Page 108 of Better in Black
They packed lightly, each filling a backpack with a change of clothes, toothbrushes and the like, and—of course—weapons and steles. The problem with following a tracking rune to parts unknown was that they couldn’t Portal without knowing where exactly they were going. And the problem with keeping secrets from Isabelle was that they couldn’t use Simon’s car. Which left public transportation. What would have been a two-hour drive took several trains, one of which they missed, and about eight hours.
When they finally arrived at the small, suburban station in Fort Washington, Clary checked the map against the tracking rune again. This time a line on the map marked Birch Street lit up brightly. It looked like it was about a mile from the station.
Jace shrugged his backpack on. “All right. Let’s walk it.”
This turned out to be easier said than done. Most of the streets lacked sidewalks, with the green lawns of the houses sloping straight down to the roads, and many of the drivers slowed as they passed, looking at Jace and Clary as if they were lunatics, or criminals. They hadn’t thought to glamour themselves, as they were unarmed and dressed in normal clothes. Nothing about them shouldhave seemed strange. Apparently, in the suburbs, walking was strange enough.
All the streets were named after trees. They turned left from Oak onto Birch, and at the second house on the right, the rune on the back of Clary’s hand flared blindingly bright.
They were here.
Max Trueblood’s house was a tidy split-level with white aluminum siding. Basically identical to every other house on the block. Some had autumnal wreaths hung on the door or rosebushes cluttering the yard, others had a swing set out front or an odd-shaped addition sprouting from the roof. But these were only surface differences. Growing up in Brooklyn, Clary had learned about the suburbs from television, and she remembered her confusion as a kid. Why would people want to live in a neighborhood where everything and everyone looked the same?
“This isn’t what I expected from a place called Fort Washington,” Jace said.
“What were you expecting?”
“For starters? A fort.”
When she was very young, Clary had assumed the world she saw on sitcoms was as fictional as the ones inStar WarsorThe Smurfs.It was, in a way, easier to believe in spaceships than in sprawling lawns and shopping malls and fathers obsessed with baseball and lawn mowers.Remember,she thought now,all the stories are true.
“Why do all the houses look alike?” Jace asked. “You think this is some kind of cult?”
“You sound so hopeful,” Clary said. “I’m pretty sure it’s not a cult. It’s just the suburbs.”
“I won’t say that’s not disappointing,” Jace mused. “We haven’t fought a demonic cult in ages.”
Clary snorted. “In suburbs like this, they tended to hire the same architect to repeat the same designs over and over. It made things cheaper, and…you didn’t really want a real answer to that question, did you?”
“I didn’t,” Jace acknowledged. “But you’re sexy when you know stuff.” A group of power-walkers surged past them, in identical jumpsuits, with identical ponytails. Several of them glanced at Jace, grinned, and elbowed each other. Jace returned their looks suspiciously. “Though it does feel like there might be demons here.”
“I’m ignoring you now.” Clary went over to the mailbox that stood beside the driveway, where a small blue car was parked. The name inked on the box wasm. travis.
Close enough, Clary thought.MforMax,aTname forTrueblood? Maybe.
“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” Jace said.
“You want to go back?” Clary was half hoping he would say yes. Now that they were actually here, she was less and less sure it was the right thing to do. Maryse wasn’t the one living under an assumed name. If her brother had wanted to find her, he could have.
Jace shook his blond head. “We’re here,” he said, and held out a hand to her. “Let’s see it through.”
Holding hands (like children in a fairy tale, Clary thought, not for the first time, through the woods to the witch’s house), they walked up the tidy stone path to the blue-painted front door, and rang the bell.
The door swung open.
Clary caught her breath. The man standing in the doorway was undeniably Maryse’s brother. He was in his fifties, wearing a rumpled corduroy blazer, faded jeans, and thick-rimmed blackglasses—but if you looked past the absent-minded professor vibe, you could see the family resemblance. Alec’s thin, wiry build and black hair. Isabelle’s height and dark eyes. But most of all—and this was what took her breath away—Max looked likeMax.The other Max, the sweet little boy with messy hair and oversized glasses. This was how he might have looked if he’d been allowed to grow up.
But Max had been all ready smiles and wide-eyed innocence. This man looked tired, angry, filed down by years of disappointment and maybe even regret. “What do you want?” he demanded, looking ready to shut the door in their faces.
He probably thinks we’re here to sell him something.“I’m Clary. Clary Fairchild.” She tried to sound as friendly and harmless as possible. “This is Jace Herondale. I’m sure you have no idea who we are—”
But he’d stiffened immediately at the sound of the nameHerondale.He brushed a sharp look over both of them, eyes narrowing. “Oh, I know exactly who you are. Stephen’s son. And Jocelyn’s daughter.”
Jace and Clary exchanged a look. Maybe this was a good sign. If he recognized their parentage, who they really were, it meant he’d been keeping tabs on the Shadow World, just as Clary’s mother had, all those years hiding as a mundane.
Clary knew that both her mother and Luke had discovered it was a lot easier to hide from other people than it was to hide from yourself. Maybe Max had learned the same lesson.
“Look, you’re probably perfectly fine people, for Shadowhunters,” Max said. His face was set in hard, angry lines. If there was any part of him that was pleased to see them, he was hiding it well. “And while I don’t know why you’re here—”
