Cassandra Clare - City of Ashes

A noise like ripping cloth tore through the room. Clary heard Isabelle cry out as the door blew off its hinges entirely, crashing into the cell like a drawbridge falling. Clary could hear other noises, metal coming uncoupled from metal, a loud rattle like a handful of tossed pebbles. She ducked into the cell, the fallen door wobbling under her feet.

Witchlight filled the small room, lighting it as bright as day. She barely noticed the rows of manacles—all of different metals: gold, silver, steel, and iron—as they came undone from the bolts in the walls and clattered to the stone floor. Her eyes were on the slumped figure in the corner; she could see the bright hair, the hand outstretched, the loose manacle lying a little distance away. His wrist was bare and bloody, the skin braceleted with ugly bruises.

She went down on her knees, setting her stele aside, and gently turned him over. It was Jace. There was another bruise on his cheek, and his face was very white, but she could see the darting movement under his eyelids. A vein pulsed at his throat. He was alive.

Relief went through her like a hot wave, undoing the tight cords of tension that had held her together this long. The witchlight fell to the floor beside her, where it continued to blaze. She stroked Jace's hair back from his forehead with a tenderness that felt foreign to her—she'd never had any brothers or sisters, not even a cousin. She'd never had occasion to bind up wounds or kiss scraped knees or take care of anyone, really.

But it was all right to feel tenderness toward Jace like this, she thought, unwilling to draw her hand back even as Jace's eyelids twitched and he groaned. He was her brother; why shouldn't she care what happened to him?

His eyes opened. The pupils were huge, dilated. Maybe he'd banged his head? His eyes fixed on her with a look of dazed bemusement. " Clary ," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to find you," she said, because it was the truth.

A spasm went across his face. "You're really here? I'm not—I'm not dead, am I?"

"No," she said, gliding her hand down the side of his face. "You passed out, is all. Probably hit your head too."

His hand came up to cover hers where it lay on his cheek. "Worth it," he said in such a low voice that she wasn't sure it was what he'd said, after all.

"What's going on?" It was Alec, ducking through the low doorway, Isabelle just behind him. Clary jerked her hand back, then cursed herself silently. She hadn't been doing anything wrong.

Jace struggled into a sitting position. His face was gray, his shirt spotted with blood. Alec's look turned to one of concern. "And are you all right?" he demanded, kneeling down. "What happened? Can you remember?"

Jace held up his uninjured hand. "One question at a time, Alec. My head already feels like it's going to split open."

"Who did this to you?" Isabelle sounded both bewildered and furious.

"No one did anything to me. I did it to myself trying to get the manacles off." Jace looked down at his wrist—it looked as if he'd nearly scraped all the skin off it—and winced.

"Here," said both Clary and Alec at the same time, reaching out for his hand. Their eyes met, and Clary dropped her hand first. Alec took hold of Jace's wrist and drew out his stele; with a few quick flicks of his wrist, he drew an iratze —a healing rune—just below the bracelet of bleeding skin.

"Thanks," said Jace, drawing his hand back. The injured part of his wrist was already beginning to knit back together. "Brother Jeremiah—"

"Is dead," said Clary.

"I know." Disdaining Alec's offered assistance, Jace pulled himself up to a standing position, using the wall to hold him up. "He was murdered."

"Did the Silent Brothers kill each other?" Isabelle asked. "I don't understand—I don't understand why they'd do that—"

"They didn't," said Jace. "Something killed them. I don't know what." A spasm of pain twisted his face. "My head—"

"Maybe we should go," said Clary nervously. "Before whatever killed them…"

"Comes back for us?" said Jace. He looked down at his bloody shirt and bruised hand. "I think it's gone. But I suppose he could still bring it back."

"Who could bring what back?" Alec demanded, but Jace said nothing. His face had gone from gray to paper white. Alec caught him as he began to slide down the wall. "Jace—"

"I'm all right," Jace protested, but his hand gripped Alec's sleeve tightly. "I can stand."

"It looks to me like you're using a wall to prop you up. That's not my definition of 'standing.' "

"It's leaning," Jace told him. "Leaning comes right before standing."

"Stop bickering," said Isabelle, kicking a doused torch out of her way. "We need to get out of here. If there's something out there nasty enough to kill the Silent Brothers, it'll make short work of us."

"Izzy's right. We should go." Clary retrieved the witchlight and stood up. "Jace—are you okay to walk?"

"He can lean on me." Alec drew Jace's arm across his shoulders. Jace leaned heavily against him. "Come on," Alec said gently. "We'll fix you up when we get outside."

Slowly they moved toward the cell door, where Jace paused, staring down at the figure of Brother Jeremiah lying twisted on the paving stones. Isabelle knelt down and drew the Silent Brother's brown wool hood down to cover his contorted face. When she straightened up, all their faces were grave.

"I've never seen a Silent Brother afraid," Alec said. "I didn't think it was possible for them to feel fear."

"Everyone feels fear." Jace was still very pale, and though he was cradling his injured hand against his chest, Clary didn't think it was because of physical pain. He looked distant, as if he had withdrawn into himself, hiding from something.

They retraced their steps through the dark corridors and up the narrow steps that led to the pavilion of the Speaking Stars. When they reached it, Clary noticed the thick scent of blood and burning as she hadn't when she'd passed through it before. Jace, leaning on Alec, looked around with a sort of mingled horror and confusion on his face. Clary saw that he was staring at the far wall where it was splattered thickly with blood, and she said, "Jace. Don't look." Then she felt stupid; he was a demon hunter, after all, he'd seen worse.

He shook his head. "Something feels wrong—"

"Everything feels wrong here." Alec tilted his head toward the forest of arches that led away from the pavilion. "That's the fastest way out of here. Let's go."

They didn't talk much as they made their way back through the Bone City. Every shadow seemed to surge with movement, as if the darkness concealed creatures waiting to jump out at them. Isabelle was whispering something under her breath. Though Clary couldn't hear the words themselves, it sounded like another language, something old—Latin, maybe.

When they reached the stairs that led up out of the City, Clary breathed a silent sigh of relief. The Bone City might have been beautiful once, but it was terrifying now. As they reached the last flight of steps, light stabbed into her eyes, making her cry out in surprise. She could faintly see the Angel statue that stood at the head of the stairs, backlit with brilliant golden light, bright as day. She glanced around at the others; they looked as confused as she felt.

"The sun couldn't have risen yet—could it?" Isabelle murmured. "How long were we down here?"

Alec checked his watch. "Not that long."

Jace muttered something, too low for anyone else to hear him. Alec craned his ear down. "What did you say?"

"Witchlight," Jace said, more loudly this time.

Isabelle hurried up the stairs, Clary behind her, Alec just behind them, struggling to half-carry Jace up the steps. At the head of the stairs Isabelle stopped suddenly as if frozen. Clary called out to her, but she didn't move. A moment later Clary was standing beside her and it was her turn to stare around in amazement.