Also by Cassandra Clare

ounced off the walls, a brutal echo, and even Malcolm looked up.
Windspear exploded from the mouth of the tunnel. Julian sat astride him, his hands buried in the
horse’s mane. Mark was behind him, gripping his brother’s belt. They seemed to blur almost into one
person as Windspear leaped.
Malcolm gaped as the horse hurtled through the air, smashing through the protective barrier. As
Windspear sailed over the table, Julian flung himself from the horse’s back, falling heavily onto the
flat stone surface beside Tavvy. Emma felt the bone-jarring shock of his pain go through her own
body.
Mark kept his seat as Windspear swept over the table and landed on the other side of the circle.
The circle itself, now pierced, began to writhe like an illuminated serpent, the runes flaring up one by
one and then going out.
Julian was pulling himself up onto his knees. Malcolm snarled and reached for Tavvy—just as a
figure dropped from the ceiling and knocked him to the ground.
It was Kieran. His hair shimmered blue-green and he raised a blade that was the same sea color. It
plunged down toward Malcolm’s chest, but Malcolm threw his hands up. Dark purple light exploded
from his palms, hurling Kieran back. Malcolm rose to his feet, his face twisted in a snarl of hate. He
flung out a hand to crush Kieran into dust.
Windspear gave a scream. The horse whirled around, hooves raised, and punched them into
Malcolm’s back; somehow Mark kept his seat. The warlock went flying. The horse, red eyes wide,
reared and snorted. Mark, grabbing a fistful of Windspear’s mane, leaned down, his other hand
outstretched toward Kieran.
“Take it,” Emma heard him say. “Kieran, take my hand.”
Kieran reached up, and Mark pulled him upright, hauling him onto Windspear’s back. They swung
around and charged at a knot of Followers, the horse scattering them, Mark and Kieran reaching down
to finish off the living dead with strokes of their swords.
Malcolm was dragging himself to his feet. His once-white jacket was liberally stained now with
dirt and blood. He began to move toward the table, where Julian was kneeling over Tavvy, tugging at
the chains that bound him. The protection circle surrounding them was still sputtering. Emma took a
deep breath and raced for the table, leaping into the air.
She felt a wavering snap of electricity as she passed through the broken circle, crouched, and flung
herself upward. She landed on the table in a kneeling position, beside Julian.
“Move away!” was all she had time to gasp. “Julian, move!”
He rolled away from his brother, though she knew that letting go of Tavvy was the last thing he
wanted to do. He slid to the edge of the table and rose to his knees, leaning back. Trusting Emma.
Giving her space.
A blade made by Wayland the Smith can cut anything.
She swung down with Cortana, a few inches from Tavvy’s wrist. The edge of the blade sliced
through the chain and it fell away, rattling. She heard Malcolm scream, and a flash of violet fire split
the room.
Emma slashed down again with Cortana, severing the other chains holding Tavvy to the table.
“Go!” she shouted at Julian. “Get him out of here!”
Julian caught up his little brother in his arms. Octavian hung limp, his eyes rolled back. Julian
leaped down from the table.
Emma didn’t see him vanish into the tunnel; she had already whirled back around. Mark and Kieran
were trapped at one end of the room by a group of Followers, Diego and Cristina at another. Malcolm