The Time of Two #5
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 name Herondale. 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—”
“We’re here for Maryse,” Jace said. “My adoptive mother. Your sister.”
His voice was soft, soft enough for Clary to feel the urge to squeeze his hand.
It was hard to remember a time when Jace had been a stranger to her, and she’d believed his pose as a guy who couldn’t be bothered to care about anything or anyone.
He was so transparent to her now, his every inflection.
Right now she could see him hoping, with every part of his being, that Max would prove himself worthy of Maryse.
Please, Jace was thinking, behind his neutral expression, be the man she needs you to be.
“Maybe you are,” Max said. “But you see, my sister abandoned me a long time ago. Turned her back on me, along with the rest of the Nephilim. Do you know what it feels like, having your Marks stripped?”
Jace cleared his throat. “No, but—”
“It’s like having your soul ripped out through your skin,” said Max. “Through a thousand burning cuts. And you lie there screaming, knowing that everyone, the whole Clave, believes this is what you deserve. What you’ve earned, for having dared to—”
“To fall in love?” Clary said, as gently as she could.
Max looked at her wearily. “Don’t pretend like you understand,” he said. “Just—look, if Maryse cared, she wouldn’t have sent you. She’d have come herself.”
“But she didn’t—” Clary started to protest.
Max’s face was set like stone. “Stop talking,” he said. “I’m going to need you to get off my property. Go.”
And he slammed the door in their faces.
—
“Maybe you were right,” Clary whispered. She and Jace had backed away from the front door and were standing on the pathway, trying to decide what to do. “Maybe this was a terrible idea. Should we go?”
But there was a dark look in Jace’s eyes, one Clary recognized. A look of determination. “No,” he said. “We’re not leaving.”
“Now you’re just being contrary for the sake of it.”
Jace shook his head. “It’s not that. Clary, I don’t want to disrespect his wishes. But he thinks Maryse didn’t come herself because she doesn’t care. We at least owe him the truth about why we came alone.”
Clary gave his hand a quick squeeze. “You’re right.”
Jace pressed a finger to his lips and beckoned Clary to follow him.
They circled the perimeter of the house, peering from a discreet distance through the windows.
Living room. Bathroom. Kitchen. Until, through a window in the back of the house, they spotted Max.
He was in what looked like a study, sitting at a desk heaped with books.
His head was bent over a pile of parchment bound with leather straps, his shoulders hunched. Clary wondered how he could possibly concentrate at a time like this, and got her answer a second later when he shoved the book away from him. As she watched, he took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes.
Jace was toeing a corner of the lawn where tall oak trees shadowed the grass. He bent down and caught up a handful of acorns. He tossed one at Max’s window. It glanced lightly off the glass.
Tap.
“Oh, give me one of those,” Clary said, grabbing an acorn out of his hand. She threw it, hard.
TAP.
Now Max looked up, sliding his glasses back on. He was scowling.
Jace grinned, and tossed another handful.
Taptaptap.
Max stalked over to the window, glaring—and saw Jace and Clary watching. Jace waved cheerfully.
Max threw open the window. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Throwing acorns,” Jace said, as if this should be obvious.
Clary seized the opportunity while she could. “Wait!” she called, stepping forward. “I don’t think you understand why we’re here—”
Max glared. “I understand exactly why you’re here—”
“We want to invite you to a wedding!”
“Oh.” Max looked stunned. Then he slammed the window shut.
“Maybe he’s not a fan of weddings?” Jace said, into the ensuing silence.
“Maybe I should have told him it was our wedding?”
“I don’t think he’s a big fan of us either.”
Before Clary could admit defeat, they heard the front door open, then bang shut again. A moment later, Max stepped into the yard. He was holding a shovel, his grip white on the wooden handle.
Clary took a wary step back. Max Trueblood had been a full Shadowhunter adult when he’d left the Clave; he’d had years of training.
If he was really angry, he could do some damage—unless they fought back, which was the last thing she wanted to do.
She didn’t even want to imagine trying to explain to Maryse that she and Jace had tracked down Maryse’s long-lost brother, then beaten him up.
She held up her hands, palms out. “We’re unarmed,” she said.
“Well,” Jace said. “Mostly unarmed.”
“I bet,” Max said, eyeing their backpacks. “So. Whose wedding are we talking about here?”
“It’s a double wedding,” Clary said. “Ours. And Isabelle and Simon’s.”
Max stood very still. A wind had come up, blowing the dead leaves across the grass. “Isabelle. She’s Maryse’s daughter?” Max said, so quietly she almost couldn’t hear.
“Yes,” Clary said, very carefully. “And she has a brother. Alec.”
“The Consul,” said Max, and Clary and Jace glanced at each other in surprise. “I do know some things,” Max added.
“Alec got married last year,” Jace told him. “He and Magnus have two kids, which I guess makes you a great-uncle.”
Max didn’t quite laugh at that, but he did let out a sharp exhalation of air. “I suppose so,” he said. “Alec—Alexander. Robert must have named him. It’s an old Lightwood name.”
“He did,” Jace said. “And Maryse named her second son Max. After you.”
Max winced and lowered the shovel. Now that he’d stopped glaring, he looked even more like his namesake. “Does Maryse know you’re here, inviting me to your wedding?”
“No,” Clary started, and added quickly, as he began to turn away, “but not because she doesn’t want you there. We just didn’t want to tell her we were trying to find you in case—in case it didn’t work out.”
“Right.” Max looked up at the cloudy October sky. “You seem like nice kids,” he said, tightly. “But the Shadowhunter world isn’t my world anymore. It’s been decades since I was a part of it. I live here in the mundane world. My life is here. Not there. I have no place among the Nephilim now.”
“You would have a place with Maryse, if you wanted one,” said Jace. “She misses you.”
“I doubt that.” The fierce glare returned. “My sister cut off all contact with me when I left to be with my wife. And now my wife is dead.” He spoke the words with a bleak finality. “The last thing I need is Maryse lording that over me.”
Clary and Jace exchanged a glance. No wonder, she thought. No wonder he was so angry; no wonder he wanted nothing to do with them or the past they represented. The Clave had made itself an enemy to his love, and his love was dead. The Clave had ensured that he would suffer that loss alone.
But maybe there was still something that could be salvaged, Clary thought. “Maryse would never lord it over—”
Max cut her off. “You don’t know my sister.”
“No, you don’t know your sister,” Jace said quietly. “Not now. You knew the person she was. Not the person she’s become.” He hesitated. “Her husband is dead too. Robert. He was killed in Idris.”
Something flickered behind Max’s eyes. For a moment, Clary dared to hope. Surely, if he knew that Maryse had also suffered, he would feel differently? Maybe even sorry for her?
But the stony look came back over Max’s face, and Clary knew they’d lost him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But it’s too big a risk for me. I don’t expect you to understand.”
He dropped the shovel, turned, and walked off. Clary rushed after him. “I know Maryse,” she said, to his back. “I know her well. I know she took in Jace when he had nowhere else to go. And she cared for him like a mother.”
“Yeah, well.” Max hunched his shoulders, as if trying to defend against her words. He pulled his car keys out of his pocket, heading for the driveway. “Shadowhunters take care of their own.”
“And her second son, the one she named Max,” Clary said. “That Max was killed when he was ten years old.”
Max stopped. Clary had wondered if this news had managed to reach him somehow, like the news of Alec being Consul.
But it seemed clear it hadn’t. He looked shaken, and a little lost, as the anger he’d been clinging to drained away.
It was clear the anger had been a defense, like the shovel. Just as useless, just as heavy.
“All right,” he said, rubbing at his stubbled jaw. “All right. I have errands to run. But if you want to come along…you can. And we’ll talk.” He jerked his head toward Jace. “You too. If you leave your weapons here.”