City of Bones (The Mortal Instruments, #1)

by Cassandra Clare

Jace assumed an air of mellow gratification. “Of course they are,” he said. “I am stunningly attractive.” “Haven’t you ever heard that modesty is an attractive trait?” “Only from ugly people,”

“He always says exactly what comes into his head. No filters.” “Filters are for cigarettes and coffee,”

“Sarcasm is the last refuge of the imaginatively bankrupt,

“Is this when you start tearing strips off your T-shirt to bind up my wound?” she joked. She hated the sight of blood, especially her own. “If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked.”

“Vials of holy water, blessed knives, steel and silver blades,” Jace said, piling the weapons on the floor beside him, “electrum wire—not much use at the moment, but it’s always good to have spare—silver bullets, charms of protection, crucifixes, stars of David—” “Jesus,” said Clary. “I doubt he’d fit.”

“Don’t.” Clary raised a warning hand. “I’m not really in the mood right now.” “That’s got to be the first time a girl’s ever said that to me,” Jace mused. “Stick with me and it won’t be the last.” The corner of Jace’s mouth twitched. “This is hardly the time for idle banter. We have garbage to haul.”

“In future, Clarissa,” he said, “it might be wise to mention that you already have a man in your bed, to avoid such tedious situations.” “You invited him into bed?” Simon demanded, looking shaken. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?” said Jace. “We would never have all fit.”