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"They didn't even want to let us come back at all," Helen said bitterly. "They wanted us to have the wedding on Wrangel Island. If you can even call that a wedding, in a frozen hellhole without anyone you love there with you. I guess I should feel lucky I got this much out of them."
Less lucky than disgusted, or maybe enraged, Simon thought, but it didn't seem like it would be helpful to say so out loud. "I'm surprised they care so much about one lecture," he said instead. "I mean, not that it wasn't educational, but Professor Mayhew could have just told us the story himself."
Helen turned away from her kitchen busywork and met Simon's gaze. "They don't care about the lecture. This isn't about your education. It's about humiliating me. That's all." She gave herself a little shake, then smiled too brightly, her eyes shining. "Forget about all that. You came here to get something from me--here it is." Helen slipped an envelope from her pocket and handed it to Simon.
Curious, he tore it open and pulled out a small piece of thick ivory stationery, inscribed with a familiar hand.
Simon stopped breathing.
Dear Simon, Izzy wrote.
I know I've developed a habit of ambushing you at school.
This was true. Isabelle had popped up more than once when he'd least expected her. Every time she showed up on campus, they fought; every time, he was sorry to see her go.
I promised myself I'm not going to do that anymore. But there's something I'd like to talk to you about. So this is me, giving you advance warning. If it's okay for me to come for a visit, you can let Helen know, and she'll get word to me. If it's not okay, you can tell her that too. Whatever.--Isabelle
Simon read the brief note several times, trying to intuit the tone behind the words. Affectionate? Eager? Businesslike?
Until this week he'd been only an e-mail or a phone call away--why wait until he was back at the Academy to reach out? Why reach out at all?
Maybe because it would be easier to reject him for good when he was safely on another continent?
But in that case, why Portal all the way to Idris to do it face-to-face?
"Maybe you need some time to think about it?" Helen said finally.
He'd forgotten she was there. "No!" Simon blurted out. "I mean, no, I don't need time to think about it, but yes, yes, she can come visit. Of course. Please, tell her."
Stop babbling, he ordered himself. Bad enough he turned into a driveling fool every time Isabelle was in the room with him these days--was he now going to start doing so at the sound of her name?
Helen laughed. "See, I told you so," she said loudly.
"Er, you told me what?" Simon asked.
"You heard him, come out!" Helen called, even louder, and the bedroom door creaked open.
Isabelle Lightwood didn't have it in her to look sheepish. But her face was doing its best. "Surprise?"
When Simon had regained his power of speech, there was only one word available in his brain. "Isabelle."
Whatever crackled and sizzled between them was apparently so palpable that Helen could sense it too, because she swiftly slid past Isabelle into the bedroom and shut the door.
Leaving the two of them alone.
"Hi, Simon."
"Hi, Izzy."
"You're, uh, probably wondering what I'm doing here." It wasn't like her to sound so uncertain.
Simon nodded.
"You never called me," she said. "I saved you from getting decapitated by an Eidolon demon, and you didn't even call."
"You never called me, either," Simon pointed out. "And . . . uh . . . also, I kind of felt like I should have been able to save myself."
Isabelle sighed. "I thought you might be thinking that."
"Because I should have, Izzy."
"Because you're an idiot, Simon." She brightened. "But this is your lucky day, because I've decided I'm not giving up yet. This is too important to give up just because of a bad date."
"Three bad dates," he pointed out. "Like, really bad dates."
"The worst," she agreed.
"The worst? Jace told me you once went out with a merman who made you have dinner in the river," Simon said. "Surely our dates weren't as bad as--"
"The worst," she confirmed, and broke into laughter. Simon thought his heart would burst at the sound of it--there was something so carefree, so joyous in the music of her laugh, it was almost like a promise. That if they could navigate a path through all the awkwardness and pain and burden of expectations, if they could find their way back to each other, something that pure and joyful awaited them.
"I don't want to give up either," Simon said, and the smile she rewarded him with was even better than the laughter.
Isabelle settled beside him on the small couch. Simon was suddenly extremely conscious of the inches separating their thighs. Was he supposed to make a move right now?
"I decided New York was too crowded," she said.
"With demons?"
"With memories," Isabelle clarified.
"Too many memories is not exactly my problem."
Isabelle elbowed him. Even that made a spark. "You know what I mean."
He elbowed her back.
To touch her like that, so casually, like it was no big deal . . .
To have her back, so close, so willing . . .
She wanted him.
He wanted her.
It should have been that easy.
Simon cleared his throat and, without knowing why, rose to his feet. Then, like that wasn't enough distance, retreated safely to the other side of the room. "So what do we do now?" he asked.
She looked thrown, but only for a moment. Then she barreled ahead. "We're going on another date," she said. Not a request; a command. "In Alicante. Neutral territory."
"When?"
"I was thinking . . . now."
It wasn't what he expected--but then, why not? Classes were over for the day, and second-year students were allowed off campus. There was no reason not to go out with Isabelle immediately. Except that he'd had no time to prepare, no time to come up with a game plan, no time to obsess over his hair and his "casually rumpled" look, no time to brainstorm a list of discussion topics in case conversation flagged . . . but then, none of those things had saved their previous three dates from disaster. Maybe it was time to experiment with spontaneity.
Especially since it didn't seem like Isabelle was giving him much of a choice.
"Now it is," Simon agreed. "Should we invite Helen?"
"On our date?"
Idiot. He gave himself a mental slap upside the head.
"Helen, you want to crash our romantic date?" Isabelle called.
Helen emerged from the bedroom. "Nothing I would love more than being an awkward third wheel," she said. "But I'm not actually allowed to leave."
"Excuse me?" Isabelle's fingers played at the electrum whip wrapped around her left wrist. Simon couldn't blame her for wanting to strike something. Or someone. "Please tell me you're kidding."
"Catarina laid a circle of protection around the cabin," Helen said. "It won't stop you from coming and going, but I'm told it will be rather effective if I try to leave before I'm summoned."
"Catarina wouldn't do that!" Simon protested, but Helen put out a hand to quiet him.
"They didn't give her much of a choice," Helen said, "and I asked her to just go along. It was part of the deal."
"That is unacceptable," Isabelle said with barely concealed fury. "Forget the date, we're staying here with you."
She was lit up with a beautiful glow of righteous rage, and Simon wanted suddenly, desperately, to sweep her in his arms and kiss her until the end of the world.
"You will most certainly not forget the date," Helen said. "You're not staying here a single second longer. No argument."
There was, in fact, plenty more argument, but Helen finally convinced them that being stuck there with them, knowing she'd ruined their day, would be even worse than being stuck there alone. "Now please, and I say this with love, get the
hell out."
She gave Izzy a hug, and then embraced Simon in turn. "Don't screw this up," she whispered in his ear, then pushed them both out the door and closed it behind them.
