Also by Cassandra Clare

mouthed RUN at them silently, before turning back to Malcolm.
Emma didn’t budge, but she did hear a movement behind her. It was quiet; if she hadn’t been
wearing a rune that sharpened her hearing, it would have been inaudible. To her surprise, the
movement was Julian, disappearing from her side. Mark was next to him. Silently they slipped back
into the tunnel.
Emma wanted to call after Julian—what was he doing?—but she couldn’t, not without alerting
Malcolm. Malcolm was still moving toward Diana; in a moment he’d be where he could see them.
She put a hand to the hilt of Cortana. Ty was gripping a knife, white-knuckled; Livvy held her saber,
her face set and determined.
“Who told you?” Malcolm said. “Was it Rook? I didn’t think he’d guessed.” He tipped his head to
the side. “No. You weren’t sure when you got here. You suspected . . .” His mouth turned down at the
corners. “It was Catarina, wasn’t it?”
Diana stood with her feet apart, her head back. A warrior stance. “When the second line of the
poem was deciphered and I heard the phrase ‘Blackthorn blood,’ I realized that we weren’t searching
for a killer of mundanes and faeries. That this was about the Blackthorn family. And there is no one
more likely to know about a grudge that goes back years than Catarina. I went to her.”
“And you couldn’t tell the Blackthorns where you went because of the reason you know Catarina,”
said Malcolm. “She’s a nurse—a nurse to mundanes. How do you think I found out—?”
“She didn’t tell you about me, Malcolm,” snapped Diana. “She keeps secrets. What she told me
about you was simply what she knew—that you’d loved a Nephilim girl and that she’d become an
Iron Sister. She’d never questioned the story because as far as she knew, you’d never questioned the
story. But once she told me that, I was able to check with the Iron Sisters. No Nephilim girl with that
story had become one of them. And once I realized that was a lie, the rest began to come together. I
remembered what Emma had told us about what she’d found here, the clothes, the candelabra.
Catarina went to the Spiral Labyrinth and I came here—”
“So Catarina gave you the charm to get you through the protection circle,” said Malcolm.
“Unfortunate that you wasted it. Did you have a plan or did you just rush here in a panic?”
Diana said nothing. Her face looked carved out of stone.
“Always have a plan,” said Malcolm. “I, for one, have been crafting my current plan for years. And
now here you are, the proverbial fly in the ointment. I suppose there’s nothing to do but kill you,
though I hadn’t planned to, and exposing you to the Clave would have been so much more fun—”
Something silver bloomed from Diana’s hand. A sharp-pointed throwing star. It whipped toward
Malcolm; one moment he was in its path, the next he was across the room. The throwing star hit the
wall of the cave and tumbled to the ground, where it lay glimmering.
Malcolm made a hissing noise, like an angry cat. Sparks flew from his fingers. Diana was lifted up
into the air and flung back against the wall, then to the floor, her arms clamping themselves to her
sides. She rolled into a sitting position, but when she tried to stand, her knees crumpled under her.
She thrashed at her invisible bonds.
“You won’t be able to move,” Malcolm said in a bored voice. “You’re paralyzed. I could have
killed you instantly, of course, but well, this is quite a trick I’m about to perform and every trick
needs an audience.” He smiled suddenly. “I suppose I shouldn’t forget the audience I have. It’s just
that they aren’t very lively.”
Suddenly the cavern was alive with light. The thick shadows behind the stone table dissolved, and
Emma could see that the cavern reached back and back—there were long rows of seats set up, like
church pews, neat and orderly, and the seats were filled with people.