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December 23, 2022 - January 6, 2023
For all those looking for or looking to be a hero like Simon: Here’s to you, saving entire worlds (and maybe the galaxy)
He had to go and become a hero, the way he had been once.
He just had to get through this one last good-bye, and then he would be away from them until he was better, until he was closer to the person they all actually wanted to see. Then they would not be disappointed in him, and he would not be strange to them. He would belong.
Being too cool for school was Jace’s thing. Simon supposed he must have understood and been fond of it, once.
You and me,” Simon said. “We’re pretty tight, aren’t we?” Jace looked at him for a moment, face very still, and then bounded to his feet and said: “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.” “Did I,” said Simon. Jace clapped him on the
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“Hey, Clary. You take care of yourself,” he said. “I know you can.” He paused. “And take care of Jace, that poor, helpless blond.”
He could barely believe any of his new memories, but the idea that Isabelle Lightwood had been his girlfriend seemed more unbelievable than the fact that vampires were real and Simon had been one. He didn’t have the faintest idea how he had made her feel that way about him once, and so he didn’t have the faintest idea how to make her feel that way about him again.
He waved good-bye to all these people he barely knew and somehow loved anyway, and he hoped they could not tell how relieved he was to be going.
“Ms. Loss, I am once again most thankful you have arrived. Can you truly fix some of these irregularities?” “There is a saying: It takes a Downworlder to clear up a Shadowhunter mess,” Catarina observed. “I . . . hadn’t heard that saying,” said Dean Penhallow. “How odd,” said Catarina, her voice fading as they walked away. “Downworlders say it often. Very often.”
“Seriously, you and your hero group is all anybody talks about,” George said, returning to a more cheerful subject. “Well, that and the fact we have pigeons living in the ovens. You saved the world, didn’t you? And you don’t remember it. That’s got to be weird.” “It is weird, George, thanks for mentioning that.” George laughed, tossed his broken racket on the floor, and kept looking at Simon as if he was someone amazing. “Wow. Simon Lewis. I guess I have someone at Spinechilling Academy to thank for getting the cool roommate.”
“Look at Simon. Of course he’s in the elite stream. He has proven himself worthy.” “Simon had to save the world, and the rest of us get in because we have the right surname?” George asked lightly. He winked at Simon. “Hard luck on you, mate.”
He’d seen something had to be done, and he’d done it. A guy not so different from who he was now.
At dinner the next day, it was soup again. It had been soup for every meal for many days now. Simon did not remember a life before soup, and he despaired of ever achieving a life after soup.
“That’s a cool, cheerful, and normal thing to say,” Simon said. “Shadowhunters are great at saying normal things.”
“Everybody in this academy, Shadowhunters and mundanes, people with the Sight and without it, every one of them is looking to be a hero. We are all hoping for it, and trying for it, and soon we will be bleeding for it. You’re just like the rest of us, Si. Except there’s one thing about you that’s different: We all want to be heroes, but you know you can be one. You know in another life, in an alternate universe, however you want to think of it, you were a hero. You can be one again. Maybe not the same hero, but you have it in you to make the right choices, to make the big sacrifices. That’s a
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Simon recognized the distinctive snicker of Jon Cartwright, eldest son of a distinguished Shadowhunter family (as he’d be the first to tell you). Jon believed he was born for greatness and seemed especially irritated that Simon—a hapless mundane—had managed to get there first.
“Be a hero, Simon,” Simon muttered bitterly, remembering the life Magnus Bane had dangled before him in their first meeting—or at least, the first one Simon could remember. “Have an adventure, Simon. How about, turn your life into one long agonizing gym class, Simon.”
“Don’t worry, hero. If the vamp shows up, I’m here to protect you.” “Great, I can hide behind your massive ego.”
Like all Herondales, his ability to love without measure, without end, was both his great gift and his great curse.
Never let other people choose who you’re going to be.”
Simon paused for a moment to recognize the fact that “Snakes don’t need keys” was a good album name: It sounded deep for a second, but then completely shallow and obvious, which made you go back to the first thought and think it might be deep.
James had recently become very attached to this wooden spoon and carried it with him everywhere, often refusing to go to sleep without it.
Will knelt down, and James ran to him to show off his spoon. Will admired the spoon as if it were a first edition,
“Agreed,” said Will. “On one condition.” “And what condition is—” Gabriel broke off with a sigh. “Ah,” he said. “Brother Zachariah.” “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.
It was a recent joy to be able to tease Alec and know he would not hurt him, to see Alec standing in a different way than he used to, easy and casual and confident in his own skin, with none of his parabatai’s swagger but with a quiet assurance all his own.
Alec had been cranky that day, having wrenched his arm almost out of its socket during a fight with a dragon demon. He’d been leaning against the kitchen counter, listening, nursing his arm, and texting Jace messages like Y DO U SAY THINGS R XTINCT WHEN THINGS R NOT XTINCT and Y R U THE WAY THAT U R.
Alec always responded to being relied on, being turned to. Whenever Lily came to him with a problem, at first haughtily and with an air of reluctance and later with demanding confidence, Alec did not rest until he had solved it.
“I like Clary,” he said simply. “She always tries to do what’s right, and she never lets anyone else tell her what right is.
Occasionally I wish she’d take fewer mad risks, but if I hated reckless crazy-brave people, I’d hate . . .” “Let me guess,” said Simon. “His name rhymes with Face Herringfail.” Alec laughed and Simon mentally congratulated himself.
Ragnor had been yelling at kids to get off his lawn before lawns were invented.
“I could swear this tower used to be crooked.” “Huh,” said Magnus. “Perception’s a funny thing.”
Magnus was not talking about the bits and pieces of his half-forgotten past but about what he was now and what he had done with his time since then.
Magnus frowned. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for this wise-advice business. Maybe I should wear a fake white beard to convince myself I am a sage. Pick the one that feels right, and don’t worry too much,” Magnus said eventually. “It’s going to be your name. You’re going to live with it. You’re going to give it meaning, not the other way around.”
