Simon remembered a rhyme his mother used to recite to him, about magpies. You were supposed to count them and say: one for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a wedding, four for a birth, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret that's never been told. "Right," simon said. He had already lost count of the numbers of birds there were. Seven, he guessed. A secret that's never been told. Whatever that was.
Cassandra ClareShe had never imagined she had the power to make someone else so happy. And not a magical power, either--a purely human one.
Cassandra ClareJust like an alley in New York -like every alley in the world, apparently- it smelled like cat pee.
Cassandra Clare