The City of Fallen Angels (Mortal Instruments 4)(37)

“But that could be anyone.”

“Exactly,” said Jace, and grinned. For a moment he almost looked like himself again.

Simon shook his head. “Look, do you know what you want to eat, or do you just want me to keep pushing this cart up and down aisles because it amuses you?”

“That,” said Jace, “and I’m not really familiar with what they sell in mundane grocery stores. Maryse usually cooks or we order in food.” He shrugged, and picked up a piece of fruit at random. “What’s this?”

“That’s a mango.” Simon stared at Jace. Sometimes it really was like Shadowhunters were from an alien planet.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those that wasn’t already cut up,” Jace mused. “I like mangoes.”

Simon grabbed the mango and tossed it into the cart. “Great. What else do you like?”

Jace pondered for a moment. “Tomato soup,” he said finally.

“Tomato soup? You want tomato soup and a mango for dinner?”

Jace shrugged. “I don’t really care about food.”



“Fine. Whatever. Stay here. I’ll be right back.” Shadowhunters. Simon seethed quietly to himself as he rounded the corner of an aisle lined with soup cans. They were a sort of bizarre amalgam of millionaires—people who never had to consider the petty parts of life, like how to shop for food, or use MetroCard machines in the subway—and soldiers, with their rigid self-discipline and constant training. Maybe it was easier for them, going through life with blinders on, he thought as he grabbed a soup can off the shelf. Maybe it helped you keep your focus on the big picture—which, when your job was basically keeping the world safe from evil, was a pretty big picture indeed.

He was feeling nearly sympathetic toward Jace as he neared the aisle where he’d left him—then paused. Jace was leaning against the cart, turning something over in his hands.

From this distance Simon couldn’t see what it was, and he couldn’t get closer, either, because two teenage girls were blocking his way, standing in the middle of the aisle giggling and crowding up against each other to whisper the way girls did. They were obviously dressed to pass for twenty-one, in high heels and short skirts, push-up bras and no jackets to keep the chill away.

They smelled like lip gloss. Lip gloss and baby powder and blood.

He could hear them, of course, despite the whispering. They were talking about Jace, how hot he was, each daring the other to go up and talk to him. There was a great deal of discussion of his hair and also his abs, although how they could really see his abs though his T-shirt, Simon wasn’t sure. Blech, he thought. This is ridiculous. He was about to say

“Excuse me” when one of them, the taller and darker-haired of the two, broke away and sauntered over to Jace, wobbling a little on her platform heels. Jace looked up as she approached him, his eyes wary, and Simon had the sudden panicked thought that maybe Jace would mistake her for a vampire or some kind of succubus and whip out one of his seraph blades on the spot, and then they’d both be arrested.

He needn’t have worried. Jace just arched an eyebrow. The girl said something to him breathlessly; he shrugged; she pressed something into his hand, and then dashed back to her friend. They wobbled out of the store, giggling together.

Simon went over to Jace and dropped the soup can into the cart. “So what was all that about?”

“I think,” Jace said, “that she asked if she could touch my mango.”

“She said that?”

Jace shrugged. “Yeah, then she gave me her number.” He showed Simon the piece of paper with an expression of bland indifference, then tossed it into the cart. “Can we go now?”

“You’re not going to call her, are you?”

Jace looked at him as if he were insane.

“Forget I said that,” said Simon. “This sort of thing happens to you all the time, doesn’t it? Girls just coming up to you?”

“Only when I’m not glamoured.”



“Yes, because when you are, girls can’t see you, because you’re invisible.” Simon shook his head. “You’re a public menace. You shouldn’t be allowed out on your own.”

“Jealousy is such an ugly emotion, Lewis.” Jace grinned a crooked grin that normally would have made Simon want to hit him. Not this time, though. He had just realized what it was that Jace had been playing with, turning over and over in his fingers as if it were something precious or dangerous or both. It was Clary’s phone.

“I’m still not sure that this is a good idea,” said Luke.

Clary, her arms crossed over her chest to ward off the chill of the Silent City, looked sideways at him. “Maybe you should have said that before we got here.”

“I’m fairly sure I did. Several times.” Luke’s voice echoed off the stone pillars that rose overhead, striped with bands of semiprecious stone—black onyx, green jade, rose carnelian, and blue lapis. Silvery witchlight burned in torches attached to the pillars, lighting the mausoleums that lined each wall to a bright white that was almost painful to look at.

Little had changed in the Silent City since the last time Clary had been here. It still felt alien and strange, though now the sweeping runes that stretched across the floors in carved whorls and etched patterns teased her mind with the edges of their meanings, instead of being totally incomprehensible. Maryse had left her and Luke here in this entry chamber the moment they had arrived, preferring to go and confer with the Silent Brothers herself. There was no guarantee they’d let the three of them in to see the bodies, she’d warned Clary. Nephilim dead were the province of the Bone City’s guardians, and no one else had jurisdiction over them.