Nothing But Shadows by Cassandra Clare Read Free Book Online Page A

life; it was the tragedy of his parents’ lives.
    But how would it be if there was nowhere in the world that you belonged? If you could get nobody to love you? What if you could not be a Shadowhunter or a warlock or anything else?
    Maybe then you were worse than a tragedy. Maybe you were nothing at all.
    James was not sleeping very well. He kept slipping into sleep and then startling awake, worried he was slipping into that other world, a world of shadows, where he was nothing but an evil shade among shades. He did not know how he had done it before. He was terrified it was going to happen again.
    Maybe everyone else was hoping it would, though. Maybe they were all praying he would become a shadow, and simply slip away.
    *    *    *
    James woke one morning and could not bear the darkness and the feeling of stone above his head, pressing down all around him, for a moment longer. He staggered up the stairs and out onto the grounds.
    He was expecting it to still be night, but the sky was bleached by morning, the stars turned invisible against the near-white of the sky. The only color to be found in the sky was the dark gray of clouds, curling like ghosts around the fading moon. It was raining a little, cold pinpricks against James’s skin. He sat down on the stone step of the Academy’s back door, lifted a palm to the sky, and watched the silvery rain dash down into the hollow of his hand.
    He wished the rain would wash him away, before he had to face yet another morning.
    He was watching his hand as he wished that, and he saw it happen then. He felt the change creeping over him and saw his hand grow darkly transparent. He saw the raindrops pass through the shadow of his palm as if it was not there.
    He wondered what Grace would think, if she could see him now.
    Then he heard the crunch of feet running, pounding against the earth, and his father’s training made James’s head jerk up to see if anyone was being chased, if anyone was in danger.
    James saw Matthew Fairchild running as if he was being chased.
    Astonishingly, he was wearing gear that he had not, as far as James knew, been threatened into. Even more astonishingly, he was participating in degrading physical exercise. He was running faster than James had seen anyone run in training—maybe faster than James had ever seen anyone run ever—and he was running grimly, face set, in the rain.
    James watched him run, frowning, until Matthew glanced up at the sky, stopped, and then began trudging back to the Academy. James thought he would be discovered for a moment, thought of jumping up and racing around to another side of the building, but Matthew did not make for the door.
    Instead Matthew went and stood against the stone wall of the Academy, strange and solemn in his black gear, blond hair wild with wind and wet with rain. He tipped his face up to the sky, and he looked as unhappy as James felt.
    It made no sense. Matthew had everything, had always had everything, while James now had less than nothing. It made James furious.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you?” James demanded.
    Matthew’s whole body jerked with shock. He swung to face James, and stared. “What?”
    â€œYou might have noticed life is less than ideal for me at this time,” James said between his teeth. “So give up making a tragic spectacle of yourself over nothing, and—”
    Matthew was not leaning against the wall any longer, and James was not sitting on the step. They were both standing up, and this was not a practice on the training grounds. James thought they were really going to fight; he thought they might really hurt each other.
    â€œOh, I’m terribly sorry, James Herondale,” Matthew sneered. “I forgot nobody could do a single thing like speak or breathe in this place without incurring your extremely judgmental judgment. I must be making a spectacle over nothing, if you say so. By the Angel, I’d