“Yes. And I saw the look on your face when it did.” Jace’s tone was neutral. “That wasn’t the first time you’ve seen that happen, was it?”
Simon found himself telling Jace about the tracksuited figure who had attacked him in Williamsburg, and how he had assumed it was just a mugger. “After he died, he turned into salt,” he finished. “Just like the second guy. I guess it’s a biblical thing. Pillars of salt. Like Lot’s wife.”
They had reached the supermarket; Jace shoved the door open, and Simon followed him in, grabbing a miniature wheeled silver cart from the line near the front door. He started to push it down one of the aisles, and Jace followed him, clearly lost in thought. “So I guess the question is,” Jace said, “do you have any idea who might want to kill you?”
Simon shrugged. The sight of all the food around him was making his stomach twist, reminding him how hungry he was, though not for anything they sold here. “Maybe Raphael. He seems to hate me. And he wanted me dead before—”
“It’s not Raphael,” said Jace.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because Raphael knows about your Mark and wouldn’t be stupid enough to strike at you directly like that. He’d know exactly what would happen. Whoever’s after you, it’s someone who knows enough about you to know where you’re likely to be, but they don’t know about the Mark.”
“But that could be anyone.”
“Exactly,” said Jace, and grinned. For a moment he almost looked like himself again.
Simon shook his head. “Look, do you know what you want to eat, or do you just want me to keep pushing this cart up and down aisles because it amuses you?”
“That,” said Jace, “and I’m not really familiar with what they sell in mundane grocery stores. Maryse usually cooks or we order in food.” He shrugged, and picked up a piece of fruit at random. “What’s this?”
“That’s a mango.” Simon stared at Jace. Sometimes it really was like Shadowhunters were from an alien planet.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those that wasn’t already cut up,” Jace mused. “I like mangoes.”
Simon grabbed the mango and tossed it into the cart. “Great. What else do you like?”
Jace pondered for a moment. “Tomato soup,” he said finally.
“Tomato soup? You want tomato soup and a mango for dinner?”
Jace shrugged. “I don’t really care about food.”
“Fine. Whatever. Stay here. I’ll be right back.” Shadowhunters. Simon seethed quietly to himself as he rounded the corner of an aisle lined with soup cans. They were a sort of bizarre amalgam of millionaires—people who never had to consider the petty parts of life, like how to shop for food, or use MetroCard machines in the subway—and soldiers, with their rigid self-discipline and constant training. Maybe it was easier for them, going through life with blinders on, he thought as he grabbed a soup can off the shelf. Maybe it helped you keep your focus on the big picture—which, when your job was basically keeping the world safe from evil, was a pretty big picture indeed.
He was feeling nearly sympathetic toward Jace as he neared the aisle where he’d left him—then paused. Jace was leaning against the cart, turning something over in his hands.
From this distance Simon couldn’t see what it was, and he couldn’t get closer, either, because two teenage girls were blocking his way, standing in the middle of the aisle giggling and crowding up against each other to whisper the way girls did. They were obviously dressed to pass for twenty-one, in high heels and short skirts, push-up bras and no jackets to keep the chill away.
They smelled like lip gloss. Lip gloss and baby powder and blood.
He could hear them, of course, despite the whispering. They were talking about Jace, how hot he was, each daring the other to go up and talk to him. There was a great deal of discussion of his hair and also his abs, although how they could really see his abs though his T-shirt, Simon wasn’t sure. Blech, he thought. This is ridiculous. He was about to say
“Excuse me” when one of them, the taller and darker-haired of the two, broke away and sauntered over to Jace, wobbling a little on her platform heels. Jace looked up as she approached him, his eyes wary, and Simon had the sudden panicked thought that maybe Jace would mistake her for a vampire or some kind of succubus and whip out one of his seraph blades on the spot, and then they’d both be arrested.
He needn’t have worried. Jace just arched an eyebrow. The girl said something to him breathlessly; he shrugged; she pressed something into his hand, and then dashed back to her friend. They wobbled out of the store, giggling together.
Simon went over to Jace and dropped the soup can into the cart. “So what was all that about?”
“I think,” Jace said, “that she asked if she could touch my mango.”
“She said that?”
Jace shrugged. “Yeah, then she gave me her number.” He showed Simon the piece of paper with an expression of bland indifference, then tossed it into the cart. “Can we go now?”
“You’re not going to call her, are you?”
Jace looked at him as if he were insane.
“Forget I said that,” said Simon. “This sort of thing happens to you all the time, doesn’t it? Girls just coming up to you?”
“Only when I’m not glamoured.”