Cassandra Clare: City of Fallen Angels

I’d say you’re finally getting to the reason you brought me here, which is a start. “I’m listening.”

“You recognized my name when I told it to you,” Camille said. “Raphael has mentioned me before, has he not?” She had an accent, very faint, that Simon couldn’t quite place.

“He said you were the head of the clan and he was just leading them while you were gone. Stepping in for you like—like a vice president or something.”

“Ah.” She bit gently on her lower lip. “That 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.”

“And what’s that?”

“That 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.”

Simon sat back. “And what if I don’t want to promise?”

“Then you may leave, if you like,” she said. “But then you will never know what I wished to tell you. And that will be a loss you will regret.”

“I’m curious,” Simon said. “But I’m not sure I’m that curious.”

Her eyes held a little spark of surprise and amusement and perhaps, Simon thought, even a little respect. “Nothing 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.”

Simon looked at her suspiciously. Did she mean it? Vampires weren’t like faeries, who couldn’t lie. But he had to admit he was curious. “All right. I’ll keep your secret, unless I think something you say is putting my friends in danger. Then all bets are off.”

Her smile was frosty; he could tell she didn’t like being disbelieved. “Very well,” she said. “I suppose I have little choice when I need your help so badly.” She leaned forward, one slim hand toying with the stem of her wineglass. “Until 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. Santiago—Raphael, as you call him—was my second in command. My most loyal companion—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.” She took a sip of wine. “When 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.”

“So all this time he’s claimed he’s just leading until you return?”

She made a face. “Santiago is an accomplished liar. He wishes me to return, that’s for certain—so he can murder me and take charge of the clan in earnest.”

Simon wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear. He wasn’t used to adult women looking at him with big tear-filled eyes, or spilling out their life stories to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally.

She shrugged, a very expressive shrug that made him wonder if perhaps her accent was French. “It is in the past,” she said. “I have been hiding out in London all this time, looking for allies, biding my time. Then I heard about you.” She held up her hand. “I 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.”

“I was? I am?”

She leaned forward and touched his hand. “Raphael 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 God’s wrath on his head.”

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. “You said it.”

“What was that, Simon?”

“The word. The wrath of—” The word bit and burned in his mouth, just as it always did.

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

“Ma’am—”

“Camille. You must call me Camille.”

“I still don’t understand what you want from me.”

“Don’t you?” She shook her head, and her brilliant hair flew around her face. “I 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.”

“I don’t know,” Simon said. “In the Bible, Jacob wrestled an angel, and he won.”

Camille looked at him with her eyebrows arched.

Simon shrugged. “Hebrew school.”

“‘And Jacob called the name of the place Peniel: for I have seen God face to face.’ You see, you are not the only one who knows your scripture.” Her narrow look was gone, and she was smiling. “You 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.”

“Are you afraid of me?” Simon asked.

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

“And what exactly is your proposal? I mean, I understand the part where we face down Raphael, but after that? I don’t really hate Raphael, or want to get rid of him just to get rid of him. He leaves me alone. That’s all I ever wanted.”

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. “You 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 have—humans and Shadowhunters. You are content to hide bottles of blood in your room and lie to your mother about what you are.”

“How did you—”

She went on, ignoring him. “But 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?”

Simon said nothing. He didn’t want to admit he hadn’t thought ahead that far. That he didn’t want to think ahead that far.

“Raphael 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.” As she leaned forward, white light sparked off her ring, stinging Simon’s eyes. “We 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 doesn’t exist. It does. I can help you.”

“If I help you first,” Simon said.

She smiled, and her teeth were white and sharp. “We will help each other.”