Since his back was to Simon, Simon couldn’t see his face, and for a moment he wondered if Kyle was actually angry. His voice sounded uncharacteristically stiff. But when Kyle turned around, his expression was as open and friendly as ever. Simon decided he must have imagined it.
“I know,” he said. “You’re right.” He glanced back toward the bedroom. “Look, are you sure it’s okay, me staying here? I can clear out whenever . . .”
“It’s fine. You stay as long as you need.” Kyle opened a kitchen drawer and scrabbled around until he found what he was looking for—a set of spare keys on a rubber-band ring. “There’s a set for you. You’re totally welcome here, okay? I gotta go to work, but you can hang around if you want. Play Halo, or whatever. Will you be here when I get back?”
Simon shrugged. “Probably not. I have a dress fitting to get to at three.”
“Cool,” said Kyle, slinging a messenger bag over his shoulder and heading toward the door. “Get them to make you something in red. It’s totally your color.”
“So,” Clary said, stepping out of the dressing room. “What do you think?”
She did an experimental twirl. Simon, balanced on one of Karyn’s Bridal Shop’s uncomfortable white chairs, shifted position, winced, and said, “You look nice.”
She looked better than nice. Clary was her mother’s only bridesmaid, so she’d been allowed to pick out whatever dress she wanted. She’d selected a very simple coppery silk with narrow straps that flattered her small frame. Her only jewelry was the Morgenstern ring, worn on a chain around her neck; the very plain silver chain brought out the shape of her collarbones and the curve of her throat.
Not that many months ago, seeing Clary dressed up for a wedding would have conjured up in Simon a mix of feelings: dark despair (she would never love him) and high excitement (or maybe she would, if he could get up the nerve to tell her how he felt).
Now it just made him feel a little wistful.
“Nice?” echoed Clary. “Is that it? Sheesh.” She turned to Maia. “What do you think?”
Maia had given up on the uncomfortable chairs and was sitting on the floor, her back against a wall that was decorated with tiaras and long gauzy veils. She had Simon’s DS
balanced on one of her knees and seemed to be at least partly absorbed in playing Grand Theft Auto. “Don’t ask me,” she said. “I hate dresses. I’d wear jeans to the wedding if I could.”
This was true. Simon rarely saw Maia out of jeans and T-shirts. In that way she was the opposite of Isabelle, who wore dresses and heels at even the most inappropriate times.
(Though since he’d once seen her dispatch a Vermis demon with the stiletto heel of a boot, he was less inclined to worry about it.)
The shop bell tinkled, and Jocelyn came in, followed by Luke. Both were holding steaming cups of coffee, and Jocelyn was looking up at Luke, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining. Simon remembered what Clary had said about them being disgustingly in love. He didn’t find it disgusting himself, though that was probably because they weren’t his parents. They both seemed so happy, and he thought it was actually rather nice.
Jocelyn’s eyes widened when she saw Clary. “Honey, you look gorgeous!”
“Yeah, you have to say that. You’re my mother,” Clary said, but she grinned anyway.
“Hey, is that coffee black by any chance?”
“Yep. Consider it a sorry-we’re-late gift,” Luke said, handing her the cup. “We got held up. Some catering issue or other.” He nodded toward Simon and Maia. “Hey, guys.”
Maia inclined her head. Luke was the head of the local wolf pack, of which Maia was a member. Though he’d broken her of the habit of calling him “Master” or “Sir,” she remained respectful in his presence. “I brought you a message from the pack,” she said, setting down her game console. “They have questions about the party at the Ironworks—
”
As Maia and Luke fell into conversation about the party the wolf pack was throwing in honor of their alpha wolf’s marriage, the owner of the bridal shop, a tall woman who had been reading magazines behind the counter while the teenagers chatted, realized that the people who were actually going to pay for the dresses had just arrived, and hurried forward to greet them. “I just got your dress back in, and it looks marvelous,” she gushed, taking Clary’s mother by the arm and steering her toward the back of the store. “Come and try it on.” As Luke started after them, she pointed a threatening finger at him. “You stay here.”
Luke, watching his fiancée disappear through a set of white swinging doors painted with wedding bells, looked puzzled.
“Mundanes think you’re not supposed to see the bride in her wedding dress before the ceremony,” Clary reminded him. “It’s bad luck. She probably thinks it’s weird you came to the fitting.”
“But Jocelyn wanted my opinion—” Luke broke off and shook his head. “Ah, well.
Mundane customs are so peculiar.” He threw himself down in a chair, and winced as one of the carved rosettes poked into his back. “Ouch.”
“What about Shadowhunter weddings?” Maia inquired, curious. “Do they have their own customs?”
“They do,” Luke said slowly, “but this isn’t going to be a classic Shadowhunter ceremony. Those specifically don’t address any situation in which one of the participants is not a Shadowhunter.”
“Really?” Maia looked shocked. “I didn’t know that.”
“Part of a Shadowhunter marriage ceremony involves tracing permanent runes on the bodies of the participants,” said Luke. His voice was calm, but his eyes looked sad.
“Runes of love and commitment. But of course, nonShadowhunters can’t bear the Angel’s runes, so Jocelyn and I will be exchanging rings instead.”
“That sucks,” Maia pronounced.