Also by Cassandra Clare

meant that whatever was happening on the surface didn’t match what was going on in Julian’s mind.
“We should go,” he said. “The convergence’s collapse means the Clave is going to be able to see
the dark magic emanating from this place on their map. When we get back, I don’t think we’ll be
alone.”
They hurried to get everyone ready to go: Livvy carrying Octavian on her lap in the backseat of the
Toyota, Diana taking Cristina and Diego in the truck, which she had hidden among some scrub brush.
Kieran offered the use of Windspear again to Mark, but Mark declined.
“I wish to ride with my brothers and sisters,” he said simply.
Julian turned to Kieran. The faerie’s eyes were flat, unreflective. Julian wished he could see what
his brother had loved: a Kieran who had been warm toward Mark or kind. He wished he could thank
Kieran for not leaving Mark alone among the Hunt.
He wished he felt less hatred in his heart.
“You don’t need to come back with us,” Julian said. “We don’t need your help anymore.”
“I will not go until I know Mark is safe.”
Julian shrugged. “Have it your way. When we get back, don’t come into the Institute until we say
so. We’d be in trouble just for fighting alongside you.”
Kieran’s mouth hardened. “Without me, you would have been defeated this night.”
“Probably,” said Julian. “I’ll remember to be grateful every time I see the scars on Emma’s back.”
Kieran flinched. Julian turned and walked toward the car. Diana cut in front of him, holding up a
hand. She was wrapped in a heavy shawl, and her face was speckled with blood like light freckles.
“The Clave may well be waiting for you,” she said without preamble. “If you want, I’ll take the
blame for everything and throw myself on their mercy.”
Julian looked at her for a long moment. He had lived by ironclad rules for so long. Protect Tavvy,
protect Livvy and Ty, protect Dru. Protect Emma. Recently that had widened out slightly—he would
protect Mark, because Mark had come back, and he would protect Cristina, because Emma loved her.
It was a sort of love few other people could understand. It was total and it was overwhelming and
it could be cruel. He would destroy a whole city if he thought that city posed some threat to his
family.
When you were twelve years old and you were all that stood between your family and annihilation,
you didn’t learn moderation.
He considered now, with all the detachment he could muster, what would happen if Diana tried to
take the blame—he entertained the idea, turned it over in his head, and rejected it. “No,” he said.
“And I’m not being kind. I don’t think it would work.”
“Julian—”
“You hide things,” he said. “The Angel knows there’s something you’re still hiding, some reason
you couldn’t take over the Institute. Something you won’t tell, anyway. You’re a good hider, but
you’re not a good liar. They won’t believe you. But they will believe me.”
“So you already have a story for them?” Diana asked, her dark eyes widening.
Julian didn’t say anything.
She sighed, pulling the shawl tighter. “You’re a piece of work, Julian Blackthorn.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, though he doubted she meant it as one.
“Did you know I’d be here tonight?” she asked. “Did you think I was in league with Malcolm?”
“I didn’t think it was likely,” Julian said. “But then, I don’t entirely trust anyone.”
“That’s not true,” Diana said, looking across to where Mark was helping Emma into the driver’s