City of Fallen Angels

And the gun blew apart. It blew apart, and the mugger blew apart along with it, too fast to even scream. He had intended a quick death for Simon, and an even quicker death was what he got in return. He shattered apart like glass, like the outward-flying colors in a kaleidoscope. There was a soft explosion—the sound of displaced air—and then nothing but a soft drizzle of salt, falling onto the pavement like solidified rain.

Simon’s vision blurred, and he sank down onto the steps. He was aware of a loud humming in his ears, and then someone grabbed him roughly by the wrists and shook him, hard. “Simon. Simon!”

He looked up. The person grabbing him and shaking him was Jace. The other boy wasn’t in gear, but was still wearing his jeans and the jacket he’d taken back from Clary. He was disheveled, his clothes and face streaked with dirt and soot. His hair was wet from the rain.

“What the hell was that?” Jace asked.

Simon looked up and down the street. It was still deserted. The asphalt shone, black and wet and empty. The second mugger was gone.

“You,” he said, a little groggily. “You jumped the muggers—”

“Those weren’t muggers. They were following you since you got off the subway. Someone sent those guys.” Jace spoke with complete surety.

“The other one,” Simon said. “What happened to him?”

“He just vanished.” Jace snapped his fingers. “He saw what happened to his friend, and he was gone, like that. I don’t know what they were, exactly. Not demons, but not exactly human, either.”

“Yeah, I figured that part out, thanks.”

Jace looked at him more closely. “That—what happened to the mugger—that was you, wasn’t it? Your Mark, here.” He pointed at his forehead. “I saw it burn white before that guy just … dissolved.”

Simon said nothing.

“I’ve seen a lot,” Jace said. There was no sarcasm in his voice, for a change, or any mockery. “But I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“I didn’t do it,” Simon said softly. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” said Jace. His golden eyes burned in his soot-streaked face. “‘For it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’”





6

WAKE THE DEAD


Jace’s room was as neat as ever—bed made perfectly, the books that lined the shelves arranged in alphabetical order, notes and textbooks stacked carefully on the desk. Even his weapons were lined up along the wall in order of size, from a massive broadsword to a set of small daggers.

Clary, standing in the doorway, held back a sigh. The neatness was all very well. She was used to it. It was, she had always thought, Jace’s way of exerting control over the elements of a life that otherwise might seem overwhelmed with chaos. He had lived so long not knowing who—or even what—he really was, she could hardly begrudge him the careful alphabetization of his poetry collection.

She could, however—and did—begrudge the fact that he wasn’t there. If he hadn’t gone back home after leaving the bridal shop, where had he gone? As she looked around the room, a feeling of unreality came over her. It wasn’t possible that any of this was happening, was it? She knew how breakups went from hearing other girls complain about them. First the pulling away, the gradual refusal to return notes or phone calls. The vague messages saying nothing was wrong, that the other person just wanted a little space. Then the speech about how “It’s not you, it’s me.” Then the crying part.

She’d never thought any of that would ever apply to her and Jace. What they had wasn’t ordinary, or subject to the ordinary rules of relationships and breakups. They belonged to each other totally, and always would, and that was that.

But maybe everyone felt that way? Until the moment they realized they were just like everyone else, and everything they’d thought was real shattered apart.

Something that glittered silver across the room caught her eye. It was the box Amatis had given Jace, with its delicate design of birds around the sides. She knew he had been working his way through it, reading the letters slowly, going through the notes and photos. He hadn’t said much about it to her, and she hadn’t wanted to pry. His feelings about his biological father were something he was going to have to come to terms with on his own.