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."I ought to know, Jace, I was one of them.You're too young for any job you'd want and besides, the skills you have—well, most professional killers are older than you.And they're criminals.""I'm not a killer.""If you lived in the mundane world," said Luke, "that's all you'd be."Jace stiffened, his mouth tightening, and Clary knew Luke's words had hit him where it hurt."You don't get it," he said, a sudden desperation in his voice."I can't go back.Maryse wants me to say I hate Valentine.And I can't do that."Jace raised his chin, his jaw set, his eyes on Luke as if he half-expected the older man to respond with derision or even horror.After all, Luke had more reason to hate Valentine than almost anyone else in the world."I know," said Luke."I loved him once too."Jace exhaled, almost a sound of relief, and Clary thought suddenly, This is why he came here, to this place.Not just to start a fight, but to get to Luke.Because Luke would understand.Not everything Jace did was insane and suicidal, she reminded herself.It just seemed that way."You shouldn't have to claim you hate your father," said Luke."Not even to reassure Maryse.She ought to understand."Clary looked at Jace closely, trying to read his face.It was like a book written in a foreign language she'd studied all too briefly."Did she really say she never wanted you to come back?"Clary asked."Or did you just assume that was what she meant, so you left?""She told me it would probably be better if I found somewhere else to be for a while," Jace said."She didn't say where.""Did you give her a chance to?" Luke said."Look, Jace.You're absolutely welcome to stay with me as long as you need to.I want you to know that."Clary's stomach flipped.The thought of Jace in the same house she lived in, always nearby, filled her with a mixture of exultation and horror."Thanks," said Jace.His voice was even, but his eyes had gone instantly, helplessly, to Clary, and she could see in them the same awful mixture of emotions she felt herself.Luke, she thought.Sometimes I wish you weren't quite so generous.Or so blind."But," Luke went on, "I think you should at least go back to the Institute long enough to talk to Maryse and find out what's really going on.It sounds like there's more to this than she's telling you.More, maybe, than you were willing to hear."Jace tore his gaze from Clary's."All right." His voice was rough."But on one condition.I don't want to go by myself.""I'll go with you," Clary said quickly."I know." Jace's voice was low."And I want you to.But I want Luke to come too."Luke looked startled."Jace—I've lived here fifteen years and I've never gone to the Institute.Not once.I doubt Maryse is any fonder of me—""Please," Jace said, and though his voice was flat and he spoke quietly, Clary could almost feel, like a palpable thing, the pride he'd had to fight down to say that single word."All right." Luke nodded, the nod of a pack leader used to doing what he had to do, whether he wanted to or not."Then I'll come with you."Simon leaned against the wall in the corridor outside Pete's office and tried not to feel sorry for himself.The day had started off well.Fairly well, anyway.First there'd been that bad episode with the Dracula film on television making him feel sick and faint, bringing up all the emotions, the longings, he'd been trying to push down and forget about.Then somehow the sickness had knocked the edge off his nerves and he'd found himself kissing Clary the way he'd wanted to for so many years.People always said that things never turned out the way you imagined they would.People were wrong.And she'd kissed him back…But now she was in there with Jace, and Simon had a knotting, twisting feeling in his stomach, like he'd swallowed a bowl full of worms.It was a sick feeling he'd grown used to lately.It hadn't always been like this, even after he'd realized how he felt about Clary.He'd never pressed her, never pushed his feelings on her.He'd always been sure that one day she would wake up out of her dreams of animated princes and kung fu heroes and realize what was staring them both in the face: They belonged together.And if she hadn't seemed interested in Simon, at least she hadn't seemed interested in anyone else either.Until Jace.He remembered sitting on the porch steps of Luke's house, watching Clary as she explained to him who Jace was, what he did, while Jace examined his nails and looked superior.Simon had barely heard her.He'd been too busy noticing how she looked at the blond boy with the strange tattoos and the angular, pretty face.Too pretty, Simon had thought, but Clary clearly hadn't thought so: She'd looked at him as though he were one of her animated heroes come to life.He had never seen her look at anyone that way before, and had always thought that if she ever did, it would be him.But it wasn't, and that hurt more than he'd ever imagined anything could hurt.Finding out that Jace was Clary's brother was like being marched up in front of a firing squad and then being handed a reprieve at the last minute.Suddenly the world seemed full of possibilities again.Now he wasn't so sure."Hey, there." Someone was coming along the corridor, a not-very-tall someone picking their way gingerly among the blood spatters."Are you waiting to see Luke? Is he in there?""Not exactly." Simon moved away from the door."I mean, sort of.He's in there with a friend of mine."The person, who had just reached him, stopped and stared.Simon could see that she was a girl, about sixteen years old, with smooth light brown skin.Her brown-gold hair was braided close to her head in dozens of small braids, and her face was nearly the exact shape of a heart.She had a compact, curvy body, wide hips flaring out from a smaller waist."That guy from the bar? The Shadowhunter?"Simon shrugged."Well, I hate to tell you this," she said, "but your friend is an asshole.""He's not my friend," said Simon."And I couldn't agree with you more, actually.""But I thought you said—""I'm waiting for his sister," said Simon."She's my best friend.""And she's in there with him right now?" The girl jerked her thumb toward the door.She wore rings on each of her fingers, primitive-looking bands hammered out of bronze and gold.Her jeans were worn but clean and when she turned her head, he saw the scar that ran along her neck, just above the collar of her T-shirt."Well," she said grudgingly, "I know about asshole brothers.I guess it's not her fault.""It's not," said Simon [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]