Her name rang in Will's mind like the chime of a bell; he wondered if any other name on earth had such an inescapable resonance to it. She couldn't have been named something awful, could she, like Mildred. He couldn't imagine lying awake at night, staring up at the ceiling while invisible voices whispered 'Mildred' in his ears. But Tessa--

"A date," Jace repeated. "Often a 'boring thing you have to memorize in history class," but in this case,' 'an offer of a n evening of blisteringly white-hot romance with yours truly.'"

Clary smiled at him with a warmth she didn’t feel. “Sebastian says I can come with you.” Jace raised his eyebrows. “Matching haircuts for everyone?” “I hope not,” said Sebastian. “I look terrible with curls.

I learned to play the instruments of war," he said, "and paint in blood.

Do not make the mistake of believing that he does not love you because he plays at not caring.

Just be careful. When we arrive at the house, you can’t look to me for help or instruction. Remember, I am your human subjugate. You keep me about you for blood—blood whenever you want it—and nothing else.” “So you’re not going to speak tonight,” Tessa said. “At all.” “Not unless you instruct me to,” said Will. “This evening sounds as if it might be better than I thought.

Enormous? Did you just call me FAT? I am not fat. - Jace