Also by Cassandra Clare

First the flame and then the flood,
In the end, it’s Blackthorn blood.
Seek thou to forget what’s past—
“That’s it,” he finished. “That’s what we have so far.”
“Blackthorn blood?” echoed Diana. She had climbed up onto a library ladder to hand a book down
to Tavvy.
Emma frowned. “I don’t really love the sound of that.”
“There’s no indication of traditional blood magic,” said Julian. “None of the bodies had those
kinds of cuts or wounds.”
“I wonder about the mention of the past,” said Mark. “These kind of rhymes, in Faerie, often
encode a spell—like the ballad of ‘Thomas the Rhymer.’ It is both a story and instructions on how to
break someone free of Faerie.”
For a moment Diana’s face was arrested midexpression, as if she had either suddenly realized or
suddenly remembered something.
“Diana?” Julian said. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” She climbed down from the ladder and dusted off her clothes. “I need to make a call.”
“Who are you calling?” Julian asked, but Diana only shook her head, her hair brushing her
shoulders.
“I’ll be back,” she said, and slipped out the library door.
“But what does it mean?” Emma said to the room at large. “In the end, Blackthorn blood what?”
“And if it’s a faerie rhyme, then shouldn’t they know if there’s more of it?” Dru spoke up from the
corner where she was busy distracting Tavvy. “The Fair Folk, I mean. They’re meant to be on our
side for this.”
“I have sent a message,” Mark said guardedly. “But I will tell you, I only ever heard those two
lines of it.”
“The most significant thing it means is that somehow this situation—the murders, the bodies, the
Followers—is tied to this family.” Julian looked around. “Somehow, it’s connected to us. To the
Blackthorns.”
“That would explain why all this is happening in Los Angeles,” said Mark. “It is our home.”
Emma saw Julian’s expression flicker slightly, and knew what he was thinking: that Mark had
spoken of Los Angeles as a place they all lived, not a place where everyone lived but him. That he
had spoken of it as home.
There was a loud buzzing sound. The map of Los Angeles on the table had started to vibrate. What
looked like a small red dot was moving across it. “Sterling’s left his house,” Cristina said, reaching
for the map.
“Belinda Belle said he had two days,” said Julian. “That could mean the hunt starts tomorrow, or it
could mean tonight, depending on how they’re counting. Anyway, we can’t assume.”
“Cristina and I will follow him,” Emma said. She was desperate to get out of the house suddenly,
desperate to clear her head, desperate even to get away from Julian.
Mark frowned. “We should go with you—”
“No!” Emma said, hopping down from the table. Everyone turned to look at her in surprise; she had
spoken with more force than she meant to—the truth was, she wanted to talk to Cristina alone. “We’re
going to have to take it in shifts,” she said. “We’re going to have to tail Sterling twenty-four/seven
until something happens, and if we all go every time, we’ll just end up with everyone exhausted.