Best Teen & Young Adult Geography & Cultures Fiction eBooks

A National Book Award Longlist title with eight starred reviews! Sixteen-year-old Starr Carter moves between two worlds: the poor neighborhood where she lives and the fancy suburban prep school she attends. The uneasy balance between these worlds is shattered when Starr witnesses the fatal shooting of her childhood best friend Khalil at the hands of a police officer. Some are calling him a thug, maybe even a drug dealer and a gangbanger. Some cops and the local drug lord try to intimidate Starr and her family. This story is important.” (Kirkus Reviews (starred review) ). “Though Thomas’s story is heartbreakingly topical, its greatest strength is in its authentic depiction of a teenage girl, her loving family, and her attempts to reconcile what she knows to be true about their lives with the way those lives are depicted—and completely undervalued—by society at large.” (Publishers Weekly (starred review) ). “Pair this powerful debut with Jason Reynolds and Brendan Kiely’s ALL AMERICAN BOYS to start a conversation on racism, police brutality, and the Black Lives Matter movement.” (School Library Journal (starred review) ). “Thomas has penned a powerful, in-your-face novel that will similarly galvanize fans of Kekla Magoon’s How It Went Down and Jason Reynolds and Brendan Kiely’s All American Boys.” (Horn Book (starred review) ).

When fifteen-year-old Clary Fray heads out to the Pandemonium Club in New York City, she hardly expects to witness a murder -- much less a murder committed by three teenagers covered with strange tattoos and brandishing bizarre weapons. Exotic and gritty, exhilarating and utterly gripping, Cassandra Clare's ferociously entertaining fantasy takes readers on a wild ride that they will never want to end. Graynor also frequently ignores the author's explicit textual directives, such as [Simon] came back, sounding worried or The tone of arrogant superiority was back in [Jace's] voice, for her performance, making this a program with an intriguing premise and cast but disappointing execution. Amid motorcycles powered by demon energies, a telepathic brotherhood of archivists, and other moments of great urban fantasy, the story gets sidetracked by cutesy touches, like the toasted bat sandwich on the menu of an otherworldly restaurant. Despite the narrative flaws, this version of New York, full of Buffyesque teens who are trying to save the world, is entertaining and will have fantasy readers anxiously awaiting the next book in the series.– Heather M. Campbell, Philip S. Miller Library, Castle Rock, CO Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

Shadowhunters and demons square off for the final showdown in the spellbinding, seductive conclusion to the #1 New York Times bestselling Mortal Instruments series—now with a gorgeous new cover, a map, a new foreword, and exclusive bonus content! The beach in Los Angeles—white sand, crashing blue water, you’re strolling along the tide line . The boy sitting across from him sighed and ran his hands through his shaggy dark hair. Though it was a cold December day, werewolves didn’t feel weather as acutely as humans, and Jordan had his jacket off and his shirtsleeves rolled up. They were seated opposite each other on a patch of browning grass in a clearing in Central Park, both cross-legged, their hands on their knees, palms up. As Jace looked up, Isabelle caught his eye and gave him an encouraging wave. He smiled to himself—neither of them really had a reason to be here, but they had come anyway, “for moral support.” Though, Jace suspected it had more to do with the fact that Alec hated to be at loose ends these days, Isabelle hated for her brother to be on his own, and both of them were avoiding their parents and the Institute. Jace took his hands off his knees—the lotus position was giving him wrist cramps—and leaned back on his arms. Chilly wind rattled the few dead leaves that still clung to the branches of the trees. Against the pale winter sky the leaves had a spare elegance, like pen and ink sketches. Below the sleeves of his shirt, the tattoos that wrapped his arms were visible. The fire in his veins made his mind race too, thoughts coming too quickly, one after another, like exploding fireworks. But he hadn’t managed to do much more than irritate Alec with requests for healing runes and, on one memorable occasion, accidentally set fire to one of the crossbeams. It was Simon who had pointed out that his roommate meditated every day, and who’d said that learning the habit was what had calmed the uncontrollable fits of rage that were often part of the transformation into a werewolf. The first session had ended with Jace burning a mark into Simon and Jordan’s hardwood floor, so Jordan had suggested they take it outside for the second round to prevent further property damage. I know what brings me peace, and it isn’t sandy beaches or chirping birds in rain forests. Jace threw his hands up and stood, brushing grass off his jeans. “Now you get it.” He heard the crackle of dry grass and turned, in time to see Clary duck through a gap between two trees and emerge into the clearing, Simon only a few steps behind her. He remembered the second time he had ever seen Clary, across the main room of Java Jones. He remembered the unfamiliar twist of jealousy in his chest, pressing out his breath, the feeling of satisfaction when she’d left Simon behind to come and talk to him. He’d gone from being eaten up with jealousy of Simon, to a grudging respect for his tenacity and courage, to actually considering him a friend, though he doubted he’d ever say so out loud. Jace watched as Clary looked over and blew him a kiss, her red hair bouncing in its ponytail. She headed toward Jace and Jordan, leaving Simon to scamper up the rocky ground to where Alec and Isabelle were sitting; he collapsed beside Isabelle, who immediately leaned over to say something to him, her black curtain of hair hiding her face. Clary stopped in front of Jace, rocking back on her heels with a smile. “Without me you’d be bouncing down Madison Avenue, shooting sparks out of all your orifices.” He rose to his feet, shrugging on his green jacket. “Got to meet Maia downtown.” He gave a mock salute and was gone, slipping into the trees and vanishing with the silent tread of the wolf he was under the skin. Six months ago he wouldn’t have believed anyone who’d told him he was going to wind up taking behavioral lessons from a werewolf. Jordan and Simon and Jace had struck up something of a friendship in the past months. Jace couldn’t help using their apartment as a refuge, away from the daily pressures of the Institute, away from the reminders that the Clave was still unprepared for war with Sebastian. The word brushed the back of Jace’s mind like the touch of a feather, making him shiver. He saw an angel’s wing, torn from its body, lying in a pool of golden blood. “What’s wrong?” Clary said; Jace suddenly looked a million miles away. Since the heavenly fire had entered his body, he’d tended to drift off more into his head. She felt a little pang—Jace, when she had met him, had been so controlled, only a little of his real self leaking out through the cracks in his personal armor, like light through the chinks in a wall. Now, though, the fire in his veins was forcing him to put them back up, to bite down on his emotions for safety’s sake. The winter sun was high and cold; it sharpened the bones of his face and threw the shadows under his eyes into relief. His skin felt warm under her touch; he seemed to run several degrees hotter than normal since his encounter with Glorious. His heart still pounded its familiar, steady rhythm, but the blood being pushed through his veins seemed to thrum under her touch with the kinetic energy of a fire just about to catch. She went up on her toes to kiss his cheek, but he turned, and their lips brushed. They’d done nothing more than kiss since the fire had first started singing in his blood, and they’d done even that carefully. Jace was careful now, his mouth sliding softly against hers, his hand closing on her shoulder. He moved to pull her closer, and a sharp, dry spark passed between them, like the zing of static electricity. Jace bowed while Clary stepped back slightly sheepishly, hooking her thumbs into the belt of her jeans. “Unfortunately, that’s the only kind of friends we have.” Clary bumped her shoulder against his arm, and they headed up toward the rocks. Alec was sitting a little apart, staring at the screen of his phone with an expression of intense concentration. He looked smaller these days, almost skinny in his worn blue pullover, holes at the elbows, his lips bitten and chapped. He’d spent the first week after Magnus had broken up with him in a sort of daze of sadness and disbelief. Jace threw a handful of dead leaves at Alec, making him splutter. Under normal circumstances Jace would have killed, or at least threatened, anyone who hurt Alec; this was different. Alec protested and reached for it, but Jace held him off with one hand, expertly scrolling through the messages on the phone with the other. The Clave keeps wanting to hear what happened when we fought Sebastian at the Burren. We’ve all had to give accounts, like, fifty times. Descriptions of the Dark Shadowhunters, the Infernal Cup, the weapons they used, the runes that were on them. “Always good to know the Clave has a well-thought-out and reliable plan.” For a moment she regretted her words, remembering that Robert Lightwood was the new Inquisitor. A small force, scattered—they don’t want to believe he’s really a threat. She hadn’t dreamed much since they’d come back from the Burren with Jace’s veins full of fire, but when she did have nightmares, they were about her brother. “I heard Mom say that the warlocks of the Spiral Labyrinth have been looking for a way to reverse the effects of the Infernal Cup,” said Isabelle. The bodies of the Dark Shadowhunters killed at the Burren had been brought back to the Bone City for the Silent Brothers to examine. Isabelle found her voice again: “And the Iron Sisters are churning out weapons. In the days immediately following the battle at the Burren, when the fire had raged through Jace’s veins violently enough to make him scream sometimes with the pain, the Silent Brothers had examined him over and over, had tested him with ice and flame, with blessed metal and cold iron, trying to see if there was some way to draw the fire out of him, to contain it. The fire of Glorious, having once been captured in a blade, seemed in no hurry to inhabit another, or indeed to leave Jace’s body for any kind of vessel. Brother Zachariah had told Clary that in the earliest days of Shadowhunters, the Nephilim had sought to capture heavenly fire in a weapon, something that could be wielded against demons. They had never managed it, and eventually seraph blades had become their weapons of choice. Glorious’s fire lay curled in Jace’s veins like a serpent, and the best he could hope for was to control it so that it didn’t destroy him. The loud beep of a text message sounded; Isabelle had flicked on her phone again. you know, Christmas?” She thought back suddenly to the rather distressing Thanksgiving dinner at Luke’s when Jace, on being asked to carve the turkey, had laid into the bird with a sword until there had been little left but turkey flakes. I think Shadowhunters got annoyed with being left out of all the mundane celebrations, though, so a lot of Institutes have Christmas parties. Of course they didn’t want to celebrate Christmas after losing Max. Jace sighed, and kissed Clary—a quick good-bye brush of lips against her temple, but it made her shiver. Not being able to touch Jace or kiss him properly was starting to make her jump out of her own skin. The Frays had never been a religiously observant family, but Clary loved Fifth Avenue at Christmastime. The air smelled like sweet roasted chestnuts, and the window displays sparkled with silver and blue, green and red. This year there were fat round crystal snowflakes attached to each lamppost, sending back the winter sunlight in shafts of gold. It threw its shadow across them when she and Simon draped themselves over the gate at the side of the skating rink, watching tourists fall down as they tried to navigate the ice. Clary had a hot chocolate wrapped in her hands, the warmth spreading through her body. She felt almost normal—this, coming to Fifth to see the window displays and the tree, had been a winter tradition for her and Simon for as long as she could remember. “Feels like old times, doesn’t it?” he said, echoing her thoughts as he propped his chin on his folded arms. He was wearing a black topcoat and scarf that emphasized the pallor of his skin. His eyes were shadowed, indicating that he hadn’t fed on blood recently. Simon was a musician; even though his band was terrible, and was always changing their name—currently they were Lethal Soufflé—he did have training. I’m going to see if there’s a music store around here.” Clary, done with her hot chocolate, tossed the cup into a nearby trash can and pulled her phone out. They had started heading toward the avenue, where a steady stream of pedestrians gawking at the windows clogged the streets. In the meantime—perfume!” Clary grabbed Simon by the back of his coat and hauled him into a cosmetics store. Figs have a smell?” Simon looked horrified; Clary was about to laugh at him when her phone buzzed. Even though, as Clary had pointed out, Jace was probably the safest boyfriend in the world since he was pretty much banned from (1) getting angry, (2) making sexual advances, and (3) doing anything that would produce an adrenaline rush. On the other hand, he had been possessed; she and her mother had both watched while he’d stood by and let Sebastian attack Luke. “There is so much in this store I can picture Magnus wanting,” Simon said, picking up a glass bottle of body glitter suspended in some kind of oil. “Alec remembers my name,” said Simon, and he set the bottle back down. “You’ve waited a long time to make your move, Fray, I’ll say that for you.”. Clary didn’t bother with a smart retort; she was still thinking of what Simon had said about forgiveness, and remembering someone else, someone else’s voice and face and eyes. “Do you really think Isabelle wants to smell like a dried fruit plate?”. “I don’t like the thought of you going away.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. And besides, how long would it take everyone at school to notice they were getting older but I wasn’t? “I would have gotten you pencils usually, art supplies, but you don’t draw anymore, do you, except with your stele? “I haven’t heard anything from the Dumort bunch since Maureen took over from Camille. Before Clary could answer, she heard someone call out her name; thoroughly puzzled, she looked over and saw her mother shoving her way through a crowd of shoppers. In his flannel shirt he looked out of place among the stylish New Yorkers. Breaking free of the crowd, Jocelyn caught up to them and threw her arms around Clary. Clary felt a sudden cold wash through her veins, as if she’d swallowed icy water. Jace used an Open rune to get in through the front door, took the stairs two at a time, and buzzed Magnus’s apartment bell. Two more long buzzes, and Magnus finally yanked the door open, looking furious. You must be the—what, fourth?—of you lot to bother me.” Magnus counted off on his long fingers. “I don’t have a relationship with Alec,” said Magnus flatly, but Jace had already shouldered past him and was in his living room, looking around curiously. One of the things Jace had always secretly liked about Magnus’s apartment was that it rarely looked the same way twice. Sometimes it looked like a French bordello, or a Victorian opium den, or the inside of a spaceship. Stacks of old Chinese food cartons littered the coffee table. Chairman Meow lay on the rag rug, all four legs sticking straight out in front of him like a dead deer. “That’s the Chinese food.” Magnus threw himself onto the sofa and stretched out his long legs. “Oh, he won’t sneak around behind my back with one of my exes planning to shorten my life again? “He won’t lie to you or mislead you or hide things from you or whatever it is you’re actually upset about.” He threw himself into a wingback leather chair and raised an eyebrow. “What do I care?” Jace said, so loudly that Chairman Meow sat bolt upright as if he’d been shocked. “I care about Alec,” Jace said, fixing Magnus with an unswerving gaze. “Don’t you ever think,” Magnus mused, pulling at a bit of peeling fingernail polish, “that the whole parabatai business is rather cruel? And though your parabatai is the closest person in the world to you in some ways, you can’t fall in love with them. All fragile nobility and humanity on one side, and all the thoughtless fire of angels on the other.” His eyes flicked toward Jace. Most people are afraid of you, or they seem to owe you something or you slept with them once, but friends—I don’t see you having a lot of those.”. “If you mean do I suddenly feel compelled to get back together with Alec, no,” said Magnus. “If I wanted to lie on a couch and complain to someone about my parents, I’d hire a psychiatrist.”. “I’m going to take a nap.” He reached out for a crumpled blanket lying on the floor, just as Jace’s phone rang. Magnus watched, arrested midmotion, as Jace dug around in his pocket and flipped the phone open. “Come back,” Isabelle said, and Jace sat up straight, the pillow tumbling to the floor. He could hear the sharpness in it, like the off notes of a badly tuned piano. He saw golden blood, and white feathers scattered across a marble floor. He remembered the apartment, a knife in his hands, the world at his feet, Sebastian’s grip on his wrist, those fathomless black eyes looking at him with dark amusement. There were dozens of unfamiliar coats and jackets hanging in the entryway of the Institute. Clary felt the tight buzzing of tension in her shoulders as she unzipped her own wool coat and hung it on one of the hooks that lined the walls. Jocelyn had unwound a long gray scarf from around her neck, and barely looked as Luke took it from her to drape it on a hook. Her green eyes were darting around the room, taking in the gate of the elevator, the arched ceiling overhead, the faded murals of men and angels. “It’s the ‘we’ part that concerns me.” Jocelyn wound her hair up into a knot at the back of her head, and secured it with her fingers. She hadn’t seen her brother since the fight at the Burren, but she carried him in some small part of her mind, an intrusive, unwelcome ghost. Someone had pushed back all the furniture in the library, clearing a large space in the middle of the room, just atop the mosaic of the Angel. A massive table had been placed there, a huge slab of marble balanced on top of two kneeling stone angels. Some members, like Kadir and Maryse, Clary knew by name. Maryse was standing, ticking off names on her fingers as she chanted aloud. Maryse looked startled, as if she hadn’t realized Jocelyn had come in. She looked drawn and exhausted, her hair scraped back severely, a stain—red wine or blood?—on the sleeve of her tailored jacket. “Helen,” said Alec, and Clary thought of the girl who had fought with them against Sebastian at the Burren. She remembered her in the nave of the Institute, a dark-haired boy clinging to her wrist. “Aline’s girlfriend,” Clary blurted out, and saw the Conclave look at her with thinly veiled hostility. Would you?” Jocelyn’s eyes met Maryse’s, and Clary wondered if this was how it had been when they’d both been in the Circle, the sharp edges of their personalities rubbing up against each other, causing sparks. He was flushed with the cold, bareheaded, fair hair tousled by the wind. His hands were gloveless, red at the tips from the weather, scarred with Marks new and old. He saw Clary and gave her a quick smile before settling into a chair propped against the wall. Her heart was pounding, sick in her chest; yet at the same time there was a strange sense of relief. “The Clave has called for immediate evacuation,” said Maryse, and at that, everyone went silent, even Jace. Some of her usual imperious air was back, her mouth a thin line, her jaw set with determination. Cassandra Clare is the #1 New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of Lord of Shadows and Lady Midnight , as well as the internationally bestselling Mortal Instruments series and Infernal Devices trilogy. She is the coauthor of The Bane Chronicles with Sarah Rees Brennan and Maureen Johnson and Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy with Sarah Rees Brennan, Maureen Johnson, and Robin Wasserman, as well as The Shadowhunter’s Codex, which she cowrote with her husband, Joshua Lewis. Her books have more than 50 million copies in print worldwide and have been translated into more than thirty-five languages, a feature film, and a TV show, Shadowhunters , currently airing on Freeform.

Affectionately dubbed "the Nigerian Harry Potter," Akata Witch weaves together a heart-pounding tale of magic, mystery, and finding one's place in the world. Soon she's part of a quartet of magic students, studying the visible and invisible, learning to change reality. -Ursula K. Le Guin Nnedi Okorafor was born in the United States to two Nigerian immigrant parents.

This stunning fantasy inspired by Chinese folklore is a companion novel to Starry River of the Sky and the New York Times bestselling and National Book Award finalist When the Sea Turned to Silver. A fantasy crossed with Chinese folklore, Where the Mountain Meets the Moon is a timeless story reminiscent of The Wizard of Oz and Kelly Barnhill's The Girl Who Drank the Moon . Every night, Minli's father tells her stories about the Jade Dragon that keeps the mountain bare, the greedy and mean Magistrate Tiger, and the Old Man of the Moon who holds everyone's destiny. Determined to change her family's fortune, Minli sets out to find the Old Man of the Moon, urged on by a talking goldfish who gives her clues to complete her journey. After her mother ridicules what she believes to be a foolish purchase, Minli sets out to find the Old Man of the Moon, who, it is told, may impart the true secret to good fortune. Stories, drawn from a rich history of Chinese folktales, weave throughout her narrative, deepening the sense of both the characters and the setting and smoothly furthering the plot.

A 2012 Michael L. Printz Honor. Book Charlie Bucktin, a bookish thirteen year old, is startled one summer night by an urgent knock on his bedroom window. Starred Review, The Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books , April 2011: "Silvey’s sure-footed, evocative prose, intelligent humor, and careful plot structuring may well ensure this Aussie import lasting status." Starred Review, The Horn Book Magazine , May/June 2011: "The mood and atmosphere of the 1960s small-town Australian setting is perfectly realized—suspenseful, menacing, and claustrophobic—with issues of race and class boiling just below the surface." Starred Review, School Library Journal , June 2011: "Silvey is a master of wit and words, spinning a coming-of-age tale told through the mind of a young Holden Caulfield."

It’s the worst winter in years. Danny knows better. Grade 9 Up—In this supernatural thriller set in a remote Canadian town in the dead of winter, four friends encounter a cannibalistic creature that is hunting and killing teens. The foursome, after a failed attempt to involve law enforcement, decide to take on the behemoth with stolen dynamite and guns "borrowed" from their fathers. The unrelenting pace, short chapters, and the idea of teenagers taking on a monster with a large amount of weaponry will certainly appeal to fans of horror novels.— Caroline Tesauro, Radford Public Library, VA Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. McNamee’s follow-up to Acceleration (2003) is another page-turning thriller, this time with an eerie supernatural edge that will appeal to fans of psychological horror.

The first book in the New York Times bestselling epic fantasy trilogy by award-winning author Laini Taylor Around the world, black handprints are appearing on doorways, scorched there by winged strangers who have crept through a slit in the sky. From his desk in a dusty, otherworldly shop, her mysterious, monstrous father sends her on errands across the globe, collecting teeth for a shadowy purpose. National Book Award finalist Laini Taylor has created a lushly imaginative, fully realized world in Daughter of Smoke and Bone . Taylor’s writing is as sumptuous as poetry, and the story overflows with dark and delightful magic, star-crossed love, and difficult choices with heartbreaking repercussions.

Bestselling author Sherman Alexie tells the story of Junior, a budding cartoonist growing up on the Spokane Indian Reservation. He expects disaster when he transfers from the reservation school to the rich, white school in Reardan, but soon finds himself making friends with both geeky and popular students and starting on the basketball team. Arnold Spirit, a goofy-looking dork with a decent jumpshot, spends his time lamenting life on the "poor-ass" Spokane Indian reservation, drawing cartoons (which accompany, and often provide more insight than, the narrative), and, along with his aptly named pal Rowdy, laughing those laughs over anything and nothing that affix best friends so intricately together. He weathers the typical teenage indignations and triumphs like a champ but soon faces far more trying ordeals as his home life begins to crumble and decay amidst the suffocating mire of alcoholism on the reservation.

Shadowhunters and demons square off for the final showdown in the spellbinding, seductive conclusion to the #1 New York Times bestselling Mortal Instruments series—now with a gorgeous new cover, a map, a new foreword, and exclusive bonus content! The beach in Los Angeles—white sand, crashing blue water, you’re strolling along the tide line . The boy sitting across from him sighed and ran his hands through his shaggy dark hair. Though it was a cold December day, werewolves didn’t feel weather as acutely as humans, and Jordan had his jacket off and his shirtsleeves rolled up. They were seated opposite each other on a patch of browning grass in a clearing in Central Park, both cross-legged, their hands on their knees, palms up. As Jace looked up, Isabelle caught his eye and gave him an encouraging wave. He smiled to himself—neither of them really had a reason to be here, but they had come anyway, “for moral support.” Though, Jace suspected it had more to do with the fact that Alec hated to be at loose ends these days, Isabelle hated for her brother to be on his own, and both of them were avoiding their parents and the Institute. Jace took his hands off his knees—the lotus position was giving him wrist cramps—and leaned back on his arms. Chilly wind rattled the few dead leaves that still clung to the branches of the trees. Against the pale winter sky the leaves had a spare elegance, like pen and ink sketches. Below the sleeves of his shirt, the tattoos that wrapped his arms were visible. The fire in his veins made his mind race too, thoughts coming too quickly, one after another, like exploding fireworks. But he hadn’t managed to do much more than irritate Alec with requests for healing runes and, on one memorable occasion, accidentally set fire to one of the crossbeams. It was Simon who had pointed out that his roommate meditated every day, and who’d said that learning the habit was what had calmed the uncontrollable fits of rage that were often part of the transformation into a werewolf. The first session had ended with Jace burning a mark into Simon and Jordan’s hardwood floor, so Jordan had suggested they take it outside for the second round to prevent further property damage. I know what brings me peace, and it isn’t sandy beaches or chirping birds in rain forests. Jace threw his hands up and stood, brushing grass off his jeans. “Now you get it.” He heard the crackle of dry grass and turned, in time to see Clary duck through a gap between two trees and emerge into the clearing, Simon only a few steps behind her. He remembered the second time he had ever seen Clary, across the main room of Java Jones. He remembered the unfamiliar twist of jealousy in his chest, pressing out his breath, the feeling of satisfaction when she’d left Simon behind to come and talk to him. He’d gone from being eaten up with jealousy of Simon, to a grudging respect for his tenacity and courage, to actually considering him a friend, though he doubted he’d ever say so out loud. Jace watched as Clary looked over and blew him a kiss, her red hair bouncing in its ponytail. She headed toward Jace and Jordan, leaving Simon to scamper up the rocky ground to where Alec and Isabelle were sitting; he collapsed beside Isabelle, who immediately leaned over to say something to him, her black curtain of hair hiding her face. Clary stopped in front of Jace, rocking back on her heels with a smile. “Without me you’d be bouncing down Madison Avenue, shooting sparks out of all your orifices.” He rose to his feet, shrugging on his green jacket. “Got to meet Maia downtown.” He gave a mock salute and was gone, slipping into the trees and vanishing with the silent tread of the wolf he was under the skin. Six months ago he wouldn’t have believed anyone who’d told him he was going to wind up taking behavioral lessons from a werewolf. Jordan and Simon and Jace had struck up something of a friendship in the past months. Jace couldn’t help using their apartment as a refuge, away from the daily pressures of the Institute, away from the reminders that the Clave was still unprepared for war with Sebastian. The word brushed the back of Jace’s mind like the touch of a feather, making him shiver. He saw an angel’s wing, torn from its body, lying in a pool of golden blood. “What’s wrong?” Clary said; Jace suddenly looked a million miles away. Since the heavenly fire had entered his body, he’d tended to drift off more into his head. She felt a little pang—Jace, when she had met him, had been so controlled, only a little of his real self leaking out through the cracks in his personal armor, like light through the chinks in a wall. Now, though, the fire in his veins was forcing him to put them back up, to bite down on his emotions for safety’s sake. The winter sun was high and cold; it sharpened the bones of his face and threw the shadows under his eyes into relief. His skin felt warm under her touch; he seemed to run several degrees hotter than normal since his encounter with Glorious. His heart still pounded its familiar, steady rhythm, but the blood being pushed through his veins seemed to thrum under her touch with the kinetic energy of a fire just about to catch. She went up on her toes to kiss his cheek, but he turned, and their lips brushed. They’d done nothing more than kiss since the fire had first started singing in his blood, and they’d done even that carefully. Jace was careful now, his mouth sliding softly against hers, his hand closing on her shoulder. He moved to pull her closer, and a sharp, dry spark passed between them, like the zing of static electricity. Jace bowed while Clary stepped back slightly sheepishly, hooking her thumbs into the belt of her jeans. “Unfortunately, that’s the only kind of friends we have.” Clary bumped her shoulder against his arm, and they headed up toward the rocks. Alec was sitting a little apart, staring at the screen of his phone with an expression of intense concentration. He looked smaller these days, almost skinny in his worn blue pullover, holes at the elbows, his lips bitten and chapped. He’d spent the first week after Magnus had broken up with him in a sort of daze of sadness and disbelief. Jace threw a handful of dead leaves at Alec, making him splutter. Under normal circumstances Jace would have killed, or at least threatened, anyone who hurt Alec; this was different. Alec protested and reached for it, but Jace held him off with one hand, expertly scrolling through the messages on the phone with the other. The Clave keeps wanting to hear what happened when we fought Sebastian at the Burren. We’ve all had to give accounts, like, fifty times. Descriptions of the Dark Shadowhunters, the Infernal Cup, the weapons they used, the runes that were on them. “Always good to know the Clave has a well-thought-out and reliable plan.” For a moment she regretted her words, remembering that Robert Lightwood was the new Inquisitor. A small force, scattered—they don’t want to believe he’s really a threat. She hadn’t dreamed much since they’d come back from the Burren with Jace’s veins full of fire, but when she did have nightmares, they were about her brother. “I heard Mom say that the warlocks of the Spiral Labyrinth have been looking for a way to reverse the effects of the Infernal Cup,” said Isabelle. The bodies of the Dark Shadowhunters killed at the Burren had been brought back to the Bone City for the Silent Brothers to examine. Isabelle found her voice again: “And the Iron Sisters are churning out weapons. In the days immediately following the battle at the Burren, when the fire had raged through Jace’s veins violently enough to make him scream sometimes with the pain, the Silent Brothers had examined him over and over, had tested him with ice and flame, with blessed metal and cold iron, trying to see if there was some way to draw the fire out of him, to contain it. The fire of Glorious, having once been captured in a blade, seemed in no hurry to inhabit another, or indeed to leave Jace’s body for any kind of vessel. Brother Zachariah had told Clary that in the earliest days of Shadowhunters, the Nephilim had sought to capture heavenly fire in a weapon, something that could be wielded against demons. They had never managed it, and eventually seraph blades had become their weapons of choice. Glorious’s fire lay curled in Jace’s veins like a serpent, and the best he could hope for was to control it so that it didn’t destroy him. The loud beep of a text message sounded; Isabelle had flicked on her phone again. you know, Christmas?” She thought back suddenly to the rather distressing Thanksgiving dinner at Luke’s when Jace, on being asked to carve the turkey, had laid into the bird with a sword until there had been little left but turkey flakes. I think Shadowhunters got annoyed with being left out of all the mundane celebrations, though, so a lot of Institutes have Christmas parties. Of course they didn’t want to celebrate Christmas after losing Max. Jace sighed, and kissed Clary—a quick good-bye brush of lips against her temple, but it made her shiver. Not being able to touch Jace or kiss him properly was starting to make her jump out of her own skin. The Frays had never been a religiously observant family, but Clary loved Fifth Avenue at Christmastime. The air smelled like sweet roasted chestnuts, and the window displays sparkled with silver and blue, green and red. This year there were fat round crystal snowflakes attached to each lamppost, sending back the winter sunlight in shafts of gold. It threw its shadow across them when she and Simon draped themselves over the gate at the side of the skating rink, watching tourists fall down as they tried to navigate the ice. Clary had a hot chocolate wrapped in her hands, the warmth spreading through her body. She felt almost normal—this, coming to Fifth to see the window displays and the tree, had been a winter tradition for her and Simon for as long as she could remember. “Feels like old times, doesn’t it?” he said, echoing her thoughts as he propped his chin on his folded arms. He was wearing a black topcoat and scarf that emphasized the pallor of his skin. His eyes were shadowed, indicating that he hadn’t fed on blood recently. Simon was a musician; even though his band was terrible, and was always changing their name—currently they were Lethal Soufflé—he did have training. I’m going to see if there’s a music store around here.” Clary, done with her hot chocolate, tossed the cup into a nearby trash can and pulled her phone out. They had started heading toward the avenue, where a steady stream of pedestrians gawking at the windows clogged the streets. In the meantime—perfume!” Clary grabbed Simon by the back of his coat and hauled him into a cosmetics store. Figs have a smell?” Simon looked horrified; Clary was about to laugh at him when her phone buzzed. Even though, as Clary had pointed out, Jace was probably the safest boyfriend in the world since he was pretty much banned from (1) getting angry, (2) making sexual advances, and (3) doing anything that would produce an adrenaline rush. On the other hand, he had been possessed; she and her mother had both watched while he’d stood by and let Sebastian attack Luke. “There is so much in this store I can picture Magnus wanting,” Simon said, picking up a glass bottle of body glitter suspended in some kind of oil. “Alec remembers my name,” said Simon, and he set the bottle back down. “You’ve waited a long time to make your move, Fray, I’ll say that for you.”. Clary didn’t bother with a smart retort; she was still thinking of what Simon had said about forgiveness, and remembering someone else, someone else’s voice and face and eyes. “Do you really think Isabelle wants to smell like a dried fruit plate?”. “I don’t like the thought of you going away.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. And besides, how long would it take everyone at school to notice they were getting older but I wasn’t? “I would have gotten you pencils usually, art supplies, but you don’t draw anymore, do you, except with your stele? “I haven’t heard anything from the Dumort bunch since Maureen took over from Camille. Before Clary could answer, she heard someone call out her name; thoroughly puzzled, she looked over and saw her mother shoving her way through a crowd of shoppers. In his flannel shirt he looked out of place among the stylish New Yorkers. Breaking free of the crowd, Jocelyn caught up to them and threw her arms around Clary. Clary felt a sudden cold wash through her veins, as if she’d swallowed icy water. Jace used an Open rune to get in through the front door, took the stairs two at a time, and buzzed Magnus’s apartment bell. Two more long buzzes, and Magnus finally yanked the door open, looking furious. You must be the—what, fourth?—of you lot to bother me.” Magnus counted off on his long fingers. “I don’t have a relationship with Alec,” said Magnus flatly, but Jace had already shouldered past him and was in his living room, looking around curiously. One of the things Jace had always secretly liked about Magnus’s apartment was that it rarely looked the same way twice. Sometimes it looked like a French bordello, or a Victorian opium den, or the inside of a spaceship. Stacks of old Chinese food cartons littered the coffee table. Chairman Meow lay on the rag rug, all four legs sticking straight out in front of him like a dead deer. “That’s the Chinese food.” Magnus threw himself onto the sofa and stretched out his long legs. “Oh, he won’t sneak around behind my back with one of my exes planning to shorten my life again? “He won’t lie to you or mislead you or hide things from you or whatever it is you’re actually upset about.” He threw himself into a wingback leather chair and raised an eyebrow. “What do I care?” Jace said, so loudly that Chairman Meow sat bolt upright as if he’d been shocked. “I care about Alec,” Jace said, fixing Magnus with an unswerving gaze. “Don’t you ever think,” Magnus mused, pulling at a bit of peeling fingernail polish, “that the whole parabatai business is rather cruel? And though your parabatai is the closest person in the world to you in some ways, you can’t fall in love with them. All fragile nobility and humanity on one side, and all the thoughtless fire of angels on the other.” His eyes flicked toward Jace. Most people are afraid of you, or they seem to owe you something or you slept with them once, but friends—I don’t see you having a lot of those.”. “If you mean do I suddenly feel compelled to get back together with Alec, no,” said Magnus. “If I wanted to lie on a couch and complain to someone about my parents, I’d hire a psychiatrist.”. “I’m going to take a nap.” He reached out for a crumpled blanket lying on the floor, just as Jace’s phone rang. Magnus watched, arrested midmotion, as Jace dug around in his pocket and flipped the phone open. “Come back,” Isabelle said, and Jace sat up straight, the pillow tumbling to the floor. He could hear the sharpness in it, like the off notes of a badly tuned piano. He saw golden blood, and white feathers scattered across a marble floor. He remembered the apartment, a knife in his hands, the world at his feet, Sebastian’s grip on his wrist, those fathomless black eyes looking at him with dark amusement. There were dozens of unfamiliar coats and jackets hanging in the entryway of the Institute. Clary felt the tight buzzing of tension in her shoulders as she unzipped her own wool coat and hung it on one of the hooks that lined the walls. Jocelyn had unwound a long gray scarf from around her neck, and barely looked as Luke took it from her to drape it on a hook. Her green eyes were darting around the room, taking in the gate of the elevator, the arched ceiling overhead, the faded murals of men and angels. “It’s the ‘we’ part that concerns me.” Jocelyn wound her hair up into a knot at the back of her head, and secured it with her fingers. She hadn’t seen her brother since the fight at the Burren, but she carried him in some small part of her mind, an intrusive, unwelcome ghost. Someone had pushed back all the furniture in the library, clearing a large space in the middle of the room, just atop the mosaic of the Angel. A massive table had been placed there, a huge slab of marble balanced on top of two kneeling stone angels. Some members, like Kadir and Maryse, Clary knew by name. Maryse was standing, ticking off names on her fingers as she chanted aloud. Maryse looked startled, as if she hadn’t realized Jocelyn had come in. She looked drawn and exhausted, her hair scraped back severely, a stain—red wine or blood?—on the sleeve of her tailored jacket. “Helen,” said Alec, and Clary thought of the girl who had fought with them against Sebastian at the Burren. She remembered her in the nave of the Institute, a dark-haired boy clinging to her wrist. “Aline’s girlfriend,” Clary blurted out, and saw the Conclave look at her with thinly veiled hostility. Would you?” Jocelyn’s eyes met Maryse’s, and Clary wondered if this was how it had been when they’d both been in the Circle, the sharp edges of their personalities rubbing up against each other, causing sparks. He was flushed with the cold, bareheaded, fair hair tousled by the wind. His hands were gloveless, red at the tips from the weather, scarred with Marks new and old. He saw Clary and gave her a quick smile before settling into a chair propped against the wall. Her heart was pounding, sick in her chest; yet at the same time there was a strange sense of relief. “The Clave has called for immediate evacuation,” said Maryse, and at that, everyone went silent, even Jace. Some of her usual imperious air was back, her mouth a thin line, her jaw set with determination. Cassandra Clare is the #1 New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of Lord of Shadows and Lady Midnight , as well as the internationally bestselling Mortal Instruments series and Infernal Devices trilogy. She is the coauthor of The Bane Chronicles with Sarah Rees Brennan and Maureen Johnson and Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy with Sarah Rees Brennan, Maureen Johnson, and Robin Wasserman, as well as The Shadowhunter’s Codex, which she cowrote with her husband, Joshua Lewis. Her books have more than 50 million copies in print worldwide and have been translated into more than thirty-five languages, a feature film, and a TV show, Shadowhunters , currently airing on Freeform.