City of Glass (The Mortal Instruments, #3)(107)

“Are you cold?” Simon asked.

“Yes—aren’t you?”

“I don’t get cold anymore.” He put an arm around her, his hand rubbing her back in slow circles. He chuckled ruefully. “I guess this probably doesn’t help much, what with me having no body heat and all.”

“No,” Clary said. “I mean—yes, it does help. Stay like that.” She glanced up at him. He was staring down at the North Gate, around which the dark figures of Downworlders still crowded, almost motionless. The red light of the demon towers reflected in his eyes; he looked like someone in a photograph taken with a flash. She could see faint blue veins spidering just under the surface of his skin where it was thinnest: at his temples, at the base of his collarbone. She knew enough about vampires to know that this meant it had been a while since he’d fed. “Are you hungry?”

Now he did glance down at her. “Afraid I’m going to bite you?”

“You know you’re welcome to my blood whenever you want it.”

A shiver, not from cold, passed over him, and he pulled her more tightly against his side. “I’d never do that,” he said. And then, more lightly, “Besides, I’ve already drunk Jace’s blood—I’ve had enough of feeding off my friends.”

Clary thought of the silver scar on the side of Jace’s throat. Slowly, her mind still full of the image of Jace, she said, “Do you think that’s why …?”

“Why what?”

“Why sunlight doesn’t hurt you. I mean, it did hurt you before that, didn’t it? Before that night on the boat?”

He nodded reluctantly.

“So what else changed? Or is it just that you drank his blood?”

“You mean because he’s Nephilim? Yes, but not just because of that. You and Jace—you’re not quite normal, are you? I mean, not normal Shadowhunters. Whatever makes you different is what makes me different as well. Like the Seelie Queen said. You were experiments.” He smiled at her startled look. “I’m not stupid. I can put these things together. You with your rune powers, and Jace, well … no one could be that annoying without some kind of supernatural assistance.”

“Do you really dislike him that much?”

“I don’t dislike Jace,” Simon protested. “I mean, I hated him at first, sure. He seemed so arrogant and sure of himself, and you acted like he hung the moon—”

“I did not.”

“Let me finish, Clary.” There was a breathless undercurrent in Simon’s voice, if someone who never breathed could be said to be breathless. He sounded as if he were racing toward something. “I could tell how much you liked him, and I thought he was using you, that you were just some stupid mundane girl he could impress with his Shadowhunter tricks. First I told myself that you’d never fall for it, and then that even if you did, he’d get tired of you eventually and you’d come back to me. I’m not proud of that, but when you’re desperate, you’ll believe anything, I guess. And then when he turned out to be your brother, it seemed like a last-minute reprieve—and I was glad. I was even glad to see how much he seemed to be suffering, until that night in the Seelie Court when you kissed him. I could see …”

“See what?” Clary said, unable to bear the pause.

“The way he looked at you. I got it then. He was never using you. He loved you, and it was killing him.”

“Is that why you went to the Dumort?” Clary whispered. It was something she’d always wanted to know but had never been able to bring herself to ask.

“Because of you and Jace? Not in any real way, no. Ever since that night in the hotel, I’d been wanting to go back. I dreamed about it. And I’d wake up out of bed, getting dressed, or already on the street, and I knew I wanted to go back to the hotel. It was always worse at night, and worse the closer I got to the hotel. It didn’t even occur to me that it was something supernatural—I thought it was post-traumatic stress or something. That night, I was so exhausted and angry, and we were so close to the hotel, and it was night—I barely even remember what happened. I just remember walking away from the park, and then—nothing.”

“But if you hadn’t been angry at me—if we hadn’t upset you—”

“It’s not like you had a choice,” Simon said. “And it’s not like I didn’t know. You can only push the truth down for so long, and then it bubbles back up. The mistake I made was not telling you what was going on with me, not telling you about the dreams. But I don’t regret dating you. I’m glad we tried. And I love you for trying, even if it was never going to work.”

“I wanted it to work so much,” Clary said softly. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t change it,” Simon said. “I wouldn’t give up loving you. Not for anything. You know what Raphael told me? That I didn’t know how to be a good vampire; that true vampires accept that they’re dead. But as long as I remember what it was like to love you, I’ll always feel like I’m alive.”

“Simon—”

“Look.” He cut her off with a gesture, his dark eyes widening. “Down there.”

The sun was a red sliver on the horizon; as she looked, it flickered and vanished, disappearing past the dark rim of the world. The demon towers of Alicante blazed into sudden incandescent life. In their light Clary could see the dark crowd swarming restlessly around the North Gate. “What’s going on?” she whispered. “The sun’s set; why aren’t the gates opening?”