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."Duck," he said, and as she did, the stele whipped over her head, slicing dark lines into the moldering wood of the door.She craned her neck to see what he'd carved: a curve like a sickle, three parallel lines, a rayed star: To hold against pursuit."I lost your dagger," she confessed."I'm sorry.""It happens." He pocketed the stele.She could hear the faint thuds as the wolves hurled themselves against the door again and again, but it held."The rune will keep them back, but not for long.We'd better hurry."She looked up.They were in a dank passageway; a narrow set of stairs led up into darkness.The steps were wood, the banisters filmy with dust.Simon thrust his nose out of her jacket pocket, his black button eyes glittering in the dim light."All right," she nodded at Jace."You go first."Jace looked as if he wanted to grin but was too tired."You know how I like to be first.But slowly," he added."I'm not sure the stairs can hold our weight."Clary wasn't sure either.The steps creaked and groaned as they ascended, like an old woman complaining about her aches and pains.Clary gripped the banister for balance, and a chunk of it snapped off in her hand, making her squeak and wringing an exhausted chuckle out of Jace.He took her hand."Here.Steady."Simon made a sound that, for a rat, sounded a lot like a snort.Jace didn't seem to hear it.They were stumbling up the steps as rapidly as they dared.The flight rose in a high spiral, up through the building.They passed landing after landing, but no doors.They had reached the fourth featureless turn when a muffled explosion rocked the stairwell, and a cloud of dust billowed upward."They've gotten past the door," Jace said grimly."Damn—I thought it would hold for longer.""Do we run now?" Clary inquired."Now we run," he said, and they thundered up the stairs, which shrieked and wailed under their weight, nails popping like gunfire.They were at the fifth landing now—she could hear the soft thud-thud of the wolves' paws on the steps far below, or perhaps it was just her imagination.She knew there wasn't really hot breath on the back of her neck, but the snarls and howls, getting louder as they came closer, were real and terrifying.The sixth landing rose in front of them and they half-flung themselves onto it.Clary was gasping, her breath sawing painfully in her lungs, but she managed a weak cheer when she saw the door.It was heavy steel, riveted with nails, and propped open with a brick.She barely had time to wonder why when Jace kicked it open, pushed her though, and, following, slammed it shut.She heard a definitive click as it locked behind them.Thank God, she thought.Then she turned around.The night sky wheeled above her, scattered with stars like a handful of loose diamonds.It was not black but a clear dark blue, the color of oncoming dawn.They were standing on a bare slate roof turreted with brick chimneys.An old water tower, black with neglect, stood on a raised platform at one end; a heavy tarpaulin concealed a lumpy pile of lumber at the other."This must be how they get in and out," Jace said, glancing back at the door.Clary could see him properly now in the pale light, the lines of strain around his eyes like shallow cuts.The blood on his clothes, mostly Raphael's, looked black."They fly up here.Not that that does us much good.""There might be a fire escape," Clary suggested.Together they picked their way gingerly to the edge of the roof.Clary had never liked heights, and the ten-floor drop to the street made her stomach spin.So did the sight of the fire escape, a twisted, unusable hunk of metal still clinging to the side of the hotel's stone façade."Or not," she said.She glanced back at the door they had emerged from.It was set into a cabinlike structure in the center of the roof.It was vibrating, the knob jerking wildly.It would only hold for a few more minutes, perhaps less.Jace pressed the backs of his hands against his eyes.The leaden air bore down on them, making the back of Clary's neck prickle.She could see the sweat trickling into his collar.She wished, irrelevantly, that it would rain.Rain would burst this heat bubble like a pricked blister.Jace was muttering to himself."Think, Wayland, think—"Something began to take shape in the back of Clary's mind.A rune danced against the backs of her eyelids: two downward triangles, joined by a single bar—a rune like a pair of wings…"That's it," Jace breathed, dropping his hands, and for a startled moment Clary wondered if he had read her mind.He looked feverish, his gold-flecked eyes very bright."I can't believe I didn't think of it before." He dashed to the far end of the roof, then paused and looked back at her.She was still standing dazed, her thoughts full of glimmering shapes."Come on, Clary."She followed him, pushing thoughts of runes from her mind.He had reached the tarpaulin and was tugging at the edge of it
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