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Excerpts from CoLS
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“Warlock,” he said. “I know who you are.”Magnus raised his eyebrows. “You do?”
“Magnus Bane. Destroyer of the demon Marabas. Son of——”
“Now,” said Magnus, quickly. “There’s no need to go into all of that.”
“But there is.” The demon sounded reasonable,even amused. “If it is infernal assistance you require, why not summon your father?”
Alec looked at Magnus with his mouth open.
A snippet from the DSCS (Dirty. Sexy. Club. Scene)"Jace kissed her harder and Clary clutched his shoulders as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and bit down on it, sending a shock of pleasure mixed with pain through her body. She squirmed to get closer to him and felt his breath quicken; she could taste blood in her mouth, salt and hot. It was as if they wanted to cut each other apart, she thought, to climb inside each other and breathe each other’s breath and share each other’s heartbeats, even if it killed them both. There was blood under her nails where she had clawed his back. . ."
Well, here ’tis. The DSCS.(Dirty Sexy Club Scene) from City of Lost Souls.Now keep in mind a version of this does still exist in the books, but it is much less . . . well. You’ll see. I wrote this in Mexico, probably having had too much mezcal, and I was trying to capture a mood of really dark, tipping over the edge sensuality, doing things that are probably a bad idea, you get the picture. I also recall reading bits of this aloud to Holly Black, Paolo Bacigalupi, Ellen Kushner, Sarah Rees Brennan, and Delia Sherman, who never dropped her knitting. So it can’t be that naughty…can it?
*****I think for those who really hate spoilers you might want to avoid this because the things about it that may be the most shocking are not the sexy bits but the beginning….*****_Cassandra Clare
“What’s going on?” It was Jace, having fought his way free of the pack of dancers. More of the shimmering stuff had gotten on him, silver drops clinging to the gold of his hair. “Clary?”
“Sorry,” she said, getting to her feet. “I got lost in the crowd.”
“I noticed,” he said. “One second I was dancing with you, and the next you were gone and a very persistent werewolf was trying to get the buttons on my jeans undone.” He took Clary’s hand, lightly ringing her wrist with his fingers. “Do you want to go home? Or dance some more?”
“Dance some more,” she said, breathlessly. “Is that all right?”
“Go ahead.” Sebastian leaned back, his hands braced behind him on the fountain’s edge, his smile like the edge of a straight razor. “I don’t mind watching.”
Something flashed across Clary’s vision: the memory of a bloody handprint. It was gone as soon as it had come and she frowned. The night was too beautiful to think of ugly things. She looked back at her brother only for a moment before she let Jace lead her back through the crowd to its edge, near the shadows, where the press of bodies was lighter. Another ball of colored light burst above their heads as they went, scattering silver, and she tipped her head up, catching the salt-sweet drops on her tongue.
Jace stopped and swung her toward him. She could feel the silver liquid trickling down her face like tears. He pulled her against him and kissed them, as if he were kissing tears away, and his lips were warm on her face and made her shiver. She reached for the zip on his army jacket, ripped it down, slid her hands inside and over the cotton of his shirt, then under the hem, her nails scratching lightly over his ribs. He stopped and cupped the back of her neck with his hand, leaning to whisper in her ear. Neither of them could be said to be dancing any more: the hypnotic music went on around them, but Clary barely noticed it. A couple dancing past laughed and made a derisive comment in Czech: she couldn’t understand it, but suspected the gist was get a room.
Jace made an impatient noise and then he was pulling her after him again, through the last of the crowd and into one of the shadowy alcoves that lined the walls.
This alcove was conical, with a low stone pedestal in the center on which an angel statue, about three feet tall, stood. It was made of black basalt, but its eyes were glass, like doll eyes, and its wings were silver. The floor was slippery and damp. They skidded across it to fetch up against a wall, Jace with his back to it, and then he was kissing her, bruising hard and hungry kisses. He tasted salt-sweet, too, and moaned as she licked the taste off his lips. Her hands threaded through his hair. It was dark in the alcove, so dark Jace was just an outline of shadows and gold. She gripped the edges of his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders; it fell to the ground and he kicked it away. Her hands came up under his shirt, clawing at his back, fingers digging into the skin there, softness layered over hard muscle.
He kissed her harder and she clutched his shoulders as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and bit down on it, sending a shock of pleasure mixed with pain through her body. She squirmed to get closer to him and felt his breath quicken; she could taste blood in her mouth, salt and hot. It was as if they wanted to cut each other apart, she thought, to climb inside each other and breathe each other’s breath and share each other’s heartbeats, even if it killed them both. There was blood under her nails where she had clawed his back.
Jace pressed her forward, spinning them both around so she was pinned between his body and the wall. As they turned, he caught the edge of the angel statue, toppling it to the ground and shattering apart in a cloud of marble dust. He laughed and dropped to the ground in front of her on his knees among the remnants of broken statuary. She stared down at him in a daze as he ran his hands up her boots, to her bare legs, to the lace that edged the bottom of her slip dress. She sucked in her breath, as his hands slipped like water up and over the silk, to her waist, to grip her hips, leaving streaks of silver on the silk.
“What are you doing?” she whispered. “Jace?”
He looked up at her. The peculiar light in the club turned his eyes an array of fractured colors. His smile was wicked. “You can tell me to stop whenever you want,” he said. “But you won’t.”
“Jace . . .” His hands bunched in the silk of her dress, dragging the hem up, and he bent to kiss her legs, the bare skin where her boots ended, her knees (who knew knees could be so sensitive?) and farther up, where no one had ever kissed her before. The kisses were light, and even as her body tensed that she wanted to tell him she needed more, but didn’t know what, didn’t know what she needed exactly, but it didn’t matter because he seemed to know it. She let her head fall back against the wall, half-closing her eyes, hearing only her heartbeat like a drum in her ears, louder and louder still.
I wanna know what'll happen to Sebastian and JACE!!!
Daylighter wrote: "I can move so quietly now, even Jonathan Morgenstern doesn’t hear me when I watch him. You wouldn’t believe who he’s been meeting."I feel like this is either Simon or Maureen, because they are both fairly new vampires. Less Maureen, more Simon. 'Cause you know how he can move really quietly now? Well, I bet he's turned into the quiet creeper... mwahahhaa!
"The Breeze" wrote: "Daylighter wrote: "I can move so quietly now, even Jonathan Morgenstern doesn’t hear me when I watch him. You wouldn’t believe who he’s been meeting."I feel like this is either Simon or Maureen, ..."
It's Maureen, otherwise it would have said Sebastian not his actual full name. I don't think Simon refers to him as Jonathan Morgenstern.
It's actually from a blog post on Maureen's internet blog, not from the book.
Katherine wrote: "It's actually from a blog post on Maureen's internet blog, not from the book."oh yes I had forgotten about that lol you're right
Clary vaulted up onto the counter, and flung herself from the top of it as her weapon exploded into brightness. She landed on the demon, knocking it to the ground. One of its eel-like arms snapped at her, and she sliced it off with a whipsawing motion of her blade. Black blood sprayed, burning her bare skin below her wrist cuffs. The demon looked at her with red, frightened eyes.“Stop,” it wheezed. “I could give you whatever you want —”
“I have everything I want,” she said, and drove her seraph blade down.
“Warlock,” he said. “I know who you are.”Magnus raised his eyebrows. “You do?”
“Magnus Bane. Destroyer of the demon Marabas. Son of——”
“Now,” said Magnus, quickly. “There’s no need to go into all of that.”
“But there is.” The demon sounded reasonable,even amused. “If it is infernal assistance you require, why not summon your father?”
Alec looked at Magnus with his mouth open.
A snippet from the DSCS (Dirty. Sexy. Club. Scene)"Jace kissed her harder and Clary clutched his shoulders as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and bit down on it, sending a shock of pleasure mixed with pain through her body. She squirmed to get closer to him and felt his breath quicken; she could taste blood in her mouth, salt and hot. It was as if they wanted to cut each other apart, she thought, to climb inside each other and breathe each other’s breath and share each other’s heartbeats, even if it killed them both. There was blood under her nails where she had clawed his back. . ."
Jace vaulted over the counter in a single movement, landing beside Clary. He knelt down and pulled her close, running his hands over her, his eyes black-gold with concern. She caught at his wrists. “I’m all right,” she said. Her heart was pounding, her blood still singing in her veins. He opened his mouth to say something but she leaned forward and put her hands on either side of his face, her nails digging in. “I feel good,” she said, and kissed him, fierce and hard, and he kissed her back, rumpled and sweaty and bloody, and she tasted salt in her mouth though she didn’t know if it was his blood or hers.
Deleted CoLS scene Clary shook her head. “There’s more to honesty than … than an arrangement of words. They say faeries can’t lie, but you lie in your intentions, your attitude, your demeanor —”
“And humans do not?” The Queen’s gaze slid across Clary and Simon. “This vampire, this Daylighter you bring everywhere with you — he is the one whose kiss you did not desire, here in my Court, is he not? Do you care for him at all, or is only the Mark of God on him that causes you to bring him with you, like a shield? And you,” she added, turning to Simon, “you who loved her, now you lend your not inconsiderable power to the project of finding the one she loves more? Where is the advantage to you?”
Simon cleared his throat. “Perhaps that is the difference between my kind and yours,” he said. “Sometimes we do things that aren’t to our advantage.”
“Ah,” said the Queen. “Stupidity, you mean.”
“I wouldn’t call it that.” Clary couldn’t help being impressed — the last time they had been here Simon had been too uncomfortable and out of his depth to say more than a few words; now he was holding his ground. “Now, do you want the ___ or not? We have business to attend to.”
“I could take it from you,” said the Queen. “The girl will not be difficult to dispose of, and as for you, Daylighter, those who serve me serve with their lives. A suicide rush could greatly inconvenience you, despite your curse.” She ran her eyes over him lingeringly.
“I am the adopted daughter of Council member Lucian Graymark,” said Clary. “I am close with the Lightwoods of the Insititute. Is it worth earning their wrath and ire just to revenge yourself upon me for tricking you? Besides — I’ve always heard that faeries appreciated cleverness. You wouldn’t want it said that you can’t appreciate a good trick, even at your own expense, would you?”
Clary saw by the narrowing of the Queen’s eyes that she had gambled hard — maybe too hard — on the faerie woman’s pride; but a moment later, the Queen was smiling, and the creatures in the walls shrieked appreciatively. “Tricky like your father,” she said, and Clary felt it like a kick in the stomach. “Very well. What would you like of me in return for the ___? I shall decide if your proposal merits a negotiation.”
Alec dropped his witchlight. The light winked out, and he fell to his knees, scrabbling on the ground among the trash and the dirt, grit under his fingernails. At last something lit up before his eyes, and he rose to see Magnus standing before him, the witchlight in his hand. It shone and flickered with a strangely-colored light.“It shouldn’t illuminate like that,” Alec said, automatically. “For anyone but a Shadowhunter.”
Magnus held it out. The heart of the witchlight was glowing a dark red, like the coal of a fire.
“Is it because of your father?” Alec asked.
Magnus didn’t reply, only tipped the runestone into Alec’s palm. As their hands touched, his face changed. “You’re freezing cold.”
“I am?”
“Alexander . . .” Magnus pulled him to his feet, and the witchlight flickered between them, its color changing rapidly. Alec had never seen a witchlight runestone do that before. He put his head against Magnus’ shoulder and let Magnus hold him. Magnus’ heart didn’t beat like human hearts did: it was slower, but steady. Sometimes Alec thought it was the steadiest thing in his life.
“Kiss me,” Alec said, tipping his head up; Magnus eyes were sad and shadowed, and unreadable.
Magnus put his hand to the side of Alec’s face and gently, almost absently, ran his thumb along Alec’s cheekbone. When he bent to kiss him he smelled like sandalwood. Alec clutched the sleeve of Magnus’ jacket, and the witchlight, held between their bodies, flared up in colors of rose and blue and green as their lips touched.
Clary looked at Alec steadily. She remembered what Isabelle had told her earlier, about knowing whether Jace was dead or not, and what she had said back. “Alec,” she said. “Don’t you feel anything?”Alec’s eyes flew open, their blue darkening, and for a moment, Clary remembered the boy who had hated her when she first arrived at the Institute, the boy with bitten nails and holes in his sweaters and a chip on his shoulder that seemed immovable. “I know you’re upset, Clary,” he said, his voice sharp, “but if you’re suggesting that Iz and I care less about Jace than you do —”
“I’m not,” Clary said. “I’m talking about your parabatai connection.”
~ City of Lost Souls
CoLS Prologue Simon stood and stared numbly at the front door of his house.
He'd never known another home. This was the place his parents had brought him home to when he was born. He had grown up within the walls of the Brooklyn row house. He'd played on the street under the leafy shade of the trees in the summer, and had made improvised sleds out of garbage can lids in the winter. In this house his whole family had sat shivah after his father had died. Here he had kissed Clary for the first time.
He had never imagined a day when the door of the house would be closed to him. The last time he had seen his mother, she had called him a monster and prayed at him that he would go away. He had made her forget that he was a vampire, using glamour, but he had not known how long the glamour would last. As he stood in the cold autumn air, staring in front of him, he knew it had not lasted long enough.
The door was covered with signs—Stars of David splashed on in paint, the incised shape of the symbol for Chai, life. Tefillin were bound to the doorknob and knocker. A hamesh, the Hand of God, covered the peephole.
Numbly he put his hand to the metal mezuzah affixed to the right side of the doorway. He saw the smoke rise from the place where his hand touched the holy object, but he felt nothing. No pain. Only a terrible empty blankness, rising slowly into a cold rage.
He kicked the bottom of the door and heard the echo through the house. "Mom!" he shouted. "Mom, it's me!"
There was no reply—only the sound of the bolts being turned on the door. His sensitized hearing had recognized his mother's footsteps, her breathing, but she said nothing. He could smell acrid fear and panic even through the wood. "Mom!" His voice broke. "Mom, this is ridiculous! Let me in! It's me, Simon!"
The door juddered, as if she had kicked it. "Go away!" Her voice was rough, unrecognizable with terror. "Murderer!"
"I don't kill people." Simon leaned his head against the door. He knew he could probably kick it down, but what would be the point? "I told you. I drink animal blood."
He heard her whisper, softly, several words in Hebrew. "You killed my son," she said. "You killed him and put a monster in his place."
"I am your son—"
"You wear his face and speak with his voice, but you are not him! You're not Simon!" Her voice rose to almost a scream. "Get away from my house before I kill you, monster!"
"Becky," he said. His face was wet; he put his hands up to touch it, and they came away stained: His tears were bloody. "What have you told Becky?"
"Stay away from your sister." Simon heard a clattering from inside the house, as if something had been knocked over.
"Mom," he said again, but this time his voice wouldn't rise. It came out as a hoarse whisper. His hand had begun to throb. "I need to know—is Becky there? Mom, open the door. Please—"
"Stay away from Becky!" She was backing away from the door; he could hear it. Then came the unmistakeable squeal of the kitchen door swinging open, the creak of the linoleum as she walked on it. The sound of a drawer being opened. Suddenly he imagined his mother grabbing for one of the knives.
Before I kill you, monster.
The thought rocked him back on his heels. If she struck out at him, the Mark would rise. It would destroy her as it had destroyed Lilith.
He dropped his hand and backed up slowly, stumbling down the steps and across the sidewalk, fetching up against the trunk of one of the big trees that shaded the block. He stood where he was, staring at the front door of his house, marked and disfigured with the symbols of his mother's hate for him.
No, he reminded himself. She didn't hate him. She thought he was dead. What she hated was something that didn't exist. I am not what she says I am.
He didn't know how long he would have stood there, staring, if his phone hadn't begun to ring, vibrating his coat pocket.
He reached for it reflexively, noticing that the pattern from the front of the mezuzah—interlocked Stars of David—was burned into the palm of his hand. He switched hands and put the phone to his ear. "Hello?"
"Simon?" It was Clary. She sounded breathless. "Where are you?"
"Home," he said, and paused. "My mother's house," he amended. His voice sounded hollow and distant to his own ears. "Why aren't you back at the Institute? Is everyone all right?"
"That's just it," she said. "Just after you left, Maryse came back down from the roof where Jace was supposed to be waiting. There was no one there."
Simon moved. Without quite realizing he was doing it, like a mechanical doll, he began walking up the street, toward the subway station. "What do you mean, there was no one there?"
"Jace was gone," she said, and he could hear the strain in her voice. "And so was Sebastian."
Simon stopped in the shadow of a bare-branched tree. "But he was dead. He's dead, Clary—"
"Then you tell me why he isn't there, because he isn't," she said, her voice finally breaking. "There's nothing up there but a lot of blood and broken glass. They're both gone, Simon. Jace is gone. . . ."
Jace and Clary. Cut from the final draft of City of Lost Souls.Jace set what he was holding down on the windowsill and reached out to her. She came to lean against him, and his hand slid up under her t-shirt and rested caressingly, possessively, on the small of her back. He bent to kiss her, gently at first, but the gentleness went quickly and soon she was pressed up against the glass of the window, his hands at the hem of her shirt — his shirt —
“Jace.” She moved a little bit away. “I’m pretty sure people down there in the street can see us.”
“We could …” He gestured toward the bed. “Move…over there.”
She grinned. “You said that like it took you a while to come up with the idea.”
When he spoke, his voice was muffled against her neck. “What can I say, you make my thought processes slow down. Now I know what it’s like to be a normal person.”
“How … is it?” The things he was doing with his hands under the t-shirt were distracting.
“Terrible. I’m already way behind on my quota of witty comments for the day. ”
deleted scene from City of Lost Souls"Clary’s efforts almost went for nothing when she glanced up and saw Sebastian, leaning against the opposite wall of the corridor, his arms crossed, looking at her.
She felt immediately conscious of what she was wearing. The same slip dress she’d worn to the club, but without her boots, her jacket and most importantly, without the buzz she’d been riding last night, she felt unprotected, vulnerable. “Who took my shoes off?”
“That’s what you want to know?” Sebastian looked incredulous. “You pass out at a club and wake up covered in blood and and you want to know where your shoes are?”"
deleted scene from City of Lost Souls“Do you want me to bring Isabelle?”
“Isabelle’s there?” Magnus managed to sound dryly amused, despite everything.
“She — she, ah, spent the night.”
“Alec will be delighted to hear that. Perhaps we can have a contest to see whether he or Jocelyn kills you first.” Magnus chortled.
City of Lost Souls Chapter TitlesPrologue: Consecrated
Chapter One: The Last Council
In which we meet some new characters
Chapter Two: Thorns
A place shaped like a heart is full of thorns and roses — Yeats
Chapter Three: Bad Angels
Along the wall were the pegs where the residents of the Institute hung their coats when they came inside: one of Jace’s black jackets still dangled from a hook, the sleeves empty and ghostly
Chapter Four: And Immortality
“Lead us from the unreal to the real,” she read aloud. “Lead us from darkness to light. Lead us from death to immortality.”
Chapter Five: Valentine’s Son
he knew perfectly well that Sebastian had kissed her
Chapter Six: No Weapon in this World
“Quick! To the weapons room!” (Okay, not really)
Chapter Seven: A Sea-Change
Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade. But doth suffer a sea-change. Into something rich and strange — The Tempest
Chapter Eight: Fire Tests Gold
Ignus aurum probat
Chapter Nine: The Iron Sisters
What it says
Chapter Ten: The Wild Hunt
Gabriel’s Hounds
Chapter Eleven: Ascribe All Sin
“I don’t think I can do it,” Alec said miserably. “I’m sorry.”
Chapter Twelve: The Stuff of Heaven
The stuff of heaven in this case is the substance the demon towers are made out of, sometimes called adamant
Chapter Thirteen: The Bone Chandelier
Modeled on this.
Chapter Fourteen: As Ashes
in the dimness, he looked very like the boy she had known in Idris before the Circle had been formed
Chapter Fifteen: Last of the Morgensterns
You and I, we are the last. The last of the Morgensterns.
Chapter Sixteen: Brothers and Sisters
He’d been pacing his apartment for the last hour, sometimes taking his phone out to see if Maia had texted
Chapter Seventeen: Valediction
Our two souls therefore, which are one
Chapter Eighteen: Title Too Spoilery
Chapter Nineteen; Love and Blood
“You did,” he said. “You slept with him.”
Chapter Twenty: A Door into the Dark
All I know is a door into the dark. (Seamus Heaney)
Chapter Twenty-One Raising Hell
If I cannot otherwise reach Heaven, I will raise Hell.
Epilogue
I recommend you going through the teasers and stuff on this blog for CoLS. http://catreadsbooks.tumblr.com/post/...
http://www.mortalinstruments.com/prol...- link 4 prolougehttp://www.mortalinstruments.com/chap...- link 4 the first chapter
“Stop,” it wheezed. “I could give you whatever you want —”
“I have everything I want,” she said, and drove her seraph blade down.