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Simon picked a dagger completely at random, then sat at his desk waggling it about. Jon nodded to it. “Nice.” “Yeah,” Simon said, nodding back and gesturing with it. “That’s what I thought. Nice. Very stabby.”
Like all Herondales, his ability to love without measure, without end, was both his great gift and his great curse.
There have been many murders recently—all of women, women who …” “Prostitutes,” Tessa said. “Quite,” Gabriel said. “Tessa has such an extensive vocabulary,” Will said.
“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.” “It was turning green,” said Will. “He’s right,” said Tessa. “Green doesn’t suit him. Makes him look bilious.”
“Good night, Wiggles.” “Wiggles?” “Yes, Wiggles. Your nickname? It’s what you always made us call you. I almost forgot your name was Simon, I’m so used to calling you Wiggles.” “Wiggles? What does that … even mean?” “You would never explain,” Jace said with a shrug. “It was the big mystery about you. As I said, good night, Wiggles. I’ll take care of this.”
Magnus says they tend to be a good-looking lot. Of course, Magnus also says they tend to be strange in the head.
You never know when, and you never know who, but someday a stranger will burst through the door of your life and transform it utterly. The world will be turned upside down, and you will be happier for it.”
“Your mother says she will be brave and keep a stiff upper lip,” said Father. “Americans are heartless. I will cry into my pillow every night.”
People are afraid of anybody who is different: It makes them worry everyone else is different too, and just pretending to be all the same.”
You love, and tremble, and burn. Do not let any of them tell you who you are. You are the flame that cannot be put out. You are the star that cannot be lost. You are who you have always been, and that is enough and more than enough. Anyone who looks at you and sees darkness is blind.
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.
“Hey, where were you while the game was happening?” George asked. “I thought you were never coming back and I’d have to be pals with Jon Cartwright. Then I thought about being pals with Jon, was overwhelmed with despair, and decided to find one of the frogs I know are living in here, give it little frog glasses, and call it Simon 2.0.”
“Entreat me not to leave thee, Or return from following after thee— For whither thou goest, I will go, And where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried. The Angel do so to me, and more also, If aught but death part thee and me.”
The Fair Folk had been seen last on a moor in Devon. Simon was a bit excited to Portal there and hoped there would be time to see red postboxes and drink lager at an English pub.
“That’s what I need,” Simon said, with growing conviction. “I need a hero. I’m holding out for a hero, in fact, until the morning light. And she’s gotta be sure, and it’s gotta be soon—because I have been kidnapped by evil faeries—and she’s gotta be larger than life.”
“How are you finding the training?” he asked, leaning forward. “I don’t bruise as much anymore,” Simon said, shrugging. “That’s excellent,” Jem said. “It means you’re finding your feet and deflecting more blows.” “Really?” Simon said. “I thought it was because I was dead inside.”
He looked toward Robert, clearly remembering Robert’s early words, and bounced the baby gingerly. The baby flailed, one small fist bouncing off Jace’s cheek. “That’s good,” Jace encouraged. “That’s right. Maybe a little harder next time. We’ll have you punching demons in the face in no time. Do you want to punch demons in the face with me and Alec? Do you? Yes, you do.”
“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?”
“Isabelle,” he said. “What are you doing here?” “Congratulations, Simon, that’s a very romantic question,” Isabelle told him. “Am I meant to take it as ‘No, I didn’t miss you, and I’m seeing other girls’? If so, don’t worry about it. Why worry, when life is short? Specifically, your life, because I am going to cut off your head.”
For instance, Magnus had always found the Lightwoods rather forgettable. He’d liked some of them—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.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I have never had a close relationship with any babies. For sixteen years I thought I was an only child, baby. And after that, baby, you don’t want to know what I thought. Please forgive me if I’m doing this wrong, baby. Do you like me, baby? I like you.”
Magnus kept misplacing his baby. This did not seem a good sign for the future. Magnus was sure you were meant to keep a firm grip on their location.
“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.
“I think I know what I want my Shadowhunter name to be,” he said. “Simon Lovelace,” Clary said, as always, knowing his mind as well as he did.
