Simon tried to pause by the fire just for a second, but the dean was already moving toward the door that teachers used to enter and leave the cafeteria. The teachers didn’t eat with them all the time. There was clearly some other place, some other dining room somewhere in the Academy. Catarina Loss was the only one who came regularly, and Simon got the impression that she did so because she would rather brave the terrible student food than sit around with a bunch of Shadowhunters in a private room.
Simon had never been in the hall that the dean led him down. It was more dimly lit than the halls the students used. There were tapestries on the stone walls that were certainly as threadbare as the ones in the rest of the school, but they also looked more valuable. The colors were brighter and the gold threading had the glint of real gold. There were weapons along these walls. The student weapons were all in the weapons room, and those had some kind of safety to keep them in place. If you wanted a sword, you needed to undo several straps to get it down. These were placed in simple holders, making them easy to snatch at a second’s notice.
The noise of the cafeteria shrank away within the first few steps, and then there was quiet all around. The hall was a series of closed doorways, and the silence crowded him in.
“Where are we going?” Simon asked.
“To the reception room,” the dean said.
Simon looked out of the windows as they passed. Here, the glass was a quilt of tiny panes, held together by lead piping. Each diamond of glass was old and warped, and the overall effect was like a cheap kaleidoscope, one that showed only dark and a very lightly falling snow. It was the kind of snow that didn’t amount to anything on the ground. It would just dust the dead grass. The technical term for that level, he decided, was an “annoyance” of snow.
They reached a turn in the hall. The dean opened the first door after the turn and revealed a small but grand room, with furnishings that were not in the slightest bit broken or threadbare. Every chair in the room had legs of the same length, and the sofas were long and comfortable-looking with no visible sags or stuffing. Everything was upholstered in a lush, grape-purple velvet. There was a low table made of cherrywood, and on it was a massive and elaborate silver tea set with china cups. And sitting around the table on the fine-quality chairs and sofas were Magnus Bane, Jem Carstairs, Catarina Loss, and Clary, her red hair bright against her light blue sweater. Magnus and Catarina were together at the end (near the fire—of course it was, as in all other rooms, at the far end). Clary looked up at Simon, and though she smiled as soon as she saw him, her expression suggested that her invitation to this little party had also been recent and not well explained.
“Simon,” Jem said. “So good to see you. Please have a seat.”
Simon had only had a few encounters with Jem Carstairs, who was apparently as old as his wife, Tessa Gray. They both looked amazingly fit for 150 years. Tessa even looked pretty hot. (Maybe Jem looked hot too? As Simon had thought once before, he probably wasn’t the greatest judge of male attractiveness.) Was it weird to think people who were twice as old as your grandparents were good-looking?
“I’ll leave you to it,” the dean said, and again there was something missing in her tone. It was like she had just said, “I’ll just give you this dead snake.” She closed the door.
“We’re having tea,” Magnus said. He was measuring out spoonfuls of loose tea leaves into the strainer of a tiny teapot. “One for each cup. One for the pot.”
He set the tiny tea canister aside and picked up one of the large silver pots and poured steaming water through the strainer into the teapot. Catarina was watching him do this with a strange fascination.
Jem looked at ease in a white sweater and dark jeans. His black hair had a single, dramatic streak of silver in it that stood out against his brown skin. “How are you finding the training?” he asked, leaning forward.
“I don’t bruise as much anymore,” Simon said, shrugging.
“That’s excellent,” Jem said. “It means you’re finding your feet and deflecting more blows.”
“Really?” Simon said. “I thought it was because I was dead inside.”
Magnus dropped the lid back onto the tiny tea canister very suddenly, making a loud clanking noise.
“I’m very sorry to interrupt your dinner,” Jem said. He had a formal way of speaking that was the only thing about him that really showed his age.
“Never be sorry about that,” Simon muttered.
“I take it the food in the Academy isn’t its best feature.”
“I’m not sure it has a ‘best’ feature,” Simon replied.
Jem smiled, his face lighting up. “We have cakes here, and scones. I think these are of a slightly higher quality than you are currently used to.”
He indicated a china plate full of small cakes and scones that looked very edible. Simon didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the closest scone and shoved it into his mouth. It was a bit dry, but it was better than anything he’d had in a while. He knew crumbs were falling out of his mouth and onto his dark T-shirt, but he found himself not caring.
“Okay, Magnus,” Clary said. “You said you would explain why you brought me here when Simon got here. Not that I’m not happy to see you, but you’re making me nervous.”
Simon nodded and chewed to show he agreed and backed Clary up 100 percent, as best friends were supposed to do. At least he hoped he was communicating that.
Magnus pulled himself up. When a very tall warlock with cat eyes pulls himself up to attention, it changes the mood in the room. There was suddenly a real air of purpose, with an undercurrent of strange energy. Catarina sank back into the sofa, dropping into Magnus’s shadow. It wasn’t like Catarina to be so silent. Catarina was the blue-tinted voice of reason and minor rebellion in the hallowed halls of the Academy.
“I’ve been asked to bring you both a message,” Magnus said, twisting one of the many rings that adorned his long fingers. “Emma Carstairs and Julian Blackthorn are to become parabatai. The ceremony requires two witnesses, and they have asked for you to be those witnesses.”
Clary raised an eyebrow and looked over to Simon.
“Of course,” she said. “Emma’s a sweetheart. Definitely. I’m in.”
Simon was midreach for another scone. He drew back his arm.
“Definitely,” he said. “Me too. But why couldn’t they just send us a letter?”
Magnus paused for a moment and looked at Catarina, then turned to Simon with a wink.
“Why send a letter when you can send something truly magnificent?”
It was a very Magnus thing to say, but it rang a little hollow. Something about Magnus seemed a little hollow. His voice, maybe.
“The ceremony will be performed in the Silent City tomorrow,” Jem said. “We have already arranged permission for you to attend.”
“Tomorrow?” Clary said. “And we’re just being asked now?”
Magnus shrugged elegantly, indicating that sometimes things like this just happened.
“What do we have to do?” Simon asked. “Is it complicated?”
“Not at all,” Jem said. “The position of the witness is largely symbolic, much like a wedding. You have nothing you have to say. It’s just a matter of standing with them. Emma chose Clary—”