city of heavenly fire - cassandra clare

draw strength from one another. This many dead lycanthropes felt like a tearing ache, a hole of loss inthe world.She remembered the words from Kipling, written on the walls of the Praetor. For thestrength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.Jordan was gazing around, his lips moving as he murmured the names of the dead—Andrea, Teal,Amon, Kurosh, Mara. At the edge of the water Maia suddenly saw something move—a body, halfsubmerged.She broke into a run, Jordan on her heels. She skidded through the ash, to where the grassgave way to sand, and dropped down beside the corpse.It was Praetor Scott, corpse bobbing facedown, his gray-blond hair soaked, the water around himstained pinkish red. Maia bent down to turn him over, and nearly gagged. His eyes were open, staringsightlessly at the sky, his throat sliced wide open.“Maia.” She felt a hand on her back—Jordan’s. “Don’t—”His sentence was cut off by a gasp, and she whirled around, only to feel a sense of horror sointense that it nearly blacked out her vision. Jordan stood behind her, one hand outstretched, a look ofutter shock on his face.From the center of his chest protruded the blade of a sword, its metal stamped with black stars. Itlooked utterly bizarre, as if someone had taped it there, or as if it were some sort of theatrical prop.Blood began to spread out in a circle around it, staining the front of his jacket. Jordan gave anotherbubbling gasp and slid to his knees, the sword retracting, slipping back out of his body as hecollapsed to the ground and revealed what was behind him.A boy carrying a massive black and silver sword stood looking at Maia over Jordan’s kneelingbody. The hilt was slicked with blood—in fact, he was bloody all over, from his pale hair to hisboots, spattered with it as if he had stood in front of a fan blowing scarlet paint. He was grinning allover his face.“Maia Roberts and Jordan Kyle,” he said. “Have I heard a lot about you.”Maia dropped to her knees, just as Jordan slumped sideways. She caught him, easing him downinto her lap. She felt numb all over with horror, as if she were lying at the icy bottom of the Sound.Jordan was shuddering in her arms, and she put them around him as blood ran out of the corners of hismouth.She looked up at the boy standing over her. For a dizzy moment she thought he had stepped out ofone of her nightmares of her brother, Daniel. He was beautiful, like Daniel had been, though theycould not have looked more different. Daniel’s skin had been the same brown as hers, while this boylooked like he had been carved out of ice. White skin, sharp pale cheekbones, salt-white hair that fellover his forehead. His eyes were black, shark’s eyes, flat and cold.“Sebastian,” she said. “You’re Valentine’s son.”“Maia,” Jordan whispered. Her hands were over his chest, and they were soaked in blood. So washis shirt, and the sand under them, the grains of it clumped together by sticky scarlet. “Don’t stay—run—”“Shh.” She kissed his cheek. “You’ll be all right.”“No, he won’t,” Sebastian said, sounding bored. “He’s going to die.”Maia’s head jerked up. “Shut up,” she hissed. “Shut up, you—you thing—”His wrist made a fast snapping motion—she had never seen anyone else move that fast, exceptmaybe Jace—and the tip of the sword was at her throat. “Quiet, Downworlder,” he said. “Look howmany lie dead around you. Do you think I would hesitate to kill one more?”She swallowed but didn’t lean away. “Why? I thought your war was with the Shadowhunters—”“It’s rather a long story,” he drawled. “Suffice it to say that the London Institute is annoyingly well