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CHAPTER THREE:
❝ Sins Of The Father ❞
On the subway ride uptown Clary found herself unable to sit down and her nerves made Esme restless. She paced up and down the near-empty train car, her iPod headphones dangling around her neck. Isabelle hadn't picked up the phone when either of them had called her, and an irrational sense of worry gnawed at Esme's insides.
Clary had relayed the events of Jace at the Hunter's Moon to her, covered in blood. With his teeth bared in snarling anger, Clary had thought he'd looked more like a werewolf himself than a Shadowhunter charged with protecting humans and keeping Downworlders in line.
They charged up the stairs at the Ninety-sixth Street subway stop, only slowing to a walk as they approached the corner where the Institute hulked like a huge gray shadow. It had been hot down in the tunnels, and the sweat on the back of Esme's neck was prickling coldly as she made her way up the cracked concrete walk to the Institute's front door.
They reached for the enormous iron bellpull that hung from the architrave, then hesitated. With a surge of resolve, Clary seized the door handle, trying to remember the words and said, "In the name of the Angel, I — "
The door swung open onto darkness starred by the flames of dozens of tiny candles. As they hurried between the pews, the candles flickered as if they were laughing at them. They reached the elevator and clanged the metal door shut behind them. Stabbing at the buttons with a shaking finger, Clary willed her nervousness to subside and looked at Esme. Esme who had without a question rushed to her when she needed her, looking just as frantic and frayed.
Esme had told herself, again and again, she would not fall in love. She stole a glance at Clary. Because to her love had always been duality. The kindness and softness and loveliness of it as it sunk its rotten teeth in decaying flesh drawing sinful blood. How do you explain to your middle school friends that you always wore long sleeves to cover the bruises on your arm that your father gave you? Love was a poisoned dagger barrelling towards pink innocent flesh. Love was a killer.
The elevator came to a clanging stop and Esme pushed the door open. Church was waiting for them in the foyer. He greeted them with a disgruntled meow. "What's wrong, Church?" Her voice sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room. She wondered if anyone were here in the Institute. Maybe it was just them. The thought gave her the creeps. "Is anyone home?"
The blue Persian turned his back and headed down the corridor. They passed the music room and the library, both empty, before Church turned another corner and sat down in front of a closed door. Right, then. Here we are, his expression seemed to say.
