City of Bones (The Mortal Instruments, #1)

by Cassandra Clare

I know you don’t like him.” “No,” Simon said even more stiffly. “I don’t like flat soda. I don’t like crappy boy band pop. I don’t like being stuck in traffic. I don’t like math homework. I hate Jace. See the difference?”

“Don’t tell me,” he said, drawing his words out in that way he knew she hated. “Simon’s turned himself into an ocelot and you want me to do something about it before Isabelle makes him into a stole. Well, you’ll have to wait till tomorrow. I’m out of commission.” He pointed at himself—he was wearing blue pajamas with a hole in the sleeve. “Look. Jammies.”

“Jace,” she said. “This is important.” “Don’t tell me,” he said. “You’ve got a drawing emergency. You need a nude model. Well, I’m not in the mood. You could ask Hodge,”

Jace was still staring at her as if she’d told him she’d found one of the Silent Brothers doing nude cartwheels in the hallway.

“Look at this.” Jace sat down next to her, shoving his discarded T-shirt out of the way. “It’s a coffee cup.” She could hear the irritation in her own voice. “I know it’s a coffee cup.” “I can’t wait till you draw something really complicated, like the Brooklyn Bridge or a lobster. You’ll probably send me a singing telegram.”

“He picks up his dates in a van? No wonder he’s such a hit with the ladies.” “It’s a car,” Clary said. “You’re just mad Simon has something you haven’t got.” “He has many things I haven’t got,” said Jace. “Like nearsightedness, bad posture, and an appalling lack of coordination.” “You know,” Clary said, “most psychologists agree that hostility is really just sublimated sexual attraction.” “Ah,” said Jace blithely, “that might explain why I so often run into people who seem to dislike me.”

“Sorry, are you telling me that your demon-slaying buddies need to be driven to their next assignation with the forces of darkness by my mom?”

“Where there is feeling that is not requited,” said Hodge, “there is an imbalance of power. It is an imbalance that is easy to exploit, but it is not a wise course. Where there is love, there is often also hate. They can exist side by side.”

‘Hello’ is girly,” he informed her. “Real men are terse. Laconic.” “So the more manly you are, the less you say?” “Right.”

“That’s why when major badasses greet each other in movies, they don’t say anything, they just nod. The nod means, ‘I am a badass, and I recognize that you, too, are a badass,’ but they don’t say anything because they’re Wolverine and Magneto and it would mess up their vibe to explain.”

“I know that when you said you loved me, what I said back wasn’t what you wanted to hear.” “True. I’d always hoped that when I finally said ‘I love you’ to a girl, she’d say ‘I know’ back, like Leia did to Han in Return of the Jedi.” “That is so geeky,” Clary said, unable to help herself.

“Didn’t I read your tea leaves, Shadowhunter? Have you fallen in love with the wrong person yet?” Jace said, “Unfortunately, my one true love remains myself.” Dorothea roared at that. “At least,” she said, “you don’t have to worry about rejection, Jace Wayland.” “Not necessarily. I turn myself down occasionally, just to keep it interesting.”

“Somehow, I thought it would be bigger.” Clary looked at the Cup in her hand. It was the size, perhaps, of an ordinary wineglass, only much heavier. Power thrummed through it, like blood through living veins. “It’s a perfectly nice size,” she said indignantly. “Oh, it’s big enough,” he said patronizingly, “but somehow I was expecting something… you know.” He gestured with his hands, indicating something roughly the size of a house cat. “It’s the Mortal Cup, Jace, not the Mortal Toilet Bowl,” said Isabelle.

“Clary,” said Luke, “meet my second and third, Gretel and Alaric.” Alaric inclined his massive head to her. “We have met.” Clary stared, alarmed. “Have we?” “At the Hotel Dumort,” he said. “You put your knife in my ribs.” She shrank against the wall. “I, ah… I’m sorry?” “Don’t be,” he said. “It was an excellent throw.” He slid a hand into his breast pocket and removed Jace’s dagger, with its winking red eye. He held it out to her. “I think this is yours?”

“Don’t get upset? You’re telling me that my dad is a guy who’s basically an evil overlord, and you want me not to get upset?” “He wasn’t evil to begin with,” Luke said, sounding almost apologetic. “Oh, I beg to differ. I think he was clearly evil. All that stuff he was spouting about keeping the human race pure and the importance of untainted blood—he was like one of those creepy white-power guys. And you two totally fell for it.”

NYPD: Fidelis ad Mortem. “Faithful unto death,” said Luke, following her gaze. “Let me guess,” said Clary. “On the inside it’s an abandoned police station; from the outside, mundanes only see a condemned apartment building, or a vacant lot, or…” “Actually, it looks like a Chinese restaurant from the outside,” Luke said. “Takeout only, no table service.”

“So when the moon’s only partly full, you only feel a little wolfy?” Clary asked.

“Well, you can go ahead and hang your head out the truck window if you feel like it.” Luke laughed. “I’m a werewolf, not a golden retriever.”

“We’ll be together there,” said Valentine. “As we should be.” That sounds terrific, thought Clary. Just you, your comatose wife, your shell-shocked son, and your daughter who hates your guts. Not to mention that your two kids may be in love with each other. Yeah, that sounds like a perfect family reunion. Aloud, she said only, “I am not going anywhere with you, and neither is my mother.”

“Was it weird, hearing from Jace?” asked Simon, his voice carefully neutral. “I mean, since you found out…” His voice trailed off. “Yes?” said Clary, her voiced sharply edged. “Since I found out what? That he’s a killer transvestite who molests cats?” “No wonder that cat of his hates everyone.” “Oh, shut up, Simon,” Clary said crossly. “I know what you mean, and no, it wasn’t weird. Nothing ever happened between us anyway.”

“So Magnus fixed you?” Clary said. “Luke said—” “He did!” said Isabelle. “It was so awesome. He showed up and ordered everyone out of the room and shut the door. Blue and red sparks kept exploding out into the hallway from underneath the door.” “I don’t remember any of it,” said Alec. “Then he sat by Alec’s bed all night and into the morning to make sure he woke up okay,” Isabelle added. “I don’t remember that, either,” Alec added hastily.