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That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But, it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day. —Charles Dickens, Great Expectations
She amused herself at first by making chains of flowers and hanging them from branches. After that she pretended she was Snow White fleeing from the huntsman. She would run through the tangled trees and then turn dramatically and gasp, putting the back of her hand to her forehead. “You will never slay me,” she said. “For I am of royal blood and will one day be queen and twice as powerful as my stepmother. And I shall cut off her head.” It was possible, she thought later, that she had not remembered the story of Snow White entirely correctly.
“I am Lucie Herondale. My father is Will Herondale and a very important person.
so very true
Two flights of creaking steps led to a wooden door on which a line had been carved years ago: It matters not how a man dies, but how he lives. S.J.
She supposed it was not the most romantic thing in the world to say that every time she saw James Herondale she felt as if she’d been attacked by a waterfowl, but it was true.
“The pavements of South Kensington are vicious. I’ve been attacked by them more than once myself.”
Cordelia knew this was entirely not true about her mother but kept her mouth shut. Tessa arched her eyebrows. “I do recall attending a vampire frolic once. And some sort of party at Benedict Lightwood’s house, before he got demon pox and turned into a worm, of course—” “Mother!” Lucie said, scandalized.
“Your father adores any Carstairs,” said Cordelia. “I’m not sure it’s to my particular credit. He may even like Alastair.”
“Wonderful,” she said, taking the sheets of paper. “I can hardly wait to see if Cordelia escapes from the wicked Bandit King!” “Well, as it turns out, the Bandit King isn’t entirely wicked. You see, he’s the youngest son of a duke who’s always been—sorry,” Lucie ended meekly at Cordelia’s glare. “I forgot how you hate to be told the story before you read it.”
oh i would fight
“Drink, and you will sleep; sleep, and you will not sin; do not sin, and you will be saved; therefore, drink and be saved.”
The ballroom doors opened and there was Tessa Herondale in rose chiffon, with small roses in her hair. Cordelia doubted she needed to wear a corset. She was already quite ethereal-looking. It was hard to believe she was the woman who had taken down an army of metal monsters.
a queen
“And motorcars are a fad,” said Gabriel Lightwood. “They won’t last.”
“I didn’t realize you remembered that old nickname.” “What, Daisy?” He was holding her close as they danced: she could feel the heat of him all up and down her front, making her prickle all over. “Of course I remember it. I gave it to you. I hope you don’t intend me to stop using it.”
“Though I don’t think it suits me. Daisy sounds like a pretty little girl in hair ribbons.” “Well,” he said. “You are at least one of those things.”
One should not leave a lady on the dance floor unless something is actually on fire.
“Oh, we do,” said Will. “We’re always speaking very sternly to our children about that very thing. ‘If you don’t throw yourself into situations headlong, James and Lucie, you can expect bread and water for supper again.’ ”
“You are not old,” she said fiercely. “Even when you are eighty, you will be my beautiful Will.”
“Is this all because of my grandfather?” James had demanded. “My mother’s demon father? Is this his gift to us? I would have been perfectly satisfied with a new pair of socks on my birthday.”
“Ah, the famous Cortana.” Anna’s eyes sparkled. “A sword that bears no runes, yet can kill demons, they say. Is that true?” Cordelia nodded proudly. “My father slew the great demon Yanluo with it. They say the blade of Cortana can cut through anything.”
She couldn’t recall ever having seen her smile or laugh, and she would be unlikely to be charmed by Will’s songs about demon pox.
Stories offer a thousand fresh starts.”
“But memories can be bitter as well as sweet.”
The truth was that when he thought of Cordelia marrying someone else, it felt like being kicked in the heart. With a start, he realized that in his vague imaginings of the future Cordelia had always been there, a steady, welcome presence, a warm light in the dark of the unknown.
Lucie frowned. “You are a ghost, but not like any other ghost. Even my father and brother can’t see you. It’s so odd. Are you buried?” “It’s very forward to ask a gentleman if he’s buried,” said Jesse.
As for Cordelia—he realized with a slight jolt that he doubted he’d be able to tell if she was lying to him or not. He didn’t know her that well, though he felt as if he ought to.
“They need a muse,” said Anna. “Someone to be inspired by. Someone to know their secrets. Would you like to be a muse?” “No,” said Cordelia. “I would like to be a hero.”
“No one ever just wants to have tea,” said Anna. “Tea is always an excuse for a clandestine agenda.”
“Is it selfishly awful to worry that all this business will delay our becoming parabatai? I feel I will be a better Shadowhunter when it is done. Were you not one, after you became parabatai with Uncle Jem?” “A better Shadowhunter and a better man,” said Will. “All the best of me, I learned from Jem and your mother. All I want for you and Cordelia is to have what I had, a friendship that shall shape all your days. And never to be parted.”
“Nothing so trivial,” said Jesse. “You know the stories of my grandfather, I am sure?” Lucie raised an eyebrow. “The one who turned into a great worm because of demon pox, and was slain by my father and uncles?” “I feared your parents would not have considered it the kind of tale suitable for a young lady’s ears,” said Jesse. “I see that was an idle concern.” “They tell it every Christmas,” said Lucie smugly.
“I simply cannot see why one would wish to picnic in the nude,” Cordelia said. “There would be ants in dreadful places.”
“Magnus Bane would help them,” said Hypatia, the stars in her eyes sparkling. “That is why they have come. Magnus has made them believe a warlock will always help them.”
“How much is love meant to hurt?” he had asked his father once. “Oh, terribly,” his father had said with a smile. “But we suffer for love because love is worth it.”
“You’re carrying spears?” James demanded. “I never leave the house without my spears!” cried Alastair, causing them all to stare, even Grace.
He had a perfectly lethal dimple that flashed when he smiled. Such things should be illegal.
Ragnor Fell glared at him. “By the name of Lilith,” he drawled. “Hide the breakables. Hide the whole house. Christopher Lightwood is here.”
Matthew gave Christopher a dark look. “Put that away,” he said. “I don’t fancy being stabbed; I am far too young and beautiful to die.”
“Sometimes grief and worry must take the form of action,” said Cordelia. “Sometimes it is unbearable to sit and wait.”
“Nobody’s ever tried to seduce me at all,” Lucie announced in a brooding fashion. “There’s no need to look at me like that, James. I wouldn’t say yes, but I could immortalize the experience in my novel.”
James’s eyebrow flicked upward, black as the wing of a crow, if the wing of the crow had a faintly sardonic air. “It’s a pleasure to escort Daisy anywhere.”
“I had no idea your mother liked me so much,” said James. “I should come round more often when I am in need of feeling appreciated.”
“I really do like tea!” James shouted from the bottom of the steps. “In fact, I love it! I LOVE TEA!” “Good for you, mate!” yelled the driver of a passing hansom cab.
BYE LMAO
Will sat down beside his wife and pulled her into his lap. “I am going to kiss your mother now,” he announced. “Flee if you will, children. If not, we could play Ludo when the romance is over.” “The romance is never over,” said James glumly.
The sea gave up its dead, and death and the grave gave up their dead. —Revelations 20:13
Someone had come in through the door to the street outside. A tall man—very tall, with a shock of black hair. His skin was brown, a shade darker than Cordelia’s own, his eyes gold-green and slit-pupilled like a cat’s. He was dressed as if for a summer wedding, in a gray frock coat and trousers, with gray suede gloves and boots. The outfit was topped off by a magnificent waistcoat of gray-and-magenta brocade, a walking stick, and bright magenta spats.
i'd know this description anywhere
“Last time I saw you, you were facedown in the Serpentine,” Magnus said cheerfully. “Now you’re fiddling with a Pyxis. I see you have decided to follow in the long Herondale tradition of poor decision-making.”
“Have you heard of the death of a thousand cuts?” Cordelia replied. “I always preferred the death of a thousand cats, in which one is buried under kittens,” said Matthew.
“A weapon can be lost during a battle. It is always better to lose the weapon than the warrior.”
There is something unusual about you, Lucie. You have a power that is tied to the dead.” Lucie sighed. “If only I could have had a power that was tied to bread-and-butter pudding.”
Face inches from James’s, he hissed, “Get out of here—you have to get out of here. You have to leave. James, you don’t understand. It’s about you. It’s always been about you.”
It was Matthew’s turn to bolt into a sitting position. “Oh no,” he said. “No, no. Send her away. Tell her there’s a rat infestation. Tell her that vague, insidious behavior has been made illegal in the Institute and she’s not allowed in.”
