He’s not feeling well, Clary said, catching at Simon’s wrist. We’re going. No, Simon said. No, I — I need to talk to him. To the Inquisitor. Robert reached into his jacket and drew out a crucifix. Clary stared in shock as he held it up between himself and Simon. I speak to the Night’s Children Council representative, or to the head of the New York clan, he said. Not to any vampire who comes to knock at my door — Simon reached out and plucked the cross out of Robert’s hand. Wrong religion, he said.