Don't panic, but we've got an audience." Clary turned her head. Perched on a nearby tree branch was Hugo, watching them beadily from bright black eyes. So the sound she'd heard had been wings rather than demented passion. That was disappointing.

She looked out then, through the crowd, and saw Simon with the Lightwoods, looking at her across the empty space that separated them. It was the same way that Jace had looked at her at the manor. It was the one thread that bound these two boys that she loved so much, she thought, their one commonality: They both believed in her even when she didn't believe in herself.

Do you have a lot of other profound thoughts like that? Blood is blood? A toaster is a toaster? A Gelatinous Cube is a Gelatinous Cube?

I want my people to be protected, strong, and not to be driven into corners until they either become killers or are killed!

Is this the part where you say if I hurt her, you'll kill me?" "No" Simon said, "If you hurt Clary she's quite capable of killing you herself. Possibly with a variety of weapons.

Children of the Nephilim," Magnus said. "Well, well. I don't recall inviting you." Isabelle took out her invitation and waved it like a white flag. "I have an invitation. These"--she indicated the rest of the group with a grand wave of her arm--"are my friends." Magnus plucked the invitation out of her hand and looked at it with fastidious distaste. "I must have been drunk," he said. He threw the door open. "Come in. And try not to murder any of my guests." Jace looked at him, "Even if one of them spills something on my new shoes?" "Even then." - 219

What are you? The voice came from nowhere. It was in the room. It was outside. It was in Magnus's head. "A warlock," Magnus answered. "And what are you?" We are many. "Please do not say you are a legion. Someone's taken that." Do you make mirth from mundane scriptures, warlock? "Just breaking the ice