The Mortal Instruments (Book 1-3)

11. The Boy and the Falcon

Jace leaned forward and banged his hand against the partition separating them from the cab driver. "Turn left! Left! I said to take Broadway, you brain-dead moron!"

The taxi driver responded by jerking the wheel so hard to the left that Clary was thrown against, Daphne, who sat in the middle. Daphne let out a strangled squawk as she was squished in between Clary and Jace.

"If you two don't get off of me," the girl grit out, "I will start throwing people out the window."

Jace banged on the partition again, as they righted themselves, yelling, "What's with your shit driving you stupid mundie?"

Clary yelped as the car jerked fiercely again. "Why are we taking Broadway, anyway?"

"I'm starving," Jace said. "And there's nothing at home except leftover Chinese." He took his phone out of his pocket and started dialing. "Alec! Wake up!" he shouted into the phone. Daphne could hear an irritated buzzing on the other end. "Grab Isabelle; meet us at Taki's. Breakfast. Yeah, you heard me. Breakfast. What? It's only a few blocks away. Get going."

He clicked off and shoved the phone into one of his many pockets as they pulled up to a curb. Jace didn't even wait for the car to come to a complete stop before he opened the door and hopped out. The driver let out an irritated noise, but Daphne shoved a handful of bills towards his way—well over the actual total amount—and he quickly shut up. She followed Jace out of the car, and held the door open for Clary.

Her parabatai stretched like a cat and spread his arms wide. "Welcome to the greatest restaurant in New York." he told Clary with a grin.

It didn't look like much—a low brick building that sagged in the middle like a collapsed soufflé. A battered neon sign proclaiming the restaurant's name hung sideways and was sputtering. Two men in long coats and tipped-forward felt hats slouched in front of the narrow doorway. There weren't even windows. "It looks like a prison." said Clary.

He pointed at her. "But in prison could you order a spaghetti fra diavolo that makes you want to kiss your fingers? I don't think so."

"I don't want spaghetti. I want to know what a Magnus Bane is."

"It's not a what. It's a who." said Daphne. "It's a name."

"Do you know who he is?"

"He's a warlock." said Daphne. "Only a warlock could have put a block in your mind like that. Or maybe one of the Silent Brothers, but clearly it wasn't them."

Before she could say much else, a "Hey!" interrupted them.

It was Alec, looking like he'd rolled out of bed and pulled jeans on over his pajamas. His hair, unbrushed, stuck out wildly around his head. He loped toward them, eyes on Jace and Daphne, ignoring Clary as usual. "Izzy's on her way." He told the pair. "She's bringing the mundane."

"Simon?" Daphne frowned. "Where did he come from?"

"He showed up first thing this morning. Couldn't stay away from Izzy, I guess. Pathetic." Alec sounded amused. Clary's eye twitched and she looked one second away from lunging at Alec and strangling him (and miserably failing at it). "Anyway, are we going in or what? I'm starving."

"Me too." said Jace. "I could really go for some fried mouse tails."

"Some what?" asked Clary nauseously.

Jace grinned at her. "Relax," he said. "It's just a diner."

They were stopped at the front door by one of the slouching men. As he straightened, Clary seemed to get a glimpse of his face under the hat and stiffened; but Daphne, unconcerned, whispered something to the man, who nodded and stepped back, allowing them to pass.