The Lost Book of the White (The Eldest Curses, #2)

by Cassandra Clare

He had largely found nostalgia to be a dangerous drug well kept away from—otherwise he would spend too much of his time nostalgic for when Manhattan still had farmland, or for the court of the Sun King, or for the days when Coca-Cola had real drugs in it. He

“Alec,” Kadir said, very intensely. “I also must speak to you about The Very Small Mouse Who Went a Very Long Way, by Courtney Gray Wiese.”

“Not that, either.” She gestured again and then again, flipping through different destinations. “Hell of Iron Mills… Hell of Grinding… Hell of Disembowelment… Hell of Steaming… Hell of the Mountain of Ice… Hell of the Mountain of Fire…” “Lots of hells, huh,” said Magnus. “Can we hurry this up?” said Alec. Shinyun gave them a withering look and kept browsing. “Hell of Worms, Hell of Maggots, Hell of Boiling Sand, Hell of Boiling Oil, Hell of Boiling Soup with Human Dumplings, Hell of Boiling Tea with Human Tea Strainers, Hell of Small Biting Insects, Hell of Large Biting Insects, Hell of Being Eaten by Wolves, Hell of Being Trampled by Horses, Hell of Being Gored by Oxen, Hell of Being Pecked to Death by Ducks—” “What was that last one?” said Jace. Shinyun ignored him. “Hell of Mortars and Pestles, Hell of Flensing, Hell of Scissors, Hell of Red-Hot Pokers, Hell of White-Hot Pokers, ah! Here we are.” Through

how the joy of it was so intense it was nearly tinged with pain.