lovelqces:

It had only been a few days since Robert Lightwood’s death, but Horace Dearborn had already completely redecorated his office.
       
       The first thing Emma noticed was missing was the tapestry of the Battle        of the Burren. The fireplace was lit now, and over it Alec Lightwood’s image had been replaced by Zara Dearborn’s. It was a portrait of her in gear, her long blond-brown hair falling to her waist in two braids like a Viking’s. ZARA DEARBORN, CLAVE HERO, said a gold plaque on the frame.
       
       “Subtle,” Julian muttered. He and Emma had just come into Horace’s        office; the Inquisitor was poking around in his desk, seemingly ignoring them. The desk at least was the same, though a large sign hung behind it that announced: PURITY IS STRENGTH. STRENGTH IS VICTORY.        THEREFORE PURITY IS VICTORY.
       
       Dearborn straightened up.  “‘Clave hero’ might be a bit simple,” he said thoughtfully, making it quite clear he’d heard Julian’s comment. “I was thinking ‘Modern Boadicea.’ In case you don’t know who she was —“
       
       “I know who Boadicea was,” said Julian, seating himself; Emma followed.        The chairs were new as well, with stiff upholstery. “A warrior queen of        Britain.”
       
       “Julian’s uncle was a classical scholar,” said Emma.
       
       “Ah, yes, so Zara told me.” Horace dropped heavily into his own seat, behind the mahagony desk. He was a big man, rawboned, with a nondescript face. Only his size was unusual — his hands were enormous, and his big        shoulders pulled at the material of his uniform. They must not have had        time to make one up for him yet. “Now, children. I must say I’m surprised at you two. There has always been such a… vibrant partnership between the Blackthorn and Carstairs families and the Clave.”
       
       “The Clave has changed,” said Emma.
       
       “Not all change is for the worse,” said Horace. “This has been a long        time coming.”
       
       Julian swung his feet up, planting his boots on Horace’s desk. Emma        blinked. Julian had always been rebellious at heart, but rarely openly. He smiled like an angel and said, “Why don’t you just tell us what you want?”
       
       Horace’s eyes glinted. There was anger in them, but his voice was        smooth when he spoke. “You two have really fucked up,” he said. “More        than you know.”
       
       Emma was jolted. Shadowhunter adults, especially those in positions of        authority, rarely swore in front of anyone they considered children.
       
       “What do you mean?” she said.
       
       He opened a desk drawer and took out a black leather notebook. “Robert        Lightwood’s notes,” he said.
       
       “He took them after every meeting he had. He took them after the        meeting he had with you.”        

(Source: jesperfvhey, via rosqles)

cassandraclare:

In honor of Will Herondale Remembrance Day, a snippet from Learn About Loss! Coming out on ebook and audio July 10.

https://www.amazon.com/Learn-About-Ghosts-Shadow-Market-ebook/dp/B07D8LKX73/ref=cm_cr_arp_d_product_sims?ie=UTF8

He was Jem again, and he was in the city where he had been born. Shanghai.

Someone said, “Jem? Am I dreaming?” Even before he turned his head, Jem knew who would be sitting there beside him.

“Will?”

And it was Will. Not Will old and tired and wasted as Jem had last seen him, and not even Will as he had been when they’d first met Tessa Gray. No, this was Will as he had been in the first few years when they had lived and trained together in the London Institute. As he had been when they made their oath and become parabatai. Thinking this, Jem looked at his shoulder, where his parabatai. rune had been inscribed. The flesh there was unmarked. He saw that Will was doing the same thing, looking under his collar for the rune on his chest.“

@rhysavd welp…….

katiemcgarryauthor:

Hi everyone!

Teaser Tuesday!

The following is a tidbit from one of the bonus scenes you’ll receive if you register your preorder of Long Way Home!

Isaiah

The smoke alarm goes off, and I curse under my breath. I turn away from the pancakes cooking on the electric griddle on the island, and my eyes burn from the smoke rising from the beginning grease fire. I snatch the handle of the pan, and another curse word Rachel has begged me not to say in the house falls from my mouth as I burn the hell out of my hand. I drop the pan, grab a towel, and push the same pan full of bacon off the burner. A few slaps of the towel on the stove top and the fire is extinguished.

A squeal from upstairs causes me to lower my head. Rachel is going to kill me.

“Fire!” my five-year-old daughter yells. “We have to run! Stop! Drop! And Roll!”

Getting Ariel to stay still long enough to get her hair brushed on a normal day is like herding stray cats who have rabies. The fire alarm going off is only going to make life for my beautiful wife more complicated.

I head over to the fire alarm, reach up and push the button. The ear-piercing beeping ends and in its place are Ariel’s complaints that having her hair brushed is killing her. No kidding here—she makes moaning noises and declares she’s about to die. The edges of my mouth tilt up as Rachel says, “You’ll live.”

Patient. Rachel is always patient. Not a day goes by I don’t count my blessings that she and Ariel are in my life.

For more details of how to register your pre-order of Long Way Home to receive the bonus scenes, go here.