Last days were mad and crazy, but yet my wonderful beta made it possible to You all to read and enjoy this chapter! Let's all thank her for her hard work upon my writings! ;) You're the best, Yugi! Thank Youuu! :) :) :)

12. Walking Through The Night

Magnus froze. He knew, of course, that Camille all too often bent the Law to suit her needs and teetered perilously close to the limits of what ordinary Shadowhunters would punish with death, but… There was again a murmur from the clearly agitated Nephilim, and he looked at Sinclair in despair. The vampire's grim, fierce expression by no means meant that the change had been made with their consent or under any conditions conducive to a rational consideration of the possibility.

"It was a chilly evening in early October when we reached the outskirts of Paris" he continued the story, his colorless, dull voice sending shivers down Magnus's spine.

Sinclair tried to relate the story as passively as possible, cutting himself off the experiences of that day and letting go of any emotions the memories evoked. Magnus clenched his hands into fists. He only knew Sinclair as a strong, unbending vampire - if Sinclair acted that way now, there could only be one explanation. The story was getting to a really dark point for him and Featherdark.

"Usually we would avoid all the major cities, but the charm of Paris had drawn us towards it and led us to our inevitable doom," he continued in a neutral tone, staring motionless at a point just above the Shadowhunters' heads. "We were looking for a place to stay, and a faerie we encountered on the way directed us towards a huge, crowded square. I was sure that she had given us wrong directions and that we were lost among the narrow streets and tenement houses that were so similar to one another in the falling darkness. I only lost sight of Featherdark for a moment... It was only a moment..."

Magnus felt his chest tighten and his first reflex was to put a comforting hand on his companion's shoulder. He was restrained in time by the one hundred percent certainty that Sinclair, enraged by being the recipient of his pity, would have torn his arm out of his shoulder joint without a moment's hesitation. And that would have only been the introduction to a series of tortures which, in Magnus' opinion, would commensurate with Sinclair's past experiences and personality, though the more Magnus stared at the vampire's face, the more he felt there were serious reasons for it.

"Suddenly, everything was spinning around, pain was spreading from my chest and abdomen to every cell in my body. I struggled like crazy and every second seemed to last an eternity as I desperately tried to find my lover. It took real ages before I fell into the alley where he lay. The attack happened so close to me; only a dozen paces away from me…"

Sinclair's voice trembled at the edge of inaudibility. "Featherdark was stabbed several times and robbed. The thief had torn off his shirt buttons, most likely looking for a gold medallion around his neck, but when he found the outlines of the marks around his torso, he escaped, taking our bag and anything he could dig out of Featherdark's pockets leaving him there to die…"

…

"I don't remember much of what happened next," Featherdark muttered absentmindedly, and Simon wanted to slap himself for fleetingly thinking that the expression the man wore was unbelievably beautiful in its melancholy reverie. "Sinclair found me a few minutes after I got mugged. The thief had stolen everything we owned, so we didn't have a stele. Sinclair tried to stop the bleeding with his cloak, though he must have known perfectly well that he had no chance of keeping me alive."

"But... did it work?" Alec hesitantly asked, staring at his ancestor with faint hope. "You're alive. I mean… kind of…" he retracted awkwardly and looked away.

Featherdark reached freely across the distance between them and ruffled Alec's hair softly, smiling slightly. Inwardly, Simon screamed at the thought that a similar gesture made towards him would have had unpredictable consequences. This fact frustrated him as much as the fact that he had involuntarily come to the conclusion that he had never seen such a beautiful, slim hand with such long fingers clearly made for playing the piano in his whole life.

He wished he could completely cut himself off from his own undesirable thoughts about the vampire, but they kept coming back urgently and prevented him from focusing on anything else. He did not understand why Featherdark affected him so much, but his own reactions and thoughts drove him to despair, all the more since he could not find the cause of this phenomenon or how to effectively prevent it.

"Yes, I kind of survived" the vampire repeated softly, though the weight of his words hung in the air, and the shadows seemed deeper now.

He looked at some vague point again, and it was as if some distant, long-gone images were passing before his eyes. At first, Simon wanted to kick himself for finding the look incredibly alluring, but the sensation drifted away like a wave washing up the sand on the beach. Featherdark continued his story, his voice taking a sad tone, which in turn sent a shiver down the Daylighter's spine; a sensation much different than the ones the immediate proximity to the beautiful vampire had caused until then. Simon began to sense that this stage of the story would be full of pain and tears, the intensity of which had not diminished over time.

Isabelle doesn't like such stories, he thought. She wants the sun to always come out after a storm, and the heroes of each book - after hardships and suffering - have to find their peace and happiness.

He looked at Featherdark and for the first time he saw through the sensual layers of his charm and otherworldly beauty. If he were to describe that impression somehow, he would say it was like breaking a lampshade or a chandelier. Once, as a boy, he had broken the ceiling lamp in the kitchen with a ball. He could remember how bright the whole room had suddenly become, and how brilliant the colors of the exposed light bulb had been.

Looking at Featherdark now, he saw in him for the first time who Featherdark really was. It was something Alec must have instantly recognized; a Shadowhunter who held forbidden affection for his parabatai, an outcast driven out by the Clave and his own family, a wanderer who had found himself on the verge of death and who had to die in order to continue to live in hiding, in darkness, and without hope of seeing the sunlight ever again.

For the first time, Simon's motionless heart twitched, moved with compassion and deep sadness. Yes, he thought as he listened to Featherdark telling his tale with growing despondency, Izzy surely wouldn't like this story...

…

"Suddenly a man appeared next to us like he had sprung out of the ground. He introduced himself by the name of Archer." Sinclair winced contemptuously and almost spat out the last word. "He instructed me to take Featherdark and follow him to his mistress, who knew of our arrival in the city from her informants and had sent him for us. That was a fact he would emphasize vigorously and repeatedly." The vampire's voice gradually became more of a snarl and less of a human's voice; something that Magnus quickly noticed. "Of course, under normal circumstances, I would have never trusted that..." he hesitated in choosing the appropriate profanity, but when he glanced at the Nephilim, he surrendered and continued: "…man." He grimaced again, as if the mere mention of being helped by a vampire slave did not inspire anything but a deep sense of disgust in him. "I made him swear by the name of his great mistress that they would send for a skillful warlock to save Featherdark. He writhed like a bug on a hook, and it was such a disgusting sight that it still makes me sick as I remember it. He was bound by an oath and looked like a battered dog, but it was only in exchange of that promise that I had allowed myself to be led deeper into Paris and into more and more magnificent and wealthy neighborhoods."

He paused for a moment, and when he spoke again, his tone was bitter and eager to punch anyone who would now, years later, criticize him for the decisions he had made almost a century ago. He straightened his spine, and his head was proudly raised.

"Perhaps it would have been better if we had never accepted Lady Belcourt's hospitality. She didn't seem too pleased by the state her slave had found us in." Sinclair snorted angrily, and Magnus could easily imagine his ex-girlfriend's furious expression. "Archer huddled in front of her and whimpered in that embarrassingly pathetic way of his, and she, in an icy-poisonous tone, reprimanded him ordering him to clean the blood from the carpets, prepare a guest room for Featherdark, and send a carriage to fetch a warlock who could heal Featherdark's wounds. I waited forever at Featherdark's bedside until Camille's second favorite, Walker, burst into the room to announce the warlock's arrival. It was the first time I met Catarina Loss."

Magnus straightened up immediately and looked at Sinclair with resentment.

"She never told me she saved an exile Nephilim from death!" He was indignant, but he immediately lowered his tone when he saw the fury and pain in Sinclair's eyes shattering his heart in two.

"Because she didn't" the vampire hissed sharply, and Magnus silently cursed his impulsiveness.

There was a deep silence echoing throughout the Sanctuary. Isabelle and Maryse sat with their hands covering their mouths, making their family resemblance even more noticeable. Jace was holding Clary's hand, who was looking at Sinclair with an expression somewhere between sympathy and boundless sadness. She looked very much like Jocelyn, who had bowed her head in despondency as Luke placed an arm around her. Jia Penhallow was the first to speak, though her tone revealed a deeply hidden empathy for the Shadowhunter whose parabatai had almost died.

Magnus decided to say nothing more. He didn't quite understand yet why Sinclair - who until then had been persistently silent about his past - was now narrating every part of his past in front of the entire Clave, stripping himself and his lover of any remaining privacy. The warlock stared at his tightly clasped hands only because they were trembling too much, and he, for a change, felt he didn't want to show the Nephilim how much he was moved by the story of the two vampires. He could sense the resentment and despair of the continuation, and in spite of his strenuous attempts, Sinclair's emotions were still so vivid that the warlock could easily imagine the events of that night in his mind's eye.

…

At the beginning of the 20th century, Catarina was the same as she had always been and would always be - full of hope, enthusiasm and determination. She had a sense of duty too strong and too deeply rooted in her to be undermined by time and the constantly changing world. She had marched into the room in brisk steps, quick and sober in mind, as if she hadn't been pulled out of bed in the middle of the night and led by a vampire slave through quiet streets to a wealthy neighborhood. In an unmistakable tone, she threw everyone out of the room in a rather bland but blunt manner in order to fully focus on the patient. It is the needy who come first, and their race, religion, orientation or property status are of the least importance. Cate knew she had a natural talent, and her innate gift meant that in many cases she alone could help.

Not that time, though.

"You can come in and..." she began in a tired voice, three hours later peering out from behind a heavy, oak door. Camille had a strange weakness for those doors and had them put in each residence she occupied, as if for some reason unknown to Magnus they were a must-have item of every house.

"Talk to him?" Sinclair leapt to his feet from the sofa that he had pulled up there from the parlor so he could camp outside the room.

"No, to say goodbye to him..."

Magnus knew what expression Catarina's face had held as she uttered those words - they held a finality that killed the remnants of hope smoldering in the hearts of the patient's family and friends. She was surely exhausted, but with the stubbornness of the world's greatest donkey, she would always push the thought of fatigue away and ignore the fact that she could barely stand upright without any help. She would blame herself wondering if she could have done something else, something more, anything to save the life that was entrusted to her. Poor Catie, Magnus sighed silently, why don't you ever want to believe that sometimes even you can't help anymore?

Sinclair had passed her in the doorway, almost trampling on the threshold, and had rushed to the bed where Featherdark was dying in the blood-soaked sheets. The young man didn't react to his name, though Sinclair had called it out so desperately again and again. He had floated out into the dark, though there were so many lamps in the room. He had breathed heavily and with difficulty, although the windows were wide open and the cold wind was moving the long lace curtains.

Magnus squeezed his eyes shut. Sinclair was a natural born warrior, determined, relentless and focused on victory. However, he could not win against that opponent. There was nothing he could do as death slowly, second by second was taking his Featherdark away from him and was dragging him into the darkness, to a place where Sinclair could not follow him. Catarina had stood at the door, never coming closer to the lovers saying goodbye. She had said something comforting, explaining what she had done, but only scraps of information got to Sinclair. "A knife impregnated with demon blood." "The attacker hit as if he wanted to kill." "Too much poison in the bloodstream." "Massive internal bleeding." "Irreversible changes."

"Miss Loss, please call Lady Belcourt in" Sinclair suddenly had announced, never taking his eyes off his lover's pale face that was framed by long cascades of gently flowing black hair.

"But... Mr. Wayland, it's not..." Catarina had argued after the several seconds it took her to understand the desperate Shadowhunter's intentions.

"Get Camille over here!"

Sinclair's eyes were burning with madness as he spoke. Cate already knew he wouldn't back down, no argument would convince him, and no rational discussion would get to him. Dutifully, she had ordered Walker to fetch Camille, who arrived moments later, her lips spreading into a widening smile as she listened to everything Sinclair had to say. She had looked out the window for a moment- two hours before dawn. There was a bit of time. She immediately sat down at the desk next to the wardrobe, took a few sheets of parchment, and quickly scribed a few letters, which she then distributed between the two slaves of hers before sending them out into the night as messengers.

Catarina doubled her efforts to keep Featherdark alive, and Sinclair remained silent. Only his gaze as it fell on his lover's face betrayed his uncertainty and hesitation. That was how another hour had passed before the slaves returned triumphantly, as proud as trained dogs, that they had managed with uncritical, loyal and surrendering love to carry out all the orders given to them by their lady. Sinclair had stared in disbelief at the stele Archer was pressing into his hand.

"We managed to get your stolen stuff back" Camille had said with a smile as she walked over to the bed. "The young, inexperienced werewolf took your parabatai for a vampire chick, ironically. I asked them to bring you his head." She had pointed impassively at a linen bag, stained with a dark stain on the underside, and Catarina gave her a terrified look.

"Camille, you mustn't be like this..." She quickly realized that Lady Belcourt was looking at her with a superior smile and fell silent. Shame filled every cell of hers, feeling under her skin that she was involuntarily becoming a part of some evil, dark secret, but there was nothing she could do to withdraw and run away.

"You must never tell anyone about what you saw here and what you participated in" Camille mercilessly had confirmed her fears and increased the dread of the consequences.

Catarina knew that not so long ago the Nephilim killed Downworlders in the name of the Law, and their ancestral principles stood on the foundation of the blood and bones of murdered warlocks, werewolves, vampires and faeries. To issue a death sentence for a Downworlder, a much smaller offense was enough; mere suspicion, rumors, and guesswork were enough. Catarina had nodded slowly, and indeed, for the next hundred years, she never mentioned the events of that October night to anyone, and Magnus felt a weight of guilt nesting in his chest. He remembered that when he met her shortly after that fateful night, she had been a bit too thoughtful and glum, but she excused herself saying she was overworked and exhausted. Why hadn't he pursued the subject then? Why had he believed her so easily?

"It's a beautiful story, like a medieval romance" Camille had said. Catarina had been terrified, and Magnus choked his rage at the vampire who would waste someone else's life so lightly. "You are the perfect, rebellious lovers ready to die to be together. Show me a love stronger than death. Show me faithfulness lasting more than eternity."

Magnus was worried. That was why he had argued with her on the day they broke all contacts. He had ended up running out of her mansion, dragging a semiconscious Will Herondale behind him. She had never believed in the steadfast, faithful love of immortals. Were Sinclair and Featherdark an experiment for her then? What did she want to prove to herself when she had seen them staring at each other intensely and so deeply in love with each other?

Camille had sat on the opposite edge of the bed and ordered Sinclair to put as many runes on Featherdark as he could think of. Their power allowed the young Lightwood to regain consciousness and gave him enough strength to trace the marks on his parabatai's body himself. Sinclair had asked him several times if he was ready, if he agreed, if he wanted it as well, but Featherdark had only smiled weakly as his own stele weighed unnaturally heavy in his hand and the runes slided off it slowly, shaky and uncertain.

It was then that Catarina left the room and rested her back against the door. She tried hard to drown the shouts of Shadowhunters who was dying in agony to be reborn to a new life. She retreated down the corridor and let Camille's slaves pass, then looked away as they, with awe-inspiring skill, drag two dead bodies out of the room to stuff them into the carriage waiting in the driveway and rush towards the Cimetière de Montmartre. Those who died in a mutual embrace were laid in a common grave, and together they rose to the surface a few minutes before dawn as the newborn sons of Camille Belcourt.

…

"Archer and Walker drove us to the mansion and directly into the coach house where we huddled against the first rays of the sun. Whenever I remember how they wrapped us in old woolen cloaks and rushed us into the basement through some inner corridors to trap us in the crypt, an embarrassing sense of self-contempt takes away my self-respect." Sinclair snorted angrily. "We slept all day, undisturbed by anyone, and at dusk Camille brought us bottled blood from the butcher and gave us new names, ordering us to forget our ancestral heritage once and for all. And then our eternal journey through the night began as she taught us to exist in the Shadow World in a new position and carefully examined our new abilities."

Magnus looked at the vampire searchingly, but could not read his face when the elder Nephilim's voice was heard in the crowd. Its owner got up from his seat and fixed Sinclair with a look as sharp as if he intended to decapitate him with it.

"That's ridiculous! What kind of valuable skills can vampires have?" He mocked, quite sure that Sinclair had nothing special, especially nothing, that would impress Raziel's sacred blood heir.

And he was forced to refute his claim immediately when the vampire suddenly appeared right behind him, sticking the blade of his own seraphic dagger to his throat. The man made only an inarticulate grunt, and the Shadowhunters sitting nearby jumped up from their chairs, drawing their weapons. Magnus had no time to react when Sinclair was unexpectedly next to him again, freely twirling the captured dagger in his fingers.

"First of all," Sinclear began with a malicious smile. "Featherdark and I can move freely on consecrated ground and use seraph weapons. We kept our daggers and swords, and for a while we also had a stele, which, however, turned out to be unnecessary as we realized that the signs we had drawn on us just before our transformation would not disappear and their power would not diminish. This is our second precious ability." He cast a mocking glance at the Nephilim, whom he had just threatened with a blade to his throat to make him realize how dangerous it was to ignore an opponent and underestimate the extent of his abilities. "In our case, the abilities of the Shadowhunter and the vampire have been fused. Camille took advantage of the fact that the runes drawn by a parabatai are more effective and their strength greater. This is why the signs have not faded over the years, and their power has not diminished since they were applied."

Some Shadowhunters were visibly lowered in their chairs, and Magnus himself felt stunned by the revelation. Angelic runes blackened Sinclair's body with the freshness of the marks drawn out by a stele seconds earlier when in fact they had been applied there a century ago. He had just seen the supernatural, inhuman speed, strength, and agility with which the vampire had slipped through the crowd to use the Shadowhunter's weapon against himself. He shuddered at the extraordinary abilities of Sinclair and Featherdark. Camille must have anticipated that. Oh Lilith, she must have known, at least partially, how such powerful beings could be turned into a pair of vampire parabatais.

"Of course, we also have certain limitations" the vampire continued lightly, as if he was reporting only the results of a moderately important and not necessarily fascinating research on a selected species of snail, and not revealing the secrets of his existence, taking into account the strengths and weaknesses of his current state. "The sun has a destructive effect on us, which is why we sleep on the floor in rooms cut off from the light. Oh, and we have to drink blood, of course, though that doesn't pose any major moral dilemma." He laughed harshly. "We drink from each other's veins, because - here we go back to what I have already mentioned - the loss of blood is immediately compensated thanks to the activation of regenerative runes and the natural properties of the vampire body, which instantly closes the damaged blood vessels and seals wounds."

They're almost perfect… Magnus took a deep breath as a twinge in his lungs made him realize he was holding his breath. By Lilith, he thought once again in horror. Camille, what have you done to them?...

"There is also one more particular reason why Cherry sent me to Magnus, and consequently here, at the base of the glorifying descendants of the Angel, who are as always deaf and blind to what is happening around them and of course too stupid to listen what the smelly Downworlder has to say" he growled, and Magnus cast a discreet glance at the Nephilim to make sure they weren't pointing at them anything sharp yet, for he had no doubts that Sinclair had been straining their patience for the last hour. "The parabatai bond between Featherdark and me has been somewhat… perverted."

He pointed at the mark without much emotion, and when the warlock focused his eyes on him, he saw in the weak, magical light the red shade of the rune and its changed shape compared to the original. He also saw the knowing look Clary and Jace exchanged, which made his heart twitch in a single stab of icy fear.

"It's not the symbol of the parabatai bond anymore" Jace said slowly, carefully weighing each word. "This mark doesn't come from the Gray Book. It is a rune of demonic binding."

Sinclair looked up at the Shadowhunter through his lashes and nodded, causing a new wave of commotion among the Nephilim.

"This bond is not to the same for both sides" Jace continued. "One of you must be dominant. One has power over the other."

"You're very smart and experienced, aren't you, Jace Herondale?"

"Lightwood."

"Right." Sinclair smiled without malice this time. "In our binding, Featherdark is the privileged side, but despite the fact he has this ability, he doesn't impose his will on me. Besides, it is better when our duo is led by him, a strategist with a keen mind and invaluable communication talents, and not me, an untrained practitioner without a gram of refinement just a bad mouth."

"But... Oh, I mean, without wanting to insult Featherdark, of course," Clary pointed out quickly. "but shouldn't the stronger partner have control?"

"The one who has more of a demon in him has control. That's why Jonathan Morgenstern was able to dominate you, Jace Lightwood. And that's why Featherdark dominated me." Sinclair shifted his gaze to the surprised and appalled Shadowhunters at this confession. "Both Jonathan Morgenstern and Featherdark are partly demons."

"What crap!" The elderly Shadowhunter burst out with holy indignation, brandishing a short seraph blade over her head. "Jonathan Morgenstern was born a monster, true, but your regrettable... mate..." she drawled contemptuously, and Magnus could already sense the storm that was in the air; just waiting for the first lightning to crackle. "The blood of the Nephilim is angelic and pure! No demonic element can merge with it! This is why Shadowhunters die when severely wounded by a demon, and the children created by the union of Nephilim and warlocks are born dead!"

"Yes..." Sinclair hissed venomously against the ear of the woman. She clumsily leapt to the side to get as far as possible from the vampire, whose eyes blazed with rage and madness and who hadn't been by her side a fraction of a second before. "The blood of a demon and an angel cannot flow through the veins of a living Shadowhunter. Except the fact that Featherdark is dead."

…

"Are you partly a demon?" choked Simon, who had learned many unusual things about Featherdark so far, but despite the assumption that nothing would surprise him anymore, he had to admit that he was surprised.

He hadn't seen too many demons before, and his experiences couldn't help him create a complete overview of races and species, but he was sure none matched the gentleness and tranquility of the former Shadowhunter. Alec looked similarly bewildered as he studied his ancestor for a moment, and then something like understanding flashed in his eyes. Featherdark smiled sadly and nodded to him, so only Simon remained outside the circle of knowledge and explanation, which he decided to make up for.

"Um…" he began awkwardly because he realized that however he phrased the question it would still sound dumb. He would have to blame it on the fact he wasn't used to asking people what kind of demon they partly were. "It's quite personal, I think... I hope you won't be angry at me for asking... Because you see, I guess I am the only one who can't figure out which..."

"Succubus." Featherdark saved him from going any further around the subject. "I have succubus blood in me."

The Daylighter was silent for a moment. Then he remembered the Might and Magic games he enjoyed playing with his friends at school, and he would have blushed if he hadn't been restricted by the white, vampire complexion that was immune to the owner's mood swings. Oh my God..., he thought. I guess I think right...

"From the look on your face, I guess you know what kind of demons I mean?" Featherdark asked politely, and Simon was far from comfortable finding out that the man who he thought was a vampire like him had certain demonic abilities...

"Oh but hey! That's why, isn't it?" In an instant, the Daylighter had an epiphany, and all the pieces of the puzzle suddenly fit together. "It's your succubus blood, right? This is why you seemed so inhumanly beautiful to me from the very first moment, and even now, I involuntarily think that your hair shines like raven feathers; almost calling out for the subtle hand of a lover to release it from the knot of its satin ribbon so that it can freely flow in black cascades over your shoulders and back?"

There was a moment of silence, and in an instant Simon felt that he wanted the ground to open and swallow him.

"I can't believe... I said it out loud, right?" He groaned, mourning the last remnant of his dignity.

Alec, who was staring at him stunned, suddenly laughed and Featherdark tilted his head, smiling rakishly, which made him even more beautiful and alluring. However, this time Simon was much more concerned about completely losing face in the presence of both Lightwoods to be dangled by the vampire's eyes.

"I am delighted to hear these compliments, Daylighter" said Featherdark with effortless elegance. "And you are right. It is the influence of succubus blood that causes my charm to confuse the mind and senses of everyone, regardless of gender or preferences. I mean, almost everyone." He gave Alec a pointed look, to which the Shadowhunter only replied with a raised eyebrow. "This is also due to the specificity of succubus. I cannot take possession of a heart that has already been given to someone else."

"But I… oh…" Alec concluded, blushing and immediately averting his eyes to the side, as if the faded patterns on the wallpaper suddenly turned out to be the most interesting thing within a kilometer's radius.

"And that also applies to you, Daylighter" Featherdark added with a slight, disturbingly ambiguous smile. "I think there is someone who is extremely important to you. Otherwise - and you can believe me that I have many years of experience so I can say it with surety - you would not have only been haunted by intrusive thoughts about my undoubted charms."

Yes, Simon thought, half flustered, half puzzled. It was the thought of Isabelle that made Featherdark's influence of demonic-power faint. So… Suddenly he noticed Alec watching him closely - too closely to hope for a pardon and a lighter punishment. Simon knew perfectly well that his concern for his sister knew no boundaries, no obstacles, or what overprotection meant. For his own good (and indirectly also for the good of Alec, who, in turn, probably did not want to pursue the sensitive topic of his relationship with Magnus), he decided to redirect the conversation back to track. They were discussing something important before they fell onto the dangerous shallows of their love lives.

"You talked about how your parabatai bond became different after you changed, right?" He recalled quickly. He didn't want to give Alec any time to start thinking of castrating or tearing his heart.

"Yes" Featherdark admitted. "Parabatai are capable of sensing their partner's extreme emotions somewhere on the fringes of their own consciousness. Sinclair and I, on the other hand, can make full use of a bond that could be described as advanced telepathy."

"Gosh" Simon sighed, fighting his stupor.

He expected a change of the subject to a safer one, but he definitely did not expect another revelation of this form. Even now, Featherdark and Sinclair appeared to him as powerful and unique creatures, far beyond what both the most experienced Shadowhunters or the oldest vampires could do. But if they could really communicate with each other in such a free, unrestricted way... Featherdark nodded in response to the understanding in his eyes.

"Yes, my sister sent Sinclair to Magnus Bane's rescue, but also our father separated us on purpose. Sinclair was sent to the Clave as liaison with the Hotel Dumort."

…

"It's… amazing…" Jocelyn whispered, staring at Sinclair.

"Prove it!" Isabelle shouted before Robert could pacify her.

"Oh, passionate young Miss Lightwood." Sinclair grinned, his fangs flashing dangerously again. "If you want proof, ask a question only your brother knows the answer to. I think this will help make my version of the story more credible, because the Clave, as always, has more doubts than common sense" he snorted.

Isabelle glanced only once at Consul Penhallow, who nodded her approval, ignoring the taunts at the Nephilim. The girl thought for a moment, then said:

"If you really have contact with Alec right now, ask him how we disposed of the evidence of grandma's vase that mom got as a dowry, and which we broke when we played demon and Shadowhunter in father's office while our parents were away."

"Isabelle!" Maryse hissed, glaring at her daughter, but Sinclair only laughed again and closed his eyes.

"Izzy? Izzy, is that you? Are you OK? Did you get to the Institute safely?" he said after a moment, and his smile was now so wide that it showed every part of his teeth.

"He's in a hotel full to the brim with vampires, and instead of worrying about himself, he worries about me..." Isabelle sighed. "It must be Alec" she said confidently, but paused as Sinclair continued:

"We collected the fragments of the vase that you knocked down as we played with a cloth in which we wrapped them before burying them in one of the rose beds beneath the kitchen window. We also replanted three daisies from the garden behind the house on top of the buried evidence because you said they could serve as a magical barrier. Mom would never find the broken remains and without evidence there was no crime. Oh, you clever little one" the vampire added his own comment, and Isabelle just nodded.

"That's right. Sinclair couldn't think of fabricate this, and apart from me, only Alec knew what happened to that vase" she said, dropping back into her chair. "These vampires' telepathic abilities are real."

Sinclair, meanwhile, grinned even more, though it seemed physically impossible anymore. He turned his head towards Magnus and, with a gleam in his eye, delivered another message:

"Is the High Warlock of Brooklyn with you?" he said, and with undisguised pleasure he watched Magnus's face, who had a great difficulty controlling his stoop.

How impersonal and official Alec had addressed him! But why should I be surprised?, Magnus thought bitterly. I broke up with him, I ordered him to move out, I left him when he needed my help the most...

"Is he okay? Is he safe?" Magnus looked up at Sinclair, whose malicious, superior smile suddenly softened, and his green eyes blazed with a warm glow. "Ragan Sinclair, I sincerely hope I will be able to repeat this soon in person too, but I would like to thank you from the depth of my heart for saving Magnus."