Also by Cassandra Clare

human beings, and the angels despise them for it, and the Clave despises it too, and therefore they
punish it. Do you know what happens to parabatai who fall in love? Do you know why it’s
forbidden?”
She shook her head.
His mouth quirked into a smile. There was something about that smile, so faint and yet so full of
bone-deep hatred, that chilled her the way none of his grinning had. “Then you have no idea what your
death will spare your beloved Julian,” he said. “So think about that as the life leaves your body. In a
way, your death is a mercy.” He raised his hand, violet fire beginning to crackle between his fingers.
He hurled his magic at her. And Emma flung her arm up, the arm that Julian had carved the
Endurance rune on, the arm that had been burning and aching and screaming at her to use it since she’d
struck the Black Volume.
Fire slammed into her arm. She felt it like a hard blow, but nothing more. The Endurance rune was
pulsing through her body with its power, and alongside that power rose her own rage.
Rage at knowing Malcolm had killed her parents, rage for the wasted years she’d searched for their
killer when he’d been right in front of her. Rage for every time he’d smiled at Julian or picked up
Tavvy when his heart was full of hate. Rage at one more thing that had been taken from the
Blackthorns.
She seized Cortana and wrenched herself to her knees, her hair flying as she drove the sword into
Malcolm’s gut.
This time there was no Black Volume to block her thrust. She felt the blade go in, felt it tear through
skin and rip past bone. Saw the tip of it burst out through his back, his white jacket soaked through
with red blood.
She sprang to her feet, yanking the sword free. He made a choking noise. Blood was spilling onto
the ground, running across the stone, spattering the Hands of Glory.
“This is for my parents,” she said, and slammed his body as hard as she could against the glass
wall.
She felt his ribs snap as the glass behind him fissured. Water began to pour through the cracks. She
felt it splatter against her face, salty as tears.
“I’ll tell you about the parabatai curse,” he gasped. “The Clave will never let you know it—it’s
forbidden. Kill me and you’ll never learn—”
With her left hand, Emma yanked down the lever.
She threw herself behind the glass door as it swung open, and the current exploded through. It
moved like a living thing—like a hand, shaped out of water, formed by the sea. It surrounded
Malcolm, and for a frozen moment Emma saw him there clearly, struggling with feeble motions,
within a whirlpool of water, water that spilled across the floor, water that gripped him, encircling
him like an unbreakable net.
It lifted Malcolm off his feet. He gave a cry of terror and the ocean took him, the current rushing
back out, carrying him with it. The glass door slammed shut.
The silence the water left behind was deafening. Exhausted, Emma slumped against the glass of the
porthole door. Through it she could see the ocean, the color of the night sky. Malcolm’s body was a
pale white star in the darkness, drifting among the weeds, and then a dark, spiky talon curled upward,
through the ripples, and caught hold of Malcolm by the ankle. With a quick jerk, his body was yanked
down and out of view.
There was a bright flicker. Emma turned to see that the violet wall of light in the corridor behind
her had vanished—spells disappeared when the warlocks who cast them died.