Also by Cassandra Clare

drowning-blackened face to the night sky. One of her arms floated up, as if she were raising it to
protect herself. With a brief flash of horror, Emma saw that her right hand was missing; not just
missing, but looked as if it had been hacked away, the skin around her wrist ragged and bloodless in
the chlorinated water.
Emma rolled out from under Julian and sprang to her feet. There was a figure standing on the roof
of the house; she could see it only in outline. Tall, most likely masculine, dressed all in black,
crossbow in hand. He raised it and took aim. Another bolt whistled by.
Rage settled over Emma, cold and hard. How dare he shoot at them, how dare he shoot at Jules?
She took a running jump and cleared the pool. She hurtled over the gate and ran at the house, leaping
up to seize hold of the wrought-iron bars covering the lower windows. She levered herself higher,
aware that Julian was shouting at her to get down, ignoring where the metal bit into her palms. She
swung herself up, then up again, pushing off from the wall to flip herself onto the roof.
The shingles crunched under her feet as she landed in a crouch. She looked up and caught a quick
glimpse of the black-clad figure on the rooftop; he was backing away from her. His face was covered
with a mask.
Emma unsheathed Cortana. The blade glittered long and wicked in the dusk light.
“What are you?” she demanded. “A vampire? Downworlder? Did you kill Ava Leigh?” She took a
step forward; the strange figure backed away. He moved without alarm, very deliberately, which only
angered Emma more. There was a dead girl in the pool below them, and Emma had arrived too late to
save her. Her body was thrumming with the desire to do something to fix it.
Emma narrowed her eyes. “Listen up. I’m a Shadowhunter. You can either surrender to the authority
of the Clave, or I’ll bury this blade in your heart. Your choice.”
He took a step toward her and for a moment Emma thought it had worked; he was actually giving
up. Then he dived suddenly to the side. She lunged forward as he tumbled backward off the roof. He
fell silently as a star.
Emma cursed and ran to the edge of the roof. There was nothing. Silence, darkness; no sign of
anything or anyone. She could see the glimmer of the pool. She moved around the side and saw Julian
bending down, one of his hands on the dog’s head.
Trust Jules to try to comfort a puppy at a time like this. She braced herself and jumped—the image
of the training room flashed behind her eyelids—landing in the overgrown grass with only a slight
sting.
“Jules?” she said, coming closer. With a whimper the dog darted away, into the shadows. “He got
away.”
“Yeah?” He straightened up, sounding preoccupied. “What do you think he was doing here?”
“I don’t know; I guessed vampire, but Nightshade keeps a pretty tight leash on them and—Jules?”
She heard her voice skip upward an octave as she drew close enough to see that he had one hand
pressed against his side. His black gear jacket was torn. “Jules? Are you okay?”
He drew his hand away from his side. His palm was a welter of blood, black under the blue LED
lighting of the pool. “I’m fine,” he said. He rose to his feet and took a step toward her—and stumbled.
“It’s fine.”
Her heart flipped over. He was holding something in his bloody hand, and her insides went cold as
she saw what it was. A short metal crossbow bolt, with a wide triangular head like an arrow, wet
with blood. He must have pulled it from his side.
You were never, never supposed to pull an arrow out of your skin: It did more damage coming out
than going in. Julian knew that.