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… .”
- the outtakes, teasers and snippets
Outtake
Maia was waiting for them in MacCarren Park, on one of the narrow paths dusted with the skeletons of fallen leaves. She wore a gray leather jacket and a soft pink hat, pulled down over her ears, from which her wildly curling hair escaped in a golden-brown halo. She waved tentatively as they neared her; the first words out of her mouth were:
“Did you hear about Luke?”
They all nodded — Simon had told Isabelle and Jordan what he knew on the L-train ride over — and she fell into step beside Jordan as they went through the park, a moving foursome. Jordan had his hands in his pockets and was talking quietly to Maia, werewolf to werewolf. Simon glanced at Isabelle,walking silently beside him.
Weak November sunlight had come out from behind the clouds and picked out reddish highlights in her hair. She smelled like his own apple shampoo and Shadowhunter. “So,” he said. “Do you want me to ask why you were passed out in my bed last night when I came home, or not?”
“I didn’t pass out in your bed,” she said, as they swung left on Manhattan Avenue. The G train stop was there, and a guy was leaning against the railing, picking out a tuneless song on a guitar. Across the street was a Thrifty store where you could still get ice cream cones for 50 cents. “I passed out in your living room and Jordan put me in your bedroom.”
“He did?”
“Well, if it wasn’t Jordan, someone broke into your house and put me in your bed. Personally I prefer the Jordan theory. Less creepy.”
“It’s not that, it — what were you doing, drunk, with Jordan? He doesn’t drink much.”
“I’d imagine not. He has awful taste in tequila.”
“Iz.” Simon put his hand on her wrist. “I only want to know why you came over.”
She turned her head away from him, her shining black hair slipping across her back. There was a small Mark on the lower left side of her throat, just above her collarbone. It looked vulnerable, somehow. Simon wanted to brush it with his fingertips, but kept his hands in his pockets. “Everything sucks,” she said. “I saw Helen and Aline last night. We had dinner. They’re just so happy, and I keep thinking —” She bit her lip. “My parents are getting divorced, I think,” she said. “Alec is happy but I never see him. Jace is [redacted-sorry guys!]. Max is dead. Clary —”
“I get it,” he said, gently. “You needed someone to talk to and you couldn’t think of anyone else.”
“No!” Isabelle said, frustration clear in her voice. “I wanted to talk to you. I always — I mean, I like to talk to you. Even if things weren’t like this, I would … “ She looked at him, sidelong. “I mean, we did date.”
“But it wasn’t — it was never serious,” Simon said awkwardly. “I didn’t think you wanted …”
“Did you? Want it to be serious?” Isabelle asked. There was a certain stiffness in her voice — pride, Simon guessed. Isabelle wasn’t the sort of girl who made the first move with guys. She wasn’t the sort of girl who had to.
“Did you?”
Isabelle made an exasperated noise. “Look, I didn’t come by last night because you’re number six on some list and everyone else is unavailable. I came because — I like you. You make me feel better. Maybe it’s something about your face.”
“My face makes you feel better?” So she was saying he was reassuring, sweet, dependable, all of those things; things he knew Clary thought he was; things that hadn’t helped her look at him instead of Jace, not for five minutes. And Isabelle liked her guys dangerous, not … reassuring. Reassuring was for stuffed animals. How could you be a vampire and not be sexually threatening? He wasn’t sure, but somehow, he’d managed it.
He was saved more torturous conversation by their arrival at Magnus’ apartment, the lobby of which, as usual, smelled like a combination of cat pee and old pizza. Simon made his way up the stairs after Isabelle — remembering the first time he’d been here, crushed out on Izzy and secretly hoping to make Clary jealous, not that that had worked. Magnus’ apartment had been full of rainbow smoke and Downworlders; now, as they filed in, it was quiet and full of late morning sunlight.
Magnus, Jocelyn and Alec were seated around a long rectangular table. Magnus was clutching a cup of coffee, wearing a dark green jumpsuit with yellow racing stripes, his dark hair an unruly mass of bed-head. Alec looked like … Alec. He raised his eyebrows at his sister as she came into the room, but didn’t seem inclined to kill either her, or Simon.
But Jocelyn looked at Simon with eyes as piercing as nails.“Where’s Clary?” she said, tightly.
Dirty Sexy Club Scene
“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.
Magnus/Izzy
“Alec isn’t happy,” said Magnus, as if she hadn’t spoken.
“Of course he isn’t,” Isabelle snapped. “Jace —”
“Jace,” said Magnus, and his hands made fists at his sides. Isabelle stared at him. She had always thought that he didn’t mind Jace; liked him, even, once the question of Alec’s affections had been settled. Out loud, she said:
“I thought you were friends.”
“It’s not that,” said Magnus. “There are some people — people the universe seems to have singled out for special destinies. Special favors and special torments. God knows we’re all drawn toward what’s beautiful and broken; I have been, but some people cannot be fixed. Or if they can be, it’s only by love and sacrifice so great it destroys the giver.”
Isabelle shook her head slowly. “You’ve lost me. Jace is our brother, but for Alec — he’s Jace’s parabatai too —”
“I know about parabatai,” said Magnus, his voice rising in pitch. “I’ve known parabatai so close they were almost the same person; do you know what happens, when one of them dies, to the one that’s left —”
“Stop it!” Isabelle clapped her hands over her ears, then lowered them slowly. “How dare you, Magnus Bane,” she said. “How dare you make this worse than it is —”
“Isabelle.” Magnus’ hands loosened; he looked a little wide-eyed, as if his outburst had startled even him. “I am sorry. I forget, sometimes … that with all your self-control and strength, you possess the same vulnerability that Alec does.”
“There is nothing weak about Alec,” said Isabelle.
“No,” said Magnus. “To love as you choose, that takes strength. The thing is, I wanted you here for him. There are things I can’t do for him, can’t give him …” For a moment Magnus looked oddly vulnerable. “You have known Jace as long as he has. You can give him understanding I can’t. And he loves you.”
“Of course he loves me. I’m his sister.”
“Blood isn’t love,” said Magnus, and his voice was bitter. “Just ask Clary.”
Magnus/Alec
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/demon
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.
Clary broke into a run, yanking a seraph blade from her belt as she went. “Nakir!” she cried, vaulting up onto the counter, and flung herself from the top of it as her weapon exploded into brightness. She landed on the Vetis demon, knocking him to the ground. One of his eel-like arms snapped at her, and she sliced it off with a whipsawing motion of her blade. More black blood sprayed. The demon looked at her with red, frightened eyes. “Stop,” he wheezed. “I could give you whatever you want —” “I have everything I want,” she whispered, and drove her seraph blade down.http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/14461383260/calling-all-nephilim-vote-here-clary-needs
Clary/Sebastian
“Why did you?” Clary asked.
“Why did I what?”
“Help me back there.”
“You’re my sister.”
She swallowed. In the morning light, Sebastian’s face had some color in it. There were faint burns along his neck where demon ichor had splashed him. “You never cared that I was your sister before.”
“Didn’t I?” His black eyes flicked up and down her. “Our father’s dead,” he said. “There are no other relatives. You and I, we are the last. The last of the Morgensterns. You are the only one left whose blood runs in my veins, too. You are my last chance.”
Clary/Alec
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.”
Jace/Clary
But the rest of Jace’s mind is watching the door slam behind her and seeing the final ruin of all his dreams. It was one thing to push it to this point. It is another to let go forever. Because he knows Clary, and if she goes now, she will not ever come back.
Sebastian/body
The body sank without a trace, and Sebastian forgot it before it had even sunk all the way. He saw the curled fingers, bobbing in the currents as if restored to life and begging for help or at least answers, and thought of his dream. His sister, and a sea of blood.
Maryse
Maryse took a shuddering breath. “I know I should show it to the Clave,” she said. “But they are hunting Jace. They will kill him if they find him. And yet to keep it to myself is surely treason.”
Simon/ Isabelle
“Oh, shut up,” she said, and kissed him. This was marginally more successful. Simon had kissed Isabelle before. He loved the texture of her soft lips, the way his hands felt in her long, dark hair. But as she pressed herself against him, he also felt the warmth of her body, her long bare legs against him, the pulse of her blood — and the snap of his fang teeth as they came out.
Jace/Clary
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 feelgood,” 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.
Magnus
“What have you done to my cat?” Magnus demanded, returning to the living room carrying a pot of coffee, with a circle of mugs floating around his head like a model of the planets rotating around the sun. “You drank his blood, didn’t you? You said you weren’t hungry!”
Sebastian/Clary
“Kill me, little sister. Kill me and you kill Jace, too.”
Simon/Isabelle
Simon, I’ve been trying to call you but it seems like your phone is turned off. I don’t know where you are right now. I don’t know if Clary already told you what happened tonight. But I have to go to Magnus’ right now and I’d really like you to be there.
I’m never scared but I’m scared for Jace. I’m scared for my brother. I never ask you for anything, Simon, but I’m asking you now. Please come.
—Isabelle.
Jace
He reached her and held his hands out; she took them, and let him pull her to her feet. His pale gold eyes searched her face. “I want you with me,” he said. “But I want it to be your choice. Once we go, there’s no coming back.”
?/?
“Every time we see each other we fall into bed — and I know I started it, I’m not blaming you— it’s just that maybe we should *talk*.”
Demon/Magnus/Alec
“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.
Jace’s battle advice
“Get in there. Kill a lot of people. Try not to get killed back.”
Alec
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you smell like Magnus.”
Isabelle
“Tell me,” Isabelle said. “Who it was. That my father had the affair with.”
Faeries
“That’s how faeries work, they don’t do favors.”
Sebastian
“I need Jace,” said Sebastian. “But in his heart, he’s not like me. But *you * are.”
Jace
“Sebastian never does anything just for fun.” Jace took her hands and pulled her toward him. “But I do.”
Boat
“You stole a boat,” she snapped. “What am I doing with you, you boat-stealing lunatic?”
Magnus/Alec
“Magnus made a soft, pleased sound, and he gripped the back of Alec’s shirt”
Magnus/Alec
Alec quickly stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed, hoping not to wake Magnus. However
Jace
“As far as I’m concerned, this is the worst thing that’s happened since I found out why Magnus was banned from Peru.”
Jace/Clary
But the rest of Jace’s mind is watching the door slam behind her and seeing the final ruin of all his dreams. It was one thing to push it to this point. It is another to let go forever. Because he knows Clary, and if she goes now, she will not ever come back.
Jocelyn/Magnus
“He is a Shadowhunter,” said Jocelyn. “His loyalty will be to Clave and Covenant.”
“He’s my friend,” said Magnus coldly. “His loyalty is to me.”
Jace
“I never cared,” he said. “I wanted you anyway. I always wanted you.”
Jocelyn/Sebastian
“Well, hello there, Mother,” Sebastian said, in a voice like silk. “Surprised to see me?”
Lightwood
“You’re a Lightwood,” she said. “Your family never gives up. I knew you wouldn’t let what I said to you that night well enough alone.”
Clary
“You have a dark heart in you, Valentine’s daughter,” he said. “You just won’t admit it. And if you want Jace, you had better accept it. Because he belongs to me now.”
Isabelle/Jordan
“I don’t do false reassurances,” Izzy said, and pushed the tequila bottle away from her. Her eyes, on Jordan, were lively and dark. “Come here, werewolf boy.”
Sebastian/Jace
“Hey, little brother.” It was Sebastian’s voice, floating under the door. “Is it done?” There was a long silence. Then Jace’s reply, oddly flat and colorless. “It’s done.”
- the deleted and cut scenes
Deleted scene
“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.
Deleted scene
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
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.”
Random cut scene
“Simon was floored. “Magnus?” A chuckle. “Hey, Daylighter.”
“No offense, but I never really visualized you calling me before.”
“It’s hardly a social call.” There was a noise in the background; a murmur of voices. “Simon, have you —”
“No, I mean I didn’t really think of you as using the phone. More — appearing in a burst of glitter.”
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.”
Title: ?
“Is he happy like this? Really happy? And if he is, what are you saving him from?”
Source: ?
You're very welcome ;)
