Isabelle was looking from Simon to Maia, recognition slowly dawning on her face. “Wait a second,” she said. “Are you two dating?”
Maia set her chin. “Are you?”
“Yes,” Isabelle said. “For quite a few weeks now.”
Maia’s eyes narrowed. “Us, too. We’ve been dating since September.”
“I can’t believe it,” Isabelle said. She genuinely looked as if she couldn’t. “Simon?” She turned to him, her hands on her hips. “Do you have an explanation?”
The band, who had finally shoved all the equipment into the van—the drums packing out the back bench seat and the guitars and basses in the cargo section—were hanging out the back of the car, openly staring. Eric put his hands around his mouth to make a megaphone. “Ladies, ladies,” he intoned. “There is no need to fight. There is enough Simon to go around.”
Isabelle whipped around and shot a glare at Eric so terrifying that he fell instantly silent.
The back doors of the van slammed shut, and it took off down the road. Traitors, Simon thought, though to be fair, they probably assumed he would catch a ride home in Kyle’s car, which was parked around the corner. Assuming he lived long enough.
“I can’t believe you, Simon,” Maia said. She was standing with her hands on her hips as well, in a pose identical to Isabelle’s. “What were you thinking? How could you lie like that?”
“I didn’t lie,” Simon protested. “We never said we were exclusive!” He turned to Isabelle. “Neither did we! And I know you were dating other people—”
“Notpeople youknow,” Isabelle said, blisteringly.“Not your friends. How would youfeel if youfound out Iwas dating Eric?”
“Stunned, frankly,” said Simon. “He really isn’t your type.”
“That’s not the point, Simon.” Maia had moved closer to Isabelle, and the two of them faced him down together, an immovable wall of female rage. The bar had finished emptying out, and aside from the three of them, the street was deserted. He wondered about his chances if he made a break for it, and decided they weren’t good.
Werewolves were fast, and Isabelle was a trained vampire hunter.
“I’m really sorry,” Simon said. The buzz from the blood he’d drunk was beginning to wear off, thankfully. He felt less dizzy with overwhelming sensation, but more panicked.
To make things worse, his mind kept returning to Maureen, and what he’d done to her, and whether she was all right. Please let her be all right. “I should have told you guys. It’s just—I really like you both, and I didn’t want to hurt either of your feelings.”
The moment it was out of his mouth, he realized how stupid he sounded. Just another jerkish guy making excuses for his jerk behavior. Simon had never thought of himself like that. He was a nice guy, the kind of guy who got overlooked, passed up for the sexy bad boy or the tortured artist type. For the self-involved kind of guy who would think nothing of dating two girls at once while maybe not exactly lying about what he was doing, but not telling the truth about it either.
“Wow,” he said, mostly to himself. “I am a huge asshole.”
“That’s probably the first true thing you’ve said since I got here,” said Maia.
“Amen,” said Isabelle. “Though if you ask me, it’s too little, too late—”
The side door of the bar opened, and someone came out. It was Kyle. Simon felt a wave of relief. Kyle looked serious, but not as serious as Simon thought he would look if something awful had happened to Maureen.
He started down the steps toward them. The rain was barely a drizzle now. Maia and Isabelle had their backs to him; they were glaring at Simon with the laser focus of rage. “I hope you don’t expect either of us to speak to you again,” Isabelle said. “And I’m going to have a talk with Clary—a very, very serious talk about her choice of friends.”
“Kyle,” Simon said, unable to keep the relief out of his voice as Kyle came into earshot.
“Uh, Maureen—is she—”
He had no idea how to ask what he wanted to ask without letting Maia and Isabelle know what had happened, but as it turned out, it didn’t matter, because he never managed to get the rest of the words out. Maia and Isabelle turned; Isabelle looked annoyed and Maia surprised, clearly wondering who Kyle was.
As soon as Maia really saw Kyle, her face changed; her eyes went wide, the blood draining from her face. And Kyle, in his turn, was staring at her with the look of someone who has woken up from a nightmare only to discover that it is real and continuing. His mouth moved, shaping words, but no sound came out.
“Whoa,” Isabelle said, looking from one of them to the other. “Do you two—know each other?”
Maia’s lips parted. She was still staring at Kyle. Simon had time only to think that she had never looked at him with anything like that intensity, when she whispered
“Jordan”—and lunged for Kyle, her claws out and sharp, and sank them into his throat.
Part Two For Every Life Nothing is free. Everything has to be paid for.
For every profit in one thing, payment in some other thing. For every life, a death. Even your music, of which we have heard so much, that had to be paid for.Yourwife was the payment for your music. Hellis nowsatisfied.
—Ted Hughes, “The Tiger’s Bones”