Magnus is standing outside the weapons room as Isabelle comes down the hall, and the sight of him there throws her for a moment. Not that his presence around the Institute is at all unusual these days; quite the opposite, and she’s thrilled about that. But something about the way he’s standing—fingers interlaced and steepled downward, head bowed—gives her a jolt of unease.
She shakes it off and plasters on her most brilliant smile, adding a little extra pep to her step just to make sure he knows she doesn’t have a problem with him being here.
“Hey! I think I saw Alec heading to his office, if you’re looking for him.”
“Actually, I came to see you.” Magnus’s voice has none of its usual cheer, none of that slightly jolly lilt that defies categorization and is just wholly Magnus being Magnus. Isabelle isn’t used to him being grave unless lives are in danger, but this isn’t that either.
She doesn’t know what it is. He’s too still. His rolling stride as he precedes her into her workshop doesn’t bounce the way it usually does. His hands are too still, his face too immobile, almost otherworldly in its lack of expression.
Something goes thunk deep down in her gut and she has no idea why.
She quickly puts her worktable between her and Magnus, and that’s stupid, this is all so stupid, she is absolutely not afraid of her brother’s boyfriend.
“What can I help you with?” she asks, refusing to let her smile falter.
“I was simply wondering, Isabelle—at what point did you become infallible?”
Her startled gaze flicks up to his and her breath catches. In that unnaturally expressionless face, his eyes are blazing with fury and suddenly she knows exactly what this is about.
“I’m not.” She manages to say it with barely a quiver in her voice. “You know that.”
“Oh, I do.” His silky delivery does nothing to mask the scorn in his meaning. “I simply wondered if you did. Is your 30-day sobriety chip warm in your pocket, or have you even earned that yet?”
She reels back as though he’s slapped her. It’s an unpardonably low blow, but there’s no remorse on his face. He’s savage in his anger, and she has a new appreciation for why Alec looked like he’d been gutted after Magnus found out about the Soul Sword.
“Did Raphael tell you what he did?” She loses the battle to keep her voice from shaking, and tears sting her eyes. “That girl—”
Magnus cuts her off sharply. “What he did to that girl is absolutely inexcusable. And absolutely none of your jurisdiction.”
“I know the Law, Isabelle, or did you forget you once asked me to represent you in court?” Magnus paces forward with his steady, gliding strides. “He didn’t kill the girl. She was part of his clan, and the Clave’s authority over vampire activities begins and ends with the safety of mundanes. What he did with her once she was turned is none of your affair.”
“He tortured her! I have a duty to protect Downworlders,” she protests feebly.
“And what a convenient time for you to remember it!” he raises his voice for the first time, ever so slightly, but enough to make her wince. “Where was that concern for the wellbeing of Downworlders when you coerced Raphael into feeding from you, into sharing your addiction? You only wring your hands over protecting Downworlders when you have a use for them.”
His words drive the breath from her like a physical blow. “That isn’t true!”
“How many mundanes do you think this girl is going to kill?” Magnus ignores her, pacing angrily as he flings words at her like stones. “Raphael is the only one with the insight to stop her; where’s your concern for the safety of her potential victims? Where’s your concern for the Brooklyn clan, who are suddenly leaderless and whom the Clave may very well hold responsible for the crimes of this dangerous fledgling that’s on the loose?”
He pivots on his heel and faces her squarely. “Your concern is only for yourself. You want Raphael as far away from you as possible, because his fallibility reminds you of your own. He’s a temptation. His strength of character has been your safety net if you fall off the wagon, but he’s been too weak lately to be any use to you in that regard, hasn’t he? He won’t offer you sex and he can’t offer you venom, so what good is he to you now?”
He cruelty is searing, but he doesn’t recant a single word of it. He’s way over the line and doesn’t appear to care. There’s no mercy in his eyes.
Isabelle shakes her head vehemently, trying to do more than splutter in response, but what can she say to all that? What can she say that the moment she left the Hotel Dumort after going to comfort Raphael over Rosa, she’d had to find the nearest meeting because she’d almost slipped right along with him. She’d wanted to slip, even knowing it would destroy them both.
Tears spill down her cheeks. “You’re wrong, Magnus,” she murmurs, swiping impatiently at them. “I have nothing to offer him.”
Because she’s not sure she can do a relationship on Raphael’s terms. Not sure she can be what he needs her to be, especially not when she’s still so easily tempted by the prospect of him biting her.
With her brothers, she’s always been the strong one, the one to catch them and bolster them and encourage them when they falter and are weak. Since Clary came into their lives, Isabelle has done the same for her. Max, her parents, sometimes she feels like she’s the one who keeps them all together and functional.
For a time, Raphael was the one who did that for her, but he’s not now, and she can’t do that for him. She doesn’t have it in her to be strong for yet another person.
Aside from Raphael, the only other one who was there for her was Sebastian—Jonathan. But she trusted him when she shouldn’t have and Max almost died for it.
She gasps aloud and buries her face in her hands, her elbows on her workbench. Did she send Raphael away—was she so intolerant of his faults and weaknesses—because she’s afraid he’ll betray her as Jonathan did?
“What happens with the vampires from here on out is on your head, Isabelle,” Magnus says after a moment, and his voice is almost gentle—and all the more pitiless for it. “I hope you’re prepared for that.”
She she finally looks up again, Magnus is gone. And she’s alone with the weight of what she’s done.
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