Son of the Dawn (Ghosts of the Shadow Market, #1)

by Cassandra Clare

If you pretend to feel nothing, the pretense may become true, said Jem. That would be a pity.

His parabatai had tried to feel nothing, for a time. Except what he felt for Jem. It had almost destroyed him. And every day, Jem pretended to feel something, to be kind, to fix what was broken, to remember names and ...

A parabatai is both blade and shield. You belong together and to each other not because you are the same but because your different shapes fit together to be a greater whole, a greater warrior for a higher purpose. I always believed we were not merely at our best together, but beyond the best either of us could be apart.

“I’d like that,” said Jonathan Wayland, adding quickly: “To be a great warrior.” He flung his head back in a sudden, hasty assumption of arrogance, as if he and Jem might both have imagined he meant that he would like to belong to someone.

This boy, hell-bent on fighting rather than finding a family. The Lightwoods guarding against a vampire, when they could have extended some trust. The vampire, holding every friend at bay. All of them had their wounds, but Brother Zachariah could not help resenting them, for even the privilege of feeling hurt.

While Jem would have given every cold tomorrow he had for one more day with a warm heart, to love them as he once had.

Except Jonathan was a child, still trying to make a distant father proud even when death had made the distance between them impossible.

If only he could have had a death in Tessa’s arms, holding Will’s hand. He had been robbed of his death.

His parabatai’s name had been a shout into the abyss, a cry that always received an answer. Even in the Silent City, even with the silent howl insisting that Jem’s life was no longer his own but a shared life. No longer my thoughts, but our thoughts. No longer my will, but our will.

Maybe Jonathan would have a parabatai one day, to teach him the kind of man he wanted to be.

This is the link stronger than any magic, Jem had told himself that night, knife in hand, cutting deep. This is the bond I chose.

He had made his mark. He had taken the name Zachariah, which meant remember. Remember him, Jem willed himself. Remember them. Remember why. Remember the only answer to the only question. Do not forget. When he looked again, Jonathan Wayland was g...

Isabelle turned to Alec, confident he would share her sense of deep betrayal at this unfairness, and found him staring at the new arrival with wide eyes as though beholding a revelation with the morning. “Wow,” Alec breathed. “What about that vampire?” Isabelle demanded, outraged. Alec said: “What vampire?” Mom hushed them.

Jonathan Wayland had gold hair and gold eyes, and those eyes had no depths but only shiny reflective surface, showing as little as if they were metal doors slammed down on a temple. He did not even smile as he came to a stop in front of them.

He had the faint air of a stray animal, fur rough and one breath away from a snarl, though that did not make sense for a kid.

Mom winked. “Then you will be even more handsome.” “Is that even possible?” Jonathan asked dryly. Alec laughed. Jonathan looked surprised,

Isabelle’s brothers were so not showing sibling solidarity on the issue of Jonathan Wayland.

Alec stared at her in total bafflement. Isabelle loved her big brother, but sometimes she despaired about their future demon-hunting endeavors. He was so bad at remembering her cool military-style signals.

“By the Angel,” said Alec. “You’re hurt. Why didn’t you say?”

“Don’t tell your parents,” he said.

If he hadn’t been ten years old, Isabelle would have thought he was worried they might send him away for being an inadequate soldier. “You’re obviously great,” said Alec. “You just need someone to have your back.”