City of Fallen Angels

“No,” Simon said. “I mean I wanted to check that you were okay.”


“Is this about Jordan?” He could hear the tense anger when she said his name. “Right. You guys went off together, didn’t you? You’re friends or something, right? Well, you can tell him to stay away from me. In fact, that goes for both of you.”

She hung up. The dial tone buzzed down the phone like an angry bee.

Simon looked at Jordan. “She’s fine. She hates us both, but it really didn’t sound like anything else was wrong.”

“Fine,” Jordan said tightly. “Call Isabelle.”

It took two tries before Izzy picked up; Simon was nearly in a panic by the time her voice came down the line, sounding distracted and annoyed. “Whoever this is, it had better be good.”

Relief poured through his veins. “Isabelle. It’s Simon.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. What do you want?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay—”

“Oh, what, I’m supposed to be devastated because you’re a cheating, lying, two-timing son of a—”

“No.” This was really starting to wear on Simon’s nerves. “I meant, are you all right? You haven’t been kidnapped or anything?”

There was a long silence. “Simon,” Isabelle said finally. “This is really, seriously, the stupidest excuse for a whiny makeup call that I have ever, ever heard. What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m not sure,” Simon said, and hung up before she could hang up on him. He handed the phone to Jordan. “She’s fine too.”

“I don’t get it.” Jordan looked bewildered. “Who makes a threat like that if it’s totally empty? I mean, it’s so easy to check and find out it’s a lie.”

“They must think I’m stupid,” Simon began, and then paused, a horrible thought dawning on him. He snatched the phone back from Jordan and started to dial with numb fingers.

“Who is it?” Jordan said. “Who are you calling?”


Clary’s phone rang just as she turned the corner of Ninety-sixth Street onto Riverside Drive. The rain seemed to have washed away the city’s usual dirt; the sun shone down from a brilliant sky onto the bright green strip of the park running alongside the river, whose water looked nearly blue today.

She dug into her bag for her phone, found it, and flipped it open. “Hello?”

Simon’s voice came down the line. “Oh, thank—” He broke off. “Are you all right? You’re not kidnapped or anything?”

“Kidnapped?” Clary peered up at the numbers of the buildings as she walked uptown. 220, 224. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for. Would it look like a church? Something else, glamoured to look like an abandoned lot? “Are you drunk or something?”

“It’s a little early for that.” The relief in his voice was plain. “No, I just—I got a weird note. Someone threatening to go after my girlfriend.”

“Which one?”

“Har de har.” Simon did not sound amused. “I called Maia and Isabelle already, and they’re both fine. Then I thought of you—I mean, we spend a lot of time together. Someone might get the wrong idea. But now I don’t know what to think.”

“I dunno.” 232 Riverside Drive loomed up in front of Clary suddenly, a big square stone building with a pointed roof. It could have been a church at one point, she thought, though it didn’t look much like one now.

“Maia and Isabelle found out about each other last night, by the way. It wasn’t pretty,” Simon added. “You were right about the playing-with-fire bit.”

Clary examined the facade of number 232. Most of the edifices lining the drive were expensive apartment buildings, with doormen in livery waiting inside. This one, though, had only a set of tall wooden doors with curved tops, and old-fashioned-looking metal handles instead of doorknobs. “Ooh, ouch. Sorry, Simon. Are either of them speaking to you?”

“Not really.”

She took hold of one of the handles, and pushed. The door slid open with a soft hissing noise. Clary dropped her voice. “Maybe one of them left the note?”

“It doesn’t really seem like their style,” said Simon, sounding genuinely puzzled. “Do you think Jace would have done it?”

The sound of his name was like a punch to the stomach. Clary caught her breath and said, “I really don’t think he’d do that, even if he was angry.” She drew the phone away from her ear. Peering around the half-open door, she could see what looked reassuringly like the inside of a normal church—a long aisle, and flickering lights like candles. Surely it couldn’t hurt just to take a peek inside. “I have to go, Simon,” she said. “I’ll call you later.”

She flipped her phone closed and stepped inside.