City of Fallen Angels

“Now you’re just being sarcastic.”


“I am not,” said Luke, looking very serious. It was at moments like this that Simon could put aside his memories of Luke—Clary’s sort-of stepfather, the guy who was always around, who was always willing to give you a ride home from school or lend you ten bucks for a book or a movie ticket—and remember that Luke led the biggest wolf pack in the city, that he was someone to whom, at crucial times, the whole Clave had listened. “You forget what you are, Simon. You forget the power you have.”

“I wish I could forget it,” Simon said bitterly. “I wish if I didn’t use it, it would just go away.”

Luke shook his head. “Power is a magnet. It draws those who desire it. Camille is one of them, but there will be others. We’ve been lucky, in a way, that it’s taken this long.” He looked at Simon. “Do you think that if she summons you again, you could get word to me, or to the Conclave, letting us know where to find her?”

“Yes,” Simon said slowly. “She gave me a way to contact her. But it’s not like she’s just going to show up if I blow a magic whistle. Last time she wanted to talk to me, she had her minions surprise me and then bring me to her. So just having people hang around with me while I try to contact her isn’t going to work. Otherwise you’ll get her subjugates, but you won’t get her.”

“Hmm.” Luke looked considering. “We’ll have to think of something clever, then.”

“Better think fast. She said she’d give me five days, so that means by tomorrow she’s going to expect some kind of signal from me.”

“I imagine she will,” said Luke. “In fact, I’m counting on it.”


Simon opened the front door of Kyle’s apartment cautiously. “Hey there,” he called, coming into the entryway and hanging up his jacket. “Is anyone home?”

No one answered, but from the living room Simon could hear the familiar zap-bang-crash sounds of a video game being played. He headed into the room, holding in front of him like a peace offering the white bag of bagels he’d picked up from Bagel Zone on Avenue A. “I brought breakfast…”

His voice trailed off. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected would happen when his self-appointed bodyguards realized he’d sneaked out of the apartment behind their backs. It had definitely involved some form of the phrase “Try that again, and I’ll kill you.” What it hadn’t involved was Kyle and Jace sitting on the futon couch side by side, looking for all the world like newly minted best friends. Kyle had a video game controller in his hands, and Jace was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, watching intently. They barely seemed to notice Simon’s entrance.

“That guy over there in the corner is totally looking the other way,” Jace observed, pointing at the TV screen. “A spinning wheel kick would put him out of commission.”

“I can’t kick people in this game. I can only shoot them. See?” Kyle mashed some buttons.

“That’s stupid.” Jace looked over and seemed to see Simon for the first time. “Back from your breakfast meeting, I see,” he said without much welcome in his tone. “I bet you thought you were very clever, sneaking off like that.”

“Medium clever,” Simon acknowledged. “Like a cross between George Clooney in Ocean’s Eleven and those MythBusters guys, but, you know, better-looking.”

“I’m always so glad I have no idea what you’re vacantly chattering about,” said Jace. “It fills me with a sense of peace and well-being.”

Kyle set his controller down, leaving the screen frozen on a close-up of an enormous needle-tipped gun. “I’ll take a bagel.”

Simon tossed him one, and Kyle headed into the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a long counter, to toast and butter his breakfast. Jace looked at the white bag and waved a dismissive hand. “No, thanks.”

Simon sat down on the coffee table. “You ought to eat something.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“I’m out of blood right now,” Simon said. “Unless you’re offering.”

“No, thanks. We’ve been down that road before, and I think we’re better off as just friends.” Jace’s tone was as lightly sarcastic as ever, but this close up, Simon could see how pale he looked, and that his eyes were ringed with gray shadows. The bones of his face seemed to be sticking out more prominently than they had before.

“Really,” Simon said, pushing the bag across the table toward Jace. “You should eat something. I’m not kidding.”

Jace glanced down at the bag of food, and winced. The lids of his eyes were grayish blue with exhaustion. “The thought makes me sick, to be honest.”

“You fell asleep last night,” Simon said. “When you were supposed to be guarding me. I know this bodyguard thing is mostly a joke to you, but still. How long has it been since you slept?”

“As in, through the night?” Jace considered. “Two weeks. Maybe three.”