Also by Cassandra Clare

She didn’t believe in the Cold Peace, had never believed in it, but Mark’s pain had torn away at
her beliefs. Perhaps the faeries truly were that cruel. Perhaps there really was no good in them, no
honor. And if that was the case, how could she leave Mark out there, alone, with one of them?
She whirled around and pushed the door open—and froze.
It took a moment for her gaze to find them, but when it did, Mark and Kieran seemed to leap out at
her like the images from a lighted screen. They stood in a patch of moonlight at the edge of the lot,
Mark’s back against one of the scrub oak trees. Kieran was leaning against him, pinning him to the
tree, and they were kissing.
Cristina hesitated a moment, blood rising into her face, but it was clear Mark wasn’t being touched
against his will. Mark’s hands were tangled in Kieran’s hair, and he was kissing him as fiercely as if
he were starving. Their bodies were pressed together tightly; nevertheless, Kieran clutched at Mark’s
waist, his hands moving restlessly, desperately, as if he could pull Mark closer still. They slid up,
pushing Mark’s jacket off his shoulders, stroking the skin at the edge of his collar. He made a low
keening sound, like a cry of grief, deep in his throat, and broke away.
He was staring at Mark, his gaze as hungry as it was hopeless. Never had a faerie looked so human
to Cristina as Kieran did then. Mark looked back at him, eyes wide, shining in the moonlight. A
shared look of love and longing and terrible sadness. It was too much. It had already been too much:
Cristina knew she shouldn’t have been watching them but she hadn’t been able to stop, mingled shock
and fascination rooting her to the spot.
And desire. There was desire, too. Whether for Mark, or for both of them, or just for the idea of
wanting someone so much, she wasn’t sure. She moved back, her heart pounding, about to pull the
door shut after her—
And the whole parking lot lit up like a stadium as a car rounded the corner and turned into it. Music
blared out the windows; Cristina could hear Emma’s and Julian’s voices.
Her gaze darted back toward Mark and Kieran, but Kieran had vanished, a shadow into shadows.
Mark was bending down to pick up his jacket as Emma and the others piled out of the car.
Cristina pulled the door shut. Through it she heard Emma ask Mark where she was, and Mark say
that she had gone inside. He sounded casual, calm, as if nothing had happened.
But everything had happened.
She had wondered, when he’d looked in her eyes and said that he’d had to make do without mirrors
in the Wild Hunt, whose eyes he’d been looking into for all those years.
Now she knew.