'We don't have a mouse problem,' said Maia. 'We have a megalomaniac problem.' She looked at Catarina. 'Sebastian's determined to drive wedges between… - Cassandra Clare
'We don't have a mouse problem,' said Maia. 'We have a megalomaniac problem.' She looked at Catarina. 'Sebastian's determined to drive wedges between Downworlders and Shadowhunters. Kidnapping the representatives, attacking the Praetor, he won't stop there. All of Downworld will know soon enough what's going on. The question is, where will they stand?' 'We will stand bravely with you!' Malcolm announced. Catarina looked darkly at him, and he quailed. 'Well, we will stand bravely near you. Or at least within earshot.'
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About
Cassandra Clare
Cassandra Clare (born July 27, 1973) is the pseudonym of the young adult author Judith Rumelt. She is best known for her Shadowhunter Chronicles, consisting of The Mortal Instruments and The Infernal Devices series, and The Bane Chronicles, a collection of short stories. Also included in the Shadowhunter Chronicles are the upcoming The Dark Artifices and The Last Hours series, the former of which will have its first installment released in 2015. Clare has previously written fan fiction under the pseudonym Cassandra Claire.
It was hard not to laugh. Determination like that in a ten-year-old is something to see. He was like a pit bull." "If pit bulls wore glasses and were allergic to ragweed.
"Jace?" "Yeah?" "How did you know I had Shadowhunter blood? Was there some way you could tell?" The elevator arrived with a final groan. Jace unlatched the gate and slid it open. The inside reminded Clary of a birdcage, all black metal and decorative bits of gilt. "I guessed," he said, latching the door behind them. "It seemed like the most likely explanation." "You guessed? You must have been pretty sure, considering you could have killed me." He pressed a button in the wall, and the elevator lurched into action with a vibrating groan that she felt all through the bones in her feet. "I was ninety percent sure." "I see," Clary said. There must have been something in her voice, because he turned to look at her. Her hand cracked across his face, a slap that rocked him back on his heels. He put a hand to his cheek, more in surprise than pain. "What the hell was that for?" The other ten percent," she said, and they rode the rest of the way down to the street in silence."
"I am a man" he told her, "and men do not consume pink beverages. Get thee gone woman, and bring me something brown."
