Page 114 of Better in Black
Clary thought about how she’d once dreamed of growing up to be an artist, before she had grown up to be a demon-killer. Howat first the Shadowhunters felt to her as if they lived in a different time, purposefully ignorant of the modern world. Over time she came to understand why they walled themselves away as much as they did—the Shadow World was a dangerous place, and their belief was that it was safer for mundanes to know nothing about them. The Law demanded they keep themselves apart, that they remember they were warriors, meant to defend the world rather than to fully inhabit it.
Sometimes Clary wondered if it would be really that bad if Shadowhunters allowed themselves to be open to more of mundane culture. Then again, sometimes it was refreshing to be around people who’d never heard of Instagram. But it was part of their duty, and a part Clary often thought carried a high price: Few Shadowhunters ever created art, as mundanes did. Clary still drew and painted, but she knew her real identity waswarrior,notartist—a truth that applied to all the Nephilim.
Max went on. “Karina was studying ancient Greek cosmology. She grew up in Manila and she’d never been so far away from home, but”—he shook his head as if even after all these years, he couldn’t believe it—“she had no fear. Of anything. She was so hungry for novelty, for experience. Foods, sights, ideas—the more unfamiliar the better. The older I get, the more I appreciate what a rare quality that is. But even at the time, I knew she was…special. I told myself it couldn’t last. When I went back to Idris, I did try to forget her, but.”
“Making yourself fall out of love with someone isn’t so easy,” Jace said. “Even when you know the love is impossible.”
“This was before the rise of the Circle,” Max said. “But your Valentine didn’t come out of nowhere. These leaders never do. Men like Valentine need willing followers. And there were already plentyamong us who wanted to go back to the old ways, who thought anyone different was lesser. It felt like Idris had changed. But maybe I had. The boy I’d been would never have risked writing letters to Karina, telling her the things I did: about who I really was, about the Shadow World, all of it. But the man couldn’t resist. Even knowing it was only a matter of time before I got caught. The Inquisitor didn’t have to give me a choice, you know. I’d already violated enough of the Law that I should have been punished regardless. But he let me choose. And I made the only choice I could.”
“You chose your wife,” Jace said.
“You asked me what Maryse was like, when she was young? Before I went into exile, I told Maryse I would find some way to come home to her, no matter what. Someday.Big-brother swear,I told her. I’ll come back. You know what she said?Don’t.”
—
They pulled into the driveway of Max’s house after nightfall. Clary felt like a failure. All those hours together and they’d gotten no closer to persuading Max that he should ever speak to his sister again, much less come to a family wedding. For all she knew, the moment she and Jace left, Max would change his name and move away, the better to never be found again.
So it was a surprise to both Jace and Clary when Max suggested they stay the night. They’d been sitting in the back of Max’s Mini Cooper (currently parked in the driveway of his home) whispering to each other about getting back. They’d have to Portal, since the last trains back to New York had already left, but didn’t want to alarm Max with Clary’s unusual abilities. They had just decided to walk a few blocks away and Portal from there when Max, who’d been drumming his fingers irritably on the steering wheel, sighed and said, “Look. With no trains, your only option would be a taxi,which would be insanely expensive.” He hesitated, as if he was arguing with himself, then came to a resolution. “My son is staying with his grandparents tonight. So you could have the spare room. I won’t have to explain who you are.”
Jace and Clary shot each other a look as soon as Max said the wordsmy son.But neither of them asked any follow-up questions; Jace only nodded and accepted the invitation.
Max unlocked the front door of his home and beckoned them inside. The house was cozy and cluttered, its shelves crowded with family photos. Clary picked one up: Max was cheek to cheek with a very pretty woman with long dark hair. A gap-toothed kid in a Phillies hat was squeezed between them. “Is this him? Your son?”
Max took the photo from her, and traced a finger across the faces of his family. “Yeah. Noah.”
Clary swallowed hard. “He looks so much like you.” What she wanted to say, of course, was that he looked so much like Max Lightwood. Jace saw it too. To anyone else, his face would have seemed impassive. To her, it was a naked wound.
“Your wife was beautiful,” he said. “When did she die?”
“Two years ago. She had an inherited heart condition. It got worse and worse. And then it killed her.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Maryse told me I was making a stupid decision, throwing away my whole life for love. Imagine what she’d say if she knew I didn’t even get a full lifetime out of it.” Max blinked quickly and set the photograph down with more force than necessary. He looked at them, sadness and anger alive behind his eyes, so tied together, Clary suspected, that he probably rarely felt one without the other. “And? Are you going to ask me if I regret it?”
Jace took Clary’s hand. “Of course not.”
—
Clary assumed she’d be asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. Instead, she found herself wide awake in the dark. She couldn’t stop thinking about how lonely Max seemed, how much he wanted his family back. How determined he was to pretend otherwise.
Jace folded his arms behind his head. He was wearing boxer briefs and a T-shirt so overwashed and well-worn that when Clary hugged him, the fabric was as soft as felt.
“You okay?” he asked, turning his head to look at her.
“Imagine how much Max must have loved his wife, to give up everything for her,” Clary said. “And then to lose her?”
Jace didn’t seem surprised at the direction her thoughts had taken. “We’re always saying that being a Shadowhunter means accepting the possibility of an early death,” he said. “But really, that’s just what it means to be mortal. Max chose a lifetime with his wife—even if that lifetime had only lasted a few days, he would have chosen it, over anything.”
“How do you know?”
Jace turned on his side so they were face-to-face. His dark gold hair was silvered by moonlight, his face in shadow. He reached for her—just a hand on her shoulder, but still, the feel of him, through the light cotton of her T-shirt, the closeness of him, even after all these years, was electric. Like a current ran between them, sparking with a life of its own.
“Clary, if tomorrow morning we got crushed to death in a trash compactor, it would still be worth it, for all the time we had. Every minute we spend together is worth a lifetime. And I would always, always choose you.”
She squinted at him suspiciously. “That’s lovely, but—a trashcompactor? Simon and Isabelle made you watchStar Warsagain, didn’t they?”
“No onemakesme do anything,” Jace said, which meant yes.
