Also by Cassandra Clare

couldn’t get his words off her mind, and as a result scored dismally on languages and memorization of
the classes of various demons and Downworlders. She mixed up Azazel and Asmodeus, Purgatic and
Cthonian, and nixies and pixies. Diana glared at her as she marked the paper with Emma’s name on it
with a fat red pen.
Everyone else scored high, and the few that Julian missed were ones Emma suspected he had
gotten wrong on purpose to make her feel better.
Emma was grateful when they finished up the written and oral parts of the test. They took a break
for lunch before moving down the hall to the training room. Diana had already set up the space. There
were targets for knife throwing, swords of various sizes, and, in the middle of the room, a large
training dummy. It had a wooden trunk, several arms that could be positioned and repositioned, and a
stuffed cloth head like a scarecrow.
A circle of black-and-white powder surrounded the dummy—rock salt mixed with ash. “Attacking
from a distance, with care and precision,” Diana said. “Disrupt the ash circle and you fail.” She
moved toward the black box on the floor and flipped a switch. It was a radio. Noise exploded into the
room, harsh and discordant. It sounded as if someone had recorded a mob in action, shouting and
yelling and smashing windows.
Livvy looked horrified. Ty winced and reached for his headphones, dropping them over his ears.
“Distraction,” said Diana loudly. “You have to work past it—”
Before she could finish, there was a knock at the door: It was Mark, looking diffident. “Tavvy is
busy with his books,” he said to Diana, who had reached to turn the noise down slightly, “and you had
asked if I could join this part of the testing. I thought it best to oblige.”
“But Mark doesn’t need to be tested,” objected Julian. “It’s not as if his scores can be reported to
the Clave.”
“Cristina doesn’t need her scores reported either,” Diana said. “But she’s joining in. I want to see
how you all do. If you’re going to work together, it would be best if you all knew each other’s skill
levels.”
“I can fight,” Mark said. He didn’t add anything about the night before, the fact that he’d held off
Mantid demons on his own, without new runes. “The Wild Hunt are warriors.”
“Yes, but they fight differently than Shadowhunters,” Diana said, gesturing around the training
room, at the runed blades, the adamas swords. “These are the weapons of your people.” She turned
back to the others. “Each of you must choose one.”
Mark’s expression flattened at that, but he said nothing. Nor did he move as the rest of them
scattered—Emma went for Cortana, Cristina for her butterfly knives, Livvy for her saber, and Dru for
a long, thin misericord. Julian chose a pair of chakhrams, circular razored throwing stars.
Ty hung back. Emma couldn’t help but wonder if Diana noticed that it was Livvy who picked up a
dagger for Ty and pressed it into his palm. Emma had seen Ty throw knives before: He was good at it,
sometimes excellent, but only when he felt like it. When he didn’t, there was no moving him.
“Julian,” Diana said, turning the music back up. “You first.”
Julian stepped back and threw, the chakhrams spinning from his hands like circles of light. One
sheared off the training dummy’s right arm, the other its left, before they buried themselves in the
wall.
“Your target isn’t dead,” Diana pointed out. “Just armless.”
“Exactly,” said Julian. “So I can question him. Or it, you know, if it’s a demon.”
“Very strategic.” Diana tried to hide a smile as she made a note in her book. She picked up the
dummy’s arms and fastened them back on. “Livvy?”