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.
“Yeah,” he said. “Everything’s fine with my family.”
“Really? Because you left your phone here.” Jordan picked it up from the side table. “And your sister’s been calling you about every five minutes all day. And yesterday.”
A cold feeling spread through Simon’s stomach. He took the phone from Jordan and looked at the screen. Seventeen missed calls from Rebecca.
“Crap,” he said. “I was hoping to avoid this.”
“Well, she’s your sister,” said Maia. “She was going to call you eventually.”
“I know, but I’ve been sort of fending her off—leaving messages when I knew she wouldn’t be there, that kind of thing. I just… I guess I was avoiding the inevitable.”
“And now?”
Simon set the phone down on the windowsill. “Keep avoiding it?”
“Don’t.” Jordan took his hands out of his pockets. “You should talk to her.”
“And say what?” The question came out more sharply than Simon had intended.
“Your mother must have told her something,” said Jordan. “She’s probably worried.”
Simon shook his head. “She’ll be coming home for Thanksgiving in a few weeks. I don’t want her to get mixed up in what’s going on with my mom.”
“She’s already mixed up in it. She’s your family,” said Maia. “Besides, this—what’s going on with your mom, all of it—this is your life now.”
“Then, I guess I want her to stay out of it.” Simon knew he was being unreasonable, but he didn’t seem to be able to help it. Rebecca was—special. Different. From a part of his life that had so far remained untouched by all this weirdness. Maybe the only part.
Maia threw her hands up and turned to Jordan. “Say something to him. You’re his Praetorian guard.”
“Oh, come on,” said Simon before Jordan could open his mouth. “Are either of you in touch with your parents? Your families?”
They exchanged quick looks. “No,” Jordan said slowly, “but neither of us had good relationships with them before—”
“I rest my case,” said Simon. “We’re all orphans. Orphans of the storm.”
“You can’t just ignore your sister,” insisted Maia.
“Watch me.”
“And when Rebecca comes home and your house looks like the set of The Exorcist? And your mom has no explanation for where you are?” Jordan leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “Your sister will call the police, and your mom will end up committed.”
“I just don’t think I’m ready to hear her voice,” Simon said, but he knew he’d lost the argument. “I have to head back out, but I promise, I’ll text her.”
“Well,” Jordan said. He was looking at Maia, not Simon, as he said it, as if he hoped she’d notice he’d made progress with Simon and be pleased. Simon wondered if they’d been seeing each other at all during the past two weeks when he’d been largely absent. He would have guessed no from the awkward way they’d been sitting when he’d come in, but with these two it was hard to be sure. “It’s a start.”