THEMORTALINSTRUMENTSBookThree

CityofGlass

MargaretK.McElderryBooksAnimprintofSimon&SchusterChildren’sPublishingDivision1230AvenueoftheAmericas,NewYork,NewYork10020

Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Anyreferencestohistoricalevents,realpeople,orreallocalesareusedfictitiously.Othernames,characters,places,andincidentsareproductsoftheauthor’simagination,andanyresemblancetoactualeventsorlocalesorpersons,

livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.

Copyright©2009byCassandraClaire,LLC

Allrightsreserved,includingtherightofreproductioninwholeorinpartinanyform.

LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationDataClare,Cassandra.

Cityofglass/CassandraClare.—1sted.p.cm.—(Themortalinstruments;bk.3)

Summary:Stillpursuingacureforhermother’senchantment,ClaryusesallherpowersandingenuitytogetintoIdris,theforbiddencountryofthesecretiveShadowhunters,and

toitscapital,theCityofGlass,wherewiththehelpofanewfoundfriend,Sebastian,sheuncoversimportanttruthsaboutherfamily’spastthatwillhelpsavenotonlyhermother

butallthosethatsheholdsmostdear.

ISBN-13:978-1-4391-5842-5ISBN-10:1-4391-5842-8

[1.Supernatural—Fiction.2.Demonology—Fiction.3.Magic—Fiction.4.Vampires—Fiction.5.NewYork(N.Y.)—Fiction.]I.Title.

PZ7.C5265Ckg2009[Fic]—dc222008039065

VisitusontheWorldWideWeb:http://www.SimonSays.com[http://www.SimonSays.com]

Formymother.“Ionlycountthehoursthatshine.”

Acknowledgments

Whenyoulookbackonwritingabook,youcan’thelpbutrealizewhatagroupeffortitallis,andhowquicklythewholethingwouldsinkliketheTitanicifyoudidn’thavethehelpofyour friends.With that inmind:Thanks to theNBTeamand theMassachusettsAll-Stars; thanks toElka,Emily,andClioforhoursofplottinghelp,andtoHollyBlackforhours of patiently reading the same scenes over and over.ToLibbaBray for providingbagels and a couch to write on, RobinWasserman for distracting me with clips fromGossipGirl,MaureenJohnsonforstaringatmeinafrighteningwaywhileIwastryingtowork,andJustineLarbalestierandScottWesterfeldforforcingmetogetoffthecouchandgo somewhere to write. Thanks also to Ioana for helping me with my (nonexistent)Romanian.Thanksasalwaystomyagent,BarryGoldblatt;myeditor,KarenWojtyla;theteams atSimon&Schuster andWalkerBooks for gettingbehind this series, andSarahPayneformakingchangeslongpastdeadline.Andofcoursetomyfamily—mymother,

my father, Jim andKate, theEsons clan, and of course Josh,who still thinksSimon isbasedonhim(andhemayberight).

LongisthewayAndhard,thatoutofHellleadsuptoLight.

—JohnMilton,ParadiseLost

Contents

PartOneSparksFlyUpward

1THEPORTAL

2THEDEMONTOWERSOFALICANTE

3AMATIS

4DAYLIGHTER

5APROBLEMOFMEMORY

6BADBLOOD

7WHEREANGELSFEARTOTREAD

8ONEOFTHELIVING

9THISGUILTYBLOOD

PartTwoStarsShineDarkly

10FIREANDSWORD

11ALLTHEHOSTOFHELL

12DEPROFUNDIS

13WHERETHEREISSORROW

14INTHEDARKFOREST

15THINGSFALLAPART

PartThreeTheWaytoHeaven

16ARTICLESOFFAITH

17THESHADOWHUNTER’STALE

18HAILANDFAREWELL

19PENIEL

20WEIGHEDINTHEBALANCE

EpilogueAcrosstheSkyinStars

PartOne

SparksFlyUpward

Manisborntotroubleasthesparksflyupward.

—Job5:7

1

THEPORTAL

Thecold snapof thepreviousweekwasover; the sunwas shiningbrightlyasClaryhurried acrossLuke’sdusty front yard, thehoodofher jacket up tokeepherhair fromblowingacrossher face.Theweathermighthavewarmedup,but thewindoff theEastRiver could still be brutal. It carried with it a faint chemical smell, mixed with theBrooklynsmellofasphalt,gasoline,andburnedsugarfromtheabandonedfactorydownthestreet.

Simonwaswaitingforheronthefrontporch,sprawledinabroken-springedarmchair.Hehad hisDS balanced on his blue-jeaned knees andwas poking away at it industriouslywith the stylus. “Score,” he said as she came up the steps. “I’m kicking butt atMarioKart.”

Clarypushedherhoodback,shakinghairoutofhereyes,andrummagedinherpocketforherkeys.“Wherehaveyoubeen?I’vebeencallingyouallmorning.”

Simongot to his feet, shoving the blinking rectangle into hismessenger bag. “Iwas atEric’s.Bandpractice.”

Clarystoppedjigglingthekeyinthelock—italwaysstuck—longenoughtofrownathim.“Bandpractice?Youmeanyou’restill—”

“Intheband?Whywouldn’tIbe?”Hereachedaroundher.“Here,letmedoit.”

Clary stood still while Simon expertly twisted the key with just the right amount ofpressure,makingthestubbornoldlockspringopen.Hishandbrushedhers;hisskinwascool,thetemperatureoftheairoutside.Sheshiveredalittle.They’donlycalledofftheirattemptataromanticrelationshiplastweek,andshestillfeltconfusedwhenevershesawhim.

“Thanks.”Shetookthekeybackwithoutlookingathim.

Itwashotinthelivingroom.Claryhungherjacketuponthepeginsidethefronthallandheadedtothesparebedroom,Simontrailinginherwake.Shefrowned.Hersuitcasewasopenlikeaclamshellonthebed,herclothesandsketchbooksstrewneverywhere.

“IthoughtyouwerejustgoingtobeinIdrisacoupleofdays,”Simonsaid,takinginthemesswithalookoffaintdismay.

“Iam,butIcan’tfigureoutwhattopack.Ihardlyownanydressesorskirts,butwhatifIcan’twearpantsthere?”

“Whywouldn’tyoubeabletowearpantsthere?It’sanothercountry,notanothercentury.”

“ButtheShadowhuntersaresoold-fashioned,andIsabellealwayswearsdresses—”Clarybrokeoffandsighed.“It’snothing.I’mjustprojectingallmyanxietyaboutmymomontomywardrobe.Let’stalkaboutsomethingelse.Howwaspractice?Stillnobandname?”

“It was fine.” Simon hopped onto the desk, legs dangling over the side. “We’re

consideringanewmotto.Somethingironic,like‘We’veseenamillionfacesandrockedabouteightypercentofthem.’”

“HaveyoutoldEricandtherestofthemthat—”

“ThatI’mavampire?No.Itisn’tthesortofthingyoujustdropintocasualconversation.”

“Maybenot,butthey’reyourfriends.Theyshouldknow.Andbesides,they’lljustthinkitmakesyoumoreofarockgod,likethatvampireLester.”

“Lestat,”Simonsaid.“Thatwouldbe thevampireLestat.Andhe’s fictional.Anyway, Idon’tseeyourunningtotellallyourfriendsthatyou’reaShadowhunter.”

“Whatfriends?You’remyfriend.”ShethrewherselfdownontothebedandlookedupatSimon.“AndItoldyou,didn’tI?”

“Becauseyouhadnochoice.”Simonputhishead to theside,studyingher; thebedsidelightreflectedoffhiseyes,turningthemsilver.“I’llmissyouwhileyou’regone.”

“I’llmissyou, too,”Clarysaid,althoughherskinwaspricklingalloverwithanervousanticipationthatmadeithardtoconcentrate.I’mgoingtoIdris!hermindsang.I’llseetheShadowhunterhomecountry,theCityofGlass.I’llsavemymother.

AndI’llbewithJace.

Simon’s eyes flashed as if he couldhearher thoughts, but his voicewas soft. “Tellmeagain—whydoyouhavetogotoIdris?Whycan’tMadeleineandLuketakecareofthiswithoutyou?”

“Mymomgotthespellthatputherinthisstatefromawarlock—RagnorFell.Madeleinesayswe need to track him down ifwewant to know how to reverse the spell. But hedoesn’tknowMadeleine.Heknewmymom,andMadeleinethinkshe’lltrustmebecauseI look so much like her. And Luke can’t come with me. He could come to Idris, butapparentlyhecan’tgetintoAlicantewithoutpermissionfromtheClave,andtheywon’tgiveit.Anddon’tsayanythingabout it tohim,please—he’sreallynothappyaboutnotgoingwithme.Ifhehadn’tknownMadeleinebefore,Idon’tthinkhe’dletmegoatall.”

“ButtheLightwoodswillbetheretoo.AndJace.They’llbehelpingyou.Imean,Jacedidsayhe’dhelpyou,didn’the?Hedoesn’tmindyoucomingalong?”

“Sure,he’llhelpme,”Clarysaid.“Andofcoursehedoesn’tmind.He’sfinewithit.”

Butthat,sheknew,wasalie.

Clary had gone straight to the Insititute after she’d talked toMadeleine at the hospital.

Jacehadbeenthefirstoneshe’dtoldhermother’ssecretto,beforeevenLuke.Andhe’dstood there and stared at her, getting paler andpaler as she spoke, as if sheweren’t somuch tellinghimhowshecouldsavehermotherasdraining thebloodoutofhimwithcruelslowness.

“You’renotgoing,”hesaidassoonasshe’dfinished.“IfIhavetotieyouupandsitonyouuntilthisinsanewhimofyourspasses,youarenotgoingtoIdris.”

Claryfeltasifhe’dslappedher.Shehadthoughthe’dbepleased.She’drunallthewayfrom the hospital to the Institute to tell him, and here hewas standing in the entrywayglaringatherwithalookofgrimdeath.“Butyou’regoing.”

“Yes,we’regoing.Wehavetogo.TheClave’scalledeveryactiveClavememberwhocanbesparedbacktoIdrisforamassiveCouncilmeeting.They’regoingtovoteonwhattodoaboutValentine,andsincewe’rethelastpeoplewho’veseenhim—”

Clarybrushedthisaside.“Soifyou’regoing,whycan’tIgowithyou?”

The straightforwardness of the question seemed tomake him even angrier. “Because itisn’tsafeforyouthere.”

“Oh,and it’ssosafehere?I’venearlybeenkilledadozen times in thepastmonth,andeverytimeit’sbeenrighthereinNewYork.”

“That’sbecauseValentine’sbeenconcentratingon the twoMortal Instruments thatwerehere.”Jacespokethroughgrittedteeth.“He’sgoingtoshifthisfocustoIdrisnow,weallknowit—”

“We’rehardlyascertainofanythingasall that,”saidMaryseLightwood.Shehadbeenstanding in the shadow of the corridor doorway, unseen by either of them; shemovedforwardnow,intotheharshentrywaylights.Theyilluminatedthelinesofexhaustionthatseemed to draw her face down. Her husband, Robert Lightwood, had been injured bydemonpoisonduring thebattle lastweekandhadneededconstantnursing since;Clarycouldonly imaginehowtiredshemustbe.“AndtheClavewants tomeetClarissa.Youknowthat,Jace.”

“TheClavecanscrewitself.”

“Jace,”Marysesaid,soundinggenuinelyparentalforachange.“Language.”

“TheClavewantsalotofthings,”Jaceamended.“Itshouldn’tnecessarilygetthemall.”

Maryse shot him a look, as if she knew exactly what he was talking about and didn’tappreciateit.“TheClaveisoftenright,Jace.It’snotunreasonableforthemtowanttotalktoClary,afterwhatshe’sbeenthrough.Whatshecouldtellthem—”

“I’lltellthemwhatevertheywanttoknow,”Jacesaid.

MarysesighedandturnedherblueeyesonClary.“SoyouwanttogotoIdris,Itakeit?”

“Justforafewdays.Iwon’tbeanytrouble,”Clarysaid,gazingentreatinglypastJace’swhite-hotglareatMaryse.“Iswear.”

“The question isn’t whether you’ll be any trouble; the question is whether you’ll bewillingtomeetwiththeClavewhileyou’rethere.Theywanttotalktoyou.Ifyousayno,Idoubtwecangettheauthorizationtobringyouwithus.”

“No—,”Jacebegan.

“I’ll meet with the Clave,” Clary interrupted, though the thought sent a ripple of colddownher spine.Theonlyemissaryof theClave she’dknownso farwas the Inquisitor,whohadn’texactlybeenpleasanttobearound.

Maryse rubbed at her templeswith her fingertips. “Then it’s settled.” She didn’t soundsettled,though;shesoundedastenseandfragileasanovertightenedviolinstring.“Jace,showClaryoutandthencomeseemeinthelibrary.Ineedtotalktoyou.”

Shedisappearedbackintotheshadowswithoutevenawordoffarewell.Clarystaredafterher, feeling as if she’d just been drenched with ice water. Alec and Isabelle seemedgenuinelyfondoftheirmother,andshewassureMarysewasn’tabadperson,really,butshewasn’texactlywarm.

Jace’smouthwasahardline.“Nowlookwhatyou’vedone.”

“IneedtogotoIdris,evenifyoucan’tunderstandwhy,”Clarysaid.“Ineedtodothisformymother.”

“MarysetruststheClavetoomuch,”saidJace.“Shehastobelievethey’reperfect,andIcan’ttellhertheyaren’t,because—”Hestoppedabruptly.

“Becausethat’ssomethingValentinewouldsay.”

Sheexpectedanexplosion,but“Noone isperfect”wasallhesaid.Hereachedoutandstabbedattheelevatorbuttonwithhisindexfinger.“NoteventheClave.”

Clarycrossedherarmsoverherchest. “Is that reallywhyyoudon’twantme tocome?Becauseitisn’tsafe?”

Aflickerofsurprisecrossedhisface.“Whatdoyoumean?Whyelsewouldn’tIwantyoutocome?”

She swallowed. “Because—” Because you told me you don’t have feelings for meanymore,andyousee, that’sveryawkward,becauseIstillhave themforyou.AndIbetyouknowit.

“BecauseIdon’twantmylittlesisterfollowingmeeverywhere?”Therewasasharpnote

inhisvoice,halfmockery,halfsomethingelse.

Theelevatorarrivedwithaclatter.Pushingthegateaside,ClarysteppedintoitandturnedtofaceJace.“I’mnotgoingbecauseyou’llbethere.I’mgoingbecauseIwanttohelpmymother.Ourmother.Ihavetohelpher.Don’tyougetit?IfIdon’tdothis,shemightneverwakeup.Youcouldatleastpretendyoucarealittlebit.”

Jaceputhishandsonhershoulders,hisfingertipsbrushingthebareskinattheedgeofhercollar,sendingpointless,helplessshiversthroughhernerves.Therewereshadowsbelowhiseyes,Clarynoticedwithoutwantingto,anddarkhollowsunderhischeekbones.Theblacksweaterhewaswearingonlymadehisbruise-markedskinstandoutmore,andthedarklashes,too;hewasastudyincontrasts,somethingtobepaintedinshadesofblack,white,andgray,withsplashesofgoldhereandthere,likehiseyes,foranaccentcolor—

“Letmedoit.”Hisvoicewassoft,urgent.“Icanhelpherforyou.Tellmewheretogo,whotoask.I’llgetwhatyouneed.”

“MadeleinetoldthewarlockI’dbetheonecoming.He’llbeexpectingJocelyn’sdaughter,notJocelyn’sson.”

Jace’shandstightenedonhershoulders.“Sotellhertherewasachangeofplans.I’llbegoing,notyou.Notyou.”

“Jace—”

“I’lldowhatever,”hesaid.“Whateveryouwant,ifyoupromisetostayhere.”

“Ican’t.”

Heletgoofher,asifshe’dpushedhimaway.“Whynot?”

“Because,”shesaid,“she’smymother,Jace.”

“Andmine.” His voice was cold. “In fact, why didn’tMadeleine approach both of usaboutthis?Whyjustyou?”

“Youknowwhy.”

“Because,” he said, and this time he sounded even colder, “to her you’re Jocelyn’sdaughter.ButI’llalwaysbeValentine’sson.”

Heslammedthegateshutbetweenthem.Foramomentshestaredathimthroughit—themeshofthegatedivideduphisfaceintoaseriesofdiamondshapes,outlinedinmetal.Asinglegoldeneyestaredatherthroughonediamond,furiousangerflickeringinitsdepths.

“Jace—,”shebegan.

Butwithajerkandaclatter,theelevatorwasalreadymoving,carryingherdownintothe

darksilenceofthecathedral.

“EarthtoClary.”Simonwavedhishandsather.“Youawake?”

“Yeah,sorry.”Shesatup,shakingherheadtoclearitofcobwebs.Thathadbeenthelasttimeshe’dseenJace.Hehadn’tpickedupthephonewhenshe’dcalledhimafterward,soshe’dmadeallherplanstotraveltoIdriswiththeLightwoodsusingAlecasreluctantandembarrassedpointperson.PoorAlec,stuckbetweenJaceandhismother,alwaystryingtodotherightthing.“Didyousaysomething?”

“JustthatIthinkLukeisback,”Simonsaid,andjumpedoffthedeskjustasthebedroomdooropened.“Andheis.”

“Hey,Simon.”Lukesoundedcalm,maybealittletired—hewaswearingabattereddenimjacket,a flannelshirt,andoldcords tucked intoboots that looked like they’dseen theirbestdays tenyearsago.Hisglasseswerepushedup intohisbrownhair,whichseemedfleckedwithmoregraynowthanClaryremembered.Therewasasquarepackageunderhisarm,tiedwithalengthofgreenribbon.HehelditouttoClary.“Igotyousomethingforyourtrip.”

“Youdidn’thavetodothat!”Claryprotested.“You’vedonesomuch….”Shethoughtoftheclotheshe’dboughtheraftereverythingsheownedhadbeendestroyed.He’dgivenheranewphone,newart supplies,withouteverhaving tobeasked.Almosteverythingsheownednowwas a gift fromLuke.And youdon’t evenapproveof the fact that I’mgoing.Thatlastthoughthungunspokenbetweenthem.

“Iknow.ButIsawit,andIthoughtofyou.”Hehandedoverthebox.

Theobject insidewas swathed in layersof tissuepaper.Clary tore through it, herhandseizingonsomethingsoftaskitten’sfur.Shegavealittlegasp.Itwasabottle-greenvelvetcoat,old-fashioned,withagoldsilk lining,brassbuttons,andawidehood.Shedrewitonto her lap, smoothing her hands lovingly down the soft material. “It looks likesomethingIsabellewouldwear,”sheexclaimed.“LikeaShadowhuntertravelingcloak.”

“Exactly. Now you’ll be dressedmore like one of them,” Luke said. “When you’re inIdris.”

Shelookedupathim.“Doyouwantmetolooklikeoneofthem?”

“Clary,youareoneofthem.”Hissmilewastingedwithsadness.“Besides,youknowhowtheytreatoutsiders.Anythingyoucandotofitin…”

Simonmadeanoddnoise, andClary lookedguiltily at him—she’dalmost forgottenhewasthere.Hewaslookingstudiouslyathiswatch.“Ishouldgo.”

“Butyoujustgothere!”Claryprotested.“Ithoughtwecouldhangout,watchamovieorsomething—”

“Youneedtopack.”Simonsmiled,brightassunshineafterrain.Shecouldalmostbelievetherewasnothingbotheringhim.“I’llcomebylatertosaygood-byebeforeyougo.”

“Oh,comeon,”Claryprotested.“Stay—”

“Ican’t.”Histonewasfinal.“I’mmeetingMaia.”

“Oh.Great,”Clarysaid.Maia,shetoldherself,wasnice.Shewassmart.Shewaspretty.Shewasalsoawerewolf.AwerewolfwithacrushonSimon.Butmaybe thatwasas itshould be. Maybe his new friend should be a Downworlder. After all, he was aDownworlder himself now. Technically, he shouldn’t even be spending time withShadowhunterslikeClary.“Iguessyou’dbettergo,then.”

“I guess I’d better.” Simon’s dark eyeswere unreadable. This was new—she’d alwaysbeenabletoreadSimonbefore.Shewonderedifitwasasideeffectofthevampirism,orsomething else entirely. “Good-bye,” he said, and bent as if to kiss her on the cheek,sweeping her hair back with one of his hands. Then he paused and drew back, hisexpression uncertain. She frowned in surprise, but he was already gone, brushing pastLukeinthedoorway.Sheheardthefrontdoorbanginthedistance.

“He’s acting so weird,” she exclaimed, hugging the velvet coat against herself forreassurance.“Doyouthinkit’sthewholevampirething?”

“Probablynot.”Lukelookedfaintlyamused.“BecomingaDownworlderdoesn’tchangethewayyoufeelaboutthings.Orpeople.Givehimtime.Youdidbreakupwithhim.”

“Ididnot.Hebrokeupwithme.”

“Because you weren’t in love with him. That’s an iffy proposition, and I think he’shandling it with grace. A lot of teenage boys would sulk, or lurk around under yourwindowwithaboombox.”

“Noonehasaboomboxanymore.Thatwastheeighties.”Claryscrambledoff thebed,pullingthecoaton.Shebuttonedituptotheneck,luxuriatinginthesoftfeelofthevelvet.“I justwantSimon togoback tonormal.”Sheglancedatherself in themirrorandwaspleasantly surprised—thegreenmadeher redhair standoutandbrightened thecolorofhereyes.SheturnedtoLuke.“Whatdoyouthink?”

Hewas leaningin thedoorwaywithhishands inhispockets;ashadowpassedoverhisfaceashelookedather.“Yourmotherhadacoatjustlikethatwhenshewasyourage,”wasallhesaid.

Claryclutchedthecuffsofthecoat,diggingherfingersintothesoftpile.Thementionofhermother,mixedwiththesadnessinhisexpression,wasmakingherwanttocry.“We’regoingtoseeherlatertoday,right?”sheasked.“Iwanttosaygood-byebeforeIgo,and

tellher—tellherwhatI’mdoing.Thatshe’sgoingtobeokay.”

Lukenodded.“We’llvisitthehospitallatertoday.And,Clary?”

“What?”Shealmostdidn’twanttolookathim,buttoherrelief,whenshedid,thesadnesswasgonefromhiseyes.

Hesmiled.“Normalisn’tallit’scrackeduptobe.”

Simonglanceddownat thepaper inhis hand and then at the cathedral, his eyes slittedagainsttheafternoonsun.TheInstituteroseupagainstthehighbluesky,aslabofgranitewindowedwithpointedarchesandsurroundedbyahighstonewall.Gargoylefacesleereddownfromitscornices,asifdaringhimtoapproachthefrontdoor.Itdidn’tlookanythinglike it had the first time he had ever seen it, disguised as a run-down ruin, but thenglamoursdidn’tworkonDownworlders.

Youdon’tbelonghere.Thewordswereharsh,sharpasacid;Simonwasn’tsureifitwasthegargoylespeakingorthevoiceinhisownmind.Thisisachurch,andyouaredamned.

“Shutup,”hemutteredhalfheartedly.“Besides,Idon’tcareaboutchurches.I’mJewish.”

Therewasa filigreed irongate set into the stonewall.Simonputhishand to the latch,half-expectinghisskintosearwithpain,butnothinghappened.Apparentlythegateitselfwasn’t particularly holy.Hepushed it open andwas halfwayup the cracked stoneworkpathtothefrontdoorwhenheheardvoices—severalofthem,andfamiliar—nearby.

Ormaybenotthatnearby.Hehadnearlyforgottenhowmuchhishearing,likehissight,had sharpened since he’d been Turned. It sounded as if the voices were just over hisshoulder,butashefollowedanarrowpatharoundthesideoftheInstitute,hesawthatthepeoplewerestandingquiteadistanceaway,atthefarendofthegrounds.Thegrassgrewwildhere,half-coveringthebranchingpathsthatledamongwhathadprobablyoncebeenneatlyarrangedrosebushes.Therewasevenastonebench,webbedwithgreenweeds;thishadbeenarealchurchonce,beforetheShadowhuntershadtakenitover.

HesawMagnusfirst,leaningagainstamossystonewall.ItwashardtomissMagnus—hewaswearing a splash-paintedwhite T-shirt over rainbow leather trousers.He stood outlikeahothouseorchid,surroundedby theblack-cladShadowhunters:Alec, lookingpaleand uncomfortable; Isabelle, her long black hair twisted into braids tied with silverribbons,standingbesidealittleboywhohadtobeMax,theyoungest.Nearbywastheirmother,lookinglikeataller,bonierversionofherdaughter,withthesamelongblackhair.BesideherwasawomanSimondidn’tknow.AtfirstSimonthoughtshewasold,sinceherhair was nearly white, but then she turned to speak to Maryse and he saw that sheprobablywasn’tmorethanthirty-fiveorforty.

AndthentherewasJace,standingoffatalittledistance,asifhedidn’tquitebelong.He

wasallinShadowhunterblackliketheothers.WhenSimonworeallblack,helookedlikehewasonhiswaytoafuneral,butJacejustlookedtoughanddangerous.Andblonder.Simonfelthisshoulderstightenandwonderedifanything—time,orforgetfulness—wouldever dilute his resentment of Jace. He didn’twant to feel it, but there it was, a stoneweightingdownhisunbeatingheart.

Something seemed odd about the gathering—but then Jace turned toward him, as ifsensinghewasthere,andSimonsaw,evenfromthisdistance,thethinwhitescaronhisthroat, justabovehiscollar.Theresentment inhischest faded intosomethingelse.Jacedroppedasmallnodinhisdirection.“I’llberightback,”hesaidtoMaryse,inthesortofvoice Simon would never have used with his own mother. He sounded like an adulttalkingtoanotheradult.

Maryse indicatedherpermissionwithadistractedwave.“Idon’t seewhy it’s takingsolong,”shewassayingtoMagnus.“Isthatnormal?”

“What’snotnormalisthediscountI’mgivingyou.”Magnustappedtheheelofhisbootagainstthewall.“NormallyIchargetwicethismuch.”

“It’sonlyatemporaryPortal.ItjusthastogetustoIdris.AndthenIexpectyoutocloseitbackupagain.Thatisouragreement.”Sheturnedtothewomanatherside.“Andyou’llremainheretowitnessthathedoesit,Madeleine?”

Madeleine.SothiswasJocelyn’sfriend.Therewasnotimetostare,though—JacealreadyhadSimonbythearmandwasdragginghimaroundthesideofthechurch,outofviewoftheothers.Itwasevenmoreweedyandovergrownbackhere,thepathsnakedwithropesofundergrowth.JacepushedSimonbehindalargeoaktreeandletgoofhim,dartinghiseyesaroundasiftomakesuretheyhadn’tbeenfollowed.“It’sokay.Wecantalkhere.”

Itwasquieterbackherecertainly,therushoftrafficfromYorkAvenuemuffledbehindthebulkoftheInstitute.“You’retheonewhoaskedmehere,”Simonpointedout.“IgotyourmessagestucktomywindowwhenIwokeupthismorning.Don’tyoueverusethephonelikenormalpeople?”

“NotifIcanavoidit,vampire,”saidJace.HewasstudyingSimonthoughtfully,asifhewere reading the pages of a book. Mingled in his expression were two conflictingemotions:afaintamazementandwhatlookedtoSimonlikedisappointment.“Soit’sstilltrue.Youcanwalkinthesunlight.Evenmiddaysundoesn’tburnyou.”

“Yes,”Simonsaid.“Butyouknewthat—youwerethere.”Hedidn’thavetoelaborateonwhat“there”meant;hecouldseeintheotherboy’sfacethatherememberedtheriver,thebackofthetruck,thesunrisingoverthewater,Clarycryingout.HeremembereditjustaswellasSimondid.

“Ithoughtperhapsitmighthavewornoff,”Jacesaid,buthedidn’tsoundasifhemeantit.

“IfIfeeltheurgetoburstintoflames,I’llletyouknow.”Simonneverhadmuchpatience

withJace.“Look,didyouaskmetocomeallthewayuptownjustsoyoucouldstareatmelikeIwassomethinginapetridish?NexttimeI’llsendyouaphoto.”

“And I’ll frame itandput itonmynightstand,” saidJace,buthedidn’t soundas ifhisheartwereinthesarcasm.“Look,Iaskedyouhereforareason.MuchasIhatetoadmitit,vampire,wehavesomethingincommon.”

“Totally awesome hair?” Simon suggested, but his heart wasn’t really in it either.SomethingaboutthelookonJace’sfacewasmakinghimincreasinglyuneasy.

“Clary,”Jacesaid.

Simonwascaughtoffguard.“Clary?”

“Clary,”Jacesaidagain.“Youknow:short,redheaded,badtemper.”

“Idon’tseehowClaryissomethingwehaveincommon,”Simonsaid,althoughhedid.Nevertheless,thiswasn’taconversationheparticularlywantedtohavewithJacenow,or,infact,ever.Wasn’ttheresomesortofmanlycodethatprecludeddiscussionslikethis—discussionsaboutfeelings?

Apparentlynot.“Webothcareabouther,”Jacestated,givinghimameasuredlook.“She’simportanttobothofus.Right?”

“You’reaskingmeifIcareabouther?”“Caring”seemedlikeapretty insufficientwordforit.HewonderedifJacewasmakingfunofhim—whichseemedunusuallycruel,evenforJace.HadJacebroughthimoverherejusttomockhimbecauseithadn’tworkedoutromantically betweenClary andhimself?ThoughSimon still hadhope, at least a little,thatthingsmightchange,thatJaceandClarywouldstarttofeelabouteachotherthewaytheyweresupposedto,thewaysiblingsweremeanttofeelabouteachother—

HemetJace’sgazeandfeltthatlittlehopeshrivel.Thelookontheotherboy’sfacewasn’tthe look brothers got when they talked about their sisters. On the other hand, it wasobviousJacehadn’tbroughthimoverheretomockhimforhisfeelings;themiserySimonknewmustbeplainlywrittenacrosshisownfeatureswasmirroredinJace’seyes.

“Don’tthinkIlikeaskingyouthesequestions,”Jacesnapped.“Ineedtoknowwhatyou’ddoforClary.Wouldyoulieforher?”

“Lie about what? What’s going on, anyway?” Simon realized what it was that hadbotheredhimaboutthetableauofShadowhuntersinthegarden.“Waitasecond,”hesaid.“You’releavingforIdrisrightnow?Clarythinksyou’regoingtonight.”

“Iknow,”Jacesaid.“AndIneedyoutotelltheothersthatClarysentyouheretosayshewasn’tcoming.Tellthemshedoesn’twanttogotoIdrisanymore.”Therewasanedgetohis voice—something Simon barely recognized, or perhaps it was simply so strangecomingfromJacethathecouldn’tprocessit.Jacewaspleadingwithhim.“They’llbelieveyou.Theyknowhow…howcloseyoutwoare.”

Simonshookhishead.“Ican’tbelieveyou.YouactlikeyouwantmetodosomethingforClary,butactuallyyou justwantme todosomethingforyou.”Hestarted to turnaway.“Nodeal.”

Jacecaughthisarm,spinninghimbackaround.“This is forClary. I’mtrying toprotecther.Ithoughtyou’dbeatleastalittleinterestedinhelpingmedothat.”

Simon looked pointedly at Jace’s hand where it clamped his upper arm. “How can Iprotectherifyoudon’ttellmewhatI’mprotectingherfrom?”

Jacedidn’tletgo.“Can’tyoujusttrustmethatthisisimportant?”

“Youdon’tunderstandhowbadlyshewantstogotoIdris,”Simonsaid.“IfI’mgoingtokeepthatfromhappening,therehadbetterbeadamngoodreason.”

Jaceexhaledslowly,reluctantly—andletgohisgriponSimon’sarm.“WhatClarydidonValentine’sship,”hesaid,hisvoicelow.“Withtheruneonthewall—theRuneofOpening—well,yousawwhathappened.”

“Shedestroyedtheship,”saidSimon.“Savedallourlives.”

“Keepyourvoicedown.”Jaceglancedaroundanxiously.

“You’renotsayingnooneelseknowsaboutthat,areyou?”Simondemandedindisbelief.

“Iknow.Youknow.LukeknowsandMagnusknows.Nooneelse.”

“Whatdotheyallthinkhappened?Theshipjustopportunelycameapart?”

“ItoldthemValentine’sRitualofConversionmusthavegonewrong.”

“YouliedtotheClave?”Simonwasn’tsurewhethertobeimpressedordismayed.

“Yes, I lied to theClave. Isabelle andAlec knowClary has some ability to create newrunes,soIdoubtI’llbeabletokeepthatfromtheClaveorthenewInquisitor.Butiftheyknew she could do what she does—amplify ordinary runes so they have incredibledestructive power—they’dwant her as a fighter, aweapon.And she’s not equipped forthat.Shewasn’tbroughtupforit—”Hebrokeoff,asSimonshookhishead.“What?”

“You’reNephilim,”Simonsaidslowly.“Shouldn’tyouwantwhat’sbestfortheClave?Ifthat’susingClary…”

“You want them to have her? To put her in the front lines, up against Valentine andwhateverarmyhe’sraising?”

“No,”saidSimon.“Idon’twantthat.ButI’mnotoneofyou.Idon’thavetoaskmyselfwhotoputfirst,Claryormyfamily.”

Jaceflushedaslow,darkred.“It’snotlikethat.IfIthoughtitwouldhelptheClave—butitwon’t.She’lljustgethurt—”

“Even ifyou thought itwouldhelp theClave,”Simonsaid,“you’dnever let themhaveher.”

“Whatmakesyousaythat,vampire?”

“Becausenoonecanhaveherbutyou,”saidSimon.

ThecolorleftJace’sface.“Soyouwon’thelpme,”hesaidindisbelief.“Youwon’thelpher?”

Simonhesitated—andbeforehecouldrespond,anoisesplitthesilencebetweenthem.Ahigh,shriekingcry,terribleinitsdesperation,andworsefortheabruptnesswithwhichitwascutoff.Jacewhirledaround.“Whatwasthat?”

The single shriekwas joined by other cries, and a harsh clanging that scrapedSimon’seardrums.“Something’shappened—theothers—”

But Jace was already gone, running along the path, dodging the undergrowth. After amoment’s hesitationSimon followed.Hehad forgottenhow fast he could runnow—hewashardonJace’sheelsastheyroundedthecornerofthechurchandburstoutintothegarden.

Beforethemwaschaos.Awhitemistblanketedthegarden,andtherewasaheavysmellinthe air—the sharp tang of ozone and something else under it, sweet and unpleasant.Figuresdartedbackandforth—Simoncouldseethemonlyinfragments,astheyappearedanddisappearedthroughgapsinthefog.HeglimpsedIsabelle,herhairsnappingaroundher in black ropes as she swung her whip. It made a deadly fork of golden lightningthroughtheshadows.Shewasfendingofftheadvanceofsomethinglumberingandhuge—ademon,Simonthought—butitwasfulldaylight;thatwasimpossible.Ashestumbledforward, he saw that the creature was humanoid in shape, but humped and twisted,somehowwrong.ItcarriedathickwoodenplankinonehandandwasswingingatIsabellealmostblindly.

Onlyashortdistanceaway,throughagapinthestonewall,SimoncouldseethetrafficonYorkAvenuerumblingplacidlyby.TheskybeyondtheInstitutewasclear.

“Forsaken,” Jacewhispered.His facewas blazing as he drew one of his seraph bladesfromhisbelt.“Dozensofthem.”HepushedSimontotheside,almostroughly.“Stayhere,doyouunderstand?Stayhere.”

SimonstoodfrozenforamomentasJaceplungedforwardintothemist.Thelightofthebladeinhishandlitthefogaroundhimtosilver;darkfiguresdashedbackandforthinsideit,andSimonfeltasifheweregazingthroughapaneoffrostedglass,desperatelytryingtomakeoutwhatwashappeningontheotherside.Isabellehadvanished;hesawAlec,his

armbleeding,asheslicedthroughthechestofaForsakenwarriorandwatcheditcrumpletotheground.Anotherrearedupbehindhim,butJacewasthere,nowwithabladeineachhand;heleapedintotheairandbroughtthemupandthendownwithaviciousscissoringmovement—and the Forsaken’s head tumbled free of its neck, black blood spurting.Simon’sstomachwrenched—thebloodsmelledbitter,poisonous.

He could hear the Shadowhunters calling to one another out of the mist, though theForsakenwereutterlysilent.Suddenlythemistcleared,andSimonsawMagnus,standingwild-eyed by the wall of the Institute. His hands were raised, blue lightning sparkingbetween them, and against thewall where he stood, a square black hole seemed to beopening in the stone. It wasn’t empty, or dark precisely, but shone like a mirror withwhirling fire trapped within its glass. “The Portal!” he was shouting. “Go through thePortal!”

Severalthingshappenedatonce.MaryseLightwoodappearedoutofthemist,carryingtheboy,Max,inherarms.ShepausedtocallsomethingoverhershoulderandthenplungedtowardthePortalandthroughit,vanishingintothewall.Alecfollowed,draggingIsabelleafter him,herblood-spatteredwhip trailingon theground.Ashepulledher toward thePortal,somethingsurgedupoutofthemistbehindthem—aForsakenwarrior,swingingadouble-bladedknife.

Simon unfroze. Darting forward, he called out Isabelle’s name—then stumbled andpitched forward,hitting thegroundhardenough toknock thebreathoutofhim, ifhe’dhadanybreath.Hescrambledintoasittingposition,turningtoseewhathe’dtrippedover.

Itwas a body. The body of awoman, her throat slit, her eyeswide and blue in death.Bloodstainedherpalehair.Madeleine.

“Simon,move!” It was Jace, shouting; Simon looked and saw the other boy runningtoward himout of the fog, bloody seraph blades in his hands.Then he looked up.TheForsakenwarriorhe’dseenchasingIsabelleloomedoverhim,itsscarredfacetwistedintoarictusgrin.Simontwistedawayasthedouble-bladedknifeswungdowntowardhim,butevenwithhisimprovedreflexes,hewasn’tfastenough.Asearingpainshotthroughhimaseverythingwentblack.

2

THEDEMONTOWERSOFALICANTE

Therewasnoamountofmagic,ClarythoughtassheandLukecircledtheblockforthethirdtime,thatcouldcreatenewparkingspacesonaNewYorkCitystreet.Therewasnowhereforthetrucktopullin,andhalfthestreetwasdouble-parked.FinallyLukepulledupatahydrantandshiftedthepickupintoneutralwithasigh.“Goon,”hesaid.“Letthemknowyou’rehere.I’llbringyoursuitcase.”

Clarynodded,buthesitatedbefore reaching for thedoorhandle.Her stomachwas tightwith anxiety, and shewished, not for the first time, that Lukewere goingwith her. “IalwaysthoughtthatthefirsttimeIwentoverseas,I’dhaveapassportwithmeatleast.”

Luke didn’t smile. “I know you’re nervous,” he said. “But it’ll be all right. TheLightwoodswilltakegoodcareofyou.”

I’veonlytoldyouthatamilliontimes,Clarythought.ShepattedLuke’sshoulderlightlybeforejumpingdownfromthetruck.“Seeyouinafew.”

Shemadeherwaydownthecrackedstonepath,thesoundoftrafficfadingasshenearedthe churchdoors. It tookher severalmoments to peel the glamour off the Institute thistime.Itfeltasifanotherlayerofdisguisehadbeenaddedtotheoldcathedral,likeanewcoatofpaint.Scrapingitoffwithhermindfelthard,evenpainful.Finallyitwasgoneandshecouldseethechurchasitwas.Thehighwoodendoorsgleamedasifthey’djustbeenpolished.

Therewas a strange smell in the air, likeozone andburning.With a frown sheputherhandtotheknob.IamClaryMorgenstern,oneoftheNephilim,andIaskentrancetotheInstitute—

The door swung open. Clary stepped inside. She looked around, blinking, trying toidentifywhatitwasthatfeltsomehowdifferentaboutthecathedral’sinterior.

Sherealizeditasthedoorswungshutbehindher,trappingherinablacknessrelievedonlybythedimglowoftherosewindowfaroverhead.ShehadneverbeeninsidetheentrancetotheInstitutewhentherehadnotbeendozensofflameslitintheelaboratecandelabrasliningtheaislebetweenthepews.

She took her witchlight stone out of her pocket and held it up. Light blazed from it,

sending shining spokes of illumination flaring out between her fingers. It lit the dustycornersofthecathedral’sinteriorasshemadeherwaytotheelevatornearthebarealtarandjabbedimpatientlyatthecallbutton.

Nothinghappened.Afterhalfaminuteshepressedthebuttonagain—andagain.Shelaidherearagainst theelevatordoorand listened.Nota sound.The Institutehadgonedarkandsilent,likeamechanicaldollwhoseclockworkhearthadrundown.

Herheartpoundingnow,Claryhurriedbackdowntheaisleandpushedtheheavydoorsopen.Shestoodonthefrontstepsofthechurch,glancingaboutfrantically.Theskywasdarkening to cobalt overhead, and the air smelled evenmore strongly of burning. Hadtherebeenafire?HadtheShadowhuntersevacuated?Buttheplacelookeduntouched….

“Itwasn’tafire.”Thevoicewassoft,velvetyandfamiliar.Atallfigurematerializedoutoftheshadows,hairstickingupinacoronaofungainlyspikes.Heworeablacksilksuitoverashimmeringemeraldgreenshirt,andbrightlyjeweledringsonhisnarrowfingers.Therewerefancybootsinvolvedaswell,andagooddealofglitter.

“Magnus?”Clarywhispered.

“I knowwhat youwere thinking,”Magnus said. “But therewas no fire. That smell ishellmist—it’sasortofenchanteddemonicsmoke.Itmutestheeffectsofcertainkindsofmagic.”

“Demonicmist?Thentherewas—”

“AnattackontheInstitute.Yes.Earlier thisafternoon.Forsaken—probablyafewdozenofthem.”

“Jace,”Clarywhispered.“TheLightwoods—”

“Thehellsmokemutedmyability to fight theForsakeneffectively.Theirs, too. Ihad tosendthemthroughthePortalintoIdris.”

“Butnoneofthemwerehurt?”

“Madeleine,”saidMagnus.“Madeleinewaskilled.I’msorry,Clary.”

Clarysankdownontothesteps.Shehadn’tknowntheolderwomanwell,butMadeleinehad been a tenuous connection to her mother—her real mother, the tough, fightingShadowhunterthatClaryhadneverknown.

“Clary?” Luke was coming up the path through the gathering dark. He had Clary’ssuitcaseinonehand.“What’sgoingon?”

ClarysathuggingherkneeswhileMagnusexplained.UnderneathherpainforMadeleineshewasfullofaguiltyrelief.Jacewasallright.TheLightwoodswereallright.Shesaiditoverandovertoherself,silently.Jacewasallright.

“TheForsaken,”Lukesaid.“Theywereallkilled?”

“Not all of them.” Magnus shook his head. “After I sent the Lightwoods through thePortal, theForsakendispersed; theydidn’tseeminterestedinme.BythetimeIshut thePortal,theywereallgone.”

Claryraisedherhead.“ThePortal’sclosed?But—youcanstillsendmetoIdris,right?”sheasked.“Imean,IcangothroughthePortalandjointheLightwoodsthere,can’tI?”

LukeandMagnusexchangedalook.Lukesetthesuitcasedownbyhisfeet.

“Magnus?”Clary’svoicerose,shrillinherownears.“Ihavetogo.”

“ThePortalisclosed,Clary—”

“Thenopenanotherone!”

“It’snotthateasy,”thewarlocksaid.“TheClaveguardsanymagicalentryintoAlicantevery carefully. Their capital is a holy place to them—it’s like their Vatican, theirForbidden City. No Downworlders can come there without permission, and nomundanes.”

“ButI’maShadowhunter!”

“Onlybarely,”saidMagnus.“Besides,thetowerspreventdirectPortalingtothecity.Toopen a Portal thatwent through toAlicante, I’d have to have them standing by on theothersideexpectingyou.IfItriedtosendyouthroughonmyown,itwouldbeindirectcontraventionoftheLaw,andI’mnotwillingtoriskthatforyou,biscuit,nomatterhowmuchImightlikeyoupersonally.”

Clary looked fromMagnus’s regretful face to Luke’s wary one. “But I need to get toIdris,”shesaid.“Ineedtohelpmymother.Theremustbesomeotherwaytoget there,somewaythatdoesn’tinvolveaPortal.”

“Thenearestairportisacountryover,”Lukesaid.“Ifwecouldgetacrosstheborder—andthat’sabig‘if’—therewouldbealonganddangerousoverlandjourneyafterthat,throughallsortsofDownworlderterritory.Itcouldtakeusdaystogetthere.”

Clary’seyeswereburning.Iwillnotcry,shetoldherself.Iwillnot.

“Clary.”Luke’svoicewasgentle.“We’llget in touchwith theLightwoods.We’llmakesure they have all the information they need to get the antidote for Jocelyn. They cancontactFell—”

ButClarywasonherfeet,shakingherhead.“Ithastobeme,”shesaid.“MadeleinesaidFellwouldn’ttalktoanyoneelse.”

“Fell?RagnorFell?”Magnusechoed.“Icantrytogetamessagetohim.Lethimknowto

expectJace.”

Someof theworry cleared fromLuke’s face. “Clary, do youhear that?WithMagnus’shelp—”

ButClary didn’twant to hear anymore aboutMagnus’s help. She didn’twant to hearanything.Shehadthoughtshewasgoingtosavehermother,andnowtherewasgoingtobenothing forher todobut sit byhermother’sbedside, holdher limphand, andhopesomeoneelse,somewhereelse,wouldbeabletodowhatshecouldn’t.

Shescrambleddownthesteps,pushingpastLukewhenhe tried to reachout forher.“Ijustneedtobealoneforasecond.”

“Clary—”SheheardLukecallouttoher,butshepulledawayfromhim,dartingaroundthe side of the cathedral. She found herself following the stone path where it forked,makingherwaytowardthesmallgardenontheInstitute’seastside,towardthesmellofcharandashes—andathick,sharpsmellunderthat.Thesmellofdemonicmagic.Therewasmistinthegardenstill,scatteredbitsofitliketrailsofcloudcaughthereandthereontheedgeofa rosebushorhidingunderastone.Shecouldseewhere theearthhadbeenchurnedup earlier by the fighting—and therewas a dark red stain there, by one of thestonebenches,thatshedidn’twanttolookatlong.

Claryturnedherheadaway.Andpaused.There,againstthewallofthecathedral,weretheunmistakable marks of rune-magic, glowing a hot, fading blue against the gray stone.Theyformedasquarishoutline,liketheoutlineoflightaroundahalf-opendoor….

ThePortal.

Something inside her seemed to twist. She remembered other symbols, shiningdangerouslyagainstthesmoothmetalhullofaship.Sherememberedtheshuddertheshiphadgiven as it hadwrenched itself apart, theblackwater of theEastRiverpouring in.They’re just runes, she thought.Symbols. I can draw them. If my mother can trap theessenceoftheMortalCupinsideapieceofpaper,thenIcanmakeaPortal.

Shefoundherfeetcarryinghertothecathedralwall,herhandreachingintoherpocketforherstele.Willingherhandnottoshake,shesetthetipofthesteletothestone.

Shesqueezedhereyelidsshutand,againstthedarknessbehindthem,begantodrawwithhermindincurvinglinesoflight.Linesthatspoketoherofdoorways,ofbeingcarriedonwhirlingair,oftravelandfarawayplaces.Thelinescametogetherinaruneasgracefulasabird in flight.Shedidn’tknowif itwasa rune thathadexistedbeforeoroneshehadinvented,butitexistednowasifitalwayshad.

Portal.

Shebegan todraw, themarks leapingout from the stele’s tip incharcoaledblack lines.Thestonesizzled, fillinghernosewith theacidicsmellofburning.Hotblue lightgrewagainstherclosedeyelids.Shefeltheatonherface,asifshestoodinfrontofafire.With

agaspsheloweredherhand,openinghereyes.

Theruneshehaddrawnwasadarkflowerblossomingonthestonewall.Asshewatched,the lines of it seemed to melt and change, flowing gently down, unfurling, reshapingthemselves.Withinmomentstheshapeoftherunehadchanged.Itwasnowtheoutlineofaglowingdoorway,severalfeettallerthanClaryherself.

She couldn’t tear her eyes from the doorway. It shonewith the same dark light as thePortalbehindthecurtainatMadameDorothea’s.Shereachedoutforit—

Andrecoiled.TouseaPortal,sherememberedwithasinkingfeeling,youhadtoimaginewhereyouwantedtogo,whereyouwantedthePortaltotakeyou.ButshehadneverbeentoIdris.Ithadbeendescribedtoher,ofcourse.Aplaceofgreenvalleys,ofdarkwoodsandbrightwater,oflakesandmountains,andAlicante,thecityofglasstowers.Shecouldimaginewhat itmight look like,but imaginationwasn’tenough,notwith thismagic. Ifonly…

Shetookasuddensharpbreath.ButshehadseenIdris.She’dseenitinadream,andsheknew,withoutknowinghowsheknew,thatithadbeenatruedream.Afterall,whathadJacesaidtoherinthedreamaboutSimon?Thathecouldn’tstaybecause“thisplaceisfortheliving”?Andnotlongafterthat,Simonhaddied….

Shecasthermemorybacktothedream.ShehadbeendancinginaballroominAlicante.Thewallshadbeengoldandwhite,withaclear,diamondlikeroofoverhead.Therehadbeena fountain—asilverdishwithamermaidstatueat thecenter—and lightsstrung inthetreesoutsidethewindows,andClaryhadbeenwearinggreenvelvet,justasshewasnow.

Asifshewerestillinthedream,shereachedforthePortal.Abrightlightspreadunderthetouchofherfingers,adooropeningontoalightedplacebeyond.Shefoundherselfstaringintoawhirlinggoldenmaelstromthatslowlybegantocoalesceintodiscernibleshapes—shethoughtshecouldseetheoutlineofmountains,apieceofsky—

“Clary!” ItwasLuke, racingup thepath,his faceamaskofangeranddismay.BehindhimstrodeMagnus,hiscateyesshininglikemetalinthehotPortallightthatbathedthegarden.“Clary,stop!Thewardsaredangerous!You’llgetyourselfkilled!”

But there was no stopping now. Beyond the Portal the golden light was growing. ShethoughtofthegoldwallsoftheHallinherdream,thegoldenlightrefractingoffthecutglasseverywhere.Lukewaswrong;hedidn’tunderstandhergift,howitworked—whatdidwardsmatterwhenyoucouldcreateyourownreality justbydrawing it?“Ihave togo,”shecried,movingforward,herfingertipsoutstretched.“Luke,I’msorry—”

Shesteppedforward—andwithalast,swiftleap,hewasatherside,catchingatherwrist,justasthePortalseemedtoexplodeallaroundthem.Likeatornadosnatchingatreeupbytheroots,theforceyankedthembothofftheirfeet.ClarycaughtalastglimpseofthecarsandbuildingsofManhattanspinningawayfromher,vanishingasawhiplash-hardcurrent

ofwindcaughther,sendingherhurtling,herwriststillinLuke’sirongrip,intoawhirlinggoldenchaos.

Simonawoketotherhythmicslapofwater.Hesatup,suddenterrorfreezinghischest—the last timehe’dwokenup to thesoundofwaves,he’dbeenaprisoneronValentine’sship,andthesoft liquidnoisebroughthimbackto that terrible timewithanimmediacythatwaslikeadashoficewaterintheface.

Butno—aquicklookaroundtoldhimthathewassomewhereelseentirely.Foronething,hewas lying under soft blankets on a comfortablewooden bed in a small, clean roomwhosewallswerepaintedapaleblue.Darkcurtainsweredrawnoverthewindow,butthefaintlightaroundtheiredgeswasenoughforhisvampire’seyestoseeclearly.Therewasabrightrugonthefloorandamirroredcupboardononewall.

Therewasalsoanarmchairpulledup to thesideof thebed.Simonsatup, theblanketsfallingaway,andrealizedtwothings:one,thathewasstillwearingthesamejeansandT-shirthe’dbeenwearingwhenhe’dheadedtotheInstitutetomeetJace;andtwo,thatthepersoninthechairwasdozing,herheadproppedonherhand,herlongblackhairspillingdownlikeafringedshawl.

“Isabelle?”Simonsaid.

Herheadpoppeduplikeastartledjack-in-the-box’s,hereyesflyingopen.“Oooh!You’reawake!”Shesatupstraight,flickingherhairback.“Jace’llbesorelieved.Wewerealmosttotallysureyouweregoingtodie.”

“Die?”Simonechoed.Hefeltdizzyandalittlesick.“Fromwhat?”Heglancedaroundtheroom,blinking.“AmIintheInstitute?”heasked,andrealizedthemomentthewordswereoutofhismouththat,ofcourse,thatwasimpossible.“Imean—wherearewe?”

Anuneasy flickerpassedacross Isabelle’s face. “Well…youmean,youdon’t rememberwhathappenedinthegarden?”Shetuggednervouslyatthecrochettrimthatborderedthechair’supholstery.“TheForsakenattackedus.Therewerealotofthem,andthehellmistmadeithardtofightthem.MagnusopenedupthePortal,andwewereallrunningintoitwhenIsawyoucomingtowardus.Youtrippedover—overMadeleine.AndtherewasaForsakenjustbehindyou;youmustnothaveseenhim,butJacedid.Hetriedtogettoyou,butitwastoolate.TheForsakenstuckhisknifeintoyou.Youbled—alot.AndJacekilledthe Forsaken and picked you up and dragged you through the Portal with him,” shefinished,speakingso rapidly thatherwordsblurred togetherandSimonhad tostrain tocatch them.“Andwewerealreadyon theother side,and letme tellyou,everyonewaspretty surprised when Jace came through with you bleeding all over him. The Consulwasn’tatallpleased.”

Simon’smouthwasdry. “TheForsaken stuckhisknife intome?” It seemed impossible.Butthen,hehadhealedbefore,afterValentinehadcuthisthroat.Still,heatleastoughtto

remember.Shakinghishead,helookeddownathimself.“Where?”

“I’ll show you.”Much to his surprise, a moment later Isabelle was seated on the bedbesidehim,hercoolhandsonhismidriff.ShepushedhisT-shirtup,baringastripofpalestomach, bisected by a thin red line. Itwas barely a scar. “Here,” she said, her fingersglidingoverit.“Isthereanypain?”

“N-no.”ThefirsttimeSimonhadeverseenIsabelle,he’dfoundhersostriking,soalightwithlifeandvitalityandenergy,he’dthoughthe’dfinallyfoundagirlwhoburnedbrightenoughtoblotouttheimageofClarythatalwaysseemedtobeprintedontheinsideofhiseyelids.Itwasrightaroundthetimeshe’dgottenhimturnedintoaratatMagnusBane’sloftpartythathe’drealizedmaybeIsabelleburnedalittletoobrightforanordinaryguylikehim.“Itdoesn’thurt.”

“Butmyeyesdo,”saidacoollyamusedvoicefromthedoorway.Jace.Hehadcomeinsoquietly that even Simon hadn’t heard him; closing the door behind him, he grinned asIsabellepulledSimon’sshirtdown.“Molestingthevampirewhilehe’stooweaktofightback,Iz?”heasked.“I’mprettysurethatviolatesatleastoneoftheAccords.”

“I’mjustshowinghimwherehegotstabbed,”Isabelleprotested,butshescootedbacktoher chairwith a certain amountof haste. “What’sgoingondownstairs?” she asked. “Iseveryonestillfreakingout?”

ThesmileleftJace’sface.“MarysehasgoneuptotheGardwithPatrick,”hesaid.“TheClave’sinsessionandMalachithoughtitwouldbebetterifshe…explained…inperson.”

Malachi.Patrick.Gard.TheunfamiliarnameswhirledthroughSimon’shead.“Explainedwhat?”

IsabelleandJaceexchangeda look.“Explainedyou,” Jace said finally. “Explainedwhywe brought a vampirewith us toAlicante,which is, by theway, expressly against theLaw.”

“ToAlicante?We’re inAlicante?”Awaveof blankpanicwashedoverSimon, quicklyreplacedbyapainthatshotthroughhismidsection.Hedoubledover,gasping.

“Simon!”Isabellereachedoutherhand,alarminherdarkeyes.“Areyouallright?”

“Go away, Isabelle.” Simon, his hands fisted against his stomach, looked up at Jace,pleadinginhisvoice.“Makehergo.”

Isabellerecoiled,ahurtlookonherface.“Fine.I’llgo.Youdon’thavetotellmetwice.”Sheflouncedtoherfeetandoutoftheroom,bangingthedoorbehindher.

Jace turned to Simon, his amber eyes expressionless. “What’s going on? I thought youwerehealing.”

Simonthrewupahandtowardtheotherboyoff.Ametallictasteburnedinthebackofhis

throat. “It’s not Isabelle,” hegroundout. “I’mnot hurt—I’m just…hungry.”He felt hischeeksburn.“Ilostblood,so—Ineedtoreplaceit.”

“Of course,” Jace said, in the tone of someone who’s just been enlightened by aninteresting, if not particularly necessary, scientific fact. The faint concern left hisexpression, tobe replacedby something that looked toSimon like amusedcontempt. Itstruckachordoffuryinsidehim,andifhehadn’tbeensodebilitatedbypain,hewouldhaveflunghimselfoffthebedandontotheotherboyinarage.Asitwas,allhecoulddowasgasp,“Screwyou,Wayland.”

“Wayland, is it?” The amused look didn’t leave Jace’s face, but his hands went to histhroatandbegantounziphisjacket.

“No!”Simonshrankbackonthebed.“Idon’tcarehowhungryIam.I’mnot—drinkingyourblood—again.”

Jace’smouthtwisted.“LikeI’d letyou.”Hereachedinto the insidepocketofhis jacketanddrewoutaglassflask.Itwashalf-fullofathinred-brownliquid.“Ithoughtyoumightneedthis,”hesaid.“Isqueezedthejuiceoutofafewpoundsofrawmeatinthekitchen.ItwasthebestIcoulddo.”

SimontooktheflaskfromJacewithhandsthatwereshakingsobadlythattheotherboyhadtounscrewthetopforhim.Theliquidinsidewasfoul—toothinandsaltytobeproperblood,andwiththatfaintunpleasanttastethatSimonknewmeantthemeathadbeenafewdaysold.

“Ugh,”hesaid,afterafewswallows.“Deadblood.”

Jace’seyebrowswentup.“Isn’tallblooddead?”

“The longer the animal whose blood I’m drinking has been dead, theworse the bloodtastes,”Simonexplained.“Freshisbetter.”

“Butyou’veneverdrunkfreshblood.Haveyou?”

Simonraisedhisowneyebrowsinresponse.

“Well,asidefrommine,ofcourse,”Jacesaid.“AndI’msuremybloodisfan-tastic.”

Simonsettheemptyflaskdownonthearmofthechairbythebed.“There’ssomethingverywrongwithyou,”hesaid.“Mentally,Imean.”Hismouthstilltastedofspoiledblood,butthepainwasgone.Hefeltbetter,stronger,asifthebloodwereamedicinethatworkedinstantly,adrughehadtohavetolive.Hewonderedifthiswaswhatitwaslikeforheroinaddicts.“SoI’minIdris.”

“Alicante,tobespecific,”saidJace.“Thecapitalcity.Theonlycity,really.”Hewent tothewindow and drew back the curtains. “The Penhallows didn’t really believe us,” hesaid. “That the sunwouldn’t bother you. They put these blackout curtains up.But you

shouldlook.”

Risingfromthebed,SimonjoinedJaceatthewindow.Andstared.

AfewyearsagohismotherhadtakenhimandhissisteronatriptoTuscany—aweekofheavy,unfamiliarpastadishes,unsaltedbread,hardybrowncountryside,andhismotherspeeding down narrow, twisting roads, barely avoiding crashing their Fiat into thebeautiful old buildings they’d ostensibly come to see. He remembered stopping on ahillsidejustoppositeatowncalledSanGimignano,acollectionofrust-coloredbuildingsdottedhereand therewithhigh towerswhose topssoaredupwardas if reaching for thesky.Ifwhathewaslookingatnowremindedhimofanything,itwasthat;butitwasalsosoalienthatitwasgenuinelyunlikeanythinghe’deverseenbefore.

Hewaslookingoutofanupperwindowinwhatmusthavebeenafairlytallhouse.Ifheglancedup,hecouldseestoneeavesandskybeyond.Acrossthewaywasanotherhouse,notquiteastallasthisone,andbetweenthemrananarrow,darkcanal,crossedhereandtherebybridges—thesourceofthewaterhe’dheardbefore.Thehouseseemedtobebuiltpartwayupahill—below ithoney-colored stonehouses, clusteredalongnarrowstreets,fell away to the edge of a green circle: woods, surrounded by hills that were very faraway;fromheretheyresembledlonggreenandbrownstripsdottedwithburstsofautumncolors.Behindthehillsrosejaggedmountainsfrostedwithsnow.

Butnoneof thatwaswhatwasstrange;whatwasstrangewasthathereandthere in thecity, placed seemingly at random, rose soaring towers crownedwith spiresof reflectivewhitish-silverymaterial.Theyseemedtopiercetheskylikeshiningdaggers,andSimonrealized where he had seen that material before: in the hard, glasslike weapons theShadowhunterscarried,theonestheycalledseraphblades.

“Thosearethedemontowers,”Jacesaid,inresponsetoSimon’sunaskedquestion.“Theycontrolthewardsthatprotectthecity.Becauseofthem,nodemoncanenterAlicante.”

The air that came in through thewindowwas cold and clean, the sort of air youneverbreathedinNewYorkCity:Ittastedofnothing,notdirtorsmokeormetalorotherpeople.Justair.Simontookadeep,unnecessarybreathofitbeforeheturnedtolookatJace;somehumanhabitsdiedhard.“Tellme,”hesaid,“thatbringingmeherewasanaccident.Tellmethiswasn’tsomehowallpartofyouwantingtostopClaryfromcomingwithyou.”

Jacedidn’t lookathim,buthischestroseandfellonce,quickly, inasortofsuppressedgasp.“That’sright,”hesaid.“IcreatedabunchofForsakenwarriors,hadthemattacktheInstituteandkillMadeleineandnearlykilltherestofus,justsothatIcouldkeepClaryathome.Andloandbehold,mydiabolicalplanisworking.”

“Well,itisworking,”Simonsaidquietly.“Isn’tit?”

“Listen,vampire,”Jacesaid.“KeepingClaryfromIdriswastheplan.Bringingyouherewasnottheplan.IbroughtyouthroughthePortalbecauseifI’dleftyoubehind,bleedingandunconscious,theForsakenwouldhavekilledyou.”

“Youcouldhavestayedbehindwithme—”

“Theywouldhavekilledusboth.Icouldn’teventellhowmanyofthemtherewere,notwiththehellmist.EvenIcan’tfightoffahundredForsaken.”

“Andyet,”Simonsaid,“Ibetitpainsyoutoadmitthat.”

“You’reanass,”Jacesaid,withoutinflection,“evenforaDownworlder.IsavedyourlifeandIbroketheLawtodoit.Notforthefirsttime,Imightadd.Youcouldshowalittlegratitude.”

“Gratitude?”Simonfelthisfingerscurlinagainsthispalms.“Ifyouhadn’tdraggedmetotheInstitute,Iwouldn’tbehere.Ineveragreedtothis.”

“Youdid,”saidJace,“whenyousaidyou’ddoanythingforClary.Thisisanything.”

BeforeSimoncouldsnapbackanangryretort, therewasaknockon thedoor.“Hello?”Isabellecalledfromtheotherside.“Simon, isyourdivamomentover?IneedtotalktoJace.”

“Come in, Izzy.” Jacedidn’t takehiseyesoffSimon; therewasanelectricanger inhisgaze,andasortofchallengethatmadeSimonlongtohithimwithsomethingheavy.Likeapickuptruck.

Isabelleenteredtheroominaswirlofblackhairandtieredsilveryskirts.Theivorycorsettopsheworeleftherarmsandshoulders,twinedwithinkyrunes,bare.SimonsupposeditwasanicechangeofpaceforhertobeabletoshowherMarksoffinaplacewherenoonewouldthinkthemoutoftheordinary.

“Alec’sgoingupto theGard,”Isabellesaidwithoutpreamble.“Hewants to talk toyouaboutSimonbeforeheleaves.Canyoucomedownstairs?”

“Sure.”Jaceheadedforthedoor;halfwaythere,herealizedSimonwasfollowinghimandturnedwithaglower.“Youstayhere.”

“No,”Simonsaid.“Ifyou’regoingtobediscussingme,Iwanttobethereforit.”

ForamomentitlookedasifJace’sicycalmwereabouttosnap;heflushedandopenedhismouth,hiseyesflashing.Justasquickly,theangervanished,tampeddownbyanobviousact of will. He gritted his teeth and smiled. “Fine,” he said. “Come on downstairs,vampire.Youcanmeetthewholehappyfamily.”

The first time Clary had gone through a Portal, there had been a sense of flying, ofweightlesstumbling.Thistimeitwaslikebeingthrustintotheheartofatornado.Howlingwindstoreather,rippedherhandfromLuke’sandthescreamfromhermouth.Shefell

whirlingthroughtheheartofablackandgoldmaelstrom.

Somethingflatandhardandsilverylikethesurfaceofamirrorroseupinfrontofher.Sheplunged toward it, shrieking, throwing her hands up to cover her face. She struck thesurfaceandbrokethrough, intoaworldofbrutalcoldandgaspingsuffocation.Shewassinkingthroughathickbluedarkness,tryingtobreathe,butshecouldn’tdrawairintoherlungs,onlymoreofthefreezingcoldness—

Suddenlyshewasseizedbythebackofhercoatandhauledupward.Shekickedfeeblybutwastooweaktobreaktheholdonher.Itdrewherup,andtheindigodarknessaroundherturnedtopaleblueandthentogoldasshebrokethesurfaceofthewater—itwaswater—andsuckedinagaspofair.Ortriedto.Insteadshechokedandgagged,blackspotsdottinghervision.Shewasbeingdraggedthroughthewater,fast,weedscatchingandtuggingather legs andarms—she twisted around in thegrip that heldher and caught a terrifyingglimpseofsomething,notquitewolfandnotquitehuman,earsaspointedasdaggersandlipsdrawnbackfromsharpwhiteteeth.Shetriedtoscream,butonlywatercameup.

Amoment latershewasoutof thewaterandbeingflungontodamphard-packedearth.Therewerehandsonhershoulders,slammingherfacedownagainsttheground.Thehandsstruckherback,overandover,untilherchestspasmedandshecoughedupabitterstreamofwater.

Shewas still chokingwhen the hands rolled her onto her back. Shewas looking up atLuke,ablackshadowagainstahighblueskytouchedwithwhiteclouds.Thegentlenessshewas used to seeing in his expressionwas gone; hewas no longerwolflike, but helookedfurious.Hehauledherintoasittingposition,shakingherhard,overandover,untilshegaspedandstruckoutathimweakly.“Luke!Stopit!You’rehurtingme—”

Hishandslefthershoulders.Hegrabbedherchininonehandinstead,forcingherheadup,hiseyessearchingherface.“Thewater,”hesaid.“Didyoucoughupallthewater?”

“Ithinkso,”shewhispered.Hervoicecamefaintlyfromherswollenthroat.

“Where’syourstele?”hedemanded,andwhenshehesitated,hisvoicesharpened.“Clary.Yourstele.Findit.”

Shepulledawayfromhisgraspandrummagedinherwetpockets,herheartsinkingasherfingers scrabbled against nothing but dampmaterial. She turned amiserable face up toLuke. “I think I must have dropped it in the lake.” She sniffled. “My…my mother’sstele…”

“Jesus,Clary.”Luke stood up, clasping his hands distractedly behind his head.Hewassoakingwettoo,waterrunningoffhisjeansandheavyflannelcoatinthickrivulets.Thespectacles he usually wore halfway down his nose were gone. He looked down at hersomberly.“You’reallright,”hesaid.Itwasn’treallyaquestion.“Imean,rightnow.Youfeelallright?”

Shenodded.“Luke,what’swrong?Whydoweneedmystele?”

Lukesaidnothing.Hewaslookingaroundasifhopingtogleansomeassistancefromtheirsurroundings.Clary followedhisgaze.Theywereon thewidedirt bankof agood-sizelake. The water was pale blue, sparked here and there with reflected sunlight. Shewondered if itwas the sourceof thegold light she’d seen through thehalf-openPortal.Therewasnothingsinisteraboutthelakenowthatshewasnexttoitinsteadofinit.Itwassurroundedbygreenhillsdottedwithtreesjustbeginningtoturnrussetandgold.Beyondthehillsrosehighmountains,theirpeakscappedinsnow.

Claryshivered.“Luke,whenwewereinthewater—didyougopartwolf?IthoughtIsaw—”

“Mywolfselfcanswimbetterthanmyhumanself,”Lukesaidshortly.“Andit’sstronger.Ihadtodragyouthroughthewater,andyouweren’tofferingmuchhelp.”

“Iknow,”shesaid.“I’msorry.Youweren’t—youweren’tsupposedtocomewithme.”

“IfIhadn’t,you’dbedeadnow,”hepointedout.“Magnustoldyou,Clary.Youcan’tuseaPortal toget into theGlassCityunlessyouhave someonewaiting foryouon theotherside.”

“HesaiditwasagainsttheLaw.Hedidn’tsayifItriedtogetthereI’dbounceoff.”

“HetoldyoutherearewardsuparoundthecitythatpreventPortalingintoit.It’snothisfaultyoudecidedtoplayaroundwithmagicyoujustbarelyunderstand.Justbecauseyouhavepowerdoesn’tmeanyouknowhowtouseit.”Hescowled.

“I’msorry,”Clarysaidinasmallvoice.“It’sjust—wherearewenow?”

“LakeLyn,”saidLuke.“IthinkthePortaltookusasclosetothecityasitcouldandthendumpedus.We’reontheoutskirtsofAlicante.”Helookedaround,shakinghisheadhalfinamazementandhalfinweariness.“Youdidit,Clary.We’reinIdris.”

“Idris?”Clarysaid,andstoodstaringstupidlyoutacrossthelake.Ittwinkledbackather,blueandundisturbed.“But—yousaidwewereontheoutskirtsofAlicante.Idon’tseethecityanywhere.”

“We’remilesaway.”Lukepointed.“Youseethosehillsinthedistance?Wehavetocrossoverthose;thecityisontheotherside.Ifwehadacar,wecouldgetthereinanhour,butwe’regoingtohavetowalk,whichwillprobably takeallafternoon.”Hesquintedupatthesky.“We’dbettergetgoing.”

Clary lookeddownatherself indismay.Theprospectofadaylonghike in soaking-wetclothesdidnotappeal.“Isn’tthereanythingelse…?”

“Anythingelsewecando?”Lukesaid,andtherewasasuddensharpedgeofangertohisvoice.“Doyouhaveanysuggestions,Clary,sinceyou’retheonewhobroughtushere?”

Hepointedawayfromthe lake.“Thatway liemountains.Passableonfootonly inhighsummer.We’d freeze to death on the peaks.” He turned, stabbed his finger in anotherdirection. “That way lie miles of woods. They run all the way to the border. They’reuninhabited,atleastbyhumanbeings.PastAlicantethere’sfarmlandandcountryhouses.MaybewecouldgetoutofIdris,butwe’dstillhavetopassthroughthecity.Acity,Imayadd,whereDownworlderslikemyselfarehardlywelcome.”

Clarylookedathimwithhermouthopen.“Luke,Ididn’tknow—”

“Ofcourseyoudidn’tknow.Youdon’tknowanythingabout Idris.Youdon’tevencareabout Idris. You were just upset about being left behind, like a child, and you had atantrum. And now we’re here. Lost and freezing and—” He broke off, his face tight.“Comeon.Let’sstartwalking.”

ClaryfollowedLukealongtheedgeofLakeLyninamiserablesilence.Astheywalked,thesundriedherhairandskin,butthevelvetcoatheldwaterlikeasponge.Ithungonherlikealeadcurtainasshetrippedhastilyoverrocksandmud,tryingtokeepupwithLuke’slong-leggedstride.Shemadea fewfurtherattemptsatconversation,butLuke remainedstubbornly silent. She’d never done anything so bad before that an apology hadn’tsoftenedLuke’sanger.Thistime,itseemed,wasdifferent.

Thecliffsrosehigheraroundthelakeastheyprogressed,pockedwithspotsofdarkness,likesplashesofblackpaint.AsClarylookedmoreclosely,sherealizedtheywerecavesinthe rock. Some looked like they went very deep, twisting away into darkness. Sheimaginedbatsandcreepy-crawlingthingshidingintheblackness,andshivered.

Atlastanarrowpathcuttingthroughthecliffsledthemtoawideroadlinedwithcrushedstones.Thelakecurvedawaybehindthem,indigointhelateafternoonsunlight.Theroadcutthroughaflatgrassyplainthatrosetorollinghillsinthedistance.Clary’sheartsank;thecitywasnowhereinsight.

Lukewasstaringtowardthehillswithalookofintensedismayonhisface.“We’refartherthanIthought.It’sbeensuchalongtime….”

“Maybeifwefoundabiggerroad,”Clarysuggested,“wecouldhitchhike,orgetaridetothecity,or—”

“Clary.TherearenocarsinIdris.”Seeinghershockedexpression,Lukelaughedwithoutmuchamusement.“Thewardsfoulupthemachinery.Mosttechnologydoesn’tworkhere—mobile phones, computers, the like. Alicante itself is lit—and powered—mostly bywitchlight.”

“Oh,”Clarysaidinasmallvoice.“Well—abouthowfarfromthecityarewe?”

“Farenough.”Withoutlookingather,Lukerakedbothhishandsbackthroughhisshorthair.“There’ssomethingI’dbettertellyou.”

Clarytensed.Allshe’dwantedbeforewasforLuketotalktoher;nowshedidn’twantit

anymore.“It’sallright—”

“Did you notice,” Luke said, “that there weren’t any boats on Lake Lyn—no docks—nothingthatmightsuggestthelakeisusedinanywaybythepeopleofIdris?”

“Ijustthoughtthatwasbecauseitwassoremote.”

“It’snot that remote.A fewhours fromAlicanteon foot.The fact is, the lake—”Lukebrokeoffandsighed.“DidyouevernoticethepatternonthelibraryfloorattheInstituteinNewYork?”

Claryblinked.“Idid,butIcouldn’tfigureoutwhatitwas.”

“Itwasanangelrisingoutofalake,holdingacupandasword.It’sarepeatingmotifinNephilimdecorations.ThelegendisthattheangelRazielroseoutofLakeLynwhenhefirst appeared to Jonathan Shadowhunter, the first of the Nephilim, and gave him theMortalInstruments.Eversincethenthelakehasbeen—”

“Sacred?”Clarysuggested.

“Cursed,”Lukesaid.“ThewaterofthelakeisinsomewaypoisonoustoShadowhunters.Itwon’thurtDownworlders—theFairFolkcallittheMirrorofDreams,andtheydrinkitswaterbecausetheyclaimitgivesthemtruevisions.ButforaShadowhuntertodrinkthewater is very dangerous. It causes hallucinations, fever—it can drive a person tomadness.”

Claryfeltcoldallover.“That’swhyyoutriedtomakemespitthewaterout.”

Lukenodded.“AndwhyIwantedyoutofindyourstele.Withahealingrune,wecouldstave off the water’s effects.Without it, we need to get you to Alicante as quickly aspossible.Therearemedicines,herbs,thatwillhelp,andIknowsomeonewhowillalmostcertainlyhavethem.”

“TheLightwoods?”

“NottheLightwoods.”Luke’svoicewasfirm.“Someoneelse.SomeoneIknow.”

“Who?”

He shook his head. “Let’s just pray this person hasn’t moved away in the last fifteenyears.”

“ButIthoughtyousaiditwasagainsttheLawforDownworlderstocomeintoAlicantewithoutpermission.”

HisansweringsmilewasareminderoftheLukewhohadcaughtherwhenshe’dfallenoffthe jungle gym as a child, the Lukewho had always protected her. “Some Lawsweremeanttobebroken.”

The Penhallows’ house reminded Simon of the Institute—it had that same sense ofbelongingsomehowtoanotherera.Thehallsandstairwayswerenarrow,madeofstoneand darkwood, and thewindowswere tall and thin, giving out onto views of the city.TherewasadistinctlyAsianfeeltothedecorations:ashojiscreenstoodonthefirst-floorlanding, and there were lacquer-flowered tall Chinese vases on the windowsills. Therewerealsoanumberofsilkscreenprintsonthewalls,showingwhatmusthavebeenscenesfrom Shadowhunter mythology, but with an Eastern feel to them—warlords wieldingglowingseraphbladeswereprominentlyfeatured,alongsidecolorfuldragonlikecreaturesandslithering,pop-eyeddemons.

“Mrs.Penhallow—Jia—usedtoruntheBeijingInstitute.Shesplitshertimebetweenhereand the Forbidden City,” Isabelle said as Simon paused to examine a print. “And thePenhallowsareanoldfamily.Wealthy.”

“Icantell,”Simonmuttered,lookingupatthechandeliers,drippingcut-glasscrystalsliketeardrops.

Jace,onthestepbehindthem,grunted.“Moveitalong.We’renottakingahistoricaltourhere.”

Simonweighedaruderetortanddecideditwasn’tworthbothering.Hetooktherestofthestairs at a rapid pace; they opened out at the bottom into a large room. It was an oddmixtureof theoldand thenew:Aglasspicturewindow lookedoutonto thecanal, andthere was music playing from a stereo that Simon couldn’t see. But there was notelevision,nostackofDVDsorCDs, thesortofdetritusSimonassociatedwithmodernlivingrooms.Insteadtherewereanumberofoverstuffedcouchesgroupedaroundalargefireplace,inwhichflameswerecrackling.

Alecstoodbythefireplace,indarkShadowhuntergear,drawingonapairofgloves.HelookedupasSimonenteredtheroomandscowledhishabitualscowl,butsaidnothing.

SeatedonthecouchesweretwoteenagersSimonhadneverseenbefore,aboyandagirl.The girl looked as if shewere partlyAsian,with delicate, almond-shaped eyes, glossydark hair pulled back from her face, and a mischievous expression. Her delicate chinnarrowedintoapointlikeacat’s.Shewasn’texactlypretty,butshewasverystriking.

Theblack-hairedboybesideherwasmorethanstriking.HewasprobablyJace’sheight,butseemed taller,evensittingdown;hewasslenderandmuscular,withapale,elegant,restlessface,allcheekbonesanddarkeyes.Therewassomethingstrangelyfamiliarabouthim,asifSimonhadmethimbefore.

Thegirlspokefirst.“Isthatthevampire?”ShelookedSimonupanddownasifsheweretakinghismeasurements.“I’veneverreallybeenthisclosetoavampirebefore—notoneIwasn’t planning to kill, at least.” She cocked her head to the side. “He’s cute, for a

Downworlder.”

“You’ll have to forgiveher; shehas the faceof an angel and themanners of aMolochdemon,”saidtheboywithasmile,gettingtohisfeet.HeheldhishandouttoSimon.“I’mSebastian.SebastianVerlac.Andthisismycousin,AlinePenhallow.Aline—”

“Idon’t shakehandswithDownworlders,”Alinesaid, shrinkingbackagainst thecouchcushions.“Theydon’thavesouls,youknow.Vampires.”

Sebastian’ssmiledisappeared.“Aline—”

“It’strue.That’swhytheycan’tseethemselvesinmirrors,orgointhesun.”

Very deliberately, Simon stepped backward, into the patch of sunlight in front of thewindow.He felt the sunhotonhisback,hishair.His shadowwascast, longanddark,acrossthefloor,almostreachingJace’sfeet.

Alinetookasharpbreathbutsaidnothing.ItwasSebastianwhospoke,lookingatSimonwithcuriousblackeyes.“Soit’strue.TheLightwoodssaid,butIdidn’tthink—”

“Thatweweretellingthetruth?”Jacesaid,speakingforthefirsttimesincethey’dcomedownstairs.“Wewouldn’tlieaboutsomethinglikethis.Simon’s…unique.”

“Ikissedhimonce,”Isabellesaid,tonooneinparticular.

Aline’seyebrowsshotup. “They reallydo letyoudowhateveryouwant inNewYork,don’tthey?”shesaid,soundinghalf-horrifiedandhalf-envious.“ThelasttimeIsawyou,Izzy,youwouldn’tevenhaveconsidered—”

“Thelast timeweallsaweachother, Izzywaseight,”Alecsaid.“Thingschange.Now,Momhadtoleavehereinahurry,sosomeonehastotakehernotesandrecordsuptotheGardforher.I’mtheonlyonewho’seighteen,soI’mtheonlyonewhocangowhiletheClave’sinsession.”

“Weknow,”Isabellesaid,floppingdownontoacouch.“You’vealreadytoldusthat,like,fivetimes.”

Alec,whowas looking important, ignored this.“Jace,youbrought thevampirehere, soyou’reinchargeofhim.Don’tlethimgooutside.”

Thevampire,Simonthought.Itwasn’tlikeAlecdidn’tknowhisname.He’dsavedAlec’slifeonce.Nowhewas“thevampire.”EvenforAlec,whowaspronetotheoccasionalfitofinexplicablesullenness,thiswasobnoxious.MaybeithadsomethingtodowithbeinginIdris.MaybeAlecfeltagreaterneedtoasserthisShadowhunter-nesshere.

“That’swhatyoubroughtmedownhere to tellme?Don’t let thevampiregooutside?Iwouldn’t have done that anyway.” Jace slid onto the couch beside Aline, who lookedpleased. “You’d better hurry up to the Gard and back. God knows what depravity we

mightgetuptoherewithoutyourguidance.”

AlecgazedatJacewithcalmsuperiority.“Trytoholdittogether.I’llbebackinhalfanhour.” He vanished through an archway that led to a long corridor; somewhere in thedistance,adoorclickedshut.

“Youshouldn’tbaithim,”Isabellesaid,shootingJaceaseverelook.“Theydidleavehimincharge.”

Aline, Simon couldn’t help but notice, was sitting very close to Jace, their shoulderstouching,eventhoughtherewasplentyofroomaroundthemonthecouch.“DidyoueverthinkthatinapastlifeAlecwasanoldwomanwithninetycatswhowasalwaysyellingattheneighborhoodkidstogetoffherlawn?BecauseIdo,”hesaid,andAlinegiggled.“Justbecausehe’stheonlyonewhocangototheGard—”

“What’stheGard?”Simonasked,tiredofhavingnoideawhatanyonewastalkingabout.

Jacelookedathim.Hisexpressionwascool,unfriendly;hishandwasatopAline’swhereitrestedonherthigh.“Sitdown,”hesaid, jerkinghisheadtowardanarmchair.“Ordidyouplantohoverinthecornerlikeabat?”

Great.Batjokes.Simonsettledhimselfuncomfortablyinthechair.

“TheGard is theofficialmeetingplaceof theClave,”Sebastian said, apparently takingpityonSimon.“It’swheretheLawismade,andwheretheConsulandInquisitorreside.OnlyadultShadowhuntersareallowedontoitsgroundswhentheClaveisinsession.”

“Insession?”Simonasked,rememberingwhatJacehadsaidearlier,upstairs.“Youmean—notbecauseofme?”

Sebastian laughed. “No. Because of Valentine and theMortal Instruments. That’s whyeveryone’shere.TodiscusswhatValentine’sgoingtodonext.”

Jacesaidnothing,butatthesoundofValentine’sname,hisfacetightened.

“Well,he’llgoaftertheMirror,”Simonsaid.“ThethirdoftheMortalInstruments,right?IsithereinIdris?Isthatwhyeveryone’shere?”

TherewasashortsilencebeforeIsabelleanswered.“ThethingabouttheMirroristhatnooneknowswhereitis.Infact,nooneknowswhatitis.”

“It’samirror,”Simonsaid.“Youknow—reflective,glass.I’mjustassuming.”

“WhatIsabellemeans,”saidSebastiankindly,“isthatnobodyknowsanythingabouttheMirror.TherearemultiplementionsofitinShadowhunterhistories,butnospecificsaboutwhereitis,whatitlookslike,or,mostimportant,whatitdoes.”

“WeassumeValentinewantsit,”saidIsabelle,“butthatdoesn’thelpmuch,sincenoone’s

got a cluewhere it is.TheSilentBrothersmighthavehadan idea,butValentinekilledthemall.Therewon’tbemoreforatleastalittlewhile.”

“All of them?”Simondemanded in surprise. “I thoughtheonlykilled theones inNewYork.”

“TheBoneCityisn’treallyinNewYork,”Isabellesaid.“It’slike—remembertheentrancetotheSeelieCourt,inCentralPark?Justbecausetheentrancewastheredoesn’tmeantheCourt itself is under the park. It’s the same with the Bone City. There are variousentrances, but the City itself—” Isabelle broke off as Aline shushed her with a quickgesture. Simon looked from her face to Jace’s to Sebastian’s. They all had the sameguarded expression, as if they’d just realizedwhat they’d been doing: tellingNephilimsecrets to aDownworlder.A vampire.Not the enemy, precisely, but certainly someonewhocouldn’tbetrusted.

Alinewas the firstone tobreak the silence.Fixingherpretty,darkgazeonSimon, shesaid,“So—what’sitlike,beingavampire?”

“Aline!”Isabellelookedappalled.“Youcan’tjustgoaroundaskingpeoplewhatit’sliketobeavampire.”

“Idon’tseewhy,”Alinesaid.“Hehasn’tbeenavampire that long,hashe?Sohemustrememberwhatitwaslikebeingaperson.”SheturnedbacktoSimon.“Doesbloodstilltaste like blood to you? Or does it taste like something else now, like orange juice orsomething?BecauseIwouldthinkthetasteofbloodwould—”

“Ittasteslikechicken,”Simonsaid,justtoshutherup.

“Really?”Alinelookedastonished.

“He’smakingfunofyou,Aline,”saidSebastian,“aswellheshould.Iapologizeformycousinagain,Simon.ThoseofuswhowerebroughtupoutsideIdristendtohavealittlemorefamiliaritywithDownworlders.”

“Butweren’tyoubroughtupinIdris?”Isabelleasked.“Ithoughtyourparents—”

“Isabelle,”Jaceinterrupted,butitwasalreadytoolate;Sebastian’sexpressiondarkened.

“Myparentsaredead,”hesaid.“AdemonnestnearCalais—it’sall right, itwasa longtime ago.” He waved away Isabelle’s protestation of sympathy. “My aunt—Aline’sfather’ssister—broughtmeupattheInstituteinParis.”

“So you speak French?” Isabelle sighed. “Iwish I spoke another language.ButHodgenever thought we needed to learn anything but ancient Greek and Latin, and nobodyspeaksthose.”

“I also speakRussian and Italian.And someRomanian,” Sebastian saidwith amodestsmile.“Icouldteachyousomephrases—”

“Romanian?That’simpressive,”saidJace.“Notmanypeoplespeakit.”

“Doyou?”Sebastianaskedwithinterest.

“Not really,” Jace said with a smile so disarming Simon knew he was lying. “MyRomanianisprettymuchlimitedtousefulphraseslike,‘Arethesesnakespoisonous?’and‘Butyoulookmuchtooyoungtobeapoliceofficer.’”

Sebastiandidn’tsmile.Therewassomethingabouthisexpression,Simonthought.Itwasmild—everything about himwas calm—but Simon had the sense that themildness hidsomethingbeneathitthatbeliedhisoutwardtranquility.“Idoliketraveling,”hesaid,hiseyesonJace.“Butit’sgoodtobeback,isn’tit?”

JacepausedintheactofplayingwithAline’sfingers.“Whatdoyoumean?”

“Just that there’snowhereelsequite likeIdris,howevermuchweNephilimmightmakehomesforourselveselsewhere.Don’tyouagree?”

“Whyareyouaskingme?”Jace’slookwasicy.

Sebastianshrugged.“Well,youlivedhereasachild,didn’tyou?Andit’sbeenyearssinceyou’vebeenback.OrdidIgetthatwrong?”

“Youdidn’tget itwrong,”Isabellesaidimpatiently.“Jacelikestopretendthateveryoneisn’ttalkingabouthim,evenwhenheknowstheyare.”

“Theycertainlyare.”ThoughJacewasglaringathim,Sebastianseemedunruffled.Simonfeltasortofhalf-reluctantlikingforthedark-hairedShadowhunterboy.Itwasraretofindsomeonewhodidn’treacttoJace’staunts.“ThesedaysinIdrisit’sallanyonetalksabout.You,theMortalInstruments,yourfather,yoursister—”

“Clarissa was supposed to come with you, wasn’t she?” Aline said. “I was lookingforwardtomeetingher.Whathappened?”

ThoughJace’sexpressiondidn’t change,hedrewhishandback fromAline’s, curling itintoafist.“Shedidn’twanttoleaveNewYork.Hermother’sillinthehospital.”Heneversaysourmother,Simonthought.It’salwayshermother.

“It’sweird,”Isabellesaid.“Ireallythoughtshewantedtocome.”

“Shedid,”saidSimon.“Infact—”

Jacewasonhisfeet,sofastthatSimondidn’tevenseehimmove.“Cometothinkofit,IhavesomethingIneedtodiscusswithSimon.Inprivate.”Hejerkedhisheadtowardthedouble doors at the far end of the room, his eyes glittering a challenge. “Come on,vampire,”hesaid,inatonethatleftSimonwiththedistinctfeelingthatarefusalwouldprobablyendinsomekindofviolence.“Let’stalk.”

3

AMATIS

BylateafternoonLukeandClaryhadleftthelakefarbehindandwerepacingoverseeminglyendlessbroad,flatswatchesofhighgrass.Hereandthereagentleriserearedupintoahighhilltoppedwithblackrocks.Clarywasexhaustedfromstaggeringupanddownthehills,oneafteranother,herbootsslippingonthedampgrassasifitweregreasedmarble. By the time they left the fields behind for a narrow dirt road, her handswerebleedingandgrass-stained.

Lukestalkedaheadofherwithdeterminedstrides.Occasionallyhewouldpointoutitemsofinterestinasombervoice,liketheworld’smostdepressedtourguide.“WejustcrossedBrocelindPlain,”hesaidastheyclimbedariseandsawatangledexpanseofdarktreesstretchingawaytowardthewest,wherethesunhunglowin thesky.“This is theforest.Thewoodsusedtocovermostofthelowlandofthecountry.Muchofitwascutdowntomakewayforthecity—andtoclearoutthewolfpacksandvampireneststhattendedtocropupthere.BrocelindForesthasalwaysbeenahidingplaceforDownworlders.”

They trudged along in silence as the road curved alongside the forest for severalmilesbeforetakinganabruptturn.Thetreesseemedtoliftawayasaridgeroseabovethem,andClaryblinkedwhentheyturnedthecornerofahighhill—unlesshereyesweredeceivingher, therewerehousesdownthere.Small,white rowsofhouses,orderlyasaMunchkinvillage.“We’rehere!”sheexclaimed,anddartedforward,onlystoppingwhensherealizedthatLukewasnolongerbesideher.

Sheturnedandsawhimstandinginthemiddleofthedustyroad,shakinghishead.“No,”hesaid,movingtocatchupwithher.“That’snotthecity.”

“Thenisitatown?Yousaidthereweren’tanytownsnearhere—”

“It’sagraveyard.It’sAlicante’sCityofBones.DidyouthinktheCityofBoneswastheonly restingplacewehad?”Hesoundedsad.“This is thenecropolis, theplaceweburythosewhodieinIdris.You’llsee.WehavetowalkthroughittogettoAlicante.”

Claryhadn’tbeen toagraveyardsince thenightSimonhaddied,and thememorygaveher a bone-deep shiver as she passed along the narrow lanes that threaded among themausoleumslikewhiteribbon.Someonetookcareofthisplace:Themarblegleamedasiffreshlyscrubbed,andthegrasswasevenlycut.Therewerebunchesofwhiteflowerslaidhereand thereon thegraves; she thought at first theywere lilies, but theyhad a spicy,unfamiliarscentthatmadeherwonderiftheywerenativetoIdris.Eachtomblookedlikealittlehouse;someevenhadmetalorwiregates,andthenamesofShadowhunterfamilieswere carved over the doors. CARTWRIGHT. MERRYWEATHER. HIGHTOWER.BLACKWELL.MIDWINTER.Shestoppedatone:HERONDALE.

SheturnedtolookatLuke.“ThatwastheInquisitor’sname.”

“Thisisherfamilytomb.Look.”Hepointed.Besidethedoorwerewhiteletterscutintothe gray marble. They were names. MARCUS HERONDALE. STEPHENHERONDALE. They had both died in the same year. Much as Clary had hated theInquisitor, she felt something twist inside her, a pity she couldn’t help. To lose yourhusbandandyourson,soclosetogether…ThreewordsinLatinranunderStephen’sname:AVEATQUEVALE.

“Whatdoesthatmean?”sheasked,turningtoLuke.

“Itmeans‘Hailandfarewell.’It’sfromapoembyCatullus.AtsomepointitbecamewhattheNephilim say during funerals, orwhen someone dies in battle.Now come on—it’sbetter not to dwell on this stuff, Clary.” Luke took her shoulder andmoved her gentlyawayfromthetomb.

Maybehewasright,Clarythought.Maybeitwasbetternottothinktoomuchaboutdeathand dying right now. She kept her eyes averted as they made their way out of thenecropolis. Theywere almost through the iron gates at the far endwhen she spotted asmallermausoleum,growinglikeawhitetoadstoolintheshadowofaleafyoaktree.Thenameabovethedoorleapedoutatherasifithadbeenwritteninlights.

FAIRCHILD.

“Clary—”Lukereachedforher,butshewasalreadygone.Withasighhefollowedherintothetree’sshadow,whereshestoodtransfixed,readingthenamesofthegrandparentsand great-grandparents she had never even known she had. ALOYSIUS FAIRCHILD.ADELE FAIRCHILD, B. NIGHTSHADE. GRANVILLE FAIRCHILD. And below allthosenames:JOCELYNMORGENSTERN,B.FAIRCHILD.

AwaveofcoldwentoverClary.Seeinghermother’snametherewas likerevisitingthe

nightmaresshehadsometimeswhereshewasathermother’sfuneralandnoonewouldtellherwhathadhappenedorhowhermotherhaddied.

“Butshe’snotdead,”shesaid,lookingupatLuke.“She’snot—”

“TheClavedidn’tknowthat,”hetoldhergently.

Clarygasped.ShecouldnolongerhearLuke’svoiceorseehimstandinginfrontofher.Before her rose a jagged hillside, gravestones protruding from the dirt like snapped-offbones. A black headstone loomed up in front of her, letters cut unevenly into its face:CLARISSAMORGENSTERN,B.1991D.2007.Underthewordswasacrudelydrawnchild’ssketchofaskullwithgapingeyesockets.Clarystaggeredbackwardwithascream.

Lukecaughtherbytheshoulders.“Clary,whatisit?What’swrong?”

Shepointed.“There—look—”

But it was gone. The grass stretched out ahead of her, green and even, the whitemausoleumsneatandplainintheirorderlyrows.

Shetwistedtolookupathim.“Isawmyowngravestone,”shesaid.“ItsaidIwasgoingtodie—now—thisyear.”Sheshuddered.

Lukelookedgrim.“It’sthelakewater,”hesaid.“You’restartingtohallucinate.Comeon—wehaven’tgotmuchtimeleft.”

JacemarchedSimonupstairsanddownashorthallwaylinedwithdoors;hepausedonlyto straight-arm one of themopen, a scowl on his face. “In here,” he said, half-shovingSimon through the doorway. Simon saw what looked like a library inside: rows ofbookshelves,longcouches,andarmchairs.“Weshouldhavesomeprivacy—”

Hebrokeoffasafigurerosenervouslyfromoneofthearmchairs.Itwasalittleboywithbrownhairandglasses.Hehadasmall,seriousface,andtherewasabookclutchedinoneofhishands.SimonwasfamiliarenoughwithClary’sreadinghabitstorecognizeitasamangavolumeevenatadistance.

Jacefrowned.“Sorry,Max.Weneedtheroom.Grown-uptalk.”

“ButIzzyandAlecalreadykickedmeoutofthelivingroomsotheycouldhavegrown-uptalk,”Maxcomplained.“WhereamIsupposedtogo?”

Jaceshrugged.“Yourroom?”Hejerkedathumbtowardthedoor.“Timetodoyourdutyforyourcountry,kiddo.Scram.”

Lookingaggrieved,Maxstalkedpastthemboth,hisbookclutchedtohischest.Simonfelt

atwingeofsympathy—itsuckedtobeoldenoughtowanttoknowwhatwasgoingon,but soyoungyouwere alwaysdismissed.Theboy shot hima look as hewent past—ascared,suspiciousglance.That’sthevampire,hiseyessaid.

“Comeon.”JacehustledSimonintotheroom,shuttingandlockingthedoorbehindthem.WiththedoorclosedtheroomwassodimlylitevenSimonfounditdark.Itsmelledlikedust.Jacewalkedacrossthefloorandthrewopenthecurtainsatthefarendoftheroom,revealingatall,single-panedpicturewindowthatgaveoutontoaviewofthecanal justoutside.Water splashedagainst the sideof thehouse just a few feetbelow them,understonerailingscarvedwithaweather-beatendesignofrunesandstars.

JaceturnedtoSimonwithascowl.“Whatthehellisyourproblem,vampire?”

“Myproblem?You’retheonewhopracticallydraggedmeoutoftherebymyhair.”

“BecauseyouwereabouttotellthemthatClarynevercanceledherplanstocometoIdris.Youknowwhatwouldhappenthen?They’dcontactherandarrangeforhertocome.AndIalreadytoldyouwhythatcan’thappen.”

Simonshookhishead.“Idon’tgetyou,”hesaid.“Sometimesyouact likeallyoucareaboutisClary,andthenyouactlike—”

Jace stared at him. The air was full of dancing dust motes; they made a shimmeringcurtainbetweenthetwoboys.“Actlikewhat?”

“YouwereflirtingwithAline,”Simonsaid.“Itdidn’tseemlikeallyoucaredaboutwasClarythen.”

“Thatissonotyourbusiness,”Jacesaid.“Andbesides,Claryismysister.Youdoknowthat.”

“Iwasthereinthefaeriecourttoo,”Simonreplied.“IrememberwhattheSeelieQueensaid.Thekissthegirldesiresmostwillfreeher.”

“Ibetyourememberthat.Burnedintoyourbrain,isit,vampire?”

Simonmadeanoiseinthebackofhisthroatthathehadn’tevenrealizedhewascapableofmaking.“Oh,noyoudon’t.I’mnothavingthisargument.I’mnotfightingoverClarywithyou.It’sridiculous.”

“Thenwhydidyoubringallthisup?”

“Because,” Simon said. “If you want me to lie—not to Clary, but to all yourShadowhunterfriends—ifyouwantmetopretendthatitwasClary’sowndecisionnottocomehere,andifyouwantmetopretendthatIdon’tknowaboutherpowers,orwhatshecanreallydo,thenyouhavetodosomethingforme.”

“Fine,”Jacesaid.“Whatisityouwant?”

Simonwassilentforamoment,lookingpastJaceatthelineofstonehousesfrontingthesparklingcanal.Pasttheircrenellatedroofshecouldseethegleamingtopsofthedemontowers.“IwantyoutodowhateveryouneedtodotoconvinceClarythatyoudon’thavefeelings forher.Anddon’t—don’t tellmeyou’reherbrother; Ialreadyknow that.Stopstringingheralongwhenyouknowthatwhateveryou twohavehasnofuture.AndI’mnotsayingthisbecauseIwantherformyself.I’msayingitbecauseI’mherfriendandIdon’twantherhurt.”

Jace looked down at his hands for a longmoment without answering. They were thinhands,thefingersandknucklesscuffedwitholdcalluses.ThebacksofthemwerelacedwiththethinwhitelinesofoldMarks.Theywereasoldier’shands,notateenageboy’s.“I’vealreadydonethat,”hesaid.“ItoldherIwasonlyinterestedinbeingherbrother.”

“Oh.”SimonhadexpectedJacetofighthimonthis,toargue,nottojustgiveup.AJacewho just gave upwas new—and left Simon feeling almost ashamed for having asked.Clarynevermentionedittome,hewantedtosay,butthenwhywouldshehave?Cometothinkof it, shehadseemedunusuallyquietandwithdrawn latelywheneverJace’snamehadcomeup.“Well,thattakescareofthat,Iguess.There’sonelastthing.”

“Oh?”Jacespokewithoutmuchapparentinterest.“Andwhat’sthat?”

“Whatwas itValentine saidwhenClary drew that rune on the ship? It sounded like aforeignlanguage.Memesomething—?”

“Menemene tekelupharsin,” Jace saidwith a faint smile. “Youdon’t recognize it? It’sfromtheBible,vampire.Theoldone.That’syourbook,isn’tit?”

“JustbecauseI’mJewishdoesn’tmeanI’vememorizedtheOldTestament.”

“It’stheWritingontheWall.‘Godhathnumberedthykingdom,andbroughtittoanend;thouartweighedinthebalanceandfoundwanting.’It’saportentofdoom—itmeanstheendofanempire.”

“ButwhatdoesthathavetodowithValentine?”

“Not justValentine,”saidJace.“Allofus.TheClaveand theLaw—whatClarycandooverturnseverythingtheyknowtobetrue.Nohumanbeingcancreatenewrunes,ordrawthesortofrunesClarycan.Onlyangelshavethatpower.AndsinceClarycandothat—well,itseemslikeaportent.Thingsarechanging.TheLawsarechanging.Theoldwaysmayneverbetherightwaysagain.Justastherebellionoftheangelsendedtheworldasitwas—itsplitheaveninhalfandcreatedhell—thiscouldmeantheendoftheNephilimastheycurrentlyexist.Thisisourwarinheaven,vampire,andonlyonesidecanwinit.Andmyfathermeansittobehis.”

Thoughtheairwasstillcold,Clarywasboilinghotinherwetclothes.Sweatrandownher

faceinrivulets,dampeningthecollarofhercoatasLuke,hishandonherarm,hurriedheralongtheroadunderarapidlydarkeningsky.TheywerewithinsightofAlicantenow.Thecitywasinashallowvalley,bisectedbyasilveryriverthatflowedintooneendofthecity,seemed tovanish, and flowedagainout theother.A tumbleofhoney-coloredbuildingswithredslateroofsandatangleofsteeplywindingdarkstreetsbackedupagainstthesideofasteephill.Onthecrownofthehillroseadarkstoneedifice,pillaredandsoaring,withaglittering towerateachcardinaldirectionpoint: four inall.Scatteredamong theotherbuildingswerethesametall,thin,glassliketowers,eachoneshimmeringlikequartz.Theywere like glass needles piercing the sky.The fading sunlight struckdull rainbows fromtheirsurfaceslikeamatchstrikingsparks.Itwasabeautifulsight,andverystrange.

YouhaveneverseenacitytillyouhaveseenAlicanteoftheglasstowers.

“Whatwasthat?”Lukesaid,overhearing.“Whatdidyousay?”

Clary hadn’t realized she’d spokenout loud.Embarrassed, she repeated herwords, andLukelookedatherinsurprise.“Wheredidyouhearthat?”

“Hodge,”Clarysaid.“ItwassomethingHodgesaidtome.”

Lukepeeredathermoreclosely.“You’reflushed,”hesaid.“Howareyoufeeling?”

Clary’s neckwas aching, herwhole body on fire, hermouth dry. “I’m fine,” she said.“Let’sjustgetthere,okay?”

“Okay.”Lukepointed;attheedgeofthecity,wherethebuildingsended,Clarycouldseeanarchway,twosidescurvingtoapointedtop.AShadowhunterinblackgearstoodwatchinsidetheshadowofthearchway.“That’stheNorthGate—it’swhereDownworlderscanlegallyenterthecity,providedthey’vegotthepaperwork.Guardsarepostedtherenightandday.Now,ifwewereonofficialbusiness,orhadpermissiontobehere,we’dgointhroughit.”

“Buttherearen’tanywallsaroundthecity,”Clarypointedout.“Itdoesn’tseemlikemuchofagate.”

“Thewardsareinvisible,butthey’rethere.Thedemontowerscontrolthem.Theyhaveforathousandyears.You’llfeelitwhenyoupassthroughthem.”Heglancedonemoretimeatherflushedface,concerncrinklingthecornersofhiseyes.“Areyouready?”

She nodded. They moved away from the gate, along the east side of the city, wherebuildingsweremorethicklyclustered.Withagesturetobequiet,Lukedrewhertowardanarrowopeningbetweentwohouses.Claryshuthereyesastheyapproached,almostasifsheexpectedtobesmackedinthefacewithaninvisiblewallassoonastheysteppedontothestreetsofAlicante.Itwasn’tlikethat.Shefeltasuddenpressure,asifshewereinanairplanethatwasdropping.Herearspopped—andthenthefeelingwasgone,andshewasstandinginthealleybetweenthebuildings.

JustlikeanalleyinNewYork—likeeveryalleyintheworld,apparently—itsmelledlike

catpee.

Clarypeeredaroundthecornerofoneofthebuildings.Alargerstreetstretchedawayupthehill,linedwithsmallshopsandhouses.“There’snoonearound,”sheobserved,withsomesurprise.

InthefadinglightLukelookedgray.“TheremustbeameetinggoingonupattheGard.It’stheonlythingthatcouldgeteveryoneoffthestreetsatonce.”

“Butisn’tthatgood?There’snoonearoundtoseeus.”

“It’sgoodandbad.Thestreetsaremostlydeserted,whichisgood.Butanyonewhodoeshappenbywillbemuchmorelikelytonoticeandremarkonus.”

“IthoughtyousaideveryonewasintheGard.”

Luke smiled faintly. “Don’t be so literal, Clary. I meant most of the city. Children,teenagers,anyoneexemptedfromthemeeting,theywon’tbethere.”

Teenagers. Clary thought of Jace, and despite herself, her pulse leaped forward like ahorsechargingoutofthestartinggateatarace.

Lukefrowned,almostasifhecouldreadherthoughts.“Asofnow,I’mbreakingtheLawby being in Alicante without declaring myself to the Clave at the gate. If anyonerecognizesme,wecouldbeinreal trouble.”Heglancedupat thenarrowstripofrussetskyvisiblebetweentherooftops.“Wehavetogetoffthestreets.”

“Ithoughtweweregoingtoyourfriend’shouse.”

“Weare.Andshe’snotafriend,precisely.”

“Thenwho—?”

“Justfollowme.”Lukeduckedintoapassagebetweentwohouses,sonarrowthatClarycouldreachoutandtouchthewallsofbothhouseswithherfingersastheymadetheirwaydown it and onto a cobblestoned winding street lined with shops. The buildingsthemselves looked likeacrossbetweenaGothicdreamscapeandachildren’s fairy tale.Thestonefacingswerecarvedwithallmannerofcreaturesoutofmythandlegend—theheadsofmonsterswereaprominentfeature,interspersedwithwingedhorses,somethingthat looked like a house on chicken legs, mermaids, and, of course, angels. Gargoylesjuttedfromeverycorner,theirsnarlingfacescontorted.Andeverywheretherewererunes:splashed across doors, hidden in the design of an abstract carving, dangling from thinmetalchains likewindchimes that twisted in thebreeze.Runesforprotection, forgoodluck,evenforgoodbusiness;staringatthemall,Clarybegantofeelalittledizzy.

They walked in silence, keeping to the shadows. The cobblestone street was deserted,shopdoorsshutandbarred.Clarycastfurtiveglancesintothewindowsastheypassed.Itwasstrangetoseeadisplayofexpensivedecoratedchocolatesinonewindowandinthe

nextanequallylavishdisplayofdeadly-lookingweapons—cutlasses,maces,nail-studdedcudgels, and an arrayof seraphblades indifferent sizes. “Noguns,” she said.Herownvoicesoundedveryfaraway.

Lukeblinkedather.“What?”

“Shadowhunters,”shesaid.“Theyneverseemtouseguns.”

“Runeskeepgunpowderfromigniting,”hesaid.“Nooneknowswhy.Still,Nephilimhavebeenknowntousetheoccasionalrifleonlycanthropes.Itdoesn’ttakearunetokillus—just silverbullets.”Hisvoicewasgrim.Suddentlyhisheadwentup. In thedim light itwaseasytoimaginehisearsprickingforwardlikeawolf’s.“Voices,”hesaid.“TheymustbefinishedattheGard.”

Hetookherarmandpulledhersidewaysoffthemainstreet.Theyemergedintoasmallsquarewithawellatitscenter.Amasonrybridgearchedoveranarrowcanaljustaheadofthem.Inthefadinglightthewaterinthecanallookedalmostblack.Clarycouldhearthevoices herself now, coming from the streets nearby. Theywere raised, angry-sounding.Clary’sdizzinessincreased—shefeltasifthegroundweretiltingunderher,threateningtosendhersprawling.Sheleanedbackagainstthewallofthealley,gaspingforair.

“Clary,”Lukesaid.“Clary,areyouallright?”

Hisvoicesoundedthick,strange.Shelookedathim,andthebreathdiedinherthroat.Hisearshadgrownlongandpointed,histeethrazor-sharp,hiseyesafierceyellow—

“Luke,”shewhispered.“What’shappeningtoyou?”

“Clary.”Hereachedforher,hishandsoddlyelongated, thenailssharpandrust-colored.“Issomethingwrong?”

Shescreamed,twistingawayfromhim.Shewasn’tsurewhyshefeltsoterrified—she’dseen Luke Change before, and he’d never harmed her. But the terror was a live thinginsideher,uncontrollable.Lukecaughtathershouldersandshecringedawayfromhim,awayfromhisyellow,animaleyes,evenashehushedher,begginghertobequietinhisordinary,humanvoice.“Clary,please—”

“Letmego!Letmego!”

But hedidn’t. “It’s thewater—you’re hallucinating—Clary, try to keep it together.”Hedrewhertowardthebridge,half-draggingher.Shecouldfeeltearsrunningdownherface,cooling her burning cheeks. “It’s not real. Try to hold on, please,” he said, helping herontothebridge.Shecouldsmellthewaterbelowit,greenandstale.Thingsmovedbelowthesurfaceofit.Asshewatched,ablacktentacleemergedfromthewater,itsspongytiplined with needle teeth. She cringed away from the water, unable to scream, a lowmoaningcomingfromherthroat.

Lukecaughtherasherkneesbuckled,swingingherup intohisarms.Hehadn’tcarried

hersinceshewasfiveorsixyearsold.“Clary,”hesaid,buttherestofhiswordsmeldedandblurredintoanonsensicalroarastheysteppeddownoffthebridge.Theyracedpastaseriesoftall,thinhousesthatalmostremindedClaryofBrooklynrowhouses—ormaybeshewasjusthallucinatingherownneighborhood?Theairaroundthemseemedtowarpasthey went on, the lights of the houses blazing up around them like torches, the canalshimmering with an evil phosphorescent glow. Clary’s bones felt as if they weredissolvinginsideherbody.

“Here.”Luke jerked toahalt in frontofa tallcanalhouse.Hekickedhardat thedoor,shouting; itwas painted a bright, almost garish, red, a single rune splashed across it ingold.TherunemeltedandranasClarystaredatit,takingtheshapeofahideousgrinningskull.It’snotreal,shetoldherselffiercely,stiflingherscreamwithherfist,bitingdownuntilshetastedbloodinhermouth.

Thepainclearedherheadmomentarily.Thedoorflewopen,revealingawomaninadarkdress,herfacecreasedwithamixtureofangerandsurprise.Herhairwaslong,atangledgray-brown cloud escaping from two braids; her blue eyes were familiar. A witchlightrune-stonegleamedinherhand.“Whoisit?”shedemanded.“Whatdoyouwant?”

“Amatis.”Lukemovedintothepoolofwitchlight,Claryinhisarms.“It’sme.”

Thewomanblanchedandtottered,puttingoutahandtobraceherselfagainstthedoorway.“Lucian?”Luketriedtotakeastepforward,butthewoman—Amatis—blockedhispath.Shewasshakingherheadsohardthatherbraidswhippedbackandforth.“Howcanyoucomehere,Lucian?Howdareyoucomehere?”

“Ihadverylittlechoice.”LuketightenedhisholdonClary.Shebitbackacry.Herwholebodyfeltasifitwereonfire,everynerveendingburningwithpain.

“Youhavetogo,then,”Amatissaid.“Ifyouleaveimmediately—”

“I’mnothereforme.I’mhereforthegirl.She’sdying.”Asthewomanstaredathim,hesaid,“Amatis,please.She’sJocelyn’sdaughter.”

There was a long silence, during which Amatis stood like a statue, unmoving, in thedoorway.Sheseemedfrozen,whetherfromsurpriseorhorrorClarycouldn’tguess.Claryclenchedherfist—herpalmwasstickywithbloodwherethenailsdugin—buteventhepainwasn’thelpingnow;theworldwascomingapartinsoftcolors,likeajigsawpuzzledrifting on the surface of water. She barely heard Amatis’s voice as the older womansteppedbackfromthedoorwayandsaid,“Verywell,Lucian.Youcanbringherinside.”

BythetimeSimonandJacecamebackintothelivingroom,Alinehadlaidfoodoutonthelowtablebetweenthecouches.Therewasbreadandcheese,slicesofcake,apples,andevenabottleofwine,whichMaxwasnotallowedtotouch.Hesat inthecornerwithaplateofcake,hisbookopenonhislap.Simonsympathizedwithhim.Hefeltjustasalone

inthelaughing,chattinggroupasMaxprobablydid.

HewatchedAlinetouchJace’swristwithherfingersasshereachedforapieceofapple,and felt himself tense. But this is what you want him to do, he told himself, and yetsomehowhecouldn’tgetridofthesensethatClarywasbeingdisregarded.

Jace met his eyes over Aline’s head and smiled. Somehow, even though he wasn’t avampire,hewasabletomanageasmilethatseemedtobeallpointedteeth.Simonlookedaway, glancing around the room. He noticed that the music he’d heard earlier wasn’tcomingfromastereoatallbutfromacomplicated-lookingmechanicalcontraption.

He thought about striking up a conversation with Isabelle, but she was chatting withSebastian, whose elegant face was bent attentively down to hers. Jace had laughed atSimon’scrushonIsabelleonce,butSebastiancoulddoubtlesshandleher.Shadowhunterswerebroughtuptohandleanything,weren’tthey?AlthoughthelookonJace’sfacewhenhe’dsaidthatheplannedtobeonlyClary’sbrothermadeSimonwonder.

“We’reoutofwine,”Isabelledeclared,settingthebottledownonthetablewithathump.“I’mgoingtogetsomemore.”WithawinkatSebastian,shedisappearedintothekitchen.

“Ifyoudon’tmindmysayingso,youseemalittlequiet.”ItwasSebastian,leaningoverthebackofSimon’schairwithadisarmingsmile.Forsomeonewithsuchdarkhair,Simonthought,Sebastian’sskinwasveryfair,asifhedidn’tgooutinthesunmuch.“Everythingallright?”

Simonshrugged.“Therearen’talotofopeningsformeintheconversation.ItseemstobeeitheraboutShadowhunterpoliticsorpeopleI’veneverheardof,orboth.”

The smile disappeared. “We can be something of a closed circle,weNephilim. It’s thewayofthosewhoareshutoutfromtherestoftheworld.”

“Don’tyouthinkyoushutyourselvesout?Youdespiseordinaryhumans—”

“‘Despise’isalittlestrong,”saidSebastian.“Anddoyoureallythinktheworldofhumanswouldwantanything todowithus?Allweare isa living reminder thatwhenever theycomfortthemselvesthattherearenorealvampires,norealdemonsormonstersunderthebed—they’re lying.”He turnedhishead to lookat Jace,who,Simonrealized,hadbeenstaringatthembothinsilenceforseveralminutes.“Don’tyouagree?”

Jacesmiled.“Dececrezic?v?ascultamconversatia?”

Sebastianmethisglancewithalookofpleasantinterest.“M-aiurmaritdecândaiajunsaici,”hereplied.“Nu-midauseamadac?num?placioridac?e_tiatâtdeb?nuitorcutoata lumea.”He got to his feet. “I appreciate theRomanian practice, but if you don’tmind, I’m going to see what’s taking Isabelle so long in the kitchen.” He disappearedthroughthedoorway,leavingJacestaringafterhimwithapuzzledexpression.

“What’swrong?DoeshenotspeakRomanianafterall?”Simonasked.

“No,”saidJace.Asmallfrownlinehadappearedbetweenhiseyes.“No,hespeaksitallright.”

Before Simon could ask him what he meant by that, Alec entered the room. He wasfrowning,justashehadbeenwhenhe’dleft.HisgazelingeredmomentarilyonSimon,alookalmostofconfusioninhisblueeyes.

Jaceglancedup.“Backsosoon?”

“Notforlong.”Alecreacheddowntopluckanappleoffthetablewithaglovedhand.“Ijust came back to get—him,” he said, gesturing toward Simon with the apple. “He’swantedattheGard.”

Aline looked surprised. “Really?” she said,but Jacewasalready rising from thecouch,disentanglinghishandfromhers.

“Wantedforwhat?”hesaid,withadangerouscalm.“Ihopeyoufoundthatoutbeforeyoupromisedtodeliverhim,atleast.”

“OfcourseIasked,”Alecsnapped.“I’mnotstupid.”

“Oh,comeon,”saidIsabelle.ShehadreappearedinthedoorwaywithSebastian,whowasholdingabottle.“Sometimesyouareabitstupid,youknow.Justabit,”sherepeatedasAlecshotheramurderousglare.

“They’resendingSimonbacktoNewYork,”hesaid.“ThroughthePortal.”

“Buthejustgothere!”Isabelleprotestedwithapout.“That’snofun.”

“It’snotsupposedtobefun,Izzy.Simoncomingherewasanaccident,sotheClavethinksthebestthingisforhimtogohome.”

“Great,”Simonsaid.“MaybeI’llevenmakeitbackbeforemymothernoticesI’mgone.What’sthetimedifferencebetweenhereandManhattan?”

“Youhaveamother?”Alinelookedamazed.

Simonchosetoignorethis.“Seriously,”hesaid,asAlecandJaceexchangedglances.“It’sfine.AllIwantistogetoutofthisplace.”

“You’llgowithhim?”JacesaidtoAlec.“Andmakesureeverything’sallright?”

TheywerelookingateachotherinawaythatwasfamiliartoSimon.ItwasthewayheandClary sometimes looked at each other, exchanging coded glanceswhen they didn’twanttheirparentstoknowwhattheywereplanning.

“What?”hesaid,lookingfromonetotheother.“What’swrong?”

Theybroketheirstare;Alecglancedaway,andJaceturnedablandandsmilinglookonSimon.“Nothing,”hesaid.“Everything’s fine.Congratulations,vampire—youget togohome.”

4

DAYLIGHTER

Nighthad fallenoverAlicantewhenSimonandAlec left thePenhallows’houseandheadeduphilltowardtheGard.Thestreetsofthecitywerenarrowandtwisting,wendingupward likepalestone ribbons in themoonlight.Theairwascold, thoughSimonfelt itonlydistantly.

Alecwalkedalonginsilence,stridingaheadofSimonasifpretendingthathewerealone.In his previous life Simon would have had to hurry, panting, to keep up; now hediscoveredhe couldpaceAlec just by speedinguphis stride. “Must suck,”Simon saidfinally,asAlecstaredmoroselyahead.“Gettingstuckwithescortingme,Imean.”

Alecshrugged.“I’meighteen.I’manadult,soIhavetobetheresponsibleone.I’mtheonlyonewhocangoinandoutoftheGardwhentheClave’sinsession,andbesides,theConsulknowsme.”

“What’saConsul?”

“He’slikeaveryhighofficeroftheClave.HecountsthevotesoftheCouncil,interpretstheLawfortheClave,andadvisesthemandtheInquisitor.IfyouheadupanInstituteandyourunintoaproblemyoudon’tknowhowtodealwith,youcalltheConsul.”

“HeadvisestheInquisitor?Ithought—isn’ttheInquisitordead?”

Alecsnorted.“That’slikesaying,‘Isn’tthepresidentdead?’Yeah,theInquisitordied;nowthere’sanewone.InquisitorAldertree.”

Simonglanceddownthehilltowardthedarkwaterofthecanalsfarbelow.They’dleftthecitybehindthemandweretreadinganarrowroadbetweenshadowytrees.“I’ll tellyou,inquisitions haven’t worked out well for my people in the past.” Alec looked blank.“Nevermind.Justamundanehistoryjoke.Youwouldn’tbeinterested.”

“You’re not a mundane,” Alec pointed out. “That’s why Aline and Sebastian were soexcitedtogetalookatyou.NotthatyoucantellwithSebastian;healwaysactslikehe’sseeneverythingalready.”

Simonspokewithoutthinking.“AreheandIsabelle…Istheresomethinggoingonthere?”

ThatstartledalaughoutofAlec.“IsabelleandSebastian?Hardly.Sebastian’saniceguy—Isabelle only likes dating thoroughly inappropriate boys our parents will hate.Mundanes,Downworlders,pettycrooks…”

“Thanks,”Simonsaid.“I’mgladtobeclassedwiththecriminalelement.”

“Ithinkshedoesitforattention,”Alecsaid.“She’stheonlygirlinthefamilytoo,soshehastokeepprovinghowtoughsheis.Oratleast,that’swhatshethinks.”

“Ormaybeshe’stryingtotaketheattentionoffyou,”Simonsaid,almostabsently.“Youknow,sinceyourparentsdon’tknowyou’regayandall.”

AlecstoppedinthemiddleoftheroadsosuddenlythatSimonalmostcrashedintohim.“No,”hesaid,“butapparentlyeveryoneelsedoes.”

“ExceptJace,”Simonsaid.“Hedoesn’tknow,doeshe?”

Alec took a deep breath. He was pale, Simon thought, or it could have just been themoonlight,washingthecoloroutofeverything.Hiseyeslookedblackinthedarkness.“Ireallydon’tseewhatbusinessitisofyours.Unlessyou’retryingtothreatenme.”

“Tryingtothreatenyou?”Simonwastakenaback.“I’mnot—”

“Thenwhy?”saidAlec,andtherewasasudden,sharpvulnerabilityinhisvoicethattookSimonaback.“Whybringitup?”

“Because,” Simon said. “You seem to hate me most of the time. I don’t take it thatpersonally,even if Ididsaveyour life.Youseemtokindofhate thewholeworld.Andbesides,wehavepracticallynothingincommon.ButIseeyoulookingatJace,andIseemyself looking atClary, and I figure—maybewehave that one thing in common.Andmaybeitmightmakeyoudislikemealittleless.”

“So you’re not going to tell Jace?” Alec said. “I mean—you told Clary how you felt,and…”

“Anditwasn’tthebestidea,”saidSimon.“NowIwonderallthetimehowyougobackafter something like that.Whether we can ever be friends again, or if what we had isbroken into pieces.Not because of her, but because ofme.Maybe if I found someoneelse…”

“Someoneelse,”Alecrepeated.Hehadstartedwalkingagain,veryquickly,staringattheroadaheadofhim.

Simonhurried tokeepup.“Youknowwhat Imean.For instance, I thinkMagnusBanereallylikesyou.Andhe’sprettycool.Hethrowsgreatparties,anyway.EvenifIdidgetturnedintoaratthattime.”

“Thanks for the advice.” Alec’s voice was dry. “But I don’t think he likesme all thatmuch.HebarelyspoketomewhenhecametoopenthePortalattheInstitute.”

“Maybeyoushouldcallhim,”Simonsuggested, tryingnot to think toohardabouthowweirditwastobegivingademonhunteradviceaboutpossiblydatingawarlock.

“Can’t,”Alecsaid.“NophonesinIdris.Itdoesn’tmatter,anyway.”Histonewasabrupt.“We’rehere.ThisistheGard.”

Ahighwallroseinfrontofthem,setwithapairofenormousgates.Thegateswerecarvedwiththeswirling,angularpatternsofrunes,andthoughSimoncouldn’treadthemasClarycould, there was something dazzling in their complexity and the sense of power thatemanatedfromthem.Thegateswereguardedbystoneangelstatuesoneitherside,theirfacesfierceandbeautiful.Eachheldacarvedswordinitshand,andawrithingcreature—amixture of rat, bat, and lizard,with nasty pointed teeth—lay dying at its feet. Simonstood looking at them for a longmoment.Demons, he figured—but they could just aseasilybevampires.

Alec pushed the gate open and gestured for Simon to pass through. Once inside, heblinkedaroundinconfusion.Sincehe’dbecomeavampire,hisnightvisionhadsharpenedtoalaserlikeclarity,butthedozensoftorchesliningthepathtothedoorsoftheGardweremade of witchlight, and the harsh white glow seemed to bleach the detail out ofeverything. He was vaguely aware of Alec guiding him forward down a narrow stonepathwaythatshonewithreflectedillumination,andthentherewassomeonestandingonthepathinfrontofhim,blockinghiswaywithanupraisedarm.

“So this is the vampire?”The voice that spokewas deep enough to nearly be a growl.Simon looked up, the light stinging his eyes to burning—theywould have teared up ifhe’dstillbeenabletoshedtears.Witchlight,hethought,angellight,burnsme.Isupposeit’snosurprise.

The man standing in front of them was very tall, with sallow skin stretched over

prominentcheekbones.Underaclose-croppeddomeofblackhair,hisforeheadwashigh,hisnosebeakedandRoman.HisexpressionashelookeddownatSimonwasthelookofasubwaycommuterwatchingalargeratrunbackandforthontherails,half-hopingatrainwillcomealongandsquishit.

“ThisisSimon,”saidAlec,alittleuncertainly.“Simon,thisisConsulMalachiDieudonné.IsthePortalready,sir?”

“Yes,”Malachi said. His voicewas harsh and carried a faint accent. “Everything is inreadiness.Come,Downworlder.”HebeckonedtoSimon.“Thesoonerthisisallover,thebetter.”

Simonmoved to go to the chief officer, butAlec stoppedhimwith a handonhis arm.“Just a moment,” he said, addressing the Consul. “He’ll be sent directly back toManhattan?Andtherewillbesomeonewaitingthereontheothersideforhim?”

“Indeed,” said Malachi. “The warlock Magnus Bane. Since he unwisely allowed thevampireintoIdrisinthefirstplace,he’stakenresponsibilityforhisreturn.”

“IfMagnushadn’t letSimonthroughthePortal,hewouldhavedied,”Alecsaid,a littlesharply.

“Perhaps,” said Malachi. “That’s what your parents say, and the Clave has chosen tobelievethem.Againstmyadvice,infact.Still,onedoesnotlightlybringDownworldersintotheCityofGlass.”

“Therewasnothinglightaboutit.”AngersurgedinSimon’schest.“Wewereunderattack—”

Malachi turned his gaze on Simon. “You will speak when you are spoken to,Downworlder,notbefore.”

Alec’shandtightenedonSimon’sarm.Therewasalookonhisface—halfhesitation,halfsuspicion,asifheweredoubtinghiswisdominbringingSimonhereafterall.

“Now, Consul, really!” The voice carrying through the courtyard was high, a littlebreathless,andSimonsawwithsomesurprisethatitbelongedtoaman—asmall,roundmanhurrying along thepath toward them.Hewaswearing a loosegray cloakover hisShadowhunter gear, and his bald head glistened in the witchlight. “There’s no need toalarmourguest.”

“Guest?”Malachilookedoutraged.

ThesmallmancametoahaltbeforeAlecandSimonandbeamedatthemboth.“We’resoglad—pleased,really—thatyoudecided tocooperatewithourrequest thatyoureturn toNewYork. Itdoesmakeeverythingsomucheasier.”He twinkledatSimon,whostaredback at him in confusion.He didn’t think he’d evermet a Shadowhunterwho seemedpleased toseehim—notwhenhewasamundane,anddefinitelynotnow thathewasa

vampire.“Oh,Ialmostforgot!”Thelittlemanslappedhimselfontheforeheadinremorse.“I should have introduced myself. I’m the Inquisitor—the new Inquisitor. InquisitorAldertreeismyname.”

Aldertreeheldhishandout toSimon,andinawelterofconfusionSimontookit.“Andyou.YournameisSimon?”

“Yes,” Simon said, drawing his hand back as soon as he could. Aldertree’s grip wasunpleasantlymoistandclammy.“There’snoneedtothankmeforcooperating.AllIwantistogohome.”

“I’m sure you do, I’m sure you do!” Though Aldertree’s tone was jovial, somethingflashedacrosshisfaceashespoke—anexpressionSimoncouldn’tpindown.Itwasgoneinamoment,asAldertreesmiledandgesturedtowardanarrowpaththatwoundalongsidetheGard.“Thisway,Simon,ifyouplease.”

Simonmovedforward,andAlecmadeasiftofollowhim.TheInquisitorheldupahand.“That’sallwe’llbeneedingfromyou,Alexander.Thankyouforyourhelp.”

“ButSimon—,”Alecbegan.

“Willbejustfine,”theInquisitorassuredhim.“Malachi,pleaseshowAlexanderout.Andgivehimawitchlightrune-stonetogethimbackhomeifhehasn’tbroughtone.Thepathcanbetrickyatnight.”

Andwithanotherbeatificsmile,hewhiskedSimonaway,leavingAlecstaringafterthemboth.

TheworldflareduparoundClaryinanalmosttangibleblurasLukecarriedheroverthethresholdofthehouseanddownalonghallway,Amatishurryingaheadofthemwithherwitch- light. More than half-delirious, she stared as the corridor unfolded before her,growinglongerandlongerlikeacorridorinanightmare.

Theworldturnedonitsside.Suddenlyshewaslyingonacoldsurface,andhandsweresmoothingablanketoverher.Blueeyesgazeddownather.“Sheseemsso ill,Lucian,”Amatis said, in a voice that was warped and distorted like an old recording. “Whathappenedtoher?”

“ShedrankabouthalfofLakeLyn.”ThesoundofLuke’svoicefaded,andforamomentClary’svisioncleared:Shewaslyingonthecoldtiledfloorofakitchen,andsomewhereaboveherheadLukewasrummaginginacabinet.Thekitchenhadpeelingyellowwallsand an old-fashioned black cast-iron stove against one wall; flames leaped behind thestovegrating,makingher eyeshurt. “Anise, belladonna, hellbore…”Luke turned awayfromthecabinetwithanarmfulofglasscanisters.“Canyouboilthesetogether,Amatis?I’mgoingtomoveherclosertothestove.She’sshivering.”

Clarytriedtospeak,tosaythatshedidn’tneedtobewarmed,thatshewasburningup,butthesoundsthatcameoutofhermouthweren’ttheonesshe’dintended.Sheheardherselfwhimper asLuke lifted her, and then therewas heat, thawing her left side—she hadn’teven realizedshewascold.Her teethclicked togetherhard,andshe tastedblood inhermouth.Theworldbegantotremblearoundherlikewatershakeninaglass.

“The Lake of Dreams?” Amatis’s voice was full of disbelief. Clary couldn’t see herclearly,butsheseemedtobestandingnearthestove,along-handledwoodenspooninherhand.“Whatwereyoudoingthere?DoesJocelynknowwhere—”

Andtheworldwasgone,oratleasttherealworld,thekitchenwiththeyellowwallsandthe comforting fire behind the grate. Instead she saw thewaters ofLakeLyn,with firereflectedinthemasifinthesurfaceofapieceofpolishedglass.Angelswerewalkingontheglass—angelswithwhitewingsthathungbloodiedandbrokenfromtheirbacks,andeach of them had Jace’s face. And then there were other angels, with wings of blackshadow,andtheytouchedtheirhandstothefireandlaughed….

“She keeps calling out for her brother.” Amatis’s voice sounded hollow, as if filteringdown from impossibly high overhead. “He’s with the Lightwoods, isn’t he? They’restayingwiththePenhallowsonPrincewaterStreet.Icould—”

“No,”Lukesaidsharply.“No.It’sbetterJacedoesn’tknowaboutthis.”

WasIcallingout forJace?Whywould Ido that?Clarywondered,but the thoughtwasshort-lived;thedarknesscameback,andthehallucinationsclaimedheragain.ThistimeshedreamedofAlecandofIsabelle;bothlookedasifthey’dbeenthroughafiercebattle,their faces streakedwith grime and tears. Then theywere gone, and she dreamed of afacelessmanwithblackwings sprouting fromhisback likeabat’s.Blood ran fromhismouthwhenhe smiled.Praying that thevisionswouldvanish,Clary squeezedher eyesshut….

Itwas a long time before she surfaced again to the sound of voices above her. “Drinkthis,”Lukesaid.“Clary,youhavetodrinkthis,”andthentherewerehandsonherbackandfluidwasbeingdrippedintohermouthfromasoakedrag.Ittastedbitterandawfulandshechokedandgaggedon it,but thehandsonherbackwerefirm.Sheswallowed,pastthepaininherswollenthroat.“There,”saidLuke.“There,thatshouldbebetter.”

Clary openedher eyes slowly.Kneelingbeside herwereLuke andAmatis, their nearlyidentically blue eyes filled with matching concern. She glanced behind them and sawnothing—noangelsordevilswithbatwings,onlyyellowwallsandapalepinkteakettlebalancedprecariouslyonawindowsill.

“AmIgoingtodie?”shewhispered.

Lukesmiledhaggardly.“No.It’llbealittlewhilebeforeyou’rebackonform,but—you’llsurvive.”

“Okay.”Shewastooexhaustedtofeelmuchofanything,evenrelief. It feltas ifallherboneshadbeenremoved,leavingalimpsuitofskinbehind.Lookingupdrowsilythroughhereyelashes,shesaid,almostwithoutthinking,“Youreyesarethesame.”

Lukeblinked.“Thesameaswhat?”

“As hers,”Clary said,moving her sleepy gaze toAmatis,who looked perplexed. “Thesameblue.”

TheghostofasmilepassedoverLuke’sface.“Well,it’snotthatsurprising,considering,”he said. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce you properly before. Clary, this is AmatisHerondale.Mysister.”

TheInquisitorfellsilentthemomentAlecandthechiefofficerwereoutofearshot.Simonfollowed him up the narrow witch-lit path, trying not to squint into the light. He wasawareoftheGardrisinguparoundhimlikethesideofashiprisingupoutoftheocean;lights blazed from its windows, staining the sky with a silvery light. There were lowwindowstoo,setatgroundlevel.Severalwerebarred,andtherewasonlydarknesswithin.

At length they reached awooden door set into an archway at the side of the building.Aldertreemoved to free the lock, andSimon’s stomach tightened. People, he’d noticedsincehe’dbecomeavampire,hadascentaroundthemthatchangedwiththeirmoods.TheInquisitor stank of something bitter and strong as coffee, but much more unpleasant.Simonfeltthepricklingpaininhisjawthatmeantthathisfangteethwantedtocomeout,andshrankbackfromtheInquisitorashepassedthroughthedoor.

Thehallwaybeyondwaslongandwhite,almosttunnel-like,asifithadbeencarvedoutofwhite rock.The Inquisitorhurried along,hiswitchlightbouncingbrightlyoff thewalls.Forsuchashort-leggedmanhemovedremarkablyfast,turninghisheadfromsidetosideashewent,hisnosewrinklingasifheweresmellingtheair.Simonhadtohurrytokeeppaceastheypassedasetofhugedoubledoors,thrownwideopenlikewings.Intheroombeyond, Simon could see an amphitheaterwith row upon row of chairs in it, each oneoccupied by a black-clad Shadowhunter. Voices echoed off the walls, many raised inanger,andSimoncaughtsnatchesoftheconversationashepassed,thewordsblurringasthespeakersoverlappedeachother.

“ButwehavenoproofofwhatValentinewants.Hehascommunicatedhiswishestonoone—”

“Whatdoesitmatterwhathewants?He’sarenegadeandaliar;doyoureallythinkanyattempttoappeasehimwouldbenefitusintheend?”

“You know a patrol found the dead body of a werewolf child on the outskirts ofBrocelind?Drainedofblood.ItlookslikeValentine’scompletedtheRitualhereinIdris.”

“WithtwooftheMortalInstrumentsinhispossession,he’smorepowerfulthananyoneNephilimhasarighttobe.Wemayhavenochoice—”

“Mycousindiedon that ship inNewYork!There’snowaywe’re lettingValentinegetawaywithwhathe’salreadydone!Theremustberetribution!”

Simonhesitated,curious tohearmore,but theInquisitorwasbuzzingaroundhimlikeafat,irritablebee.“Comealong,comealong,”hesaid,swinginghiswitchlightinfrontofhim. “We don’t have a lot of time towaste. I should get back to themeeting before itends.”

Reluctantly, Simon allowed the Inquisitor to push him along the corridor, the word“retribution” still ringing in his ears. The reminder of that night on the shipwas cold,unpleasant.Whentheyreachedadoorcarvedwithasinglestarkblackrune,theInquisitorproducedakeyandunlockedit,usheringSimoninsidewithabroadgestureofwelcome.

Theroombeyondwasbare,decoratedwithasingletapestrythatshowedanangelrisingoutofalake,clutchingaswordinonehandandacupintheother.Thefactthathe’dseenboththeCupandtheSwordbeforemomentarilydistractedSimon.Itwasn’tuntilheheardtheclickofalockslidinghomethatherealizedtheInquisitorhadboltedthedoorbehindhim,lockingthembothin.

Simonglanced around.Therewasno furniture in the roombesides a benchwith a lowtablebesideit.Adecorativesilverbellrestedonthetable.“ThePortal…It’sinhere?”heaskeduncertainly.

“Simon,Simon.”Aldertreerubbedhishandstogetherasifanticipatingabirthdaypartyorsomeother delightful event. “Are you really in such a hurry to leave?There are a fewquestionsIhadsohopedtoaskyoufirst….”

“Okay.”Simonshruggeduncomfortably.“Askmewhateveryouwant,Iguess.”

“Howverycooperativeofyou!Howdelightful!”Aldertreebeamed.“So,how long is itexactlythatyou’vebeenavampire?”

“Abouttwoweeks.”

“Andhowdidithappen?Wereyouattackedonthestreet,orperhapsinyourbedatnight?DoyouknowwhoitwaswhoTurnedyou?”

“Well—notexactly.”

“But,myboy!”Aldertreecried.“Howcouldyounotknowsomethinglikethat?”Thelookhebent onSimonwas open and curious.He seemed so harmless, Simon thought.Likesomeone’sgrandfatherorfunnyolduncle.Simonmusthaveimaginedthebittersmell.

“Itreallywasn’tthatsimple,”saidSimon,andwentontoexplainabouthistwotripstothe

Dumort,oneasaratandthesecondunderacompulsionsostrongithadfeltlikeagiantsetofpincersholdinghimintheirgraspandmarchinghimexactlywheretheywantedhimtogo.“Andsoyousee,”hefinished,“themomentIwalkedinthedoorofthehotel,Iwasattacked—I don’t knowwhich of them itwaswhoTurnedme, or if itwas all of themsomehow.”

TheInquisitorclucked.“Ohdear,ohdear.That’snotgoodatall.That’sveryupsetting.”

“Icertainlythoughtso,”Simonagreed.

“TheClavewon’tbepleased.”

“What?”Simonwasbaffled.“WhatdoestheClavecarehowIbecameavampire?”

“Well,itwouldbeonethingifyouwereattacked,”Aldertreesaidapologetically.“Butyoujustwalkedoutthereand,well,gaveyourselfuptothevampires,yousee?Itlooksabitasifyouwantedtobeone.”

“Ididn’twanttobeone!That’snotwhyIwenttothehotel!”

“Ofcourse,ofcourse.”Aldertree’svoicewassoothing.“Let’smovetoanothertopic,shallwe?”Withoutwaiting for a response, hewent on. “How is it that the vampires let yousurvive to rise again, young Simon? Considering that you trespassed on their territory,theirnormalprocedurewouldhavebeentofeeduntilyoudied,andthenburnyourbodytopreventyoufromrising.”

Simonopenedhismouthtoreply,totelltheInquisitorhowRaphaelhadtakenhimtotheInstitute, and how Clary and Jace and Isabelle had brought him to the cemetery andwatchedoverhimashe’ddughiswayoutofhisowngrave.Thenhehesitated.HehadonlythevaguestideahowtheLawworked,buthedoubtedsomehowthatitwasstandardShadowhunter procedure towatch over vampires as they rose, or to provide themwithbloodfortheirfirstfeeding.“Idon’tknow,”hesaid.“IhavenoideawhytheyTurnedmeinsteadofkillingme.”

“Butoneofthemmusthaveletyoudrinkhisblood,oryouwouldn’tbe…well,whatyouaretoday.Areyousayingyoudon’tknowwhoyourvampiresirewas?”

Myvampiresire?Simonhadneverthoughtofitthatway—he’dgottenRaphael’sbloodinhismouthalmostbyaccident.Anditwashardtothinkofthevampireboyasasireofanysort.RaphaellookedyoungerthanSimondid.“I’mafraidnot.”

“Oh,dear.”TheInquisitorsighed.“Mostunfortunate.”

“What’sunfortunate?”

“Well,thatyou’relyingtome,myboy.”Aldertreeshookhishead.“AndIhadsohopedyou’dcooperate.Thisisterrible,justterrible.Youwouldn’tconsidertellingmethetruth?Justasafavor?”

“Iamtellingyouthetruth!”

TheInquisitordroopedlikeanunwateredflower.“Suchashame.”Hesighedagain.“Suchashame.”Hecrossedtheroomthenandrappedsharplyonthedoor,stillshakinghishead.

“What’sgoingon?”AlarmandconfusiontingedSimon’svoice.“WhataboutthePortal?”

“ThePortal?”Aldertreegiggled.“Youdidn’treally thinkIwas justgoingto letyougo,didyou?”

BeforeSimoncouldsayawordinreply,thedoorburstopenandShadowhuntersinblackgear poured into the room, seizing hold of him.He struggled as strong hands clampedthemselves around each of his arms.A hoodwas tugged down over his head, blindinghim.Hekickedoutatthedarkness;hisfootconnected,andheheardsomeoneswear.

Hewasjerkedbackwardviciously;ahotvoicesnarledinhisear.“Dothatagain,vampire,andI’llpourholywaterdownyourthroatandwatchyoudiepukingblood.”

“That’senough!”TheInquisitor’sthin,worriedvoiceroselikeaballoon.“Therewillbeno more threats! I’m just trying to teach our guest a lesson.” He must have movedforward,becauseSimonsmelledthestrange,bittersmellagain,muffledthroughthehood.“Simon,Simon,”Aldertreesaid.“Ididsoenjoymeetingyou.IhopeanightinthecellsoftheGardwillhavethedesiredeffectandinthemorningyou’llbeabitmorecooperative.Idostillseesuchabrightfutureforus,oncewegetoverthislittlehiccup.”HishandcamedownonSimon’sshoulder.“Takehimdownstairs,Nephilim.”

Simonyelledaloud,buthiscriesweremuffledbythehood.TheShadowhuntersdraggedhimfromtheroomandpropelledhimdownwhatfelt likeanendlessseriesofmazelikecorridors,twistingandturning.Eventuallytheyreachedasetofstairsandhewasshoveddownitbymainforce,hisfeetslippingonthesteps.Hecouldn’ttellanythingaboutwheretheywere—exceptthattherewasaclose,darksmellaroundthem,likewetstone,andthattheairwasgrowingwetterandcolderastheydescended.

Atlasttheypaused.Therewasascrapingsound,likeirondraggingoverstone,andSimonwas thrown forward to landonhishandsandkneesonhardground.Therewasa loud,metallicclang,asofadoorbeingslammedshut,andthesoundofretreatingfootsteps,theecho of boots on stone growing fainter as Simon staggered to his feet.He dragged thehoodfromhisheadandthrewittotheground.Theclose,hot,suffocatingfeelingaroundhis facevanished,andhe fought theurge togasp forbreath—breathhedidn’tneed.Heknewitwasjustareflex,buthischestachedasifhe’dreallybeendeprivedofair.

Hewasinasquarebarrenstoneroom,withjustasinglebarredwindowsetintothewallabovethesmall,hard-lookingbed.ThroughalowdoorSimoncouldseeatinybathroomwithasinkandtoilet.Thewestwalloftheroomwasalsobarred—thick,iron-lookingbarsrunningfromfloortoceiling,sunkdeeplyintothefloor.Ahingedirondoor,madeofbarsitself,wasset intothewall; itwasfittedwithabrassknob,whichwascarvedacross itsfacewithadenseblackrune.Infact,allthebarswerecarvedwithrunes;eventhewindow

barswerewrappedwithspiderylinesofthem.

Though he knew the cell doormust be locked, Simon couldn’t help himself; he strodeacrossthefloorandseizedtheknob.Asearingpainshotthroughhishand.Heyelledandjerkedhisarmback,staring.Thinwispsofsmokerosefromhisburnedpalm;anintricatedesignhadbeencharredintotheskin.ItlookedalittlelikeaStarofDavidinsideacircle,withdelicaterunesdrawnineachofthehollowspacesbetweenthelines.

Thepainfeltlikewhiteheat.Simoncurledhishandinonitselfasagasprosetohislips.“Whatisthis?”hewhispered,knowingnoonecouldhearhim.

“It’stheSealofSolomon,”saidavoice.“Itcontains,theyclaim,oneoftheTrueNamesofGod.Itrepelsdemons—andyourkindaswell,beinganarticleofyourfaith.”

Simonjerkedupright,half-forgettingthepaininhishand.“Who’sthere?Whosaidthat?”

Therewasapause.Then,“I’minthecellnexttoyours,Daylighter,”saidthevoice.Itwasmale,adult,slightlyhoarse.“Theguardswereherehalfthedaytalkingabouthowtokeepyoupenned in.SoIwouldn’tbother trying toget itopen.You’rebetteroffsavingyourstrengthtillyoufindoutwhattheClavewantsfromyou.”

“Theycan’tholdmehere,”Simonprotested.“Idon’tbelongtothisworld.MyfamilywillnoticeI’mmissing—myteachers—”

“They’vetakencareofthat.Therearesimpleenoughspells—abeginningwarlockcouldusethem—thatwillsupplyyourparentswiththeillusionthatthere’saperfectlylegitimatereasonforyourabsence.Aschool trip.Avisit to family. Itcanbedone.”Therewasnothreat in the voice, and no sorrow; it wasmatter-of-fact. “Do you really think they’venevermadeaDownworlderdisappearbefore?”

“Whoareyou?”Simon’svoicecracked.“AreyouaDownworldertoo?Isthiswheretheykeepus?”

This time therewas no answer. Simon called out again, but his neighbor had evidentlydecidedthathe’dsaidallhewantedtosay.NothingansweredSimon’scriesbutsilence.

Thepaininhishandhadfaded.Lookingdown,Simonsawthattheskinnolongerlookedburned,butthemarkoftheSealwasprintedonhispalmasifithadbeendrawnthereinink.Helookedbackatthecellbars.Herealizednowthatnotalltheruneswererunesatall:CarvedbetweenthemwereStarsofDavidandlinesfromtheTorahinHebrew.Thecarvingslookednew.

Theguardswereherehalfthedaytalkingabouthowtokeepyoupennedin,thevoicehadsaid.

Butithadn’tjustbeenbecausehewasavampire,laughably;ithadpartlybeenbecausehewasJewish.TheyhadspenthalfthedaycarvingtheSealofSolomonintothatdoorknobsoitwouldburnhimwhenhetouchedit.Ithadtakenthemthislongtoturnthearticlesof

hisfaithagainsthim.

ForsomereasontherealizationstrippedawaythelastofSimon’sself-possession.Hesankdownontothebedandputhisheadinhishands.

PrincewaterStreetwasdarkwhenAlecreturnedfromtheGard,thewindowsofthehousesshuttered and shaded, only the occasionalwitchlight streetlamp casting a pool ofwhiteilluminationontothecobblestones.ThePenhallows’housewasthebrightestontheblock—candlesglowedin thewindows,andthefrontdoorwasslightlyajar, lettingasliceofyellowlightouttocurvealongthewalkway.

JacewassittingonthelowstonewallthatborderedthePenhallows’frontgarden,hishairverybrightunder the lightof thenearest streetlamp.He lookedupasAlecapproached,andshiveredalittle.Hewaswearingonlyalightjacket,Alecsaw,andithadgrowncoldsince the sun had gone down. The smell of late roses hung in the chilly air like thinperfume.

AlecsankdownontothewallbesideJace.“Haveyoubeenoutherewaitingformeallthistime?”

“WhosaysI’mwaitingforyou?”

“Itwentfine,ifthat’swhatyouwereworriedabout.IleftSimonwiththeInquisitor.”

“Youlefthim?Youdidn’tstaytomakesureeverythingwentallright?”

“Itwasfine,”Alecrepeated.“TheInquisitorsaidhe’dtakehiminsidepersonallyandsendhimbackto—”

“The Inquisitor said, the Inquisitor said,” Jace interrupted. “The last Inquisitor wemetcompletelyexceededhercommand—ifshehadn’tdied,theClavewouldhaverelievedherofherposition,maybeevencursedher.What’stosaythisInquisitorisn’tanutjobtoo?”

“He seemedall right,” saidAlec. “Nice, even.Hewasperfectlypolite toSimon.Look,Jace—thisishowtheClaveworks.Wedon’tgettocontroleverythingthathappens.Butyouhavetotrustthem,becauseotherwiseeverythingturnsintochaos.”

“Butthey’vescrewedupalotrecently—youhavetoadmitthat.”

“Maybe,”Alecsaid,“butifyoustartthinkingyouknowbetterthantheClaveandbetterthantheLaw,whatmakesyouanybetterthantheInquisitor?OrValentine?”

Jaceflinched.HelookedasifAlechadhithim,orworse.

Alec’sstomachdropped.“I’msorry.”Hereachedoutahand.“Ididn’tmeanthat—”

A beam of bright yellow light cut across the garden suddenly. Alec looked up to seeIsabelle framed in the open front door, light pouring out around her. She was only asilhouette,buthecouldtellfromthehandsonherhipsthatshewasannoyed.“Whatareyoutwodoingouthere?”shecalled.“Everyone’swonderingwhereyouare.”

Alecturnedbacktohisfriend.“Jace—”

ButJace,gettingtohisfeet,ignoredAlec’soutstretchedhand.“You’dbetterberightabouttheClave,”wasallhesaid.

AlecwatchedasJacestalkedbackto thehouse.Unbidden,Simon’svoicecameintohismind.NowIwonderallthetimehowyougobackaftersomethinglikethat.Whetherwecaneverbefriendsagain,orifwhatwehadisbrokenintopieces.Notbecauseofher,butbecauseofme.

Thefrontdoorshut,leavingAlecsittinginthehalf-litgarden,alone.Heclosedhiseyesforamoment,theimageofafacehoveringbehindhislids.NotJace’sface,forachange.Theeyessetinthefaceweregreen,slit-pupiled.Cateyes.

Openinghiseyes,hereachedintohissatchelanddrewoutapenandapieceofpaper,tornfromthespiral-boundnotebookheusedasajournal.Hewroteafewwordsonitandthen,withhisstele,tracedtheruneforfireatthebottomofthepage.Itwentupfasterthanhe’dthoughtitwould;heletgoofthepaperasitburned,floatinginmidairlikeafirefly.Soonallthatwasleftwasafinedriftofash,siftinglikewhitepowderacrosstherosebushes.

5

APROBLEMOFMEMORY

AfternoonlightwokeClary,abeamofpalebrightnessthatlaiditselfdirectlyoverherface, lighting the insides of her eyelids to hot pink. She stirred restlessly and warilyopenedhereyes.

Thefeverwasgone,andsowasthesensethatherbonesweremeltingandbreakinginsideher.Shesatupandglancedaroundwithcuriouseyes.ShewasinwhathadtobeAmatis’sspare room—it was small, white-painted, the bed covered with a brightly woven ragblanket.Lace curtainswere drawnbackover roundwindows, letting in circles of light.She sat up slowly, waiting for dizziness to wash over her. Nothing happened. She feltentirely healthy, even well rested. Getting out of bed, she looked down at herself.Someonehadputherinapairofstarchedwhitepajamas,thoughtheywerewrinklednowandtoobigforher;thesleeveshungdowncomicallypastherfingers.

Shewenttooneofthecircularwindowsandpeeredout.Stackedhousesofold-goldstoneroseupthesideofahill,andtheroofslookedasiftheyhadbeenshingledinbronze.Thissideofthehousefacedawayfromthecanal,ontoanarrowsidegardenturningbrownandgoldwithautumn.Atrelliscrawledupthesideofthehouse;asinglelastrosehungonit,droopingbrowningpetals.

Thedoorknobrattled,andClaryclimbedhastilybackintobedjustbeforeAmatisentered,holdingatrayinherhands.SheraisedhereyebrowswhenshesawClarywasawake,butsaidnothing.

“Where’sLuke?”Clarydemanded,drawingtheblanketclosearoundherselfforcomfort.

Amatissetthetraydownonthetablebesidethebed.Therewasamugofsomethinghotonit,andsomeslicesofbutteredbread.“Youshouldeatsomething,”shesaid.“You’llfeelbetter.”

“Ifeelfine,”Clarysaid.“Where’sLuke?”

Therewasahigh-backedchairbesidethetable;Amatissatinit,foldedherhandsinherlap,andregardedClarycalmly.InthedaylightClarycouldseemoreclearlythelinesinherface—shelookedolder thanClary’smotherbymanyyears, thoughtheycouldn’tbethat farapart inage.Herbrownhairwasstippledwithgray,hereyesrimmedwithdarkpink,asifshehadbeencrying.“He’snothere.”

“Notherelikehejustpoppedaroundthecornertothebodegaforasix-packofDietCokeandaboxofKrispyKremes,ornotherelike…”

“He left this morning, around dawn, after sitting up with you all night. As to hisdestination, he wasn’t specific.” Amatis’s tone was dry, and if Clary hadn’t felt sowretched, shemight have been amused to note that itmade her soundmuchmore likeLuke.“Whenhe livedhere,beforehe left Idris, afterhewas…Changed…he ledawolfpackthatmadeitshomeinBrocelindForest.Hesaidhewasgoingbacktothem,buthewouldn’tsaywhyorforhowlong—onlythathe’dbebackinafewdays.”

“Hejust…leftmehere?AmIsupposedtositaroundandwaitforhim?”

“Well,hecouldn’tverywelltakeyouwithhim,couldhe?”Amatisasked.“Anditwon’tbe easy for you to get home.You broke theLaw in coming here like you did, and theClavewon’toverlookthat,orbegenerousaboutlettingyouleave.”

“I don’t want to go home.” Clary tried to collect herself. “I came here to…to meetsomeone.Ihavesomethingtodo.”

“Luke told me,” said Amatis. “Let me give you a piece of advice—you’ll only findRagnorFellifhewantstobefound.”

“But—”

“Clarissa.”Amatislookedatherspeculatively.“We’reexpectinganattackbyValentineatanymoment.Almost every Shadowhunter in Idris is here in the city, inside thewards.StayinginAlicanteisthesafestthingforyou.”

Clarysatfrozen.Rationally,Amatis’swordsmadesense,butitdidn’tdomuchtoquietthevoiceinsideherscreamingthatshecouldn’twait.ShehadtofindRagnorFellnow; shehadtosavehermothernow,shehadtogonow.Shebitdownonherpanicand tried tospeakcasually.“Lukenevertoldmehehadasister.”

“No,”Amatissaid.“Hewouldn’thave.Weweren’t—close.”

“Luke said your last namewasHerondale,”Clary said. “But that’s the Inquisitor’s lastname.Isn’tit?”

“Itwas,” saidAmatis, and her face tightened as if thewords pained her. “Shewasmymother-in-law.”

What was it Luke had told Clary about the Inquisitor? That she’d had a son, who’dmarriedawomanwith“undesirablefamilyconnections.”“Youweremarried toStephenHerondale?”

Amatislookedsurprised.“Youknowhisname?”

“Ido—Luketoldme—butIthoughthiswifedied.Ithoughtthat’swhytheInquisitorwasso—”Horrible,shewantedtosay,butitseemedcrueltosayit.“Bitter,”shesaidatlast.

Amatisreachedfor themugshe’dbrought;herhandshooka littleasshe lifted it.“Yes,shediddie.Killedherself.ThatwasCéline—Stephen’ssecondwife.Iwasthefirst.”

“Andyougotdivorced?”

“Somethinglikethat.”AmatisthrustthemugatClary.“Look,drinkthis.Youhavetoputsomethinginyourstomach.”

Distracted,Clarytookthemugandswallowedahotmouthful.Theliquidinsidewasrichandsalty—nottea,asshe’dthought,butsoup.“Okay,”shesaid.“Sowhathappened?”

Amatiswasgazing into thedistance.“Wewere in theCircle,StephenandI,alongwitheveryone else. When Luke was—when what happened to Luke happened, Valentineneededanewlieutenant.HechoseStephen.AndwhenhechoseStephen,hedecidedthatperhapsitwouldn’tbefittingforthewifeofhisclosestfriendandadvisertobesomeonewhosebrotherwas…”

“Awerewolf.”

“He used another word.” Amatis sounded bitter. “He convinced Stephen to annul ourmarriageandtofindhimselfanotherwife,onethatValentinehadpickedforhim.Célinewassoyoung—socompletelyobedient.”

“That’shorrible.”

Amatisshookherheadwithabrittlelaugh.“Itwasalongtimeago.Stephenwaskind,Isuppose—he gave me this house and moved back into the Herondale manor with hisparents andCéline. I never saw him again after that. I left the Circle, of course. Theywouldn’t have wanted me anymore. The only one of them who still visited me wasJocelyn.Sheeven toldmewhenshewent to seeLuke….”Shepushedhergrayinghairbackbehindherears.“IheardwhathappenedtoStephenintheUprisingonceitwasallover.AndCéline—I’dhatedher,butIfeltsorryforherthen.Shecutherwrists,theysay—bloodeverywhere—”Shetookadeepbreath.“IsawImogenlateratStephen’sfuneral,whentheyputhisbodyintotheHerondalemausoleum.Shedidn’tevenseemtorecognizeme.TheymadehertheInquisitornotlongafterthat.TheClavefelttherewasnooneelsewhowouldhavehunteddowntheformermembersoftheCirclemoreruthlesslythanshedid—and theywere right. If she could havewashed away hermemories of Stephen intheirblood,shewouldhave.”

Clary thoughtof thecoldeyesof theInquisitor,hernarrow,hardstare,and tried to feelpityforher.“Ithinkitmadehercrazy,”shesaid.“Reallycrazy.Shewashorribletome—butmostlytoJace.Itwaslikeshewantedhimdead.”

“Thatmakessense,”saidAmatis.“Youlooklikeyourmother,andyourmotherbroughtyouup,butyourbrother—”Shecockedherheadtotheside.“DoeshelookasmuchlikeValentineasyoulooklikeJocelyn?”

“No,”Clarysaid.“Jacejustlookslikehimself.”AshiverwentthroughheratthethoughtofJace.“He’shereinAlicante,”shesaid,thinkingoutloud.“IfIcouldseehim—”

“No.”Amatis spokewith asperity. “You can’t leave thehouse.Not to see anyone.Anddefinitelynottoseeyourbrother.”

“Notleavethehouse?”Clarywashorrified.“YoumeanI’mstuckhere?Likeaprisoner?”

“It’sonlyforadayortwo,”Amatisadmonishedher,“andbesides,you’renotwell.Youneedtorecover.Thelakewaternearlykilledyou.”

“ButJace—”

“IsoneoftheLightwoods.Youcan’tgooverthere.Themomenttheyseeyou,they’lltelltheClaveyou’rehere.Andthenyouwon’tbetheonlyoneintroublewiththeLaw.Lukewillbetoo.”

ButtheLightwoodswon’tbetraymetotheClave.Theywouldn’tdothat—

The words died on her lips. There was no way she was going to be able to convinceAmatisthattheLightwoodsshe’dknownfifteenyearsagonolongerexisted,thatRobertandMaryseweren’tblindly loyal fanaticsanymore.ThiswomanmightbeLuke’ssister,butshewasstillastrangertoClary.ShewasalmostastrangertoLuke.Hehadn’tseenherin sixteen years—had never evenmentioned she existed.Clary leaned back against thepillows,feigningweariness.“You’reright,”shesaid.“Idon’tfeelwell.IthinkI’dbettersleep.”

“Good idea.”Amatis leaned over and plucked the emptymug out of her hand. “If youwant to take a shower, the bathroom’s across the hall. And there’s a trunk of my oldclothesatthefootofthebed.Youlooklikeyou’reaboutthesizeIwaswhenIwasyourage,so theymight fityou.Unlike thosepajamas,”sheadded,andsmiled,aweaksmilethatClarydidn’treturn.Shewastoobusyfightingtheurgetopoundherfistsagainstthemattressinfrustration.

ThemomentthedoorclosedbehindAmatis,Claryscrambledoutofbedandheadedforthebathroom,hopingthatstandinginhotwaterwouldhelpclearherhead.Toherrelief,foralltheirold-fashionedness,theShadowhuntersseemedtobelieveinmodernplumbingandhotandcoldrunningwater.Therewasevensharplyscentedcitrussoap torinse thelingering smell ofLakeLyn out of her hair.By the time she emerged,wrapped in twotowels,shewasfeelingmuchbetter.

In the bedroom she rummaged throughAmatis’s trunk.Her clotheswere packed awayneatlybetweenlayersofcrisppaper.Therewerewhatlookedlikeschoolclothes—merinowoolsweaterswithaninsigniathatlookedlikefourCsbacktobacksewedoverthebreastpocket,pleatedskirts,andbutton-downshirtswithnarrowcuffs.Therewasawhitedressswathed in layers of tissue paper—a wedding dress, Clary thought, and laid it asidecarefully.Belowitwasanotherdress,thisonemadeofsilverysilk,withslenderbejeweledstrapsholdingupitsgossamerweight.Clarycouldn’timagineAmatisinit,but—This isthesortofthingmymothermighthavewornwhenshewentdancingwithValentine, shecouldn’thelpthinking,andletthedressslidebackintothetrunk,itstexturesoftandcoolagainstherfingers.

AndthentherewastheShadowhuntergear,packedawayattheverybottom.

Clarydrewoutthoseclothesandspreadthemcuriouslyacrossherlap.Thefirsttimeshe

hadseenJaceandtheLightwoods,theyhadbeenwearingtheirfightinggear:closefittingtopsandpantsof tough,darkmaterial.Upcloseshecouldsee that thematerialwasnotstretchy but stiff, a thin leather poundedvery flat until it became flexible.Therewas ajacket-type top that zippedupandpants thathadcomplicatedbelt loops.Shadowhunterbeltswerebig,sturdythings,meantforhangingweaponson.

She ought, of course, to put on one of the sweaters andmaybe a skirt. ThatwaswhatAmatishadprobablymeanthertodo.Butsomethingaboutthefightinggearcalledtoher;shehadalwaysbeencurious,alwayswonderedwhatitwouldbelike….

AfewminuteslaterthetowelswerehangingoverthebaratthefootofthebedandClarywasregardingherselfinthemirrorwithsurpriseandnotalittleamusement.Thegearfit—itwastightbutnottootight,andhuggedthecurvesofherlegsandchest.Infact,itmadeher look as if she had curves, which was sort of novel. It couldn’t make her lookformidable—shedoubtedanythingcoulddo that—butat least she looked taller, andherhairagainsttheblackmaterialwasextraordinarilybright.Infact—Ilooklikemymother,Clarythoughtwithajolt.

Andshedid.Jocelynhadalwayshadasteelycoreoftoughnessunderherdoll-likelooks.Claryhadoftenwonderedwhathadhappenedinhermother’spast tomakeher thewayshewas—strongandunbending,stubbornandunafraid.DoesyourbrotherlookasmuchlikeValentineasyoulooklikeJocelyn?Amatishadasked,andClaryhadwantedtoreplythatshedidn’t lookatall likehermother, thathermotherwasbeautifulandshewasn’t.But the Jocelyn that Amatis had known was the girl who’d plotted to bring downValentine, who’d secretly forged an alliance of Nephilim and Downworlders that hadbrokentheCircleandsavedtheAccords.ThatJocelynwouldneverhaveagreedtostayquietlyinsidethishouseandwaitwhileeverythinginherworldfellapart.

Without pausing to think, Clary crossed the room and shot home the bolt on the door,lockingit.Thenshewenttothewindowandpusheditopen.Thetrelliswasthere,clingingtothesideofthestonewalllike—Likealadder,Clarytoldherself.Justlikealadder—andladdersareperfectlysafe.

Takingadeepbreath,shecrawledoutontothewindowledge.

TheguardscamebackforSimonthenextmorning,shakinghimawakeoutofanalreadyfitfulsleepplaguedwithstrangedreams.Thistimetheydidn’tblindfoldhimastheyledhimbackupstairs,andhesnuckaquickglancethroughthebarreddoorofthecellnexttohis.Ifhe’dhopedtogetalookattheownerofthehoarsevoicethathadspokentohimthenight before, he was disappointed. The only thing visible through the bars was whatlookedlikeapileofdiscardedrags.

TheguardshurriedSimonalongaseriesofgraycorridors,quicktoshakehimifhelookedtoolonginanydirection.Finallytheycametoahaltinarichlywallpaperedroom.TherewereportraitsonthewallsofdifferentmenandwomeninShadowhuntergear,theframes

decoratedwithpatternsof runes.Belowoneof the largestportraitswasa redcouchonwhichtheInquisitorwasseated,holdingwhatlookedlikeasilvercupinhishand.HehelditouttoSimon.“Blood?”heinquired.“Youmustbehungrybynow.”

HetippedthecuptowardSimon,andtheviewoftheredliquidinsideithithimjustasthesmelldid.Hisveinsstrainedtowardtheblood,likestringsunderthecontrolofamasterpuppeteer.Thefeelingwasunpleasant,almostpainful.“Isit…human?”

Aldertreechuckled.“Myboy!Don’tberidiculous.It’sdeerblood.Perfectlyfresh.”

Simonsaidnothing.Hislowerlipstungwherehisfangshadslidfromtheirsheaths,andhetastedhisownbloodinhismouth.Itfilledhimwithnausea.

Aldertree’sfacescreweduplikeadriedplum.“Oh,dear.”Heturnedtotheguards.“Leaveusnow,gentlemen,”hesaid,andtheyturnedtogo.OnlytheConsulpausedatthedoor,glancingbackatSimonwithalookofunmistakabledisgust.

“No,thankyou,”Simonsaidthroughthethicknessinhismouth.“Idon’twanttheblood.”

“Yourfangssayotherwise,youngSimon,”Aldertreerepliedgenially.“Here.Takeit.”Heheldoutthecup,andthesmellofbloodseemedtowaftthroughtheroomlikethescentofrosesthroughagarden.

Simon’sincisorsstabbeddownward,fullyextendednow,slicingintohislip.Thepainwaslike a slap; hemoved forward, almostwithout volition, and grabbed the cup out of theInquisitor’shand.Hedraineditinthreeswallows,then,realizingwhathehaddone,setitdownonthearmofthecouch.Hishandwasshaking.Inquisitorone,hethought.Mezero.

“I trust your night in the cells wasn’t too unpleasant? They’re notmeant to be torturechambers,myboy,morealongthelinesofaspaceforenforcedreflection.Ifindreflectionabsolutelycentersthemind,don’tyou?Essentialtoclearthinking.Idohopeyougotsomethinkingin.Youseemlikeathoughtfulyoungman.”TheInquisitorcockedhisheadtotheside.“Ibroughtthatblanketdownforyouwithmyownhands,youknow.Iwouldn’thavewantedyoutobecold.”

“I’mavampire,”Simonsaid.“Wedon’tgetcold.”

“Oh.”TheInquisitorlookeddisappointed.

“I appreciated the Stars of David and the Seal of Solomon,” Simon added dryly. “It’salwaysnicetoseesomeonetakinganinterestinmyreligion.”

“Oh, yes, of course, of course!” Aldertree brightened. “Wonderful, aren’t they, thecarvings?Absolutelycharming,andofcoursefoolproof.I’dimagineanyattempttotouchthecelldoorwouldmelttheskinrightoffyourhand!”Hechuckled,clearlyamusedbythethought.“Inanycase.Couldyoutakeastepbackwardforme,myman?Justasafavor,apurefavor,youunderstand.”

Simontookastepback.

Nothinghappened,buttheInquisitor’seyeswidened,thepuffyskinaroundthemlookingstretchedandshiny.“Isee,”hebreathed.

“Youseewhat?”

“Lookwhereyouare,youngSimon.Lookallaboutyou.”

Simonglancedaround—nothinghadchangedabout theroom,and it tookamoment forhimtorealizewhatAldertreemeant.Hewasstandinginabrightpatchofsunthatangledthroughawindowhighoverhead.

Aldertreewasalmostsquirmingwithexcitement.“You’restandingindirectsunlight,andit’shavingnoeffectonyouatall.Ialmostwouldn’thavebelievedit—Imean,Iwastold,ofcourse,butI’veneverseenanythinglikeitbefore.”

Simonsaidnothing.Thereseemedtobenothingtosay.

“Thequestionforyou,ofcourse,”Aldertreewenton,“iswhetheryouknowwhyyou’relikethis.”

“Maybe I’m just nicer than the other vampires.” Simon was immediately sorry he’dspoken. Aldertree’s eyes narrowed, and a vein bulged at his temple like a fat worm.Clearly,hedidn’tlikejokesunlesshewastheonemakingthem.

“Veryamusing,veryamusing,”hesaid.“Letmeaskyouthis:HaveyoubeenaDaylightersincethemomentyourosefromthegrave?”

“No.” Simon spoke with care. “No. At first the sun burned me. Even just a patch ofsunlightwouldscorchmyskin.”

“Indeed.”Aldertreegaveavigorousnod,asiftosaythatthatwasthewaythingsoughttobe.“Sowhenwasityoufirstnoticedthatyoucouldwalkinthedaylightwithoutpain?”

“ItwasthemorningafterthebigbattleonValentine’sship—”

“DuringwhichValentinecapturedyou,isthatcorrect?Hehadcapturedyouandkeptyouprisoner on his ship, meaning to use your blood to complete the Ritual of InfernalConversion.”

“Iguessyouknoweverythingalready,”Simonsaid.“Youhardlyneedme.”

“Oh, no, not at all!”Aldertree cried, throwing up his hands.He had very small hands,Simonnoticed,sosmallthattheylookedalittleoutofplaceattheendsofhisplumparms.“Youhave somuch to contribute,mydearboy!For instance, I can’thelpwondering ifthere was something that happened on the ship, something that changed you. Is thereanythingyoucanthinkof?”

IdrankJace’sblood,Simonthought,half-inclinedtorepeatthistotheInquisitorjusttobenasty—and then,with a jolt, realized, I drank Jace’s blood.Could that have beenwhatchanged him?Was it possible? And whether it was possible or not, could he tell theInquisitor what Jace had done? Protecting Clary was one thing; protecting Jace wasanother.Hedidn’toweJaceanything.

Exceptthatwasn’tstrictlytrue.Jacehadofferedhimhisbloodtodrink,hadsavedhislifewith it.Would another Shadowhunter have done that, for a vampire?And even if he’donlydone it forClary’s sake,did itmatter?He thoughtofhimself saying, I couldhavekilledyou.AndJace:Iwouldhaveletyou.TherewasnotellingwhatkindoftroubleJacewouldgetintoiftheClaveknewhehadsavedSimon’slife,andhow.

“I don’t remember anything from the boat,” Simon said. “I think Valentinemust havedruggedmeorsomething.”

Aldertree’sfacefell.“That’sterriblenews.Terrible.I’msosorrytohearit.”

“I’msorrytoo,”Simonsaid,althoughhewasn’t.

“Sothereisn’tasinglethingyouremember?Notonecolorfuldetail?”

“IjustrememberpassingoutwhenValentineattackedme,andthenIwokeuplateron…onLuke’struck,headedhome.Idon’trememberanythingelse.”

“Ohdear,ohdear.”Aldertreedrewhiscloakaroundhim.“IseetheLightwoodsseemtohave become rather fond of you, but the other members of the Clave are not so…understanding.YouwerecapturedbyValentine,youemergedfromthisconfrontationwithapeculiarnewpoweryouhadn’thadbefore,andnowyou’vefoundyourwaytotheheartofIdris.Youdoseehowitlooks?”

IfSimon’shearthadstillbeenabletobeat,itwouldhavebeenracing.“YouthinkI’maspyforValentine.”

Aldertreelookedshocked.“Myboy,myboy—Itrustyou,ofcourse.Itrustyouimplicitly!But theClave, oh, theClave, I’mafraid they canbevery suspicious.Wehad sohopedyou’dbe able to help us.You see—and I shouldn’t be tellingyou this, but I feel I canconfideinyou,dearboy—theClaveisindreadfultrouble.”

“TheClave?”Simonfeltdazed.“Butwhatdoesthathavetodowith—”

“Yousee,”Aldertreewenton,“theClaveissplitdownthemiddle—atwarwithitself,youmightsay,inatimeofwar.Mistakesweremade,bythepreviousInquisitorandothers—perhapsit’sbetternottodwell.Butyousee,theveryauthorityoftheClave,oftheConsulandtheInquisitor,isunderquestion.Valentinealwaysseemstobeastepaheadofus,asifheknowsourplansinadvance.TheCouncilwillnotlistentomyadviceorMalachi’s,notafterwhathappenedinNewYork.”

“IthoughtthatwastheInquisitor—”

“AndMalachiwastheonewhoappointedher.Now,ofcourse,hehadnoideashewouldgoasmadasshedid—”

“But,”Simonsaid,alittlesourly,“thereisthequestionofhowitlooks.”

The vein bulged inAldertree’s forehead again. “Clever,” he said. “And you’re correct.Appearances are significant, and nevermore than in politics.You can always sway thecrowd,providedyouhaveagoodstory.”He leanedforward,hiseyes lockedonSimon.“Nowletmetellyouastory.Itgoeslikethis.TheLightwoodswereonceintheCircle.AtsomepointtheyrecantedandweregrantedmercyonthegroundsthattheystayedoutofIdris,wenttoNewYork,andrantheInstitutethere.TheirblamelessrecordbegantowinthembackthetrustoftheClave.ButallalongtheyknewValentinewasalive.Allalongtheywerehisloyalservants.Theytookinhisson—”

“Buttheydidn’tknow—”

“Bequiet,”theInquisitorsnarled,andSimonshuthismouth.“TheyhelpedhimfindtheMortal Instruments and assisted himwith the Ritual of Infernal Conversion.When theInquisitor discovered what they were secretly up to, they arranged to have her killedduringthebattleontheship.Andnowtheyhavecomehere,totheheartoftheClave,tospyonourplansandrevealthemtoValentineastheyaremade,sothathecandefeatusandultimatelybendallNephilimtohiswill.Andtheyhavebroughtyouwiththem—you,avampirewhocanwithstandsunlight—todistractusfromtheirtrueplans:toreturntheCircletoitsformergloryanddestroytheLaw.”TheInquisitorleanedforward,hispiggyeyesgleaming.“Whatdoyouthinkofthatstory,vampire?”

“Ithinkit’sinsane,”saidSimon.“Andit’sgotmoregiantholesinitthanKentAvenueinBrooklyn—which,incidentally,hasn’tbeenresurfacedinyears.Idon’tknowwhatyou’rehopingtoaccomplishwiththis—”

“Hoping?”echoedAldertree.“Idon’thope,Downworlder.Iknowinmyheart.IknowitismysacreddutytosavetheClave.”

“Withalie?”saidSimon.

“Withastory,”saidAldertree.“Greatpoliticiansweavetalestoinspiretheirpeople.”

“There’snothinginspirationalaboutblamingtheLightwoodsforeverything—”

“Somemustbesacrificed,”saidAldertree.Hisfaceshonewithasweatylight.“OncetheCouncil has a common enemy, and a reason to trust the Clave again, they will cometogether.Whatisthecostofonefamily,weighedagainstallthat?Infact,Idoubtanythingmuchwill happen to theLightwoodchildren.Theywon’tbeblamed.Well, perhaps theeldestboy.Buttheothers—”

“Youcan’tdothis,”Simonsaid.“Nobodywillbelievethisstory.”

“Peoplebelievewhattheywanttobelieve,”Aldertreesaid,“andtheClavewantssomeonetoblame.Icangivethemthat.AllIneedisyou.”

“Me?Whatdoesthishavetodowithme?”

“Confess.”TheInquisitor’sfacewasscarletwithexcitementnow.“Confessthatyou’reaservantoftheLightwoods,thatyou’reallinleaguewithValentine.ConfessandI’llshowyou leniency. I’ll send you back to your own people. I swear to it. But I need yourconfessiontomaketheClavebelieve.”

“Youwantmetoconfess toa lie,”Simonsaid.Heknewhewasjustrepeatingwhat theInquisitorhadalreadysaid,buthismindwaswhirling;hecouldn’tseemtocatchholdofasingle thought.The facesof theLightwoodsspun throughhismind—Alec,catchinghisbreathonthepathuptotheGard;Isabelle’sdarkeyesturneduptohis;Maxbentoverabook.

And Jace. Jace was one of them as much as if he shared their Lightwood blood. TheInquisitorhadn’t saidhisname,butSimonknewJacewouldpayalongwith the restofthem. And whatever he suffered, Clary would suffer. How had it happened, Simonthought, that hewas bound to these people—to peoplewho thought of him as nothingmorethanaDownworlder,halfhumanatbest?

HeraisedhiseyestotheInquisitor’s.Aldertree’swereanoddcharcoalblack;lookingintothemwaslikelookingintodarkness.“No,”Simonsaid.“No,Iwon’tdoit.”

“ThatbloodIgaveyou,”Aldertreesaid,“isall thebloodyou’llseeuntilyougivemeadifferentanswer.”Therewasnokindnessinhisvoice,notevenfalsekindness.“You’dbesurprisedhowthirstyyoucanget.”

Simonsaidnothing.

“Anothernightinthecells,then,”theInquisitorsaid,risingtohisfeetandreachingforabell to summon the guards. “It’s quite peaceful down there, isn’t it? I do find that apeacefulatmospherecanhelpwithalittleproblemofmemory—don’tyou?”

ThoughClaryhadtoldherselfsherememberedthewayshe’dcomewithLukethenightbefore,thisturnedoutnottobeentirelytrue.Headingtowardthecitycenterseemedlikethebestbetforgettingdirections,butonceshefoundthestonecourtyardwiththedisusedwell,shecouldn’trememberwhether to turn leftorrightfromit.Sheturnedleft,whichplungedherintoawarrenoftwistingstreets,eachonemuchlikethenextandeachturngettinghermorehopelesslylostthanbefore.

Finallysheemergedintoawiderstreetlinedwithshops.Pedestrianshurriedbyoneitherside,noneofthemgivingherasecondglance.Afewofthemwerealsodressedinfightinggear,althoughmostweren’t:Itwascoolout,andlong,old-fashionedcoatsweretheorder

oftheday.Thewindwasbrisk,andwithapangClarythoughtofhergreenvelvetcoat,hangingupinAmatis’ssparebedroom.

Lukehadn’tbeen lyingwhenhe’d said thatShadowhuntershadcome fromallover theworld for the summit.Clarypassedan Indianwoman inagorgeousgold sari, apairofcurvedbladeshanging fromachainaroundherwaist.A tall,dark-skinnedmanwithanangularAztecfacewasgazingintoashopwindowfullofweaponry;braceletsmadeofthesame hard, shiningmaterial as the demon towers laddered hiswrists. Farther down thestreetamaninawhitenomadicrobeconsultedwhatlookedlikeastreetmap.ThesightofhimgaveClarythenervetoapproachapassingwomaninaheavybrocadecoatandaskher theway toPrincewaterStreet. If therewas evergoing tobe a timewhen the city’sinhabitants wouldn’t necessarily be suspicious of someone who didn’t seem to knowwheretheyweregoing,thiswouldbeit.

Herinstinctwasright;withoutatraceofhesitationthewomangaveherahurriedseriesofdirections.“AndthenrightattheendofOldcastleCanal,andoverthestonebridge,andthat’s where you’ll find Princewater.” She gave Clary a smile. “Visiting anyone inparticular?”

“ThePenhallows.”

“Oh,that’sthebluehouse,goldtrim,backsupontothecanal.It’sabigplace—youcan’tmissit.”

Shewashalf-right. Itwasabigplace,butClarywalked rightby itbefore realizinghermistakeandswervingbackaroundtolookatitagain.Itwasreallymoreindigothanblue,shethought,butthenagainnoteveryonenoticedcolorsthatway.Mostpeoplecouldn’ttellthe difference between lemon yellow and saffron. As if they were even close to eachother!Andthetrimonthehousewasn’tgold;itwasbronze.Anicedarkishbronze,asifthehousehadbeenthereformanyyears,anditprobablyhad.Everythinginthisplacewassoancient—

Enough, Clary told herself. She always did this when she was nervous, let her mindwanderoffinallsortsofrandomdirections.Sherubbedherhandsdownthesidesofhertrousers; herpalmswere sweaty anddamp.Thematerial felt roughanddry against herskin,likesnakescales.

Shemountedthestepsandtookholdoftheheavydoorknocker.Itwasshapedlikeapairofangel’swings,andwhensheletitfall,shecouldhearthesoundechoinglikethetollingofahugebell.Amomentlaterthedoorwasyankedopen,andIsabelleLightwoodstoodonthethreshold,hereyeswidewithshock.

“Clary?”

Clarysmiledweakly.“Hi,Isabelle.”

Isabelleleanedagainstthedoorjamb,herexpressiondismal.“Oh,crap.”

BackinthecellSimoncollapsedonthebed,listeningtothefootstepsoftheguardsrecedeastheymarchedawayfromhisdoor.Anothernight.Anothernightdownhereinprison,while the Inquisitorwaited for him to “remember.”You do see how it looks. In all hisworstfears,hisworstnightmares,ithadneveroccurredtoSimonthatanyonemightthinkhewasinleaguewithValentine.ValentinehatedDownworlders,famously.Valentinehadstabbedhimanddrainedhisbloodandlefthimtodie.Although,admittedly,theInquisitordidn’tknowthat.

Therewas a rustle from theother sideof the cellwall. “I have to admit, Iwondered ifyou’dbecomingback,”saidthehoarsevoiceSimonrememberedfromthenightbefore.“Itakeityoudidn’tgivetheInquisitorwhathewants?”

“Idon’tthinkso,”Simonsaid,approachingthewall.Heranhisfingersoverthestoneasiflookingforacrackinit,somethinghecouldseethrough,buttherewasnothing.“Whoareyou?”

“He’sastubbornman,Aldertree,”saidthevoice,asifSimonhadn’tspoken.“He’llkeeptrying.”

Simonleanedagainstthedampwall.“ThenIguessI’llbedownhereforawhile.”

“Idon’tsupposeyou’dbewillingtotellmewhatitishewantsfromyou?”

“Whydoyouwanttoknow?”

ThechucklethatansweredSimonsoundedlikemetalscrapingagainststone.“I’vebeeninthiscelllongerthanyouhave,Daylighter,andasyoucansee,there’snotalottokeepthemindoccupied.Anydistractionhelps.”

Simonlacedhishandsoverhisstomach.Thedeerbloodhadtakentheedgeoffhishunger,but it hadn’t been quite enough.His body still achedwith thirst. “Youkeep callingmethat,”hesaid.“Daylighter.”

“Iheardtheguardstalkingaboutyou.Avampirewhocanwalkaroundinthesunlight.Noone’severseenanythinglikeitbefore.”

“Andyetyouhaveawordforit.Convenient.”

“It’saDownworlderword,notaClaveone.Theyhavelegendsaboutcreatureslikeyou.I’msurprisedyoudon’tknowthat.”

“I haven’t exactly been aDownworlder for very long,” Simon said. “And you seem toknowalotaboutme.”

“Theguards like togossip,”said thevoice.“AndtheLightwoodsappearingthroughthe

Portalwithableeding,dyingvampire—that’sagoodpieceofgossip.Though Ihave tosayIwasn’texpectingyoutoshowuphere—notuntiltheystartedfixingupthecellforyou.I’msurprisedtheLightwoodsstoodforit.”

“Whywouldn’tthey?”Simonsaidbitterly.“I’mnothing.I’maDownworlder.”

“MaybetotheConsul,”saidthevoice.“ButtheLightwoods—”

“Whataboutthem?”

Therewasashortpause.“ThoseShadowhunterswholiveoutsideIdris—especiallythosewhorunInstitutes—tendtobemoretolerant.ThelocalClave,ontheotherhand,isagooddealmore…hidebound.”

“Andwhataboutyou?”Simonsaid.“AreyouaDownworlder?”

“A Downworlder?” Simon couldn’t be sure, but there was an edge of anger in thestranger’svoice,asifheresentedthequestion.“MynameisSamuel.SamuelBlackburn.IamNephilim.YearsagoIwasintheCircle,withValentine.IslaughteredDownworldersattheUprising.Iamnotoneofthem.”

“Oh.”Simonswallowed.Hismouthtastedofsalt.ThemembersofValentine’sCirclehadbeen caught and punished by the Clave, he remembered—except for those like theLightwoods,who’dmanaged tomakedealsoracceptexile inexchange for forgiveness.“Haveyoubeendownhereeversince?”

“No.AftertheUprising,IslippedoutofIdrisbeforeIcouldbecaught.Istayedawayforyears—years—untillikeafool,thinkingI’dbeenforgotten,Icameback.OfcoursetheycaughtmethemomentI returned.TheClavehas itswaysof tracking itsenemies.Theydraggedme in frontof the Inquisitor, and Iwas interrogated fordays.When theyweredone,theytossedmeinhere.”Samuelsighed.“InFrenchthissortofprisoniscalledanoubliette.Itmeans‘aforgettingplace.’It’swhereyoutossthegarbageyoudon’twanttoremember,soitcanrotawaywithoutbotheringyouwithitsstench.”

“Fine.I’maDownworlder,soI’mgarbage.Butyou’renot.You’reNephilim.”

“I’mNephilim who was in league with Valentine. That makes me no better than you.Worse,even.I’maturncoat.”

“But there are plenty of other Shadowhunters who used to be Circle members—theLightwoodsandthePenhallows—”

“Theyallrecanted.TurnedtheirbacksonValentine.Ididn’t.”

“Youdidn’t?Butwhynot?”

“BecauseI’mmoreafraidofValentinethanIamoftheClave,”saidSamuel,“andifyouweresensible,Daylighter,youwouldbetoo.”

“Butyou’resupposedtobeinNewYork!”Isabelleexclaimed.“Jacesaidyou’dchangedyourmindaboutcoming.Hesaidyouwantedtostaywithyourmother!”

“Jacelied,”Clarysaidflatly.“Hedidn’twantmehere,soheliedtomeaboutwhenyouwereleaving,andthenliedtoyouaboutmechangingmymind.Rememberwhenyoutoldmeheneverlies?Thatissonottrue.”

“Henormallyneverdoes,”saidIsabelle,whohadgonepale.“Look,didyoucomehere—Imean,doesthishavesomethingtodowithSimon?”

“WithSimon?No.Simon’ssafeinNewYork,thankGod.Althoughhe’sgoingtobereallypissedthathenevergottosaygood-byetome.”Isabelle’sblankexpressionwasstartingtoannoyClary.“Comeon,Isabelle.Letmein.IneedtoseeJace.”

“So…youjustcamehereonyourown?DidyouhavepermissionfromtheClave?PleasetellmeyouhadpermissionfromtheClave.”

“Notassuch—”

“YoubroketheLaw?”Isabelle’svoicerose,andthendropped.Shewenton,almostinawhisper,“IfJacefindsout,he’llfreak.Clary,you’vegottogohome.”

“No. I’m supposed to be here,” Clary said, not even sure herself quite where herstubbornnesswascomingfrom.“AndIneedtotalktoJace.”

“Now isn’t a good time.” Isabelle looked around anxiously, as if hoping there wassomeoneshecouldappealtoforhelpinremovingClaryfromthepremises.“Please,justgobacktoNewYork.Please?”

“Ithoughtyoulikedme,Izzy.”Clarywentfortheguilt.

Isabellebitherlip.Shewaswearingawhitedressandhadherhairpinnedupandlookedyoungerthansheusuallydid.BehindherClarycouldseeahigh-ceilingedentrywayhungwithantique-lookingoilpaintings.“Idolikeyou.It’sjustthatJace—ohmyGod,whatareyouwearing?Wheredidyougetfightinggear?”

Clarylookeddownatherself.“It’salongstory.”

“Youcan’tcomeinherelikethat.IfJaceseesyou—”

“Oh,sowhatifheseesme.Isabelle,Icameherebecauseofmymother—formymother.Jacemaynotwantmehere,buthecan’tmakemestayhome.I’msupposedtobehere.Mymotherexpectedmetodothisforher.You’ddoitforyourmother,wouldn’tyou?”

“OfcourseIwould,”Isabellesaid.“But,Clary,Jacehashisreasons—”

“Then I’d love to hearwhat they are.”Clary ducked under Isabelle’s arm and into theentrywayofthehouse.

“Clary!” Isabelle yelped, and darted after her, butClarywas already halfwaydown thehall.Shesaw,withthehalfofhermindthatwasn’tconcentratingondodgingIsabelle,thatthehousewasbuilt likeAmatis’s, tall and thin,butconsiderably largerandmore richlydecorated. The hallway opened into a roomwith highwindows that looked out over awidecanal.Whiteboatspliedthewater,theirsailsdriftingbylikedandelionclockstossedonthewind.Adark-hairedboysatonacouchbyoneofthewindows,apparentlyreadingabook.

“Sebastian!”Isabellecalled.“Don’tlethergoupstairs!”

Theboylookedup,startled—andamomentlaterwasinfrontofClary,blockingherpathto the stairs. Clary skidded to a halt—she’d never seen anyone move that fast before,exceptJace.Theboywasn’tevenoutofbreath;infact,hewassmilingather.

“SothisisthefamousClary.”Hissmilelituphisface,andClaryfeltherbreathcatch.Foryearsshe’ddrawnherownongoinggraphicstory—thetaleofaking’ssonwhowasunderacurse thatmeant thateveryonehe lovedwoulddie.She’dputeverythingshehad intodreamingupherdark,romantic,shadowyprince,andherehewas,standinginfrontofher—thesamepaleskin,thesametumblinghair,andeyessodark,thepupilsseemedtomeldwith the iris.Thesamehighcheekbonesanddeep-set,shadowedeyesfringedwith longlashes.Sheknewshe’dneverseteyesonthisboybefore,andyet…

Theboylookedpuzzled.“Idon’tthink—havewemetbefore?”

Speechless,Claryshookherhead.

“Sebastian!”Isabelle’shairhadcomeoutof itspinsandhungdownoverhershoulders,and she was glaring. “Don’t be nice to her. She’s not supposed to be here. Clary, gohome.”

WithaneffortClarywrenchedhergazeawayfromSebastianandshotaglareatIsabelle.“What,backtoNewYork?AndhowamIsupposedtogetthere?”

“How did you get here?” Sebastian inquired. “Sneaking into Alicante is quite anaccomplishment.”

“IcamethroughaPortal,”saidClary.

“A Portal?” Isabelle looked astonished. “But there isn’t a Portal left in New York.Valentinedestroyedthemboth—”

“I don’t oweyou any explanations,”Clary said. “Notuntil yougiveme some.Foronething,where’sJace?”

“He’s not here,” Isabelle answered, at exactly the same time that Sebastian said, “He’supstairs.”

Isabelleturnedonhim.“Sebastian!Shutup.”

Sebastianlookedperplexed.“Butshe’shissister.Wouldn’thewanttoseeher?”

Isabelle opened her mouth and then closed it again. Clary could see that Isabelle wasweighing the advisability of explaining her complicated relationship with Jace to thecompletelyobliviousSebastianagainsttheadvisabilityofspringinganunpleasantsurpriseonJace.Finally she threwherhandsup inagestureofdespair. “Fine,Clary,” shesaid,withanunusual—forIsabelle—amountofangerinhervoice.“Goaheadanddowhateveryouwant,regardlessofwhoithurts.Youalwaysdoanyway,don’tyou?”

Ouch. Clary shot Isabelle a reproachful look before turning back to Sebastian, whosteppedsilentlyoutofherway.Shedartedpasthimandupthestairs,vaguelyawareofvoicesbelowherasIsabelleshoutedattheunfortunateSebastian.ButthatwasIsabelle—iftherewasaboyaroundandblamethatneededtobepinnedonsomeone,Isabellewouldpinitonhim.

Thestaircasewidenedintoalandingwithabay-windowedalcovethatlookedoutoverthecity.Aboywassittinginthealcove,reading.HelookedupasClarycameupthestairs,andblinkedinsurprise.“Iknowyou.”

“Hi,Max.It’sClary—Jace’ssister.Remember?”

Maxbrightened.“YoushowedmehowtoreadNaruto,”hesaid,holdingouthisbooktoher.“Look,Igotanotherone.Thisone’scalled—”

“Max,Ican’ttalknow.IpromiseI’lllookatyourbooklater,butdoyouknowwhereJaceis?”

Max’s face fell. “That room,” he said, and pointed to the last door down the hall. “Iwantedtogointherewithhim,buthetoldmehehadtodogrown-upstuff.Everyone’salwaystellingmethat.”

“I’m sorry,”Clary said, but hermindwas no longer on the conversation. Itwas racingahead—whatwouldshesaytoJacewhenshesawhim,whatwouldhesaytoher?Movingdownthehalltothedoor,shethought,Itwouldbebettertobefriendly,notangry;yellingathimwilljustmakehimdefensive.HehastounderstandthatIbelonghere,justlikehedoes.Idon’tneedtobeprotectedlikeapieceofdelicatechina.I’mstrongtoo—

She threw thedooropen.The roomseemed tobea sortof library, thewalls linedwithbooks.Itwasbrightlylit,lightstreamingthroughatallpicturewindow.Inthemiddleofthe room stood Jace.Hewasn’t alone, though—not by a long shot. Therewas a dark-hairedgirlwithhim,agirlClaryhadneverseenbefore,andthetwoofthemwerelockedtogetherinapassionateembrace.

6

BADBLOOD

DizzinesswashedoverClary,as if all theairhadbeen sucked outof the room.Shetried tobackawaybutstumbledandhit thedoorwithhershoulder. Itshutwithabang,andJaceandthegirlbrokeapart.

Claryfroze.Theywerebothstaringather.Shenoticedthatthegirlhaddarkstraighthairto her shoulders and was extremely pretty. The top buttons of her shirt were undone,showingastripoflacybra.Claryfeltasifshewereabouttothrowup.

Thegirl’shandswenttoherblouse,quicklydoingupthebuttons.Shedidn’tlookpleased.“Excuseme,”shesaidwithafrown.“Whoareyou?”

Clarydidn’tanswer—shewaslookingatJace,whowasstaringatherincredulously.Hisskinwasdrainedofallcolor,showingthedarkringsaroundhiseyes.HelookedatClaryasifhewerestaringdownthebarrelofagun.

“Aline.”Jace’svoicewaswithoutwarmthorcolor.“Thisismysister,Clary.”

“Oh.Oh.”Aline’sfacerelaxedintoaslightlyembarrassedsmile.“Sorry!Whatawaytomeetyou.Hi,I’mAline.”

She advanced onClary, still smiling, her hand out. I don’t think I can touch her, Clarythought with a sinking feeling of horror. She looked at Jace, who seemed to read theexpressioninhereyes;unsmiling,hetookAlinebytheshouldersandsaidsomethinginherear.Shelookedsurprised,shrugged,andheadedforthedoorwithoutanotherword.

ThisleftClaryalonewithJace.Alonewithsomeonewhowasstilllookingatherasifshewerehisworstnightmarecometolife.

“Jace,”shesaid,andtookasteptowardhim.

Hebackedawayfromherasifshewerecoatedinsomethingpoisonous.“What,”hesaid,“inthenameoftheAngel,Clary,areyoudoinghere?”

Despiteeverything, theharshnessofhis tonehurt.“Youcouldat leastpretendyouweregladtoseeme.Evenalittlebit.”

“I’mnot glad to seeyou,”he said.Someof his color had comeback, but the shadowsunder his eyes were still gray smudges against his skin. Clary waited for him to saysomething else, but he seemed content just to stare at her in undisguised horror. Shenoticedwith a distracted clarity that hewaswearing a black sweater that hung off hiswristsasifhe’dlostweight,andthatthenailsonhishandswerebittendowntothequick.“Notevenalittlebit.”

“Thisisn’tyou,”shesaid.“Ihateitwhenyouactlikethis—”

“Oh,youhate it, doyou?Well, I’dbetter stopdoing it, then,hadn’t I? Imean,youdoeverythingIaskyoutodo.”

“Youhadnorighttodowhatyoudid!”shesnappedathim,suddenlyfurious.“Lyingtomelikethat.Youhadnoright—”

“Ihadeveryright!”heshouted.Shedidn’t thinkhe’devershoutedatherbefore.“Ihadeveryright,youstupid,stupidgirl.I’myourbrotherandI—”

“Andyouwhat?Youownme?Youdon’townme,whetheryou’remybrotherornot!”

ThedoorbehindClaryflewopen.ItwasAlec,soberlydressedinalong,darkbluejacket,his black hair in disarray.Heworemuddy boots and an incredulous expression on hisusuallycalmface.“What inallpossibledimensions isgoingonhere?”hesaid, lookingfromJacetoClarywithamazement.“Areyoutwotryingtokilleachother?”

“Notatall,”saidJace.Asifbymagic,Clarysaw,ithadallbeenwipedaway:hisrageandhispanic,andhewasicycalmagain.“Clarywasjustleaving.”

“Good,”Alecsaid,“becauseIneedtotalktoyou,Jace.”

“Doesn’tanyoneinthishouseeversay,‘Hi,nicetoseeyou’anymore?”Clarydemandedofnooneinparticular.

It wasmuch easier to guilt Alec than Isabelle. “It is good to see you, Clary,” he said,“exceptofcourseforthefactthatyou’rereallynotsupposedtobehere.Isabelletoldmeyougothereonyourownsomehow,andI’mimpressed—”

“Couldyounotencourageher?”Jaceinquired.

“ButIreally,reallyneedtotalktoJaceaboutsomething.Canyougiveusafewminutes?”

“Ineedtotalktohimtoo,”shesaid.“Aboutourmother—”

“Idon’tfeelliketalking,”saidJace,“toeitherofyou,asamatteroffact.”

“Yes,youdo,”Alecsaid.“Youreallywanttotalktomeaboutthis.”

“I doubt that,” Jace said.Hehad turnedhis gazeback toClary. “Youdidn’t comeherealone,didyou?”hesaidslowly,asifrealizingthatthesituationwasevenworsethanhe’dthought.“Whocamewithyou?”

Thereseemedtobenopointinlyingaboutit.“Luke,”saidClary.“Lukecamewithme.”

Jace blanched. “But Luke is a Downworlder. Do you know what the Clave does tounregisteredDownworlderswhocomeintotheGlassCity—whocrossthewardswithoutpermission?ComingtoIdrisisonething,butenteringAlicante?Withouttellinganyone?”

“No,”Clarysaid,inahalfwhisper,“butIknowwhatyou’regoingtosay—”

“ThatifyouandLukedon’tgobacktoNewYorkimmediately,you’llfindout?”

For a moment Jace was silent, meeting her eyes with his own. The desperation in hisexpression shocked her. He was the one threatening her, after all, not the other wayaround.

“Jace,”Alecsaidintothesilence,atingeofpaniccreepingintohisvoice.“Haven’tyouwonderedwhereI’vebeenallday?”

“That’sanewcoatyou’rewearing,”Jacesaid,withoutlookingathisfriend.“Ifigureyouwentshopping.Thoughwhyyou’resoeagertobothermeaboutit,Ihavenoidea.”

“Ididn’tgoshopping,”Alecsaidfuriously.“Iwent—”

Thedoor opened again. In a flutter ofwhite dress, Isabelle darted in, shutting thedoorbehindher.ShelookedatClaryandshookherhead.“Itoldyouhe’dfreakout,”shesaid.“Didn’tI?”

“Ah,the‘Itoldyouso,’”Jacesaid.“Alwaysaclassymove.”

Clary looked at him with horror. “How can you joke?” she whispered. “You justthreatened Luke. Luke, who likes you and trusts you. Because he’s a Downworlder.What’swrongwithyou?”

Isabellelookedhorrified.“Luke’shere?Oh,Clary—”

“He’snot here,”Clary said. “He left—thismorning—and I don’t knowwherehewent.But I can certainly see nowwhyhe had to go.”She could hardly bear to look at Jace.“Fine.Youwin.Weshouldneverhavecome.IshouldneverhavemadethatPortal—”

“MadeaPortal?”Isabelle lookedbewildered.“Clary,onlyawarlockcanmakeaPortal.Andtherearen’tverymanyofthem.TheonlyPortalhereinIdrisisintheGard.”

“WhichiswhatIhadtotalktoyouabout,”AlechissedatJace—wholooked,Clarysawwithsurprise,evenworsethanhehadbefore;helookedasifhewereabouttopassout.“AbouttheerrandIwentonlastnight—thethingIhadtodelivertotheGard—”

“Alec,stop.Stop,”Jacesaid,andtheharshdesperationinhisvoicecuttheotherboyoff;AlecshuthismouthandstoodstaringatJace,hislipcaughtbetweenhisteeth.ButJacedidn’tseemtoseehim;hewaslookingatClary,andhiseyeswerehardasglass.Finallyhespoke.“You’reright,”hesaidinachokedvoice,as ifhehadtoforceout thewords.“Youshouldneverhavecome.IknowItoldyouit’sbecauseitisn’tsafeforyouhere,butthat wasn’t true. The truth is that I don’t want you here because you’re rash andthoughtless and you’ll mess everything up. It’s just how you are. You’re not careful,Clary.”

“Mess…everything…up?”Clarycouldn’tgetenoughairintoherlungsforanythingbutawhisper.

“Oh,Jace,”Isabellesaidsadly,asifheweretheonewhowashurt.Hedidn’tlookather.HisgazewasfixedonClary.

“You always just race ahead without thinking,” he said. “You know that, Clary.We’dneverhaveendedupintheDumortifitwasn’tforyou.”

“AndSimonwouldbedead!Doesn’tthatcountforanything?Maybeitwasrash,but—”

Hisvoicerose.“Maybe?”

“Butit’snotlikeeverydecisionI’vemadewasabadone!Yousaid,afterwhatIdidontheboat,yousaidI’dsavedeveryone’slife—”

All the remaining color in Jace’s face went. He said, with a sudden and astoundingviciousness,“Shutup,Clary,SHUTUP—”

“On the boat?” Alec’s gaze danced between them, bewildered. “What about whathappenedontheboat?Jace—”

“I just told you that to keep you fromwhining!” Jace shouted, ignoringAlec, ignoringeverythingbutClary.Shecouldfeeltheforceofhissuddenangerlikeawavethreateningto knock her off her feet. “You’re a disaster for us, Clary! You’re a mundane, you’llalwaysbeone,you’llneverbeaShadowhunter.Youdon’tknowhowtothinklikewedo,

thinkaboutwhat’sbestforeveryone—allyoueverthinkaboutisyourself!Butthere’sawaronnow,ortherewillbe,andIdon’thavethetimeortheinclinationtofollowaroundafteryou,tryingtomakesureyoudon’tgetoneofuskilled!”

Shejuststaredathim.Shecouldn’tthinkofathingtosay;he’dneverspokentoherlikethis. She’d never even imagined him speaking to her like this. However angry she’dmanagedtomakehiminthepast,he’dneverspokentoherasifhehatedherbefore.

“Gohome,Clary,”hesaid.Hesoundedvery tired,as if theeffortof tellingherhowhereallyfelthaddrainedhim.“Gohome.”

Allherplansevaporated—herhalf-formedhopesofrushingafterFell,savinghermother,evenfindingLuke—nothingmattered,nowordscame.Shecrossedtothedoor.AlecandIsabelle moved to let her pass. Neither of them would look at her; they looked awayinstead, their expressions shocked and embarrassed. Clary knew she probably ought tofeelhumiliatedaswellasangry,butshedidn’t.Shejustfeltdeadinside.

Sheturnedatthedoorandlookedback.Jacewasstaringafterher.Thelightthatstreamedthroughthewindowbehindhimlefthisfaceinshadow;allshecouldseewasthebrightbitsofsunshinethatdustedhisfairhair,likeshardsofbrokenglass.

“WhenyoutoldmethefirsttimethatValentinewasyourfather,Ididn’tbelieveit,”shesaid.“NotjustbecauseIdidn’twantittobetrue,butbecauseyouweren’tanythinglikehim.I’veneverthoughtyouwereanythinglikehim.Butyouare.Youare.”

Shewentoutoftheroom,shuttingthedoorbehindher.

“They’regoingtostarveme,”Simonsaid.

He was lying on the floor of his cell, the stone cold under his back. From this angle,though,hecouldseetheskythroughthewindow.InthedaysafterSimonhadfirstbecomeavampire,whenhehad thoughthewouldnever seedaylightagain,he’dfoundhimselfthinking incessantly about the sun and the sky. About the ways the color of the skychangedduring theday:about thepaleskyofmorning, thehotblueofmidday,and thecobalt darkness of twilight. He’d lain awake in the darkness with a parade of bluesmarchingthroughhisbrain.Now,flatonhisbackinthecellundertheGard,hewonderedifhe’dhaddaylightandallitsbluesrestoredtohimjustsothathecouldspendtheshort,unpleasant restofhis life in this tinyspacewithonlyapatchofskyvisible throughthesinglebarredwindowinthewall.

“DidyouhearwhatIsaid?”Heraisedhisvoice.“TheInquisitor’sgoingtostarvemetodeath.Nomoreblood.”

Therewasarustlingnoise.Anaudiblesigh.ThenSamuelspoke.“Iheardyou.Ijustdon’tknowwhatyouwantmetodoaboutit.”Hepaused.“I’msorryforyou,Daylighter,ifthat

helps.”

“Itdoesn’treally,”Simonsaid.“TheInquisitorwantsmetolie.WantsmetotellhimthattheLightwoodsare in leaguewithValentine.Thenhe’llsendmehome.”Herolledoverontohis stomach, the stones jabbing intohis skin. “Nevermind. Idon’tknowwhy I’mtellingyouallthis.YouprobablyhavenoideawhatI’mtalkingabout.”

Samuelmadeanoisehalfwaybetweenachuckleandacough.“Actually,Ido.IknewtheLightwoods. We were in the Circle together. The Lightwoods, the Waylands, thePangborns,theHerondales,thePenhallows.AllthefinefamiliesofAlicante.”

“AndHodgeStarkweather,”Simonsaid,thinkingoftheLightwoods’tutor.“Hewastoo,wasn’the?”

“Hewas,”saidSamuel.“Buthisfamilywashardlyawell-respectedone.Hodgeshowedsomepromise once, but I fear he never livedup to it.”Hepaused. “Aldertree’s alwayshated the Lightwoods, of course, since we were children. He wasn’t rich or clever orattractive,and,well,theyweren’tverykindtohim.Idon’tthinkhe’severgottenoverit.”

“Rich?”Simonsaid.“I thoughtallShadowhuntersgotpaidby theClave.Like…Idon’tknow,communismorsomething.”

“IntheoryallShadowhuntersarefairlyandequallypaid,”saidSamuel.“Some,likethosewithhighpositionsintheClave,orthosewithgreatresponsibility—runninganInstitute,for example—receive a higher salary. Then there are those who live outside Idris andchoose tomakemoney in themundaneworld; it’snot forbidden,as longas they titheapartofittotheClave.But”—Samuelhesitated—“yousawthePenhallows’house,didn’tyou?Whatdidyouthinkofit?”

Simoncasthismindback.“Veryfancy.”

“It’soneofthefinesthousesinAlicante,”saidSamuel.“Andtheyhaveanotherhouse,amanoroutinthecountry.Almostalltherichfamiliesdo.Yousee,there’sanotherwayforNephilim to gain wealth. They call it ‘spoils.’ Anything owned by a demon orDownworlderwhoiskilledbyaShadowhunterbecomesthatShadowhunter’sproperty.SoifawealthywarlockbreakstheLaw,andiskilledbyaNephilim…”

Simonshivered.“SokillingDownworldersisalucrativebusiness?”

“Itcanbe,”saidSamuelbitterly,“ifyou’renot toochoosyaboutwhoyoukill.Youcansee why there’s somuch opposition to the Accords. It cuts into people’s pocketbooks,having to be careful about murdering Downworlders. Perhaps that’s why I joined theCircle.Myfamilywasneverarichone,andtobelookeddownonfornotacceptingbloodmoney—”Hebrokeoff.

“ButtheCirclemurderedDownworlderstoo,”saidSimon.

“Becausetheythoughtitwastheirsacredduty,”saidSamuel.“Notoutofgreed.ThoughI

can’t imagine now why I ever thought that mattered.” He sounded exhausted. “It wasValentine. He had a way about him. He could convince you of anything. I rememberstandingbesidehimwithmyhandscoveredinblood,lookingdownatthebodyofadeadwoman,andthinkingonlythatwhatIwasdoinghadtoberight,becauseValentinesaiditwasso.”

“AdeadDownworlder?”

Samuel breathed raggedly on the other side of the wall. At last, he said, “You mustunderstand,Iwouldhavedoneanythingheasked.Anyofuswouldhave.TheLightwoodsaswell.TheInquisitorknowsthat,andthatiswhatheistryingtoexploit.Butyoushouldknow—there’sthechancethatifyougiveintohimandthrowblameontheLightwoods,he’ll kill you anyway to shut youup. It dependsonwhether the ideaofbeingmercifulmakeshimfeelpowerfulatthetime.”

“Itdoesn’tmatter,”Simonsaid.“I’mnotgoingtodoit.Iwon’tbetraytheLightwoods.”

“Really?”Samuelsoundedunconvinced.“Istheresomereasonwhynot?DoyoucarefortheLightwoodsthatmuch?”

“AnythingItoldhimaboutthemwouldbealie.”

“Butitmightbetheliehewantstohear.Youdowanttogohome,don’tyou?”

Simonstaredat thewallas ifhecouldsomehowsee through it to themanon theotherside.“Isthatwhatyou’ddo?Lietohim?”

Samuelcoughed—awheezysortofcough,as ifheweren’tveryhealthy.Thenagain, itwasdampandcolddownhere,whichdidn’tbotherSimon,butwouldprobablybotheranormalhumanbeingverymuch.“Iwouldn’t takemoraladvicefromme,”hesaid.“Butyes,Iprobablywould.I’vealwaysputsavingmyownskinfirst.”

“I’msurethat’snottrue.”

“Actually,” said Samuel, “it is. One thing you’ll learn as you get older, Simon, is thatwhenpeopletellyousomethingunpleasantaboutthemselves,it’susuallytrue.”

But I’m not going to get older, Simon thought.Out loud he said, “That’s the first timeyou’vecalledmeSimon.SimonandnotDaylighter.”

“Isupposeitis.”

“AndasfortheLightwoods,”Simonsaid,“it’snotthatI likethemthatmuch.Imean,Ilike Isabelle,and I sortof likeAlecandJace, too.But there’s thisgirl.AndJace isherbrother.”

When Samuel replied, he sounded, for the first time, genuinely amused. “Isn’t therealwaysagirl.”

ThemomentthedoorshutbehindClary,Jaceslumpedbackagainstthewall,asifhislegshadbeencutout fromunderhim.He lookedgraywith amixtureofhorror, shock, andwhatlookedalmostlike…relief,asifacatastrophehadbeennarrowlyavoided.

“Jace,”Alecsaid,takingasteptowardhisfriend.“Doyoureallythink—”

Jacespokeinalowvoice,cuttingAlecoff.“Getout,”hesaid.“Justgetout,bothofyou.”

“Soyoucandowhat?”Isabelledemanded.“Wreckyour lifesomemore?What thehellwasthatabout?”

Jaceshookhishead.“Isentherhome.Itwasthebestthingforher.”

“Youdid a hell of a lotmore than send her home.Youdestroyed her.Did you see herface?”

“Itwasworthit,”saidJace.“Youwouldn’tunderstand.”

“Forher,maybe,”Isabellesaid.“Ihopeitwindsupworthitforyou.”

Jaceturnedhisfaceaway.“Just…leavemealone,Isabelle.Please.”

Isabellecastastartledlooktowardherbrother.Jaceneversaidplease.Alecputahandonhershoulder.“Nevermind,Jace,”hesaid,askindlyashecould.“I’msureshe’llbefine.”

JaceraisedhisheadandlookedatAlecwithoutactuallylookingathim—heseemedtobestaringoffatnothing.“No,shewon’t,”hesaid.“ButIknewthat.Speakingofwhich,youmightaswelltellmewhatyoucameinheretotellme.Youseemedtothinkitwasprettyimportantatthetime.”

AlectookhishandoffIsabelle’sshoulder.“Ididn’twanttotellyouinfrontofClary—”

Jace’seyesfinallyfocusedonAlec.“Didn’twanttotellmewhatinfrontofClary?”

Alec hesitated. He’d rarely seen Jace so upset, and he could only imagine what effectfurtherunpleasantsurprisesmighthaveonhim.But therewasnowaytohide this.Jacehadtoknow.“Yesterday,”hesaid,inalowvoice,“whenIbroughtSimonuptotheGard,MalachitoldmeMagnusBanewouldbemeetingSimonattheotherendofthePortal,inNewYork.SoIsentafire-messagetoMagnus.Iheardbackfromhimthismorning.HenevermetSimoninNewYork.Infact,hesaysthere’sbeennoPortalactivityinNewYorksinceClarycamethrough.”

“MaybeMalachiwaswrong,”Isabellesuggested,afteraquicklookatJace’sashenface.“MaybesomeoneelsemetSimonon theotherside.AndMagnuscouldbewrongaboutthePortalactivity—”

Alec shook his head. “I went up to the Gard this morning withMom. I meant to askMalachiaboutitmyself,butwhenIsawhim—Ican’tsaywhy—Iduckedbehindacorner.I couldn’t face him.Then I heard him talking to one of the guards.Telling them to gobringthevampireupstairsbecausetheInquisitorwantedtospeaktohimagain.”

“Are you sure theymeant Simon?” Isabelle asked, but there was no conviction in hervoice.“Maybe…”

“Theywere talking about how stupid theDownworlder hadbeen to believe that they’djust send him back to New York without questioning him. One of them said that hecouldn’tbelieveanyonehadhadthegalltotrytosneakhimintoAlicantetobeginwith.AndMalachisaid,‘Well,whatdoyouexpectfromValentine’sson?’”

“Oh,”Isabellewhispered.“OhmyGod.”Sheglancedacrosstheroom.“Jace…”

Jace’shandswereclenchedathissides.Hiseyeslookedsunken,asiftheywerepushingbackintohisskull. InothercircumstancesAlecwouldhaveputahandonhisshoulder,but not now; something about Jace made him hold back. “If it hadn’t been me whobrought him through,” Jace said in a low, measured voice, as if he were recitingsomething, “maybe they would have just let him go home. Maybe they would havebelieved—”

“No,”Alecsaid.“No,Jace,it’snotyourfault.Yousavedhislife.”

“Savedhimso theClavecould torturehim,” said Jace. “Some favor.WhenClary findsout…”Heshookhisheadblindly.“She’llthinkIbroughthimhereonpurpose,gavehimtotheClaveknowingwhatthey’ddo.”

“Shewon’tthinkthat.You’dhavenoreasontodoathinglikethat.”

“Perhaps,”Jacesaid,slowly,“butafterhowIjusttreatedher…”

“Noonecouldeverthinkyou’ddothat,Jace,”saidIsabelle.“Noonewhoknowsyou.Noone—”

But Jace didn’t wait to find out what else no onewould ever think. Instead he turnedaroundandwalkedovertothepicturewindowthatlookedoverthecanal.Hestoodthereforamoment,thelightcomingthroughthewindowturningtheedgesofhishairtogold.Thenhemoved,soquicklyAlecdidn’thavetotimetoreact.Bythetimehesawwhatwasgoingtohappenanddartedforwardtopreventit,itwasalreadytoolate.

Therewasacrash—thesoundof shattering—anda suddensprayofbrokenglass likeashower of jagged stars. Jace looked down at his left hand, the knuckles streaked withscarlet,withaclinicalinterestasfatreddropsofbloodcollectedandsplattereddownontothefloorathisfeet.

IsabellestaredfromJacetotheholeintheglass,linesradiatingoutfromtheemptycenter,

aspiderwebofthinsilvercracks.“Oh,Jace,”shesaid,hervoiceassoftasAlechadeverheardit.“HowoneartharewegoingtoexplainthistothePenhallows?”

SomehowClarymade it out of thehouse.Shewasn’t surehow—everythingwas a fastblurofstairsandhallways,andthenshewasrunningtothefrontdoorandoutofitandsomehowshewasonthePenhallows’frontsteps,tryingtodecidewhetherornotshewasgoingtothrowupintheirrosebushes.

Theywere ideallyplacedfor throwingup in,andherstomachwasroilingpainfully,butthe fact that all she’d eatenwas some soupwas catching upwith her. She didn’t thinktherewasanythinginherstomachtothrowup.Insteadshemadeherwaydownthestepsand turned blindly out of the front gate—she couldn’t rememberwhich direction she’dcomefromanymore,orhowtogetbacktoAmatis’s,butitdidn’tseemtomattermuch.Itwasn’tasifshewerelookingforwardtogettingbackandexplainingtoLukethattheyhadtoleaveAlicanteorJacewouldturnthemintotheClave.

Maybe Jacewas right.Maybe shewas rash and thoughtless.Maybe she never thoughtabouthowwhatshedid impacted thepeopleshe loved.Simon’sfaceflashedacrosshervision,sharpasaphotograph,andthenLuke’s—

Shestoppedandleanedagainstalamppost.Thesquareglassfixturelookedlikethesortofgas lamp that topped the vintage posts in front of the brownstones in Park Slope.Somehowitseemedreassuring.

“Clary!”Itwasaboy’svoice,anxious.ImmediatelyClarythought,Jace.Shespunaround.

Itwasn’tJace.Sebastian,thedark-hairedboyfromthePenhallows’livingroom,stoodinfrontofher,pantingalittleasifhe’dchasedherdownthestreetatarun.

She felt a burst of the same feeling she’d had earlier, when she’d first seen him—recognition,mixedwithsomethingshecouldn’tidentify.Itwasn’tlikeordislike—itwasasortofpull,asifsomethingdrewhertowardthisboyshedidn’tknow.Maybeitwasjustthewayhelooked.Hewasbeautiful,asbeautifulasJace,thoughwhereJacewasallgold,thisboywaspallorandshadows.Althoughnow,underthelamplight,shecouldseethathis resemblance to her imaginary princewas not as exact as she’d thought. Even theircoloringwas different. Itwas just something in the shape of his face, theway he heldhimself,thedarksecretivenessofhiseyes…

“Areyouokay?”hesaid.Hisvoicewassoft.“Youranoutofthehouselike…”Hisvoicetrailedoffashelookedather.Shewasstillgrippingthelamppostas ifsheneededit toholdherup.“Whathappened?”

“IhadafightwithJace,”shesaid,tryingtokeephervoiceeven.“Youknowhowitis.”

“Idon’t,actually.”Hesoundedalmostapologetic.“Idon’thaveanysistersorbrothers.”

“Lucky,”shesaid,andwasstartledatthebitternessinherownvoice.

“Youdon’tmeanthat.”Hetookastepclosertoher,andashedid,thestreetlampflickeredon,castingapoolofwhitewitchlightoverthemboth.Sebastianlookedupatthelightandsmiled.“It’sasign.”

“Asignofwhat?”

“Asignthatyoushouldletmewalkyouhome.”

“ButIhavenoideawherethatis,”shesaid,realizing.“Isnuckoutofthehousetocomehere.Idon’trememberthewayIcame.”

“Well,whoareyoustayingwith?”

Shehesitatedbeforereplying.

“Iwon’ttellanyone,”hesaid.“IswearontheAngel.”

Shestared.Thatwasquiteanoath,foraShadowhunter.“Allright,”shesaid,beforeshecouldoverthinkherdecision.“I’mstayingwithAmatisHerondale.”

“Great.Iknowexactlywhereshelives.”Heofferedherhisarm.“Shallwe?”

Shemanagedasmile.“You’rekindofpushy,youknow.”

Heshrugged.“Ihaveafetishfordamselsindistress.”

“Don’tbesexist.”

“Not at all. My services are also available to gentlemen in distress. It’s an equalopportunityfetish,”hesaid,and,withaflourish,offeredhisarmagain.

Thistime,shetookit.

Alecshut thedoorof thesmallatticroombehindhimandturnedtofaceJace.Hiseyeswere normally the color of Lake Lyn, a pale, untroubled blue, but the color tended tochangewith hismoods.At themoment theywere the color of theEastRiver during athunderstorm.Hisexpressionwasstormyaswell.“Sit,”hesaidtoJace,pointingatalowchairnearthegabledwindow.“I’llgetthebandages.”

Jace sat.The roomhe sharedwithAlec at the topof thePenhallows’housewas small,withtwonarrowbedsinit,oneagainsteachwall.Theirclotheshungfromarowofpegsonthewall.Therewasasinglewindow,lettinginfaintlight—itwasgettingdarknow,andtheskyoutside theglasswas indigoblue.JacewatchedasAlecknelt tograb theduffel

bagfromunderhisbedandyankitopen.Herummagednoisilyamongthecontentsbeforegetting to his feet with a box in his hands. Jace recognized it as the box of medicalsupplies they used sometimes when runes weren’t an option—antiseptic, bandages,scissors,andgauze.

“Aren’tyougoingtouseahealingrune?”Jaceasked,moreoutofcuriositythananythingelse.

“No. You can just—”Alec broke off, flinging the box onto the bed with an inaudiblecurse.Hewent to thesmall sinkagainst thewallandwashedhishandswithsuchforcethatwatersplashedupwardinafinespray.Jacewatchedhimwithadistantcuriosity.Hishandhadbeguntoburnwithadullandfieryache.

Alecretrievedthebox,pulledachairupoppositeJace’s,andflunghimselfdownontoit.“Givemeyourhand.”

Jaceheldhishandout.Hehadtoadmititlookedprettybad.Allfourknucklesweresplitopenlikeredstarbursts.Driedbloodclungtohisfingers,aflakingred-brownglove.

Alecmadeaface.“You’reanidiot.”

“Thanks,” Jace said. He watched patiently as Alec bent over his hand with a pair oftweezersandgentlynudgedatabitofglassembeddedinhisskin.“So,whynot?”

“Whynotwhat?”

“Whynotuseahealingrune?Thisisn’tademoninjury.”

“Because.”Alecretrievedthebluebottleofantiseptic.“I thinkitwoulddoyougoodtofeel the pain. You can heal like a mundane. Slow and ugly. Maybe you’ll learnsomething.”HesplashedthestingingliquidoverJace’scuts.“AlthoughIdoubtit.”

“Icanalwaysdomyownhealingrune,youknow.”

AlecbeganwrappingastripofbandagesaroundJace’shand.“OnlyifyouwantmetotellthePenhallowswhatreallyhappenedtotheirwindow,insteadoflettingthemthinkitwasanaccident.”Hejerkedaknotinthebandagestight,makingJacewince.“Youknow,ifI’dthoughtyouweregoingtodothistoyourself,Iwouldneverhavetoldyouanything.”

“Yes,youwouldhave.”Jacecockedhisheadtotheside.“Ididn’trealizemyattackonthepicturewindowwouldupsetyouquitesomuch.”

“It’sjust—”Donewiththebandaging,AleclookeddownatJace’shand,thehandhewasstillholdingbetweenhis.Itwasawhiteclubofbandages,spottedwithbloodwhereAlec’sfingershadtouchedit.“Whydoyoudothesethingstoyourself?Notjustwhatyoudidtothewindow,butthewayyoutalkedtoClary.Whatareyoupunishingyourselffor?Youcan’thelphowyoufeel.”

Jace’svoicewaseven.“HowdoIfeel?”

“I seehowyou look at her.”Alec’s eyeswere remote, seeing something just past Jace,somethingthatwasn’tthere.“Andyoucan’thaveher.Maybeyoujustneverknewwhatitwasliketowantsomethingyoucouldn’thavebefore.”

Jacelookedathimsteadily.“What’sbetweenyouandMagnusBane?”

Alec’sheadjerkedback.“Idon’t—there’snothing—”

“I’mnotstupid.YouwentrighttoMagnusafteryoutalkedtoMalachi,beforeyoutalkedtomeorIsabelleoranyone—”

“Because he was the only onewho could answermy question, that’s why. There isn’tanythingbetweenus,”Alecsaid—andthen,catchingthelookonJace’sface,addedwithgreatreluctance,“anymore.There’snothingbetweenusanymore.Okay?”

“Ihopethat’snotbecauseofme,”saidJace.

Alecwentwhiteanddrewback,asifhewerepreparingtowardoffablow.“Whatdoyoumean?”

“Iknowhowyouthinkyoufeelaboutme,”Jacesaid.“Youdon’t, though.Youjustlikeme because I’m safe. There’s no risk. And then you never have to try to have a realrelationship,becauseyoucanusemeasanexcuse.”Jaceknewhewasbeingcruel,andhebarelycared.Hurtingpeoplehelovedwasalmostasgoodashurtinghimselfwhenhewasinthiskindofmood.

“Igetit,”Alecsaidtightly.“FirstClary,thenyourhand,nowme.Tohellwithyou,Jace.”

“Youdon’tbelieveme?”Jaceasked.“Fine.Goahead.Kissmerightnow.”

Alecstaredathiminhorror.

“Exactly.Despitemystaggeringgoodlooks,youactuallydon’tlikemethatway.Andifyou’reblowingoffMagnus,it’snotbecauseofme.It’sbecauseyou’retooscaredtotellanyonewhoyoureallylove.Lovemakesusliars,”saidJace.“TheSeelieQueentoldmethat.Sodon’tjudgemeforlyingabouthowIfeel.Youdoittoo.”Hestoodup.“AndnowIwantyoutodoitagain.”

Alec’sfacewasstiffwithhurt.“Whatdoyoumean?”

“Lieforme,”Jacesaid,takinghisjacketdownfromthewallpegandshruggingiton.“It’ssunset.They’llstartcomingbackfromtheGardaboutnow.Iwantyou to telleveryoneI’mnotfeelingwellandthat’swhyI’mnotcomingdownstairs.TellthemIfeltfaintandtripped,andthat’showthewindowgotbroken.”

AlectippedhisheadbackandlookedupatJacesquarely.“Fine,”hesaid.“Ifyoutellme

whereyou’rereallygoing.”

“UptotheGard,”saidJace.“I’mgoingtobreakSimonoutofjail.”

Clary’smotherhadalwayscalledthetimeofdaybetweentwilightandnightfall“thebluehour.”Shesaidthelightwasstrongestandmostunusualthen,andthatitwasthebesttimeto paint. Clary had never really understoodwhat shemeant, but now,making herwaythroughAlicanteattwilight,shedid.

ThebluehourinNewYorkwasn’treallyblue;itwastoowashedoutbystreetlightsandneon signs. Jocelynmusthavebeen thinkingof Idris.Here the light fell in swatchesofpurevioletacrossthegoldenstoneworkofthecity,andthewitchlightlampscastcircularpoolsofwhitelightsobrightClaryexpectedtofeelheatwhenshewalkedthroughthem.Shewishedhermotherwerewithher.JocelyncouldhavepointedoutthepartsofAlicantethatwerefamiliartoher,thathadaplaceinhermemories.

Butshe’dnever tellyouanyof those things.Shekept themsecret fromyouonpurpose.Andnowyoumayneverknowthem.Asharppain—halfangerandhalfregret—caughtatClary’sheart.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Sebastian said. They were passing over a canal bridge, itsstoneworksidescarvedwithrunes.

“JustwonderinghowmuchtroubleI’llbeinwhenIgetback.Ihadtoclimboutawindowtoleave,butAmatishasprobablynoticedI’mgonebynow.”

Sebastianfrowned.“Whysneakout?Wouldn’tyoubeallowedtogoseeyourbrother?”

“I’m not supposed to be in Alicante at all,” Clary said. “I’m supposed to be home,watchingsafelyfromthesidelines.”

“Ah.Thatexplainsalot.”

“Does it?”Shecastacurioussidewaysglanceathim.Blueshadowswerecaught inhisdarkhair.

“Everyoneseemedtoblanchwhenyournamecameupearlier.Igatheredtherewassomebadbloodbetweenyourbrotherandyou.”

“Badblood?Well,that’sonewaytoputit.”

“Youdon’tlikehimmuch?”

“LikeJace?”She’dgivensomuchthoughtthesepastweeksastowhethershelovedJaceWaylandandhow,thatshe’dnevermuchpausedtoconsiderwhethershelikedhim.

“Sorry.He’sfamily—it’snotreallyaboutwhetheryoulikehimornot.”

“Idolikehim,”shesaid,surprisingherself.“Ido,it’sjust—hemakesmefurious.HetellsmewhatIcanandcan’tdo—”

“Doesn’tseemtoworkverywell,”Sebastianobserved.

“Whatdoyoumean?”

“Youseemtodowhatyouwantanyway.”

“Isuppose.”Theobservationstartledher,comingfromanearstranger.“But itseemstohavemadehimalotangrierthanIthoughtithad.”

“He’llgetoverit.”Sebastian’stonewasdismissive.

Clarylookedathimcuriously.“Doyoulikehim?”

“Ilikehim.ButIdon’tthinkhelikesmemuch.”Sebastiansoundedrueful.“EverythingIsayseemstopisshimoff.”

They turned off the street into a wide cobble-paved square ringed with tall, narrowbuildings. At the center was the bronze statue of an angel—the Angel, the one who’dgivenhisbloodtomaketheraceofShadowhunters.Atthenorthernendofthesquarewasamassivestructureofwhitestone.Awaterfallofwidemarblesteps leduptoapillaredarcade,behindwhichwasapairofhugedoubledoors.Theoveralleffect intheeveninglightwasstunning—andweirdlyfamiliar.Clarywonderedifshe’dseenapictureof thisplacebefore.Maybehermotherhadpaintedone?

“This isAngelSquare,”Sebastian said, “and thatwas theGreatHallof theAngel.TheAccordswerefirstsignedthere,sinceDownworldersaren’tallowedintotheGard—nowit’s called theAccordsHall. It’s a centralmeeting place—celebrations take place there,marriages,dances,thatsortofthing.It’sthecenterofthecity.TheysayallroadsleadtotheHall.”

“Itlooksabitlikeachurch—butyoudon’thavechurcheshere,doyou?”

“Noneed,”saidSebastian.“Thedemontowerskeepussafe.Weneednothingelse.That’swhyIlikecominghere.Itfeels…peaceful.”

Clarylookedathiminsurprise.“Soyoudon’tlivehere?”

“No.IliveinParis.I’mjustvisitingAline—she’smycousin.Mymotherandherfather,myunclePatrick,werebrotherandsister.Aline’sparentsrantheInstitute inBeijingforyears.TheymovedbacktoAlicanteaboutadecadeago.”

“Werethey—thePenhallowsweren’tintheCircle,werethey?”

AstartledlookflashedacrossSebastian’sface.Hewassilentas theyturnedandleft thesquarebehindthem,makingtheirwayintoawarrenofdarkstreets.“Whywouldyouaskthat?”hesaidfinally.

“Well—becausetheLightwoodswere.”

Theypassedunderastreetlight.ClaryglancedsidewaysatSebastian.Inhislongdarkcoatandwhiteshirt,underthepoolofwhitelight,helookedlikeablack-and-whiteillustrationofagentlemanfromaVictorianscrapbook.Hisdarkhaircurledcloseagainsthistemplesinawaythatmadeheritchtodrawhiminpenandink.“Youhavetounderstand,”hesaid.“AgoodhalfoftheyoungShadowhuntersinIdriswerepartoftheCircle,andplentyofthosewhoweren’tinIdristoo.UnclePatrickwasintheearlydays,buthegotoutoftheCircleoncehestartedtorealizehowseriousValentinewas.NeitherofAline’sparentswaspart of the Uprising—my uncle went to Beijing to get away from Valentine and metAline’smotherattheInstitutethere.WhentheLightwoodsandtheotherCirclemembersweretriedfortreasonagainsttheClave,thePenhallowsvotedforleniency.GotthemsentawaytoNewYorkinsteadofcursed.SotheLightwoodshavealwaysbeengrateful.”

“Whataboutyourparents?”Clarysaid.“Weretheyinit?”

“Notreally.MymotherwasyoungerthanPatrick—hesenthertoPariswhenhewenttoBeijing.Shemetmyfatherthere.”

“YourmotherwasyoungerthanPatrick?”

“She’sdead,”saidSebastian.“Myfather,too.MyauntÉlodiebroughtmeup.”

“Oh,”Clarysaid,feelingstupid.“I’msorry.”

“Idon’trememberthem,”Sebastiansaid.“Notreally.WhenIwasyounger,IwishedIhadanoldersisterorabrother,someonewhocouldtellmewhatitwaslikehavingthemasparents.”Helookedatherthoughtfully.“CanIaskyousomething,Clary?WhydidyoucometoIdrisatallwhenyouknewhowbadlyyourbrotherwouldtakeit?”

Beforeshecouldanswerhim,theyemergedfromthenarrowalleythey’dbeenfollowingintoa familiarunlit courtyard, thedisusedwell at its centergleaming in themoonlight.“Cistern Square,” Sebastian said, an unmistakable note of disappointment in his voice.“WegotherefasterthanIthoughtwewould.”

Clary glanced over the masonry bridge that spanned the nearby canal. She could seeAmatis’s house in the distance. All the windowswere lit. She sighed. “I can get backmyselffromhere,thanks.”

“Youdon’twantmetowalkyoutothe—”

“No.Notunlessyouwanttogetintroubletoo.”

“YouthinkI’dgetintrouble?Forbeinggentlemanlyenoughtowalkyouhome?”

“Noone’ssupposedtoknowI’minAlicante,”shesaid.“It’ssupposedtobeasecret.Andnooffense,butyou’reastranger.”

“I’dliketonotbe,”hesaid.“I’dliketoget toknowyoubetter.”Hewaslookingatherwithamixtureofamusementandacertainshyness,asifheweren’tsurehowwhathe’djustsaidwouldbereceived.

“Sebastian,” she said,with a sudden feeling of overwhelming tiredness. “I’m glad youwanttogettoknowme.ButIjustdon’thavetheenergytogettoknowyou.Sorry.”

“Ididn’tmean—”

Butshewasalreadywalkingawayfromhim,towardthebridge.Halfwaytheresheturnedaround and glanced back at Sebastian. He was looking oddly forlorn in a patch ofmoonlight,hisdarkhairfallingoverhisface.

“RagnorFell,”shesaid.

Hestaredather.“What?”

“You askedmewhy I came here even though I wasn’t supposed to,” Clary said. “Mymotherissick.Reallysick.Maybedying.Theonlythingthatcanhelpher,theonlypersonwho can help her, is awarlock namedRagnor Fell.Only I have no ideawhere to findhim.”

“Clary—”

Sheturnedbacktowardthehouse.“Goodnight,Sebastian.”

Itwasharderclimbingupthetrellisthanithadbeenclimbingdown.Clary’sbootsslippedanumberoftimesonthedampstonewall,andshewasrelievedwhenshefinallyhauledherselfupoverthesillofthewindowandhalf-jumped,half-fellintothebedroom.

Her euphoriawas short-lived.No sooner had her boots hit the floor than a bright lightflaredup,asoftexplosionthatlittheroomtoadaylightbrightness.

Amatiswassittingontheedgeofthebed,herbackverystraight,awitchlightstoneinherhand.Itburnedwithaharshlightthatdidnothingtosoftenthehardplanesofherfaceorthe lines at the corners of her mouth. She stared at Clary in silence for several longmoments.Finallyshesaid,“Inthoseclothes,youlookjustlikeJocelyn.”

Claryscrambledtoherfeet.“I—I’msorry,”shesaid.“Aboutgoingoutlikethat—”

Amatis closed her hand around the witchlight, snuffing its glow. Clary blinked in the

suddendimness.“Changeoutofthatgear,”Amatissaid,“andmeetmedownstairsinthekitchen.Anddon’teventhinkaboutsneakingbackoutthroughthewindow,”sheadded,“orthenexttimeyoureturntothishouse,you’llfinditsealedagainstyou.”

Swallowinghard,Clarynodded.

Amatisrosetoherfeetandleftwithoutanotherword.QuicklyClaryshuckedoffhergearanddressedinherownclothes,whichhungoverthebedpost,nowdry—herjeanswerealittlestiff,butitwasnicetopullonherfamiliarT-shirt.Shakinghertangledhairback,sheheadeddownstairs.

The last time she’d seen the lower floor of Amatis’s house, she’d been delirious andhallucinating. She remembered long corridors stretching out to infinity and a hugegrandfatherclockwhosetickshadsoundedlikethebeatsofadyingheart.Nowshefoundherselfinasmall,homelylivingroom,withplainwoodenfurnitureandaragrugonthefloor. The small size and bright colors reminded her a little of her own living room athome inBrooklyn.Shecrossed through in silenceandentered thekitchen,wherea fireburnedinthegrateandtheroomwasfullofwarmyellowlight.Amatiswassittingatthetable.Shehadablue shawlwrappedaroundher shoulders; itmadeherhair seemmoregray.

“Hi.”Claryhoveredinthedoorway.Shecouldn’ttellifAmatiswasangryornot.

“IsupposeIhardlyneedtoaskwhereyouwent,”Amatissaid,withoutlookingupfromthe table.“Youwent to see Jonathan,didn’tyou? I suppose itwasonly tobeexpected.PerhapsifI’deverhadchildrenofmyown,I’dknowwhenachildwaslyingtome.ButIhadsohopedthat,thistimeatleast,Iwouldn’tcompletelydisappointmybrother.”

“DisappointLuke?”

“Youknowwhathappenedwhenhewasbitten?”Amatis stared straight in frontofher.“Whenmybrotherwasbittenbyawerewolf—andofcoursehewas,Valentinewasalwaystakingstupidriskswithhimselfandhisfollowers,itwasjustamatteroftime—hecameandtoldmewhathadhappenedandhowscaredhewasthathemighthavecontractedthelycanthropicdisease.AndIsaid…Isaid…”

“Amatis,youdon’thavetotellmethis—”

“Itoldhimtogetoutofmyhouseandnottocomebackuntilhewassurehedidn’thaveit. I cringed away from him—I couldn’t help it.”Her voice shook. “He could see howdisgustedIwas,itwasallovermyface.Hesaidhewasafraidthatifhedidhaveit,ifhe’dbecomeawere-creature, thatValentinewouldaskhimtokillhimself,andIsaid…Isaidthatmaybethatwouldbethebestthing.”

Clarygavealittlegasp;shecouldn’thelpit.

Amatislookedupquickly.Self-loathingwaswrittenalloverherface.“Lukewasalwayssobasicallygood,whateverValentinetriedtogethimtodo—sometimesIthoughtheand

Jocelynwere theonly reallygoodpeople Iknew—and Icouldn’t stand the ideaofhimbeingturnedintosomemonster….”

“Buthe’snotlikethat.He’snotamonster.”

“Ididn’tknow.AfterhedidChange,afterhefledfromhere,Jocelynworkedandworkedtoconvincemethathewasstillthesamepersoninside,stillmybrother.Ifithadn’tbeenforher, I neverwouldhaveagreed to seehimagain. I lethimstayherewhenhecamebeforetheUprising—lethimhideinthecellar—butIcouldtellhedidn’treallytrustme,notafterI’dturnedmybackonhim.Ithinkhestilldoesn’t.”

“He trusted you enough to come to youwhen Iwas sick,”Clary said. “He trusted youenoughtoleavemeherewithyou—”

“He had nowhere else to go,” saidAmatis. “And look howwell I’ve faredwith you. Icouldn’tevenkeepyouinthehouseforasingleday.”

Claryflinched.Thiswasworsethanbeingyelledat.“It’snotyourfault.Iliedtoyouandsneakedout.Therewasn’tanythingyoucouldhavedoneaboutit.”

“Oh,Clary,”Amatissaid.“Don’tyousee?There’salwayssomethingyoucando.It’sjustpeople likemewhoalways tell themselvesotherwise. I toldmyself therewasnothing IcoulddoaboutLuke. I toldmyself therewasnothing I coulddoaboutStephen leavingme.AndIrefuseeventoattendtheClave’smeetingsbecauseItellmyselfthere’snothingIcandotoinfluencetheirdecisions,evenwhenIhatewhattheydo.ButthenwhenIdochoosetodosomething—well,Ican’tevendothatonethingright.”Hereyesshone,hardandbrightinthefirelight.“Gotobed,Clary,”shefinished.“Andfromnowon,youcancome and go as you please. I won’t do anything to stop you. After all, like you said,there’snothingIcando.”

“Amatis—”

“Don’t.” Amatis shook her head. “Just go to bed. Please.” Her voice held a note offinality;sheturnedaway,asifClarywerealreadygone,andstaredatthewall,unblinking.

Claryspunonherheelandranupthestairs.Inthespareroomshekickedthedoorshutbehindherandflungherselfdownontothebed.She’dthoughtshewantedtocry,butthetearswouldn’t come. Jace hatesme, she thought.Amatis hatesme. I never got to saygood-bye to Simon. My mother’s dying. And Luke has abandoned me. I’m alone. I’veneverbeensoalone,andit’sallmyownfault.Maybethatwaswhyshecouldn’tcry,sherealized,staringdry-eyedattheceiling.Becausewhatwasthepointincryingwhentherewasnoonetheretocomfortyou?Andwhatwasworse,whenyoucouldn’tevencomfortyourself?

7

WHEREANGELSFEARTOTREAD

Outofadreamofbloodandsunlight,Simonwokesuddenly to thesoundofavoicecallinghisname.

“Simon.”Thevoicewasahissingwhisper.“Simon,getup.”

Simonwasonhisfeet—sometimeshowfasthecouldmovenowsurprisedevenhim—andspinning around in the darkness of the cell. “Samuel?” he whispered, staring into theshadows.“Samuel,wasthatyou?”

“Turn around, Simon.”Now the voice, faintly familiar, held a note of irritability. “Andcometothewindow.”SimonknewimmediatelywhoitwasandlookedthroughthebarredwindowtoseeJacekneelingonthegrassoutside,awitchlightstoneinhishand.Hewaslooking at Simon with a strained scowl. “What, did you think you were having anightmare?”

“Maybe I still am.” Therewas a buzzing in Simon’s ears—if he’d had a heartbeat, hewouldhavethoughtitwasthebloodrushingthroughhisveins,butitwassomethingelse,somethinglesscorporealbutmoreproximatethanblood.

Thewitchlightthrewacrazy-quiltpatternoflightandshadowacrossJace’spaleface.“Sohere’swheretheyputyou.Ididn’tthinktheyevenusedthesecellsanymore.”Heglancedsideways.“Igotthewrongwindowatfirst.Gaveyourfriendinthenextcellsomethingofashock.Attractivefellow,whatwith thebeardandtherags.Kindofremindsmeof thestreetfolkbackhome.”

AndSimonrealizedwhatthebuzzingsoundinhisearswas.Rage.Insomedistantcornerofhismindhewasawarethathislipsweredrawnback,thetipsofhisfangsgrazinghislowerlip.“I’mgladyouthinkallthisisfunny.”

“You’renothappytoseeme,then?”Jacesaid.“Ihavetosay,I’msurprised.I’vealwaysbeen toldmy presence brightened up any room.Onemight think thatwent doubly fordankundergroundcells.”

“Youknewwhatwouldhappen,didn’tyou?‘They’llsendyourightbacktoNewYork,’yousaid.Noproblem.Buttheyneverhadanyintentionofdoingthat.”

“Ididn’tknow.”Jacemethiseyesthroughthebars,andhisgazewasclearandsteady.“Iknowyouwon’tbelieveme,butIthoughtIwastellingyouthetruth.”

“You’reeitherlyingorstupid—”

“ThenI’mstupid.”

“—orboth,”Simonfinished.“I’minclinedtothinkboth.”

“I don’t have a reason to lie toyou.Notnow.” Jace’sgaze remained steady. “Andquitbaringyourfangsatme.It’smakingmenervous.”

“Good,”Simonsaid.“Ifyouwanttoknowwhy,it’sbecauseyousmelllikeblood.”

“It’smycologne.EaudeRecentInjury.”Jaceraisedhislefthand.Itwasagloveofwhitebandages,stainedacrosstheknuckleswherebloodhadseepedthrough.

Simonfrowned.“Ithoughtyourkinddidn’tgetinjuries.Notonesthatlasted.”

“I put it through awindow,” Jace said, “andAlec’smakingmeheal like amundane toteachmealesson.There,Itoldyouthetruth.Impressed?”

“No,” Simon said. “I have bigger problems than you. The Inquisitor keeps asking mequestions I can’t answer.He keeps accusingme of gettingmyDaylighter powers fromValentine.Ofbeingaspyforhim.”

AlarmflickeredinJace’seyes.“Aldertreesaidthat?”

“AldertreeimpliedthewholeClavethoughtso.”

“That’s bad. If they decide you’re a spy, then theAccords don’t apply.Not if they canconvince themselves you’ve broken the Law.” Jace glanced around quickly beforereturninghisgazetoSimon.“We’dbettergetyououtofhere.”

“Andthenwhat?”Simonalmostcouldn’tbelievewhathewassaying.Hewantedtogetoutofthisplacesobadlyhecouldtasteit,yethecouldn’tstopthewordstumblingoutofhismouth.“Wheredoyouplanonhidingme?”

“There’saPortalhereintheGard.Ifwecanfindit,Icansendyoubackthrough—”

“Andeveryonewillknowyouhelpedme.Jace,it’snotjustmetheClaveisafter.Infact,I

doubt they care about oneDownworlder at all oneway or the other. They’re trying toprovesomethingaboutyourfamily—abouttheLightwoods.They’retryingtoprovethatthey’reconnectedwithValentinesomehow.ThattheyneverreallylefttheCircle.”

Eveninthedarkness,itwaspossibletoseethecolorrushintoJace’scheeks.“Butthat’sridiculous.TheyfoughtValentine—ontheship—Robertnearlydied—”

“TheInquisitorwantstobelievethattheysacrificedtheotherNephilimwhofoughtontheboattopreservetheillusionthattheywereagainstValentine.ButtheystilllosttheMortalSword,andthat’swhathecaresabout.Look,youtriedtowarntheClave,andtheydidn’tcare.NowtheInquisitorislookingforsomeonetoblameeverythingon.Ifhecanbrandyourfamilyastraitors,thennoonewillblametheClaveforwhathappened,andhe’llbeabletomakewhateverpolicieshewantstowithoutopposition.”

Jaceputhisfaceinhishands,hislongfingerstuggingdistractedlyathishair.“ButIcan’tjustleaveyouhere.IfClaryfindsout—”

“Ishouldhaveknownthat’swhatyouwereworriedabout.”Simonlaughedharshly.“Sodon’ttellher.She’sinNewYork,anyway,thank—”Hebrokeoff,unabletosaytheword.“Youwereright,”hesaidinstead.“I’mgladshe’snothere.”

Jaceliftedhisheadoutofhishands.“What?”

“TheClaveisinsane.Whoknowswhatthey’ddotoheriftheyknewwhatshecoulddo.Youwereright,”Simonrepeated,andwhenJacesaidnothinginreply,added,“AndyoumightaswellenjoythatIjustsaidthattoyou.Iprobablywon’teversayitagain.”

Jacestaredathim,hisfaceblank,andSimonwasremindedwithanunpleasantjoltofthewayJacehadlookedontheship,bloodyanddyingonthemetalfloor.Finally,Jacespoke.“Soyou’retellingmeyouplantostayhere?Inprison?Untilwhen?”

“Untilwethinkofabetteridea,”saidSimon.“Butthereisonething.”

Jaceraisedhiseyebrows.“What’sthat?”

“Blood,” said Simon. “The Inquisitor’s trying to starve me into talking. I already feelprettyweak.BytomorrowI’llbe—well,Idon’tknowhowI’llbe.ButIdon’twanttogiveintohim.AndIwon’tdrinkyourbloodagain,oranyoneelse’s,”headdedquickly,beforeJacecouldoffer.“Animalbloodwilldo.”

“BloodIcangetyou,”Jacesaid.Hehesitated.“Didyou…telltheInquisitorthatIletyoudrinkmyblood?ThatIsavedyou?”

Simonshookhishead.

Jace’seyesshonewithreflectedlight.“Whynot?”

“IsupposeIdidn’twanttogetyouintomoretrouble.”

“Look,vampire,”Jacesaid.“ProtecttheLightwoodsifyoucan.Butdon’tprotectme.”

Simonraisedhishead.“Whynot?”

“I suppose,” said Jace—and for amoment, ashe lookeddown through thebars,Simoncouldalmostimaginethathewasoutside,andJacewastheoneinsidethecell—“becauseIdon’tdeserveit.”

Clarywoketoasoundlikehailstonesonametalroof.Shesatupinbed,staringaroundgroggily.Thesoundcameagain,asharprattle-thumpemanatingfromthewindow.Peelingherblanketbackreluctantly,shewenttoinvestigate.

Throwing thewindowopen let inablastofcoldair thatcut throughherpajamas likeaknife.Sheshiveredandleanedoutoverthesill.

Someonewasstandinginthegardenbelow,andforamoment,withaleapofherheart,allshesawwasthatthefigurewasslenderandtall,withboyish,rumpledhair.Thenheraisedhisfaceandshesawthatthehairwasdark,notfair,andsherealizedthatforthesecondtime,she’dhopedforJaceandgottenSebastianinstead.

Hewasholdingahandfulofpebblesinonehand.Hesmiledwhenhesawherpokeherheadout,andgesturedathimselfandthenattherosetrellis.Climbdownstairs.

Sheshookherheadandpointedtowardthefrontofthehouse.Meetmeatthefrontdoor.Shutting thewindow, she hurried downstairs. Itwas latemorning—the light pouring inthroughthewindowswassrongandgolden,butthelightswerealloffandthehousewasquiet.Amatismuststillbeasleep,shethought.

Clarywenttothefrontdoor,unboltedit,andthrewitopen.Sebastianwasthere,standingon the front step, andonceagain shehad that feeling, that strangeburstof recognition,though it was fainter this time. She smiled weakly at him. “You threw stones at mywindow,”shesaid.“Ithoughtpeopleonlydidthatinmovies.”

Hegrinned.“Nicepajamas.DidIwakeyouup?”

“Maybe.”

“Sorry,”hesaid,thoughhedidn’tseemsorry.“Butthiscouldn’twait.Youmightwanttorunupstairsandgetdressed,bytheway.We’llbespendingthedaytogether.”

“Wow.Confident,aren’tyou?”shesaid,butthenboyswholookedlikeSebastianprobablyhadnoreasontobeanythingbutconfident.Sheshookherhead.“I’msorry,butIcan’t.Ican’tleavethehouse.Nottoday.”

Afaintlineofconcernappearedbetweenhiseyes.“Youleftthehouseyesterday.”

“Iknow,butthatwasbefore—”BeforeAmatismademefeelabouttwoinchestall.“Ijustcan’t.Andpleasedon’ttrytoarguemeoutofit,okay?”

“Okay,”hesaid.“Iwon’targue.ButatleastletmetellyouwhatIcameheretotellyou.Then,Ipromise,ifyoustillwantmetogo,I’llgo.”

“Whatisit?”

Heraisedhisface,andshewonderedhowitwaspossiblethatdarkeyescouldglowjustlikegoldenones.“IknowwhereyoucanfindRagnorFell.”

IttookClarylessthantenminutestorunupstairs,throwonherclothes,scribbleahastynotetoAmatis,andrejoinSebastian,whowaswaitingforherattheedgeofthecanal.Hegrinnedassherantomeethim,breathless,hergreencoatflungoveronearm.“I’mhere,”shesaid,skiddingtoastop.“Canwegonow?”

Sebastianinsistedonhelpingheronwiththecoat.“Idon’tthinkanyone’severhelpedmewithmycoatbefore,”Claryobserved,freeingthehairthathadgottentrappedunderhercollar.“Well,maybewaiters.Wereyoueverawaiter?”

“No,butIwasbroughtupbyaFrenchwoman,”Sebastianremindedher.“It involvesanevenmorerigorouscourseoftraining.”

Clary smiled, despite her nervousness. Sebastian was good at making her smile, sherealizedwithafaintsenseofsurprise.Almosttoogoodatit.“Wherearewegoing?”sheaskedabruptly.“IsFell’shousenearhere?”

“Helivesoutsidethecity,actually,”saidSebastian,startingtowardthebridge.Claryfellintostepbesidehim.

“Isitalongwalk?”

“Toolongtowalk.We’regoingtogetaride.”

“A ride? Fromwho?” She came to a dead stop. “Sebastian,we have to be careful.Wecan’ttrustjustanyonewiththeinformationaboutwhatwe’redoing—whatI’mdoing.It’sasecret.”

Sebastian regardedherwith thoughtfuldarkeyes. “I swearon theAngel that the friendwe’llbegettingaridefromwon’tbreatheawordtoanyoneaboutwhatwe’redoing.”

“You’resure?”

“I’mverysure.”

RagnorFell,Clary thought as theywove through the crowded streets. I’mgoing to seeRagnorFell.Wildexcitementclashedwithtrepidation—Madeleinehadmadehimsoundformidable.Whatifhehadnopatiencewithher,notime?Whatifshecouldn’tmakehimbelieveshewaswhoshesaidshewas?Whatifhedidn’tevenrememberhermother?

Itdidn’thelphernervesthateverytimeshepassedablondmanoragirlwithlongdarkhair her insides tensed up as she thought she recognized Jace or Isabelle. But Isabellewouldprobably just ignoreher, she thoughtglumly,andJacewasdoubtlessbackat thePenhallows’,neckingwithhisnewgirlfriend.

“Youworriedaboutbeing followed?”Sebastianaskedas they turneddownasidestreetthatledawayfromthecitycenter,noticingthewayshekeptglancingaroundher.

“IkeepthinkingIseepeopleIknow,”sheadmitted.“Jace,ortheLightwoods.”

“Idon’t think Jacehas left thePenhallows’ since theygothere.Hemostly seems tobeskulkinginhisroom.Hehurthishandprettybadlyyesterdaytoo—”

“Hurthishand?How?”Clary, forgetting to lookwhere shewasgoing, stumbledoverarock.Theroadthey’dbeenwalkingonhadsomehowturnedfromcobblestonestogravelwithouthernoticing.“Ouch.”

“We’re here,” Sebastian announced, stopping in front of a high wood-and-wire fence.Therewerenohousesaround—theyhadratherabruptlylefttheresidentialdistrictbehind,and therewasonly this fenceononesideandagravellyslope leadingawaytoward theforestontheother.

Therewasadoorinthefence,butitwaspadlocked.FromhispocketSebastianproducedaheavysteelkeyandopenedthegate.“I’llberightbackwithourride.”Heswungthegateshutbehindhim.Claryputhereyetotheslats.Throughthegapsshecouldglimpsewhatlookedlikealow-slungredclapboardhouse.Thoughitdidn’tappeartoreallyhaveadoor—orproperwindows—

Thegateopened,andSebastianreappeared,grinningfromeartoear.Heheldaleadinonehand:Pacingdocilelybehindhimwasahugegrayandwhitehorsewithablazelikeastaronitsforehead.

“Ahorse?Youhaveahorse?”Clarystaredinamazement.“Whohasahorse?”

Sebastianstrokedthehorsefondlyontheshoulder.“AlotofShadowhunterfamilieskeepahorseinthestableshereinAlicante.Ifyou’venoticed,therearenocarsinIdris.Theydon’tworkwellwith all thesewards around.”Hepatted the pale leather of the horse’ssaddle,emblazonedwithacrestofarmsthatdepictedawaterserpentrisingoutofalakeinaseriesofcoils.ThenameVerlacwaswrittenbeneathindelicatescript.“Comeonup.”

Clarybackedup.“I’veneverriddenahorsebefore.”

“I’llberidingWayfarer,”Sebastianreassuredher.“You’lljustbesittinginfrontofme.”

Thehorsegruntedsoftly.Hehadhugeteeth,Clarynoticeduneasily;eachonethesizeofaPezdispenser.She imagined those teethsinking intoher legand thoughtofall thegirlsshe’dknowninmiddleschoolwho’dwantedponiesof theirown.Shewonderedif theywereinsane.

Bebrave,shetoldherself.It’swhatyourmotherwoulddo.

Shetookadeepbreath.“Allright.Let’sgo.”

Clary’sresolutiontobebravelastedaslongasittookforSebastian—afterhelpingherintothesaddle—toswinghimselfupontothehorsebehindheranddiginhisheels.Wayfarertookofflikeashot,poundingoverthegraveledroadwithaforcethatsentjoltingshocksupherspine.Sheclutchedat thebitofthesaddlethatstuckupinfrontofher,hernailsdiggingintoithardenoughtoleavemarksintheleather.

Theroadtheywereonnarrowedastheyheadedoutoftown,andnowtherewerebanksofthicktreesoneithersideofthem,wallsofgreenthatblockedanywiderview.Sebastiandrew back on the reins, and the horse ceased its frantic galloping, Clary’s heartbeatslowing along with its pace. As her panic receded, she became slowly conscious ofSebastianbehindher—hewasholdingthereinsoneithersideofher,hisarmsmakingasortofcagearoundherthatkeptherfromfeelinglikeshewasabouttoslideoffthehorse.Shewassuddenlyveryawareofhim,notjustthehardstrengthinthearmsthatheldher,but thatshewas leaningbackagainsthischestand thathesmelledof, forsomereason,black pepper. Not in a badway—it was spicy and pleasant, very different from Jace’ssmellofsoapandsunlight.Notthatsunlighthadasmell,really,butifitdid—

Shegrittedherteeth.ShewasherewithSebastian,onherwaytoseeapowerfulwarlock,andmentallyshewasmaunderingonabout thewayJacesmelled.She forcedherself tolookaround.Thegreenbanksoftreeswerethinningoutandnowshecouldseeasweepofmarbledcountrysidetoeitherside.Itwasbeautifulinastarksortofway:acarpetofgreenbrokenuphereandtherebyascarofgraystoneroadoracragofblackrockrisingupoutofthegrass.Clustersofdelicatewhiteflowers,thesameonesshe’dseeninthenecropoliswithLuke,starredthehillslikeoccasionalsnowfall.

“HowdidyoufindoutwhereRagnorFellis?”sheaskedasSebastianskillfullyguidedthehorsearoundarutintheroad.

“MyauntÉlodie.She’sgotquite anetworkof informants.Sheknowseverything that’sgoing on in Idris, even though she never comes here herself. She hates to leave theInstitute.”

“Whataboutyou?DoyoucometoIdrismuch?”

“Notreally.ThelasttimeIwashereIwasaboutfiveyearsold.Ihaven’tseenmyauntand

uncle since then either, so I’m glad to be here now. It givesme a chance to catch up.Besides,ImissIdriswhenI’mnothere.There’snowhereelselikeit.It’sintheearthoftheplace.You’llstarttofeelit,andthenyou’llmissitwhenyou’renothere.”

“IknowJacemissedit,”shesaid.“ButIthoughtthatwasbecausehelivedhereforyears.Hewasbroughtuphere.”

“IntheWaylandmanor,”Sebastiansaid.“Notthatfarfromwherewe’regoing,infact.”

“Youdoseemtoknoweverything.”

“Noteverything,”SebastiansaidwithalaughthatClaryfeltthroughherback.“Yeah,Idrisworksitsmagiconeveryone—eventhoselikeJacewhohavereasontohatetheplace.”

“Whydoyousaythat?”

“Well,hewasbroughtupbyValentine,wasn’the?Andthatmusthavebeenprettyawful.”

“I don’t know.” Clary hesitated. “The truth is, he has mixed feelings about it. I thinkValentinewasahorriblefatherinaway,butinanotherwaythelittlebitsofkindnessandlove he did showwere all the kindness and love Jace ever knew.” She felt a wave ofsadnessasshespoke.“IthinkherememberedValentinewithalotofaffection,foralongtime.”

“Ican’tbelieveValentineevershowedJacekindnessorlove.Valentine’samonster.”

“Well,yes,butJaceishisson.Andhewasjustalittleboy.IthinkValentinedidlovehim,inhisway—”

“No.”Sebastian’svoicewassharp.“I’mafraidthat’simpossible.”

Claryblinkedandalmostturnedaroundtoseehisface,butthenthoughtbetterofit.AllShadowhuntersweresortofcrazyonthetopicofValentine—shethoughtoftheInquisitorandshudderedinwardly—andshecouldhardlyblamethem.“You’reprobablyright.”

“We’rehere,”Sebastiansaidabruptly—soabruptlythatClarywonderedifshereallyhadoffendedhimsomehow—andsliddownfromthehorse’sback.Butwhenhelookedupather,hewassmiling.“Wemadegoodtime,”hesaid,tyingthereinstothelowerbranchofanearbytree.“BetterthanIthoughtwewould.”

He indicated with a gesture that she should dismount, and after amoment’s hesitationClary slid off the horse and into his arms. She clutched him as he caught her, her legsunsteadyafterthelongride.“Sorry,”shesaidsheepishly.“Ididn’tmeantograbyou.”

“Iwouldn’tapologizeforthat.”Hisbreathwaswarmagainstherneck,andsheshivered.Hishandslingeredjustamomentlongeronherbackbeforehereluctantlylethergo.

All thiswasn’t helpingClary’s legs feel any steadier. “Thanks,” she said, knowing full

wellshewasblushing,andwishingheartilythatherfairskindidn’tshowcolorsoreadily.“So—this is it?”She lookedaround.Theywerestanding ina smallvalleybetween lowhills. There were a number of gnarled-looking trees ranged around a clearing. Theirtwisted branches had a sculptural beauty against the steel blue sky. Butotherwise…“There’snothinghere,”shesaidwithafrown.

“Clary.Concentrate.”

“Youmean—aglamour?ButIdon’tusuallyhaveto—”

“GlamoursinIdrisareoftenstrongerthantheyareelsewhere.Youmayhavetotryharderthanyouusuallydo.”Heputhishandsonhershouldersandturnedhergently.“Lookattheclearing.”

Clarysilentlyperformedthementaltrickthatallowedhertopeelglamourfromthethingitdisguised.She imaginedherself rubbing turpentineon a canvas, peeling away layers ofpaint to reveal the true imageunderneath—and there itwas,a small stonehousewithasharplygabledroof,smoketwistingfromthechimneyinanelegantcurlicue.Awindingpathlinedwithstonesleduptothefrontdoor.Asshelooked,thesmokepuffingfromthechimney stopped curling upward and began to take on the shape of a wavering blackquestionmark.

Sebastianlaughed.“Ithinkthatmeans,Who’sthere?”

Clarypulledhercoatcloseraroundher.Thewindblowingacross the levelgrasswasn’tthatbrisk,but therewas ice inherbonesnevertheless.“It looks likesomethingoutofafairytale.”

“Areyoucold?”Sebastianputanarmaroundher.Immediatelythesmokecurlingfromthechimneystoppedformingitselfintoquestionmarksandbeganpuffingoutintheshapeoflopsided hearts. Clary ducked away from him, feeling both embarrassed and somehowguilty,asifshe’ddonesomethingwrong.Shehurriedtowardthefrontwalkofthehouse,Sebastianjustbehindher.Theywerehalfwayupthefrontpathwhenthedoorflewopen.

DespitehavingbeenobsessedwithfindingRagnorFelleversinceMadeleinehadtoldherhisname,Claryhadnever stopped topicturewhathemight look like.A large,beardedman,shewouldhavethought,ifshe’dthoughtaboutitatall.SomeonewholookedlikeaViking,withbigbroadshoulders.

Butthepersonwhosteppedoutofthefrontdoorwastallandthin,withshort,spikydarkhair.Hewaswearingagoldmeshvestandapairofsilkpajamapants.HeregardedClarywithmild interest, puffing gently on a fantastically large pipe as he did so. Though helookednothingatalllikeaViking,hewasinstantlyandtotallyfamiliar.

MagnusBane.

“But…”ClarylookedwildlyoveratSebastian,whoseemedasastonishedasshewas.HewasstaringatMagnuswithhismouthslightlyopen,ablanklookonhisface.Finallyhe

stammered,“Areyou—RagnorFell?Thewarlock?”

Magnus took thepipeoutofhismouth.“Well, I’mcertainlynotRagnorFell theexoticdancer.”

“I…”Sebastianseemedatalossforwords.Clarywasn’tsurewhathe’dbeenexpecting,but Magnus was a lot to take in. “We were hoping you could help us. I’m SebastianVerlac,andthisisClarissaMorgenstern—hermotherisJocelynFairchild—”

“Idon’tcarewhohermotheris,”Magnussaid.“Youcan’tseemewithoutanappointment.Comebacklater.NextMarchwouldbegood.”

“March?”Sebastianlookedhorrified.

“You’reright,”Magnussaid.“Toorainy.HowaboutJune?”

Sebastiandrewhimselfupright.“Idon’tthinkyouunderstandhowimportantthisis—”

“Sebastian, don’t bother,”Clary said in disgust. “He’s justmessingwith your head.Hecan’thelpus,anyway.”

Sebastianonlylookedmoreconfused.“ButIdon’tseewhyhecan’t—”

“Allright,that’senough,”Magnussaid,andsnappedhisfingersonce.

Sebastianfrozeinplace,hismouthstillopen,hishandpartiallyoutstretched.

“Sebastian!”Clary reachedout to touchhim, but hewas as rigid as a statue.Only theslightriseandfallofhischestshowedthathewasevenstillalive.“Sebastian?”shesaidagain,butitwashopeless:Sheknewsomehowthathecouldn’tseeorhearher.SheturnedonMagnus. “I can’t believe you just did that.What on earth iswrongwith you?Haswhatever’sinthatpipemeltedyourbrain?Sebastian’sonourside.”

“Idon’thaveaside,Clarydarling,”Magnussaidwithawaveofhispipe.“Andreally,it’syourownfaultIhadtofreezehimforashortwhile.YouwereawfullyclosetotellinghimI’mnotRagnorFell.”

“That’sbecauseyou’renotRagnorFell.”

Magnusblewastreamofsmokeoutofhismouthandregardedherthoughtfullythroughthehaze.“Comeon,”hesaid.“Letmeshowyousomething.”

Heheldthedoorof thesmallhouseopen,gesturingher inside.Witha last,disbelievingglanceatSebastian,Claryfollowedhim.

Theinteriorofthecottagewasunlit.Thefaintdaylightstreaminginthroughthewindowswas enough to show Clary that they stood inside a large room crowded with darkshadows. There was an odd smell in the air, as of burning garbage. She made a faint

choking noise asMagnus raised his hand and snapped his fingers once again.A brightbluelightbloomedfromhisfingertips.

Clary gasped. The room was a shambles—furniture smashed into splinters, drawersopenedand theircontents scattered.Pages ripped frombooksdrifted in theair likeash.Eventhewindowglasswasshattered.

“IgotamessagefromFelllastnight,”saidMagnus,“askingmetomeethimhere.Iturnedup here—and found it like this. Everything destroyed, and the stench of demons allaround.”

“Demons?Butdemonscan’tcomeintoIdris—”

“I didn’t say they have. I’m just telling you what happened.” Magnus spoke withoutinflection. “Theplace stankof somethingdemonic inorigin.Ragnor’sbodywason thefloor.Hehadn’tbeendeadwhentheylefthim,buthewasdeadwhenIarrived.”Heturnedtoher.“Whoknewyouwerelookingforhim?”

“Madeleine,” Clary whispered. “But she’s dead. Sebastian, Jace, and Simon. TheLightwoods—”

“Ah,” saidMagnus. “If the Lightwoods know, the Clavemaywell know by now, andValentinehasspiesintheClave.”

“Ishouldhavekeptitasecretinsteadofaskingeveryoneabouthim,”Clarysaidinhorror.“Thisismyfault.IshouldhavewarnedFell—”

“MightIpointout,”saidMagnus,“thatyoucouldn’tfindFell,whichisinfactwhyyouwere asking people about him. Look, Madeleine—and you—just thought of Fell assomeone who could help your mother. Not someone Valentine might be interested inbeyondthat.Butthere’smoretoit.Valentinemightnothaveknownhowtowakeupyourmother,butheseems tohaveknown thatwhat shedid toputherself in that statehadaconnectiontosomethinghewantedverymuch.Aparticularspellbook.”

“Howdoyouknowallthis?”Claryasked.

“BecauseRagnortoldme.”

“But—”

Magnus cut her off with a gesture. “Warlocks haveways of communicatingwith eachother. They have their own languages.” He raised the hand that held the blue flame.“Logos.”

Lettersoffire,eachatleastsixinchestall,appearedonthewallsasifetchedintothestonewith liquid gold. The letters raced around thewalls, spelling outwords Clary couldn’tread.SheturnedtoMagnus.“Whatdoesitsay?”

“Ragnordidthiswhenheknewhewasdying.Ittellswhateverwarlockcomesafterhimwhathappened.”AsMagnusturned,theglowoftheburningletterslithiscateyestogold.“HewasattackedherebyservantsofValentine.TheydemandedtheBookoftheWhite.Aside from theGrayBook, it’s among themost famous volumes of supernaturalworkeverwritten.BoththerecipeforthepotionJocelyntookandtherecipefortheantidotetoitarecontainedinthatbook.”

Clary’smouthdroppedopen.“Sowasithere?”

“No. It belonged to yourmother.AllRagnor didwas advise herwhere to hide it fromValentine.”

“Soit’s—”

“It’s at theWayland familymanor. TheWaylands had their home very close to whereJocelynandValentinelived;theyweretheirnearestneighbors.Ragnorsuggestedthatyourmother hide the book in their home, where Valentine would never look for it. In thelibrary,asamatteroffact.”

“But Valentine lived in the Wayland manor for years after that,” Clary protested.“Wouldn’thehavefoundit?”

“Itwashidden insideanotherbook.OneValentinewasunlikely to everopen.”Magnussmiled crookedly. “SimpleRecipes forHousewives.No one can say yourmother didn’thaveasenseofhumor.”

“SohaveyougonetotheWaylandmanor?Haveyoulookedforthebook?”

Magnus shookhis head. “Clary, there aremisdirectionwardson themanor.Theydon’tjustkeepouttheClave;theykeepouteveryone.EspeciallyDownworlders.MaybeifIhadtimetoworkonthem,Icouldcrackthem,but—”

“Thennoonecangetintothemanor?”Despairclawedatherchest.“It’simpossible?”

“Ididn’tsaynoone,”Magnussaid.“Icanthinkofatleastonepersonwhocouldalmostcertainlygetintothemanor.”

“YoumeanValentine?”

“Imean,”saidMagnus,“Valentine’sson.”

Claryshookherhead.“Jacewon’thelpme,Magnus.Hedoesn’twantmehere.Infact,Idoubthe’sspeakingtomeatall.”

Magnuslookedathermeditatively.“Ithink,”hesaid,“thereisn’tmuchthatJacewouldn’tdoforyou,ifyouaskedhim.”

Clary opened her mouth and then shut it again. She thought of the way Magnus had

alwaysseemedtoknowhowAlecfeltaboutJace,howSimonfeltabouther.Herfeelingsfor Jacemust bewritten on her face even now, andMagnuswas an expert reader. Sheglancedaway.“SayIcanconvinceJacetocometothemanorwithmeandgetthebook,”shesaid.“Thenwhat?Idon’tknowhowtocastaspell,ormakeanantidote—”

Magnussnorted.“DidyouthinkIwasgivingyouall thisadviceforfree?OnceyougetholdoftheBookoftheWhite,Iwantyoutobringitstraighttome.”

“Thebook?Youwantit?”

“It’soneof themostpowerful spellbooks in theworld.Ofcourse Iwant it.Besides, itbelongs,byright, toLilith’schildren,notRaziel’s.It’sawarlockbookandshouldbeinwarlockhands.”

“ButIneedit—tocuremymother—”

“Youneedonepageoutofit,whichyoucankeep.Therestismine.Andinreturn,whenyoubringmethebook,I’llmakeuptheantidoteforyouandadministerittoJocelyn.Youcan’tsayit’snotafairdeal.”Heheldoutahand.“Shakeonit?”

Afteramoment’shesitationClaryshook.“I’dbetternotregretthis.”

“Icertainlyhopenot,”Magnussaid,turningcheerfullybacktowardthefrontdoor.Onthewalls thefire-letterswerealreadyfading.“Regret issuchapointlessemotion,don’tyouagree?”

The sun outside seemed especially bright after the darkness of the cottage.Clary stoodblinkingastheviewswamintofocus:themountainsinthedistance,Wayfarercontentedlymunchinggrass,andSebastianimmobileasalawnstatue,onehandstilloutstretched.SheturnedtoMagnus.“Couldyouunfreezehimnow,please?”

Magnuslookedamused.“IwassurprisedwhenIgotSebastian’smessagethismorning,”he said. “Sayinghewasdoing a favor for you, no less.Howdidyouwindupmeetinghim?”

“He’sacousinofsomefriendsoftheLightwoodsorsomething.He’snice,Ipromise.”

“Nice,bah.He’sgorgeous.”Magnusgazeddreamily inhisdirection.“Youshould leavehimhere.Icouldhanghatsonhimandthings.”

“No.Youcan’thavehim.”

“Whynot?Doyoulikehim?”Magnus’seyesgleamed.“Heseemstolikeyou.Isawhimgoingforyourhandouttherelikeasquirreldivingforapeanut.”

“Whydon’twetalkaboutyourlovelife?”Clarycountered.“WhataboutyouandAlec?”

“Alecrefusestoacknowledgethatwehavearelationship,andsoIrefusetoacknowledge

him. He sent me a fire message asking for a favor the other day. It was addressed to‘WarlockBane,’asifIwereaperfectstranger.He’sstillhunguponJace,Ithink,thoughthat relationship will never go anywhere. A problem I imagine you know nothingabout…”

“Oh,shutup.”ClaryeyedMagnuswithdistaste.“Look,ifyoudon’tunfreezeSebastian,thenIcanneverleavehere,andyou’llnevergettheBookoftheWhite.”

“Oh,allright,allright.ButifImightmakearequest?Don’ttellhimanyofwhatIjusttoldyou,friendoftheLightwoodsornot.”Magnussnappedhisfingerspetulantly.

Sebastian’sfacecamealive,likeavideoflashingbacktoactionafterithadbeenpaused.“—helpus,”hesaid.“Thisisn’tjustsomeminorproblem.Thisislifeanddeath.”

“YouNephilimthinkallyourproblemsarelifeanddeath,”saidMagnus.“Nowgoaway.You’vebeguntoboreme.”

“But—”

“Go,”Magnussaid,adangeroustonetohisvoice.Bluesparksglitteredatthetipsofhislongfingers,andtherewassuddenlyasharpsmellintheair,likeburning.Magnus’scateyesglowed.Eventhoughsheknewitwasanact,Clarycouldn’thelpbutbackaway.

“Ithinkweshouldgo,Sebastian,”shesaid.

Sebastian’seyeswerenarrow.“But,Clary—”

“We’re going,” she insisted, and, grabbing him by the arm, half-dragged him towardWayfarer.Reluctantly,hefollowedher,mutteringunderhisbreath.Withasighofrelief,Claryglancedbackoverhershoulder.Magnuswasstandingatthedoortothecottage,hisarms foldedacrosshis chest.Catchingher eye,hegrinnedanddroppedoneeyelid in asingle,glitteringwink.

“I’msorry,Clary.”SebastianhadahandonClary’sshoulderandanotheronherwaistashehelpedherupontoWayfarer’sbroadback.Shefoughtdownthelittlevoiceinsideherheadthatwarnedhernottogetbackontothehorse—oranyhorse—andlethimhoistherup. She swung a leg over and settled herself in the saddle, telling herself she wasbalancingonalarge,movingsofaandnotonalivingcreaturethatmightturnaroundandbiteheratanymoment.

“Sorryaboutwhat?”sheaskedasheswungupbehindher. Itwasalmostannoyinghoweasilyhedidit—asifheweredancing—butcomfortingtowatch.Heclearlyknewwhathewasdoing,shethoughtashereachedaroundhertotakethereins.Shesupposeditwasgoodthatoneofthemdid.

“About Ragnor Fell. I wasn’t expecting him to be that unwilling to help. Although,warlocksarecapricious.You’vemetonebefore,haven’tyou?”

“I met Magnus Bane.” She twisted around momentarily to look past Sebastian at thecottagerecedingintothedistancebehindthem.Thesmokewaspuffingoutofthechimneyin the shape of little dancing figures. DancingMagnuses? She couldn’t tell from here.“He’stheHighWarlockofBrooklyn.”

“IshemuchlikeFell?”

“Shockinglysimilar.It’sallrightaboutFell.Iknewtherewasachancehe’drefusetohelpus.”

“But I promised you help.” Sebastian sounded genuinely upset. “Well, at least there’ssomethingelseIcanshowyou,sothedaywon’thavebeenacompletewasteoftime.”

“What is it?”She twistedaroundagain to lookupathim.The sunwashigh in the skybehindhim,firingthestrandsofhisdarkhairwithanoutlineofgold.

Sebastiangrinned.“You’llsee.”

AstheyrodefartherawayfromAlicante,wallsofgreenfoliagewhippedbyoneitherside,givingwayeverysooftentoimprobablybeautifulvistas:frostbluelakes,greenvalleys,gray mountains, silver slivers of river and creek flanked by banks of flowers. Clarywonderedwhat it would be like to live in a place like this. She couldn’t help but feelnervous,almostexposed,withoutthecomfortoftallbuildingsclosingherin.

Not that therewerenobuildings at all.Everyonce in awhile the roof of a large stonebuilding would rise into view above the trees. These were manor houses, Sebastianexplained(byshoutinginherear):thecountryhousesofwealthyShadowhunterfamilies.They reminded Clary of the big old mansions along the Hudson River, north ofManhattan,whererichNewYorkershadspenttheirsummershundredsofyearsago.

Theroadbeneaththemhadturnedfromgraveltodirt.ClarywasjerkedoutofherreverieastheycrestedahillandSebastianpulledWayfarerupshort.“Thisisit,”hesaid.

Clarystared.“It”wasatumbledmassofcharred,blackenedstone,recognizableonlybyoutline as something that had once been a house: There was a hollow chimney, stillpointingtowardthesky,andachunkofwallwithaglasslesswindowgapinginitscenter.Weedsgrewupthroughthefoundations,greenamongtheblack.“Idon’tunderstand,”shesaid.“Whyarewehere?”

“You don’t know?” Sebastian asked. “This was where your mother and father lived.Whereyourbrotherwasborn.ThiswasFairchildmanor.”

Notforthefirsttime,ClaryheardHodge’svoiceinherhead.Valentinesetagreatfireandburnedhimself todeathalongwithhisfamily,hiswife,andhischild.Scorchedthelandblack.Noonewillbuildtherestill.Theysaytheplaceiscursed.

Withoutanotherwordsheslidfromthehorse’sback.SheheardSebastiancallouttoher,butshewasalreadyhalf-running,half-slidingdownthelowhill.Thegroundevenedoutwherethehousehadoncestood;theblackenedstonesofwhathadoncebeenawalkwaylaydryandcrackedatherfeet.Inamongtheweedsshecouldseeasetofstairsthatendedabruptlyafewfeetfromtheground.

“Clary—” Sebastian followed her through the weeds, but she was barely aware of hispresence.Turning ina slowcircle, she took it all in.Burned,half-dead trees.Whathadprobablyoncebeenashadylawn,stretchingawaydownaslopinghill.Shecouldseetheroofofwhatwasprobablyanothernearbymanorhouseinthedistance,justabovethetreeline.Thesunsparkedoffbrokenbitsofwindowglass in theonefullwall thatwasstillstanding.Shestepped into the ruinsovera shelfofblackenedstones.Shecouldsee theoutlineofrooms,ofdoorways—evenascorchedcabinet,almost intact, flungonitssidewithsmashedbitsofchinaspillingout,mixingwiththeblackearth.

Once thishadbeena realhouse, inhabitedby living,breathingpeople.Hermotherhadlivedhere,gottenmarriedhere,hadababyhere.AndthenValentinehadcomeandturneditall todustandash,leavingJocelynthinkinghersonwasdead,leadinghertohidethetruth about theworld from her daughter….A sense of piercing sadness invadedClary.Morethanonelifehadbeenwreckedinthisplace.Sheputherhandtoherfaceandwasalmostsurprisedtofinditdamp:Shehadbeencryingwithoutknowingit.

“Clary, I’msorry. I thoughtyou’dwant tosee this.” ItwasSebastian,crunching towardheracrosstherubble,hisbootskickinguppuffsofash.Helookedworried.

Sheturnedtohim.“Oh,Ido.Idid.Thankyou.”

Thewindhadpickedup.Itblewstrandsofhisdarkhairacrosshisface.Hegavearuefulsmile. “It must be hard to think about everything that happened in this place, aboutValentine,aboutyourmother—shehadincrediblecourage.”

“Iknow,”Clarysaid.“Shedid.Shedoes.”

Hetouchedherfacelightly.“Sodoyou.”

“Sebastian,youdon’tknowanythingaboutme.”

“That’snot true.”Hisotherhandcameup,andnowhewascuppingherface.His touchwasgentle,almosttentative.“I’veheardallaboutyou,Clary.Aboutthewayyoufoughtyour father for theMortalCup, thewayyouwent into thatvampire-infestedhotel afteryourfriend.Isabelle’stoldmestories,andI’veheardrumors,too.Andeversincethefirstone—the first time I heard your name—I’ve wanted to meet you. I knew you’d beextraordinary.”

Shelaughedshakily.“Ihopeyou’renottoodisappointed.”

“No,”hebreathed,slidinghisfingertipsunderherchin.“Notatall.”Heliftedherfacetohis. Shewas too surprised tomove, evenwhen he leaned toward her and she realized,belatedly,whathewasdoing:Reflexivelysheshuthereyesashislipsbrushedgentlyoverhers,sendingshiversthroughher.Asuddenfiercelongingtobeheldandkissedinawaythat would make her forget everything else surged through her. She put her arms up,twiningthemaroundhisneck,partlytosteadyherselfandpartlytodrawhimcloser.

Hishairtickledherfingertips,notsilkylikeJace’sbutfineandsoft,andsheshouldn’tbethinkingaboutJace. Shepushedback thoughtsof himasSebastian’s fingers tracedhercheeksandthelineofherjaw.Histouchwasgentle,despitethecallusesonhisfingertips.Ofcourse,Jacehadthesamecallusesfromfighting;probablyallShadowhuntershadthem—

SheclampeddownonthethoughtofJace,ortriedto,butitwasnogood.Shecouldseehimevenwithhereyesclosed—seethesharpanglesandplanesofafaceshecouldneverproperlydraw,nomatterhowmuchtheimageofithadburneditselfintohermind;seethedelicatebonesofhishands,thescarredskinofhisshoulders—

Thefiercelongingthathadsurgedupinhersoswiftlyrecededwithasharprecoilthatwaslikeanelasticbandspringingback.Shewentnumb,evenasSebastian’slipspresseddownonhersandhishandsmoved tocup thebackofherneck—shewentnumbwithan icyshock of wrongness. Something was terribly wrong, something even more than herhopeless longing forsomeoneshecouldneverhave.Thiswassomethingelse:asuddenjoltofhorror,asifshe’dbeentakingaconfidentstepforwardandsuddenlyplungedintoablackvoid.

ShegaspedandjerkedawayfromSebastianwithsuchforcethatshealmoststumbled.Ifhehadn’tbeenholdingher,shewouldhavefallen.

“Clary.”His eyeswere unfocused, his cheeks flushedwith a high bright color. “Clary,what’swrong?”

“Nothing.”Hervoicesoundedthintoherownears.“Nothing—it’sjust,Ishouldn’thave—I’mnotreallyready—”

“Didwegotoofast?Wecantakeitslower—”Hereachedforher,andbeforeshecouldstopherself,sheflinchedaway.Helookedstricken.“I’mnotgoingtohurtyou,Clary.”

“Iknow.”

“Didsomethinghappen?”Hishandcameup,strokedherhairback;shebitbacktheurgetojerkaway.“DidJace—”

“Jace?”Didheknowshe’dbeenthinkingaboutJace,hadhebeenabletotell?Andatthesame time…“Jace ismybrother.Whywouldyoubringhimup like that?Whatdoyou

mean?”

“I just thought—”Heshookhishead,painandconfusionchasingeachotheracrosshisfeatures.“Thatmaybesomeoneelsehadhurtyou.”

His hand was still on her cheek; she reached up and gently but firmly detached it,returningittohisside.“No.Nothinglikethat.Ijust—”Shehesitated.“Itfeltwrong.”

“Wrong?” The hurt on his face vanished, replaced by disbelief. “Clary, we have aconnection.Youknowwedo.SincethefirstsecondIsawyou—”

“Sebastian,don’t—”

“IfeltlikeyouweresomeoneI’dalwaysbeenwaitingfor.Isawyoufeelittoo.Don’ttellmeyoudidn’t.”

But thathadn’t beenwhat she’d felt.She’d felt as if she’dwalkedaroundacorner inastrange city and suddenly seen her own brownstone looming up in front of her. Asurprisingandnotentirelypleasantrecognition,almost:Howcanthisbehere?

“Ididn’t,”shesaid.

The anger that rose in his eyes—sudden, dark, uncontrolled—took her by surprise. Hecaughtherwristsinapainfulgrasp.“That’snottrue.”

Shetriedtopullaway.“Sebastian—”

“It’snot true.”Theblacknessof his eyes seemed tohave swallowedup thepupils.Hisfacewaslikeawhitemask,stiffandrigid.

“Sebastian,”shesaidascalmlyasshecould.“You’rehurtingme.”

Heletgoofher.Hischestwasrisingandfallingrapidly.“I’msorry,”hesaid.“I’msorry.Ithought—”

Well,youthoughtwrong,Clarywantedtosay,butshebitthewordsback.Shedidn’twanttosee that lookonhis faceagain.“Weshouldgoback,” she said instead.“It’llbedarksoon.”

Henoddednumbly,seemingasshockedbyhisoutburstasshewas.Heturnedandheadedback toward Wayfarer, who was cropping grass in the long shadow of a tree. Claryhesitatedamoment,thenfollowedhim—theredidn’tseemtobeanythingelseshecoulddo.Sheglanceddownsurreptitiouslyatherwristsasshefellintostepbehindhim—theywereringedwithredwherehisfingershadgrippedher,andmorestrangely,herfingertipsweresmudgedblack,asifshehadsomehowstainedthemwithink.

Sebastianwas silent as he helped her up ontoWayfarer’s back. “I’m sorry if I impliedanythingaboutJace,”hesaidfinallyasshesettledherselfinthesaddle.“Hewouldnever

do anything to hurt you. I know it’s for your sake that he’s been visiting that vampireprisonerintheGard—”

Itwas as if everything in theworldground to a suddenhalt.Clary couldhearherownbreathwhistlinginandoutofherears,sawherhands,frozenlikethehandsofastatue,lyingstillagainstthesaddlepommel.“Vampireprisoner?”shewhispered.

Sebastian turned a surprised face up to hers. “Yes,” he said, “Simon, that vampire theybroughtoverwiththemfromNewYork.Ithought—Imean,Iwassureyouknewallaboutit.Didn’tJacetellyou?”

8

ONEOFTHELIVING

Simonwoketosunlightglintingbrightlyoffanobject thathadbeenshoved throughthebarsofhiswindow.Hegot tohis feet,hisbodyachingwithhunger,andsawthat itwasametalflask,aboutthesizeofalunchboxthermos.Arolled-upbitofnotepaperhadbeentiedaroundtheneck.Pluckingitdown,Simonunrolledthepaperandread:

Simon:Thisiscowblood,freshfromthebutcher’s.Hopeit’sallright.Jacetoldmewhatyou said, and Iwant you to know I think it’s reallybrave. Justhang in thereandwe’llfigureoutawaytogetyouout.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXIsabelle

SimonsmiledatthescribbledXsandOsthatranalongthebottomofthepage.Goodto

knowIsabelle’sflamboyantaffectionhadn’tsufferedunderthecurrentcircumstances.Heunscrewedtheflask’s topandhadswallowedseveralmouthfulsbeforeasharppricklingsensationbetweenhisshoulderbladesmadehimturnaround.

Raphaelstoodcalmlyinthecenteroftheroom.Hehadhishandsclaspedbehindhisback,hisslightshouldersset.Hewaswearingasharplypressedwhiteshirtandadarkjacket.Agoldchainglitteredathisthroat.

Simonalmostgaggedonthebloodhewasdrinking.Heswallowedhard,stillstaring.“You—youcan’tbehere.”

Raphael’ssmilesomehowmanaged togive the impression thathis fangswereshowing,eventhoughtheyweren’t.“Don’tpanic,Daylighter.”

“I’mnotpanicking.”Thiswasn’tstrictlytrue.Simonfeltasifhe’dswallowedsomethingsharp.Hehadn’tseenRaphaelsince thenighthe’dclawedhimself,bloodyandbruised,outofahastilyduggrave inQueens.Hestill rememberedRaphael throwingpacketsofanimal blood at him, and theway he’d torn into themwith his teeth as if he were ananimal himself. Itwasn’t something he liked to remember.Hewould have been happynevertoseethevampireboyagain.“Thesun’sstillup.Howareyouhere?”

“I’mnot.”Raphael’svoicewassmoothasbutter.“IamaProjection.Look.”Heswunghishand,passingitthroughthestonewallbesidehim.“Iamlikesmoke.Icannothurtyou.Ofcourse,neithercanyouhurtme.”

“Idon’twanttohurtyou.”Simonsettheflaskdownonthecot.“Idowanttoknowwhatyou’redoinghere.”

“You leftNewYork very suddenly,Daylighter.You do realize that you’re supposed toinformtheheadvampireofyourlocalareawhenyou’releavingthecity,don’tyou?”

“Headvampire?Youmeanyou?Ithoughttheheadvampirewassomeoneelse—”

“Camillehasnotyetreturnedtous,”Raphaelsaid,withoutanyapparentemotion.“Ileadinherstead.You’dknowallthisifyou’dbotheredtogetacquaintedwiththelawsofyourkind.”

“My leavingNewYorkwasn’t exactlyplanned inadvance.Andnooffense,but Idon’treallythinkofyouasmykind.”

“Dios.”Raphaelloweredhiseyes,asifhidingamusement.“Youarestubborn.”

“Howcanyousaythat?”

“Itseemsobvious,doesn’tit?”

“Imean—”Simon’sthroatclosedup.“Thatword.Youcansayit,andIcan’tsay—”God.

Raphael’seyesflashedupward;hedidlookamused.“Age,”hesaid.“Andpractice.Andfaith,orits loss—theyareinsomewaysthesamething.Youwill learn,overtime,littlefledgling.”

“Don’tcallmethat.”

“Butitiswhatyouare.You’reaChildoftheNight.Isn’tthatwhyValentinecapturedyouandtookyourblood?Becauseofwhatyouare?”

“Youseemprettywell-informed,”Simonsaid.“Maybeyoushouldtellme.”

Raphael’s eyes narrowed. “I have also heard a rumor that you drank the blood of aShadowhunterandthat iswhatgaveyouyourgift,yourability towalk insunlight. Is ittrue?”

Simon’shairprickled.“That’sridiculous.IfShadowhunterbloodcouldgivevampirestheabilitytowalkindaylight,everyonewouldknowitbynow.Nephilimbloodwouldbeatapremium.And therewould never be peace between vampires and Shadowhunters afterthat.Soit’sagoodthingitisn’ttrue.”

A faint smile turned up the edges of Raphael’s mouth. “True enough. Speaking ofpremiums,youdorealize,don’tyou,Daylighter,thatyouareavaluablecommoditynow?Thereisn’taDownworlderonthisearthwhodoesn’twanttogettheirhandsonyou.”

“Doesthatincludeyou?”

“Ofcourseitdoes.”

“Andwhatwouldyoudoifyoudidgetyourhandsonme?”

Raphaelshruggedhisslightshoulders.“PerhapsIamaloneinthinkingthattheabilitytowalk in the daylight might not be such a gift as other vampires believe. We are theChildren of the Night for a reason. It is possible that I consider you as much of anabominationashumanityconsidersme.”

“Doyou?”

“It’s possible.” Raphael’s expressionwas neutral. “I think you’re a danger to us all. Adanger to vampirekind, if youwill.And you can’t stay in this cell forever,Daylighter.Eventuallyyou’llhavetoleaveandfacetheworldagain.Facemeagain.ButIcantellyouonething.Iwillsweartodoyounoharm,andnottrytofindyou,ifyouinturnsweartohideyourselfawayonceAldertreereleasesyou.Ifyousweartogosofarawaythatnoonewilleverfindyou,andtoneveragaincontactanyoneyouknewinyourmortallife.Ican’tbemorefairthanthat.”

ButSimonwasalreadyshakinghishead.“Ican’tleavemyfamily.OrClary.”

Raphael made an irritable noise. “They are no longer part of who you are. You’re avampirenow.”

“ButIdon’twanttobe,”saidSimon.

“Look at you, complaining,” saidRaphael. “Youwill never get sick, never die, and bestrongandyoungforever.Youwillneverage.Whathaveyougottocomplainabout?”

Youngforever,Simonthought.Itsoundedgood,butdidanyonereallywanttobesixteenforever?Itwouldhavebeenonethingtobefrozenforeverattwenty-five,butsixteen?Toalways be this gangly, to never really grow into himself, his face or his body? Not tomentionthat,lookinglikethis,he’dneverbeabletogointoabarandorderadrink.Ever.Foreternity.

“And,”Raphaeladded,“youdonotevenhavetogiveupthesun.”

Simonhadnodesiretogodownthatroadagain.“IheardtheotherstalkingaboutyouintheDumort,”hesaid.“IknowyouputonacrosseverySundayandgotoseeyourfamily.Ibettheydon’tevenknowyou’reavampire.Sodon’ttellmetoleaveeveryoneinmylifebehind.Iwon’tdoit,andIwon’tlieandsayIwill.”

Raphael’s eyes glittered. “Whatmy family believes doesn’tmatter. It’s what I believe.WhatIknow.Atruevampireknowsheisdead.Heacceptshisdeath.Butyou,youthinkyou are still one of the living. It is that which makes you so dangerous. You cannotacknowledgethatyouarenolongeralive.”

ItwastwilightwhenClaryshutthedoorofAmatis’shousebehindherandthrewtheboltshome.Sheleanedagainstthedoorforalongmomentintheshadowyentryway,hereyeshalf-shut.Exhaustionweigheddowneveryoneofherlimbs,andherlegsachedpainfully.

“Clary?”Amatis’sinsistentvoicecutthroughthesilence.“Isthatyou?”

Clarystayedwhereshewas,adrift in thecalmingdarknessbehindherclosedeyes.Shewanted so badly to be home, she could almost taste the metallic air of the Brooklynstreets.Shecould seehermother sitting inher chairby thewindow,dusty,paleyellowlight streaming in through the open apartmentwindows, illuminating her canvas as shepainted.Homesicknesstwistedinhergutlikepain.

“Clary.”Thevoicecamefrommuchcloserthistime.Clary’seyessnappedopen.Amatiswas standing in front of her, hergrayhair pulled severelyback, herhandsonherhips.“Yourbrother’sheretoseeyou.He’swaitinginthekitchen.”

“Jaceishere?”Claryfoughttokeepherrageandastonishmentoffherface.TherewasnopointshowinghowangryshewasinfrontofLuke’ssister.

Amatiswaslookingathercuriously.“ShouldInothavelethimin?Ithoughtyou’dwanttoseehim.”

“No,it’sfine,”Clarysaid,maintaininghereventonewithsomedifficulty.“I’mjusttired.”

“Huh.”Amatislookedasifshedidn’tbelieveit.“Well,I’llbeupstairsifyouwantme.Ineedanap.”

Clarycouldn’timaginewhatshe’dwantAmatisfor,butshenoddedandlimpeddownthecorridorintothekitchen,whichwasawashwithbrightlight.Therewasabowloffruitonthe table—oranges, apples, and pears—and a loaf of thick bread alongwith butter andcheese, and a plate beside it ofwhat looked like…cookies?HadAmatis actuallymadecookies?

AtthetablesatJace.Hewasleaningforwardonhiselbows,hisgoldenhairtousled,hisshirtslightlyopenattheneck.ShecouldseethethickbandingofblackMarkstracinghiscollarbone.Heheldacookie inhisbandagedhand.SoSebastianwasright;hehadhurthimself.Notthatshecared.“Good,”hesaid,“you’reback.Iwasbeginningtothinkyou’dfallenintoacanal.”

Claryjuststaredathim,wordless.Shewonderedifhecouldreadtheangerinhereyes.Heleanedbackinthechair,throwingonearmcasuallyoverthebackofit.Ifithadn’tbeenfor the rapid pulse at the base of his throat, shemight almost have believed his air ofunconcern.

“Youlookexhausted,”headded.“Wherehaveyoubeenallday?”

“IwasoutwithSebastian.”

“Sebastian?”Hislookofutterastonishmentwasmomentarilygratifying.

“Hewalkedmehomelastnight,”Clarysaid,andinhermindthewordsI’lljustbeyourbrotherfromnowon,justyourbrotherbeatliketherhythmofadamagedheart.“Andsofar,he’s theonlyperson in thiscitywho’sbeen remotelynice tome.Soyes, IwasoutwithSebastian.”

“Isee.”Jacesethiscookiebackdownontheplate,hisfaceblank.“Clary,Icameheretoapologize.Ishouldn’thavespokentoyouthewayIdid.”

“No,”Clarysaid.“Youshouldn’thave.”

“Ialsocametoaskyouifyou’dreconsidergoingbacktoNewYork.”

“God,”Clarysaid.“Thisagain—”

“It’snotsafeforyouhere.”

“Whatareyouworriedabout?”sheaskedtonelessly.“Thatthey’llthrowmeinprisonliketheydidwithSimon?”

Jace’sexpressiondidn’tchange,butherockedbackinhischair,thefrontlegsliftingoffthefloor,almostasifshehadshovedhim.“Simon—?”

“Sebastiantoldmewhathappenedtohim,”shewentoninthesameflatvoice.“Whatyoudid.Howyoubroughthimhereandthenlethimjustgetthrowninjail.Areyoutryingtogetmetohateyou?”

“AndyoutrustSebastian?”Jaceasked.“Youbarelyknowhim,Clary.”

Shestaredathim.“Isitnottrue?”

Hemethergaze,buthisfacehadgonestill,likeSebastian’sfacewhenshe’dpushedhimaway.“It’strue.”

Sheseizedaplateoffthetableandflungitathim.Heducked,sendingthechairspinning,andtheplatehitthewallabovethesinkandshatteredinastarburstofbrokenporcelain.Heleapedoutofthechairasshepickedupanotherplateandthrewit,heraimgoingwild:ThisonebouncedofftherefrigeratorandhittheflooratJace’sfeetwhereitcrackedintotwoevenpieces.“Howcouldyou?Simontrustedyou.Whereishenow?Whataretheygoingtodotohim?”

“Nothing,”Jacesaid.“He’sallright.Isawhimlastnight—”

“BeforeorafterIsawyou?Beforeorafteryoupretendedeverythingwasallrightandyouwerejustfine?”

“Youcameawayfrom that thinking Iwas just fine?” Jacechokedonsomethingalmostlikea laugh.“Imustbeabetteractor thanI thought.”Therewasa twistedsmileonhisface. Itwas amatch to the tinder ofClary’s rage:Howdare he laugh at her now?Shescrabbledforthefruitbowl,butitsuddenlydidn’tseemlikeenough.Shekickedthechairoutofthewayandflungherselfathim,knowingitwouldbethelastthinghe’dexpecthertodo.

The force of her sudden assault caught him off guard. She slammed into him and hestaggeredbackward,fetchinguphardagainsttheedgeofthecounter.Shehalf-fellagainsthim,heardhimgasp,anddrewbackherarmblindly,notevenknowingwhatsheintendedtodo—

She had forgotten how fast he was. Her fist slammed not into his face, but into hisupraisedhand;hewrappedhisfingersaroundhers,forcingherarmbackdowntoherside.Shewassuddenlyawareofhowclose theywerestanding;shewas leaningagainsthim,pressinghimbackagainst thecounterwiththeslightweightofherbody.“Letgoofmyhand.”

“AreyoureallygoingtohitmeifIdo?”Hisvoicewasroughandsoft,hiseyesblazing.

“Don’tyouthinkyoudeserveit?”

Shefelt theriseandfallofhischestagainstherashelaughedwithoutamusement.“DoyouthinkIplannedallthis?DoyoureallythinkI’ddothat?”

“Well,youdon’tlikeSimon,doyou?Maybeyouneverhave.”

Jacemadeaharsh,increduloussoundandletgoofherhand.WhenClarysteppedback,heheldouthisrightarm,palmup.Ittookheramomenttorealizewhathewasshowingher:theraggedscaralonghiswrist.“This,”hesaid,hisvoiceastautasawire,“iswhereIcutmywrist to let your vampire frienddrinkmyblood. It nearly killedme.Andnowyouthink,what,thatIjustabandonedhimwithoutathought?”

ShestaredatthescaronJace’swrist—oneofsomanyalloverhisbody,scarsofallshapesandsizes.“SebastiantoldmethatyoubroughtSimonhere,andthenAlecmarchedhimuptotheGard.LettheClavehavehim.Youmusthaveknown—”

“Ibroughthimherebyaccident. Iaskedhim tocome to the Institute so I could talk tohim.About you, actually. I thought maybe he could convince you to drop the idea ofcomingtoIdris.Ifit’sanyconsolation,hewouldn’tevenconsiderit.Whilehewasthere,wewereattackedbyForsaken.IhadtodraghimthroughthePortalwithme.Itwasthatorleavehimtheretodie.”

“ButwhybringhimtotheClave?Youmusthaveknown—”

“ThereasonwesenthimtherewasbecausetheonlyPortalinIdrisisintheGard.TheytoldustheyweresendinghimbacktoNewYork.”

“Andyoubelievedthem?AfterwhathappenedwiththeInquisitor?”

“Clary,theInquisitorwasananomaly.ThatmighthavebeenyourfirstexperiencewiththeClave,butitwasn’tmine—theClaveisus.TheNephilim.TheyabidebytheLaw.”

“Excepttheydidn’t.”

“No,”Jacesaid.“Theydidn’t.”Hesoundedverytired.“Andtheworstpartaboutallthis,”he added, “is rememberingValentine ranting about the Clave, how it’s corrupt, how itneedstobecleansed.AndbytheAngelifIdon’tagreewithhim.”

Clarywassilent,firstbecauseshecouldthinkofnothingtosay,andtheninstartlementasJacereachedout—almostasifheweren’t thinkingaboutwhathewasdoing—anddrewhertowardhim.Tohersurprise,shelethim.ThroughthewhitematerialofhisshirtshecouldseetheoutlinesofhisMarks,blackandcurling,strokingacrosshisskinlikelicksofflame.Shewanted to leanherheadagainsthim,wanted to feelhisarmsaroundher thewayshe’dwantedairwhenshewasdrowninginLakeLyn.

“Hemightberightthatthingsneedfixing,”shesaidfinally.“Buthe’snotrightaboutthewaytheyshouldbefixed.Youcanseethat,can’tyou?”

Hehalf-closedhis eyes.Therewerecrescentsofgray shadowunder them, she saw, theremnantsofsleeplessnights.“I’mnotsureIcanseeanything.You’reright tobeangry,Clary.Ishouldn’thavetrustedtheClave.IwantedsobadlytothinkthattheInquisitorwasanabnormality,thatshewasactingwithouttheirauthority,thattherewasstillsomepartofbeingaShadowhunterIcouldtrust.”

“Jace,”shewhispered.

Heopenedhiseyesandlookeddownather.SheandJacewerestandingcloseenough,sherealized, that they were touching all up and down their bodies; even their knees weretouching,andshecouldfeelhisheartbeat.Moveawayfromhim,shetoldherself,butherlegswouldn’tobey.

“Whatisit?”hesaid,hisvoiceverysoft.

“IwanttoseeSimon,”shesaid.“Canyoutakemetoseehim?”

Asabruptlyashehadcaughtholdofher,helethergo.“No.You’renotevensupposedtobeinIdris.Youcan’tgowaltzingintotheGard.”

“Buthe’llthinkeveryone’sabandonedhim.He’llthink—”

“Iwenttoseehim,”Jacesaid.“Iwasgoingtolethimout.Iwasgoingtotearthebarsoutofthewindowwithmyhands.”Hisvoicewasmatter-of-fact.“Buthewouldn’tletme.”

“Hewouldn’tletyou?Hewantedtostayinjail?”

“HesaidtheInquisitorwassniffingaroundaftermyfamily,afterme.AldertreewantstoblamewhathappenedinNewYorkonus.Hecan’tgraboneofusandtortureitoutofus—theClavewould frownon that—but he’s trying to get Simon to tell him some storywhere we’re all in cahoots with Valentine. Simon said if I break him out, then theInquisitorwillknowIdidit,andit’llbeevenworsefortheLightwoods.”

“That’sverynobleofhimandall,butwhat’shislong-rangeplan?Tostayinjailforever?”

Jaceshrugged.“Wehadn’texactlyworkedthatout.”

Claryblewoutanexasperatedbreath.“Boys,”shesaid.“Allright,look.Whatyouneedisanalibi.We’llmakesureyou’re somewhereeveryonecanseeyou,and theLightwoodsaretoo,andthenwe’llgetMagnustobreakSimonoutofprisonandgethimbacktoNewYork.”

“Ihatetotellyouthis,Clary,butthere’snowayMagnuswoulddothat.Idon’tcarehowcutehethinksAlecis,he’snotgoingtogodirectlyagainsttheClaveasafavortous.”

“Hemight,”Clarysaid,“fortheBookoftheWhite.”

Jaceblinked.“Thewhat?”

QuicklyClary told him aboutRagnor Fell’s death, aboutMagnus showing up in Fell’splace,andaboutthespellbook.Jacelistenedwithstunnedattentivenessuntilshefinished.

“Demons?”hesaid.“MagnussaidFellwaskilledbydemons?”

Clarycasthermindback.“No—hesaidtheplacestankofsomethingdemonicinorigin.AndthatFellwaskilledby‘Valentine’sservants.’That’sallhesaid.”

“Somedarkmagicleavesanaurathatreekslikedemons,”Jacesaid.“IfMagnuswasn’tspecific, it’s probably because he’s none too pleased that there’s a warlock out therepracticingdarkmagic,breakingtheLaw.Butit’shardlythefirst timeValentine’sgottenoneofLilith’schildren todohisnastybidding.Remember thewarlockkidhekilled inNewYork?”

“Valentine used his blood for the Ritual. I remember.” Clary shuddered. “Jace, doesValentinewanttheBookforthesamereasonIdo?Towakemymotherup?”

“Hemight.Orifit’swhatMagnussaysitis,Valentinemightjustwantitforthepowerhecouldgainfromit.Eitherway,we’dbettergetitbeforehedoes.”

“Doyouthinkthere’sanychanceit’sintheWaylandmanor?”

“Iknowit’sthere,”hesaid,tohersurprise.“Thatcookbook?RecipesforHousewivesorwhatever?I’veseenitbefore.Inthemanor’slibrary.Itwastheonlycookbookinthere.”

Claryfeltdizzy.Shealmosthadn’tletherselfbelieveitcouldbetrue.“Jace—ifyoutake

metothemanor,andwegetthebook,I’llgohomewithSimon.DothisformeandI’llgotoNewYork,andIwon’tcomeback,Iswear.”

“Magnuswasright—therearemisdirectionwardsonthemanor,”hesaidslowly.“I’lltakeyouthere,butit’snotclose.Walking,itmighttakeusfivehours.”

Clary reachedoutanddrewhis steleoutof its looponhisbelt.Sheheld itupbetweenthem,where it glowedwith a faintwhite light not unlike the light of the glass towers.“Whosaidanythingaboutwalking?”

“You get some strange visitors,Daylighter,” Samuel said. “First JonathanMorgenstern,andnowtheheadvampireofNewYorkCity.I’mimpressed.”

JonathanMorgenstern?IttookSimonamomenttorealizethatthiswas,ofcourse,Jace.Hewassittingonthefloorinthecenteroftheroom,turningtheemptyflaskinhishandsoverandoveridly.“IguessI’mmoreimportantthanIrealized.”

“And Isabelle Lightwood bringing you blood,” Samuel said. “That’s quite a deliveryservice.”

Simon’sheadwentup.“HowdoyouknowIsabellebroughtit?Ididn’tsayanything—”

“Isawherthroughthewindow.Shelooksjustlikehermother,”saidSamuel,“atleast,thewayhermotherdidyears ago.”Therewas an awkwardpause. “Youknow theblood isonly a stopgap,” he added. “Pretty soon the Inquisitor will start wondering if you’vestarvedtodeathyet.Ifhefindsyouperfectlyhealthy,he’llfigureoutsomething’supandkillyouanyway.”

Simon lookedupat theceiling.The runescarved into thestoneoverlappedoneanotherlikeshingledsandonabeach.“IguessI’lljusthavetobelieveJacewhenhesaysthey’llfindawaytogetmeout,”hesaid.WhenSamuelsaidnothinginreturn,headded,“I’llaskhimtogetyououttoo,Ipromise.Iwon’tleaveyoudownhere.”

Samuelmadea chokednoise, like a laugh that couldn’tquitemake it outofhis throat.“Oh, I don’t think JaceMorgenstern is going towant to rescueme,” he said. “Besides,starvingdownhereistheleastofyourproblems,Daylighter.SoonenoughValentinewillattackthecity,andthenwe’lllikelyallbekilled.”

Simonblinked.“Howcanyoubesosure?”

“I was close to him at one point. I knew his plans. His goals. He intends to destroyAlicante’swardsandstrikeattheClavefromtheheartoftheirpower.”

“ButIthoughtnodemonscouldgetpastthewards.Ithoughttheywereimpenetrable.”

“Soit’ssaid.Itrequiresdemonbloodtotakethewardsdown,yousee,anditcanonlybedonefrominsideAlicante.Butbecausenodemoncangetthroughthewards—well,it’saperfectparadox,orshouldbe.ButValentineclaimedhe’dfoundawaytogetaroundthat,awaytobreakthrough.AndIbelievehim.Hewillfindawayto takethewardsdown,andhewillcomeintothecitywithhisdemonarmy,andhewillkillusall.”

The flat certainty inSamuel’s voice sent a chill upSimon’s spine. “You sound awfullyresigned.Shouldn’tyoudosomething?WarntheClave?”

“I did warn them. When they interrogated me. I told them over and over again thatValentinemeanttodestroythewards,buttheydismissedme.TheClavethinksthewardswill standforeverbecause they’vestoodfora thousandyears.ButsodidRome, till thebarbarians came. Everything falls someday.” He chuckled: a bitter, angry sound.“Consider it a race to see who kills you first, Daylighter—Valentine, the otherDownworlders,ortheClave.”

Somewhere between here and there Clary’s hand was torn out of Jace’s. When thehurricanespitheroutandshehitthefloor,shehititalone,hard,androlledgaspingtoastop.

Shesatupslowlyandlookedaround.ShewaslyinginthecenterofaPersianrugthrownoverthefloorofalargestonewalledroom.Therewereitemsoffurniturehereandthere;the white sheets thrown over them turned them into humped, unwieldy ghosts. Velvetcurtains sagged across huge glass windows; the velvet was gray-white with dust, andmotesofdustdancedinthemoonlight.

“Clary?”Jaceemergedfrombehindamassivewhite-sheetedshape;itmighthavebeenagrandpiano.“Areyouallright?”

“Fine.”Shestoodup,wincingalittle.Herelbowached.“AsidefromthefactthatAmatiswill probably killmewhenweget back.Considering that I smashed all her platesandopenedupaPortalinherkitchen.”

Hereachedhishanddowntoher.“Forwhatever it’sworth,”hesaid,helpingher toherfeet,“Iwasveryimpressed.”

“Thanks.”Claryglancedaround.“Sothisiswhereyougrewup?It’slikesomethingoutofafairytale.”

“Iwasthinkingahorrormovie,”Jacesaid.“God,it’sbeenyearssinceI’veseenthisplace.Itdidn’tusedtobeso—”

“Socold?”Claryshivereda little.Shebuttonedhercoat,but thecold in themanorwasmorethanphysicalcold:Theplacefeltcold,asiftherehadneverbeenwarmthorlightorlaughterinsideit.

“No,”saidJace.“Itwasalwayscold.Iwasgoingtosaydusty.”Hetookawitchlightstoneoutofhispocket,anditflaredtolifebetweenhisfingers.Itswhiteglowlithisfacefrombeneath,pickingouttheshadowsunderhischeekbones,thehollowsathistemples.“Thisisthestudy,andweneedthelibrary.Comeon.”

Heledherfromtheroomanddownalongcorridorlinedwithdozensofmirrorsthatgavebacktheirownreflections.Claryhadn’trealizedquitehowdisheveledshelooked:hercoatstreakedwithdust,herhairsnarledfromthewind.ShetriedtosmoothitdowndiscreetlyandcaughtJace’sgrininthenextmirror.Forsomereason,duedoubtlesstoamysteriousShadowhuntermagicshedidn’thaveahopeofunderstanding,hishairlookedperfect.

Thecorridorwas linedwithdoors, someopen; through themClarycouldglimpseotherrooms,asdustyandunused-lookingasthestudyhadbeen.MichaelWaylandhadhadnorelatives, Valentine had said, so she supposed no one had inherited this place after his“death”—shehadassumedValentinehadcarriedon livinghere,but that seemedclearlynot tobe thecase.Everythingbreathedsorrowanddisuse.AtRenwick’s,Valentinehadcalledthisplace“home,”hadshowedittoJaceinthePortalmirror,agilt-edgedmemoryofgreenfieldsandmellowstone,butthat,Clarythought,hadbeenalietoo.ItwasclearValentinehadn’treallylivedhereinyears—perhapshehadjustleftitheretorot,orhehadcomehereonlyoccasionally,towalkthedimcorridorslikeaghost.

TheyreachedadoorattheendofthehallwayandJaceshouldereditopen,standingbackto let Clary pass into the room before him. She had been picturing the library at theInstitute,andthisroomwasnotentirelyunlikeit:thesamewallsfilledwithrowuponrowofbooks, the same ladderson rollingcasters so thehighshelvescouldbe reached.Theceilingwas flat and beamed, though, not conical, and therewas no desk.Green velvetcurtains, their folds iced with white dust, hung over windows that alternated panes ofgreenandblueglass.Inthemoonlighttheysparkledlikecoloredfrost.Beyondtheglass,allwasblack.

“Thisisthelibrary?”shesaidtoJaceinawhisper,thoughshewasn’tsurewhyshewaswhispering.Therewassomethingsoprofoundlystillaboutthebig,emptyhouse.

Hewaslookingpasther,hiseyesdarkwithmemory.“Iusedtositinthatwindowseatandreadwhatevermyfatherhadassignedmethatday.Differentlanguagesondifferentdays—French on Saturday, English on Sunday—but I can’t remember nowwhat day Latinwas,ifitwasMondayorTuesday….”

ClaryhadasuddenflashingimageofJaceasalittleboy,bookbalancedonhiskneesashesatinthewindowembrasure,lookingoutover—overwhat?Weretheregardens?Aview?Ahighwallof thorns like thewallaroundSleepingBeauty’scastle?Shesawhimasheread,thelightthatcameinthroughthewindowcastingsquaresofblueandgreenoverhisfairhairandthesmallfacemoreseriousthananyten-year-old’sshouldbe.

“Ican’tremember,”hesaidagain,staringintothedark.

Shetouchedhisshoulder.“Itdoesn’tmatter,Jace.”

“I supposenot.”He shookhimself, as ifwakingout of a dream, andmoved across theroom, the witchlight lighting his way. He knelt down to inspect a row of books andstraightenedupwithoneoftheminhishand.“SimpleRecipesforHousewives,”hesaid.“Hereitis.”

Shehurriedacrosstheroomandtookitfromhim.Itwasaplain-lookingbookwithabluebinding, anddusty, like everything in thehouse.When sheopened it, dust swarmedupfromitspageslikeagatheringofmoths.

Alarge,squareholehadbeencutoutofthecenterofthebook.Fittedintotheholelikeajewelinabezelwasasmallervolume,aboutthesizeofasmallchapbook,boundinwhiteleatherwiththetitleprintedingildedLatinletters.Claryrecognizedthewordsfor“white”and “book,” but when she lifted it out and opened it, to her surprise the pages werecoveredwiththin,spideryhandwritinginalanguageshecouldn’tunderstand.

“Greek,”Jacesaid,lookingoverhershoulder.“Oftheancientvariety.”

“Canyoureadit?”

“Not easily,”headmitted. “It’sbeenyears.ButMagnuswillbeable to, I imagine.”Heclosedthebookandslippeditintothepocketofhergreencoatbeforeturningbacktothebookshelves, skimming his fingers along the rows of books, his fingertips tracing theirspines.

“Arethereanyoftheseyouwanttotakewithyou?”sheaskedgently.“Ifyou’dlike—”

Jacelaughedanddroppedhishand.“IwasonlyallowedtoreadwhatIwasassigned,”hesaid. “Some of the shelves had books on them I wasn’t even allowed to touch.” Heindicatedarowofbooks,higherup,boundinmatchingbrownleather.“Ireadoneofthemonce,when Iwas about six, just to seewhat the fusswas about. It turned out to be ajournalmyfatherwaskeeping.Aboutme.Notesabout ‘my son, JonathanChristopher.’HewhippedmewithabeltwhenhefoundoutI’dreadit.Actually,itwasthefirsttimeIevenknewIhadamiddlename.”

A sudden ache of hatred for her fatherwent throughClary. “Well,Valentine’s not herenow.”

“Clary…,” Jace began, a warning note in his voice, but she’d already reached up andyankedoneofthebooksoutfromtheforbiddenshelf,knockingittotheground.Itmadeasatisfyingthump.“Clary!”

“Oh, comeon.”She did it again, knocking another book down, and then another.Dustpuffedupfromtheirpagesastheyhitthefloor.“Youtry.”

Jace looked at her for amoment, and then ahalf smile teased the corner of hismouth.Reaching up, he swept his arm along the shelf, knocking the rest of the books to thegroundwith a loud crash. He laughed—and then broke off, lifting his head, like a cat

prickingupitsearsatadistantsound.“Doyouhearthat?”

Hearwhat? Clary was about to ask, and stopped herself. Therewas a sound, gettingloudernow—ahigh-pitchedwhirringandgrinding,likethesoundofmachinerycomingtolife.Thesoundseemedtobecomingfrominsidethewall.Shetookaninvoluntarystepback just as the stones in front of them slid back with a groaning, rusty scream. Anopeninggapedbehindthestones—asortofdoorway,roughlyhackedoutofthewall.

Beyondthedoorwaywasasetofstairs,leadingdownintodarkness.

9

THISGUILTYBLOOD

“Ididn’trememberthereevenbeingacellarhere,”Jacesaid,staringpastClaryatthegapingholeinthewall.Heraisedthewitchlight,anditsglowbouncedoffthedownward-leadingtunnel.Thewallswereblackandslick,madeofasmoothdarkstoneClarydidn’trecognize.Thestepsgleamedasiftheyweredamp.Astrangesmelldriftedupthroughtheopening:dank,musty,withaweirdmetallictingethatsethernervesonedge.

“Whatdoyouthinkcouldbedownthere?”

“Idon’tknow.”Jacemovedtowardthestairs;heputafootonthetopstep,testingit,andthenshruggedas ifhe’dmadeuphismind.Hebegan tomakehiswaydown thesteps,movingcarefully.PartwaydownheturnedandlookedupatClary.“Areyoucoming?Youcanwaituphereformeifyouwantto.”

Sheglancedaroundtheemptylibrary,thenshiveredandhurriedafterhim.

Thestairs spiraleddown in tighterand tightercircles, as if theyweremaking theirwaythrough the inside of a huge conch shell. The smell grew stronger as they reached thebottom, and the steps widened out into a large square room whose stone walls werestreakedwiththemarksofdamp—andother,darkerstains.Thefloorwasscrawledwithmarkings:ajumbleofpentagramsandrunes,withwhitestonesscatteredhereandthere.

Jace took a step forward and something crunched under his feet. He andClary lookeddownatthesametime.“Bones,”Clarywhispered.Notwhitestonesafterall,butbonesofallshapesandsizes,scatteredacrossthefloor.“Whatwashedoingdownhere?”

ThewitchlightburnedinJace’shand,castingitseerieglowovertheroom.“Experiments,”Jacesaidinadry,tensetone.“TheSeelieQueensaid—”

“Whatkindofbonesarethese?”Clary’svoicerose.“Aretheyanimalbones?”

“No.”Jacekickedapileofboneswithhisfeet,scatteringthem.“Notallofthem.”

Clary’schestfelttight.“Ithinkweshouldgoback.”

Instead Jace raised the witchlight in his hand. It blazed out, brightly and then morebrightly,lightingtheairwithaharshwhitebrilliance.Thefarcornersoftheroomsprangintofocus.Threeofthemwereempty.Thefourthwasblockedwithahangingcloth.Therewassomethingbehindthecloth,ahumpedshape—

“Jace,”Clarywhispered.“Whatisthat?”

Hedidn’treply.Therewasaseraphbladeinhisfreehand,suddenly;Clarydidn’tknowwhenhe’ddrawnit,butitshoneinthewitchlightlikeabladeofice.

“Jace,don’t,” saidClary, but itwas too late—he strode forward and twitched the clothasidewith the tipof theblade, thenseized itand jerked itdown.It fell inablossomingcloudofdust.

Jacestaggeredback,thewitchlightfallingfromhisgrasp.Astheblazinglightfell,Clarycaught a single glimpse of his face: Itwas awhitemask of horror. Clary snatched thewitchlightupbeforeitcouldgodarkandraisedithigh,desperatetoseewhatcouldhaveshockedJace—unshockableJace—sobadly.

Atfirstallshesawwastheshapeofaman—amanwrappedinadirtywhiterag,crouchedonthefloor.Manaclescircledhiswristsandankles,attachedtothickmetalstaplesdrivenintothestonefloor.Howcanhebealive?Clarythoughtinhorror,andbileroseupinherthroat.Therune-stoneshook inherhand,and lightdanced inpatchesover theprisoner:Shesawemaciatedarmsand legs, scarredalloverwith themarksofcountless tortures.The skullof a face turned towardher,blackempty socketswhere theeyes shouldhavebeen—andthentherewasadryrustle,andshesawthatwhatshehadthoughtwasawhiteragwerewings,whitewings risingupbehindhisback in twopurewhite crescents, theonlypurethingsinthisfilthyroom.

Shegaveadrygasp.“Jace.Doyousee—”

“Isee.”Jace,standingbesideher,spokeinavoicethatcrackedlikebrokenglass.

“Yousaidthereweren’tanyangels—thatnoonehadeverseenone—”

Jacewaswhisperingsomethingunderhisbreath,astringofwhatsoundedlikepanickedcurses.Hestumbledforward,towardthehuddledcreatureonthefloor—andrecoiled,asifhehadbouncedoffan invisiblewall.Lookingdown,Clarysawthat theangelcrouchedinside a pentagrammade of connected runes graven deeply into the floor; they glowedwithafaintphosphorescentlight.“Therunes,”shewhispered.“Wecan’tgetpast—”

“Buttheremustbesomething—,”Jacesaid,hisvoicenearlybreaking,“somethingwecando.”

The angel raised its head. Clary sawwith a distracted, terrible pity that it had curlinggoldenhairlikeJace’sthatshonedullyinthelight.Tendrilsclungclosetothehollowsofitsskull.Itseyeswerepits,itsfaceslashedwithscars,likeabeautifulpaintingdestroyedby vandals. As she stared, its mouth opened and a sound poured from its throat—notwordsbutapiercinggoldenmusic,asinglesingingnote,heldandheldandheldsohighandsweetthatthesoundwaslikepain—

AfloodofimagesroseupbeforeClary’seyes.Shewasstillclutchingtherune-stone,butitslightwasgone;shewasgone,nolongertherebutsomewhereelse,wherethepicturesofthepastflowedbeforeherinawakingdream—fragments,colors,sounds.

Shewasinawinecellar,bareandclean,asinglehugerunescrawledonthestonefloor.Amanstoodbeside it;heheldanopenbook inonehandandablazingwhite torch in theother.Whenheraisedhishead,Clarysawthat itwasValentine:muchyounger,hisfaceunlinedandhandsome,hisdarkeyesclearandbright.Ashechanted,theruneblazedupintofire,andwhentheflamesreceded,acrumpledfigurelayamongtheashes:anangel,wingsspreadandbloody,likeabirdshotoutofthesky….

Thescenechanged.Valentinestoodbyawindow,athissideayoungwomanwithshiningredhair.Afamiliarsilverringgleamedonhishandashereachedtoputhisarmsaroundher.WithajoltofpainClaryrecognizedhermother—butshewasyoung,herfeaturessoftandvulnerable.Shewaswearingawhitenightgownandwasobviouslypregnant.

“TheAccords,”Valentinewassayingangrily,“werenotjusttheworstideatheClavehaseverhad,buttheworstthingthatcouldhappentoNephilim.ThatweshouldbeboundtoDownworlders,tiedtothosecreatures—”

“Valentine,” Jocelyn saidwith a smile, “enough aboutpolitics,please.”She reachedupandtwinedherarmsaroundValentine’sneck,herexpressionfulloflove—andhiswasaswell, but there was something else in it, something that sent a shiver down Clary’sspine….

Valentine knelt in the center of a circle of trees. There was a bright moon overhead,illuminating the black pentagram that had been scrawled into the scraped earth of theclearing.Thebranchesoftreesmadeathicknetoverhead;wheretheyextendedabovetheedge of the pentagram, their leaves curled and turned black. In the center of the five-pointedstarsatawomanwithlong,shininghair;hershapewasslimandlovely,herfacehiddeninshadow,herarmsbareandwhite.Herlefthandwasextendedinfrontofher,andas sheopenedher fingers,Clary could see that therewas a long slash acrossherpalm,drippingaslowstreamofbloodintoasilvercupthatrestedonthepentagram’sedge.Thebloodlookedblackinthemoonlight,orperhapsitwasblack.

“Thechildbornwiththisbloodinhim,”shesaid,andhervoicewassoftandlovely,“willexceedinpowertheGreaterDemonsoftheabyssesbetweentheworlds.HewillbemoremightythantheAsmodei,strongerthantheshedimofthestorms.Ifheisproperlytrained,thereisnothinghewillnotbeabletodo.ThoughIwarnyou,”sheadded,“itwillburnouthishumanity,aspoisonburnsthelifefromtheblood.”

“Mythankstoyou,LadyofEdom,”saidValentine,andashereachedtotakethecupofblood,thewomanliftedherface,andClarysawthatthoughshewasotherwisebeautiful,hereyeswerehollowblackholesfromwhichcurledwavingblacktentacles, likefeelersprobingtheair.Clarystifledascream—

Thenight,theforest,vanished.JocelynstoodfacingsomeoneClarycouldn’tsee.Shewasnolongerpregnant,andherbrighthairstraggledaroundherstricken,despairingface.“Ican’t staywith him, Ragnor,” she said. “Not for another day. I read his book.Do youknowwhathedidtoJonathan?Ididn’tthinkevenValentinecoulddothat.”Hershouldersshook. “He used demon blood—Jonathan’s not a baby anymore.He isn’t even human;he’samonster—”

Shevanished.Valentinewaspacing restlesslyaround thecircleof runes,a seraphbladeshininginhishand.“Whywon’tyouspeak?”hemuttered.“Whywon’tyougivemewhatIwant?”Hedrove downwith the knife, and the angelwrithed as golden liquid pouredfrom itswound like spilled sunlight. “If youwon’tgivemeanswers,”Valentinehissed,“youcangivemeyourblood.Itwilldomeandminemoregoodthanitwillyou.”

Now they were in the Wayland library. Sunlight shone through the diamond-panedwindows, flooding the roomwith blue and green.Voices came from another room: thesoundsoflaughterandchatting,apartygoingon.Jocelynkneltbythebookshelf,glancingfromsidetoside.Shedrewathickbookfromherpocketandslippeditontotheshelf….

Andshewasgone.Thesceneshowedacellar, thesamecellar thatClaryknewshewasstanding in right now. The same scrawled pentagram scarred the floor, and within thecenterofthestarlaytheangel.Valentinestoodby,onceagainwithaburningseraphbladeinhishand.Helookedyearsoldernow,nolongerayoungman.“Ithuriel,”hesaid.“Weareoldfriendsnow,aren’twe?Icouldhaveleftyouburiedaliveunderthoseruins,butno,I brought you here with me. All these years I’ve kept you close, hoping one day youwouldtellmewhatIwanted—needed—toknow.”Hecamecloser,holdingthebladeout,itsblazelightingtherunicbarriertoashimmer.“WhenIsummonedyou,Idreamedthat

youwould tellmewhy.WhyRaziel createdus, his race ofShadowhunters, yet did notgiveusthepowersDownworldershave—thespeedofthewolves,theimmortalityoftheFairFolk,themagicofwarlocks,eventheenduranceofvampires.Heleftusnakedbeforethe hosts of hell but for these painted lines on our skin.Why should their powers begreaterthanours?Whycan’tweshareinwhattheyhave?Howisthatjust?”

Within its imprisoning star the angel sat silent as amarble statue, unmoving, itswingsfolded. Its eyes expressed nothing beyond a terrible silent sorrow. Valentine’s mouthtwisted.

“Verywell.Keepyoursilence.Iwillhavemychance.”Valentineliftedtheblade.“IhavetheMortalCup,Ithuriel,andsoonIshallhavetheSword—butwithouttheMirrorIcannotbegin thesummoning.TheMirror isall Ineed.Tellmewhere it is.Tellmewhere it is,Ithuriel,andIwillletyoudie.”

The scene broke apart in fragments, and as her vision faded,Clary caught glimpses ofimagesnowfamiliartoherfromherownnightmares—angelswithwingsbothwhiteandblack,sheetsofmirroredwater,goldandblood—andJace,turningawayfromher,alwaysturningaway.Claryreachedoutforhim,andforthefirsttimetheangel’svoicespokeinherheadinwordsthatshecouldunderstand.

ThesearenotthefirstdreamsIhaveevershowedyou.

Theimageofaruneburstbehindhereyes,likefireworks—notaruneshehadeverseenbefore;itwasasstrong,simple,andstraightforwardasatiedknot.Itwasgoneinabreathaswell,andasitvanished,theangel’ssingingceased.Clarywasbackinherownbody,reeling on her feet in the filthy and reeking room. The angelwas silent, frozen,wingsfolded,agrievingeffigy.

Clary let out her breath in a sob. “Ithuriel.” She reached her hands out to the angel,knowingshecouldn’tpasstherunes,herheartaching.Foryearstheangelhadbeendownhere,sittingsilentandaloneintheblackness,chainedandstarvingbutunabletodie….

Jacewasbesideher.Shecould see fromhis stricken face thathe’d seeneverything shehad.Helookeddownattheseraphbladeinhishandandthenbackattheangel.Itsblindfacewasturnedtowardtheminsilentsupplication.

Jacetookastepforward,andthenanother.Hiseyeswerefixedontheangel,anditwasasif, Clary thought, there were some silent communication passing between them, somespeechshecouldn’thear.Jace’seyeswerebrightasgolddisks,fullofreflectedlight.

“Ithuriel,”hewhispered.

Thebladeinhishandblazeduplikeatorch.Itsglowwasblinding.Theangelraiseditsface,asifthelightwerevisibletoitsblindeyes.Itreachedoutitshands,thechainsthatbounditswristsrattlinglikeharshmusic.

Jaceturnedtoher.“Clary,”hesaid.“Therunes.”

Therunes.Foramomentshestaredathim,puzzled,buthiseyesurgedheronward.ShehandedJacethewitchlight,tookhisstelefromherpocket,andkneltdownbythescrawledrunes.Theylookedasifthey’dbeengougedintothestonewithsomethingsharp.

SheglancedupatJace.Hisexpressionstartledher,theblazeinhiseyes—theywerefulloffaithinher,ofconfidenceinherabilities.Withthetipofthesteleshetracedseverallinesinto the floor, changing the runes of binding to runes of release, imprisonment toopenness.Theyflaredupasshetracedthem,as ifsheweredraggingamatchtipacrosssulphur.

Done,sherosetoherfeet.Therunesshimmeredbeforeher.AbruptlyJacemovedtostandbesideher.Thewitchlightstonewasgone,theonlyilluminationcomingfromtheseraphbladethathe’dnamedfortheangel,blazinginhishand.Hestretcheditout,andthistimehishandpassedthroughthebarrieroftherunesasiftherewerenothingthere.

Theangel reached itshandsupand took theblade fromhim. It shut itsblindeyes,andClarythoughtforamomentthatitsmiled.Itturnedthebladeinitsgraspuntilthesharptiprested just blow its breastbone. Clary gave a little gasp and moved forward, but Jacegrabbedherarm,hisgriplikeiron,andyankedherbackward—justastheangeldrovethebladehome.

The angel’s head fell back, its handsdropping from thehilt,whichprotruded from justwhereitsheartwouldbe—ifangelshadhearts;Clarydidn’tknow.Flamesburstfromthewound,spreadingoutwardfromtheblade.Theangel’sbodyshimmeredintowhiteflame,thechainson itswristburning scarlet, like iron left too long ina fire.Clary thoughtofmedievalpaintingsofsaintsconsumedintheblazeofholyecstasy—andtheangel’swingsflewwideandwhitebeforethey,too,caughtandblazedup,alatticeofshimmeringfire.

Clarycouldnolongerwatch.SheturnedandburiedherfaceinJace’sshoulder.Hisarmcame around her, his grip tight and hard. “It’s all right,” he said into her hair, “it’s allright,”buttheairwasfullofsmokeandthegroundfeltlikeitwasrockingunderherfeet.ItwasonlywhenJacestumbledthatsherealizeditwasn’tshock:Thegroundwasmoving.SheletgoofJaceandstaggered;thestonesunderfootweregrindingtogether,andathinrainofdirtwassiftingdownfromtheceiling.Theangelwasapillarofsmoke;therunesarounditglowedpainfullybright.Clarystaredatthem,decodingtheirmeaning,andthenlookedwildlyatJace:“Themanor—itwastiedtoIthuriel.Iftheangeldies,themanor—”

Shedidn’t finishher sentence.Hehadalready seizedherhandandwas running for thestairs,pullingheralongafterhim.Thestairsthemselvesweresurgingandbuckling;Claryfell,bangingherkneepainfullyonastep,butJace’sgriponherarmdidn’t loosen.Sheracedon,ignoringthepaininherleg,herlungsfullofchokingdust.

They reached the topof the steps andexplodedout into the library.Behind themClarycouldhearthesoftroarastherestofthestairscollapsed.Itwasn’tmuchbetterhere;theroomwasshuddering,bookstumblingfromtheirshelves.Astatuelaywhereithadtippedover,inapileofjaggedshards.JaceletgoofClary’shand,seizedupachair,and,before

shecouldaskhimwhathemeanttodo,threwitatthestained-glasswindow.

Itsailedthroughinawaterfallofbrokenglass.Jaceturnedandheldhishandouttoher.Behindhim,throughthejaggedframethatremained,shecouldseeamoonlight-saturatedstretchofgrassanda lineof treetops in thedistance.Theyseemeda longwaydown. Ican’tjumpthatfar,shethought,andwasabouttoshakeherheadatJacewhenshesawhiseyeswiden,hismouthshapingawarning.Oneof theheavymarblebusts that lined thehighershelveshadslidfreeandwasfallingtowardher;sheduckedoutofitsway,andithitthefloorinchesfromwhereshe’dbeenstanding,leavingasizabledentinthefloor.

AsecondlaterJace’sarmswerearoundherandhewasliftingheroffherfeet.Shewastoosurprised to struggle as he carried her over to the broken window and dumped herunceremoniouslyoutofit.

Shehitagrassyrise justbelowthewindowandtumbleddownitssteepincline,gainingspeeduntilshefetchedupagainstahillockwithenoughforcetoknockthebreathoutofher.Shesatup,shakinggrassoutofherhair.AsecondlaterJacecametoastopnexttoher;unlikeher,herolledimmediatelyintoacrouch,staringupthehillatthemanorhouse.

Clary turned to lookwhere hewas looking, but he’d already grabbed her, shoving herdownintothedepressionbetweenthetwohills.Latershe’dfinddarkbruisesonherupperarmswherehe’dheldher;nowshe justgasped insurpriseasheknockedherdownandrolledontopofher,shieldingherwithhisbodyasahugeroarwentup.Itsoundedliketheearth shattering apart, like a volcano erupting. A blast of white dust shot into the sky.Claryheardasharppatteringnoiseallaroundher.Forabewilderedmomentshethoughtithadstartedtorain—thensherealizeditwasrubbleanddirtandbrokenglass:thedetritusoftheshatteredmanorbeingflungdownaroundthemlikedeadlyhail.

Jacepressedherharderintotheground,hisbodyflatagainsthers,hisheartbeatnearlyasloudinherearsasthesoundofthemanor’ssubsidingruins.

Theroarofthecollapsefadedslowly,likesmokedissipatingintotheair.Itwasreplacedbytheloudchirrupingofstartledbirds;ClarycouldseethemoverJace’sshoulder,circlingcuriouslyagainstthedarksky.

“Jace,”shesaidsoftly.“IthinkIdroppedyourstelesomewhere.”

Hedrewbackslightly,proppinghimselfonhiselbows,andlookeddownather.Eveninthedarkness shecould seeherself reflected inhiseyes;his facewas streakedwith sootanddirt,thecollarofhisshirttorn.“That’sallright.Aslongasyou’renothurt.”

“I’mfine.”Withoutthinking,shereachedup,herfingersbrushinglightlythroughhishair.Shefelthimtense,hiseyesdarkening.

“Therewasgrassinyourhair,”shesaid.Hermouthwasdry;adrenalinesangthroughher

veins.Everything thathad justhappened—theangel, theshatteringmanor—seemedlessrealthanwhatshesawinJace’seyes.

“Youshouldn’ttouchme,”hesaid.

Herhandfrozewhereitwas,herpalmagainsthischeek.“Whynot?”

“You knowwhy,” he said, and shifted away fromher, rolling onto his back. “You sawwhatIsaw,didn’tyou?Thepast,theangel.Ourparents.”

Itwasthefirsttime,shethought,thathe’dcalledthemthat.Ourparents.Sheturnedontoherside,wantingtoreachouttohimbutnotsureifsheshould.Hewasstaringblindlyupatthesky.“Isaw.”

“You know what I am.” The words breathed out in an anguished whisper. “I’m partdemon,Clary.Partdemon.Youunderstood thatmuch,didn’tyou?”Hiseyesbored intoherlikedrills.“YousawwhatValentinewastryingtodo.Heuseddemonblood—useditonmebeforeIwasevenborn.I’mpartmonster.ParteverythingI’vetriedsohardtoburnout,todestroy.”

ClarypushedawaythememoryofValentine’svoicesaying,SheleftmebecauseIturnedher first child into a monster. “But warlocks are part demon. LikeMagnus. It doesn’tmakethemevil—”

“NotpartGreaterDemon.Youheardwhatthedemonwomansaid.”

It will burn out his humanity, as poison burns the life from the blood. Clary’s voicetrembled.“It’snottrue.Itcan’tbe.Itdoesn’tmakesense—”

“But it does.” Therewas a furious desperation in Jace’s expression. She could see thegleamof the silver chain aroundhisbare throat, lit to awhite flareby the starlight. “Itexplainseverything.”

“Youmeanitexplainswhyyou’resuchanamazingShadowhunter?Whyyou’reloyalandfearlessandhonestandeverythingdemonsaren’t?”

“Itexplains,”hesaid,evenly,“whyIfeelthewayIdoaboutyou.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”

Hewassilentforalongmoment,staringatheracrossthetinyspacethatseparatedthem.Shecould feelhim,even thoughhewasn’t touchingher,as ifhestill laywithhisbodyagainsthers.“You’remysister,”hesaidfinally.“Mysister,myblood,myfamily.Ishouldwant toprotectyou”—he laughed soundlessly andwithout anyhumor—“toprotectyoufromthesortofboyswhowanttodowithyouexactlywhatIwanttodo.”

Clary’sbreathcaught.“Yousaidyoujustwantedtobemybrotherfromnowon.”

“Ilied,”hesaid.“Demonslie,Clary.Youknow,therearesomekindsofwoundsyoucangetwhenyou’reaShadowhunter—internal injuries fromdemonpoison.Youdon’tevenknowwhat’swrongwithyou,butyou’rebleedingtodeathslowlyinside.That’swhatit’slike,justbeingyourbrother.”

“ButAline—”

“Ihadtotry.AndIdid.”Hisvoicewaslifeless.“ButGodknows,Idon’twantanyonebutyou.Idon’tevenwanttowantanyonebutyou.”Hereachedout,trailedhisfingerslightlythroughherhair,fingertipsbrushinghercheek.“NowatleastIknowwhy.”

Clary’svoicehadsunktoawhisper.“Idon’twantanyonebutyou,either.”

She was rewarded by the catch in his breathing. Slowly he drew himself up onto hiselbows.Nowhewaslookingdownather,andhisexpressionhadchanged—therewasalookonhisfaceshe’dneverseenbefore,asleepy,almostdeadlylightinhiseyes.Helethisfingerstraildownhercheektoherlips,outliningtheshapeofhermouthwiththetipofafinger.“Youshouldprobably,”hesaid,“tellmenottodothis.”

Shesaidnothing.Shedidn’twanttotellhimtostop.ShewastiredofsayingnotoJace—ofneverlettingherselffeelwhatherwholeheartwantedhertofeel.Whateverthecost.

Hebentdown,hislipsagainsthercheek,brushingitlightly—andstillthatlighttouchsentshiversthroughhernerves,shiversthatmadeherwholebodytremble.“Ifyouwantmetostop, tell me now,” he whispered. When she still said nothing, he brushed his mouthagainst the hollow of her temple. “Or now.”He traced the line of her cheekbone. “Ornow.”Hislipswereagainsthers.“Or—”

Butshehadreachedupandpulledhimdowntoher,andtherestofhiswordswerelostagainsthermouth.Hekissedhergently,carefully,butitwasn’tgentlenessshewanted,notnow,notafterallthistime,andsheknottedherfistsinhisshirt,pullinghimharderagainsther. He groaned softly, low in his throat, and then his arms circled her, gathering heragainsthim,andtheyrolledoveronthegrass,tangledtogether,stillkissing.Therewererocks digging into Clary’s back, and her shoulder ached where she’d fallen from thewindow, but she didn’t care. All that existed was Jace; all she felt, hoped, breathed,wanted,andsawwasJace.Nothingelsemattered.

Despitehercoat,shecouldfeeltheheatofhimburningthroughhisclothesandhers.Shetuggedhis jacketoff, and then somehowhis shirtwasoff too.Her fingers exploredhisbody as hismouth explored hers: soft skin over leanmuscle, scars like thinwires. Shetouchedthestar-shapedscaronhisshoulder—itwassmoothandflat,asifitwereapartofhis skin, not raised like his other scars. She supposed they were imperfections, thesemarks,buttheydidn’tfeelthatwaytoher;theywereahistory,cutintohisbody:themapofalifeofendlesswar.

Hefumbledwith thebuttonsofhercoat,hishandsshaking.Shedidn’t thinkshe’deverseen Jace’shandsunsteadybefore. “I’ll do it,” she said, and reached for the lastbutton

herself;as she raisedherselfup, somethingcoldandmetallic struckhercollarbone,andshegaspedinsurprise.

“Whatisit?”Jacefroze.“DidIhurtyou?”

“No.Itwasthis.”Shetouchedthesilverchainaroundhisneck.Onitsendhungasmallsilvercircleofmetal.Ithadbumpedagainstherwhenshe’dleanedforward.Shestaredatitnow.

Thatring—theweather-beatenmetalwithitspatternofstars—sheknewthatring.

TheMorgensternring.ItwasthesameringthathadgleamedonValentine’shandinthedreamtheangelhadshowedthem.Ithadbeenhis,andhehadgivenittoJace,asithadalwaysbeenpassedalong,fathertoson.

“I’m sorry,” Jace said. He traced the line of her cheek with his fingertip, a dreamlikeintensityinhisgaze.“IforgotIwaswearingthedamnthing.”

SuddencoldfloodedClary’sveins.“Jace,”shesaid,inalowvoice.“Jace,don’t.”

“Don’twhat?Don’twearthering?”

“No,don’t—don’ttouchme.Stopforasecond.”

Hisfacewentstill.Questionshadchasedawaythedreamlikeconfusioninhiseyes,buthesaidnothing,justwithdrewhishand.

“Jace,”shesaidagain.“Why?Whynow?”

Hislipspartedinsurprise.Shecouldseeadarklinewherehehadbittenhisbottomlip,ormaybeshehadbittenit.“Whywhatnow?”

“You said therewas nothing between us. That ifwe—ifwe let ourselves feelwhatwemightwanttofeel,we’dbehurtingeveryonewecareabout.”

“Itoldyou.Iwaslying.”Hiseyessoftened.“YouthinkIdon’twantto—?”

“No,”shesaid.“No,I’mnotstupid,Iknowthatyoudo.Butwhenyousaidthatnowyoufinallyunderstandwhyyoufeelthiswayaboutme,whatdidyoumean?”

Notthatshedidn’tknow,shethought,butshehadtoask,hadtohearhimsayit.

Jacecaughtherwristsanddrewherhandsuptohisface,lacinghisfingersthroughhers.“YourememberwhatIsaidtoyouatthePenhallows’house?”heasked.“Thatyouneverthink about what you do before you do it, and that’s why you wreck everything youtouch?”

“No,I’dforgottenthat.Thanksforthereminder.”

Hebarelyseemedtonoticethesarcasminhervoice.“Iwasn’ttalkingaboutyou,Clary.Iwas talkingaboutme.That’swhat I’m like.”He turnedhis faceslightlyandher fingersslid along his cheek. “At least now I knowwhy. I know what’s wrong with me. Andmaybe—maybethat’swhyIneedyousomuch.BecauseifValentinemademeamonster,thenIsupposehemadeyouasortofangel.AndLucifer lovedGod,didn’the?SosaysMilton,anyway.”

Clarysuckedinherbreath.“Iamnotanangel.Andyoudon’tevenknowthatthat’swhatValentineusedIthuriel’sbloodfor—maybeValentinejustwanteditforhimself—”

“Hesaidthebloodwasfor‘meandmine,’”Jacesaidquietly.“Itexplainswhyyoucandowhatyoucando,Clary.TheSeelieQueensaidwewerebothexperiments.Notjustme.”

“I’mnotanangel,Jace,”sherepeated.“Idon’treturnlibrarybooks.IstealillegalmusicofftheInternet.Ilietomymom.Iamcompletelyordinary.”

“Not tome.” He looked down at her. His face hovered against a background of stars.Therewasnothingofhisusualarroganceinhisexpression—shehadneverseenhimlooksounguarded,buteventhatunguardednesswasmixedwithaself-hatredthatranasdeepasawound.“Clary,I—”

“Getoffme,”Clarysaid.

“What?”ThedesireinhiseyescrackedintoathousandpiecesliketheshardsofthePortalmirroratRenwick’s,andforamomenthisexpressionwasblanklyastonished.Shecouldhardlybeartolookathimandstillsayno.Lookingathimnow—evenifshehadn’tbeeninlovewithhim,thatpartofherthatwashermother’sdaughter,thatlovedeverybeautifulthingforitsbeautyalone,wouldstillhavewantedhim.

But,then,itwaspreciselybecauseshewashermother’sdaughterthatitwasimpossible.

“Youheardme,”shesaid.“Andleavemyhandsalone.”Shesnatchedthemback,knottingthemintotightfiststostoptheirshaking.

Hedidn’tmove.Hislipcurledback,andforamomentshesawthatpredatorylightinhiseyesagain,butnowitwasmixedwithanger.“Idon’tsupposeyouwanttotellmewhy?”

“Youthinkyouonlywantmebecauseyou’reevil,nothuman.Youjustwantsomethingelseyoucanhateyourselffor.Iwon’tletyouusemetoprovetoyourselfhowworthlessyouare.”

“Ineversaidthat.IneversaidIwasusingyou.”

“Fine,”shesaid.“Tellmenowthatyou’renotamonster.Tellmethere’snothingwrongwithyou.Andtellmeyouwouldwantmeevenifyoudidn’thavedemonblood.”BecauseIdon’thavedemonblood.AndIstillwantyou.

Theirgazeslocked,hisblindlyfurious;foramomentneitherbreathed,andthenheflunghimselfoffher,swearing,androlledtohisfeet.Snatchinghisshirtupfromthegrass,hedrew itoverhishead, still glaring.Heyanked the shirtdownoverhis jeansand turnedawaytolookforhisjacket.

Clarystoodup,staggeringalittle.Thestingingwindraisedgoosebumpsonherarms.Herlegsfeltliketheyweremadeofhalf-meltedwax.Shedidupthebuttonsonhercoatwithnumbfingers,fightingtheurgetoburstintotears.Cryingwouldn’thelpanythingnow.

Theairwasstill fullofdancingdustandash, thegrassallaroundscatteredwithdebris:shatteredbitsoffurniture;thepagesofbooksblowingmournfullyinthewind;splintersofgildedwood;achunkofalmosthalfastaircase,mysteriouslyunharmed.Claryturnedtolook at Jace; hewas kicking bits of debriswith a savage satisfaction. “Well,” he said,“we’rescrewed.”

Itwasn’twhatshe’dexpected.Sheblinked.“What?”

“Remember? You lost my stele. There’s no chance of you drawing a Portal now.” Hespoke thewordswithabitterpleasure, as if the situation satisfiedhim in someobscureway.“We’vegotnootherwayofgettingback.We’regoingtohavetowalk.”

Itwouldn’thavebeenapleasantwalkundernormal circumstances.Accustomed tocitylights,Clarycouldn’tbelievehowdarkitwasinIdrisatnight.Thethickblackshadowsthat lined the roadon either side seemed to be crawlingwithbarelyvisible things, andeven with Jace’s witchlight she could see only a few feet ahead of them. She missedstreetlights,theambientglowofheadlights,thesoundsofthecity.Allshecouldhearnowwasthesteadycrunchoftheirbootsongraveland,everyonceinawhile,herownbreathpuffingoutinsurpriseasshetrippedoverastrayrock.

Afterafewhoursherfeetbegantoacheandhermouthwasdryasparchment.Theairhadgrownverycold,andshehunchedalongshivering,herhandsthrustdeepintoherpockets.ButevenallthatwouldhavebeenbearableifonlyJacehadbeentalkingtoher.Hehadn’tspokenawordsincethey’dleftthemanorexcepttosnapoutdirections,tellingherwhichwaytoturnataforkintheroad,ororderinghertoskirtapothole.Eventhenshedoubtedifhewouldhavemindedmuchifshe’dfallenintothepothole,exceptthatitwouldhaveslowedthemdown.

Eventuallytheskyintheeastbegantolighten.Clary,stumblingalonghalf-asleep,raisedherheadinsurprise.“It’searlyfordawn.”

Jace lookedatherwithblandcontempt. “That’sAlicante.The sundoesn’t comeup foranotherthreehoursatleast.Thosearethecitylights.”

Toorelieved that theywerenearlyhometomindhisattitude,Clarypickedupherpace.They rounded a corner and found themselveswalking along awidedirt path cut into a

hillside.Itsnakedalongthecurveoftheslope,disappearingaroundabendinthedistance.Thoughthecitywasnotyetvisible,theairhadgrownbrighter,theskyshotthroughwithapeculiarreddishglow.

“Wemustbenearlythere,”Clarysaid.“Isthereashortcutdownthehill?”

Jace was frowning. “Something’s wrong,” he said abruptly. He took off, half-runningdowntheroad,hisbootssendinguppuffsofdustthatgleamedochreinthestrangelight.Claryrantokeeppace,ignoringtheprotestsofherblisteredfeet.Theyroundedthenextcurve and Jace skidded to a sudden halt, sending Clary crashing into him. In anothercircumstanceitmighthavebeencomic.Itwasn’tnow.

Thereddishlightwasstrongernow,throwingascarletglowupintothenightsky,lightingthehill theystoodonas if itweredaylight.Plumesofsmokecurledupfromthevalleybelowliketheunfurlingfeathersofablackpeacock.Risingfromtheblackvaporwerethedemon towersofAlicante, theircrystallineshells likearrowsof firepiercing thesmokyair.Throughthethicksmoke,Clarycouldglimpsetheleapingscarletofflames,scatteredacrossthecitylikeahandfulofglitteringjewelsacrossadarkcloth.

Itseemedincredible,butthereitwas:TheywerestandingonahillsidehighoverAlicante,andbelowthemthecitywasburning.

PartTwo

StarsShineDarkly

ANTONIO:Willyoustaynolonger?NorwillyounotthatIgowithyou?

SEBASTIAN:Byyourpatience,no.Mystarsshinedarklyoverme;themalignancyofmyfatemight,perhaps,distemperyours;thereforeIshallcraveofyouyourleavethatImaybearmyevilsalone.Itwereabadrecompenseforyourlovetolayanyofthemonyou.

—WilliamShakespeare,TwelfthNight

10

FIREANDSWORD

“It’slate,”Isabellesaid,fretfullytwitchingthelacecurtainacrossthehighlivingroomwindowbackintoplace.“Heoughttobebackbynow.”

“Bereasonable,Isabelle,”Alecpointedout,inthatsuperiorbig-brothertonethatseemedto imply that while she, Isabelle, might be prone to hysteria, he, Alec, was alwaysperfectly calm.Even his posture—hewas lounging in one of the overstuffed armchairsnext to the Penhallows’ fireplace as if he didn’t have a care in the world—seemeddesignedtoshowoffhowunworriedhewas.“Jacedoesthiswhenhe’supset,goesoffandwandersaround.Hesaidhewasgoingforawalk.He’llbeback.”

Isabelle sighed.She almostwishedher parentswere there, but theywere still up at theGard.WhatevertheClavewasdiscussing,theCouncilmeetingwasdraggingonbrutallylate.“ButheknowsNewYork.Hedoesn’tknowAlicante—”

“Heprobablyknowsitbetterthanyoudo.”Alinewassittingonthecouchreadingabook,itspagesboundindarkredleather.HerblackhairwaspulledbehindherheadinaFrenchbraid,hereyesfastenedonthevolumespreadacrossherlap.Isabelle,whohadneverbeenmuchofareader,alwaysenviedotherpeopletheirabilitytogetlostinabook.TherewerealotofthingssheoncewouldhaveenviedAlinefor—beingsmallanddelicatelypretty,foronething,notAmazonianandsotallinheelsshetoweredoveralmosteveryboyshemet.Butthenagain,itwasonlyrecentlythatIsabellehadrealizedothergirlsweren’tjustforenvying,avoiding,ordisliking.“Helivedhereuntilhewasten.Youguyshaveonlyvisitedafewtimes.”

Isabelleraisedherhandtoherthroatwithafrown.Thependantslungonthechainaroundherneckhadgivenasudden,sharppulse—butitnormallyonlypulsedinthepresenceofdemons,andtheywereinAlicante.Therewasnowaythereweredemonsnearby.Maybethependantwasmalfunctioning.“Idon’tthinkhe’swanderingaround,anyway.Ithinkit’sprettyobviouswherehewent,”Isabelleresponded.

Alecraisedhiseyes.“YouthinkhewenttoseeClary?”

“Isshestillhere?I thoughtshewassupposedtobegoingbacktoNewYork.”Alineletherbookfallclosed.“WhereisJace’ssisterstaying,anyway?”

Isabelleshrugged.“Askhim,”shesaid,cuttinghereyestowardSebastian.

SebastianwassprawledonthecouchoppositeAline’s.Hehadabookinhishandtoo,andhisdarkheadwasbentover it.He raisedhiseyesas ifhecould feel Isabelle’sgazeonhim.

“Were you talking about me?” he askedmildly. Everything about Sebastian was mild,Isabellethoughtwithatwingeofannoyance.She’dbeenimpressedbyhislooksatfirst—those sharply planed cheekbones and those black, fathomless eyes—but his affable,sympathetic personality grated on her now. She didn’t like boyswho looked as if theynevergotmadaboutanything. In Isabelle’sworld, rageequaledpassionequaledagoodtime.

“What are you reading?” she asked,more sharply than she’dmeant to. “Is that one ofMax’scomicbooks?”

“Yep.”SebastianlookeddownatthecopyofAngelSanctuarybalancedonthesofa’sarm.“Ilikethepictures.”

Isabelleblewoutanexasperatedbreath.Shootingheralook,Alecsaid,“Sebastian,earliertoday…DoesJaceknowwhereyouwent?”

“YoumeanthatIwasoutwithClary?”Sebastianlookedamused.“Look,it’snotasecret.IwouldhavetoldJaceifI’dseenhimsince.”

“Idon’tseewhyhewouldcare.”Alineputherbookaside,anedgetohervoice.“It’snotlikeSebastiandid anythingwrong.Sowhat if hewants to showClarissa someof Idrisbeforeshegoeshome?Jaceought tobepleasedhissister isn’tsittingaroundboredandannoyed.”

“Hecanbevery…protective,”Alecsaidafteraslighthesitation.

Alinefrowned.“Heshouldbackoff.Itcan’tbegoodforher,beingsooverprotected.Thelookonherfacewhenshewalkedinonus, itwas likeshe’dneverseenanyonekissingbefore.Imean,whoknows,maybeshehasn’t.”

“Shehas,”Isabellesaid,thinkingofthewayJacehadkissedClaryintheSeelieCourt.Itwasn’t something she liked to thinkabout—Isabelle didn’t enjoywallowing in her ownsorrows,muchlessotherpeople’s.“It’snotthat.”

“Thenwhatisit?”Sebastianstraightenedup,pushingalockofdarkhairoutofhiseyes.Isabellecaughtaflashofsomething—aredlineacrosshispalm,likeascar.“Isitjustthathehatesmepersonally?BecauseIdon’tknowwhatitisIever—”

“That’smybook.”AsmallvoiceinterruptedSebastian’sspeech.ItwasMax,standinginthelivingroomdoorway.Hewaswearinggraypajamasandhisbrownhairwasdisarrayedasifhe’djustwokenup.HewasglaringatthemanganovelsittingnexttoSebastian.

“What,this?”SebastianheldoutthecopyofAngelSanctuary.“Hereyougo,kid.”

Maxstalkedacrosstheroomandsnatchedthebookback.HescowledatSebastian.“Don’tcallmekid.”

Sebastian laughedandstoodup.“I’mgetting somecoffee,”he said,andheaded for thekitchen.Hepausedandturnedinthedoorway.“Doesanyonewantanything?”

There was a chorus of refusals. With a shrug Sebastian disappeared into the kitchen,lettingthedoorswingshutbehindhim.

“Max,”Isabellesaidsharply.“Don’tberude.”

“Idon’tlikeitwhenpeopletakemystuff.”Maxhuggedthecomicbooktohischest.

“Growup,Max.Hewasjustborrowingit.”Isabelle’svoicecameoutmoreirritablythanshe’dintended;shewasstillworriedaboutJace,sheknew,andwastakingitoutonherlittlebrother.“Youshouldbeinbedanyway.It’slate.”

“Therewerenoisesuponthehill.Theywokemeup.”Maxblinked;withouthisglasses,everythingwasprettymuchablurtohim.“Isabelle…”

Thequestioningnoteinhisvoicegotherattention.Isabelleturnedawayfromthewindow.“What?”

“Dopeopleeverclimbthedemontowers?Like,foranyreason?”

Alinelookedup.“Climbthedemontowers?”Shelaughed.“No,nooneeverdoesthat.It’stotallyillegal,foronething,andbesides,whywouldyouwantto?”

Aline,Isabellethought,didnothavemuchimagination.Sheherselfcouldthinkoflotsofreasonswhysomeonemightwanttoclimbthedemontowers,ifonlytospitgumdownonpassersbybelow.

Maxwasfrowning.“Butsomeonedid.IknowIsaw—”

“Whateveryouthinkyousaw,youprobablydreamedit,”Isabelletoldhim.

Max’s face creased. Sensing a potentialmeltdown,Alec stood up and held out a hand.“Comeon,Max,”hesaid,notwithoutaffection.“Let’sgetyoubacktobed.”

“Weshouldallgettobed,”Alinesaid,standingup.ShecameovertothewindowbesideIsabelleanddrewthecurtainsfirmlyshut.“It’salreadyalmostmidnight;whoknowswhenthey’llgetbackfromtheCouncil?Therenopointstaying—”

Thependant at Isabelle’s throat pulsed again, sharply—and then thewindowAlinewasstandinginfrontofshatteredinward.Alinescreamedashandsreachedthroughthegapinghole—not hands, really, Isabelle sawwith the clarity of shock, but huge, scaled claws,streakedwith blood and blackish fluid. They seizedAline and yanked her through thesmashedwindowbeforeshecouldutterasecondscream.

Isabelle’swhipwas lying on the table by the fireplace. She dashed for it now, duckingaroundSebastian,whohadcomeracingoutofthekitchen.“Getweapons,”shesnappedashestaredaroundtheroominastonishment.“Go!”sheshrieked,andranforthewindow.

BythefireplaceAlecwasholdingMaxastheyoungerboysquirmedandyelled,tryingtowriggle out of his brother’s grip. Alec dragged him toward the door. Good, Isabellethought.GetMaxoutofhere.

Coldairblewthroughtheshatteredwindow.Isabellepulledherskirtupandkickedouttherest of the broken glass, thankful for the thick soles of her boots.When the glasswasgone,sheduckedherheadandjumpedoutthroughthegapingholeintheframe,landingwithajoltonthestonewalkwaybelow.

Atfirstglancethewalkwaylookedempty.Therewerenostreetlightsalongthecanal;themainilluminationherecamefromthewindowsofnearbyhouses.Isabellemovedforwardcautiously,herelectrumwhipcoiledatherside.Shehadownedthewhipforsolong—ithadbeenatwelfthbirthdaypresentfromherfather—thatitfeltlikepartofhernow,likeafluidextensionofherrightarm.

TheshadowsthickenedasshemovedawayfromthehouseandtowardOldcastleBridge,whicharchedoverthePrincewatercanalatanoddangletothewalkway.Theshadowsatitsbasewereclusteredas thicklyasblackflies—and then,as Isabellestared,somethingmovedwithintheshadow,somethingwhiteanddarting.

Isabelleran,crashingthroughalowborderofhedgesattheendofsomeone’sgardenandhoppingdownonto thenarrowbrickcausewaythat ranbelowthebridge.Herwhiphadbeguntoglowwithaharshsilverylight,andinitsfaintilluminationshecouldseeAlinelyinglimplyattheedgeofthecanal.Amassivescaleddemonwassprawledontopofher,pressingherdownwiththeweightofitsthicklizardlikebody,itsfaceburiedinherneck—

Butitcouldn’tbeademon.TherehadneverbeendemonsinAlicante.Never.AsIsabelle

staredinshock,thethingraiseditsheadandsniffedtheair,asifsensingherthere.Itwasblind,shesaw,athicklineofserratedteethrunninglikeazipperacrossitsforeheadwhereeyes shouldbe. It had anothermouthon the lowerhalf of its face aswell, fangedwithdripping tusks. The sides of its narrow tail glittered as it whipped back and forth, andIsabellesaw,drawingcloser,thatthetailwasedgedwithrazor-sharplinesofbone.

Alinetwitchedandmadeanoise,agaspingwhimper.ReliefspilledoverIsabelle—she’dbeenhalf-sureAlinewasdead—butitwasshort-lived.AsAlinemoved,Isabellesawthatherblousehadbeenslicedopendownthefront.Therewereclawmarksonherchest,andthethinghadanotherclawhookedintothewaistbandofherjeans.

Awaveofnausea rolledover Isabelle.Thedemonwasn’t trying tokillAline—not yet.Isabelle’swhipcamealiveinherhandliketheflamingswordofanavengingangel;shelaunchedherselfforward,herwhipslashingdownacrossthedemon’sback.

ThedemonscreechedandrolledoffAline.ItadvancedonIsabelle,itstwomouthsgaping,talonsslashingtowardherface.Dancingbackward,shethrewthewhipforwardagain;itslashedacrossthedemon’sface, itschest, its legs.Amyriadofcrisscrossinglashmarkssprangupacrossthedemon’sscaledskin,drippingbloodandichor.Alongforkedtongueshotfromitsuppermouth,probingforIsabelle’sface.Therewasabulbontheendofit,shesaw,asortofstinger,likeascorpion’s.Sheflickedherwristtothesideandthewhipcurledaroundthedemon’stongue,ropingitwithbandsofflexibleelectrum.Thedemonscreamedandscreamedasshepulledtheknottightandjerked.Thedemon’stonguefellwithawet,sickeningthumptothebricksofthecauseway.

Isabelle jerked thewhip back. The demon turned and fled,movingwith quick, dartingmotionslikeasnake.Isabelledartedafterit.Thedemonwashalfwaytothepaththatledupfromthecausewaywhenadarkshaperoseupinfrontofit.Somethingflashedinthedarkness,andthedemonfelltwitchingtotheground.

Isabellecametoanabruptstop.Alinestoodoverthefallendemon,aslenderdaggerinherhand—she must have been wearing it on her belt. The runes on the blade shone likeflashing lightning as she drove the dagger down, plunging it over and over into thedemon’stwitchingbodyuntilthethingstoppedmovingentirelyandvanished.

Alinelookedup.Herfacewasblank.Shemadenomovetoholdherblouseclosed,despiteitstornbuttons.Bloodoozedfromthedeepscratchmarksonherchest.

Isabelleletoutalowwhistle.“Aline—areyouallright?”

Alineletthedaggerfalltothegroundwithaclatter.Withoutanotherwordsheturnedandran,disappearingintothedarknessunderthebridge.

Caught by surprise, Isabelle swore and dashed after Aline. She wished she’d wornsomethingmorepracticalthanavelvetdresstonight,althoughatleastshe’dputherbootson.ShedoubtedshecouldhavecaughtuptoAlinewearingheels.

Thereweremetalstairsontheothersideofthecauseway,leadingbackuptoPrincewaterStreet.Alinewasabluratthetopofthestairway.Hikinguptheheavyhemofherdress,Isabellefollowed,herbootsclatteringonthesteps.Whenshereachedthetop,shelookedaroundforAline.

Andstared.ShewasstandingatthefootofthebroadroadonwhichthePenhallows’housefronted.ShecouldnolongerseeAline—theothergirlhaddisappearedintothechurningthrongofpeoplecrowdingthestreet.Andnotjustpeople,either.Therewerethingsinthestreet—demons—dozensofthem,maybemore,likethetalonedlizard-creatureAlinehaddispatchedunderthebridge.Twoorthreebodieslayinthestreetalready,oneonlyafewfeet fromIsabelle—aman,halfhis ribcage tornaway. Isabellecouldsee fromhisgrayhair that he’d been elderly.But of course he was, she thought, her brain ticking overslowly,thespeedofherthoughtsdulledbypanic.AlltheadultswereintheGard.Downinthecitywereonlychildren,theold,andthesick….

Thered-tingedairwasfullofthesmellofburning,thenightsplitbyshrieksandscreams.Doorswereopenallupanddowntherowsofhouses—peopleweredartingoutofthem,thenstoppingdeadastheysawthestreetfilledwithmonsters.

Itwasimpossible,unimaginable.Neverinhistoryhadasingledemoncrossedthewardsofthedemontowers.Andnowthereweredozens.Hundreds.Maybemore,floodingthestreetslikeapoisonoustide.Isabellefeltasifsheweretrappedbehindaglasswall,abletosee everythingbut unable tomove—watching, frozen, as a demon seized a fleeingboyandliftedhimbodilyofftheground,sinkingitsserratedteethintohisshoulder.

Theboyscreamed,buthisscreamswerelostintheclamorthatwastearingthenightapart.Thesoundroseandroseinvolume:thehowlingofdemons,peoplecallingoneanother’snames, the sounds of running feet and shattering glass. Someone down the street wasshoutingwordsshecouldbarelyunderstand—somethingaboutthedemontowers.Isabellelooked up.The tall spires stood sentry over the city as they always had, but instead ofreflectingthesilverlightofthestars,oreventheredlightoftheburningcity,theywereasdeadwhiteastheskinofacorpse.Theirluminescencehadvanished.Achillranthroughher. No wonder the streets were full of monsters—somehow, impossibly, the demontowershad lost theirmagic.Thewards thathadprotectedAlicante fora thousandyearsweregone.

Samuelhadfallensilenthoursago,butSimonwasstillawake,staringsleeplesslyintothedarkness,whenheheardthescreaming.

Hisheadjerkedup.Silence.Helookedarounduneasily—hadhedreamedthenoise?Hestrainedhisears,butevenwithhisnewlysensitivehearing,nothingwasaudible.Hewasabouttoliebackdownwhenthescreamscameagain,drivingintohisearslikeneedles.ItsoundedasiftheywerecomingfromoutsidetheGard.

Rising,hestoodonthebedandlookedoutthewindow.Hesawthegreenlawnstretching

away, the faraway light of the city a faint glow in the distance.He narrowed his eyes.Therewassomethingwrongaboutthecitylight,something…off.Itwasdimmerthanherememberedit—andthereweremovingpointshereandthereinthedarkness,likeneedlesoffire,weavingthroughthestreets.Apalecloudroseabovethetowers,andtheairwasfullofthestenchofsmoke.

“Samuel.”Simoncouldhearthealarminhisownvoice.“There’ssomethingwrong.”

Hehearddoorsslammingopenandrunningfeet.Hoarsevoicesshouted.Simonpressedhis faceclose to thebarsaspairsofbootshurtledbyoutside,kickingupstonesas theyran, theShadowhunterscalling tooneanotheras they racedaway from theGard,downtowardthecity.

“Thewardsaredown!Thewardsaredown!”

“Wecan’tabandontheGard!”

“TheGarddoesn’tmatter!Ourchildrenaredownthere!”

Theirvoiceswerealreadygrowingfainter.Simonjerkedbackfromthewindow,gasping.“Samuel!Thewards—”

“I know. I heard.” Samuel’s voice came strongly through the wall. He didn’t soundfrightened but resigned, and even perhaps a little triumphant at being proved right.“ValentinehasattackedwhiletheClaveisinsession.Clever.”

“ButtheGard—it’sfortified—whydon’ttheystayuphere?”

“Youheardthem.Becauseall thechildrenareinthecity.Children—agedparents—theycan’tjustleavethemdownthere.”

TheLightwoods.SimonthoughtofJace,andthen,withterribleclarity,ofIsabelle’ssmall,palefaceunderhercrownofdarkhair,ofherdeterminationinafight,ofthelittle-girlXsandOsonthenoteshe’dwrittenhim.“Butyoutoldthem—youtoldtheClavewhatwouldhappen.Whydidn’ttheybelieveyou?”

“Becausethewardsaretheirreligion.Nottobelieveinthepowerofthewardsisnottobelieve that they are special, chosen, and protected by the Angel. They might as wellbelievethey’rejustordinarymundanes.”

Simonswungbacktostareoutthewindowagain,butthesmokehadthickened,fillingtheairwithagrayishpallor.Hecouldnolongerhearvoicesshoutingoutside;therewerecriesinthedistance,buttheywereveryfaint.“Ithinkthecityisonfire.”

“No.” Samuel’s voice was very quiet. “I think it’s the Gard that’s burning. Probablydemonfire.ValentinewouldgoaftertheGard,ifhecould.”

“But—”Simon’swords stumbledoveroneanother. “But someonewill comeand letus

out,won’tthey?TheConsul,or—orAldertree.Theycan’tjustleaveusdownheretodie.”

“You’re aDownworlder,” said Samuel. “And I’m a traitor.Do you really think they’relikelytodoanythingelse?”

“Isabelle!Isabelle!”

Alechadhishandsonhershouldersandwasshakingher.Isabelleraisedherheadslowly;herbrother’swhitefacefloatedagainstthedarknessbehindhim.Acurvedpieceofwoodstuckupbehindhisrightshoulder:Hehadhisbowstrappedacrosshisback,thesamebowthat Simon had used to kill Greater Demon Abbadon. She couldn’t remember Alecwalking towardher, couldn’t remember seeinghim in the street at all; itwas as if he’dmaterializedinfrontofherallatonce,likeaghost.

“Alec.”Hervoicecameoutslowanduneven.“Alec,stopit.I’mallright.”

Shepulledawayfromhim.

“Youdidn’tlookallright.”Alecglancedupandcursedunderhisbreath.“Wehavetogetoffthestreet.Where’sAline?”

Isabelleblinked.Therewerenodemonsinview;someonewassittingonthefrontstepsofthehouseoppositethemandcryinginaloudandgratingseriesofshrieks.Theoldman’sbodywasstillinthestreet,andthesmellofdemonswaseverywhere.“Aline—oneofthedemonstriedto—ittriedto—”Shecaughtherbreath,heldit.ShewasIsabelleLightwood.Shedidnotgethysterical,nomatterwhattheprovocation.“Wekilledit,butthensheranoff.Itriedtofollowher,butshewastoofast.”Shelookedupatherbrother.“Demonsinthecity,”shesaid.“Howisitpossible?”

“Idon’tknow.”Alecshookhishead.“Thewardsmustbedown.TherewerefourorfiveOnidemonsoutherewhenIcameoutofthehouse.Igotonelurkingbythebushes.Theothersranoff,buttheycouldcomeback.Comeon.Let’sgetbacktothehouse.”

Thepersononthestairswasstillsobbing.Thesoundfollowedthemastheyhurriedbackto the Penhallows’ house. The street stayed empty of demons, but they could hearexplosions,cries,andrunningfeetechoingfromtheshadowsofotherdarkenedstreets.AstheyclimbedthePenhallows’frontsteps,Isabelleglancedbackjustintimetoseealongsnaking tentacle whip out from the darkness between the two houses and snatch thesobbingwomanoffthefrontsteps.Hersobsturnedtoshrieks.Isabelletriedtoturnback,butAlechadalreadygrabbedherandshovedheraheadofhimintothehouse,slammingandlockingthefrontdoorbehindthem.Thehousewasdark.“Idousedthelights.Ididn’twanttoattractanymoreofthem,”Alecexplained,pushingIsabelleaheadofhimintothelivingroom.

Maxwassittingonthefloorbythestairs,hisarmshugginghisknees.Sebastianwasby

thewindow,nailinglogsofwoodhe’dtakenfromthefireplaceacrossthegapingholeintheglass.“There,”hesaid,standingbackandlettingthehammerdropontothebookshelf.“Thatshouldholdforawhile.”

IsabelledroppeddownbyMaxandstrokedhishair.“Areyouallright?”

“No.”Hiseyeswerehugeandscared.“I triedtoseeout thewindow,butSebastiantoldmetogetdown.”

“Sebastianwasright,”Alecsaid.“Thereweredemonsoutinthestreet.”

“Aretheystillthere?”

“No,but therearesomestill inthecity.Wehavetothinkaboutwhatwe’regoingtodonext.”

Sebastianwasfrowning.“Where’sAline?”

“Sheranoff,”Isabelleexplained.“Itwasmyfault.Ishouldhavebeen—”

“Itwasnotyourfault.Withoutyoushe’dbedead.”Alecspokeinaclippedvoice.“Look,wedon’thavetimeforself-recriminations.I’mgoingtogoafterAline.Iwantyouthreetostayhere.Isabelle,lookafterMax.Sebastian,finishsecuringthehouse.”

Isabelle spoke up indignantly. “I don’t want you going out there alone! Takeme withyou.”

“I’mtheadulthere.WhatIsaygoes.”Alec’s tonewaseven.“There’severychanceourparentswillbecomingbackanyminutefromtheGard.Themoreofushere, thebetter.It’llbetooeasyforustogetseparatedoutthere.I’mnotriskingit,Isabelle.”HisglancemovedtoSebastian.“Doyouunderstand?”

Sebastianhadalreadytakenouthisstele.“I’llworkonwardingthehousewithMarks.”

“Thanks.”Alecwasalreadyhalfway to thedoor;he turnedand lookedbackat Isabelle.Shemethiseyesforasplitsecond.Thenhewasgone.

“Isabelle.”ItwasMax,hissmallvoicelow.“Yourwristisbleeding.”

Isabelleglanceddown.Shehadnomemoryofhavinghurtherwrist,butMaxwasright:Bloodhadalreadystainedthesleeveofherwhitejacket.Shegottoherfeet.“I’mgoingtogetmystele.I’llberightbackandhelpyouwiththerunes,Sebastian.”

Henodded.“Icouldusesomehelp.Thesearen’tmyspecialty.”

Isabellewentupstairswithout askinghimwhathis specialtymight actuallybe.She feltbone-tired,indireneedofanenergyMark.Shecoulddooneherselfifnecessary,thoughAlecandJacehadalwaysbeenbetteratthosesortsofrunesthanshewas.

Once inside her room, she rummaged through her things for her stele and a few extraweapons.Assheshovedseraphbladesintothetopsofherboots,hermindwasonAlecandthelookthey’dsharedashe’dgoneoutthedoor.Itwasn’tthefirsttimeshe’dwatchedherbrotherleave,knowingshemightneverseehimagain.Itwassomethingsheaccepted,hadalways accepted, aspart ofher life; itwasn’tuntil she’dgotten toknowClary andSimon that she’d realized that formost people, of course, it was never like that. Theydidn’tlivewithdeathasaconstantcompanion,acoldbreathdownthebackoftheirneckoneventhemostordinarydays.She’dalwayshadsuchcontemptformundanes,thewayall Shadowhunters did—she’d believed that they were soft, stupid, sheeplike in theircomplacency.Nowshewonderedifallthathatreddidn’tjuststemfromthefactthatshewas jealous. Itmust be nice notworrying that every timeone of your familymemberswalkedoutthedoor,they’dnevercomeback.

Shewashalfwaydownthestairs,hersteleinhand,whenshesensedthatsomethingwaswrong.Thelivingroomwasempty.MaxandSebastianwerenowheretobeseen.Therewas a half-finished protectionMark on one of the logs Sebastian had nailed over thebrokenwindow.Thehammerhe’dusedwasgone.

Her stomach tightened. “Max!” she shouted, turning in a circle. “Sebastian!Where areyou?”

Sebastian’svoiceansweredherfromthekitchen.“Isabelle—inhere.”

Reliefwashedoverher, leavingherlight-headed.“Sebastian, that’snotfunny,”shesaid,marchingintothekitchen.“Ithoughtyouwere—”

Sheletthedoorfallshutbehindher.Itwasdarkinthekitchen,darkerthanithadbeeninthe living room. She strained her eyes to see Sebastian andMax and saw nothing butshadows.

“Sebastian?”Uncertainty crept into her voice. “Sebastian,what are you doing in here?Where’sMax?”

“Isabelle.”Shethoughtshesawsomethingmove,ashadowdarkagainstlightershadows.Hisvoicewassoft,kind,almostlovely.Shehadn’trealizedbeforenowwhatabeautifulvoicehehad.“Isabelle,I’msorry.”

“Sebastian,you’reactingweird.Stopit.”

“I’msorryit’syou,”hesaid.“See,outofallofthem,Ilikedyouthebest.”

“Sebastian—”

“Outofallofthem,”hesaidagain,inthesamelowvoice,“Ithoughtyouwerethemostlikeme.”

Hebroughthisfistdownthen,withthehammerinit.

Alecracedthroughthedarkandburningstreets,callingoutoverandoverforAline.Asheleft the Princewater district and entered the heart of the city, his pulse quickened. Thestreetswere likeaBoschpaintingcome to life: fullofgrotesqueandmacabrecreaturesand scenes of sudden, hideous violence. Panicked strangers shovedAlec asidewithoutlookingandranscreamingpastwithoutanyapparentdestination.Theairstankofsmokeanddemons.Someofthehouseswereinflames;othershadtheirwindowsknockedout.Thecobblestonessparkledwithbrokenglass.Ashedrewclose toonebuilding,hesawthatwhathe’d thoughtwasadiscoloredpatchofpaintwasahugeswathoffreshbloodsplatteredacrosstheplaster.Hespuninplace,glancingineverydirection,butsawnothingthatexplainedit;nevertheless,hehurriedawayasquicklyashecould.

Alec, alone of all the Lightwood children, remembered Alicante. He’d been a toddlerwhenthey’dleft,yethestillcarriedrecollectionsoftheshimmeringtowers,thestreetsfullofsnowinwinter,chainsofwitchlightwreathingtheshopsandhouses,watersplashinginthemermaidfountainintheHall.HehadalwaysfeltanoddtugathisheartatthethoughtofAlicante,thehalf-painfulhopethathisfamilywouldreturnonedaytotheplacewheretheybelonged.Toseethecitylikethiswaslikethedeathofalljoy.Turningontoawiderboulevard,oneofthestreets that leddowntotheAccordsHall,hesawapackofBelialdemons ducking through an archway, hissing and howling. They dragged somethingbehindthem—somethingthattwitchedandspasmedasitslidoverthecobbledstreet.Hedarteddownthestreet,butthedemonswerealreadygone.Crumpledagainstthebaseofapillar was a limp shape leaking a spidery trail of blood. Broken glass crunched likepebblesunderAlec’sbootsasheknelttoturnthebodyover.Afterasingleglanceatthepurple,distortedface,heshudderedanddrewaway,gratefulthatitwasnooneheknew.

Anoisemadehimscrambletohisfeet.Hesmelledthestenchbeforehesawit:theshadowof something humped and huge slithering toward him from the far end of the street.AGreaterDemon?Alecdidn’twaittofindout.Hedartedacrossthestreettowardoneofthetaller houses, leaping up onto a sill whose window glass had been smashed in. A fewminuteslaterhewaspullinghimselfontotheroof,hishandsaching,hiskneesscraped.Hegottohisfeet,brushinggritfromhishands,andlookedoutoverAlicante.

Theruineddemontowerscast theirdull,deadlightdownontothemovingstreetsofthecity,where things loped and crawled and slunk in the shadows between buildings, likeroachesskitteringthroughadarkapartment.Theaircarriedcriesandshouts,thesoundofscreaming,namescalledonthewind—andtherewerethecriesofdemonsaswell,howlsofmayhemanddelight,shrieks thatpierced thehumanear likepain.Smokeroseabovethe honey-colored stone houses in a haze,wreathing the spires of theHall ofAccords.GlancinguptowardtheGard,AlecsawafloodofShadowhuntersracingdownthepathfromthehill,illuminatedbythewitchlightstheycarried.TheClavewerecomingdowntobattle.

Hemovedtotheedgeoftheroof.Thebuildingsherewereveryclosetogether,theireavesalmosttouching.Itwaseasytojumpfromthisrooftothenext,andthentotheoneafter

that. He found himself running lightly along the rooftops, jumping the slight distancesbetweenhouses.Itwasgoodtohavethecoldwindinhisface,overpoweringthestenchofdemons.

He’dbeenrunningforafewminutesbeforeherealizedtwothings:One,hewasrunningtowardthewhitespiresoftheAccordsHall.Andtwo,therewassomethingupahead,inasquarebetweentwoalleys,somethingthatlookedlikeashowerofrisingsparks—exceptthattheywereblue,adarkgas-flameblue.Alechadseenbluesparkslikethatbefore.Hestaredforamomentbeforehebegantorun.

Theroofclosesttothesquarewassteeplypitched.Alecskiddeddownthesideofit,hisbootsknockingagainstlooseshingles.Poisedprecariouslyattheedge,helookeddown.

CisternSquarewasbelowhim,andhisviewwaspartlyblockedbyamassivemetalpolethatjuttedoutmidwaydownthefaceofthebuildinghewasstandingon.Awoodenshopsigndangledfromit,swayinginthebreeze.ThesquarebeneathwasfullofIblisdemons—human-shapedbutformedofasubstancelikecoilingblacksmoke,eachwithapairofburningyellow eyes.Theyhad formed a line andweremoving slowly toward the lonefigureofamaninasweepinggraycoat,forcinghimtoretreatagainstawall.Aleccouldonlystare.Everythingabout themanwasfamiliar—the leancurveofhisback, thewildtangleofhisdarkhair,andthewaythatbluefiresprangfromhisfingertips likedartingcyanoticfireflies.

Magnus.ThewarlockwashurlingspearsofbluefireattheIblisdemons;onespearstruckanadvancingdemoninthechest.Withasoundlikeapailofwaterpouredontoflames,itshudderedandvanishedinaburstofash.Theothersmovedtofillhisplace—Iblisdemonsweren’tverybright—andMagnushurledanotherspateoffieryspears.SeveralIblisfell,but nowanotherdemon,more cunning than theothers, haddriftedaroundMagnusandwascoalescingbehindhim,readytostrike—

Alecdidn’tstoptothink.Insteadhejumped,catchingtheedgeoftheroofashefell,andthendroppedstraightdown toseize themetalpoleandswinghimselfupandaround it,slowinghis fall.He released it and dropped lightly to the ground.The demon, startled,begantoturn,itsyelloweyeslikeflamingjewels;AlechadtimeonlytoreflectthatifhewereJace,hewouldhavehadsomethingclevertosaybeforehesnatchedtheseraphbladefromhisbeltandranitthroughthedemon.Withadustyshriekthedemonvanished,theviolenceofitsexitfromthisdimensionsplatteringAlecwithafinerainofash.

“Alec?”Magnuswasstaringathim.HehaddispatchedtheremainingIblisdemons,andthesquarewasemptybutforthetwoofthem.“Didyoujust—didyoujustsavemylife?”

Alecknewheoughttosaysomethinglike,Ofcourse,becauseI’maShadowhunterandthat’swhatwedo,orThat’smyjob.Jacewouldhavesaidsomethinglikethat.Jacealwaysknewthe right thing tosay.But thewords thatactuallycameoutofAlec’smouthwerequitedifferent—andsoundedpetulant,eventohisownears.“Younevercalledmeback,”hesaid.“Icalledyousomanytimesandyounevercalledmeback.”

MagnuslookedatAlecasifhe’dlosthismind.“Yourcityisunderattack,”hesaid.“Thewards have broken, and the streets are full of demons. And you want to know why Ihaven’tcalledyou?”

Alecsethisjawinastubbornline.“Iwanttoknowwhyyouhaven’tcalledmeback.”

Magnusthrewhishandsupintheairinagestureofutterexasperation.Alecnotedwithinterestthatwhenhedidit,afewsparksescapedfromhisfingertips,likefirefliesescapingfromajar.“You’reanidiot.”

“Isthatwhyyoudidn’tcallme?BecauseI’manidiot?”

“No.”Magnusstrodetowardhim.“Ididn’tcallyoubecauseI’mtiredofyouonlywantingmearoundwhenyouneedsomething.I’mtiredofwatchingyoubeinlovewithsomeoneelse—someone,incidentally,whowillneverloveyouback.NotthewayIdo.”

“Youloveme?”

“YoustupidNephilim,”Magnussaidpatiently.“WhyelseamIhere?WhyelsewouldIhavespent thepastfewweekspatchingupallyourmoronicfriendseverytimetheygothurt? And getting you out of every ridiculous situation you found yourself in? Not tomentionhelpingyouwinabattleagainstValentine.Andallcompletelyfreeofcharge!”

“Ihadn’tlookedatitthatway,”Alecadmitted.

“Ofcoursenot.Youneverlookedatitinanyway.”Magnus’scateyesshonewithanger.“I’m sevenhundredyears old,Alexander. I knowwhen something isn’t going towork.Youwon’tevenadmitIexisttoyourparents.”

Alecstaredathim.“You’resevenhundredyearsold?”

“Well,”Magnusamended,“eighthundred.ButIdon’tlookit.Anyway,you’remissingthepoint.Thepointis—”

ButAlecneverfoundoutwhatthepointwasbecauseatthatmomentadozenmoreIblisdemonsfloodedintothesquare.Hefelthisjawdrop.“Damnit.”

Magnusfollowedhisgaze.Thedemonswerealreadyfanningoutintoahalfcirclearoundthem,theiryelloweyesglowing.“Waytochangethesubject,Lightwood.”

“Tell youwhat.”Alec reached for a second seraph blade. “We live through this, and IpromiseI’llintroduceyoutomywholefamily.”

Magnusraisedhishands,hisfingersshiningwithindividualazureflames.Theylithisgrinwithafieryblueglow.“It’sadeal.”

11

ALLTHEHOSTOFHELL

“Valentine,”Jacebreathed.Hisfacewaswhiteashestareddownatthecity.Throughthe layersof smoke,Clary thought she could almostglimpse thenarrowwarrenof citystreets, chokedwith running figures, tinyblackantsdartingdesperately toand fro—butshelookedagainandtherewasnothing,nothingbutthethickcloudsofblackvaporandthestenchofflameandsmoke.

“You thinkValentinedid this?”The smokewasbitter inClary’s throat. “It looks like afire.Maybeitstartedonitsown—”

“TheNorthGate isopen.”Jacepointed towardsomethingClarycouldbarelymakeout,giventhedistanceandthedistortingsmoke.“It’sneverleftopen.Andthedemontowershave lost their light.Thewardsmust be down.”Hedrew a seraph blade fromhis belt,clutchingitsotightlyhisknucklesturnedthecolorofivory.“Ihavetogetoverthere.”

AknotofdreadtightenedClary’sthroat.“Simon—”

“They’llhaveevacuatedhimfromtheGard.Don’tworry,Clary.He’sprobablybetteroffthan most down there. The demons aren’t likely to bother him. They tend to leaveDownworldersalone.”

“I’msorry,”Clarywhispered.“TheLightwoods—Alec—Isabelle—”

“Jahoel,”Jacesaid,andtheangelbladeflaredup,brightasdaylightinhisbandagedlefthand.“Clary,Iwantyoutostayhere.I’llcomebackforyou.”Theangerthathadbeeninhiseyessincethey’dleftthemanorhadevaporated.Hewasallsoldiernow.

Sheshookherhead.“No.Iwanttogowithyou.”

“Clary—”Hebrokeoff,stiffeningallover.AmomentlaterClaryheardittoo—aheavy,rhythmicpounding,andlaidoverthat,asoundlikethecracklingofanenormousbonfire.IttookClaryseverallongmomentstodeconstructthesoundinhermind,tobreakitdownasonemightbreakdownapieceofmusicintoitscomponentnotes.“It’s—”

“Werewolves.” Jacewas staring past her. Following his gaze, she saw them, streamingoverthenearesthilllikeaspreadingshadow,illuminatedhereandtherewithfiercebrighteyes.Apackofwolves—morethanapack;theremusthavebeenhundredsofthem,evenathousand.Theirbarkingandbayinghadbeenthesoundshe’dthoughtwasafire,anditroseupintothenight,brittleandharsh.

Clary’sstomachturnedover.Sheknewwerewolves.Shehadfoughtbesidewerewolves.ButthesewerenotLuke’swolves,notwolveswho’dbeeninstructedtolookafterherandnot to harm her. She thought of the terrible killing power of Luke’s packwhen it wasunleashed,andsuddenlyshewasafraid.

BesideherJacesworeonce,fiercely.Therewasnotimetoreachforanotherweapon;hepulledhertightlyagainsthim,hisfreearmwrappedaroundher,andwithhisotherhandheraisedJahoelhighovertheirheads.Thelightofthebladewasblinding.Clarygrittedherteeth—

Andthewolveswereonthem.Itwaslikeawavecrashing—asuddenblastofdeafeningnoise,andarushofairas thefirstwolves in thepackbrokeforwardand leaped—therewereburningeyesandgapingjaws—JacedughisfingersintoClary’sside—

Andthewolvessailedbyoneithersideofthem,clearingthespacewheretheystoodbyagoodtwofeet.Clarywhippedherheadaroundindisbeliefastwowolves—onesleekandbrindled,theotherhugeandsteelygray—hitthegroundsoftlybehindthem,paused,andkept running,withoutevenabackwardglance.Therewerewolvesallaround them,andyet not a single wolf touched them. They raced past, a flood of shadows, their coatsreflectingmoonlightinflashesofsilversothattheyalmostseemedtobeasingle,movingriver of shapes thundering toward Jace and Clary—and then parting around them likewateraroundastone.ThetwoShadowhuntersmightaswellhavebeenstatuesforalltheattentionthelycanthropespaidthemastheyhurtledby,theirjawsgaping,theireyesfixedontheroadaheadofthem.

Andthentheyweregone.Jaceturnedtowatchthelastofthewolvespassbyandracetocatchupwithitscompanions.Therewassilenceagainnow,onlytheveryfaintsoundsofthecityinthedistance.

JaceletgoofClary,loweringJahoelashedidso.“Areyouallright?”

“Whathappened?”shewhispered.“Thosewerewolves—theyjustwentrightbyus—”

“They’regoingtothecity.ToAlicante.”Hetookasecondseraphbladefromhisbeltandhelditouttoher.“You’llneedthis.”

“You’renotleavingmehere,then?”

“Nopoint.It’snotsafeanywhere.But—”Hehesitated.“You’llbecareful?”

“I’llbecareful,”Clarysaid.“Whatdowedonow?”

JacelookeddownatAlicante,burningbelowthem.“Nowwerun.”

ItwasnevereasytokeepupwithJace,andnow,whenhewasrunningnearlyflatout,itwasalmostimpossible.Clarysensedthathewasinfactrestraininghimself,cuttingbackhisspeedtolethercatchup,andthatitcosthimsomethingtodoit.

Theroadflattenedoutatthebaseofthehillandcurvedthroughastandofhigh,thicklybranchedtrees,creatingtheillusionofatunnel.WhenClarycameouttheotherside,shefound herself standing before the North Gate. Through the arch Clary could see aconfusionofsmokeandleapingflames.Jacestoodinthegateway,waitingforher.HewasholdingJahoelinonehandandanotherseraphbladeintheother,buteventheircombinedlightwaslostagainstthegreaterbrightnessoftheburningcitybehindhim.

“Theguards,”shepanted,racinguptohim.“Whyaren’ttheyhere?”

“Atleastoneofthemisoverinthatstandoftrees.”Jacejerkedhischininthedirectionthey’dcomefrom.“Inpieces.No,don’t look.”Heglanceddown.“You’reholdingyourseraphbladewrong.Holditlikethis.”Heshowedher.“Andyouneedtonameit.Cassielwouldbeagoodone.”

“Cassiel,”Claryrepeated,andthelightofthebladeflaredup.

Jace looked at her soberly. “Iwish I’d had time to train you for this.Of course, by allrights,noonewithaslittletrainingasyoushouldbeabletouseaseraphbladeatall.Itsurprisedmebefore,butnowthatweknowwhatValentinedid—”

ClaryverymuchdidnotwanttotalkaboutwhatValentinehaddone.“Ormaybeyouwerejustworriedthatifyoudidtrainmeproperly,I’dturnouttobebetterthanyou,”shesaid.

Theghostofasmiletouchedthecornerofhismouth.“Whateverhappens,Clary,”hesaid,lookingatherthroughJahoel’slight,“staywithme.Youunderstand?”Heheldhergaze,hiseyesdemandingapromisefromher.

ForsomereasonthememoryofkissinghiminthegrassattheWaylandmanorroseupinher mind. It seemed like a million years ago. Like something that had happened tosomeoneelse.“I’llstaywithyou.”

“Good.”Helookedaway,releasingher.“Let’sgo.”

Theymovedslowlythroughthegate,sidebyside.Astheyenteredthecity,shebecameawareof thenoiseofbattleas if for the first time—awallof soundmadeupofhumanscreams and nonhuman howls, the sounds of smashing glass and the crackle of fire. Itmadethebloodsinginherears.

Thecourtyardjustpastthegatewasempty.Therewerehuddledshapesscatteredhereandthereonthecobblestones;Clarytriednottolookatthemtoohard.Shewonderedhowitwas that you could tell someone was dead even from a distance, without looking tooclosely.Deadbodiesdidn’tresembleunconsciousones;itwasasifyoucouldsensethatsomethinghadfledfromthem,thatsomeessentialsparkwasnowmissing.

Jace hurried them across the courtyard—Clary could tell he didn’t like the open,unprotected spacemuch—and down one of the streets that led off it. There wasmorewreckage here. Shopwindows had been smashed and their contents looted and strewnaroundthestreet.Therewasasmellintheairtoo—arancid,thick,garbagesmell.Claryknewthatsmell.Itmeantdemons.

“Thisway,”Jacehissed.Theyduckeddownanother,narrowerstreet.Afirewasburninginanupperfloorofoneofthehousesliningtheroad,thoughneitherofthebuildingsoneithersideofitseemedtohavebeentouched.Clarywasoddlyremindedofphotosshe’dseenoftheBlitzinLondon,wheredestructionhadraineddownhaphazardlyfromthesky.

Lookingup, she saw that the fortress above the citywaswreathed in a funnel of blacksmoke.“TheGard.”

“I toldyou, they’llhaveevacuated—”Jacebrokeoffas theycameout fromthenarrowstreet into a larger thoroughfare. There were bodies in the road here, several of them.Some were small bodies. Children. Jace ran forward, Clary following more hesitantly.Therewerethree,shesawastheygotcloser—noneofthem,shethoughtwithguiltyrelief,oldenoughtobeMax.Besidethemwasthecorpseofanolderman,hisarmsstillthrownwideasifhe’dbeenprotectingthechildrenwithhisownbody.

Jace’sexpressionwashard.“Clary—turnaround.Slowly.”

Clary turned. Just behind herwas a broken shopwindow.There had been cakes in thedisplayatsomepoint—atowerof themcovered inbright icing.Theywerescatteredonthegroundnowamongthesmashedglass,andtherewasbloodonthecobblestonestoo,mixingwith the icing in longpinkish streaks.But thatwasn’twhathadput thenoteofwarning into Jace’s voice. Something was crawling out of the window—somethingformlessandhugeandslimy.Somethingequippedwithadoublerowofteethrunningthelengthofitsoblongbody,whichwassmearedwithicinganddustedwithbrokenglasslikealayerofglitteringsugar.

Thedemonfloppeddownoutof thewindowonto thecobblestonesandbegan toslithertowardthem.Somethingaboutitsoozing,bonelessmotionmadebileriseupinthebackofClary’sthroat.Shebackedup,almostknockingintoJace.

“It’saBehemothdemon,”hesaid,staringat theslitheringthinginfrontofthem.“Theyeateverything.”

“Dotheyeat…?”

“People?Yes,”Jacesaid.“Getbehindme.”

She took a few steps back to stand behind him, her eyes on theBehemoth. Therewassomethingaboutitthatrepulsedherevenmorethanthedemonsshe’dencounteredbefore.It looked likeablindslugwith teeth,and theway itoozed…Butat least itdidn’tmovefast.Jaceshouldn’thavemuchtroublekillingit.

As if spurred on by her thought, Jace darted forward, slashing down with his blazingseraph blade. It sank into the Behemoth’s back with a sound like overripe fruit beingsteppedon.Thedemonseemedtospasm,thenshudderandreform,suddenlyseveralfeetawayfromwhereithadbeenbefore.

JacedrewJahoelback.“Iwasafraidofthat,”hemuttered.“It’sonlysemi-corporeal.Hardtokill.”

“Thendon’t.”Clarytuggedathissleeve.“Atleast itdoesn’tmovefast.Let’sgetoutofhere.”

Jace let her pull him back reluctantly. They turned to run in the direction they’d comefrom—

Andthedemonwasthereagain, infrontof them,blockingthestreet. Itseemedtohavegrownbigger,andalownoisewascomingfromit,asortofangryinsectilechittering.

“Idon’tthinkitwantsustoleave,”Jacesaid.

“Jace—”

But hewas already running at the thing, sweeping Jahoel down in a long arcmeant todecapitate,butthethingjustshudderedagainandreformed,thistimebehindhim.Itrearedup,showingaridgedundersidelikeacockroach’s.JacewhirledandbroughtJahoeldown,slicingintothecreature’smidsection.Greenfluid,thickasmucus,spurtedovertheblade.

Jacesteppedback,hisfacetwistingindisgust.TheBehemothwasstillmakingthesamechitteringnoise.Morefluidwasspurtingfromit,but itdidn’tseemhurt. Itwasmovingforwardpurposefully.

“Jace!”Clarycalled.“Yourblade—”

He looked down. The Behemoth demon’smucus had coated Jahoel’s blade, dulling itsflame.Ashestared,theseraphbladesplutteredandwentoutlikeafiredousedbysand.Hedroppedtheweaponwithacursebeforeanyofthedemon’sslimecouldtouchhim.

TheBehemothrearedbackagain,readytostrike.Jaceduckedback—andthenClarywasthere, darting between him and the demon, her seraph blade swinging. She jabbed thecreaturejustbelowitsrowofteeth,thebladesinkingintoitsmasswithawet,uglysound.

She jerkedback,gasping, as thedemonwent into another spasm. It seemed to take thecreatureacertainamountofenergytoreformeachtimeitwaswounded.Iftheycouldjustwounditenoughtimes—

SomethingmovedattheedgeofClary’svision.Aflickerofgrayandbrown,movingfast.They weren’t alone in the street. Jace turned, his eyes widening. “Clary!” he shouted.“Behindyou!”

Clarywhirled,Cassielblazing inhergrip, justas thewolf launched itselfather, its lipsdrawnbackinafiercesnarl,itsjawsgapingwide.

Jaceshoutedsomething;Clarydidn’tknowwhat,butshesawthewild lookinhiseyes,even as she threwherself sideways, out of the path of thewolf. It sailed by her, clawsoutstretched, body arced—and struck its target, the Behemoth, knocking it flat to thegroundbeforetearingatitwithbaredteeth.

Thedemonscreamed,orascloseasitcouldcometoscreaming—ahigh-pitchedwhiningsound,likeairbeingletoutofaballoon.Thewolfwasontopofit,pinningit,itsmuzzleburied deep in the demon’s slimy hide. The Behemoth shuddered and thrashed in adesperateefforttoreformandhealitsinjuries,butthewolfwasn’tgivingitachance.Itsclaws sunk deeply into demon flesh, the wolf tore chunks of jellylike flesh out of theBehemoth’sbodywithitsteeth,ignoringthespurtinggreenfluidthatfountainedaroundit.The Behemoth began a last, desperate series of convulsive spasms, its serrated jawsclacking together as it thrashed—and then itwas gone, only a viscous puddle of greenfluidsteamingonthecobblestoneswhereithadbeen.

Thewolfmade a noise—a sort of satisfied grunt—and turned to regard Jace andClarywitheyesturnedsilverbythemoonlight.Jacepulledanotherbladefromhisbeltandheldithigh,drawingafierylineontheairbetweenthemselvesandthewerewolf.

Thewolfsnarled,thehairrisingstifflyalongitsspine.

Clarycaughtathisarm.“No—don’t.”

“It’sawerewolf,Clary—”

“Itkilledthedemonforus!It’sonourside!”ShebrokeawayfromJacebeforehecouldholdherback,approachingthewolfslowly,herhandsout,palmsflat.Shespokeinalow,calmvoice: “I’m sorry.We’re sorry.Weknowyoudon’twant tohurt us.”Shepaused,handsstilloutstretched,asthewolfregardedherwithblankeyes.“Who—whoareyou?”sheasked.ShelookedbackoverhershoulderatJaceandfrowned.“Canyouputthatthingaway?”

Jace lookedas ifhewereabout to tellher innouncertain termsthatyoudidn’t justputawayaseraphbladethatwasblazinginthepresenceofdanger,butbeforehecouldsayanything,thewolfgaveanotherlowgrowlandbegantorise.Itslegselongated,itsspinestraightening, its jaw retracting. In a few seconds a girl stood in front of them—a girlwearing a stainedwhite shift dress, her curlinghair tied back inmultiple braids, a scarbandingherthroat.

“‘Whoareyou?’”thegirlmimickedindisgust.“Ican’tbelieveyoudidn’trecognizeme.It’snotlikeallwolveslookexactlyalike.Humans.”

Claryletoutabreathofrelief.“Maia!”

“It’sme. Saving your butts, as usual.” She grinned. Shewas spattered with blood andichor—it hadn’t been that visible against herwolf’s coat, but the black and red streaksstoodoutstartlinglyagainstherbrownskin.Sheputherhandagainstherstomach.“Andgross,bytheway.Ican’tbelieveImunchedallthatdemon.IhopeI’mnotallergic.”

“Butwhatareyoudoinghere?”Clarydemanded.“Imean,notthatwe’renotgladtoseeyou,but—”

“Don’t you know?”Maia looked from Jace to Clary in puzzlement. “Luke brought ushere.”

“Luke?”Clarystared.“Lukeis…here?”

Maianodded.“Hegot in touchwithhispack,andabunchofothers,everyonehecouldthinkof,andtoldusallwehadtocometoIdris.Weflewtotheborderandtraveledfromthere.Someoftheotherpacks,theyPortaledintotheforestandmetusthere.LukesaidtheNephilimweregoingtoneedourhelp….”Hervoice trailedoff.“Didyounotknowaboutthis?”

“No,”saidJace,“and Idoubt theClavedideither.They’renotbigon takinghelp fromDownworlders.”

Maiastraightenedup,hereyessparkingwithanger.“Ifithadn’tbeenforus,youallwouldhavebeenslaughtered.Therewasnooneprotectingthecitywhenwegothere—”

“Don’t,”Clarysaid,shootinganangrylookatJace.“I’mreally,reallygratefultoyouforsaving us,Maia, and Jace is too, even though he’s so stubborn that he’d rather jam aseraphbladethroughhiseyeballthansayso.Anddon’tsayyouhopehedoes,”sheaddedhastily, seeing the lookon theothergirl’s face, “because that’s reallynothelpful.RightnowweneedtogettotheLightwoods’house,andthenIhavetofindLuke—”

“TheLightwoods?Ithinkthey’reintheAccordsHall.That’swherewe’vebeenbringingeveryone.IsawAlecthere,atleast,”Maiasaid,“andthatwarlock,too,theonewiththespikyhair.Magnus.”

“IfAlec is there, theothersmustbe too.”The lookof reliefon Jace’s facemadeClary

wanttoputherhandonhisshoulder.Shedidn’t.“ClevertobringeveryonetotheHall;it’swarded.”Heslidtheglowingseraphbladeintohisbelt.“Comeon—let’sgo.”

ClaryrecognizedtheinsideoftheHallofAccordsthemomentsheenteredit.Itwastheplaceshehaddreamedabout,whereshehadbeendancingwithSimonandthenJace.

ThiswaswhereIwastryingtosendmyselfwhenIwentthroughthePortal,shethought,looking around at the pale white walls and the high ceiling with its enormous glassskylightthroughwhichshecouldseethenightsky.Theroom,thoughverylarge,seemedsomehow smaller anddingier than it had in her dream.Themermaid fountainwas stillthereinthecenteroftheroom,spurtingwater,butitlookedtarnished,andthestepsthatled up to itwere crowdedwith people,many sporting bandages.The spacewas full ofShadowhunters,peoplehurryinghereandthere,sometimesstoppingtopeerintothefacesofotherpassersbyasifhopingtofindafriendorarelative.Thefloorwasfilthywithdirt,trackedwithsmearedmudandblood.

WhatstruckClarymorethananythingelsewasthesilence.Ifthishadbeentheaftermathof some disaster in the mundane world, there would have been people shouting,screaming, calling out to one another. But the room was almost soundless. People satquietly, somewith theirheads in theirhands, somestaring intospace.Childrenhuddledclosetotheirparents,butnoneofthemwerecrying.

Shenoticedsomethingelse, too,as shemadeherway into the room,JaceandMaiaoneithersideofher.Therewasagroupofscruffy-lookingpeoplestandingbythefountainina raggedcircle.They stood somehowapart from the rest of the crowd, andwhenMaiacaughtsightofthemandsmiled,Claryrealizedwhy.

“Mypack!”Maiaexclaimed.Shedartedtowardthem,pausingonlytoglancebackoverhershoulderatClaryasshewent.“I’msureLuke’saroundheresomewhere,”shecalled,and vanished into the group,which closed around her. Clarywondered, for amoment,whatwouldhappenifshefollowedthewerewolfgirlintothecircle.WouldtheywelcomeherasLuke’sfriend,orjustbesuspiciousofherasanotherShadowhunter?

“Don’t,”Jacesaid,asifreadinghermind.“It’snotagood—”

ButClaryneverfoundoutwhat itwasn’t,because therewasacryof“Jace!”andAlecappeared,breathlessfrompushinghiswaythroughthecrowdtogettothem.Hisdarkhairwasamessandtherewasbloodonhisclothes,buthiseyeswerebrightwithamixtureofreliefandanger.HegrabbedJacebythefrontofhisjacket.“Whathappenedtoyou?”

Jacelookedaffronted.“Whathappenedtome?”

Alec shook him, not lightly. “You said youwere going for awalk!What kind ofwalktakessixhours?”

“Alongone?”Jacesuggested.

“Icouldkillyou,”Alecsaid,releasinghisgriponJace’sclothes.“I’mseriouslythinkingaboutit.”

“Thatwouldkindofdefeatthepoint,though,wouldn’tit?”saidJace.Heglancedaround.“Whereiseveryone?Isabelle,and—”

“IsabelleandMaxarebackatthePenhallows’,withSebastian,”saidAlec.“MomandDadareontheirwaytheretogetthem.AndAline’shere,withherparents,butshe’snottalkingmuch.Shehadaprettybad timewithaRezkordemondownbyoneof thecanals.ButIzzysavedher.”

“AndSimon?”Clarysaidanxiously.“HaveyouseenSimon?HeshouldhavecomedownwiththeothersfromtheGard.”

Alec shook his head. “No, I haven’t—but I haven’t seen the Inquisitor, either, or theConsul.He’dprobablybewithoneofthem.Maybetheystoppedsomewhereelse,or—”Hebrokeoff,asamurmurswepttheroom;Clarysawthegroupoflycanthropeslookup,alertasagroupofhuntingdogsscentinggame.Sheturned—

AndsawLuke,tiredandbloodstained,comingthroughthedoubledoorsoftheHall.

Sherantowardhim.Forgettinghowupsetshe’dbeenwhenhe’dleft,andforgettinghowangryhe’dbeenwithherforbringingthemhere,forgettingeverythingbuthowgladshewastoseehim.Helookedsurprisedforamomentasshebarreledtowardhim—thenhesmiled,andputhisarmsout,andpickedherupashehuggedher,thewayhe’ddonewhenshe’dbeenverysmall.Hesmelled likebloodandflannelandsmoke,andforamomentsheclosedhereyes,thinkingofthewayAlechadgrabbedontoJacethemomenthe’dseenhim in theHall, because thatwaswhat you didwith familywhen you’d beenworriedaboutthem,yougrabbedthemandheldontothemandtoldthemhowmuchthey’dpissedyouoff,anditwasokay,becausenomatterhowangryyougot,theystillbelongedtoyou.AndwhatshehadsaidtoValentinewastrue.Lukewasherfamily.

He set her back downon her feet,wincing a little as he did so. “Careful,” he said. “ACroucherdemongotmeintheshoulderdownbyMerryweatherBridge.”Heputhishandsonhershoulders,studyingherface.“Butyou’reallright,aren’tyou?”

“Well,thisisatouchingscene,”saidacoldvoice.“Isn’tit?”

Claryturned,Luke’shandstillonhershoulder.Behindherstoodatallmaninabluecloakthat swirled around his feet as hemoved toward them.His face under the hood of hiscloak was the face of a carved statue: high-cheekboned with eagle-sharp features andheavy-lidded eyes. “Lucian,” he said,without looking atClary. “Imight have expectedyou’dbetheonebehindthis—thisinvasion.”

“Invasion?” Luke echoed, and suddenly, therewas his pack of lyncanthropes, standingbehind him. They had moved into place so quickly and silently it was as if they’dappearedfromoutofnowhere.“We’renottheoneswhoinvadedyourcity,Consul.ThatwasValentine.We’rejusttryingtohelp.”

“TheClavedoesn’tneedhelp,” theConsulsnapped.“Not fromthe likesofyou.You’rebreaking the Law just by entering theGlass City, wards or nowards. Youmust knowthat.”

“I think it’s fairlyclear that theClavedoesneedhelp. Ifwehadn’tcomewhenwedid,manymoreofyouwouldnowbedead.”Lukeglancedaroundtheroom;severalgroupsofShadowhuntershadmovedtowardthem,drawntoseewhatwasgoingon.Someofthemmet Luke’s gaze head-on; others dropped their eyes, as if ashamed.But none of them,Clary thoughtwith a sudden surgeof surprise, looked angry. “I did it to prove a point,Malachi.”

Malachi’svoicewascold.“Andwhatpointmightthatbe?”

“Thatyouneedus,”Lukesaid.“TodefeatValentine,youneedourhelp.Notjustthehelpoflycanthropes,butofallDownworlders.”

“WhatcanDownworldersdoagainstValentine?”Malachiaskedscornfully.“Lucian,youknowbetterthanthat.Youwereoneofusonce.Wehavealwaysstoodaloneagainstallperilsandguardedtheworldfromevil.WewillmeetValentine’spowernowwithapowerofourown.TheDownworlderswoulddowelltostayoutofourway.WeareNephilim;wefightourownbattles.”

“That’snotpreciselytrue,isit?”saidavelvetyvoice.ItwasMagnusBane,wearingalongandglitteringcoat,multiplehoopsinhisears,andaroguishexpression.Claryhadnoideawhere he’d come from. “You lot have used the help of warlocks on more than oneoccasioninthepast,andpaidhandsomelyforittoo.”

Malachiscowled.“Idon’tremembertheClaveinvitingyouintotheGlassCity,MagnusBane.”

“Theydidn’t,”Magnussaid.“Yourwardsaredown.”

“Really?”theConsul’svoicedrippedsarcasm.“Ihadn’tnoticed.”

Magnuslookedconcerned.“That’sterrible.Someoneshouldhavetoldyou.”HeglancedatLuke.“Tellhimthewardsaredown.”

Luke looked exasperated. “Malachi, for God’s sake, the Downworlders are strong; wehavenumbers.Itoldyou,wecanhelp.”

TheConsul’svoicerose.“AndItoldyou,wedon’tneedorwantyourhelp!”

“Magnus,”Claryslippedsilentlytohissideandwhispered.Asmallcrowdhadgathered,watchingLukeand theConsul fight;shewasfairlysurenoonewaspayingattention toher.“Cometalktome.Whilethey’realltoobusysquabblingtonotice.”

Magnusgaveheraquickquestioning look,nodded,anddrewheraway,cutting throughthe crowd like a can opener. None of the assembled Shadowhunters or werewolvesseemedtowant tostandin thewayofasix-foot-tallwarlockwithcateyesandamanicgrin.Hehustledherintoaquietercorner.“Whatisit?”

“Igotthebook.”Clarydrewitfromthepocketofherbedraggledcoat, leavingsmearedfingerprintsontheivorycover.“IwenttoValentine’smanor.Itwasinthelibrarylikeyousaid.And—”Shebrokeoff,thinkingoftheimprisonedangel.“Nevermind.”SheofferedhimtheBookoftheWhite.“Here.Takeit.”

Magnuspluckedthebookfromhergraspwithalong-fingeredhand.Heflippedthroughthepages,his eyeswidening. “This is evenbetter than I’dheard itwas,”heannouncedgleefully.“Ican’twaittogetstartedonthesespells.”

“Magnus!” Clary’s sharp voice brought him back down to earth. “Mymom first. Youpromised.”

“AndIabidebymypromises.”Thewarlocknoddedgravely,buttherewassomethinginhiseyes,somethingClarydidn’tquitetrust.

“There’ssomethingelse,too,”sheadded,thinkingofSimon.“Beforeyougo—”

“Clary!”Avoicespoke,breathless,athershoulder.SheturnedinsurprisetoseeSebastianstanding beside her. He was wearing gear, and it looked right on him somehow, shethought, as if he were born to wear it. Where everyone else looked bloodstained anddisheveled,hewasunmarked—exceptforadoublelineofscratchesthatranthelengthofhis left cheek, as if something had clawed at himwith a taloned hand. “Iwasworriedaboutyou.IwentbyAmatis’shouseonthewayhere,butyouweren’tthere,andshesaidshehadn’tseenyou—”

“Well,I’mfine.”ClaryglancedfromSebastiantoMagnus,whowasholdingtheBookoftheWhite against his chest. Sebastian’s angular eyebrowswere raised. “Are you?Your

face—” She reached up to touch his injuries. The scratches were still oozing a traceamountofblood.

Sebastian shrugged, brushing her hand away gently. “A she-demon got me near thePenhallows’.I’mfine,though.What’sgoingon?”

“Nothing.IwasjusttalkingtoMa—Ragnor,”Clarysaidhastily,realizingwithasuddenhorrorthatSebastianhadnoideawhoMagnusactuallywas.

“Maragnor?”Sebastian archedhis eyebrows. “Okay, then.”Heglanced curiously at theBookoftheWhite.ClarywishedMagnuswouldputitaway—thewayhewasholdingit,itsgildedletteringwasclearlyvisible.“What’sthat?”

Magnus studied him for a moment, his cat eyes considering. “A spell book,” he saidfinally.“NothingthatwouldbeofinteresttoaShadowhunter.”

“Actually, my aunt collects spell books. Can I see?” Sebastian held his hand out, butbefore Magnus could refuse, Clary heard someone call her name, and Jace and Alecdescendedonthem,clearlynonetoopleasedtoseeSebastian.

“IthoughtItoldyoutostaywithMaxandIsabelle!”Alecsnappedathim.“Didyouleavethemalone?”

SlowlySebastian’seyesmovedfromMagnustoAlec.“Yourparentscamehome,justlikeyousaidtheywould.”Hisvoicewascold.“Theysentmeaheadtotellyoutheywereallright,andsoareIzzyandMax.They’reontheirway.”

“Well,” said Jace, his voice heavywith sarcasm, “thanks for passing on that news thesecondyougothere.”

“Ididn’tseeyouthesecondIgothere,”saidSebastian.“IsawClary.”

“Becauseyouwerelookingforher.”

“BecauseIneededtotalktoher.Alone.”HecaughtClary’seyesagain,andtheintensityinthemgaveherpause.ShewantedtotellhimnottolookatherlikethatwhenJacewasthere,but thatwouldsoundunreasonableandcrazy,andbesides,maybeheactuallyhadsomethingimportanttotellher.“Clary?”

Shenodded.“Allright.Justforasecond,”shesaid,andsawJace’sexpressionchange:Hedidn’tscowl,buthisfacewentverystill.“I’llberightback,”sheadded,butJacedidn’tlookather.HewaslookingatSebastian.

Sebastiantookherbythewristanddrewherawayfromtheothers,pullinghertowardthethickestpartof thecrowd.Sheglancedbackoverher shoulder.Theywereallwatchingher,evenMagnus.Shesawhimshakehisheadonce,veryslightly.

Shedugherheelsin.“Sebastian.Stop.Whatisit?Whatdoyouhavetotellme?”

He turned to faceher, still holdingherwrist. “I thoughtwe couldgooutside,” he said.“Talkinprivate—”

“No. I want to stay here,” she said, and heard her own voicewaver slightly, as if sheweren’t sure.But shewas sure. She yanked herwrist back, pulling it out of his grasp.“Whatisgoingonwithyou?”

“That book,” he said. “That Fell was holding—the Book of theWhite—do you knowwherehegotit?”

“That’swhatyouwantedtotalktomeabout?”

“It’sanextraordinarilypowerfulspellbook,”explainedSebastian.“Andone that—well,thatalotofpeoplehavebeenlookingforforalongtime.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “All right, Sebastian, look,” she said. “That’s notRagnorFell.That’sMagnusBane.”

“That’sMagnusBane?” Sebastian spun around and stared before turning back toClarywithanaccusatorylookinhiseyes.“Andyouknewallalong,right?YouknowBane.”

“Yes, and I’m sorry.But he didn’twantme to tell you.And hewas the only onewhocouldhelpmesavemymother.That’swhyIgavehimtheBookoftheWhite.There’saspellintherethatmighthelpher.”

SomethingflashedbehindSebastian’seyes,andClaryhadthesamefeelingshe’dhadafterhe’dkissedher:asuddenwrenchofwrongness,asifshe’dtakenastepforwardexpectingtofindsolidgroundunderherfeetandinsteadplungedintoemptyspace.Hishandshotoutandgrabbedherwrist.“Yougavethebook—theBookoftheWhite—toawarlock?AfilthyDownworlder?”

Clarywentverystill. “Ican’tbelieveyou just said that.”She lookeddownat theplacewhereSebastian’shandencircledherwrist.“Magnusismyfriend.”

Sebastianloosenedhisgriponherwrist,justafraction.“I’msorry,”hesaid.“Ishouldn’thavesaidthat.It’sjust—howwelldoyouknowMagnusBane?”

“BetterthanIknowyou,”Clarysaidcoldly.Sheglancedbacktowardtheplaceshe’dleftMagnusstandingwithJaceandAlec—andashockofsurprisewentthroughher.Magnuswas gone. Jace and Alec stood by themselves, watching her and Sebastian. She couldsensetheheatofJace’sdisapprovallikeanopenoven.

Sebastian followedhergaze,his eyesdarkening. “Well enough toknowwherehewentwithyourbook?”

“It’snotmybook. Igave it tohim,”Clarysnapped,but therewasacold feeling inherstomach, remembering that shadowed look in Magnus’s eyes. “And I don’t see what

businessitisofyours,either.Look,IappreciatethatyouofferedtohelpmefindRagnorFellyesterday,butyou’rereallyfreakingmeoutnow.I’mgoingbacktomyfriends.”

Shestartedtoturnaway,buthemovedtoblockher.“I’msorry.Ishouldn’thavesaidwhatIdid.It’sjust—there’smoretoallthisthanyouknow.”

“Sotellme.”

“Comeoutsidewithme.I’lltellyoueverything.”Histonewasanxious,worried.“Clary,please.”

Sheshookherhead.“Ihavetostayhere.IhavetowaitforSimon.”Itwaspartlytrue,andpartlyanexcuse.“Alectoldmethey’dbebringingtheprisonershere—”

Sebastianwas shakinghis head. “Clary, didn’t anyone tell you?They left the prisonersbehind.IheardMalachisayso.Thecitywasattacked,andtheyevacuatedtheGard,butthey didn’t get the prisoners out.Malachi said theywere both in leaguewithValentineanyway.Thattherewasnowaylettingthemoutwouldn’tbetoomuchofarisk.”

Clary’sheadseemedtobefulloffog;shefeltdizzy,andalittlesick.“Thatcan’tbetrue.”

“Itistrue,”Sebastiansaid.“Iswearitis.”HisgriponClary’swristtightenedagain,andsheswayedonherfeet.“Icantakeyouupthere.UptotheGard.Icanhelpyougethimout.Butyouhavetopromisemethatyou’ll—”

“Shedoesn’thavetopromiseyouanything,”Jacesaid.“Lethergo,Sebastian.”

Sebastian, startled, loosenedhis grip onClary’swrist. She pulled it free, turning to seeJace andAlec, both scowling. Jace’s handwas resting lightly on the hilt of the seraphbladeathiswaist.

“Clarycandowhatshewants,”Sebastiansaid.Hewasn’tscowling,buttherewasanodd,fixed lookabouthis face thatwas somehowworse. “And rightnowshewants to comewithmetosaveherfriend.Thefriendyougotthrowninprison.”

Alec blanched at that, but Jace only shook his head. “I don’t like you,” he saidthoughtfully.“Iknoweveryoneelselikesyou,Sebastian,butIdon’t.Maybeit’sthatyouworksohardtomakepeoplelikeyou.MaybeI’mjustacontrarybastard.ButIdon’tlikeyou,andIdon’tlikethewayyouweregrabbingatmysister.IfshewantstogouptotheGardandlookforSimon,fine.She’llgowithus.Notyou.”

Sebastian’s fixedexpressiondidn’t change. “I think that shouldbeher choice,”he said.“Don’tyou?”

TheybothlookedatClary.Shelookedpastthem,towardLuke,stillarguingwithMalachi.

“Iwanttogowithmybrother,”shesaid.

Something flickered behind Sebastian’s eyes—something that was there and gone tooquicklyforClarytoidentifyit,thoughshefeltachillatthebaseofherneck,asifacoldhandhadtouchedherthere.“Ofcourseyoudo,”hesaid,andsteppedaside.

ItwasAlecwhomoved first,pushingJaceaheadofhim,makinghimwalk.Theywerepartway to thedoorswhenshe realized thatherwristwashurting—stingingas if ithadbeenburned.Lookingdown,sheexpectedtoseeamarkonherwrist,whereSebastianhadgrippedher,but therewasnothing there.Justasmearofbloodonhersleevewhereshehad touched the cut on his face. Frowning, with her wrist still stinging, she drew hersleevedownandhurriedtocatchupwiththeothers.

12

DEPROFUNDIS

Simon’shandswereblackwithblood.

Hehad triedyanking thebarsoutof thewindowand thecelldoor,but touchinganyofthemforverylongsearedbleedingscoremarksintohispalms.Eventuallyhecollapsed,gasping, on the floor, and starednumbly at his hands as the injuries swiftlyhealed, thelesionsclosingupandtheblackenedskinflakingawaylikeinavideoonfast-forward.

Ontheothersideofthecellwall,Samuelwaspraying.“If,whenevilcomethuponus,asthe sword, judgment, or pestilence, or famine, we stand before this house, and in thypresence,andcryuntotheeinouraffliction,thenthouwilthearandhelp—”

Simonknewhecouldn’tpray.He’dtrieditbefore,andthenameofGodburnedhismouthandchokedhisthroat.Hewonderedwhyhecouldthinkthewordsbutnotsaythem.And

whyhecouldstandinthenoondaysunandnotdiebuthecouldn’tsayhislastprayers.

Smoke had begun to drift down the corridor like a purposeful ghost. He could smellburningandhearthecrackleoffirespreadingoutofcontrol,buthefeltoddlydetached,farfromeverything.Itwasstrangetobecomeavampire,tobepresentedwithwhatcouldonlybedescribedasaneternallife,andthentodieanywaywhenyouweresixteen.

“Simon!” The voice was faint, but his hearing caught it over the pop and crackle ofgrowing flames. The smoke in the corridor had presaged heat; the heat was here now,pressingagainsthimlikeanoppressivewall.“Simon!”

The voice was Clary’s. He would know it anywhere. He wondered if his mind wasconjuring it up now, a sensememoryofwhat he’dmost lovedduring life to carry himthroughtheprocessofdeath.

“Simon,youstupididiot!I’moverhere!Atthewindow!”

Simon jumped to his feet. He doubted his mind would conjure that up. Through thethickeningsmokehesawsomethingwhitemovingagainstthebarsofthewindow.Ashecamecloser, thewhiteobjectsevolved intohandsgripping thebars.He leapedonto thecot,yellingoverthesoundofthefire.“Clary?”

“Oh,thankGod.”Oneofthehandsreachedout,squeezedhisshoulder.“We’regoingtogetyououtofhere.”

“How?” Simon demanded, not unreasonably, but there was the sound of a scuffle andClary’s hands vanished, replaced a moment later by another pair. These were biggerhands,unquestionablymasculine,withscarredknucklesandthinpianist’sfingers.

“Hangon.”Jace’svoicewascalm,confident,foralltheworldasiftheywerechattingatapartyinsteadofthroughthebarsofarapidlyburningdungeon.“Youmightwanttostandback.”

Startled into obedience, Simon moved aside. Jace’s hands tightened on the bars, hisknuckleswhiteningalarmingly.Therewasagroaningcrack,andthesquareofbarsjerkedfreeofthestonethathelditandclatteredtothegroundbesidethebed.Stonedustraineddowninachokingwhitecloud.

Jace’s face appeared at the empty square of window. “Simon. ComeON.”He reacheddown.

Simon reachedupandcaught Jace’shands.He felthimselfhauledup, and thenhewasgrabbingattheedgeofthewindow,liftinghimselfthroughthenarrowsquarelikeasnakewrigglingthroughatunnel.Asecondlaterhewassprawledoutondampgrass,staringupatacircleofworriedfacesabovehis.Jace,Clary,andAlec.Theywerealllookingdownathiminconcern.

“Youlooklikecrap,vampire,”Jacesaid.“Whathappenedtoyourhands?”

Simonsatup.Theinjuriestohishandshadhealed,buttheywerestillblackwherehe’dgrabbedatthebarsofhiscell.Beforehecouldreply,Clarycaughthiminasudden,fiercehug.

“Simon,”shebreathed.“Ican’tbelieveit.Ididn’tevenknowyouwerehere.IthoughtyouwereinNewYorkuntillastnight—”

“Yeah,well,”Simonsaid,“Ididn’tknowyouwerehereeither.”HeglaredatJaceoverhershoulder.“Infact,IthinkIwasspecificallytoldthatyouweren’t.”

“Ineversaidthat,”Jacepointedout.“Ijustdidn’tcorrectyouwhenyouwere,youknow,wrong. Anyway, I just saved you from being burned to death, so I figure you’re notallowedtobemad.”

Burnedtodeath.SimonpulledawayfromClaryandstaredaround.Theywereinasquaregarden,surroundedontwosidesbythewallsofthefortressandontheothertwosidesbyaheavygrowthoftrees.Thetreeshadbeenclearedwhereagravelpathleddownthehilltothecity—itwaslinedwithwitchlighttorches,butonlyafewwereburning,theirlightdimanderratic.HelookedupattheGard.Seenfromthisangle,youcouldbarelyeventelltherewasafire—blacksmokestainedtheskyoverhead,andthelightinafewwindowsseemedunnaturallybright,butthestonewallshidtheirsecretwell.

“Samuel,”hesaid.“WehavetogetSamuelout.”

Clarylookedbaffled.“Who?”

“Iwasn’ttheonlypersondownthere.Samuel—hewasinthenextcell.”

“TheheapofragsIsawthroughthewindow?”Jacerecalled.

“Yeah.He’skindofweird,buthe’sagoodguy.Wecan’tleavehimdownthere.”Simonscrambledtohisfeet.“Samuel?Samuel!”

There was no answer. Simon ran to the low, barred window beside the one he’d justcrawledthrough.Throughthebarshecouldseeonlyswirlingsmoke.“Samuel!Areyouinthere?”

Something moved inside the smoke—something hunched and dark. Samuel’s voice,roughenedbysmoke,rosehoarsely.“Leavemealone!Goaway!”

“Samuel!You’lldiedownthere.”Simonyankedatthebars.Nothinghappened.

“No!Leavemealone!Iwanttostay!”

Simon lookeddesperately around to see Jacebesidehim. “Move,” Jace said, andwhenSimon leaned to the side, hekickedoutwith a booted foot. It connectedwith thebars,whichtorefreeviolentlyfromtheirmooringandtumbledintoSamuel’scell.Samuelgave

ahoarseshout.

“Samuel!Areyouallright?”AvisionofSamuelbeingbrainedbythefallingbarsroseupbeforeSimon’seyes.

Samuel’svoicerosetoascream.“GOAWAY!”

SimonlookedsidewaysatJace.“Ithinkhemeansit.”

Jace shookhisblondhead inexasperation. “Youhad tomakeacrazy jail friend,didn’tyou?Youcouldn’tjustcountceilingtilesortameapetmouselikenormalprisonersdo?”Without waiting for an answer, Jace got down on the ground and crawled through thewindow.

“Jace!”Clary yelped, and she andAlec hurried over, but Jacewas already through thewindow,droppingintothecellbelow.ClaryshotSimonanangrylook.“Howcouldyoulethimdothat?”

“Well,hecouldn’t leavethatguydowntheretodie,”Alecsaidunexpectedly, thoughhelookedalittleanxioushimself.“It’sJacewe’retalkingabouthere—”

Hebrokeoff as twohands rose upout of the smoke.Alec grabbedone andSimon theother, and together theyhauledSamuel like a limp sackof potatoes out of the cell anddepositedhimonthelawn.AmomentlaterSimonandClaryweregrabbingJace’shandsand pulling him out, though he was considerably less limp and swore when theyaccidentallybangedhisheadontheledge.Heshookthemoff,crawlingtherestofthewayontothegrasshimselfandthencollapsingontohisback.“Ouch,”hesaid,staringupatthesky.“IthinkIpulledsomething.”HesatupandglancedoveratSamuel.“Isheokay?”

Samuelsathunchedontheground,hishandssplayedoverhisface.Hewasrockingbackandforthsoundlessly.

“I think there’s something wrong with him,” said Alec. He reached down to touchSamuel’sshoulder.Samueljerkedaway,almosttopplingover.“Leavemealone,”hesaid,hisvoicecracking.“Please.Leavemealone,Alec.”

Alecwentstillallover.“Whatdidyousay?”

“He said to leave him alone,” saidSimon, butAlecwasn’t looking at him, didn’t evenappear tonoticehehadspoken.Hewas lookingat Jace—who, suddenlyverypale,hadalreadybeguntorisetohisfeet.

“Samuel,” Alec said. His tonewas strangely harsh. “Take your hands away from yourface.”

“No.”Samueltuckedhischindown,hisshouldersshaking.“No,please.No.”

“Alec!”Simonprotested.“Can’tyouseeheisn’twell?”

ClarycaughtatSimon’ssleeve.“Simon,there’ssomethingwrong.”

HereyeswereonJace—whenweren’tthey?—ashemovedtostaredownatthecrouchedfigureofSamuel.ThetipsofJace’sfingerswerebleedingwherehe’dscrapedthemonthewindowledge,andwhenhemovedtopushhishairbackfromhiseyes,theyleftbloodytracksacrosshischeek.Hedidn’tseemtonotice.Hiseyeswerewide,hismoutha flat,angryline.“Shadowhunter,”hesaid.Hisvoicewasdeathlyclear.“Showusyourface.”

Samuelhesitated,thendroppedhishands.Simonhadneverseenhisfacebefore,andhehadn’trealizedhowgauntSamuelwas,orhowoldhelooked.Hisfacewashalf-coveredbyathatchofthickgraybeard,theeyesswimmingindarkhollows,hischeeksgroovedwithlines.Butforallthat,hewasstill—somehow—strangelyfamiliar.

Alec’slipsmoved,butnosoundcameout.ItwasJacewhospoke.

“Hodge,”hesaid.

“Hodge?”Simonechoedinconfusion.”Butitcan’tbe.Hodgewas…andSamuel,hecan’tbe…”

“Well, that’sjustwhatHodgedoes,apparently,”Alecsaidbitterly.“Hemakesyouthinkhe’ssomeonehe’snot.”

“Buthesaid—,”Simonbegan.Clary’sgriptightenedonhissleeve,andthewordsdiedonhislips.TheexpressiononHodge’sfacewasenough.Notguilt,really,orevenhorroratbeingdiscovered,butaterriblegriefthatwashardtolookatforlong.

“Jace,”Hodgesaidveryquietly.“Alec…I’msosorry.”

Jacemovedthenthewayhemovedwhenhewasfighting,likesunlightacrosswater.HewasstandinginfrontofHodgewithaknifeout,thesharptipofitaimedathisoldtutor’sthroat.The reflectedglowof the fire slidoff theblade. “I don’twantyour apologies. IwantareasonwhyIshouldn’tkillyourightnow,righthere.”

“Jace.”Aleclookedalarmed.“Jace,wait.”

TherewasasuddenroaraspartoftheGardroofwentupinorangetonguesofflame.Heatshimmeredintheairandlitthenight.Clarycouldseeeverybladeofgrassontheground,everylineonHodge’sthinanddirtyface.

“No,” Jace said. His blank expression as he gazed down at Hodge reminded Clary ofanothermasklikeface.Valentine’s.“Youknewwhatmyfatherdidtome,didn’tyou?Youknewallhisdirtysecrets.”

Alecwas lookinguncomprehendingly fromJace tohisold tutor. “What areyou talking

about?What’sgoingon?”

Hodge’sfacecreased.“Jonathan…”

“You’vealwaysknown,andyouneversaidanything.AllthoseyearsintheInstitute,andyouneversaidanything.”

Hodge’smouthsagged.“I—Iwasn’tsure,”hewhispered.“Whenyouhaven’tseenachildsincehewasababy—Iwasn’tsurewhoyouwere,muchlesswhatyouwere.”

“Jace?”Alecwas looking fromhis best friend tohis tutor, his blue eyesdismayed, butneitherofthetwowaspayingattentiontoanythingbuttheother.Hodgelookedlikeamantrappedinatighteningvise,hishandsjerkingathissidesasifwithpain,hiseyesdarting.Clarythoughtoftheneatlydressedmaninhisbook-linedlibrarywhohadofferedherteaandkindlyadvice.Itseemedlikeathousandyearsago.

“Idon’tbelieveyou,”Jacesaid.“YouknewValentinewasn’tdead.Hemusthavetoldyou—”

“He told me nothing,” Hodge gasped. “When the Lightwoods informed me they weretakinginMichaelWayland’sson,Ihadn’theardawordfromValentinesincetheUprising.Ihadthoughthehadforgottenme.I’devenprayedhewasdead,butIneverknew.Andthen,thenightbeforeyouarrived,HugocamewithamessageformefromValentine.‘Theboy ismy son.’That’s all it said.”He took a ragged breath. “I had no ideawhether tobelievehim.I thoughtI’dknow—IthoughtI’dknow,just lookingatyou,but therewasnothing,nothing,tomakemesure.AndIthoughtthatthiswasatrickofValentine’s,butwhattrick?Whatwashetryingtodo?Youhadnoidea,thatwasclearenoughtome,butasforValentine’spurpose—”

“YoushouldhavetoldmewhatIwas,”Jacesaid,allinonebreath,asifthewordswerebeing punched out of him. “I could have done something about it, then.Killedmyself,maybe.”

Hodgeraisedhishead,lookingupatJacethroughhismatted,filthyhair.“Iwasn’tsure,”hesaidagain,halftohimself,“andinthetimesthatIwondered—Ithought,perhaps,thatupbringingmightmattermorethanblood—thatyoucouldbetaught—”

“Taughtwhat?Not tobeamonster?” Jace’svoice shook,but theknife inhishandwassteady.“Youshouldknowbetter.Hemadeacrawlingcowardoutofyou,didn’the?Andyouweren’tahelplesslittlekidwhenhedidit.Youcouldhavefoughtback.”

Hodge’s eyes fell. “I tried to domybest byyou,” he said, but even toClary’s ears hiswordssoundedweak.

“UntilValentinecameback,”Jacesaid,“andthenyoudideverythingheaskedofyou—yougavemetohimlikeIwasadogthathadbelongedtohimonce,thathe’daskedyoutolookafterforafewyears—”

“Andthenyouleft,”saidAlec.“Youleftusall.Didyoureallythinkyoucouldhidehere,inAlicante?”

“I didn’t come here to hide,” said Hodge, his voice lifeless. “I came here to stopValentine.”

“You can’t expect us to believe that.”Alec sounded angry again now. “You’ve alwaysbeenonValentine’sside.Youcouldhavechosentoturnyourbackonhim—”

“I could never have chosen that!” Hodge’s voice rose. “Your parents were given theirchance for anew life—Iwasnevergiven that! Iwas trapped in the Institute for fifteenyears—”

“TheInstitutewasourhome!”Alecsaid.“Wasitreallysobadlivingwithus—beingpartofourfamily?”

“Not becauseof you.”Hodge’s voicewas ragged. “I lovedyou children.But youwerechildren.Andnoplacethatyouareneverallowedtoleavecanbeahome.Iwentweekssometimeswithoutspeakingtoanotheradult.NootherShadowhunterwouldtrustme.Notevenyourparents truly likedme; theytoleratedmebecausetheyhadnochoice.Icouldnever marry. Never have children of my own. Never have a life. And eventually youchildrenwouldhavebeengrownandgone,andthenIwouldn’tevenhavehadthat.Ilivedinfear,asmuchasIlivedatall.”

“Youcan’tmakeusfeelsorryforyou,”Jacesaid.“Notafterwhatyoudid.Andwhatthehellwereyouafraidof, spendingallyour time in the library?Dustmites?Wewere theoneswhowentoutandfoughtdemons!”

“HewasafraidofValentine,”Simonsaid.“Don’tyougetit—”

Jaceshothimavenomouslook.“Shutup,vampire.Thisisn’tinanywayaboutyou.”

“NotValentineexactly,”Hodgesaid,lookingatSimonforalmostthefirsttimesincehe’dbeendraggedfromthecell.TherewassomethinginthatlookthatsurprisedClary—atiredalmost-affection. “MyownweaknesswhereValentinewas concerned. I knewhewouldreturnsomeday.Iknewhewouldmakeabidforpoweragain,abidtoruletheClave.AndIknewwhathecouldofferme.Freedomfrommycurse.Alife.Aplace in theworld. IcouldhavebeenaShadowhunteragain, inhisworld. Icouldneverbeoneagain in thisone.” Therewas a naked longing in his voice thatwas painful to hear. “And I knew Iwouldbetooweaktorefusehimifheofferedit.”

“Andlookatthelifeyougot,”Jacespat.“RottinginthecellsoftheGard.Wasitworthit,betrayingus?”

“Youknowtheanswertothat.”Hodgesoundedexhausted.“Valentinetookthecurseoffme.He’dswornhewould,andhedid.Ithoughthe’dbringmebacktotheCircle,orwhatremainedofit then.Hedidn’t.Evenhedidn’twantme.Iknewtherewouldbenoplace

forme in his newworld.And I knew I’d sold out everything I did have for a lie.”Helooked down at his clenched, filthy hands. “There was only one thing I had left—onechance tomake something other than an utter waste out ofmy life. After I heard thatValentinehadkilledtheSilentBrothers—thathehadtheMortalSword—IknewhewouldgoaftertheMortalGlassnext.IknewheneededallthreeoftheInstruments.AndIknewtheMortalGlasswashereinIdris.”

“Wait.”Alecheldupahand.“TheMortalGlass?Youmean,youknowwhereitis?Andwhohasit?”

“Noonehasit,”saidHodge.“NoonecouldowntheMortalGlass.NoNephilim,andnoDownworlder.”

“Youreallydidgocrazydown there,”Jacesaid, jerkinghischin toward theburned-outwindowsofthedungeons,“didn’tyou?”

“Jace.”ClarywaslookinganxiouslyupattheGard,itsroofcrownedwithathornynetofred-goldflames.“Thefireisspreading.Weshouldgetoutofhere.Wecantalkdowninthecity—”

“IwaslockedintheInstituteforfifteenyears,”Hodgewenton,asifClaryhadn’tspoken.“I couldn’t put somuch as a hand or a foot outside. I spent allmy time in the library,researching ways to remove the curse the Clave had put on me. I learned that only aMortal Instrument could reverse it. I read book after book telling the story of themythologyof theAngel,howhe rose from the lakebearing theMortal Instrumentsandgave them to Jonathan Shadowhunter, the first Nephilim, and how there were three ofthem:Cup,Sword,andMirror—”

“Weknowallthis,”Jaceinterrupted,exasperated.“Youtaughtittous.”

“Youthinkyouknowallofit,butyoudon’t.AsIwentoverandoverthevariousversionsof thehistories, I happenedagain andagainon the same illustration, the same image—we’veallseenit—theAngelrisingoutofthelakewiththeSwordinonehandandtheCupintheother.IcouldneverunderstandwhytheMirrorwasn’tpictured.ThenIrealized.TheMirroristhelake.ThelakeistheMirror.Theyareoneandthesame.”

SlowlyJaceloweredtheknife.“LakeLyn?”

Clary thoughtof the lake, likeamirror rising tomeether, thewater shatteringapartonimpact.“IfellinthelakewhenIfirstgothere.Thereissomethingaboutit.LukesaidithasstrangepropertiesandthattheFairFolkcallittheMirrorofDreams.”

“Exactly,”Hodgebeganeagerly.“AndIrealizedtheClavewasn’tawareofthis,thattheknowledgehadbeenlosttotime.EvenValentinedidn’tknow—”

Hewas interrupted by a crashing roar, the sound of a tower at the far end of theGardcollapsing.Itsentupafireworksdisplayofredandglitteringsparks.

“Jace,”Alecsaid,raisinghisheadinalarm.“Jace,wehavetogetoutofhere.Getup,”hesaidtoHodge,yankinghimuprightbythearm.“YoucantelltheClavewhatyoujusttoldus.”

Hodge got shakily to his feet. What must it be like, Clary thought with a pang ofunwelcomepity, to liveyour lifeashamednot justofwhatyou’ddonebutofwhatyouweredoingandofwhatyouknewyou’ddoagain?Hodgehadgivenupalongtimeagotryingtoliveabetterlifeoradifferentone;allhewantedwasnottobeafraid,andsohewasafraidallthetime.

“Comeon.”Alec,stillgrippingHodge’sarm,propelledhimforward.ButJacesteppedinfrontofthemboth,blockingtheirway.

“IfValentinegetstheMortalGlass,”hesaid,“whatthen?”

“Jace,”Alecsaid,stillholdingHodge’sarm,“notnow—”

“IfhetellsittotheClave,we’llneverhearitfromthem,”Jacesaid.“Tothemwe’rejustchildren.ButHodgeowesusthis.”Heturnedonhisoldtutor.“YousaidyourealizedyouhadtostopValentine.Stophimdoingwhat?WhatdoestheMirrorgivehimthepowertodo?”

Hodgeshookhishead.“Ican’t—”

“Andnolies.”TheknifegleamedatJace’sside;hishandwastightonthehilt.“Becausemaybeforeverylieyoutellme,I’llcutoffafinger.Ortwo.”

Hodgecringedback, real fear inhiseyes.Alec lookedstricken.“Jace.No.This iswhatyourfather’slike.It’snotwhatyou’relike.”

“Alec,”saidJace.Hedidn’tlookathisfriend,buthistonewaslikethetouchofaregretfulhand.“Youdon’treallyknowwhatI’mlike.”

Alec’seyesmetClary’sacrossthegrass.Hecan’timaginewhyJaceisactinglikethis,shethought.He doesn’t know. She took a step foward. “Jace, Alec is right—we can takeHodgedowntotheHallandhecantelltheClavewhathe’sjusttoldus—”

“If he’d been willing to tell the Clave, he would have done it already,” Jace snappedwithoutlookingather.“Thefactthathedidn’tproveshe’saliar.”

“The Clave isn’t to be trusted!” Hodge protested desperately. “There are spies in it—Valentine’smen—Icouldn’ttellthemwheretheMirroris.IfValentinefoundtheMirror,hewouldbe—”

Heneverfinishedhissentence.Somethingbrightsilvergleamedout in themoonlight,anailheadoflightinthedarkness.Aleccriedout.Hodge’seyesflewwideashestaggered,clawing at his chest. As he sank backward, Clary sawwhy: The hilt of a long dagger

protrudedfromhisribcage,likethehaftofanarrowbristlingfromitstarget.

Alec, leaping forward, caught his old tutor as he fell, and lowered him gently to theground.Helookeduphelplessly,hisfacespatteredwithHodge’sblood.“Jace,why—”

“I didn’t—” Jace’s face was white, and Clary saw that he still held his knife, grippedtightlyathisside.“I…”

Simonspunaround,andClaryturnedwithhim,staringintothedarkness.Thefirelitthegrasswithahellishorangeglow,butitwasblackbetweenthetreesofthehillside—andthen something emerged from the blackness, a shadowy figure, with familiar dark,tumbledhair.Hemovedtowardthem,thelightcatchinghisfaceandreflectingoffhisdarkeyes;theylookedasiftheywereburning.

“Sebastian?”Clarysaid.

Jace looked wildly from Hodge to Sebastian standing uncertainly at the edge of thegarden;Jacelookedalmostdazed.“You,”hesaid.“You—didthis?”

“Ihadtodoit,”Sebastiansaid.“Hewouldhavekilledyou.”

“Withwhat?”Jace’svoiceroseandcracked.“Hedidn’tevenhaveaweapon—”

“Jace.”AleccutthroughJace’sshouting.“Comehere.HelpmewithHodge.”

“Hewouldhavekilledyou,”Sebastiansaidagain.“Hewouldhave—”

ButJacehadgonetokneelbesideAlec,sheathinghisknifeathisbelt.AlecwasholdingHodgeinhisarms,bloodonhisownshirtfrontnow.“Takethestelefrommypocket,”hesaidtoJace.“Tryaniratze—”

Clary, stiff with horror, felt Simon stir beside her. She turned to look at him and wasshocked—hewaswhite aspaper except for ahectic red flushonboth cheekbones.Shecould see theveins snakingunderhis skin, like thegrowthof somedelicate, branchingcoral.“Theblood,”hewhispered,notlookingather.“Ihavetogetawayfromit.”

Claryreachedtocatchhissleeve,buthelurchedback,jerkinghisarmoutofhergrasp.

“No,Clary,please.Letmego.I’llbeokay;I’llbeback.I just—”Shestartedafterhim,buthewastooquickforhertoholdhimback.Hevanishedintothedarknessbetweenthetrees.

“Hodge—”Alecsoundedpanicked.“Hodge,holdstill—”

Buthistutorwasstrugglingfeebly,tryingtopullawayfromhim,awayfromthesteleinJace’s hand. “No.” Hodge’s face was the color of putty. His eyes darted from Jace toSebastian,whowasstillhangingbackintheshadows.“Jonathan—”

“Jace,”Jacesaid,almostinawhisper.“CallmeJace.”

Hodge’seyesrestedonhim.Clarycouldnotdecipherthelookinthem.Pleading,yes,butsomethingmorethanthat,filledwithdread,orsomethinglikeit,andwithneed.Helifteda warding hand. “Not you,” he whispered, and blood spilled from his mouth with thewords.

AlookofhurtflashedacrossJace’sface.“Alec,dotheiratze—Idon’tthinkhewantsmetotouchhim.”

Hodge’shandtightenedintoaclaw;heclutchedatJace’ssleeve.Therattleofhisbreathwasaudible.“Youwere…never…”

Andhedied.Clarycouldtellthemomentthelifelefthim.Itwasnotaquiet,instantthing,likeinamovie;hisvoicechokedoffinagurgleandhiseyesrolledbackandhewentlimpandheavy,hisarmbentawkwardlyunderhim.

AlecclosedHodge’seyeswithhisfingertips.“Vale,HodgeStarkweather.”

“Hedoesn’tdeserve that.”Sebastian’svoicewassharp.“Hewasn’taShadowhunter;hewasatraitor.Hedoesn’tdeservethelastwords.”

Alec’sheadjerkedup.HeloweredHodgetothegroundandrosetohisfeet,hisblueeyeslikeice.Bloodstreakedhisclothes.“Youknownothingaboutit.Youkilledanunarmedman,aNephilim.You’reamurderer.”

Sebastian’s lip curled. “You think I don’t knowwho thatwas?”He gestured atHodge.“Starkweatherwas in theCircle.He betrayed theClave then andwas cursed for it.Heshouldhavediedforwhathedid,buttheClavewaslenient—andwherediditgetthem?Hebetrayedusallagainwhenhesold theMortalCup toValentine just togethiscurselifted—acursehedeserved.”Hepaused,breathinghard.“Ishouldn’thavedoneit,butyoucan’tsayhedidn’tdeserveit.”

“HowdoyouknowsomuchaboutHodge?”Clarydemanded.“Andwhatareyoudoinghere?IthoughtyouagreedtostaybackattheHall.”

Sebastianhesitated.“Youweretakingsolong,”hesaidfinally.“Igotworried.I thoughtyoumightneedmyhelp.”

“So you decided to help us by killing the guy we were talking to?” Clary demanded.“Becauseyou thoughthehad a shadypast?Who—whodoes that? It doesn’tmakeanysense.”

“That’sbecausehe’slying,”Jacesaid.HewaslookingatSebastian—acold,consideringlook.“Andnotwell.Ithoughtyou’dbealittlefasteronyourfeetthere,Verlac.”

Sebastianmethislookevenly.“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean,Morgenstern.”

“Hemeans,”saidAlec,steppingforward,“thatifyoureallythinkwhatyoujustdidwasjustified,youwon’tmindcomingwithustotheAccordsHallandexplainingyourselftotheCouncil.Willyou?”

AbeatpassedbeforeSebastiansmiled—thesmilethathadcharmedClarybefore,butnowtherewassomethingalittleoff-kilteraboutit,likeapicturehangingslightlycrookedlyonawall.“Ofcoursenot.”Hemoved toward themslowly,almoststrolling,as ifhedidn’thaveaworryintheworld.Asifhehadn’tjustcommittedmurder.“Ofcourse,”hesaid,“itisalittleoddthatyou’resoupsetthatIkilledamanwhenJacewasplanningoncuttinghisfingersoffonebyone.”

Alec’smouthtightened.“Hewouldn’thavedoneit.”

“You—” Jace lookedatSebastianwith loathing.“Youhaveno ideawhatyou’re talkingabout.”

“Ormaybe,”Sebastiansaid,“you’rereallyjustangrybecauseIkissedyoursister.Becauseshewantedme.”

“Ididnot,”Clarysaid,butneitherofthemwaslookingather.“Wantyou,Imean.”

“She has this little habit, you know—theway she gasps when you kiss her, like she’ssurprised?”Sebastianhadcometoastopnow,justinfrontofJace,andwassmilinglikeanangel.“It’sratherendearing;youmusthavenoticedit.”

Jacelookedasifhewantedtothrowup.“Mysister—”

“Yoursister,”Sebastiansaid.“Isshe?Becauseyoutwodon’tactlikeit.Youthinkotherpeople can’t see thewayyou look at eachother?You thinkyou’rehiding thewayyoufeel?Youthinkeveryonedoesn’tthinkit’ssickandunnatural?Becauseitis.”

“That’senough.”ThelookonJace’sfacewasmurderous.

“Whyareyoudoingthis?”Clarysaid.“Sebastian,whyareyousayingallthesethings?”

“BecauseIfinallycan,”Sebastiansaid.“You’venoideawhatit’sbeenlike,beingaroundthelotofyouthesepastfewdays,havingtopretendIcouldstandyou.Thatthesightofyoudidn’tmakemesick.You,”he said to Jace, “every secondyou’renotpantingafteryourownsister,you’rewhiningonandonabouthowyourdaddydidn’tloveyou.Well,who could blame him? And you, you stupid bitch”—he turned to Clary—“giving thatpricelessbookawaytoahalf-breedwarlock;haveyougotasinglebraincellinthattinyhead of yours? And you—” He directed his next sneer at Alec. “I think we all knowwhat’swrongwithyou.Theyshouldn’tletyourkindintheClave.You’redisgusting.”

Alecpaled, thoughhe lookedmoreastonished thananythingelse.Clarycouldn’tblamehim—itwashardtolookatSebastian,athisangelicsmile,andimaginehecouldsaythesethings.“Pretendyoucouldstandus?”sheechoed.“Butwhywouldyouhavetopretend

that unless youwere…unless youwere spying on us,” she finished, realizing the truthevenasshespokeit.“UnlessyouwereaspyforValentine.”

Sebastian’s handsome face twisted, the full mouth flattening, his long, elegant eyesnarrowing toslits.“And finally theyget it,”hesaid.“I swear, thereareutterly lightlessdemondimensionsouttherethatarelessdimthanthebunchofyou.”

“Wemaynotbeallthatbright,”Jacesaid,“butatleastwe’realive.”

Sebastianlookedathimindisgust.“I’malive,”hepointedout.

“Not for long,” said Jace. Moonlight exploded off the blade of his knife as he flunghimself at Sebastian, his motion so fast that it seemed blurred, faster than any humanmovementClaryhadeverseen.

Untilnow.

Sebastiandartedaside,missingtheblow,andcaughtJace’sknifearmasitdescended.Theknifeclattered to theground,and thenSebastianhadJaceby thebackofhis jacket.Heliftedhimandflunghimwithincrediblestrength.Jaceflewthroughtheair,hitthewalloftheGardwithbone-crackingforce,andcrumpledtotheground.

“Jace!”Clary’svisionwentwhite.SheranatSebastiantochokethelifeoutofhim.Buthesidesteppedherandbroughthishanddownascasuallyas ifhewere swattingan insectaside. The blow caught her hard on the side of the head, sending her spinning to theground.Sherolledover,blinkingaredmistofpainoutofhereyes.

Alechadtakenhisbowfromhisback;itwasdrawn,anarrownotchedat theready.Hishandsdidn’twaverasheaimedatSebastian.“Staywhereyouare,”hesaid,“andputyourhandsbehindyourback.”

Sebastianlaughed.“Youwouldn’treallyshootme,”hesaid.HemovedtowardAlecwithaneasy,carelessstep,asifhewerestridingupthestairstohisownfrontdoor.

Alec’seyesnarrowed.Hishandswentupinagraceful,evenseriesofmovements;hedrewthearrowbackandloosedit.ItflewtowardSebastian—

Andmissed.Sebastianhadduckedormovedsomehow,Clarycouldn’ttell,andthearrowhadgonepasthim,lodginginthetrunkofatree.AlechadtimeonlyforamomentarylookofsurprisebeforeSebastianwasonhim,wrenching thebowoutofhisgrasp.Sebastiansnapped it inhishands—cracked it inhalf, and thecrackof the splinteringmadeClarywinceasifshewerehearingbonessplinter.Shetriedtodragherselfintoasittingposition,ignoringthesearingpaininherhead.Jacewaslyingafewfeetawayfromher,utterlystill.Shetriedtogetup,butherlegsdidn’tseemtobeworkingproperly.

SebastiantossedtheshatteredhalvesofthebowasideandclosedinonAlec.Alecalreadyhadaseraphbladeout,glitteringinhishand,butSebastiansweptitasideasAleccameathim—swept it aside and caught Alec by the throat, almost lifting him off his feet. He

squeezedmercilessly,viciously,grinningasAlecchokedandstruggled.“Lightwood,”hebreathed. “I’ve taken care of one of you already today. I hadn’t expected I’d be luckyenoughtogettodoittwice.”

He jerked backward, like a puppet whose strings had been yanked. Released, Alecslumped to the ground, his hands at his throat. Clary could hear his rattling, desperatebreath—buthereyeswereonSebastian.Adarkshadowhadaffixeditselftohisbackandwasclingingtohimlikealeech.Heclawedathisthroat,gaggingandchokingashespuninplace,clawingatthethingthathadholdofhisthroat.Asheturned,themoonlightfellonhim,andClarysawwhatitwas.

It was Simon. His arms were wrapped around Sebastian’s neck, his white incisorsglittering likeboneneedles. Itwas the first timeClaryhadseenhimactually look fullylike a vampire since the night he’d risen from his grave, and she stared in horrifiedamazement, unable to look away. His lips were curled back in a snarl, his fangs fullyextendedandsharpasdaggers.HesankthemintoSebastian’sforearm,openingupalongredtearintheskin.

Sebastian yelled out loud and flung himself backward, landing hard on the ground.Herolled, Simon half on top of him, the two of them clawing at each other, tearing andsnarling like dogs in a pit. Sebastian was bleeding in several places when he finallystaggered to his feet and delivered two hard kicks to Simon’s rib cage. Simon doubledover,clutchinghismidsection.“Youfoul little tick,”Sebastiansnarled,drawinghisfootbackforanotherblow.

“Iwouldn’t,”saidaquietvoice.

Clary’shead jerkedup,sendinganotherstarburstofpainshootingbehindhereyes.JacestoodafewfeetfromSebastian.Hisfacewasbloody,oneeyeswollennearlyshut,butinonehandwas a blazing seraphblade, and thehand that held itwas steady. “I’veneverkilledahumanbeingwithoneofthesebefore,”saidJace.“ButI’mwillingtotry.”

Sebastian’s face twisted.HeglanceddownonceatSimon,and then raisedhisheadandspat.ThewordshesaidafterthatwereinalanguageClarydidn’trecognize—andthenheturnedwiththesameterrifyingswiftnesswithwhichhe’dmovedwhenhe’dattackedJace,andvanishedintothedarkness.

“No!”Clary cried.She tried to raiseherself to her feet, but thepainwas like an arrowsearingitswaythroughherbrain.Shecrumpledtothedampgrass.AmomentlaterJacewasleaningoverher,hisfacepaleandanxious.Shelookedupathim,hervisionblurring—ithadtobeblurred,didn’tit,orshecouldneverhaveimaginedthatwhitenessaroundhim,asortoflight—

She heardSimon’s voice and thenAlec’s, and somethingwas handed down to Jace—astele.Herarmburned,andamomentlaterthepainbegantorecede,andherheadcleared.Sheblinkedupatthethreefaceshoveringoverhers.“Myhead…”

“Youhaveaconcussion,”Jacesaid.“Theiratzeshouldhelp,butweoughttogetyoutoaClave doctor.Head injuries can be tricky.”He handed the stele back toAlec. “Do youthinkyoucanstandup?”

She nodded. Itwas amistake. Pain shot through her again as hands reached down andhelpedhertoherfeet.Simon.Sheleanedagainsthimgratefully,waitingforherbalancetoreturn.Shestillfeltasifshemightfalloveratanyminute.

Jacewasscowling.“Youshouldn’thaveattackedSebastianlikethat.Youdidn’tevenhaveaweapon.Whatwereyouthinking?”

“Whatwewere all thinking.”Alec, unexpectedly, came to her defense. “That he’d justthrownyouthroughtheair likeasoftball.Jace,I’veneverseenanyoneget thebetterofyoulikethat.”

“I—he surprised me,” Jace said a little reluctantly. “He must have had some kind ofspecialtraining.Iwasn’texpectingit.”

“Yeah,well.”Simontouchedhisribcage,wincing.“Ithinkhekickedinacoupleofmyribs. It’s okay,” he added at Clary’s worried look. “They’re healing. But Sebastian’sdefinitely strong. Really strong.” He looked at Jace. “How long do you think he wasstandingthereintheshadows?”

Jacelookedgrim.HeglancedamongthetreesinthedirectionSebastianhadgone.“Well,theClavewillcatchhim—andcursehim,probably.I’dliketoseethemputthesamecurseonhimtheyputonHodge.Thatwouldbepoeticjustice.”

Simon turned aside and spat into the bushes.Hewiped hismouthwith the back of hishand,hisfacetwistedintoagrimace.“Hisbloodtastesfoul—likepoison.”

“I supposewecanadd that tohis listofcharmingqualities,” saidJace.“Iwonderwhatelsehewasuptotonight.”

“We need to get back to the Hall.” The look on Alec’s face was strained, and Claryremembered that Sebastian had said something to him, something about the otherLightwoods….“Canyouwalk,Clary?”

ShedrewawayfromSimon.“Icanwalk.WhataboutHodge?Wecan’tjustleavehim.”

“We have to,” saidAlec. “There’ll be time to come back for him ifwe all survive thenight.”

Astheyleft thegarden,Jacepaused,drewoffhisjacket,andlaiditoverHodge’sslack,upturnedface.ClarywantedtogotoJace,putahandonhisshouldereven,butsomethinginthewayheheldhimselftoldhernotto.EvenAlecdidn’tgonearhimorofferahealingrune,despitethefactthatJacewaslimpingashewalkeddownthehill.

Theymovedtogetherdownthezigzagpath,weaponsdrawnandattheready,theskylit

redby theburningGardbehind them.But they sawnodemons.The stillness andeerielightmadeClary’sheadthrob;shefeltasifshewereinadream.Exhaustiongrippedherlikeavise.Justputtingonefootinfrontoftheotherwaslikeliftingablockofcementandslammingitdown,overandover.ShecouldhearJaceandAlectalkingupaheadonthepath,theirvoicesfaintlyblurreddespitetheirproximity.

Alecwasspeakingsoftly,almostpleading:“Jace, thewayyouwere talkingup there, toHodge.Youcan’t think like that.BeingValentine’s son, itdoesn’tmakeyouamonster.Whateverhedidtoyouwhenyouwereakid,whateverhetaughtyou,youhavetoseeit’snotyourfault—”

“Idon’twant to talkabout this,Alec.Notnow,notever.Don’taskmeabout it again.”Jace’stonewassavage,andAlecfellsilent.Clarycouldalmostfeelhishurt.Whatanight,Clarythought.Anightofsomuchpainforeveryone.

ShetriednottothinkofHodge,ofthepleading,pitifullookonhisfacebeforehe’ddied.Shehadn’tlikedHodge,buthehadn’tdeservedwhatSebastianhaddonetohim.Noonedid.ShethoughtofSebastian,ofthewayhe’dmoved,likesparksflying.She’dneverseenanyone but Jace move like that. She wanted to puzzle it out—what had happened toSebastian?Howhadacousinof thePenhallowsmanaged togosowrong,andhowhadtheynevernoticed?She’dthoughthe’dwantedtohelphersavehermother,buthe’donlywanted toget theBookof theWhite forValentine.Magnushadbeenwrong—ithadn’tbeenbecauseof theLightwoods thatValentinehad foundout aboutRagnorFell. Ithadbeenbecauseshe’dtoldSebastian.Howcouldshehavebeensostupid?

Appalled,shebarelynoticedasthepathturnedintoanavenue,leadingthemintothecity.Thestreetsweredeserted, thehousesdark,manyof thewitchlightstreetlampssmashed,their glass scattered across the cobblestones. Voices were audible, echoing as if at adistance,andthegleamoftorcheswasvisiblehereandthereamongtheshadowsbetweenbuildings,but—

“It’sawfullyquiet,”Alecsaid,lookingaroundinsurprise.“And—”

“Itdoesn’tstinklikedemons.”Jacefrowned.“Strange.Comeon.Let’sgettotheHall.”

ThoughClarywashalf-bracedforanattack,theydidn’tseeasingledemonastheymovedthroughthestreets.Notaliveone,atleast—thoughastheypassedanarrowalley,shesawagroupofthreeorfourShadowhuntersgatheredinacirclearoundsomethingthatpulsedandtwitchedontheground.Theyweretakingturnsstabbingitwithlong,sharpenedpoles.Withashuddershelookedaway.

The Hall of Accords was lit like a bonfire, witchlight pouring out of its doors andwindows. They hurried up the stairs, Clary steadying herself when she stumbled. Herdizzinesswasgettingworse.Theworldseemedtobeswingingaroundher,asifshestoodinsideagreat spinningglobe.Aboveher thestarswerewhite-paintedstreaksacross thesky.“Youshouldliedown,”Simonsaid,andthen,whenshesaidnothing,“Clary?”

Withanenormouseffort,sheforcedherselftosmileathim.“I’mallright.”

Jace,standingattheentrancetotheHall,lookedbackatherinsilence.Intheharshglareof thewitchlight, the blood on his face and his swollen eye looked ugly, streaked andblack.

TherewasadullroarinsidetheHall,thelowmurmurofhundredsofvoices.ToClaryitsounded like the beating of an enormous heart. The lights of the bracketed torches,coupledwiththeglowofwitchlightscarriedeverywhere,searedhereyesandfragmentedhervision;shecouldseeonlyvagueshapesnow,vagueshapesandcolors.White,gold,andthenthenightskyabove,fadingfromdarktopalerblue.Howlatewasit?

“Idon’tseethem.”Alec,castinganxiouslyaroundtheroomforhisfamily,soundedasifhewereahundredmilesoff,ordeepunderwater.“Theyshouldbeherebynow—”

HisvoicefadedasClary’sdizzinessworsened.Sheputahandagainstanearbypillartosteadyherself.Ahandbrushedacrossherback—Simon.HewassayingsomethingtoJace,soundinganxious.Hisvoicefadedintothepatternofdozensofothers,risingandfallingaroundherlikewavesbreaking.

“Neverseenanythinglikeit.Thedemonsjustturnedaroundandleft,justvanished.”

“Sunrise,probably.They’reafraidofsunrise,andit’snotfaroff.”

“No,itwasmorethanthat.”

“Youjustdon’twanttothinkthey’llbebackthenextnight,orthenext.”

“Don’tsaythat;there’snoreasontosaythat.They’llgetthewardsbackup.”

“AndValentinewilljusttakethemdownagain.”

“Maybe it’s no better than we deserve. Maybe Valentine was right—maybe allyingourselveswithDownworldersmeanswe’velosttheAngel’sblessing.”

“Hush.Havesomerespect.They’retallyingthedeadoutinAngelSquare.”

“Theretheyare,”Alecsaid.“Overthere,bythedais.Itlookslike…”Hisvoicetrailedoff,and then he was gone, pushing his way through the crowd. Clary squinted, trying tosharpenhervision.Allshecouldseewereblurs—

SheheardJacecatchhisbreath,andthen,withoutanotherword,hewasshovingthroughthe crowd afterAlec.Clary let go of the pillar,meaning to follow them, but stumbled.Simoncaughther.

“Youneedtoliedown,Clary,”hesaid.

“No,”shewhispered.“Iwanttoseewhathappened—”

Shebrokeoff.Hewasstaringpasther,afterJace,andhelookedstricken.Bracingherselfagainstthepillar,sheraisedherselfuponhertoes,strugglingtoseeoverthecrowd—

There they were, the Lightwoods: Maryse with her arms around Isabelle, who wassobbing, and Robert Lightwood sitting on the ground and holding something—no,someone,andClarythoughtofthefirsttimeshehadseenMax,attheInstitute,lyinglimpandasleeponacouch,hisglassesknockedaskewandhishandtrailingalongthefloor.Hecansleepanywhere,Jacehadsaid,andhealmostlookedasifheweresleepingnow,inhisfather’slap,butClaryknewhewasn’t.

Alecwasonhisknees,holdingoneofMax’shands,butJacewasjuststandingwherehewas,notmoving,andmorethananythingelsehelookedlost,asifhehadnoideawherehewasorwhathewasdoingthere.AllClarywantedwastoruntohimandputherarmsaroundhim,butthelookonSimon’sfacetoldherno,no,andsodidhermemoryofthemanorhouseandJace’sarmsaroundherthere.Shewasthelastpersononearthwhocouldevergivehimanycomfort.

“Clary,”Simon said, but shewaspulling away fromhim, despite her dizziness and thepaininherhead.SheranforthedooroftheHallandpusheditopen,ranoutontothestepsandstoodthere,gulpingdownbreathsofcoldair.Inthedistancethehorizonwasstreakedwith red fire, the stars fading, bleached out of the lightening sky. The night was over.Dawnhadcome.

13

WHERETHEREISSORROW

Clarywokegaspingoutofadreamofbleedingangels,hersheetstwistedaroundherin

atightspiral.Itwaspitch-blackandcloseinAmatis’ssparebedroom,likebeinglockedinacoffin.Shereachedoutandtwitchedthecurtainsopen.Daylightpouredin.Shefrownedandpulledthemshutagain.

Shadowhuntersburnedtheirdead,andeversincethedemonattack,theskytothewestofthecityhadbeenstainedwithsmoke.LookingatitoutthewindowmadeClaryfeelsick,soshekeptthecurtainsclosed.Inthedarknessoftheroomsheclosedhereyes,tryingtorememberherdream.Therehadbeenangelsinit,andtheimageoftheruneIthurielhadshowedher,flashingoverandoveragainsttheinsideofhereyelidslikeablinkingWALKsign. It was a simple rune, as simple as a tied knot, but no matter how hard sheconcentrated,shecouldn’treadit,couldn’tfigureoutwhatitmeant.Allsheknewwasthatitseemedsomehowincompletetoher,asifwhoeverhadcreatedthepatternhadn’tquitefinishedit.

Thesearenot thefirstdreamsIhaveevershowedyou,Ithurielhadsaid.Shethoughtofherotherdreams:ofSimonwithcrossesburnedintohishands,Jacewithwings,lakesofcrackingicethatshonelikemirrorglass.Hadtheangelsentherthose,too?

With a sigh she sat up.Thedreamsmightbebad, but thewaking images thatmarchedacross her brain weren’t much better. Isabelle, weeping on the floor of the Hall ofAccords,tuggingwithsuchforceontheblackhairthreadedthroughherfingersthatClaryworried she would rip it out. Maryse shrieking at Jia Penhallow that the boy they’dbrought intotheirhousehaddonethis, theircousin,andifhewassocloselyalliedwithValentine,whatdidthatsayaboutthem?Alectryingtocalmhismotherdown,askingJacetohelphim,butJace just standing thereas thesunroseoverAlicanteandblazeddownthroughtheceilingoftheHall.“It’sdawn,”Lukehadsaid,lookingmoretiredthanClaryhadeverseenhim.“Timetobringthebodiesinside.”Andhe’dsentoutpatrolstogatherup the deadShadowhunters and lycanthropes lying in the streets and bring them to theplazaoutsidetheHall,theplazaClaryhadcrossedwithSebastianwhenshe’dcommentedthattheHalllookedlikeachurch.Ithadseemedlikeaprettyplacetoherthen,linedwithflowerboxesandbrightlypaintedshops.Andnowitwasfullofcorpses.

IncludingMax.Thinkingofthelittleboywho’dsogravelytalkedaboutmangawithhermadeherstomachknot.She’dpromisedoncethatshe’dtakehimtoForbiddenPlanet,butthat would never happen now. I would have bought him books, she thought.Whateverbookshewanted.Notthatitmattered.

Don’tthinkaboutit.Clarykickedhersheetsbackandgotup.Afteraquickshowershechangedintothejeansandsweatershe’dwornthedayshe’dcomefromNewYork.Shepressedherfacetothematerialbeforesheputthesweateron,hopingtocatchawhiffofBrooklyn, or the smell of laundry detergent—something to remindher of home—but ithadbeenwashedandsmelledlikelemonsoap.Withanothersighsheheadeddownstairs.

ThehousewasemptyexceptforSimon,sittingonthecouchinthelivingroom.Theopenwindowsbehindhim streameddaylight.He’d become like a cat,Clary thought, alwaysseekingoutavailablepatchesofsunlighttocurlupin.Nomatterhowmuchsunhegot,though,hisskinstayedthesameivorywhite.

Shepickedanappleoutofthebowlonthetableandsankdownnexttohim,curlingherlegsupunderher.“Didyougetanysleep?”

“Some.”Helookedather.“Ioughttoaskyouthat.You’retheonewiththeshadowsunderyoureyes.Morenightmares?”

Sheshrugged.“Samestuff.Death,destruction,badangels.”

“Soalotlikereallife,then.”

“Yeah,butatleastwhenIwakeup,it’sover.”Shetookabiteoutofherapple.“Letmeguess.LukeandAmatisareattheAccordsHall,havinganothermeeting.”

“Yeah.Ithinkthey’rehavingthemeetingwheretheygettogetheranddecidewhatothermeetingstheyneedtohave.”Simonpickedidlyatthefringeedgingathrowpillow.“HaveyouheardanythingfromMagnus?”

“No.”Clarywastryingnottothinkaboutthefactthatithadbeenthreedayssinceshe’dseen Magnus, and he’d sent no word at all. Or the fact that there was really nothingstoppinghimfromtakingtheBookoftheWhiteanddisappearingintotheether,nevertobeheardfromagain.Shewonderedwhyshe’deverthoughttrustingsomeonewhoworethatmucheyelinerwasagoodidea.

ShetouchedSimon’swrist lightly.“Andyou?Whataboutyou?You’restillokayhere?”She’dwantedSimon togohome themoment thebattlewasover—home,where itwassafe.Buthe’dbeenstrangely resistant.Forwhatever reason,heseemed towant tostay.Shehopeditwasn’tbecausehethoughthehadtotakecareofher—she’dnearlycomeoutandtoldhimshedidn’tneedhisprotection—butshehadn’t,becausepartofhercouldn’tbeartoseehimgo.Sohestayed,andClarywassecretly,guiltilyglad.“You’regetting—youknow—whatyouneed?”

“Youmeanblood?Yeah,Maia’sstillbringingmebottleseveryday.Don’taskmewhereshe gets it, though.” The first morning Simon had been at Amatis’s house, a grinninglycanthropehadshoweduponthedoorstepwithalivecatforhim.“Blood,”he’dsaid,inaheavilyaccentedvoice.“Foryou.Fresh!”Simonhadthankedthewerewolf,waitedforhimtoleave,andletthecatgo,hisexpressionfaintlygreen.

“Well, you’re going to have to get your blood from somewhere,” said Luke, lookingamused.

“Ihaveapetcat,”Simonreplied.“There’snoway.”

“I’ll tellMaia,”Lukepromised, and from thenon thebloodhadcome indiscreetglassmilkbottles.ClaryhadnoideahowMaiawasarrangingitand,likeSimon,didn’twanttoask.Shehadn’tseenthewerewolfgirlsincethenightofthebattle—thelycanthropeswerecampedsomewhereinthenearbyforest,withonlyLukeremaininginthecity.

“What’sup?”Simonleanedhisheadback,lookingatherthroughhisloweredeyelashes.“Youlooklikeyouwanttoaskmesomething.”

TherewereseveralthingsClarywantedtoaskhim,butshedecidedtogoforoneofthesaferoptions.“Hodge,”shesaid,andhesitated.“Whenyouwerein thecell—youreallydidn’tknowitwashim?”

“Icouldn’tseehim.Icouldjusthearhimthroughthewall.Wetalked—alot.”

“Andyoulikedhim?Imean,hewasnice?”

“Nice? I don’t know. Tortured, sad, intelligent, compassionate in brief flashes—yeah, Ilikedhim.IthinkIsortofremindedhimofhimself,inaway—”

“Don’tsay that!”Clary satup straight, almostdroppingherapple. “You’renothing likeHodgewas.”

“Youdon’tthinkI’mtorturedandintelligent?”

“Hodgewasevil.You’renot.”Claryspokedecidedly.“That’sallthereistoit.”

Simonsighed.“Peoplearen’tborngoodorbad.Maybethey’rebornwithtendencieseitherway,butit’sthewayyouliveyourlifethatmatters.Andthepeopleyouknow.ValentinewasHodge’sfriend,andIdon’tthinkHodgereallyhadanyoneelseinhislifetochallengehimormakehimbeabetterperson.IfI’dhadthatlife,Idon’tknowhowIwouldhaveturnedout.ButIdidn’t.Ihavemyfamily.AndIhaveyou.”

Clarysmiledathim,buthiswordsrangpainfullyinherears.Peoplearen’tborngoodorbad. She’d always thought thatwas true, but in the images the angel had showed her,she’dseenhermothercallherownchildevil,amonster.ShewishedshecouldtellSimonabout it, tell himeverything the angel had showedher, but she couldn’t. Itwouldhavemeanttellingwhatthey’ddiscoveredaboutJace,andthatshecouldn’tdo.Itwashissecretto tell, not hers. Simon had asked her oncewhat Jace hadmeantwhen he’d spoken toHodge,whyhe’dcalledhimself amonster,but she’donlyanswered that itwashard tounderstandwhatJacemeantbyanythingatthebestoftimes.Shewasn’tsureSimonhadbelievedher,buthehadn’taskedagain.

Shewas saved from saying anything at all by a loud knock on the door.With a frownClarysetherapplecoredownonthetable.“I’llgetit.”

Theopendoorletinawaveofcold,freshair.AlinePenhallowstoodonthefrontsteps,wearingadarkpinksilkjacketthatalmostmatchedthecirclesunderhereyes.“Ineedtotalktoyou,”shesaidwithoutpreamble.

Surprised,Clarycouldonlynodandholdthedooropen.“Allright.Comeonin.”

“Thanks.”Alinepushedpastherbrusquelyandwentintothelivingroom.ShefrozewhenshesawSimonsittingonthecouch,herlipspartinginastonishment.“Isn’tthat…”

“The vampire?” Simon grinned. The slight but inhuman acuity of his incisorswas justvisibleagainsthislowerlipwhenhegrinnedlikethat.Clarywishedhewouldn’t.

AlineturnedtoClary.“CanItalktoyoualone?”

“No,”Clarysaid,andsatdownonthecouchnexttoSimon.“Anythingyouhavetosay,youcansaytobothofus.”

Alinebitherlip.“Fine.Look,IhavesomethingIwanttotellAlecandJaceandIsabelle,butIhavenoideawheretofindthemrightnow.”

Clarysighed.“Theypulledsomestringsandgotintoanemptyhouse.Thefamilyinitleftforthecountry.”

Alinenodded.AlotofpeoplehadleftIdrissincetheattacks.Mosthadstayed—morethanClarywouldhaveexpected—butquite a fewhadpackedupanddeparted, leaving theirhousesstandingempty.

“They’re okay, if that’swhat youwant to know.Look, I haven’t seen them either.Notsincethebattle.IcouldpassonamessagethroughLukeifyouwant—”

“Idon’tknow.”Alinewaschewingherlowerlip.“MyparentshadtotellSebastian’sauntinPariswhathedid.Shewasreallyupset.”

“Asonewouldbeifone’snephewturnedouttobeanevilmastermind,”saidSimon.

Aline shothimadark look. “She said itwascompletelyunlikehim, that theremustbesomemistake.So she sentme somephotosofhim.”Aline reached intoherpocket anddrewoutseveralslightlybentphotographs,whichshehandedtoClary.“Look.”

Clarylooked.Thephotographsshoweda laughingdark-hairedboy,handsomeinanoff-kiltersortofway,withacrookedgrinandaslightly-too-bignose.Helookedlikethesortofboyitwouldbefuntohangoutwith.HealsolookednothingatalllikeSebastian.“Thisisyourcousin?”

“That’sSebastianVerlac.Whichmeans—”

“That the boy who was here, who was calling himself Sebastian, is someone elseentirely?”Claryrifledthroughthephotoswithincreasingagitation.

“I thought—”Alinewasworryingherlipagain.“I thoughtthat if theLightwoodsknewSebastian—orwhoeverthatboywas—wasn’treallyourcousin,maybethey’dforgiveme.Forgiveus.”

“I’msuretheywill.”Clarymadehervoiceaskindasshecould.“Butthisisbiggerthanthat. The Clave will want to know that Sebastian wasn’t just some misguidedShadowhunterkid.Valentinesenthimheredeliberatelyasaspy.”

“Hewas just so convincing,”Aline said. “He knew things onlymy family knows. Heknewthingsfromourchildhood—”

“Itkindofmakesyouwonder,”saidSimon,“whathappenedtotherealSebastian.Yourcousin.ItsoundslikeheleftParis,headedtoIdris,andneveractuallygothere.Sowhathappenedtohimontheway?”

Clary answered. “Valentine happened. He must have planned it all and known whereSebastianwouldbeandhowtointercepthimontheway.AndifhedidthatwithSebastian—”

“Then there may be others,” said Aline. “You should tell the Clave. Tell LucianGraymark.”ShecaughtClary’ssurprisedlook.“Peoplelistentohim.Myparentssaidso.”

“MaybeyoushouldcometotheHallwithus,”Simonsuggested.“Tellhimyourself.”

Alineshookherhead.“Ican’tfacetheLightwoods.EspeciallyIsabelle.Shesavedmylife,andI—Ijustranaway.Icouldn’tstopmyself.Ijustran.”

“Youwereinshock.It’snotyourfault.”

Alinelookedunconvinced.“Andnowherbrother—”Shebrokeoff,bitingherlipagain.“Anyway.Look,there’ssomethingI’vebeenmeaningtotellyou,Clary.”

“Totellme?”Clarywasbaffled.

“Yes.” Aline took a deep breath. “Look, what youwalked in on, withme and Jace, itwasn’tanything.Ikissedhim.Itwas—anexperiment.Anditdidn’treallywork.”

Claryfeltherselfblushingwhatshe thoughtmustbea trulyspectacular red.Whyisshetellingmethis?“Look,it’sokay.It’sJace’sbusiness,notmine.”

“Well,youseemedprettyupsetatthetime.”AsmallsmileplayedaroundthecornersofAline’smouth.“AndIthinkIknowwhy.”

Claryswallowedagainsttheacidtasteinhermouth.“Youdo?”

“Look,yourbrothergetsaround.Everyoneknowsthat;he’sdatedlotsofgirls.Youwereworriedthatifhemessedaroundwithme,he’dgetintrouble.Afterall,ourfamiliesare—were—friends.Youdon’tneedtoworry,though.He’snotmytype.”

“Idon’tthinkI’veeverheardagirlsaythatbefore,”saidSimon.“IthoughtJacewasthekindofguywhowaseveryone’stype.”

“Ithoughtsotoo,”Alinesaidslowly,“whichiswhyIkissedhim.Iwastryingtofigureoutifanyguyismytype.”

ShekissedJace,Clarythought.Hedidn’tkissher.Shekissedhim.ShemetSimon’seyes

overAline’shead.Simonwaslookingamused.“Well,what’dyoudecide?”

Alineshrugged.“Notsureyet.But,hey,atleastyoudon’thaveJacetoworryabout.”

Ifonly.“IalwayshaveJacetoworryabout.”

ThespaceinsidetheHallofAccordshadbeenswiftlyreconfiguredsincethenightofthebattle.With the Gard gone it now served as a Council chamber, a gathering place forpeople looking for missing family members, and a place to learn the latest news. Thecentral fountainwas dry, and on either side of it long bencheswere drawn up in rowsfacingaraiseddaisatthefarendoftheroom.WhilesomeNephilimwereseatedonthebenchesinwhatlookedlikeaCouncilsession,intheaislesandbeneaththearcadesthatringedthegreatroomdozensofotherShadowhuntersweremillinganxiously.TheHallnolonger looked like aplacewhere anyonewouldconsiderdancing.Therewas apeculiaratmosphereintheair,amixtureoftensionandanticipation.

Despite the gathering of the Clave in the center, murmured conversations wereeverywhere.ClarycaughtsnippetsofchatterassheandSimonmovedthroughtheroom:thedemontowerswereworkingagain.Thewardswerebackup,butweakerthanbefore.Thewardswerebackup,butstrongerthanbefore.Demonshadbeensightedonthehillssouthofthecity.Thecountryhouseswereabandoned,morefamilieshadleftthecity,andsomehadlefttheClavealtogether.

Ontheraiseddais,surroundedbyhangingmapsofthecity,stoodtheConsul,gloweringlike a bodyguard beside a short, plumpman in gray.The plumpmanwas gesticulatingangrilyashespoke,butnooneseemedtobepayinganyattention.

“Oh,crap,that’stheInquisitor,”SimonmutteredinClary’sear,pointing.“Aldertree.”

“And there’sLuke,”Clarysaid,pickinghimout fromthecrowd.Hestoodnear thedryfountain,deepinconversationwithamaninheavilyscuffedgearandabandagecoveringthelefthalfofhisface.ClarylookedaroundforAmatisandfinallysawher,sittingsilentlyat the endof abench, as far away from theotherShadowhunters as shecouldget.ShecaughtsightofClaryandmadeastartledface,beginningtorisetoherfeet.

Luke saw Clary, frowned, and spoke to the bandaged man in a low voice, excusinghimself.HecrossedtheroomtowhereClaryandSimonstoodbyoneof thepillars,hisfrown deepening as he approached. “What are you doing here? You know the Clavedoesn’t allow children into its meetings, and as for you—” He glared at Simon. “It’sprobablynotthebestideaforyoutoshowyourfaceinfrontoftheInquisitor,evenifthereisn’treallyanythinghecandoaboutit.”Asmiletwitchedthecornerofhismouth.“NotwithoutjeopardizinganyalliancetheClavemightwanttohavewithDownworldersinthefuture,anyway.”

“That’s right.” Simon wiggled his fingers in a wave at the Inquisitor, which Aldertree

ignored.

“Simon, stop it.We’re here for a reason.”Clary thrust the photographs of Sebastian atLuke.“ThisisSebastianVerlac.TherealSebastianVerlac.”

Luke’sexpressiondarkened.He shuffled through thephotoswithout sayinganythingasClaryrepeatedthestoryAlinehadtoldher.Simon,meanwhile,stooduneasily,gloweringacrosstheroomatAldertree,whowasstudiouslyignoringhim.

“SodoestherealSebastianlookmuchliketheimposterversion?”Lukeaskedfinally.

“Not really,” Clary said. “The fake Sebastian was taller. And I think he was probablyblond,becausehewasdefinitelydyeinghishair.Noonehashairthatblack.”Andthedyecameoff onmy fingerswhen I touched it, she thought, but kept the thought to herself.“Anyway, Aline wanted us to show these to you and to the Lightwoods. She thoughtmaybeiftheyknewhewasn’treallyrelatedtothePenhallows,then—”

“Shehasn’ttoldherparentsaboutthese,hasshe?”Lukeindicatedthephotos.

“Notyet,Ithink,”Clarysaid.“Ithinkshecamestraighttome.Shewantedmetotellyou.Shesaidpeoplelistentoyou.”

“Maybesomeofthemdo.”Lukeglancedbackatthemanwiththebandagedface.“IwasjusttalkingtoPatrickPenhallow,actually.ValentinewasagoodfriendofhisbackinthedayandmayhavekepttabsonthePenhallowfamilyinonewayoranotherintheyearssince.YousaidHodgetoldyouhehadspieshere.”HehandedthephotosbacktoClary.“Unfortunately,theLightwoodsaren’tgoingtobepartoftheCounciltoday.ThismorningwasMax’sfuneral.They’remostlikelyinthecemetery.”SeeingthelookonClary’sface,headded,“Itwasaverysmallceremony,Clary.Justthefamily.”

But I am Jace’s family, said a small, protesting voice inside her head. But there wasanothervoice,alouderone,surprisingherwithitsbitterness.Andhetoldyouthatbeingaroundyouwaslikebleedingtodeathslowly.Doyoureallythinkheneedsthatwhenhe’salreadyatMax’sfuneral?

“Thenyoucantellthemtonight,maybe,”Clarysaid.“Imean—Ithinkit’llbegoodnews.WhoeverSebastianreallyis,heisn’trelatedtotheirfriends.”

“It’d be better news if we knewwhere he was,” Lukemuttered. “Or what other spiesValentine has here. Theremust have been several of them, at least, involved in takingdownthewards.Itcouldonlyhavebeendonefrominsidethecity.”

“HodgesaidValentinehadfiguredouthowtodoit,”saidSimon.“Hesaidthatyouneeddemonbloodtotakethewardsdown,butthattherewasnowaytogetdemonbloodintothecity.ExceptthatValentinehadfiguredoutaway.”

“Someonepainteda rune indemonbloodon theapexofoneof the towers,”Lukesaidwithasigh,“so,clearly,Hodgewasright.Unfortunately,theClavehasalwaystrustedtoo

muchintheirwards.Buteventhecleverestpuzzlehasasolution.”

“Itseemstomelikethesortofcleverthatgetsyourbuttkickedingaming,”Simonsaid.“ThesecondyouprotectyourfortresswithaSpellofTotalInvincibility,someonecomesalongandfiguresouthowtotrashtheplace.”

“Simon,”Clarysaid.“Shutup.”

“He’snotsofaroff,”saidLuke.“Wejustdon’tknowhowtheygotdemonbloodintothecitywithout setting thewardsoff in the first place.”He shrugged. “It’s the leastofourproblems at the moment. The wards are back up, but we already know they’re notfoolproof.Valentinecouldreturnatanymomentwithanevenbiggerforceofarms,andIdoubtwecouldfighthimoff.Therearen’tenoughNephilim,andthosewhoarehereareutterlydemoralized.”

“ButwhatabouttheDownworlders?”Clarysaid.“YoutoldtheConsulthattheClavehadtofightwiththeDownworlders.”

“IcantellMalachiandAldertreethatuntilI’mblueintheface,butitdoesn’tmeanthey’lllisten,”Lukesaidwearily.“Theonlyreasonthey’reevenlettingmestayhereisbecausetheClavevotedtokeepmeonasanadviser.Andtheyonlydidthatbecausequiteafewofthem had their lives saved by my pack. But that doesn’t mean they want moreDownworldersinIdris—”

Someonescreamed.

Amatiswasonherfeet,herhandoverhermouth,staringtowardthefrontoftheHall.Amanstoodinthedoorway,framedintheglowofthesunlightoutside.Hewasonlyasilhouette,untilhe tookastep forward, into theHall,andClarycouldseehis face for thefirsttime.

Valentine.

ForsomereasonthefirstthingClarynoticedwasthathewascleanshaven.Itmadehimlookyounger,moreliketheangryboyinthememoriesIthurielhadshowedher.Insteadofbattledress,heworeanelegantlycutpin-stripedsuitandatie.Hewasunarmed.HecouldhavebeenanymanwalkingdownthestreetsofManhattan.Hecouldhavebeenanyone’sfather.

He didn’t look towardClary, didn’t acknowledge her presence at all.His eyeswere onLukeashewalkedupthenarrowaislebetweenthebenches.

Howcouldhecomeinherelikethiswithoutanyweapons?Clarywondered,andhadherquestionansweredamomentlater:InquisitorAldertreemadeanoiselikeawoundedbear;torehimselfaway fromMalachi,whowas trying toholdhimback; staggereddown thedaissteps;andhurledhimselfatValentine.

HepassedthroughValentine’sbodylikeaknifetearingthroughpaper.Valentineturnedto

watchAldertreewithanexpressionofblandinterestastheInquisitorstaggered,collidedwithapillar,andsprawledawkwardlytotheground.TheConsul,following,benttohelphimtohisfeet—therewasalookofbarelyconcealeddisgustonhisfaceashedidit,andClarywonderedifthedisgustwasdirectedatValentineoratAldertreeforactingsuchafool.

Anotherfaintmurmurcarriedaroundtheroom.TheInquisitorsqueakedandstruggledlikea rat ina trap,Malachiholdinghimfirmlyby thearmsasValentineproceeded into theroom without another glance at either of them. The Shadowhunters who had beenclusteredaroundthebenchesdrewback,likethewavesoftheRedSeapartingforMoses,leaving a clear path down the center of the room. Clary shivered as he drew closer towhereshestoodwithLukeandSimon.He’sonlyaProjection,shetoldherself.Notreallyhere.Hecan’thurtyou.

BesideherSimonshuddered.ClarytookhishandjustasValentinepausedatthestepsofthedaisandturnedtolookdirectlyather.Hiseyesrakedheronce,casually,asiftakinghermeasure;passedoverSimonentirely;andcametorestonLuke.

“Lucian,”hesaid.

Luke returnedhis gaze, steady and level, sayingnothing. Itwas the first time theyhadbeentogetherinthesameroomsinceRenwick’s,Clarythought,andthenLukehadbeenhalf-dead from fighting and covered in blood. It was easier now to mark both thedifferences and the similarities between the two men—Luke in his ragged flannel andjeans,andValentineinhisbeautifulandexpensive-lookingsuit;Lukewithaday’sworthofstubbleandgrayinhishair,andValentinelookingmuchashehadwhenhewastwenty-five—only colder, somehow, and harder, as if the passing yearswere in the process ofturninghimslowlytostone.

“IheartheClavehasbroughtyouontotheCouncilnow,”Valentinesaid.“ItwouldonlybefittingforaClavedilutedbycorruptionandpanderingtofinditselfinfiltratedbyhalf-breeddegenerates.”Hisvoicewasplacid,evencheerful—somuchsothatitwashardtofeelthepoisoninhiswords,ortoreallybelievethathemeantthem.HisgazemovedbacktoClary.“Clarissa,”hesaid,“herewiththevampire,Isee.Whenthingshavesettledabit,wereallymustdiscussyourchoiceofpets.”

A low growling noise came from Simon’s throat. Clary gripped his hand, hard—hardenoughthattherewouldhavebeenatimehe’dhavejerkedawayinpain.Nowhedidn’tseemtofeelit.“Don’t,”shewhispered.“Justdon’t.”

Valentinehadalreadyturnedhisattentionawayfromthem.Heclimbedthedaisstepsandturned to gaze down at the crowd. “So many familiar faces,” he observed. “Patrick.Malachi.Amatis.”

Amatisstoodrigid,hereyesbrightwithhatred.

TheInquisitorwasstillstrugglinginMalachi’sgrasp.Valentine’sgazeflickedoverhim,

half-amused.“Evenyou,Aldertree.IhearyouwereindirectlyresponsibleforthedeathofmyoldfriendHodgeStarkweather.Apity,that.”

Lukefoundhisvoice.“Youadmit it, then,”hesaid.“Youbrought thewardsdown.Yousentthedemons.”

“Isentthem,”saidValentine.“Icansendmore.SurelytheClave—eventheClave,stupidastheyare—musthaveexpectedthis?Youexpectedit,didn’tyou,Lucian?”

Luke’seyesweregravelyblue.“Idid.ButIknowyou,Valentine.Sohaveyoucometobargain,ortogloat?”

“Neither.”Valentineregardedthesilentcrowd.“Ihavenoneedtobargain,”hesaid,andthoughhistonewascalm,hisvoicecarriedasifamplified.“Andnodesiretogloat.Idon’tenjoy causing the deaths of Shadowhunters; there are precious few of us already, in aworldthatneedsusdesperately.Butthat’showtheClavelikesit,isn’tit?It’sjustanotheroneoftheirnonsensicalrules,therulestheyusetogrindordinaryShadowhuntersintothedust. Ididwhat Ididbecause Ihad to. Ididwhat Ididbecause itwas theonlyway tomake theClave listen. Shadowhunters didn’t die because ofme; they died because theClave ignoredme.”HemetAldertree’seyesacross thecrowd; the Inquisitor’s facewaswhite and twitching. “So many of you here were once in my Circle,” said Valentineslowly.“Ispeaktoyounow,andtothosewhoknewoftheCirclebutstoodoutsideit.Doyou remember what I predicted fifteen years ago? That unless we acted against theAccords,thecityofAlicante,ourownpreciouscapital,wouldbeoverrunbyslobbering,slaveringcrowdsofhalf-breeds, thedegenerateracestramplingunderfooteverythingwehold dear? And just as I predicted, all that has come to pass. The Gard burned to theground, the Portal destroyed, our streets awash with monsters. Half-human scumpresumingtoleadus.So,myfriends,myenemies,mybrothersundertheAngel,Iaskyou—doyoubelievemenow?”Hisvoicerosetoashout:“DOYOUBELIEVEMENOW?”

His gaze swept the room as if he expected an answer. Therewas none—only a sea ofstaringfaces.

“Valentine.” Luke’s voice, though soft, broke the silence. “Can’t you see what you’vedone?TheAccordsyoudreadedsomuchdidn’tmakeDownworldersequaltoNephilim.They didn’t assure half humans a spot on theCouncil.All the old hatredswere still inplace.Youshouldhavetrustedtothose,butyoudidn’t—youcouldn’t—andnowyou’vegivenustheonethingthatcouldpossiblyhaveunitedusall.”HiseyessoughtValentine’s.“Acommonenemy.”

AflushpassedoverValentine’spaleface.“Iamnotanenemy.NotofNephilim.Youarethat.You’re theonetryingtoentice themintoahopelessfight.YouthinkthosedemonsyousawareallIhave?TheywereafractionofwhatIcansummon.”

“Therearemoreofusaswell,”saidLuke.“MoreNephilim,andmoreDownworlders.”

“Downworlders,” Valentine sneered. “They will run at the first sign of true danger.

Nephilim are born to bewarriors, to protect thisworld, but theworld hates your kind.Thereisareasoncleansilverburnsyou,anddaylightscorchestheNightChildren.”

“Itdoesn’tscorchme,”Simonsaidinahard,clearvoice,despitethegripofClary’shand.“HereIam,standinginsunlight—”

ButValentinejustlaughed.“I’veseenyouchokeonthenameofGod,vampire,”hesaid.“As for why you can stand in the sunlight—” He broke off and grinned. “You’re ananomaly,perhaps.Afreak.Butstillamonster.”

Amonster.ClarythoughtofValentineontheship,ofwhathehadsaidthere:YourmothertoldmethatIhadturnedherfirstchildintoamonster.SheleftmebeforeIcouldhavethechancetodothesametohersecond.

Jace.Thethoughtofhisnamewasasharppain.AfterwhatValentinedid,hestandsheretalkingaboutmonsters—

“Theonlymonsterhere,”shesaid,despiteherselfanddespiteherresolutiontokeepsilent,“isyou. IsawIthuriel,”shewentonwhenhe turned to lookather insurprise.“Iknoweverything—”

“Idoubtthat,”Valentinesaid.“Ifyoudid,you’dkeepyourmouthshut.Foryourbrother’ssake,ifnotyourown.”

Don’tyoueventalkaboutJacetome!Clarywantedtoshout,butanothervoicecametocuthersoff,acool,unexpectedfemalevoice,fearlessandbitter.

“Andwhataboutmybrother?”Amatismovedtostandatthefootofthedais,lookingupatValentine.Lukestartedinsurpriseandshookhisheadather,butsheignoredhim.

Valentinefrowned.“WhataboutLucian?”Amatis’squestion,Clarysensed,hadunsettledhim,ormaybeitwasjustthatAmatiswasthere,asking,confrontinghim.Hehadwrittenheroffyearsagoasweak,unlikelytochallengehim.Valentineneverlikeditwhenpeoplesurprisedhim.

“Youtoldmehewasn’tmybrotheranymore,”saidAmatis.“YoutookStephenawayfromme.Youdestroyedmyfamily.Yousayyouaren’tanenemyofNephilim,butyouseteachofusagainsteachother,familyagainstfamily,wreckingliveswithoutcompunction.YousayyouhatetheClave,butyou’retheonewhomadethemwhattheyarenow—pettyandparanoid. We used to trust one another, we Nephilim. You changed that. I will neverforgive you for it.”Her voice shook. “Or formakingme treatLucian as if hewere nolonger my brother. I won’t forgive you for that, either. Nor will I forgive myself forlisteningtoyou.”

“Amatis—”Luketookastepforward,buthissisterputupahandtostophim.Hereyeswereshiningwithtears,butherbackwasstraight,hervoicefirmandunwavering.

“Therewasatimewewereallwillingtolistentoyou,Valentine,”shesaid.“Andweall

have thatonour conscience.Butnomore.Nomore.That time is over. Is there anyoneherewhodisagreeswithme?”

ClaryjerkedherheadupandlookedoutatthegatheredShadowhunters:Theylookedtoherlikearoughsketchofacrowd,withwhiteblursforfaces.ShesawPatrickPenhallow,his jaw set, and the Inquisitor, who was shaking like a frail tree in a high wind. AndMalachi,whosedark,polishedfacewasstrangelyunreadable.

Noonesaidaword.

IfClaryhadexpectedValentinetobeangryatthislackofresponsefromtheNephilimhehadhopedtolead,shewasdisappointed.Otherthanatwitchinthemuscleofhisjaw,hewasexpressionless.Asifhehadexpectedthisresponse.Asifhehadplannedforit.

“Verywell,”hesaid.“Ifyouwillnot listen toreason,youwillhave to listen toforce. IhavealreadyshowedyouIcantakedownthewardsaroundyourcity.Iseethatyou’veputthembackup,butthat’sofnoconsequence;Icaneasilydoitagain.YouwilleitheraccedetomyrequirementsorfaceeverydemontheMortalSwordcansummon.Iwilltellthemnottospareasingleoneofyou,notaman,woman,orchild.It’syourchoice.”

Amurmur swept around the room; Lukewas staring. “Youwould deliberately destroyyourownkind,Valentine?”

“Sometimesdiseasedplantsmustbeculledtopreservethewholegarden,”saidValentine.“Andifallarediseased…”Heturnedtofacethehorrifiedcrowd.“Itisyourchoice,”hewent on. “I have the Mortal Cup. If I must, I will start over with a new world ofShadowhunters,createdandtaughtbyme.ButIcangiveyouthisonechance.IftheClavewillsignoverallthepowersoftheCounciltomeandacceptmyunequivocalsovereigntyand rule, Iwill staymy hand.All Shadowhunterswill swear an oath of obedience andacceptapermanentloyaltyrunethatbindsthemtome.Thesearemyterms.”

Therewassilence.Amatishadherhandoverhermouth;therestoftheroomswungbeforeClary’seyesinawhirlingblur.Theycan’tgiveintohim,shethought.Theycan’t.Butwhatchoice did they have? What choice did any of them ever have? They are trapped byValentine,shethoughtdully,assurelyasJaceandIaretrappedbywhathemadeus.Weareallchainedtohimbyourownblood.

Itwasonlyamoment,thoughitfeltlikeanhourtoClary,beforeathinvoicecutthroughthesilence—thehigh,spideryvoiceoftheInquisitor.“Sovereigntyandrule?”heshrieked.“Yourrule?”

“Aldertree—”TheConsulmoved to restrain him, but the Inquisitorwas too quick.Hewriggledfreeanddartedtowardthedais.Hewasyelpingsomething,thesamewordsoverandover,asifhe’dlosthismindentirely,hiseyesrolledbackpracticallytothewhites.Hethrust Amatis aside, staggering up the steps of the dais to face Valentine. “I am theInquisitor,doyouunderstand, the Inquisitor!”heshouted.“Iampartof theClave!TheCouncil! Imake therules,notyou!I rule,notyou!Iwon’t letyoudo this,youupstart,

demon-lovingslime—”

Withalookveryclosetoboredom,Valentinereachedoutahand,almostasifhemeanttotouchtheInquisitorontheshoulder.ButValentinecouldn’ttouchanything—hewasjustaProjection—and then Clary gasped as Valentine’s hand passed through the Inquisitor’sskin,bonesandflesh,vanishingintohisribcage.Therewasasecond—onlyasecond—duringwhich the whole Hall seemed to gape at Valentine’s left arm, buried somehow,impossibly, wrist-deep in Aldertree’s chest. Then Valentine jerked his wrist hard andsuddenlytotheleft—atwistingmotion,asifhewereturningastubbornlyrustydoorknob.

TheInquisitorgaveasinglecryanddroppedlikeastone.

Valentinedrewhishandback.Itwasslickedwithblood,ascarletglovereachinghalfwaytohiselbow,stainingtheexpensivewoolofhissuit.Loweringhisbloodyhand,hegazedoutacrossthehorrifiedcrowd,hiseyescomingtorestatlastonLuke.Hespokeslowly.“Iwillgiveyouuntiltomorrowatmidnighttoconsidermyterms.AtthattimeIwillbringmy army, in all its force, to Brocelind Plain. If I have not yet received a message ofsurrenderfromtheClave,IwillmarchwithmyarmyheretoAlicante,andthistimewewillleavenothingliving.Youhavethatlongtoconsidermyterms.Usethetimewisely.”

Andwiththat,hevanished.

14

INTHEDARKFOREST

“Well, how about that,” said Jace, still without looking at Clary—he hadn’t reallylooked at her since she and Simon had arrived on the front step of the house the

Lightwoodswerenowinhabiting.Insteadhewasleaningagainstoneofthehighwindowsinthelivingroom,staringouttowardtherapidlydarkeningsky.“Aguyattendsthefuneralofhisnine-year-oldbrotherandmissesallthefun.”

“Jace,”Alecsaid,inatiredsortofvoice.“Don’t.”

Alecwasslumpedinoneoftheworn,overstuffedchairsthatweretheonlythingstositonin the room.Thehousehad theodd, alien feelofhousesbelonging to strangers: Itwasdecoratedinfloral-printedfabrics,frillyandpastel,andeverythinginitwasslightlywornortattered.TherewasaglassbowlfilledwithchocolatesonthesmallendtablenearAlec;Clary,starving,hadeatenafewandfoundthemcrumblyanddry.Shewonderedwhatkindof people had lived here. The kindwho ran awaywhen things got tough, she thoughtsourly;theydeservedtohavetheirhousetakenover.

“Don’twhat?”Jaceasked;itwasdarkenoughoutsidenowthatClarycouldseehisfacereflected in the window glass. His eyes looked black. He was wearing Shadowhuntermourningclothes—theydidn’twearblack to funerals,sinceblackwas thecolorofgearand fighting.The color of deathwaswhite, and thewhite jacket Jacewore had scarletruneswoven into thematerial around the collar andwrists. Unlike battle runes, whichwereall aboutaggressionandprotection, these spokeagentler languageofhealingandgrief.Therewerebandsofhammeredmetalaroundhiswrists,too,withsimilarrunesonthem.Alecwasdressed the sameway,all inwhitewith the same red-gold runes tracedoverthematerial.Itmadehishairlookveryblack.

Jace,Clarythought,ontheotherhand,allinwhite,lookedlikeanangel.Albeitoneoftheavengingkind.

“You’re not mad at Clary. Or Simon,” Alec said. “At least,” he added, with a faint,worriedfrown,“Idon’tthinkyou’remadatSimon.”

Claryhalf-expectedJacetosnapanangryretort,butallhesaidwas,“ClaryknowsI’mnotangryather.”

Simon,leaninghiselbowsonthebackofthesofa,rolledhiseyesbutsaidonly,“WhatIdon’tget ishowValentinemanaged tokill the Inquisitor. I thoughtProjectionscouldn’tactuallyaffectanything.”

“Theyshouldn’tbeableto,”saidAlec.“They’rejustillusions.Somuchcoloredair,sotospeak.”

“Well,notinthiscase.HereachedintotheInquisitorandhetwisted…”Claryshuddered.“Therewasalotofblood.”

“Likeaspecialbonusforyou,”JacesaidtoSimon.

Simonignoredthis.“HasthereeverbeenanInquisitorwhodidn’tdieahorribledeath?”hewonderedaloud.“It’slikebeingthedrummerinSpi alTap.”

Alecrubbedahandacrosshisface.“Ican’tbelievemyparentsdon’tknowaboutthisyet,”hesaid.“Ican’tsayI’mlookingforwardtotellingthem.”

“Whereareyourparents?”askedClary.“Ithoughttheywereupstairs.”

Alecshookhishead.“They’restillatthenecropolis.AtMax’sgrave.Theysentusback.Theywantedtobetherealoneforawhile.”

“WhataboutIsabelle?”Simonasked.“Whereisshe?”

Thehumor,suchasitwas,leftJace’sexpression.“Shewon’tcomeoutofherroom,”hesaid. “She thinkswhat happened toMaxwas her fault. Shewouldn’t even come to thefuneral.”

“Haveyoutriedtalkingtoher?”

“No,” Jace said, “we’vebeenpunchingher repeatedly in the face instead.Why,doyouthinkthatwon’twork?”

“JustthoughtI’dask.”Simon’stonewasmild.

“We’lltellherthisstuffaboutSebastiannotactuallybeingSebastian,”saidAlec.“Itmightmake her feel better. She thinks she ought to have been able to tell that there wassomethingoff aboutSebastian,but ifhewasa spy…”Alec shrugged. “Nobodynoticedanythingoffabouthim.NoteventhePenhallows.”

“Ithoughthewasaknob,”Jacepointedout.

“Yes,butthat’sjustbecause—”Alecsankdeeperintohischair.Helookedexhausted,hisskinapalegraycoloragainstthestarkwhiteofhisclothes.“Ithardlymatters.OnceshefindsoutwhatValentine’sthreatening,nothing’sgoingtocheerherup.”

“Butwouldhereallydoit?”Claryasked.“SendademonarmyagainstNephilim—Imean,he’sstillaShadowhunter,isn’the?Hecouldn’tdestroyallhisownpeople.”

“Hedidn’t care enough about his children not to destroy them,” Jace said,meeting hereyes across the room. Their gazes held. “What makes you think he’d care about hispeople?”

Aleclookedfromoneofthemtotheother,andClarycouldtellfromhisexpressionthatJacehadn’ttoldhimaboutIthurielyet.Helookedbaffled,andverysad.“Jace…”

“Thisdoesexplainonething,”JacesaidwithoutlookingatAlec.“MagnuswastryingtoseeifhecoulduseatrackingruneonanyofthethingsSebastianhadleftinhisroom,tosee if we could locate him that way. He said he wasn’t gettingmuch of a reading onanythingwegavehim.Just…flat.”

“Whatdoesthatmean?”

“TheywereSebastianVerlac’s things.ThefakeSebastianprobably tookthemwheneverhe intercepted him. And Magnus isn’t getting anything from them because the realSebastian—”

“Is probably dead,” finished Alec. “And the Sebastian we know is too smart to leaveanythingbehindthatcouldbeusedtotrackhim.Imean,youcan’ttracksomebodyfromjustanything.Ithastobeanobjectthat’sinsomewayveryconnectedtothatperson.Afamilyheirloom,orastele,orabrushwithsomehairinit,somethinglikethat.”

“Which is toobad,” said Jace, “because ifwe could followhim, he’dprobably leadusstraight toValentine. I’m sure he’s scuttled right back to hismasterwith a full report.ProbablytoldhimallaboutHodge’scrackpotmirror-laketheory.”

“Itmightnothavebeencrackpot,”Alecsaid.“They’vestationedguardsatthepathsthatgotothelake,andsetupwardsthatwillwarnthemifanyonePortalsthere.”

“Fantastic.I’msureweallfeelverysafenow.”Jaceleanedbackagainstthewall.

“What I don’t get,”Simon said, “iswhySebastian stayed around.Afterwhat hedid toIzzyandMax,hewasgoingtogetcaught,therewasnomorepretending.Imean,evenifhethoughthe’dkilledIzzyinsteadofjustknockingherout,howwashegoingtoexplainthat theywerebothdeadandhewasstillfine?No,hewasbusted.Sowhyhangaroundthrough the fighting?Why come up to the Gard to getme? I’m pretty sure he didn’tactuallycareonewayortheotherwhetherIlivedordied.”

“Nowyou’rebeingtoohardonhim,”Jacesaid.“I’msurehe’dratheryou’ddied.”

“Actually,”Clarysaid,“Ithinkhestayedbecauseofme.”

Jace’sgazeflickeduptoherswithaflashofgold.“Becauseofyou?Hopingforanotherhotdate,washe?”

Clary felt herself flush. “No. And our date wasn’t hot. In fact, it wasn’t even a date.Anyway,that’snotthepoint.WhenhecameintotheHall,hekepttryingtogetmetogooutside with him so we could talk. He wanted something fromme. I just don’t knowwhat.”

“Ormaybehejustwantedyou,”Jacesaid.SeeingClary’sexpression,headded,“Notthatway.ImeanmaybehewantedtobringyoutoValentine.”

“Valentinedoesn’tcareaboutme,”Clarysaid.“He’sonlyevercaredaboutyou.”

SomethingflickeredinthedepthsofJace’seyes.“Isthatwhatyoucallit?”Hisexpressionwasfrighteninglybleak.“Afterwhathappenedontheboat,he’sinterestedinyou.Whichmeansyouneedtobecareful.Verycareful.Infact,itwouldn’thurtifyoujustspentthenextfewdaysinside.YoucanlockyourselfinyourroomlikeIsabelle.”

“I’mnotgoingtodothat.”

“Ofcourseyou’renot,”saidJace,“becauseyoulivetotortureme,don’tyou?”

“Noteverything,Jace,isaboutyou,”Clarysaidfuriously.

“Possibly,”Jacesaid,“butyouhavetoadmitthatthemajorityofthingsare.”

Claryresistedtheurgetoscream.

Simon cleared his throat. “Speaking of Isabelle—which we only sort of were, but IthoughtIoughttomentionthisbeforethearguingreallygotunderway—IthinkmaybeIshouldgotalktoher.”

“You?”Alecsaid,andthen,lookingfaintlyembarrassedbyhisowndiscomfiture,addedquickly,“It’sjust—shewon’tevencomeoutofherroomforherownfamily.Whywouldshecomeoutforyou?”

“Maybe because I’m not family,” Simon said. He was standing with his hands in hispockets, his shoulders back.Earlier,whenClary had been sitting close to him, she hadseen that therewas still a thinwhite line circlinghisneck,whereValentinehadcuthisthroat, and scars on his wrists where those had been cut too. His encounters with theShadowhunters’ world had changed him, and not just the surface of him, or even hisblood; the changewent deeper than that.He stood straight,with his head up, and tookwhateverJaceandAlecthrewathimanddidn’tseemtocare.TheSimonwhowouldhavebeenfrightenedofthem,ormadeuneasybythem,wasgone.

Shefeltasuddenpaininherheart,andrealizedwithajoltwhatitwas.Shewasmissinghim—missingSimon.Simonashehadbeen.

“IthinkI’llhaveatryatgettingIsabelletotalktome,”saidSimon.“Itcan’thurt.”

“Butit’salmostdark,”Clarysaid.“WetoldLukeandAmatiswe’dbebackbeforethesunwentdown.”

“I’llwalkyouback,”Jacesaid.“AsforSimon,hecanmanagehisownwaybackinthedark—can’tyou,Simon?”

“Ofcoursehecan,”Alecsaidindignantly,asifeagertomakeupforhisearlierslightingof Simon. “He’s a vampire— and,” he added, “I just now realized you were probablyjoking.Nevermindme.”

Simonsmiled.Claryopenedhermouthtoprotestagain—andclosedit.Partlybecauseshewas,sheknew,beingunreasonable.AndpartlybecausetherewasalookonJace’sfaceashegazedpasther,atSimon,alookthatstartledherintosilence:Itwasamusement,Clarythought, mixed with gratitude and maybe even—most surprising of all—a little bit ofrespect.

Itwas a shortwalk between theLightwoods’ newhouse andAmatis’s;Clarywished itwere longer.Shecouldn’t shake the feeling thateverymoment she spentwith Jacewassomehowpreciousandlimited,thattheywereclosinginonsomehalf-invisibledeadlinethatwouldseparatethemforever.

Shelookedsidewaysathim.Hewasstaringstraightahead,almostasifsheweren’tthere.The line of his profilewas sharp and clear-edged in thewitchlight that illuminated thestreets.Hishair curledagainsthis cheek,notquitehiding thewhite scaronone templewhereaMarkhadbeen.Shecouldseea lineofmetalglitteringathis throat,where theMorgensternringdangledonitschain.His lefthandwasbare;hisknuckleslookedraw.Sohereallywashealinglikeamundane,asAlechadaskedhimto.

Sheshivered.Jaceglancedather.“Areyoucold?”

“I was just thinking,” she said. “I’m surprised that Valentine went after the Inquisitorinstead of Luke. The Inquisitor’s a Shadowhunter, and Luke—Luke’s a Downworlder.Plus,Valentinehateshim.”

“Butinaway,herespectshim,evenifheisaDownworlder,”Jacesaid,andClarythoughtof the look Jace had given Simon earlier, and then tried not to think of it. She hatedthinkingofJaceandValentineasbeing inanywayalike,even inso triviala thingasaglance.“LukeistryingtogettheClavetochange,tothinkinanewway.That’sexactlywhatValentinedid,evenifhisgoalswere—well,notthesame.Luke’saniconoclast.Hewantschange.ToValentine,theInquisitorrepresentstheold,hideboundClavehehatessomuch.”

“Andtheywerefriendsonce,”Clarysaid.“LukeandValentine.”

“‘The Marks of that which once hath been,’” Jace said, and Clary could tell he wasquoting something, from the half-mocking tone in his voice. “Unfortunately, you neverreally hate anyone asmuch as someone you cared about once. I imagineValentine hassomethingspecialplannedforLuke,downtheroad,afterhetakesover.”

“But hewon’t take over,” saidClary, andwhen Jace said nothing, her voice rose. “Hewon’t win—he can’t. He doesn’t really want war, not against Shadowhunters andDownworlders—”

“WhatmakesyouthinkShadowhunterswillfightwithDownworlders?”Jacesaid,andhestillwasn’tlookingather.Theywerewalkingalongthecanalstreet,andhewaslookingoutatthewater,hisjawset.“JustbecauseLukesaysso?Luke’sanidealist.”

“Andwhyisthatabadthingtobe?”

“It’s not. I’m just not one,” said Jace, and Clary felt a cold pang in her heart at theemptiness inhisvoice.Despair,anger,hate.Thesearedemonqualities.He’sacting thewayhethinksheshouldact.

TheyhadreachedAmatis’shouse;Clarystoppedat thefootofthesteps, turningtofacehim.“Maybe,”shesaid.“Butyou’renotlikehim,either.”

Jace starteda little at that,ormaybe itwas just the firmness inher tone.He turnedhisheadtolookatherforwhatfeltlikethefirsttimesincethey’dlefttheLightwoods.“Clary—,”hebegan,andbrokeoff,withanintakeofbreath.“There’sbloodonyoursleeve.Areyouhurt?”

Hemoved towardher, takingherwrist inhishand.Claryglanceddownandsaw tohersurprise thathewasright—therewasanirregularscarletstainontherightsleeveofhercoat.Whatwas oddwas that it was still bright red. Shouldn’t dried blood be a darkercolor?Shefrowned.“That’snotmyblood.”

Herelaxedslightly,hisgriponherwristloosening.“IsittheInquisitor’s?”

Sheshookherhead.“Iactuallythinkit’sSebastian’s.”

“Sebastian’sblood?”

“Yes—when he came into theHall the other night, remember, his facewas bleeding. IthinkIsabellemusthaveclawedhim,butanyway—Itouchedhisfaceandgothisbloodonme.”She lookedmorecloselyat it. “I thoughtAmatiswashed thecoat,but Iguess shedidn’t.”

Sheexpectedhimtoletgoofherthen,butinsteadheheldherwristforalongmoment,examiningtheblood,beforereturningherarmtoher,apparentlysatisfied.“Thanks.”

Shestaredathimforamomentbeforeshakingherhead.“You’renotgoingtotellmewhatthatwasabout,areyou?”

“Notachance.”

Shethrewherarmsupinexasperation.“I’mgoinginside.I’llseeyoulater.”

SheturnedandheadedupthestepstoAmatis’sfrontdoor.Therewasnowayshecouldhaveknownthatthemomentsheturnedherback,thesmilevanishedfromJace’sface,orthathestoodforalongtimeinthedarknessoncethedoorclosedbehindher,lookingafterher,andtwistingasmallpieceofthreadoverandoverbetweenhisfingers.

“Isabelle,”Simonsaid.Ithadtakenhimafewtriestofindherdoor,butthescreamof“Goaway!”thathademanatedfrombehindthisoneconvincedhimhe’dmadetherightchoice.“Isabelle,letmein.”

Therewasamuffledthumpandthedoorreverberatedslightly,as if Isabellehadthrownsomethingatit.Possiblyashoe.“Idon’twanttotalktoyouandClary.Idon’twanttotalktoanyone.Leavemealone,Simon.”

“Clary’snothere,”saidSimon.“AndI’mnotgoingawayuntilyoutalktome.”

“Alec!”Isabelleyelled.“Jace!Makehimgoaway!”

Simonwaited.Therewasnosoundfromdownstairs.EitherAlechadleftorhewaslyinglow.“They’renothere,Isabelle.It’sjustme.”

Therewasa silence.Finally Isabelle spokeagain.This timehervoicecamefrommuchnearer,asifshewerestandingjustontheothersideofthedoor.“You’realone?”

“I’malone,”Simonsaid.

Thedoorcrackedopen.Isabellewasstandingthereinablackslip,herhairlyinglongandtangled over her shoulders. Simon had never seen her like this: barefoot,with her hairunbrushed,andnomakeupon.“Youcancomein.”

Hesteppedpastherintotheroom.Inthelightfromthedoorhecouldseethatitlooked,ashismotherwouldhave said, likea tornadohadhit it.Clotheswere scatteredacross thefloorinpiles,aduffelbagopenonthefloorasifithadexploded.Isabelle’sbrightsilver-goldwhiphungfromonebedpost,alacywhitebrafromanother.Simonavertedhiseyes.Thecurtainsweredrawn,thelampsextinguished.

Isabellefloppeddownontheedgeofthebedandlookedathimwithbitteramusement.“Ablushingvampire.Whowouldhaveguessed.”Sheraisedherchin.“So,Iletyouin.Whatdoyouwant?”

Despiteherangryglare,Simonthoughtshelookedyoungerthanusual,hereyeshugeandblackinherpinchedwhiteface.Hecouldseethewhitescarsthattracedherlightskin,allover her bare arms, her back and collarbones, even her legs. If Clary remains aShadowhunter, he thought, one day she’ll look like this, scarred all over. The thoughtdidn’tupsethimasonceitmighthavedone.TherewassomethingaboutthewayIsabelleworeherscars,asifshewereproudofthem.

Shehadsomething inherhands, somethingshewas turningoverandoverbetweenherfingers. It was a small something that glinted dully in the half-light. He thought for amomentitmightbeapieceofjewelry.

“WhathappenedtoMax,”Simonsaid.“Itwasn’tyourfault.”

Shedidn’t lookathim.Shewasstaringdownat theobject inherhands.“Doyouknowwhatthisis?”shesaid,andhelditup.Itseemedtobeasmalltoysoldier,carvedoutofwood. A toy Shadowhunter, Simon realized, complete with painted-on black gear. Thesilverglinthe’dnoticedwasthepaintonthelittlesworditheld;itwasnearlywornaway.“ItwasJace’s,”shesaid,withoutwaitingforhimtoanswer.“ItwastheonlytoyhehadwhenhecamefromIdris.Idon’tknow,maybeitwaspartofabiggersetonce.Ithinkhemadeithimself,butheneversaidmuchaboutit.Heusedtotakeiteverywherewithhimwhenhewaslittle,alwaysinapocketorwhatever.ThenonedayInoticedMaxcarryingitaround.Jacemusthavebeenaroundthirteenthen.HejustgaveittoMax,Iguess,whenhegot too old for it.Anyway, itwas inMax’s handwhen they found him. Itwas like hegrabbedittoholdontowhenSebastian—whenhe—”Shebrokeoff.Theeffortshewasmakingnottocrywasvisible;hermouthwassetinagrimace,asifitweretwistingitselfoutofshape.“Ishouldhavebeenthereprotectinghim.Ishouldhavebeenthereforhimtoholdonto,notsomestupidlittlewoodentoy.”Sheflungitdownontothebed,hereyesshining.

“Youwereunconscious,”Simonprotested.“Younearlydied,Izzy.Therewasnothingyoucouldhavedone.”

Isabelleshookherhead,hertangledhairbouncingonhershoulders.Shelookedfierceand

wild.“Whatdoyouknowaboutit?”shedemanded.“DidyouknowthatMaxcametousthenighthediedand toldushe’dseensomeoneclimbing thedemon towers,andI toldhim hewas dreaming and sent him away?And hewas right. I bet it was that bastardSebastian,climbingthetowersohecouldtakethewardsdown.AndSebastiankilledhimsohecouldn’t tellanyonewhathe’dseen. If I’d just listened—just takenonesecond tolisten—itwouldn’thavehappened.”

“There’snowayyoucouldhaveknown,”Simonsaid.“AndaboutSebastian—hewasn’treallythePenhallows’cousin.Hehadeveryonefooled.”

Isabelledidn’tlooksurprised.“Iknow,”shesaid.“IheardyoutalkingtoAlecandJace.Iwaslisteningfromthetopofthestairs.”

“Youwereeavesdropping?”

She shrugged. “Up to thepartwhereyou saidyouweregoing to comeand talk tome.ThenIcamebackhere.Ididn’tfeel likeseeingyou.”Shelookedathimsideways.“I’llgiveyouthismuch,though:You’repersistent.”

“Look,Isabelle.”Simontookastepforward.Hewasoddly,suddenlyconsciousofthefactthatshewasn’tverydressed,soheheldbackfromputtingahandonhershoulderordoinganythingelseovertlysoothing.“Whenmyfatherdied,Iknewitwasn’tmyfault,butIstillkeptthinkingoverandoverofallthethingsIshouldhavedone,shouldhavesaid,beforehedied.”

“Yeah,well,thisismyfault,”Isabellesaid.“AndwhatIshouldhavedoneislistened.AndwhatIstillcandoistrackdownthebastardwhodidthisandkillhim.”

“I’mnotsurethat’llhelp—”

“Howdoyouknow?”Isabelledemanded.“Didyoufindthepersonresponsibleforyourfather’sdeathandkillhim?”

“Myfatherhadaheartattack,”Simonsaid.“So,no.”

“Thenyoudon’tknowwhatyou’re talkingabout,doyou?”Isabelle raisedherchinandlookedathimsquarely.“Comehere.”

“What?”

Shebeckonedimperiouslywithherindexfinger.“Comehere,Simon.”

Reluctantlyhecametowardher.Hewasbarelyafootawaywhensheseizedhimbythefrontofhisshirt,yankinghimtowardher.Theirfaceswereinchesapart;hecouldseehowthe skinbelowher eyes shonewith themarksof recent tears. “Youknowwhat I reallyneedrightnow?”shesaid,enunciatingeachwordclearly.

“Um,”Simonsaid.“No?”

“Tobedistracted,”shesaid,andwithahalfturnyankedhimbodilyontothebedbesideher.

Helandedonhisbackamidatangledpileofclothes.“Isabelle,”Simonprotestedweakly,“doyoureallythinkthisisgoingtomakeyoufeelanybetter?”

“Trustme,”Isabellesaid,placingahandonhischest,justoverhisunbeatingheart.“Ifeelbetteralready.”

Clarylayawakeinbed,staringupatasinglepatchofmoonlightasitmadeitswayacrosstheceiling.Hernerveswerestill toojangledfromtheeventsofthedayforhertosleep,and it didn’t help that Simon hadn’t come back before dinner—or after it. Eventuallyshe’d voiced her concern to Luke, who’d thrown on a coat and headed over to theLightwoods’.He’dreturnedlookingamused.“Simon’sfine,Clary,”hesaid.“Gotobed.”Andthenhe’dleftagain,withAmatis,offtoanotheroneoftheirinterminablemeetingsattheAccordsHall.ShewonderedifanyonehadcleaneduptheInquisitor’sbloodyet.

With nothing else to do, she’d gone to bed, but sleep had remained stubbornly out ofreach.ClarykeptseeingValentineinherhead,reachingintotheInquisitorandrippinghisheartout.Thewayhehad turnedtoherandsaid,You’dkeepyourmouthshut, foryourbrother’ssakeifnotyourown.Aboveall,thesecretsshehadlearnedfromIthuriellaylikeaweightonherchest.Underalltheseanxietieswasthefear,constantasaheartbeat,thathermotherwoulddie.WherewasMagnus?

Therewasarustlingsoundbythecurtains,andasuddenwashofmoonlightpouredintotheroom.Clarysatboltupright,scrabblingfortheseraphbladeshekeptonherbedsidetable.

“It’sallright.”Ahandcamedownonhers—aslender,scarred,familiarhand.“It’sme.”

Clarydrewherbreathinsharply,andhetookhishandback.“Jace,”shesaid.“Whatareyoudoinghere?What’swrong?”

Foramomenthedidn’tanswer,andshetwistedtolookathim,pullingthebedclothesuparoundher.Shefeltherselfflush,acutelyconsciousofthefactthatshewaswearingonlypajama bottoms and a flimsy camisole—and then she saw his expression, and herembarrassmentfaded.

“Jace?” shewhispered.Hewas standingby theheadofherbed, stillwearinghiswhitemourningclothes, and therewasnothing lightor sarcasticordistant in thewayhewaslookingdownather.Hewasverypale,andhiseyeslookedhauntedandnearlyblackwithstrain.“Areyouallright?”

“Idon’tknow,”hesaidinthedazedmannerofsomeonejustwakingupfromadream.“Iwasn’tgoingtocomehere.I’vebeenwanderingaroundallnight—Icouldn’tsleep—andI

keptfindingmyselfwalkinghere.Toyou.”

She sat up straighter, letting the bedclothes fall down aroundher hips. “Why can’t yousleep? Did something happen?” she asked, and immediately felt stupid. What hadn’thappened?

Jace,however,barelyseemedtohearthequestion.“Ihadtoseeyou,”hesaid,mostlytohimself.“IknowIshouldn’t.ButIhadto.”

“Well,sitdown,then,”shesaid,pullingherlegsbacktomakeaspaceforhimtositattheedgeofthebed.“Becauseyou’refreakingmeout.Areyousurenothing’shappened?”

“Ididn’tsaynothinghappened.”Hesatdownonthebed,facingher.Hewascloseenoughthatshecouldhavejustleanedforwardandkissedhim—

Herchesttightened.“Istherebadnews?Iseverything—iseveryone—”

“It’snotbad,”saidJace,“andit’snotnews.It’stheoppositeofnews.It’ssomethingI’vealwaysknown,andyou—youprobablyknowit too.GodknowsIhaven’thid itall thatwell.” His eyes searched her face, slowly, as if he meant to memorize it. “Whathappened,”hesaid,andhesitated—“isthatIrealizedsomething.”

“Jace,”shewhisperedsuddenly,andfornoreasonshecouldidentify,shewasfrightenedofwhathewasabouttosay.“Jace,youdon’thaveto—”

“I was trying to go…somewhere,” Jace said. “But I kept getting pulled back here. Icouldn’t stopwalking, couldn’t stop thinking.About the first time I ever saw you, andhow after that I couldn’t forget you. I wanted to, but I couldn’t stop myself. I forcedHodgetoletmebetheonewhocametofindyouandbringyoubacktotheInstitute.Andeven back then, in that stupid coffee shop, when I saw you sitting on that couchwithSimon,eventhenthatfeltwrongtome—Ishouldhavebeentheonesittingwithyou.Theonewhomadeyoulaughlikethat.Icouldn’tgetridofthatfeeling.That itshouldhavebeenme.AndthemoreIknewyou,themoreIfeltit—ithadneverbeenlikethatformebefore.I’dalwayswantedagirlandthengottentoknowherandnotwantedheranymore,butwithyouthefeelingjustgotstrongerandstrongeruntilthatnightwhenyoushowedupatRenwick’sandIknew.

“AndthentofindoutthatthereasonIfeltlikethat—likeyouweresomepartofmeI’dlostandneverevenknewIwasmissinguntilIsawyouagain—thatthereasonwasthatyouweremysister,itfeltlikesomesortofcosmicjoke.LikeGodwasspittingonme.Idon’tevenknowforwhat—forthinkingthatIcouldactuallygettohaveyou,thatIwoulddeservesomethinglikethat,tobethathappy.Icouldn’timaginewhatitwasI’ddonethatIwasbeingpunishedfor—”

“Ifyou’rebeingpunished,”Clarysaid,“thensoamI.Becauseallthosethingsyoufelt,Ifelt them too, but we can’t—we have to stop feeling this way, because it’s our onlychance.”

Jace’shandsweretightathissides.“Ouronlychanceforwhat?”

“Tobetogetheratall.Becauseotherwisewecan’teverbearoundeachother,notevenjustinthesameroom,andIcan’tstandthat.I’dratherhaveyouinmylifeevenasabrotherthannotatall—”

“And I’m supposed to sit bywhile you date boys, fall in lovewith someone else, getmarried…?”His voice tightened. “Andmeanwhile, I’ll die a little bit more every day,watching.”

“No.Youwon’tcarebythen,”shesaid,wonderingevenasshesaiditifshecouldstandtheideaofaJacewhodidn’tcare.Shehadn’tthoughtasfaraheadashehad,andwhenshetriedtoimaginewatchinghimfallinlovewithsomeoneelse,marrysomeoneelse,shecouldn’tevenpictureit,couldn’tpictureanythingbutanemptyblacktunnelthatstretchedoutaheadofher,forever.“Please.Ifwedon’tsayanything—ifwejustpretend—”

“Thereisnopretending,”Jacesaidwithabsoluteclarity.“Iloveyou,andIwillloveyouuntilIdie,andifthere’salifeafterthat,I’llloveyouthen.”

She caught her breath. He had said it—the words there was no going back from. Shestruggledforareply,butnonecame.

“AndIknowyouthinkIjustwanttobewithyouto—toshowmyselfwhatamonsterIam,”hesaid.“AndmaybeIamamonster.Idon’tknowtheanswertothat.ButwhatIdoknow is that even if there’sdemonblood insideme, there ishumanblood insidemeaswell.And I couldn’t love you like I do if Iwasn’t at least a little bit human. Becausedemonswant.Buttheydon’tlove.AndI—”

Hestoodupthen,withasortofviolentsuddenness,andcrossedtheroomtothewindow.Helookedlost,aslostashehadintheGreatHallstandingoverMax’sbody.

“Jace?”Clary said, alarmed, andwhenhe didn’t answer, she scrambled to her feet andwent to him, laying her hand on his arm. He continued staring out the window; theirreflections in the glass were nearly transparent—ghostly outlines of a tall boy and asmallergirl,herhandclampedanxiouslyonhissleeve.“What’swrong?”

“I shouldn’t have told you like that,” he said, not looking at her. “I’m sorry. Thatwasprobablyalottotakein.Youlookedso…shocked.”Thetensionunderlyinghisvoicewasalivewire.

“Iwas,”shesaid.“I’vespent thepast fewdayswondering ifyouhatedme.And thenIsawyoutonightandIwasprettysureyoudid.”

“Hatedyou?”heechoed,lookingbewildered.Hereachedoutthenandtouchedherface,lightly,justthetipsofhisfingersagainstherskin.“ItoldyouIcouldn’tsleep.Tomorrowbymidnightwe’llbeeitheratwarorunderValentine’srule.Thiscouldbethelastnightofourlives,certainlythelastevenbarelyordinaryone.Thelastnightwegotosleepandget

up just aswe alwayshave.And all I could thinkofwas that Iwanted to spend itwithyou.”

Herheartskippedabeat.“Jace—”

“I don’tmean it like that,” he said. “Iwon’t touchyou, not if youdon’twantme to. Iknowit’swrong—God,it’sallkindsofwrong—butIjustwanttoliedownwithyouandwake upwith you, just once, just once ever inmy life.” There was desperation in hisvoice. “It’s just thisonenight. In thegrand schemeof things,howmuchcanonenightmatter?”

Becausethinkhowwe’llfeelinthemorning.Thinkhowmuchworseitwillbepretendingthatwedon’tmeananythingtoeachotherinfrontofeveryoneelseafterwe’vespentthenighttogether,evenifallwedoissleep.It’slikehavingjustalittlebitofadrug—itonlymakesyouwantmore.

Butthatwaswhyhehadtoldherwhathehad,sherealized.Becauseitwasn’ttrue,notforhim;therewasnothingthatcouldmakeitworse,justastherewasnothingthatcouldmakeitbetter.Whathe feltwasas finalasa life sentence,andcouldshe reallysay itwassodifferentforher?Andevenifshehopeditmightbe,evenifshehopedshemightsomedaybepersuadedbytimeorreasonorgradualattritionnottofeelthiswayanymore,itdidn’tmatter.TherewasnothingshehadeverwantedinherlifemorethanshewantedthisnightwithJace.

“Closethecurtains,then,beforeyoucometobed,”shesaid.“Ican’tsleepwiththismuchlightintheroom.”

Thelookthatwashedoverhisfacewaspureincredulity.Hereallyhadn’texpectedhertosayyes,Claryrealizedinsurprise,andamomentlaterhehadcaughtherandhuggedhertohim,hisfaceburiedinherstill-messy-from-sleephair.“Clary…”

“Cometobed,”shesaidsoftly.“It’s late.”Shedrewawayfromhimandreturnedtothebed,crawlingupontoitanddrawingthecoversuptoherwaist.Somehow,lookingathimlikethis,shecouldalmostimaginethatthingsweredifferent,thatitwasmanyyearsfromnowand they’dbeen together so long that they’ddone this ahundred times, that everynight belonged to them, and not just this one. She propped her chin on her hands andwatchedhimashereachedtojerkthecurtainsshutandthenunzippedhiswhitejacketandhungitoverthebackofachair.HewaswearingapalegrayT-shirtunderneath,andtheMarksthattwinedhisbarearmsshonedarklyasheunbuckledhisweaponsbeltandlaiditonthefloor.Heunlacedhisbootsandsteppedoutofthemashecametowardthebed,andhestretchedoutverycarefullybesideClary.Lyingonhisback,heturnedhisheadtolookather.Averylittlelightfilteredintotheroompasttheedgeofthecurtains,justenoughforhertoseetheoutlineofhisfaceandthebrightgleamofhiseyes.

“Goodnight,Clary,”hesaid.

His hands lay flat on either side of him, his arms at his sides.He seemed barely to be

breathing; shewasn’t sure shewas breathing herself. She slid her own hand across thebed-sheet, justfarenoughthat theirfingers touched—solightly thatshewouldprobablyhardlyhavebeenawareofithadshebeentouchinganyonebutJace;asitwas,thenerveendingsinherfingertipsprickledsoftly,asifshewereholdingthemoveralowflame.Shefelt him tense beside her and then relax.He had shut his eyes, and his lashes cast fineshadowsagainstthecurveofhischeekbones.Hismouthcurledintoasmileasifhesensedherwatching him, and shewondered howhewould look in themorning,with his hairmessedandsleepcirclesunderhiseyes.Despiteeverything,thethoughtgaveherajoltofhappiness.

Shelacedherfingersthroughhis.“Goodnight,”shewhispered.Withtheirhandsclaspedlikechildreninafairytale,shefellasleepbesidehiminthedark.

15

THINGSFALLAPART

Lukehadspentmostofthenightwatchingthemoon’sprogressacrossthetranslucentroofof theHall ofAccords like a silver coin rolling across the clear surfaceof a glasstable. When the moon was close to full, as it was right now, he felt a correspondingsharpeninginhisvisionandsenseofsmell,evenwhenhewasinhumanform.Now,forinstance,hecouldsmellthesweatofdoubtintheroom,andtheunderlyingsharptangoffear.Hecouldsense therestlessworryofhispackofwolvesout inBrocelindForestastheypacedthedarknessbeneaththetreesandwaitedfornewsfromhim.

“Lucian.”Amatis’svoiceinhisearwaslowbutpiercing.“Lucian!”

Snappedoutofhisreverie,Lukefoughttofocushisexhaustedeyesonthesceneinfront

ofhim. Itwasa ragged littlegroup, thosewhohadagreed to at least listen tohisplan.Fewerthanhehadhopedfor.ManyheknewfromhisoldlifeinIdris—thePenhallows,theLightwoods,theRavenscars—andjustasmanyhehadjustmet,liketheMonteverdes,whorantheLisbonInstituteandspokeinamixtureofPortugueseandEnglish,orNasreenChaudhury, the stern-featured head of the Mumbai Institute. Her dark green sari waspatternedinelaboraterunesofsuchabrightsilverthatLukeinstinctivelyflinchedwhenshepassedtooclose.

“Really, Lucian,” said Maryse Lightwood. Her small white face was pinched byexhaustionandgrief.Lukehadn’treallyexpectedeitherherorherhusbandtocome,buttheyhadagreedalmostassoonashe’dmentionedittothem.Hesupposedheoughttobegratefultheywerehereatall,evenifgriefdidtendtomakeMarysemoresharp-temperedthanusual.“You’retheonewhowantedusallhere;theleastyoucandoispayattention.”

“He has been.” Amatis sat with her legs drawn under her like a young girl, but herexpressionwasfirm.“It’snotLucian’sfault thatwe’vebeengoingaroundincirclesforthepasthour.”

“Andwe’ll keep going around and around untilwe figure out a solution,” said PatrickPenhallow,anedgetohisvoice.

“With all due respect, Patrick,” said Nasreen, in her clipped accent, “there may be nosolutiontothisproblem.Thebestwecanhopeforisaplan.”

“Aplanthatdoesn’tinvolveeithermassslaveryor—,”beganJia,Patrick’swife,andthenshebrokeoff,bitingher lip.Shewasapretty,slenderwomanwholookedvery likeherdaughter,Aline.LukerememberedwhenPatrickhadrunoff to theBeijingInstituteandmarriedher.Ithadbeensomethingofascandal,ashe’dbeensupposedtomarryagirlhisparentshadalreadypickedoutforhiminIdris.ButPatrickneverhadlikedtodowhathewastold,aqualityforwhichLukewasnowgrateful.

“OrallyingourselveswithDownworlders?”saidLuke.“I’mafraidthere’snowayaroundthat.”

“That’snot theproblem,andyouknow it,” saidMaryse.“It’s thewholebusinessaboutseatsontheCouncil.TheClavewillneveragreetoit.Youknowthat.Fourwholeseats—”

“Notfour,”Lukesaid.“OneeachfortheFairFolk,theMoon’sChildren,andthechildrenofLilith.”

“Thewarlocks, the fey, and the lycanthropes,” said soft-voicedSenhorMonteverde, hiseyebrowsarched.“Andwhatofthevampires?”

“They haven’t promised me anything,” Luke admitted. “And I haven’t promised themanythingeither.TheymaynotbeeagertojointheCouncil;they’renonetoofondofmykind,andnonetoofondofmeetingsandrules.Butthedoorisopentothemshouldthey

changetheirminds.”

“Malachiandhis lotwillneveragree to it, andwemaynothaveenoughCouncilvoteswithout them,” muttered Patrick. “Besides, without the vampires, what chance do wehave?”

“Avery good one,” snappedAmatis,who seemed to believe inLuke’s plan evenmorethanhedid.“TherearemanyDownworlderswhowillfightwithus,andtheyarepowerfulindeed.Thewarlocksalone—”

WithashakeofherheadSenhoraMonteverdeturnedtoherhusband.“Thisplanismad.Itwillneverwork.Downworlderscannotbetrusted.”

“ItworkedduringtheUprising,”saidLuke.

The Portuguese woman’s lips curled back. “Only because Valentine was fighting withfools for an army,” she said. “Not demons. And how are we to know his old Circlememberswillnotgobacktohimthemomenthecallsthemtohisside?”

“Becarefulwhatyousay,Senhora,”rumbledRobertLightwood.Itwasthefirsttimehehadspokeninmorethananhour;he’dspentmostoftheeveningmotionless,immobilizedby sorrow.Therewere lines inhis faceLukecouldhave swornhadn’t been there threedays ago. His torment was plain in his taut shoulders and clenched fists; Luke couldhardlyblamehim.Hehadnevermuch likedRobert,but therewas somethingabout thesightofsuchabigmanmadehelplessbygriefthatwaspainfultowitness.“IfyouthinkIwouldjoinwithValentineafterMax’sdeath—hehadmyboymurdered—”

“Robert,”Marysemurmured.Sheputherhandonhisarm.

“Ifwedonotjoinwithhim,”saidSenhorMonteverde,“allourchildrenmaydie.”

“If you think that, thenwhyareyouhere?”Amatis rose toher feet. “I thoughtwehadagreed—”

So did I. Luke’s head ached. It was always like this with them, he thought, two stepsforwardandastepback.TheywereasbadaswarringDownworldersthemselves,ifonlytheycouldseeit.Maybethey’dallbebetteroffiftheysolvedtheirproblemswithcombat,thewaythepackdid—

AflashofmovementatthedoorsoftheHallcaughthiseye.Itwasmomentary,andifithadnotbeensoclosetothefullmoon,hemightnothaveseenit,orrecognizedthefigurewho passed quickly before the doors.Hewondered for amoment if hewas imaginingthings.Sometimes,whenhewasverytired,hethoughthesawJocelyn—intheflickerofashadow,intheplayoflightonawall.

Butthiswasn’tJocelyn.Lukerosetohisfeet.“I’mtakingfiveminutesforsomeair.I’llbeback.”He felt themwatchinghimas hemadehisway to the front doors—all of them,evenAmatis.SenhorMonteverdewhispered something tohiswife inPortuguese;Luke

caught“lobo,”thewordfor“wolf,”inthestreamofwords.TheyprobablythinkI’mgoingoutsidetorunincirclesandbarkatthemoon.

Theairoutsidewasfreshandcold, theskyaslate-steelgray.Dawnreddenedtheskyintheeastandgaveapalepinkcast tothewhitemarblestepsleadingdownfromtheHalldoors.Jacewaswaitingforhim,halfwaydownthestairs.ThewhitemourningclothesheworehitLukelikeaslapintheface,areminderofallthedeaththey’djustenduredhere,andwereabouttoendureagain.

LukepausedseveralstepsaboveJace.“Whatareyoudoinghere,Jonathan?”

Jace said nothing, and Luke mentally cursed his forgetfulness—Jace didn’t like beingcalled Jonathan and usually responded to the name with a sharp objection. This time,though,hedidn’tseemtocare.ThefaceheraisedtoLukewasasgrimlysetasthefacesofanyoftheadultsintheHall.ThoughJacewasstillayearawayfrombeinganadultunderClave law,he’d already seenworse things inhis short life thanmost adults could evenimagine.

“Wereyoulookingforyourparents?”

“YoumeantheLightwoods?”Jaceshookhishead.“No.Idon’twanttotalktothem.Iwaslookingforyou.”

“IsitaboutClary?”LukedescendedseveralstepsuntilhestoodjustaboveJace.“Issheallright?”

“She’s fine.” Themention of Clary seemed tomake Jace tense all over, which in turnsparkedLuke’snerves—butJacewouldneversayClarywasallrightifsheweren’t.

“Thenwhatisit?”

Jace looked past him, toward the doors of the Hall. “How is it going in there? Anyprogress?”

“Notreally,”Lukeadmitted.“Asmuchastheydon’twanttosurrendertoValentine,theyliketheideaofDownworldersontheCouncilevenless.AndwithoutthepromiseofseatsontheCouncil,mypeoplewon’tfight.”

Jace’seyessparked.“TheClaveisgoingtohatethatidea.”

“They don’t have to love it. They only have to like it better than they like the idea ofsuicide.”

“They’ll stall,” Jace advised him. “I’d give them a deadline if I were you. The Claveworksbetterwithdeadlines.”

Lukecouldn’thelpbutsmile.“AlltheDownworldersIcansummonwillbeapproachingtheNorthGateattwilight.IftheClaveagreestofightwiththembythen,they’llenterthe

city.Ifnot, they’ll turnaround.Icouldn’t leaveitanylater thanthat—itbarelygivesusenoughtimetogettoBrocelindbymidnightasitis.”

Jacewhistled.“That’stheatrical.HopingthesightofallthoseDownworlderswillinspiretheClave,orscarethem?”

“Probablyalittleofboth.ManyoftheClavemembersareassociatedwithInstitutes,likeyou; they’re a lotmoreused to the sightofDownworlders. It’s thenative Idrisians I’mworriedabout.ThesightofDownworldersattheirgatesmightsendthemintoapanic.Ontheotherhand,itcan’thurtforthemtoberemindedhowvulnerabletheyare.”

Asifoncue,Jace’sgazeflickeduptotheruinsoftheGard,ablackscaronthehillsideover the city. “I’mnot sure anyone needsmore reminders of that.”He glanced back atLuke, his clear eyes very serious. “Iwant to tell you something, and Iwant it to be inconfidence.”

Lukecouldn’thidehissurprise.“Whytellme?WhynottheLightwoods?”

“Becauseyou’retheonewho’sinchargehere,really.Youknowthat.”

Lukehesitated.SomethingaboutJace’swhiteandtiredfacedrewsympathyoutofhisownexhaustion—sympathyandadesiretoshowthisboy,whohadbeensobetrayedandbadlyusedby theadults inhis life, thatnotall adultswere like that, that therewere somehecouldrelyon.“Allright.”

“And,”Jacesaid,“becauseItrustyoutoknowhowtoexplainittoClary.”

“ExplainwhattoClary?”

“WhyIhadtodoit.”Jace’seyeswerewideinthelightoftherisingsun;itmadehimlookyearsyounger.“I’mgoingafterSebastian,Luke.Iknowhowtofindhim,andI’mgoingtofollowhimuntilheleadsmetoValentine.”

Lukelethisbreathoutinsurprise.“Youknowhowtofindhim?”

“Magnus showed me how to use a tracking spell when I was staying with him inBrooklyn.Weweretryingtousemyfather’sringtofindhim.Itdidn’twork,but—”

“You’renotawarlock.Youshouldn’tbeabletodoatrackingspell.”

“Thesearerunes.LikethewaytheInquisitorwatchedmewhenIwenttoseeValentineontheship.AllIneededtomakeitworkwassomethingofSebastian’s.”

“ButwewentoverthiswiththePenhallows.Heleftnothingbehind.Hisroomwasutterlyclearedout,probablyforexactlythisreason.”

“I found something,” said Jace. “A thread soaked in his blood. It’s not much, but it’senough.Itriedit,anditworked.”

“Youcan’tgoharingoffafterValentineonyourown,Jace.Iwon’tletyou.”

“Youcan’tstopme.Notreally.Unlessyouwanttofightmerighthereonthesesteps.Youwon’twin,either.YouknowthataswellasIdo.”TherewasastrangenoteinJace’svoice,amixtureofcertaintyandself-hatred.

“Look,howeverdeterminedyoumaybetoplaythesolitaryhero—”

“Iamnotahero,”Jacesaid.Hisvoicewasclearand toneless,as ifhewerestating thesimplestoffacts.

“ThinkofwhatthiswilldototheLightwoods,evenifnothinghappenstoyou.ThinkofClary—”

“YouthinkIhaven’tthoughtofClary?YouthinkIhaven’tthoughtofmyfamily?WhydoyouthinkI’mdoingthis?”

“DoyouthinkIdon’trememberwhatit’sliketobeseventeen?”Lukeanswered.“Tothinkyouhavethepowertosavetheworld—andnotjustthepowerbuttheresponsibility—”

“Lookatme,”saidJace.“LookatmeandtellmeI’manordinaryseventeen-year-old.”

Lukesighed.“There’snothingordinaryaboutyou.”

“Now tellme it’s impossible.Tellmewhat I’m suggesting can’t bedone.”WhenLukesaid nothing, Jace went on, “Look, your plan is fine, as far as that goes. Bring inDownworlders, fightValentine all theway to the gates ofAlicante. It’s better than justlyingdownandlettinghimwalkoveryou.Buthe’llexpectit.Youwon’tbecatchinghimby surprise. I—I could catch him by surprise. He may not know Sebastian’s beingfollowed.It’sachanceatleast,andwehavetotakewhateverchanceswecanget.”

“Thatmaybetrue,”saidLuke.“Butthisistoomuchtoexpectofanyoneperson.Evenyou.”

“But don’t you see—it canonlybeme,” Jace said, desperation creeping intohis voice.“EvenifValentinesensesI’mfollowinghim,hemightletmegetcloseenough—”

“Closeenoughtodowhat?”

“Tokillhim,”saidJace.“Whatelse?”

Lukelookedattheboystandingbelowhimonthestairs.HewishedinsomewayhecouldreachthroughandseeJocelyninherson,thewayhesawherinClary,butJacewasonly,and always, himself—contained, alone, and separate. “You could do that?” Luke said.“Youcouldkillyourownfather?”

“Yes,”Jacesaid,hisvoiceasdistantasanecho.“NowisthiswhereyoutellmeIcan’tkillhimbecauseheis,afterall,myfather,andpatricideisanunforgivablecrime?”

“No.ThisiswhereItellyouthatyouhavetobesureyou’recapableofit,”saidLuke,andrealized, to his own surprise, that somepart of himhad already accepted that Jacewasgoingtodoexactlywhathesaidhewasgoingtodo,andthathewouldlethim.“Youcan’tdoallthis,cutyourtieshereandhuntValentinedownonyourown,justtofailatthefinalhurdle.”

“Oh,”saidJace,“I’mcapableofit.”HelookedawayfromLuke,downthestepstowardthesquarethatuntilyesterdaymorninghadbeenfullofbodies.“MyfathermademewhatIam.AndIhatehimforit.Icankillhim.Hemadesureofthat.”

Luke shook his head. “Whatever your upbringing, Jace, you’ve fought it. He didn’tcorruptyou—”

“No,”Jacesaid.“Hedidn’thaveto.”Heglancedupatthesky,stripedwithblueandgray;birdshadbeguntheirmorningsongsinthetreesliningthesquare.“I’dbettergo.”

“IstheresomethingyouwantedmetotelltheLightwoods?”

“No.No,don’ttellthemanything.They’lljustblameyouiftheyfindoutyouknewwhatIwasgoingtodoandyouletmego.Ileftnotes,”headded.“They’llfigureitout.”

“Thenwhy—”

“DidItellyouallthis?BecauseIwantyoutoknow.Iwantyoutokeepitinmindwhileyoumakeyourbattleplans.That I’mout there, lookingforValentine. If I findhim,I’llsendyouamessage.”Hesmiledfleetingly.“Thinkofmeasyourbackupplan.”

Lukereachedoutandclaspedtheboy’shand.“Ifyourfatherweren’twhoheis,”hesaid,“he’dbeproudofyou.”

Jacelookedsurprisedforamoment,andthenjustasquicklyheflushedanddrewhishandback.“Ifyouknew—,”hebegan,andbithislip.“Nevermind.Goodlucktoyou,LucianGraymark.Aveatquevale.”

“Letushopetherewillbenorealfarewell,”Lukesaid.Thesunwasrisingfastnow,andas Jace lifted his head, frowning at the sudden intensification of the light, there wassomething in his face that struckLuke—something in thatmixture of vulnerability andstubbornpride.“Youremindmeofsomeone,”hesaidwithoutthinking.“SomeoneIknewyearsago.”

“Iknow,”Jacesaidwithabittertwisttohismouth.“IremindyouofValentine.”

“No,”saidLuke, inawonderingvoice;butasJaceturnedaway, theresemblancefaded,banishingtheghostsofmemory.“No—Iwasn’tthinkingofValentineatall.”

ThemomentClaryawoke,sheknewJacewasgone,evenbeforesheopenedhereyes.Herhand,stilloutstretchedacrossthebed,wasempty;nofingersreturnedthepressureofherown.Shesatupslowly,herchesttight.

Hemusthavedrawnthecurtainsbackbeforeheleft,becausethewindowswereopenandbrightbarsofsunlightstriped thebed.Clarywonderedwhy the lighthadn’twokenher.From thepositionof the sun, ithad tobeafternoon.Herhead feltheavyand thick,hereyesbleary.Maybeitwasjustthatshehadn’thadnightmareslastnight,forthefirsttimeinsolong,andherbodywascatchinguponsleep.

Itwasonlywhenshestoodupthatshenoticedthefoldedpieceofpaperonthenightstand.Shepickeditupwithasmilehoveringaroundherlips—soJacehadleftanote—andwhensomethingheavyslidfrombeneaththepaperandrattledtotheflooratherfeet,shewassosurprisedthatshejumpedback,thinkingitwasalive.

Itlayatherfeet,acoilofbrightmetal.Sheknewwhatitwasbeforeshebentandpickeditup.ThechainandsilverringthatJacehadwornaroundhisneck.Thefamilyring.Shehadrarelyseenhimwithoutit.Asuddensensationofdreadwashedoverher.

She opened the note and scanned the first lines:Despite everything, I can’t bear thethoughtofthisringbeinglostforever,anymorethanIcanbearthethoughtofleavingyouforever.AndthoughIhavenochoiceabouttheone,atleastIcanchooseabouttheother.

Therestoftheletterseemedtowashtogetherintoameaninglessblurofletters;shehadtoreaditoverandovertomakeanysenseofit.Whenshedidfinallyunderstand,shestoodstaringdown,watchingthepaperflutterasherhandshook.SheunderstoodnowwhyJacehadtoldhereverythinghehad,andwhyhehadsaidonenightdidn’tmatter.Youcouldsayanythingyouwantedtosomeoneyouthoughtyouwerenevergoingtoseeagain.

Shehadnorecollection,later,ofhavingdecidedwhattodonext,orofhavinghuntedforsomething to wear, but somehow she was hurrying down the stairs, dressed inShadowhunter gear, the letter in one hand and the chain with the ring clasped hastilyaroundherthroat.

Thelivingroomwasempty,thefireinthegrateburneddowntograyash,butnoiseandlightemanatedfromthekitchen:achatterofvoices,andthesmellofsomethingcooking.Pancakes? Clary thought in surprise. She wouldn’t have thought Amatis knew how tomakethem.

And she was right. Stepping into the kitchen, Clary felt her eyes widen—Isabelle, herglossydarkhairsweptupinaknotatthebackofherneck,stoodatthestove,anapronaroundherwaistandametalspooninherhand.Simonwassittingonthetablebehindher,hisfeetuponachair,andAmatis,farfromtellinghimtogetoffthefurniture,wasleaningagainstthecounter,lookinghighlyentertained.

IsabellewavedherspoonatClary.“Goodmorning,”shesaid.“Wouldyoulikebreakfast?Although,Iguessit’smorelikelunchtime.”

Speechless,ClarylookedatAmatis,whoshrugged.“Theyjustshowedupandwantedtomakebreakfast,”shesaid,“andIhavetoadmit,I’mnotthatgoodacook.”

Clary thought of Isabelle’s awful soup back at the Institute and suppressed a shudder.“Where’sLuke?”

“InBrocelind,with his pack,” saidAmatis. “Is everything all right, Clary?You look alittle…”

“Wild-eyed,”Simonfinishedforher.“Iseverythingallright?”

For a moment Clary couldn’t think of a reply. They just showed up, Amatis had said.WhichmeantSimonhadspenttheentirenightatIsabelle’s.Shestaredathim.Hedidn’tlookanydifferent.

“I’mfine,”shesaid.NowwashardlythetimetobeworryingaboutSimon’slovelife.“IneedtotalktoIsabelle.”

“Sotalk,”Isabellesaid,pokingatamisshapenobjectinthebottomofthefryingpanthatwas,Claryfeared,apancake.“I’mlistening.”

“Alone,”saidClary.

Isabellefrowned.“Can’titwait?I’malmostdone—”

“No,”Clarysaid,and therewassomething inher tone thatmadeSimon,at least, situpstraight.“Itcan’t.”

Simonslidoffthetable.“Fine.We’llgiveyoutwosomeprivacy,”hesaid.HeturnedtoAmatis.“MaybeyoucouldshowmethosebabypicturesofLukeyouweretalkingabout.”

AmatisshotaworriedglanceatClarybutfollowedSimonoutoftheroom.“IsupposeIcould….”

Isabelleshookherheadasthedoorclosedbehindthem.Somethingglintedatthebackofherneck:abright,delicatelythinknifewasthrustthroughthecoilofherhair,holdingitinplace.Despitethetableauofdomesticity,shewasstillaShadowhunter.“Look,”shesaid.“IfthisisaboutSimon—”

“It’snotaboutSimon.It’saboutJace.”ShethrustthenoteatIsabelle.“Readthis.”

WithasighIsabelleturnedoffthestove,tookthenote,andsatdowntoreadit.Clarytookanappleoutof thebasketon the tableand satdownas Isabelle, across fromherat thetable, scanned the note silently.Clary picked at the apple peel in silence—she couldn’timagineactuallyeatingtheapple,or,infact,eatinganythingatall,everagain.

Isabelle lookedup from thenote, her eyebrowsarched. “This seemskindof—personal.AreyousureIshouldbereadingit?”

Probablynot.Clarycouldbarelyevenrememberthewordsintheletternow;inanyothersituation,shewouldneverhaveshowedit toIsabelle,butherpanicaboutJaceoverrodeeveryotherconcern.“Justreadtotheend.”

Isabelleturnedbacktothenote.Whenshewasdone,shesetthepaperdownonthetable.“Ithoughthemightdosomethinglikethis.”

“Youseewhat Imean,”Clarysaid,herwordsstumblingover themselves,“buthecan’thaveleftthatlongago,orgottenthatfar.Wehavetogoafterhimand—”Shebrokeoff,herbrainfinallyprocessingwhatIsabellehadsaidandcatchingupwithhermouth.“Whatdoyoumean,youthoughthemightdosomethinglikethis?”

“Justwhat I said.” Isabellepushedadangling lockofhairbehindher ears. “Ever sinceSebastiandisappeared,everyone’sbeentalkingabouthowtofindhim.Itorehisroomatthe Penhallows’ apart looking for anything we could use to track him—but there wasnothing. Imighthaveknown that if Jace foundanything thatwould allowhim to trackSebastian,he’dbeofflikeashot.”Shebitherlip.“Ijustwouldhavehopedthathe’dhavebroughtAlecwithhim.Alecwon’tbehappy.”

“SoyouthinkAlecwillwanttogoafterhim,then?”Claryasked,withrenewedhope.

“Clary.” Isabelle sounded faintly exasperated. “How are we supposed to go after him?Howarewesupposedtohavetheslightestideawherehe’sgone?”

“Theremustbesomeway—”

“Wecantrytotrackhim.Jaceissmart,though.He’llhavefiguredoutsomewaytoblockthetracking,justlikeSebastiandid.”

AcoldangerstirredinClary’schest.“Doyouevenwanttofindhim?Doyouevencarethathe’sgoneoffonwhat’spracticallyasuicidemission?Hecan’tfacedownValentineallbyhimself.”

“Probablynot,”saidIsabelle.“ButItrustthatJacehashisreasonsfor—”

“Forwhat?Forwantingtodie?”

“Clary.”Isabelle’seyesblazedupwithasuddenlightofanger.“Doyouthinktherestofusaresafe?We’reallwaitingtodieorbeenslaved.CanyoureallyseeJacedoingthat,justsittingaroundwaitingforsomethingawfultohappen?Canyoureallysee—”

“AllIseeisthatJaceisyourbrotherjustlikeMaxwas,”saidClary,“andyoucaredwhathappenedtohim.”

Sheregretteditthemomentshesaidit;Isabelle’sfacewentwhite,asifClary’swordshadbleached the color out of the other girl’s skin. “Max,” Isabelle said with a tightlycontrolled fury, “was a little boy, not a fighter—he was nine years old. Jace is a

Shadowhunter,awarrior.IfwefightValentine,doyouthinkAlecwon’tbeinthebattle?Doyouthinkwe’renotallofus,atalltimes,preparedtodieifwehaveto,ifthecauseisgreatenough?ValentineisJace’sfather;Jaceprobablyhasthebestchanceofallofusofgettingclosetohimtodowhathehastodo—”

“ValentinewillkillJaceifhehasto,”Clarysaid.“Hewon’tsparehim.”

“Iknow.”

“Butallthatmattersisifhegoesoutinglory?Won’tyouevenmisshim?”

“Iwillmisshimeveryday,”Isabellesaid,“fortherestofmylife,which,let’sfaceit, ifJace fails,willprobablybeabout aweek long.”She shookherhead. “Youdon’tget it,Clary.Youdon’tunderstandwhatit’sliketolivealwaysatwar,togrowupwithbattleandsacrifice.Iguessit’snotyourfault.It’sjusthowyouwerebroughtup—”

Claryheldherhandsup.“Idoget it.Iknowyoudon’t likeme,Isabelle.BecauseI’mamundanetoyou.”

“You think that’swhy—” Isabelle brokeoff, her eyes bright; not justwith anger,Clarysawwithsurprise,butwithtears.“God,youdon’tunderstandanything,doyou?You’veknownJacewhat,amonth?I’veknownhimforsevenyears.AndallthetimeI’veknownhim,I’veneverseenhimfallinlove,neverseenhimevenlikeanyone.He’dhookupwithgirls,sure.Girlsalwaysfellinlovewithhim,buthenevercared.Ithinkthat’swhyAlecthought—”Isabelle stopped foramoment,holdingherselfvery still.She’s tryingnot tocry, Clary thought in wonder—Isabelle, who seemed like she never cried. “It alwaysworriedme,andmymom,too—Imean,whatkindofteenageboyneverevengetsacrushonanyone?Itwas likehewasalwayshalf-awakewhereotherpeoplewereconcerned.Ithought maybe what had happened with his father had done some sort of permanentdamagetohim,likemaybeheneverreallycouldloveanyone.IfI’donlyknownwhathadreallyhappenedwithhisfather—butthenIprobablywouldhavethoughtthesamething,wouldn’tI?Imean,whowouldn’thavebeendamagedbythat?

“And thenwemetyou,and itwas likehewokeup.Youcouldn’t see it,becauseyou’dneverknownhimanydifferent.ButIsawit.Hodgesawit.Alecsawit—whydoyouthinkhehatedyousomuch?Itwaslikethatfromthesecondwemetyou.Youthoughtitwasamazing that you could see us, and itwas, butwhatwas amazing tomewas that Jacecouldseeyou,too.Hekept talkingaboutyouall thewaybackto theInstitute;hemadeHodgesendhimouttogetyou;andoncehebroughtyouback,hedidn’twantyoutoleaveagain.Whereveryouwereintheroom,hewatchedyou….HewasevenjealousofSimon.I’mnot surehe realized ithimself,buthewas. Icould tell. Jealousofamundane.Andthen after what happened to Simon at the party, he was willing to go with you to theDumort,tobreakClaveLaw,justtosaveamundanehedidn’tevenlike.Hediditforyou.BecauseifanythinghadhappenedtoSimon,youwouldhavebeenhurt.Youwerethefirstperson outside our family whose happiness I’d ever seen him take into consideration.Becausehelovedyou.”

Clarymadeanoiseinthebackofherthroat.“Butthatwasbefore—”

“Beforehe foundoutyouwerehis sister. I know.And Idon’tblameyou for that. Youcouldn’thaveknown.AndIguessyoucouldn’thavehelped thatyou justwent rightonaheadanddatedSimonafterwardlikeyoudidn’tevencare.IthoughtonceJaceknewyouwerehissister,he’dgiveupandgetoverit,buthedidn’t,andhecouldn’t.Idon’tknowwhatValentinedidtohimwhenhewasachild.Idon’tknowifthat’swhyheisthewayheis,orifit’sjustthewayhe’smade,buthewon’tgetoveryou,Clary.Hecan’t.Istartedtohateseeingyou.IhatedforJacetoseeyou.It’slikeaninjuryyougetfromdemonpoison—youhavetoleaveitaloneandletitheal.Everytimeyouripthebandagesoff,youjustopenthewoundupagain.Everytimeheseesyou,it’sliketearingoffthebandages.”

“Iknow,”Clarywhispered.“Howdoyouthinkitisforme?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell what you’re feeling. You’re notmy sister. I don’t hate you,Clary.Ievenlikeyou.Ifitwerepossible,thereisn’tanyoneI’dratherJacebewith.ButIhopeyoucanunderstandwhenIsaythatifbysomemiracleweallgetthroughthis,Ihopemyfamilymovesitselfsomewheresofarawaythatweneverseeyouagain.”

TearsstungthebacksofClary’seyes.Itwasstrange,sheandIsabellesittinghereatthistable,cryingoverJaceforreasons thatwerebothverydifferentandstrangely thesame.“Whyareyoutellingmeallthisnow?”

“Becauseyou’reaccusingmeofnotwantingtoprotectJace.ButIdowanttoprotecthim.WhydoyouthinkIwassoupsetwhenyousuddenlyshowedupatthePenhallows’?Youactasifyou’renotapartofallthis,ofourworld;youstandonthesidelines,butyouareapartofit.You’recentraltoit.Youcan’tjustpretendtobeabitplayerforever,Clary,notwhenyou’reValentine’sdaughter.NotwhenJaceisdoingwhathe’sdoingpartlybecauseofyou.”

“Becauseofme?”

“Whydoyouthinkhe’ssowillingtoriskhimself?Whydoyouthinkhedoesn’tcareifhedies?”Isabelle’swordsdroveintoClary’searslikesharpneedles.Iknowwhy,shethought.It’sbecausehe thinkshe’sademon, thinkshe isn’treallyhuman, that’swhy—butIcan’ttellyouthat,can’t tellyoutheonethingthatwouldmakeyouunderstand.“He’salwaysthought therewas somethingwrongwith him, andnow, because of you, he thinks he’scursedforever.IheardhimsaysotoAlec.Whynotriskyourlife,ifyoudon’twanttoliveanyway?Whynotriskyourlifeifyou’llneverbehappynomatterwhatyoudo?”

“Isabelle, that’s enough.” The door opened, almost silently, and Simon stood in thedoorway. Clary had nearly forgotten how much better his hearing was now. “It’s notClary’sfault.”

ColorroseinIsabelle’sface.“Stayoutofthis,Simon.Youdon’tknowwhat’sgoingon.”

Simon stepped into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. “I heard most of what

you’vebeensaying,”hetoldthemmatter-of-factly.“Eventhroughthewall.Yousaidyoudon’t knowwhat Clary’s feeling because you haven’t known her long enough.Well, Ihave.IfyouthinkJaceistheonlyonewho’ssuffered,you’rewrongthere.”

There was a silence; the fierceness in Isabelle’s expression was fading slightly. In thedistance,Clarythoughtsheheardthesoundofsomeoneknockingonthefrontdoor:Luke,probably,orMaiabringingmorebloodforSimon.

“It’snotbecauseofmethatheleft,”Clarysaid,andherheartbegantopound.CanItellthemJace’s secret,now thathe’sgone?Can I tell them the real reasonhe left, the realreasonhedoesn’tcareifhedies?Wordsstartedtopouroutofher,almostagainstherwill.“When Jaceand Iwent to theWaylandmanor—whenwewent to find theBookof theWhite—”

She broke off as the kitchen door swung open. Amatis stood there, the strangestexpression on her face. For amomentClary thought shewas frightened, and her heartskipped abeat.But itwasn’t fright onAmatis’s face, not really.She looked as shehadwhenClaryandLukehadsuddenlyshowedupatherfrontdoor.She lookedas ifshe’dseenaghost.“Clary,”shesaidslowly.“There’ssomeoneheretoseeyou—”

Beforeshecouldfinish,thatsomeonepushedpastherintothekitchen.Amatisstoodback,andClarygotherfirstgoodlookattheintruder—aslenderwoman,dressedinblack.Atfirst allClary sawwas theShadowhuntergear and she almostdidn’t recognizeher, notuntilhereyesreachedthewoman’sfaceandshefeltherstomachdropoutofherbodythewayithadwhenJacehaddriventheirmotorcycleofftheedgeoftheDumortroof,aten-storyfall.

Itwashermother.

PartThree

TheWaytoHeaven

Ohyes,Iknowthewaytoheavenwaseasy.

Wefoundthelittlekingdomofourpassion

Thatallcansharewhowalktheroadoflovers.

Inwildandsecrethappinesswestumbled;

Andgodsanddemonsclamouredinoursenses.

—SiegfriedSassoon,“TheImperfectLover”

16

ARTICLESOFFAITH

Sincethenightshe’dcomehometofindhermothergone,Claryhadimaginedseeingher again,well and healthy, so often that her imaginings had taken on the quality of aphotograph thathadbecome faded frombeing takenout and lookedat toomany times.Those images roseupbeforehernow,evenasshestared indisbelief—images inwhichhermother,lookinghealthyandhappy,huggedClaryandtoldherhowmuchshe’dmissedherbutthateverythingwasgoingtobeallrightnow.

Themother in her imaginings bore very little resemblance to thewomanwho stood infrontofhernow.She’drememberedJocelynasgentleandartistic,alittlebohemianwith

her paint-splattered overalls, her red hair in pigtails or fastened upwith a pencil into amessybun.ThisJocelynwasasbrightandsharpasaknife,herhairdrawnbacksternly,notawispoutofplace;theharshblackofhergearmadeherfacelookpaleandhard.NorwasherexpressiontheoneClaryhadimagined:Insteadofdelight, therewassomethingvery like horror in the way she looked at Clary, her green eyes wide. “Clary,” shebreathed.“Yourclothes.”

Clarylookeddownatherself.ShehadonAmatis’sblackShadowhuntergear,exactlywhathermotherhadspentherwholelifemakingsureherdaughterwouldneverhavetowear.Claryswallowedhardandstoodup,clutching theedgeof the tablewithherhands.Shecould seehowwhiteherknuckleswere, but herhands felt disconnected fromherbodysomehow,asiftheybelongedtosomeoneelse.

Jocelynsteppedtowardher,reachingherarmsout.“Clary—”

AndClaryfoundherselfbackingup,sohastilythatshehitthecounterwiththesmallofherback.Painflaredthroughher,butshehardlynoticed;shewasstaringathermother.SowasSimon,hismouthslightlyopen;Amatis,too,lookedstricken.

Isabellestoodup,puttingherselfbetweenClaryandhermother.Herhandslidbeneathherapron, andClary had a feeling thatwhen she drew it out, she’d be holdingher slenderelectrumwhip.“What’sgoingonhere?”Isabelledemanded.“Whoareyou?”

HerstrongvoicewaveredslightlyassheseemedtocatchtheexpressiononJocelyn’sface;Jocelynwasstaringather,herhandoverherheart.

“Maryse.”Jocelyn’svoicewasbarelyawhisper.

Isabellelookedstartled.“Howdoyouknowmymother’sname?”

ColorcameintoJocelyn’sfaceinarush.“Ofcourse.You’reMaryse’sdaughter.It’sjust—youlooksomuchlikeher.”Sheloweredherhandslowly.“I’mJocelynFr—Fairchild.I’mClary’smother.”

Isabelle took her hand out from under the apron and glanced atClary, her eyes full ofconfusion.“Butyouwereinthehospital…inNewYork…”

“Iwas,”Jocelynsaidinafirmervoice.“Butthankstomydaughter,I’mfinenow.AndI’dlikeamomentwithher.”

“I’mnotsure,”saidAmatis,“thatshewantsamomentwithyou.”ShereachedouttoputherhandonJocelyn’sshoulder.“Thismustbeashockforher—”

JocelynshookoffAmatisandmovedtowardClary,reachingherhandsout.“Clary—”

AtlastClaryfoundhervoice.Itwasacold,icyvoice,soangryitsurprisedher.“Howdidyougethere,Jocelyn?”

Hermotherstoppeddead,alookofuncertaintypassingoverherface.“IPortaledtojustoutsidethecitywithMagnusBane.Yesterdayhecametomeinthehospital—hebroughttheantidote.Hetoldmeeverythingyoudidforme.AllI’vewantedsinceIwokeupwastoseeyou….”Hervoicetrailedoff.“Clary,issomethingwrong?”

“Whydidn’tyouevertellmeIhadabrother?”Clarysaid.Itwasn’twhatshe’dexpectedtosay,wasn’tevenwhatshe’dplannedtohavecomeoutofhermouth.Butthereitwas.

Jocelyndroppedherhands.“I thoughthewasdead. I thought itwouldonlyhurtyou toknow.”

“Letme tell you something,Mom,” Clary said. “Knowing is better than not knowing.Everytime.”

“I’msorry—,”Jocelynbegan.

“Sorry?” Clary’s voice rose; it was as if something inside her had torn open, andeverything was pouring out, all her bitterness, all her pent-up rage. “Do you want toexplainwhyyounevertoldmeIwasaShadowhunter?Orthatmyfatherwasstillalive?Oh,andhowaboutthatbitwhereyoupaidMagnustostealmymemories?”

“Iwastryingtoprotectyou—”

“Well,youdidaterriblejob!”Clary’svoicerose.“Whatdidyouexpecttohappentomeafteryoudisappeared? If ithadn’tbeen for Jaceand theothers, I’dbedead.Younevershowedmehowtoprotectmyself.Younevertoldmehowdangerousthingsreallywere.Whatdidyou think?That if I couldn’t see thebad things, thatmeant theycouldn’t seeme?”Hereyesburned.“YouknewValentinewasn’tdead.YoutoldLukeyouthoughthewasstillalive.”

“That’s why I had to hide you,” Jocelyn said. “I couldn’t risk letting Valentine knowwhereyouwere.Icouldn’tlethimtouchyou—”

“Becauseheturnedyourfirstchildintoamonster,”saidClary,“andyoudidn’twanthimtodothesametome.”

Shocked speechless, Jocelyn could only stare at her. “Yes,” she said finally. “Yes, butthat’snotallitwas,Clary—”

“Youstolemymemories,”Clarysaid.“Youtookthemawayfromme.YoutookawaywhoIwas.”

“That’snotwhoyouare!”Jocelyncried.“Ineverwantedittobewhoyouwere—”

“It doesn’tmatterwhatyouwanted!”Clary shouted. “It iswho I am!You tookall thatawayfrommeanditdidn’tbelongtoyou!”

Jocelynwas ashen.Tears roseup inClary’s eyes—she couldn’t bear seeing hermotherlikethis,seeinghersohurt,andyetshewastheonedoingthehurting—andsheknewthatifsheopenedhermouthagain,moreterriblewordswouldcomeout,morehateful,angrythings.Sheclappedherhandoverhermouthanddartedforthehallway,pushingpasthermother,pastSimon’soutstretchedhand.Allshewantedwastogetaway.Blindlypushingatthefrontdoor,shehalf-felloutintothestreet.Behindher,someonecalledhername,butshedidn’tturnaround.Shewasalreadyrunning.

Jacewas somewhat surprised todiscover thatSebastianhad left theVerlachorse in thestablesratherthangallopingawayonitthenighthefled.PerhapshehadbeenafraidthatWayfarermightinsomemannerbetracked.

It gave Jace a certain satisfaction to saddle the stallionup and ridehimout of the city.True, if Sebastian had reallywantedWayfarer, hewouldn’t have left him behind—andbesides,thehorsehadn’treallybeenSebastian’stobeginwith.Butthefactwas,Jacelikedhorses.He’dbeententhelasttimehe’driddenone,butthememories,hewaspleasedtonote,camebackfast.

IthadtakenhimandClarysixhourstowalkfromtheWaylandmanortoAlicante.Ittookabouttwohourstogetback,ridingataneargallop.Bythetimetheydrewupontheridgeoverlookingthehouseandgardens,bothheandthehorsewerecoveredinalightsheenofsweat.

The misdirection wards that had hidden the manor had been destroyed along with themanor’sfoundation.Whatwasleftoftheonceelegantbuildingwasaheapofsmolderingstone.Thegardens,singedattheedgesnow,stillbroughtbackmemoriesofthetimehe’dlived there as a child. There were the rosebushes, denuded of their blossoms now andthreadedwithgreenweeds;thestonebenchesthatsatbyemptypools;andthehollowinthegroundwherehe’d lainwithClary thenight themanor collapsed.He could see theblueglintofthenearbylakethroughthetrees.

Asurgeofbitternesscaughthim.Hejammedhishandintohispocketanddrewoutfirstastele—he’d“borrowed”itfromAlec’sroombeforehe’dleft,asareplacementfortheoneClaryhadlost,sinceAleccouldalwaysgetanother—andthenthethreadhe’dtakenfromthesleeveofClary’scoat.Itlayinhispalm,stainedred-brownatoneend.Heclosedhisfistaroundit,tightlyenoughtomakethebonesjutoutunderhisskin,andwithhissteletracedaruneonthebackofhishand.Thefaintstingwasmorefamiliarthanpainful.Hewatchedtherunesinkintohisskinlikeastonesinkingthroughwater,andclosedhiseyes.

Insteadof thebacksofhiseyelidshesawavalley.Hewasstandingona ridge lookingdown over it, and as if hewere gazing at amap that pinpointed his location, he knewexactly where he was. He remembered how the Inquisitor had known exactly whereValentine’sboatwasinthemiddleoftheEastRiverandrealized,Thisishowshedidit.Everydetailwasclear—everybladeofgrass,thescatterofbrowningleavesathisfeet—

buttherewasnosound.Thescenewaseerilysilent.

Thevalleywasahorseshoewithoneendnarrower than theother.Abrightsilver rillofwater—acreekorstream—ranthroughthecenterofitanddisappearedamongrocksatthenarrow end. Beside the stream sat a gray stone house, white smoke puffing from thesquarechimney.Itwasanoddlypastoralscene, tranquilunderthebluegazeof thesky.Ashewatched,aslenderfigureswungintoview.Sebastian.Nowthathewasnolongerbothering to pretend, his arrogance was plain in the way he walked, in the jut of hisshoulders,thefaintsmirkonhisface.Sebastiankneltdownbythesideofthestreamandplungedhishandsin,splashingwaterupoverhisfaceandhair.

Jaceopenedhiseyes.BeneathhimWayfarerwascontentedlycroppinggrass.Jaceshovedthesteleandthreadbackintohispocket,andwithasinglelastglanceattheruinsofthehousehe’dgrownupin,hegatheredupthereinsanddughisheelsintothehorse’ssides.

Clary lay in thegrassnear theedgeofGardHillandstaredmoroselydownatAlicante.Theviewfromherewasprettyspectacular,shehadtoadmit.Shecouldlookoutovertherooftopsofthecity,withtheirelegantcarvingsandrune-Markedweathervanes,pastthespiresoftheHallofAccords,outtowardsomethingthatgleamedinthefardistanceliketheedgeofasilvercoin—LakeLyn?TheblackruinsoftheGardhulkedbehindher,andthe demon towers shone like crystal. Clary almost thought she could see the wards,shimmeringlikeaninvisiblenetwovenaroundthebordersofthecity.

Shelookeddownatherhands.Shehadtornupseveralfistfulsofgrassinthelastspasmsofheranger,andherfingerswerestickywithdirtandbloodwhereshe’drippedanailhalfoff. Once the fury had passed, a feeling of utter emptiness had replaced it. She hadn’trealizedhowangryshe’dbeenwithhermother,notuntilshe’dsteppedthroughthedoorandClaryhadsetherpanicaboutJocelyn’slifeasideandrealizedwhatlayunderit.Nowthatshewascalmer,shewondered ifapartofherhadwanted topunishhermother forwhat had happened to Jace. If he hadn’t been lied to—if they both hadn’t been—thenperhapstheshockoffindingoutwhatValentinehaddonetohimwhenhewasonlyababywouldn’thavedrivenhimtoagestureClarycouldn’thelpfeelingwasclosetosuicide.

“MindifIjoinyou?”

She jumped in surprise and rolled onto her side to look up. Simon stood over her, hishands inhispockets.Someone—Isabelle,probably—hadgivenhimadark jacketof thetough black stuff Shadowhunters used for their gear.A vampire in gear,Clary thought,wonderingifitwasafirst.“Yousnuckuponme,”shesaid.“IguessI’mnotmuchofaShadowhunter,huh.”

Simonshrugged.“Well,inyourdefense,Idomovewithasilent,pantherlikegrace.”

Despiteherself,Clarysmiled.Shesatup,brushingdirtoffherhands.“Goaheadandjoinme.Thismope-festisopentoall.”

Sittingbesideher,Simonlookedoutoverthecityandwhistled.“Niceview.”

“Itis.”Clarylookedathimsidelong.“Howdidyoufindme?”

“Well, it tookmea fewhours.”Hesmiled,a littlecrookedly.“ThenI rememberedhowwhenweused to fight,back in firstgrade,you’dgoandsulkonmyroofandmymomwouldhavetogetyoudown?”

“So?”

“Iknowyou,”hesaid.“Whenyougetupset,youheadforhighground.”

Heheldsomethingouttoher—hergreencoat,neatlyfolded.Shetookitandshruggediton—thepoor thingwasalreadyshowingdistinct signsofwear.Therewasevena smallholeintheelbowbigenoughtowiggleafingerthrough.

“Thanks,Simon.”Shelacedherhandsaroundherkneesandstaredoutatthecity.Thesunwaslowinthesky,andthetowershadbeguntoglowafaintreddishpink.“Didmymomsendyouupheretogetme?”

Simonshookhishead.“Luke,actually.Andhejustaskedmetotellyouthatyoumightwanttoheadbackbeforesunset.Someprettyimportantstuffishappening.”

“Whatkindofstuff?”

“Luke gave the Clave until sunset to decide whether they’d agree to give theDownworldersseatsontheCouncil.TheDownworldersareallcomingtotheNorthGateattwilight.IftheClaveagrees,theycancomeintoAlicante.Ifnot…”

“Theygetsentaway,”Claryfinished.“AndtheClavegivesitselfuptoValentine.”

“Yeah.”

“They’ll agree,” saidClary.“Theyhave to.”Shehuggedherknees. “They’dneverpickValentine.Noonewould.”

“Gladtoseeyouridealismhasn’tbeendamaged,”saidSimon,andthoughhisvoicewaslight,Claryheardanothervoice through it. Jace’s, sayinghewasn’tan idealist, andsheshivered,despitethecoatshewaswearing.

“Simon?”shesaid.“Ihaveastupidquestion.”

“Whatisit?”

“DidyousleepwithIsabelle?”

Simonmadeachokingsound.Claryswiveledslowlyaroundtolookathim.

“Areyouokay?”sheasked.

“Ithinkso,”hesaid,recoveringhispoisewithapparenteffort.“Areyouserious?”

“Well,youweregoneallnight.”

Simonwassilentforalongmoment.Finallyhesaid,“I’mnotsureit’syourbusiness,butno.”

“Well,”saidClary,afterajudiciouspause,“Iguessyouwouldn’thavetakenadvantageofherwhenshe’ssogrief-strickenandall.”

Simonsnorted.“Ifyouevermeet themanwhocould takeadvantageof Isabelle,you’llhavetoletmeknow.I’dliketoshakehishand.Orrunawayfromhimveryfast,I’mnotsurewhich.”

“Soyou’renotdatingIsabelle.”

“Clary,”Simonsaid,“whyareyouaskingmeaboutIsabelle?Don’tyouwanttotalkaboutyourmom?OraboutJace?Izzytoldmethatheleft.Iknowhowyoumustbefeeling.”

“No,”Clarysaid.“No,Idon’tthinkyoudo.”

“You’renottheonlypersonwho’severfeltabandoned.”TherewasanedgeofimpatiencetoSimon’svoice.“IguessI just thought—Imean,I’veneverseenyousoangry.Andatyourmom.Ithoughtyoumissedher.”

“Ofcourse Imissedher!”Clarysaid, realizingevenas shesaid ithow thescene in thekitchenmusthave looked.Especially tohermother.Shepushed the thoughtaway.“It’sjust thatI’vebeensofocusedonrescuingher—savingherfromValentine, thenfiguringoutawaytocureher—thatIneverevenstoppedtothinkabouthowangryIwasthatsheliedtomealltheseyears.Thatshekeptallofthisfromme,keptthetruthfromme.NeverletmeknowwhoIreallywas.”

“Butthat’snotwhatyousaidwhenshewalkedintotheroom,”saidSimonquietly.“Yousaid,‘Whydidn’tyouevertellmeIhadabrother?’”

“Iknow.”Claryyankedabladeofgrassoutofthedirt,worryingitbetweenherfingers.“IguessIcan’thelpthinkingthatifI’dknownthetruth,Iwouldn’thavemetJacethewayIdid.Iwouldn’thavefalleninlovewithhim.”

Simonwassilentforamoment.“Idon’tthinkI’veeverheardyousaythatbefore.”

“ThatIlovehim?”Shelaughed,butitsoundeddrearyeventoherears.“SeemsuselesstopretendlikeIdon’t,atthispoint.Maybeitdoesn’tmatter.Iprobablywon’teverseehimagain,anyway.”

“He’llcomeback.”

“Maybe.”

“He’llcomeback,”Simonsaidagain.“Foryou.”

“Idon’tknow.”Claryshookherhead.Itwasgettingcolderasthesundippedtotouchtheedgeofthehorizon.Shenarrowedhereyes,leaningforward,staring.“Simon.Look.”

Hefollowedhergaze.Beyondthewards,attheNorthGateofthecity,hundredsofdarkfigureswere gathering, some huddled together, some standing apart: theDownworldersLukehadcalledtothecity’said,waitingpatientlyforwordfromtheClavetoletthemin.A shiver sizzled down Clary’s spine. She was poised not just on the crest of this hill,lookingdownoverasteepdroptothecitybelow,butattheedgeofacrisis,aneventthatwouldchangetheworkingsofthewholeShadowhuntingworld.

“They’rehere,”Simonsaid,halftohimself.“IwonderifthatmeanstheClave’sdecided?”

“Ihopeso.”ThegrassbladeClaryhadbeenworryingatwasamangledgreenmess;shetosseditasideandyankedupanotherone.“Idon’tknowwhatI’lldoiftheydecidetogivein to Valentine. Maybe I can create a Portal that’ll take us all away to somewhereValentinewillneverfindus.Adesertedisland,orsomething.”

“Okay, Ihaveastupidquestionmyself,”Simonsaid.“Youcancreatenewrunes, right?Whycan’tyoujustcreateonetodestroyeverydemonintheworld?OrkillValentine?”

“Itdoesn’tworklikethat,”Clarysaid.“IcanonlycreaterunesIcanvisualize.Thewholeimagehastocomeintomyhead,likeapicture.WhenItrytovisualize‘killValentine’or‘ruletheworld’orsomething,Idon’tgetanyimages.Justwhitenoise.”

“Butwheredotheimagesoftherunescomefrom,doyouthink?”

“Idon’tknow,”Clarysaid.“AlltherunestheShadowhuntersknowcomefromtheGrayBook.That’swhytheycanonlybeputonNephilim;that’swhatthey’refor.Butthereareother,olderrunes.Magnustoldmethat.LiketheMarkofCain.ItwasaprotectionMark,butnotonefromtheGrayBook.SowhenIthinkoftheserunes,liketheFearlessrune,Idon’tknowifit’ssomethingI’minventing,orsomethingI’mremembering—runesolderthanShadowhunters.Runesasoldasangelsthemselves.”ShethoughtoftheruneIthurielhad showed her, the one as simple as a knot.Had it come from her ownmind, or theangel’s?Orwas it just something that had always existed, like the sea or the sky?Thethoughtmadehershiver.

“Areyoucold?”Simonasked.

“Yes—aren’tyou?”

“Idon’tgetcoldanymore.”Heputanarmaroundher,hishandrubbingherbackinslowcircles. He chuckled ruefully. “I guess this probably doesn’t helpmuch, what withmehavingnobodyheatandall.”

“No,”Clarysaid.“Imean—yes,itdoeshelp.Staylikethat.”Sheglancedupathim.HewasstaringdownattheNorthGate,aroundwhichthedarkfiguresofDownworldersstillcrowded,almostmotionless.Thered lightof thedemontowersreflected inhiseyes;helooked like someone in aphotograph takenwith a flash.She could see faint blueveinsspidering just under the surfaceofhis skinwhere itwas thinnest: at his temples, at thebaseofhiscollarbone.Sheknewenoughaboutvampires toknowthat thismeant ithadbeenawhilesincehe’dfed.“Areyouhungry?”

Nowhedidglancedownather.“AfraidI’mgoingtobiteyou?”

“Youknowyou’rewelcometomybloodwheneveryouwantit.”

Ashiver,notfromcold,passedoverhim,andhepulledhermoretightlyagainsthisside.“I’dneverdo that,”hesaid.And then,more lightly,“Besides, I’vealreadydrunkJace’sblood—I’vehadenoughoffeedingoffmyfriends.”

ClarythoughtofthesilverscaronthesideofJace’sthroat.Slowly,hermindstillfulloftheimageofJace,shesaid,“Doyouthinkthat’swhy…?”

“Whywhat?”

“Whysunlightdoesn’thurtyou.Imean,itdidhurtyoubeforethat,didn’tit?Beforethatnightontheboat?”

Henoddedreluctantly.

“Sowhatelsechanged?Orisitjustthatyoudrankhisblood?”

“Youmeanbecausehe’sNephilim?No.No,it’ssomethingelse.YouandJace—you’renotquite normal, are you? I mean, not normal Shadowhunters. Threre’s something specialabout you both. Like the SeelieQueen said. Youwere experiments.”He smiled at herstartledlook.“I’mnotstupid.Icanputthesethingstogether.Youwithyourrunepowers,and Jace, well…no one could be that annoying without some kind of supernaturalassistance.”

“Doyoureallydislikehimthatmuch?”

“Idon’tdislikeJace,”Simonprotested.“Imean,Ihatedhimatfirst,sure.Heseemedsoarrogantandsureofhimself,andyouactedlikehehungthemoon—”

“Ididnot.”

“Letmefinish,Clary.”TherewasabreathlessundercurrentinSimon’svoice,ifsomeonewhoneverbreathedcouldbesaidtobebreathless.Hesoundedasifhewereracingtowardsomething.“Icould tellhowmuchyou likedhim,andI thoughthewasusingyou, thatyouwerejustsomestupidmundanegirlhecouldimpresswithhisShadowhuntertricks.FirstItoldmyselfthatyou’dneverfallforit,andthenthatevenifyoudid,he’dgettired

of you eventually andyou’d comeback tome. I’mnot proudof that, butwhenyou’redesperate, you’ll believe anything, I guess. And then when he turned out to be yourbrother,itseemedlikealast-minutereprieve—andIwasglad.Iwasevengladtoseehowmuchheseemedtobesuffering,untilthatnightintheSeelieCourtwhenyoukissedhim.Icouldsee…”

“Seewhat?”Clarysaid,unabletobearthepause.

“Thewayhelookedatyou.Igotit then.Hewasneverusingyou.Helovedyou,anditwaskillinghim.”

“IsthatwhyyouwenttotheDumort?”Clarywhispered.Itwassomethingshe’dalwayswantedtoknowbuthadneverbeenabletobringherselftoask.

“BecauseofyouandJace?Notinanyrealway,no.Eversincethatnightinthehotel,I’dbeenwantingtogoback.Idreamedaboutit.AndI’dwakeupoutofbed,gettingdressed,oralreadyonthestreet,andIknewIwantedtogobacktothehotel.Itwasalwaysworseat night, andworse the closer I got to the hotel. It didn’t even occur tome that itwassomethingsupernatural—Ithoughtitwasposttraumaticstressorsomething.Thatnight,Iwassoexhaustedandangry,andweweresoclosetothehotel,anditwasnight—Ibarelyevenrememberwhathappened.Ijustrememberwalkingawayfromthepark,andthen—nothing.”

“Butifyouhadn’tbeenangryatme—ifwehadn’tupsetyou—”

“It’snotlikeyouhadachoice,”Simonsaid.“Andit’snotlikeIdidn’tknow.Youcanonlypushthetruthdownforsolong,andthenitbubblesbackup.ThemistakeImadewasnottelling youwhatwas going onwithme, not telling you about the dreams. But I don’tregretdatingyou.I’mgladwetried.AndIloveyoufortrying,evenifitwasnevergoingtowork.”

“Iwantedittoworksomuch,”Clarysaidsoftly.“Ineverwantedtohurtyou.”

“Iwouldn’tchangeit,”Simonsaid.“Iwouldn’tgiveuplovingyou.Notforanything.YouknowwhatRaphaeltoldme?ThatIdidn’tknowhowtobeagoodvampire,thatvampiresaccept that they’re dead. But as long as I remember what it was like to love you, I’llalwaysfeellikeI’malive.”

“Simon—”

“Look.”Hecutheroffwithagesture,hisdarkeyeswidening.“Downthere.”

The sun was a red sliver on the horizon; as she looked, it flickered and vanished,disappearingpast thedark rimof theworld.Thedemon towers ofAlicante blazed intosuddenincandescentlife.IntheirlightClarycouldseethedarkcrowdswarmingrestlesslyaroundtheNorthGate.“What’sgoingon?”shewhispered.“Thesun’sset;whyaren’tthegatesopening?”

Simonwasmotionless.“TheClave,”hesaid.“TheymusthavesaidnotoLuke.”

“Buttheycan’thave!”Clary’svoicerosesharply.“Thatwouldmean—”

“They’regoingtogivethemselvesuptoValentine.”

“Theycan’t!”Clarycriedagain,butevenasshestared,shesawthegroupsofdarkfiguressurrounding thewards turn andmove away from the city, streaming like ants out of adestroyedanthill.

Simon’s facewaswaxy in the fading light. “I guess,” he said, “they really hate us thatmuch.They’dreallyratherchooseValentine.”

“It’snothate,”Clarysaid.“It’sthatthey’reafraid.EvenValentinewasafraid.”Shesaiditwithoutthinking,andrealizedasshesaiditthatitwastrue.“Afraidandjealous.”

Simonflickedaglancetowardherinsurprise.“Jealous?”

ButClarywasbackinthedreamIthurielhadshowedher,Valentine’svoiceechoinginherears.Iwantedtoaskhimwhy.Whyhecreatedus,hisraceofShadowhunters,yetdidnotgiveus thepowersDownworldershave—thespeedof thewolves, the immortalityof theFairFolk,themagicofwarlocks,eventheenduranceofvampires.Heleftusnakedbeforethe hosts of hell but for these painted lines on our skin. Why should their powers begreaterthanours?Whycan’tweshareinwhattheyhave?

Her lipspartedandshestaredunseeingdownat thecitybelow.ShewasvaguelyawarethatSimonwassayinghername,buthermindwasracing.Theangelcouldhaveshowedheranything,shethought,buthe’dchosentoshowherthesescenes,thesememories,forareason.ShethoughtofValentinecrying,ThatweshouldbeboundtoDownworlders,tiedtothosecreatures!

Andtherune.Theoneshehaddreamedof.Theruneassimpleasaknot.

Whycan’tweshareinwhattheyhave?

“Binding,”shesaidoutloud.“It’sabindingrune.Itjoinslikeandunlike.”

“What?”Simonstaredupatherinconfusion.

She scrambled to her feet, brushing off the dirt. “I have to get down there.Where arethey?”

“Wherearewho?Clary—”

“TheClave.Wherearetheymeeting?Where’sLuke?”

Simonrosetohisfeet.“TheAccordsHall.Clary—”

Butshewasalreadyracingtowardthewindingpaththat ledtothecity.Swearingunderhisbreath,Simonfollowed.

TheysayallroadsleadtotheHall.Sebastian’swordspoundedoverandoverinClary’sheadandshesprinteddownthenarrowstreetsofAlicante.Shehopeditwastrue,becauseotherwiseshewasdefinitelygoingtogetlost.Thestreetstwistedatoddangles,notlikethe lovely,straight,griddedstreetsofManhattan. InManhattanyoualwaysknewwhereyouwere.Everythingwasclearlynumberedandlaidout.Thiswasalabyrinth.

Shedartedthroughatinycourtyardanddownoneofthenarrowcanalpaths,knowingthatifshefollowed thewater,she’deventuallycomeout inAngelSquare.Somewhat tohersurprise, thepathtookherbyAmatis’shouse,andthenshewasracing,panting,downawider,curving,familiarstreet. Itopenedoutontothesquare, theAccordsHallrisingupwideandwhitebeforeher,theangelstatueshiningatthesquare’scenter.StandingbesidethestatuewasSimon,hisarmscrossed,regardingherdarkly.

“Youcouldhavewaited,”hesaid.

Sheleanedforward,herhandsonherknees,catchingherbreath.“You…can’treallysaythat…sinceyougotherebeforemeanyway.”

“Vampirespeed,”Simonsaidwithsomesatisfaction.“Whenwegethome,Ioughttogooutfortrack.”

“Thatwouldbe…cheating.”WithalastdeepbreathClarystraightenedupandpushedhersweatyhairoutofhereyes.“Comeon.We’regoingin.”

TheHallwasfullofShadowhunters,moreShadowhuntersthanClaryhadeverseeninoneplace before, even on the night ofValentine’s attack. Their voices rose in a roar like acrashing avalanche; most of them had gathered into contentious, shouting groups—thedaiswasdeserted,themapofIdrishangingforlornlybehindit.

She looked around forLuke. It tookher amoment to findhim, leaning against a pillarwith his eyes half-closed. He looked awful—half-dead, his shoulders slumped. Amatisstoodbehindhim,pattinghis shoulderworriedly.Clary lookedaround,but Jocelynwasnowheretobeseeninthecrowd.

Forjustamomentshehesitated.ThenshethoughtofJace,goingafterValentine,doingitalone,knowingthathemightwellgethimselfkilled.Heknewhewasapartofthis,apartof all of it, and she was too—she always had been, even when she hadn’t known it.Adrenalinewas still coursing through her in spikes, sharpening her perception,makingeverythingseemclear.Almosttooclear.ShesqueezedSimon’shand.“Wishmeluck,”shesaid,andthenherfeetwerecarryinghertowardthedaissteps,almostwithouthervolition,andthenshewasstandingonthedaisandturningtofacethecrowd.

Shewasn’tsurewhatshe’dexpected.Gaspsofsurprise?Aseaofhushed,expectantfaces?Theybarelynoticedher—onlyLukelookedup,asifhesensedherthere,andfrozewithalookofastonishmentonhisface.Andtherewassomeonecomingtowardherthroughthecrowd—atallmanwithbonesasprominentastheprowofasailingship.ConsulMalachi.He was gesturing at her to get down from the dais, shaking his head and shoutingsomething she couldn’t hear.More Shadowhunters were turning toward her now as hemadehiswaythroughthethrong.

Claryhadwhatshewantednow,alleyesrivetedonher.Sheheardthewhispersrunningthroughthecrowd:That’sher.Valentine’sdaughter.

“You’re right,” she said, casting her voice as far and as loudly as she could, “I amValentine’sdaughter.Ineverevenknewhewasmyfatheruntilafewweeksago.Ineverevenknewheexisteduntilafewweeksago.Iknowalotofyouaregoingtobelievethat’snottrue,andthat’sfine.Believewhatyouwant.JustaslongasyoualsobelieveIknowthingsaboutValentineyoudon’tknow,thingsthatcouldhelpyouwinthisbattleagainsthim—ifonlyyouletmetellyouwhattheyare.”

“Ridiculous.”Malachistoodatthefootofthedaissteps.“Thisisridiculous.You’rejustalittlegirl—”

“She’sJocelynFairchild’sdaughter.”ItwasPatrickPenhallow.Havingpushedhiswaytothefrontofthecrowd,heheldupahand.“Letthegirlsayherpiece,Malachi.”

Thecrowdwasbuzzing.“You,”ClarysaidtotheConsul.“YouandtheInquisitor threwmyfriendSimonintoprison—”

Malachisneered.“Yourfriendthevampire?”

“HetoldmeyouaskedhimwhathappenedtoValentine’sshipthatnightontheEastRiver.You thoughtValentinemust have done something, some kind of blackmagic.Well, hedidn’t.Ifyouwanttoknowwhatdestroyedthatship,theanswerisme.Ididit.”

Malachi’s disbelieving laugh was echoed by several others in the crowd. Luke waslookingather,shakinghishead,butClaryplowedon.

“Idid itwitha rune,”shesaid.“Itwasa runesostrong itmade theshipcomeapart inpieces.Icancreatenewrunes.NotjusttheonesintheGrayBook.Runesnoone’severseenbefore—powerfulones—”

“That’senough,”Malachiroared.“Thisisridiculous.Noonecancreatenewrunes.It’sacompleteimpossibility.”Heturnedtothecrowd.“Likeherfather,thisgirlisnothingbutaliar.”

“She’snot lying.”Thevoicecamefromthebackof thecrowd.Itwasclear,strong,andpurposeful.Thecrowdturned,andClarysawwhohadspoken:ItwasAlec.HestoodwithIsabelleononesideofhimandMagnusontheother.Simonwaswiththem,andsowas

Maryse Lightwood. They formed a small, determined-looking knot by the front doors.“I’veseenhercreatearune.Sheevenuseditonme.Itworked.”

“You’relying,”theConsulsaid,butdoubthadcreptintohiseyes.“Toprotectyourfriend—”

“Really,Malachi,”Marysesaidcrisply.“Whywouldmysonlieaboutsomethinglikethis,whenthetruthcansoeasilybediscovered?Givethegirlasteleandlethercreatearune.”

Amurmurofassent ranaround theHall.PatrickPenhallowstepped forwardandheldasteleuptoClary.Shetookitgratefullyandturnedbacktothecrowd.

Her mouth went dry. Her adrenaline was still up, but it wasn’t enough to completelydrownherstagefright.Whatwasshesupposedtodo?Whatkindofrunecouldshecreatethat would convince this crowd she was telling the truth?What would show them thetruth?

Shelookedoutthen,throughthecrowd,andsawSimonwiththeLightwoods,lookingatheracrosstheemptyspacethatseparatedthem.ItwasthesamewaythatJacehadlookedat her at themanor. Itwas the one thread that bound these two boys that she loved somuch, she thought, their one commonality: They both believed in her even when shedidn’tbelieveinherself.

LookingatSimon,andthinkingofJace,shebroughtthesteledownanddrewitsstingingpointagainst the insideofherwrist,whereherpulsebeat.Shedidn’t lookdownasshewasdoingitbutdrewblindly,trustingherselfandthesteletocreatetherunesheneeded.Shedrewitfaintly,lightly—shewouldneeditonlyforamoment—butwithoutasecond’shesitation.Andwhenshewasdone,sheraisedherheadandopenedhereyes.

ThefirstthingshesawwasMalachi.Hisfacehadgonewhite,andhewasbackingawayfrom her with a look of horror. He said something—a word in a language she didn’trecognize—and then behind him she sawLuke, staring at her, hismouth slightly open.“Jocelyn?”Lukesaid.

She shook her head at him, just slightly, and looked out at the crowd. Itwas a blur offaces, fading in and out as she stared. Some were smiling, some glancing around thecrowd in surprise, some turning to the person who stood next to them. A few woreexpressions of horror or amazement, hands clamped over their mouths. She saw Alecglance quickly at Magnus, and then at her, in disbelief, and Simon looking on inpuzzlement, and thenAmatis came forward, shoving herway past Patrick Penhallow’sbulk,andranuptotheedgeofthedais.“Stephen!”shesaid,lookingupatClarywithasortofdazzledamazement.“Stephen!”

“Oh,”Clarysaid.“Oh,Amatis,no,”andthenshefelttherunemagicslipfromher,asifshe’dsheda thin, invisiblegarment.Amatis’seagerfacedropped,andshebackedawayfromthedais,herexpressionhalf-crestfallenandhalf-amazed.

Clarylookedoutacross thecrowd.Theywereutterlysilent,everyface turnedtoher.“Iknowwhatyoualljustsaw,”shesaid.“AndIknowthatyouknowthatthatkindofmagicisbeyondanyglamourorillusion.AndIdidthatwithonerune,asinglerune,arunethatIcreated.TherearereasonswhyIhavethisability,andIknowyoumightnotlikethemorevenbelievethem,butitdoesn’tmatter.WhatmattersisthatIcanhelpyouwinthisbattleagainstValentine,ifyou’llletme.”

“TherewillbenobattleagainstValentine,”Malachisaid.Hedidn’tmeethereyesashespoke.“TheClavehasdecided.WewillagreetoValentine’stermsandlaydownourarmstomorrowmorning.”

“You can’t do that,” she said, a tinge of desperation entering her voice. “You thinkeverythingwillbeallrightifyoujustgiveup?YouthinkValentinewillletyoukeeponliving like you have already? You think he’ll confine his killing to demons andDownworlders?” She swept her gaze across the room. “Most of you haven’t seenValentineinfifteenyears.Maybeyou’veforgottenwhathe’sreallylike.ButIknow.I’veheardhim talkabouthisplans.You thinkyoucanstill liveyour livesunderValentine’srule,butyouwon’tbeableto.He’llcontrolyoucompletely,becausehe’llalwaysbeabletothreatentodestroyyouwiththeMortalInstruments.He’llstartwithDownworlders,ofcourse.Butthenhe’llgototheClave.He’llkillthemfirstbecausehethinksthey’reweakand corrupt. Then he’ll start in on anyone who has a Downworlder anywhere in theirfamily. Maybe a werewolf brother”—her eyes swept over Amatis—“or a rebelliousteenage daughter who dates the occasional faerie knight”—her eyes went to theLightwoods—“or anyonewho’s ever somuch as befriended aDownworlder. And thenhe’llgoafteranyonewho’severemployedtheservicesofawarlock.Howmanyofyouwouldthatbe?”

“This is nonsense,” Malachi said crisply. “Valentine is not interested in destroyingNephilim.”

“Buthedoesn’tthinkanyonewhoassociateswithDownworldersisworthyofbeingcalledNephilim,”Clary insisted. “Look, yourwar isn’t againstValentine. It’s against demons.Keepingdemonsfromthisworldisyourmandate,amandatefromheaven.Andamandatefromheaven isn’tsomethingyoucan just ignore.Downworldershatedemons too.Theydestroy them too. If Valentine has his way, he’ll spend so much of his time trying tomurder everyDownworlder, and everyShadowhunterwho’s ever associatedwith them,thathe’ll forgetallabout thedemons,andsowillyou,becauseyou’llbesobusybeingafraidofValentine.Andthey’lloverruntheworld,andthatwillbethat.”

“Iseewherethisisgoing,”Malachisaidthroughgrittedteeth.“WewillnotfightbesideDownworldersintheserviceofabattlewecan’tpossiblywin—”

“Butyoucanwinit,”Clarysaid.“Youcan.”Herthroatwasdry,herheadaching,andthefacesinthecrowdbeforeherseemedtomeldintoafeaturelessblur,punctuatedhereandtherebysoftwhiteexplosionsof light.Butyoucan’t stopnow.Youhave tokeepgoing.Youhavetotry.“MyfatherhatesDownworldersbecausehe’sjealousofthem,”shewenton,herwordstrippingoveroneanother.“Jealousandafraidofallthethingstheycando

thathecan’t.Hehates that insomewaysthey’remorepowerful thanNephilim,andI’dbethe’snotaloneinthat.It’seasytobeafraidofwhatyoudon’tshare.”Shetookabreath.“Butwhatifyoucouldshareit?WhatifIcouldmakearunethatcouldbindeachofyou,each Shadowhunter, to a Downworlder who was fighting by your side, and you couldshareyourpowers—youcouldbeasfast-healingasavampire,astoughasawerewolf,orasswiftasafaerieknight.Andthey,inturn,couldshareyourtraining,yourfightingskills.Youcouldbeanunbeatableforce—ifyou’llletmeMarkyou,andifyou’llfightwiththeDownworlders. Because if you don’t fight beside them, the runes won’t work.” Shepaused. “Please,” she said, but the word came almost inaudibly out of her dry throat.“PleaseletmeMarkyou.”

Herwordsfellintoaringingsilence.Theworldmovedinashiftingblur,andsherealizedthatshe’ddeliveredthelasthalfofherspeechstaringupattheceilingoftheHallandthatthesoftwhiteexplosionsshe’dseenhadbeenthestarscomingoutinthenightsky,onebyone.Thesilencewentonandonasherhands,athersides,curledthemselvesslowlyintofists.Andthenslowly,veryslowly,sheloweredhergazeandmettheeyesofthecrowdstaringbackather.

17

THESHADOWHUNTER’STALE

Clary sat on the top step of theAccordsHall, looking out over Angel Square. Themoonhadcomeupearlierandwasjustvisibleover theroofsof thehouses.Thedemontowersreflectedbackitslight,silver-white.Thedarknesshidthescarsandbruisesofthecitywell;itlookedpeacefulunderthenightsky—ifonedidn’tlookupatGardHillandthe ruined outline of the citadel. Guards patrolled the square below, appearing anddisappearingastheymovedinandoutoftheilluminationofthewitchlightlamps.They

studiouslyignoredClary’spresence.

AfewstepsbelowherSimonwaspacingbackandforth,hisfootstepsutterlysoundless.Hehadhishandsinhispockets,andwhenheturnedattheendofthestairstowalkbacktowardher,themoonlightglossedoffhispaleskinasifitwereareflectivesurface.

“Quitpacing,”shetoldhim.“You’rejustmakingmemorenervous.”

“Sorry.”

“I feel likewe’vebeenouthere forever.”Clary strainedher ears, but she couldn’t hearmorethanthedullmurmurofmanyvoicescomingthroughthecloseddoubledoorsoftheHall.“Canyouhearwhatthey’resayinginside?”

Simonhalf-closedhiseyes;heappearedtobeconcentratinghard.“Alittle,”hesaidafterapause.

“IwishIwereinthere,”Clarysaid,kickingherheelsirritablyagainstthesteps.Lukehadasked her to wait outside the doors while the Clave deliberated; he’d wanted to sendAmatisoutwithher,butSimonhadinsistedoncominginstead,sayingitwouldbebettertohaveAmatisinside,supportingClary.“IwishIwerepartofthemeeting.”

“No,”Simonsaid.“Youdon’t.”

She knewwhyLuke had asked her towait outside. She could imaginewhat theyweresayingaboutherinthere.Liar.Freak.Fool.Crazy.Stupid.Monster.Valentine’sdaughter.Perhaps shewas better off outside theHall, but the tension of anticipating theClave’sdecisionwasalmostpainful.

“MaybeIcanclimboneofthose,”Simonsaid,eyeingthefatwhitepillarsthathelduptheslantedroofoftheHall.Runeswerecarvedontheminoverlappingpatterns,butotherwisetherewerenovisiblehandholds.“Workoffsteamthatway.”

“Oh,comeon,”Clarysaid.“You’reavampire,notSpider-Man.”

Simon’sonly responsewas to jog lightlyup thesteps to thebaseofapillar.Heeyed itthoughtfully for a moment before putting his hands to it and starting to climb. Clarywatched him, openmouthed, as his fingertips and feet found impossible holds on theridgedstone.“YouareSpider-Man!”sheexclaimed.

Simonglanceddownfromhisperchhalfwayupthepillar.“ThatmakesyouMaryJane.Shehasredhair,”hesaid.Heglancedoutacrossthecity,frowning.“IwashopingIcouldseetheNorthGatefromhere,butI’mnothighenough.”

Claryknewwhyhewantedtoseethegate.MessengershadbeendispatchedtheretoasktheDownworlders towaitwhile theClavedeliberated, andClary could only hope theywerewilling to do it. And if theywere,whatwas it like out there?Clary pictured thecrowdwaiting,milling,wondering….

ThedoubledoorsoftheHallcrackedopen.Aslimfigureslippedthroughthegap,closedthedoor,andturnedtofaceClary.Shewasinshadow,anditwasonlywhenshemovedforward,closertothewitchlightthatilluminatedthesteps,thatClarysawthebrightblazeofherredhairandrecognizedhermother.

Jocelyn looked up, her expression bemused. “Well, hello, Simon.Glad to see you’re…adjusting.”

Simon let go of the pillar and dropped, landing lightly at its base. He looked mildlyabashed.“Hey,Mrs.Fray.”

“Idon’tknowif there’sanypoint incallingmethatnow,”saidClary’smother.“MaybeyoushouldjustcallmeJocelyn.”Shehesitated.“Youknow,strangeasthis—situation—is,it’sgoodtoseeyouherewithClary.Ican’trememberthelasttimeyoutwowereapart.”

Simonlookedacutelyembarrassed.“It’sgoodtoseeyou,too.”

“Thankyou,Simon.”Jocelynglancedatherdaughter.“Now,Clary,woulditbeallrightforustotalkforamoment?Alone?”

Clarysatmotionlessforalongmoment,staringathermother.Itwashardnottofeellikeshewasstaringatastranger.Herthroatfelttight,almosttootighttospeak.SheglancedtowardSimon,whowasclearlywaitingforasignalfromhertotellhimwhethertostayorgo.Shesighed.“Okay.”

SimongaveClaryanencouraging thumbs-upbeforevanishingback into theHall.Claryturnedawayandstaredfixedlydownintothesquare,watchingtheguardsdotheirrounds,asJocelyncameandsatdownnexttoher.PartofClarywantedtoleansidewaysandputherheadonhermother’sshoulder.Shecouldevenclosehereyes,pretendeverythingwasallright.Theotherpartofherknewthatitwouldn’tmakeadifference;shecouldn’tkeephereyesclosedforever.

“Clary,”Jocelynsaidatlast,verysoftly.“Iamsosorry.”

Clarystareddownatherhands.Shewas, she realized, stillholdingPatrickPenhallow’sstele.Shehopedhedidn’tthinkshe’dmeanttostealit.

“IneverthoughtI’dseethisplaceagain,”Jocelynwenton.Clarystoleasidewaysglanceathermotherandsawthatshewaslookingoutoverthecity,atthedemontowerscastingtheirpalewhitishlightovertheskyline.“Idreamedaboutitsometimes.Ievenwantedtopaintit,topaintmymemoriesofit,butIcouldn’tdothat.Ithoughtifyoueversawthepaintings,youmightaskquestions,mightwonderhowthoseimageshadevercomeintomyhead.Iwassofrightenedyou’dfindoutwhereIwasreallyfrom.WhoIreallywas.”

“AndnowIhave.”

“Andnowyouhave.”Jocelynsoundedwistful.“Andyouhaveeveryreasontohateme.”

“Idon’thateyou,Mom,”Clarysaid.“Ijust…”

“Don’ttrustme,”saidJocelyn.“Ican’tblameyou.Ishouldhavetoldyouthetruth.”ShetouchedClary’sshoulderlightlyandseemedencouragedwhenClarydidn’tmoveaway.“IcantellyouIdidittoprotectyou,butIknowhowthatmustsound.Iwasthere,justnow,intheHall,watchingyou—”

“Youwerethere?”Clarywasstartled.“Ididn’tseeyou.”

“IwasintheverybackoftheHall.Lukehadtoldmenottocometothemeeting,thatmypresencewouldjustupseteveryoneandthroweverythingoff,andhewasprobablyright,but I so badlywanted to be there. I slipped in after themeeting started and hid in theshadows.ButIwasthere.AndIjustwantedtotellyou—”

“ThatImadeafooloutofmyself?”Clarysaidbitterly.“Ialreadyknowthat.”

“No.IwantedtotellyouthatIwasproudofyou.”

Claryslewedaroundtolookathermother.“Youwere?”

Jocelynnodded.“OfcourseIwas.ThewayyoustoodupinfrontoftheClavelikethat.Thewayyoushowedthemwhatyoucoulddo.Youmade themlookatyouandsee thepersontheylovedmostintheworld,didn’tyou?”

“Yeah,”Clarysaid.“Howdidyouknow?”

“BecauseIheardthemallcallingoutdifferentnames,”Jocelynsaidsoftly.“ButIstillsawyou.”

“Oh.”Clarylookeddownatherfeet.“Well,I’mstillnotsuretheybelievemeabouttherunes.Imean,Ihopeso,but—”

“CanIseeit?”Jocelynasked.

“Seewhat?”

“The rune. The one that you created to bind Shadowhunters and Downworlders.” Shehesitated.“Ifyoucan’tshowme…”

“No,it’sallright.”WiththesteleClarytracedthelinesoftherunetheangelhadshowedheracrossthemarbleoftheAccordsHallstep,andtheyblazedupinhotgoldlinesasshedrew.Itwasastrongrune,amapofcurvinglinesoverlappingamatrixofstraightones.Simple and complex at the same time. Clary knew now why it had seemed somehowunfinishedtoherwhenshehadvisualizeditbefore:Itneededamatchingrunetomakeitwork.A twin.Apartner. “Alliance,” she said,drawing the steleback. “That’swhat I’mcallingit.”

Jocelyn watched silently as the rune flared and faded, leaving faint black lines on the

stone. “When I was a young woman,” she said finally, “I fought so hard to bindDownworlders and Shadowhunters together, to protect the Accords. I thought I waschasingasortofdream—somethingmostShadowhunterscouldhardlyimagine.Andnowyou’vemade it concrete and literal and real.” She blinked hard. “I realized something,watching you there in theHall. You know, all these years I’ve tried to protect you byhidingyouaway.It’swhyIhatedyougoingtoPandemonium.IknewitwasaplacewhereDownworlders and mundanes mingled—and that that meant there would beShadowhunters there. I imagined it was something in your blood that drew you to theplace,somethingthatrecognizedtheshadowworldevenwithoutyourSight.Ithoughtyouwould be safe if only I could keep thatworld hidden from you. I never thought abouttrying to protect youbyhelpingyou to be strong and to fight.”She sounded sad. “Butsomehowyougottobestronganyway.Strongenoughformetotellyouthetruth,ifyoustillwanttohearit.”

“Idon’tknow.”Clarythoughtoftheimagestheangelhadshowedher,howterribletheyhadbeen.“IknowIwasangrywithyouforlying.ButI’mnotsureIwanttofindoutanymorehorriblethings.”

“ItalkedtoLuke.HethoughtyoushouldknowwhatIhavetotellyou.Thewholestory.Allofit.ThingsI’venevertoldanyone,nevertoldhim,even.Ican’tpromiseyouthatthewholetruthispleasant.Butitisthetruth.”

TheLawishard,butitistheLaw.SheowedittoJacetofindoutthetruthasmuchassheowed it to herself. Clary tightened her grip on the stele in her hand, her knuckleswhitening.“Iwanttoknoweverything.”

“Everything…”Jocelyntookadeepbreath.“Idon’tevenknowwheretostart.”

“HowaboutstartingwithhowyoucouldmarryValentine?Howyoucouldhavemarriedamanlikethat,madehimmyfather—he’samonster.”

“No.He’saman.He’snotagoodman.ButifyouwanttoknowwhyImarriedhim,itwasbecauseIlovedhim.”

“Youcan’thave,”Clarysaid.“Nobodycould.”

“IwasyouragewhenIfellinlovewithhim,”Jocelynsaid.“Ithoughthewasperfect—brilliant,clever,wonderful,funny,charming.Iknow,you’relookingatmeasifI’velostmymind.YouonlyknowValentine thewayhe isnow.Youcan’t imaginewhathewaslikethen.Whenwewereatschooltogether,everyone lovedhim.Heseemedtogiveofflight,inaway,liketherewassomespecialandbrilliantlyilluminatedpartoftheuniversethatonlyhehadaccess to, and ifwewere lucky,hemight share itwithus, even just alittle. Every girl loved him, and I thought I didn’t have a chance. There was nothingspecialaboutme.Iwasn’teventhatpopular;Lukewasoneofmyclosestfriends,andIspentmostofmytimewithhim.Butstill,somehow,Valentinechoseme.”

Gross, Clary wanted to say. But she held back. Maybe it was the wistfulness in her

mother’svoice,mixedwithregret.MaybeitwaswhatshehadsaidaboutValentinegivingoff light. Clary had thought the same thing about Jace before, and then felt stupid forthinkingit.Butmaybeeveryoneinlovefeltthatway.

“Okay,”shesaid,“Igetit.Butyouweresixteenthen.Thatdoesn’tmeanyouhadtomarryhimlater.”

“Iwaseighteenwhenwegotmarried.Hewasnineteen,”Jocelynsaidinamatter-of-facttone.

“OhmyGod,”Clarysaidinhorror.“You’dkillmeifIwantedtogetmarriedwhenIwaseighteen.”

“I would,” Jocelyn agreed. “But Shadowhunters tend to get married earlier thanmundanes.Their—our—lifespansareshorter;alotofusdieviolentdeaths.Wetendtodoeverythingearlierbecauseofit.Evenso,Iwasyoungtogetmarried.Still,myfamilywashappy for me—even Luke was happy for me. Everyone thought Valentine was awonderfulboy.Andhewas,youknow,justaboythen.TheonlypersonwhoevertoldmeIshouldn’tmarryhimwasMadeleine.We’dbeenfriendsinschool,butwhenItoldherIwas engaged, she said that Valentinewas selfish and hateful, that his charmmasked aterribleamorality.Itoldmyselfshewasjealous.”

“Wasshe?”

“No,”saidJocelyn,“shewastellingthetruth.I justdidn’twanttohearit.”Sheglanceddownatherhands.

“But you were sorry,” Clary said. “After youmarried him, you were sorry you did it,right?”

“Clary,”Jocelynsaid.Shesoundedtired.“Wewerehappy.Atleastforthefirstfewyears.Wewenttoliveinmyparents’manorhouse,whereIgrewup;Valentinedidn’twanttobeinthecity,andhewantedtherestoftheCircletoavoidAlicanteandthepryingeyesoftheClaveaswell.TheWaylandslivedinthemanorjustamileortwofromours,andtherewereotherscloseby—theLightwoods,thePenhallows.Itwaslikebeingatthecenteroftheworld,withallthisactivityswirlingaroundus,allthispassion,andthroughitallIwasbyValentine’sside.Henevermademefeeldismissedorinconsequential.No,IwasakeypartoftheCircle.Iwasoneofthefewwhoseopinionshetrusted.Hetoldmeoverandoverthatwithoutme,hecouldn’tdoanyofit.Withoutme,he’dbenothing.”

“Hedid?”Clarycouldn’timagineValentinesayinganythinglikethat,anythingthatmadehimsound…vulnerable.

“Hedid,butitwasn’ttrue.Valentinecouldneverhavebeennothing.Hewasborntobealeader,tobethecenterofarevolution.Moreandmoreconvertscametohim.Theyweredrawn by his passion and the brilliance of his ideas. He rarely even spoke ofDownworlders in thoseearlydays. Itwasall about reforming theClave, changing laws

that were ancient and rigid and wrong. Valentine said there should be moreShadowhunters, more to fight the demons, more Institutes, that we should worry lessabouthidingandmoreaboutprotectingtheworldfromdemonkind.Thatweshouldwalktallandproud in theworld. Itwasseductive,hisvision:aworldfullofShadowhunters,wheredemonsranscaredandmundanes,insteadofbelievingwedidn’texist,thankedusforwhatwedidforthem.Wewereyoung;wethoughtthankswereimportant.Wedidn’tknow.”Jocelyntookadeepbreath,asifshewereabouttodiveunderwater.“ThenIgotpregnant.”

Claryfeltacoldprickleatthebackofherneckandsuddenly—shecouldn’thavesaidwhy—shewasnolongersureshewantedthetruthfromhermother,nolongersureshewantedtohear,again,howValentinehadmadeJaceintoamonster.“Mom…”

Jocelyn shook her head blindly. “You asked me why I never told you that you had abrother.Thisiswhy.”Shetookaraggedbreath.“IwassohappywhenIfoundout.AndValentine—he’dalwayswantedtobeafather,hesaid.Totrainhissontobeawarriortheway his father had trained him. ‘Or your daughter,’ I’d say, and he’d smile and say adaughtercouldbeawarrior justaswellasaboy,andhewouldbehappywitheither. Ithoughteverythingwasperfect.

“AndthenLukewasbittenbyawerewolf.They’lltellyouthere’saoneintwochancethatabitewillpassonlycanthropy.Ithinkit’smorelikethreeinfour.I’verarelyseenanyoneescapethedisease,andLukewasnoexception.AtthenextfullmoonheChanged.Hewasthereonourdoorstepinthemorning,coveredinblood,hisclothestorntorags.Iwantedtocomforthim,butValentineshovedmeaside.‘Jocelyn,’hesaid,‘thebaby.’AsifLukewereabouttorunatmeandtearthebabyoutofmystomach.ItwasLuke,butValentinepushedmeawayanddraggedLukedown the steps and into thewoods.Whenhecamebackmuchlater,hewasalone.Irantohim,buthetoldmethatLukehadkilledhimselfindespairoverhislycanthropy.Thathewas…dead.”

ThegriefinJocelyn’svoicewasrawandragged,Clarythought,evennow,whensheknewLukehadn’tdied.ButClaryrememberedherowndespairwhenshe’dheldSimonashe’ddiedonthestepsoftheInstitute.Thereweresomefeelingsyouneverforgot.

“ButhegaveLukeaknife,”Clarysaidinasmallvoice.“Hetoldhimtokillhimself.HemadeAmatis’shusbanddivorceher,justbecauseherbrotherhadbecomeawerewolf.”

“Ididn’tknow,”Jocelynsaid.“AfterLukedied,itwaslikeIfellintoablackpit.Ispentmonthsinmybedroom,sleepingallthetime,eatingonlybecauseofthebaby.Mundaneswould callwhat I had depression, but Shadowhunters don’t have those kinds of terms.ValentinebelievedIwashavingadifficultpregnancy.HetoldeveryoneIwasill.Iwasill—Icouldn’tsleep.IkeptthinkingIheardstrangenoises,criesinthenight.Valentinegavemesleepingdrafts,butthosejustgavemenightmares.TerribledreamsthatValentinewasholdingmedown,was forcingaknife intome,or that Iwaschokingonpoison. In themorningI’dbeexhausted,andI’dsleepallday.Ihadnoideawhatwasgoingonoutside,noideathathe’dforcedStephentodivorceAmatisandmarryCéline.Iwasinadaze.Andthen…”Jocelynknottedherhands together inher lap.Theywere shaking. “And then Ihadthebaby.”

Shefellsilent,forsolongthatClarywonderedifshewasgoingtospeakagain.Jocelynwas staring sightlessly toward the demon towers, her fingers beating a nervous tattooagainstherknees.Atlastshesaid,“Mymotherwaswithmewhenthebabywasborn.Youneverknewher.Yourgrandmother.Shewassuchakindwoman.Youwouldhave likedher,Ithink.Shehandedmemyson,andatfirstIknewonlythathefitperfectlyintomy

arms,thattheblanketwrappinghimwassoft,andthathewassosmallanddelicate,withjustawispoffairhaironthetopofhishead.Andthenheopenedhiseyes.”

Jocelyn’svoicewasflat,almosttoneless,yetClaryfoundherselfshivering,dreadingwhathermothermightsaynext.Don’t,shewantedtosay.Don’ttellme.ButJocelynwenton,thewordspouringoutofherlikecoldpoison.

“Horrorwashedoverme.Itwas likebeingbathed inacid—myskinseemedtoburnoffmybones,anditwasallIcoulddonottodropthebabyandbeginscreaming.Theysayeverymother knows her own child instinctively. I suppose the opposite is true aswell.Everynerveinmybodywascryingoutthatthiswasnotmybaby,thatitwassomethinghorribleandunnatural,asinhumanasaparasite.Howcouldmymothernotseeit?Butshewassmilingatmeasifnothingwerewrong.

“‘Hisname is Jonathan,’ saidavoice from thedoorway. I lookedupandsawValentineregardingthescenebeforehimwithalookofpleasure.Thebabyopenedhiseyesagain,asifrecognizingthesoundofhisname.Hiseyeswereblack,blackasnight,fathomlessastunnelsdugintohisskull.Therewasnothinghumaninthematall.”

Therewasalongsilence.Clarysatfrozen,staringathermotherinopenmouthedhorror.That’sJaceshe’stalkingabout,shethought.Jacewhenhewasababy.Howcouldyoufeellikethataboutababy?

“Mom,”shewhispered.“Maybe—maybeyouwereinshockorsomething.Ormaybeyouweresick—”

“That’swhatValentinetoldme,”Jocelynsaidemotionlessly.“ThatIwassick.ValentineadoredJonathan.Hecouldn’tunderstandwhatwaswrongwithme.AndIknewhewasright.Iwasamonster,amotherwhocouldn’tstandherownchild.Ithoughtaboutkillingmyself.Imighthavedoneittoo—andthenIgotamessage,deliveredbyfire-letter,fromRagnorFell.Hewasawarlockwhohadalwaysbeenclosetomyfamily;hewastheonewecalledonwhenweneededahealingspell,thatsortofthing.He’dfoundoutthatLukehadbecome the leader of a packofwerewolves in theBrocelindForest, by the easternborder.IburnedthenoteonceIgotit.IknewValentinecouldneverknow.Butitwasn’tuntil I went to the werewolf encampment and saw Luke that I knew for certain thatValentinehadliedtome,liedtomeaboutLuke’ssuicide.ItwasthenthatIstartedtotrulyhatehim.”

“ButLukesaidyouknewtherewassomethingwrongwithValentine—thatyouknewhewasdoingsomethingterrible.HesaidyouknewitevenbeforehewasChanged.”

For amoment Jocelyndidn’t reply. “Youknow,Luke shouldnever havebeenbitten. Itshouldn’thavehappened.Itwasaroutinepatrolofthewoods,hewasoutwithValentine—itshouldn’thavehappened.”

“Mom…”

“LukesaysI toldhimIwasafraidofValentineevenbeforehewasChanged.HesaysItoldhimIcouldhearscreamsthroughthewallsofthemanor,thatIsuspectedsomething,dreaded something. And Luke—trusting Luke—asked Valentine about it the very nextday.ThatnightValentinetookLukehunting,andhewasbitten.Ithink—IthinkValentinemademeforgetwhatI’dseen,whateverhadmademeafraid.Hemademebelieveitwasallbaddreams.And I thinkhemade sureLukegotbitten thatnight. I thinkhewantedLukeoutof thewaysonoonecouldremindmethatIwasafraidofmyhusband.ButIdidn’trealizethat,notrightaway.LukeandIsaweachothersobrieflythatfirstday,andIwantedsobadly to tellhimaboutJonathan,but Icouldn’t, Icouldn’t. Jonathanwasmyson. Still, seeing Luke, even just seeing him, made me stronger. I went home tellingmyself that Iwouldmake a new effortwith Jonathan,would learn to love him.Wouldmakemyselflovehim.

“Thatnight Iwaswokenby the soundofababycrying. I satboltupright, alone in thebedroom.ValentinewasoutataCirclemeeting,soIhadnoonetosharemyamazementwith. Jonathan, you see, never cried—never made a noise. His silence was one of thethings thatmost upsetme about him. I dashed down the hall to his room, but hewassleepingsilently.Still,Icouldhearababycrying,Iwassureofit.Iraceddownthestairs,following the soundof the crying. It seemed to be coming from inside the emptywinecellar,butthedoorwaslocked,thecellarneverused.ButIhadgrownupinthemanor.Iknewwheremyfatherhidthekey….”

Jocelyndidn’tlookatClaryasshespoke;sheseemedlostinthestory,inhermemories.

“I never toldyou the storyofBluebeard’swife, did I,whenyouwere a littlegirl?Thehusband toldhiswifenever to look in the locked room, and she looked, and found theremainsofallthewiveshehadmurderedbeforeher,displayedlikebutterfliesinaglasscase.IhadnoideawhenIunlockedthatdoorwhatIwouldfindinside.IfIhadtodoitagain,wouldIbeabletobringmyselftoopenthedoor,tousemywitchlighttoguidemedownintothedarkness?Idon’tknow,Clary.Ijustdon’tknow.

“The smell—oh, the smell down there, like blood and death and rot. Valentine hadhollowedoutaplaceundertheground,inwhathadoncebeenthewinecellar.Itwasn’tachild I had heard crying, after all. There were cells down there now, with thingsimprisoned in them.Demon-creatures,boundwithelectrumchains,writhedand floppedandgurgledintheircells,buttherewasmore,muchmore—thebodiesofDownworlders,indifferentstagesofdeathanddying.Therewerewerewolves,theirbodieshalf-dissolvedbysilverpowder.Vampiresheldhead-downinholywateruntil theirskinpeeledoff thebones.Faerieswhoseskinhadbeenpiercedwithcoldiron.

“Even now I don’t think of him as a torturer.Not really.He seemed to be pursuing analmostscientificend.Therewereledgersofnotesbyeachcelldoor,meticulousrecordingsof his experiments, how long it had taken each creature to die.Therewasonevampirewhoseskinhehadburnedoffoverandoveragaintoseeiftherewasapointbeyondwhichthe poor creature could no longer regenerate. It was hard to read what he had writtenwithoutwantingtofaint,orthrowup.SomehowIdidneither.

“There was one page devoted to experiments he had done on himself. He had readsomewhere that the blood of demons might act as an amplifier of the powersShadowhuntersarenaturallybornwith.Hehadtriedinjectinghimselfwiththeblood,tonoend.Nothinghadhappenedexceptthathehadmadehimselfsick.Eventuallyhecametotheconclusionthathewastoooldforthebloodtoaffecthim,thatitmustbegiventoachildtotakefulleffect—preferablyoneasyetunborn.

“Across from thepage recording thoseparticular conclusionshehadwritten a seriesofnoteswithaheadingIrecognized.Myname.JocelynMorgenstern.

“I remember the way my fingers shook while I turned the pages, the words burningthemselvesintomybrain.‘Jocelyndrankthemixtureagaintonight.Novisiblechangesinher,butagainitisthechildthatconcernsme….WithregularinfusionsofdemonicichorsuchasIhavebeengivingher,thechildmaybecapableofanyfeats….LastnightIheardthechild’sheartbeat,morestronglythananyhumanheart,thesoundlikeamightybell,tolling the beginning of a new generation of Shadowhunters, the blood of angels anddemonsmixedtoproducepowersbeyondanypreviouslyimaginedpossible….NolongerwillthepowerofDownworldersbethegreatestonthisearth….’

“There was more, much more. I clawed at the pages, my fingers trembling, my mindracing back, seeing the mixtures Valentine had given me to drink each night, thenightmares about being stabbed, choked, poisoned. But I wasn’t the one he’d beenpoisoning. Itwas Jonathan. Jonathan,whomhe’d turned into some kind of half-demonthing.Andthat,Clary—thatwaswhenIrealizedwhatValentinereallywas.”

Clary let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It was horrible—sohorrible—andyet it allmatchedupwith thevision Ithurielhadshowedher.Shewasn’tsurewhomshefeltmorepityfor,hermotherorJonathan.Jonathan—shecouldn’tthinkofhimasJace,notwithhermotherthere,notwiththestorysofreshinhermind—doomedtobenotquitehumanbyafatherwho’dcaredmoreaboutmurderingDownworldersthanhehadabouthisownfamily.

“But—youdidn’tleavethen,didyou?”Claryasked,hervoicesoundingsmalltoherears.“Youstayed….”

“For tworeasons,”Jocelynsaid.“Onewas theUprising.WhatI foundin thecellar thatnightwaslikeaslapintheface.Itwokemeupoutofmymiseryandmademeseewhatwas going on aroundme.Once I realizedwhatValentinewas planning—thewholesaleslaughter ofDownworlders—I knew I couldn’t let it happen. I beganmeeting in secretwithLuke.Icouldn’ttellhimwhatValentinehaddonetomeandtoourchild.Iknewitwouldjustdrivehimmad,thathe’dbeunabletostophimselffromtryingtohuntdownValentineandkillhim,andhe’donlygethimselfkilledintheprocess.AndIcouldn’tletanyoneelseknowwhathadbeendonetoJonathaneither.Despiteeverything,hewasstillmy child. But I did tell Luke about the horrors in the cellar, of my conviction thatValentinewaslosinghismind,becomingprogressivelymoreinsane.Together,weplannedtothwarttheUprising.Ifeltdriventodoit,Clary.Itwasasortofexpiation,theonlyway

Icouldmakemyself feel likeIhadpaidfor thesinofeverhaving joined theCircle,ofhavingtrustedValentine.Ofhavinglovedhim.”

“Andhedidn’tknow?Valentine,Imean.Hedidn’tfigureoutwhatyouweredoing?”

Jocelynshookherhead.“Whenpeopleloveyou,theytrustyou.Besides,athomeItriedtopretendeverythingwasnormal. Ibehavedas thoughmy initial revulsionat the sightofJonathanwasgone. Iwouldbringhimover toMaryseLightwood’shouse, lethimplaywithherbabyson,Alec.SometimesCélineHerondalewouldjoinus—shewaspregnantby that time. ‘Your husband is so kind,’ shewould tellme. ‘He is so concerned aboutStephenandme.Hegivesmepotionsandmixtures for thehealthof thebaby; theyarewonderful.’”

“Oh,”saidClary.“OhmyGod.”

“That’swhatIthought,”saidJocelyngrimly.“IwantedtotellhernottotrustValentineortoacceptanythinghegaveher,butIcouldn’t.HerhusbandwasValentine’sclosestfriend,andshewouldhavebetrayedmetohimimmediately.Ikeptmymouthshut.Andthen—”

“She killed herself,” said Clary, remembering the story. “But—was it because of whatValentinedidtoher?”

Jocelynshookherhead.“Ihonestlydon’tthinkso.Stephenwaskilledinaraid,andsheslitherwristswhenshefoundoutthenews.Shewaseightmonthspregnant.Shebledtodeath….”Shepaused.“Hodgewastheonewhofoundherbody.AndValentineactuallydidseemdistraughtovertheirdeaths.Hevanishedforalmostanentiredayafterward,andcamehomebleary-eyedandstaggering.Andyet inaway, Iwasalmostgrateful forhisdistraction.Atleastitmeanthewasn’tpayingattentiontowhatIwasdoing.EverydayIbecamemoreandmorefrightenedthatValentinewoulddiscovertheconspiracyandtrytotorturethetruthoutofme:Whowasinoursecretalliance?HowmuchhadIbetrayedofhisplans?IwonderedhowIwouldwithstandtorture,whetherIcouldholdupagainstit.Iwas terriblyafraid that I couldn’t. I resolved finally to take steps tomake sure that thisneverhappened.IwenttoFellwithmyfearsandhecreatedapotionforme—”

“ThepotionfromtheBookoftheWhite,”Clarysaid,realizing.“That’swhyyouwantedit.Andtheantidote—howdiditwindupintheWaylands’library?”

“Ihidit thereonenightduringaparty,”saidJocelynwiththetraceofasmile.“Ididn’twant to tell Luke—I knew he’d hate thewhole idea of the potion, but everyone else IknewwasintheCircle.IsentamessagetoRagnor,buthewasleavingIdrisandwouldn’tsaywhenhe’dbeback.He saidhe could alwaysbe reachedwith amessage—butwhowould send it?Eventually I realized therewasoneperson I could tell, onepersonwhohatedValentine enough that she’d never betrayme to him. I sent a letter toMadeleineexplainingwhatIplanned todoand that theonlywaytorevivemewas tofindRagnorFell. I never heard a word back from her, but I had to believe she had read it andunderstood.ItwasallIhadtoholdonto.”

“Tworeasons,”Clarysaid.“Yousaidthereweretworeasonsthatyoustayed.OnewastheUprising.Whatwastheother?”

Jocelyn’s green eyes were tired, but luminous and wide. “Clary,” she said, “can’t youguess?ThesecondreasonisthatIwaspregnantagain.Pregnantwithyou.”

“Oh,” Clary said in a small voice. She remembered Luke saying, She was carryinganotherchildandhadknownit forweeks.“Butdidn’t thatmakeyouwant to runawayevenmore?”

“Yes,” Jocelyn said. “But I knew I couldn’t. If I’d run away fromValentine, hewouldhavemovedheavenandhelltogetmeback.Hewouldhavefollowedmetotheendsoftheearth,because Ibelonged tohimandhewouldneverhave letmego.Andmaybe Iwouldhavelethimcomeafterme,andtakenmychances,butIwouldneverhavelethimcomeafteryou.”Shepushedherhairbackfromhertired-lookingface.“TherewasonlyonewayIcouldmakesureheneverdid.Andthatwasforhimtodie.”

Clarylookedathermotherinsurprise.Jocelynstilllookedtired,butherfacewasshiningwithafiercelight.

“I thought he’d be killed during the Uprising,” she said. “I couldn’t have killed himmyself.Icouldn’thavebroughtmyselfto,somehow.ButIneverthoughthe’dsurvivethebattle.Andlater,whenthehouseburned,Iwantedtobelievehewasdead.Itoldmyselfoverandover thatheand Jonathanhadburned todeath in the fire.But Iknew…”Hervoicetrailedoff.“ItwaswhyIdidwhatIdid.Ithoughtitwastheonlywaytoprotectyou—takingyourmemories,makingyouintoasmuchofamundaneasIcould.Hidingyouinthemundaneworld. Itwas stupid, I realize thatnow, stupidandwrong.And I’msorry,Clary.Ijusthopeyoucanforgiveme—ifnotnow,theninthefuture.”

“Mom.”Claryclearedherthroat.She’dfeltlikeshewasabouttocryforprettymuchthelast ten minutes. “It’s okay. It’s just—there’s one thing I don’t get.” She knotted herfingersintothematerialofhercoat.“Imean,IknewalreadyalittleofwhatValentinedidto Jace—I mean, to Jonathan. But the way you describe Jonathan, it’s like he was amonster.And,Mom,Jaceisn’tlikethat.He’snothinglikethat.Ifyouknewhim—ifyoucouldjustmeethim—”

“Clary.”JocelynreachedoutandtookClary’shandinhers.“There’smorethatIhavetotellyou.There’snothingmore that Ihid fromyou,or liedabout.But thereare things Ineverknew,thingsIonlyjustdiscovered.Andtheymaybeveryhardtohear.”

Worsethanwhatyou’vealreadytoldme?Clarythought.Shebitherlipandnodded.“Goaheadandtellme.I’dratherknow.”

“WhenDorotheatoldmethatValentinehadbeensightedinthecity,Iknewhewasthereforme—fortheCup.Iwantedtoflee,butIcouldn’tbringmyselftotellyouwhy.Idon’tblameyouatallforrunningfrommethatawfulnight,Clary.Iwasjustgladyouweren’ttherewhenyourfather—whenValentineandhisdemonsbrokeintoourapartment.Ijust

hadtimetoswallowthepotion—Icouldhearthembreakingthedoordown…”Shetrailedoff,hervoicetight.“IhopedValentinewouldleavemefordead,buthedidn’t.HebroughtmetoRenwick’swithhim.Hetriedvariousmethodstowakemeup,butnothingworked.Iwasinasortofdreamstate;Iwashalf-consciousthathewasthere,butIcouldn’tmoveorrespondtohim.IdoubthethoughtIcouldhearorunderstandhim.AndyethewouldsitbythebedwhileIsleptandtalktome.”

“Talktoyou?Aboutwhat?”

“Aboutourpast.Ourmarriage.Howhehad lovedmeand Ihadbetrayedhim.Howhehadn’tlovedanyonesince.Ithinkhemeantittoo,asmuchashecouldmeanthesethings.Ihadalwaysbeentheonehe’dtalkedtoaboutthedoubtshehad,theguilthefelt,andintheyearssinceI’dlefthimIdon’tthinkthere’deverbeenanyoneelse.Ithinkhecouldn’tstophimselffromtalkingtome,eventhoughheknewheshouldn’t.Ithinkhejustwantedto talk tosomeone.You’dhave thought thatwhatwasonhismindwouldbewhathe’ddonetothosepoorpeople,makingthemForsaken,andwhathewasplanningtodototheClave.Butitwasn’t.WhathewantedtotalkaboutwasJonathan.”

“Whatabouthim?”

Jocelyn’smouth tightened. “Hewanted to tell me he was sorry for what he’d done toJonathanbeforehe’dbeenborn,becauseheknewithadnearlydestroyedme.He’dknownIwasclosetosuicideoverJonathan—thoughhedidn’tknowIwasalsodespairingoverwhatI’ddiscoveredabouthim.He’dsomehowgottenholdofangelblood.It’sanalmostlegendary substance for Shadowhunters.Drinking it is supposed to give you incrediblestrength. Valentine had tried it on himself and discovered that it gave him not justincreasedstrengthbutafeelingofeuphoriaandhappinesseverytimeheinjecteditintohisblood.Sohetooksome,driedit topowder,andmixedit intomyfood,hopingitwouldhelpmydespair.”

Iknowwherehegotholdofangelblood,Clarythought,thinkingofIthurielwithasharpsadness.“Doyouthinkitworkedatall?”

“IdowondernowifthatwaswhyIsuddenlyfoundthefocusandtheabilitytogoon,andtohelpLukethwarttheUprising.Itwouldbeironicifthatwasthecase,consideringwhyValentinedidit in thefirstplace.Butwhathedidn’tknowwasthatwhilehewasdoingthis,Iwaspregnantwithyou.Sowhileitmayhaveaffectedmeslightly, itaffectedyoumuchmore.Ibelievethat’swhyyoucandowhatyoucanwithrunes.”

“Andmaybe,”Clarysaid,“whyyoucandothingsliketraptheimageoftheMortalCupinatarotcard.AndwhyValentinecandothingsliketakethecurseoffHodge—”

“Valentinehashadyearsofexperimentingonhimselfinamyriadofways,”saidJocelyn.“He’sasclosenowasahumanbeing,aShadowhunter,cangettoawarlock.Butnothinghecandotohimselfwouldhavethekindofprofoundeffectonhimitwouldhaveonyouor Jonathan, because youwere so young. I’mnot sure anyone’s ever before donewhatValentinedid,nottoababybeforeitwasborn.”

“SoJace—Jonathan—andIreallywerebothexperiments.”

“Youwereanunintentionalone.WithJonathan,Valentinewantedtocreatesomekindofsuperwarrior, stronger and faster and better than other Shadowhunters. At Renwick’s,ValentinetoldmethatJonathanreallywasallthosethings.Butthathewasalsocruelandamoral and strangely empty. Jonathan was loyal enough to Valentine, but I supposeValentine realized that somewhere along the way, in trying to create a child who wassuperiortoothers,he’dcreatedasonwhocouldneverreallylovehim.”

Clary thoughtofJace,of thewayhe’d lookedatRenwick’s, thewayhe’dclutched thatpieceof thebrokenPortal sohard thatbloodhad rundownhis fingers. “No,” she said.“Noandno.Jaceisnotlikethat.HedoesloveValentine.Heshouldn’t,buthedoes.Andheisn’tempty.He’stheoppositeofeverythingyou’resaying.”

Jocelyn’shands twisted inher lap.Theywere laced all overwith finewhite scars—thefinewhitescarsallShadowhuntersbore, thememoryofvanishedMarks.ButClaryhadneverreallyseenhermother’sscarsbefore.Magnus’smagichadalwaysmadeherforgetthem.Therewasone,ontheinsideofhermother’swrist,thatwasveryliketheshapeofastar….

Hermotherspokethen,andallthoughtsofanythingelsefledfromClary’smind.

“Iamnot,”Jocelynsaid,“talkingaboutJace.”

“But…,” Clary said. Everything seemed to be happening very slowly, as if she weredreaming.MaybeIamdreaming,shethought.Maybemymotherneverwokeupatall,andallofthisisadream.“JaceisValentine’sson.Imean,whoelsecouldhebe?”

Jocelyn lookedstraight intoherdaughter’seyes. “ThenightCélineHerondaledied, shewas eight months pregnant. Valentine had been giving her potions, powders—he wastryingonherwhathe’dtriedonhimself,withIthuriel’sblood,hopingthatStephen’schildwould be as strong and powerful as he suspected Jonathan would be, but withoutJonathan’sworse qualities.He couldn’t bear that his experimentwould go towaste, sowithHodge’shelphecutthebabyoutofCéline’sstomach.She’donlybeendeadashorttime—”

Clarymadeagaggingnoise.“Thatisn’tpossible.”

JocelynwentonasifClaryhadn’tspoken.“ValentinetookthatbabyandhadHodgebringittohisownchildhoodhome,inavalleynotfarfromLakeLyn.Itwaswhyhewasgoneallthatnight.HodgetookcareofthebabyuntiltheUprising.Afterthat,becauseValentinewas pretending to beMichaelWayland, hemoved the child to theWaylandmanor andraisedhimasMichaelWayland’sson.”

“SoJace,”Clarywhispered.“Jaceisnotmybrother?”

Shefelthermothersqueezeherhand—asympatheticsqueeze.“No,Clary.He’snot.”

Clary’svisiondarkened.Shecouldfeelherheartpoundinginseparate,distinctbeats.Mymomfeelssorryforme,shethoughtdistantly.Shethinksthisisbadnews.Herhandswereshaking.“Thenwhoseboneswerethoseinthefire?Lukesaidtherewereachild’sbones—”

Jocelyn shook her head. “Those were Michael Wayland’s bones, and his son’s bones.Valentinekilledthembothandburnedtheirbodies.HewantedtheClavetobelievethatbothheandhissonweredead.”

“ThenJonathan—”

“Is alive,” said Jocelyn, pain flashing across her face. “Valentine told me as much atRenwick’s.Valentinebrought Jaceup in theWaylandmanor,andJonathan in thehousenearthelake.Hemanagedtodividehistimebetweenthetwoofthem,travelingfromonehousetotheother,sometimesleavingoneorbothaloneforlongperiodsoftime.ItseemsthatJaceneverknewaboutJonathan,thoughJonathanmayhaveknownaboutJace.Theynevermet,thoughtheyprobablylivedonlymilesfromeachother.”

“AndJacedoesn’thavedemonbloodinhim?He’snot—cursed?”

“Cursed?”Jocelynlookedsurprised.“No,hedoesn’thavedemonblood.Clary,ValentineexperimentedonJacewhenhewasababywiththesamebloodheusedonme,onyou.Angelblood.Jaceisn’tcursed.Theopposite,ifanything.AllShadowhuntershavesomeoftheAngel’sbloodinthem—youtwojusthaveabitmore.”

Clary’s mind whirled. She tried to imagine Valentine raising two children at the sametime,onepartdemon,onepartangel.Oneshadowboy,andonelight.Lovingthemboth,perhaps,asmuchasValentinecouldloveanything.JacehadneverknownaboutJonathan,butwhathadtheotherboyknownabouthim?Hiscomplementarypart,hisopposite?Hadhehatedthethoughtofhim?Yearnedtomeethim?Beenindifferent?Theyhadbothbeensoalone.Andoneofthemwasherbrother—herreal,full-bloodedbrother.“Doyouthinkhe’sstillthesame?Jonathan,Imean?Doyouthinkhecouldhavegotten…better?”

“Idon’tthinkso,”Jocelynsaidgently.

“Butwhatmakesyousosure?”Claryspuntolookathermother,suddenlyeager.“Imean,maybehe’schanged.It’sbeenyears.Maybe—”

“Valentine toldme he had spent years teaching Jonathan how to appear pleasant, evencharming.Hewantedhimtobeaspy,andyoucan’tbeaspyifyouterrifyeveryoneyoumeet.Jonathanevenlearnedacertainabilitytocastslightglamours,toconvincepeoplehewaslikableandtrustworthy.”Jocelynsighed.“I’mtellingyouthissoyouwon’tfeelbadthatyouweretakenin.Clary,you’vemetJonathan.Hejustnevertoldyouhisrealname,becausehewasposingassomeoneelse.SebastianVerlac.”

Clarystaredathermother.Buthe’sthePenhallows’cousin,partofhermindinsisted,butofcourseSebastianhadneverbeenwhohe’dclaimedhewas;everythinghe’dsaidhad

beenalie.Shethoughtofthewayshe’dfeltthefirsttimeshe’dseenhim,asifshewererecognizingsomeoneshe’dknownallherlife,someoneasintimatelyfamiliartoherasherownself.ShehadneverfeltthatwayaboutJace.“Sebastian’smybrother?”

Jocelyn’sfine-bonedfacewasdrawn,herhandslacedtogether.Herfingertipswerewhite,asifshewerepressingthemtoohardagainstoneanother.“IspoketoLukeforalongtimetodayabouteverything that’shappened inAlicantesinceyouarrived.He toldmeaboutthedemon towers, andhis suspicion thatSebastianhaddestroyed thewards, thoughhehadnoideahow.IrealizedthenwhoSebastianreallywas.”

“Youmean because he lied about being Sebastian Verlac? And because he’s a spy forValentine?”

“Those two things,yes,”saidJocelyn,“but itactuallywasn’tuntilLukesaid thatyou’dtoldhimSebastiandyedhishair that Iguessed.AndIcouldbewrong,butaboy justalittleolderthanyou,fair-hairedanddark-eyed,withnoapparentparents,utterlyloyaltoValentine—I couldn’t help but think hemust be Jonathan. And there’smore than that.Valentinewasalways trying to findaway tobring thewardsdown,alwaysdeterminedthat therewasawaytodo it.ExperimentingonJonathanwithdemonblood—hesaid itwastomakehimstronger,abetterfighter,buttherewasmoretoitthanthat—”

Clarystared.“Whatdoyoumean,moretoit?”

“Itwashiswayofbringingdownthewards,”Jocelynsaid.“Youcan’tbringademonintoAlicante,butyouneeddemons’bloodtotakedownthewards.Jonathanhasdemonblood;it’sinhisveins.AndhisbeingaShadowhuntermeanshe’sgrantedautomaticentrancetothecitywheneverhewantstogetin,nomatterwhat.Heusedhisownbloodtotakethewardsdown,I’msureofit.”

ClarythoughtofSebastianstandingacrossfromherinthegrassneartheruinsofFairchildmanor.Thewayhisdarkhairhadblownacrosshisface.Thewayhe’dheldherwrists,hisnailsdiggingintoherskin.Thewayhe’dsaid itwas impossible thatValentinehadeverlovedJace.She’dthoughtitwasbecausehehatedValentine.Butitwasn’t,sherealized.He’dbeen…jealous.

She thought of the dark prince of her drawings, the onewho had looked somuch likeSebastian.Shehaddismissedtheresemblanceascoincidence,atrickofimagination,butnowshewondered if itwas the tieof their sharedblood thathaddrivenher togive theunhappyheroofherstoryherbrother’sface.Shetriedtovisualize theprinceagain,butthe image seemed to shatter and dissolve before her eyes, like ash blown away on thewind.ShecouldonlyseeSebastiannow,theredlightoftheburningcityreflectedinhiseyes.

“Jace,” she said. “Someone has to tell him. Has to tell him the truth.” Her thoughtstumbledoverthemselves,helter-skelter;ifJacehadknown,knownhedidn’thavedemonblood,maybe hewouldn’t have gone after Valentine. If he’d known hewasn’t Clary’sbrotherafterall…

“ButIthought,”saidJocelyn,withamixtureofsympathyandpuzzlement,“thatnobodyknewwherehewas…?”

BeforeClary could answer, thedouble doors of theHall swungopen, spilling light outoverthepillaredarcadeandthestepsbelowit.Thedullroarofvoices,nolongermuffled,rose as Luke came through the doors. He looked exhausted, but there was a lightnessabouthimthathadn’tbeentherebefore.Heseemedalmostrelieved.

Jocelynrosetoherfeet.“Luke.Whatisit?”

He took a few steps toward them, then paused between the doorway and the stairs.“Jocelyn,”hesaid,“I’msorrytointerruptyou.”

“That’sall right,Luke.”EventhroughherdazeClary thought,Whydotheykeepsayingeachother’s names like that? Therewas a sort of awkwardness between them now, anawkwardnessthathadn’tbeentherebefore.“Issomethingwrong?”

Heshookhishead.“No.Forachange,something’sright.”HesmiledatClary,andtherewasnothingawkwardaboutit:Helookedpleasedwithher,andevenproud.“Youdidit,Clary,” he said. “TheClave’s agreed to let youMark them.Therewill be no surrenderafterall.”

18

HAILANDFAREWELL

Thevalleywasmorebeautiful in reality than ithadbeen in Jace’svision.Maybe itwasthebrightmoonlightsilveringtheriver thatcutacrossthegreenvalleyfloor.White

birchandaspendottedthevalley’ssides,shiveringtheirleavesinthecoolbreeze—itwaschillyupontheridge,withnoprotectionfromthewind.

This was without a doubt the valley where he’d last seen Sebastian. Finally he wascatchingup.AftersecuringWayfarertoatree,Jacetookthebloodythreadfromhispocketandrepeatedthetrackingritual,justtobesure.

He closed his eyes, expecting to see Sebastian, hopefully somewhere very close by—maybeevenstillinthevalley—

Insteadhesawonlydarkness.

Hisheartbegantopound.

Hetriedagain,movingthethreadtohisleftfistandawkwardlycarvingthetrackingruneontothebackofitwithhisright,lessagile,hand.Hetookadeepbreathbeforeclosinghiseyesthistime.

Nothing,again.Justawavering,shadowyblackness.Hestoodthereforafullminute,histeethgritted, thewind slicing throughhis jacket,makinggoosebumps riseonhis skin.Eventually,cursing,heopenedhiseyes—andthen,inafitofdesperateanger,hisfist;thewind picked up the thread and carried it away, so fast that even if he’d regretted itimmediatelyhecouldn’thavecaughtitback.

Hismindraced.Clearlythetrackingrunewasnolongerworking.PerhapsSebastianhadrealizedhewasbeingfollowedanddonesomethingtobreakthecharm—butwhatcouldyou do to stop a tracking? Maybe he’d found a large body of water. Water disruptedmagic.

NotthatthathelpedJacemuch.Itwasn’tasifhecouldgotoeverylakeinthecountryandseeifSebastianwasfloatingaroundinthemiddleofit.He’dbeensoclose,too—soclose.He’dseen thisvalley, seenSebastian in it.And there thehousewas, justbarelyvisible,nestledagainstacopseoftreesonthevalleyfloor.AtleastitwouldbeworthgoingdowntolookaroundthehousetoseeiftherewasanythingthatmightpointtowardSebastian’s,orValentine’s,location.

Withafeelingofresignation,JaceusedthesteletoMarkhimselfwithanumberoffast-acting, fast-disappearing battleMarks: one to give him silence, and one swiftness, andanother for sure-footedwalking.When hewas done—and feeling the familiar, stingingpainhotagainsthisskin—heslidthesteleintohispocket,gaveWayfarerabriskpatontheneck,andheadeddownintothevalley.

The sides of the valley were deceptively steep, and treacherous with loose scree. Jacealternatedpickinghiswaydownitcarefullyandslidingonthescree,whichwasfastbutdangerous.By the time he reached the valley floor, his handswere bloodywhere he’dfallen onto the loose gravelmore than once.Hewashed them in the clear, fast-flowingstream;itswaterwasnumbinglycold.

Whenhestraightenedupandlookedaround,herealizedhewasnowregardingthevalleyfromadifferentanglethanhe’dhadinthetrackingvision.Therewasthegnarledcopseoftrees, their branches intertwining, the valley walls rising all around, and there was thesmallhouse.Itswindowsweredarknow,andnosmokeroseoutofthechimney.Jacefeltamingledstabofreliefanddisappointment.Itwouldbeeasiertosearchthehouseifnoonewasinit.Ontheotherhand,noonewasinit.

Asheapproached,hewonderedwhataboutthehouseinthevisionhadseemedeerie.Upclose, itwas justanordinaryIdris farmhouse,madeofsquaresofwhiteandgraystone.Theshuttershadoncebeenpaintedabrightblue,butitlookedasifithadbeenyearssinceanyonehadrepaintedthem.Theywerepaleandpeelingwithage.

Reachingoneof thewindows,Jacehoistedhimselfonto thesillandpeered through thecloudypane.Hesawabig,slightlydustyroomwithaworkbenchofsortsrunningalongone wall. The tools on it weren’t anything you’d do handiwork with—they were awarlock’stools:stacksofsmearedparchment;black,waxycandles;fatcopperbowlswithdrieddark liquidstuckto therims;anassortmentofknives,someas thinasawls,somewithwidesquareblades.Apentagramwaschalkedonthefloor,itsoutlinesblurred,eachof its five points decorated with a different rune. Jace’s stomach tightened—the runeslooked like the ones that had been carved around Ithuriel’s feet. CouldValentine havedonethis—couldthesebehisthings?Wasthishishideaway—ahideawayJacehadnevervisitedorknownabout?

Jaceslidoffthesill,landinginadrypatchofgrass—justasashadowpassedacrossthefaceofthemoon.Buttherewerenobirdshere,hethought,andglancedupjustintimetoseea ravenwheelingoverhead.Hefroze, thensteppedhastily into theshadowofa treeandpeeredupthroughitsbranches.Astheravendippedclosertotheground,Jaceknewhisfirstinstincthadbeenright.Thiswasn’tjustanyraven—thiswasHugo,theraventhathadoncebeenHodge’s;HodgehadusedhimonoccasiontocarrymessagesoutsidetheInstitute.SincethenJacehadlearnedthatHugohadoriginallybeenhisfather’s.

Jacepressedhimselfclosertothetreetrunk.Hisheartwaspoundingagain,thistimewithexcitement.IfHugowashere,itcouldonlymeanthathewascarryingamessage,andthistimethemessagewouldn’tbeforHodge.ItwouldbeforValentine.Ithadtobe.IfJacecouldonlymanagetofollowhim—

Perchingonasill,Hugopeeredthroughoneofthehouse’swindows.Apparentlyrealizingthatthehousewasempty,thebirdroseintotheairwithanirritablecawandflappedoffinthedirectionofthestream.

Jacesteppedoutfromtheshadowsandsetoutinpursuitoftheraven.

“So, technically,”Simonsaid, “even thoughJace isn’t actually related toyou,youhavekissedyourbrother.”

“Simon!” Clary was appalled. “Shut UP.” She spun in her seat to see if anyone waslistening,but,fortunately,nobodyseemedtobe.ShewassittinginahighseatonthedaisintheAccordsHall,Simonbyherside.Hermotherstoodattheedgeofthedais,leaningdowntospeaktoAmatis.

AllaroundthemtheHallwaschaosastheDownworlderswhohadcomefromtheNorthGatepouredin,spillinginthroughthedoors,crowdingagainstthewalls.Claryrecognizedvariousmembers of Luke’s pack, includingMaia,who grinned across the room at her.Therewerefaeries,paleandcoldandlovelyas iciclesandwarlockswithbatwingsandgoatfeetandevenonewithantlers,bluefiresparkingfromtheirfingertipsastheymovedthroughtheroom.TheShadowhuntersmilledamongthem,lookingnervous.

Clutchinghersteleinbothhands,Clarylookedaroundanxiously.WherewasLuke?He’dvanishedintothecrowd.Shepickedhimoutafteramoment,talkingwithMalachi,whowasshakinghisheadviolently.Amatisstoodnearby,shootingtheConsuldaggerglances.

“Don’tmakeme sorry I ever told you any of this, Simon,”Clary said, glaring at him.She’d done her best to give him a pared-down version of Jocelyn’s tale,mostly hissedunderherbreathashe’dhelpedherplowthroughthecrowdstothedaisandtakeherseatthere.Itwasweirdbeinguphere,lookingdownontheroomasifshewerethequeenofallshesurveyed.Butaqueenwouldn’tbenearlysopanicked.“Besides.Hewasahorriblekisser.”

“Ormaybe itwas just gross, because hewas, you know,yourbrother.” Simon seemedmoreamusedbythewholebusinessthanClarythoughthehadanyrighttobe.

“Donotsaythatwheremymothercanhearyou,orI’llkillyou,”shesaidwithasecondglare.“IalreadyfeellikeI’mgoingtothrowuporpassout.Don’tmakeitworse.”

Jocelyn, returningfromtheedgeof thedais in timetohearClary’s lastwords—though,fortunately,notwhatsheandSimonhadbeendiscussing—droppedareassuringpatontoClary’sshoulder.“Don’tbenervous,baby.Youweresogreatbefore.Isthereanythingyouneed?Ablanket,somehotwater…”

“I’mnotcold,”Clarysaidpatiently,“andIdon’tneedabath,either.I’mfine.IjustwantLuketocomeuphereandtellmewhat’sgoingon.”

Jocelyn waved toward Luke to get his attention, silently mouthing something Clarycouldn’t quite decipher. “Mom,” she spat, “don’t,” but it was already too late. Lukeglanced up—and so did quite a few of the other Shadowhunters.Most of them lookedawayjustasquickly,butClarysensedthefascinationintheirstares.Itwasweirdthinkingthathermotherwassomethingofalegendaryfigurehere.Justabouteveryoneintheroomhadheardhernameandhadsomekindofopinionabouther,goodorbad.Clarywonderedhowhermotherkeptitfrombotheringher.Shedidn’tlookbothered—shelookedcoolandcollectedanddangerous.

AmomentlaterLukehadjoinedthemonthedais,Amatisathisside.Hestilllookedtired,

but also alert and even a little excited. He said, “Just hang on a second. Everyone’scoming.”

“Malachi,” said Jocelyn, not quite looking directly at Luke while she spoke, “was hegivingyoutrouble?”

Luke made a dismissive gesture. “He thinks we should send a message to Valentine,refusinghisterms.Isayweshouldn’ttipourhand.LetValentineshowupwithhisarmyon Brocelind Plain expecting a surrender. Malachi seemed to think that wouldn’t besporting,andwhenItoldhimwarwasn’tanEnglishschoolboycricketgame,hesaidthatifanyoftheDownworldersheregotoutofhand,he’dstepinandendthewholebusiness.Idon’tknowwhathethinksisgoingtohappen—asifDownworlderscan’tstopfightingevenforfiveminutes.”

“That’sexactlywhathethinks,”saidAmatis.“It’sMalachi.He’sprobablyworriedyou’llstarteatingeachother.”

“Amatis,”Lukesaid.“Someonemighthearyou.”Heturned, then,as twomenmountedthestepsbehindhim:onewasatall,slenderfaerieknightwithlongdarkhairthatfellinsheetsoneithersideofhisnarrowface.Heworeatunicofwhitearmor:pale,hardmetalmadeoftinyoverlappingcircles,likethescalesofafish.Hiseyeswereleafgreen.

TheothermanwasMagnusBane.Hedidn’t smile atClary ashe came to standbesideLuke.Heworealong,darkcoatbuttoneduptothethroat,andhisblackhairwaspulledbackfromhisface.

“Youlooksoplain,”Clarysaid,staring.

Magnussmiledfaintly.“Iheardyouhadarunetoshowus,”wasallhesaid.

ClarylookedatLuke,whonodded.“Oh,yes,”shesaid.“Ijustneedsomethingtowriteon—somepaper.”

“Iaskedyouifyouneededanything,”Jocelynsaidunderherbreath,soundingverymuchlikethemotherClaryremembered.

“I’vegotpaper,”saidSimon,fishingsomethingoutofhis jeanspocket.Hehandedit toher.Itwasacrumpledflyerforhisband’sperformanceattheKnittingFactoryinJuly.Sheshrugged and flipped it over, raising her borrowed stele. It sparked slightly when shetouchedthetiptothepaper,andsheworriedforamomentthattheflyermightburn,butthetinyflamesubsided.Shesettodrawing,doingherbesttoshuteverythingelseout:thenoiseofthecrowd,thefeelingthateveryonewasstaringather.

The rune came out as it had before—a pattern of lines that curved strongly into oneanother,thenstretchedacrossthepageasifexpectingacompletionthatwasn’tthere.Shebrusheddustfromthepageandhelditup,feelingabsurdlyasifshewereinschoolandshowingoffsomesortofpresentationtoherclass.“Thisistherune,”shesaid.“Itrequiresasecondrunetocompleteit,toworkproperly.A—partnerrune.”

“OneDownworlder,oneShadowhunter.Eachhalfof thepartnershiphas tobeMarked,”Lukesaid.Hescribbledacopyof the runeon thebottomof thepage, tore thepaper inhalf, andhandedone illustration toAmatis. “Start circulating the rune,”he said. “ShowtheNephilimhowitworks.”

With a nod Amatis vanished down the steps and into the crowd. The faerie knight,glancingafterher, shookhishead.“Ihavealwaysbeen told thatonly theNephilimcanbeartheAngel’sMarks,”hesaid,withameasureofdistrust.“Thatothersofuswillrunmad,ordie,shouldwewearthem.”

“Thisisn’toneoftheAngel’sMarks,”saidClary.“It’snotfromtheGrayBook.It’ssafe,Ipromise.”

Thefaerieknightlookedunimpressed.

WithasighMagnusflippedhissleevebackandreachedahandouttoClary.“Goahead.”

“Ican’t,”shesaid.“TheShadowhunterwhoMarksyouwillbeyourpartner,andI’mnotfightinginthebattle.”

“I should hope not,” said Magnus. He glanced over at Luke and Jocelyn, who werestandingclosetogether.“Youtwo,”hesaid.“Goon,then.Showthefaeriehowitworks.”

Jocelynblinkedinsurprise.“What?”

“I assumed,” Magnus said, “that you two would be partners, since you’re practicallymarriedanyway.”

ColorfloodedupintoJocelyn’sface,andshecarefullyavoidedlookingatLuke.“Idon’thaveastele—”

“Takemine.”Claryhandeditover.“Goahead,showthem.”

JocelynturnedtoLuke,whoseemedentirelytakenaback.Hethrustouthishandbeforeshecouldaskforit,andsheMarkedhispalmwithahastyprecision.Hishandshookasshedrew,andshetookhiswristtosteadyit;Lukelookeddownatherassheworked,andClarythoughtoftheirconversationabouthermotherandwhathehadtoldherabouthisfeelings for Jocelyn, and she felt a pang of sadness. Shewondered if hermother evenknewthatLukelovedher,andifsheknew,whatshewouldsay.

“There.”Jocelyndrewthesteleback.“Done.”

Lukeraisedhishand,palmout,andshowed theswirlingblackmark in itscenter to thefaerieknight.“Isthatsatisfactory,Meliorn?”

“Meliorn?” said Clary. “I’ve met you, haven’t I? You used to go out with IsabelleLightwood.”

Meliornwasalmostexpressionless,butClarycouldhaveswornhelookedeversoslightlyuncomfortable.Lukeshookhishead.“Clary,MeliornisaknightoftheSeelieCourt.It’sveryunlikelythathe—”

“HewastotallydatingIsabelle,”Simonsaid,“andshedumpedhimtoo.Atleastshesaidshewasgoingto.Toughbreak,man.”

Meliornblinkedathim.“You,”hesaidwithdistaste,“youarethechosenrepresentativeoftheNightChildren?”

Simonshookhishead.“No.I’mjusthereforher.”HepointedatClary.

“TheNightChildren,”saidLuke,afterabriefhesitation,“aren’tparticipating,Meliorn.IdidconveythatinformationtoyourLady.They’vechosento—togotheirownway.”

Meliorn’sdelicate featuresdrewdown into a scowl. “Would that I hadknown that,”hesaid.“TheNightChildrenareawiseandcarefulpeople.Anyschemethatdrawstheiriredrawsmysuspicions.”

“Ididn’tsayanythingaboutire,”Lukebegan,withamixtureofdeliberatecalmandfaintexasperation—Clarydoubtedthatanyonewhodidn’tknowhimwellwouldknowhewasirritatedatall.Shecouldsensetheshiftinhisattention:Hewaslookingdowntowardthecrowd. Following his gaze, Clary saw a familiar figure cut a path across the room—Isabelle, her black hair swinging, her whip wrapped around her wrist like a series ofgoldenbracelets.

ClarycaughtSimon’swrist.“TheLightwoods.IjustsawIsabelle.”

Heglancedtowardthecrowd,frowning.“Ididn’trealizeyouwerelookingforthem.”

“Pleasegotalktoherforme,”shewhispered,glancingovertoseeifanyonewaspayingattention to them; nobody was. Luke was gesturing toward someone in the crowd;meanwhile, Jocelyn was saying something to Meliorn, who was looking at her withsomethingapproachingalarm.“Ihavetostayhere,but—please,IneedyoutotellherandAlecwhatmymothertoldme.AboutJaceandwhohereallyis,andSebastian.Theyhavetoknow.Tellthemtocomeandtalktomeassoonastheycan.Please,Simon.”

“Allright.”Clearlyworriedby the intensityofher tone,Simonfreedhiswrist fromhergraspandtouchedherreassuringlyonthecheek.“I’llbeback.”

Hewentdownthestepsandvanishedintothethrong;whensheturnedback,shesawthatMagnuswaslookingather,hismouthsetinacrookedline.“It’sfine,”hesaid,obviouslyansweringwhateverquestionLukehadjustaskedhim.“I’mfamiliarwithBrocelindPlain.I’ll set thePortal up in the square.One that bigwon’t last very long, though, soyou’dbettergeteveryonethroughitprettyquicklyoncethey’reMarked.”

AsLukenoddedandturnedtosaysomethingtoJocelyn,Claryleanedforwardandsaid

quietly,“Thanks,bytheway.Foreverythingyoudidformymom.”

Magnus’sunevensmilebroadened.“Youdidn’tthinkIwasgoingtodoit,didyou?”

“Iwondered,”Claryadmitted.“EspeciallyconsideringthatwhenIsawyouatthecottage,you didn’t even see fit to tellme that Jace brought Simon through the Portalwith himwhenhecametoAlicante.Ididn’thaveachancetoyellatyouaboutthatbefore,butwhatwereyouthinking?ThatIwouldn’tbeinterested?”

“Thatyou’dbetoointerested,”saidMagnus.“Thatyou’ddropeverythingandgorushingofftotheGard.AndIneededyoutolookfortheBookoftheWhite.”

“That’sruthless,”Clarysaidangrily.“Andyou’rewrong.Iwouldhave—”

“Donewhatanyonewouldhavedone.WhatIwouldhavedoneifitweresomeoneIcaredabout.Idon’tblameyou,Clary,andIdidn’tdoitbecauseIthoughtyouwereweak.Ididitbecauseyou’rehuman,andIknowhumanity’sways.I’vebeenalivealongtime.”

“Like you never do anything stupid because you have feelings,” Clary said. “Where’sAlec,anyway?Whyaren’tyouoffchoosinghimasyourpartnerrightnow?”

Magnus seemed towince. “Iwouldn’t approach himwith his parents there.You knowthat.”

Clary proppedher chin onher hand. “Doing the right thing because you love someonesuckssometimes.”

“Itdoes,”Magnussaid,“atthat.”

Theravenflewinslow,lazycircles,makingitswayoverthetreetopstowardthewesternwall of the valley. The moon was high, eliminating the need for witchlight as Jacefollowed,keepingtotheedgesofthetrees.

The valleywall rose above, a sheer wall of gray rock. The raven’s path seemed to befollowing thecurveof the streamas itwended itswaywest,disappearing finally intoanarrow fissure in thewall. Jace nearly twisted his ankle several times onwet rock andwished he could swear out loud, but Hugo would be sure to hear him. Bent into anuncomfortablehalfcrouch,heconcentratedonnotbreakingaleginstead.

His shirt was soaked with sweat by the time he reached the edge of the valley. For amoment he thought he’d lost sight ofHugo, and his heart fell—then he saw the blacksinkingshapeastheravenswoopedlowanddisappearedintothedark,fissuredholeinthevalley’srockwall.Jaceranforward—itwassucharelief toruninsteadofcrawl.Ashenearedthefissure,hecouldseeamuchlarger,darkergapbeyondit—acove.Fumblinghiswitchlightstoneoutofhispocket,Jacedivedinaftertheraven.

Onlyalittlelightseepedinthroughthecave’smouth,andafterafewstepseventhatwasswallowed up by the oppressive darkness. Jace raised his witchlight and let theilluminationbleedoutbetweenhisfingers.

At first he thought he’d somehow foundhiswayoutside again, and that the starswerevisibleoverheadinalltheirglitteringglory.ThestarsnevershoneanywhereelsethewaytheyshoneinIdris—andtheyweren’tshiningnow.Thewitchlighthadpickedoutdozensofsparklingdepositsofmicaintherockaroundhim,andthewallshadcomealivewithbrilliantpointsoflight.

They showedhim thathewas standing inanarrowspacecarvedoutof sheer rock, thecaveentrancebehindhim,twobranchingdarktunnelsahead.Jacethoughtofthestorieshis fatherhad toldhimaboutheroes lost inmazeswhoused ropeor twine to find theirwayback.Hedidn’thaveeitherofthoseonhim,though.Hemovedclosertothetunnelsand stood silent for a longmoment, listening.He heard the drip ofwater, faintly, fromsomewherefaraway;therushofthestream,arustlinglikewings,and—voices.

Hejerkedback.Thevoiceswerecomingfromtheleft-handtunnel,hewassureofit.Heranhisthumboverthewitchlighttodimit,untilitwasgivingoffafaintglowthatwasjustenoughtolighthisway.Thenheplungedforwardintothedarkness.

“Are you serious, Simon? It’s really true? That’s fantastic! It’s wonderful!” Isabellereached out for her brother’s hand. “Alec, did you hear what Simon said? Jace isn’tValentine’sson.Heneverwas.”

“Sowhosesonishe?”Alecreplied,thoughSimonhadthefeelingthathewasonlypartlypaying attention.He seemed to be casting around the room for something.His parentsstoodalittledistanceaway,frowningintheirdirection;Simonhadbeenworriedhe’dhavetoexplainthewholebusinesstothem,too,butthey’dnicelyallowedhimafewminuteswithIsabelleandAlecalone.

“Who cares!” Isabelle threw her hands up in delight, then frowned. “Actually, that’s agoodpoint.Whowashisfather?MichaelWaylandafterall?”

Simonshookhishead.“StephenHerondale.”

“SohewastheInquisitor’sgrandson,”Alecsaid.“Thatmustbewhyshe—”Hebrokeoff,staringintothedistance.

“Whyshewhat?”Isabelledemanded.“Alec,payattention.Oratleasttelluswhatyou’relookingfor.”

“Notwhat,”saidAlec.“Who.Magnus.Iwantedtoaskhimifhe’dbemypartnerinthebattle.ButI’venoideawhereheis.Haveyouseenhim?”heasked,directinghisquestionatSimon.

Simonshookhishead.“Hewasupon thedaiswithClary,but”—hecranedhisneck tolook—“he’snotnow.He’sprobablyinthecrowdsomewhere.”

“Really? Are you going to ask him to be your partner?” Isabelle asked. “It’s like acotillion,thispartnersbusiness,exceptwithkilling.”

“So,exactlylikeacotillion,”saidSimon.

“MaybeI’llaskyoutobemypartner,Simon,”Isabellesaid,raisinganeyebrowdelicately.

Alecfrowned.Hewas,liketherestoftheShadowhuntersintheroom,entirelygearedup—all in black,with a belt fromwhich dangledmultipleweapons.A bowwas strappedacrosshisback;Simonwashappytoseehe’dfoundareplacementfortheoneSebastianhadsmashed.“Isabelle,youdon’tneedapartner,becauseyou’renotfighting.You’retooyoung.Andifyoueventhinkabout it, I’llkillyou.”Hisheadjerkedup.“Wait—is thatMagnus?”

Isabelle,followinghisgaze,snorted.“Alec,that’sawerewolf.Agirlwerewolf.Infact,it’swhat’s-her-name.May.”

“Maia,” Simon corrected. She was standing a little ways away, wearing brown leatherpants and a tight black T-shirt that said WHATEVER DOESN’T KILL ME…HADBETTERSTARTRUNNING.Acordheldbackherbraidedhair.Sheturned,asifsensingtheir eyes on her, and smiled. Simon smiled back. Isabelle glowered. Simon stoppedsmilinghastily—whenexactlyhadhislifegottensocomplicated?

Alec’s face lit up. “There’sMagnus,” he said, and tookoffwithout a backwardglance,shearing a path through the crowd to the spacewhere the tallwarlock stood.Magnus’ssurpriseasAlecapproachedhimwasvisible,evenfromthisdistance.

“It’ssortofsweet,”saidIsabelle,lookingatthem,“youknow,inkindofalameway.”

“Whylame?”

“Because,”Isabelleexplained,“Alec’stryingtogetMagnustotakehimseriously,buthe’snevertoldourparentsaboutMagnus,oreventhathelikes,youknow—”

“Warlocks?”Simonsaid.

“Veryfunny.”Isabelleglaredathim.“YouknowwhatImean.What’sgoingonhereis—”

“Whatisgoingon,exactly?”askedMaia,stridingintoearshot.“Imean,Idon’tquitegetthispartnersthing.Howisitsupposedtowork?”

“Like that.” Simon pointed toward Alec andMagnus, who stood a bit apart from thecrowd,intheirownsmallspace.AlecwasdrawingonMagnus’shand,hisfaceintent,hisdarkhairfallingforwardtohidehiseyes.

“Soweallhavetodothat?”Maiasaid.“Getdrawnon,Imean.”

“Onlyifyou’regoingtofight,”Isabellesaid,lookingattheothergirlcoldly.“Youdon’tlookeighteenyet.”

Maia smiled tightly. “I’m not a Shadowhunter. Lycanthropes are considered adults atsixteen.”

“Well, you have to get drawn on, then,” said Isabelle. “By a Shadowhunter. So you’dbetterlookforone.”

“But—”Maia,stilllookingoveratAlecandMagnus,brokeoffandraisedhereyebrows.Simonturnedtoseewhatshewaslookingat—andstared.

AlechadhisarmsaroundMagnusandwaskissinghim,fullonthemouth.Magnus,whoappeared to be in a state of shock, stood frozen. Several groups of people—Shadowhunters andDownworlders alike—were staring andwhispering.Glancing to theside,SimonsawtheLightwoods, theireyeswide,gapingat thedisplay.Marysehadherhandoverhermouth.

Maialookedperplexed.“Waitasecond,”shesaid.“Doweallhavetodothat,too?”

For the sixth timeClary scanned the crowd, looking forSimon.She couldn’t find him.The roomwas a roilingmass of Shadowhunters andDownworlders, the crowd spillingthroughtheopendoorsandontothestepsoutside.EverywherewastheflashofstelesasDownworldersandShadowhunterscametogether inpairsandMarkedeachother.ClarysawMaryseLightwoodholdingoutherhand toa tallgreen-skinned faeriewomanwhowasjustaspaleandregalasshewas.PatrickPenhallowwassolemnlyexchangingMarkswithawarlockwhosehairshonewithbluesparks.ThroughtheHalldoorsClarycouldseethe bright glimmer of the Portal in the square. The starlight shining down through theglassskylightlentasurrealairtoallofit.

“Amazing, isn’t it?”Lukesaid.Hestoodat theedgeof thedais, lookingdownover theroom.“ShadowhuntersandDownworlders,minglingtogetherinthesameroom.Workingtogether.”Hesoundedawed.AllClarycouldthinkwasthatshewishedJacewereheretoseewhatwashappening.Shecouldn’tputasideherfearforhim,nomatterhowhardshetried.TheideathathemightfacedownValentine,mightriskhislifebecausehethoughthewascursed—thathemightdiewithouteverknowingitwasn’ttrue—

“Clary,”Jocelynsaid,withatraceofamusement,“didyouhearwhatIsaid?”

“Idid,”saidClary,“anditisamazing,Iknow.”

Jocelynputherhandon topofClary’s. “That’snotwhat Iwas saying.Lukeand Iwillbothbefighting.Iknowyouknowthat.You’llbestayingherewithIsabelleandtheother

children.”

“I’mnotachild.”

“Iknowyou’renot,butyou’retooyoungtofight.Andevenifyouweren’t,you’veneverbeentrained.”

“Idon’twanttojustsithereanddonothing.”

“Nothing?” Jocelyn said in amazement. “Clary, none of this would be happening if itwasn’tforyou.Wewouldn’tevenhaveachancetofightifitwasn’tforyou.I’msoproudofyou.IjustwantedtotellyouthateventhoughLukeandIwillbegone,we’llbecomingback.Everything’sgoingtobefine.”

Clary looked up at hermother, into the green eyes so like her own. “Mom,” she said.“Don’tlie.”

Jocelyn tookasharpbreathandstoodup,drawingherhandback.Beforeshecouldsayanything,somethingcaughtClary’seye—afamiliarfaceinthecrowd.Aslim,darkfigure,moving purposely toward them, slipping through the throngedHallwith deliberate andsurprisingease—asifhecoulddriftthroughthecrowd,likesmokethroughthegapsinafence.

Andhewas,Clary realized, as heneared thedais. ItwasRaphael, dressed in the samewhiteshirtandblackpantsshe’dfirstseenhimin.Shehadforgottenhowslighthewas.Helookedbarelyfourteenasheclimbedthestairs,histhinfacecalmandangelic,likeachoirboymountingthestepstothechancel.

“Raphael.” Luke’s voice held amazement, mixed with relief. “I didn’t think you werecoming.Have theNightChildren reconsidered joiningus in fightingValentine?There’sstillaCouncilseatopenforyou,ifyou’dliketotakeit.”HeheldahandouttoRaphael.

Raphael’sclearandlovelyeyesregardedhimexpressionlessly.“Icannotshakehandswithyou,werewolf.”WhenLuke lookedoffended,hesmiled, justenough toshowthewhitetipsofhisfangteeth.“IamaProjection,”hesaid,raisinghishandsothattheycouldallseehowthelightshonethroughit.“Icantouchnothing.”

“But—” Luke glanced up at the moonlight pouring through the roof. “Why—” Heloweredhishand.“Well,I’mgladyou’rehere.Howeveryouchoosetoappear.”

Raphael shook his head. For a moment his eyes lingered on Clary—a look she reallydidn’tlike—andthenheturnedhisgazetoJocelyn,andhissmilewidened.“You,”hesaid,“Valentine’swife.Others ofmykind,who foughtwith you at theUprising, toldmeofyou.IadmitIneverthoughtIwouldseeyoumyself.”

Jocelyn inclinedherhead.“Manyof theNightChildren foughtverybravely then.Doesyourpresencehereindicatethatwemightfightalongsideeachotheronceagain?”

Itwasodd,Clarythought,tohearhermotherspeakinthatcoolandformalway,andyetitseemed natural to Jocelyn. As natural in its way as sitting on the ground in ancientoveralls,holdingapaint-splatteredbrush.

“Ihopeso,”Raphaelsaid,andhisgazebrushedClaryagain,likethetouchofacoldhand.“Wehaveonlyonerequirement,onesimple—andsmall—request.Ifthatishonored,theNightChildrenofmanylandswillhappilygotobattleatyourside.”

“TheCouncilseat,”saidLuke.“Ofcourse—itcanbeformalized,thedocumentsdrawnupwithinthehour—”

“Not,”saidRaphael,“theCouncilseat.Somethingelse.”

“Something—else?”Lukeechoedblankly.“Whatis it?Iassureyou, if it’s inourpower—”

“Oh,itis.”Raphael’ssmilewasblinding.“Infact,itissomethingthatiswithinthewallsofthisHallaswespeak.”Heturnedandgesturedgracefullytowardthecrowd.“IsistheboySimonthatwewant,”hesaid.“ItistheDaylighter.”

Thetunnelwas longandtwisting,switchbackingonitselfoverandoveras ifJacewerecrawlingthroughtheentrailsofanenormousmonster.Itsmelledlikewetrockandashesand something else, somethingdank andodd that reminded Jace ever so slightlyof thesmelloftheBoneCity.

At last the tunnelopenedout intoacircularchamber.Hugestalactites, their surfacesasburnishedasgems,hungdownfromaridged,stonyceilinghighabove.Thefloorwasassmooth as if it had been polished, alternating here and there with arcane patterns ofgleaminginlaidstone.Aseriesofroughstalagmitescircledthechamber.Intheverycenterof the room stood a singlemassive quartz stalagmite, rearing up from the floor like agiganticfang,patternedhereandtherewithareddishdesign.Peeringcloser,Jacesawthatthe sides of the stalagmitewere transparent, the reddish pattern the result of somethingswirlingandmovinginsideit,likeaglasstesttubefullofcoloredsmoke.

Highabove,lightfiltereddownfromacircularholeinthestone,anaturalskylight.Thechamberhadcertainlybeenaproductofdesignratherthanaccident—theintricatepatternstracing the floormade thatmuch obvious—butwhowould have hollowed out such anenormousundergroundchamber,andwhy?

Asharpcawechoedthroughtheroom,sendingashockthroughJace’snerves.Heduckedbehindabulky stalagmite,dousinghiswitchlight, just as two figuresemerged from theshadowsat thefarendof theroomandmoved towardhim, theirheadsbent together inconversation. Itwasonlywhen theyreached thecenterof theroomand the lightstruckthemthatherecognizedthem.

Sebastian.

AndValentine.

Hoping to avoid the crowd, Simon took the long way back toward the dais, duckingbehind the rowsofpillars that lined thesidesof theHall.Hekepthisheaddownashewent,lostinthought.ItseemedstrangethatAlec,onlyayearortwoolderthanIsabelle,washeadingoff to fight in awar, and the restof themweregoing to staybehind.AndIsabelle seemed calm about it. No crying, no hysterics. It was as if she’d expected it.Maybeshehad.Maybetheyallhad.

He was close to the dais steps when he glanced up and saw, to his surprise, RaphaelstandingacrossfromLuke,lookinghisusualnear-expressionlessself.Luke,ontheotherhand, looked agitated—hewas shaking his head, his hands up in protest, and Jocelyn,besidehim,lookedoutraged.Simoncouldn’tseeClary’sface—herbackwastohim—butheknewherwellenoughtorecognizehertensionjustfromthesetofhershoulders.

NotwantingRaphael toseehim,Simonduckedbehindapillar, listening.Evenoverthebabbleofthecrowd,hewasabletohearLuke’srisingvoice.

“It’soutofthequestion,”Lukewassaying.“Ican’tbelieveyou’devenask.”

“And I can’t believeyouwould refuse.”Raphael’svoicewas cool and clear, the sharp,still-highvoiceofayoungboy.“Itissuchasmallthing.”

“It’snotathing.”Clarysoundedangry.“It’sSimon.He’saperson.”

“He’savampire,”saidRaphael.“Whichyouseemtokeepforgetting.”

“Aren’tyouavampireaswell?”askedJocelyn,hertoneasfreezingasithadbeeneverytimeClary andSimonhad ever gotten in trouble for doing something stupid. “Areyousayingyourlifehasnoworth?”

Simonpressedhimselfbackagainstthepillar.Whatwasgoingon?

“Mylifehasgreatworth,”saidRaphael,“being,unlikeyours,eternal.ThereisnoendtowhatImightaccomplish,whilethereisaclearendwhereyouareconcerned.Butthatisnottheissue.Heisavampire,oneofmyown,andIamaskingforhimback.”

“You can’t havehimback,”Clary snapped. “Younever hadhim in the first place.Youwere never even interested in him either, till you found out he could walk around indaylight—”

“Possibly,” said Raphael, “but not for the reason you think.” He cocked his head, hisbright,softeyesdarkanddartingasabird’s.“Novampireshouldhavethepowerhehas,”

hesaid,“justasnoShadowhunter shouldhave thepower thatyouandyourbrotherdo.Foryearswehavebeentoldthatwearewrongandunnatural.Butthis—thisisunnatural.”

“Raphael.”Luke’stonewaswarning.“Idon’tknowwhatyouwerehopingfor.Butthere’snochancewe’llletyouhurtSimon.”

“But youwill letValentine and his army of demons hurt all these people, your allies.”Raphaelmade a sweeping gesture that encompassed the room. “Youwill let them risktheir lives at their own discretion but won’t give Simon the same choice? Perhaps hewouldmakeadifferentonethanyouwill.”Heloweredhisarm.“Youknowwewillnotfightwithyouotherwise.TheNightChildrenwillhavenopartinthisday.”

“Thenhavenopartinit,”saidLuke.“Iwon’tbuyyourcooperationwithaninnocentlife.I’mnotValentine.”

Raphael turned to Jocelyn. “What about you, Shadowhunter?Are you going to let thiswerewolfdecidewhat’sbestforyourpeople?”

Jocelynwas looking atRaphael as if hewere a roach she’d found crawling across hercleankitchen floor.Very slowly she said, “If you layonehandonSimon,vampire, I’llhaveyouchoppedupintotinypiecesandfedtomycat.Understand?”

Raphael’smouthtightened.“Verywell,”hesaid.“WhenyouliedyingonBrocelindPlain,youmayaskyourselfwhetheronelifewastrulyworthsomany.”

Hevanished.LuketurnedquicklytoClary,butSimonwasnolongerwatchingthem:Hewaslookingdownathishands.Hehadthoughttheywouldbeshaking,buttheywereasmotionlessasacorpse’s.Veryslowly,heclosedthemintofists.

Valentinelookedashealwayshad,abigmaninmodifiedShadowhuntergear,hisbroad,thick shoulders at odds with his sharply planed, fine-featured face. He had theMortalSword strapped across his back along with a bulky satchel. He wore a wide belt withnumerousweapons thrust through it: thick hunting daggers, narrow dirks, and skinningknives.StaringatValentinefrombehindtherock,Jacefeltashealwaysdidnowwhenhethought of his father—a persistent familial affection corroded through with bleakness,disappointment,andmistrust.

Itwasstrangeseeinghis fatherwithSebastian,who looked—different.Heworegearaswell, and a long silver-hilted sword strapped at his waist, but it wasn’t what he waswearing that struck Jace as odd. Itwas his hair, no longer a cap of dark curls but fair,shining-fair,asortofwhitegold.Itsuitedhim,actually,betterthanthedarkhairhad;hisskinnolongerlookedsostartlinglypale.HemusthavedyedhishairtoresembletherealSebastianVerlac,andthiswaswhathereallylookedlike.Asour,roilingwaveofhatredcoursedthroughJace,anditwasallhecoulddotostayhiddenbehindtherockandnotlungeforwardtowraphishandsaroundSebastian’sthroat.

HugocawedagainandswoopeddowntolandonValentine’sshoulder.AnoddpangwentthroughJace,seeingtheravenintheposturethathadbecomesofamiliartohimovertheyearshe’dknownHodge.Hugohadpractically livedonthetutor’sshoulder,andseeinghimonValentine’sfeltoddlyforeign,evenwrong,despiteeverythingHodgehaddone.

Valentinereachedupandstrokedthebird’sglossyfeathers,noddingasifthetwoofthemweredeepinconversation.Sebastianwatched,hispaleeyebrowsarched.“AnywordfromAlicante?”hesaidasHugoliftedhimselffromValentine’sshoulderandsoaredintotheairagain,hiswingsbrushingthegemliketipsofthestalactites.

“Nothing as comprehensible as Iwould like,”Valentine said.The sound of his father’svoice, cool and unruffled as ever,went through Jace like an arrow.His hands twitchedinvoluntarilyandhepressedthemhardagainsthissides,gratefulforthebulkoftherockhidinghimfromview.“Onethingiscertain.TheClaveisallyingitselfwithLucian’sforceofDownworlders.”

Sebastianfrowned.“ButMalachisaid—”

“Malachihasfailed.”Valentine’sjawwasset.

ToJace’ssurpriseSebastianmovedforwardandputahandonValentine’sarm.Therewassomething about that touch—something intimate and confident—that made Jace’sstomachfeelasifithadbeeninvadedbyanestofworms.NoonetouchedValentinelikethat. Even he would not have touched his father like that. “Are you upset?” Sebastianasked,andthesametonewasinhisvoice,thesamegrotesqueandpeculiarassumptionofcloseness.

“TheClave is further gone than I had thought. I knew the Lightwoodswere corruptedbeyondhope,andthatsortofcorruptioniscontagious.It’swhyItriedtokeepthemfromentering Idris. But for the rest to have so easily had their minds filled with Lucian’spoison, when he is not even Nephilim…” Valentine’s disgust was plain, but he didn’tmove away fromSebastian, Jace sawwith growing disbelief, didn’tmove to brush theboy’s hand from his shoulder. “I am disappointed. I thought they would see reason. Iwouldhavepreferrednottoendthingsthisway.”

Sebastian looked amused. “I don’t agree,” he said. “Think of them, ready to do battle,ridingouttoglory,onlytofindthatnoneofitmatters.Thattheirgestureisfutile.Thinkofthelooksontheirfaces.”Hismouthstretchedintoagrin.

“Jonathan.”Valentinesighed.“Thisisuglynecessity,nothingtotakedelightin.”

Jonathan? Jaceclutchedat the rock,hishandssuddenlyslippery.WhywouldValentinecallSebastianbyhisname?Wasitamistake?ButSebastiandidn’tlooksurprised.

“Isn’titbetterifIenjoywhatI’mdoing?”Sebastiansaid.“IcertainlyenjoyedmyselfinAlicante.TheLightwoodswerebettercompanythanyouledmetobelieve,especiallythatIsabelle.Wecertainlypartedonahighnote.AndasforClary—”

JusthearingSebastiansayClary’snamemadeJace’sheartskipasudden,painfulbeat.

“She wasn’t at all like I thought she’d be,” Sebastian went on petulantly. “She wasn’tanythinglikeme.”

“There isnooneelse in theworld likeyou,Jonathan.Andas forClary,shehasalwaysbeenexactlylikehermother.”

“She won’t admit what she really wants,” Sebastian said. “Not yet. But she’ll comearound.”

Valentineraisedaneyebrow.“Whatdoyoumean,comearound?”

Sebastiangrinned,agrinthatfilledJacewithanalmostuncontrollablerage.Hebitdownhardonhislip,tastingblood.“Oh,youknow,”Sebastiansaid.“Toourside.Ican’twait.TrickingherwasthemostfunI’vehadinages.”

“Youweren’tsupposedtobehavingfun.Youweresupposedtobefindingoutwhatitwasshewas looking for.Andwhen shedid find it—without you, Imight add—you let hergiveittoawarlock.Andthenyoufailedtobringherwithyouwhenyouleft,despitethethreatsheposestous.Notexactlyaglorioussuccess,Jonathan.”

“Itriedtobringher.Theywouldn’tletheroutoftheirsight,andIcouldn’texactlykidnapherinthemiddleoftheAccordsHall.”Sebastiansoundedsulky.“Besides,Itoldyou,shedoesn’t have any idea how to use that runepower of hers. She’s toonaive to pose anydanger—”

“Whatever theClave is planning now, she’s at the center of it,”Valentine said. “Huginsaysasmuch.HesawherthereonthedaisintheAccordsHall.IfshecanshowtheClaveherpower…”

JacefeltaflashoffearforClary,mixedwithanoddsortofpride—ofcourseshewasatthecenterofthings.ThatwashisClary.

“Then they’ll fight,” said Sebastian. “Which is what we want, isn’t it? Clary doesn’tmatter.It’sthebattlethatmatters.”

“Youunderestimateher,Ithink,”Valentinesaidquietly.

“Iwaswatchingher,”saidSebastian.“Ifherpowerwasasunlimitedasyouseemtothink,shecouldhaveusedittogetherlittlevampirefriendoutofhisprison—orsavethatfoolHodgewhenhewasdying—”

“Powerdoesn’t have to beunlimited to bedeadly,”Valentine said. “And as forHodge,perhapsyoumightshowabitmorereserveregardinghisdeath,sinceyou’retheonewhokilledhim.”

“HewasabouttotellthemabouttheAngel.Ihadto.”

“Youwanted to.Youalwaysdo.”Valentinetookapairofheavyleatherglovesfromhispocket and drew them on slowly. “Perhaps hewould have told them. Perhaps not. AllthoseyearshelookedafterJaceintheInstituteandmusthavewonderedwhatitwashewasraising.Hodgewasoneofthefewwhoknewtherewasmorethanoneboy.Iknewhewouldn’tbetrayme—hewastoomuchofacowardforthat.”Heflexedhisfingersinsidethegloves,frowning.

Morethanoneboy?WhatwasValentinetalkingabout?

SebastiandismissedHodgewithawaveofhishand.“Whocareswhathethought?He’sdead,andgoodriddance.”Hiseyesgleamedblackly.“Areyougoingtothelakenow?”

“Yes.You’reclearonwhatmustbedone?”ValentinejerkedhischintowardtheswordatSebastian’s waist. “Use that. It’s not the Mortal Sword, but its alliance is sufficientlydemonicforthispurpose.”

“Ican’tgotothelakewithyou?”Sebastian’svoicehadtakenonadistinctwhiningtone.“Can’twejustreleasethearmynow?”

“It’snotmidnightyet.IsaidIwouldgivethemuntilmidnight.Theymayyetchangetheirminds.”

“They’renotgoingto—”

“Igavemyword.I’llstandbyit.”Valentine’stonewasfinal.“IfyouhearnothingfromMalachi by midnight, open the gate.” Seeing Sebastian’s hesitation, Valentine lookedimpatient. “Ineedyou todo this, Jonathan. I can’twaithere formidnight; it’ll takemenearlyanhourtogettothelakethroughthetunnels,andIhavenointentionoflettingthebattledragonverylong.FuturegenerationsmustknowhowquicklytheClavelost,andhowdecisiveourvictorywas.”

“It’s just that I’llbesorry tomiss thesummoning. I’d like tobe therewhenyoudo it.”Sebastian’s lookwaswistful, but therewas something calculated beneath it, somethingsneeringandgraspingandplanningandstrangely,deliberately…cold.NotthatValentineseemedbothered.

To Jace’s bafflement, Valentine touched the side of Sebastian’s face, a quick,undisguisedlyaffectionategesture,beforeturningawayandmovingtowardthefarendofthecavern,wherethickclotsofshadowsgathered.Hepausedthere,apalefigureagainstthe darkness. “Jonathan,” he called back, and Jace glanced up, unable to help himself.“You will look upon the Angel’s face someday. After all, you will inherit the MortalInstrumentsonceIamgone.Perhapsonedayyou,too,willsummonRaziel.”

“I’d like that,” Sebastian said, and stood very still as Valentine, with a final nod,disappearedintothedarkness.Sebastian’svoicedroppedtoahalfwhisper.“I’dlikeitverymuch,”hesnarled.“I’dliketospitinhisbastardface.”Hewhirled,hisfaceawhitemask

inthedimlight.“Youmightaswellcomeout,Jace,”hesaid.“Iknowyou’rehere.”

Jacefroze—butonlyforasecond.Hisbodymovedbeforehismindhadtimetocatchup,catapulting him to his feet. He ran for the tunnel entrance, thinking only ofmaking itoutside,ofgettingamessage,somehow,toLuke.

Buttheentrancewasblocked.Sebastianstoodthere,hisexpressioncoolandgloating,hisarms outstretched, his fingers almost touching the tunnelwalls. “Really,” he said, “youdidn’tactuallythinkyouwerefasterthanme,didyou?”

Jaceskiddedtoahalt.Hisheartbeatunevenlyinhischest,likeabrokenmetronome,buthis voicewas steady. “Since I’mbetter thanyou in everyother conceivableway, it didstandtoreason.”

Sebastianjustsmiled.“Icouldhearyourheartbeating,”hesaidsoftly.“WhenyouwerewatchingmewithValentine.Diditbotheryou?”

“Thatyouseemtobedatingmydad?”Jaceshrugged.“You’realittleyoungforhim,tobehonest.”

“What?”ForthefirsttimesinceJacehadmethim,Sebastianseemedflabbergasted.Jacewasable toenjoy it foronlyamoment, though,beforeSebastian’scomposure returned.Buttherewasadarkglintinhiseyethatindicatedhehadn’tforgivenJaceformakinghimlose his calm. “Iwondered about you sometimes,” Sebastianwent on, in the same softvoice.“Thereseemedtobesomethingtoyou,onoccasion,somethingbehindthoseyelloweyesofyours.Aflashofintelligence,unliketherestofyourmud-stupidadoptivefamily.But Isuppose itwasonlyapose,anattitude.You’reas foolishas therest,despiteyourdecadeofgoodupbringing.”

“Whatdoyouknowaboutmyupbringing?”

“Morethanyoumightthink.”Sebastianloweredhishands.“Thesamemanwhobroughtyouup,broughtmeup.Onlyhedidn’ttireofmeafterthefirsttenyears.”

“What do you mean?” Jace’s voice came out in a whisper, and then, as he stared atSebastian’sunmoving,unsmiling face,he seemed to see theotherboyas if for the firsttime—thewhitehair,theblackanthraciteeyes,thehardlinesofhisface,likesomethingchiseled out of stone—and he saw in hismind the face of his father as the angel hadshowed it to him, young and sharp and alert and hungry, and heknew. “You,” he said.“Valentine’syourfather.You’remybrother.”

ButSebastianwasnolongerstandinginfrontofhim;hewassuddenlybehindhim,andhisarmswerearoundJace’sshouldersasifhemeanttoembracehim,buthishandswereclenchedintofists.“Hailandfarewell,mybrother,”hespat,andthenhisarmsjerkedupandtightened,cuttingoffJace’sbreath.

Clarywasexhausted.Adull,poundingheadache, theaftereffectofdrawingtheAlliancerune,hadtakenupresidenceinherfrontallobe.Itfeltlikesomeonetryingtokickadoordownfromthewrongside.

“Areyouallright?”JocelynputherhandonClary’sshoulder.“Youlooklikeyouaren’tfeelingwell.”

Clary glanced down—and saw the spidering black rune that crossed the back of hermother’s hand, the twin of the one on Luke’s palm. Her stomach tightened. She wasmanaging to deal with the fact that within a few hours her mother might actually befightinganarmyofdemons—butonlybywillfullypushingdownthethoughteverytimeitsurfaced.

“I’mjustwonderingwhereSimonis.”Claryrosetoherfeet.“I’mgoingtogogethim.”

“Down there?” Jocelyn gazed worriedly down at the crowd. It was thinning out now,Clarynoted, as thosewhohadbeenMarked floodedout the frontdoors into the squareoutside. Malachi stood by the doors, his bronze face impassive as he directedDownworldersandShadowhunterswheretogo.

“I’llbefine.”ClaryedgedpasthermotherandLuketowardthedaissteps.“I’llberightback.”

People turned tostareasshedescended thestepsandslipped into thecrowd.Shecouldfeel the eyes on her, theweight of the staring. She scanned the crowd, looking for theLightwoods or Simon, but saw nobody she knew—and it was hard enough seeinganythingoverthethrong,consideringhowshortshewas.WithasighClaryslippedawaytowardthewestsideoftheHall,wherethecrowdwasthinner.

Themomentshenearedthetalllineofmarblepillars,ahandshotoutfrombetweentwoof themandpulled her sideways.Clary had time to gasp in surprise, and then shewasstandinginthedarknessbehindthelargestofthepillars,herbackagainstthecoldmarblewall,Simon’shandsgrippingherarms.“Don’tscream,okay?It’sjustme,”hesaid.

“OfcourseI’mnotgoingtoscream.Don’tberidiculous.”Claryglancedfromsidetoside,wonderingwhatwasgoingon—shecouldseeonlybitsandpiecesof the largerHall, inbetweenthepillars.“Butwhat’swiththeJamesBondspystuff?Iwascomingtofindyouanyway.”

“I know. I’ve beenwaiting for you to comedownoff the dais. Iwanted to talk to youwhere no one else could hear us.”He licked his lips nervously. “I heardwhatRaphaelsaid.Whathewanted.”

“Oh,Simon.”Clary’s shoulders sagged. “Look, nothinghappened.Luke sent himaway—”

“Maybeheshouldn’thave,”Simonsaid.“MaybeheshouldhavegivenRaphaelwhathe

wanted.”

Sheblinkedathim.“Youmeanyou?Don’tbestupid.There’snoway—”

“Thereisaway.”Hisgriponherarmstightened.“Iwanttodothis.IwantLuketotellRaphaelthatthedealison.OrI’lltellhimmyself.”

“Iknowwhatyou’redoing,”Claryprotested.“AndIrespectitandIadmireyouforit,butyoudon’thave todo it,Simon,youdon’thave to.WhatRaphael’saskingfor iswrong,andnobodywill judgeyoufornotsacrificingyourselfforawarthat isn’tyourstofight—”

“But that’s just it,”Simonsaid.“WhatRaphaelsaidwasright.Iamavampire,andyoukeepforgettingit.Ormaybeyoujustwanttoforget.ButI’maDownworlderandyou’reaShadowhunter,andthisfightisbothofours.”

“Butyou’renotlikethem—”

“Iamoneofthem.”Hespokeslowly,deliberately,asiftomakeabsolutelysurethatsheunderstoodeverywordhewassaying.“AndIalwayswillbe.IftheDownworldersfightthiswarwiththeShadowhunters,withouttheparticipationofRaphael’speople,thentherewillbenoCouncilseatfortheNightChildren.Theywon’tbeapartoftheworldLuke’strying to create, a world where Shadowhunters and Downworlders work together. Aretogether. The vampires will be shut out of that. They’ll be the enemies of theShadowhunters.I’llbeyourenemy.”

“Icouldneverbeyourenemy.”

“Itwouldkillme,”Simonsaidsimply.“But Ican’thelpanythingbystandingbackandpretending I’mnotpart of this.And I’mnot askingyourpermission. Iwould likeyourhelp.Butifyouwon’tgiveittome,I’llgetMaiatotakemetothevampirecampanyway,andI’llgivemyselfuptoRaphael.Doyouunderstand?”

Shestaredathim.Hewasholdingherarmssotightlyshecouldfeelthebloodbeatinginthe skin under his hands. She ran her tongueover her dry lips; hermouth tasted bitter.“WhatcanIdo,”shewhispered,“tohelpyou?”

She looked up at him incredulously as he told her. She was already shaking her headbeforehefinished,herhairwhippingbackandforth,nearlycoveringhereyes.“No,”shesaid,“that’sacrazyidea,Simon.It’snotagift;it’sapunishment—”

“Maybe not for me,” Simon said. He glanced toward the crowd, and Clary sawMaiastandingthere,watchingthem,herexpressionopenlycurious.ShewasclearlywaitingforSimon.Toofast,Clarythought.Thisisallhappeningmuchtoofast.

“It’sbetterthanthealternative,Clary.”

“No…”

“Itmightnothurtmeatall.Imean,I’vealreadybeenpunished,right?Ialreadycan’tgointo a church, a synagogue, I can’t say—I can’t say holy names, I can’t get older, I’malreadyshutoutfromnormallife.Maybethiswon’tchangeanything.”

“Butmaybeitwill.”

Heletgoofherarms,slidhishandaroundherside,anddrewPatrick’sstelefromherbelt.Hehelditouttoher.“Clary,”hesaid.“Dothisforme.Please.”

Shetookthestelewithnumbfingersandraisedit,touchingtheendofittoSimon’sskin,justabovehiseyes.ThefirstMark,Magnushadsaid.Theveryfirst.Shethoughtofit,andher stelebegan tomove thewayadancerbegins tomovewhen themusic starts.Blacklinestracedthemselvesacrosshisforeheadlikeaflowerunfoldingonaspeeded-uprolloffilm.Whenshewasdone,herrighthandachedandstung,butasshedrewbackandstared,sheknewshehaddrawnsomethingperfectandstrangeandancient,somethingfromthevery beginning of history. It blazed like a star above Simon’s eyes as he brushed hisfingersacrosshisforehead,hisexpressiondazzledandconfused.

“Icanfeelit,”hesaid.“Likeaburn.”

“Idon’tknowwhat’llhappen,”shewhispered.“Idon’tknowwhatlong-termsideeffectsit’llhave.”

Witha twistedhalfsmile,heraisedhishandto touchhercheek.“Let’shopeweget thechancetofindout.”

19

PENIEL

Maiawas silentmostof theway to the forest,keepingherhead downandglancingfromsidetosideonlyoccasionally,hernosewrinkledinconcentration.Simonwonderedifshewassmellingtheirway,andhedecidedthatalthoughthatmightbealittleweird,itcertainlycountedasausefultalent.Healsofoundthathedidn’thavetohurrytokeepupwithher,nomatterhowfastshemoved.Evenwhen theyreached thebeaten-downpaththat led into the forest andMaia started to run—swiftly, quietly, and staying low to theground—hehadnotroublematchingherpace.Itwasonethingaboutbeingavampirethathecouldhonestlysayheenjoyed.

Itwasover toosoon; thewoodsthickenedandtheywererunningamongthe trees,overscuffed, thick-rooted ground dense with fallen leaves. The branches overhead madelacelikepatternsagainstthestarlitsky.Theyemergedfromthetreesinaclearingstrewnwith large boulders that gleamed like square white teeth. There were heaped piles ofleaveshereandthere,asifsomeonehadbeenovertheplacewithagiganticrake.

“Raphael!”Maiahadcuppedherhandsaroundhermouthandwascallingoutinavoiceloud enough to startle the birds out of the treetops high overhead. “Raphael, showyourself!”

Silence.Thentheshadowsrustled;therewasasoftpatteringsound,likerainhittingatinroof.Thepiled leaveson thegroundblewup into theair in tinycyclones.SimonheardMaiacough;shehadherhandsup,asiftobrushtheleavesawayfromherface,hereyes.

Assuddenlyasthewindhadcomeup,itsettled.Raphaelstoodthere,onlyafewfeetfromSimon.Surroundinghimwasagroupofvampires,paleandstillastreesinthemoonlight.Their expressionswere cold, stripped down to a bare hostility. He recognized some ofthemfromtheHotelDumort: thepetiteLilyand theblondJacob,hiseyesasnarrowasknives.Butjustasmanyofthemhehadneverseenbefore.

Raphaelsteppedforward.Hisskinwassallow,hiseyesringedwithblackshadow,buthesmiledwhenhesawSimon.

“Daylighter,”hebreathed.“Youcame.”

“Icame,”Simonsaid.“I’mhere,so—it’sdone.”

“It’s far from done, Daylighter.” Raphael looked towardMaia. “Lycanthrope,” he said.“Returntoyourpackleaderandthankhimforchanginghismind.TellhimthattheNightChildrenwillfightbesidehispeopleonBrocelindPlain.”

Maia’sfacewastight.“Lukedidn’tchange—”

Simoninterruptedherhastily.“It’sfine,Maia.Go.”

Hereyeswereluminousandsad.“Simon,think,”shesaid.“Youdon’thavetodothis.”

“Yes,Ido.”Histonewasfirm.“Maia,thankyousomuchforbringingmehere.Nowgo.”

“Simon—”

Hedroppedhisvoice.“Ifyoudon’tgo,they’llkillusboth,andallthiswillhavebeenfornothing.Go.Please.”

Shenoddedandturnedaway,Changingassheturned,sothatonemomentshewasaslighthumangirl,herbead-tiedbraidsbouncingonhershoulders,andthenextshehadhittheground running on all fours, a swift and silent wolf. She darted from the clearing andvanishedintotheshadows.

Simonturnedbacktothevampires—andalmostshoutedoutloud;Raphaelwasstandingdirectlyinfrontofhim,inchesaway.Upclosehisskinborethetelltaledarktraceriesofhunger.SimonthoughtofthatnightintheHotelDumort—facesappearingoutofshadow,fleetinglaughter,thesmellofblood—andshivered.

RaphaelreachedouttoSimonandtookholdofhisshoulders,thegripofhisdeceptivelyslighthandslikeiron.“Turnyourhead,”hesaid,“andlookat thestars; itwillbeeasierthatway.”

“Soyouaregoingtokillme,”Simonsaid.Tohissurprisehedidn’tfeelafraid,orevenparticularlyagitated;everythingseemedtohavesloweddowntoaperfectclarity.Hewassimultaneouslyawareofeveryleafonthebranchesabovehim,everytinypebbleontheground,everypairofeyesthatrestedonhim.

“Whatdidyou think?”Raphael said—a little sadly,Simon thought.“It’snotpersonal, Iassureyou.It’sasIsaidbefore—youaretoodangeroustobeallowedtocontinueasyouare.IfIhadknownwhatyou’dbecome—”

“You’dneverhaveletmecrawloutofthatgrave.Iknow,”saidSimon.

Raphaelmethiseyes.“Everyonedoeswhattheymusttosurvive.Inthatwayevenwearejustlikehumans.”Hisneedleteethslidfromtheirsheathslikedelicaterazors.“Holdstill,”hesaid.“Thiswillbequick.”Heleanedforward.

“Wait,” Simon said, andwhenRaphael drew backwith a scowl, he said it again,withmoreforce:“Wait.There’ssomethingIhavetoshowyou.”

Raphaelmadea lowhissingsound.“Youhadbetterbedoingmore than trying todelayme,Daylighter.”

“Iam.There’ssomethingI thoughtyoushouldsee.”Simonreachedupandbrushed thehairbackfromhisforehead.Itfeltlikeafoolish,eventheatrical,gesture,butashedidit,he sawClary’s desperatewhite face as she stared up at him, the stele in her hand, andthought,Well,forhersake,atleastI’vetried.

TheeffectonRaphaelwasbothstartlingand instantaneous.He jerkedbackas ifSimon

hadbrandishedacrucifixathim,hiseyeswidening.“Daylighter,”hespat,“whodidthistoyou?”

Simon only stared.Hewasn’t surewhat reaction he’d expected, but it hadn’t been thisone.

“Clary,” Raphael said, answering his own inquiry, “of course. Only a power like herswouldallowthis—avampire,Marked,andwithaMarklikethatone—”

“AMarklikewhat?”saidJacob,theslenderblondboystandingjustbehindRaphael.Therestofthevampireswerestaringaswell,withexpressionsthatmingledconfusionandagrow ing fear. Anything that frightened Raphael, Simon thought, was sure to frightenthem,too.

“ThisMark,”Raphaelsaid,stilllookingonlyatSimon,“isnotoneofthosefromtheGrayBook.ItisanevenolderMarkthanthat.Oneoftheancients,drawnbytheMaker’sownhand.” He made as if to touch Simon’s forehead but didn’t seem quite able to bringhimself todo it;hishandhovered for amoment, then fell tohis side. “SuchMarksarementioned,butIhaveneverseenone.Andthisone…”

Simon said, “‘Therefore whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on himsevenfold.AndtheLordsetaMarkuponCain,lestanyfindinghimshouldkillhim.’Youcantrytokillme,Raphael.ButIwouldn’tadviseit.”

“TheMarkofCain?”Jacobsaidindisbelief.“ThisMarkonyouistheMarkofCain?”

“Killhim,”saidaredheadedfemalevampirewhostoodclosetoJacob.Shespokewithaheavyaccent—Russian,Simonthought,thoughhewasn’tsure.“Killhimanyway.”

Raphael’s expressionwas amixof fury anddisbelief. “Iwill not,” he said. “Anyharmdone to himwill rebound upon the doer sevenfold. That is the nature of theMark.Ofcourse,ifanyofyouwouldliketobetheonetotakethatrisk,byallmeans,bemyguest.”

Noonespokeormoved.

“Ithoughtnot,”saidRaphael.HiseyesrakedSimon.“Liketheevilqueeninthefairytale,LucianGraymarkhassentmeapoisonedapple. I supposehehoped Iwouldharmyou,andreapthepunishmentthatwouldfollow.”

“No,”Simonsaidhastily.“No—Lukedidn’tevenknowwhat I’ddone.Hisgesturewasmadeingoodfaith.Youhavetohonorit.”

“And so you chose this?” For the first time there was something other than contempt,Simon thought, in the way Raphael was looking at him. “This is no simple protectionspell, Daylighter. Do you know what Cain’s punishment was?” He spoke softly, as ifsharingasecretwithSimon.“Andnowthouartcursed fromtheearth.A fugitiveandawanderershaltthoube.”

“Then,”Simonsaid,“I’llwander,ifthat’swhatitcomesto.I’lldowhatIhavetodo.”

“Allthis,”saidRaphael,“allthisforNephilim.”

“NotjustforNephilim,”saidSimon.“I’mdoingthisforyou,too.Evenifyoudon’twantit.”Heraisedhisvoicesothatthesilentvampiressurroundingthemcouldhearhim.“Youwere worried that if other vampires knew what had happened to me, they’d thinkShadowhunterbloodcouldletthemwalkinthedaylighttoo.Butthat’snotwhyIhavethispower. ItwassomethingValentinedid.Anexperiment.Hecaused this,notJace.And itisn’treplicable.Itwon’teverhappenagain.”

“Iimagineheistellingthetruth,”saidJacob,toSimon’ssurprise.“I’vecertainlyknownoneortwooftheNightChildrenwho’vehadatasteofShadowhunterinthepast.Noneofthemdevelopedafondnessforsunlight.”

“ItwasonethingtorefusetohelptheShadowhuntersbefore,”saidSimon,turningbacktoRaphael, “but now, now that they’ve sentme to you—”He let the rest of the sentencehangintheair,unfinished.

“Don’t try to blackmailme,Daylighter,” saidRaphael. “Once theNightChildren havemade a bargain, they honor it, no matter how badly they are dealt with.” He smiledslightly,needleteethgleaminginthedark.“Thereisjustonething,”hesaid.“OnelastactIrequirefromyoutoprovethatindeedyouactedhereingoodfaith.”Thestressheputonthelasttwowordswasweightedwithcold.

“What’sthat?”Simonasked.

“Wewill notbe theonlyvampires to fight inLucianGraymark’sbattle,”Raphael said.“Sowillyou.”

Jace opened his eyes on a silverwhirlpool.Hismouthwas filledwith bitter liquid.Hecoughed,wonderingforamomentifhewasdrowning—butifso,itwasondryland.Hewassittinguprightwithhisbackagainstastalagmite,andhishandswereboundbehindhim.Hecoughed again and salt filledhismouth.Hewasn’t drowning, he realized, justchokingonblood.

“Awake,littlebrother?”Sebastiankneltinfrontofhim,alengthofropeinhishands,hisgrinlikeanunsheathedknife.“Good.IwasafraidforamomentthatI’dkilledyouabittooearly.”

Jaceturnedhisheadtothesideandspatamouthfulofbloodontotheground.Hisheadfeltasifaballoonwerebeinginflatedinsideit,pressingagainsttheinteriorofhisskull.Thesilverywhirlingabovehisheadslowedandstilledtothebrightpatternofstarsvisiblethroughtheholeinthecaveroof.“Waitingforaspecialoccasiontokillme?Christmasiscoming.”

Sebastian gave Jace a thoughtful look. “Youhave a smartmouth.You didn’t learn thatfromValentine.Whatdidyoulearnfromhim?Itdoesn’tseemtomethathe taughtyoumuchaboutfighting,either.”Heleanedcloser.“Youknowwhathegavemeformyninthbirthday?Alesson.Hetaughtmethatthere’saplaceonaman’sbackwhere,ifyousinkablade in,youcanpiercehisheartandseverhis spine,allatonce.Whatdidyou get foryourninthbirthday,littleangelboy?Acookie?”

Ninthbirthday?Jaceswallowedhard.“Sotellme,whatholewashekeepingyouinwhileIwasgrowingup?BecauseIdon’trememberseeingyouaroundthemanor.”

“I grew up in this valley.” Sebastian jerked his chin toward the cave exit. “I don’trememberseeingyouaroundhereeither,cometothinkofit.AlthoughIknewaboutyou.Ibetyoudidn’tknowaboutme.”

Jaceshookhishead.“Valentinewasn’tmuchgiventobraggingaboutyou.Ican’timaginewhy.”

Sebastian’seyesflashed.Itwaseasytosee,now,theresemblancetoValentine:thesameunusual combination of silver-white hair and black eyes, the same fine bones that inanother,lessstronglymoldedfacewouldhavelookeddelicate.“Iknewallaboutyou,”hesaid. “But youdon’t knowanything, doyou?”Sebastiangot to his feet. “Iwantedyoualive to watch this, little brother,” he said. “So watch, and watch carefully.” With amovementsofastitwasalmostinvisible,hedrewtheswordfromitssheathathiswaist.Ithadasilverhilt,andliketheMortalSworditglowedwithadulldarklight.Apatternofstarswasetchedintothesurfaceoftheblackblade;itcaughtthetruestarlightasSebastianturnedtheblade,andburnedlikefire.

Jaceheldhisbreath.HewonderedifSebastianmerelymeanttokillhim;butno,Sebastianwouldhavekilledhimalready,whilehewasunconscious,ifthatwerehisintention.JacewatchedasSebastianmovedtowardthecenterofthechamber, theswordheldlightlyinhishand,thoughitlookedtobequiteheavy.Hismindwaswhirling.HowcouldValentinehave another son?Whowas hismother? Someone else in theCircle?Was he older oryoungerthanJace?

Sebastianhadreachedthehugered-tingedstalagmiteinthecenteroftheroom.Itseemedtopulseasheapproached,andthesmokeinsideitswirledfaster.Sebastianhalf-closedhiseyes and lifted the blade. He said something—a word in a harsh-sounding demonlanguage—andbroughttheswordacross,hardandfast,inaslicingarc.

Thetopofthestalagmiteshearedaway.Inside,itwashollowasatesttube,filledwithamass of black and red smoke, which swirled upward like gas escaping a puncturedballoon.Therewasaroar—lessasoundthanasortofexplosivepressure.Jacefelthisearspop. Itwassuddenlyhard tobreathe.Hewanted toclawat theneckofhisshirt,buthecouldn’tmovehishands:Theyweretiedtootightlybehindhim.

Sebastianwas half-hidden behind the pouring column of red and black. Itwas coiling,

swirling upward—“Watch!” he cried, his face glowing.His eyeswere alight, hiswhitehairwhipping on the risingwind, and Jacewondered if his father had looked like thatwhenhewasyoung:terribleandyetsomehowfascinating.“WatchandbeholdValentine’sarmy!”

Hisvoicewasdrownedoutthenbythesound.Itwasasoundlikethetidecrashinguptheshore,thebreakingofanenormouswave,carryingmassivedetrituswithit,thesmashedbonesofwholecities, theonrushofagreatandevilpower.Ahugecolumnof twisting,rushing,flappingblacknesspouredfromthesmashedstalagmite,funnelingupthroughtheair, pouring toward—and through—the torngap in the cavern roof.Demons.They roseshrieking,howling,andsnarling,aboilingmassofclawsandtalonsandteethandburningeyes.JacerecalledlyingonthedeckofValentine’sshipastheskyandearthandseaallaroundturnedtonightmare;thiswasworse.Itwasasiftheearthhadtornopenandhellhadpouredthrough.Thedemonscarriedastenchlikea thousandrottingcorpses.Jace’shandstwistedagainsteachother,twisteduntiltheropescutintohiswristsandtheybled.Asourtasteroseinhismouth,andhechokedhelplesslyonbloodandbileasthelastofthedemonsroseandvanishedoverhead,adarkfloodofhorror,blottingoutthestars.

Jacethoughthemighthavepassedoutforaminuteortwo.Certainlytherewasaperiodofblacknessduringwhichtheshriekingandhowlingoverheadfadedandheseemedtohangin space, pinned between the earth and the sky, feeling a sense of detachment thatwassomehow…peaceful.

Itwasovertoosoon.Suddenlyhewasslammedbackintohisbody,hiswristsinagony,hisshouldersstrainingbackward,thestenchofdemonsoheavyintheair thatheturnedhisheadasideandretchedhelplesslyontotheground.Heheardadrychuckleandlookedup, swallowing hard against the acid in his throat. Sebastian knelt over him, his legsstraddlingJace’s,hiseyesshining.“It’sallright,littlebrother,”hesaid.“They’regone.”

Jace’seyeswerestreaming,histhroatscrapedraw.Hisvoicecameoutacroak.“Hesaidmidnight.Valentinesaidtoopenthegateatmidnight.Itcan’tbemidnightyet.”

“I always figure it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission in these sorts ofsituations.”Sebastianglancedupatthenowemptysky.“Itshouldtakethemfiveminutesto reachBrocelindPlain fromhere,quiteabit less time than itwillFather to reach thelake. Iwant to see someNephilimblood spilled. Iwant them towrithe and die on theground.Theydeserveshamebeforetheygetoblivion.”

“Do you really think thatNephilimhave so little chance against demons? It’s not as ifthey’reunprepared—”

Sebastian dismissed himwith a flick of hiswrist. “I thought youwere listening to us.Didn’tyouunderstandtheplan?Don’tyouknowwhatmyfather’sgoingtodo?”

Jacesaidnothing.

“It was good of you,” said Sebastian, “to lead me to Hodge that night. If he hadn’t

revealedthattheMirrorwesoughtwasLakeLyn,I’mnotsurethisnightwouldhavebeenpossible.BecauseanyonewhobearsthefirsttwoMortalInstrumentsandstandsbeforetheMortalGlasscansummontheAngelRazieloutofit,justasJonathanShadowhunterdidathousandyearsago.Andonceyou’vesummonedtheAngel,youcandemandofhimonething.Onetask.One…favor.”

“A favor?” Jace felt cold all over. “AndValentine is going todemand thedefeat of theShadowhuntersatBrocelind?”

Sebastianstoodup.“Thatwouldbeawaste,”hesaid.“No.He’sgoingtodemandthatallShadowhunters who have not drunk from the Mortal Cup—all those who are not hisfollowers—be strippedof their powers.Theywill no longerbeNephilim.Andas such,bearingtheMarkstheydo…”Hesmiled.“TheywillbecomeForsaken,easypreyforthedemons,andthoseDownworlderswhohavenotfledwillbequicklyeradicated.”

Jace’s earswere ringingwith a harsh, tinny sound.He felt dizzy. “EvenValentine,” hesaid,“evenValentinewouldneverdothat—”

“Please,”saidSebastian.“Doyoureallythinkmyfatherwon’tgothroughwithwhathe’splanned?”

“Ourfather,”Jacesaid.

Sebastianglanceddownathim.Hishairwasawhitehalo;helookedlikethesortofbadangelwhomighthavefollowedLuciferoutofheaven.“Pardonme,”hesaid,withsomeamusement.“Areyoupraying?”

“No.Isaidourfather.ImeantValentine.Notyourfather.Ours.”

ForamomentSebastianwasexpressionless;thenhismouthquirkedupatthecorner,andhe grinned. “Little angel boy,” he said. “You’re a fool, aren’t you—just likemy fatheralwayssaid.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Jace demanded. “Why are you blathering aboutangels—”

“God,”saidSebastian,“youdon’tknowanything,doyou?Didmyfathereversayawordtoyouthatwasn’talie?”

Jaceshookhishead.He’dbeenpullingattheropesbindinghiswrists,buteverytimehejerkedatthem,theyseemedtogettighter.Hecouldfeelthepoundingofhispulseineachofhisfingers.“Howdoyouknowhewasn’tlyingtoyou?”

“Because I am his blood. I am just like him.When he’s gone, I’ll rule theClave afterhim.”

“Iwouldn’tbragaboutbeingjustlikehimifIwereyou.”

“There’s that, too.” Sebastian’s voicewas emotionless. “I don’t pretend to be anythingotherthanIam.Idon’tbehaveasifI’mhorrifiedthatmyfatherdoeswhatheneedstodoto save his people, even if they don’twant—or, if you askme, deserve—saving.Whowouldyou rather have for a son, a boywho’s proud that you’re his father or onewhocowersfromyouinshameandfear?”

“I’mnotafraidofValentine,”saidJace.

“Youshouldn’tbe,”saidSebastian.“Youshouldbeafraidofme.”

TherewassomethinginhisvoicethatmadeJaceabandonhisstruggleagainstthebindingsand look up. Sebastian was still holding his blackly gleaming sword. It was a dark,beautifulthing,Jacethought,evenwhenSebastianloweredthepointofitsothatitrestedaboveJace’scollarbone,justnickinghisAdam’sapple.

Jacestruggledtokeephisvoicesteady.“Sonowwhat?You’regoingtokillmewhileI’mtiedup?Doesthethoughtoffightingmescareyouthatmuch?”

Nothing,notaflickerofemotion,passedacrossSebastian’spaleface.“You,”hesaid,“arenotathreattome.You’reapest.Anannoyance.”

“Thenwhywon’tyouuntiemyhands?”

Sebastian,utterlystill,staredathim.Helookedlikeastatue,Jacethought,likethestatueof some long-dead prince—someone who’d died young and spoiled. And that was thedifference between Sebastian and Valentine; though they shared the same cold marblelooks,Sebastianhadanairabouthimofsomethingruined—somethingeatenawayfromtheinside.“I’mnotafool,”Sebastiansaid,“andyoucan’tbaitme.Ileftyoualiveonlylong enough so that you could see the demons.When you die now, and return to yourangel ancestors, you can tell them there is no place for them in this world anymore.They’vefailedtheClave,andtheClavenolongerneedsthem.WehaveValentinenow.”

“You’rekillingmebecauseyouwantmetogiveamessagetoGodforyou?”Jaceshookhishead,thepointofthebladescrapingacrosshisthroat.“You’recrazierthanIthought.”

Sebastian just smiledandpushed theblade in slightlydeeper;whenJaceswallowed,hecouldfeelthepointofitdentinghiswindpipe.“Ifyouhaveanyrealprayers,littlebrother,saythemnow.”

“Idon’thaveanyprayers,”saidJace.“Ihaveamessage,though.Forourfather.Willyougiveittohim?”

“Of course,”Sebastian said smoothly, but therewas something in thewayhe said it, aflickerofhesitationbeforehespoke,thatconfirmedwhatJacewasalreadythinking.

“You’re lying,”hesaid.“Youwon’tgivehim themessage,becauseyou’renotgoing totellhimwhatyou’vedone.Heneveraskedyoutokillme,andhewon’tbehappywhenhe

findsout.”

“Nonsense.You’renothingtohim.”

“Youthinkhe’llneverknowwhathappenedtomeifyoukillmenow,here.YoucantellhimIdiedinthebattle,orhe’lljustassumethat’swhathappened.Butyou’rewrongifyouthinkhewon’tknow.Valentinealwaysknows.”

“Youdon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout,”Sebastiansaid,buthisfacehadtightened.

Jace kept talking, pressing home his advantage. “You can’t hide what you’re doing,though.There’sawitness.”

“Awitness?” Sebastian looked almost surprised,which Jace counted as something of avictory.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”

“The raven,” Jace said. “He’s been watching from the shadows. He’ll tell Valentineeverything.”

“Hugin?” Sebastian’s gaze snapped up, and though the ravenwas nowhere to be seen,Sebastian’sfacewhenheglancedbackdownatJacewasfullofdoubt.

“IfValentineknowsyoumurderedmewhileIwastiedupandhelpless,he’llbedisgustedwithyou,”Jacesaid,andheheardhisownvoicedropintohisfather’scadences,thewayValentinespokewhenhewantedsomething:softandpersuasive.“He’llcallyouacoward.He’llneverforgiveyou.”

Sebastiansaidnothing.HewasstaringdownatJace,hislipstwitching,andhatredboiledbehindhiseyeslikepoison.

“Untieme,”Jacesaidsoftly.“Untiemeandfightme.It’stheonlyway.”

Sebastian’s lip twitched again, hard, and this time Jace thought he had gone too far.Sebastiandrewtheswordbackandraisedit,andthemoonlightburstoffitinathousandsilvershards,silverasthestars,silverasthecolorofhishair.Hebaredhisteeth—andthesword’s whistling breath cut the night air with a scream as he brought it down in awhirlingarc.

ClarysatonthestepsofthedaisintheHallofAccords,holdingthesteleinherhands.Shehad never felt quite so alone. The Hall was utterly, totally empty. Clary had lookedeverywhereforIsabelleoncethefightershadallpassedthroughthePortal,butshehadn’tbeenabletofindher.AlinehadtoldherthatIsabellewasprobablybackatthePenhallows’house,whereAline anda fewother teenagersweremeant tobe lookingafter at least adozenchildrenunderfightingage.She’dtriedtogetClarytogotherewithher,butClaryhaddeclined.Ifshecouldn’tfindIsabelle,she’dratherbealonethanwithnearstrangers.

Orsoshe’dthought.Butsittinghere,shefoundthesilenceandtheemptinessbecomingmoreandmoreoppressive.Still,shehadn’tmoved.ShewastryingashardasshecouldnottothinkofJace,nottothinkofSimon,nottothinkofhermotherorLukeorAlec—andtheonlywaynottothink,shehadfound,wastoremainmotionlessandtostareatasinglesquareofmarbleonthefloorinstead,countingthecracksinit,overandover.

Thereweresix.One,two,three.Four,five,six.Shefinishedthecountandstartedagain,fromthebeginning.One—

Theskyoverheadexploded.

Orat least thatwaswhat itsoundedlike.Clarythrewherheadbackandstaredupward,through theclear roofof theHall.The skyhadbeendarkamoment ago;now itwasaroiling mass of flame and blackness, shot through with an ugly orange light. Thingsmoved against that light—hideous things she didn’t want to see, things that made hergratefultothedarknessforobscuringherview.Theoccasionalglimpsewasbadenough.

Thetransparentskylightoverheadrippledandbentasthedemonhostpassed,asifitwerebeingwarpedby tremendousheat.At last therewasasound likeagunshot,andahugecrack appeared in the glass, spiderwebbing out into countless fissures. Clary ducked,coveringherheadwithherhands,asglassraineddownaroundherliketears.

Theywerealmosttothebattlefieldwhenthesoundcame,rippingthenightinhalf.Onemomentthewoodswereassilentastheyweredark.Thenextmomenttheskywaslitwithahellishorangeglow.Simonstaggeredandnearlyfell;hecaughtatatreetrunktosteadyhimself and looked up, barely able to believewhat hewas seeing.All around him theothervampireswerestaringupatthesky,theirwhitefaceslikenight-bloomingflowers,liftingtocatchthemoonlightasnightmareafternightmarestreakedacrossthesky.

“Youkeeppassingoutonme,”Sebastiansaid.“It’sextremelytedious.”

Jaceopenedhiseyes.Painlancedthroughhishead.Heputhishanduptotouchthesideofhisface—andrealizedhishandswerenolongertiedbehindhim.Alengthofropetrailedfromhiswrist.Hishandcameawayfromhisfaceblack—blood,darkinthemoonlight.

Hestaredaroundhim.Theywerenolongerinthecavern:Hewaslyingonsoftdirtandgrass on the valley floor, not far from the stone house.He could hear the soundof thewaterinthecreek,clearlycloseby.Knottedtreebranchesoverheadblockedsomeofthemoonlight,butitwasstillfairlybright.

“Getup,”Sebastiansaid.“YouhavefivesecondsbeforeIkillyouwhereyouare.”

Jace stood as slowly as he thought he could get awaywith.Hewas still a little dizzy.

Fightingforbalance,hedugtheheelsofhisbootsintothesoftdirt,tryingtogivehimselfsomestability.“Whydidyoubringmeouthere?”

“Tworeasons,”Sebastiansaid.“One,Ienjoyedknockingyouout.Two,itwouldbebadforeitherofus togetbloodon the floorof that cavern.Trustme.And I intend to spillplentyofyourblood.”

Jace felt athisbelt, andhisheart sank.Eitherhe’ddroppedmostofhisweaponswhileSebastianwas dragging him through the tunnels, or,more likely, Sebastian had thrownthemaway.Allhehadleftwasadagger.Itwasashortblade—tooshort,nomatchforthesword.

“Notmuchofaweapon,that.”Sebastiangrinned,whiteinthemoon-dazzleddarkness.

“Ican’tfightwiththis,”Jacesaid,tryingtosoundasquaveringandnervousashecould.

“What a shame.” Sebastian came closer to Jace, grinning. He was holding his swordloosely,theatricallyunconcerned,thetipsofhisfingersbeatingalightrhythmonthehilt.If therewasevergoingtobeanopeningforhim,Jacethought, thiswasprobablyit.HeswunghisarmbackandpunchedSebastianashardashecouldintheface.

Bone crunched under his knuckles. The blow sent Sebastian sprawling. He skiddedbackward in the dirt, the sword flying from his grip. Jace caught it up as he dartedforward,andasecondlaterwasstandingoverSebastian,bladeinhand.

Sebastian’snosewasbleeding, thebloodascarlet streakacrosshis face.Hereachedupand pulled his collar aside, baring his pale throat. “So go ahead,” he said. “Kill mealready.”

Jacehesitated.Hedidn’twanttohesitate,butthereitwas:anannoyingreluctancetokillanyonelyinghelplessonthegroundinfrontofhim.JacerememberedValentinetauntinghim,backatRenwick’s,daringhissontokillhim,andJacehadn’tbeenabletodoit.ButSebastianwasamurderer.He’dkilledMaxandHodge.

Heraisedthesword.

AndSebastianeruptedofftheground,fasterthantheeyecouldfollow.Heseemedtoflyinto theair,performinganelegantbackflipand landinggracefullyon thegrassbarelyafootaway.Ashedid,hekickedout,strikingJace’shand.ThekicksenttheswordspinningoutofJace’sgrasp.Sebastiancaughtitoutoftheair, laughing,andslashedoutwiththeblade,whipping it toward Jace’sheart. Jace leapedbackwardand theblade split the airjustinfrontofhim,slicinghisshirtopendownthefront.TherewasastingingpainandJacefeltbloodwellingfromashallowsliceacrosshischest.

Sebastian chuckled, advancing toward Jace, who backed up, fumbling his insufficientdagger out of his belt as he went. He looked around, desperately hoping there wassomething else he could use as a weapon—a long stick, anything. There was nothingaroundhimbutthegrass,theriverrunningby,andthetreesabove,spreadingtheirthick

branchesoverheadlikeagreennet.SuddenlyherememberedtheMalachiConfigurationtheInquisitorhadtrappedhimin.Sebastianwasn’ttheonlyonewhocouldjump.

Sebastianslashed thesword towardhimagain,butJacehadalreadyleaped—straightupintotheair.Thelowesttreebranchwasabouttwentyfeethigh;hecaughtatit,swinginghimselfupandover.Kneelingonthebranch,hesawSebastian,ontheground,spinaroundandlookup.JaceflungthedaggerandheardSebastianshout.Breathless,hestraightenedup—

AndSebastianwassuddenlyonthebranchbesidehim.Hispalefacewasflushedangrily,hisswordarmstreamingblood.Hehaddroppedthesword,evidently,inthegrass,thoughthatmerelymadethemeven,Jacethought,sincehisdaggerwasgoneaswell.HesawwithsomesatisfactionthatforthefirsttimeSebastianlookedangry—angryandsurprised,asifapethe’dthoughtwastamehadbittenhim.

“Thatwasfun,”Sebastiansaid.“Butnowit’sover.”

He flung himself at Jace, catching him around thewaist, knocking him off the branch.Theyfelltwentyfeetthroughtheairclutchedtogether,tearingateachother—andhitthegroundhard,hardenoughthatJacesawstarsbehindhiseyes.HegrabbedforSebastian’sinjuredarmanddughisfingersin;SebastianyelledandbackhandedJaceacrosstheface.Jace’s mouth filled with salty blood; he gagged on it as they rolled through the dirttogether, slammingpunches into eachother.He felt a sudden shockof icy cold; they’drolleddowntheslightinclineintotheriverandwerelyinghalf-in,half-outofthewater.Sebastian gasped, and Jace took the opportunity to grab for the other boy’s throat andclose his hands around it, squeezing. Sebastian choked, seizing Jace’s rightwrist in hishandandjerkingitbackward,hardenoughtosnapthebones.Jaceheardhimselfscreamas if from a distance, and Sebastian pressed the advantage, twisting the broken wristmercilesslyuntilJaceletgoofhimandfellbackinthecold,waterymud,hisarmahowlofagony.

Half-kneelingonJace’schest,onekneedigginghardintohisribs,Sebastiangrinneddownat him.His eyes shone outwhite and black from amask of dirt and blood. Somethingglitteredinhisrighthand.Jace’sdagger.Hemusthavepickeditupfromtheground.ItspointresteddirectlyoverJace’sheart.

“Andwefindourselvesexactlywherewewerefiveminutesago,”Sebastiansaid.“You’vehadyourchance,Wayland.Anylastwords?”

Jacestaredupathim,hismouthstreamingblood,hiseyesstingingwithsweat,andfeltonly a sense of total and empty exhaustion.Was this really how hewas going to die?“Wayland?”hesaid.“Youknowthat’snotmyname.”

“You have as much of a claim to it as you have to the name of Morgenstern,” saidSebastian.Hebentforward,leaninghisweightontothedagger.ItstippiercedJace’sskin,sendingahotstabofpainthroughhisbody.Sebastian’sfacewasinchesaway,hisvoiceahissingwhisper.“Didyoureally thinkyouwereValentine’sson?Didyoureally thinka

whining, pathetic thing like yourself was worthy of being aMorgenstern, of beingmybrother?”Hetossedhiswhitehairback:Itwaslankwithsweatandcreekwater.“You’reachangeling,”hesaid.“Myfatherbutcheredacorpsetogetyouandmakeyouoneofhisexperiments.Hetriedtoraiseyouashisownson,butyouweretooweaktobeanygoodtohim.Youcouldn’tbeawarrior.Youwerenothing.Useless.SohepalmedyouoffontheLightwoodsandhopedyoumightbeofsomeusetohimlater,asadecoy.Orasbait.Heneverlovedyou.”

Jaceblinkedhisburningeyes.“Thenyou…”

“IamValentine’sson.JonathanChristopherMorgenstern.Youneverhadanyrighttothatname.You’reaghost.Apretender.”Hiseyeswereblackandglinting,likethecarapacesofdeadinsects,andsuddenlyJaceheardhismother’svoice,asifinadream—butshewasn’thismother—sayingJonathan’snotababyanymore.Heisn’tevenhuman;he’samonster.

“You’retheone,”Jacechoked.“Theonewiththedemonblood.Notme.”

“That’s right.” The dagger slid anothermillimeter into Jace’s flesh. Sebastianwas stillgrinning,but itwasa rictusgrin, likea skull’s. “You’re theangelboy. Ihad tohearallabout you.Youwith your pretty angel face and your prettymanners and your delicate,delicatefeelings.Youcouldn’tevenwatchabirddiewithoutcrying.NowonderValentinewasashamedofyou.”

“No.”Jaceforgotthebloodinhismouth,forgotthepain.“You’retheonehe’sashamedof.You thinkhewouldn’t takeyouwithhim to the lakebecauseheneededyou tostayhereandopenthegateatmidnight?Likehedidn’tknowyouwouldn’tbeabletowait.Hedidn’ttakeyouwithhimbecausehe’sashamedtostandupinfrontoftheAngelandshowhimwhat he’s done. Show him the thing he made. Show him you.” Jace gazed up atSebastian—hecouldfeela terrible, triumphantpityblazinginhisowneyes.“Heknowsthere’snothinghumaninyou.Maybehelovesyou,buthehatesyoutoo—”

“Shutup!”Sebastianpusheddownonthedagger,twistingthehilt.Jacearchedbackwardwith a scream, and agony burst like lightning behind his eyes. I’m going to die, hethought. I’m dying. This is it. He wondered if his heart had already been pierced. Hecouldn’tmove,couldn’tbreathe.Heknewnowwhatitmustbelikeforabutterflypinnedtoaboard.Hetriedtospeak,triedtosayaname,butnothingcameoutofhismouthbutmoreblood.

AndyetSebastianseemed to readhiseyes.“Clary. I’dalmost forgotten.You’re in lovewithher,aren’tyou?Theshameofyournastyincestuousimpulsesmustnearlyhavekilledyou.Toobadyoudidn’tknowshe’snotreallyyoursister.Youcouldhavespenttherestofyour lifewith her, if only youweren’t so stupid.”He bent down, pushing the knife inharder,itsedgescrapingbone.HespokeinJace’sear,avoiceassoftasawhisper.“Shelovedyou,too,”hesaid.“Keepthatinmindwhileyoudie.”

DarknessfloodedinfromtheedgesofJace’svision,likedyespillingontoaphotograph,blotting out the image. Suddenly there was no pain at all. He felt nothing, not even

Sebastian’sweightonhim,asifhewerefloating.Sebastian’sfacedriftedoverhim,whiteagainst the darkness, the dagger raised in his hand. Something bright gold glittered atSebastian’swrist,asifhewerewearingabracelet.Butitwasn’tabracelet,becauseitwasmoving.Sebastianlookedtowardhishand,surprised,asthedaggerfellfromhisloosenedgraspandstruckthemudwithanaudiblesound.

Thenthehanditself,separatedfromhiswrist,thumpedtothegroundbesideit.

JacestaredwonderinglyasSebastian’sseveredhandbouncedandcametorestagainstapair of high black boots.The bootswere attached to a pair of delicate legs, rising to aslendertorsoandafamiliarfacecappedwithawaterfallofblackhair.JaceraisedhiseyesandsawIsabelle,herwhipsoakedwithblood,hereyesfastenedonSebastian,whowasstaringatthebloodystumpofhiswristwithopenmouthedamazement.

Isabellesmiledgrimly.“ThatwasforMax,youbastard.”

“Bitch,”Sebastianhissed—andsprangtohisfeetasIsabelle’swhipcameslashingathimagainwith incrediblespeed.Heduckedsidewaysandwasgone.Therewasarustle—hemusthavevanishedintothetrees,Jacethought,thoughithurttoomuchtoturnhisheadandlook.

“Jace!” Isabelle knelt downover him, her stele shining in her left hand.Her eyeswerebrightwithtears;hemustseemprettybad,Jacerealized,forIsabelletolooklikethat.

“Isabelle,” he tried to say. He wanted to tell her to go, to run, that no matter howspectacular andbrave and talented shewas—and shewas all those things—shewasnomatchforSebastian.AndtherewasnowaythatSebastianwasgoingtoleta little thinglikegettinghishandslicedoffstophim.ButallthatcameoutofJace’smouthwasasortofgurglingnoise.

“Don’ttalk.”Hefeltthetipofhersteleburnagainsttheskinofhischest.“You’llbefine.”Isabellesmileddownathimtremulously.“You’reprobablywonderingwhatthehellI’mdoinghere,”shesaid.“Idon’tknowhowmuchyouknow—Idon’tknowwhatSebastian’stoldyou—butyou’renotValentine’sson.”Theiratzewasclosetofinished;alreadyJacecould feel the pain fading. He nodded slightly, trying to tell her: I know. “Anyway, Iwasn’tgoingtocomelookingforyouafteryouranoff,becauseyousaidinyournotenotto, and I got that. But therewas noway Iwas going to let you die thinking you havedemonblood,orwithouttellingyouthatthere’snothingwrongwithyou,thoughhonestly,howyoucouldhavethoughtanythingsostupidinthefirstplace—”Isabelle’shandjerked,andshefroze,notwanting tospoil therune.“Andyouneeded toknowthatClary’snotyoursister,”shesaid,moregently.“Because—becauseyoujustdid.SoIgotMagnustohelpmetrackyou.IusedthatlittlewoodensoldieryougavetoMax.Idon’tthinkMagnuswouldhavedoneitnormally,butlet’sjustsayhewasinanunusuallygoodmood,andImayhavetoldhimAlecwantedhimtodoit—althoughthatwasn’tstrictlytrue,butit’llbeawhilebeforehefindsthatout.AndonceIknewwhereyouwere,well,he’dalreadysetupthatPortal,andI’mverygoodatsneaking—”

Isabellescreamed.Jacetriedtoreachforher,butshewasbeyondhisgrasp,beinglifted,flungtotheside.Herwhipfellfromherhand.Shescrambledtoherknees,butSebastianwasalreadyinfrontofher.Hiseyesblazedwithrage,andtherewasabloodyclothtiedaroundthestumpofhiswrist.Isabelledartedforherwhip,butSebastianmovedfaster.Hespunandkickedoutather,hard.Hisbootedfootconnectedwithherribcage.JacealmostthoughthecouldhearIsabelle’sribscrackassheflewbackward,landingawkwardlyonherside.Heheardhercryout—Isabelle,whonevercriedoutinpain—asSebastiankickedheragainandthencaughtupherwhip,brandishingitinhishand.

Jacerolledontohisside.Thealmostfinishediratzehadhelped,butthepaininhischestwasstillbad,andheknew,inadetachedsortofway,thatthefactthathewascoughingupbloodprobablymeant thathehadapunctured lung.Hewasn’t surehow long thatgavehim.Minutes,probably.HescrabbledforthedaggerwhereSebastianhaddroppedit,nextto the grisly remains of his hand. Jace staggered to his feet. The smell of blood waseverywhere.He thoughtofMagnus’svision, theworld turned toblood,andhisslipperyhandtightenedonthehiltofthedagger.

Hetookastepforward.Thenanother.Everystepfeltlikehewasdragginghisfeetthroughcement.IsabellewasscreamingcursesatSebastian,whowaslaughingashebroughtthewhipdownacrossherbody.HerscreamsdrewJaceforwardlikeafishcaughtonahook,but theygrew fainter as hemoved.Theworldwas spinning aroundhim like a carnivalride.

One more step, Jace told himself. One more. Sebastian had his back to him; he wasconcentratingonIsabelle.HeprobablythoughtJacewasalreadydead.Andhenearlywas.Onestep,hetoldhimself,buthecouldn’tdoit,couldn’tmove,couldn’tbringhimselftodraghisfeetonemorestepforward.Blacknesswasrushinginattheedgesofhisvision—a more profound blackness than the darkness of sleep. A blackness that would eraseeverything he had ever seen and bring him a rest thatwould be absolute. Peaceful.Hethought, suddenly,ofClary—Claryashehad last seenher, asleep,withherhair spreadacrossthepillowandhercheekonherhand.Hehadthoughtthenthathehadneverseenanythingsopeacefulinhislife,butofcourseshehadonlybeensleeping,likeanyoneelsemightsleep.Ithadn’tbeenherpeace thathadsurprisedhim,buthisown.Thepeacehefeltatbeingwithherwaslikenothinghehadeverknownbefore.

Painjarreduphisspine,andherealizedwithsurprisethatsomehow,withoutanyvolitionofhisown,hislegshadmovedhimforwardthatlastcrucialstep.Sebastianhadhisarmback,thewhipshininginhishand;Isabellelayonthegrass,acrumpledheap,nolongerscreaming—nolongermovingatall.“YoulittleLightwoodbitch,”Sebastianwassaying.“IshouldhavesmashedyourfaceinwiththathammerwhenIhadthechance—”

AndJacebroughthishandup,withthedaggerinit,andsankthebladeintoSebastian’sback.

Sebastian staggered forward, the whip falling out of his hand. He turned slowly andlookedatJace,andJacethought,withadistanthorror,thatmaybeSebastianreallywasn’thuman,thathewasunkillableafterall.Sebastian’sfacewasblank,thehostilitygonefrom

it,andthedarkfirefromhiseyes.HenolongerlookedlikeValentine,though.Helooked—scared.

Heopenedhismouth,asifhemeanttosaysomethingtoJace,buthiskneeswerealreadybuckling.He crashed to the ground, the force of his fall sending him sliding down theinclineandintotheriver.Hecametorestonhisback,hiseyesstaringsightlesslyupatthesky;thewaterflowedaroundhim,carryingdarkthreadsofhisblooddownstreamonthecurrent.

Hetaughtmethere’saplaceonaman’sbackwhere,ifyousinkabladein,youcanpiercehis heart and sever his spine, all at once, Sebastian had said. I guesswe got the samebirthdaypresentthatyear,bigbrother,Jacethought.Didn’twe?

“Jace!”ItwasIsabelle,herfacebloody,strugglingintoasittingposition.“Jace!”

Hetriedtoturntowardher,triedtosaysomething,buthiswordsweregone.Heslidtohisknees. A heavy weight was pressing on his shoulders, and the earth was calling him:down, down, down. He was barely aware of Isabelle crying his name as the darknesscarriedhimaway.

Simonwasaveteranofcountlessbattles.Thatis,ifyoucountedbattlesengagedinwhileplayingDungeonsandDragons.HisfriendEricwasthemilitaryhistorybuffandhewastheonewhousuallyorganizedthewarpartofthegames,whichinvolveddozensoftinyfigurinesmovinginstraightlinesacrossaflatlandscapedrawnonbutcherpaper.

Thatwasthewayhe’dalwaysthoughtofbattles—orthewaytheywereinmovies,withtwogroupsofpeopleadvancingateachotheracrossaflatexpanseofland.Straightlinesandorderlyprogression.

Thiswasnothinglikethat.

Thiswaschaos,ameleeofshoutingandmovement,andthe landscapewasn’tflatbutamassofmudandbloodchurnedintoathick,unstablepaste.SimonhadimaginedthattheNightChildrenwouldwalk to the battlefield and be greeted by someone in charge; heimaginedhe’dsee thebattle fromadistance firstandbeable towatchas the twosidesclashedagainsteachother.Buttherewasnogreeting,andtherewerenosides.Thebattleloomedupoutofthedarknessasifhe’dwanderedbyaccidentfromadesertedsidestreetinto a riot in themiddle ofTimesSquare—suddenly therewere crowds surging aroundhim,handsgrabbinghim,shovinghimoutoftheway,andthevampireswerescattering,divingintothebattlewithoutevenaglancebackforhim.

And there were demons—demons everywhere, and he’d never imagined the kind ofsounds they’dmake, the screaming andhooting andgrunting, andwhatwasworse, thesoundsoftearingandshreddingandhungrysatisfaction.Simonwishedhecouldturnhisvampire hearing off, but he couldn’t, and the sounds were like knives piercing hiseardrums.

Hestumbledoverabodylyinghalfinandhalfoutofthemud,turnedtoseeifhelpwasneeded,andsawthattheShadowhunterathisfeetwasgonefromtheshouldersup.Whitebone gleamed against the dark earth, and despite Simon’s vampire nature, he feltnauseated. I must be the only vampire in the world sickened by the sight of blood, hethought, and then something struck him hard from behind and he went over, skiddingdownaslopeofmudintoapit.

Simon’s wasn’t the only body down there. He rolled onto his back just as the demonloomed up over him. It looked like the image ofDeath from amedievalwoodcut—an

animatedskeleton,abloodiedhatchetclutchedinonebonyhand.Hethrewhimselftothesideasthebladethumpeddown,inchesfromhisface.Theskeletonmadeadisappointedhissingnoiseandhoistedthehatchetagain—

Andwasstruckfromthesidebyaclubofknottedwood.Theskeletonburstapartlikeapiñata filled with bones. They rattled into pieces with a sound like castanets clackingbeforevanishingintothedarkness.

A Shadowhunter stood over Simon. It was no one he’d ever seen before. A tall man,beardedandblood-splattered,whoranagrimyhandacrosshisforeheadashestareddownatSimon,leavingadarkstreakbehind.“Youallright?”

Stunned,Simonnoddedandbeganscramblingtohisfeet.“Thanks.”

Thestrangerleaneddown,offeringahandtohelpSimonup.Simonaccepted—andwentflyingupoutof thepit.He landedonhis feet at theedge,his feet skiddingon thewetmud.Thestrangerofferedasheepishgrin.“Sorry.Downworlderstrength—mypartner’sawerewolf.I’mnotusedtoit.”HepeeredatSimon’sface.“You’reavampire,aren’tyou?”

“Howdidyouknow?”

Themangrinned. Itwas a tired sort of grin, but therewas nothingunfriendly about it.“Your fangs. They come out when you’re fighting. I know because—” He broke off.Simoncouldhave filled in the rest forhim: Iknowbecause I’vekilledmy fair shareofvampires.“Anyway.Thanks.Forfightingwithus.”

“I—”Simonwasabouttosaythathehadn’texactlyfoughtyet.Orcontributedanything,really.He turned tosay it,andgotexactlyonewordoutofhismouthbeforesomethingimpossiblyhugeandclawedand ragged-winged sweptdownoutof the skyanddug itstalonsintotheShadowhunter’sback.

Themandidn’tevencryout.Hisheadwentback,as ifhewere lookingup insurprise,wonderingwhat had hold of him—and then hewas gone,whipping up into the emptyblackskyinawhirofteethandwings.HisclubthumpedtothegroundatSimon’sfeet.

Simondidn’tmove.Thewholething,fromthemomenthe’dfallenintothepit,hadtakenlessthanaminute.Heturnednumbly,staringaroundhimatthebladeswhirlingthroughthedarkness,attheslashingtalonsofdemons,atthepointsofilluminationthatracedhereandtherethroughthedarknesslikefirefliesdartingthroughfoliage—andthenherealizedwhattheywere.Thegleaminglightsofseraphblades.

He couldn’t see the Lightwoods, or the Penhallows, or Luke, or anyone else hemightrecognize.Hewasn’taShadowhunter.Andyetthatmanhadthankedhim,thankedhimforfighting.Whathe’dtoldClarywastrue—thiswashisbattletoo,andhewasneededhere.NothumanSimon,whowasgentleandgeekyandhatedthesightofblood,butvampireSimon,acreaturehebarelyevenknew.

Realvampiresknowthatthey’redead,Raphaelhadsaid.ButSimondidn’tfeeldead.He’d

neverfeltmorealive.Heturnedasanotherdemonloomedupinfrontofhim:thisonealizard-thing, scaled, with rodent teeth. It swept down on Simon with its black clawsextended.

Simonleaped.Hestruckthemassivesideofthethingandclung,hisnailsdiggingin,thescalesgivingwayunderhisgrip.TheMarkonhisforeheadthrobbedashesankhisfangsintothedemon’sneck.

Ittastedawful.

Whentheglassstoppedfalling,therewasaholeintheceiling,severalfeetwide,asifameteorhadcrashedthroughit.Coldairblewinthroughthegap.Shivering,Clarygottoherfeet,brushingglassdustfromherclothes.

ThewitchlightthathadlittheHallhadbeendoused:Itwasgloomyinsidenow,thickwithshadowsanddust.ThefaintilluminationofthefadingPortalinthesquarewasjustvisible,glowingthroughtheopenfrontdoors.

It was probably no longer safe to stay in here, Clary thought. She should go to thePenhallows’andjoinAline.ShewaspartwayacrosstheHallwhenfootstepssoundedonthemarblefloor.Heartpounding,sheturnedandsawMalachi,along,spideryshadowinthehalf-light,stridingtowardthedais.Butwhatwashestilldoinghere?Shouldn’thebewiththerestoftheShadowhuntersonthebattlefield?

Ashedrewcloser to thedais, shenoticedsomething thatmadeherputherhand tohermouth,stiflingacryofsurprise.TherewasahuncheddarkshapeperchedonMalachi’sshoulder.Abird.Araven,tobeexact.

Hugo.

Clary ducked to crouch behind a pillar as Malachi climbed the dais steps. There wassomething unmistakably furtive in the way he glanced from side to side. Apparentlysatisfiedthathewasunobserved,hedrewsomethingsmallandglitteringfromhispocketandslippeditontohisfinger.Aring?Hereachedtotwistit,andClaryrememberedHodgeinthelibraryattheInstitute,takingtheringfromJace’shand…

Theair in frontofMalachi shimmered faintly, as ifwithheat.Avoice spoke from it, afamiliarvoice,coolandcultured,nowtouchedwithjustthefaintestannoyance.

“Whatisit,Malachi?I’minnomoodforsmalltalkrightnow.”

“My lord Valentine,” saidMalachi. His usual hostility had been replacedwith a slimyobsequiousness.“Huginvisitedmenotamomentago,bringingnews.IassumedyouhadalreadyreachedtheMirror,andthereforehesoughtmeoutinstead.I thoughtyoumightwanttoknow.”

Valentine’stonewassharp.“Verywell.Whatnews?”

“It’syourson,lord.Yourotherson.Hugintrackedhimtothevalleyofthecave.Hemayevenhavefollowedyouthroughthetunnelstothelake.”

Claryclutchedthepillarwithwhitenedfingers.TheyweretalkingaboutJace.

Valentinegrunted.“Didhemeethisbrotherthere?”

“Huginsaysthatheleftthetwoofthemfighting.”

Clary felt her stomach turn over. Jace, fighting Sebastian? She thought of the waySebastianhadliftedJaceattheGardandflunghim,asifheweighednothing.Awaveofpanicsurgedoverher,sointensethatforamomentherearsbuzzed.Bythetimetheroomswambackintofocus,shehadmissedwhateverValentinehadsaidtoMalachiinreturn.

“It is theonesold enough tobeMarkedbutnotold enough to fight, that concernme,”Malachiwassayingnow.“Theydidn’tvoteintheCouncil’sdecision.Itseemsunfair topunishtheminthesamewaythatthosewhoarefightingmustbepunished.”

“Ididconsider that.”Valentine’svoicewasabassrumble.“BecauseteenagersaremorelightlyMarked,ittakesthemlongertobecomeForsaken.Severaldays,atleast.Ibelieveitmaywellbereversible.”

“WhilethoseofuswhohavedrunkfromtheMortalCupwillremainentirelyunaffected?”

“I’mbusy,Malachi,”saidValentine.“I’vetoldyouthatyou’llbesafe.Iamtrustingmyownlifetothisprocess.Havesomefaith.”

Malachibowedhishead. “Ihavegreat faith,my lord. Ihavekept it formanyyears, insilence,servingyoualways.”

“Andyouwillberewarded,”saidValentine.

Malachilookedup.“Mylord—”

Buttheairhadstoppedshimmering.Valentinewasgone.Malachifrowned,thenmarcheddown the dais steps and toward the front doors. Clary shrank back against the pillar,hopingdesperately thathewouldn’t seeher.Herheartwaspounding.Whathadall thatbeenabout?WhatwasallthisaboutForsaken?Theanswerglimmeredatthecornerofhermind,butitseemedtoohorribletocontemplate.EvenValentinewouldn’t—

Somethingflewatherfacethen,whirlinganddark.Shebarelyhadtimetothrowherarmsup tocoverhereyeswhensomething slashedalong thebackofherhands.Sheheardafiercecaw,andwingsbeatagainstherupraisedwrists.

“Hugin!Enough!”ItwasMalachi’ssharpvoice.“Hugin!”Therewasanothercawandathump, then silence.Clary lowered her arms and saw the raven lyingmotionless at the

Consul’sfeet—stunnedordead,shecouldn’ttell.WithasnarlMalachikickedtheravensavagelyoutofhiswayandstrodetowardClary,glowering.Hecaughtholdofherbyableedingwristandhauledhertoherfeet.“Stupidgirl,”hesaid.“Howlonghaveyoubeentherelistening?”

“Longenoughtoknowthatyou’reoneof theCircle,”shespat, twistingherwrist inhisgrasp,butheheldfirm.“You’reonValentine’sside.”

“Thereisonlyoneside.”Hisvoicecameoutinahiss.“TheClaveisfoolish,misguided,panderingtohalfmenandmonsters.AllIwantistomakeitpure,toreturnittoitsformerglory.Agoalyou’d thinkeveryShadowhunterwouldapproveof,butno—theylisten tofoolsanddemon-loverslikeyouandLucianGraymark.Andnowyou’vesenttheflowerof theNephilim to die in this ridiculous battle—an empty gesture thatwill accomplishnothing.Valentinehasalreadybeguntheritual;soontheAngelwillrise,andtheNephilimwillbecomeForsaken.AllthosesavethefewunderValentine’sprotection—”

“That’smurder!He’smurderingShadowhunters!”

“Not murder,” said the Consul. His voice rang with a fanatic’s passion. “Cleansing.Valentine will make a new world of Shadowhunters, a world purged of weakness andcorruption.”

“Weakness and corruption isn’t in the world,” Clary snapped. “It’s in people. And italwayswillbe.Theworldjustneedsgoodpeopletobalanceitout.Andyou’replanningtokillthemall.”

Helookedatherforamomentwithhonestsurprise,asifhewereastonishedattheforceinhertone.“Finewordsfromagirlwhowouldbetrayherownfather.”Malachijerkedhertoward him, yanking brutally on her bleeding wrist. “Perhaps we should see just howmuchValentinewouldmindifItaughtyou—”

ButClaryneverfoundoutwhathewantedtoteachher.Adarkshapeshotbetweenthem—wingsoutspreadandclawsextended.

TheravencaughtMalachiwiththetipofatalon,rakingabloodygrooveacrosshisface.WithacrytheConsulletgoofClaryandthrewuphisarms,butHugohadcircledbackandwasslashingathimviciouslywithbeakandclaws.Malachistaggeredbackward,armsflailing,untilhestrucktheedgeofabench,hard.Itfelloverwithacrash;unbalanced,hesprawledafteritwithastrangledcry—quicklycutoff.

ClaryracedtowhereMalachilaycrumpledonthemarblefloor,acircleofbloodalreadypoolingaroundhim.Hehadlandedonapileofglassfromthebrokenceiling,andoneofthe jagged chunks had pierced his throat. Hugo was still hovering in the air, circlingMalachi’sbody.HegaveatriumphantcawasClarystaredathim—apparentlyhehadn’tappreciated the Consul’s kicks and blows. Malachi should have known better than toattackoneofValentine’screatures,Clarythoughtsourly.Thebirdwasnomoreforgivingthanitsmaster.

ButtherewasnotimetothinkaboutMalachinow.Alechadsaidthattherewerewardsuparoundthelake,andthatifanyonePortaledthere,analarmwouldgooff.Valentinewasprobablyalreadyat themirror—therewasno time towaste.Backingslowlyaway fromtheraven,ClaryturnedanddashedtowardthefrontdoorsoftheHallandtheglimmerofthePortalbeyond.

20

WEIGHEDINTHEBALANCE

Water struck her in the face like a blow. Clary went down, choking, into freezingdarkness; her first thoughtwas that thePortal had fadedbeyond repairing, and that shewasstuckinthewhirlingblackin-betweenplace,whereshewouldsuffocateanddie,justasJacehadwarnedhershemightthefirsttimeshe’deverusedaPortal.

Hersecondthoughtwasthatshewasalreadydead.

Shewasprobablyonlyactuallyunconsciousforafewseconds,thoughitfeltliketheendof everything.When she came awake, it was with a shock that was like the shock ofbreakingthroughalayerofice.Shehadbeenunconsciousandnow,suddenly,shewasn’t;shewaslyingonherbackoncold,dampearth,staringupataskysofullofstarsitlookedlikeahandfulofsilverpieceshadbeenflungacrossitsdarksurface.Hermouthwasfullofbrackishliquid;sheturnedherheadtotheside,coughedandspatandgaspeduntilshecouldbreatheagain.

Whenherstomachhadstoppedspasming,sherolledontoherside.Herwristswereboundtogetherwithafaintbandofglowinglight,andherlegsfeltheavyandstrange,pricklingalloverwith intensepinsandneedles.Shewondered ifshe’d lainon themstrangely,or

perhapsitwasasideeffectofnearlydrowning.Thebackofherneckburnedasifawasphad stungher.With a gasp sheheavedherself into a sittingposition, legs stretchedoutawkwardlyinfrontofher,andlookedaround.

ShewasontheshoreofLakeLyn,wherethewatergavewaytopowderysand.Ablackwallofrockrosebehindher,thecliffssherememberedfromhertimeherewithLuke.Thesanditselfwasdark,glitteringwithsilvermica.Hereandthereinthesandwerewitchlighttorches,fillingtheairwiththeirsilveryglow,leavingatraceryofglowinglinesacrossthesurfaceofthewater.

Bytheshoreofthelake,afewfeetawayfromwhereshesat,stoodalowtablemadeoutof flat stonespiledoneon theother. Ithadclearlybeenassembled inhaste; though thegapsbetweenthestoneswerepackedinwithdampsand,someoftherockswereslippingawayatangles.PlacedonthesurfaceofthestoneswassomethingthatmadeClarycatchher breath—theMortalCup, and laid crossways atop it, theMortal Sword, a tongue ofblackflameinthewitchlight.Aroundthealtarweretheblacklinesofrunescarvedintothesand.Shestaredatthem,buttheywerejumbled,meaningless—

A shadow cut across the sand, moving fast—the long black shadow of a man, madewaveringandindistinctbytheflickeringlightofthetorches.BythetimeClaryraisedherhead,hewasalreadystandingoverher.

Valentine.

The shock of seeing himwas so enormous that itwas almost no shock at all. She feltnothingas she staredupather father,whose facehoveredagainst thedark sky like themoon: white, austere, pitted with black eyes like meteor craters. Over his shirt wereloopedanumberofleatherstrapsholdingadozenormoreweapons.Theybristledbehindhimlikeaporcupine’sspines.Helookedhuge,impossiblybroad,theterrifyingstatueofsomewarriorgodintentondestruction.

“Clarissa,”hesaid.“Youtookquitearisk,Portalinghere.You’reluckyIsawyouappearinthewaterbetweenoneminuteandthenext.Youwerequiteunconscious;ifitweren’tforme, youwould have drowned.”Amuscle beside hismouthmoved slightly. “And Iwouldn’t concernyourselfovermuchwith the alarmwards theClaveputup around thelake.ItookthosedownthemomentIarrived.Nooneknowsyou’rehere.”

Idon’tbelieveyou!Claryopenedhermouthtoflingthewordsinhisface.Therewasnosound.Itwaslikeoneofthosenightmareswhereshewouldtrytoscreamandscreamandnothingwouldhappen.Onlyadrypuffofaircamefromhermouth,thegaspofsomeonetryingtoscreamwithacutthroat.

Valentineshookhishead.“Don’tbothertryingtospeak.IusedaRuneofQuietude,oneofthose that theSilentBrothersuse, on thebackofyourneck.There’s abinding runeonyourwrists,andanotherdisablingyourlegs.Iwouldn’ttrytostand—yourlegswon’tholdyou,andit’llonlycauseyoupain.”

Claryglaredathim,tryingtoboreintohimwithhereyes,cuthimwithherhatred.Buthetooknonotice.“Itcouldhavebeenworse,youknow.BythetimeIdraggedyouontothebank,thelakepoisonhadalreadystarteditswork.I’vecuredyouofit,bytheway.NotthatIexpectyourthanks.”Hesmiledthinly.“YouandI,we’veneverhadaconversation,havewe?Notarealconversation.YoumustbewonderingwhyIneverreallyseemedtohaveafather’sinterestinyou.I’msorryifthathurtyou.”

Now her stare went from hateful to incredulous. How could they have a conversationwhenshecouldn’tevenspeak?Shetried toforce thewordsout,butnothingcamefromherthroatbutathingasp.

Valentine turnedback tohis altar andplacedhishandon theMortalSword.The swordgaveoffablacklight,asortofreverseglow,asifitweresuckingtheilluminationfromtheairaroundit.“Ididn’tknowyourmotherwaspregnantwithyouwhensheleftme,”hesaid.Hewasspeakingtoher,Clarythought,inawayheneverhadbefore.Histonewascalm, even conversational, but itwasn’t that. “I knew therewas somethingwrong. Shethought shewas hiding her unhappiness. I took some blood from Ithuriel, dried it to apowder,andmixeditwithherfood,thinkingitmightcureherunhappiness.IfI’dknownshewaspregnant,Iwouldn’thavedoneit.I’dalreadyresolvednottoexperimentagainonachildofmyownblood.”

You’relying,Clarywantedtoscreamathim.Butshewasn’tsurehewas.Hestillsoundedstrangetoher.Different.Maybeitwasbecausehewastellingthetruth.

“AftershefledIdris,Ilookedforherforyears,”hesaid.“AndnotjustbecauseshehadtheMortalCup.BecauseIlovedher.IthoughtifIcouldonlytalktoher,Icouldmakeherseereason. I didwhat I did that night inAlicante in a fit of rage, wanting to destroy her,destroyeverythingaboutourlifetogether.ButafterwardI—”Heshookhishead,turningawaytolookoutoverthelake.“WhenIfinallytrackedherdown,I’dheardrumorsshe’dhad another child, a daughter. I assumed you were Lucian’s. He’d always loved her,always wanted to take her from me. I thought she must finally have given in. HaveconsentedtohaveachildwithafilthyDownworlder.”Hisvoicetightened.“WhenIfoundherinyourapartmentinNewYork,shewasstillbarelyconscious.ShespatatmethatI’dmadeamonsteroutofherfirstchild,andshe’dleftmebeforeIcoulddothesametohersecond.Thenshewentlimpinmyarms.AllthoseyearsI’dlookedforher,andthatwasallIhadwithher.Thosefewsecondsinwhichshelookedatmewithalifetime’sworthofhate.Irealizedsomethingthen.”

HeliftedMaellartach.Claryrememberedhowheavyeventhehalf-turnedSwordhadbeentohold,andsawasthebladerosethatthemusclesofValentine’sarmstoodout,hardandcorded,likeropessnakingundertheskin.

“Irealized,”hesaid,“thatthereasonsheleftmewastoprotectyou.Jonathanshehated,butyou—shewouldhavedoneanythingtoprotectyou.Toprotectyoufromme.Sheevenlivedamongmundanes,whichIknowmusthavepainedher.Itmusthavehurthernevertobeabletoraiseyouwithanyofourtraditions.Youarehalfofwhatyoucouldhavebeen.Youhaveyourtalentwithrunes,butit’sbeensquanderedbyyourmundaneupbringing.”

HeloweredtheSword.Thetipofithung,now,justbyClary’sface;shecouldseeitoutofthecornerofhereye,floatingattheedgeofhervisionlikeasilverymoth.

“IknewthenthatJocelynwouldnevercomebacktome,becauseofyou.Youaretheonlythingintheworldsheeverlovedmorethanshelovedme.Andbecauseofyoushehatesme.Andbecauseofthat,Ihatethesightofyou.”

Claryturnedherfaceaway.Ifhewasgoingtokillher,shedidn’twant toseeherdeathcoming.

“Clarissa,”saidValentine.“Lookatme.”

No.Shestaredatthelake.Faroutacrossthewatershecouldseeadimredglow,likefiresunkawayintoashes.Sheknewitwasthelightofthebattle.Hermotherwasthere,andLuke.Maybeitwasfittingthattheyweretogether,evenifshewasn’twiththem.

I’llkeepmyeyesonthatlight,shethought.I’llkeeplookingatitnomatterwhat.It’llbethelastthingIeversee.

“Clarissa,” Valentine said again. “You look just like her, do you know that? Just likeJocelyn.”

Shefeltasharppainagainsthercheek.ItwasthebladeoftheSword.Hewaspressingtheedgeofitagainstherskin,tryingtoforcehertoturnherheadtowardhim.

“I’mgoingtoraisetheAngelnow,”hesaid.“AndIwantyoutowatchasithappens.”

TherewasabittertasteinClary’smouth.Iknowwhyyou’resoobsessedwithmymother.Because shewas theone thing you thought youhad total control over that ever turnedaroundandbityou.Youthoughtyouownedherandyoudidn’t.That’swhyyouwantherhere,rightnow,towitnessyouwinning.That’swhyyou’llmakedowithme.

TheSwordbitfartherintohercheek.Valentinesaid,“Lookatme,Clary.”

Shelooked.Shedidn’twant to,but thepainwastoomuch—herheadjerkedtothesidealmostagainstherwill,theblooddrippingingreatfatdropsdownherface,splatteringthesand.Anauseouspaingrippedherassheraisedherheadtolookatherfather.

HewasgazingdownatthebladeofMaellartach.It,too,wasstainedwithherblood.Whenheglancedbackather,therewasastrangelightinhiseyes.“Bloodisneededtocompletethis ceremony,” he said. “I intended to usemyown, butwhen I sawyou in the lake, IknewitwasRaziel’swayof tellingme tousemydaughter’s instead. It’swhyIclearedyourbloodof the lake’s taint.Youarepurifiednow—purifiedand ready.So thankyou,Clarissa,fortheuseofyourblood.”

Andinsomeway,Clarythought,hemeantit,meanthisgratitude.Hehadlongagolosttheability to distinguish between force and cooperation, between fear and willingness,

betweenloveandtorture.Andwiththatrealizationcamearushofnumbness—whatwasthepointofhatingValentineforbeingamonsterwhenhedidn’tevenknowhewasone?

“Andnow,”Valentinesaid,“Ijustneedabitmore,”andClarythought,Abitmorewhat?—justasheswungtheSwordbackandthestarlightexplodedoffit,andshethought,Ofcourse.It’snotjustbloodhewants,butdeath.TheSwordhadfeditselfonenoughbloodby now; it probably had a taste for it, just like Valentine himself. Her eyes followedMaellartach’sblacklightasitslicedtowardher—

Andwentflying.KnockedoutofValentine’shand,ithurtledintothedarkness.Valentine’seyeswentwide;hisgazeflickeddown,fasteningfirstonhisbleedingswordhand—andthenhelookedupandsaw,atthesamemomentthatClarydid,whathadstrucktheMortalSwordfromhisgrasp.

Jace,afamiliar-lookingswordgrippedinhislefthand,stoodattheedgeofariseofsand,barely a foot fromValentine. Clary could see from the olderman’s expression that hehadn’theardJaceapproachanymorethanshehad.

Clary’sheartcaughtatthesightofhim.Driedbloodcrustedthesideofhisface,andtherewasalividredmarkathisthroat.Hiseyesshonelikemirrors,andinthewitchlighttheylooked black—black as Sebastian’s. “Clary,” he said, not taking his eyes off his father.“Clary,areyouallright?”

Jace!Shestruggledtosayhisname,butnothingcouldpasstheblockageinherthroat.Shefeltasifshewerechoking.

“Shecan’tansweryou,”saidValentine.“Shecan’tspeak.”

Jace’seyesflashed.“Whathaveyoudonetoher?”HejabbedtheswordtowardValentine,who tooka stepback.The lookonValentine’s facewaswarybutnot frightened.Therewas a calculation to his expression that Clary didn’t like. She knew she ought to feeltriumphant, but shedidn’t—if anything, she feltmorepanicked than shehadamomentago.She’drealizedthatValentinewasgoingtokillher—hadacceptedit—andnowJacewas here, and her fear had expanded to encompass him as well. And he lookedso…destroyed.Hisgearwasrippedhalfwayopendownonearm,andtheskinbeneathwascrisscrossedwithwhite lines.Hisshirtwastornacrossthefront,andtherewasafadingiratzeoverhisheartthathadnotquitemanagedtoerasetheangryredscarbeneathit.Dirtstainedhisclothes,asifhe’dbeenrollingaroundontheground.Butitwashisexpressionthatfrightenedherthemost.Itwasso—bleak.

“A Rune of Quietude. She won’t be hurt by it.” Valentine’s eyes fastened on Jace—hungrily, Clary thought, as if he were drinking in the sight of him. “I don’t suppose,”Valentineasked,“thatyou’vecometojoinme?TobeblessedbytheAngelbesideme?”

Jace’sexpressiondidn’tchange.Hiseyeswerefixedonhisadoptivefather,andtherewasnothing in them—no lingeringshredofaffectionor loveormemory.Therewasn’tevenanyhatred.Just…disdain,Clarythought.Acolddisdain.“Iknowwhatyou’replanningto

do,”Jacesaid.“Iknowwhyyou’resummoningtheAngel.AndIwon’tletyoudoit.I’vealreadysentIsabelletowarnthearmy—”

“Warnings will do them little good. This is not the sort of danger you can run from.”Valentine’sgaze flickeddown toJace’s sword.“Put thatdown,”hebegan,“andwecantalk—”Hebrokeoffthen.“That’snotyoursword.That’saMorgensternsword.”

Jacesmiled,adark,sweetsmile.“ItwasJonathan’s.He’sdeadnow.”

Valentinelookedstunned.“Youmean—”

“I took it from the groundwhere he’d dropped it,” Jace said,without emotion, “after Ikilledhim.”

Valentineseemeddumbfounded.“YoukilledJonathan?Howcouldyouhave?”

“Hewouldhavekilledme,”saidJace.“Ihadnochoice.”

“Ididn’tmeanthat.”Valentineshookhishead;hestilllookedstunned,likeaboxerwho’dbeen hit too hard in themoment before he collapsed to themat. “I raised Jonathan—Itrainedhimmyself.Therewasnobetterwarrior.”

“Apparently,”Jacesaid,“therewas.”

“But—”AndValentine’svoicecracked,thefirsttimeClaryhadeverheardaflawinthesmooth,unruffledfacadeofthatvoice.“Buthewasyourbrother.”

“No.Hewasn’t.”Jacetookastepforward,nudgingthebladeaninchclosertoValentine’sheart.“Whathappenedtomyrealfather?Isabellesaidhediedinaraid,butdidhereally?Didyoukillhimlikeyoukilledmymother?”

Valentine still looked stunned. Clary sensed that he was fighting for control—fightingagainstgrief?Orjustafraidtodie?“Ididn’tkillyourmother.Shetookherownlife.Icutyououtofherdeadbody.IfIhadn’tdonethat,youwouldhavediedalongwithher.”

“Butwhy?Whydidyoudoit?Youdidn’tneedason,youhadason!”Jacelookeddeadlyin themoonlight,Clary thought,deadlyandstrange, likesomeoneshedidn’tknow.ThehandthatheldtheswordtowardValentine’sthroatwasunwavering.“Tellmethetruth,”Jacesaid.“Nomore liesabouthowwe’re thesamefleshandblood.Parents lie to theirchildren,butyou—you’renotmyfather.AndIwantthetruth.”

“Itwasn’tasonIneeded,”Valentinesaid.“Itwasasoldier.IhadthoughtJonathanmightbethatsoldier,buthehadtoomuchofthedemonnatureinhim.Hewastoosavage,toosudden,notsubtleenough.Ifearedeventhen,whenhewasbarelyoutofinfancy,thathewouldneverhavethepatienceor thecompassiontofollowme, to leadtheClaveinmyfootsteps.SoItriedagainwithyou.AndwithyouIhadtheoppositetrouble.Youweretoogentle.Tooempathic.Youfeltothers’painasifitwereyourown;youcouldn’tevenbearthedeathofyourpets.Understandthis,myson—Ilovedyouforthosethings.Butthevery

thingsIlovedaboutyoumadeyounousetome.”

“SoyouthoughtIwassoftanduseless,”saidJace.“Isupposeitwillbesurprisingforyou,then,whenyoursoftanduselesssoncutsyourthroat.”

“We’vebeenthroughthis.”Valentine’svoicewassteady,butClarythoughtshecouldseethesweatgleamingathis temples,at thebaseofhis throat.“Youwouldn’tdo that.Youdidn’twanttodoitatRenwick’s,andyoudon’twanttodoitnow.”

“You’rewrong.”Jacespoke inameasured tone.“Ihave regrettednotkillingyoueverydaysinceIletyougo.MybrotherMaxisdeadbecauseIdidn’tkillyouthatday.Dozens,maybehundreds,aredeadbecauseIstayedmyhand.Iknowyourplan.IknowyouhopetoslaughteralmosteveryShadowhunterinIdris.AndIaskmyself,howmanymorehavetodiebeforeIdowhatIshouldhavedoneonBlackwell’sIsland?No,”hesaid.“Idon’twanttokillyou.ButIwill.”

“Don’tdothis,”saidValentine.“Please.Idon’twantto—”

“Todie?Noonewantstodie,Father.”ThepointofJace’sswordslippedlower,andthenloweruntilitwasrestingoverValentine’sheart.Jace’sfacewascalm,thefaceofanangeldispatchingdivinejustice.“Doyouhaveanylastwords?”

“Jonathan—”

Blood spottedValentine’s shirtwhere the tip of the blade rested, andClary saw, in hermind’s eye, Jace at Renwick’s, his hand shaking, not wanting to hurt his father. AndValentinetauntinghim.Drivethebladein.Threeinches—maybefour.Itwasn’tlikethatnow.Jace’shandwassteady.AndValentinelookedafraid.

“Lastwords,”hissedJace.“Whatarethey?”

Valentine raised his head.His black eyes as he looked at the boy in front of himweregrave. “I’msorry,”he said. “I amso sorry.”He stretchedout ahand, as ifhemeant toreachouttoJace,eventotouchhim—hishandturned,palmup,thefingersopening—andthentherewasasilverflashandsomethingflewbyClaryinthedarknesslikeabulletshotoutofagun.Shefeltdisplacedairbrushhercheekas itpassed,andthenValentinehadcaught it out of the air, a long tongue of silver fire that flashedonce in his hand as hebroughtitdown.

ItwastheMortalSword.It leftatraceryofblacklightontheairasValentinedrovethebladeofitintoJace’sheart.

Jace’seyesflewwide.Alookofdisbelievingconfusionpassedoverhisface;heglanceddownat himself,whereMaellartach stuckgrotesquelyout of his chest—it lookedmorebizarrethanhorrible,likeapropfromanightmarethatmadenologicalsense.Valentinedrewhis hand back then, jerking theSword out of Jace’s chest theway hemight havejerkedadaggerfromitsscabbard;asifithadbeenallthatwasholdinghimup,Jacewenttohisknees.Hisswordslidfromhisgraspandhitthedampearth.Helookeddownatitin

puzzlement,asifhehadnoideawhyhehadbeenholdingit,orwhyhehadletitgo.Heopenedhismouthasiftoaskthequestion,andbloodpouredoverhischin,stainingwhatwasleftofhisraggedshirt.

Everythingafter that seemed toClary tohappenvery slowly, as if timewere stretchingitselfout.ShesawValentinesinktothegroundandpullJaceontohislapasifJacewerestill very small and could be easily held. He drew him close and rocked him, and heloweredhisfaceandpresseditagainstJace’sshoulder,andClarythoughtforamomentthathemightevenhavebeencrying,butwhenheliftedhishead,Valentine’seyesweredry.“Myson,”hewhispered.“Myboy.”

TheterribleslowingoftimestretchedaroundClarylikeastranglingrope,whileValentineheldJaceandbrushedhisbloodyhairbackfromhisforehead.HeheldJacewhilehedied,andthelightwentoutofhiseyes,andthenValentinelaidhisadoptedson’sbodygentlydown on the ground, crossing his arms over his chest as if to hide the gaping, bloodywound there. “Ave—,” he began, as if he meant to say the words over Jace, theShadowhunter’sfarewell,buthisvoicecracked,andheturnedabruptlyandwalkedbacktowardthealtar.

Clarycouldn’tmove.Couldbarelybreathe.Shecouldhearherownheartbeating,hearthescrape of her breathing in her dry throat. From the corner of her eye she could seeValentinestandingbytheedgeofthelake,bloodstreamingfromthebladeofMaellartachand dripping into the bowl of the Mortal Cup. He was chanting words she didn’tunderstand.Shedidn’tcare to try tounderstand. Itwouldallbeoversoon,andshewasalmostglad.Shewondered ifshehadenoughenergy todragherselfover towhereJacelay, ifshecouldliedownbesidehimandwaitforit tobeover.Shestaredathim,lyingmotionlessonthechurned,bloodysand.Hiseyeswereclosed,hisfacestill;ifitweren’tforthegashacrosshischest,shecouldhavetoldherselfhewasasleep.

But he wasn’t. He was a Shadowhunter; he had died in battle; he deserved the lastbenediction.Aveatquevale.Herlipsshapedthewords,thoughtheyfellfromhermouthinsilent puffs of air.Halfway through, she stopped, her breath catching.What should shesay?Hailandfarewell, JaceWayland?Thatnamewasnot trulyhis.Hehadneverevenreallybeennamed,shethoughtwithagony,justgiventhenameofadeadchildbecauseithadsuitedValentine’spurposesatthetime.Andtherewassomuchpowerinaname….

Herheadwhippedaround,andshestaredatthealtar.Therunessurroundingithadbegunto glow.Theywere runes of summoning, runes of naming, and runes of binding.Theywere not unlike the runes that had kept Ithuriel imprisoned in the cellars beneath theWaylandmanor.Nowverymuchagainstherwill,shethoughtofthewayJacehadlookedatherthen,theblazeoffaithinhiseyes,hisbeliefinher.Hehadalwaysthoughtshewasstrong.Hehadshoweditineverythinghedid,ineverylookandeverytouch.Simonhadfaith in her too, yet when he’d held her, it had been as if shewere something fragile,somethingmadeofdelicateglass.ButJacehadheldherwithallthestrengthhehad,neverwonderingifshecouldtakeit—he’dknownshewasasstrongashewas.

Valentine was dipping the bloody Sword over and over in the water of the lake now,

chantinglowandfast.Thewaterofthelakewasrippling,asifagianthandwerestrokingfingerslightlyacrossitssurface.

Claryclosedhereyes.RememberingthewayJacehadlookedatherthenightshe’dfreedIthuriel,shecouldn’thelpbutimaginethewayhe’dlookathernowifhesawhertryingtoliedowntodieonthesandbesidehim.Hewouldn’tbetouched,wouldn’tthinkitwasabeautifulgesture.He’dbeangryatherforgivingup.He’dbeso—disappointed.

Claryloweredherselfsothatshewaslyingontheground,heavingherdeadlegsbehindher.Slowlyshecrawledacrossthesand,pushingherselfalongwithherkneesandboundhands. The glowing band around her wrists burned and stung. Her shirt tore as shedraggedherselfacrosstheground,andthesandscrapedthebareskinofherstomach.Shebarelyfeltit.Itwashardwork,pullingherselfalonglikethis—sweatrandownherback,between her shoulder blades. When she finally reached the circle of runes, she waspantingsoloudlythatshewasterrifiedValentinewouldhearher.

Buthedidn’teventurnaround.HehadtheMortalCupinonehandandtheSwordintheother.Asshewatched,hedrewhisrighthandback,spokeseveralwordsthatsoundedlikeGreek,andthrewtheCup.Itshonelikeafallingstarasithurtledtowardthewaterofthelakeandvanishedbeneaththesurfacewithafaintsplash.

Thecircleofruneswasgivingoffafaintheat,likeapartlybankedfire.Claryhadtotwistandstruggletoreachherhandaroundtothestelejammedintoherbelt.Thepaininherwrists spiked as her fingers closed around the handle; she pulled it freewith amuffledgaspofrelief.

Shecouldn’tseparateherwrists, soshegripped thesteleawkwardly inbothhands.Shepushedherselfupwithherelbows,staringdownat therunes.Shecouldfeel theheatofthemonher face; theyhadbegun to shimmer likewitchlight.Valentinehad theMortalSwordpoised,readytothrowit;hewaschantingthelastwordsofthesummoningspell.WithafinalburstofstrengthClarydrovethe tipof thestele into thesand,notscrapingasidetherunesValentinehaddrawnbuttracingherownpatternoverthem,writinganewruneovertheonethatsymbolizedhisname.Itwassuchasmallrune,shethought,suchasmallchange—nothinglikeherimmenselypowerfulAlliancerune,nothingliketheMarkofCain.

But itwasall shecoulddo.Spent,Clary rolledontoherside justasValentinedrewhisarmbackandlettheMortalSwordfly.

Maellartachhurtledendoverend,ablackandsilverblurthatjoinedsoundlesslywiththeblackandsilver lake.Agreatplumewentup from theplacewhere it splasheddown:afloweringofplatinumwater.Theplumerosehigherandhigher,ageyserofmoltensilver,likerainfallingupward.Therewasagreatcrashingnoise, thesoundofshatteringice,aglacierbreaking—andthenthelakeseemedtoblowapart,silverwaterexplodingupwardlikeareversehailstorm.

AndrisingwiththehailstormcametheAngel.Clarywasnotsurewhatshe’dexpected—

somethinglikeIthuriel,butIthurielhadbeendiminishedbymanyyearsofcaptivityandtorment.Thiswasanangel in thefull forceofhisglory.Asherosefromthewater,hereyesbegantoburnasifshewerestaringintothesun.

Valentine’shandshadfallentohissides.Hewasgazingupwardwitharaptexpression,amanwatchinghisgreatestdreambecomereality.“Raziel,”hebreathed.

TheAngelcontinuedtorise,asifthelakeweresinkingaway,revealingagreatcolumnofmarbleatitscenter.Firsthisheademergedfromthewater,streaminghairlikechainsofsilverandgold.Thenshoulders,whiteasstone,andthenabaretorso—andClarysawthattheAngelwasMarkedalloverwith runes just as theNephilimwere, althoughRaziel’srunesweregoldenandalive,movingacrosshiswhiteskinlikesparksflyingfromafire.Somehow, at the same time, theAngelwas both enormous and no bigger than aman:Clary’seyeshurttryingtotakeallofhimin,andyethewasallthatshecouldsee.Asherose,wingsburstfromhisbackandopenedwideacrossthelake,andtheyweregoldtoo,andfeathered,andsetintoeachfeatherwasasinglegoldenstaringeye.

Itwas beautiful, and also terrifying.Clarywanted to look away, but shewouldn’t. Shewouldwatchitall.ShewouldwatchitforJace,becausehecouldn’t.

It’sjustlikeallthosepictures,shethought.TheAngelrisingfromthelake,theSwordinonehandand theCup in theother.Bothwerestreamingwater,butRazielwasdryasabone,hiswingsundampened.Hisfeetrested,whiteandbare,onthesurfaceofthelake,stirringitswatersintosmallripplesofmovement.Hisface,beautifulandinhuman,gazeddownatValentine.

Andthenhespoke.

Hisvoicewaslikeacryandashoutandlikemusic,allatonce.Itcontainednowords,yetwastotallycomprehensible.TheforceofhisbreathnearlyknockedValentinebackward;he dug the heels of his boots into the sand, his head tilted back as if hewerewalkingagainstagale.ClaryfeltthewindoftheAngel’sbreathpassoverher:Itwashotlikeairescapingfromafurnace,andsmelledofstrangespices.

It has been a thousand years since I was last summoned to this place, Raziel said.JonathanShadowhuntercalledonmethen,andbeggedmetomixmybloodwiththebloodof mortal men in a Cup and create a race of warriors who would rid this earth ofdemonkind.IdidallthatheaskedandtoldhimIwoulddonomore.Whydoyousummonmenow,Nephilim?

Valentine’svoicewaseager.“Athousandyearshavepassed,GloriousOne,butdemonkindarestillhere.”

Whatisthattome?Athousandyearsforanangelpassbetweenoneblinkofaneyeandanother.

“The Nephilim you created were a great race of men. For many years they valiantly

battled to rid this plane of demon taint. But they have failed due to weakness andcorruptionintheirranks.Iintendtoreturnthemtotheirformerglory—”

Glory? The Angel sounded faintly curious, as if the word were strange to him.GlorybelongstoGodalone.

Valentinedidn’twaver.“TheClaveasthefirstNephilimcreateditexistsnomore.TheyhavealliedthemselveswithDownworlders,thedemon-taintednonhumanswhoinfestthisworldlikefleasonthecarcassofarat.Itismyintentiontocleansethisworld,todestroyeveryDownworlderalongwitheverydemon—”

Demonsdonotpossesssouls.Butasforthecreaturesyouspeakof,theChildrenofMoon,Night,Lilith,andFaerie,allaresouled.Itseemsthatyourrulesastowhatdoesanddoesnot constitute a human being are stricter than our own. Clary could have sworn theAngel’svoicehadtakenonadrytone.DoyouintendtochallengeheavenlikethatotherMorningStarwhosenameyoubear,Shadowhunter?

“Nottochallengeheaven,no,LordRaziel.Toallymyselfwithheaven—”

Inawarofyourmaking?Weareheaven,Shadowhunter.Wedonotfightinyourmundanebattles.

WhenValentinespokeagain,hesoundedalmosthurt.“LordRaziel.Surelyyouwouldnothaveallowedsuchathingasaritualbywhichyoumightbesummonedtoexistifyoudidnotintendtobesummoned.WeNephilimareyourchildren.Weneedyourguidance.”

Guidance?NowtheAngelsoundedamused.Thathardlyseemstobewhyyoubroughtmehere.Youseekratheryourownrenown.

“Renown?”Valentineechoedhoarsely.“Ihavegiveneverythingforthiscause.Mywife.My children. I have not withheld my sons. I have given everything I have for this—everything.”

TheAngelsimplyhovered,gazingdownatValentinewithhisweird,inhumaneyes.Hiswingsmovedinslow,undeliberatemotions,likethepassageofcloudsacrossthesky.Atlasthesaid,GodaskedAbrahamtosacrificehissononanaltarmuchlikethisone,toseewho itwas thatAbraham lovedmore, Isaac orGod.But no one asked you to sacrificeyourson,Valentine.

Valentineglanceddownatthealtarathisfeet,splashedwithJace’sblood,andthenbackupattheAngel.“IfImust,Iwillcompelthisfromyou,”hesaid.“ButIwouldratherhaveyourwillingcooperation.”

WhenJonathanShadowhunter summonedme, said theAngel, IgavehimmyassistancebecauseIcouldseethathisdreamofaworldfreeofdemonswasatrueone.Heimaginedaheavenonthisearth.Butyoudreamonlyofyourownglory,andyoudonotloveheaven.MybrotherIthurielcanattesttothat.

Valentineblanched.“But—”

Didyou think that Iwouldnot know?TheAngel smiled. Itwas themost terrible smileClaryhadeverseen. It is true that themasterof thecircleyouhavedrawncancompelfrommeasingleaction.Butyouarenotthatmaster.

Valentinestared.“MylordRaziel—thereisnooneelse—”

Butthereis,saidtheAngel.Thereisyourdaughter.

Valentinewhirled.Clary,lyinghalf-consciousinthesand,herwristsandarmsascreamingagony,stareddefiantlyback.Foramoment theireyesmet—andhe lookedather, reallylookedather,andsherealizeditwasthefirsttimeherfatherhadeverlookedherinthefaceandseenher.Thefirstandonlytime.

“Clarissa,”hesaid.“Whathaveyoudone?”

Clary stretchedoutherhand, andwithher finger shewrote in the sandat his feet.Shedidn’tdrawrunes.Shedrewwords:thewordshehadsaidtoherthefirsttimehe’dseenwhatshecoulddo,whenshe’ddrawntherunethathaddestroyedhisship.

MENEMENETEKELUPHARSIN.

Hiseyeswidened, justasJace’seyeshadwidenedbeforehe’ddied.Valentinehadgonebone white. He turned slowly to face the Angel, raising his hands in a gesture ofsupplication.“MylordRaziel—”

TheAngelopenedhismouthandspat.OratleastthatwashowitseemedtoClary—thattheAngelspat,andthatwhatcamefromhismouthwasashootingsparkofwhitefire,likea burning arrow. The arrow flew straight and true across thewater and buried itself inValentine’schest.Ormaybe“buried”wasn’t theword—it tore throughhim, like a rockthroughthinpaper,leavingasmokingholethesizeofafist.ForamomentClary,staringup,couldlookthroughherfather’schestandseethelakeandthefieryglowoftheAngelbeyond.

Themomentpassed.Likeafelledtree,Valentinecrashedtothegroundandlaystill—hismouth open in a silent cry, his blind eyes fixed forever in a last look of incredulousbetrayal.

Thatwasthejusticeofheaven.Itrustthatyouarenotdismayed.

Clarylookedup.TheAngelhoveredoverher,likeatowerofwhiteflame,blottingoutthesky.Hishandswereempty;theMortalCupandSwordlaybytheshoreofthelake.

Youcancompelmetooneaction,ClarissaMorgenstern.Whatisitthatyouwant?

Claryopenedhermouth.Nosoundcameout.

Ah,yes, theAngelsaid,andtherewasgentlenessinhisvoicenow.Therune.Themanyeyesinhiswingsblinked.Somethingbrushedoverher.Itwassoft,softerthansilkoranyother cloth, softer than a whisper or the brush of a feather. It was what she imaginedcloudsmightfeellikeiftheyhadatexture.Afaintscentcamewiththetouch—apleasantscent,headyandsweet.

Thepainvanishedfromherwrists.Nolongerboundtogether,herhandsfelltohersides.Thestingingatthebackofherneckwasgonetoo,andtheheavinessfromherlegs.Shestruggled toherknees.More thananything,shewanted tocrawlacross thebloodysandtowardtheplacewhereJace’sbodylay,crawltohimandlaydownbesidehimandputherarms around him, even though hewas gone.But theAngel’s voice compelled her; sheremainedwhereshewas,staringupintohisbrilliantgoldenlight.

The battle on Brocelind Plain is ending.Morgenstern’s hold over his demons vanishedwith his death. Already many are fleeing; the rest will soon be destroyed. There areNephilim riding to the shores of this lake at this very moment. If you have a request,Shadowhunter, speak it now. The Angel paused.And remember that I am not a genie.Chooseyourdesirewisely.

Claryhesitated—onlyforamoment,butthemomentstretchedoutaslongasanymomentever had. She could ask for anything, she thought dizzily, anything—an end to pain orworld hunger or disease, or for peace on earth. But then again, perhaps these thingsweren’t in thepowerof angels togrant, or theywould alreadyhavebeengranted.Andperhapspeopleweresupposedtofindthesethingsforthemselves.

Itdidn’tmatter,anyway.Therewasonlyonethingshecouldaskfor,intheend,onlyonerealchoice.

SheraisedhereyestotheAngel’s.

“Jace,”shesaid.

TheAngel’sexpressiondidn’tchange.ShehadnoideawhetherRazielthoughtherrequesta good one or a bad one, or whether—she thought with a sudden burst of panic—heintendedtograntitatall.

Closeyoureyes,ClarissaMorgenstern,theAngelsaid.

Clary shuther eyes.Youdidn’t sayno to anangel,nomatterwhat it had inmind.Herheartpounding,shesatfloatinginthedarknessbehindhereyelids,resolutelytryingnottothinkofJace.Buthisfaceappearedagainsttheblankscreenofherclosedeyelidsanyway—not smilingatherbut looking sidelong, and she could see the scar at his temple, theunevencurlatthecornerofhismouth,andthesilverlineonhisthroatwhereSimonhadbittenhim—allthemarksandflawsandimperfectionsthatmadeupthepersonshelovedmostintheworld.Jace.Abrightlightlithervisiontoscarlet,andshefellbackagainstthesand,wonderingifshewasgoingtopassout—ormaybeshewasdying—butshedidn’twant todie,notnow that shecouldseeJace’s facesoclearly in frontofher.Shecould

almosthearhisvoice,too,sayinghername,thewayhe’dwhispereditatRenwick’s,overandoveragain.Clary.Clary.Clary.

“Clary,”Jacesaid.“Openyoureyes.”

Shedid.

Shewas lying on the sand, in her torn,wet, and bloodied clothes. Thatwas the same.Whatwas not the samewas that theAngelwas gone, andwith him the blindingwhitelightthathadlitthedarknesstoday.Shewasgazingupatthenightsky,whitestarslikemirrorsshiningintheblackness,andleaningoverher,thelightinhiseyesmorebrilliantthananyofthestars,wasJace.

Hereyesdrankhimin,everypartofhim,fromhistangledhairtohisbloodstained,grimyfacetohiseyesshiningthroughthelayersofdirt;fromthebruisesvisiblethroughhistornsleevestothegaping,blood-soakedteardownthefrontofhisshirt,throughwhichhisbareskinshowed—andtherewasnomark,nogash,toindicatewheretheSwordhadgonein.Shecouldseethepulsebeatinginhisthroat,andalmostthrewherarmsaroundhimatthesightbecauseitmeanthisheartwasbeatingandthatmeant—

“You’realive,”shewhispered.“Reallyalive.”

Withaslowwondermenthereachedtotouchherface.“Iwasinthedark,”hesaidsoftly.“Therewasnothingtherebutshadows,andIwasashadow,andIknewthatIwasdead,andthatitwasover,allofit.AndthenIheardyourvoice.Iheardyousaymyname,anditbroughtmeback.”

“Notme.”Clary’sthroattightened.“TheAngelbroughtyouback.”

“Becauseyouaskedhimto.”Silentlyhetracedtheoutlineofherfacewithhisfingers,asif reassuringhimself thatshewasreal.“Youcouldhavehadanythingelse in theworld,andyouaskedforme.”

She smiled up at him. Filthy as he was, covered in blood and dirt, he was the mostbeautifulthingshe’deverseen.“ButIdon’twantanythingelseintheworld.”

Atthat,thelightinhiseyes,alreadybright,wenttosuchablazethatshecouldhardlybeartolookathim.ShethoughtoftheAngel,andhowhehadburnedlikeathousandtorches,and that Jace had in him some of that same incandescent blood, and how that burningshonethroughhimnow,throughhiseyes,likelightthroughthecracksinadoor.

Iloveyou,Clarywantedtosay.And,Iwoulddoitagain.Iwouldalwaysaskforyou.Butthoseweren’tthewordsshesaid.

“You’re not my brother,” she told him, a little breathlessly, as if, having realized shehadn’tyetsaidthem,shecouldn’tgetthewordsoutofhermouthfastenough.“Youknowthat,right?”

Veryslightly,throughthegrimeandblood,Jacegrinned.“Yes,”hesaid.“Iknowthat.”

Epilogue

AcrosstheSkyinStars

Ilovedyou,soIdrewthesetidesofmenintomyhandsandwrotemywillacrosstheskyinstars.

—T.E.Lawrence

Thesmokeroseinalazyspiral,tracingdelicatelinesofblackacrosstheclearair.Jace,aloneonthehilloverlookingthecemetery,satwithhiselbowsonhiskneesandwatchedthe smoke drift heavenward. The irony wasn’t lost on him: These were his father’sremains,afterall.

Hecouldseethebierfromwherehewassitting,obscuredbysmokeandflame,andthesmallgroupstandingaroundit.HerecognizedJocelyn’sbrighthairfromhere,andLukestandingbesideher,hishandonherback.Jocelynhadherheadturnedaside,awayfromtheburningpyre.

Jacecouldhavebeenoneofthatgroup,hadhewantedtobe.He’dspentthelastcoupleofdays in the infirmary, and they’donly let himout thismorning, partly so that he couldattendValentine’sfuneral.Buthe’dgottenhalfwaytothepyre,astackedpileofstrippedwood,whiteasbones,andrealizedhecouldgonofarther.He’dturnedandwalkedupthehill instead, away from the mourners’ procession. Luke had called after him, but Jacehadn’tturned.

He’d sat and watched them gather around the bier, watched Patrick Penhallow in hisparchmentwhitegear set the flame to thewood. Itwas the second time thatweekhe’dwatchedabodyburn,butMax’shadbeenheartbreakinglysmall,andValentinewasabigman—evenflatonhisbackwithhisarmscrossedoverhischest,aseraphbladegrippedinhisfist.Hiseyeswereboundwithwhitesilk,aswasthecustom.Theyhaddonewellbyhim,Jacethought,despiteeverything.

Theyhadn’tburiedSebastian.AgroupofShadowhuntershadgonebacktothevalley,buttheyhadn’tfoundhisbody—washedawaybytheriver,they’dtoldJace,thoughhehadhisdoubts.

Hehad lookedforClary in thecrowdaround thebier,butshewasn’t there. Ithadbeenalmost two days now since he’d seen her last, at the lake, and hemissed her with analmostphysicalsenseofsomethinglacking.Itwasn’therfaulttheyhadn’tseeneachother.She’dbeenworriedhewasn’tstrongenoughtoPortalbacktoAlicantefromthelakethatnight,andshe’dturnedouttoberight.BythetimethefirstShadowhuntershadreachedthem,he’dbeendriftingintoadizzyunconsciousness.He’dwokenupthenextdayinthecity hospitalwithMagnusBane staring down at himwith an odd expression—it couldhavebeendeepconcernormerelycuriosity,itwashardtotellwithMagnus.MagnustoldhimthatthoughtheAngelhadhealedJacephysically,itseemedthathisspiritandmindhadbeenexhaustedtothepointthatonlyrestcouldhealthem.Inanyevent,hefeltbetternow.Justintimeforthefuneral.

Awindhadcomeupandwasblowingthesmokeawayfromhim.InthedistancehecouldseetheglimmeringtowersofAlicante,theirformergloryrestored.Hewasn’ttotallysurewhathehopedtoaccomplishbysittinghereandwatchinghisfather’sbodyburn,orwhathewould say if hewere down there among themourners, speaking their lastwords toValentine.Youwereneverreallymyfather,hemightsay,orYouweretheonlyfatherIeverknew.Bothstatementswereequallytrue,nomatterhowcontradictory.

Whenhe’dfirstopenedhiseyesatthelake—knowing,somehow,thathe’dbeendead,andnowwasn’t—allJacecouldthinkaboutwasClary,lyingalittledistanceawayfromhimonthebloodysand,hereyesclosed.He’dscrambledtoherinanearpanic,thinkingshemightbehurt,orevendead—andwhenshe’dopenedhereyes,allhe’dbeenabletothinkaboutthenwasthatshewasn’t.Notuntiltherewereothersthere,helpinghimtohisfeet,exclaimingoverthesceneinamazement,didheseeValentine’sbodylyingcrumplednearthelake’sedgeandfeeltheforceofitlikeapunchinthestomach.He’dknownValentinewas dead—would have killed him himself—but still, somehow, the sight was painful.Clary had looked at Jacewith sad eyes, and he’d known that even though she’d hated

Valentineandhadneverhadanyreasonnotto,shestillfeltJace’sloss.

He half-closed his eyes and a flood of imageswashed across the backs of his eyelids:Valentinepickinghimupoffthegrassinasweepinghug,Valentineholdinghimsteadyintheprowofaboatonalake,showinghimhowtobalance.Andother,darkermemories:Valentine’shandcrackingacrossthesideofhisface,adeadfalcon,theangelshackledintheWaylands’cellar.

“Jace.”

Helookedup.Lukewasstandingoverhim,ablacksilhouetteoutlinedbythesun.Hewaswearingjeansandaflannelshirtasusual—noconcessionaryfuneralwhiteforhim.“It’sover,”Lukesaid.“Theceremony.Itwasbrief.”

“I’msureitwas.”Jacedughisfingersintothegroundbesidehim,welcomingthepainfulscrapeofdirtagainsthisfingertips.“Didanyonesayanything?”

“Justtheusualwords.”LukeeasedhimselfdownontothegroundbesideJace,wincingalittle. Jace hadn’t asked himwhat the battle had been like; he hadn’t really wanted toknow. He knew it had been over much quicker than anyone had expected—afterValentine’sdeath,thedemonshehadsummonedhadfledintothenightlikesomuchmistburnedoffby thesun.But thatdidn’tmeantherehadn’tbeendeaths.Valentine’shadn’tbeentheonlybodyburnedinAlicantethesepastdays.

“AndClarywasn’t—Imean,shedidn’t—”

“Come to the funeral? No. She didn’t want to.” Jace could feel Luke looking at himsideways.“Youhaven’tseenher?Notsince—”

“No,notsincethelake,”Jacesaid.“Thiswasthefirsttimetheyletmeleavethehospital,andIhadtocomehere.”

“Youdidn’thaveto,”Lukesaid.“Youcouldhavestayedaway.”

“Iwantedto,”Jaceadmitted.“Whateverthatsaysaboutme.”

“Funeralsarefor the living,Jace,notfor thedead.Valentinewasmoreyour father thanClary’s,evenifyoudidn’tshareblood.You’retheonewhohastosaygood-bye.You’retheonewhowillmisshim.”

“Ididn’tthinkIwasallowedtomisshim.”

“YouneverknewStephenHerondale,”saidLuke.“Andyoucame toRobertLightwoodwhenyouwereonlybarelystillachild.Valentinewasthefatherofyourchildhood.Youshouldmisshim.”

“Ikeep thinkingaboutHodge,”Jacesaid.“Upat theGard, Ikeptaskinghimwhyhe’dnever toldmewhatIwas—Istill thoughtIwaspartdemonthen—andhekeptsayingit

wasbecausehedidn’tknow.Ijustthoughthewaslying.ButnowIthinkhemeantit.Hewas one of the only peoplewho ever even knew therewas aHerondale baby that hadlived.WhenIshowedupattheInstitute,hehadnoideawhichofValentine’ssonsIwas.Therealoneortheadoptedone.AndIcouldhavebeeneither.Thedemonortheangel.And the thing is, Idon’t thinkheeverknew,notuntilhesawJonathanat theGardandrealized. So he just tried to do his best by me all those years anyway, until Valentineshowedupagain.Thattookasortoffaith—don’tyouthink?”

“Yes,”Lukesaid.“Ithinkso.”

“Hodgesaidhethoughtmaybeupbringingmightmakeadifference,regardlessofblood.Ijustkeepthinking—ifI’dstayedwithValentine,ifhehadn’tsentmetotheLightwoods,wouldIhavebeenjustlikeJonathan?IsthathowI’dbenow?”

“Doesitmatter?”saidLuke.“Youarewhoyouarenowforareason.Andifyouaskme,IthinkValentine sentyou to theLightwoodsbecauseheknew itwas thebest chance foryou.Maybehehadotherreasons too.Butyoucan’tgetawayfromthefact thathesentyoutopeopleheknewwouldloveyouandraiseyouwithlove.Itmighthavebeenoneofthe few thingsheever reallydid forsomeoneelse.”HeclappedJaceon theshoulder,agesturesopaternalthatitalmostmadeJacesmile.“Iwouldn’tforgetaboutthat,ifIwereyou.”

Clary, standing and looking out Isabelle’s window, watched smoke stain the sky overAlicantelikeasmudgedhandagainstawindow.TheywereburningValentinetoday,sheknew;burningherfather,inthenecropolisjustoutsidethegates.

“Youknowaboutthecelebrationtonight,don’tyou?”ClaryturnedtoseeIsabelle,behindher, holdingup twodresses against herself, one blue andone steel gray. “What doyouthinkIshouldwear?”

ForIsabelle,Clarythought,clotheswouldalwaysbetherapy.“Theblueone.”

Isabellelaidthedressesdownonthebed.“Whatareyougoingtowear?Youaregoing,aren’tyou?”

ClarythoughtofthesilverdressatthebottomofAmatis’schest,thelovelygossamerofit.ButAmatiswouldprobablyneverletherwearit.

“Idon’tknow,”shesaid.“Probablyjeansandmygreencoat.”

“Boring,”Isabellesaid.SheglancedoveratAline,whowassittinginachairbythebed,reading.“Don’tyouthinkit’sboring?”

“IthinkyoushouldletClarywearwhatshewants.”Alinedidn’tlookupfromherbook.“Besides,it’snotlikeshe’sdressingupforanyone.”

“She’sdressingupforJace,”Isabellesaid,asifthiswereobvious.“Aswellsheshould.”

Alinelookedup,blinkinginconfusion,thensmiled.“Oh,right.Ikeepforgetting.Itmustbeweird,right,knowinghe’snotyourbrother?”

“No,”Clarysaidfirmly.“Thinkinghewasmybrotherwasweird.Thisfeels—right.”Shelooked back toward thewindow. “Not that I’ve really seen him since I found out.Notsincewe’vebeenbackinAlicante.”

“That’sstrange,”saidAline.

“It’s not strange,” Isabelle said, shooting Aline a meaningful look, which Aline didn’tseemtonotice.“He’sbeeninthehospital.Heonlygotouttoday.”

“Andhedidn’tcometoseeyourightaway?”AlineaskedClary.

“Hecouldn’t,”Clarysaid.“HehadValentine’sfuneraltogoto.Hecouldn’tmissthat.”

“Maybe,” said Aline cheerfully. “Or maybe he’s not that interested in you anymore. Imean,nowthatit’snotforbidden.Somepeopleonlywantwhattheycan’thave.”

“NotJace,”Isabellesaidquickly.“Jaceisn’tlikethat.”

Alinestoodup,droppingherbookontothebed.“Ishouldgogetdressed.Seeyouguystonight?”Andwiththat,shewanderedoutoftheroom,hummingtoherself.

Isabelle,watchinghergo,shookherhead.“Doyouthinkshedoesn’tlikeyou?”shesaid.“Imean,isshejealous?ShedidseeminterestedinJace.”

“Ha!”Clarywasbrieflyamused.“No,she’snotinterestedinJace.Ithinkshe’sjustoneofthosepeoplewhosaywhateverthey’rethinkingwhenevertheythinkit.Andwhoknows,maybeshe’sright.”

Isabellepulledthepinfromherhair,lettingitfalldownaroundhershoulders.ShecameacrosstheroomandjoinedClaryatthewindow.Theskywasclearnowpastthedemontowers;thesmokewasgone.“Doyouthinkshe’sright?”

“Idon’tknow.I’llhavetoaskJace.IguessI’llseehimtonightattheparty.Orthevictorycelebrationorwhateverit’scalled.”ShelookedupatIsabelle.“Doyouknowwhatit’llbelike?”

“There’ll be a parade,” Isabelle said, “and fireworks, probably.Music, dancing, games,thatsortof thing.Likeabigstreet fair inNewYork.”Sheglancedout thewindow,herexpressionwistful.“Maxwouldhavelovedit.”

Clary reached out and stroked Isabelle’s hair, theway she’d stroke the hair of her ownsisterifshehadone.“Iknowhewould.”

Jacehadtoknocktwiceatthedooroftheoldcanalhousebeforeheheardquickfootstepshurrying to answer; his heart jumped, and then settled as the door opened andAmatisHerondalestoodonthethreshold,lookingathiminsurprise.Shelookedasifshe’dbeengetting ready for the celebration: She wore a long dove gray dress and pale metallicearringsthatpickedoutthesilverystreaksinhergrayinghair.“Yes?”

“Clary,” he began, and stopped, unsure what exactly to say.Where had his eloquencegone?He’dalwayshadthat,evenwhenhehadn’thadanythingelse,butnowhefeltasifhe’dbeenrippedopenandalltheclever,facilewordshadpouredoutofhim,leavinghimempty.“IwaswonderingifClarywashere.Iwashopingtotalktoher.”

Amatisshookherhead.Theblanknesshadgonefromherexpression,andshewaslookingat him intently enough to make him nervous. “She’s not. I think she’s with theLightwoods.”

“Oh.”Hewassurprisedathowdisappointedhefelt.“Sorrytohavebotheredyou.”

“It’snobother.I’mgladyou’rehere,actually,”shesaidbriskly.“TherewassomethingIwantedtotalktoyouabout.Comeintothehall;I’llberightback.”

Jacesteppedinsideasshedisappeareddownthehallway.Hewonderedwhatonearthshecouldhavetotalktohimabout.MaybeClaryhaddecidedshewantednothingmoretodowithhimandhadchosenAmatistodeliverthemessage.

Amatiswasback inamoment.Shewasn’tholdinganything that looked likeanote—toJace’s relief—but rather she was clutching a small metal box in her hands. It was adelicate object, chasedwith a design of birds. “Jace,”Amatis said. “Luke toldme thatyou’re Stephen’s—that StephenHerondalewas your father.He toldme everything thathappened.”

Jace nodded, whichwas all he felt called on to do. The newswas leaking out slowly,whichwashowhelikedit;hopefullyhe’dbebackinNewYorkbeforeeveryoneinIdrisknewandwasconstantlystaringathim.

“YouknowIwasmarriedtoStephenbeforeyourmotherwas,”Amatiswenton,hervoicetight,asifthewordshurttosay.Jacestaredather—wasthisabouthismother?Didsheresent him for bringing up badmemories of a womanwho’d died before he was everborn?“Ofallthepeoplealivetoday,Iprobablyknewyourfatherbest.”

“Yes,”Jacesaid,wishinghewereelsewhere.“I’msurethat’strue.”

“Iknowyouprobablyhavefeelingsabouthimthatareverymixed,”shesaid,surprisinghimmainlybecauseitwastrue.“Youneverknewhim,andhewasn’tthemanwhoraisedyou,butyou look likehim—except foryoureyes, thoseareyourmother’s.AndmaybeI’m being crazy, bothering youwith this.Maybe you don’t reallywant to know about

Stephenatall.Buthewasyourfather,andifhe’dknownyou—”Shethrusttheboxathimthen,nearlymakinghimjumpback.“ThesearesomethingsofhisthatIsavedovertheyears.Lettershewrote,photographs,afamilytree.Hiswitchlightstone.Maybeyoudon’thave questions now, but someday perhaps you will, and when you do—when you do,you’llhavethis.”Shestoodstill,givinghimtheboxasifshewereofferinghimaprecioustreasure.Jacereachedoutandtookitfromherwithoutaword;itwasheavy,andthemetalwascoldagainsthisskin.

“Thankyou,”hesaid.Itwasthebesthecoulddo.Hehesitated,andthensaid,“Thereisonething.SomethingI’vebeenwondering.”

“Yes?”

“IfStephenwasmyfather,thentheInquisitor—Imogen—wasmygrandmother.”

“She was…” Amatis paused. “A very difficult woman. But yes, she was yourgrandmother.”

“Shesavedmylife,”saidJace.“Imean,foralongtimesheactedlikeshehatedmyguts.But thenshesaw this.”Hedrew thecollarofhis shirtaside, showingAmatis thewhitestar-shapedscaronhisshoulder.“Andshesavedmylife.Butwhatcouldmyscarpossiblymeantoher?”

Amatis’seyeshadgonewide.“Youdon’tremembergettingthatscar,doyou?”

Jaceshookhishead.“Valentine toldme itwasan injuryfromwhenIwas tooyoung toremember,butnow—Idon’tthinkIbelievehim.”

“It’snotascar.It’sabirthmark.There’sanoldfamilylegendaboutit,thatoneofthefirstHerondales to become a Shadowhunterwas visited by an angel in a dream. The angeltouchedhimontheshoulder,andwhenhewokeup,hehadamarklikethat.Andallhisdescendantshaveitaswell.”Sheshrugged.“Idon’tknowifthestoryistrue,butalltheHerondaleshave themark.Your fatherhadone too,here.”She touchedher rightupperarm.“Theysayitmeansyou’vehadcontactwithanangel.Thatyou’reblessed,insomeway.ImogenmusthaveseentheMarkandguessedwhoyoureallywere.”

JacestaredatAmatis,buthewasn’tseeingher:Hewasseeingthatnightontheship;thewet,blackdeckandtheInquisitordyingathisfeet.“Shesaidsomethingtome,”hesaid.“Whileshewasdying.Shesaid,‘Yourfatherwouldbeproudofyou.’Ithoughtshewasbeingcruel.IthoughtshemeantValentine….”

Amatis shook her head. “Shemeant Stephen,” she said softly. “And shewas right.Hewouldhavebeen.”

ClarypushedopenAmatis’sfrontdoorandsteppedinside,thinkinghowquicklythehouse

hadbecomefamiliartoher.Shenolongerhadtostraintorememberthewaytothefrontdoor,orthewaytheknobstuckslightlyasshepusheditopen.Theglintofsunlightoffthecanalwas familiar, aswas the view ofAlicante through thewindow. She could almostimagine living here, almost imagine what it would be like if Idris were home. Shewonderedwhatshe’dstartmissingfirst.Chinesetakeout?Movies?MidtownComics?

Shewasabout tohead for thestairswhensheheardhermother’svoice from the livingroom—sharp, and slightly agitated. But what could Jocelyn have to be upset about?Everythingwasfinenow,wasn’tit?Withoutthinking,Clarydroppedbackagainstthewallnearthelivingroomdoorandlistened.

“Whatdoyoumean,you’restaying?”Jocelynwassaying.“Youmeanyou’renotcomingbacktoNewYorkatall?”

“I’ve been asked to remain inAlicante and represent thewerewolves on theCouncil,”Lukesaid.“ItoldthemI’dletthemknowtonight.”

“Couldn’tsomeoneelsedothat?OneofthepackleadershereinIdris?”

“I’mtheonlypackleaderwhowasonceaShadowhunter.That’swhytheywantme.”Hesighed.“Istartedallthis,Jocelyn.Ishouldstayhereandseeitout.”

Therewasashortsilence.“Ifthat’showyoufeel,thenofcourseyoushouldstay,”Jocelynsaidatlast,buthervoicedidn’tsoundsure.

“I’llhavetosellthebookstore.Getmyaffairsinorder.”Lukesoundedgruff.“It’snotlikeI’llbemovingrightaway.”

“Icantakecareofthat.Aftereverythingyou’vedone…”Jocelyndidn’tseemtohavetheenergy to maintain her bright tone. Her voice trailed off into silence, a silence thatstretched out so long thatClary thought about clearing her throat andwalking into thelivingroomtoletthemknowshewasthere.

Amomentlatershewasgladshehadn’t.“Look,”Lukesaid,“I’vewantedtotellyouthisforalongtime,butIdidn’t.Iknewitwouldnevermatter,evenifIdidsayit,becauseofwhatIam.YouneverwantedthattobepartofClary’slife.Butsheknowsnow,soIguessitdoesn’tmakeadifference.AndImightaswelltellyou.Iloveyou,Jocelyn.Ihavefortwentyyears.”Hepaused.Clarystrainedtohearhermother’sresponse,butJocelynwassilent.AtlastLukespokeagain,hisvoiceheavy.“IhavetogetbacktotheCouncilandtellthemI’llstay.Wedon’teverhavetotalkaboutthisagain.Ijustfeelbetterhavingsaiditafterallthistime.”

Clary pressed herself back against thewall as Luke, his head down, stalked out of thelivingroom.Hebrushedbyherwithoutseemingtoseeheratallandyankedthefrontdooropen.Hestood there foramoment, staringblindlyoutat thesunshinebouncingoff thewaterofthecanal.Thenhewasgone,thedoorslammingshutbehindhim.

Clarystoodwhereshewas,herbackagainstthewall.ShefeltterriblysadforLuke,and

terriblysadforhermother,too.ItlookedlikeJocelynreallydidn’tloveLuke,andmaybenevercould.ItwasjustlikeithadbeenforherandSimon,exceptshedidn’tseeanywaythatLukeandhermothercouldfixthings.NotifhewasgoingtostayhereinIdris.Tearsstung her eyes. Shewas about to turn and go into the living roomwhen she heard thesoundofthekitchendooropeningandanothervoice.Thisonesoundedtired,andalittleresigned.Amatis.

“SorryIoverheardthat,butI’mgladhe’sstaying,”Luke’ssistersaid.“Notjustbecausehe’llbenearmebutbecauseitgiveshimachancetogetoveryou.”

Jocelynsoundeddefensive.“Amatis—”

“It’sbeenalongtime,Jocelyn,”Amatissaid.“Ifyoudon’tlovehim,yououghttolethimgo.”

Jocelyn was silent. Clary wished she could see hermother’s expression—did she looksad?Angry?Resigned?

Amatisgavealittlegasp.“Unless—youdolovehim?”

“Amatis,Ican’t—”

“Youdo!Youdo!”Therewasasharpsound,asifAmatishadclappedherhandstogether.“Iknewyoudid!Ialwaysknewit!”

“Itdoesn’tmatter.”Jocelynsoundedtired.“Itwouldn’tbefairtoLuke.”

“Idon’twanttohearit.”Therewasarustlingnoise,andJocelynmadeasoundofprotest.ClarywonderedifAmatishadactuallygrabbedholdofhermother.“Ifyoulovehim,yougorightnowandtellhim.Rightnow,beforehegoestotheCouncil.”

“ButtheywanthimtobetheirCouncilmember!Andhewantsto—”

“AllLucianwants,”saidAmatisfirmly,“isyou.YouandClary.That’sallheeverwanted.Nowgo.”

Before Clary had a chance to move, Jocelyn dashed out into the hallway. She headedtowardthedoor—andsawClary,flattenedagainstthewall.Halting,sheopenedhermouthinsurprise.

“Clary!”She sounded as if shewere trying tomake her voice bright and cheerful, andfailingmiserably.“Ididn’trealizeyouwerehere.”

Clarysteppedawayfromthewall,grabbedholdofthedoorknob,andthrewthedoorwideopen. Bright sunlight poured into the hall. Jocelyn stood blinking in the harshillumination,hereyesonherdaughter.

“Ifyoudon’tgoafterLuke,”Clarysaid,enunciatingveryclearly,“I,personally,willkill

you.”

ForamomentJocelynlookedastonished.Thenshesmiled.“Well,”shesaid,“ifyouputitlikethat.”

A moment later she was out of the house, hurrying down the canal path toward theAccordsHall.Claryshutthedoorbehindherandleanedagainstit.

Amatis, emerging from the living room, darted past her to lean on the windowsill,glancinganxiouslyoutthroughthepane.“Doyouthinkshe’llcatchhimbeforehegetstotheHall?”

“Mymom’sspentherwholelifechasingmearound,”Clarysaid.“Shemovesfast.”

Amatisglancedtowardherandsmiled.“Oh,thatremindsme,”shesaid.“Jacestoppedbytoseeyou.Ithinkhe’shopingtoseeyouatthecelebrationtonight.”

“Is he?”Clary said thoughtfully.Might as well ask. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.“Amatis,” she said, and Luke’s sister turned away from the window, looking at hercuriously.

“Yes?”

“Thatsilverdressofyours,inthetrunk,”saidClary.“CanIborrowit?”

ThestreetswerealreadybeginningtofillwithpeopleasClarywalkedbackthroughthecitytowardtheLightwoods’house.Itwastwilight,andthelightswerebeginningtogoon,filling the air with a pale glow. Bunches of familiar-looking white flowers hung frombasketsonthewalls,fillingtheairwiththeirspicysmells.Darkgoldfire-runesburnedonthedoorsofthehousesshepassed;therunesspokeofvictoryandrejoicing.

TherewereShadowhunters out in the streets.Nonewerewearinggear—theywere in avariety of finery, from themodern towhat bordered on historical costumery. Itwas anunusuallywarmnight,sofewpeoplewerewearingcoats,buttherewereplentyofwomeninwhatlookedtoClarylikeballgowns,theirfullskirtssweepingthestreets.AslimdarkfigurecutacrosstheroadaheadofherassheturnedontotheLightwoods’street,andshesaw that itwasRaphael, hand in handwith a tall dark-hairedwoman in a red cocktaildress.Heglancedoverhis shoulderandsmiledatClary,a smile that senta little shiverover her, and she thought that it was true that there really was something alien aboutDownworlders sometimes, something alien and frightening. Perhaps it was just thateverythingthatwasfrighteningwasn’tnecessarilyalsobad.

Although,shehadherdoubtsaboutRaphael.

ThefrontdooroftheLightwoods’housewasopen,andseveralofthefamilywerealready

standingout on the pavement.Maryse andRobertLightwoodwere there, chattingwithtwo other adults; when they turned, Clary saw with slight surprise that it was thePenhallows,Aline’sparents.Maryse smiledatherpast them; shewaselegant in adarkbluesilksuit,herhairtiedbackfromherseverefacewithathicksilverband.ShelookedlikeIsabelle—somuchsothatClarywantedtoreachoutandputahandonhershoulder.Maryse still seemed so sad, even as she smiled, andClary thought,She’s rememberingMax,justlikeIsabellewas,andthinkinghowmuchhewouldhavelikedallthis.

“Clary!”Isabelleboundeddownthefrontsteps,herdarkhairflyingbehindher.Shewaswearingneitherof theoutfitsshe’dshowedtoClaryearlier,butan incrediblegoldsatindress that hugged her body like the closed petals of a flower. Her shoes were spikedsandals,andClaryrememberedwhatIsabellehadoncesaidabouthowshelikedherheels,andlaughedtoherself.“Youlookfantastic.”

“Thanks.”Clary tugged a little self-consciously at thediaphanousmaterial of the silverdress.Itwasprobablythegirliestthingshe’deverworn.Itlefthershouldersuncovered,andeverytimeshefelttheendsofherhairticklethebareskinthere,shehadtoquelltheurgetohuntforacardiganorhoodietowrapherselfin.“Youtoo.”

Isabellebentovertowhisperinherear.“Jaceisn’there.”

Clarypulledback.“Thenwhere—?”

“Alecsayshemightbeat thesquare,wherethefireworksaregoingtobe.I’msorry—Ihavenoideawhat’supwithhim.”

Claryshrugged,tryingtohideherdisappointment.“It’sokay.”

Alec andAline tumbledout of thehouse after Isabelle,Aline in a bright reddress thatmadeherhair lookshockinglyblack.Alechaddressed likeheusuallydid, inasweateranddarkpants,thoughClaryhadtoadmitthatatleastthesweaterdidn’tappeartohaveanyvisibleholesinit.HesmiledatClary,andshethought,withsurprise,thatactuallyhedidlookdifferent.Lightersomehow,asifaweightwereoffhisshoulders.

“I’veneverbeentoacelebrationthathadDownworldersatitbefore,”saidAline,lookingnervouslydownthestreet,whereafaeriegirlwhoselonghairwasbraidedwithflowers—no, Clary thought, her hair was flowers, connected by delicate green tendrils—wasplucking some of the white blossoms out of a hanging basket, looking at themthoughtfully,andeatingthem.

“You’ll love it,” Isabelle said. “They know how to party.” Shewaved good-bye to herparentsandtheysetofftowardtheplaza,Clarystillfightingtheurgetocoverthetophalfofherbodybycrossingherarmsoverherchest.Thedressswirledoutaroundherfeetlikesmokecurlingonthewind.ShethoughtofthesmokethathadrisenoverAlicanteearlierthatday,andshivered.

“Hey!”Isabellesaid,andClarylookeduptoseeSimonandMaiacomingtowardthemup

the street. She hadn’t seen Simon formost of the day; he’d gone down to theHall toobserve the preliminary Council meeting because, he said, he was curious who they’dchoosetoholdthevampires’Councilseat.Clarycouldn’timagineMaiawearinganythingasgirlyasadress,andindeedshewascladinlow-slungcamopantsandablackT-shirtthatsaidCHOOSEYOURWEAPONandhadadesignofdiceunderthewords.Itwasagamer tee,Clary thought,wondering ifMaiawas really agamerorwaswearing theT-shirt to impressSimon. If so, itwas a good choice. “Youheadingbackdown toAngelSquare?”

MaiaandSimonacknowledgedthattheywere,andtheyheadedtowardtheHalltogetherin a companionable group.Simondroppedback to fall into stepbesideClary, and theywalkedtogetherinsilence.ItwasgoodjusttobeclosetoSimonagain—hehadbeenthefirstpersonshe’dwanted toseeonceshewasback inAlicante.She’dhuggedhimverytightly,gladhewasalive,andtouchedtheMarkonhisforehead.

“Diditsaveyou?”she’dasked,desperatetohearthatshehadn’tdonewhatshehadtohimfornoreason.

“Itsavedme,”wasallhe’dsaidinreply.

“Iwish I could take it off you,” she’d said. “Iwish I knewwhatmight happen to youbecauseofit.”

He’d takenholdofherwrist anddrawnherhandgentlybackdown toher side. “We’llwait,”he’dsaid.“Andwe’llsee.”

She’dbeenwatchinghimclosely,but shehad toadmit that theMarkdidn’t seem tobeaffectinghiminanyvisibleway.Heseemedjustashealwayshad.JustlikeSimon.Onlyhe’dtakentobrushinghishairslightlydifferently,tocovertheMark;ifyoudidn’talreadyknowitwasthere,you’dneverguess.

“Howwas themeeting?” Clary asked him now, giving him a once-over to see if he’ddressedup for thecelebration.Hehadn’t,but shehardlyblamedhim—the jeansandT-shirthehadonwereallhehadtowear.“Who’dtheychoose?”

“NotRaphael,”Simonsaid,soundingasifhewerepleasedaboutit.“Someothervampire.Hehadapretentiousname.Nightshadeorsomething.”

“Youknow, theyaskedme if Iwanted todraw the symbolof theNewCouncil,”Clarysaid.“It’sanhonor.IsaidI’ddoit.It’sgoingtohavetheruneoftheCouncilsurroundedbythesymbolsofthefourDownworlderfamilies.Amoonforthewerewolves,andIwasthinkingafour-leafcloverforthefaeries.Aspellbookforthewarlocks.ButIcan’tthinkofanythingforthevampires.”

“Howaboutafang?”Simonsuggested.“Maybedrippingblood.”Hebaredhisteeth.

“Thankyou,”Clarysaid.“That’sveryhelpful.”

“I’m glad they asked you,” Simon said, more seriously. “You deserve the honor. Youdeserveamedal,really,forwhatyoudid.TheAllianceruneandeverything.”

Claryshrugged.“Idon’tknow.Imean,thebattlebarelywentonfortenminutes,afterallthat.Idon’tknowhowmuchIhelped.”

“Iwasinthatbattle,Clary,”Simonsaid.“Itmayhavebeenabouttenminuteslong,butitwastheworsttenminutesofmylife.AndIdon’treallywanttotalkaboutit.ButIwillsaythateveninthattenminutes,therewouldhavebeenalotmoredeathifithadn’tbeenfor you.Besides, the battlewas only part of it. If youhadn’t donewhat you did, therewouldbenoNewCouncil.WewouldbeShadowhuntersandDownworlders,hatingeachother,insteadofShadowhuntersandDownworlders,goingtoapartytogether.”

Claryfeltalumprisinginherthroatandstaredstraightahead,willingherselfnottotearup.“Thanks,Simon.”Shehesitated,sobrieflythatnoonewhowasn’tSimonwouldhavenoticedit.Buthedid.

“What’swrong?”heaskedher.

“I’m justwonderingwhatwe dowhenwe get back home,” she said. “Imean, I knowMagnus tookcareofyourmomsoshehasn’tbeenfreakingout thatyou’regone,but—school.We’vemissedatonofit.AndIdon’tevenknow…”

“You’re not going back,” Simon said quietly. “You think I don’t know that? You’re aShadowhunternow.You’llfinishupyoureducationattheInstitute.”

“Andwhataboutyou?You’reavampire.Areyoujustgoingtogobacktohighschool?”

“Yeah,”Simonsaid,surprisingher.“Iam.Iwantanormallife,asmuchasIcanhaveone.Iwanthighschool,andcollege,andallofthat.”

She squeezed his hand. “Then you should have it.” She smiled up at him. “Of course,everyone’sgoingtofreakoutwhenyoushowupatschool.”

“Freakout?Why?”

“Becauseyou’resomuchhotternowthanwhenyouleft.”Sheshrugged.“It’strue.Mustbeavampirething.”

Simonlookedbaffled.“I’mhotternow?”

“Sureyouare.Imean,lookatthosetwo.They’rebothtotallyintoyou.”Shepointedtoafewfeetinfrontofthem,whereIsabelleandMaiahadmovedtowalksidebyside,theirheadsbenttogether.

Simonlookedupaheadatthegirls.Clarycouldalmostswearhewasblushing.“Arethey?Sometimestheygettogetherandwhisperandstareatme.Ihavenoideawhatit’sabout.”

“Sureyoudon’t.”Clarygrinned.“Pooryou,youhavetwocutegirlsvyingforyourlove.Yourlifeishard.”

“Fine.Youtellmewhichonetochoose,then.”

“Noway.That’sonyou.”Sheloweredhervoiceagain.“Look,youcandatewhoeveryouwantandIwilltotallysupportyou.Iamallaboutsupport.Supportismymiddlename.”

“So that’s why you never told me your middle name. I figured it was somethingembarrassing.”

Claryignoredthis.“Butjustpromisemesomething,okay?Iknowhowgirlsget.Iknowhow they hate their boyfriends having a best friendwho’s a girl. Just promiseme youwon’tcutmeoutofyourlifetotally.Thatwecanstillhangoutsometimes.”

“Sometimes?”Simonshookhishead.“Clary,you’recrazy.”

Herheartsank.“Youmean…”

“ImeanthatIwouldneverdateagirlwhoinsistedthatIcutyououtofmylife.It’snon-negotiable.Youwantapieceofallthisfabulousness?”Hegesturedathimself.“Well,mybestfriendcomesalongwithit.Iwouldn’tcutyououtofmylife,Clary,anymorethanIwouldcutoffmyrighthandandgiveittosomeoneasaValentine’sDaygift.”

“Gross,”saidClary.“Mustyou?”

Hegrinned.“Imust.”

Angel Squarewas almost unrecognizable. TheHall glowedwhite at the far end of theplaza,partlyobscuredbyanelaborateforestofhugetreesthathadsprungupinthecenterof the square. They were clearly the product of magic—although, Clary thought,rememberingMagnus’sabilitytowhiskfurnitureandcupsofcoffeeacrossManhattanatthe blink of an eye,maybe theywere real, if transplanted. The trees rose nearly to theheight of the demon towers, their silvery trunks wrapped with ribbons, colored lightscaught in the whispering green nets of their branches. The square smelled of whiteflowers,smoke,andleaves.Allarounditsedgeswereplacedtablesandlongbenches,andgroups of Shadowhunters and Downworlders crowded around them, laughing anddrinkingandtalking.Yetdespitethelaughter,therewasasombernessmixedwiththeairofcelebration—apresentsorrowsidebysidewithjoy.

The stores that lined the squarehad theirdoors thrownopen, light spillingoutonto thepavement.Partygoers streamedby,carryingplatesof foodand long-stemmedglassesofwineandbrightlycolored liquids.Simonwatchedakelpieskippast,carryingaglassofbluefluid,andraisedaneyebrow.

“It’snotlikeMagnus’sparty,”Isabellereassuredhim.“Everythinghereoughttobesafetodrink.”

“Oughttobe?”Alinelookedworried.

Alecglancedtowardthemini-forest,thecoloredlightsreflectingintheblueirisesofhiseyes.Magnusstoodintheshadowofatree,talkingtoagirlinawhitedresswithacloudofpalebrownhair.SheturnedasMagnuslookedtowardthem,andClarylockedeyeswithherforamomentacross thedistancethatseparatedthem.Therewassomethingfamiliarabouther,thoughClarycouldn’thavesaidwhatitwas.

Magnusbrokeawayandcametowardthem,andthegirlhe’dbeentalkingtoslippedintotheshadowsof the treesandwasgone.HewasdressedlikeaVictoriangentleman, inalongblack frockcoatoveraviolet silkvest.AsquarepockethandkerchiefembroideredwiththeinitialsM.B.protrudedfromhisvestpocket.

“Nicevest,”saidAlecwithasmile.

“Would you like one exactly like it?” Magnus inquired. “In any color you prefer, ofcourse.”

“Idon’treallycareaboutclothes,”Alexprotested.

“And I love thataboutyou,”Magnusannounced,“though Iwouldalso loveyou ifyouowned,perhaps,onedesignersuit.Whatdoyousay?Dolce?Zegna?Armani?”

AlecsputteredasIsabellelaughed,andMagnustooktheopportunitytoleanclosetoClaryandwhisperinherear.“TheAccordsHallsteps.Go.”

Shewantedtoaskhimwhathemeant,buthe’dalreadyturnedbacktoAlecandtheothers.Besides, she had a feeling she knew. She squeezed Simon’swrist as shewent, and heturnedtosmileatherbeforereturningtohisconversationwithMaia.

Shecutthroughtheedgeoftheglamourforesttocrossthesquare,weavinginandoutoftheshadows.ThetreesreacheduptothefootoftheHallstairs,whichwasprobablywhythe steps were almost deserted. Though not entirely. Glancing toward the doors, Clarycould make out a familiar dark outline, seated in the shadow of a pillar. Her heartquickened.

Jace.

Shehadtogatherherskirtupinherhandstoclimbthestairs,afraidshe’dsteponandtearthe delicate material. She almost wished she had worn her normal clothes as sheapproachedJace,whowassittingwithhisbacktoapillar,staringoutoverthesquare.Heworehismostmundaneclothes—jeans,awhiteshirt,andadarkjacketoverthem.Andforalmostthefirsttimesinceshe’dmethim,shethought,hedidn’tseemtobecarryinganyweapons.

She abruptly felt overdressed. She stopped a slight distance away from him, suddenlyunsurewhattosay.

Asifsensingherthere,Jacelookedup.Hewasholdingsomethingbalancedinhislap,shesaw,asilverybox.Helookedtired.Therewereshadowsunderhiseyes,andhispalegoldhairwasuntidy.Hiseyeswidened.“Clary?”

“Whoelsewoulditbe?”

Hedidn’tsmile.“Youdon’tlooklikeyou.”

“It’s the dress.” She smoothed her hands down the material self-consciously. “I don’tusuallywearthingsthis…pretty.”

“Youalways lookbeautiful,”hesaid,andsheremembered thefirst timehe’dcalledherbeautiful,inthegreenhouseattheInstitute.Hehadn’tsaiditlikeitwasacompliment,butjustasifitwereanacceptedfact,likethefactthatshehadredhairandlikedtodraw.“Butyoulook—distant.LikeIcouldn’ttouchyou.”

Shecameover thenandsatdownnext tohimonthewidetopstep.Thestonewascoldthrough thematerialofherdress.Sheheldherhandout tohim; itwasshakingslightly,justenoughtobevisible.“Touchme,”shesaid.“Ifyouwantto.”

Hetookherhandandlaiditagainsthischeekforamoment.Thenhesetitbackdowninher lap.Clary shivered a little, rememberingAline’swords back in Isabelle’s bedroom.Maybehe’snot interestedanymore,now that it’snot forbidden.Hehad saidshe lookeddistant,buttheexpressioninhiseyeswasasremoteasafarawaygalaxy.

“What’sinthebox?”sheasked.Hewasstillclutchingthesilverrectangletightlyinonehand.Itwasanexpensive-lookingobject,delicatelycarvedwithapatternofbirds.

“IwenttoAmatis’searliertoday,lookingforyou,”hesaid.“Butyouweren’tthere.SoItalkedtoAmatis.Shegavemethis.”Heindicatedthebox.“Itbelongedtomyfather.”

For a moment she just looked at him uncomprehendingly. This was Valentine’s? shethought, and then, with a jolt, No, that’s not what he means. “Of course,” she said.“AmatiswasmarriedtoStephenHerondale.”

“I’vebeengoingthroughit,”hesaid.“Readingtheletters,thejournalpages.IthoughtifIdidthat,Imightfeelsomesortofconnectiontohim.Somethingthatwouldleapoffthepagesatme,saying,Yes,thisisyourfather.ButIdon’tfeelanything.Justbitsofpaper.Anyonecouldhavewrittenthesethings.”

“Jace,”shesaidsoftly.

“Andthat’sanotherthing,”hesaid.“Idon’thaveanameanymore,doI?I’mnotJonathanChristopher—thatwassomeoneelse.Butit’sthenameI’musedto.”

“WhocameupwithJaceasanickname?Didyoucomeupwithityourself?”

Jace shook his head. “No. Valentine always called me Jonathan. And that’s what theycalledmewhen I firstgot to the Institute. Iwasnever supposed to thinkmynamewasJonathanChristopher,youknow—thatwasanaccident.Igotthenameoutofmyfather’sjournal,butitwasn’tmehewastalkingabout.Itwasn’tmyprogresshewasrecording.ItwasSeb—ItwasJonathan’s.SothefirsttimeIevertoldMarysethatmymiddlenamewasChristopher,shetoldherselfthatshe’djustrememberedwrong,andChristopherhadbeenMichael’s son’s middle name. It had been ten years, after all. But that was when shestarted callingme Jace: Itwas like shewanted togivemeanewname, something thatbelonged to her, tomy life inNewYork.And I liked it. I’d never liked Jonathan.”Heturnedtheboxoverinhishands.“IwonderifmaybeMaryseknew,orguessed,butjustdidn’twanttoknow.Shelovedme…andshedidn’twanttobelieveit.”

“Which is why she was so upset when she found out youwere Valentine’s son,” saidClary. “Because she thought she ought to have known. She kind of did know.Butweneverdowanttobelievethingslikethataboutpeoplewelove.And,Jace,shewasrightaboutyou.Shewasrightaboutwhoyoureallyare.Andyoudohaveaname.YournameisJace.Valentinedidn’tgivethatnametoyou.Marysedid.Theonlythingthatmakesanameimportant,andyours,isthatit’sgiventoyoubysomeonewholovesyou.”

“Jacewhat?”hesaid.“JaceHerondale?”

“Oh,please,”shesaid.“You’reJaceLightwood.Youknowthat.”

He raised his eyes to hers.His lashes shadowed them thickly, darkening the gold. Shethoughthelookedalittlelessremote,thoughperhapsshewasimaginingit.

“Maybe you’re a different person than you thought you were,” she went on, hopingagainsthopethatheunderstoodwhatshemeant.“Butnoonebecomesatotallydifferentpersonovernight. Just findingout thatStephenwasyourbiological father isn’tgoing toautomatically make you love him. And you don’t have to. Valentine wasn’t your realfather,butnotbecauseyoudon’thavehisbloodinyourveins.Hewasn’tyourrealfatherbecause he didn’t act like a father. He didn’t take care of you. It’s always been theLightwoodswhohavetakencareofyou.They’reyourfamily.JustlikeMomandLukearemine.”Shereachedtotouchhisshoulder,thendrewherhandback.“I’msorry,”shesaid.“HereIamlecturingyou,andyouprobablycameupheretobealone.”

“You’reright,”hesaid.

Clary felt thebreathgooutofher.“All right, then. I’llgo.”Shestoodup, forgetting toholdherdressup,andnearlysteppedonthehem.

“Clary!”Settingtheboxdown,Jacescrambledtohisfeet.“Clary,wait.Thatwasn’twhatImeant.Ididn’tmeanIwantedtobealone.ImeantyouwererightaboutValentine—abouttheLightwoods—”

She turnedand lookedathim.Hewasstandinghalf inandhalfoutof theshadows, thebright, colored lights of the party below casting strange patterns across his skin. Shethoughtofthefirsttimeshe’dseenhim.She’dthoughthelookedlikealion.Beautifulanddeadly.He lookeddifferent tohernow.Thathard,defensivecasinghewore like armorwasgone,andheworehisinjuriesinstead,visiblyandproudly.Hehadn’tevenusedhissteletotakeawaythebruisesonhisface,alongthelineofhisjaw,athisthroatwheretheskinshowedabovethecollarofhisshirt.Buthelookedbeautiful toherstill,morethanbefore,becausenowheseemedhuman—human,andreal.

“Youknow,”shesaid,“Alinesaidmaybeyouwouldn’tbeinterestedanymore.Nowthatitisn’tforbidden.Nowthatyoucouldbewithmeifyouwantedto.”Sheshiveredalittleinthe flimsy dress, gripping her elbows with her hands. “Is that true? Are you not…interested?”

“Interested?Asifyouwerea—abook,orapieceofnews?No,I’mnotinterested.I’m—”Hebrokeoff,gropingforthewordthewaysomeonemightgropeforalightswitchinthedark.“DoyourememberwhatIsaidtoyoubefore?Aboutfeelinglikethefact thatyouweremysisterwasasortofcosmicjokeonme?Onbothofus?”

“Iremember.”

“Ineverbelievedit,”hesaid.“Imean,Ibelieveditinaway—Iletitdrivemetodespair,butIneverfeltit.Neverfeltyouweremysister.BecauseIdidn’tfeelaboutyouthewayyou’resupposedtofeelaboutyoursister.Butthatdidn’tmeanIdidn’tfeellikeyouwereapart ofme. I’ve always felt that.” Seeing her puzzled expression, he broke offwith animpatientnoise.“I’mnotsayingthisright.Clary,IhatedeverysecondthatIthoughtyouweremysister.IhatedeverymomentthatIthoughtwhatIfeltforyoumeanttherewassomethingwrongwithme.But—”

“Butwhat?”Clary’sheartwasbeatingsohard itwasmakingher feelmore thana littledizzy.

“IcouldseethedelightValentinetookinthewayIfeltaboutyou.Thewayyoufeltaboutme.Heuseditasaweaponagainstus.Andthatmademehatehim.Morethananythingelsehe’deverdonetome,thatmademehatehim,anditmademeturnagainsthim,andmaybethat’swhatIneededtodo.BecausethereweretimesIdidn’tknowifIwantedtofollow him or not. It was a hard choice—harder than I like to remember.” His voicesoundedtight.

“I askedyou if I had a choiceonce,”Clary remindedhim. “Andyou said, ‘Wealwayshavechoices.’YouchoseagainstValentine.Intheendthatwasthechoiceyoumade,anditdoesn’tmatterhowharditwastomakeit.Itmattersthatyoudid.”

“Iknow,”Jacesaid.“I’mjustsayingthatIthinkIchosethewayIdidinpartbecauseofyou.Since I’vemet you, everything I’ve donehas been in part because of you. I can’tuntiemyselffromyou,Clary—notmyheartormybloodormymindoranyotherpartofme.AndIdon’twantto.”

“Youdon’t?”shewhispered.

Hetookasteptowardher.Hisgazewasfastenedonherface,asifhecouldn’tlookaway.“Ialwaysthoughtlovemadeyoustupid.Madeyouweak.AbadShadowhunter.Toloveistodestroy.Ibelievedthat.”

Shebitherlip,butshecouldn’tlookawayfromhim,either.

“Iusedtothinkbeingagoodwarriormeantnotcaring,”hesaid.“Aboutanything,myselfespecially.ItookeveryriskIcould.Iflungmyselfinthepathofdemons.IthinkIgaveAlecacomplexaboutwhatkindoffighterhewas,justbecausehewantedtolive.”Jacesmiledunevenly.“AndthenImetyou.Youwereamundane.Weak.Notafighter.Nevertrained.AndthenIsawhowmuchyoulovedyourmother,lovedSimon,andhowyou’dwalkintohelltosavethem.Youdidwalkintothatvampirehotel.Shadowhunterswithadecadeofexperiencewouldn’thavetriedthat.Lovedidn’tmakeyouweak,itmadeyoustrongerthananyoneI’devermet.AndIrealizedIwastheonewhowasweak.”

“No.”Shewasshocked.“You’renot.”

“Maybenotanymore.”Hetookanotherstep,andnowhewascloseenoughtotouchher.“Valentine couldn’t believe I’dkilled Jonathan,” he said. “Couldn’t believe it because Iwastheweakone,andJonathanwastheonewithmoretraining.Byallrightsheprobablyshouldhavekilledme.Henearlydid.ButIthoughtofyou—Isawyouthere,clearly,asifyouwere standing in frontofme,watchingme, and Iknew Iwanted to live,wanted itmorethanI’deverwantedanything,ifonlysothatIcouldseeyourfaceonemoretime.”

Shewishedshecouldmove,wishedshecouldreachoutandtouchhim,butshecouldn’t.Herarmsfeltfrozenathersides.Hisfacewasclosetohers,soclosethatshecouldseeherownreflectioninthepupilsofhiseyes.

“AndnowI’mlookingatyou,”hesaid,“andyou’reaskingmeifIstillwantyou,asifIcouldstoplovingyou.AsifIwouldwanttogiveupthethingthatmakesmestrongerthananything else ever has. I never dared give much of myself to anyone before—bits ofmyselftotheLightwoods,toIsabelleandAlec,butittookyearstodoit—but,Clary,sincethefirsttimeIsawyou,Ihavebelongedtoyoucompletely.Istilldo.Ifyouwantme.”

For a split second longer she stoodmotionless. Then, somehow, she had caught at thefrontofhisshirtandpulledhimtowardher.Hisarmswentaroundher,liftingheralmostoutofhersandals,andthenhewaskissingher—orshewaskissinghim,shewasn’tsure,and it didn’tmatter. The feel of hismouth on herswas electric; her hands gripped hisarms,pullinghimhardagainsther.Thefeelofhisheartpoundingthroughhisshirtmadeherdizzywithjoy.Nooneelse’sheartbeatlikeJace’sdid,orevercould.

He let her go at last and she gasped—she’d forgotten to breathe. He cupped her facebetween his hands, tracing the curve of her cheekboneswith his fingers.The lightwasbackinhiseyes,asbrightasithadbeenbythelake,butnowtherewasawickedsparkletoit.“There,”hesaid.“Thatwasn’tsobad,wasit,eventhoughitwasn’tforbidden?”

“I’vehadworse,”shesaid,withashakylaugh.

“Youknow,”hesaid,bendingtobrushhismouthacrosshers,“ifit’sthelackofforbiddenyou’reworriedabout,youcouldstillforbidmetodothings.”

“Whatkindsofthings?”

Shefelthimsmileagainsthermouth.“Thingslikethis.”

Aftersometimetheycamedownthestairsandintothesquare,whereacrowdhadbeguntogatherinanticipationofthefireworks.Isabelleandtheothershadfoundatablenearthecorner of the square and were crowded around it on benches and chairs. As theyapproachedthegroup,ClarypreparedtodrawherhandoutofJace’s—andthenstoppedherself.Theycouldholdhandsif theywantedto.Therewasnothingwrongwithit.Thethoughtalmosttookherbreathaway.

“You’rehere!” Isabelledancedup to them indelight, carryingaglassof fuchsia liquid,whichshethrustatClary.“Havesomeofthis!”

Clarysquintedatit.“Isitgoingtoturnmeintoarodent?”

“Where is the trust? I think it’s strawberry juice,” Isabelle said. “Anyway, it’s yummy.Jace?”Sheofferedhimtheglass.

“I am a man,” he told her, “andmen do not consume pink beverages. Get thee gone,woman,andbringmesomethingbrown.”

“Brown?”Isabellemadeaface.

“Brownisamanlycolor,”saidJace,andyankedonastraylockofIsabelle’shairwithhisfreehand.“Infact,look—Aleciswearingit.”

Aleclookedmournfullydownathissweater.“Itwasblack,”hesaid.“Butthenitfaded.”

“You could dress it up with a sequined headband,” Magnus suggested, offering hisboyfriendsomethingblueandsparkly.“Justathought.”

“Resist the urge,Alec.”Simonwas sittingon the edgeof a lowwallwithMaiabesidehim,thoughsheappearedtobedeepinconversationwithAline.“You’lllooklikeOliviaNewton-JohninXanadu.”

“Thereareworsethings,”Magnusobserved.

SimondetachedhimselffromthewallandcameovertoClaryandJace.Withhishandsinthebackpocketsofhisjeans,heregardedthemthoughtfullyforalongmoment.Atlasthe

spoke.

“Youlookhappy,”hesaidtoClary.HeswiveledhisgazetoJace.“Andagoodthingforyouthatshedoes.”

Jace raisedaneyebrow.“Is this thepartwhereyou tellme that if Ihurther,you’llkillme?”

“No,”saidSimon.“IfyouhurtClary,she’squitecapableofkillingyouherself.Possiblywithavarietyofweapons.”

Jacelookedpleasedbythethought.

“Look,”Simonsaid. “I justwanted to say that it’sokay ifyoudislikeme. IfyoumakeClaryhappy,I’mfinewithyou.”Hestuckhishandout,andJacetookhisownhandoutofClary’sandshookSimon’s,abemusedlookonhisface.

“Idon’tdislikeyou,”hesaid.“Infact,becauseIactuallydolikeyou,I’mgoingtoofferyousomeadvice.”

“Advice?”Simonlookedwary.

“Iseethatyouareworkingthisvampireanglewithsomesuccess,”Jacesaid, indicatingIsabelleandMaiawithanodofhishead.“Andkudos.Lotsofgirls love thatsensitive-undeadthing.ButI’ddropthatwholemusicianangleifIwereyou.Vampirerockstarsareplayedout,andbesides,youcan’tpossiblybeverygood.”

Simon sighed. “Idon’t suppose there’s anychanceyoucould reconsider thepartwhereyoudidn’tlikeme?”

“Enough,bothofyou,”Clarysaid.“Youcan’tbecompletejerkstoeachotherforever,youknow.”

“Technically,”saidSimon,“Ican.”

Jacemade an inelegant noise; after amoment Clary realized that hewas trying not tolaugh,andonlysemi-succeeding.

Simongrinned.“Gotyou.”

“Well,”Clary said. “This is a beautifulmoment.” She looked around for Isabelle,whowouldprobablybenearlyaspleasedasshewasthatSimonandJaceweregettingalong,albeitintheirownpeculiarway.

Insteadshesawsomeoneelse.

Standingattheveryedgeoftheglamouredforest,whereshadowblendedintolight,wasaslenderwomaninagreendressthecolorofleaves,herlongscarlethairboundbackbya

goldencirclet.

TheSeelieQueen.ShewaslookingdirectlyatClary,andasClarymethergaze,sheliftedupaslenderhandandbeckoned.Come.

Whether itwasherowndesireor thestrangecompulsionof theFairFolk,Clarywasn’tsure,butwithamurmuredexcuseshesteppedawayfromtheothersandmadeherwaytotheedgeoftheforest,wendingherwaythroughriotouspartygoers.Shebecameaware,asshedrewclosetotheQueen,ofapreponderanceoffaeriesstandingverynearthem,inacirclearoundtheirLady.Evenifshewantedtoappearalone,theQueenwasnotwithouthercourtiers.

TheQueenheldupanimperioushand.“There,”shesaid.“Andnocloser.”

Clary,afewstepsfromtheQueen,paused.“Mylady,”shesaid,rememberingtheformalway that Jace had addressed theQueen inside her court. “Whydo you callme to yourside?”

“Iwould have a favor fromyou,” said theQueenwithout preamble. “And of course, Iwouldpromiseafavorinreturn.”

“Afavorfromme?”Clarysaidwonderingly.“But—youdon’tevenlikeme.”

TheQueentouchedherlipsthoughtfullywithasinglelongwhitefinger.“TheFairFolk,unlikehumans,donotconcernthemselvesovermuchwithliking.Love,perhaps,andhate.Bothareusefulemotions.Butliking…”Sheshruggedelegantly.“TheCouncilhasnotyetchosenwhichofour folk theywould like to situpon their seat,” shesaid.“Iknow thatLucianGraymarkislikeafathertoyou.Hewouldlistentowhatyouaskedhim.IwouldlikeyoutoaskhimiftheywouldchoosemyknightMeliornforthetask.”

ClarythoughtbacktotheAccordsHall,andMeliornsayinghedidnotwanttofightinthebattleunlesstheNightChildrenfoughtaswell.“Idon’tthinkLukelikeshimverymuch.”

“Andagain,”saidtheQueen,“youspeakofliking.”

“WhenIsawyoubefore,intheSeelieCourt,”Clarysaid,“youcalledJaceandmebrotherandsister.Butyouknewweweren’treallybrotherandsister.Didn’tyou?”

The Queen smiled. “The same blood runs in your veins,” she said. “The blood of theAngel.AllthosewhobeartheAngel’sbloodarebrotherandsisterundertheskin.”

Claryshivered.“Youcouldhavetoldusthetruth,though.Andyoudidn’t.”

“ItoldyouthetruthasIsawit.Wealltellthetruthasweseeit,dowenot?Didyoueverstoptowonderwhatuntruthsmighthavebeeninthetaleyourmothertoldyou,thatservedher purpose in telling it? Do you truly think you know each and every secret of yourpast?”

Claryhesitated.Withoutknowingwhy,shesuddenlyheardMadameDorothea’svoiceinherhead.Youwill fall in lovewith thewrongperson, thehedge-witchhad said to Jace.Clary had come to assume thatDorothea had only been referring to howmuch troubleJace’saffectionforClarywouldbringthemboth.Butstill,therewereblanks,sheknew,inher memory—even now, things, events, that had not come back to her. Secrets whosetruthsshe’dneverknow.Shehadgiventhemupforlostandunimportant,butperhaps—

No. She felt her hands tighten at her sides. The Queen’s poison was a subtle one, butpowerful.Wasthereanyoneintheworldwhocouldtrulysaytheykneweverysecretaboutthemselves?Andweren’tsomesecretsbetterleftalone?

Sheshookherhead.“WhatyoudidintheCourt,”shesaid.“Perhapsyoudidn’tlie.Butyouwereunkind.”Shestartedtoturnaway.“AndIhavehadenoughunkindness.”

“Would you truly refuse a favor from the Queen of the Seelie Court?” the Queendemanded.“Noteverymortalisgrantedsuchachance.”

“Idon’tneedafavorfromyou,”Clarysaid.“IhaveeverythingIwant.”

SheturnedherbackontheQueenandwalkedaway.

Whenshereturnedtothegroupshehadleft,shediscoveredthattheyhadbeenjoinedbyRobert andMaryseLightwood,whowere—she sawwith surprise—shaking handswithMagnus Bane, who had put the sparkly headband away and was being the model ofdecorum.MarysehadherarmaroundAlec’sshoulder.Therestofherfriendsweresittinginagroupalongthewall;Clarywasabouttomovetojointhem,whenshefeltataponhershoulder.

“Clary!”Itwashermother,smilingather—andLukestoodbesideher,hishandinhers.Jocelynwasn’t dressed up at all; shewore jeans, and a loose shirt that at least wasn’tstainedwithpaint.Youcouldn’thavetoldfromthewayLukewaslookingather,though,thatshelookedanythinglessthanperfect.“I’mgladwefinallyfoundyou.”

ClarygrinnedatLuke.“Soyou’renotmovingtoIdris,Itakeit?”

“Nah,”hesaid.Helookedashappyasshe’deverseenhim.“Thepizzahereisterrible.”

Jocelyn laughed and moved off to talk to Amatis, who was admiring a floating glassbubblefilledwithsmokethatkeptchangingcolors.ClarylookedatLuke.“WereyoueveractuallygoingtoleaveNewYork,orwereyoujustsayingthattogethertofinallymakeamove?”

“Clary,”saidLuke,“Iamshockedthatyouwouldsuggestsuchathing.”Hegrinned,thenabruptlysobered.“You’reallrightwithit,aren’tyou?Iknowthismeansabigchangeinyour life—Iwas going to see if you andyourmothermightwant tomove inwithme,

sinceyourapartment’sunlivablerightnow—”

Clarysnorted.“Abigchange?Mylifehasalreadychangedtotally.Severaltimes.”

Lukeglancedover towardJace,whowaswatchingthemfromhisseatonthewall.Jacenoddedatthem,hismouthcurlingupatthecornerinanamusedsmile.“Iguessithas,”Lukesaid.

“Changeisgood,”saidClary.

Lukeheldhishandup; theAlliancerunehadfaded,as ithadforeveryone,buthisskinstill bore thewhite telltale trace of it, the scar thatwould never entirely disappear.HelookedthoughtfullyattheMark.“Soitis.”

“Clary!”Isabellecalledfromthewall.“Fireworks!”

ClaryhitLukelightlyontheshoulderandwenttojoinherfriends.Theywereseatedalongthewallinaline:Jace,Isabelle,Simon,Maia,andAline.ShestoppedbesideJace.“Idon’tseeanyfireworks,”shesaid,mock-scowlingatIsabelle.

“Patience,grasshopper,”saidMaia.“Goodthingscometothosewhowait.”

“Ialwaysthoughtthatwas‘Goodthingscometothosewhodothewave,’”saidSimon.“NowonderI’vebeensoconfusedallmylife.”

“‘Confused’ is a niceword for it,” said Jace, but hewas clearlyonly somewhat payingattention; he reached out and pulledClary toward him, almost absently, as if itwere areflex.Sheleanedbackagainsthisshoulder,lookingupatthesky.Nothinglittheheavensbutthedemontowers,glowingasoftsilver-whiteagainstthedarkness.

“Wheredidyougo?”heasked,quietlyenoughthatonlyshecouldhearthequestion.

“TheSeelieQueenwantedmetodoherafavor,”saidClary.“Andshewantedtodomeafavorinreturn.”ShefeltJacetense.“Relax.Itoldherno.”

“NotmanypeoplewouldturndownafavorfromtheSeelieQueen,”saidJace.

“ItoldherIdidn’tneedafavor,”saidClary.“ItoldherIhadeverythingIwanted.”

Jacelaughedatthat,softly,andslidhishandupherarmtohershoulder;hisfingersplayedidlywiththechainaroundherneck,andClaryglanceddownattheglintofsilveragainstherdress.ShehadworntheMorgensternringsinceJacehadleftitforher,andsometimesshewonderedwhy.DidshereallywanttoberemindedofValentine?Andyet,atthesametime,wasiteverrighttoforget?

Youcouldn’teraseeverythingthatcausedyoupainwithitsrecollection.Shedidn’twanttoforgetMaxorMadeleine,orHodge,ortheInquisitor,orevenSebastian.Everymemorywasvaluable;eventhebadones.Valentinehadwantedtoforget:toforgetthattheworld

had to change, andShadowhuntershad to changewith it—to forget thatDownworldershadsouls,andallsoulsmatteredtothefabricoftheworld.HehadwantedtothinkonlyofwhatmadeShadowhuntersdifferentfromDownworlders.Butwhathadbeenhisundoinghadbeenthewayinwhichtheywereallthesame.

“Clary,”Jacesaid,breakingheroutofherreverie.Hetightenedhisarmsaroundher,andsheraisedherhead;thecrowdwascheeringasthefirstoftherocketswentup.“Look.”

She looked as the fireworks exploded in a shower of sparks—sparks that painted theclouds overhead as they fell, one by one, in streaking lines of golden fire, like angelsfallingfromthesky.