Okay. That was a possible start, and true.
Let me tell you something you already know—you’re amazing. You know it. I know it. Anyone can see that. Here’s the problem—I don’t know what I am. I have to figure out who I am before I can accept that I’m someone who deserves someone like you. It’s not something I can accept just because I’ve heard it. I need to know that guy. And I know I am that guy you loved—I just have to meet him.
I’m trying to figure out how that happens. I guess it happens here, in this school where they try to kill you every day. I think it takes time. I know things that take time are annoying. I know it’s hard. But I have to get there the hard way.
This letter is probably stupid. I don’t know if you’re still reading. I don’t know if you’re going to rip this up or slice it in half with your whip or what.
All of that came out in one solid flow. He tapped the pen against his forehead for a minute.
I’m going to give this to Jace to give to you. He’s been trailing me around all day like some kind of Jacey shadow. He’s either here to make sure I don’t die, or to make sure I die, or maybe because of you. Maybe you sent him.
I don’t know. He’s Jace. Who knows what he’s doing? I’m going to give this to him. He may read it before it gets to you. Jace, if you’re reading this, I’m pretty sure you’re going to get food poisoning. Do not use the bathrooms.
It wasn’t romantic, but he decided to leave it in. It might make Isabelle laugh.
If you are reading this, Jace, stop now.
Izzy—I don’t know why you would wait for me, but if you do, I promise to make myself worth that wait. Or I’ll try. I can promise I am going to try.
—Simon
Simon opened the door and was not surprised to find Jace standing outside of it.
“Here,” Simon said, handing him the letter.
“Took you long enough,” Jace said.
“Now we’re even,” said Simon. “Go party in the Herondale house with your weird family.”
“I plan to,” said Jace, and smiled a sudden, strangely endearing smile. He had a chipped tooth. The smile made him seem like he was Simon’s age, and maybe they were friends after all. “Good night, Wiggles.”
“Wiggles?”
“Yes, Wiggles. Your nickname? It’s what you always made us call you. I almost forgot your name was Simon, I’m so used to calling you Wiggles.”
“Wiggles? What does that . . . even mean?”
“You would never explain,” Jace said with a shrug. “It was the big mystery about you. As I said, good night, Wiggles. I’ll take care of this.”
He held up the letter and used it to make a salute.
Simon shut the door. He knew most people on the hall had probably done everything they could to make sure they heard that exchange. He knew that in the morning he would be called Wiggles and there was nothing he would ever be able to do about it.
But it was a small price to pay to get a letter to Isabelle.
A new cover will be revealed each month as the Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy continue!
Continue the adventures of the Shadowhunters with Emma Carstairs and Julian Blackthorn in
Lady Midnight
The first book in Cassandra Clare’s new series, The Dark Artifices.
Emma took her witchlight out of her pocket and lit it—and almost screamed out loud. Jules’s shirt was soaked with blood and worse, the healing runes she’d drawn had vanished from his skin. They weren’t working.
“Jules,” she said. “I have to call the Silent Brothers. They can help you. I have to.”
His eyes screwed shut with pain. “You can’t,” he said. “You know we can’t call the Silent Brothers. They report directly to the Clave.”
“So we’ll lie to them. Say it was a routine demon patrol. I’m calling,” she said, and reached for her phone.
“No!” Julian said, forcefully enough to stop her. “Silent Brothers know when you’re lying! They can see inside your head, Emma. They’ll find out about the investigation. About Mark—”
“You’re not going to bleed to death in the backseat of a car for Mark!”
“No,” he said, looking at her. His eyes were eerily blue-green, the only bright color in the dark interior of the car. “You’re going to fix me.”
Emma could feel it when Jules was hurt, like a splinter lodged under her skin. The physical pain didn’t bother her; it was the terror, the only terror worse than her fear of the ocean. The fear of Jules being hurt, of him dying. She would give up anything, sustain any wound, to prevent those things from happening.
“Okay,” she said. Her voice sounded dry and thin to her own ears. “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Hang on.”
She unzipped her jacket, threw it aside. Shoved the console between the seats aside, put her witchlight on the floorboard. Then she reached for Jules. The next few seconds were a blur of Jules’s blood on her hands and his harsh breathing as she pulled him partly upright, wedging him against the back door. He didn’t make a sound as she moved him, but she could see him biting his lip, the blood on his mouth and chin, and she felt as if her bones were popping inside her skin.
“Your gear,” she said through gritted teeth. “I have to cut it off.”
He nodded, letting his head fall back. She drew a dagger from her belt, but the gear was too tough for the blade. She said a silent prayer and reached back for Cortana.
Cortana went through the gear like a knife through melted butter. It fell away in pieces and Emma drew them free, then sliced down the front of his T-shirt and pulled it apart as if she were opening a jacket.