Have yourself a Merry Shadowhunter Christmas/holiday!

December

Art by Cassandra Jean

We’ve got three weeks until Christmas and sometimes finding great gifts for family and friends or also yourself can be pretty tough.

That’s why we have come up with the ultimate Shadowhunter Christmas wishlist that includes books (duh!), jewelry, tarot cards and more!

Shadowhunter Books:

(click the pictures to get to Amazon.com)

The Mortal Instruments complete box set

The Mortal Instruments complete box set

The Infernal Devices box set

The Infernal Devices box set

The Bane Chronicles

The Bane Chronicles

The Shadowhunter's Codex

The Shadowhunter’s Codex

The Infernal Devices: Clockwork Angel

The Infernal Devices: Clockwork Angel

The Infernal Devices: Clockwork Prince

The Infernal Devices: Clockwork Prince

clockwork princess manga

The Infernal Devices: Clockwork Princess

Shadowhunters and Downworlders

Shadowhunters and Downworlders

Shadowhunter Tarot Cards by Cassandra Clare and Cassandra Jean:

(click the pictures to get to TopatoCo)

Shadowhunter Tarot Cards: Deluxe Collector's Edition

Shadowhunter Tarot Cards: Deluxe Collector’s Edition (Pic credit: TopatoCo)

Shadowhunter Tarot Cards

Shadowhunter Tarot Cards (regular edition. Pic credit: TopatoCo)

Shadowhunter Merchandise by HebelDesign:

 

Remember that the first ebook from Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy will be released in February 2015, so an ebook gift card would be a nice present as well!

Everyone at TMI Source wishes you a happy Christmas time or a fabulous December :-)

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Cassandra Clare shares comic strip scene from ‘City of Heavenly Fire’

We still have more than three weeks until Christmas, but Cassandra Clare is already spoiling her fans with City of Heavenly Fire goodies! (Thank you, Cassie!)

Cassie has very recently shared the uncut Clary and Jace cave scene and now she has posted a comic strip that was in the UK edition of City of Heavenly Fire. Said comic is actually from The Infernal Devices and it is called “The Wedding”.

London, 2009, so a year after the events of City of Heavenly Fire. There are some clues in here for Dark Artifices and even for Shadowhunter Academy, so if you hate spoilers, avoid!

Comic1Comic2Comic3Comic4Comic5Comic6

A lot of people have asked if Will is “really there” or is a ghost. I never thought of Will ever haunting the world after his death. He had a good life and a good death and has no reason to hang around. There’s an implication in the comic that this is Will’s “one trip” from the afterlife, but an equal implication, I think, that he’s not there at all, and is just a figment of the imaginations of those who so badly want to see him.

You can decide what you want to believe. :)

* Art by Cassandra Jean of course!

Aw, all of our beloved characters gathered for a joyous event! :-) How many feels do you have right now? Tell us in the comments and don’t forget that there is another City of Heavenly Fire comic strip that we can look forward to!

Read Parts Three and Four of Tessa/Jem Story ‘After the Bridge’

Photo Credit: Vania Stoyanova

Photo Credit: Vania Stoyanova

Ever wondered what happened with Tessa and Jem after their meeting on Blackfriar’s Bridge in the epilogue of Clockwork Princess?

Well, we’re about to find out, thanks to Cassandra Clare, who has introduced a new story which will be shared in several installments.

Warning from Cassie: “Those who do not like Tessa&Jem together or Jessa sexytimes probably should skip this one. Those who like that sort of thing will find this the sort of thing they like.”

The story will alternate between Tessa and Jem’s POV.

Warning: Clockwork Princess spoilers:

Here is Part Three:

AFTER THE BRIDGE 3/4

Now is the time of our comfort and plenty

These are the days we’ve been working for

Nothing can touch us and nothing can harm us

And nothing goes wrong anymore

 Keane – Love Is The End  

As it turned out, Tessa had a flat she owned in London. It was the second floor of a pale white townhouse in Kensington, and as she let them both inside — her hand only shaking very slightly as she turned the keys — she explained to Jem that Magnus had taught her how warlocks could finagle their way into owning homes over many centuries by willing the properties to themselves.

“After a while I just started picking silly names for myself,” she said, shutting the door behind them. “I think I own this place under the pseudonym Bedelia Codfish.”

Jem laughed, though his mind was only partly on her words. He was gazing around the flat — the walls were painted in bright colors: a lilac living room, scattered with white couches, an avocado-green kitchen. When had Tessa bought the flat, he wondered, and why? She had traveled so much, why make a home base in London?

The question dried up in his throat when he turned and realized that through a partly open door, he could glimpse the blue walls of what was likely a bedroom.

He swallowed at that, his mouth gone suddenly dry. Tessa’s bed. That she slept in.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you all right?” She took him by the wrist; he felt his pulse jump under her touch. Until he had become a Silent Brother, it always had. He’d wondered during his time in Idris, after the heavenly fire had cured him, if it would still be like that with them: if his human feelings would return to him. He had been able to touch her and be near her as a Silent Brother without wanting her as he had when he was a mortal. He had still loved her, but it had been a love of the spirit, not the body. He had wondered — feared, even, that the physical feelings and responses would not come back the way they had. He had told himself that even if Silent Brotherhood had killed the ability of his feelings to manifest themselves physically, he would not be disappointed. He had told himself to expect it.

He shouldn’t have worried.

The moment he had seen her on the bridge, coming toward him through the crowd in her modern jeans and Liberty scarf, her hair flying out behind her, he had felt his breath catch in his throat.

And when she had drawn the jade pendant he had given her out from around her neck and shyly proffered it to him, his blood had roared to life in his veins like a river undammed.

And when she had said, I love you. I always have, and I always will, it had taken everything he had not to kiss her in that moment. To do more than kiss her.

But if the Brotherhood had taught him anything, it was control. He looked at her now and fought his voice to steadiness. “A little tired,” he said. “And thirsty — I forget sometimes I need to eat and drink now.”

She dropped her keys on a small rosewood side table and turned to smile at him. “Tea,” she said, moving toward the avocado-green kitchen. “I haven’t got much food here, I don’t usually stay long, but I have got tea. And biscuits. Go into the drawing room; I’ll be right there.”

He had to smile at that; even he knew no one said drawing room any more. Perhaps she was as nervous as he was, then? He could only hope.

Tessa cursed silently for the fourth time as she bent to retrieve the box of sugar cubes from the floor. She had already put the kettle on without water in it, mixed up the tea bags, knocked over the milk, and now this. She dropped a cube of sugar into both teacups and told herself to count to ten, watching the cubes dissolve.

She knew her hands were shaking. Her heart raced. James Carstairs was in her flat. In her living room. Waiting for tea. Part of her mind screamed that it was just Jem, while the other part cried just as loudly that just Jem was someone she hadn’t seen in a hundred and thirty five years.

He had been Brother Zachariah for so long. And of course he had always been Jem at the heart of it all, with Jem’s wit and unfailing kindness. He had never failed in his love for her or his love for Will. But Silent Brothers — they did not feel things the way ordinary people did.

It was something she had thought of, sometimes, in later years, many decades after Will’s death. She had never wanted anyone else, never anyone but Will and Jem, and they were both gone from her, even though Jem still lived. She had wondered sometimes what they would have done if it had merely been forbidden for Silent Brothers to marry or love; but it was more than that: he could not desire her. He didn’t have those feelings. She’d felt like Pygmalion, yearning for the touch of a marble statue. Silent Brothers didn’t have physical desires for touch, any more than they had a need for food or water.

But now …

I forget sometimes I need to eat and drink now.

She picked up the tea mugs with still-shaking hands and walked into the living room. She had furnished it herself over the years, from the sofa cushions to the unfolded Japanese screen painted with a design of branches. The curtains framing the portrait window at the far end of the room were half-drawn, just enough light spilling into the room to touch the bits of gold in Jem’s dark hair and she nearly dropped the teacups.

They had hardly touched on the taxi ride back to Queen’s Gate, only holding hands tightly in the back of the cab. He had run his fingers over the backs of her fingers over and over as he began to tell her the story of all that had happened since she had last visited Idris, when the Mortal War, which she had fought in, had ended. When Magnus had pointed out Jace Herondale to her, and she had looked at a boy who had Will’s beautiful face and eyes like her son James.

But his hair had been his father’s, that tangle of rich gold curls, and remembering what she had known of Stephen Herondale, she had turned away without speaking.

Herondales, someone had told her once. They were everything that Shadowhunters had to offer, all in one family: both the best, and the worst.

She set the teacups down on the coffee table — an old steamer trunk, covered in travel stamps from her many voyages — with an audible thump. Jem turned to face her and she saw what he held in his hands.

One of the bookcases held a display of weapons: things she had picked up around the world. A thin misericorde, a curved kris, a trench knife, a shortsword, and dozens of others. But the one Jem had picked up and was staring at wasa slim silver knife, its handle darkened by many years of burial in the dirt. She had never had it cleaned, for the stain on the blade was Will’s blood. Jem’s blade, Will’s blood, buried together at the roots of an oak tree, a sort of sympathetic magic Will had performed when he thought he had lost Jem forever. Tessa had retrieved it after Will’s death and offered it to Jem; he had refused to take it.

That had been in 1937.

“Keep it,” he said now, his voice ragged. “There may yet come a day.”

“That’s what you told me.” She moved toward him, her shoes tapping on the hardwood floor. “When I tried to give it to you.”

He swallowed, running his fingers up and down the blade. “He had only just died,” he said. She didn’t need to ask who he was. There was really only one He when it was the two of them speaking. “I was afraid. I saw what happened to the other Silent Brothers. I saw how they hardened over time, lost the people they had been. How as the people who loved them and who they loved died, they became less human. I was afraid that I would lose my ability to care. To know what this knife meant to Will and what Will meant to me.”

She placed her hand on his arm. “But you didn’t forget.”

“I didn’t lose everyone I loved.” He looked up at her, and she saw that his eyes had gold in them too, precious bright flakes among the brown. “I had you.”

She exhaled; her heart was beating so hard that her chest hurt. Then she saw that he was clutching the blade of the knife, not just the hilt. Quickly she plucked it out of his hands. “Please don’t,” she said. “I can’t draw an iratze.”

“And I haven’t got a stele,” he said, watching as she set the knife back on its shelf. “I am not a Shadowhunter now.” He looked down at his hands; there were thin red lines across his palms, but he had not cut the skin.

Impulsively, Tessa bent and kissed his palms, then folded his fingers closed, her own hands over his. When she looked up, his pupils had widened. She could hear his breathing.

“Tessa,” he said. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” She drew away from him, though, instinctively. Perhaps he did not want to be touched, though on the bridge, it had not seemed that way …

“The Brothers taught me control,” he said, his voice tight. “I have every kind of control, and I have learned them over decades and decades, and I am using them all not to push you up against the bookcase and kiss you until neither of us can breathe.”

She lifted her chin. “And what would be wrong with that?”

“When I was a Silent Brother, I did not feel as an ordinary man does,” he said. “Not the wind on my face or the sun on my skin or the touch of another’s hand. But now I feel it all. I feel — too much. The wind is like thunder, the sun scorches, and your touch makes me forget my own name.”

A pang of heat speared through her, a heat that started low in her stomach and spread through every part of her body. A sort of heat she hadn’t felt in so many decades.  Almost a century. Her skin prickled all over. “The wind and the sun you will get used to,” she said. “But your touch makes me forget my name as well, and I have no excuses. Only that I love you, and I always have and always will. I will not touch you if you do not want it, Jem. But if we are waiting until the idea of being together does not frighten us, we may be waiting a long time.”

Breath escaped him in a hiss. “Say that again.”

Puzzled, she began: “If we are waiting until —“

“No,” he said. “The earlier part.”

She tipped her face up to him. “I love you,” she said. “I always have and I always will.”

She did not know who moved toward who first, but he caught her around the waist and was kissing her before she could take another breath. This was not like the kiss on the bridge. That had been a silent communication of lips on lips, the exchange of a promise and a reassurance. It had been sweet and shattering, a sort of gentle thunder.

This was a storm. Jem was kissing her, hard and bruising, and when she opened his lips with hers and tasted the inside of his mouth, he gasped and pulled her harder against him, his hands digging into her hips, pressing her closer to him as he explored her lips and tongue, caressing, biting, then kissing to soothe the sting. In the old days, when she had kissed him, he had tasted of bitter sugar: now he tasted like tea and —toothpaste?

But why not toothpaste. Even century-old Shadowhunters had to brush their teeth. A small nervous giggle escaped her and Jem pulled back, looking dazed and deliciously rumpled. His hair was every which way from her running her hands through it.

“Please don’t tell me you’re laughing because I kiss so badly it’s funny,” he said, with a lopsided smile. She could sense his actual worry. “I may be somewhat out of practice.”

“Silent Brothers don’t do a lot of kissing?” she teased, smoothing down the front of his sweater.

“Not unless there were secret orgies I wasn’t invited to,” Jem said. “I did always worry I might not have been popular.”

She clasped her hand around his wrist. “Come here,” she said. “Sit down — have some tea. There’s something I want to show you.”

He went, as she had asked, and sat down on her velvet sofa, leaning back against the cushions she had stitched herself out of fabric she’d bought in India and Thailand. She couldn’t hide a smile — he looked only a little older than he had when he’d become a Silent Brother, like an ordinary young man in jeans and a sweater,  but he sat the way a Victorian man would have — back straight, feet flat on the floor. He caught her look and his own mouth tipped up at the corners. “All right,” he said. “What do you have to show me?”

In answer, she went to the Japanese screen that stretched across one corner of the room, and stepped behind it. “It’s a surprise.”

The dressmaker’s dummy was there, concealed from the rest of the room. She couldn’t see him through the screen, only a blurred outline of shapes. “Talk to me,” she said, pulling her sweater off over her head. “You said it was a story of Lightwoods and Fairchilds and Morgensterns. I know a little of what transpired — I received your messages while I was in the Labyrinth — but I do not know how the Dark War effected your cure.” She tossed the sweater over the top of the screen. “Can you tell me?”

“Now?” he said. She heard him set his teacup down.

Tessa kicked her shoes off and unzipped her jeans, the sound loud in the quiet room. “Do you want me to come out from behind this screen, James Carstairs?”

“Definitely.” His voice sounded strangled.

“Then start talking.”

***

Jem talked. He spoke of the dark days in Idris, of Sebastian Morgenstern’s army of Endarkened, of Jace Herondale and Clary Fairchild and the Lightwood children and their dangerous journey to Edom.

“I have heard of Edom,” she said, her voice muffled. “It is spoken of in the Spiral Labyrinth, where they track the histories of all worlds. A place where the Nephilim were destroyed. A wasteland.”

“Yes,” Jem said, a little absently. He couldn’t see her through the screen, but he could see the outline of her body, and that was somewhat worse. “Burning wasteland. Very … hot.”

He had been afraid that the Silent Brothers had taken desire from him: that he would look at Tessa and feel platonic love but not be able to want, but the opposite was true. He could not stop wanting. He wanted, he thought, more than he ever had before in his life.

She was clearly changing her clothes. He had looked down hastily when she’d begun to shimmy out of her jeans, but it wasn’t as if he could forget the image, the silhouette of her, long hair and long, lovely legs — he’d always loved her legs.

Surely he’d felt this before, when he’d been a boy? He remembered the night in his room when she had stopped him destroying his violin, and he’d wanted then, wanted so badly he hadn’t thought at all when they’d collapsed onto his bed: he would have taken her innocence then, and given up his own, without pausing, without a moment’s thought of the future. If they hadn’t knocked over his box of yin fen. If. That had brought him back, and when she’d gone, he’d torn his sheets to strips with his fingers out of sheer frustration.

Perhaps it was just that remembered desire paled in comparison to the feeling itself. Or perhaps he had been sicker then, weaker. He had been dying, after all, and surely his body could not have sustained this.

“A Fairchild and a Herondale,” she said. “Now, I like that. The Fairchilds have always been practical and the Herondales — well, you know.” She sounded fond, amused. “Perhaps she’ll settle him down. And don’t tell me he doesn’t need settling.”

Jem thought of Jace Herondale. How he was like Will if someone had struck a match to Will and gilded him in living fire. “I’m not sure you can settle a Herondale, and certainly not this one.”

“Does he love her? The Fairchild girl?”

“I’ve never seen anyone so in love, except for …” His voice trailed off, for she had come out from behind the screen, and now he understood what had taken her so much time.

She was wearing a dress of orchid silk faille, the sort of dress she might have worn to dinner when they had been engaged. It was trimmed in white velvet cords, the skirt belling out over — was she wearing crinolines?

His mouth opened. He couldn’t help himself. He had found her beautiful through all the changing ages of the century: beautiful in the carefully cut clothes of the war years, when fabric was rationed. Beautiful in the elegant dresses of the fifties and sixties. Beautiful in short skirts and boots as the century drew to a close.

But this was what girls looked like when he had first noticed them, first found them fascinating and not annoying, first noticed the graceful line of a neck or the pale inside of a feminine wrist. This was the Tessa who had first cut him through and through with love and lust commingled: a carnal angel with a corset shaping her body to an hourglass, lifting her breasts, shaping the flare of her hips.

He forced his eyes away from her body. She had bound up her hair, small curls escaping over her ears, and his jade pendant glimmered around her throat.

“Do you like it?” she said. “I had to do my own hair, without Sophie, and lace my own laces …” Her expression was shy and more than a little nervous — it had always been a contradiction at the heart of her, that she was one of the bravest and yet the shyest people he knew. “I bought it from Sotheby’s — a real antique, now, it was far too much money but I remembered when I was a girl you had said orchids were your favorite flower and I had set myself to find a dress the color of an orchid but I never found one before you were — gone. But this one is. Aniline dye, I expect, nothing natural, but I thought — I thought it would remind you.” She raised her chin. “Of us. Of what I wanted to be for you, when I thought we would be together.”

“Tess,” he said, hoarsely. He was on his feet, without knowing how he had gotten there. He took a step toward her, and then another. “Forty-nine thousand, two hundred and seventy-five.”

She knew immediately what he meant. He knew she would. She knew him as no one else living did. “Are you counting days?”

“Forty-nine thousand, two hundred and seventy-five days since I last kissed you,” he said. “And I thought of you every single one of them. You do not have to remind me of the Tessa I loved. You were my first love and you will be my last one. I have never forgotten you. I have never not thought of you.” He was close enough now to see the pulse pounding in her throat. To reach out and lift up a curl of her hair. “Never.”

Her eyes were half-shut. She reached out and took his hand, where it caressed her hair. His blood was thundering through his body, so hard that it hurt. She lowered his hand, lowered it to the bodice of her dress. “The advertisement for the dress said it did not have buttons,” she whispered. “Only hooks down the front. Easier for one person to do up.” She lowered her right hand, took his other wrist, raised it. Now both his hands were at her bodice. “Or to unfasten.” Her fingers curved about his as, very deliberately, she undid the first hook on her dress.

And then the next. She moved his hands down, her fingers intertwined with his, unfastening as she went until the dress hung open over her corset, folded back on each side like flower petals. She was breathing hard; he could not keep his eyes from where his pendant rose and fell with her gasps. He could not bring himself to move an inch more toward her: he wanted, wanted too much. He wanted to unplait her hair and wrap it around his wrists like silken ropes. He wanted her breasts under his hands and her legs around his waist. He wanted things he had no name for and no experience of. He only knew that that if he moved one inch closer to her the glass barrier of control he had built up around himself would shatter and he did not know what would happen next.

“Tessa,” he said. “Are you sure —?”

Her eyelashes fluttered. Her eyes were still half-closed, her teeth making small half-moons in her lower lip. “I was sure then,” she said, “and I am sure now.”

And she clasped his hands firmly to her sides, where her waist curved in, on either side of the flare of her hips.

His control broke, a silent explosion. He pulled her toward him, bent to kiss her savagely hard. He heard her cry out in surprise and then his lips silenced hers, and her mouth opened eagerly under his. Her hands were in his hair, gripping hard; she was reaching up on her toes to kiss him. She bit at his lower lip, nipped at his jaw, and he groaned, sliding his hands inside her dress, his fingers tracing the back of her corset, her skin burning through the bits of her chemise he could feel between the laces. He was kicking off his shoes, toeing off his socks, the floor cold against his bare feet.

She gave a little gasp and wriggled closer, into his arms. He slipped his hands out of her dress and took hold of her skirts. She made a noise of surprise and then he was drawing the dress up over her head. She exclaimed, giggling, as the dress came off most of the way but remained fastened at the wrists, where tiny buttons clasped the cuffs tightly. “Careful,” she teased, as his frantic fingers flicked the buttons open. He heaved the dress up and tossed it into the corner. “It’s an antique.”

“So am I, technically,” he said, and she giggled again, looking up at him, her face warm and open.

He had thought about making love to her before; of course he had. He had thought about sex when he was a teenaged boy because that was what teenaged boys thought about, and when he had fallen in love with Tessa, he had thought about it with her. Vague inchoate thoughts of doing things, though he wasn’t sure what — images of pale arms and legs, the imaginary feel of soft skin under his hands.

But he had not imagined this: that there might be laughter, that it might be affectionate and warm as well as passionate. The reality of it, of her, stunned him breathless.

She drew away from him and for a moment he panicked. What had he done wrong? Had he hurt her, displeased her?  But no, her fingers had gone to the cage of crinoline at her waist, twisting and flicking. Then she raised her arms and twined them about his neck. “Lift me up,” she said. “Lift me up, Jem.”

Her voice was a warm purr. He took hold of her waist and lifted her up and out of her petticoats, as if he were lifting an expensive orchid free of its pot. When he put her back down, she was wearing only her corset, drawers and stockings. Her legs were just as long and lovely as he had remembered and dreamed about.

He reached for her, but she caught at his hands. She was still smiling, but now there was an impish quality to it. “Oh, no,” she said, gesturing to him, his jeans and sweater. “Your turn.”

* * *

He froze, and for a moment, panicked, Tessa wondered if she had asked him for too much. He had been so long disconnected from his body — a mind in a shell of flesh that went largely ignored unless it needed to be runed for some new power. Maybe this was too much for him.

But he took a deep breath, and his hands went to the hem of his sweater. He pulled it off over his head and emerged with his hair adorably ruffled. He wore no shirt under the jumper. He looked at her and bit his lip.

She moved toward him, wondering eyes and fingers. She glanced at him before she put her hands on him and saw him nod, Yes. 

She swallowed hard. She had been carried this far forward like a leaf on the tide of her memories. Memories of James Carstairs, the boy she’d been engaged to, had planned to marry. Had nearly made love to on the floor of the music room in the London Institute. She had seen his body then, stripped to the waist, his skin pale as paper and stretched thin over prominent ribs. The body of a dying boy, though he had always been beautiful to her.

Now his skin was laid over his ribs and chest in a layer of smooth muscle; his chest was broad, tapering down to a slim waist. She put her hands on him tentatively; he was warm and hard under her touch. She could feel the faint scars of ancient runes, pale against his golden skin.

His breath hissed out between his teeth as she ran her hands up his chest and down his arms, the curve of his biceps shaping themselves under her fingers. She remembered him fighting with the other Brothers at Cader Idris — and of course he’d fought at the Citadel Battle, the Silent Brothers kept themselves ready to do battle, though they rarely did. Somehow she had never quite thought about what that might mean for Jem once he was no longer dying.

Her teeth chattered a little; she bit her lip to keep them silent. Desire was washing through her, and a little fear as well: How could this be happening? Actually happening?

“Jem,” she whispered. “You’re so …”

“Scarred?” He put his hand to his cheek, where the black mark of the Brotherhood still remained at the arch of his cheekbone. “Hideous?”

She shook her head. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re beautiful?” She ran her hand up the bare curve of his shoulder to his neck; he trembled. You are beautiful, James Carstairs. “Didn’t you see everyone staring at you on the bridge? You’re so much more beautiful than me,” she murmured, sliding her hands around him to touch the muscles of his back; they tightened under the glancing pressure of her fingers. “But if you’re foolish enough to want me then I will not question my good fortune.”

He turned his head to the side and she saw him swallow. “For all my life,” he said, “when someone has said the word ‘beautiful’, it is your face I have seen. You are my own very definition of beautiful, Tessa Gray.”

Her heart turned over. She raised herself up on her toes — she had always been a tall girl but Jem was yet taller — and put her mouth to the side of his throat, kissing gently. His arms came up around her, pressing her against him, is body hard and hot, and she felt another pang of desire. This time she nipped at him, biting at the skin where his shoulder curved into his neck.

Everything went topsy-turvy. Jem made a sound low in his throat and suddenly they were on the floor and she was on top of him, his body cushioning her fall. She stared down at him in astonishment. “What happened?”

He looked bewildered as well. “I couldn’t stand up any more.”

Her chest filled with warmth. It had been so long that she had nearly forgotten the feeling of kissing someone so hard that your knees went weak herself. He pushed himself up on his elbows. “Tessa —“

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said firmly, cupping his face in her hands. “Nothing. Understand?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Did you trip me?”

She laughed; her heart was still pounding away, giddy with joy and relief and terror all at the same time. But she had looked at him before, had seen the way he glanced at her hair when it was down, had felt his fingers in it, tentatively stroking, when he had kissed her on the bridge. She reached up and pulled the pins out of it, throwing them across the room.

Her hair fountained down, spilling over her shoulders, down to her waist. She leaned forward so that it brushed across his face, his bare chest.

“Do you care?” she whispered.

“As it develops,” he said, against her mouth, “I don’t care. I find I prefer to be reclining.”

She laughed and ran her hand down and down his body. He twisted, arching up into her touch. “For an antique,” she murmured, “you would fetch quite a price at Sotheby’s. All your parts are quite in working order.”

His pupils dilated and then he laughed, his warm breath gusting across her cheek. “I have forgotten what it is like to be teased, I think,” he said. “No one teases Silent Brothers.”

She had taken advantage of his distraction to rid him of his jeans. There was distractingly little clothing between them now. “You’re not in the Brotherhood any longer,” she said, stroking her fingers across his stomach, the fine hair there just below his navel, his smooth bare chest. “And I would be very disappointed if you remained silent.”

He reached for her blindly and drew her down. His hands buried themselves in her hair. And they were kissing again, her knees on either side of his hips, her palms braced against his chest. His hands ran through her hair again and again, and each time she could feel his body strain up toward hers, his lips pressing against her own harder. They weren’t savage kisses, not now: they were decadent, growing in intensity and fervor each time they drew apart and came together again.

He put his hands to the laces of her corset and tugged at them. She moved to show him that it also fastened in front, but he had already reached around to grip the front. “My apologies,” he said, “to antiquity,” and then, in a most un-Jem-like fashion, ripped the corset open down the front and cast it aside. Underneath was her chemise, which she pulled up and over her head and dropped to the side.

She took a deep breath. She was naked in front of him now, as she never had been before.

(to be continued)

READ PART 4 HERE

Read Part Two of New Tessa/Jem Story ‘After the Bridge’

Jem-Tessa-Steamy-CP-trailerEver wondered what happened with Tessa and Jem after their meeting on Blackfriar’s Bridge in the epilogue of Clockwork Princess?

Well, we’re about to find out, thanks to Cassandra Clare, who has introduced a new story which will be shared in several installments.

Warning from Cassie: “Those who do not like Tessa&Jem together or Jessa sexytimes probably should skip this one. Those who like that sort of thing will find this the sort of thing they like.”

The story will alternate between Tessa and Jem’s POV.

Warning: Clockwork Princess spoilers:

Here is Part Two:

AFTER THE BRIDGE

Now is the time of our comfort and plenty

These are the days we’ve been working for

Nothing can touch us and nothing can harm us

And nothing goes wrong anymore

 Keane – Love Is The End  

As it turned out, Tessa had a flat she owned in London. It was the second floor of a pale white townhouse in Kensington, and as she let them both inside — her hand only shaking very slightly as she turned the keys — she explained to Jem that Magnus had taught her how warlocks could finagle their way into owning homes over many centuries by willing the properties to themselves.

“After a while I just started picking silly names for myself,” she said, shutting the door behind them. “I think I own this place under the pseudonym Bedelia Codfish.”

Jem laughed, though his mind was only partly on her words. He was gazing around the flat — the walls were painted in bright colors: a lilac living room, scattered with white couches, an avocado-green kitchen. When had Tessa bought the flat, he wondered, and why? She had traveled so much, why make a home base in London?

The question dried up in his throat when he turned and realized that through a partly open door, he could glimpse the blue walls of what was likely a bedroom.

He swallowed at that, his mouth gone suddenly dry. Tessa’s bed. That she slept in.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you all right?” She took him by the wrist; he felt his pulse jump under her touch. Until he had become a Silent Brother, it always had. He’d wondered during his time in Idris, after the heavenly fire had cured him, if it would still be like that with them: if his human feelings would return to him. He had been able to touch her and be near her as a Silent Brother without wanting her as he had when he was a mortal. He had still loved her, but it had been a love of the spirit, not the body. He had wondered — feared, even, that the physical feelings and responses would not come back the way they had. He had told himself that even if Silent Brotherhood had killed the ability of his feelings to manifest themselves physically, he would not be disappointed. He had told himself to expect it.

He shouldn’t have worried.

The moment he had seen her on the bridge, coming toward him through the crowd in her modern jeans and Liberty scarf, her hair flying out behind her, he had felt his breath catch in his throat.

And when she had drawn the jade pendant he had given her out from around her neck and shyly proffered it to him, his blood had roared to life in his veins like a river undammed.

And when she had said, I love you. I always have, and I always will, it had taken everything he had not to kiss her in that moment. To do more than kiss her.

But if the Brotherhood had taught him anything, it was control. He looked at her now and fought his voice to steadiness. “A little tired,” he said. “And thirsty — I forget sometimes I need to eat and drink now.”

She dropped her keys on a small rosewood side table and turned to smile at him. “Tea,” she said, moving toward the avocado-green kitchen. “I haven’t got much food here, I don’t usually stay long, but I have got tea. And biscuits. Go into the drawing room; I’ll be right there.”

He had to smile at that; even he knew no one said drawing room any more. Perhaps she was as nervous as he was, then? He could only hope.

Tessa cursed silently for the fourth time as she bent to retrieve the box of sugar cubes from the floor. She had already put the kettle on without water in it, mixed up the tea bags, knocked over the milk, and now this. She dropped a cube of sugar into both teacups and told herself to count to ten, watching the cubes dissolve.

She knew her hands were shaking. Her heart raced. James Carstairs was in her flat. In her living room. Waiting for tea. Part of her mind screamed that it was just Jem, while the other part cried just as loudly that just Jem was someone she hadn’t seen in a hundred and thirty five years.

He had been Brother Zachariah for so long. And of course he had always been Jem at the heart of it all, with Jem’s wit and unfailing kindness. He had never failed in his love for her or his love for Will. But Silent Brothers — they did not feel things the way ordinary people did.

It was something she had thought of, sometimes, in later years, many decades after Will’s death. She had never wanted anyone else, never anyone but Will and Jem, and they were both gone from her, even though Jem still lived. She had wondered sometimes what they would have done if it had merely been forbidden for Silent Brothers to marry or love; but it was more than that: he could not desire her. He didn’t have those feelings. She’d felt like Pygmalion, yearning for the touch of a marble statue. Silent Brothers didn’t have physical desires for touch, any more than they had a need for food or water.

But now …

I forget sometimes I need to eat and drink now.

She picked up the tea mugs with still-shaking hands and walked into the living room. She had furnished it herself over the years, from the sofa cushions to the long Japanese screen painted with a design of poppies and bamboo. The curtains framing the portrait window at the far end of the room were half-drawn, just enough light spilling into the room to touch the bits of gold in Jem’s dark hair and she nearly dropped the teacups.

They had hardly touched on the taxi ride back to Queen’s Gate, only holding hands tightly in the back of the cab. He had run his fingers over the backs of her fingers over and over as he began to tell her the story of all that had happened since she had last visited Idris, when the Mortal War, which she had fought in, had ended. When Magnus had pointed out Jace Herondale to her, and she had looked at a boy who had Will’s beautiful face and eyes like her son James.

But his hair had been his father’s, that tangle of rich gold curls, and remembering what she had known of Stephen Herondale, she had turned away without speaking.

Herondales, someone had told her once. They were everything that Shadowhunters had to offer, all in one family: both the best, and the worst.

She set the teacups down on the coffee table — an old steamer trunk, covered in travel stamps from her many voyages — with an audible thump. Jem turned to face her and she saw what he held in his hands.

One of the bookcases held a display of weapons: things she had picked up around the world. A thin misericorde, a curved kris, a trench knife, a shortsword, and dozens of others. But the one Jem had picked up and was staring at wasa slim silver knife, its handle darkened by many years of burial in the dirt. She had never had it cleaned, for the stain on the blade was Will’s blood. Jem’s blade, Will’s blood, buried together at the roots of an oak tree, a sort of sympathetic magic Will had performed when he thought he had lost Jem forever. Tessa had retrieved it after Will’s death and offered it to Jem; he had refused to take it.

That had been in 1937.

“Keep it,” he said now, his voice ragged. “There may yet come a day.”

“That’s what you told me.” She moved toward him, her shoes tapping on the hardwood floor. “When I tried to give it to you.”

He swallowed, running his fingers up and down the blade. “He had only just died,” he said. She didn’t need to ask who he was. There was really only one He when it was the two of them speaking. “I was afraid. I saw what happened to the other Silent Brothers. I saw how they hardened over time, lost the people they had been. How as the people who loved them and who they loved died, they became less human. I was afraid that I would lose my ability to care. To know what this knife meant to Will and what Will meant to me.”

She placed her hand on his arm. “But you didn’t forget.”

“I didn’t lose everyone I loved.” He looked up at her, and she saw that his eyes had gold in them too, precious bright flakes among the brown. “I had you.”

She exhaled; her heart was beating so hard that her chest hurt. Then she saw that he was clutching the blade of the knife, not just the hilt. Quickly she plucked it out of his hands. “Please don’t,” she said. “I can’t draw an iratze.”

“And I haven’t got a stele,” he said, watching as she set the knife back on its shelf. “I am not a Shadowhunter now.” He looked down at his hands; there were thin red lines across his palms, but he had not cut the skin.

Impulsively, Tessa bent and kissed his palms, then folded his fingers closed, her own hands over his. When she looked up, his pupils had widened. She could hear his breathing.

“Tessa,” he said. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” She drew away from him, though, instinctively. Perhaps he did not want to be touched, though on the bridge, it had not seemed that way …

“The Brothers taught me control,” he said, his voice tight. “I have every kind of control, and I have learned them over decades and decades, and I am using them all not to push you up against the bookcase and kiss you until neither of us can breathe.”

She lifted her chin. “And what would be wrong with that?”

“When I was a Silent Brother, I did not feel as an ordinary man does,” he said. “Not the wind on my face or the sun on my skin or the touch of another’s hand. But now I feel it all. I feel — too much. The wind is like thunder, the sun scorches, and your touch makes me forget my own name.”

A pang of heat speared through her, a heat that started low in her stomach and spread through every part of her body. A sort of heat she hadn’t felt in so many decades.  Almost a century. Her skin prickled all over. “The wind and the sun you will get used to,” she said. “But your touch makes me forget my name as well, and I have no excuses. Only that I love you, and I always have and always will. I will not touch you if you do not want it, Jem. But if we are waiting until the idea of being together does not frighten us, we may be waiting a long time.”

Breath escaped him in a hiss. “Say that again.”

Puzzled, she began: “If we are waiting until —“

“No,” he said. “The earlier part.”

She tipped her face up to him. “I love you,” she said. “I always have and I always will.”

She did not know who moved toward who first, but he caught her around the waist and was kissing her before she could take another breath. This was not like the kiss on the bridge. That had been a silent communication of lips on lips, the exchange of a promise and a reassurance. It had been sweet and shattering, a sort of gentle thunder.

This was a storm. Jem was kissing her, hard and bruising, and when she opened his lips with hers and tasted the inside of his mouth, he gasped and pulled her harder against him, his hands digging into her hips, pressing her closer to him as he explored her lips and tongue, caressing, biting, then kissing to soothe the sting. In the old days, when she had kissed him, he had tasted of bitter sugar: now he tasted like tea and —toothpaste?

But why not toothpaste. Even century-old Shadowhunters had to brush their teeth. A small nervous giggle escaped her and Jem pulled back, looking dazed and deliciously rumpled. His hair was every which way from her running her hands through it.

“Please don’t tell me you’re laughing because I kiss so badly it’s funny,” he said, with a lopsided smile. She could sense his actual worry. “I may be somewhat out of practice.”

“Silent Brothers don’t do a lot of kissing?” she teased, smoothing down the front of his sweater.

“Not unless there were secret orgies I wasn’t invited to,” Jem said. “I did always worry I might not have been popular.”

She clasped her hand around his wrist. “Come here,” she said. “Sit down — have some tea. There’s something I want to show you.”

He went, as she had asked, and sat down on her velvet sofa, leaning back against the cushions she had stitched herself out of fabric she’d bought in India and Thailand. She couldn’t hide a smile — he looked only a little older than he had when he’d become a Silent Brother, like an ordinary young man in jeans and a sweater, but he sat the way a Victorian man would have — back straight, feet flat on the floor. He caught her look and his own mouth tipped up at the corners. “All right,” he said. “What do you have to show me?”

In answer, she went to the Japanese screen that stretched across one corner of the room, and stepped behind it. “It’s a surprise.”

Her dressmaker’s dummy was there, concealed from the rest of the room. She couldn’t see him through the screen, only a blurred outline of shapes. “Talk to me,” she said, pulling her sweater off over her head. “You said it was a story of Lightwoods and Fairchilds and Morgensterns. I know a little of what transpired — I received your messages while I was in the Labyrinth — but I do not know how the Dark War effected your cure.” She tossed the sweater over the top of the screen. “Can you tell me?”

“Now?” he said. She heard him set his teacup down.

Tessa kicked her shoes off and unzipped her jeans, the sound loud in the quiet room. “Do you want me to come out from behind this screen, James Carstairs?”

“Definitely.” His voice sounded strangled.

“Then start talking.”

* * *

Jem talked. He spoke of the dark days in Idris, of Sebastian Morgenstern’s army of Endarkened, of Jace Herondale and Clary Fairchild and the Lightwood children and their dangerous journey to Edom.

“I have heard of Edom,” she said, her voice muffled. “It is spoken of in the Spiral Labyrinth, where they track the histories of all worlds. A place where the Nephilim were destroyed. A wasteland.”

“Yes,” Jem said, a little absently. He couldn’t see her through the screen, but he could see the outline of her body, and that was somewhat worse. “Burning wasteland. Very … hot.”

He had been afraid that the Silent Brothers had taken desire from him: that he would look at Tessa and feel platonic love but not be able to want, but the opposite was true. He could not stop wanting. He wanted, he thought, more than he ever had before in his life.

She was clearly changing her clothes. He had looked down hastily when she’d begun to shimmy out of her jeans, but it wasn’t as if he could forget the image, the silhouette of her, long hair and long, lovely legs — he’d always loved her legs.

Surely he’d felt this before, when he’d been a boy? He remembered the night in his room when she had stopped him destroying his violin, and he’d wanted then, wanted so badly he hadn’t thought at all when they’d collapsed onto his bed: he would have taken her innocence then, and given up his own, without pausing, without a moment’s thought of the future. If they hadn’t knocked over his box of yin fen. If. That had brought him back, reminded him who he was, and when she’d gone, he’d torn his sheets to strips with his fingers out of sheer frustration.

Perhaps it was just that remembered desire paled in comparison to the feeling itself. Or perhaps he had been sicker then, weaker. He had been dying, after all, and surely his body could not have sustained this.

“A Fairchild and a Herondale,” she said. “Now, I like that. The Fairchilds have always been practical and the Herondales — well, you know.” She sounded fond, amused. “Perhaps she’ll settle him down. And don’t tell me he doesn’t need settling.”

Jem thought of Jace Herondale. How he was like Will if someone had struck a match to Will and gilded him in living fire. “I’m not sure you can settle a Herondale, and certainly not this one.”

“Does he love her? The Fairchild girl?”

“I’ve never seen anyone so in love, except for …” His voice trailed off, for she had come out from behind the screen, and now he understood what had taken her so much time.

(to be continued)

Watch: Cassandra Clare interview from Brazil

Our friends at @LaminaSerafim chatted with Cassandra Clare during her tour in Brazil on Monday and have shared the video. Take a look!

And here was a short video Cassie shared from the signing stage. By the Angel, that’s a lot of screaming Shadowhunters!

Cassandra Clare introduces new Tessa/Jem short story ‘After the Bridge’ — Read Part One now!

Photo Credit: Vania Stoyanova

Photo Credit: Vania Stoyanova

Ever wondered what happened with Tessa and Jem after their meeting on Blackfriar’s Bridge in the epilogue of Clockwork Princess?

Well, we’re about to find out, thanks to Cassandra Clare, who has introduced a new story which will be shared in several installments.

Warning from Cassie: “Those who do not like Tessa&Jem together or Jessa sexytimes probably should skip this one. Those who like that sort of thing will find this the sort of thing they like.”

The story will alternate between Tessa and Jem’s POV.

Warning: Clockwork Princess spoilers:

Here is Part One:

AFTER THE BRIDGE

Now is the time of our comfort and plenty

These are the days we’ve been working for

Nothing can touch us and nothing can harm us

And nothing goes wrong anymore

 Keane – Love Is The End  

As it turned out, Tessa had a flat she owned in London. It was the second floor of a pale white townhouse in Kensington, and as she let them both inside — her hand only shaking very slightly as she turned the keys — she explained to Jem that Magnus had taught her how warlocks could finagle their way into owning homes over many centuries by willing the properties to themselves.

“After a while I just started picking silly names for myself,” she said, shutting the door behind them. “I think I own this place under the pseudonym Bedelia Codfish.”

Jem laughed, though his mind was only partly on her words. He was gazing around the flat — the walls were painted in bright colors: a lilac living room, scattered with white couches, an avocado-green kitchen. When had Tessa bought the flat, he wondered, and why? She had traveled so much, why make a home base in London?

The question dried up in his throat when he turned and realized that through a partly open door, he could glimpse the blue walls of what was likely a bedroom.

He swallowed at that, his mouth gone suddenly dry. Tessa’s bed. That she slept in.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you all right?”

She took him by the wrist and he felt his pulse jump under her touch. Until he had become a Silent Brother, it always had. He’d wondered during his time in Idris, after the heavenly fire had cured him, if it would still be like that with them: if his human feelings would return to him. He had been able to touch her and be near her as a Silent Brother without wanting her as he had when he was a mortal. He had still loved her, but it had been a love of the spirit, not the body. He had wondered — feared, even, that the physical feelings and responses would not come back the way they had. He had told himself that even if Silent Brotherhood had killed the ability of his feelings to manifest themselves physically, he would not be disappointed. He had told himself to expect it.

He shouldn’t have worried.

The moment he had seen her on the bridge, coming toward him through the crowd in her modern jeans and Liberty scarf, her hair flying out behind her, he had felt his breath catch in his throat.

And when she had drawn the jade pendant he had given her out from around her neck and shyly proffered it to him, his blood had roared to life in his veins like a river undammed.

And when she had said, I love you. I always have, and I always will, it had taken everything he had not to kiss her in that moment. To do more than kiss her.

But if the Brotherhood had taught him anything, it was control. He looked at her now and fought his voice to steadiness. “A little tired,” he said. “And thirsty — I forget sometimes I need to eat and drink now.”

She dropped her keys on a small rosewood side table and turned to smile at him. “Tea,” she said, moving toward the avocado-green kitchen. “I haven’t got much food here, I don’t usually stay long, but I have got tea. And biscuits. Go into the drawing room; I’ll be right there.”

He had to smile at that; even he knew no one said drawing room any more. Perhaps she was as nervous as he was, then? He could only hope.

* * *

Tessa cursed silently for the fourth time as she bent to retrieve the box of sugar cubes from the floor. She had already put the kettle on without water in it, mixed up the tea bags, knocked over the milk, and now this. She dropped a cube of sugar into both teacups and told herself to count to ten, watching the cubes dissolve.

She knew her hands were shaking. Her heart raced. James Carstairs was in her flat. In her living room. Waiting for tea. Part of her mind screamed that it was just Jem, while the other part cried just as loudly that just Jem was someone she hadn’t seen in a hundred and thirty five years.

He had been Brother Zachariah for so long. And of course he had always been Jem at the heart of it all, with Jem’s wit and unfailing kindness. He had never failed in his love for her or his love for Will. But Silent Brothers — they did not feel things the way ordinary people did.

It was something she had thought of, sometimes, in later years, many decades after Will’s death. She had never wanted anyone else, never anyone but Will and Jem, and they were both gone from her, even though Jem still lived. She had wondered sometimes what they would have done if it had merely been forbidden for Silent Brothers to marry or love; but it was more than that: he could not desire her. He didn’t have those feelings. She’d felt like Pygmalion, yearning for the touch of a marble statue. Silent Brothers didn’t have physical desires for touch, any more than they had a need for food or water.

But now …

I forget sometimes I need to eat and drink now.

She picked up the tea mugs with still-shaking hands and walked into the living room.

(To be continued.)

Cassandra Clare talks Shadowhunter universe, inspiration with Glamour U.K.

COHF cut

Glamour U.K. chatted with Cassandra Clare about the release of City of Heavenly Fire, including the Shadowhunter universe, inspiration for The Infernal Devices and the upcoming The Last Hours, as well as what character she’s going to miss writing the most in The Mortal Instruments.

So, what made you want to delve into the ancestry and universe of the Shadowhunters with the prequel, The Infernal Devices?

I initially created the world of the shadowhunters because I knew that I wanted to create a world I could spend a lot of time on and write different stories about. I made sure to make it a worldwide organisation, with a long history that went well back. I happened to be in London promoting City of Bones, and I was crossing Blackfriars Bridge. It was very foggy, and I had a sudden vision of two people, a girl and a boy in Victorian dress standing at the edge of the bridge. I went home and jotted it down and I thought about it, and it rolled around in my brain like a little bit of sand inside an oyster, until little bits of stories started to wrap around it. I have this whole story here of the ancestors of the kids in the City of Bones.

We hear you’re in the UK for inspiration, could you tell us a bit more about that?

I am in the UK for inspiration because I’m doing a follow on series to The Infernal Devices, called The Last Hours. It’s a re-telling of Great Expectations withShadowhunters…because why not! It’s set in 1903, so I’m doing a lot of locational research. I’m trying to figure out where to situate big scenes from books and also where all the characters live, and just walking about the city for that sort of inspiration.

Are you enjoying it?

I love London, and I’m always happy when I’m here. I get to be here for about 4 months this time, so I really get to settle in and get to experience the city on a day by day basis. It’s going to really allow me to explore corners of the city that I’ve never been to before and I’m really excited about it. I’m living in South Kensington, it’s like living in Mary Poppins!

Did you always know what was going to happen in TMI, or did this enfold as the series progressed? Did you have an idea in your head about what is going to happen?

I always had a pretty clear idea of what was going to happen. I would say that I kind of think of them as two trilogies. When I started City of Bones I knew exactly what was going to happen in City of Glass. When I first started the six book series, I thought of it as a three book series. Then I was going to do another series that was just about Simon but it didn’t develop that way. That was the one big change – I couldn’t write about Simon without writing about his friends too.

What do you think makes your book so popular?

I have no idea. I wish I did know. At least if I felt like I did know then every time  I sat down to write a book I would feel like well what am I doing feeling. No matter how many books you’ve written, whenever you sit down to write a new book you always feel the same challenge – how do you shape this story into a book that people are going to love. I have often no idea why people love the stories or are attached to particular characters. All I can do is write a story that I know that I’m going to love.

Who are you going to miss writing about the most?

I think I’m going to miss Clary the most, as she was my first character, my first heroin and I love a lot of things about her. She’s very very, very unlike me and it has always been interesting for me to write from the POV of somebody who’s so unlike me: she’s super reckless, she’s very brave, she’s really artistic and I can’t even draw a straight line! She’s got lots of great qualities, and other qualities that are not so great. Although we are very dissimilar I’ve come to really love her over the years and I’m going to really miss writing about her

So your books give a really realistic portrayal of teenage relationships, portraying the whole spectrum of sexualities and relationships. How do you deal with any backlash?

You just have to except that you’re going to get that backlash. Having your book banned or taken from classrooms feels very bad, because you feel like you’re being told you’re doing something wrong. Also, you feel you’re your books are being denied to kids who might need to read them. There are also times when it has opened up conversations for me with people that I wouldn’t probably have conversations with normally. I’ve actually entered into debate with them and they’ve come to understand that these are my values, and that I have a right to express them. Although they don’t agree with me, they agree to consider my viewpoint. If you actually ask them direct questions such as, “is it that you want gay teenagers to feel unhappy and alone?” they always say no.

You can read the full interview at Glamour U.K.

Sneak peek at the ‘Clockwork Princess’ manga

Today Cassandra Clare took to her tumblr to share a few images of the upcoming Clockwork Princess manga.

Have a look:

cp2 manga 1

cp2 manga 2

cp 2 manga 3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A little sneak peek at the Clockwork Princess manga, coming from Yen Press! Jem and Will, Jem and Tessa, Will and Tessa.

Here is a synopsis from Amazon.com:

The threat of Mortmain’s Infernal Devices looms as the Shadowhunters race to work out a way to counteract the mechanical monsters. Meanwhile, plans for Tessa’s marriage to Jem are underway, despite her fiancé’s failing health and the unresolved feelings between her and Will. When Tessa is captured, Will must leave his comrade behind to save the woman they both love… But with the final missing piece-Tessa herself-in Mortmain’s possession, can anything stop his plot for revenge?

The manga will be released on July 22.

TMI Source Turns 3 Years Old Today!

cropped-cropped-tmisourcebanner3.jpg It’s hard to believe that it’s been THREE YEARS since TMI Source was founded, which just happened to be on the same day that City of Fallen Angels was released (April 5).

As you can see, the site has had a makeover. We’ve got a new design to celebrate our fourth year.

Thank you to all of the fans for your support and for coming to TMI Source for the latest news on Cassandra Clare and all things Shadowhunters. It means the world to us. We love you!

I’d like to thank our fabulous staff, Cat and Megan. You ladies are incredible and I love you so much.

And a huge thanks to Cassandra Clare for her incredible books and for being the sweetest person ever! We love you, Cassie!

There is a lot of excitement ahead in our fourth year–with the upcoming release of City of Heavenly Fire (May 27), City of Ashes movie developments, The Dark Artifices, Magisterium and so much more! Can’t wait to share it with you! Cheers!

Cassandra Clare’s Q & A in Mexico City

Cassandra Clare was in Mexico City today for a Q & A and signing. She shared some new information about City of Heavenly Fire, The Dark Artifices and Malec. @TMI_Mexico live tweeted the event and @TMI_Holland kindly translated their tweets. ¡Muchas gracias!/Bedankt!

The last two days made me even more excited for City of Heavenly Fire! 93 days to go!

‘Clockwork Princess’ quote was the Most Shared Quote of 2013 on Goodreads

A quote from Clockwork Princess, said by Will Herondale, has been named the Most Shared Quote of 2013 on Goodreads. Congrats Cassie!

CP2 quote

Source

Looking back at the Top Stories of 2013

Shadowhunters! 2013 was indeed the Year of the Shadowhunter with so much excitement in the field of books and movies. On the final day of 2013, we’re taking a look back at the Top Stories of 2013 in the Shadowhunter fandom.

1. Clockwork Princess 

Clockwork Princess First EditionThe final installment of The Infernal Devices had fans terrified months prior to reading it and the final product didn’t disappoint. Clockwork Princess debuted at No. 1 in not only Young Adult fiction but fiction in general selling 90,000 copies in the U.S. in its first week.

2. The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones

The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones teaser posterThe film adaptation of Cassandra Clare’s bestselling novel hit theaters on August 21 and DVD on December 3. The film, which starred Lily Collins, Jamie Campbell Bower and Jonathan Rhys Meyers, didn’t dominate the box office, but Constantin Film still has faith in the franchise and plans to start filming on The Mortal Instruments: City of Ashes sometime next year.

3. Three more Shadowhunter Chronicles series on the way

The Dark Artifices: Lady MidnightWe already know about The Dark Artifices, the sequel series set five years after the events of The Mortal Instruments coming in March 2015), but Cassandra Clare revealed that she plans to write two more series set in the Shadowhunter world: TLH (set in 1901, and involving James Herondale among others) and TWP (set following The Dark Artifices).

4. The Bane Chronicles debuts

The Bane Chronicles What Really Happened in Peru coverThree of the top Young Adult authors came together to create The Bane Chronicles, a ten-installment eBook series about everyone’s favorite warlock Magnus Bane. The first installment debuted on April 16 with the final installment set for January 21, 2014. The Bane Chronicles has spent time on the New York Times bestsellers series list throughout its eBook publication.

5. City of Heavenly Fire snippets

COHF placeholderWhile City of Heavenly Fire, the final book in The Mortal Instruments, won’t be released until May 27, 2014, Cassandra Clare got the party started with a slew of snippets from the highly-anticipated book. The snippets ranged from scenes to chapter titles to visual snippets that left fans breathless and eager to discover the fates of their favorite characters.

Other memorable stories:

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‘Shadowhunter Chronicles’ calendar: December portraits

Over the past months, Cassandra Clare and Cassandra Jean collaborated on a calendar which featured the female and male characters from The Mortal Instruments, The Infernal Devices, The Dark Artifices and TLH. Now Cassie has shared portraits of the month December to conclude the calendar.

Merry Christmas! Cassandra Jean’s December calendar portraits: the boys and the girls.

Wow, right? Who is your favorite character? Sound off in the comments.

Possibility of an ‘Infernal Devices’ television show?

 Constantin Film, who owns the rights to The Mortal Instruments also holds the rights to Cassandra Clare’s prequel series The Infernal Devices.

Back in April, Constantin Film decided to move forward with The Infernal Devices film hiring screenwriter Stephanie Sanditz to pen the Clockwork Angel script.

But it seems as if Infernal Devices might possibly be headed to the small screen instead, as Cassandra Clare addressed a question on Twitter relating to the subject.

A television show would give more time to explore the characters and the story (i.e. 22 hours per season), but there is also the downside of producers taking independent liberties on where the show would be going that deviate or extend upon the source material (i.e. The Vampire Diaries.)

What do you think about the possibility of an Infernal Devices television show? Do you prefer it to a movie? Would you prefer something like an HBO-produced Game of Thrones or CW-produced The Vampire Diaries? Sound off in the comments!

Third Annual Halloween Costume Contest Winners

Shadowhunters! The winners of our Third Annual Shadowhunter Halloween Costume Contest have been chosen. Sorry it’s taken us so long to announce the winners, but our mundane lives got in our way. Thank you to everyone that entered and congrats to the winners!

First Place

First Place

Sasha as Clary and friends as Alec, Jace and Isabelle

Second Place

Second Place

Elendriel as Jace

Honorable Mentions

Honorable Mention 1

Brian and Heather as a young Luke and Jocelyn

Honorable Mention 2

Evan as Brother Jeremiah

Honorable Mention 3

Nora as a Faerie of the Seelie Court

The winners have been notified via email. Once again congrats to the winners and thank you to everyone that participated. We hope you’ll join us again next year!

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