What Really Happened in Peru

Magnus, you were trying to flirt with your own plate." "I'm a very open-minded sort of fellow!" "Ragnor is not," Catarina said. "When he found out that you were feeding us guinea pigs, he hit you over the head with your plate. It broke." "So ended our love," Magnus said. "Ah, well. It would have never worked between me and the plate anyway.

You told us to leave you in the desert, because you planned to start a new life as cactus," Catarina said, her voice flat. "Then you conjured up tiny needles and threw them at us. With pinpoint accuracy.

You are just jealous," Magnus remarked calmly. "Because you do not have the soul of a true artiste like myself." "Oh, I am positively green with envy," Ragnor snapped. "Come now, Ragnor. That's not fair," said Magnus. "You know I love it when you make jokes about your complexion.

I can't get enough adventure," Magnus said lightly. "And adventure cannot get enough of me.

Picture this," said Magnus. "Me with a little monkey friend. I could teach him tricks. I could dress him in a cunning jacket. He could look just like me! But more monkey-shaped.

Magnus had a list of favored traits in a partner-black hair, blue eyes, honest...

He'd learned his lesson a long time ago: Even in the midst of heartbreak, you could still find yourself laughing.

Magnus was sure that the llama stampede he witnessed was a coincidence. The llamas could not be judging him.

Magnus had learned to be careful about giving his memories with his heart. When people died, it felt like all the pieces of yourself you had given to them went as well. It took so long, building yourself back up until you were whole again, and you were never entirely the same.

I dislike boats," Ragnor observed, looking around. "I get vilely seasick." The turning green joke was too easy. Magnus was not going to stoop to make it.

It was like a dam of musical critique had broken. Imasu turned on him with eyes that flashed instead of shining. "It is worse than you can possibly imagine! When you play, all of my mother's flowers lose the will to live and expire on the instant. The quinoa has no flavour now. The llamas are migrating because of your music, and llamas are not a migratory animal. The children now believe there is a sickly monster, half horse and half large mournful chicken, that lives in tha lake and calls out to the world to grant it the sweet release of death.

That was what humans did: They left on another messages through time, pressed between pages or carved into rock. Like reaching out a hand through time, and trusting in a phantom hoped-for hand to catch yours. Humans did not last forever. They could only hope what they made would endure.

Moreover, I wish to assure you both that I did not make any amorous advances on female monkeys.

I will find you," Ragnor told him. "I will find whatever chest of absurd clothes you have. And I will bring a llama into the place where you sleep and make sure that it urinates on everything you possess.

The letter I received said you had need of my particular talents, but I must confess that I have so many talents that I am not sure which one you require.

Ragnor and Catarina both begged him to give the instrument up. Random strangers on the street begged him to give the instrument up. Even cats ran away from him.

Life could not be entirely devoted to debauchery and monkeys. Magnus had to finance all the drinking somehow.

It was sometimes inconvenient to have the gold-green, slit-pupilled eyes of a cat, but this was usually easily hidden with a small glamour, and if not, well, there were quite a few ladies-and men-who didn't find it a drawback.

I would leave at once, but it would be cruel to abandon a lady in a foreign land with a maniac.

There was a brief pause for them to evaluate the full horror of the situation. Magnus. personally, was in horror up to his elbows.

I wouldn't call that an instrument of music," Ragnor observed sourly. "An instrument of torture, perhaps.

Time was like the rain, glittering as it fell, changing the world, but something that could also be taken for granted. Until you love a mortal. Then time became gold in a miser's hands, every bright year counted out carefully, infinitely precious, and each one slipping through you fingers. Cassandra Clare: What Really Happened in Peru

I rather wonder what I am doing here. I enjoy city life, you know. The glittering lights, the constant companionship, the liquid entertainment. The lack of sudden monkeys.

There was no point in wallowing. Magnus refused to wallow. Wallowing was for elephants, depressing people, and depressing elephants.

Don't fight in front of the client, boys." Catarina implored in her sweet voice," or I will knock your heads together so hard, your skulls will crack like eggs

We live forever by the grace of human love, which rocked strange children in their cradles and did not despair and did not turn away.

Ragnor looked very regretful about all the choices that had led him to his being in this place and especially in this company

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?” Magnus raised his eyebrows. “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. “Except that I feel no regret at all.

You're quite wrong, you know. I am the most permanent person that you will ever meet," said Magnus, his voice breathless with laughter and his eyes stung a little by tears. "It is only that it never makes any difference.