Oh, Come On," Clary Said. "you're A

Simon!” The Voice Was Clary’s. He Would Know It Anywhere. He Wondered If His Mind Was Conjuring It Up Now, A Sense Memory Of What He’d Most Loved During Life To Carry Him Through The Process Of Death. “simon, You Stupid Idiot! I’m Over Here! At The Window!” Simon Jumped To His Feet. He Doubted His Mind Would Conjure That Up.

If You Don't Give Readers What They Want, They'll Be Mad At You. If You Give Them What They Do Want, They'll Be Even More Mad At You.

With Jace, You Don't Really Get To Choose Your Insulting Nickname.

Is That Why You Didn't Call Me? Because I'm An Idiot?

He’s Not Feeling Well,” Clary Said, Catching At Simon’s Wrist. “we’re Going.” “no,” Simon Said. “no, I — I Need To Talk To Him. To The Inquisitor." Robert Reached Into His Jacket And Drew Out A Crucifix. Clary Stared In Shock As He Held It Up Between Himself And Simon. “i Speak To The Night’s Children Council Representative, Or To The Head Of The New York Clan,” He Said. “not To Any Vampire Who Comes To Knock At My Door —“ Simon Reached Out And Plucked The Cross Out Of Robert’s Hand. “wrong Religion,” He Said.