Jace Herondale: You asked me what happens when you carve Marks onto someone who doesn't have Shadowhunter blood. Just one Mark will only burn you, but a lot of Marks, powerful ones? Carved into the flesh of a totally ordinary human being with no trace of Shadowhunter ancestry? You get this. The runes are agonizingly painful. The Marked ones go insane, the pain drives them out of their minds. They become fierce, mindless killers. They don't sleep or eat unless you make them, and they die, usually quickly. Runes have great power and can be used to do great good—but they can be used for evil. The Forsaken are evil.
Clary Fairchild: But why would anyone do that to themselves?
Jace Herondale: Nobody would. It's something that gets done to them. By a warlock, maybe, some Downworlder gone bad. The Forsaken are loyal to the one who Marked them, and they're fierce killers. They can obey simple commands, too. It's like having a—a slave army.
Clary Fairchild: What was it that Alec called you? Parasomething?
Jace Herondale: Parabatai. It means a pair of warriors who fight together who are closer than brothers. Alec is more than just my best friend. My father and his father were parabatai when they were young. His father was my godfather, that's why I live with them. They're my adopted family.
Clary Fairchild: Those girls on the other side of the car are staring at you.
Jace Herondale: Of course they are. I am stunningly attractive.
Clary Fairchild: Haven't you ever heard that modesty is an attractive trait?
Jace Herondale: Only from ugly people. The meek may inherit the earth, but at the moment it belongs to the conceited. Like me. (winks at the girls)
Clary Fairchild: So what are you Shadowhunters?
Hodge Starkweather: We are sometimes called the Nephilim... In the Bible they were the offspring of humans and angels. The legend of the origin of Shadowhunters is that they were created more than a thousand years ago, when humans were being overrun by demon invasions from other worlds. A warlock summoned the Angel Raziel, who mixed some of his own blood with the blood of men in a cup, and gave it to those men to drink. Those who drank the Angel's blood became Shadowhunters, as did their children and their children's children. The cup thereafter was known as the Mortal Cup. Though the legend may not be fact, what is true is that through the years, when Shadowhunter ranks were depleted, it was always possible to create more Shadowhunters using the Cup.
Jace Herondale: We're called Shadowhunters. At least, that's what we call ourselves. The Downworlders have less complimentary names for us.
Clary Fairchild: Downworlders?
Jace Herondale: The Night Children. Warlocks. The fey. The magical folk of this dimension.
Clary Fairchild: Don't stop there. I suppose there are also, what, vampires and werewolves and zombies?
Jace Herondale: Of course there are. Although you mostly find zombies farther south, where the voudun priests are.
Jace Herondale: Trust me, little girl, the police aren't going to arrest someone they can't see.
Clary Fairchild: I told you before, my name is not "little girl." It's Clary.
Jace Herondale: I know. Pretty name. Like the herb, clary sage. In the old days people thought eating the seeds would let you see the Fair Folk. Did you know that?
(Clary is trying to convince Simon to ask a girl out...)
Simon Lewis: I don't want to ask her out because it wouldn't really be fair to her if I did...
Clary Fairchild: Why not?
Simon Lewis: Because I like someone else.
Clary Fairchild: Okay. You're not gay, are you?
Simon Lewis: If I were, I would dress better.
Clary Fairchild: What would you do if you saw something nobody else could see?
(Luke drops a tape gun in shock...)
Luke Garroway: You mean if I were the only witness to a crime, that sort of thing?
Clary Fairchild: No. I mean, if there were other people around, but you were the only one who could see something. As if it were invisible to everyone but you.
Luke Garroway: I know it sounds crazy, but... Clary, you're an artist, like your mother. That means you see the world in ways that other people don't. It's your gift, to see the beauty and the horror in ordinary things. It doesn't make you crazy—just different. There's nothing wrong with being different.