The City of Fallen Angels (Mortal Instruments 4)(43)

“Shut up!” Simon yelled. “Both of you. Neither of you were around when someone tried to kill me earlier today—”

“I was,” said Jace. “You know, eventually.”

Kyle’s eyes shone, like a wolf’s eyes at night. “Someone tried to kill you? What happened?”

Simon’s gaze met Jace’s across the room. A silent agreement not to mention the Mark of Cain passed between them. “Two days ago, and today, I was followed and attacked by some guys in gray tracksuits.”

“Humans?”

“We’re not sure.”

“And you have no idea what they want with you?”

“They definitely want me dead,” said Simon. “Beyond that, I don’t really know, no.”

“We have some leads,” said Jace. “We’ll be investigating.”

Kyle shook his head. “Fine. Whatever it is you’re not telling me, I’ll find out eventually.”

He got to his feet. “And now, I’m beat. I’m going to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning,”

he said to Simon. “You,” he said to Jace, “well, I guess I’ll see you around. You’re the first Shadowhunter I’ve ever met.”

“That’s too bad,” said Jace, “since all the ones you meet from now on will be a terrible letdown.”

Kyle rolled his eyes and left, banging his bedroom door shut behind him.

Simon looked at Jace. “You’re not going back to the Institute,” he said, “are you?”

Jace shook his head. “You need protecting. Who knows when someone might try to kill you again?”

“This avoiding Clary thing of yours has truly taken an epic turn,” Simon said, standing up. “Are you ever going home?”

Jace looked at him. “Are you?”

Simon stalked into the kitchen, retrieved a broom, and swept up the broken glass from the smashed bottle. It had been his last. He dumped the shards into the trash and walked past Jace into his own small bedroom, where he stripped off his jacket and shoes and flung himself down onto the mattress.

A moment later Jace came into the room. He looked around, his light eyebrows raised, his expression a mask of amusement. “Quite a space you’ve got here. Minimalist. I like it.”

Simon rolled onto his side and stared at Jace in disbelief. “Please tell me you’re not actually planning on staying in my room.”

Jace perched on the windowsill and looked down at him. “You really don’t get this bodyguard thing, do you?”

“I didn’t even think you liked me all that much,” said Simon. “Is this one of those keep-your-friends-close-and-your enemies-closer things?”

“I thought it was keep your friends close so you have someone to drive the car when you sneak over to your enemy’s house at night and throw up in his mailbox.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not it. And this protecting me thing is less touching than creepy, just so you know. I’m fine.

You’ve seen what happens if someone tries to hurt me.”

“Yes,Ihave,”saidJace.“Buteventuallythepersonwho’s

tryingtokillyouisgoingtofigureoutabouttheMarkof Cain. And then they’re either going to give up or find some other way to come at you.” He leaned against the window frame.

“And that’s why I’m here.”

Despite his exasperation Simon could find no holes in this argument, or at least not one big enough to bother with.



He rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his arms. Within minutes he was asleep.

He was walking through the desert, over burning sands, past bones whitening in the sun.

He had never been so thirsty. When he swallowed, his mouth felt as if it were coated with sand, his throat lined with knives.

The sharp buzzing of his cell phone woke Simon. He rolled over and clawed tiredly at his jacket. By the time he’d pried the cell phone loose from the pocket, it had stopped ringing.

He turned it over and looked to see who had called. It was Luke.

Crap. I bet my mom called Clary’s house looking for me, he thought, sitting up. His brain was still fuzzy from sleep, and it took a moment for him to remember that when he had fallen asleep in this room, he hadn’t been alone.

He looked quickly toward the window. Jace was still there, but he was clearly asleep—

sitting up, his head leaning against the window glass. Pale blue dawn light filtered past him. He looked very young like that, Simon thought.

No mockery in his expression, no defensiveness or sarcasm. It was almost possible to imagine what Clary saw in him.

It was pretty clear he wasn’t taking his bodyguard duties all that seriously, but that had been obvious from the beginning. Simon wondered, not for the first time, what the hell was going on between Clary and Jace.

The phone started buzzing again. Propelling himself to his feet, Simon padded out into the living room, pressing the talk button just before the call went to voice mail again.

“Luke?”

“Sorry to wake you up, Simon.” Luke was, as always, unfailingly polite.

“I was awake anyway,” Simon lied.

“I need you to meet me in Washington Square Park in half an hour,” said Luke. “At the fountain.”