Also by Cassandra Clare

perhaps, was that Ty was looking at him. Emma remembered Ty, years ago, saying, Why do people
say “look at me” when they mean “look at my eyes”? You could be looking at any part of a person
and you’re still looking at them. But he was looking curiously at Kit’s eyes as if they reminded him
of something.
“Kit!” The voice was a roar. Emma heard skidding footsteps on the stairs, and Johnny Rook
appeared. One of his sleeves was singed. Emma had never seen him look so furious. “Leave my son
alone!”
Ty steadied his grip on the knife, straightening his spine. He faced Johnny Rook without a speck of
fear. “Tell us about the Lottery,” he said.
Kit winced. Emma could see it, even in the gloom. Ty didn’t seem frightening to her, but then, she’d
cuddled him when he was three years old. But fear was clear in Johnny Rook’s face: As far as he was
concerned, Nephilim had snuck a Shadowhunter into his basement to murder his son.
“I’ll give you Casper Sterling’s address,” he said as Kit stared at him, looking bewildered. Clearly
he had rarely seen his father so shaken. “I’ve got it, okay? He’s got a bunch of identities, he isn’t easy
to find, but I know where he lives. All right? Good enough? Let my son go!”
Ty lowered the knife and stepped back. He kept it in his hand, his eyes on Kit as the other boy
rubbed ruefully at the dent in his throat. “Dad, I—” Kit started.
“Be quiet, Kit,” Johnny Rook snapped. “I’ve told you. Don’t say anything in front of Nephilim.”
“We’re on the same side,” Julian said in his calmest voice.
Johnny Rook whirled on him. His face was red, his throat working. “Don’t you dare tell me what
side I’m on, you know nothing, nothing—”
“Enough!” Emma shouted. “By the Angel, what are you so frightened of?”
Johnny slammed his mouth shut. “I’m not frightened,” he said through his teeth. “Just get out,” he
said. “Get out, and don’t ever come here again. I’ll text you the address but after that, don’t call, don’t
ask me for favors. We’re done, Nephilim.”
“Fine,” Emma said, gesturing for Ty to come toward her and Julian. “We’ll go. Ty—”
Ty slid the knife he’d been holding into his belt and darted up the steps. Julian turned and went after
him. The boy at the bottom of the stairs didn’t watch them go; his eyes were fixed on his father.
He wasn’t much younger than Emma—maybe by a year or two—but she felt a sudden inexplicable
surge of protectiveness toward Johnny Rook’s son. If he had the Sight, then all of Downworld was
open to him: terrifying and inexplicable. In his own way he was like Tiberius, living in a world he
saw differently than everyone else.
“Fine, Johnny,” Emma said again, loudly. “But if you change your mind, you have my number in
your phone. Under Carstairs.”
Johnny Rook glared at her.
“Call me,” Emma said again, and this time she looked directly at Kit. “If you ever need anything.”
“Get OUT.” Rook looked as if he were going to explode or have a heart attack, so with a last look
over her shoulder, Emma went.
Emma found Ty out by the car. Clouds had gathered, scudding in quick bursts across the sky. Ty was
leaning against the trunk, the wind ruffling his black hair. “Where’s Jules?” she asked as she got
close.
“Over there.” He pointed. “I got into the house with an Open rune. I broke the lock on the basement
door. He’s fixing it.”
Emma glanced over toward Johnny Rook’s and saw Jules’s lean, long figure outlined by the