Nothing but Shadows by Cassandra Clare, Sarah Rees Brennan Page A

listened meekly about the plague. It was only when the lesson ended that everyone started talking about the baseball game again. Simon had at least played before, so he was hurrying to put away his books and go outside when Catarina said: “Daylighter. Wait.”
    “Really, ‘Simon’ would be fine,” Simon told her.
    “The elite kids are trying to replicate the school they have heard about from their parents,” Catarina said. “Mundie students are meant to be seen and not heard, to soak up the privilege of being among Shadowhunters and prepare for their Ascension or death in a spirit of humility. Except you really have been stirring up trouble among them.”
    Simon blinked. “Are you telling me not to be so hard on the Shadowhunters, because it’s just the way they were raised?”
    “Be as hard on the smug little idiots as you like,” said Catarina. “It’s good for them. I’m just telling you so you realize what an effect you’re having—and what an effect you could have. You’re in an almost unique position, Daylighter. I only know of one other student who dropped from the elites to the dregs—not counting Lovelace, who would have been in the dregs from the beginning if the Nephilim didn’t make smug assumptions. But then, smug assumptions are their favorite thing.”
    That had the effect Catarina must have known it would. Simon stopped trying to fit his copy of The Shadowhunter’s Codex into his bag and sat down. The rest of the class would take some time to prepare before they actually had the baseball game. Simon could spare a little while.
    “Was he a mundane too?”
    “No, he was a Shadowhunter,” Catarina said. “He went to the Academy more than a century ago. His name was James Herondale.”
    “A Herondale? Another Herondale?” Simon asked. “Herondales without cease. Do you ever get the feeling you are being chased around by Herondales?”
    “Not really,” Catarina said. “Not that I’d mind. Magnus says they tend to be a good-looking lot. Of course, Magnus also says they tend to be strange in the head. James Herondale was a bit of a special case.”
    “Let me guess,” Simon said. “He was blond, smug, and adored by the populace.”
    Catarina’s ivory eyebrows rose. “No, I recall Ragnor mentioning he had dark hair and spectacles. There was another boy at school, Matthew Fairchild, who did answer to that description. They did not get along particularly well.”
    “Really?” said Simon, and reconsidered. “Well then, Team James Herondale. I bet that Matthew guy was a jackass.”
    “Oh, I don’t know,” said Catarina. “I always thought he was a charmer, myself. Most people did. Everybody liked Matthew.”
    This Matthew guy must have been a charmer, Simon thought. Catarina rarely spoke about any Shadowhunters with anything like approval, but here she was smiling fondly over a boy from a hundred years ago.
    “Everybody except James Herondale?” Simon asked. “The Shadowhunter who got thrown out of the Shadowhunter course. Did Matthew Fairchild have anything to do with that?”
    Catarina stepped out from behind her teacher’s desk and went to the arrow-slit window. The rays of the dying sun struck through her hair in brilliant white lines, almost giving her a halo. But not quite.
    “James Herondale was the son of angels and demons,” she said softly. “He was always fated to walk a difficult and painful path, to drink bitter water with sweet, to tread where there were thorns as well as flowers. Nobody could save him from that. People did try.”
    Shadowhunter Academy, 1899
    James Herondale told himself that he was feeling sick only because of the jolting of the carriage. He was really very excited to be going to school.
    Father had borrowed Uncle Gabriel’s new carriage so he could take James from Alicante to the Academy, just the two of them.
    Father had not asked if he could borrow Uncle Gabriel’s carriage.
    “Don’t look so serious, Jamie,” Father said, murmuring