It's the mortal cup Jace, not the mortal toilet bowl.

He grabbed for the coatrack that stood by the door, ripped the coats off it, and flung the door wide, the rack held above his head like a javelin. On the other side of the door was Jace. He blinked. "Is that a coatrack?

Jem drew back from her, looking dazed. "By the Angel," he said. "Perhaps we do need a chaperon.

And you should not be out and about in your nightgown. There are Lightwoods wandering these halls.

I like that stick of yours," he said. "It's a staff." Jem swung out to knock another automaton sideways. "Made by the Iron Sisters, only for Silent Brothers." [...] "Anyone can sharpen a stick." "It's a staff," Jem repeated, and saw Will's quicksilver smile out of the corner of his eye.

Grief makes you feel alone, but you're not. I know you don't believe in-in religion-the same way I do, but you can believe you're surrounded by people who love you, can't you?

You are Spider-Man!" she exclaimed. Simon glanced down from his perch halfway up the pillar. "That makes you Mary Jane. She has red hair.