فصل 21

21

NO RAYS FROM HEAVEN

Diana came at dawn and pounded on their door. Emma woke groggy, her hair tangled and her lips sore. She rolled over to find Julian lying on his side, fully dressed in a long-sleeved black shirt and army-green pants. He looked freshly showered, his hair too wet to be curly, his mouth tasting like toothpaste when she leaned over to kiss him. Had he even slept at all?

She staggered off to shower and dress. With every piece of clothing she put on, she felt another layer of anticipation, waking her up more surely than caffeine or sugar ever could. Long-sleeved shirt. Padded vest. Canvas pants. Thick-soled boots. Daggers and chigiriki through her belt, throwing stars in her pockets, a longsword in a scabbard on her back. She bound her hair into a braid and, with some reluctance, picked up a gun and tucked it into the holster attached to her belt.

“Done,” she announced.

Julian was leaning against the wall by the door, one booted foot braced behind him. He flicked a piece of hair out of his eyes. “I’ve been ready for hours,” he said.

Emma threw a pillow at him.

It was nice to have their banter back, she thought, as they headed downstairs. Strange how humor and the ability to joke were tied to emotions; a Julian who didn’t feel was a Julian whose humor was a dark and bitter one.

The mess hall was crowded and smelled like coffee. Werewolves, vampires, and former Shadowhunters sat at long tables, eating and drinking from chipped and mismatched bowls and mugs. It was an oddly unified scene, Emma thought. She couldn’t imagine a situation in her world where a big group of Shadowhunters and Downworlders would be seated together for a casual meal. Maybe Alec and Magnus’s Downworlder-Shadowhunter Alliance ate together, but she had to admit she knew shamefully little about them.

“Hey.” It was Maia, showing them to a long table where Bat and Cameron were sitting. Two bowls of oatmeal and mugs of coffee had been put out for them. Emma glared at the coffee as she sat down. Even in Thule, everyone assumed she drank the stuff.

“Eat,” said Maia, sliding into a chair next to Bat. “We all need the energy.”

“Where’s Livvy?” said Julian, taking a bite of oatmeal.

“Over there.” Cameron pointed with his spoon. “Running around putting out fires as usual.” Emma tried the oatmeal. It tasted like cooked paper.

“Here.” Maia handed her a small chipped bowl. “Cinnamon. Makes it taste better.”

As Emma took the bowl, she noticed that there were other tattoos on Maia’s arm alongside the lily—a fletched arrow, a lick of blue flame, and a sage leaf.

“Do those mean something?” she asked. Julian was chatting with Cameron, something Emma couldn’t have imagined happening in her world. She was a little surprised it was happening here. “Your tattoos, I mean.” Maia touched the small illustrations with light fingers. “They honor my fallen friends,” she said quietly. “The sage leaf is for Clary. The arrow and flame are for Alec and Magnus. The lily . . .” “Lily Chen,” Emma said, thinking of Raphael’s expression when she’d said Lily’s name.

“Yes,” Maia said. “We became friends in New York after the Battle of the Burren.”

“I’m so sorry about your friends.”

Maia sat back. “Don’t be sorry, Emma Carstairs,” she said. “You and Julian have brought us hope. This—today—this is the first move we’ve made against Sebastian, the first thing we’ve done that hasn’t been just about surviving. So thank you for that.” The backs of Emma’s eyes stung. She looked down and took another bite of oatmeal. Maia was right—it was better with cinnamon.

“Do you not want your coffee?” Diana said, appearing at their table. She was dressed entirely in black from head to toe, two bullet belts lashed around her waist. “I’ll drink it.” Emma shuddered. “Take it away. I’d be grateful.”

A group of people dressed in black like Diana, carrying guns, marched out the door in formation. “Snipers,” Diana said. “They’ll be covering us from above.” “Diana, we will be going on ahead now,” said Raphael, appearing out of nowhere in that irritating way vampires had. He hadn’t bothered with any kind of military clothes; he wore jeans and a T-shirt and looked about fifteen.

“You’re scouting?” Emma said.

“That’s my excuse for not traveling with you humans, yes,” said Raphael.

It was somewhat mysterious, Emma thought, that Magnus and Alec had liked this guy enough to name their kid after him. “But I was so looking forward to playing I Spy,” she said.

“You would have lost,” said Raphael. “Vampires excel at I Spy.”

As he stalked away, he paused to talk to someone. Livvy. She patted him on the shoulder, and to Emma’s surprise he didn’t glare—he nodded, an almost friendly nod, and went to join his group of vampire scouts. They headed out the door as Livvy approached Emma and Julian’s table.

“Everybody’s ready,” she said. She looked a lot like she had when they’d first seen her in Thule. Tough and ready for anything. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail; she bent over to kiss Cameron on the cheek and patted Julian’s shoulder. “Jules, you and Emma come with me. We’ve got fog today.” “Fog doesn’t seem so bad,” Emma said.

Livvy sighed. “You’ll see.”

Emma did see. Fog in Thule was like everything else in Thule: surprisingly horrible.

They left the Bradbury in a small group: Emma, Julian, Livvy, Cameron, Bat, Maia, Divya, Rayan, and a few other rebels Emma didn’t know by name. And the fog had hit them like a wall: thick columns of mist rising from the ground and drifting through the air, turning everything more than a few feet ahead into a blur. It smelled like burning, like the smoke from a deep fire.

“It’ll make your eyes sting, and your throat, too, but it doesn’t hurt you,” Livvy said as they split up into smaller groups, spreading out across Broadway. “Sucks for the snipers, though. No visibility.” She was walking with Emma and Julian in the gutter next to the pavement. They followed Livvy, since she seemed to know where she was going. The fog cut the dim light of the dying sun almost completely; Livvy had taken out a flashlight and was aiming the beam into the mist ahead.

“At least there won’t be any cars,” Livvy said. “Sometimes the Endarkened try to run you over if they think you’re unsworn. But no one drives around in the fog.” “Does it ever rain?” asked Emma.

“Believe me,” said Livvy, “you do not want to be here when it rains.”

Her tone suggested both that Emma shouldn’t inquire further and that it probably rained knives or rabid frogs.

The white fog seemed to shroud sound as well as sight. They padded along, their footsteps muffled, following Livvy’s flashlight beam. Julian seemed lost in thought; Livvy glanced at him, and then at Emma. “I have something I want you to take,” she said in a voice so low Emma had to lean in to hear it. “It’s a letter I wrote for Ty.” She slipped the envelope into Emma’s hand; Emma tucked it into her inside pocket after glancing at the scrawled name on the envelope. Tiberius.

“Okay.” Emma looked straight ahead. “But if you aren’t coming back through the Portal with us, you have to tell Julian.” “The Portal’s not really a sure thing, is it?” Livvy said mildly.

“We’re going to get back,” Emma said. “Somehow.”

Livvy inclined her head, acknowledging Emma’s determination. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.” “Look,” Julian said. He seemed to sharpen around the edges as he came closer to them, no longer blurred by the fog. “We’re there.” Angels Flight loomed up above them, its bulk cutting through the mist. The railway itself had been fenced off long ago, back when people cared about things like safety, but the fencing had been trampled down, and torn strips of chain link lay scattered on the pavement. Two wooden trolley cars lay on their sides halfway up the hill, toppled from the tracks like broken toys. An ornate orange-and-black archway with the words ANGELS FLIGHT towered over the railway entrance.

Standing in front of one of the pillars holding up the archway was Tessa.

She wasn’t disguised as Jem today. Nor was she dressed like a Shadowhunter or a Silent Brother. She wore a plain black dress, her hair loose and straight. She looked about Clary’s age.

“You’re here,” she said.

Livvy had stopped in her tracks; she held out a hand indicating Julian and Emma should stop as well. She flicked off her flashlight as several dozen figures emerged from the mist. Emma tensed, then relaxed as she recognized them—Diana. Bat. Cameron. Raphael. Maia. And dozens more rebels, clad in black and green.

They stood in silence in two long rows. Military formation. None of them moved.

Tessa looked at Livvy wonderingly. “Are all of these people your people?”

“Yes,” Livvy said. She was regarding Tessa with a mix of distrust and hope. “These are my people.” Tessa smiled, a sudden and wonderful smile. “You’ve done well, Livia Blackthorn. You’ve honored your family name.” Livvy seemed taken aback. “My family?”

“Long have there been Blackthorns,” said Tessa, “and long have they lived with honor. I see much honor here.” She glanced in the direction of the rebels, and then turned—seeming unconcerned with the show of force at her back—and raised her hands in front of her.

There was indrawn breath from the rebels as Tessa’s fingers sparked with yellow fire. A door—two doors—evolved under her hands, filling the archway. Each was a massive slab of stone. Across them both had been crudely carved a phrase in Latin. Nescis quid serus vesper vehat.

“Who knows what nightfall brings?” Julian translated, and a shiver went up Emma’s spine.

Tessa brushed the yellow flames of her fingers across the doors, and a loud grinding sound cut through the muffling fog. The doors shuddered and began to slide apart, dust showering down from years of disuse.

A hollow, booming cry echoed from the darkness as the doors slid open completely. Deep blackness was all that was visible beyond the entrance: Emma could not see the stairs she knew led down into the Silent City. She could see only shadow.

Emma and Julian stepped forward, Emma peering into the blackness of the Silent City’s entrance, just as Tessa sank to the ground.

They darted to her side. She pushed herself upright against a pillar, her face as white as the mist. “I’m all right, I’m all right,” she said, though up close, the sides of her mouth and eyes were threaded with scarlet, as if the small blood vessels there had burst with strain. “We should hurry. It isn’t wise to leave the Silent City open—” She tried to struggle to her feet and sank back down again with a gasp.

Livvy handed her flashlight to Emma and knelt down beside Tessa. “Cameron! Diana! Go with Emma and Jules into the Bone City. Maia, I need a medic.” There was a flurry of activity. As Cameron and Diana came to join them, Emma tried to argue that she should be the one to stay with Tessa, but Livvy was adamant. “You did the parabatai ceremony,” she said. “You know the Silent City. There’s no reason its architecture here should be any different.” “Hurry,” Tessa said again as Maia bent down beside her with a first-aid kit. “The Instruments are in the Star Chamber.” She coughed. “Go!” Emma flipped Livvy’s flashlight on and darted through the entrance of the City, Julian beside her, Cameron and Diana taking the rear. The noise of the street above vanished almost immediately, muffled by the fog and the heavy stone walls. The Silent City was more silent than it had ever been, she thought. The beam of the flashlight bounced off the walls, illuminating chipped stone, and, as they made their way deeper underground, polished white and yellow bone.

Livvy had been right. The architecture of the Silent City was the same here. Julian walked alongside Emma, reminding her of the last time they’d been to this place together, at their parabatai ceremony. The city had smelled old then, like bones and dust and stone, but it had been a living and inhabited place. Now it smelled of stale air, disuse, and death.

It was not her City of Bones, of course. But she had been taught from childhood that all Cities were one City; there were different entrances but only one stronghold. As they passed through the arched rooms of mausoleums, Emma could not help but think: Never will more warriors be added to this army; never will more ashes help to build the City of Bones.

They ducked through a tunnel that opened into a square pavilion. Spires of carved bone occupied each corner. Squares of marble like a checkerboard, bronze and red, made up the floor; in the center was the mosaic that gave the room its name, a parabolic design of silver stars.

A black basalt table ran along one wall. Laid out atop it were two objects: a cup and a sword. The Cup was gold, with a ruby-studded rim; the sword was a heavy dark silver, with a hilt in the shape of angel wings.

Emma knew them both. Every Shadowhunter did, from a thousand paintings and tapestries and illustrations in history books. She noticed, with a strange detached surprise, that neither the Cup nor the Sword had gathered any dust.

Cameron inhaled sharply. “I never thought I’d actually see them again. Not after the War.” “Give me the flashlight,” Diana said, reaching out her hand to Emma. “Go on, you two.” Emma handed over the light, and she and Julian approached the table. Julian picked up the Cup and tucked it through the strap of the Sam Browne belt across his chest, then zipped his jacket up over it. It took Emma a moment longer to steel herself to pick up the sword. Her last sight of it had been in Annabel’s hand as Annabel had cut down Robert Lightwood and plunged the shards of the sword into Livvy’s chest.

But this was another sword: unbloodied, unbroken. She took hold of the grip and switched it with the longsword on her back; the Mortal Sword was a heavy weight against her spine, and she remembered what the Queen had said: that the Nephilim had once been giants on the earth, with the strength of a thousand men.

“We’d better go,” Diana said. “Like the warlock said, better not to leave this place open too long.” Cameron looked around with a shiver of distaste. “Can’t get out of here too soon for me.” As they passed through the City, the beam of the flashlight danced off the semiprecious stones embedded in the archways of bone. They gleamed in a way that made Emma sad: What was the point of beauty nobody saw? They reached a tunnel and she realized with relief they must be getting close to the stairs and the surface: She could hear the wind, the sound of a car backfiring— She stiffened. Nobody drives in the fog.

“What’s that noise?” she said.

They all jerked to attention. The sound came again, and this time Cameron paled.

“Gunshots,” Diana said, sliding a gun out of the holster on her hip.

“Livvy.” Cameron began to run; he’d gone a few feet when figures loomed up out of the shadows, figures of smoke and scarlet. A silver blade slashed out of the darkness.

“Endarkened!” Julian shouted.

Emma’s longsword was already in her left hand; she raced forward, seizing a bo-shuriken out of her belt and hurling it toward one of the figures in red. They staggered back, a spray of blood painting the wall behind them.

An Endarkened woman with long brown hair lunged toward her. Cameron was struggling with one at the foot of a set of stairs. A shot rang out, echoing in Emma’s ears; the Endarkened fell like a rock. Emma glanced back to see Julian lowering a pistol, his expression stony. Smoke still curled from the muzzle.

“Go!” Diana dropped the flashlight, shoved Emma from behind, and took aim. “Get to Livvy! Get to the others!” The implication was clear: Get the Cup and Sword away from the Endarkened. Emma took off, longsword in hand, laying about her in double arcs of slashing blows; she saw Cameron struggling with an Endarkened she recognized as Dane Larkspear. Rotten in one world, rotten in another, she thought, as Cameron kicked Dane’s legs out from under him.

There were more Endarkened coming, though, from one of the other tunnels. She heard Julian shout, and then they were rocketing up the stairs, Emma with her sword and Julian with his gun. They burst out of the entrance to the Silent City— And into the middle of a horrible tableau.

Fog was still curling everywhere, white strands like the web of an enormous spider. But Emma could see what she needed to see. Dozens of Livvy’s rebels knelt in silence, hands behind their heads. Behind them stood long rows of Endarkened armed with bayonets and machine guns. Tessa was still slumped against the pillar of the archway, but it was Raphael holding her now, and with surprising care.

Livvy was on her feet, in the center of the group of Endarkened and rebels. She was on her feet because Julian—a taller, older, bigger Julian, with a bleak, deadly grin, dressed all in red—was standing behind her, one arm lashed around her throat. His free hand held a pistol to her temple.

Behind him stood Sebastian, in another expensive dark suit, and with Sebastian, flanking him, were Jace and Ash. Ash was weaponless, but Jace carried a sword that Emma recognized: Heosphoros, which in her world had been Clary’s. It was a beautiful sword, its cross-guard gold and obsidian, the dark silver blade stamped with black stars.

Everything seemed to slow to a crawl. Emma heard Julian’s breath rattle in his throat; he stopped dead, as if he had been turned to stone.

“Julian Blackthorn,” Sebastian said, and the white mist curling around him was the color of his hair, of Ash’s hair. Two winter princes. “Did you really think I’d be fooled by your poor performance in the nightclub?” “Annabel,” Julian said, his voice hoarse, and Emma knew what he was thinking: Annabel must have betrayed them, Annabel, who knew who they really were.

Sebastian’s brow furrowed. “What about Annabel?”

Ash shook his head slightly. It was a tiny movement, a minuscule negation, but Emma saw it, and she was fairly sure Julian had seen it too. No, he was saying. Annabel didn’t betray you.

But why would Ash—?

“Drop your gun,” Sebastian said, and Julian did, tossing it into the fog. Sebastian had barely looked at Emma; now he turned his lazy, contemptuous gaze in her direction. “And you. Drop that cheap sword.” Emma dropped the longsword with a clang. Had he not seen the Mortal Sword strapped across her back?

“You have the sun in your skin,” Sebastian said. “That alone would have told me you weren’t from Thule. And thanks to Ash, I know the story of your world. I knew of the Portal. I’ve been wondering all this time if one of you would stumble through it. I knew you’d go straight for the Mortal Instruments to hide them from me. All I had to do was post some guards here and wait for the tip-off.” He grinned like a jaguar. “Now hand over the Mortal Instruments, or Julian here will blow your sister’s head off.” The real Julian looked at Livvy. Emma was screaming inside: He can’t watch her die again, not again, nobody could live through that twice.

Livvy’s gaze was steady on her brother’s. There was no fear in her expression.

“You won’t let her live,” Julian said. “No matter what I do, you’ll kill her.”

Sebastian grinned a little wider. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

“All right,” Julian said. His shoulders slumped. “I’m reaching for the Cup,” he said, holding up one hand as the other unzipped his jacket. Emma watched him in dismay as he reached inside. “I’m going to hold it out to you—” He drew his hand out from his jacket; he was holding a throwing knife, small and sharp with red stones in the hilt; Emma barely had time to recognize it before he had flung it. It whipped through the air, grazing Livvy’s cheek and sinking deeply into the eye of the Endarkened Julian who held her.

He didn’t even scream. He fell back, hitting the pavement with a thud, his pistol rolling out of his open hand; Sebastian shouted but Livvy was already gone, ducking and rolling into the mist.

Emma drew the Mortal Sword and charged, directly at Sebastian.

The world exploded into chaos. Sebastian yelled for his Endarkened and they came running, abandoning the rebels to throw themselves between Emma and their leader. Jace lunged at Emma, pushing Ash behind him, but Julian was already there; he had caught up the fallen longsword and it clanged, hard, against Heosphoros as he drove Jace back, away from Emma.

Emma slashed out at the nearest Endarkened with the Mortal Sword. Its heaviness had turned to light in her grip; it sang as she wielded it as only Cortana had sung in her hand before, and suddenly she remembered its name: Maellartach. An Endarkened with close-cropped blond hair aimed a pistol at her; the bullet clanged off the blade of Maellartach. The Endarkened gaped at her and Emma drove the Mortal Sword into his chest, flinging him backward with such force that he took another Endarkened down with him as he fell.

She heard someone cry out; it was Livvy, leaping into the fray. She ducked, rolled, and shot, taking out an Endarkened who was charging at Bat. The sounds of battle echoed like dull thunder off the walls of mist that curled and slid around them.

Maellartach was a silver blur in Emma’s hand, turning away blades and bullets as she inched closer to Sebastian. She saw Bat move toward Ash, bayonet in hand. Ash wasn’t moving; he was standing watching the chaos like an onlooker at the theater.

“Put your hands behind your back,” Bat said, and Ash glanced over at him with a frown, as if he were a rude guest who had interrupted a play. Bat raised the bayonet. “Look, kid, you’d better—” Ash fixed Bat with a steady green gaze. “You don’t want to do that,” he said.

Bat froze, gripping his weapon. Ash turned and walked away—not hurrying, almost sauntering, really—and vanished into the fog.

“Bat! Look out!” Maia shouted, and Bat spun to plunge his bayonet into the body of an advancing Endarkened warrior.

And then came the scream. A howl of agony so shrill and intense, it pierced the fog. A woman in Endarkened gear flew across the square, her hair unfurling behind her like a banner spun out of gold, and threw herself across the dead body of this world’s Julian Blackthorn.

Emma knew it was herself; the herself of Thule, clutching at the body of her dead partner, sobbing against his chest, her fingers clawing his blood-wet clothes. She screamed over and over, each a sharp, short howl, like a car alarm going off on an empty street.

Emma couldn’t help staring, and Julian—her own Julian—jerked in surprise and spun to look—recognizing the sound of Emma’s voice, she guessed. The split-second break in his attention left an opening for Jace, who lunged forward with Heosphoros; Julian, twisting to the side, just barely avoided the blade, but stumbled; Jace swept his feet out from under him and he went down.

No. Emma spun around, reversing course, but if Jace brought the sword down, there was no way she’d get there in time— A plume of yellow flame shot between Jace and Julian. Julian scrambled back as Jace turned to stare; Raphael was holding Tessa upright, and her hand was stretched out, yellow fire still dancing at her fingertips. She looked frayed and exhausted, but her eyes were dark with sorrow as they fixed on Jace.

It was an odd, frozen moment, the kind that sometimes happened in the midst of battle. It was broken by a figure stumbling from the entrance to the Silent City—Diana, bloodstained and panting, but alive. Emma’s heart leaped with relief.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “Go into the City!” he shouted. “Find everything! Spell books! Records! Bring it all to me!” Tessa gasped. “No—the destruction he could wreak—”

Jace immediately turned away from Julian, as if he’d forgotten he was there. “Endarkened,” he called. His voice was deep and flat, without tone or emotion. “Come to me.” Emma turned to run toward the City entrance; she could hear Sebastian laughing. Julian had sprung to his feet and was beside her; Livvy spun, kicked at an Endarkened, and ran toward Tessa and the others. “Shut the doors! Shut the doors!” “No!” Diana looked wildly around the scene of carnage. “Cameron’s still in there!”

Julian turned toward Tessa. “What can we do?”

“I can shut the doors, but you must understand that I cannot open them again,” Tessa said. “Cameron will be trapped.” A look of agony passed across Livvy’s face. Jace and the other Endarkened were moving toward them; there were seconds to spare.

The agony didn’t leave Livvy’s eyes, but her jaw hardened. In that moment, she had never looked more like Julian. “Close the doors,” she said.

“Stop the warlock!” Sebastian cried. “Stop her—”

He broke off with a howl. Maia, behind him, had plunged a sword into his side. The blade drove into him, smeared with blackish blood. He barely seemed to notice.

“Tessa—” Emma began, and she didn’t know what she planned to say, whether she planned to ask Tessa if she had the strength to close the doors, whether she intended to tell her to do it or not to do it. Tessa moved before she could finish her sentence, raising her slender arms, murmuring words Emma would always try to remember and always find sliding out of her mind.

Golden sparks flew from Tessa’s fingers, illuminating the archway. The doors began to slide closed, grinding and rattling. Sebastian yelled with rage and grabbed the sword protruding from his side. He yanked it free and flung it at Maia, who threw herself to the ground to avoid being struck.

“Stop!” he shouted, striding toward the entrance to the City. “Stop now—”

The doors slammed shut with an echo that reverberated through the fog. Emma looked at Tessa, who gave her a sweet, sad smile. Blood was running from the corners of Tessa’s mouth, from her split fingernails.

“No,” said Raphael. He had been so quiet, Emma had almost forgotten he was there. “Tessa—” Tessa Gray burst into flame. It was not as if she had caught fire, not really; in between one moment and the next, she became fire, became a glowing pillar of conflagration. The burning light was white and gold: It cut through the mist, illuminating the world.

Raphael fell back, an arm across his face to shield himself from the light. In the brilliance, Emma could see sharp details: the cut across Livvy’s face where Julian’s blade had grazed her, the tears in Diana’s eyes, the rage on Sebastian’s face as he stared at the shut doors, the fear of the Endarkened as they cringed away from the light.

“Cowards! The light cannot hurt you!” Sebastian shouted. “Fight on!”

“We have to get back to the Bradbury,” Livia said desperately. “We have to get out of here.” “Livvy,” Julian said. “We can’t lead them back to your headquarters. We have to deal with them now.” “And there’s only one way to do that,” Emma said. She tightened her grip on the Mortal Sword and started toward Sebastian.

She was burning with a new fury, filling her, sustaining her. Cameron. Tessa. She thought of Livvy, having lost someone else she loved. And she launched herself at Sebastian, the Mortal Sword curving through the air like a whip made of fire and gold.

Sebastian growled. Phaesphoros leaped into his hand, and he strode toward Emma. Fury seemed to dance around him like sparks. “You think to strike me down with the Mortal Sword,” he said. “Isabelle Lightwood tried that, and now she molders in a grave in Idris.” “What if I cut your head off?” Emma taunted. “Do you keep on being the dickweed ruler of this planet in two different pieces?” Sebastian spun, the Morgenstern sword a black-and-silver blur. Emma leaped, the sword slashing under her feet. She landed on a toppled fire hydrant. “Go ahead and try,” Sebastian said in a bored voice. “Others have; I cannot be killed. I will tire you out, girl, and cut you into puzzle pieces to amuse the demons.” The clash of battle was all around them. Tessa’s fire was dimming, and in the clamor of the mist, Emma could just see Julian, battling Jace. Julian had taken one of the Endarkened’s swords and was fighting defensively, as Diana had taught them when their opponent was stronger than they were.

Livvy was fighting Endarkened with a new anger and energy. So was Raphael. As Emma flicked her glance toward the others, she saw Raphael seize a red-haired Endarkened woman and tear her throat out with his teeth.

And then she saw it: a glow in the distance. A whirling, spinning illumination she knew well: the light of a Portal.

Emma leaped down off the fire hydrant and pressed her attack; Sebastian actually fell back for a moment in surprise before he recovered and struck back even harder. The blade hummed in Emma’s hand as her heart beat out two words: distract him, distract him.

Phaesphorus slammed against Maellartach. Sebastian bared his teeth in a grin that was nothing like a real grin. Emma wondered if he’d once been able to fake a human smile and forgotten how. She thought of the way Clary spoke of him, of someone who had been lost long before he died.

A sharp pain cut through her. Sebastian’s sword had scored the front of her left thigh; blood stained the rip in her canvas pants. He grinned again and kicked her wound, violently; the pain whited out her vision and she felt herself tilt. She hit the ground with a crack that she was fairly sure was her collarbone snapping.

“You begin to bore me,” Sebastian said, prowling above her like a cat. Her vision was blurry with pain, but she could see the Portal light growing stronger. The air seemed to shimmer. In the distance, she could still hear the other Emma sobbing.

“Other worlds,” he mused. “Why should I care about some other world when I rule this one? What should some other world mean to me?” “Do you want to know how you died there?” Emma said. The pain of her broken bone seared through her. She could hear battle all around her, hear Julian and Jace fighting. She fought to keep from fainting. The longer she distracted Sebastian, the better.

“You want to live forever in this world,” she said. “Don’t you want to know how you died in our world? Maybe it could happen here, too. Ash wouldn’t know about it. Neither would Annabel. But I do.” He lowered Phaesphoros and let the tip of it nick her collarbone. Emma almost screamed from the pain. “Tell me.” “Clary killed you,” Emma said, and saw his eyes fly wide open. “With heavenly fire. It burned out everything that was evil in you, and there wasn’t enough left to live for long. But you died in your mother’s arms, and your sister cried over you. In the club yesterday you talked about the weight on you, crushing you. In our world, your last words were ‘I’ve never felt so light.’  ” His face twisted. For a moment there was fear there, in his eyes, and more than fear—regret, perhaps, even pain.

“You lie,” he hissed, sliding the tip of his sword down to her sternum, where a stabbing blow would sever her abdominal aorta. She would bleed out in agony. “Tell me it isn’t the truth. Tell me!” His hand tightened on the blade.

There was a blur behind him, a flurry of wings, and something struck him hard, a blow to the shoulder that made him stagger sideways. Emma saw Sebastian whirl around, a look of fury on his face. “Ash! What are you doing?” Emma’s mouth dropped open in surprise. It was Ash—and from his back extended a pair of wings. For Emma, who had been raised all her life on images of Raziel, it was like a blow: She pushed herself up on her elbows, staring.

They were angel’s wings, and yet they weren’t. They were black, tipped with silver; they shimmered like the night sky. She guessed they were wider than the span of his outstretched arms.

They were beautiful, the most beautiful thing she had seen in Thule.

“No,” Ash said calmly, looking at his father, and plucked the sword from Sebastian’s hand. He stepped back, and Emma rolled to her feet, her collarbone screaming in pain, and thrust the Mortal Sword into Sebastian’s chest.

She yanked it free, feeling the blade scrape against the bone of his rib cage, prepared to thrust again, to cut him to pieces— As she drew the sword back, he shuddered. He hadn’t made a sound when she stabbed him; now his mouth opened, and black blood cascaded over his lower lip and chin as his eyes rolled back. Emma could hear the Endarkened screaming. His skin began to split and burn.

He threw his head back in a silent scream and burst apart into ashes, the way demons vanished in Emma’s world.

The screaming of Thule Emma cut off abruptly. She sprawled lifeless over her Julian’s body. One by one, the other Endarkened began to fall, crumpling at the feet of the rebels they were fighting.

Jace gave a cry and fell to his knees. Behind him Emma could see the illumination of the Portal, open now and blazing with blue light.

“Jace,” she whispered, and moved to go toward him.

Ash stepped in front of her.

“I wouldn’t,” he said. He spoke in that same eerily calm voice in which he had said to his father, No. “He’s been under Sebastian’s control too long. He isn’t what you think. He can’t go back.” She swung her sword up to point at Ash, close to nausea from the pain of her broken collarbone. Ash looked back at her, unflinching.

“Why did you do that?” she demanded. “Betray Sebastian. Why?”

“He was going to kill me,” Ash said. He had a low voice, slightly husky, not the boy’s voice he’d had in the Unseelie Court. “Besides, I liked your speech about Clary. It was interesting.” Julian had turned away from Jace, who still knelt on the ground, staring down at the sword in his hands. Julian moved toward Emma as Livvy stared; she was slashed with wounds but still standing, and her rebels were approaching to circle around her. They wore expressions of shock and disbelief.

A scream cut through the eerie silence of dead Endarkened and stunned warriors. A scream that Emma knew well.

“Don’t hurt him!” Annabel cried. She raced toward Ash, her hands outstretched. She wore her red gown, and her feet were bare as she ran.

She seized hold of Ash’s arm and began to drag him toward the Portal.

Emma broke from her frozen state and began to run toward Julian as he moved to stand in front of the Portal. His sword flashed out as he raised it, just as Ash pulled hard against Annabel’s grip. He was shouting at her that he didn’t want to go, not without Jace.

Annabel was strong; Emma knew how strong. But it appeared that Ash was stronger. He yanked free of her grip and began to run toward Jace.

The light of the Portal had begun to dim. Was Annabel closing it, or was it dying on its own, naturally? Either way, Emma’s heart kicked into high gear, slamming against her rib cage. She leaped over the body of an Endarkened and came down on the other side just as Annabel whirled on her.

“Stay back!” Annabel shouted. “Neither of you can enter the Portal! Not without Ash!”

Ash turned to look at the sound of his name; he was kneeling beside Jace, his hand on Jace’s shoulder. Ash’s face was twisted with what looked like grief.

Annabel began to advance on Emma. Her face was frighteningly blank, the way it had been that day on the dais. The day she’d thrust the Mortal Sword into Livvy’s heart and stopped it forever.

Behind Annabel, Julian lifted his free hand. Emma knew immediately what he meant, what he wanted.

She raised the Mortal Sword, gritting her teeth in pain, and threw it.

It flashed past Annabel; Julian cast his own sword aside and caught it out of the air. He swung its still-bloodied blade in a curving arc, slicing through Annabel’s spine.

Annabel gave a terrible, inhuman shriek, like the shriek of a fisher cat. She spun like a malfunctioning top, and Julian rammed the Mortal Sword into her chest, just as she’d done to Livvy.

He pulled the blade free, her blood dripping over his clenched fist, spattering his skin. He stood like a statue, gripping the Mortal Sword as Annabel collapsed to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.

She lay on her back, her face upturned, a pool of scarlet beginning to spread around her, mixing with the torn frills of her red dress. Her hands, knotted into claws at her sides, relaxed in death; her bare feet were dark scarlet, as if she were wearing slippers made of blood.

Julian looked down at her body. Her eyes—still Blackthorn blue—were already beginning to film over.

“Queen of Air and Darkness,” he said in a low voice. “I will never be like Malcolm.”

Emma took a long, ragged breath as Julian handed her back the Mortal Sword. Then he tore the bloodied rag from his wrist and cast it down beside Annabel’s body.

Her blood began to soak into it, mixing with Livvy’s.

Before Emma could speak, she heard Ash cry out. Whether it was a cry of pain or triumph, she couldn’t tell. He was still kneeling beside Jace.

Julian held out his hand. “Ash!” he cried. “Come with us! I swear we’ll take care of you!” Ash looked at him for a long moment with steady, unreadable green eyes. Then he shook his head. His wings beat darkly against the air; catching hold of Jace, he sailed upward, both of them vanishing into the cloudy sky.

Julian lowered his hand, his face troubled, but Livvy was already running toward him, her face white with distress. “Jules! Emma! The Portal!” Emma swung around; the Portal had dimmed even further, its light wavering. Livvy reached Julian and he slung an arm around her, hugging her tight against his side.

“We have to go,” he said. “The Portal’s fading—it’ll only hang on for a few minutes now Annabel’s gone.” Livvy pressed her face into Julian’s shoulder and, for a moment, hugged him incredibly tightly. When she let go, her face was shining with tears. “Go,” she whispered.

“Come with us,” Julian said.

“No, Julian. You know I can’t,” Livvy said. “My people finally have a chance. You gave us a chance. I’m grateful, but I can’t have Cameron die for the safety of a world that I’m willing to run away from.” Emma was afraid Julian would protest. He didn’t. Maybe he’d been more prepared for this than she’d thought. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the Cup; it gleamed dull gold in the Portal light—the blue light of a sky with a real sun. “Take this.” He pressed it into Livvy’s hands. “With it, perhaps the Nephilim can be reborn here.” Livvy cradled it in her fingers. “I may never be able to use this.”

“But you might,” Emma said. “Take it.”

“And let me give you one last thing,” Julian said. He bent and whispered in Livvy’s ear. Her eyes went wide.

“Go!” someone shouted; it was Raphael, who along with Diana, Bat, and Maia, was watching them. “You stupid humans, go before it is too late!” Julian and Livvy looked at each other one last time. When he turned away, Emma thought she could hear the sound of his heart tearing itself apart: One piece would always be here, in Thule, with Livvy.

“Go!” Raphael shouted again; the Portal had narrowed to a gap smaller than a doorway. “And tell Magnus and Alec to rename their child!” Emma slid her hand into Julian’s. Her other hand gripped the Mortal Sword. Julian looked down at her; in the sunlight of the Portal, his eyes were sea-blue.

“See you on the other side,” he whispered, and together they stepped through.