City of AshesMortal Instruments Book 2ByCassandra Clare
Table of ContentsAcknowledgmentsPrologue Smoke and DiamondsPart OneA Season in Hell1 Valentine's Arrow2 The Hunter's Moon3 The Inquisitor4 The Cuckoo in the Nest5 Sins of the Fathers6 City of Ashes7 The Mortal SwordPart TwoThe Gates of Hell8 The Seelie Court9 And Death Shall Have No Dominion10 A Fine and Private Place11 Smoke and Steel12 The Hostility of Dreams13 A Host of Rebel AngelsPart ThreeDay of Wrath14 Fearless15 The Serpent's Tooth16 A Stone of the Heart17 East of Eden18 Darkness Visible19 Dies IraeEpilogue
PrologueSmoke and DiamondsPreviousTopNextThe formidable glass-and-steel structure rose from its position on Front Street like aglittering needle threading the sky. There were fifty-seven floors to the Metropole, Manhattan'smost expensive new downtown condominium tower. The topmost floor, the fifty-seventh,contained the most luxurious apartment of all: the Metropole penthouse, a masterpiece of sleekblack-and-white design. Too new to have gathered dust yet, its bare marble floors reflected backthe stars visible through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows. The window glass was perfectlytranslucent, providing such a complete illusion that there was nothing between the viewer and theview that it had been known to induce vertigo even in those unafraid of heights.Far below ran the silver ribbon of the East River, braceleted by shining bridges, flecked byboats as small as flyspecks, splitting the shining banks of light that were Manhattan and Brooklynon either side. On a clear night the illuminated Statue of Liberty was just visible to the south—butthere was fog tonight, and Liberty Island was hidden behind a white bank of mist.However spectacular the view, the man standing in front of the window didn't look particularlyimpressed by it. There was a frown on his narrow, ascetic face as he turned away from the glassand strode across the floor, the heels of his boots echoing against the marble floor. "Aren't youready yet?" he demanded, raking a hand through his salt-white hair. "We've been here nearly anhour."The boy kneeling on the floor looked up at him, nervous and petulant. "It's the marble. It'smore solid than I thought. It's making it hard to draw the pentagram.""So skip the pentagram." Up close it was easier to see that despite his white hair, the manwasn't old. His hard face was severe but unlined, his eyes clear and steady.The boy swallowed hard and the membranous black wings protruding from his narrowshoulder blades (he had cut slits in the back of his denim jacket to accommodate them) flappednervously. "The pentagram is a necessary part of any demon-raising ritual. You know that, sir.Without it ""We're not protected. I know that, young Elias. But get on with it. I've known warlocks whocould raise a demon, chat him up, and dispatch him back to hell in the time it's taken you to drawhalf a five-pointed star."The boy said nothing, only attacked the marble again, this time with renewed urgency. Sweatdripped from his forehead and he pushed his hair back with a hand whose fingers were connectedwith delicate weblike membranes. "Done," he said at last, sitting back on his heels with a gasp."It's done.""Good." The man sounded pleased. "Let's get started.""My money—""I told you. You'll get your money after I talk to Agramon, not before."Elias got to his feet and shrugged his jacket off. Despite the holes he'd cut in it, it stillcompressed his wings uncomfortably; freed, they stretched and expanded themselves, wafting abreeze through the unventilated room. His wings were the color of an oil slick: black threaded witha rainbow of dizzying colors. The man looked away from him, as if the wings displeased him, but
Elias didn't seem to notice. He began circling the pentagram he'd drawn, circling itcounterclockwise and chanting in a demon language that sounded like the crackle of flames.With a sound like air being sucked from a tire, the outline of the pentagram suddenly burst intoflames. The dozen huge windows cast back a dozen burning reflected five-pointed stars.Something was moving inside the pentagram, something formless and black. Elias waschanting more quickly now, raising his webbed hands, tracing delicate outlines on the air with hisfingers. Where they passed, blue fire crackled. The man couldn't speak Chthonian, the warlocklanguage, with any fluency, but he recognized enough of the words to understand Elias's repeatedchant: Agramon, I summon thee. Out of the spaces between the worlds, I summon thee.The man slid a hand into his pocket. Something hard and cold and metallic met the touch ofhis fingers. He smiled.Elias had stopped walking. He was standing in front of the pentagram now, his voice risingand falling in a steady chant, blue fire crackling around him like lightning. Suddenly a plume ofblack smoke rose inside the pentagram; it spiraled upward, spreading and solidifying. Two eyeshung in the shadow like jewels caught in a spider's web."Who has called me here across the worlds?" Agramon demanded in a voice like shatteringglass. "Who summons me?"Elias had stopped chanting. He was standing still in front of the pentagram—still except for hiswings, which beat the air slowly. The air stank of corrosion and burning."Agramon," the warlock said. "I am the warlock Elias. I am the one who has summoned you."For a moment there was silence. Then the demon laughed, if smoke can be said to laugh. Thelaugh itself was caustic as acid. "Foolish warlock," Agramon wheezed. "Foolish boy.""You are the foolish one, if you think you can threaten me," Elias said, but his voice trembledlike his wings. "You will be a prisoner of that pentagram, Agramon, until I release you.""Will I?" The smoke surged forward, forming and re-forming itself. A tendril took the shapeof a human hand and stroked the edge of the burning pentagram that contained it. Then, with asurge, the smoke seethed past the edge of the star, poured over the border like a wave breachinga levee. The flames guttered and died as Elias, screaming, stumbled backward. He was chantingnow, in rapid Chthonian, spells of containment and banishment. Nothing happened; the blacksmoke-mass came on inexorably, and now it was starting to have something of a shape—amalformed, enormous, hideous shape, its glowing eyes altering, rounding to the size of saucers,spilling a dreadful light.The man watched with impassive interest as Elias screamed again and turned to run. He neverreached the door. Agramon surged forward, his dark mass crashing down over the warlock like asurge of boiling black tar. Elias struggled feebly for a moment under the onslaught—and then wasstill.The black shape withdrew, leaving the warlock lying contorted on the marble floor."I do hope," said the man, who had taken the cold metal object out of his pocket and wastoying with it idly, "that you haven't done anything to him that will render him useless to me. Ineed his blood, you see."Agramon turned, a black pillar with deadly diamond eyes. They took in the man in theexpensive suit, his narrow, unconcerned face, the black Marks covering his skin, and the glowingobject in his hand. "You paid the warlock child to summon me? And you did not tell him what Icould do?""You guess correctly," said the man.Agramon spoke with grudging admiration. "That was clever."
The man took a step toward the demon. "I am very clever. And I'm also your master now. Ihold the Mortal Cup. You must obey me, or face the consequences."The demon was silent a moment. Then it slid to the ground in a mockery of obeisance—theclosest a creature with no real body could come to kneeling. "I am at your service, my Lord ?"The sentence ended politely, on a question.The man smiled. "You may call me Valentine."
Part OneA Season in HellI believe I am in Hell, therefore I am.—Arthur Rimbaud1Valentine's ArrowPreviousTopNext"Are you still mad?"Alec, leaning against the wall of the elevator, glared across the small space at Jace. "I'm notmad.""Oh, yes you are." Jace gestured accusingly at his stepbrother, then yelped as pain shot up hisarm. Every part of him hurt from the thumping he'd taken that afternoon when he'd dropped threefloors through rotted wood onto a pile of scrap metal. Even his fingers were bruised. Alec, who'donly recently put away the crutches he'd had to use after his fight with Abbadon, didn't lookmuch better than Jace felt. His clothes were covered in mud and his hair hung down in lank,sweaty strips. There was a long cut down the side of his cheek."I am not," Alec said, through his teeth. "Just because you said dragon demons wereextinct—""I said mostly extinct."Alec jabbed a finger toward him. "Mostly extinct," he said, his voice trembling with rage, "isNOT EXTINCT ENOUGH.""I see," said Jace. "I'll just have them change the entry in the demonology textbook from'almost extinct' to 'not extinct enough for Alec. He prefers his monsters really, really extinct.' Willthat make you happy?""Boys, boys," said Isabelle, who'd been examining her face in the elevator's mirrored wall."Don't fight." She turned away from the glass with a sunny smile. "All right, so it was a little moreaction than we were expecting, but I thought it was fun."Alec looked at her and shook his head. "How do you manage never to get mud on you?"Isabelle shrugged philosophically. "I'm pure at heart. It repels the dirt."Jace snorted so loudly that she turned on him with a frown. He wiggled his mud-caked fingersat her. His nails were black crescents. "Filthy inside and out."Isabelle was about to reply when the elevator ground to a halt with the sound of screechingbrakes. "Time to get this thing fixed," she said, yanking the door open. Jace followed her out intothe entryway, already looking forward to shucking his armor and weapons and stepping into a hotshower. He'd convinced his stepsiblings to come hunting with him despite the fact that neither ofthem was entirely comfortable going out on their own now that Hodge wasn't there to give theminstructions. But Jace had wanted the oblivion of fighting, the harsh diversion of killing, and the
distraction of injuries. And knowing he wanted it, they'd gone along with it, crawling through filthydeserted subway tunnels until they'd found the Dragonidae demon and killed it. The three of themworking together in perfect unison, the way they always had. Like family.He unzipped his jacket and slung it over one of the pegs hanging on the wall. Alec was sittingon the low wooden bench next to him, kicking off his muck-covered boots. He was hummingtunelessly under his breath, letting Jace know he wasn't that annoyed. Isabelle was pulling the pinsout of her long dark hair, allowing it to shower down around her. "Now I'm hungry," she said. "Iwish Mom were here to cook us something.""Better that she isn't," said Jace, unbuckling his weapons belt. "She'd already be shriekingabout the rugs.""You're right about that," said a cool voice, and Jace swung around, his hands still at his belt,and saw Maryse Lightwood, her arms folded, standing in the doorway. She wore a stiff blacktraveling suit and her hair, black as Isabelle's, was drawn back into a thick rope that hung halfwaydown her back. Her eyes, a glacial blue, swept over the three of them like a tracking searchlight."Mom!" Isabelle, recovering her composure, ran to her mother for a hug. Alec got to his feetand joined them, trying to hide the fact that he was still limping.Jace stood where he was. There had been something in Maryse's eyes as her gaze had passedover him that froze him in place. Surely what he had said wasn't that bad? They joked about herobsession with the antique rugs all the time—"Where's Dad?" Isabelle asked, stepping back from her mother. "And Max?"There was an almost imperceptible pause. Then Maryse said, "Max is in his room. And yourfather, unfortunately, is still in Alicante. There was some business there that required hisattention."Alec, generally more sensitive to moods than his sister, seemed to hesitate. "Is somethingwrong?""I could ask you that." His mother's tone was dry. "Are you limping?"Alec was a terrible liar. Isabelle picked up for him, smoothly:"We had a run-in with a Dragonidae demon in the subway tunnels. But it was nothing.""And I suppose that Greater Demon you fought last week, that was nothing too?"Even Isabelle was silenced by that. She looked to Jace, who wished she hadn't."That wasn't planned for." Jace was having a hard time concentrating. Maryse hadn't greetedhim yet, hadn't said so much as hello, and she was still looking at him with eyes like blue daggers.There was a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach that was beginning to spread. She'd neverlooked at him like this before, no matter what he'd done. "It was a mistake—""Jace!" Max, the youngest Lightwood, squeezed his way around Maryse and darted into theroom, evading his mother's reaching hand. "You're back! You're all back." He turned in a circle,grinning at Alec and Isabelle in triumph. "I thought I heard the elevator.""And I thought I told you to stay in your room," said Maryse."I don't remember that," said Max, with a seriousness that made even Alec smile. Max wassmall for his age—he looked about seven—but he had a self-contained gravity that, combinedwith his oversize glasses, gave him the air of someone older. Alec reached over and ruffled hisbrother's hair, but Max was still looking at Jace, his eyes shining. Jace felt the cold fist clenched inhis stomach relax ever so slightly. Max had always hero-worshiped him in a way that he didn'tworship his own older brother, probably because Jace was far more tolerant of Max's presence."I heard you fought a Greater Demon," he said. "Was it awesome?""It was different," Jace hedged. "How was Alicante?"
"It was awesome. We saw the coolest stuff. There's this huge armory in Alicante and theytook me to some of the places where they make the weapons. They showed me a new way tomake seraph b
02.01.2014 · 13 A Host of Rebel Angels Part Three Day of Wrath 14 Fearless 15 The Serpent's Tooth 16 A Stone of the Heart 17 East of Eden 18 Darkness Visible 19 Dies Irae Epilogue . Prologue Smoke and Diamonds The formidable glass-and-steel structure rose from its position on Front Street like a glittering needle threading the sky. There were fifty-seven floors to the Metropole, Manhattan's most expensive .