They weren’t any kind of friends now, he reminded himself. She was a stranger who loved him, but she was still a stranger.
“What do you think of it?” he asked her. “What the Clave did to Tobias’s wife and child?”
“What do you think I think?” Clary asked. “Given who my father was? Given what happened to Jace’s parents, and how he survived it? Isn’t it obvious?”
It may have been obvious to someone who knew them and their stories, but not to Simon.
Her face fell. “Oh.”
His confusion must have been visible. As was her disappointment—like she was remembering all over again who he was, and who he wasn’t.
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s just say that I do think the Law matters—but it’s not the only thing that matters. I mean, if we followed the Law without thinking, would you and I ever have—”
“What?”
She shook her head. “No, I promised myself I wasn’t going to keep doing this. You don’t need a bunch of stories about what happened to us, who you used to be. You have to figure out who you are now, Simon. I want that for you, that freedom.”
It amazed him, how well she understood. How she knew what he wanted without him having to ask.
It gave him the nerve to ask her something he’d been wondering ever since he got to the Academy. “Clary, back when we were friends, before you knew about Shadowhunting or anything, were you and I . . . the same?”
“The same how?”
He shrugged. “You know, into weird music and comics and, like, really not into gym.”
“You mean, were we both klutzy nerds?” Clary asked, laughing again. “That’s affirmative.”
“But now you’re—” He waved a hand at her, indicating the taut biceps, the graceful, coordinated way she moved, everything he knew of her past and present. “You’re like this Amazon warrior.”
“Thanks? I think? Jace is a good trainer. And, you know, there was incentive to get up to speed pretty quick. Fending off the apocalypse and all. Twice.”
“Right. And I guess it’s in your blood. I mean, it makes sense that you’d be good at all this stuff.”
“Simon—” She narrowed her eyes, suddenly seeming to understand what he was getting at. “You do realize Shadowhunting isn’t just about how big your muscles are, right? They don’t call it Bodybuilding Academy.”
He rubbed his aching biceps ruefully. “Maybe they should.”
“Simon, you wouldn’t be here if the people in charge didn’t think you had what it takes.”
“They think he had what it takes,” Simon corrected her. “The guy with the vampy superstrength and—whatever else it is vampires bring to the table.”
Clary got close enough to poke him in the chest, and then she did. Hard. “No, you. Simon, do you know how we got as far as we did in that demon dimension? How we managed to get ourselves close enough to Sebastian to take him down?”
“No, but I’m guessing it involved a lot of demon killing?” Simon asked.
“Not as much as there might have been, because you came up with a better strategy,” Clary said. “Something you figured out from all those years playing D&D.”
“Wait, seriously? Are you telling me that stuff actually worked in real life?”
“I’m telling you that. I’m telling you that you saved us, Simon. You did it more than once. Not because you were a vampire, not because of anything you’ve lost. Because of who you were. Who you still are.” She stepped away then and took a deep breath. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this,” she said fiercely. “I promised.”
“No,” he said. “I’m glad you did. I’m glad you came.”
“I should get out of here,” Clary said. “But try to remember about Izzy, okay? I know you can’t understand this, but every time you look at her like she’s a stranger, it’s like . . . it’s like someone pressing a hot iron to her flesh. It hurts that much.”
She sounded so certain, like she knew.
Like maybe they weren’t just talking about Isabelle anymore.
Simon felt it then, not the twinge of fondness he often experienced when Clary smiled at him, but a forceful rush of love that nearly swept him off his feet and into her arms. For the first time, he looked at her, and she wasn’t a stranger, she was Clary—his friend. His family. The girl he’d sworn always to protect. The girl he loved as fiercely as he loved himself.
“Clary—” he said. “When we were friends, it was great, right? I mean, I’m not just imagining things, feeling like this is where we belong? We got each other, we supported each other. We were good together, right?”
Her smile turned from sad to something else, something that glowed with the same certainty that he felt, that there was something real between them. It was as if he’d switched on a light inside her. “Oh, Simon,” she said. “We were absolutely amazing.”
A new cover will be revealed each month as the Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy continue!
Continue the adventures of the Shadowhunters with Emma Carstairs and Julian Blackthorn in
Lady Midnight
The first book in Cassandra Clare’s new series, The Dark Artifices.
Emma took her witchlight out of her pocket and lit it—and almost screamed out loud. Jules’s shirt was soaked with blood and worse, the healing runes she’d drawn had vanished from his skin. They weren’t working.
“Jules,” she said. “I have to call the Silent Brothers. They can help you. I have to.”
His eyes screwed shut with pain. “You can’t,” he said. “You know we can’t call the Silent Brothers. They report directly to the Clave.”
“So we’ll lie to them. Say it was a routine demon patrol. I’m calling,” she said, and reached for her phone.
“No!” Julian said, forcefully enough to stop her. “Silent Brothers know when you’re lying! They can see inside your head, Emma. They’ll find out about the investigation. About Mark—”
“You’re not going to bleed to death in the backseat of a car for Mark!”
“No,” he said, looking at her. His eyes were eerily blue-green, the only bright color in the dark interior of the car. “You’re going to fix me.”
Emma could feel it when Jules was hurt, like a splinter lodged under her skin. The physical pain didn’t bother her; it was the terror, the only terror worse than her fear of the ocean. The fear of Jules being hurt, of him dying. She would give up anything, sustain any wound, to prevent those things from happening.
“Okay,” she said. Her voice sounded dry and thin to her own ears. “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Hang on.”
She unzipped her jacket, threw it aside. Shoved the console between the seats aside, put her witchlight on the floorboard. Then she reached for Jules. The next few seconds were a blur of Jules’s blood on her hands and his harsh breathing as she pulled him partly upright, wedging him against the back door. He didn’t make a sound as she moved him, but she could see him biting his lip, the blood on his mouth and chin, and she felt as if her bones were popping inside her skin.
“Your gear,” she said through gritted teeth. “I have to cut it off.”
He nodded, letting his head fall back. She drew a dagger from her belt, but the gear was too tough for the blade. She said a silent prayer and reached back for Cortana.
Cortana went through the gear like a knife through melted butter. It fell away in pieces and Emma drew them free, then sliced down the front of his T-shirt and pulled it apart as if she were opening a jacket.