had been eating at him like acid—the mugger’s death, his mother’s reaction to the truth of what he was—seemed blurred and distant.
Maybe that was the secret, he thought. Keep moving. Like a shark. Go to where no one can find you.
A fugitive and a wanderer shalt thou be in the earth
.
But that only worked if there was no one you cared about leaving behind.
He slept fitfully all night. His natural urge was to sleep during the day, despite his Daylighter powers, and he fought off restlessness and dreams before waking up late with the sun streaming in through the window. After throwing on clean clothes from his knapsack, he left the bedroom to find Kyle in the kitchen, frying bacon and eggs in a Teflon pan.
“Hey, roommate,” Kyle greeted him cheerfully. “Want some breakfast?”
The sight of the food made Simon feel vaguely sick to his stomach. “No, thanks. I’ll take some coffee, though.” He perched himself on one of the slightly lopsided bar stools.
Kyle pushed a chipped mug across the counter toward him. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, bro. Even if it’s already noon.”
Simon put his hands around the mug, feeling the heat seep into his cold skin. He cast about for a topic of conversation—one that wasn’t how little he ate. “So, I never asked you yesterday—what do you do for a living?”
Kyle picked a piece of bacon out of the pan and bit into it. Simon noticed that the gold medal at his throat had a pattern of leaves on it, and the words
“Beati Bellicosi.” “Beati,”
Simon knew, was a word that had something to do with saints; Kyle must be Catholic. “Bike messenger,” he said, chewing. “It’s awesome. I get to ride around the city, seeing everything, talking to everyone. Way better than high school.”
“You dropped out?”
“Got my GED senior year. I prefer the school of life.” Simon would have thought Kyle sounded ridiculous if it weren’t for the fact that he said “school of life” the way he said everything else—with total sincerity. “What about you? Any plans?”
Oh, you know. Wander the earth, causing death and destruction to innocent people. Maybe drink some blood. Live forever but never have any fun. The usual
. “I’m kind of winging it at the moment.”
“You mean you don’t want to be a musician?” Kyle asked.
To Simon’s relief his phone rang before he had to answer that. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. It was Maia. “Hey,” he greeted her. “What’s up?”
“Are you going to be at that dress fitting with Clary this afternoon?” she asked, her voice crackling down the line. She was probably calling from pack headquarters in Chinatown, where the reception wasn’t great. “She told me she was making you go to keep her company.”
“What? Oh, right. Yes. I’ll be there.” Clary had demanded that Simon accompany her to her bridesmaid’s dress fitting so afterward they could shop for comics and she could feel, in her words, like “less of a frilled-up girly-girl.”
“Well, I’m going to come too, then. I have to give Luke a message from the pack, and besides, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I know. I’m really sorry—”
“It’s fine,” she said lightly. “But you’re going to have to let me know what you’re wearing to the wedding eventually, because otherwise we’ll clash.”
She hung up, leaving Simon staring at the phone. Clary had been right. The wedding was D-day, and he was woefully unprepared for the battle.
“One of your girlfriends?” Kyle asked curiously. “Was that redheaded chick at the garage one of them? Because she was cute.”
“No. That’s Clary; she’s my best friend.” Simon pocketed his phone. “And she has a boyfriend. Like, really, really,
really
has a boyfriend. The nuclear bomb of boyfriends. Trust me on this one.”
Kyle grinned. “I was just asking.” He dumped the bacon pan, now empty, into the sink. “So, your two girls.
Maybe that was the secret, he thought. Keep moving. Like a shark. Go to where no one can find you.
A fugitive and a wanderer shalt thou be in the earth
.
But that only worked if there was no one you cared about leaving behind.
He slept fitfully all night. His natural urge was to sleep during the day, despite his Daylighter powers, and he fought off restlessness and dreams before waking up late with the sun streaming in through the window. After throwing on clean clothes from his knapsack, he left the bedroom to find Kyle in the kitchen, frying bacon and eggs in a Teflon pan.
“Hey, roommate,” Kyle greeted him cheerfully. “Want some breakfast?”
The sight of the food made Simon feel vaguely sick to his stomach. “No, thanks. I’ll take some coffee, though.” He perched himself on one of the slightly lopsided bar stools.
Kyle pushed a chipped mug across the counter toward him. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, bro. Even if it’s already noon.”
Simon put his hands around the mug, feeling the heat seep into his cold skin. He cast about for a topic of conversation—one that wasn’t how little he ate. “So, I never asked you yesterday—what do you do for a living?”
Kyle picked a piece of bacon out of the pan and bit into it. Simon noticed that the gold medal at his throat had a pattern of leaves on it, and the words
“Beati Bellicosi.” “Beati,”
Simon knew, was a word that had something to do with saints; Kyle must be Catholic. “Bike messenger,” he said, chewing. “It’s awesome. I get to ride around the city, seeing everything, talking to everyone. Way better than high school.”
“You dropped out?”
“Got my GED senior year. I prefer the school of life.” Simon would have thought Kyle sounded ridiculous if it weren’t for the fact that he said “school of life” the way he said everything else—with total sincerity. “What about you? Any plans?”
Oh, you know. Wander the earth, causing death and destruction to innocent people. Maybe drink some blood. Live forever but never have any fun. The usual
. “I’m kind of winging it at the moment.”
“You mean you don’t want to be a musician?” Kyle asked.
To Simon’s relief his phone rang before he had to answer that. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. It was Maia. “Hey,” he greeted her. “What’s up?”
“Are you going to be at that dress fitting with Clary this afternoon?” she asked, her voice crackling down the line. She was probably calling from pack headquarters in Chinatown, where the reception wasn’t great. “She told me she was making you go to keep her company.”
“What? Oh, right. Yes. I’ll be there.” Clary had demanded that Simon accompany her to her bridesmaid’s dress fitting so afterward they could shop for comics and she could feel, in her words, like “less of a frilled-up girly-girl.”
“Well, I’m going to come too, then. I have to give Luke a message from the pack, and besides, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I know. I’m really sorry—”
“It’s fine,” she said lightly. “But you’re going to have to let me know what you’re wearing to the wedding eventually, because otherwise we’ll clash.”
She hung up, leaving Simon staring at the phone. Clary had been right. The wedding was D-day, and he was woefully unprepared for the battle.
“One of your girlfriends?” Kyle asked curiously. “Was that redheaded chick at the garage one of them? Because she was cute.”
“No. That’s Clary; she’s my best friend.” Simon pocketed his phone. “And she has a boyfriend. Like, really, really,
really
has a boyfriend. The nuclear bomb of boyfriends. Trust me on this one.”
Kyle grinned. “I was just asking.” He dumped the bacon pan, now empty, into the sink. “So, your two girls.
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