She would have rhapsodized about gothic spires spearing the clouds, cobblestone streets shimmering with rain, sunlight dancing on the Seine, and, bien sûr, the infinite varieties of cheese. She would have pointed out that Paris had been home to Baudelaire and Rimbaud, Monet and Gauguin, Descartes and Voltaire, that this was the city that had birthed a new way of speaking, seeing, thinking, being—drawing even the most mundane of mundanes a little closer to the angels.

In every way, Paris was la ville lumière. The City of Light. If you ask me, Céline would have said, nothing could be more beautiful than that.

But no one ever asked. As a general rule, no one asked Céline Montclaire’s opinion on anything.

Until now.

“You sure there’s not some kind of rune to keep these foul beasts away?” Stephen Herondale said as a thunderous flutter of wings descended. He ducked, whacked blindly at his feathered foe.

The flock of pigeons quickly passed, without dealing any mortal blows. Céline waved off a couple of stragglers, and Stephen breathed a sigh of relief.

“My hero,” he said.

Céline felt her cheeks warm alarmingly. She had a terrible blushing problem. Especially when she was in the presence of Stephen Herondale. “The great Herondale warrior afraid of pigeons?” she teased, hoping he wouldn’t hear the quaver in her voice.

“Not afraid. Simply exhibiting a prudent amount of caution in the face of a potentially demonic creature.”

“Demon pigeons?”

“I look upon them with great suspicion,” Stephen said with as much dignity as a pigeon-phobe could muster. He tapped the longsword hanging by his hip. “And this great warrior stands at the ready to do what needs be done.”

As he spoke, another flock of pigeons took flight from the cobblestones, and for a moment all was wings and feathers and Stephen’s rather high-pitched squeal.

Céline laughed. “Yes, I can see you’re fearless in the face of danger. If not in the beak of danger.”

Stephen glared fiercely at her. Her pulse quickened. Had she overstepped? Then he winked.

Sometimes she wanted him so much she felt like her heart might explode.

“You sure we’re still going in the right direction?” he said. “I feel like we’re walking in circles.”

“Trust me,” she said.

Stephen clapped a hand to his heart. “Bien sûr, mademoiselle.”