Cassandra Clare - City of Fallen Angels

“Too bad,” said Simon. He was sitting on one of the speakers, next to Clary, who was engrossed in texting someone, probably Jace. “No one’s going to believe you anyway, because look—here I am. Daylight.” He raised his arms to indicate the sunlight pouring through the holes in the roof of Eric’s garage, which was their current practice space.

“That does somewhat impact our credibility,” said Matt, pushing his bright red hair out of his eyes and squinting at Simon. “Maybe you could wear fake fangs.”

“He doesn’t need fake fangs,” said Clary irritably, lowering her phone. “He has real fangs. You’ve seen them.”

This was true. Simon had had to whip out the fangs when initially breaking the news to the band. At first they’d thought he’d had a head injury, or a mental breakdown. After he’d flashed the fangs at them, they’d come around. Eric had even admitted that he wasn’t particularly surprised. “I always knew there were vampires, dude,” he’d said. “Because, you know how there’s people you know who, like, always look the same, even when they’re, like, a hundred years old? Like David Bowie? That’s because they’re vampires.”

Simon had drawn the line at telling them that Clary and Isabelle were Shadowhunters. That wasn’t his secret to tell. Nor did they know that Maia was a werewolf. They just thought that Maia and Isabelle were two hot girls who had both inexplicably agreed to date Simon. They put this down to what Kirk called his “sexy vampire mojo.” Simon didn’t really care what they called it, as long as they never slipped up and told Maia and Isabelle about each other. So far he’d managed to successfully invite them each to alternate gigs, so they never showed up at the same one at the same time.

“Maybe you could show the fangs onstage?” Eric suggested. “Just, like, once, dude. Flash ’em at the crowd.”

“If he did that, the leader of the New York City vampire clan would kill you all,” Clary said. “You know that, right?” She shook her head in Simon’s direction. “I can’t believe you told them you’re a vampire,” she added, lowering her voice so only Simon could hear her. “They’re idiots, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“They’re my friends,” Simon muttered.

“They’re your friends, and they’re idiots.”

“I want people I care about to know the truth about me.”

“Oh?” Clary said, not very kindly. “So when are you going to tell your mother?”

Before Simon could reply, there was a loud rap on the garage door, and a moment later it slid up, letting more autumn sunlight pour inside. Simon looked over, blinking. It was a reflex, really, left over from when he had been human. It no longer took his eyes more than a split second to adjust to darkness or light.

There was a boy standing at the garage entrance, backlit by bright sun. He held a piece of paper in his hand. He looked down at it uncertainly, and then back up at the band. “Hey,” he said. “Is this where I can find the band Dangerous Stain?”

“We’re Dichotomous Lemur now,” said Eric, stepping forward. “Who wants to know?”

“I’m Kyle,” said the boy, ducking under the garage door. Straightening up, he flipped back the brown hair that fell into his eyes and held out his piece of paper to Eric. “I saw you were looking for a lead singer.”

“Whoa,” said Matt. “We put that flyer up, like, a year ago. I totally forgot about it.”

“Yeah,” said Eric. “We were doing some different stuff back then. Now we mostly switch off on vocals. You have experience?”

Kyle—who was very tall, Simon saw, though not at all gangly—shrugged. “Not really. But I’m told I can sing.” He had a slow, slightly drawling diction, more surfer than Southern.

The members of the band looked uncertainly at one another. Eric scratched behind his ear. “Can you give us a second, dude?”

“Sure.” Kyle ducked back out of the garage, sliding the door closed behind him. Simon could hear him whistling faintly outside. It sounded like “She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain.” It wasn’t particularly in tune, either.

“I dunno,” Eric said. “I’m not sure we can use anyone new right now. ’Cause, I mean, we can’t tell him about the vampire thing, can we?”

“No,” said Simon. “You can’t.”

“Well, then.” Matt shrugged. “It’s too bad. We need a singer. Kirk sucks. No offense, Kirk.”

“Screw you,” said Kirk. “I do not suck.”

“Yes, you do,” said Matt. “You suck big, hairy—” “I think,” Clary interrupted, raising her voice, “that you should let him try out.”

Simon stared at her. “Why?”

“Because he is superhot,” Clary said, to Simon’s surprise. He hadn’t been enormously struck by Kyle’s looks, but then, perhaps he wasn’t the best judge of male beauty. “And your band needs some sex appeal.”

“Thank you,” said Simon. “On behalf of us all, thank you very much.”

Clary made an impatient noise. “Yes, yes, you’re all fine-looking guys. Especially you, Simon.” She patted his hand. “But Kyle is hot like ‘whoa.’ I’m just saying. My objective opinion as a female is that if you add Kyle to your band, you will double your female fan base.”

“Which means we’ll have two female fans instead of one,” said Kirk.

“Which one?” Matt looked genuinely curious.

“Eric’s little cousin’s friend. What’s her name? The one who has a crush on Simon. She comes to all our gigs and tells everyone she’s his girlfriend.”

Simon winced. “She’s thirteen.”

“That’s your sexy vampire mojo at work, man,” said Matt. “The ladies cannot resist you.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Clary. “There is no such thing as sexy vampire mojo.” She pointed a finger at Eric. “And don’t even say that Sexy Vampire Mojo sounds like a band name, or I’ll—”

The garage door swung back up. “Uh, dudes?” It was Kyle again. “Look, if you don’t want me to try out, it’s cool. Maybe you changed your sound, whatever. Just say the word, and I’m out.”

Eric cocked his head to the side. “Come on in and let’s get a look at you.”

Kyle stepped into the garage. Simon stared at him, trying to gauge what it was that had made Clary say he was hot. He was tall and broad-shouldered and slim, with high cheekbones, longish black hair that tumbled over his forehead and down his neck in curls, and brown skin that hadn’t lost its summery tan yet. His long, thick eyelashes over startling hazel-green eyes made him look like a pretty-boy rock star. He wore a fitted green T-shirt and jeans, and twining both his bare arms were tattoos—not Marks, just ordinary tattoos. They looked like scrolling script winding around his skin, disappearing up the sleeves of his shirt.

Okay, Simon had to admit. He wasn’t hideous.

“You know,” Kirk said finally, breaking the silence. “I see it. He is pretty hot.”

Kyle blinked and turned to Eric. “So, do you want me to sing or not?”

Eric detached the mike from its stand and handed it to him. “Go ahead,” he said. “Give it a try.”

“You know, he was really pretty good,” Clary said. “I was kind of kidding about including Kyle in the band, but he can actually sing.”

They were walking along Kent Avenue, toward Luke’s house. The sky had darkened from blue to gray in preparation for twilight, and clouds hung low over the East River. Clary was trailing one of her gloved hands along the chain-link fence that separated them from the cracked concrete embankment, making the metal rattle.

“You’re just saying that because you think he’s hot,” said Simon.

She dimpled. “Not that hot. Not, like, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.” Which, Simon imagined, would be Jace, though she was nice enough not to say it. “But I thought it would be a good idea to have him in the band, honestly. If Eric and the rest of them can’t tell him you’re a vampire, they can’t tell everyone else, either. Hopefully it’ll put an end to that stupid idea.” They were nearly at Luke’s house; Simon could see it across the street, the windows lit up yellow against the coming dark. Clary paused at a gap in the fence. “Remember when we killed a bunch of Raum demons here?”