Welcome to Shadowhunter Academy (Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy #1)(15)

“I don’t remember hell all that well,” Simon said. “But I think I recall it was nicer than this.”

Catarina laughed, then shocked Simon by leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek. “Good luck, Daylighter,” she told him, laughing at his expression. “And whatever you do, don’t use the bathrooms on this floor. Not on any floor, obviously, but especially on this one!”

Simon did not ask her to explain, because he was terrified. He sat down on his new bed, and then stood hastily back up at the resulting long creak and cloud of dust. Hey, at least this time he didn’t have a roommate—he was king of this claustrophobic, slimy domain. He set his mind to unpacking. The wardrobe in this room was actually clean and empty, which was a definite improvement. Simon might go live in the wardrobe with his funny T-shirts.

He was long finished unpacking by the time George sauntered in, dragging his suitcase behind him and bearing his broken racket on his shoulder like a sword. “Hey, man.”

“Hey,” Simon said cautiously. “Er, what—what are you doing here?”

George dumped his suitcase and his racket on the slimy floor, and threw himself down on the bed. He stretched luxuriously, ignoring the ominous creak of the bed beneath him.

“The thing is, the advanced course is actually pretty hard,” George said, as Simon started to smile. “And you may have heard: Lovelaces are quitters.”

*

Simon was even more relieved to have George the next day, so they could sit together rather than at one of the tables of thirteen-year-old mundanes, who were all giving them the side-eye when they were not whispering brokenly about their phones.

The day brightened further when Beatriz plopped down at their new table as well.

“I’m not going to drop out of advanced training to follow you around like Curlytop here,” Beatriz announced, “but we can still be friends, right?”

She pulled George’s hair affectionately.

“Be careful,” George said in a tired, humble voice. “I did not sleep in our small, slimy room. There is, I believe, a creature living in our walls. I hear it. Scuttling. I have to admit, I may not have made the brightest decision in following Simon. It’s possible I’m not that bright. It’s possible that looks are all I have.”

“Actually . . . even though I’m not willing to follow you into boring classes and the endless disrespect of my classmates . . . I think it was a very cool thing you did, Simon,” said Beatriz.

She smiled, teeth flashing white against her brown skin, and her smile was warm and admiring,—about the nicest thing Simon had seen all day.

“You’re right, our morals are sound even though our walls are infested. And we’ll still have some interesting classes, Si,” George said. “Plus, don’t worry, we still get sent on missions to fight demons and rogue Downworlders.”

Simon choked on his soup. “I was not worrying about that. Are any of our teachers at all worried that sending out people with no superpowers to fight demons might prove just a teeny bit, not to put too fine a point on it, fatal?”

“They have to face trials of courage before they must face Ascension,” said Beatriz. “Better for them to drop out because they are scared, or even because a demon ate their leg, than to have them try to Ascend without being suitable, and die in the attempt.”

“That’s a cool, cheerful, and normal thing to say,” Simon said. “Shadowhunters are great at saying normal things.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to the missions,” said George. “And tomorrow a Shadowhunter is coming in to give a guest lecture on the lesser utilized weapons. I hope there’ll be a practical demonstration.”

“Not in a classroom,” said Beatriz. “Think of what one heavy-duty crossbow could do to the walls.”

That was all the warning Simon got before he clattered happily into class the next day, George on his heels, and found Dean Penhallow already there, talking with nervous good cheer. The classroom was very full—both the regular stream and the mundane stream were in attendance.

“—despite her tender years, a Shadowhunter of some renown and noted expertise with less used weapons such as the whip. May I welcome to Shadowhunter Academy our first guest lecturer: Isabelle Lightwood!”

Isabelle turned, sleek black hair flaring around her shoulders and black skirt flaring around her pale legs. She was wearing glittery plum lipstick, so dark it looked almost black. Her eyes did look black, but another small knife of memory pierced Simon, of course at the worst time possible: he remembered the colors of her eyes from close up, very dark brown, like brown velvet, so close to black as to make no difference, but with paler rings of color . . .

He stumbled over to his desk, and folded into his chair with a thump.

*

When the dean left, Isabelle turned and regarded her class with absolute contempt.

“I am not actually here to instruct any of you idiots,” she told them, walking up and down the rows of desks. “If you want to use a whip, train with one, and if you lose an ear, don’t be a big whiny baby.”

Several of the boys nodded, as if hypnotized. Almost all the boys were watching Isabelle as if they were a nest of snakes intent on being charmed. Some of the girls were watching her that way too.

“I am here,” Isabelle announced, finishing her prowl of the perimeter and turning to face them all again with snapping eyes, “to determine my relationship.”