Listed below are "unidentified" teasers written and released by Cassandra Clare which may appear in any of her upcoming novels/series:
Marry me today.
He kissed each finger, and with each one of them spoken a word. Five kisses, five words. His last.
"Oh, God, the lovebirds," Magnus said, pulling the pillow off his face. "I hate happy couples."
Belatedly, she realized something else. "Do you... have anything?"
He didn't seem to have recovered from her last comment. "But do you mean - wait, do I have what?"
She slitted her eyes at him. "Something important."
"Like what? The phone number for the White House?" A moment later, under her withering glare, realization dawned. "Oh." His was the expression of someone who has run out of gas in the middle of the desert, miles from help. "I..."
"What if I just love you? What if I love you but I never touch you or talk about it, what would happen then?"
"Well, it's a bit ironic, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
"All that effort to convince you I wasn't in love with you, and here I am, dying in your arms."
His face crumpled. "He hates me," he said. "All I do is love him, but he hates me, he just hates me, I don’t know why."
There was nothing less sexy than an angry-looking cat on your bed.
"Actually, it's short for Maximum Lightwood," said Magnus. "As in the most amount of Lightwood you can have."
"No one who loved you would want you to sacrifice your own happiness."
Alec was beginning to understand how the slings and arrows of fortune and history had shaped Magnus and made him what he was. It was a delightful sort of discovery, as getting to know Magnus always had been. Magnus was probably the one person in the world who'd never bored him.
"I was thinking about monogrammed towels," said Isabelle.
"My name is going to be Simon Lewis Lovelace Lightwood," said Simon. "No monogrammed towels."
It was late, and someone was trying to break into the High Warlock of Brooklyn’s apartment.
Magnus Bane, the High Warlock in question, felt this behavior was rash and foolish. He’d been passed out on his still-made bed, too exhausted to slip under the burgundy and emerald sheets, or even take off his robe, when he heard the noise of his window sliding open. He was grateful for the robe. He felt it would be demoralizing to face housebreakers in nothing but silk pajama bottoms.
Also, the housebreakers had done nothing to deserve such a sight.