Also by Cassandra Clare

Livvy’s face clouded. “He still says no. It’s the only thing we’ve ever disagreed about.”
“I’m sorry.” Emma knew how badly Livvy wanted to be parabatai with her twin. Brothers and
sisters who became parabatai were unusual but not unheard of. Ty’s stark refusal was surprising,
though. He rarely said no to Livvy about anything, but he was obdurate about this.
Cristina’s first blade slammed home, just at the rim of the target’s inside circle. Emma cheered.
“I like her,” Livvy said, still in a whisper.
“Good,” Emma said. “I like her too.”
“And I think Perfect Diego maybe broke her heart.”
“He did something,” Emma said guardedly. “That much I’ve guessed.”
“So I think we should set her up with Julian.”
Emma almost overturned the rack. “What?”
Livvy shrugged. “She’s pretty, and she seems really nice, and she’s going to be living with us. And
Jules hasn’t ever had a girlfriend—you know why.” Emma just stared. Her head seemed full of white
noise. “I mean, it’s our fault—mine and Ty’s, and Dru’s and Tavvy’s. Raising four kids, you don’t
exactly have a lot of time to date. So since we sort of took having a girlfriend away from him . . .”
“You want to set him up,” Emma said blankly. “I mean, it doesn’t work like that, Livvy. They’d
have to like each other. . . .”
“I think they could,” said Livvy. “If we gave them a chance. What do you say?”
Her blue-green eyes, so much like Julian’s, were full of affectionate mischief. Emma opened her
mouth to say something, she didn’t know what, when Cristina let her second knife go. It slammed into
the wall so hard that the wood seemed to crack.
Livvy clapped her hands. “Awesome!” She shot Emma a triumphant look, as if to say See, she’s
perfect. She glanced at her watch. “Okay, I have to go help Ty some more. Yell for me if anything
awesomely exciting happens.”
Emma nodded, a little stunned, as Livvy danced away to hang up her weapons and head for the
library. She was nearly startled out of her skin when a voice spoke from just over her shoulder—
Cristina had come up behind her and was looking worried. “What were you two talking about?” she
asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Emma opened her mouth to say something, but never found out what, because at that moment, a
commotion burst out from downstairs. She could hear the sound of someone pounding on the front
door, followed by running feet.
Catching up Cortana, Emma was out the door in a flash.
The pounding on the front door of the Institute echoed through the building. “Just a minute!” Julian
yelled, zipping up his hoodie as he jogged toward the door. He was almost glad someone had shown
up. Ty and Livvy had ordered him out of the computer room with the announcement that Julian was
wrecking their concentration by pacing, and he’d been bored enough to consider going to check on
Arthur, which he was fairly sure would put him in a bad mood for the rest of the day.
Julian swung the door open. A tall, pale-haired man lounged on the other side, wearing tight black
pants and a shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. A plaid jacket hung from his shoulders.
“You look like a strip-o-gram,” Julian said to Malcolm Fade, High Warlock of Los Angeles.
There had been a time when Julian had been so impressed by the fact that Malcolm was High
Warlock—the warlock to whom all other warlocks answered, at least in Southern California—that
he’d been nervous around him. That had passed after the Dark War, when visits from Malcolm had
become commonplace. Malcolm was in reality what most people thought Arthur was: an absent-