Berikut ini adalah snippet dari The Bane Chronicles, cerita khusus dari High Warlock of Brooklyn, Magnus Bane, yang ditulis Cassandra Clare bersama dengan teman-temannya yang penulis, Maureen Johnson dan Sarah Rees Brennan.
Snippet #1 dari What Really Happened in Peru (terbit 16 April 2013)
“Just don’t leave me here,” said Ragnor. “You have to swear, Bane.”
Magnus raised his eyebrows. “I give you my word of honor!”
“I mean it,” Ragnor told him. “I will find you. I will find whatever chest of absurd clothes you have brought with you. And I will bring a llama into the place where you sleep and make sure that it urinates on everything in the chest.”
“There is no need to get nasty about this,” Magnus said. “Don’t worry. I can teach you every word that you need to know right now. One of them is ‘fiesta.’”
Ragnor scowled. “What does that mean?”
“It means ‘party.’ Another important word is ‘juerga.’”
“What does that word mean?”
Magnus was silent.
“Magnus,” said Ragnor, his voice stern. “Does that word also mean ‘party’?”
Magnus could not help the sly grin that spread across his face. “I would apologize,” he said. “But I have no regrets.”
“You’re quite wrong, you know. I am the most permanent person,” said Magnus, his voice breathless with laughter and his eyes stung a little by tears, “that you will ever meet. It is only that it never makes any difference.”
Snippet #3 (CLOCKWORK PRINCESS SPOILER)
This boy had pale amber eyes, like a crystal glass filled brimful with crisp white wine and held up to catch the light of the sun. Magnus could not imagine these eyes as tender. The boy was lovely, but his was a beauty like that Helen of Troy might have had once, disaster written in every line. The light of his beauty made Magnus think of cities burning.
Fog and gaslight receded into memory. His momentary lapse into foolish nostalgia was over. This was not Will. That broken, beautiful boy would be a man now, and this boy was a stranger.
“I,” the boy announced, “am James Herondale.”
Snippet #4 (CLOCKWORK PRINCESS SPOILER)
He had not seemed to want to be taken from the cold depths of the water: had fought Magnus as he dragged him out, then laid his pale cheek against the dank earth of the riverbank, and hid his face in his arms.
For a moment Magnus had thought he was crying, but as he stooped down to check on the boy he found he was barely conscious. With his cruel golden eyes closed, he once again reminded Magnus of the lost boy Will had been: Magnus touched his damp hair gently, and said “James,” in as kind a voice as he could.
His eyes were shut, black lashes ink-dark crescents against the marble-pale lines of his cheekbones. Sparkling drops of water were caught in the curling ends of those lashes: he looked unhappy as he slept in a way he did not when awake.
Magnus was taking an unfamiliar route, one that took him through quite a rough patch of Paris. The road here was not as smooth. It was brutally hot inside of his cabriolet as it bumped its way along. Magnus had animated one of his magnificent Chinese fans, and it flapped ineffectively at him, barely stirring the breeze. It was, if he was completely honest with himself (and he did not want to be), a bit too hot for this new striped blue and rose colored coat, made of taffeta and satin, and the silk faille waistcoat embroidered with a scene of birds and cherubs. The wing collar, and the wig, and the silk breaches, the wonderful new gloves in the most delicate lemon yellow … it was all a bit warm.
Still. If one could look this fabulous, one had an obligation to. One should wear everything, or one should wear nothing at all.
- The Runaway Queen (#2)
“Very well,” Magnus said. “Let us pause for a moment and consider—oh, you have already run off. Splendid.”
He found himself addressing Edmund’s coat, wrenched off and left in a heap upon the cobblestones, and his hat, spinning gently beside it.
Edmund jumped and somersaulted in mid-air, vaulting neatly onto the roof of the carriage. As he did so, he drew weapons from the concealing folds of his garments: the two whips he had spoken of before, arcs of sizzling light against the night sky. He wielded them with cutting precision, their light waking golden fire in his tousled hair and casting a glow on his carved features, and by that light Magnus saw his face change from a laughing boy’s to the stern countenance of an angel.
One whip curled around the demon’s waist like a gentleman’s hand around a lady’s during a waltz. The other wrapped tight as wire about his throat. Edmund twisted one hand and the demon spun, crashing to the ground.
“You heard the lady,” said Edmund. “Unhand her.”
- Vampires, Scones and Edmund Herondale (TBC #3)
“I was very stupid,” Edmund said, almost violently. “I thought of love as a game. It is not a game. It is more serious than death. Without Linette, I might as well be dead.”
“You speak of giving up your Shadowhunter nature,” said Magnus softly. “One can give up many things for love, but one should not give up oneself.”
“Is that so, Bane?” Edmund whirled on him. “I was born to be a warrior, and I was born to be with her. Tell me how to reconcile the two, because I cannot!”
- Vampire, Scones and Edmund Herondale (TBC #3)