The City of Fallen Angels (Mortal Instruments 4)(12)

“I’m going to get dressed,” she announced, and headed for the door that led to the small changing room attached to the training area. It was very plain: pale wood walls, a mirror, a shower, and hooks for clothes. Towels were stacked neatly on a wooden bench by the door. Clary showered quickly and put on her street clothes—tights, boots, jean skirt, and a new pink sweater. Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw that there was a hole in her tights, and her damp and curling red hair was an untidy tangle. She would never look perfectly put together like Isabelle always did, but Jace didn’t seem to mind.

By the time she came back to the training room, Isabelle and Jace had left the topic of dead Shadowhunters behind and had moved on to something Jace apparently found even more horrifying—Isabelle’s date with Simon.

“I can’t believe he took you to an actual restaurant.” Jace was on his feet now, putting away the floor mats and training gear while Isabelle leaned against the wall and played with her new gloves. “I assumed his idea of a date would be making you watch him play World of Warcraft with his nerd friends.” would be making you watch him play World of Warcraft with his nerd friends.”

“I,” Clary pointed out, “am one of his nerd friends, thank you.”

Jace grinned at her.



“It wasn’t really a restaurant. More of a diner. With pink soup that he wanted me to try,”

Isabelle said thoughtfully.

“He was very sweet.”

Clary felt instantly guilty for not telling her—or Jace—about Maia. “He said you had fun.”

Isabelle’s gaze flickered over to her. There was a peculiar quality to Isabelle’s expression, as if she were hiding something, but it was gone before Clary could be sure it had been there at all. “You talked to him?”

“Yeah, he called me a few minutes ago. Just to check in.” Clary shrugged.

“I see,” Isabelle said, her voice suddenly brisk and cool. “Well, as I said, he’s very sweet.

But maybe a bit too sweet. That can be boring.” She stuffed her gloves into her pockets.

“Anyway, it isn’t a permanent thing. It’s just playing around for now.”



Clary’s guilt faded. “Have you guys ever talked about, you know, dating exclusively?”

Isabelle looked horrified. “Of course not.” She yawned then, stretching her arms catlike over her head. “Okay, off to bed. See you later, lovebirds.”

She departed, leaving a hazy cloud of jasmine perfume in her wake.

Jace looked over at Clary. He had started unbuckling his gear, which clasped at the wrists and back, forming a protective shell over his clothes. “I suppose you have to go home?”

She nodded reluctantly. Getting her mother to agree to let her pursue Shadowhunter training had been a long, unpleasant argument in the first place. Jocelyn had dug her heels in, saying that she’d spent her life trying to keep Clary out of the Shadowhunter culture, which she saw as dangerous—not just violent, she argued, but isolationist and cruel. Only a year ago, she pointed out to Clary, Clary’s decision to be trained as a Shadowhunter would have meant she could never speak to her mother again. Clary argued back that the fact that the Clave had suspended rules like that while the new Council reviewed the Laws meant that the Clave had changed since Jocelyn had been a girl, and anyway, Clary needed to know how to defend herself.

“I hope this isn’t just because of Jace,” Jocelyn had said finally. “I know how it is when you’re in love with someone.

You want to be where they are and do what they do, but Clary—”

“I am not you,” Clary had said, struggling to control her anger, “the Shadowhunters aren’t the Circle, and Jace isn’t Valentine.”

“I didn’t say anything about Valentine.”

“It’s what you were thinking,” Clary had said. “Maybe Valentine brought Jace up, but Jace isn’t anything like him.”



“Well, I hope not,” Jocelyn had said softly. “For all our sakes.” Eventually she had given in, but with some rules:

Clary wasn’t to live in the Institute but with her mother at Luke’s; Jocelyn got weekly progress reports from Maryse to assure her that Clary was learning and not just, Clary supposed, ogling Jace all day, or whatever she was worried about. And Clary wasn’t to spend the night at the Institute—ever. “No sleepovers where your boyfriend lives,”

Jocelyn had said firmly. “I don’t care if it is the Institute. No.”

Boyfriend. It was still a shock, hearing the word. For so long it had seemed a total impossibility that Jace would ever be her boyfriend, that they could ever be anything to each other at all but brother and sister, and that had been too hard and horrible to face.

Never seeing each other again, they had decided, would have been better than that, and that would have been like dying. And then, by a miracle, they had been set free. Now it had been six weeks, but Clary wasn’t tired of the word yet. weeks, but Clary wasn’t tired of the word yet.

“I have to get home,” she said. “It’s almost eleven, and my mom freaks if I stay here past ten.”

“All right.” Jace dropped his gear, or at least the top half of it, onto the bench. He wore a thin T-shirt underneath;