ok fist things first this is not my book I am copying every single word from the book the city of bones it is the first book in the shadow hunters series so please don't report well I wil start then . the foreword it will be the author Cassandra Clare'a POV and then when the real story begins it will be Clary the main character's POV

thank you and enjoy

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...foreword...

All the stories are true .

That's what Jace Wayland tells Clary Fray at the end of the first book of the shadow hunters chronicles, city of bones.

Jace means ofcourse more than one thing by this . he means that every thing she'd been told didn't exist - vampire, werewolves , faeries , ghosts, and monster of all shapes and sizes and intention - did exist after all and that , in fact , the world is full of them . He means the stories we believe in our hearts are also true . Clary ends City of bones feeling a true sense of wonder as she flies over new york city seeing revealed below all the magic and enchantment that had been previously hidden from her .

all the stories are true .

When I set out to write city of bones , I was in love with stories about vampires, faeries and warlocks but I was also in love with the mythological tales of angels and demons . I was fascinated by Paradise lost and Dante's Inferno and Mike Carey's Lucifer. I was fascinated by the way that human beings had grappled with the ideas of absolute evil and absolute good tampered with love and free will . I wanted to create a world that was rich in folklore, the tales that people tell each other about things that go bump and bite in the night , but which also incorporated te existence of figures of myth - angels so powerful that one look at them would blind you. Demons so evil that their blood could change the nature of your soul from good to evil. I wanted to make real that which is so shrouded in myth and history that has become symbolic : when Valentine frees Jace from his prison in the silent city, he carries with him a sword and explains, " This is the blade with which the angel drove Adam and Eve out of the garden . And he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubim, and a flaming sword which turned every way" . Later Simon comes into possession the sword of the Archangel Michael . The idea that these objects of immense power and history were real things that our heros could touch delighted me .

The existence of angels and demons in the world of Shadowhunters is the ur-myth from which every other aspect of story is derived . Shadowhunters were created from the blood of angels. Faeries are part angel , part demon. Warlocks are the offspring of humans and demons . Werewolves and Vampires are humans who bear demon diseases. I wanted to create a universe where myth and folktale dovetailed, where every story of magic would be explained .

All the stories are true

The idea of Shadowhunters came to me in part from the stories of Nephilim in the Bible. the offspring os humans and angels, they were enormous monsters who laid waste to earth . As writers often do , I adapted what seemed compelling to me from the myth- angels having children, when that is such a human thing to do! (Of course the Shadowhunters are only created from angel blood, but Raziel still seems to have a fatherly interest in them. ) The idea of being part angel, partly a symbol of goodness, and yet being beset by all the weaknesses inherent to humanity: frailty, cruelty, greed , selfishness and despair . It seemed a way to take an ancient story and ring a twist on it that would allow any reader to imagine what it might mean to be part divine, to have immense power- and as spider-man would like to remind us , the immense responsibility that goes with it .

All the stories are true.

Of course what Jace means ultimately is that stories is how we make sense of the world. The Mortal Instruments is the story of Clary above everything else: the story of a girl who starts out ordinary and becomes a hero . A girl who first is blind to the magic in the world all around her , but becomes not just to see it , but to be able to master and control it. Clary is an artist and a shaper of runes , the magical language of angels, and in using that language she shapes her own story and her own destiny. Clary and her friends are heroes who make their stories true—as, I the end, do we all.

This is the first page of the book and it is numbered 13 the other pages 1 to 12 are credits and foreword . So let's begin the story

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...Part one...

...Dark Descent...

...*I sung of chaos and eternal night,...

...thaught by the heav'nly muse to venture down...

...the dark Descent, and up to reascend........

...— John Milton, Paradise Lost*...

...1...

...Pandemonium...

...13...

"you've got to be kidding me," the bouncer said, folding his arms across his massive chest . He stared down at the boy in the red zip-up jacket and shook his shaved head. "you can't bring that thing in here."

The fifty or so teenagers in line outside the pandemonium club leaned forward to eavesdrop. It was long line to get into the all ages club, especially on a Sunday, and not much generally happened in a line. The bouncers were fierce and would come down instantly on anyone who looked like they were going to start trouble. Fifteen-year-old Clary Fray standing in line with her best friend, Simon , leaned forward along with everyone else, hoping for some excitement.

"Aw come on." The kid hoisted the thing up over his head. It looked like a wooden beam, pointed at one end." It's part of my costume."

The bouncer raised an eyebrow. " Which is what?" the boy grinned. he was normal enough looking, Clary

...page 14...

thought, for Pandemonium. He had electric blue dyed hair that stuck up around his head like tentacles of a startled octopus, but no elaborate facial tattoos or big metal bars through his ear or lips. "I'm a vampire hunter ." He pushed down the wooden thing. it bent as easily as a blade of grass bending sideways. " It's fake. foam rubber. See ?"

The boy's eyes were way too bright a green, Clary noticed: the color of antifreeze, spring grass. Colored contact lenses, probably. The bouncer shrugged , abruptly bored. "Whatever.Go in."

The boy slid past him , quick as an eel. Clary liked the lilt to his shoulders, the way he tossed his hair as he went . there was a word for him that her mother would have used — insouciant.

"You thought he was cute," said Simon , sounding resigned. "Didn't you?"

Clary dug he elbow into his ribs, but didn't answer

Inside, the club was full of dry ice smoke. Colored lights played over the dance floor , turning it into a multicolored fairyland of blues and acid green , hot pinks and gold.

The boy in the red jacket stroked the long razor sharp blade in his hands , an idle smile playing over his lips. It had been so easy —a little bit of glamour on the blade, to make it look harmless. another glamour in his eyes, and the moment the bouncer had looked straight at him, he was in ofcourse, he could have probably gotten by without all that trouble, but it was part of the fun — fooling the mundies, doing it all in the open right in front of them , getting of on the blank looks on their sheeplike faces.

Not that humans didn't have their uses. the boy's

...15...

green eyes scanned the dance floor , where slender limbs clas in scraps of silk and black leather appeared and disappeared inside the revolving columns of smoke as the mundies danced. Girls tossed their long hair , boys swung their leather clad hips, and bare skin glittered with sweat. Vitality just poured off them, waves of energy that filled him with a drunken dizziness. his lips curled. They didn't know how lucky they were . They didn't know how it was like to eke out life in a dead world , where the sun hung limp in the sky like a burned cinder . Their lives burned as brightly as candle flames — and were easy to snuff out.

His hands tightened on the blade he carried , and he had begun to step out onto the dance floor when a girl broke away from the mass of dancers and begun walking towards him. He stared at her. She was beautiful , for a human— long hair nearly the precise color of black ink, charcoaled eyes. Floor length white gown , the kind women used to wear when the world was younger. Lace sleeves belled out around her slim arms. Around her neck was a thick silver chain on which hung a dark red pendant the size of a baby's fist . He only had to narrow his eyes to know that it was real— real and precious. His mouth started to water as she neared him. Vital energy pulsed from her like blood from an open wound. She smiled passing him, beckoning with her eyes. He turned to follow her, tasting the Phantom sizzle of her death on his lips.

It was always easy. he could already feel the power of her evaporating life coursing through her veins like fire. humans were so stupid. They had something so precious, and they barely safeguard it at all. they threw away their lives for money, packets of powder, for a stranger's charming smile.