Also by Cassandra Clare

eyes blank and empty, her head cocked to the side—flung herself at Cristina. Her fingers were bent
into claws, and before Cristina could react, Belinda had torn bloody gashes down the side of her
face.
With a cry of disgust, Cristina shoved the corpse away from her, slashing her butterfly knife across
Belinda’s throat.
It made no difference. Belinda stood up again, the wound in her throat bloodless and flapping, and
swung toward Cristina. Before she could take more than a single step there was a flash of silver.
Diego’s ax sang out, whipping forward, severing Belinda’s head from her neck. The headless body
sank to the ground. The wound still wasn’t bleeding; it looked cauterized.
“Behind you!” Cristina shouted.
Diego whirled. Behind him two other Followers were reaching to grab and claw at them. He spun
in a swift arc, his ax taking both their heads with it.
There was a noise behind Emma. Instantly she calculated where the Follower behind her was; she
leaped, spun, kicked, and knocked him back. It was the clarinetist with the curly hair. She stabbed
downward with Cortana, severing his head from his body.
She thought of him winking at her in the Midnight Theater. I never knew his name, she thought, and
then whirled back around.
The room was in chaos. Just as Malcolm must have wanted, the Shadowhunters had abandoned the
perimeter of the protection circle to ward off the Followers.
Malcolm was ignoring everything that was going on around him. He had seized up the candelabra
with the Hands of Glory on it and carried it to the head of the table. He set it down beside Tavvy, who
slept on, a rosy flush on his cheeks.
Dru had run to Diana and was struggling to help her get to her feet. As a Follower approached
them, Dru whipped around and ran the woman through with her blade. Emma saw her swallow as the
body crumpled and realized it was the first time Dru had killed someone in battle—even if that
someone was already dead.
Livvy was fighting gloriously, feinting and parrying with her saber, driving Followers toward Ty.
He was carrying a seraph blade, one that blazed brightly in his grip. As a blond Follower lurched into
him, he drove the blade into the back of the dead man’s neck.
There was a searing, crackling noise as the seraph blade met flesh and the Follower began to burn.
He staggered away, clawing at his burning flesh, before tumbling to the ground.
“Seraph blades!” Emma called. “Everyone! Use your seraph blades!”
Lights blazed up through the cavern and Emma heard the murmur of voices calling the names of
angels. Jophiel, Remiel, Duma. Through the haze of light she saw Malcolm with the bent copper
knife. He ran a hand along the blade and it sprang back under his fingers, as sharp as it had been
originally. He placed the tip of it against Tavvy’s throat and sliced downward, slitting open the little
boy’s Batman T-shirt. The worn cotton curled open, revealing his thin, vulnerable chest.
Emma’s world seemed to drop away. In the chaos of the room, she was still fighting, her seraph
blade flaming as she plunged it into one Follower, then two, then three. Their bodies crumpled all
around her.
She tried to push through them, toward Tavvy, just as she heard Julian’s voice. She whirled around
but couldn’t see him—and yet his voice had been clear in her ears, saying, Emma, Emma, move
aside, away from the tunnel.
She jumped aside, skirting the body of a fallen Follower, just as she heard a new noise: the thunder
of hooves. A sound pierced the room, something between a howl and the crash of an enormous bell. It