The Mortal Instruments - Complete Collection (171 page)

Kyle grinned. “I was just asking.” He dumped the bacon pan, now empty, into the sink. “So, your two girls. What are they like?”

“They’re very, very … different.” In some ways, Simon thought, they were opposites. Maia was calm and grounded; Isabelle lived at a high pitch of excitement. Maia was a steady light in the darkness; Isabelle a burning star, spinning through the void. “I mean, they’re both great. Beautiful, and smart…”

“And they don’t know about each other?” Kyle leaned against the counter. “Like, at all?”

Simon found himself explaining—how when he’d come back from Idris (though he didn’t mention the place by name), they’d both started calling him, wanting to hang out. And because he liked them both, he went. And somehow things started to turn casually romantic with each of them, but there never seemed to be a chance to explain to either of them that he was seeing someone else, too. And somehow it had snowballed, and here he was, not wanting to hurt either of them, and not knowing how to go on, either.

“Well, if you ask me,” Kyle said, turning to dump his remaining coffee out in the sink, “you ought to pick one of them and quit dogging around. I’m just saying.”

Since his back was to Simon, Simon couldn’t see his face, and for a moment he wondered if Kyle was actually angry. His voice sounded uncharacteristically stiff. But when Kyle turned around, his expression was as open and friendly as ever. Simon decided he must have imagined it.

“I know,” he said. “You’re right.” He glanced back toward the bedroom. “Look, are you sure it’s okay, me staying here? I can clear out whenever…”

“It’s fine. You stay as long as you need.” Kyle opened a kitchen drawer and scrabbled around until he found what he was looking for—a set of spare keys on a rubber-band ring. “There’s a set for you. You’re totally welcome here, okay? I gotta go to work, but you can hang around if you want. Play Halo, or whatever. Will you be here when I get back?”

Simon shrugged. “Probably not. I have a dress fitting to get to at three.”

“Cool,” said Kyle, slinging a messenger bag over his shoulder and heading toward the door. “Get them to make you something in red. It’s totally your color.”

“So,” Clary said, stepping out of the dressing room. “What do you think?”

She did an experimental twirl. Simon, balanced on one of Karyn’s Bridal Shop’s uncomfortable white chairs, shifted position, winced, and said, “You look nice.”

She looked better than nice. Clary was her mother’s only bridesmaid, so she’d been allowed to pick out whatever dress she wanted. She’d selected a very simple coppery silk with narrow straps that flattered her small frame. Her only jewelry was the Morgenstern ring, worn on a chain around her neck; the very plain silver chain brought out the shape of her collarbones and the curve of her throat.

Not that many months ago, seeing Clary dressed up for a wedding would have conjured up in Simon a mix of feelings: dark despair (she would never love him) and high excitement (or maybe she would, if he could get up the nerve to tell her how he felt). Now it just made him feel a little wistful.

“Nice?” echoed Clary. “Is that it? Sheesh.” She turned to Maia. “What do
you
think?”

Maia had given up on the uncomfortable chairs and was sitting on the floor, her back against a wall that was decorated with tiaras and long gauzy veils. She had Simon’s DS balanced on one of her knees and seemed to be at least partly absorbed in playing Grand Theft Auto. “Don’t ask me,” she said. “I hate dresses. I’d wear jeans to the wedding if I could.”

This was true. Simon rarely saw Maia out of jeans and T-shirts. In that way she was the opposite of Isabelle, who wore dresses and heels at even the most inappropriate times. (Though since he’d once seen her dispatch a Vermis demon with the stiletto heel of a boot, he was less inclined to worry about it.)

The shop bell tinkled, and Jocelyn came in, followed by Luke. Both were holding steaming cups of coffee, and Jocelyn was looking up at Luke, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining. Simon remembered what Clary had said about them being disgustingly in love. He didn’t find it disgusting himself, though that was probably because they weren’t
his
parents. They both seemed so happy, and he thought it was actually rather nice.

Jocelyn’s eyes widened when she saw Clary. “Honey, you look gorgeous!”

“Yeah, you have to say that. You’re my mother,” Clary said, but she grinned anyway. “Hey, is that coffee black by any chance?”

“Yep. Consider it a sorry-we’re-late gift,” Luke said, handing her the cup. “We got held up. Some catering issue or other.” He nodded toward Simon and Maia. “Hey, guys.”

Maia inclined her head. Luke was the head of the local wolf pack, of which Maia was a member. Though he’d broken her of the habit of calling him “Master” or “Sir,” she remained respectful in his presence. “I brought you a message from the pack,” she said, setting down her game console. “They have questions about the party at the Ironworks—”

As Maia and Luke fell into conversation about the party the wolf pack was throwing in honor of their alpha wolf’s marriage, the owner of the bridal shop, a tall woman who had been reading magazines behind the counter while the teenagers chatted, realized that the people who were actually going to
pay
for the dresses had just arrived, and hurried forward to greet them. “I just got your dress back in, and it looks
marvelous,”
she gushed, taking Clary’s mother by the arm and steering her toward the back of the store. “Come and try it on.” As Luke started after them, she pointed a threatening finger at him. “
You
stay here.”

Luke, watching his fiancée disappear through a set of white swinging doors painted with wedding bells, looked puzzled.

“Mundanes think you’re not supposed to see the bride in her wedding dress before the ceremony,” Clary reminded him. “It’s bad luck. She probably thinks it’s weird you came to the fitting.”

“But Jocelyn wanted my opinion—” Luke broke off and shook his head. “Ah, well. Mundane customs are so peculiar.” He threw himself down in a chair, and winced as one of the carved rosettes poked into his back. “Ouch.”

“What about Shadowhunter weddings?” Maia inquired, curious. “Do they have their own customs?”

“They do,” Luke said slowly, “but this isn’t going to be a classic Shadowhunter ceremony. Those specifically don’t address any situation in which one of the participants is not a Shadowhunter.”

“Really?” Maia looked shocked. “I didn’t know that.”

“Part of a Shadowhunter marriage ceremony involves tracing permanent runes on the bodies of the participants,” said Luke. His voice was calm, but his eyes looked sad. “Runes of love and commitment. But of course, non-Shadowhunters can’t bear the Angel’s runes, so Jocelyn and I will be exchanging rings instead.”

“That sucks,” Maia pronounced.

At that, Luke smiled. “Not really. Marrying Jocelyn is all I ever wanted, and I’m not that bothered about the particulars. Besides, things are changing. The new Council members have made a lot of headway toward convincing the Clave to tolerate this sort of—”

“Clary!” It was Jocelyn, calling from the back of the store. “Can you come here for a second?”

“Coming!” Clary called, bolting down the last of her coffee. “Uh-oh. Sounds like a dress emergency.”

“Well, good luck with that.” Maia got to her feet, and dropped the DS back in Simon’s lap before bending to kiss him on the cheek. “I’ve got to go. I’m meeting some friends at the Hunter’s Moon.”

She smelled pleasantly of vanilla. Under that, as always, Simon could smell the salt scent of blood, mixed with a sharp, lemony tang that was peculiar to werewolves. Every Downworlder’s blood smelled different—faeries smelled like dead flowers, warlocks like burnt matches, and other vampires like metal.

Clary had once asked him what Shadowhunters smelled like.

“Sunlight,” he’d said.

“See you later, baby.” Maia straightened up, ruffled Simon’s hair once, and departed. As the door closed behind her, Clary fixed him with a piercing glare.

“You
must
work your love life out by next Saturday,” she said. “I mean it, Simon. If you don’t tell them, I will.”

Luke looked bewildered. “Tell who what?”

Clary shook her head at Simon. “You’re on thin ice, Lewis.” With which pronouncement she flounced away, holding up her silk skirts as she went. Simon was amused to note that underneath them she was wearing green sneakers.

“Clearly,” said Luke, “something is going on that I don’t know about.”

Simon looked over at him. “Sometimes I think that’s the motto of my life.”

Luke raised his eyebrows. “Has something happened?”

Simon hesitated. He certainly couldn’t tell Luke about his love life—Luke and Maia were in the same pack, and werewolf packs were more loyal than street gangs. It would put Luke in a very awkward position. It was true, though, that Luke was also a resource. As the leader of the Manhattan wolf pack, he had access to all sorts of information, and was well versed in Downworlder politics. “Have you heard of a vampire named Camille?”

Luke made a low whistling sound. “I know who she is. I’m surprised you do.”

“Well, she’s the head of the New York vampire clan. I do know
something
about them,” Simon said, a little stiffly.

“I didn’t realize you did. I thought you wanted to live like a human as much as you could.” There was no judgment in Luke’s voice, only curiosity. “Now, by the time I took over the downtown pack from the previous pack leader, she had put Raphael in charge. I don’t think anyone knew where she’d gone exactly. But she is something of a legend. An extraordinarily old vampire, from everything I understand. Famously cruel and cunning. She could give the Fair Folk a run for their money.”

“Have you ever seen her?”

Luke shook his head. “Don’t think I have, no. Why the curiosity?”

“Raphael mentioned her,” Simon said vaguely.

Luke’s forehead creased. “You’ve seen Raphael lately?”

Before Simon could answer, the shop bell sounded again, and to Simon’s surprise, Jace came in. Clary hadn’t mentioned he was coming.

In point of fact, he realized, Clary hadn’t mentioned Jace much lately at all.

Jace looked from Luke to Simon. He looked as if he were mildly surprised to see Simon and Luke there, although it was hard to tell. Though Simon imagined that Jace ran the gamut of facial expressions when he was alone with Clary, his default one around other people was a fierce sort of blankness. “He looks,” Simon had once said to Isabelle, “like he’s thinking about something deep and meaningful, but if you ask him what it is, he’ll punch you in the face.”

“So don’t ask him,” Isabelle had said, as if she thought Simon was being ridiculous. “No one says you two need to be friends.”

“Is Clary here?” Jace asked, shutting the door behind him. He looked tired. There were shadows under his eyes, and he didn’t seem to have bothered to put on a jacket, despite the fact that the autumn wind was brisk. Though cold no longer affected Simon much, looking at Jace in just jeans and a thermal shirt made him feel chilly.

“She’s helping Jocelyn,” explained Luke. “But you’re welcome to wait here with us.”

Jace looked around uneasily at the walls hung with veils, fans, tiaras, and seed-pearl-encrusted trains. “Everything is … so white.”

“Of course it’s white,” said Simon. “It’s a wedding.”

“White for Shadowhunters is the color of funerals,” Luke explained. “But for mundanes, Jace, it’s the color of weddings. Brides wear white to symbolize their purity.”

“I thought Jocelyn said her dress wasn’t white,” Simon said.

“Well,” said Jace, “I suppose that ship
has
sailed.”

Luke choked on his coffee. Before he could say—or do—anything, Clary walked back into the room. Her hair was up now, in sparkling pins, with a few curls hanging loose. “I don’t know,” she was saying as she came closer to them. “Karyn got her hands on me and did my hair, but I’m not sure about the sparkles—”

She broke off as she saw Jace. It was clear from her expression that she hadn’t been expecting him either. Her lips parted in surprise, but she said nothing. Jace, in his turn, was staring at her, and for once in his life Simon could read Jace’s expression like a book. It was as if everything else in the world had fallen away for Jace but himself and Clary, and he was looking at her with an unconcealed yearning and desire that made Simon feel awkward, as if he had somehow walked in on a private moment.

Jace cleared his throat. “You look beautiful.”

“Jace.” Clary looked more puzzled than anything else. “Is everything all right? I thought you said you couldn’t come because of the Conclave meeting.”

“That’s right,” Luke said. “I heard about the Shadowhunter body in the park. Is there any news?”

Jace shook his head, still looking at Clary. “No. He’s not one of the New York Conclave members, but beyond that he hasn’t been identified. Neither of the bodies have. The Silent Brothers are looking at them now.”

“That’s good. The Brothers will figure out who they are,” said Luke.

Jace said nothing. He was still looking at Clary, and it was the oddest sort of look, Simon thought—the sort of look you might give someone you loved but could never, ever have. He imagined Jace had felt like that about Clary once before, but now?

“Jace?” Clary said, and took a step toward him.

He tore his gaze away from her. “That jacket you borrowed from me in the park yesterday,” he said. “Do you still have it?”

Now looking even more puzzled, Clary pointed to where the item of clothing in question, a perfectly ordinary brown suede jacket, was hanging over the back of one of the chairs. “It’s over there. I was going to bring it to you after—”

“Well,” said Jace, picking it up and thrusting his arms hastily into the sleeves, as if he were suddenly in a hurry, “now you don’t have to.”

“Jace,” Luke said in that calming tone he had, “we’re going to get an early dinner in Park Slope after this. You’re welcome to come along.”

“No,” Jace said, zipping the jacket up. “I’ve got training this afternoon. I’d better head out.”