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The reason for my discomfort was simple. Our story - however romantic I could make it sound in my head - sometimes sounded a little tawdry in the re-telling. There was no escaping the fact that I'd been living with the father of my child when we met; that I'd cheated on him, then left; that what James and I now shared was born out of the ruins of another relationship. ↗
Being a vampire is not a curse. It’s a disease,” Tessa filled in. “But they still can’t enter hallowed ground, then? Does that mean they’re damned?” “That depends on what you believe,” said Jem. “And whether you believe in damnation at all.” “But you hunt demons. You must believe in damnation!” “I believe in good and evil,” said Jem. “And I believe the soul is eternal. I don’t believe in the fiery pit, the pitchforks, or the endless torment. I do not believe you can threaten people into goodness. ↗
...the qualifications that I have to speak on world affairs are exactly the same ones Henry Kissinger has, and Walt Rostow has, or anybody in the Political Science Department, professional historians—none, none that you don't have. The only difference is, I don't pretend to have qualifications, nor do I pretend that qualifications are needed. I mean, if somebody were to ask me to give a talk on quantum physics, I'd refuse—because I don't understand enough. But world affairs are trivial: there's nothing in the social sciences or history or whatever that is beyond the intellectual capacities of an ordinary fifteen-year-old. You have to do a little work, you have to do some reading, you have to be able to think but there's nothing deep—if there are any theories around that require some special kind of training to understand, then they've been kept a carefully guarded secret. ↗
Tessa reached to brush the damp hair from his forehead. He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing. “Jem—have you ever—” She hesitated. “Have you ever thought of ways to prolong your life that are not a cure for the drug?” At that his eyelids flew open. “What do you mean?” She thought of Will, on the floor of the attic, choking on holy water. “Becoming a vampire. You would live forever—” He scrambled upright against the pillows of the bed. “Tessa, no. Don’t—you can’t think that way.” “Is the thought of becoming a Downworlder truly so horrible to you?” “Tessa …” He exhaled slowly. “I am a Shadowhunter. Nephilim. Like my parents before me. It is the heritage I claim, just as I claim my mother’s heritage as part of myself. It does not mean I hate my father. But I honor the gift they gave me, the blood of the Angel, the trust placed in me, the vows I have taken. Nor, I think, would I make a very good vampire. [redacted for spoilers] I would no longer be Will’s parabatai, no longer be welcome in the Institute. No, Tessa. I would rather die and be reborn and see the sun again, than live to the end of the world without daylight.” “A Silent Brother, then,” she said. His eyes softened slightly. “The path of Silent Brotherhood is not open to me. ↗
When Will truly wants something,” said Jem, quietly, “when he feels something — he can break your heart. ↗
She's like snow in Russian," said Anna. "Snow in the evening when the sun sets and it looks like Alpengluhen, you know? And if snow had a scent it would smell like that [the rose].... ↗
#eva-ibbotson #roses #russia #snow
Indeed." Will let his cutlery clatter onto his plate. "The Consul? Breaking up our breakfast time? Whatever next? The Inquisitor over for tea? Picnics with the Silent Brothers?" "Duck pies in the park," said Jem under his breath, and he and Will smiled at each other, just a flash, before the door opened and the Consul swept it. ↗
Jem knotted his fingers in the material of Will's sleeve. "You are my parabatai," he said, "You said once I could ask anything of you. ↗
She knew she could not be Jem for Will. No one could. But slowly the hollow places in his heart were filling in. ↗
