Memories assailed Simon, some easy to access, some hidden behind the frustrating web of forgetfulness. Jem had been at Luke and Jocelyn’s wedding as well. The way that he smiled at Tessa, and she back at him, made it clear what their relationship was—they were in love, of the realest, truest kind.
Simon thought of Tessa’s story, of the Jem who had been a Silent Brother, and had been a part of her life so long ago. Silent Brothers did live a long time, and Simon’s foggy memory did recall something about one who had been returned to normal mortal life by heavenly fire. Which meant that Jem had lived in the Silent City for more than a hundred years, until his service was over. He had returned to life to live with his immortal love.
Now that was a complicated relationship. It made a little memory loss and former vampire status seem almost normal.
Dinner that night was a new culinary terror: Mexican food. There were roast chickens, or pollo asado, with the feathers still on, and square tortillas.
Jace didn’t appear. Simon didn’t have to look around for him, as the entire cafeteria was on alert. Had there been a sighting of his mighty blond head, Simon would have heard the intake of breath. Dinner was followed by two hours of mandatory study in the library. After all that, Simon and George returned to their room, only to find Jace standing by the door.
“Evening,” he said.
“Seriously,” Simon said. “How long have you been lurking here?”
“I wanted to talk to you.” Jace had his hands stuffed in his pockets and was leaning against the wall, looking like an advertisement for a fashion magazine. “Alone.”
“People will say we’re in love,” Simon said.
“You could come into our room,” George said. “If you want to talk. If it’s private, I can put earplugs in.”
“I’m not going in there,” Jace said, glancing in the open doorway. “That room is so damp you could probably hatch frogs on the walls.”
“Ah, that’ll be in my head now,” George said. “I hate frogs.”
“So what do you want?” Simon said.
Jace smiled lightly.
“George, go inside the room,” Simon said, a bit apologetically. “I’ll be right in.”
George ducked into their bedroom and shut the door behind him. Simon was now alone with Jace in a long corridor, which was a situation he felt like he’d been in before.
“Thank you,” Jace said, surprisingly directly. “You were right about Tessa.”
“She’s related to you?”
“I went to talk to her.” Jace looked shyly pleased, as if a small light inside him had been turned on. It was the sort of expression that would, Simon suspected, have slain adolescent girls in their tracks. “She’s my great-great-great-something-grandmother. She was married to Will Herondale. I’ve learned about him before. He was part of stopping a massive demon invasion into Britain. She and Will were the first Herondales to run the London Institute. I mean, it isn’t anything I didn’t know, historically, but it’s— Well, as far as I know, there isn’t anyone alive who shares blood with me. But Tessa does.”
Simon leaned back against the wall of the corridor. “Did you tell Clary?”
“Yeah, I was on the phone with her for a couple of hours. She said Tessa hinted at some of this stuff during Luke and Jocelyn’s wedding, but she didn’t come right out and say it. She didn’t want me to feel burdened.”
“Do you?” Simon said. “Feel burdened, that is.”
“No,” Jace said. “I feel like there’s someone else who understands what it means to be a Herondale. Both the good parts and the bad. I worried because of my father—that maybe being a Herondale meant I was weak. And then I learned more and thought maybe I was expected to be some kind of hero.”
“Yeah,” Simon said. “I know what that’s like.”
They shared a small moment of bizarre, companionable silence—the boy who’d forgotten everything about his history, and the boy who’d never known it.
Simon broke the silence. “Are you going to see her again? Tessa?”
“She says she’s going to take me and Clary on a tour of the Herondale house in Idris.”
“Did you meet Jem, too?”
“We’ve met before,” said Jace. “In the Basilias, in Idris. You don’t remember, but I—”
“Stopped him being a Silent Brother,” said Simon. “I do remember that.”
“We talked in Idris,” said Jace. “A lot of what he said makes more sense to me now.”
“So you’re happy,” Simon said.
“I’m happy,” said Jace. “I mean, I’ve been happy, really, since the Dark War ended. I’ve got Clary, and I’ve got my family. The only dark spot’s been you. Not remembering Clary, or Izzy. Or me.”
“So sorry to mess up your life with my inconvenient amnesia,” Simon muttered.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Jace said. “I meant I wish you remembered me because—” He sighed. “Forget it.”
“Look, Herondale, you owe me one now. Wait out here.”
“For how long?” Jace looked aggrieved.
“As long as it takes.” Simon ducked into his room and shut the door. George, who had been lying in bed studying, looked glum when Simon informed him that Jace was lurking in the hall.
“He’s making me nervous now,” George said. “Who’d want Jace Herondale following them around, being all mysterious and taciturn and blond. . . . Oh, right. Probably loads of people. Still, I wish he wouldn’t.”
Simon didn’t bother to lock the bedroom door, partially because there were no locks at Shadowhunter Academy, and partially because if Jace decided to come in and stand over Simon’s bed all night, he was going to do that, lock or no.
“He must want something?” George said, stripping off his rugby shirt and throwing it into the corner of the room. “Is this a test? Are we going to have to fight Jace in the middle of the night? Si, not to bag on our awesome demon-fighting prowess, but I do not think that is a fight we can win.”
“I don’t think so,” Simon said, dropping down onto his bed, which dropped much farther than it should have. That was definitely at least two springs breaking.
They got ready for bed. As usual, in the dark, they talked about the mold and the many zoological possibilities crawling around them in the dark. He heard George turn toward the wall, the signal that he was about to sleep and the nightly chat was over.
Simon was awake, hands behind his head, body still achingly sore from the fall out of the tree.
“Do you mind if I turn on a light?” he asked.
“Nae, go ahead. I can barely see it anyway.”
They still said “turn on a light” like they were flicking a switch. They had candles at the Academy—nubby little candles that seemed to have been specially made to produce as little light as possible. Simon fumbled around on the small stand next to his bed and found his matches and lit his candle, which he pulled into the bed with him, balancing it on his lap in a way that was probably unsafe. One good thing about the floor of ultimate moisture was that it was unlikely to catch fire. He could still be burned, if the candle overturned in his lap, but it was the only way he would be able to see to write. He reached again for some paper and a pen. No texting here. No typing. Real pen to paper was required. He made a makeshift desk out of a book and began to write: