There walked warlocks in all their bat-winged, cat-eyed glory, and here, as they swung out over the river, she saw the darting flash of multicolored tails under the silvery skin of the water, the shimmer of long, pearl-strewn hair, and heard the high, rippling laughter of the mermaids.

The warlock’s gaze, on the flames, was remote and distant, as if he were looking back into the past. Simon couldn’t help but remember what Magnus had said to him once, about living forever: Someday you and I will be the only two left.

If you’re texting Magnus to say ‘I think u r kewl,’ I’m going to kill you.” “Who’s Magnus?” Max inquired. “He’s a warlock,” said Alec. “A sexy, sexy warlock,” Isabelle told Max, ignoring Alec’s look of total fury. “But warlocks are bad,” protested Max, looking baffled. “Exactly,” said Isabelle.

OR am I the only warlock you know?” “No… but you are the only warlock we know who happens to dating a friend of ours.

We’re Vatican assassins. How complicated can it be?

A cloak of invisibility? This is a highly sensitive piece of field equipment. What does he think? Some warlock pulled it out of his armpit?

She gritted her teeth. She was here with Sebastian, on her way to see a powerful warlock, and mentally she was maundering on about the way Jace smelled.

What are you? The voice came from nowhere. It was in the room. It was outside. It was in Magnus’s head. “A warlock,” Magnus answered. “And what are you?” We are many. “Please do not say you are a legion. Someone‘s taken that.” Do you make mirth from mundane scriptures, warlock? “Just breaking the ice

It took teams of LEP warlocks to slow down time for a few hours; the magic required to open a door to the tunnel was stupendous. It would be easier to shoot down the moon. Opal tapped this into her notepad. Reminder. Shoot down the moon? Viable?

Alec’s trying to get Magnus to take him seriously, but he’s never told our parents about Magnus, or even that he likes, you know -” “Warlocks ?” Simon said.

I’m Magnus Bane.” he went on in a soothing tone, stretching out his ringed hands. Blue sparks had begun to dance between them like bioluminescence dancing water. “I’m the warlock who’s here to cure you. Didn’t they tell you I was comming?” “I know who you are, but…” Maia looked dazed. “You look so… so… shiny.

But that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? You’re part of the fight just as much as the Shadowhunters on the ship—and I know you can take some of my strength, I’ve heard of warlocks doing that—so I’m offering. Take it. It’s yours.

Why does it take girls so long to shower?” he demanded. “Mortal girls, Shadowhunters, female warlocks, you‘re all the same. I‘m not getting any younger waiting out here.” -Magnus to Clary, pg.272-

Sedaris, in his essay in the It Gets Better book, writes that when he was growing up nobody called him gay because you might as well have called him a warlock. Nobody knew what gay was.

‘Tis the night – the night Of the grave‘s delight.

The only thing I’m addicted to is winning. This bootleg cult, arrogantly referred to as Alcoholics Anonymous, reports a 5 percent success rate. My success rate is 100 percent.

She was Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, Khaleesi and queen, Mother of Dragons, slayer of warlocks, breaker of chains, and there was no one in the world that she could trust.

Magnus sighed. “Alexander, I’ve been alive for hundreds of years. I’ve been with men, been with women – with faeries and warlocks and vampires, and even a djinn or two.” He looked sideways at Maryse, who looked mildly horrified. “Too much information?

The only thing I’m addicted to right now is winning.

What they’re not ready for is guys like you and I and Nails and all the other gnarly gnarlingtons in my life, that we are high priests, Vatican assassin warlocks. Boom. Print that, people. See where that goes.