Also by Cassandra Clare

een and then vanished.
Some runes were permanent and some temporary. Voyance, which looked like an open eye and
helped you see through glamours, was permanent. So were wedding and parabatai runes. Temporary
runes disappeared slowly as they were used up—healing iratzes, for instance, vanished with varying
speed depending on the seriousness of the wound. A Sure-Footedness rune might last the duration of a
climb up a mountain. To get the absolute best results, when going into battle, a rune ought to be as new
as possible.
Jules rolled his sleeve up and held his arm out to Emma. “The honors?” he said.
She took a stele from the trunk and ran it over his bare forearm. Sure-Strike, Swiftness, and
Courage. When she was done, she lifted her hair and turned, offering her bare back to Julian. “If you
put the runes between my shoulder blades, my hair should cover them,” she said.
Julian didn’t say anything. She felt him hesitate, and then the lightest touch of his hand on her back,
steadying her. He was breathing quickly. Nerves, she thought. It was a strange situation they were
walking into, and he was worried for Mark.
He started on the second rune, and Emma felt a slight biting sting as the stele moved. She frowned.
Usually, though runes could sting or burn when applied, runes placed on you by your parabatai didn’t
hurt. In fact they were almost pleasant—it was like being wrapped in the protection of friendship, the
sense that someone else had sealed their dedication to you onto your skin.
Strange for it to hurt.
Julian finished, stepping back, and Emma let her hair fall. She turned and drew a quick Agility rune
on Cristina’s shoulder, under the strap of her dress. Then she looked at Mark.
He shook his head, just as he had every time a rune had been offered to him before. “No runes,” he
said tightly.
“It’s fine,” Julian said before anyone else could speak. “He doesn’t have Marks on him, besides the
Voyance, and that’s covered in makeup. He looks normal.”
“Normal-ish,” said Emma. “His ears and his eyes—”
Cristina stepped forward and reached up to muss Mark’s hair, spilling the curls down to cover his
pointed ears. “There’s nothing we can do about the eyes, but—”
“Mundanes have heterochromia too,” said Jules. “The main thing is, Mark, try to act normal.”
Mark looked affronted. “Do I ever not?”
No one answered that, not even Cristina. After sliding a pair of daggers into the shoulder harness
under his shirt, Julian slammed the trunk closed, and they headed across the street.
The doors of the theater were thrown open. Light spilled out onto the dark pavement. Emma could
hear laughter and music, smell the mingled scents of perfume and wine and smoke.
At the door a young woman in a slinky red dress was taking tickets and stamping hands. Her hair
was done up in forties-style Victory roll curls, and her lips were blood red. She wore ivory satin
gloves that reached her elbows.
Emma recognized her immediately. She’d seen her at the Shadow Market, winking at Johnny Rook.
“I’ve seen her before,” she whispered to Jules. “Shadow Market.” He nodded and tucked his hand
around Emma’s. She jolted slightly, both at the sudden heat around her palm and in surprise.
She glanced over at him, saw the look on his face as he smiled at the familiar-looking ticket girl. A
little bored, a little arrogant, a lot entitled. Someone who wasn’t worried about getting inside at all.
He was playing a role, and taking her hand was part of it, that was all there was to it.
He held out their ticket. “Mr. Smith, plus three guests,” he said.
There was a slight commotion behind them as Mark opened his mouth, doubtless to ask who Mr.