Cassandra Clare - City of Ashes

Luke swung himself into the driver's seat, and in a moment the truck's engine was roiling again. They took off, skimming the water, the drops splashed up by the wheels catching the gray-silver of the lightening sky.

"This is so weird," said Simon. "I keep expecting the truck to start sinking."

"I can't believe you just went through what we went through and you think this is weird," said Jace, but there was no malice in his tone and no annoyance. He sounded only very, very tired.

"What will happen to the Lightwoods?" Clary asked. "After everything that's happened—the Clave—"

Jace shrugged. "The Clave works in mysterious ways. I don't know what they'll do. They'll be very interested in you , though. And in what you can do."

Simon made a noise. Clary thought at first that it was a noise of protest, but when she looked closely at him, she saw he was greener than ever. "What's wrong, Simon?"

"It's the river," he said. "Running water isn't good for vampires. It's pure, and—we're not."

"The East River's hardly pure," said Clary, but she reached out and touched his arm gently anyway. He smiled at her. "Didn't you fall into the water when the ship came apart?"

"No. There was a piece of metal floating in the water and Jace tossed me onto it. I stayed out of the river."

Clary looked over her shoulder at Jace. She could see him a little more clearly now; the darkness was fading. "Thank you," she said. "Do you think…"

He raised his eyebrows. "Do I think what?"

"That Valentine might have drowned?"

"Never believe the bad guy is dead until you see a body," said Simon. "That just leads to unhappiness and surprise ambushes."

"You're not wrong," said Jace. "My guess is he isn't dead. Otherwise we would have found the Mortal Instruments."

"Can the Clave go on without them? Whether Valentine's alive or not?" Clary wondered.

"The Clave always goes on," said Jace. "That's all it knows how to do." He turned his face toward the eastern horizon. "The sun's coming up."

Simon went rigid. Clary stared at him in surprise for a moment, and then in shocked horror. She whirled to follow Jace's gaze. He was right—the eastern horizon was a blood-red stain spreading out from a golden disc. Clary could see the first edge of the sun staining the water around them unearthly hues of green and scarlet and gold.

" No !" she whispered.

Jace looked at her in surprise, and then at Simon, who sat motionless, staring at the rising sun like a trapped mouse staring at a cat. Jace got quickly to his feet and walked over to the truck cab. He spoke in a low voice. Clary saw Luke turn to look at her and Simon, and then back at Jace. He shook his head.

The truck lurched forward. Luke must have pressed his foot to the gas. Clary grabbed for the side of the truck bed to steady herself. Up front, Jace was shouting at Luke that there had to be some way to make the damn thing go faster, but Clary knew they'd never outrun the dawn.

"There must be something," she said to Simon. She couldn't believe that in less than five minutes she'd gone from incredulous relief to incredulous horror. "We could cover you, maybe, with our clothes—"

Simon was still staring at the sun, white-faced. "A pile of rags won't work," he said. "Raphael explained—it takes walls to protect us from sunlight. It'll burn through cloth."

"But there must be something—"

"Clary." She could see him clearly now, in the gray predawn light, his eyes huge and dark in his white face. He held out his hands to her. "Come here."

She fell against him, trying to cover as much of his body as she could with her own. She knew it was useless. When the sun touched him, he'd fall away to ashes.

They sat for a moment in perfect stillness, arms wrapped around each other. Clary could feel the rise and fall of his chest—habit, she reminded herself, not necessity. He might not breathe, but he could still die.

"I won't let you die," she said.

"I don't think you get a choice." She felt him smile. "I didn't think I'd get to see the sun again," he said. "I guess I was wrong."

"Simon—"

Jace shouted something. Clary looked up. The sky was flooded with rose-colored light, like dye poured into clear water. Simon tensed under her. "I love you," he said. "I have never loved anyone else but you."

Gold threads shot through the rosy sky like the gold veining in expensive marble. The water around them blazed with light and Simon went rigid, his head falling back, his open eyes filling with gold as if molten liquid were rising inside of him. Black lines appeared on his skin like cracks in a shattered statue.

" Simon !" Clary screamed. She reached for him but felt herself hauled suddenly backward; it was Jace, his hands gripping her shoulders. She tried to pull away but he held her tightly; he was saying something in her ear, over and over, and only after a few moments did she even begin to understand him:

"Clary, look. Look ."

"No!" Her hands flew to her face. She could taste the brackish water from the bottom of the truck bed on her palms. It was salty, like tears. "I don't want to look. I don't want to—"

"Clary." Jace's hands were at her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face. The dawn light stung her eyes. " Look ."

She looked. And heard her own breath whistle harshly in her lungs as she gasped. Simon was sitting up at the back of the truck, in a patch of sunlight, openmouthed and staring down at himself. The sun danced on the water behind him and the edges of his hair glinted like gold. He had not burned away to ash, but sat unscorched in the sunlight, and the pale skin of his face and arms and hands was entirely unmarked.

Outside the Institute, night was falling. The faint red of sunset glowed in through the windows of Jace's bedroom as he stared at the pile of his belongings on the bed. The pile was much smaller than he thought it would be. Seven whole years of life in this place, and this was all he had to show for it: half a duffel bag's worth of clothes, a small stack of books, and a few weapons.

He had debated whether he should bring the few things he'd saved from the manor house in Idris with him when he left tonight. Magnus had given him back his father's silver ring, which he no longer felt comfortable wearing. He had hung it on a loop of chain around his throat. In the end, he had decided to take everything: There was no point leaving anything of himself behind in this place.

He was packing the duffel with clothes when a knock sounded at the door. He went to it, expecting Alec or Isabelle.

It was Maryse. She wore a severe black dress and her hair was pulled back sharply from her face. She looked older than he remembered her. Two deep lines ran from the corners of her mouth to her jaw. Only her eyes had any color. "Jace," she said. "Can I come in?"

"You can do what you like," he said, returning to the bed. "It's your house." He grabbed up a handful of shirts and stuffed them into the duffel bag with possibly unnecessary force.

"Actually, it's the Clave's house," said Maryse. "We're only its guardians."

Jace shoved books into the bag. "Whatever."

"What are you doing?" If Jace hadn't known better, he would have thought her voice wavered slightly.

"I'm packing," he said. "It's what people generally do when they're moving out."

She blanched. "Don't leave," she said. "If you want to stay—"

"I don't want to stay. I don't belong here."

"Where will you go?"

"Luke's," he said, and saw her flinch. "For a while. After that, I don't know. Maybe to Idris."

"Is that where you think you belong?" There was an aching sadness in her voice.

Jace stopped packing for a moment and stared down at his bag. "I don't know where I belong."