The Institute, New York, Thursday

[seveninchmotto]

Predictably, Isabelle had fled Fandom as soon as she'd been able to, on Tuesday. She'd headed back to New York and she hadn't stopped moving before she'd been underneath the lake in Central Park where the fae of the Seelie Court lived. Specifically, Meliorn's quarters. He hadn't seemed thrilled with her just barging in but honestly, she hadn't cared. She'd made him appreciate her presence and help her get her mind off things, and that was that.

Then, yesterday, the same theme of repression and distraction had continued when she'd gone home and convinced Alec – together with Jace – that they needed to go out and hunt, which was how they'd ended up battling a Dragonidae demon in the sewers. They'd returned from their trip (the boys caked in mud while Isabelle was perfectly clean, because she was pure at heart and it repelled the dirt, clearly) just in time to run into Maryse and Max at home, finally returned from Idris. And that had been great! For all of five seconds before things turned to drama.

Isabelle should have expected it, really. And in a way, she had. She'd hoped that Jace's newly revealed parentage wouldn't cause any problems, but it had taken only a short moment of seeing how her mother looked at him now to know that wasn't going to be the case. Long story short, Maryse and Jace had talked in private, and then he'd bailed. He'd just left. And yes, maybe Isabelle had overreacted when she'd called Clary about it, but at least she and Luke and Simon had then gone out and found him. But of course the Inquisitor was already on her way by then. And she'd shown up far too early this morning. And she'd promptly thrown Jace in the prisons of the Silent City. Just until tomorrow, but still.

So, that was how things were right now. Isabelle had not been very impressed to wake up to find one of her brothers had been thrown in jail, no. And she hadn't been able to complain about it in front of the Inquisitor, either, because she hadn't wanted to get thrown in jail too. So, instead of doing that, she'd texted Clary an update on the situation just to do something, and was now hanging out with Alec, complaining about the situation. The Institute was quiet. Maryse and the other adults had been called out on assignment. A murdered fey in Central Park.

But then Isabelle heard footsteps in the hallway, so she went to the door to check it out. And... It was Clary. "I thought I heard someone coming down the hall, but I didn't think it would be you," she said. "What are you doing here?"

Clary stared at her. "You sent me that text message. You said the Inquisitor threw Jace in jail."

"Clary!" Isabelle glanced up and down the corridor, then bit her lip. "I didn't mean you should race down here right now."

Clary looked horrified. "Isabelle! Jail!"

"Yes, but ––" With a defeated sigh, Isabelle stood aside, gesturing for Clary to enter her room. "Look, you might as well come in. And shoo, you," she said, waving a hand at Church, who was at Clary's feet. "Go guard the elevator." Church gave her the cat version of horrified look, lay down on his stomach, and went to sleep. "Cats," Isabelle muttered, and slammed the door.

"Hey, Clary." Alec was sitting on Isabelle's unmade bed, his booted feet dangling over the side. "What are you doing here?"

Clary sat down on the padded stool in front of Isabelle's gloriously messy vanity table. "Isabelle texted me. She told me what happened to Jace."

Isabelle and Alec exchanged a meaningful look. Or, Alec gave her a look that said he questioned her judgment. "Oh, come on, Alec," she said with a sigh. "I thought she should know. I didn't know she'd come racing up here!"

"Of course I came!" Clary exclaimed, because apparently she couldn't help herself. "Is he all right? Why on earth did the Inquisitor throw him in prison?"

"It's not prison exactly. He's in the Silent City," said Alec, sitting up straight and pulling one of Isabelle's pillows across his lap. He picked idly at the beaded fringe sewed to its edges.

"In the Silent City? Why?"

Alec hesitated. "There are cells under the Silent City. They keep criminals there sometimes before deporting them to Idris to stand trial before the Council. People who've done really bad things. Murderers, renegade vampires, Shadowhunters who break the Accords. That's where Jace is now."

"Locked up with a bunch of murderers?" Clary was on her feet, outraged. "What's wrong with you people? Why aren't you more upset?"

Alec and Isabelle exchanged another look. A hint of guilt, maybe, but Isabelle doubted Clary would pick up on that. "It's just for a night," she said. "And there isn't anyone else down there with him. We asked."

"But why? What did Jace do?"

"He mouthed off to the Inquisitor. That was it, as far as I know," said Alec.

Isabelle perched herself on the edge of the vanity table. "It's unbelievable."

"Then the Inquisitor must be insane," said Clary.

"She's not, actually," said Alec. "If Jace were in your mundane army, do you think he'd be allowed to mouth off to his superiors? Absolutely not."

"Well, not during a war. But Jace isn't a soldier."

"But we're all soldiers. Jace as much as the rest of us. There's a hierarchy of command and the Inquisitor is near the top. Jace is near the bottom. He should have treated her with more respect."

"If you agree that he ought to be in jail, why did you ask me to come here? Just to get me to agree with you? I don't see the point. What do you want me to do?"

"We didn't say he should be in jail," Isabelle snapped. "Just that he shouldn't have talked back to one of the highest-ranked members of the Clave. Besides," she added in a smaller voice, "I thought that maybe you could help."

"Help? How?"

"I told you before," Alec said, "half the time it seems like Jace is trying to get himself killed. He has to learn to look out for himself, and that includes cooperating with the Inquisitor."

"And you think I can help you make him do that?" Clary said, disbelief coloring her voice.

"I'm not sure anyone can make Jace do anything," said Isabelle. "But I think you can remind him that he has something to live for."

Alec looked down at the pillow in his hand and gave a sudden savage yank to the fringe. Beads rattled down onto Isabelle's blanket like a shower of localized rain. Isabelle frowned. "Alec, don't."

"Can we go to the Silent City and see him?"

"Will you tell him to cooperate with the Inquisitor?" Alec demanded.

Clary considered. "I want to hear what he has to say first."

Alec dropped the denuded pillow onto the bed and stood up, frowning. Before he could say anything, there was a knock at the door. Isabelle unhitched herself from the vanity table and went to answer it. It was Max, a book in one hand. "Max," Isabelle said, with some surprise, "I thought you were asleep."

"I was in the weapons room," he said. "But there were noises coming from the library. I think someone might be trying to contact the Institute." He peered around Isabelle at Clary. "Who's that?"

"That's Clary," said Alec. "She's Jace's sister."

Max's eyes rounded. "I thought Jace didn't have any brothers or sisters."

"That's what we all thought," said Alec, picking up the sweater he'd left draped over one of Isabelle's chairs and yanking it on. His hair rayed out around his head like a soft dark halo, crackling with static electricity. He pushed it back impatiently. "I'd better get to the library."

"We'll both go," Isabelle said, taking her gold whip, which was twisted into a shimmering rope, out of a drawer and sliding the handle through her belt. "Maybe something's happened."

"Where are your parents?" Clary asked.

"They got called out a few hours ago. A fey was murdered in Central Park. The Inquisitor went with them," Alec explained.

"You didn't want to go?"

"We weren't invited." Isabelle looped her two dark braids up on top of her head and stuck the coil of hair through with a small glass dagger. "Look after Max, will you? We'll be right back."

Clary attempted a protest, but Isabelle just repeated that they'd be right back, before darting out into the corridor, Alec on her heels. And, they were right back, because things were really not great. "It was someone trying to contact the Institute," Isabelle told Clary when she rushed back, not even giving the other girl a chance to ask about it. "One of the Silent Brothers. Something's happened in the Bone City."

"What kind of something?"

"I don't know. I've never heard of the Silent Brothers asking for help before." So of course they had to do that right now when there was no one else around. She turned to her little brother. "Max, go to your room and stay there, okay?"

Max set his jaw. "Are you and Alec going out?"

"Yes."

"To the Silent City?"

"Max ––"

"I want to come."

Isabelle shook her head; the hilt of the dagger at the back of her head glittered like a point of fire. "Absolutely not. You're too young."

"You're not eighteen either!"

Goddammit. Isabelle turned to Clary with a look half of anxiety and half of desperation. "Clary, come here for a second, please." Clary got up, wonderingly –– and Isabelle grabbed her by the arm and yanked her out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. There was a thump as Max threw himself against it.

"Damn it," Isabelle said, holding the knob, "can you grab my stele for me, please? It's in my pocket ––"

Hastily, Clary held out a different stele she'd drewn out of her own pocket. "Use mine." With a few swift strokes, Isabelle carved a Locking rune onto the door. Max was still protesting from the other side as Isabelle stepped away from the door, grimacing, and handed Clary back her stele. "I didn't know you had one of these."

"It was my mother's."

"Huh." Isabelle thumped on the door with a closed fist. "Max, there's some PowerBars in the nightstand drawer if you get hungry. We'll be back as soon as we can."

There was another outraged yell from behind the door; with a shrug, Isabelle turned and hurried back down the hallway, Clary at her side. "What did the message say?" Clary demanded. "Just that there was trouble?"

"That there was an attack. That's it."

Alec was waiting for them outside the library. He was wearing black leather Shadowhunter armor over his clothes. Gauntlets protected his arms and Marks circled his throat and wrists. Seraph blades, each one named for an angel, gleamed at the belt around his waist. "Are you ready?" he said to his sister. "Is Max taken care of?"

"He's fine." She held out her arms. "Mark me."

As Alec traced the patterns of runes along the backs of Isabelle's hands and the insides of her wrists, he glanced over at Clary. "You should probably head home," he said. "You don't want to be here by yourself when the Inquisitor gets back."

"I want to go with you," Clary said, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

Isabelle took one of her hands back from Alec and blew on the Marked skin as if she were cooling a too-hot cup of coffee. "You sound like Max."

"Max is nine. I'm the same age as you."

"But you haven't got any training," Alec argued. "You'll just be a liability."

"No, I won't. Has either of you ever been inside the Silent City?" Clary demanded. "I have. I know how to get in. I know how to find my way around."

Alec straightened up, putting his stele away. "I don't think ––"

Isabelle cut in. "She has a point, actually. I think she should come if she wants."

Alec looked taken aback. "Last time we faced a demon, she just cowered and screamed." Seeing Clary's acid glare, he shot her an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry, but it's true."

"I think she needs a chance to learn," Isabelle said. "You know what Jace always says. Sometimes you don't have to search out danger, sometimes danger finds you."

"You can't lock me up like you did Max," Clary added, seeing Alec's weakening resolution. "I'm not a child. And I know where the Bone City is. I can find my way there without you."

Alec turned away, shaking his head and muttering something about girls. Isabelle held out a hand to Clary. "Give me your stele," she said. "It's time you got some Marks."

–––––

In the end Isabelle gave Clary only two Marks, one on the back of each hand. One was the open eye that decorated the hand of every Shadowhunter. The other was like two crossed sickles; a Rune of Protection. All Marked up, they headed downtown in a cab. The three of them were silent as they passed under the wrought iron arch and into the Marble Cemetery. The grass grew tangled over the feet of the Angel statue in the courtyard's center. The Angel's eyes were closed, his slim hands closed over the stem of a stone goblet, a reproduction of the Mortal Cup. His stone face was impassive, streaked with dirt and grime.

Clary said, "Last time I was here, Brother Jeremiah used a rune on the statue to open the door to the City."

"I wouldn't want to use one of the Silent Brothers' runes," Alec said. His face was grim. "They should have sensed our presence before we got this far. Now I'm starting to worry." He took a dagger from his belt and drew the blade of it across his bare palm. Blood welled from the shallow gash. Making a fist over the stone Cup, he let the blood drip into it. "Blood of the Nephilim," he said. "It should work as a key."
The stone Angel's eyelids flew open. A second later, the grass at the Angel's feet began to split. A crooked black line, rippling like the back of a snake, curved away from the statue. A dark hole opened at their feet, stairs led away into shadow. It was completely black. No light at all.

"Something's wrong," Clary said. Neither Isabelle nor Alec were inclined to argue. Clary took a witchlight stone and raised it overhead. Light burst from it, raying out through her spread fingers. "Let's go."

Alec stepped in front of her. "I'll go first, then you follow me. Isabelle, bring up the rear."

They clambered down slowly, damp boots slipping on the age-rounded steps. At the foot of the stairs was a short tunnel that opened out into an enormous hall, a stone orchard of white arches inset with semiprecious stones. Rows of mausoleums huddled in the shadows like toadstool houses in a fairy story. The more distant of them disappeared into shadow; the witchlight was not strong enough to light the whole hall. Alec looked somberly down the rows. "I never thought I would enter the Silent City," he said. "Not even in death."

"I wouldn't sound so sad about it," Clary said. "Brother Jeremiah told me what they do to your dead. They burn them up and use most of the ashes to make the City's marble."

"Hmph," said Isabelle. "It's considered an honor. Besides, it's not like you mundies don't burn your dead."

The smell of ashes and smoke hung heavy on the air — but there was something else underlying those smells, a heavier, thicker stench, like rotting fruit. Frowning as if he smelled it too, Alec took one of his angel blades out of his weapons belt. "Arathiel," he whispered, and its glow joined the illumination of Clary's witchlight as they found the second staircase and descended into even denser gloom. The smell of rotting fruit grew stronger as they reached the end of the stairs and found themselves in another long tunnel. This one opened out into a pavilion surrounded by spires of carved bone. Inlaid silver stars sprinkled the floor like precious confetti. In the center of the pavilion was a black table. Dark fluid had pooled on its slick surface and trickled across the floor in rivulets. There was a red smear across the wall behind it as well.

"Is that blood?" Isabelle whispered. She didn't sound afraid, just stunned.

"Looks like it." Alec's eyes scanned the room. The shadows were as thick as paint, and seemed full of movement. His grip was tight on his seraph blade.

"What could have happened?" Isabelle said. "The Silent Brothers –– I thought they were indestructible..."

Her voice trailed off as Clary turned, the witchlight in her hand catching strange shadows among the spires. One was more strangely shaped than the others. The witchlight burned brighter, sending a lancing bolt of brightness into the distance. Impaled on one of the spires, like a worm on a hook, was the dead body of a Silent Brother. Hands, ribboned in blood, dangled just above the marble floor. His neck looked broken. Blood had pooled beneath him, clotted and black in the witchlight.

Isabelle gasped. "Alec. Do you see ––"

"I see." Alec's voice was grim. "And I've seen worse. It's Jace I'm worried about."

Isabelle went forward and touched the black basalt table, her fingers skimming the surface. "This blood is almost fresh. Whatever happened, it happened not long ago."

Alec moved toward the Brother's impaled corpse. Smeared marks led away from the blood pool on the floor. "Footprints," he said. "Someone running." Alec indicated with a curled hand that the girls should follow him. They did, Isabelle pausing only to wipe her bloody hands off on her soft leather leg guards. The path of footprints led from the pavilion and down a narrow tunnel, disappearing into darkness. When Alec stopped, looking around him, Clary pushed past him impatiently, letting the witchlight blaze a silvery-white path of light ahead of them. She could see a set of double doors at the end of the tunnel; they were ajar.

Before Alec or Isabelle could say anything, she took off at a half run, her boots clacking loudly against the hard floor. Isabelle called after her, and then Alec and Isabelle were also running, hard on her heels. They burst through the doors at the end of the hall after Clary, and found themselves in a large stone-bound room bisected by a row of metal bars sunk deep into the ground. A slumped shape was on the other side of the bars. Just outside the cell sprawled the limp form of a Silent Brother. He was dead, they all knew it. It was the way he was lying, like a doll whose joints had been twisted the wrong way until they broke. His parchment-colored robes were half-torn off. His scarred face, contorted into a look of utter terror, was still recognizable. It was Brother Jeremiah.

Clary pushed past his body to the door of the cell. It was made of bars spaced close together and hinged on one side. Alec and Isabelle called for her again, but all her attention seemed to be on the door. Holding the witchlight in one hand, she scrabbled for her stele with the other. She carved a rune.

And then a noise like ripping cloth tore through the room. Isabelle cried out as the door blew off its hinges entirely, crashing into the cell like a drawbridge falling. Metal came uncoupled from metal, a loud rattle like a handful of tossed pebbles. But Clary ducked into the cell, the fallen door wobbling under her feet.

They'd found Jace. He looked terrible: his wrist was bare and bloody, the skin braceleted with ugly bruises. There was another bruise on his cheek, and his face was very white. But he was alive. And he was conscious too, after a moment. And they carried him out of the cell, and out of the Silent City. So, of course, when they got up the stairs, they were met with a group of Shadowhunters.

At the front of the group stood Maryse, in black Shadowhunter armor and a cloak, her hood thrown back. Behind her ranged dozens of others, all bearing the Marks of the Nephilim on their arms and faces. One of them, a handsome ebony-skinned man, turned to stare at Clary and Isabelle –– and beside her, at Jace and Alec, who had come up from the steps and stood blinking in the unexpected light.

"By the Angel," the man said. "Maryse –– there was already someone down there."

Maryse's mouth opened in a silent gasp when she saw Isabelle. Then she closed it, her lips tightening into a thin white line, like a slash drawn in chalk across her face. "I know, Malik," she said. "These are my children." A muttering gasp went through the crowd. The ones who were hooded threw their hoods back. Isabelle recognized many of them. "By the Angel." Maryse's incredulous gaze swept from Alec to Jace, passed over Clary, and returned to her daughter. Jace had moved away from Alec the moment Maryse spoke, and he stood a little way away from the other three, his hands in his pockets as Isabelle nervously twisted her golden-white whip in her hands. Alec, meanwhile, seemed to be fidgeting with his cell phone. "What are you doing here, Alec? Isabelle? There was a distress call from the Silent City ––"

"We answered it," Alec said. His gaze moved anxiously over the gathered crowd. "You weren't at the Institute—and we couldn't raise anyone—so we came ourselves."

"Alec ––"

"It doesn't matter, anyway," Alec said. "They're dead. The Silent Brothers. They're all dead. They've been murdered."

This time there was no sound from the assembled crowd. Instead they seemed to go still, the way a pride of lions might go still when it spotted a gazelle.

"Dead?" Maryse repeated. "What do you mean, they're dead?"

"I think it's quite clear what he means." A woman in a long gray coat had appeared suddenly at Maryse's side. She held a glimmering chunk of witchlight on a long silver chain, looped through skinny fingers. The Inquisitor. "They are all dead?" she asked, addressing herself to Alec. "You found no one alive in the City?"

Alec shook his head. "Not that we saw, Inquisitor."

"That you saw," repeated the Inquisitor, her eyes like hard, glittering beads. She turned to Maryse. "There may yet be survivors. I would send your people into the City for a thorough check."

Maryse's lips tightened. "Very well."

She turned to the rest of the Shadowhunters, and spoke to Malik in a low voice. He nodded. Taking the arm of a silver-haired woman, he led the Shadowhunters toward the entrance to the Bone City. As one after another descended the stairs, taking their witchlight with them, the glow in the courtyard began to fade. Once they'd disappeared into the shadows, Maryse broke the silence. "Why would anyone murder the Silent Brothers? They're not warriors, they don't carry battle Marks ––"

"Don't be naïve, Maryse," said the Inquisitor. "This was no random attack. The Silent Brothers may not be warriors, but they are primarily guardians, and very good at their jobs. Not to mention hard to kill. Someone wanted something from the Bone City and was willing to kill the Silent Brothers to get it. This was premeditated."

"What makes you so sure?"

"That wild goose chase that called us all out to Central Park? The dead fey child?"

"I wouldn't call that a wild goose chase. The fey child was drained of blood, like the others. These killings could cause serious trouble between the Night Children and other Downworlders —"

"Distractions," said the Inquisitor dismissively. "He wanted us gone from the Institute so that no one would respond to the Brothers when they called for aid. Ingenious, really. But then he always was ingenious."

"He?" It was Isabelle who spoke. Could not help it. It was that worrisome. "You mean ––"

"Valentine," Jace cut in. "Valentine took the Mortal Sword. That's why he killed the Silent Brothers."

A thin, sudden smile curved on the Inquisitor's face, as if Jace had said something that pleased her very much. Alec started and turned to stare at Jace. " Valentine? But you didn't say he was here."

"Nobody asked."

"He couldn't have killed the Brothers. They were torn apart. No one person could have done all that."

"He probably had demonic help," said the Inquisitor. "He's used demons to aid him before. And with the protection of the Cup on him, he could summon some very dangerous creatures. More dangerous than Raveners," she added with a curl of her lip, and though she didn't look at Clary when she said it, they could probably all tell that's where it was aimed. "Or the pathetic Forsaken."

"I don't know about that." Jace was very pale, with hectic spots like fever on his cheekbones. "But it was Valentine. I saw him. In fact, he had the Sword with him when he came down to the cells and taunted me through the bars. It was like a bad movie, except he didn't actually twirl his mustache."

He was talking too fast, she thought, and looked unsteady on his feet. The Inquisitor didn't seem to notice, but Isabelle sure did. And she was sure Clary did too, by the look on her face.

"So you're saying that Valentine told you all this?" the Inquisitor asked. "He told you he killed the Silent Brothers because he wanted the Angel's Sword?"

"What else did he tell you? Did he tell you where he was going? What he plans to do with the two Mortal Instruments?" Maryse asked quickly.

Jace shook his head. The Inquisitor moved toward him, her coat swirling around her like drifting smoke. Her gray eyes and gray mouth were drawn into tight horizontal lines. "I don't believe you."

Jace just looked at her. "I didn't think you would."

"I doubt the Clave will believe you either."

Alec said hotly, "Jace isn't a liar ––"

"Use your brain, Alexander," said the Inquisitor, not taking her eyes off Jace. "Leave aside your loyalty to your friend for a moment. What's the likelihood that Valentine stopped by his son's cell for a paternal chat about the Soul-Sword, and didn't mention what he planned to do with it, or even where he was going?"

"S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse," Jace said, making Isabelle wish he could keep from being an ass for just fifteen minutes, "a persona che mai tornasse all mondo..."

"Dante." The Inquisitor looked dryly amused. "The Inferno. You're not in hell yet, Jonathan Morgenstern, though if you insist on lying to the Clave, you'll wish you were." She turned back to the others. "And doesn't it seem odd to anyone that the Soul-Sword should disappear the night before Jonathan Morgenstern is supposed to stand trial by its blade – and that his father is the one who took it?"

Jace looked shocked at that, his lips parting slightly in surprise, as if this had never occurred to him. "My father didn't take the Sword for me. He took it for him. I doubt he even knew about the trial."

"How awfully convenient for you, regardless. And for him. He won't have to worry about you spilling his secrets."

"Yeah," Jace said, "he's terrified I'll tell everyone that he's always really wanted to be a ballerina." The Inquisitor simply stared at him. "I don't know any of my father's secrets," he said, less sharply. "He never told me anything."

The Inquisitor regarded him with something close to boredom. "If your father didn't take the Sword to protect you, then why did he take it?"

"It's a Mortal Instrument," said Clary. "It's powerful. Like the Cup. Valentine likes power."

"The Cup has an immediate use," said the Inquisitor. "He can use it to make an army. The Sword is used in trials. I can't see how that would interest him."

"He might have done it to destabilize the Clave," suggested Maryse. "To sap our morale. To say that there is nothing we can protect from him if he wants it badly enough." It was a surprisingly good argument, Clary thought, but Maryse didn't sound very convinced. "The fact is —"

But they never got to hear what the fact was, because at that moment Jace raised his hand as if he meant to ask a question, looked startled, and sat down on the grass suddenly, as if his legs had given out. Alec knelt down next to him, but Jace waved away his concern. "Leave me alone. I'm fine."

"You're not fine." Clary joined Alec on the grass. "Something's wrong with him," she said. "Something serious."

"He probably needs a healing rune." The Inquisitor looked as if she were exquisitely annoyed at Jace for being injured during events of such importance. "An iratze, or –-"

"We tried that," said Alec. "It isn't working. I think there's something of demonic origin going on here."

"Like demon poison?" Maryse moved as if she meant to go to Jace, but the Inquisitor held her back. "He's shamming," she said. "He ought to be in the Silent City's cells right now."

Alec rose to his feet at that. "You can't say that –– look at him!" He gestured at Jace, who had slumped back on the grass, his eyes closed. "He can't even stand up. He needs doctors, he needs —"

"The Silent Brothers are dead," said the Inquisitor. "Are you suggesting a mundane hospital?"

"No." Alec's voice was tight. "I thought he could go to Magnus."

Isabelle made a sound somewhere between a sneeze and a cough. She turned away as the Inquisitor looked at Alec blankly. "Magnus?"

"He's a warlock," said Alec. "Actually, he's the High Warlock of Brooklyn."

"You mean Magnus Bane," said Maryse. "He has a reputation ––"

"He healed me after I fought a Greater Demon," said Alec. "The Silent Brothers couldn't do anything, but Magnus..."

"It's ridiculous," said the Inquisitor. "What you want is to help Jonathan escape."

"He's not well enough to escape," Isabelle said. "Can't you see that?"

"Magnus would never let that happen," Alec said, with a quelling glance at his sister. "He's not interested in crossing the Clave."

"And how would he propose preventing it?" The Inquisitor's voice dripped acid sarcasm. "Jonathan is a Shadowhunter; we're not so easy to keep under lock and key."

"Maybe you should ask him," Alec suggested.

The Inquisitor smiled her razor smile. "By all means. Where is he?"
Alec glanced down at the phone in his hand and then back at the thin gray figure in front of him. "He's here," he said. He raised his voice. "Magnus! Magnus, come on out."

Even the Inquisitor's eyebrows shot up when Magnus strode through the gate. The High Warlock was wearing black leather pants, a belt with a buckle in the shape of a jeweled M, and a cobalt-blue Prussian military jacket open over a white lace shirt. He shimmered with layers of glitter. His gaze rested for a moment on Alec's face with amusement and a hint of something else before moving on to Jace, prone on the grass. "Is he dead?" he inquired. "He looks dead."

"No," snapped Maryse. "He's not dead."

"Have you checked? I could kick him if you want." Magnus moved toward Jace.

"Stop that!" the Inquisitor snapped. "He's not dead, but he's injured," she added, almost grudgingly. "Your medical skills are required. Jonathan needs to be well enough for the interrogation."

"Fine, but it'll cost you."

"I'll pay it," said Maryse.

The Inquisitor didn't even blink. "Very well. But he can't remain at the Institute. Just because the Sword is gone doesn't mean the interrogation won't proceed as planned. And in the meantime, the boy must be held under observation. He's clearly a flight risk."

"A flight risk?" Isabelle demanded. "You act as if he tried to escape from the Silent City —"

"Well," the Inquisitor said. "He's no longer in his cell now, is he?"

"That's not fair! You couldn't have expected him to stay down there surrounded by dead people!"

"Not fair? Not fair? Do you honestly expect me to believe that you and your brother were motivated to come to the Bone City because of a distress call, and not because you wanted to free Jonathan from what you clearly consider unnecessary confinement? And do you expect me to believe you won't try to free him again if he's allowed to remain at the Institute? Do you think you can fool me as easily as you fool your parents, Isabelle Lightwood?"

Isabelle could feel herself turning scarlet. Magnus cut in before she could reply: "Look, it's not a problem," he said. "I can keep Jace at my place easily enough."

The Inquisitor turned to Alec. "Your warlock does realize," she said, "that Jonathan is a witness of utmost importance to the Clave?"

"He's not my warlock." The tops of Alec's angular cheekbones flared a dark red.

"I've held prisoners for the Clave before," Magnus said. The joking edge had left his voice. "I think you'll find I have an excellent record in that department. My contract is one of the best."

The Inquisitor made a sharp noise that might have been amusement or disgust, and said, "It's settled, then. Let me know when he's well enough to talk, warlock. I've still got plenty of questions for him."

"Of course," Magnus said, but it didn't sound like he was really listening to her. He crossed the lawn gracefully and came to stand over Jace. "Can he talk?" he asked Clary, indicating Jace. Before Clary could respond, Jace's eyes slid open. He looked up at the warlock, dazed and dizzy. "What are you doing here?"

Magnus grinned down at Jace, and his teeth sparkled like sharpened diamonds. "Hey, roommate," he said.

[ooc: NFB, NFI, OOC-okay. Summarized/taken with from Cassandra Clare's City of Ashes. Warning for minor character death and gore. And also tl;dr.]