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Day 0
Simon knows this isn’t going to work out.
He stares at his hands in his lap and listens for the quiet, humming pulse of New York at night, a city that only seems to come to life when the sun goes down—just like he does now.
It’s nearly midnight, and the majority of the Shadowhunters at the Institute is fast asleep, except for the pair of guards in front of his room.
“It’s not because we don’t trust you,” Isabelle had explained a week ago in place of her mother, the temporary head of the Institute, who hasn’t spoken a word to Simon since he moved into his new makeshift home. “It’s to protect you.”
Clary, sitting next to her, had offered a weak smile and said, “Only until Raphael’s rage has died down.”
For her sake, Simon had let out his most convincing fake grin and gone along with the joke, even though all three of them had known then and know now that Raphael's rage, much like everything else about him, will probably never die. Simon made sure of that when he released Camille from her confinement.
He hears Clary’s bed creak at the end of the hallway, the faint rustling of fabric, a toneless sob she swallows almost instantly. Simon would tear himself apart if it made her forget for just one second.
No, this isn’t ever going to work out.
He needs to leave. He needs to be somewhere else, anywhere but here, so he can think clearly again and figure out what to do. Because he has to do something. He can’t stay inside the Institute all day and night, constantly flanked by at least two prison guards who pose as his protectors, while his best friend is falling apart.
He hasn’t formed a solid plan yet as he slides his window open and checks the yard for any threats or more guards. Maybe he’ll ask Magnus or Luke if they’ve found anything.
By morning, Clary and the Clave will most likely be at war over the question who gets to bite Simon’s head off first, but he can’t bring himself to care much about that right now. He’s tired of being locked up and feeling like he hasn’t moved one inch forward since this all started. He doesn’t want to have betrayed Raphael and the others for nothing.
Sneaking out of the Institute compound ends up insultingly easy, and Simon is in the middle of dusting off his jeans when a pair of hands grabs him from behind and pulls him into a headlock.
He thrashes and screams. The arms around him don’t budge.
“Buena noches,” a familiar voice whispers right next to his ear.
Simon freezes. He pants, gulping in air he doesn’t need, as laughter breaks out behind him. Fuck, he walked right into their trap like a complete idiot. He wills himself to stop breathing and, just like Raphael taught him less than two weeks ago, tries to concentrate on the stillness of death inside him for self-control.
“Have you just been waiting here all night on the off-chance I would come out?” he says because even as a vampire sarcasm remains his best defense. It reminds him of how to be human, a person.
Before answering, Raphael turns them both around so Simon has to look directly at them, every single resident of Hotel DuMort.
“Not quite,” he says. “Actually, we only wanted to speak to your hunter friends and, ah, negotiate your status, but it seems as though that won’t be necessary anymore. Must be your unlucky day, traitor.”
As if on cue, Clary appears in Simon’s open window and shouts his name. Her face is bright and clear like a beacon in the dark.
“If you don’t want me to kill him,” Raphael shouts back, “tell me where Camille is, and I might just let him go!”
“No, Clary—” Simon begins and is cut off by Raphael choking him, hard.
“We don’t know where she is!” she cries out, a desperate echo to her voice.
It’s the truth, they have no clue, but Simon can’t say that, can’t say or do anything with Raphael crushing his throat, only watch and listen as the scene plays out in front of him like a horror movie gone wrong.
“Then you’d better get on that,” Raphael says, choking Simon even harder until he whites out a little. “You have seven days, Shadowhunter.”
Day 1
Simon’s return to Hotel DuMort turns out unexpectedly anticlimactic. There are a few death threats here and there, but otherwise nobody says anything when Raphael drags him inside. Then again, they don’t have to. Their scowls tell Simon everything he needs to know.
At the foot of the stairs, Raphael halts and beckons Lily to come over.
“He stays with me,” he says, jerking his head in Simon’s direction. “If I have to leave, put at least three people on his watch.”
She nods, expression unreadable, gives Raphael’s shoulder a short squeeze and disappears from Simon’s field of vision.
As Raphael pushes him up the stairs, he wonders, strangely detached, what Raphael will do once they’re alone. Whether he’s going to torture him or simply lock him away where he doesn’t have to see him for the coming week.
But Raphael just shoves him into his room, takes off his suit jacket and settles down in front of his desk, never saying a word. He hasn’t looked Simon in the face even once this night. It’s pissing him off. Logically, Simon understands why, given the choice, Raphael would probably rather stake himself than spare Simon even one ounce of his attention. Simon betrayed him, and nothing will ever make up for that except his death. Still, it feels unfair that they’re finally in the same room again and Raphael keeps refusing him the chance to explain himself, keeps refusing to acknowledge that there’s another side to this story than his own.
“So,” Simon says, anger boiling cold in his chest. “You’re just going to ignore me for the next seven days or what?”
Raphael doesn’t react and keeps filing through an ancient-looking, leather-bound book on his desk.
Simon grinds his teeth together. His fangs are growing sharper with each flipped page.
“Why did you have to drag Clary into this?” he goes on, half-shout, half-growl. Half-man, half-monster. “This is between us. It has nothing to do with her!”
Raphael closes the book. Still turned away, he says, perfectly bland, “Shut up or you’ll spend the rest of the week with a knife stuck in your throat.”
Simon steps closer. His frustration flares like a flame of ice through his body, setting all his nerves alight. He hasn’t felt this alive in days.
“Can’t be worse than spending the rest of eternity as a monster,” he snarls.
At last, Raphael cracks.
He whips around, knocking his chair over, and seizes Simon by the collar, fangs bared in a silent threat. His eyes are wide and wild when they meet Simon’s, who can’t look much different.
“I’m not responsible for that,” he hisses. The hands fisted in Simon’s sweater quiver. “I helped you, and then you turned your back on me. The one who made you like this is Camille, and you helped her!”
For a long moment, Simon doesn’t know how to respond. It never occurred to him that Raphael would be anything but murderous, but there is something else in his tone, in the way he spits the words as if they’re shards of glass, that has Simon balking.
“I helped Clary and her mom,” he corrects, feeling trapped by Raphael’s gaze now that it's boring into him like that. “I only freed Camille so she would give us the damn book!”
Raphael’s grip on Simon tightens. “Mentiroso,” he says. “You didn’t do that for the girl or her mother, you did it for yourself. You did it to be a hero.”
Before Simon can reply, he’s thrown across the room, crashing headfirst into a wall. Pain bolts through him, all encompassing and edgeless, the polar opposite of anger. What did anger, what did pain feel like when he was human? Was it the same? Simon doesn’t remember. He should. It hasn’t been that long since he Turned.
Meanwhile, Raphael is towering above him, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are dark and unyielding, like the night, the stillness of death personified.
“And what a hero you are, Simon,” he says. “Instead of accepting you, the Shadowhunters toss you in a cell, while the woman who killed you is free and plotting her revenge against all of us.”
Simon can’t focus. Out of all people, Raphael should understand why he had to do what he did. Clary is his family, his home, the anchor to his sinking ship.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he says. Raphael has already left.
Day 2
Simon is alone for the remainder of the night and the following day. He’s starting to get hungry. He searches the room for some blood, but worn parchment scrolls, a password-protected laptop and two dozens of unlabeled folders are everything he finds. Exhausted, he slumps down on one of the couches. Escaping in his current state isn’t an option, especially since there are no windows. He takes a useless breath, more out of habit than anything else, and listens to Stan, Ivan and Lily play poker in front of the door. It’s good to hear them, he has to admit, to feel them: his kind. Something about their presence is soothing, almost hypnotic, and Simon dozes off for a while.
Around ten o’clock, Lily wakes him up, waving a bag of blood in front of him. He mumbles a rushed, “thanks,” and tears into it. Finally, some of the sluggishness recedes from his body.
When he’s done, Lily is busy inspecting the cupboards he opened on his hunt for something to eat.
“I didn’t steal anything,” he tells her, wiping at his mouth. “I was just really hungry.”
She casts him a singularly bitchy look and says, “Next time you’re really hungry, knock on the door, and we’ll get you something. Don’t touch Raphael’s things again, traitor.”
“Wow, okay,” Simon says, holding up his hands. “I mean, I get it, you’re all angry at me for siding with the Shadowhunters, I get it, but aren’t you laying it on a tiny bit thick with the whole ‘traitor’ shtick? This isn’t the nineteenth century.”
“I was born in 1958.”
“My point still stands.”
She closes the cupboard and walks over to him in one, two, three quick strides. “No,” she says icily. Not for the first time, Simon is surprised by how terrifying she can be, considering she barely reaches his shoulder. “You missed the point completely.”
“Points were invented so I could miss them,” he agrees, just to annoy her. It’s not as fun as annoying Raphael, but since he isn’t here, this is the only entertainment he’ll get for the time being.
“You have absolutely no clue what you’ve done, do you?” Lily says. She sounds disgusted. “He trusted you.”
Simon stares at her. “He doesn’t trust anybody.”
Her expression becomes—sad. “Not anymore,” she says.
Day 3
Raphael still hasn’t come back. Simon is infinitely bored. Getting kidnapped used to be a lot more exciting.
Several times he tries knocking on the door and walls to get the guards’ attention and instigate a conversation for some news on the gang, but no one answers. He suspects Lily instructed them not to. Or maybe Raphael. He can’t exactly fault them for it, but what else is he supposed to do? Talking is all he has left.
He flops down on the couch and tries his best not to think.
Day 4
Simon’s boat has sprung a leak and is slowly sinking into the ocean. On the horizon, he can make out the faint silhouette of an island, the island, where the Star of David is waiting for him. It was his duty to find it and bring it home. He’ll never reach it now. He was so close.
All around him the sea is turning red, and so is the sky, everything is bleeding, and it’s his fault, he was so close—
“Simon!”
Simon opens his eyes to Raphael’s face hovering above him. His throat feels sore, like he’s been screaming. He probably has. The first time he had this dream after moving into the DuMort he was begging God for forgiveness, Raphael told him. It was weird. Simon hadn’t been that religious before.
“You’re back,” he pants, sounding delirious even to his own ears. He still feels a little like he’s drowning.
The couch creaks as Raphael moves away, twisting around to grab something from the table behind him, and reappears before Simon with a bottle of blood in his hand.
“You should feed,” he says.
Simon thinks of the blood red sea swallowing him up and wants to retch. “Not right now, thanks.”
Raphael studies him briefly. Once again, Simon feels caught, exposed, under his scrutiny, as though Raphael is able to dismantle him with a single look. Under different circumstances, his brain notes with horrible timing, this wouldn’t be an entirely unpleasant experience.
“Someday you’ll have to accept that you aren’t human anymore,” he says, still holding out the bottle. “The longer you refuse it, the harder it will be in the end.”
A part of Simon has the sudden hysterical urge to laugh. There is no longer an “end” to anything for him. Eternity doesn’t end, doesn’t change, so why should he? It makes no sense. One the other hand, ever since his life became one long episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, nothing has been making a lot of sense anymore.
He won’t say any of this to Raphael, though. He doesn’t want to have that discussion right now, maybe not ever, if he can avoid it.
“I doubt it can get any harder than this,” he says instead.
Raphael’s expression hardens. “Drink and go back to sleep,” he commands, placing the bottle next to Simon on the couch, and walks out of the room.
Day 5
Simon’s lounging on the armchair next to Raphael’s desk, leafing through a book on Downworlder lore Raphael left lying around earlier, when the call comes in. He doesn’t pay it any mind until he hears Raphael say the word “Shadowhunter.” Before he can listen in on it, though, Raphael has already hung up.
“We’re going to relocate,” is all he tells Simon about it. He pockets his phone and heads to the door, indicating to Simon to come with him.
Simon puts the book down. “Why? What’s going on? Was that Clary just now?”
“You aren’t in any position to ask questions,” Raphael says in a tone that breaches no argument.
Something is definitely wrong, but it’s no use grilling Raphael about it now. Simon heaves a put-upon sigh and follows him out the door, down the stairs and outside through a rear exit he hasn’t noticed before. Raphael ushers him into the back of a black van with tinted windows and sits down beside him. Lily is already in the act of starting the engine. Stan is riding shotgun.
“Where are we going?” Simon inquires as the car takes off, going for casually curious, but his fidgeting feet betray him instantly.
“To a friend’s place,” Raphael replies in a far-off voice, gazing straight ahead at the clogged street.
“You have friends?” Simon blurts out, totally knee-jerk, and—for the umpteenth time in his non-life—finds it incredibly unfair that becoming a vampire has contributed nothing whatsoever to his brain-to-mouth filter.
In the passenger’s seat, Stan makes the desperate but overall futile attempt to hide a snicker. Next to him Lily’s knuckles go white around the steering wheel.
Simon dares a furtive glance at Raphael, who shows no sign of even having registered the remark, and wonders just what happened that has him this distracted. Considering the stiff set of his jaw, it can’t be anything good.
Simon’s relocation leads the party to an upscale apartment house in Manhattan, complete with a uniformed doorman and red carpet in front of the entrance. It presents the perfect opportunity for a joke, but Simon isn’t in the mood anymore. The steady increase in tension, not only on Raphael’s part, has started freaking him out.
They enter the building and ride the elevator all the way up to the thirteenth floor, and Simon has spent too much time studying old folktales about the supernatural and hunting actual demons not to recognize that for what it is: a bad fucking omen.
Raphael raps against the door to apartment number five. On the other side, the chain clicks, and Magnus Bane appears in the doorframe, looking impeccable as usual.
“You’re late,” he says by way of greeting. “And not the fashionable kind of late.”
Winding his way past him, Raphael says, “We had to take a detour. Somebody was following us.”
Lily and Stan trail after him. Simon stops short in his tracks. “Wait, what?”
Magnus rolls his eyes and shoves him inside. “Hopefully you didn’t bring them here,” he says and shoots the hallway a dubious look before he shuts the door and locks it, tapping the chain with his index finger.
“Does it matter?” Lily asks, taking a seat on a white leather couch. “I thought you warded this place.”
Stan follows her example and settles down beside her. Raphael stays where he is, leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest.
Simon gapes at the room at large. “Hello?”
Shuffling towards the cabinet at the other end of the spacious living room, Magnus says, “Of course I did.” He crouches down, opens the lowest drawer, and pulls out a small silver flask. “Oh good, it’s still here,” he mumbles and takes a swig. He gets back up and swivels around with a flourish. “As good a spell worker as I undoubtedly am, I cannot work miracles. They’re going to find you, sooner rather than later.”
“Great,” Stan groans and drops his head on the couch’s backrest.
Simon has had enough of this bullshit. “Can someone please explain, you know, anything that’s going on right now?”
“We’re holding you hostage,” Lily says helpfully.
“Ha ha,” Simon deadpans and manfully squashes the desire to throw something at her. He flails in Magnus’ direction. “Why are you helping them?”
With a wink Magnus says, “Raphael is my BFF. Literally.” He toasts at him. “We go way back.”
Raphael’s left eye twitches.
Simon can’t decide whether to laugh manically or rip his hair out. “Does Alec know you’re doing this?”
“Maybe,” Magnus says with an elaborate shrug, as if he couldn’t care less either way.
Simon isn’t buying any of it but doesn’t push further. There’s no sense in arguing about that now. He turns around to fix Raphael with a look. “You said someone was following us,” he prompts him.
Raphael, however, isn’t very forthcoming, either. “Didn’t I say that you’re in no position to ask me anything?” he says, eyebrows raised.
Super, they’re back to this. Simon clenches his fists at his sides.
“So you’re not going to tell me anything? At all?” he asks even though he can already guess the answer.
Raphael unfolds his arms and shifts away from the wall. “Why should I?” he asks back, coldly.
Simon falters. Raphael’s reaction is justified. He saw it coming. It stings nonetheless.
“Exactemente,” says Raphael when Simon doesn’t respond. “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up in a few hours.”
With that, he’s gone to the adjacent bedroom. The sound of the door falling shut behind him hits Simon like a bullet.
He stares after him and thinks, ‘This always happens.’
“Well,” Magnus says, clearing his throat. “While this has been very entertaining and all, I’m afraid my time ends here. Have fun and try not to kill each other, okay?” He waves at them, draws a portal in the air and walks into it. A second later, it vanishes in a cloud of blue glitter.
“So,” Stan says after a beat. “Who wants to play Mario Kart?”
Day 6
Simon is ripped from sleep by a siren and the pungent smell of smoke. Slightly disoriented, he jolts upright and takes in his surroundings. The smoke detector on the ceiling is flashing red and wailing bloody murder. Raphael and Stan, suspended in the middle of a card game at the kitchen table, seem equally alarmed. The curtains are still drawn; the clock hanging on the wall reads 16:37.
Suddenly, the door to the bedroom bursts open.
“Is that the fire alarm?” Lily says, blue hair a tangled mess.
A wave of noise erupts in the hallway outside, mostly people shouting to each other as they hurry to the staircase.
Raphael holds his nose up, perhaps in an attempt to sniff out the location of the fire. "Looks like it," he says.
“It’s afternoon,” Stan realizes with wide eyes. “How do we get out of here?”
Raphael stands up. “The same way everyone else does.”
It takes Simon’s still sleep-addled brain a moment to process all of this. “Are you insane? We’ll burn to a crisp!”
“If we stay here, yes,” Raphael says through gritted teeth, already on his way to the door. “The car is right in front of the building. We can make it.”
As horrible as that plan sounded just a minute ago, he has a point.
Lily and Stan exchange an uncertain look.
“Come on!” Simon yells at them, mildly amazed at the fact that he’s supporting Raphael, his kidnapper, who has sworn to kill him. Raphael, who has, however, also never actually done anything to endanger Simon—or anyone, really. Even when Simon was still a mundane and Camille in charge of the vampires, he put himself at risk to save Simon, a virtual stranger.
“What if it’s a trap?” Lily says, eyes darting back and forth between him and Raphael, who looks at Simon like he's an alien. Strangely, it's an expression Simon has come to miss throughout these past couple of days.
Somewhere downstairs somebody screams.
“Then we’ll die,” Raphael says, tearing his eyes away from Simon. “Just like we will if we don’t go now.”
She doesn’t look entirely convinced but nods.
“Lead the way,” Stan says.
Raphael does, but the second he unbolts the door, it’s wrenched out of its hinges, and Camille emerges behind it, sphered by smoke.
She lets the now useless panel of wood fall to the floor and says sweetly, “Thanks for letting me in.”
She’s holding a stake.
Raphael reacts first, dodging before she can even strike at him, and slings her back into the hallway. “Run!” he bellows.
Simon doesn’t need to be told twice and lunges out the door just in time too see Camille shift, raising her hand to throw the stake. His body moves almost automatically then, trying to duck, but he’s too slow.
It’s going to hit him. Death will have all of him at last.
In a flash, something—someone?—crashes into him and knocks him out of the way.
With a thud, Simon connects with the wall. Somewhere behind him Lily shrieks. Camille begins to laugh.
He scrambles back to his feet and sees Raphael, lying limp on the floor, Camille standing above him. The stake sticks out of him like a thorn. He isn’t bleeding. Of course not. He’s dead. The dead do not bleed.
Raphael is dead.
“Oh, Raph.” Camille giggles and shakes her head. “You’re just too soft. That’s always been your biggest flaw.”
The next minutes are a blur. Blind with fury, Lily and Stan charge at Camille and tackle her to the ground. Simon rushes over to Raphael. He doesn’t look different, doesn’t look dead, maybe because Simon has no idea what he looked like alive.
“Sorry,” he murmurs and pulls the stake from Raphael’s chest.
In the meantime, the fire has almost climbed its way up the stairs. Camille is wrestling Lily down, hands wrapped around her neck. Not far away, Stan is writhing in pain.
Simon doesn’t hesitate any further. He takes a step forward, hauls off and rams the stake into Camille’s heart.
Her eyes widen almost comically as she tilts her head at Simon, like she just can’t comprehend what is happening, before her body goes slack and collapses on top of Lily.
He did it. He killed her. He killed Camille.
Rejecting the violent urge to vomit, he reaches out to help Lily get Camille’s corpse off, but she swats his hand away. “I can still feel him,” she says, strangled, as she untangles herself. “We have to get the warlock.”
At first, Simon doesn’t understand what she's talking about, but then he senses it as well. Raphael’s presence hasn’t faded completely yet.
He swings around and hastily scours Raphael’s pockets for his phone. Fortunately, it isn’t locked with a PIN. Simon swipes over the display, searches the contacts for Magnus and hits call.
Magnus picks up after the third ring. “Wow, the second call in less than twenty-four hours,” he says. “I always knew you cared.”
“This is Simon,” Simon says against the lump in his throat. “Raphael needs your help. Camille, she—she staked him, but he’s still alive, as much as he can be. Anyway, you have to come here and heal him, please—“
“Where are you?”
“In front of that apartment where we met yesterday.” Simon cranes his neck to check how far the flames have traveled already. Fear, sour as bile, rises in his gut when he sees how close they are. “We don’t have much time, the building is on fire.”
Magnus curses and hangs up. A moment after, a portal opens in the wall.
“Move your asses,” Magnus calls from the other side.
Simon picks Raphael’s lifeless body up from the floor and carries him through the portal. Lily and Stan follow a couple of seconds later, and the portal closes again.
“Put him here,” Magnus says, pointing at a chaise lounge to his right.
Gingerly, Simon does as he’s told, and Magnus bends down to get a better look at the wound.
“Can you fix him?” Simon asks.
Only now it begins to sink in that Raphael sacrificed himself for Simon, the traitor, the disappointment, and may never wake up again. His heart wants to throw up at the thought.
“Not if you keep chatting,” Magnus says. With his fingers he draws an eight across the hole in Raphael’s chest, over and over again. “The stake didn't pierce his heart, just scraped it."
"I-is that good or bad?"
Magnus grunts a choked laugh. "We'll see. Make yourself useful and brew some coffee. We're all going to need it.”
Simon is about to protest when he realizes that he has, technically, neither a reason nor the right to do so. He isn’t a part of the clan anymore. He’s an outsider. He doesn’t belong here.
Casting the scene one last glance, he exits the room.
Halfway into the process of putting the kettle on, he remembers that Raphael’s phone is still in the back pocket of his jeans. He takes it out, unlocks the screen and dials Clary’s number.
Day 7
“Are you sure it’s okay to leave things like this?” Clary asks, lazing next to Simon on his bed. “Maryse really wants to put Raphael on trial.”
They’re back at the Institute in the same room where this whole ordeal started, and he has no idea how to break it to her that he got caught after having left out of his own volition, let alone that he still wants to leave, now more than ever.
“He saved my life, Clary, and almost died in the process,” he says.
“I still can’t believe he did that,” she marvels, resting her face on the heels of her hands. “I’ll never understand that guy.”
He rolls onto his back and folds his arms under his head. “I thought I did.”
Clary shoots him a questioning look.
“Well, sort of,” he amends. “It made sense, you know, that he kidnapped me again. It was the only way for him to get to Camille. He wanted me dead too, sure, but I’m not as valuable. Not to mention that she was a power-hungry homicidal bitch. I still expected him to get his revenge for my betrayal, though. I mean, he only promised you not to kill me.”
Her brows furrow. “He didn’t do anything to you?”
Simon shrugs. “On the first night, he threw me against a wall, but that doesn’t count. I provoked him.”
“Oh, really?” she says, intrigued. “What did you say?”
He bites his lip. “I don’t remember,” he lies. He feels guilty about it now, after everything that Raphael has done for him. “Something stupid.”
She frowns, opens her mouth and shuts it again. Eventually, she says, “Even if there isn’t going to be a trial, the Institute has to file a report to Idris about what happened.” She pauses. “How did they get into your room? No Downworlder is supposed to be strong enough to break in with all those defense runes, and the guards didn’t notice anybody coming in.”
This is it. Simon closes his eyes. “They didn’t get inside,” he says. “No one broke in. I broke out.”
Another pause. “Why?”
He opens his eyes again and turns to face her. He owes her so much more than that, but it’s the only thing he can give her right now.
“Remember how I told you I loved you?”
“Yes,” she says quizzically. “Of course.”
“I was so happy when you said you loved me too,” he recounts with a rueful smile. Just two weeks have passed since then. It feels so much longer than that. “I thought I’d finally get my chance with you, with us, even as Shadowhunter and vampire. I thought everything would work itself out somehow. But it didn’t, and it won’t.”
Clary’s face blanks with incomprehension. “What do you mean?”
He sits up and gestures at the room. “The Clave practically held me prisoner,” he says, louder than intended. “That isn’t much different from what Raphael did, and he had an actual reason.”
“The Clave just wanted to keep you safe,” she argues. “From Raphael, I might add.”
“You can’t tell me you actually believe that,” he scoffs.
She stares at him, mouth condensed into a tight line. He can’t imagine how hard it has to be for her to adapt to this new world and assume a predetermined role in it right off the bat, simultaneously discovering both are governed mainly by bigotry and prejudice. But it’s been hard for him too, particularly ever since that prejudice has been directed at him.
“They aren’t bad people,” she says.
“That also goes for Raphael and the vampires.”
She purses her lips. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“I just—I can’t stay at the Institute forever,” he says. “And even if I could, I wouldn’t want to. The Clave is never going to accept a Downworlder in one of their facilities.”
“Fine, I get that,” she huffs and wavers shortly before continuing, “but there’s something else that you aren’t telling me.”
Simon sighs in defeat. Of course she’d notice.
“That first night after he kidnapped me, Raphael said that I didn’t help you free Camille for you but for myself. I didn’t want to believe it and kind of avoided thinking about it, but now I can’t help wondering, like, what if he’s right?” He stops there to rub his temples and prepare for the next part. “I think I chose your side because that’s what I’ve always done. Before all this, I never once considered that anything could ever change between us, that my world could ever revolve around anything but you. But then everything changed, and it scared the crap out of me. I mean, we aren’t even the same species anymore.” He gives a weak laugh. “So I clung to you and pretended nothing was different.”
Clary looks down, shoulders slumping a little. “It—it doesn’t have to be different,” she says. The words tremble as they tumble out of her.
He reaches out with his right hand and nudges her chin upwards. She’s crying.
“It already is,” he says, and, damn it, now he’s crying, too.
She hides her face in the crook of his neck and whispers, “I don’t want to lose you, too.”
“You won't,” he says, stroking the back of her head, and feels like he’s finally come full circle.
Day 8
When Simon arrives at the DuMort, Lily is already waiting for him at the entrance. She probably heard him coming from half a mile away.
“I want to speak to Raphael,” he says. “If he’s available.”
She leans against the doorframe and brushes a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. “He isn’t, especially not for you.”
That was to be expected.
“How is he?”
She arches a brow at him. “Why do you care?”
He squares his shoulders. “Because he’s the leader of my clan,” Simon answers.
“What?” She emits an ugly laugh and says, “No, he’s not. You aren’t a member of this clan. You’ve never been.”
She’s eying him with unfiltered revulsion. He can’t quite blame her.
“That’s why I’m here,” he says. “To take responsibility for what I’ve done. I’m surrendering myself to you.”
Clearly boggled, she pushes away from the door and examines him for a long, grueling minute, as if to make sure this is really happening and he isn’t just messing with her.
“You’re serious,” she notes, not without some surprise. “You know what that means?”
He nods. The law is hard, but it is the law. Right.
She locks him in the cell Raphael put him in the first time he kidnapped Simon, back when Camille hadn’t Turned him yet, and tells him that Raphael will come to deal with him when and how he sees fit. Simon dips his head in acknowledgment. Turning on her heel, Lily leaves the cell and bolts the door.
He quickly loses count of how many hours have passed. He doesn’t really mind, though. Sometimes not knowing is better than knowing. What he does mind is the uncertainty of waiting, the incalculability of the outcome. He isn't afraid Raphael will actually kill him, not after he got himself staked to save Simon. It’s rejection he fears.
Where is he supposed to go if Raphael sends him away? The Clave made it pretty clear they wouldn’t be willing to take him back when he told them about his plans to leave. Besides, he’d rather not return to a place where people treat him like he’s unworthy of existence. Even Isabelle and Alec understand that now. He prays Raphael will, too.
Maybe God hasn’t fully forsaken him after all because he doesn’t have to wait remotely as long as he prepared for. All of a sudden, the door to his cell flies open, and déjà-vu hits him hard as Raphael walks inside. He looks paler than usual and not just because of the shitty lighting down here, but he’s dressed as sharply as ever. With startling clarity Simon recalls the last time the two of them have been here despite the many weeks that have gone by since then, and feels more than just a little nervous.
“I’m sorry,” he says before Raphael has the chance to dismiss him without hearing him out.
“You’ve got some nerve to come back here,” Raphael says, sizing him up with a quick flick of his eyes.
Simon stands up from his seat against one of the coffins and ventures a few tentative steps towards Raphael. “I mean it, you know. I’m sorry.”
Raphael’s eyes narrow at the decreasing distance between them. “For what?” he asks.
“For not listening to you. For putting you all in danger.” He runs a jittery hand through his hair. “For generally being a dick, I guess?”
“You guess,” Raphael says flatly. “Very convincing. Anything else?”
Simon lets out a noise of anxious frustration. “Look, I’m serious, okay? I really am sorry—”
Within the blink of an eye, Raphael has stormed forward and pinned him against the nearest wall, his fists clawing into Simon’s shirt. “Sorry isn’t going to cut it,” he growls, teeth flashing angrily. “She could have killed all of us! She could have killed you!”
“But that isn’t—” Simon balks as the world realigns in front of him. “Stop, what did you just say?”
Raphael retreats with an atypically jerky motion, as though Simon has burned him with the question.
“This conversation is over.”
“Oh, no, no, no.” Simon snatches Raphael's wrist before he can withdraw any further. “On the contrary, this conversation has just started.”
Raphael glares at him. “I have nothing more to say to you.”
He trusted you, Lily had said.
Simon can't fathom he's never noticed until now how carefully Raphael chooses his facial expressions, the way he uses his posture and outward appearance as an invisible armor. Not that Raphael isn't good at playing the villain. In fact, he's too good at it. The smirks, the threats, the thousand-yard stare—it's all too smooth, too well-timed, to be natural.
Still, Simon fell for it. They all did. It was easier that way, pretending not to see the person underneath.
“I do,” Simon says and lets go of Raphael’s wrist in favor of taking his hand. Raphael tracks the movement with his eyes. “I left the Institute, so now I’m officially a rogue vampire looking for shelter. It’s come to my attention that the position for Advisor to the Interim Chapter President of the New York City Vampire Clan is currently vacant, and I’d like to hand in a formal application.”
Gradually, the glare slips off Raphael’s face, switching places with a disbelieving stare. “I must be crazy,” he says.
“Don’t worry.” Simon grins as he laces their fingers together. “I like you, anyway.”
“Dios, shut up,” Raphael says with a puff, squeezing Simon’s hand.
Simon does and kisses him.
As far as kisses go, this is easily the best one Simon’s ever been the recipient of. It starts out hesitantly, with Raphael's lips pressing back briefly against Simon’s, who chases him, chases the sensation of Raphael’s mouth on his own. Raphael’s free hand travels up alongside the line of Simon’s torso until it eventually rests on the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss grows more urgent, and Simon is pretty sure if he still had a functioning heart, it would be jackhammering out of his ribcage right about now.
Simon’s lips throb once they let go of each other again, and Raphael has never looked more beautiful than in this moment, cheeks flushed and pupils blown.
“I don’t deserve you,” Simon says because it needs to be said. “But I promise I will, I—”
“Shut up,” Raphael says again and lifts their hands to his mouth to brush feather-light kisses across Simon's knuckles. “Tienes el resto de la eternidad para recompensarme.”