City of Bones (The Mortal Instruments, #1)

by Cassandra Clare

“Come, my faux juggernaut, my nefarious loins! Slather every protuberance with arid zeal!” Simon slid down in his seat. “Please don’t tell anyone I know him.” Clary giggled. “Who uses the word ‘loins’?” “Eric,” Simon said grimly. “All his poems have loins in them.” “Turgid is my torment!” Eric wailed. “Agony swells within!”

“Your friend’s poetry is terrible,” he said. Clary blinked, caught momentarily off guard. “What?” “I said his poetry was terrible. It sounds like he ate a dictionary and started vomiting up words at random.”

“I was laughing at you because declarations of love amuse me, especially when unrequited,” he said. “And because your Simon is one of the most mundane mundanes I’ve ever encountered.

“Hugo is a raven, and, as such, he knows many things. I, meanwhile, am Hodge Starkweather, a professor of history, and, as such, I do not know nearly enough.”

“It’s not funny, Jace,” Alec interrupted, starting to his feet. “Are you just going to let her stand there and call me names?” “Yes,” Jace said kindly. “It’ll do you good—try to think of it as endurance training.”

“I was ninety percent sure.” “I see,” Clary said. There must have been something in her voice, because he turned to look at her. Her hand cracked across his face, a slap that rocked him back on his heels. He put his hand to his cheek, more in surprise than pain. “What the hell was that for?” “The other ten percent,”

“Haven’t you ever heard that modesty is an attractive trait?” “Only from ugly people,”

“The meek may inherit the earth, but at the moment it belongs to the conceited. Like me.” He

“If you were half as funny as you thought you were, my boy, you’d be twice as funny as you are.” She

see violence in your future, a great deal of blood shed by you and others. You’ll fall in love with the wrong person. Also, you have an enemy.” “Only one? That’s good news.” Jace leaned back in his chair

The most terrible things men do, they do in the name of love,”

“You’re familiar with the motto of the Covenant?” “Sed lex dura lex,” said Jace automatically. “The Law is hard, but it is the Law.” “Sometimes the Law is too hard.

“You’re my best friend,” Clary said. “I wasn’t mad at you.” “Yeah, well, you clearly also couldn’t be bothered to call me and tell me you were shacking up with some dyed-blond wannabe goth you probably met at Pandemonium,” Simon pointed out sourly. “After I spent the past three days wondering if you were dead.” “I was not shacking up,” Clary said, glad of the darkness as the blood rushed to her face. “And my hair is naturally blond,” said Jace. “Just for the record.”

tall,” Jace pointed out. “Also, they bite.” “But vampires are hot, right?” Simon said. “I mean, some of the vampires are babes, aren’t they?” Clary worried for a moment that Jace might lunge across the porch and throttle Simon senseless. Instead, he considered the question. “Some of them, maybe.” “Awesome,” Simon repeated.

“Ignore him,” Clary said to Jace, and elbowed Simon in the side. “He always says exactly what comes into his head. No filters.” “Filters are for cigarettes and coffee,” Simon muttered under his breath as they went inside. “Two things I could use right now, incidentally.”

He cut his glance toward Jace, who was walking a few paces ahead of them, apparently conversing with the cat. Clary wondered what they were talking about. Politics? Opera? The high price of tuna?

“JACE WAYLAND,” she said. “Explain yourself.” Jace was glaring at the cat. “I told you to bring me to Alec! Backstabbing Judas.” Church rolled onto his back, purring contentedly.

“It wouldn’t be my move,” Jace agreed. “First the candy and flowers, then the apology letters, then the ravenous demon hordes. In that order.”

“Hodge is right,” said Alec. He was looking at Jace, and Clary thought that he must be one of the few people in the world who looked at Jace not as if he were afraid of him, but as if he were afraid for him.

“You hate the Silent Brothers,” protested Isabelle. “I don’t hate them,” said Jace candidly. “I’m afraid of them. It’s not the same thing.” “I thought you said they were librarians,” said Clary. “They are librarians.” Simon whistled. “Those must be some killer late fees.”

“And that’s the motto of the Nephilim—the Shadowhunters—there on the base.” “What does it mean?” Jace’s grin was a white flash in the darkness. “It means ‘Shadowhunters: Looking Better in Black Than the Widows of Our Enemies Since 1234.’ ” “Jace—” It means, said Jeremiah, The descent into Hell is easy. “Nice and cheery,”

“It’s so… dark,” she said lamely. “You want me to hold your hand?” Clary put both her hands behind her back like a small child. “Don’t talk down to me.” “Well, I could hardly talk up to you. You’re too short.”

“Is this when you start tearing strips off your T-shirt to bind up my wound?” she joked. She hated the sight of blood, especially her own. “If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked.” He dug into his pocket and brought out his stele. “It would have been a lot less painful.”

Something about Jace sharpened him, brought him into focus. If she were going to draw them together, she thought, she would make Jace a little blurry, while Alec stood out, all sharp, clear planes and angles.

She felt a sudden flash of sympathy for Alec. Jace couldn’t be an easy person to care about. I was laughing at you because declarations of love amuse me, especially when unrequited.

The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he’d learned: that to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed.”

Even half in demon hunter clothes, Clary thought, he looked like the sort of boy who’d come over to your house to pick you up for a date and be polite to your parents and nice to your pets. Jace, on the other hand, looked like the sort of boy who’d come over to your house and burn it down for kicks.

“If there was such a thing as terminal literalism, you’d have died in childhood,” said

“If you insist on disavowing that which is ugly about what you do,” said Magnus, still looking at Alec, “you will never learn from your mistakes.”

The rat, huddled in the hollow of her palms, squeaked glumly. Delighted, she hugged him to her chest. “Oh, poor baby,” she crooned, almost as if he really were a pet. “Poor Simon, it’ll be fine, I promise—” “I wouldn’t feel too sorry for him,” Jace said. “That’s probably the closest he’s ever gotten to second base.”

“I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, but it wasn’t. Not that you aren’t all fairly charming, and as for you—” He dropped a glittery wink at Alec, who looked astounded. “Call me?”

“It can’t be easy getting used to being a rat, especially for someone so dim-witted in the first place.” “Simon’s not dim-witted,” Clary protested angrily. “It’s true,” Jace agreed. “He just looks dim-witted. Really, his intelligence is quite average.”

“In the name of the Clave,” he said, “I ask entry to this holy place. In the name of the Battle That Never Ends, I ask the use of your weapons. And in the name of the Angel Raziel, I ask your blessings on my mission against the darkness.”

Most belief systems have some method of incorporating both their existence and the fight against them. Shadowhunters cleave to no single religion, and in turn all religions assist us in our battle. I could as easily have gone for help to a Jewish synagogue or a Shinto temple,

“My father believed in a righteous God. Deus vult, that was his motto—‘because God wills it.’ It was the Crusaders’ motto, and they went out to battle and were slaughtered, just like my father. And when I saw him lying dead in a pool of his own blood, I knew then that I hadn’t stopped believing in God. I’d just stopped believing God cared. There might be a God, Clary, and there might not, but I don’t think it matters. Either way, we’re on our own.”

“You’ve endangered other people with your willfulness. This is one incident I will not allow you to shrug off!” “I wasn’t planning to,” Jace said. “I can’t shrug anything off. My shoulder’s

I have a high pain threshold. In fact, it’s less of a threshold and more of a large and tastefully decorated

“Do you remember back at the hotel when you promised that if we lived, you’d get dressed up in a nurse’s outfit and give me a sponge bath?” “Actually, I think you misheard,” Clary said. “It was Simon who promised you the sponge bath.” Jace looked involuntarily over at Simon, who smiled at him widely. “As soon as I’m back on my feet, handsome.” “I knew we should have left you a rat,” said Jace.

“You don’t understand,” Alec said. “You don’t know him. I know him. He thinks he has to save the world; he’d be glad to kill himself trying. Sometimes I think he even wants to die, but that doesn’t mean you should encourage him to do it.”

“Jace is a Nephilim. This is what you do, you rescue people, you kill demons, you put yourselves in danger. How was last night any different?” Alec’s control shattered. “Because he left me behind!” he shouted. “Normally I’d be with him, covering him, watching his back, keeping him safe. But you—you’re dead weight, a mundane.” He spit the word out as if it were an obscenity.

“You’ve never seemed to really need anyone, Clary. You’ve always been so… contained. All you’ve ever needed is your pencils and your imaginary worlds. So many times I’ve had to say things six, seven times before you’d even respond, you were so far away. And then you’d turn to me and smile that funny smile, and I’d know you’d forgotten all about me and just remembered—but I was never mad at you. Half of your attention is better than all of anyone else’s.”

“I only ever loved three people in my life,” she said. “My mom and Luke, and you. And I’ve lost all of them except you. Don’t ever imagine you aren’t important to me—don’t even think it.”

“Much like the postal service, demon hunters never sleep. ‘Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these—’ ” “You’d be in major trouble if gloom of night did stay you,” she pointed out.

“A picnic? It’s a little late for Central Park, don’t you think? It’s full of—” He waved a hand. “Faeries. I know.” “I was going to say muggers,” said Clary. “Though I pity the mugger who goes after you.” “That is a wise attitude, and I commend you for it,” said Jace, looking gratified.

“Birthdays should be special. My birthday was always the one day my father said I could do or have anything I wanted.” “Anything?” She laughed. “Like what kind of anything did you want?” “Well, when I was five, I wanted to take a bath in spaghetti.” “But he didn’t let you, right?” “No, that’s the thing. He did. He said it wasn’t expensive, and why not if that was what I wanted? He had the servants fill a bath with boiling water and pasta, and when it cooled down…” He shrugged. “I took a bath in it.” Servants? Clary thought. Out loud she said, “How was it?” “Slippery.”

“I have something for you,” he said. He dug into his pocket and brought out something, which he pressed into her hand. It was a gray stone, slightly uneven, worn to smoothness in spots. “Huh,” said Clary, turning it over in her fingers. “You know, when most girls say they want a big rock, they don’t mean, you know, literally a big rock.” “Very amusing, my sarcastic friend. It’s not a rock, precisely. All Shadowhunters have a witchlight rune-stone.”

“Better than a bath in spaghetti any day.” He said darkly, “If you share that little bit of personal information with anyone, I may have to kill you.” “Well, when I was five, I wanted my mother to let me go around and around inside the dryer with the clothes,” Clary said. “The difference is, she didn’t let me.” “Probably because going around and around inside a dryer can be fatal,” Jace pointed out, “whereas pasta is rarely fatal. Unless Isabelle makes it.”

“Don’t panic, but we’ve got an audience.” Clary turned her head. Perched on a nearby tree branch was Hugo, watching them beadily from bright black eyes. So the sound she’d heard had been wings rather than demented passion. That was disappointing.

“Aren’t you tired?” His voice was low. “I’ve never been more awake.”

“In future, Clarissa,” he said, “it might be wise to mention that you already have a man in your bed, to avoid such tedious situations.” “You invited him into bed?” Simon demanded, looking shaken. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?” said Jace. “We would never have all fit.” “I didn’t invite him into bed,” Clary snapped. “We were just kissing.” “Just kissing?” Jace’s tone mocked her with its false hurt. “How swiftly you dismiss our love.”