Chapter 58 – Desperate Angel
Dazzling light surrounded me as I regained consciousness. My head throbbed as if someone had struck it with full force. In addition, a painful pulsation coursed through my upper arm. I blinked against the light, squeezing my eyelids even tighter. I allowed myself only a minute to adjust to the brightness. Then, I forced my lids open.
I found myself in a square cage of shimmering light, rising like walls around me. Seraph blades had been thrust into the stone floor at the four corners. The Malachi-Configuration. That much I could remember in my hazy state. A way to trap demons. The light, with its bluish glow that allowed you to see through it, would cause pain with every touch. So, I didn't even attempt to press my fingers against it.
Behind my prison, I could make out a small room. Windowless and furnished like an armory. In the left corner stood a table, on which various weapons from daggers to hammers were spread out. Swords, bows, and a more exotic arsenal adorned the stone walls. The floor was splattered with blood. Not mine. This blood had long dried, some stains so faint, as if they had never quite managed to wash them out. The thought of how many had likely been held captive in this room before me sent a shiver down my spine.
As if on cue, a door to the right of me squeaked open, creaking inward with a wooden groan. A door so small that Malachi had to duck to enter the room. Shadows lingered in the adjacent room, but apart from a few feet, I couldn't discern anything.
"You're awake," Malachi greeted me. He had exchanged his Shadowhunter gear for his usual garments, as if our encounter behind the Accords Hall had never happened. I furrowed my brow to focus my eyes on him as he walked to a chair beside the table and took a seat. The alcohol still coursed through my body, clouding my senses. Not much time could have passed.
"I deeply apologize for catching you off guard, Clarissa," the Consul continued when I offered no response. "You're almost always surrounded by your friends. I've been waiting for the right opportunity to find you alone."
"Why am I here?" My voice sounded hoarse and breathless.
"Well, because your father naturally wants you back," Malachi replied, as if I were foolish not to have known the answer.
The realization would probably have knocked me off my feet if I hadn't already been on the ground. Instead, my eyes widened. Unbelieving. Stunned. "You're a follower of my father?"
Malachi nodded in affirmation. His fingers almost absentmindedly traced over a sparkling object in his hand. Adamant. My fingers began to tingle instinctively. But he wasn't rolling a stele between his fingertips; it was a ring. "I'm just one of the spies Valentine has in the Clave. We've kept ourselves in the shadows for a long time. I was already Consul when his first attempt to rid this world of the Downworlders failed."
"You're a traitor," I exclaimed indignantly. "You are a traitor and accused me of treason in front of the entire Clave. Again and again. You are a hypocrite. And a fool if you think my father would have an ounce of respect for a man like you."
His features twisted into a harsh mask. Eventually, his lips turned up into a slight smile. "Let's ask him ourselves," he said, standing up from the chair. The Consul slipped the ring onto his finger and turned it. For a second, nothing happened. Then, the air in front of Malachi began to shimmer, and the Nephilim's Consul, who should kneel before no one, fell to one knee and respectfully lowered his head.
"Did you succeed, Malachi?" a cool, stern voice cut through the room. A voice that haunted my nightmares. I pulled myself up when I saw the figure of my father standing next to the Consul. Only the transparent edges of his body revealed that he wasn't actually here.
"My Lord Valentine," Malachi's tone took on a slick affection that made me grimace. "I did indeed succeed. Your daughter Clarissa is well and in my custody." He gestured towards me, and Valentine's distant gaze followed his hand, settling on me and transforming into something that looked like satisfaction.
"It's good to see you, Clarissa," my father said, and I angrily pressed my lips together. Oh no, I wouldn't exchange a single word with this man. Not after everything that had happened. Not after Jonathan's transformation and my mother's death, or his plan to unleash a horde of demons on Alicante. Valentine grimaced and then turned back to Malachi. "She doesn't look well."
Malachi, who had risen again by now, struggled to maintain a benevolent facade. "She resisted, my Lord. It was as you foresaw. I had no choice but to incapacitate her."
My father raised a surprised eyebrow. "You incapacitated Clarissa?" Oh yes, that interested him the most. Not my injuries, but how Malachi had managed to defeat me when he had insisted so much on me being unbeatable.
The Consul hesitated. "Alcohol was involved," he finally admitted.
Now, I was pierced by a disapproving stare. "I would have thought you smarter, Clarissa." A dramatic pause. "But I will ensure that you return to your old spotlight." His finger was already sliding to his own ring when Malachi hastily interrupted.
"My Lord, I will soon hand Clarissa over to my trusted intermediaries. They will take her to the countryside estate, where your son can then receive her." Every hair on my neck stood on end. So my captors were going to deliver me to Jonathan? The person who had recently tried to kill me? And who were these intermediaries Malachi spoke of?
"There's a change of plan," my father said. "I will personally pick up Clarissa, but I'm currently busy with preparations for the summoning. Jonathan will guard the mirror on-site while I fetch Clarissa, but my arrival will be delayed."
The summoning of the Archangel. My heart began to beat faster. I didn't know enough about my father's plans; he hadn't shared them with Jonathan or me over the years. As if he had always been waiting for the right moment; waiting until he revealed himself to the Shadow World again. All I knew was his hatred for the Downworlders. He wanted to make them disappear from the face of this world. But every child in Idris knew about the summoning of the Archangel Raziel. And that it required the three Mortal Instruments, which Valentine seemingly already possessed. Time was running out for me.
My father's bright blue eyes rested on me, waiting, as if he could read every thought in my mind. A satisfied smile spread across his mouth, radiating no warmth whatsoever. Rather the opposite. It sent shivers down my spine.
"As you wish, my Lord. Clarissa will be waiting for you at the estate," said Malachi, bowing deeply. I rolled my eyes, and Valentine's smile grew. We both knew that Malachi didn't have much longer to live. For a fraction of a second, our silent exchange felt like before. Before, when I had believed to know what my father was thinking; when I had thought to know who my father was. The thought stabbed me with anguish. This man was my father. Father. The word had lost all meaning for me. I wondered what other children felt when they thought of their fathers.
Valentine's fingers went to the ring on his hand but hesitated. His unyielding face studied me thoughtfully. Not sad or melancholic but calculating. As if I were nothing more than an animal to be trained. "I'm not really sure what to do with you, Clarissa. Your betrayal hurt me. But you're still my daughter. And a Morgenstern. Even if you have a similar rebellious streak as your mother." No sign of remorse or pain as he spoke of her, as if she were still alive. "Once my plan is realized, you'll find your place."
No threat. A promise. The shimmering disappeared, and Valentine with it. Now it was just Malachi and me, facing each other. The Consul approached the sword configuration named after him. The subservience of his posture had been replaced by his usual uncompromising demeanor. He reached out for the blue light and placed his hand on one of the seraph blades embedded in the ground.
"Here, our paths diverge," said the Consul, almost disinterested. "I have to return to my estate before anyone learns of my absence. I hope my associates won't treat you too harshly."
His hand twisted the hilt of the blade, and for a brief moment, I thought he wanted to open the cage. But then blue sparks shot out of the light directly towards me. They collided with my body, making me scream. The burning of my skin brought me crashing to the ground. A second later, unconsciousness claimed me.
oOo
Malachi.
Jace's body trembled as he stared down at the seven blood-stained letters on the brick. Behind the Accords Hall. So close to where he had left Clary standing to retreat back inside.
They had found his jacket first. It had lain in the snow in the glow of a lantern. Next to it, a pool of blood. Enough to take someone down. But then Alec had drawn his witch and ventured further into the alley. Only to find more blood. Streaks in the little snow and in the dirt beneath. As if someone had dragged Clary's body into the darkness of the alley to avoid possible watchful eyes.
Malachi.
In the shadows, the Consul hadn't seen Clary writing his name on the cobblestones. With her own blood. Every fiber of Jace's body screamed to immediately rush to the Consul's house to search for her. Before he could break away thoughtlessly, Alec had the idea to track Clary using her blood. Through their Parabatai bond, the tracking power was stronger.
Clary was within the city walls. They couldn't find out much more than that. All they saw was a dark, windowless room that looked like an armory. Neither Jace nor Alec had seen this room before. With the sheer number of houses in Alicante, it was impossible to say where this room was located. All they could do was speculate.
Jace and Isabelle were eager to pursue their speculations. Next to Malachi, Blake Ashdown was at the top of their list of suspects. Against the fire in their veins, Alec seemed to be the voice of reason. A struggle between fire and water. Alec urged them to calm down, to prevent them from doing something rash, even if it led to another argument. But no matter how composed his Parabatai appeared, his determination to stand up to Jace and Isabelle was no weaker than their own. And so, much to Jace's personal annoyance, he had called the Inquisitor. The abduction of Valentine's daughter with the Consul as the main suspect seemed too big for Alec's loyal soul to handle.
Of course, Jace knew he was right. Somehow. Clary's abduction had been a thoughtful, planned action. It didn't change the fact that he felt it was a waste of time waiting for his grandmother and her soldiers to investigate the crime scene and make an official decision. With every passing second, Clary was longer in the hands of Malachi and his people. The longer she was in their captivity, the worse they would treat her.
Jace clenched his fists, the tension in his body like the charged string of a bow. He felt like he could snap at any moment. Isabelle seemed to be feeling something similar. She paced back and forth, growling at the Nephilim of his grandmother every few minutes, demanding that they hurry with their investigations. A small crowd had already formed around the crime scene. The news of Clarissa Morgenstern's abduction spread like wildfire among the onlookers, and Jace had to avert his gaze, take a few steps away from them to avoid throttling the nearest person. They had already decided that this act was solely Clary's fault. At least the Shadowhunters among the onlookers. She probably even fled on her own because she had been a traitor from the beginning. Only when Isabelle's threatening exclamation cut through the night did silence return.
Imogen Herondale stood at the edge of the crime scene, also away from the spectators, and examined the bloody writing on the ground thoughtfully. Her bright eyes seemed distant, her face contorted in grim authority. Only when two dark figures ran and slid to a stop in front of her did she snap out of her trance. Both Jace and Isabelle turned their heads towards the scouts.
"We found the Consul in his house, Inquisitor," one of them gasped. "The unit searched it but found no trace of Clarissa Morgenstern. However, a bloody battle gear was secured. The blood is fresh, not more than two hours old. Malachi is conscious and is being escorted to the Gard at this moment."
Something in Jace's chest seemed to explode. There they had their evidence. And yet, no sign of Clary. Isabelle hung her head beside him. His grandmother was about to open her mouth to reply when murmurs erupted in the crowd behind them. People were pushed aside, indignant cries were heard. Then Luke Garroway stomped through the people, followed by two of his wolves. Such deep outrage lay on his features that Jace automatically made way for him as he halted in front of the Inquisitor.
"Half the population of this city hates Clary. All of you knew about the incident with the Ashdown boy, and still none of you took her protection seriously. How can that be?" The growl from his throat was otherworldly, nothing human lay in it. It made the two scouts step forward in front of Imogen.
But she threw Jace a long, penetrating look instead, as if hearing about Blake's attack on Clary for the first time today. Jace returned his grandmother's gaze with equal intensity. She was the Inquisitor. If anyone should have known, it was her.
Something like surprise flickered across his grandmother's features when she saw Jace's reaction. She had no idea how close Clary and he had become. She had no idea that they were friends at all. He hadn't told her anything about it. Because of her hatred for Valentine. Because of the fear in his stomach that had torn him away from Clary before. That was over now. Let his grandmother think what she wanted. Now that Jace felt the extent of the destruction his fear had created, he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. No. He wouldn't run away from his feelings a second time; run away from Clary.
All of this, Jace tried to convey to his grandmother in that brief moment when their eyes met. Imogen straightened her shoulders in response. Her head turned from him to Luke and then back to the bloody letters in the alley. "A mistake we cannot undo," she said firmly, but ... something in her voice wavered. Barely noticeable, barely audible. What was more important: Imogen had admitted to a mistake. A fact that even made Luke pause, whose body was shaken by such violent tremors as if he were transforming any second.
"Now we cannot afford to waste time. There are multiple suspects. I will return to the Gard to interrogate Malachi. Jonathan, assemble a team and search the houses of your list of suspects." His grandmother continued giving orders, but Jace no longer listened. He turned on his heel as fast as the wind, then gestured to Isabelle, who immediately fell into step beside him.
Jace had his team together within a minute. Alec and Magnus would stay with Adam to keep an eye on him. None of them trusted him anymore, no matter how much he insisted he would never harm Clary. That was all he admitted to them. I would never hurt Clary. He didn't answer any of their further questions, though it was evident from his face that there was more. But Jace had seen the confirmation when he had mentioned Blake's name earlier. Blake was the one they needed to find, he felt it.
So they set out, Isabelle and him leading a group of Shadowhunters. Among them was Aaron Wrayburn, who had shown respect to Clary weeks ago in a Clave meeting. Lights were on in the Ashdown's estate in the middle of the night, and as they approached the door, the tingling in Jace's hands grew stronger. It felt like his instincts were screaming that Clary was here.
Jace knocked on the door, and barely ten seconds later, none other than Blake Ashdown personally opened it, a wide grin on his thin lips. As if he knew exactly what this was about. "Jace Herondale." His voice was a mixture of poison and ice. "I could claim I'm happy to see you and your friends, but that would be a lie."
"After our last encounter, that wouldn't surprise me," Jace retorted and had already pushed Blake out of the doorway. "We have the Inquisitor's permission to search your house from top to bottom." He didn't bother explaining to Blake why they were here. Something told Jace he already knew.
It took every ounce of self-control for Jace not to knock Blake unconscious right then as he leisurely walked beside him while Isabelle and his group spread out on the ground floor. The images of the night by the canal, with Clary hanging over the black water, bathed in blood, flashed before Jace's inner eye. The memory was enough to raise his pulse. He was sure Blake was aware of it too.
Blake's house was clean. No Clary, no blood, no suspicious objects, or anything else. Jace stood in the basement of the estate, which seemed quite large for the size of the house. "We expanded the basement because it was too small for our needs," Blake explained with a malicious smirk on his round features as he read the wonder on Jace's face.
"Nothing here either," Isabelle stated sober after they had searched every training and storage room in the basement. Hesitatingly, she added, "The house is clean." The words drawn out, as if she were disappointed that they couldn't arrest Blake.
And although Jace was as clueless as Isabelle, the tingling didn't leave his hands. By now, it had spread to his arms. As if something in his blood wanted to warn him. What were they overlooking? They had turned the Ashdown's estate upside down. There was nothing here.
"Then leave my damn property immediately," Blake said, all pretended sanctimonies gone. The smile was now outright evil.
Jace reacted before Isabelle could grab his shoulder. His fist collided with Blake's nose, who stumbled backward and collided with the wall. Blood splattered, and Blake hissed like a snake. The rust-brown hair fell messily over his eyes. "Work accident," Jace muttered, half shrugging his shoulders. "I'm sure you understand." With those words, he turned on his heel and climbed the stairs, Isabelle following closely. With each step he took, the tingling in his arms grew weaker. However, the iron grip around his heart only strengthened.
oOo
I wasn't sure how much time had passed when I woke up again later. In the windowless room, it was impossible to orient oneself. No light, no sky, and certainly no clock. Since the fog was still dancing around my vision, I assumed I hadn't been out for too long.
After Malachi had taken me down, I had drifted into a confused dream with my father in the lead role. He had stood in front of a shiny, reflective mirror, large enough to see his entire body in it. And that was all he had done. He had stared into his own ice-blue eyes, without any expression on his prominent features. As if he were waiting for something. As if he were thinking.
It wasn't the mirror he had mentioned to Malachi. One of the few facts I was a hundred percent sure about. My father had the Mortal Cup and the Angelic Sword in his possession. To summon the angel Raziel, as he had said, he would need all three Mortal Instruments. A story he had read to us as children. The legends never revealed how the mirror looked like or where to find it. The only clue was the image every Shadowhunter knew: Raziel rising from Lake Lyn, holding the Cup in one hand and the Sword in the other. The handover of the Mortal Instruments to Jonathan Shadowhunter. But where was the mirror?
My father had only spoken a few words about the mirror. Jonathan will guard the mirror on-site. So the mirror had to be too big for Valentine to carry around. On-site. A strange description. As if he possessed the mirror, but ... as if he didn't have complete control over it. But how could that be? What did that mean?
Before I could ponder over it, the door slid open once again. This time, several people passed under the low door frame to enter my prison cell. The blue light of the Malachi configuration flickered between me and my abductors, and when his sky-blue eyes met mine, such a perverse joy in them, I didn't recognize him at first. Only when his broad lips lifted into a sinister grin did I realize who was standing before me.
"I had to swear to the Consul that I would deliver you to your father in one piece," Blake said into the room's silence. His words echoed off the walls, as if even they didn't want to come into contact with anything of him. "But we will still have our fun, Clary."
The alcohol that had just dominated my muscles was pushed back by a wave of hot anger that whipped through my body from one moment to the next. Blake's sight made my fingers tremble, and something in me knew that it was partly due to panic. The panic that had haunted me after our encounter in this dark night by the canal. The panic of failure, weakness. Blake Ashdown would pay for it. I had sworn that to myself back then, and I still stood by that oath.
As if Blake could read all these emotions on my face, he lowered himself toward my cage. "Do you want to know a secret?" he asked, whispering. I forced my reactions behind the emotionless mask I had adopted since my arrival in New York. Despite the indifferent boredom in Blake's response, he continued, "Your Jace was here. Less than ten minutes ago, he stood right on the other side of this door."
Jace's name flashed through my body like lightning. My heart began to beat faster on its own. He had been here? Why hadn't he— My eyes went to the door. A door that was maybe a meter and a half tall. Not an ordinary one, but the entrance to a secret hiding place; to a place that should remain undiscovered. I would bet my life that on the other side of this wall, there was a shelf or something similar to hide the door behind.
The thought that Jace had just been here threatened to throw my breath off balance. He had been so close to me – and yet so far. I thought back to our kiss. It felt like an eternity had passed since then. As if that kiss had been in another life. Even though I could still feel the pain in my chest from it, hidden somewhere behind the anger that currently controlled me. Indifference. I forced my facial muscles to remain in their stony stiffness. You don't care.
"How regrettable that he didn't find you. I even gave him a tip," Blake buzzed, and his companions chuckled amused. "We will get you out of Alicante soon. We just have to wait until the coast is clear."
Like Malachi had done before him, Blake's hand slid to one of the seraph blades. His fingers clawed into the hilt, and he was already about to turn the shaft when I cleared my throat and intervened. "How can it be that you're a follower of my father?" The words came hoarsely from my throat. If I weren't so confused about this turn of events, I would have been ashamed.
"I'm not," Blake replied, now the first hint of annoyance in his tone. "I hate you, and I hate him. But our interests are similar."
"You have interests beyond slaughtering innocent Downworlders?" It wasn't supposed to sound like a joke, but I couldn't suppress the cold irony.
Blake's bright eyes lingered on me for a long minute. My anger collided with his hatred. "That's exactly what Valentine and I have in common, Clary. There's no such thing as an innocent Downworlder." The fact that he compared himself to my father brought bile up my gullet. "He wants their complete annihilation. My friends and I have given the Clave enough chances to change, but that time is up. Now, we're taking a different path."
"You talk as if you've contributed so much to this plan," I said, a crooked, pain-twisted grin on my lips. "You're a nobody, Blake. Just like your friends. My father alone devised this plan, and you're doing nothing more than his dirty work."
"You think you're very clever," Blake hissed, spitting on the floor next to my cage. His fingers on the seraph blade twitched, as if he couldn't control his emotions. "But you're the prisoner here. You're the loser. We'll both get what we deserve."
"And what exactly do you deserve? Whom will you torture when there are no more Downworlders to torture? What do you really hope to gain from my father?" Blake enjoyed the power to inflict pain on others too much to just give it away. Someone like Blake would always find ways to indulge his urges.
"Of course your father will reward us for handing you over, just as he rewarded Malachi. He not only plans the destruction of the Downworlders but also a reorganization of the Nephilim. With a new Clave. And we will divide this power among ourselves." Blake and his friends seemed satisfied with themselves. My father would never share his power, especially not with half-men like Blake Ashdown. Did they really believe the lies he had told them? Although I doubted that they had ever personally spoken to him. Everything they knew, they probably knew secondhand, from Malachi.
Still ... the fact that Valentine had shared his plan with Malachi; that the destruction of the Nephilim seemed to be actually set in stone, threw my heartbeat off rhythm. Although I had known from the beginning that my father really intended to go through to the bitter end, it was different to watch the wheels finally set in motion.
And that Blake participated in it so harshly, as if he weren't condemning so many innocent lives to death – Shadowhunters or not. Did he not care at all? Did he feel so little empathy that he would simply turn other members of his community in like that? All for some power.
"I see that you're lost for words," Blake grinned. He was waiting for a reaction from me.
So, I lifted my head, stared directly into his emotionless soul, and gave him my most sinister smile. "The last thing you'll see before you die will be my face. Enjoy your last days while you still can, Blake Ashdown, because I will kill you. And I will savor every second of it."
A shadow flickered over Blake's features, but before I could identify the emotion, he turned his hand. A piercing scream escaped my throat as the blue flashes of the cage threw me to the ground. Darkness crept into the focus at the edges of my sight, but the deadly smile on my lips didn't fade. Even as my consciousness was already halfway disappearing into the abyss of endless black, my mouth held it up. I could have sworn to detect fear on Blake's face seconds before the claws of unconsciousness finally dragged me into the depths.
oOo
After Jace and Isabelle, with their escort, couldn't find any further clues to Clary's whereabouts, they went to the Gard. The only hope for answers was Malachi, even though the interrogation with him wasn't very promising. At first, he had played the bewildered Consul, denied everything, and acted as if he knew nothing about the accusations his grandmother made against him. Only when they told him that someone had left his name – written in blood – as a clue did he end his ridiculous act. Jace had no idea how anyone could have ever believed a word from this oily mouth. He was a bad liar and arrogant on top.
"No progress?" Alec asked as Jace left the interrogation room to catch a breath.
Jace shook his head. The interrogation took place out of the Clave's eyes. It had taken a lot of persuasion for Imogen to even allow him to watch. Alec had joined a few hours later, after Adam had left the festivities together with his family. Although they were sure that Adam was somehow involved in Clary's abduction, they had no solid evidence. Alec had no choice but to let him go. Not without assigning some of Luke's werewolves to keep an eye on the Ashdown's residence. Isabelle was sitting near the Ashdown's house at that very moment. If something happened, they would raise the alarm.
"Since she told him we found his name in the dirt, he hasn't said anything," Jace told his Parabatai. They sat on a bench in front of the room where the Consul was being interrogated by the Inquisitor and some of her closest soldiers. Whether these rooms in the Gard were often used for such interrogations, Jace didn't know.
"We will find Clary," Alec promised and patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. Jace nodded absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the ground in front of him but not really present in thought. A voice in his head wondered why Alec even felt the need to comfort him. It was no secret that he still didn't quite trust Clary.
But Alec was his Parabatai. This bond between them allowed him to delve into Jace's emotional world. If anyone picked up on the chaos that was currently raging inside him, it was Alec. But maybe he just hadn't managed to hide his affection for Clary. Isabelle knew, that much Jace could see in her gaze. And even though Clary was primarily her friend, he felt like she was also watching Blake's house for his sake. At least, that's what the pitying look she threw him before disappearing hinted at.
Jace only half paid attention as Alec pulled out his stele from his pocket. Only when his Parabatai held it out to him did he react. "Maybe something has changed in her location."
"Isabelle is watching Blake's house," Jace replied but accepted the stele nonetheless. He remained firmly convinced that Blake was involved in this damned mess.
Jace and Alec got to their feet, and Jace brought out the cloth with the blood from the crime scene that he had wiped up. Clary's blood. He laid it flat in his palm, and Alec interlocked their fingers, squeezing his hand as hard as he could. Jace mimicked him, tensing the muscles in their arms to better control the power of the angels as Jace drew the rune on the back of their hands — where Clary's blood pulsed between their skin.
In one moment, Jace saw Alec's crystal-clear eyes in front of him; in the next, darkness enveloped them. Just for the blink of an eye. Then, bright light blinded them; sunlight reflecting off the boundless white of a snowy landscape. Idris. Jace's heart sank within him. Clary was no longer in Alicante. She was gone.
Gasping, Jace disentangled himself from Alec, his vision blinded, even though the image of the tracking had long disappeared from his mind's eye. His stomach made a leap so violent that he had to lean on his knees to stay upright. From a distance, he heard Alec's worried voice, but he couldn't return to the surface of his senses. Blood rushed in his ears, and he had the strange feeling that he might hit the ground any moment. Hard and merciless.
Your fault, a voice murmured in Jace's head. This is all your fault.
Jace shook himself. No. It wasn't his fault. The man in the room next door was to blame. His breath still came in gasps as he finally straightened up. Alec's eyes were wide, his hand raised to his own heart, as if he could empathize precisely with Jace's conflict. Then, as anger pushed the bottomless fear aside, his Parabatai took a step back. Jace had already started moving. Like a lightning bolt, he stormed toward the door of the interrogation room, pushed it open, and earned an irritated look from his grandmother.
"Clary is no longer in Alicante," Jace declared, the aggression palpable in the air like a tangible object — like a quake in the walls that wouldn't yield. Like a force that would bury everything beneath it.
Imogen stared at him as if she had never seen him before. And she hadn't. Not like this. Not with the blood of the Archangel in his veins. Not with the pure violence pumping through his veins. But unlike the last times, he had control today. "Where is she then?" dared his grandmother to ask, as if she weren't the most powerful person in all of Idris.
"Somewhere out in the wilderness," Jace's eyes, whose golden glow he felt like heat on his retinas, slid to Malachi. Disinterest reflected on his hard face. But underneath, well-hidden but there, was the knowledge of all this. It made Jace approach.
"The Consul believes he can't help us," Imogen informed him.
"Is that so?" Jace sneered, leaning over the table to Malachi, who followed him silently with his gaze. "Or haven't you tried hard enough to get it out of him?"
"Jonathan," his grandmother warned, but Jace didn't listen to her. The fire in his veins crackled too loudly.
"Tell us what we want to know, Consul," he said instead, as if he had the power. "Where is Clary? Where is Blake Ashdown taking her?"
A muscle twitched on Malachi's face at the mention of Blake's name. The second time today that someone reacted so strongly to this name. "I won't answer questions from a half-child," said the Consul, his voice bitter as poison.
"But you will answer my questions, Malachi," the Inquisitor interjected. "And I want the same answers as my grandson. Where is Clarissa Morgenstern?"
"I know nothing, Imogen. Detaining me like this doesn't comply with the laws."
"You can no longer hide behind the laws because you've broken them yourself," Jace hissed, his face so grim that some of the Shadowhunters in the room watched him suspiciously. "I'll give you one last chance. Tell us what you know."
"Or what?" mocked the Consul, his mouth raised amusedly.
The fire racing through Jace's body made his grandmother jump up. The soldiers around her took a frantic step back, pressing themselves against the wall with wide-open eyes. The power in his blood was pure and clean and would consume Malachi in seconds. Jace reached for his seraph blade, the Adamas cold in his grip. The Consul, who had already half risen from his chair to escape the searing heat, gasped. Nothing left of the arrogance.
"Or I'll kill you right now. I don't care what punishment awaits me afterward." Jace didn't smile as he pressed the sharp blade of his sword against Malachi's throat. A hiss went through the room as it burned his skin, and the Consul screamed. The temperature of Jace's body must have transferred to the weapon — leaving a red streak on Malachi's throat. But Jace pressed the blade harder against Malachi, and he could see the fear light up in his brown eyes like a spark in a starless night.
Jace watched as the Consul's arrogance crumbled when he realized that Jace would indeed kill him; that Jace was desperate enough to go that far. Desperation was not to be trifled with. Desperate people had nothing to lose. The Consul seemed to be aware of that.
"Ashdown," Malachi uttered heavily, admitting defeat. Jace barely loosened his sword from his throat. "They're taking her to the Ashdown's country estate."
At that very moment, the door to the interrogation room burst open for the second time. Alec came to a stop, skidding, the skin around his nose pale, and his blue eyes widened breathlessly. "It's Adam," he shouted over the blaze of Jace's anger, as if he were too distracted to notice. "The wolves saw him leaving the city on his horse. He's riding south."
To the Ashdown's country estate.
-
Sooo. Blake tries to find a way to the top, no matter his hatred for Valentine Morgenstern. Jace was sooo close to finding Clary in Blakes basement ... What do you think is Adam doing, riding south all on his own? Tell me what you think!
See you next week,
Skyllen :)