RAISING HELL

Luke’s sister looked up, her blue eyes, so much like Luke’s, fastening on Clary. She seemed dizzied, shocked, her expression a little unfocused as if she’d been drugged. She tried to start to her feet, but Cartwright shoved her back down. Sebastian started toward them, the Cup in his hand.

Clary scrambled forward, but Jace caught her by the arm, pulling her back. She kicked at him, but he’d already swung her up into his arms, his hand over her mouth. Sebastian was speaking to Amatis in a low, hypnotic voice. She shook her head violently, but Cartwright caught her by her long hair and jerked her head back. Clary heard her cry out, a thin sound over the wind.

Clary thought of the night she’d stayed up watching Jace’s chest rise and fall, thinking how she could end all this with a single knife blow. But all this hadn’t had a face, a voice, a plan. Now that it wore Luke’s sister’s face, now that Clary knew the plan, it was too late.

Sebastian had one hand fisted in the back of Amatis’s hair, the Cup jammed against her mouth. As he forced the contents down her throat, she retched and coughed, black fluid dripping down her chin.

Sebastian yanked the Cup back, but it had done its work. Amatis made an awful hacking sound, her body jerking upright. Her eyes bulged, turning as dark as Sebastian’s. She slapped her hands over her face, a wail escaping her, and Clary saw in astonishment that the Voyance rune was fading from her hand – fading to pallor – and then it was gone.

Amatis dropped her hands. Her expression had smoothed and her eyes were blue again. They fastened on Sebastian.

“Release her, ” Clary’s brother said to Cartwright, his gaze on Amatis. “Let her come to me. ”

Cartwright snapped the chain binding him to Amatis and stepped back, a curious mixture of apprehension and fascination on his face.

Amatis remained still a moment, her hands lolling at her sides. Then she stood and walked over to Sebastian. She knelt before him, her hair brushing the dirt. “Master, ” she said. “How may I serve you? ”

“Rise, ” Sebastian said, and Amatis rose from the ground gracefully. She seemed to have a new way of moving, all of a sudden. All Shadowhunters were adroit, but she moved now with a silent grace that Clary found oddly chilling. She stood straight in front of Sebastian. For the first time Clary saw that what she had taken for a long white dress was a nightgown, as if she had been awakened and spirited out of bed. What a nightmare, to wake up here, among these hooded figures, in this bitter, abandoned place. “Come here to me, ” Sebastian beckoned, and Amatis stepped toward him. She was a head shorter than him at least, and she craned her head up as he whispered to her. A cold smile split her face.

Sebastian raised his hand. “Would you like to fight Cartwright? ”

Cartwright dropped the chain he had been holding, his hand going to his weapons belt through the gap in his cloak. He was a young man, with fairish hair, and a wide, square‑ jawed face. “But I–”

“Surely some demonstration of her power is in order, ” said Sebastian. “Come, Cartwright, she is a woman, and older than you are. Are you afraid? ”

Cartwright looked bewildered, but he drew a long dagger from his belt. “Jonathan–”

Sebastian’s eyes flashed. “Fight him, Amatis. ”

Her lips curved. “I would be delighted to, ” she said, and sprang. Her speed was astonishing. She leaped into the air and swung her foot forward, knocking the dagger from his grip. Clary watched in astonishment as she darted up his body, driving her knee into his stomach. He staggered back, and she slammed her head into his, spinning around his body to jerk him hard by the back of his robes, yanking him to the ground. He landed at her feet with a sickening crack, and groaned in pain.

“And that’s for dragging me out of my bed in the middle of the night, ” Amatis said, and wiped the back of her hand across her lip, which was bleeding slightly. A faint murmur of strained laughter went around the crowd.

“And there you see it, ” said Sebastian. “Even a Shadowhunter of no particular skill or strength – your pardon, Amatis – can become stronger, swifter, than their seraphically allied counterparts. ” He slammed one fist into the opposite palm. “Power. Real power. Who is ready for it? ”

There was a moment of hesitation, and then Cartwright stumbled to his feet, one hand curved protectively over his stomach. “I am, ” he said, shooting a venomous look at Amatis, who only smiled.

Sebastian held up the Infernal Cup. “Then, come forward. ”

Cartwright moved toward Sebastian, and as he did, the other Shadowhunters broke formation, surging toward the place where Sebastian stood, forming a ragged line. Amatis stood serenely to the side, her hands folded. Clary stared at her, willing the older woman to look at her. It was Luke’s sister. If things had gone as planned, she would have been Clary’s step‑ aunt now.

Amatis. Clary thought of her small canal house in Idris, the way she had been so kind, the way she had loved Jace’s father so much. Please look at me, she thought. Please show me you’re still yourself. As if Amatis had heard her silent prayer, she raised her head and looked directly at Clary.

And smiled. Not a kind smile or a reassuring smile. Her smile was dark and cold and quietly amused. It was the smile of someone who would watch you drown, Clary thought, and not lift a finger to help. It was not Amatis’s smile. It was not Amatis at all. Amatis was gone.

Jace had taken his hand from her mouth, but she felt no desire to scream. No one here would help her, and the person standing with his arms around her, prisoning her with his body, wasn’t Jace. The way that clothes retained the shape of their owner even if they had not been worn for years, or a pillow kept the outline of the head of the person who had once slept there even if they were long dead, that was all he was. An empty shell she had filled with her wishes and love and dreams.

And in doing so she had done the real Jace a terrible wrong. In her quest to save him, she had almost forgotten who she was saving. And she remembered what he had said to her during those few moments when he had been himself. I hate the thought of him being with you. Him. That other me. Jace had known they were two different people – that himself with the soul scraped out wasn’t himself at all.

He had tried to turn himself over to the Clave, and she hadn’t let him. She hadn’t listened to what he’d wanted. She had made the choice for him – in a moment of flight and panic, but she had made it – not realizing that her Jace would rather die than be like this, and that she’d been not so much saving his life as damning him to an existence he would despise.

She sagged against him, and Jace, taking her sudden shift as an indicator that she wasn’t fighting him anymore, loosened his grip on her. The last of the Shadowhunters was in front of Sebastian, reaching eagerly for the Infernal Cup as he held it out. “Clary–, ” Jace began.

She never found out what he would have said. There was a cry, and the Shadowhunter reaching for the Cup staggered back, an arrow in his throat. In disbelief Clary whipped her head around and saw, standing on top of the stone dolmen, Alec, in gear, holding his bow. He grinned in satisfaction and reached back over his shoulder for another arrow.

And then, coming from behind him, the rest of them poured out onto the plain. A pack of wolves, running low to the ground, their brindled fur shining in the variegated light. Maia and Jordan were among them, she guessed. Behind them walked familiar Shadowhunters in an unbroken line: Isabelle and Maryse Lightwood, Helen Blackthorn and Aline Penhallow, and Jocelyn, her red hair visible even at a distance. With them was Simon, the hilt of a silver sword protruding over the curve of his shoulder, and Magnus, hands crackling with blue fire.

Her heart leaped in her chest. “I’m here! ” she called out to them. “I’m here! ”

“Can you see her? ” Jocelyn demanded. “Is she there? ”

Simon tried to focus on the milling darkness ahead of him, his vampire senses sharpening at the distinct scent of blood. Different kinds of blood, mixing together – Shadowhunter blood, demon blood, and the bitterness of Sebastian’s blood. “I see her, ” he said. “Jace has hold of her. He’s pulling her behind that line of Shadowhunters there. ”

“If they’re loyal to Jonathan like the Circle was to Valentine, they’ll make a wall of bodies to protect him, and Clary and Jace along with him. ” Jocelyn was all cold maternal fury, her green eyes burning. “We’re going to have to break through it to get to them. ”

“What we need to get to is Sebastian, ” said Isabelle. “Simon, we’ll hack a path for you. You get to Sebastian and run him through with Glorious. Once he falls–”

“The others will probably scatter, ” said Magnus. “Or, depending on how tied they are to Sebastian, they might die or collapse along with him. We can hope, at least. ” He craned his head back. “Speaking of hope, did you see that shot Alec got off with his bow? That’s my boyfriend. ” He beamed and wiggled his fingers; blue sparks shot from them. He shone all over. Only Magnus, Simon thought resignedly, would have access to sequined battle armor.

Isabelle uncurled her whip from around her wrist. It shot out in front of her, a lick of golden fire. “Okay, Simon, ” she said. “Are you ready? ”

Simon’s shoulders tightened. They were still some distance from the line of the opposing army – he didn’t know how else to think of them – who were holding their line in their red robes and gear, their hands bristling with weapons. Some of them were exclaiming out loud in confusion. He couldn’t hold back a grin.

“Name of the Angel, Simon, ” said Izzy. “What’s there to smile about? ”

“Their seraph blades don’t work anymore, ” said Simon. “They’re trying to figure out why. Sebastian just shouted at them to use other weapons. ” A cry came up from the line as another arrow swooped down from the tomb and buried itself in the back of a burly red‑ robed Shadowhunter, who collapsed forward. The line jerked and opened slightly, like a fracture in a wall. Simon, seeing his chance, dashed forward, and the others rushed with him.

It was like diving into a black ocean at night, an ocean filled with sharks and viciously toothed sea creatures colliding against one another. It was not the first battle Simon had ever been in, but during the Mortal War he had been newly Marked with the Mark of Cain. It hadn’t quite begun working yet, though many demons had reeled back upon seeing it. He had never thought he would miss it, but he missed it now, as he tried to shove forward through the tightly packed Shadowhunters, who hacked at him with blades. Isabelle was on one side of him, Magnus on the other, protecting him – protecting Glorious. Isabelle’s whip sang out strong and sure, and Magnus’s hands spat fire, red and green and blue. Lashes of colored fire struck the dark Nephilim, burning them where they stood. Other Shadowhunters screamed as Luke’s wolves slunk among them, nipping and biting, leaping for their throats.

A dagger shot out with astonishing speed and sliced at Simon’s side. He cried out but kept going, knowing the wound would knit itself together in seconds. He pushed forward–

And froze. A familiar face was before him. Luke’s sister, Amatis. As her eyes settled on him, he saw the recognition in them. What was she doing here? Had she come to fight alongside them? But–

She lunged at him, a darkly gleaming dagger in her hand. She was fast –but not so fast that his vampire reflexes couldn’t have saved him, if he hadn’t been too astonished to move. Amatis was Luke’s sister; he knew her; and that moment of disbelief might have been the end of him if Magnus hadn’t jumped in front of him, shoving him backward. Blue fire shot from Magnus’s hand, but Amatis was faster than the warlock, too. She spun away from the blaze and under Magnus’s arm, and Simon caught the flash of moonlight off the blade of her knife. Magnus’s eyes widened in shock as her midnight‑ colored blade drove downward, slicing through his armor. She jerked it back, the blade now slick with reflective blood; Isabelle screamed as Magnus collapsed to his knees. Simon tried to turn toward him, but the surge and pressure of the fighting crowd was carrying him away. He cried out Magnus’s name as Amatis bent over the fallen warlock and raised the dagger a second time, aiming for his heart.

“Let go of me! ” Clary shouted, writhing and kicking as she did her best to wrench herself out of Jace’s grip. She could see almost nothing above the surging crowd of red‑ clad Shadowhunters that stood in front of her, Jace, and Sebastian, blocking her family and friends. The three of them were a few feet behind the line of battle; Jace was holding her tightly as she struggled, and Sebastian, to the side of them, was watching events unfold with a look of dark fury on his face. His lips were moving. She couldn’t tell if he was swearing, praying, or chanting the words of a spell. “Let go of me, you–”

Sebastian turned, a frightening expression on his face, somewhere between a grin and a snarl. “Shut her up, Jace. ”

Jace, still gripping Clary, said, “Are we just going to stand back here and let them protect us? ” He jerked his chin toward the line of Shadowhunters.

“Yes, ” Sebastian said. “We are too important to risk getting hurt, you and I. ”

Jace shook his head. “I don’t like it. There are too many on the other side. ” He craned his neck to look out over the crowd. “What about Lilith? Can you summon her back, have her help us? ”

“What, right here? ” There was contempt in Sebastian’s tone. “No. Besides, she’s too weak now to be of much help. Once she could have smote down an army, but that piece of scum Downworlder with his Mark of Cain scattered her essence through the voids between the worlds. It was all she could do to appear and give us her blood. ”

“Coward, ” Clary spat at him. “You turned all these people into your slaves and you won’t even fight to protect them–”

Sebastian raised his hand as if he meant to backhand her across the face. Clary wished he would, wished Jace could be there to see it happen when he did, but a smirk flashed across Sebastian’s mouth instead. He lowered his hand. “And if Jace let you go, I suppose you’d fight? ”

“Of course I would–”

“On what side? ” Sebastian took a quick step toward her, raising the Infernal Cup. She could see what was inside it. Though many had drunk from it, the blood had remained at the same level. “Lift her head up, Jace. ”

“No! ” She redoubled her efforts to get away. Jace’s hand slipped beneath her chin, but she thought she felt hesitation in his touch.

“Sebastian, ” he said. “Not–”

“Now, ” Sebastian said. “There’s no need for us to remain here. We are the important ones, not these cannon fodder. We’ve proved the Infernal Cup works. That’s what matters. ” He seized the front of Clary’s dress. “But it will be much easier to escape, ” he said, “without this one kicking and screaming and punching every step of the way. ”

“We can make her drink later–”

“No, ” Sebastian snarled. “Hold her still. ” And he raised the Cup and jammed it against Clary’s lips, trying to pry open her mouth. She fought him, gritting her teeth. “Drink, ” Sebastian said in a vicious whisper, so low she doubted Jace could hear it. “I told you by the end of this night you would do whatever I wanted. Drink. ” His black eyes darkened, and he dug the Cup in, slicing her bottom lip.

She tasted blood as she reached behind her, grabbing Jace’s shoulders, using his body to push off against as she kicked out with her legs. She felt the seam rip on her dress as it split up the side and her feet slammed solidly against Sebastian’s rib cage. He staggered back with the wind knocked out of him, just as she jerked her head back, hearing the solid crack as her skull connected with Jace’s face. He yelled and loosened his grip on her enough for her to tear free. She ripped away from him and plunged into the battle without looking back.

Maia raced along the rocky ground, starlight raking its cool fingers through her coat, the strong scents of battle assailing her sensitive nose – blood, sweat, and the burned‑ rubber stench of dark magic.

The pack had spread out widely over the field, leaping and killing with deadly teeth and claws. Maia kept close to Jordan’s side, not because she needed his protection but because she had discovered that side by side they fought better and more effectively. She had been in only one battle before, on Brocelind Plain, and that had been a chaotic whirl of demons and Downworlders. There were many fewer combatants here on the Burren, but the dark Shadowhunters were formidable, swinging their swords and daggers with a swift, frightening force. Maia had seen one slender man use a short‑ bladed dagger to whip the head off a wolf who’d been in midleap; what had collapsed to the ground was a headless human body, bloody and unrecognizable.

Even as she thought it, one of the scarlet‑ robed Nephilim loomed up in front of them, a double‑ edged sword gripped in his hands. The blade was stained red‑ black under the moonlight. Jordan, beside Maia, snarled, but she was the one who launched herself at the man. He ducked away, slashing out with his sword. She felt a sharp pain in her shoulder and hit the ground on all four paws, pain stabbing through her. There was a clatter, and she knew she had knocked the man’s sword from his hand. She growled in satisfaction and spun around, but Jordan was already leaping for the Nephilim’s throat–

And the man caught him by the neck, out of the air, as if he were catching hold of a rebellious puppy. “Downworlder scum, ” he spat, and though it wasn’t the first time Maia had heard such insults, something about the icy hatred of his tone made her shudder. “You should be a coat. I should be wearing you. ”

Maia sank her teeth into his leg. Coppery blood exploded into her mouth as the man shouted in pain and staggered back, kicking at her, his hold on Jordan slipping. Maia gripped him tight as Jordan lunged again, and this time the Shadowhunter’s shout of rage was cut short as the werewolf’s claws tore his throat open.

Amatis drove the knife toward Magnus’s heart – just as an arrow whistled through the air and thumped into her shoulder, knocking her aside with such force that she spun halfway around and fell face‑ forward to the rocky ground. She was screaming, a noise quickly drowned out by the clash of weapons all around them. Isabelle knelt down by Magnus’s side; Simon, glancing up, saw Alec on the stone tomb, standing frozen with the bow in his hands. He was probably too far away to see Magnus clearly; Isabelle had her hands against the warlock’s chest, but Magnus – Magnus, who was always so kinetic, so bursting with energy – was utterly still under Isabelle’s ministrations. She looked up and saw Simon staring at them; her hands were red with blood, but she shook her head at him violently.

“Keep going! ” she shouted. “Find Sebastian! ”

With a wrench Simon turned himself around and plunged back into the battle. The tight line of red‑ clad Shadowhunters had started to come undone. The wolves were darting here and there, herding the Shadowhunters away from one another. Jocelyn was sword to sword with a snarling man whose free arm dripped blood – and Simon realized something bizarre as he staggered forward, pushing his way through the narrow gaps between skirmishes: None of the red‑ clad Nephilim were Marked. Their skin was bare of decoration.

They were also, he realized – seeing out of the corner of his eye one of the enemy Shadowhunters lunging for Aline with a swinging mace, only to be gutted by Helen, darting in from the side – much faster than any Nephilim he had seen before, other than Jace and Sebastian. They moved with the swiftness of vampires, he thought, as one of them slashed at a leaping wolf, slitting its belly open. The dead werewolf crashed to the ground, now the corpse of a stocky man with curling fair hair. Not Maia or Jordan. Relief swamped him, and then guilt; he staggered forward, the smell of blood thick around him, and again he missed the Mark of Cain. If he had still borne it, he thought, he could have burned all these enemy Nephilim to the ground where they stood–

One of the dark Nephilim rose up in front of him, swinging a single‑ edged broadsword. Simon ducked, but he didn’t need to. The man was barely halfway through the swing when an arrow caught him in the neck and he went down, gurgling blood. Simon’s head jerked up, and he saw Alec, still atop the tomb; his face was a stony mask, and he was firing off arrows with machinelike precision, his hand reaching back mechanically to grasp one, fit it to the bow, and let fly. Each one struck a target, but Alec barely seemed to notice. By the time the arrow was flying, he was reaching for another one. Simon heard another one whistle by him and slam into a body as he darted forward, making for a cleared section of the battlefield–

He froze. There she was. Clary, a tiny figure fighting her way through the crowd bare‑ handed, kicking and pushing to get past. She wore a torn red dress, and her hair was a tangled mass and when she saw him, a look of incredulous amazement crossed her face. Her lips shaped his name.

Just behind her was Jace. His face was bloody. The crowd parted as he plunged through it, letting him by. Behind him, in the gap left by his passing, Simon could see a shimmer of red and silver – a familiar figure, topped now with white‑ gilt hair like Valentine’s.

Sebastian. Still hiding behind the last line of defense of dark Shadowhunters. Seeing him, Simon reached over his shoulder and hauled Glorious from its sheath. A moment later a surge in the crowd hurled Clary toward him. Her eyes were nearly black with adrenaline, but her joy at seeing him was plain. Relief spilled through Simon, and he realized he’d been wondering if she was still herself, or changed, as Amatis had been.

“Give me the sword! ” she cried, her voice almost drowned out by the clang of metal on metal. She thrust her arm forward to take it, and in that moment she was no longer Clary, his friend since childhood, but a Shadowhunter, an avenging angel who belonged with that sword in her hand.

He held it out to her, hilt first.

Battle was like a whirlpool, Jocelyn thought, cutting her way through the pressing crowd, slashing out with Luke’s kindjal at any spot of red that she saw. Things came at you and then surged away so quickly that all one was really aware of was a sense of uncontrollable danger, the struggle to stay alive and not drown.

Her eyes flicked frantically through the mass of fighters, searching for her daughter, for a glimpse of red hair – or even for a sight of Jace, because where he was, Clary would be too. There were boulders strewn across the plain, like icebergs in an unmoving sea. She scrambled up the rough edge of one, trying to get a better view of the battlefield, but she could make out only close‑ pressed bodies, the flash of weapons, and the dark, low‑ running shapes of wolves among the fighters.

She turned to scramble back down the boulder–

Only to find someone waiting for her at the bottom. Jocelyn came up short, staring.

He wore scarlet robes, and there was a livid scar along one of his cheeks, a relic of some battle unknown to her. His face was pinched and no longer young, but there was no mistaking him. “Jeremy, ” she said slowly, her voice barely audible over the clamor of the fighting. “Jeremy Pontmercy. ”

The man who had once been the youngest member of the Circle looked at her out of bloodshot eyes. “Jocelyn Morgenstern. Have you come to join us? ”

“Join you? Jeremy, no–”

“You were in the Circle once, ” he said, stepping closer to her. A long dagger with an edge like a straight razor hung from his right hand. “You were one of us. And now we follow your son. ”

“I broke with you when you followed my husband, ” said Jocelyn. “Why do you think I’d follow you now that my son leads you? ”

“Either you stand with us or against us, Jocelyn. ” His face hardened. “You cannot stand against your own son. ”

“Jonathan, ” she said softly. “He is the greatest evil Valentine ever committed. I could never stand with him. In the end, I never stood with Valentine. So what hope do you have of convincing me now? ”

He shook his head. “You misunderstand me, ” he said. “I mean you cannot stand against him. Against us. The Clave cannot. They are not prepared. Not for what we can do. Are willing to do. Blood will run in the streets of every city. The world will burn. Everything you know will be destroyed. And we will rise from the ashes of your defeat, the phoenix triumphant. This is your only chance. I doubt your son will give you another. ”

“Jeremy, ” she said. “You were so young when Valentine recruited you. You could come back, come back even to the Clave. They would be lenient–”

“I can never come back to the Clave, ” he said with a hard satisfaction. “Don’t you understand? Those of us who stand with your son, we are Nephilim no longer. ”

Nephilim no longer. Jocelyn began to reply, but before she could speak, blood burst from his mouth. He crumpled, and as he did, Jocelyn saw, standing behind him bearing a broadsword, Maryse.

The two women looked at each other for a moment over Jeremy’s body. Then Maryse turned and walked back toward the battle.

The moment Clary’s fingers closed around the hilt, the sword exploded with a golden light. Fire blazed down the blade from the tip, illuminating words carved blackly into the side–Quis ut Deus? – and making the hilt shine as if it contained the light of the sun. She nearly dropped it, thinking it had caught on fire, but the flame seemed contained inside the sword, and the metal was cool beneath her palms.

Everything after that seemed to happen very slowly. She turned, the sword blazing in her grip. Her eyes searched the crowd desperately for Sebastian. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he was behind the tight knot of Shadowhunters she had punched through to get here. Gripping the sword, she moved toward them, only to find her way blocked.

By Jace.

“Clary, ” he said. It seemed impossible that she could hear him; the sounds around them were deafening: screams and growls, the clatter of metal on metal. But the sea of fighting figures seemed to have fallen away from them on either side like the Red Sea parting, leaving a clear space around her and Jace.

The sword burned, slippery in her grip. “Jace. Get out of the way. ”

She heard Simon, behind her, shout something; Jace was shaking his head. His golden eyes were flat, unreadable. His face was bloody; she had cracked her head against his cheekbone, and the skin was swelling and darkening. “Give me the sword, Clary. ”

“No. ” She shook her head, backing up a step. Glorious lit the space they stood in, lit the trampled, blood‑ smeared grass around her, and lit Jace as he moved toward her. “Jace. I can separate you from Sebastian. I can kill him without hurting you–”

His face twisted. His eyes were the same color as the fire in the sword, or they were reflecting it back, she wasn’t sure which, and as she looked at him she realized it didn’t matter. She was seeing Jace and not‑ Jace: her memories of him, the beautiful boy she’d met first, reckless with himself and others, learning to care and be careful. She remembered the night they had spent together in Idris, holding hands across the narrow bed, and the bloodstained boy who had looked at her with haunted eyes and confessed to being a murderer in Paris. “Kill him? ” Jace‑ who‑ wasn’t‑ Jace demanded now. “Are you out of your mind? ”

And she remembered that night by Lake Lyn, Valentine driving the sword into him, and the way her own life had seemed to bleed out with his blood.

She had watched him die, there on the beach in Idris. And afterward, when she had brought him back, he had crawled to her and looked down at her with those eyes that burned like the Sword, like the incandescent blood of an angel.

I was in the dark, he had said. There was nothing there but shadows, and I was a shadow. And then I heard your voice.

But that voice blurred into another, more recent one: Jace facing down Sebastian in the living room of Valentine’s apartment, telling her that he would rather die than live like this. She could hear him now, speaking, telling her to give him the sword, that if she didn’t, he would take it from her. His voice was harsh, impatient, the voice of someone talking to a child. And she knew in that moment that just as he wasn’t Jace, the Clary he loved wasn’t her. It was a memory of her, blurred and distorted: the image of someone docile, obedient; someone who didn’t understand that love given without free will or truthfulness wasn’t love at all.

“Give me the sword. ” His hand was out, his chin raised, his tone imperious. “Give it to me, Clary. ”

“You want it? ”

She raised Glorious, the way he had taught her to, balancing the weight of it, though it felt heavy in her hand. The flame in it grew brighter, until it seemed to reach upward and touch the stars. Jace was only the sword’s length away from her, his golden eyes incredulous. Even now he couldn’t believe she might hurt him, really hurt him. Even now.

She took a deep breath. “Take it. ”

She saw his eyes blaze up the way they had that day by the lake, and then she drove the sword into him, just as Valentine had done. She understood now that this was the way it had to be. He had died like this, and she had ripped him back from death. And now it had come again.

You cannot cheat death. In the end it will have its own.

Glorious sank into his chest, and she felt her bloody hand slide on the hilt as the blade ground against the bones of his rib cage, driving through him until her fist thumped against his body and she froze. He hadn’t moved, and she was pressed up against him now, gripping Glorious as blood began to spill from the wound in his chest.

There was a scream – a sound of rage and pain and terror, the sound of someone being brutally torn apart. Sebastian, Clary thought. Sebastian, screaming as his bond with Jace was severed.

But Jace. Jace didn’t make a sound. Despite everything, his face was calm and peaceful, the face of a statue. He looked down at Clary, and his eyes shone, as if he were filling with light.

And then he began to burn.

Alec didn’t remember scrambling down from the top of the stone tomb, or pushing his way across the stony plain among the litter of fallen bodies: dark Shadowhunters, dead and wounded werewolves. His eyes were seeking out only one person. He stumbled and nearly fell; when he looked up, his gaze scanning the field in front of him, he saw Isabelle, kneeling beside Magnus on the stony ground.

It felt like there was no air in his lungs. He had never seen Magnus so pale, or so still. There was blood on his leather armor, and blood on the ground beneath him. But it was impossible. Magnus had lived so long. He was permanent. A fixture. In no world Alec’s imagination could conjure did Magnus die before he did.

“Alec. ” It was Izzy’s voice, swimming up toward him as if through water. “Alec, he’s breathing. ”

Alec let his own breath out in a shaking gasp. He held a hand out to his sister. “Dagger. ”

She handed him one silently. She had never paid as much attention as he had in field first aid classes; she had always said runes would do the job. He slit open the front of Magnus’s leather armor and then the shirt beneath it, his teeth gritted. It could be that the armor was all that was holding him together.

He peeled back the sides gingerly, surprised at the steadiness of his own hands. There was a good deal of blood, and a wide stab wound under the right side of Magnus’s ribs. But from the rhythm of Magnus’s breathing, it was clear his lungs hadn’t been punctured. Alec yanked off his jacket, wadded it up, and pressed it against the still‑ bleeding wound.

Magnus’s eyes fluttered open. “Ouch, ” he said feebly. “Quit leaning on me. ”

“Raziel, ” Alec breathed thankfully. “You’re all right. ” He slipped his free hand under Magnus’s head, his thumb stroking Magnus’s bloody cheek. “I thought…”

He looked up to glance at his sister before he said anything too embarassing, but she had slipped quietly away.

“I saw you fall, ” Alec said quietly. He bent down and kissed Magnus lightly on the mouth, not wanting to hurt him. “I thought you were dead. ”

Magnus smiled crookedly. “What, from that scratch? ” He glanced down at the reddening jacket in Alec’s hand. “Okay, a deep scratch. Like, from a really, really big cat. ”

“Are you delirious? ” Alec said.

“No. ” Magnus’s eyebrows drew together. “Amatis was aiming for my heart, but she didn’t get anything vital. The problem is that the blood loss is sapping my energy and my ability to heal myself. ” He took a deep breath that ended in a cough. “Here, give me your hand. ” He raised his hand, and Alec twined their fingers together, Magnus’s palm hard against his. “Do you remember, the night of the battle on Valentine’s ship, when I needed some of your strength? ”

“Do you need it again now? ” Alec said. “Because you can have it. ”

“I always need your strength, Alec, ” Magnus said, and closed his eyes as their intertwined fingers began to shine, as if between them they held the light of a star.

Fire exploded up through the hilt of the angel’s sword and along the blade. The flame shot through Clary’s arm like a bolt of electricity, knocking her to the ground. Heat lightning sizzled up and down her veins, and she curled up in agony, clutching herself as if she could keep her body from blowing to pieces.

Jace fell to his knees. The sword still pierced him, but it was burning now, with a white‑ gold flame, and the fire was filling his body like colored water filling a clear glass pitcher. Golden flame shot through him, turning his skin translucent. His hair was bronze; his bones were hard, shining tinder visible through his skin. Glorious itself was burning away, dissolving in liquid drops like gold melting in a crucible. Jace’s head was thrown back, his body arched like a bow as the conflagration raged through him. Clary tried to pull herself toward him across the rocky ground, but the heat radiating from his body was too much. His hands clutched at his chest, and a river of golden blood slipped through his fingers. The stone on which he knelt was blackening, cracking, turning to ash. And then Glorious burned up like the last of a bonfire, in a shower of sparks, and Jace collapsed forward, onto the stones.

Clary tried to stand, but her legs buckled under her. Her veins still felt as if fire were shooting through them, and pain was darting across the surface of her skin like the touch of hot pokers. She pulled herself forward, bloodying her fingers, hearing her ceremonial dress rip, until she reached Jace.

He was lying on his side with his head pillowed on one arm, the other arm flung out wide. She crumpled beside him. Heat radiated from his body as if he were a dying bed of coals, but she didn’t care. She could see the rip in the back of his gear where Glorious had torn through it. There were ashes from the burned rocks mixed in with the gold of his hair, and blood.

Moving slowly, every movement hurting as if she were old, as if she had aged a year for every second Jace had burned, she pulled him toward her, so he was on his back on the bloodstained and blackened stone. She looked at his face, no longer gold but still, and still beautiful.

Clary laid her hand against his chest, where the red of his blood stood out against the darker red of his gear. She had felt the edges of the blade grind against the bones of his ribs. She had seen his blood spill through his fingers, so much blood that it had stained the rocks beneath him black and had stiffened the edges of his hair.

And yet. Not if he’s more Heaven’s than Hell’s.

“Jace, ” she whispered. All around them were running feet. The shattered remains of Sebastian’s small army was fleeing across the Burren, dropping their weapons as they went. She ignored them. “Jace. ”

He didn’t move. His face was still, peaceful under the moonlight. His eyelashes threw dark, spidering shadows against the tops of his cheekbones.

“Please, ” she said, and her voice felt as if it were scraping out of her throat. When she breathed, her lungs burned. “Look at me. ”

Clary closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her mother was kneeling down beside her, touching her shoulder. Tears were running down Jocelyn’s face. But that couldn’t be – Why would her mother be crying?

“Clary, ” her mother whispered. “Let him go. He’s dead. ”

In the distance Clary saw Alec kneeling beside Magnus. “No, ” Clary said. “The sword – it burns away what’s evil. He could still live. ”

Her mother ran a hand down her back, her fingers tangling in Clary’s filthy curls. “Clary, no…”

Jace, Clary thought fiercely, her hands curling around his arms. You’re stronger than this. If this is you, really you, you’ll open your eyes and look at me.

Suddenly Simon was there, kneeling on the other side of Jace, his face smeared with blood and grime. He reached for Clary. She whipped her head up to glare at him, at him and her mother, and saw Isabelle coming up behind them, her eyes wide, moving slowly. The front of her gear was stained with blood. Unable to face Izzy, Clary turned away, her eyes on the gold of Jace’s hair.

“Sebastian, ” Clary said, or tried to say. Her voice came out as a croak. “Someone should go after him. ” And leave me alone.

“They’re looking for him now. ” Her mother leaned in, anxious, her eyes wide. “Clary, let him go. Clary, baby…”

“Let her be, ” Clary heard Isabelle say sharply. She heard her mother’s protest, but everything they were doing seemed to be going on at a great distance, as if Clary were watching a play from the last row. Nothing mattered but Jace. Jace, burning. Tears scalded the backs of her eyes. “Jace, goddamit, ” she said, her voice ragged. “You are not dead. ”

“Clary, ” Simon said gently. “It was a chance…”

Come away from him. That was what Simon was asking, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. “Jace, ” she whispered. It was like a mantra, the way he had once held her at Renwick’s and chanted her name over and over. “Jace Lightwood …”

She froze. There. A movement so tiny, it was hardly a movement at all. The flutter of an eyelash. She leaned forward, almost overbalancing, and pressed her hand against the torn scarlet material over his chest, as if she could heal the wound she had made. She felt instead – so wonderful that for a moment it made no sense to her, could not possibly be – under her fingertips, the rhythm of his heart.

EPILOGUE

At first, Jace was conscious of nothing. Then there was darkness, and within the darkness, a burning pain. It was as if he’d swallowed fire, and it choked him and burned his throat. He gasped desperately for air, for a breath that would cool the fire, and his eyes flew open.

He saw darkness and shadows – a dimly lit room, known and unknown, with rows of beds and a window letting in hollow blue light, and he was in one of the beds, blankets and sheets pulled down and tangled around his body like ropes. His chest hurt as if a dead weight lay on it, and his hand scrabbled to find what it was, encountering only a thick bandage wrapped around his bare skin. He gasped again, another cooling breath.

“Jace. ” The voice was familiar to him as his own, and then there was a hand gripping his, fingers interlacing with his own. With a reflex born out of years of love and familiarity, he gripped back.

“Alec, ” he said, and he was almost shocked at the sound of his own voice in his ears. It hadn’t changed. He felt as if he had been scorched, melted, and recreated like gold in a crucible – but as what? Could he really be himself again? He looked up at Alec’s anxious blue eyes, and knew where he was. The infirmary at the Institute. Home. “I’m sorry…”

A slim, callused hand stroked his cheek, and a second familiar voice said, “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to apologize for. ”

He half‑ closed his eyes. The weight on his chest was still there: half a wound and half guilt. “Izzy. ”

Her breath caught. “It really is you, right? ”

“Isabelle, ” Alec began, as if to warn her not to upset Jace, but Jace touched her hand. He could see Izzy’s dark eyes shining in the dawn light, her face full of hopeful expectancy. This was the Izzy only her family knew, loving and worried.

“It’s me, ” he said, and cleared his throat. “I could understand if you didn’t believe me, but I swear on the Angel, Iz, it’s me. ”

Alec said nothing, but his grip on Jace’s hand tightened. “You don’t need to swear, ” he said, and with his free hand touched the parabatai rune near his collarbone. “I know. I can feel it. I don’t feel like I’m missing a part of me anymore. ”

“I felt it too. ” Jace took a ragged breath. “Something missing. I felt it, even with Sebastian, but I didn’t know what it was I was missing. But it was you. My parabatai. ” He looked at Izzy. “And you. My sister. And…” His eyelids burned suddenly with a scorching light: the wound on his chest throbbed, and he saw her face, lit by the blaze of the sword. A strange burning spread through his veins, like white fire. “Clary. Please tell me–”

“She’s completely all right, ” Isabelle said hastily. There was something else in her voice – surprise, unease.

“You swear. You’re not just telling me that because you don’t want to upset me. ”

“She stabbed you, ” Isabelle pointed out.

Jace gave a strangled laugh; it hurt. “She saved me. ”

“She did, ” Alec agreed.

“When can I see her? ” Jace tried not to sound too eager.

“It really is you, ” Isabelle said, her voice amused.

“The Silent Brothers have been in and out, checking on you, ” said Alec. “On this”–he touched the bandage on Jace’s chest–“and to see if you were awake yet. When they find out you are, they’ll probably want to talk to you before they let you see Clary. ”

“How long have I been out cold? ”

“About two days, ” said Alec. “Since we got you back from the Burren and were pretty sure you weren’t going to die. Turns out it’s not that easy to completely heal a wound made by an archangel’s blade. ”

“So what you’re saying is that I’m going to have a scar. ”

“A big ugly one, ” said Isabelle. “Right across your chest. ”

“Well, damn, ” said Jace. “And I was relying on that money from the topless underwear modeling gig I had lined up, too. ” He spoke wryly, but he was thinking that it was right, somehow, that he have a scar: that he should be marked by what had happened to him, physically as well as mentally. He had almost lost his soul, and the scar would serve to remind him of the fragility of will, and the difficulty of goodness.

And of darker things. Of what lay ahead, and what he could not allow to happen. He strength was returning; he could feel it, and he would bend all of it against Sebastian. Knowing that, he felt suddenly lighter, a little of the weight gone from his chest. He turned his head, enough to look into Alec’s eyes.

“I never thought I’d fight on the opposite side of a battle from you, ” he said hoarsely. “Never. ”

“And you never will again, ” Alec said, his jaw set.

“Jace, ” Isabelle said. “Try to stay calm, all right? It’s just…”

Now what? “Is something else wrong? ”

“Well, you’re glowing a bit, ” Isabelle said. “I mean, just a smidge. Of the glowing. ”

“Glowing? ”

Alec raised the hand that held Jace’s. Jace could see, in the darkness, a faint shimmer across his forearm that seemed to trace the lines of his veins like a map. “We think it’s a leftover effect from the archangel’s sword, ” he said. “It’ll probably fade soon, but the Silent Brothers are curious. Of course. ”

Jace sighed and let his head fall back against the pillow. He was too exhausted to muster up much interest in his new, illuminated state. “Does that mean you have to go? ” he asked. “Do you have to get the Brothers? ”

“They instructed us to get them when you woke, ” said Alec, but he was shaking his head, even as he spoke. “But not if you don’t want us to. ”

“I feel tired, ” Jace confessed. “If I could sleep a few more hours…”

“Of course. Of course you can. ” Isabelle’s fingers pushed his hair back, out of his eyes. Her tone was firm, absolute: fierce as a mother bear protecting her cub.

Jace’s eyes began to close. “And you won’t leave me? ”

“No, ” Alec said. “No, we won’t ever leave you. You know that. ”

“Never. ” Isabelle took his hand, the one Alec wasn’t holding, and pressed it fiercely. “Lightwoods, all together, ” she whispered. Jace’s hand was suddenly damp where she was holding it, and he realized she was crying, her tears splashing down – crying for him, because she loved him; even after everything that had happened, she still loved him.

They both did.

He fell asleep like that, with Isabelle on one side of him and Alec on the other, as the sun came up with the dawn.

“What do you mean, I still can’t see him? ” demanded Clary. She was sitting on the edge of the couch in Luke’s living room, the cord of the phone wrapped so tightly around her fingers that the tips had turned white.

“It’s been only three days, and he was unconscious for two of them, ” said Isabelle. There were voices behind her, and Clary strained her ears to hear who was talking. She thought she could pick out Maryse’s voice, but was she talking to Jace? Alec? “The Silent Brothers are still examining him. They still say no visitors. ”

“Screw the Silent Brothers. ”

“No thanks. There’s strong and silent, and then there’s just freaky. ”

“Isabelle! ” Clary sat back against the squashy pillows. It was a bright fall day, and sunlight streamed in through the living room windows, though it did nothing to lighten her mood. “I just want to know that he’s all right. That he isn’t injured permanently, and he hasn’t swollen up like a melon–”

“Of course he hasn’t swollen up like a melon, don’t be ridiculous. ”

“I wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t know because no one will tell me anything. ”

“He’s all right, ” Isabelle said, though there was something in her voice that told Clary she was holding something back. “Alec’s been sleeping in the bed next to his, and Mom and I have been taking turns staying with him all day. The Silent Brothers haven’t been torturing him. They just need to know what he knows. About Sebastian, the apartment, everything. ”

“But I can’t believe Jace wouldn’t call me if he could. Not unless this is because he doesn’t want to see me. ”

“Maybe he doesn’t, ” Isabelle said. “It could have been that whole thing where you stabbed him. ”

“Isabelle–”

“I was just kidding, believe it or not. Name of the Angel, Clary, can’t you show some patience? ” Isabelle sighed. “Never mind. I forgot who I was talking to. Look, Jace said – not that I’m supposed to repeat this, mind you – that he needed to talk to you in person. If you could just wait–”

“That’s all I have been doing, ” Clary said. “Waiting. ” It was true. She’d spent the past two nights lying in her room at Luke’s house, waiting for news about Jace and reliving the last week of her life over and over in excruciating detail. The Wild Hunt; the antiques store in Prague; fountains full of blood; the tunnels of Sebastian’s eyes; Jace’s body against hers; Sebastian jamming the Infernal Cup against her lips, trying to pry them apart; the bitter stench of demon ichor. Glorious blazing up her arm, spearing through Jace like a bolt of fire, the beat of his heart under her fingertips. He hadn’t even opened his eyes, but Clary had screamed that he was alive, that his heart was beating, and his family had descended on them, even Alec, half‑ holding up an exceptionally pale Magnus. “All I do is go around and around inside my own head. It’s making me crazy. ”

“And that’s where we’re in agreement. You know what, Clary? ”

“What? ”

There was a pause. “You don’t need my permission to come here and see Jace, ” Isabelle said. “You don’t need anyone’s permission to do anything. You’re Clary Fray. You go charging into every situation without knowing how the hell it’s going to turn out, and then you get through it on sheer guts and craziness. ”

“Not where my personal life is concerned, Iz. ”

“Huh, ” said Isabelle. “Well, maybe you should. ” And she put the phone down.

Clary stared at her receiver, hearing the distant tinny buzz of the dial tone. Then, with a sigh, she hung up and headed into her bedroom.

Simon was sprawled on the bed, his feet on her pillows, his chin propped on his hands. His laptop was propped open at the foot of the bed, frozen on a scene from The Matrix. He looked up as she came in. “Any luck? ”

“Not exactly. ” Clary went over to her closet. She’d already dressed for the possibility that she might see Jace today, in jeans and a soft blue sweater she knew he liked. She pulled a corduroy jacket on and sat down on the bed beside Simon, sliding her feet into boots. “Isabelle won’t tell me anything. The Silent Brothers don’t want Jace to have visitors, but whatever. I’m going over anyway. ”

Simon closed the laptop and rolled over onto his back. “That’s my brave little stalker. ”

“Shut up, ” she said. “Do you want to come with me? See Isabelle? ”

“I’m meeting Becky, ” he said. “At the apartment. ”

“Good. Give her my love. ” She finished lacing her boots and reached forward to brush Simon’s hair away from his forehead. “First I had to get used to you with that Mark on you. Now I have to get used to you without it. ”

His dark brown eyes traced her face. “With or without it, I’m still just me. ”

“Simon, do you remember what was written on the blade of the sword? Of Glorious? ”

“Quis ut Deus. ”

“It’s Latin, ” she said. “I looked it up. It means Who is like God? It’s a trick question. The answer is no one – no one is like God. Don’t you see? ”

He looked at her. “See what? ”

“You said it. Deus. God. ”

Simon opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “I…”

“I know Camille told you that she could say God’s name because she didn’t believe in God, but I think it has to do with what you believe about yourself. If you believe you’re damned, then you are. But if you don’t…”

She touched his hand; he squeezed her fingers briefly and released them, his face troubled. “I need some time to think about this. ”

“Whatever you need. But I’m here if you need to talk. ”

“And I’m here if you do. Whatever happens with you and Jace at the Institute… you know you can always come over to my place if you want to talk. ”

“How’s Jordan? ”

“Pretty good, ” said Simon. “He and Maia are definitely together now. They’re in that ooky stage where I feel like I should be giving them space all the time. ” He crinkled up his nose. “When she’s not there, he frets about how he feels insecure because she’s dated a bunch of dudes and he’s spent the past three years doing military‑ style training for the Praetor and pretending he was asexual. ”

“Oh, come on. I doubt she cares about that. ”

“You know men. We have delicate egos. ”

“I wouldn’t describe Jace’s ego as delicate. ”

“No, Jace’s is sort of the antiaircraft artillery tank of male egos, ” Simon admitted. He was lying with his right hand splayed across his stomach, and the gold faerie ring glittered on his finger. Since the other had been destroyed, it no longer seemed to have any powers, but Simon wore it anyway. Impulsively Clary bent down and kissed his forehead.

“You’re the best friend anyone could ever have, you know that? ” she said.

“I did know that, but it’s always nice to hear it again. ”

Clary laughed and stood up. “Well, we might as well walk to the subway together. Unless you want to hang around here with the ’rents instead of in your cool downtown bachelor pad. ”

“Right. With my lovelorn roommate and my sister. ” He slid off the bed and followed her as she walked out into the living room. “You’re not just going to Portal? ”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems… wasteful. ” She crossed the hall and, after knocking quickly, stuck her head into the master bedroom. “Luke? ”

“Come on in. ”

She went in, Simon beside her. Luke was sitting up in bed. The bulk of the bandage that wrapped his chest was visible as an outline beneath his flannel shirt. There was a stack of magazines on the bed in front of him. Simon picked one up. “Sparkle Like an Ice Princess: The Winter Bride, ” he read out loud. “I don’t know, man. I’m not sure a tiara of snowflakes would be the best look for you. ”

Luke glanced around the bed and sighed. “Jocelyn thought wedding planning might be good for us. Return to normalcy and all that. ” There were shadows under his blue eyes. Jocelyn had been the one to break the news to him about Amatis, while he was still at the police station. Though Clary had greeted him with hugs when he’d come home, he hadn’t mentioned his sister once, and neither had she. “If it was up to me, I would elope to Vegas and have a fifty‑ dollar pirate‑ themed wedding with Elvis presiding. ”

“I could be the wench of honor, ” Clary suggested. She looked at Simon expectantly. “And you could be…”

“Oh, no, ” he said. “I am a hipster. I am too cool for themed weddings. ”

“You play D and D. You’re a geek, ” she corrected him fondly.

“Geek is chic, ” Simon declared. “Ladies love nerds. ”

Luke cleared his throat. “I assume you came in here to tell me something? ”

“I’m heading over to the Institute to see Jace, ” Clary said. “Do you want me to bring you anything back? ”

He shook his head. “Your mother’s at the store, stocking up. ” He leaned over to ruffle her hair, and winced. He was healing, but slowly. “Have fun. ”

Clary thought of what she was probably facing at the Institute – an angry Maryse, a wearied Isabelle, an absent Alec, and a Jace who didn’t want to see her – and sighed. “You bet. ”

The subway tunnel smelled like the winter that had finally come to the city – cold metal, dank, wet dirt, and a faint hint of smoke. Alec, walking along the tracks, saw his breath puff out in front of his face in white clouds, and he jammed his free hand into the pocket of his blue peacoat to keep it warm. The witchlight he held in his other hand illuminated the tunnel – green and cream‑ colored tiles, discolored with age, and sprung wiring, dangling like spiderwebs from the walls. It had been a long time since this tunnel had seen a moving train.

Alec had gotten up before Magnus had woken, again. Magnus had been sleeping late; he was resting from the battle at the Burren. He had used a great deal of energy to heal himself, but he wasn’t entirely well yet. Warlocks were immortal but not invulnerable, and “a few inches higher and that would have been it for me, ” Magnus had said ruefully, examining the knife wound. “It would have stopped my heart. ”

There had been a few moments – minutes, even – when Alec had truly thought Magnus was dead. And after so much time spent worrying that he would grow old and die before Magnus did. What a bitter irony it would have been. The sort of thing he deserved, for seriously contemplating the offer Camille had made him, even for a second.

He could see light up ahead – the City Hall station, lit by chandeliers and skylights. He was about to douse his witchlight when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Alec, ” it said. “Alexander Gideon Lightwood. ”

Alec felt his heart lurch. He turned around slowly. “Magnus? ”

Magnus moved forward, into the circle of illumination cast by Alec’s witchlight. He looked uncharacteristically somber, his eyes shadowed. His spiky hair was rumpled. He wore only a suit jacket over a T‑ shirt, and Alec couldn’t help wondering if he was cold.

“Magnus, ” Alec said again. “I thought you were asleep. ”

“Evidently, ” Magnus said.

Alec swallowed hard. He had never seen Magnus angry, not really. Not like this. Magnus’s cat eyes were remote, impossible to read. “Did you follow me? ” Alec asked.

“You could say that. It helped that I knew where you were going. ” Moving stiffly, Magnus took a folded square of paper from his pocket. In the dim light, all Alec could see was that it was covered with a careful, flourishing handwriting. “You know, when she told me you’d been here – told me about the bargain she’d struck with you – I didn’t believe her. I didn’t want to believe her. But here you are. ”

“Camille told you–”

Magnus held up a hand to cut him off. “Just stop, ” he said wearily. “Of course she told me. I warned you she was a master at manipulation and politics, but you didn’t listen to me. Who do you think she’d rather have on her side – me or you? You’re eighteen years old, Alexander. You’re not exactly a powerful ally. ”

“I already told her, ” Alec said. “I wouldn’t kill Raphael. I came here and told her the bargain was off, I wouldn’t do it–”

“You had to come all the way here, to this abandoned subway station, to deliver that message? ” Magnus raised his eyebrows. “You don’t think you could have delivered essentially the same message by, perhaps, staying away? ”

“It was–”

“And even if you did come here – unnecessarily – and tell her the deal was off, ” Magnus went on in a deadly calm voice, “why are you here now? Social call? Just visiting? Explain it to me, Alexander, if there’s something I’m missing. ”

Alec swallowed. Surely there must be a way to explain. That he had been coming down here, visiting Camille, because she was the only person he could talk to about Magnus. The only person who knew Magnus, as he did, not just as the High Warlock of Brooklyn but as someone who could love and be loved back, who had human frailties and peculiarities and odd, irregular currents of mood that Alec had no idea how to navigate without advice. “Magnus–” Alec took a step toward his boyfriend, and for the first time that he remembered, Magnus moved away from him. His posture was stiff and unfriendly. He was looking at Alec the way he’d look at a stranger, a stranger he didn’t like very much.

“I’m so sorry, ” Alec said. His voice sounded scratchy and uneven to his own ears. “I never meant–”

“I was thinking about it, you know, ” Magnus said. “That’s part of why I wanted the Book of the White. Immortality can be a burden. You think of the days that stretch out before you, when you have been everywhere, seen everything. The one thing I hadn’t experienced was growing old with someone – someone I loved. I thought perhaps it would be you. But that does not give you the right to make the length of my life your choice and not mine. ”

“I know. ” Alec’s heart raced. “I know, and I wasn’t going to do it–”

“I’ll be out all day, ” Magnus said. “Come and get your things out of the apartment. Leave your key on the dining room table. ” His eyes searched Alec’s face. “It’s over. I don’t want to see you again, Alec. Or any of your friends. I’m tired of being their pet warlock. ”

Alec’s hands had begun to shake, hard enough that he dropped his witchlight. The light winked out, and he fell to his knees, scrabbling on the ground among the trash and the dirt. At last something lit up before his eyes, and he rose to see Magnus standing before him, the witchlight in his hand. It shone and flickered with a strangely colored light.

“It shouldn’t light up like that, ” Alec said automatically. “For anyone but a Shadowhunter. ”

Magnus held it out. The heart of the witchlight was glowing a dark red, like the coal of a fire.

“Is it because of your father? ” Alec asked.

Magnus didn’t reply, only tipped the rune‑ stone into Alec’s palm. As their hands touched, Magnus’s face changed. “You’re freezing cold. ”

“I am? ”

“Alexander…” Magnus pulled him close, and the witchlight flickered between them, its color changing rapidly. Alec had never seen a witchlight rune‑ stone do that before. He put his head against Magnus’s shoulder and let Magnus hold him. Magnus’s heart didn’t beat like human hearts did. It was slower, but steady. Sometimes Alec thought it was the steadiest thing in his life.

“Kiss me, ” Alec said.

Magnus put his hand to the side of Alec’s face and gently, almost absently, ran his thumb along Alec’s cheekbone. When he bent to kiss him, he smelled like sandalwood. Alec clutched the sleeve of Magnus’s jacket, and the witchlight, held between their bodies, flared up in colors of rose and blue and green.

It was a slow kiss, and a sad one. When Magnus drew away, Alec found that somehow he was holding the witchlight alone; Magnus’s hand was gone. The light was a soft white.

Softly, Magnus said, “Aku cinta kamu. ”

“What does that mean? ”

Magnus disentangled himself from Alec’s grip. “It means I love you. Not that that changes anything. ”

“But if you love me–”

“Of course I do. More than I thought I would. But we’re still done, ” Magnus said. “It doesn’t change what you did. ”

“But it was just a mistake, ” Alec whispered. “One mistake–”

Magnus laughed sharply. “One mistake? That’s like calling the maiden voyage of the Titanic a minor boating accident. Alec, you tried to shorten my life. ”

“It was just – She offered, but I thought about it and I couldn’t go through with it – I couldn’t do that to you. ”

“But you had to think about it. And you never mentioned it to me. ” Magnus shook his head. “You didn’t trust me. You never have. ”

“I do, ” Alec said. “I will – I’ll try. Give me another chance–”

“No, ” Magnus said. “And if I might give you a piece of advice: Avoid Camille. There is a war coming, Alexander, and you don’t want your loyalties to be in question. Do you? ”

And with that he turned and walked away, his hands in his pockets – walking slowly, as if he were injured, and not just from the cut in his side. But he was walking away just the same. Alec watched him until he moved beyond the glow of the witchlight and out of sight.

The inside of the Institute had been cool in the summer, but now, with winter well and truly here, Clary thought, it was warm. The nave was bright with rows of candelabras, and the stained‑ glass windows glowed softly. She let the front door swing shut behind her and headed for the elevator. She was halfway up the center aisle when she heard someone laughing.

She turned. Isabelle was sitting in one of the old pews, her long legs slung over the back of the seats in front of her. She wore boots that hit her midthigh, slim jeans, and a red sweater that left one shoulder bare. Her skin was traced with black designs; Clary remembered what Sebastian had said about not liking it when women disfigured their skin with Marks, and shivered inside. “Didn’t you hear me saying your name? ” Izzy demanded. “You really can be astonishingly single‑ minded. ”

Clary stopped and leaned against a pew. “I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose. ”

Isabelle swung her legs down and stood up. The heels on her boots were high, making her tower over Clary. “Oh, I know. That’s why I said ‘single‑ minded, ’ not ‘rude. ’”

“Are you here to tell me to go away? ” Clary was pleased by the fact that her voice didn’t shake. She wanted to see Jace. She wanted to see him more than anything else. But after what she’d been through this past month, she knew that what mattered was that he was alive, and that he was himself. Everything else was secondary.

“No, ” Izzy said, and started moving toward the elevator. Clary fell into step beside her. “I think the whole thing is ridiculous. You saved his life. ”

Clary swallowed against the cold feeling in her throat. “You said there were things I didn’t understand. ”

“There are. ” Isabelle punched the elevator button. “Jace can explain them to you. I came down because I thought there were a few other things you should know. ”

Clary listened for the familiar creak, rattle, and groan of the old cage elevator. “Like? ”

“My dad’s back, ” Isabelle said, not meeting Clary’s eyes.

“Back for a visit, or back for good? ”

“For good. ” Isabelle sounded calm, but Clary remembered how hurt she had been when they’d found out Robert had been trying for the Inquisitor position. “Basically, Aline and Helen saved us from getting in real trouble for what happened in Ireland. When we came to help you, we did it without telling the Clave. My mom was sure that if we told them they’d send fighters to kill Jace. She couldn’t do it. I mean, this is our family. ”

The elevator arrived with a rattle and a crash before Clary could say anything. She followed the other girl inside, fighting the strange urge to give Isabelle a hug. She doubted Izzy would like it.

“So Aline told the Consul – who is, after all, her mother – that there hadn’t been any time to notify the Clave, that she’d been left behind with strict orders to call Jia, but there’d been some malfunction with the telephones and it hadn’t worked. Basically, she lied her butt off. Anyway, that’s our story, and we’re sticking to it. I don’t think Jia believed her, but it doesn’t matter; it’s not like Jia wants to punish Mom. She just had to have some kind of story she could grab on to so she didn’t have to sanction us. After all, it’s not like the operation was a disaster. We went in, got Jace out, killed most of the dark Nephilim, and got Sebastian on the run. ”

The elevator stopped rising and came to a crashing halt.

“Got Sebastian on the run, ” Clary repeated. “So we have no idea where he is? I thought maybe since I destroyed his apartment – the dimensional pocket – he could be tracked. ”

“We’ve tried, ” said Isabelle. “Wherever he is, he’s still beyond or outside tracking capabilities. And according to the Silent Brothers, the magic that Lilith worked – Well, he’s strong, Clary. Really strong. We have to assume he’s out there, with the Infernal Cup, planning his next move. ” She pulled the cage door of the elevator open and stepped out. “Do you think he’ll come back for you – or Jace? ”

Clary hesitated. “Not right away, ” she said finally. “For him we’re the last parts of the puzzle. He’ll want everything set up first. He’ll want an army. He’ll want to be ready. We’re like… the prizes he gets for winning. And so he doesn’t have to be alone. ”

“He must be really lonely, ” Isabelle said. There was no sympathy in her voice; it was only an observation.

Clary thought of him, of the face that she’d been trying to forget, that haunted her nightmares and waking dreams. You asked me who I belonged to. “You have no idea. ”

They reached the stairs that led to the infirmary. Isabelle paused, her hand at her throat. Clary could see the square outline of her ruby necklace beneath the material of her sweater. “Clary…”

Clary suddenly felt awkward. She straightened the hem of her sweater, not wanting to look at Isabelle.

“What’s it like? ” Isabelle said abruptly.

“What’s what like? ”

“Being in love, ” Isabelle said. “How do you know you are? And how do you know someone else is in love with you? ”

“Um…”

“Like Simon, ” Isabelle said. “How could you tell he was in love with you? ”

“Well, ” said Clary. “He said so. ”

“He said so. ”

Clary shrugged.

“And before that, you had no idea? ”

“No, I really didn’t, ” said Clary, recalling the moment. “Izzy… if you have feelings for Simon, or if you want to know if he has feelings for you… maybe you should just tell him. ”

Isabelle fiddled with some nonexistent lint on her cuff. “Tell him what? ”

“How you feel about him. ”

Isabelle looked mutinous. “I shouldn’t have to. ”

Clary shook her head. “God. You and Alec, you’re so alike–”

Isabelle’s eyes widened. “We are not! We are totally not alike. I date around; he’s never dated before Magnus. He gets jealous; I don’t–”

“Everyone gets jealous. ” Clary spoke with finality. “And you’re both so stoic. It’s love, not the Battle of Thermopylae. You don’t have to treat everything like it’s a last stand. You don’t have to keep everything inside. ”

Isabelle threw her hands up. “Suddenly you’re an expert? ”

“I’m not an expert, ” Clary said. “But I do know Simon. If you don’t say something to him, he’s going to assume it’s because you’re not interested, and he’ll give up. He needs you, Iz, and you need him. He just also needs you to be the one to say it. ”

Isabelle sighed and whirled to begin mounting the steps. Clary could hear her muttering as she went. “This is your fault, you know. If you hadn’t broken his heart–”

“Isabelle! ”

“Well, you did. ”

“Yeah, and I seem to remember that when he got turned into a rat, you were the one who suggested we leave him in rat form. Permanently. ”

“I did not. ”

“You did–” Clary broke off. They had reached the next floor, where a long corridor stretched in both directions. Before the double doors of the infirmary stood the parchment‑ robed figure of a Silent Brother, hands folded, face cast down in a meditative stance.

Isabelle indicated him with an exaggerated wave. “There you go, ” she said. “Good luck getting past him to see Jace. ” And she walked off down the corridor, her boots clicking on the wooden floor.

Clary sighed inwardly and reached for the stele in her belt. She doubted there was a glamour rune that could fool a Silent Brother, but perhaps, if she could get close enough to use a sleep rune on his skin…

Clary Fray. The voice in her head was amused, and also familiar. It had no sound, but she recognized the shape of the thoughts, the way you might recognize the way someone laughed or breathed.

“Brother Zachariah. ” Resignedly she slid the stele back in place and moved closer to him, wishing Isabelle had stayed with her.

I presume you are here to see Jonathan, he said, lifting his head from the meditative stance. His face was still in shadow beneath the hood, though she could see the shape of an angular cheekbone. Despite the orders of the Brotherhood.

“Please call him Jace. It’s too confusing otherwise. ”

‘Jonathan’ is a fine old Shadowhunter name, the first of names. The Herondales have always kept names in the family–

“He wasn’t named by a Herondale, ” Clary pointed out. “Though he has a dagger of his father’s. It says S. W. H. on the blade. ”

Stephen William Herondale.

Clary took another step toward the doors, and toward Zachariah. “You know a lot about the Herondales, ” she said. “And of all the Silent Brothers, you seem the most human. Most of them never show any emotion. They’re like statues. But you seem to feel things. You remember your life. ”

Being a Silent Brother is life, Clary Fray. But if you mean I remember my life before the Brotherhood, I do.

Clary took a deep breath. “Were you ever in love? Before the Brotherhood? Was there ever anyone you would have died for? ”

There was a long silence. Then:

Two people, said Brother Zachariah. There are memories that time does not erase, Clarissa. Ask your friend Magnus Bane, if you do not believe me. Forever does not make loss forgettable, only bearable.

“Well, I don’t have forever, ” said Clary in a small voice. “Please let me in to see Jace. ”

Brother Zachariah did not move. She still could not see his face, only a suggestion of shadows and planes beneath the hood of his robe. Only his hands, clasped in front of him.

“Please, ” Clary said.

Alec swung himself up onto the platform at the City Hall subway station and stalked toward the stairs. He had blocked out the image of Magnus walking away from him with one thought, and one only:

He was going to kill Camille Belcourt.

He strode up the stairs, drawing a seraph blade from his belt as he went. The light here was wavering and dim – he emerged onto the mezzanine below City Hall Park, where tinted glass skylights let in the wintery light. He tucked the witchlight into his pocket and raised the seraph blade.

“Amriel, ” he whispered, and the sword blazed up, a bolt of lightning from his hand. He lifted his chin, his gaze sweeping the lobby. The high‑ backed sofa was there, but Camille was not on it. He’d sent her a message saying he was coming, but after the way she’d betrayed him, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that she hadn’t remained to see him. In a fury he stalked across the room and kicked the sofa, hard; it went over with a crash of wood and a puff of dust, one of the legs snapped off.

From the corner of the room came a tinkling silver laugh.

Alec whirled, the seraph blade blazing in his hand. The shadows in the corners were thick and deep; even Amriel’s light could not penetrate them. “Camille? ” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Camille Belcourt. Come out here now. ”

There was another giggle, and a figure stepped forth from the darkness. But it was not Camille.

It was a girl – probably no older than twelve or thirteen – very thin, wearing a pair of ragged jeans and a pink, short‑ sleeved T‑ shirt with a glittery unicorn on it. She wore a long pink scarf as well, its ends dabbled in blood. Blood masked the lower half of her face, and stained the hem of her shirt. She looked at Alec with wide, happy eyes.

“I know you, ” she breathed, and as she spoke, he saw her needle incisors flash. Vampire. “Alec Lightwood. You’re a friend of Simon’s. I’ve seen you at the concerts. ”

He stared at her. Had he seen her before? Perhaps – the flicker of a face among the shadows at a bar, one of those performances Isabelle had dragged him to. He couldn’t be sure. But that didn’t mean he didn’t know who she was.

“Maureen, ” he said. “You’re Simon’s Maureen. ”

She looked pleased. “I am, ” she said. “I’m Simon’s Maureen. ” She looked down at her hands, which were gloved in blood, as if she’d plunged them into a pool of the stuff. And not human blood, either, Alec thought. The dark, ruby‑ red blood of vampires. “You’re looking for Camille, ” she said in a singsong voice. “But she isn’t here anymore. Oh, no. She’s gone. ”

“She’s gone? ” Alec demanded. “What do you mean she’s gone? ”

Maureen giggled. “You know how vampire law works, don’t you? Whoever kills the head of a vampire clan becomes its leader. And Camille was the head of the New York clan. Oh, yes, she was. ”

“So – someone killed her? ”

Maureen burst into a happy peal of laughter. “Not just someone, silly, ” she said. “It was me. ”

The arched ceiling of the infirmary was blue, painted with a rococo pattern of cherubs trailing gold ribbons, and white drifting clouds. Rows of metal beds lined the walls to the left and right, leaving a wide aisle down the middle. Two high skylights let in the clear wintery sunlight, though it did little to warm the chilly room.

Jace was seated on one of the beds, leaning back against a pile of pillows he had swiped from the other beds. He wore jeans, frayed at the hems, and a gray T‑ shirt. He had a book balanced on his knees. He looked up as Clary came into the room, but said nothing as she approached his bed.

Clary’s heart had begun to pound. The silence felt still, almost oppressive; Jace’s eyes followed her as she reached the foot of his bed and stopped there, her hands on the metal footboard. She studied his face. So many times she’d tried to draw him, she thought, tried to capture that ineffable quality that made Jace himself, but her fingers had never been able to get what she saw down on paper. It was there now, where it had not been when he was controlled by Sebastian – whatever you wanted to call it, soul or spirit, looking out of his eyes.

She tightened her hands on the footboard. “Jace…”

He tucked a lock of pale gold hair behind his ear. “It’s – did the Silent Brothers tell you it was okay to be in here? ”

“Not exactly. ”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “So did you knock them out with a two‑ by‑ four and break in? The Clave looks darkly on that sort of thing, you know. ”

“Wow. You really don’t put anything past me, do you? ” She moved to sit down on the bed next to him, partly so that they would be on the same level and partly to disguise the fact that her knees were shaking.

“I’ve learned not to, ” he said, and set his book aside.

She felt the words like a slap. “I didn’t want to hurt you, ” she said, and her voice came out as almost a whisper. “I’m sorry. ”

He sat up straight, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. They were not far from each other, sharing the same bed, but he was holding himself back; she could tell. She could tell that there were secrets at the back of his light eyes, could feel his hesitation. She wanted to reach her hand out, but she kept herself still, kept her voice steady. “I never meant to hurt you. And I don’t just mean at the Burren. I mean from the moment you – the real you –told me what you wanted. I should have listened, but all I thought about was saving you, getting you away. I didn’t listen to you when you said you wanted to turn yourself over to the Clave, and because of it, we both almost wound up like Sebastian. And when I did what I did with Glorious – Alec and Isabelle, they must have told you the blade was meant for Sebastian. But I couldn’t get to him through the crowd. I just couldn’t. And I thought of what you told me, that you’d rather die than live under Sebastian’s influence. ” Her voice caught. “The real you, I mean. I couldn’t ask you. I had to guess. You have to know it was awful to hurt you like that. To know that you could have died and it would have been my hand that held the sword that killed you. I would have wanted to die, but I risked your life because I thought it was what you would have asked for, and after I’d betrayed you once, I thought I owed it to you. But if I was wrong…” She paused, but he was silent. Her stomach turned over, a sick, wrenching flip. “Then, I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do to make it up to you. But I wanted you to know. That I’m sorry. ”

She halted again, and this time the silence stretched out between them, longer and longer, a thread pulled impossibly tight.

“You can talk now, ” she blurted finally. “In fact, it would be really great if you did. ”

Jace was looking at her incredulously. “Let me get this straight, ” he said. “You came here to apologize to me? ”

She was taken aback. “Of course I did. ”

“Clary, ” he said. “You saved my life. ”

“I stabbed you. With a massive sword. You caught on fire. ”

His lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. “Okay, ” he said. “So maybe our problems aren’t like other couples’. ” He lifted a hand as if he meant to touch her face, then put it down hastily. “I heard you, you know, ” he said more softly. “Telling me I wasn’t dead. Asking me to open my eyes. ”

They looked at each other in silence for what was probably moments but felt like hours to Clary. It was so good to see him like this, completely himself, that it almost erased the fear that this was all going to go horribly wrong in the next few minutes. Finally Jace spoke.

“Why do you think I fell in love with you? ”

It was the last thing she would have expected him to say. “I don’t – That’s not a fair thing to ask. ”

“Seems fair to me, ” he said. “Do you think I don’t know you, Clary? The girl who walked into a hotel full of vampires because her best friend was there and needed saving? Who made a Portal and transported herself to Idris because she hated the idea of being left out of the action? ”

“You yelled at me for that–”

“I was yelling at myself, ” he said. “There are ways in which we’re so alike. We’re reckless. We don’t think before we act. We’ll do anything for the people we love. And I never thought how scary that was for the people who loved me until I saw it in you and it terrified me. How could I protect you if you wouldn’t let me? ” He leaned forward. “That, by the way, is a rhetorical question. ”

“Good. Because I don’t need protecting. ”

“I knew you’d say that. But the thing is, sometimes you do. And sometimes I do. We’re meant to protect each other, but not from everything. Not from the truth. That’s what it means to love someone but let them be themselves. ”

Clary looked down at her hands. She wanted to reach out and touch him so badly. It was like visiting someone in jail, where you could see them so clearly and so close, but there was unbreakable glass separating you.

“I fell in love with you, ” he said, “because you were one of the bravest people I’d ever known. So how could I ask you to stop being brave just because I loved you? ” He ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up in loops and curls that Clary ached to smooth down. “You came for me, ” he said. “You saved me when almost everyone else had given up, and even the people who hadn’t given up didn’t know what to do. You think I don’t know what you went through? ” His eyes darkened. “How do you imagine I could possibly be angry with you? ”

“Then, why haven’t you wanted to see me? ”

“Because…” Jace exhaled. “Okay, fair point, but there’s something you don’t know. The sword you used, the one Raziel gave to Simon…”

“Glorious, ” said Clary. “The Archangel Michael’s sword. It was destroyed. ”

“Not destroyed. It went back where it came from once the heavenly fire consumed it. ” Jace smiled faintly. “Otherwise our Angel would have had some serious explaining to do once Michael found out his buddy Raziel had lent out his favorite sword to a bunch of careless humans. But I digress. The sword… the way it burned… that was no ordinary fire. ”

“I guessed that. ” Clary wished Jace would hold out his arm and draw her against him. But he seemed to want to keep space between them, so she stayed where she was. It felt like an ache in her body, to be this close to him and not be able to touch him.

“I wish you hadn’t worn that sweater, ” Jace muttered.

“What? ” She glanced down. “I thought you liked this sweater. ”

“I do, ” he said, and shook his head. “Never mind. That fire – it was Heaven’s fire. The burning bush, the fire and brimstone, the pillar of fire that went before the children of Israel – that’s the fire we’re talking about. ‘For a fire is kindled in mine anger, and shall burn unto the lowest hell, and shall consume the earth with her increase, and set on fire the foundations of the mountains. ’ That’s the fire that burned away what Lilith had done to me. ” He reached for the hem of his shirt and drew it up. Clary sucked in her breath, for above his heart, on the smooth skin of his chest, there was no more Mark – and only a healed white scar where the sword had gone in.

She reached her hand out, wanting to touch him, but he drew back, shaking his head. She felt the hurt expression flash across her face before she could hide it as he rolled his shirt back down. “Clary, ” he said. “That fire – it’s still inside me. ”

She stared at him. “What do you mean? ”

He took a deep breath and held his hands out, palms down. She looked at them, slim and familiar, the Voyance rune on his right hand faded with white scars layered over it. As they both watched, his hands began to shake slightly – and then, under Clary’s incredulous eyes, to turn transparent. Like the blade of Glorious when it had begun to burn, his skin seemed to turn to glass, glass that trapped within it a gold that moved and darkened and burned. She could see the outline of his skeleton through the transparency of his skin, golden bones connected by tendons of fire.

She heard him inhale sharply. He looked up then, and met her eyes with his. His eyes were gold. They had always been gold, but she could swear that now that gold lived and burned as well. He was breathing hard, and there was sweat shining on his cheeks and collarbones.

“You’re right, ” Clary said. “Our problems really aren’t like other people’s problems. ”

Jace stared at her incredulously. Slowly he closed his hands into fists, and the fire vanished, leaving only his ordinary, familiar, unharmed hands behind. Half‑ choking on a laugh, he said, “That’s what you have to say? ”

“No. I have a lot more to say. What’s going on? Are your hands weapons now? Are you the Human Torch? What on earth–”

“I don’t know what the human torch is, but – All right, look, the Silent Brothers have told me that I carry the heavenly fire inside me now. Inside my veins. In my soul. When I first woke up, I felt like I was breathing in fire. Alec and Isabelle thought it was just a temporary effect of the sword, but when it didn’t go away and the Silent Brothers were called in, Brother Zachariah said he didn’t know how temporary it would be. And I burned him – he was touching my hand when he said it, and I felt a jolt of energy go through me. ”

“A bad burn? ”

“No. Minor. But still–”

“That’s why you won’t touch me, ” Clary realized aloud. “You’re afraid you’ll burn me. ”

He nodded. “No one’s ever seen anything like this, Clary. Not before. Not ever. The sword didn’t kill me. But it left this – this piece of something deadly inside me. Something so powerful it would probably kill an ordinary human, maybe even an ordinary Shadowhunter. ” He took a deep breath. “The Silent Brothers are working on how I might control it, or get rid of it. But as you might imagine, I’m not their first priority. ”

“Because Sebastian is. You heard I destroyed that apartment. I know he has other ways of getting around, but…”

“That’s my girl. But he has backups. Other hiding places. I don’t know what they are. He never told me. ” He leaned forward, close enough that she could see the changing colors in his eyes. “Since I woke up, the Silent Brothers have been with me practically every minute. They had to perform the ceremony on me again, the one that gets performed on Shadowhunters when they’re born to keep them safe. And then they went into my mind. Searching, trying to pull out any snippet of information about Sebastian, anything I might know and not remember I knew. But–” Jace shook his head in frustration. “There just isn’t anything. I knew his plans through the ceremony at the Burren. Beyond that, I have no idea what he’s going to do next. Where he might strike. They do know he’s been working with demons, so they’re shoring up the wards, especially around Idris. But I feel like there’s one useful thing we might have gotten out of all this – some secret knowledge on my part – and we don’t even have that. ”

“But if you did know anything, Jace, he would just change his plans, ” Clary objected. “He knows he lost you. You two were tied together. I heard him scream when I stabbed you. ” She shivered. “It was this horrible lost sound. He really did care about you in some strange way, I think. And even though the whole thing was awful, both of us got something out of it that might turn out to be useful. ”

“Which is…? ”

“We understand him. I mean, as much as anyone can ever understand him. And that’s not something he can erase with a change of plans. ”

Jace nodded slowly. “You know who else I feel like I understand now? My father. ”

“Valen – no, ” Clary said, watching his expression. “You mean Stephen. ”

“I’ve been looking at his letters. The things in the box Amatis gave me. He wrote a letter to me, you know, that he meant me to read after he died. He told me to be a better man than he was. ”

“You are, ” Clary said. “In those moments in the apartment when you were you, you cared about doing the right thing more than you cared about your own life. ”

“I know, ” Jace said, glancing down at his scarred knuckles. “That’s the strange thing. I know. I had so much doubt about myself, always, but now I know the difference. Between myself and Sebastian. Between myself and Valentine. Even the difference between the two of them. Valentine honestly believed he was doing the right thing. He hated demons. But to Sebastian, the creature he thinks of as his mother is one. He would happily rule a race of dark Shadowhunters who did the bidding of demons, while the ordinary humans of this world were slaughtered for the demons’ pleasure. Valentine still believed it was the mandate of Shadowhunters to protect human beings; Sebastian thinks they’re cockroaches. And he doesn’t want to protect anyone. He only wants what he wants at the moment he wants it. And the only real thing he ever feels is annoyance when he’s thwarted. ”

Clary wondered. She had seen Sebastian looking at Jace, even at herself, and knew there was some part of him as echoingly lonely as the blackest void of space. Loneliness drove him as much as a desire for power – loneliness and a need to be loved without any corresponding understanding that love was something you earned. But all she said was, “Well, let’s get with the thwarting, then. ”

A smile ghosted across his face. “You know I want to beg you to stay out of this, right? It’s going to be a vicious battle. More vicious than I think the Clave even begins to understand. ”

“But you’re not going to do that, ” Clary said. “Because that would make you an idiot. ”

“You mean because we need your rune powers? ”

“Well, that, and – Did you not listen to anything you just said? That whole business about protecting each other? ”

“I will have you know I practiced that speech. In front of a mirror before you got here. ”

“So what do you think it meant? ”

“I’m not sure, ” Jace admitted, “but I know I look damn good delivering it. ”

“God, I forgot how annoying the un‑ possessed you is, ” Clary muttered. “Need I remind you that you said that you have to accept you can’t protect me from everything? The only way that we can protect each other is if we are together. If we face things together. If we trust each other. ” She looked him directly in the eye. “I shouldn’t have stopped you from going to the Clave by calling for Sebastian. I should respect the decisions you make. And you should respect mine. Because we’re going to be together a long time, and that’s the only way it’s going to work. ”

His hand inched toward her on the blanket. “Being under Sebastian’s influence, ” he said, hoarsely. “It seems like a bad dream to me, now. That insane place – those closets of clothes for your mother–”

“So you remember. ” She almost whispered it.

His fingertips touched hers, and she almost jumped. Both of them held their breath while he touched her; she didn’t move, watching as his shoulders slowly relaxed and the anxious look left his face. “I remember everything, ” he said. “I remember the boat in Venice. The club in Prague. That night in Paris, when I was myself. ”

She felt the blood rush up under her skin, making her face burn.

“In some ways, we’ve been through something no one else can ever understand but the two of us, ” he said. “And it made me realize. We are always and absolutely better together. ” He raised his face to hers. He was pale, and fire flickered in his eyes. “I am going to kill Sebastian, ” he said. “I am going to kill him for what he did to me, and what he did to you, and what he did to Max. I am going to kill him because of what he has done, and what he will do. The Clave wants him dead, and they will hunt him. But I want my hand to be the one that cuts him down. ”

She reached out then, and put her hand on his cheek. He shuddered, and half‑ closed his eyes. She had expected his skin to be warm, but it was cool to the touch. “And what if I’m the one who kills him? ”

“My heart is your heart, ” he said. “My hands are your hands. ”

His eyes were the color of honey and slid as slowly as honey over her body as he looked her up and down as if for the first time since she’d come into the room, from her windblown hair to her booted feet, and back again. When their gaze met again, Clary’s mouth was dry.

“Do you remember, ” he said, “when we first met and I told you I was ninety percent sure putting a rune on you wouldn’t kill you – and you slapped me in the face and told me it was for the other ten percent? ”

Clary nodded.

“I always figured a demon would kill me, ” he said. “A rogue Downworlder. A battle. But I realized then that I just might die if I didn’t get to kiss you, and soon. ”

Clary licked her dry lips. “Well, you did, ” she said. “Kiss me, I mean. ”

He reached up and took a curl of her hair between his fingers. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, smell his soap and skin and hair. “Not enough, ” he said, letting her hair slip through his fingers. “If I kiss you all day every day for the rest of my life, it won’t be enough. ”

He bent his head. She couldn’t help tilting her own face up. Her mind was full of the memory of Paris, holding on to him as if it would be the last time she ever held him, and it almost had been. The way he had tasted, felt, breathed. She could hear him breathing now. His eyelashes tickled her cheek. Their lips were millimeters apart and then not apart at all, they brushed lightly and then with firmer pressure; they leaned in to each other–

And Clary felt a spark – not painful, more like a fillip of mild static electricity – pass between them. Jace drew quickly away. He was flushed. “We may need to work on that. ”

Clary’s mind was still whirling. “Okay. ”

He was staring straight ahead, still breathing hard. “I have something I want to give you. ”

“I gathered that. ”

At that he jerked his gaze back to hers and – almost reluctantly – grinned. “Not that. ” He reached down into the collar of his shirt and drew out the Morgenstern ring on its chain. He pulled it over his head and, leaning forward, dropped it lightly into her hand. It was warm from his skin. “Alec got it back from Magnus for me. Will you wear it again? ”

Her hand closed around it. “Always. ”

His grin softened to a smile, and, daring, she put her head on his shoulder. She felt his breath catch, but he didn’t move. At first he sat still, but slowly the tension drained from his body and they leaned together. It wasn’t hot and heavy, but it was companionable and sweet.

He cleared his throat. “You know this means that what we did – what we almost did in Paris–”

“Going to the Eiffel Tower? ”

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You never let me off the hook for a single minute, do you? Never mind. It’s one of the things I love about you. Anyway, that other thing we almost did in Paris – that’s probably off the table for a while. Unless you want that whole baby‑ I’m‑ on‑ fire‑ when‑ we kiss thing to become freakishly literal. ”

“No kissing? ”

“Well, kissing, probably. But as for the rest of it…”

She brushed her cheek lightly against his. “It’s okay with me if it’s okay with you. ”

“Of course it’s not okay with me. I’m a teenage boy. As far as I’m concerned, this is the worst thing that’s happened since I found out why Magnus was banned from Peru. ” His eyes softened. “But it doesn’t change what we are to each other. It’s like there’s always been a piece of my soul missing, and it’s inside you, Clary. I know I told you once that whether God exists or not, we’re on our own. But when I’m with you, I’m not. ”

She closed her eyes so he wouldn’t see her tears – happy tears, for the first time in a long time now. Despite everything, despite the fact that Jace’s hands remained carefully together in his lap, Clary felt a sense of relief so overwhelming that it drowned out everything else – the worry about where Sebastian was, the fear of an unknown future – everything receded into the background. None of it mattered. They were together, and Jace was himself again. She felt him turn his head and lightly kiss her hair.

“I really wish you hadn’t worn that sweater, ” he muttered into her ear.

“It’s good practice for you, ” she replied, her lips moving against his skin. “Tomorrow, fishnets. ”

Against her side, warm and familiar, she felt him laugh.

“Brother Enoch, ” said Maryse, rising from behind her desk. “Thank you for joining me and Brother Zachariah here on such short notice. ”

Is this in regards to Jace? Zachariah inquired, and if Maryse had not known better, she would have imagined a tinge of anxiety in his mental voice. I have checked in on him several times today. His condition has not changed.

Enoch shifted within his robes. And I have been looking through the archives and the ancient documentation on the topic of Heaven’s fire. There is some information about the manner in which it may be released, but you must be patient. There is no need to call on us. Should we have news, we will call on you.

“This is not about Jace, ” said Maryse, and she moved around the desk, her heels clicking on the stone floor of the library. “This is about something else entirely. ” She glanced down. A rug had been carelessly tossed across the floor, where no rug usually rested. It did not lie flat but was draped over an irregular humped shape. It obscured the delicate pattern of tiles that outlined the shape of the Cup, the Sword, and the Angel. She reached down, took hold of a corner of the rug, and yanked it aside.

The Silent Brothers did not gasp, of course; they could make no sound. But a cacophony filled Maryse’s mind, the psychic echo of their shock and horror. Brother Enoch took a step back, while Brother Zachariah raised one long‑ fingered hand to cover his face, as if he could block his ruined eyes from the sight before him.

“It was not here this morning, ” said Maryse. “But when I returned this afternoon, it awaited me. ”

At the very first glimpse she had thought that some kind of large bird had found its way into the library and died, perhaps breaking its neck against one of the tall windows. But as she had moved closer, the truth of what she was looking at had dawned on her. She said nothing of the visceral shock of despair that had gone through her like an arrow, or the way she had staggered to the window and been sick out of it the moment she’d realized what she was looking at.

A pair of white wings – not quite white, really, but an amalgamation of colors that shifted and flickered as she looked at it: pale silver, streaks of violet, dark blue, each feather outlined in gold. And then, there at the root, an ugly gash of sheared‑ off bone and sinew. Angel’s wings – angel’s wings that had been sliced from the body of a living angel. Angelic ichor, the color of liquid gold, smeared the floor.

Atop the wings was a folded piece of paper, addressed to the New York Institute. After splashing water on her face, Maryse had taken the letter and read it. It was short – one sentence – and was signed with a name in a handwriting oddly familiar to her, for in it there was the echo of Valentine’s cursive, the flourishes of his letters, the strong, steady hand. But it was not Valentine’s name. It was his son’s.

Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern.

She held it out now to Brother Zachariah. He took it from her fingers and opened it, reading, as she had, the single word of Ancient Greek scrawled in elaborate script across the top of the page.

Erchomai, it said.

I am coming.

NOTES

Magnus’s Latin invocation on page 237 that raises Azazel, beginning “Quod tumeraris: per Jehovam, Gehennam, ” is taken from The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus by Christopher Marlowe.

The snippets of the ballad Magnus listens to in the car on pages 391–393 are taken with permission from “Alack, for I Can Get No Play” by Elka Cloke. elkacloke. com

The T‑ shirt CLEARLY I HAVE MADE SOME BAD DECISIONS is inspired by my friend Jeph Jacques’s comic at questionable content. net. The T‑ shirts can be purchased at topatoco. com. The idea of Magical Love Gentleman also belongs to him.

Acknowledgments

As always, I must thank my family: my husband, Josh; my mother and father, as well as Jim Hill and Kate Connor; Melanie, Jonathan, and Helen Lewis; Florence and Joyce. Many thanks to early readers and critiquers Holly Black, Sarah Rees Brennan, Delia Sherman, Gavin Grant, Kelly Link, Ellen Kushner, and Sarah Smith. Special credit due to Holly, Sarah, Maureen Johnson, Robin Wasserman, Cristi Jacques, and Paolo Bacigalupi for helping me block scenes. Maureen, Robin, Holly, Sarah, you are always there for me to complain to – you are stars. Thank you to Martange for help with French translations and to my Indonesian fans for Magnus’s declaration to Alec. Wayne Miller, as always, assisted with Latin translations, and Aspasia Diafa and Rachel Kory gave extra assistance with ancient Greek. Invaluable help came from my agent, Barry Goldblatt, my editor, Karen Wojtyla; and her partner in crime Emily Fabre. My thanks to Cliff Nielson and Russell Gordon, for making a beautiful cover, and to the teams at Simon and Schuster and Walker Books for making the rest of the magic happen.

City of Lost Souls was written with the program Scrivener, in the town of Goult, France.