The Mortal Instruments (Book 1-3)

12. Magnus the Magnificent

"Get up!" With a singular, swift movement, Daphne splashed the bucket of water onto Clary's head.

The red-headed girl woke up with a shriek, limbs flailing and getting tangled in the blankets as she desperately tried to get free. When she calmed, she realized who the girl before her was, and let out an angry screech. "Daphne!"

Daphne Penhallow laughed at the dripping wet girl, whose irate expression could've set a lesser being on fire. "What was that for?!" Clary demanded.

Daphne grinned, and indicated the dark night sky outside. "It's almost midnight. We've got to leave for the party, and you're still not dressed."

"I was just going to wear this." Clary said, indicating her jeans and T-shirt ensemble. "Is that a problem?"

Daphne stared, with an are-you-kidding-me?!-look on her face. "Of course it's a problem! It's a party. You'll stick out like an undead at a sparkly, pink unicorn-birthday-party if you dress like that. You look about eight years old, and worse, you look like a mundane. Every Downworlder at the party would immediately recognize you as such."

"Thanks." Clary said sourly. "But I don't exactly have party clothes with me."

"Let me introduce you to a concept called borrowing." Daphne said, pulling the shorter girl out of bed. "Let's get you showered, and then we'll head over to Isabelle's room to do makeup and hair."

"Oh no," Clary looked at her in horror. "I mean, I couldn't. Really."

Daphne grinned, purringly. "Oh, but we insist." The Penhallow pushed the other girl out the door and into the hallway, continuing to give little nudges and shoves to get Clary moving as they went to Isabelle's room.

When they entered, Daphne positioned Clary in front of the floor-length mirror in Isabelle's bedroom. "I'd really rather just wear my own clothes—" Clary tried to say.

"When you look like that?" Isabelle wrinkled her nose, coming up from out of her closet. She held two dresses in her hand. "Darling, it would be a crime to let you go anywhere looking like that."

Clary's eye twitched as she set her jaw rebelliously. "None of your clothes are going to fit me." she told Isabelle irritably.

"But mine will." Daphne said, checking herself out in the mirror as she fixed her hair. "Isi you still have my old black spaghetti strap dress right?"

"It should be somewhere in here." she said from the doorway of her walk-in closet. "While Clary shower's, we can search for it."

Daphne groaned. "We'd have better luck finding the Glass Mirror."

Clary made a face. "I don't know if I'll ever understand all your Shadowhunter lingo."

Isabelle snorted. "Stop being dramatic and get over here and help, Daph. Clary—you can use my bathroom to shower. Daphne, help me and start digging."

Daphne heaved a theatrical sigh.

It took the two girls a moment to find everything they wanted. While Daphne's room was neat, cozy, and organized, Isabelle's room looked as if a disco ball had exploded inside it. The walls were black and shimmered with swirls of sponged-on golden paint. Clothes were strewn everywhere: on the rumpled black bed, hung over the backs of the wooden chairs, spilling out of the closet and the tall wardrobe propped against one wall.

Her vanity table, its mirror rimmed with spangled pink fur, was covered in glitter, sequins, and pots of blush and powder. They only just barely found the outfit and some tights and fishnet stockings when Clary finally exited the bathroom