Simon’s heart felt like it stopped in his chest. He tried to speak, but before he could say a word, everything plunged into darkness. He felt the boat slide off its track with a soft bump, as if he had come to the end of the ride. Everything rushed forward. The tunnel opened out, and the boat lurched forward suddenly and began to speed up, as if carried on a current. Simon gripped the bench he sat on to hold himself steady.
He had been dumped out on a massive body of water, a river, very wide. Next to him the New York skyline was dark—the buildings eerily not illuminated—but he could make out their shapes. Not far up on the left side, he could see the silhouette of the Empire State Building. Ahead of him, maybe a mile or so up, there was a bridge spanning the river he was on. He could even make out the shadowy outline of an old-fashioned Pepsi-Cola sign on the right bank. That, he knew. That sign was near the base of the 59th Street Bridge to Queens.
“The East River,” he said to himself, casting a glance around.
The East River was not somewhere to be at night, in the cold, in a small rowboat shaped like a swan. The East River was dangerous, fast, and deep.
He felt something bump the back of his tiny swan and turned, expecting a trash barge or a freighter. Instead it was another swan-shaped boat. This one contained a young girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen, in a tattered prom dress. She had long blond hair drawn up in uneven pigtails, giving the impression of constant lopsidedness. She pulled her swan to the side of Simon’s and, seemingly without a care in the world, pulled up her skirt and stepped from one boat to the other. Simon instinctively reached one hand out to help her and one hand to steady himself. He was sure that the transfer would cause their little swan to topple, and while it did sway uncertainly as the weight distribution changed, somehow they stayed upright. The girl dropped herself next to Simon on the bench. The swan was designed for people to cozy up to each other, so she was pressed against his side.
“Hi!” she said happily. “You’re back!”
“I . . . am?”
There was something wrong with the girl’s face. She was too pale. There were deep circles all the way around her eyes, and her lips were faintly gray. Simon wasn’t sure who she was, but he got a very uneasy feeling.
“It’s been forever!” she said. “But you’re back. I knew you’d come back for me.”
“Who are you?”
She fun-punched him in the arm, like he’d told a great joke.
“Shut up,” she said. “You’re so funny. That’s why I love you.”
“You love me?”
“Shut up!” she said again. “You know I love you. It’s always been you and me. You and me forever.”
“I’m sorry,” Simon said. “I don’t remember.”
The girl looked around at the churning river and dark buildings as if this was all very wonderful and exactly where she wanted to be.
“It was all worth it,” she said. “You’re worth it.”
“Thanks?”
“I mean, they killed me for you. They dumped me in a trash can. But I don’t hold it against you.”
The chill was now inside of Simon as well as out.
“But you’re looking for her, aren’t you? She’s so annoying.”
“Clary?” Simon asked.
The girl waved her hand as if blowing away a cloud of unwanted cigarette smoke.
“You could be with me. Be my king. Be with Queen Maureen. Queen Maureen, queen of death! Queen of the night! I ruled over all of this!”
She swept her hand toward the skyline. While it seemed unlikely that this very young girl could have ruled over New York, there was something about the story that rang true. He knew this. It was his fault. He didn’t do anything exactly, but he could feel guilt—terrible, crushing guilt and responsibility.
“What if you could save me?” she asked, leaning into him. “Would you?”
“I . . .”
“What if you had to pick?” Maureen said, smiling at the thought. “We could play a game. You could pick. Me or her. I mean, you are the reason I died, so . . . you should pick me. Save me.”
The clouds, ever watchful when something interesting was going on, crowded back in. The wind kicked up and the river took on a heavy wake, rocking the boat from side to side.
“She’s in the water, you know,” Maureen said. “The water in the fountain that comes from the lake. The water in the lake that comes from the river. The water in the river that comes from the sea. She’s in the water, in the water, in the water. . . .”
There was a tremendous pang in Simon’s chest, like someone had punched him right in the sternum. Just off to the side of the boat, something appeared, something like stone and seaweed. No. A face, and a crown of hair. It was Clary, floating on her back, eyes closed, hair leading the way. He reached out to her, but the water was going too fast and she was pulled upriver.
“You could make it all better!” Maureen shouted, jumping up. The boat rocked. “Who are you going to save, Daylighter?”
With that she dove off the other side of the boat. Simon grasped the long neck of the swan to hold his balance and scanned the waters. Clary had already floated twenty or more feet away, and Maureen was floating in the same manner, now quiet and seemingly asleep, at about half the distance.
There was not a lot of time to think. He wasn’t the strongest swimmer, and the undertow of the river would probably pull him down. The cold would render him numb and probably kill him first.
And he had two people to save.
“This isn’t real,” he said to himself. But the pain in his chest said otherwise. The pain was calling to him. He was also sure that, real or not, when he jumped in the river, it was going to hurt as much or more as anything he’d ever felt. The river was real enough.
What was real? What did he have to do? Was he supposed to swim past a young girl and leave her? If he ever made it that far.
“Hard choices,” said a voice behind him.
He didn’t have to turn to know it was Jace, balanced elegantly on the tail of the wooden swan.
“That’s what it’s all about. Hard choices. They never get easier.”
“You’re not helping,” Simon said, kicking off his shoes.
“So you’re going in?” Jace looked at the water and cringed. “Even I’d think twice about that. And I’m amazing.”
“Why do you have to get involved in everything?” Simon asked.
“I go where Clary goes.”
The two bodies drifted on.
“So do I,” Simon said. And he jumped off the right side of the boat, holding his nose. No diving. No need for theatrics. Jumping was enough, and at least it would keep him upright.