Also by Cassandra Clare

inside. Tavvy was curled up half in and half out of his tent, tossing and turning in his sleep.
Emma was on her knees next to him in moments, stroking his disarrayed brown hair. “Baby,” she
murmured. “Poor baby, by the Angel, what a night for you.”
She lay down on her side, facing Tavvy, and Julian lay down on the little boy’s other side. Tavvy
gave a cry and curled back into Julian, his breath softening as he relaxed into sleep.
Julian looked across his little brother’s curly head at Emma. “Do you remember?” he said.
He could see in her eyes that she did remember. The years they’d taken care of the others, the nights
they stayed up with Tavvy or with Dru, with Ty and Livvy. He wondered if she’d spun fantasies, as he
had, that they were married and these their children.
“I remember,” she said. “That’s why I said you couldn’t ever leave them. You couldn’t stand it.”
She propped her head on her hand, the scar on her forearm a white line in the dimness. “I don’t want
you to do something you’ll spend your life regretting.”
“I’ve already done something I’m going to spend my life regretting,” he said, thinking of the circles
of fire in the Silent City, the rune on his collarbone. “Now I’m trying to fix it.”
She lowered her head gently to the floor beside Tavvy, her pale hair making a pillow. “Like you
said about my closet,” she said. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow. Okay?”
He nodded, watching as she closed her eyes, as her breaths evened out into sleep. He’d waited this
long, after all. He could wait another day.
After the dawn, Emma woke from a nightmare, crying the names of her parents—and of Malcolm—
aloud. Julian picked her up in his arms and carried her down the hallway to her own bedroom.