Also by Cassandra Clare

So it is decreed by Raziel.
Sed lex, dura lex. The Law is hard, but it is the Law.
When Emma came into the kitchen, Julian was by the sink, cleaning up the remains of breakfast. Mark
was leaning against the kitchen island in dark jeans and a black shirt. With his new short hair, in the
daylight, he looked astonishingly different from the ragged feral boy who’d pushed back his hood in
the Sanctuary.
She’d gone for a deliberately long run on the beach that morning, missing the family meal on
purpose, trying to clear her head. She grabbed a bottled smoothie out of the refrigerator instead. When
she turned around, Mark was grinning.
“As I understand it, what I am currently wearing is not semiformal enough for the performance
tonight?” he inquired.
Emma glanced from him to Julian. “So Mr. Rules unbent and decided you could come tonight?”
Julian gave a fluid shrug. “I’m a reasonable man.”
“Ty and Livvy have promised to help me find something to wear,” said Mark, heading for the
kitchen door.
“Don’t trust them,” Julian called after him. “Don’t—” He shook his head as the door closed.
“Guess he’ll have to learn on his own.”
“That reminds me,” Emma said, leaning on the counter. “We have an emergency situation.”
“An emergency?” With a concerned look, he thumbed off the water and turned to face her.
Emma set her bottled drink down. Soap suds were clinging to Jules’s forearms, and his T-shirt was
damp from the hot water. She couldn’t help a flash of memory: Jules in the back of the car, looking up
at her with gritted teeth. The way his skin had felt, under her hands, the slipperiness of his blood.
“Is it Diana?” he said, reaching for paper towels.
“What?” That snapped her out of her reverie. “Is Diana all right?”
“Presumably,” he said. “She left a note saying she was going to be gone today. Back to Ojai to see
her warlock friend.”
“She doesn’t know about tonight.” Emma leaned on the counter. “Does she?”
Jules shook his head. A damp curl stuck to his cheekbone. “Didn’t exactly get a chance to tell her.”
“You could text,” Emma pointed out. “Or call.”
“I could,” he said neutrally. “But then I’d feel like I needed to tell her about me getting hurt last
night.”
“Maybe you should.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I mean, really, fine. Like nothing ever happened.” He shook his head. “I don’t
want her insisting I stay back from tonight. The theater could be nothing, but if it’s something, I want
to be there.” He dropped the paper towels in the trash. “If you’re there, I want to be there.”
“I like it when you’re deceptive.” Emma stretched up on her toes, arms behind her head, trying to
work out the kinks in her back muscles. Cool air touched the bare skin of her stomach as her tank
pulled up. “If you’re totally fine, though, maybe you don’t ever have to tell Diana? Just a suggestion.”
When Julian didn’t answer, she glanced up at him.
He was arrested midmotion, looking at her. Each of his lashes was a perfect dark line; he was
expressionless, his gaze shuttered, as if caught in a peculiar stillness.
He was beautiful. The most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She wanted to crawl inside his skin,
live where he breathed. She wanted.