The Evil We Love (Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy, #5)

“Why would anything have happened to Isabelle?”


“You said—” Simon rubbed his eyes, sighing. “Let’s start over again. You’re waking me up because . . . ?”

“We’re meeting Isabelle. Having an adventure. Ring a bell?”

“Oh.” Simon had done his best to forget about this. He climbed back into bed. “You can tell me about it in the morning.”

“You’re not coming?” George asked, as if Simon had said he was going to spend the rest of the night doing extra calisthenics with Delaney Scarsbury, just for fun.

“You guessed it.” Simon tugged the blanket over his head and pretended to be asleep.

“But you’re going to miss all the fun.”

“That is precisely my intention,” Simon said, and squeezed his eyes shut until he was asleep for real.

*

This time he was dreaming of a VIP room backstage at the club, filled with champagne and coffee, a gaggle of groupies trying to break down the door so that—in the dream, Simon somehow knew this was their intent—they could tear off his clothes and ravish him. They pounded at the door, screaming his name, Simon! Simon! Simon—

Simon opened his eyes to creeping tendrils of gray, predawn light, a rhythmic pounding at his door, and a girl screaming his name.

“Simon! Simon, wake up!” It was Beatriz, and she didn’t sound much in the mood for ravishing.

Sleepily, he padded to the door and let her in. Female students were most definitely not allowed in male students’ rooms after curfew, and it was unlike Beatriz to break a rule like that, so he gathered it must be something important. (If the pounding and shouting hadn’t already tipped him off.)

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong is it’s nearly five a.m. and Julie and the others are still off somewhere with your stupid girlfriend and what do you think is going to happen if they don’t come back before the morning lecture starts and who knows what could have happened to them out there?”

“Beatriz, breathe,” Simon said. “Anyway, she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?” She was nearly vibrating with fury. “She talked them into sneaking out—for all I know, they drank their weight of Lake Lyn and they’ve all gone mad. They could be dead for all we know. Don’t you care?”

“Of course I care,” Simon said, noting that he was alone in the room. George also had not returned. His brain, muddled with sleep, was functioning below optimal speeds. “Next year I’m bringing a coffeemaker,” he mumbled.

“Simon!” She clapped her hands sharply, inches from face. “Focus!”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little alarmist about this?” Simon asked, though Beatriz was one of the most levelheaded girls he’d ever met. If she was alarmed, there was probably a good reason—but he couldn’t see what it might be. “They’re with Isabelle. Isabelle Lightwood—she’s not going to let anything bad happen.”

“Oh, they’re with Isabelle.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I feel oh so relieved.”

“Come on, Beatriz. You don’t know her.”

“I know what I see,” Beatriz said.

“And what’s that?”

“An entitled rich girl who doesn’t have to follow the rules, and doesn’t have to worry about consequences. What does she care if Julie and Jon get kicked out of here?”

“What do I care if Julie and Jon get kicked out?” Simon muttered, too loudly.