Mom. I have something to tell you. I’m undead. Now, I know you may have some preconceived notions about the undead. I know you may not be comfortable with the idea of me being undead. But I’m here to tell you that undead are just like you and me … well, okay. Possibly more like me than you.
Even in half demon hunter clothes, Clary thought, he looked like the kind of boy who'd come over 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 kind of boy who'd come over your house and burn it down just for kicks.
Patience, grasshopper," said Maia. "Good things come to those who wait." "I always thought that was 'Good things come to those who do the wave,'" said Simon. "No wonder I've been so confused all my life.
Is there some particular reason that you're here?" ... "Not this again." "Not what again?" said Clary. "Every time I annoy him, he retreats into his No Mundanes Allowed tree house." Simon pointed at Jace.
Look, you can date whoever you want and I will totally support you. I am all about support. Support is my middle name. So that’s why you never told me your middle name. I figured it was something embarrassing.
Simon rolled his eyes. It’s a good thing we know the person who’s dating Magnus Bane, he said. Otherwise, I get the feeling we’d all just lie around all the time wondering what the hell to do next. Or trying to raise the money to hire him by selling lemonade or something. Alec looked merely irritated by this comment. The only way you could raise enough money to hire Magnus by selling lemonade is if you put meth in it.
He’s not feeling well, Clary said, catching at Simon’s wrist. We’re going. No, Simon said. No, I — I need to talk to him. To the Inquisitor." Robert reached into his jacket and drew out a crucifix. Clary stared in shock as he held it up between himself and Simon. I speak to the Night’s Children Council representative, or to the head of the New York clan, he said. Not to any vampire who comes to knock at my door — Simon reached out and plucked the cross out of Robert’s hand. Wrong religion, he said.
Isabelle was holding an umbrella. It was clear plastic, decorated with decals of colorful flowers. It was one of the girliest things Simon had ever seen, and he didn’t blame Alec for ducking out from under it and taking his chances with the rain.
Do you think…" He raised his eyebrows. "Do I think what?" "That Valentine might have drowned?" "Never believe the bad guy is dead until you see a body," said Simon. "That just leads to unhappiness and surprise ambushes.
No, you don’t need to help me. But if you don’t, there’s nothing stopping me from calling you up again and again, now that I know you can’t kill me. Think of it as me leaning against your Heavenly doorbell… forever.
Annabelle’s eyes stung as she stared at him, while need and inexhaustible tenderness gathered like an ache in her body. I realized something, she said huskily, when I was standing outside the foundry, watching it burn and knowing you were inside. She swallowed hard against the thickness in her throat. I would rather have died in your arms, Simon, than face a lifetime without you. All those endless years… all those winters, summers… a hundred seasons of wanting you and never having you. Growing old, while you stayed eternally young in my memories. She bit her lip and shook her head, while her eyes flooded. I was wrong when I told you that I didn’t know where I belonged. I do. With you, Simon. Nothing matters except being with you. You’re stuck with me forever, and I’ll never listen when you tell me to go. She managed a tremulous smile. So you may as well stop complaining and resign yourself to it.
Clothes were scattered across the floor in piles, a duffel bag open on the floor as if it had exploded. Isabelle's bright silver-gold whip hung from one bedpost, a lacy white bra from another. Simon averted his eyes. The curtains were drawn, the lamps extinguished. Isabelle flopped down on the edge of the bed and looked at him with bitter amusement. "A blushing vampire. Who would have guessed.
Clary?" he thought. Her voice came through, tinged with alarm. "What is it? What's happened? Did my mom find out I'm gone?" "Not yet," he thought back. "Is Azazel the cat from the Smurfs?" There was a long pause. "That's Azrael, Simon. And no more using the magic rings for Smurfs question.
Ugh," he said after a few swallows. "Dead blood." Jace's eyebrows went up. " Isn't all blood dead?" "The longer the animal whose blood I'm drinking has been dead, the worse the blood tastes," Simon explained. "Fresh is better." "But you've never drunk fresh blood. Have you?" Simon raised his own eyebrows in response. "Well, aside from mine, of course," Jace said. "And I'm sure my blood is fan-tastic.
Meliorn looked impassive. "Mundane humans are not permitted in the Court." "I wish someone had mentioned that earlier," said Simon, to no one in particular. "I take it I'm just supposed to wait out here until vines start growing on me?" Meliorn considered. "That might offer significant amusement.
Jace flushed a slow, dark red. "It's not like that. If I thought it would help the Clave-but it won't. She'll just get hurt-" "Even if you thought it would help the Clave", Simon said, "you'd never let them have her." "What makes you say that, vampire?" "Because no one can have her but you"said Simon
The Great and Tragic Love of Jonathan Shadowhunter and David the Silent, by Clary Fray, Aged 17 . SIMON IT WAS BY SIMON NOT ME (...) Jonathan Shadowhunter : Oh, David, I would trust you with my life! David: Oh, Jonathan, I would sacrifice my own life for your holy mission! (He almost does) Jonathan : (weeping) David, you must return to me! I need you! I cannot do this thing without you! David : Lo, I return! Jonathan : Zounds! I feel a great stirring in my pantaloons! David : What doth thy pantalo SIMON I WILL KILL YOU
Simon watched a kelpie skip past, carrying a glass of blue fluid, and raised an eyebrow. It’s not like Magnus’s party, Isabelle reassured him. Everything here ought to be safe to drink. Ought to be? Aline look worried.
The earl shook his head, exhibiting a degree of frosty offense that could only be achieved by an aristocrat whose wishes had just been gainsaid. I’ve never heard of a man being so eager to confess to the parent of a girl he’s just ruined, he said sourly.
It faded slowly, ebbing like the tide. He rolled onto his back, staring up, his head still aching. The black clouds were beginning to roll back, showing a widening strip of blue; the Angel was gone, the lake surging under the growing light as if the water were boiling. Simon began to sit up slowly, his eyes squinted painfully against the sun. He could see someone racing down the path from the farmhouse to the lake. Someone with long black hair, and a purple jacket that flew out behind her like wings. She hit the end of the path and leaped onto the lakeside, her boots kicking up puffs of sand behind her. She reached him and threw herself sand behind her. She reached him and threw herself down, wrapping her arms around him. Simon, she whispered. He could feel the strong, steady beat of Isabelle’s heart. I thought you were dead, she went on. I saw you fall down, and—I thought you were dead. Simon let her hold him, propping himself up on his hands. He realized he was listing like a ship with a hole in the side, and tried not to move. He was afraid that if he did, he would fall over. I am dead. I know, Izzy snapped. I mean more dead than usual.
I could give you a thiught sheath to put that in,"Isabelle offered. "I got tons." "CERTAINLY NOT," said Simon. Clary shot him an irritated look. "Thanks, but I'm not really a thigh sheath kind of girl," -pg. 214
It made him feel indispensable and needed - even if the fact that Jocelyn didn't appear to care wheather he slept in her daughter's bed or not did underscore that Clary's mother apparently regarded him as about sexually threatening as a goldfish.
NYC Institute has one. I'll show you sometime if you want. It's a date. It is maybe the least romantic spot in the Institute, by the way. You'll make up for that, I'm sure. (Jeez, get a locked room on unsanctified ground, you two.)
But you've never drunk fresh blood. Have you?" Simon raised his own eyebrows in response. "Well, aside from mine, of course," Jace said. "And I'm sure my blood is fan-tastic." Simon set the empty flask down on the arm of the chair by the bed. "There's something very wrong with you," he said. "Mentally, I mean.
Let me ask you something, Simon said. Do you find me fascinating to be around? What was that? Jace said. Sorry, I think I fell asleep for a moment. Do, continue with whatever mesmerizing thing you were saying.
Simon stopped breathing until her forefinger touched his nipple, and then his hand shot up to cover hers. "I want you," he said. Her eyes flicked downward, and her lips curved ever so slightly. "I know." "No," he groaned, pulling her closer. "I want to be in your heart. I want-" His entire body shuddered when their skin touched. "I want to be in your soul.