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Jace came into the room with his golden hair mussed by a Santa hat lined with glittery runes—Isabelle had decorated it on Christmas Eve, which was last night. Clary sat on the arm of the chair that Alec was sitting in. Church was perched in the corner of the library, looking far mightier than the Shadowhunters did.
“When is Magnus coming over?” Clary asked Alec.
“Probably soon,” said Alec, shrugging his broad shoulders as though he didn’t care when his warlock boyfriend was going to show up.
But Clary saw right through that—she knew that he couldn’t wait for Magnus to get here and exchange gifts with everyone. She was sure that Alec was way more excited to give his presents than he was to get them from anyone. That was just the way he was.
Jace came straight up to Clary and kissed her tenderly. They couldn’t quite get enough of one another—especially now that the heavenly fire was gone.
“You don’t need to rub your heterosexuality in my poor brother’s face, kids,” Izzy said as she walked in through the open library doors.
Clary parted from Jace just in time to see Alec hastily pull his own decorated Santa hat back on.
Isabelle looked at him accusingly, but Clary spoke before she could: “Your poor brother? He does happen to have quite the sexy warlock boyfriend. He’s deeply in love, and he never thought that he was related to Magnus.”
Alec rolled his eyes playfully. “Clary and Jace, the star-crossed couple who might as well be dry-humping each other in public just about every second of every day. The only time they’re not doing that is when they’re alone and actually hum—”
“Alec,” Jace chastised his brother, but he was laughing, while Clary was blushing and trying to suppress a smile.
“Alright, you naughty Nephilim,” Magnus said as he made his usual flourishing entrance. “Enough sex talk. It’s Christmas, for God’s sake.”
“I think that comes too close to using God’s name in vain for Christmas as well,” Jace pointed out.
Clary got up so Magnus could sit on the arm of Alec’s chair, and Jace immediately took her in his arms, twining them around her waist. Clary laced their fingers together in front of her waist, and she noticed that, although his were calloused and rough, there was still a slight softness to them. One that maybe only she was able to recognize.
A lock of Clary’s red hair fell into her face, and when she tilted her head the other way to knock it away from her eyes, she saw Izzy. She was standing alone, trying so hard to keep a smile on her brave face. Clary’s heart dropped. She had forgotten, for just a moment, what was unforgettable: that Simon’s memories were gone. That he was a mundane again. That he didn’t have the Sight and didn’t know of the Shadow World any longer. That he didn’t remember any of them.
And, who cared that Clary and Jace were rubbing their heterosexuality in Alec’s face, when Clary, Jace, Alec, and Magnus were all rubbing their happiness in Isabelle’s face? When they were all rubbing their love in her face?
Because she was in love, too. But she was in love with someone who didn’t even know her name. And she was trying so hard to give them a good first Christmas all together—one that didn’t contain Simon, because he wasn’t a part of their lives anymore. Because he sacrificed himself and his identity so they could get out of hell.
“Iz,” Clary said, getting her friend’s attention.
“It’s nothing, Clary,” Isabelle assured her, seeing the worry in Clary’s green eyes. “I know you’re just as upset about it, maybe more. Besides, he wouldn’t want to be here with Magnus calling him Sherman or Sheldon or what have you.” She tried to laugh it off, but she was only slightly convincing.
“I know his name,” Magnus defended himself. “As long as I shall live, I will not forget it.”
“Not to mention that, if Simon were still a vampire, he wouldn’t have been able to have Christmas in the Institute anyway,” Alec added, trying his best to be helpful.
“Guys, really, it’s okay,” Isabelle said, brushing it all off. “I don’t want to think about it right now. I want to celebrate Christmas with my four favorite people in this world—and Church,” she added, glancing over at the Blue Persian cat, “and not think about everyone that we have lost. Besides, Mom is in Idris for Christmas—so we can all get as drunk as we’d like to tonight.”
Magnus chuckled. “Isabelle, you have piqued my interest.”
They exchanged gifts and spent the day together in the empty Institute, enjoying each other’s company. It was the Lightwoods’ first Christmas with Clary and Magnus, which made it particularly special. But beyond that, the dust had settled. Those of them who had made it this far weren’t necessarily safe—as those in the Shadow World never really were—but they were out of the thick of their battles, at least for now.
They all drank some champagne and wine later in the day, with dinner and after, and they sat by the fireplace in the library when night fell and it got even colder than winter’s day was in New York.
Alec, Magnus, and Isabelle decided to sleep on the chairs in the library—mostly, although it was unspoken, so that Izzy wouldn’t have to go to bed alone tonight. So, heavy-eyed, Clary and Jace went into Jace’s bedroom. As always, it was orderly. But, unlike when Clary first saw it, her own artwork that she had gifted to Jace throughout their time together was hung up all over the walls. They were no longer bare. She had left her mark upon him.
They were both already in pajamas, so they slid underneath the covers of his bed. The scent of Jace was strong in the sheets—and Clary could have sworn that, if angels had a perfume, it would be this smell. Although it did have a bit of Clary’s fragrance as well, an aroma of paint that she could never seem to scrub off and a dash of rosewater body mist that Isabelle had given her earlier in the year.
Jace pulled Clary into his arms, wrapping her like a present against his body. She leeched his warmth, but he was happy to give it to her. With Clary’s hair pulled underneath the side of her head that was rested against her pillow, her neck was bare and Jace was able to graze his soft lips against her throat, where her heartbeat was.
“I love you, Jace Wayland-Morgenstern-Lightwood-Herondale,” she whispered, daring to speak aloud the surname that they once thought bound them together as siblings.
He smiled against her skin and murmured an echo of a memory, “I love you, and I will love you until I die, and if there is a life after that, I’ll love you then . . . Clarissa Fray-Fairchild-Morgenstern- . . . Herondale.”