Also by Cassandra Clare

in the back of her mind as she breathed in the familiar scent of him: cloves, soap, salt.
Whither thou goest, I will go.
For a moment his arms were so tight around her that she could barely breathe. Then he let her go
and stepped back.
Emma nearly unbalanced. She hadn’t expected either quite such a tight hug or such a quick shove
away.
He looked different too. Her mind couldn’t quite take it in.
“I thought you were coming tomorrow morning,” Emma said. She tried to catch Julian’s eye, to get
him to return her welcoming smile. Instead, he was looking at his brothers and sisters as if counting to
make sure they were all there.
“Malcolm showed up early,” he said to her, over his shoulder. “Suddenly appeared in Great-Aunt
Marjorie’s kitchen, wearing pajamas. Said he’d forgotten the time difference. She screamed the house
down.”
Emma felt the tension in her chest easing. Malcolm Fade, the head of the warlocks of Los Angeles,
was a family friend, and his eccentricity was an old joke between her and Jules.
“Then he accidentally Portaled us to London instead of here,” Livvy announced, bounding forward
to hug Emma. “And we had to hunt someone down to open another Portal—Diana!”
Livvy detached herself from Emma and went to greet her tutor. For a few moments, everything was
welcoming hubbub: questions and hellos and hugs. Tavvy had woken up and was wandering around
sleepily, tugging on people’s sleeves. Emma ruffled his hair.
Thy people shall be my people. Julian’s family had become Emma’s when they had made
themselves parabatai. It was almost like marriage in that way.
Emma looked over at Julian. He was watching his family, his expression intent. As if he’d forgotten
she was there. And in that moment her mind suddenly seemed to wake up and present her with a
catalog of the ways in which he seemed different.
He’d always kept his hair short and practical, but he must have forgotten to cut it in England: It had
grown out, in thick, luscious, curly Blackthorn waves. The tips hung down past his ears. He was
tanned, and it wasn’t as if she didn’t know the color of his eyes, but now they seemed suddenly both
brighter and darker at once, the intense blue-green of the ocean a mile down from the surface. The
shape of his face had changed as well, resettling into more adult lines, losing the softness of
childhood, revealing the clean sweep of jawbone that peaked at his slightly sharp chin, an echo of the
wing shape of his collarbone, visible just beneath the collar of his T-shirt.
She looked away. To her surprise, her heart was beating fast, as if she was nervous. Flustered, she
knelt down to hug Tavvy. “You’re missing teeth,” she told him when he grinned at her. “Careless of
you.”
“Dru told me that faeries steal your teeth while you’re sleeping,” Tavvy said.
“That’s because that’s what I told her,” Emma said, rising to her feet. She felt a light touch on her
arm.
It was Julian. With his finger he began to trace words against her skin—it was something they had
been doing their whole lives, ever since they realized they needed a way to silently communicate
during boring study sessions or time with adults. A-R-E Y-O-U A-L-L R-I-G-H-T?
She nodded at him. He was looking at her with faint concern, which was a relief. It felt familiar.
Did he really look so different? He was less thin, more muscular, though it was a slender sort of
muscle. He looked like the swimmers she had always admired for their spare beauty. He still wore
the same arrangement of leather and shell and sea-glass bracelets around his wrists, though. His hands