The Fiery Trial (Tales from Shadowhunter Academy 8)

Clary laughed. "So what are we supposed to wear?" she said. "As witnesses, I mean."

"For the ceremony, formal gear. For the dinner afterward, regular clothing. Something nice."

"Wedding stuff," Catarina finally said. "It's a lot like a wedding but . . ."

". . . without the romance and flowers."

That was Jem.

Magnus was now eying them intently, his cat eyes glistening in the dark. The room had gotten very dark indeed. Simon gave Clary a look that was supposed to mean: This is weird. She responded with a very clear look of response that said: Superweird.

Simon drank his tea down in a few large gulps and returned the cup to the table.

"It's funny," he said. "There was just another parabatai announcement at dinner. Two students from the elite track."

"That's not uncommon for this time of year," Jem said. "As the year draws to a close, people reflect, they make decisions."

The room suddenly got warmer. Had the fire gotten higher? Had it sneaked closer? It was definitely crackling loudly, but now it didn't sound like laughter--it sounded like breaking glass. The fire was speaking to them.

Simon caught himself. The fire was speaking? What was wrong with him? He looked around the room fuzzily, and heard Clary make an odd, surprised sound, as if she'd seen something she hadn't expected.

"I think it's time to begin," said Jem. "Magnus?"

Simon could hear Magnus sigh as he stood up. Magnus was really tall. This, Simon had always known. Now he looked like he might hit the ceiling. He opened a door that Simon hadn't noticed was there.

"Come through here," Magnus said. "There are some things you need to see."

Clary got up and went over to the door. Simon followed. Catarina caught his eye as he went. Everything was unsaid in this room. She didn't quite approve of what was happening. Neither did Magnus.

Whatever was on the other side of the doorway was utterly dark, and Clary hesitated for a second.

"It's fine," Magnus said. "It's just a bit cold in there. Sorry."

Clary went in, and Simon followed a step behind. They were in a shadowy space, definitely cold. He turned, but could no longer see the door. It was just him and Clary. Clary's hair shone bright red in the dark.

"We're outside," Clary said.

Sure enough. Simon blinked. His thoughts were a little slow and stretched. Of course they were outside.

"They maybe could have said we were going outside," Simon said, shivering. "No one here believes in coats."

"Turn around," Clary said.

Simon turned. The door they had just come through--in fact, the entire building they had just come from--was gone. They were simply outdoors, surrounded by just a few trees. The sky above was a purple-gray parchment that seemed to be lit by a low haze of lights on the horizon, just out of sight. There was a web of brick paths all around, dotted with fenced-off areas of trees and urns that probably contained flowers in better weather and now stood as reminders of the season.

It was familiar, and yet, it was like nowhere Simon had ever been.

"We're in Central Park," Clary said. "I think . . ."

"What? We . . ."

But as soon as he said it, it became clear. The low metal fences that marked off the brick paths. But there were no benches, no trash cans, no people. There was no view of the skyline in any direction.

"Okay . . . ," said Simon. "This is weird. Did Magnus just completely screw up? Can that happen? You guys just came from New York. Did he just open up the same Portal?"

"Maybe?" Clary said.

Simon took a deep breath of the New York air. It was bitterly cold and burned the inside of his nose, waking him up.

"They'll realize in a second," Clary said, shivering in the cold. "Magnus doesn't make mistakes."

"So maybe it wasn't a mistake. Maybe we just got a free trip to New York. Or, I did. I'm going to assume that we go wherever we want until they come and get us. You know they have their ways. Might as well take advantage!"

This unexpected and utterly sudden trip home had completely reinvigorated Simon.

"Pizza," he said. "Oh my God. They stir-fried pizza tonight. It was the worst. Maybe coffee. Maybe there's time to get to Forbidden Planet? I just . . ."

He patted his pockets. Money. He had no money.

"You?" he asked.

Clary shook her head.

"In my bag. Back there."

That didn't matter. It was enough to be home. The suddenness of it only made it more wonderful. Now that he looked more carefully, Simon could see clearly the outlines of the skyscrapers that lined the south end of the park. They looked like the blocks he used to play with as a kid--just a series of rectangles of various sizes set side to side. Some had the faint glow of signs above them, but he couldn't read the writing. He could, however, see the colors of the signs with an unusual clarity. One sign was a pink rose, a bright bloom. The next was the color of electricity. It wasn't just the colors that were sharp. He could smell everything in the air. The metallic tang of the cold. The sea funk of the East River, blocks away. Even the jutting bits of bedrock that reached up and made the many tiny mountains of Central Park seemed to have an odor. There was no garbage, though, and no smells of food or traffic. This was elemental New York. This was the island itself.

"I feel a little weird," Simon said. "Maybe I should have finished dinner. And now that I've just said that, I know there must be something wrong with me."

"You need to eat," Clary said, giving him a light punch. "You're turning into a big muscle man."

"You noticed?"

"It's hard not to notice, Superman. You're like the after photo on some commercial for home workout equipment."

Simon blushed and looked away. It wasn't snowing anymore. It was just dark and open, with many trees around. There was a bright bitterness to the cold.

"Where do you think we are?" Clary said. "I'm guessing about . . . midway?"

Simon knew it was possible to walk for some time in Central Park without really having a sense of where you are. The paths wind. The trees create a canopy. The land goes up and down in sharp inclines and declines.

"Over there," he said, pointing at a low pattern of shadows. "It opens up over there. It's the entrance to something. Let's go that way and look."

Clary rubbed her hands together and huddled against the cold. Simon wished he had a coat to offer her, almost more than he wished he had a coat to offer himself. Still, being cold in New York was better than being cold in the Academy. He had to admit, though, that Idris was more temperate. New York weather went to more extremes. This was the kind of cold that would give you frostbite if you stayed out in it too long. They probably needed to figure out where they were and get out of the park and into a building--any building. A store, a coffee shop, whatever they could find.

They walked toward the opening, which revealed itself to be a collection of elaborately carved stone plinths. There were several of these, in sets. Eventually they led to an equally elaborately carved staircase that bent on its way down to a wide terrace with a massive fountain. There was a lake just beyond, covered in ice.

"Bethesda Terrace," Simon said, nodding. "That's where we are. That's in the Seventies, right?"

"Seventy-Second," Clary said. "I've drawn it before."

The terrace was just a large, ornamental area inside of the park and not really somewhere to be on a cold night--but it seemed to be the only place to be. If they walked toward it, at least they would know where they were, as opposed to wandering around in the trees and looping paths. They walked down the stairs together. Strangely, the fountain was going tonight. It was often turned off in the winter, and certainly when it was freezing cold. But the water flowed freely, and there was no ice on the water in the fountain base. The lights were on and all focused on the statue of the angel that stood in the middle of the fountain on top of two layered tiers and four tiny cherubs.

"Maybe Magnus did mess up," she said.

> Clary walked right up to the low edge of the fountain, sat down, and wrapped her arms around herself. Simon stared at the fountain. Funny, he thought, how they hadn't noticed any lights a few minutes ago as they approached. Maybe they'd just come on. The angel of the Bethesda Fountain was one of the most famous statues in all of Central Park--wings extended, water pouring off her outstretched hands.

He turned his head back down to tell Clary to look at the statue, but Clary was gone. He spun around, a full rotation. She was nowhere in sight.

"Clary?" he called.

There were no real places to conceal yourself on the terrace, and he'd looked away for only a moment. He walked halfway around the base of the fountain, calling her name several times. He looked up at the statue again. Same statue, looking down benevolently, water still dripping from her hands.