have to find a new drummer.Oh, is that what Eric does? I thought he just mooched

money off you and went around telling girls at school that hewas in a band in order to impress them.



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Not at all, Simon said breezily. Eric has turned over anew leaf. He has a girlfriend. Theyve been going out for threemonths.

Practically married, Clary said, stepping around a couplepushing a toddler in a stroller: a little girl with yellow plasticclips in her hair who was clutching a pixie doll with gold-streaked sapphire wings. Out of the corner of her eye Clarythought she saw the wings flutter. She turned her head hastily.

Which means, Simon continued, that I am the last mem-

ber of the bandnot

to have a girlfriend. Which, you know, isthe whole point of being in a band. To get girls.I thought it was all about the music. A man with a cane

cut across her path, heading for Berkeley Street. She glancedaway, afraid that if she looked at anyone for too long theywould sprout wings, extra arms, or long forked tongues likesnakes. Who cares if you have a girlfriend, anyway?

I care, Simon said gloomily. Pretty soon the only peopleleft without a girlfriend will be me and Wendell the schooljanitor. And he smells like Windex.

At least you know hes still available.Simon glared. Not funny, Fray.Theres always Sheila The Thong Barbarino, Clary sug-

gested. Clary had sat behind her in math class in ninth grade.

Every time Sheila had dropped her pencilwhich had beenoftenClary had been treated to the sight of Sheilas under-wear riding up above the waistband of her super-low-risejeans.

That iswho Erics been dating for the past three months,Simon said. His advice, meanwhile, was that I ought to justdecide which girl in school had the most rockin bod and ask

her out on the first day of classes.Eric is a sexist pig, Clary said, suddenly not wanting to

know which girl in school Simon thought had the most rockinbod. Maybe you should call the band the Sexist Pigs.



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It has a ring to it. Simon seemed unfazed. Clary made aface at him, her messenger bag vibrating as her phone blared.She fished it out of the zip pocket. Is it your mom again? he

asked.Clary nodded. She could see her mother in her minds

eye, small and alone in the doorway of their apartment. Guiltunfurled in her chest.

She glanced up at Simon, who was looking at her, his eyesdark with concern. His face was so familiar she could have

traced its lines in her sleep. She thought of the lonely weeksthat stretched ahead without him, and shoved the phone backinto her bag. Come on, she said. Were going to be late forthe show.



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S H A D O W H U N T E R

BYTHETIMETHEYGOTTOJAVAJONES, ERICWASALREADYonstage, swaying back and forth in front of the microphone

with his eyes squinched shut. Hed dyed the tips of his hairpink for the occasion. Behind him, Matt, looking stoned, wasbeating irregularly on a djembe.

This is going to suck so hard, Clary predicted. She grabbedSimons sleeve and tugged him toward the doorway. If wemake a run for it, we can still get away.

He shook his head determinedly. Im nothing if not a man

of my word. He squared his shoulders. Ill get the coffee ifyou find us a seat. What do you want?

Just coffee. Blacklike my soul.Simon headed off toward the coffee bar, muttering under

his breath something to the effect that it was a far, far betterthing he did now than he had ever done before. Clary went tofind them a seat.

The coffee shop was crowded for a Monday; most of thethreadbare-looking couches and armchairs were taken up withteenagers enjoying a free weeknight. The smell of coffee andclove cigarettes was overwhelming. Finally Clary found an


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unoccupied love seat in a darkened corner toward the back.The only other person nearby was a blond girl in an orangetank top, absorbed in playing with her iPod. Good, Clary

thought,Eric wont be able to find us back here after the show to askhow his poetry was.

The blond girl leaned over the side of her chair and tappedClary on the shoulder. Excuse me. Clary looked up in sur-prise. Is that your boyfriend? the girl asked.

Clary followed the line of the girls gaze, already prepared

to say,No, I dont know him,

when she realized the girl meantSimon. He was headed toward them, face scrunched up inconcentration as he tried not to drop either of his Styrofoamcups. Uh, no, Clary said. Hes a friend of mine.

The girl beamed. Hes cute. Does he have a girlfriend?Clary hesitated a second too long before replying. No.The girl looked suspicious. Is he gay?

Clary was spared responding to this by Simons return. Theblond girl sat back hastily as he set the cups on the table andthrew himself down next to Clary. I hate it when they runout of mugs. Those things are hot. He blew on his fingersand scowled. Clary tried to hide a smile as she watched him.Normally she never thought about whether Simon was good-looking or not. He had pretty dark eyes, she supposed, and hed

filled out well over the past year or so. With the right haircutYoure staring at me, Simon said. Why are you staring at

me? Have I got something on my face?I should tell him, she thought, though some part of her was

strangely reluctant. Id be a bad friend if I didnt.Dont look now,but that blond girl over there thinks youre cute, she whispered.

Simons eyes flicked sideways to stare at the girl, who was

industriously studying an issue of Shonen Jump. The girl inthe orange top? Clary nodded. Simon looked dubious. Whatmakes you think so?

Tell him. Go on, tell him. Clary opened her mouth to reply, and

S H A D O W H U N T E R 4 1


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was interrupted by a burst of feedback. She winced and coveredher ears as Eric, onstage, wrestled with his microphone.

Sorry about that, guys! he yelled. All right. Im Eric, and

this is my homeboy Matt on the drums. My first poem is calledUntitled. He screwed up his face as if in pain, and wailedinto the mike. Come, my faux juggernaut, my nefarious loins!Slather every protuberance with arid zeal!

Simon slid down in his seat. Please dont tell anyone Iknow him.

Clary giggled. Who uses the word loins?Eric, Simon said grimly. All his poems have loins in them. Turgid is my torment! Eric wailed. Agony swells

within! You bet it does, Clary said. She slid down in the seat next

to Simon. Anyway, about that girl who thinks youre cuteNever mind that for a second, Simon said. Clary blinked

at him in surprise. Theres something I wanted to talk to youabout.Furious Mole is not a good name for a band, Clary said

immediately.Not that, Simon said. Its about what we were talking

about before. About me not having a girlfriend.Oh. Clary lifted one shoulder in a shrug. Oh, I dont

know. Ask Jaida Jones out, she suggested, naming one of thefew girls at St. Xaviers she actually liked. Shes nice, and shelikes you.

I dont want to ask Jaida Jones out.Why not? Clary found herself seized with a sudden,

unspecific resentment. You dont like smart girls? Still seekinga rockin bod?

Neither, said Simon, who seemed agitated. I dont wantto ask her out because it wouldnt really be fair to her if Idid. . . .

He trailed off. Clary leaned forward. From the corner of her



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eye she could see the blond girl leaning forward too, plainlyeavesdropping. Why not?

Because I like someone else, Simon said.

Okay. Simon looked faintly greenish, the way he had oncewhen hed broken his ankle playing soccer in the park and hadhad to limp home on it. She wondered what on earth aboutliking someone could possibly have him wound up to such apitch of anxiety. Youre not gay, are you?

Simons greenish color deepened. If I were, I would dress

better.So, who is it, then? Clary asked. She was about to addthat if he were in love with Sheila Barbarino, Eric would kickhis ass, when she heard someone cough loudly behind her. Itwas a derisive sort of cough, the kind of noise someone mightmake who was trying not to laugh out loud.

She turned around.

Sitting on a faded green sofa a few feet away from her wasJace. He was wearing the same dark clothes hed had on thenight before in the club. His arms were bare and covered withfaint white lines like old scars. His wrists bore wide metal cuffs;she could see the bone handle of a knife protruding from theleft one. He was looking right at her, the side of his narrowmouth quirked in amusement. Worse than the feeling of being

laughed at was Clarys absolute conviction that he hadnt beensitting there five minutes ago.

What is it? Simon had followed her gaze, but it was obviousfrom the blank expression on his face that he couldnt see Jace.

But I see you. She stared at Jace as she thought it, and heraised his left hand to wave at her. A ring glittered on a slimfinger. He got to his feet and began walking, unhurriedly,

toward the door. Clarys lips parted in surprise. He was leaving,just like that.

She felt Simons hand on her arm. He was saying her name,asking her if something was wrong. She barely heard him. Ill



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be right back, she heard herself say, as she sprang off thecouch, almost forgetting to set her coffee cup down. She racedtoward the door, leaving Simon staring after her.

Clary burst through the doors, terrified that Jace would havevanished into the alley shadows like a ghost. But he was there,slouched against the wall. He had just taken something out ofhis pocket and was punching buttons on it. He looked up insurprise as the door of the coffee shop fell shut behind her.

In the rapidly falling twilight, his hair looked coppery gold.Your friends poetry is terrible, he said.Clary blinked, caught momentarily off guard. What?I said his poetry was terrible. It sounds like he ate a dic-

tionary and started vomiting up words at random.I dont care about Erics poetry. Clary was furious. I

want to know why youre following me.

Who said I was following you?Nicetry. And you were eavesdropping, too. Do you wantto tell me what this is about, or should I just call the police?

And tell them what? Jace said witheringly. That invisiblepeople are bothering you? Trust me, little girl, the police arentgoing to arrest someone they cant see.

I told you before, my name is not little girl, she said

through her teeth. Its Clary.I know, he said. Pretty name. Like the herb, clary sage.

In the old days people thought eating the seeds would let yousee the Fair Folk. Did you know that?

I have no idea what youre talking about.You dont know much, do you? he said. There was a lazy

contempt in his gold eyes. You seem to be a mundane like

any other mundane, yet you can see me. Its a conundrum.Whats a mundane?Someone of the human world. Someone like you.Butyourehuman, Clary said.



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I am, he said. But Im not like you. There was nodefensiveness in his tone. He sounded like he didnt care if shebelieved him or not.

You think youre better. Thats why you were laughing at us.I was laughing at you because declarations of love amuse

me, especially when unrequited, he said. And because yourSimon is one of the most mundane mundanes Ive everencountered. And because Hodge thought you might be dan-gerous, but if you are, you certainly dont know it.

Im

dangerous? Clary echoed in astonishment. I saw youkill someone last night. I saw you drive a knife up under hisribs, andAnd I saw him slash at you with fingers like razor blades.I saw you cut and bleeding, and now you look as if nothing ever touched

you.

I may be a killer, Jace said, but I know what I am. Canyou say the same?

Im an ordinary human being, just like you said. WhosHodge?My tutor. And I wouldnt be so quick to brand myself as

ordinary, if I were you. He leaned forward. Let me see yourright hand.

My right hand? Clary echoed. He nodded. If I show youmy hand, will you leave me alone?

Certainly. His voice was edged with amusement.She held out her right hand grudgingly. It looked pale in

the half-light spilling from the windows, the knuckles dottedwith a light dusting of freckles. Somehow she felt as exposedas if she were pulling up her shirt and showing him her nakedchest. He took her hand in his and turned it over. Nothing.He sounded almost disappointed. Youre not left-handed, are

you?No. Why?He released her hand with a shrug. Most Shadowhunter

children get Marked on their right handsor left, if theyre



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left-handed like I amwhen theyre still young. Its a permanentrune that lends an extra skill with weapons. He showed her theback of his left hand; it looked perfectly normal to her.

I dont see anything, she said.Let your mind relax, he suggested. Wait for it to come to

you. Like waiting for something to rise to the surface of water.Youre crazy. But she relaxed, gazing at his hand, seeing the

tiny lines across the knuckles, the long joints of the fingersIt jumped out at her suddenly, flashing like a dontwalk

sign. A black design like an eye across the back of his hand.She blinked, and it vanished. A tattoo?He smiled smugly and lowered his hand. I thought you

could do it. And its not a tattooits a Mark. Theyre runes,burned into our skin.

They make you handle weapons better? Clary found thishard to believe, though perhaps no more hard to believe than

the existence of zombies.Different Marks do different things. Some are permanentbut the majority vanish when theyve been used.

Thats why your arms arent all inked up today? she asked.Even when I concentrate?

Thats exactly why. He sounded pleased with himself. Iknew you had the Sight, at least. He glanced up at the sky.

Its nearly full dark. We should go.We?I thought you were going to leave me alone.I lied, Jace said without a shred of embarrassment. Hodge

said I have to bring you to the Institute with me. He wants totalk to you.

Why would he want to talk to me?Because you know the truth now, Jace said. There hasnt

been a mundane who knew about us for at least a hundredyears.

About us? she echoed. You mean people like you. Peoplewho believe in demons.



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People who kill them, said Jace. Were called Shadowhunters.At least, thats what we call ourselves. The Downworlders haveless complimentary names for us.

Downworlders?The Night Children. Warlocks. The fey. The magical folk

of this dimension.Clary shook her head. Dont stop there. I suppose there

are also, what, vampires and werewolves and zombies?Of course there are, Jace informed her. Although you

mostly find zombies farther south, where thevoudun

priestsare.What about mummies? Do they only hang around Egypt?Dont be ridiculous. No one believes in mummies.They dont?Of course not, Jace said. Look, Hodge will explain all

this to you when you see him.

Clary crossed her arms over her chest. What if I dontwant to see him?Thats your problem. You can come either willingly or

unwillingly.Clary couldnt believe her ears. Are you threatening to

kidnapme?If you want to look at it that way, Jace said, yes.

Clary opened her mouth to protest angrily, but was inter-rupted by a strident buzzing noise. Her phone was ringingagain.

Go ahead and answer that if you like, Jace said gener-ously.

The phone stopped ringing, then started up again, loud andinsistent. Clary frownedher mom must really be freaking out.

She half-turned away from Jace and began digging in her bag.By the time she unearthed the phone, it was on its third set ofrings. She raised it to her ear. Mom?

Oh, Clary. Oh, thank God. A sharp prickle of alarm ran up



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Clarys spine. Her mother sounded panicked. Listen to meIts all right, Mom. Im fine. Im on my way homeNo! Terror scraped Jocelyns voice raw. Dont come

home! Do you understand me, Clary? Dont you dare comehome. Go to Simons. Go straight to Simons house and staythere until I can A noise in the background interrupted her:the sound of something falling, shattering, something heavystriking the floor

Mom! Clary shouted into the phone. Mom, are you all

right?A loud buzzing noise came from the phone. Clarys moth-ers voice cut through the static: Just promise me you wontcome home. Go to Simons and call Luketell him that hesfound me Her words were drowned out by a heavy crashlike splintering wood.

Whosfound you? Mom, did you call the police? Did you

Her frantic question was cut off by a noise Clary wouldnever forgeta harsh, slithering noise, followed by a thump.Clary heard her mother draw in a sharp breath before speak-ing, her voice eerily calm: I love you, Clary.

The phone went dead.

Mom!Clary shrieked into the phone. Mom, are you there?

callended, the screen said. But why would her mother havehung up like that?

Clary, Jace said. It was the first time shed ever heard himsay her name. Whats going on?

Clary ignored him. Feverishly she hit the button that dialedher home number. There was no answer except a double-tonebusy signal.

Clarys hands had begun to shake uncontrollably. When shetried to redial, the phone slipped out of her shaking grasp andhit the pavement hard. She dropped to her knees to retrieveit, but it was dead, a long crack visible across the front.



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Dammit! Almost in tears, she threw the phone down.Stop that. Jace hauled her to her feet, his hand gripping

her wrist. Has something happened?

Give me your phone, Clary said, grabbing the black metaloblong out of his shirt pocket. I have to

Its not a phone, Jace said, making no move to get itback. Its a Sensor. You wont be able to use it.

But I need to call the police!Tell me what happened first. She tried to yank her wrist

back, but his grip was incredibly strong. I canhelp

you.Rage flooded through Clary, a hot tide through her veins.Without even thinking about it, she struck out at his face, hernails raking his cheek. He jerked back in surprise. Tearing her-self free, Clary ran toward the lights of Seventh Avenue.

When she reached the street, she spun around, half-expecting to see Jace at her heels. But the alley was empty.

For a moment she stared uncertainly into the shadows. Nothingmoved inside them. She spun on her heel and ran for home.



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R A V E N E R

THE NIGHT HAD GOTTEN EVEN HOTTER, AND RUNNING HOMEfelt like swimming as fast as she could through boiling soup.

At the corner of her block Clary got trapped at a dontwalksign. She jittered up and down impatiently on the balls of herfeet while traffic whizzed by in a blur of headlights. She tried tocall home again, but Jace hadnt been lying; his phone wasntaphone. At least, it didnt look like any phone Clary had ever seenbefore. The Sensors buttons didnt have numbers on them, justmore of those bizarre symbols, and there was no screen.

Jogging up the street toward her house, she saw that thesecond-floor windows were lit, the usual sign that her motherwas home. Okay,she told herself.Everythings fine. But her stom-ach tightened the moment she stepped into the entryway. Theoverhead light had burned out, and the foyer was in darkness.The shadows seemed full of secret movement. Shivering, shestarted upstairs.

And just where do you think youre going? said a voice.Clary whirled. WhatShe broke off. Her eyes were adjusting to the dimness, and

she could see the shape of a large armchair, drawn up in front of


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Madame Dorotheas closed door. The old woman was wedgedinto it like an overstuffed cushion. In the dimness Clary couldsee only the round shape of her powdered face, the white lace

fan in her hand, the dark, yawning gap of her mouth when shespoke. Your mother, Dorothea said, has been making a god-awful racket up there. Whats she doing? Moving furniture?

I dont thinkAnd the stairwell lights burned out, did you notice?

Dorothea rapped her fan against the arm of the chair. Cant

your mother get her boyfriend in to change it?Luke isntThe skylight needs washing too. Its filthy. No wonder its

nearly pitch-black in here.Luke is NOT the landlord,Clary wanted to say, but didnt.

This was typical of her elderly neighbor. Once she got Luketo come around and change the lightbulb, shed ask him to

do a hundred other thingspick up her groceries, grout hershower. Once shed made him chop up an old sofa with anax so she could get it out of the apartment without taking thedoor off the hinges.

Clary sighed. Ill ask.Youd better. Dorothea snapped her fan shut with a flick

of her wrist.

Clarys sense that something was wrong only increased whenshe reached the apartment door. It was unlocked, hanging slightlyopen, spilling a wedge-shaped shaft of light onto the landing.With a feeling of increasing panic she pushed the door open.

Inside the apartment the lights were on, all the lamps, eve-rything turned up to full brightness. The glow stabbed into hereyes.

Her mothers keys and pink handbag were on the smallwrought-iron shelf by the door, where she always left them.Mom? Clary called out. Mom, Im home.

There was no reply. She went into the living room. Both

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windows were open, yards of gauzy white curtains blowing inthe breeze like restless ghosts. Only when the wind droppedand the curtains settled did Clary see that the cushions had

been ripped from the sofa and scattered around the room.Some were torn lengthwise, cotton innards spilling onto thefloor. The bookshelves had been tipped over, their contentsscattered. The piano bench lay on its side, gaping open like awound, Jocelyns beloved music books spewing out.

Most terrifying were the paintings. Every single one had been

cut from its frame and ripped into strips, which were scatteredacross the floor. It must have been done with a knifecanvaswas almost impossible to tear with your bare hands. The emptyframes looked like bones picked clean. Clary felt a scream risingup in her chest. Mom!she shrieked. Where are you? Mommy!

She hadnt called Jocelyn Mommy since she was eight.Heart pumping, she raced into the kitchen. It was empty, the

cabinet doors open, a smashed bottle of Tabasco sauce spill-ing peppery red liquid onto the linoleum. Her knees felt likebags of water. She knew she should race out of the apartment,get to a phone, call the police. But all those things seemeddistantshe needed to find her mother first, needed to seethat she was all right. What if robbers had come, what if hermother had put up a fight?

What kind of robbers didnt take a wallet with them, or the TV, theDVD player, or the expensive laptops?

She was at the door to her mothers bedroom now. Fora moment it looked as if this room, at least, had been leftuntouched. Jocelyns handmade flowered quilt was folded care-fully on the duvet. Clarys own face smiled back at her fromthe top of the bedside table, five years old, gap-toothed smile

framed by strawberry hair. A sob rose in Clarys chest. Mom,she cried inside,what happened to you?

Silence answered her. No, not silencea noise soundedthrough the apartment, raising the short hairs along the nape of



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her neck. Like something being knocked overa heavy objectstriking the floor with a dull thud. The thud was followed by adragging, slithering noiseand it was coming toward the bed-

room. Stomach contracting in terror, Clary scrambled to her feetand turned around slowly.

For a moment she thought the doorway was empty, and shefelt a wave of relief. Then she looked down.

It was crouched against the floor, a long, scaled creaturewith a cluster of flat black eyes set dead center in the front of

its domed skull. Something like a cross between an alligatorand a centipede, it had a thick, flat snout and a barbed tail thatwhipped menacingly from side to side. Multiple legs bunchedunderneath it as it readied itself to spring.

A shriek tore itself out of Clarys throat. She staggered back-ward, tripped, and fell, just as the creature lunged at her. Sherolled to the side and it missed her by inches, sliding along

the wood floor, its claws gouging deep grooves. A low growlbubbled from its throat.She scrambled to her feet and ran toward the hallway, but

the thing was too fast for her. It sprang again, landing justabove the door, where it hung like a gigantic malignant spider,staring down at her with its cluster of eyes. Its jaws openedslowly, showing a row of fanged teeth spilling greenish drool.

A long black tongue flickered out between its jaws as it gurgledand hissed. To her horror Clary realized that the noises it wasmaking were words.

Girl,it hissed. Flesh. Blood. To eat, oh, to eat.It began to slither slowly down the wall. Some part of Clary

had passed beyond terror into a sort of icy stillness. The thingwas on its feet now, crawling toward her. Backing away, she

seized a heavy framed photo off the bureau beside herher-self and her mother and Luke at Coney Island, about to go onthe bumper carsand flung it at the monster.

The photograph hit its midsection and bounced off, striking

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the floor with the sound of shattering glass. The creature didntseem to notice. It came on toward her, broken glass splinteringunder its feet. Bones, to crunch, to suck out the marrow, to drink theveins. . .

Clarys back hit the wall. She could back up no farther. Shefelt a movement against her hip and nearly jumped out of herskin. Her pocket. Plunging her hand inside, she drew out theplastic thing shed taken from Jace. The Sensor was shuddering,like a cell phone set to vibrate. The hard material was almost

painfully hot against her palm. She closed her hand around theSensor just as the creature sprang.The creature hurtled into her, knocking her to the ground,

and her head and shoulders slammed against the floor. Shetwisted to the side, but it was too heavy. It was on top of her,an oppressive, slimy weight that made her want to gag. To eat,to eat,it moaned. But it is not allowed, to swallow, to savor.

The hot breath in her face stank of blood. She couldntbreathe. Her ribs felt like they might shatter. Her arm waspinned between her body and the monsters, the Sensor dig-ging into her palm. She twisted, trying to work her hand free.Valentine will never know. He said nothing about a girl. Valentine

will not be angry.Its lipless mouth twitched as its jaws opened,slowly, a wave of stinking breath hot in her face.

Clarys hand came free. With a scream she hit out at thething, wanting to smash it, to blind it. She had almost forgot-ten the Sensor. As the creature lunged for her face, jaws wide,she jammed the Sensor between its teeth and felt hot, acidicdrool coat her wrist and spill in burning drops onto the bareskin of her face and throat. As if from a distance, she couldhear herself screaming.

Looking almost surprised, the creature jerked back, theSensor lodged between two teeth. It growled, a thick angrybuzz, and threw its head back. Clary saw it swallow, saw themovement of its throat. Im next,she thought, panicked. Im



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Suddenly the thing began to twitch. Spasming uncontrolla-bly, it rolled off Clary and onto its back, multiple legs churningthe air. Black fluid poured from its mouth.

Gasping for air, Clary rolled over and started to scramble awayfrom the thing. Shed nearly reached the door when she heardsomething whistle through the air next to her head. She triedto duck, but it was too late. An object slammed heavily into theback of her skull, and she collapsed forward into blackness.

Light stabbed through her eyelids, blue, white, and red. Therewas a high wailing noise, rising in pitch like the scream of aterrified child. Clary gagged and opened her eyes.

She was lying on cold damp grass. The night sky rippledoverhead, the pewter gleam of stars washed out by city lights.Jace knelt beside her, the silver cuffs on his wrists throwing offsparks of light as he tore the piece of cloth he was holding into

strips. Dont move.The wailing threatened to split her ears in half. Clary turnedher head to the side, disobediently, and was rewarded with arazoring stab of pain that shot down her back. She was lyingon a patch of grass behind Jocelyns carefully tended rose-bushes. The foliage partially hid her view of the street, wherea police car, its blue-and-white light bar flashing, was pulled up

to the curb, siren wailing. Already a small knot of neighborshad gathered, staring as the car door opened and two blue-uniformed officers emerged.

The police. She tried to sit up, and gagged again, fingersspasming into the damp earth.

I told you not to move, Jace hissed. That Ravener demongot you in the back of the neck. It was half-dead so it wasnt

much of a sting, but we have to get you to the Institute. Holdstill.

That thingthe monsterit talked. Clary was shudderinguncontrollably.

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Youve heard a demon talk before. Jaces hands were gen-tle as he slipped the strip of knotted cloth under her neck, andtied it. It was smeared with something waxy, like the gardeners

salve her mother used to keep her paint- and turpentine-abusedhands soft.

The demon in Pandemoniumit looked like a person.It was an Eidolon demon. A shape-changer. Raveners look

like they look. Not very attractive, but theyre too stupid to care.It said it was going to eat me.

But it didnt. You killed it. Jace finished the knot and satback.To Clarys relief the pain in the back of her neck had faded.

She hauled herself into a sitting position. The police are here.Her voice came out like a frogs croak. We should

Theres nothing they can do. Somebody probably heardyou screaming and reported it. Ten to one those arent real

police officers. Demons have a way of hiding their tracks.My mom, Clary said, forcing the words through her swol-len throat.

Theres Ravener poison coursing through your veins rightnow. Youll be dead in an hour if you dont come with me. Hegot to his feet and held out a hand to her. She took it and hepulled her upright. Come on.

The world tilted. Jace slid a hand across her back, holdingher steady. He smelled of dirt, blood, and metal. Can youwalk?

I think so. She glanced through the densely bloomingbushes. She could see the police coming up the path. One ofthem, a slim b

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