The Bane Chronicles: The Last Stand of the New York Institute by Cassandra Clare, Sarah Rees Brennan, and Maureen Johnson [Quotes]

In reply the man pulled out a jackknife and flicked it open. Their close stance meant that no one else could see it.

“You realize,” Magnus said, not looking at the point of the knife just below his face, “that by standing as you are, everyone will think we are kissing. And that is terribly embarrassing for me. I have much better taste in men.”


That was how the wheel turned, Magnus supposed, one generation against the next— from Aloysius Starkweather, who’d wanted werewolf heads on the wall, to Will Herondale, who had tried and never quite succeeded in hiding his open heart.


“Tessa is in Los Angeles. The Blackthorns, Tessa’s daughter’s descendants, run the Institute there. Tessa wants to keep an eye on them.”


Tessa would never allow one of hers to be hurt if she could sacrifice herself in their place.


Valentine had a special hatred for werewolves, they said, but he had killed a warlock in Berlin for summoning demons. Magnus had been known to summon a demon himself a time or twenty.


“You looking for someone?” he called.

“Are you Magnificent Bane?”

“Sure,” said Magnus. “Let’s go with that. Hang on. Open the door when it buzzes.”


Even if the Shadowhunters had been expecting an interruption, and the werewolves had been hoping for a savior, apparently nobody had been expecting all the hot pink.


Magnus was not certain, but he thought the current leader of the group was either the beautiful boy with the golden hair and the deep sweet blue eyes, or the young man beside him with the dark hair and narrow, intelligent face. Magnus had lived a long time, and could tell which members of a group were the leaders of the pack. Neither of these two looked imposing, but the body language of all the others deferred to them. These two were flanked by a young man and a woman, both with black hair and fierce hawk-like faces, and behind the black-haired man stood a handsome curly-haired youth.


“I am Lucian Graymark,” said the young man with the thin clever face at the front of the group. Magnus had heard the name before— Valentine’s parabatai, his second-in-command, dearer than a brother. Magnus disliked him as soon as he spoke. “Who are you to come here and interfere with us in the pursuit of our sworn duty?”


“You need to let these people go.”

“Those creatures,” said Lucian, “are part of a wolf pack that killed my parabatai’s parents. We tracked them down here. We can now exact Shadowhunter justice, as is our right.”


Magnus could not help but look again toward the golden-haired youth at the front of the group. There was something terribly familiar about him, as well as a suggestion of tenderness about his mouth, and hurt in the deep blue wells of his eyes. There was something that made Magnus look toward him as the one chance to get the Circle to turn from their purpose.

“What’s your name?” Magnus asked.

Those blue eyes narrowed. “Stephen Herondale.”


Magnus looked again at Stephen and realized exactly why his face was so familiar. Gold hair and blue eyes— he was a more ethereal and slender version of a young Edmund Herondale, as though Edmund had come back from heaven, twice as angelic. Magnus had not known Edmund for long, but Edmund had been the father of Will Herondale, who had been one of the very few Shadowhunters that Magnus had ever thought of as a friend.


“Let me see, how does your little bedtime story about how super-duper extra special you all are go again?  .  .  . Ah, yes. Through the ages your mandate has been to protect mankind, to fight against evil forces until they are finally vanquished and the world can live in peace. You don’t seem terribly interested in peace or protecting anybody. What is it that you’re fighting for, exactly?”

“I am fighting for a better world for myself and my son,” said the woman called Maryse.

“I have no interest in the world you want,” Magnus told her. “Or in your doubtless repellent brat, I might add.”


“As safe as can be, sweetheart,” said Magnus. “I’ll take you to him.” No sooner had he said the word “him” than he felt the cold blade sink into his back and his mouth fill with hot blood.


in. “I need some beef and broccoli before I face any more Mr. Darcy. It’s a truth universally acknowledged that if you watch too much television on an empty stomach, your head falls off.”

“If your head fell off,” Tessa said, “the hairdressing industry would go into an economic meltdown.”


“I don’t remember ordering the bride of an evil maniac,” said Magnus. “It was definitely beef and broccoli. What about you, Tessa? Did you order the bride of an evil maniac?”


“Jocelyn Fairchild,” Tessa said. “Descended from Henry Branwell and Charlotte Fairchild.”

Jocelyn blinked as if she had not been expecting a lecture on her own genealogy. “That’s right,” she said cautiously.

“I knew them, you see,” Tessa explained. “You have a great look of Henry.”

Knew them? Then you must be  .  .  .”


“I am,” said Tessa. “I am Theresa Gray, daughter of a Greater Demon and Elizabeth Gray, who was born Adele Starkweather, one of your kind. I was the wife of William Herondale, who was the head of the London Institute, and I was the mother of James Herondale and Lucie Blackthorn. Will and I raised our Shadowhunter children to protect mundanes, to live by the Laws of Clave and Covenant, and to keep to the Accords.”


“Stephen Herondale would have killed me if he’d ever met me,” said Tessa. “I would not have been safe living among people like you, or like him. I am the wife and mother of warriors who fought and died and never dishonored themselves as you have. I have worn gear, wielded blades, and slain demons, and all I wished was to overcome evil so that I could live and be happy with those I loved. I’d hoped I had made this a better, safer world for my children. Because of Valentine’s Circle, the Herondale line, the line that was my son’s children’s children, is finished. That happened through you and your Circle and your husband. Stephen Herondale died with hate in his heart and the blood of my people on his hands. I can imagine no more horrible way for mine and Will’s line to end. I will have to carry for the rest of my life the wound of what Valentine’s Circle has done to me, and I will live forever.”


Tessa gazed at Jocelyn, her gray eyes clear. Magnus thought, in this case, Tessa was seeing more than he did. “Maybe. I will help you with the ceremony,” she promised. “I know a Silent Brother who will keep any secret, if I ask him to.”


“I actually was born Tessa Gray,” Tessa said. “But you should choose whatever name seems right to you. I’ve always said there is a great deal of power in words, and that means names, too. A name you choose for yourself could tell you the story of what your destiny will be, and who you intend to become.”

“Call me Fray. Let me join together the names of the Fairchilds, my lost family, and the Grays. Because you are  .  .  . a family friend,” said Jocelyn, speaking with sudden firmness.


One thought on “The Bane Chronicles: The Last Stand of the New York Institute by Cassandra Clare, Sarah Rees Brennan, and Maureen Johnson [Quotes]

  1. Pingback: The Bane Chronicles: The Last Stand of the New York Institute by Cassandra Clare, Sarah Rees Brennan, and Maureen Johnson | thebookboozer

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