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What was he seeing? It was something he knew.
Something flickered between Julian and Emma at that moment. It was so quick that Simon couldn’t tell which direction it had come from, but he’d seen it out of the corner of one of his eyes. Some look, something about the way one of them stood, something—but it was a look or a stance or something that he had seen before.
Something clicked in Simon’s mind. He remembered Jace, suddenly, in his hallucination, saying something about the first time they’d met.
The tie fit fine. Ties were good for this.
Every Night & every Morn Some to Misery are Born Every Morn and every Night Some are Born to sweet delight Some are Born to sweet delight Some are Born to Endless Night —“Auguries of Innocence,” William Blake
I have never been so embarrassed in my unlife. I’m thinking of quitting being leader of the clan and becoming a vampire nun.”
a thousand gallons of trouble in a pint-size body.
“Obviously you would call them Malec,” said Beatriz. “Are you stupid, Simon?”
Anna Lightwood and her parade of brokenhearted young ladies, Christopher Lightwood and his explosions, and now Isabelle—but there had never been a Lightwood who touched his heart, as some Shadowhunters had: Will Herondale or Henry Branwell or Clary Fray.
Until the Lightwood who was unforgettable; until the Lightwood who had not only touched but taken his heart.
It was a lesson, Magnus thought, to love while you could, love what was fragile and beautiful and imperiled. Nobody was guaranteed forever.
There was a pause, broken by irrelevancies like the music and the murmur of the people all around them. He could not quite read the look on Isabelle’s face. Isabelle said in a calm voice: “I know.” Simon stared at her. “Was that …,” he said slowly. “Was that a Star Wars reference? Because if it was, I would like to declare my love all over again.” “Go on, then,” said Isabelle. “I mean it. Say it again. I’ve been waiting awhile.” “I love you,” said Simon.
“What is wrong with you?” Alec demanded. He laughed and kept raining down blows as Jace flailed on the sofa, sending cushions flying, a vision of Shadowhunter grace. “Seriously, Jace, what is wrong with you?” This seemed a reasonable question to Magnus.
“Well, shouldn’t he be ‘considering’?” Julie asked. “Shouldn’t you all be? It’s not like going to doctor school and taking the Hypocritical oath or something. You don’t get to change your mind.” “First of all, it’s the Hippocratic oath,” Marisol said. “And it’s called medical school,” Jon put in, looking rather proud of himself. Marisol had been schooling him on mundane life. Against his will, or so Jon had led them to believe.
One was a girl about his age; she had long blond hair, brown eyes, and the old-timey petticoats of a BBC duchess. The other was George, and he was smiling at Simon. The girl’s hand was on his shoulder, and there was something kind about the gesture, something warm and familiar.
