فصل 17

PART TWO

Thule

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars

Did wander darkling in the eternal space,

Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth

Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;

Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day,

And men forgot their passions in the dread

Of this their desolation; and all hearts

Were chill’d into a selfish prayer for light.

—Lord Byron, “Darkness”

17

IN A STRANGE CITY

It wasn’t a desert. It was a beach.

The blackness of the Portal had been like nothing Julian had ever experienced before. No light, sound, or movement, only the stomach-dropping feeling of having tumbled down an elevator shaft. When the world returned at last, it was a silent explosion rushing toward him. Reborn into sound and movement, he hit the ground hard, sand spraying up around him.

He rolled to his side, heart pounding. He had lost hold of Emma’s hand somewhere in the hurtling darkness, but there she was, struggling to her knees beside him. Her faerie clothes were shredded and bloodstained, but she seemed unharmed.

A gasping pain went through him, sharp as an arrow. It took him a moment to recognize it as relief.

Emma was scrambling to her feet, brushing herself off. Julian rose dizzily; they were on a wide, familiar-looking beach at night, dotted with half-eroded rock formations. Bluffs rose behind them, rickety wooden stairs twisting down their faces to connect the road above with the sand.

Music was playing, loud and jarring. The far end of the beach was thronged with people, none of whom seemed to have noticed their abrupt arrival. It was a peculiar crowd—a mix of humans, vampires, and even a few faeries dotted here and there, garbed in black and metal. Julian squinted but couldn’t make out details.

Emma touched the Night Vision rune on her own arm and frowned at him. “My runes aren’t working,” she whispered. “Same as in Faerie.” Julian shook his head as if to say, I don’t know what’s going on. He started as something sharp prickled his side—glancing down, he realized his phone had been smashed to pieces. Jagged bits of plastic stuck into his skin. He dropped the phone with a wince—it would be no use to anyone now.

He glanced around. The sky was heavily clouded, and a blood-red moon cast a dull glow across the sand. “I know this beach,” he said. The rock formations were familiar, the curve of the shoreline, the shape of the waves—though the color of the ocean water was ink black, and where it broke against the shoreline it left edgings of black lace.

Emma touched his shoulder. “Julian? We need to make a plan.”

She was gray with fatigue, shadows smudged under her deep brown eyes. Her golden hair fell in thick tangles around her shoulders. Emotion exploded inside Julian. Pain, love, panic, grief, and yearning poured through him like blood from a wound whose sutures had torn open.

He staggered away from Emma and crumpled against a rock, his stomach heaving violently as it emptied itself of bitter bile. When his body had stopped spasming, he wiped his mouth, scrubbed his hands with sand, and returned to where Emma had partly climbed one of the rock formations. Sea stacks, they were called, or something like that.

He clenched his hands. His emotions roiled like a hurricane tide, pressing at the inside of his skull, and in response his mind seemed to be running all over the place, catching at random pieces of information and tossing them up like roadblocks.

Focus, he told himself, and bit at his lip until the pain cleared his head. He could taste blood.

Emma was halfway up the sea stack, staring toward the south. “This is really, really weird.” “Weird how?” He was surprised by how normal he sounded. In the distance, two figures passed by—both vampires, one a girl with long brown hair. They both waved at him casually. What the hell was going on?

She jumped down. “Are you okay?” she asked, pushing back her hair.

“I think it was the trip through the Portal,” he lied. Whatever was going on with him, it wasn’t that.

“Look at this.” Emma had somehow managed to hang on to her phone through all their travails. She flicked through to show Julian the photo she’d taken from the sea stack.

It was dark, but he immediately recognized the shoreline, and in the distance the ruins of the Santa Monica Pier. The Ferris wheel had been tipped over, a crushed hunk of metal. Dark shapes wheeled in the sky above. They were definitely not birds.

Emma swallowed hard. “This is Los Angeles, Julian. This is right near the Institute.” “But the King said this was Thule—he said it was a world that was poisonous to Nephilim—” He broke off in horror. At the opposite end of the beach from the crowd, two long columns of human figures were marching in neat military formation. As they grew closer, Julian caught sight of a flash of scarlet gear.

He and Emma dived behind the nearest rock formation, pressing themselves flat against it. They could see the marchers getting closer. The throng at the other end of the beach had started to move toward them as well, and the music had vanished. There was only the sound of the crashing waves, the wind, and marching feet.

“Endarkened,” Emma breathed as they drew closer. During the Dark War, Sebastian Morgenstern had kidnapped hundreds of Shadowhunters and controlled them using his own version of the Mortal Cup. They had been called the Endarkened, and they had been recognizable by the scarlet gear they wore.

Julian’s father had been one of them, until Julian had killed him. He still dreamed about it.

“But the Endarkened are all dead,” Julian said in a distant, mechanical tone. “They died when Sebastian died.” “In our world.” Emma turned to him. “Julian, we know what this is. We just don’t want it to be the truth. This is—Thule is—a version of our own world. Something must have happened differently in the past here—something that put this world on an alternate path. Like Edom.” Julian knew she was right; he had known it since he recognized the pier. He shoved back thoughts of his own family, his father. He couldn’t think about that right now.

The columns of marching Endarkened had given way to a cluster of guards holding banners. Each banner bore the sigil of a star inside a circle.

“By the Angel,” Emma whispered. She pressed her hand against her mouth.

Morgenstern. The morning star.

Behind the flag bearers walked Sebastian.

He looked older than he had the last time Julian had seen him, a teenage boy with hair like white ice, powered by hatred and poison. He looked to be in his midtwenties now, still slim and boyish, but with a harder cast to his face. The features that had been gently edged were sharp as glass now, and his black eyes burned. Phaesphoros, the Morgenstern sword, was slung over his shoulder in a scabbard worked with a design of stars and flames.

Walking just behind him was Jace Herondale.

It was a harder and stranger blow. They had just left Jace, fighting by their side in the Unseelie Court, weary and tired but still fierce and protective. This Jace looked to be about the same age as that one; he was strongly muscled all over, his golden hair tousled, his face as handsome as ever. But there was a dead, dark light in his golden eyes. A sullen ferocity that Julian associated with the Cohort and their ilk, those who attacked rather than those who protected.

Behind them came a woman with gray-brown hair Julian recognized as Amatis Graymark, Luke’s sister. She had been one of the first and fiercest of Sebastian’s Endarkened, and that seemed true here as well. Her face was deeply lined, her mouth grimly set. She pushed a prisoner ahead of her—someone dressed in Shadowhunter black, a strip of rough canvas wrapped around and around their head, obscuring their features.

“Come!” Sebastian cried, and some invisible force amplified his voice so that it boomed up and down the beach. “Endarkened, guests, gather around. We are here to celebrate the capture and execution of a significant traitor. One who has turned against the light of the Star.” There was a roar of excitement. The crowd began to gather into a loose rectangle, with Sebastian and his guards at the south end of it. Julian saw Jace lean over to say something to Sebastian, and Sebastian laughed with an easy camaraderie that sent a chill down Julian’s spine. Jace wore a gray suit jacket, not a scarlet uniform—so he wasn’t Endarkened, then? His gaze flicked around the crowd; other than Amatis, he recognized several Shadowhunters he had known vaguely from the Los Angeles Conclave—he saw the young-looking vampire girl who had waved at him before, giggling and talking to Anselm Nightshade— And he saw Emma.

It was clearly Emma. He would have known Emma anywhere, in any costume, in any darkness or light. The bloody moonlight spilled onto her pale hair; she wore a red dress with no back, and her skin was smooth and free of runes. She was talking to a tall boy who was mostly in shadow, but Julian barely looked at him: He was looking at her, his Emma, beautiful and alive and safe and— She laughed and reached her arms up. The tall young man threaded his hands into Emma’s hair and she kissed him.

It hit him with the force of a train. Jealousy: white-hot, boiling, venomous. It was all Julian could do to stay behind the rock as the boy’s hands trailed down Emma’s bare back.

He shook with the force of his feeling. Emotion tore at him, threatened to overwhelm him and drive him to his knees. Hot waves of jealousy mixed with desperate longing. Those ought to be his hands on Emma’s hair, her skin.

He turned his head to the side, gasping. His shirt was stuck to his body with sweat. Emma—the real Emma—still pressed up against the rock beside him, looked at him with alarm. “Julian, what’s wrong?” His heartbeat had already begun to slow. This was his Emma. The other was a fake, a simulacrum. “Look,” he whispered, and gestured.

Emma followed his gaze, and blushed. “Oh. That’s us?”

Julian stared around the rock again. Emma and the boy had pulled apart, and how had he not seen it? It was like looking into a mirror that showed you what you might look like in a few years. There he was, Blackthorn hair and eyes, sea-glass bracelet, dressed in red and black. Julian stared as the other him drew the other Emma closer and kissed her again.

It definitely wasn’t a first kiss, or even a second one. Other Julian’s fingers trailed down Other Emma’s back, obviously luxuriating in the feel of her bare skin. His hands found her satin-covered hips and splayed over them, pulling her body closer; she raised a leg and hooked it over his hip, letting her head fall back so he could press his lips to her throat.

Other Julian was a very confident kisser, apparently.

“This is the worst,” said Emma. “Not only are we apparently Endarkened in this world, we’re huge on PDA.” “The other Endarkened probably can’t stand us,” said Julian. “Emma, this seems recent. This world couldn’t have split from ours that long ago—” “Silence!” Sebastian’s voice echoed up and down the beach and the crowd hushed. Alternate Emma and Julian stopped kissing, which was a relief. “Jace, put the traitor on her knees.” So it was a woman. Julian watched with a twisting feeling in his empty stomach as Jace shoved the prisoner to her knees and began slowly to unwind her blindfold.

“Ash!” Sebastian called. “Ash, come watch, my child, and learn!”

Julian felt Emma freeze up in shock beside him. There was a stir among the guards, and from among them appeared Ash Morgenstern, his expression rigid.

He had changed more since the last time they’d seen him than either Jace or Sebastian had. He had gone from thirteen to what Emma would have guessed was seventeen; he was no longer a skinny kid but a boy on the cusp of adulthood, tall and broad-shouldered. His white-blond hair had been cut short and he wasn’t wearing Endarkened red—just an ordinary white thermal shirt and jeans.

He still had the X-shaped scar on his throat, though. It was unmistakable, even at this distance.

Ash crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m here, Father,” he said blandly, and it struck Julian how peculiar it was, this boy calling someone who looked five years older than he did “Father.” “This is our world’s Ash,” Julian said. “The one Annabel brought through the Portal.” Emma nodded. “His scar. I saw.”

Jace drew the last of the coverings away from the kneeling woman’s face. Emma flinched back as if struck.

It was Maryse Lightwood.

Her hair had been cut very short, and her face was haggard. Ash watched expressionless as she gazed around her in silent horror. A silver chain dangled around his throat; Julian didn’t recall him having it in Faerie. How many years had elapsed for him here between his escape into the Portal and Emma and Julian’s arrival in Thule?

“Maryse Lightwood,” said Sebastian, pacing in a slow circle around her. Emma hadn’t moved or made a sound since her initial flinch. Julian wondered if she was remembering Maryse in their world—grieving at the side of her former husband’s pyre, but surrounded by her children, her grandchildren. . . .

Emma must be wondering about her own parents, he realized with a jolt. Wondering if they were alive in this world. But she hadn’t said a word.

“You stand accused of aiding and assisting rebels against the cause of the Fallen Star. Now, we know you did it, so we’re not having a trial, because we’re against those anyway. But you—you committed the greatest treason of all. You tried to break the bond between two brothers. Jace and I are brothers. You are not his mother. The only family he has is me.” “Oh my God,” Emma whispered. “This is that weird bond they had—when Sebastian possessed Jace, remember? So that happened in this world. . . .” “I killed my own mother, Lilith, for Jace,” said Sebastian. “Now he will kill his mother for me.” Jace unsheathed the sword at his waist. It had a long, wicked silver blade that glimmered red in the moonlight. Julian thought again of the Jace in their world: laughing, joking, animated. It seemed like something more than possession was at work here. Like this Jace was dead inside.

Sebastian’s lips were turned up at the corners; he was smiling, but it wasn’t a very human smile. “Any last words, Maryse?” Maryse twisted around so that she was looking up at Jace. The tense lines of her face seemed to relax, and for a moment, Julian saw John Carstairs looking at Emma, or his own mother looking at him, that mixture of love for what is and sorrow for what cannot be kept. . . .

“Do you remember, Jace?” she said. “That song I used to sing to you when you were a boy.” She began to sing, her voice high and wavering.

À la claire fontaine

m’en allant promener

J’ai trouvé l’eau si belle

que je m’y suis baigné.

Il y a longtemps que je t’aime,

jamais je ne t’oublierai.

Julian only knew enough French to translate a few words. I have loved you for a long time. I will never forget you.

“Il y a longtemps que je t’aime—” Maryse sang, her voice rising, quavering at the highest note— Ash was gripping his own elbows tightly. He turned his head aside, just at the moment that Jace brought the sword down and across, severing Maryse’s head from her body. White bone, red blood; her body crumpled to the sand, her head rolling to lie cheek down, open-eyed. She still seemed to be staring at Jace.

Blood had splattered Ash’s face, his shirt. The crowd was clapping and cheering. Jace bent to clean his sword on the sand as Sebastian strolled over to Ash, his smile turning from inhuman to something else. Something possessive.

“I hope that was a learning experience,” he said to Ash.

“I learned not to wear white to an execution,” said Ash, brushing his hand down the front of his shirt; it left red smears behind. “Useful.” “Once we have the Mortal Instruments in hand, you’ll see a lot more death, Ash.” Sebastian chuckled and once again raised his voice. “Feeding time,” he announced, and the words rang up and down the beach. There was a scream inside Julian’s head, clawing to get out; he glanced at Emma and saw the same scream in her eyes. Maybe it belonged to them both.

She grabbed his wrist with enough force to grind the small bones together. “We have to go. We have to get away.” Her words tumbled over each other; Julian didn’t even have time to agree. As the vampires closed in on Maryse’s body, they ran for the bluffs, keeping low. The night was filled with a cacophony of shrieks and howls and the air carried the coppery tinge of blood. Emma was whispering, “No, no, no,” under her breath, even as she hit the bottom of a rickety wooden staircase and bolted up it in a crouching run. Julian followed, doing his best not to look back.

The stairs shook underfoot but held; the top of the bluffs was in sight. Emma reached the end of the stairs—and cried out as she was whisked out of sight.

Julian’s vision went white. He had no awareness of climbing the rest of the steps; he was simply at the top of the bluffs—familiar highway, rows of parked cars, sand and grass underfoot—and there was Emma, held in the grip of a tall, redheaded boy whose familiar face smacked Julian like a punch in the gut.

“Cameron?” Julian said, incredulous. “Cameron Ashdown?”

Cameron looked about nineteen or twenty. His thick red hair was cut military short. He was whipcord lean, wearing a tan T-shirt and camo pants, a Sam Browne belt slung diagonally over his shoulder. There was a pistol thrust through it.

His face twisted in disgust. “Both of you together. I might have guessed.”

Julian took a step forward. “Let her go, you Endarkened piece of—”

Cameron’s eyes rounded with almost comical surprise, and Emma took advantage of the moment to kick backward savagely, twisting her body to deliver several quick punches to his side. She spun away from him as he gagged, but he’d already gotten the pistol out of its holster.

He pointed it at both of them. Shadowhunters didn’t use guns, but Julian could tell just by the way he held it that this Cameron Ashdown knew them well.

If Cameron shot, Julian thought, there might be time for him to throw himself in front of Emma. He’d take the bullet, even if he hated the idea of leaving her here alone. . . .

Cameron raised his voice. “Livia!” he called. “You’re going to want to see this.” Julian’s chest turned to ice. He imagined he was still breathing, he must be or he’d die, but he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel the blood in his body or the pulse of his breath or the beat of his heart. He only saw her, appearing from between two cars: She walked toward them casually, her long dark Blackthorn hair blowing in the wind off the sea.

Livvy.

She looked about seventeen. She wore black leather pants with a bullet belt slung around her waist and a gray tank top with holes in it over a mesh shirt. Her boots were thick-soled with a dozen buckles. On her wrists were D-ring canvas bracelets with short throwing knives shoved under the straps. A scar—one of many—cut across her face, from the top of her left temple, across her eye, to the middle of her cheek. She carried a shotgun, and as she walked toward them, she raised it effortlessly and pointed it directly at Julian.

“It’s them,” Cameron said. “Don’t know what they’re doing away from the other Endarkened.” “Who cares?” Livvy said. “I’m gonna kill them, and they’d thank me for it if they still had souls.” Julian threw up his hands. Joy at seeing her, uncontrollable and dizzying, warred with panic. “Livvy, it’s us—” “Don’t even try,” she spat. She pumped the shotgun expertly. “I’d tell you to pray, but the Angel is dead.” “Look—” Emma started, and Livvy began to swing the gun toward her; Julian took a step toward his sister, and then Cameron, who Julian had almost forgotten was there, said: “Wait.”

Livvy froze. “This had better be good, Cam.”

Cameron pointed at Julian. “His collar’s torn—” He shook his head impatiently. “Show her,” he said to Julian.

“Your rune,” Emma whispered, and Julian, realization bursting brightly behind his eyes, yanked his collar down to show Livvy the rune on his chest. Though Julian’s impermanent runes—Night Vision, Stealth, Sure-Strike—had been fading to gray since they’d entered Faerie, his parabatai rune stood out black and clear.

Livvy froze.

“The Endarkened can’t bear Nephilim runes,” said Julian. “You know that, Livvy.” “I know you think we’re Emma and Julian, the Endarkened version,” said Emma. “But we’ve seen them. They’re down on the beach.” She pointed. “Seriously. Look.” A flicker of doubt crossed Livvy’s face. “Cameron. Go look.”

Cameron went to the edge of the bluffs and peered down through a pair of binoculars. Julian held his breath; he could tell Emma was holding hers as well.

“Yeah, they’re there,” Cameron said after a long pause. “And they’re making out. Gross.” “They were always doing that before they were Endarkened,” said Livvy. “Some things never change.” Emma raised her left hand to show her Voyance rune. “We’re Shadowhunters. We know you, Livvy, and we love you—” “Stop,” Livvy said fiercely. “Fine, maybe you’re not the Endarkened, but this could still be some kind of demonic shape-changing—” “These are angelic runes,” said Julian. “We’re not demons—”

“Then who are you?” Livvy cried, and her voice echoed with an awful hopelessness, a loneliness as dark and bottomless as a well. “Who am I supposed to think you are?” “We’re still us,” Emma said. “Jules and Emma. We’re from another world. One where Sebastian is not in charge. One with runes.” Livvy stared at her blankly.

“Liv,” said Cameron, lowering his binoculars. “The party on the beach is starting to break up. They’ll be climbing up here any second. What are we doing?” Livvy hesitated, but only for a second. Julian guessed that a lot of free time to make decisions wasn’t a luxury this version of his sister had. “Let’s take them back to the Bradbury,” she said. “Maybe Diana will be back. She’s seen a lot—she might have some idea what’s going on here.” “Diana? Diana Wrayburn?” said Emma with relief. “Yes, take us to Diana, please.” Cameron and Livvy exchanged a look of complete bafflement.

“All right, fine,” Livvy said finally. She gestured toward a black Jeep Wrangler with tinted windows parked along the side of the highway. “Get in the car, both of you, backseat. And don’t even consider trying anything funny. I’ll blow your heads right off.” * * *

Livvy was riding shotgun, which meant she was sitting in the passenger seat with an actual shotgun slung across her lap. Beside her, Cameron drove with a sharp efficiency that was entirely at odds with the hapless, slightly lazy Cameron Emma knew in her own world. He navigated the car effortlessly around the massive potholes that pocked the asphalt of the Pacific Coast Highway like dings in the side of an old car.

Julian was silent, staring out his window with an appalled fascination. There was little to see, except the ruined road swept by their headlights, but the darkness itself was startling. The absence of streetlights, road signs, and illuminated windows lining the road was shocking in itself, like looking at a face missing its eyes.

Light finally evolved out of the darkness as they reached the end of the highway, where a tunnel connected it to the 10 freeway. On their right was the Santa Monica Pier, the familiar jetty now in ruins as if a giant had hacked at it with an ax. Chunks of wood and concrete lay tumbled and jagged in the water. Only the old carousel was untouched. It was lit up, atonal music pouring from its speakers. Clinging to the backs of the old-fashioned painted ponies were shadowy, inhuman shapes, their chittering giggles carried on the night air. The faces of the ponies appeared to be twisted into tormented, shrieking masks.

Emma looked away, glad when the car went into the tunnel, cutting off her view of the merry-go-round.

“The pier is one of the first places that the hellbeasts staked out,” Cameron said, glancing into the backseat. “Who knew that demons liked amusement parks?” Emma cleared her throat. “Mad for funnel cakes?”

Cameron laughed dryly. “Same old Emma. Sarcastic in the face of adversity.”

Livvy darted a sharp look at him.

“I guess we shouldn’t ask about Disneyland,” said Julian in a flat voice.

Julian probably hadn’t expected Cameron and Livvy to laugh, but the way they both tensed suggested that something really terrible had happened at Disneyland. Emma decided not to pursue it. There were bigger questions. “When did all this happen?” she said.

“Just after the Dark War,” said Livvy. “When Sebastian won.”

“So he still attacked all the Institutes?” Emma asked. She hadn’t wanted to think about it, hadn’t wanted to court even the tiny possibility that her parents might be alive in this world, but she couldn’t help the catch of hope in her voice. “Los Angeles, too?” “Yes,” said Livvy. Her voice was flat. “Your parents were killed. Our father was Endarkened.” Emma flinched. She’d known there was no real hope, but it still hurt. And Julian must have wondered about his father, she knew. She wanted to reach out a hand to him, but the memory of the emotionless Julian of the past week held her back.

“In our world, those things happened too,” said Julian, after a long pause. “But we won the war.” “Sebastian died,” said Emma. “Clary killed him.”

“Clary Fairchild?” said Cameron. His voice was thick with doubt. “She was murdered by the demon Lilith at the Battle of the Burren.” “No,” said Emma stubbornly. “Clary and her friends won at the Battle of the Burren. There are paintings of it. She rescued Jace with the sword Glorious and they tracked Sebastian down in Edom; he never won—” Livvy tapped her short fingernails on the barrel of her gun. “Nice story. So you’re claiming you come from a place where Sebastian is dead, demons aren’t roaming the streets, and Shadowhunters still have angelic power?” “Yes,” Emma said.

Livvy turned to look at her. The scar that cut across her eye was an angry red in the scarlet moonlight. “Well, if it’s so great there, what are you doing here?” “It wasn’t a planned vacation. Not everything in our world is perfect,” Emma said. “Far from it, really.” She glanced at Julian and to her surprise found him looking back at her, matching her searching glance with his own. An echo of their old instant communication flared—Should we tell Livvy that she’s dead in our world?

Emma shook her head slightly. Livvy didn’t believe them about anything yet. That piece of information wouldn’t help.

“Gotta get off,” said Cameron. There were a few lights out here, illuminating patches of highway, and Emma could see the occasional illumination dotting the flat plain of the city beyond. It didn’t look anything like Los Angeles at night, though. The diamond chains of white light were gone, replaced by irregular spots of brightness. A fire burned somewhere on a distant hill.

In front of them, a massive crack divided the highway, as if someone had sliced neatly through the concrete. Cameron swung away from the rift, taking the nearest off-ramp. He dimmed the headlights as they hit the streets, and cruised at a slow speed through a residential neighborhood.

It was an unremarkable L.A. street lined with one-level ranch houses. Most of them were boarded up, the curtains pulled, only tiny glimpses of light visible within. Many were completely dark, and a few of those showed signs of forced entry—doors torn off at the hinges, bloodstains smearing the white stucco walls. Along the curb were a few abandoned cars with their trunks still open as though the people who owned them had been . . . taken away . . . while trying to make a break for it.

Saddest of all were the signs that children had once lived here: a torn-apart jungle gym, a bent tricycle lying in the middle of a driveway. A ghostly swing set pushed by the breeze.

A curve in the road loomed in front of them. As Cameron swung the car around, the headlights picked out a strange sight. A family—two parents and two children, a boy and a girl—were sitting at a picnic table on their lawn. They were eating in silence from plates of grilled meat, coleslaw, and potato salad. They were all deathly pale.

Emma swung around to stare as they receded into the distance. “What is going on with them?” “Forsworn,” said Livvy, curling her lip with distaste. “They’re mundanes who are loyal to Sebastian. He runs the Institutes now and protects mundanes who swear allegiance to him. Half the remaining mundanes in the world are Forsworn.” “What about the other half?” said Julian.

“Rebels. Freedom fighters. You can either be one or the other.”

“You’re rebels?” Emma said.

Cameron laughed and looked fondly at Livvy. “Livia isn’t just a rebel. She’s the baddest badass rebel of them all.” He stroked the back of Livvy’s neck gently. Emma hoped Julian’s head wouldn’t blow right off. Livvy clearly wasn’t fifteen anymore, but she was still Julian’s little sister, sort of. Hastily, Emma said, “Shadowhunters and mundanes are united as a rebellion? What about Downworlders?” “There are no Shadowhunters anymore,” Livvy said. She held up her right hand. There was no Voyance rune on the back. If Emma squinted, she thought she could glimpse the faint scar where it had once been: a shadow of a shadow. “The power of the Angel is broken. Steles don’t work, runes fade like ghosts. Sebastian Morgenstern went from Institute to Institute and killed everyone who wouldn’t pledge their loyalty to him. He opened the world to demons and they salted the earth with demon poisons and shattered the glass towers. Idris was overrun and the Adamant Citadel was destroyed. Angelic magic doesn’t work. Demonic magic is the only magic there is.” She tightened her hands on her shotgun. “Most of those who were once Shadowhunters are Endarkened now.” A world without Shadowhunters. A world without angels. They had left the residential neighborhood behind and were rolling down what Emma guessed might be Sunset Boulevard. It was hard to tell with the street signs gone. There were other cars on the road, finally, and even a slight slowdown in traffic. Emma glanced to the side and saw a pallid vampire behind the wheel of a Subaru in the next lane. He glanced at her and winked.

“We’re coming to a checkpoint,” Cameron said.

“Let us handle this,” said Livvy. “Don’t talk.”

The car slowed to a crawl; up ahead Emma could see striped barriers. Most of the buildings along the boulevard were ruined shells. They had drawn up alongside one whose crumbling walls circled a mostly intact courtyard that had clearly once been the lobby of an office building. Demons were clustered everywhere: on piles of overturned furniture, clambering on the shattered walls, feeding from metal troughs of dark sticky stuff that might be blood. In the center of the room was a pole with a woman in a white dress tied to it, blood seeping through her dress. Her head lolled to the side as if she’d fainted.

Emma started to undo her seat belt. “We have to do something.”

“No!” Livvy said sharply. “You’ll get killed, and you’ll get us killed too. We can’t protect the world like that anymore.” “I’m not afraid,” Emma said.

Livvy shot her a white-hot look of anger. “You should be.”

“Checkpoint,” snapped Cameron, and the car shot forward and stopped at the barriers. Cam lowered the driver’s-side window, and Emma nearly jumped out of her seat as an eyeless demon with a wrinkled head like an old grape leaned into the car. It wore a high-collared gray uniform, and though it had no nose or eyes, it did have a mouth that stretched across its face.

“Credentials,” it hissed.

Cameron jerked down his sleeve and stuck out his left hand, baring his wrist. Emma caught a glimpse of a mark on his inner wrist, above his pulse point, just as the demon extruded a gray raspy tongue that looked like a long, dead worm and licked Cameron’s wrist.

Please, Emma thought, do not let me puke in the back of this car. I remember this car. I made out with Cameron in the back of this car. Oh God, that demon licked his wrist. The whole car stinks like demon flesh.

Something covered her hand, something warm and reassuring. She blinked. Julian had wrapped his fingers around hers. The surprise brought her back to herself sharply.

“Ah, Mr. Ashdown,” the demon said. “I didn’t realize. Have a pleasant evening.” It drew back, and Cameron hit the gas. They had driven several blocks before anyone spoke.

“What was that thing with—” Julian began.

“The tongue! I know!” Emma said. “What the hell?”

“—the demon calling you Mr. Ashdown?” Julian finished.

“My family are Forsworn—loyal to the Fallen Star,” said Cam shortly. “They run the Institute here for Sebastian. Members of the Legion of the Star are marked with special tattoos.” Livvy showed them the inside of her right wrist, where a design was marked, a star inside a circle. The same sigil that had been on Sebastian’s banners earlier. “Mine is forged. That’s why Cameron is driving,” Livvy said. She glanced at him with wry fondness. “His family doesn’t know he’s not loyal to the Star.” “I can’t say I’m astonished Paige and Vanessa turned out to be traitors,” said Emma, and she saw Livvy flick her an odd glance. Surprise she knew who Paige and Vanessa were? Agreement? Emma wasn’t sure.

They had reached downtown L.A., an area that had been pretty thick with demon activity even in the regular world. Here the streets were surprisingly crowded—Emma saw vampires and faeries walking around freely, and even a repurposed convenience store advertising blood milk shakes in the window. A group of large cats scuttled by, and as they turned their heads Emma saw they had the faces of human babies. No one on the sidewalk gave them a second glance.

“So Downworlders,” Julian said. “How do they fit in here?”

“You don’t want to know,” Livvy said.

“We do,” said Emma. “We know warlocks—we could try to get in touch with them here, get help—” “Warlocks?” Livvy snapped. “There are no warlocks. Once Sebastian opened the world to hellbeasts, the warlocks started to get sick. Some died, and as for the rest, their humanity degraded. They turned into demons.” “Into demons?” Emma said. “All the way?”

“What about Magnus?” said Julian. “Magnus Bane?”

Emma felt a chill run over her. So far they hadn’t asked after the welfare of anyone they knew. She suspected both of them found the prospect terrifying.

“Magnus Bane was one of the first great tragedies,” said Livvy as if she were reciting an old story everyone knew. “Bane realized he was turning into a demon. He begged his boyfriend, Alexander Lightwood, to kill him. Alec did, and then turned the sword on himself. Their bodies were found together in the ruins of New York.” Julian had gone whiter than paper. Emma put her head down, feeling like she might faint.

Magnus and Alec, who had always been a symbol of all that was good, so horribly gone.

“So that’s warlocks,” said Livvy. “The Fair Folk are allied with Sebastian and mostly they live in the protected realms of Faerie, though some like to visit our world, do a little mischief. You know.” “I don’t think we do,” Julian said. “The realms of Faerie are protected?”

“The faeries were Sebastian’s allies during the Dark War,” said Livvy. “They lost a lot of warriors. The Seelie Queen herself was killed. Sebastian rewarded them after the war by giving them what they wanted—isolation. Entrances to Faerie are walled off from this world, and any human or even Endarkened who threatens one of the few faeries remaining in Thule is severely punished.” “The Seelie Queen never had a—a child?” Julian asked.

“She died without children,” said Livvy. “The Unseelie King has united both Courts and rules over everything there now. His heir is Prince Erec, or at least that’s what we last heard. Not a lot of news from Faerie gets out.” So there was no second Ash in this world, Emma thought. Probably good, since one Ash seemed like more than enough.

“As for the werewolves, the packs are all scattered,” said Cameron. “You’ve got some lone wolves, some who’ve thrown their lot in with Sebastian, some are rebels with us, most were killed. Vampires are doing a bit better because demons don’t like to eat them as much—they’re already dead.” “There are a few vampire cults that have joined up with Sebastian,” said Livvy. “They worship him and believe that when they eat everyone in Thule, he will lead them through to a world of more people with more blood.” “Raphael Santiago says they’re idiots, and when all the people are gone, they’ll starve,” said Cameron.

“Raphael Santiago is still alive? In our world he’s dead,” said Julian.

“Well, there’s one point for Thule,” said Livvy with a crooked smile. “When we get to the building you’ll see—” She broke off as a human came pelting out of an alley. A teenage boy, filthy and skinny to the point of starvation, hair hanging in matted clumps. His clothes were dirty, a ragged pack dangling from one arm.

Livvy tensed. “Unsworn human,” she said. “Demons can hunt them for sport. Cam—” “Livvy, we shouldn’t,” Cameron said.

“Pull over!” Livvy snapped. Cameron slammed on the brakes, throwing them all forward; Julian was up and out of his seat, throwing his arm out to catch Livvy by the shoulder and prevent her from bumping her head.

She shot him a startled look. Then she was shaking him off and powering down her window, leaning out to shout to the boy. “Over here!” The boy changed course and raced toward them. Behind him, something appeared at the mouth of the alley. Something that looked as if it were made of shadows and ragged black wings. It dived toward him at incredible speed and Livvy swore. “He’s not going to make it.” “He might,” Cameron said. “Ten bucks.”

“What the hell?” Emma said. She reached for the handle of her door and shoved it open—Julian grabbed her by the sleeve of her tunic, yanking her back—and the ragged shadow was on the boy like a hawk on a mouse. He gave one terrified shriek as it seized him, and they both shot up into the air, disappearing into the ashy sky.

Cam hit the gas; a few passersby were staring at them. Emma was breathing hard. Mundanes weren’t supposed to be killed by demons. Shadowhunters were supposed to be able to help.

But there were no Shadowhunters here.

“You owe me four thousand dollars, Cam,” Livvy said tonelessly.

“Yeah,” said Cameron. “I’ll repay you as soon as the international banking system is reestablished.” “What about our family?” Julian said abruptly. He let go of Emma’s sleeve; she’d almost forgotten he was holding on to her. “Are any of them here, Livia?” Livvy’s mouth flattened into a tense line. “I’m still not convinced you’re Julian,” she said. “And my family is my business.” They turned abruptly off the street, and for a moment Emma thought they were going to plow into the side of a familiar brown brick structure: the famous downtown Bradbury Building, surprisingly still standing. At what felt like the last minute, a sheet of bricks and sandstone rose up out of the way and they pulled into a cavernous dark space.

A garage. They piled out of the car, and Cameron went over to chat with a girl in camo pants and a black tank top who was turning a metal crank that slid the garage door closed. It was a massive slab of brick and metal operated by a cleverly jointed set of gears.

“We’re on our own generator here,” said Livvy. “And we do a lot of stuff by hand. We don’t need the Forsworn tracing us by our electricity usage.” She tossed her shotgun back into the car. “Come on.” They followed her to a door that led into a spacious entryway. It was clear they were inside a large office building. The walls were brick and marble, the floor tiled, and above her she could see an intricate maze of catwalks, metal staircases, and the glint of old ironwork.

Livvy narrowed her eyes at both of them. “Okay,” she said slowly.

“Okay, what?” said Emma.

“You just passed through a corridor whose walls were packed with salt, gold, and cold iron,” Livvy said. “A crazy old millionaire built this place. He believed in ghosts and he stuffed the building with everything that’s meant to repel the supernatural. Some of it does still work.” The door behind them banged. Cameron had returned. “Divya says Diana’s not back yet,” he said. “You want me to take these two upstairs to wait?” “Yeah.” Livvy rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead tiredly. “They made it in here. Maybe they are harmless.” “You mean maybe I’m really your brother,” said Julian.

Livvy’s back stiffened. “I didn’t say that.” She gestured at Cameron. “Take them to one of the newbie rooms. Make sure there are guards on the floor.” Without another word, she turned and walked away, heading for one of the iron staircases. Julian exhaled sharply, staring after her. Emma couldn’t help it; her heart ached at his expression. He looked as if he were being crushed from the inside out. The image of him cradling his sister’s body as she bled out in the Council Hall rose like a nightmare behind her eyes.

She caught up with Livvy in the stairwell; Livvy turned to her, and the scars on her face cut at Emma again as if she could feel the pain of getting them. “Seriously?” Livvy said. “What do you want?” “Come on, Livvy,” said Emma, and Livvy raised her eyebrows. “You know it’s really Julian. In your heart, you know. In the car he tried to protect you from bumping your head, just like he always has; he can’t help himself. Nobody could act that, or fake it.” Livvy tensed. “You don’t understand. I can’t—”

“Take this.” Emma shoved her phone into Livvy’s hands. Livvy stared at it as if she’d never seen an iPhone before. Then she shook her head.

“You might be surprised to hear this, but we don’t really get much cell reception here,” she said.

“Cute,” said Emma. “I want you to look at the photos.” She jabbed at the phone with a shaking finger. “Pictures of the last five years. Look—here’s Dru.” She heard Livvy suck in her breath. “And Mark at the beach, and here’s Helen and Aline’s wedding. And Ty, last month—” Livvy made a half-choked noise. “Ty is alive in your world?”

Emma froze. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, of course he is.”

Livvy tightened her hand on the phone. She turned and fled up the stairs, her boots clanging against the iron framework. But not before Emma saw that her eyes were shining with tears.