City of Fallen Angels

Jace shook his head, still looking at Clary. “No. He’s not one of the New York Conclave members, but beyond that he hasn’t been identified. Neither of the bodies have. The Silent Brothers are looking at them now.”


“That’s good. The Brothers will figure out who they are,” said Luke.

Jace said nothing. He was still looking at Clary, and it was the oddest sort of look, Simon thought—the sort of look you might give someone you loved but could never, ever have. He imagined Jace had felt like that about Clary once before, but now?

“Jace?” Clary said, and took a step toward him.

He tore his gaze away from her. “That jacket you borrowed from me in the park yesterday,” he said. “Do you still have it?”

Now looking even more puzzled, Clary pointed to where the item of clothing in question, a perfectly ordinary brown suede jacket, was hanging over the back of one of the chairs. “It’s over there. I was going to bring it to you after—”

“Well,” said Jace, picking it up and thrusting his arms hastily into the sleeves, as if he were suddenly in a hurry, “now you don’t have to.”

“Jace,” Luke said in that calming tone he had, “we’re going to get an early dinner in Park Slope after this. You’re welcome to come along.”

“No,” Jace said, zipping the jacket up. “I’ve got training this afternoon. I’d better head out.”

“Training?” Clary echoed. “But we trained yesterday.”

“Some of us have to train every day, Clary.” Jace didn’t sound angry, but there was a harshness to his tone, and Clary flushed. “I’ll see you later,” he added without looking at her, and practically flung himself toward the door.

As it shut behind him, Clary reached up and angrily yanked the pins out of her hair. It cascaded in tangles down around her shoulders.

“Clary,” Luke said gently. He stood up. “What are you doing?”

“My hair.” She yanked the last pin out, hard. Her eyes were shining, and Simon could tell she was forcibly willing herself not to cry. “I don’t want to wear it like this. It looks stupid.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Luke took the pins from her and set them down on one of the small white end tables. “Look, weddings make men nervous, okay? It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Right.” Clary tried to smile. She nearly managed it, but Simon could tell she didn’t believe Luke. He could hardly blame her. After seeing the look on Jace’s face, Simon didn’t believe him either.


In the distance the Fifth Avenue Diner was lit up like a star against the blue twilight. Simon walked beside Clary down the avenue blocks, Jocelyn and Luke a few steps ahead of them. Clary had changed out of her dress and was back in jeans now, a thick white scarf wound around her neck. Every once in a while she would reach up and twirl the ring on the chain around her neck, a nervous gesture he wondered if she was even aware of.

When they’d left the bridal store, he had asked her if she knew what was wrong with Jace, but she hadn’t really answered him. She’d shrugged it off, and started asking him about what was going on with him, if he’d talked to his mother yet, and whether he minded staying with Eric. When he told her he was crashing with Kyle, she was surprised.

“But you hardly even know him,” she said. “He could be a serial killer.”

“I did have that thought. I checked the apartment out, but if he’s got an ice cooler full of arms in it, I haven’t seen it yet. Anyway, he seems pretty sincere.”

“So what’s his apartment like?”

“Nice for Alphabet City. You should come over later.”

“Not tonight,” Clary said, a little absently. She was fiddling with the ring again. “Maybe tomorrow?”

Going to see Jace? Simon thought, but he didn’t press the point. If she didn’t want to talk about it, he wasn’t going to make her. “Here we are.” He opened the diner door for her, and a blast of warm souvlaki-smelling air hit them.