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Chapter Ten
There he was in all his glory: pale and white and terrifying as a falling star, dressed in full Shadowhunter battle gear that gave him the look of being swallowed up by midnight itself. His face could have been cut from marble; Jocelyn flashed back uncomfortably to the sketches in her textbooks of avenging angels, unforgiving and cold. Valentine Morgenstern, somehow, was vengeance personified.
"So lovely to see you both here," he said. The statement coming from another person's lips might have seemed warm, but Jocelyn felt as though the glass had somehow been removed from the windowpanes, driving the icy wind from the barren fields into the cozy lamplit study.
"Well, it is my house."
"Indeed," he nodded, crossing the room at such a sudden speed that Jocelyn actually jolted backward. Lucian grabbed her by the elbow to steady her. "I was heading back to the Academy with my school things when I remembered that your home conveniently lies along my route. I thought I would stop by and offer my thanks to Granville and Adele, as they so kindly attended my father's memorial."
"Oh. Yes." Jocelyn felt like her blood was turning to ice. Reflexively, she leaned back a little closer to Lucian; he seemed to be radiating warmth. His hand still gripped her elbow, but slid up slightly, fingers wrapping protectively around her upper arm.
"I was disappointed not to see you there, Jocelyn."
"I'm so, so sorry about your father. Really. And I'm even more sorry that I couldn't be at the memorial."
Valentine smiled, inclining his head. "Well, I'm sure you had a good reason for being away."
"Oh, I did. A great reason. See, basically, I-"
"No need!" He held up a hand. "No need to make excuses, Jocelyn. It matters not. Many of our classmates attended. I was not alone."
"Well… good."
He spun neatly on his heels to fully face Lucian.
"Graymark, I also don't recall seeing you."
"Ah…" Lucian stammered. "No. But I'm so very sorry for your loss."
"Thank you, Lucian. I wouldn't have expected you to come. I'm sure you two were very…" Valentine eyed them carefully, dark eyes sliding up from Lucian's hand on Jocelyn's arm to the trapped expressions on their faces. "...Preoccupied."
Lucian let go of Jocelyn so quickly it was as if he'd been burned. He stepped around her, particularly obscuring her from view.
"I really am sorry, Valentine. I, too, lost my father. Last year. It's a terrible burden to bear."
"That it is," Valentine said, still watching them with an expression almost like bemusement working its way onto his face.
Jocelyn narrowed her eyes, moving to stand at Lucian's side.
"Is that what you came here for, Valentine? You wanted us to express our sympathies? Because we have. Is there something more that you want?"
Again, his expression changed. It was as if someone had wiped a chalkboard clean of nasty, profane, messy scribbles, slowly beginning again with innocent swirls and stars.
"Of course. It's Christmas, Jocelyn. You could hardly think I'd come here empty-handed."
Jocelyn let her arms fall to her sides. "Excuse me?"
Wordlessly, he withdrew a small, slim package from the pocket of his loose-fitting black jacket. It was a strange sense of deja vu; Lucian had just basically done the same exact thing, but the gesture was so different when performed by Valentine. His movements were shorter, sharper, more violent, like he might lash out at any minute. She had no desire to approach him, to step into the eye of the storm. Noticing this, Valentine made a great show of walking past Lucian to set the package dramatically on the desk. He turned to face Jocelyn, eyes glittering in the silver witchlight that permeated the room as it grew darker outside.
"I don't want anything you have to offer," Jocelyn said before he could speak.
"It's a gift, Jocelyn. Not a threat. I simply wanted to wish you a merry Christmas."
"Well, thaaank you," she said, copying his overly exaggerated manner of speaking. Next to her, Lucian snorted.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like a ride back to Alicante?"
Jocelyn opened her mouth to respond, but Lucian cut in derisively. "Why would she want a ride with you?"
"I wouldn't," she said softly, and Lucian whirled to face her.
"Why would he think you would?"
She flinched. "I don't… I don't know, okay?"
"Ah!" Valentine settled back on his heels, surveying the scene as if he were watching a polo match. "I see. Jocelyn failed to tell you-"
"Let me just stop you right there. Starting a sentence with 'Jocelyn failed' is not a good way to get me on your side."
"On my side?" Valentine cocked his head, but the razor sharp focus of his gaze convinced Jocelyn that he knew exactly what she was talking about. She plunged ahead anyway.
"Your side. You know? Your little gang. Your little fan club."
Valentine chuckled. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Fine, play dumb, it doesn't matter. I don't care about your stupid gang of self-professed 'badasses.'" She made exaggerated air quotes with her fingers. "I'm not going to spend time with you anymore. The carriage ride was a favor, okay? I needed a favor. It's over. It doesn't mean we're suddenly best friends-"
"I hope you enjoy your gift, Jocelyn," Valentine said, cutting in effortlessly. His voice was calm, serene, almost as if he were oblivious to the angst he was causing her.
With her arms crossed, Jocelyn looked slowly and deliberately between Valentine's face and the box on the desk. It was wrapped in some kind of hideous gold paper. She looked back at him, refusing to say a word.
"I'll show you out, Valentine?" Lucian probably meant this to come out as a command, but his voice wavered. This didn't go unnoticed by Valentine, who turned to Lucian with one eyebrow raised.
"That won't be necessary, Lucian. But thank you for your kind offer."
He bowed deeply, and somehow this gesture was the most insulting so far. Jocelyn felt a wave of anger simmering in the pit of her stomach, a sudden rush of heat spreading to her face.
"Get out of my house," she snapped, and then, as an afterthought, "...Please."
Valentine nodded once more to the pair of them, then retreated. From the hallway, Jocelyn heard a frantic pitter-patter of bare feet on wood and she realized that it must be Amatis and Maddy, fleeing the scene after eavesdropping. Valentine either didn't notice them or didn't care. His steps echoed like thunderclaps through the empty hall, and he disappeared almost instantly into darkness, his Shadowhunter gear blending seamlessly into the black.
Jocelyn and Lucian stood for a moment, hardly daring to look at each other. She realized she was still clutching the locket in her fist, and she unfurled her fingers slowly, staring down at the small silver oval in her palm. It was then that she realized how intently Lucian was watching her.
Heart still pounding from the surprise encounter with Valentine, she whirled around, smacking his ornately-wrapped gift from the desk onto the floor, where it landed with a dull metallic sound as though whatever was inside had shattered. Good.
Turning to Lucian, she extended her hand. He took the necklace slowly.
"I'm sorry I let him give me a ride," Jocelyn said, embarrassed. "I didn't know what else to do."
"It's okay. It was my fault for leaving you at the Academy alone. I… I've made a lot of mistakes. I'm sorry. I'm the one who should be sorry."
Jocelyn waved a hand. "It's forgotten, okay? I just… didn't want you to be mad."
He smiled, eyes locking onto hers. He twirled the necklace chain between his fingers. "Never."
Jocelyn returned the smile. She tossed her long hair back, grabbing it with both hands and lifting it, spinning around so her back was to him again.
"Well, come on," she said quietly, a small smile playing across her lips. "Put it on."
The morning of Jocelyn's departure for the Academy was freezing, almost as if a window had been left open to fill the cracks and crevices with frost and icy air. Her bedroom was washed in dull morning light; it was so early that the sun hadn't even fully risen yet. Jocelyn woke up without opening her eyes.
Adele was in the room. She could tell, even through her closed eyelids. She'd long ago memorized the rhythm of her mother's footsteps and every nuance that differentiated them from that of her father. The dresser drawers across the room rattled gently as her mother opened and closed them, clearly taking care to keep quiet.
Without moving, Jocelyn opened her eyes halfway, peering through long lashes at the darkened silhouette folding her freshly-laundered school uniforms. Her mother had used the same soap to wash her clothes for as long as she could remember. It smelled fresh and crisp, like lavender and sunlight; the scent was the kind of thing you didn't notice until you'd been away from a place for awhile. Jocelyn absently clenched a fistful of quilt in one hand. Scanning the dark room, she saw that her leather suitcase lay open on the floor. Adele bent down over it, carefully arranging folded sweaters and skirts inside so her daughter would be able to unpack more easily when she arrived at the Academy.
Jocelyn let her eyes fall shut again, slipping back into dreams - it could have been five minutes or an hour later, she never knew, but eventually she felt a weight press into her mattress, a shadow falling over her face. Mother, she thought, too exhausted to fully feel her confusion, even as a hand reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Slowly, with a gentleness Jocelyn never would have expected, her mother stroked her hair.
She tried to remember another instance of her mother ever showing her such an obvious sign of affection; growing up, it had always been Elisabeth who wiped away her tears, who listened to her talk about whatever was bothering her, who knew her favorite books and foods and stories. She had spent her entire childhood wriggling out of her own mother's grasp, purposefully scuffing up her fancy party shoes the second Adele's back was turned.
"Jocelyn?"
Her eyes flickered open. Somehow, her mother must have guessed that she was awake.
"Am I in trouble?" she asked, still groggy.
"Sweetheart, no. I wanted to get your things ready so you wouldn't have to rush around this morning, that's all."
"Oh." She closed her eyes again, snuggling deeper into her nest of blankets. "Thanks."
For a moment, the room was silent. Her mother's hand left her hair and she shifted slightly on the mattress. Jocelyn had just began to drift off to sleep when her mother spoke again, voice crackling with hesitancy.
"Darling… you do know how much I love you?"
Jocelyn's eyes snapped open.
"I would… hate for you to go back to school without realizing how much I care for you," she continued. "I know I can be hard on you."
"Mother, is everything okay? Did something happen?" Jocelyn asked, still slightly disoriented as she hauled herself up into a sitting position.
"Everything's just fine, dear."
She studied her mother's face in the faint golden light that was just beginning to crack through the cold morning sky. Her brown hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders and despite the dark circles beneath her eyes, she looked younger than she had in years. As Jocelyn had gotten older, she'd gradually been able to pick apart her mother's face to see bits and pieces of herself. They didn't look as identical as Amatis and Elisabeth, but Jocelyn had her mother's delicate nose and high cheekbones, and there was definitely a similarity in the stubborn, proud set of her mouth. It was rare to see Adele in an unguarded moment like this one, but these were the times she looked most like her daughter.
"You're sure? You look kind of tired."
Adele took a deep breath, studying Jocelyn intently. Then she shook her head. "You don't know what it's like to be a mother, darling. One day you will have your own child to raise in this very house, and I hope that then you'll realize…"
"Realize what?"
"How excruciating it all is." She waved a hand, the Fairchild family ring she wore as a wedding band glimmering in the light. "To bring a child into this world."
Jocelyn stared. In fourteen years, she had never heard her mother speak like this.
"Is this because of what happened with Valentine's father? Did it freak you out or something?"
There was a soft, regretful look in Adele's eyes as she looked down at her daughter. She smiled, reaching out to smooth back Jocelyn's hair at the crown of her head.
"I brought you something… I thought you might like to take it back to school with you. It's on your nightstand."
Curiously, Jocelyn turned to see what looked like an old photograph sitting on top of her battered Codex. She picked it up carefully. It took her a few moments to place the photo in space and time, but when she did, it was like pricking her finger on a needle, sharp and stinging.
"I thought you could add it to your photo album," Adele said. "I thought it might do you some good to remember you still have a mother."
Jocelyn looked up, eyes brimming with tears.
"I'm sorry, Mom."
"You are not the one who has something to be sorry for."
It was funny, Jocelyn thought as her mother slipped out of the room as quietly as she'd come. You could grow up with someone in the very same house, share her nose and cheekbones and mannerisms, and yet not recognize her at all.
She couldn't remember the photograph being taken - the Jocelyn in the photo couldn't have been more than two, dressed in some awful frilly dress that she clearly had not been old enough to protest against wearing. Her mother, looking impossibly young and beautiful, was kneeling next to her, smiling broadly, hands on either of Jocelyn's shoulders, and Fairchild Manor rose behind them. Captured in this moment, they had never looked more alike.
The Academy spire rose high over the trees in the distance, piercing the powder blue sky with glimmering adamas and gold. It was a welcome sight to Jocelyn as she made her way up Princewater Street, scuffing her brown leather boots through the thin layer of slush that had accumulated along the sides of the road. Down below Oldcastle Bridge, the canal had frozen over, allowing a group of Nephilim children to slide around on tiny glinting ice skates.
As she neared the bridge, she caught some of their voices carried by the frigid wind. Intrigued, she crossed over to lean against the cold stone, peering down at a little girl with long blonde hair who appeared to be throwing a fit.
"- always have to be the Downworlder!" she wailed. "It's not fair!"
"It's because you're the smallest." One of the boys - he looked a bit older - screeched to a stop right in front of her, a shower of crushed ice spraying from the blades of his skates. "Downworlders are always the weakest, remember?"
"Jeremy!" another girl chastised him. "Don't be cruel. You can be a Shadowhunter next time, Lily."
Lily pouted, mittened hands clamping down on her hips. As she watched, Jocelyn realized she recognized the girl as her classmate Kiva's younger sister. The Beauvales were one of the oldest Alicante families; according to Jocelyn's father, they'd owned their towering mansion on Princewater Street for six centuries. She wondered what it would have been like to grow up here. There was less space to run, no woods or streams or explore, but the city was always teeming with activity. She thought she might have liked to be at the center of the action.
A sudden commotion from the street below jolted her back into reality. The kids had taken off skating again, and tiny blonde-haired Lily was surprisingly adept at keeping up with the older ones. The boy who had teased her - Jeremy - was just barely spinning out of her grasp.
"You dumb Shadowhunters!" Lily shouted, her little face flushed pink with cold. "I'm gonna get you!"
Jeremy and another girl with long black braids seemed to be herding the kids into a group by the canal bank. They passed what looked like half-frozen sticks between them until everyone had one, giggling and whispering with excitement as they slid back and forth on the ice, some clearly more skilled at balancing than others.
"Ready, Nephilim?" the black-haired girl called. "On my count! Three… two… one!"
Lily spun out frantically as the group surged toward her, brandishing their sticks. A small chorus of voices filled the air.
"Tahariel!" Jeremy yelled. He twirled the stick impressively above his head before bringing it down in a sweeping motion toward Lily, both of them laughing as she stumbled away, arms spread wide to secure her balance.
Jocelyn grinned to herself, resting her chin on her woolen gloved hands, elbows planted on the hard stone of the bridge. She knew what all the yelling was about: practicing naming seraph blades. She and Lucian had done this for countless hours as children, although they'd never had the added drama of a frozen surface to play on.
"Die, you filthy Downworlder!" The black-haired girl screamed, scooping Lily up in her arms and twirling around gracefully on strong legs. Lily laughed and squealed, kicking her ice skates wildly.
Jocelyn adjusted her scarf, tugging it up so that it covered her nose and mouth. She was used to the cold after so many years living in the countryside, but somehow the January air seemed more brutal in the city, whipping around buildings in ruthless chilling coils. Glancing one last time at the laughing children below, she set off down the road, kicking pebbles carelessly as she went.
The door to Seraph Bakes swung open to the tune of a soft, faraway-sounding bell. Jocelyn stepped gratefully into the warmth, winding her green woolen scarf from around her neck and shaking out her hair. The air smelled sugary and fresh and comforting, like baguettes in a Parisian cafe. From behind the counter, a older woman waved to her, and Jocelyn happily returned the gesture.
"He's over there by the windows," the woman said kindly as she wrapped a selection of cookies in thin, waxy paper. "Here you go, sweetie. Take these over."
"Thanks, Marina." Jocelyn smiled, reaching over the counter to grab the cookies. She'd been coming to the bakery since she was small, accompanying her father on visits to Alicante. All the bakers had loved her and watched her grow up, but Marina especially had doted on her, slipping her extra candies or scraps of pie dough when Granville wasn't looking.
Jocelyn skipped around the tables, boots clicking against the shiny floor. The cafe felt homey, it always had, and yet at the same time it bore no resemblance to any Shadowhunter home she had ever entered. The walls were a warm orange-pink, a sunrise color, dotted here and there with paintings of various Idris landscapes. One painting behind the counter, a watercolor of the brook behind Fairchild Manor where she and Lucian had played as kids, was actually her own, a gift to Marina when she'd been about twelve.
And there was Lucian himself, looking somewhat uncomfortable in the corner of a pale yellow booth. He was sipping something out of a steaming white mug - apple chai tea, she assumed. When they were younger, she'd teased him relentlessly for drinking it until she'd realized how good it actually was. Even still, she stuck to her classic hot water with lemon.
"Bonjour, monsieur," she said, flinging herself into the booth across from Lucian. She dropped the paper-covered cookies onto the table. "Voulez-vous un biscuit?"
"I'm not going to dignify that with a response." He grinned, grabbing a cookie.
"Because you're too hungry?"
"Because your French is way better than mine."
"C'est seulment parce que vous ne pratique pas avec moi."
He raised an eyebrow, glasses slipping an inch down his nose. "Stop."
"All right, all right. Keep me from exercising my brain, I don't mind."
"So are you all unpacked?"
They'd arrived at the Academy the previous day, but had spent most of the evening having a snowball fight in the practice yard while Amatis and Maddy watched and cheered.
Jocelyn stuffed a cookie in her mouth. "No, but I need to do it quickly before Maryse comes back."
"She's not back from London yet?"
"No, I mean, she's back, but she's not in our room. I guess she slept there last night because her bed was unmade this morning, but I haven't seen her at all. She was gone by the time I woke up."
"Huh." Lucian frowned, taking a sip of tea. "That's strange."
"It's so weird. If I didn't know better… nah."
"What?"
Jocelyn shifted in her seat, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening. The cafe was practically empty save for a few couples and a family with a bunch of small children.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think she has some thing going on with Valentine."
"What do you mean, a thing?"
"You know. A thing. I mean, think about it. She's never in our room, I keep catching her in the courtyard with him at weird hours of that night-"
"I thought that only happened once."
"-And she's pestering me to hang out with him like he's Raziel's gift to humanity." Jocelyn drummed the table confidently. "It all adds up. She loves him."
"I don't know, Joss. As much as I know the idea of your roommate dating a sociopath thrills you, I don't think it's a love kind of thing. I think he's forming some clique. Remember, back at the beginning of the year? What he said in the practice yard?"
Jocelyn cast her mind back. It felt like a lifetime ago. "A society… what was it? A 'society of progressive young Shadowhunters.' Was that it?"
"Yeah. Remember, it was only supposed to be for the open-minded ones?"
"Right. By the Angel, I was blocking that out. Like forcing us to participate in creepy rituals and dares really proves open-mindedness."
Lucian smirked around his mug. "You're just saying that because you chickened out."
"I did not chicken out!" Jocelyn leaned forward angrily, elbows thumping onto the tabletop. "There was a warlock, remember? Most people would've ran away screaming."
"Yeah, some old woman warlock reading mundane tarot cards in the street? Terrifying."
"You weren't there, okay?"
Lucian laughed. "What did she even say to you? She predict anything?"
Jocelyn lowered her eyes to the table, gently tracing the ring made by Lucian's mug with one finger. Her mind raced, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything.
"Joss?"
"It was nothing."
"Did she really predict something?"
Jocelyn leaned back against the booth. In all honestly, she hadn't been thinking much about the warlock's prediction, mainly because every time she did a wave of nausea washed over her. But it had been stored in the very back of her mind, creeping out at unlikely times to unnerve her. She regarded her best friend carefully across the table: blue eyes blinking behind his glasses, chapped lips drawn in a tight line of concern.
"She asked me if I believed in destiny," Jocelyn said quietly. She pulled her stele out of her coat pocket just to have something to do with her hands, twirling it through her fingers absently. "And she called me…"
"What'd she call you?"
The words seemed stuck in Jocelyn's throat. This was the part that haunted her. "She said… she said I was 'a daughter of heaven condemned to a warrior's life on earth."
Lucian didn't react, merely taking another sip of tea.
"Condemned," she repeated. "Like it's a punishment. Like Lucifer, falling from heaven. Doesn't that… I don't know…"
"It's an interpretation, I guess. An outsider's view."
"But then she said…" Jocelyn was desperate to get him to react, to freak out, to stand up and throw a teacup or something, but at the same time, she wasn't sure she wanted him to know this shameful secret. What if it was true? She sighed internally. If you can't tell Lucian, then who can you tell?
"She said… she didn't see a Shadowhunter's life in my cards."
That got Lucian's attention. He looked up from his chai tea, startled. "Jocelyn…"
"I know, I know. It's ridiculous. Me. Of course I'm a Shadowhunter. I'm a Fairchild! I've been training my whole life for this! I know what it's about! Of course I'm…"
"Joss, you don't need to prove yourself to me."
"Of course I'm a Shadowhunter," she mumbled, fidgeting with her stele. "Of course I am. …Am I?"
"Of course you are," Lucian said firmly. "Have another cookie."
"So, this society of Valentine's. What else do you know about it?" She popped the cookie in her mouth.
"They're calling themselves 'the Circle.'"
"Do they say it like that?" Jocelyn lowered her voice comically. "'The Circle'?"
"Well, Stephen thinks it's stupid, therefore Amatis does too." He rolled his eyes. "But Patrick and your buddy Robert… they seem pretty into it. Maryse, I guess. Celine. Hodge."
"Hodge?" Jocelyn asked incredulously. "But he's so…"
"Uncool?" Lucian supplied, laughing. "Joss, none of these people are exactly cool. The guys are good fighters, I guess, and Maryse is pretty, but Valentine's definitely not recruiting cool people. At least… not yet."
"You think Maryse is pretty?"
"I was just stating a fact. Why do you look so weird?"
"Jeez, thanks."
"No, you were making a weird face."
Jocelyn grabbed a cup of water that sat beside his mug of chai, taking a sip. "Must've eaten my cookie too fast. What did you mean, he's not recruiting cool people yet?"
"I can just tell." Lucian shrugged. "When he wants cool people, that's when he'll come for you."