Then again, it was Jace. He'd pick a fight with a Mack truck if the urge took him.

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.

One must always be careful of books.

[Magnus] was wearing canary-yellow pajamas, and on his feet were green slippers with alien faces, complete with sproingy atennae.

You know what the worst thing I can imagine is? Simon had said. Not trusting someone I love.

What is one person's pleasure is another's poison.

You're killing me because you want me to give a message to God for you?" Jace shook his head, the point of the blade scraping across his throat. "You're crazier than I thought