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All the stories are true.
The Genius and the mortal instruments
“That’s enough, Jace,” said the girl. “Isabelle’s right,” agreed the taller boy. “Nobody here needs a lesson in semantics—or demonology.” They’re crazy, Clary thought. Actually crazy.
“Isabelle and Alec think I talk too much,” he said, confidingly. “Do you think I talk too much?” The blue-haired boy didn’t reply. His mouth was still working. “I could give you information,” he said. “I know where Valentine is.”
It was Alec who spoke first. “What’s this?” he demanded, looking from Clary to his companions, as if they might know what she was doing there. “It’s a girl,” Jace said, recovering his composure. “Surely you’ve seen girls before, Alec. Your sister Isabelle is one.”
Simon said. Eric was his next-door neighbor, and the two had known each other most of their lives. They weren’t close the way Simon and Clary were, but they had formed a rock band together at the start of sophomore year, along with Eric’s friends Matt and Kirk.
What am I supposed to do?” “Jocelyn.” Luke shook his head. “You can’t keep going to him forever.” “But Clary—” “Isn’t Jonathan,” Luke hissed. “You’ve never been the same since it happened, but Clary isn’t Jonathan.”
If only she knew...
It was a derisive sort of cough, the kind of noise someone might make who was trying not to laugh out loud. She turned around. Sitting on a faded green sofa a few feet away from her was Jace.
“What is it?” Simon had followed her gaze, but it was obvious from the blank expression on his face that he couldn’t see Jace. But I see you. She stared at Jace as she thought it, and he raised his left hand to wave at her.
“I told you before, my name is not little girl,” she said through her teeth. “It’s Clary.” “I know,” he said. “Pretty name. Like the herb, clary sage.
Aw
“What’s a mundane?” “Someone of the human world. Someone like you.” “But you’re human,” Clary said. “I am,” he said. “But I’m not like you.”
“Most Shadowhunter children get Marked with the Voyance rune on their right hands—or left, if they’re left-handed like I am—when they’re still young. It’s a permanent rune that helps us see the magic world.”
They’re runes, burned into our skin. Different Marks do different things. Some are permanent but the majority vanish when they’ve been used.”
“At first I thought you might have the Sight. There are humans who do. But no one who had the Sight would react the way you did. They’d be used to seeing unusual things. There’s got to be another reason.”
“People who kill them,” said Jace. “We’re called Shadowhunters. At least, that’s what we call ourselves. The Downworlders have less complimentary names for us.” “Downworlders?” “The Night Children. Warlocks. The fey. The magical folk of this world.”
Shadowhunters have a saying: All the stories are true.
❤️
“The demon in Pandemonium—it looked like a person.” “It was an Eidolon demon. A shape-changer. Raveners look like they look. Not very attractive, but they’re too stupid to care.”
“What’s that supposed to do?” “It’ll hide you,” he said. “Temporarily.”
“Jace,” she said, and she crumpled into him. He caught her as if he were used to catching fainting girls, as if he did it every day. Maybe he did.
Jace said she killed a Ravener.”
I thought she was a pixie the first time we saw her. She’s not pretty enough to be a pixie, though.”
Her dark spiraling tattoos were gone, save the dark Voyance rune on the back of her right hand.
Clary gingerly took a sip. It was delicious, rich and satisfying with a buttery aftertaste. “What is this?” Isabelle shrugged. “One of Hodge’s tisanes. They always work.”
“Hodge is Jace’s tutor, right?” “Hodge tutors us all.”
“His mother died when he was born. His father was murdered when he was ten. Jace saw the whole thing.”
“Shadowhunter home country?” Clary’s head was spinning. “What’s it called?” “Idris.” “I’ve never heard of it.” “You wouldn’t have.”
“How can you tell?” she asked the man behind the desk. “That I like books, I mean.” “The look on your face when you walked in,” he said, standing up and coming around from behind the desk. “Somehow I doubted you were that impressed by me.”
Hodge Starkweather, a professor of history, and, as such, I do not know nearly enough.”
“Clary Fray.” “Honored to make your acquaintance,” he said. “I would be honored to make the acquaintance of anyone who could kill a Ravener with her bare hands.”
in the full light of day, she could see exactly how much Alec looked like his sister. They had the same jet-black hair, the same slender eyebrows winging up at the corners, the same pale, high-colored skin. But where Isabelle was all arrogance, Alec slumped down in the chair as if he hoped nobody would notice him.
“Are you suggesting that she didn’t kill that demon after all?” “Of course she didn’t. Look at her—she’s a mundie, Hodge, and a little kid, at that. There’s no way she took on a Ravener.” “I’m not a little kid,” Clary interrupted. “I’m sixteen years old—well, I will be on Sunday.” “The same age as Isabelle,” Hodge said. “Would you call her a child?”
“Yes,” Jace said kindly. “It’ll do you good—try to think of it as endurance training.” “We may be parabatai,” Alec said tightly, “but your flippancy is wearing on my patience.”
A Ravener has already attacked Clary’s mother—she could well have been next.” Attacked. Clary wondered if this was a euphemism for “murdered.” The raven on Hodge’s shoulder cawed softly.
“Raveners are search-and-destroy machines,” Alec said. “They act under orders from warlocks or powerful demon lords. Now, what interest would a warlock or demon lord have in an ordinary mundane household?” His eyes when he looked at Clary were bright with dislike. “Any thoughts?” Clary said, “It must have been a mistake.” “Demons don’t make those kind of mistakes.
“Warlocks are born magic users. Witches are humans who’ve taught themselves a little magic. But very few are the real thing.”
So I used my stele—put a mendelin rune on the inside of her arm. I thought—” “Are you out of your mind?” Hodge slammed his hand down on top of the desk so hard that Clary thought the wood might crack. “You know what the Law says about placing Marks on mundanes! You—you of all people ought to know better!”
“Most people don’t cry when they’re upset or frightened, but rather when they’re frustrated. Your frustration is understandable. You’ve been through a most trying time.”
“No. Valentine is—was—a Shadowhunter.” “A Shadowhunter? Why do you say was?” “Because he’s dead,” said Hodge flatly. “He’s been dead for sixteen years.”
Fitting.
“Downworlders are those who share the Shadow World with us. We have always lived in an uneasy peace with them.” “Like vampires, werewolves, and…”
“So what are you Shadowhunters?” “We are sometimes called the Nephilim,”
Jonathan Shadowhunter, the first of the Nephilim, summoned the Angel Raziel, who mixed some of his own blood with the blood of men in a cup, and gave it to those men to drink. Those who drank the Angel’s blood became Shadowhunters, as did their children and their children’s children. The cup thereafter was known as the Mortal Cup. Though the legend may not be fact, what is true is that through the years, when Shadowhunter ranks were depleted, it was always possible to create more Shadowhunters using the Cup.”
That was Valentine. A firebrand, a visionary, a man of great personal charm and conviction. And a killer. Now someone is invoking his name…” “But who?” Clary asked. “And what does my mother have to do with it?” Hodge stood up again. “I don’t know. But I shall do what I can to find out.
The green and rolling fields of Idris and its endless blue sky, pierced by the towers of the Glass City.
three long slim wands of a dully glowing silver. They did not look sharp or particularly dangerous. “Made by the Iron Sisters, our weapon makers. They’re seraph blades.”
“Just because you call an electric eel a rubber duck doesn’t make it a rubber duck, does it? And God help the poor bastard who decides they want to take a bath with the duckie.”
“Hodge said I can go home.” Jace nearly dropped the seraph blade he was holding. “He said what?” “To look through my mother’s things,” she amended. “If you go with me.” “Jace,” Alec exhaled, but Jace ignored him.
“No.” Jace didn’t turn around. “That’s all right. Clary and I can handle this on our own.” The look Alec shot Clary was as sour as poison.
“The meek may inherit the earth, but at the moment it belongs to the conceited. Like me.”
“Parabatai,” said Jace. “It means a pair of warriors who fight together—who are closer than brothers. Alec is more than just my best friend. My father and his father were parabatai when they were young. His father was my godfather—that’s why I live with them. They’re my adopted family.”
“So that’s a Sensor? What does it do?” she asked. “It picks up frequencies, like a radio does, but these frequencies are demonic in origin.” “Demon shortwave?”
