11. La Camisa Negra
11. La Camisa Negra
Camille Belcourt thought of herself as many things, but heartless was not one of them. Vengeful was definitely up there, though.
Raphael Santiago had betrayed her, and he deserved to pay. Killing him had not been her plan at first. But then she had started hearing the stories. Raphael’s fledgling had killed himself, and Raphael was as well as dying inside. The Clan was still loyal to him, but not as much as they were before. Raphael wasn’t losing the clan’s trust, but the Clan was worried about him. Two vampires, really close to Raphael had gone missing and there was a bloodthirsty one roaming the city of New York and killing others.
The vampire clan head stepped in Raphael’s room, and found the vampire sitting cross legged on his bed, unblinking. She smiled at him, closing the door behind her. “Raphael.” She called, and he didn’t move. She gave a patient sigh and then she started talking.
She spoke to him about the vampires outside New York, who thought that the situation was going out of control. The number of humans turning up dead was increasing rapidly, and there were talks about sending a team of special vampires to check up the situation. She talked to him about the Clan and hoe they needed a stronger hand to lead them, and how it didn’t reflect well on him that both his fledgling and two closest friends had gone missing in a matter of days. He didn’t give any sign of having heard what she said.
Finally she clicked her tongue impatiently. “Listen, Raphael, I understand that this must be hard for you, but you can’t stay at Dumort!” she exclaimed, and only then Raphael looked at her.
He smiled. “So what? You will send me out? And then organize a search party that goes wrong and then oh, lo siento, Raphael murió’?” he sneered, and she stepped back.
This wasn’t the man she had left behind in charge. He was completely destroyed, his eyes half wild. He seemed to want to die. She pressed her lips tightly. “isn’t that what you want? Lily left, Elliot left and the fledgling is dead.” She said, bluntly, and he didn’t flinch. He just looked at her like she was the one who didn’t simply understand.
He stood up, immediately looking like the Raphael Santiago from before again. “I will go.” His eyes glistened. “But on my terms.”
Clary entered the room hands clasped in her lap and hair tight in a ponytail. She was wearing white, despite what Izzy had said. When her brother had asked her, she had told him that it was because she was dead inside, and he had laughed.
The Clave was big and it was full. She trailed behind Magnus, with her hand in Sebastian’s, almost completely hidden from view. Maryse and Robert Lightwood, were sat away from their three children, and where looking at them in dismay.
The Consul, a young girl with long blond hair stood up when she saw them, and the whole room went silent. She turned to them. “Please sit down over here. I present myself. I am Consul Branwell.” She said.
Clary said nothing, and Sebastian plainly glared at the woman. Magnus tilted his head and strode forward to sit at the table assigned to them. Clary sat in between them, and held her profile high, refusing to look intimidated.
“We brought a fey drink that will force you to tell the truth, Downwolder. It shall be given to you before you say anything in this court room. Are we clear?” she asked, and Magnus nodded once.
“We shall proceed. The first may come forward and take the Mortal Sword.” Sebastian rose. He gave Clary and Magnus a curt nod then stepped forward. A familiar Silent Brother handed Sebastian the sword, and the boy could have sworn he winked at him. Brother Zachariah. Jem.
Sebastian held the sword in his hands, and looked at the Consul. “Your name, please.”
“Sebastian Jonathan Morgenstern.” He said, and the entire room shook with whispers. Apparently, no one had truly believed he was who he said he was.
“Very good. Now, Sebastian, the Council wish to know what how have you survived away from the Clave for so long.”
And Sebastian started talking. He explained of the attack, describing in awful detail the demon that had attacked him and making sure to mention Hodge and what he had done in the house. He spoke of the Portal and of Magnus, and Ragnor and Tessa and Catarina. He told them about growing up as a Mundane, and learning about demons and the Shadow World. He spoke of the Downworlders that raised him and protected him, and about the New York Institute, making sure to punctuate exactly how the guards had thrown him and his sister and almost got them dead in the process. Then he fell silent.
Consul Branwell nodded. “Thank you, Sebastian. Next!”
Clary stood up, head up and back straight and walked to where her brother stood. Sebastian held up his blistered palm, and she high fived him before stepping in his spot. He caught Jace, looking at him in concern, and looked away. A girl with dark hair, sitting not too far from Jace caught his eye, and grinned. Sebastian frowned, but smiled back, and sat down next to Magnus.
“Your name, please.” Said the Consul.
“Clarissa Adele Morgenstern.” Said Clary, and the consul smiled at her.
“Please, tell us your story.”
Clary spoke, and Isabelle stared at her, listening to her low voice explaining in different words what her brother had just said. But when she was finished, the Inquisitor stood. Izzy glared at Jace’s grandmother, and Jace tried to shield his presence from Imogen Herondale.
“Speak now, Clarissa, for I have questions for you.” Clary looked at the woman with no sign of fear on her face, and gripped the sword tighter. “According to you and your brother, and what we know of the New York Institute, you were trapped in anti-rune rooms. Correct?” she asked.
Clary pursed her lips. “Correct.”
“And yet you and your brother escaped.” It was a statement.
“Correct.” Said Clary, holding her head high, like a true Shadowhunter.
“How?” asked the Inquisitor, and now Clary shook, the sword slashing in the skin of her hand.
“I do not know.” She said, wincing in pain.
“Lies!” bellowed Imogen, and Clary flinched.
“I used a rune!” she answered then, and Imogen shook her head again.
“Another lie. No rune of the grey book could be stronger than an anti-rune.” She said, and Izzy watched droplet od blood falling on the ground.
“It worked.” Said Clary through gritted teeth, and Izzy had never seen someone so fierce. The entire room was on edge, half on Imogen’s side, and half disgusted by her.
“Lies.” Said Imogen, and Jace looked ready to punch his own grandmother. Alec was looking worriedly at Magnus.
“I am not lying!” gasped Clary, and that was enough.
“Enough!” called Magnus, and Sebastian stood up, his face flushed in anger. But it was Izzy who reached Clary first, glaring at Imogen Herondale. “Let her go now!” she ordered, and she saw her mother and father looking at her in horror.
The Inquisitor made to say something, but the Consul, Lydia Branwell, looked at her. “It is enough, Inquisitor.” She said, and Imogen stepped back. Brother Zachariah snatched the sword back, and Clary fell on the floor, her hands bleeding. Sebastian made for her, but Izzy was determined. She took the red haired girl in her arms, and without looking back, left the Clave.
Jace stared at the retreating back of Isabelle, and turned to look at Alec with wide eyes. “That is the most badass thing I’ve ever seen Izzy do, and I’ve seen her in battle.” He told him, and even Alec But-The-Rules-Are-Important Lightwood was grinning. “Perhaps the Lightwood name may be restored.”
The consul interrupted the whisper that had shook the room as Clary and Izzy had left with a stern look. “May we proceed?” she asked, and a Silent Brother appeared next to Magnus.
The man seemed awfully smiley. “Thank you, Brother Zachariah.” He said, taking the drink out of the Silent Brother’s hand. Then he dawned it. He made a face.
“What is your name?” asked the Consul, and Magnus looked at her with a smirk on his face.
“Magnus Bane.” He answered easily, and many whispers invaded the room.
Lydia continued. “Please speak now, Warlock.”
Magnus gave Sebastian a reassuring grin and stepped forward.
“The Uprising. One of the most terrible wars to shake the Shadow World.” He started, ignoring the whispers that started the moment he opened his mouth. “Mundanes, Shadowhunters and Downworlders died for the thirst of power and the need of control that came from a small group of Shadowhunters. It broke families, destroyed accords, wrecked alliances. But at the same time, it brought people together; people who would have never other ways even spoken to each other fought side by side to stop this madness. I saw Jackson Branwell and the warlock Catarina Loss fighting side by side. I saw the werewolf Martin Stevens risking his life for the Truebloods. And I saw Jocelyn Fairchild and Valentine Morgenstern coming in the middle of the night and saving my life.”
At this, the entire room erupted in chaos. Magnus held his head up, and continued once silence was restored in the room. “He was different than I’ve always believed him to be. He saved my life. He brought me to his own house, and his wife cared for me until I was ready to fight. And she had been pregnant with Clary, at the time. I remember Sebastian, so young and innocent: a kid. No matter what his father or his mother did, he was a kid. So when he and Clary, a three years old Clary, fell through a portal in Ragnor Fell’s house, scared and so utterlyalone in the world, claiming that their parents had just been attacked and possibly murdered by Hodge Starkweather, how could I possibly not offer my help? How could I possibly not save those children, especially after their mother’s dying wish was for me to look after them?”
He didn’t have anything left to say, and neither did anyone else in the room. It was clear that they had all made up their minds before he started speaking, and were now looking for something else to say. The Inquisitor stood up and Magnus groaned, because she seemed to be hell-bent in making everyone’s life harder than it already was.
Imogen Herondale gave Magnus a condescending smile. “I think we all can agree that the warlock Magnus Bane did a great service to the Nephilim community.” Magnus could feel the but coming miles away. “However, I ought to argue that now it should be better for Clarissa Adele and Sebastian Jonathan Morgenstern to spend some time with their own. I suggest that they are placed under the care of an Institute.” She said, and Magnus stared at the old hag in disbelief.
Because that was a low blow. Sebastian looked outraged. “Excuse me? You have zero control over us, we don’t belong to the Clave!” He bellowed, and he really shouldn’t have said that, because that was the entire thing. They were Shadowhunters, by Law they belonged to the Clave.
Imogen smiled, obviously aware of this, if the smile she gave Magnus was anything to go by. “According to the Law, you do.” She reminded him, and Sebastian glared at her.
Magnus licked his lips. “Sebastian is not a minor, he can choose where he wants to live. And there is now Law about living with a Downworlder. He’s 18, and Clary’s is his only blood relative.” He announced, and Imogen snorted.
“His sister is a minor.” She glanced between the two of them. “Sebastian Morgenstern would you really pick living with the warlock over living with your sister in a safe institute?” She asked.
Magnus simply glared at the woman, but he wasn’t going to hold against him whatever his final choice was. “The New York Institute?” Asked the platinum haired boy and Magnus almost rolled his eyes at his naivety.
Imogen pressed her lips in a thin line. “The first Institute that becomes available.” She said, and Magnus knew she was going to send them far off somewhere. But he had something on her. But he had a perfect arm that he hadn’t used yet. If Imogen Herondale thought he was going to give up on the two Morgensterns, she should think again.
“Before you make any rash decision, Consul, allow me to make two points.” He started and Lydia Branwell nodded, ignoring the Inquisitor indignity. “Firstly, as Clary and Bastian have already said, their mother’s last wish was for them to live with me.” A last word and your word of honour were two of the most important things for a Shadowhunter, and they were almost law for everyone. Imogen was aware of this and glared. Many Nephilim on her side fidgeted nervously.
Magnus smiled pleasantly, taking out of his suit one of this documents from Amatis’ house. “Second, this real document written in Jocelyn Fairchild’s handwriting clearly says who her legal caretaker is.” He announced, and Imogen froze.
Sebastian turned to look at Magnus with a little hope in his eyes while the entire room seemed to be holding their breath. Consul Branwell motioned for the Silent Brother to check, and Brother Zachariah approached the table to check the paper. When he spoke, he sounded almost amused. “It is real. And the caretaker’s name is Magnus Bane.” He said.
For a moment all Magnus could see was Imogen’s furious face and he let her see his catlike eyes as he unabashedly grinned at her. And then the people on his side erupted, Tessa Gray clapping with them and Sebastian was suddenly all in his personal space hugging the warlock fiercely. “I don’t know how you got these, but thank you, and I love you.”
Imogen looked at the Consul, hoping in support. “Consul Branwell….” She started, but the Consul sent her a death glare. “You have to concede that he has rightful rights over Clarissa Morgenstern, and that Sebastian is an adult and is allowed to stay if he so wishes.” She announced, and looked down at Magnus. “You won the case, and since the two children have yet to do anything against the Law, you may go with the Angel’s favour.”
Sebastian planted a kiss on his cheek. “The best warlock in the world, I love you so much.” He announced kissing his cheek and leaving a little drool. Magnus didn’t care. He made gun fingers at the Inquisitor and winked, mouthing “Boom.”
Because he was the best.
Raphael looked around his room, unable to even summon a smile on his face. Everything had been spotlessly cleaned by him, and the bed remade so that it seemed like it really was an hotel room. He supposed that Camille would soon enough find someone to fill the room with. He wasn’t sure how much he cared.
He had packed the majority of the clothes and put them away, mixing his expensive coats with the scarce number of cheap t-shirts Simon had left behind. The desire of crying was strong, but he wouldn’t. He had shed too many tears, more tears than he had in his entire lifetime.
Lily had told him; she had explained it to him when he made the boy change. That he was a fledgling, a nene, a baby, and his emotions where in overdrive. Raphael should have taken better care of him. Because of him, because of his lack of aptitude for being a leader, now Simon was dead.
And his Lily… his sweet little Lily who had decided to go and investigate on the rogue vampire for him since he couldn’t even breathe without his chest aching for Simon, and had yet to return. Another name to add to the list of what Raphael Santiago caused.
He was poisonous, people around him died, people who he loves fell cold and dead at his feet. And he could only watch and keep going, carry on with his life, like the weight of all those souls wasn’t crushing, like all that was happening didn’t emotionally destroy him, didn’t leave him damaged.
He sat down on the edge of his bed, reaching out to the guitar that Simon had left well hidden under the bed. When had he even taken the guitar to the hotel?
It was a cheap guitar, used, but most importantly, it was Simon’s. Simon who spent such a long time with the guitar, playing it to Clary and to the masses, belting out notes from his favourite songs without a care in the world.
Simon, the most optimistic person he had ever seen, with the brightest smile on his face and his joy of life, Simon who meant everything to him.
He couldn’t think about Simon’s death without feeling pain in his heart, without connecting it to Elliot and Lily’s disappearances.
The two of them didn’t believe Simon was dead. Whenever a member of the clan died, the vampire clan should be able to feel it. They should all be able to feel pain at its sudden death. That was what Camille told them. But Simon died, and Lily didn’t even know until she woke up, startled awake by Raphael’s agonizing screams.
But Camille must have been wrong, because how could have Simon survived that easily in the sun? How could Lily and Elliot be alive after spending so many nights and days away from the Clan? None of it made sense to Raphael.
He took the guitar in his hands, and started playing a low tune, Camisa Negra. Almost without thinking he started singing along with the song, eyes closed and fingers on the string.
“Mal parece que solo me quede,
Y fue pura todita tu mentira,
Que maldita mala suerte la mía,
Que aquel día te encontré.”
(It's a shame that I am alone
purely because you lied
and also because of my damned bad luck
on the day that I first met you).
He didn’t really think the words of the song. But he could relate to the feeling of being completely alone, to the feeling of your first love leaving you.
“Por beber del veneno malevo de tu amor
Yo quede moribundo y lleno de dolor,
Respire de ese humo amargo de tu adiós,
Y desde que tú te fuiste yo solo tengo…”
(From drinking the malevolent poison of your love
I remain near death and full of sorrow,
still breathing the bitter smoke of your goodbye,
and since you left, all I have is...)
Because loving Simon had cause all of this, but Raphael would never go back, he would never give it up for anything else. If he could go back in time, he wouldn’t change a single one of his choices.
Tengo la camisa negra
Porque negra tengo el alma,
Yo por ti perdí la calma
Y casi pierdo hasta mi cama
(I have a black shirt
to match the darkness in my soul
I have completely lost my cool over you,
Lost it right up to my bed.)
Vlad knocked at the door, a look of anguish on his face. After Lily and Elliot, Vlad was Raphael’s closest vampire friend. The vampire smiled at the other, but Vlad didn’t return the smile.
“Camille says it’s time.” He said, and them came in closer to Raphael. “Raph, we can still get away, find you somewhere to hide, you can still-”
The former head of the clan arched an eyebrow at him. “I could. But I won’t. Let’s go.” He pressed, walking out of the room, Vlad trailing after him. Before they could step into the lounge of the hotel, Vlad grabbed his arm.
“You are all leaving me.” He said, and Raphael closed his eyes. He knew that Vlad was not above using this as a way to blackmail him or whatnot, but he couldn’t crumble now. God willingly, today he was going to see Simon again.
Vlad let go of him and disappeared inside one of the rooms. Raphael knew he couldn’t stand to watch him die, and he didn’t blame him as he made his way towards the window.
Camille must have already given her twisted explanation for Raphael’s demise, but still the Clan looked at him with fresh tears in their eyes and pure fear at the thought of losing him. Raphael bowed to them, to his family, to his friends.
He was wearing his best suit, his hair was plain and without gel and his cross was golden against his chest. He was going to death like a happy man, like a good catholic that he was. He didn’t care where he was going to end up: he just wanted Simon.
“Adios.” Said Raphael in a low voice, and then started walking towards the open window, where the sun was hung high. He had thought he would never see the sun again.
A smile spread across his face one last time. And then he jumped out of the window, while cries of pain and sorrow filled the Hotel Dumort once again.