“I know what you said! My mother would never have belonged to something like that. Some kind of-some kind of hate group.""It wasn't-," Jace began, but Hodge cut him off."I doubt," he said slowly, as if the words pained him, "that she had much choice."Clary stared. "What are you talking about? Why wouldn't she have had a choice?""Because," said Hodge, "she was Valentine's wife.”

“But Jace", Clary said. "Valentine taught him more than just fighting. He taught him languages, and how to play the piano""That was Jocelyn's influence." Sebastian said her name unwillingly, as if he hated the sound of it. "She thought Valentine ought to be able to talk about books, art, music...not just killing things. He passed that on to Jace."A wrought iron blue gate rose to their left. Sebastian ducked under it and beckoned Clary to follow him. She didn't have to duck but went after him, her hands stuffed into her pockets. "What about you?" she asked.He held up his hands. They were unmistakably her mother's hands - dexterous, long-fingered, meant for holding a brush or a pen. "I learned to play the instruments of war, " he said, "and paint in blood. I am not like Jace.”

“It occurs to me," said Hodge, "that the dilemmas of power arealways the same." Clary glanced at him sideways. "What do you mean?"She sat on the window seat in the library, Hodge in his chair with Hugo onthe armrest. The remains of breakfast—sticky jam, toast crumbs, andsmears of butter—clung to a stack of plates on the low table that no onehad seemed inclined to clear away. After breakfast they had scattered toprepare themselves, and Clary had been the first one back. This was hardlysurprising, considering that all she had to do was pull on jeans and a shirtand run a brush through her hair, while everyone else had to armthemselves heavily. Having lost Jace's dagger in the hotel, the onlyremotely supernatural object she had on her was the witchlight stone in herpocket."I was thinking of your Simon," Hodge said, "and of Alec and Jace,among others."She glanced out the window. It was raining, thick fat drops spatteringagainst the panes. The sky was an impenetrable gray. "What do they haveto do with each other?""Where there is feeling that is not requited," said Hodge, "there is animbalance of power. It is an imbalance that is easy to exploit, but it is not awise course. Where there is love, there is often also hate. They can existside by side.""Simon doesn't hate me.""He might grow to, over time, if he felt you were using him.”

“I – talked to her. She understands. She won’t do anything stupid.” He didn’t look at Claire when he said that, and she wondered what kind of talking that might have been.Her mother had always said, when in doubt, ask.“Was it the kind of talk where you gave her something to live for? Like maybe, um, you?”“Did I – what the hell are you talking about?”“I just thought maybe you and her–”“Claire, Jesus!” Michael said. She’d actually made him flinch. Wow. That was new. “You think banging me is going to make her forget about charging out to commit cold-blooded vampire slaying? I don’t know what kind of standards you have on sex, but those are pretty high. Besides, whatever’s between me and Eve – well, it’s between me and Eve.” Until she tells me about it later, Claire thought.”

“This one incident I will not allow you to shrug off!""I wasn't planning to," Jace said. "I can't shrug anything off. My shoulder's dislocated."-Hodge & Jace, pg.296-”

“He glanced furtively up and down the hallway. "Hodge too. Everyone wants to talk to me. Except you, I bet you don't want to talk to me," said Jace."No," said Clary. "I want to eat. I'm starving.”