Coaxing drunken Shadowhunters into making fools of themselves was a favorite occupation among the Downworlders, and this performance had been a tremendous success.

Sometimes minor characters are based on people I know, on friends of mine. But I'm not writing a thinly veiled version of my own life.

I don't know who Azazel is," he said. "Isn't he the cat from The Smurfs?" He cast about , but Isabelle just looked up and rolled her eyes at him. "Clary?" he thought Her voice came through, tinged with alarm. "What is it? What 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 Smurf questions.

'Will,' she whispered against his mouth. She wanted him closer to her so badly, it was like an ache, a painful hot ache that spread from her stomach to speed her heart and knot her hands in his hair and set her skin burning. 'Will, you need not be so careful. I will not break.'

we are not here just because we have nowhere else; we need nowhere else, because we have the Institute, and those who are in it are our family.

Yes?" said Clary, her voiced sharply edged. "Since I found out what? That he's a killer transvestite who molests cats?" "No wonder that cat of his hates everyone.

Would you like to meet him? I could summon him up in a trice of you like. Being a warlock, and all.