The City of Fallen Angels (Mortal Instruments 4)(29)

Jocelyn’s eyes widened when she saw Clary. “Honey, you look gorgeous!”

“Yeah, you have to say that. You’re my mother,” Clary said, but she grinned anyway.

“Hey, is that coffee black by any chance?”

“Yep. Consider it a sorry-we’re-late gift,” Luke said, handing her the cup. “We got held up. Some catering issue or other.” He nodded toward Simon and Maia. “Hey, guys.”

Maia inclined her head. Luke was the head of the local wolf pack, of which Maia was a member. Though he’d broken her of the habit of calling him “Master” or “Sir,” she remained respectful in his presence. “I brought you a message from the pack,” she said, setting down her game console. “They have questions about the party at the Ironworks—

”

As Maia and Luke fell into conversation about the party the wolf pack was throwing in honor of their alpha wolf’s marriage, the owner of the bridal shop, a tall woman who had been reading magazines behind the counter while the teenagers chatted, realized that the people who were actually going to pay for the dresses had just arrived, and hurried forward to greet them. “I just got your dress back in, and it looks marvelous,” she gushed, taking Clary’s mother by the arm and steering her toward the back of the store. “Come and try it on.” As Luke started after them, she pointed a threatening finger at him. “You stay here.”

Luke, watching his fiancée disappear through a set of white swinging doors painted with wedding bells, looked puzzled.

“Mundanes think you’re not supposed to see the bride in her wedding dress before the ceremony,” Clary reminded him. “It’s bad luck. She probably thinks it’s weird you came to the fitting.”

“But Jocelyn wanted my opinion—” Luke broke off and shook his head. “Ah, well.

Mundane customs are so peculiar.” He threw himself down in a chair, and winced as one of the carved rosettes poked into his back. “Ouch.”

“What about Shadowhunter weddings?” Maia inquired, curious. “Do they have their own customs?”

“They do,” Luke said slowly, “but this isn’t going to be a classic Shadowhunter ceremony. Those specifically don’t address any situation in which one of the participants is not a Shadowhunter.”

“Really?” Maia looked shocked. “I didn’t know that.”

“Part of a Shadowhunter marriage ceremony involves tracing permanent runes on the bodies of the participants,” said Luke. His voice was calm, but his eyes looked sad.

“Runes of love and commitment. But of course, nonShadowhunters can’t bear the Angel’s runes, so Jocelyn and I will be exchanging rings instead.”

“That sucks,” Maia pronounced.



At that, Luke smiled. “Not really. Marrying Jocelyn is all I ever wanted, and I’m not that bothered about the particulars. Besides, things are changing. The new Council members have made a lot of headway toward convincing the Clave to tolerate this sort of—”

“Clary!” It was Jocelyn, calling from the back of the store. “Can you come here for a second?”

“Coming!” Clary called, bolting down the last of her coffee. “Uh-oh. Sounds like a dress emergency.”

“Well, good luck with that.” Maia got to her feet, and dropped the DS back in Simon’s lap before bending to kiss him on the cheek. “I’ve got to go. I’m meeting some friends at the Hunter’s Moon.”

She smelled pleasantly of vanilla. Under that, as always, Simon could smell the salt scent of blood, mixed with a sharp, lemony tang that was peculiar to werewolves. Every Downworlder’s blood smelled different—faeries smelled like dead flowers, warlocks like burnt matches, and other vampires like metal.

Clary had once asked him what Shadowhunters smelled like.

“Sunlight,” he’d said.

“See you later, baby.” Maia straightened up, ruffled Simon’s hair once, and departed. As the door closed behind her, Clary fixed him with a piercing glare.

“You must work your love life out by next Saturday,” she said. “I mean it, Simon. If you don’t tell them, I will.”

Luke looked bewildered. “Tell who what?”

Clary shook her head at Simon. “You’re on thin ice, Lewis.” With which pronouncement she flounced away, holding up her silk skirts as she went. Simon was amused to note that underneath them she was wearing green sneakers.

“Clearly,” said Luke, “something is going on that I don’t know about.”

Simon looked over at him. “Sometimes I think that’s the motto of my life.”

Luke raised his eyebrows. “Has something happened?”

Simon hesitated. He certainly couldn’t tell Luke about his love life—Luke and Maia were in the same pack, and werewolf packs were more loyal than street gangs. It would put Luke in a very awkward position. It was true, though, that Luke was also a resource. As the leader of the Manhattan wolf pack, he had access to all sorts of information, and was well versed in Downworlder politics. “Have you heard of a vampire named Camille?”

Luke made a low whistling sound. “I know who she is. I’m surprised you do.”

“Well, she’s the head of the New York vampire clan. I do know something about them,”