Cassandra Clare - City of Ashes

"Once she finds out her plan is seriously flawed, she might be able to be talked down," Jace observed. "But I'm not sticking around to find out. I'm getting out of here."

"It's not going to be easy," Alec said. "The Inquisitor's got this place locked up tighter than a pentagram. You know there are guards downstairs? She's called in half the Conclave."

"She must think highly of me," said Jace, tossing aside a pile of magazines.

"Maybe she's not wrong." Isabelle looked at him thoughtfully. "Did you seriously jump thirty feet out of a Malachi Configuration? Did he, Alec?"

"He did," Alec confirmed. "I've never seen anything like it."

"I've never seen anything like this ." Jace lifted a ten-inch dagger from the floor. One of Isabelle's pink brassieres was speared on the wickedly sharp tip.

Isabelle snatched it off, scowling. "That's not the point. How did you do it? Do you know?"

"I jumped." Jace pulled two razor-edged spinning disks out from under the bed. They were covered in gray cat hair. He blew on them, scattering fur. " Chakhrams . Cool. Especially if I meet any demons with serious dander allergies."

Isabelle thwacked him with the bra. "You're not answering me!"

"Because I don't know, Izzy." Jace scrambled to his feet. "Maybe the Seelie Queen was right. Maybe I have powers I don't even know about because I've never tested them. Clary certainly does."

Isabelle wrinkled her forehead. "She does?"

Alec's eyes widened suddenly. "Jace—is that vampire cycle of yours still up on the roof?"

"Possibly. But it's daylight, so it's not much use."

"Besides," Isabelle pointed out, "we can't all fit on it."

Jace slid the chakhrams onto his belt, along with the ten-inch dagger. Several angel blades went into his jacket pockets. "That doesn't matter," he said. "You're not coming with me."

Isabelle spluttered. "What do you mean, we're not—" She broke off as Max returned, out of breath and clutching her battered pink phone. "Max, you're a hero." She snatched the phone from him, shooting a glare at Jace. "I'll get back to you in a minute. Meanwhile, who are we calling? Clary?"

"I'll call her—," Alec began.

"No." Isabelle batted his hand away. "She likes me better." She was already dialing; she stuck her tongue out as she held the phone up to her ear. "Clary? It's Isabelle. I— What ?" The color in her face vanished as if it had been wiped away, leaving her gray and staring. "How is that possible? But why—"

"How is what possible?" Jace was at her side in two strides. "Isabelle, what's happened? Is Clary—"

Isabelle drew the phone away from her ear, her knuckles white. "It's Valentine. He's taken Simon and Maia. He's going to use them to perform the Ritual."

In one smooth motion, Jace reached over and plucked the phone out of Isabelle's hand. He put it to his ear. "Drive to the Institute," he said. "Don't come in. Wait for me. I'll meet you outside." He snapped the phone shut and handed it to Alec. "Call Magnus," he said. "Tell him to meet us down by the waterfront in Brooklyn. He can pick the place, but it should be somewhere deserted. We're going to need his help getting to Valentine's ship."

"We?" Isabelle perked up visibly.

"Magnus, Luke, and myself," Jace clarified. "You two are staying here and dealing with the Inquisitor for me. When Valentine doesn't come through with his part of her deal, you're the ones who are going to have to convince her to send all the backup the Conclave has got after Valentine."

"I don't get it," Alec said. "How do you plan to get out of here in the first place?"

Jace grinned. "Watch," he said, and jumped up onto Isabelle's windowsill. Isabelle cried out, but Jace was already ducking through the window opening. He balanced for a moment on the sill outside—and then he was gone.

Alec raced to the window and stared out in horror, but there was nothing to see: just the garden of the Institute far below, brown and empty, and the narrow path that led up to the front door. There were no screaming pedestrians on Ninety-sixth Street, no cars pulled over at the sight of a falling body. It was as if Jace had vanished into thin air.

The sound of water woke him. It was a heavy repetitive sound—water sloshing against something solid, over and over, as if he were lying in the bottom of a pool that was rapidly draining and refilling itself. There was the taste of metal in his mouth and the smell of metal all around. He was conscious of a nagging, persistent pain in his left hand. With a groan, Simon opened his eyes.

He was lying on a hard, bumpy metal floor painted an ugly gray-green. The walls were the same green metal. There was a single high round window in one wall, letting in only a little sunlight, but it was enough. He'd been lying with his hand in a patch of it and his fingers were red and blistered. With another groan, he rolled away from the light and sat up.

And realized he wasn't alone in the room. Though the shadows were thick, he could see in the dark just fine. Across from him, her hands bound together and chained to a large steam pipe, was Maia. Her clothes were torn and there was a massive bruise across her left cheek. He could see where her braids had been torn away from her scalp on one side, her hair matted with blood. The moment he sat up, she stared at him and burst immediately into tears. "I thought," she hiccupped between sobs, "that you—were dead."

"I am dead," Simon said. He was staring at his hand. As he watched, the blisters faded, the pain lessening, the skin resuming its normal pallor.

"I know, but I meant—really dead." She swiped at her face with her bound hands. Simon tried to move toward her, but something brought him up short. A metal cuff around his ankle was attached to a thick metal chain sunk into the floor. Valentine was taking no chances.

"Don't cry," he said, and immediately regretted it. It wasn't as if the situation didn't warrant tears. "I'm fine."

"For now," said Maia, rubbing her wet face against her sleeve. "That man—the one with the white hair—his name is Valentine?"

"You saw him?" Simon said. "I didn't see anything. Just my front door blowing in and then a massive shape that came at me like a freight train."

"He's the Valentine, right? The one everyone talks about. The one who started the Uprising."

"He's Jace and Clary's father," Simon said. "That's what I know about him."

"I thought his voice sounded familiar. He sounds just like Jace." She looked momentarily rueful. "No wonder Jace is such an ass."

Simon could only agree.

"So you didn't…" Maia's voice trailed off. She tried again. "Look, I know this sounds weird, but when Valentine came for you, did you see someone you recognized with him, someone who's dead? Like a ghost?"

Simon shook his head, bewildered. "No. Why?"

Maia hesitated. "I saw my brother. The ghost of my brother. I think Valentine was making me hallucinate."

"Well, he didn't try anything like that on me. I was on the phone with Clary. I remember dropping it when the shape came at me—" He shrugged. "That's it."

"With Clary?" Maia looked almost hopeful. "Then maybe they'll figure out where we are. Maybe they'll come after us."

"Maybe," Simon said. "Where are we, anyway?"

"On a boat. I was still conscious when he brought me onto it. It's a big black hulking metal thing. There are no lights and there are— things everywhere. One of them jumped out at me and I started screaming. That was when he grabbed my head and banged it into the wall. I passed out for a while after that."

"Things? What do you mean things?"

"Demons," she said, and shuddered. "He has all sorts of demons here. Big ones and little ones and flying ones. They do whatever he tells them."