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CHAPTER THREE:

❝ Sins Of The Father ❞

On the subway ride uptown Clary found herself unable to sit down and her nerves made Esme restless. She paced up and down the near-empty train car, her iPod headphones dangling around her neck. Isabelle hadn't picked up the phone when either of them had called her, and an irrational sense of worry gnawed at Esme's insides.

Clary had relayed the events of Jace at the Hunter's Moon to her, covered in blood. With his teeth bared in snarling anger, Clary had thought he'd looked more like a werewolf himself than a Shadowhunter charged with protecting humans and keeping Downworlders in line.

They charged up the stairs at the Ninety-sixth Street subway stop, only slowing to a walk as they approached the corner where the Institute hulked like a huge gray shadow. It had been hot down in the tunnels, and the sweat on the back of Esme's neck was prickling coldly as she made her way up the cracked concrete walk to the Institute's front door.

They reached for the enormous iron bellpull that hung from the architrave, then hesitated. With a surge of resolve, Clary seized the door handle, trying to remember the words and said, "In the name of the Angel, I — "

The door swung open onto darkness starred by the flames of dozens of tiny candles. As they hurried between the pews, the candles flickered as if they were laughing at them. They reached the elevator and clanged the metal door shut behind them. Stabbing at the buttons with a shaking finger, Clary willed her nervousness to subside and looked at Esme. Esme who had without a question rushed to her when she needed her, looking just as frantic and frayed.

Esme had told herself, again and again, she would not fall in love. She stole a glance at Clary. Because to her love had always been duality. The kindness and softness and loveliness of it as it sunk its rotten teeth in decaying flesh drawing sinful blood. How do you explain to your middle school friends that you always wore long sleeves to cover the bruises on your arm that your father gave you? Love was a poisoned dagger barrelling towards pink innocent flesh. Love was a killer.

The elevator came to a clanging stop and Esme pushed the door open. Church was waiting for them in the foyer. He greeted them with a disgruntled meow. "What's wrong, Church?" Her voice sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room. She wondered if anyone were here in the Institute. Maybe it was just them. The thought gave her the creeps. "Is anyone home?"

The blue Persian turned his back and headed down the corridor. They passed the music room and the library, both empty, before Church turned another corner and sat down in front of a closed door. Right, then. Here we are, his expression seemed to say.

Before Clary could knock, the door opened, revealing Isabelle standing on the threshold, barefoot in a pair of jeans and a soft violet sweater. She started when she saw them. "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."

Esme asked, "Did I roll out of bed for no reason?"

Clary was horrified. "Isabelle! Jail!"

"Yes, but — " With a defeated sigh, Isabelle stood aside, gesturing for the girls to enter her room. "Look, you might as well come in. And shoo, you," she said, waving a hand at Church. "Go guard the elevator."

Church gave her a 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.

On the floor was Nico, his legs crossed, and at the moment, he looked pretty unkillable. He looked Esme up and down and said, "What are you doing here?" She guessed this was their way of greeting now and made a noise of glorious disdain. During their nightly talks, she had always imagined him like he had been in her room - leather jacket, hair carelessly falling, a wry smile on his face. But he looked nothing like that now. He was in one of his sweaters, and she knew it was his because it was unraveling at countless spots, and his hair lay lazily pushed down. As Esme staggered further inside, she mentally tested the danger level: Am I in love with him yet?

He said, "You look like you were run over by a car." Then, "Were you?"

She did not think she was in love with him. She hadn't been in love before, but she was still pretty sure she'd be able to tell. Earlier in the month, she had had a dream of kissing him, and she could still picture that quite easily. But the sensible part of Esme, which was usually the only part of her, thought that had more to do with Nico Lightwood having a nice mouth than any blossoming romance.

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." Esme took a seat on the floor on Isabelle's lush carpet, her feet outstretched in front of her.

Isabelle and Alec exchanged a meaningful look. "Oh, come on, Alec," Isabelle said. "I thought she should know. I didn't know she'd come racing up here!"

Clary's stomach lurched. "Of course I came! 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?"

Nico 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. "It's just for a night," Isabelle 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 Esme.

"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," Clary said. "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 Nico. "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. Nico frowned. "Alec, don't."

Clary wanted to tell Nico that they were Jace's family, that she wasn't, that their voices carried more weight with him than hers ever would. But she kept hearing Jace's voice in her head, saying, I never felt like I belonged anywhere. But you make me feel like I belong. "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 a small, dark-haired boy, his eyes half-hidden by glasses. He wore jeans and an oversize sweatshirt and carried a book in one hand. "Max," Nico said, with some surprise, "I thought you were asleep."

"I was in the weapons room," said the boy — who had to be the Lightwoods' youngest son. "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," Nico explained.

"You didn't want to go?"

"We weren't invited," Isabelle said. She 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."

"But—" Clary protested.

"We'll be right back." Isabelle darted out into the corridor, Alec on her heels.

Nico said, "What were you doing in the weapon's room? Didn't Dad ask you to not go in there?"

Max said, "Only until I couldn't draw a nourishment rune."

"And can you?"

"No," Max said decidedly, but he self-satisfied with it. It made Esme laugh. Max said, "And who are you?"

"I'm Esme," she told him.

"Esme?" Only he pronounced it differently than all else - EHZ-may not EHZ-mee. Esme almost smiled. It was the way her mother pronounced it. She saw Nico opening his mouth as if to correct his brother.

But she said, "That's right." And then she smiled. Nico saw it was the secret smiled. The smile he adored.

Clary sat down on the bed and regarded Max with apprehension. She'd never spent much time around children — her mother had never let her babysit — and she wasn't really sure how to talk to them or what might amuse them. It helped a little that this particular little boy reminded her of Simon at that age, with his skinny arms and legs and glasses that seemed too big for his face.

Max returned her stare with a considering glance of his own, not shy, but thoughtful and contained. "How old are you?" he said finally.

Clary was taken aback. "How old do I look?"

"Fourteen."

"I'm sixteen, but people always think I'm younger than I am because I'm so short."

Max nodded. "Me too," he said. "I'm nine but people always think I'm seven."

"You look nine to me," said Clary.

"No, he does not," Nico said in a brotherly-teasing way. Esme thought about hitting him.

"What's that you're holding? Is it a book?"

Max brought his hand out from behind his back. He was holding a wide, flat paperback, about the size of one of those small magazines they sold at grocery store counters. This one had a brightly colored cover with Japanese kanji script on it under the English words. Clary laughed. "Naruto," she said. "I didn't know you liked manga. Where did you get that?"

"In the airport. I like the pictures but I can't figure out how to read it."

"Here, give it to me." She flipped it open, showing him the pages. "You read it backward, right to left instead of left to right. And you read each page clockwise. Do you know what that means?"

"Of course," said Max. For a moment Clary was worried she'd annoyed him. He seemed pleased enough, though, when he took the book back and flipped to the last page. "This one is number nine," he said. "I think I should get the other eight before I read it."

"That's a good idea. Maybe you can get someone to take you to Midtown Comics or Forbidden Planet."

"Forbidden Planet?" Nico looked bemused, but before Esme could explain, Isabelle burst through the door, clearly out of breath.

"It was someone trying to contact the Institute," she said before any of them could ask.  Nico sprang to his feet in one swift motion and Esme's hair fluttered. "One of the Silent Brothers. Something's happened in the Bone City."

"What kind of something?" he asked.

"I don't know. I've never heard of the Silent Brothers asking for help before." Isabelle was clearly distressed. She turned to her brother. "Max, go to your room and stay there, okay?"

Max set his jaw. "Are you, Nico, 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!"

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. Nico exhaled in terrible annoyance or sadness, Esme couldn't decipher.

"Max," he said. Max didn't listen. He pressed harder, "Max. Listen to me. Listen." Max turned. "Don't be upset, please. Izzy didn't say that to be mean."

"Then why - "

"Because she's worried about you." Max grumbled under his breath. Nico crouched down so that he was at eye level with his youngest brother. He said, "Look, I got a job for you. And it's much more important." Max seemed to perk up but he tried hard to hide his interest. "I need you to stay here and wait for us and if we call saying we're in trouble or we need help, we want you to contact the Clave. Or Mom and Dad."

"But - "

"Max," he said with so much conviction, "we need you."

Max stared at his brother and for a moment Esme thought he was going to say no, but he nodded somberly and said, "Okay." Nico leaned forward and pressed his lips to Max's forehead before standing up. He yanked the door open and stepped out.

Esme followed him but her eyebrows knitted when he began to shut the door on her face. "Hey - !" she protested and blocked the door with her palm. Her eyes wide, she glared at him. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think you're doing?" he retorted. "You're not coming with."

She tried to think of the most efficient and least time-consuming way of convincing him. "If I am not coming with you, then I am going alone. Choose one." Nico looked oddly hurt. He let her slip through the door before closing it. She thought she heard him mutter something like, "You're going to be the death of me," under his breath but that couldn't have been true.