Whats going on?

It was Jace, having fought his way free of the

pack of dancers. More of the shimmering stuff had gotten on him,
silver drops clinging to the gold of his hair. Clary?

Sorry, she said, getting to her feet. I got lost in the crowd.
I noticed, he said. One second I was dancing with you, and the
next you were gone and a very persistent werewolf was trying to
get the buttons on my jeans undone. He took Clarys hand, lightly
ringing her wrist with his fingers. Do you want to go home? Or
dance some more?

Dance some more, she said, breathlessly. Is that all right?
Go ahead. Sebastian leaned back, his hands braced behind him on
the fountains edge, his smile like the edge of a straight razor. I
dont mind watching.

Something flashed across Clarys vision: the memory of a bloody
handprint. It was gone as soon as it had come and she frowned.
The night was too beautiful to think of ugly things. She looked back
at her brother only for a moment before she let Jace lead her back
through the crowd to its edge, near the shadows, where the press
of bodies was lighter. Another ball of colored light burst above their
heads as they went, scattering silver, and she tipped her head up,
catching the salt-sweet drops on her tongue.

Jace stopped and swung her toward him. She could feel the silver
liquid trickling down her face like tears. He pulled her against him
and kissed them, as if he were kissing tears away, and his lips were
warm on her face and made her shiver. She reached for the zip on
his army jacket, ripped it down, slid her hands inside and over the
cotton of his shirt, then under the hem, her nails scratching lightly
over his ribs. He stopped and cupped the back of her neck with his
hand, leaning to whisper in her ear. Neither of them could be said
to be dancing any more: the hypnotic music went on around them,
but Clary barely noticed it. A couple dancing past laughed and made
a derisive comment in Czech: she couldnt understand it, but
suspected the gist was get a room.

Jace made an impatient noise and then he was pulling her after him
again, through the last of the crowd and into one of the shadowy
alcoves that lined the walls.

This alcove was conical, with a low stone pedestal in the center on
which an angel statue, about three feet tall, stood. It was made of
black basalt, but its eyes were glass, like doll eyes, and its wings
were silver. The floor was slippery and damp. They skidded across it
to fetch up against a wall, Jace with his back to it, and then he was
kissing her, bruising hard and hungry kisses. He tasted salt-sweet,
too, and moaned as she licked the taste off his lips. Her hands
threaded through his hair. It was dark in the alcove, so dark Jace
was just an outline of shadows and gold. She gripped the edges of
his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders; it fell to the ground and he
kicked it away. Her hands came up under his shirt, clawing at his
back, fingers digging into the skin there, softness layered over hard
muscle.

He kissed her harder and she clutched his shoulders as he sucked
her bottom lip into his mouth and bit down on it, sending a shock of
pleasure mixed with pain through her body. She squirmed to get
closer to him and felt his breath quicken; she could taste blood in
her mouth, salt and hot. It was as if they wanted to cut each other
apart, she thought, to climb inside each other and breathe each
others breath and share each others heartbeats, even if it killed
them both. There was blood under her nails where she had clawed
his back.

Jace pressed her forward, spinning them both around so she was
pinned between his body and the wall. As they turned, he caught
the edge of the angel statue, toppling it to the ground and
shattering apart in a cloud of marble dust. He laughed and dropped
to the ground in front of her on his knees among the remnants of
broken statuary. She stared down at him in a daze as he ran his
hands up her boots, to her bare legs, to the lace that edged the
bottom of her slip dress. She sucked in her breath, as his hands
slipped like water up and over the silk, to her waist, to grip her
hips, leaving streaks of silver on the silk.
What are you doing? she whispered. Jace?

He looked up at her. The peculiar light in the club turned his eyes
an array of fractured colors. His smile was wicked. You can tell me
to stop whenever you want, he said. But you wont.

Jace . . . His hands bunched in the silk of her dress, dragging the
hem up, and he bent to kiss her legs, the bare skin where her boots
ended, her knees (who knew knees could be so sensitive?) and
farther up, where no one had ever kissed her before. The kisses
were light, and even as her body tensed that she wanted to tell him
she needed more, but didnt know what, didnt know what she
needed exactly, but it didnt matter because he seemed to know it.
She let her head fall back against the wall, half-closing her eyes,
hearing only her heartbeat like a drum in her ears, louder and
louder still.




I love this, Its great to see something like this finally happening
between clary & jace. However, this wont be released in the book, it
will become more G-rated, so it is cool for Cassie Clare to post us
something like this :)

Thoughts?







An Offering of Moonlight: Jems Perspective on Fierce Midnight in
Clockwork Prince

An Offering of Moonlight
I wish to offer you moonlight in a handful Zhang Jiu Ling
[This takes place in Chapter Nine of Clockwork Prince, entitled
"Fierce Midnight. The scene in which Tessa and Jem first kiss from
his perspective.]

The first thing Jem did the moment he entered his room was stride
to the yin fen box on his nightstand.
He usually took the drug in a solution of water, letting it dissolve
and drinking it, but he was too impatient now; he took a pinch
between his thumb and forefinger, and sucked it from his fingers. It
tasted of burned sugar and left the inside of his mouth feeling
numb. He slammed the box shut with a feeling of dark satisfaction.
The second thing he did was to retrieve his violin.
The fog was thick against the windows, as if they had been painted
over with lead. If it had not been for the witchlight torches burning
low, there would not have been enough illumination for him to see
what he was doing as he wrenched open the box that held his
Guarneri and took the instrument from it. A snatch of one of
Bridgets songs played in his head: It was mirk, mirk night, there
was no starlight, and they waded through blood to the knees.
Mirk, mirk night indeed. The sky had had been black as pitch down
in Whitechapel. Jem thought of Will, standing on the pavement,
dizzy-eyed and grinning. Until Jem had hit him. He had never hit
Will before, no matter how maddening his parabatai had been. No
matter how destructive to other people, no matter his casual
cruelty, no matter his wit that was like the edge of a knife, Jem had
never hit him. Until now.
The bow was already rosined; he flexed his fingers before he took
hold of it, and drew in several deep breaths. He could feel the yin
fen surging through his veins already, lighting his blood like fire
lighting gunpowder. He thought of Will again, asleep on the bed in
the opium den. He had been flushed, his face smooth and innocent
in sleep, like a child with his cheek pillowed on his hand. Jem
remembered when Will had been young like that, though never a
time when he had been innocent.
He set the bow to the strings and played. He played softly at first.
He played Will lost in dreams, finding solace in a drugged haze that
muffled his pain. Jem could only envy him that. The yin fen was no
balm: he did not find in it whatever opium addicts found in their
pipes, or alcoholics in the dregs of a gin bottle. There was only
exhaustion and lassitude without it, and with it, energy and fever.
But there was no surcease from pain.
Jems knees gave out, and he sank to the trunk at the foot of his
bed, still playing. He played Will breathing the name Cecily, and he
played himself watching the glint of his own ring on Tessas hand on
the train from York, knowing it was all a charade, knowing, too, that
he wished that it wasnt. He played the sorrow in Tessas eyes when
she had come into the music room after Will had told her she would
never have children. Unforgivable, that, what a thing to do, and yet
Jem had forgiven him. Love was forgiveness, he had always
believed that, and the things that Will did, he did out of some
bottomless well of pain. Jem did not know the source of that pain,
but he knew it existed and was real, knew it as he knew of the
inevitability of his own death, knew it as he knew that he had fallen
in love with Tessa Gray and that there was nothing he or anyone
else could do about it.
He played that, now, played all their broken hearts, and the sound
of the violin wrapped him and lifted him and he closed his eyes
His door opened. He heard the sound through the music, but for a
moment did not credit it, for it was Tessas voice he heard, saying
his name. Jem?
Surely she was a dream, conjured up by the music and the drug
and his own fevered mind. He played on, played his own rage and
anger at Will, for however he had always forgiven Will for his cruelty
to others, he could not forgive him for endangering himself.
Jem! came Tessas voice again, and suddenly there were hands on
his, wrenching the bow out of his grasp. He let go in shock, staring
up at her. Jem, stop! Your violin your lovely violin youll ruin
it.
She stood over him, a dressing-gown thrown over her white
nightgown. He remembered that nightgown: she had been wearing
it the first time he had seen her, when she had come into his room
and he had thought for one mad moment that she was an angel.
She was breathing hard now, her face flushed, his violin gripped in
one hand and the bow in another.
What does it matter? he demanded. What does any of it matter?
Im dying I wont outlast the decade, what does it matter if the
violin goes before I do? She stared at him, her lips parting in
astonishment. He stood up and turned away from her. He could no
longer bear to look her in the face, to see her disappointment with
him, his weakness. You know it is true.
Nothing is decided. Her voice trembled. Nothing is inevitable. A
cure
Theres no cure. I will die and you know it, Tess. Probably within
the next year.I am dying, and I have no family in the world, and the
one person I trusted more than any other makes sport of what is
killing me.
But Jem, I dont think thats what Will meant to do at all. She had
set down his violin and bow, and was moving toward him. He was
just trying to escape he is running from something, something
dark and awful, you know he is, Jem. You saw how he was after
after Cecily.
He knows what it means to me, he said. She was just behind him:
he could smell the faint perfume of her skin: violet-water and soap.
The urge to turn about and touch her was overwhelming, but he
held himself still. To see him even toy with what has destroyed my
life
But he wasnt thinking of you
I know that. How could he say it? How could he explain? How
could he tell her that Will was what he had devoted his life to: Wills
rehabilitation, Wills innate goodness. Will was the cracked mirror of
his own soul that he had spent years trying to repair. He could
forgive Will harming anyone but his own self. I tell myself hes
better than he makes himself out to be, but Tessa, what if he isnt?
I have always thought, if I had nothing else, I had Will if I have
done nothing else that made my life matter, I have always stood by
him but perhaps I shouldnt.
Oh, Jem. Her voice was so soft that he turned. Her dark hair was
unbound: it tumbled around her face and he had the most absurd
urge to bury his hands in it, to draw her close, his hands cupping
the back of her neck. She reached out a soft hand for him and for a
moment, wild hope rose up in him, unstoppable as the tide but
she only laid her hand against his forehead, careful as a nurse.
Youre burning up. You should be resting
He jerked away from her before he could stop himself. Her gray
eyes widened. Jem, what it is it? You dont want me to touch you?
Not like that. The words burst out before he could stop them. The
night, Will, the music, the yin fen, all had unlocked something in
him he barely knew his own self, this stranger who spoke the
truth and spoke it harshly.
Like what? Her confusion was plain on her face. Her pulse beat at
the side of her throat; where her nightgown was open he could see
the soft curve of her collarbone. He dug his fingers into the palms of
his hands. He could not hold back the words any more. It was swim
or drown.
As if you were a nurse and I were your patient, he told her. Do
you think I do not know that when you take my hand, it is only so
that you can feel my pulse? Do you think I do not know that when
you look into my eyes it is only to see how much of the drug I have
taken? If I were another man, a normal man, I might have hopes,
presumptions even; I might I might want you. He broke off
before he said it. It could not be said. Words of love were one
thing: words of desire were dangerous as a rocky shore where a
ship could founder. It was hopeless, he knew it was hopeless, and
yet
She shook her head. This is the fever speaking, not you.
Hopeless. The despair cut at him like a dull knife, and he said the
next words without thinking: You cant even believe I could want
you. That I am alive enough, healthy enough
No She caught at his arm, and it was like having five brands of
fire laid across his skin. Desire lanced through him like pain.
James, that isnt at all what I meant
He laid his hand over hers, where she held his arm. He heard her
indrawn breath sharp, surprised. But not horrified. She did not
pull away. She did not remove his hand. She let him hold her, and
turn her, so that they stood face to face, close enough to breathe
each other in.
Tessa, he said. She looked up at him. The fever pounded in him
like blood, and he no longer knew what was the desire and what
was the drug, or if the one simply enhanced the other, and it did
not matter, it did not matter because he wanted her, he had wanted
her for so long. Her eyes were huge and gray, her pupils dilated,
and her lips were parted on a breath as if she were about to speak,
but before she could speak he kissed her.
The kiss exploded in his head like fireworks on Guy Fawkes Day. He
closed his eyes on a whirl of colors and sensations almost to intense
to bear: her lips were soft and hot under his and he found himself
running his fingers over her face, the curves at her cheekbones, the
hammering pulse in her throat, the tender skin at the back of her
neck. It took every ounce of control he had to touch her gently, not
to crush her against him, and when she raised her arms and twined
them around his neck, sighing into his mouth, he had to stifle a
gasp and for a moment hold himself very still or they would have
been on the floor.
Her own hands on him were gentle, but there was no mistaking
their encouragement. Her lips murmured against his, whispering his
name, her body soft and strong in his arms. He followed the arch of
her back with his hands, feeling the curve of it under her
nightgown, and he could not stop himself then: he pulled her so
tightly against him that they both stumbled, and collapsed
backward onto the bed.
Tessa sank into the cushions and he propped himself over her. Her
hair had come out of its plaits and tumbled dark and unbound over
the pillows. A flush of blood spread over her face and down to the
neckline of her gown, staining her pale skin. The hot press of body
to body was dizzying, like nothing he had imagined, more fierce and
delicious than the most delirious music. He kissed her again and
again, each time harder, savoring the texture of her lips under his,
the taste of her mouth, until the intensity of it threatened to tip
over from pleasure into pain.
He should stop, he knew. This had gone beyond honor, beyond any
bounds of propriety. He had imagined, sometimes, kissing her,
carefully cupping her face between his hands, but had never
imagined this: that they would be wrapped so tightly around each
other that he could hardly tell where he left off and she began. That
she would kiss him and stroke him and run her fingers through his
hair. That when he hesitated with his fingers on the tie of her
dresssing-gown, the reasonable part of his brain commanding his
rebellious and unwilling body to stop, that she would neatly solve
the dilemma by undoing the fastening herself and lying back as the
material fell away around her and she looked up at him in only her
thin nightgown.
Her chin was raised, determination and candor in her eyes, and her
lifted arms welcomed him back to her, enfolding him, drawing him
in. Jem, my Jem, she was whispering, and he whispered back,
losing his words against her mouth, whispering what was true but
what he hoped she wouldnt understand. He whispered in Chinese,
worried that if he spoke in English, he would say something
profoundly stupid. Wo ai ni. Ni hen piao liang, Tessa. Zhe shi jie
shang, wo shi zui ai ni de.
But he saw her eyes darken; he knew she recalled what he had said
to her in the carriage. What does it mean? she whispered.
He stilled against her body. It means that you are beautiful. I did
not want to tell you before. I did not want you to think I was taking
liberties.
She reached up and touched his cheek. He could feel his heart
beating against hers. It felt as if it might beat out of his chest
entirely.
Take them, she whispered.
His heart soared, and he gathered her up against him, something
he had never done before, but she did not seem to mind his
clumsiness. Her hands were traveling gently over him, learning his
body. Her fingers stroked the bone of his hip, the cup of his collar.
They tangled in his shirt and it was up and over his head, and he
was leaning into her, shaking silvery hair out of his face. He saw her
eyes go wide and felt his insides tighten.
I know, he said, looking down at himself skin like papier-
mache, ribs like violin strings. I am not I mean, I look
Beautiful, she said, and the word was a pronouncement. You are
beautiful, James Carstairs.
Breath eased back into his lungs and they were kissing again, her
hands warm and smooth against his bare skin. She touched him
with hesitant, curious strokes, mapping a body that seemed to
flower under her ministrations into something perfect, healthy: no
longer a fragile device of swiftly diminishing flesh lashed to a
framework of breakable bones. It was only now, that this was
happening, that he realized how sincerely he had believed it never
would.
He could feel the soft, nervous puffs of her breath against the
sensitive skin of his throat as he drew his hands up and over her
body. He touched her as he would touch his violin: it was how he
knew to touch something that was precious and loved. He had
carried the violin in his arms from Shanghai to London and he had
carried Tessa, too, in his heart, for longer than he thought he
remembered. When had it happened? His hands touched her
through the nightgown, the curve and dip of her waist and hips like
the curve of the Guarneri, but the violin did not give gratifying
gasps when he touched it, did not seek his mouth out for kisses or
have fascinating eyelids that fluttered shut just so when he stroked
the sensitive skin at the backs of her knees.
Maybe it had been the day hed run up the stairs to her and kissed
her hand. Mizpah. May the Lord watch between me and thee when
we are parted. It was the first time he had thought that there was
something more to his regard than the ordinary regard for a pretty
girl he could not have; that it had the aspect to it of something
holy.
The pearl buttons of her nightdress were smooth under his
fingertips. Her body bowed backward, her throat arched, as the
material slipped aside, leaving her shoulder bare. Her breath was
quick in her throat, the curls of her brown hair stuck to her flushed
cheeks and forehead, the material of her dress crushed between
them. He was shaking himself as he bent to kiss her bare skin, skin
that most likely no one but herself and perhaps Sophie had ever
seen, and her hand came up to cup his head, threading through the
hair at the back of his neck . . .
There was the sound of a crash. And a choking fog of yin fen filled
the room.
It was as if Jem had swallowed fire; he jerked back and away from
Tessa with such force that he nearly overbalanced them both. Tessa
sat up as well, pulling the front of her night-dress together, her
expression suddenly self-conscious. All Jems heat was gone; his
skin was suddenly freezing with shame, and with fear for Tessa
he had never dreamed of her being this close to the poisonous
stuff that had destroyed his life. But the laquer box was broken: a
thick layer of shining powder lay across the floor; and even as Jem
drew in a breath to tell her she must go, that she must leave him if
she were to be safe, he did not think of the loss of the precious
drug, or of the danger to him if it could not be retrieved. He thought
only:
No more.
The yin fen has taken so much from me: my family, the years of my
life, the strength in my body, the breath in my lungs. It will not take
from me this too: the most precious thing we are given by the
Angel. The ability to love. I love Tessa Gray.
And I will make sure that she knows it.



22222



Will!
He turned at the familiar voice and saw Tessa. There was a small
path cut along the side of the hill, lined with unfamiliar white
flowers, and she was walking up it, toward him. Her long brown hair
blew in the wind she had taken off her straw bonnet, and held it
in one hand, waving it at him and smiling as if she were glad to see
him.
His own heart leaped up at the sight of her. Tess, he called. But
she was still such a distance away she seemed both very near
and very far suddenly and at the same time. He could see every
detail of her pretty, upturned face, but could not touch her, and so
he stood, waiting and desiring, and his heart beat like the wings of
seagulls in his chest.
At last she was there, close enough that he could see where the
grass and flowers bent beneath the tread of her shoes. He reached
out for her



2222


If Jem dies, I cannot be with Tessa, said Will. Because it will be
as if I were waiting for him to die, or took some joy in his death, if
it let me have her. And I will not be that person. I will not profit
from his death. So he must live. He lowered his arm, his sleeve
bloody. It is the only way any of this can ever mean anything.
Otherwise it is only

Pointless, needless suffering and pain? I dont suppose it would
help if I told you that was the way life is. The good suffer, the evil
flourish, and all that is mortal passes away, Magnus said.

I want more than that, said Will. You made me want more than
that. You showed me I was only ever cursed because I had chosen
to believe myself so. You told me there was possibility, meaning.
And now you would turn your back on what you created.


22222


Will rose slowly to his feet. He could not believe he was doing what
he was doing, but it was clear that he was, clear as the silver rim
around the black of Jems eyes. If there is a life after this one, he
said, let me meet you in it, James Carstairs.
There will be other lives. Jem held his hand out, and for a
moment, they clasped hands, as they had done during their
parabatai ritual, reaching across twin rings of fire to interlace their
fingers with each other. The world is a wheel, he said. When we
rise or fall, we do it together.
Will tightened his grip on Jems hand, which felt thin as twigs in his.
Well, then, he said, through a tight throat, since you say there
will be another life for me, let us both pray I do not make as
colossal a mess of it as I have this one.



22222



Will you stop them?

I suppose that would depend on whether they would cut me in with
part of the profit.

She shook her head. Jem is your parabati. He is your partner given
to you by the Clave, but I am your sister by blood. Why would you
do anything for him but you only want me to go home?

How do you know the drugs are for Jem? Will said.

Im not an idiot, Will.

No, more the pity. Jem Jem is like the better part of me. I would
not expect you to understand. I owe himI owe him this.

So why why?

Will exhaled, too desperate to check himself. You are my
weakness.

her heart, she said not angrily, but thoughtfully, Im not a fool,
as I told you. Im not an idiot. And more the pity for you, I suppose
we all want something we cant have.

No, said Will, and what do you want?

I want you to come home.

pulled her cloak closer about her, to make her safe, as he have
when she was a child.

The Institute is my home, Will sighed as he set his head against
the stone wall. I cant stand out here arguing with you all evening,
Cecily. If you are determined to follow me into hell, I cant stop
you.

Finally, she said gruelingly and seemed sense, I knew you would.
Youre related to me.




22222



Theres one thing . when you live in the country, but this is
London.

Im not afraid of London, Cecily said defiantly.

Will leaned closer, almost sizzling in her ear and said something
very complicated

No, it wouldnt do you any good to tell me to go home. Youre my
brother and I want to go with you.

It was the sort of thing he used to hear Jem say. And although
Cecily was unlike Jem in every other conceivable, possible way. She
did share one quality with himstubbornness. When Cecily said she
wanted something, it was always expressed iron determination.

Do you even care where Im going, he says. What if Im going to
hell?

Ive always wanted to see hell, Cecily said.

Doesnt everyone.

Most of us try to find our way out of it, said Cecily.




22222




So, recently I have read many new teasers from Cassandra Clare's
Infernal Devices regarding the third installment.
Here are a few:
1) Tessa put a hand against the wall as she made her way numbly
down the stairs. What had she almost done? What had she nearly
told Will?

2) Tessa craned her head back to look at Will. You know that
feeling, she said, when you are reading a book, and you know
that it is going to be a tragedy; you can feel the cold and darkness
coming, see the net drawing tight around the characters who live
and breathe on the pages. But you are tied to the story as if being
dragged behind a carriage and you cannot let go or turn the course
aside. His blue eyes were dark with understanding of course Will
would understand and she hurried on. I feel now as if the same
is happening, only not to characters on a page but to my own
beloved friends and companions. I do not want to sit by while
tragedy comes for us. I would turn it aside, only I struggle to
discover how that might be done.

You fear for Jem, Will said.

Yes, she said. And I fear for you, too.

No, Will said, hoarsely. Dont waste that on me, Tess.

3)(Will and Jem meet for the first timefrom Prologue)
You are not really dying, Will said, the oddest tone to his voice,
are you?

4) Gideon touched her cheek, lightly, with the tips of his fingers.
Did you know your name means wisdom? It was very well-given.

5) Will rose slowly to his feet. He could not believe he was doing
what he was doing, but it was clear that he was, clear as the silver
rim around the black of Jems eyes. If there is a life after this one,
he said, let me meet you in it, James Carstairs.

There will be other lives. Jem held his hand out, and for a
moment, they clasped hands, as they had done during their
parabatai ritual, reaching across twin rings of fire to interlace their
fingers with each other. The world is a wheel, he said. When we
rise or fall, we do it together.

Will tightened his grip on Jems hand, which felt thin as twigs in his.
Well, then, he said, through a tight throat, since you say there
will be another life for me, let us both pray I do not make as
colossal a mess of it as I have this one.

6) And the gold of her ruined wedding dress.

7) Jem knotted his fingers in the material of Wills sleeve. You are
my parabatai, he said. You said once I could ask anything of you.

Now here are the unidentified snippets that made me go crazy:

1) He stopped dead. Tessa told you? he said.

2) his parabatai rune was bleeding

3) Marry me today.

4) To my son,

If you are reading this letter, then I am dead.

5) Wills hand looked brown and sunburnt by contrast, their fingers
dovetailed together like piano keys.

6) He kissed each finger, and with each one of them spoken a word.
Five kisses, five words. His last.

7) Do you think theres a chance for him?

A chance for who?

Will. To be happy.

Is there a chance for you to be happy if he isnt?


8)Jem leaned closer against the chair, staring into the fire. Better it
were my hands, he said.

Will shook his head. Exhaustion was muting the edges of everything
in the room, blurring the flocked wallpaper into a single mass of
dark color. No. Not your hands. You need your hands for the violin.
What do I need mine for?

9) Not your parabatai any longer.

10) Youre in my bones and my blood and my heart, he said. Id
have to tear myself open to let you go.

11) You are the Lightwoods you are all that is left of the
Lightwoods.

12) Oh, God, the lovebirds, Magnus said, pulling the pillow off his
face. I hate happy couples.





2222




Will is willing to give up his true love, Tessa, because he would
rather Jem be happy than himself. Will has suffered too much in his
life and yet he puts his parabatais happiness above his own
regardless of how much it tears him up inside. If Jem dies, I
cannot be with Tessa, said Will. Because it will be as if I were
waiting for him to die, or took some joy in his death, if it let me
have her. And I will not be that person. I will not profit from his
death. So he must live. He lowered his arm, his sleeve bloody. It
is the only way any of this can ever mean anything. Will is a
caring person and the person he cares most about is his parabatai
Jem. Will insistently searches for a cure to Jems disease and has
even admitted that Jem is more deserving of life. And despite the
way he treats those he cares about sometimesdue to the curse he
believes was cast upon himthose people see the good in him no
matter how hard he tries to hide it. You are good, Will. There is
no one better placed than I am to be able to say with perfect
confidence how good you really are. Tessa I thought him a
pretty bit of poison to start with, but I have come around. There is
a soul under all that bravado. And he is really alive, one of the most
alive people I have ever met. When he feels something, it is as
bright and sharp as lightning. -Magnus Will doesnt recognize that
he is someone worth fighting forsomeone who deserves love and
deserves to be happy. You fear for Jem, Will said. Yes, she
said. And I fear for you, too. No, Will said, hoarsely. Dont
waste that on me, Tess.
Will is definitely someone worth fighting for. So will you fight for
him? Vote Team Will!



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