Also by Cassandra Clare

undling him into the back of the car, his head lolling, his body limp.
They’d discussed whether to race straight to the convergence, but decided to head to the Institute
first to pick up more weapons and consult with the others. Emma especially was eager to talk to
Julian—she’d called several times, but he hadn’t picked up. She told herself he was probably busy
with the kids, but faint worry rankled at the back of her mind as she slid into the driver’s seat,
Cristina beside her. Perfect Diego clambered in beside Sterling, his dagger out, pressed to Sterling’s
throat.
Emma took off with a vicious screech of tires. She was filled with rage, at least half of it directed
at herself. How could she not have figured out that Sterling wasn’t a victim, but a killer? How could
they all not have known?
“It’s not your fault,” Perfect Diego said from the back of the car, as if he’d read her mind. “It made
sense to assume that the Lottery was choosing victims, not killers.”
“And Johnny Rook lied to us,” Emma snarled. “Or at least—he let us believe it. That we were
protecting someone.”
“We were protecting a killer,” said Cristina. She looked miserable, her hand clamped around her
pendant.
“Don’t blame yourself,” said Perfect Diego, being perfect. “You’ve been investigating with no
information. No help from the Silent Brothers or—anyone else.”
Cristina looked over her shoulder at him and glared. “How do you know all this?”
“What makes you think we’ve been investigating?” Emma demanded. “Just because you saw me
and Julian at Wells’s place?”
“That was my first clue,” Perfect Diego said. “After that I asked around. Talked to a guy at the
Shadow Market—”
“Johnny Rook again,” Emma said in disgust. “Is there anyone that guy won’t blab to?”
“He told me everything,” Perfect Diego said. “That you were looking into the murders without the
Clave knowing. That it was a secret. I was scared for you, Cristina.”
Cristina snorted without turning around.
“Tina,” Perfect Diego said, and his voice was filled with longing. “Tina, please.”
Emma looked awkwardly out the windshield. They were almost in view of the ocean. She tried to
concentrate on that and not the tension between the two other conscious occupants of the car.
Cristina clenched her medallion tighter, but said nothing.
“Rook said you were investigating because you believed the murders were tied to your parents’
death,” Perfect Diego said to Emma. “For what it is worth, I am sorry for your loss.”
“That was a long time ago.” Emma could see Perfect Diego in the rearview mirror. He had a
delicate chain of runes that circled his neck, like a torque. His hair curled, not Julian’s waves but
ringlets that fell over the tops of his ears.
He was hot. And he seemed nice. And he had some serious badass moves. He really was Perfect
Diego, she thought wryly. No wonder Cristina had been so hurt.
“What are you doing here?” Cristina demanded. “Emma has a reason to be investigating the
murders, but you?”
“You know I was at the Scholomance,” Perfect Diego said. “And you know Centurions are often
sent to investigate matters that don’t fall strictly under Shadowhunter mandate—”
There was a hoarse yell. Sterling had jerked awake and was flailing in the backseat. Perfect
Diego’s knife flashed in the darkness. Cars honked as Emma jerked the wheel to the right and they
careened onto Ocean Avenue.