Also by Cassandra Clare

“For a summoning spell,” said Livvy, and yawned again. “That’s what Malcolm said, anyway.”
A small crease appeared between Diego’s brows. “It is unlikely to be a summoning spell,” he said.
“Death energy allows you to do death magic. This magician is trying to bring back someone from the
dead.”
“But who?” said Ty, after a pause. “Someone powerful?”
“No,” said Drusilla. “He’s trying to bring back Annabel. Annabel Lee.”
Everyone looked surprised that Dru had spoken—so surprised that she seemed to shrink back into
herself a little. Diego, though, gave her an encouraging smile.
“The—the poem’s written on the inside of the convergence cave, right?” she went on, looking
around worriedly. “And everyone was trying to figure out if it was a code or a spell, but what if it’s
just a reminder? This person—the magician—they lost someone they loved, and they’re trying to
bring her back.”
“Someone so mad to get back their lost love that they founded a cult, killed more than a dozen
people, created that cave at the convergence, etched that poem on the wall, created a Portal to the
ocean . . . ?” Livvy sounded dubious.
“I would do it,” Dru said, “if it was someone I really loved. It might not even have been a
girlfriend—maybe a mother or a sister or whatever. I mean, you’d do it for Emma, right, Jules? If she
died?”
The black horror that was the thought of Emma dying rose against the backs of Julian’s eyes. He
said, “Don’t be morbid, Dru,” in a voice that sounded very distant to his own ears.
“Julian?” Emma said. “Are you all right?”
Thankfully he didn’t need to answer. A solemn voice spoke from the doorway. “Dru is right,”
Tavvy said.
He hadn’t gone to sleep after all. He stood by the door, wide-eyed, brown hair tousled. He had
always been small for his age, and his eyes were big blue-green saucers in his pale face. He was
holding something behind his back.
“Tavvy,” Julian said. “Tavs, what have you got there?”
Tavvy drew his hand from behind his back. He was carrying a book—a child’s book, oversize,
with an illustrated cover. The title was printed in gold foil. A Treasury of Tales for Nephilim.
A Shadowhunter children’s book. There were such things, though not many of them. The printing
presses in Idris were small.
“Where did you get that?” Emma asked, honestly curious. She’d had something like it as a child,
but it had been lost with many of her parents’ things in the chaos after the war.
“Great-Aunt Marjorie gave it to me,” Tavvy said. “I like most of the stories. The one about the first
parabatai is good, but some of them are sad and scary, like the one about Tobias Herondale. And the
one about Lady Midnight is the saddest.”
“Lady what?” said Cristina, leaning forward.
“Midnight,” said Tavvy. “Like the theater you went to. I heard Mark say the rhyme and I just
remembered I read it before.”
“You read it before?” Mark echoed incredulously. “When did you see that faerie rhyme,
Octavian?”
Tavvy opened the book. “There was a Shadowhunter lady,” he said. “She fell in love with someone
she wasn’t supposed to be in love with. Her parents trapped her in an iron castle, and he couldn’t get
in. She died of sadness, so the man who loved her went to the King of the faeries and asked if there
was a way to bring her back. He said there was a rhyme.