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Possibly you owe me your firstborn. But don’t worry, I’m not in the market for anybody’s firstborn.”
Hehehehe where is this going
Alec’s mouth was soft and sure, the kiss slow, his strong hands holding Magnus close, pressed along the warm line of his body. Behind Magnus’s closed eyelids, the morning turned from gray to gold.
“Vampires are gross and dead, werewolves are gross and hairy, and faeries are treacherous and would sleep with your mom,” said Julie. “Warlocks are the sexy Downworlders. Think about it. They all have daddy issues. And Magnus Bane is the sexiest of them all. He can be High Warlock of my pants.” “Uh, Magnus has a boyfriend,” said Simon.
Julie made a face at him. “You’re so sensitive, Simon. Why must you always be so sensitive?” “You’re so terrible, Julie,” said Simon. “Why must you always be so terrible?”
Magnus could not believe it was possible for his heart to sink further, but it somehow struck him as the greatest disaster in the world that the baby was awake.
Jace rubbed one of the fox paws with a brown hand,
Why is everyone's skin tone "brown" in this book? This is very incogruent with every other description of thse characters in the other books
“What is Brangelina? It sounds like a demon.” “It does not!” George protested. “I believe in their love.” “They are not like Brangelina,” Simon said. “What would you even call them? Algnus? That sounds like a foot disease.” “Obviously you would call them Malec,” said Beatriz. “Are you stupid, Simon?”
Hahahaha wink wink
“Oh, because people in the mundane world never obsess about celebrities and their love lives,” Beatriz said. “See also, Brangelina. And that boy band George is obsessed with. He has all kinds of theories about their romances.” “What . . . boy band . . . George is obsessed with?” Simon asked slowly. George looked shifty. “I don’t want to talk about it. The band’s going through some hard times lately, and it makes me too sad.”
Also he felt suddenly paranoid over whether people were wondering if he had piercings. Simon had no piercings. He used to be a musician in Brooklyn. He probably should have piercings.
Hours passed. Magnus hardly noticed, time went by so quietly, as if someone had laid out the carpet of the night to muffle time’s footsteps.
“You’re . . . still really young,” Magnus said. “I’m sorry if sometimes it seems as if I do not remember that. It’s strange to me—being immortal means both being young and being old are strange to me. I know I must seem strange to you sometimes.”
Time is both meaningless and everything
“You don’t have to be scared of what will happen to the baby or that I will be hurt because the baby—is a warlock, and was not wanted. You do not have to feel trapped. You do not have to be scared, and you do not have to do this.” Alec knelt down in the shadows and on the bare, dusty boards of the attic, next to the crib and facing Magnus. “What if I want to?” he asked. “I’m a Shadowhunter. We marry young, and we have children young, because we might die young, because we want to do our duty to the world and have all the love in the world we can. I used to . . . I used to think I could never
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I have had enough of making compromises in the name of trying to make peace. I want the Law to change.
I do not want to get married until we can get married in gold.”
There had been lovers willing to die with him, but nobody had ever been willing to swear to live with him every day for as long as they both had to live.
I wish I could have your bright outlook on life, but unfortunately I cannot help looking around at the world and noticing that we are surrounded by idiots.
me
One particular warlock was in the front, waving a glittering purple ladies’ feather boa over his head like a flag. I am so embarrassed to know him. Sometimes I pretend to other Downworlders that I do not. I hope they believe me.
Ragnor had been yelling at kids to get off his lawn before lawns were invented.
He had always been kind to Magnus, willing to fall in with any of Magnus’s schemes as long as he could complain throughout while they did it.
She picked up the old coin on the desk and put it in Magnus’s palm, in the hand that already held Raphael’s letter to Ragnor. Magnus looked at the coin and the letter. “Are you sure?” “I’m sure,” said Catarina. “I read the letter a lot during my first year in the Academy, to remind myself what I was doing here and what Ragnor would have wanted. I’ve honored my friend. I’ve almost completed my task. You take them.” Magnus tucked away the letter and the good-luck charm, sent by one of his dead friends to another.
People who are not trusted become untrustworthy.
“Is there any reason why ‘Magnus Bane’ was the one that felt right?” “Magnus Bane felt right for a lot of reasons,” Magnus said, which was not really an answer. He seemed to sense Simon’s disappointment and take pity on him, because he added: “Here’s one.” Magnus flipped the coin over and under his fingers, the circle of metal moving faster and faster. Blue lines of magic seemed to spring from his rings, a tiny storm rising in Magnus’s palm and catching the coin in a net of lightning. Then Magnus threw the coin off the tower, into the night wind. Simon could see the falling coin, still touched
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Clary and Simon continued to stare judgmentally. It made Simon very happy. Judging people together was an essential part of best friendship.
“I wanted to tell you before I try to Ascend,” he said. The smile dropped off Isabelle’s face. “If this is an in-case-I-die speech, I don’t want to hear it,” she said fiercely. “You’re not going to do that to me. You’re not going to even consider dying. You’re going to be fine.” “No,” Simon said. “You’ve got it all wrong. I wanted to say this now, because if I Ascend, I get my memories back.” Isabelle looked confused instead of angry, which was an improvement. “What is it, then?” “It doesn’t matter if I get my memories back or not,” Simon said. “It doesn’t matter if another demon gives me
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Magnus had to trust that for himself, for his son, for his beloved, for all of the shining, fading mortals and enduring, struggling immortals that he knew, there would be time enough.
“Also, for the record, only one of us has actually been a rat—and you’ll note he’s not the one crying.” “It could be the last dead rat we ever find!” George sniffled. “Think about it, Si. This could be the last shared dead rat of our entire lives.”
“RIP, Jon Cartwright the Thirty-Fourth,” George said solemnly. They named all their rats Jon Cartwright—a fact that drove the original Jon Cartwright nuts.
Even before he’d known anything about demons and Downworlders, Simon thought, he had always known New York was full of magic. Maybe that was why it had been so easy for him to accept the truth about the Shadow World: In his city, anything was possible.
Over the past two years, they’d developed a roommate shorthand, almost a silent language. Not exactly like a parabatai, Simon thought, and not exactly like a best friend. But not something less than. Not something he ever wanted to leave behind for good. “You’re right, George. I do have more than enough best friends.” George’s face fell, so slightly that only someone who knew him as well as Simon would have noticed. “But there’s something else I’ve never had,” Simon added. “At least until now.” “What’s that?” “A brother.” The word felt right. Not someone you chose—someone the fates assigned
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Being a Shadowhunter, he knew, meant being on an intimate basis with death. But then, so did being human.
He wanted a beautiful Shadowhunter spirit from the past, maybe even a long-dead Lovelace, to take George away with her, to wherever it was spirits went. He wanted to believe that George had been welcomed into the arms of his ancestors, where some part of him would live on.
