[City of fallen Angels] Erste Zitate

Faery schrieb:Magnus sterblich machen - wie das klingt! Aber theoretisch könnte er ja Selbstmord begehen, oder?

Aiyana schrieb:Wer mich jetzt schon nervt ist Jocelyn. Ja, keine Mutter will, dass ihre Tochter durch die Gegend poppt, aber müsste sie nicht glücklich darüber sein, dass Clary einen so tollen Fang gemacht hat? Jace mag ja vielleicht zynisch, sarkastisch und gelegentlich auch fies sein, aber immerhin war er derjenige, der ihrer Tochter die ganze Zeit beigestanden und sie beschützt hat und das, obwohl er sie nicht kannte.
Und das sie sich immer noch weigert, dass Clary Schattenjägerin wird ist genauso doof. Was erwartet sie denn? Das sie ihrer Tochter jahrelang verschweigt, wer sie wirklich ist und das diese dann, nachdem sie das herausgefunden hat, einfach alles ignoriert?

Cassandra Clare schrieb:Jocelyn’s green eyes softened. “I did notice he wasn’t here, Clary. I just didn’t know if you’d want to talk about it.”
“I mean,” Clary went on doggedly, “do you think there’s something Jace could do to *make* you like him?”
“Yes,” Jocelyn said. “He could make you happy.” She touched Clary’s face lightly, and Clary clenched her hand, feeling the bell press into her skin.
“He does make me happy,” Clary said. “But he can’t control everything in the world, Mom. Other things happen — “ she fumbled for words; how could she explain that it wasn’t Jace making her unhappy, but what was happening to him, without revealing what that was?

Cassandra Clare schrieb:"Don't be sorry." There was a ragged edge to his words that surprised her. "Jocelyn doesn't want you to turn out like me. I don't blame her for that."

"Jace," she said, a little bewildered by the bitterness in his voice, "are you all right?"

Instead of answering, he kissed her, pulling her hard against him. His body pressed hers against the wall, the metal of the mirror cold against her back, his hands sliding around her waist. She always loved the way he held her. Careful, but not too gentle, not so gentle that she ever felt he was more in control than she was. Neither of them could control how they felt about each other and she liked that, liked the way his heart hammered against hers, liked the way he murmured against her mouth when she kissed him back.

Cassandra Clare schrieb:He reached past her before she could say anything, and yanked open the elevator gate. "I love you, Clary," he said, without looking at her. He was staring out into the church, at the rows of lighted candles, their gold reflected in his eyes. "More than I ever-" He broke off. "God. More than I most likely should. You know that don't you?"

She stepped outside the elevator and turned to face him. There were a thousand things she wanted to say, but he was already looking away from her, pushing the button that would bring the elevator back up to the Institute floors. She started to protest, but the elevator was already moving, the doors closing behind it as it rattled it's way back up. They shut with a click and she stared at them for a moment; the Angel was painted on their surface, wings outspread, eyes raised. They Angel was painted on everything.

Her voice echoed harshly in the empty room when she spoke.
"I love you too," she said.

Cassandra Clare schrieb:COFA September cookie part one. For those who have read CA. For those who haven’t it will not be spoilery so much as inexplicable. Magnus-centric (tomorrow’s will be Simon-related due to multiple requests.)

“Camille,” Magnus said. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
She smiled. Her skin looked whiter than he recalled, and dark spidery veins were beginning to show beneath its surface. Her hair was still the color of spun silver and her eyes were still green as a cat’s. She was still beautiful. Looking at her, he was in London again. He saw the gaslight and smelled the smoke and dirt and horses, the metallic tang of fog, the flowers in Kew Gardens. He saw a boy with black hair and blue eyes like Alec’s, heard violin music like the sound of silver water. He saw a girl with long brown hair and a serious face. In a world where everything went away from him eventually, she was one of the few remaining constants.
And then there was Camille.
“I’ve missed you, Magnus,” she said.

Cassandra Clare schrieb:"Nice, he said. "Graceful as a falling snowflake."
"Was I screaming?" she asked, genuinely curious. "You know, on the way down?"
He nodded. "Thankfully no one's home or they would have assumed I was murdering you."
"Ha. You can't even reach me." She kicked out a leg and spun lazily in midair.
Jace's eyes glinted. "Want to bet?"
Clary knew that expression. "No," she said, quickly. "What ever you're going to do-"
But he'd already done it. When Jace moved fast, his individual movements were almost invisible- she saw his hand go to his belt, and then something flashed into the air. She heard the sound of parting fabric as the cord above her head was sheared through. Released, she fell free, too surprised to scream- directly into Jace's arms. This knocked him backward and they sprawled together onto one of the padded floor mats, Clary on top of him. He grinned up at her.
"Now," he said, "that was much better. You didn't even scream at all."
"I didn't get the chance." She was a breathless, and not just from the impact of the fall. Being sprawled on top of Jace, feeling his body against hers, made her mouth grow dry and her heart beat faster. She had thought maybe her physical reaction to him-their reactions to each other- would fade with familiarity, but that hadn't happened. If anything, it had gotten worse-or better, she supposed, depending on how you thought about it.

Cassandra Clare schrieb:“You think you’re a vampire,” Simon’s mother said, numbly. “You think you drink blood.”
“I do drink blood,” Simon said. “I drink animal blood.”
“But you’re a vegetarian.” His mother looked to be on the verge of tears.
“I was. I’m not now. I can’t be. Blood is what I live on.” Simon’s throat felt tight. “I’ve never hurt anyone. I’d never drink someone’s blood. I’m still the same person. I’m still me.”
His mother seemed to be fighting for control. “Your new friends — are they vampires, too?”
Simon thought of Isabelle, Maia, Jace. He couldn’t explain Shadowhunters and werewolves, too. It was too much. “No. But — they know I am one.”
“Did — did they give you drugs? Make you take something? Something that would make you hallucinate?”
“No. Mom, this is real.”
“It’s not real,” she whispered. “You think it’s real. Oh, God. Simon. I’m so sorry. I should have noticed. We’ll get you help. We’ll find someone. A doctor. Whatever it costs —”
“I can’t go to a doctor.”
“Yes, you can. You need to be somewhere. A hospital, maybe —”
He held out his wrist to her. “Feel my pulse,” he said.
She looked at him, bewildered. “What?”
“My pulse,” he said. “Take it. If I have one, okay. I’ll go to the hospital with you. If not, you have to believe me.”
She wiped the tears from her eyes and slowly reached to take his wrist.

"Having rock star problems may be the closest I ever get to being an actual rockstar."
"No one told you to call your band Salacious Mold, my friend."
"We're Millennium Lint now," Simon protested.
Clary shrugged. "Look, just figure this out before the wedding. If they both think they're going to it with you and they find out at the wedding that you're dating them both, they'll kill you." She stood up. "And then my mom's wedding will be ruined, and she'll kill you. So you'll be dead twice."

Cassandra Clare schrieb:“I don’t know what I want.” Alec, his head bent, was playing with an abandoned plastic fork. Though his eyes were defiantly cast down, their pale blue color was visible even through his lowered eyelids, which were pale and fine as parchment. Magnus had always found humans more beautiful than any other creatures alive on the earth, and had often wondered why. Only a few years before dissolution, Camille had said. But it was mortality that made them what they were: the flame that blazed brighter for its flickering. He wondered if the Angel had ever considered making his human servants, the Nephilim, immortal. But no, for all their strength, they fell as humans had always fallen in battle through all the ages of the world.

“You’ve got that look again,” Alec said peevishly, glancing up through his lashes. “Like you’re staring at something I can’t see. Are you thinking about Camille?”
“Not really,” Magnus said. “How much of the conversation I had with her did you overhear?”
“Most of it.” Alec prodded the tablecloth with his fork. “I was listening at the door. Enough.”
“Not at all enough, I think.” Magnus glared at the fork and it skidded out of Alec’s grasp and across the table toward him. He slammed his hand down on top of it and said, “Stop fidgeting. What was it I said to Camille that bothered you so much?”
Alec raised his blue eyes. “Who’s Will?”

Cassandra Clare schrieb:Jace caught her hand in his. “Just say it again.”
“I’ll never leave you,” Clary said.
“No matter what happens, what I do?”

Cassandra Clare schrieb:The Queen’s eyes glittered. “You told me that you did not wish to make a compact with me, for there was nothing I could give you. You said there was nothing in the world you wanted. When you imagine your life without him, do you still feel the same?”
*Why are you doing this to me?* Clary wanted to scream, but she said nothing, for the Faerie Queen glanced past her, and smiled, saying: “Wipe your tears, for he returns. It will do you no good for him to see you cry.”

Cassandra Clare schrieb:“That wasn’t fair,” Simon said.
“Maybe,” said Isabelle. “But I watch my brothers give their hearts away and I think, Don’t you know? Hearts are breakable. And I think even when you heal, you’re never what you were before.”

Cassandra Clare schrieb:Simon glanced toward the window. It was a brisk night, and the
wind was blowing leaves across Second Avenue like handfuls of
thrown confetti. There was a girl walking down the street, a girl in a
tight belted trench coat, with long black hair that flew in the wind.
People turned to watch her as she walked past. Simon had looked at
girls like that before in the past, idly wondering where they were
going, who they were meeting. Not guys like him, he knew that
much.
Except this one was. The bell on the diner’s front door rang as the
door opened, and Isabelle Lightwood came in. She smiled when she
saw Simon, and came toward him, shrugging off her coat and draping
it over the back of the chair before she sat down. Under the coat
she was wearing one of what Clary called her “typical Isabelle outfits”:
a tight short velvet dress, fishnet stockings, and boots. There
was a knife stuck into the top of her left boot that Simon knew only
he could see; still, everyone in the diner was watching as she sat
down, flinging her hair back. Whatever she was wearing, Isabelle
drew attention like a fireworks display.
Beautiful Isabelle Lightwood. When Simon had met her, he’d assumed
she’d have no time for a guy like him. He’d turned out to be
mostly right. Isabelle liked boys her parents disapproved of, and in
her universe that meant Downworlders—faeries, werewolves, and
vamps. That they’d been dating regularly for the past month or two
amazed him, even if their relationship was limited mostly to infrequent
meetings like this one. And even if he couldn’t help but
wonder, if he’d never been changed into a vampire, if his whole life
hadn’t been altered in that moment, would they be dating at all?

Cassandra Clare schrieb:The alley and the music all fell away, and there was nothing but her and the rain and Jace, his hands on her. . . He made a noise of surprise, low in his throat, and dug his fingers into the thin fabric of her tights. Not unexpectedly, they ripped, and his wet fingers were suddenly on the bare skin of her legs. Not to be outdone, Clary slid her hands under the hem of his soaked shirt, and let her fingers explore what was underneath: the tight, hot skin over his ribs, the ridges of his abdomen, the scars on his back. This was uncharted territory for her, but it seemed to be driving him crazy: he was moaning softly against her mouth, kissing her harder and harder, as if it would never be enough, not quite enough —

Does it end there? Well, the scene doesn’t but the teaser does. That’s why they call ‘em teasers. Have a happy holidays!