The City of Fallen Angels (Mortal Instruments 4)(28)

“Well, I’m going to come too, then. I have to give Luke a message from the pack, and besides, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I know. I’m really sorry—”

“It’s fine,” she said lightly. “But you’re going to have to let me know what you’re wearing to the wedding eventually, because otherwise we’ll clash.”

She hung up, leaving Simon staring at the phone. Clary had been right. The wedding was D-day, and he was woefully unprepared for the battle.

“One of your girlfriends?” Kyle asked curiously. “Was that redheaded chick at the garage one of them? Because she was cute.”

“No. That’s Clary; she’s my best friend.” Simon pocketed his phone. “And she has a boyfriend. Like, really, really, really has a boyfriend. The nuclear bomb of boyfriends.

Trust me on this one.”

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.