“Simon, you gave me no water to wash my feet, but this woman as washed them with her tears. You gave me no kiss, but she has not ceased to kiss my feet. Do no reproach her Simon for you did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed me for my burial.”

“But then it was over too quickly and they pulled away. She knew they couldn’t stand there and kiss like a couple on the run in a thriller.”

“He’s still looking in my eyes. Staring me down like he did that dragon, chin tilted and locked. “I’m not the Chosen One,” he says.I meet his gaze and sneer. My arm is a steel band around his waist. “I choose you,” I say. “Simon Snow, I choose you.”

“Rae burned me. She has matches or something. Look, look…” Tori pulled down the collar of her T-shirt. “Leave your cloths on, Tori,” Simon said, raising his hands to his eyes. “Please.”

“He’s not feeling well,” Clary said, catching at Simon’s wrist. “We’re going.” “No,” Simon said. “No, I — I need to talk to him. To the Inquisitor.” Robert reached into his jacket and drew out a crucifix. Clary stared in shock as he held it up between himself and Simon. “I speak to the Night’s Children Council representative, or to the head of the New York clan,” he said. “Not to any vampire who comes to knock at my door —“ Simon reached out and plucked the cross out of Robert’s hand. “Wrong religion,” he said.”

“Lawful good to lawful evil!” said Simon, pleased.”He’s quoting Dungeons and Dragons,” said Clary. “Ignore him.”

“I guess it’s true what they say,” observed Jace. “There are no straight men in the trenches.””That’s atheists, jackass,” said Simon furiously. “There are no atheists in the trenches.”

“Mom. I have something to tell you. I’m undead. Now, I know you may have some preconceived notions about the undead. I know you may not be comfortable with the idea of me being undead. But I’m here to tell you that undead are just like you and me … well, okay. Possibly more like me than you.”