DISCOVER THE WORLD OF THESHADOWHUNTERS

in these two bestselling series.

THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS

#1 NEW YORK TIMESBESTSELLING SERIES

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languagesSoon to be a major motion picture

THE INFERNAL DEVICES

Prequel to the internationallybestselling Mortal Instruments series

#1 NEW YORK TIMESBESTSELLER

USA Today Bestseller * Wall StreetJournal Bestseller * Publishers

Weekly Bestseller

The demon Lilith has beendestroyed and Jace freed fromcaptivity. But when theShadowhunters arrive, they findonly blood and broken glass. Notonly is the boy Clary lovesmissing, so is the boy she hates:her brother Sebastian, who isdetermined to bring theShadowhunters to their knees.

The Clave’s magic cannotlocate either boy, but Jace can’tstay away from Clary. When theymeet again Clary discovers thehorror Lilith’s magic has wrought—Jace and Sebastian are nowbound to each other, and Jace has

become a servant of evil. TheClave is determined to destroySebastian, but there is no way toharm one boy without destroyingthe other.

Only a few people believethat Jace can still be saved.Together, Alec, Magnus, Simon,and Isabelle bargain with thesinister Seelie Queen,contemplate deals with demons,and turn at last to the merciless,weapon-making Iron Sisters, whomight be able to forge a weaponthat can sever the bond betweenSebastian and Jace. If the IronSisters can’t help, their only hopeis to challenge Heaven and Hell—a risk that could claim their

lives.And they must do it without

Clary. For Clary is playing adangerous game utterly alone.The price of losing is not just herown life, but Jace’s soul. She’swilling to do anything for Jace,but can she still trust him? Or ishe truly lost? What price is toohigh to pay, even for love? Love. Blood. Betrayal. Revenge.Darkness threatens to claim theShadowhunters in the harrowingfifth book of the MortalInstruments series.

CASSANDRACLARE

is the #1 New York Timesbestselling author of the MortalInstruments series and theInfernal Devices trilogy. She wasborn overseas and spent her earlyyears traveling around the worldwith her family and severaltrunks of books. Cassandra livesin western Massachusetts withher husband, their cats, and thesedays, even more books. Visit heronline at cassandraclare.com.

mortalinstruments.com

JACKET DESIGN BY RUSSELLGORDON

JACKET PHOTO-ILLUSTRATIONCOPYRIGHT

© 2012 BY CLIFF NIELSEN

Margaret K.McElderry Books

SIMON & SCHUSTER * NEWYORK

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Also by Cassandra Clare

THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS

City of Bones

City of Ashes

City of Glass

City of Fallen Angels

THE INFERNAL DEVICES

Clockwork Angel

Clockwork Prince

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MARGARET K. MCELDERRY BOOKSAn imprint of Simon & SchusterChildren’s Publishing Division

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York,New York 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.comThis book is a work of fiction. Anyreferences to historical events, real

people, or real locales are usedfictitiously. Other names, characters,

places, and incidents are products of theauthor’s imagination, and any resemblance

to actual events or locales or persons,living or dead, is entirely coincidental.Copyright © 2012 by Cassandra Claire

LLCAll rights reserved, including the right ofreproduction in whole or in part in any

form.MARGARET K. MCELDERRY BOOKS is a

trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau

can bring authors to your live event.For more information or to book an event,

contact the Simon & Schuster SpeakersBureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit ourwebsite at www.simonspeakers.com.

Book design by Mike RosamiliaThe text for this book is set in Dolly.Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Clare, Cassandra.

City of lost souls / Cassandra Clare.—1sted.

p. cm.—(The mortal instruments ; bk. 5)Summary: When Jace vanishes with

Sebastian, Clary and the Shadowhuntersstruggle to piece together their shattered

world and Clary infiltrates the groupplanning the world’s destruction.

ISBN 978-1-4424-1686-4 (hardcover)ISBN 978-1-4424-1688-8 (eBook)

[1. Supernatural—Fiction. 2. Demonology—Fiction. 3. Magic—Fiction. 4.

Vampires—Fiction. 5. New York (N.Y.)—Fiction. 6. Horror stories.] I. Title.

PZ7.C5265Ckl 2012[Fic]—dc232011042547

For Nao,Tim, David,

and Ben

No man chooses evil because it is evil.He only mistakes it for happiness, the

good he seeks.—Mary Wollstonecraft

Contents

Prologue

Part One: No Evil Angel

Chapter 1 : The Last CouncilChapter 2 : ThornsChapter 3 : Bad AngelsChapter 4 : And ImmortalityChapter 5 : Valentine’s SonChapter 6 : No Weapon in this WorldChapter 7 : A Sea Change

Part Two: Certain Dark Things

Chapter 8 : Fire Tests GoldChapter 9 : The Iron SistersChapter 10: The Wild Hunt

Chapter 11: Ascribe All SinChapter 12: The Stuff of HeavenChapter 13: The Bone ChandelierChapter 14: As AshesChapter 15: MagdalenaChapter 16: Brothers and SistersChapter 17: Valediction

Part Three: All Is Changed

Chapter 18: RazielChapter 19: Love and BloodChapter 20: A Door into the DarkChapter 21: Raising Hell

EpilogueNotesAcknowledgments

PROLOGUE

Simon stood and stared numbly at thefront door of his house.

He’d never known another home. Thiswas the place his parents had brought himback to when he was born. He had grownup within the walls of the Brooklyn rowhouse. He’d played on the street under theleafy shade of the trees in the summer, andhad made improvised sleds out of garbagecan lids in the winter. In this house hisfamily had sat shivah after his father haddied. Here he had kissed Clary for thefirst time.

He had never imagined a day when thedoor of the house would be closed to him.

The last time he had seen his mother, shehad called him a monster and prayed athim that he would go away. He had madeher forget that he was a vampire, usingglamour, but he had not known how longthe glamour would last. As he stood in thecold autumn air, staring in front of him, heknew it had not lasted long enough.

The door was covered with signs—Stars of David splashed on in paint, theincised shape of the symbol for Chai, life.Tefillin were bound to the doorknob andknocker. A hamsa, the Hand of God,covered the peephole.

Numbly he put his hand to the metalmezuzah affixed to the right side of thedoorway. He saw the smoke rise from theplace where his hand touched the holyobject, but he felt nothing. No pain. Only a

terrible empty blankness, rising slowlyinto cold rage.

He kicked the bottom of the door andheard the echo through the house. “Mom!”he shouted. “Mom, it’s me!”

There was no reply—only the sound ofthe bolts being turned on the door. Hissensitized hearing had recognized hismother’s footsteps, her breathing, but shesaid nothing. He could smell acrid fearand panic even through the wood. “Mom!”His voice broke. “Mom, this is ridiculous!Let me in! It’s me, Simon!”

The door juddered, as if she had kickedit. “Go away!” Her voice was rough,unrecognizable with terror. “Murderer!”

“I don’t kill people.” Simon leaned hishead against the door. He knew he couldprobably kick it down, but what would be

the point? “I told you. I drink animalblood.”

“You killed my son,” she said. “Youkilled him and put a monster in his place.”

“I am your son—”“You wear his face and speak with his

voice, but you are not him! You’re notSimon!” Her voice rose to almost ascream. “Get away from my house beforeI kill you, monster!”

“Becky,” he said. His face was wet; heput his hands up to touch it, and they cameaway stained: His tears were bloody.“What have you told Becky?”

“Stay away from your sister.” Simonheard a clattering from inside the house,as if something had been knocked over.

“Mom,” he said again, but this time hisvoice wouldn’t rise. It came out as a

hoarse whisper. His hand had begun tothrob. “I need to know—is Becky there?Mom, open the door. Please—”

“Stay away from Becky!” She wasbacking away from the door; he could hearit. Then came the unmistakeable squeal ofthe kitchen door swinging open, the creakof the linoleum as she walked on it. Thesound of a drawer being opened. Suddenlyhe imagined his mother grabbing for oneof the knives.

Before I kill you, monster.The thought rocked him back on his

heels. If she struck out at him, the Markwould rise. It would destroy her as it haddestroyed Lilith.

He dropped his hand and backed upslowly, stumbling down the steps andacross the sidewalk, fetching up against

the trunk of one of the big trees that shadedthe block. He stood where he was, staringat the front door of his house, marked anddisfigured with the symbols of hismother’s hate for him.

No, he reminded himself. She didn’thate him. She thought he was dead. Whatshe hated was something that didn’t exist.I am not what she says I am.

He didn’t know how long he wouldhave stood there, staring, if his phonehadn’t begun to ring, vibrating his coatpocket.

He reached for it reflexively, noticingthat the pattern from the front of themezuzah—interlocked Stars of David—was burned into the palm of his hand. Heswitched hands and put the phone to hisear. “Hello?”

“Simon?” It was Clary. She soundedbreathless. “Where are you?”

“Home,” he said, and paused. “Mymother’s house,” he amended. His voicesounded hollow and distant to his ownears. “Why aren’t you back at theInstitute? Is everyone all right?”

“That’s just it,” she said. “Just afteryou left, Maryse came back down from theroof where Jace was supposed to bewaiting. There was no one there.”

Simon moved. Without quite realizinghe was doing it, like a mechanical doll, hebegan walking up the street, toward thesubway station. “What do you mean, therewas no one there?”

“Jace was gone,” she said, and hecould hear the strain in her voice. “And sowas Sebastian.”

Simon stopped in the shadow of abare-branched tree. “But Sebastian wasdead. He’s dead, Clary—”

“Then you tell me why his body isn’tthere, because it isn’t,” she said, her voicefinally breaking. “There’s nothing up therebut a lot of blood and broken glass.They’re both gone, Simon. Jace is gone.…”

Part One

No Evil Angel

Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. Thereis no evil angel but Love.

—William Shakespeare, Love’s Labour’sLost

TWO WEEKS LATER

1THE LAST COUNCIL

“How much longer will the verdict take,do you think?” Clary asked. She had noidea how long they’d been waiting, but itfelt like ten hours. There were no clocksin Isabelle’s black and hot-pink powder-puff bedroom, just piles of clothes, heapsof books, stacks of weapons, a vanityoverflowing with sparkling makeup, usedbrushes, and open drawers spilling lacyslips, sheer tights, and feather boas. It hada certain backstage-at-La-Cage-aux-

Folles design aesthetic, but over the pasttwo weeks Clary had spent enough timeamong the glittering mess to have begun tofind it comforting.

Isabelle, standing over by the windowwith Church in her arms, stroked the cat’shead absently. Church regarded her withbaleful yellow eyes. Outside the windowa November storm was in full bloom, rainstreaking the windows like clear paint.“Not much longer,” she said slowly. Shewasn’t wearing any makeup, which madeher look younger, her dark eyes bigger.“Five minutes, probably.”

Clary, sitting on Izzy’s bed between apile of magazines and a rattling stack ofseraph blades, swallowed hard against thebitter taste in her throat. I’ll be back. Fiveminutes.

That had been the last thing she hadsaid to the boy she loved more thananything else in the world. Now shethought it might be the last thing she wouldever get to say to him.

Clary remembered the momentperfectly. The roof garden. The crystallineOctober night, the stars burning icy whiteagainst a cloudless black sky. The pavingstones smeared with black runes,spattered with ichor and blood. Jace’smouth on hers, the only warm thing in ashivering world. Clasping theMorgenstern ring around her neck. Thelove that moves the sun and all the otherstars. Turning to look for him as theelevator took her away, sucking her backdown into the shadows of the building.She had joined the others in the lobby,

hugging her mother, Luke, Simon, butsome part of her, as it always was, hadstill been with Jace, floating above thecity on that rooftop, the two of them alonein the cold and brilliant electric city.

Maryse and Kadir had been the ones toget into the elevator to join Jace on theroof and to see the remains of Lilith’sritual. It was another ten minutes beforeMaryse returned, alone. When the doorshad opened and Clary had seen her face—white and set and frantic—she had known.

What had happened next had been likea dream. The crowd of Shadowhunters inthe lobby had surged toward Maryse; Alechad broken away from Magnus, andIsabelle had leaped to her feet. Whitebursts of light cut through the darkness likethe soft explosions of camera flashes at a

crime scene as, one after another, seraphblades lit the shadows. Pushing her wayforward, Clary heard the story in brokenpieces—the rooftop garden was empty;Jace was gone. The glass coffin that hadheld Sebastian had been smashed open;glass was lying everywhere in fragments.Blood, still fresh, dripped down thepedestal on which the coffin had sat.

The Shadowhunters were making plansquickly, to spread out in a radius andsearch the area around the building.Magnus was there, his hands sparkingblue, turning to Clary to ask if she hadsomething of Jace’s they could track himwith. Numbly, she gave him theMorgenstern ring and retreated into acorner to call Simon. She had only justclosed the phone when the voice of a

Shadowhunter rang out above the rest.“Tracking? That’ll work only if he’s stillalive. With that much blood it’s not verylikely—”

Somehow that was the last straw.Prolonged hypothermia, exhaustion, andshock took their toll, and she felt her kneesgive. Her mother caught her before she hitthe ground. There was a dark blur afterthat. She woke up the next morning in herbed at Luke’s, sitting bolt upright with herheart going like a trip-hammer, sure shehad had a nightmare.

As she struggled out of bed, the fadingbruises on her arms and legs told adifferent story, as did the absence of herring. Throwing on jeans and a hoodie, shestaggered out into the living room to findJocelyn, Luke, and Simon seated there

with somber expressions on their faces.She didn’t even need to ask, but she didanyway: “Did they find him? Is he back?”

Jocelyn stood up. “Sweetheart, he’sstill missing—”

“But not dead? They haven’t found abody?” She collapsed onto the couch nextto Simon. “No—he’s not dead. I’d know.”

She remembered Simon holding herhand while Luke told her what they didknow: that Jace was still gone, and so wasSebastian. The bad news was that theblood on the pedestal had been identifiedas Jace’s. The good news was that therewas less of it than they had thought; it hadmixed with the water from the coffin togive the impression of a greater volume ofblood than there had really been. Theynow thought it was quite possible he had

survived whatever had happened.“But what happened?” she demanded.Luke shook his head, blue eyes somber.

“Nobody knows, Clary.”Her veins felt as if her blood had been

replaced with ice water. “I want to help. Iwant to do something. I don’t want to justsit here while Jace is missing.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Jocelynsaid grimly. “The Clave wants to seeyou.”

Invisible ice cracked in Clary’s jointsand tendons as she stood up. “Fine.Whatever. I’ll tell them anything they wantif they’ll find Jace.”

“You’ll tell them anything they wantbecause they have the Mortal Sword.”There was despair in Jocelyn’s voice.“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.”

And now, after two weeks of repetitivetestimony, after scores of witnesses hadbeen called, after she had held the MortalSword a dozen times, Clary sat inIsabelle’s bedroom and waited for theCouncil to rule on her fate. She couldn’thelp but remember what it had felt like tohold the Mortal Sword. It was like tinyfishhooks embedded in your skin, pullingthe truth out of you. She had knelt, holdingit, in the circle of the Speaking Stars andhad heard her own voice telling theCouncil everything: how Valentine hadraised the Angel Raziel, and how she hadtaken the power of controlling the Angelfrom him by erasing his name in the sandand writing hers over it. She had told themhow the Angel had offered her one wish,and she had used it to raise Jace from the

dead; she told them how Lilith hadpossessed Jace and Lilith had planned touse Simon’s blood to resurrect Sebastian,Clary’s brother, whom Lilith regarded asa son. How Simon’s Mark of Cain hadended Lilith, and they had thoughtSebastian had been ended too, no longer athreat.

Clary sighed and flipped her phoneopen to check the time. “They’ve been inthere for an hour,” she said. “Is thatnormal? Is it a bad sign?”

Isabelle dropped Church, who let out ayowl. She came over to the bed and satdown beside Clary. Isabelle looked evenmore slender than usual—like Clary,she’d lost weight in the past two weeks—but elegant as always, in black cigarettepants and a fitted gray velvet top. Mascara

was smudged all around Izzy’s eyes,which should have made her look like aracoon but just made her look like aFrench film star instead. She stretched herarms out, and her electrum bracelets withtheir rune charms jingled musically. “No,it’s not a bad sign,” she said. “It justmeans they have a lot to talk over.” Shetwisted the Lightwood ring on her finger.“You’ll be fine. You didn’t break theLaw. That’s the important thing.”

Clary sighed. Even the warmth ofIsabelle’s shoulder next to hers couldn’tmelt the ice in her veins. She knew thattechnically she had broken no Laws, butshe also knew the Clave was furious ather. It was illegal for a Shadowhunter toraise the dead, but not for the Angel to doit; nevertheless it was such an enormous

thing she had done in asking for Jace’s lifeback that she and Jace had agreed to tellno one about it.

Now it was out, and it had rocked theClave. Clary knew they wanted to punishher, if only because her choice had hadsuch disastrous consequences. In someway she wished they would punish her.Break her bones, pull her fingernails out,let the Silent Brothers root through herbrain with their bladed thoughts. A sort ofdevil’s bargain—her own pain for Jace’ssafe return. It would have helped her guiltover having left Jace behind on thatrooftop, even though Isabelle and theothers had told her a hundred times shewas being ridiculous—that they had allthought he was perfectly safe there, andthat if Clary had stayed, she would

probably now be missing too.“Quit it,” Isabelle said. For a moment

Clary wasn’t sure if Isabelle was talkingto her or to the cat. Church was doingwhat he often did when dropped—lyingon his back with all four legs in the air,pretending to be dead in order to induceguilt in his owners. But then Isabelleswept her black hair aside, glaring, andClary realized she was the one being toldoff, not the cat.

“Quit what?”“Morbidly thinking about all the

horrible things that are going to happen toyou, or that you wish would happen to youbecause you’re alive and Jace is…missing.” Isabelle’s voice jumped, like arecord skipping a groove. She neverspoke of Jace as being dead or even gone

—she and Alec refused to entertain thepossibility. And Isabelle had neverreproached Clary once for keeping suchan enormous secret. Throughouteverything, in fact, Isabelle had been herstaunchest defender. Meeting her everyday at the door to the Council Hall, shehad held Clary firmly by the arm as she’dmarched her past clumps of glaring,muttering Shadowhunters. She had waitedthrough endless Council interrogations,shooting dagger glances at anyone whodared look at Clary sideways. Clary hadbeen astonished. She and Isabelle hadnever been enormously close, both of thembeing the sort of girls who were morecomfortable with boys than other femalecompanionship. But Isabelle didn’t leaveher side. Clary was as bewildered as she

was grateful.“I can’t help it,” Clary said. “If I were

allowed to patrol—if I were allowed tod o anything—I think it wouldn’t be sobad.”

“I don’t know.” Isabelle soundedweary. For the past two weeks she andAlec had been exhausted and gray-facedfrom sixteen-hour patrols and searches.When Clary had found out she was bannedfrom patrolling or searching for Jace inany way until the Council decided what todo about the fact that she had brought himback from the dead, she had kicked a holein her bedroom door. “Sometimes it feelsso futile,” Isabelle added.

Ice crackled up and down Clary’sbones. “You mean you think he’s dead?”

“No, I don’t. I mean I think there’s no

way they’re still in New York.”“But they’re patrolling in other cities,

right?” Clary put a hand to her throat,forgetting that the Morgenstern ring nolonger hung there. Magnus was still tryingto track Jace, though no tracking had yetworked.

“Of course they are.” Isabelle reachedout curiously and touched the delicatesilver bell that hung around Clary’s necknow, in place of the ring. “What’s that?”

Clary hesitated. The bell had been agift from the Seelie Queen. No, that wasn’tquite right. The Queen of the faeries didn’tgive gifts. The bell was meant to signalthe Seelie Queen that Clary wanted herhelp. Clary had found her hand wanderingto it more and more often as the daysdragged on with no sign of Jace. The only

thing that stopped Clary was theknowledge that the Seelie Queen nevergave anything without the expectation ofsomething terrible in return.

Before Clary could reply to Isabelle,the door opened. Both girls sat up ramrodstraight, Clary clutching one of Izzy’s pinkpillows so hard that the rhinestones on itdug into the skin of her palms.

“Hey.” A slim figure stepped into theroom and shut the door. Alec, Isabelle’solder brother, was dressed in Councilwear—a black robe figured with silverrunes, open now over jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. All the black madehis pale skin look paler, his crystal-blueeyes bluer. His hair was black and straightlike his sister’s, but shorter, cut just abovehis jawline. His mouth was set in a thin

line.Clary’s heart started to pound. Alec

didn’t look happy. Whatever the newswas, it couldn’t be good.

It was Isabelle who spoke. “How did itgo?” she said quietly. “What’s theverdict?”

Alec sat down at the vanity table,swinging himself around the chair to faceIzzy and Clary over the back. At anothertime it would have been comical—Alecwas very tall, with long legs like a dancer,and the way he folded himself awkwardlyaround the chair made it look likedollhouse furniture.

“Clary,” he said. “Jia Penhallowhanded down the verdict. You’re clearedof any wrongdoing. You broke no Laws,and Jia feels that you’ve been punished

enough.”Isabelle exhaled an audible breath and

smiled. For just a moment a feeling ofrelief broke through the layer of ice overall of Clary’s emotions. She wasn’t goingto be punished, locked up in the SilentCity, trapped somewhere where shecouldn’t help Jace. Luke, who as therepresentative of the werewolves on theCouncil had been present for the verdict,had promised to call Jocelyn as soon asthe meeting ended, but Clary reached forher phone anyway; the prospect of givingher mother good news for a change wastoo tempting.

“Clary,” Alec said as she flipped herphone open. “Wait.”

She looked at him. His expression wasstill as serious as an undertaker’s. With a

sudden sense of foreboding, Clary put herphone back down on the bed. “Alec—what is it?”

“It wasn’t your verdict that took theCouncil so long,” said Alec. “There wasanother matter under discussion.”

The ice was back. Clary shivered.“Jace?”

“Not exactly.” Alec leaned forward,folding his hands along the back of thechair. “A report came in early thismorning from the Moscow Institute. Thewardings over Wrangel Island weresmashed through yesterday. They’ve sent arepair team, but having such importantwards down for so long—that’s a Councilpriority.”

Wards—which served, as Claryunderstood it, as a sort of magical fence

system—surrounded Earth, put there bythe first generation of Shadowhunters.They could be bypassed by demons butnot easily, and kept out the vast majorityof them, preventing the world from beingflooded by a massive demon invasion. Sheremembered something that Jace had saidto her, what felt like years ago: Thereused to be only small demon invasionsinto this world, easily contained. Buteven in my lifetime more and more ofthem have spilled in through thewardings.

“Well, that’s bad,” Clary said. “But Idon’t see what it has to do with—”

“The Clave has its priorities,” Alecinterrupted. “Searching for Jace andSebastian has been top priority for thepast two weeks. But they’ve scoured

everything, and there’s no sign of either ofthem in any Downworld haunt. None ofMagnus’s tracking spells have worked.Elodie, the woman who brought up thereal Sebastian Verlac, confirmed that noone’s tried to get in touch with her. Thatwas a long shot, anyway. No spies havereported any unusual activity among theknown members of Valentine’s old Circle.And the Silent Brothers haven’t been ableto figure out exactly what the ritual Lilithperformed was supposed to do, orwhether it succeeded. The generalconsensus is that Sebastian—of course,they call him Jonathan when they talkabout him—kidnapped Jace, but that’s notanything we didn’t know.”

“So?” Isabelle said. “What does thatmean? More searching? More patrolling?”

Alec shook his head. “They’re notdiscussing expanding the search,” he saidquietly. “They’re de-prioritizing it. It’sbeen two weeks and they haven’t foundanything. The specially commissionedgroups brought over from Idris are goingto be sent home. The situation with theward is taking priority now. Not tomention that the Council has been in themiddle of delicate negotiations, updatingthe Laws to allow for the new makeup ofthe Council, appointing a new Consul andInquisitor, determining different treatmentof Downworlders—they don’t want to bethrown completely off track.”

Clary stared. “They don’t want Jace’sdisappearance to throw them off the trackof changing a bunch of stupid old Laws?They’re giving up?”

“They’re not giving up—”“Alec,” Isabelle said sharply.Alec took a breath and put his hands up

to cover his face. He had long fingers, likeJace’s, scarred like Jace’s were as well.The eye Mark of the Shadowhuntersdecorated the back of his right hand.“Clary, for you—for us—this has alwaysbeen about searching for Jace. For theClave it’s about searching for Sebastian.Jace as well, but primarily Sebastian.He’s the danger. He destroyed the wardsof Alicante. He’s a mass murderer. Jaceis…”

“Just another Shadowhunter,” saidIsabelle. “We die and go missing all thetime.”

“He gets a little extra for being a heroof the Mortal War,” said Alec. “But in the

end the Clave was clear: The search willbe kept up, but right now it’s a waitinggame. They expect Sebastian to make thenext move. In the meantime it’s thirdpriority for the Clave. If that. They expectus to go back to normal life.”

Normal life? Clary couldn’t believe it.A normal life without Jace?

“That’s what they told us after Maxdied,” said Izzy, her black eyes tearlessbut burning with anger. “That we’d getover our grief faster if we just went backto normal life.”

“It’s supposed to be good advice,” saidAlec from behind his fingers.

“Tell that to Dad. Did he even comeback from Idris for the meeting?”

Alec shook his head, dropping hishands. “No. If it’s any consolation, there

were a lot of people at the meetingspeaking out angrily on behalf of keepingthe search for Jace up at full strength.Magnus, obviously, Luke, ConsulPenhallow, even Brother Zachariah. But atthe end of the day it wasn’t enough.”

Clary looked at him steadily. “Alec,”she said. “Don’t you feel anything?”

Alec’s eyes widened, their bluedarkening, and for a moment Claryremembered the boy who had hated herwhen she’d first arrived at the Institute,the boy with bitten nails and holes in hissweaters and a chip on his shoulder thathad seemed immovable. “I know you’reupset, Clary,” he said, his voice sharp,“but if you’re suggesting that Iz and I careless about Jace than you do—”

“I’m not,” Clary said. “I’m talking

about your parabatai connection. I wasreading about the ceremony in the Codex. Iknow being parabatai ties the two of youtogether. You can sense things about Jace.Things that will help you when you’refighting. So I guess I mean… can yousense if he’s still alive?”

“Clary.” Isabelle sounded worried. “Ithought you didn’t…”

“He’s alive,” Alec said cautiously.“You think I’d be this functional if heweren’t alive? There’s definitelysomething fundamentally wrong. I can feelthat much. But he’s still breathing.”

“Could the ‘wrong’ thing be that he’sbeing held prisoner?” said Clary in asmall voice.

Alec looked toward the windows, thesheeting gray rain. “Maybe. I can’t explain

it. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”“But he’s alive.”Alec looked at her directly then. “I’m

sure of it.”“Then screw the Council. We’ll find

him ourselves,” Clary said.“Clary… if that were possible… don’t

you think we already would have—,”Alec began.

“We were doing what the Clavewanted us to do before,” said Isabelle.“Patrols, searches. There are other ways.”

“Ways that break the Law, you mean,”said Alec. He sounded hesitant. Claryhoped he wasn’t going to repeat theShadowhunters’ motto when it came to theLaw : Sed lex, dura lex. “The Law isharsh, but it is the Law.” She didn’t thinkshe could take it.

“The Seelie Queen offered me afavor,” Clary said. “At the fireworks partyin Idris.” The memory of that night, howhappy she’d been, made her heart contractfor a moment, and she had to stop andregain her breath. “And a way to contacther.”

“The Queen of the Fair Folk givesnothing for free.”

“I know that. I’ll take whatever debt itis on my shoulders.” Clary rememberedthe words of the faerie girl who hadhanded her the bell. You would doanything to save him, whatever it costyou, whatever you might owe to Hell orHeaven, would you not? “I just want oneof you to come with me. I’m not good withtranslating faerie-speak. At least if you’rewith me you can limit whatever the

damage is. But if there’s anything she cando—”

“I’ll go with you,” Isabelle saidimmediately.

Alec looked at his sister darkly. “Wealready talked to the Fair Folk. TheCouncil questioned them extensively. Andthey can’t lie.”

“The Council asked them if they knewwhere Jace and Sebastian were,” Clarysaid. “Not if they’d be willing to look forthem. The Seelie Queen knew about myfather, knew about the angel he summonedand trapped, knew the truth about myblood and Jace’s. I think there’s not muchthat happens in this world that she doesn’tknow about.”

“It’s true,” said Isabelle, a littleanimation entering into her voice. “You

know you have to ask faeries the exactright things to get useful information out ofthem, Alec. They’re very hard to question,even if they do have to tell the truth. Afavor, though, is different.”

“And its potential for danger isliterally unlimited,” said Alec. “If Jaceknew I let Clary go to the Seelie Queen,he’d—”

“I don’t care,” Clary said. “He’d do itfor me. Tell me he wouldn’t. If I weremissing—”

“He’d burn the whole world down tillhe could dig you out of the ashes. I know,”Alec said, sounding exhausted. “Hell, youthink I don’t want to burn down the worldright now? I’m just trying to be…”

“An older brother,” said Isabelle. “Iget it.”

Alec looked as if he were fighting forcontrol. “If something happened to you,Isabelle—after Max, and Jace—”

Izzy got to her feet, went across theroom, and put her arms around Alec. Theirdark hair, precisely the same color, mixedtogether as Isabelle whispered somethinginto her brother’s ear; Clary watched themwith not a little envy. She had alwayswanted a brother. And she had one now.Sebastian. It was like always wanting apuppy for a pet and being handed ahellhound instead. She watched as Alectugged his sister’s hair affectionately,nodded, and released her. “We should allgo,” he said. “But I have to tell Magnus, atleast, what we’re doing. It wouldn’t befair not to.”

“Do you want to use my phone?”

Isabelle asked, offering the battered pinkobject to him.

Alec shook his head. “He’s waitingdownstairs with the others. You’ll have togive Luke some kind of excuse too, Clary.I’m sure he’s expecting you to go homewith him. And he says your mother’s beenpretty sick about this whole thing.”

“She blames herself for Sebastian’sexistence.” Clary got to her feet. “Eventhough she thought he was dead all thoseyears.”

“It’s not her fault.” Isabelle pulled hergolden whip down from where it hung onthe wall and wrapped it around her wristso that it looked like a ladder of shiningbracelets. “No one blames her.”

“That never matters,” said Alec. “Notwhen you blame yourself.”

In silence, the three of them made theirway through the corridors of the Institute,oddly crowded now with otherShadowhunters, some of whom were partof the special commissions that had beensent out from Idris to deal with thesituation. None of them really looked atIsabelle, Alec, or Clary with muchcuriosity. Initially Clary had felt so muchas if she were being stared at—and hadheard the whispered words “Valentine’sdaughter” so many times—that she’dstarted to dread coming to the Institute, butshe’d stood up in front of the Councilenough times now that the novelty hadworn off.

They took the elevator downstairs; thenave of the Institute was brightly lit withwitchlight as well as the usual tapers and

was filled with Council members andtheir families. Luke and Magnus weresitting in a pew, talking to each other;beside Luke was a tall, blue-eyed womanwho looked just like him. She had curledher hair and dyed the gray brown, butClary still recognized her—Luke’s sister,Amatis.

Magnus got up at the sight of Alec andcame over to talk to him; Izzy appeared torecognize someone else across the pewsand darted away in her usual manner,without pausing to say where she wasgoing. Clary went to greet Luke andAmatis; both of them looked tired, andAmatis was patting Luke’s shouldersympathetically. Luke rose to his feet andhugged Clary when he saw her. Amatiscongratulated Clary on being cleared by

the Council, and she nodded; she felt onlyhalf-there, most of her numb and the restof her responding on autopilot.

She could see Magnus and Alec out ofthe corner of her eye. They were talking,Alec leaning in close to Magnus, the waycouples often seemed to curve into eachother when they spoke, in their owncontained universe. She was happy to seethem happy, but it hurt, too. She wonderedif she would ever have that again, or evereven want it again. She rememberedJace’s voice: I don’t even want to wantanyone but you.

“Earth to Clary,” said Luke. “Do youwant to head home? Your mother is dyingto see you, and she’d love to catch up withAmatis before she goes back to Idristomorrow. I thought we could have dinner.

You pick the restaurant.” He was trying tohide the concern in his voice, but Clarycould hear it. She hadn’t been eating muchlately, and her clothes had started to hangmore loosely on her frame.

“I don’t really feel like celebrating,”she said. “Not with the Council de-prioritizing the search for Jace.”

“Clary, it doesn’t mean they’re going tostop,” said Luke.

“I know. It’s just—It’s like when theysay a search and rescue mission is now asearch for bodies. That’s what it soundslike.” She swallowed. “Anyway, I wasthinking of going to Taki’s for dinner withIsabelle and Alec,” she said. “Just… to dosomething normal.”

Amatis squinted toward the door. “It’sraining pretty hard out there.”

Clary felt her lips stretch into a smile.She wondered if it looked as false as itfelt. “I won’t melt.”

Luke folded some money into her hand,clearly relieved she was doing somethingas normal as going out with friends. “Justpromise to eat something.”

“Okay.” Through the twinge of guilt,she managed a real half smile in hisdirection before she turned away.

Magnus and Alec were no longer wherethey had been a moment ago. Glancingaround, Clary saw Izzy’s familiar longblack hair through the crowd. She wasstanding by the Institute’s large doubledoors, talking to someone Clary couldn’tsee. Clary headed toward Isabelle; as she

drew closer, she recognized one of thegroup, with a slight shock of surprise, asAline Penhallow. Her glossy black hairhad been cut stylishly just above hershoulders. Standing next to Aline was aslim girl with pale white-gold hair thatcurled in ringlets; it was drawn back fromher face, showing that the tips of her earswere slightly pointed. She wore Councilrobes, and as Clary came closer she sawthat the girl’s eyes were a brilliant andunusual blue-green, a color that madeClary’s fingers yearn for her Prismacolorpencils for the first time in two weeks.

“It must be weird, with your motherbeing the new Consul,” Isabelle wassaying to Aline as Clary joined them. “Notthat Jia isn’t much better than—Hey,Clary. Aline, you remember Clary.”

The two girls exchanged nods. Claryhad once walked in on Aline kissing Jace.It had been awful at the time, but thememory held no sting now. She’d berelieved to walk in on Jace kissingsomeone else at this point. At least itwould mean he was alive.

“And this is Aline’s girlfriend, HelenBlackthorn.” Isabelle said with heavyemphasis. Clary shot her a glare. DidIsabelle think she was an idiot? Besides,she remembered Aline telling her thatshe’d kissed Jace only as an experiment tosee if any guy were her type. Apparentlythe answer had been no. “Helen’s familyruns the Los Angeles Institute. Helen, thisis Clary Fray.”

“Valentine’s daughter,” Helen said.She looked surprised and a little

impressed.Clary winced. “I try not to think about

that too much.”“Sorry. I can see why you wouldn’t.”

Helen flushed. Her skin was very pale,with a slight sheen to it, like a pearl. “Ivoted for the Council to keep prioritizingthe search for Jace, by the way. I’m sorrywe were overruled.”

“Thanks.” Not wanting to talk about it,Clary turned to Aline. “Congratulations onyour mother being made Consul. That mustbe pretty exciting.”

Aline shrugged. “She’s busy a lot morenow.” She turned to Isabelle. “Did youknow your dad put his name in for theInquisitor position?”

Clary felt Isabelle freeze beside her.“No. No, I didn’t know that.”

“I was surprised,” Aline added. “Ithought he was pretty committed to runningthe Institute here—” She broke off,looking past Clary. “Helen, I think yourbrother is trying to make the world’sbiggest puddle of melted wax over there.You might want to stop him.”

Helen blew out an exasperated breath,muttered something about twelve-year-oldboys, and vanished into the crowd just asAlec pushed his way forward. He greetedAline with a hug—Clary forgot,sometimes, that the Penhallows and theLightwoods had known each other foryears—and looked at Helen in the crowd.“Is that your girlfriend?”

Aline nodded. “Helen Blackthorn.”“I heard there’s some faerie blood in

that family,” said Alec.

Ah, Clary thought. That explained thepointed ears. Nephilim blood wasdominant, and the child of a faerie and aShadowhunter would be a Shadowhunteras well, but sometimes the faerie bloodcould express itself in odd ways, evengenerations down the line.

“A little,” said Aline. “Look, I wantedto thank you, Alec.”

Alec looked bewildered. “What for?’“What you did in the Hall of Accords,”

Aline said. “Kissing Magnus like that. Itgave me the push I needed to tell myparents… to come out to them. And if Ihadn’t done that, I don’t think, when I metHelen, I would have had the nerve to sayanything.”

“Oh.” Alec looked startled, as if he’dnever considered what impact his actions

might have had on anyone outside hisimmediate family. “And your parents—were they good about it?”

Aline rolled her eyes. “They’re sort ofignoring it, like it might go away if theydon’t talk about it.” Clary rememberedwhat Isabelle had said about the Clave’sattitude toward its gay members. If ithappens, you don’t talk about it. “But itcould be worse.”

“It could definitely be worse,” saidAlec, and there was a grim edge to hisvoice that made Clary look at him sharply.

Aline’s face melted into a look ofsympathy. “I’m sorry,” she said. “If yourparents aren’t—”

“They’re fine with it,” Isabelle said, alittle too sharply.

“Well, either way. I shouldn’t have

said anything right now. Not with Jacemissing. You must all be so worried.” Shetook a deep breath. “I know people haveprobably said all sorts of stupid things toyou about him. The way they do when theydon’t really know what to say. I just—Iwanted to tell you something.” She duckedaway from a passer-by with impatienceand moved closer to the Lightwoods andClary, lowering her voice. “Alec, Izzy—Iremember once when you guys came tosee us in Idris. I was thirteen and Jacewas—I think he was twelve. He wanted tosee Brocelind Forest, so we borrowedsome horses and rode there one day. Ofcourse, we got lost. Brocelind’simpenetrable. It got darker and the woodsgot thicker and I was terrified. I thoughtwe’d die there. But Jace was never

scared. He was never anything but surewe’d find our way out. It took hours, buthe did it. He got us out of there. I was sograteful but he just looked at me like I wascrazy. Like of course he’d get us out.Failing wasn’t an option. I’m just saying—he’ll find his way back to you. I knowit.”

Clary didn’t think she’d ever seen Izzycry, and she was clearly trying not to now.Her eyes were suspiciously wide andshining. Alec was looking at his shoes.Clary felt a wellspring of misery wantingto leap up inside her but forced it down;she couldn’t think about Jace when he wastwelve, couldn’t think about him lost in thedarkness, or she’d think about him now,lost somewhere, trapped somewhere,needing her help, expecting her to come,

and she’d break. “Aline,” she said, seeingthat neither Isabelle nor Alec could speak.“Thank you.”

Aline flashed a shy smile. “I mean it.”“Aline!” It was Helen, her hand firmly

clamped around the wrist of a younger boywhose hands were covered with bluewax. He must have been playing with thetapers in the huge candelabras thatdecorated the sides of the nave. He lookedabout twelve, with an impish grin and thesame shocking blue-green eyes as hissister, though his hair was dark brown.“We’re back. We should probably gobefore Jules destroys the whole place. Notto mention that I have no idea where Tibsand Livvy have gone.”

“They were eating wax,” the boy—Jules—supplied helpfully.

“Oh, God,” Helen groaned, and thenlooked apologetic. “Never mind me. I’vegot six younger brothers and sisters andone older. It’s always a zoo.”

Jules looked from Alec to Isabelle andthen at Clary. “How many brothers andsisters have you got?” he asked.

Helen paled. Isabelle said, in aremarkably steady voice, “There are threeof us.”

Jules’s eyes stayed on Clary. “Youdon’t look alike.”

“I’m not related to them,” Clary said.“I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“None?” Disbelief registered in theboy’s tone, as if she’d told him she hadwebbed feet. “Is that why you look sosad?”

Clary thought of Sebastian, with his

ice-white hair and black eyes. If only, shethought. If only I didn’t have a brother,none of this would have happened. Alittle throb of hatred went through her,warming her icy blood. “Yes,” she saidsoftly. “That’s why I’m sad.”

2THORNS

Simon was waiting for Clary, Alec, andIsabelle outside the Institute, under anoverhang of stone that only just protectedhim from the worst of the rain. He turnedas they came out through the doors, andClary saw that his dark hair was pasted tohis forehead and neck. He pushed it backand looked at her, a question in his eyes.

“I’m cleared,” she said, and as hestarted to smile, she shook her head. “Butthey’re de-prioritizing the search for Jace.

I—I’m pretty sure they think he’s dead.”Simon looked down at his wet jeans

and T-shirt (a wrinkled gray ringer tee thatsaid CLEARLY I HAVE MADE SOME BADDECISIONS on the front in block lettering).He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“The Clave can be like that,” Isabellesaid. “I guess we shouldn’t have expectedanything else.”

“Basia coquum,” Simon said. “Orwhatever their motto is.”

“It’s ‘Descensus Averno facilis est.’‘The descent into hell is easy,’” saidAlec. “You just said “Kiss the cook.”

“Dammit,” said Simon. “I knew Jacewas screwing with me.” His wet brownhair fell back into his eyes; he flicked itaway with a gesture impatient enough thatClary caught a flashing glimpse of the

silvery Mark of Cain on his forehead.“Now what?”

“Now we go see the Seelie Queen,”said Clary. As she touched the bell at herthroat, she explained to Simon aboutKaelie’s visit to Luke and Jocelyn’sreception, and her promises to Clary aboutthe Seelie Queen’s help.

Simon looked dubious. “The red-headed lady with the bad attitude whomade you kiss Jace? I didn’t like her.”

“That’s what you remember about her?That she made Clary kiss Jace?” Isabellesounded annoyed. “The Seelie Queen isdangerous. She was just playing aroundthat time. Usually she likes to drive atleast a few humans to screaming madnessevery day before breakfast.”

“I’m not human,” Simon said. “Not

anymore.” He looked at Isabelle onlybriefly, dropped his gaze, and turned toClary. “You want me with you?”

“I think it would be good to have youthere. Daylighter, Mark of Cain—somethings have to impress even the Queen.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” said Alec.Clary glanced past him and asked,

“Where’s Magnus?”“He said it would be better if he didn’t

come. Apparently he and the Seelie Queenhave some kind of history.”

Isabelle raised her eyebrows.“Not that kind of history,” said Alec

irritably. “Some kind of feud. Though,” headded, half under his breath, “the way hegot around before me, I wouldn’t besurprised.”

“Alec!” Isabelle dropped back to talk

to her brother, and Clary opened herumbrella with a snap. It was one Simonhad bought her years ago at the Museum ofNatural History and had a pattern ofdinosaurs on the top. She saw hisexpression change to one of amusement ashe recognized it.

“Shall we walk?” he inquired, andoffered his arm.

The rain was coming down steadily,creating small rills out of the gutters andsplashing water up from the wheels ofpassing taxis. It was odd, Simon thought,that although he didn’t feel cold, thesensation of being wet and clammy wasstill irritating. He shifted his gaze slightly,looking at Alec and Isabelle over his

shoulder; Isabelle hadn’t really met hiseyes since they’d come out of the Institute,and he wondered what she was thinking.She seemed to want to talk to her brother,and as they paused at the corner of ParkAvenue, he heard her say, “So, what doyou think? About Dad putting his name infor the Inquisitor position.”

“I think it sounds like a boring job.”Isabelle was holding an umbrella. It wasclear plastic, decorated with decals ofcolorful flowers. It was one of the girliestthings Simon had ever seen, and he didn’tblame Alec for ducking out from under itand taking his chances with the rain. “Idon’t know why he’d want it.”

“I don’t care if it’s boring,” Isabellewhisper-hissed. “If he takes it, he’ll be inIdris all the time. Like, all the time. He

can’t run the Institute and be the Inquisitor.He can’t have two jobs at once.”

“If you’ve noticed, Iz, he’s in Idris allthe time anyway.”

“Alec—” The rest of what she saidwas lost as the light changed and trafficsurged forward, spraying icy water uponto the pavement. Clary dodged a geyserof it and nearly knocked into Simon. Hetook her hand to steady her.

“Sorry,” she said. Her hand felt smalland cold in his. “Wasn’t really payingattention.”

“I know.” He tried to keep the worryout of his voice. She hadn’t really been“paying attention” to anything for the pasttwo weeks. At first she’d cried, and thenbeen angry—angry that she couldn’t jointhe patrols looking for Jace, angry at the

Council’s endless grilling, angry that shewas being kept virtually a prisoner athome because she was under suspicionfrom the Clave. Most of all she’d beenangry at herself for not being able to comeup with a rune that would help. She wouldsit at her desk at night for hours, her steleclutched so tightly in whitening fingersthat Simon was afraid it would snap inhalf. She’d try to force her mind to presenther with a picture that would tell herwhere Jace was. But night after nightnothing happened.

She looked older, he thought as theyentered the park through a gap in the stonewall on Fifth Avenue. Not in a bad way,but she was different from the girl she’dbeen when they had walked into thePandemonium Club on that night that had

changed everything. She was taller, but itwas more than that. Her expression wasmore serious, there was more grace andforce in the way she walked, her greeneyes were less dancing, more focused.She was starting to look, he realized witha jolt of surprise, like Jocelyn.

Clary paused in a circle of drippingtrees; the branches blocked most of therain here, and Isabelle and Clary leanedtheir umbrellas against the trunks ofnearby trees. Clary unclasped the chainaround her neck and let the bell slide intoher palm. She looked around at all ofthem, her expression serious. “This is arisk,” she said, “and I’m pretty sure if Itake it, I can’t go back from it. So if any ofyou don’t want to come with me, it’s allright. I’ll understand.”

Simon reached out and put his handover hers. There was no need to think.Where Clary went, he went. They hadbeen through too much for it to be anyother way. Isabelle followed suit, andlastly Alec; rain dripped off his long blacklashes like tears, but his expression wasresolute. The four of them held handstightly.

Clary rang the bell.

There was a sensation as if the worldwere spinning—not the same sensation asbeing flung through a Portal, Clarythought, into the heart of a maelstrom, butmore as if she were sitting on a merry-go-round that had begun to spin faster andfaster. She was dizzy and gasping when

the sensation stopped suddenly and shewas standing still again, her hand claspedwith Isabelle’s, Alec’s, and Simon’s.

They released one another, and Claryglanced around. She had been here before,in this dark brown, shining corridor thatlooked as if it had been carved out of atiger’s eye gemstone. The floor wassmooth, worn down by the passage ofthousands of years’ worth of faerie feet.Light came from glinting chips of gold inthe walls, and at the end of the passagewas a multicolored curtain that swayedback and forth as if moved by wind,though there was no wind hereunderground. As Clary drew near to it, shesaw that it was sewed out of butterflies.Some of them were still alive, and theirstruggles made the curtain flutter as if in a

stiff breeze.She swallowed back the acid taste in

her throat. “Hello?” she called. “Is anyonethere?”

The curtain rustled aside, and the faerieknight Meliorn stepped out into thehallway. He wore the white armor Claryremembered, but there was a sigil over hisleft breast now—the four Cs that alsodecorated Luke’s Council robes, markinghim as a member. There was a scar, also,on Meliorn’s face that was new, just underhis leaf-colored eyes. He regarded herfrigidly. “One does not greet the Queen ofthe Seelie Court with the barbarous human‘hello,’” he said, “as if you were hailing aservant. The proper address is ‘Wellmet.’”

“But we haven’t met,” said Clary. “I

don’t even know if she’s here.”Meliorn looked at her with scorn. “If

the Queen were not present and ready toreceive you, ringing the bell would nothave brought you. Now come: follow me,and bring your companions with you.”

Clary turned to gesture at the others,then followed Meliorn through the curtainof tortured butterflies, hunching hershoulders in the hopes that no part of theirwings would touch her.

One by one the four of them steppedinto the Queen’s chamber. Clary blinkedin surprise. It looked entirely differentfrom how it had the last time she’d beenhere. The Queen reclined on a white andgold divan, and all around her stretched afloor made of alternating squares of blackand white, like a great checkerboard.

Strings of dangerous-looking thorns hungfrom the ceiling, and on each thorn wasimpaled a will-o’-the-wisp, its normallyblinding light flickering as it died. Theroom shimmered in their glow.

Meliorn went to stand beside theQueen; other than him the room was emptyof courtiers. Slowly the Queen sat upstraight. She was as beautiful as ever, herdress a diaphanous mixture of silver andgold, her hair like rosy copper as shearranged it gently over one whiteshoulder. Clary wondered why she wasbothering. Of all of them there, the onlyone likely to be moved by her beauty wasSimon, and he hated her.

“Well met, Nephilim, Daylighter,” shesaid, inclining her head in their direction.“Daughter of Valentine, what brings you to

me?”Clary opened her hand. The bell shone

there like an accusation. “You sent yourhandmaiden to tell me to ring this if I everneeded your help.”

“And you told me you wanted nothingfrom me,” said the Queen. “That you hadeverything you desired.”

Clary thought back desperately to whatJace had said when they had had anaudience with the Queen before, how hehad flattered and charmed her. It was as ifhe had suddenly acquired a whole newvocabulary. She glanced back over hershoulder at Isabelle and Alec, but Isabelleonly made an irritable motion at her,indicating that she should keep going.

“Things change,” Clary said.The Queen stretched her legs out

luxuriously. “Very well. What is it youwant from me?”

“I want you to find Jace Lightwood.”In the silence that followed, the sound

of the will-o’-the-wisps, crying in theiragony, was softly audible. At last theQueen said, “You must think us powerfulindeed if you believe the Fair Folk cansucceed where the Clave has failed.”

“The Clave wants to find Sebastian. Idon’t care about Sebastian. I want Jace,”Clary said. “Besides, I already know youknow more than you’re letting on. Youpredicted this would happen. No one elseknew, but I don’t believe you sent me thatbell when you did—the same night Jacedisappeared—without knowing somethingwas brewing.”

“Perhaps I did,” said the Queen,

admiring her shimmering toenails.“I’ve noticed the Fair Folk often say

‘perhaps’ when there is a truth they wantto hide,” Clary said. “It keeps you fromhaving to give a straight answer.”

“Perhaps so,” said the Queen with anamused smile.

“‘Mayhap’ is a good word too,” Alecsuggested.

“Also ‘perchance,’” Izzy said.“I see nothing wrong with ‘maybe,’”

said Simon. “A little modern, but the gistof the idea comes across.”

The Queen waved away their words asif they were annoying bees buzzing aroundher head. “I do not trust you, Valentine’sdaughter,” she said. “There was a time Iwanted a favor from you, but that time isover. Meliorn has his place on the

Council. I am not sure there is anythingyou can offer me.”

“If you thought that,” said Clary, “younever would have sent the bell.”

For a moment their eyes locked. TheQueen was beautiful, but there wassomething behind her face, something thatmade Clary think of the bones of a smallanimal, whitening in the sun. At last theQueen said, “Very well. I may be able tohelp you. But I will desire recompense.”

“Shocker,” Simon muttered. He had hishands jammed into his pockets and waslooking at the Queen with loathing.

Alec laughed.The Queen’s eyes flashed. A moment

later Alec staggered back with a cry. Hewas holding his hands out before him,gaping, as the skin on them wrinkled and

his hands curved inward, bent, the jointsswollen. His back hunched, his hairgraying, his blue eyes fading and sinkinginto deep wrinkles. Clary gasped. WhereAlec had been, an old man, bent andwhite-haired, stood trembling.

“How swift mortal loveliness doesfade,” the Queen gloated. “Look atyourself, Alexander Lightwood. I give youa glimpse of yourself in a mere threescoreyears. What will your warlock lover saythen of your beauty?”

Alec’s chest was heaving. Isabellestepped quickly to his side and took hisarm. “Alec, it’s nothing. It’s a glamour.”She turned on the Queen. “Take it off him!Take it off!”

“If you and yours will speak to me withmore respect, then I might consider it.”

“We will,” Clary said quickly. “Weapologize for any rudeness.”

The Queen sniffed. “I rather miss yourJace,” she said. “Of all of you, he was theprettiest and the best-mannered.”

“We miss him too,” said Clary in a lowvoice. “We didn’t mean to be ill-mannered. We humans can be difficult inour grief.”

“Hmph,” said the Queen, but shesnapped her fingers and the glamour fellfrom Alec. He was himself again, thoughwhite-faced and stunned-looking. TheQueen shot him a superior look, andturned her attention to Clary.

“There is a set of rings,” said theQueen. “They belonged to my father. Idesire the return of these objects, for theyare faerie-made and possess great power.

They allow us to speak to one another,mind to mind, as your Silent Brothers do.At present I have it on good authority thatthey are on display in the Institute.”

“I remember seeing something likethat,” Izzy said slowly. “Two faerie-workrings in a glass case on the second floor ofthe library.”

“You want me to steal something fromthe Institute?” Clary said, surprised. Of allthe favors she might have guessed theQueen would ask for, this one wasn’t highon the list.

“It is not theft,” said the Queen, “toreturn an item to its rightful owners.”

“And then you’ll find Jace for us?”said Clary. “And don’t say ‘perhaps.’What will you do exactly?”

“I will assist you in finding him,” said

the Queen. “I give you my word that myhelp would be invaluable. I can tell you,for instance, why all of your trackingspells have been for naught. I can tell youin what city he is most likely to be found—”

“But the Clave questioned you,”interrupted Simon. “How did you lie tothem?”

“They never asked the correctquestions.”

“Why lie to them?” demanded Isabelle.“Where is your allegiance in all this?”

“I have none. Jonathan Morgensterncould be a powerful ally if I do not makehim an enemy first. Why endanger him orearn his ire at no benefit to ourselves? TheFair Folk are an old people; we do notmake hasty decisions but first wait to see

in what direction the wind blows.”“But these rings mean enough to you

that if we get them, you’ll risk making himangry?” Alec asked.

But the Queen only smiled, a lazysmile, ripe with promise. “I think that isquite enough for today,” she said. “Returnto me with the rings and we will speakagain.”

Clary hesitated, turning to look at Alec,and then Isabelle. “You’re all right withthis? Stealing from the Institute?”

“If it means finding Jace,” Isabellesaid.

Alec nodded. “Whatever it takes.”Clary turned back to the Queen, who

was watching her with an expectant gaze.“Then, I think we have ourselves abargain.”

The Queen stretched and gave acontented smile. “Fare thee well, littleShadowhunters. And a word of warning,though you have done nothing to deserveit. You might well consider the wisdom ofthis hunt for your friend. For as is often thehappenstance with that which is preciousand lost, when you find him again, he maywell not be quite as you left him.”

It was nearly eleven when Alec reachedthe front door of Magnus’s apartment inGreenpoint. Isabelle had persuaded Alecto come to Taki’s for dinner with Claryand Simon, and though he had protested,he was glad he had. He had needed a fewhours to settle his emotions after what hadhappened in the Seelie Court. He did not

want Magnus to see how badly theQueen’s glamour had shaken him.

He no longer had to ring the bell forMagnus to buzz him upstairs. He had akey, a fact he was obscurely proud of. Heunlocked the door and headed upstairs,passing Magnus’s first-floor neighbor ashe did so. Though Alec had never seen theoccupants of the first-floor loft, theyseemed to be engaged in a tempestuousromance. Once there had been a bunch ofsomeone’s belongings strewn all over thelanding with a note attached to a jacketlapel addressed to “A lying liar wholies.” Right now there was a bouquet offlowers taped to the door with a cardtucked among the blooms that read I’MSORRY. That was the thing about NewYork: you always knew more about your

neighbors’ business than you wanted to.Magnus’s door was cracked slightly

open, and the sounds of music playingsoftly wafted out into the hall. Today itwas Tchaikovsky. Alec felt his shouldersrelax as the door of the apartment shutbehind him. He could never be quite surehow the place was going to look—it wasminimalist right now, with white couches,red stacking tables, and stark black-and-white photos of Paris on the walls—but ithad begun to feel increasingly familiar,like home. It smelled like the things heassociated with Magnus: ink, cologne,Lapsang Souchong tea, the burned-sugarsmell of magic. He scooped up ChairmanMeow, who was dozing on a windowsill,and made his way into the study.

Magnus looked up as Alec came in. He

was wearing what for Magnus was asomber ensemble—jeans and a black T-shirt with rivets around the collar andcuffs. His black hair was down, messyand tangled as if he’d run his handsthrough it multiple times in annoyance, andhis cat’s eyes were heavy-lidded withtiredness. He dropped his pen when Alecappeared, and grinned. “The Chairmanlikes you.”

“He likes anyone who scratches behindhis ears,” Alec said, shifting the dozingcat so that his purring seemed to rumblethrough Alec’s chest.

Magnus leaned back in his chair, themuscles in his arms flexing as he yawned.The table was strewn with pieces of papercovered in small, cramped handwritingand drawings—the same pattern over and

over, variations on the design that hadbeen splattered across the floor of therooftop from which Jace had disappeared.“How was the Seelie Queen?”

“Same as usual.”“Raging bitch, then?”“Pretty much.” Alec gave Magnus the

condensed version of what had happenedin the faerie court. He was good at that—keeping things short, not a word wasted.He never understood people whochattered on incessantly, or even Jace’slove of overcomplicated wordplay.

“I worry about Clary,” said Magnus. “Iworry she’s getting in over her little redhead.”

Alec set Chairman Meow down on thetable, where he promptly curled up into aball and went back to sleep. “She wants to

find Jace. Can you blame her?”Magnus’s eyes softened. He hooked a

finger into the top of Alec’s jeans andpulled him closer. “Are you saying you’ddo the same thing if it were me?”

Alec turned his face away, glancing atthe paper Magnus had just set aside. “Youlooking at these again?”

Looking a little disappointed, Magnuslet Alec go. “There’s got to be a key,” hesaid. “To unlocking them. Some language Ihaven’t looked at yet. Something ancient.This is old black magic, very dark, notlike anything I’ve ever seen before.” Helooked at the paper again, his head tiltedto the side. “Can you hand me thatsnuffbox over there? The silver one, onthe edge of the table.”

Alec followed the line of Magnus’s

gesture and saw a small silver boxperched on the opposite side of the bigwooden table. He reached over andpicked it up. It was like a miniature metalchest set on small feet, with a curved topand the initials W.S. picked out indiamonds across the top.

W, he thought. Will?Will, Magnus had said when Alec had

asked him about the name Camille hadtaunted him with. Dear God, that was along time ago.

Alec bit his lip. “What is this?”“It’s a snuffbox,” said Magnus, not

looking up from his papers. “I told you.”“Snuff? As in snuffing people out?”

Alec eyed it.Magnus looked up and laughed. “As in

tobacco. It was very popular around the

seventeenth, eighteenth century. Now I usethe box to keep odds and ends in.”

He held out his hand, and Alec gave thebox up. “Do you ever wonder,” Alecbegan, and then started again. “Does itbother you that Camille’s out theresomewhere? That she got away?” Andthat it was my fault? Alec thought butdidn’t say. There was no need for Magnusto know.

“She’s always been out theresomewhere,” said Magnus. “I know theClave isn’t terribly pleased, but I’m usedto imagining her living her life, notcontacting me. If it ever bothered me, ithasn’t in a long time.”

“But you did love her. Once.”Magnus ran his fingers over the

diamond insets in the snuffbox. “I thought I

did.”“Does she still love you?”“I don’t think so,” Magnus said dryly.

“She wasn’t very pleasant the last time Isaw her. Of course that could be becauseI’ve got an eighteen-year-old boyfriendwith a stamina rune and she doesn’t.”

Alec sputtered. “As the person beingobjectified, I… object to that descriptionof me.”

“She always was the jealous type.”Magnus grinned. He was awfully good atchanging the subject, Alec thought.Magnus had made it clear that he didn’tlike talking about his past love life, butsomewhere during their conversation,Alec’s sense of familiarity and comfort,his feeling of being at home, had vanished.No matter how young Magnus looked—

and right now, barefoot, with his hairsticking up, he looked about eighteen—uncrossable oceans of time divided them.

Magnus opened the box, took out sometacks, and used them to fix the paper hehad been looking at to the table. When heglanced up and saw Alec’s expression, hedid a double take. “Are you okay?”

Instead of replying, Alec reached downand took Magnus’s hands. Magnus letAlec pull him to his feet, a questioninglook in his eyes. Before he could sayanything, Alec drew him closer and kissedhim. Magnus made a soft, pleased sound,and gripped the back of Alec’s shirt,rucking it up, his fingers cool on Alec’sspine. Alec leaned into him, pinningMagnus between the table and his ownbody. Not that Magnus seemed to mind.

“Come on,” Alec said againstMagnus’s ear. “It’s late. Let’s go to bed.”

Magnus bit his lip and glanced over hisshoulder at the papers on the table, hisgaze fixed on ancient syllables in forgottenlanguages. “Why don’t you go on ahead?”he said. “I’ll join you—five minutes.”

“Sure.” Alec straightened up, knowingthat when Magnus was deep in his studies,five minutes could easily become fivehours. “I’ll see you there.”

“Shhh.”Clary put her finger to her lips before

motioning for Simon to go before herthrough the front door of Luke’s house. Allthe lights were off, and the living roomwas dark and silent. She shooed Simon

toward her room and headed into thekitchen to grab a glass of water. Halfwaythere she froze.

Her mother’s voice was audible downthe hall. Clary could hear the strain in it.Just like losing Jace was Clary’s worstnightmare, she knew that her mother wasliving her worst nightmare too. Knowingthat her son was alive and out there in theworld, capable of anything, was rippingher apart from the inside out.

“But they cleared her, Jocelyn,” Claryoverheard Luke reply, his voice dipping inand out of a whisper. “There won’t be anypunishment.”

“All of it is my fault.” Jocelyn soundedmuffled, as if she had buried her headagainst Luke’s shoulder. “If I hadn’tbrought that… creature into the world,

Clary wouldn’t be going through thisnow.”

“You couldn’t have known…” Luke’svoice faded off into a murmur, and thoughClary knew he was right, she had a brief,guilty flash of rage against her mother.Jocelyn should have killed Sebastian inhis crib before he’d ever had a chance togrow up and ruin all their lives, shethought, and was instantly horrified atherself for thinking it. She turned andswung back toward the other end of thehouse, darting into her bedroom andclosing the door behind her as if she werebeing followed.

Simon, who had been sitting on the bedplaying with his DS, looked up at her insurprise. “Everything okay?”

She tried to smile at him. He was a

familiar sight in this room—they’d sleptover at Luke’s often enough when theywere growing up. She’d done what shecould to make this room hers instead of aspare room. Photos of herself and Simon,the Lightwoods, herself with Jace andwith her family, were stuck haphazardlyinto the frame of the mirror over thedresser. Luke had given her a drawingboard, and her art supplies were sortedneatly into a stack of cubbyholes beside it.She had tacked up posters of her favoriteanimes: Fullmetal Alchemist, RurouniKenshin, Bleach.

Evidence of her Shadowhunter life layscattered about as well—a fat copy of TheShadowhunter’s Codex with her notes anddrawings scribbled into the margins, ashelf of books on the occult and

paranormal, her stele atop her desk, and anew globe, given to her by Luke, thatshowed Idris, bordered in gold, in thecenter of Europe.

And Simon, sitting in the middle of herbed, cross-legged, was one of the fewthings that belonged both to her old lifeand her new one. He looked at her withhis eyes dark in his pale face, the glimmerof the Mark of Cain barely visible on hisforehead.

“My mom,” she said, and leanedagainst the door. “She’s really not doingwell.”

“Isn’t she relieved? I mean about youbeing cleared?”

“She can’t get past thinking aboutSebastian. She can’t get past blamingherself.”

“It wasn’t her fault, the way he turnedout. It was Valentine’s.”

Clary said nothing. She was recallingthe awful thing she had just thought, thather mother should have killed Sebastianwhen he was born.

“Both of you,” said Simon, “blameyourselves for things that aren’t your fault.You blame yourself for leaving Jace onthe roof—”

She jerked her head up and looked athim sharply. She wasn’t aware she’d eversaid she blamed herself for that, thoughshe did. “I never—”

“You do,” he said. “But I left him, Izzyleft him, Alec left him—and Alec’s hisparabatai. There’s no way we could haveknown. And it might have been worse ifyou’d stayed.”

“Maybe.” Clary didn’t want to talkabout it. Avoiding Simon’s gaze, sheheaded into the bathroom to brush herteeth and pull on her fuzzy pajamas. Sheavoided looking at herself in the mirror.She hated how pale she looked, theshadows under her eyes. She was strong;she wasn’t going to fall apart. She had aplan. Even if it was a little insane, andinvolved robbing the Institute.

She brushed her teeth and was pullingher wavy hair back into a ponytail as sheleft the bathroom, just catching Simonslipping back into his messenger bag abottle of what was almost surely the bloodhe’d bought at Taki’s.

She came forward and ruffled his hair.“You can keep the bottles in the fridge,you know,” she said. “If you don’t like it

room temperature.”“Ice-cold blood is worse than room

temperature, actually. Warm is best, but Ithink your mom would balk at me heatingit up in saucepans.”

“Does Jordan care?” Clary asked,wondering if in fact Jordan even stillremembered Simon lived with him. Simonhad been at her house every night for thepast week. In the first few days after Jacehad disappeared, she hadn’t been able tosleep. She had piled five blankets overherself, but she’d been unable to getwarm. Shivering, she would lie awakeimagining her veins sluggish with frozenblood, ice crystals weaving a coral-likeshining net around her heart. Her dreamswere full of black seas and ice floes andfrozen lakes and Jace, his face always

hidden from her by shadows or a breath ofcloud or his own shining hair as he turnedaway from her. She would fall asleep forminutes at a time, always waking up witha sick drowning feeling.

The first day the Council hadinterrogated her, she’d come home andcrawled into bed. She’d lain there wideawake until there’d been a knock on herwindow and Simon had crawled inside,nearly tumbling onto the floor. He’dclimbed onto the bed and stretched outbeside her without a word. His skin hadbeen cold from the outside, and he’dsmelled like city air and oncoming winterchill.

She had touched her shoulder to his,dissolving a tiny part of the tension thatclamped her body like a clenched fist. His

hand had been cold, but it had beenfamiliar, like the texture of his corduroyjacket against her arm.

“How long can you stay?” she hadwhispered into the darkness.

“As long as you want.”She’d turned on her side to look at him.

“Won’t Izzy mind?”“She’s the one who told me I should

come over here. She said you weren’tsleeping, and if having me with you willmake you feel better, I can stay. Or I couldjust stay until you fall asleep.”

Clary had exhaled her relief. “Stay allnight,” she’d said. “Please.”

He had. That night she had had no baddreams.

As long as he was there, her sleep wasdreamless and blank, a dark ocean of

nothingness. A painless oblivion.“Jordan doesn’t really care about the

blood,” Simon said now. “His whole thingis about me being comfortable with what Iam. Get in touch with your inner vampire,blah, blah.”

Clary slid next to him onto the bed andhugged a pillow. “Is your inner vampiredifferent from your… outer vampire?”

“Definitely. He wants me to wearmidriff-baring shirts and a fedora. I’mfighting it.”

Clary smiled faintly. “So your innervampire is Magnus?”

“Wait, that reminds me.” Simon dugaround in his messenger bag and producedtwo volumes of manga. He waved themtriumphantly before handing them to Clary.“Magical Love Gentleman volumes

fifteen and sixteen,” he said. “Sold outeverywhere but Midtown Comics.”

She picked them up, looking at thecolorful back-to-front covers. Once upona time she would have waved her arms infangirl joy; now it was all she could do tosmile at Simon and thank him, but he haddone it for her, she reminded herself, thegesture of a good friend. Even if shecouldn’t even imagine distracting herselfwith reading right now. “You’reawesome,” she said, bumping him withher shoulder. She lay down against thepillows, the manga books balanced on herlap. “And thanks for coming with me tothe Seelie Court. I know it brings up suckymemories for you, but—I’m always betterwhen you’re there.”

“You did great. Handled the Queen like

a pro.” Simon lay down next to her, theirshoulders touching, both of them lookingup at the ceiling, the familiar cracks in it,the old glow-in-the-dark paste-on starsthat no longer shed light. “So you’re goingto do it? Steal the rings for the Queen?”

“Yes.” She let out her held breath.“Tomorrow. There’s a local Conclavemeeting at noon. Everyone’ll be in it. I’mgoing in then.”

“I don’t like it, Clary.”She felt her body tighten. “Don’t like

what?”“You having anything to do with

faeries. Faeries are liars.”“They can’t lie.”“You know what I mean. ‘Faeries are

misleaders’ sounds lame, though.”She turned her head and looked at him,

her chin against his collarbone. His armcame up automatically and circled hershoulders, pulling her against him. Hisbody was cool, his shirt still damp fromthe rain. His usually stick-straight hair haddried in windblown curls. “Believe me, Idon’t like getting mixed up with the Court.But I’d do it for you,” she said. “Andyou’d do it for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would. But it’s still a badidea.” He turned his head and looked ather. “I know how you feel. When myfather died—”

Her body tightened. “Jace isn’t dead.”“I know. I wasn’t saying that. It’s just

—You don’t need to say you’re betterwhen I’m there. I’m always there withyou. Grief makes you feel alone, butyou’re not. I know you don’t believe in—

in religion—the same way I do, but youcan believe you’re surrounded by peoplewho love you, can’t you?” His eyes werewide, hopeful. They were the same darkbrown they had always been, but differentnow, as if another layer had been added totheir color, the same way his skin seemedboth poreless and translucent at the sametime.

I believe it, she thought. I’m just notsure it matters. She knocked her shouldergently against his again. “So, do you mindif I ask you something? It’s personal butimportant.”

A note of wariness crept into his voice.“What is it?”

“With the whole Mark of Cain thing,does that mean if I accidentally kick youduring the night, I get kicked in the shins

seven times by an invisible force?”She felt him laugh. “Go to sleep, Fray.”

3BAD ANGELS

“Man, I thought you’d forgotten youlived here,” Jordan said the momentSimon walked into the living room of theirsmall apartment, his keys still dangling inhis hand. Jordan was usually to be foundsprawled out on their futon, his long legsdangling over the side, the controller fortheir Xbox in his hand. Today he was onthe futon, but he was sitting up straight, hisbroad shoulders hunched forward, hishands in the pockets of his jeans, the

controller nowhere to be seen. Hesounded relieved to see Simon, and in amoment Simon realized why.

Jordan wasn’t alone in the apartment.Sitting across from him in a nubbly orangevelvet armchair—none of Jordan’sfurniture matched—was Maia, her wildlycurling hair contained in two braids. Thelast time Simon had seen her, she’d beenglamorously dressed for a party. Now shewas back in uniform: jeans with frayedcuffs, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and acaramel leather jacket. She looked asuncomfortable as Jordan did, her backstraight, her gaze straying to the window.When she saw Simon, she clamberedgratefully to her feet and gave him a hug.“Hey,” she said. “I just stopped by to seehow you were doing.”

“I’m fine. I mean, as fine as I could bewith everything going on.”

“I didn’t mean about the whole Jacething,” she said. “I meant about you. Howare you holding up?”

“Me?” Simon was startled. “I’m allright. Worried about Isabelle and Clary.You know the Clave was investigating her—”

“And I heard she got cleared. That’sgood.” Maia let him go. “But I wasthinking about you. And what happenedwith your mom.”

“How did you know about that?”Simon shot Jordan a look, but Jordanshook his head, almost imperceptibly. Hehadn’t told.

Maia pulled on a braid. “I ran intoEric, of all people. He told me what

happened and that you’d backed out ofMillenium Lint’s gigs for the past twoweeks because of it.”

“Actually, they changed their name,”Jordan said. “They’re Midnight Burritonow.”

Maia shot Jordan an irritated look, andhe slid down a little in his seat. Simonwondered what they’d been talking aboutbefore he’d gotten home. “Have youtalked to anyone else in your family?”Maia asked, her voice soft. Her ambereyes were full of concern. Simon knew itwas churlish, but there was somethingabout being looked at like that that hedidn’t like. It was as if her concern madethe problem real, when otherwise hecould pretend it wasn’t happening.

“Yeah,” he said. “Everything’s fine

with my family.”“Really? Because you left your phone

here.” Jordan picked it up from the sidetable. “And your sister’s been calling youabout every five minutes all day. Andyesterday.”

A cold feeling spread through Simon’sstomach. He took the phone from Jordanand looked at the screen. Seventeenmissed calls from Rebecca.

“Crap,” he said. “I was hoping toavoid this.”

“Well, she’s your sister,” said Maia.“She was going to call you eventually.”

“I know, but I’ve been sort of fendingher off—leaving messages when I knewshe wouldn’t be there, that kind of thing. Ijust… I guess I was avoiding theinevitable.”

“And now?”Simon set the phone down on the

windowsill. “Keep avoiding it?”“Don’t.” Jordan took his hands out of

his pockets. “You should talk to her.”“And say what?” The question came

out more sharply than Simon had intended.“Your mother must have told her

something,” said Jordan. “She’s probablyworried.”

Simon shook his head. “She’ll becoming home for Thanksgiving in a fewweeks. I don’t want her to get mixed up inwhat’s going on with my mom.”

“She’s already mixed up in it. She’syour family,” said Maia. “Besides, this—what’s going on with your mom, all of it—this is your life now.”

“Then, I guess I want her to stay out of

it.” Simon knew he was beingunreasonable, but he didn’t seem to beable to help it. Rebecca was—special.Different. From a part of his life that hadso far remained untouched by all thisweirdness. Maybe the only part.

Maia threw her hands up and turned toJordan. “Say something to him. You’re hisPraetorian guard.”

“Oh, come on,” said Simon beforeJordan could open his mouth. “Are eitherof you in touch with your parents? Yourfamilies?”

They exchanged quick looks. “No,”Jordan said slowly, “but neither of us hadgood relationships with them before—”

“I rest my case,” said Simon. “We’reall orphans. Orphans of the storm.”

“You can’t just ignore your sister,”

insisted Maia.“Watch me.”“And when Rebecca comes home and

your house looks like the set of TheExorcist? And your mom has noexplanation for where you are?” Jordanleaned forward, his hands on his knees.“Your sister will call the police, and yourmom will end up committed.”

“I just don’t think I’m ready to hear hervoice,” Simon said, but he knew he’d lostthe argument. “I have to head back out, butI promise, I’ll text her.”

“Well,” Jordan said. He was looking atMaia, not Simon, as he said it, as if hehoped she’d notice he’d made progresswith Simon and be pleased. Simonwondered if they’d been seeing each otherat all during the past two weeks when

he’d been largely absent. He would haveguessed no from the awkward way they’dbeen sitting when he’d come in, but withthese two it was hard to be sure. “It’s astart.” The rattling gold elevator stopped at thethird floor of the Institute; Clary took adeep breath and stepped out into thehallway. The place was, as Alec andIsabelle had promised her it would be,deserted and quiet. The traffic on YorkAvenue outside was a soft murmur. Sheimagined she could hear the brush of dustmotes against one another as they dancedin the window light. Along the wall werethe pegs where the residents of theInstitute hung their coats when they cameinside. One of Jace’s black jackets still

dangled from a hook, the sleeves emptyand ghostly.

With a shiver she set off down thehallway. She could remember the firsttime Jace had taken her through thesecorridors, his careless light voice tellingher about Shadowhunters, about Idris,about the whole secret world she hadnever known existed. She had watchedhim as he’d talked—covertly, she’dthought, but she knew now that Jacenoticed everything—watching the lightglint off his pale hair, the quickmovements of his graceful hands, the flexof the muscles in his arms as he’dgestured.

She reached the library withoutencountering another Shadowhunter andpushed the door open. The room still gave

her the same shiver it had the first timeshe’d seen it. Circular because it wasbuilt inside a tower, the library had asecond floor gallery, railed, that ran alongthe midpoint of the walls, just above therows of bookshelves. The desk Clary stillthought of as Hodge’s rested in the centerof the room, carved from a single slab ofoak, the wide surface rested on the backsof two kneeling angels. Clary half-expected Hodge to stand up behind it, hiskeen-eyed raven, Hugo, perched on hisshoulder.

Shaking off the memory, she headedquickly for the circular staircase at the farend of the room. She was wearing jeansa n d rubber-soled sneakers, and asoundless rune was carved into her ankle;the silence was almost eerie as she

bounded up the steps and onto the gallery.There were books up here too, but theywere locked away behind glass cases.Some looked very old, their coversfrayed, their bindings reduced to a fewstrings. Others were clearly books of darkor dangerous magic—Unspeakable Cults,The Demon’s Pox , A Practical Guide toRaising the Dead.

Between the locked bookshelves wereglass display cases. Each held somethingof rare and beautiful workmanship—adelicate glass flacon whose stopper wasan enormous emerald; a crown with adiamond in the center that did not look asif it would fit any human head; a pendantin the shape of an angel whose wingswere clockwork cogs and gears; and in thelast case, just as Isabelle had promised, a

pair of gleaming golden rings shaped likecurling leaves, the faerie work as delicateas baby’s breath.

The case was locked, of course, but theOpening rune—Clary biting her lip as shedrew it, careful not to make it toopowerful lest the glass case burst apartand bring people running—unsnapped thelock. Carefully she eased the case open. Itwas only as she slid her stele back intoher pocket that she hesitated.

Was this really her? Stealing from theClave to pay the Queen of the Fair Folk,whose promises, as Jace had told heronce, were like scorpions, with a barbedsting in the tail?

She shook her head as if to clear thedoubts away—and froze. The door to thelibrary was opening. She could hear the

creak of wood, muffled voices, footsteps.Without another thought she dropped to theground, flattening herself against the coldwooden floor of the gallery.

“You were right, Jace,” came a voice—coolly amused, and horribly familiar—from below. “The place is deserted.”

The ice that had been in Clary’s veinsseemed to crystallize, freezing her inplace. She could not move, could notbreathe. She had not felt a shock thisintense since she had seen her father run asword through Jace’s chest. Very slowlyshe inched toward the edge of the galleryand looked down.

And bit down on her lip savagely tokeep herself from screaming.

The sloping roof above rose to a pointand was set with a glass skylight. Sunlight

poured down through the skylight, lightinga portion of the floor like a spotlight on astage. She could see that the chips of glassand marble and bits of semiprecious stonethat were inlaid in the floor formed adesign—the Angel Raziel, the cup and thesword. Standing directly on one of theAngel’s outspread wings was JonathanChristopher Morgenstern.

Sebastian.So this was what her brother looked

like. Really looked like, alive and movingand animated. A pale face, all angles andplanes, tall and slim in black gear. Hishair was silvery white, not dark as it hadbeen when she had first seen him, dyed tomatch the color of the real SebastianVerlac’s. His own pale color suited himbetter. His eyes were black and snapping

with life and energy. The last time she’dseen him, floating in a glass coffin likeSnow White, one of his hands had been abandaged stump. Now that hand waswhole again, with a silver braceletglittering on the wrist, but nothing visibleshowed that it had ever been damaged—and more than damaged, had beenmissing.

And there beside him, golden hairshimmering in the pale sunlight, was Jace.Not Jace as she had imagined him so oftenover the past two weeks—beaten orbleeding or suffering or starving, lockedaway in some dark cell, screaming in painor calling out for her. This was Jace asshe remembered him, when she let herselfremember—flushed and healthy andvibrant and beautiful. His hands were

careless in the pockets of his jeans, hisMarks visible through his white T-shirt.Over it was thrown an unfamiliar tansuede jacket that brought out the goldundertones to his skin. He tipped his headback, as if enjoying the feeling of sun onhis face. “I’m always right, Sebastian,” hesaid. “You ought to know that about me bynow.”

Sebastian gave him a measured look,and then a smile. Clary stared. It hadevery appearance of being a real smile.But what did she know? Sebastian hadsmiled at her before, and that had turnedout to be one big lie. “So where are thebooks on summoning? Is there any order tothe chaos here?”

“Not really. It’s not alphabetized. Itfollows Hodge’s special system.”

“Isn’t he the one I killed? Inconvenient,that,” said Sebastian. “Perhaps I shouldtake the upstairs level and you thedownstairs.”

He moved toward the staircase that ledup to the gallery. Clary’s heart began topound with fear. She associated Sebastianwith murder, blood, pain, and terror. Sheknew that Jace had fought him and wononce but had nearly died in the processhimself. In a hand-to-hand fight she wouldnever beat her brother. Could she flingherself from the gallery railing to the floorwithout breaking a leg? And if she did,what would happen then? What wouldJace do?

Sebastian had his foot on the loweststep when Jace called out to him, “Wait.They’re here. Filed under ‘Magic,

Nonlethal.’”“Nonlethal? Where’s the fun in that?”

Sebastian purred, but he took his foot offthe step and moved back toward Jace.“This is quite a library,” he said, readingoff titles as he passed them. “The Careand Feeding of Your Pet Imp. DemonsRevealed.” He plucked that one off theshelf and let out a long, low chuckle.

“What is it?” Jace looked up, his mouthcurving upward. Clary wanted to rundownstairs and throw herself at him sobadly that she bit down on her lip again.The pain was acid sharp.

“It’s pornography,” said Sebastian.“Look. Demons… revealed.”

Jace came up behind him, resting onehand on Sebastian’s arm for balance as heread over his shoulder. It was like

watching Jace with Alec, someone he wasso comfortable with, he could touch themwithout thinking about it—but horrible,backward, inside out. “Okay, how can youtell?”

Sebastian shut the book and hit Jacelightly on the shoulder with it. “Somethings I know more about than you. Didyou get the books?”

“I got them.” Jace scooped up a stackof heavy-looking tomes from a nearbytable. “Do we have time to go by myroom? If I could get some of my stuff…”

“What do you want?”Jace shrugged. “Clothes mostly, some

weapons.”Sebastian shook his head. “Too

dangerous. We need to get in and out fast.Only emergency items.”

“My favorite jacket is an emergencyitem,” Jace said. It was so much likehearing him talk to Alec, to any of hisfriends. “Much like myself, it is bothsnuggly and fashionable.”

“Look, we have all the money wecould want,” said Sebastian. “Buy clothes.And you’ll be ruling this place in a fewweeks. You can run your favorite jacketup the flagpole and fly it like a pennant.”

Jace laughed, that soft rich sound Claryloved. “I’m warning you, that jacket issexy. The Institute could go up in sexy,sexy flames.”

“Be good for the place. Too dismalright now.” Sebastian grabbed the back ofJace’s current jacket with a fist and pulledhim sideways. “Now we’re going. Holdon to the books.” He glanced down at his

right hand, where a slim silver ringglittered; with the hand that wasn’t holdingon to Jace, he used his thumb to twist thering.

“Hey,” Jace said. “Do you think—” Hebroke off, and for a moment Clary thoughtthat it was because he had looked up andseen her—his face was tilted upward—but even as she sucked in her breath, theyboth vanished, fading like mirages againstthe air.

Slowly Clary lowered her head ontoher arm. Her lip was bleeding where shehad bitten it; she could taste the blood inher mouth. She knew she should get up,move, run away. She wasn’t supposed tobe here. But the ice in her veins hadgrown so cold, she was terrified that ifshe moved, she would shatter.

Alec woke to Magnus’s shaking hisshoulder. “Come on, sweet pea,” he said.“Time to rise and face the day.”

Alec unfolded himself groggily out ofhis nest of pillows and blankets andblinked at his boyfriend. Magnus, despitehaving gotten very little sleep, lookedannoyingly chipper. His hair was wet,dripping onto the shoulders of his whiteshirt and making it transparent. He worejeans with holes in them and fraying hems,which usually meant he was planning tospend the day without leaving hisapartment.

“‘Sweet pea’?” Alec said.“I was trying it out.”Alec shook his head. “No.”Magnus shrugged. “I’ll keep at it.” He

held out a chipped blue mug of coffee

fixed the way Alec liked it—black, withsugar. “Wake up.”

Alec sat up, rubbing at his eyes, andtook the mug. The first bitter swallow senta tingle of energy through his nerves. Heremembered lying awake the night beforeand waiting for Magnus to come to bed,but eventually exhaustion had overtakenhim and he had fallen asleep at aroundfive a.m. “I’m skipping the Councilmeeting today.”

“I know, but you’re supposed to meetyour sister and the others in the park byTurtle Pond. You told me to remind you.”

Alec swung his legs over the side ofthe bed. “What time is it?”

Magnus took the mug gently out of hishand before the coffee spilled and set it onthe bedside table. “You’re fine. You’ve

got an hour.” He leaned forward andpressed his lips against Alec’s; Alecremembered the first time they had everkissed, here in this apartment, and hewanted to wrap his arms around hisboyfriend and pull him close. Butsomething held him back.

He stood up, disentangling himself, andwent over to the bureau. He had a drawerwhere his clothes were. A place for histoothbrush in the bathroom. A key to thefront door. A decent amount of real estateto take up in anyone’s life, and yet hecouldn’t shake the cold fear in hisstomach.

Magnus had rolled onto his back on thebed and was watching Alec, one armcrooked behind his head. “Wear thatscarf,” he said, pointing to a blue

cashmere scarf hanging on a peg. “Itmatches your eyes.”

Alec looked at it. Suddenly he wasfilled with hate—for the scarf, forMagnus, and most of all for himself.“Don’t tell me,” he said. “The scarf’s ahundred years old, and it was given to youby Queen Victoria right before she died,for special services to the Crown orsomething.”

Magnus sat up. “What’s gotten intoyou?”

Alec stared at him. “Am I the newestthing in this apartment?”

“I think that honor goes to ChairmanMeow. He’s only two.”

“I said newest, not youngest,” Alecsnapped. “Who’s W.S.? Is it Will?”

Magnus shook his head like there was

water in his ears. “What the hell? Youmean the snuffbox? W.S. is Woolsey Scott.He—”

“Founded the Praetor Lupus. I know.”Alec pulled on his jeans and zipped themup. “You mentioned him before, andbesides, he’s a historical figure. And hissnuffbox is in your junk drawer. What elseis in there? Jonathan Shadowhunter’stoenail clippers?”

Magnus’s cat eyes were cold. “Whereis all this coming from, Alexander? I don’tlie to you. If there’s anything about me youwant to know, you can ask.”

“Bull,” Alec said bluntly, buttoning hisshirt. “You’re kind and funny and all thosegreat things, but what you’re not isforthcoming, sweet pea. You can talk allday about other people’s problems, but

you won’t talk about yourself or yourhistory, and when I do ask, you wrigglelike a worm on a hook.”

“Maybe because you can’t ask meabout my past without picking a fightabout how I’m going to live forever andyou’re not,” Magnus snapped. “Maybebecause immortality is rapidly becomingthe third person in our relationship, Alec.”

“Our relationship isn’t supposed tohave a third person.”

“Exactly.”Alec’s throat tightened. There were a

thousand things he wanted to say, but hehad never been good with words like Jaceand Magnus were. Instead he grabbed theblue scarf off its peg and wrapped itdefiantly around his neck.

“Don’t wait up,” he said. “I might

patrol tonight.”As he slammed out of the apartment, he

heard Magnus yell after him, “And thatscarf, I’ll have you know, is from the Gap!I got it last year!”

Alec rolled his eyes and jogged downthe stairs to the lobby. The single bulb thatusually lit the place was out, and the spacewas so dim that for a moment he didn’tsee the hooded figure slipping toward himfrom the shadows. When he did, he was sostartled that he dropped his key chain witha rattling clang.

The figure glided toward him. Hecould tell nothing about it—not age orgender or even species. The voice thatcame from beneath the hood was cracklingand low. “I have a message for you, AlecLightwood,” it said. “From Camille

Belcourt.”

“Do you want to patrol together tonight?”Jordan asked, somewhat abruptly.

Maia turned to look at him in surprise.He was leaning back against the kitchencounter, his elbows on the surface behindhim. There was an unconcern about hisposture that was too studied to be sincere.That was the problem with knowingsomeone so well, she thought. It was veryhard to pretend around them, or to ignoreit when they were pretending, even whenit would be easier.

“Patrol together?” she echoed. Simonwas in his room, changing clothes; she’dtold him she’d walk to the subway withhim, and now she wished she hadn’t. She

knew she should have contacted Jordansince the last time she’d seen him, when,rather unwisely, she’d kissed him. Butthen Jace had vanished and the wholeworld seemed to have blown into piecesand it had given her just the excuse she’dneeded to avoid the whole issue.

Of course, not thinking about the ex-boyfriend who had broken your heart andturned you into a werewolf was a loteasier when he wasn’t standing right infront of you, wearing a green shirt thathugged his leanly muscled body in all theright places and brought out the hazelcolor of his eyes.

“I thought they were canceling thepatrol searches for Jace,” she said,looking away from him.

“Well, not canceling so much as cutting

down. But I’m Praetor, not Clave. I canlook for Jace on my own time.”

“Right,” she said.He was playing with something on the

counter, arranging it, but his attention wasstill on her. “Do you, you know… Youused to want to go to college at Stanford.Do you still?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “I haven’tthought about college since…” Shecleared her throat. “Not since I Changed.”

His cheeks flushed. “You were—Imean, you always wanted to go toCalifornia. You were going to studyhistory, and I was going to move out thereand surf. Remember?”

Maia shoved her hands into the pocketsof her leather jacket. She felt as if sheought to be angry, but she wasn’t. For a

long time she had blamed Jordan for thefact that she’d stopped dreaming of ahuman future, with school and a house anda family, maybe, someday. But there wereother wolves in the police station packwho still pursued their dreams, their art.Bat, for instance. It had been her ownchoice to stop her life short. “Iremember,” she said.

His cheeks flushed. “About tonight. Noone’s searched the Brooklyn Navy Yard,so I thought… but it’s never much fundoing it on my own. But if you don’t wantto…”

“No,” she said, hearing her own voiceas if it were someone else’s. “I mean,sure. I’ll go with you.”

“Really?” His hazel eyes lit up, andMaia cursed herself inwardly. She

shouldn’t get his hopes up, not when shewasn’t sure how she felt. It was just sohard to believe that he cared that much.

The Praetor Lupus medallion gleamedat his throat as he leaned forward, and shesmelled the familiar scent of his soap, andunder that—wolf. She flicked her eyes uptoward him, just as Simon’s door openedand he came out, shrugging on a hoodie.He stopped dead in his doorway, his eyesmoving from Jordan to Maia, hiseyebrows slowly rising.

“You know, I can make it to thesubway on my own,” he said to Maia, afaint smile tugging the corner of his mouth.“If you want to stay here…”

“No.” Maia hastily took her hands outof her pockets, where they had beenballed into nervous fists. “No, I’ll come

with you. Jordan, I’ll—I’ll see you later.”“Tonight,” he called after her, but she

didn’t turn around to look at him; she wasalready hurrying after Simon.

Simon trudged alone up the low rise of thehill, hearing the shouts of the Frisbeeplayers in the Sheep Meadow behind him,like distant music. It was a brightNovember day, crisp and windy, the sunlighting what remained of the leaves onthe trees to brilliant shades of scarlet,gold, and amber.

The top of the hill was strewn withboulders. You could see how the park hadbeen hacked out of what had once been awilderness of trees and stone. Isabelle satatop one of the boulders, wearing a long

dress of bottle-green silk with anembroidered black and silver coat over it.She looked up as Simon strode towardher, pushing her long, dark hair out of herface. “I thought you’d be with Clary,” shesaid as he drew closer. “Where is she?”

“Leaving the Institute,” he said, sittingdown next to Isabelle on the rock andshoving his hands into his Windbreakerpockets. “She texted. She’ll be heresoon.”

“Alec’s on his way—,” she began, andbroke off as his pocket buzzed. Or, moreaccurately, the phone in his pocket buzzed.“I think someone’s messaging you.”

He shrugged. “I’ll check it later.”She gave him a look from under her

long eyelashes. “Anyway, I was saying,Alec’s on his way too. He had to come all

the way from Brooklyn, so—”Simon’s phone buzzed again.“All right, that’s it. If you’re not getting

it, I will.” Isabelle leaned forward,against Simon’s protests, and slipped herhand into his pocket. The top of her headbrushed his chin. He smelled her perfume—vanilla—and the scent of her skinunderneath. When she pulled the phone outand drew back, he was both relieved anddisappointed.

She squinted at the screen. “Rebecca?Who’s Rebecca?”

“My sister.”Isabelle’s body relaxed. “She wants to

meet you. She says she hasn’t seen yousince—”

Simon swiped the phone out of herhand and flipped it off before shoving it

back into his pocket. “I know, I know.”“Don’t you want to see her?”“More than—more than almost

anything else. But I don’t want her toknow. About me.” Simon picked up a stickand threw it. “Look what happened whenmy mom found out.”

“So set up a meeting with hersomewhere public. Where she can’t freakout. Far from your house.”

“Even if she can’t freak out, she canstill look at me like my mother did,”Simon said in a low voice. “Like I’m amonster.”

Isabelle touched his wrist lightly. “Mymom tossed out Jace when she thought hewas Valentine’s son and a spy—then sheregretted it horribly. My mom and dad arecoming around to Alec’s being with

Magnus. Your mom will come around too.Get your sister on your side. That’ll help.”She tilted her head a little. “I thinksometimes siblings understand more thanparents. There’s not the same weight ofexpectations. I could never, ever cut Alecoff. No matter what he did. Never. OrJace.” She squeezed his arm, then droppedher hand. “My little brother died. I won’tever see him again. Don’t put your sisterthrough that.”

“Through what?” It was Alec, comingup the side of the hill, kicking dried leavesout of his path. He was wearing his usualratty sweater and jeans, but a dark bluescarf that matched his eyes was wrappedaround his throat. Now, that had to havebeen a gift from Magnus, Simon thought.No way would Alec have thought to buy

something like that himself. The conceptof matching seemed to be beyond him.

Isabelle cleared her throat. “Simon’ssister—”

She got no further than that. There wasa blast of cold air, bringing with it a swirlof dead leaves. Isabelle put her hand up toshield her face from the dust as the airbegan to shimmer with the unmistakeabletranslucence of an opening Portal, andClary appeared before them, her stele inone hand and her face wet with tears.

4AND IMMORTALITY

“And you’re totally sure it was Jace?”Isabelle asked, for what seemed to Clarylike the forty-seventh time.

Clary bit down on her already sore lipand counted to ten. “It’s me, Isabelle,” shesaid. “You honestly think I wouldn’trecognize Jace?” She looked up at Alecstanding over them, his blue scarffluttering like a pennant in the wind.“Could you mistake someone else forMagnus?”

“No. Not ever,” he said withoutmissing a beat. His blue eyes weretroubled, dark with worry. “I just—Imean, of course we’re asking. It doesn’tmake any sense.”

“He could be a hostage,” said Simon,leaning back against a boulder. Theautumn sunlight turned his eyes the colorof coffee grounds. “Like, Sebastian isthreatening him that if Jace doesn’t goalong with his plans, Sebastian will hurtsomeone he cares about.”

All eyes went to Clary, but she shookher head in frustration. “You didn’t seethem together. Nobody acts like that whenthey’re a hostage. He seemed totallyhappy to be there.”

“Then he’s possessed,” Alec said.“Like he was by Lilith.”

“That was what I thought at first. Butwhen he was possessed by Lilith, he waslike a robot. He just kept saying the samethings over and over. But this was Jace.He was making jokes like Jace does.Smiling like him.”

“Maybe he has Stockholm syndrome,”Simon suggested. “You know, when youget brainwashed and start sympathizingwith your captor.”

“It takes months to develop Stockholmsyndrome,” Alec objected. “How did helook? Hurt, or sick in any way? Can youdescribe them both?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked. Thewind blew dry leaves around their feet asClary told them again how Jace hadlooked—vibrant and healthy. Sebastian,too. They had seemed completely calm.

Jace’s clothes had been clean, stylish,ordinary. Sebastian had been wearing along black wool trench coat that hadlooked expensive.

“Like an evil Burberry ad,” Simon saidwhen she was done.

Isabelle shot him a look. “Maybe Jacehas a plan,” she said. “Maybe he’stricking Sebastian. Trying to get into hisgood graces, figure out what his plansare.”

“You’d think that if he were doing that,he’d have figured out a way to tell usabout it,” Alec said. “Not to leave uspanicking. That’s too cruel.”

“Unless he couldn’t risk sending amessage. He’d believe we would trusthim. We do trust him.” Isabelle’s voicerose, and she shivered, wrapping her arms

around herself. The trees lining the gravelpath they stood on rattled their barebranches.

“Maybe we should tell the Clave,”Clary said, hearing her own voice as iffrom a distance. “This is—I don’t see howwe can handle this on our own.”

“We can’t tell the Clave.” Isabelle’svoice was hard.

“Why not?”“If they think he’s cooperating with

Sebastian, the mandate will be to kill himon sight,” Alec said. “That’s the Law.”

“Even if Isabelle’s right? Even if he’sjust playing along with Sebastian?” Simonsaid, a note of doubt in his voice. “Tryingto get on his side to get information?”

“There’s no way to prove it. And if weclaimed it was what he’s doing, and that

got back to Sebastian, he’d probably killJace,” said Alec. “If Jace is possessed,the Clave will kill him themselves. Wecan’t tell them anything.” His voice washard. Clary looked at him in surprise;Alec was normally the most rule-abidingof them all.

“This is Sebastian we’re talkingabout,” said Izzy. “There’s no one theClave hates more, except Valentine, andhe’s dead. But practically everyone knowssomeone who died in the Mortal War, andSebastian’s the one who took the wardsdown.”

Clary scuffed at the gravel underfootwith her sneaker. The whole situationseemed like a dream, like she might wakeup at any moment. “Then, what next?”

“We talk to Magnus. See if he has any

insight.” Alec tugged on the corner of hisscarf. “He won’t go to the Council. Not ifI ask him not to.”

“He’d better not,” said Isabelleindignantly. “Otherwise, worst boyfriendever.”

“I said he wouldn’t—”“Is there any point now?” Simon said.

“In seeing the Seelie Queen? Now that weknow Jace is possessed, or maybe hidingout on purpose—”

“You don’t miss an appointment withthe Seelie Queen,” Isabelle said firmly.“Not if you value your skin the way it is.”

“But she’ll just take away the ringsfrom Clary and we won’t learn anything,”Simon argued. “We know more now. Wehave different questions for her now. Shewon’t answer them, though. She’ll just

answer the old ones. That’s how faerieswork. They don’t do favors. It’s not likeshe’s going to let us go talk to Magnus andthen come back.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Clary rubbed herhands across her face. They came awaydry. At some point her tears had stoppedcoming, thank God. She hadn’t wanted toface the Queen looking like she’d justbeen bawling her eyes out. “I never got therings.”

Isabelle blinked. “What?”“After I saw Jace and Sebastian, I was

too shaken to get them. I just raced out ofthe Institute and Portaled here.”

“Well, we can’t see the Queen, then,”said Alec. “If you didn’t do what sheasked you to, she’ll be furious.”

“She’ll be more than furious,” said

Isabelle. “You saw what she did to Aleclast time we went to the Court. And thatwas just a glamour. She’ll probably turnClary into a lobster or something.”

“She knew,” Clary said. “She said,‘When you find him again, he may wellnot be quite as you left him.’” The SeelieQueen’s voice drifted through Clary’shead. She shivered. She could understandwhy Simon hated faeries so much. Theyalways knew exactly the right words thatwould lodge like a splinter in your brain,painful and impossible to ignore orremove. “She’s just playing around withus. She wants those rings, but I don’t thinkthere’s any chance she’ll really help us.”

“Okay,” Isabelle said doubtfully. “Butif she knew that much, she might knowmore. And who else is going to be able to

help us, since we can’t go to the Clave?”“Magnus,” Clary said. “He’s been

trying to decode Lilith’s spell all thistime. Maybe if I tell him what I saw, it’llhelp.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “It’s a goodthing we know the person who’s datingMagnus,” he said. “Otherwise, I get thefeeling we’d all just lie around all thetime wondering what the hell to do next.Or try to raise the money to hire Magnusby selling lemonade.”

Alec looked merely irritated by thiscomment. “The only way you could raiseenough money to hire Magnus by sellinglemonade is if you put meth in it.”

“It’s an expression. We are all awarethat your boyfriend is expensive. I justwish we didn’t have to go running to him

with every problem.”“So does he,” said Alec. “Magnus has

another job today, but I’ll talk to himtonight and we can all meet at his lofttomorrow morning.”

Clary nodded. She couldn’t evenimagine getting up the next morning. Sheknew the sooner they talked to Magnus thebetter, but she felt drained and exhausted,as if she’d left pints of her blood on thelibrary floor in the Institute.

Isabelle had moved closer to Simon. “Iguess that leaves us the rest of theafternoon,” she said. “Should we go toTaki’s? They’ll serve you blood.”

Simon glanced over at Clary, clearlyworried. “Do you want to come?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll grab a cab back toWilliamsburg. I should spend some time

with my mom. All of this stuff withSebastian has her falling apart already,and now…”

Isabelle’s black hair flew in the windas she whipped her head back and forth.“You can’t tell her what you saw. Luke’son the Council. He can’t keep it fromthem, and you can’t ask her to keep it fromhim.”

“I know.” Clary looked at the threeanxious gazes fixed on her. How had thishappened? she thought. She, who hadnever kept secrets from Jocelyn—not realones, anyway—was about to go home andhide something enormous from both hermother and Luke. Something she could talkabout only with people like Alec andIsabelle Lightwood and Magnus Bane,people that six months ago she hadn’t

known existed. It was strange how yourworld could shift on its axis andeverything you trusted could invert itselfin what seemed like no time at all.

At least she still had Simon. Constant,permanent Simon. She kissed him on thecheek, waved her good-bye to the others,and turned away, aware that all three ofthem were watching her worriedly as shestrode away across the park, the last of thedead fall leaves crunching under hersneakers as if they were tiny bones.

Alec had lied. It wasn’t Magnus who hadsomething to do that afternoon. It washimself.

He knew what he was doing was amistake, but he couldn’t help himself: it

was like a drug, this needing to knowmore. And now, here he was,underground, holding his witchlight andwondering just what the hell he wasdoing.

Like all New York subway stations,this one smelled of rust and water, metaland decay. But unlike any other stationAlec had ever been in, it was eerily quiet.Aside from the marks of water damage,the walls and platform were clean.Vaulted ceilings, punctuated by theoccasional chandelier, rose above him,the arches patterned in green tile. Thenameplate tiles on the wall read CITYHALL in block lettering.

The City Hall subway station had beenout of use since 1945, though the city stillkept it in order as a landmark; the 6 train

ran through it on occasion to make aturnaround, but no one ever stood on thisplatform. Alec had crawled through ahatch in City Hall Park surrounded bydogwood trees to reach this place,dropping down a distance that wouldprobably have broken a mundane’s legs.Now he stood, breathing in the dusty air,his heart rate quickening.

This was where the letter the vampiresubjugate had handed him in Magnus’sentryway had directed him to go. At firsthe had determined he would never use theinformation. But he had not been able tobring himself to throw it away. He hadballed it up and shoved it into his jeanspocket, and all through the day, even inCentral Park, it had eaten at the back ofhis mind.

It was like the whole situation withMagnus. He couldn’t seem to helpworrying at it the way one might worry ata diseased tooth, knowing you weremaking the situation worse but not beingable to stop. Magnus had done nothingwrong. It wasn’t his fault he was hundredsof years old, and that he had been in lovebefore. But it corroded Alec’s peace ofmind just the same. And now, knowingboth more and less about Jace’s situationthan he had yesterday—it was too much.He needed to talk to someone, gosomewhere, do something.

So here he was. And here she was, hewas sure of it. He moved slowly down theplatform. The ceiling vaulted overhead, acentral skylight letting in light from thepark above, four lines of tiles radiating

out from it like a spider’s legs. At the endof a platform was a short staircase, whichled up into gloom. Alec could detect thepresence of a glamour: any mundanelooking up would see a concrete wall, buthe saw an open doorway. Silently, heheaded up the steps.

He found himself in a gloomy, low-ceilinged room. An amethyst-glassskylight let in a little light. In a shadowycorner of the room sat an elegant velvetsofa with an arched, gilded back, and onthe sofa sat Camille.

She was as beautiful as Alecremembered, though she had not been ather best the last time he had seen her,filthy and chained to a pipe in a buildingunder construction. She wore a neat blacksuit now with high-heeled red shoes, and

her hair spilled down her shoulders inwaves and curls. She had a book open onher lap—La Place de l’Étoile by PatrickModiano. He knew enough French totranslate the title. “The Place of the Star.”

She looked at Alec as if she hadexpected to see him.

“Hello, Camille,” he said.She blinked slowly. “Alexander

Lightwood,” she said. “I recognized yourfootsteps on the stairs.”

She put the back of her hand against hercheek and smiled at him. There wassomething distant about her smile. It hadall the warmth of dust. “I don’t supposeyou have a message from Magnus for me.”

Alec said nothing.“Of course not,” she said. “Silly me.

As if he knows where you are.”

“How did you know it was me?” hesaid. “On the stairway.”

“You’re a Lightwood,” she said. “Yourfamily never gives up. I knew youwouldn’t let well enough alone after whatI said to you that night. The message todaywas just to prod your memory.”

“I didn’t need to be reminded of whatyou promised me. Or were you lying?”

“I would have said anything to get freethat night,” she said. “But I wasn’t lying.”She leaned forward, her eyes bright anddark at the same time. “You are Nephilim,of the Clave and Council. There is a priceon my head for murdering Shadowhunters.But I already know you have not comehere to bring me to them. You wantanswers.”

“I want to know where Jace is,” he

said.“You want to know that,” she said.

“But you know there’s no reason I’d havethe answer, and I don’t. I’d give it to youif I did. I know he was taken by Lilith’sson, and I have no reason to have anyloyalty to her. She is gone. I know therehave been patrols out looking for me, todiscover whatever I might know. I can tellyou now, I know nothing. I would tell youwhere your friend is if I knew. I have noreason to further antagonize theNephilim.” She ran a hand through herthick blond hair. “But that’s not whyyou’re here. Admit it, Alexander.”

Alec felt his breath quicken. He hadthought of this moment, lying awake atnight beside Magnus, listening to thewarlock breathing, hearing his own

breaths, numbering them out. Each breatha breath closer to aging and dying. Eachnight spinning him closer to the end ofeverything.

“You said you knew a way to make meimmortal,” said Alec. “You said you knewa way Magnus and I could be togetherforever.”

“I did, didn’t I? How interesting.”“I want you to tell it to me now.”“And I will,” she said, setting down

her book. “For a price.”“No price,” said Alec. “I freed you.

Now you’ll tell me what I want to know.Or I’ll give you to the Clave. They’llchain you on the roof of the Institute andwait for sunrise.”

Her eyes went hard and flat. “I do notcare for threats.”

“Then give me what I want.”She stood up, brushing her hands down

the front of her jacket, smoothing thewrinkles. “Come and take it from me,Shadowhunter.”

It was as if all the frustration, panic,and despair of the past weeks explodedout of Alec. He leaped for Camille, just asshe started for him, her fang teeth snappingoutward.

Alec barely had time to draw hisseraph blade from his belt before she wason him. He had fought vampires before;their swiftness and force was stunning. Itwas like fighting the leading edge of atornado. He threw himself to the side,rolled onto his feet, and kicked a fallenladder in her direction; it stopped herbriefly enough for him to lift the blade and

whisper, “Nuriel.”The light of the seraph blade shot up

like a star, and Camille hesitated—thenflung herself at him again. She attacked,ripping her long nails along his cheek andshoulder. He felt the warmth and wetnessof blood. Spinning, he slashed at her, butshe rose into the air, darting just out ofreach, laughing and taunting him.

He ran for the stairs leading down tothe platform. She rushed after him; hedodged aside, spun, and pushed off thewall into the air, leaping toward her justas she dived. They collided in midair, herscreaming and slashing at him, himkeeping a firm hold on her arm, even asthey crashed to the ground, almost gettingthe wind knocked out of him. Keeping herearthbound was the key to winning the

fight, and he silently thanked Jace, whohad made him practice flips over and overin the training room until he could usealmost any surface to get himself airbornefor at least a moment or two.

He slashed with the seraph blade asthey rolled across the floor, and shedeflected his blows easily, moving so fastshe was a blur. She kicked at him with herhigh heels, stabbing his legs with theirpoints. He winced and swore, and sheresponded with an impressive torrent offilth that involved his sex life withMagnus, her sex life with Magnus, andthere might have been more had they notreached the center of the room, where theskylight above beamed a circle ofsunshine onto the floor. Seizing her wrist,Alec forced Camille’s hand down, into the

light.She screamed as enormous white

blisters appeared on her skin. Alec couldfeel the heat from her bubbling hand.Fingers laced with hers, he jerked herhand upright, back into the shadows. Shesnarled and snapped at him. He elbowedher in the mouth, splitting her lip. Vampireblood—shimmering bright red, brighterthan human blood—dripped from thecorner of her mouth.

“Have you had enough?” he snarled.“Do you want more?” He began to forceher hand back toward the sunlight. It hadalready begun to heal, the red, blisteredskin fading to pink.

“No!” She gasped, coughed, and beganto tremble, her whole body spasming.After a moment he realized she was

laughing—laughing up at him through theblood. “That made me feel alive, littleNephilim. A good fight like that—I shouldthank you.”

“Thank me by giving me the answer tomy question,” Alec said, panting. “Or I’llash you. I’m sick of your games.”

Her lips stretched into a smile. Hercuts had healed already, though her facewas still bloody. “There is no way tomake you immortal. Not without blackmagic or turning you into a vampire, andyou have rejected both options.”

“But you said—you said there wasanother way we could be together—”

“Oh, there is.” Her eyes danced. “Youmay not be able to give yourselfimmortality, little Nephilim, at least not onany terms that would be acceptable to you.

But you can take Magnus’s away.”

Clary sat in her bedroom at Luke’s, a penclutched in her hand, a piece of paperspread out on the desk in front of her. Thesun had gone down, and the desk light wason, blazing down on the rune she had justbegun.

It had started to come to her on the Ltrain home as she’d stared unseeingly outthe window. It was nothing that had everexisted before, and she had rushed homefrom the station while the image was stillfresh in her mind, brushing away hermother’s inquiries, closing herself in herroom, putting pen to paper—

A knock came on the door. QuicklyClary slid the paper she was drawing on

under a blank sheet as her mother cameinto the room.

“I know, I know,” Jocelyn said,holding up a hand against Clary’s protest.“You want to be left alone. But Luke madedinner, and you should eat.”

Clary gave her mother a look. “Soshould you.” Jocelyn, like her daughter,was given to loss of appetite under stress,and her face looked hollow. She shouldhave been preparing for her honeymoonnow, getting ready to pack her bags forsomewhere beautiful and far away.Instead the wedding was postponedindefinitely, and Clary could hear hercrying through the walls at night. Claryknew that kind of crying, born out of angerand guilt, a crying that said This is all myfault.

“I’ll eat if you will,” Jocelyn said,forcing a smile. “Luke made pasta.”

Clary turned her chair around,deliberately angling her body to block hermother’s view of her desk. “Mom,” shesaid. “There was something I wanted toask you.”

“What is it?”Clary bit the end of her pen, a bad habit

she’d had since she started to draw.“When I was in the Silent City with Jace,the Brothers told me that there’s aceremony performed on Shadowhunters atbirth, a ceremony that protects them. Thatthe Iron Sisters and the Silent Brothershave to perform it. And I waswondering…”

“If the ceremony was ever performedon you?”

Clary nodded.Jocelyn exhaled and pushed her hands

through her hair. “It was,” she said. “Iarranged it through Magnus. A SilentBrother was present, someone sworn tosecrecy, and a female warlock who tookthe place of the Iron Sister. I almost didn’twant to do it. I didn’t want to think youcould be in danger from the supernaturalafter I’d hidden you so carefully. ButMagnus talked me into it, and he wasright.”

Clary looked at her curiously. “Whowas the female warlock?”

“Jocelyn!” It was Luke calling from thekitchen. “The water’s boiling over!”

Jocelyn dropped a quick kiss onClary’s head. “Sorry. Culinary emergency.See you in five?”

Clary nodded as her mother hurriedfrom the room, then turned back to herdesk. The rune she had been creating wasstill there, teasing the edge of her mind.She began to draw again, completing thedesign she had started. As she finished,she sat back and stared at what she’dmade. It looked a little like the Openingrune but wasn’t. It was a pattern as simpleas a cross and as new to the world as ajust-born baby. It held a sleeping threat, asense that it had been born out of her rageand guilt and impotent anger.

It was a powerful rune. But though sheknew exactly what it meant and how itcould be used, she couldn’t think of asingle way in which it could possibly behelpful in the current situation. It was likehaving your car break down on a lonely

road, rooting desperately around in thetrunk, and triumphantly pulling out anelectrical extension cord instead ofjumper cables.

She felt as if her own power waslaughing at her. With a curse, she droppedher pen onto the desk and put her face inher hands. The inside of the old hospital had beencarefully whitewashed, lending an eerieglow to each of the surfaces. Most of thewindows were boarded up, but even in thedim light Maia’s enhanced sight couldpick out details—the sifted dusting ofplaster along the bare hallway floors, themarks where construction lights had beenput in, bits of wiring glued to the walls byclumps of paint, mice scrabbling in the

darkened corners.A voice spoke from behind her. “I’ve

searched the east wing. Nothing. Whatabout you?”

Maia turned. Jordan stood behind her,wearing dark jeans and a black sweaterhalf-zipped over a green T-shirt. Sheshook her head. “Nothing in the west wingeither. Some pretty rickety staircases.Nice architectural detailing, if that sort ofthing interests you.”

He shook his head. “Let’s get out ofhere, then. This place gives me thecreeps.”

Maia agreed, relieved not to be the onewho had to say it. She fell into step besideJordan as they made their way down a setof stairs whose banister was so flakedwith crumbling plaster that it resembled

snow. She wasn’t sure why exactly she’dagreed to patrol with him, but she couldn’tdeny that they made a decent team.

Jordan was easy to be with. Despitewhat had happened between them justbefore Jace had disappeared, he wasrespectful, keeping his distance withoutmaking her feel awkward. The moonlightwas bright on both of them as they cameout of the hospital and into the open spacein front of it. It was a great white marblebuilding whose boarded-over windowslooked like blank eyes. A crooked tree,shedding its last leaves, hunched beforethe front doors.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” saidJordan. Maia looked over at him. He wasstaring at the old naval hospital, whichwas how she preferred it. She liked

looking at Jordan when he wasn’t lookingat her. That way she could watch the angleof his jawline, the way his dark haircurled against the back of his neck, thecurve of his collarbone under the V of hisT-shirt, without feeling like he expectedanything from her for looking.

He’d been a pretty hipster boy whenshe’d met him, all angles and eyelashes,but he was older-looking now, withscarred knuckles and muscles that movedsmoothly under his close-fitting green T-shirt. He still had the olive tone to his skinthat echoed his Italian heritage, and thehazel eyes she remembered, though theyhad the gold-ringed pupils of lycanthropynow. The same pupils she saw when shelooked in the mirror every morning. Thepupils she had because of him.

“Maia?” He was looking at herquizzically. “What do you think?”

“Oh.” She blinked. “I, ah—No, I don’tthink there was much point in searchingthe hospital. I mean, to be honest, I can’tsee why they sent us down here at all. TheBrooklyn Navy Yard? Why would Jace behere? It’s not like he had a thing forboats.”

Jordan’s expression went fromquizzical to something much darker.“When bodies wind up in the East River,a lot of times they wash up here. The navyyard.”

“You think we’re looking for a body?”“I don’t know.” With a shrug he turned

and started walking. His boots rustled inthe dry, choppy grass. “Maybe at thispoint I’m just searching because it feels

wrong to give up.”His pace was slow, unhurried; they

walked shoulder to shoulder, nearlytouching. Maia kept her eyes fixed on theManhattan skyline across the river, a washof brilliant white light reflecting in thewater. As they neared the shallowWallabout Bay, the arch of the BrooklynBridge came into view, and the lit-uprectangle of the South Street Seaportacross the water. She could smell thepolluted miasma of the water, the dirt anddiesel of the navy yard, the scent of smallanimals moving in the grass.

“I don’t think Jace is dead,” she saidfinally. “I think he doesn’t want to befound.”

At that, Jordan did look at her. “Areyou saying we shouldn’t be looking?”

“No.” She hesitated. They had comeout by the river, near a low wall; shetrailed her hand along the top of it as theywalked. There was a narrow strip ofasphalt between them and the water.“When I ran away to New York, I didn’twant to be found. But I would have likedthe idea that someone was looking for meas hard as everyone’s looking for JaceLightwood.”

“Did you like Jace?” Jordan’s voicewas neutral.

“Like him? Well, not like that.”Jordan laughed. “I didn’t mean like

that. Although, he seems to be generallyconsidered stunningly attractive.”

“Are you going to pull that straight-guything where you pretend that you can’t tellwhether other guys are attractive or not?

Jace, the hairy guy at the deli on Ninth,they all look the same to you?”

“Well, the hairy guy has that mole, so Ithink Jace comes out slightly ahead. If youlike that whole chiseled, blond,Abercrombie-and-Fitch-wishes-they-could-afford-me thing.” He looked at herthrough his eyelashes.

“I always liked dark-haired boys,” shesaid in a low voice.

He looked at the river. “Like Simon.”“Well—yeah.” Maia hadn’t thought

about Simon that way in a while. “I guessso.”

“And you like musicians.” He reachedup and pulled a leaf off a low-hangingbranch overhead. “I mean, I’m a singer,and Bat was a DJ, and Simon—”

“I like music.” Maia pushed her hair

back from her face.“What else do you like?” Jordan tore at

the leaf in his fingers. He paused andhoisted himself up to sit on the low wall,swinging around to face her. “I mean, isthere anything you like so much you thinkyou might want to do it for, like, a living?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Whatdo you mean?”

“Do you remember when I got these?”He unzipped his sweater and shrugged itoff. The shirt he wore underneath wasshort-sleeved. Wrapped around each ofhis biceps were the Sanskrit words of theShanti Mantras. She remembered themwell. Their friend Valerie had inked them,after hours, for free, in her tattoo shop inRed Bank. Maia took a step toward him.With him sitting and her standing, they

were nearly eye to eye. She reached outand hesitantly ran her fingers around theletters inked on his left arm. His eyesfluttered shut at her touch.

“Lead us from the unreal to the real,”she read aloud. “Lead us from darknessto light. Lead us from death toimmortality.” His skin felt smooth underher fingertips. “From the Upanishads.”

“They were your idea. You were theone who was always reading. You werethe one who knew everything.…” Heopened his eyes and looked at her. Hiseyes were shades lighter than the waterbehind him. “Maia, whatever you want todo, I’ll help you. I’ve saved up a lot of mysalary from the Praetor. I could give it toyou.… It could cover your tuition toStanford. Well, most of it. If you still

wanted to go.”“I don’t know,” she said, her mind

whirling. “When I joined the pack, Ithought you couldn’t be a werewolf andanything else. I thought it was just aboutliving in the pack, not really having anidentity. I felt safer that way. But Luke, hehas a life. He owns a bookstore. And you,you’re in the Praetor. I guess… you can bemore than one thing.”

“You always have been.” His voicewas low, throaty. “You know, what yousaid earlier—that when you ran away youwould have liked to think someone waslooking for you.” He took a deep breath.“I was looking for you. I never stopped.”

She met his hazel eyes. He didn’tmove, but his hands, gripping his knees,were white-knuckled. Maia leaned

forward, close enough to see the faintstubble along his jaw, to smell the scent ofhim, wolf-smell and toothpaste and boy.She placed her hands over his. “Well,”she said. “You found me.”

Their faces were only inches awayfrom each other. She felt his breath againsther lips before he kissed her, and sheleaned into it, her eyes closing. His mouthwas as soft as she remembered, his lipsbrushing hers gently, sending shivers allthrough her. She raised her arms to windthem around his neck, to slide her fingersunder his curling dark hair, to lightly touchthe bare skin at the nape of his neck, theedge of the worn collar of his shirt.

He pulled her closer. He was shaking.She felt the heat of his strong body againsthers as his hands slid down her back.

“Maia,” he whispered. He started to liftthe hem of her sweater, his fingersgripping the small of her back. His lipsmoved against hers. “I love you. I neverstopped loving you.”

You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.Her heart hammering, she jerked away

from him, pulling her sweater down.“Jordan—stop.”

He looked at her, his expression dazedand worried. “I’m sorry. Was that not anygood? I haven’t kissed anyone but you, notsince…” He trailed off.

She shook her head. “No, it’s just—Ican’t.”

“All right,” he said. He looked veryvulnerable, sitting there, dismay writtenall over his face. “We don’t have to doanything—”

She groped for words. “It’s just toomuch.”

“It was only a kiss.”“You said you loved me.” Her voice

shook. “You offered to give me yoursavings. I can’t take that from you.”

“Which?” he said, hurt sparking in hisvoice. “My money, or the love part?”

“Either. I just can’t, okay? Not withyou, not right now.” She started to backaway. He was staring after her, his lipsparted. “Don’t follow me, please,” shesaid, and turned to hurry back the way theyhad come.

5VALENTINE’S SON

She was dreaming of icy landscapesagain. Bitter tundra that stretched in alldirections, ice floes drifting out on theblack waters of the Arctic sea, snow-capped mountains, and cities carved outof ice whose towers sparkled like thedemon towers of Alicante.

In front of the frozen city was a frozenlake. Clary was skidding down a steepslope, trying to reach the lake, thoughshe was not sure why. Two dark figures

stood out in the center of the frozenwater. As she neared the lake, skiddingon the surface of the slope, her handsburning from contact with the ice, andsnow filling her shoes, she saw that onewas a boy with black wings that spreadout from his back like a crow’s. His hairwas as white as the ice all around them.Sebastian. And beside Sebastian wasJace, his gold hair the only color in thefrozen landscape that was not black orwhite.

As Jace turned away from Sebastianand began to walk toward Clary, wingsburst from his back, white-gold andshimmering. Clary slid the last few feetto the frozen surface of the lake andcollapsed to her knees, exhausted. Herhands were blue and bleeding, her lips

cracked, her lungs seared with each icybreath.

“Jace,” she whispered.And he was there, lifting her to her

feet, his wings wrapping around her, andshe was warm again, her body thawingfrom her heart down through her veins,bringing her hands and feet to life withhalf-painful, half-pleasurable tingles.“Clary,” he said, stroking her hairtenderly. “Can you promise me that youwon’t scream?”

Clary’s eyes opened. For a moment shewas so disoriented that the world seemedto swing around her like the view from amoving carousel. She was in her bedroomat Luke’s—the familiar futon beneath her,

the wardrobe with its cracked mirror, thestrip of windows that looked out onto theEast River, the radiator spitting andhissing. Dim light spilled through thewindows, and a faint red glow came fromthe smoke alarm over the closet. Clarywas lying on her side, under a heap ofblankets, and her back was deliciouslywarm. An arm was draped along her side.For a moment, in the half-conscious dizzyspace between waking and sleeping, shewondered if Simon had crawled in thewindow while she slept and lain downbeside her, the way they used to sleep inthe same bed together when they werechildren.

But Simon had no body heat.Her heart skittered in her chest. Now

entirely awake, she twisted around under

the covers. Beside her was Jace, lying onhis side, looking down at her, his headpropped on his hand. Dim moonlight madea halo out of his hair, and his eyesglittered gold like a cat’s. He was fullydressed, still wearing the short-sleevedwhite T-shirt she had seen him in earlierthat day, and his bare arms were twinedwith runes like climbing vines.

She sucked in a startled breath. Jace,her Jace, had never looked at her like that.He had looked at her with desire, but notwith this lazy, predatory, consuming lookthat made her heart pulse unevenly in herchest.

She opened her mouth—to say hisname or to scream, she wasn’t sure, andshe never got the chance to find out; Jacemoved so fast she didn’t even see it. One

moment he was lying beside her, and thenext he was on top of her, one handclamped down over her mouth. His legsstraddled her hips; she could feel his lean,muscled body pressed against hers.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.“I’d never hurt you. But I don’t want youscreaming. I need to talk to you.”

She glared at him.To her surprise he laughed. His

familiar laugh, hushed to a whisper. “I canread your expressions, Clary Fray. Theminute I take my hand off your mouth,you’re going to yell. Or use your trainingand break my wrists. Come on, promiseme you won’t. Swear on the Angel.”

This time she rolled her eyes.“Okay, you’re right,” he said. “You

can’t exactly swear with my hand over

your mouth. I’m going to take it off. And ifyou yell—” He tilted his head to the side;pale gold hair fell across his eyes. “I’lldisappear.”

He took his hand away. She lay still,breathing hard, the pressure of his body onhers. She knew he was faster than her, thatthere was no move she could make that hewouldn’t outpace, but for the moment heseemed to be treating their interaction as agame, something playful. He bent closer toher, and she realized her tank top hadpulled up, and she could feel the musclesof his flat, hard stomach against her bareskin. Her face flushed.

Despite the heat in her face, it felt as ifcold needles of ice were running up anddown her veins. “What are you doinghere?”

He drew back slightly, lookingdisappointed. “That isn’t really an answerto my question, you know. I was expectingmore of a ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’ I mean, it’snot every day your boyfriend comes backfrom the dead.”

“I already knew you weren’t dead.”She spoke through numb lips. “I saw youin the library. With—”

“Colonel Mustard?”“Sebastian.”He let his breath out in a low chuckle.

“I knew you were there too. I could feelit.”

She felt her body tighten. “You let methink you were gone,” she said. “Beforethat. I thought you—I really thought therewas a chance you were—” She broke off;she couldn’t say it. Dead. “It’s

unforgivable. If I’d done that to you—”“Clary.” He leaned down over her

again; his hands were warm on her wrists,his breath soft in her ear. She could feeleverywhere that their bare skin touched. Itwas horribly distracting. “I had to do it. Itwas too dangerous. If I’d told you, youwould have had to choose between tellingthe Council I was still alive—and lettingthem hunt me—and keeping a secret thatwould make you an accomplice in theireyes. Then, when you saw me in thelibrary, I had to wait. I needed to know ifyou still loved me, if you would go to theCouncil or not about what you’d seen.You didn’t. I had to know you cared moreabout me than the Law. You do, don’tyou?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I

don’t know. Who are you?”“I’m still Jace,” he said. “I still love

you.”Hot tears welled up in her eyes. She

blinked, and they spilled down her face.Gently he ducked his head and kissed hercheeks, and then her mouth. She tasted herown tears, salty on his lips, and he openedher mouth with his, carefully, gently. Thefamiliar taste and feel of him washed overher, and she leaned into him for a splitsecond, her doubts subsumed in herbody’s blind, unreasoning recognition ofthe need to keep him close, to keep himthere—just as the door of her bedroomopened.

Jace let go of her. Clary instantlyjerked away from him, scrambling to pulldown her tank top. Jace stretched himself

into a sitting position with unhurried, lazygrace, and grinned up at the personstanding in the doorway. “Well, well,”Jace said. “You may have the worst timingsince Napoléon decided the dead ofwinter was the right moment to invadeRussia.”

It was Sebastian.Close up, Clary could more clearly see

the differences in him since she hadknown him in Idris. His hair was paperwhite, his eyes black tunnels fringed bylashes as long as spider’s legs. He wore awhite shirt, the sleeves pulled up, and shecould see a red scar ringing his rightwrist, like a ridged bracelet. There was ascar across the palm of his hand, too,looking new and harsh.

“That’s my sister you’re defiling there,

you know,” he said, moving his black gazeto Jace. There was amusement in hisexpression.

“Sorry.” Jace didn’t sound sorry. Hewas leaning back against the blankets,catlike. “We got carried away.”

Clary sucked in a breath. It soundedharsh in her own ears. “Get out,” she said,to Sebastian.

He leaned against the door frame,elbow and hip, and she was struck by thesimilarity in movement between him andJace. They didn’t look alike, but theymoved alike. As if—

As if they’d been trained to move bythe same person.

“Now,” he said, “is that any way totalk to your big brother?”

“Magnus should have left you a

coatrack,” Clary spat.“Oh, you remember that, do you? I

thought we had a pretty good time thatday.” He smirked a little, and Clary, witha sick drop in her stomach, rememberedhow he had taken her to the burnedremains of her mother’s house, how hehad kissed her among the rubble, knowingall along who they really were to eachother and delighting in the fact that shedidn’t.

She glanced sideways at Jace. Heknew perfectly well that Sebastian hadkissed her. Sebastian had taunted him withit, and Jace had nearly killed him. But hedidn’t look angry now; he looked amused,and mildly annoyed to have beeninterrupted.

“We should do it again,” Sebastian

said, examining his nails. “Have somefamily time.”

“I don’t care what you think. You’renot my brother,” Clary said. “You’re amurderer.”

“I really don’t see how those thingscancel each other out,” said Sebastian.“It’s not like they did in the case of dearold Dad.” His gaze drifted lazily back toJace. “Normally I’d hate to get in the wayof a friend’s love life, but I really don’tcare for standing out here in this hallwayindefinitely. Especially since I can’t turnon any lights. It’s boring.”

Jace sat up, tugging his shirt down.“Give us five minutes.”

Sebastian sighed an exaggerated sighand swung the door shut. Clary stared atJace. “What the f—”

“Language, Fray.” Jace’s eyes danced.“Relax.”

Clary jabbed her hand toward the door.“You heard what he said. About that dayhe kissed me. He knew I was his sister.Jace—”

Something flashed in his eyes,darkening their gold, but when he spokeagain, it was as if her words had hit aTeflon surface and bounced off, making noimpression.

She drew back from him. “Jace, aren’tyou listening to anything I’m saying?”

“Look, I understand if you’reuncomfortable with your brother waitingoutside in the hallway. I wasn’t planningon kissing you.” He grinned in a way thatat another time she would have foundadorable. “It just seemed like a good idea

at the time.”Clary scrambled out of the bed, staring

down at him. She reached for the robe thathung on the post of her bed and wrapped itaround herself. Jace watched, making nomove to stop her, though his eyes shone inthe dark. “I—I don’t even understand.First you disappear, and now you comeback with him, acting like I’m not evensupposed to notice or care orremember—”

“I told you,” he said. “I had to be sureof you. I didn’t want to put you in theposition of knowing where I was whilethe Clave was still investigating you. Ithought it would be hard for you—”

“Hard for me?” She was almostbreathless with rage. “Tests are hard.Obstacle courses are hard. You

disappearing like that practically killedme, Jace. And what do you think you’vedone to Alec? Isabelle? Maryse? Do youknow what it’s been like? Can youimagine? Not knowing, the searching—”

That odd look passed over his faceagain, as if he were hearing her but nothearing her at the same time. “Oh, yes, Iwas going to ask.” He smiled like anangel. “Is everyone looking for me?”

“Is everyone—” She shook her head,pulling the robe closer. Suddenly shewanted to be covered up in front of him, infront of all that familiarity and beauty andthat lovely predatory smile that said hewas willing to do whatever with her, toher, no matter who was waiting in the hall.

“I was hoping they’d put up flyers likethey do for lost cats,” he said. “Missing,

one stunningly attractive teenage boy.Answers to ‘Jace,’ or ‘Hot Stuff.’”

“You did not just say that.”“You don’t like ‘Hot Stuff’? You think

‘Sweet Cheeks’ might be better? ‘LoveCrumpet’? Really, that last one’sstretching it a bit. Though, technically, myfamily is British—”

“Shut up,” she said savagely. “And getout.”

“I…” He looked taken aback, and sheremembered how surprised he’d beenoutside the Manor, when she’d pushed himaway. “All right, fine. I’ll be serious.Clarissa, I’m here because I want you tocome with me.”

“Come where with you?”“Come with me,” he said, and then

hesitated, “and Sebastian. And I’ll explain

everything.”For a moment she was frozen, her eyes

locked on his. Silvery moonlight outlinedthe curves of his mouth, the shape of hischeekbones, the shadow of his lashes, thearch of his throat. “The last time I ‘camewith you somewhere,’ I wound upknocked unconscious and dragged into themiddle of a black magic ceremony.”

“That wasn’t me. That was Lilith.”“The Jace Lightwood I know wouldn’t

be in the same room with JonathanMorgenstern without killing him.”

“I think you’ll find that would be self-defeating,” Jace said lightly, shoving hisfeet into his boots. “We are bound, he andI. Cut him and I bleed.”

“Bound? What do you mean, bound?”He tossed his light hair back, ignoring

her question. “This is bigger than youunderstand, Clary. He has a plan. He’swilling to work, to sacrifice. If you’d giveme a chance to explain—”

“He killed Max, Jace,” she said. “Yourlittle brother.”

He flinched, and for a moment of wildhope she thought she’d broken through tohim—but his expression smoothed overlike a wrinkled sheet pulled tight. “Thatwas—it was an accident. Besides,Sebastian’s just as much my brother.”

“No.” Clary shook her head. “He’s notyour brother. He’s mine. God knows, Iwish it weren’t true. He should never havebeen born—”

“How can you say that?” Jacedemanded. He swung his legs out of thebed. “Have you ever considered that

maybe things aren’t so black and white asyou think?” He bent over to grab hisweapons belt and buckle it on. “Therewas a war, Clary, and people got hurt, but—things were different then. Now I knowSebastian would never harm anyone Iloved intentionally. He’s serving a greatercause. Sometimes there’s collateraldamage—”

“Did you just call your own brothercollateral damage?” Her voice rose in anincredulous half shout. She felt as if shecould barely breathe.

“Clary, you’re not listening. This isimportant—”

“Like what Valentine thought he wasdoing was important?”

“Valentine was wrong,” he said. “Hewas right that the Clave was corrupt but

wrong about how to go about fixing things.But Sebastian is right. If you’d just hear usout—”

“‘Us,’” she said. “God. Jace…” Hewas staring at her from the bed, and evenas she felt her heart breaking, her mindwas racing, trying to remember where shehad left her stele, wondering if she couldget to the X-Acto knife in the drawer ofher nightstand. Wondering if she couldbring herself to use it if she did.

“Clary?” Jace tilted his head to theside, studying her face. “You do—youstill love me, don’t you?”

“I love Jace Lightwood,” she said. “Idon’t know who you are.”

His face changed, but before he couldspeak, a scream shattered the silence. Ascream, and the sound of breaking glass.

Clary knew the voice instantly. It washer mother.

Without another glance at Jace, sheyanked the bedroom door open and bolteddown the hallway, into the living room.The living room in Luke’s house waslarge, divided from the kitchen by a longcounter. Jocelyn, in yoga pants and afrayed T-shirt, her hair pulled back in amessy bun, stood by the counter. She hadclearly come into the kitchen forsomething to drink. A glass lay shatteredat her feet, the water soaking into the graycarpeting.

All the color had drained from herface, leaving her as pale as bleached sand.She was staring across the room, and evenbefore Clary turned her head, she knewwhat her mother was looking at.

Her son.Sebastian was leaning against the

living room wall, near the door, with noexpression on his angular face. Helowered his eyelids and looked at Jocelynthrough his lashes. Something about hisposture, the look of him, could havestepped out of Hodge’s photograph ofValentine at seventeen years old.

“Jonathan,” Jocelyn whispered. Clarystood frozen, even as Jace burst out of thehallway, took in the scene in front of himin one moment, and came to a halt. His lefthand was at his weapons belt; his slimfingers were inches from the hilt of one ofhis daggers, but Clary knew it would takehim less than seconds to free it.

“I go by ‘Sebastian’ now,” saidClary’s brother. “I concluded that I wasn’t

interested in keeping the name you and myfather gave me. Both of you betrayed me,and I would prefer as little associationwith you as possible.”

Water spread out from the pool ofbroken glass at Jocelyn’s feet in a darkring. She took a step forward, her eyessearching, running up and downSebastian’s face. “I thought you weredead,” she whispered. “Dead. I saw yourbones turned to ashes.”

Sebastian looked at her, his black eyesquiet and narrow. “If you were a realmother,” he said, “a good mother, youwould have known I was alive. There wasa man once who said that mothers carrythe key of our souls with them all ourlives. But you threw mine away.”

Jocelyn made a sound in the back of

her throat. She was leaning against thecounter for support. Clary wanted to run toher, but her feet felt frozen to the ground.Whatever was happening between herbrother and her mother, it was somethingthat had nothing to do with her.

“Don’t tell me you aren’t even a littleglad to see me, Mother,” Sebastian said,and though his words were pleading, hisvoice was flat. “Aren’t I everything youcould want in a son?” He spread his armswide. “Strong, handsome, looks just likedear old Dad.”

Jocelyn shook her head, her face gray.“What do you want, Jonathan?”

“I want what everyone wants,” saidSebastian. “I want what’s owed to me. Inthis case the Morgenstern legacy.”

“The Morgenstern legacy is blood and

devastation,” said Jocelyn. “We are notMorgensterns here. Not me, and not mydaughter.” She straightened up. Her handwas still gripping the counter, but Clarycould see some of the old fire returning toher mother’s expression. “If you go now,Jonathan, I won’t tell the Clave you wereever here.” Her eyes flicked to Jace. “Oryou. If they knew you were cooperating,they would kill you both.”

Clary moved to stand in front of Jace,reflexively. He looked past her, over hershoulder, at her mother. “You care if Idie?” Jace said.

“I care about what it would do to mydaughter,” said Jocelyn. “And the Law ishard—too hard. What has happened to you—maybe it can be undone.” Her eyesmoved back to Sebastian. “But for you—

my Jonathan—it’s much too late.”The hand that had been gripping the

counter swept forward, holding Luke’slong-handled kindjal blade. Tears shoneon Jocelyn’s face. But her grip on theknife was steady.

“I look just like him, don’t I?”Sebastian said, not moving. He seemedbarely to notice the knife. “Valentine.That’s why you’re looking at me likethat.”

Jocelyn shook her head. “You look likeyou always did, from the moment I firstsaw you. You look like a demon thing.”Her voice was achingly sad. “I’m sosorry.”

“Sorry for what?”“For not killing you when you were

born,” she said, and came out from behind

the counter, spinning the kindjal in herhand.

Clary tensed, but Sebastian didn’tmove. His dark eyes followed his motheras she came toward him. “Is that what youwant?” he said. “For me to die?” Heopened his arms, as if he meant toembrace Jocelyn, and took a step forward.“Go ahead. Commit filicide. I won’t stopyou.”

“Sebastian,” said Jace. Clary shot himan incredulous look. Did he actually soundconcerned?

Jocelyn moved another step forward.The knife was a blur in her hand. When itcame to a stop, the tip was pointeddirectly at Sebastian’s heart.

Still, he didn’t move.“Do it,” he said softly. He cocked his

head to the side. “Or can you bringyourself to? You could have killed mewhen I was born. But you didn’t.” Hisvoice lowered. “Maybe you know thatthere is no such thing as conditional lovefor a child. Maybe if you loved meenough, you could save me.”

For a moment they stared at each other,mother and son, ice-green eyes meetingcoal-black ones. There were sharp lines atthe corners of Jocelyn’s mouth that Clarycould have sworn hadn’t been there twoweeks ago. “You’re pretending,” she said,her voice shaking. “You don’t feelanything, Jonathan. Your father taught youto feign human emotion the way one mightteach a parrot to repeat words. It doesn’tunderstand what it’s saying, and neither doyou. I wish—oh, God, I wish—that you

did. But—”Jocelyn brought the blade up in a swift,

clean, cutting arc. A perfectly placedblow, it should have driven up underSebastian’s ribs and into his heart. Itwould have, if he had not moved evenfaster than Jace; he spun away and back,and the tip of the blade cut only a shallowslash along his chest.

Beside Clary, Jace sucked in hisbreath. She whirled to look at him. Therewas a spreading red stain across the frontof his shirt. He touched his hand to it; hisfingertips came away bloody. We arebound. Cut him and I bleed.

Without another thought Clary dartedacross the room, throwing herself betweenJocelyn and Sebastian. “Mom,” shegasped. “Stop.”

Jocelyn was still holding the knife, hereyes on Sebastian. “Clary, get out of theway.”

Sebastian began to laugh. “Sweet, isn’tit?” he said. “A little sister defending herbig brother.”

“I’m not defending you.” Clary kept hereyes fixed on her mother’s face.“Whatever happens to Jonathan happens toJace. Do you understand, Mom? If you killhim, Jace dies. He’s already bleeding.Mom, please.”

Jocelyn was still gripping the knife, buther expression was uncertain. “Clary…”

“Gracious, how awkward,” Sebastianobserved. “I’ll be interested to see howyou resolve this. After all, I’ve got noreason to leave.”

“Yes, actually,” came a voice from the

hallway, “you do.”It was Luke, barefoot and in jeans and

an old sweater. He looked tousled, andoddly younger without his glasses. Healso had a sawed-off shotgun balanced athis shoulder, the barrel trained directly onSebastian. “This is a Winchester twelve-gauge pump-action shotgun. The pack usesit to put down wolves who’ve gonerogue,” he said. “Even if I don’t kill you, Ican blow your leg off, Valentine’s son.”

It was as if everyone in the room took aquick gasp of breath all at once—everyone except Luke. And Sebastian,who, a grin splitting his face in half,turned and walked toward Luke, as ifoblivious of the gun. “‘Valentine’s son,’”he said. “Is that really how you think ofme? Under other circumstances you could

have been my godfather.”“Under other circumstances,” said

Luke, sliding his finger onto the trigger,“you could have been human.”

Sebastian stopped in his tracks. “Thesame could be said of you, werewolf.”

The world seemed to have sloweddown. Luke sighted along the barrel of therifle. Sebastian stood smiling.

“Luke,” Clary said. It was like one ofthose dreams, a nightmare where shewanted to scream but all that wouldscrape past her throat was a whisper.“Luke, don’t do it.”

Her stepfather’s finger tightened on thetrigger—and then Jace exploded intomovement, launching himself from besideClary, flipping over the sofa, andslamming into Luke just as the shotgun

went off.The shot flew wide; one of the

windows shattered outward as the bulletstruck it. Luke, knocked off balance,staggered back. Jace yanked the gun fromhis hands and threw it. It hurtled throughthe broken window, and Jace turned backtoward the older man.

“Luke—,” he began.Luke hit him.Even knowing everything she knew, the

shock of it, seeing Luke, who had stood upfor Jace countless times to her mother, toMaryse, to the Clave—Luke, who wasbasically gentle and kind—seeing himactually strike Jace across the face was asif he had hit Clary instead. Jace, totallyunprepared, was thrown backward intothe wall.

And Sebastian, who had so far shownno real emotion beyond mockery anddisgust, snarled—snarled and drew fromhis belt a long, thin dagger. Luke’s eyeswidened, and he began to twist away, butSebastian was faster than him—faster thananyone else Clary had ever seen. Fasterthan Jace. He drove the dagger into Luke’schest, twisting it hard before jerking itback out, red to the hilt. Luke fell backagainst the wall—then slid down it,leaving a smear of blood behind as Clarystared in horror.

Jocelyn screamed. The sound wasworse than the sound of the bulletshattering the window, though Clary heardit as if it came from a distance away, orunderwater. She was staring at Luke, whohad collapsed to the floor, the carpet

around him rapidly turning red.Sebastian raised the dagger again—and

Clary flung herself at him, slamming ashard as she could into his shoulder, tryingto knock him off balance. She barelymoved him, but he did drop the dagger. Heturned on her. He was bleeding from asplit lip. Clary didn’t know why, not untilJace swung into her field of vision and shesaw the blood on his mouth where Lukehad hit him.

“Enough!” Jace grabbed Sebastian bythe back of the jacket. He was pale, notlooking at Luke, or at Clary, either. “Stopit. This isn’t why we came here.”

“Let me go—”“No.” Jace reached around Sebastian

and grabbed his hand. His eyes metClary’s. His lips shaped words—there

was a flash of silver, the ring onSebastian’s finger—and then both of themwere gone, winking out of existencebetween one breath and another. Just asthey vanished, a streak of somethingmetallic shot through the air where theyhad been standing, and buried itself in thewall.

Luke’s kindjal.Clary turned to look at her mother, who

had thrown the knife. But Jocelyn wasn’tlooking at Clary. She was darting toLuke’s side, dropping to her knees on thebloody carpet, and pulling him up into herlap. His eyes were closed. Blood trickledfrom the corners of his mouth. Sebastian’ssilver dagger, smeared with more blood,lay a few feet away.

“Mom,” Clary whispered. “Is he—”

“The dagger was silver.” Jocelyn’svoice shook. “He won’t heal fast like heshould, not without special treatment.”She touched Luke’s face with herfingertips. His chest was rising andfalling, Clary saw with relief, ifshallowly. She could taste tears burning inthe back of her throat and for a momentwas amazed at her mother’s calm. But thenthis was the woman who had once stoodin the ashes of her home, surrounded bythe blackened bodies of her family,including her parents and son, and hadgone on from that. “Get some towels fromthe bathroom,” her mother said. “We haveto stop the bleeding.”

Clary staggered to her feet and wentalmost blindly into Luke’s small, tiledbathroom. There was a gray towel hanging

from the back of the door. She yanked itdown, went back into the living room.Jocelyn was holding Luke in her lap withone hand; the other hand held a cell phone.She dropped it and reached for the towelas Clary came in. Folding it in half, shelaid it over the wound in Luke’s chest andpressed down. Clary watched as the edgesof the gray towel began to turn scarletwith blood.

“Luke,” Clary whispered. He didn’tmove. His face was an awful gray color.

“I just called his pack,” Jocelyn said.She didn’t look at her daughter; Claryrealized Jocelyn had not asked her asingle question about Jace and Sebastian,or why she and Jace had emerged from herbedroom, or what they had been doingthere. She was entirely focused on Luke.

“They have some members patrolling thearea. As soon as they get here, we have toleave. Jace will come back for you.”

“You don’t know that—,” Clary began,whispering past her dry throat.

“I do,” said Jocelyn. “Valentine cameback for me after fifteen years. That’swhat the Morgenstern men are like. Theydon’t ever give up. He’ll come for youagain.”

Jace isn’t Valentine. But the wordsdied on Clary’s lips. She wanted to dropto her knees and take Luke’s hand, hold ittightly, tell him she loved him. But sheremembered Jace’s hands on her in thebedroom and didn’t. This was her fault.She didn’t deserve to get to comfort Luke,or herself. She deserved the pain, theguilt.

The scrape of footsteps sounded on theporch, the low murmur of voices.Jocelyn’s head jerked up. The pack.

“Clary, go and get your things,” shesaid. “Take what you think you’ll need butnot more than you can carry. We’re notcoming back to this house.”

6NO WEAPON IN THIS WORLD

Little flakes of early snow had begun tofall from the steel-gray sky like feathers asClary and her mother hurried alongGreenpoint Avenue, their heads bentagainst the chill wind coming off the EastRiver.

Jocelyn had not spoken a word sincethey had left Luke at the disused policestation that served as pack headquarters.The whole thing had been a blur—thepack carrying their leader in, the healing

kit, Clary and her mother struggling to geta glimpse of Luke as the wolves seemedto close ranks against them. She knew whythey couldn’t take him to a mundanehospital, but it had been hard, beyondhard, to leave him there in thewhitewashed room that served as theirinfirmary.

It wasn’t that the wolves didn’t likeJocelyn or Clary. It was that Luke’sfiancée and her daughter weren’t part ofthe pack. They never would be. Clary hadlooked around for Maia, for an ally, butshe hadn’t been there. Eventually Jocelynhad sent Clary out to wait in the corridorsince the room had been too crowded, andClary had slumped on the floor, cradlingher knapsack on her lap. It had been twoin the morning, and she had never felt so

alone. If Luke died…She could barely remember a life

without him. Because of him and hermother, she knew what it was like to beloved unconditionally. Luke swinging herup to perch her in the fork of an apple treeon his farm upstate was one of her earliestmemories. In the infirmary he had beentaking rattling breaths while his third incommand, Bat, had unpacked the healingkit. People were supposed to take rattlingbreaths when they died, she’dremembered. She couldn’t remember thelast thing she’d said to Luke. Weren’t yousupposed to remember the last thing yousaid to someone before they died?

When Jocelyn had come out of theinfirmary at last, looking exhausted, she’dheld out a hand to Clary and had helped

her up off the floor.“Is he… ,” Clary had begun.“He’s stabilized,” Jocelyn had said.

She’d looked up and down the hallway.“We should go.”

“Go where?” Clary had beenbewildered. “I thought we’d stay here,with Luke. I don’t want to leave him.”

“Neither do I.” Jocelyn had been firm.Clary had thought of the woman who’dturned her back on Idris, on everythingshe’d ever known, and had walked awayfrom it to start a new life alone. “But wecan’t lead Jace and Jonathan here either.It’s not safe for the pack, or Luke. And thisis the first place Jace will look for you.”

“Then where… ,” Clary had started,but she’d realized, even before she’dfinished her own sentence, and had shut

her mouth. Where did they ever go whenthey needed help these days?

Now there was a sugary dusting ofwhite along the cracked pavement of theavenue. Jocelyn had put on a long coatbefore they’d left the house, but beneath itshe still wore the clothes that were stainedwith Luke’s blood. Her mouth was set, hergaze unwavering on the road before her.Clary wondered if this was how hermother had looked walking out of Idris,her boots clogged with ashes, the MortalCup hidden in her coat.

Clary shook her head to clear it. Shewas being fanciful, imagining things shehadn’t been present to see, her mindskittering away, perhaps, from theawfulness of what she just had seen.

Unbidden, the image of Sebastian

driving the knife into Luke came into herhead, and the sound of Jace’s familiar andbeloved voice saying “collateraldamage.”

For as is often the happenstance withthat which is precious and lost, when youfind him again, he may well not be quiteas you left him.

Jocelyn shivered and flipped her hoodup to cover her hair. White flakes of snowhad already begun to mix with the brightred strands. She was still silent, and thestreet, lined with Polish and Russianrestaurants in between barbershops andbeauty parlors, was deserted in the whiteand yellow night. A memory flashedbefore the backs of Clary’s eyelids—areal one this time, not a wisp ofimagination. Her mother was hurrying

her down a night-black street betweenpiles of heaped and dirty snow. Alowering sky, gray and leaden…

She had seen the image before, the firsttime the Silent Brothers had dug into hermind. She realized what it was now. Hermemory of a time her mother had taken herto Magnus’s to have her memories altered.It must have been in the dead of winter,but she recognized Greenpoint Avenue inthe memory.

The redbrick warehouse Magnus livedin rose above them. Jocelyn pushed openthe glass doors to the entryway, and theycrowded inside, Clary trying to breathethrough her mouth as her mother pushedthe buzzer for Magnus one, two, and threetimes. At last the door opened and theyhurried up the stairs. The door to

Magnus’s apartment was open, and thewarlock was leaning against thearchitrave, waiting for them. He waswearing canary-yellow pajamas, and onhis feet were green slippers with alienfaces, complete with sproingy antennae.His hair was a tangled, curly, spiky massof black, and his gold-green eyes blinkedtiredly at them.

“Saint Magnus’s Home for WaywardShadowhunters,” he said in a deep voice.“Welcome.” He threw an arm wide.“Spare bedrooms are that way. Wipe yourboots on the mat.” He stepped back intothe apartment, letting them pass through infront of him before shutting the door.Today the place was done up in a sort offaux-Victorian decor, with high-backedsofas and large gilt mirrors everywhere.

The pillars were strung with lights in theshape of flowers.

There were three spare rooms down ashort corridor off the main living room; atrandom Clary chose one on the right. Itwas painted orange, like her old bedroomin Park Slope, and had a sofa bed and asmall window that looked out on thedarkened windows of a closed diner.Chairman Meow was curled up on thebed, nose tucked under his tail. She satdown beside him and petted his ears,feeling the purring that vibrated throughhis small furry body. As she stroked him,she caught sight of the sleeve of hersweater. It was stained dark and crustedwith blood. Luke’s blood.

She stood up and yanked the sweateroff violently. From her backpack she took

a clean pair of jeans and a black V-neckedthermal shirt and changed into them. Sheglanced at herself briefly in the window,which showed her a pale reflection, herhair hanging limply, damp with snow, herfreckles standing out like paint splotches.Not that it mattered what she looked like.She thought of Jace kissing her—it feltlike days ago instead of hours—and herstomach hurt as if she’d swallowed tinyknives.

She held on to the edge of the bed for along moment until the pain subsided. Thenshe took a deep breath and went back outinto the living room.

Her mother was seated on one of thegilt-backed chairs, her long artist’s fingerswrapped around a mug of hot water withlemon. Magnus was slumped on a hot-pink

sofa, his green slippers up on the coffeetable. “The pack stabilized him,” Jocelynwas saying in an exhausted voice. “Theydon’t know for how long, though. Theythought there might have been silverpowder on the blade, but it appears to besomething else. The tip of the knife—”She glanced up, saw Clary, and fell silent.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m old enough tohear what’s wrong with Luke.”

“Well, they don’t know exactly what itis,” Jocelyn said softly. “The tip of theblade Sebastian used broke off against oneof his ribs and lodged in the bone. Butthey can’t retrieve it. It… moves.”

“It moves?” Magnus looked puzzled.“When they tried to dig it out, it

burrowed into the bone and nearlysnapped it,” Jocelyn said. “He’s a

werewolf, he heals fast, but it’s in theregashing up his internal organs, keeping thewound from closing.”

“Demon metal,” said Magnus. “Notsilver.”

Jocelyn leaned forward. “Do you thinkyou can help him? Whatever it costs, I’llpay—”

Magnus stood up. His alien slippersand rumpled bed-head seemed extremelyincongruous given the gravity of thesituation. “I don’t know.”

“But you healed Alec,” said Clary.“When the Greater Demon woundedhim…”

Magnus had begun to pace. “I knewwhat was wrong with him. I don’t knowwhat kind of demon metal this is. I couldexperiment, try different healing spells,

but it won’t be the fastest way to helphim.”

“What’s the fastest way?” Jocelyn said.“The Praetor,” said Magnus. “The

Wolf Guard. I knew the man who foundedit—Woolsey Scott. Because of certain…incidents, he was fascinated with minutiaeabout the way demon metals and demondrugs act on lycanthropes, the same waythe Silent Brothers keep records of theways Nephilim can be healed. Over theyears the Praetor have become veryclosed-off and secretive, unfortunately.But a member of the Praetor could accesstheir information.”

“Luke’s not a member,” Jocelyn said.“And their roster is secret—”

“But Jordan,” said Clary. “Jordan’s amember. He can find out. I’ll call him—”

“I’ll call him,” said Magnus. “I can’tget into Praetor headquarters, but I canpass on a message that ought to hold someextra weight. I’ll be back.” He padded offto the kitchen, the antennae on his slipperswaving gently like seaweed in a current.

Clary turned back to her mother, whowas staring down at her mug of hot water.It was one of her favorite restoratives,though Clary could never figure out whyanyone would want to drink warm sourwater. The snow had soaked her mother’shair, and now that it was drying, it wasbeginning to curl, like Clary’s did inhumid weather.

“Mom,” Clary said, and her motherlooked up. “That knife you threw—back atLuke’s—was it at Jace?”

“It was at Jonathan.” She would never

call him Sebastian, Clary knew.“It’s just…” Clary took a deep breath.

“It’s almost the same thing. You saw.When you stabbed Sebastian, Jace startedto bleed. It’s like they’re—mirrored insome way. Cut Sebastian, Jace bleeds.Kill him, and Jace dies.”

“Clary.” Her mother rubbed her tiredeyes. “Can we not discuss this now?”

“But you said you think he’ll comeback for me. Jace, I mean. I need to knowthat you won’t hurt him—”

“Well, you can’t know that. Because Iwon’t promise it, Clary. I can’t.” Hermother looked at her with unflinchingeyes. “I saw the two of you come out ofyour bedroom.”

Clary flushed. “I don’t want to—”“To what? Talk about it? Well, too

bad. You brought it up. You’re lucky I’mnot in the Clave anymore, you know. Howlong have you known where Jace was?”

“I don’t know where he is. Tonight isthe first time I’ve talked to him since hedisappeared. I saw him in the Institutewith Seb—with Jonathan, yesterday. I toldAlec and Isabelle and Simon. But Icouldn’t tell anyone else. If the Clave gothold of him—I can’t let that happen.”

Jocelyn raised her green eyes. “Andwhy not?”

“Because he’s Jace. Because I lovehim.”

“He’s not Jace. That’s just it, Clary.He’s not who he was. Can’t you see that—”

“Of course I can see it. I’m not stupid.But I have faith. I saw him possessed

before, and I saw him break free of it. Ithink Jace is still inside there somewhere.I think there’s a way to save him.”

“What if there isn’t?”“Prove it.”“You can’t prove a negative, Clarissa.

I understand that you love him. Youalways have loved him, too much. Youthink I didn’t love your father? You think Ididn’t give him every chance? And lookwhat came of that. Jonathan. If I hadn’tstayed with your father, he wouldn’t exist—”

“Neither would I,” said Clary. “Incase you forgot, I came after my brother,not before.” She looked at her mother,hard. “Are you saying it would be worth itnever to have had me, if you could get ridof Jonathan?”

“No, I—”There was the grating sound of keys in

a lock, and the apartment door swungopen. It was Alec. He wore a long leatherduster open over a blue sweater, and therewere white flakes of snow in his blackhair. His cheeks were candy-apple redfrom the cold, but his face was otherwisepale.

“Where’s Magnus?” he said. As helooked toward the kitchen, Clary saw abruise on his jaw, below his ear, about thesize of a thumbprint.

“Alec!” Magnus came skidding into theliving room and blew a kiss to hisboyfriend across the room. Havingdiscarded his slippers, he was barefootnow. His cat’s eyes shone as he looked atAlec.

Clary knew that look. That was herselflooking at Jace. Alec didn’t return thegaze, though. He was shucking off his coatand hanging it on a hook on the wall. Hewas visibly upset. His hands weretrembling, his broad shoulders tightly set.

“You got my text?” Magnus asked.“Yeah. I was only a few blocks away

anyway.” Alec looked at Clary, and thenat her mother, anxiety and uncertaintywarring in his expression. Though Alechad been invited to Jocelyn’s receptionparty, and had met her several timesbesides that, they did not by any measureknow each other well. “It’s true, whatMagnus said? You saw Jace again?”

“And Sebastian,” said Clary.“But Jace,” Alec said. “How was—I

mean, how did he seem?”

Clary knew exactly what he wasasking; for once she and Alec understoodeach other better than anyone else in theroom. “He’s not playing a trick onSebastian,” she replied softly. “He reallyhas changed. He isn’t like himself at all.”

“How?” Alec demanded, with an oddblend of anger and vulnerability. “How ishe different?”

There was a hole in the knee of Clary’sjeans; she picked at it, scraping the skinunderneath. “The way he talks—hebelieves in Sebastian. Believes in whathe’s doing, whatever that is. I remindedhim that Sebastian killed Max, and hedidn’t even seem to care.” Her voicecracked. “He said Sebastian was just asmuch his brother as Max was.”

Alec whitened, the red spots on his

cheeks standing out like bloodstains. “Didhe say anything about me? Or Izzy? Did heask about us?”

Clary shook her head, hardly able tostand the look on Alec’s face. Out of thecorner of her eye, she could see Magnuswatching Alec too, his face almost blankwith sadness. She wondered if he wasjealous of Jace still, or just hurt on Alec’sbehalf.

“Why did he come to your house?”Alec shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

“He wanted me to come with him. Tojoin him and Sebastian. I guess he wantstheir evil little duo to be an evil littletrio.” She shrugged. “Maybe he’s lonely.Sebastian can’t be the greatest company.”

“We don’t know that. He could beabsolutely fantastic at Scrabble,” said

Magnus.“He’s a murdering psychopath,” said

Alec flatly. “And Jace knows it.”“But Jace isn’t Jace right now—,”

Magnus began, and broke off as the phonerang. “I’ll get that. Who knows who elsemight be on the run from the Clave andneed a place to stay? It’s not like there arehotels in this city.” He padded off towardthe kitchen.

Alec flung himself down on the sofa.“He’s working too hard,” he said, lookingworriedly after his boyfriend. “He’s beenup all night every night trying to decipherthose runes.”

“Is the Clave employing him?” Jocelynwanted to know.

“No,” Alec said slowly. “He’s doing itfor me. Because of what Jace means to

me.” He raised his sleeve, showingJocelyn the parabatai rune on his innerforearm.

“You knew Jace wasn’t dead,” Clarysaid, her mind beginning to tick overthoughts. “Because you’re parabatai,because of that tie between you. But yousaid you felt something wrong.”

“Because he’s possessed,” Jocelynsaid. “It’s changed him. Valentine saidthat when Luke became a Downworlder,he felt it. That sense of wrongness.”

Alec shook his head. “But when Jacewas possessed by Lilith, I didn’t feel it,”he said. “Now I can feel something…wrong. Something off.” He looked downat his shoes. “You can feel it when yourparabatai dies—like there was a cordtying you to something and it has snapped,

and now you’re falling.” He looked atClary. “I felt it, once, in Idris, during thebattle. But it was so brief—and when Ireturned to Alicante, Jace was alive. Iconvinced myself I had imagined it.”

Clary shook her head, thinking of Jaceand the blood-soaked sand by Lake Lyn.You didn’t.

“What I feel now is different,” he wenton. “I feel like he’s absent from the worldbut not dead. Not imprisoned… Just nothere.”

“That’s just it,” Clary said. “Both timesI’ve seen him and Sebastian, they’vevanished into thin air. No Portal, just oneminute they were here and the next theywere gone.”

“When you talk about there or here,”said Magnus, coming back into the room

with a yawn, “and this world and thatworld, what you’re talking about aredimensions. There are only a fewwarlocks who can do dimensional magic.My old friend Ragnor could. Dimensionsdon’t lie side by side—they’re foldedtogether, like paper. Where they intersect,dimensional pockets can be created thatprevent magic from being able to find you.After all, you’re not here—you’re there.”

“Maybe that’s why we can’t track him?Why Alec can’t feel him?” said Clary.

“Could be.” Magnus sounded almostimpressed. “It would mean there’sliterally no way to find them if they don’twant to be found. And no way to get amessage back to us if you did find them.That’s complicated, expensive magic.Sebastian must have some connections—”

The door buzzer sounded, and they alljumped. Magnus rolled his eyes.“Everyone calm down,” he said, andvanished into the entryway. He was back amoment later with a man wrapped in along parchment-colored robe, the backand sides inked with patterns of runes indark red-brown. Though his hood was up,shadowing his face, he looked completelydry, as if not a flake of snow had fallen onhim. When he pushed the hood back, Clarywas not at all surprised to see the face ofBrother Zachariah.

Jocelyn set her mug down suddenly onthe coffee table. She was looking at theSilent Brother. With his hood pushedback, you could see his dark hair, but hisface was shadowed so that Clary couldnot see his eyes, only his high, rune-

scarred cheekbones. “You,” Jocelyn said,her voice trailing off. “But Magnus toldme that you would never—”

Unexpected events call for unexpectedmeasures. Brother Zachariah’s voicefloated out, touching the inside of Clary’shead; she knew from the expressions onthe faces of the others that they could hearhim too. I will say nothing to the Claveor Council of anything that transpirestonight. If the chance comes before me tosave the last of the Herondale bloodline,I consider that of higher importance thanthe fealty I render the Clave.

“So that’s settled,” Magnus said. Hemade a strange pair with the SilentBrother beside him, one of them pale andblanched in robes, the other in brightyellow pajamas. “Any new insight into

Lilith’s runes?”I have studied the runes carefully and

listened to all the testimony given in theCouncil, said Brother Zachariah. I believethat her ritual was twofold. First sheused the Daylighter’s bite to reviveJonathan Morgenstern’s consciousness.His body was still weak, but his mind andwill were alive. I believe that when JaceHerondale was left alone on the roofwith him, Jonathan drew on the power ofLilith’s runes and forced Jace to enterthe enspelled circle that surrounded him.At that point Jace’s will would have beensubject to his. I believe he would havedrawn on Jace’s blood for the strength torise and escape the roof, taking Jacewith him.

“And somehow all that created a

connection between them?” Clary said.“Because when my mother stabbedSebastian, Jace started to bleed.”

Yes. What Lilith did was a sort oftwinning ritual, not unlike our ownparabatai ceremony but much morepowerful and dangerous. The two arenow bound inextricably. Should one die,the other will follow. No weapon in thisworld can wound only one of them.

“When you say they’re boundinextricably,” Alec said, leaning forward,“does that mean—I mean, Jace hatesSebastian. Sebastian murdered ourbrother.”

“And I don’t see how Sebastian can beall that fond of Jace, either. He washorribly jealous of him all his life. Hethought Jace was Valentine’s favorite,”

added Clary.“Not to mention,” Magnus noted, “that

Jace killed him. That would put anyoneoff.”

“It’s like Jace doesn’t remember thatany of these things happened,” Clary saidin frustration. “No, not like he doesn’tremember them—like he doesn’t believethem.”

He remembers them. But the power ofthe binding is such that Jace’s thoughtswill pass over and around those facts,like water passing around rocks in ariverbed. It was like the spell thatMagnus cast upon your mind, Clarissa.When you saw pieces of the InvisibleWorld, your mind would reject them, turnaway from them. There is no pointreasoning with Jace about Jonathan. The

truth cannot break their connection.Clary thought of what had happened

when she had reminded Jace thatSebastian had killed Max, how his facehad temporarily furrowed in thought, thensmoothed out as if he had forgotten whatshe had said as quickly as she’d said it.

Take some small comfort in the factthat Jonathan Morgenstern is as boundas your Jace is. He cannot harm or hurtJace, nor would he want to, Zachariahadded.

Alec threw his hands up. “So they loveeach other now? They’re best friends?”The hurt and jealousy was plain in histone.

No. They are each other now. They seeas the other sees. They know the other issomehow indispensable to them.

Sebastian is the leader, the primary ofthe two. What he believes, Jace willbelieve. What he wants, Jace will do.

“So he’s possessed,” Alec said flatly.In a possession there is often some

part of the person’s originalconsciousness left intact. Those whohave been possessed speak of watchingtheir own actions from the outside,crying out but unable to be heard. ButJace is fully inhabiting his body andmind. He believes himself sane. Hebelieves that this is what he wants.

“So what did he want from me?” Clarydemanded in a shaking voice. “Why did hecome to my room tonight?” She hoped hercheeks didn’t burn. She tried to push backthe memory of kissing him, the pressure ofhis body against hers in the bed.

He still loves you, said BrotherZachariah, and his voice was surprisinglygentle. You are the central point aboutwhich his world spins. That has notchanged.

“And that’s why we had to leave,”Jocelyn said tensely. “He’ll come back forher. We couldn’t stay at the police station.I don’t know where will be safe—”

“Here,” Magnus said. “I can put upwards that will keep Jace and Sebastianout.”

Clary saw relief flood her mother’seyes. “Thank you,” Jocelyn said.

Magnus waved an arm. “It’s aprivilege. I do love fending off angryShadowhunters, especially of thepossessed variety.”

He is not possessed, Brother Zachariah

reminded them.“Semantics,” said Magnus. “The

question is, what are the two of them upto? What are they planning?”

“Clary said that when she saw them inthe library, Sebastian told Jace he’d berunning the Institute soon enough,” saidAlec. “So they’re up to something.”

“Carrying on Valentine’s work,probably,” said Magnus. “Down withDownworlders, kill all recalcitrantShadowhunters, blah blah.”

“Maybe.” Clary wasn’t sure. “Jacesaid something about Sebastian serving agreater cause.”

“The Angel only knows what thatindicates,” Jocelyn said. “I was marriedto a zealot for years. I know what ‘agreater cause’ means. It means torturing

the innocent, brutal murder, turning yourback on your former friends, all in thename of something that you believe isbigger than yourself but is no more thangreed and childishness dressed up infanciful language.”

“Mom,” Clary protested, worried tohear Jocelyn sound so bitter.

But Jocelyn was looking at BrotherZachariah. “You said no weapon in thisworld can wound only one of them,” shesaid. “No weapon you know of…”

Magnus’s eyes glowed suddenly, like acat’s when caught in a beam of light. “Youthink…”

“The Iron Sisters,” said Jocelyn. “Theyare the experts on weapons and weaponry.They might perhaps have an answer.”

The Iron Sisters, Clary knew, were the

sister sect to the Silent Brothers; unliketheir brethren, they did not have theirmouths or eyes sewed shut but insteadlived in almost total solitude in a fortresswhose location was unknown. They werenot fighters—they were creators, thehands who shaped the weapons, the steles,the seraph blades that kept theShadowhunters alive. There were runesonly they could carve, and only they knewthe secrets of molding the silvery-whitesubstance called adamas into demontowers, steles, and witchlight rune-stones.Rarely seen, they did not attend Councilmeetings or venture into Alicante.

It is possible, Brother Zachariah saidafter a long pause.

“If Sebastian could be killed—if thereis a weapon that could kill him but leave

Jace alive—does that mean Jace would befree of his influence?” Clary asked.

There was an even longer pause. Then,Yes, said Brother Zachariah. That wouldbe the most likely outcome.

“Then, we should go to see theSisters.” Exhaustion hung on Clary like acloak, weighting her eyes, souring thetaste in her mouth. She rubbed her eyes,trying to scrub it away. “Now.”

“I can’t go,” said Magnus. “Onlyfemale Shadowhunters can enter theAdamant Citadel.”

“And you’re not going,” Jocelyn said toClary in her sternest No-you-are-not-going-out-clubbing-with-Simon-after-midnight voice. “You’re safer here, whereyou’re warded.”

“Isabelle,” said Alec. “Isabelle can

go.”“Do you have any idea where she is?”

Clary said.“Home, I’d imagine,” said Alec, one

shoulder lifting in a shrug. “I can call her—”

“I’ll take care of it,” Magnus said,smoothly removing his cell phone from hispocket and punching in a text with the skillof the long-practiced. “It’s late, and wedon’t need to wake her up. Everyoneneeds rest. If I’m to send any of youthrough to the Iron Sisters, it will betomorrow.”

“I’ll go with Isabelle,” Jocelyn said.“No one’s looking for me specifically,and it’s better that she not go alone. Evenif I’m not technically a Shadowhunter, Iwas once. It’s only required that one of us

be in good standing.”“This isn’t fair,” Clary said.Her mother didn’t even look at her.

“Clary…”Clary rose to her feet. “I’ve been

practically a prisoner for the past twoweeks,” she said in a shaking voice. “TheClave wouldn’t let me look for Jace. Andnow that he came to me—to me—youwon’t even let me come with you to theIron Sisters—”

“It isn’t safe. Jace is probably trackingyou—”

Clary lost it. “Every time you try tokeep me safe, you wreck my life!”

“No, the more involved you get withJace the more you wreck your life!” hermother snapped back. “Every risk you’vetaken, every danger you’ve been in, is

because of him! He held a knife to yourthroat, Clarissa—”

“That wasn’t him,” Clary said in thesoftest, deadliest voice she could imagine.“Do you think I’d stay for one second witha boy who threatened me with a knife,even if I loved him? Maybe you’ve beenliving too long in the mundane world,Mom, but there is magic. The person whohurt me wasn’t Jace. It was a demonwearing his face. And the person we’relooking for now isn’t Jace. But if hedies…”

“There’s no chance of getting Jaceback,” said Alec.

“There may already be no chance,”said Jocelyn. “God, Clary, look at theevidence. You thought you and Jace werebrother and sister! You sacrificed

everything to save his life, and a GreaterDemon used him to get to you! When areyou going to face the fact that the two ofyou are not meant to be together?”

Clary jerked back as if her mother hadhit her. Brother Zachariah stood as still asa statue, as if no one were shouting at all.Magnus and Alec were staring; Jocelynwas red-cheeked, her eyes glittering withanger. Not trusting herself to speak, Claryspun on her heel, stalked down thehallway to Magnus’s spare bedroom, andslammed the door behind her.

“All right, I’m here,” Simon said. A coldwind was blowing across the flat expanseof the roof garden, and he stuffed hishands into the pockets of his jeans. He

didn’t really feel the cold, but he felt likehe ought to. He raised his voice. “Ishowed up. Where are you?”

The roof garden of the GreenwichHotel—now closed, and therefore emptyof people—was done up like an Englishgarden, with carefully shaped dwarf boxtrees, elegantly scattered wicker and glassfurniture, and Lillet umbrellas that flappedin the stiff wind. The trellises of climbingroses, bare in the cold, spider-webbed thestone walls that surrounded the roof,above which Simon could see a gleamingview of downtown New York. “I amhere,” said a voice, and a slender shadowdetached itself from a wicker armchairand rose. “I had begun to wonder if youwere coming, Daylighter.”

“Raphael,” Simon said in a resigned

voice. He walked forward, across thehardwood planks that wound between theflower borders and artificial pools linedwith shining quartz. “I was wonderingmyself.”

As he came closer, he could seeRaphael clearly. Simon had excellentnight vision, and only Raphael’s skill atblending with the shadows had kept himhidden before. The other vampire waswearing a black suit, turned up at the cuffsto show the gleam of cuff links in theshape of chains. He still had the face of alittle boy angel, though his gaze as heregarded Simon was cold. “When the headof the Manhattan vampire clan calls you,Lewis, you come.”

“And what would you do if I didn’t?Stake me?” Simon spread his arms wide.

“Take a shot. Do whatever you want tome. Go nuts.”

“Dios, but you are boring,” saidRaphael. Behind him, by the wall, Simoncould see the chrome gleam of thevampire motorcycle he’d ridden to gethere.

Simon lowered his arms. “You’re theone who asked me to meet you.”

“I have a job offer for you,” saidRaphael.

“Seriously? You short-staffed at thehotel?”

“I need a bodyguard.”Simon eyed him. “Have you been

watching The Bodyguard? Because I amnot going to fall in love with you andcarry you around in my burly arms.”

Raphael looked at him sourly. “I would

pay you extra money to remain entirelysilent while you worked.”

Simon stared at him. “You’re serious,aren’t you?”

“I would not bother coming to see youif I were not serious. If I were in a jokingmood, I would spend that time withsomeone I liked.” Raphael sat back downin the armchair. “Camille Belcourt is freein the city of New York. TheShadowhunters are entirely caught up withthis stupid business with Valentine’s sonand will not be bothered to track herdown. She represents an immediatedanger to me, for she wishes to reasserther control of the Manhattan clan. Mostare loyal to me. Killing me would be thefastest way for her to put herself back atthe top of the hierarchy.”

“Okay,” Simon said slowly. “But whyme?”

“You are a Daylighter. Others canprotect me during the night, but you canprotect me in the day, when most of ourkind are helpless. And you carry the Markof Cain. With you between me and her,she would not dare to strike at me.”

“That’s all true, but I’m not doing it.”Raphael looked incredulous. “Why

not?”The words exploded out of Simon.

“Are you kidding? Because you havenever done one single thing for me in theentire time since I became a vampire.Instead you have done your level best tomake my life miserable and then end it. So—if you want it in vampire language—itaffords me great pleasure, my liege, to say

to you now: Hell, no.”“It is not wise for you to make an

enemy of me, Daylighter. As friends—”Simon laughed incredulously. “Wait a

second. Were we friends? That wasfriends?”

Raphael’s fang teeth snapped out. Hewas very angry indeed, Simon realized. “Iknow why you refuse me, Daylighter, andit is not out of some pretended sense ofrejection. You are so involved with theShadowhunters, you think you are one ofthem. We have seen you with them.Instead of spending your nights in the hunt,as you should, you spend them withValentine’s daughter. You live with awerewolf. You are a disgrace.”

“Do you act like this with every jobinterview?”

Raphael bared his teeth. “You mustdecide if you are a vampire or aShadowhunter, Daylighter.”

“I’ll take Shadowhunter, then. Becausefrom what I’ve experienced of vampires,you mostly suck. No pun intended.”

Raphael stood up. “You are making agrave mistake.”

“I already told you—”The other vampire waved a hand,

cutting him off. “There is a great darknesscoming. It will sweep the Earth with fireand shadow, and when it is gone, therewill be no more of your preciousShadowhunters. We, the Night Children,will survive it, for we live in darkness.But if you persist in denying what you are,you too will be destroyed, and none shalllift a hand to help you.”

Without thinking, Simon raised hishand to touch the Mark on his forehead.

Raphael laughed soundlessly. “Ah, yes,the Angel’s brand upon you. In the time ofdarkness even the angels will bedestroyed. Their strength will not aid you.And you had better pray, Daylighter, thatyou do not lose that Mark before the warcomes. For if you do, there will be a lineof enemies waiting their turn to kill you.And I will be at the head of it.”

Clary had been lying on her back onMagnus’s sofa bed for a long time. Shehad heard her mother come down the halland go into one of the other sparebedroom, shutting the door behind her.Through her own door she could hear

Magnus and Alec talking in low voices inthe living room. She supposed she couldwait for them to go to sleep, but Alec hadsaid Magnus had been up until all hourslately studying the runes; even thoughBrother Zachariah appeared to haveinterpreted them, she couldn’t trust thatAlec and Magnus would retire soon.

She sat up on the bed next to ChairmanMeow, who made a fuzzy noise of protest,and rummaged in her backpack. She drewout of it a clear plastic box and flipped itopen. There were her Prismacolorpencils, some stumps of chalk—and herstele.

She stood up, slipping the stele into herjacket pocket. Taking her phone off thedesk, she texted MEET ME AT TAKI ’S. Shewatched as the message went through, then

tucked the phone into her jeans and took adeep breath.

This wasn’t fair to Magnus, she knew.He’d promised her mother he’d look afterher, and that didn’t include her sneakingout of his apartment. But she had kept hermouth shut. She hadn’t promised anything.And besides, it was Jace.

You would do anything to save him,whatever it cost you, whatever you mightowe to Hell or Heaven, would you not?

She took out her stele, set the tip to theorange paint of the wall, and began todraw a Portal. The sharp banging noise woke Jordan outof a sound sleep. He bolted uprightinstantly and rolled out of bed to land in acrouch on the floor. Years of training with

the Praetor had left him with fast reflexesand a permanent habit of sleeping lightly.A quick sight-scent scan told him the roomwas empty—just moonlight pooling on thefloor at his feet.

The banging came again, and this timehe recognized it. It was the sound ofsomeone pounding on the front door. Heusually slept in just his boxer shorts;yanking on jeans and a T-shirt, he kickedthe door of his room open and strode outinto the hallway. If this was a bunch ofdrunk college kids amusing themselves byknocking on all the doors in the building,they were about to get a faceful of angrywerewolf.

He reached the door—and paused. Theimage came to him again, as it had in thehours it had taken him to fall asleep, of

Maia running away from him at the navyyard. The look on her face when she’dpulled away from him. He’d pushed hertoo far, he knew, asked for too much, toofast. Blown it completely, probably.Unless—maybe she’d reconsidered. Therehad been a time when their relationshiphad been all passionate fights and equallypassionate make-up sessions.

His heart pounding, he threw the dooropen. And blinked. On the doorstep stoodIsabelle Lightwood, her long black glossyhair falling almost to her waist. She woreblack suede knee-high boots, tight jeans,and a red silky top with her familiar redpendant around her throat, glitteringdarkly.

“Isabelle?” He couldn’t hide thesurprise in his voice, or, he suspected, the

disappointment.“Yeah, well, I wasn’t looking for you,

either,” she said, pushing past him into theapartment. She smelled of Shadowhunter—a smell like sun-warmed glass—andunderneath that, a rosy perfume. “I waslooking for Simon.”

Jordan squinted at her. “It’s two in themorning.”

She shrugged. “He’s a vampire.”“But I’m not.”“Ohhhhh?” Her red lips curled up at

the corners. “Did I wake you up?” Shereached out and flicked the top button onhis jeans, the tip of her fingernail scrapingacross his flat stomach. He felt hismuscles jump. Izzy was gorgeous, therewas no denying that. She was also a littleterrifying. He wondered how unassuming

Simon managed to handle her at all. “Youmight want to button these all the way up.Nice boxers, by the by.” She moved pasthim, toward Simon’s bedroom. Jordanfollowed, buttoning his jeans andmuttering about how there was nothingstrange about having a pattern of dancingpenguins on your underwear.

Isabelle ducked her head into Simon’sroom. “He’s not here.” She slammed thedoor behind her and leaned back againstthe wall, looking at Jordan. “You did sayit was two in the morning?”

“Yeah. He’s probably at Clary’s. He’sbeen sleeping there a lot lately.”

Isabelle bit her lip. “Right. Of course.”Jordan was beginning to get that feeling

he got sometimes, that he was sayingsomething unfortunate, without knowing

exactly what that thing was. “Is there areason you came over here? I mean, didsomething happen? Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” Isabelle threw up her hands.“You mean other than the fact that mybrother has disappeared and has probablybeen brainwashed by the evil demon whomurdered my other brother, and myparents are getting divorced and Simon isoff with Clary—”

She stopped abruptly and stalked pasthim into the living room. He hurried afterher. By the time he caught up, she was inthe kitchen, rifling through the pantryshelves. “Do you have anything to drink?A nice Barolo? Sagrantino?”

Jordan took her by the shoulders andmoved her gently out of the kitchen. “Sit,”he said. “I’ll get you some tequila.”

“Tequila?”“Tequila’s what we have. That and

cough syrup.”Sitting down at one of the stools that

lined the kitchen counter, she waved ahand at him. He would have expected herto have long red or pink fingernails,buffed to perfection, to match the rest ofher, but no—she was a Shadowhunter.Her hands were scarred, the nails squaredoff and filed down. The Voyance runeshone blackly on her right hand. “Fine.”

Jordan grabbed the bottle of Cuervo,uncapped it, and poured her a shot. Hepushed the glass across the counter. Shedowned it instantly, frowned, andslammed the glass down.

“Not enough,” she said, reached acrossthe counter, and took the bottle out of his

hand. She tilted her head back andswallowed once, twice, three times. Whenshe set the bottle back down, her cheekswere flushed.

“Where’d you learn to drink like that?”He wasn’t sure if he should be impressedor frightened.

“The drinking age in Idris is fifteen.Not that anyone pays attention. I’ve beendrinking wine mixed with water alongwith my parents since I was a kid.”Isabelle shrugged. The gesture lacked alittle of her usual fluid coordination.

“Okay. Well, is there a message youwant me to give Simon, or anything I cansay or—”

“No.” She took another swig out of thebottle. “I got all liquored up and cameover to talk to him, and of course he’s at

Clary’s. Figures.”“I thought you were the one who told

him he ought to go over there in the firstplace.”

“Yeah.” Isabelle fiddled with the labelon the tequila bottle. “I did.”

“So,” Jordan said, in what he thoughtwas a reasonable tone. “Tell him to stop.”

“I can’t do that.” She soundedexhausted. “I owe her.”

Jordan leaned on the counter. He felt alittle like a bartender in a TV show,dispensing sage advice. “What do youowe her?”

“Life,” Isabelle said.Jordan blinked. This was a little

beyond his bartending and advice-offeringskills. “She saved your life?”

“She saved Jace’s life. She could have

had anything from the Angel Raziel, andshe saved my brother. I’ve only evertrusted a few people in my life. Reallytrusted. My mother, Alec, Jace, and Max. Ilost one of them already. Clary’s the onlyreason I didn’t lose another.”

“Do you think you’ll ever be able toreally trust someone you aren’t relatedto?”

“I’m not related to Jace. Not really.”Isabelle avoided his gaze.

“You know what I mean,” said Jordan,with a meaningful glance at Simon’s room.

Izzy frowned. “Shadowhunters live byan honor code, werewolf,” she said, andfor a moment she was all arrogantNephilim, and Jordan remembered why somany Downworlders disliked them.“Clary saved a Lightwood. I owe her my

life. If I can’t give her that—and I don’tsee how she has any use for it—I can giveher whatever will make her lessunhappy.”

“You can’t give her Simon. Simon’s aperson, Isabelle. He goes where hewants.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Well, he doesn’tseem to mind going where she is, doeshe?”

Jordan hesitated. There was somethingabout what Isabelle was saying thatseemed off, but she wasn’t completelywrong either. Simon had with Clary anease that he never seemed to show withanyone else. Having been in love withonly one girl in his life, and having stayedin love with her, Jordan didn’t feel he wasqualified to hand out advice on that front

—though he remembered Simon warninghim, with wryness, that Clary had “thenuclear bomb of boyfriends.” Whetherthere had been jealousy under thatwryness, Jordan wasn’t sure. He wasn’tsure whether you could ever completelyforget the first girl you loved either.Especially when she was right there infront of you, every day.

Isabelle snapped her fingers. “Hey,you. Are you even paying attention?” Shetilted her head to the side, blowing darkstrands of hair out of her face, and lookedat him hard. “What’s going on with youand Maia, anyway?”

“Nothing.” The single word heldvolumes. “I’m not sure she’s ever going tostop hating me.”

“She might not, at that,” Isabelle said.

“She’s got good reason.”“Thanks.”“I don’t do false reassurances,” Izzy

said, and pushed the tequila bottle awayfrom her. Her eyes, on Jordan, were livelyand dark. “Come here, werewolf boy.”

She’d dropped her voice. It was soft,seductive. Jordan swallowed against asuddenly dry throat. He rememberedseeing Isabelle in her red dress outside theIronworks and thinking, That’s the girlSimon was messing around on Maiawith? Neither of them was the sort of girlwho gave the impression you could cheaton her and survive it.

And neither one of them was the sort ofgirl you said no to. Warily he movedaround the counter toward Isabelle. Hewas a few steps away when she reached

out and pulled him toward her by thewrists. Her hands slid up his arms, overthe swell of his biceps, the muscles of hisshoulders. His heartbeat quickened. Hecould feel the warmth coming off her andcould smell her perfume and sweettequila. “You’re gorgeous,” she said. Herhands slid around to flatten themselvesagainst his chest. “You know that, right?”

Jordan wondered if she could feel hisheart beating through his shirt. He knewthe way girls looked at him on the street—boys, too, sometimes—knew what he sawin the mirror every day, but he neverthought about it much. He had been sofocused on Maia for so long that it neverseemed to matter beyond whether shewould still find him attractive if they eversaw each other again. He’d been chatted

up plenty, but not often by girls wholooked like Isabelle, and never by anyoneso blunt. He wondered if she was going tokiss him. He hadn’t kissed anyone butMaia since he was fifteen. But Isabellewas looking up at him, and her eyes werebig and dark, and her lips were slightlyparted and the color of strawberries. Hewondered if they would taste likestrawberries if he kissed her.

“And I just don’t care,” she said.“Isabelle, I don’t think—Wait. What?”“I should care,” she said. “I mean,

there’s Maia to think about, so I probablywouldn’t just rip your clothes off blithelyanyway, but the thing is, I don’t want to.Normally I would want to.”

“Ah,” Jordan said. He felt relief, andalso the tiniest twinge of disappointment.

“Well… that’s good?”“I think about him all the time,” she

said. “It’s awful. Nothing like this hasever happened to me before.”

“You mean Simon?”“Scrawny little mundane bastard,” she

said, and took her hands off Jordan’schest. “Except he isn’t. Scrawny,anymore. Or a mundane. And I likespending time with him. He makes melaugh. And I like the way he smiles. Youknow, one side of his mouth goes upbefore the other one—Well, you live withhim. You must have noticed.”

“Not really,” said Jordan.“I miss him when he’s not around,”

Isabelle confessed. “I thought… I don’tknow, after what happened that night withLilith, things changed between us. But

now he’s with Clary all the time. And Ican’t even be angry with her.”

“You lost your brother.”Isabelle looked up at him. “What?”“Well, he’s knocking himself out to

make Clary feel better because she lostJace,” said Jordan. “But Jace is yourbrother. Shouldn’t Simon be knockinghimself out to make you feel better too?Maybe you’re not mad at her, but youcould be mad at him.”

Isabelle looked at him for a longmoment. “But we’re not anything,” shesaid. “He’s not my boyfriend. I just likehim.” She frowned. “Crap. I can’t believeI said that. I must be drunker than Ithought.”

“I kind of figured it out from what youwere saying before.” He smiled at her.

She didn’t smile back, but she loweredher lashes and looked up at him throughthem. “You’re not so bad,” she said. “Ifyou want, I can say nice things to Maiaabout you.”

“No, thanks,” said Jordan, who wasn’tsure what Izzy’s version of nice thingswas, and feared finding out. “You know,it’s normal, when you’re going through atough time, to want to be with the personyou—” He was about to say “love,”realized she had never used the word, andswitched gears. “Care about. But I don’tthink Simon knows you feel that way abouthim.”

Her lashes fluttered back up. “Does heever say anything about me?”

“He thinks you’re really strong,”Jordan said. “And that you don’t need him

at all. I think he feels… superfluous toyour life. Like, what can he give you whenyou’re already perfect? Why would youwant a guy like him?” Jordan blinked; hehadn’t meant to run on like that, and hewasn’t sure how much of what he’d saidapplied to Simon, and how much tohimself and Maia.

“So you mean I should tell him how Ifeel?” said Isabelle in a small voice.

“Yes. Definitely. Tell him how youfeel.”

“Okay.” She grabbed for the tequilabottle and took a swig. “I’ll go over toClary’s right now and I’ll tell him.”

A small flower of alarm blossomed inhis chest. “You can’t. It’s practically threein the morning—”

“If I wait, I’ll lose my nerve,” she said,

in that reasonable tone that only verydrunk people ever employed. She tookanother swig out of the bottle. “I’ll just goover there, and I’ll knock on the window,and I’ll tell him how I feel.”

“Do you even know which window isClary’s?”

She squinted. “Nooo.”The horrible vision of a drunk Isabelle

waking up Jocelyn and Luke floatedthrough Jordan’s head. “Isabelle, no.” Hereached up to take the tequila bottle fromher, and she jerked it away from him.

“I think I’m changing my mind aboutyou,” she said in a semi-threatening tonethat would have been more frightening ifshe’d been able to focus her eyes on himdirectly. “I don’t think I like you so muchafter all.” She stood up, looked down at

her feet with a surprised expression—andfell over backward. Only Jordan’s quickreflexes allowed him to catch her beforeshe hit the floor.

7A SEA CHANGE

Clary was on her third cup of coffee atTaki’s when Simon finally walked in. Hewas in jeans, a red zip-up sweatshirt (whybother with wool coats when you didn’tfeel the cold?), and engineer boots.People turned to look at him as he wovehis way through the tables toward her.Simon had cleaned up nicely sinceIsabelle had started getting on his caseabout his clothes, Clary thought as heheaded toward her among the tables.

There were flakes of snow caught in hisdark hair, but where Alec’s cheeks hadbeen scarlet from the cold, Simon’sremained colorless and pale. He slid intothe booth across from her and looked ather, his dark eyes reflective and shining.

“You called?” he asked, making hisvoice deep and resonant so that hesounded like Count Dracula.

“Technically, I texted.” She slid themenu across the table toward him, flippingit to the page for vampires. She’d glancedat it before, but the thought of bloodpudding and blood milk shakes made hershudder. “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“Oh, no,” he said. “You wouldn’tbelieve where I was…” His voice trailedoff as he saw the expression on her face.“Hey.” His fingers were suddenly under

her chin, lifting her head. The laughterwas gone from his eyes, replaced byconcern. “What happened? Is there morenews about Jace?”

“Do you know what you want?” It wasKaelie, the blue-eyed faerie waitress whohad given Clary the Queen’s bell. Shelooked at Clary now and grinned, asuperior grin that made Clary grit herteeth.

Clary ordered a piece of apple pie;Simon ordered a mix of hot chocolate andblood. Kaelie took the menus away, andSimon looked at Clary with concern. Shetook a deep breath and told him about thenight, every gritty detail—Jace’sappearance, what he had said to her, theconfrontation in the living room, and whathad happened to Luke. She told him what

Magnus had said about dimensionalpockets and other worlds, and how therewas no way to track someone hidden in adimensional pocket or get a messagethrough to them. Simon’s eyes grew darkeras she spoke, and by the end of the story,he had his head in his hands.

“Simon?” Kaelie had come and gone,leaving their food, which was untouched.Clary touched his shoulder. “What is it? Isit Luke—”

“It’s my fault.” He looked up at her,eyes dry. Vampires cried tears mixed withblood, she thought; she had read thatsomewhere. “If I hadn’t bittenSebastian…”

“You did it for me. So I’d live.” Hervoice was gentle. “You saved my life.”

“You’ve saved mine six or seven

times. It seemed fair.” His voice cracked;she recalled him retching up Sebastian’sblack blood, on his knees in the roofgarden.

“Assigning blame doesn’t get usanywhere,” Clary said. “And this isn’twhy I dragged you here, just to tell youwhat happened. I mean, I would have toldyou anyway, but I would have waited fortomorrow if it weren’t that…”

He looked at her warily and took a sipfrom his mug. “Weren’t that what?”

“I have a plan.”He groaned. “I was afraid of that.”“My plans are not terrible.”“Isabelle’s plans are terrible.” He

pointed a finger at her. “Your plans aresuicidal. At best.”

She sat back, her arms crossed over

her chest. “Do you want to hear it or not?You have to keep it a secret.”

“I would pluck out my own eyes with afork before I would give away yoursecrets,” Simon said, then looked anxious.“Wait a second. Do you think that’s likelyto be required?”

“I don’t know.” Clary covered her facewith her hands.

“Just tell me.” He sounded resigned.With a sigh she reached into her pocket

and drew out a small velvet bag, whichshe upended on the table. Two gold ringsfell out, landing with a soft clink.

Simon looked at them, puzzled. “Youwant to get married?”

“Don’t be an idiot.” She leanedforward, dropping her voice. “Simon,these are the rings. The ones the Seelie

Queen wanted.”“I thought you said you never got them

—” He broke off, raising his eyes to herface.

“I lied. I did take them. But after I sawJace in the library, I didn’t want to givethem to the Queen anymore. I had a feelingwe might need them sometime. And Irealized she was never going to give usany useful information. The rings seemedmore valuable than another round with theQueen.”

Simon caught them up in his hand,hiding them from sight as Kaelie passedby. “Clary, you can’t just take things theSeelie Queen wants and keep them foryourself. She’s a very dangerous enemy tohave.”

She looked at him pleadingly. “Can we

at least see if they work?”He sighed and handed her one of the

rings; it felt light but was as soft as realgold. She worried for a moment that itwouldn’t fit, but as soon as she slipped itonto her right index finger, it seemed tomold to the shape of her finger, until it satperfectly in the space below her knuckle.She saw Simon glancing down at his righthand, and realized the same thing hadhappened to him.

“Now we talk, I guess,” he said. “Saysomething to me. You know, mentally.”

Clary turned to Simon, feeling absurdlyas if she were being asked to perform in aplay whose lines she hadn’t memorized.Simon?

Simon blinked. “I think—Could you dothat again?”

This time Clary concentrated, trying tofocus her mind on Simon—the Simon-nessof him, the shape of the way he thought,the feeling of hearing his voice, the senseof him close. His whispers, his secrets,the way he made her laugh. So, she thoughtconversationally, now that I’m in yourmind, want to see some naked mentalpictures of Jace?

Simon jumped. “I heard that! And, no.”Excitement fizzed in Clary’s veins; it

w as working. “Think something back tome.”

It took less than a second. She heardSimon, the way she heard BrotherZachariah, a voice without sound insideher mind. You’ve seen him naked?

Well, not entirely. But I—“Enough,” he said out loud, and though

his voice was caught between amusementand anxiety, his eyes sparked. “Theywork. Holy crap. They really work.”

She leaned forward. “So can I tell youmy idea?”

He touched the ring on his finger,feeling its delicate tracery, the leaf-veinscarved under his fingertips. Sure.

She began to explain, but she hadn’t yetreached the end of her description whenSimon interrupted, out loud this time. “No.Absolutely not.”

“Simon,” she said. “It’s a perfectly fineplan.”

“The plan where you follow Jace andSebastian off to some unknowndimensional pocket and we use these ringsto communicate so those of us over here inthe regular dimension of Earth can track

you down? That plan?”“Yes.”“No,” he said. “No, it isn’t.”Clary sat back. “You don’t just get to

say no.”“This plan involves me! I get to say no!

No.”“Simon—”Simon patted the seat beside him as if

someone were sitting there. “Let meintroduce you to my good friend No.”

“Maybe we can compromise,” shesuggested, taking a bite of pie.

“No.”“SIMON.”“‘No’ is a magical word,” he told her.

“Here’s how it goes. You say, ‘Simon, Ihave an insane, suicidal plan. Would youlike to help me carry it out?’ And I say,

‘Why, no.’”“I’ll do it anyway,” she said.He stared at her across the table.

“What?”“I’ll do it whether you help me or not,”

she said. “If I can’t use the rings, I’ll stillfollow Jace to wherever he is and try toget word back to you guys by sneakingaway, finding telephones, whatever. If it’spossible. I’m going to do it, Simon. I justhave a better chance of surviving if youhelp me. And there’s no risk to you.”

“ I don’t care about risk to me ,” hehissed, leaning forward across the table.“I care about what happens to you!Dammit, I’m practically indestructible.Let me go. You stay behind.”

“Yes,” Clary said, “Jace won’t findthat odd at all. You can just tell him

you’ve always been secretly in love withhim and you can’t stand being parted.”

“I could tell him I’ve given it thoughtand I completely agree with his andSebastian’s philosophy and decided tothrow in my lot with theirs.”

“You don’t even know what theirphilosophy is.”

“There is that. I might have better lucktelling him I’m in love with him. Jacethinks everyone’s in love with himanyway.”

“But I,” said Clary, “actually am.”Simon looked at her for a long time

over the table, silently. “You’re serious,”he said finally. “You’d actually do this.Without me—without any safety net.”

“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do forJace.”

Simon leaned his head back against theplastic booth seat. The Mark of Cainglowed a gentle silver against his skin.“Don’t say that,” he said.

“Wouldn’t you do anything for thepeople you love?”

“I’d do almost anything for you,”Simon said quietly. “I’d die for you. Youknow that. But would I kill someone else,someone innocent? What about a lot ofinnocent lives? What about the wholeworld? Is it really love to tell someonethat if it came down to picking betweenthem and every other life on the planet,you’d pick them? Is that—I don’t know, isthat a moral sort of love at all?”

“Love isn’t moral or immoral,” saidClary. “It just is.”

“I know,” Simon said. “But the actions

we take in the name of love, those aremoral or immoral. And normally itwouldn’t matter. Normally—whatever Ithink of Jace being annoying—he’d neverask you to do anything that went againstyour nature. Not for him, not for anyone.But he isn’t exactly Jace anymore, is he?And I just don’t know, Clary. I don’t knowwhat he might ask you to do.”

Clary leaned her elbow on the table,suddenly very tired. “Maybe he isn’t Jace.But he’s the closest thing to Jace I’ve got.There’s no way back to Jace withouthim.” She raised her eyes to Simon’s. “Orare you telling me it’s hopeless?”

There was a long silence. Clary couldsee Simon’s innate honesty warring withhis desire to protect his best friend.Finally he said, “I’d never say that. I’m

still Jewish, you know, even if I am avampire. In my heart I remember andbelieve, even the words I can’t say. G—”He choked and swallowed. “He made acovenant with us, just like theShadowhunters believe Raziel made acovenant with them. And we believe in hispromises. Therefore you can never losehope—hatikva—because if you keep hopealive, it will keep you alive.” He lookedfaintly embarrassed. “My rabbi used tosay that.”

Clary slid her hand across the table andlaid it atop Simon’s. He rarely talkedabout his religion with her or anyone,though she knew he believed. “Does thatmean you agree?”

He groaned. “I think it means youcrushed my spirit and beat me down.”

“Fantastic.”“Of course you realize you’re leaving

me in the position of being the one to telleveryone—your mother, Luke, Alec, Izzy,Magnus…”

“I guess I shouldn’t have said therewould be no risk to you,” Clary saidmeekly.

“That’s right,” said Simon. “Justremember, when your mother’s gnawingmy ankle like a furious mama bearseparated from her cub, I did it for you.”

Jordan had only just fallen back asleepwhen the banging on the front door cameagain. He rolled over and groaned. Theclock by the bed said 4:00 a.m. in blinkingyellow numbers.

More banging. Jordan rolledreluctantly to his feet, dragged on hisjeans, and staggered out into the hallway.Blearily he jerked the door open. “Look—”

The words died on his lips. Standing inthe hallway was Maia. She was wearingjeans and a caramel-colored leatherjacket, and her hair was pulled up behindher head with bronze chopsticks. A singleloose curl fell against her temple.Jordan’s fingers itched to reach out andtuck it behind her ear. Instead he jammedhis hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Nice shirt,” she said with a dry glanceat his bare chest. There was a backpackslung over one of her shoulders. For amoment his heart jumped. Was she leavingtown? Was she leaving town to get away

from him? “Look, Jordan—”“Who is it?” The voice behind Jordan

was husky, as rumpled as the bed she’dprobably just climbed out of. He sawMaia’s mouth drop open, and he lookedback over his shoulder to see Isabelle,wearing only one of Simon’s T-shirts,standing behind him and rubbing at hereyes.

Maia’s mouth snapped shut. “It’s me,”she said in a not particularly friendly tone.“Are you… visiting Simon?”

“What? No, Simon’s not here.” Shutup, Isabelle, Jordan thought frantically.“He’s…” She gestured vaguely. “Out.”

Maia’s cheeks reddened. “It smellslike a bar in here.”

“Jordan’s cheap tequila,” said Isabellewith a wave of her hand. “You know…”

“Is that his shirt, too?” Maia inquired.Isabelle glanced down at herself, and

then back up at Maia. Belatedly sheseemed to realize what the other girl wasthinking. “Oh. No. Maia—”

“So first Simon cheated on me withyou, and now you and Jordan—”

“Simon,” Isabelle said, “also cheatedon me with you. Anyway, nothing’s goingon with me and Jordan. I came over to seeSimon, but he wasn’t here so I decided tocrash in his room. And I’m going back inthere now.”

“No,” Maia said sharply. “Don’t.Forget about Simon and Jordan. What Ihave to say, it’s something you need tohear too.”

Isabelle froze, one hand on Simon’sdoor, her sleep-flushed face slowly

paling. “Jace,” she said. “Is that whyyou’re here?”

Maia nodded.Isabelle sagged against the door. “Is he

—” Her voice cracked. She started again.“Have they found—”

“He came back,” said Maia. “ForClary.” She paused. “He had Sebastianwith him. There was a fight, and Luke wasinjured. He’s dying.”

Isabelle made a dry little sound in herthroat. “Jace? Jace hurt Luke?”

Maia avoided her eyes. “I don’t knowwhat happened exactly. Only that Jace andSebastian came for Clary, and there was afight. Luke was hurt.”

“Clary—”“Is all right. She’s at Magnus’s with

her mother.” Maia turned to Jordan.

“Magnus called me and asked me to comeand see you. He tried to reach you, but hecouldn’t. He wants you to put him in touchwith the Praetor Lupus.”

“Put him in touch with…” Jordanshook his head. “You can’t just call thePraetor. It’s not like 1-800-WEREWOLF.”

Maia crossed her arms. “Well, how doyou reach them, then?”

“I have a supervisor. He reaches mewhen he wants to, or I can call on him inan emergency—”

“This is an emergency.” Maia hookedher thumbs through the belt loops on herjeans. “Luke could die, and Magnus saysthe Praetor might have information thatcould help.” She looked at Jordan, hereyes big and dark. He ought to tell her, he

thought. That the Praetor didn’t like gettingmixed up in affairs of the Clave; that theykept to themselves and their mission—tohelp new Downworlders. That there wasno guarantee they would agree to help, andevery likelihood that they would resent therequest.

But Maia was asking him. This wassomething he could do for her that mightbe a step down the long road of making itup to her for what he’d done before.

“Okay,” he said. “Then, we go to theirheadquarters and present ourselves inperson. They’re out on the North Fork ofLong Island. Pretty far from anywhere. Wecan take my truck.”

“Fine.” Maia hoisted her backpackhigher. “I thought we might have to gosomewhere; that’s why I brought my

stuff.”“Maia.” It was Isabelle. She hadn’t

said anything in so long that Jordan hadalmost forgotten she was there; he turnedand saw her leaning against the wall bySimon’s door. She was hugging herself asif she were cold. “Is he all right?”

Maia winced. “Luke? No, he—”“Jace.” Isabelle’s voice was an

indrawn breath. “Is Jace all right? Didthey hurt him or catch him or—”

“He’s fine,” Maia said flatly. “Andhe’s gone. He disappeared withSebastian.”

“And Simon?” Isabelle’s gaze flickedto Jordan. “You said he was with Clary—”

Maia shook her head. “He wasn’t. Hewasn’t there.” Her hand was tight on the

strap of her backpack. “But there’s onething we know now, and you’re not goingto like it. Jace and Sebastian areconnected somehow. Hurt Jace, you hurtSebastian. Kill him, and Sebastian dies.And vice versa. Straight from Magnus.”

“Does the Clave know?” Isabelledemanded instantly. “They didn’t tell theClave, did they?”

Maia shook her head. “Not yet.”“They’ll find out,” said Isabelle. “The

whole pack knows. Someone will tell.Then it’ll be a manhunt. They’ll kill himjust to kill Sebastian. They’ll kill himanyway.” She reached up and pushed herhands through her thick black hair. “I wantmy brother,” she said. “I want to seeAlec.”

“Well, that’s good,” Maia said.

“Because after Magnus called me, he senta follow-up text. He said he had a feelingyou’d be here, and he had a message foryou. He wants you to go to his apartmentin Brooklyn, right away.”

It was freezing out, so cold that even thethermis rune she’d put on herself—and thethin parka she’d swiped from Simon’scloset—weren’t doing much to keepIsabelle from shivering as she pushedopen the door of Magnus’s apartmentbuilding and ducked inside.

After being buzzed up, she headed upthe stairs, trailing her hand along thesplintering banister. Part of her wanted torush up the steps, knowing Alec was thereand would understand what she was

feeling. The other part of her, the part thathad hidden her parents’ secret from herbrothers all her life, wanted to curl up onthe landing and be alone with her misery.The part that hated relying on anyone else—because wouldn’t they just let youdown?—and was proud to say thatIsabelle Lightwood didn’t need anyonereminded herself that she was herebecause they had asked for her. Theyneeded her.

Isabelle didn’t mind being needed.Liked it, in fact. It was why it had takenher longer to warm up to Jace when hehad first stepped through the Portal fromIdris, a thin ten-year-old boy with hauntedpale gold eyes. Alec had been delightedwith him immediately, but Isabelle hadresented his self-possession. When her

mother had told her that Jace’s father hadbeen murdered in front of him, she’dimagined him coming to her tearfully, forcomfort and even advice. But he hadn’tseemed to need anyone. Even at ten yearsold he’d had a sharp, defensive wit and anacidic temperament. In fact, Isabelle hadthought, dismayed, that he was just likeher.

In the end it was Shadowhunting theyhad bonded over—a shared love of sharp-edged weapons, gleaming seraph blades,the painful pleasure of burning Marks, thethought-numbing swiftness of battle. WhenAlec had wanted to go out hunting alonewith Jace, leaving Izzy behind, Jace hadspoken up for her: “We need her with us;she’s the best there is. Aside from me, ofcourse.”

She had loved him just for that.She was at the front door of Magnus’s

apartment now. Light poured through thecrack under the door, and she heardmurmuring voices. She pushed the dooropen, and a wave of warmth envelopedher. She stepped gratefully forward.

The warmth came from a fire leaping inthe grated fireplace—though there wereno chimneys in the building, and the firehad the blue-green tinge of enchantedflame. Magnus and Alec sat on one of thecouches grouped near the fireplace. Asshe came in, Alec looked up and saw her,and sprang to his feet, hurrying barefootacross the room—he was wearing blacksweatpants and a white T-shirt with a torncollar—to put his arms around her.

For a moment she stood still in the

circle of his arms, hearing his heartbeat,his hands patting half-awkwardly up anddown her back, her hair. “Iz,” he said.“It’s going to be okay, Izzy.”

She pushed away from him, wiping ather eyes. God, she hated crying. “How canyou say that?” she snapped. “How cananything possibly be okay after this?”

“Izzy.” Alec drew his sister’s hair overone shoulder and tugged gently at it. Itreminded her of the years when she usedto wear her hair in braids and Alec wouldyank on them, with considerably lessgentleness than he was showing now.“Don’t go to pieces. We need you.” Hedropped his voice. “Also, did you knowyou smell like tequila?”

She looked over at Magnus, who waswatching them from the sofa with his

unreadable cat’s eyes. “Where’s Clary?”she said. “And her mother? I thought theywere here.”

“Asleep,” said Alec. “We thought theyneeded a rest.”

“And I don’t?”“Did you just see your fiancé or your

stepfather nearly murdered in front of youreyes?” Magnus inquired dryly. He waswearing striped pajamas with a black silkdressing gown thrown over them.“Isabelle Lightwood,” he said, sitting upand loosely clasping his hands in front ofhim. “As Alec said, we need you.”

Isabelle straightened up, putting hershoulders back. “Need me for what?”

“To go to the Iron Sisters,” said Alec.“We need a weapon that will divide Jaceand Sebastian so that they can be hurt

separately—Well, you know what I mean.So Sebastian can be killed without hurtingJace. And it’s a matter of time before theClave knows that Jace isn’t Sebastian’sprisoner, that he’s working with him—”

“It’s not Jace,” Isabelle protested.“It may not be Jace,” said Magnus, “but

if he dies, your Jace dies right along withhim.”

“As you know, the Iron Sisters willspeak only to women,” said Alec. “AndJocelyn can’t go alone because she isn’t aShadowhunter anymore.”

“What about Clary?”“She’s still in training. She won’t know

the right questions to ask or the way toaddress them. But you and Jocelyn will.And Jocelyn says she’s been there before;she can help guide you once we Portal you

to the edge of the wards around theAdamant Citadel. You’ll be going, both ofyou, in the morning.”

Isabelle considered it. The idea offinally having something to do, somethingdefinite and active and important, was arelief. She would have preferred a taskthat had something to do with killingdemons or chopping off Sebastian’s legs,but this was better than nothing. Thelegends surrounding the Adamant Citadelmade it sound like a forbidding, distantplace, and the Iron Sisters were seen farmore rarely than the Silent Brothers.Isabelle had never met one.

“When do we leave?” she said.Alec smiled for the first time since

she’d arrived, and reached to ruffle herhair. “That’s my Isabelle.”

“Quit it.” She ducked out from hisreach and saw Magnus grinning at themfrom the sofa. He levered himself up andran a hand through his already explosivelyspiky black hair.

“I’ve got three spare rooms,” he said.“Clary’s in one; her mother’s in the other.I’ll show you the third.”

The rooms all branched off a narrow,windowless hallway that led from theliving room. Two of the doors wereclosed; Magnus drew Isabelle through thethird, into a room whose walls werepainted hot-pink. Black curtains hung fromsilver bars over the windows, secured byhandcuffs. The bedspread had a print ofdark red hearts on it.

Isabelle glanced around. She felt jitteryand nervous and not in the least like going

to sleep. “Nice handcuffs. I can see whyyou didn’t put Jocelyn in here.”

“I needed something to hold thecurtains back.” Magnus shrugged. “Do youhave anything to sleep in?”

Isabelle just nodded, not wanting toadmit she’d brought Simon’s shirt with herfrom his apartment. Vampires didn’t reallysmell like anything, but the shirt stillcarried with it the faint, reassuring scentof his laundry soap. “It’s kind of weird,”she said. “You demanding I come overright away, only to put me to bed and tellme we’re getting started tomorrow.”

Magnus leaned against the wall by thedoor, his arms over his chest, and lookedat her through slitted cat eyes. For amoment he reminded her of Church, onlyless likely to bite. “I love your brother,”

he said. “You know that, right?”“If you want my permission to marry

him, go right ahead,” said Isabelle.“Autumn’s a nice time for it too. Youcould wear an orange tux.”

“He isn’t happy,” said Magnus, as ifshe hadn’t spoken.

“Of course he isn’t,” Isabelle snapped.“Jace—”

“Jace,” said Magnus, and his handsmade fists at his sides. Isabelle stared athim. She had always thought that he didn’tmind Jace; liked him, even, once thequestion of Alec’s affections had beensettled.

Out loud, she said, “I thought you andJace were friends.”

“It’s not that,” said Magnus. “There aresome people—people the universe seems

to have singled out for special destinies.Special favors and special torments. Godknows we’re all drawn toward what’sbeautiful and broken; I have been, butsome people cannot be fixed. Or if theycan be, it’s only by love and sacrifice sogreat that it destroys the giver.”

Isabelle shook her head slowly.“You’ve lost me. Jace is our brother, butfor Alec—He’s Jace’s parabatai, too.”

“I know about parabatai,” saidMagnus. “I’ve known parabatai so closethey were almost the same person. Do youknow what happens, when one of themdies, to the one who’s left—”

“Stop it!” Isabelle clapped her handsover her ears, then lowered them slowly.“How dare you, Magnus Bane?” she said.“How dare you make this worse than it

is.”“Isabelle.” Magnus’s hands loosened;

he looked a little wide-eyed, as if hisoutburst had startled even him. “I amsorry. I forget, sometimes… that with allyour self-control and strength, you possessthe same vulnerability that Alec does.”

“There is nothing weak about Alec,”said Isabelle.

“No,” said Magnus. “To love as youchoose, that takes strength. The thing is, Iwanted you here for him. There are thingsI can’t do for him, can’t give him.” For amoment Magnus looked oddly vulnerablehimself. “You have known Jace as long ashe has. You can give him understanding Ican’t. And he loves you.”

“Of course he loves me. I’m his sister.”“Blood isn’t love,” said Magnus, and

his voice was bitter. “Just ask Clary.”

Clary shot through the Portal as if throughthe barrel of a rifle and flew out the otherend. She tumbled toward the ground andstruck hard on her feet, sticking thelanding at first. The pose lasted only amoment before, too dizzy from the Portalto concentrate, she overbalanced and hitthe ground, her backpack cushioning herfall. She sighed—someday all the trainingreally would kick in—and got to her feet,brushing dust from the seat of her jeans.

She was standing in front of Luke’shouse. The river sparkled over hershoulder, the city rising behind it like aforest of lights. Luke’s house was just asthey had left it, hours ago, locked and

dark. Clary, standing on the dirt and stonepath that led up to the front steps,swallowed hard.

Slowly she touched the ring on herright hand with the fingers of her left.Simon?

The reply came immediately. Yeah?Where are you?Walking toward the subway. Did you

Portal home?Luke’s. If Jace comes like I think he

will, this is where he’ll come to.A silence. Then, Well, I guess you

know how to get me if you need me.I guess I do. Clary took a deep breath.

Simon?Yeah?I love you.A pause. I love you, too.

And that was all. There was no click,as when you hung up a phone; Clary justsensed a severing of their connection, as ifa cord had been cut inside her head. Shewondered if this was what Alec meantwhen he talked about the breaking of theparabatai bond.

She moved toward Luke’s house andslowly mounted the stairs. This was herhome. If Jace was going to come back forher, as he had mouthed to her that hewould, this is where he would come. Shesat down on the top step, pulled herbackpack onto her lap, and waited. Simon stood in front of the refrigerator inhis apartment and took a last swallow ofcold blood as the memory of Clary’ssilent voice faded out of his mind. He had

just gotten home, and the apartment wasdark, the hum of the refrigerator loud, andthe place smelled oddly of—tequila?Maybe Jordan had been drinking. Hisbedroom door was closed, anyway, notthat Simon blamed him for being asleep; itwas after four in the morning.

He shoved the bottle back into thefridge and headed for his room. It wouldbe the first night he’d slept at home in aweek. He’d grown used to havingsomeone to share a bed with, a body toroll against in the middle of the night. Heliked the way Clary fit against him, curledasleep with her head on her hand; and, ifhe had to admit it to himself, he liked thatshe couldn’t sleep unless he was with her.It made him feel indispensable and needed—even if the fact that Jocelyn didn’t

appear to care whether he slept in herdaughter’s bed or not did underscore thatClary’s mother apparently regarded himas about as sexually threatening as agoldfish.

Of course, he and Clary had sharedbeds often, from the time they were fiveuntil they were about twelve. That mighthave had something to do with it, hemused, pushing his bedroom door open.Most of those nights they’d spent engagedin torrid activities, like having contests tosee who could take the longest to eat asingle Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. Orthey’d sneaked in a portable DVD playerand—

He blinked. His room looked the same—bare walls, stacked plastic shelves withhis clothes on them, his guitar hanging on

the wall, and a mattress on the floor. Buton the bed was a single piece of paper—awhite square against the frayed blackblanket. The scrawled, looping hand wasfamiliar. Isabelle’s.

He picked it up and read:

Simon, I’ve been trying to callyou, but it seems like your phone isturned off. I don’t know where youare right now. I don’t know ifClary’s already told you whathappened tonight. But I have to goto Magnus’s and I’d really like youto be there.

I’m never scared, but I’m scaredfor Jace. I’m scared for my brother.

I never ask you for anything,Simon, but I’m asking you now.Please come.

Isabelle.

Simon let the letter fall from his hand.He was out of the apartment and on hisway down the steps before it had even hitthe floor.

When Simon came into Magnus’sapartment, it was quiet. There was a fireflickering in the grate, and Magnus sat infront of it on an overstuffed sofa, his feetup on the coffee table. Alec was asleep,his head in Magnus’s lap, and Magnuswas twirling strands of Alec’s black hair

between his fingers. The warlock’s gaze,on the flames, was remote and distant, asif he were looking back into the past.Simon couldn’t help but remember whatMagnus had said to him once, about livingforever:

Someday you and I will be the onlytwo left.

Simon shuddered, and Magnus lookedup. “Isabelle called you over, I know.” hesaid, speaking in a low voice so as not towake Alec. “She’s down the hall that way—the first bedroom on the left.”

Simon nodded and, with a salute inMagnus’s direction, headed off down thehall. He felt unusually nervous, as if hewere prepping for a first date. Isabelle, tohis recollection, had never demanded hishelp or his presence before, had never

acknowledged that she needed him in anyway.

He pushed open the door to the firstbedroom on the left and stepped inside. Itwas dark, the lights off; if Simon hadn’thad vampire sight, he probably wouldhave seen only blackness. As it was, hesaw the outlines of a wardrobe, chairswith clothes thrown over them, and a bed,covers thrown back. Isabelle was asleepon her side, her black hair fanning outacross the pillow.

Simon stared. He’d never seen Isabellesleeping before. She looked younger thanshe usually did, her face relaxed, her longeyelashes brushing the tops of hercheekbones. Her mouth was slightly open,her feet curled up under her. She waswearing only a T-shirt—his T-shirt, a

worn blue tee that said THE LOCH NESSMONSTER ADVENTURE CLUB: FINDINGANSWERS, IGNORING FACTS across thefront.

Simon closed the door behind him,feeling more disappointed than he hadexpected. It hadn’t occurred to him thatshe’d already be asleep. He’d beenwanting to talk to her, to hear her voice.He kicked his shoes off and lay downbeside her. She certainly took up morereal estate on the bed than Clary did.Isabelle was tall, almost his height,although when he put his hand on hershoulder, her bones felt delicate under histouch. He ran his hand down her arm.“Iz?” he said. “Isabelle?”

She murmured and turned her face intothe pillow. He leaned closer—she

smelled like alcohol and rose perfume.Well, that answered that. He had beenthinking about pulling her into his armsand kissing her gently, but “Simon Lewis,Molester of Passed-Out Women” wasn’treally the epitaph by which he wanted tobe remembered.

He lay down flat on his back and staredat the ceiling. Cracked plaster, marked bywater stains. Magnus really ought to getsomeone in here to do something aboutthat. As if sensing his presence, Isabellerolled sideways against him, her softcheek against his shoulder. “Simon?” shesaid groggily.

“Yeah.” He touched her face lightly.“You came.” She stretched her arm

across his chest, moving so that her headfit against his shoulder. “I didn’t think you

would.”His fingers traced patterns on her arm.

“Of course I came.”Her next words were muffled against

his neck. “Sorry I’m asleep.”He smiled to himself, a little, in the

dark. “It’s okay. Even if all you wantedwas for me to come here and hold youwhile you sleep, I would have done it.”

He felt her stiffen, and then relax.“Simon?”

“Yeah?”“Can you tell me a story?”He blinked. “What kind of story?”“Something where the good guys win

and the bad guys lose. And stay dead.”“So, like a fairy tale?” he said. He

racked his brain. He knew only the Disneyversions of fairy tales, and the first image

that came to mind was Ariel in herseashell bra. He’d had a crush on herwhen he was eight. Not that this seemedlike the time to mention it.

“No.” The word was an exhaledbreath. “We study fairy tales in school. Alot of that magic is real—but, anyway. No,I want something I haven’t heard yet.”

“Okay. I’ve got a good one.” Simonstroked Isabelle’s hair, feeling her lashesflutter against his neck as she closed hereyes. “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, faraway…”

Clary didn’t know how long she’d beensitting on Luke’s front steps when the sunbegan to come up. It rose behind hishouse, the sky turning a dark pinkish-rose,

the river a strip of steely blue. She wasshivering, had been shivering so long thather whole body seemed to have contractedinto a single hard shudder of cold. She hadused two warming runes, but they hadn’thelped; she had a feeling the shiveringwas psychological as much as anythingelse.

Would he come? If he was still asmuch Jace inside as she thought he was, hewould; when he had mouthed that hewould come back for her, she had knownthat he had meant as soon as possible.Jace was not patient. And he didn’t playgames.

But there was only so long she couldwait. Eventually the sun would rise. Thenext day would begin, and her motherwould be watching her again. She would

have to give up on Jace, for at leastanother day, if not longer.

She shut her eyes against the brightnessof the sunrise, resting her elbows on thestep above and behind her. For just amoment she let herself float in the fantasythat everything was as it had been, thatnothing had changed, that she would meetJace this afternoon for practice, or tonightfor dinner, and he would hold her andmake her laugh the way he always did.

Warm tendrils of sunlight touched herface. Reluctantly her eyes fluttered open.

And he was there, walking toward herup the steps, as soundless as a cat, asalways. He wore a dark blue sweater thatmade his hair look like sunlight. She satup straight, her heart pounding. Thebrilliant sunshine seemed to outline him in

light. She thought of that night in Idris,how the fireworks had streaked across thesky and she had thought of angels, fallingin fire.

He reached her and held his hands out;she took them, and let him pull her to herfeet. His pale gold eyes searched her face.“I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”

“Since when have you not been sure ofme?”

“You were pretty angry before.” Hecupped the side of her face in his hand.There was a rough scar across his palm;she could feel it against her skin.

“So if I hadn’t been here, what wouldyou have done?”

He drew her close. He was shiveringtoo, and the wind was blowing his curlinghair, messy and bright. “How is Luke?”

At the sound of Luke’s name, anothershudder went through her. Jace, thinkingshe was cold, pulled her more tightlyagainst him. “He’ll be all right,” she saidguardedly. It’s your fault, your fault,your fault.

“I never meant for him to get hurt.”Jace’s arms were around her, his fingerstracing a slow line up and down her spine.“Do you believe me?”

“Jace… ,” Clary said. “Why are youhere?”

“To ask you again. To come with me.”She closed her eyes. “And you won’t

tell me where that is?”“Faith,” he said softly. “You have to

have faith. But you also have to know—once you come with me, there’s no goingback. Not for a long time.”

She thought of the moment when she’dstepped outside of Java Jones and seenhim waiting for her there. Her life hadchanged in that moment in a way thatcould never be undone.

“There never has been any goingback,” she said. “Not with you.” Sheopened her eyes. “We should go.”

He smiled, as brilliant as the suncoming out from behind the clouds, andshe felt his body relax. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”He leaned forward and kissed her.

Reaching up to hold him, she tastedsomething bitter on his lips; then darknesscame down like a curtain signaling the endof the act of a play.

Part Two

Certain DarkThings

I love you as one loves certain darkthings

—Pablo Neruda, “Sonnet XVII”

8FIRE TESTS GOLD

Maia had never been to Long Island, butwhen she thought of it at all, she’d alwaysthought of it as being a lot like New Jersey—mostly suburban, a place where peoplewho worked in New York or Phillyactually lived.

She had dropped her bag into the backof Jordan’s truck—startlingly unfamiliar.He’d driven a beaten-up red Toyota whenthey’d been dating, and it had always beenlittered with old, crumpled coffee cups

and fast-food bags, the ashtray full ofcigarettes smoked down to the filter. Thecab of this truck was comparatively clean,the only detritus a stack of papers on thepassenger seat. He moved them aside withno comment as she climbed in.

They hadn’t spoken through Manhattanand onto the Long Island Expressway, andeventually Maia had dozed, her cheekagainst the cool glass of the window.She’d finally woken when they’d goneover a bump in the road, jolting herforward. She’d blinked, rubbing at hereyes.

“Sorry,” Jordan had said ruefully. “Iwas going to let you sleep until we gotthere.”

She’d sat up, looking around. They’dbeen driving down a two-lane blacktop

road, the sky around them just beginning tolighten. There were fields on either sideof the road, the occasional farmhouse orsilo, clapboard houses set far back withpicket fences around them.

“It’s pretty,” she’d said in surprise.“Yeah.” Jordan had changed gears,

clearing his throat. “Since you’re upanyway… Before we get to the PraetorHouse, can I show you something?”

She’d hesitated only a moment beforenodding. And now here they were,bumping down a one-lane dirt road, treeson either side. Most were leafless; theroad was muddy, and Maia cranked thewindow down to smell the air. Trees, saltwater, softly decaying leaves, smallanimals running through the high grass.She took another deep breath just as they

bumped off the road and onto a smallcircular turnaround space. In front of themwas the beach, stretching down to darksteel-blue water. The sky was almostlilac.

She looked over at Jordan. He wasstaring straight ahead. “I used to comehere while I was training at the PraetorHouse,” he said. “Sometimes just to lookat the water and clear my head. Thesunrises here… Every one is different, butthey’re all beautiful.”

“Jordan.”He didn’t look at her. “Yeah?”“I’m sorry about before. About running

off, you know, in the navy yard.”“It’s fine.” He let his breath out slowly,

but she could tell by the tension in hisshoulders, his hand gripping the gearshift,

that it wasn’t, not really. She tried not tolook at the way the tension shaped themuscles in his arm, accenting theindentation of his bicep. “It was a lot foryou to take in; I get that. I just…”

“I think we should take it slow. Worktoward being friends.”

“I don’t want to be friends,” he said.She couldn’t hide her surprise. “You

don’t?”He moved his hands from the gearshift

to the steering wheel. Warm air pouredfrom the heater inside the car, mixing withthe cooler air outside Maia’s openwindow. “We shouldn’t talk about thisnow.”

“I want to,” she said. “I want to talkabout it now. I don’t want to be stressinga b o ut us when we’re in the Praetor

House.”He slid down in his seat, chewing his

lip. His tangled brown hair fell forwardover his forehead. “Maia…”

“If you don’t want to be friends, thenwhat are we? Enemies again?”

He turned his head, his cheek againstthe back of the car seat. Those eyes, theywere just as she remembered, hazel withflecks of green and blue and gold. “I don’twant to be friends,” he said, “because Istill love you. Maia, you know I haven’teven so much as kissed anyone since webroke up?”

“Isabelle…”“Wanted to get drunk and talk about

Simon.” He took his hands off the steeringwheel, reached for her, then dropped themback into his lap, a defeated look on his

face. “I’ve only ever loved you. Thinkingabout you got me through my training. Theidea that I might be able to make it up toyou someday. And I will, in any way that Ican except for one.”

“You won’t be my friend.”“I won’t be just your friend. I love you,

Maia. I’m in love with you. I always havebeen. I always will be. Just being yourfriend would kill me.”

She looked out toward the ocean. Therim of the sun was just showing above thewater, its rays lighting the sea in shades ofpurple and gold and blue. “It’s sobeautiful here.”

“That’s why I used to come here. Icouldn’t sleep, and I’d watch the sun comeup.” His voice was soft.

“Can you sleep now?” She turned back

to him.He closed his eyes. “Maia… if you’re

going to say no, you don’t want to beanything but friends with me,… just say it.Rip the Band-Aid off, okay?”

He looked braced, as if for a blow. Hiseyelashes cast shadows on hischeekbones. There were pale white scarson the olive skin of his throat, scars shehad made. She unclipped her seat belt andscooted across the bench seat toward him.She heard his gasp of breath, but he didn’tmove as she leaned in and kissed hischeek. She inhaled the scent of him. Samesoap, same shampoo, but no lingeringscent of cigarettes. Same boy. She kissedacross his cheek, to the corner of hismouth, and finally, edging even closer, sether mouth over his.

His lips opened under hers and hegrowled, low in his throat. Werewolvesweren’t gentle with each other, but hishands were light on her as he lifted herand set her on his lap, wrapping his armsaround her as their kiss deepened. Thefeel of him, the warmth of his corduroy-covered arms around her, the beat of hisheart, the taste of his mouth, the clash oflips, teeth, and tongue, stole her breath.Her hands slipped around the back of hisneck, and she melted against him as shefelt the soft thick curls of his hair, exactlythe same as it had always been.

When they finally drew apart, his eyeswere glassy. “I’ve been waiting for thatfor years.”

She traced the line of his collarbonewith a finger. She could feel her own heart

beating. For a few moments they hadn’tbeen two werewolves on a mission to adeadly secret organization—they’d beentwo teenagers, making out in a car on thebeach. “Did it live up to yourexpectations?”

“It was much better.” His mouthcrooked up at the corner. “Does thismean…”

“Well,” she said. “That’s not the sortof thing you do with your friends, right?”

“Isn’t it? I’ll have to tell Simon. He’sgoing to be seriously disappointed.”

“Jordan.” She hit him lightly in theshoulder, but she was smiling, and so washe, an uncharacteristically big, goofy grinspreading over his face. She bent closeand put her face against the crook of hisneck, breathing him in along with the

morning.

They were battling across the frozenlake, the icy city glowing like a lamp inthe distance. The angel with the goldenwings and the angel with the wings likeblack fire. Clary stood on the ice asblood and feathers fell around her. Thegolden feathers burned like fire wherethey touched her skin, but the blackfeathers were as cold as ice.

Clary awoke with her heart pounding,tangled in a knot of blankets. She sat up,pushing the blankets to her waist. She wasin an unfamiliar room. The walls werewhite plaster, and she was lying in a bedmade of black wood, still wearing theclothes she’d worn the night before. She

slid out of the bed, her bare feet hitting thecold stone floor, and looked around forher backpack.

She found it easily, propped on a blackleather chair. There were no windows inthe room; the only light came from apendant glass light fixture overhead madeof cut black glass. She swept her handthrough the pack and realized to herannoyance, although without surprise, thatsomeone had already gone through thecontents. Her art box was gone, includingher stele. All that remained was herhairbrush and a change of jeans andunderwear. At least the gold ring was stillon her finger.

She touched it lightly and thought atSimon. I’m in.

Nothing.

Simon?There was no response. She

swallowed back her uneasiness. She hadno idea where she was, what time it was,or how long she’d been out cold. Simoncould be asleep. She couldn’t panic andassume the rings didn’t work. She had togo on autopilot. Check out where she was,learn what she could. She’d try Simonagain later.

She took a deep breath and tried tofocus on her immediate surroundings. Twodoors led off the bedroom. She tried thefirst, and found that it opened onto a smallglass-and-chrome bathroom with a copperclaw-footed bathtub. There were nowindows in here either. She showeredquickly and dried herself with a fluffywhite towel, then changed into clean jeans

and a sweater before padding back intothe bedroom, picking up her shoes, andtrying the second door.

Bingo. Here was the rest of the—house? Apartment? She was in a largeroom, half of which was devoted to a longglass table. More of the black pendant cut-glass lights hung from the ceiling, sendingdancing shadows against the walls.Everything was very modern, from theblack leather chairs to the large fireplace,framed in washed chrome. There was afire blazing in it. So someone else must behome, or must have been very recently.

The other half of the room was taken upwith a large television screen, a glossyblack coffee table on which werescattered games and controllers, and lowleather couches. A set of glass stairs led

upward in a spiral. After a glance aroundClary began to climb them. The glass wasperfectly clear, and lent the impressionthat she was climbing an invisiblestaircase into the sky.

The second floor was much like thefirst—pale walls, black floor, a longcorridor with doors opening off it. Thefirst door led into what was clearly amaster bedroom. A huge rosewood bed,hung with gauzy white curtains, took upmost of the space. There were windows inhere, tinted a dark blue. Clary went acrossthe room to look out.

She wondered for a moment if she wasback in Alicante. She was looking acrossa canal at another building, its windowscovered in closed green shutters. The skyabove was gray, the canal a dark greenish-

blue, and there was a bridge visible just ather right, crossing the canal. Two peoplewere standing on the bridge. One of themheld a camera to his face and wasindustriously taking photos. Not Alicante,then. Amsterdam? Venice? She lookedeverywhere for a way to open thewindow, but there didn’t appear to be one;she banged on the glass and shouted, butthe bridge-crossers took no notice. After afew moments they moved on.

Clary turned back into the bedroom andwent to one of the wardrobes, and threw itopen. Her heart skipped a beat. Thewardrobe was full of clothes—women’sclothes. Gorgeous dresses—lace and satinand beads and flowers. The drawers heldcamisoles and underwear, tops in cottonand silk, skirts but no jeans or pants.

There were even shoes lined up, sandalsand heels, and folded pairs of stockings.For a moment she just stared, wondering ifthere were another girl staying here, or ifSebastian had taken to cross-dressing. Butthe clothes all had the tags on them, andall of them were near her size. Not onlythat, she realized slowly, staring. Theywere exactly the shapes and colors thatwould suit her—blues and greens andyellows, cut for a petite frame. Eventuallyshe drew out one of the simpler tops, adark green cap-sleeved blouse with silklacing up the front. After discarding herworn top on the floor, she shrugged theblouse on and glanced at the mirrorhanging inside the wardrobe.

It fit perfectly. Made the most of hersmall figure, clinging to her waist,

darkening the green of her eyes. Sheyanked the tag off, not wanting to see howmuch it had cost, and hurried out of theroom, feeling a shiver run down her spine.

The next room was clearly Jace’s. Sheknew it the minute she walked in. Itsmelled like him, like his cologne andsoap and the scent of his skin. The bedwas ebonized wood with white sheets andblankets, perfectly made. It was as neat ashis room at the Institute. Books werestacked by his bed, the titles in Italian andFrench and Latin. The silver Herondaledagger with its pattern of birds wasjammed into the plaster wall. When shelooked closer, she could see that it waspinning a photograph in place. Aphotograph of herself and Jace, taken byIzzy. She remembered it, a clear day in

early October, Jace sitting on the frontsteps of the Institute, a book on his lap.She was sitting a step above him, her handon his shoulder, leaning forward to seewhat he was reading. His hand coveredhers, almost absently, and he was smiling.She hadn’t been able to see his face thatday, hadn’t known he was smiling likethat, not until now. Her throat contracted,and she went out of the room, catching herbreath.

She couldn’t act like this, she toldherself sternly. As if each sight of Jace theway he was now was a sucker punch tothe gut. She had to pretend that it didn’tmatter, as if she noticed no difference. Shewent into the next room, another bedroom,much like the one before it, but this onewas a mess—the bed a tangle of black silk

sheets and comforter, a glass and steeldesk covered with books and papers, boyclothes scattered everywhere. Jeans andjackets and T-shirts and gear. Her eye fellon something that gleamed silver, proppedon the nightstand near the bed. She movedforward, staring, unable to believe hereyes.

It was the small box of her mother’s,the one with the initials J.C. on it. The oneher mother used to take out every year,once a year, and weep over silently, thetears running down her face to splash ontoher hands. Clary knew what was in thebox—a lock of hair, as fine and white asdandelion fluff; scraps from a child’sshirt; a baby shoe, small enough to fitinside the palm of her hand. Bits andpieces of her brother, a sort of collage of

the child her mother had wanted to have,had dreamed of having, before Valentinehad done what he had and turned his ownson into a monster.

J.C.Jonathan Christopher.Her stomach twisted, and she backed

up quickly out of the room—directly into awall of living flesh. Arms came aroundher, wrapping her tight, and she saw thatthey were slim and muscular, downedwith fine pale hair, and for a moment shethought it was Jace holding her. She beganto relax.

“What were you doing in my room?”Sebastian said into her ear.

Isabelle had been trained to wake early

every morning, rain or shine, and a slighthangover did nothing to prevent it fromhappening again. She sat up slowly andblinked down at Simon.

She’d never spent an entire night in abed with anyone else, unless you countedcrawling into her parents’ bed when shewas four and afraid of thunderstorms. Shecouldn’t help staring at Simon as if hewere some exotic species of animal. Helay on his back, his mouth slightly open,his hair in his eyes. Ordinary brown hair,ordinary brown eyes. His T-shirt waspulled up slightly. He wasn’t muscularlike a Shadowhunter. He had a smooth flatstomach but no six-pack, and there wasstill a hint of softness to his face. Whatwas it about him that fascinated her? Hewas plenty cute, but she had dated

gorgeous faerie knights, sexyShadowhunters.…

“Isabelle,” Simon said without openinghis eyes. “Quit staring at me.”

Isabelle sighed irritably and swungherself out of bed. She rummaged in herbag for her gear, retrieved it, and headedout to find the bathroom.

It was halfway down the hall, and thedoor was just opening, Alec emerging in acloud of steam. He had a towel around hiswaist and another around his shouldersand was rubbing energetically at his wetblack hair. Isabelle supposed sheshouldn’t be surprised to see him; he’dbeen trained to wake up early in themorning just like she had.

“You smell like sandalwood,” she saidby way of greeting. She hated the smell of

sandalwood. She liked sweet scents—vanilla, cinnamon, gardenia.

Alec looked at her. “We likesandalwood.”

Isabelle made a face. “Either that’s theroyal ‘we’ or you and Magnus are turninginto one of those couples that think they’reone person. ‘We like sandalwood.’ ‘Weadore the symphony.’ ‘ We hope you enjoyour Christmas present’—which, if you askme, is just a cheap way of avoiding havingto buy two gifts.”

Alec blinked wet lashes at her. “You’llunderstand—”

“If you tell me I’ll understand when I’min love, I’ll smother you with that towel.”

“And if you keep preventing me fromgoing back to my room and gettingdressed, I’ll get Magnus to summon up

pixies to tie your hair in knots.”“Oh, get out of my way.” Isabelle

kicked at Alec’s ankle until he moved,unhurriedly, down the hall. She had thefeeling if she turned around and looked athim he’d be sticking his tongue out at her,so she didn’t look. Instead she lockedherself in the bathroom and turned on theshower, full steam. Then she looked at therack of shower products and said anunladylike word.

Sandalwood shampoo, conditioner, andsoap. Ugh.

When she finally emerged, dressed inher gear and with her hair up, she foundAlec, Magnus, and Jocelyn waiting for herin the living room. There were doughnuts,which she didn’t want, and coffee, whichshe did. She poured a liberal amount of

mi l k into it and sat back, looking atJocelyn, who was also dressed—toIsabelle’s surprise—in Shadowhuntergear.

It was odd, she mused. People oftentold her she looked like her mother, thoughshe didn’t see it herself, and shewondered now if it was in the same waythat Clary looked like Jocelyn. The samecolor hair, yes, but also the same cast offeatures, the same tilt of the head, the samestubborn set to the jaw. The same sensethat this person might look like a porcelaindoll but was steel underneath. Although,Isabelle wished that, in the same way thatClary had gotten her mother’s green eyes,she’d gotten Maryse and Robert’s blueones. Blue was so much more interestingthan black.

“As with the Silent City, there is onlyone Adamant Citadel, but there are manydoors through which one may find it,” saidMagnus. “The closest to us is the oldAugustinian Monastery on Grymes Hill, inStaten Island. Alec and I will Portal withyou there and wait for you to return, butwe can’t go with you all the way.”

“I know,” said Isabelle. “Becauseyou’re boys. Cooties.”

Alec pointed a finger at her. “Take thisseriously, Isabelle. The Iron Sisters aren’tlike the Silent Brothers. They’re way lessfriendly and they don’t like beingbothered.”

“I promise I’ll be on my bestbehavior,” Isabelle said, and set herempty coffee mug down on the table.“Let’s go.”

Magnus looked at her suspiciously fora moment, then shrugged. His hair wasgelled up today into a million sharppoints, and his eyes were smudged withblack, making them look more catlike thanever. He moved past her to the wall,already murmuring in Latin; the familiaroutline of a Portal, its arcane door shapeoutlined with glittering symbols, began totake form. Wind rose, cool and sharp,blowing back the tendrils of Isabelle’shair.

Jocelyn stepped forward first, andwalked through the Portal. It was a littlelike watching someone disappear into theside of a wave of water: A silvery hazeseemed to swallow her in, dulling thecolor of her red hair as she vanished intoit with a faint shimmer.

Isabelle went next. She was used to thestomach-dropping feeling of transportationby Portal. There was a soundless roar inher ears and no air in her lungs. Sheclosed her eyes, then opened them againas the whirlwind released her and she fellinto dry brush. She rose to her feet,brushing dead grass from her knees, andsaw Jocelyn looking at her. Clary’smother opened her mouth—and closed itagain as Alec appeared, dropping into thevegetation beside Isabelle, and thenMagnus, the shimmering half-seen Portalclosing behind him.

Even the trip through the Portal had notdisarranged Magnus’s hair spikes. Hetugged on one proudly. “Check it out,” hesaid to Isabelle.

“Magic?”

“Hair gel. $3.99 at Ricky’s.”Isabelle rolled her eyes at him and

turned to take in her new surroundings.They stood atop a hill, its peak covered indry brush and withered grass. Lowerdown were autumn-blackened trees, andin the far distance Isabelle saw cloudlesssky and the top of the Verrazano-NarrowsBridge connecting Staten Island toBrooklyn. As she turned, Isabelle saw themonastery behind her, rising out of thedull foliage. It was a large building of redbrick, most of its windows smashed out orboarded over. It was tagged here and therewith graffiti. Turkey vultures, disturbed bythe travelers’ arrival, circled thedilapidated bell tower.

Isabelle squinted at it, wondering ifthere was a glamour to be peeled off. If

so, it was a strong one. Try as she might,she couldn’t see anything but the ruinousbuilding before her.

“There’s no glamour,” said Jocelyn,startling Isabelle. “What you see is whatyou get.”

Jocelyn trudged toward it, her bootscrushing down the dry vegetation in frontof her. After a moment Magnus shruggedand followed her, and Isabelle and Aleccame after. There was no path; branchesgrew in tangles, dark against the clear air,and the foliage underfoot crackled withdryness. As they neared the building,Isabelle saw that patches of the dry grasswere burned away where pentagrams andrunic circles had been spray-painted intothe grass.

“Mundanes,” said Magnus, lifting a

branch out of Isabelle’s way. “Playingtheir little games with magic, not reallyunderstanding it. They’re often drawn toplaces like this—centers of power—without really knowing why. They drinkand hang out and spray-paint the walls,like you could leave a human mark onmagic. You can’t.” They had reached aboarded-up door in the brick wall.“We’re here.”

Isabelle looked hard at the door. Againthere was no sense that a glamour coveredit, although if she concentrated hard, afaint shimmer grew visible, like sunshineglancing off water. A look passedbetween Jocelyn and Magnus. Jocelynturned to Isabelle. “You’re ready?”

Isabelle nodded, and without furtherado Jocelyn stepped forward and

vanished through the boards of the door.Magnus looked expectantly at Isabelle.

Alec leaned closer to her, and she feltthe brush of his hand on her shoulder.“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll be fine,Iz.”

She raised her chin. “I know,” she said,and followed Jocelyn through the door.

Clary sucked in her breath, but before shecould reply, there was a step on the stairs,and Jace appeared at the end of thehallway. Sebastian immediately let her goand spun her around. With a smile like awolf’s, he ruffled her hair. “Good to seeyou, little sister.”

Clary was speechless. Jace, though,wasn’t; he moved toward them

soundlessly. He was wearing a blackleather jacket, a white T-shirt and jeans,and was barefoot. “Were you huggingClary?” He looked at Sebastian inamazement.

Sebastian shrugged. “She’s my sister.I’m pleased to see her.”

“You don’t hug people,” Jace said.“I ran out of time to bake a casserole.”“It was nothing,” Clary said, waving a

dismissive hand at her brother. “I tripped.He was just keeping me from fallingover.”

If Sebastian was surprised to hear herdefend him, he didn’t show it. He wasexpressionless as she moved across thecorridor, toward Jace, who kissed her onthe cheek, his fingers cool against herskin. “What were you doing up here?”

Jace asked.“Looking for you.” She shrugged. “I

woke up and couldn’t find you. I thoughtmaybe you were asleep.”

“I see you discovered the clothesstash.” Sebastian indicated her shirt with agesture. “Do you like them?”

Jace shot him a look. “We were outgetting food,” he said to Clary. “Nothingfancy. Bread and cheese. You wantlunch?”

Which was how, several minutes later,Clary found herself installed at the bigglass and steel table. From thecomestibles spread out over the table, shefigured that her second guess had beenright. They were in Venice. There wasbread, Italian cheeses, salami andprosciutto, grapes and fig jam, and bottles

of Italian wine. Jace sat across from her,Sebastian at the head of the table. She waseerily reminded of the night she had metValentine, at Renwick’s in New York,how he had put himself between Jace andClary at the head of a table, how he hadoffered them wine and told them they werebrother and sister.

She sneaked a glance at her realbrother now. She thought of how hermother had looked when she’d seen him.Valentine. But Sebastian wasn’t a carboncopy of their father. She had seen picturesof Valentine when he was their age.Sebastian’s face tempered her father’shard features with her mother’s prettiness;he was tall but less broad-shouldered,more lithe and catlike. He had Jocelyn’scheekbones and fine soft mouth,

Valentine’s dark eyes and white-blondhair.

He looked up then, as if he had caughther staring at him. “Wine?” He offered thebottle.

She nodded, though she had never muchliked the taste of wine, and sinceRenwick’s she had hated it. She clearedher throat as Sebastian filled the glass.“So,” she said. “This place—is it yours?”

“It was our father’s,” said Sebastian,setting the bottle down. “Valentine’s. Itmoves, in and out of worlds—ours andothers. He used to use it as a retreat aswell as a mode of travel. He brought mehere a few times, showed me how to get inand out and how to make it travel.”

“There’s no front door.”“There is if you know how to find it,”

said Sebastian. “Dad was very cleverabout this place.”

Clary looked at Jace, who shook hishead. “He never showed it to me. Iwouldn’t have guessed it existed either.”

“It’s very… bachelor pad,” Clary said.“I wouldn’t have thought of Valentineas…”

“Owning a flat-screen TV?” Jacegrinned at her. “Not that it gets channels,but you can watch DVDs on it. Back at themanor we had an old icebox powered bywitchlight. Here he’s got a Sub-Zerofridge.”

“That was for Jocelyn,” said Sebastian.Clary looked up. “What?”“All the modern stuff. The appliances.

And the clothes. Like that shirt you’rewearing. They were for our mother. In

case she decided to come back.”Sebastian’s dark eyes met hers. She felt alittle sick. This is my brother, and we’retalking about our parents. She felt dizzy—too much happening too fast to take in,to process. She had never had time tothink about Sebastian as her living,breathing brother. By the time she’d foundout who he really was, he’d been dead.

“Sorry if it’s weird,” Jace saidapologetically, indicating her shirt. “Wecan buy you some other clothes.”

Clary touched the sleeve lightly. Thefabric was silky, fine, expensive. Well,that explained that—everything close toher size, everything in colors that suitedher. Because she looked just like hermother.

She took a deep breath. “It’s fine,” she

said. “It’s just—What do you do exactly?Just travel around inside this apartmentand…”

“See the world?” Jace said lightly.“There’s worse things.”

“But you can’t do that forever.”Sebastian hadn’t eaten much, but he’d

drunk two glasses of wine. He was on histhird, and his eyes were glittering. “Whynot?”

“Well, because—because the Clave islooking for both of you, and you can’tspend forever running and hiding…”Clary’s voice trailed off as she lookedfrom one of them to the other. They weresharing a look—the look of two peoplewho knew something, together, that no oneelse did. It was not a look Jace had sharedwith someone else in front of her in a very

long time.Sebastian spoke softly and slowly.

“Are you asking a question or making anobservation?”

“She has a right to know our plans,”Jace said. “She came here knowing shecouldn’t go back.”

“A leap of faith,” said Sebastian,running his finger around the rim of hisglass. It was something Clary had seenValentine do. “In you. She loves you.That’s why she’s here. Isn’t it?”

“So what if it is?” Clary said. Shesupposed she could pretend there wasanother reason, but Sebastian’s eyes weredark and sharp, and she doubted he’dbelieve her. “I trust Jace.”

“But not me,” Sebastian said.Clary chose her next words with

extreme care. “If Jace trusts you, then Iwant to trust you,” she said. “And you’remy brother. That counts for something.”The lie tasted bitter in her mouth. “But Idon’t really know you.”

“Then, maybe you should spend a littletime getting to know me,” Sebastian said.“And then we’ll tell you our plans.”

We’ll tell you. Our plans. In his mindthere was a him and Jace; there was noJace and Clary.

“I don’t like keeping her in the dark,”Jace said.

“We’ll tell her in a week. Whatdifference does a week make?”

Jace gave him a look. “Two weeks agoyou were dead.”

“Well, I wasn’t suggesting two weeks,”said Sebastian. “That would be insane.”

Jace’s mouth quirked up at the corner.He looked at Clary.

“I’m willing to wait for you to trustme,” she said, knowing it was the right,smart thing to say. Hating to say it.“However long it takes.”

“A week,” Jace said.“A week,” agreed Sebastian. “And that

means she stays here in the apartment. Nocommunication with anyone. No unlockingthe door for her, no going in and out.”

Jace leaned back. “What if I’m withher?”

Sebastian gave him a long look fromunder lowered eyelashes. His look wascalculating. He was deciding what he wasgoing to allow Jace to do, Clary realized.He was deciding how much leash to givehis “brother.” “Fine,” he said at last, his

voice rich with condescension. “If you’rewith her.”

Clary looked down at her wineglass.She heard Jace reply in a mumur butcouldn’t look at him. The idea of a Jacewho was allowed to do things—Jace, whoalways did whatever he wanted—madeher sick to her stomach. She wanted to getup and smash the wine bottle overSebastian’s head, but she knew it wasimpossible. Cut one, and the otherbleeds.

“How’s the wine?” It was Sebastian’svoice, an undercurrent of amusement plainin his tone.

She drained the glass, choking on thebitter flavor. “Delicious.”

Isabelle emerged in an alien landscape. Adeep green plain swept out before herunder a lowering gray-black sky. Isabellepulled up the hood of her gear and peeredout, fascinated. She had never seen such agreat, overarching expanse of sky, or sucha vast plain—it was shimmering, jewel-toned, the shade of moss. As Isabelle tooka step forward, she realized it was moss,growing on and around the black rocksscattered across the coal-colored earth.

“It’s a volcanic plain,” Jocelyn said.She was standing beside Isabelle, and thewind was pulling red-gold strands of herhair out of its tightly pinned bun. Shelooked so much like Clary that it waseerie. “These were lava beds once. Thewhole area is probably volcanic to somedegree. Working with adamas, the Sisters

need incredible heat for their forges.”“You’d think it would be a little

warmer, then,” Isabelle muttered.Jocelyn cast her a dry look, and started

walking, in what seemed to Isabelle arandomly chosen direction. She scrambledto follow. “Sometimes you’re so muchlike your mother you astound me a little,Isabelle.”

“I take that as a compliment.” Isabellenarrowed her eyes. No one insulted herfamily.

“It wasn’t meant as an insult.”Isabelle kept her eyes on the horizon,

where the dark sky met the jewel-greenground. “How well did you know myparents?”

Jocelyn gave her a quick sidewayslook. “Well enough, when we were all in

Idris together. I hadn’t seen them for yearsuntil recently.”

“Did you know them when they gotmarried?”

The path Jocelyn was taking had begunto slant uphill, so her reply was slightlybreathless. “Yes.”

“Were they… in love?”Jocelyn stopped short and turned to

look at Isabelle. “Isabelle, what is thisabout?”

“Love?” Isabelle suggested, after amoment’s pause.

“I don’t know why you’d think I’d bean expert on that.”

“Well, you managed to keep Lukehanging around for his whole life,basically, before you agreed to marry him.That’s impressive. I wish I had that kind

of power over a guy.”“You do,” said Jocelyn. “Have it, I

mean. And it isn’t something to wish for.”She pushed her hands up through her hair,and Isabelle felt a little jolt. For all thatJocelyn looked like her daughter, her thinlong hands, flexible and delicate, wereSebastian’s. Isabelle remembered slicingone of those hands off, in a valley in Idris,her whip cutting through skin and bone.“Your parents aren’t perfect, Isabelle,because no one’s perfect. They’recomplicated people. And they just lost achild. So if this is about your fatherstaying in Idris—”

“My father cheated on my mother,”Isabelle blurted out, and nearly coveredher own mouth with her hand. She hadkept this secret, kept it for years, and to

say it out loud to Jocelyn seemed like abetrayal, despite everything.

Jocelyn’s face changed. It heldsympathy now. “I know.”

Isabelle took a sharp breath. “Doeseveryone know?”

Jocelyn shook her head. “No. A fewpeople. I was… in a privileged positionto know. I can’t say more than that.”

“Who was it?” Isabelle demanded.“Who did he cheat on her with?”

“It was no one you know, Isabelle—”“You don’t know who I know!”

Isabelle’s voice rose. “And stop sayingmy name that way, as if I’m a little kid.”

“It’s not my place to tell you,” Jocelynsaid flatly, and began to walk again.

Isabelle scrambled after her, even asthe path took a steeper turn upward, a wall

of green rising to meet the thunderous sky.“I have every right to know. They’re myparents. And if you don’t tell me, I—”

She stopped, inhaling sharply. Theyhad reached the top of the ridge, andsomehow, in front of them, a fortress hadsprung like a fast-blooming flower out ofthe ground. It was carved of white-silveradamas, reflecting the cloud-streaked sky.Towers topped with electrum reachedtoward the sky, and the fortress wassurrounded by a high wall, also ofadamas, in which was set a single gate,formed of two great blades plunged intothe ground at angles, so that theyresembled a monstrous pair of scissors.

“The Adamant Citadel,” said Jocelyn.“Thanks,” Isabelle snapped. “I figured

that out.”

Jocelyn made the noise that Isabellewas familiar with from her own parents.Isabelle was pretty sure it was parent-speak for “Teenagers.” Then Jocelynstarted down the hill to the fortress.Isabelle, tired of scrambling, stalkedahead of her. She was taller than Clary’smother and had longer legs, and saw noreason why she should wait for Jocelyn ifthe other woman was going to persist intreating her like a child. She stompeddown the hill, crushing moss under herboots, ducked through the scissorlike gates—

And froze. She was standing on a smalloutcropping of rock. In front of her theearth dropped away into a vast chasm, atthe bottom of which boiled a river of red-gold lava, encircling the fortress. Across

the chasm, much too far to jump—even fora Shadowhunter—was the only visibleentrance to the fortress, a closeddrawbridge.

“Some things,” said Jocelyn at herelbow, “are not as simple as they firstappear.”

Isabelle jumped, then glared. “So notthe place to sneak up on someone.”

Jocelyn simply crossed her arms overher chest and raised her eyebrows.“Surely Hodge taught you the propermethod of approaching the AdamantCitadel,” she said. “After all, it is open toall female Shadowhunters in goodstanding with the Clave.”

“Of course he did,” said Isabellehaughtily, scrambling mentally toremember. Only those with Nephilim

blood… She reached up and took one ofthe metal chopsticks from her hair. Whenshe twisted its base, it popped and clickedand unfolded into a dagger with a Rune ofCourage on the blade.

Isabelle raised her hands over thechasm. “Ignis aurum probat,” she said,and used the dagger to cut open her leftpalm; it was a swift searing pain, andblood ran from the cut, a ruby stream thatsplattered into the chasm below. Therewas a flash of blue light, and a creakingnoise. The drawbridge was slowlylowering.

Isabelle smiled and wiped the blade ofher knife on her gear. After another twist,it had become a slim metal chopstickagain. She slid it back into her hair.

“Do you know what that means?” asked

Jocelyn, her eyes on the lowering bridge.“What?”“What you just said. The motto of the

Iron Sisters.”The drawbridge was almost flat. “It

means ‘Fire tests gold.’”“Right,” said Jocelyn. “They don’t just

mean forges and metalwork. They meanthat adversity tests one’s strength ofcharacter. In difficult times, in dark times,some people shine.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Izzy. “Well, I’m sickof dark and difficult times. Maybe I don’twant to shine.”

The drawbridge crashed at their feet.“If you’re anything like your mother,” saidJocelyn, “you won’t be able to help it.”

9THE IRON SISTERS

Alec raised the witchlight rune-stone highin his hand, brilliant light raying out fromit, spotlighting now one corner of the CityHall station and then another. He jumpedas a mouse squeaked, running across thedusty platform. He was a Shadowhunter;he had been in many dark places, but therewas something about the abandoned air ofthis station that made a cold shiver run uphis spine.

Perhaps it was the chill of disloyalty he

had felt, slipping away from his guardpost on Staten Island and heading downthe hill to the ferry the moment Magnushad left. He hadn’t thought about what hewas doing; he’d just done it, as if he wereon autopilot. If he hurried, he was sure hecould be back before Isabelle and Jocelynreturned, before anyone realized he hadever been gone.

Alec raised his voice. “Camille!” hecalled. “Camille Belcourt!”

He heard a light laugh; it echoed off thewalls of the station. Then she was there, atthe top of the stairs, the brilliance of hiswitchlight rendering her a silhouette.“Alexander Lightwood,” she said. “Comeupstairs.”

She vanished. Alec followed hisdarting witchlight up the steps, and found

Camille where he had before, in the lobbyof the station. She was dressed in thefashion of a bygone era—a long velvetdress nipped in at the waist, her hairdressed high in white-blond curls, her lipsdark red. He supposed she was beautiful,though he wasn’t the best judge offeminine appeal, and it didn’t help that hehated her.

“What’s with the costume?” hedemanded.

She smiled. Her skin was very smoothand white, without dark lines—she hadfed recently. “A masquerade balldowntown. I fed quite well. Why are youhere, Alexander? Starved for goodconversation?”

If he were Jace, Alec thought, he’dhave a smart remark for that, some kind of

pun or cleverly disguised put-down. Alecjust bit his lip and said, “You told me tocome back if I was interested in what youwere offering.”

She ran a hand along the back of thedivan, the only piece of furniture in theroom. “And you’ve decided that you are.”

Alec nodded.She chuckled. “You understand what

you’re asking for?”Alec’s heart was pounding. He

wondered if Camille could hear it. “Yousaid you could make Magnus mortal. Likeme.”

Her full lips thinned. “I did,” she said.“I must admit, I doubted your interest. Youleft rather hastily.”

“Don’t play with me,” he said. “I don’twant what you’re offering that badly.”

“Liar,” she said casually. “Or youwouldn’t be here.” She moved around thedivan, coming close to him, her eyesraking his face. “Up close,” she said, “youdo not look so much like Will as I hadthought. You have his coloring, but adifferent shape to your face… perhaps aslight weakness to your jaw—”

“Shut up,” he said. Okay, it wasn’tJace-level wit, but it was something. “Idon’t want to hear about Will.”

“Very well.” She stretched,languorously, like a cat. “It was manyyears ago, when Magnus and I werelovers. We were in bed together, afterquite a passionate evening.” She saw himflinch, and grinned. “You know how it iswith pillow talk. One reveals one’sweaknesses. Magnus spoke to me of a

spell that existed, one that might beundertaken to rid a warlock of theirimmortality.”

“So why don’t I just find out what thespell is and do it?” Alec’s voice rose andcracked. “Why do I need you?”

“First, because you’re a Shadowhunter;you’ve no idea how to work a spell,” shesaid calmly. “Second, because if you doit, he’ll know it was you. If I do it, he willassume it is revenge. Spite on my part.And I do not care what Magnus thinks. Butyou do.”

Alec looked at her steadily. “Andyou’re going to do this for me as a favor?”

She laughed, like tinkling bells. “Ofcourse not,” she said. “You do a favor forme, and I will do one for you. That is howthese matters are conducted.”

Alec’s hand tightened around thewitchlight rune-stone until the edges cutinto his hand. “And what favor do youwant from me?”

“It’s very simple,” she said. “I wantyou to kill Raphael Santiago.”

The bridge that crossed the crevassesurrounding the Adamant Citadel waslined with knives. They were sunk, pointupward, at random intervals along thepath, so that it was possible to cross thebridge only very slowly, by picking yourway with dexterity. Isabelle had littletrouble but was surprised to see howlightly Jocelyn, who hadn’t been an activeShadowhunter in fifteen years, made herway.

By the time Isabelle had reached theopposite side of the bridge, her dexteritasrune had vanished into her skin, leaving afaint white mark behind. Jocelyn was onlya step behind her, and as aggravating asIsabelle found Clary’s mother, she wasglad in a moment, when Jocelyn raised herhand and a witchlight rune-stone blazedforth, illuminating the space they stood in.

The walls were hewn from white-silver adamas, so that a dim light seemedto glow from within them. The floor wasdemon-stone as well, and carved into thecenter of it was a black circle. Inside thecircle the symbol of the Iron Sisters wascarved—a heart punctured through andthrough by a blade.

Whispering voices made Isabelle tearher gaze from the floor and look up. A

shadow had appeared inside one of thesmooth white walls—a shadow growingever clearer, ever closer. Suddenly aportion of the wall slid back and a womanstepped out.

She wore a long, loose white gown,bound tightly at the wrists and under herbreasts with silver-white cord—demonwire. Her face was both unwrinkled andancient. She could have been any age. Herhair was long and dark, hanging in a thickbraid down her back. Across her eyes andtemples was an intricately curlicuedtattooed mask, encircling both her eyes,which were the orange color of leapingflames.

“Who calls on the Iron Sisters?” shesaid. “Speak your names.”

Isabelle looked toward Jocelyn, who

gestured that she should speak first. Shecleared her throat. “I am Isabelle Light-wood, and this is Jocelyn Fr—Fairchild.We have come to ask your help.”

“ J o c e l yn Morgenstern,” said thewoman. “Born Fairchild, but you cannotso easily erase the taint of Valentine fromyour past. Have you not turned your backon the Clave?”

“It is true,” said Jocelyn. “I am outcast.But Isabelle is a daughter of the Clave.Her mother—”

“Runs the New York Institute,” said thewoman. “We are remote here but notwithout sources of information; I am nofool. My name is Sister Cleophas, and Iam a Maker. I shape the adamas for theother sisters to carve. I recognize thatwhip you wind so cunningly around your

wrist.” She indicated Isabelle. “As forthat bauble about your throat—”

“If you know so much,” said Jocelyn,as Isabelle’s hand crept to the ruby at herneck, “then do you know why we arehere? Why we have come to you?”

Sister Cleophas’s eyelids lowered andshe smiled slowly. “Unlike our speechlessbrethren, we cannot read minds here in theFortress. Therefore we rely upon anetwork of information, most of it veryreliable. I assume this visit has somethingto do with the situation involving JaceLightwood—as his sister is here—andyour son, Jonathan Morgenstern.”

“We have a conundrum,” said Jocelyn.“Jonathan Morgenstern plots against theClave, like his father. The Clave hasissued a death warrant against him. But

Jace—Jonathan Lightwood—is very muchloved by his family, who have done nowrong, and by my daughter. Theconundrum is that Jace and Jonathan arebound, by very ancient blood magic.”

“Blood magic? What sort of bloodmagic?”

Jocelyn took Magnus’s folded notesfrom the pocket of her gear and handedthem over. Cleophas studied them with herintent fiery gaze. Isabelle saw with a startthat the fingers of her hands were verylong—not elegantly long but grotesquelyso, as if the bones had been stretched sothat each hand resembled an albino spider.Her nails were filed to points, each tippedwith electrum.

She shook her head. “The Sisters havelittle to do with blood magic.” The flame

color of her eyes seemed to leap and thendim, and a moment later another shadowappeared behind the frosted-glass surfaceof the adamas wall. This time Isabellewatched more closely as a second IronSister stepped through. It was likewatching someone emerge from a haze ofwhite smoke.

“Sister Dolores,” said Cleophas,handing Magnus’s notes to the newarrival. She looked much like Cleophas—the same tall narrow form, the same whitedress, the same long hair, though in thiscase her hair was gray, and bound at theends of her two braids with gold wire.Despite her gray hair, her face waslineless, her fire-colored eyes bright.“Can you make sense of this?”

Dolores glanced over the pages briefly.

“A twinning spell,” she said. “Much likeour own parabatai ceremony, but itsalliance is demonic.”

“What makes it demonic?” Isabelledemanded. “If the parabatai spell isharmless—”

“Is it?” said Cleophas, but Doloresshot her a quelling look.

“ T h e parabatai ritual binds twoindividuals but leaves their wills free,”Dolores explained. “This binds two butmakes one subordinate to the other. Whatthe primary of the two believes, the otherwill believe; what the first one wants, thesecond will want. It essentially removesthe free will of the secondary partner inthe spell, and that is why it is demonic.For free will is what makes us Heaven’screatures.”

“It also seems to mean that when one iswounded, the other is wounded,” saidJocelyn. “Might we presume the sameabout death?”

“Yes. Neither will survive the death ofthe other. This again is not part of ourparabatai ritual, for it is too cruel.”

“Our question to you is this,” saidJocelyn. “Is there any weapon forged, orthat you might create, that could harm onebut not the other? Or that might cut themapart?

Sister Dolores looked down at thenotes, then handed them to Jocelyn. Herhands, like those of her colleague, werelong and thin and as white as floss. “Noweapon we have forged or could everforge might do that.”

Isabelle’s hand tightened at her side,

her nails cutting into her palm. “You meanthere’s nothing?”

“Nothing in this world,” said Dolores.“A blade of Heaven or Hell might do it.The sword of the Archangel Michael, thatJoshua fought with at Jericho, for it isinfused with heavenly fire. And there areblades forged in the blackness of the Pitthat might aid you, though how one mightbe obtained, I do not know.”

“And we would be prevented fromtelling you by the Law if we did know,”said Cleophas with asperity. “Youunderstand, of course, that we will alsohave to tell the Clave about this visit ofyours—”

“What about Joshua’s sword?”interrupted Isabelle. “Can you get that? Orcan we?”

“Only an angel can gift you thatsword,” said Dolores. “And to summon anangel is to be blasted with heavenly fire.”

“But Raziel—,” Isabelle began.Cleophas’s lips thinned into a straight

line. “Raziel left us the Mortal Instrumentsthat he might be called upon in a time ofdirest need. That one chance was wastedwhen Valentine summoned him. We shallnever be able to compel his might again. Itwas a crime to use the Instruments in thatmanner. The only reason that ClarissaMorgenstern escapes culpability is that itwas her father who summoned him, notherself.”

“My husband also summoned anotherangel,” said Jocelyn. Her voice was quiet.“The angel Ithuriel. He kept himimprisoned for many years.”

Both Sisters hesitated before Doloresspoke. “It is the bleakest of crimes toentrap an angel,” she said. “The Clavecould never approve it. Even if you couldsummon one, you could never force it todo your bidding. There is no spell for that.You could never get an angel to give youthe archangel’s sword; you can take byforce from an angel, but there is no greatercrime. Better that your Jonathan die thanthat an angel be so besmirched.”

At that, Isabelle, whose temper hadbeen rising, exploded. “That’s theproblem with you—all of you, the IronSisters and the Silent Brothers. Whateverthey do to change you from Shadowhuntersto what you are, it takes all the feelingsout of you. We might be part angel, butwe’re part human, too. You don’t

understand love, or the things people dofor love, or family—”

The flame leaped in Dolores’s orangeeyes. “I had a family,” she said. “Ahusband and children, all murdered bydemons. There was nothing left to me. Ihad always had a skill with shaping thingswith my hands, so I became an Iron Sister.The peace it has brought me is peace Ithink I would never have found elsewhere.It is for that reason I chose the nameDolores, “sorrow.” So do not presume totell us what we do or do not know aboutpain, or humanity.”

“You don’t know anything,” Isabellesnapped. “You’re as hard as demon-stone.No wonder you surround yourselves withit.”

“Fire tempers gold, Isabelle

Lightwood,” said Cleophas.“Oh, shut up,” Isabelle said. “You’ve

been very unhelpful, both of you.”She turned on the heel of her boot, spun

away, and stalked back across the bridge,barely taking note of where the knivesturned the path into a death trap, letting herbody’s training guide her. She reached theother side and strode through the gates;only when she was outside them did shebreak down. Kneeling among the moss andvolcanic rocks, under the great gray sky,she let herself shake silently, though notears came.

It seemed ages before she heard a softstep beside her, and Jocelyn knelt and puther arms around her. Oddly, Isabellefound that she didn’t mind. Though she hadnever much liked Jocelyn, there was

something so universally motherly in hertouch that Isabelle leaned into it, almostagainst her own will.

“Do you want to know what they said,after you left?” Jocelyn asked, afterIsabelle’s trembling had slowed.

“I’m sure something about how I’m adisgrace to Shadowhunters everywhere, etcetera.”

“Actually, Cleophas said you’d makean excellent Iron Sister, and if you wereever interested to let them know.”Jocelyn’s hand stroked her hair lightly.

Despite everything, Isabelle chokedback a laugh. She looked up at Jocelyn.“Tell me,” she said.

Jocelyn’s hand stop moving. “Tell youwhat?”

“Who it was. That my father had the

affair with. You don’t understand. Everytime I see a woman my mother’s age, Iwonder if it was her. Luke’s sister. TheConsul. You—”

Jocelyn sighed. “It was AnnamarieHighsmith. She died in Valentine’s attackon Alicante. I doubt you ever knew her.”

Isabelle’s mouth opened, then closedagain. “I’ve never even heard her namebefore.”

“Good.” Jocelyn tucked a lock ofIsabelle’s hair back. “Do you feel anybetter, now that you know?”

“Sure,” Isabelle lied, staring down atthe ground. “I feel a lot better.”

After lunch Clary had returned to thedownstairs bedroom with the excuse that

she was exhausted. With the door firmlyclosed she had tried contacting Simonagain, though she realized, given the timedifference between where she was now—Italy—and New York, there was everychance he was asleep. At least she prayedhe was asleep. It was far preferable tohope for that than to consider thepossibility that the rings might not work.

She had been in the bedroom for onlyabout half an hour when a knock soundedat the door. She called, “Come in,”moving to lean back on her hands, herfingers curled in as if she could hide thering.

The door swung open slowly, and Jacelooked down at her from the doorway. Sheremembered another night, summer heat, aknock on her door. Jace. Clean, in jeans

and a gray shirt, his washed hair a haloof damp gold. The bruises on his facewere already fading from purple to faintgray, and his hands were behind hisback.

“Hey,” he said. His hands were inplain sight now, and he was wearing asoft-looking sweater the color of bronzethat brought out the gold in his eyes. Therewere no bruises on his face, and theshadows she had almost grown used toseeing under his eyes were gone.

Is he happy like this? Really happy?And if he is, what are you saving himfrom?

Clary pushed away the tiny voice in herhead and forced a smile. “What’s up?”

He grinned. It was a wicked grin, thekind that made the blood in Clary’s veins

run a little faster. “You want to go on adate?”

Caught off guard, she stammered. “Awh-what?”

“A date,” Jace repeated. “Often ‘aboring thing you have to memorize inhistory class,’ but in this case, ‘an offer ofan evening of blisteringly white-hotromance with yours truly.’”

“Really?” Clary was not sure what tomake of this. “Blisteringly white-hot?”

“It’s me,” said Jace. “Watching meplay Scrabble is enough to make mostwomen swoon. Imagine if I actually put insome effort.”

Clary sat up and looked down atherself. Jeans, silky green top. She thoughtabout the cosmetics in that odd shrine-likebedroom. She couldn’t help it; she was

wishing for a little lip gloss.Jace held his hand out. “You look

gorgeous,” he said. “Let’s go.”She took his hand and let him pull her

to her feet. “I don’t know…”“Come on.” His voice had that self-

mocking, seductive tone she rememberedfrom when they had first been getting toknow each other, when he’d brought herup to the greenhouse to show her theflower that bloomed at midnight. “We’rein Italy. Venice. One of the most beautifulcities in the world. Shame not to see it,don’t you think?”

Jace pulled her forward, so she fellagainst his chest. The material of his shirtwas soft under her fingers, and he smelledlike his familiar soap and shampoo. Herheart took a sweeping dive inside her

chest. “Or we could stay in,” he said,sounding a little breathless.

“So I can swoon watching you make atriple-word score?” With an effort shepulled back from him. “And spare me thejokes about scoring.”

“Dammit, woman, you read my mind,”he said. “Is there no filthy wordplay youcan’t foresee?”

“It’s my special magical power. I canread your mind when you’re thinking dirtythoughts.”

“So, ninety-five percent of the time.”She craned her head back to look up at

him. “Ninety-five percent? What’s theother five percent?”

“Oh, you know, the usual—demons Imight kill, runes I need to learn, peoplewho’ve annoyed me recently, people

who’ve annoyed me not so recently,ducks.”

“Ducks?”He waved her question away. “All

right. Now watch this.” He took hershoulders and turned her gently, so theywere both facing the same way. A momentlater—she wasn’t sure how—the walls ofthe room seemed to melt away aroundthem, and she found herself stepping outonto cobblestones. She gasped, turning tolook behind her, and saw only a blankwall, windows high up in an old stonebuilding. Rows of similar houses lined thecanal they stood beside. If she craned herhead to the left, she could see in thedistance that the canal opened out into amuch larger waterway, lined with grandbuildings. Everywhere was the smell of

water and stone.“Cool, huh?” Jace said proudly.She turned and looked at him.

“Ducks?” she said again.A smile tugged the edge of his mouth.

“I hate ducks. Don’t know why. I justalways have.”

It was early morning when Maia andJordan arrived at Praetor House, theheadquarters of the Praetor Lupus. Thetruck clanked and bumped over the longwhite drive that swept through manicuredlawns to the massive house that rose likethe prow of a ship in the distance. Behindit Maia could see strips of trees, andbehind that, the blue water of the Soundsome distance away.

“This is where you did your training?”she demanded. “This place is gorgeous.”

“Don’t be fooled,” Jordan said with asmile. “This place is boot camp, emphasison the ‘boot.’”

She looked sideways at him. He wasstill smiling. He had been, pretty muchnonstop, since she’d kissed him down bythe beach at dawn. Part of Maia felt as if ahand had lifted her up and dropped herback into her past, when she’d lovedJordan beyond anything she’d everimagined, and part of her felt totally adrift,as if she’d woken up in a completelyforeign landscape, far from the familiarityof her everyday life and the warmth of thepack.

It was very peculiar. Not bad, shethought. Just… peculiar.

Jordan came to a stop at a circulardrive in front of the house, which, upclose, Maia could see was built of blocksof golden stone, the tawny color of a wolfpelt. Black double doors were set at thetop of a massive stone staircase. In thecenter of the circular drive was a massivesundial, its raised face telling her that itwas seven in the morning. Around theedge of the sundial, words were carved: IONLY MARK THE HOURS THAT SHINE.

She unlocked her door and jumpeddown from the cab just as the doors of thehouse opened and a voice rang out:“Praetor Kyle!”

Jordan and Maia both looked up.Descending the stairs was a middle-agedman in a charcoal suit, his blond hairstreaked with gray. Jordan, smoothing all

expression from his face, turned to him.“Praetor Scott,” he said. “This is MaiaRoberts, of the Garroway pack. Maia, thisis Praetor Scott. He runs the PraetorLupus, pretty much.”

“Since the 1800s the Scotts havealways run the Praetor,” said the man,glancing at Maia, who inclined her head, asign of submission. “Jordan, I have toadmit, we did not expect you back againso soon. The situation with the vampire inManhattan, the Daylighter—”

“Is in hand,” Jordan said hastily.“That’s not why we’re here. Thisconcerns something quite different.”

Praetor Scott raised his eyebrows.“Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

“It’s a matter of some urgency,” saidMaia. “Luke Garroway, our pack’s leader

—”Praetor Scott gave her a sharp look,

silencing her. Though he might have beenpackless, he was an alpha, that much wasclear from his bearing. His eyes, under histhick eyebrows, were green-gray; aroundhis throat, under the collar of his shirt,sparkled the bronze pendant of thePraetor, with its imprint of a wolf’s paw.“The Praetor chooses what matters it willregard as urgent,” he said. “Nor are we ahotel, open to uninvited guests. Jordantook a chance in bringing you here, and heknows that. If he were not one of our mostpromising graduates, I might well sendyou both away.”

Jordan hooked his thumbs into thewaistband of his jeans and looked at theground. A moment later Praetor Scott set

his hand on Jordan’s shoulder.“But,” he said, “you are one of our

most promising graduates. And you lookexhausted; I can see you were up all night.Come, and we’ll discuss this in myoffice.”

The office turned out to be down a longand winding hallway, elegantly paneled indark wood. The house was lively with thesound of voices, and a sign saying HOUSERULES was pinned to the wall beside astaircase leading up.

HOUSE RULES

No shape-shifting in the hallways. No howling. No silver.

Clothes must be worn at all times.ALL TIMES. No fighting. No biting. Mark all your food before you put it

in the communal refrigerator.

The smell of cooking breakfast waftedthrough the air, making Maia’s stomachgrumble. Praetor Scott sounded amused.“I’ll have someone make us up a plate ofsnacks if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks,” Maia muttered. They hadreached the end of a hallway, and PraetorScott opened a door marked OFFICE.

The older werewolf’s eyebrows drewtogether. “Rufus,” he said. “What are youdoing here?”

Maia peered past him. The office wasa large room, comfortably messy. There

was a rectangular picture window thatgave out onto wide lawns, on whichgroups of mostly young people wereexecuting what looked like drillmaneuvers, wearing black warm-up pantsand tops. The walls of the room werelined with books about lycanthropy, manyin Latin, but Maia recognized the word“lupus.” The desk was a slab of marbleset upon the statues of two snarlingwolves.

In front of it were two chairs. In one ofthem sat a large man—a werewolf—hunched over, his hands gripped together.“Praetor,” he said in a grating voice. “Ihad hoped to speak with you regarding theincident in Boston.”

“The one in which you broke yourassigned charge’s leg?” the Praetor said

dryly. “I will be speaking to you about it,Rufus, but not this moment. Somethingmore pressing calls me.”

“But, Praetor—”“That will be all, Rufus,” said Scott in

the ringing tone of an alpha wolf whoseorders were not to be challenged.“Remember, this is a place ofrehabilitation. Part of that is learning torespect authority.”

Muttering under his breath, Rufus rosefrom the chair. Only when he stood up didMaia realize, and react to, his enormoussize. He towered over both her andJordan, his black T-shirt straining over hischest, the sleeves about to split around hisbiceps. His head was closely shaved, hisface scored with deep claw marks allacross one cheek, like furrows dug in soil.

He gave her a sour look as he stalked pastthem and out into the hall.

“Of course some of us,” Jordanmuttered, “are easier to rehabilitate thanothers.”

As Rufus’s heavy tread faded down thehall, Scott threw himself into the high-backed chair behind the desk and buzzed ajoltingly modern-looking intercom. Afterrequesting breakfast in a terse voice, heleaned back, hands clasped behind hishead.

“I’m all ears,” he said.As Jordan recounted their story, and

their request, to Praetor Scott, Maiacouldn’t keep her eyes and mind fromwandering. She wondered what it wouldhave been like to have been raised here, inthis elegant house of rules and regulations,

rather than with the comparatively lawlessfreedom of the pack. At some point awerewolf dressed all in black—it seemedto be the regulation outfit of the Praetor—came in with sliced roast beef, cheese,and protein drinks on a pewter tray. Maiaeyed the breakfast with some dismay. Itwas true that werewolves needed moreprotein than normal people, much more,but roast beef for breakfast?

“You’ll find,” Praetor Scott said asMaia drank her protein shake gingerly,“that, in fact, refined sugar is harmful towerewolves. If you cease consuming it fora period of time, you will cease desiringit. Hasn’t your pack leader told you that?”

Maia tried to imagine Luke, who likedto make pancakes in odd and amusingshapes, lecturing her about sugar, and

failed. Now was not the time to mentionthat, though. “No, he has, of course,” shesaid. “I tend to, ah, backslide in times ofstress.”

“I understand your concern for yourpack leader,” said Scott. A gold Rolexglinted on his wrist. “Normally wemaintain a strict policy of noninterferenceregarding matters not related to new-fledged Downworlders. We do not, infact, prioritize werewolves over otherDownworlders, though only lycanthropesare allowed into the Praetor.”

“But that’s exactly why we do needyour help,” said Jordan. “Packs are bytheir nature always moving, transitional.They have no opportunity to build upthings like libraries of stored knowledge.I’m not saying they don’t have wisdom,

but everything is an oral tradition andevery pack knows different things. Wecould go from pack to pack, and maybesomeone would know how to cure Luke,but we don’t have time. Here”—hegestured at the books lining the walls—“isthe closest thing werewolves have to, say,the archives of the Silent Brothers or theSpiral Labyrinth of the warlocks.”

Scott looked unconvinced. Maia set herprotein shake down. “And Luke isn’t justany pack leader,” she said. “He’s thelyncanthrope’s representative on theCouncil. If you helped cure him, youwould know that the Praetor wouldalways have a Council voice in theirfavor.”

Scott’s eyes glinted. “Interesting,” hesaid. “Very well. I’ll have a look through

the books. It’ll probably take a few hours.Jordan, I suggest that if you’re going todrive back to Manhattan you get some rest.We don’t need you wrapping your truckaround a tree.”

“I could drive—,” Maia began.“You look equally exhausted. Jordan,

as you know, there will always be a roomfor you here at the Praetor House, eventhough you’ve graduated. And Nick is onassignment, so there’s a bed for Maia.Why don’t you both get some rest, and I’llcall you down when I’m finished.” Heswiveled around in his chair to examinethe books on the walls.

Jordan gestured to Maia that this wastheir cue to leave; she stood up, brushingcrumbs off her jeans. She was halfway tothe door when Praetor Scott spoke again.

“Oh, and Maia Roberts,” he said, andhis voice held a note of warning. “I hopeyou understand that when you makepromises in other people’s names, it fallsupon your head to make sure they followthrough.”

Simon awoke still feeling exhausted,blinking in the darkness. The thick blackcurtains over the windows let in very littlelight, but his internal body clock told himit was daytime. That and the fact thatIsabelle was gone, her side of the bedrumpled, the covers turned back.

Daytime, and he hadn’t talked to Clarysince she’d gone. He drew his hand outfrom under the covers and looked at thegold ring on his right hand. Delicate, it

was etched with what were either designsor words in an alphabet he didn’t know.

Clenching his jaw, he sat up andtouched the ring. Clary?

The answer was immediate and clear.He nearly slid off the bed with relief.Simon. Thank God.

Can you talk?No. He felt rather than heard a tense

distraction in the voice of her mind. I’mglad you spoke to me, but now isn’t good.I’m not alone.

But you’re all right?I’m fine. Nothing’s happened yet. I’m

trying to gather information. I promiseI’ll talk to you the moment I hearanything.

Okay. Take care of yourself.You too.

And she was gone. Sliding his legsover the side of the mattress, Simon didhis best to flatten his sleep-mussed hair,and went to see if anyone else was awake.

They were. Alec, Magnus, Jocelyn, andIsabelle sat around the table in Magnus’sliving room. While Alec and Magnuswere in jeans, both Jocelyn and Isabellewore gear, Isabelle with her whipwrapped around her right arm. Sheglanced up as he came in but didn’t smile;her shoulders were tense, her mouth a thinline. They all had mugs of coffee in frontof them.

“There’s a reason the ritual of theMortal Instruments was so complicated.”Magnus made the sugar bowl float over tohimself and dumped some of the whitepowder into his coffee. “Angels act at the

behest of God, not human beings—noteven Shadowhunters. Summon one, andyou’re likely to find yourself blasted withdivine wrath. The whole point of theMortal Instruments ritual wasn’t that itallowed someone to summon Raziel. Itwas that it protected the summoner fromthe Angel’s wrath once he did appear.”

“Valentine—,” Alec began.“Yes, Valentine also summoned a very

minor angel. And it never spoke to him,did it? Never gave him a sliver of help,though he harvested its blood. And eventhen he must have been using incrediblypowerful spells just to bind it. Myunderstanding is that he tied its life to theWayland manor, so that when the angeldied the manor collapsed to rubble.” Hetapped a blue-painted fingernail on his

mug. “And he damned himself. Whetheryou believe in Heaven and Hell or not, hedamned himself surely. When hesummoned Raziel, Raziel struck himdown. Partly in revenge for whatValentine had done to his brother angel.”

“Why are we talking about summoningangels?” Simon asked, perching himselfon the end of the long table.

“Isabelle and Jocelyn went to see theIron Sisters,” said Alec. “Looking for aweapon that could be used on Sebastianthat wouldn’t affect Jace.”

“And there isn’t one?”“Nothing in this world,” said Isabelle.

“A Heavenly weapon might do it, orsomething with a seriously demonicalliance. We were exploring the firstoption.”

“Summoning up an angel to give you aweapon?”

“It’s happened before,” said Magnus.“Raziel gave the Mortal Sword toJonathan Shadowhunter. In the old stories,the night before the battle of Jericho, anangel appeared and gave Joshua a sword.”

“Huh,” said Simon. “I would havethought angels would have been all aboutpeace, not weapons.”

Magnus snorted. “Angels are not justmessengers. They are soldiers. Michael issaid to have routed armies. They are notpatient, angels. Certainly not with thevicissitudes of human beings. Anyone whotried to summon Raziel without the MortalInstruments to protect them wouldprobably be blasted to death on the spot.Demons are easier to summon. There are

more of them, and many are weak. Butthen, a weak demon can help you only somuch—”

“We can’t summon a demon,” saidJocelyn, aghast. “The Clave—”

“I thought you stopped caring what theClave thought of you years ago,” Magnussaid.

“It’s not just me,” said Jocelyn. “Therest of you. Luke. My daughter. If theClave knew—”

“Well, they won’t know, will they?”said Alec, his usually gentle voice edged.“Unless you tell them.”

Jocelyn looked from Isabelle’s stillface to Magnus’s inquiring one, to Alec’sstubborn blue eyes. “You’re reallyconsidering this? Summoning a demon?”

“Well, not just any demon,” said

Magnus. “Azazel.”Jocelyn’s eyes blazed. “Azazel?” Her

eyes scanned the others, as if looking forsupport, but Izzy and Alec glanced downat their mugs, and Simon just shrugged.

“I don’t know who Azazel is,” he said.“Isn’t he the cat from The Smurfs?” Hecast about, but Isabelle just looked up androlled her eyes at him. Clary? he thought.

Her voice came through, tinged withalarm. What is it? What’s happened? Didmy mom find out I’m gone?

Not yet, he thought back. Is Azazel thecat from The Smurfs?

There was a long pause. That’s Azrael,Simon. And no more using the magicrings for Smurf questions.

And she was gone. Simon glanced upfrom his hand and saw Magnus looking at

him quizzically. “He’s not a cat,Sylvester,” he said. “He’s a GreaterDemon. Lieutenant of Hell and Forger ofWeapons. He was an angel who taughtmankind how to make weapons, whenbefore it had been knowledge only angelspossessed. That caused him to fall, andnow he is a demon. ‘And the whole earthhas been corrupted by the works that weretaught by Azazel. To him ascribe all sin.’”

Alec looked at Magnus in amazement.“How did you know all that?”

“He’s a friend of mine,” said Magnus,and, noting their expressions, sighed.“Okay, not really. But it is in the Book ofEnoch.”

“Seems dangerous.” Alec frowned. “Itsounds like he’s beyond a Greater Demon,even. Like Lilith.”

“Fortunately, he is already bound,”said Magnus. “If you summon him, hisspirit form will come to you but hiscorporeal self will remain bound to thejagged rocks of Duduael.”

“The jagged rocks of… Oh, whatever,”Isabelle said, winding her long dark hairinto a bun. “He’s the demon of weapons.Fine. I say we give it a go.”

“I can’t believe you’re evenconsidering this,” said Jocelyn. “I learnedfrom watching my husband what dabblingin raising demons can do. Clary—” Shebroke off then, as if sensing Simon’s gazeon her, and turned. “Simon,” she said, “doyou know, is Clary awake yet? We’vebeen letting her sleep, but it’s almosteleven.”

Simon hesitated. “I don’t know.” This,

he reasoned, was true. Wherever Clarywas, she could be asleep. Even though hehad just talked to her.

Jocelyn looked puzzled. “But weren’tyou in the room with her?”

“No, I wasn’t. I was—” Simon brokeoff, realizing the hole he’d just dughimself. There were three sparebedrooms. Jocelyn had been in one, Clarythe other. Which would obviously mean hemust have slept in the third room with—

“Isabelle?” said Alec, his eyebrowsraised. “You slept in Isabelle’s room?”

Isabelle waved a hand. “No need toworry, big brother. Nothing happened. Ofcourse,” she added as Alec’s shouldersrelaxed, “I was totally passed-out drunk,so he could really have done whatever hewanted and I wouldn’t have woken up.”

“Oh, please,” said Simon. “All I didwas tell you the entire plot of Star Wars.”

“I don’t think I remember that,” saidIsabelle, taking a cookie from the plate onthe table.

“Oh, yeah? Who was LukeSkywalker’s best childhood friend?”

“Biggs Darklighter,” Isabelle saidimmediately, and then hit the table withthe flat of her hand. “That is so cheating!”Still, she grinned at him around hercookie.

“Ah,” said Magnus. “Nerd love. It is abeautiful thing, while also being an objectof mockery and hilarity for those of uswho are more sophisticated.”

“All right, that’s enough.” Jocelynstood up. “I’m going to get Clary. If you’regoing to raise a demon, I don’t want to be

here, and I don’t want my daughter hereeither.” She headed toward the hallway.

Simon blocked her way. “You can’t dothat,” he said.

Jocelyn looked at him with a set face.“I know you’re going to say that this is thesafest place for us, Simon, but with ademon being raised, I just—”

“It’s not that.” Simon took a deepbreath, which didn’t help, since his bloodno longer processed oxygen. He feltslightly sick. “You can’t go wake her upbecause… because she isn’t here.”

10THE WILD HUNT

Jordan’s old room at the Praetor Houselooked like any dormitory room at anycollege. There were two iron-framedbeds, each set against a different wall.Through the window separating themgreen lawns were visible three floorsdown. Jordan’s side of the room wasfairly bare—it looked as if he had takenmost of his photographs and books withhim to Manhattan—though there weresome tacked-up pictures of beaches and

the ocean, and a surfboard leaning againstone wall. A little jolt went through Maiaas she saw that on the bedside table was agold-framed photo of her with Jordan,taken at Ocean City, the boardwalk andthe beach behind them.

Jordan looked at the photograph andthen at her, and blushed. He slung his bagonto his bed and stripped off his jacket,his back to her.

“When will your roommate be back?”she asked into the suddenly uncomfortablesilence. She wasn’t sure why they wereboth embarrassed. They certainly hadn’tbeen when they’d been in the trucktogether, but now, here in Jordan’s space,the years they had spent not speakingseemed to press them apart.

“Who knows? Nick’s on assignment.

They’re dangerous. He might not comeback.” Jordan sounded resigned. Hetossed his jacket over the back of a chair.“Why don’t you lie down? I’m going totake a shower.” He headed for thebathroom, which, Maia was relieved tosee, was attached to his room. She didn’tfeel like dealing with one of those shared-bathroom-down-the-hall things.

“Jordan—,” she began, but he’dalready closed the bathroom door behindhim. She could hear water running. With asigh she kicked off her shoes and laydown on the absent Nick’s bed. Theblanket was dark blue plaid, and smelledlike pinecones. She looked up and sawthat the ceiling was wallpapered withphotographs. The same laughing blondboy, who looked about seventeen, smiled

down at her out of each picture. Nick, sheguessed. He looked happy. Had Jordanbeen happy, here at the Praetor House?

She reached out and flipped thephotograph of the two of them toward her.It had been taken years ago, when Jordanwas skinny, with big hazel eyes thatdominated his face. They had their armsaround each other and looked sunburnedand happy. Summer had darkened boththeir skins and put light streaks in Maia’shair, and Jordan had his head turnedslightly toward her, as if he were going tosay something or kiss her. She couldn’tremember which. Not anymore.

She thought of the boy whose bed shewas sitting on, the boy who might nevercome back. She thought of Luke, slowlydying, and of Alaric and Gretel and

Justine and Theo and all the others of herpack who had lost their lives in the waragainst Valentine. She thought of Max, andof Jace, two Lightwoods lost—for, shehad to admit in her heart, she didn’t thinkthey would ever get Jace back. And lastlyand strangely she thought of Daniel, thebrother she had never mourned for, and toher surprise she felt tears sting the backsof her eyes.

She sat up abruptly. She felt as if theworld were tilting and she was clingingon helplessly, trying to keep from tumblinginto a black abyss. She could feel theshadows closing in. With Jace lost andSebastian out there, things could only getdarker. There would only be more lossand more death. She had to admit, the mostalive she’d felt in weeks had been those

moments at dawn, kissing Jordan in hiscar.

As if she were in a dream, she foundherself getting to her feet. She walkedacross the room and opened the door tothe bathroom. The shower was a square offrosted glass; she could see Jordan’ssilhouette through it. She doubted he couldhear her over the running water as shepulled off her sweater and shimmied outof her jeans and underwear. With a deepbreath she crossed the room, slid theshower door open, and stepped inside.

Jordan spun around, pushing the wethair out of his eyes. The shower wasrunning hot, and his face was flushed,making his eyes shine as if the water hadpolished them. Or maybe it wasn’t just thewater making the blood rise under his skin

a s his eyes took her in—all of her. Shelooked back at him steadily, notembarrassed, watching the way thePraetor Lupus pendant shone in the wethollow of his throat, and the slide of thesoap suds over his shoulders and chest ashe stared at her, blinking water out of hiseyes. He was beautiful, but then she hadalways thought so.

“Maia?” he said unsteadily. “Areyou… ?”

“Shh.” She put her finger against hislips, drawing the shower door closed withher other hand. Then she stepped closer,wrapping both arms around him, lettingthe water wash both of them clean of thedarkness. “Don’t talk. Just kiss me.”

So he did.

“What in the name of the Angel do youmean Clary isn’t there?” Jocelyndemanded, white-faced. “How do youknow that, if you just woke up? Where hasshe gone?”

Simon swallowed. He had grown upwith Jocelyn as almost a second mother tohim. He was used to her protectiveness ofher daughter, but she had always seen himas an ally in that, someone who wouldstand between Clary and the dangers ofthe world. Now she was looking at himlike the enemy. “She texted me lastnight… ,” Simon began, then stopped asMagnus waved him over to the table.

“You might as well sit down,” he said.Isabelle and Alec were watching wide-eyed from either side of Magnus, but thewarlock didn’t look particularly

surprised. “Tell us all what’s going on. Ihave a feeling this is going to take awhile.”

It did, though not as long as Simonmight have hoped. When he was doneexplaining, hunched over on his chair andstaring down at Magnus’s scratched table,he lifted his head to see Jocelyn fixing himwith a green stare as cold as arctic water.“You let my daughter go off… withJace… to some unfindable, untraceableplace where none of us can reach her?”

Simon looked down at his hands. “I canreach her,” he said, holding up his righthand with the gold ring on the finger. “Itold you. I heard from her this morning.She said she was fine.”

“You never should have let her leavein the first place!”

“I didn’t let her. She was going to goanyway. I thought she might as well havesome kind of a lifeline, since it’s not like Icould stop her.”

“To be fair,” said Magnus, “I don’tthink anyone could. Clary does what shewants.” He looked at Jocelyn. “You can’tkeep her in a cage.”

“ I trusted you,” she snapped atMagnus. “How did she get out?”

“She made a Portal.”“But you said there were wards—”“To keep threats out, not to keep guests

in. Jocelyn, your daughter isn’t stupid, andshe does what she thinks is right. Youcan’t stop her. No one can stop her. She isa great deal like her mother.”

Jocelyn looked at Magnus for amoment, her mouth slightly open, and

Simon realized that of course Magnusmust have known Clary’s mother when shewas young, when she betrayed Valentineand the Circle and nearly died in theUprising. “She’s a little girl,” she said,and turned to Simon. “You’ve spoken toher? Using these—these rings? Since sheleft?”

“This morning,” said Simon. “She saidshe was fine. That everything was fine.”

Instead of seeming reassured, Jocelynonly looked angrier. “I’m sure that’s whats h e said. Simon, I can’t believe youallowed her to do this. You should haverestrained her—”

“What, tied her up?” Simon said indisbelief. “Handcuffed her to the dinertable?”

“If that’s what it took. You’re stronger

than she is. I’m disappointed in—”Isabelle stood up. “Okay, that’s

enough.” She glared at Jocelyn. “It istotally and completely unfair to yell atSimon over something Clary decided todo on her own. And if Simon had tied herup for you, then what? Were you planningon keeping her tied up forever? You’dhave to let her go eventually, and thenwhat? She wouldn’t trust Simon anymore,and she already doesn’t trust you becauseyou stole her memories. And that, if Irecall, was because you were trying toprotect her. Maybe if you hadn’t protectedher so much, she would know more aboutwhat is dangerous and what isn’t, and be alittle less secretive—and less reckless!”

Everyone stared at Isabelle, and for amoment Simon was reminded of

something that Clary had said to him once—that Izzy rarely made speeches, butwhen she did, she made them count.Jocelyn was white around the lips.

“I’m going to the station to be withLuke,” she said. “Simon, I expect reportsfrom you every twenty-four hours that mydaughter is all right. If I don’t hear fromyou every night, I’m going to the Clave.”

And she stalked out of the apartment,slamming the door behind her so hard thata long crack appeared in the plasterbeside it.

Isabelle sat back down, this timebeside Simon. He said nothing to her butheld out his hand, and she took it, slippingher fingers between his.

“So,” Magnus said finally, breaking thesilence. “Who’s up for raising Azazel?

Because we’re going to need a whole lotof candles.”

Jace and Clary spent the day wandering—through mazelike tiny streets than ranalong canals whose water ranged fromdeep green to murky blue. They made theirway among the tourists in Saint Mark’sSquare, and over the Bridge of Sighs, anddrank small, powerful cups of espresso atCaffè Florian. The disorienting maze ofstreets reminded Clary a bit of Alicante,though Alicante lacked Venice’s feeling ofelegant decay. There were no roads here,no cars, only twisting little alleys, andbridges arching over canals whose waterwas as green as malachite. As the skyoverhead darkened to the deep blue of late

autumn twilight, lights began to go on—intiny boutiques, in bars and restaurants thatseemed to appear out of nowhere anddisappear again into shadow as she andJace passed, leaving light and laughterbehind.

When Jace asked Clary if she wasready for dinner, she nodded firmly, yes.She had begun to feel guilty that she hadgotten no information out of him and thatshe was, actually, enjoying herself. Asthey crossed over a bridge to theDorsoduro, one of the quieter sections ofthe city, away from the tourist throng, shedetermined that she would get somethingout of him that night, something worthrelaying to Simon.

Jace held her hand firmly as they wentover a final bridge and the street opened

out into a great square on the side of anenormous canal the size of a river. Thebasilica of a domed church rose on theirright. Across the canal more of the city litthe evening, throwing illumination onto thewater, which shifted and glimmered withlight. Clary’s hands itched for chalk andpencils, to draw the light as it faded out ofthe sky, the darkening water, the jaggedoutlines of the buildings, their reflectionsslowly dimming in the canal. Everythingseemed washed with a steely blueness.Somewhere church bells were chiming.

She tightened her hand on Jace’s. Shefelt very far away here from everything inher life, distant in a way that she had notfelt in Idris. Venice shared with Alicantethe sense of being a place out of time, tornfrom the past, as if she had stepped into a

painting or the pages of a book. But it wasalso a real place, one she had grown upknowing about, wanting to visit. Shelooked sidelong at Jace, who was gazingdown the canal. The steely blue light wason him, too, darkening his eyes, theshadows under his cheekbones, the linesof his mouth. When he caught her gaze onhim, he looked over and smiled.

He led her around the church and downa flight of mossy steps to a path along thecanal. Everything smelled of wet stoneand water and dampness and years. As thesky darkened, something broke the surfaceof the canal water a few feet from Clary.She heard the splash and looked in time tosee a green-haired woman rise from thewater and grin at her; she had a beautifulface but sharklike teeth and a fish’s

yellow eyes. Pearls were wound throughher hair. She sank again below the water,without a ripple.

“Mermaid,” said Jace. “There are oldfamilies of them that have lived here inVenice a long, long time. They’re a littleodd. They do better in clean water, far outto sea, living on fish instead of garbage.”He looked toward the sunset. “The wholecity is sinking,” he said. “It’ll all be underwater in a hundred years. Imagineswimming down into the ocean andtouching the top of Saint Mark’sBasilica.” He pointed across the water.

Clary felt a flicker of sadness at thethought of all this beauty being lost. “Isn’tthere anything they can do?”

“To raise a whole city? Or hold backthe ocean? Not much,” Jace said. They

had come to a set of stairs leading up. Thewind came off the water and lifted hisdark gold hair off his forehead, his neck.“All things tend toward entropy. Thewhole universe is moving outward, thestars pulling away from one another, Godknows what falling through the cracksbetween them.” He paused. “Okay, thatsounded a little crazy.”

“Maybe it was all the wine at lunch.”“I can hold my liquor.” They turned a

corner, and a fairyland of lights gleamedout at them. Clary blinked, her eyesadjusting. It was a small restaurant withtables set outside and inside, heat lampswound with Christmas lights like a forestof magical trees between the tables. Jacedetached himself from her long enough toget them a table, and soon they were

sitting by the side of the canal, listening tothe splash of water against stone and thesound of small boats bobbing up anddown with the tide.

Tiredness was beginning to wash overClary in waves, like the lap of wateragainst the sides of the canal. She toldJace what she wanted and let him order inItalian, relieved when the waiter wentaway so she could lean forward and resther elbows on the table, her head on herhands.

“I think I have jet lag,” she said.“Interdimensional jet lag.”

“You know, time is a dimension,” Jacesaid.

“Pedant.” She flicked a bread crumbfrom the basket on the table at him.

He grinned. “I was trying to remember

all the deadly sins the other day,” he said.“Greed, envy, gluttony, irony, pedantry…”

“I’m pretty sure irony isn’t a deadlysin.”

“I’m pretty sure it is.”“Lust,” she said. “Lust is a deadly sin.”“And spanking.”“I think that falls under lust.”“I think it should have its own

category,” said Jace. “Greed, envy,gluttony, irony, pedantry, lust, andspanking.” The white Christmas lightswere reflected in his eyes. He lookedmore beautiful than he ever had, Clarythought, and correspondingly more distant,more hard to touch. She thought of what hehad said about the city sinking, and thespaces between the stars, and rememberedthe lines of a Leonard Cohen song that

Simon’s band used to cover, not veryw e l l . “There is a crack ineverything/That’s how the light gets in.”There had to be a crack in Jace’s calm,some way she could reach through to thereal him she believed was still in there.

Jace’s amber eyes studied her. Hereached out to touch her hand, and it wasonly after a moment that Clary realizedthat his fingers were on her gold ring.“What’s that?” he said. “I don’t rememberyou having a faerie-work ring.”

His tone was neutral, but her heartskipped a beat. Lying straight to Jace’sface wasn’t something she had a lot ofpractice with. “It was Isabelle’s,” shesaid with a shrug. “She was throwing outall the stuff that faerie ex-boyfriend ofhers gave her—Meliorn—and I thought

this was pretty, so she said I could haveit.”

“And the Morgenstern ring?”This seemed like a place to tell the

truth. “I gave it to Magnus so he could tryto track you with it.”

“Magnus.” Jace said the name as if itwere a stranger’s, and exhaled a breath.“Do you still feel like you made the rightdecision? Coming with me here?”

“Yes. I’m happy to be with you. And—well, I always wanted to see Italy. I’venever traveled much. Never been out ofthe country—”

“You were in Alicante,” he remindedher.

“Okay, other than visiting magicallands no one else can see, I haven’ttraveled much. Simon and I had plans. We

were going to go backpacking aroundEurope after we graduated high school…”Clary’s voice trailed off. “It sounds sillynow.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He reached out andpushed a strand of hair behind her ear.“Stay with me. We can see the wholeworld.”

“I am with you. I’m not goinganywhere.”

“Is there anything special you want tosee? Paris? Budapest? The LeaningTower of Pisa?”

Only if it falls on Sebastian’s head,she thought. “Can we travel to Idris? Imean, I guess, can the apartment travelthere?”

“It can’t get past the wards.” His handtraced a path down her cheek. “You know,

I really missed you.”“You mean you haven’t been going on

romantic dates with Sebastian whileyou’ve been away from me?”

“I tried,” Jace said, “but no matter howliquored up you get him, he just won’t putout.”

Clary reached for her glass of wine.She was starting to get used to the taste ofit. She could feel it burning a path downher throat, heating her veins, adding adreamlike quality to the night. She was inItaly, with her beautiful boyfriend, on abeautiful night, eating delicious food thatmelted in her mouth. These were the kindsof moments that you remembered all yourlife. But it felt like touching only the edgeof happiness; every time she looked atJace, happiness slipped away from her.

How could he be Jace and not-Jace, all atonce? How could you be heartbroken andhappy at the same time?

They lay in the narrow twin bed that wasmeant for only one person, wrappedtogether tightly under Jordan’s flannelsheet. Maia lay with her head in the crookof his arm, the sun from the windowwarming her face and shoulders. Jordanwas propped on his arm, leaning over her,his free hand running through her hair,pulling her curls out to their full length andletting them slide back through his fingers.

“I missed your hair,” he said, anddropped a kiss onto her forehead.

Laughter bubbled up from somewheredeep inside her, that sort of laughter that

came with the giddiness of infatuation.“Just my hair?”

“No.” He was grinning, his hazel eyeslit with green, his brown hair thoroughlyrumpled. “Your eyes.” He kissed them,one after another. “Your mouth.” Hekissed that, too, and she hooked herfingers through the chain against his barechest that held the Praetor Lupus pendant.“Everything about you.”

She twisted the chain around herfingers. “Jordan… I’m sorry about before.About snapping at you about the money,and Stanford. It was just a lot to take in.”

His eyes darkened, and he ducked hishead. “It’s not like I don’t know howindependent you are. I just… I wanted todo something nice for you.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know you

worry about me needing you, but Ishouldn’t be with you because I need you.I should be with you because I love you.”

His eyes lit up—incredulous, hopeful.“You—I mean, you think it’s possible youcould feel that way about me again?”

“I never stopped loving you, Jordan,”she said, and he caught her against himwith a kiss so intense it was bruising. Shemoved closer to him, and things mighthave proceeded as they had in the showerif a sharp knock hadn’t come at the door.

“Praetor Kyle!” a voice shoutedthrough the door. “Wake up! Praetor Scottwishes to see you downstairs in hisoffice.”

Jordan, his arms around Maia, sworesoftly. Laughing, Maia ran her handslowly up his back, tangling her fingers in

his hair. “You think Praetor Scott canwait?” she whispered.

“I think he has a key to this room andhe’ll use it if he feels like it.”

“That’s all right,” she said, brushingher lips against his ear. “We have lots oftime, right? All the time we’ll ever need.”

Chairman Meow lay on the table in frontof Simon, completely asleep, his four legssticking straight into the air. This, Simonfelt, was something of an achievement.Since he had become a vampire, animalstended not to like him; they avoided him ifthey could, and hissed or barked if hecame too close. For Simon, who hadalways been an animal lover, it was ahard loss. But he supposed if you were

already the pet of a warlock, perhapsyou’d learned to accept weird creatures inyour life.

Magnus, as it turned out, hadn’t beenjoking about the candles. Simon wastaking a moment to rest and drink somecoffee; it stayed down well, and thecaffeine took the edge off the beginningprickles of hunger. All afternoon, they hadbeen helping Magnus set the scene forraising Azazel. They had raided localbodegas for tea lights and prayer candles,which they had placed in a careful circle.Isabelle and Alec were scattering thefloorboards outside the circle with amixture of salt and dried belladonna asMagnus instructed them, reading aloudfrom Forbidden Rites, A Necromancer’sManual of the Fifteenth Century.

“What have you done to my cat?”Magnus demanded, returning to the livingroom carrying a pot of coffee, with acircle of mugs floating around his headlike a model of the planets rotating aroundthe sun. “You drank his blood, didn’t you?You said you weren’t hungry!”

Simon was indignant. “I did not drinkhis blood. He’s fine!” He poked theChairman in the stomach. The cat yawned.“Second, you asked me if I was hungrywhen you were ordering pizza, so I saidno, because I can’t eat pizza. I was beingpolite.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to eatmy cat.”

“Your cat is fine!” Simon reached topick up the tabby, who jumped indignantlyto his feet and stalked off the table. “See?”

“Whatever.” Magnus threw himselfdown in the seat at the head of the table;the mugs banged into place as Alec andIzzy straightened up, done with their task.Magnus clapped his hands. “Everyone!Gather around. It’s time for a meeting. I’mgoing to teach you how to summon ademon.”

Praetor Scott was waiting for them in thelibrary, still in the same swivel chair, asmall bronze box on the desk betweenthem. Maia and Jordan sat down acrossfrom him, and Maia couldn’t helpwondering if it was written all over herface, what she and Jordan had been doing.Not that the Praetor was looking at themwith much interest.

He pushed the box toward Jordan. “It’sa salve,” he said. “If applied toGarroway’s wound, it should filter thepoison from his blood and allow thedemon steel to work its way free. Heshould heal in a few days.”

Maia’s heart leaped—finally somegood news. She reached for the boxbefore Jordan could, and opened it. It wasindeed filled with a dark waxy salve thatsmelled sharply herbal, like crushed bayleaves.

“I—,” Praetor Scott began, his eyesflicking to Jordan.

“She should take it,” said Jordan.“She’s close to Garroway and is part ofthe pack. They trust her.”

“Are you saying they don’t trust thePraetor?”

“Half of them think the Praetor is afairy tale,” Maia said, adding “sir” as anafterthought.

Praetor Scott looked annoyed, butbefore he could say anything, the phone onhis desk rang. He seemed to hesitate, thenlifted the receiver to his ear. “Scott here,”he said, and then, after a moment, “Yes—yes, I think so.” He hung up, his mouthcurving into a not entirely pleasant smile.“Praetor Kyle,” he said. “I’m glad youdropped in on us today of all days. Stay amoment. This matter somewhat concernsyou.”

Maia was startled at thispronouncement, but not as startled as shewas a moment later when a corner of theroom began to shimmer and a figureappeared, slowly developing—it was like

watching images appear on film in adarkroom—and the figure of a young boytook shape. His hair was dark brown,short and straight, and a gold necklacegleamed against the brown skin of histhroat. He looked slight and ethereal, likea choirboy, but there was something in hiseyes that made him seem much older thanthat.

“Raphael,” she said, recognizing him.He was ever so slightly transparent—aProjection, she realized. She’d heard ofthem but had never seen one up close.

Praetor Scott looked at her in surprise.“You know the head of the New Yorkvampire clan?”

“We met once, in Brocelind Woods,”said Raphael, looking her over withoutmuch interest. “She is a friend of the

Daylighter, Simon.”“Your assignment,” Praetor Scott said

to Jordan, as if Jordan could haveforgotten.

Jordan’s forehead creased. “Hassomething happened to him?” he asked.“Is he all right?”

“This is not about him,” said Raphael.“It is about the rogue vampire, MaureenBrown.”

“Maureen?” Maia exclaimed. “Butshe’s only, what, thirteen?”

“A rogue vampire is a rogue vampire,”said Raphael. “And Maureen has beencutting quite a swath for herself throughTriBeCa and the Lower East Side.Multiple injured and at least six kills.We’ve managed to cover them up, but…”

“She’s Nick’s assignment,” said

Praetor Scott with a frown. “But he hasn’tbeen able to find a trace of her. We mayneed to send in someone with moreexperience.”

“I urge you to do so,” said Raphael. “Ifthe Shadowhunters were not so concernedwith their own… emergency at thisjuncture, they would surely have involvedthemselves by now. And the last thing theclan needs after the affair with Camille isa censuring by the Shadowhunters.”

“I take it Camille is still missing aswell?” said Jordan. “Simon told useverything that happened the night Jacedisappeared, and Maureen seemed to bedoing Camille’s bidding.”

“Camille is not new-made and istherefore not our concern,” said Scott.

“I know, but—find her, and you may

find Maureen, that’s all I’m saying,” saidJordan.

“If she were with Camille, she wouldnot be killing at the rate she is,” saidRaphael. “Camille would prevent her. Sheis bloodthirsty but she knows theConclave, and the Law. She would keepMaureen and her activities out of their lineof sight. No, Maureen’s behavior has allthe hallmarks of a vampire gone feral.”

“Then, I think you’re right.” Jordan satback. “Nick should have backup indealing with her, or—”

“Or something might happen to him? Ifit does, perhaps it will help you focusmore in future,” said Praetor Scott. “Onyour own assignment.”

Jordan’s mouth opened. “Simon wasn’tresponsible for Turning Maureen,” he

said. “I told you—”Praetor Scott waved away his words.

“Yes, I know,” he said, “or you wouldhave been pulled from your assignment,Kyle. But your subject did bite her, andunder your watch as well. And it was herassociation with the Daylighter, howeverdistant, that led to her eventual Turning.”

“The Daylighter is dangerous,” saidRaphael, his eyes shining. “It is what Ihave been saying all along.”

“He is not dangerous,” Maia saidfiercely. “He has a good heart.” She sawJordan glance at her a little, sidelong, soquickly that she wondered if she’dimagined it.

“Yap, yap, yap,” said Raphaeldismissively. “You werewolves cannotfocus on the matter at hand. I trusted you,

Praetor, for new-fledged Downworldersare your department. But allowingMaureen to run wild reflects badly on myclan. If you do not find her soon, I willcall up every vampire at my disposal.After all”—he smiled, and his delicateincisors shone—“in the end she is ours tokill.”

When the meal was over, Clary and Jacewalked back to the apartment through amist-shrouded evening. The streets weredeserted and the canal water shone likeglass. Rounding a corner, they foundthemselves beside a quiet canal, linedwith shuttered houses. Boats bobbedgently on the curving water, each a half-moon of black.

Jace laughed softly and movedforward, his hand pulling out of Clary’s.His eyes were wide and golden in thelamplight. He knelt by the side of thecanal, and she saw a flash of white-silver—a stele—and then one of the boatssprang free of its mooring chain and beganto drift toward the center of the canal.Jace slid the stele back into his belt andleaped, landing lightly on the wooden seatat the front of the boat. He held his handout to Clary. “Come on.”

She looked from him to the boat andshook her head. It was only a little biggerthan a canoe, painted black, though thepaint was damp and splintering. It lookedas light and fragile as a toy. She imaginedupending it and both of them beingdumped into the ice-green canal. “I can’t.

I’ll knock it over.”Jace shook his head impatiently. “You

can do it,” he said. “I trained you.” Todemonstrate he took a step back. Now hewas standing on the thin edge of the boat,just beside the oarlock. He looked at her,his mouth crooked in a half smile. By allthe laws of physics, she thought, the boat,unbalanced, ought to have been topplingsideways into the water. But Jacebalanced lightly there, back straight, as ifhe were made of nothing more than smoke.Behind him was the backdrop of waterand stone, canal and bridges, not a singlemodern edifice in sight. With his brighthair and the way he carried himself, hecould have been some Renaissanceprince.

He held out a hand to her again.

“Remember. You’re as light as you wantto be.”

She remembered. Hours of training inhow to fall, to balance, how to land likeJace did, as if you were a piece of ashsifting gently downward. She sucked herbreath in and leaped, the green waterflying by beneath her. She alighted in thebow of the boat, wobbling on the woodenseat, but steady.

She let out her breath in a whoosh ofrelief and heard Jace laugh as he leapeddown to the flat bottom of the boat. It wasleaky. A thin layer of water covered thewood. He was also nine inches taller thanshe was, so that with her standing on theseat in the bow, their heads were on alevel.

He put his hands on her waist. “So,” he

said. “Where do you want to go now?”She looked around. They had drifted

far away from the bank of the canal. “Arewe stealing this boat?”

“‘Stealing’ is such an ugly word,” hemused.

“What do you want to call it?”He picked her up and swung her around

before putting her down. “An extremecase of window-shopping.”

He pulled her closer, and she stiffened.Her feet skidded out from under her, andthe two of them slid to the curved floor ofthe boat, which was flat and damp andsmelled like water and wet wood.

Clary found herself resting on top ofJace, her knees on either side of his hips.Water was soaking into his shirt, but hedidn’t seem to mind. He threw his hands

behind his head, folding them, his shirtpulling up. “You literally knocked medown with the strength of your passion,”he observed. “Nice work, Fray.”

“You only fell because you wanted to. Iknow you,” she said. The moon shonedown on them like a spotlight, like theywere the only people under it. “You neverslip.”

He touched her face. “I may not slip,”he said, “but I fall.”

Her heart pounded, and she had toswallow before she could reply lightly, asif he were joking. “That may be yourworst line of all time.”

“Who says it’s a line?”The boat rocked, and she leaned

forward, balancing her hands on his chest.Her hips pressed against his, and she

watched his eyes as they widened, goingfrom wickedly sparkling gold to dark, thepupil swallowing the iris. She could seeherself and the night sky in them.

He propped himself up on one elbow,and slipped a hand around the back of herneck. She felt him arch up against her, lipsbrushing hers, but she drew back, not quiteallowing the kiss. She wanted him, wantedhim so much she felt hollow on the inside,as if desire had burned her clean through.No matter what her mind said—that thiswas not Jace, not her Jace, still her bodyremembered him, the shape and feel ofhim, the scent of his skin and hair, andwanted him back.

She smiled against his mouth as if shewere teasing him, and rolled to the side,curling next to him in the wet bottom of the

boat. He didn’t protest. His arm curvedaround her, and the rocking of the boatbeneath them was gentle and lulling. Shewanted to put her head on his shoulder,but didn’t.

“We’re drifting,” she said.“I know. There’s something I want you

to see.” Jace was looking up at the sky.The moon was a great white billow, like asail; Jace’s chest rose and fell steadily.His fingers tangled in her hair. She laystill beside him, waiting and watching asthe stars ticked by like an astrologicalclock, and she wondered what they werewaiting for. At last she heard it, a longslow rushing noise, like water pouringthrough a broken dam. The sky darkenedand churned as figures rushed across it.She could barely make them out through

the clouds and the distance, but theyseemed to be men, with long hair likecirrus clouds, riding horses whose hoovesgleamed the color of blood. The sound ofa hunting horn echoed across the night, andthe stars shivered and the night folded inon itself as the men vanished behind themoon.

She let her breath out in a slowexhalation. “What was that?”

“The Wild Hunt,” said Jace. His voicesounded distant and dreamlike. “Gabriel’sHounds. The Wild Host. They have manynames. They are faeries who disdain theearthly Courts. They ride across the sky,pursuing an eternal hunt. On one night ayear a mortal can join them—but onceyou’ve joined the Hunt, you can neverleave it.”

“Why would anyone want to do that?”Jace rolled and was suddenly on top of

Clary, pressing her down into the bottomof the boat. She hardly noticed the damp;she could feel heat rolling off him inwaves, and his eyes burned. He had a wayof propping himself over her so that shewasn’t crushed but she could feel everypart of him against her—the shape of hiships, the rivets in his jeans, the tracings ofhis scars. “There’s something appealingabout the idea,” he said. “Of losing allyour control. Don’t you think?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but hewas already kissing her. She had kissedhim so many times—soft gentle kisses,hard and desperate ones, brief brushes ofthe lips that said good-bye, and kisses thatseemed to go on for hours—and this was

no different. The way the memory ofsomeone who had once lived in a housemight linger even after they were gone,like a sort of psychic imprint, her bodyremembered Jace. Remembered the wayhe tasted, the slant of his mouth over hers,his scars under her fingers, the shape ofhis body under her hands. She let go of herdoubts and reached up to pull him towardher.

He rolled sideways, holding her, theboat rocking underneath them. Clary couldhear the splash of water as his handsdrifted down her side to her waist, hisfingers lightly stroking the sensitive skin atthe small of her back. She slid her handsinto his hair and closed her eyes, wrappedin mist, the sound and smell of water.Endless ages went by, and there was only

Jace’s mouth on hers, the lulling motion ofthe boat, his hands on her skin. Finally,after what could have been hours orminutes, she heard the sound of someoneshouting, an angry Italian voice, rising andcutting through the night.

Jace drew back, his look lazy andregretful. “We’d better go.”

Clary looked up at him, dazed. “Why?”“Because that’s the guy whose boat we

stole.” Jace sat up, tugging his shirt down.“And he’s about to call the police.”

11ASCRIBE ALL SIN

Magnus said that no electricity could beused during the summoning of Azazel, sothe loft apartment was lit only bycandlelight. The candles burned in a circlein the center of the room, all differentheights and brightness, though they shareda similar blue-white flame.

Inside the circle, a pentagram had beendrawn by Magnus, using a rowan stick thathad burned the pattern of overlappingtriangles into the floor. In between the

spaces formed by the pentagram weresymbols unlike anything Simon had seenbefore: not quite letters and not quiterunes, they gave off a chilly sense ofmenace despite the heat of the candleflames.

It was dark outside the windows now,the sort of dark that came with the earlysunsets of approaching winter. Isabelle,Alec, Simon, and finally, Magnus—whowas chanting aloud from ForbiddenRites—each stood at one cardinal pointaround the circle. Magnus’s voice roseand fell, the Latin words like a prayer, butone that was inverted and sinister.

The flames rose higher and the symbolscarved into the floor began to burn black.Chairman Meow, who had been watchingfrom a corner of the room, hissed and fled

into the shadows. The blue-white flamesrose, and now Simon could hardly seeMagnus through them. The room wasgetting hotter, the warlock chanting faster,his black hair curling in the humid heat,sweat gleaming on his cheekbones. “Quodtumeraris: per Jehovam, Gehennam, etconsecratam aquam quam nunc spargo,signumque crucis quod nunc facio, et pervota nostra, ipse nunc surgat nobisdicatus Azazel!”

There was a burst of fire from thecenter of the pentagram, and a thick blackwave of smoke rose, dissipating slowlythrough the room, making everyone butSimon cough and choke. It swirled like awhirlpool, coalescing slowly in the centerof the pentagram into the figure of a man.

Simon blinked. He wasn’t sure what

he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. A tallman with auburn hair, neither young norold—an ageless face, inhuman and cold.Broad-shouldered, dressed in a well-cutblack suit and shining black shoes. Aroundeach wrist was a dark red groove, themarks of some sort of binding, rope ormetal, that had cut into the skin over manyyears. In his eyes were leaping red flames.

He spoke. “Who summons Azazel?”His voice was like metal grinding onmetal.

“I do.” Magnus firmly shut the book hewas holding. “Magnus Bane.”

Azazel craned his head slowly towardMagnus. His head seemed to swivelunnaturally on his neck, like the head of asnake. “Warlock,” he said. “I know whoyou are.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “Youdo?”

“Summoner. Binder. Destroyer of thedemon Marbas. Son of—”

“Now,” said Magnus quickly. “There’sno need to go into all of that.”

“But there is.” Azazel soundedreasonable, even amused. “If it is infernalassistance you require, why not summonyour father?”

Alec was looking at Magnus with hismouth open. Simon felt for him. He didn’tthink any of them had ever assumed thatMagnus even knew who his father was,beyond that he had been a demon who hadtricked his mother into believing he washer husband. Alec clearly knew no moreabout it than the rest of them, which,Simon imagined, was probably something

he wasn’t too happy about.“My father and I are not on the best of

terms,” said Magnus. “I would prefer notto involve him.”

Azazel raised his hands. “As you say,Master. You hold me within the seal.What do you demand?”

Magnus said nothing, but it was clearfrom the expression on Azazel’s face thatthe warlock was speaking to him silently,mind to mind. The flames leaped anddanced in the demon’s eyes, like eagerchildren listening to a story. “CleverLilith,” the demon said at last. “To raisethe boy from death, and secure his life bybinding him to someone whom you cannotbear to kill. She was always better atmanipulating human emotions than most ofthe rest of us. Perhaps because she was

something close to human once.”“Is there a way?” Magnus sounded

impatient. “To break the bond betweenthem?”

Azazel shook his head. “Not withoutkilling them both.”

“Then, is there a way to harmSebastian only, without hurting Jace?” Itwas Isabelle, eager; Magnus shot her aquelling look.

“Not with any weapon I might create,or have at my disposal,” said Azazel. “Ican craft only weapons whose alliance isdemonic. A bolt of lightning from the handof an angel, perhaps, might burn awaywhat was evil in Valentine’s son andeither break their tie or cause it to becomemore benevolent in nature. If I might makea suggestion…”

“Oh,” said Magnus, narrowing his cat’seyes, “please do.”

“I can think of a simple solution thatwill separate the boys, keep yours alive,and neutralize the danger of the other one.And I will ask very little of you in return.”

“You are my servant,” Magnus said. “Ifyou wish to leave this pentagram, you willdo what I ask, and not demand favors inreturn.”

Azazel hissed, and fire curled from hislips. “If I am not bound here, then I ambound there. It makes little difference tome.”

“‘For this is Hell, nor am I out of it,’”said Magnus, with the air of someonequoting an old saying.

Azazel showed a metallic smile. “Youmay not be proud like old Faustus,

warlock, but you are impatient. I am suremy willingness to remain in thispentagram will outlast your desire to keepwatch over me inside it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Magnus said. “I’vealways been fairly bold where decoratingis concerned, and having you here doesadd that little extra touch of something tothe room.”

“Magnus,” Alec said, clearly notthrilled at the idea of an immortal demontaking up residence in his boyfriend’s loft.

“Jealous, little Shadowhunter?” Azazelgrinned at Alec. “Your warlock is not mytype, and besides, I would hardly want toanger his—”

“Enough,” Magnus said. “Tell us whatthe ‘little’ thing you want in return foryour plan is.”

Azazel templed his hands—hardworkman’s hands, the color of blood,topped with black nails. “One happymemory,” he said. “From each of you.Something to amuse me while I am boundlike Prometheus to his rock.”

“ A memory?” said Isabelle inastonishment. “You mean it would vanishout of our heads? We wouldn’t be able torecall it anymore?”

Azazel squinted at her through theflames. “What are you, little one? ANephilim? Yes, I would take your memoryand it would become mine. You would nolonger know that it had happened to you.Although, please do avoid giving mememories of demons you’ve slaughteredunder the light of the moon. Not the sort ofthing I enjoy. No, I want these memories

to be… personal.” He grinned, and histeeth gleamed like an iron portcullis.

“I’m old,” Magnus said. “I have manymemories. I would give one up, if needed.But I cannot speak for the rest of you. Noone should be forced to give up somethinglike this.”

“I’ll do it,” Isabelle said immediately.“For Jace.”

“I will too, of course,” said Alec, andthen it was Simon’s turn. He thoughtsuddenly of Jace, cutting his wrist andgiving him his blood in the tiny room onValentine’s boat. Risking his own life forSimon’s. It might have been for Clary’ssake at its heart, but it was still a debt.“I’m in.”

“Good,” Magnus said. “All of you, tryto think of happy memories. They must be

genuinely happy. Something that gives youpleasure in the recollection.” He shot asour glance at the smug demon in thepentagram.

“I’m ready,” Isabelle said. She wasstanding with her eyes closed, her backstraight as if braced for pain. Magnusmoved toward her and laid his fingersagainst her forehead, murmuring softly.

Alec watched Magnus with his sister,his mouth tight, then shut his eyes. Simonshut his own too, hastily, and tried tosummon up a happy memory—somethingto do with Clary? But so many of hismemories of her were tinged now with hisworry over her well-being. Somethingfrom when they were very young? Animage swam to the forefront of his mind—a hot summer day at Coney Island, him on

his father’s shoulders, Rebecca runningbehind them, trailing a handful ofballoons. Looking up at the sky, trying tofind shapes in the clouds, and the sound ofhis mother’s laughter. No, he thought, notthat. I don’t want to lose that—

There was a cool touch on hisforehead. He opened his eyes and sawMagnus lowering his hand. Simon blinkedat him, his mind suddenly blank. “But Iwasn’t thinking of anything,” he protested.

Magnus’s cat eyes were sad. “Yes, youwere.”

Simon glanced around the room,feeling a little dizzy. The others looked thesame, as if they were awakening from astrange dream; he caught Isabelle’s eye,the dark flutter of her lashes, andwondered what she had thought about,

what happiness she had given away.A low rumble from the center of the

pentagram drew his gaze from Izzy.Azazel stood, as close to the edge of thepattern as he could, a slow growl ofhunger coming from his throat. Magnusturned and looked at him, a look of disguston his face. His hand was closed into afist, and something seemed to be shiningbetween his fingers as if he held awitchlight rune-stone. He turned and flungit, fast and sideways, into the center of thepentagram. Simon’s vampire visiontracked it. It was a bead of light thatexpanded as it flew, expanded into acircle holding multiple images. Simonsaw a piece of azure ocean, the corner ofa satin dress that belled out as its wearerspun, a glimpse of Magnus’s face, a boy

with blue eyes—and then Azazel openedhis arms and the circle of images vanishedinto his body, like a stray piece of trashsucked into the fuselage of a jet plane.

Azazel gasped. His eyes, which hadbeen darting flickers of red flame, blazedlike bonfires now, and his voice crackledwhen he spoke. “Ahhhh. Delicious.”

Magnus spoke sharply. “Now for yourside of the bargain.”

The demon licked his lips. “Thesolution to your problem is this. Yourelease me into the world, and I takeValentine’s son and bring him living intoHell. He will not die, and therefore yourJace will live, but he will have left thisworld behind, and slowly their connectionwill burn away. You will have your friendback.”

“And then what?” Magnus said slowly.“We release you into the world, and thenyou return and let yourself be boundagain?”

Azazel laughed. “Of course not, foolishwarlock. The price for the favor is myfreedom.”

“Freedom?” Alec spoke, soundingincredulous. “A Prince of Hell, set free inthe world? We already gave you ourmemories—”

“The memories were the price youpaid to hear my plan,” said Azazel. “Myfreedom is what you will pay to have myplan enacted.”

“That is a cheat, and you know it,” saidMagnus. “You ask for the impossible.”

“So do you,” said Azazel. “By allrights your friend is lost to you forever.

‘For if a man vow a vow unto the Lord, orswear an oath to bind his soul with abond, he shall not break his word.’ Andby the terms of Lilith’s spell, their soulsare bound, and both agreed.”

“Jace would never agree—,” Alecbegan.

“He said the words,” said Azazel. “Ofhis own will or under compunction, itdoes not matter. You are asking me tosever a bond only Heaven can sever. ButHeaven will not help you; you know thatas well as I. That is why men summondemons and not angels, is it not? This isthe price you pay for my intervention. Ifyou do not want to pay it, you must learnto accept what you’ve lost.”

Magnus’s face was pale and tight. “Wewill converse among ourselves and

discuss whether your offer is acceptable.In the meantime I banish you.” He wavedhis hand, and Azazel vanished, leavingbehind the smell of charred wood.

The four people in the room stared atone another incredulously. “What he isasking for,” Alec said finally, “it isn’tpossible, is it?”

“Theoretically anything is possible,”said Magnus, staring ahead as if into anabyss. “But to loose a Greater Demon onthe world—not just a Greater Demon, aPrince of Hell, second only to Luciferhimself—the destruction he could wreak—”

“Isn’t it possible,” Isabelle said, “thatSebastian could wreak just as muchdestruction?”

“Like Magnus said,” Simon put in

bitterly, “anything’s possible.”“There could be almost no greater

crime in the eyes of the Clave,” saidMagnus. “Whoever loosed Azazel uponthe world would be a wanted criminal.”

“But if it were to destroy Sebastian…”Isabelle began.

“We don’t have proof Sebastian’splotting anything,” said Magnus. “For allwe know, all he wants is to settle down ina nice country house in Idris.”

“With Clary and Jace?” Alec saidincredulously.

Magnus shrugged. “Who knows whathe wants with them? Maybe he’s justlonely.”

“No way did he kidnap Jace off thatroof because he’s desperately in need of abromance,” said Isabelle. “He’s planning

something.”They all looked at Simon. “Clary’s

trying to find out what. She needs sometime. And don’t say ‘We don’t havetime,’” he added. “She knows that.”

Alec raked a hand through his darkhair. “Fine, but we just wasted a wholeday. A day we didn’t have. No morestupid ideas.” His voice wasuncharacteristically sharp.

“Alec,” Magnus said. He put a hand onhis boyfriend’s shoulder; Alec wasstanding still, staring angrily at the floor.“Are you okay?”

Alec looked at him. “Who are youagain?”

Magnus gave a little gasp; he looked—for the first time Simon could remember—actually unnerved. It lasted only a moment,

but it was there. “Alexander,” he said.“Too soon to joke about the happy

memory thing, I take it,” Alec said.“You think?” Magnus’s voice soared.

Before he could say anything else, thedoor swung open and Maia and Jordancame in. Their cheeks were red from thecold, and—Simon saw with a small start—Maia was wearing Jordan’s leatherjacket.

“We just came from the station,” shesaid excitedly. “Luke hasn’t woken up yet,but it looks like he’s going to be all right—” She broke off, looking around at thestill-glimmering pentagram, the clouds ofblack smoke, and the scorched patches onthe floor. “Okay, what have you guys beendoing?”

With the help of a glamour and Jace’sability to swing himself one-armed uponto a curving old bridge, Clary and Jaceescaped the Italian police without beingarrested. Once they had stopped running,they collapsed against the side of abuilding, laughing, side by side, theirhands interlinked. Clary felt a moment ofpure sharp happiness and had to bury herhead against Jace’s shoulder, remindingherself, in a hard internal voice, that thiswasn’t him, before her laughter trailed offinto silence.

Jace seemed to take her sudden quiet asa sign that she was tired. He held her handlightly as they made their way back to thestreet they’d started out from, the narrowcanal with bridges on both ends. Inbetween them Clary recognized the blank,

featureless townhouse they’d left. Ashudder ran over her.

“Cold?” Jace pulled her toward himand kissed her; he was so much taller thanshe was that he either had to bend down orpick her up; in this case he did the latter,and she suppressed a gasp as he swungher up and through the wall of the house.Setting her down, he kicked a door—which had appeared suddenly behind them—shut with a bang, and was about toshuck off his jacket when there was thesound of a stifled chuckle.

Clary pulled away from Jace as lightsblazed up around them. Sebastian sat onthe sofa, his feet up on the coffee table.His fair hair was tousled; his eyes wereglossy black. He wasn’t alone, either.There were two girls there, one on either

side of him. One was fair, a little scantilydressed, in a glittering short skirt andspangled top. She had her hand splayedout across Sebastian’s chest. The otherwas younger, softer-looking, with blackhair cut short, a red velvet band aroundher head, and a lacy black dress.

Clary felt her nerves tighten. Vampire,she thought. She didn’t know how sheknew, but she did—whether it was thewaxy white sheen of the dark-haired girl’sskin or the bottomlessness of her eyes, orperhaps Clary was just learning to sensethese things, the way Shadowhunters weresupposed to. The girl knew she knew;Clary could tell. The girl grinned,showing her little pointed teeth, and thenbent to run them over Sebastian’scollarbone. His lids fluttered, fair

eyelashes lowering over dark eyes. Helooked up at Clary through them, ignoringJace.

“Did you enjoy your little date?”Clary wished she could say something

rude, but instead she just nodded.“Well, then, would you like to join

us?” he said, indicating himself and thetwo girls. “For a drink?”

The dark-haired girl laughed and saidsomething in Italian to Sebastian, hervoice questioning.

“No,” said Sebastian. “Lei è miasorella.”

The girl sat back, lookingdisappointed. Clary’s mouth was dry.Suddenly she felt Jace’s hand against hers,his callused fingertips rough. “I don’tthink so,” he said. “We’re going upstairs.

We’ll see you in the morning.”Sebastian wiggled his fingers, and the

Morgenstern ring on his hand caught thelight, sparking like a signal fire. “Civediamo.”

Jace led Clary out of the room and upthe glass stairs; only when they were inthe corridor did she feel like she hadgotten her breath back. This different Jacewas one thing. Sebastian was somethingelse. The sense of menace that rose offhim was like smoke off a fire. “What didhe say?” she asked. “In Italian?”

“He said, ‘No, she is my sister,’” saidJace. He did not say what the girl hadasked Sebastian.

“Does he do this much?” she asked.They had stopped in front of Jace’s room,on the threshold. “Bring girls back?”

Jace touched her face. “He does whathe wants, and I don’t ask,” he said. “Hecould bring a six-foot tall pink rabbit in abikini back home with him if he wanted to.It’s not my business. But if you’re askingme if I’ve brought any girls back here, theanswer is no. I don’t want anybody butyou.”

It hadn’t been what she was asking, butshe nodded anyway, as if reassured. “Idon’t want to go back downstairs.”

“You can sleep in my room with metonight.” His gold eyes were luminous inthe dark. “Or you can sleep in the masterbedroom. You know I wouldn’t ever askyou—”

“I want to be with you,” she said,surprising herself with her ownvehemence. Maybe it was just that the

idea of sleeping in that bedroom, whereValentine had once slept, where he hadhoped to live again with her mother, wastoo much. Or maybe it was that she wastired, and she had only ever spent onenight in the same bed as Jace, and they hadslept with only their hands touching, as ifan unsheathed sword had lain betweenthem.

“Give me a second to clean up theroom. It’s a mess.”

“Yeah, when I was in there before, Ithink I might actually have seen a fleck ofdust on the windowsill. You’d better geton that.”

He tugged a lock of her hair, running itthrough his fingers. “Not to actively workagainst my own interests, but do you needsomething to sleep in? Pajamas, or…”

She thought of the wardrobe full ofclothes in the master bedroom. She wasgoing to have to get used to the idea.Might as well start now. “I’ll get anightgown.”

Of course, she thought several momentslater, standing over an open drawer, thesort of nightgowns men bought becausethey wanted the women in their lives towear them were not necessarily the kindof thing you might buy for yourself. Claryusually slept in a tank top and pajamashorts, but everything here was silky orlacy or barely there, or all three. Shesettled finally on a pale green silk shiftthat hit her midthigh. She thought of the rednails of the girl downstairs, the one withher hand on Sebastian’s chest. Her ownnails were bitten, her toenails never

decorated with much more than clearpolish. She wondered what it would belike to be more like Isabelle, so aware ofyour own feminine power you could wieldit as a weapon instead of gazing at itmystified, like someone presented with ahousewarming gift they had no idea whereto display.

She touched the gold ring on her fingerfor luck before heading into Jace’sbedroom. He was sitting on the bed,shirtless in black pajama bottoms, readinga book in the small pool of yellow lightfrom the bedside lamp. She stood for amoment, watching him. She could see thedelicate play of muscles under his skin ashe turned the pages—and could seeLilith’s Mark, just over his heart. It didn’tlook like the black lacework of the rest of

his Marks; it was silvery-red, like blood-tinged mercury. It seemed not to belong onhim.

The door slipped closed behind herwith a click, and Jace looked up. Clarysaw his face change. She might not havebeen such a big fan of the nightgown, buthe definitely was. The look on his facemade a shiver run over her skin.

“Are you cold?” He threw the coversback; she crawled in with him as hetossed the book onto the nightstand, andthey slid together under the blanket, untilthey were facing each other. They had lainin the boat for what had seemed likehours, kissing, but this was different. Thathad been out in public, under the gaze ofthe city and the stars. This was a suddenintimacy, just the two of them under the

blanket, their breath and the heat of theirbodies mingling. There was no one towatch them, no one to stop them, noreason to stop. When he reached out andlaid his hand against her cheek, shethought the thunder of her own blood inher ears might deafen her.

Their eyes were so close together, shecould see the pattern of gold and darkergold in his irises, like a mosaic opal. Shehad been cold for so long, and now shefelt as if she were burning and melting atthe same time, dissolving into him—andthey were barely touching. She found hergaze drawn to the places he was mostvulnerable—his temples, his eyes, thepulse at the base of his throat, wanting tokiss him there, to feel his heartbeat againsther lips.

His scarred right hand moved down hercheek, across her shoulder and side,stroking her in a single long caress thatended at her hip. She could see why menliked silk nightclothes so much. There wasno friction; it was like sliding your handsacross glass. “Tell me what you want,” hesaid in a whisper that couldn’t quitedisguise the hoarseness in his voice.

“I just want you to hold me,” she said.“While I sleep. That’s all I want rightnow.”

His fingers, which had been strokingslow circles on her hip, stilled. “That’sall?”

It wasn’t what she wanted. What shewanted was to kiss him until she lost trackof space and time and location, as she hadin the boat—to kiss him until she forgot

who she was and why she was here. Shewanted to use him like a drug.

But that was a very bad idea.He watched her, restless, and she

remembered the first time she had seenhim and how she had thought he seemeddeadly as well as beautiful, like a lion.This is a test, she thought. And maybe adangerous one. “That’s all.”

His chest rose and fell. Lilith’s Markseemed to pulse against the skin just overhis heart. His hand tightened on her hip.She could hear her own breathing, asshallow as low tide.

He pulled her toward him, rolling herover until they lay tucked together likespoons, her back to him. She swallowed agasp. His skin was hot against hers, as ifhe were slightly feverish. But his arms as

they went around her were familiar. Thetwo of them fit together, as always, herhead under his chin, her spine against thehard muscles of his chest and stomach, herlegs bent around his. “All right,” hewhispered, and the feel of his breathagainst the back of her neck raised goosebumps over her body. “So we’ll sleep.”

And that was all. Slowly her bodyrelaxed, the thudding of her heart slowing.Jace’s arms around her felt the way theyalways had. Comfortable. She closed herhands around his and shut her eyes,imagining their bed cut free of this strangeprison, floating through space or on thesurface of the ocean, just the two of themalone.

She slept like that, her head tuckedunder Jace’s chin, her spine fitted to his

body, their legs entwined. It was the bestsleep she had had in weeks.

Simon sat on the edge of the bed inMagnus’s spare room, staring down at theduffel bag in his lap.

He could hear voices from the livingroom. Magnus was explaining to Maia andJordan what had happened that night, withIzzy occasionally interjecting a detail.Jordan was saying something about howthey should order Chinese food so theywouldn’t starve; Maia laughed and said aslong as it wasn’t from the Jade Wolf, thatwould be fine.

Starving, Simon thought. He wasgetting hungry—hungry enough to havebegun to feel it, like a pull on all his

veins. It was a different kind of hungerthan human hunger. He felt scraped out, ahollow emptiness inside. If you struckhim, he thought, he would ring like a bell.

“Simon.” His door opened, andIsabelle slid inside. Her black hair wasdown and loose, almost reaching herwaist. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”She saw the duffel bag on his lap, and

her shoulders tensed. “Are you leaving?”“Well, I wasn’t planning to stay

forever,” Simon said. “I mean, last nightwas—different. You asked…”

“Right,” she said in an unnaturallybright voice. “Well, you can get a rideback with Jordan at least. Did you noticehim and Maia, by the way?”

“Notice what about them?”

She lowered her voice. “Somethingdefinitely happened between them on theirlittle road trip. They’re all couply now.”

“Well, that’s good.”“Are you jealous?”“Jealous?” he echoed, confused.“Well, you and Maia…” She waved a

hand, looking up at him through her lashes.“You were…”

“Oh. No. No, not at all. I’m glad forJordan. This will make him really happy.”He meant it too.

“Good.” Isabelle looked up then, andhe saw that her cheeks were rosy red, andnot just from the cold. “Would you stayhere tonight, Simon?”

“With you?”She nodded, not looking at him.

“Alec’s going out to get some more of his

clothes from the Institute. He asked if Iwanted to go back with him, but I—I’drather stay here with you.” She raised herchin, looking at him directly. “I don’t wantto sleep by myself. If I stay here, will youstay with me?” He could tell how muchshe hated to ask.

“Of course,” he said, as lightly as hepossibly could, pushing the thought of hishunger out of his head, or trying to. Thelast time he had tried to forget to drink, ithad ended with Jordan pulling him off asemiconscious Maureen.

But that was when he hadn’t eaten fordays. This was different. He knew hislimits. He was sure of it.

“Of course,” he said again. “Thatwould be great.”

Camille smirked up at Alec from herdivan. “So where does Magnus think youare now?”

Alec, who had put a plank of woodacross two cinderblocks to form a sort ofbench, stretched his long legs out andlooked at his boots. “At the Institute,picking up clothes. I was going to go up toSpanish Harlem, but I came here instead.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And why is that?”“Because I can’t do it. I can’t kill

Raphael.”Camille threw up her hands. “And why

not? Have you some sort of personal bondwith him?”

“I barely know him,” Alec said. “Butkilling him is deliberately breakingCovenant Law. Not that I haven’t brokenLaws before, but there’s a difference

between breaking them for good reasonsand breaking them for selfish ones.”

“Oh, dear God.” Camille began topace. “Spare me from Nephilim withconsciences.”

“I’m sorry.”Her eyes narrowed. “Sorry? I’ll make

you—” She broke off. “Alexander,” shewent on in a more composed voice. “Whatof Magnus? If you continue as you havebeen, you will lose him.”

Alec watched her as she moved,catlike and composed, her face blank ofanything now but a curious sympathy.“Where was Magnus born?”

Camille laughed. “You don’t evenknow that? My goodness. Batavia, if youmust know.” She snorted at his look ofincomprehension. “Indonesia. Of course,

it was the Dutch East Indies then. Hismother was a native, I believe; his fatherwas some dull colonial. Well, not his realfather.” Her lips curved into a smile.

“Who was his real father?”“Magnus’s father? Why, a demon, of

course.”“Yes, but which demon?”“How could it possibly matter,

Alexander?”“I get the feeling,” Alec went on

stubbornly, “that he’s a pretty powerful,high-up demon. But Magnus won’t talkabout him.”

Camille collapsed back onto the divanwith a sigh. “Well, of course he won’t.One must preserve some mystery in one’srelationship, Alec Lightwood. A book thatone has not read yet is always more

exciting than a book one has memorized.”“You mean I tell him too much?” Alec

pounced on the morsel of advice.Somewhere here, inside this cold,beautiful shell of a woman, was someonewho had shared a unique experience withhim—of loving and being loved byMagnus. Surely she must know something,some secret, some key that would keephim from screwing everything up.

“Almost certainly. Although, you’vebeen alive for such a short time that I can’timagine how much there could be to say.Certainly you must be out of anecdotes.”

“Well, it seems clear to me that yourpolicy of not telling him anything didn’twork out either.”

“I was not so invested in keeping himas you are.”

“Well,” Alec asked, knowing it was abad idea but not being able to help it, “ifyou had been interested in keeping him,what would you have done differently?”

Camille sighed dramatically. “Thething that you are too young to understandis that we all hide things. We hide themfrom our lovers because we wish topresent our best selves, but also becauseif it is real love, we expect our loved oneto simply understand it, without needing toask. In a true partnership, the kind thatlasts through the ages, there is an unspokencommunion.”

“B-but,” Alec stammered, “I wouldhave thought he would have wanted me toopen up. I mean, I have a hard time beingopen even with people I’ve known mywhole life—like Isabelle, or Jace…”

Camille snorted. “That’s anotherthing,” she said. “You no longer needother people in your life once you havefound your true love. No wonder Magnusfeels he cannot open up to you, when yourely so heavily upon these other people.When love is true, you should meet eachother’s every desire, every need—Areyou listening, young Alexander? For myadvice is precious, and not given often…”

The room was filled with translucentdawn light. Clary sat up, watching Jaceas he slept. He was on his side, his hair apale brass color in the bluish air. Hischeek was pillowed on his hand, like achild’s. The star-shaped scar on hisshoulder was revealed, and so were the

patterns of old runes up and down hisarms, back, and sides.

She wondered if other people wouldfind the scars as beautiful as she did, orif she only saw them that way becauseshe loved him and they were part of him.Each one told the story of a moment.Some had even saved his life.

He murmured in his sleep and turnedover onto his back. His hand, theVoyance rune clear and black on theback of it, was splayed across hisstomach, and above it was the one runethat Clary did not find beautiful: Lilith’srune, the one that bound him toSebastian.

It seemed to pulse, like Isabelle’sruby necklace, like a second heart.

Silent as a cat, she moved up the bed

and onto her knees. She reached up andpulled the Herondale dagger from thewall. The photograph of her and Jacetogether fluttered free, spinning in theair before landing face-down on thefloor.

She swallowed and looked back athim. Even now, he was so alive, heseemed to glow from inside, as if lit byinner fire. The scar on his chest pulsedits steady beat.

She lifted the knife.

Clary came awake with a start, her heartslamming against her rib cage. The roomswung around her like a carousel: it wasstill dark, and Jace’s arm was around her,his breath warm on the back of her neck.

She could feel his heartbeat against herspine. She closed her eyes, swallowingagainst the bitter taste in her mouth.

It was a dream. Just a dream.But there was no way she was getting

back to sleep now. She sat up carefully,gently moving Jace’s arm away, andclimbed off the bed.

The floor was icy cold, and she wincedas her bare feet touched it. She found theknob of the bedroom door in the half-light,and swung it open. And froze.

Though there were no windows in thehallway outside, it was lit by pendantchandeliers. Puddles of something thatlooked sticky and dark marred the floor.Along one white-painted wall was theclear mark of a bloody handprint. Bloodspattered the wall at intervals leading to

the stairs, where there was a single long,dark smear.

Clary looked toward Sebastian’s room.It was quiet, the door shut, no lightshowing beneath it. She thought of theblond girl in the spangled top, looking upat him. She looked at the bloody handprintagain. It was like a message, a hand thrustout, saying Stop.

And then Sebastian’s door opened.He stepped out. He was wearing a

thermal shirt over black jeans, and hissilver-white hair was rumpled. He wasyawning; he did a double take when hesaw her, and a look of genuine surprisepassed over his face. “What are you doingup?”

Clary sucked in a breath. The air tastedmetallic. “What am I doing? What are you

doing?”“Going downstairs to get some towels

to clean up this mess,” he said matter-of-factly. “Vampires and their games…”

“This doesn’t look like the outcome ofa game,” Clary said. “The girl—thehuman girl who was with you—whathappened to her?”

“She got a little frightened at the sightof fangs. Sometimes they do.” At the lookon her face, he laughed. “She camearound. Even wanted more. She’s asleepin my bed now, if you want to check andmake sure she’s alive.”

“No… That’s not necessary.” Clarydropped her eyes. She wished she’d wornsomething besides this silk nightgown tobed. She felt undressed. “What aboutyou?”

“Are you asking if I’m all right?” Shehadn’t been, but Sebastian looked pleased.He pulled the collar of his shirt aside, andshe could see two neat puncture woundsjust at his collarbone. “I could use aniratze.”

Clary said nothing.“Come downstairs,” he said, and

gestured for her to follow him as hepadded past her, barefoot, and down theglass staircase. After a moment she did ashe’d asked. He flicked on the lights as hewent, so by the time they reached thekitchen, it was glowing with warm light.“Wine?” he said to her, pulling therefrigerator door open.

She settled herself on one of thecounter stools, smoothing down hernightgown. “Just water.”

She watched him as he poured twoglasses of mineral water—one for her,one for him. His smooth economicalmovements were like Jocelyn’s, but thecontrol with which he moved must havebeen instilled in him by Valentine. Itreminded her of the way Jace moved, likea carefully trained dancer.

He pushed her water toward her withone hand, the other tipping his glasstoward his lips. When he was done, heslammed the glass back down on thecounter. “You probably know this, butfooling around with vampires certainlymakes you thirsty.”

“Why would I know that?” Herquestion came out sharper than intended.

He shrugged. “Figured you wereplaying some biting games with that

Daylighter.”“Simon and I never played biting

games,” she said in a frozen tone. “In fact,I can’t figure out why anyone would wantvampires feeding on them on purpose.Don’t you hate and despiseDownworlders?”

“No,” he said. “Don’t mix me up withValentine.”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Tough mistaketo make.”

“It’s not my fault I look exactly likehim and you look like her.” His mouthcurled into an expression of distaste at thethought of Jocelyn. Clary scowled at him.“See, there you go. You’re always lookingat me like that.”

“Like what?”“Like I burn down animal shelters for

fun and light my cigarettes with orphans.”He poured another glass of water. As heturned his head from her, she saw that thepuncture wounds at his throat werealready beginning to heal over.

“You killed a child,” she said sharply,knowing as she said it that she should bekeeping her mouth shut, going along withthe pretense that she didn’t think Sebastianwas a monster. But Max. He was alive inher head as if it were the first time she’dever seen him, asleep on a sofa at theInstitute with a book on his lap and hisglasses askew on his small face. “That’snot something you can be forgiven for,ever.”

Sebastian drew in a breath. “So that’sit,” he said. “Cards on the table so soon,little sister?”

“What did you think?” Her voicesounded thin and tired to her own ears, buthe flinched as if she’d snapped at him.

“Would you believe me if I told you itwas an accident?” he said, setting hisglass down on the counter. “I didn’t meanto kill him. Just to knock him out, so hewouldn’t tell—”

Clary silenced him with a look. Sheknew she couldn’t hide the hatred in hereyes: knew she should, knew it wasimpossible.

“I mean it. I meant to knock him out,like I did Isabelle. I misjudged my ownstrength.”

“And Sebastian Verlac? The real one?You killed him, didn’t you?”

Sebastian looked at his own hands as ifthey were strange to him: there was a

silver chain holding a flat metal plate, likean ID bracelet, around his right wrist—hiding the scar where Isabelle had slicedhis hand away. “He wasn’t supposed tofight back—”

Disgusted, Clary started to slide off thestool, but Sebastian caught at her wrist,pulling her toward him. His skin was hotagainst hers and she remembered, in Idris,the time his touch had burned her.“Jonathan Morgenstern killed Max. Butwhat if I’m not the same person? Haven’tyou noticed I won’t even use the samename?”

“Let me go.”“You believe Jace is different,”

Sebastian said quietly. “You believe heisn’t the same person, that my bloodchanged him. Don’t you?”

She nodded without speaking.“Then, why is it so hard to believe it

might go the other way? Maybe his bloodchanged me. Maybe I’m not the sameperson I was.”

“You stabbed Luke,” she said.“Someone I care about. Someone I love—”

“He was about to blow me to pieceswith a shotgun,” said Sebastian. “Youlove him; I don’t know him. I was savingmy life, and Jace’s. Do you really notunderstand that?”

“And maybe you’re just sayingwhatever you think you need to say to getme to trust you.”

“Would the person I used to be care ifyou trusted me?”

“If you wanted something.”

“Maybe I just want a sister.”At that, her eyes flicked up to his—

involuntary, disbelieving. “You don’tknow what a family is,” she said. “Orwhat you’d do with a sister if you hadone.”

“I do have one.” His voice was low.There were bloodstains at the collar of hisshirt, just where it touched his skin. “I’mgiving you a chance. To see that what Jaceand I are doing is the right thing. Can yougive me a chance?”

She thought of the Sebastian she hadknown in Idris. She had heard him soundamused, friendly, detached, ironic,intense, and angry. She had never heardhim sound pleading.

“Jace trusts you,” he said. “But I don’t.He believes you love him enough to throw

over everything you’ve ever valued orbelieved in to come and be with him. Nomatter what.”

Her jaw tightened. “And how do youknow I wouldn’t?”

He laughed. “Because you’re mysister.”

“We’re nothing alike,” she spat, andsaw the slow smile on his face. She bitback the rest of her words, but it wasalready too late.

“That’s what I would have said,” hesaid. “But come on, Clary. You’re here.You can’t go back. You’ve thrown yourlot in with Jace. You might as well do itwholeheartedly. Be a part of what’shappening. Then you can make up yourown mind about… me.”

Not looking at him but down at the

marble floor, she nodded, very slightly.He reached up and brushed away the

hair that had fallen into her eyes, and thekitchen lights sparked off the bracelet hewore, the one she had noticed before, withletters etched into it. Acheronta movebo.Boldly she put her hand on his wrist.“What does this mean?”

He looked at her hand where it touchedthe silver on his wrist. “It means ‘Thusalways to tyrants.’ I wear it to remind meof the Clave. It’s said this was shouted bythe Romans who murdered Caesar beforehe could become a dictator.”

“Traitors,” said Clary, dropping herhand.

Sebastian’s dark eyes flashed. “Orfighters for freedom. History gets writtenby the winners, little sis.”

“And you intend to write this portion?”He grinned at her, his dark eyes alight.

“You bet I do.”

12THE STUFF OF HEAVEN

When Alec returned to Magnus’sapartment, all the lights were off, but theliving room was glowing with a blue-white flame. It took him several momentsto realize it was coming from thepentagram.

He kicked his shoes off by the door andpadded as quietly as he could into themaster bedroom. The room was dark, astrand of multicolored Christmas lightswrapped around the window frame the

only illumination. Magnus was asleep onhis back, the covers pulled up to his waist,his hand flat against his belly-button-freestomach.

Alec quickly stripped down to hisboxers and climbed into bed, hoping not towake Magnus. Unfortunately, he hadn’tcounted on Chairman Meow, who hadtucked himself under the covers. Alec’selbow came down squarely on the cat’stail, and the Chairman yowled and dartedoff the bed, causing Magnus to sit up,blinking.

“What’s going on?”“Nothing,” Alec said, silently cursing

all cats. “I couldn’t sleep.”“So you went out?” Magnus rolled onto

his side and touched Alec’s bare shoulder.“Your skin’s cold, and you smell like

nighttime.”“I was walking around,” Alec said,

glad it was too dim in the room forMagnus to really see his face. He knew hewas a terrible liar.

“Around where?”One must preserve some mystery in

one’s relationship, Alec Lightwood.“Places,” Alec said airily. “You know.

Mysterious places.”“Mysterious places?”Alec nodded.Magnus flopped back against the

pillows. “I see you went to Crazytown,”he muttered, closing his eyes. “Did youbring me anything back?”

Alec leaned over and kissed Magnuson the mouth. “Just that,” he said softly,drawing back, but Magnus, who had

started to smile, already had hold of hisarms.

“Well, if you’re going to wake me up,”he said, “you might as well make it worthmy time,” and he pulled Alec down on topof him.

Considering they’d already spent one nightin bed together, Simon hadn’t expected hissecond night with Isabelle to be quite soawkward. But then again, this timeIsabelle was sober, and awake, andobviously expecting something from him.The problem was, he wasn’t sure exactlywhat.

He had given her a button-down shirtof his to wear, and he looked awaypolitely while she climbed under the

blanket and edged back against the wall,giving him plenty of space.

He didn’t bother changing, just took offhis shoes and socks and crawled in next toher in his T-shirt and jeans. They lay sideby side for a moment, and then Isabellerolled against him, draping an armawkwardly across his side. Their kneesbumped together. One of Isabelle’stoenails scratched his ankle. He tried tomove forward, and their foreheadsknocked.

“Ouch!” Isabelle said indignantly.“Shouldn’t you be better at this?”

Simon was bewildered. “Why?”“All those nights you’ve spent in

Clary’s bed, wrapped in your beautifulplatonic embraces,” she said, pressing herface against his shoulder so her voice was

muffled. “I figured…”“We just slept,” said Simon. He didn’t

want to say anything about how Clary fitperfectly against him, about how being ina bed with her was as natural as breathing,about the way the scent of her hairreminded him of childhood and sunshineand simplicity and grace. That, he had afeeling, would not be helpful.

“I know. But I don’t just sleep,”Isabelle said irritably. “With anybody. Idon’t stay the night usually at all. Like,ever.”

“You said you wanted to—”“Oh, shut up,” she said, and kissed him.

This was marginally more successful.He’d kissed Isabelle before. He loved thetexture of her soft lips, the way his handsfelt in her long, dark hair. But as she

pressed herself against him, he also feltthe warmth of her body, her long bare legsagainst him, the pulse of her blood—andthe snap of his fang teeth as they came out.

He pulled back hastily.“Now what is it? You don’t want to

kiss me?”“I do,” he tried to say, but his fangs

were in the way. Isabelle’s eyes widened.“Oh, you’re hungry,” she said. “When

was the last time you had any blood?”“Yesterday,” he managed to say, with

some difficulty.She lay back against his pillow. Her

eyes were impossibly big and black andlustrous. “Maybe you should feedyourself,” she said. “You know whathappens if you don’t.”

“I don’t have any blood with me. I’ll

have to go back to the apartment,” Simonsaid. His fangs had already begun toretract.

Isabelle caught him by the arm. “Youdon’t have to drink cold animal blood. I’mright here.”

The shock of her words was like apulse of energy zipping through his body,setting his nerves on fire. “You’re notserious.”

“Sure I am.” She started to unbutton theshirt she was wearing, baring her throat,her collarbone, the tracery of faint veinsvisible beneath her pale skin. The shirtfell open. Her blue bra covered a lot morethan many bikinis might, but Simon stillfelt his mouth go dry. Her ruby flashedlike a red stoplight below her collarbone.Isabelle. As if reading his mind, she

reached up and drew her hair back,draping it over one shoulder, leaving theside of her throat naked. “Don’t youwant… ?”

He caught her wrist. “Isabelle, don’t,”he said urgently. “I can’t control myself,can’t control it. I could hurt you, kill you.”

Her eyes shone. “You won’t. You canhold yourself back. You did with Jace.”

“I’m not attracted to Jace.”“Not even a little?” she said hopefully.

“Eensy bit? Because that would be kind ofhot. Ah, well. Too bad. Look, attracted ornot, you bit him when you were starvingand dying, and you still held back.”

“I didn’t hold back with Maureen.Jordan had to pull me off.”

“You would have.” She took her fingerand pressed it to his lips, then ran it down

his throat, across his chest, coming to astop where his heart had once beat. “I trustyou.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”“I’m a Shadowhunter. I can fight you

off if I have to.”“Jace didn’t fight me off.”“Jace is in love with the idea of

dying,” said Isabelle. “I’m not.” She slungher legs around his hips—she wasamazingly flexible—and slid forwarduntil she could brush her lips against his.He wanted to kiss her, wanted it so badlyhis whole body ached. He opened hismouth tentatively, touched his tongue tohers, and felt a sharp pain. His tongue hadslid along the razor edge of his fang. Hetasted his own blood and drew backabruptly, turning his face away from her.

“Isabelle, I can’t.” He closed his eyes.She was warm and soft in his lap, teasing,torturous. His fangs ached painfully; hiswhole body felt like sharp wires weretwisting through his veins. “I don’t wantyou to see me like this.”

“Simon.” Gently she touched his cheek,turning his face toward her. “This is whoyou are—”

His fangs had retracted, slowly, butthey still ached. He hid his face in hishands and spoke between his fingers.“You can’t possibly want this. You can’tpossibly want me. My own mother threwme out of the house. I bit Maureen—shewas only a kid. I mean, look at me, lookwhat I am, where I live, what I do. I’mnothing.”

Isabelle stroked his hair lightly. He

looked at her between his fingers. Upclose he could see that her eyes weren’tblack but a very dark brown, flecked withgold. He was sure he could see pity inthem. He didn’t know what he expectedher to say. Isabelle used boys and threwthem away. Isabelle was beautiful andtough and perfect and didn’t needanything. Least of all a vampire whowasn’t even very good at being a vampire.

He could feel her breathing. Shesmelled sweet—blood, mortality,gardenias. “You’re not nothing,” she said.“Simon. Please. Let me see your face.”

Reluctantly he lowered his hands. Hecould see her more clearly now. Shelooked soft and lovely in the moonlight,her skin pale and creamy, her hair like ablack waterfall. She unlooped her hands

from around his neck. “Look at these,” shesaid, touching the white scars of healedMarks that snowflaked her silvery skin—on her throat, on her arms, on the curves ofher breasts. “Ugly, aren’t they?”

“Nothing about you is ugly, Izzy,” saidSimon, honestly shocked.

“Girls aren’t supposed to be coveredin scars,” Isabelle said matter-of-factly.“But they don’t bother you.”

“They’re part of you—No, of coursethey don’t bother me.”

She touched his lips with her fingers.“Being a vampire is part of you. I didn’task you to come here last night because Icouldn’t think of anyone else to ask. I wantto be with you, Simon. It scares the hellout of me, but I do.”

Her eyes shimmered, and before he

could wonder for more than a momentwhether it was with tears, he had leanedforward and kissed her. This time itwasn’t awkward. This time she leanedinto him, and he was suddenly under her,rolling her on top of him. Her long blackhair fell down around them both like acurtain. She whispered to him softly as heran his hands up her back. He could feelher scars under his fingertips, and hewanted to tell her he thought of them asornaments, testaments to her bravery thatonly made her more beautiful. But thatwould have meant stopping kissing her,and he didn’t want to do that. She wasmoaning and moving in his arms; herfingers were in his hair as the two of themrolled sideways, and now she was underhim, and his arms were full of the softness

and warmth of her, and his mouth with thetaste of her, and the scent of her skin, saltand perfume and… blood.

He stiffened again, all over, andIsabelle felt it. She caught hold of hisshoulders. She was luminous in thedarkness. “Go ahead,” she whispered. Hecould feel her heart, slamming against hischest. “I want you to.”

He closed his eyes, pressed hisforehead to hers, tried to calm himself.His fangs were back, pushing into hislower lip, hard and painful. “No.”

Her long, perfect legs wrapped aroundhim, her ankles locking, holding him toher. “I want you to.” Her breasts flattenedagainst his chest as she arched up againsthim, baring her throat. The scent of herblood was everywhere, all over him,

filling the room.“Aren’t you scared?” he whispered.“Yes. But I still want you to.”“Isabelle—I can’t—”He bit her.His teeth slid, razor-sharp, into the

vein at her throat like a knife slicing intothe skin of an apple. Blood exploded intohis mouth. It was like nothing he hadexperienced before. With Jace he hadbeen barely alive; with Maureen the guilthad crushed him even as he had drunkfrom her. He had certainly never had thesense that either of the people he hadbitten had liked it.

But Isabelle gasped, her eyes flyingopen and her body arcing up against him.She purred like a cat, stroking his hair, hisback, little urgent movement of her hands

sayi ng Don’t stop , Don’t stop . Heatpoured out of her, into him, lighting hisbody; he had never felt, imagined,anything else like it. He could feel thestrong, sure beat of her heat, poundingthrough her veins into his, and for thatmoment it was as if he lived again, and hisheart contracted with pure elation—

He broke away. He wasn’t sure how,but he broke away and rolled onto hisback, his fingers digging hard into themattress at his sides. He was stillshuddering as his fangs retracted. Theroom shimmered all around him, the waythings did in the few moments after hedrank human, living blood.

“Izzy… ,” he whispered. He was afraidto look at her, afraid that now that his teethwere no longer in her throat, she would

stare at him with revulsion or horror.“What?”“You didn’t stop me,” he said. It was

half accusation, half hope.“I didn’t want to.” He looked at her.

She was on her back, her chest rising andfalling fast, as if she’d been running.There were two neat puncture wounds inthe side of her throat, and two thin lines ofblood that ran down her neck to hercol larbone. Obeying an instinct thatseemed to run deep under the skin, Simonleaned forward and licked the blood fromher throat, tasting salt, tasting Isabelle.She shuddered, her fingers fluttering in hishair. “Simon…”

He drew back. She was looking at himwith her big dark eyes, very serious, hercheeks flushed. “I…”

“What?” For a wild moment he thoughtshe was going to say ‘I love you,’ butinstead she shook her head, yawned, andhooked her finger through one of the beltloops on his jeans. Her fingers playedwith the bare skin at his waist.

Somewhere Simon had heard thatyawning was a sign of blood loss. Hepanicked. “Are you okay? Did I drink toomuch? Do you feel tired? Are—”

She scooted closer to him. “I am fine.You made yourself stop. And I’m aShadowhunter. We replace blood at triplethe rate a normal human being does.”

“Did you…” He could barely bringhimself to ask. “Did you like it?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was husky. “I likedit.”

“Really?”

She giggled. “You couldn’t tell?”“I thought maybe you were faking it.”She raised herself up on one elbow and

looked down at him with her glowing darkeyes—how could eyes be dark and brightat the same time? “I don’t fake things,Simon,” she said. “And I don’t lie, and Idon’t pretend.”

“You’re a heartbreaker, IsabelleLightwood,” he said, as lightly as he couldwith her blood still running through himlike fire. “Jace told Clary once you’dwalk all over me in high-heeled boots.”

“That was then. You’re different now.”She eyed him. “You’re not scared of me.”

He touched her face. “And you’re notscared of anything.”

“I don’t know.” Her hair fell forward.“Maybe you’ll break my heart.” Before he

could say anything, she kissed him, and hewondered if she could taste her ownblood. “Now shut up. I want to sleep,” shesaid, and she curled up against his sideand closed her eyes.

Somehow, now, they fit, where theyhadn’t before. Nothing was awkward, orpoking into him, or banging against hisleg. It didn’t feel like childhood andsunlight and gentleness. It felt strange andheated and exciting and powerful and…different. Simon lay awake, his eyes onthe ceiling, his hand stroking Isabelle’ssilky black hair absently. He felt like he’dbeen caught up in a tornado and depositedsomewhere very far away, where nothingwas familiar. Eventually he turned hishead and kissed Izzy, very lightly, on theforehead; she stirred and murmured but

didn’t open her eyes.

When Clary woke in the morning, Jacewas still asleep, curled on his side, hisarm outstretched just enough to touch hershoulder. She kissed his cheek and got toher feet. She was about to pad into thebathroom to take a shower when she wasovercome by curiosity. She went quietlyto the bedroom door and peered out.

The blood on the hallway wall wasgone, the plaster unmarked. It was soclean she wondered if the whole thing hadbeen a dream—the blood, theconversation in the kitchen with Sebastian,all of it. She took a step across thecorridor, placed her hand against the wallwhere the bloody handprint had been—

“Good morning.”She whirled. It was her brother. He had

come out of his room soundlessly and wasstanding in the middle of the hall,regarding her with a crooked smile. Helooked freshly showered; damp, his fairhair was the color of silver, almostmetallic.

“You planning to wear that all thetime?” he asked, eyeing her nightgown.

“No, I was just…” She didn’t want tosay she’d been checking to see if therewas still blood in the hall. He just lookedat her, amused and superior. Clary backedaway. “I’m going to get dressed.”

He said something after her, but shedidn’t pause to hear what it was, justdarted back into Jace’s bedroom andclosed the door behind her. A moment

later she heard voices in the hallway—Sebastian’s again, and a girl’s, speakingmusical Italian. The girl from last night,she thought. The one he’d said was asleepin his room. It was only then that sherealized how much she’d suspected hewas lying.

But he’d been telling the truth. I’mgiving you a chance, he’d said. Can yougive me a chance?

Could she? This was Sebastian theywere talking about. She mulled it overfeverishly while she showered anddressed carefully. The clothes in thewardrobe, having been selected forJocelyn, were so far from her usual stylethat it was hard to choose what to wear.She found a pair of jeans—designer, fromthe price tag still attached—and a dotted

silk shirt with a bow at the neck that had avintage feel she liked. She threw her ownvelvet jacket on over it and headed backto Jace’s room, but he was gone, and itwasn’t hard to guess where. The rattle ofdishes, the sound of laughter, and thesmell of cooking floated up fromdownstairs.

She took the glass stairs two at a time,but paused on the bottom step, looking intothe kitchen. Sebastian was leaning againstthe refrigerator, arms crossed, and Jacewas making something in a pan thatinvolved onions and eggs. He wasbarefoot, his hair messy, his shirt buttonedhaphazardly, and the sight of him made herheart turn over. She had never seen himlike this, first thing in the morning, stillwith that warm golden aura of sleep

clinging to him, and she felt a piercingsadness that all these firsts werehappening with a Jace who wasn’t reallyher Jace.

Even if he did look happy, eyesshadow-free, laughing as he flipped theeggs in the pan and slid an omelet onto aplate. Sebastian said something to him,and Jace looked over at Clary and smiled.“Scrambled or fried?”

“Scrambled. I didn’t know you couldmake eggs.” She came down from thesteps and over to the kitchen counter. Sunwas streaming through the windows—despite the lack of clocks in the house, sheguessed it was late morning—and thekitchen glittered in glass and chrome.

“Who can’t make eggs?” Jacewondered aloud.

Clary raised her hand—and at the sametime so did Sebastian. She couldn’t help alittle jerk of surprise, and put her armdown hastily, but not before Sebastian hadseen and grinned. He was alwaysgrinning. She wished she could slap it offhis face.

She looked away from him and busiedherself putting together a breakfast platefrom what was on the table—bread, freshbutter, jam, and sliced bacon—the chewy,round kind. There was juice, too, and tea.They ate pretty well here, she thought.Although, if Simon was anything to go by,teenage boys were always hungry. Sheglanced toward the window—and did adouble take. The view was no longer of acanal but of a hill rising in the distance,topped by a castle.

“Where are we now?” she asked.“Prague,” said Sebastian. “Jace and I

have an errand to do here.” He glancedout the window. “We should probably getgoing soon, in fact.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Can Icome with you?”

Sebastian shook his head. “No.”“Why not?” Clary crossed her arms

over her chest. “Is this some manlybonding thing I can’t be a part of? Are yougetting matching haircuts?”

Jace handed her a plate with scrambledeggs on it, but he was looking atSebastian. “Maybe she could come,” hesaid. “I mean, this particular errand—it’snot dangerous.”

Sebastian’s eyes were like the woodsin the Frost poem, dark and deep. They

gave nothing away. “Anything can turndangerous.”

“Well, it’s your decision.” Jaceshrugged, reached for a strawberry,popped it into his mouth, and sucked thejuice off his fingers. Now that, Clarythought, was a clear and absolutedifference between this Jace and hers. HerJace had a ferocious and all-consumingcuriosity about everything. He wouldnever shrug and go along with someoneelse’s plan. He was like the oceanceaselessly throwing itself against a rockyshore, and this Jace was… a calm river,shining in the sun.

Because he’s happy?Clary’s hand tensed on her fork, her

knuckles whitening. She hated that littlevoice in her head. Like the Seelie Queen,

it planted doubts where there shouldn’t bedoubts, asked questions that had noanswer.

“I’m going to get my stuff.” Aftergrabbing another berry off the plate, Jacepopped it into his mouth and shot upstairs.Clary craned her head up. The clear glasssteps seemed invisible, making it look likehe was flying upward, not running.

“You’re not eating your eggs.” It wasSebastian. He had come around thecounter—still noiselessly, dammit—andwas looking at her, his eyebrows raised.He had the faintest accent, a mixture of theaccent of the people who lived in Idrisand something more British. Shewondered if he’d been hiding it before orif she just hadn’t noticed.

“I don’t actually like eggs,” she

confessed.“But you didn’t want to tell Jace that,

because he seemed so pleased to bemaking you breakfast.”

Since this was accurate, Clary saidnothing.

“Funny, isn’t it?” said Sebastian. “Thelies good people tell. He’ll probablymake you eggs every day for the rest ofyour life now, and you’ll choke themdown because you can’t tell him you don’tlike them.”

Clary thought of the Seelie Queen.“Love makes liars of us all?”

“Exactly. Quick study, aren’t you?” Hetook a step toward her, and an anxioustingle seared her nerves. He was wearingthe same cologne Jace wore. Sherecognized the citrusy black-pepper scent,

but on him it smelled different. Wrong,somehow. “We have that in common,”Sebastian said, and began to unbutton hisshirt.

She stood up hastily. “What are youdoing?”

“Easy there, little sis.” He popped thelast button, and his shirt hung open. Hesmiled lazily. “You’re the magical runegirl, aren’t you?”

Clary nodded slowly.“I want a strength rune,” he said. “And

if you’re the best, I want it from you. Youwouldn’t deny your big brother a rune,would you?” His dark eyes raked her.“Besides, you want me to give you achance.”

“And you want me to give you achance,” she said. “So I’ll make you a

deal. I’ll give you a strength rune if you letme come with you on your errand.”

He stripped the shirt the rest of the wayoff and dropped it onto the counter.“Deal.”

“I don’t have a stele.” She didn’t wantto look at him, but it was hard not to. Heseemed to be deliberately invading herpersonal space. His body was much likeJace’s—hard, without any extra ounce offlesh anywhere, the muscles showingclearly under the skin. He was scarredlike Jace too, though he was so pale thatthe white marks stood out less than theydid against Jace’s golden skin. On herbrother they were like silver pen on whitepaper.

He drew a stele from his belt andhanded it to her. “Use mine.”

“All right,” she said. “Turn around.”He did. And she swallowed back a

gasp. His bare back was striped withragged scars, one after the other, too evento be random accident.

Whip marks.“Who did this to you?” she said.“Who do you think? Our father,” he

said. “He used a whip made of demonmetal, so no iratze could heal them.They’re meant to remind me.”

“Remind you of what?”“Of the perils of obedience.”She touched one. It felt hot under her

fingertips, as if newly made, and rough,where the skin around it was smooth.“Don’t you mean ‘disobedience’?”

“I mean what I said.”“Do they hurt?”

“All the time.” Impatiently he glancedback over his shoulder. “What are youwaiting for?”

“Nothing.” She set the tip of the stele tohis shoulder blade, trying to keep her handsteady. Part of her mind raced, thinkinghow easy it would be to Mark him withsomething that would damage him, sickenhim, twist his insides—but what wouldhappen to Jace if she did? Shaking herhair out of her face, she carefully drew theFortis rune at the juncture of shoulderblade and back, just where, if he were anangel, he would have wings.

When she was done, he turned and tookthe stele from her, then shrugged his shirtback on. She didn’t expect a thank-you—and didn’t get one. He rolled his shouldersback as he buttoned the shirt, and grinned.

“You are good,” he said, but that was all.A moment later the steps rattled, and

Jace returned, shrugging on a suede jacket.He had clipped on his weapons belt too,and wore fingerless dark gloves.

Clary smiled at him with a warmth shedidn’t feel. “Sebastian says I can comewith you.”

Jace raised his eyebrows. “Matchinghaircuts for everyone?”

“I hope not,” said Sebastian. “I lookterrible with curls.”

Clary glanced down at herself. “Do Ineed to change into gear?”

“Not really. This isn’t the sort oferrand where we’re expecting to have tofight. But it’s good to be prepared. I’ll getyou something from the weapons room,”said Sebastian, and vanished upstairs.

Clary cursed herself silently for nothaving found the weapons room while shewas searching. Surely it had somethinginside that could provide some sort ofclue as to what they were planning—

Jace touched the side of her face, andshe jumped. She’d nearly forgotten he wasthere. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Absolutely. I’m going stir-crazy in thehouse. Besides, you taught me to fight. Ifigure you’d want me to use it.”

His lips quirked into a devilish grin; hebrushed her hair back and murmuredsomething into her ear about using whatshe’d learned from him. He leaned awayas Sebastian joined them, his own jacketon and a weapons belt in his hand. Therewas a dagger thrust through it, and aseraph blade. He reached out to draw

Clary close to him and pulled the beltaround her waist, double-looping it andsettling it low on her hips. She was toosurprised to push him away and he wasdone before she had the chance; turningaway, he moved toward the wall, wherethe outline of a doorway had appeared,shimmering like a doorway in a dream.

They stepped through it.

A soft knock on the library door madeMaryse raise her head. It was a cloudyday, dim outside the library windows, andthe green-shaded lamps cast small poolsof light in the circular room. She couldn’tsay how long she’d been sitting behind thedesk. Empty coffee mugs littered thesurface in front of her.

She rose to her feet. “Come in.”There was a soft click as the door

opened, but no sound of footsteps. Amoment later a parchment-robed figureglided into the room, his hood raised,shadowing his face. You called on us,Maryse Lightwood?

Maryse rolled her shoulders back. Shefelt cramped and tired and old. “BrotherZachariah. I was expecting—Well. Itdoesn’t matter.”

Brother Enoch? He is senior to me,but I thought perhaps that your callmight have something to do with thedisappearance of your adoptive son. Ihave a particular interest in his well-being.

She looked at him curiously. MostSilent Brothers didn’t editorialize, or

speak of their personal feelings, if theyhad any. Smoothing her tangled hair back,she stepped out from behind the desk.“Very well. I want to show yousomething.”

She had never really gotten used to theSilent Brothers, to the soundless way theymoved, as if their feet didn’t touch theground. Zachariah seemed to hover besideher as she led him across the library to amap of the world tacked to the north wall.It was a Shadowhunter map. It showedIdris in the center of Europe and the wardaround it as a border of gold.

On a shelf below the map were twoobjects. One was a shard of glass crustedwith dried blood. The other was a wornleather cuff bracelet, decorated with therune for angelic power.

“These are—”Jace Herondale’s cuff and Jonathan

Morgenstern’s blood. I understoodattempts to track them wereunsuccessful?

“It isn’t tracking precisely.” Marysestraightened her shoulders. “When I wasin the Circle, there was a mechanismValentine used by which he could locateus all. Unless we were in certainprotected places, he knew where we wereat all times. I thought there was a chancehe might have done the same to Jace whenhe was a child. He never seemed to havetrouble finding him.”

What kind of mechanism do you speakof?

“A mark. Not one from the Gray Book.We all had it. I had nearly forgotten about

it; after all, there was no way to get rid ofit.”

If Jace had it, would he not know of it,and take steps to prevent you using it tofind him?

Maryse shook her head. “It could be assmall as a tiny, almost invisible whitemark under his hair, as mine is. He wouldnot have known he had it—Valentinewouldn’t have wanted to tell him.”

Brother Zachariah moved apart fromher, examining the map. And what hasbeen the result of your experiment?

“Jace has it,” Maryse said, but she didnot sound pleased or triumphant. “I’veseen him on the map. When he appears,the map flares, like a spark of light, in thelocation where he is; and his cuff flares atthe same time. So I know it is him, and not

Jonathan Morgenstern. Jonathan neverappears on the map.”

And where is he? Where is Jace?“I’ve seen him appear, just for a few

seconds each time, in London, Rome, andShanghai. Just a little while ago heflickered into existence in Venice, andthen vanished again.”

How is he traveling so quicklybetween cities?

“By Portal?” She shrugged. “I don’tknow. I just know that every time the mapflickers, I know he’s alive… for now.And it’s like I can breathe again, just for alittle while.” She shut her mouthdecidedly, lest the other words comepouring out—how she missed Alec andIsabelle but could not bear to call themback to the Institute, where Alec at least

would be expected to take responsibilityin the manhunt for his own brother. Howshe still thought of Max every day and itwas like someone had emptied her lungsof air, and she would catch at her heart,afraid she was dying. She could not loseJace, too.

I can understand that. BrotherZachariah folded his hands in front of him.His hands looked young, not gnarled orbent, his fingers slender. Maryse oftenwondered how the Brothers aged and howlong they lived, but that information wassecret to their order. There is little morepowerful than the love of family. Butwhat I do not know is why you chose toshow this to me.

Maryse took a shuddering breath. “Iknow I should show it to the Clave,” she

said. “But the Clave knows of his bondwith Jonathan now. They are hunting themboth. They will kill Jace if they find him.And yet to keep it to myself is surelytreason.” She hung her head. “I decidedthat telling you, the Brothers, wassomething I could bear. Then it is yourchoice whether to show it to the Clave. I—I can’t stand that it be mine.”

Zachariah was silent a long moment.Then his voice, gentle in her head, said,Your map tells you that your son is stillalive. If you give it to the Clave, I do notthink it will help them much, besidestelling them that he is traveling fast andis impossible to track. They know thatalready. You keep the map. I will notspeak of it for now.

Maryse looked at him in astonishment.

“But… you are a servant of the Clave…”I was once a Shadowhunter like you. I

lived like you do. And like you, therewere those I loved enough to put theirwelfare before anything else—any oath,any debt.

“Did you…” Maryse hesitated. “Didyou ever have children?”

No. No children.“I’m sorry.”Do not be. And try not to let fear for

Jace devour you. He is a Herondale, andthey are survivors—

Something snapped inside Maryse. “Heis not a Herondale. He is a Lightwood.Jace Lightwood. He’s my son.”

There was a long pause. Then, I didnot mean to imply otherwise, saidBrother Zachariah. He unclasped his thin

hands and stepped back. There is onething you must be aware of. If Jaceappears on the map for more than a fewseconds at a time, you will have to tellthe Clave. You should brace yourself forthe possibility.

“I don’t think I can,” she said. “They’llsend hunters after him. Set a trap for him.He’s just a boy.”

He was never just a boy, saidZachariah, and he turned to glide from theroom. Maryse did not watch him go. Shehad returned to staring at the map.

Simon?Relief opened like a flower in his

chest. Clary’s voice, tentative butfamiliar, filled his head. He looked

sideways. Isabelle was still sleeping.Midday light was visible around the edgesof the curtains.

Are you awake?He rolled onto his back, stared up at

the ceiling. Of course I’m awake.Well, I wasn’t sure. You’re what, six,

seven hours behind where I am. It’stwilight here.

Italy?We’re in Prague now. It’s pretty.

There’s a big river and a lot of buildingswith spires. Looks a little like Idris froma distance. It’s cold here, though. Colderthan at home.

Okay, enough with the weather report.Are you safe? Where are Sebastian andJace?

They’re with me. I wandered off a

little, though. I said I wanted tocommune with the view from the bridge.

So I’m the view from the bridge?She laughed, or at least he felt

something that was like laughter in hishead—a soft, nervous laughter. I can’ttake too long. Though, they don’t reallyseem to suspect anything. Jace… Jacedefinitely doesn’t. Sebastian is harder toread. I don’t think he trusts me. Isearched his room yesterday, but there’snothing—I mean, nothing—to indicatewhat they’re planning. Last night…

Last night?Nothing. It was odd, how she could be

inside his head and he could still sensethat she was hiding something. Sebastianhas in his room the box my mom used toown. With his baby stuff in it. I can’t

figure out why.Don’t waste your time trying to figure

out Sebastian, Simon told her. He’s notworth it. Figure out what they’re goingto do.

I’m trying. She sounded irritable. Areyou still at Magnus’s?

Yeah. We’ve moved to phase two ofour plan.

Oh, yeah? What was phase one?Phase one was sitting around the

table, ordering pizza, and arguing.What’s phase two? Sitting around the

table drinking coffee and arguing?Not exactly. Simon took a deep breath.

We raised the demon Azazel.Azazel? Her mental voice spiked

upward; Simon almost clutched at hisears. So that’s what the stupid Smurf

question was about. Tell me you’rekidding.

I’m not. It’s a long story. He filled herin as best he could, watching Isabellebreathe as he did, watching the lightoutside the window grow brighter. Wethought he could help us find a weaponthat can hurt Sebastian without hurtingJace.

Yeah, but—demon-raising? Clarydidn’t sound convinced. And Azazel is noordinary demon. I’m the one with TeamEvil over here. You’re Team Good. Keepit in mind.

You know nothing’s that simple, Clary.It was as if he could feel her sigh, a

breath of air that passed over his skin,raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Iknow.

Cities and rivers, Clary thought as shetook her fingers from the gold ring on herright hand and turned away from the viewoff Charles Bridge, back to Jace andSebastian. They were on the other side ofthe old stone bridge, pointing off atsomething she couldn’t see. The waterbelow was the color of metal, slidingsoundlessly around the bridge’s ancientstruts; the sky was the same color, pockedwith black clouds.

The wind whipped at her hair and coatas she walked over to join Sebastian andJace. They all set off again, the two boysconversing softly; she could have joinedthe conversation if she’d wanted to, shesupposed, but there was something aboutthe still loveliness of the city, its spiresrising into mist in the distance, that made

her want to be quiet, to look and to thinkon her own.

The bridge emptied out into a twistingcobblestone street lined with touristshops, shops selling blood-red garnets andbig chunks of golden Polish amber, heavyBohemian glass, and wooden toys. Even atthis hour, touts stood outside nightclubs,holding free passes or cards that wouldgive you discounts on drinks; Sebastiangestured them aside impatiently, snappinghis annoyance in Czech. The press ofpeople was relieved when the streetwidened into an old medieval square.Despite the cold weather, it was filledwith milling pedestrians and kiosks wereselling sausages and hot, spiced cider.The three of them stopped for food and atearound a tall rickety table while the huge

astronomical clock in the square’s centerbegan to chime the hour. Clankingmachinery started up, and a circle ofdancing wooden figures appeared fromdoors on either side of the clock—thetwelve apostles, Sebastian explained asthe figures whirled around and around.

“There’s a legend,” he said, leaningforward with his hands cupped around amug of hot cider, “that the king had theeyes of the clock maker put out after thisclock was finished, so he could neverbuild anything as beautiful again.”

Clary shuddered and moved a littlecloser to Jace. He had been quiet sincethey’d left the bridge, as if lost in thought.People—girls, mainly—stopped to look athim as they passed, his hair bright andstartling among the winter-dark colors of

the Old Square. “That’s sadistic,” shesaid.

Sebastian ran his finger around the rimof his mug, and licked the cider off. “Thepast is another country.”

“Foreign country,” said Jace.Sebastian looked at him with lazy eyes.

“What?”“‘The past is a foreign country: they do

things differently there,’” Jace said.“That’s the whole quote.”

Sebastian shrugged and pushed his mugaway. You got a euro for returning them tothe stand where you bought the cider, butClary suspected Sebastian couldn’t bebothered to fake good citizenship for ameasly euro. “Let’s go.”

Clary wasn’t finished with her cider,but she set it down anyway and followed

as Sebastian led them away from thesquare, among a maze of narrow, twistingstreets. Jace had corrected Sebastian, shethought. Certainly it had been oversomething minor, but wasn’t Lilith’s bloodmagic supposed to bind him to her brotherin such a way that he thought everythingSebastian did was right? Could this be asign—even a tiny sign—that the spell thatconnected them was starting to fade?

It was stupid to hope, she knew. Butsometimes hope was all you had.

The streets grew narrower, darker. Theclouds overhead had completely blockedout the lowering sun, and old-fashionedgas lamps burned here and there,illuminating the misty dimness. The streetshad turned to cobblestones, and thesidewalks were narrowing, forcing them

to walk in a line, as if they were pickingtheir way across a narrow bridge. Onlythe sight of other pedestrians, appearingand disappearing out of the fog, madeClary feel that she had not stepped throughsome sort of warp in time into a dreamcity out of her own imagination.

Finally they reached an archway ofstone that opened out into a small square.Most of the stores had turned off theirlights, though across from them one was litup. It said ANTIKVARIAT in gold letters,and the window was full of old displaybottles of different substances, theirpeeling labels marked in Latin. Clary wassurprised when Sebastian headed towardit. What use could they possibly have forold bottles?

She dismissed the thought when they

stepped over the threshold. The storeinside was dimly lit and smelled ofmothballs, but it was stuffed, everycranny, with an incredible selection ofjunk—and not-junk. Beautiful celestialmaps warred for space with salt andpepper shakers shaped like the figuresfrom the clock in the Old Town Square.There were heaps of old tobacco andcigar tins, stamps mounted in glass, oldcameras of East German and Russiandesign, a gorgeous cut-glass bowl in adeep emerald shade sitting side by sidewith a stack of water-stained oldcalendars. An antique Czech flag hungfrom a mounting pole overhead.

Sebastian moved forward through thestacks toward a counter in the back of thestore, and Clary realized that what she had

taken for a mannequin was in fact an oldman with a face as creased and wrinkledas an old bedsheet, leaning back againstthe counter with his arms crossed. Thecounter itself was glass-fronted and heldheaps of vintage jewelry and sparklingglass beads, small chain purses with gemclasps, and rows of cuff links.

Sebastian said something in Czech, andthe man nodded and indicated Clary andJace with a jerk of his chin and asuspicious look. His eyes were, Clarysaw, a dark red color. She narrowed herown eyes, concentrating hard, and beganto strip the glamour from him.

It wasn’t easy; it seemed to stick to himlike flypaper. In the end she managed topull it away only enough to see in flashesthe real creature standing in front of her—

tall and human-shaped, with gray skin andruby-red eyes, a mouth full of pointedteeth that jutted every which way, andlong, serpentine arms that ended in headslike an eel’s—narrow, evil-looking, andtoothy.

“A Vetis demon,” Jace muttered in herear. “They’re like dragons. They like tostockpile sparkly things. Junk, jewels, it’sall the same to them.”

Sebastian was looking back over hisshoulder at Jace and Clary. “They’re mybrother and sister,” he said after amoment. “They are entirely to be trusted,Mirek.”

A faint shudder ran under Clary’s skin.She didn’t like the idea of posing asJace’s sister, even for a demon’s benefit.

“I don’t like this,” the Vetis demon

said. “You said we would be dealing onlywith you, Morgenstern. And while I knowValentine had a daughter”—his headdipped toward Clary—“I also know hehad only one son.”

“He’s adopted,” said Sebastianbreezily, gesturing toward Jace.

“Adopted?”“I think you’ll find the definition of the

modern family is really changing at animpressive pace these days,” said Jace.

The demon—Mirek—didn’t lookimpressed. “I don’t like this,” he saidagain.

“But you’ll like this,” said Sebastian,taking a pouch, tied at the top, from hispocket. He turned it upside down abovethe counter, and a clattering pile of bronzecoins fell out, clinking together as they

rolled across the glass. “Pennies fromdead men’s eyes. A hundred of them.Now, do you have what we agreed on?”

One toothed hand felt its way acrossthe counter and bit gently at a coin. Thedemon’s red eyes flickered over the pile.“That is all very well, but it is not enoughto buy what you seek.” He gestured withan undulating arm, and above it appearedwhat looked to Clary like a hunk of rockcrystal—only it was more luminous, moresheer, silvery, and beautiful. She realizedwith a jolt that it was the stuff seraphblades were made from. “Pure adamas,”Mirek said. “The stuff of Heaven.Priceless.”

Anger crackled across Sebastian’s facelike lightning, and for a moment Clary sawthe vicious boy underneath, the one who

had laughed while Hodge lay dying. Thenthe look was gone. “But we agreed on aprice.”

“We also agreed you would comealone,” said Mirek. His red eyes returnedto Clary, and to Jace, who hadn’t movedbut whose aspect had taken on thecontrolled stillness of a crouching cat’s.“I’ll tell you what else you can give me,”he said. “A lock of your sister’s prettyhair.”

“Fine,” Clary said, stepping forward.“You want a snip of my hair—”

“No!” Jace moved to block her. “He’sa dark magician, Clary. You have no ideawhat he could do with a lock of your hairor a bit of blood.”

“Mirek,” Sebastian said slowly, notlooking at Clary. And in that moment she

wondered, If Sebastian wanted to trade alock of her hair for the adamas, what wasto stop him? Jace had objected, but he wasalso compelled to do what Sebastianasked of him. In the crunch, what wouldwin out? The compulsion or Jace’sfeelings for her? “Absolutely not.”

The demon blinked a slow lizardlikeblink. “Absolutely not?”

“You will not touch a hair on mysister’s head,” said Sebastian. “Nor willyou renege on our bargain. No one cheatsValentine Morgenstern’s son. The agreedupon price, or—”

“Or what?” Mirek snarled. “Or I’ll besorry? You are not Valentine, little boy.Now, that was a man who inspired loyalty—”

“No,” said Sebastian, sliding a seraph

blade from the belt at his waist. “I am notValentine. I do not intend to deal withdemons as Valentine did. If I cannot haveyour loyalty, I will have your fear. Knowthat I am more powerful than my fatherever was, and if you do not deal fairlywith me, I will take your life, and havewhat I have come for.” He raised theblade he held. “Dumah,” he whispered,and the blade shot forth, shimmering like acolumn of fire.

The demon recoiled, snapping severalwords in a muddy-sounding language.Jace’s hand already had a dagger in it. Hecalled out to Clary, but not fast enough.Something struck her hard on the shoulder,and she fell forward, sprawling on thecluttered floor. She flipped over onto herback, fast, looked up—

And screamed. Looming over her wasa massive snake—or at least it had a thick,scaled body and a head hooded like acobra’s, but its body was jointed,insectile, with a dozen skittering legs thatended in jagged claws. Clary fumbled forher weapons belt as the creature rearedback, yellow venom dripping from itsfangs, and struck.

Simon had fallen back asleep after“speaking” with Clary. When he awokeagain, the lights were on, and Isabelleknelt on the edge of the bed, wearing jeansand a worn T-shirt she must haveborrowed from Alec. It had holes in thesleeves, and the stitching around the hemwas coming undone. She had the collar

pulled away from her throat and was usingthe tip of a stele to trace a rune onto theskin of her chest, just below hercollarbone.

He raised himself up on his elbows.“What are you doing?”

“Iratze,” she said. “For this.” Shetucked her hair back behind her ear, andhe saw the two puncture wounds he’dmade in the side of her throat. As shefinished the rune, they smoothed over,leaving only the faintest white flecksbehind.

“Are you… all right?” His voice cameout in a whisper. Smooth. He was trying tobite back the other questions he wanted toask. Did I hurt you? Do you think I’m amonster now? Have I creeped you outcompletely?

“I’m fine. I slept a lot later than Inormally ever do, but I think that’sprobably a good thing.” Seeing hisexpression, Isabelle slid her stele into herbelt. She crawled toward Simon with acatlike grace and positioned herself overhim, her hair falling down around them.They were so close their noses touched.She looked at him unblinklingly. “Why areyou so crazy?” she said, and he could feelher breath against his face, as soft as awhisper.

He wanted to pull her down and kissher—not bite her, just kiss her—but at thatexact moment the apartment door buzzersounded. A second later, someoneknocked on the bedroom door—banged onit, really, making it shake on its hinges.

“Simon. Isabelle.” It was Magnus.

“Look, I don’t care if you’re asleep ordoing unspeakable things to each other.Get dressed and come out to the livingroom. Now.”

Simon locked gazes with Isabelle, wholooked as puzzled as he did. “What’sgoing on?”

“Just get out here,” Magnus said, andthe sound of his retreating feet was loud ashe stalked away from their room.

Isabelle rolled off Simon, much to hisdisappointment, and sighed. “What do youthink it is?”

“No idea,” said Simon. “Emergencymeeting of Team Good, I guess.” He’dfound the phrase amusing when Clary hadused it. Isabelle, though, just shook herhead and sighed.

“I’m not sure there is any such thing as

Team Good these days,” she said.

13THE BONE CHANDELIER

As the serpent’s head drove downtoward Clary, a shining blur slashedacross it, almost blinding her. A seraphblade, its shimmering knife edge slicingthe demon’s head cleanly off. The headcrumpled, spraying venom and ichor;Clary rolled to one side, but some of thetoxic substance splattered onto her torso.The demon vanished before its two halvescould strike the floor. Clary bit down onher cry of pain and moved to get to her

feet. A hand was suddenly thrust into herfield of vision—an offer to pull her to herfeet. Jace, she thought, but as she lookedup, she realized she was staring at herbrother.

“Come on,” said Sebastian, his handstill out. “There are more of them.”

She grabbed his hand and let him lifther to her feet. He was splattered withdemon blood too—blackish-green stuffthat burned where it touched, leavingscorched patches on his clothing. As shestared at him, one of the snake-headedthings—Elapid demons, she realizedbelatedly, remembering an illustration in abook—reared up behind him, its neckflattening out like a cobra’s. Withoutthinking, Clary grabbed his shoulder andshoved him out of the way, hard; he

staggered back as the demon struck, andClary rose to meet it with the dagger shehad yanked from her belt. She turned herbody aside as she drove the dagger home,avoiding the creature’s fangs; its hissturned to a gurgle as the blade sank in andshe dragged it down, gutting the creatureopen the way someone might gut a fish.Burning demon blood exploded over herhand in a hot torrent. She screamed butkept her grip on the dagger as the Elapidwinked out of existence.

She whirled around. Sebastian wasfighting another of the Elapids by the doorof the shop; Jace was fending off two nextto a display of antique ceramics. Shards ofpottery littered the floor. Clary swung herarm back and threw the dagger, as Jacehad taught her to. It soared through the air

and struck one of the creatures in the side,sending it jittering and squeaking awayfrom Jace. Jace whirled around and,seeing her, winked before reaching up toscissor off the head of the remainingElapid demon. Its body collapsed as itvanished and Jace, splattered in blackblood, grinned.

A surge of something went throughClary—a sense of buzzing elation. BothJace and Isabelle had spoken to her of thehigh of battle, but she’d never reallyexperienced it before. Now she did. Shefelt all-powerful, her veins humming,strength uncoiling from the base of herspine. Everything seemed to have sloweddown around her. She watched as theinjured Elapid demon spun and turned onher, racing toward her on its insectile feet,

lips already curling back from its fangs.She stepped back, yanked the antique flagfrom its mounting place on the wall, andslammed the end of it into the Elapid’sopen, gaping mouth. The pole punched outthrough the back of the creature’s skull,and the Elapid disappeared, taking the flagwith it.

Clary laughed out loud. Sebastian, whohad just finished off another demon, swungaround at the noise, and his eyes widened.“Clary! Stop him!” he shouted, and shespun around to see Mirek, his handsfumbling at a door set into the back of theshop.

She broke into a run, yanking theseraph blade from her belt as she went.“Nakir!” she cried, vaulting up onto thecounter, and she flung herself from the top

of it as her weapon exploded intobrightness. She landed on the Vetisdemon, knocking him to the ground. One ofhis eel-like arms snapped at her, and shesliced it off with a sawing motion of herblade. More black blood sprayed. Thedemon looked at her with red, frightenedeyes.

“Stop,” he wheezed. “I could give youwhatever you want—”

“ I have everything I want,” shewhispered, and drove her seraph bladedown. It plunged into the demon’s chest,and Mirek disappeared with a hollow cry.Clary thumped to her knees on the carpet.

A moment later two heads appearedover the side of the counter, staring downat her—one golden-blond and one silver-blond. Jace and Sebastian. Jace was

wide-eyed; Sebastian looked pale. “Nameof the Angel, Clary,” he breathed. “Theadamas—”

“Oh, that stuff you wanted? It’s righthere.” It had rolled partly under thecounter. Clary held it up now, a luminouschunk of silver, smeared where herbloody hands had touched it.

Sebastian swore with relief andgrabbed the adamas out of her hands asJace vaulted over the counter in a singlemovement and landed beside Clary. Heknelt down and pulled her close, runninghis hands over her, his eyes dark withconcern. She caught at his wrists.

“I’m all right,” she said. Her heart waspounding, her blood still singing in herveins. He opened his mouth to saysomething, but she leaned forward and put

her hands on either side of his face, hernails digging in. “I feel good.” She lookedat him, rumpled and sweaty and bloody ashe was, and wanted to kiss him. Shewanted—

“All right, you two,” said Sebastian.Clary pulled away from Jace and glancedup at her brother. He was grinning downat them, lazily spinning the adamas in onehand. “Tomorrow we use this,” he said,nodding toward it. “But tonight—oncewe’re cleaned up a little—we celebrate.”

Simon padded barefoot out into the livingroom, Isabelle behind him, to find asurprising tableau. The circle and thepentagram in the center of the floor wereshining with a bright silver light, like

mercury. Smoke rose from the center of it,a tall black-red column, tipped withwhite. The whole room smelled ofburning. Magnus and Alec stood outsidethe circle, and with them Jordan and Maia,who—given the coats and hats they werewearing—looked as if they had justarrived.

“What’s going on?” Isabelle asked,stretching her long limbs with a yawn.“Why is everyone watching the PentagramChannel?”

“Just hang on a second,” Alec saidgrimly. “You’ll see.”

Isabelle shrugged and added her gazeto the others’. As everyone watched, thewhite smoke began to swirl, fast and thenfaster, a mini-tornado that tore across thecenter of the pentagram, leaving words

behind it spelled out in scorch marks:HAVE YOU MADE YOUR

DECISION YET?“Huh,” Simon said. “Has it been doing

that all morning?”Magnus threw his arms up. He was

wearing leather pants and a shirt with azigzag metallic lightning bolt on it. “Allnight, too.”

“Just asking the same question over andover?”

“No, it says different things. Sometimesit swears. Azazel appears to be havingsome fun.”

“Can it hear us?” Jordan cocked hishead to the side. “Hey, there, demon guy.”

The fiery letters rearrangedthemselves. HELLO, WEREWOLF.

Jordan took a step back and looked at

Magnus. “Is this… normal?”Magnus seemed deeply unhappy. “It is

most decidedly not normal. I have nevercalled up a demon as powerful as Azazel,but even so—I’ve been through theliterature, and I can’t find an example ofthis happening before. It’s getting out ofcontrol.”

“Azazel must be sent back,” Alec said.“Like, permanently sent back.” He shookhis head. “Maybe Jocelyn was right. Nogood can come from summoning demons.”

“I’m pretty sure I came from someonesummoning a demon,” Magnus noted.“Alec, I’ve done this hundreds of times. Idon’t know why this time would bedifferent.”

“Azazel can’t get out, can he?” saidIsabelle. “Of the pentagram, I mean.”

“No,” said Magnus, “but he shouldn’tbe able to be doing any of the other thingshe’s doing either.”

Jordan leaned forward, his hands onhis blue-jeaned knees. “What’s it likebeing in Hell, dude?” he asked. “Hot orcold? I’ve heard both.”

There was no reply.“Good job, Jordan,” said Maia. “I

think you annoyed him.”Jordan poked at the edge of the

pentagram. “Can it tell the future? So,pentagram, is our band going to make itbig?”

“It’s a demon from Hell, not a MagicEight Ball, Jordan,” said Magnus irritably.“And stay away from the borders of thepentagram. Summon a demon and trap it ina pentagram, and it can’t get out to harm

you. But step into the pentagram, andyou’ve put yourself in the demon’s rangeof power—”

At that moment the pillar of smokebegan to coalesce. Magnus’s headwhipped up, and Alec stood, almostknocking over his chair, as the smoke tookon the form of Azazel. His suit formedfirst—a gray and silver pinstripe, withelegant cuffs—and then he seemed to fill itout, his flame eyes the last thing to appear.He looked around him in evident pleasure.“The gang’s all here, I see,” he said. “So,have you come to a decision?”

“We have,” said Magnus. “I don’tbelieve we’ll be requiring your services.Thanks anyway.”

There was a silence.“You can go now.” Magnus wiggled

his fingers in a goodbye wave. “Ta.”“I don’t think so,” Azazel said

pleasantly, whipping out his handkerchiefand buffing his nails with it. “I think I’llstay. I like it here.”

Magnus sighed and said something toAlec, who went to the table and returnedcarrying a book, which he handed to thewarlock. Magnus flipped it open andbegan to read. “Damned spirit, begone.Return thou to the realm of smoke andflame, of ash and—”

“That won’t work on me,” said thedemon in a bored voice. “Go ahead andtry, if you like. I’ll still be here.”

Magnus looked at him with eyessmoldering with rage. “You can’t force usto bargain with you.”

“I can try. It’s hardly as if I have

anything better to occupy—”Azazel broke off as a familiar shape

streaked through the room. It wasChairman Meow, hot on the heels of whatlooked like a mouse. As everyonewatched in surprise and horror, the smallcat dashed through the outline of thepentagram—and Simon, acting on instinctrather than rational thought, jumped intothe pentagram after him and scooped himup into his arms.

“Simon!” He knew without turningaround that it was Isabelle, her cryreflexive. He turned to look at her as sheclapped her hand over her mouth andlooked at him with wide eyes. They wereall staring. Izzy’s face was drained whitewith horror, and even Magnus lookedunsettled.

Summon a demon and trap it in apentagram, and it can’t get out to harmyou. But step into the pentagram, andyou’ve put yourself in the demon’s rangeof power.

Simon felt a tap on his shoulder. Hedropped Chairman Meow as he turned,and the small cat streaked out of thepentagram and across the room to hideunder a sofa. Simon looked up. Themassive face of Azazel loomed over him.This close, he could see the cracks in thedemon’s skin, like cracks in marble, andthe flames deep in Azazel’s pitted eyes.When Azazel smiled, Simon saw that eachof his teeth was tipped with a needle ofiron.

Azazel exhaled. A cloud of hot sulfurspread around Simon. He was dimly

aware of Magnus’s voice, rising andfalling in a chant, and Isabelle screamingsomething as the demon’s hands clampedaround his arms. Azazel lifted Simon offthe ground so his feet were dangling in theair—and threw him.

Or tried to. His hands slipped offSimon; Simon dropped to the ground in acrouch as Azazel shot backward andseemed to hit an invisible barrier. Therewas a sound like stone shattering. Azazelslid to his knees, then painfully rose to hisfeet. He looked up with a roar, teethflashing, and stalked toward Simon—who,realizing belatedly what was going on,reached up with a shaking hand andpushed the hair back from his forehead.

Azazel stopped in his tracks. Hishands, the nails tipped with the same

sharp iron as his teeth, curled in towardhis sides. “Wanderer,” he breathed. “Is ityou?”

Simon stayed frozen. Magnus was stillchanting softly in the background, buteveryone else was silent. Simon wasafraid to look around, to catch the eye ofany of his friends. Clary and Jace, hethought, had already seen the work of theMark, its blazing fire. No one else had.No wonder they were wordless.

“No,” Azazel said, his fiery eyesnarrowing. “No, you are too young, andthe world too old. But who would dareplace Heaven’s mark on a vampire? Andwhy?”

Simon lowered his hand. “Touch meagain and find out,” he said.

Azazel gave a rumbling sound—half

laughter, half disgust. “I think not,” hesaid. “If you have been dabbling inbending the will of Heaven, even myfreedom is not worth gambling for byallying my fate with yours.” He glancedaround the room. “You are all madmen.Good luck, human children. You will needit.”

And he vanished in a burst of flame,leaving searing black smoke—and thestink of sulfur—behind.

“Hold still,” Jace said, taking theHerondale dagger in his hand and usingthe tip of it to slice Clary’s shirt openfrom the collar to the hem. He took thetwo halves of it and pushed them gingerlyoff her shoulders, leaving her sitting on the

edge of the sink in just her jeans and acamisole. Most of the ichor and venomhad gotten on her jeans and coat, but thefragile silk shirt was trashed. Jacedropped it into the sink, where it sizzledin the water, and applied his stele to hershoulder, tracing the outlines of thehealing rune lightly.

She closed her eyes, feeling the burn ofthe rune, and then a rush as the relief frompain spread up her arms and down herback. It was like Novocain, but withoutmaking her numb.

“Better?” Jace asked.She opened her eyes. “Much.” It wasn’t

perfect—the irazte didn’t have mucheffect on burns caused by demon venom,but those tended to heal quickly onShadowhunter skin. As it was, they stung

only a little, and Clary, still feeling thehigh of the battle, barely noticed it. “Yourturn?”

He grinned and offered her the stele.They were in the back of the antiquesstore. Sebastian had gone to lock up anddim the lights up front, lest they attractmundane attention. He was excited about“celebrating” and when he had left them,had been debating whether to go back tothe apartment and change, or straight to thenightclub in the Malá Strana.

If there was a part of Clary that felt thewrongness of it, the idea of celebratinganything, it was lost in the humming of herblood. Amazing that it had taken fightingalongside Sebastian of all people to flipthe switch inside her that seemed to turnher Shadowhunter instincts on. She

wanted to leap tall buildings in a singlebound, do a hundred flips, learn to scissorher blades the way Jace did. Instead shetook the stele from him and said, “Takeyour shirt off, then.”

He pulled it over his head, and shetried to look unaffected. He had a long cutalong his side, angry purple-red along theedges, and the burns of demon bloodacross his collarbone and right shoulder.Still, he was the most beautiful person shehad ever known. Pale gold skin, broadshoulders, narrow waist and hips, that thinline of golden hair that ran from his navelto the waistband of his jeans. She pulledher eyes away from him and set the steleto his shoulder, industriously carving intohis skin what had to be the millionthhealing rune he’d ever gotten.

“Good?” she asked when she wasfinished.

“Mmm-hmm.” He leaned in, and shecould smell the scent of him—blood andcharcoal, sweat, and the cheap soapthey’d found by the sink. “I liked that,” hesaid. “Didn’t you? Fighting together likethat?”

“It was… intense.” He was standingbetween her legs already; he movedcloser, fingers looping into the waistbandof her jeans. Her hands fluttered to hisshoulders, and she saw the gleam of thegold leaf-ring on her finger. It sobered herslightly. Don’t get distracted; don’t getlost in this. This isn’t Jace, isn’t Jace,isn’t Jace.

His lips brushed hers. “I thought it wasincredible. You were incredible.”

“Jace,” she whispered, and then therewas a banging on the door. Jace let go ofher in surprise, and she slid backward,knocking into the faucet, whichimmediately turned on, spraying them bothwith water. She yelped with surprise, andJace burst out laughing, turning to throwthe door open as Clary twisted around toturn the faucet off.

It was Sebastian, of course. He lookedremarkably clean, considering what they’dbeen through. He’d discarded his stainedleather jacket in favor of an antiquemilitary coat, which, thrown over his T-shirt, lent him a look of thrift-store chic.He was carrying something in his hands,something black and shiny.

He raised his eyebrows.“Is there a reason you just threw my

sister into the sink?”’“I was sweeping her off her feet,” said

Jace, bending down to grab his shirt. Heyanked it back on. Like Sebastian’s, hisouterwear had sustained most of thedamage, though there was a rip down theside of the shirt where a demon’s clawhad slashed through.

“I brought you something to wear,”said Sebastian, handing the shiny blackthing to Clary, who had wriggled out ofthe sink and was now standing, drippingsoapy water onto the tiled floor. “It’svintage. It looks about your size.”

Startled, Clary handed Jace back hisstele and took the proffered garment. Itwas a dress—a slip, really—jet-black,with elaborately beaded straps and a lacehem. The straps were adjustable, and the

fabric was stretchy enough that shesuspected Sebastian was right, it probablywould fit her. Part of her didn’t like theidea of wearing something Sebastian hadpicked, but she couldn’t exactly go out to aclub in an unraveling camisole and a pairof soaking-wet jeans. “Thanks,” she saidfinally. “All right, both of you get out ofhere while I change.”

They left, closing the door behind them.She could hear them, raised boys’ voices,and though she couldn’t hear the words,she could tell they were joking with eachother. Comfortably. Familiarly. It was sostrange, she thought as she shucked off herjeans and cami and slipped the dress overher head. Jace, who hardly ever openedup to anyone, was laughing and jokingaround with Sebastian.

She turned to look at herself in themirror. The black washed the color out ofher skin, made her eyes look big and darkand her hair redder, her arms and legslong and thin and pale. Her eyes weresmudged with dark shadow. The boots shehad been wearing under her jeans added acertain toughness to the outfit. She wasn’tsure if she looked pretty exactly, but shesure looked like she was someone whoshouldn’t be messed with.

She wondered if Isabelle wouldapprove.

She unlocked the bathroom door andstepped out. She was in the dim back ofthe store, where all the junk that wasn’thoused up front had been tossedcarelessly. A velvet curtain separated itfrom the rest of the establishment. Jace

and Sebastian were on the other side ofthe curtain, talking, though she stillcouldn’t make out the words. She pulledthe curtain aside and stepped out.

The lights were on, though the metalawning had been lowered over the glassfront of the store, rendering the insideinvisible to passersby. Sebastian wasgoing through the stuff on the shelves, hislong careful hands taking down objectafter object, subjecting them to a cursoryinspection, and placing them back on theshelf.

Jace was the first one to see Clary. Shesaw his eyes spark, and remembered thefirst time he had seen her dressed up,wearing Isabelle’s clothes, on her way toMagnus’s party. As they had then, his eyestraveled slowly from the boots, up her

legs, hips, waist, chest, and came to reston her face. He smiled lazily.

“I could point out that that’s not adress, that’s underwear,” he said, “but Idoubt it would be in my best interest.”

“Need I remind you,” said Sebastian,“that that is my sister?”

“Most brothers would be delighted tosee such a clean-cut gentleman as myselfsquiring their sisters about town,” saidJace, grabbing an army jacket off one ofthe racks and sliding his arms into it.

“Squiring?” Clary echoed. “Next you’llbe telling me you’re a rogue and a rake.”

“And then it’s pistols at dawn,” saidSebastian, striding toward the velvetcurtain. “I’ll be right back. I’ve got towash the blood out of my hair.”

“Fussy, fussy,” Jace called after him

with a grin, then reached for Clary andpulled her against him. His voice droppedto a low whisper. “Remember when wewent to Magnus’s party? You came outinto the lobby with Isabelle, and Simonalmost had an apoplectic fit?”

“Funny, I was thinking about the samething.” She tipped her head back to lookup at him. “I don’t remember you sayinganything at the time about the way Ilooked.”

His fingers slid under the straps of herslip dress, the tips brushing her skin. “Ididn’t think you liked me much. And Ididn’t think a detailed description of allthe things I wanted to do to you, deliveredin front of an audience, would have beenthe thing to change your mind.”

“You didn’t think I liked you?” Her

voice rose incredulously. “Jace, when hasa girl ever not liked you?”

He shrugged. “Doubtless the lunaticasylums of the world are filled withunfortunate women who have failed to seemy charms.”

A question hovered on the tip of hertongue, one she had always wanted to askhim but never had. After all, what did itreally matter what he’d done before hemet her? As if he could read theexpression on her face, his golden eyessoftened slightly.

“I never cared what girls thought aboutme,” he said. “Not before you.”

Before you. Clary’s voice shook alittle. “Jace, I wondered—”

“Your verbal foreplay is boring andannoying,” said Sebastian, reappearing

around the velvet curtain, his silver hairdamp and tousled. “Ready to go?”

Clary stepped free of Jace, blushing;Jace looked unruffled. “We’re the oneswho’ve been waiting for you.”

“Looks like you found a way to passthe agonizing time. Now come on. Let’sgo. I’m telling you, you’re going to lovethis place.”

“I am never getting my security depositback,” said Magnus glumly. He sat on topof the table, among the pizza boxes andcoffee mugs, watching as the rest of TeamGood did their best to clean up thedestruction left by Azazel’s appearance—the smoking holes pocked into the walls,the sulfurous black goo dripping from the

ceiling pipes, the ash and other grainyblack substances ground into the floor.Chairman Meow was stretched across thewarlock’s lap, purring. Magnus was offcleaning duty because he’d allowed hisapartment to be half-destroyed; Simonwas off cleaning duty because after thepentagram incident no one seemed toknow quite what to make of him. He’dtried to talk to Isabelle, but she’d onlyshaken her mop at him in a threateningmanner.

“I have an idea,” Simon said. He wassitting next to Magnus, his elbows on hisknees. “But you’re not going to like it.”

“I have a feeling you’re right,Sherwin.”

“Simon. My name is Simon.”“Whatever.” Magnus waved a slender

hand. “What’s your idea?”“I’ve got the Mark of Cain,” said

Simon. “That means nothing can kill me,right?”

“You can kill yourself,” Magnus said,somewhat unhelpfully. “As far as I know,inanimate objects can accidentally killyou. So if you were planning on teachingyourself the lambada on a greasedplatform over a pit full of knives, Iwouldn’t.”

“There goes my Saturday.”“But nothing else can kill you,” Magnus

said. His eyes had drifted away fromSimon, and he was watching Alec, whoappeared to be battling a Swiffer. “Why?”

“What happened in the pentagram, withAzazel, made me think,” said Simon. “Yousaid summoning angels is more dangerous

than summoning demons, because theymight smite down the person whosummoned them, or scorch them withheavenly fire. But if I did it…” His voicetrailed off. “Well, I’d be safe, wouldn’tI?”

That snapped Magnus’s attention back.“You? Summon an angel?”

“You could show me how,” saidSimon. “I know I’m not a warlock, butValentine did it. If he did it, shouldn’t I beable to? I mean, there are humans who cando magic.”

“I couldn’t promise you’d live,”Magnus said, but there was a spark ofinterest in his voice that belied thewarning. “The Mark is Heaven’sprotection, but does it protect you againstHeaven itself? I don’t know the answer.”

“I didn’t think you did. But you agreethat out of all of us I probably have thebest chance, right?”

Magnus looked over at Maia, who wassplashing dirty water at Jordan andlaughing as he twisted away, yelping. Shepushed her curling hair back, leaving adark streak of dirt across her forehead.She looked young. “Yes,” Magnus saidreluctantly. “Probably you do.”

“Who is your father?” asked Simon.Magnus’s eyes went back to Alec.

They were gold-green, as unreadable asthe eyes of the cat he held on his lap. “Notmy favorite topic, Smedley.”

“Simon,” said Simon. “If I’m going todie for you all, the least you could do isremember my name.”

“You’re not dying for me,” said

Magnus. “If it weren’t for Alec, I’d be…”“You’d be where?”“I had a dream,” Magnus said, his eyes

distant. “I saw a city all of blood, withtowers made of bone, and blood ran in thestreets like water. Maybe you can saveJace, Daylighter, but you can’t save theworld. The darkness is coming. ‘A land ofdarkness, as darkness itself; and of theshadow of death, without any order, andwhere the light is as darkness.’ If itweren’t for Alec, I’d be gone from here.”

“Where would you go?”“Hide. Wait for it to blow over. I’m

not a hero.” Magnus picked up ChairmanMeow and dumped him onto the floor.

“You love Alec enough to stickaround,” said Simon. “That’s kind ofheroic.”

“You loved Clary enough to wreckyour whole life for her,” said Magnuswith a bitterness that was notcharacteristic of him. “See where that gotyou.” He raised his voice. “All right,everybody. Get over here. Sheldon’s hadan idea.”

“Who’s Sheldon?” said Isabelle.

The streets of Prague were cold and dark,and though Clary kept her ichor-burnedcoat wrapped around her shoulders, shefound the icy air cutting into the buzzinghum in her veins, muting the leftover highfrom the battle. She bought a cup of hotwine to keep the buzz going, wrapping herhands around it for warmth as she, Jace,and Sebastian lost themselves in a

twisting labyrinth of ever narrower, everdarker ancient streets. There were nostreet signs or names, and no otherpedestrians; the only constant was themoon moving through thick cloudsoverhead. At last a shallow flight of stonesteps took them down into a tiny square,one side of which was lit by a flashingneon sign that said KOSTI LUSTR. Belowthe sign was an open door, a blank spot inthe wall that looked like a missing tooth.

“What does that mean, ‘Kosti Lustr’?”Clary asked.

“It means ‘The Bone Chandelier.’ It’sthe name of the nightclub,” said Sebastian,sauntering forward. His pale hairreflected the changing neon colors of thesign: hot red, cold blue, metallic gold.“You coming?”

A wall of sound and light hit Clary themoment she entered the club. It was a big,tightly packed space that looked like it hadonce been the interior of a church. Shecould still see stained-glass windows highup in the walls. Darting colored spotlightspicked out the blissed-out faces of dancersin the churning crowd, lighting them upone at a time: hot pink, neon green,burning violet. There was a DJ boothalong one wall, and trance music blastedfrom the speakers. The music pounded upthrough her feet, into her blood, vibratingher bones. The room was hot with thepress of bodies and the smell of sweat andsmoke and beer.

She was about to turn and ask Jace ifhe wanted to dance, when she felt a handon her back. It was Sebastian. She tensed

but didn’t pull away. “Come on,” he saidinto her ear. “We’re not staying up herewith the hoi polloi.”

His hand was like iron pressing againsther spine. She let him propel her forward,through the dancers; the crowd seemed topart to let them through, people looking upto glance at Sebastian, then dropping theirgazes, backing away. The heat increased,and Clary was almost gasping by the timethey reached the far side of the room.There was an archway there that shehadn’t noticed before. A set of worn stonesteps led downward, curving away intodarkness.

She glanced up as Sebastian took hishand away from her back. Light blazedaround them. Jace had taken out hiswitchlight rune-stone. He grinned at her,

his face all angles and shadows in theharsh, focused light.

“‘Easy is the descent,’” he said.Clary shivered. She knew the whole

phrase. Easy is the descent into Hell.“Come on.” Sebastian jerked his head,

and then he was moving downward,graceful and sure-footed, not worriedabout slipping on the age-smoothedstones. Clary followed a little moreslowly. The air grew cooler as they wentdown, and the sound of the poundingmusic faded. She could hear theirbreathing, and see their shadows thrown,distorted and spindly, against the walls.

She heard the new music before theyreached the bottom of the stairs. It had aneven more insistent beat than the music inthe club upstairs; it shot through her ears

and into her veins and spun her around.She was almost dizzy by the time theyreached the last of the stairs and steppedout into a massive room that stole herbreath.

Everything was stone, the walls bumpyand uneven, the floor smooth beneath theirfeet. A massive statue of a black-wingedangel rose along the far wall, its head lostin shadows far above, its wings drippingstrings of garnets that looked like drops ofblood. Explosions of color and light burstlike cherry bombs throughout the room,nothing like the artificial light upstairs—these were beautiful, sparkling likefireworks, and every time one burst, itrained down a glittering shimmer onto thedancing crowd below. Huge marblefountains sprayed sparkling water; black

rose petals drifted onto the surface. Andfar above everything, dangling downabove the packed floor of dancers on along golden cord, was a massivechandelier made of bones.

It was as intricate as it was gruesome.The main body of the chandelier wasformed by spinal columns, fused together;femurs and tibias dripped like decorationfrom the arms of the fixture, whichswooped up to cradle human skulls, eachholding a massive taper. Black waxdripped like demon blood to spatter on thedancers below, none of whom seemed tonotice. And the dancers themselves—whirling and spinning and clapping—noneof them were human.

“Werewolves and vampires,” saidSebastian, answering Clary’s unasked

question. “In Prague they’re allies. This iswhere they… relax.” A hot breeze wasblowing through the room, like desertwind; it lifted his silvery hair and blew itacross his eyes, hiding their expression.

Clary wriggled out of her coat and heldit pressed against her chest almost like ashield. She looked around with wide eyes.She could sense the nonhuman-ness of theothers in the room, the vampires with theirpallor and their swift and languid grace,the werewolves fierce and fast. Mostwere young, dancing close, writhing upand down each other’s bodies. “But—won’t they mind us being here?Nephilim?”

“They know me,” said Sebastian. “Andthey’ll know you’re with me.” He reachedout and tugged the coat out of her grip.

“I’ll go get that hung up for you.”“Sebastian—,” But he was gone, into

the crowd.She looked at Jace beside her. He had

his thumbs hooked into his belt and waslooking around with casual interest.“Vampire coat check?” she said.

“Why not?” Jace smiled. “You’llnotice he didn’t offer to take my coat.Chivalry is dead, I tell you.” He tipped hishead to the side at her quizzicalexpression. “Whatever. There’s probablysomeone he has to talk to here.”

“So this isn’t just for fun?”“Sebastian never does anything just for

fun.” Jace took her hands and pulled hertoward him. “But I do.”

To Simon’s complete lack of surprise, noone was enthusiastic about his plan. Therewas a loud chorus of disapproval,followed by a clamor of voices trying totalk him out of it, and questions, mostlydirected at Magnus, about the safety of thewhole enterprise. Simon rested hiselbows on his knees and waited it out.

Eventually he felt a soft touch on hisarm. He turned, and to his surprise it wasIsabelle. She gestured at him to followher.

They wound up in the shadows nearone of the pillars as the argument ragedbehind them. Since Isabelle had initiallybeen one of the loudest dissenters, hebraced himself for her to yell at him.However, she only looked at him with hermouth tight. “Okay,” he said finally, hating

the silence. “I guess you’re not pleasedwith me right now.”

“ Yo u guess? I’d kick your butt,vampire, but I don’t want to ruin myexpensive new boots.”

“Isabelle—”“I’m not your girlfriend.”“Right,” Simon said, though he couldn’t

help a twinge of disappointment. “I knowthat.”

“And I’ve never begrudged you thetime you’ve spent with Clary. I evenencouraged it. I know how much you careabout her. And how much she cares aboutyou. But this—this is an insane risk you’retalking about taking. Are you sure?”

Simon looked around—at Magnus’smessy apartment, the small group in thecorner arguing about his fate. “This isn’t

just about Clary.”“Well, it isn’t about your mother, is

it?” Isabelle said. “That she called you amonster? You don’t have anything toprove, Simon. That’s her problem, notyours.”

“It’s not like that. Jace saved my life. Iowe him.”

Isabelle looked surprised. “You’re notdoing this just to pay Jace back, are you?Because I think by now everyone’s prettyeven.”

“No, not completely,” he said. “Look,we all know the situation. Sebastian can’tbe running around loose. It isn’t safe. TheClave is right about that much. But if hedies, Jace dies. And if Jace dies,Clary…”

“She’ll survive,” Isabelle said, her

voice quick and hard. “She’s tough andstrong.”

“She’ll hurt. Maybe forever. I don’twant her to hurt like that. I don’t want youto hurt like that.”

Isabelle crossed her arms. “Of coursenot. But do you think she won’t be hurt,Simon, if something happens to you?”

Simon bit his lip. He actually hadn’tthought about it. Not like that. “What aboutyou?”

“What about me?”“Will you be hurt if something happens

to me?”She kept looking at him, her back

straight, her chin steady. But her eyeswere shining. “Yes.”

“But you want me to help Jace.”“Yes. I want that, too.”

“You have to let me do this,” he said.“It’s not just for Jace, or for you andClary, though you’re all a big part of it.It’s because I believe darkness is coming.I believe Magnus when he says it. Ibelieve Raphael is truly afraid of a war. Ibelieve we’re seeing a small piece ofSebastian’s plan, but I don’t think it’s anycoincidence he took Jace with him whenhe went. Or that he and Jace are linked.He knows we need Jace to win a war. Heknows what Jace is.”

Isabelle didn’t deny it. “You’re just asbrave as Jace.”

“Maybe,” said Simon. “But I’m notNephilim. I can’t do what he can do. And Idon’t mean as much to as many people.”

“Special destinies and specialtorments,” Isabelle whispered. “Simon—

you mean a lot to me.”He reached out, and lightly cupped her

cheek. “You’re a warrior, Iz. It’s what youdo. It’s what you are. But if you can’t fightSebastian because hurting him would hurtJace, you can’t fight the war. And if youhave to kill Jace to win the war, I thinkit’ll kill part of your soul. And I don’twant to see that, not if I could dosomething to change it.”

She swallowed. “It’s not fair,” shesaid. “That it has to be you—”

“This is my choice, to do this. Jacedoesn’t have a choice. If he dies, it’s forsomething he didn’t have anything to dowith, not really.”

Isabelle expelled a breath. Sheuncrossed her arms and took him by theelbow. “All right,” she said. “Let’s go.”

She steered him back toward the group,who broke off their argument and staredwhen she cleared her throat, as if theyhadn’t quite realized the two of them hadbeen missing until this moment.

“That’s enough,” she said. “Simon hasmade his decision, and it’s his decision tomake. He’s going to summon Raziel. Andwe’re going to help him in any way wecan.”

They danced. Clary tried to lose herself inthe pounding beat of the music, the rush ofblood in her veins, the way she had oncebeen able to do at Pandemonium withSimon. Of course Simon had been a fairlyterrible dancer, and Jace was an excellentdancer. She supposed it made sense. With

all that trained fighting control and carefulgrace, there wasn’t much he couldn’t makehis body do. When he flung his head back,his hair was dark with sweat, pasted to histemples, and the curve of his throatgleamed in the light of the bonechandelier.

She saw the way the other dancerslooked at him—appreciation, speculation,predatory hunger. A possessiveness shecouldn’t name or control rose up insideher. She moved closer, sliding up his bodythe way she’d seen girls do on the dancefloor before but had never had the nerve totry herself. She’d always been convincedshe’d get her hair caught on someone’sbelt buckle, but things were different now.Her months of training didn’t pay off justin a fight, but any time she had to use her

body. She felt fluid, in control, in a wayshe never had before. She pressed herbody against Jace’s.

His eyes had been closed; he openedthem just as an explosion of colored lightlit up the darkness above them. Metallicdrops rained down on them; droplets werecaught in Jace’s hair and shimmering onhis skin like mercury. He touched hisfingers to a drop of silver liquid on hiscollarbone and showed it to her, his lipscurving. “Do you remember what I toldyou that first time at Taki’s? About faeriefood?”

“I remember you said you ran downMadison Avenue naked with antlers onyour head,” said Clary, blinking silverdrops off her lashes.

“I don’t think that was ever proved to

have actually been me.” Only Jace couldtalk while he danced and not make it lookawkward. “Well, this stuff”—and heflicked at the silvery liquid that mixedwith his hair and skin, painting him inmetal—“is like that. It’ll get you…”

“High?”He watched her with darkened eyes. “It

can be fun.” Another of the driftingflower-things burst above their head; thisspatter was silver-blue, like water. Jacelicked a drop off the side of his hand,studying her.

High. Clary had never done drugs,didn’t even drink. Maybe if you countedthe bottle of Kahlúa she and Simon hadsmuggled out of his mom’s liquor cabinetand drunk when they’d been thirteen.They’d been heartily sick afterward;

Simon had, in fact, thrown up in a hedge.It hadn’t been worth it, but she didremember the sensation of being dizzy andgiggly and happy for no reason.

When Jace lowered his hand, his mouthwas stained with silver. He was stillwatching her, gold eyes dark under hislong lashes.

Happy for no reason.She thought of the way they had been

together in the time after the Mortal Warbefore Lilith had begun to possess him. Hehad been the Jace in the photograph on hiswall then: so happy. They both had beenhappy. There had been no nagging doubtwhen she looked at him, none of thisfeeling of tiny knives under her skin,eroding the closeness between them.

She leaned up then, and kissed him,

slowly and definitively, on the lips.Her mouth exploded with a sweet-sour

taste, a mixture of wine and candy. Moreof the silvery liquid rained down on themas she pulled away from him, licking hermouth deliberately. Jace was breathinghard; he reached for her, but she spunaway, laughing.

She felt wild and free suddenly, andincredibly light. She knew there wassomething terribly important she wassupposed to be doing, but she couldn’tremember what it was, or why she hadcared. The faces of the dancers around herno longer looked vulpine and faintlyfrightening, but darkly beautiful. She wasin a great echoing cavern, and theshadows around her were painted withcolors lovelier and brighter than any

sunset. The angel statue that loomed aboveher seemed benevolent, a thousand timesmore so than Raziel and his cold whitelight, and a high singing note sounded fromit, pure and clear and perfect. She spun,faster and faster, leaving behind grief,memories, loss, until she spun into a pairof arms that snaked around her frombehind and held her tight. She lookeddown and saw scarred hands lockedaround her waist, slim beautiful fingers,the Voyance rune. Jace. She melted backagainst him, closing her eyes, letting herhead fall into the curve of his shoulder.She could feel his heart beating againsther spine.

No one else’s heart beat like Jace’sdid, or ever could.

Her eyes flew open, and she spun

around, her hands out to push him away.“Sebastian,” she whispered. Her brothergrinned down at her, silver and black likethe Morgenstern ring.

“Clarissa,” he said. “I want to showyou something.”

No. The word came and went,dissolving like sugar into liquid. Shecouldn’t remember why she was supposedto say no to him. He was her brother; sheshould love him. He had brought her tothis beautiful place. Perhaps he had donebad things, but that was a long time agoand she could no longer remember whatthey were.

“I can hear angels singing,” she said tohim.

He chuckled. “I see you found out thatsilvery stuff isn’t just glitter.” He reached

forward and stroked his forefinger acrossher cheekbone; it was silver when it cameaway, as if he had caught a painted tear.“Come along, angel girl.” He held out hishand.

“But Jace,” she said. “I lost him in thecrowd—”

“He’ll find us.” Sebastian’s handclamped around hers, surprisingly warmand comforting. She let him draw hertoward one of the fountains in the middleof the room, and set her down on the widemarble edge. He sat down beside her, herhand still in his. “Look in the water,” hesaid. “Tell me what you see.”

She leaned over and looked into thesmooth dark surface of the pool. She couldsee her own face reflected back at her, hereyes wide and wild, her eye makeup

smudged like bruises, her hair tangled.And then Sebastian leaned over too, andshe saw his face beside hers. The silver ofhis hair reflected in the water made herthink of the moon on the river. Shereached to touch its brilliance, and thewater shivered apart, their reflectionsdistorting, unrecognizable.

“What is it?” Sebastian said, and therewas a low urgency in his voice.

Clary shook her head; he was beingvery silly. “I saw you and me,” she said ina chiding tone. “What else?”

He put his hand under her chin andturned her face toward him. His eyes wereblack, night-black, with only a ring ofsilver separating the pupil from the iris.“Don’t you see it? We’re the same, youand me.”

“The same?” She blinked at him. Therewas something very wrong with what hewas saying, though she couldn’t say quitewhat. “No…”

“You’re my sister,” he said. “We havethe same blood.”

“You have demon blood,” she said.“Lilith’s blood.” For some reason thisstruck her as funny, and she giggled.“You’re all dark, dark, dark. And Jaceand I are light.”

“You have a dark heart in you,Valentine’s daughter,” he said. “You justwon’t admit it. And if you want Jace, youhad better accept it. Because he belongs tome now.”

“Then, who do you belong to?”Sebastian’s lips parted; he said

nothing. For the first time, Clary thought,

he looked as if he had nothing to say. Shewas surprised; his words hadn’t meantmuch to her, and she’d merely been idlycurious. Before she could say anythingelse, a voice above them said:

“What’s going on?” It was Jace. Helooked from one of them to the other, hisface unreadable. More of the shimmeringstuff had gotten on him, silver dropsclinging to the gold of his hair. “Clary.”He sounded annoyed. She pulled awayfrom Sebastian and hopped to her feet.

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I gotlost in the crowd.”

“I noticed,” he said. “One second I wasdancing with you, and the next you weregone and a very persistent werewolf wastrying to get the buttons on my jeansundone.”

Sebastian chuckled. “Girl or boywerewolf?”

“Not sure. Either way, they could haveused a shave.” He took Clary’s hand,lightly ringing her wrist with his fingers.“Do you want to go home? Or dance somemore?”

“Dance some more. Is that all right?”“Go ahead.” Sebastian leaned back, his

hands braced behind him on the fountain’sedge, his smile like the edge of a straightrazor. “I don’t mind watching.”

Something flashed across Clary’svision: the memory of a bloody handprint.It was gone as soon as it had come, andshe frowned. The night was too beautifulto think of ugly things. She looked back ather brother only for a moment before shelet Jace lead her back through the crowd

to its edge, near the shadows, where thepress of bodies was lighter. Another ballof colored light burst above their heads asthey went, scattering silver, and she tippedher head up, catching the salt-sweet dropson her tongue.

In the center of the room, beneath thebone chandelier, Jace stopped and sheswung toward him. Her arms were aroundhim, and she felt the silver liquid tricklingdown her face like tears. The fabric of hisT-shirt was thin and she could feel theburn of his skin underneath. Her hands slidup under the hem, her nails scratchinglightly over his ribs. Silver drops ofliquid spangled his eyelashes as helowered his glance to hers, leaned towhisper in her ear. His hands moved overher shoulders, down her arms. Neither of

them were really dancing anymore: thehypnotic music went on around them, andthe whirl of other dancers, but Clarybarely noticed. A couple moving pastlaughed and made a derisive comment inCzech; Clary couldn’t understand it, butsuspected the gist was Get a room.

Jace made an impatient noise, and thenhe was moving through the crowd again,drawing her after him and into one of theshadowy alcoves that lined the walls.

There were dozens of these circularalcoves, each lined with a stone bench andprovided with a velvet curtain that couldbe pulled closed to provide a modicum ofprivacy. Jace yanked the curtain shut andthey crashed against each other like thesea against the shore. Their mouthscollided and slid together; Jace lifted her

up so she was pressed against him, hisfingers twisting in the slippery material ofher dress.

Clary was conscious of heat andsoftness, hands seeking and finding,yielding and pressure. Her hands underJace’s T-shirt, her fingernails clawing athis back, savagely pleased when hegasped. He bit down on her bottom lip andshe tasted blood in her mouth, salt and hot.It was as if they wanted to cut each otherapart, she thought, to climb inside eachother’s bodies and share their heartbeats,even if it killed them both.

It was dark in the alcove, so dark thatJace was only an outline of shadows andgold. His body pinned Clary’s to the wall.His hands slid down along her body andreached the end of her dress, drawing it up

along her legs.“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Jace?”He looked at her. The peculiar light in

the club turned his eyes an array offractured colors. His smile was wicked.“You can tell me to stop whenever youwant,” he said. “But you won’t.”

Sebastian drew aside the dusty velvetcurtain that closed off the alcove, andsmiled.

A bench ran around the inside of thesmall circular room, and a man sat there,leaning his elbows on a stone table. Hehad long black hair tied back, a scar ormark in the shape of a leaf on one cheek,and his eyes were as green as grass. He

wore a white suit, and a handkerchief withgreen leaf embroidery peeked from onepocket.

“Jonathan Morgenstern,” Meliorn said.Sebastian did not correct him. Faeries

took great stock in names, and wouldnever call him by anything but the namehis father had chosen for him. “I wasn’tsure you would be here at the appointedtime, Meliorn.”

“May I remind you that the Fair Folkdo not lie,” said the knight. He reached upand twitched the curtain shut behindSebastian. The pounding music outsidewas discreetly muffled, though by nomeans inaudible. “Come in, then, and seatyourself. Wine?”

Sebastian settled himself on the bench.“No, nothing.” Wine, like the faerie

liquor, would only cloud his thoughts, andfaeries seemed to have a higher tolerance.“I admit I was surprised when I receivedthe message that you wished to meethere.”

“You above all should know that theLady has a special interest in you. Sheknows of all your movements.” Meliorntook a sip of wine. “There was a greatdemonic disturbance here in Praguetonight. The Queen was concerned.”

Sebastian spread his arms out. “As youcan see, I am unharmed.”

“A disturbance so great will surely winthe attention of the Nephilim. In fact, if Iam not mistaken, several of them alreadydisport themselves without.”

“Without what?” Sebastian askedinnocently.

Meliorn took another sip of wine andglared.

“Oh, right. I always forget the amusingway faeries talk. You mean there areShadowhunters in the crowd outside,looking for me. I know that. I noticed themearlier. The Queen does not think much ofme if she does not think I can handle a fewNephilim on my own.” Sebastian drew adagger from his belt and twirled it, thevery little light in the alcove sparking offthe blade.

“I shall tell her you said so,” mutteredMeliorn. “I must admit, I have no ideawhat attraction you hold for her. I havetaken your measure and found it lacking,but I have not my lady’s taste.”

“Weighed in the balance and foundwanting?” Amused, Sebastian leaned

forward. “Let me break it down for you,faerie knight. I’m young. I’m pretty. AndI’m willing to burn the whole world to theground to get what I want.” His daggertraced a crack in the stone table. “Likemyself, the Queen is content to play a longgame. But what I desire to know is this:When the twilight of the Nephilim comes,will the Courts stand with or against me?”

Meliorn’s face was blank. “The Ladysays she stands with you.”

Sebastian’s mouth curled at the corner.“That is excellent news.”

Meliorn snorted. “I always presumedthe race of humans would endthemselves,” he said. “Through a thousandyears I have prophesied that you would beyour own deaths. But I did not expect theend to come like this.”

Sebastian twirled the bright daggerbetween his fingers. “No one ever does.”

“Jace,” Clary whispered. “Jace, anyonecould come in and see us.”

His hands didn’t stop what they weredoing. “They won’t.” He trailed a path ofkisses down her neck, effectivelyscattering her thoughts. It was hard to holdon to what was real, with his hands onher, and her mind and memories in awhirl, and her fingers were so tightlybunched in Jace’s shirt that she was sureshe was going to rip the material.

The stone wall was cold against herback, but Jace was kissing her shoulder,easing the strap of her dress down. Shewas hot and cold and shivering. The

world had fractured into bits, like thebright pieces inside a kaleidoscope. Shewas going to come apart under his hands.

“Jace—” She clung to his shirt. It wassticky, viscous. She glanced down at herhands and for a moment didn’tcomprehend what she saw there. Silverfluid, mixed with red.

Blood.She looked up. Hanging upside-down

from the ceiling above them, like a grislypiñata, was a human body, rope bindingits ankles. Blood dripped from its cutthroat.

Clary screamed, but the scream madeno sound. She pushed at Jace, whostumbled back; there was blood in hishair, on his shirt, on her bare skin. Shepulled up the straps of her dress and

stumbled to the curtain that hid the alcove,yanking it open.

The statue of the angel was no longerquite as it had been. The black wingswere bat’s wings, the lovely, benevolentface twisted into a sneer. Dangling fromthe ceiling on twisted ropes were theslaughtered bodies of men, women,animals—slashed open, their blooddripping down like rain. The fountainspulsed blood, and what floated on top ofthe liquid was not flowers but opensevered hands. The writhing, clawingdancers on the floor were drenched inblood. As Clary watched, a couple spunby, the man tall and pale, the woman limpin his arms, her throat torn, obviouslydead. The man licked his lips and bentdown for another bite, but before he did,

he glanced at Clary and grinned, and hisface was streaked with blood and silver.She felt Jace’s hand on her arm, tuggingher back, but she fought free of him. Shewas staring at the glass tanks along thewall that she had thought held brilliantfish. The water was not clear but blackishand sludgy, and drowned human bodiesfloated in it, their hair spinning aroundthem like the filaments of luminousjellyfish. She thought of Sebastian floatingin his glass coffin. A scream rose in herthroat, but she choked it back as silenceand darkness overwhelmed her.

14AS ASHES

Clary came back to consciousnessslowly, with the dizzy sensation sherecalled from that first morning in theInstitute, when she had woken with noidea of where she was. Her whole bodyached, and her head felt as if someone hadsmashed an iron barbell into it. She waslying on her side, her head pillowed onsomething rough, and there was a weightaround her shoulder. Glancing down, shesaw a slim hand, pressed protectively

against her sternum. She recognized theMarks, the faint white scars, even the bluemapping of veins across his forearm. Theweight inside her chest eased, and she satup carefully, slipping out from underJace’s arm.

They were in his bedroom. Sherecognized the incredible neatness, thecarefully made bed with its hospitalcorners. It still wasn’t disarranged. Jacewas asleep, propped up against theheadboard, still in the same clothes he’dworn the night before. He even had hisshoes on. He had clearly fallen asleepholding her, though she had norecollection of it. He was still splatteredwith the odd silvery substance from theclub.

He stirred slightly, as if sensing that

she was gone, and wrapped his free armaround himself. He didn’t look injured orhurt, she thought, just exhausted, his longdark gold eyelashes curled in the hollowof the shadows beneath his eyes. Helooked vulnerable asleep—a little boy.He could have been her Jace.

But he wasn’t. She remembered thenightclub, his hands on her in the dark, thebodies and blood. Her stomach churned,and she put a hand over her mouth,swallowing down nausea. She feltsickened by what she remembered, andunderneath the sickness was a naggingprickle, the sense that she was missingsomething.

Something important.“Clary.”She turned. Jace’s eyes were half-

open; he was looking at her through hislashes, the gold of his eyes dulled withexhaustion. “Why are you awake?” hesaid. “It’s barely dawn.”

Her hands bunched in the tangle ofblankets. “Last night,” she said, her voiceuneven. “The bodies—the blood—”

“The what?”“That’s what I saw.”“I didn’t.” He shook his head. “Faerie

drugs,” he said. “You knew…”“It seemed so real.”“I’m sorry.” His eyes closed. “I

wanted to have fun. It’s supposed to makeyou happy. Make you see pretty things. Ithought we would have fun together.”

“I saw blood,” she said. “And deadpeople floating in tanks—”

He shook his head, his lashes fluttering

down. “None of it was real…”“Even what happened with you and me

—?” Clary broke off, because his eyeswere closed, his chest rising and fallingsteadily. He was asleep.

She rose to her feet, not looking atJace, and went into the bathroom. Shestood looking at herself in the mirror,numbness spreading through her bones.She was covered in smears of silveryresidue. It reminded her of the time ametallic pen had burst inside herbackpack, ruining everything in it. One ofher bra straps had snapped, probablywhere Jace had yanked on it the nightbefore. Her eyes were surrounded withsmeared black stripes of mascara, and herskin and hair were sticky with silver.

Feeling faint and sick, she stripped off

the slip dress and her underwear, tossingthem into the wastebasket before crawlinginto the hot water.

She washed her hair over and overagain, trying to get the dried silver gunkout. It was like trying to wash out oilpaint. The scent of it lingered too, like thewater from a vase after the flowers haverotted, faint and sweet and spoiled on herskin. No amount of soap seemed to beable to get rid of it.

Finally convinced she was as clean asshe was going to get, she dried off andwent to the master bedroom to getdressed. It was a relief to climb back intojeans and boots and slip on a comfortablecotton sweater. It was only then, as shepulled on her second boot, that the naggingfeeling returned, the feeling that she was

missing something. She froze.Her ring. The gold ring that let her

speak to Simon.It was gone.Frantically she searched for it, tearing

through the wastebasket to see if the ringhad gotten caught on her dress, thensearching every inch of Jace’s room whilehe slept peacefully on. She combedthrough the carpet, the bedclothes,checking the nightstand drawers.

At last she sat back, her heart slammingagainst her chest, a sick feeling in herstomach.

The ring was gone. Lost, somewhere,somehow. She tried to remember the lasttime she’d seen it. Surely it had flashed onher hand while she’d wielded that daggeragainst the Elapid demons. Had it fallen

off in the junk store? In the nightclub?She dug her nails into her blue-jeaned

thighs until the pain made her gasp. Focus,she told herself. Focus.

Maybe the ring had fallen from herfinger somewhere else in the apartment.Probably Jace had carried her upstairs atsome point. It was a small chance, butevery chance had to be explored.

She rose to her feet and went assoundlessly as she could out into thehallway. She moved toward Sebastian’sroom, and hesitated. She couldn’t imaginewhy the ring would be in there, andwaking him up would only becounterproductive. She turned around andmade her way down the stairs instead,walking carefully to mask the sound of herboots.

Her mind was racing. With no way tocontact Simon, what was she going to do?She needed to tell him about the antiquesshop, the adamas. She should have talkedto him sooner. She wanted to punch thewall, but she forced her mind to slowdown, to consider her options. Sebastianand Jace were beginning to trust her; if shecould get away from them briefly, on abusy city street, she could use a pay phonet o call Simon. She could duck into anInternet café and e-mail him. She knewmore about mundane technology than theydid. Losing the ring didn’t mean it wasover.

She would not give up.Her mind was so occupied with

thoughts of what to do next that at first shedidn’t see Sebastian. Fortunately, he had

his back to her. He stood in the livingroom, facing the wall.

Already at the bottom of the staircase,Clary froze, then darted across the floorand flattened herself against the half wallthat separated the kitchen from the largerroom. There was no reason to panic, shetold herself. She lived here. If Sebastiansaw her, she could say she had comedownstairs for a glass of water.

But the chance to observe him withouthis knowledge was too tempting. Sheturned her body slightly, peering over andaround the kitchen counter.

Sebastian still had his back to her. Hehad changed his clothes since thenightclub. The army jacket was gone; hewore a button-down shirt and jeans. As heturned, and his shirt lifted, she could see

that his weapon belt was slung around hiswaist. As he raised his right hand, she sawthat he held his stele—and there wassomething about the way he held it, justfor a moment, with a carefulthoughtfulness, that reminded her of theway her mother held a paintbrush.

She closed her eyes. It felt like fabricsnagging on a hook, the jerk inside herheart when she recognized something inSebastian that reminded her of her motheror herself. That reminded her thathowever much of his blood was poison,just as much was the same blood that ranin her own veins.

She opened her eyes again, in time tosee a doorway form in front of Sebastian.He reached for a scarf that hung on a pegon the wall, and stepped out into darkness.

Clary had a split second to decide.Stay and search the rooms, or followSebastian and see where he was going.Her feet made the choice before her minddid. Spinning away from the wall, shedarted through the dark opening of thedoor moments before it closed behind her.

The room Luke was lying in was lit onlyby the streetlights’ glow, which camethrough the slatted windows. Jocelynknew she could have asked for a light, butshe preferred it like this. The darkness hidthe extent of his injuries, the pallor of hisface, the sunken crescents beneath hiseyes.

In fact, in the dimness he looked verylike the boy she had known in Idris before

the Circle had been formed. Sheremembered him in the school yard,skinny and brown-haired, with blue eyesand nervous hands. He’d been Valentine’sbest friend, and because of that, no onehad ever really looked at him. Even shehadn’t, or she would not have been soenormously blind as to miss his feelingsfor her.

She remembered the day of herwedding to Valentine, the sun bright andclear through the crystal roof of theAccords Hall. She’d been nineteen andValentine twenty, and she rememberedhow unhappy her parents had been thatshe’d chosen to marry so young. Theirdisapproval had seemed like nothing toher—they didn’t understand. She’d beenso sure there would never be anyone for

her but Valentine.Luke had been his best man. She

remembered his face as she walked downthe aisle—she had looked at him onlybriefly before turning her full attention toValentine. She remembered thinking thathe must not have been well, that he lookedas if he were in pain. And later, in AngelSquare, as the guests milled about—mostof the members of the Circle were there,from Maryse and Robert Lightwood,already married, to barely fifteen JeremyPontmercy—and she stood with Luke andValentine, someone made the old jokeabout how if the groom hadn’t showed up,the bride would have had to marry the bestman. Luke had been wearing eveningclothes, with the gold runes for good luckin marriage on them, and he had looked

very handsome, but while everyone elsehad laughed, he’d gone terribly white. Hemust really hate the idea of marrying me,she’d thought. She remembered touchinghis shoulder with a laugh.

“Don’t look like that,” she’d teased. “Iknow we’ve known each other forever,but I promise you’ll never have to marryme!”

And then Amatis had come up,dragging a laughing Stephen with her, andJocelyn had forgotten all about Luke, theway he had looked at her—and the oddway Valentine had looked at him.

She glanced over at Luke now andstarted in her chair. His eyes were open,for the first time in days, and fixed on her.

“Luke,” she breathed.He looked puzzled. “How long—have I

been asleep?”She wanted to throw herself onto him,

but the thick bandages still wrappedaround his chest held her back. She caughtat his hand instead and put it against hercheek, her fingers interlocking with his.She closed her eyes and, as she did, felttears slip from under her lids. “Aboutthree days.”

“Jocelyn,” he said, sounding reallyalarmed now. “Why are we at the station?Where’s Clary? I really don’t remember—”

She lowered their interlaced handsand, in as steady a voice as she couldmanage, told him what had happened—about Sebastian and Jace, and the demonmetal embedded in his side, and the helpof the Praetor Lupus.

“Clary,” he said immediately, whenshe was finished. “We have to go afterher.”

Drawing his hand from hers, he startedto struggle into a sitting position. Even inthe dim light she could see his pallordeepen as he winced with pain.

“That’s not possible. Luke, lie backdown, please. Don’t you think if therewere any way to go after her, I wouldhave?”

He swung his legs over the side of thebed so he was sitting up; then, with a gasp,he leaned back on his hands. He lookedawful. “But the danger—”

“Do you think I haven’t thought aboutthe danger?” Jocelyn put her hands on hisshoulders and pushed him gently backagainst the pillows. “Simon’s been in

contact with me every night. She’s allright. She is. And you’re in no shape to doanything about it. Killing yourself won’thelp her. Please trust me, Luke.”

“Jocelyn, I can’t just lie here.”“You can,” she said, standing up. “And

you will, if I have to sit on you myself.What on earth is wrong with you, Lucian?Are you out of your mind? I’m terrifiedabout Clary, and I’ve been terrified aboutyou, too. Please don’t do this—don’t dothis to me. If anything happened to you—”

He looked at her with surprise. Therewas already a red stain on the whitebandages that wrapped his chest, wherehis movements had pulled his woundopen. “I…”

“What?”“I’m not used to you loving me,” he

said.There was a meekness to his words

that she didn’t associate with Luke, andshe stared at him for a moment before shesaid, “Luke. Lie back down, please.”

As a sort of compromise he leanedfurther back against the pillows. He wasbreathing hard. Jocelyn darted to thenightstand, poured him a glass of water,and, returning, thrust it into his hand.“Drink it,” she said. “Please.”

Luke took the glass, his blue eyesfollowing her as she sat back down in thechair beside his bed, from which she hadbarely moved for so many hours that shewas surprised she and the chair hadn’tbecome one. “You know what I wasthinking about?” she asked. “Just beforeyou woke up?”

He took a sip of the water. “Youlooked very far away.”

“I was thinking about the day I marriedValentine.”

Luke lowered the glass. “The worstday of my life.”

“Worse than the day you got bitten?”she asked, folding her legs up under her.

“Worse.”“I didn’t know,” she said. “I didn’t

know how you felt. I wish I had. I thinkthings would have been different.”

He looked at her incredulously.“How?”

“I wouldn’t have married Valentine,”she said. “Not if I’d known.”

“You would—”“I wouldn’t,” she said sharply. “I was

too stupid to realize how you felt, but I

was also too stupid to realize how I felt.I’ve always loved you. Even if I didn’tknow it.” She leaned forward and kissedhim gently, not wanting to hurt him; thenshe put her cheek against his. “Promise meyou won’t put yourself in danger.Promise.”

She felt his free hand in her hair. “Ipromise.”

She leaned back, partly satisfied. “Iwish I could go back in time. Fixeverything. Marry the right guy.”

“But then we wouldn’t have Clary,” hereminded her. She loved the way he said“we,” so casually, as if there were nodoubt at all in his mind that Clary was hisdaughter.

“If you’d been there more while shewas growing up…” Jocelyn sighed. “I just

feel like I did everything wrong. I was sofocused on protecting her that I think Iprotected her too much. She rushesheadlong into danger without thinking.When we were growing up, we saw ourfriends die in battle. She never has. And Iwouldn’t want that for her, but sometimesI worry that she doesn’t believe she candie.”

“Jocelyn.” Luke’s voice was soft.“You raised her to be a good person.Someone with values, who believes ingood and evil and strives to be good. Likeyou always have. You can’t raise a childto believe the opposite of what you do. Idon’t think she doesn’t believe she candie. I think, just like you always did, shebelieves there are things worth dying for.”

Clary crept after Sebastian through anetwork of narrow streets, keeping to theshadows close beside the buildings. Theywere no longer in Prague—that much wasimmediately clear. The roads were dark,the sky above was the hollow blue of veryearly morning, and the signs hung abovethe shops and stores she passed were allin French. As were the street signs: RUEDE LA SEINE, RUE JACOB, RUE DEL’ABBAYE.

As they moved through the city, peoplepassed her like ghosts. The occasional carrumbled by, trucks backed up to stores,making early-morning deliveries. The airsmelled like river water and trash. Shewas fairly sure where they were already,but then a turn and an alley took them to awide avenue, and a signpost loomed up

out of the misty darkness. Arrows pointedin different directions, showing the way tothe Bastille, to Notre Dame, and to theLatin Quarter.

Paris, Clary thought, slipping behind aparked car as Sebastian crossed the street.We’re in Paris.

It was ironic. She’d always wanted togo to Paris with someone who knew thecity. Had always wanted to walk itsstreets, to see the river, to paint thebuildings. She’d never imagined this.Never imagined creeping after Sebastian,across the Boulevard Saint Germain, pasta bright yellow bureau de poste, up anavenue where the bars were closed but thegutters were full of beer bottles andcigarette butts, and down a narrow streetlined with houses. Sebastian stopped

before one, and Clary froze as well, flatagainst a wall.

She watched as he raised a hand andpunched a code into a box set beside thedoor, her eyes following the movements ofhis fingers. There was a click; the dooropened and he slipped through. Themoment it closed, she darted after him,pausing to key in the same code—X235—and waiting to hear the soft sound thatmeant the door was unlocked. When thesound came, she wasn’t sure if she wasmore relieved or surprised. It shouldn’tbe this easy.

A moment later she stood inside acourtyard. It was square, surrounded onall sides by ordinary-looking buildings.Three staircases were viewable throughopen doors. Sebastian, however, had

disappeared.So it wasn’t going to be that easy.She moved forward into the courtyard,

conscious as she did so that she wasbringing herself out of sheltering shadowand into the open, where she could beseen. The sky was lightening with everypassing moment. The knowledge that shewas visible prickled the back of her neck,and she ducked into the shadow of the firststairwell she encountered.

It was plain, with wooden stairsleading up and down, and a cheap mirroron the wall in which she could see herown pale face. There was a distinct smellof rotting garbage, and she wondered for amoment if she were near where the trashbins were stored, before her tired mindclicked over and she realized: The stink

was the presence of demons.Her tired muscles started to shake, but

she tightened her hands into fists. She waspainfully conscious of her lack ofweaponry. She took a deep breath of thestinking air and began to make her waydown the steps.

The smell grew stronger and the airdarker as she made her way downstairs,and she wished for a stele and a night-vision rune. But there was nothing to bedone about it. She kept going as thestaircase curved around and around, andshe was suddenly grateful for the lack oflight as she stepped in a patch ofsomething sticky. She clutched for thebanister and tried to breathe through hermouth. The darkness thickened, until shewas walking blind, her heart pounding so

loudly she was sure it must be announcingher presence. The streets of Paris, theordinary world, seemed eons away. Therewas only the darkness and herself, goingdown and down and down.

And then—light flared in the distance,a tiny point, like the tip of a match burstinginto flame. She moved closer to thebanister, almost crouching, as the lightgrew. She could see her own hand now,and the outline of the steps below her.There were only a few more. She reachedthe bottom of the stairs and glancedaround.

Any resemblance to an ordinaryapartment building was gone. Somewherealong the way the wooden stairs hadturned into stone, and she stood now in asmall, stone-walled room lit by a torch

that gave off a sickly greenish light. Thefloor was rock, polished smooth, andcarved with multiple strange symbols. Sheedged around them as she crossed theroom to the only other exit, a curved stonearch, at the apex of which was set a humanskull between the V of two enormousornamental crossed axes.

Through the archway she could hearvoices. They were too distant for her tomake out what they were saying, but theywere voices nonetheless. This way, theyseemed to say. Follow us.

She stared up at the skull, and its emptyeyes gazed back at her mockingly. Shewondered where she was—if Paris wasstill above her or if she had stepped intoanother world entirely, the way one didwhen one entered the Silent City. She

thought of Jace, whom she had leftsleeping in what now seemed like anotherlife.

She was doing this for him, shereminded herself. To get him back. Shestepped through the arch into the corridorbeyond, instinctively flattening herselfagainst the wall. Soundlessly she creptalong, the voices growing louder andlouder. It was dim in the hall but notlightless. Every few feet another greenishtorch burned, giving off a charred odor.

A door opened suddenly in the wall toher left, and the voices grew louder.

“… not like his father,” one said, thewords as raspy as sandpaper. “Valentinewould not deal with us at all. He wouldmake slaves of us. This one will give usthis world.”

Very slowly Clary peered around theedge of the doorway.

The room was bare, smooth-walled,and empty of all furniture. Inside it was agroup of demons. They were lizardlike,with hard green-brown skin, but each hada set of six octopuslike legs that made adry, skittering sound as they moved. Theirheads were bulbous, alien, set withfaceted black eyes.

She swallowed bile. She wasreminded of the Ravener that had been oneof the first demons she’d ever seen.Something about the grotesquecombination of lizard, insect, and alienmade her stomach turn. She pressed closerto the wall, listening hard.

“That is, if you trust him.” It was hardto tell which of them was talking. Their

legs clenched and unclenched as theymoved, raising and lowering their bulbousbodies. They didn’t seem to have mouthsbut clusters of small tentacles thatvibrated as they spoke.

“The Great Mother trusted him. He isher child.”

Sebastian. Of course they were talkingabout Sebastian.

“He is also Nephilim. They are ourgreat enemies.”

“They are his enemies as well. Hebears the blood of Lilith.”

“But the one he calls his companionbears the blood of our enemies. He is ofthe angels.” The word was spat with suchhate that Clary felt it like a slap.

“Lilith’s child assures us he has himwell in hand, and indeed he seems

obedient.”A dry, insectile chuckle. “You young

ones are too consumed with worry. TheNephilim have long kept this world fromus. Its riches are great. We will drink itdry and leave it as ashes. As for theangel boy, he will be the last of his kindto die. We will burn him on a pyre untilhe is only golden bones.”

Rage rose in Clary. She sucked in abreath—a tiny sound, but a sound. Thedemon nearest her jerked its head up. Fora moment Clary froze, trapped in the glareof its mirrored black eyes.

Then she turned and ran. Ran, backtoward the entryway and the stairs andtheir path up into darkness. She could hearcommotion behind her, the creaturesscreaming, and then the slithering,

skittering noise of them coming after her.She cast one glance over her shoulder andrealized she wasn’t going to make it.Despite her head start, they were almoston her.

She could hear her own harshbreathing, sawing in and out, as shereached the archway, spun, and leaped tocatch hold of it with her hands. She swungherself forward with all her force, herbooted feet driving into the first of thedemons, knocking it backward as itshrilled loudly. Still dangling, she caughtat the handle of one of the crossed axesbelow the skull and yanked.

Stuck fast, it didn’t move.She closed her eyes, gripped it tighter,

and with all her strength, pulled.The axe came away from the wall with

a rending sound, showering down rocksand mortar. Unbalanced, Clary fell, andlanded in a crouch, the axe held out infront of her. It was heavy, but she barelyfelt it. It was happening again, what hadhappened in the junk shop. The slowing oftime, the increased intensity of sensation.She could feel every whisper of the airagainst her skin, every unevenness of theground under her feet. She braced herselfas the first of the demons scuttled throughthe doorway and reared back like atarantula, its legs pawing the air aboveher. Beneath the tentacles on its face werea pair of long, dripping fangs.

The axe in her hand seemed to swingforward of its own accord, sinking deepinto the creature’s chest. She immediatelyremembered Jace telling her not to go for

the chest wound but for the decapitation.Not all demons had hearts. But in this caseshe was lucky. She had struck either theheart or some other vital organ. Thecreature thrashed and squealed; bloodbubbled up around the wound, and then itvanished, leaving her to reel back a step,her ichor-slicked weapon in her hand. Thedemon’s blood was black and stinking,like tar.

As the next one lunged for her, sheducked low, swinging out with the axe andslicing through several of its legs.Howling, it tipped sideways like a brokenchair; already the next demon wastrampling over its body, trying to get toher. She swung again, her axe buryingitself in the creature’s face. Ichor sprayedand she darted backward, pressing herself

up against the stairwell. If one of them gotaround behind her, she was dead.

Maddened, the demon whose faceshe’d slashed open lurched at her again;she swung out with her axe, severing oneof its legs, but another leg wrapped itselfaround her wrist. Hot agony shot up herarm. She screamed and tried to wrenchher hand back, but the demon’s grip wastoo strong. It felt as if thousands of hotneedles were stabbing into her skin. Stillscreaming, she drove out with her leftarm, slamming her fist into the creature’sface, where her axe had already sliced it.The demon gave a hiss and loosed its gripfractionally; she wrenched her hand freejust as it reared back—

And out of nowhere a shimmeringblade drove down, burying itself in the

demon’s skull. As she stared, the demonvanished, and she saw her brother, ablazing seraph blade in his hand, ichorsplattered across his white shirtfront.Behind him the room was empty save forthe body of one of the demons, stilltwitching, but with black fluid pouringfrom its severed leg stumps like oil from asmashed car.

Sebastian. She stared at him inamazement. Had he just saved her life?

“Get away from me, Sebastian,” shehissed.

He didn’t seem to hear her. “Yourarm.”

She glanced down at her right wrist,still throbbing in agony. A thick band ofsaucer-shaped wounds encircled it wherethe demon’s suckers had fastened

themselves to her skin. Already thewounds were darkening, turning asickening blue-black.

She looked back up at her brother. Hiswhite hair looked like a halo in thedarkness. Or it might have been the factthat her vision was going. Light washaloing around the green torch on the walltoo, and around the seraph blade burningin Sebastian’s hand. He was talking, buthis words were blurred, indistinct, as if hewere speaking underwater.

“… deadly poison,” he was saying.“What the hell were you thinking,Clarissa?” His voice faded out, and backin again. She struggled to focus. “… tofight off six Dahak demons with anornamental axe—”

“Poison,” she repeated, and for a

moment his face came clear again, thelines of strain around his mouth and eyespronounced and startling. “So I guess youdidn’t save my life after all, did you?”

Her hand spasmed, and the axe slid outof her grip, clattering to the ground. Shefelt her sweater catch on the rough wall asshe began to slide down it, wantingnothing more than to lie on the floor. ButSebastian wouldn’t let her rest. His armswere under hers, lifting her up, and then hewas carrying her, her good arm slungaround his neck. She wanted to struggleaway from him, but her energy haddeserted her. She felt a stinging pain onthe inside of her elbow, a burn—the touchof a stele. Numbness spread through herveins. The last thing she saw before sheclosed her eyes was the face of the skull

in the archway. She could have sworn itshollow eyes were full of laughter.

15MAGDALENA

Nausea and pain came and went in ever-tightening whirlpools. Clary could seeonly a blur of colors around her: she wasconscious that her brother was carryingher, every one of his steps slamming intoher skull like an ice pick. She was awarethat she was clinging to him and thestrength of his arms a comfort—that it wasbizarre that anything about Sebastianwould be a comfort, and that he seemed tobe taking care not to jostle her too much as

he walked. Very distantly, she knew thatshe was gasping for breath, and she heardher brother say her name.

Then everything went silent. For amoment she thought that was the end of it:she had died, died battling demons, theway most Shadowhunters did. Then shefelt another pricking burn on the inside ofher arm, and a surge of what felt like icespilling through her veins. She squeezedher eyes shut against the pain, but the coldof whatever Sebastian had done to herwas like having a glass of water dashed inher face. Slowly, the world ceased itsspinning, the whirlpools of nausea andpain lessening until they were only ripplesin the tide of her blood. She could breatheagain.

With a gasp, she opened her eyes.

Blue sky.She was lying on her back, staring up at

an endlessly blue sky, touched withcottony clouds, like the painted sky on theceiling of the infirmary in the Institute. Shestretched out her aching arms. The rightone still bore the marks of her bracelet ofinjuries, though they were fading to a lightpink. On her left arm was an iratze, palingto invisibility, and there was a mendelinfor pain in the crook of her elbow.

She took a deep breath. Autumn air,tinged with the smell of leaves. She couldsee the tops of trees, hear the murmur oftraffic, and—

Sebastian. She heard a low chuckle andrealized she wasn’t just lying down, shewas lying propped against her brother.Sebastian, who was warm and breathing,

and whose arm cradled her head. The restof her was stretched out along a slightlydamp wooden bench.

She jerked upright. Sebastian laughedagain; he was sitting at the end of a parkbench with elaborate iron armrests. Hisscarf was folded up in his lap, whereshe’d been lying, and the arm that hadn’tbeen cradling her head was stretched outalong the back of the bench. He hadunbuttoned his white shirt to hide the ichorstains. Beneath it he wore a plain gray T-shirt. The silver bracelet glittered on hiswrist. His black eyes studied her withamusement as she scooted as far awayfrom him on the bench as she could get.

“Good thing you’re so short,” he said.“If you were much taller, carrying youwould have been extremely inconvenient.”

She kept her voice steady with aneffort. “Where are we?”

“The Jardin du Luxembourg ,” he said.“The Luxembourg Gardens. It’s a verynice park. I had to take you somewhereyou could lie down, and the middle of thestreet didn’t seem like a good idea.”

“Yeah, there’s a word for leavingsomeone to die in the middle of the street.Vehicular manslaughter.”

“That’s two words, and I think it’s onlyvehicular manslaughter, technically, if yourun them over yourself.” He rubbed hishands together as if to warm them.“Anyway, why would I leave you to die inthe middle of the street after I wentthrough all that effort to save your life?”

She swallowed, and looked down ather arm. The wounds were even more

faded now. If she hadn’t known to look forthem, she probably wouldn’t have noticedthem at all. “Why did you?”

“Why did I what?”“Save my life.”“You’re my sister.”She swallowed. In the morning light his

face had some color in it. There were faintburns along his neck where demon ichorhad splashed him. “You never cared that Iwas your sister before.”

“Didn’t I?” His black eyes flicked upand down her. She remembered when Jacehad come into her house after she’d foughtthe Ravener demon and she’d been dyingof the poison. He’d cured her just asSebastian had, and carried her out thesame way. Maybe they were more alikethan she had ever wanted to think, even

before the spell that had bound them. “Ourfather’s dead,” he said. “There are noother relatives. You and I, we are the last.The last of the Morgensterns. You are myonly chance for someone whose bloodruns in my veins too. Someone like me.”

“You knew I was following you,” shesaid.

“Of course I did.”“And you let me.”“I wanted to see what you would do.

And I admit I didn’t think you wouldfollow me down there. You’re braver thanI thought.” He picked up the scarf from hislap and drew it around his neck. The parkwas beginning to fill up, with touristsclutching maps, parents with children inhand, old men sitting on other benches likethis one, smoking pipes. “You would

never have won that fight.”“I might have.”He grinned, a quick sideways grin, as

if he couldn’t help it. “Maybe.”She scuffed her boots in the grass,

which was wet with dew. She wasn’tgoing to thank Sebastian. Not for anything.“Why are you dealing with demons?” shedemanded. “I listened to them talkingabout you. I know what you’re doing—”

“No, you don’t.” The grin was gone,the superior tone back. “First, thoseweren’t the demons I was dealing with.Those were their guards. That’s why theywere in a separate room and why I wasn’tthere. Dahak demons aren’t that smart,though they are mean and tough anddefensive. So it’s not like they were reallyinformed about what was going on. They

were just repeating gossip they’d heardfrom their masters. Greater Demons. Thatwas who I was meeting with.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feelbetter?”

He leaned toward her across the bench.“I’m not trying to make you feel better. I’mtrying to tell you the truth.”

“No wonder you look like you’rehaving an allergy attack,” she said, thoughit wasn’t precisely true. Sebastian lookedannoyingly tranquil, though the set of hisjaw and the pulse in his temple told her hewasn’t as calm as he pretended. “TheDahak said you were going to give thisworld to the demons.”

“Now, does that sound like somethingI’d do?”

She just looked at him.

“I thought you said you were going togive me a chance,” he said. “I’m not who Iwas when you met me in Alicante.” Hisgaze was clear. “Besides, I’m not the onlyperson you’ve ever met who believed inValentine. He was my father. Our father.It’s not easy to doubt the things you’vegrown up believing.”

Clary crossed her arms over her chest;the air was fresh but cold, with a winterysnap in it. “Well, that’s true.”

“Valentine was wrong,” he said. “Hewas so obsessed with the wrongs hebelieved the Clave had done to him that hecould see nothing past proving himselfright to them. He wanted the Angel to riseand tell them that he was JonathanShadowhunter returned, that he was theirleader and his way was the right way.”

“It didn’t exactly happen like that.”“I know what happened. Lilith spoke to

me of it.” He said this offhandedly, as ifconversations with the mother of allwarlocks were something everyone hadevery once in a while. “Do not foolyourself into thinking that what happenedwas because the Angel has greatcompassion, Clary. Angels are as cold asicicles. Raziel was angered becauseValentine had forgotten the mission of allShadowhunters.”

“Which is?”“To kill demons. That is our mandate.

Surely you must have heard that more andmore demons have been spilling into ourworld in recent years? That we have noidea how to keep them out?”

An echo of words came back to her,

something Jace had said to her whatseemed like a lifetime ago, the first timethey had ever visited the Silent City. Wemight be able to block them from cominghere, but nobody’s even been able tofigure out how to do that. In fact, moreand more of them are coming through.There used to be only small demoninvasions into this world, easilycontained. But even in my lifetime moreand more of them have spilled in throughthe wardings. The Clave is alwayshaving to dispatch Shadowhunters, and alot of times they don’t come back.

“A great war with demons is coming,and the Clave is woefully unprepared,”said Sebastian. “That much my father wascorrect about. They are too set in theirways to hear warnings or to change. I do

not wish the destruction of Downworldersas Valentine did, but I worry that theClave’s blindness will doom this worldthat Shadowhunters protect.”

“You want me to believe you care ifthis world is destroyed?”

“Well, I do live here,” Sebastian said,more mildly than she would haveexpected. “And sometimes extremesituations call for extreme measures. Todestroy the enemy it can be necessary tounderstand him, even to treat with him. If Ican make those Greater Demons trust me,then I can lure them here, where they canbe destroyed, and their followers as well.That ought to turn back the tide. Demonswill know that this world is not as easypickings as they imagined it.”

Clary shook her head. “And you’re

going to do this with what, just you andJace? You’re pretty impressive, don’t getme wrong, but even the two of you—”

Sebastian stood up. “You really don’timagine I could have thought this through,do you?” He looked down at her, the fallwind blowing his white hair across hisface. “Come with me. I want to show yousomething.”

She hesitated. “Jace—”“Is still asleep. Trust me, I know.” He

held out his hand. “Come with me, Clary.If I can’t make you believe I have a plan,maybe I can prove it to you.”

She stared at him. Images tumbledthrough her mind like shaken confetti: thejunk shop in Prague, her gold leaf-ringfalling away into darkness, Jace holdingher in the alcove in the club, the glass

tanks of dead bodies. Sebastian with aseraph blade in his grip.

Prove it to you.She took his hand and let him pull her

to her feet.

It was decided, though not without a greatdeal of arguing, that in order for thesummoning of Raziel to take place, TeamGood would need to find a fairly secludedlocation. “We can’t summon a sixty-footangel in the middle of Central Park,”Magnus observed dryly. “People mightnotice, even in New York.”

“Raziel’s sixty feet tall?” Isabelle said.She was slumped down in an armchair shehad pulled up to the table. There wererings under her dark eyes; she—like Alec,

Magnus, and Simon—was exhausted.They had all been awake for hours, poringthrough books of Magnus’s so old thattheir pages were as thin as onionskin.Both Isabelle and Alec could read Greekand Latin, and Alec had a betterknowledge of demon languages than Izzydid, but there were still many only Magnuscould understand. Maia and Jordan,realizing they could be more helpelsewhere, had left for the police stationto check on Luke. Meanwhile, Simon hadtried to make himself useful in other ways—getting food and coffee, copying downsymbols as Magnus instructed, fetchingmore paper and pencils, and even feedingChairman Meow, who had thanked him bycoughing up a hair ball on the floor ofMagnus’s kitchen.

“Actually, he’s only fifty-nine feet tall,but he likes to exaggerate,” said Magnus.Tiredness was not improving his temper.His hair was sticking straight up, and therewere smudges of glitter on the backs of hishands where he had rubbed his eyes.“He’s an angel, Isabelle. Haven’t you everstudied anything?”

Isabelle clicked her tongue inannoyance. “Valentine raised an angel inhis cellar. I don’t see why you need allthis space—”

“Because Valentine is just WAYMORE AWESOME than me,” snappedMagnus, dropping his pen. “Look—”

“Don’t shout at my sister,” said Alec.He said it quietly, but with force behindthe words. Magnus looked at him insurprise. Alec continued, “Isabelle, the

size of angels, when they appear in theearthly dimension, varies depending ontheir power. The angel Valentinesummoned was of a lower rank thanRaziel. And if you were to summon anangel of an even higher rank, Michael, orGabriel—”

“I couldn’t make a spell that wouldbind them, even momentarily,” saidMagnus in a subdued voice. “We’resummoning Raziel in part because we’rehoping that as the creator ofShadowhunters, he will have a specialcompassion—or, really, any compassion—for your situation. He’s also of aboutthe right rank. A less powerful angel mightnot be able to help us, but a morepowerful angel… well, if something wentwrong…”

“It might not just be me who dies,” saidSimon.

Magnus looked pained, and Alecglanced down at the papers strewn acrossthe table. Isabelle put her hand on top ofSimon’s. “I can’t believe we’re actuallysitting here talking about summoning anangel,” she said. “My whole life we’vesworn on the Angel’s name. We know ourpower comes from angels. But the idea ofseeing one… I can’t really imagine it.When I try to think about it, it’s too big anidea.”

A silence fell across the table. Therewas a darkness in Magnus’s eyes thatmade Simon wonder if he had ever seenan angel. He wondered whether he oughtto ask, but was saved deciding by thebuzzing of his cell phone.

“One second,” he muttered, and got tohis feet. He flipped the phone open andleaned against one of the loft’s pillars. Itwas a text—several—from Maia.

GOOD NEWS! LUKE IS AWAKE ANDTALKING. IT LOOKS LIKE HE’S GOING TOBE OKAY.

Relief poured over Simon in a wave.Finally, good news. He flipped the phoneshut and reached for the ring on his hand.Clary?

Nothing.He swallowed his nerves. She was

probably asleep. He looked up to find allthree of the people at the table staring athim.

“Who called?” Isabelle asked.“It was Maia. She says Luke’s up and

talking. That he’s going to be okay.” There

was a chatter of relieved voices, butSimon was still staring down at the ringon his hand. “She gave me an idea.”

Isabelle had been on her feet, headingtoward him; at that, she paused, lookingworried. Simon supposed he didn’t blameher. His ideas had been downrightsuicidal of late. “What is it?” she said.

“What do we need to summon Raziel?How much space?” Simon asked.

Magnus paused over a book. “A milearound at least. Water would be good.Like Lake Lyn—”

“Luke’s farm,” Simon said. “Upstate.An hour or two away. It should be shut upnow, but I know how to get there. Andthere’s a lake. Not as big as Lyn, but…”

Magnus closed the book he washolding. “That’s not a bad idea, Seamus.”

“A few hours?” Isabelle said, lookingup at the clock. “We could be there by—”

“Oh, no,” said Magnus. He pushed thebook away from him. “While yourenthusiasm is boundless and impressive,Isabelle, I’m too exhausted to properlycast the summoning spell at the moment.And this isn’t something I want to takerisks with. I think we can all agree.”

“So when?” Alec asked.“We need a few hours sleep at least,”

Magnus said. “I say we leave earlyafternoon. Sherlock—sorry, Simon—calland see if you can borrow Jordan’s truckin the meantime. And now…” He pushedhis papers to the side. “I’m going to sleep.Is abe l l e , Simon, you’re more thanwelcome to use the spare room again ifyou like.”

“Different spare rooms would bebetter,” Alec muttered.

Isabelle looked at Simon withquestioning dark eyes, but he was alreadyreaching into his pocket for his phone.“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be back by noon, butfor now there’s something important Ihave to do.”

In the daylight Paris was a city of narrow,curving streets that opened out into wideavenues, mellow golden buildings withslate-colored roofs, and a glittering riverthat sliced across it like a dueling scar.Sebastian, despite his claim that he wasgoing to prove to Clary that he had a plan,didn’t say much as they made their way upa street lined with art galleries and stores

selling dusty old books, to reach the Quaides Grands Augustins by the river’s edge.

There was a cool wind coming off theSeine, and she shivered. Sebastianunwound the scarf from around his neckand handed it to her. It was a heatheryblack and white tweed, still warm frombeing wrapped around his neck.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “You’recold. Put it on.”

Clary wound it around her neck.“Thanks,” she said reflexively, andwinced.

There. She had thanked Sebastian. Shewaited for a bolt of lightning to shoot outof the clouds and strike her dead. Butnothing happened.

He gave her an odd look. “You allright? You look like you’re going to

sneeze.”“I’m fine.” The scarf smelled like

citrusy cologne and boy. She wasn’t surewhat she’d thought it would smell like.The y started to walk again. This timeSebastian slowed his pace, walkingalongside her, pausing to explain thatneighborhoods in Paris were numbered,and they were crossing from the sixth intothe fifth, the Latin Quarter, and that thebridge they could see spanning the river inthe distance was the Pont Saint-Michel.There were a lot of young people walkingpast them, Clary noticed; girls her age orolder, impossibly stylish in tight-fittingpants and sky-high heels, long hairblowing in the wind off the Seine. Quite afew of them stopped to give Sebastianappreciative glances, which he didn’t

seem to notice.Jace, she thought, would have noticed.

Sebastian was striking, with his icy whitehair and black eyes. She had thought hewas handsome the first time she’d methim, and he’d had his hair dyed blackthen; it hadn’t suited him, really. Helooked better like this. The pallor of hishair gave his skin some color, drew youreyes to the flush along his highcheekbones, the graceful shape of his face.His eyelashes were incredibly long, ashade darker than his hair, and curledslightly, just like Jocelyn’s—so unfair.Why hadn’t she gotten the curling lashes inthe family? And why didn’t he have asingle freckle? “So,” she said abruptly,cutting him off in the middle of a sentence,“what are we?”

He gave her a sidelong look. “What doyou mean, ‘What are we?’”

“You said we’re the last of theMorgensterns. Morgenstern is a Germanname,” said Clary. “So, what are we,German? What’s the story? Why aren’tthere any more but us?”

“You don’t know anything aboutValentine’s family?” Incredulity tingedSebastian’s voice. He had stopped next tothe wall that ran along the Seine, besidethe pavement. “Didn’t your mother evertell you anything?”

“She’s your mother too, and no, shedidn’t. Valentine’s not her favorite topic.”

“Shadowhunter names arecompounded,” said Sebastian slowly, andhe climbed up on top of the wall. Hereached a hand down, and after a moment

she let him take hers and pull her up ontothe wall beside him. The Seine ran gray-green below them, fly-speck tourist boatschugging by at a leisurely pace.“Fairchild, Light-wood, White-law.‘Morgenstern’ means ‘morning star.’ It’s aGerman name, but the family was Swiss.”

“Was?”“Valentine was an only child,”

Sebastian said. “His father—ourgrandfather—was killed byDownworlders, and our great-uncle diedin a battle. He didn’t have any children.This”—he reached out and touched herhair—“is from the Fairchild side. There’sEnglish blood there. I look more like theSwiss side. Like Valentine.”

“Do you know anything about ourgrandparents?” Clary asked, fascinated

despite herself.Sebastian dropped his hand and leaped

down off the wall. He held his hand up forher, and she took it, balancing as sheleaped down. For a moment she collidedwith his chest, hard and warm beneath hisshirt. A passing girl shot her an amused,jealous look, and Clary pulled backhastily. She wanted to shout after the girlthat Sebastian was her brother, and thatshe hated him anyway. She didn’t.

“I know nothing about our maternalgrandparents,” he said. “How could I?”His smile was crooked. “Come. I want toshow you a favorite place of mine.”

Clary hung back. “I thought you weregoing to prove to me that you had a plan.”

“All in due time.” Sebastian started towalk, and after a moment she followed

him. Find out his plan. Make nice untilyou do. “Valentine’s father was a lot likehim,” Sebastian went on. “He put his faithin strength. ‘We are God’s chosenwarriors.’ That’s what he believed. Painmade you strong. Loss made youpowerful. When he died…”

“Valentine changed,” Clary said. “Luketold me.”

“He loved his father and he hated him.Something you might understand fromknowing Jace. Valentine raised us as hisfather had raised him. You always returnto what you know.”

“But Jace,” Clary said. “Valentinetaught him more than just fighting. Hetaught him languages, and how to play thepiano—”

“That was Jocelyn’s influence.”

Sebastian said her name unwillingly, as ifhe hated the sound of it. “She thoughtValentine ought to be able to talk aboutbooks, art, music—not just killing things.He passed that on to Jace.”

A wrought iron blue gate rose to theirleft. Sebastian ducked under it andbeckoned Clary to follow him. She didn’thave to duck but went after him, her handsstuffed into her pockets. “What aboutyou?” she asked.

He held up his hands. They wereunmistakably her mother’s hands—dexterous, long-fingered, meant forholding a brush or a pen. “I learned toplay the instruments of war,” he said, “andpaint in blood. I am not like Jace.”

They were in a narrow alley betweentwo rows of buildings made of the same

golden stone as many of the otherbuildings of Paris, their roofs sparklingcopper-green in the sunlight. The streetunderfoot was cobblestone, and therewere no cars or motorcycles. To her leftwas a café, a wooden sign dangling from awrought iron pole the only clue that therewas any commercial business on thiswinding street.

“I like it here,” Sebastian said,following her gaze, “because it’s as if youwere in a past century. No noise of cars,no neon lights. Just—peaceful.”

Clary stared at him. He’s lying, shethought. Sebastian doesn’t have thoughtslike this. Sebastian, who tried to burnAlicante to the ground, doesn’t careabout “peaceful.”

She thought then of where he’d grown

up. She’d never seen it, but Jace haddescribed it to her. A small house—acottage, really—in a valley outsideAlicante. The nights would have beensilent there and the sky full of stars atnight. But would he miss that? Could he?Was that the sort of emotion you couldhave when you weren’t really evenhuman?

It doesn’t bother you? she wanted tosay. Being in the place the real SebastianVerlac grew up and lived, until youended his life? Walking these streets,bearing his name, knowing thatsomewhere, his aunt is grieving for him?And what did you mean when you said hewasn’t supposed to fight back?

His black eyes regarded herthoughtfully. He had a sense of humor, she

knew; there was a streak of mordant wit inhim that was sometimes not unlike Jace’s.But he didn’t smile.

“Come on,” he said then, breaking offher reverie. “This place has the best hotchocolate in Paris.”

Clary wasn’t sure how she’d know ifthis were true or not, given that this wasthe first time she’d ever been to Paris, butonce they sat down, she had to admit thehot chocolate was excellent. They made itat your table—which was small andwooden, as were the old-fashioned high-backed chairs—in a blue ceramic pot,using cream, chocolate powder, and sugar.The result was a cocoa so thick yourspoon could stand up in it. They hadcroissants, too, and dunked them into thechocolate.

“You know, if you want anothercroissant, they’ll bring you one,” saidSebastian, leaning back in his chair. Theywere the youngest people in the place bydecades, Clary noticed. “You’re attackingthat one like a wolverine.”

“I’m hungry.” She shrugged. “Look, ifyou want to talk to me, talk. Convinceme.”

He leaned forward, his elbows on thetable. She was reminded of looking intohis eyes the night before, of noticing thesilver ring around the iris of his eye. “Iwas thinking about what you said lastnight.”

“I was hallucinating last night. I don’tremember what I said to you.”

“You asked me who I belonged to,”said Sebastian.

Clary paused with her cup of chocolatehalfway to her mouth. “I did?”

“Yeah.” His eyes studied her faceintently. “And I don’t have an answer.”

She set her cup down, feeling suddenly,intensely uncomfortable. “You don’t haveto belong to anyone,” she said. “It’s just afigure of speech.”

“Well, let me ask you something now,”Sebastian said. “Do you think you canforgive me? I mean, do you thinkforgiveness is possible for someone likeme?”

“I don’t know.” Clary gripped the edgeof the table. “I—I mean, I don’t knowmuch about forgiveness as a religiousconcept, just your garden-variety kind offorgiving people.” She took a deep breath,knowing she was babbling. It was

something in the steadiness of Sebastian’sdark gaze on her, as if he actuallyexpected her to give him the answers toquestions no one else could answer. “Iknow you have to do things, to earnforgiveness. Change yourself. Confess,repent—and make amends.”

“Amends,” Sebastian echoed.“To make up for what you’ve done.”

She looked down at her mug. There wasno making up for the things Sebastian haddone, not in any way that made sense.

“Ave atque vale,” Sebastian said,looking down at his mug of chocolate.

Clary recognized the traditional wordsShadowhunters spoke over their dead.“Why are you saying that? I’m not dying.”

“You know it’s from a poem,” he said.“By Catullus. ‘Frater, ave atque vale.’

‘Hail and farewell, my brother.’ Hespeaks of ashes, of the rites of the dead,and his own grief for his brother. I wastaught the poem young, but I didn’t feel it—either his grief, or his loss, or even thewondering what it would be like to dieand to have no one grieve you.” He lookedup at her sharply. “What do you think itwould have been like if Valentine hadbrought you up along with me? Would youhave loved me?”

Clary was very glad she had put hercup down, because if she hadn’t, shewould have dropped it. Sebastian waslooking at her not with any shyness or thesort of natural awkwardness that might beattendant on such a bizarre question, but asif she were a curious, foreign life-form.

“Well,” she said. “You’re my brother. I

would have loved you. I would have…had to.”

He kept looking at her with the samestill, intent gaze. She wondered if sheshould ask him if he thought that meant hewould have loved her, too. Like a sister.But she had a feeling he had no idea whatthat meant.

“But Valentine didn’t bring me up,” shesaid. “In fact, I killed him.”

She wasn’t sure why she said it. Maybeshe wanted to see if it was possible toupset him. After all, Jace had told heronce that he thought Valentine might havebeen the only thing Sebastian had evercared about.

But he didn’t blanch. “Actually,” hesaid, “the Angel killed him. Though it wasbecause of you.” His fingers traced

patterns on the worn tabletop. “You know,when I first met you, in Idris, I had hopes—I had thought you would be like me.And when you were nothing like me, Ihated you. And then, when I was broughtback, and Jace told me what you did, Irealized that I had been wrong. You arelike me.”

“You said that last night,” Clary said.“But I’m not—”

“You killed our father,” he said. Hisvoice was soft. “And you don’t care .Never given it a second thought, haveyou? Valentine beat Jace bloody for thefirst ten years of his life, and Jace stillmisses him. Grieved for him, though theyshare no blood at all. But he was yourfather and you killed him and you’venever missed a night of sleep over it.”

Clary stared at him with her mouthopen. It was unfair. So unfair. Valentinehad never been a father to her—hadn’tloved her—had been a monster who’d hadto die. She had killed him because she’dhad no choice.

Unbidden in her mind rose the image ofValentine, driving his blade into Jace’schest, then holding him as he died.Valentine had wept over the son he’dmurdered. But she had never cried for herfather. Had never even considered it.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” said Sebastian.“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’re notlike me.”

Clary stared down at her cup ofchocolate, now cold. She felt like a vortexhad opened up inside her head and wassucking away her thoughts and words. “I

thought you thought Jace was like you,”she said finally in a choked voice. “Ithought that’s why you wanted him withyou.”

“I need Jace,” said Sebastian. “But inhis heart he’s not like me. You are.” Hestood up. He must have paid the bill atsome point; Clary couldn’t remember.“Come with me.”

He held his hand out. She stood upwithout taking it and retied his scarfmechanically; the chocolate she had drunkfelt like acid churning in her stomach. Shefollowed Sebastian out of the café andinto the alley, where he stood looking upat the blue sky overhead.

“I’m not like Valentine,” Clary said,stopping next to him. “Our mother—”

“Your mother,” he said, “hated me.

Hates me. You saw her. She tried to killme. You want to tell me you take afteryour mother, fine. Jocelyn Fairchild isruthless. She always has been. Shepretended to love our father for months,years maybe, so she could gather enoughinformation on him to betray him. Sheengineered the Uprising and watched allher husband’s friends slaughtered. Shestole your memories. Have you forgivenher? And when she ran from Idris, do youhonestly think she ever planned to take mewith her? She must have been relieved atthe thought that I was dead—”

“She wasn’t!” Clary snapped. “She hada box that had your baby things in it. Sheused to take it out and cry over it. Everyyear on your birthday. I know you have itin your room.”

Sebastian’s thin, elegant lips twisted.He turned away from her and startedwalking down the alley. “Sebastian!”Clary called after him. “Sebastian, wait.”She wasn’t sure why she wanted him tocome back. Admittedly, she had no ideawhere she was or how to find her wayback to the apartment, but it was more thanthat. She wanted to stand and fight, toprove she wasn’t what he said she was.She raised her voice to a shout:“Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern!”

He stopped and turned slowly, lookingback over his shoulder at her.

She walked toward him, and hewatched her walk, his head cocked to theside, his black eyes narrow. “I bet youdon’t even know my middle name,” shesaid.

“Adele.” There was a musicality to theway he said it, a familiarity that made heruncomfortable. “Clarissa Adele.”

She reached his side. “Why Adele? Inever knew.”

“I don’t know myself,” he said. “Iknow Valentine never wanted you to becalled Clarissa Adele. He wanted you tobe called Seraphina, after his mother. Ourgrandmother.” He turned around andstarted walking again, and this time shekept pace. “After our grandfather waskilled, she died—heart attack. Died ofgrief, Valentine always said.”

Clary thought of Amatis, who hadnever gotten over her first love, Stephen;of Stephen’s father, who had died of grief;of the Inquisitor, her whole life dedicatedto revenge. Of Jace’s mother, cutting her

wrists when her husband died. “Before Imet the Nephilim, I would have said itwas impossible to die of grief.”

Sebastian chuckled dryly. “We don’tform attachments like mundanes do,” hesaid. “Well, sometimes, surely. Noteveryone is the same. But the bondsbetween us tend to be intense andunbreakable. That’s why we do so badlywith others not of our kind.Downworlders, mundanes—”

“My mother’s marrying aDownworlder,” Clary said, stung. Theyhad paused in front of a square stonebuilding with blue painted shutters, almostat the end of the alley.

“He was Nephilim once,” saidSebastian. “And look at our father. Yourmother betrayed him and left him, and he

still spent the rest of his life waiting tofind her again and convince her to comeback to him. That whole closet full ofclothes—” He shook his head.

“But Valentine told Jace that love is aweakness,” said Clary. “That it woulddestroy you.”

“Wouldn’t you think that, if you spenthalf your life chasing a woman eventhough she hated your guts, because youcouldn’t forget about her? If you had toremember that the person you loved bestin the world stabbed you in the back andtwisted the knife?” He leaned in for amoment, close enough that when he spoke,his breath stirred her hair. “Maybe you aremore like your mother than our father. Butwhat difference does it make? You haveruthlessness in your bones and ice in your

heart, Clarissa. Don’t tell me anydifferently.”

He spun away before she could answerhim, and mounted the front step of theblue-shuttered house. A strip of electricbuzzers ran down the side of the wallbeside the door, each with a name hand-scrawled on a placard beside it. Hepressed the button beside the nameMagdalena, and waited. Eventually ascratchy voice came through the speaker:

“Qui est là?”“C’est le fils et la fille de Valentine,”

he said. “Nous avions rendez-vous?”There was a pause, and then the buzzer

sounded. Sebastian yanked the door open—and held it open, politely letting Clarygo before him. The stairs were wooden,as worn and smooth as the side of a ship.

They trudged up them in silence to the topfloor, where the door was proppedslightly open onto the landing. Sebastianwent through first, and Clary followed.

She found herself in a large, airy lightspace. The walls were white, as were thecurtains. Through one window she couldsee the street beyond, lined withrestaurants and boutiques. Cars whizzedby, but the sound of them didn’t seem topenetrate inside the apartment. The floorwas polished wood, the furniture white-painted wood or upholstered couches withcolorful throw pillows. A section of theapartment was set up as a sort of studio.Light poured down from a skylight onto along wooden table. There were easels,cloths tossed over them to obscure theircontents. A paint-stained smock hung from

a hook on the wall.Standing by the table was a woman.

Clary would have guessed her age atabout Jocelyn’s, if there had not beenseveral factors obscuring her age. Shewore a shapeless black smock that hid herbody; only her white hands and her faceand throat were visible. On each of hercheeks was carved a thick black rune,running from the outside corner of her eyeto her lips. Clary had not seen the runesbefore, but she could sense their meaning—power, skill, workmanship. The womanhad thick long auburn hair, falling inwaves to her waist, and her eyes, whenshe raised them, were a peculiar flatorange color, like a dying flame.

The woman clasped her hands in frontof her smock loosely. In a nervous,

melodic voice, she said, “Tu dois êtreJonathan Morgenstern. Et elle, c’est tasœur? Je pensais que—”

“I am Jonathan Morgenstern,”Sebastian said. “And this is my sister, yes.Clarissa. Please speak English in front ofher. She doesn’t understand French.”

The woman cleared her throat. “MyEnglish is rusty. It has been years since Iused it.”

“It seems good enough to me. Clarissa,this is Sister Magdalena. Of the IronSisters.”

Clary was startled into speech. “But Ithought the Iron Sisters never left theirfortress—”

“They don’t,” said Sebastian. “Unlessthey are disgraced by having their part inthe Uprising discovered. Who do you

think armed the Circle?” He smiled atMagdalena mirthlessly. “The Iron Sistersare Makers, not fighters. But Magdalenafled the Fortress before her part in theUprising could be discovered.”

“I had not seen another Nephilim infifteen years until your brother contactedme,” said Magdalena. It was hard to tellwho she was looking at while she spoke;her featureless eyes seemed to wander,but she was clearly not blind. “Is it true?Do you have the… material?”

Sebastian reached into a pouch hangingfrom his weapons belt and took from it achunk of what looked like quartz. He set itdown on the long table, and a stray shaftof sunlight, passing across the skylight, litit seemingly from within. Clary caught herbreath. It was the adamas from the junk

shop in Prague.Magdalena drew in a hissing breath.“Pure adamas,” said Sebastian. “No

rune has ever touched it.”The Iron Sister came around the table

and laid her hands upon the adamas. Herhands, also scarred with multiple runes,trembled. “Adamas pur,” she whispered.“It has been years since I touched the holymaterial.”

“It is all yours to craft with,” saidSebastian. “When you are done, I shallpay you in more of it. That is, if youbelieve you can create what I asked for.”

Magdalena drew herself up. “Am I notan Iron Sister? Did I not take the vows?Do my hands not shape the stuff ofHeaven? I can deliver what I promised,Valentine’s son. Never doubt it.”

“Good to hear.” There was a trace ofhumor in Sebastian’s voice. “I will returntonight, then. You know how to summonme if you need to.”

Magdalena shook her head. All herattention was back on the glassinesubstance, the adamas. She stroked it withher fingers. “Yes. You may go.”

Sebastian nodded and took a step back.Clary hesitated. She wanted to seize thewoman, ask her what Sebastian haddemanded she do, ask her why she wouldever have broken Covenant Law to workbeside Valentine. Magdalena, as if sensingher hesitation, looked up and smiledthinly.

“The two of you,” she said, and for amoment Clary thought she was going tosay that she did not understand why they

were together, that she had heard that theyhated each other, that Jocelyn’s daughterwas a Shadowhunter while Valentine’sson was a criminal. But she only shookher head. “Mon Dieu,” she said, “but youlook just like your parents.”

16BROTHERS AND SISTERS

When Clary and Sebastian returned to theapartment, the living room was empty, butthere were dishes in the sink where therehadn’t been before.

“I thought you said Jace was asleep,”she said to Sebastian, a note of accusationin her voice.

Sebastian shrugged. “He was when Isaid it.” There was light mockery in hisvoice but no serious unkindness. They hadwalked back from Magdalena’s together

mostly in silence, but not a bad sort ofsilence. Clary had let her mind wander,only jerked back to reality on occasion bythe realization that it was Sebastian shewas walking beside. “I’m pretty sure Iknow where he is.”

“In his room?” Clary started for thestairs.

“No.” He moved in front of her. “Comeon. I’ll show you.”

He headed up the stairs at a rapid paceand into the master bedroom, Clary on hisheels. As she watched in puzzlement, hetapped the side of the wardrobe. It slidaway, revealing a set of stairs behind it.Sebastian cast a smirk over his shoulder ather as she came up behind him. “You’rekidding,” she said. “Secret stairs?”

“Don’t tell me that’s the strangest thing

you’ve seen today.” He took the stairs twoat a time, and Clary, though bone-weary,followed him. The stairs curved aroundand opened out into a wide room with apolished wooden floor and high walls. Allmanner of weapons hung from the walls,just as they did in the training room in theInstitute—kindjals and chakhrams, macesand swords and daggers, crossbows andbrass knuckles, throwing stars and axesand samurai swords.

Training circles were neatly painted onthe floor. In the center of them stood Jace,his back to the door. He was shirtless andbarefoot, in black warm-up pants, a knifein each of his hands. An image flashed inher head: Sebastian’s bare back, scarredwith unmistakeable whip stripes. Jace’swas smooth, pale gold skin over muscle,

marked only with the typical scars of aShadowhunter—and the scratches her ownnails had made last night. She felt herselfflush, but her mind was still on thequestion: why would Valentine havewhipped one boy but not the other?

“Jace,” she said.He turned. He was clean. The silvery

fluid was gone, and his gold hair wasalmost bronze-dark, pasted damply to hishead. His skin glistened with sweat. Theexpression on his face was guarded.“Where were you?”

Sebastian went to the wall and began toexamine the weapons there, running hisbare hand along the blades. “I thoughtClary might want to see Paris.”

“You could have left me a note,” saidJace. “It isn’t as if our situation is the

safest, Jonathan. I’d rather not have toworry about Clary—”

“I followed him,” Clary said.Jace turned and looked at her, and for a

moment she caught a glimpse, in his eyes,of the boy in Idris who had shouted at herfor spoiling all his careful plans to keepher safe. But this Jace was different. Hishands didn’t shake when he looked at her,and the pulse in his throat stayed steady.“You did what?”

“I followed Sebastian,” she said. “Iwas awake and I wanted to see where hewas going.” She put her hands into herjeans pockets and looked at him defiantly.His eyes took her in, from her wind-mussed hair to her boots, and she felt theblood rise up in her face. Sweat shonealong his collarbones, and the ridges of

his stomach muscles. His workout pantswere folded over at the waist, showing theV of his hip bones. She remembered whatit had felt like to have his arms aroundher, to be pressed close enough againsthim that she could feel every detail of hisbones and muscles against her body—

She felt a wave of embarrassment soacute, it was dizzying. What made itworse was that Jace didn’t seem in theleast bit awkward, or as if the previousnight had affected him as much as it hadher. He seemed only… annoyed. Annoyed,and sweaty, and hot.

“Yeah, well,” he said, “the next timeyou decide to sneak out of our magicallywarded apartment through a door thatshouldn’t really exist, leave a note.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you

being sarcastic?”He threw one of his knives into the air

and caught it. “Possibly.”“I took Clary to see Magdalena,”

Sebastian said. He had taken a throwingstar down from the wall and wasexamining it. “We brought the adamas.”

Jace had tossed the second knife intothe air; he missed catching it this time, andit stuck point-down into the floor. “Youdid?”

“I did,” Sebastian said. “And I toldClary the plan. I told her that we wereplanning to lure Greater Demons here sowe could destroy them.”

“But not how you planned toaccomplish that,” Clary said. “You nevertold me that part.”

“I thought it would be better to tell you

with Jace here,” said Sebastian. Hesnapped his wrist forward suddenly, andthe throwing star flew toward Jace, whoblocked it with a swift flick of his knife. Itclattered to the ground. Sebastianwhistled. “Fast,” he commented.

Clary whirled on her brother. “Youcould have hurt him—”

“Anything that injures him injures me,”said Sebastian. “I was showing you howmuch I trust him. Now I want you to trustus.” His black eyes bored into her.“Adamas,” he said. “The stuff I brought tothe Iron Sister today. Do you know what’smade out of it?”

“Of course. Seraph blades. The demontowers of Alicante. Steles…”

“And the Mortal Cup.”Clary shook her head. “The Mortal Cup

is gold. I’ve seen it.”“Adamas dipped in gold. The Mortal

Sword, too, has a hilt of the stuff. Theysay it’s the material the palaces of Heavenare built from. And it isn’t easy to get holdof. Only the Iron Sisters can work thestuff, and only they’re supposed to haveaccess to it.”

“So why did you give some toMagdalena?”

“So she could make a second Cup,”said Jace.

“A second Mortal Cup?” Clary lookedfrom one of them to the other, incredulous.“But you can’t just do that. Just makeanother Mortal Cup. If you could, theClave wouldn’t have panicked so muchwhen the original Mortal Cup wentmissing. Valentine wouldn’t have needed

it so badly—”“It’s a cup,” said Jace. “However

crafted, it will always be a cup until theAngel voluntarily pours his blood into it.That’s what makes it what it is.”

“And you think you can get Raziel tovoluntarily pour his blood into a secondcup for you?” Clary couldn’t keep therazor edge of disbelief from her voice.“Good luck.”

“It’s a trick, Clary,” said Sebastian.“You know how everything has analliance? Seraphic or demonic? What thedemons believe is that we want thedemonic equivalent of Raziel. A demongreat in power who will mix his bloodwith ours and create a new race ofShadowhunters. Ones not bound by theLaw, or the Covenant, or the rules of the

Clave.”“You told them you want to make…

backward Shadowhunters?”“Something like that.” Sebastian

laughed, raking fingers through his fairhair. “Jace, do you want to help meexplain?”

“Valentine was a zealot,” said Jace.“He was wrong about a lot of things. Hewas wrong to consider killingShadowhunters. He was wrong aboutDownworlders. But he wasn’t wrongabout the Clave or the Council. EveryInquisitor we’ve had has been corrupt.The Laws handed down by the Angel arearbitrary and nonsensical, and theirpunishments are worse. ‘The Law is hard,but it is the Law.’ How many times haveyou heard that? How many times have we

had to duck and avoid the Clave and itsLaws even when we were trying to savethem? Who put me in prison?—theInquisitor. Who put Simon in prison? TheClave. Who would have let him burn?”

Clary’s heart had started to pound.Jace’s voice, so familiar, saying thesewords, made her bones feel weak. He wasright and also wrong. As Valentine hadbeen. But she wanted to believe him in away she hadn’t wanted to believeValentine.

“Fine,” she said. “I understand theClave is corrupt. But I don’t see what thathas to do with making deals withdemons.”

“Our mandate is to destroy demons,”said Sebastian. “But the Clave has beenpouring all its energy into other tasks. The

wards have been weakening, and moreand more demons have been spilling intoearth, but the Clave turns a blind eye. Wehave opened a gate in the far north, onWrangel Island, and we will lure demonsthrough it with the promise of this Cup.Only, when they pour their blood into it,they will be destroyed. I have made dealslike this with several Greater Demons.When Jace and I have killed them, theClave will see we are a power to bereckoned with. They will have to listen tous.”

Clary stared. “Killing Greater Demonsisn’t that easy.”

“I did it earlier today,” said Sebastian.“Which is incidentally why neither of us isgoing to get in trouble for killing all thosebodyguard demons. I killed their master.”

Clary looked from Jace to Sebastianand back again. Jace’s eyes were cool,interested; Sebastian’s gaze was moreintense. It was as if he were trying to seeinto her head. “Well,” she said slowly.“That’s a lot to take in. And I don’t likethe idea of you putting yourselves in thatkind of danger. But I’m glad you trustedme enough to tell me.”

“I told you,” Jace said. “I told youshe’d understand.”

“I never said she wouldn’t.” Sebastiandidn’t take his eyes off Clary’s face.

She swallowed hard. “I didn’t sleepmuch last night,” she said. “I need to rest.”

“Too bad,” said Sebastian. “I wasgoing to ask if you wanted to climb theEiffel Tower.” His eyes were dark,unreadable; she couldn’t tell if he was

joking or not. Before she could sayanything in reply, Jace’s hand slid intohers.

“I’ll go with you,” he said. “I didn’tsleep that well myself.” He nodded atSebastian. “See you for dinner.”

Sebastian made no reply. They werenearly to the steps when Sebastian calledout: “Clary.”

She turned around, drawing her handout of Jace’s. “What?”

“My scarf.” He held out his hand for it.“Oh. Right.” Taking a few steps toward

him, she tugged with nervous fingers at theknotted cloth around her throat. After amoment of watching her, Sebastian madean impatient noise and stalked across theroom toward her, his long legs coveringthe space between them quickly. She

stiffened as he put his hand to her throatand deftly undid the knot with a fewmotions, then unwrapped the scarf. Shethought for a moment that he lingeredbefore unwrapping it fully, his fingersbrushing her throat—

She remembered him kissing her on thehill by the burned remains of the Fairchildmanor, and how she had felt as if she werefalling, into a dark and abandoned place,lost and terrified. She backed up hastily,and the scarf fell away from her neck asshe turned. “Thanks for lending it to me,”she said, and darted back to follow Jacedown the stairs, not looking behind to seeher brother watch her go, holding thescarf, a quizzical expression on his face.

Simon stood among the dead leaves andlooked up the path; once more the humanimpulse to take a deep breath came onhim. He was in Central Park, near theShakespeare Garden. The trees had lostthe last of their autumn luster, the gold andgreen and red turning to brown and black.Most of the branches were bare.

He touched the ring on his finger again.Clary?

Again there was no reply. His musclesfelt as tense as strung wires. It had beentoo long since he had been able to raiseher using the ring. He told himself overand over that she could be sleeping, butnothing could untie the terrible knot oftension in his stomach. The ring was hisonly connection to her, and right now itfelt like nothing more than a hunk of dead

metal.He dropped his hands to his sides and

moved forward, up the path, past thestatues and the benches inscribed withverses from Shakespeare’s plays. Thepath turned a curving right, and suddenlyhe could see her, sitting up ahead on abench, looking away from him, her darkhair in a long braid down her back. Shewas very still, waiting. Waiting for him.

Simon straightened his back andwalked toward her, even though everystep felt as if it were weighted with lead.

She heard him as he approached andturned around, her pale face going evenpaler as he sat down beside her. “Simon,”she said on an exhale of breath. “I wasn’tsure you’d come.”

“Hi, Rebecca,” he said.

She held out her hand, and he took it,silently thanking the forethought that hadmade him put on gloves that morning, sothat if he touched her she wouldn’t feel thechill of his skin. It hadn’t been that longsince he’d seen her last—maybe fourmonths—but already she seemed like thephotograph of someone he’d known a longtime ago, even though everything about herwas familiar—her dark hair; her browneyes, the same shape and color as hisown; the spatter of freckles across hernose. She wore jeans, a bright yellowparka, and a green scarf with big yellowcotton flowers. Clary called Becky’s style“hippie-chic”; about half her clothes camefrom vintage stores, and the other half shesewed herself.

As he squeezed her hand, her dark eyes

filled with tears. “Si,” she said, and puther arms around him and hugged him. Helet her, patting her arms, her back,clumsily. When she pulled back, wiping ather eyes, she frowned. “God, your face iscold,” she said. “You should wear ascarf.” She looked at him accusingly.“Anyway, where have you been?”

“I told you,” he said. “I was stayingwith a friend.”

She gave a short bark of laughter.“Okay, Simon, that so doesn’t cut it,” shesaid. “What the hell is going on?”

“Becks…”“I called home about Thanksgiving,”

Rebecca said, staring straight ahead at thetrees. “You know, what train I shouldtake, that sort of thing. And you know whatMom said? She said not to come home,

there wasn’t going to be any Thanksgiving.So I called you. You didn’t pick up. Icalled Mom to find out where you were.She hung up on me. Just—hung up on me.So I came home. That’s when I saw thereligious weirdness all over the door. Ifreaked out on Mom, and she told me youwere dead. Dead. My own brother. Shesaid you were dead and a monster tookyour place.”

“What did you do?”“I got the hell out of there,” said

Rebecca. Simon could tell she was tryingto sound tough, but there was a thin,frightened edge to her voice. “It waspretty clear Mom had lost it.”

“Oh,” Simon said. Rebecca and hismother had always shared a fraughtrelationship. Rebecca liked to refer to his

mother as “nuts” or “the crazy lady.” Butit was the first time he’d had the sense shereally meant it.

“Damn right, oh,” Rebecca snapped. “Iwas frantic. I texted you every fiveminutes. Finally I get that crap text fromyou about staying with a friend. Now youwant to meet me here. What the hell,Simon? How long has this been goingon?”

“How long has what been going on?”“What do you think? Mom being totally

mental.” Rebecca’s small fingers pickedat her scarf. “We have to do something.Talk to someone. Doctors. Get her onmeds or something. I didn’t know what todo. Not without you. You’re my brother.”

“I can’t,” Simon said. “I mean, I can’thelp you.”

Her voice softened. “I know it sucksand you’re just in high school, but, Simon,we have to make these decisionstogether.”

“I mean I can’t help you get her onmeds,” he said. “Or take her to the doctor.Because she’s right. I am a monster.”

Rebecca’s mouth dropped open. “Hasshe brainwashed you?”

“No—”Her voice wobbled. “You know, I

thought maybe she’d hurt you—the wayshe was talking—but then I thought, No,she’d never do that, no matter what. Butif she did—if she laid a finger on you,Simon, so help me—”

Simon couldn’t take it anymore. Hestripped off his glove and held his handout to his sister. His sister, who’d held his

hand on the beach when he was too smallto toddle into the ocean unassisted. Who’dmopped blood off him after soccerpractice, and tears off him after theirfather had died and their mother was azombie lying in her room staring at theceiling. Who’d read to him in his race-car-shaped bed when he still wore footiepajamas. I am the Lorax. I speak for thetrees. Who once accidentally shrunk allhis clothes in the wash so they were doll-size, when she was trying to be domestic.Who packed his lunch when their motherdidn’t have time. Rebecca, he thought. Thelast tie he had to cut.

“Take my hand,” he said.She took it, and winced. “You’re so

cold. Have you been sick?”“You could say that.” He looked at her,

willing her to sense something wrong withhim, really wrong, but she only lookedback at him with trusting brown eyes. Hebit back a flare of impatience. It wasn’ther fault. She didn’t know. “Take mypulse,” he said.

“I don’t know how to take someone’spulse, Simon. I’m an art history major.”

He reached over and moved her fingersup to his wrist. “Press down. Do you feelanything?”

For a moment she was still, her bangsswinging over her forehead. “No. Am Isupposed to?”

“Becky—” He pulled his wrist back infrustration. There was nothing else for it.There was only one way. “Look at me,” hesaid, and when her eyes swung up to hisface, he let his fangs snap out.

She screamed.She screamed, and fell off the bench

onto the hard-packed dirt and leaves.Several passersby looked at themcuriously, but it was New York, and theydidn’t stop or stare, just kept moving.

Simon felt wretched. This was whathe’d wanted, but it was different actuallylooking at her crouching there, so pale thather freckles stood out like ink blots, herhand over her mouth. Just like it had beenwith his mother. He remembered tellingClary there was no worse feeling than nottrusting the people you loved; he’d beenwrong. Having the people you loved beafraid of you was worse. “Rebecca,” hesaid, and his voice broke. “Becky—”

She shook her head, her hand still overher mouth. She was sitting in the dirt, her

scarf trailing in the leaves. Under othercircumstances it might have been funny.

Simon got down off the bench and kneltdown next to her. His fangs were gone, butshe was looking at him as if they werestill there. Very hesitantly he reached outand touched her on the shoulder. “Becks,”he said. “I would never hurt you. I wouldnever hurt Mom, either. I just wanted tosee you one last time to tell you I’m goingaway and you won’t need to see me again.I’ll leave you both alone. You can haveThanksgiving. I won’t show up. I won’t tryto stay in touch. I won’t—”

“Simon.” She grabbed his arm, andthen she was pulling him toward her, likea fish on a line. He half-fell against her,and she hugged him, her arms around him,and the last time she’d hugged him like

this was the day of their father’s funeral,when he’d cried in that way one criedwhen it didn’t seem like it was ever goingto stop. “I don’t want to never see youagain.”

“Oh,” Simon said. He sat back in thedirt, so surprised that his mind had goneblank. Rebecca put her arms around himagain, and he let himself lean against her,even though she was slighter than he was.She had held him up when they’d beenchildren, and she could do it again. “Ithought you wouldn’t.”

“Why?” she said.“I’m a vampire,” he said. It was weird,

hearing it like that, out loud.“So there are vampires?”“And werewolves. And other, weirder

stuff. This just—happened. I mean, I got

attacked. I didn’t choose it, but it doesn’tmatter. This is me now.”

“Do you…” Rebecca hesitated, andSimon sensed that this was the bigquestion, the one that really mattered.“Bite people?”

He thought about Isabelle, then pushedthe mental image hastily away. And I bit athirteen-year-old girl. And a dude. It’snot as weird as it sounds. No. Somethings were not his sister’s business. “Idrink blood out of bottles. Animal blood. Idon’t hurt people.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath.“Okay.”

“Is it? Okay, I mean?”“Yeah. I love you,” she said. She

rubbed his back awkwardly. He feltsomething damp on his hand and looked

down. She was crying. One of her tearshad splashed onto his fingers. Another onefollowed, and he closed his hand aroundit. He was shivering, but not from cold;still, she pulled off her scarf and wrappedit around them both. “We’ll figure it out,”she said. “You’re my little brother, youdumb idiot. I love you no matter what.”

They sat together, shoulder to shoulder,looking off into the shadowy spacesbetween the trees.

It was bright in Jace’s bedroom, middaysunlight pouring through the openwindows. The moment Clary walked in,the heels of her boots clicking on thehardwood floor, Jace closed the door andlocked it behind her. There was a clatter

as he dropped the knives onto his bedsidetable. She began to turn, to ask him if hewas all right, when he caught her aroundthe waist and pulled her against him.

The boots gave her extra height, but hestill had to bend down to kiss her. Hishands, on her waist, lifted her up andagainst him—a second later his mouth wason hers and she forgot all issues of heightand awkwardness. He tasted like salt andfire. She tried to shut out everything butsensation—the familiar smell of his skinand sweat, the chill of his damp hairagainst her cheek, the shape of hisshoulders and back under her hands, theway her body fit to his.

He pulled her sweater over her head.Her T-shirt was short-sleeved, and shefelt the heat coming off him against her

skin. His lips parted hers, and she feltherself coming apart as his hand sliddown to the top button on her jeans.

It took all the self-control she had tocatch at his wrist with her hand, and holdit still. “Jace,” she said. “Don’t.”

He drew away, enough for her to seehis face. His eyes were glassy, unfocused.His heart pounded against hers. “Why?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Last night—if we hadn’t—if I hadn’t fainted, then Idon’t know what would have happened,and we were in the middle of a room fullof people. Do you really think I want myfirst time with you—or any time with you—to be in front of a bunch of strangers?”

“That wasn’t our fault,” he said,pushing his fingers softly through her hair.The scarred palm of his hand scratched

her cheek lightly. “That silver stuff wasfaerie drugs, I told you. We were high. ButI’m sober now, and you’re sober now…”

“And Sebastian’s upstairs, and I’mexhausted, and…” And this would be aterrible, terrible idea that both of uswould regret. “And I don’t feel like it,”she lied.

“You don’t feel like it?” Disbeliefcolored his voice.

“I’m sorry if no one’s ever said that toyou before, Jace, but, no. I don’t feel likeit.” She looked pointedly down at hishand, still at the waistband of her jeans.“And now I feel like it even less.”

He raised both eyebrows, but insteadof saying anything he simply let go of her.

“Jace…”“I’m going to go take a cold shower,”

he said, backing away from her. His facewas blank, unreadable. When thebathroom door slammed shut behind him,she walked over to the bed—neatly madeup, no residual silver on the coverlet—and sank down, putting her head in herhands. It wasn’t as if she and Jace neverfought; she’d always thought they arguedabout as much as normal couples did,usually good-naturedly, and they’d neverbeen angry with each other in anysignificant way. But there was somethingabout the coldness at the back of thisJace’s eyes that shook her, something faroff and unreachable that made it harderthan ever to push away the questionalways at the back of her mind: Is any ofthe real Jace still in there? Is thereanything left to save?

* * *

Now this is the Law of the Jungle,as old and as true as the sky,

And the Wolf that shall keep it mayprosper,

but the Wolf that shall break itmust die.As the creeper that girdles the treetrunk,

the Law runneth forward andback;For the strength of the Pack is theWolf,

and the strength of the Wolf isthe Pack.

Jordan stared blindly at the poem tackedto the wall of his bedroom. It was an old

print that he’d found in a used-book store,the words surrounded by an elaborateborder of leaves. The poem was byRudyard Kipling, and it so neatlyencapsulated the rules by whichwerewolves lived, the Law that boundtheir actions, that he wondered if Kiplinghadn’t been a Downworlder himself, or atleast known about the Accords. Jordanhad felt compelled to buy the print andstick it up on his wall, though he’d neverbeen one for poetry.

He’d been pacing his apartment for thelast hour, sometimes taking his phone outto see if Maia had texted, in betweenbouts of opening the refrigerator andstaring into it to see if anything wortheating had appeared. It hadn’t, but hedidn’t want to go out to get food in case

she came to the apartment while he wasout. He also took a shower, cleaned up thekitchen, tried to watch TV and failed, andstarted the process of organizing all hisDVDs by color.

He was restless. Restless in the way hesometimes got before the full moon,knowing the Change was coming, feelingthe pull of the tides in his blood. But themoon was waning, not waxing, and itwasn’t the Change making him feel likecrawling out of his skin. It was Maia. Itwas being without her, after almost twosolid days in her company, never morethan a few feet away from her.

She’d gone without him to the policestation, saying that now wasn’t the time toupset the pack with a nonmember, eventhough Luke was healing. There was no

need for Jordan to come, she’d argued,since all she had to do was ask Luke if itwas all right for Simon and Magnus tovisit the farm tomorrow, and then she’dcall up to the farm and warn any of thepack who might be staying up there toclear off the property. She was right,Jordan knew. There was no reason for himto go with her, but the moment she wasgone, the restlessness kicked up insidehim. Was she leaving because she wassick of being with him? Had she rethoughtand decided she’d been right about himbefore? And what was going on betweenthem? Were they dating? Maybe youshould have asked her before you slepttogether, genius, he told himself, andrealized he was standing in front of therefrigerator again. Its contents hadn’t

changed—bottles of blood, a defrostingpound of ground beef, and a dented apple.

The key turned in the front door lock,and he jumped away from the refrigerator,spinning around. He looked down athimself. He was barefoot, in jeans and anold T-shirt. Why hadn’t he taken the timewhile she’d been away to shave, lookbetter, put on some cologne or something?He ran his hands quickly through his hairas Maia came into the living room,dropping his spare set of keys onto thecoffee table. She had changed clothes, intoa soft pink sweater and jeans. Her cheekswere pink from the cold, her lips red andher eyes bright. He wanted to kiss her sobadly it hurt.

Instead he swallowed. “So—how didit go?”

“Fine. Magnus can use the farm. Ialready texted him.” She strolled over tohim and leaned her elbows on the counter.“I also told Luke what Raphael said aboutMaureen. I hope that’s okay.”

Jordan was puzzled. “Why’d you thinkhe needed to know?”

She seemed to deflate. “Oh, God.Don’t tell me I was supposed to keep it asecret.”

“No—I was just wondering—”“Well, if there really is a rogue

vampire cutting her way through LowerManhattan, the pack should know. It’stheir territory. Besides, I wanted hisadvice about whether we should tellSimon or not.”

“What about my advice?” He wasplaying at sounding hurt, but there was a

little part of him that meant it. They’ddiscussed it before, whether Jordanshould tell his assignment that Maureenwas out there and killing, or whether itwould just be another burden to add toeverything Simon was dealing with now.Jordan had come down on the side of nottelling him—what could he do about it,anyway?—but Maia hadn’t been so sure.

She jumped up on top of the counterand swung around to face him. Evensitting down, she was taller than him thisway, her brown eyes sparkling down intohis. “I wanted grown-up advice.”

He grabbed hold of her swinging legsand ran his hands up the seams of herjeans. “I’m eighteen—not grown-upenough for you?”

She put her hands on his shoulders and

flexed them, as if testing his muscles.“Well, you’ve definitely grown…”

He pulled her down from the counter,catching her around the waist and kissingher. Fire sizzled up and down his veins asshe kissed him back, her body meltingagainst his. He slid his hands up into herhair, knocking her knitted cap off andletting her curls spring free. He kissed herneck as she pulled his shirt up over hishead and ran her hands all over him—shoulders, back, arms, purring in herthroat like a cat. He felt like a heliumballoon—high from kissing her, and lightwith relief. So she wasn’t done with himafter all.

“Jordy,” she said. “Wait.”She almost never called him that,

unless it was serious. His heartbeat,

already wild, speeded up further. “What’swrong?”

“It’s just—if every time we see eachother, we fall into bed—and I know Istarted it, I’m not blaming you or anything—It’s just that maybe we should talk.”

He stared at her, at her big dark eyes,the fluttery pulse in her throat, the flush onher cheeks. With an effort he spokeevenly. “Okay. What do you want to talkabout?”

She just looked at him. After a momentshe shook her head and said, “Nothing.”She locked her hands behind his head andpulled him close, kissing him hard, fittingher body against his. “Nothing at all.”

Clary didn’t know how long it was before

Jace came out of the bathroom, towelingoff his wet hair. She looked up at himfrom where she was still sitting on theedge of the bed. He was sliding a bluecotton T-shirt on over smooth golden skinmarked with white scars.

She darted her eyes away as he cameacross the room and sat down next to heron the bed, smelling strongly of soap.

“I’m sorry,” he said.Now she did look at him, in surprise.

She had wondered if he were capable ofbeing sorry, in his current state. Hisexpression was grave, a little curious, butnot insincere.

“Wow,” she said. “That cold showermust have been brutal.”

His lips quirked up at the side, but hisexpression grew serious again almost

immediately. He put his hand under herchin. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. It’sjust—ten weeks ago, just holding eachother would have been unthinkable.”

“I know.”He cupped her face in his hands, his

long fingers cool against her cheeks,tilting her face up. He was looking downat her, and everything about him was sofamiliar—the pale gold irises of his eyes,the scar on his cheek, the full lower lip,the slight chip in his tooth that saved hislooks from being so perfect that they wereannoying—and yet somehow it was likecoming back to a house she had lived in asa child, and knowing that though theexterior might look the same, a differentfamily lived there now. “I never cared,”he said. “I wanted you anyway. I always

wanted you. Nothing mattered to me butyou. Not ever.”

Clary swallowed. Her stomachfluttered, not just with the usual butterfliesshe felt around Jace but with realuneasiness.

“But Jace. That’s not true. You caredabout your family. And—I always thoughtyou were proud of being Nephilim. One ofthe angels.”

“Proud?” he said. “To be half angel,half human—you’re always conscious ofyour own inadequacy. You’re not anangel. You’re not beloved of Heaven.Raziel doesn’t care about us. We can’teven pray to him. We pray to nothing. Wepray for nothing. Remember when I toldyou I thought I had demon blood, becauseit explained why I felt the way I did about

you? It was a relief in a way, thinking that.I’ve never been an angel, never evenclose. Well,” he added. “Maybe the fallenkind.”

“Fallen angels are demons.”“I don’t want to be Nephilim,” said

Jace. “I want to be something else.Stronger, faster, better than human. Butdifferent. Not subservient to the Laws ofan angel who couldn’t care less about us.Free.” He ran his hand through a curl ofher hair. “I’m happy now, Clary. Doesn’tthat make a difference?”

“I thought we were happy together,”Clary said.

“I’ve always been happy with you,” hesaid. “But I never thought I deserved it.”

“And now you do?”“And now that feeling’s gone,” he said.

“All I know is that I love you. And for thefirst time, that’s good enough.”

She closed her eyes. A moment later hewas kissing her again, very softly thistime, his mouth tracing the shape of hers.She felt herself go pliant under his hands.She sensed it as his breathing quickenedand her own pulse jumped. His handsstroked down through her hair, over herback, to her waist. His touch wascomforting—the feel of his heartbeatagainst hers like familiar music—and ifthe key was slightly different, with hereyes closed, she couldn’t tell. Their bloodwas the same, under the skin, she thought,as the Seelie Queen had said; her heartraced when his did, had nearly stoppedwhen his had. If she had to do it all again,she thought, under the pitiless gaze of

Raziel, she would have done the samething.

This time he drew back, letting hisfingers linger on her cheek, her lips. “Iwant what you want,” he said. “Wheneveryou want it.”

Clary felt a shudder go down her spine.The words were simple, but there was adangerous and seductive invitation to thefall of his voice: Whatever you want,whenever you want it. His hand smootheddown her hair, to her back, lingering at herwaist. She swallowed. There was only somuch that she was going to be able to holdback.

“Read to me,” she said suddenly.He blinked down at her. “What?”She was looking past him, at the books

on his nightstand. “It’s a lot to process,”

she said. “What Sebastian said, whathappened last night, everything. I need tosleep, but I’m too keyed up. When I wasyoung and I couldn’t sleep, my motherused to read to me to relax me.”

“And I remind you of your mothernow? I have got to look into a manliercologne.”

“No, it’s just—I thought it would benice.”

He scooted back against the pillows,reaching for the stack of books by the bed.“Anything particular you want to hear?”With a flourish he picked up the book ontop of the stack. It looked old, leather-bound, the title stamped in gold on thefront. A Tale of Two Cities. “Dickens isalways promising…”

“I’ve read that before. For school,”

Clary recalled. She scooted up on thepillows beside Jace. “But I don’tremember any of it, so I wouldn’t mindhearing it again.”

“Excellent. I’ve been told I have alovely, melodic reading voice.” Heflipped the book open to the front page,where the title was printed in ornatescript. Across from it was a longdedication, the ink faded now and barelylegible, though Clary could make out thesignature: With hope at last, WilliamHerondale.

“Some ancestor of yours,” Clary said,brushing her finger against the page.

“Yes. Odd that Valentine had it. Myfather must have given it to him.” Jaceopened to a random page and began toread:

“He unshaded his face after a littlewhile, and spoke steadily. ‘Don’t beafraid to hear me. Don’t shrink fromanything I say. I am like one who diedyoung. All my life might have been.’

“‘No, Mr. Carton. I am sure that thebest part of it might still be; I am surethat you might be much, much worthierof yourself.’”

“Oh, I do remember this story now,”Clary said. “Love triangle. She picks theboring guy.”

Jace chuckled softly. “Boring to you.Who can say what got Victorian ladies hotbeneath the petticoats?”

“It’s true, you know.”“What, about the petticoats?”“No. That you have a lovely reading

voice.” Clary turned her face against his

shoulder. It was times like this, more thanwhen he was kissing her, that hurt—timeswhen he could have been her Jace. Aslong as she kept her eyes closed.

“All that, and abs of steel,” Jace said,turning another page. “What more couldyou ask for?”

17VALEDICTION

As I strolled down along the quayAll in the lateness of the dayI heard a lovely maiden say:“Alack, for I can get no play.”

A minstrel boy heard what she saidAnd straight he rushed to her aid…

“Do we have to keep listening to thiswail-ey music?” Isabelle demanded, herbooted foot tapping against the dashboardof Jordan’s truck.

“I happen to like this wail-ey music,my girl, and since I’m driving, I get tochoose,” Magnus said loftily. He wasindeed driving. Simon had been surprisedthat he knew how, though he wasn’t surewhy. Magnus had been alive for ages.Surely he had found time to squeeze in afew weeks of driver’s ed. Although Simoncouldn’t help wondering what birth datewas on his license.

Isabelle rolled her eyes, probablybecause there wasn’t enough room to domuch else in the cab of the truck, with allfour of them crammed together on thebench seat. Simon honestly hadn’texpected her to come. He hadn’t expectedanyone to come to the farm with him butMagnus, though Alec had insisted oncoming as well (much to Magnus’s

annoyance, as he considered the wholeenterprise “too dangerous”), and then, justas Magnus had revved up the engine on thetruck, Isabelle had come banging down thestairs of his apartment building andthrown herself through the front door,panting and out of breath. “I’m comingtoo,” she’d announced.

And that was that. No one could budgeor dissuade her. She wouldn’t look atSimon as she insisted, or explain why shewanted to come, but she did, and here shewas. She was wearing jeans and a purplesuede jacket she must have stolen out ofMagnus’s closet. Her weapons belt wasslung around her slim hips. She wasmashed up against Simon, whose otherside was crushed against the car door. Astrand of her hair was flying free and

tickling his face.“What is this, anyway?” Alec said,

frowning at the CD player, which wasplaying music, although without a CD in it.Magnus had simply tapped the soundsystem with a blue-flashing finger, and ithad started playing. “Some faerie band?”

Magnus didn’t answer, but the musicswelled louder.

To mirror went she straightawayAnd did her ebon hair arrayAnd for her gown she much did

pay.Then down she walked along thestreet,

A handsome lad she chanced tomeet,

And sore by dawn were her daintyfeet,

But all the boys were gay.

Isabelle snorted. “All the boys are gay.In this truck, anyway. Well, not you,Simon.”

“You noticed,” said Simon.“I think of myself as a freewheeling

bisexual,” added Magnus.“Please never say those words in front

of my parents,” said Alec. “Especially myfather.”

“I thought your parents were okay withyou, you know, coming out,” Simon said,leaning around Isabelle to look at Alec,who was—as he often was—scowling,and pushing his floppy dark hair out of hiseyes. Aside from the occasional exchange,

Simon had never talked to Alec much. Hewasn’t an easy person to get to know. But,Simon admitted to himself, his own recentestrangement from his mother made himmore curious about Alec’s answer than hewould have been otherwise.

“My mother seems to have acceptedit,” Alec said. “But my father—no, notreally. Once he asked me what I thoughthad turned me gay.”

Simon felt Isabelle tense next to him.“Turned you gay?” She soundedincredulous. “Alec, you didn’t tell methat.”

“I hope you told him you were bitten bya gay spider,” said Simon.

Magnus snorted; Isabelle lookedconfused. “I’ve read Magnus’s stash ofcomics,” said Alec, “so I actually know

what you’re talking about.” A small smileplayed around his mouth. “So would thatgive me the proportional gayness of aspider?”

“Only if it was a really gay spider,”said Magnus, and he yelled as Alecpunched him in the arm. “Ow, okay, nevermind.”

“Well, whatever,” said Isabelle,obviously annoyed not to get the joke.“It’s not like Dad’s ever coming backfrom Idris, anyway.”

Alec sighed. “Sorry to wreck yourvision of our happy family. I know youwant to think Dad’s fine with me beinggay, but he’s not.”

“But if you don’t tell me when peoplesay things like that to you, or do things tohurt you, then how can I help you?” Simon

could feel Isabelle’s agitation vibratingthrough her body. “How can I—”

“Iz,” Alec said tiredly. “It’s not likeit’s one big bad thing. It’s a lot of littleinvisible things. When Magnus and I weretraveling, and I’d call from the road, Dadnever asked how he was. When I get up totalk in Clave meetings, no one listens, andI don’t know if that’s because I’m youngor if it’s because of something else. I sawMom talking to a friend about hergrandchildren and the second I walkedinto the room they shut up. IrinaCartwright told me it was a pity no onewould ever inherit my blue eyes now.” Heshrugged and looked toward Magnus, whotook a hand off the wheel for a moment toplace it on Alec’s. “It’s not like a stabwound you can protect me from. It’s a

million little paper cuts every day.”“Alec,” Isabelle began, but before she

could say anything more, the sign for theturnoff loomed up ahead: a woodenplacard in the shape of an arrow with thewords THREE ARROWS FARM painted on itin block lettering. Simon rememberedLuke kneeling on the farmhouse floor,painstakingly spelling out the words inblack paint, while Clary added the—nowweather-faded and almost invisible—pattern of flowers along the bottom.

“Turn left,” he said, flinging his armout and nearly hitting Alec. “Magnus,we’re here.”

It had taken several chapters of Dickensbefore Clary had finally succumbed to

exhaustion and fallen asleep againstJace’s shoulder. Half in dream and half inreality, she recalled him carrying herdownstairs and laying her down in thebedroom she’d woken up in her first dayin the apartment. He had drawn thecurtains and closed the door after him ashe left, shutting the room into darkness,and she had fallen asleep to the sound ofhis voice in the hallway, calling forSebastian.

She dreamed of the frozen lake again,and of Simon crying out for her, and of acity like Alicante, but the demon towerswere made of human bones and the canalsran with blood. She woke twisted in hersheets, her hair a mass of tangles and thelight outside the window dimmed to atwilight darkness. At first she thought that

the voices outside her door were part ofthe dream, but as they grew louder, sheraised her head to listen, still groggy andhalf-tangled in the webbing of sleep.

“Hey, little brother.” It wasSebastian’s voice, floating under her doorfrom the living room. “Is it done?”

There was a long silence. Then Jace’svoice, oddly flat and colorless. “It’sdone.”

Sebastian’s breath drew in sharply.“And the old lady—she did as we asked?Made the Cup?”

“Yes.”“Show it to me.”A rustle. Silence. Jace said, “Look,

take it if you want it.”“No.” There was a curious

thoughtfulness in Sebastian’s tone. “You

hold on to it for the moment. You did thework of getting it back, after all. Didn’tyou?”

“But it was your plan.” There wassomething in Jace’s voice, something thatmade Clary lean forward and press herear to the wall, suddenly desperate to hearmore. “And I executed it, just as youwanted. Now, if you don’t mind—”

“I do mind.” There was a rustle. Claryimagined Sebastian standing up, lookingdown at Jace from the inch or so thatdivided them in height. “There’ssomething wrong. I can tell. I can readyou, you know.”

“I’m tired. And there was a lot ofblood. Look, I just need to clean myselfoff, and to sleep. And…” Jace’s voicedied.

“And to see my sister.”“I’d like to see her, yes.”“She’s asleep. Has been for hours.”“Do I need to ask your permission?”

There was a razored edge to Jace’s voice,something that reminded Clary of the wayhe had once spoken to Valentine.Something she had not heard in the way hespoke to Sebastian in a long time.

“No.” Sebastian sounded surprised,almost caught off guard. “I suppose if youwant to barge in there and gaze wistfullyat her sleeping face, go right ahead. I’llnever understand why—”

“No,” Jace said. “You never will.”There was silence. Clary could so

clearly picture Sebastian staring afterJace, a quizzical look on his face, that ittook her a moment before she realized that

Jace must be coming to her room. She hadonly time to throw herself flat on the bedand shut her eyes before the door opened,letting in a slice of yellow-white light thatmomentarily blinded her. She made whatshe hoped was a realistic waking-up noiseand rolled over, her hand over her face.“What… ?”

The door shut. The room was indarkness again. She could see Jace only asa shape that moved slowly toward herbed, until he was standing over her, andshe couldn’t help remembering anothernight when he had come to her room whileshe slept. Jace standing by the head ofher bed, still wearing his white mourningclothes, and there was nothing light orsarcastic or distant in the way he waslooking down at her. “I’ve been

wandering around all night—I couldn’tsleep—and I kept finding myself walkinghere. To you.”

He was only an outline now, an outlinewith bright hair that shone in the faint lightthat filtered from beneath the door.“Clary,” he whispered. There was athump, and she realized he had fallen tohis knees by the side of her bed. Shedidn’t move, but her body tightened. Hisvoice was a whisper. “Clary, it’s me. It’sme.”

Her eyelids fluttered open, wide, andtheir gazes met. She was staring at Jace.Kneeling beside her bed, his eyes werelevel with hers. He wore a long darkwoolen coat, buttoned all the way to thethroat, where she could see black Marks—Soundless, Agility, Accuracy—like a

sort of necklace against his skin. His eyeswere very gold and very wide, and as ifshe could see through them, she sawJace—her Jace. The Jace who had liftedher in his arms when she was dying ofRavener poison; the Jace who hadwatched her hold Simon against the risingdaylight over the East River; the Jace whohad told her about a little boy and thefalcon his father had killed. The Jace sheloved.

Her heart seemed to stop altogether.She couldn’t even gasp.

His eyes were full of urgency and pain.“Please,” he murmured. “Please believeme.”

She believed him. They carried thesame blood, loved the same way; this washer Jace, as much as her hands were her

own hands, her heart her own heart. But—“How?”

“Clary, shh—”She began to struggle into a sitting

position, but he reached out and pushedher back against the bed by her shoulders.“We can’t talk now. I have to go.”

She grabbed for his sleeve, felt himwince. “Don’t leave me.”

He dropped his head for just a moment;when he looked up again, his eyes weredry but the expression in them silencedher. “Wait a few moments after I go,” hewhispered. “Then slip out and up to myroom. Sebastian can’t know we’retogether. Not tonight.” He dragged himselfto his feet, his eyes pleading. “Don’t lethim hear you.”

She sat up. “Your stele. Leave me your

stele.”Doubt flickered in his eyes; she held

his gaze steadily, then put her hand out.After a moment he reached into his pocketand took out the dully glowing implement;he laid it in her palm. For a moment theirskin touched, and she shuddered—just abrush of the hand from this Jace wasalmost as powerful as all the kissing andtearing at each other they had done in theclub the other night. She knew he felt ittoo, for he jerked his hand away andbegan to back toward the door. She couldhear his breath, ragged and swift. Hefumbled behind himself for the knob andlet himself out, his eyes on her face untilthe very last moment, when the doorclosed between them with a decided click.

Clary sat in the darkness, stunned. Her

blood felt as if it had thickened in herveins and her heart was having to workdouble time to keep beating. Jace. MyJace.

Her hand tightened on the stele.Something about it, its cold hardness,seemed to focus and sharpen her thoughts.She looked down at herself. She waswearing a tank top and pajama shorts;there were goose bumps on her arms, butnot because it was cold. She set the tip ofthe stele to her inner arm and drew itslowly down the skin, watching as aSoundless rune spiraled across her pale,blue-veined skin.

She opened the door just a crack.Sebastian was gone, off to sleep mostlikely. There was music playing faintlyfrom the television set—something

classical, the sort of piano music Jaceliked. She wondered if Sebastianappreciated music, or any sort of art. Itseemed such a human capacity.

Despite her concern about where he’dgone, her feet were carrying her towardthe passage that led to the kitchen—andthen she was through the living room anddashing up the glass steps, her feet makingno noise as she reached the top andsprinted down the hall to Jace’s room.Then she was jerking open the door andsliding inside, the door clicking shutbehind her.

The windows were open, and throughthem she could see rooftops and a curvingslice of moon, a perfect Paris night. Jace’switchlight rune-stone sat on the nightstandbeside his bed. It glowed with a dull

energy that cast further illuminationthrough the room. It was enough light forClary to see Jace, standing between thetwo long windows. He had shrugged offthe long black coat, which lay in acrumpled heap at his feet. She realizedimmediately why he had not taken it offwhen he’d come into the house, why hehad kept it buttoned all the way to histhroat. Because beneath it he wore only agray button-down shirt, and jeans—andthey were sticky and soaked with blood.Parts of the shirt were in ribbons, as ifthey had been slashed with a very sharpblade. His left sleeve was rolled up, andthere was a white bandage wrappedaround his forearm—he must have justdone it—already darkening at the edgeswith blood. His feet were bare, his shoes

kicked off, and the floor where he stoodwas splattered with blood, like scarlettears. She set the stele down on hisbedside table with a click.

“Jace,” she said softly.It suddenly seemed insane that there

was this much space between them, thatshe was standing across the room fromJace, and that they weren’t touching. Shestarted toward him, but he held up a handto ward her off.

“Don’t.” His voice cracked. Then hisfingers went to the buttons on his shirt,undoing them, one by one. He shrugged thebloodstained garment off his shouldersand let it fall to the ground.

Clary stared. Lilith’s rune was still inplace, over his heart, but instead ofshimmering red-silver it looked as if the

hot tip of a poker had been dragged acrossthe skin, charring it. She put her hand up toher own chest involuntarily, her fingerssplaying over her heart. She could feel itsbeating, hard and fast. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” Jace said flatly. “Thiswon’t last, Clary. Me being myself again,I mean. Only as long as this hasn’thealed.”

“I—I wondered,” Clary stammered.“Before—while you were sleeping—Ithought about cutting the rune like I didwhen we fought Lilith. But I was afraidSebastian would feel it.”

“He would have.” Jace’s golden eyeswere as flat as his voice. “He didn’t feelthis because it was made with a pugio—adagger seethed in angel blood. They’reincredibly rare; I’ve never even seen one

in real life before.” He ran his fingersthrough his hair. “The blade turned to hotash after it touched me, but it did thedamage it needed to do.”

“You were in a fight. Was it a demon?Why didn’t Sebastian go with—”

“Clary.” Jace’s voice was barely awhisper. “This—it’ll take longer than anordinary cut to heal… but not forever.And then I’ll be him again.”

“How much time? Before you go backto the way you were?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know. But Iwanted—I needed to be with you, likethis, like myself, for as long as I could.”He held out a hand to her stiffly, as ifunsure of its reception. “Do you think youcould—”

She was already running across the

room to him. She threw her arms aroundhis neck. He caught her and swung her up,burying his face in the crook of her neck.She breathed him in like air. He smelledof blood and sweat and ashes and Marks.

“It’s you,” she whispered. “It’s reallyyou.”

He drew back to look at her. With hisfree hand he traced her cheekbone gently.She had missed that, his gentleness. It wasone of the things that had made her fall inlove with him in the first place—realizingthat this scarred, sarcastic boy was gentlewith the things he loved.

“I missed you,” she said. “I missed youso much.”

He closed his eyes as if the words hurt.She put her hand to his cheek. He leanedhis head into her palm, his hair tickling

her knuckles, and she realized his facewas wet too.

The boy never cried again.“It’s not your fault,” she said. She

kissed his cheek with the same tendernesshe had showed her. She tasted salt—bloodand tears. He still hadn’t spoken, but shecould feel the wild beat of his heartagainst her chest. His arms were tightaround her, as if he never meant to let go.She kissed his cheekbone, his jaw, andfinally his mouth, a light press of lips onlips.

There was none of the frenzy there hadbeen in the nightclub. It was a kiss meantto give solace, to say everything there wasno time to say. He kissed her back,hesitant at first, then with greater urgency,his hand stealing up into her hair, winding

the tresses between his fingers. Theirkisses deepened slowly, softly, theintensity growing between them as italways did, like a blaze that started with asingle match and flared into wildfire.

She knew how strong he was, but shestill felt a shock as he carried her to thebed and laid her down gently among thescattered pillows, sliding his body overhers, one smooth gesture that reminded herwhat all those Marks on his body werefor. Strength. Grace. Lightness of touch.She breathed his breath as they kissed,each kiss drawn out now, lingering,exploratory. Her hands drifted over him,his shoulders, the muscles of his arms, hisback. His bare skin felt like hot silk underher palms.

When his hands found the hem of her

tank top, she stretched her arms out,arching her back, wanting every barrierbetween them gone. The moment it wasoff, she pulled him back against her, theirkisses fiercer now, as if they werestruggling to reach some hidden placeinside each other. She wouldn’t havethought they could get any closer, butsomehow as they kissed, they woundthemselves into each other like intricatethread, each kiss hungrier, deeper than thelast.

Their hands moved quickly over eachother, and then more slowly, uncoveringand unhurried. She dug her fingers into hisshoulders when he kissed her throat, hercollarbones, the star-shaped mark on hershoulder. She grazed his scar too, with thebacks of her knuckles, and kissed the

wounded Mark Lilith had made on hischest. She felt him shudder, wanting her,and she knew she was on the very brink ofwhere there was no going back, and shedidn’t care. She knew what it was like tolose him now. She knew the black emptydays that came after. And she knew that ifshe lost him again, she wanted this toremember. To hold on to. That she hadbeen as close to him once as you could beto another person. She locked her anklesaround the small of his back, and hegroaned against her mouth, a soft, low,helpless sound. His fingers dug into herhips.

“Clary.” He pulled away. He wasshaking. “I can’t… If we don’t stop now,we won’t be able to.”

“Don’t you want to?” She looked up at

him in surprise. He was flushed, tousled,his fair hair a darker gold where sweathad pasted it to his forehead and temples.She could feel his heart stuttering insidehis chest.

“Yes, it’s just I’ve never—”“You haven’t?” She was surprised.

“Done this before?”He took a deep breath. “I have.” His

eyes searched her face, as if he werelooking for judgment, disapprobation,even disgust. Clary looked back at himevenly. It was what she had assumed,anyway. “But not when it mattered.” Hetouched her cheek with his fingers,feather-light. “I don’t even know how…”

Clary laughed softly. “I think it’s justbeen established that you do.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He caught

her hand and brought it to his face. “I wantyou,” he said, “more than I have everwanted anything in my life. But I…” Heswallowed. “Name of the Angel. I’mgoing to kick myself for this later.”

“Don’t say you’re trying to protectme,” she said fiercely. “Because I—”

“It’s not that,” he said. “I’m not beingself-sacrificing. I’m… jealous.”

“You’re—jealous? Of who?”“Myself.” His face twisted. “I hate the

thought of him being with you. Him. Thatother me. The one Sebastian controls.”

She felt her face start to burn. “At theclub… last night…”

He dropped his head to her shoulder. Alittle bewildered, she stroked his back,feeling the scratches where her fingernailshad torn his skin at the nightclub. The

specific memory made her blush evenharder. So did the knowledge that hecould have gotten rid of the scratches withan iratze if he’d wanted to. But he hadn’t.“I remember everything about last night,”he said. “And it makes me crazy, becauseit was me but it wasn’t. When we’retogether, I want it to be the real you. Thereal me.”

“Isn’t that what we are now?”“Yes.” He raised his head, kissed her

mouth. “But for how long? I could turnback into him any minute. I couldn’t dothat to you. To us.” His voice was bitter.“I don’t even know how you can stand it,being around this thing that isn’t me—”

“Even if you go back to being that infive minutes,” she said, “it would havebeen worth it, just to be with you like this

again. Not to have it end on that rooftop.Because this is you, and even that otheryou—there’s pieces of the real you inthere. It’s like I’m looking through ablurred window at you, but it’s not thereal you. And at least I know now.”

“What do you mean?” His handstightened on her shoulders. “What do youmean at least you know?”

She took a deep breath. “Jace, whenwe were first together, like reallytogether, you were so happy for that firstmonth. And everything we did togetherwas funny and fun and amazing. And thenit was like it just started draining out ofyou, all that happiness. You didn’t want tobe with me or look at me—”

“I was afraid I was going to hurt you. Ithought I was losing my mind.”

“You didn’t smile or laugh or joke.And I’m not blaming you. Lilith wascreeping into your mind, controlling you.Changing you. But you have to remember—I know how stupid this sounds—I neverhad a boyfriend before. I thought maybe itwas normal. That maybe you were justgetting tired of me.”

“I couldn’t—”“I’m not asking for reassurance,” she

said. “I’m telling you. When you’re—likeyou are, controlled—you seem happy. Icame here because I wanted to save you.”Her voice dropped. “But I started towonder what I was saving you from. HowI could bring you back to a life youseemed so unhappy with.”

“Unhappy?” He shook his head. “I waslucky. So, so lucky. And I couldn’t see it.”

His eyes met hers. “I love you,” he said.“And you make me happier than I everthought I could be. And now that I knowwhat it’s like to be someone else—to losemyself—I want my life back. My family.You. All of it.” His eyes darkened. “Iwant it back.”

His mouth came down on hers, withbruising pressure, their lips open, hot andhungry, and his hands gripped her waist—and then the sheets on either side of her,almost tearing them. He pulled back,panting. “We can’t—”

“Then quit kissing me!” she gasped. “Infact—” She ducked out from under hisgrip, grabbing for her tank top. “I’ll beright back.”

She pushed past him and darted into thebathroom, locking the door behind her.

She flicked on the light, and stared atherself in the mirror. She looked wild-eyed, her hair tangled, her lips swollenfrom kisses. She blushed and pulled hertop back on, splashing cold water on herface, twisting her hair back into a knot.When she had convinced herself she nolonger looked like the ravished maidenfrom the cover of a romance novel, shewent for the hand towels—nothingromantic about that—grabbing one andwetting it down, then rubbing it with soap.

She came back out into the bedroom.Jace was sitting on the edge of the bed, injeans and a clean, unbuttoned shirt, histousled hair outlined by moonlight. Helooked like a statue of an angel. Only,angels weren’t usually streaked withblood.

She moved to stand in front of him.“All right,” she said. “Take off yourshirt.”

Jace raised his eyebrows.“I’m not going to attack you,” she said

impatiently. “I can take the sight of yournaked chest without swooning.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, obedientlysliding the shirt off his shoulders.“Because viewing my naked chest hascaused many women to seriously injurethemselves stampeding to get to me.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t see anyone herebut me. And I just want to clean the bloodoff you.” He leaned back obediently on hishands. Blood had soaked through the shirthe’d been wearing and streaked his chestand the flat planes of his stomach, but asshe ran her fingers carefully over him, she

could feel that most of his cuts wereshallow. The iratze he’d put on himselfearlier was already causing them to fade.

He turned his face up to her, eyes shut,as she ran the damp washcloth over hisskin, blood pinking the white cotton. Shescrubbed at the dried streaks on his neck,wrung out the cloth, dunked it in the glassof water on the nightstand, and went towork on his chest. He sat with his headtilted back, watching her as the clothglided over the muscles of his shoulders,the smooth line of arms, forearms, hardchest scarred with white lines, the blackof permanent Marks.

“Clary,” he said.“Yes?”The humor had gone from his voice. “I

won’t remember this,” he said. “When I’m

back—like I was, under his control, Iwon’t remember being myself. I won’tremember being with you, or talking toyou like this. So just tell me—are they allright? My family? Do they know—”

“What’s happened to you? A little. Andno, they’re not all right.” His eyes closed.“I could lie to you,” she said. “But youshould know. They love you so much, andthey want you back.”

“Not like this,” he said.She touched his shoulder. “Are you

going to tell me what happened? How yougot these cuts?”

He took a deep breath, and the scar onhis chest stood out, livid and dark. “Ikilled someone.”

She felt the shock of his words gothrough her body like the recoil of a gun.

She dropped the bloody towel, then bentdown to retrieve it. When she looked up,he was staring down at her. In themoonlight the lines of his face were fineand sharp and sad. “Who?” she asked.

“You met her,” Jace went on, eachword like a weight. “The woman you wentto visit with Sebastian. The Iron Sister.Magdalena.” He twisted away from herand reached back to retrieve somethingtangled among the blankets of the bed. Themuscles in his arms and back moved underthe skin as he took hold of it and turnedback to Clary, the object gleaming in hishand.

It was a clear, glassine chalice—anexact replica of the Mortal Cup, exceptthat instead of being gold, it was carved ofsilvery-white adamas.

“Sebastian sent me—sent him—to getthis from her tonight,” Jace said. “And healso gave me the order to kill her. Shewasn’t expecting it. She wasn’t expectingany violence, just payment and exchange.She thought we were on the same side. Ilet her hand me the Cup, and then I tookmy dagger and I—” He inhaled sharply, asif the memory hurt. “I stabbed her. I meantit to be through the heart, but she turnedand I missed by inches. She staggeredback and grabbed for her worktable—there was powdered adamas on it—shethrew it at me. I think she meant to blindme. I turned my head away, and when Ilooked back she had an aegis in her hand.I think I knew what it was. The light of itseared my eyes. I cried out as she drove ittoward my chest—I felt a searing pain in

the Mark, and then the blade shattered.”He looked down and gave a mirthlesslaugh. “The funny thing is, if I’d beenwearing gear, this wouldn’t havehappened. I didn’t because I didn’t think itwas worth the bother. I didn’t think shecould hurt me. But the aegis burned theMark—Lilith’s Mark—and suddenly Iwas back in myself, standing there overthis dead woman with a bloody dagger inmy hand and the Cup in the other.”

“I don’t understand. Why did Sebastiantell you to kill her? She was going to givethe Cup to you. To Sebastian. She said—”

Jace expelled a ragged breath. “Do youremember what Sebastian said about thatclock in Old Town Square? In Prague?”

“That the king had the clock maker’seyes put out after he made it, so he could

never make anything as beautiful again,”Clary said. “But I don’t see—”

“Sebastian wanted Magdalena dead soshe could never make anything like thisagain,” said Jace. “And so she couldnever tell.”

“Tell what?” She put her hand up, tookhold of Jace’s chin, and drew his facedown so that he was looking at her. “Jace,what is Sebastian really planning ondoing? The story he told in the trainingroom, about wanting to raise demons so hecould destroy them—”

“Sebastian wants to raise demons allright.” Jace’s voice was grim. “Onedemon in particular. Lilith.”

“But Lilith’s dead. Simon destroyedher.”

“Greater Demons don’t die. Not really.

Greater Demons inhabit the spacesbetween worlds, the great Void, theemptiness. What Simon did was shatterher power, send her in shreds back to thenothingness she came from. But she’llslowly reform there. Be reborn. It wouldtake centuries, but not if Sebastian helpsher.”

A cold feeling was growing in the pitof Clary’s stomach. “Helps her how?”

“By summoning her back to this world.He wants to mix her blood and his in acup and create an army of dark Nephilim.He wants to be Jonathan Shadowhunterreincarnated, but on the side of thedemons, not the angels.”

“An army of dark Nephilim? The twoof you are tough, but you’re not exactly anarmy.”

“There are about forty or fiftyNephilim who either were once loyal toValentine, or hate the current direction ofthe Clave and are open to hearing whatSebastian has to say. He’s been in contactwith them. When he raises Lilith, they’llbe there.” Jace took a deep breath. “Andafter that? With the power of Lilith behindhim? Who knows who else will join hiscause? He wants a war. He’s convincedhe’ll win it, and I’m not sure he won’t.For every dark Nephilim he makes, hewill grow in power. Add that to thedemons he’s already made allegianceswith, and I don’t know if the Clave isprepared to withstand him.”

Clary dropped her hand. “Sebastiannever changed. Your blood never changedhim. He’s exactly like he always was.”

Her eyes flicked up to Jace’s. “But you.You lied to me, too.”

“He lied to you.”Her mind was whirling. “I know. I

know that Jace isn’t you—”“He thinks it’s for your good and you’ll

be happier in the end, but he did lie toyou. And I would never do that.”

“The aegis,” Clary said. “If it can hurtyou but Sebastian can’t feel it, could it killhim but not hurt you?”

Jace shook his head. “I don’t think so.If I had an aegis, I might be willing to try,but—no. Our life forces are tied together.An injury is one thing. If he were todie…” His voice hardened. “You knowthe easiest way to end this. Put a dagger inmy heart. I’m surprised you didn’t do itwhile I was sleeping.”

“Could you? If it were me?” Her voiceshook. “I believed there was a way tomake this right. I still believe it. Give meyour stele, and I’ll make a Portal.”

“You can’t make a Portal from insidehere,” said Jace. “It won’t work. The onlyway in and out of this apartment is throughthe wall downstairs, by the kitchen. It’sthe only place you can move the apartmentfrom, too.”

“Can you move us to the Silent City? Ifwe go back, the Silent Brothers can figureout a way to separate you from Sebastian.We’ll tell the Clave his plan so they’ll beprepared—”

“I could move us to one of theentrances,” Jace said. “And I will. I’ll go.We’ll go together. But just so there won’tbe any untruth between us, Clary, you have

to know that they’ll kill me. After I tellthem what I know, they’ll kill me.”

“Kill you? No, they wouldn’t—”“Clary.” His voice was gentle. “As a

good Shadowhunter I ought to volunteer todie to stop what Sebastian is going to do.As a good Shadowhunter, I would.”

“But none of this is your fault.” Hervoice rose, and she forced it back down,not wanting Sebastian, downstairs, tohear. “You can’t help what’s been done toyou. You’re a victim in this. It’s not you,Jace; it’s someone else, someone wearingyour face. You shouldn’t be punished—”

“It’s not a matter of punishment. It’spracticality. Kill me, Sebastian dies. It’sno different from sacrificing myself inbattle. It’s all well and good to say Ididn’t choose this. It has happened. And

what I am now, myself, will be gone againsoon enough. And, Clary, I know itdoesn’t make sense, but I remember it—Iremember all of it. I remember walkingwith you in Venice, and that night at theclub, and sleeping in this bed with you,and don’t you get it? I wanted this. This isall I ever wanted, to live with you likethis, be with you like this. What am Isupposed to think, when the worst thingthat has ever happened to me gives meexactly what I want? Maybe JaceLightwood can see all the ways this iswrong and messed-up, but Jace Wayland,Valentine’s son… loves this life.” Hiseyes were wide and gold as he looked ather, and she was reminded of Raziel, ofhis gaze that seemed to hold all thewisdom and all the sadness in the world.

“And that’s why I have to go,” he said.“Before this wears off. Before I’m himagain.”

“Go where?”“To the Silent City. I have to turn

myself in—and the Cup, too.”

Part Three

All Is Changed

All changed, changed utterly:A terrible beauty is born.

—William Butler Yeats, “Easter, 1916”

18RAZIEL

“Clary?”Simon sat on the back porch steps of

the farmhouse, looking down the path thatled through the apple orchard and down tothe lake. Isabelle and Magnus were on thepath, Magnus glancing toward the lake andthen up at the low mountains ringing thearea. He was making notes in a smallbook with a pen whose end glowed asparkling blue-green. Alec stood a littledistance away, looking up at the trees

lining the ridge of hills that separated thefarmhouse from the road. He seemed to bestanding as far from Magnus as he couldwhile remaining in earshot. It seemed toSimon—the first to admit that he was notthat observant about these things—thatdespite the joking around in the car, aperceptible distance had come betweenMagnus and Alec recently, one he couldn’tquite put a finger on, but he knew it wasthere.

Simon’s right hand was cradled in hisleft, his fingers circling the gold ring onhis finger.

Clary, please.He’d been trying to reach her every

hour since he’d gotten the message fromMaia about Luke. He’d gotten nothing. Nota flicker of response.

Clary, I’m at the farmhouse. I’mremembering you here, with me.

It was an unseasonably warm day, anda faint wind rustled the last of the leavesin the tree branches. After spending toolong wondering what sort of clothes youwere supposed to wear to meet angels in—a suit seemed excessive, even if he didhave one left over from Jocelyn andLuke’s engagement party—he was in jeansand a T-shirt, his arms bare in the sunlight.He had so many happy sunlit memoriesattached to this place, this house. He andClary had come up here with Jocelynalmost every summer for as long as hecould remember. They would swim in thelake. Simon would tan brown, and Clary’sfair skin would burn over and over. She’dget a million more freckles on her

shoulders and arms. They’d play “applebaseball” in the orchard, which wasmessy and fun, and Scrabble and poker inthe farmhouse, which Luke always won.

Clary, I’m about to do somethingstupid and dangerous and maybesuicidal. Is it so bad I want to talk to youone last time? I’m doing this to keep yousafe, and I don’t even know if you’realive for me to help you. But if you weredead, I’d know, wouldn’t I? I’d feel it.

“All right. Let’s go,” Magnus said,appearing at the foot of the steps. He eyedthe ring on Simon’s hand, but made nocomment.

Simon stood up and brushed off hisjeans, then led the way down thewandering path through the orchard. Thelake sparkled up ahead like a cold blue

coin. As they neared it, Simon could seethe old dock sticking out into the water,where once they had tied up kayaks beforea big piece of the dock had broken off anddrifted away. He thought he could almosthear the lazy hum of bees and feel theweight of summer on his shoulders. Asthey reached the lake’s edge, he twistedaround and looked up at the farmhouse,white-painted clapboard with greenshutters and an old covered sunporch withtired white wicker furniture on it.

“You really liked it here, huh?”Isabelle said. Her black hair snapped likea banner in the breeze off the lake.

“How can you tell?”“Your expression,” she said. “Like

you’re remembering something good.”“It was good,” Simon said. He reached

up to push his glasses up his nose,remembered he no longer wore them, andlowered his hand. “I was lucky.”

She looked down at the lake. She waswearing small gold hoop earrings; onewas tangled in a bit of her hair, and Simonwanted to reach over and free it, to touchthe side of her face with his fingers. “Andnow you’re not?”

He shrugged. He was watchingMagnus, who was holding what lookedlike a long, flexible rod and drawing inthe wet sand at the lake’s edge. He had thespell book open and was chanting as hedrew. Alec was watching him, with theexpression of someone watching astranger.

“Are you scared?” Isabelle asked,moving slightly closer to Simon. He could

feel the warmth of her arm against his.“I don’t know. So much of being scared

is the physical feeling of it. Your heartspeeding up, sweating, your pulse racing. Idon’t get any of that.”

“That’s too bad,” Isabelle murmured,looking at the water. “Guys getting allsweaty is hot.”

He shot her a half smile; it was harderthan he thought it would be. Maybe he wasscared. “That’s enough of your sass andback talk, missy.”

Isabelle’s lip quivered as if she wereabout to smile. Then she sighed. “Youknow what it never even crossed my mindI wanted?” she said. “A guy who couldmake me laugh.”

Simon turned toward her, reaching forher hand, not caring for the moment that

her brother was watching. “Izzy…”“All right,” Magnus called out. “I’m

done. Simon, over here.”They turned. Magnus was standing

inside the circle, which was glowing witha faint white light. It was really twocircles, a slightly smaller one inside alarger one, and in the space between thecircles, dozens of symbols had beenscrawled. They, too, glowed, a steelyblue-white like the reflection off the lake.

Simon heard Isabelle’s soft intake ofbreath, and he stepped away before hecould look at her. It would just make it allharder. He moved forward, over theborder of the circle, into its center, besideMagnus. Looking out from the center of thecircle was like looking through water. Therest of the world seemed wavering and

indistinct.“Here.” Magnus shoved the book into

his hands. The paper was thin, covered inscrawled runes, but Magnus had taped aprintout of the words, spelled outphonetically, over the incantation itself.“Just sound these out,” he muttered. “Itshould work.”

Holding the book against his chest,Simon slipped off the gold ring thatconnected him to Clary, and handed it toMagnus. “If it doesn’t,” he said,wondering where his strange calm wascoming from, “someone should take this.It’s our only link to Clary, and what sheknows.”

Magnus nodded and slid the ring ontohis finger. “Ready, Simon?”

“Hey,” said Simon. “You remembered

my name.”Magnus shot him an unreadable glance

from his green-gold eyes, and steppedoutside the circle. Immediately he wasblurry and indistinct too. Alec joined himon one side, Isabelle on the other; Isabellewas hugging her elbows, and even throughthe wavering air Simon could tell howunhappy she looked.

Simon cleared his throat. “I guess youguys had better go.”

But they didn’t move. They seemed tobe waiting for him to say something else.

“Thanks for coming here with me,” hesaid finally, having racked his brain forsomething meaningful to say; they seemedto be expecting it. He wasn’t the sort whomade big farewell speeches or bid peopledramatic good-byes. He looked at Alec

first. “Um, Alec. I always liked you betterthan I liked Jace.” He turned to Magnus.“Magnus, I wish I had the nerve to wearthe kind of pants you do.”

And last, Izzy. He could see herwatching him through the haze, her eyes asblack as obsidian.

“Isabelle,” Simon said. He looked ather. He saw the question in her eyes, butthere seemed nothing he could say in frontof Alec and Magnus, nothing that wouldencompass what he felt. He moved back,toward the center of the circle, bowing hishead. “Good-bye, I guess.”

He thought they spoke back to him, butthe wavering haze between them blurredtheir words. He watched as they turned,retreating up the path through the orchard,back toward the house, until they had

become dark specks. Until he could nolonger see them at all.

He couldn’t quite fathom not talking toClary one last time before he died—hecouldn’t even remember the last wordsthey’d exchanged. And yet if he closed hiseyes, he could hear her laughter driftingover the orchard; he could remember whatit had been like, before they had grown upand everything had changed. If he diedhere, perhaps it would be appropriate.Some of his best memories were here,after all. If the Angel struck him downwith fire, his ashes could sift through theapple orchard and over the lake.Something about the idea seemedpeaceful.

He thought of Isabelle. Then of hisfamily—his mother, his father, and Becky.

Clary, he thought lastly. Wherever youare, you’re my best friend. You’ll alwaysbe my best friend.

He raised the spell book and began tochant.

“No!” Clary stood up, dropping the wettowel. “Jace, you can’t. They’ll kill you.”

He reached for a fresh shirt andshrugged it on, not looking at her as he didup the buttons. “They’ll try to separate mefrom Sebastian first,” he said, though hedidn’t sound as if he quite believed it. “Ifthat doesn’t work, then they’ll kill me.”

“Not good enough.” She reached forhim, but he turned away from her, jamminghis feet into boots. When he turned back,his expression was grim.

“I don’t have a choice, Clary. This isthe right thing to do.”

“It’s insane. You’re safe here. Youcan’t throw away your life—”

“Saving myself is treason. It’s putting aweapon into the hands of the enemy.”

“Who cares about treason? Or theLaw?” she demanded. “I care about you.We’ll figure this out together—”

“We can’t figure this out.” Jacepocketed the stele on the nightstand, thencaught up the Mortal Cup. “Because I’monly going to be me for a little whilelonger. I love you, Clary.” He tilted herface up and kissed her, lingeringly. “Dothis for me,” he whispered.

“I absolutely will not,” she said. “Iwill not try to help you get yourselfkilled.”

But he was already striding toward thedoor. He drew her with him, and theystumbled down the corridor, speaking inwhispers.

“This is crazy,” Clary hissed. “Puttingyourself in the path of danger—”

He blew out an exasperated breath.“As if you don’t.”

“Right, and it makes you furious,” shewhispered as she raced after him downthe staircase. “Remember what you said tome in Alicante—”

They had reached the kitchen. He putthe Cup down on the counter, reaching forhis stele. “I had no right to say that,” hetold her. “Clary, this is what we are.We’re Shadowhunters. This is what wedo. There are risks we take that aren’t justthe risks you find in battle.”

Clary shook her head, clutching bothhis wrists. “I won’t let you.”

A look of pain crossed his face.“Clarissa—”

She drew a deep breath, barely able tobelieve what she was about to do. But inher mind was the image of the morgue inthe Silent City, of Shadowhunter bodiesstretched out on marble slabs, and shecould not bear for Jace to be one of them.Everything she had done—coming here,enduring everything she had endured, hadbeen to save his life, and not just forherself. She thought of Alec and Isabelle,who had helped her, and Maryse, wholoved him, and almost without knowingshe was about to do it, she raised hervoice and called out:

“Jonathan!” she screamed. “Jonathan

Christopher Morgenstern!”Jace’s eyes widened into circles.

“Clary—” he began, but it was too latealready. She had let go of him and wasbacking away. Sebastian might already becoming; there was no way to tell Jace thatit wasn’t that she trusted Sebastian but thatSebastian was the only weapon she had ather disposal that could possibly make himstay.

There was a flash of movement, andSebastian was there. He hadn’t botheredwith running down the stairs, just flippedhimself over the side and landed betweenthem. His hair was sleep-mussed; he worea dark T-shirt and black pants, and Clarywondered distractedly if he slept in hisclothes. He glanced between Clary andJace, his black eyes taking in the situation.

“Lovers’ spat?” he inquired. Somethingglinted in his hand. A knife?

Clary’s voice shook. “His rune’sdamaged. Here.” She put her hand overher heart. “He’s trying to go back, to givehimself up to the Clave—”

Sebastian’s hand shot out and grabbedthe Cup out of Jace’s hand. He slammed itdown on the kitchen counter. Jace, stillwhite with shock, watched him; he didn’tmove a muscle as Sebastian stepped closeand took Jace by the front of the shirt. Thetop buttons on the shirt popped open,baring his collar, and Sebastian slashedthe point of his stele across it, gashing aniratze into the skin. Jace bit down on hislip, his eyes full of hatred as Sebastianreleased him and took a step back, stele inhand.

“Honestly, Jace,” he said. “The ideathat you thought you could get away withsomething like this just knocks me out.”

Jace’s hands tightened into fists as theiratze, black as charcoal, began to sinkinto his skin. His words were eked out,breathless: “Next time… you want to beknocked out… I’d be happy to help you.Maybe with a brick.”

Sebastian made a tsk noise. “You’llthank me later. Even you have to admitthis death wish of yours is a littleextreme.”

Clary expected Jace to snap back athim again. But he didn’t. His gaze traveledslowly across Sebastian’s face. For thatmoment there was only the two of them inthe room, and when Jace spoke, his wordscame cold and clear. “I won’t remember

this later,” he said. “But you will. Thatperson who acts like your friend—” Hetook a step forward, closing the spacebetween himself and Sebastian. “Thatperson who acts like they like you. Thatperson isn’t real. This is real. This is me.And I hate you. I will always hate you.And there is no magic and no spell in thisworld or any other that will ever changethat.”

For a moment the grin on Sebastian’sface wavered. But Jace didn’t. Instead, hetore his gaze from Sebastian and looked atClary. “I need you to know,” he said, “thetruth—I didn’t tell you all the truth.”

“The truth is dangerous,” saidSebastian, holding the stele before himlike a knife. “Be careful what you say.”

Jace winced. His chest was rising and

falling rapidly; it was clear that thehealing of the rune on his chest wascausing him physical pain. “The plan,” hesaid. “To raise Lilith, to make a new Cup,to create a dark army—that wasn’tSebastian’s plan. It was mine.”

Clary froze. “What?”“Sebastian knew what he wanted,” said

Jace. “But I figured out how he could doit. A new Mortal Cup—I gave him thatidea.” He jerked in pain; she couldimagine what was happening under thecloth of his shirt: the skin knitting together,healing, Lilith’s rune whole and shiningonce again. “Or, should I say, he did. Thatthing that looks like me but isn’t? He’llburn down the world if Sebastian wantshim to, and laugh while he’s doing it.That’s what you’re saving, Clary. That.

Don’t you understand? I’d rather be dead—”

His voice choked off as he doubledover. The muscles in his shoulderstightened as ripples of what looked likepain went through him. Clary rememberedholding him in the Silent City as theBrothers rooted through his mind foranswers—Now he looked up, hisexpression bewildered.

His eyes shifted first not to her but toSebastian. She felt her heart plummet,though she knew this was only her owndoing.

“What’s going on?” Jace said.Sebastian grinned at him. “Welcome

back.”Jace blinked, looking momentarily

confused—and then his gaze seemed to

slide inward, the way it did wheneverClary tried to bring up something that hecouldn’t process—Max’s murder, the warin Alicante, the pain he was causing hisfamily.

“Is it time?” he said.Sebastian made a show of looking at

his watch. “Just about. Why don’t you goon ahead and we’ll follow? You can startgetting things ready.”

Jace glanced around. “The Cup—where is it?”

Sebastian took it off the kitchencounter. “Right here. Feeling a littleabsentminded?”

Jace’s mouth curled at the corner, andhe grabbed the Cup back. Good-naturedly.There was no sign of the boy who hadstood in front of Sebastian moments ago

and told him he hated him. “All right. I’llmeet you there.” He turned to Clary, whowas still frozen in shock, and kissed hercheek. “And you.”

He drew back and winked at her. Therewas affection in his eyes, but it didn’tmatter. This was not her Jace, very clearlynot her Jace, and she watched numbly ashe crossed the room. His stele flashed,and a door opened in the wall; she caughta glimpse of sky and rocky plain, and thenhe stepped through it and was gone.

She dug her nails into her palms.That thing that looks like me but

isn’t? He’ll burn down the world ifSebastian wants him to, and laugh whilehe’s doing it. That’s what you’re saving,Clary. That. Don’t you understand? I’drather be dead.

Tears burned at the back of her throat,and it was all she could do to hold themoff as her brother turned to her, his blackeyes very bright. “You called for me,” hesaid.

“He wanted to give himself up to theClave,” she whispered, not sure who shewas defending herself to. She had donewhat she’d had to, used the only weaponat hand, even if it was one she despised.“They would have killed him.”

“You called for me,” he said again, andtook a step toward her. He reached outand lifted a long lock of her hair awayfrom her face, tucking it back behind herear. “He told you, then? The plan? All ofit?”

She fought back a shiver of revulsion.“Not all of it. I don’t know what’s

happening tonight. What did Jace mean‘It’s time’?”

He leaned down and kissed herforehead; she felt the kiss burn, like abrand between her eyes. “You’ll find out,”he said. “You’ve earned the right to bethere, Clarissa. You can watch it all fromyour place at my side, tonight, at theSeventh Sacred Site. Both of Valentine’schildren, together… at last.”

Simon kept his eyes on the paper, chantingout the words Magnus had written for him.They had a rhythm to them that was likemusic, light and sharp and fine. He wasreminded of reading aloud his haftarahportion during his bar mitzvah, though hehad known what the words meant then,

and now he didn’t.As the chant went on, he felt a

tightening around him, as if the air werebecoming denser and heavier. It presseddown on his chest and shoulders. The airwas growing warmer as well. If he werehuman, the heat might have beenunbearable. As it was, he could feel theburn of it on his skin, singeing hiseyelashes, his shirt. He kept his eyes fixedon the paper in front of him as a bead ofblood ran from his hairline to drip ontothe paper.

And then he was done. The last of thewords—“Raziel”—was spoken, and helifted his head. He could feel bloodrunning down his face. The haze aroundhim had cleared, and in front of him hesaw the water of the lake, blue and

sparkling, as untroubled as glass.And then it exploded.The center of the lake turned gold, then

black. Water rushed away from it, pouringtoward the edges of the lake, flying intothe air until Simon was staring at a ring ofwater, like a circle of unbrokenwaterfalls, all shimmering and pouringupward and downward, the effect bizarreand strangely beautiful. Water dropletsshivered down onto him, cooling hisburning skin. He tipped his head back, justas the sky went black—all the blue of itgone, eaten up in a sudden shock ofdarkness and clamoring gray clouds. Thewater splashed back down into the lake,and from its center, the greatest density ofits silver, rose a figure all of gold.

Simon’s mouth went dry. He had seen

countless paintings of angels, believed inthem, had heard Magnus’s warning. Andstill he felt as if he had been struckthrough with a spear as before him a pairof wings unfolded. They seemed to spanthe sky. They were vast, white and goldand silver, the feathers of them set withburning golden eyes. The eyes regardedhim with scorn. Then the wings lifted,scattering clouds before them, and foldedback, and a man—or the shape of a man,towering and many stories tall, unfoldeditself and rose.

Simon’s teeth had started to chatter. Hewasn’t sure why. But waves of power, ofsomething more than power—of theelemental force of the universe—seemedto roll off the Angel as he rose to his fullheight. Simon’s first and rather bizarre

thought was that it looked as if someonehad taken Jace and blown him up to thesize of a billboard. Only he didn’t quitelook like Jace at all. He was gold allover, from his wings to his skin to hiseyes, which had no whites at all, only asheen of gold like a membrane. His hairwas gold and looked cut from pieces ofmetal that curled like wrought ironwork.He was alien and terrifying. Too much ofanything could destroy you, Simon thought.Too much darkness could kill, but toomuch light could blind.

Who dares to summon me? The Angelspoke in Simon’s mind, in a voice likegreat bells sounding.

Tricky question, Simon thought. If hewere Jace, he could say “one of theNephilim,” and if he were Magnus, he

could say he was one of Lilith’s childrenand a High Warlock. Clary and the Angelhad already met, so he supposed they’djust chum it up. But he was Simon, withoutany titles to his name or any great deeds inhis past. “Simon Lewis,” he said finally,setting the spell book down andstraightening up. “Night’s Child, and…your servant.”

My servant? Raziel’s voice was frozenwith icy disapproval. You summon melike a dog and dare to call yourself myservant? You shall be blasted from thisworld, that your fate may serve as awarning to others not to do likewise. It isforbidden for my own Nephilim tosummon me. Why should it be differentfor you, Daylighter?

Simon supposed he should not be

shocked that the Angel knew what he was,but it was startling nevertheless, asstartling as the Angel’s size. Somehow hehad thought Raziel would be more human.“I—”

Do you think because you carry theblood of one of my descendants, I mustshow you mercy? If so, you have gambledand lost. The mercy of Heaven is for thedeserving. Not for those who break ourCovenant Laws.

The Angel raised a hand, his fingerpointed directly at Simon.

Simon braced himself. This time he didnot try to say the words, only thought them.Hear, O Israel! The Lord is our God, theLord is one—

What Mark is that? Raziel’s voicewas confounded. On your forehead,

child.“It is the Mark,” Simon stammered.

“The first Mark. The Mark of Cain.”Raziel’s great arm lowered slowly. I

would kill you, but the Mark prevents it.That Mark was meant to be set betweenyour brows by Heaven’s hand, yet I knowit was not. How can this be?

The Angel’s obvious bafflementemboldened Simon. “One of yourchildren, the Nephilim,” he said. “Oneespecially gifted. She set it there, toprotect me.” He took a step closer to theedge of the circle. “Raziel, I came to ask afavor of you, in the name of thoseNephilim. They face a grave danger. Oneof their own has—has been turned todarkness, and he threatens all the rest.They need your help.”

I do not intervene.“But you did intervene,” Simon said.

“When Jace was dead, you brought himback. Not that we’re not all really happyabout that, but if you hadn’t, none of thiswould be happening. So in a way it restson you to set it right.”

I may not be able to kill you, Razielmused. But there is no reason I shouldgive you what you want.

“I haven’t even said what I want,” saidSimon.

You want a weapon. Something thatcan sever Jonathan Morgenstern fromJonathan Herondale. You would kill theone and preserve the other. Easiest ofcourse to simply kill both. Your Jonathanwas dead, and perhaps death longs forhim still, and he for it. Has that ever

crossed your mind?“No,” said Simon. “I know we’re not

much compared to you, but we don’t killour friends. We try to save them. IfHeaven didn’t want it that way, we oughtnever have been given the ability to love.”He shoved his hair back, baring the Markmore fully. “No, you don’t need to helpme. But if you don’t, there’s nothingstopping me from calling you up again andagain, now that I know you can’t kill me.Think of it as me leaning against yourHeavenly doorbell… forever.”

Raziel, incredibly, seemed to chuckleat that. You are stubborn, he said. Averitable warrior of your people, likehim whose name you bear, SimonMaccabeus. And as he gave everythingfor his brother Jonathan, so shall you

give everything for your Jonathan. Orare you not willing?

“It’s not just for him,” said Simon, alittle dazed. “But, yes, whatever you want.I will give it to you.”

If I give you what you want, will youalso vow never to bother me again?

“I don’t think,” said Simon, “that thatwill be a problem.”

Very well, said the Angel. I will tellyou what I desire. I desire thatblasphemous Mark on your forehead. Iwould take the Mark of Cain from you,for it was never your place to carry it.

“I—but if you take the Mark, then youcan kill me,” Simon said. “Isn’t it the onlything standing between me and yourHeavenly wrath?”

The Angel paused to consider for a

moment. I shall swear not to harm you.Whether you bear the Mark or not.

Simon hesitated. The Angel’sexpression turned thunderous. The vow ofan Angel of Heaven is the most sacredthere is. Do you dare to distrust me,Downworlder?

“I…” Simon paused for an excruciatingmoment. His eyes were filled with thememory of Clary standing on her tiptoesas she pressed the stele to his forehead;the first time he had seen the Mark work,when he had felt like the conductor for alightning bolt, sheer energy passingthrough him with deadly force. It was acurse, one that had terrified him and madehim an object of desire and fear. He hadhated it. And yet now, faced with giving itup, the thing that made him special…

He swallowed hard. “Fine. Yes. Iagree.”

The Angel smiled, and his smile wasterrible, like looking directly into the sun.Then I swear not to harm you, SimonMaccabeus.

“Lewis,” Simon said. “My last name isLewis.”

But you are of the blood and faith ofthe Maccabees. Some say the Maccabeeswere Marked by the hand of God. Ineither case you are a warrior of Heaven,Daylighter, whether you like it or not.

The Angel moved. Simon’s eyeswatered, for Raziel seemed to draw thesky with him like a cloth, in swirls ofblack and silver and cloud-white. The airaround him shuddered. Something flashedoverhead like the glint of light off metal,

and an object struck the sand and rocksbeside Simon with a metallic clatter.

It was a sword—nothing special tolook at either, a beaten-up-looking oldiron sword with a blackened hilt. Theedges were ragged, as if acid had eaten atthem, though the tip was sharp. It lookedlike something that an archeological digmight have turned up, that hadn’t beenproperly cleaned yet.

The Angel spoke. Once when Joshuawas near Jericho, he looked up and sawa man standing before him with a drawnsword in his hand. Joshua went to himand said, “Are you one of us, or one ofour adversaries?” He replied, “Neither,but as commander of the army of theLord, I have now come.”

Simon glanced down at the

unprepossesing object at his feet. “Andthat’s this sword?”

It is the sword of the ArchangelMichael, commander of the armies ofHeaven. It possesses the power ofHeaven’s fire. Strike your enemy withthis, and it will burn the evil out of him.If he is more evil than good, more Hell’sthan Heaven’s, it will also burn the lifefrom him. It will most certainly sever hisbond with your friend—and it can harmonly one of them at a time.

Simon bent down and picked the swordup. It sent a shock through his hand, up hisarm, into his motionless heart.Instinctively he raised it, and the cloudsabove seemed to part for a moment, a rayof light arcing down to strike the dullmetal of the sword and make it sing.

The Angel looked down upon him withcold eyes. The name of the sword cannotbe spoken by your meager human tongue.You may call it Glorious.

“I… ,” Simon began. “Thank you.”Do not thank me. I would have killed

you, Daylighter, but your Mark, and nowmy vow, prevent it. The Mark of Cainwas meant to be placed upon you by God,and it was not. It shall be wiped fromyour brow, its protection removed. And ifyou call upon me again, I will not helpyou.

Instantly the beam of light shining downfrom the clouds intensified, striking thesword like a whip of fire, surroundingSimon in a cage of brilliant light and heat.The sword burned; he cried out and fell tothe ground, pain lancing through his head.

It felt as if someone were jabbing a redhot needle between his eyes. He coveredhis face, burying his head in his arms,letting the pain wash over him. It was theworst agony he had felt since the night hehad died.

It faded slowly, ebbing like the tide.He rolled onto his back, staring up, hishead still aching. The black clouds werebeginning to roll back, showing awidening strip of blue; the Angel wasgone, the lake surging under the growinglight as if the water were boiling.

Simon began to sit up slowly, his eyessquinted painfully against the sun. Hecould see someone racing down the pathfrom the farmhouse to the lake. Someonewith long black hair, and a purple jacketthat flew out behind her like wings. She

hit the end of the path and leaped onto thelakeside, her boots kicking up puffs ofsand behind her. She reached him andthrew herself down, wrapping her armsaround him. “Simon,” she whispered.

He could feel the strong, steady beat ofIsabelle’s heart.

“I thought you were dead,” she wenton. “I saw you fall down, and—I thoughtyou were dead.”

Simon let her hold him, proppinghimself up on his hands. He realized hewas listing like a ship with a hole in theside, and tried not to move. He was afraidthat if he did, he would fall over. “I amdead.”

“ I know,” Izzy snapped. “I mean moredead than usual.”

“Iz.” He raised his face to hers. She

was kneeling over him, her legs aroundhis, her arms around his neck. It lookeduncomfortable. He let himself fall backinto the sand, taking her with him. Hethumped down onto his back in the coldsand with her on top of him and stared upinto her black eyes. They seemed to takeup the whole sky.

She touched his forehead in wonder.“Your Mark’s gone.”

“Raziel took it away. In exchange forthe sword.” He gestured toward the blade.Up at the farmhouse, he could see twodark specks standing in front of thesunporch, watching them. Alec andMagnus. “It’s the Archangel Michael’ssword. It’s called Glorious.”

“Simon…” She kissed his cheek. “Youdid it. You got the Angel. You got the

sword.”Magnus and Alec had started down the

path to the lake. Simon closed his eyes,exhausted. Isabelle leaned over him, herhair brushing the sides of his face. “Don’ttry to talk.” She smelled like tears.“You’re not cursed anymore,” shewhispered. “You’re not cursed.”

Simon linked his fingers with hers. Hefelt as if he were floating on a dark river,the shadows closing in around him. Onlyher hand anchored him to earth. “I know.”

19LOVE AND BLOOD

Methodically and carefully Clary wastearing Jace’s room apart. She was still inher tank top, though she’d pulled on a pairof jeans; her hair was scraped behind herhead in a messy bun, and her nails werepowdered with dust. She had searchedunder his bed, in all the drawers andcabinets, crawled under the wardrobe anddesk, and looked in the pockets of all hisclothes for a second stele, but she hadfound nothing.

She had told Sebastian she wasexhausted, that she needed to go upstairsand lie down; he had seemed distractedand had waved her away. Images ofJace’s face kept flashing behind hereyelids every time she shut her eyes—theway he had looked at her, betrayed, as ifhe didn’t know her anymore.

But there was no point dwelling onthat. She could sit on the edge of the bedand cry into her hands, thinking about whatshe had done, but it would do no one anygood. She owed it to Jace, to herself, tokeep moving. Searching. If she could justfind a stele—

She was lifting the mattress off the bed,searching the space between it and the boxsprings, when a knock came on the door.

She dropped the mattress, though not

before discerning that there was nothingunder it. She tightened her hands into fists,took a deep breath, stalked to the door andthrew it open.

Sebastian stood on the threshold. Forthe first time he was wearing somethingother than black and white. The sameblack trousers and boots, admittedly, buthe also wore a scarlet leather tunic,intricately worked with gold and silverrunes, and held together by a row of metalclasps across the front. There werehammered silver bracelets on each of hiswrists, and he wore the Morgenstern ring.

She blinked at him. “Red?”“Ceremonial,” he replied. “Colors

mean different things to Shadowhuntersthan they do to humans.” He said the word“humans” with contempt. “You know the

old Nephilim children’s rhyme, don’t you?

Black for hunting through the night For death and sorrow, the color’s white. Gold for a bride in her wedding gown,

And red to call enchantment down.”

“Shadowhunters get married in gold?”Clary said. Not that she cared particularly,but she was trying to wedge her body intothe gap between the door and the frame sothat he couldn’t look behind her and seethe mess she’d made out of Jace’snormally neat room.

“Sorry to crush your dreams of a whitewedding.” He grinned at her. “Speaking ofwhich, I brought you something to wear.”

He drew his hand out from behind hisback. He was holding a folded item ofclothing. She took it from him and let itunroll. It was a long, drifting column ofscarlet fabric with an odd golden sheen tothe material, like the edge of a flame. Thestraps were gold.

“Our mother used to wear this to Circleceremonies before she betrayed ourfather,” he said. “Put it on. I want you towear it tonight.”

“Tonight?”“Well, you can hardly go to the

ceremony in what you’re wearing now.”His eyes raked her, from her bare feet tothe tank top clinging to her body withsweat, to her dusty jeans. “How you looktonight—the impression you make on ournew acolytes—is important. Put it on.”

Her mind was whirling. The ceremonytonight. Our new acolytes. “How muchtime do I have—to get ready?” she asked.

“An hour perhaps,” he said. “Weshould be at the sacred site by midnight.The others will be gathering there. Itwouldn’t do to be late.”

An hour. Heart hammering, Clarythrew the garment across the bed, where itglimmered like chain mail. When sheturned back, he was still in the doorway, ahalf smile on his face, as if he intended towait there while she changed.

She moved to shut the door. He caughther wrist. “Tonight,” he said, “you call meJonathan. Jonathan Morgenstern. Yourbrother.”

A shudder ran over her whole body,and she dropped her eyes, hoping he

couldn’t see the hatred in them. “Whateveryou say.”

The moment he was gone she reachedfor one of Jace’s leather jackets. Sheslipped it on, taking comfort in the warmthand the familiar smell of him. She slid herfeet into shoes and crept out into thehallway, wishing for a stele and a newSoundless rune. She could hear waterrunning downstairs and Sebastian’s off-key whistling, but her own footsteps stillsounded like cannon explosions in herears. She crept along, keeping close to thewall, until she reached Sebastian’s doorand slid inside.

It was dim, the only illumination theambient city light coming from thewindows, whose curtains were pulledback. It was a mess, just as it had been the

first time she’d been in it. She started withhis closet, stuffed full of expensive clothes—silk shirts, leather jackets, Armani suits,Bruno Magli shoes. On the floor of thecloset was a white shirt, wadded up andstained with blood—blood old enough tohave dried to brown. Clary looked at it fora long moment and shut the closet door.

She set herself to the desk next, pullingout drawers, rifling through papers. She’drather hoped for something simple, like alined piece of notebook paper with MYEVIL PLAN written across the top, but noluck. There were dozens of papers withcomplex numerical and alchemicalfiguring on them, and even a piece ofstationery that began My beautiful one inSebastian’s cramped handwriting. Shespared a moment to wonder who on earth

Sebastian’s beautiful one could be—shehadn’t thought of him as someone whoever had romantic feelings about anyone—before turning to the nightstand by hisbed.

She pulled open the drawer. Inside wasa stack of notes. On top of them, somethingglimmered. Something circular andmetallic.

Her faerie ring.

Isabelle sat with her arm around Simon asthey drove back toward Brooklyn. He wasexhausted, his head throbbing, his bodypierced with aches. Though Magnus hadgiven him back his ring at the lake, he hadbeen unable to reach Clary with it. Worstof all, he was hungry. He liked how close

Isabelle was sitting to him, the way sherested her hand just above the crook of hiselbow, tracing patterns there, sometimessliding her fingers down to his wrist. Butthe scent of her—perfume and blood—made his stomach growl.

It was starting to grow dark outside, thelate-autumn sunset coming soon on theheels of the day, dimming the interior ofthe truck’s cab. Alec’s and Magnus’svoices were murmurs in the shadows.Simon let his eyes flutter closed, seeingthe Angel printed against the back of hislids, a burst of white light.

Simon! Clary’s voice exploded insidehis head, jerking him instantly awake. Areyou there?

A sharp gasp escaped his lips. Clary?I was so worried—

Sebastian took my ring away from me.Simon, there may not be much time. Ihave to tell you. They have a secondMortal Cup. They plan to raise Lilithand create an army of darkShadowhunters—ones with the samepower as the Nephilim but allied to thedemon world.

“You’re kidding me,” Simon said. Ittook him a moment to realize he’d spokenaloud; Isabelle stirred against him, andMagnus looked over curiously.

“You all right there, vampire?”“It’s Clary,” Simon said. All three of

them looked at him with identicalastonished expressions. “She’s trying totalk to me.” He slapped his hands over hisears, slumping down in his seat and tryingto concentrate on her words. When are

they going to do it?Tonight. Soon. I don’t know where we

are exactly—but it’s about ten p.m. here.Then you’re about five hours ahead of

us. Are you in Europe?I can’t even guess. Sebastian

mentioned something called the SeventhSacred Site. I don’t know what that is,but I’ve found some of his notes andapparently it’s an ancient tomb. It lookslike a sort of doorway, and demons canbe summoned through it.

Clary, I’ve never heard of anythinglike that—

But Magnus or the others might.Please, Simon. Tell them as quickly asyou can. Sebastian’s going to ressurrectLilith. He wants war, a total war with theShadowhunters. He has about forty or

fifty Nephilim ready to follow him.They’ll be there. Simon, he wants to burnthe world down. We have to do anythingwe can to stop him.

If things are that dangerous, you needto get yourself out of there.

She sounded tired. I’m trying. But itmight be too late.

Simon was dimly aware that everyoneelse in the truck was staring at him,concern on their faces. He didn’t care.Clary’s voice in his mind was like a ropetossed over a chasm, and if he could griphis end of it, maybe he could pull her tosafety, or at least keep her from slippingaway.

Clary, listen. I can’t tell you how, it’stoo long a story, but we have a weapon.It can be used on either Jace or

Sebastian without hurting the other, andaccording to the… person who gave it tous, it might be able to cut them apart.

Cut them apart? How?He said it would burn all the evil out

of the one we used it on. So if we used iton Sebastian, I’m guessing, it wouldburn away the bond between thembecause the bond is evil. Simon felt hishead throb, and hoped he sounded moreconfident than he did. I’m not sure. It’svery powerful, anyway. It’s calledGlorious.

And you’d use it on Sebastian? Itwould burn them apart without killingthem?

Well, that’s the idea. I mean, there issome chance it would destroy Sebastian.It would depend on if there’s any good

left in him. “If he’s more Hell’s thanHeaven’s” I think is what the Angel said—

The Angel? Her alarm was palpable.Simon, what have you—

Her voice broke off, and Simon wassuddenly filled with a clamor of emotion—surprise, anger, terror. Pain. He criedout, sitting bolt upright.

Clary?But there was only silence, ringing in

his head.Clary! he cried out, and then, aloud, he

said: “Damn. She’s gone again.”“What happened?” Isabelle demanded.

“Is she all right? What’s going on?”“I think we have a lot less time than we

thought,” Simon said in a voice muchcalmer than he felt. “Magnus, pull the

truck over. We have to talk.”

“So,” Sebastian said, filling the doorwayas he looked down at Clary. “Would it bedéjà vu if I asked you what you weredoing in my room, little sister?”

Clary swallowed against her suddenlydry throat. The light in the hallway wasbright behind Sebastian, turning him into asilhouette. She couldn’t see the expressionon his face. “Looking for you?” shehazarded.

“You’re sitting on my bed,” he said.“Did you think I was under it?”

“I…”He walked into the room—sauntered,

really, as if he knew something she didn’t.Something no one else knew. “So why

were you looking for me? And whyhaven’t you changed for the ceremony?”

“The dress,” she said. “It—doesn’tfit.”

“Of course it fits,” he said, sittingdown on the bed beside her. He turned toface her, his back to the headboard.“Everything else in that room fits you.This should fit you too.”

“It’s silk and chiffon. It doesn’tstretch.”

“You’re a skinny little thing. Itshouldn’t have to.” He took her rightwrist, and she curled her fingers in,desperately trying to hide the ring. “Look,my fingers go right around your wrist.”

His skin felt hot against hers, sendingsharp prickles through her nerves. Sheremembered the way, in Idris, his touch

had burned her like acid. “The SeventhSacred Site,” she said, not looking at him.“Is that where Jace went?”

“Yes. I sent him ahead. He’s readyingthings for our arrival. We’ll meet himthere.”

Her heart dived inside her chest. “He’snot coming back?”

“Not before the ceremony.” She caughtthe curling edge of Sebastian’s smile.“Which is good, because he’d be sodisappointed when I told him about this.”He slid his hand swiftly over hers,uncurling her fingers. The gold ring blazedthere, like a signal fire. “Did you think Iwouldn’t recognize faerie work? Do youthink the Queen is such a fool that shewould send you off to retrieve these forher without knowing you would keep them

for yourself? She wanted you to bring thishere, where I would find it.” He jerked thering off her finger with a smirk.

“You’ve been in contact with theQueen?” Clary demanded. “How?”

“With this ring,” Sebastian purred, andClary remembered the Queen saying in herhigh sweet voice, Jonathan Morgensterncould be a powerful ally. The Fair Folkare an old people; we do not make hastydecisions but wait to see in whatdirection the wind blows first. “Do youreally think she’d let you get your handson something that would let youcommunicate with your little friendswithout her being able to listen in? Since Itook it from you, I’ve spoken to her, she’sspoken to me—you were a fool to trusther, little sister. She likes to be on the

winning side of things, the Seelie Queen.And that side will be ours, Clary. Ours.”His voice was low and soft. “Forget them,your Shadowhunter friends. Your place iswith us. With me. Your blood cries out forpower, like mine does. Whatever yourmother may have done to twist yourconscience, you know who you are.” Hishand caught at her wrist again, pulling hertoward him. “Jocelyn made all the wrongdecisions. She sided with the Claveagainst her family. This is your chance torectify her mistake.”

She tried to pull her arm back. “Let mego, Sebastian. I mean it.”

His hand slid up from her wrist,encircling her upper arm with his fingers.“You’re such a little thing. Who’d thinkyou were such a spitfire? Especially in

bed.”She leaped to her feet, jerking away

from him. “What did you just say?”He rose as well, his lips curving up at

the corners. He was so much taller thanshe was, almost exactly as much taller asJace was. He leaned in close to her whenhe spoke, and his voice was low andrough. “Everything that marks Jace, marksme,” he said. “Down to your fingernails.”He was grinning. “Eight parallel scratcheson my back, little sister. Are you sayingyou didn’t put them there?”

A soft explosion went off in her head,like a dull firework of rage. She looked athis laughing face, and she thought of Jace,and of Simon, and the words they’d justexchanged. If the Queen really couldeavesdrop on her conversations, then she

might know about Glorious already. ButSebastian didn’t know. Couldn’t know.

She snatched the ring from his hand,and threw it to the ground. She heard himgive a shout, but she’d already brought herfoot down on it, feeling it give way, thegold smashing to powder.

He looked at her incredulously as shedrew her foot back. “You—”

She drew back her right hand, thestrongest one, and drove her fist into hisstomach.

He was taller, broader, and strongerthan she was, but she had the element ofsurprise. He doubled over, choking, andshe snatched the stele from his weaponsbelt. Then she ran.

Magnus jerked the wheel to the side sofast that the tires screeched. Isabelleshrieked. They bumped up onto theshoulder of the road, under the shadow ofa copse of partly leafless trees.

The next thing Simon knew, the doorswere open and everyone was tumbling outonto the blacktop. The sun was goingdown, and the headlights of the truck wereon, lighting them all with an eerie glow.

“All right, vampire boy,” said Magnus,shaking his head hard enough to shedglitter. “What the hell is going on?”

Alec leaned against the truck as Simonexplained, repeating the conversation withClary as accurately as he could before thewhole thing flew out of his head.

“Did she say anything about getting herand Jace out of there?” Isabelle asked

when he was done, her face pale in theyellowish glow from the headlights.

“No,” said Simon. “And Iz—I don’tthink Jace wants to get out. He wants to bewhere he is.”

Isabelle crossed her arms and lookeddown at her boots, her black hairsweeping across her face.

“What’s this Seventh Sacred Sitebusiness?” said Alec. “I know about theseven wonders of the world, but sevensacred sites?”

“They’re more in the interest ofwarlocks than Nephilim,” said Magnus.“Each is a place where ley linesconverge, forming a matrix—a sort of netwithin which magical spells areamplified. The seventh is a stone tomb inIreland, at Poll na mBrón; the name means

‘the cavern of sorrows.’ It’s in a verybleak, uninhabited area called the Burren.A good place to raise a demon, if it’s abig one.” He tugged at a spike of hair.“This is bad. Really bad.”

“You think he could do it? Make—darkShadowhunters?” Simon asked.

“Everything has an alliance, Simon.The alliance of the Nephilim is seraphic,but if it were demonic, they’d still be asstrong, as powerful as they are now. Butthey would be dedicated to the eradicationof mankind instead of its salvation.”

“We have to get there,” Isabelle said.“We have to stop them.”

“‘Him,’ you mean,” said Alec. “Wehave to stop him. Sebastian.”

“Jace is his ally now. You have toaccept that, Alec,” Magnus said. A light

misty drizzle had begun to fall. The dropsgleamed like gold in the headlights’ glow.“Ireland is five hours ahead. They’redoing the ceremony at midnight. It’s fiveo’clock here. We have an hour and a half—two hours, at most—to stop them.”

“Then, we shouldn’t be waiting. Weshould be going,” Isabelle said, a tinge ofpanic in her voice. “If we’re going to stophim—”

“Iz, there are only four of us,” Alecsaid. “We don’t even know what kind ofnumbers we’re up against—”

Simon glanced at Magnus, who waswatching Alec and Isabelle argue with apeculiarly detached expression.“Magnus,” Simon said. “Why didn’t wejust Portal to the farm? You Portaled halfof Idris to Brocelind Plain.”

“I wanted to give you enough time tochange your mind,” said Magnus, nottaking his eyes off his boyfriend.

“But we can Portal from here,” Simonsaid. “I mean, you could do that for us.”

“Yeah,” Magnus said. “But like Alecsays, we don’t know what we’re upagainst in terms of numbers. I’m a prettypowerful warlock, but JonathanMorgenstern is no ordinary Shadowhunter,and neither is Jace, for that matter. And ifthey succeed in raising Lilith—she’ll be alot weaker than she was, but she’s stillLilith.”

“But she’s dead,” said Isabelle.“Simon killed her.”

“Greater Demons don’t die,” saidMagnus. “Simon… scattered her betweenworlds. It will take a long time for her to

re-form and she will be weak for years.Unless Sebastian calls her up again.” Hepushed a hand through his wet, spikedhair.

“We have the sword,” Isabelle said.“We can take out Sebastian. We haveMagnus, and Simon—”

“We don’t even know if the sword willwork,” said Alec. “And it won’t do usmuch good if we can’t get to Sebastian.And Simon isn’t even Mr. Indestructibleanymore. He can be killed just like therest of us.”

They all looked at Simon. “We have totry,” he said. “Look—we don’t know howmany are going to be there, no. We have alittle time. Not a lot, but enough—if wePortal—to grab some reinforcements.”

“Reinforcements from where?”

Isabelle demanded.“I’ll go to Maia and Jordan back at the

apartment,” said Simon, his mind quicklyticking over possibilities. “See if Jordancan get any assistance from the PraetorLupus. Magnus, go to the downtownpolice station, see about enlistingwhatever members of the pack are around.Isabelle and Alec—”

“You’re splitting us up?” Isabelledemanded, her voice rising. “What aboutfire-messages, or—”

“No one’s going to trust a fire-messageabout something like this,” said Magnus.“And besides, fire-messages are forShadowhunters. Do you really want tocommunicate this information to the Clavevia fire-message instead of going to theInstitute yourself?”

“Fine.” Isabelle stalked around to theside of the car. She yanked the door open,but didn’t get inside: instead she reachedin, and drew out Glorious. It shone in thedim light like a bolt of dark lightning, thewords carved on the blade flickering inthe car light: Quis ut Deus?

The rain was starting to pasteIsabelle’s black hair to her neck. Shelooked formidable as she walked back torejoin the group. “Then we leave the carhere. We split up, but we meet back at theInstitute in an hour. That’s when we leave,whoever we have with us.” She met eachof her companion’s eyes, one by one,daring them to challenge her. “Simon, takethis.”

She held out Glorious to him, hilt-forward.

“Me?” Simon was startled. “But I don’t—I haven’t really used a sword before.”

“You called it down,” Isabelle said,her dark eyes glossy in the rain. “TheAngel gave it to you, Simon, and you willbe the one who carries it.”

Clary dashed down the hallway and hit thesteps with a clatter, racing for thedownstairs and for the spot on the wallthat Jace had told her was the onlyentrance and exit from the apartment.

She had no illusions that she couldescape. She needed only a few moments todo what had to be done. She heardSebastian’s boots loud on the glassstaircase behind her, and put on a burst ofspeed, almost slamming into the wall. She

jammed the stele into it point-first,drawing frantically: a pattern as simpleas a cross, new to the world—

Sebastian’s fist closed on the back ofher jacket, jerking her backward, the steleflying out of her hand. She gasped as heswung her up off her feet and slammed herinto the wall, knocking the breath out ofher. He glanced at the mark she had madeon the wall, and his lips curled into asneer.

“The Opening rune?” he said. Heleaned forward and hissed into her ear.“And you didn’t even finish it. Not that itmatters. Do you really think there’s aplace on this earth you could go where Icouldn’t find you?”

Clary responded with an epithet thatwould have gotten her kicked out of class

at St. Xavier’s. Just as he started to laugh,she raised her hand and slapped himacross the face so hard, her fingers stung.In his surprise he loosened his grip on her,and she jerked away from him and flippedherself over the table, making for thedownstairs bedroom, which at least had alock on the door—

And he was in front of her, grabbingthe lapels of her jacket and swinging heraround. Her feet went out from under her,and she would have fallen if he hadn’tpinned her to the wall with his body, hisarms to either side, making a cage aroundher.

His grin was diabolical. Gone was thestylish boy who’d strolled by the Seinewith her and drunk hot chocolate andtalked about belonging. His eyes were all

black, no pupil, like tunnels. “What’swrong, little sis? You look upset.”

She could barely catch her breath.“Cracked… my… nail polish slappingyour… worthless face. See?” She showedhim her finger—just one of them.

“Cute.” He snorted. “You know how Iknew you’d betray us? How I knew youwouldn’t be able to help it? Becauseyou’re too much like me.”

He pressed her back harder against thewall. She could feel his chest rise and fallagainst hers. She was at eye level with thestraight, sharp line of his collarbone. Hisbody felt like a prison around hers,pinning her in place. “I’m nothing likeyou. Let me go—”

“You’re everything like me,” hegrowled into her ear. “You infiltrated us.

You faked friendship, faked caring.”“I never had to fake caring about

Jace.”She saw something flash in his eyes

then, a dark jealousy, and she wasn’t evensure who he was jealous of. He put hislips against her cheek, close enough thatshe felt them move against her skin whenhe spoke. “You screwed us over,” hemurmured. His hand was around her leftarm like a vise; slowly he began to moveit down. “Probably literally screwed Jaceover—”

She couldn’t help it, she flinched. Shefelt him inhale sharply. “You did,” hesaid. “You slept with him.” He soundedalmost betrayed.

“It’s none of your business.”He caught at her face, turning her to

look at him, fingers digging into her chin.“You can’t screw someone into beinggood. Nicely heartless move, though.” Hislovely mouth curved into a cold smile.“You know he doesn’t remember any of it,right? Did he show you a good time, atleast? Because I would have.”

She tasted bile in her throat. “You’remy brother.”

“Those words don’t mean anythingwhere we’re concerned. We aren’t human.Their rules don’t apply to us. Stupid lawsabout what DNA can be mixed with what.Hypocritical, really, considering. We’realready experiments. The rulers of ancientEgypt used to marry their siblings, youknow. Cleopatra married her brother.Strengthens the bloodline.”

She looked at him with loathing. “I

knew you were crazy,” she said. “But Ididn’t realize you were absolutely,spectactularly out of your goddamnedmind.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s anythingcrazy about it. Who do we belong with buteach other?”

“Jace,” she said. “I belong with Jace.”He made a dismissive noise. “You can

have Jace.”“I thought you needed him.”“I do. But not for what you need him

for.” His hands were suddenly on herwaist. “We can share him. I don’t carewhat you do. As long as you know youbelong to me.”

She raised her hands, meaning to shovehim away. “I don’t belong to you. I belongto me.”

The look in his eyes froze her in place.“I think you know better than that,” hesaid, and brought his mouth down on hers,hard.

For a moment she was back in Idris,standing in front of the burned Fairchildmanor, and Sebastian was kissing her, andshe felt as if she were falling intodarkness, into a tunnel that had no end. Atthe time she’d thought there was somethingwrong with her. That she couldn’t kissanyone but Jace. That she was broken.

Now she knew better. Sebastian’smouth moved on hers, as hard and cold asa razor-slice in the dark, and she raisedherself up on the tips of her toes, and bitdown hard on his lip.

He yelled and spun away from her, hishand to his mouth. She could taste his

blood, bitter copper; it dripped down hischin as he stared at her with incredulouseyes. “You—”

She whirled and kicked him, hard, inthe stomach, hoping it was still sore fromwhere she’d punched him before. As hedoubled up, she shot by him, running forthe stairs. She was halfway there whenshe felt him grab her by the back of hercollar. He swung her around as if he wereswinging a baseball bat, and flung her atthe wall. She hit it hard and sank to herknees, the breath knocked out of her.

Sebastian started toward her, his handsflexing at his sides, his eyes shimmeringblack like a shark’s. He looked terrifying;Clary knew she ought to be frightened, buta cold, glassy detachment had come overher. Time seemed to have slowed. She

remembered the fight in the junk shop inPrague, how she had disappeared into herown world where each movement was asprecise as the movement of a watch.Sebastian reached down toward her, andshe pushed up, off the ground, sweepingher legs sideways, knocking his feet outfrom under him.

He fell forward, and she rolled out ofthe way, bouncing to her feet. She didn’tbother trying to run this time. Instead shegrabbed the porcelain vase off the tableand, as Sebastian rose to his feet, swung itat his head. It shattered, spraying waterand leaves, and he staggered back, bloodblooming against his white-silver hair.

He snarled and sprang at her. It waslike being slammed by a wrecking ball.Clary flew backward, smashing through

the glass tabletop, and hit the ground in anexplosion of shards and agony. Shescreamed as Sebastian landed on top ofher, driving her body down into theshattered glass, his lips drawn back in asnarl. He brought his arm downbackhanded and cracked her across theface. Blood blinded her; she choked on thetaste of it in her mouth, and its salt stungher eyes. She jerked up her knee, catchinghim in the stomach, but it was like kickinga wall. He grabbed her hands, forcingthem down by her sides.

“Clary, Clary, Clary,” he said. He wasgasping. At least she’d winded him. Bloodran in a slow trickle from a gash on theside of his head, staining his hair scarlet.“Not bad. You weren’t much of a fighterback in Idris.”

“Get off me—”He moved his face close to hers. His

tongue darted out. She tried to jerk awaybut couldn’t move fast enough as he lickedthe blood off the side of her face, andgrinned. The grin split his lip, and moreblood ran in a trickle down his chin. “Youasked me who I belong to,” he whispered.“I belong to you. Your blood is my blood,your bones my bones. The first time yousaw me, I looked familiar, didn’t I? Justlike you looked familiar to me.”

She gaped at him. “You’re out of yourmind.”

“It’s in the Bible,” he said. “The Songof Solomon. ‘Thou hast ravished my heart,my sister, my spouse; thou hast ravishedmy heart with one of thine eyes, with onechain of thy neck.’” His fingers brushed

her throat, looping into the chain there, thechain that had held the Morgenstern ring.She wondered if he would crush herwindpipe. “‘I sleep, but my heart waketh:it is the voice of my beloved thatknocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister,my love.’” His blood dripped onto herface. She held herself still, her bodyhumming with the effort, as his handslipped from her throat, along her side, toher waist. His fingers slid inside thewaistband of her jeans. His skin was hot,burning; she could feel that he wanted her.

“You don’t love me,” she said. Hervoice was thin; he was crushing the airfrom her lungs. She remembered what hermother had said, that every emotionSebastian showed was a pretense. Herthoughts were clear as crystal; she silently

thanked the battle euphoria for doing whatit had to do and keeping her focused whileSebastian sickened her with his touch.

“And you don’t care that I’m yourbrother,” he said. “I know how you feltabout Jace, even when you thought he wasyour brother. You can’t lie to me.”

“Jace is better than you.”“No one’s better than me.” He grinned,

all white teeth and blood. “‘A gardenenclosed is my sister,’” he said. “‘Aspring shut up, a fountain sealed.’ But notanymore, right? Jace took care of that.” Hefumbled at the button on her jeans, and shetook advantage of his distraction to seizeup a good-size triangular piece of glassfrom the ground and slam the jagged edgeof it into his shoulder.

The glass slid along her fingers, slicing

them open. He yelled, jerking back, butmore in surprise than pain; the gearprotected him. She slashed the glass downharder, this time into his thigh, and whenhe reared back, she drove her other elbowinto his throat. He went sideways,choking, and she rolled, pinning him underher as she yanked the bloody glass free ofhis leg. She drove the shard down towardthe pulsing vein in his neck—and stopped.

He was laughing. He lay under her, andhe was laughing, his laughter vibrating upthrough her own body. His skin wasspattered with blood—her blood, drippingdown on him, his own blood where shehad cut him, his silver-white hair mattedwith it. He let his arms fall to either sideof him, outstretched like wings, a brokenangel, fallen out of the sky.

He said, “Kill me, little sister. Kill me,and you kill Jace, too.”

She brought the glass shard down.

20A DOOR INTO THE DARK

Clary screamed aloud in pure frustrationas the shard of glass embedded itself inthe wooden floor, inches from Sebastian’sthroat.

She felt him laugh underneath her.“You can’t do it,” he said. “You can’t killme.”

“To hell with you,” she snarled. “Ican’t kill Jace.”

“Same thing,” he said, and, sitting upso fast she barely saw him move, he

belted her across the face with enoughforce to send her skidding across theglass-strewn floor. Her slide was arrestedwhen she hit the wall, gagged, andcoughed blood. She buried her headagainst her forearm, the taste and smell ofher own blood everywhere, sickening andmetallic. A moment later Sebastian’s handwas fisted in her jacket and he washauling her to her feet.

She didn’t fight him. What was thepoint? Why fight someone when they werewilling to kill you and they knew youweren’t willing to kill, or even seriouslywound, them? They’d always win. Shestood still as he examined her. “Could beworse,” he said. “Looks like the jacketkept you from any real damage.”

Real damage? Her body felt like it had

been sliced all over with thin knives. Sheglared at him through her eyelashes as heswung her up into his arms. It was like ithad been in Paris, when he’d carried heraway from the Dahak demons, but then shehad been—if not grateful, at leastconfused, and now she was filled with aboiling hatred. She kept her body tensewhile he carried her upstairs, his bootsringing on the glass. She was trying toforget she was touching him, that his armwas under her thighs, his hands possessiveon her back.

I will kill him, she thought. I will finda way, and I will kill him.

He walked into Jace’s room anddumped her onto the floor. She staggeredback a step. He caught her and ripped thejacket off her. Underneath she was

wearing only a T-shirt. It was shredded asif she’d run a cheese grater over it, andstained everywhere with blood.

Sebastian whistled.“You’re a mess, little sister,” he said.

“Better get in the bathroom and washsome of that blood off.”

“No,” she said. “Let them see me likethis. Let them see what you had to do toget me to come with you.”

His hand shot out and grabbed herunder the chin, forcing her face up to his.Their faces were inches apart. She wantedto close her eyes but refused to give himthe satisfaction; she stared back at him, atthe loops of silver in his black eyes, theblood on his lip where she’d bitten him.“You belong to me,” he said again. “And Iwill have you by my side, however I have

to force you to be there.”“Why?” she demanded, rage as bitter

on her tongue as the taste of blood. “Whatdo you care? I know you can’t kill Jace,but you could kill me. Why don’t you justdo it?”

Just for a moment, his eyes wentdistant, glassy, as if he were seeingsomething invisible to her. “This worldwill be consumed by hellfire,” he said.“But I will bring you and Jace safelythrough the flames if you only do what Iask. It is a grace I extend to no one else.Do you not see how foolish you are toreject it?”

“Jonathan,” she said. “Don’t you seehow impossible it is to ask me to fight byyour side when you want to burn downthe world?”

His eyes refocused on her face. “Butwhy?” It was almost plaintive. “Why isthis world so precious to you? You knowthat there are others.” His own blood wasvery red against his stark white skin. “Tellme you love me. Tell me you love me andwill fight with me.”

“I’ll never love you. You were wrongwhen you said we have the same blood.Your blood is poison. Demon poison.”She spat the last words.

He only smiled, his eyes glowingdarkly. She felt something burn on herupper arm, and she jumped before sherealized it was a stele; he was tracing aniratze on her skin. She hated him even asthe pain faded. His bracelet clanked on hiswrist as he moved his hand skillfully,completing the rune.

“I knew you lied,” she said to himsuddenly.

“I tell so many lies, sweetheart,” hesaid. “Which one specifically?”

“Your bracelet,” she said. “‘Acherontamovebo.’ It doesn’t mean ‘Thus always totyrants.’ That’s ‘ sic semper tyrannis.’This is from Virgil. ‘Flectere si nequeosuperos, Acheronta movebo .’ ‘If I cannotmove Heaven, I will raise Hell.’”

“Your Latin’s better that I thought.”“I learn fast.”“Not fast enough.” He released his grip

on her chin. “Now get into the bathroomand clean yourself up,” he said, shovingher backward. He grabbed her mother’sceremonial dress off the bed and dumpedit into her arms. “Time grows short, andmy patience wears thin. If you’re not out

in ten minutes, I’ll come in after you. Andtrust me, you won’t like that.”

“I’m starving,” Maia said. “I feel like Ihaven’t eaten in days.” She pulled therefrigerator door open and peered in. “Oh,yuck.”

Jordan pulled her back, wrapping hisarms around her, and nuzzled the back ofher neck. “We can order food. Pizza, Thai,Mexican, whatever you want. As long as itdoesn’t cost more than twenty-fivedollars.”

She turned around in his arms,laughing. She was wearing one of hisshirts; it was a little too big on him, andon her it hung nearly to her knees. Her hairwas pulled up in a knot at the back of her

neck. “Big spender,” she said.“For you, anything.” He lifted her up by

the waist and set her on one of the counterstools. “You can have a taco.” He kissedher. His lips were sweet, slightly mintyfrom toothpaste. She felt the buzz in herbody that came from touching him, thatstarted at the base of her spine and shotthrough all her nerves.

She giggled against his mouth,wrapping her arms around his neck. Asharp ringing cut through the humming inh e r blood as Jordan pulled away,frowning. “My phone.” Hanging on to herwith one hand, he fumbled behind himselfon the counter until he found it. It hadstopped ringing, but he lifted it anyway,frowning. “It’s the Praetor.”

The Praetor never called, or at least

rarely. Only when something was ofdeadly importance. Maia sighed andleaned back. “Take it.”

He nodded, already lifting the phone tohis ear. His voice was a soft murmur inthe back of her consciousness as shejumped down from the counter and went tothe refrigerator, where the take-out menuswere pinned. She riffled through themuntil she found the menu for the local Thaiplace she liked, and turned around with itin her hand.

Jordan was now standing in the middleof the living room, white-faced, with hisphone forgotten in his hand. Maia couldhear a tinny, distant voice coming from it,saying his name.

Maia dropped the menu and hurriedacross the room to him. She took the

phone out of his hand, disconnected thecall, and set it on the counter. “Jordan?What happened?”

“My roommate—Nick—youremember?” he said, disbelief in his hazeleyes. “You never met him but—”

“I saw the photos of him,” she said.“Has something happened?”

“He’s dead.”“How?”“Throat torn out, all his blood gone.

They think he tracked his assignment downand she killed him.”

“Maureen?” Maia was shocked. “Butshe was just a little girl.”

“She’s a vampire now.” He took aragged breath. “Maia…”

She stared at him. His eyes wereglassy, his hair tousled. A sudden panic

rose inside her. Kissing and cuddling andeven sex were one thing. Comfortingsomeone when they were stricken withloss was something else. It meantcommitment. It meant caring. It meant youwanted to ease their pain, and at the sametime you were thanking God that whateverthe bad thing was that had happened, ithadn’t happened to them.

“Jordan,” she said softly, and reachingup on her toes, she put her arms aroundhim. “I’m sorry.”

Jordan’s heart beat hard against hers.“Nick was only seventeen.”

“He was a Praetor, like you,” she saidsoftly. “He knew it was dangerous. You’reonly eighteen.” He tightened his grip onher but said nothing. “Jordan,” she said. “Ilove you. I love you and I’m sorry.”

She felt him freeze. It was the first timeshe’d said the words since a few weeksbefore she’d been bitten. He seemed to beholding his breath. Finally he let it outwith a gasp.

“Maia,” he croaked. And then,unbelievably, before he could say anotherword—her phone rang.

“Never mind,” she said. “I’ll ignoreit.”

He let her go, his face soft, bemusedwith grief and amazement. “No,” he said.“No, it could be important. You goahead.”

She sighed and went to the counter. Ithad stopped ringing by the time shereached it, but there was a text messageblinking on the screen. She felt herstomach muscles tighten.

“What is it?” Jordan asked, as if he hadsensed her sudden tension. Maybe he had.

“A 911. An emergency.” She turned tohim, holding the phone. “A call to battle. Itwent out to everyone in the pack. FromLuke—and Magnus. We have to leaveright away.”

Clary sat on the floor of Jace’s bathroom,her back against the tile of the tub, her legsstretched out in front of her. She hadcleaned the blood from her face and body,and rinsed her bloody hair in the sink. Shewas wearing her mother’s ceremonialdress, rucked up to her thighs, and thetiled floor was cold against her bare feetand calves.

She looked down at her hands. They

ought to look different, she thought. Butthey were the same hands she’d alwayshad, thin fingers, squared-off nails—youdidn’t want long nails when you were anartist—and freckles on the backs of theknuckles. Her face looked the same too.All of her seemed the same, but shewasn’t. These past few days had changedher in ways she couldn’t quite yet fullycomprehend.

She stood up and looked at herself inthe mirror. She was pale, between theflame colors of her hair and the dress.Bruises decorated her shoulders andthroat.

“Admiring yourself?” She hadn’t heardSebastian open the door, but there he was,smirking intolerably as always, proppedagainst the frame of the doorway. He was

wearing a kind of gear she had never seenbefore: the usual tough material, but in ascarlet color like fresh blood. He had alsoadded an accessory to his outfit—arecurved crossbow. He held it casually inone hand, though it must have been heavy.“You look lovely, sister. A fittingcompanion for me.”

She bit back her words with the taste ofblood that still lingered in her mouth, andwalked toward him. He caught at her armas she tried to squeeze past him in thedoorway. His hand ran over her bareshoulder. “Good,” he said. “You’re notMarked here. I hate it when women ruintheir skin with scars. Keep the Marks onyour arms and legs.”

“I’d rather you didn’t touch me.”He snorted, and swung the crossbow

up. A bolt was fitted to it, ready to fire.“Walk,” he said. “I’ll be right behindyou.”

It took every ounce of effort she had notto flinch away from him. She turned andwalked toward the door, feeling a burningbetween her shoulder blades where sheimagined the arrow of the crossbow wastrained. They moved like that down theglass stairs and through the kitchen andliving room. He grunted at the sight ofClary’s scrawled rune on the wall,reached around her, and under his hand adoorway appeared. The door itself swungopen onto a square of darkness.

The crossbow jabbed Clary hard in theback. “Move.”

Taking a deep breath, she stepped outinto the shadows.

Alec slammed his hand against the buttonin the small cage elevator, and slumpedback against the wall. “How much time dowe have?”

Isabelle checked the glowing screen ofher mobile phone. “About forty minutes.”

The elevator lurched upward. Isabellecast a covert glance at her brother. Helooked tired—dark circles were under hiseyes. Despite his height and strength,Alec, with his blue eyes and soft blackhair almost to his collar, looked moredelicate than he was. “I’m fine,” he said,answering her unspoken question. “You’rethe one who’s going to be in trouble forstaying away from home. I’m overeighteen. I can do what I want.”

“I texted Mom every night and told herI was with you and Magnus,” Isabelle said

as the elevator came to a stop. “It’s notlike she didn’t know where I was. Andspeaking of Magnus…”

Alec reached across her and pulled theelevator’s inside cage door open.“What?”

“Are you two okay? I mean, gettingalong all right?”

Alec shot her an incredulous look as hestepped out into the entryway.“Everything’s going to hell in ahandbasket, and you want to know aboutmy relationship with Magnus?”

“I’ve always wondered about thatexpression,” Isabelle said thoughtfully asshe hurried after her brother down thehallway. Alec had long, long legs and,though she was fast, it was hard to keep upwith him when he wanted it to be. “Why a

handbasket? What is a handbasket, andwhy is it a particularly good form oftransportation?”

Alec, who had been Jace’s parabatailong enough to have learned to ignoreconversational tangents, said, “Magnusand I are okay, I guess.”

“Uh-oh,” Isabelle said. “Okay, youguess? I know what it means when you saythat. What happened? Did you have afight?”

Alec was tapping his fingers againstthe wall as they raced along, a sure signthat he was uncomfortable. “Quit trying tomeddle around in my love life, Iz. Whatabout you? Why aren’t you and Simon acouple? You obviously like him.”

Isabelle let out a squawk. “I am notobvious.”

“You are, actually,” Alec said,sounding as if it surprised him, too, nowthat he thought about it. “Gazing at him allmoony-eyed. The way you freaked out atthe lake when the Angel appeared—”

“I thought Simon was dead!”“ W h a t , more dead?” said Alec

unkindly. Seeing the expression on hissister’s face, he shrugged. “Look, if youlike him, fine. I just don’t see why you’renot dating.”

“Because he doesn’t like me.”“Of course he does. Guys always like

you.”“Forgive me if I think your opinion is

biased.”“Isabelle,” Alec said, and now there

was kindness in his voice, the tone sheassociated with her brother—love and

exasperation mixed together. “You knowyou’re gorgeous. Guys have chased yousince… forever. Why would Simon bedifferent?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. But he is.I figure the ball is in his court. He knowshow I feel. But I don’t think he’s rushingto do anything about it.”

“To be fair, it’s not like he doesn’thave anything else going on.”

“I know, but—he’s always been likethis. Clary—”

“You think he’s still in love withClary?”

Isabelle chewed her lip. “I—notexactly. I think she’s the one thing he stillhas from his human life, and he can’t lether go. And as long as he doesn’t let hergo, I don’t know if there’s room for me.”

They had almost reached the library.Alec looked sideways at Isabelle throughhis lashes. “But if they’re just friends—”

“Alec.” She held up her hand,indicating that he should be quiet. Voiceswere coming from the library, the first onestrident and immediately recognizable astheir mother’s:

“What do you mean she’s missing?”“No one’s seen her in two days,” said

another voice—soft, female, and slightlyapologetic. “She lives alone, so peopleweren’t sure—but we thought, since youknow her brother—”

Without a pause Alec straight-armedthe door of the library open. Isabelleducked past him to see her mother sittingbehind the massive mahogany desk in thecenter of the room. In front of her stood

two familiar figures: Aline Penhallow,dressed in gear, and beside her HelenBlackthorn, her curly hair in disarray.Both of them turned, looking surprised, asthe door opened. Helen, beneath herfreckles, was pale; she was also in gear,which drained the color out of her skineven more.

“Isabelle,” said Maryse, rising to herfeet. “Alexander. What’s happened?”

Aline reached for Helen’s hand. Silverrings flashed on both their fingers. ThePenhallow ring, with its design ofmountains, glinted on Helen’s finger,while the intertwined thorn pattern of theBlackthorn family ring adorned Aline’s.Isabelle felt her eyebrows go up;exchanging family rings was seriousbusiness. “If we’re intruding, we can go

—” Aline began.“No, stay,” said Izzy, striding forward.

“We might need you.”Maryse settled back into her chair.

“So,” she said. “My children grace mewith their presence. Where have you twobeen?”

“I told you,” Isabelle said. “We wereat Magnus’s.”

“Why?” Maryse demanded. “And I’mnot asking you, Alexander. I’m asking mydaughter.”

“Because the Clave stopped lookingfor Jace,” said Isabelle. “But we didn’t.”

“And Magnus was willing to help,”Alec added. “He’s been up all thesenights, searching through spell books,trying to figure out where Jace might be.He even raised the—”

“No.” Maryse put up a hand to silencehim. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want toknow.” The black phone on her deskstarted to ring. They all stared at it. Ablack phone call was a call from Idris. Noone moved to answer it, and in a momentit was silent. “Why are you here?” Marysedemanded, turning her attention back toher offspring.

“We were looking for Jace—,”Isabelle began again.

“It’s the Clave’s job to do that,”Maryse snapped. She looked tired,Isabelle noticed, the skin stretched thinunder her eyes. Lines at the corners of hermouth drew her lips into a frown. She wasthin enough that the bones of her wristsseemed to protrude. “Not yours.”

Alec slammed his hand down on the

desk, hard enough to make the drawersrattle. “Would you listen to us? The Clavedidn’t find Jace, but we did. AndSebastian right along with him. And nowwe know what they’re planning, and wehave”—he glanced at the clock on thewall—“barely any time to stop them. Areyou going to help or not?”

The black phone rang again. AgainMaryse didn’t even move to answer it.She was looking at Alec, her face whitewith shock. “You did what?”

“We know where Jace is, Mom,” saidIsabelle. “Or at least, where he’s going tobe. And what he’s going to do. We knowSebastian’s plan, and he has to bestopped. Oh, and we know how we cankill Sebastian but not Jace—”

“Stop.” Maryse shook her head.

“Alexander, explain. Concisely, andwithout hysteria. Thank you.”

Alec launched into the story—leavingout, Isabelle thought, all the good parts,which was how he managed to summarizethings so neatly. As abbreviated as hisrendition was, both Aline and Helen weregaping by the end of it. Maryse stood verystill, her features immobile. When Alecwas done, she said in a hushed voice:

“Why have you done these things?”Alec looked taken aback.“For Jace,” Isabelle said. “To get him

back.”“You realize that by putting me in this

position, you give me no choice but tonotify the Clave,” said Maryse, her handresting on the black phone. “I wish youhadn’t come here.”

Isabelle’s mouth went dry. “Are youseriously mad at us for finally telling youwhat’s going on?”

“If I notify the Clave, they will send alltheir reinforcements. Jia will have nochoice but to give them instructions to killJace on sight. Do you have any idea howmany Shadowhunters Valentine’s son hasfollowing him?

Alec shook his head. “Maybe forty, itsounds like.”

“Say we brought twice as many as that.We could be fairly confident of defeatinghis forces, but what kind of chance wouldJace have? There’s almost no certaintyhe’d make it through alive. They’ll killhim just to be sure.”

“Then, we can’t tell them,” saidIsabelle. “We’ll go ourselves. We’ll do

this without the Clave.”But Maryse, looking at her, was

shaking her head. “The Law says we haveto tell them.”

“I don’t care about the Law—,”Isabelle began angrily. She caught sight ofAline looking at her, and slammed hermouth shut.

“Don’t worry,” Aline said. “I’m notgoing to say anything to my mother. I oweyou guys. Especially you, Isabelle.” Shetightened her jaw, and Isabelleremembered the darkness under a bridgein Idris, and her whip tearing into ademon, its claws locked onto Aline. “Andbesides, Sebastian killed my cousin. Thereal Sebastian Verlac. I have my ownreasons to hate him, you know.”

“Regardless,” said Maryse. “If we do

not tell them, we will be breaking theLaw. We could be sanctioned, or worse.”

“Worse?” said Alec. “What are wetalking about here? Exile?”

“I don’t know, Alexander,” said hismother. “It would be up to Jia Penhallow,and whoever wins the Inquisitor’sposition, to decide our punishment.”

“Maybe it’ll be Dad,” muttered Izzy.“Maybe he’ll go easy on us.”

“If we fail to notify them of thissituation, Isabelle, there is no chance yourfather will make Inquisitor. None,” saidMaryse.

Isabelle took a deep breath. “Could weget our Marks stripped?” she said. “Couldwe… lose the Institute?”

“Isabelle,” said Maryse. “We couldlose everything.”

Clary blinked, her eyes adjusting to thedarkness. She stood on a rocky plain,whipped by wind, with nothing to breakthe force of the gale. Patches of grassgrew up between slabs of gray rock. In thefar distance bleak, scree-covered karsthills rose, black and iron against the nightsky. There were lights up ahead. Claryrecognized the bobbing white glare ofwitchlight as the door of the apartmentswung shut behind them.

There was the sound of a dullexplosion. Clary whirled around to seethat the door had vanished; there was acharred patch of dirt and grass, stillsmoldering, where it had been. Sebastianwas staring at it in absolute astonishment.“What—”

She laughed. A dark glee rose in her at

the look on his face. She had never seenhim shocked like that, his pretenses gone,his expression naked and horrified.

He swung the crossbow back up,inches from her chest. If he fired it at thisdistance, the bolt would tear through herheart, killing her instantly. “What have youdone?”

Clary gazed at him with dark triumph.“That rune. The one you thought was anunfinished Opening rune. It wasn’t. It justwasn’t anything you’d ever seen before. Itwas a rune I created.”

“A rune for what?”She remembered putting the stele to the

wall, the shape of the rune she hadinvented on the night when Jace had cometo her at Luke’s house. “Destroying theapartment the second someone opened the

door. The apartment’s gone. You can’t useit again. No one can.”

“Gone?” The crossbow shook;Sebastian’s lips were twitching, his eyeswild. “You bitch. You little—”

“Kill me,” she said. “Go ahead. Andexplain it to Jace afterward. I dare you.”

He looked at her, his chest heaving upand down, his fingers trembling on thetrigger. Slowly he slid his hand away fromit. His eyes were small and furious.“There are worse things than dying,” hesaid. “And I will do them all to you, littlesister, once you’ve drunk from the Cup.And you will like it.”

She spat at him. He jabbed her hard,agonizingly, in the chest with the tip of thebow. “Turn around,” he snarled, and shedid, dizzy with a mixture of terror and

triumph as he prodded her down a rockyslope. She was wearing thin slippers, andshe felt every pebble and crack in therocks. As they neared the witchlight, Clarysaw the scene laid out before them.

In front of her, the ground rose to a lowhill. Atop the hill, facing north, was amassive ancient stone tomb. It remindedher slightly of Stonehenge: there were twonarrow standing stones that held up a flatcapstone, making the whole assemblageresemble a doorway. In front of the tomb aflat sill stone, like the floor of a stage,stretched across the shale and grass.Grouped before the flat stone was a half-circle of about forty Nephilim, robed inred, carrying witchlight torches. Withintheir half-circle, against the dark ground,blazed a blue-white pentagram.

Atop the flat stone stood Jace. He worescarlet gear like Sebastian; they had neverlooked so alike.

Clary could see the brightness of hishair even from a distance. He was pacingthe edge of the flat sill stone, and as theygrew closer, Clary driven ahead bySebastian, she could hear what he wassaying.

“… gratitude for your loyalty, evenover these last difficult years, and gratefulfor your belief in our father, and now inhis sons. And his daughter.”

A murmur ran around the square.Sebastian shoved Clary forward, and theymoved through the shadows, and thenclimbed up onto the stone behind Jace.Jace saw them and inclined his headbefore turning back to the crowd; he was

smiling. “You are the ones who will besaved,” he said. “A thousand years ago theAngel gave us his blood, to make usspecial, to make us warriors. But it wasnot enough. A thousand years have passed,and still we hide in the shadows. Weprotect mundanes we do not love fromforces of which they remain ignorant, andan ancient, ossified Law prevents us fromrevealing ourselves as their saviors. Wedie in our hundreds, unthanked, unmournedbut by our own kind, and without recourseto the Angel who created us.” He movedcloser to the edge of the rock platform.The Shadowhunters before it werestanding in a half-circle. His hair lookedlike pale fire. “Yes. I dare to say it. TheAngel who created us will not aid us, andwe are alone. More alone even than the

mundanes, for as one of their greatscientists once said, they are like childrenplaying with pebbles on the seashore,while all around them the great ocean oftruth lies undiscovered. But we know thetruth. We are the saviors of this earth, andwe should be ruling it.”

Jace was a good speaker, Clary thoughtwith a sort of pain at her heart, in the sameway that Valentine had been. She andSebastian were behind him now, facingthe plain and the crowd on it; she couldfeel the stares of the gatheredShadowhunters on both of them.

“Yes. Ruling it.” He smiled, a lovelyeasy smile, full of charm, edged withdarkness. “Raziel is cruel and indifferentto our sufferings. It is time to turn fromhim. Turn to Lilith, Great Mother, who

will give us power without punishment,leadership without the Law. Our birthrightis power. It is time to claim it.”

He looked sideways with a smile asSebastian moved forward. “And now I’lllet you hear the rest of it from Jonathan,whose dream this is,” said Jace smoothly,and he retreated, letting Sebastian slideeasily into his place. He took another stepback, and now he was beside Clary, hishand reaching down to twine with hers.

“Good speech,” she muttered.Sebastian was speaking; she ignored him,focusing on Jace. “Very convincing.”

“You think? I was going to start off‘Friends, Romans, evildoers…’ but Ididn’t think they’d see the humor.”

“You think they’re evildoers?”He shrugged. “The Clave would.” He

looked away from Sebastian, down at her.“You look beautiful,” he said, but hisvoice was oddly flat. “What happened?”

She was caught off guard. “What doyou mean?”

He opened his jacket. Underneath hewas wearing a white shirt. It was stainedat the side and the sleeve with red. Shenoticed he was careful to turn away fromthe crowd as he showed her the blood. “Ifeel what he feels,” he said. “Or did youforget? I had to iratze myself withoutanyone noticing. It felt like someone wasslicing my skin with a razor blade.”

Clary met his gaze. There was no pointlying, was there? There was no goingback, literally or figuratively. “Sebastianand I had a fight.”

His eyes searched her face. “Well,” he

said, letting his jacket fall closed, “I hopeyou’ve worked it out, whatever it was.”

“Jace… ,” she began, but he had givenhis attention to Sebastian now. His profilewas cold and clear in the moonlight, like asilhouette cut out of dark paper. In front ofthem Sebastian, who had set down hiscrossbow, raised his arms. “Are you withme?” he cried.

A murmur ran around the square, andClary tensed. One of the group ofNephilim, an older man, threw his hoodback and scowled. “Your father made usmany promises. None were fulfilled. Whyshould we trust you?”

“Because I will bring you thefulfillment of my promises now. Tonight,”Sebastian said, and from his tunic he drewthe imitation Mortal Cup. It glowed softly

white under the moon.The murmuring was louder now. Under

its cover Jace said, “I hope this goessmoothly. I feel like I didn’t sleep lastnight at all.”

He was facing the crowd and thepentagram, a look of keen interest on hisface. His face was delicately angular inthe witchlight. She could see the scar onhis cheek, the hollows at his temples, thelovely shape of his mouth. I won’tremember this, he had said. When I’mback—like I was, under his control, Iwon’t remember being myself. And it wastrue. He had forgotten every detail.Somehow, though she had known it, hadseen him forget, the pain of the reality wasacute.

Sebastian stepped down off the rock

and moved toward the pentagram. At theedge of it he began to chant. “Abyssuminvoco. Lilith invoco. Mater mea,invoco.”

He drew a thin dagger from his belt.Tucking the Cup into the curve of his arm,he used the edge of the blade to slice intohis palm. Blood welled, black in themoonlight. He slid the knife back into hisbelt and held his bleeding hand over theCup, still chanting in Latin.

It was now or never. “Jace,” Clarywhispered. “I know this isn’t really you. Iknow there’s a part of you that can’t be allright with this. Try to remember who youare, Jace Lightwood.”

His head whipped around, and helooked at her in astonishment. “What areyou talking about?”

“Please try to remember, Jace. I loveyou. You love me—”

“I do love you, Clary,” he said, an edgeto his voice. “But you said youunderstood. This is it. The culmination ofeverything we’ve worked toward.”

Sebastian flung the contents of the Cupinto the center of the pentagram. “Hic estenim calix sanguinis mei.”

“Not we,” Clary whispered. “I’m notpart of this. Neither are you—”

Jace inhaled sharply. For a momentClary thought it was because of whatshe’d said—that maybe, somehow, shewas breaking through his shell—but shefollowed his gaze and saw that a spinningball of fire had appeared in the center ofthe pentagram. It was about the size of abaseball, but as she gazed, it grew,

elongating and shaping itself, until at lastit was the outline of a woman, made all offlames.

“Lilith,” Sebastian said in a ringingvoice. “As you called me forth, now I callyou. As you gave me life, so I give life toyou.”

Slowly the flames darkened. She stoodbefore them all now, Lilith, half again theheight of an ordinary human, strippednaked with her black hair waterfallingdown her back to her ankles. Her bodywas as gray as ash, fissured with blacklines like volcanic lava. She turned hereyes to Sebastian, and they were writhingblack snakes.

“My child,” she breathed.Sebastian seemed to glow, like

witchlight himself—pale skin, pale hair,

and his clothes looked black in themoonlight. “Mother, I have called you upas you wished of me. Tonight you will notjust be my mother but mother to a newrace.” He indicated the waitingShadowhunters, who were motionless,probably with shock. It was one thing toknow a Greater Demon was going to becalled, another to see one in the flesh.“The Cup,” he said, and held it out to her,its pale white rim stained with his blood.

Lilith chuckled. It sounded likemassive stones grinding against oneanother. She took the Cup and, as casuallyas one might pick an insect off a leaf, torea gash in her ashy gray wrist with herteeth. Very slowly, sludgy black bloodtrickled forth, spattering into the Cup,which seemed to change, darkening under

her touch, its clear translucence turning tomud. “As the Mortal Cup has been to theShadowhunters, both a talisman and ameans of transformation, so shall thisInfernal Cup be to you,” she said in hercharred, windblown voice. She knelt,holding out the Cup to Sebastian. “Take ofmy blood and drink.”

Sebastian took the Cup from her hands.It had turned black now, a shimmeringblack like hematite.

“As your army grows, so shall mystrength,” Lilith hissed. “Soon I will bestrong enough to truly return—and weshall share the fire of power, my son.”

Sebastian inclined his head. “Weproclaim you Death, my mother, andprofess your resurrection.”

Lilith laughed, raising her arms. Fire

licked up her body, and she launchedherself into the air, exploding into a dozenspinning particles of light that faded likethe embers of a dying fire. When theywere gone completely, Sebastian kicked atthe pentagram, breaking its continuity, andraised his head. There was an awful smileon his face.

“Cartwright,” he said. “Bring forth thefirst.”

The crowd parted, and a robed manpushed forward, a stumbling woman at hisside. A chain bound her to his arm, andlong, tangled hair hid her face from view.Clary tensed all over. “Jace, what is this?What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he said, looking aheadabsently. “No one’s going to be hurt. Justchanged. Watch.”

Cartwright, whose name Clary dimlyremembered from her time in Idris, put hishand on his captive’s head and forced herto their knees. Then he bent and took holdof her hair, jerking her head up. Shelooked up at Sebastian, blinking in terrorand defiance, her face clearly outlined bythe moon.

Clary sucked in her breath. “Amatis.”

21RAISING HELL

Luke’s sister looked up, her blue eyes,so much like Luke’s, fastening on Clary.She seemed dizzied, shocked, herexpression a little unfocused as if she’dbeen drugged. She tried to start to her feet,but Cartwright shoved her back down.Sebastian started toward them, the Cup inhis hand.

Clary scrambled forward, but Jacecaught her by the arm, pulling her back.She kicked at him, but he’d already swung

her up into his arms, his hand over hermouth. Sebastian was speaking to Amatisin a low, hypnotic voice. She shook herhead violently, but Cartwright caught herby her long hair and jerked her head back.Clary heard her cry out, a thin sound overthe wind.

Clary thought of the night she’d stayedup watching Jace’s chest rise and fall,thinking how she could end all this with asingle knife blow. But all this hadn’t hada face, a voice, a plan. Now that it woreLuke’s sister’s face, now that Clary knewthe plan, it was too late.

Sebastian had one hand fisted in theback of Amatis’s hair, the Cup jammedagainst her mouth. As he forced thecontents down her throat, she retched andcoughed, black fluid dripping down her

chin.Sebastian yanked the Cup back, but it

had done its work. Amatis made an awfulhacking sound, her body jerking upright.Her eyes bulged, turning as dark asSebastian’s. She slapped her hands overher face, a wail escaping her, and Clarysaw in astonishment that the Voyance runewas fading from her hand—fading topallor—and then it was gone.

Amatis dropped her hands. Herexpression had smoothed and her eyeswere blue again. They fastened onSebastian.

“Release her,” Clary’s brother said toCartwright, his gaze on Amatis. “Let hercome to me.”

Cartwright snapped the chain bindinghim to Amatis and stepped back, a curious

mixture of apprehension and fascinationon his face.

Amatis remained still a moment, herhands lolling at her sides. Then she stoodand walked over to Sebastian. She kneltbefore him, her hair brushing the dirt.“Master,” she said. “How may I serveyou?”

“Rise,” Sebastian said, and Amatisrose from the ground gracefully. Sheseemed to have a new way of moving, allof a sudden. All Shadowhunters wereadroit, but she moved now with a silentgrace that Clary found oddly chilling. Shestood straight in front of Sebastian. For thefirst time Clary saw that what she hadtaken for a long white dress was anightgown, as if she had been awakenedand spirited out of bed. What a nightmare,

to wake up here, among these hoodedfigures, in this bitter, abandoned place.“Come here to me,” Sebastian beckoned,and Amatis stepped toward him. She wasa head shorter than him at least, and shecraned her head up as he whispered toher. A cold smile split her face.

Sebastian raised his hand. “Would youlike to fight Cartwright?”

Cartwright dropped the chain he hadbeen holding, his hand going to hisweapons belt through the gap in his cloak.He was a young man, with fairish hair,and a wide, square-jawed face. “But I—”

“Surely some demonstration of herpower is in order,” said Sebastian.“Come, Cartwright, she is a woman, andolder than you are. Are you afraid?”

Cartwright looked bewildered, but he

drew a long dagger from his belt.“Jonathan—”

Sebastian’s eyes flashed. “Fight him,Amatis.”

Her lips curved. “I would be delightedto,” she said, and sprang. Her speed wasastonishing. She leaped into the air andswung her foot forward, knocking thedagger from his grip. Clary watched inastonishment as she darted up his body,driving her knee into his stomach. Hestaggered back, and she slammed her headinto his, spinning around his body to jerkhim hard by the back of his robes, yankinghim to the ground. He landed at her feetwith a sickening crack, and groaned inpain.

“And that’s for dragging me out of mybed in the middle of the night,” Amatis

said, and wiped the back of her handacross her lip, which was bleedingslightly. A faint murmur of strainedlaughter went around the crowd.

“And there you see it,” said Sebastian.“Even a Shadowhunter of no particularskill or strength—your pardon, Amatis—can become stronger, swifter, than theirseraphically allied counterparts.” Heslammed one fist into the opposite palm.“Power. Real power. Who is ready forit?”

There was a moment of hesitation, andthen Cartwright stumbled to his feet, onehand curved protectively over hisstomach. “I am,” he said, shooting avenomous look at Amatis, who onlysmiled.

Sebastian held up the Infernal Cup.

“Then, come forward.”Cartwright moved toward Sebastian,

and as he did, the other Shadowhuntersbroke formation, surging toward the placewhere Sebastian stood, forming a raggedline. Amatis stood serenely to the side, herhands folded. Clary stared at her, willingthe older woman to look at her. It wasLuke’s sister. If things had gone asplanned, she would have been Clary’sstep-aunt now.

Amatis. Clary thought of her smallcanal house in Idris, the way she had beenso kind, the way she had loved Jace’sfather so much. Please look at me, shethought. Please show me you’re stillyourself. As if Amatis had heard her silentprayer, she raised her head and lookeddirectly at Clary.

And smiled. Not a kind smile or areassuring smile. Her smile was dark andcold and quietly amused. It was the smileof someone who would watch you drown,Clary thought, and not lift a finger to help.It was not Amatis’s smile. It was notAmatis at all. Amatis was gone.

Jace had taken his hand from hermouth, but she felt no desire to scream. Noone here would help her, and the personstanding with his arms around her,prisoning her with his body, wasn’t Jace.The way that clothes retained the shape oftheir owner even if they had not beenworn for years, or a pillow kept theoutline of the head of the person who hadonce slept there even if they were longdead, that was all he was. An empty shellshe had filled with her wishes and love

and dreams.And in doing so she had done the real

Jace a terrible wrong. In her quest to savehim, she had almost forgotten who shewas saving. And she remembered what hehad said to her during those few momentswhen he had been himself. I hate thethought of him being with you. Him. Thatother me. Jace had known they were twodifferent people—that himself with thesoul scraped out wasn’t himself at all.

He had tried to turn himself over to theClave, and she hadn’t let him. She hadn’tlistened to what he’d wanted. She hadmade the choice for him—in a moment offlight and panic, but she had made it—notrealizing that her Jace would rather diethan be like this, and that she’d been notso much saving his life as damning him to

an existence he would despise.She sagged against him, and Jace,

taking her sudden shift as an indicator thatshe wasn’t fighting him anymore, loosenedhis grip on her. The last of theShadowhunters was in front of Sebastian,reaching eagerly for the Infernal Cup as heheld it out. “Clary—,” Jace began.

She never found out what he wouldhave said. There was a cry, and theShadowhunter reaching for the Cupstaggered back, an arrow in his throat. Indisbelief Clary whipped her head aroundand saw, standing on top of the stonedolmen, Alec, in gear, holding his bow.He grinned in satisfaction and reachedback over his shoulder for another arrow.

And then, coming from behind him, therest of them poured out onto the plain. A

pack of wolves, running low to theground, their brindled fur shining in thevariegated light. Maia and Jordan wereamong them, she guessed. Behind themwalked familiar Shadowhunters in anunbroken line: Isabelle and MaryseLightwood, Helen Blackthorn and AlinePenhallow, and Jocelyn, her red hairvisible even at a distance. With them wasSimon, the hilt of a silver swordprotruding over the curve of his shoulder,and Magnus, hands crackling with bluefire.

Her heart leaped in her chest. “I’mhere!” she called out to them. “I’m here!”

“Can you see her?” Jocelyn demanded. “Isshe there?”

Simon tried to focus on the millingdarkness ahead of him, his vampire sensessharpening at the distinct scent of blood.Different kinds of blood, mixing together—Shadowhunter blood, demon blood, andthe bitterness of Sebastian’s blood. “I seeher,” he said. “Jace has hold of her. He’spulling her behind that line ofShadowhunters there.”

“If they’re loyal to Jonathan like theCircle was to Valentine, they’ll make awall of bodies to protect him, and Claryand Jace along with him.” Jocelyn was allcold maternal fury, her green eyes burning.“We’re going to have to break through itto get to them.”

“What we need to get to is Sebastian,”said Isabelle. “Simon, we’ll hack a pathfor you. You get to Sebastian and run him

through with Glorious. Once he falls—”“The others will probably scatter,”

said Magnus. “Or, depending on how tiedthey are to Sebastian, they might die orcollapse along with him. We can hope, atleast.” He craned his head back.“Speaking of hope, did you see that shotAlec got off with his bow? That’s myboyfriend.” He beamed and wiggled hisfingers; blue sparks shot from them. Heshone all over. Only Magnus, Simonthought resignedly, would have access tosequined battle armor.

Isabelle uncurled her whip from aroundher wrist. It shot out in front of her, a lickof golden fire. “Okay, Simon,” she said.“Are you ready?”

Simon’s shoulders tightened. Theywere still some distance from the line of

the opposing army—he didn’t know howelse to think of them—who were holdingtheir line in their red robes and gear, theirhands bristling with weapons. Some ofthem were exclaiming out loud inconfusion. He couldn’t hold back a grin.

“Name of the Angel, Simon,” said Izzy.“What’s there to smile about?”

“Their seraph blades don’t workanymore,” said Simon. “They’re trying tofigure out why. Sebastian just shouted atthem to use other weapons.” A cry cameup from the line as another arrowswooped down from the tomb and burieditself in the back of a burly red-robedShadowhunter, who collapsed forward.The line jerked and opened slightly, like afracture in a wall. Simon, seeing hischance, dashed forward, and the others

rushed with him.It was like diving into a black ocean at

night, an ocean filled with sharks andviciously toothed sea creatures collidingagainst one another. It was not the firstbattle Simon had ever been in, but duringthe Mortal War he had been newlyMarked with the Mark of Cain. It hadn’tquite begun working yet, though manydemons had reeled back upon seeing it.He had never thought he would miss it, buthe missed it now, as he tried to shoveforward through the tightly packedShadowhunters, who hacked at him withblades. Isabelle was on one side of him,Magnus on the other, protecting him—protecting Glorious. Isabelle’s whip sangout strong and sure, and Magnus’s handsspat fire, red and green and blue. Lashes

of colored fire struck the dark Nephilim,burning them where they stood. OtherShadowhunters screamed as Luke’swolves slunk among them, nipping andbiting, leaping for their throats.

A dagger shot out with astonishingspeed and sliced at Simon’s side. Hecried out but kept going, knowing thewound would knit itself together inseconds. He pushed forward—

And froze. A familiar face was beforehim. Luke’s sister, Amatis. As her eyessettled on him, he saw the recognition inthem. What was she doing here? Had shecome to fight alongside them? But—

She lunged at him, a darkly gleamingdagger in her hand. She was fast—but notso fast that his vampire reflexes couldn’thave saved him, if he hadn’t been too

astonished to move. Amatis was Luke’ssister; he knew her; and that moment ofdisbelief might have been the end of him ifMagnus hadn’t jumped in front of him,shoving him backward. Blue fire shotfrom Magnus’s hand, but Amatis wasfaster than the warlock, too. She spunaway from the blaze and under Magnus’sarm, and Simon caught the flash ofmoonlight off the blade of her knife.Magnus’s eyes widened in shock as hermidnight-colored blade drove downward,slicing through his armor. She jerked itback, the blade now slick with reflectiveblood; Isabelle screamed as Magnuscollapsed to his knees. Simon tried to turntoward him, but the surge and pressure ofthe fighting crowd was carrying him away.He cried out Magnus’s name as Amatis

bent over the fallen warlock and raisedthe dagger a second time, aiming for hisheart.

“Let go of me!” Clary shouted, writhingand kicking as she did her best to wrenchherself out of Jace’s grip. She could seealmost nothing above the surging crowd ofred-clad Shadowhunters that stood in frontof her, Jace, and Sebastian, blocking herfamily and friends. The three of them werea few feet behind the line of battle; Jacewas holding her tightly as she struggled,and Sebastian, to the side of them, waswatching events unfold with a look of darkfury on his face. His lips were moving.She couldn’t tell if he was swearing,praying, or chanting the words of a spell.

“Let go of me, you—”Sebastian turned, a frightening

expression on his face, somewherebetween a grin and a snarl. “Shut her up,Jace.”

Jace, still gripping Clary, said, “Arewe just going to stand back here and letthem protect us?” He jerked his chintoward the line of Shadowhunters.

“Yes,” Sebastian said. “We are tooimportant to risk getting hurt, you and I.”

Jace shook his head. “I don’t like it.There are too many on the other side.” Hecraned his neck to look out over thecrowd. “What about Lilith? Can yousummon her back, have her help us?”

“What, right here?” There wascontempt in Sebastian’s tone. “No.Besides, she’s too weak now to be of

much help. Once she could have smotedown an army, but that piece of scumDownworlder with his Mark of Cainscattered her essence through the voidsbetween the worlds. It was all she coulddo to appear and give us her blood.”

“Coward,” Clary spat at him. “Youturned all these people into your slavesand you won’t even fight to protect them—”

Sebastian raised his hand as if hemeant to backhand her across the face.Clary wished he would, wished Jacecould be there to see it happen when hedid, but a smirk flashed acrossSebastian’s mouth instead. He lowered hishand. “And if Jace let you go, I supposeyou’d fight?”

“Of course I would—”

“On what side?” Sebastian took aquick step toward her, raising the InfernalCup. She could see what was inside it.Though many had drunk from it, the bloodhad remained at the same level. “Lift herhead up, Jace.”

“No!” She redoubled her efforts to getaway. Jace’s hand slipped beneath herchin, but she thought she felt hesitation inhis touch.

“Sebastian,” he said. “Not—”“Now,” Sebastian said. “There’s no

need for us to remain here. We are theimportant ones, not these cannon fodder.We’ve proved the Infernal Cup works.That’s what matters.” He seized the frontof Clary’s dress. “But it will be mucheasier to escape,” he said, “without thisone kicking and screaming and punching

every step of the way.”“We can make her drink later—”“No,” Sebastian snarled. “Hold her

still.” And he raised the Cup and jammedit against Clary’s lips, trying to pry openher mouth. She fought him, gritting herteeth. “Drink,” Sebastian said in a viciouswhisper, so low she doubted Jace couldhear it. “I told you by the end of this nightyou would do whatever I wanted. Drink.”His black eyes darkened, and he dug theCup in, slicing her bottom lip.

She tasted blood as she reached behindher, grabbing Jace’s shoulders, using hisbody to push off against as she kicked outwith her legs. She felt the seam rip on herdress as it split up the side and her feetslammed solidly against Sebastian’s ribcage. He staggered back with the wind

knocked out of him, just as she jerked herhead back, hearing the solid crack as herskull connected with Jace’s face. Heyelled and loosened his grip on herenough for her to tear free. She rippedaway from him and plunged into the battlewithout looking back.

Maia raced along the rocky ground,starlight raking its cool fingers through hercoat, the strong scents of battle assailingher sensitive nose—blood, sweat, and theburned-rubber stench of dark magic.

The pack had spread out widely overthe field, leaping and killing with deadlyteeth and claws. Maia kept close toJordan’s side, not because she needed hisprotection but because she had discovered

that side by side they fought better andmore effectively. She had been in only onebattle before, on Brocelind Plain, and thathad been a chaotic whirl of demons andDownworlders. There were many fewercombatants here on the Burren, but thedark Shadowhunters were formidable,swinging their swords and daggers with aswift, frightening force. Maia had seenone slender man use a short-bladed daggerto whip the head off a wolf who’d been inmidleap; what had collapsed to the groundwas a headless human body, bloody andunrecognizable.

Even as she thought it, one of thescarlet-robed Nephilim loomed up in frontof them, a double-edged sword gripped inhis hands. The blade was stained red-black under the moonlight. Jordan, beside

Maia, snarled, but she was the one wholaunched herself at the man. He duckedaway, slashing out with his sword. Shefelt a sharp pain in her shoulder and hit theground on all four paws, pain stabbingthrough her. There was a clatter, and sheknew she had knocked the man’s swordfrom his hand. She growled in satisfactionand spun around, but Jordan was alreadyleaping for the Nephilim’s throat—

And the man caught him by the neck,out of the air, as if he were catching holdof a rebellious puppy. “Downworlderscum,” he spat, and though it wasn’t thefirst time Maia had heard such insults,something about the icy hatred of his tonemade her shudder. “You should be a coat.I should be wearing you.”

Maia sank her teeth into his leg.

Coppery blood exploded into her mouth asthe man shouted in pain and staggeredback, kicking at her, his hold on Jordanslipping. Maia gripped him tight as Jordanlunged again, and this time theShadowhunter’s shout of rage was cutshort as the werewolf’s claws tore histhroat open.

Amatis drove the knife toward Magnus’sheart—just as an arrow whistled throughthe air and thumped into her shoulder,knocking her aside with such force thatshe spun halfway around and fell face-forward to the rocky ground. She wasscreaming, a noise quickly drowned outby the clash of weapons all around them.Isabelle knelt down by Magnus’s side;

Simon, glancing up, saw Alec on the stonetomb, standing frozen with the bow in hishands. He was probably too far away tosee Magnus clearly; Isabelle had herhands against the warlock’s chest, butMagnus—Magnus, who was always sokinetic, so bursting with energy—wasutterly still under Isabelle’s ministrations.She looked up and saw Simon staring atthem; her hands were red with blood, butshe shook her head at him violently.

“Keep going!” she shouted. “FindSebastian!”

With a wrench Simon turned himselfaround and plunged back into the battle.The tight line of red-clad Shadowhuntershad started to come undone. The wolveswere darting here and there, herding theShadowhunters away from one another.

Jocelyn was sword to sword with asnarling man whose free arm drippedblood—and Simon realized somethingbizarre as he staggered forward, pushinghis way through the narrow gaps betweenski rmishes : None of the red-cladNephilim were Marked. Their skin wasbare of decoration.

They were also, he realized—seeingout of the corner of his eye one of theenemy Shadowhunters lunging for Alinewith a swinging mace, only to be gutted byHelen, darting in from the side—muchfaster than any Nephilim he had seenbefore, other than Jace and Sebastian.They moved with the swiftness ofvampires, he thought, as one of themslashed at a leaping wolf, slitting its bellyopen. The dead werewolf crashed to the

ground, now the corpse of a stocky manwith curling fair hair. Not Maia orJordan. Relief swamped him, and thenguilt; he staggered forward, the smell ofblood thick around him, and again hemissed the Mark of Cain. If he had stillborne it, he thought, he could have burnedall these enemy Nephilim to the groundwhere they stood—

One of the dark Nephilim rose up infront of him, swinging a single-edgedbroadsword. Simon ducked, but he didn’tneed to. The man was barely halfwaythrough the swing when an arrow caughthim in the neck and he went down,gurgling blood. Simon’s head jerked up,and he saw Alec, still atop the tomb; hisface was a stony mask, and he was firingoff arrows with machinelike precision, his

hand reaching back mechanically to graspone, fit it to the bow, and let fly. Each onestruck a target, but Alec barely seemed tonotice. By the time the arrow was flying,he was reaching for another one. Simonheard another one whistle by him and slaminto a body as he darted forward, makingfor a cleared section of the battlefield—

He froze. There she was. Clary, a tinyfigure fighting her way through the crowdbare-handed, kicking and pushing to getpast. She wore a torn red dress, and herhair was a tangled mass and when she sawhim, a look of incredulous amazementcrossed her face. Her lips shaped hisname.

Just behind her was Jace. His face wasbloody. The crowd parted as he plungedthrough it, letting him by. Behind him, in

the gap left by his passing, Simon couldsee a shimmer of red and silver—afamiliar figure, topped now with white-gilt hair like Valentine’s.

Sebastian. Still hiding behind the lastline of defense of dark Shadowhunters.Seeing him, Simon reached over hisshoulder and hauled Glorious from itssheath. A moment later a surge in thecrowd hurled Clary toward him. Her eyeswere nearly black with adrenaline, but herjoy at seeing him was plain. Relief spilledthrough Simon, and he realized he’d beenwondering if she was still herself, orchanged, as Amatis had been.

“Give me the sword!” she cried, hervoice almost drowned out by the clang ofmetal on metal. She thrust her arm forwardto take it, and in that moment she was no

longer Clary, his friend since childhood,but a Shadowhunter, an avenging angelwho belonged with that sword in her hand.

He held it out to her, hilt first.

Battle was like a whirlpool, Jocelynthought, cutting her way through thepressing crowd, slashing out with Luke’skindjal at any spot of red that she saw.Things came at you and then surged awayso quickly that all one was really aware ofwas a sense of uncontrollable danger, thestruggle to stay alive and not drown.

Her eyes flicked frantically through themass of fighters, searching for herdaughter, for a glimpse of red hair—oreven for a sight of Jace, because where hewas, Clary would be too. There were

boulders strewn across the plain, likeicebergs in an unmoving sea. Shescrambled up the rough edge of one, tryingto get a better view of the battlefield, butshe could make out only close-pressedbodies, the flash of weapons, and the dark,low-running shapes of wolves among thefighters.

She turned to scramble back down theboulder—

Only to find someone waiting for her atthe bottom. Jocelyn came up short, staring.

He wore scarlet robes, and there was alivid scar along one of his cheeks, a relicof some battle unknown to her. His facewas pinched and no longer young, butthere was no mistaking him. “Jeremy,” shesaid slowly, her voice barely audible overthe clamor of the fighting. “Jeremy

Pontmercy.”The man who had once been the

youngest member of the Circle looked ather out of bloodshot eyes. “JocelynMorgenstern. Have you come to join us?”

“Join you? Jeremy, no—”“You were in the Circle once,” he said,

stepping closer to her. A long dagger withan edge like a straight razor hung from hisright hand. “You were one of us. And nowwe follow your son.”

“I broke with you when you followedmy husband,” said Jocelyn. “Why do youthink I’d follow you now that my son leadsyou?”

“Either you stand with us or against us,Jocelyn.” His face hardened. “You cannotstand against your own son.”

“Jonathan,” she said softly. “He is the

greatest evil Valentine ever committed. Icould never stand with him. In the end, Inever stood with Valentine. So what hopedo you have of convincing me now?”

He shook his head. “Youmisunderstand me,” he said. “I mean youcannot stand against him. Against us. TheClave cannot. They are not prepared. Notfor what we can do. Are willing to do.Blood will run in the streets of every city.The world will burn. Everything youknow will be destroyed. And we will risefrom the ashes of your defeat, the phoenixtriumphant. This is your only chance. Idoubt your son will give you another.”

“Jeremy,” she said. “You were soyoung when Valentine recruited you. Youcould come back, come back even to theClave. They would be lenient—”

“I can never come back to the Clave,”he said with a hard satisfaction. “Don’tyou understand? Those of us who standwith your son, we are Nephilim nolonger.”

Nephilim no longer. Jocelyn began toreply, but before she could speak, bloodburst from his mouth. He crumpled, and ashe did, Jocelyn saw, standing behind himbearing a broadsword, Maryse.

The two women looked at each otherfor a moment over Jeremy’s body. ThenMaryse turned and walked back towardthe battle.

The moment Clary’s fingers closed aroundthe hilt, the sword exploded with a goldenlight. Fire blazed down the blade from the

tip, illuminating words carved blacklyinto the side—Quis ut Deus?—andmaking the hilt shine as if it contained thelight of the sun. She nearly dropped it,thinking it had caught on fire, but the flameseemed contained inside the sword, andthe metal was cool beneath her palms.

Everything after that seemed to happenvery slowly. She turned, the swordblazing in her grip. Her eyes searched thecrowd desperately for Sebastian. Shecouldn’t see him, but she knew he wasbehind the tight knot of Shadowhunters shehad punched through to get here. Grippingthe sword, she moved toward them, onlyto find her way blocked.

By Jace.“Clary,” he said. It seemed impossible

that she could hear him; the sounds around

them were deafening: screams and growls,the clatter of metal on metal. But the sea offighting figures seemed to have fallenaway from them on either side like theRed Sea parting, leaving a clear spacearound her and Jace.

The sword burned, slippery in her grip.“Jace. Get out of the way.”

She heard Simon, behind her, shoutsomething; Jace was shaking his head. Hisgolden eyes were flat, unreadable. Hisface was bloody; she had cracked herhead against his cheekbone, and the skinwas swelling and darkening. “Give me thesword, Clary.”

“No.” She shook her head, backing upa step. Glorious lit the space they stood in,lit the trampled, blood-smeared grassaround her, and lit Jace as he moved

toward her. “Jace. I can separate you fromSebastian. I can kill him without hurtingyou—”

His face twisted. His eyes were thesame color as the fire in the sword, orthey were reflecting it back, she wasn’tsure which, and as she looked at him sherealized it didn’t matter. She was seeingJace and not-Jace: her memories of him,the beautiful boy she’d met first, recklesswith himself and others, learning to careand be careful. She remembered the nightthey had spent together in Idris, holdinghands across the narrow bed, and thebloodstained boy who had looked at herwith haunted eyes and confessed to beinga murderer in Paris. “Kill him?” Jace-who-wasn’t-Jace demanded now. “Areyou out of your mind?”

And she remembered that night by LakeLyn, Valentine driving the sword into him,and the way her own life had seemed tobleed out with his blood.

She had watched him die, there on thebeach in Idris. And afterward, when shehad brought him back, he had crawled toher and looked down at her with thoseeyes that burned like the Sword, like theincandescent blood of an angel.

I was in the dark, he had said. Therewas nothing there but shadows, and Iwas a shadow. And then I heard yourvoice.

But that voice blurred into another,more recent one: Jace facing downSebastian in the living room ofValentine’s apartment, telling her that hewould rather die than live like this. She

could hear him now, speaking, telling herto give him the sword, that if she didn’t,he would take it from her. His voice washarsh, impatient, the voice of someonetalking to a child. And she knew in thatmoment that just as he wasn’t Jace, theClary he loved wasn’t her. It was amemory of her, blurred and distorted: theimage of someone docile, obedient;someone who didn’t understand that lovegiven without free will or truthfulnesswasn’t love at all.

“Give me the sword.” His hand wasout, his chin raised, his tone imperious.“Give it to me, Clary.”

“You want it?”She raised Glorious, the way he had

taught her to, balancing the weight of it,though it felt heavy in her hand. The flame

in it grew brighter, until it seemed to reachupward and touch the stars. Jace was onlythe sword’s length away from her, hisgolden eyes incredulous. Even now hecouldn’t believe she might hurt him, reallyhurt him. Even now.

She took a deep breath. “Take it.”She saw his eyes blaze up the way they

had that day by the lake, and then shedrove the sword into him, just asValentine had done. She understood nowthat this was the way it had to be. He haddied like this, and she had ripped himback from death. And now it had comeagain.

You cannot cheat death. In the end itwill have its own.

Glorious sank into his chest, and shefelt her bloody hand slide on the hilt as the

blade ground against the bones of his ribcage, driving through him until her fistthumped against his body and she froze.He hadn’t moved, and she was pressed upagainst him now, gripping Glorious asblood began to spill from the wound in hischest.

There was a scream—a sound of rageand pain and terror, the sound of someonebeing brutally torn apart. Sebastian, Clarythought. Sebastian, screaming as his bondwith Jace was severed.

But Jace. Jace didn’t make a sound.Despite everything, his face was calm andpeaceful, the face of a statue. He lookeddown at Clary, and his eyes shone, as if hewere filling with light.

And then he began to burn.

Alec didn’t remember scrambling downfrom the top of the stone tomb, or pushinghis way across the stony plain among thelitter of fallen bodies: darkShadowhunters, dead and woundedwerewolves. His eyes were seeking outonly one person. He stumbled and nearlyfell; when he looked up, his gaze scanningthe field in front of him, he saw Isabelle,kneeling beside Magnus on the stonyground.

It felt like there was no air in his lungs.He had never seen Magnus so pale, or sostill. There was blood on his leatherarmor, and blood on the ground beneathhim. But it was impossible. Magnus hadlived so long. He was permanent. Afixture. In no world Alec’s imaginationcould conjure did Magnus die before he

did.“Alec.” It was Izzy’s voice, swimming

up toward him as if through water. “Alec,he’s breathing.”

Alec let his own breath out in a shakinggasp. He held a hand out to his sister.“Dagger.”

She handed him one silently. She hadnever paid as much attention as he had infield first aid classes; she had always saidrunes would do the job. He slit open thefront of Magnus’s leather armor and thenthe shirt beneath it, his teeth gritted. Itcould be that the armor was all that washolding him together.

He peeled back the sides gingerly,surprised at the steadiness of his ownhands. There was a good deal of blood,and a wide stab wound under the right

side of Magnus’s ribs. But from the rhythmof Magnus’s breathing, it was clear hislungs hadn’t been punctured. Alec yankedoff his jacket, wadded it up, and pressed itagainst the still-bleeding wound.

Magnus’s eyes fluttered open. “Ouch,”he said feebly. “Quit leaning on me.”

“Raziel,” Alec breathed thankfully.“You’re all right.” He slipped his freehand under Magnus’s head, his thumbstroking Magnus’s bloody cheek. “Ithought…”

He looked up to glance at his sisterbefore he said anything too embarassing,but she had slipped quietly away.

“I saw you fall,” Alec said quietly. Hebent down and kissed Magnus lightly onthe mouth, not wanting to hurt him. “Ithought you were dead.”

Magnus smiled crookedly. “What, fromthat scratch?” He glanced down at thereddening jacket in Alec’s hand. “Okay, adeep scratch. Like, from a really, reallybig cat.”

“Are you delirious?” Alec said.“No.” Magnus’s eyebrows drew

together. “Amatis was aiming for myheart, but she didn’t get anything vital. Theproblem is that the blood loss is sappingmy energy and my ability to heal myself.”He took a deep breath that ended in acough. “Here, give me your hand.” Heraised his hand, and Alec twined theirfingers together, Magnus’s palm hardagainst his. “Do you remember, the nightof the battle on Valentine’s ship, when Ineeded some of your strength?”

“Do you need it again now?” Alec

said. “Because you can have it.”“I always need your strength, Alec,”

Magnus said, and closed his eyes as theirintertwined fingers began to shine, as ifbetween them they held the light of a star.

Fire exploded up through the hilt of theangel’s sword and along the blade. Theflame shot through Clary’s arm like a boltof electricity, knocking her to the ground.Heat lightning sizzled up and down herveins, and she curled up in agony,clutching herself as if she could keep herbody from blowing to pieces.

Jace fell to his knees. The sword stillpierced him, but it was burning now, witha white-gold flame, and the fire wasfilling his body like colored water filling

a clear glass pitcher. Golden flame shotthrough him, turning his skin translucent.His hair was bronze; his bones were hard,shining tinder visible through his skin.Glorious itself was burning away,dissolving in liquid drops like goldmelting in a crucible. Jace’s head wasthrown back, his body arched like a bowas the conflagration raged through him.Clary tried to pull herself toward himacross the rocky ground, but the heatradiating from his body was too much. Hishands clutched at his chest, and a river ofgolden blood slipped through his fingers.The stone on which he knelt wasblackening, cracking, turning to ash. Andthen Glorious burned up like the last of abonfire, in a shower of sparks, and Jacecollapsed forward, onto the stones.

Clary tried to stand, but her legsbuckled under her. Her veins still felt as iffire were shooting through them, and painwas darting across the surface of her skinlike the touch of hot pokers. She pulledherself forward, bloodying her fingers,hearing her ceremonial dress rip, until shereached Jace.

He was lying on his side with his headpillowed on one arm, the other arm flungout wide. She crumpled beside him. Heatradiated from his body as if he were adying bed of coals, but she didn’t care.She could see the rip in the back of hisgear where Glorious had torn through it.There were ashes from the burned rocksmixed in with the gold of his hair, andblood.

Moving slowly, every movement

hurting as if she were old, as if she hadaged a year for every second Jace hadburned, she pulled him toward her, so hewas on his back on the bloodstained andblackened stone. She looked at his face,no longer gold but still, and still beautiful.

Clary laid her hand against his chest,where the red of his blood stood outagainst the darker red of his gear. She hadfelt the edges of the blade grind against thebones of his ribs. She had seen his bloodspill through his fingers, so much bloodthat it had stained the rocks beneath himblack and had stiffened the edges of hishair.

And yet. Not if he’s more Heaven’sthan Hell’s.

“Jace,” she whispered. All aroundthem were running feet. The shattered

remains of Sebastian’s small army wasfleeing across the Burren, dropping theirweapons as they went. She ignored them.“Jace.”

He didn’t move. His face was still,peaceful under the moonlight. Hiseyelashes threw dark, spidering shadowsagainst the tops of his cheekbones.

“Please,” she said, and her voice feltas if it were scraping out of her throat.When she breathed, her lungs burned.“Look at me.”

Clary closed her eyes. When sheopened them again, her mother waskneeling down beside her, touching hershoulder. Tears were running downJocelyn’s face. But that couldn’t be—Whywould her mother be crying?

“Clary,” her mother whispered. “Let

him go. He’s dead.”In the distance Clary saw Alec

kneeling beside Magnus. “No,” Clarysaid. “The sword—it burns away what’sevil. He could still live.”

Her mother ran a hand down her back,her fingers tangling in Clary’s filthy curls.“Clary, no…”

Jace, Clary thought fiercely, her handscurling around his arms. You’re strongerthan this. If this is you, really you, you’llopen your eyes and look at me.

Suddenly Simon was there, kneeling onthe other side of Jace, his face smearedwith blood and grime. He reached forClary. She whipped her head up to glareat him, at him and her mother, and sawIsabelle coming up behind them, her eyeswide, moving slowly. The front of her

gear was stained with blood. Unable toface Izzy, Clary turned away, her eyes onthe gold of Jace’s hair.

“Sebastian,” Clary said, or tried to say.Her voice came out as a croak. “Someoneshould go after him.” And leave me alone.

“They’re looking for him now.” Hermother leaned in, anxious, her eyes wide.“Clary, let him go. Clary, baby…”

“Let her be,” Clary heard Isabelle saysharply. She heard her mother’s protest,but everything they were doing seemed tobe going on at a great distance, as if Clarywere watching a play from the last row.Nothing mattered but Jace. Jace, burning.Tears scalded the backs of her eyes.“Jace, goddamit,” she said, her voiceragged. “You are not dead.”

“Clary,” Simon said gently. “It was a

chance…”Come away from him. That was what

Simon was asking, but she couldn’t. Shewouldn’t. “Jace,” she whispered. It waslike a mantra, the way he had once heldher at Renwick’s and chanted her nameover and over. “Jace Lightwood…”

She froze. There. A movement so tiny,it was hardly a movement at all. Theflutter of an eyelash. She leaned forward,almost overbalancing, and pressed herhand against the torn scarlet material overhis chest, as if she could heal the woundshe had made. She felt instead—sowonderful that for a moment it made nosense to her, could not possibly be—underher fingertips, the rhythm of his heart.

EPILOGUE

At first, Jace was conscious of nothing.Then there was darkness, and within thedarkness, a burning pain. It was as if he’dswallowed fire, and it choked him andburned his throat. He gasped desperatelyfor air, for a breath that would cool thefire, and his eyes flew open.

He saw darkness and shadows—adimly lit room, known and unknown, withrows of beds and a window letting inhollow blue light, and he was in one of thebeds, blankets and sheets pulled down andtangled around his body like ropes. His

chest hurt as if a dead weight lay on it, andhis hand scrabbled to find what it was,encountering only a thick bandagewrapped around his bare skin. He gaspedagain, another cooling breath.

“Jace.” The voice was familiar to himas his own, and then there was a handgripping his, fingers interlacing with hisown. With a reflex born out of years oflove and familiarity, he gripped back.

“Alec,” he said, and he was almostshocked at the sound of his own voice inhis ears. It hadn’t changed. He felt as if hehad been scorched, melted, and recreatedlike gold in a crucible—but as what?Could he really be himself again? Helooked up at Alec’s anxious blue eyes,and knew where he was. The infirmary atthe Institute. Home. “I’m sorry…”

A slim, callused hand stroked hischeek, and a second familiar voice said,“Don’t apologize. You have nothing toapologize for.”

He half-closed his eyes. The weight onhis chest was still there: half a wound andhalf guilt. “Izzy.”

Her breath caught. “It really is you,right?”

“Isabelle,” Alec began, as if to warnher not to upset Jace, but Jace touched herhand. He could see Izzy’s dark eyesshining in the dawn light, her face full ofhopeful expectancy. This was the Izzy onlyher family knew, loving and worried.

“It’s me,” he said, and cleared histhroat. “I could understand if you didn’tbelieve me, but I swear on the Angel, Iz,it’s me.”

Alec said nothing, but his grip onJace’s hand tightened. “You don’t need toswear,” he said, and with his free handtouched the parabatai rune near hiscollarbone. “I know. I can feel it. I don’tfeel like I’m missing a part of meanymore.”

“I felt it too.” Jace took a raggedbreath. “Something missing. I felt it, evenwith Sebastian, but I didn’t know what itwas I was missing. But it was you. Myparabatai.” He looked at Izzy. “And you.My sister. And…” His eyelids burnedsuddenly with a scorching light: thewound on his chest throbbed, and he sawher face, lit by the blaze of the sword. Astrange burning spread through his veins,like white fire. “Clary. Please tell me—”

“She’s completely all right,” Isabelle

said hastily. There was something else inher voice—surprise, unease.

“You swear. You’re not just telling methat because you don’t want to upset me.”

“She stabbed you,” Isabelle pointedout.

Jace gave a strangled laugh; it hurt.“She saved me.”

“She did,” Alec agreed.“When can I see her?” Jace tried not to

sound too eager.“It really is you,” Isabelle said, her

voice amused.“The Silent Brothers have been in and

out, checking on you,” said Alec. “Onthis”—he touched the bandage on Jace’schest—“and to see if you were awake yet.When they find out you are, they’llprobably want to talk to you before they

let you see Clary.”“How long have I been out cold?”“About two days,” said Alec. “Since

we got you back from the Burren and werepretty sure you weren’t going to die. Turnsout it’s not that easy to completely heal awound made by an archangel’s blade.”

“So what you’re saying is that I’mgoing to have a scar.”

“A big ugly one,” said Isabelle. “Rightacross your chest.”

“Well, damn,” said Jace. “And I wasrelying on that money from the toplessunderwear modeling gig I had lined up,too.” He spoke wryly, but he was thinkingthat it was right, somehow, that he have ascar: that he should be marked by whathad happened to him, physically as wellas mentally. He had almost lost his soul,

and the scar would serve to remind him ofthe fragility of will, and the difficulty ofgoodness.

And of darker things. Of what layahead, and what he could not allow tohappen. He strength was returning; hecould feel it, and he would bend all of itagainst Sebastian. Knowing that, he feltsuddenly lighter, a little of the weight gonefrom his chest. He turned his head, enoughto look into Alec’s eyes.

“I never thought I’d fight on theopposite side of a battle from you,” hesaid hoarsely. “Never.”

“And you never will again,” Alec said,his jaw set.

“Jace,” Isabelle said. “Try to staycalm, all right? It’s just…”

Now what? “Is something else wrong?”

“Well, you’re glowing a bit,” Isabellesaid. “I mean, just a smidge. Of theglowing.”

“Glowing?”Alec raised the hand that held Jace’s.

Jace could see, in the darkness, a faintshimmer across his forearm that seemed totrace the lines of his veins like a map.“We think it’s a leftover effect from thearchangel’s sword,” he said. “It’llprobably fade soon, but the SilentBrothers are curious. Of course.”

Jace sighed and let his head fall backagainst the pillow. He was too exhaustedto muster up much interest in his new,illuminated state. “Does that mean youhave to go?” he asked. “Do you have toget the Brothers?”

“They instructed us to get them when

you woke,” said Alec, but he was shakinghis head, even as he spoke. “But not if youdon’t want us to.”

“I feel tired,” Jace confessed. “If Icould sleep a few more hours…”

“Of course. Of course you can.”Isabelle’s fingers pushed his hair back,out of his eyes. Her tone was firm,absolute: fierce as a mother bearprotecting her cub.

Jace’s eyes began to close. “And youwon’t leave me?”

“No,” Alec said. “No, we won’t everleave you. You know that.”

“Never.” Isabelle took his hand, theone Alec wasn’t holding, and pressed itfiercely. “Lightwoods, all together,” shewhispered. Jace’s hand was suddenlydamp where she was holding it, and he

realized she was crying, her tearssplashing down—crying for him, becauseshe loved him; even after everything thathad happened, she still loved him.

They both did.He fell asleep like that, with Isabelle

on one side of him and Alec on the other,as the sun came up with the dawn.

“What do you mean, I still can’t see him?”demanded Clary. She was sitting on theedge of the couch in Luke’s living room,the cord of the phone wrapped so tightlyaround her fingers that the tips had turnedwhite.

“It’s been only three days, and he wasunconscious for two of them,” saidIsabelle. There were voices behind her,

and Clary strained her ears to hear whowas talking. She thought she could pickout Maryse’s voice, but was she talking toJace? Alec? “The Silent Brothers are stillexamining him. They still say no visitors.”

“Screw the Silent Brothers.”“No thanks. There’s strong and silent,

and then there’s just freaky.”“Isabelle!” Clary sat back against the

squashy pillows. It was a bright fall day,and sunlight streamed in through the livingroom windows, though it did nothing tolighten her mood. “I just want to know thathe’s all right. That he isn’t injuredpermanently, and he hasn’t swollen up likea melon—”

“Of course he hasn’t swollen up like amelon, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t know

because no one will tell me anything.”“He’s all right,” Isabelle said, though

there was something in her voice that toldClary she was holding something back.“Alec’s been sleeping in the bed next tohis, and Mom and I have been taking turnsstaying with him all day. The SilentBrothers haven’t been torturing him. Theyjust need to know what he knows. AboutSebastian, the apartment, everything.”

“But I can’t believe Jace wouldn’t callme if he could. Not unless this is becausehe doesn’t want to see me.”

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Isabelle said. “Itcould have been that whole thing whereyou stabbed him.”

“Isabelle—”“I was just kidding, believe it or not.

Name of the Angel, Clary, can’t you show

some patience?” Isabelle sighed. “Nevermind. I forgot who I was talking to. Look,Jace said—not that I’m supposed to repeatthis, mind you—that he needed to talk toyou in person. If you could just wait—”

“That’s all I have been doing,” Clarysaid. “Waiting.” It was true. She’d spentthe past two nights lying in her room atLuke’s house, waiting for news about Jaceand reliving the last week of her life overand over in excruciating detail. The WildHunt; the antiques store in Prague;fountains full of blood; the tunnels ofSebastian’s eyes; Jace’s body againsthers; Sebastian jamming the Infernal Cupagainst her lips, trying to pry them apart;the bitter stench of demon ichor. Gloriousblazing up her arm, spearing through Jacelike a bolt of fire, the beat of his heart

under her fingertips. He hadn’t evenopened his eyes, but Clary had screamedthat he was alive, that his heart wasbeating, and his family had descended onthem, even Alec, half-holding up anexceptionally pale Magnus. “All I do is goaround and around inside my own head.It’s making me crazy.”

“And that’s where we’re in agreement.You know what, Clary?”

“What?”There was a pause. “You don’t need

my permission to come here and seeJace,” Isabelle said. “You don’t needanyone’s permission to do anything.You’re Clary Fray. You go charging intoevery situation without knowing how thehell it’s going to turn out, and then you getthrough it on sheer guts and craziness.”

“Not where my personal life isconcerned, Iz.”

“Huh,” said Isabelle. “Well, maybeyou should.” And she put the phone down.

Clary stared at her receiver, hearingthe distant tinny buzz of the dial tone.Then, with a sigh, she hung up and headedinto her bedroom.

Simon was sprawled on the bed, hisfeet on her pillows, his chin propped onhis hands. His laptop was propped open atthe foot of the bed, frozen on a scene fromThe Matrix. He looked up as she came in.“Any luck?”

“Not exactly.” Clary went over to hercloset. She’d already dressed for thepossibility that she might see Jace today,in jeans and a soft blue sweater she knewhe liked. She pulled a corduroy jacket on

and sat down on the bed beside Simon,sliding her feet into boots. “Isabelle won’ttell me anything. The Silent Brothers don’twant Jace to have visitors, but whatever.I’m going over anyway.”

Simon closed the laptop and rolledover onto his back. “That’s my brave littlestalker.”

“Shut up,” she said. “Do you want tocome with me? See Isabelle?”

“I’m meeting Becky,” he said. “At theapartment.”

“Good. Give her my love.” Shefinished lacing her boots and reachedforward to brush Simon’s hair away fromhis forehead. “First I had to get used toyou with that Mark on you. Now I have toget used to you without it.”

His dark brown eyes traced her face.

“With or without it, I’m still just me.”“Simon, do you remember what was

written on the blade of the sword? OfGlorious?”

“Quis ut Deus.”“It’s Latin,” she said. “I looked it up. It

means Who is like God? It’s a trickquestion. The answer is no one—no one islike God. Don’t you see?”

He looked at her. “See what?”“You said it. Deus. God.”Simon opened his mouth, and then

closed it again. “I…”“I know Camille told you that she

could say God’s name because she didn’tbelieve in God, but I think it has to dowith what you believe about yourself. Ifyou believe you’re damned, then you are.But if you don’t…”

She touched his hand; he squeezed herfingers briefly and released them, his facetroubled. “I need some time to think aboutthis.”

“Whatever you need. But I’m here ifyou need to talk.”

“And I’m here if you do. Whateverhappens with you and Jace at theInstitute… you know you can always comeover to my place if you want to talk.”

“How’s Jordan?”“Pretty good,” said Simon. “He and

Maia are definitely together now. They’rein that ooky stage where I feel like Ishould be giving them space all the time.”He crinkled up his nose. “When she’s notthere, he frets about how he feels insecurebecause she’s dated a bunch of dudes andhe’s spent the past three years doing

military-style training for the Praetor andpretending he was asexual.”

“Oh, come on. I doubt she cares aboutthat.”

“You know men. We have delicateegos.”

“I wouldn’t describe Jace’s ego asdelicate.”

“No, Jace’s is sort of the antiaircraftartillery tank of male egos,” Simonadmitted. He was lying with his right handsplayed across his stomach, and the goldfaerie ring glittered on his finger. Sincethe other had been destroyed, it no longerseemed to have any powers, but Simonwore it anyway. Impulsively Clary bentdown and kissed his forehead.

“You’re the best friend anyone couldever have, you know that?” she said.

“I did know that, but it’s always nice tohear it again.”

Clary laughed and stood up. “Well, wemight as well walk to the subway together.Unless you want to hang around here withthe ’rents instead of in your cooldowntown bachelor pad.”

“Right. With my lovelorn roommateand my sister.” He slid off the bed andfollowed her as she walked out into theliving room. “You’re not just going toPortal?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Itseems… wasteful.” She crossed the halland, after knocking quickly, stuck her headinto the master bedroom. “Luke?”

“Come on in.”She went in, Simon beside her. Luke

was sitting up in bed. The bulk of the

bandage that wrapped his chest wasvisible as an outline beneath his flannelshirt. There was a stack of magazines onthe bed in front of him. Simon picked oneup. “Sparkle Like an Ice Princess: TheWinter Bride,” he read out loud. “I don’tknow, man. I’m not sure a tiara ofsnowflakes would be the best look foryou.”

Luke glanced around the bed andsighed. “Jocelyn thought wedding planningmight be good for us. Return to normalcyand all that.” There were shadows underhis blue eyes. Jocelyn had been the one tobreak the news to him about Amatis, whilehe was still at the police station. ThoughClary had greeted him with hugs whenhe’d come home, he hadn’t mentioned hissister once, and neither had she. “If it was

up to me, I would elope to Vegas and havea fifty-dollar pirate-themed wedding withElvis presiding.”

“I could be the wench of honor,” Clarysuggested. She looked at Simonexpectantly. “And you could be…”

“Oh, no,” he said. “I am a hipster. I amtoo cool for themed weddings.”

“You play D and D. You’re a geek,”she corrected him fondly.

“Geek is chic,” Simon declared.“Ladies love nerds.”

Luke cleared his throat. “I assume youcame in here to tell me something?”

“I’m heading over to the Institute to seeJace,” Clary said. “Do you want me tobring you anything back?”

He shook his head. “Your mother’s atthe store, stocking up.” He leaned over to

ruffle her hair, and winced. He washealing, but slowly. “Have fun.”

Clary thought of what she wasprobably facing at the Institute—an angryMaryse, a wearied Isabelle, an absentAlec, and a Jace who didn’t want to seeher—and sighed. “You bet.”

The subway tunnel smelled like the winterthat had finally come to the city—coldmetal, dank, wet dirt, and a faint hint ofsmoke. Alec, walking along the tracks,saw his breath puff out in front of his facein white clouds, and he jammed his freehand into the pocket of his blue peacoat tokeep it warm. The witchlight he held inhis other hand illuminated the tunnel—green and cream-colored tiles, discolored

with age, and sprung wiring, dangling likespiderwebs from the walls. It had been along time since this tunnel had seen amoving train.

Alec had gotten up before Magnus hadwoken, again. Magnus had been sleepinglate; he was resting from the battle at theBurren. He had used a great deal of energyto heal himself, but he wasn’t entirelywell yet. Warlocks were immortal but notinvulnerable, and “a few inches higherand that would have been it for me,”Magnus had said ruefully, examining theknife wound. “It would have stopped myheart.”

There had been a few moments—minutes, even—when Alec had trulythought Magnus was dead. And after somuch time spent worrying that he would

grow old and die before Magnus did.What a bitter irony it would have been.The sort of thing he deserved, forseriously contemplating the offer Camillehad made him, even for a second.

He could see light up ahead—the CityHall station, lit by chandeliers andskylights. He was about to douse hiswitchlight when he heard a familiar voicebehind him.

“Alec,” it said. “Alexander GideonLightwood.”

Alec felt his heart lurch. He turnedaround slowly. “Magnus?”

Magnus moved forward, into the circleof illumination cast by Alec’s witchlight.He looked uncharacteristically somber,his eyes shadowed. His spiky hair wasrumpled. He wore only a suit jacket over

a T-shirt, and Alec couldn’t helpwondering if he was cold.

“Magnus,” Alec said again. “I thoughtyou were asleep.”

“Evidently,” Magnus said.Alec swallowed hard. He had never

seen Magnus angry, not really. Not likethis. Magnus’s cat eyes were remote,impossible to read. “Did you follow me?”Alec asked.

“You could say that. It helped that Iknew where you were going.” Movingstiffly, Magnus took a folded square ofpaper from his pocket. In the dim light, allAlec could see was that it was coveredwith a careful, flourishing handwriting.“You know, when she told me you’d beenhere—told me about the bargain she’dstruck with you—I didn’t believe her. I

didn’t want to believe her. But here youare.”

“Camille told you—”Magnus held up a hand to cut him off.

“Just stop,” he said wearily. “Of courseshe told me. I warned you she was amaster at manipulation and politics, butyou didn’t listen to me. Who do you thinkshe’d rather have on her side—me or you?You’re eighteen years old, Alexander.You’re not exactly a powerful ally.”

“I already told her,” Alec said. “Iwouldn’t kill Raphael. I came here andtold her the bargain was off, I wouldn’t doit—”

“You had to come all the way here, tothis abandoned subway station, to deliverthat message?” Magnus raised hiseyebrows. “You don’t think you could

have delivered essentially the samemessage by, perhaps, staying away?”

“It was—”“And even if you did come here—

unnecessarily—and tell her the deal wasoff,” Magnus went on in a deadly calmvoice, “why are you here now? Socialcall? Just visiting? Explain it to me,Alexander, if there’s something I’mmissing.”

Alec swallowed. Surely there must bea way to explain. That he had been comingdown here, visiting Camille, because shewas the only person he could talk to aboutMagnus. The only person who knewMagnus, as he did, not just as the HighWarlock of Brooklyn but as someone whocould love and be loved back, who hadhuman frailties and peculiarities and odd,

irregular currents of mood that Alec hadno idea how to navigate without advice.“Magnus—” Alec took a step toward hisboyfriend, and for the first time that heremembered, Magnus moved away fromhim. His posture was stiff and unfriendly.He was looking at Alec the way he’d lookat a stranger, a stranger he didn’t like verymuch.

“I’m so sorry,” Alec said. His voicesounded scratchy and uneven to his ownears. “I never meant—”

“I was thinking about it, you know,”Magnus said. “That’s part of why I wantedthe Book of the White. Immortality can bea burden. You think of the days that stretchout before you, when you have beeneverywhere, seen everything. The onething I hadn’t experienced was growing

old with someone—someone I loved. Ithought perhaps it would be you. But thatdoes not give you the right to make thelength of my life your choice and notmine.”

“I know.” Alec’s heart raced. “I know,and I wasn’t going to do it—”

“I’ll be out all day,” Magnus said.“Come and get your things out of theapartment. Leave your key on the diningroom table.” His eyes searched Alec’sface. “It’s over. I don’t want to see youagain, Alec. Or any of your friends. I’mtired of being their pet warlock.”

Alec’s hands had begun to shake, hardenough that he dropped his witchlight. Thelight winked out, and he fell to his knees,scrabbling on the ground among the trashand the dirt. At last something lit up

before his eyes, and he rose to see Magnusstanding before him, the witchlight in hishand. It shone and flickered with astrangely colored light.

“It shouldn’t light up like that,” Alecsaid automatically. “For anyone but aShadowhunter.”

Magnus held it out. The heart of thewitchlight was glowing a dark red, likethe coal of a fire.

“Is it because of your father?” Alecasked.

Magnus didn’t reply, only tipped therune-stone into Alec’s palm. As theirhands touched, Magnus’s face changed.“You’re freezing cold.”

“I am?”“Alexander…” Magnus pulled him

close, and the witchlight flickered

between them, its color changing rapidly.Alec had never seen a witchlight rune-stone do that before. He put his headagainst Magnus’s shoulder and let Magnushold him. Magnus’s heart didn’t beat likehuman hearts did. It was slower, butsteady. Sometimes Alec thought it was thesteadiest thing in his life.

“Kiss me,” Alec said.Magnus put his hand to the side of

Alec’s face and gently, almost absently,ran his thumb along Alec’s cheekbone.When he bent to kiss him, he smelled likesandalwood. Alec clutched the sleeve ofMagnus’s jacket, and the witchlight, heldbetween their bodies, flared up in colorsof rose and blue and green.

It was a slow kiss, and a sad one.When Magnus drew away, Alec found that

somehow he was holding the witchlightalone; Magnus’s hand was gone. The lightwas a soft white.

Softly, Magnus said, “Aku cintakamu.”

“What does that mean?”Magnus disentangled himself from

Alec’s grip. “It means I love you. Not thatthat changes anything.”

“But if you love me—”“Of course I do. More than I thought I

would. But we’re still done,” Magnussaid. “It doesn’t change what you did.”

“But it was just a mistake,” Alecwhispered. “One mistake—”

Magnus laughed sharply. “Onemistake? That’s like calling the maidenvoyage of the Titanic a minor boatingaccident. Alec, you tried to shorten my

life.”“It was just—She offered, but I thought

about it and I couldn’t go through with it—I couldn’t do that to you.”

“But you had to think about it. And younever mentioned it to me.” Magnus shookhis head. “You didn’t trust me. You neverhave.”

“I do,” Alec said. “I will—I’ll try.Give me another chance—”

“No,” Magnus said. “And if I mightgive you a piece of advice: AvoidCamille. There is a war coming,Alexander, and you don’t want yourloyalties to be in question. Do you?”

And with that he turned and walkedaway, his hands in his pockets—walkingslowly, as if he were injured, and not justfrom the cut in his side. But he was

walking away just the same. Alec watchedhim until he moved beyond the glow of thewitchlight and out of sight. The inside of the Institute had been cool inthe summer, but now, with winter welland truly here, Clary thought, it was warm.The nave was bright with rows ofcandelabras, and the stained-glasswindows glowed softly. She let the frontdoor swing shut behind her and headed forthe elevator. She was halfway up thecenter aisle when she heard someonelaughing.

She turned. Isabelle was sitting in oneof the old pews, her long legs slung overthe back of the seats in front of her. Shewore boots that hit her midthigh, slimjeans, and a red sweater that left one

shoulder bare. Her skin was traced withblack designs; Clary remembered whatSebastian had said about not liking itwhen women disfigured their skin withMarks, and shivered inside. “Didn’t youhear me saying your name?” Izzydemanded. “You really can beastonishingly single-minded.”

Clary stopped and leaned against apew. “I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose.”

Isabelle swung her legs down andstood up. The heels on her boots werehigh, making her tower over Clary. “Oh, Iknow. That’s why I said ‘single-minded,’not ‘rude.’”

“Are you here to tell me to go away?”Clary was pleased by the fact that hervoice didn’t shake. She wanted to seeJace. She wanted to see him more than

anything else. But after what she’d beenthrough this past month, she knew thatwhat mattered was that he was alive, andthat he was himself. Everything else wassecondary.

“No,” Izzy said, and started movingtoward the elevator. Clary fell into stepbeside her. “I think the whole thing isridiculous. You saved his life.”

Clary swallowed against the coldfeeling in her throat. “You said there werethings I didn’t understand.”

“There are.” Isabelle punched theelevator button. “Jace can explain them toyou. I came down because I thought therewere a few other things you shouldknow.”

Clary listened for the familiar creak,rattle, and groan of the old cage elevator.

“Like?”“My dad’s back,” Isabelle said, not

meeting Clary’s eyes.“Back for a visit, or back for good?”“For good.” Isabelle sounded calm, but

Clary remembered how hurt she had beenwhen they’d found out Robert had beentrying for the Inquisitor position.“Basically, Aline and Helen saved usfrom getting in real trouble for whathappened in Ireland. When we came tohelp you, we did it without telling theClave. My mom was sure that if we toldthem they’d send fighters to kill Jace. Shecouldn’t do it. I mean, this is our family.”

The elevator arrived with a rattle and acrash before Clary could say anything. Shefollowed the other girl inside, fighting thestrange urge to give Isabelle a hug. She

doubted Izzy would like it.“So Aline told the Consul—who is,

after all, her mother—that there hadn’tbeen any time to notify the Clave, thatshe’d been left behind with strict orders tocall Jia, but there’d been somemalfunction with the telephones and ithadn’t worked. Basically, she lied her buttoff. Anyway, that’s our story, and we’resticking to it. I don’t think Jia believedher, but it doesn’t matter; it’s not like Jiawants to punish Mom. She just had to havesome kind of story she could grab on to soshe didn’t have to sanction us. After all,it’s not like the operation was a disaster.We went in, got Jace out, killed most ofthe dark Nephilim, and got Sebastian onthe run.”

The elevator stopped rising and came

to a crashing halt.“Got Sebastian on the run,” Clary

repeated. “So we have no idea where heis? I thought maybe since I destroyed hisapartment—the dimensional pocket—hecould be tracked.”

“We’ve tried,” said Isabelle.“Wherever he is, he’s still beyond oroutside tracking capabilities. Andaccording to the Silent Brothers, the magicthat Lilith worked—Well, he’s strong,Clary. Really strong. We have to assumehe’s out there, with the Infernal Cup,planning his next move.” She pulled thecage door of the elevator open andstepped out. “Do you think he’ll comeback for you—or Jace?”

Clary hesitated. “Not right away,” shesaid finally. “For him we’re the last parts

of the puzzle. He’ll want everything set upfirst. He’ll want an army. He’ll want to beready. We’re like… the prizes he gets forwinning. And so he doesn’t have to bealone.”

“He must be really lonely,” Isabellesaid. There was no sympathy in her voice;it was only an observation.

Clary thought of him, of the face thatshe’d been trying to forget, that hauntedher nightmares and waking dreams. Youasked me who I belonged to. “You haveno idea.”

They reached the stairs that led to theinfirmary. Isabelle paused, her hand at herthroat. Clary could see the square outlineof her ruby necklace beneath the materialof her sweater. “Clary…”

Clary suddenly felt awkward. She

straightened the hem of her sweater, notwanting to look at Isabelle.

“What’s it like?” Isabelle saidabruptly.

“What’s what like?”“Being in love,” Isabelle said. “How

do you know you are? And how do youknow someone else is in love with you?”

“Um…”“Like Simon,” Isabelle said. “How

could you tell he was in love with you?”“Well,” said Clary. “He said so.”“He said so.”Clary shrugged.“And before that, you had no idea?”“No, I really didn’t,” said Clary,

recalling the moment. “Izzy… if you havefeelings for Simon, or if you want to knowif he has feelings for you… maybe you

should just tell him.”Isabelle fiddled with some nonexistent

lint on her cuff. “Tell him what?”“How you feel about him.”Isabelle looked mutinous. “I shouldn’t

have to.”Clary shook her head. “God. You and

Alec, you’re so alike—”Isabelle’s eyes widened. “We are not!

We are totally not alike. I date around;he’s never dated before Magnus. He getsjealous; I don’t—”

“Everyone gets jealous.” Clary spokewith finality. “And you’re both so stoic.It’s love, not the Battle of Thermopylae.You don’t have to treat everything like it’sa last stand. You don’t have to keepeverything inside.”

Isabelle threw her hands up. “Suddenly

you’re an expert?”“I’m not an expert,” Clary said. “But I

do know Simon. If you don’t saysomething to him, he’s going to assumeit’s because you’re not interested, andhe’ll give up. He needs you, Iz, and youneed him. He just also needs you to be theone to say it.”

Isabelle sighed and whirled to beginmounting the steps. Clary could hear hermuttering as she went. “This is your fault,you know. If you hadn’t broken his heart—”

“Isabelle!”“Well, you did.”“Yeah, and I seem to remember that

when he got turned into a rat, you were theone who suggested we leave him in ratform. Permanently.”

“I did not.”“You did—” Clary broke off. They had

reached the next floor, where a longcorridor stretched in both directions.Before the double doors of the infirmarystood the parchment-robed figure of aSilent Brother, hands folded, face castdown in a meditative stance.

Isabelle indicated him with anexaggerated wave. “There you go,” shesaid. “Good luck getting past him to seeJace.” And she walked off down thecorridor, her boots clicking on thewooden floor.

Clary sighed inwardly and reached forthe stele in her belt. She doubted therewas a glamour rune that could fool aSilent Brother, but perhaps, if she couldget close enough to use a sleep rune on his

skin…Clary Fray. The voice in her head was

amused, and also familiar. It had nosound, but she recognized the shape of thethoughts, the way you might recognize theway someone laughed or breathed.

“Brother Zachariah.” Resignedly sheslid the stele back in place and movedcloser to him, wishing Isabelle had stayedwith her.

I presume you are here to seeJonathan, he said, lifting his head fromthe meditative stance. His face was still inshadow beneath the hood, though shecould see the shape of an angularcheekbone. Despite the orders of theBrotherhood.

“Please call him Jace. It’s tooconfusing otherwise.”

‘Jonathan’ is a fine old Shadowhuntername, the first of names. The Herondaleshave always kept names in the family—

“He wasn’t named by a Herondale,”Clary pointed out. “Though he has adagger of his father’s. It says S.W.H. onthe blade.”

Stephen William Herondale.Clary took another step toward the

doors, and toward Zachariah. “You knowa lot about the Herondales,” she said.“And of all the Silent Brothers, you seemthe most human. Most of them never showany emotion. They’re like statues. But youseem to feel things. You remember yourlife.”

Being a Silent Brother is life, ClaryFray. But if you mean I remember my lifebefore the Brotherhood, I do.

Clary took a deep breath. “Were youever in love? Before the Brotherhood?Was there ever anyone you would havedied for?”

There was a long silence. Then:Two people, said Brother Zachariah.

There are memories that time does noterase, Clarissa. Ask your friend MagnusBane, if you do not believe me. Foreverdoes not make loss forgettable, onlybearable.

“Well, I don’t have forever,” saidClary in a small voice. “Please let me into see Jace.”

Brother Zachariah did not move. Shestill could not see his face, only asuggestion of shadows and planes beneaththe hood of his robe. Only his hands,clasped in front of him.

“Please,” Clary said. Alec swung himself up onto the platformat the City Hall subway station and stalkedtoward the stairs. He had blocked out theimage of Magnus walking away from himwith one thought, and one only:

He was going to kill Camille Belcourt.He strode up the stairs, drawing a

seraph blade from his belt as he went. Thelight here was wavering and dim—heemerged onto the mezzanine below CityHall Park, where tinted glass skylights letin the wintery light. He tucked thewitchlight into his pocket and raised theseraph blade.

“Amriel,” he whispered, and thesword blazed up, a bolt of lightning fromhis hand. He lifted his chin, his gaze

sweeping the lobby. The high-backed sofawas there, but Camille was not on it. He’dsent her a message saying he was coming,but after the way she’d betrayed him, hesupposed he shouldn’t be surprised thatshe hadn’t remained to see him. In a furyhe stalked across the room and kicked thesofa, hard; it went over with a crash ofwood and a puff of dust, one of the legssnapped off.

From the corner of the room came atinkling silver laugh.

Alec whirled, the seraph blade blazingin his hand. The shadows in the cornerswere thick and deep; even Amriel’s lightcould not penetrate them. “Camille?” hesaid, his voice dangerously calm.“Camille Belcourt. Come out here now.”

There was another giggle, and a figure

stepped forth from the darkness. But itwas not Camille.

It was a girl—probably no older thantwelve or thirteen—very thin, wearing apair of ragged jeans and a pink, short-sleeved T-shirt with a glittery unicorn onit. She wore a long pink scarf as well, itsends dabbled in blood. Blood masked thelower half of her face, and stained the hemof her shirt. She looked at Alec with wide,happy eyes.

“I know you,” she breathed, and as shespoke, he saw her needle incisors flash.Vampire. “Alec Lightwood. You’re afriend of Simon’s. I’ve seen you at theconcerts.”

He stared at her. Had he seen herbefore? Perhaps—the flicker of a faceamong the shadows at a bar, one of those

performances Isabelle had dragged him to.He couldn’t be sure. But that didn’t meanhe didn’t know who she was.

“Maureen,” he said. “You’re Simon’sMaureen.”

She looked pleased. “I am,” she said.“I’m Simon’s Maureen.” She looked downat her hands, which were gloved in blood,as if she’d plunged them into a pool of thestuff. And not human blood, either, Alecthought. The dark, ruby-red blood ofvampires. “You’re looking for Camille,”she said in a singsong voice. “But sheisn’t here anymore. Oh, no. She’s gone.”

“She’s gone?” Alec demanded. “Whatdo you mean she’s gone?”

Maureen giggled. “You know howvampire law works, don’t you? Whoeverkills the head of a vampire clan becomes

its leader. And Camille was the head ofthe New York clan. Oh, yes, she was.”

“So—someone killed her?”Maureen burst into a happy peal of

laughter. “Not just someone, silly,” shesaid. “It was me.”

The arched ceiling of the infirmary wasblue, painted with a rococo pattern ofcherubs trailing gold ribbons, and whitedrifting clouds. Rows of metal beds linedthe walls to the left and right, leaving awide aisle down the middle. Two highskylights let in the clear wintery sunlight,though it did little to warm the chillyroom.

Jace was seated on one of the beds,leaning back against a pile of pillows he

had swiped from the other beds. He worejeans, frayed at the hems, and a gray T-shirt. He had a book balanced on hisknees. He looked up as Clary came intothe room, but said nothing as sheapproached his bed.

Clary’s heart had begun to pound. Thesilence felt still, almost oppressive;Jace’s eyes followed her as she reachedthe foot of his bed and stopped there, herhands on the metal footboard. She studiedhis face. So many times she’d tried todraw him, she thought, tried to capture thatineffable quality that made Jace himself,but her fingers had never been able to getwhat she saw down on paper. It was therenow, where it had not been when he wascontrolled by Sebastian—whatever youwanted to call it, soul or spirit, looking

out of his eyes.She tightened her hands on the

footboard. “Jace…”He tucked a lock of pale gold hair

behind his ear. “It’s—did the SilentBrothers tell you it was okay to be inhere?”

“Not exactly.”The corner of his mouth twitched. “So

did you knock them out with a two-by-fourand break in? The Clave looks darkly onthat sort of thing, you know.”

“Wow. You really don’t put anythingpast me, do you?” She moved to sit downon the bed next to him, partly so that theywould be on the same level and partly todisguise the fact that her knees wereshaking.

“I’ve learned not to,” he said, and set

his book aside.She felt the words like a slap. “I didn’t

want to hurt you,” she said, and her voicecame out as almost a whisper. “I’msorry.”

He sat up straight, swinging his legsover the edge of the bed. They were notfar from each other, sharing the same bed,but he was holding himself back; shecould tell. She could tell that there weresecrets at the back of his light eyes, couldfeel his hesitation. She wanted to reachher hand out, but she kept herself still,kept her voice steady. “I never meant tohurt you. And I don’t just mean at theBurren. I mean from the moment you—therea l you—told me what you wanted. Ishould have listened, but all I thoughtabout was saving you, getting you away. I

didn’t listen to you when you said youwanted to turn yourself over to the Clave,and because of it, we both almost woundup like Sebastian. And when I did what Idid with Glorious—Alec and Isabelle,they must have told you the blade wasmeant for Sebastian. But I couldn’t get tohim through the crowd. I just couldn’t.And I thought of what you told me, thatyou’d rather die than live underSebastian’s influence.” Her voice caught.“The real you, I mean. I couldn’t ask you.I had to guess. You have to know it wasawful to hurt you like that. To know thatyou could have died and it would havebeen my hand that held the sword thatkilled you. I would have wanted to die,but I risked your life because I thought itwas what you would have asked for, and

after I’d betrayed you once, I thought Iowed it to you. But if I was wrong…” Shepaused, but he was silent. Her stomachturned over, a sick, wrenching flip. “Then,I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do tomake it up to you. But I wanted you toknow. That I’m sorry.”

She halted again, and this time thesilence stretched out between them, longerand longer, a thread pulled impossiblytight.

“You can talk now,” she blurtedfinally. “In fact, it would be really great ifyou did.”

Jace was looking at her incredulously.“Let me get this straight,” he said. “Youcame here to apologize to me?”

She was taken aback. “Of course Idid.”

“Clary,” he said. “You saved my life.”“I stabbed you. With a massive sword.

You caught on fire.”His lips twitched, almost

imperceptibly. “Okay,” he said. “Somaybe our problems aren’t like othercouples’.” He lifted a hand as if he meantto touch her face, then put it down hastily.“I heard you, you know,” he said moresoftly. “Telling me I wasn’t dead. Askingme to open my eyes.”

They looked at each other in silence forwhat was probably moments but felt likehours to Clary. It was so good to see himlike this, completely himself, that it almosterased the fear that this was all going togo horribly wrong in the next few minutes.Finally Jace spoke.

“Why do you think I fell in love with

you?”It was the last thing she would have

expected him to say. “I don’t—That’s nota fair thing to ask.”

“Seems fair to me,” he said. “Do youthink I don’t know you, Clary? The girlwho walked into a hotel full of vampiresbecause her best friend was there andneeded saving? Who made a Portal andtransported herself to Idris because shehated the idea of being left out of theaction?”

“You yelled at me for that—”“I was yelling at myself,” he said.

“There are ways in which we’re so alike.We’re reckless. We don’t think before weact. We’ll do anything for the people welove. And I never thought how scary thatwas for the people who loved me until I

saw it in you and it terrified me. Howcould I protect you if you wouldn’t letme?” He leaned forward. “That, by theway, is a rhetorical question.”

“Good. Because I don’t needprotecting.”

“I knew you’d say that. But the thing is,sometimes you do. And sometimes I do.We’re meant to protect each other, but notf r o m everything. Not from the truth.That’s what it means to love someone butlet them be themselves.”

Clary looked down at her hands. Shewanted to reach out and touch him sobadly. It was like visiting someone in jail,where you could see them so clearly andso close, but there was unbreakable glassseparating you.

“I fell in love with you,” he said,

“because you were one of the bravestpeople I’d ever known. So how could Iask you to stop being brave just because Iloved you?” He ran his hands through hishair, making it stick up in loops and curlsthat Clary ached to smooth down. “Youcame for me,” he said. “You saved mewhen almost everyone else had given up,and even the people who hadn’t given updidn’t know what to do. You think I don’tknow what you went through?” His eyesdarkened. “How do you imagine I couldpossibly be angry with you?”

“Then, why haven’t you wanted to seeme?”

“Because…” Jace exhaled. “Okay, fairpoint, but there’s something you don’tknow. The sword you used, the one Razielgave to Simon…”

“Glorious,” said Clary. “TheArchangel Michael’s sword. It wasdestroyed.”

“Not destroyed. It went back where itcame from once the heavenly fireconsumed it.” Jace smiled faintly.“Otherwise our Angel would have hadsome serious explaining to do onceMichael found out his buddy Raziel hadlent out his favorite sword to a bunch ofcareless humans. But I digress. Thesword… the way it burned… that was noordinary fire.”

“I guessed that.” Clary wished Jacewould hold out his arm and draw heragainst him. But he seemed to want tokeep space between them, so she stayedwhere she was. It felt like an ache in herbody, to be this close to him and not be

able to touch him.“I wish you hadn’t worn that sweater,”

Jace muttered.“What?” She glanced down. “I thought

you liked this sweater.”“I do,” he said, and shook his head.

“Never mind. That fire—it was Heaven’sfire. The burning bush, the fire andbrimstone, the pillar of fire that wentbefore the children of Israel—that’s thefire we’re talking about. ‘For a fire iskindled in mine anger, and shall burn untothe lowest hell, and shall consume theearth with her increase, and set on fire thefoundations of the mountains.’ That’s thefire that burned away what Lilith had doneto me.” He reached for the hem of his shirtand drew it up. Clary sucked in her breath,for above his heart, on the smooth skin of

his chest, there was no more Mark—andonly a healed white scar where the swordhad gone in.

She reached her hand out, wanting totouch him, but he drew back, shaking hishead. She felt the hurt expression flashacross her face before she could hide it ashe rolled his shirt back down. “Clary,” hesaid. “That fire—it’s still inside me.”

She stared at him. “What do youmean?”

He took a deep breath and held hishands out, palms down. She looked atthem, slim and familiar, the Voyance runeon his right hand faded with white scarslayered over it. As they both watched, hishands began to shake slightly—and then,under Clary’s incredulous eyes, to turntransparent. Like the blade of Glorious

when it had begun to burn, his skin seemedto turn to glass, glass that trapped within ita gold that moved and darkened andburned. She could see the outline of hisskeleton through the transparency of hisskin, golden bones connected by tendonsof fire.

She heard him inhale sharply. Helooked up then, and met her eyes with his.His eyes were gold. They had alwaysbeen gold, but she could swear that nowthat gold lived and burned as well. Hewas breathing hard, and there was sweatshining on his cheeks and collarbones.

“You’re right,” Clary said. “Ourproblems really aren’t like other people’sproblems.”

Jace stared at her incredulously.Slowly he closed his hands into fists, and

the fire vanished, leaving only hisordinary, familiar, unharmed handsbehind. Half-choking on a laugh, he said,“That’s what you have to say?”

“No. I have a lot more to say. What’sgoing on? Are your hands weapons now?Are you the Human Torch? What on earth—”

“I don’t know what the human torch is,but—All right, look, the Silent Brothershave told me that I carry the heavenly fireinside me now. Inside my veins. In mysoul. When I first woke up, I felt like Iwas breathing in fire. Alec and Isabellethought it was just a temporary effect ofthe sword, but when it didn’t go away andthe Silent Brothers were called in, BrotherZachariah said he didn’t know howtemporary it would be. And I burned him

—he was touching my hand when he saidit, and I felt a jolt of energy go throughme.”

“A bad burn?”“No. Minor. But still—”“That’s why you won’t touch me,”

Clary realized aloud. “You’re afraidyou’ll burn me.”

He nodded. “No one’s ever seenanything like this, Clary. Not before. Notever. The sword didn’t kill me. But it leftthis—this piece of something deadlyinside me. Something so powerful itwould probably kill an ordinary human,maybe even an ordinary Shadowhunter.”He took a deep breath. “The SilentBrothers are working on how I mightcontrol it, or get rid of it. But as you mightimagine, I’m not their first priority.”

“Because Sebastian is. You heard Idestroyed that apartment. I know he hasother ways of getting around, but…”

“That’s my girl. But he has backups.Other hiding places. I don’t know whatthey are. He never told me.” He leanedforward, close enough that she could seethe changing colors in his eyes. “Since Iwoke up, the Silent Brothers have beenwith me practically every minute. Theyhad to perform the ceremony on me again,the one that gets performed onShadowhunters when they’re born to keepthem safe. And then they went into mymind. Searching, trying to pull out anysnippet of information about Sebastian,anything I might know and not remember Iknew. But—” Jace shook his head infrustration. “There just isn’t anything. I

knew his plans through the ceremony at theBurren. Beyond that, I have no idea whathe’s going to do next. Where he mightstrike. They do know he’s been workingwith demons, so they’re shoring up thewards, especially around Idris. But I feellike there’s one useful thing we might havegotten out of all this—some secretknowledge on my part—and we don’teven have that.”

“But if you did know anything, Jace, hewould just change his plans,” Claryobjected. “He knows he lost you. You twowere tied together. I heard him screamwhen I stabbed you.” She shivered. “Itwas this horrible lost sound. He really didcare about you in some strange way, Ithink. And even though the whole thingwas awful, both of us got something out of

it that might turn out to be useful.”“Which is… ?”“We understand him. I mean, as much

as anyone can ever understand him. Andthat’s not something he can erase with achange of plans.”

Jace nodded slowly. “You know whoelse I feel like I understand now? Myfather.”

“Valen—no,” Clary said, watching hisexpression. “You mean Stephen.”

“I’ve been looking at his letters. Thethings in the box Amatis gave me. Hewrote a letter to me, you know, that hemeant me to read after he died. He told meto be a better man than he was.”

“You are,” Clary said. “In thosemoments in the apartment when you wereyou, you cared about doing the right thing

more than you cared about your own life.”“I know,” Jace said, glancing down at

his scarred knuckles. “That’s the strangething. I know. I had so much doubt aboutmyself, always, but now I know thedifference. Between myself and Sebastian.Between myself and Valentine. Even thedifference between the two of them.Valentine honestly believed he was doingthe right thing. He hated demons. But toSebastian, the creature he thinks of as hismother is one. He would happily rule arace of dark Shadowhunters who did thebidding of demons, while the ordinaryhumans of this world were slaughtered forthe demons’ pleasure. Valentine stillbelieved it was the mandate ofShadowhunters to protect human beings;Sebastian thinks they’re cockroaches. And

he doesn’t want to protect anyone. He onlywants what he wants at the moment hewants it. And the only real thing he everfeels is annoyance when he’s thwarted.”

Clary wondered. She had seenSebastian looking at Jace, even at herself,and knew there was some part of him asechoingly lonely as the blackest void ofspace. Loneliness drove him as much as adesire for power—loneliness and a needto be loved without any correspondingunderstanding that love was something youearned. But all she said was, “Well, let’sget with the thwarting, then.”

A smile ghosted across his face. “Youknow I want to beg you to stay out of this,right? It’s going to be a vicious battle.More vicious than I think the Clave evenbegins to understand.”

“But you’re not going to do that,” Clarysaid. “Because that would make you anidiot.”

“You mean because we need your runepowers?”

“Well, that, and—Did you not listen toanything you just said? That wholebusiness about protecting each other?”

“I will have you know I practiced thatspeech. In front of a mirror before you gothere.”

“So what do you think it meant?”“I’m not sure,” Jace admitted, “but I

know I look damn good delivering it.”“God, I forgot how annoying the un-

possessed you is,” Clary muttered. “NeedI remind you that you said that you have toaccept you can’t protect me fromeverything? The only way that we can

protect each other is if we are together. Ifwe face things together. If we trust eachother.” She looked him directly in the eye.“I shouldn’t have stopped you from goingto the Clave by calling for Sebastian. Ishould respect the decisions you make.And you should respect mine. Becausewe’re going to be together a long time,and that’s the only way it’s going towork.”

His hand inched toward her on theblanket. “Being under Sebastian’sinfluence,” he said, hoarsely. “It seemslike a bad dream to me, now. That insaneplace—those closets of clothes for yourmother—”

“So you remember.” She almostwhispered it.

His fingertips touched hers, and she

almost jumped. Both of them held theirbreath while he touched her; she didn’tmove, watching as his shoulders slowlyrelaxed and the anxious look left his face.“I remember everything,” he said. “Iremember the boat in Venice. The club inPrague. That night in Paris, when I wasmyself.”

She felt the blood rush up under herskin, making her face burn.

“In some ways, we’ve been throughsomething no one else can ever understandbut the two of us,” he said. “And it mademe realize. We are always and absolutelybetter together.” He raised his face tohers. He was pale, and fire flickered inhis eyes. “I am going to kill Sebastian,” hesaid. “I am going to kill him for what hedid to me, and what he did to you, and

what he did to Max. I am going to kill himbecause of what he has done, and what hewill do. The Clave wants him dead, andthey will hunt him. But I want my hand tobe the one that cuts him down.”

She reached out then, and put her handon his cheek. He shuddered, and half-closed his eyes. She had expected his skinto be warm, but it was cool to the touch.“And what if I’m the one who kills him?”

“My heart is your heart,” he said. “Myhands are your hands.”

His eyes were the color of honey andslid as slowly as honey over her body ashe looked her up and down as if for thefirst time since she’d come into the room,from her windblown hair to her bootedfeet, and back again. When their gaze metagain, Clary’s mouth was dry.

“Do you remember,” he said, “whenwe first met and I told you I was ninetypercent sure putting a rune on youwouldn’t kill you—and you slapped me inthe face and told me it was for the otherten percent?”

Clary nodded.“I always figured a demon would kill

me,” he said. “A rogue Downworlder. Abattle. But I realized then that I just mightdie if I didn’t get to kiss you, and soon.”

Clary licked her dry lips. “Well, youdid,” she said. “Kiss me, I mean.”

He reached up and took a curl of herhair between his fingers. He was closeenough that she could feel the warmth ofhis body, smell his soap and skin and hair.“Not enough,” he said, letting her hair slipthrough his fingers. “If I kiss you all day

every day for the rest of my life, it won’tbe enough.”

He bent his head. She couldn’t helptilting her own face up. Her mind was fullof the memory of Paris, holding on to himas if it would be the last time she everheld him, and it almost had been. The wayhe had tasted, felt, breathed. She couldhear him breathing now. His eyelashestickled her cheek. Their lips weremillimeters apart and then not apart at all,they brushed lightly and then with firmerpressure; they leaned in to each other—

And Clary felt a spark—not painful,more like a fillip of mild static electricity—pass between them. Jace drew quicklyaway. He was flushed. “We may need towork on that.”

Clary’s mind was still whirling.

“Okay.”He was staring straight ahead, still

breathing hard. “I have something I wantto give you.”

“I gathered that.”At that he jerked his gaze back to hers

and—almost reluctantly—grinned. “Notthat.” He reached down into the collar ofhis shirt and drew out the Morgensternring on its chain. He pulled it over hishead and, leaning forward, dropped itlightly into her hand. It was warm from hisskin. “Alec got it back from Magnus forme. Will you wear it again?”

Her hand closed around it. “Always.”His grin softened to a smile, and,

daring, she put her head on his shoulder.She felt his breath catch, but he didn’tmove. At first he sat still, but slowly the

tension drained from his body and theyleaned together. It wasn’t hot and heavy,but it was companionable and sweet.

He cleared his throat. “You know thismeans that what we did—what we almostdid in Paris—”

“Going to the Eiffel Tower?”He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“You never let me off the hook for a singleminute, do you? Never mind. It’s one ofthe things I love about you. Anyway, thatother thing we almost did in Paris—that’sprobably off the table for a while. Unlessyou want that whole baby-I’m-on-fire-when-we kiss thing to become freakishlyliteral.”

“No kissing?”“Well, kissing, probably. But as for the

rest of it…”

She brushed her cheek lightly againsthis. “It’s okay with me if it’s okay withyou.”

“Of course it’s not okay with me. I’m ateenage boy. As far as I’m concerned, thisis the worst thing that’s happened since Ifound out why Magnus was banned fromPeru.” His eyes softened. “But it doesn’tchange what we are to each other. It’s likethere’s always been a piece of my soulmissing, and it’s inside you, Clary. I knowI told you once that whether God exists ornot, we’re on our own. But when I’m withyou, I’m not.”

She closed her eyes so he wouldn’t seeher tears—happy tears, for the first time ina long time now. Despite everything,despite the fact that Jace’s hands remainedcarefully together in his lap, Clary felt a

sense of relief so overwhelming that itdrowned out everything else—the worryabout where Sebastian was, the fear of anunknown future—everything receded intothe background. None of it mattered. Theywere together, and Jace was himselfagain. She felt him turn his head andlightly kiss her hair.

“ I really wish you hadn’t worn thatsweater,” he muttered into her ear.

“It’s good practice for you,” shereplied, her lips moving against his skin.“Tomorrow, fishnets.”

Against her side, warm and familiar,she felt him laugh.

“Brother Enoch,” said Maryse, rising frombehind her desk. “Thank you for joining

me and Brother Zachariah here on suchshort notice.”

Is this in regards to Jace? Zachariahinquired, and if Maryse had not knownbetter, she would have imagined a tinge ofanxiety in his mental voice. I havechecked in on him several times today.His condition has not changed.

Enoch shifted within his robes. And Ihave been looking through the archivesand the ancient documentation on thetopic of Heaven’s fire. There is someinformation about the manner in which itmay be released, but you must be patient.There is no need to call on us. Should wehave news, we will call on you.

“This is not about Jace,” said Maryse,and she moved around the desk, her heelsclicking on the stone floor of the library.

“This is about something else entirely.”She glanced down. A rug had beencarelessly tossed across the floor, whereno rug usually rested. It did not lie flat butwas draped over an irregular humpedshape. It obscured the delicate pattern oftiles that outlined the shape of the Cup, theSword, and the Angel. She reached down,took hold of a corner of the rug, andyanked it aside.

The Silent Brothers did not gasp, ofcourse; they could make no sound. But acacophony filled Maryse’s mind, thepsychic echo of their shock and horror.Brother Enoch took a step back, whileBrother Zachariah raised one long-fingered hand to cover his face, as if hecould block his ruined eyes from the sightbefore him.

“It was not here this morning,” saidMaryse. “But when I returned thisafternoon, it awaited me.”

At the very first glimpse she hadthought that some kind of large bird hadfound its way into the library and died,perhaps breaking its neck against one ofthe tall windows. But as she had movedcloser, the truth of what she was lookingat had dawned on her. She said nothing ofthe visceral shock of despair that had gonethrough her like an arrow, or the way shehad staggered to the window and beensick out of it the moment she’d realizedwhat she was looking at.

A pair of white wings—not quitewhite, really, but an amalgamation ofcolors that shifted and flickered as shelooked at it: pale silver, streaks of violet,

dark blue, each feather outlined in gold.And then, there at the root, an ugly gash ofsheared-off bone and sinew. Angel’swings—angel’s wings that had beensliced from the body of a living angel.Angelic ichor, the color of liquid gold,smeared the floor.

Atop the wings was a folded piece ofpaper, addressed to the New YorkInstitute. After splashing water on herface, Maryse had taken the letter and readit. It was short—one sentence—and wassigned with a name in a handwriting oddlyfamiliar to her, for in it there was the echoof Valentine’s cursive, the flourishes ofhis letters, the strong, steady hand. But itwas not Valentine’s name. It was hisson’s.

Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern.

She held it out now to BrotherZachariah. He took it from her fingers andopened it, reading, as she had, the singleword of Ancient Greek scrawled inelaborate script across the top of the page.

Erchomai, it said.I am coming.

NOTES

Magnus’s Latin invocation on page 237that raises Azazel, beginning “Quodtumeraris: per Jehovam, Gehennam,” istaken from The Tragical History ofDoctor Faustus by Christopher Marlowe.

The snippets of the ballad Magnuslistens to in the car on pages 391–393 aretaken with permission from “Alack, for ICan Get No Play” by Elka Cloke.elkacloke.com

The T-shirt CLEARLY I HAVE MADESOME BAD DECISIONS is inspired by myfriend Jeph Jacques’s comic atquestionable content.net. The T-shirts canbe purchased at topatoco.com. The idea ofMagical Love Gentleman also belongs to

him.

Acknowledgments

As always, I must thank my family: myhusband, Josh; my mother and father, aswell as Jim Hill and Kate Connor;Melanie, Jonathan, and Helen Lewis;Florence and Joyce. Many thanks to earlyreaders and critiquers Holly Black, SarahRees Brennan, Delia Sherman, GavinGrant, Kelly Link, Ellen Kushner, andSarah Smith. Special credit due to Holly,Sarah, Maureen Johnson, RobinWasserman, Cristi Jacques, and PaoloBacigalupi for helping me block scenes.Maureen, Robin, Holly, Sarah, you arealways there for me to complain to—youare stars. Thank you to Martange for helpwith French translations and to my

Indonesian fans for Magnus’s declarationto Alec. Wayne Miller, as always,assisted with Latin translations, andAspasia Diafa and Rachel Kory gaveextra assistance with ancient Greek.Invaluable help came from my agent,Barry Goldblatt, my editor, KarenWojtyla; and her partner in crime EmilyFabre. My thanks to Cliff Nielson andRussell Gordon, for making a beautifulcover, and to the teams at Simon andSchuster and Walker Books for making therest of the magic happen.

City of Lost Souls was written with theprogram Scrivener, in the town of Goult,France.

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