He had been dumped out on a massive body of water, a river, very wide. Next to him the New York skyline was dark--the buildings eerily not illuminated--but he could make out their shapes. Not far up on the left side, he could see the silhouette of the Empire State Building. Ahead of him, maybe a mile or so up, there was a bridge spanning the river he was on. He could even make out the shadowy outline of an old-fashioned Pepsi-Cola sign on the right bank. That, he knew. That sign was near the base of the 59th Street Bridge to Queens.
"The East River," he said to himself, casting a glance around.
The East River was not somewhere to be at night, in the cold, in a small rowboat shaped like a swan. The East River was dangerous, fast, and deep.
He felt something bump the back of his tiny swan, and turned expecting a trash barge or a freighter. Instead it was another swan-shaped boat. This one contained a young girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen, in a tattered prom dress. She had long blond hair drawn up in uneven pigtails, giving the impression of constant lopsidedness. She pulled her swan to the side of Simon's and, seemingly without a care in the world, pulled up her skirt and stepped from one boat to the other. Simon instinctively reached one hand out to help her and one hand to steady himself. He was sure that the transfer would cause their little swan to topple, and while it did sway uncertainly as the weight distribution changed, somehow they stayed upright. The girl dropped herself next to Simon on the bench. The swan was designed for people to cozy up to each other, so she was pressed against his side.
"Hi!" she said happily. "You're back!"
"I . . . am?"
There was something wrong with the girl's face. She was too pale. There were deep circles all the way around her eyes, and her lips were faintly gray. Simon wasn't sure who she was, but he got a very uneasy feeling.
"It's been forever!" she said. "But you're back. I knew you'd come back for me."
"Who are you?"
She fun-punched him in the arm, like he'd told a great joke.
"Shut up," she said. "You're so funny. That's why I love you."
"You love me?"
"Shut up!" she said again. "You know I love you. It's always been you and me. You and me forever."
"I'm sorry," Simon said. "I don't remember."
The girl looked around at the churning river and dark buildings as if this was all very wonderful and exactly where she wanted to be.
"It was all worth it," she said. "You're worth it."
"Thanks?"
"I mean, they killed me for you. They dumped me in a trash can. But I don't hold it against you."
The chill was now inside of Simon as well as out.
"But you're looking for her, aren't you? She's so annoying."
"Clary?" Simon asked.
The girl waved her hand as if blowing away a cloud of unwanted cigarette smoke.
"You could be with me. Be my king. Be with Queen Maureen. Queen Maureen, queen of death! Queen of the night! I ruled over all of this!"
She swept her hand toward the skyline. While it seemed unlikely that this very young girl could have ruled over New York, there was something about the story that rang true. He knew this. It was his fault. He didn't do anything exactly, but he could feel guilt--terrible, crushing guilt and responsibility.
"What if you could save me?" she asked, leaning into him. "Would you?"
"I . . ."
"What if you had to pick?" Maureen said, smiling at the thought. "We could play a game. You could pick. Me or her. I mean, you are the reason I died, so . . . you should pick me. Save me."
The clouds, ever watchful when something interesting was going on, crowded back in. The wind kicked up and the river took on a heavy wake, rocking the boat from side to side.
"She's in the water, you know," Maureen said. "The water in the fountain that comes from the lake. The water in the lake that comes from the river. The water in the river that comes from the sea. She's in the water, in the water, in the water . . ."
There was a tremendous pang in Simon's chest, like someone had punched him right in the sternum. Just off to the side of the boat, something appeared, something like stone and seaweed. No. A face, and a crown of hair. It was Clary, floating on her back, eyes closed, hair leading the way. He reached out to her, but the water was going too fast and she was pulled upriver.
"You could make it all better!" Maureen shouted, jumping up. The boat rocked. "Who are you going to save, Daylighter?"
With that she dove off the other side of the boat. Simon grasped the long neck of the swan to hold his balance and scanned the waters. Clary had already floated twenty or more feet away, and Maureen was floating in the same manner, now quiet and seemingly asleep, at about half the distance.
There was not a lot of time to think. He wasn't the strongest swimmer, and the undertow of the river would probably pull him down. The cold would render him numb and probably kill him first.
And he had two people to save.
"This isn't real," he said to himself. But the pain in his chest said otherwise. The pain was calling to him. He was also sure that, real or not, when he jumped in the river, it was going to hurt as much or more as anything he'd ever felt. The river was real enough.
What was real? What did he have to do? Was he supposed to swim past a young girl and leave her? If he ever made it that far.
"Hard choices," said a voice behind him.
He didn't have to turn to know it was Jace, balanced elegantly on the tail of the wooden swan.
"That's what it's all about. Hard choices. They never get easier."
"You're not helping," Simon said, kicking off his shoes.
"So you're going in?" Jace looked at the water and cringed. "Even I'd think twice about that. And I'm amazing."
"Why do you have to get involved in everything?" Simon asked.
"I go where Clary goes."
The two bodies drifted on.
"So do I," Simon said. And he jumped off the right side of the boat, holding his nose. No diving. No need for theatrics. Jumping was enough, and at least it would keep him upright.
The pain of the water was even worse than he thought. It was like jumping through glass. The icy cold crackled all over his body, forcing all the air from his lungs. He reached for the boat but it drifted off, with Jace at the tail, waving. Simon's clothes were pulling him under, but he had to fight. Hard as it was to move his arms, he stretched out to try to swim. His muscles contracted, unable to function at this temperature.
None of them could survive this. And this did not feel like a dream. Being in this water, which was pulling harder now, pulling him down--this was as good as being dead. But something crackled into his mind, some knowledge that had been well, well pushed away. He had known what it was like to be dead. He had had to claw his way out of the ground. He'd had soil in his eyes and in his mouth. The girl, Maureen, she was dead. Clary was not. He knew this because his own heart was still beating--erratically, but still beating.
Clary.
He reached out again and struggled with the water. One stroke.
Clary.
Two strokes. Two strokes were ridiculous. The water was faster and stronger and his limbs were shaking and so heavy. He started to feel sleepy.
"You can't give up now," said Jace. The boat had circled around and was now on Simon's right side, just out of reach. "Tell me what you know."
Simon was not in the mood to be quizzed. The river and the earth itself were pulling him down.
"Tell me what you know," Jace insisted.
"I . . . I . . ."
Simon couldn't make words.
"Tell me!"
"C . . . C . . . Clar . . ."
"Clary. And what do you know about her?"
Simon definitely couldn't speak anymore. But he knew the answer. He would go to her. Alive. Dead. Fighting the river. Even if his dead body drifted alongside hers, that would somehow have to be enough. The knowledge caused his body to warm, just a bit. He kicked against the water.
"There you go!" said Jace. "Now you're getting it. Now, you go."
Simon's entire body shuddered violently. His face dipped below the surface for a moment and he took on water, which burned him from the inside. He pushed out again, spat it out.
One stroke. Two. Three. It wasn't as futile now. He was swimming. Four. Five. He counted them off. Six. Seven.
"I know the feeling," Jace said, drifting alongside him. "It's hard to explain. They don't make greeting cards for it."
Eight. Nine.
The city began to light up. Starting at the ground level, the lights appeared, reaching up toward the sky.
"When you realize it," Jace said, "you know that you can do anything, because you have to. Because it's you. You're one."
Ten. Eleven.
No need to count now. Jace and the swan were lagging behind, and now he was alone, swimming on, his body pumping with adrenaline. He turned to look for Maureen, but she was gone. Clary, however, was still clearly visible, floating just ahead. Not floating.
Swimming. Toward him. She was doing exactly what he was doing, forcing her body on, shuddering, pushing through the water.
Simon powered through the last strokes and felt the touch of her hand. He would go--he would go with her. And she was smiling, her lips blue.
And then he felt the ground under him--some surface under the water, something just a foot or two down. Clary reacted at the same moment, and they both grabbed at each other and struggled to their feet. They were standing in the Bethesda Fountain, the angel statue looking down on them, pouring water on their heads.
"Y . . . you . . . ," Clary said.
Simon didn't try to speak. He embraced her, and they shuddered together before stepping carefully out of the fountain and lying down on the bricks of the terrace, heaving for breath. The moon was wide--too wide and too close.
Mentally, Simon told the moon to stop being so close and bright and that it should just generally shut up with the mooniness. He reached out and took Clary's hand, which was already extended, waiting for his.
When he opened his eyes, he was not outside. He was on something fairly comfortable and plush. Simon reached around and felt a velvety surface under him. He sat up and realized he was on a sofa in the reception room. The tea set was there, in front of him. Magnus and Catarina were standing against the wall, conferring, and Jem sat in the chair between them and watched them both.
"Sit up slowly," he said. "Take a few deep breaths."
"What the hell?" Simon said.
"You drank water from Lake Lyn," Jem said quietly. "The waters produce hallucinations."
"You had us drink water from Lake Lyn? Where's Clary?"
"She is fine," Jem said quietly. "Drink some water. You must be thirsty."
A glass was already against Simon's lips. Catarina was holding it.
"Are you joking?" Simon said. "You want me to drink that? After what just happened?"
"It's fine," Catarina said. She took a long sip from the glass and held it back in front of Simon's mouth. He did have a crazy case of cottonmouth, actually. His tongue felt thick. He took the glass and drank it back in one go, then filled it again, and again from a pitcher on the table. Only after the third glass did he feel like he could speak again.
"Doesn't that drive people insane?" he said, not bothering to disguise his anger in any way.
Jem sat calmly, his hands resting on his knees. Simon could see his age now, not in his face but behind his eyes. They were dark mirrors that reflected the passage of uncounted years.
"Had something gone wrong, you would have been with the Silent Brothers within the hour. I may not be a Silent Brother anymore, but I have previously treated those who have consumed the waters. Magnus prepared the tea because he has worked with both of your minds. Catarina, of course, is a nurse. You were always safe. I am sorry. None of us wanted to deceive you. This was done for your benefit."
"Not an explanation," Simon said. "I want to see Clary. I want to know what's going on."
"She's fine," Catarina said. "I'll go check on how she's doing. Don't worry."
She left, and Jem leaned forward in his chair.
"Before Clary comes in, I need to know: What did you see?"
"When you drugged me?"
"Simon, this is important. What did you see?"
"I was in New York. I . . . thought I was in New York. Did we go to New York? Did you open a Portal?"
Jem shook his head.
"You were in this room the entire time. Please. Tell me."
"Clary and I were in Central Park, by the Bethesda Fountain. The angel in the fountain flew away and the fountain flooded, and Clary disappeared. Then some boat came and I was on a 'tunnel of love' ride with Jace, and he kept telling me to remember where we met, even though I didn't see him."
"Stop a moment," Jem said. "What does that mean to you?"
"I have no idea. I just know he was saying that I had to remember."
"Do you remember?"
"No," Simon snapped. "I barely remember anything. I know I was probably with Clary. Clary could see him."
"Go on," Jem said. "What happened then?"
"I saw Maia, he said. "And I saw Jordan. He was covered in blood. Then this ride dumped me out on the East River, and some kid named Maureen said she died because of me and jumped in. Clary was floating on the water and I . . ."
He shuddered again, and Jem immediately stood and produced a blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders.
"Move closer to the fire," Jem said, guiding him up and to a chair. When Simon had settled a bit and warmed, Jem encouraged him to continue.
"Maureen told me I had to decide which one of them to save. Jace showed up again and gave me some lecture about how all the choices were hard. I jumped in."
"Who did you decide to save?" Jem asked.
"I hadn't . . . decided . . . anything. I knew I had to jump. And I guess I knew Maureen was dead. She said she was dead. But Clary wasn't. I just had to get to Clary. I got all of this energy all of a sudden and I could swim to her. And when I swam to her, I looked up and she was swimming to me."
Jem sat back and tented his fingers together for a moment.
"I want to see Clary," Simon said through chattering teeth. His body was warm--it had probably never been cold, really--but the river water still felt so real.
Catarina reappeared a moment later with Clary, who was also wrapped in a blanket. Jem immediately got up and offered her his chair. Clary's eyes were wide and shining, and she looked to Simon in relief.
"Did it happen to you, too?" she said. "Whatever that was."
"I think we both got it," he replied. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I'm just . . . really cold. I thought I was in the river."
Simon stopped shivering.
"You thought you were in the river?"
"I was trying to swim to you," Clary said. "We were in Central Park, and you got sucked into the ground--like you were being buried alive. And Raphael came, and I was on his motorcycle, and we were flying over the river and I saw you. I jumped off . . ."
From behind Clary's chair, Catarina nodded.
"I saw something kind of like that," Simon said. "Not exactly, but . . . enough. And I reached you. You were swimming to me. Then we were back . . ."
". . . in Central Park. By the fountain with the angel."
Magnus had joined the group as well and stretched himself out on a sofa. "Bethesda Fountain," he said. "Shadowhunters may have had something to do with building it. I'm just saying."
"What does this all mean?" Simon asked. "What was this about?"
"The two of you are different," Magnus said. "There are things in your backgrounds that mean that . . . things have to be done differently. For a start, both of you have had blocks put on your memories. Clary has an unusual amount of angel blood. And you, Simon, used to be a vampire."
"We know that. But why did you have to drug us to do something symbolic?"
"It wasn't
symbolic. The parabatai test is the test of fire," Catarina said. "You stand in rings of fire to make your bond. This . . . this is the test of water. The nature of the test requires that you have no knowledge of the test. Mentally preparing for the test can affect the outcome. This test wasn't about Julian and Emma. It's about the two of you. Think about what you both saw, what you both learned. Think about what you felt. Think about when you were both able to swim to each other when you had nothing left, when you should have died."
Simon and Clary stared at each other. The fog began to lift.
"You took the water," Jem said. "And you joined in the same place in your minds. You were able to find each other. You were linked. 'And it came to pass that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.'"
"Parabatai?" Simon said. "Wait, wait, wait. Are you trying to tell me this is about being parabatai? I can't have a parabatai. I turned nineteen two months ago."
"Not exactly," Magnus said.
"What do you mean not exactly?"
"Simon," Magnus said plainly, "you died. You were dead for nearly half a year. You may have been walking around, but you were not alive, not as a human. That time does not count. By Shadowhunter standards, you are still eighteen. And you have the whole year until your nineteenth birthday to find a parabatai." He looked toward Clary. "Clary, as you know, is still within the age limit. There should be time for you to Ascend and then for you two to become parabatai immediately--if that's what you want."
"Some people are uniquely suited to be parabatai," said Magnus. "Born to it, you might say. People think it's about getting along, about always agreeing, being in sync. It's not. It's about being better together. Fighting better together. Alec and Jace haven't always agreed, but they've always been better together."
"It has been spoken of often to me," Jem said in his soft voice, "how much the two of you were dedicated to each other. The manner in which you have always stood up for each other and put the other first. When a parabatai bond is true, when the friendship runs deep and honest, it can be . . . transcendent." There was sadness in his eyes, a sadness so profound it was almost frightening. "We needed to find out if what had been observed about the two of you was true for your sake. You're about to witness the ceremony. That can cause a powerful reaction in true parabatai. We had to know for sure that it was true and that you could withstand it. The test told us what we needed to know."