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Simon rolled his eyes. Apparently, all Shadowhunter dudes were underwear models, including his new roommate. His life was a joke.
“Speaking of luck, Isabelle Lightwood is a total babe. Actually, she’s better than a babe: She’s a hero. She came all the way here to tell the world you were hers. You’re telling me she doesn’t know another hero when she sees one? You’re going to figure out what you’re doing here. Isabelle Lightwood believes in you, and for what it’s worth, I do too.”
George hesitated, substantially more easily intimidated than any six-foot-five Scottish sex god (Beatriz Velez Mendoza’s description, according to her bigmouthed best friend) had a right to be.
Scariest is Eli in Let the Right One In, cheesiest is late-era Lestat, most underrated is David Bowie in The Hunger. Sexiest is definitely Drusilla, though if you ask a girl, she’ll probably say Damon Salvatore or Edward Cullen. But . . .” He shrugged. “You know girls.”
“Yes, yes, you’ve all heard of the Herondales,” Balogh said impatiently. “And perhaps you’ve heard good things—of William Herondale, for instance, or his son James, or Jonathan Lightwood Herondale today. But even the strongest tree can have a weak branch.
“Don’t worry, hero. If the vamp shows up, I’m here to protect you.” “Great, I can hide behind your massive ego.”
He’d never before realized what a horrible crime against nature it was that he had lost his memories of Isabelle in action. It was clear that it was her natural state. Isabelle standing still was beautiful; Isabelle leaping through the air, carving death into cold flesh, was unworldly, burning as brightly as her golden whip. She was like a goddess, Simon thought, and then silently corrected himself—she was like an avenging angel, her vengeance swift and deadly.
Angry that she was a supernaturally sexy, raven-haired warrior goddess and apparently against all odds still in love with him—and he was apparently going to have to break up with her, again.
one Isabelle the girl that other, better Simon loved so much he would have sacrificed everything for her. There was a part of him—a part beneath memories, beyond rationality—desperate to close the space between them, to take her in his arms, smooth back her hair, lose himself in her bottomless eyes, her lips, her fierce, protective, overwhelming love.
“You’re like this Amazon warrior.” “Thanks? I think? Jace is a good trainer. And, you know, there was incentive to get up to speed pretty quick. Fending off the apocalypse and all. Twice.”
you also mumble her name when you sleep.” “I do?” “On occasion. You’re either saying ‘Isabelle’ or ‘fishy smell.’ Could be either, to be fair.”
“It’s easy,” Jace said. “You probably did it all the time as a child. Just do that.” “I’m from Brooklyn,” Simon replied. “We don’t climb trees.”
“Anything for you, my pearl beyond price. Even withholding weaponry from my only daughter.”
“You’re such a good boy,” he said. “I often wonder how you could possibly be Will’s.”
Will’s eyes caught blue fire. “You are suggesting using my wife and my sister to lure the thing out?” “It is the best way,” Gabriel said. “And your sister is my wife. Both Tessa and Cecily are more than capable, and we would be there as well.”
“On one condition.” “And what condition is—” Gabriel broke off with a sigh. “Ah,” he said. “Brother Zachariah.” “This monster is violent,” said Will. “We might need a healer. Someone with the power of a Silent Brother. This is a special situation.” “I cannot recall a situation you did not think was special and required his presence,” said Gabriel dryly. “You have been known to call upon Brother Zachariah for a broken toe.”
“I think you should talk to Tessa,” said Simon. “I think she could tell you about the Herondales. Things you don’t know already.”
Oh I think she’d love to
She knew that her bed in the Institute was warm and contained someone who loved her and would protect her.
It wasn’t unusual for Cecily and Tessa to return exhausted to the pub at the crack of dawn, and find Gabriel gone and Will asleep, wrapped up in Brother Zachariah’s parchment robes, head on the table.
Sometimes, after Cecily and Gabriel left, Tessa would sit with her hand in Jem’s and Will sleeping against her shoulder,
There were words in her head, soft and silent, cool as water. I am here. Her eyes flew open. Jem was kneeling over her.
Jem was still holding her hand. I called for James, she thought, and he came.
Will had his arms around her and her hand was in Jem’s. That was enough to keep her breathing.
Tessa stepped down and went over to a man, who kissed her lightly on the cheek. He was slender, and very elegant, dressed in black and white. His black hair had one single white streak in it, completing the dichromatic look.
The way that he smiled at Tessa, and she back at him, made it clear what their relationship was—they were in love, of the realest, truest kind.
Jem had lived in the Silent City for more than a hundred years, until his service was over. He had returned to life to live with his immortal love. Now that was a complicated relationship. It made a little memory loss and former vampire status seem almost normal.
James did not worry about the ladies approaching Father. Father never once looked at any woman the way he looked at Mother, with joy and thanksgiving, as if she was a living wish, granted past all hope.
Two shy people would probably be good friends, but there was the small problem of how to reach that point. James had no idea.
Oh god, he’s me
There was also a distressing amount of Matthew Fairchild.
“Would you like me to magically strip you and put you in gear?” Mr. Fell asked. “In front of everybody?” “That would be a thrill for everybody, I’m sure,” said Matthew. Ragnor Fell wiggled his fingers, and green sparks spat from his fingertips. James was pleased to see Matthew actually take a step back. “Might be too thrilling for a Wednesday,” Matthew said. “I’ll go put on my gear then, shall I?”
James reared up from his bed and threw himself into Uncle Jem’s arms. He had heard some people found the Silent Brothers frightening, with their silent speech and their stitched eyes, but to him the sight of a Silent Brother’s robe always meant Uncle Jem, always meant steadfast love.
I remember a time, when I was still James Carstairs, when your mother learned—as she thought then—that she could not have children. She was so hurt by that. She thought herself so changed, from all she had thought she was. I told her the right man would not care, and of course your father, the best of men, the only one fit for her, did not.
There are only four points of warmth and brightness, in the whole world, that burn fiercely enough for me to feel something like the person I was. Your mother, your father, Lucie, and you.
They would have to be even blinder than a Silent Brother, Uncle Jem agreed. Because I can see you, James. I will always look to you for light.
Uncle Jem had been changed into a Silent Brother because he would have died otherwise. Uncle Jem had a place in the world, had friends and a home, and the horror was that he could not be in the place where he belonged. Sometimes after his visits James would find his mother standing at the window, looking out at the street Uncle Jem had long disappeared from, and he would find his father in the music room staring at the violin nobody but Uncle Jem was allowed to touch. That was the tragedy of Uncle Jem’s life; it was the tragedy of his parents’ lives.
James had thought he wanted a friend like himself, a parabatai who was shy and quiet and would enter in on James’s feelings about the terror of parties. Instead here was Matthew, who was the life and soul of every party, who made dreadful hairbrush decisions, who was unexpectedly and terribly kind. Who had tried to be his friend and kept trying, even though James did not know what trying to be a friend looked like. Who could see James, even when he was a shadow.
What kind of seventeen-year-old guy doesn’t know whether or not he’s a virgin?
He just knew, on a level beneath reason and memory, that some part of him belonged with Isabelle. Maybe even belonged to Isabelle. Whether he could remember why, or not.
History, the way teachers liked it, was a racetrack, a straight shot from start to finish line; life itself was more of a maze.
“Love, real love, is being seen. Being known. Knowing the ugliest part of someone, and loving them anyway. And . . . I guess I think two people in love become something else, something more than the sum of their parts, you know? That it must be like you’re creating a new world that exists just for the two of you. You’re gods of your own pocket universe.”
This is how a faerie loves: with a gift.
From the look on Julian’s face as he regarded Emma, there was not one thing about her he would change. His art and his Emma,
When a parabatai bond is true, when the friendship runs deep and honest, it can be . . . transcendent.” There was sadness in his eyes, a sadness so profound it was almost frightening.
Shadowhunters have no problems with technicalities. They love a technicality. Look at Jem. Jem is a technicality in the flesh. People don’t come back from being Silent Brothers, either, and there he is.” Jem smiled at this, the sadness in his eyes receding.
There’s always something about true parabatai. They don’t need to speak to communicate. I saw the two of you having entire conversations without saying a word. It was like that with my parabatai, Will. I never had to ask Will what he was thinking. In fact, it was usually better not to ask Will what he was thinking. . . .”
he could see Emma’s and Julian’s expressions. What was he seeing? It was something he knew.
Love cuz these 2 are idiots
He expected many more years politely avoiding and, when necessary, politely tolerating Alec’s parents. It was a very small price to pay to be with Alec.
Alec was here. Even a hell dimension, as Magnus recalled, had been greatly improved by Alec’s presence. Shadowhunter Academy was going to be a snap.
There was a sheet over Alec and Magnus, but Simon could see enough. He could see Alec’s white, rune-scarred shoulders and Magnus’s wild black hair spread on the pillow.
“I wasn’t aware,” said Simon, “that there are any other girls in the world but you.”
