Also by Cassandra Clare

“Let me go!” Sterling jerked and flailed against the wire wrapping his wrists. “Let me go!”
He yelped in pain as Perfect Diego flung him hard against the backseat of the car, pressing the knife
against his jugular. “Get off me,” Sterling yelled. “Goddammit, get off me—”
Sterling shrieked as Perfect Diego dug his knee into his thigh. “Settle,” Diego said in a flat, deadly
voice, “down.”
They were still hurtling down Ocean. Palm trees fringed either side of the street like eyelashes.
Emma cut wildly in front of the left-hand turn lane and shot down the ramp to the coast highway amid
a furious chorus of blaring horns.
“Jesus Christ!” Sterling shouted. “Where’d you learn to drive?”
“Nobody asked you for commentary!” Emma yelled back as they hurtled into the moving traffic.
Luckily it was late and the lanes were mostly empty.
“I don’t want to die on the Pacific Coast Highway!” Sterling wailed.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Emma’s voice dripped acid. “Is there a different highway you’d like to die on?
BECAUSE WE CAN ARRANGE THAT.”
“Bitch,” Sterling hissed.
Cristina whirled around in her seat. There was a cracking sound like a gunshot; a second later, as
they hurtled past a group of surfers walking along the highway’s edge, Emma realized she’d slapped
Sterling across the face.
“Don’t you call my friend a bitch,” Cristina said. “You understand?”
Sterling rubbed his jaw. His eyes were slits. “You’ve got no right to touch me.” There was a whine
in his voice. “Nephilim only deal with issues that break the Accords.”
“Wrong,” Perfect Diego said. “We deal with any issues we feel like.”
“But Belinda told us—”
“Yeah, about that,” Cristina said. “How did you end up joining that cult or whatever it is at the
Midnight Theater?”
Sterling exhaled a shaky breath. “We’re sworn to secrecy,” he said finally. “If I tell you everything
I know, are you going to protect me?”
“Maybe,” said Emma. “But you’re tied up and we’re all heavily armed. You really fancy your
chances if you don’t tell?”
Sterling glanced at Perfect Diego, who was holding the dagger idly, as if it were a pen.
Nevertheless, there was a sense of coiled power about him, as if he could explode into action in
under a second. If Sterling had any brains he’d be terrified. “I got into it through a producer friend of
mine. He said he’d found a way to guarantee that everything you touched turned to gold. Not literally,”
Sterling hastened to add.
“No one thought you meant literally, idiot,” said Emma.
Sterling made an angry noise, cut off quickly by Diego pressing the knife tighter against his throat.
“Who’s the Guardian?” Cristina demanded. “Who leads the Followers at the theater?”
“I’ve got no idea,” Sterling said sulkily. “Nobody knows. Not even Belinda.”
“I saw Belinda at the Shadow Market, shilling for your little cult,” Emma said. “I’m guessing they
promised money and luck if you came to their meetings. You just had to risk the lotteries. Am I right?”
“They didn’t seem like that big a risk,” said Sterling. “They were only once in a while. If you got
picked, no one could touch you. No one could interfere until you took a life.”
Cristina’s face twisted in disgust. “And those who took lives? What happened to them?”
“They got whatever they wanted,” Sterling said. “To be rich. Beautiful. After a sacrifice, everyone
gets stronger, but the one who performs the sacrifice gets stronger than the rest.”