Only a few more weeks to go 'till the release, but here's a teaser anyway. Enjoy!!
****
The next morning I wrap my toes in cloth, stuff my feet into my shoes,
and run again. If you can... just a little bit farther... just a little
bit faster... you'll see, you'll see, you'll see. Alex is alive.
****
Oh, man. The deathly question. Is Alex really alive? I NEED the copy. NOW!
Showing posts with label teasers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teasers. Show all posts
Wednesday, 1 February 2012
Tuesday, 31 January 2012
Cassandra Clare's Recent "Unidentified Snippet"
Okay, I was on the internet, doing my daily dose of surfing, and came across this unidentified snippet by Cassandra Clare:
He kissed each finger, and with each one of them spoken a word. Five kisses, five words. His last.
His LAST?!? Oh, God. I have sick feeling this is Jem she's talking about...
He kissed each finger, and with each one of them spoken a word. Five kisses, five words. His last.
His LAST?!? Oh, God. I have sick feeling this is Jem she's talking about...
Saturday, 7 January 2012
City of Lost Souls Prologue
Along with the cover, Cassie Clare also released the prologue of City of Lost Souls. I don't know about you but I'm mighty excited.
****
Simon stood and stared numbly at the front door of his house.
He'd never known another home. This was the place his parents had brought him home to when he was born. He had grown up within the walls of the Brooklyn row house. He'd played on the street under the leafy shade of the trees in the summer, and had made improvised sleds out of garbage can lids in the winter. In this house his whole family had sat shivah after his father had died. Here he had kissed Clary for the first time.
He had never imagined a day when the door of the house would be closed to him. The last time he had seen his mother, she had called him a monster and prayed at him that he would go away. He had made her forget that he was a vampire, using glamour, but he had not known how long the glamour would last. As he stood in the cold autumn air, staring in front of him, he knew it had not lasted long enough.
The door was covered with signs—Stars of David splashed on in paint, the incised shape of the symbol for Chai, life. Tefillin were bound to the doorknob and knocker. A hamesh, the Hand of God, covered the peephole.
Numbly he put his hand to the metal mezuzah affixed to the right side of the doorway. He saw the smoke rise from the place where his hand touched the holy object, but he felt nothing. No pain. Only a terrible empty blankness, rising slowly into a cold rage.
He kicked the bottom of the door and heard the echo through the house. "Mom!" he shouted. "Mom, it's me!"
There was no reply—only the sound of the bolts being turned on the door. His sensitized hearing had recognized his mother's footsteps, her breathing, but she said nothing. He could smell acrid fear and panic even through the wood. "Mom!" His voice broke. "Mom, this is ridiculous! Let me in! It's me, Simon!"
The door juddered, as if she had kicked it. "Go away!" Her voice was rough, unrecognizable with terror. "Murderer!"
"I don't kill people." Simon leaned his head against the door. He knew he could probably kick it down, but what would be the point? "I told you. I drink animal blood."
He heard her whisper, softly, several words in Hebrew. "You killed my son," she said. "You killed him and put a monster in his place."
"I am your son—"
"You wear his face and speak with his voice, but you are not him! You're not Simon!" Her voice rose to almost a scream. "Get away from my house before I kill you, monster!"
"Becky," he said. His face was wet; he put his hands up to touch it, and they came away stained: His tears were bloody. "What have you told Becky?"
"Stay away from your sister." Simon heard a clattering from inside the house, as if something had been knocked over.
"Mom," he said again, but this time his voice wouldn't rise. It came out as a hoarse whisper. His hand had begun to throb. "I need to know—is Becky there? Mom, open the door. Please—"
"Stay away from Becky!" She was backing away from the door; he could hear it. Then came the unmistakeable squeal of the kitchen door swinging open, the creak of the linoleum as she walked on it. The sound of a drawer being opened. Suddenly he imagined his mother grabbing for one of the knives.
Before I kill you, monster.
The thought rocked him back on his heels. If she struck out at him, the Mark would rise. It would destroy her as it had destroyed Lilith.
He dropped his hand and backed up slowly, stumbling down the steps and across the sidewalk, fetching up against the trunk of one of the big trees that shaded the block. He stood where he was, staring at the front door of his house, marked and disfigured with the symbols of his mother's hate for him.
No, he reminded himself. She didn't hate him. She thought he was dead. What she hated was something that didn't exist. I am not what she says I am.
He didn't know how long he would have stood there, staring, if his phone hadn't begun to ring, vibrating his coat pocket.
He reached for it reflexively, noticing that the pattern from the front of the mezuzah—interlocked Stars of David—was burned into the palm of his hand. He switched hands and put the phone to his ear. "Hello?"
"Simon?" It was Clary. She sounded breathless. "Where are you?"
"Home," he said, and paused. "My mother's house," he amended. His voice sounded hollow and distant to his own ears. "Why aren't you back at the Institute? Is everyone all right?"
"That's just it," she said. "Just after you left, Maryse came back down from the roof where Jace was supposed to be waiting. There was no one there."
Simon moved. Without quite realizing he was doing it, like a mechanical doll, he began walking up the street, toward the subway station. "What do you mean, there was no one there?"
"Jace was gone," she said, and he could hear the strain in her voice. "And so was Sebastian."
Simon stopped in the shadow of a bare-branched tree. "But he was dead. He's dead, Clary—"
"Then you tell me why he isn't there, because he isn't," she said, her voice finally breaking. "There's nothing up there but a lot of blood and broken glass. They're both gone, Simon. Jace is gone. . . ."
****
Simon stood and stared numbly at the front door of his house.
He'd never known another home. This was the place his parents had brought him home to when he was born. He had grown up within the walls of the Brooklyn row house. He'd played on the street under the leafy shade of the trees in the summer, and had made improvised sleds out of garbage can lids in the winter. In this house his whole family had sat shivah after his father had died. Here he had kissed Clary for the first time.
He had never imagined a day when the door of the house would be closed to him. The last time he had seen his mother, she had called him a monster and prayed at him that he would go away. He had made her forget that he was a vampire, using glamour, but he had not known how long the glamour would last. As he stood in the cold autumn air, staring in front of him, he knew it had not lasted long enough.
The door was covered with signs—Stars of David splashed on in paint, the incised shape of the symbol for Chai, life. Tefillin were bound to the doorknob and knocker. A hamesh, the Hand of God, covered the peephole.
Numbly he put his hand to the metal mezuzah affixed to the right side of the doorway. He saw the smoke rise from the place where his hand touched the holy object, but he felt nothing. No pain. Only a terrible empty blankness, rising slowly into a cold rage.
He kicked the bottom of the door and heard the echo through the house. "Mom!" he shouted. "Mom, it's me!"
There was no reply—only the sound of the bolts being turned on the door. His sensitized hearing had recognized his mother's footsteps, her breathing, but she said nothing. He could smell acrid fear and panic even through the wood. "Mom!" His voice broke. "Mom, this is ridiculous! Let me in! It's me, Simon!"
The door juddered, as if she had kicked it. "Go away!" Her voice was rough, unrecognizable with terror. "Murderer!"
"I don't kill people." Simon leaned his head against the door. He knew he could probably kick it down, but what would be the point? "I told you. I drink animal blood."
He heard her whisper, softly, several words in Hebrew. "You killed my son," she said. "You killed him and put a monster in his place."
"I am your son—"
"You wear his face and speak with his voice, but you are not him! You're not Simon!" Her voice rose to almost a scream. "Get away from my house before I kill you, monster!"
"Becky," he said. His face was wet; he put his hands up to touch it, and they came away stained: His tears were bloody. "What have you told Becky?"
"Stay away from your sister." Simon heard a clattering from inside the house, as if something had been knocked over.
"Mom," he said again, but this time his voice wouldn't rise. It came out as a hoarse whisper. His hand had begun to throb. "I need to know—is Becky there? Mom, open the door. Please—"
"Stay away from Becky!" She was backing away from the door; he could hear it. Then came the unmistakeable squeal of the kitchen door swinging open, the creak of the linoleum as she walked on it. The sound of a drawer being opened. Suddenly he imagined his mother grabbing for one of the knives.
Before I kill you, monster.
The thought rocked him back on his heels. If she struck out at him, the Mark would rise. It would destroy her as it had destroyed Lilith.
He dropped his hand and backed up slowly, stumbling down the steps and across the sidewalk, fetching up against the trunk of one of the big trees that shaded the block. He stood where he was, staring at the front door of his house, marked and disfigured with the symbols of his mother's hate for him.
No, he reminded himself. She didn't hate him. She thought he was dead. What she hated was something that didn't exist. I am not what she says I am.
He didn't know how long he would have stood there, staring, if his phone hadn't begun to ring, vibrating his coat pocket.
He reached for it reflexively, noticing that the pattern from the front of the mezuzah—interlocked Stars of David—was burned into the palm of his hand. He switched hands and put the phone to his ear. "Hello?"
"Simon?" It was Clary. She sounded breathless. "Where are you?"
"Home," he said, and paused. "My mother's house," he amended. His voice sounded hollow and distant to his own ears. "Why aren't you back at the Institute? Is everyone all right?"
"That's just it," she said. "Just after you left, Maryse came back down from the roof where Jace was supposed to be waiting. There was no one there."
Simon moved. Without quite realizing he was doing it, like a mechanical doll, he began walking up the street, toward the subway station. "What do you mean, there was no one there?"
"Jace was gone," she said, and he could hear the strain in her voice. "And so was Sebastian."
Simon stopped in the shadow of a bare-branched tree. "But he was dead. He's dead, Clary—"
"Then you tell me why he isn't there, because he isn't," she said, her voice finally breaking. "There's nothing up there but a lot of blood and broken glass. They're both gone, Simon. Jace is gone. . . ."
Monday, 2 January 2012
Clockwork Princess Spoiler
For those of you who have just finished Clockwork Prince and whom I bet are just bawling your eye out (which what I am, at the moment), I hope a Clockwork Princess teaser makes you feel better (or not. I know how some of you feel about teasers...). So here you are. Enjoy!
****
****
Jem drew the bow back and let the arrow fly; it struck the
creature in the side. The massive demon worm writhed in agony,
undulating as it swept its great, blind head from side to side,
uprooting shrubbery with its thrashings. Leaves filled the air and the
boys choked on dust, Gideon backing up with his seraph blade in his
hand, trying to see by its light.
“It’s coming toward us,” he said in a low voice.
And indeed it was, the arrow still protruding from its
wet, grayish skin, humping its body along with incredible speed. A flick
of its tail caught the edge of a statue, sending it flying into the dry
ornamental pool, where it shattered into dust.
“By the Angel, it just crushed Sophocles,” noted Will. “Has no one respect for the classics these days?”
Friday, 2 December 2011
'Clockwork Prince' Teasers
Here are teasers from “Clockwork Prince” posted by Cassandra Clare: Enjoy. :)
Teaser #1:
Teaser #1:
He flinched away from her, and Tessa dropped her hand, hurt. “Jem, what it is it? You don’t want me to touch you?”Teaser #2:
“Not like that,” he flared, and then flushed even darker than before.
“Like what?” She was honestly bewildered; this was behavior she might have expected from Will, but not from Jem: this mysteriousness, this anger.
“As if you were a nurse and I were your patient. You think because I am ill I am not like —” He drew a ragged breath. “Do you think I do not know,” he went on more quietly, “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 examine my pupils, 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 -—” His words seemed to catch; either because he realized he had said too much or because he had run out of breath.
She shook her head, feeling her plaits tickle her neck. “This is the fever speaking, not you.”
His eyes darkened, and he began to turn away from her. “You can’t even believe I could want you,” he said in a half-whisper. “That I am alive enough, healthy enough —”
“No.” Without thinking, she caught at his arm. He stiffened. “James, that’s not at all what I meant —”
He curled his fingers around her hand, where it lay on his arm. His own scorched her skin, hot as fire. And then he turned her, and drew her toward him.
They stood face to face, chest to chest. His breath stirred her hair. She felt the fever rising off him like mist off the Thames; sensed the pounding of the blood through his skin, saw with a strange clarity the pulse at his neck, the light on the pale curls of his hair where it lay against his paler throat. Prickles of heat ran up and down her skin, bewildering her. This was Jem — her friend, steady and reliable as a heartbeat. Jem did not set her skin on fire or make the blood rush fast inside her veins until she was dizzy.
Did he?
“Tessa,” he said. She looked up at him. There was nothing steady or reliable about his expression. His silver eyes were dark, his cheeks flushed. As she raised her face, he brought his down, his mouth slanting across hers, and even as she froze in surprise they were kissing.
They slowed finally at the southeastern corner of the church. Watery daylight poured through the rose windows overhead. “I know we are in a hurry to get to the Council meeting,” said Jem. “But I wanted you to see this.” He gestured around them. “Poet’s Corner.”
Tessa had read of the place, of course, where the great poets and writers of England were buried. There was the gray stone tomb of Chaucer, with its canopy, and other familiar names: Edmund Spenser, who had written The Faerie Queen, “Oh, and Milton,” she gasped, “and Coleridge, and Robert Burns, and Shakespeare —”
“He isn’t really buried here,” said Jem, quickly. “It’s just a monument.”
“Oh, I know, but —” She looked at him, and felt herself flush. “I can’t explain it. It’s like being among friends, being among these names. Silly, I know . . .”
“Not silly at all.”
She smiled at him. “How did you know just what I’d want to see?”
“How could I not?” he said. “When I think of you, and you are not there, I see you in my mind’s eye always with a book in your hand.” He looked away from her as he said it, but not before she caught the slight flush on his cheekbones. He was so pale, he could never hide even the least blush, she thought — and was surprised how affectionate the thought was.
She had become very fond of Jem over the past fortnight; Will had been studiously avoiding her, Charlotte and Henry were caught up in issues of Clave and Council and the running of the Institute —even Jessamine seemed preoccupied. But Jem was always there. He seemed to take his role as her guide to London seriously: they had been to Hyde Park and Kew Gardens, the National Gallery and the British Museum, the Tower of London and Traitor’s Gate. They gone to see the cows being milked in St James Park, the fruit and vegetable sellers in Covent Garden, had watched the boats sailing on the sun-sparked Thames from the Embankment. And as the days went on, Tessa felt herself unfolding slowly out of her quiet, huddled unhappiness over Nate and Will and the loss of her old life, like a flower climbing out of frozen ground. She had even found herself laughing. And she had Jem to thank for it.
“You are a good friend,” she exclaimed, and when, to her surprise, he said nothing to that, she said, “At least, I hope we are good friends. You do think so too, don’t you, Jem?”
He turned to look at her.
'City of Lost Souls' Teasers
Here are teasers from City of Lost Souls, which will be released on May 8, 2012, posted by Cassandra Clare:
Enjoy. :)
Teaser #1:
Enjoy. :)
Teaser #1:
“Magnus made a soft, pleased sound, and he gripped the back of Alec’s shirt.”Teaser #2:
“He is a Shadowhunter,” said Jocelyn. “His loyalty will be to Clave and Covenant.”Teaser #3:
“He’s my friend,” said Magnus coldly. “His loyalty is to me.”
“Well, hello there, Mother,” Sebastian said in a voice like silk. “Surprised to see me?”Teaser #4:
“You think I’m gone, but I’m not. I’m still watching you. All of you. Especially you … Simon.”Teaser #5:
“I need Jace,” said Sebastian. “But in his heart, he’s not like me. But *you * are.”Teaser #6:
“You have a dark heart in you, Valentine’s daughter,” he said. “You just won’t admit it. And if you want Jace, you had better accept it. Because he belongs to me now.”Teaser #7:
“I don’t do false reassurances,” Izzy said, and pushed the tequila bottle away from her. Her eyes, on Jordan, were lively and dark. “Come here, werewolf boy.”Teaser #8:
“Warlock,” he said. “I know who you are.”
Magnus raised his eyebrows. “You do?”
“Magnus Bane. Destroyer of the demon Marabas. Son of——”
“Now,” said Magnus, quickly. “There’s no need to go into all of that.”
“But there is.” The demon sounded reasonable, even amused. “If it is infernal assistance you require, why not summon your father?”
Alec looked at Magnus with his mouth open.
An Excerpt from Lauren DeStefano's Fever
An excerpt from the second installment of the Chemical Garden Trilogy. Enjoy!
***
A breeze rolls up from the water, and I realize at once how numb the cold air and wet clothes have made me. We should find someplace to stay, but where? I sit up and take in our surroundings. There’s sand and rocks for several more yards, but beyond that I can see the shadows of buildings. A lone freight truck lumbers down a faraway road, and I think soon it’ll be dark enough for Gatherer vans to start patrolling the area with their lights off. This would be the perfect place for them to hunt; there don’t appear to be any streetlights, and the alleyways between those buildings could be full of scarlet district girls.
Gabriel, of course, is more concerned about the blood. He’s trying to wrap my palm with a piece of seaweed, and the salt is burning the wound. I just need a minute to take this all in, and then I’ll worry about the cut. This time yesterday, I was a House Governor’s bride. I had sister wives. At the end of my life, my body would end up with the wives who died before me, on a rolling cart in my father-in-law’s basement, for him to do only he knows what.
But now there’s the smell of salt, sound of the ocean. There’s a hermit crab making its way up a sand dune. And something else, too. My brother, Rowan, is somewhere out here. And there’s nothing stopping me from getting home to him.
Anybody else excited?? Why can't 2012 come any sooner??
***
A breeze rolls up from the water, and I realize at once how numb the cold air and wet clothes have made me. We should find someplace to stay, but where? I sit up and take in our surroundings. There’s sand and rocks for several more yards, but beyond that I can see the shadows of buildings. A lone freight truck lumbers down a faraway road, and I think soon it’ll be dark enough for Gatherer vans to start patrolling the area with their lights off. This would be the perfect place for them to hunt; there don’t appear to be any streetlights, and the alleyways between those buildings could be full of scarlet district girls.
Gabriel, of course, is more concerned about the blood. He’s trying to wrap my palm with a piece of seaweed, and the salt is burning the wound. I just need a minute to take this all in, and then I’ll worry about the cut. This time yesterday, I was a House Governor’s bride. I had sister wives. At the end of my life, my body would end up with the wives who died before me, on a rolling cart in my father-in-law’s basement, for him to do only he knows what.
But now there’s the smell of salt, sound of the ocean. There’s a hermit crab making its way up a sand dune. And something else, too. My brother, Rowan, is somewhere out here. And there’s nothing stopping me from getting home to him.
Anybody else excited?? Why can't 2012 come any sooner??
Thursday, 1 December 2011
NEW TEASER- City Of Lost Souls
Here is a new intense teaser for Cassandra Clare's next book in The Mortal Instruments series. City Of Lost Souls.
“Kill me, little sister. Kill me and you kill Jace, too.”
“Kill me, little sister. Kill me and you kill Jace, too.”
Monday, 28 November 2011
Bonus Scene from Cassandra Clare's Clockwork Angel
This scene takes place before the events of Clockwork Angel. Enjoy!
http://g-ecx.images-amazon.com/images/G/01/SIMON/ClockworkPrinceAmazonexcluisive.pdf
http://g-ecx.images-amazon.com/images/G/01/SIMON/ClockworkPrinceAmazonexcluisive.pdf
November Teaser for City of Lost Souls
Teaser for City of Lost Souls by Cassandra Clare. Enjoy!
***
“Why did you?” Clary asked.
“Why did I what?”
“Help me back there.”
“You’re my sister.”
She swallowed. In the morning light, Sebastian’s face had some color in it. There were faint burns along his neck where demon ichor had splashed him. “You never cared that I was your sister before.”
“Didn’t I?” His black eyes flicked up and down her. “Our father’s dead,” he said. “There are no other relatives. You and I, we are the last. The last of the Morgensterns. You are the only one left whose blood runs in my veins, too. You are my last chance.”
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