Cassandra Clare - City of Ashes

"No." He struggled to sit upright, then fell back against the seat. "I'm just—drained. The protection spells on the ship are strong. Stripping them, keeping them off, is—difficult." His voice faded. "But if I don't do it, anyone who sets foot on that ship, other than Valentine, will die."

"Maybe you should come with us," said Luke.

"I can't work on the wards if I'm on the ship itself. I have to do it from here. That's the way it works." Magnus's grin looked painful. "Besides, I'm no good in a fight. My talents lie elsewhere."

Clary, still hanging down into the cab, began, "But what if we need—"

" Clary !" Luke shouted, but it was too late. None of them had seen the flying creature clinging motionless to the side of the truck. It launched itself upward now, winging sideways, claws sinking deep into the back of Clary's jacket, a blur of shadowy wings and reeking, jagged teeth. With a howling screech of triumph, it took off into the air, Clary dangling helplessly from its claws.

" Clary !" Luke shouted again, and raced to the edge of the truck's hood and stopped there, staring hopelessly upward at the dwindling winged shape with its slackly hanging burden.

"It won't kill her," said Jace, joining him on the hood. "It's retrieving her for Valentine."

There was something about his tone that sent a chill through Luke's blood. He turned to stare at the boy next to him. "But—"

He didn't finish. Jace had already dived from the truck, in a single smooth movement. He splashed down in the filthy river water and struck out toward the boat, his strong kicks churning the water to froth.

Luke turned back to Magnus, whose pale face was just visible through the cracked windshield, a white smudge against the darkness. Luke held a hand up, thought he saw Magnus nod in response.

Sheathing his kindjal at his side, he dived into the river after Jace.

Alec released his hold on Isabelle, half-expecting her to start screaming the moment he took his hand off her mouth. She didn't. She stood beside him and stared as the Inquisitor stood, swaying slightly, her face a chalky gray-white.

"Imogen," Maryse said. There was no feeling in her voice, not even any anger.

The Inquisitor didn't seem to hear her. Her expression didn't change as she sank bonelessly into Hodge's old chair. "My God," she said, staring down at the desk. "What have I done?"

Maryse glanced over at Isabelle. "Get your father."

Isabelle, looking as frightened as Alec had ever seen her, nodded and slipped out of the room.

Maryse crossed the room to the Inquisitor and looked down at her. "What have you done, Imogen?" she said. "You've handed victory to Valentine. That's what you've done."

"No," the Inquisitor breathed.

"You knew exactly what Valentine was planning when you locked Jace up. You refused to allow the Clave to become involved because it would have interfered with your plan. You wanted to make Valentine suffer as he had made you suffer; to show him you had the power to kill his son the way he killed yours. You wanted to humble him."

"Yes…"

"But Valentine will not be humbled," said Maryse. "I could have told you that. You never had a hold over him. He only pretended to consider your offer to make absolutely certain that we would have no time to call for reinforcements from Idris. And now it's too late."

The Inquisitor looked up wildly. Her hair had come loose from its knot and hung in lank strips around her face. It was the most human Alec had seen her look, but he got no pleasure out of it. His mother's words chilled him: too late . "No, Maryse," she said. "We can still—"

"Still what ?" Maryse's voice cracked. "Call on the Clave? We don't have the days, the hours, it would take them to get here. If we're going to face Valentine—and God knows we have no choice—"

"We're going to have to do it now," interrupted a deep voice. Behind Alec, glowering darkly, was Robert Lightwood.

Alec stared at his father. It had been years since he'd seen him in hunting gear; his time had been taken up with administrative tasks, with running the Conclave and dealing with Downworlder issues. Something about seeing his father in his heavy, dark armored clothes, his broadsword strapped across his back, reminded Alec of being a child again, when his father had been the biggest, strongest and most terrifying man he could imagine. And he was still terrifying. He hadn't seen his father since he'd embarrassed himself at Luke's. He tried to catch his eye now, but Robert was looking at Maryse. "The Conclave stands ready," Robert said. "The boats are waiting at the dock."

The Inquisitor's hands fluttered around her face. "It's no good," she said. "There aren't enough of us—we can't possibly—"

Robert ignored her. Instead, he looked at Maryse. "We should go very soon," he said, and in his tone there was the respect that had been lacking when he had addressed the Inquisitor.

"But the Clave," the Inquisitor began. "They should be informed."

Maryse shoved the phone on the desk toward the Inquisitor, hard. "You tell them. Tell them what you've done. It's your job, after all."

The Inquisitor said nothing, just stared at the phone, one hand over her mouth.

Before Alec could start to feel sorry for her, the door opened again and Isabelle came in, in her Shadowhunter gear, with her long silver-gold whip in one hand and a wooden-bladed naginata in the other. She frowned at her brother. "Go get ready," she said. "We're sailing for Valentine's ship right away."

Alec couldn't help it; the corner of his mouth twitched upward. Isabelle was always so determined . "Is that for me?" he asked, indicating the naginata .

Isabelle jerked it away from him. "Get your own!"

Some things never change . Alec headed toward the door, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He looked up in surprise.

It was his father. He was looking down at Alec, and though he wasn't smiling, there was a look of pride on his lined and tired face. "If you're in need of a blade, Alexander, my guisarme is in the entryway. If you'd like to use it."

Alec swallowed and nodded, but before he could thank his father, Isabelle spoke from behind him:

"Here you go, Mom," she said. Alec turned and saw his sister in the process of handing the naginata to his mother, who took it and spun it expertly in her grasp.

"Thank you, Isabelle," Maryse said, and with a movement as swift as any of her daughter's, she lowered the blade so that it pointed directly at the Inquisitor's heart.

Imogen Herondale looked up at Maryse with the blank, shattered eyes of a ruined statue. "Are you going to kill me, Maryse?"

Maryse hissed through her teeth. "Not even close," she said. "We need every Shadowhunter in the city, and right now, that includes you. Get up, Imogen, and get yourself ready for battle. From now on, the orders around here are going to come from me." She smiled grimly. "And the first thing you're going to do is free my son from that accursed Malachi Configuration."

She looked magnificent as she spoke, Alec thought with pride, a true Shadowhunter warrior, every line of her blazing with righteous fury.

He hated to spoil the moment—but they were going to find out Jace was gone on their own soon enough. Better that someone cushioned the shock.

He cleared his throat. "Actually," he said, "there's something you should probably know…"

Clary had always hated roller coasters, hated that feelingof her stomach dropping out through her feet when the coaster hurtled downward. Being snatched from the truck and dragged through the air like a mouse in the claws of an eagle was ten times worse. She screamed out loud as her feet left the truck bed and her body soared upward, unbelievably fast. She screamed and twisted—until she looked down and saw how high she already was above the water and realized what would happen if the flying demon released her.