Jocelyn looked skeptical, and Magnus rolled his eyes.
“I was also not born with the name ‘Magnus Bane,’” he said. “I came up with that one all on my own.”
“I actually was born Tessa Gray,” Tessa said. “But you should choose whatever name seems right to you. I’ve always said there is a great deal of power in words, and that means names, too. A name you choose for yourself could tell you the story of what your destiny will be, and who you intend to become.”
“Call me Fray. Let me join together the names of the Fairchilds, my lost family, and the Grays. Because you are . . . a family friend,” said Jocelyn, speaking with sudden firmness.
Tessa smiled at Jocelyn, looking surprised but pleased, and Jocelyn smiled down at her daughter. Magnus saw the determination in her face. Valentine had wanted to crush the world as Magnus knew it. But this woman had helped crush him instead, and now she was looking at her daughter as if she would make another world, shining and brand new, just for Clary, so Clary would never be touched by any of the darkness of the past. Magnus knew what it was to want to forget as badly as Jocelyn did, knew the passionate urge to protect that came with love.
Perhaps none of the children of the new generation—not this small stubborn redheaded scrap, or half-faerie Helen and Mark Blackthorn at the Los Angeles Institute, or even Maryse Lightwood’s children growing up in New York far from the Glass City—would ever have to learn the full truth about the ugliness of the past.
Jocelyn stroked her little girl’s face, and they all watched as the baby smiled, lit up with the sheer joy of living. She was a story in herself, sweet and full of hope, just beginning.
“Jocelyn and Clary Fray,” said Magnus. “It’s nice to meet you.”