City of Glass-The third installment in the Mortal Insturments Series
Chapter One: The Portal
The cold snap of the previous week was over; the sun was shining brightly as Clary hurried across Luke's dusty front yard, the hood of her sweater up to keep her hair from blowing across her face. The weather might have warmed up, but the wind off the East River could still be brutal. It carried with it a faint chemical smell, mixed with the Brooklyn smell of asphalt, gasoline and burned sugar from the abandoned factory down the street.
Simon was waiting for her on the front porch, sprawled in the broken-springed armchair Luke had dragged out there last summer, meaning to throw away, but had never gotten around to tossing in the alley dumpster. It smelled like mildew now and there were bits of foam poking out of the rips in the upholstery, but Simon didn't seem to mind. He had his DS balanced on his blue-jeaned knees and was poking away at it industriously with the stylus. "Score," he said, as she came up the steps. "I'm kicking butt at Mario Kart."
Clary pushed her hood back, shaking hair out of her eyes, and rummaged in her pocket for her keys. "Where have you been? I've been calling you all afternoon."
Simon got to his feet, shoving the blinking game cube into his messenger bag. "I was at Eric's. Band practice."
Clary stopped jiggling the key in the lock -- it always stuck -- long enough to frown at him. "Band practice? You mean you're still --"
"In the band? Why wouldn't I be?" He reached around her. "Here, let me do it."
Clary stood still while Simon expertly twisted the key with just the right amount of pressure, making the stubborn old lock spring open. His hand brushed hers; his skin was cool, the temperature of the air outside. She shivered a little. They'd only called off their attempt at a romantic relationship last week and she still felt confused whenever she saw him.
"Thanks." She took the key back without looking at him.
It was hot in the living room; Luke still had the heat turned way up, even though the cold snap had passed. Clary hung her jacket up on the peg inside the front hall and headed to the spare bedroom, Simon trailing in her wake. She threw her heavy sweater over a chair and frowned. Her suitcase was open like a clam shell on the bed, her clothes and sketchbooks strewn everywhere.
Sorry about the small teaser. I just really don't want to give too much away. I snagged this from http://www.cassandraclare.com/ if you want to read more.
Look for our next Author of the Month.
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