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CHAPTER THREE:
❝ Shadowhunter ❞
By the time they got to Java Jones, Eric was already onstage, swaying back and forth in front of the microphone with his eyes squinched shut. He'd dyed the tips of his hair pink for the occasion. Behind him, Matt, looking stoned, was beating irregularly on a djembe. "This is going to suck so hard," Clary predicted. She grabbed Simon's sleeve and tugged him towards the doorway. "If we make a run for it, we can still get away."
He shook his head determinedly. "I'm nothing if not a man of my word." He squared his shoulders. "I'll get the coffee if you find us a seat. What do you want?"
"Just coffee. Black ─ like my soul." Simon shook his head and chuckled then looked at Esme. " And cappuccino for you, I presume?"
She scrunched her nose. "Is that what you think my soul looks like?"
He headed off toward the coffee bar, muttering under his breath something to the effect that it was a far, far better thing he did now than he had ever done before. Clary and Esme went to find them a seat. The coffee shop was crowded for a Monday; most of the threadbare-looking couches and armchairs were taken up with teenagers enjoying a free weeknight. The smell of coffee and clove cigarettes was overwhelming. Finally, they found an unoccupied love seat in a darkened corner toward the back. The only other person nearby was a blonde girl in an orange tank top, absorbed in playing with her iPod. Good, Esme thought, Eric won't be able to find us back here after the show to ask how his poetry was.
Esme roamed her gaze over the boho-chic coffee shop. She heard the bell over the door ring and saw a man enter. For a moment, she thought it was her father. All icy blond and glade-green eyes. But it wasn't. She remembered her father like an entity, a presence to be scared of. She remembered him drunk one night, banging against her bedroom door to yell at her. She'd hidden under her bed until it went quiet - until all she could hear was belt slashing against the skin and her mother's whimpering. Esme closed her eyes ─ she'd never understood why her mother took it for so long. How? She shook her head. She was outside, she was not going to think about this. She could almost hear him open his mouth to shout: Fool. Of course, she was, this wasn't something that could be turned off. It could be overpowered but never gone. She tried her hardest to leave the past alone but couldn't. This crooked story was hers was all she had ever known and she kept telling it because how else would she have lived if not from the scorch marks and nail scratches left behind.
Her attention snapped to Clary when she heard her say, "Uh, no," Clary said. "He's a friend of mine." She looked over. The blonde girl was leaning over asking about something and beaming and she followed their line of sight. Simon headed towards them, face scrunched up in concentration as he tried not to drop the Styrofoam cups.
