Jace slipped the seraph blade back into his belt and glanced at Clary. "Follow me," he said, and slid through the grating in a single smooth move, feet first. She held her breath, waiting for a shout of agony or amazement, but there was only the soft thump of feet landing on solid ground. "It's fine," he called up, his voice muffled. "Jump down and I'll catch you."
She looked at Raphael. "Thanks for your help."
He said nothing, only held out his hand. She used it to steady herself while she maneuvered into position.
His fingers were cold. He let go as she dropped down through the grating. It was only a second's fall and Jace caught her, her dress rucking up around her thighs and his hand grazing her legs as she slid into his arms. He let her go almost immediately. "You all right?"
She pulled her dress down, glad he couldn't see her in the dark. "I'm fine."
Jace pulled the dimly glowing angel blade out of his belt and lifted it, letting its growing illumination wash over their surroundings. They were standing in a shallow, low-ceilinged space with a cracked concrete floor. Squares of dirt showed where the floor was broken, and Clary could see that black vines had begun to twine up the walls. A doorway, missing its door, opened onto another room.
A loud thump made her start, and she turned to see Raphael landing, knees bent, just a few feet from her. He had followed them through the grating. He straightened up and grinned manically.
Jace looked furious. "I told you-"
"And I heard you." Raphael waved a dismissive hand. "What are you going to do about it? I can't get back out the way we came in, and you can't just leave me here for the dead to find … can you?"
"I'm thinking about it," Jace said. He looked tired, Clary saw with some surprise, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced.
Raphael pointed. "We must go that way, toward the stairs. They are up on the higher floors of the hotel.
You will see." He pushed past Jace and through the narrow doorway. Jace looked after him, shaking his head.
"I'm really starting to hate mundanes," he said.
The lower floor of the hotel was a warren of mazelike corridors opening onto empty storage rooms, a deserted laundry-moldy stacks of linen towels piled high in rotted wicker baskets-even a ghostly kitchen, banks of stainless steel counters stretching away into the shadows. Most of the staircases leading upstairs were gone; not rotted but deliberately chopped away, reduced to stacks of kindling shoved against walls, bits of once-luxurious Persian carpet clinging to them like blossoms of furry mold.
The missing stairs baffled Clary. What did vampires have against stairs? They finally found an unharmed set, tucked away behind the laundry. Maids must have used it to carry linens up and down the stairs in the days before elevators. Dust lay thick on the steps now, like a layer of powdery gray snow that made Clary cough.
"Shh," hissed Raphael. "They will hear you. We are close to where they sleep."
"How do you know?" she whispered back. He wasn't even supposed to be there. What gave him the right to lecture her about noise?