Sabtu, 28 September 2013

[X557.Ebook] Free PDF Kiss the Girls (Alex Cross), by James Patterson

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Kiss the Girls (Alex Cross), by James Patterson

Kiss the Girls (Alex Cross), by James Patterson



Kiss the Girls (Alex Cross), by James Patterson

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Kiss the Girls (Alex Cross), by James Patterson

In Los Angeles, a reporter investigating a series of murders is killed. In Chapel Hill, North Carolina, a beautiful medical intern suddenly disappears. Washington D.C.Us Alex Cross is back to solve the most baffling and terrifying murder case ever. Two clever pattern killers are collaborating, cooperating, competing--and they are working coast to coast.

  • Sales Rank: #20451 in Books
  • Color: Red
  • Brand: Warner Books
  • Published on: 1995-12-01
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 6.75" h x 1.00" w x 4.13" l, .50 pounds
  • Binding: Mass Market Paperback
  • 496 pages
Features
  • Great product!

From Library Journal
"Casanova" works the East Coast, "The Gentleman Caller" works the West Coast, and these two serial killers might just be working together. Washed-up Washington, D.C., police detective Alex Cross gets involved when his niece is abducted. Since this is a new work by the author of the best-selling Along Came a Spider (LJ 12/92), don't be surprised that Paramount has bought the film rights and that BOMC has made it a main selection.
Copyright 1994 Reed Business Information, Inc.

From Kirkus Reviews
Advertising executive Patterson doubles neither our pleasure nor our fun by giving us two intense, Hannibal Lecter-type murderers for the price of one in an improbable and hopelessly derivative mess of a thriller. Feds and local authorities on both coasts are baffled by a pair of serial killers targeting beautiful young women: The Gentleman Caller works the scene in sunny L.A., where he brutally murders and dismembers his prey; his counterpart back East, who calls himself Casanova, trolls the Raleigh/Durham/Chapel Hill area for sexy coeds to victimize. Their MOs provide plenty of fodder for an author trying to cook up a work of psychological terror: Both are powerful, handsome, brilliant (natch), commit perfect crimes, and, despite their busy schedules, manage to keep in touch with each other. To catch them, you obviously need a perfect crime fighter. Enter Alex Cross, the Washington, D.C., detective/psychologist hero of bestselling Along Came A Spider (1993), who gets dragged into all this after his niece Naomi, a student at Duke University, vanishes. Working with the authorities and a medical student named Kate McTiernan, who was lucky enough to escape Casanova's clutches, Cross begins to understand how the two dueling psychos operate. Just in the nick of time, too, because the Gentleman Caller, on the run from the law out West, decides that nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina with his old buddy Casanova. So, what does Cross, whose favorite niece is now in the clutches of two sickos, do? Fall in love with Kate McTiernan, of course, in an ill-placed romantic subplot intended to raise the stakes in the deadly cat-and-mouse game. Does Cross save Naomi? Are the two killers brought to justice or, at the very least, consigned to gory demises? Who cares? As a storyteller, Patterson is a great ad copywriter. (First priting of 275,000; film rights to Paramount; Book-of-the-Month Club main selection) -- Copyright �1994, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved.

Review
"Patterson hit the ball out of the park with his last go-round, the bestselling Along Came a Spider. Kiss the Girls is even better."―Dallas Morning News

"Tough to put down...ticks like a time bomb, always full of threat and tension."―Los Angeles Times

"A ripsnorting, terrific read."―Larry King, USA Today

Most helpful customer reviews

79 of 86 people found the following review helpful.
Diabolical Characters, Ingenious Plot
By Wendy Kaplan
I never saw the movie. Never read a book by Patterson. Never really wanted to. So when I idly picked up "Kiss the Girls" while browsing a local bookstore, I didn't expect much; it was on a table of "fun beach reads" or some such thing.
I read the first page or two. I bought the book. And I can't remember much after that, except that, heart pounding, palms sweating, I entered the obscenely diabolical world of two serial killers: The Gentleman Caller, and Casanova, terrorizing both Coasts at once. With skill and his own brand of genius, Patterson takes the reader into the crazed yet terrifyingly logical minds of each killer. We are there while they stalk their victims: young women who are smart, educated, self-assured, and perfectly beautiful. At least in the eyes of their killers. We are there during some of the most gruesome and terrifying murders. We are there as Casanova sexually tortures his live victims in his House of Horrors, in which one infraction of the "house rules" results in horrible death.
What is the connection between these two killers? What is their sick purpose? It falls to police detective/psychologist Alex Cross to solve the mystery. But Alex has more than a professional interest in the case. His beloved niece Naomi is one of the missing women.
I challenge anyone to put this book down once begun. I was absolutely amazed at the hold it had on me--and still does. I immediately ordered the next in Patterson's Alex Cross series, "Jack and Jill." And I have recommended "Kiss the Girls" to every book-loving friend I have.

21 of 23 people found the following review helpful.
Improvement from the first book
By Michael Beverly
I might even go as far as to say three and a half stars, as this work is a bit better than the previous one, Along Came A Spider. However, as popular as Patterson may be, he still writes in such a mediocre way which is overcome by the fact that he nails down interesting stories and keeps the action going.

This book, like the first Alex Cross offering, is over the top in concept, much of the stuff here could never happen (or at least should never happen assuming the cops and FBI aren't filled with totally incompetent people). One of the things that Patterson keeps doing, here and in other works, is that he creates false tension and suspense by having the characters do stuff that is so unbelievably stupid, it's hard not to let it ruin the story. Think for a moment, you're a woman that's just survived a brutal kidnapping and rape from your home, by an intelligent and resourceful killer, who knows where you live. Now, after leaving the hospital you insist on going home and staying there, unprotected. That and the FBI and local police, who know the killer would like to see you dead (after all they did guard you at the hospital-you're a potential witness) don't bother to stake out your home, leaving you at the mercy of the killer. Yeah, okay, that's believable, I guess, if you're fourteen or something.

One other huge impossibility, and this happens in the prologue, so this is hardly a spoiler or anything, the young killer, future antagonist in our story is hiding in a house watching them, waiting to kill. He's hiding, get this, in the ducting system. Apparently Patterson has watched too many stupid heist movies, because, if you'll glance up from the computer as you read this, and look at the air register in the room you're in, you'll notice that it would be physically impossible for a six foot tall man to climb out of it and murder you. In fact, it would be impossible for a child to crawl out of it. I realize that in the movies, the bad guys are always crawling around in ducts, but, those are usually in commercial buildings, like banks or something, and, the bad guy isn't seen removing a grill from inside the duct and climbing out into a bedroom. A bedroom never has a duct with a two foot wide diameter opening, no bedroom would ever need that much air, it isn't just silly, it's beyond belief.

The problem with these little factual problems is that they destroy the credability of the rest of the story. We the readers have to assume that the information about stuff we know nothing about is accurate, but how can we when there are such major errors in stuff we do know something about?

In any case, the fast paced action and general readability of the work make it an above average thriller, so for those that like this kind of stuff, I still recommend it.

14 of 15 people found the following review helpful.
Frighteningly suspenseful!
By A Customer
Yes, this book is frightening and very suspenseful. I would recommend this book to anyone who has a passion for nail biting thrillers. This is a mystery that keeps you on the edge of your seat from start to finish. If you like mysteries this one was written for you. Kiss the Girls is about frightening man in his mid twenties. He goes by the name "Casanova". This creepy character stalks and then captures beautiful, inteligent, young women. Once captured he brings them to his home deep within the thick forrest of North Carolina and locks them up in a room. He then goves them certain rules to follow. If they break these rules Casanova puts a frightening end to their life. In this distrubing case there are many detectives trying to solve it. There is one detective Cross who is passionately involved because his neice Naomi has been captured by Casanova. Detective Cross refuses to rest until Casanova is captured and broughtr to justice. The terribly suspenseful, frightening ending has several surprising twists. I guess you'll just have to read it to find out. This book has a lot of good aspects. It is loaded with gripping suspense from start to finish. The frightening story never lets you take a rest. Another great aspect of the book is that it has very short, snappy chapters. Each chapter is only about 2 to 3 pages long and ends in a very suspenseful twist. This style of writing makes for non-stop, action-packed thrills. There are not many bad aspects about this book. One of the drawbacks is that the author goes into too many gory details. It is also very hard to follow who is who in this book. The good aspects of this story definitely outweigh the bad aspects, therefore, rush to your nearest bookstore and buy this book today.

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[N692.Ebook] Free PDF Medieval Wordbook: More Than 4,000 Terms and Expressions From Medieval Culture, by Madeleine Pelner Cosman

Free PDF Medieval Wordbook: More Than 4,000 Terms and Expressions From Medieval Culture, by Madeleine Pelner Cosman

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Medieval Wordbook: More Than 4,000 Terms and Expressions From Medieval Culture, by Madeleine Pelner Cosman

Medieval Wordbook: More Than 4,000 Terms and Expressions From Medieval Culture, by Madeleine Pelner Cosman



Medieval Wordbook: More Than 4,000 Terms and Expressions From Medieval Culture, by Madeleine Pelner Cosman

Free PDF Medieval Wordbook: More Than 4,000 Terms and Expressions From Medieval Culture, by Madeleine Pelner Cosman

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Medieval Wordbook: More Than 4,000 Terms and Expressions From Medieval Culture, by Madeleine Pelner Cosman

Originally published in 1996 by Facts on File, Inc.

Illustrated with black-and-white drawings.

Includes subject index.

Madeleine Pelner Cosman (1937-2006) was a scholar, a policy analyst, an advocate, a prolific author, and a faculty member at City College of New York. She was the author of fifteen books, including 'Women at Work in Medieval Europe' and 'Fabulous Feasts: Medieval Cookery and Ceremony.'

  • Sales Rank: #128674 in Books
  • Published on: 2007
  • Number of items: 1
  • Binding: Hardcover
  • 294 pages

Most helpful customer reviews

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
Great if you know the medieval word; useless otherwise
By Regan
I bought this wordbook to be able to look up the Medieval word for something but it doesn't work that way. If you KNOW the medieval word, in some cases this book will give you the definition (though I was surprised at common terms that were omitted, like "rushlight" used extensively in the Middle Ages). If you know the English word for it, you will not be helped to find its Medieval equivalent.

What this book needs is a list of English words and then the Medieval equivalent with the definition. Like an English-Medieval dictionary that works both ways. If you don't know the Medieval word, you will not find this book helpful. I didn't. It was frustrating.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Medieval Vocabulary Builder
By A.N. Langdon
For diehard medievalists who want to know all kinds of obscure and more commonplace historical words and their sources, I don't know if you can find better than this.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
you want this one
By Deborah Bogen
More good words and a must have for the medieval enthusiast. Find out what you're talking about.

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Jumat, 27 September 2013

[U749.Ebook] Free Ebook Handbook of Technical Writing, by Gerald J. Alred, Charles T. Brusaw, Walter E. Oliu

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Handbook of Technical Writing, by Gerald J. Alred, Charles T. Brusaw, Walter E. Oliu

Handbook of Technical Writing, by Gerald J. Alred, Charles T. Brusaw, Walter E. Oliu



Handbook of Technical Writing, by Gerald J. Alred, Charles T. Brusaw, Walter E. Oliu

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Handbook of Technical Writing, by Gerald J. Alred, Charles T. Brusaw, Walter E. Oliu

More than just a guide, the Handbook of Technical Writing places writing in a real-world context with quick and easy access to hundreds of technical writing topics and scores of sample documents. Its dedicated author team – with decades of combined academic and professional experience – has crafted the essential reference tool for students and professionals alike, with extensive coverage of grammar, usage, and style. Responding to today’s economic trends, the tenth edition features expanded coverage of the job search, including advice about the appropriate use of social media in the search, as well as new professionalism tips and guidance on how to adapt to ever-evolving technologies. An integrated companion Web site works with the text to offer additional resources and models reflecting the authors’ trademark clarity.

  • Sales Rank: #79295 in Books
  • Brand: Brand: Bedford/St. Martin's
  • Published on: 2011-10-21
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 8.13" h x .91" w x 5.67" l, 1.55 pounds
  • Binding: Spiral-bound
  • 656 pages
Features
  • Used Book in Good Condition

Review

“I love the accessibility, brevity of entries, and layout of this book. Many of my students keep the text long after the course is over to have a handy and accurate reference on the shelf at work.” ―Nancy Schneider, University of Maine – Augusta

“I have found this book to be an excellent resource for finding answers to a variety of technical writing questions both simply and quickly. The wide range of topics covered also makes the handbook useful as a general reference across many disciplines.” ―Cynthia Raisor, Texas A&M University

“This handbook has kept up with the increasing focus on technology and electronic research and with the typical components of a variety of professional documents. Once students discover this book's usefulness, they consult it in conjunction with every writing assignment, saving me time and encouraging them to participate more fully in their own learning.” ―Karen Welch, University of Wisconsin – Eau Claire

“I choose the Handbook of Technical Writing because I want students to have a single, reliable, versatile and broad-ranging text that will serve them well in a variety of circumstances.” ―Ralph Batie, Oregon Institute of Technology

“The Handbook of Technical Writing is written clearly and the information in it is accessible. It's a valuable companion in any technical writing classroom.” ―Natalie D. Segal, University of Hartford

About the Author
Gerald J. Alred is Professor Emeritus of English at the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee, where he teaches courses in the Professional Writing Program. He is author of numerous scholarly articles and several standard bibliographies on business and technical communication, and he is a founding member of the editorial board of the Journal of Business Communication. He is a recipient of the prestigious Jay R. Gould Award for “profound scholarly and textbook contributions to the teaching of business and technical writing.” Charles T. Brusaw served as a faculty member at NCR Corporation’s Management College, where he developed and taught courses in professional writing, editing, and presentation skills for the corporation worldwide. Previously, he worked in advertising technical writing, public relations, and curriculum development. He has been a communications consultant, an invited speaker at academic conferences, and a teacher of business writing at Sinclair Community College. Walter E. Oliu served as Chief of the Publishing Services Branch at the U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission. He is a communications consultant in the Washington, D.C. area and has taught at Miami University of Ohio, Slippery Rock State University, Montgomery College, and George Mason University.

Most helpful customer reviews

3 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
Helpful, and clears confusion.
By Amazon Customer
I found this book to be helpful. The content is organized in alphabetical order, and provides extensive examples for most topics. When I did not understand entirely from class what format to use in a certain type of writing, the book cleared my understanding.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Great manual- highly recommended
By Amazon Customer
I love the format of this manual. I even gave it to my sister as a gift. I enjoy the easy formatting, quick reference and friendly explanations with examples. I would like to see in further editions the author includes CD/digital version for PC or cell phones, for easy reference.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Low Quality in all aspects
By Amazon Customer
Flimsy binding, alphabetically organized, so I was constantly flipping pages, this book will not survive. Not worth the money.

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Jumat, 20 September 2013

[N300.Ebook] Ebook I am Fifteen - and I Don't Want to Die, by Christine Arnothy

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  • Sales Rank: #4093664 in Books
  • Published on: 1966
  • Binding: Perfect Paperback
  • 126 pages
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Clockwork Prince (The Infernal Devices), by Cassandra Clare

True love is shrouded in secrets and lies in the enchanting second “steamy, steampunk drama” (Los Angeles Times) in the #1 New York Times bestselling Infernal Devices trilogy, prequel to the internationally bestselling Mortal Instruments series—now with a gorgeous new cover, a map, a new foreword, and excusive bonus content! Clockwork Prince is a Shadowhunters novel.

In the magical underworld of Victorian London, Tessa Gray has found safety with the Shadowhunters. But that safety proves fleeting when it becomes clear that the mysterious Magister will stop at nothing to use Tessa’s powers for his own dark ends.

With the help of the handsome, tortured Will and the devoted Jem, Tessa discovers that the Magister’s war on the Shadowhunters is deeply personal and fueled by revenge. To unravel the secrets of the past, the trio journeys from mist-shrouded Yorkshire to a manor house that holds untold horrors. When they encounter a clockwork demon bearing a warning for Will, they realize that the Magister knows their every move—and that one of their own has betrayed them.

Tessa is drawn more and more to Jem, though her longing for Will continues to unsettle her. But something is changing in Will. Could finding the Magister free Will from his secrets and give Tessa answers about who she really is? As their search leads to deadly peril, Tessa learns that secrets and lies can corrupt even the purest heart.

  • Sales Rank: #13522 in Books
  • Published on: 2015-09-01
  • Released on: 2015-09-01
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 8.25" h x 1.50" w x 5.50" l, .0 pounds
  • Binding: Paperback
  • 560 pages

Review
"Clare delivers in this trilogy second. . . . Really very well done. Be sure to start with the first in the Infernal Devices trilogy, Clockwork Angel, to best enjoy this tale."

-- Romantic Times Book Review, December 2011

"A purple page turner."

"--Kirkus Reviews, "November 2011

"This novel offers mystery, adventure, and, most importantly, a delicious love triangle. . . . It will not disappoint fans and it will definitely leave them eager for the conclusion of the trilogy."

--"SLJ", January 2012

"Whether it's the overly tight corsets or the smell of dark magic that hangs in the air "like sulfur mixed with the Thames on a hot day," there's something about Victorian England that heightens tensions, both romantic and paranormal. In "Clockwork Prince," the second installment in a prequel trilogy to the bestselling "The Mortal Instruments" series, Cassandra Clare demonstrates her relentless authorial alchemy, blending societal restraint and an otherworldly battle into a steamy steampunk drama."

--"Los Angeles Times", December 2011

About the Author
Cassandra Clare is the #1 New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of Lord of Shadows and Lady Midnight, as well as the internationally bestselling Mortal Instruments series and Infernal Devices trilogy. She is the coauthor of The Bane Chronicles with Sarah Rees Brennan and Maureen Johnson and Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy with Sarah Rees Brennan, Maureen Johnson, and Robin Wasserman, as well as The Shadowhunter’s Codex, which she cowrote with her husband, Joshua Lewis. Her books have more than 50 million copies in print worldwide and have been translated into more than thirty-five languages, a feature film, and a TV show, Shadowhunters, currently airing on Freeform. Cassandra lives in western Massachusetts. Visit her at CassandraClare.com. Learn more about the world of the Shadowhunters at Shadowhunters.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Clockwork Prince 1 THE COUNCIL CHAMBER
Above, the fair hall-ceiling stately set

Many an arch high up did lift,

And angels rising and descending met

With interchange of gift.

—Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “The Palace of Art”

“Oh, yes. It really does look just as I imagined,” Tessa said, and turned to smile at the boy who stood beside her. He had just helped her over a puddle, and his hand still rested politely on her arm, just above the crook of her elbow.

James Carstairs smiled back at her, elegant in his dark suit, his silver-fair hair whipped by the wind. His other hand rested on a jade-topped cane, and if any of the great crowd of people milling around them thought that it was odd that someone so young should need a walking stick, or found anything unusual about his coloring or the cast of his features, they didn’t pause to stare.

“I shall count that as a blessing,” said Jem. “I was beginning to worry, you know, that everything you encountered in London was going to be a disappointment.”

A disappointment. Tessa’s brother, Nate, had once promised her everything in London—a new beginning, a wonderful place to live, a city of soaring buildings and gorgeous parks. What Tessa had found instead was horror and betrayal, and danger beyond anything she could have imagined. And yet . . .

“Not everything has been.” She smiled up at Jem.

“I am glad to hear it.” His tone was serious, not teasing. She looked away from him up at the grand edifice that rose before them. Westminster Abbey, with its great Gothic spires nearly touching the sky. The sun had done its best to struggle out from behind the haze-tipped clouds, and the abbey was bathed in weak sunlight.

“This is really where it is?” she asked as Jem drew her forward, toward the abbey entrance. “It seems so . . .”

“Mundane?”

“I had meant to say crowded.” The Abbey was open to tourists today, and groups of them swarmed busily in and out the enormous doors, most clutching Baedeker guidebooks in their hands. A group of American tourists—middle-aged women in unfashionable clothes, murmuring in accents that made Tessa briefly homesick—passed them as they went up the stairs, hurrying after a lecturer who was offering a guided tour of the Abbey. Jem and Tessa melted in effortlessly behind them.

The inside of the abbey smelled of cold stone and metal. Tessa looked up and around, marveling at the size of the place. It made the Institute look like a village church.

“Notice the triple division of the nave,” a guide droned, going on to explain that smaller chapels lined the eastern and western aisles of the Abbey. There was a hush over the place even though no services were going on. As Tessa let Jem lead her toward the eastern side of the church, she realized she was stepping over stones carved with dates and names. She had known that famous kings, queens, soldiers, and poets were buried in Westminster Abbey, but she hadn’t quite expected she’d be standing on top of them.

She and Jem slowed finally at the southeastern corner of the church. Watery daylight poured through the rose window overhead. “I know we are in a hurry to get to the Council meeting,” said Jem, “but I wanted you to see this.” He gestured around them. “Poets’ Corner.”

Tessa had read of the place, of course, where the great writers of England were buried. There was the gray stone tomb of Chaucer, with its canopy, and other familiar names: “Edmund Spenser, oh, and Samuel Johnson,” she gasped, “and Coleridge, and Robert Burns, and Shakespeare—”

“He isn’t really buried here,” said Jem quickly. “It’s just a monument. Like Milton’s.”

“Oh, I know, but—” She looked at him, and felt herself flush. “I can’t explain it. It’s like being among friends, being among these names. Silly, I know . . .”

“Not silly at all.”

She smiled at him. “How did you know just what I’d want to see?”

“How could I not?” he said. “When I think of you, and you are not there, I see you in my mind’s eye always with a book in your hand.” He looked away from her as he said it, but not before she caught the slight flush on his cheekbones. He was so pale, he could never hide even the least blush, she thought—and was surprised how affectionate the thought was.

She had become very fond of Jem over the past fortnight; Will had been studiously avoiding her, Charlotte and Henry were caught up in issues of Clave and Council and the running of the Institute—and even Jessamine seemed preoccupied. But Jem was always there. He seemed to take his role as her guide to London seriously. They had been to Hyde Park and Kew Gardens, the National Gallery and the British Museum, the Tower of London and Traitors’ Gate. They had gone to see the cows being milked in St. James’s Park, and the fruit and vegetable sellers hawking their wares in Covent Garden. They had watched the boats sailing on the sun-sparked Thames from the Embankment, and had eaten things called “doorstops,” which sounded horrible but turned out to be butter, sugar, and bread. And as the days went on, Tessa felt herself unfolding slowly out of her quiet, huddled unhappiness over Nate and Will and the loss of her old life, like a flower climbing out of frozen ground. She had even found herself laughing. And she had Jem to thank for it.

“You are a good friend,” she exclaimed. And when to her surprise he said nothing to that, she said, “At least, I hope we are good friends. You do think so too, don’t you, Jem?”

He turned to look at her, but before he could reply, a sepulchral voice spoke out of the shadows,

 

“‘Mortality, behold and fear!

What a change of flesh is here:

Think how many royal bones

Sleep within these heaps of stones.’”

 

A dark shape stepped out from between two monuments. As Tessa blinked in surprise, Jem said, in a tone of resigned amusement, “Will. Decided to grace us with your presence after all?”

“I never said I wasn’t coming.” Will moved forward, and the light from the rose windows fell on him, illuminating his face. Even now, Tessa never could look at him without a tightening in her chest, a painful stutter of her heart. Black hair, blue eyes, graceful cheekbones, thick dark lashes, full mouth—he would have been pretty if he had not been so tall and so muscular. She had run her hands over those arms. She knew what they felt like—iron, corded with hard muscles; his hands, when they cupped the back of her head, slim and flexible but rough with calluses . . .

She tore her mind away from the memories. Memories did one no good, not when one knew the truth in the present. Will was beautiful, but he was not hers; he was not anybody’s. Something in him was broken, and through that break spilled a blind cruelty, a need to hurt and to push away.

“You’re late for the Council meeting,” said Jem good-naturedly. He was the only one Will’s puckish malice never seemed to touch.

“I had an errand,” said Will. Up close Tessa could see that he looked tired. His eyes were rimmed with red, the shadows beneath them nearly purple. His clothes looked crumpled, as if he had slept in them, and his hair wanted cutting. But that has nothing to do with you, she told herself sternly, looking away from the soft dark waves that curled around his ears, the back of his neck. It does not matter what you think of how he looks or how he chooses to spend his time. He has made that very clear. “And you are not exactly on the dot of the hour yourselves.”

“I wanted to show Tessa Poets’ Corner,” said Jem. “I thought she would like it.” He spoke so simply and plainly, no one could ever doubt him or imagine he said anything but the truth. In the face of his simple desire to please, even Will didn’t seem to be able to think of anything unpleasant to say; he merely shrugged, and moved on ahead of them at a rapid pace through the Abbey and out into the East Cloister.

There was a square garden here surrounded by cloister walls, and people were walking around the edges of it, murmuring in low voices as if they were still in the church. None of them took notice of Tessa and her companions as they approached a set of double oak doors set into one of the walls. Will, after glancing around, took his stele from his pocket and drew the tip across the wood. The door sparked with a brief blue light and swung open. Will stepped inside, Jem and Tessa following just behind. The door was heavy, and closed with a resounding bang behind Tessa, nearly trapping her skirts; she pulled them away only just in time, and stepped backward quickly, turning around in what was a near pitch-darkness. “Jem?”

Light blazed up; it was Will, holding his witchlight stone. They were in a large stone-bound room with vaulted ceilings. The floor appeared to be brick, and there was an altar at one end of the room. “We’re in the Pyx Chamber,” he said. “Used to be a treasury. Boxes of gold and silver all along the walls.”

“A Shadowhunter treasury?” Tessa was thoroughly puzzled.

“No, the British royal treasury—thus the thick walls and doors,” said Jem. “But we Shadowhunters have always had access.” He smiled at her expression. “Monarchies down through the ages have tithed to the Nephilim, in secret, to keep their kingdoms safe from demons.”

“Not in America,” said Tessa with spirit. “We haven’t got a monarchy—”

“You’ve got a branch of government that deals with Nephilim, never fear,” said Will, crossing the floor to the altar. “It used to be the Department of War, but now there’s a branch of the Department of Justice—”

He was cut off as the altar moved sideways with a groan, revealing a dark, empty hole behind it. Tessa could see faint flickers of light in among the shadows. Will ducked into the hole, his witchlight illuminating the darkness.

When Tessa followed, she found herself in a long downward-sloping stone corridor. The stone of the walls, floors, and ceiling was all the same, giving the impression that the passage had been hewed directly through the rock, though it was smooth instead of rough. Every few feet witchlight burned in a sconce shaped like a human hand pushing through the wall, fingers gripping a torch.

The altar slid shut behind them, and they set off. As they went, the passage began to slope more steeply downward. The torches burned with a blue-green glow, illuminating carvings in the rock—the same motif, repeated over and over, of an angel rising in burning fire from a lake, carrying a sword in one hand and a cup in the other.

At last they found themselves standing before two great silver doors. Each door was carved with a design Tessa had seen before—four interlocking Cs. Jem pointed to them. “They stand for Clave and Council, Covenant and Consul,” he said, before she could ask.

“The Consul. He’s—the head of the Clave? Like a sort of king?”

“Not quite so inbred as your usual monarch,” said Will. “He’s elected, like the president or the prime minister.”

“And the Council?”

“You’ll see them soon enough.” Will pushed the doors open.

Tessa’s mouth fell open; she closed it quickly, but not before she caught an amused look from Jem, standing at her right side. The room beyond them was one of the biggest she had ever seen, a huge domed space, the ceiling of which was painted with a pattern of stars and constellations. A great chandelier in the shape of an angel holding blazing torches dangled from the highest point of the dome. The rest of the room was set up as an amphitheater, with long, curving benches. Will, Jem, and Tessa were standing at the top of a row of stairs that cut through the center of the seating area, which was three quarters full of people. Down at the bottom of the steps was a raised platform, and on that platform were several uncomfortable-looking high-backed wooden chairs.

In one of them sat Charlotte; beside her was Henry, looking wide-eyed and nervous. Charlotte sat calmly with her hands in her lap; only someone who knew her well would have seen the tension in her shoulders and the set of her mouth.

Before them, at a sort of speaker’s lectern—it was broader and longer than the usual lectern—stood a tall man with long, fair hair and a thick beard; his shoulders were broad, and he wore long black robes over his clothes like a judge, the sleeves glimmering with woven runes. Beside him, in a low chair, sat an older man, his brown hair streaked with gray, his face clean-shaven but sunk into stern lines. His robe was dark blue, and gems glittered on his fingers when he moved his hand. Tessa recognized him: the ice-voiced, ice-eyed Inquisitor Whitelaw who questioned witnesses on behalf of the Clave.

“Mr. Herondale,” said the blond man, looking up at Will, and his mouth quirked into a smile. “How kind of you to join us. And Mr. Carstairs as well. And your companion must be—”

“Miss Gray,” Tessa said before he could finish. “Miss Theresa Gray of New York.”

A little murmur ran around the room, like the sound of a wave receding. She felt Will, next to her, tense, and Jem draw a breath as if to speak. Interrupting the Consul, she thought she heard someone say. So this was Consul Wayland, the chief officer of the Clave. Glancing around the room, she saw a few familiar faces—Benedict Lightwood, with his sharp, beaky features and stiff carriage; and his son, tousle-haired Gabriel Lightwood, looking stonily straight ahead. Dark-eyed Lilian Highsmith. Friendly-looking George Penhallow; and even Charlotte’s formidable aunt Callida, her hair piled on her head in thick gray waves. There were many other faces as well, ones she didn’t know. It was like looking at a picture book meant to tell you about all the peoples of the world. There were blond Viking-looking Shadowhunters, and a darker-skinned man who looked like a caliph out of her illustrated The Thousand and One Nights, and an Indian woman in a beautiful sari trimmed with silver runes. She sat beside another woman, who had turned her head and was looking at them. She wore an elegant silk dress, and her face was like Jem’s—the same delicately beautiful features, the same curves to her eyes and cheekbones, though where his hair and eyes were silver, hers were dark.

“Welcome, then, Miss Tessa Gray of New York,” said the Consul, sounding amused. “We appreciate your joining us here today. I understand you have already answered quite a few questions for the London Enclave. I had hoped you would be willing to answer a few more.”

Across the distance that separated them, Tessa’s eyes met Charlotte’s. Should I?

Charlotte dropped her a nearly imperceptible nod. Please.

Tessa squared her shoulders. “If that is your request, certainly.”

“Approach the Council bench, then,” said the Consul, and Tessa realized he must mean the long, narrow wooden bench that stood before the lectern. “And your gentleman friends may escort you,” he added.

Will muttered something under his breath, but so quietly even Tessa couldn’t hear it; flanked by Will on her left and Jem on her right, Tessa made her way down the steps and to the bench before the lectern. She stood behind it uncertainly. This close up, she could see that the Consul had friendly blue eyes, unlike the Inquisitor’s, which were a bleak and stormy gray, like a rainy sea.

“Inquisitor Whitelaw,” said the Consul to the gray-eyed man, “the Mortal Sword, if you please.”

The Inquisitor stood, and from his robes drew a massive blade. Tessa recognized it instantly. It was long and dull silver, its hilt carved in the shape of outspread wings. It was the sword from the Codex, the one that the Angel Raziel had risen from the lake carrying, and had given to Jonathan Shadowhunter, the first of them all.

“Maellartach,” she said, giving the Sword its name.

The Consul, taking the Sword, looked amused again. “You have been studying up,” he said. “Which of you has been teaching her? William? James?”

“Tessa picks things up on her own, sir,” Will’s drawl was bland and cheerful, at odds with the grim feeling in the room. “She’s very inquisitive.”

“All the more reason she shouldn’t be here.” Tessa didn’t have to turn; she knew the voice. Benedict Lightwood. “This is the Gard Council. We don’t bring Downworlders to this place.” His voice was tight. “The Mortal Sword cannot be used to make her tell the truth; she’s not a Shadowhunter. What use is it, or her, here?”

“Patience, Benedict.” Consul Wayland held the Sword lightly, as if it weighed nothing. His gaze on Tessa was heavier. She felt as if he were searching her face, reading the fear in her eyes. “We are not going to hurt you, little warlock,” he said. “The Accords would forbid it.”

“You should not call me warlock,” Tessa said. “I bear no warlock’s mark.” It was strange, having to say this again, but when she had been questioned before, it had always been by members of the Clave, not the Consul himself. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, exuding a sense of power and authority. Just that sort of power and authority that Benedict Lightwood so resented Charlotte laying claim to.

“Then, what are you?” he asked.

“She doesn’t know.” The Inquisitor’s tone was dry. “Neither do the Silent Brothers.”

“She may be allowed to sit,” said the Consul. “And to give evidence, but her testimony will be counted only as half a Shadowhunter’s.” He turned to the Branwells. “In the meantime, Henry, you are dismissed from questioning for the moment. Charlotte, please remain.”

Tessa swallowed back her resentment and went to sit in the front row of seats, where she was joined by a drawn-looking Henry, whose gingery hair was sticking up wildly. Jessamine was there, in a dress of pale brown alpaca, looking bored and annoyed. Tessa sat down next to her, with Will and Jem on her other side. Jem was directly beside her, and as the seats were narrow, she could feel the warmth of his shoulder against hers.

At first the Council proceeded much as had other meetings of the Enclave. Charlotte was called upon to give her recollections of the night when the Enclave attacked the stronghold of the vampire de Quincey, killing him and those of his followers who’d been present, while Tessa’s brother, Nate, had betrayed their trust in him and allowed the Magister, Axel Mortmain, entry into the Institute, where he had murdered two of the servants and nearly kidnapped Tessa. When Tessa was called up, she said the same things she had said before, that she did not know where Nate was, that she had not suspected him, that she had known nothing of her powers until the Dark Sisters had shown them to her, and that she had always thought her parents were human.

“Richard and Elizabeth Gray have been thoroughly investigated,” said the Inquisitor. “There is no evidence to suggest either was anything but human. The boy, the brother—human as well. It could well be that, as Mortmain hinted, the girl’s father is a demon, but if so, there is the question of the missing warlock mark.”

“Most curious, everything about you, including this power of yours,” said the Consul, looking at Tessa with eyes that were steady and pale blue. “You have no idea what its limits, its constructs are? Have you been tested with an item of Mortmain’s? To see if you can access his memories or thoughts?”

“Yes, I—tried. With a button he had left behind him. It should have worked.”

“But?”

She shook her head. “I could not do it. There was no spark to it, no—no life. Nothing for me to connect with.”

“Convenient,” muttered Benedict, almost too low to be heard, but Tessa heard it, and flushed.

The Consul indicated that she might take her seat again. She caught sight of Benedict Lightwood’s face as she did so; his lips were compressed into a thin, furious line. She wondered what she could possibly have said to anger him.

“And no one has seen hide nor hair of this Mortmain since Miss Gray’s . . . altercation with him in the Sanctuary,” the Consul went on as Tessa took her seat.

The Inquisitor flipped some of the papers that were stacked on the lectern. “His houses have been searched and found to be completely emptied of all his belongings. His warehouses were searched with the same result. Even our friends at Scotland Yard have investigated. The man has vanished. Quite literally, as our young friend William Herondale tells us.”

Will smiled brilliantly as if complimented, though Tessa, seeing the malice under the smile, thought of light sparking off the cutting edge of a razor.

“My suggestion,” said the Consul, “is that Charlotte and Henry Branwell be censured, and that for the next three months their official actions, undertaken on behalf of the Clave, be required to pass through me for approval before—”

“My lord Consul.” A firm, clear voice spoke out from the crowd. Heads swiveled, staring; Tessa got the feeling that this—someone interrupting the Consul midspeech—didn’t happen very often. “If I might speak.”

The Consul’s eyebrows went up. “Benedict Lightwood,” he said. “You had your chance to speak earlier, during the testimonials.”

“I hold no arguments with the testimonials given,” said Benedict Lightwood. His beaky, sharp profile looked even sharper in the witchlight. “It is your sentence I take issue with.”

The Consul leaned forward on the lectern. He was a big man, thick-necked and deep-chested, and his large hands looked as if he could span Benedict’s throat easily with a single one. Tessa rather wished he would. From what she had seen of Benedict Lightwood, she did not like him. “And why is that?”

“I think you have let your long friendship with the Fairchild family blind you to Charlotte’s shortcomings as head of the Institute,” said Benedict, and there was an audible intake of breath in the room. “The blunders committed on the night of July the fifth did more than embarrass the Clave and lose us the Pyxis. We have damaged our relationship with London’s Downworlders by futilely attacking de Quincy.”

“There have already been a number of complaints lodged through Reparations,” rumbled the Consul. “But those will be dealt with as the Law sees fit. Reparations isn’t really your concern, Benedict—”

“And,” Benedict went on, his voice rising, “worst of all, she has let a dangerous criminal with plans to harm and destroy Shadowhunters escape, and we have no idea where he might be. Nor is the responsibility for finding him being laid where it should be, on the shoulders of those who lost him!”

His voice rose. In fact, the whole room was in an uproar; Charlotte looked dismayed, Henry confused, and Will furious. The Consul, whose eyes had darkened alarmingly when Benedict had mentioned the Fairchilds—they must have been Charlotte’s family, Tessa realized—remained silent as the noise died down. Then he said, “Your hostility toward the leader of your Enclave does not do you credit, Benedict.”

“My apologies, Consul. I do not believe that keeping Charlotte Branwell as the head of the Institute—for we all know that Henry Branwell’s involvement is nominal at most—is in the best interests of the Clave. I believe a woman cannot run an Institute; women do not think with logic and discretion but with the emotions of the heart. I have no doubt that Charlotte is a good and decent woman, but a man would not have been fooled by a flimsy spy like Nathaniel Gray—”

“I was fooled.” Will had leaped to his feet and swung around, eyes blazing. “We all were. What insinuations are you making about myself and Jem and Henry, Mr. Lightwood?”

“You and Jem are children,” said Benedict cuttingly. “And Henry never looks up from his worktable.”

Will started to climb over the back of his chair; Jem tugged him back into his seat with main force, hissing under his breath. Jessamine clapped her hands together, her brown eyes bright.

“This is finally exciting,” she exclaimed.

Tessa looked at her in disgust. “Are you hearing any of this? He’s insulting Charlotte!” she whispered, but Jessamine brushed her off with a gesture.

“And who would you suggest run the Institute instead?” the Consul demanded of Benedict, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Yourself, perhaps?”

Benedict spread his hands wide self-deprecatingly. “If you say so, Consul . . .”

Before he could finish speaking, three other figures had risen of their own accord; two Tessa recognized as members of the London Enclave, though she did not know their names; the third was Lilian Highsmith.

Benedict smiled. Everyone was staring at him now; beside him sat his youngest son Gabriel, who was looking up at his father with unreadable green eyes. His slim fingers gripped the back of the chair in front of him.

“Three to support my claim,” Benedict said. “That’s what the Law requires for me to formally challenge Charlotte Branwell for the position of head of the London Enclave.”

Charlotte gave a little gasp but sat motionless in her seat, refusing to turn around. Jem still had Will by the wrist. And Jessamine continued to look as if she were watching an exciting play.

“No,” said the Consul.

“You cannot prevent me from challenging—”

“Benedict, you challenged my appointment of Charlotte the moment I made it. You’ve always wanted the Institute. Now, when the Enclave needs to work together more than ever, you bring division and contention to the proceedings of the Council.”

“Change is not always accomplished peacefully, but that does not make it disadvantageous. My challenge stands.” Benedict’s hands gripped each other.

The Consul drummed his fingers on the lectern. Beside him the Inquisitor stood, cold-eyed. Finally the Consul said, “You suggest, Benedict, that the responsibility of finding Mortmain should be laid upon the shoulders of those who you claim ‘lost him.’ You would agree, I believe, that finding Mortmain is our first priority?”

Benedict nodded curtly.

“Then, my proposal is this: Let Charlotte and Henry Branwell have charge of the investigation into Mortmain’s whereabouts. If by the end of two weeks they have not located him, or at least some strong evidence pointing to his location, then the challenge may go forward.”

Charlotte shot forward in her seat. “Find Mortmain?” she said. “Alone, just Henry and I—with no help from the rest of the Enclave?”

The Consul’s eyes when they rested on her were not unfriendly, but neither were they entirely forgiving. “You may call upon other members of the Clave if you have some specific need, and of course the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters are at your disposal,” he said. “But as for the investigation, yes, that is for you to accomplish on your own.”

“I don’t like this,” complained Lilian Highsmith. “You’re turning the search for a madman into a game of power—”

“Do you wish to withdraw your support for Benedict, then?” asked the Consul. “His challenge would be ended and there would be no need for the Branwells to prove themselves.”

Lilian opened her mouth—and then, at a look from Benedict, closed it. She shook her head.

“We have just lost our servants,” said Charlotte in a strained voice. “Without them—”

“New servants will be provided to you, as is standard,” said the Consul. “Your late servant Thomas’s brother, Cyril, is traveling here from Brighton to join your household, and the Dublin Institute has given up its second cook for you. Both are well-trained fighters—which, I must say, Charlotte, yours should have been as well.”

“Both Thomas and Agatha were trained,” Henry protested.

“But you have several in your house who are not,” said Benedict. “Not only is Miss Lovelace woefully behind in her training, but your parlor girl, Sophie, and that Downworlder there—” He pointed at Tessa. “Well, since you seem bent on making her a permanent addition to your household, it would hardly hurt if she—and the maid—were trained in the basics of defense.”

Tessa looked sideways at Jem in astonishment. “He means me?”

Jem nodded. His expression was somber.

“I can’t—I’ll chop off my own foot!”

“If you’re going to chop off anyone’s foot, chop off Benedict’s,” Will muttered.

“You’ll be fine, Tessa. It’s nothing you can’t do,” Jem began, but the rest of his words were drowned out by Benedict.

“In fact,” Benedict said, “since the two of you will be so busy investigating Mortmain’s whereabouts, I suggest I lend you my sons—Gabriel, and Gideon, who returns from Spain tonight—as trainers. Both are excellent fighters and could use the teaching experience.”

“Father!” Gabriel protested. He looked horrified; clearly this was not something Benedict had discussed with him in advance.

“We can train our own servants,” Charlotte snapped, but the Consul shook his head at her.

“Benedict Lightwood is offering you a generous gift. Accept it.”

Charlotte was crimson in the face. After a long moment she bent her head, acknowledging the Consul’s words. Tessa felt dizzy. She was going to be trained? Trained to fight, to throw knives and swing a sword? Of course, one of her favorite heroines had always been Capitola in The Hidden Hand, who could fight as well as a man—and dressed like one. But that didn’t mean she wanted to be her.

“Very well,” said the Consul. “This session of the Council is ended, to be reconvened here, in the same location, in a fortnight. You are all dismissed.”

Of course, everyone did not depart immediately. There was a sudden clamor of voices as people began to rise from their seats and chatter eagerly with their neighbors. Charlotte sat still; Henry beside her, looked as if he wanted desperately to say something comforting but could think of nothing. His hand hovered uncertainly over his wife’s shoulder. Will was glaring across the room at Gabriel Lightwood, who looked coldly in their direction.

Slowly Charlotte rose to her feet. Henry had his hand on her back now, murmuring. Jessamine was already standing, twirling her new white lace parasol. Henry had replaced the old one that had been destroyed in battle with Mortmain’s automatons. Her hair was done up in tight bunches over her ears like grapes. Tessa got quickly to her feet, and the group of them headed up the center aisle of the Council room. Tessa caught whispers on each side of her, bits of the same words, over and over: “Charlotte,” “Benedict,” “never find the Magister,” “two weeks,” “challenge,” “Consul,” “Mortmain,” “Enclave,” “humiliating.”

Charlotte walked with her back straight, her cheeks red, and her eyes gazing straight ahead as if she couldn’t hear the gossip. Will seemed about to lunge off toward the whisperers to administer rough justice, but Jem had a firm grip on the back of his parabatai’s coat. Being Jem, Tessa reflected, must be a great deal like being the owner of a thoroughbred dog that liked to bite your guests. You had to have a hand on his collar constantly. Jessamine merely looked bored again. She wasn’t terribly interested in what the Enclave thought of her, or any of them.

By the time they had reached the doors of the Council chamber, they were nearly running. Charlotte paused a moment to let the rest of their group catch up. Most of the crowd was streaming off to the left, where Tessa, Jem, and Will had come from, but Charlotte turned right, marched several paces down the hall, spun around a corner, and abruptly stopped.

“Charlotte?” Henry, catching up to her, sounded worried. “Darling—”

Without warning Charlotte drew her foot back and kicked the wall, as hard as she could. As the wall was stone, this did little damage, though Charlotte let out a low shriek.

“Oh, my,” said Jessamine, twirling her parasol.

“If I might make a suggestion,” said Will. “About twenty paces behind us, in the Council room, is Benedict. If you’d like to go back in there and try kicking him, I recommend aiming upward and a bit to the left—”

“Charlotte.” The deep, gravelly voice was instantly recognizable. Charlotte spun around, her brown eyes widening.

It was the Consul. The runes picked out in silver thread on the hem and sleeves of his cloak glittered as he moved toward the little group from the Institute, his gaze on Charlotte. One hand against the wall, she didn’t move.

“Charlotte,” Consul Wayland said again, “you know what your father always said about losing your temper.”

“He did say that. He also said that he should have had a son,” Charlotte replied bitterly. “If he had—if I were a man—would you have treated me as you just did?”

Henry put his hand on his wife’s shoulder, murmuring something, but she shook it off. Her large, hurt brown eyes were on the Consul.

“And how did I just treat you?” he asked.

“As if I were a child, a little girl who needed scolding.”

“Charlotte, I am the one who named you as head of the Institute and the Enclave.” The Consul sounded exasperated. “I did it not just because I was fond of Granville Fairchild and knew he wanted his daughter to succeed him, but because I thought you would accomplish the job well.”

“You named Henry, too,” she said. “And you even told us when you did it that it was because the Enclave would accept a married couple as their leader, but not a woman alone.”

“Well, congratulations, Charlotte. I do not think any members of the London Enclave are under the impression that they are in any way being led by Henry.”

“It’s true,” Henry said, looking at his shoes. “They all know I’m rather useless. It’s my fault all this happened, Consul—”

“It isn’t,” said Consul Wayland. “It is a combination of a generalized complacency on the part of the Clave, bad luck and bad timing, and some poor decisions on your part, Charlotte. Yes, I am holding you accountable for them—”

“So you agree with Benedict!” Charlotte cried.

“Benedict Lightwood is a blackguard and a hypocrite,” said the Consul wearily. “Everyone knows that. But he is politically powerful, and it is better to placate him with this show than it would be to antagonize him further by ignoring him.”

“A show? Is that what you call this?” Charlotte demanded bitterly. “You have set me an impossible task.”

“I have set you the task of locating the Magister,” said Consul Wayland. “The man who broke into the Institute, killed your servants, took your Pyxis, and plans to build an army of clockwork monsters to destroy us all—in short, a man who must be stopped. As head of the Enclave, Charlotte, stopping him is your task. If you consider it impossible, then perhaps you should ask yourself why you want the job so badly in the first place.”

Most helpful customer reviews

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
Good :)
By anna lisa
Tessa has no place to call home anymore because her family members are either dead or working for Mortmain, the man who claims he made her and wants to use her for her magical abilities.
But fortunately the Shadowhunters who run the London Institute, that are also her newfound friends, aren’t willing to throw her on the street. So even though her life has been turned upside down Tessa at least has a place to stay for now.
But even that is compromised when Benedict Lightwood tries to claim the Institute for himself.
Now Tessa and her friends must find Mortmain who has disappeared from the face of the earth. They only get two weeks to accomplish this task or they will lose the Institute.
And while they look Mortmain gets more time to work on his plan to destroy the Shadowhunters.

I really liked this book. We get to know more about the characters and few mysteries from book one are solved. The plot continues to thicken but I would have liked some more action. I am excited to read the last book and find out how this will end.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
50ish, and LOVE this trilogy - And I'm not the only adult reading these and loving them!
By Funnelcake
Although I read from several genres (classics, bestselling fiction, mystery, romance, etc.), my favorite genre is typically adult fantasy, usually of the vampire or witch/warlock variety, time-shifters, etc. (one of my favorite writers in this genre is Karen Chance, love her writing style, but also like Kim Harrison and several others). However, having tried and also loved the young adult series of Harry Potter, Hunger Games books, the Rick Riordan demi-gods series Percy Jackson, etc., I thought what the heck, I'd try at least the 1st Mortal Instruments. I had read that one of the books was going to be made into a movie. Once I read somewhat into the 1st book, I was completely and totally hooked, and pretty much devoured the series, and soon moved on to the Infernal Devices trilogy. I did not want to put any of the books from the 2 series down. I enjoyed the Mortal Instruments series, but I have to say my favorite series of the 2 has been the Infernal Devices. What a great bunch of characters, with adventure and a fabulous romance too. There is more action in the Mortal Instruments series, although there is still "some" action in Infernal Devices, as well. I liked the characters of Jace and Simon in Mortal Instruments (Simon not until about the 3rd book of Mortal Instruments when so many changes are taking place), but my favorite character considering both series is Will Herondale (Infernal Devices). (**Spoiler Alert): My favorite line in the book (Clockwork Prince) is when Will says "I have wanted to do this every moment of every hour of every day that I have been with you since the day I met you," sigh......melt, melt. I also loved that the eccentric Magnus also appeared in this trilogy. I did not think Clary (Mortal Instruments) was nearly as likeable a character as Tess (Infernal Devices), but for the most part, I really liked the mix of characters in Mortal Instruments, and also many of the main characters in Infernal Devices. When I shared some information about the books to my co-workers, they started reading them too, and also LOVE them!!! I was sad to say goodbye, even if only temporarily, when I finished what is currently available in both series. Now I just have to wait for the 3rd book in the Infernal Devices trilogy to come out soon, (as well as the next Mortal Instruments book), and of course the 1st Movie (which I hope follows the book). Well done Ms. Clare!

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Love This Series - Must read before Mortal Instruments
By Kindle Customer
So, I have read this book so many times, I have entire passages memorized. I read the Clockwork series before the Mortal Instruments and it really helped with the development of many of the characters you find in the Mortal Instruments. So, if you are going to read the Clockwork Series and the Mortal Instruments, start with the Clockwork series because many of the characters are in the Mortal Instruments.

I love the story of Will, Jem and Tessa. I love the way they end up. Overall, I just love these books. I have been on the edge of my seat, laughed, cried and been inspired. It is truly a wonderful set of books and I never get tired of reading them.

I even purchased the audiobooks and have listening to them numerous times. Of all the books I own, This series are my absolute favorite. When I can't figure out what to read, I read about Will, Jem and Tessa. I have even purchased the graphic novels.

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Kamis, 12 September 2013

[K725.Ebook] PDF Download Steel Designers' Manual, by SCI (Steel Construction Institute)

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Steel Designers' Manual, by SCI (Steel Construction Institute)



Steel Designers' Manual, by SCI (Steel Construction Institute)

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Steel Designers' Manual, by SCI (Steel Construction Institute)

In 2010 the then current European national standards for building and construction were replaced by the EN Eurocodes, a set of pan-European model building codes developed by the European Committee for Standardization. The Eurocodes are a series of 10 European Standards (EN 1990 – EN 1999) that provide a common approach for the design of buildings, other civil engineering works and construction products. The design standards embodied in these Eurocodes will be used for all European public works and are set to become the de-facto standard for the private sector in Europe, with probable adoption in many other countries.

This classic manual on structural steelwork design was first published in 1955, since when it has sold many tens of thousands of copies worldwide. For the seventh edition of the Steel Designers' Manual all chapters have been comprehensively reviewed, revised to ensure they reflect current approaches and best practice, and brought in to compliance with EN 1993: Design of Steel Structures (the so-called Eurocode 3).

  • Sales Rank: #1808799 in Books
  • Published on: 2012-02-20
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 9.92" h x 2.30" w x 7.20" l, 5.55 pounds
  • Binding: Hardcover
  • 1398 pages

From the Back Cover
In 2010 the then current European national standards for building and construction were replaced by the EN Eurocodes, a set of pan-European model building codes developed by the European Committee for Standardization. The Eurocodes are a series of 10 European Standards (EN 1990 – EN 1999) that provide a common approach for the design of buildings, other civil engineering works and construction products. The design standards embodied in these Eurocodes will be used for all European public works and are set to become the de-facto standard for the private sector in Europe, with probable adoption in many other countries.

This classic manual on structural steelwork design was first published in 1955, since when it has sold many tens of thousands of copies worldwide. For the seventh edition of the Steel Designers' Manual all chapters have been comprehensively reviewed, revised to ensure they reflect current approaches and best practice, and brought in to compliance with EN 1993: Design of Steel Structures (the so-called Eurocode 3).

About the Author
The Steel Construction Institute (SCI) is the leading, independent provider of technical expertise and disseminator of best practice to the steel construction sector.

Buick Davidson is a Senior Lecturer in the Department of Civil and Structural Engineering at the University of Sheffield.

Graham Owens was, until recently, Director of the SCI and he is now a consultant for the SCI.

Most helpful customer reviews

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Five Stars
By Marko
An up to date and comprehensive edition of the most popular English language European handbook in steel structures design

0 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
My technical steel data book.
By jaime zamora alvarado
From my point of view, this book contains data steel like the chapter 14 on cross -section classification,
I prefer to study some subjects of this book like beam, loads, bending moments, etc.
So less important are the chapters about joints among steel membrers. Also, there are many fundamentals formulas relationship steel.

I would like to study this book about steel, it will wonderful and magnificent to own.

Jaime Z.
March 9, 2014

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