“Dear God,” said Jace, “the dread hour is nigh.” “Sorry if I’m interrupting,” she added, as an afterthought. She still had the spoon in her hand, though her hair had escaped from its bun and was straggling down her neck. ‘ “Dinnertime!” It was Isabelle, standing framed in the door of the library. “What, Hodge? He just likes things in order.” Jace took one of the containers out of the fridge and opened it. “Wow, he’s like a crazy roommate,” Clary observed, momentarily diverted. ‘The inside of the fridge was filled with milk cartons whose expiration dates reached back several weeks, and plastic Tupperware containers labels with masking tape lettered in red ink: HODGE’S. “I’m making soup,”Isabelle said, waving a spoon at Jace. Steam was rising from the pot, and ingredients were strewn everywhere –tomatoes, chopped garlic and onions, strings of dark-looking herbs, grated piles of cheese, some shelled peanuts, a handful of olives, and a whole fish, its eye staring glassily upward. ‘Next to a red cast-iron stove stood Isabelle, a round spoon in her hand, her dark hair pinned on top of her head.

At the thought of Luke, Clary’s stomach tightened, her appetite vanishing.’ ‘Sometimes Luke would bring them bags of sweet rolls from the Golden Carriage Bakery in Chinatown. They were at a neighbourhood Mexican joint, a hole in the wall called Nacho Mama. ‘ “I just can’t believe she’s being like this,” Clary said for the fourth time, chasing a stray bit of guacamole around her place with the tip of a nacho.

Clare city of bones