Also by Cassandra Clare

“I could go to Malcolm’s alone,” Emma said. “You could stay here, Jules, wait for Mark to—”
She didn’t finish. She wasn’t sure she knew what exactly they were waiting for Mark to do, that any
of them knew.
“No,” Julian said. “Malcolm trusts me. I know him the best. I can convince him to keep this
secret.” He straightened up. “We’ll both go.”
As parabatai. As we should.
Emma nodded and caught at Cristina’s hand. “We’ll make it as fast as we can,” she said. “You’ll be
all right?”
Cristina nodded. Her hand was at her throat, her fingers resting on her necklace. “I will watch over
Mark,” she said. “It will be all right. Everything will be all right.”
And Emma almost believed her.
Being a High Warlock must pay well, Emma thought, as she always did when she saw Malcolm
Fade’s house. It looked like a castle.
Malcolm lived up the highway from the Institute, past Kanan Dume Road. It was a spot where the
bluffs rose high above, threaded with green sea grass. The house was shrouded by glamour spells,
hiding it from mundanes. If you were driving—which Emma was— you had to look hard at a spot
between two bluffs, and a silvery bridge that climbed up into the hills would appear.
Emma pulled over to the side of the highway. Lines of cars were parked along the sides of the PCH
here, most of them surfers drawn by the wide beach to the west.
Emma exhaled, turning the car off. “Okay,” she said. “We—”
“Emma,” Julian said.
She paused. Julian had been almost completely silent since they’d left the Institute. She couldn’t
blame him. She couldn’t find words herself. She’d let the distraction of driving take her, the need to
concentrate on the road. She’d been aware of him beside her the whole time, though, his head back
against the seat, his eyes closed, his fist clenched against the knee of his jeans.
“Mark thought I was my father,” said Julian abruptly, and she could tell he was remembering that
awful moment, the look of hope in his brother’s eyes, a hope that had nothing to do with him. “He
didn’t recognize me.”
“He remembers you twelve,” Emma said. “He remembers all of you as so young.”
“And you, too.”
“I doubt he remembers me at all.”
He unsnapped his seat belt. Light sparked off the bracelet of sea glass he wore on his left wrist,
turning it to bright colors: flame red, fire gold, Blackthorn blue.
“He does,” he said. “No one could forget you.”
She blinked at him in surprise. A moment later Julian was out of the car. She scrambled to follow
him, slamming the driver’s side door as cars whizzed by just a lane away.
Jules was standing at the foot of Malcolm’s bridge, looking up toward the house. She could see his
shoulder blades under the thin cotton of his T-shirt, the nape of his neck, a shade lighter than the rest
of his skin where his hair had kept it from getting tanned.
“The Fair Folk are tricksters,” Julian said without turning. “They won’t want to give Mark up:
Faerie blood and Shadowhunter blood together, that’s too valuable. There’ll be some clause that’ll
allow them to take him back when we’re done.”
“Well, it’s up to him,” said Emma. “He gets to choose whether to stay or go.”
Julian shook his head. “A choice seems simple, I know,” he said. “But a lot of choices aren’t