Cassandra Clare - Clockwork Prince

She looked at Will, asleep on the sofa. Her lips curled upward. “Clearly.”

“You sent no message. In fact, you have sent me no messages at all since you left London.”

“Are you reproaching me, Magnus?” Camille sounded amused. Gliding behind the sofa, she leaned over the back, looking down into Will’s face. “Will Herondale,” she said. “He is lovely, isn’t he? Is he your newest amusement?”

Instead of answering, Magnus crossed his long legs in front of him. “Where have you been?”

Camille leaned forward farther; if she had had breath, it would have stirred the curling dark hair on Will’s forehead. “Can I kiss him?”

“No,” said Magnus. “Where have you been, Camille? Every night I lay here on your sofa and I waited to hear your step in the hall, and I wondered where you were. You might at least tell me.”

She straightened, rolling her eyes. “Oh, very well. I was in Paris, having some new dresses fitted. A much-needed holiday from the dramas of London.”

There was a long silence. Then, “You’re lying,” Magnus said.

Her eyes widened. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because it’s the truth.” He took a crumpled letter from his pocket and threw it onto the floor between them. “You cannot track a vampire, but you can track a vampire’s subjugate. You took Walker with you. It was easy enough for me to track him to Saint Petersburg. I have informants there. They let me know that you were living there with a human lover.”

Camille watched him, a little smile playing about her mouth. “And that made you jealous?”

“Did you want me to be?”

“Ça m’est égal,” said Camille, dropping into the French she used when she truly wanted to annoy him. “It’s all the same to me. He had nothing to do with you. He was a diversion while I was in Russia, nothing more.”

“And now he is . . .”

“Dead. So he hardly represents competition for you. You must let me have my little diversions, Magnus.”

“Otherwise?”

“Otherwise I shall become extremely cross.”

“As you became cross with your human lover, and murdered him?” Magnus inquired. “What of pity? Compassion? Love? Or do you not feel that emotion?”

“I love ,” Camille said indignantly. “You and I, Magnus, who endure forever, love in such a manner as cannot be conceived of by mortals—a dark constant flame to their brief, sputtering light. What do they matter to you? Fidelity is a human concept, based upon the idea that we are here but for a short time. You cannot demand my faithfulness for eternity .”

“How foolish of me. I thought I could. I thought I could at least expect you not to lie to me.”

“You are being ridiculous,” she said. “A child. You expect me to have the morals of some mundane when I am not human, and neither are you. Regardless, there is precious little you can do about it. I will not be dictated to, certainly not by some half-breed.” It was the Downworlders’ own insulting term for warlocks. “You are devoted to me; you have said so yourself. Your devotion will simply have to suffer my diversions, and then we shall rub along quite pleasantly. If not, I shall drop you. I cannot imagine you want that .”

There was a little sneer in her voice as she spoke, and it snapped something inside Magnus. He recalled the sick feeling in his throat when the letter had come from Saint Petersburg. And yet he had waited for her return, hoping she had an explanation. That she would apologize. Ask him to love her again. Now that he realized he was not worth that to her—that he never had been—a red mist passed before his eyes; he seemed to go mad momentarily, for it was the only explanation for what he did next.

“It doesn’t matter.” He rose to his feet. “I have Will now.”

Her mouth opened. “You can’t be serious. A Shadowhunter ?”

“You may be immortal, Camille, but your feelings are vapid and shallow. Will’s are not. He understands what it is to love.” Magnus, having delivered this insane speech with great dignity, stepped across the room and shook Will’s shoulder. “Will. William. Wake up.”

Will’s hazy blue eyes opened. He was lying on his back, looking upward, and the first thing he saw was Camille’s face as she bent over the back of the sofa, regarding him. He jerked upright. “By the Angel—”

“Oh, shush,” said Camille lazily, smiling just enough to show the tips of baby fangs. “I won’t hurt you, Nephilim.”

Magnus hauled Will to his feet. “The lady of the house,” he said, “has returned.”

“I see that.” Will was flushed, the collar of his shirt dark with sweat. “Delightful,” he said to no one in particular, and Magnus wasn’t sure whether he meant he was delighted to see Camille, delighted with the effects of the painkilling spell Magnus had used on him—certainly a possibility—or simply rambling.

“And therefore,” said Magnus, squeezing Will’s arm with a meaning pressure, “we must go.”

Will blinked at him. “Go where?”

“Don’t worry about that right now, my love.”

Will blinked again. “Pardon?” He glanced around, as if he half-expected people to be watching. “I—where’s my coat?”

“Ruined with blood,” said Magnus. “Archer disposed of it.” He nodded toward Camille. “Will’s been hunting demons all night. So brave.”

Camille’s expression was a mixture of amazement and annoyance.

“I am brave,” Will said. He looked pleased with himself. The painkilling tonics had enlarged his pupils, and his eyes looked very dark.

“Yes, you are,” Magnus said, and kissed him. It wasn’t the most dramatic kiss, but Will flailed his free arm as if a bee had landed on him; Magnus had to hope Camille would assume this was passion. When they broke apart, Will looked stunned. So did Camille, for that matter.

“Now,” Magnus said, hoping that Will would recollect that he was indebted to him. “We must go.”

“I—but—” Will swung sideways. “The tooth!” He dashed across the room, retrieved it, and tucked it into Magnus’s waistcoat pocket. Then, with a wink at Camille that, Magnus thought, God alone knew how she would interpret, he sauntered out of the room.

“Camille,” Magnus began.

She had her arms crossed over her chest and was looking at him venomously. “Carrying on with Shadowhunters behind my back,” she said icily, and with no apparent regard for the hypocrisy of her position. “And in my own house! Really, Magnus.” She pointed toward the door. “Please leave my residence and do not return. I trust I shall not have to ask you twice.”

Magnus was only too pleased to oblige. A few moments later he had joined Will on the pavement outside the house, shrugging on his coat—all he now owned in the world besides what was in his pockets—and fastening the buttons against the chilly air. It would not be long, Magnus thought, before the first gray flush of morning lightened the sky.

“Did you just kiss me?” Will inquired.

Magnus made a split-second decision. “No.”

“I thought—”

“On occasion the aftereffects of the painkilling spells can result in hallucinations of the most bizarre sort.”

“Oh,” Will said. “How peculiar.” He looked back at Camille’s house. Magnus could see the window of the drawing room, the red velvet curtains drawn tight. “What are we going to do now? About summoning the demon? Have we somewhere to go?”

“ I’ve got somewhere to go,” said Magnus, saying a prayer of silent thanks for Will’s single-minded fixation on demon summoning. “I have a friend I can stop with. You go along back to the Institute. I’ll get to work on your blasted demon tooth as soon as I possibly can. I’ll send a message to you when I know anything.”