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“Do you know how much I spent on this waistcoat?” “No one told you to go out patrolling for demons dressed like an extra from The Importance of Being Earnest,”
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.
“I think he has convinced himself Alastair has hidden depths,” said James. “So does quicksand,” said Cordelia.
It is easier to point the finger at one person than to admit everyone made mistakes.”
Privately Cordelia thought her mother was wrong—wasn’t that what power was, the ability to risk angering people? What was the point of being a female Consul if you still had to fret about keeping people happy?
Matthew was all gold hair and smiles, but she suspected there might be a lion under the kitty cat if hurting James was involved.
LEX MALLA, LEX NULLA. A bad law is no law.
“You know what they say,” he said, as he and James left the room and began to wend their way back toward the party. “Drink, and you will sleep; sleep, and you will not sin; do not sin, and you will be saved; therefore, drink and be saved.” “Matthew, you could sin in your sleep,” said a languorous voice.
“Cordelia has a tendency to throw herself into every situation headlong,” she said to Tessa and Will. “I’m sure you understand.” “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.’ ” Alastair choked on a laugh. Sona stared at Will as if he were a lizard with feathers.
Matthew’s dog, Oscar Wilde,
Love a queer icon
Cordelia considered killing Alastair, but there was no time—someone
“People are only invincible in books,” said Cordelia. “I think you will find most of the time, not even then,” said Tessa. “But at least we can always pick up a book and read it anew. Stories offer a thousand fresh starts.”
“It seems somehow blasphemous to use Marks to rid oneself of the effects of alcohol,”
“I’ve seen you use your stele to part your hair,” said James dryly, as he began to examine the window locks. “The Angel gave me this hair,” replied Matthew. “It’s one of the Shadowhunters’ gifts. Like the Mortal Sword.” “Now that is blasphemy,”
“I’ve seen you use your stele to part your hair,” said James dryly, as he began to examine the window locks. “The Angel gave me this hair,” replied Matthew. “It’s one of the Shadowhunters’ gifts. Like the Mortal Sword.” “Now that is blasphemy,”
“It seems somehow blasphemous to use Marks to rid oneself of the effects of alcohol,”
“The last time I saw you shocked was when that Iblis demon was sending Christopher love letters.” “I have a dark charm,” said Christopher sadly.
“Please recall that I am the pale neurasthenic one and you are the stern heroic one,” Matthew said to James. “It is very tedious when you mix up our roles.
“Do you want to do something?” he asked Lucie. Without looking up, she said, “I am doing something. I’m writing.” “What are you writing about?” “Well, if you don’t leave me alone, I’ll write about you.”
“Cruel Prince James strode into the chamber, his cape flashing behind him and his terrible, terrible mustache askew with rage,” Lucie narrated the moment James walked through the door. “Does it need be said twice that it’s terrible?” James said. “He required a hot beverage to soothe his throat, parched from barking out his wicked commands all day. Tea, he thought, yes, tea and revenge.” “I’ll just go put the kettle on,” James sighed.
“I must be off,” he said. “There’s an orangery in Kensington Gardens that needs smashing. Ladies, lock up your outbuildings. James Herondale is in town and he has been slighted in love!”
She thought longingly of the distant past when the two of them had been able to settle their differences by hitting each other over the head with toy teakettles.
“That’s ridiculous,” Christopher said. “It is as if one was bitten by a duck and years later one shot a completely different duck and ate it for dinner, and called that revenge.” “Please do not use metaphors, Christopher,” said Matthew. “It gives me the pip.” “This is bad enough without mentioning ducks,” said James. He had never fancied ducks since one had bitten him in Hyde Park as a small child.
Thomas sighed. “I always end up helping Christopher in the lab.” “It is because you are remarkably good at dodging explosions,” said James, “and also, you can curse in Spanish.” “How does that help?” said Thomas. “It doesn’t,” said James, “but Christopher likes it.
“What is she like? I don’t think we’ve exchanged two words.” “Very shy,” said Matthew. “Very quiet, looks painfully frightened a great deal of the time, yet always admired at social events.” “That’s odd,” said Thomas. “Not really,” said Christopher. “Men like the idea of a woman they can rescue.”
“I never thought of Downworlders as being interested in painting and poetry,” said Cordelia. “But I suppose there is no reason they shouldn’t be, is there? It’s just those aren’t things that Shadowhunters do. We don’t create like that.” “We can,” Matthew said. “We are simply told we shouldn’t. Do not confuse conditioning with a native inability.”
“A lapidary phrase is one that is worth carving into stone,” said Matthew, “and preserving forever—a wise saying such as ‘we are dust and shadows,’ or alternately, any words that come out of my mouth.”
“Ah, Magnus Bane,” said Matthew. “My personal hero.” “Indeed, you once described him as ‘Oscar Wilde if he had magic powers,’ ”
I think you all know Ragnor Fell, the former High Warlock of London?” “He taught us in the Academy,” Christopher said. Ragnor Fell glared at him. “By the name of Lilith,” he drawled. “Hide the breakables. Hide the whole house. Christopher Lightwood is here.” “Christopher is often here,” said James. “The house remains mostly intact.”
If you saw humanity as I can see it, Uncle Jem said. There is very little brightness and warmth in the world for me. There are only four flames, 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. You love, and tremble, and burn. Do not let those who cannot see the truth 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.
“No stealing the books and bringing them back to the Devil Tavern,” said Matthew. “It would not be the first time your book kleptomania has gotten us in trouble.” James held his hands up innocently
“We do not get to choose when in our lives we feel pain,” said Matthew. “It comes when it comes, and we try to remember, even though we cannot imagine a day when it will release its hold on us, that all pain fades. All misery passes. Humanity is drawn to light, not darkness.”
Together she and Cortana were a poem written in fire and blood.
“Put that away,” he said. “I don’t fancy being stabbed; I am far too young and beautiful to die.”
“Only a fool would rob Hypatia Vex,” said Matthew. “And let it not be said that Matthew Fairchild is a fool. At least, let it not be said in my hearing. I would find it very hurtful.”
Anna flipped through the book. There were many pages, and many names written in a bold, sprawling hand. “Hmm, let me see. Katherine, Alicia, Virginia—a very promising writer, you should look out for her work, James—Mariane,
Virginia Wolf!!!
“However what?” said Christopher. “If you haven’t got the proper clothes, I could lend you my new waistcoat. It’s orange.” Anna shuddered. “Orange is not the color of seduction, Christopher. Orange is the color of despair, and pumpkins.
James was studying the books on the walls—a very typically Herondale thing to do.
Beauty could tear at your heart like teeth,
There is no better distraction in this world than losing oneself in books for a while.”
“You aren’t parabatai with Cordelia yet.” “It isn’t just for boys to risk their lives for each other,” Lucie said fiercely.
“What does this mean?” “The green carnation symbolizes a love of art and artifice, since a green carnation has to be created rather than appearing in nature.” Matthew hesitated. “It also celebrates loving anyone you choose, whether that is a man or a woman.”
“I have my own weaknesses, as you well know.” “Love is not a weakness, Alastair dâdâsh,”
“The point of stories is not that they are objectively true, but that the soul of the story is truer than reality. Those who mock fiction do so because they fear the truth.”
James lay on the bed in his room, atop the covers, his arm flung behind his head. He was gazing at a familiar crack in the ceiling that was shaped a bit like a duck. His father would be horrified.
“She has built herself a palace of dreams and lies, and when those lies are threatened, she lashes out.
Death made unlikely neighbors.
“Then perhaps she is planning to kill Charles?” said Matthew. “Matthew, cease sounding hopeful at the prospect of homicide.”
Matthew was exactly the sort of person Magnus always wanted to help, and later scolded himself roundly for having tried to help. In Magnus’s life there had been a hundred Matthew Fairchilds: young men and women as self-destructive as they were beautiful, who despite all the gifts that had been given to them, seemed to wish for no more than to burn down their own lives. He told himself over and over that the Matthew Fairchilds of this world could not be saved, and yet he could not stop himself from trying.
