Angels Twice Descending (Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy, #10)

“How could I forget?” Simon said wryly. Mrs. Klein had been the bane of his existence from second grade through fifth. Every Tuesday after school, they’d fought a silent war, all because, in an unfortunate playground incident, Simon had accidentally dislodged her wig and sent it flying into a pigeon’s nest. She’d spent the next three years determined to ruin his life.

“You know she was just a nice old lady trying to get you to pay attention,” his mother said now with a knowing smile.

“Nice old ladies don’t throw your Pokémon cards in the trash,” Simon pointed out.

“They do when you’re trading them for kiddish wine at the back of the sanctuary,” she said.

“I would never!”

“A mother always knows, Simon.”

“Okay. Fine. But that was a very rare Mew. The only Pokémon that—”

“Anyway. Ellen Klein’s daughter just got married to her girlfriend, a lovely woman, you’d like her—we all like her. But . . .”

Simon rolled his eyes. “But let me guess: Mrs. Klein is a raging homophobe.”

“No, it’s not that—the girlfriend’s Catholic. Ellen had a fit, wouldn’t go to the wedding, and now she’s wearing mourning clothes and telling everyone that her daughter might as well be dead.”

Simon opened his mouth to crow about how he’d been right all along, that Mrs. Klein was indeed a horrible shrew, but his mother held up a finger to stop him.

A mother, apparently, always knows.

“Yes, yes, it’s horrible, but I’m not telling you so you can feel vindicated. I’m telling you . . .” She knitted her fingers together, looking suddenly nervous. “I had the strangest feeling when I heard the story, Simon, like I knew she would regret it—because I regretted it. Isn’t that strange?” She let out a nervous little giggle, but there was no humor in it. “Feeling guilty for something you haven’t even done? I can’t say why, Simon, but I feel like I’ve betrayed you in some terrible way I can’t remember.”

“Of course you haven’t, Mom. That’s ridiculous.”

“Of course it’s ridiculous. I would never. A parent should have unconditional love for her child.” Her eyes were glossy with unshed tears. “You know that’s how I love you, Simon, don’t you? Unconditionally?”

“Of course I know that.”

He said it like he meant it—he did mean it. But, of course, it was just another lie. Because in that other life, the one that had been wiped clean from both their minds, she had betrayed him. He’d told her the truth, that he’d been turned into a vampire, and she had thrown him out of the house. She had told him he was no longer her son. That her son was dead. She’d proven, to both of them, the conditions of her love.

He couldn’t remember it happening, but on some level deeper than conscious thought, he remembered the feeling of it—the pain, the betrayal, the loss. It had never occurred to him she might remember, too.

“This is silly.” She brushed away a tear, gave herself a little shake. “I don’t know why I’m getting so emotional over this. I just . . . I just had this feeling that I needed to tell you that, and then you showed up here like it was meant to be, and . . .”

“Mom.” Simon pulled his mother out of her chair and into a tight hug. She seemed so small to him suddenly, and he thought how hard she’d worked all these years to protect him, and how he would do anything to protect her in return. He was a different person now than he’d been two years before, a different Simon than the one who’d confessed to his mother and been turned out of the house—maybe his mother was different too. Maybe making that choice once was enough to ensure she would never make it again; maybe it was time to stop holding it against her, this betrayal neither of them could quite remember. “Mom, I know. And I love you, too.”

She pulled away then, just far enough to meet his gaze. “What about you? What did you have to tell me?”

Oh, nothing much, I’m just joining a supernatural cult of demon-fighters who’ve forbidden me to ever see you again, love ya.

It didn’t have quite the right ring to it.

“I’ll tell you in the morning,” he said. “You look exhausted.”