It took three rings before the person on the other end of the line picked up the phone.
"Simon," Brittany spoke as if she had just felt that it could be no one else but him. Simon had hesitated if he should contact his friend when he was supposed to be dead, but in the end, he had decided to do it anyway. Logically speaking, it was an unnecessary risk that he was taken, but he did not really care about that. The less people he loved thought that he was dead the less emotional devastation he left behind. The less stain on his soul.
"Hey, Brit," Simon replied, a faint smile tugging on his lips even though his friend could only hear him on the other end of the line.
"Did my information work out?" she wanted to know.
"Yeah, it did," Simon told her. "We found Valetine's lair, liberated some stuff, all around a great success."
"I'm glad to hear that. Then why doesn't your voice sound like it?"
Simon sighed. "A few things happened since then. All of them horrible." Brittany did not say anything, so Simon continued and told her all about his death, resurrection and fake corpse that was now lying on an autopsy table in the New York Institute.
"Oh, Simon," Brittany sighed heavily. "It seems like I'm the only one out of us three who's going to go naturally of old age." She laughed drily. The words Simon wanted to say suddenly got stuck in his throat and he found himself unable to say anything to that. It was a bitter and sad truth, but the question, though, was for whom?
"I'm not saying this to get your pity," Brittany continued. "Or to make you feel bad. It's just something that popped into my head the moment I've heard your story. I apologise." She coughed and Simon could hear her taking a sip of water through the phone.
"No need to apologise," Simon replied. "It's just weird now that you've pointed it out. A little bit sad, too."
"I wouldn't want it any other way," Brittany spoke, still hoarse from her coughing. "And I doubt you'd chosen it, either."
"No, I wouldn't," Simon whispered. "I'm never going to see the sun again." The last thing he added because it had only just in this moment dawned on him. So many thoughts, so many plans and machinations to be taken care of that he was only now realising that he would never be able to have even the smallest ray of sunshine touch his skin. He would be forever confined to the dark corners of this world.
"I can't imagine what you're going through," Brittany said, "but I'm grateful that you told me. I already believed you dead once, I doubt I could have taken it a second time. I've buried too many of my friends already."
"That's why I didn't want to keep it from you," Simon replied. "I'm already feeling so horrible for making all the others believe that I'm dead. It's like this heavy stone sitting in my stomach that turns around whenever I move but never goes away. I'm always carrying it with me."
"I can't give you the absolution you seek," Brittany told him. "That's something only the people you're hurting can give you. But I can tell you that if I had gotten the chance to save some of the people I lost at the cost of our friendship, then I would have taken it gladly."
"It helps a little bit," Simon confessed.
"Goodbye, Simon," Brittany said. "Contact me if you need any help. And when all of this is over, don't be a stranger and come visit me." Then their call ended, and Simon put his phone back on the bedside table of the room in Magnus' mansion he was occupying.
"Did you get all you wanted out of this call?" Raphael asked when he appeared in the door frame.
"You probably heard all of it, anyway," Simon replied.
Raphael shrugged. "I try not to, but some snippets got past my walls." He sat down on the bed next to Simon and slung his arm around the young fledgling. Simon leaned into his touch and buried his face in the crook of Raphael's neck taking a deep breath – despite not needing to – in order to get a whiff of the other's smell.
"I thought I'd feel less horrible when at least one other person wouldn't be led to believe that I was dead," Simon admitted. "But it didn't work. I just feel even more horrible about the people I decided not to tell."
"It's for their best," Raphael tried to reassure him.
"That's what everyone keeps saying to me," Simon retorted, "but isn't using the greater good as justification a slippery slope? Every time you do it, it gets a little bit easier to ignore the human cost of what you're doing."
"There's a difference between what you're implying and what's actually happening," Raphael replied. "You think that you're just as bad as Valentine who also fancies himself to be working towards some ominous greater good." Simon just nodded weakly. "That is not only overly dramatic, but also wrong. I doubt Valentine ever felt as weighted down by the decisions he made as you are right now. Just the fact that we're sitting here and having this talk proves that you're nothing like him.
Guilt is gnawing at you? Well, good I say, because it means you'll never make such a decision light-heartedly. It means you still have a conscience."
"You're really good at this," Simon told Raphael. He still felt heavy, but not as he was about to drown in his own guilt like he had only a few minutes ago.
"I had a lot of time to think about such things," Raphael replied, his voice subdued. Simon could guess when he would have had the time to deeply contemplate such questions. Vampires did not sleep, after all.
"I think Magnus has come back," Raphael spoke. When he saw Simon's confused expression, he added: "It's something you get used to after a while. The hearing, the smell; opening and closing a portal affects the environment in a particular way that's easily discernible to a vampire if you know what to pay attention for."
Simon just nodded. Somehow the prospect of all these vampiric advantages did not excite him as much as he thought they would. Maybe it was because despite all the benefits it brought, being excited about them felt to him as if he was accepting his existence as vampire. And maybe he would be, one day, but he barely had had the time to process everything that had happened to him during the last few hours, so getting excited about his new superpowers would have to wait until he had the time (so probably never).
It was somehow sad, though. Simon could still remember a time – long gone, but still there at the back of his head – when just the thought of super speed and strength would have gotten him so excited. Being like the superheroes from his comics, like Captain America or the Hulk. But life had taught him that power always came with a price. And sometimes paying it just wasn't worth it.
"Then let's go down and see what he has to say," he just said. If Raphael had noticed his distracted thoughts – which he probably had, they knew each other that well by now – he did not comment on it for which Simon was immensely grateful. He did not think that he could explain what he was feeling right now when he himself wasn't even quite sure yet.
"Alec has taken your fake corpse to the Institute," Magnus told them when they arrived downstairs. Camille was still lounging on the couch. She had been unattended the whole time, but she had not moved. She was probably aware of the fact that Magnus' magic would not allow her to move anywhere he did not want her to. "I don't know when he will be able to come here."
"It's probably better that he's there, anyway," Raphael replied. "He can make sure to steer their reactions into the right direction." Again, this heavy weight in Simon's stomach when he thought about manipulating their friends' grief. "And learn what they plan to do."
"What are we going to do?" he wanted to know. "I mean, do we actually have a plan besides making everyone believe that I'm dead?"
"He has a point," Camille agreed, and Simon had to hold himself back from contradicting her just because he hated her. Senseless bickering would solve none of their issues even if it would feel gratifying. "What is the plan?"
"There is no use in having a plan when you intend to sabotage it the moment you can," Magnus spoke. There was no accusation in his voice, no blame. Just the profound certainty that what he just said would inevitably happen, because he knew Camille that well. "You want the Book of the White. You also know that it belongs to the Warlocks, meaning that I'll never give it to you voluntarily. It is sacred to my people, but you don't care about that. You're just here to wait for a shift of the current status, so that you can take advantage of it and get what you want."
"You're right," Camille admitted nonchalantly. Simon thought that she would have at least tried to deny it a little bit, but it seems when you crossed the boundary of what Mundanes would consider a normal life span, you just did not care about pretences any longer. "I don't care about the sacredness of your texts. I want that book for the personal advantages it offers. But you're also wrong: I'm not so naïve that I don't see where this world is heading should Valentine manage to win this war. I'll the take the book from you the moment I can, but I would at least hesitate if it also meant that I'll be handing Valentine his victory."
"So, we just have to trust you that when you fuck us over, you'll only fuck us halfway?" Simon exclaimed disbelievingly.
"Such coarse language," Camille giggled, her voice full of delight. "But it's not like you're in a position to refuse me. Besides the fact that I already know too much, you can't do without the influence I wield." She tiled her head and looked at him. "Just as Magnus leads the Warlocks – even though the Warlock position of Brooklyn is practically nothing compared to the likes of Rome, Babylon, or Beijing – I, too, have favours and influence all over the world. The vampires would be more willing to enter your alliance with my backing."
"So, you manoeuvred yourself exactly as what you always want to be: A necessary evil," Raphael remarked.
"Oh, Raphael, don't sound so bitter," Camille tutted. "A few centuries and you'll be as good at this as I am now." Raphael looked like he wanted to be anything else but that.
"She's right, as of now, we need her," Simon was the one who stated the truth that tasted like the sourest of pills to swallow. He looked at Camille, his expression full of pity. "One day, Camille, when you need help the most, you won't find it. But then it'll be already too late for you."
"Oh, Simon," Camille laughed, but it sounded hollow and forced. "That's been said to me for centuries and yet I'm still here while all those others are long gone."
"Let's get back to the issue at hand," Magnus interrupted. "We know that Jocelyn is collaborating with Valentine and currently still under the impression that no one knows that. How can we use that to our advantage?"
"By now, Valentine should have figured out that we gave him a fake Mortal Cup," Simon thought out aloud. "And he's probably pretty pissed about it." He couldn't help but grin at the thought of that psychopath discovering that he had been made a fool of.
"Impressive," Camille admitted. "You might want to watch your back even more closely now. Valentine does not like to be thwarted. Especially by those he considers inferior."
"Nothing new then," Simon shrugged. "Valentine probably assumes that we still have the Cup. He'll probably order Jocelyn to find out where it is and to get it for him."
"Our strategy should be to have her under constant observation and use her to find out where Valentine's hiding," Raphael added. "Once we know that, we gather all the strength we can muster and finish him for good."
Simon swallowed. That sounded so definite. He just couldn't imagine this war ever to be over. Despite it only having started so shortly ago, it nevertheless felt like they had been fighting it their whole lives already. Simon's life before Valentine felt so far away, so blurred.
"I'll tell Alexander," Magnus said. "We have to come up with a way to have Jocelyn under constant surveillance. As acting Head and High Warlock respectively, we might be able to come up with a ward that we could key into the Institute." He did not expound any further, probably because of Camille's presence.
"I see you have it all figured out," the female vampire drawled as she pushed herself off the canape. "I shall leave you to it. I'll get the vampires ready for our final strike. Unlike others, I keep to my end of the bargain."
Magnus let out a barking laughter. "That I never doubted." Camille smiled at him brightly – showing all of her pearly white teeth – and then she vanished, leaving the three of them behind.
"She's gone," Magnus announced after a few seconds. The wards must have informed him of the vampire leaving. Suddenly, the tension that Simon hadn't even realised was there, fell off his shoulders; the air feeling far less oppressive.
"I'm so glad that she's gone now," Simon muttered. "She's so exhausting and draining." He turned to Raphael. "How did you manage with her for all these years?"
For a split-second Raphael's expression turned into something indecipherable – haunted, empty, drained – before it was again replaced by his usual slightly haughty countenance. "You build up your walls and very time she knocks them down, you build them back up higher until you can't look beyond them any longer."
Simon fidgeted with his hands awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. He finally landed on "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Raphael replied, putting Simon's hand into his. "It's over now." Despite them both being vampires, to Simon Raphael's hand felt so warm and alive.
"Why do I feel like this is just the quiet before the storm?" Simon voiced what he had been feeling the whole time. "It's not that I don't want this war to be over, but now that we've come this far, I can't help but feel some kind of trepidation."
No one answered him, but in their eyes, Simon could see that they were feeling the same.
Alec let out a sigh as Raj left his office and the door fell into its lock with a soft click. For a moment, he allowed his features to sag and the tension to fully come out as there was no one around to see the toll current events had taken on him. There was only him sitting behind the heavy wooden desk, meters and meters of shelves filled with books and reports and the cackling fireplace that was bewitched to never go out and always supply the office with the right temperature, even during the hottest summer days.
The reports laid in front of him, silently accusing him of not caring enough to read them, but every time Alec tried, it was as if the words were slipping off the paper. He read them – again and again – but somehow there meaning got lost between his eyes and his brain, as if the connection had been cut.
Suddenly these reports had become so insignificant. Previously, they had been his lifeline, his defence wall, behind which he could hunker down when the world around him had become too much to handle – when his feelings had been too much to handle – turning chaos into order, giving meaning and statistic to the fortuitousness that was life, but as Alec looked down on them now, he saw nothing but paper. Small, insignificant paper that would never be able to convey the real truths behind the words written on it.
If the Alec from a few months ago would see his thoughts right now, he would be horrified. But that Alec had been blind, inexperienced, and scared. He was none of that now. But – by the Light – he was exhausted. So terribly exhausted. He massaged his temple to starve off the headache he felt was coming.
The atmosphere in the Institute could be described with many words, none of them positive: Dreadful. Downtrodden. Sad. Tense. Angry. Alec hadn't seen Clary ever since she had seen the golem they were parading as Simon's corpse. When he thought about it, he could still feel the phantom taste of the guilt that had welled up in that moment. Once their ruse would be revealed, they certainly did not deserve her forgiveness.
All the while, he had kept an eye on Jocelyn as Clary and the others had grieved over Simon's body. There had been not even the slightest hint that she was feeling anything but pure, genuine grief at the discovery that Simon, who had been to her like a foster-son, had been so gruesomely killed. Even her eyes had shone with grief and sorrow – something Alec would have never thought a murder to be capable of. If he hadn't known that Simon had died through her hands, he would have never guessed.
Jocelyn needed to be kept under constant surveillance from now on. He had already changed her access rights so that he would be notified if she even looked at a book wrong, but there was still so much she could do without him ever knowing. Alec needed to talk with Magnus about it. He had created the Institute's wards, after all, so he would know how to adjust them to fit their needs.
Alec was about to reach for his phone – who would have though? Once the only numbers he had saved were those of his siblings, but now there were so many more – when someone knocked at the door. Before he could even call the person in, the door opened, and Izzy let herself in; slinking in as if she was afraid of being seen. She looked as put together as she always did, but Alec wouldn't be her brother if he didn't saw how she lacked her usual lustre. It felt as if her usual shiny and bright demeanour had been dimmed until it was barely visible anymore.
"What's up?" Alec asked, feeling stupid the moment the words left his mouth.
"I'm worried," Izzy replied as she sat down in one of the two chairs that stood in front of his desk. "About Clary. I think she's going to do something stupid."
"What makes you think that?" Alec wanted to know. Had he missed some obvious sign?
"Because that's what I'd do," Izzy replied.
"Clary isn't you," Alec pointed out.
Izzy rolled her eyes at him. "Thank you, Mr. Obvious. But in some respects, we're very much alike and I fear that she'll do something reckless that'll get her hurt or even worse killed." She paused for a split-second. "Not now, she's too busy grieving, but once her grief settles, she'll do something to get her revenge."
She tilted her head to look at the fireplace, the flames and embers reflecting in her dark eyes. "It's weird, how the loss of someone who we met barely a few weeks ago leaves such a hole." She turned her head back to him. "I barely knew Simon, but through Clary it feels like I lost a friend as well. Even Jace lacked his usual fire in our spar today."
Alec had to bite his tongue so that he wouldn't just spill their secret to Izzy. This was what leadership meant – making tough calls and living with the gnawing guilt for the rest of your life.
"Simon will receive justice," Alec promised her. "As will all the other victims of Valentine."
"Did you tell mom?" Izzy asked, changing the topic. "Does Alicante know?"
"I sent a message but have yet to receive a reply."
"As usual," Izzy sneered. "Too busy politicking than taking care of the real issues." Alec kept quiet. Once he would have objected, but that had been when he still had faith in the Clave – when he had still faith in their parents.
"I see what I can do about Clary," he said to Izzy instead. "For now, just keep an eye on her."
"I will," Izzy promised. Gracefully, she lifted herself off the chair and made her way back to the door.
"Alec," she said, turning back when she was already in the doorway. Alec looked up: A faint smile on her lips: "Thanks for listening." And then she was gone. Alec wondered if she had found whatever she had been looking for in their talk. Absentmindedly, he picked up his phone and – this time without interruption – called Magnus.
"Alexander, I've been just thinking about you," greeted the Warlock with his melodic voice.
"Only good things I hope," Alec joked. Something he would have never done before all this. By the Angels, how had he survived until now?
"Always," Magnus assured him.
"I've been wondering," Alec started, "if you could tweak the wards around the Institute so that we can keep Jocelyn under surveillance. I can't very well follow her every step, can I?"
"I've been thinking about that, too," Magnus replied. "And I think I have a solution. Where are you right now? Can I portal through to you?" Alec told him and a few moments later a portal opened in his office with its characteristic lilac hues. After Magnus had stepped through, it closed again.
"Glad that you're on our side," Alec commented at the fact that the Warlock could so easily transport himself into the Institute.
Magnus just shrugged. "It's quite literally impossible to create wards against yourself. If you wanted to keep me out, you need another Warlock to layer his wards above mine. But it'd be useless because there's no one better than I." He sent Alec a cocky smile that made the Shadowhunter blush under his collar.
"So, how does this work?" he asked instead.
"Typically, I'd need something from Jocelyn – hair, nails or even better blood – but because I know her well enough, I can also use her aura," Magnus started to explain. "It's less accurate than one of the ingredients I mentioned, but also less risky to obtain. I will create an additional ward layer which will trace her every move in the Institute and will notify us should she leave."
"Sounds good," Alec remarked, "but what about once she leaves?"
"That'd only work if we had her blood and that's just too risky," Magnus told him. "I have wards all over New York, but with only Jocelyn's aura to go off on, I'll be only able to roughly pinpoint her location down to several blocks. Not exactly accurate."
"Better than nothing," Alec said, "better to know that she was somewhere in Queens than blindly searching the whole city." He paused for a moment to look at Magnus. "What do you need?"
"Actually, not much.," Magnus said. "The room and your undivided attention."
Alec raised his eyebrows. "You really need that for the spell?"
"No, not really, but I like when you're looking at me," Magnus laughed and winked at him. Alec wanted to simultaneously kill and kiss the other man.
"Ready when you are," he chose to say instead.
"Oh, I was born ready." And then Magnus started.
