فصل 20

20

THE HOURS ARE BREATHING

Sebastian wants to talk to us? Emma thought with horror, and then, with a duller pang of realization: It thinks we’re the Endarkened versions of ourselves. Well, that explained Diana’s expression.

Julian’s fingers gripped Emma’s arm tightly. He slid casually off the cycle. “Okay,” he said. “Where’s the boss at?” The lizard demon drew a paper bag out of its breast pocket. The bag seemed to be full of wriggling spiders. It popped one into its mouth and chewed while Emma’s stomach lurched.

“In the old nightclub,” it said around a crunchy mouthful of spider, and pointed toward a black glass-and-steel low-slung building. A dull red carpet was spread out on the pavement in front of the entrance. “Go. I watch your motorcycle.” Emma slid off the cycle, feeling as if ice had invaded her veins. Neither she nor Julian looked at each other; somehow both of them were crossing the street, striding along next to each other as if nothing unusual were happening.

Sebastian knows who we really are, Emma thought. He knows, and he’s going to kill us.

She kept walking. They reached the pavement, and she heard the roar of a motorcycle starting up; she turned to see Diana speeding away from the checkpoint. She knew why Diana had needed to go, and didn’t blame her, but the sight still sent a cold stab through her chest: They were alone.

The nightclub was guarded by Iblis demons, who gave them a casual once-over and let them pass through the doors into a narrow corridor lined with mirrors. Emma could see her own reflection: She looked starkly pale, her mouth a tight line. That was bad. She had to relax. Julian, beside her, looked calm and collected, his hair ruffled from the motorcycle but otherwise nothing out of place.

He took her hand as the corridor opened up into a massive room. Warmth seemed to flow from him, through Emma’s hand, into her veins; she took a deep, harsh breath as a wave of cold air smacked into them.

The nightclub was silvery-white and black, a dark fairyland of ice. A long bar carved from a block of ice ran along one wall. Cascades of frozen water, polar blue and arctic green, spilled from the ceiling, turning the dance floor into a labyrinth of glimmering sheets.

Julian’s hand tightened on Emma’s. She glanced down; the floor underneath them was solid ice, and beneath the ice she could see the shadows of trapped bodies—here the shape of a hand, there a screaming, frozen face. Her chest tightened. We are walking on the bodies of the dead, she thought.

Julian glanced sideways at her, shook his head slightly as if to say, We can’t think about that right now.

Compartmentalizing, she thought as they headed toward a roped-off area at the back of the club. That was how Julian got through things. Pushing down thoughts, walling them off, living in the moment of the act that had become his reality.

She did her best to shove the thoughts of the dead away as they ducked under the ropes and found themselves in an area full of couches and chairs upholstered in ice-blue velvet. Sprawled in the largest armchair was Sebastian.

Up close, he was clearly older than the boy Emma remembered from her world. He was broader, his jaw more square, his eyes tar black. He wore a crisp black designer suit with a pattern of roses on the lapels, a thick fur coat draped over it. His ice-white hair mixed with the pale gold fur; if Emma hadn’t known who he was and hated him, she would have thought he was beautiful, a wintry prince.

Standing beside him, his fingers resting lightly on the back of Sebastian’s chair, was Jace. He too wore a black suit, and when he turned slightly, Emma saw the strap of a holster beneath it. There were leather gauntlets on his wrists, under the sharp cuffs of his jacket. She would have bet he was carrying several knives.

Is he Sebastian’s bodyguard? she wondered. Does it amuse Sebastian to keep one of the Clave’s heroes as a sort of pet, bound to his side?

And then there was Ash. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, sprawled in a chair some distance away with an electronic device in his hands, he seemed to be playing a video game. The light from the game came and went, illuminating his sharp-featured face, the points of his ears.

Sebastian’s cold gaze swept over Emma and Julian. Emma felt her whole body tense. She knew their runes were covered by fabric and concealer, but she still felt as if Sebastian could see right through her. As if he’d know immediately they weren’t Endarkened.

“If it isn’t the two lovebirds,” he drawled. He glanced at Emma. “I haven’t really seen your face before. Your friend here’s been too busy sucking it.” Julian replied in a flat monotone. “Sorry to have annoyed you, sir.”

“It doesn’t annoy me,” Sebastian said. “Just an observation.” He settled back in his chair. “I prefer redheads myself.” A flicker of something went over Jace’s face. It was gone too quickly for Emma to guess at its meaning. Ash looked up, though, and Emma tensed. If Ash recognized them . . .

He glanced back down at his game, his expression evincing no interest.

Emma was finding it hard not to shiver. The cold was intense, and Sebastian’s gaze colder still. He templed his fingers under his chin. “Rumors have been swirling,” he said, “that a certain Livia Blackthorn is raising a pathetic little rebellion downtown.” Emma’s stomach lurched.

“She’s nothing to us,” Julian said quickly. He sounded like he meant it too.

“Of course not,” said Sebastian. “But you were once her brother and her friend. Humans are regrettably sentimental. She might be tricked into trusting you.” “Livvy would never trust a pair of Endarkened,” Emma said, and froze. It was the wrong thing to say.

Jace’s golden eyes narrowed with suspicion. He began to speak, but Sebastian cut him off with a dismissive wave. “Not now, Jace.” Jace’s expression went blank. He turned away from Sebastian and went to Ash, leaning over the back of his chair to point out something on his game screen. Ash nodded.

It would almost have looked like a sweet brotherly moment if it hadn’t been so screwed up and awful. If the chandelier overhead hadn’t been made of frozen human arms, each one gripping a torch that spat demonic light. If Emma could forget the faces beneath the floor.

“What Emma means is that Livvy’s always been cunning,” said Julian. “In a low sort of way.” “Interesting,” said Sebastian. “I tend to approve of low cunning, though not when directed at me, of course.” “We know her very well,” said Julian. “I’m sure we can suss out her little rebellion’s location without much trouble.” Sebastian smirked. “I like your confidence,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe what I—” He broke off with a frown. “Is that damn dog barking again?” It was a dog barking. A few seconds later, a black-and-white terrier bounded into the room on the end of a long leash. At the other end of the leash was a woman with long dark hair.

It was Annabel Blackthorn.

She wore a red dress without sleeves, though she must have been freezing in the cold air. Her skin was dead white.

Seeing Emma and Julian, she went even whiter. Her grip tightened on the dog’s leash.

Adrenaline spilled through Emma’s veins. Annabel was going to spill, she was going to turn them in. She had no reason not to. And then Sebastian would kill them. I swear, Emma thought, I will find a way to make him bleed before I die.

I will find a way to make them both bleed.

“I’m sorry,” Annabel said petulantly. “He wanted to see Ash. Didn’t you, Malcolm?”

Even Julian’s expression flickered at that. Emma watched in horror as Annabel bent down to rub the dog’s ears. It looked up at her with wide lavender eyes and barked again.

Malcolm Fade, High Warlock of Los Angeles, was now a demon terrier.

“Get your nasty familiar out of here,” Sebastian snapped. “I’m doing business. If Ash needs something, he’ll call on you, Annabel. He’s practically a grown man. He no longer requires a nursemaid.” “Everyone needs a mother,” Annabel said. “Don’t you, Ash?”

Ash said nothing. He was immersed in his game. With an irritated sigh, Annabel stalked out of the room, Malcolm trotting behind her.

“As I was saying.” Sebastian’s face was tight with annoyance. “Annabel is one of my best torturers—you wouldn’t believe the creative skill she can display with a single knife and a Shadowhunter—but like the rest of those around me, she is too vulnerable to her emotions. I don’t know why people don’t just understand what’s best for them.” “If they did, they wouldn’t need leaders,” said Julian. “Like you.”

Sebastian gave him a considering look. “I suppose that’s true. But it is like a weight of responsibility. Crushing me. You understand.” “Let us seek out Livia for you,” Julian said. “We’ll go take care of the threat and bring you back her head.” Sebastian looked pleased. He glanced at Emma. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

I can’t, Emma thought. I can’t stand here and lie and pretend like Julian. I can’t.

But the warmth of Julian’s hand was still in hers, the strength of their bond—even when it was no longer magical—lifting her chin, setting her jaw hard. She took her hand out of Julian’s and slowly, deliberately, cracked her knuckles.

“I prefer killing,” she said. “ ’Say it with bullets,’ that’s my motto.”

Sebastian actually laughed, and for a moment Emma remembered Clary on the roof of the Institute, talking about a green-eyed brother who had never existed, but could have. Maybe in some other world, a better one than Thule.

“Very well,” Sebastian said. “You will be well rewarded if you succeed in this. There might even be a Bel Air house in it for you. Especially if you find any pretty redheads among the rebels and bring them back for Jace and me to play with.” He grinned. “Run along now, before you freeze to death.” He flicked a dismissive gesture at them. There was a force behind it—Emma felt herself spun around as if by a hand on her shoulder. She nearly staggered, regained her footing, and found they were almost at the doors of the club. She didn’t even remember passing the mirrors.

Then they were out on the street, and she was gasping in lungfuls of the hot, dirty air, the warmth of the humid night suddenly welcome. They reclaimed their motorcycle from the lizard guard and rode several blocks without speaking a word until Julian leaned forward and said, through gritted teeth, “Pull over.” The block they were on was nearly deserted, the streetlights smashed and the pavement dark. As soon as Emma pulled to a stop, Julian swung himself off the cycle and staggered over to the storefront of a destroyed Starbucks. Emma could hear him throwing up in the shadows. Her stomach tightened in sympathy. She wanted to go to him but was afraid to leave the cycle. It was their only way back to the Bradbury. Without it they were dead.

When Julian returned, his face smudged with shadow and bruises, Emma handed him a bottle of water.

“You were amazing in the nightclub,” she said.

He took a swig from the bottle. “I felt like I was being torn apart inside,” he said matter-of-factly. “To stand there and say those things about Livvy—to call that bastard monster ‘sir’—to keep from ripping Annabel limb from limb—” “Do it now, then,” said a voice from the shadows. “Rip me apart, if you can.”

Emma’s Glock was already out as she turned, lowering it to point directly at the pale woman in the shadows. Her red dress was a smear of blood against the night.

Annabel’s colorless lips curled into a smile. “That gun won’t hurt me,” she said. “And the shot, the screams, will bring the Endarkened running. Chance it if you wish. I wouldn’t.” Julian dropped the bottle. Water splashed over his boots. Emma prayed he wouldn’t launch himself at Annabel; his hands were shaking. “We can hurt you,” he said. “We can make you bleed.” It was so close to what Emma herself had thought inside the nightclub that she was taken aback for a moment.

“The Endarkened will come,” Annabel said. “All I have to do is scream.” Her Marks had faded, just like all the other Shadowhunters’; her skin was pale as milk, without a single design. Emma was startled by how calm she seemed. How sane. But then, several years had passed here, for her. “I knew who you were the moment I saw you. You look just as you did in the Unseelie Court. The marks of the battle on your faces haven’t even healed.” “Then why didn’t you tell Sebastian?” Emma spat. “If you wanted to get rid of us—”

“I don’t want to get rid of you. I want to make a deal with you.”

Julian yanked up his right sleeve with enough force to tear the fabric. There on his wrist was the rag he had worn all through Faerie, still crusted with dried blood. “This is my sister’s blood,” he ground out. “Blood you spilled. Why would I ever want to make a deal with you?” Annabel looked unmoved at the sight of Livvy’s blood. “Because you want to get home,” she said. “Because you can’t stop thinking of what could be happening to the rest of your family. I am still possessed of powerful dark magics, you know. The Black Volume works even better here. I can open a Portal to take you home. I’m the only one in this world who can.” “Why would you do that for us?” said Emma.

Annabel gave an odd little smile. In her red dress, she seemed to float suspended like a drop of blood in water. “The Inquisitor sent you into Faerie to die,” she said. “The Clave despises you and wants you dead. All because you wanted to protect what you loved. How would I not understand what that’s like?” This, Emma felt, was pretty twisted logic. Julian, though, was staring at Annabel as if she were a nightmare he could not look away from.

“You enspelled yourself,” Annabel went on, her gaze fixed on Julian. “To feel nothing. I sensed the spell when I saw you in Faerie. I saw it, and I felt joy.” She twirled, her red skirt spinning out around her. “You made yourself like Malcolm. He cut himself away from emotions to get me back.” “No,” Emma said, unable to bear the look on Julian’s face. “He tried to get you back because he loved you. Because he felt emotions.” “Maybe at first.” Annabel stopped twirling. “But it was no longer the case by the time he raised me, was it? He had kept me trapped and tortured all those years, so he could bring me back for him, not for me. That is not love, to sacrifice your beloved’s happiness for your own needs. By the time he was able to get me back, he was so divorced from the world that he cared about his goal more than he cared about the kinds of love that matter. A thing that was true and pure and beautiful became corrupt and evil.” She smiled, and her teeth shone like underwater pearls. “Once you no longer feel empathy, you become a monster. You may not be under the spell here, Julian Blackthorn, but what about when you return? What will you do then, when you cannot bear to feel what you feel?” “Shut up,” Emma said through her teeth. “You don’t understand anything.” She turned to Julian. “Let’s get away from here.” But Julian was still staring at Annabel. “You want something,” he said in a deadly flat voice. “What?” “Ah.” Annabel was still smiling. “When I open the Portal, take Ash with you. He is in danger.” “Ash?” Julian repeated, incredulous.

“Ash seems to be doing fine here,” said Emma, lowering her Glock. “I mean, maybe he’s getting bored with his video game selection since, you know, Sebastian killed all the people who make video games. Or he could be running out of batteries. But I’m not sure that qualifies as danger.” Annabel’s face darkened. “He is too good for this place,” she said. “And more than that—when we first found ourselves here, I brought him to Sebastian. I believed Sebastian would take care of Ash because he is his father. And for a time, he did. But rumors are circulating that the energy drain of maintaining so many Endarkened is slowly tearing Sebastian apart. The life forces of the Endarkened are poisoned. Useless. But Ash’s is not. I believe eventually he will kill Ash and use his considerable life force to rejuvenate himself.” “No one’s safe, huh?” said Julian. He sounded distinctly unimpressed.

“This is a good world for me,” said Annabel. “I hate the Nephilim, and I am powerful enough to be safe from demons.” “And Sebastian lets you torture Nephilim,” Emma said.

“Indeed. I visit upon them the wounds that were once visited upon me by the Council.” There was no emotion in her voice, not even a faint hint of gloating, only a deadly dullness that was even worse. “But it is not a good place for Ash. We cannot hide—Sebastian would hunt him down anywhere. He will be better off in your world.” “Then why don’t you take him there yourself?” said Emma.

“I would if I could. It sickens me to be parted from him,” Annabel said. “I have given all my life these years to his care.” Perfect loyalty, Emma thought. Was it that loyalty that had made Annabel so haggard, so sick-looking? Always putting Ash before herself, following him from place to place, ready to die for him at any moment, and never really knowing why?

“But in your world,” Annabel went on, “I would be hunted, and torn from Ash. He would have no one to protect him. This way, he will have you.” “You seem to have a lot of trust in us,” said Julian, “given that you know we hate you.” “But you don’t hate Ash,” Annabel said. “He is innocent, and you have always protected the innocent. It is what you do.” She smiled, a knowing smile, as if she felt in her heart that she had caught them in a net. “Besides. You are desperate to get home, and desperation always has a price. So how about it, Nephilim? Do we have a deal?” * * *

Ash scooped the piece of paper that had fallen from Julian Blackthorn’s jacket off the floor of the nightclub. He was careful not to let Sebastian see him do it. He’d been in Thule long enough to know that it was never a good idea to catch Sebastian’s attention unawares.

Not that Sebastian was always cruel. He was generous in fits and starts, when he remembered Ash existed. He’d hand him weapons or games he found in raids on rebel homes. He ensured that Ash dressed nicely, since he considered Ash a reflection of himself. Jace was the only one who was ever actually kind, though, seeming to find in Ash somewhere to put the frustrated, bottled-up feelings he still carried for Clary Fairchild and Alexander and Isabelle Lightwood.

And then there was Annabel. But Ash didn’t want to think about Annabel.

Ash unfolded the paper. A jolt went through his body. He turned away quickly so that Jace and Sebastian, deep in conversation, wouldn’t see his expression.

It was her, the strange human girl he’d once seen in the Unseelie weapons room. Dark hair, eyes the color of the sky he only partially remembered. A murder of crows circled in the sky behind her. Not a photograph, but a drawing, done with a wistful hand, a sense of love and longing emanating from the page. A name was scribbled in a corner: Drusilla Blackthorn.

Drusilla. She looked lonely, Ash thought, but determined as well, as if a hope lived behind those summer-blue eyes, a hope that could not be quenched by loss, a hope too strong to feel despair.

Ash’s heart was pounding, though he could not have said why. Hastily, he folded the drawing and thrust it into his pocket.

Diana was waiting for them outside the Bradbury, leaning against the closed garage door with a shotgun over her shoulder. She lowered the weapon with a look of visible relief as Emma and Julian’s motorcycle puttered to a stop in front of her.

“I knew you’d make it,” she said as Julian swung himself off the bike.

“Aw,” said Emma, dismounting. “You were worried about us!”

Diana tapped on the garage door with the tip of her shotgun. She said something to Emma that was lost in the grinding of the gears as the door opened.

Julian watched Emma answer Diana with a smile and wondered how she did it. Somehow Emma could always find lightness or a joke even under the greatest stress. Maybe it was the same way he could stand in front of Sebastian and pretend to be the Endarkened version of himself without even feeling his hands shake. That started only when it was over.

“I’m sorry I had to take off,” Diana said once the door was shut and bolted and their bike stowed back under Raphael’s tarp. “If I’d stuck around and you’d been caught—” “There’s nothing you could have done for us,” said Julian. “And they would have killed you, once they figured out who we really were.” “At least this way someone was bringing the news about Tessa back to Livvy. We get it,” Emma added. “Have you told her yet?” “I was waiting for you.” She grinned sideways. “And I didn’t want to have to tell Livvy I’d lost her brother.” Her brother. The words were like dream words, half-true, however Julian might want them to be fully real.

“So what did Sebastian want from you?” Diana asked as she let them back into the building. They must have come in very late the night before, Julian realized—at this hour, the corridors were still full of people, hurrying back and forth. They passed the open door of a pantry, full of canned and jarred goods. The kitchen was probably nearby; the air smelled like tomato soup.

“He offered us a house in Bel Air,” said Emma.

Diana clucked her tongue. “Fancy. Bel Air is where Sebastian lives, and the more favored Endarkened. The moat protects it.” “The one made of giant bones?” said Julian.

“Yeah, that moat,” said Diana. They’d reached the door of Livvy’s office; Diana bumped it open with her hip and ushered them inside.

Somehow Julian had thought Livvy would be alone, waiting for them, but she wasn’t. She was standing at one of the long architectural tables with Bat and Maia, looking at a map of Los Angeles. Cameron was pacing up and down the room.

Livvy looked up as the door opened, and relief washed across her face. For a moment Julian was watching a small Livvy at the beach, trapped on a rock by the tide, the same look of desperate relief on her face when he came to pick her up and carry her back to shore.

But this Livvy was not the same little girl. She was not a little girl at all. She covered the look of relief quickly. “Glad you’re back,” she said. “Any luck?” Julian filled them in on the meeting with Tessa—leaving out, for now, the part where she’d asked them to kill Sebastian—while Emma went to the coffeemaker in the corner and collected hot coffee for them both. It was bitter and black and stung when he swallowed it.

“I guess I owe you five thousand bucks,” Cameron said to Livvy when Julian was done. “I didn’t think Tessa was still alive, much less that she’d be able to get us into the Silent City.” “This is great news,” Maia said. She was leaning back against the edge of the map table. One hand was casually looped around her opposing elbow, and Julian could glimpse a tattoo of a lily on Maia’s forearm. “We should start a strategy session. Assign groups. Some can circle the entrance to the Silent City, some can be on sniper watch, some can guard the warlock, some—” “There’s also some bad news,” Julian said. “On the way back from the beach we were stopped at a checkpoint. Sebastian wanted to see us.” Livvy tensed all over. “What? Why?”

“He thought we were the Endarkened versions of ourselves. Emma and Julian from this world,” Emma said.

“He knows you’ve got something going on here downtown,” said Julian. “He even knows your name, Livvy.” There was a moment of grim silence.

“I told her to go by a nickname like ‘The Masked Avenger,’ but she wouldn’t listen to me,” said Bat with a forced smile.

“Ah,” said Emma. “Laughing in the face of danger. I approve.”

Livvy pinched the bridge of her nose. “That means we don’t have any time to lose. Can you get in touch with Tessa?” “Now that we know where she is, anyone can borrow my bike and bring her a message,” said Diana. “It’s no problem.” “We should do this during the day. Too many demons at night,” Livvy added.

“I guess that gives us a little time,” Diana said.

Cameron put his hand on Livvy’s shoulder. It gave Julian an odd feeling—he had been so jealous of Cameron in their own world, of the way that he and Emma behaved together when they were dating. They had everything he and Emma never would—the ability to casually touch one another, to kiss in public. Now this Cameron was Livvy’s boyfriend, sparking Julian’s protectiveness rather than his jealousy. He had to admit grudgingly, though, that it seemed like Cameron had been a pretty good boyfriend. He was kind, despite his awful family, and obviously thought the sun rose and set on Livvy.

As well he should.

“Come look at the map,” said Maia, and they all gathered around. She ran a bronze-ringed finger across the paper, indicating their location. “Here’s us. Here’s the entrance to the Silent City. It’s just a few blocks away, so we can walk over, but we probably ought to pose as Endarkened.” “We’ll go at dawn for the lowest demonic activity,” said Livvy. “As for Tessa Gray—”

“All we have to do is let her know when and she’ll meet us at the Silent City entrance,” said Julian. “Is it where it is in our world? Angels Flight?” Bat looked surprised. “Yeah. It’s the same.”

Angels Flight was a narrow-gauge railway that climbed Bunker Hill in downtown L.A., its track seeming to reach up into the sky. Julian had visited it only in its capacity as the entrance to the Silent City once.

“Okay.” Maia clapped her hands together. “Everyone’s going to be in the mess hall for dinner, so let’s go put together some teams.” “You get to argue with Raphael,” said Bat.

Maia rolled her eyes. “Sure. He always says he’s not going to cooperate and then coughs up a bunch of vamp fighters at the last minute.” “I’ll handle the wolf contingent,” said Bat.

Diana threw up her hands. “And I’ll rally everybody else. How many do we need? Thirty, maybe? Too big a crowd will bring attention we don’t need—” “Guys,” Livvy said, looking across the map table at Julian. “I’d like to talk to my brother alone, if you don’t mind.” “Oh, sure,” Maia said. “No problem. See you in a couple.”

She headed out with Bat. Cameron kissed Livvy on the cheek. “See you later.”

“I’ll be on weapons,” Diana said, heading for the door.

Emma met Julian’s eyes. “Weapons sound great,” she said. “I’ll go with Diana.”

As soon as the door closed behind them, Livvy went over to one of the long couches and sat down. She looked at Julian with her direct gaze, so much like his Livvy’s, save for the scar across her eye. “Jules,” she said. “What are you not telling me? There’s something you’re not telling me.” Julian leaned back against the long table. He spoke carefully. “What makes you think that?” “Because you told us how to break into the Silent City and get the Mortal Instruments, but you didn’t say you’d found out how to destroy them. I know you wouldn’t suggest we keep them—once we have them, we’ll be major targets for Sebastian.” “We’re planning to take them back to our world,” Julian said. “Sebastian won’t find them there.” “Okay,” Livvy said slowly. “So Tessa Gray can open a Portal for you to get back home?” “No.” Julian flexed his hands; his skin felt tight. “Not exactly.”

Livvy snapped her fingers. “And here’s the part you were leaving out. What?”

“Do you know a woman named Annabel?” Julian asked. “She’s from our world, but you might have seen her with Sebastian here. Long dark hair—?” “That necromancer who showed up with Sebastian’s kid? Her name is Annabel?” Livvy whistled. “They don’t call her that here. The Legion of the Star calls her the Queen of Air and Darkness.” “That’s from an old poem,” Julian said, looking thoughtful.

“So that means Ash Morgenstern is from your world too,” said Livvy.

“Yes. In fact, he’s from Faerie in our world. We all came through the same Portal, but it delivered them here about five years ago, I’m guessing. Two years after the Battle of the Burren. I suspect they went straight to Sebastian. She knew he was Sebastian’s son, and since Sebastian’s alive here, and in charge . . .” “I think I’m getting a headache.” Livvy rubbed her temples. “Faerie, huh? I guess that explains why Ash is so close in age to his ‘father.’  ” Julian nodded. “Time in the Undying Lands is superweird. I don’t pretend to understand it.” He raked a hand through his hair. “The thing is—Annabel offered me a deal.” “What kind of deal?” said Livvy warily.

“She’s a powerful magician,” Julian said. He spoke with immense deliberation. There was no need to tell Livvy that Annabel was a Blackthorn. It would bring more questions—ones he didn’t want to answer. “Because she took the Black Volume from our world, she can open a Portal to get back to it. She offered to open one for us.” “Why would she offer to do that for you if she’s one of Sebastian’s minions?”

“She doesn’t care about Sebastian. She only cares about Ash, and she’s afraid for him. She’s offering to send us back if we take him with us.” “She probably isn’t wrong to be worried. Sebastian ruins everyone close to him.” Livvy pulled her legs up under her. “Do you trust this Annabel?” “I hate her,” Julian said, before he could stop himself. He saw Livvy’s eyes widen and forced himself to go on more calmly. “But I trust her feelings for Ash are real. He has a certain influence over people.” “That’s interesting.” Livvy’s gaze was slightly unfocused. “Dru saw him a couple years ago. At an execution, like the one you saw on the beach. She kept talking about him afterward, about how he didn’t seem like he really wanted to be there.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Did you—if you go through the Portal, do you still want me to come with you?” “Of course I do,” Julian said. “It’s part of the reason I didn’t turn Annabel down. I want to get you out of here.” Livvy bit her lip. “What about the me that exists in your world? Won’t that get confusing?” Julian said nothing; he had expected this, and yet he still had no answer. He watched her face change, settling into lines of certainty and resignation, and felt a piece of his heart wither.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” Livvy’s voice was steady. “I’m dead in your world. I can tell by the way you look at me.” “Yeah.” Julian was shivering as if he were cold, though the air was hot and still. “It was my fault, Livs. You—” “Don’t.” She stood up and crossed the room to him, placing her hands flat against his chest as if she meant to push him. “You didn’t do anything to hurt me, Jules. I know you too well for you to convince me of that. You forget, in this world, you sacrificed yourself for me.” Her Blackthorn eyes were wide and shimmering and tearless. “I’m sorry we lost each other in your world. I’d like to think somewhere we’re intact. All of us together.” She took a step back from him. “Let me show you something.” His throat was too raw for him to speak. He watched as she turned around, her back to him, and pulled off her sweatshirt. Under it she wore a white tank top. It did nothing to hide the massive tattoo that stretched across her back like wings: a mourning rune, spreading from the base of her neck to the middle of her spine, its edges touching her shoulders.

His voice cracked. “For Ty.”

She bent down and retrieved her sweatshirt, pulling it back on to hide the rune. When she turned back to look at him, her eyes were glittering. “For all of you,” she said.

“Come back home with me,” Julian whispered. “Livvy—”

She sighed. “I can tell you want my permission to make this deal with the necromancer, Jules. I can tell you think it would make this an easier and better choice. But I can’t do that.” She shook her head. “In Thule, terrible choices are all we have. This one is yours to make.” * * *

At the weapons supply closet, Emma waded in happily; she’d never been that interested in guns—they didn’t work on demons, so Shadowhunters didn’t use them—but there were plenty of other items of localized destruction. She thrust a handful of throwing knives through her belt and headed for a table of daggers.

Diana leaned against the wall and watched her with weary amusement. “In your world,” she said, “you were parabatai?” Emma paused, a blade in her hand. “We were.”

“I wouldn’t mention that too much if I were you,” said Diana. “People here don’t really like to think about parabatai.” “Why not?”

Diana sighed. “As Sebastian gained control of the world, and it became darker and more desperate, parabatai changed. It happened overnight, unlike the change of the warlocks. One day the world awoke to find that those who were parabatai had become monsters.” Emma almost dropped the knife. “They became evil?”

“Monsters,” repeated Diana. “Their runes began to burn like fire, as if they had fire in their veins instead of blood. People said that the blades of those who fought them shattered in their hands. Black lines spread over their bodies and they became monstrous—physically monstrous. I never saw it happen, mind you—I heard this all thirdhand. Stories about ruthless, massive shining creatures, tearing cities apart. Sebastian had to release thousands of demons to take them down. A lot of mundanes and Shadowhunters died.” “But why would that happen?” Emma whispered, her throat suddenly dry.

“Probably the same reason the warlocks turned into demons. The world turning twisted and demonic. No one knows, really.” “Are you worried that’ll happen to us?” Emma asked. She was blindly picking up more weapons, not really looking at what she was taking anymore. “That we could change here?” “No chance of that,” Diana said. “Once the angelic magic had stopped working completely, the few parabatai who’d survived were fine. Their bonds broke and they didn’t change.” Emma nodded. “I can feel that my bond with Julian is broken here.”

“Yeah. There are no more Shadowhunters, so there are no more parabatai. Still, like I said, I wouldn’t mention it to people. Your runes will end up fading soon enough. You know. If you stay here.” “If we stay here,” Emma echoed, a little faintly. Her head was spinning. “Right. I think I should go back now. Julian might be wondering where I am.” * * *

“I see you’ve been decorating,” Julian said when he came into the bedroom. He looked tired but alert, his chocolate-brown hair still tousled from the bike ride.

Emma glanced around—she’d liberated a startling number of weapons from the supply closet downstairs. There was a pile of daggers and throwing knives in one corner, one of swords in another, and another of LAPD-issue guns: Glocks and Berettas, mostly. “Thanks,” she said. “The theme is Stuff That Can Kill You.” Julian laughed and went into the bathroom; she heard the sink water running as he brushed his teeth. She’d borrowed one of the men’s button-down shirts they’d given Julian and was wearing it like a nightshirt over her underwear: not, she thought, the sexiest of all pajama options, but it was comfortable.

Emma curled her legs up under her and resisted the urge to ask Julian if he was all right. After she’d gotten back from her expedition with Diana, she’d waited for Julian with growing anxiety. This was a world that could hurt them in a lot of ways. They could be slaughtered by demons or hunted down by Endarkened. And if they’d arrived earlier, apparently, they could have turned into monsters and destroyed a city.

There is a corruption at the heart of the bond of parabatai. A poison. A darkness in it that mirrors its goodness. There is a reason parabatai cannot fall in love, and it is monstrous beyond all you could imagine.

She shook her head. She wouldn’t listen to the lying words of the Queen. Everything in Thule was twisted and monstrous—of course the parabatai bond would not have been spared.

More real and dangerous was the shadow of heartbreak around every corner. She knew how badly Julian wanted this Livvy to come back to their world with them, but she had seen Livvy’s expression when he’d asked, and she wondered.

When he came back to the bedroom, his hair and T-shirt were damp, and he looked slightly more awake. She guessed he’d splashed water on his face. “Did they have crossbows?” he asked, examining the pile of swords. He picked one up and examined it, the blade refracting light as he turned it this way and that.

Butterflies fluttered in Emma’s stomach. Only a few, but there was something about watching Julian be a Shadowhunter, be the warrior she had watched him grow into. The muscles moved smoothly in his arm and shoulder as he manipulated the blade and set it back down again, a considering look on his face.

Emma hoped her cheeks weren’t pink. “I got you one. It’s in the wardrobe.”

He went to check. “If we make it to the Silent City without any Endarkened or demons noticing, we might not have to use any of these.” “Diana always said the best weapons were kept in great shape for use but never needed to be used,” said Emma. “Of course I never really knew what she was talking about.” “Obviously.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Emma, I need to tell you something.” She pushed herself upright against the headboard of the bed. Her heart skipped a beat, but she tried to keep her expression calm and welcoming. Julian wasn’t great at opening up even when he had emotions; still, she’d missed their sharing of each other’s secrets and burdens more than anything else when he’d been under the spell.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at the ceiling. “I didn’t tell Livvy about Tessa asking us to kill Sebastian,” he said.

“Sure,” Emma said. “If we can’t get into the Silent City and get the Mortal Instruments, it’ll never matter anyway. Why freak her out early?” “But I did tell her that if we got the Sword and the Cup, we’d bring them back with us. To protect them.” Emma waited. She wasn’t sure where Julian was going with this.

“When we were in the Seelie Court,” Julian said, “just this last time—when I talked to the Queen—she told me how it would be possible to break all parabatai bonds at once.” Emma gripped the covers. “Yes. And you told me it was impossible.”

His eyes were windows to an ocean that no longer existed in this world. “We did what she asked,” he said. “We brought her the Black Volume. So she told me, because she thought it would be funny. You see, there’s only one way to do it. You have to destroy the first recorded parabatai rune, which is kept in the Silent City. And you have to do it with the Mortal Sword.” “And in our world, the Sword is shattered,” Emma said. It made sense, in a twisted way: She could imagine the Queen’s delight in delivering that news.

“I didn’t tell you because I thought it didn’t matter,” he said. “It was never going to be possible. The Sword was broken.” “And you didn’t tell me because of the spell,” she said, gently. “You didn’t feel like you had to.” “Yeah,” he said. He took a shuddering breath. “But now we’re talking about bringing this sword back to our world, and I know it’s a million-in-one shot, but it could be possible—I mean, we could be looking at that choice. I could be.” There were a million things Emma wanted to say. You promised you wouldn’t and it would be a terrible thing to do trembled on the tip of her tongue. She remembered the moral surety she’d felt when Julian had first told her the Queen had dangled this temptation in front of him.

But it was hard after Livvy’s death to have moral surety about anything.

“I asked Magnus to put that spell on me because I was terrified,” Julian said. “I imagined us turning into monsters. Destroying everything we loved. I still had Livvy’s blood under my fingernails.” His voice shook. “But there’s something else I’m just as afraid of, and that’s why the Queen’s voice keeps echoing in my mind.” Emma looked at him, waiting.

“Losing you,” he said. “You’re the only person I’ve ever loved like this, and I know you’re the only person I ever will. And I’m not myself without you, Emma. Once you dissolve dye in water, you can’t take it back out. It’s like that. I can’t take you out of me. It means cutting out my heart, and I don’t like myself without my heart. I know that now.” “Julian,” Emma whispered.

“I’m not going to do it,” he said. “I’m not going to use the Sword. I can’t cause other people pain like the pain I’ve felt. But if we do get home, and we have the Sword, I think we need to trade it to the Inquisitor for exile. I think we don’t have another choice.” “True exile?” Emma said. “They’ll separate us from the kids, Julian, they’ll separate you—” “I know,” he said. “There was a time I thought there could be nothing worse. But I realize now I was wrong. I held Livvy while she died, and that was worse. What happened to Livvy here—losing all of us—that’s unimaginably worse. I asked myself whether I would rather go through what Mark went through—being cut off from his family but thinking of them as well and happy—or what Livvy went through here, knowing her brothers and sisters were dead. It’s no question. I’d rather they were safe and alive even if I couldn’t be with them.” “I don’t know, Julian—”

His expression was nakedly vulnerable. “Unless you don’t feel that way about me anymore,” he said. “If you’d stopped loving me while I was under the spell, I wouldn’t blame you.” “I guess that would solve our problem,” she said without thinking. Julian flinched.

Emma crawled hastily across the bed toward him. She knelt in the center of the coverlet and reached to touch his shoulder. He turned his head to look at her, wincing a little, as if he were looking at the sun.

“Julian,” she said. “I was angry at you. I missed you. But I didn’t stop loving you.” She brushed the back of her hand lightly against his cheek. “As long as you exist and I exist, I will love you.” “Emma.” He moved to kneel on the bed opposite her. She was a head shorter than him in this position. He touched her hair, drawing it forward over her shoulder. His eyes were shadow dark. “I don’t know what will happen when we get back,” he said. “I don’t know if asking for exile from Dearborn will work. I don’t know if we’ll be separated. But if we are, I’ll think of what you just said and it will carry me through whatever happens. In the dark, in the shadows, in the times when I am alone, I will remember.” Her eyes stung. “I can say it again.”

“No need.” He touched her cheek lightly. “I’ll always remember what you looked like when you said it.” “Then I wish I’d worn something a little sexier,” she said with a shaky laugh.

His eyes darkened—that desire-darkening that only she ever got to see. “Believe me, there is nothing hotter than you in one of my shirts,” he said. He touched the collar of the shirt lightly. Goose bumps exploded across her skin. His voice was low and rough. “I’ve always wanted you. Even when I didn’t know it.” “Even during our parabatai ceremony?”

She half-expected him to laugh, but instead his finger traced the material of her shirt, along her collarbone to the notch at the base of her throat. “Especially then.” “Julian . . .”

“Entreat me not to leave thee,” he whispered, “or to return from following after thee.” He flicked open the top button of her shirt, baring a small patch of skin. He looked up at her and she nodded, dry-mouthed: Yes, I want this, yes.

“Whither thou goest, I will go.” His fingers glided downward. Another button flicked open. The swell of her breasts was visible; his pupils expanded, darkened.

There was something heretical about it, something that carried the frisson of the ultimately forbidden. The words of the parabatai ceremony were not meant to convey desire. Yet every word shivered through Emma’s nerves, as if the wings of angels brushed her skin.

She reached for his shirt, drew it up over his head. Smoothed her hands down his chest to the dip of his waist, the ridged muscles in his abdomen. Traced each scar. “And where thou lodgest, I will lodge.” His fingers found another button, and another. Her shirt fell open with a whisper of cloth. Slowly, he pushed it off her shoulders, letting it slip down her arms. His eyes were ravenous but his hands were gentle; he stroked her bare shoulders and bent to kiss the places the shirt had revealed, tracing a path between her breasts as she arched backward in his arms. He murmured against her skin. “Thy people shall be my people. Thy God, my God.” She tumbled backward, pulling Julian on top of her. His weight pressed her down into the softness of the bed. He curled his hands beneath her body and kissed her long and slow. She traced her fingers through his hair as she had always loved to do, the silky curls tickling her palms.

They shed their clothes unhurriedly. Each new piece of skin revealed was cause for another reverent touch, another slow kiss. “Whither thou diest, will I die,” Julian whispered against her mouth.

She unbuckled his jeans and he kicked them away. She could feel him hard against her, but there was no haste: His fingers traced the curves of her, the dips and hollows of her body, as if he were describing a portrait of her in gilt and ivory with each brush of his hands.

She wrapped her legs around him to keep him close to her. His lips grazed her cheek, her hair, as he moved inside her; his gaze never broke with hers, drawing them both upward. They rose as one in fire and sparks, every moment brighter; and when at last they broke and fell together, they were stars collapsing in gold and glory.

Afterward, Emma curled into and against Julian, breathless. He was flushed, sheened with sweat, as he gathered her hair in one hand, winding it through his fingers. “If aught but death part thee and me, Emma,” he said, and pressed his lips to the strands.

Emma closed her eyes as she whispered, “Julian. Julian. If aught but death part thee and me.” * * *

Julian sat on the edge of the bed, looking into the darkness.

His heart was full of Emma, but his mind was in turmoil. He was glad he had told her the truth about the Queen’s words, about his determination to seek exile. He had meant to say more.

As long as you exist and I exist, I will love you. The words had filled his heart and broken it. The danger of loving Emma had become like a battle scar: a source of pride, a memory of pain. He hadn’t been able to say the rest: But what if the spell comes back when we go home? What if I stop understanding what it means to love you?

She had been so brave, his Emma, and so beautiful, and he had wanted her so badly his hands had been shaking as he unbuttoned her shirt, as he reached into the nightstand drawer. She was asleep now, the blankets drawn up around her, her shoulder a pale crescent moon. And he was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the jeweled dagger Emma had brought up earlier from the weapons closet downstairs.

He turned it over in his hand. It was small, with a sharp blade, and red stones in the pommel. He could hear the Queen’s voice in his head. In the Land of Faerie, as mortals feel no sorrow, neither can they feel joy.

He thought of the way he and Emma had always written on each other’s skin with their fingers, spelling words no one else could hear.

He thought of the great hollow that he had carried around inside him after the spell, without knowing he carried it, like a mundane possessed by a demon that clung to his back and fed on his soul, never knowing where the misery came from.

Once you no longer feel empathy, you become a monster. You may not be under the spell here, Julian Blackthorn, but what about when you return? What will you do then, when you cannot bear to feel what you feel?

He stretched out his arm and brought the blade down.