City of Fallen Angels by Cassandra Clare

Author:Cassandra Clare
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3, pdf
ISBN: 9781406335385
Publisher: Walker Books Ltd
Published: 2011-04-04T23:00:00+00:00

The touch of the vampire servants’ hands on Simon’s skin was cold and light, like the touch of icy wings. He shuddered a little as they unwound the blindfold from around his head, their withered skin rough on his, before they stepped back, bowing as they retreated.

He looked around, blinking. Moments ago, he had been standing in the sunlight on the corner of Seventy-Eighth Street and Second Avenue—enough of a distance from the Institute that he had judged it safe to use the grave-dirt to contact Camille without arousing her suspicions. Now he was in a dimly lit room, quite large, with a smooth marble floor and elegant marble pillars holding up a high ceiling. Along the left wall ran a row of glass-fronted cubicles, each with a brass-lettered plaque hanging over it that read TELLER. Another brass plaque on the wall proclaimed this to be the DOUGLAS NATIONAL BANK. Thick layers of dust padded the floor and the counters where people had once stood to write out checks or withdrawal slips, and the brass-bound lamps that hung from the ceiling were coated with verdigris.

In the center of the room was a high armchair, and in the chair sat Camille. Her silvery-blond hair was undone, and rained down over her shoulders like tinsel. Her beautiful face had been wiped clean of makeup, but her lips were still very red. In the dimness of the bank, they were almost the only color Simon could see.

“I would not normally agree to meet during sunlight hours, Daylighter,” she said. “But since it is you, I have made an exception.”

“Thank you.” He noticed no chair had been provided for him, so he continued awkwardly standing. If his heart still beat, he thought, it would have been pounding. When he had agreed to do this for the Conclave, he had forgotten how much Camille scared him. Maybe it was illogical—what could she really do to him?—but there it was.

“I suppose this means that you have considered my offer,” said Camille. “And that you agree to it.”

“What makes you think I agree?” Simon said, very much hoping that she wouldn’t put down the fatuousness of the question to the fact that he was stalling for time.

She looked mildly impatient. “You would hardly deliver in person the news that you had decided to refuse me. You would be afraid of my temper.”

“Should I be afraid of your temper?”

Camille sat back in the wing-back chair, smiling. The chair was modern-looking and luxurious, unlike anything else in the abandoned bank. It must have been hauled here from somewhere else, probably by Camille’s servants, who were currently standing off to each side like silent statues. “Many are,” she said. “But you have no reason to be. I am very pleased with you. Though you waited until the last moment to contact me, I sense you have made the right decision.”

Simon’s phone chose that minute to begin buzzing insistently. He jumped, feeling a trickle of cold sweat going down his back, then fished it hastily out of the pocket of his jacket.

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