When fifteen-year-old Clary Fray heads out to the Pandemonium Club in New York City, she hardly expects to witness a murder - much less a murder committed by three teenagers covered with strange tattoos and brandishing bizarre weapons. Then the body disappears into thin air. It's hard to call the police when the murderers are invisible to everyone else and when there is nothing - not even a smear of blood - to show that a boy has died. Or was he a boy?
This is Clary's first meeting with the Shadowhunters, warriors dedicated to ridding the earth of demons. It's also her first encounter with Jace, a Shadowhunter who looks a little like an angel and acts a lot like a jerk. Within twenty-four hours Clary is pulled into Jace's world with a vengeance, when her mother disappears and Clary herself is attacked by a demon. But why would demons be interested in ordinary mundanes like Clary and her mother? And how did Clary suddenly get the Sight? The Shadowhunters would like to know....
Exotic and gritty, exhilarating and utterly gripping, Cassandra Clare's ferociously entertaining fantasy takes readers on a wild ride that they will never want to end.
I dubbed this book my 'bathtub' book and reread it again. I don't know why I enjoy this book! Clary, Simon, Jacy, Alec, Isabelle--I enjoy each character. They have their unique voices, habits, idiosyncrasies and conflicts.
The storyline moves and there are constant obstacles in the way of Clary and Jacy.
There is also a great villain.
Rating: PG 15
V: Yes. Paranormal fights
L: Sprinkled throughout
S: Innuendos. kissing.
25% test (p. 121):
"...fantasy and mystery thrown in. Clary remembered plowing through the entirety of the The Chronicles of Prydain here, curled up in Luke's window seat as the sun went down over the East River.
"I think he's still around," called Simon, standing in the doorway of Luke's small kitchenette. "The percolator's on and there's coffee here. Still hot."
Clary peered around the kitchen door. Dishes were staked in the sink. Luke's jackets were hung neatly on hooks inside the coat closet. She walked down the hallway and opened the door of his small bedroom. It looked the same as ever, the bed with its gray coverlet and flat pillows unmade, the top of the bureau covered in loose change. She turned away. Some part of her had been absolutely certain that when they walked in they'd find the place torn to pieces, and Luke tied up, injured or worse. Now she didn't know what to think.
Numbly she crossed the hall to the little guest bedroom where she'd so often stayed when her mother was out of town on business. They'd stay up late watching old horror movies on the flickering black-and-white TV. She even kept a backpack full of extra things here so she didn't have to lug her stuff back and forth from home.
Kneeling down, she tugged it out from under the bed by it's olive green strap. It was covered in buttons, most of which Simon had given her. Gamers do it better. Otaku wench, still not king. Inside were some folded clothes, a few spare pairs of underwear, a hairbrush, even shampoo. Thank God, she thought, and kicked the bedroom door closed. Quickly she changed, stripping off Isabelle's too-big--and now grass stained and sweaty--clothes, and pulling on a pair of her own sandblasted cords, soft as worn paper, and a blue tank top with..."