Welcome to Shadowhunter Academy by Cassandra Clare, Sarah Rees Brennan Page A

think it was a very cool thing you did, Simon,” said Beatriz.
    She smiled, teeth flashing white against her brown skin, and her smile was warm and admiring,—about the nicest thing Simon had seen all day.
    “You’re right, our morals are sound even though our walls are infested. And we’ll still have some interesting classes, Si,” George said. “Plus, don’t worry, we still get sent on missions to fight demons and rogue Downworlders.”
    Simon choked on his soup. “I was not worrying about that. Are any of our teachers at all worried that sending out people with no superpowers to fight demons might prove just a teeny bit, not to put too fine a point on it, fatal?”
    “They have to face trials of courage before they must face Ascension,” said Beatriz. “Better for them to drop out because they are scared, or even because a demon ate their leg, than to have them try to Ascend without being suitable, and die in the attempt.”
    “That’s a cool, cheerful, and normal thing to say,” Simon said. “Shadowhunters are great at saying normal things.”
    “Well, I’m looking forward to the missions,” said George. “And tomorrow a Shadowhunter is coming in to give a guest lecture on the lesser utilized weapons. I hope there’ll be a practical demonstration.”
    “Not in a classroom,” said Beatriz. “Think of what one heavy-duty crossbow could do to the walls.”
    That was all the warning Simon got before he clattered happily into class the next day, George on his heels, and found Dean Penhallow already there, talking with nervous good cheer. The classroom was very full—both the regular stream and the mundane stream were in attendance.
    “—despite her tender years, a Shadowhunter of some renown and noted expertise with less used weapons such as the whip. May I welcome to Shadowhunter Academy our first guest lecturer: Isabelle Lightwood!”
    Isabelle turned, sleek black hair flaring around her shoulders and black skirt flaring around her pale legs. She was wearing glittery plum lipstick, so dark it looked almost black. Her eyes did look black, but another small knife of memory pierced Simon, of course at the worst time possible: he remembered the colors of her eyes from close up, very dark brown, like brown velvet, so close to black as to make no difference, but with paler rings of color . . .
    He stumbled over to his desk, and folded into his chair with a thump.
    *    *    *
    When the dean left, Isabelle turned and regarded her class with absolute contempt.
    “I am not actually here to instruct any of you idiots,” she told them, walking up and down the rows of desks. “If you want to use a whip, train with one, and if you lose an ear, don’t be a big whiny baby.”
    Several of the boys nodded, as if hypnotized. Almost all the boys were watching Isabelle as if they were a nest of snakes intent on being charmed. Some of the girls were watching her that way too.
    “I am here,” Isabelle announced, finishing her prowl of the perimeter and turning to face them all again with snapping eyes, “to determine my relationship.”
    Simon goggled. She couldn’t be talking about him. Could she?
    “Do you see that man?” Isabelle asked, pointing at Simon. Apparently she was talking about him. “That’s Simon Lewis, and he is my boyfriend . So if any of you think about trying to hurt him because he’s a mundie or—may the Angel have mercy on your soul—pursuing him romantically, I will come after you, I will hunt you down, and I will crush you to powder.”
    “We’re just bros,” said George hastily.
    Beatriz edged her desk away from Simon’s.
    Isabelle lowered her hand. The flush of excitement was receding from her face as well, as though she had come to say what she had said, and now that she was out of adrenaline she was actually processing what had come out of her mouth.
    “I am going to go now,” Isabelle announced. “Thank you for your attention. Class dismissed.”
    She turned and