The demon exploded in a shower of ichor and guts.
William Herondale jerked the dagger he was holding back, but it was too late: the viscous acid of the demon’s blood had already begun to eat away at the shining blade. He swore and tossed the weapon aside; it landed in a filthy puddle and commenced smoldering like a doused match. The demon itself, of course, had vanished: dispatched back to whatever hell dimension it had come from, though not without leaving a mess behind.
“Jem!” Will called, turning around. “Where are you? Did you see that? I got him with one blow! Not bad, eh?”
But there was no answer to Will’s shout; his hunting partner had been standing behind him in the narrow alley a few moments ago, guarding his back, Will was positive, but now he was alone in the shadows. Will frowned in annoyance — it was much less fun showing off without Jem to show off to. Still scowling, Will headed back toward Narrow Street and the dim gleam of gaslight at the alley’s mouth.
I just ordered a book written by Cassandra Clare to see if I like her writing style. This one looks interesting too.
Are you a fan of Cassandra Clare? What is your favorite book written by her?