Cassandra Clare

A Season in Hell

I believe I am in Hell, therefore I am.

—Arthur Rimbaud

The man looked away from him, as if the wings displeased him

“What in all possible dimensions is going on here?” he said, looking from Jace to Clary with amazement. “Are you two trying to kill each other?”

“Of course he can,” Alec said indignantly, as if eager to make up for his earlier slighting of Simon. “He’s a vampire— and,” he added, “I just now realized you were probably joking. Never mind me.”

“Done what anyone would have done. What I would have done if it were someone I cared about. I don’t blame you, Clary, and I didn’t do it because I thought you were weak. I did it because you’re human, and I know humanity’s ways. I’ve been alive a long time.”

“Done what anyone would have done. What I would have done if it were someone I cared about. I don’t blame you, Clary, and I didn’t do it because I thought you were weak. I did it because you’re human, and I know humanity’s ways. I’ve been alive a long time.”

“Done what anyone would have done. What I would have done if it were someone I cared about. I don’t blame you, Clary, and I didn’t do it because I thought you were weak. I did it because you’re human, and I know humanity’s ways. I’ve been alive a long time.”

“Well,” said Luke, “you’re doing a fantastic job.”

“Well, I’m not kissing the mundane,” said Jace. “I’d rather stay down here and rot.”

“Forever?” said Simon. “Forever’s an awfully long time.”

Jace raised his eyebrows. “I knew it,” he said. “You want to kiss me, don’t you?”

Simon threw up his hands in exasperation. “Of course not. But if—”

“I guess it’s true what they say,” observed Jace. “There are no straight men in the trenches.”

“That’s atheists, jackass,” said Simon furiously. “There are no atheists in the trenches.”

So this was what it would be like to be taller than James, she thought. She didn’t mind it.