Clockwork Angel excerpt from Cassandra Clare

Tessa woke, gasping, the book sliding off her lap as she sat up. The dream was gone, but the music remained, high and haunting and sweet. She made her way to the door and peered out into the hallway.
The music was louder in the corridor. In fact, it was coming from the room across the hall. It was ajar slightly, and notes seemed to pour through the opening like water through the narrow neck of a vase.
As if in a dream, Tessa crossed the hall and put her hand gently to the door; it swung open under her touch. The room within was dark, lit only by moonlight — she saw that it was not unlike her own bedroom across the hall: the same large four-poster bed, the same dark heavy furniture. The curtains had been pulled back from one tall window and pale silver light poured into the room like a rain of needles. In the square patch of moonlight just before the window, someone was standing. A boy — he seemed too slight to be a grown man — with a violin propped against his shoulder: his cheek rested against it, and the bow sawed back and forth over the strings, wringing notes out of it.
His eyes were closed. “Will?” he said, without opening them or ceasing to play, “Will, is that you?”

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