Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy

by Cassandra Clare

“Good morning, Si! I saw a rat in the bathroom, but he was taking a nice nap and we didn’t bother each other.” “Or the rat was dead of a very infectious disease, which has now been introduced to our water system,” Simon suggested. “We may be drinking plague-rat water for weeks.” “Nobody likes a Gloomy Gus,” George scolded him. “Nobody likes a Sullen Si. Nobody is here for a Moody Mildred. No one fancies—” “I have gathered the general tenor of your discourse, George,” said Simon. “I object strongly to being referred to as a Moody Mildred. Especially as I really feel like I’m a Mildly Good-Humored Mildred right now. I see you’re looking forward to your big day?” “Have a shower, Si,” George urged. “Start the day refreshed. Maybe style your hair a little. It wouldn’t kill you.” Simon shook his head. “There’s a dead rat in the bathroom, George. I am not going in the bathroom, George.” “He’s not dead,” George said. “He’s just sleeping. I’m certain of it.” “Senseless optimism is how plagues get started,” Simon said. “Ask the medieval peasants of Europe. Oh, wait, you can’t.” “Were they a jolly bunch?” George asked skeptically. “I’m sure they were much jollier before all the plague,” said Simon.