So far, Will, Magnus, Jem, Alec and Simon have all won in the first round. Keep checking in with us as we will give you dates on the next round. We are an official Team Jem site, so we will be promoting his next round with Page Turners Blog.
Here's the deleted scene!
I’m in.Cassie has promised a new scene for each time a TMI/ID character is in a round of the competition. Visit us regularly to find the new snippets as they are released.
Simon? Her voice was faint, fading, as if she were walking away from him. He sat up.
There was no response. He lurched to his feet, his mouth dry.
The word echoed inside his head like a bell rung in an empty room. Swearing, he pulled off his clothes, threw on new jeans and a sweater, and went out into the living room to look for his messenger bag. He felt a little sick, as if he might throw up. Clary had called out to him, but he couldn’t reach her back; what if he could never reach her back? What if she was dead or lost or the goddamn rings just didn’t work?
Jordan was lying on the futon in jeans and a green shirt, a mug of coffee balanced on his stomach. He turned his head, dark hair spilling into his eyes, as Simon came in. “Your phone’s been ringing all morning.”
Simon grabbed for his messenger bag, hanging on a peg on the wall. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know. Didn’t check. It’s your phone. You get a lot of calls, man.”
Simon forebore from pointing out that they didn’t have a land line, so everyone who knew him had to call his mobile. He fished the phone out and stared at the number. An unrecognizable 718 prefix; someone in Brooklyn. He looked at Jordan. “Did — have you seen Isabelle?”
A small smile played around Jordan’s mouth. “She’s taking a shower.”
Simon glanced toward the bathroom door, which was closed. Isabelle —Clary — it was all way too much. The sort of thing that would make you want to take a deep, steadying breath, if you breathed. Instead he flipped his phone open and dialed; it picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”
Simon was floored. “Magnus?”
A chuckle. “Hey, Daylighter.”
“No offense, but I never really visualized you calling me before.”
“It’s hardly a social call.” There was a noise in the background; a murmur of voices. “Simon, have you —”
“No, I mean I didn’t really think of you as using the phone. More — appearing in a burst of glitter.”
“Have you seen Clary?” Magnus said, firmly. “I’ll address the glitter issue later. But Jocelyn is here with Brother Zachariah, and —” he lowered his voice — “Clary’s not in her room.”
Simon gave up and took a deep breath anyway, just out of reflex. “No,” he said. “No, she wouldn’t be.”
“But you do know where she is?”
Simon squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah.”
There was a pause. “I think you better get over here.”
“Do you want me to bring Isabelle?”
“Isabelle’s there?” Magnus managed to sound dryly amused, despite everything.
“She — she, ah, spent the night.”
“Alec will be delighted to hear that. Perhaps we can have a contest to see whether he or Jocelyn kills you first.” Magnus chortled. “Have you told Jordan about Luke yet?”
“No.” Simon opened his eyes; Jordan was still lying on the futon, engrossed in a fat science fiction novel. “Should I?”
“He should know. He’s Praetor Lupus and this is a big deal for the Moon’s Children. In fact, bring him along. Bring all your little friends along. You’ll need them!”
With which cheerful pronouncement, Magnus clicked off. Jordan sat up, setting his book aside. “What was that about telling me —”
He broke off, his eyes widening. The bathroom door had opened, and on a cloud of steam out came Isabelle, her hair like a wet black river down her back. She was wrapped in a red towel that just hit the tops of her thighs and her legs looked miles long. Both boys stared at her.
“I am so hungover,” she announced, flipped her hair over one shoulder, and stalked off toward Simon’s bedroom. Simon looked over at Jordan, whose eyebrows had risen up to his hairline.