January72012
City of Lost Souls - out 8th May 2012
The New York Times bestselling Mortal Instruments continues—and so do the thrills and danger for Jace, Clary, and Simon. Can the lost be reclaimed? What price is too high to pay for love? Who can be trusted when sin and salvation collide? Love. Blood. Betrayal. Revenge. Darkness threatens to claim the Shadowhunters in the harrowing fifth book of the Mortal Instruments series.

City of Lost Souls: Excerpt
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… ."

What are your thoughts, speculations and theories?

City of Lost Souls - out 8th May 2012
The New York Times bestselling Mortal Instruments continues—and so do the thrills and danger for Jace, Clary, and Simon. Can the lost be reclaimed? What price is too high to pay for love? Who can be trusted when sin and salvation collide? Love. Blood. Betrayal. Revenge. Darkness threatens to claim the Shadowhunters in the harrowing fifth book of the Mortal Instruments series.

City of Lost Souls: Excerpt
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… ."

What are your thoughts, speculations and theories?

November152011
November122011
6PM
bitemereadme:

Dearly Departed
by Lia Habel
Love can never die.Love conquers all, so they say. But can Cupid’s arrow pierce the hearts of the living and the dead—or rather, the undead? Can a proper young Victorian lady find true love in the arms of a dashing zombie? The year is 2195. The place is New Victoria—a high-tech nation modeled on the manners, mores, and fashions of an antique era. A teenager in high society, Nora Dearly is far more interested in military history and her country’s political unrest than in tea parties and debutante balls. But after her beloved parents die, Nora is left at the mercy of her domineering aunt, a social-climbing spendthrift who has squandered the family fortune and now plans to marry her niece off for money. For Nora, no fate could be more horrible—until she’s nearly kidnapped by an army of walking corpses. But fate is just getting started with Nora. Catapulted from her world of drawing-room civility, she’s suddenly gunning down ravenous zombies alongside mysterious black-clad commandos and confronting “The Laz,” a fatal virus that raises the dead—and hell along with them. Hardly ideal circumstances. Then Nora meets Bram Griswold, a young soldier who is brave, handsome, noble … and dead. But as is the case with the rest of his special undead unit, luck and modern science have enabled Bram to hold on to his mind, his manners, and his body parts. And when his bond of trust with Nora turns to tenderness, there’s no turning back. Eventually, they know, the disease will win, separating the star-crossed lovers forever. But until then, beating or not, their hearts will have what they desire.In Dearly, Departed, romance meets walking-dead thriller, spawning a madly imaginative novel of rip-roaring adventure, spine-tingling suspense, and macabre comedy that forever redefines the concept of undying love.

bitemereadme:

Dearly Departed

by Lia Habel

Love can never die.

Love conquers all, so they say. But can Cupid’s arrow pierce the hearts of the living and the dead—or rather, the undead? Can a proper young Victorian lady find true love in the arms of a dashing zombie?

The year is 2195. The place is New Victoria—a high-tech nation modeled on the manners, mores, and fashions of an antique era. A teenager in high society, Nora Dearly is far more interested in military history and her country’s political unrest than in tea parties and debutante balls. But after her beloved parents die, Nora is left at the mercy of her domineering aunt, a social-climbing spendthrift who has squandered the family fortune and now plans to marry her niece off for money. For Nora, no fate could be more horrible—until she’s nearly kidnapped by an army of walking corpses.

But fate is just getting started with Nora. Catapulted from her world of drawing-room civility, she’s suddenly gunning down ravenous zombies alongside mysterious black-clad commandos and confronting “The Laz,” a fatal virus that raises the dead—and hell along with them. Hardly ideal circumstances. Then Nora meets Bram Griswold, a young soldier who is brave, handsome, noble … and dead. But as is the case with the rest of his special undead unit, luck and modern science have enabled Bram to hold on to his mind, his manners, and his body parts. And when his bond of trust with Nora turns to tenderness, there’s no turning back. Eventually, they know, the disease will win, separating the star-crossed lovers forever. But until then, beating or not, their hearts will have what they desire.

In Dearly, Departed, romance meets walking-dead thriller, spawning a madly imaginative novel of rip-roaring adventure, spine-tingling suspense, and macabre comedy that forever redefines the concept of undying love.

(via bitemereadme-deactivated2012071)

June252011

We have some exciting news about the Infernal Devices book two. Clockwork Prince is going to be released in December 2011.

Here is an excerpt we found…
Will looked at Jem. His eyes were bluer than blue, his cheeks flushed. He said, “Then you have wasted your time.”
Jem stared back at him. “God damn you,” he said, and hit Will across the face, sending him spinning. He didn’t lose his footing, but fetched up against the side of the carriage, his hand to his cheek. His mouth was bleeding. He looked at Jem with total astonishment.
“Get him into the carriage,” Jem said to Tessa, and turned and went back through the red door — to pay for whatever Will had taken, Tessa thought. Will was still staring after him.
“James?” he said.

We have a question for you and we want your theories and answers no matter how crazy you think they are. Our question is what do you want to happen in the seond novel?

December92010
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