Free The Evil We Love (Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy Book 5) by Cassandra Clare, Robin Wasserman Page B

convictions, why not simply accept the courage of mine?”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “My proposition is this,” Valentine said. “Stop worrying so much about whether or not you’re sure. Let me be sure for you. Rely on my certainty, on my passion. Let yourself be weak, and lean on me, because we both know I can be strong. Accept that you’re doing the right thing because I know it to be the right thing.”
    “If only it were that easy,” Robert said, and couldn’t deny a stab of longing.
    Valentine looked mildly amused, as if Robert had betrayed a childlike misunderstanding of the nature of things. “It’s only as hard as you make it,” he said gently. “It’s as easy as you let it be.”
    *   *   *
    Isabelle brushed past Simon on his way out of the lecture.
    “Nine p.m., Jon’s room,” she whispered in his ear.
    “What?” It was like she was informing him of the exact time and place of his death—which, if he was forced to imagine what she might be doing in Jon Cartwright’s dorm room, would be imminent.
    “Demon o’clock. You know, in case you’re still determined to ruin our fun.” She gave him a wicked grin. “Or join it.”
    There was an implied dare on her face, a certainty that he wouldn’t have the nerve to do either. Simon was reminded that though he might have forgotten ever knowing Isabelle, she’d forgotten nothing about him. In fact, it could be argued that she knew him better than he knew himself.
    Not anymore , he told himself. A year at the Academy, a year of study and battle and caffeine withdrawal had changed him. It had to.
    The question was: Changed him into what?
    *   *   *
    She’d given him the wrong time.
    Of course she had. By the time Simon burst into Jon Cartwright’s room, they were nearly ready to complete the ritual.
    “You can’t do this,” Simon told them. “All of you, stop and think.”
    “Why?” Isabelle said. “Just give us one good reason. Persuade us, Simon.”
    He wasn’t good at speeches. And she knew it.
    Simon found himself suddenly furious. This was his school; these were his friends. Isabelle didn’t care what happened here. Maybe there was no deeper story, no hidden pain. Maybe she was exactly what she seemed, and no more: a frivolous person who cared only for herself.
    Something at his core revolted against this thought, but he silenced it. This wasn’t about his nonrelationship with his nongirlfriend. He couldn’t let it be about that.
    “It’s not just that it’s against the rules,” Simon said. How were you supposed to explain something that seemed so obvious? It was like trying to persuade someone that one plus one equaled two: It just did . “It’s not just that you could get expelled or even taken before the Clave. It’s wrong. Someone could get hurt.”
    “Someone’s always getting hurt,” George pointed out, ruefully rubbing his elbow, which, just a couple of days before, Julie had nearly sliced off with a broadsword.
    “Because there’s no other way to learn,” Simon said, exasperated. “Because it’s the best of all bad options. This? This is the opposite of necessary. Is this the kind of Shadowhunter you want to be? The kind that toys with the forces of darkness because you think you can handle it? Have you never seen a movie? Read a comic book? That’s always how it starts—just a little temptation, just a little taste of evil, and then bam , your lightsaber turns red and you’re breathing through a big black mask and slicing off your son’s hand just to be mean.”
    They looked at him blankly.
    “Forget it.”
    It was funny, Shadowhunters knew more than mundanes about almost everything. They knew more about demons, about weapons, about the currents of power and magic that shaped the world. But they didn’t understand temptation. They didn’t understand how easy it was to make one small, terrible choice after another until you’d slid down the slippery slope into the pit of hell. Dura lex