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CHAPTER TWELVE:

❝ The Serpent's Tooth ❞

"Luke," Clary began, the moment the door had shut behind the Lightwoods. "What are we going to do — "

Luke had his hands pressed to either side of his head as if he were keeping it from splitting in half. "Coffee," he declared. "I need coffee."

"I brought you coffee."

He dropped his hands and sighed. "I need more."

"I need more too," Esme agreed with a tremendous sigh. "I hate that woman," she said about the Inquisitor. "She's a real bitch."

She followed the two into the kitchen, where Luke helped himself to yet more coffee and gave some to Esme, before sitting down at the kitchen table and running his hands distractedly through his hair. "This is bad," he said. "Very bad."

"You think?" Clary couldn't imagine drinking coffee right now. Her nerves already felt like they were stretched out as thin as wires. 

Esme asked, "What happens if they take him to Idris?"

"Trial before the Clave. They'll probably find him guilty. Then punishment. He's young, so they might just strip his Marks, not curse him."

"What does that mean?"

Luke didn't meet her eyes. "It means they'll take his Marks away, unmake him as a Shadowhunter, and throw him out of the Clave. He'll be a mundane."

Clary said, "But that would kill him. It really would. He'd rather die."

"Don't you think I know that?" Luke had finished his coffee and stared morosely at the mug before setting it back down. "But that won't make any difference to the Clave. They can't get their hands on Valentine, so they'll punish his son instead."

"What about me? I'm his daughter."

"But you're not of their world. Jace is. Not that I don't suggest you lie low for a while yourself. I wish we could head up to the farmhouse — "

"We can't just leave Jace with them!" Clary was appalled. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Of course you aren't." Luke waved away her protest. "I said I wish we could, not that I thought we should. There's the question of what Imogen will do now that she knows where Valentine is, of course. We could find ourselves in the middle of a war."

"I don't care if she wants to kill Valentine. She's welcome to Valentine. I just want to get Jace back."

"That may not be so easy," said Luke, "considering that in this case, he actually did what he's accused of doing."

Clary was outraged. "What, you think he killed the Silent Brothers? You think — "

"No. I don't think he killed the Silent Brothers. I think he did exactly what Imogen saw him do: He went to see his father."

Remembering something, Esme asked: "What did you mean when you said we'd failed him, not the other way around? You mean you don't blame him?"

"I do and I don't." Luke looked weary. "It was a stupid thing to do. Valentine isn't to be trusted. But when the Lightwoods turned their backs on him, what did they expect him to do? He's still just a child, he still needs parents. If they won't have him, he'll go looking for someone who will."

"I thought maybe," said Clary, "maybe he was looking to you for that."

Luke looked unutterably sad. "I thought so too, Clary. I thought so too."

Esme gripped her phone in her hand and excused herself, massaging her temple with her fingers. She walked out on the porch, her phone to her ear, ringing, ringing, ringing. She hung up, guessing her mother must be asleep. Luke was on his fifth cup was coffee, Clary was trying to get information about Jace from Isabelle, and Esme was left to worry about her mundane life. She tried Simon, no answer. Maybe there was something wrong with the network.

She marched forward, down the yard, holding her phone up as if as an offering to the sun. Full network. Just to try, she called her mother's phone again.

"Hello?" The accent was thick with a hint of Welsh and easily recognizable.

Esme said, "Aunt Sylvie?"

"Oh, Esme, dear! How are you? It's late but oh, it's so good to hear from you! You looking for your mother, child?" Esme made a noise of agreement. You could only say so much in front of Aunt Sylvie. "Oh, she's asleep, dear. Was it something important?"

"No." Then, "How's Aunt Janet?"

"Oh, she's getting better. She's getting better."

Esme said, "Well, I won't keep you up. I'll call later."

"Of course, dear, of course." And the line cut off. 

So the network was good. Without realizing it, she walked idly off the porch and towards the East River. She felt cold freeze her spine straight and in one swift movement, she retrieved her dagger, its cobalt blue stone winking under the sunlight. She continued forward, one arm crossed over the other like a shield, the dagger protruding out like a spearhead. She dialed on her phone and put it to her ear as it kept ringing, ringing, ringing - 

She turned the corner, her dagger dangerously close to a man's throat. His eyes were wide and she looked at him plainly. Quietly, without lowering her dagger and with a fake smile she said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought - " and she slashed at him. There was no way she would not recognize Valentine.

He stumbled back, mostly in surprise at her offense before smiling at her. She guessed he was here for Maia.

The phone at her ear kept ringing, ringing, ringing.

In a swift and practiced move, he struck on the inside of her elbow, then her forearm, and pulled her arm taut against his chest - all in quick succession. The dagger was useless now, dangling in her fingers too close to him to be of any good. She had her back to him, he'd maneuvered her around.

The phone had fallen on the ground but the newly replaced glass kept it safe, still ringing, ringing, ringing.

She let her dagger fall, a minute distraction, and stomped her feet over his toes. As he let her arm go, she caught the dagger before it hit the floor. Twisting around, she slashed again. There was a tear in his shirt, and he was bleeding now. He glared at her with acid hate. She'd show him how much trouble she was worth.

He snarled and punched her in the face. A sharp sting went up to her nose and she gasped. The dagger fell as her hands went to cover her nose. Her eyes had watered from the hit and from behind her blurry vision she saw him retrieve his sword. She opened her mouth to shout, to scream but no sound would come out. He turned it over and she stumbled back. Her feet twisted in vines, she fell on her back beside the ringing, ringing, ringing phone and braced for the impact. The hilt hit her in the head and with a sharp jab to her skull, the world went black.

As she was dragged away, in her groggy state she heard through the static of the phone, a voice: "Hello? Esme? Hello? Hello? Esme?"