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He was sitting with Clary in Java Jones. They were watching Eric read poetry. Simon had decided this was the moment--he was going to tell her. He had to tell her. He had gotten them both coffees and the cups were hot. His fingers were burned. He had to blow on them, which was not a smooth move.
He could feel the burning. The feeling that he had to speak.
Eric was reading some poem that contained the words "nefarious loins." Nefarious loins, nefarious loins . . . the words danced in his head. He had to speak.
"There's something I want to talk to you about," he said.
Clary made some remark about his band name, and he had to get her back on point.
"It's about what we were talking about before. About me not having a girlfriend."
"Oh, I don't know. Ask Jaida Jones out. She's nice, and she likes you."
"I don't want to ask Jaida Jones out."
"Why not? You don't like smart girls? Still seeking a rockin' bod?"
Was she blind? How could she not see? What exactly did he have to do? He had to keep it together. Also, "seeking a rockin' bod"?
But the more he tried, the more oblivious she seemed. And then she became fixated on a green sofa. It was like that sofa contained everything in the world. Here he was, trying to declare his lifelong love, and Clary had fallen for the furniture. But it was more than that. Something was wrong.
"What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong? Clary, what's wrong?"
"I'll be right back," she said. And with that, she put down the coffee and ran away. He watched her through the window, and somehow he knew that this moment was over, forever. And then he saw . . .
The ring of fire had extinguished. It was over. The oath was made, and Emma and Julian stood before them all. Julian had a rune on his collarbone, and Emma on her upper arm.
Clary was tugging his arm. He looked over at her and blinked a few times.
You okay? her expression said.
His memory had chosen quite a moment to return.
*
After the ceremony, they returned to Alicante, where they were taken to the Blackthorn manor to change their clothes. Emma and Julian were taken by the staff to rooms on the main floor. Clary and Simon were led up the grand staircase.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to change into," Simon said. "I didn't get a lot of advance notice."
"I brought you a suit from home," Clary said. "I borrowed it."
"Not from Jace."
"From Eric."
"Eric has a suit? Do you promise it wasn't, like, his dead grandfather's?"
"I can't promise anything, but I do think it will fit."
Simon was shown to a small, fussy bedroom on the second floor, overstuffed with furniture and crowded in by flocked wallpaper and the penetrating stares of some long-deceased Blackthorns who had taken up residence in the form of severe portraits. The suit bag was on the bed. Eric did have a suit--a plain black one. A shirt had also been provided, along with a silver-blue tie and some dress shoes. The suit was an inch or two too short. The shirt was too tight--Simon's daily training had made him into one of these people who burst through a dress shirt. The shoes didn't fit at all, so he wore the soft black shoes that were part of the formal gear. The tie fit fine. Ties were good for this.
He sat on the bed for a moment and let himself think about all that had happened. He closed his eyes and fought the urge to sleep. He felt himself wobbling and dropping off when there was a soft knock on the door. He snorted as he came back from the microsleep.
"Sure," he said, which wasn't what he meant to say. "Yeah. I mean, come in."
Clary entered wearing a green dress that perfectly complemented her hair, her skin, every part of her. And Simon had a revelation. If he still felt romantic attraction toward Clary, seeing her at that moment might have caused him to start sweating and stammering. Now he saw someone he loved, who looked beautiful, and was his friend. And that was all.
"Listen," she said, shutting the door, "back at the ceremony, you looked . . . weird. If you don't want to do it . . . The parabatai thing. It was a shock and I don't want you to be . . ."
"What? No. No."
Instinctively he reached for her hand. She squeezed it hard.
"Okay," she said. "But something happened in there. I saw it."
"In the hallucination I had, from the lake water, I saw Jace, and he kept telling me to remember how we met," he said. "So I was trying to remember. And then right in the middle of the ceremony, I got the memory back. It just kind of . . . downloaded."
Clary frowned, her nose wrinkling in confusion. "The memory of how you met Jace? Wasn't it at the Institute?"
"Yes and no. The memory was really about us, you and me. We were in the coffee shop, Java Jones. You were naming all of these girls I could date and I was . . . I was trying to tell you that you were the one I liked."
"Yeah," Clary said, looking down.
"And then you ran out. Just like that."
"Jace was there. You couldn't see him."
"That's what I thought." Simon studied her face. "You ran out while I was telling you how I felt. Which is okay. We were never meant to be . . . like that. I think that's what my subconscious, in the annoying form of Jace, wanted me to know. Because I think we are meant to be together. Parabatai can't like each other like that. That's why it was important for me to remember. I had to remember that I felt like that. I had to know it was different now. Not in a bad way. In the right way."
"Yes," Clary said. She had gotten a little teary-eyed. "In the right way."
Simon nodded once. It was too big to reply to in words. It was everything. It was all the love he saw in Jem's eyes when he talked about Will, and the love in Alec's face when he looked at Jace, even when Jace was being annoying, and a clear memory he had of Jace holding Alec while he was wounded and the desperation in Jace's eyes, that terror that comes only from thinking you might lose someone you can't live without.
It was Emma and Julian, looking at each other.
Someone was calling for them from downstairs. Clary brushed away a tear and got up and smoothed her already smooth dress.
"This is like a wedding," she said. "I feel like they're going to tell us we have to go pose for the photographer in a minute."
Clary hooked her arm through his.
"One thing," he said, remembering Maia, and Jordan. "Even when I'm a Shadowhunter, I'm still going to be a little bit a Downworlder. I'm never going to turn my back on them. That's the kind of Nephilim I want to be."
"I wouldn't have expected anything else," Clary said.
Downstairs, the two new parabatai were examining each other from across the room. Emma stood on one side, wearing a brown dress covered in twining gold flowers. Julian stood on the other, twitching inside his gray suit.
"You look amazing," Clary said to them both, and they looked down shyly.
At the Accords Hall, Jace was waiting for them on the front step, looking like Jace in a suit. Jace in a suit was unbearable. He gave Clary a look up and down.
"That dress is . . ."
He had to clear his throat. Simon enjoyed his discomfiture. Not much ever threw Jace, but Clary had always been able to throw him like a Wiffle ball on a windy day. His eyes were practically cartoon hearts.
"It's very nice," he said. "So how was the ceremony? What did you think?"
"Definitely more fire than a bar mitzvah," Simon said. "More fire than a barbecue. I'm going to go with Formal Event with the Most Fire."
Jace nodded.
"They were amazing," Clary said. "And . . ."
She looked to Simon.
"We have news," she said.
Jace cocked his head in interest.
"Later," she said, smiling. "I think everyone is waiting for us to sit down."
"Then we need to get Emma and Julian over here."
