City of Bones
Book One of the Mortal Instruments
For my grandfather
I would like to thank my writing group, the Massachusetts All-Stars: Ellen Kushner, Delia Sherman, Kelly Link, Gavin Grant, Holly Black, and Sarah Smith. Also, Tom Holt and Peg Kerr for encouraging mebefore there ever was a book, and Justine Larbalestier and Eve Sinaiko for giving me their thoughts on it once it was. My mother and father for their dedication, affection, and unswerving belief that I would eventually produce something publishable. Jim Hill and Kate Connor for their encouragement and support. Eric for vampire motorbikes that run on demon energies and Elka for looking better in blackthan the widows of her enemies. Theo and Val for creating beautiful images to go with my prose. My glamorous agent, Barry Goldblatt, and my talented editor, Karen Wojtyla. Holly for living through this book with me, and Josh for making it all worthwhile.
I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is
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Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection. -William Shakespeare,Julius Caesar
Part One Dark Descent
I sung of Chaos and eternal Night, Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down The dark descent, and up toreascend… -John Milton,Paradise Lost
"You've got to be kidding me," the bouncer said, folding his arms across his massive chest. He stared down at the boy in the red zip-up jacket and shook his shaved head. "You can't bring that thing in here." The fifty or so teenagers in line outside the Pandemonium Club leaned forward to eavesdrop. It was a long wait to get into the all-agesclub, especially on a Sunday, and not much generally happened in line. The bouncers were fierce and would come down instantly on anyone who looked like they were going to start trouble. Fifteen-year-old Clary Fray, standing in line with her best friend, Simon, leaned forward along with everyone else, hoping for some excitement. "Aw, come on." The kid hoisted the thing up over his head. It lookedlike a wooden beam, pointed at
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one end. "It's part of my costume." The bouncer raised an eyebrow. "Which is what?" The boy grinned. He was normal-enough-looking, Clary thought, for Pandemonium. He had electric blue dyed hair that stuck up around his head like the tendrils of a startled octopus, but no elaboratefacial tattoos or big metal bars through his ears or lips. "I'm a vampire hunter." He pushed down on the wooden thing. It bent as easily as a blade of grass bending sideways. "It's fake. Foam rubber. See?" The boy's wide eyes were way too bright a green, Clary noticed: the color of antifreeze, spring grass. Colored contact lenses, probably. The bouncer shrugged, abruptly bored. "Whatever. Go on in."The boy slid past him, quick as an eel. Clary liked the lilt to his shoulders, the way he tossed his hair as he went. There was a word for him that her mother would have used-insouciant. "You thought he was cute," said Simon, sounding resigned. "Didn't you?" Clary dug her elbow into his ribs, but didn't answer.
Inside, the club was full of dry-ice smoke. Colored lights played over the dancefloor, turning it into a multicolored fairyland of blues and acid greens, hot pinks and golds. The boy in the red jacket stroked the long razor-sharp blade in his hands, an idle smile playing over his lips. It had been so easy-a little bit of a glamour on the blade, to make it look harmless. Another glamour on his eyes, and the moment the bouncer had looked straight at him, he was in. Of course, he...