City of Lost Souls

She picked them up, looking at the colorful back-to-front covers. Once upon a time she would have waved her arms in fangirl joy; now it was all she could do to smile at Simon and thank him, but he had done it for her, she reminded herself, the gesture of a good friend. Even if she couldn’t even imagine distracting herself with reading right now. “You’re awesome,” she said, bumping him with her shoulder. She lay down against the pillows, the manga books balanced on her lap. “And thanks for coming with me to the Seelie Court. I know it brings up sucky memories for you, but—I’m always better when you’re there.”


“You did great. Handled the Queen like a pro.” Simon lay down next to her, their shoulders touching, both of them looking up at the ceiling, the familiar cracks in it, the old glow-in-the-dark paste-on stars that no longer shed light. “So you’re going to do it? Steal the rings for the Queen?”

“Yes.” She let out her held breath. “Tomorrow. There’s a local Conclave meeting at noon. Everyone’ll be in it. I’m going in then.”

“I don’t like it, Clary.”

She felt her body tighten. “Don’t like what?”

“You having anything to do with faeries. Faeries are liars.”

“They can’t lie.”

“You know what I mean. ‘Faeries are misleaders’ sounds lame, though.”

She turned her head and looked at him, her chin against his collarbone. His arm came up automatically and circled her shoulders, pulling her against him. His body was cool, his shirt still damp from the rain. His usually stick-straight hair had dried in windblown curls. “Believe me, I don’t like getting mixed up with the Court. But I’d do it for you,” she said. “And you’d do it for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would. But it’s still a bad idea.” He turned his head and looked at her. “I know how you feel. When my father died—”

Her body tightened. “Jace isn’t dead.”

“I know. I wasn’t saying that. It’s just—You don’t need to say you’re better when I’m there. I’m always there with you. Grief makes you feel alone, but you’re not. I know you don’t believe in—in religion—the same way I do, but you can believe you’re surrounded by people who love you, can’t you?” His eyes were wide, hopeful. They were the same dark brown they had always been, but different now, as if another layer had been added to their color, the same way his skin seemed both poreless and translucent at the same time.

I believe it, she thought. I’m just not sure it matters. She knocked her shoulder gently against his again. “So, do you mind if I ask you something? It’s personal but important.”

A note of wariness crept into his voice. “What is it?”

“With the whole Mark of Cain thing, does that mean if I accidentally kick you during the night, I get kicked in the shins seven times by an invisible force?”

She felt him laugh. “Go to sleep, Fray.”





3

BAD ANGELS



“Man, I thought you’d forgotten you lived here,” Jordan said the moment Simon walked into the living room of their small apartment, his keys still dangling in his hand. Jordan was usually to be found sprawled out on their futon, his long legs dangling over the side, the controller for their Xbox in his hand. Today he was on the futon, but he was sitting up straight, his broad shoulders hunched forward, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, the controller nowhere to be seen. He sounded relieved to see Simon, and in a moment Simon realized why.

Jordan wasn’t alone in the apartment. Sitting across from him in a nubbly orange velvet armchair—none of Jordan’s furniture matched—was Maia, her wildly curling hair contained in two braids. The last time Simon had seen her, she’d been glamorously dressed for a party. Now she was back in uniform: jeans with frayed cuffs, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a caramel leather jacket. She looked as uncomfortable as Jordan did, her back straight, her gaze straying to the window. When she saw Simon, she clambered gratefully to her feet and gave him a hug. “Hey,” she said. “I just stopped by to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine. I mean, as fine as I could be with everything going on.”

“I didn’t mean about the whole Jace thing,” she said. “I meant about you. How are you holding up?”

“Me?” Simon was startled. “I’m all right. Worried about Isabelle and Clary. You know the Clave was investigating her—”

“And I heard she got cleared. That’s good.” Maia let him go. “But I was thinking about you. And what happened with your mom.”

“How did you know about that?” Simon shot Jordan a look, but Jordan shook his head, almost imperceptibly. He hadn’t told.

Maia pulled on a braid. “I ran into Eric, of all people. He told me what happened and that you’d backed out of Millenium Lint’s gigs for the past two weeks because of it.”

“Actually, they changed their name,” Jordan said. “They’re Midnight Burrito now.”

Maia shot Jordan an irritated look, and he slid down a little in his seat. Simon wondered what they’d been talking about before he’d gotten home. “Have you talked to anyone else in your family?” Maia asked, her voice soft. Her amber eyes were full of concern. Simon knew it was churlish, but there was something about being looked at like that that he didn’t like. It was as if her concern made the problem real, when otherwise he could pretend it wasn’t happening.