A/N: I do not own City of....anything, and I love Cassadra Clare and all her characters. Anything I do is out of love of story! hope you like it. and review if possible, I really want to improve.
The storm cloud had been lingering for weeks, edging closer and closer to the city. Ordinarily he wouldn't have given it a second thought, Clouds? In New York? Shocker!
But this was different.
For one thing, he was the only one who was able to see it.
Every morning he crept downstairs, pulled out a bowl and added the tiniest bit of cereal to a drop of milk to make it seem like he had eaten and turned on the morning weather. He would flip through every one of the channels and try to catch every forecast before his mother woke up. When she did come looking for her morning caffeine rush, he changed to cartoons and stretched back to watch. This was usually followed by an exasperated sigh and a "You really will have to grow up sometime, Simon." Little did she know.
Isabelle continued her scan of the sky line. Pursing her lips, she turned nimbly on the ledge.
"I don't see anything."
"No storm cloud?"
"No?" she laughed. "It's a beautiful day, Simon. In fact it's so nice that if I were at the beach, I would so go topless to get an even tan."
No mental images, Simon scolded himself.
"Like the image, Simon?" Isabelle purred seductively, creeping closer to him and fluttering her long, luscious eyelashes. Simon never realised how good she smelled, how utterly delicious….
"I'm hungry."
"Oh, I could get you something from the kitchen, if you want?"
"No, Iz, I'm hungry."
Isabelle tutted and then leaped off the roof. "Fine. Feed. But call me later."
"Absolutely," He smiled, but felt an empty gaping hole in his chest, right where his un-beating heart rests.
Isabelle danced her way to the large metal door at the edge of the roof, before turning abruptly and said "I like the fringe. It's hot."
Simon smiled crookedly. "It's not really. It's just a necessity."
"Simon," she said, shaking her head, "learn to take a compliment. God knows you'll get a lot of them."
Simon rolled his eyes. "Great, soon I'll be as self-confident as Jace."
"You say that like it's a bad thing." she grinned. "Now do your Spiderman thing."
Simon smiled and made sure she was watching before he jumped backwards and fell off the roof, catching the wall and scaling down the red brick to the city street. He landed nimbly on a dustbin lid and hopped off. There was no one on the street so he ducked out of the alley and made his way to the main street.
The sky groaned and grumbled above him and he quickened his pace. Simon made it to the record shop two blocks away in a matter of seconds and pushed the door open. The smell of smoke caught him first, followed by the fragrant odour of a public bathroom. Simon wrinkled his nose and walked to the Vinyl section.
He flipped through, sub-consciously taking in artists names, until he came across one that caught his eye. He pulled it out of the pile and a grin spread across his face. The Smiths.
Clary had forced him to listen to them on repeat for three months straight during her "I'm a pale and tortured artist" phase when she was fourteen; before their lives drastically changed forever. He felt an odd pang, and suddenly longed to hear the sound of her voice. Of course, their contact had been severed ever since she started seeing Jace; she just never seemed to have time for Simon any more. Which is when Simon made other plans and liaised with Isabelle on the roof on an almost daily basis. She was more of a friend lately than Clary was; which made him happy and sad at the very same time. Inspired in the moment, Simon grabbed the record, gave the change to the hung-over shop assistant and walked into the glaring mid-day sun. He paced down the quiet street until he saw a quaint little coffee shop. He smiled and leaned against the wall, staring at passers-by before he decided what he had to do.
Simon grabbed his brand new phone and punched in Clary's number. He memorised it years ago so it swiftly flew from his fingers to the key pad without a second's hesitation.
It rang three times before she answered.
"Hello?" she said gruffly. Clary sounded out of breath and flustered, but Simon couldn't figure out why.
"It's Simon."
"Simon?" the shock in her voice actually cut him like a knife. "What's wrong?"
Everything. "Oh, Nothing really. Just thought we could meet up, have some coffee, point laugh and stare at bystanders. You know. The usual."
"I don't know Simon," Clary hedged and answer and he heard a snort in the background. "I'm sort of….busy at the moment."
Simon could her soft giggle and sighs, and even without his vampire hearing aid, he could tell what that was. Anger bubbled through him and he gritted his teeth together. "You know what Clary; Call me the next time you aren't getting penetrated, okay?"
He heard her scream of indignation and the beginning of a profanity before he snapped his phone shut.
The cloud grew closer and closer. Now it loomed overhead. This was no run of the mill weather anomaly. And he needed help to figure out what it was.
He grabbed his phone, thankful for his 500 extra free minutes, and punched in Isabelle's number.
"Couldn't stay away, huh?"
"No, I couldn't control myself!"
"Wow, you are sounding more like Jace!"
"Hardy-Har-Har Iz, I need your help."
"Another sky surveillance mission. With a romantic setting and moons and stars? I'm on to you, Simon Lewis!"
"No, I need you….."
"Oh I know you do!"
Simon sighed. "I need you to help me find Magnus."
"What?"
"Do you know where he is?"
"More than likely he is making out with my brother." Her breath hitched, and Simon knew she was replaying Max's death again. She did it several times a day, always going back and trying to see if she could have saved him. Survivor's guilt. She could never find a solution, but Isabelle would never forgive herself for as long as she lived.
"Isabelle?" Simon whispered softly down the phone, and he could actually hear her sniffing away the tears that she would never let fall.
"I'm fine."
"Do you want to come?"
"Come where?"
"To Magnus'?"
"I don't know Simon?" she hedged around an answer, humming and hawing, before Simon decided to sweeten the deal. "There's a slice of cake in it for you."
"I don't know…."
"And a coffee!"
"Black?"
"Like my soul!"
"Deal." she laughed.
"Meet me downstairs in ten minutes."
"It's a date."
Simon pierced his lip with his left incisor, which seemed to be retracting back and forth as he spoke. He was so hungry."
"It's not a date."
"We'll see about that!" she teased before hanging up.
Great, thought Simon, I miss blissful ignorance.
But he couldn't keep the smile off his face.
Well, until the lightning bolt cracked open the pavement beneath his feet.
