The Lost Herondale

“We are all what our pasts have made us,” Catarina said. “The accumulation of thousands of daily choices. We can change ourselves, but never erase what we’ve been.”

Every student, Shadowhunter and mundane alike, knew the name Herondale. It was Jace’s last name. It was the name of heroes.

Like all Herondales, his ability to love without measure, without end, was both his great gift and his great curse.

Tobias loved her more than he’d loved anything—his family, his duty, even himself. There, perhaps, the Herondale blood ran true.

We are all what our pasts have made us

you couldn’t know how much going away had changed you until you tried to go home.

Isabelle.

It was always Isabelle.

Well, I guess it’s a mad, mad, mad world,

Also Count Chocula. Oh, and my BFF Count Blintzula. He’s a real charmer . . . .”

“We want you to tell us about vampires.”

Simon grinned. “What do you want to know? Scariest is Eli in Let the Right One In, cheesiest is late-era Lestat, most underrated is David Bowie in The Hunger. Sexiest is definitely Drusilla, though if you ask a girl, she’ll probably say Damon Salvatore or Edward Cullen. But . . .” He shrugged. “You know girls.”

Julie’s and Beatriz’s eyes were wide. “I didn’t think you’d know so many!” Beatriz exclaimed. “Are they . . . are they your friends?”

“Oh, sure, Count Dracula and I are like this,” Simon said, crossing his fingers to demonstrate.