Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy

by Cassandra Clare

“Absolutely. We’re like this.” He crossed two of his fingers together. “Actually, we’re more like this.” He tried to cross them again. “We had a little bit of initial tension, as you may later recall, but that was all cleared up when you came to me and confessed that you were struggling with your feelings of intense jealousy over my—these were your words—stunning good looks and irresistible charm.”

“Hey, Clary. You take care of yourself,” he said. “I know you can.” He paused. “And take care of Jace, that poor, helpless blond.”

Simon rolled his eyes. Apparently, all Shadowhunter dudes were underwear models, including his new roommate. His life was a joke.

“It’s just that I think there’s a demon possum in the wardrobe.”

“Are you awake?” George whispered. “Me too. I keep worrying that the possum will come back. Where did it even come from, Simon? Where did it go?”

“No!” said Simon. “I can’t stress that enough. I’ve bitten several Shadowhunters. I bit Isabelle Lightwood and Alec Lightwood; biting Jace was not a tender and unique moment!”

“Wow,” said George. “I imagined the demon realms were fearsome and terrifying, but seems like it was pretty much nonstop nom nom nom.”

“I did not sleep in our small, slimy room. There is, I believe, a creature living in our walls. I hear it. Scuttling. I have to admit, I may not have made the brightest decision in following Simon. It’s possible I’m not that bright. It’s possible that looks are all I have.”

“That’s a cool, cheerful, and normal thing to say,” Simon said. “Shadowhunters are great at saying normal things.”

“Do you see that man?” Isabelle asked, pointing at Simon. Apparently she was talking about him. “That’s Simon Lewis, and he is my boyfriend. So if any of you think about trying to hurt him because he’s a mundie or—may the Angel have mercy on your soul—pursuing him romantically, I will come after you, I will hunt you down, and I will crush you to powder.”

Simon grinned. “What do you want to know? Scariest is Eli in Let the Right One In, cheesiest is late-era Lestat, most underrated is David Bowie in The Hunger. Sexiest is definitely Drusilla, though if you ask a girl, she’ll probably say Damon Salvatore or Edward Cullen. But . . .” He shrugged. “You know girls.”

“So you just came here to torture me and talk about yourself?” Simon demanded. “Oh, Simon, Simon, Simon,” said Jace. “You may not remember, but that’s kind of our thing.”

“It’s not appropriate,” Tessa said to her husband, Will. “He likes it.” “Children like all sorts of things, Will. They like sweets and fire and trying to stick their head up the chimney. Just because he likes the dagger . . .” “Look how steadily he holds it.” Little James Herondale, age two, was in fact holding a dagger quite well. He stabbed it into a sofa cushion, sending out a burst of feathers. “Ducks,” he said, pointing at the feathers. Tessa swiftly removed the dagger from his tiny hand and replaced it with a wooden spoon. James had recently become very attached to this wooden spoon and carried it with him everywhere, often refusing to go to sleep without it.

“Spoon,” James said, tottering off across the parlor. “Where did he find the dagger?” Tessa asked. “It’s possible I took him to the weapons room,” Will said. “Is it?” “It is, yes. It’s possible.” “And it’s possible he somehow got a dagger from where it is secured on the wall, out of his reach,” Tessa said. “We live in a world of possibilities,” Will said. Tessa fixed a gray-eyed stare on her husband. “He was never out of my sight,” Will said quickly. “If you could manage it,” Tessa said, nodding to the sleeping figure of Lucie Herondale in her little basket by the fire, “perhaps you won’t give Lucie a broadsword until she’s actually able to stand? Or is that asking too much?” “It seems a reasonable request,” Will said, with an extravagant bow. “Anything for you, my pearl beyond price. Even withholding weaponry from my only daughter.”

Will knelt down, and James ran to him to show off his spoon. Will admired the spoon as if it were a first edition, his scarred hand large and gentle against James’s tiny back. “Spoon,” James said proudly. “I see, Jamie bach,” murmured Will, who Tessa had caught singing Welsh lullabies to the children on their most sleepless nights. To his children, Will showed the same love he had always shown to her, fierce and unyielding. And the same protectiveness he had only ever showed to one other person: the person James had been named after. Will’s parabatai, Jem. “Uncle Jem would be so impressed,” she told Jamie with a smile. It was what she and Will call...

“Jem,” echoed James, quite clearly, and h...

“I have just come from the East End,” he said. “Something about the stories disturbed me, for more than the obvious reasons. I went there to have a look about for myself. And what happened last night proves my theory. There have been many murders recently—all of women, women who . . .” “Prostitutes,” Tessa said. “Quite,” Gabriel said. “Tessa has such an extensive vocabulary,” Will said. “It is one of the most attractive things about her. Shame about yours, Gabriel.” “Will, listen to me.” Gabriel allowed himself a long sigh.

“Spoon!” James said, running at his uncle Gabriel and jabbing him in the thigh. Gabriel mussed the boy’s hair affectionately. “You’re such a good boy,” he said. “I often wonder how you could possibly be Will’s.” “Spoon,” James said, leaning against his uncle’s leg lovingly. “No, Jamie,” Will urged. “Your honorable father has been impugned. Attack, attack!” “Bridget,” Tessa said. “Could you take James to have his supper?”

“This monster is violent,” said Will. “We might need a healer. Someone with the power of a Silent Brother. This is a special situation.” “I cannot recall a situation you did not think was special and required his presence,” said Gabriel dryly. “You have been known to call upon Brother Zachariah for a broken toe.” “It was turning green,” said Will. “He’s right,” said Tessa. “Green doesn’t suit him. Makes him look bilious.” She smiled at Gabriel. “There is no reason for Jem not to accompany us. We may yet need him and it does no harm to have him there.”

There were few people in the world who understood how much Will and Jem had loved each other, did love each other, and how much Will missed him. But Tessa did.

Sometimes, after Cecily and Gabriel left, Tessa would sit with her hand in Jem’s and Will sleeping against her shoulder, listening to the rain on the windows.

Jem was still holding her hand. I called for James, she thought, and he came.

Simon felt the same way as when he and Clary had set a fire in his kitchen by trying to toast grapes and create raisins when they were six: amazed and appalled that things had gone wrong so fast.

“Was he a mundane too?” “No, he was a Shadowhunter,” Catarina said. “He went to the Academy more than a century ago. His name was James Herondale.”

“A Herondale? Another Herondale?” Simon asked. “Herondales without cease. Do you ever get the feeling you are being chased around by Herondales?”

“What?” Father said. “Of course not! Your mother was simply worried about sending away the only other person in the house who has any sense.”

Father smiled a wry little smile. “Who knows? That is the wonderful thing about making changes and meeting strangers, Jamie. You never know when, and you never know who, but someday a stranger will burst through the door of your life and transform it utterly. The world will be turned upside down, and you will be happier for it.”

“I have spoken to you often of your mother and your uncle Jem and all they did for me. They made me a new person. They saved my soul,” Father said, serious as he rarely was. “You do not know what it is, to be saved and transformed. But you will. As your parents, we must give you opportunities to be challenged and changed. That was why we agreed to send you to school. Even though we will miss you terribly.” “Terribly?” James asked, shyly. “Your mother says she will be brave and keep a stiff upper lip,” said Father. “Americans are heartless. I will cry into my pillow every night.”

“Isn’t this a bore?” Matthew asked Christopher and Thomas, the two boys James wanted for friends. “Everybody here looks like a dolt. I am already in frightful agony, contemplating my wasted youth. Don’t speak to me, or I shall break down and sob uncontrollably.” “There, there,” said Christopher, patting Matthew’s shoulder. “What are you upset about again?” “Your face, Lightwood,” said Matthew, and elbowed him.

When James woke up, it was night, and Uncle Jem was there. James reared up from his bed and threw himself into Uncle Jem’s arms.

You are James Herondale, said Uncle Jem. As you always were. Part your mother, part your father, part yourself. I would not change any part of you if I could.

If you saw humanity as I can see it, Uncle Jem said, a whisper in his mind, a lifeline. There is very little brightness and warmth in the world for me. I am very distant from you all. There are only four points of warmth and brightness, in the whole world, that burn fiercely enough for me to feel something like the person I was. Your mother, your father, Lucie, and you. You love, and tremble, and burn. Do not let any of them tell you who you are. You are the flame that cannot be put out. You are the star that cannot be lost. You are who you have always been, and that is enough and more than enough. Anyone who looks at you and sees darkness is blind.

Astonishingly, he was wearing gear that he had not, as far as James knew, been threatened into. Even more astonishingly, he was participating in degrading physical exercise.

Matthew glanced at him and smiled: it was The Smile, gradual and illuminating as sunrise, and James had the sinking feeling that he might not be immune after all.

“Stop it, Matthew,” James grumbled. “Stop laughing. I am sharing my innermost feelings with you. This is very hurtful.” “I’ve been in a bad mood this whole time,” said Matthew. “You think I’m charming now? You have no idea.”

“Oh, have you decided not to detest Matthew any longer?” Christopher asked. “I’m so glad. You were really hurting his feelings. Though we are not supposed to talk about that to you.” He gazed dreamily at the bread basket, as if it were a wonderful painting. “I forgot that.” Thomas put his head down on the table. “Why are you the way that you are?”

“Is that over?” Thomas asked. “Thank the Angel. You know large crowds of people make me nervous! You know I can never think of anything to say to them! I am not witty like you or aloof and above it all like James or living in cloud cuckoo land like Christopher. I came to the Academy to get away from being bossed by my sisters, but my sisters make me much less nervous than battering rams flying through the air and parties all the time. Can we please have some peace and quiet occasionally!”

“I’ll be partners with Christopher,” said Thomas at their next training exercise, sounding resigned. “Excellent. I will be partners with James,” said Matthew. “He reminds me of the nobility of the Shadowhunter way of life. He keeps me right. If I am parted from him I will become distracted by truth and beauty. I know I will.”

“No, I’m calling you Jamie for a little while, because you just displayed arcane power and calling you Jamie makes me feel better.”

Christopher and Thomas visited. Christopher brought a fruit basket, under the mistaken impression that James was in the infirmary because he was unwell. Thomas apologized for Christopher several times.

“You should have told us, Jamie,” said Father. “But Jem explained to us why you did not.” “How is Mother?” James whispered. “She cried when Jem told her, and said you were her sweet boy,” said Father. “I believe she may be planning to strangle you and then bake you a cake afterward.” “I like cake,” James said at last.

“Mr. Herondale, please!” said Matthew. “We cannot be parted.” James braced himself for the explanation about truth and beauty, but instead Matthew said, with devastating simplicity: “We are going to be parabatai.” James stared. Father said: “Oh, I see.” Matthew nodded encouragingly, and smiled encouragingly. “Then nobody should come between you,” said Father. “Nobody.” Matthew shook his head as he said “nobody,” then nodded again. He looked seraphic. “Exactly.”

“Very well,” said Father. “Everybody get into the carriage.” “Father, you did not steal Uncle Gabriel’s carriage again,” said James. “This is your time of trouble. He would want me to have it, and he would have given it to me if I asked him, which as it happens I did not,” said Father.

“When the south wing collapses, there could be flying debris,” Father remarked. “Any one of us could be injured.” He sounded very cheerful about this. “Best to stop on our way home and see the Silent Brothers.” “That seems excessi—” Matthew began, but James elbowed him. Matthew would learn how Father was about the Silent Brothers soon enough.

“No. You don’t call me Izzy, you don’t send me letters, you don’t follow me into dark corridors and try to save me from rats.” “Trust me, we see a rat, it’s every man for himself.”

“This stupid weapons-shopping idea. Last time I take dating advice from Jace.” “You let Jace plan our date?” Simon said, incredulous.

It was pizza. Someone had stir-fried a pizza.

Simon had only had a few encounters with Jem Carstairs, who was apparently as old as his wife, Tessa Gray. They both looked amazingly fit for 150 years. Tessa even looked pretty hot. (Maybe Jem looked hot too? As Simon had thought once before, he probably wasn’t the greatest judge of male attractiveness.) Was it weird to think people who were twice as old as your grandparents were good-looking?

The word “necking” was bad. Hearing Jace say it was a new kind of bad.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” Simon said. “Ever.” “I’ve never heard anyone say that before,” Jace mused. “It was a unique experience.” “Sorry.” Simon didn’t feel even a little guilty. “If I was into guys, I don’t think you’d make the top ten.”