City of Fallen Angels Tapa dura - 2011

Resumen

Extracto

1
THE MASTER

âÈêJust coffee, please.âÈë

The waitress raised her penciled eyebrows. âÈêYou donâÈçt want anything to eat?âÈë she asked. Her accent was thick, her attitude disappointed.

Simon Lewis couldnâÈçt blame her; sheâÈçd probably been hoping for a better tip than the one she was going to get on a single cup of coffee. But it wasnâÈçt his fault vampires didnâÈçt eat. Sometimes, in restaurants, he ordered food anyway, just to preserve the appearance of normalcy, but late Tuesday night, when Veselka was almost empty of other customers, it didnâÈçt seem worth the bother. âÈêJust the coffee.âÈë

With a shrug the waitress took his laminated menu and went to put his order in. Simon sat back against the hard plastic diner chair and looked around. Veselka, a diner on the corner of Ninth Street and Second Avenue, was one of his favorite places on the Lower East SideâÈ'an old neighborhood eatery papered with black-and-white murals, where they let you sit all day as long as you ordered coffee at half-hour intervals. They also served what had once been his favorite vegetarian pierogi and borscht, but those days were behind him now.

It was mid-October, and theyâÈçd just put their Halloween decorations upâÈ'a wobbly sign that said TRICK-OR-BORSCHT! and a fake cardboard cutout vampire nicknamed Count Blintzula. Once upon a time Simon and Clary had found the cheesy holiday decorations hilarious, but the Count, with his fake fangs and black cape, didnâÈçt strike Simon as quite so funny anymore.

Simon glanced toward the window. It was a brisk night, and the wind was blowing leaves across Second Avenue like handfuls of thrown confetti. There was a girl walking down the street, a girl in a tight belted trench coat, with long black hair that flew in the wind. People turned to watch her as she walked past. Simon had looked at girls like that before in the past, idly wondering where they were going, who they were meeting. Not guys like him, he knew that much.

Except this one was. The bell on the dinerâÈçs front door rang as the door opened, and Isabelle Lightwood came in. She smiled when she saw Simon, and came toward him, shrugging off her coat and draping it over the back of the chair before she sat down. Under the coat she was wearing one of what Clary called her âÈêtypical Isabelle outfitsâÈë: a tight short velvet dress, fishnet stockings, and boots. There was a knife stuck into the top of her left boot that Simon knew only he could see; still, everyone in the diner was watching as she sat down, flinging her hair back. Whatever she was wearing, Isabelle drew attention like a fireworks display.

Beautiful Isabelle Lightwood. When Simon had met her, heâÈçd assumed sheâÈçd have no time for a guy like him. HeâÈçd turned out to be mostly right. Isabelle liked boys her parents disapproved of, and in her universe that meant DownworldersâÈ'faeries, werewolves, and vamps. That theyâÈçd been dating regularly for the past month or two amazed him, even if their relationship was limited mostly to infrequent meetings like this one. And even if he couldnâÈçt help but wonder if heâÈçd never been changed into a vampire, if his whole life hadnâÈçt been altered in that moment, would they be dating at all?

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, her smile brilliant. âÈêYou look nice.âÈë

Simon cast a glance at himself in the reflective surface of the diner window. IsabelleâÈçs influence was clear in the changes in his appearance since theyâÈçd been dating. SheâÈçd forced him to ditch his hoodies in favor of leather jackets, and his sneakers in favor of designer boots. Which, incidentally, cost three hundred dollars a pair. He was still wearing his characteristic word shirtsâÈ'this one said EXISTENTIALISTS DO IT POINTLESSLYâÈ'but his jeans no longer had holes in the knees and torn pockets. HeâÈçd also grown his hair long so that it fell in his eyes now, covering his forehead, but that was more necessity than Isabelle.

Clary made fun of him about his new look; but, then, Clary found everything about SimonâÈçs love life borderline hilarious. She couldnâÈçt believe he was dating Isabelle in any serious way. Of course, she also couldnâÈçt believe he was also dating Maia Roberts, a friend of theirs who happened to be a werewolf, in an equally serious way. And she really couldnâÈçt believe that Simon hadnâÈçt yet told either of them about the other.

Simon wasnâÈçt really sure how it had happened. Maia liked to come to his house and use his XboxâÈ'they didnâÈçt have one at the abandoned police station where the werewolf pack livedâÈ'and it wasnâÈçt until the third or fourth time sheâÈçd come over that sheâÈçd leaned over and kissed him good-bye before sheâÈçd left. HeâÈçd been pleased, and then had called up Clary to ask her if he needed to tell Isabelle. âÈêFigure out whatâÈçs going on with you and Isabelle,âÈë she said. âÈêThen tell her.âÈë

This had turned out to be bad advice. It had been a month, and he still wasnâÈçt sure what was going on with him and Isabelle, so he hadnâÈçt said anything. And the more time that passed, the more awkward the idea of saying something grew. So far heâÈçd made it work. Isabelle and Maia werenâÈçt really friends, and rarely saw each other. Unfortunately for him, that was about to change. ClaryâÈçs mother and her longtime friend, Luke, were getting married in a few weeks, and both Isabelle and Maia were invited to the wedding, a prospect Simon found more terrifying than the idea of being chased through the streets of New York by an angry mob of vampire hunters.

âÈêSo,âÈë Isabelle said, snapping him out of his reverie. âÈêWhy here and not TakiâÈçs? TheyâÈçd serve you blood there.âÈë

Simon winced at her volume. Isabelle was nothing if not unsubtle. Fortunately, no one seemed to be listening in, not even the waitress who returned, banged down a cup of coffee in front of Simon, eyed Izzy, and left without taking her order.

âÈêI like it here,âÈë he said. âÈêClary and I used to come here back when she was taking classes at Tisch. They have great borscht and blintzesâÈ'theyâÈçre like sweet cheese dumplingsâÈ'plus itâÈçs open all night.âÈë

Isabelle, however, was ignoring him. She was staring past his shoulder. âÈêWhat is that?âÈë

Simon followed her glance. âÈêThatâÈçs Count Blintzula.âÈë

âÈêCount Blintzula?âÈë

Simon shrugged. âÈêItâÈçs a Halloween decoration. Count Blintzula is for kids. ItâÈçs like Count Chocula, or the Count on Sesame Street.âÈë He grinned at her blank look. âÈêYou know. He teaches kids how to count.âÈë

Isabelle was shaking her head. âÈêThereâÈçs a TV show where children are taught how to count by a vampire?âÈë

âÈêIt would make sense if youâÈçd seen it,âÈë Simon muttered.

âÈêThere is some mythological basis for such a construction,âÈë Isabelle said, lapsing into lecturey Shadowhunter mode. âÈêSome legends do assert that vampires are obsessed with counting, and that if you spill grains of rice in front of them, theyâÈçll have to stop what theyâÈçre doing and count each one. ThereâÈçs no truth in it, of course, any more than that business about garlic. And vampires have no business teaching children. Vampires are terrifying.âÈë

âÈêThank you,âÈë Simon said. âÈêItâÈçs a joke, Isabelle. HeâÈçs the Count. He likes counting. You know. âÈæWhat did the Count eat today, children? One chocolate chip cookie, two chocolate chip cookies, three chocolate chip cookies . . .âÈçâÈë

There was a rush of cold air as the door of the restaurant opened, letting in another customer. Isabelle shivered and reached for her black silk scarf. âÈêItâÈçs not realistic.âÈë

âÈêWhat would you prefer? âÈæWhat did the Count eat today, children? One helpless villager, two helpless villagers, three helpless villagers . . .âÈçâÈë

âÈêShh.âÈë Isabelle finished knotting her scarf around her throat and leaned forward, putting her hand on SimonâÈçs wrist. Her big dark eyes were alive suddenly, the way they only ever came alive when she was either hunting demons or thinking about hunting demons. âÈêLook over there.âÈë

Simon followed her gaze. There were two men standing over by the glass-fronted case that held bakery items: thickly frosted cakes, plates of rugelach, and cream-filled Danishes. Neither of the men looked as if they were interested in food, though. Both were short and painfully gaunt, so much so that their cheekbones jutted from their colorless faces like knives. Both had thin gray hair and pale gray eyes, and wore belted slate-colored coats that reached the floor.

âÈêNow,âÈë Isabelle said, âÈêwhat do you suppose they are?âÈë

Simon squinted at them. They both stared back at him, their lashless eyes like empty holes. âÈêThey kind of look like evil lawn gnomes.âÈë

âÈêTheyâÈçre human subjugates,âÈë Isabelle hissed. âÈêThey belong to a vampire.âÈë

âÈêâÈæBelongâÈç as in . . . ?âÈë

She made an impatient noise. âÈêBy the Angel, you donâÈçt know anything about your kind, do you? Do you even really know how vampires are made?âÈë

âÈêWell, when a mommy vampire and a daddy vampire love each other very much . . .âÈë

Isabelle made a face at him. âÈêFine, you know that vampires donâÈçt need to have sex to reproduce, but I bet you donâÈçt really know how it works.âÈë

âÈêI do too,âÈë said Simon. âÈêIâÈçm a vampire because I drank some of RaphaelâÈçs blood before I died. Drinking blood plus death equals vampire.âÈë

âÈêNot exactly,âÈë said Isabelle. âÈêYouâÈçre a vampire because you drank some of RaphaelâÈçs blood, and then you were bitten by other vampires, and then you died. You need to be bitten at some point during the process.âÈë

âÈêWhy?âÈë

âÈêVampire saliva has . . . properties. Transformative properties.âÈë

âÈêYech,âÈë said Simon.

âÈêDonâÈçt âÈæyechâÈç me. YouâÈçre the one with the magical spit. Vampires keep humans around and feed on them when theyâÈçre short on bloodâÈ'like walking snack machines.âÈë Izzy spoke with distaste. âÈêYouâÈçd think theyâÈçd be weak from blood loss all the time, but vampire saliva actually has healing properties. It increases their red blood cell count, makes them stronger and healthier, and makes them live longer. ThatâÈçs why itâÈçs not against the Law for a vampire to feed on a human. It doesnâÈçt really hurt them. Of course every once in a while the vampire will decide it wants more than a snack, it wants a subjugateâÈ'and then it will start feeding its bitten human small amounts of vampire blood, just to keep it docile, to keep it connected to its master. Subjugates worship their masters, and love serving them. All they want is to be near them. Like you were when you went back to the Dumont. You were drawn back to the vampire whose blood you had consumed.âÈë

âÈêRaphael,âÈë Simon said, his voice bleak. âÈêI donâÈçt feel a burning urge to be with him these days, let me tell you.âÈë

âÈêNo, it goes away when you become a full vampire. ItâÈçs only the subjugates who worship their sires and canâÈçt disobey them. DonâÈçt you see? When you went back to the Dumont, RaphaelâÈçs clan drained you, and you died, and then you became a vampire. But if they hadnâÈçt drained you, if theyâÈçd given you more vampire blood instead, you would eventually have become a subjugate.âÈë

âÈêThatâÈçs all very interesting,âÈë Simon said. âÈêBut it doesnâÈçt explain why theyâÈçre staring at us.âÈë

Isabelle glanced back at them. âÈêTheyâÈçre staring at you. Maybe their master died and theyâÈçre looking for another vampire to own them. You could have pets.âÈë She grinned.

âÈêOr,âÈë Simon said, âÈêmaybe theyâÈçre here for the hash browns.âÈë

âÈêHuman subjugates donâÈçt eat food. They live on a mix of vampire blood and animal blood. It keeps them in a state of suspended animation. TheyâÈçre not immortal, but they age very slowly.âÈë

âÈêSadly,âÈë Simon said, eyeing them, âÈêthey donâÈçt seem to keep their looks.âÈë

Isabelle sat up straight. âÈêAnd theyâÈçre on their way over here. I guess weâÈçll find out what they want.âÈë

The human subjugates moved as if they were on wheels. They didnâÈçt appear to be taking steps so much as gliding forward soundlessly. It took them only seconds to cross the restaurant; by the time they neared SimonâÈçs table, Isabelle had whipped the sharp stiletto-like dagger out of the top of her boot. It lay across the table, gleaming in the dinerâÈçs fluorescent lights. It was a dark, heavy silver, with crosses burned into both sides of the hilt. Most vampire-repelling weapons seemed to sport crosses, on the assumption, Simon thought, that most vampires were Christian. Who knew that following a minority religion could be so advantageous?

âÈêThatâÈçs close enough,âÈë Isabelle said, as the two subjugates paused beside the table, her fingers inches from the dagger. âÈêState your business, you two.âÈë

âÈêShadowhunter.âÈë The creature on the left spoke in a hissing whisper. âÈêWe did not know of you in this situation.âÈë

Isabelle raised a delicate eyebrow. âÈêAnd what situation would that be?âÈë

The second subjugate pointed a long gray finger at Simon. The nail on the end of it was yellowed and sharp. âÈêWe have dealings with the Daylighter.âÈë

âÈêNo, you donâÈçt,âÈë Simon said. âÈêI have no idea who you are. Never seen you before.âÈë

âÈêI am Mr. Walker,âÈë said the first creature. âÈêBeside me is Mr. Archer. We serve the most powerful vampire in New York City. The head of the greatest Manhattan clan.âÈë

âÈêRaphael Santiago,âÈë said Isabelle. âÈêIn that case you must know that Simon isnâÈçt a part of any clan. HeâÈçs a free agent.âÈë

Mr. Walker smiled a thin smile. âÈêMy master was hoping that was a situation that could be altered.âÈë

Simon met IsabelleâÈçs eyes across the table. She shrugged. âÈêDidnâÈçt Raphael tell you he wanted you to stay away from the clan?âÈë

âÈêMaybe heâÈçs changed his mind,âÈë Simon suggested. âÈêYou know how he is. Moody. Fickle.âÈë

âÈêI wouldnâÈçt know. I havenâÈçt really seen him since that time I threatened to kill him with a candelabra. He took it well, though. DidnâÈçt flinch.âÈë

âÈêFantastic,âÈë Simon said. The two subjugates were staring at him. Their eyes were a pale whitish gray color, like dirty snow. âÈêIf Raphael wants me in the clan, itâÈçs because he wants something from me. You might as well tell me what it is.âÈë

âÈêWe are not privy to our masterâÈçs plans,âÈë said Mr. Archer in a haughty tone.

âÈêNo dice, then,âÈë said Simon. âÈêI wonâÈçt go.âÈë

âÈêIf you do not wish to come with us, we are authorized to use force to bring you.âÈë

The dagger seemed to leap into IsabelleâÈçs hand; or at least, she barely seemed to move, and yet she was holding it. She twirled it lightly. âÈêI wouldnâÈçt do that if I were you.âÈë

Mr. Archer bared his teeth at her. âÈêSince when have the AngelâÈçs children become the bodyguards for rogue Downworlders? I would have thought you above this sort of business, Isabelle Lightwood.âÈë

âÈêIâÈçm not his bodyguard,âÈë said Isabelle. âÈêIâÈçm his girlfriend. Which gives me the right to kick your ass if you bother him. ThatâÈçs how it works.âÈë

Girlfriend? Simon was startled enough to look at her in surprise, but she was staring down the two subjugates, her dark eyes flashing. On the one hand he didnâÈçt think Isabelle had ever referred to herself as his girlfriend before. On the other hand it was symptomatic of how strange his life had become that that was the thing that had startled him most tonight, rather than the fact that he had just been summoned to a meeting by the most powerful vampire in New York.

âÈêMy master,âÈë said Mr. Walker, in what he probably thought was a soothing tone, âÈêhas a proposition to put to the DaylighterâÈ'âÈë

âÈêHis name is Simon. Simon Lewis.âÈë

âÈêTo put to Mr. Lewis. I can promise you that Mr. Lewis will find it most advantageous if he is willing to accompany us and hear my master out. I swear on my masterâÈçs honor that no harm will come to you, Daylighter, and that should you wish to refuse my masterâÈçs offer, you will have the free choice to do so.âÈë

My master, my master. Mr. Walker spoke the words with a mixture of adoration and awe. Simon shuddered a little inwardly. How horrible to be so bound to someone else, and to have no real will of your own.

Isabelle was shaking her head; she mouthed âÈênoâÈë at Simon. She was probably right, he thought. Isabelle was an excellent Shadowhunter. SheâÈçd been hunting demons and lawbreaking DownworldersâÈ'rogue vampires, black-magic-practicing warlocks, werewolves whoâÈçd run wild and eaten someoneâÈ'since she was twelve years old, and was probably better at what she did than any other Shadowhunter her age, with the exception of her brother Jace. And there had been Sebastian, Simon thought, who had been better than them both. But he was dead.

âÈêAll right,âÈë he said. âÈêIâÈçll go.âÈë

IsabelleâÈçs eyes rounded. âÈêSimon!âÈë

Both subjugates rubbed their hands together, like villains in a comic book. The gesture itself wasnâÈçt what was creepy, really; it was that they did it exactly at the same time and in the same way, as if they were puppets whose strings were being yanked in unison.

âÈêExcellent,âÈë said Mr. Archer.

Isabelle banged the knife down on the table with a clatter and leaned forward, her shining dark hair brushing the tabletop. âÈêSimon,âÈë she said in an urgent whisper. âÈêDonâÈçt be stupid. ThereâÈçs no reason for you to go with them. And RaphaelâÈçs a jerk.âÈë

âÈêRaphaelâÈçs a master vampire,âÈë said Simon. âÈêHis blood made me a vampire. HeâÈçs myâÈ'whatever they call it.âÈë

âÈêSire, maker, begetterâÈ'there are a million names for what he did,âÈë Isabelle said distractedly. âÈêAnd maybe his blood made you a vampire. But it didnâÈçt make you a Daylighter.âÈë Her eyes met his across the table. Jace made you a Daylighter. But she would never say it out loud; there were only a few of them who knew the truth, the whole story behind what Jace was, and what Simon was because of it. âÈêYou donâÈçt have to do what he says.âÈë

âÈêOf course I donâÈçt,âÈë Simon said, lowering his voice. âÈêBut if I refuse to go, do you think Raphael is just going to drop it? He wonâÈçt. TheyâÈçll keep coming after me.âÈë He snuck a glance sideways at the subjugates; they looked as if they agreed, though he might have been imagining it. âÈêTheyâÈçll bug me everywhere. When IâÈçm out, at school, at ClaryâÈçsâÈ'âÈë

âÈêAnd what? Clary canâÈçt handle it?âÈë Isabelle threw up her hands. âÈêFine. At least let me go with you.âÈë

âÈêCertainly not,âÈë cut in Mr. Archer. âÈêThis is not a matter for Shadowhunters. This is the business of the Night Children.âÈë

âÈêI will notâÈ'âÈë

âÈêThe Law gives us the right to conduct our business in private.âÈë Mr. Walker spoke stiffly. âÈêWith our own kind.âÈë

Simon looked at them. âÈêGive us a moment, please,âÈë he said. âÈêI want to talk to Isabelle.âÈë

There was a moment of silence. Around them the life of the diner went on. The place was getting its late-night rush as the movie theater down the block let out, and waitresses were hurrying by, carrying steaming plates of food to customers; couples laughed and chattered at nearby tables; cooks shouted orders to each other behind the counter. No one looked at them or acknowledged that anything odd was going on. Simon was used to glamours by now, but he couldnâÈçt help the feeling sometimes, when he was with Isabelle, that he was trapped behind an invisible glass wall, cut off from the rest of humanity and the daily round of its affairs.

âÈêVery well,âÈë said Mr. Walker, stepping back. âÈêBut my master does not like to be kept waiting.âÈë

They retreated toward the door, apparently unaffected by the blasts of cold air whenever someone went in or out, and stood there like statues. Simon turned to Isabelle. âÈêItâÈçs all right,âÈë he said. âÈêThey wonâÈçt hurt me. They canâÈçt hurt me. Raphael knows all about . . .âÈë He gestured uncomfortably toward his forehead. âÈêThis.âÈë

Isabelle reached across the table and pushed his hair back, her touch more clinical than gentle. She was frowning. Simon had looked at the Mark enough times himself, in the mirror, to know well what it looked like. As if someone had taken a thin paintbrush and drawn a simple design on his forehead, just above and between his eyes. The shape of it seemed to change sometimes, like the moving images found in clouds, but it was always clear and black and somehow dangerous-looking, like a warning sign scrawled in another language.

âÈêIt really . . . works?âÈë she whispered.

âÈêRaphael thinks it works,âÈë said Simon. âÈêAnd I have no reason to think it doesnâÈçt.âÈë He caught her wrist and drew it away from his face. âÈêIâÈçll be all right, Isabelle.âÈë

She sighed. âÈêEvery bit of my training says this isnâÈçt a good idea.âÈë

Simon squeezed her fingers. âÈêCome on. YouâÈçre curious about what Raphael wants, arenâÈçt you?âÈë

Isabelle patted his hand and sat back. âÈêTell me all about it when you get back. Call me first.âÈë

âÈêI will.âÈë Simon stood, zipping up his jacket. âÈêAnd do me a favor, will you? Two favors, actually.âÈë

She looked at him with guarded amusement. âÈêWhat?âÈë

âÈêClary said sheâÈçd be training over at the Institute tonight. If you run into her, donâÈçt tell her where I went. SheâÈçll worry for no reason.âÈë

Isabelle rolled her eyes. âÈêOkay, fine. Second favor?âÈë

Simon leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. âÈêTry the borscht before you leave. ItâÈçs fantastic.âÈë

Mr. Walker and Mr. Archer were not the most talkative of companions. They led Simon silently through the streets of the Lower East Side, keeping several steps ahead of him with their odd gliding pace. It was getting late, but the city sidewalks were full of peopleâÈ'getting off a late shift, hurrying home from dinner, heads down, collars turned up against the stiff cold wind. At St. MarkâÈçs Place there were card tables set up along the curb, selling everything from cheap socks to pencil sketches of New York to smoky sandalwood incense. Leaves rattled across the pavement like dried bones. The air smelled like car exhaust mixed with sandalwood, and underneath that, the smell of human beingsâÈ'skin and blood.

SimonâÈçs stomach tightened. He tried to keep enough bottles of animal blood in his roomâÈ'he had a small refrigerator at the back of his closet now, where his mother wouldnâÈçt see itâÈ'to keep himself from ever getting hungry. The blood was disgusting. HeâÈçd thought heâÈçd get used to it, even start wanting it, but though it killed his hunger pangs, there was nothing about it that he enjoyed the way heâÈçd once enjoyed chocolate or vegetarian burritos or coffee ice cream. It remained blood.

But being hungry was worse. Being hungry meant that he could smell things he didnâÈçt want to smellâÈ'salt on skin; the overripe, sweet smell of blood exuding from the pores of strangers. It made him feel hungry and twisted up and utterly wrong. Hunching over, he jammed his fists into the pockets of his jacket and tried to breathe through his mouth.

They turned right onto Third Avenue, and paused in front of a restaurant whose sign said CLOISTER CAFÃÓ. GARDEN OPEN ALL YEAR. Simon blinked up at the sign. âÈêWhat are we doing here?âÈë

âÈêThis is the meeting place our master has chosen.âÈë Mr. WalkerâÈçs tone was bland.

âÈêHuh.âÈë Simon was puzzled. âÈêI would have thought RaphaelâÈçs style was more, you know, arranging meetings on top of an unconsecrated cathedral, or down in some crypt full of bones. He never struck me as the trendy restaurant type.âÈë

Both subjugates stared at him. âÈêIs there a problem, Daylighter?âÈë asked Mr. Archer finally.

Simon felt obscurely scolded. âÈêNo. No problem.âÈë

The interior of the restaurant was dark, with a marble-topped bar running along one wall. No servers or waitstaff approached them as they made their way through the room to a door in the back, and through the door into the garden.

Many New York restaurants had garden terraces; few were open this late into the year. This one was in a courtyard between several buildings. The walls had been painted with trompe lâÈçoeil murals showing Italian gardens full of flowers. The trees, their leaves turned gold and russet with the fall, were strung with chains of white lights, and heat lamps scattered between the tables gave off a reddish glow. A small fountain plashed musically in the center of the yard.

Only one table was occupied, and not by Raphael. A slim woman in a wide-brimmed hat sat at a table close to the wall. As Simon watched in puzzlement, she raised a hand and waved at him. He turned and looked behind him; there was, of course, no one there. Walker and Archer had started moving again; bemused, Simon followed them as they crossed the courtyard and stopped a few feet from where the woman sat.

Walker bowed deeply. âÈêMaster,âÈë he said.

The woman smiled. âÈêWalker,âÈë she said. âÈêAnd Archer. Very good. Thank you for bringing Simon to me.âÈë

âÈêWait a second.âÈë Simon looked from the woman to the two subjugates and back again. âÈêYouâÈçre not Raphael.âÈë

âÈêDear me, no.âÈë The woman removed her hat. An enormous quantity of silvery blond hair, brilliant in the Christmas lights, spilled down over her shoulders. Her face was smooth and white and oval, very beautiful, dominated by enormous pale green eyes. She wore long black gloves, a black silk blouse and pencil skirt, and a black scarf tied around her throat. It was impossible to tell her ageâÈ'or at least what age she might have been when sheâÈçd been Turned into a vampire. âÈêI am Camille Belcourt. Enchanted to meet you.âÈë

She held out a black-gloved hand.

âÈêI was told I was meeting Raphael Santiago here,âÈë said Simon, not reaching to take it. âÈêDo you work for him?âÈë

Camille Belcourt laughed like a rippling fountain. âÈêMost certainly not! Though once upon a time he worked for me.âÈë

And Simon remembered. I thought the head vampire wassomeone else, he had said to Raphael once, in Idris, it felt like forever ago.

Camille has not yet returned to us, Raphael had replied. I lead in her stead.

âÈêYouâÈçre the head vampire,âÈë Simon said. âÈêOf the Manhattan clan.âÈë He turned back to the subjugates. âÈêYou tricked me. You told me I was meeting Raphael.âÈë

âÈêI said you were meeting our master,âÈë said Mr. Walker. His eyes were vast and empty, so empty that Simon wondered if they had even meant to mislead him, or if they were simply programmed like robots to say whatever their master had told them to say, and were unaware of deviations from the script. âÈêAnd here she is.âÈë

âÈêIndeed.âÈë Camille flashed a brilliant smile toward her subjugates. âÈêPlease leave us, Walker, Archer. I need to speak to Simon alone.âÈë There was something about the way she said itâÈ'both his name, and the word âÈêaloneâÈëâÈ'that was like a secret caress.

The subjugates bowed and withdrew. As Mr. Archer turned to walk away, Simon caught sight of a mark on the side of his throat, a deep bruise, so dark it looked like paint, with two darker spots inside it. The darker spots were punctures, ringed with dry, ragged flesh. Simon felt a quiet shudder pass through him.

âÈêPlease,âÈë said Camille, and patted the seat beside her. âÈêSit. Would you like some wine?âÈë

Simon sat, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the hard metal chair. âÈêI donâÈçt really drink.âÈë

âÈêOf course,âÈë she said, all sympathy. âÈêYouâÈçre barely a fledgling, arenâÈçt you? DonâÈçt worry too much. Over time you will train yourself to be able to consume wine and other beverages. Some of the oldest of our kind can consume human food with few ill effects.âÈë

Few ill effects? Simon didnâÈçt like the sound of that. âÈêIs this going to take a long time?âÈë he inquired, gazing pointedly down at his cell phone, which told him the time was after ten thirty. âÈêI have to get home.âÈë

Camille took a sip of her wine. âÈêYou do? And why is that?âÈë

Because my mom is waiting up for me. Okay, there was no reason this woman needed to know that. âÈêYou interrupted my date,âÈë he said. âÈêI was just wondering what was so important.âÈë

âÈêYou still live with your mother, donâÈçt you?âÈë she said, setting her glass down. âÈêRather odd, isnâÈçt it, a powerful vampire like yourself refusing to leave home, to join with a clan?âÈë

âÈêSo you interrupted my date to make fun of me for still living with my parents. CouldnâÈçt you have done that on a night I didnâÈçt have a date? ThatâÈçs most nights, in case youâÈçre curious.âÈë

âÈêIâÈçm not mocking you, Simon.âÈë She ran her tongue over her lower lip as if tasting the wine she had just drunk. âÈêI want to know why you havenâÈçt become part of RaphaelâÈçs clan.âÈë

Which is the same as your clan, isnâÈçt it? âÈêI got the strong feeling he didnâÈçt want me to be part of it,âÈë Simon said. âÈêHe pretty much said heâÈçd leave me alone if I left him alone. So IâÈçve left him alone.âÈë

âÈêHave you.âÈë Her green eyes glowed.

âÈêI never wanted to be a vampire,âÈë Simon said, half-wondering why he was telling these things to this strange woman. âÈêI wanted a normal life. When I found out I was a Daylighter, I thought I could have one. Or at least some approximation of one. I can go to school, I can live at home, I can see my mom and sisterâÈ'âÈë

âÈêAs long as you donâÈçt ever eat in front of them,âÈë said Camille. âÈêAs long as you hide your need for blood. You have never fed on someone purely human, have you? Just bagged blood. Stale. Animal.âÈë She wrinkled her nose.

Simon thought of Jace, and pushed the thought hastily away. Jace was not precisely human. âÈêNo, I havenâÈçt.âÈë

âÈêYou will. And when you do, you will not forget it.âÈë She leaned forward, and her pale hair brushed across his hand. âÈêYou cannot hide your true self forever.âÈë

âÈêWhat teenager doesnâÈçt lie to their parents?âÈë Simon said. âÈêAnyway, I donâÈçt see why you care. In fact, IâÈçm still not sure why IâÈçm here.âÈë

Camille leaned forward. When she did, the neckline of her black silk blouse gaped open. If Simon had still been human, he would have blushed. âÈêWill you let me see it?âÈë

Simon could actually feel his eyes pop out. âÈêSee what?âÈë

She smiled. âÈêThe Mark, silly boy. The Mark of the Wanderer.âÈë

Simon opened his mouth, then closed it again. How does she know? Very few people knew of the Mark that Clary had put on him in Idris. Raphael had indicated it was a matter for deadly secrecy, and Simon had treated it as such.

But CamilleâÈçs eyes were very green and steady, and for some reason he wanted to do what she wanted him to do. It was something about the way she looked at him, something in the music of her voice. He reached up and pushed his hair aside, baring his forehead for her inspection.

Her eyes widened, her lips parting. Lightly she touched her fingers to her throat, as if checking the nonexistent pulse there. âÈêOh,âÈë she said. âÈêHow lucky you are, Simon. How fortunate.âÈë

âÈêItâÈçs a curse,âÈë he said. âÈêNot a blessing. You know that, right?âÈë

Her eyes sparked. âÈêâÈæAnd Cain said unto the Lord, My punishment is greater than I can bear.âÈç Is it more than you can bear, Simon?âÈë

Simon sat back, letting his hair fall back into place. âÈêI can bear it.âÈë

âÈêBut you donâÈçt want to.âÈë She ran a gloved finger around the rim of her wineglass, her eyes still fixed on him. âÈêWhat if I could offer you a way to turn what you regard as a curse into an advantage?âÈë

IâÈçd say youâÈçre finally getting to the reason you brought me here, which is a start. âÈêIâÈçm listening.âÈë

âÈêYou recognized my name when I told it to you,âÈë Camille said. âÈêRaphael has mentioned me before, has he not?âÈë She had an accent, very faint, that Simon couldnâÈçt quite place.

âÈêHe said you were the head of the clan and he was just leading them while you were gone. Stepping in for you likeâÈ'like a vice president or something.âÈë

âÈêAh.âÈë She bit gently on her lower lip. âÈêThat is, in fact, not quite true. I would like to tell you the truth, Simon. I would like to make you an offer. But first I must have your word on something.âÈë

âÈêAnd whatâÈçs that?âÈë

âÈêThat everything that passes between us this night, here, remains a secret. No one can know. Not your redheaded little friend, Clary. Not either of your lady friends. None of the Lightwoods. No one.âÈë

Simon sat back. âÈêAnd what if I donâÈçt want to promise?âÈë

âÈêThen you may leave, if you like,âÈë she said. âÈêBut then you will never know what I wished to tell you. And that will be a loss you will regret.âÈë

âÈêIâÈçm curious,âÈë Simon said. âÈêBut IâÈçm not sure IâÈçm that curious.âÈë

Her eyes held a little spark of surprise and amusement and perhaps, Simon thought, even a little respect. âÈêNothing I have to say to you concerns them. It will not affect their safety, or their well-being. The secrecy is for my own protection.âÈë

Simon looked at her suspiciously. Did she mean it? Vampires werenâÈçt like faeries, who couldnâÈçt lie. But he had to admit he was curious. âÈêAll right. IâÈçll keep your secret, unless I think something you say is putting my friends in danger. Then all bets are off.âÈë

Her smile was frosty; he could tell she didnâÈçt like being disbelieved. âÈêVery well,âÈë she said. âÈêI suppose I have little choice when I need your help so badly.âÈë She leaned forward, one slim hand toying with the stem of her wineglass. âÈêUntil quite recently I led the Manhattan clan, happily. We had beautiful quarters in an old prewar building on the Upper West Side, not that rat hole of a hotel Santiago keeps my people in now. SantiagoâÈ'Raphael, as you call himâÈ'was my second in command. My most loyal companionâÈ'or so I thought. One night I found out that he was murdering humans, driving them to that old hotel in Spanish Harlem and drinking their blood for his amusement. Leaving their bones in the Dumpster outside. Taking stupid risks, breaking Covenant Law.âÈë She took a sip of wine. âÈêWhen I went to confront him, I realized he had told the rest of the clan that I was the murderer, the lawbreaker. It was all a setup. He meant to kill me, so that he might seize power. I fled, with only Walker and Archer to keep me safe.âÈë

âÈêSo all this time heâÈçs claimed heâÈçs just leading until you return?âÈë

She made a face. âÈêSantiago is an accomplished liar. He wishes me to return, thatâÈçs for certainâÈ'so he can murder me and take charge of the clan in earnest.âÈë

Simon wasnâÈçt sure what she wanted to hear. He wasnâÈçt used to adult women looking at him with big tear-filled eyes, or spilling out their life stories to him.

âÈêIâÈçm sorry,âÈë he said finally.

She shrugged, a very expressive shrug that made him wonder if perhaps her accent was French. âÈêIt is in the past,âÈë she said. âÈêI have been hiding out in London all this time, looking for allies, biding my time. Then I heard about you.âÈë She held up her hand. âÈêI cannot tell you how; I am sworn to secrecy. But the moment I did, I realized that you were what I had been waiting for.âÈë

âÈêI was? I am?âÈë

She leaned forward and touched his hand. âÈêRaphael is afraid of you, Simon, as well he should be. You are one of his own, a vampire, but you cannot be harmed or killed; he cannot lift a finger against you without bringing down GodâÈçs wrath on his head.âÈë

There was a silence. Simon could hear the soft electrical hum of the Christmas lights overhead, the water plashing in the stone fountain in the center of the courtyard, the buzz and hum of the city. When he spoke, his voice was soft. âÈêYou said it.âÈë

âÈêWhat was that, Simon?âÈë

âÈêThe word. The wrath ofâÈ'âÈë The word bit and burned in his mouth, just as it always did.

âÈêYes. God.âÈë She retracted her hand, but her eyes were warm. âÈêThere are many secrets of our kind, so many that I can tell you, show you. You will learn you are not damned.âÈë

âÈêMaâÈçamâÈ'âÈë

âÈêCamille. You must call me Camille.âÈë

âÈêI still donâÈçt understand what you want from me.âÈë

âÈêDonâÈçt you?âÈë She shook her head, and her brilliant hair flew around her face. âÈêI want you to join with me, Simon. Join with me against Santiago. We will walk together into his rat-infested hotel; the moment his followers see that you are with me, they will leave him and come to me. I believe they are loyal to me beneath their fear of him. Once they see us together, that fear will be gone, and they will come to our side. Man cannot contend with the divine.âÈë

âÈêI donâÈçt know,âÈë Simon said. âÈêIn the Bible, Jacob wrestled an angel, and he won.âÈë

Camille looked at him with her eyebrows arched.

Simon shrugged. âÈêHebrew school.âÈë

âÈêâÈæAnd Jacob called the name of the place Peniel: for I have seen God face to face.âÈç You see, you are not the only one who knows your scripture.âÈë Her narrow look was gone, and she was smiling. âÈêYou may not realize it, Daylighter, but as long as you bear that Mark, you are the avenging arm of heaven. No one can stand before you. Certainly not one vampire.âÈë

âÈêAre you afraid of me?âÈë Simon asked.

He was almost instantly sorry he had. Her green eyes darkened like thunderclouds. âÈêMe, afraid of you?âÈë Then she collected herself, her face smoothing, her expression lightening. âÈêOf course not,âÈë she said. âÈêYou are an intelligent man. I am convinced you will see the wisdom of my proposal and join with me.âÈë

âÈêAnd what exactly is your proposal? I mean, I understand the part where we face down Raphael, but after that? I donâÈçt really hate Raphael, or want to get rid of him just to get rid of him. He leaves me alone. ThatâÈçs all I ever wanted.âÈë

She folded her hands together in front of her. She wore a silver ring with a blue stone in it on her left middle finger, over the material of her glove. âÈêYou think that is what you want, Simon. You think Raphael is doing you a favor in leaving you alone, as you put it. In reality he is exiling you. Right now you think you do not need others of your kind. You are content with the friends you haveâÈ'humans and Shadowhunters. You are content to hide bottles of blood in your room and lie to your mother about what you are.âÈë

âÈêHow did youâÈ'âÈë

She went on, ignoring him. âÈêBut what about in ten years, when you are supposed to be twenty-six? In twenty years? Thirty? Do you think no one will notice that as they age and change, you do not?âÈë

Simon said nothing. He didnâÈçt want to admit he hadnâÈçt thought ahead that far. That he didnâÈçt want to think ahead that far.

âÈêRaphael has taught you that other vampires are poison to you. But it does not need to be that way. Eternity is a long time to spend alone, without others of your kind. Others who understand. You befriend Shadowhunters, but you can never be of them. You will always be other and outside. With us you could belong.âÈë As she leaned forward, white light sparked off her ring, stinging SimonâÈçs eyes. âÈêWe have thousands of years of knowledge we could share with you, Simon. You could learn how to keep your secret; how to eat and drink, how to speak the name of God. Raphael has cruelly hidden this information from you, even led you to believe it doesnâÈçt exist. It does. I can help you.âÈë

âÈêIf I help you first,âÈë Simon said.

She smiled, and her teeth were white and sharp. âÈêWe will help each other.âÈë

Simon leaned back. The iron chair was hard and uncomfortable, and he suddenly felt tired. Looking down at his hands, he could see that the veins had darkened, spidering across the backs of his knuckles. He needed blood. He needed to talk to Clary. He needed time to think.

âÈêIâÈçve shocked you,âÈë she said. âÈêI know. It is a great deal to take in. I would be happy to give you as much time as you needed to make up your mind about this, and about me. But we donâÈçt have much time, Simon. While I remain in this city, I am in danger from Raphael and his cohorts.âÈë

âÈêCohorts?âÈë Despite everything, Simon grinned slightly.

Camille seemed baffled. âÈêYes?âÈë

âÈêWell, itâÈçs just . . . âÈæCohorts.âÈç ItâÈçs like saying âÈæevildoersâÈç or âÈæminions.âÈçâÈë She stared at him blankly. Simon sighed. âÈêSorry. You probably havenâÈçt seen as many bad movies as I have.âÈë

Camille frowned faintly, a very fine line appearing between her brows. âÈêI was told you would be slightly peculiar. Perhaps it is just that I donâÈçt know many vampires of your generation. But that will be good for me, I feel, to be around someone so . . . young.âÈë

âÈêNew blood,âÈë said Simon.

At that she did smile. âÈêAre you ready, then? To accept my offer? To begin to work together?âÈë

Simon looked up at the sky. The strings of white lights seemed to blot out the stars. âÈêLook,âÈë he said, âÈêI appreciate your offer. I really do.âÈë Crap, he thought. There had to be some way to say this without him sounding like he was turning down a date to the prom. IâÈçm really, really flattered you asked, but . . . Camille, like Raphael, always spoke stiffly, formally, as if she were in a fairy tale. Maybe he could try that. He said, âÈêI require some time to make my decision. IâÈçm sure you understand.âÈë

Very delicately, she smiled, showing only the tips of her fangs. âÈêFive days,âÈë she said. âÈêAnd no longer.âÈë She held out her gloved hand to him. Something gleamed in her palm. It was a small glass vial, the size that might hold a perfume sample, only it appeared to be full of brownish powder. âÈêGrave dirt,âÈë she explained. âÈêSmash this, and I will know you are summoning me. If you do not summon me within five days I will send Walker for your answer.âÈë

Simon took the vial and slipped it into his pocket. âÈêAnd if the answer is no?âÈë

âÈêThen I will be disappointed. But we will part friends.âÈë She pushed her wineglass away. âÈêGood-bye, Simon.âÈë

Simon stood up. The chair made a metallic squeaking sound as it dragged over the ground, too loud. He felt like he should say something else, but he had no idea what. For the moment, though, he seemed to be dismissed. He decided that heâÈçd rather look like one of those weird modern vampires with bad manners than risk getting dragged back into the conversation. He left without saying anything else.

On his way back through the restaurant, he passed Walker and Archer, who were standing by the big wooden bar, their shoulders hunched under their long gray coats. He felt the force of their glares on him as he walked by and wiggled his fingers at themâÈ'a gesture somewhere between a friendly wave and a kiss-off. Archer bared his teethâÈ'flat human teethâÈ'and stalked past him toward the garden, Walker on his heels. Simon watched as they took their places in chairs across from Camille; she didnâÈçt look up as they seated themselves, but the white lights that had illuminated the garden went out suddenlyâÈ'not one by one but all at the same timeâÈ'leaving Simon staring at a disorienting square of darkness, as if someone had switched off the stars. By the time the waiters noticed and hurried outside to rectify the problem, flooding the garden with pale light once again, Camille and her human subjugates had vanished.

Simon unlocked the front door of his houseâÈ'one of a long chain of identical brick-fronted row houses that lined his Brooklyn blockâÈ'and pushed it open slightly, listening hard.

He had told his mother he was going out to practice with Eric and his other bandmates for a gig on Saturday. There had been a time when she simply would have believed him, and that would have been that; Elaine Lewis had always been a relaxed parent, never imposing a curfew on either Simon or his sister or insisting that they be home early on school nights. Simon was used to staying out until all hours with Clary, letting himself in with his key, and collapsing into bed at two in the morning, behavior that hadnâÈçt excited much comment from his mother.

Things were different now. He had been in Idris, the ShadowhuntersâÈç home country, for almost two weeks. He had vanished from home, with no chance to offer an excuse or explanation. The warlock Magnus Bane had stepped in and performed a memory spell on SimonâÈçs mother so that she now had no recollection that he had been missing at all. Or at least, no conscious recollection. Her behavior had changed, though. She was suspicious now, hovering, always watching him, insisting he be home at certain times. The last time he had come home from a date with Maia, he had found Elaine in the foyer, sitting in a chair facing the door, her arms crossed over her chest and a look of barely tempered rage on her face.

That night, heâÈçd been able to hear her breathing before heâÈçd seen her. Now he could hear only the faint sound of the television coming from the living room. She must have waited up for him, probably watching a marathon of one of those hospital dramas she loved. Simon swung the door closed behind him and leaned against it, trying to gather his energy to lie.

It was hard enough not eating around his family. Thankfully his mother went to work early and got back late, and Rebecca, who went to college in New Jersey and only came home occasionally to do her laundry, wasnâÈçt around often enough to notice anything odd. His mom was usually gone in the morning by the time he got up, the breakfast and lunch sheâÈçd lovingly prepared for him left out on the kitchen counter. HeâÈçd dump it into a trash bin on his way to school. Dinner was tougher. On the nights she was there, he had to push his food around his plate, pretend he wasnâÈçt hungry or that he wanted to take his food into his bedroom so he could eat while studying. Once or twice heâÈçd forced the food down, just to make her happy, and spent hours in the bathroom afterward, sweating and retching until it was out of his system.

He hated having to lie to her. HeâÈçd always felt a little sorry for Clary, with her fraught relationship with Jocelyn, the most overprotective parent heâÈçd ever known. Now the shoe was on the other foot. Since ValentineâÈçs death, JocelynâÈçs grip on Clary had relaxed to the point where she was practically a normal parent. Meanwhile, whenever Simon was home, he could feel the weight of his motherâÈçs gaze on him, like an accusation wherever he went.

Squaring his shoulders, he dropped his messenger bag by the door and headed into the living room to face the music. The TV was on, the news blaring. The local announcer was reporting on a human interest storyâÈ'a baby found abandoned in an alley behind a hospital downtown. Simon was surprised; his mom hated the news. She found it depressing. He glanced toward the couch, and his surprise faded. His mother was asleep, her glasses on the table beside her, a half-empty glass on the floor. Simon could smell it from hereâÈ'probably whiskey. He felt a pang. His mom hardly ever drank.

Simon went into his motherâÈçs bedroom and returned with a crocheted blanket. His mom was still asleep, her breathing slow and even. Elaine Lewis was a tiny, birdlike woman, with a halo of black curling hair, streaked with gray that she refused to dye. She worked during the day for an environmental nonprofit, and most of her clothes had animal motifs on them. Right now she was wearing a dress tie-dye printed with dolphins and waves, and a pin that had once been a live fish, dipped in resin. Its lacquered eye seemed to glare at Simon accusingly as he bent to tuck the blanket around her shoulders.

She moved, fitfully, turning her head away from him. âÈêSimon,âÈë she whispered. âÈêSimon, where are you?âÈë

Stricken, Simon let go of the blanket and stood up. Maybe he should wake her up, let her know he was okay. But then there would be questions he didnâÈçt want to answer and that hurt look on her face he couldnâÈçt stand. He turned and went into his bedroom.

He had thrown himself down onto the covers and grabbed for the phone on his bedside table, about to dial ClaryâÈçs number, before he even thought about it. He paused for a moment, listening to the dial tone. He couldnâÈçt tell her about Camille; heâÈçd promised to keep the vampireâÈçs offer a secret, and while Simon didnâÈçt feel he owed Camille much, if there was one thing he had learned from the past few months, it was that reneging on promises made to supernatural creatures was a bad idea. Still, he wanted to hear ClaryâÈçs voice, the way he always did when heâÈçd had a tough day. Well, there was always complaining to her about his love life; that seemed to amuse her no end. Rolling over in bed, he pulled the pillow over his head and dialed ClaryâÈçs number.

Âû 2011 Cassandra Claire LLC

Reseñas en medios

Citas

• Booklist, 07/01/2011, Page 58
• Hornbook Guide to Children, 01/01/2012, Page 93
• School Library Journal, 06/01/2011, Page 126
• Voice of Youth Advocates, 08/01/2011, Page 0