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Iknewnothingbutshadows,andIthought

themtobereal.—OscarWilde

ShadowhunterAcademy,2008

The afternoon sunlight wasstreaming warm throughthe arrow-slit windows oftheir classroom, paintingthe gray stone walls yellow.Theelitesandthedregsalikewere sleepy from a long

morning of training withScarsbury, and CatarinaLoss was giving them ahistory lesson. Historyapplied to both the elitesandthedregs,sotheycouldall learn of the glory of theShadowhunters and aspiretobeapartof thatglory. Inthis class, Simon thought,none of them seemed that

different from each other—notthattheywereallunitedinaspiringtoglory,buttheywere all equally glazedwithboredom.

UntilMarisol answered aquestion correctly, and JonCartwright kicked the backofherchair.

“Awesome,” Simonhissed behind his book.

“That’s really cool behavior.Congratulations, Jon. Everytime a mundie answers aquestionwrong,yousay it’sbecausetheycan’trisetothelevelofShadowhunters.Andeverytimeoneofusanswersaquestionright,youpunishthem. Ihave toadmireyourconsistency.”

George Lovelace leanedback in his chair andgrinned, feeding Simon hisnext line. “I don’t see howthat’sconsistent,Si.”

“Well, he’s consistently ajackass,”Simonexplained.

“Icanthinkofafewotherwords for him,” Georgeremarked. “But some ofthemcannotbeusedaround

ladies,andsomeofthemareGaelic and cannot beunderstood by you madforeigners.”

Jonlookedupset.Possiblyhe was upset that theirchairs were too far away tokick.

“Ijustthinksheshouldn’tspeakoutofturn,”hesaid.

“It’s true that if youmundies listened to usShadowhunters,” said Julie,“you might learnsomething.”

“If you Shadowhuntersever listened,” said Sunil, amundieboywholiveddownthe(slimy)hallfromGeorgeand Simon, “you mightlearnafewthingsyourself.”

Voices were rising.Catarina was beginning tolook very annoyed. Simongestured toMarisol and Jonto be quiet, but they bothignoredhim.Simon felt thesame way as when he andClary had set a fire in hiskitchen by trying to toastgrapes and create raisinswhen theywere six: amazed

andappalledthatthingshadgonewrongsofast.

Thenherealizedthatwasa newmemory. He grinnedatthethoughtofClarywithexploded grape in her redhair, and let the classroomsituationescalate.

“I’ll teach you somelessonsdowninthetraininggrounds,” Jon snapped. “I

could challenge you to aduel.Watchyourmouth.”

“That’s not a bad idea,”remarkedMarisol.

“Oh, hey now,” saidBeatriz. “Duels withfourteen-year-olds are a badidea.”

Everyone looked withscorn upon Beatriz, thevoiceofreason.

Marisol sniffed. “Not aduel. A challenge. If theelitesbeatusinachallenge,then they get to speak outfirstinclassforaweek.Ifwebeat them, then they holdtheirtongues.”

“I’ll do it, and you’ll besorry you ever suggested it,mundie. What’s thechallenge?” Jon asked.

“Staff, sword, bow, daggerwork,ahorserace,aboxingmatch?I’mready!”

Marisol smiled sweetly.“Baseball.”

Cuemasspuzzlementandpanicked looks among theShadowhunters.

“I’m not ready,” Georgewhispered. “I’m notAmerican and I don’t play

baseball.Isitlikecricket,Si?Ormorelikehurling?”

“You have a sport calledhurlinginScotland?”Simonwhispered back. “What doyou hurl? Potatoes? Smallchildren?Weird.”

“I’ll explain later,” saidGeorge.

“I’ll explain baseball,”said Marisol with a glint in

hereye.Simon had the feeling

Marisol was going to be aterrifying, tiny expert onbaseball, the same way shewas at fencing. He also hadthe feeling the elite streamwasinforasurprise.

“AndIwillexplainhowademonic plague almostwiped out the

Shadowhunters,” saidCatarina loudly from thefront of the class. “Or Iwould,ifmystudentswouldstopbickeringandlistenforoneminute!”

Everybody went veryquiet, and listened meeklyabouttheplague.Itwasonlywhen the lesson ended thateveryone started talking

about the baseball gameagain. Simon had at leastplayed before, so he washurrying to put away hisbooks and go outside whenCatarina said: “Daylighter.Wait.”

“Really, ‘Simon’wouldbefine,”Simontoldher.

“The elite kids are tryingto replicate the school they

haveheardaboutfromtheirparents,” Catarina said.“Mundiestudentsaremeanttobeseenandnotheard, tosoak up the privilege ofbeing amongShadowhunters andpreparefor theirAscensionordeathin a spirit of humility.Except you really have been

stirring up trouble amongthem.”

Simon blinked. “Are youtellingmenot tobesohardon the Shadowhunters,becauseit’sjustthewaytheywereraised?”

“Be as hard on the smuglittleidiotsasyoulike,”saidCatarina. “It’s good forthem.I’mjusttellingyouso

you realize what an effectyou’rehaving—andwhataneffectyoucouldhave.You’rein an almost uniqueposition, Daylighter. I onlyknow of one other studentwhodroppedfromtheelitesto the dregs—not countingLovelace, who would havebeen in the dregs from thebeginning if the Nephilim

didn’t make smugassumptions. But then,smugassumptionsare theirfavoritething.”

That had the effectCatarinamusthaveknownitwould. Simon stoppedtrying to fit his copy ofTheShadowhunter’s Codex intohis bag and sat down. Therest of the class would take

sometimetopreparebeforethey actually had thebaseball game. Simon couldsparealittlewhile.

“Washeamundanetoo?”“No, he was a

Shadowhunter,” Catarinasaid. “He went to theAcademy more than acentury ago. His name wasJamesHerondale.”

“A Herondale? AnotherHerondale?” Simon asked.“Herondales without cease.Do you ever get the feelingyouarebeingchasedaroundbyHerondales?”

“Not really,” Catarinasaid. “Not that I’d mind.Magnussaystheytendtobea good-looking lot. Ofcourse, Magnus also says

they tend to be strange inthe head. James Herondalewasabitofaspecialcase.”

“Let me guess,” Simonsaid. “He was blond, smug,and adored by thepopulace.”

Catarina’sivoryeyebrowsrose. “No, I recall Ragnormentioninghehaddarkhairand spectacles. There was

another boy at school,Matthew Fairchild, who didanswer to that description.They did not get alongparticularlywell.”

“Really?”saidSimon,andreconsidered. “Well then,TeamJamesHerondale.Ibetthat Matthew guy was ajackass.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” saidCatarina. “I always thoughthe was a charmer, myself.Most people did. EverybodylikedMatthew.”

This Matthew guy musthavebeenacharmer,Simonthought. Catarina rarelyspoke about anyShadowhunters withanything like approval, but

here shewas smiling fondlyover a boy from a hundredyearsago.

“Everybody except JamesHerondale?” Simon asked.“TheShadowhunterwhogotthrown out of theShadowhunter course. DidMatthew Fairchild haveanythingtodowiththat?”

Catarina stepped outfrom behind her teacher’sdeskandwentto thearrow-slitwindow.The raysof thedying sun struck throughher hair in brilliant whitelines, almost giving her ahalo.Butnotquite.

“JamesHerondalewastheson of angels and demons,”she said softly. “He was

always fated to walk adifficultandpainfulpath,todrink bitter water withsweet, to tread where therewere thorns as well asflowers. Nobody could savehim from that. People didtry.”

ShadowhunterAcademy,1899

James Herondale toldhimself that he was feelingsick only because of thejolting of the carriage. Hewasreallyveryexcitedtobegoingtoschool.

Father had borrowedUncleGabriel’snewcarriagesohecouldtakeJamesfromAlicante to the Academy,justthetwoofthem.

Fatherhadnotaskedifhecould borrow UncleGabriel’scarriage.

“Don’t look so serious,Jamie,” Father said,murmuringaWelshwordtothe horses that made themtrot faster. “Gabriel wouldwantustohavethecarriage.It’sallbetweenfamily.”

“UncleGabrielmentionedlast night that he hadrecently had the carriagepainted.Manytimes.Andhehas threatened to summonthe constabulary and haveyou arrested,” said James.“Manytimes.”

“Gabrielwillstopfussingabout it in a few years.”Father winked one blue eye

atJames.“Becausewewillallbe driving automobiles bythen.”

“Mother says you cannever drive an automobile,”said James. “She made meand Lucie promise that ifyou ever did, we would notclimbintoit.”

“Your mother was justjoking.”

James shook his head.“She made us swear on theAngel.”

He grinned up at hisfather. Father shook hishead at Jamie, the windcatching at his black hair.Mother said Father andJamiehadthesamehair,butJamieknewhisownhairwasalwaysuntidy.Hehadheard

people call his father’s hairunruly, which meant beinguntidywithcharisma.

The first day of schoolwasnotagooddayforJamesto be thinking about howvery different he was fromhisfather.

During their drive fromAlicante, several peoplestopped them on the road,

calling out the usualexclamation: “Oh, Mr.Herondale!”

Shadowhunter ladies ofmany ages said that to hisfather:threewordsthatwereboth sigh and summons.Other fathers were called“Mister” without the “Oh”prefix.

With such a remarkablefather,peopletendedtolookfor a son who would beperhaps a lesser star toWillHerondale’sblazingsun,butstill someone shining. Theywere always subtly butunmistakably disappointedto find James, who was notveryremarkableatall.

James remembered oneincident that made thedifference betweenhim andhis father starkly apparent.It was always the tiniestmoments that cameback toJames in the middle of thenightandmortifiedhimtheverymost,likeitwasalwaysthe almost invisible cutsthatkeptstinging.

A mundane lady hadwandered up to them atHatchards bookshop inLondon. Hatchards was thenicest bookshop in the city,Jamesthought,withitsdarkwoodandglassfront,whichmade the whole shop looksolemn and special, and itssecretnooksandhidey-holesinsidewhere one could curl

upwithabookandbequitequiet. James’s family oftenwent to Hatchards alltogether, but when Jamesand his father went aloneladies quite often found areason to wander over tothem and strike up aconversation.

Father told the lady thathe spent his days hunting

evil and rare first editions.Father could always findsomething to say to people,could always make themlaugh. It seemed a strange,wondrous power to James,asimpossibletoachieveasitwould be for him to shape-shiftlikeawerewolf.

James did not worryabout the ladies

approaching Father. Fathernever once looked at anywomanthewayhelookedatMother, with joy andthanksgiving,asifshewasalivingwish,grantedpastallhope.

Jamesdidnotknowmanypeople, but he was good atbeingquietandnoticing.Heknew thatwhat laybetween

his parents was somethingrareandprecious.

He worried only becausethe ladies approachingFatherwere strangers Jameswouldhavetotalkto.

Theladyinthebookshophad leaneddownandasked:“Andwhatdoyouliketodo,littleman?”

“I like—books,” Jameshad said.While standing inthe bookshop,with a parcelofbooksunderhisarm.Theladyhadgivenhimapityinglook.“Iread—erm—ratheralot,” James went on, drearymaster of the obvious. Kingof the obvious. Emperor oftheobvious.

The lady was sounimpressed that shewandered off withoutanotherword.

Jamesneverknewwhattosaytopeople.Heneverknewhowtomakethemlaugh.Hehad lived thirteen years ofhis life, mainly at theInstituteinLondon,withhisparents and his little sister,

Lucie, and a great manybooks. He had never had afriendwhowasaboy.

Now he was going toShadowhunter Academy, tolearntobeasgreatawarriorashisfather,andthewarriorbitwasnothalfasworryingas the fact he was going tohavetotalktopeople.

Therewere going to be alotofpeople.

There was going to be alotoftalking.

James wondered why thewheels did not fall right offUncle Gabriel’s carriage. Hewondered why the worldwassocruel.

“I know that you arenervous about going to

school,” Father said atlength. “Your mother and Iwerenotsureaboutsendingyou.”

Jamesbithislip.“DidyouthinkIwouldbeadisaster?”

“What?” Father said. “Ofcoursenot!Yourmotherwassimply worried aboutsendingawaytheonlyother

personinthehousewhohasanysense.”

Jamessmiled.“We’ve been very happy,

having our little family alltogether,” Father said. “Inever thought I could be sohappy.Butperhapswehavekept you too isolated inLondon.Itwouldbeniceforyou to find some friends

your own age. Who knows,youmightmeetyourfutureparabataiattheAcademy.”

Father could saywhat heliked about it being his andMother’s fault for keepingthemisolated;Jamesknewitwasnottrue.Luciehadgoneto France with Mother andmet Cordelia Carstairs, andin two weeks they had

become what Luciedescribed as bosomcompanions.Theysenteachother letters every week,reams and reams of papercrossed out and containingsketches. Lucie was asisolatedasJameswas.Jameshad gone on visits too, andnever made a bosomcompanion.Theonlyperson

who liked him was a girl,and nobody could knowabout Grace. Perhaps evenGracewouldnot likehim,ifsheknewanyotherpeople.

It was not his parents’faultthathehadnofriends.It was some flaw withinJameshimself.

“Perhaps,” Father wenton casually, “you and

AlastairCarstairswill takealikingtoeachother.”

“He’s older than me!”James protested. “He won’thave any time for a newboy.”

Father smiled awry littlesmile. “Whoknows?That isthe wonderful thing aboutmaking changes andmeeting strangers, Jamie.

You never know when, andyou never know who, butsomeday a stranger willburst through the door ofyour life and transform itutterly. The world will beturned upside down, andyouwillbehappierforit.”

Fatherhadbeensohappywhen Lucie befriendedCordelia Carstairs. Father’s

parabatai had once beencalled James Carstairs,though his official namenowthathebelongedtotheSilent Brothers—the orderof blind, runed monks thataided theShadowhunters inthe darkness—was BrotherZachariah. Father had toldJames a thousand timesabout meeting Uncle Jem,

howforyearsUncleJemhadbeen the only one whobelievedinhim,whosawhistrueself.UntilMothercame.

“I have spoken to youoften of your mother andyour uncle Jem and all theydidforme.Theymademeanew person. They savedmysoul,”Fathersaid,seriousashe rarely was. “You do not

knowwhat it is, tobesavedand transformed. But youwill. As your parents, wemustgiveyouopportunitiesto be challenged andchanged. That was why weagreedtosendyoutoschool.Even though we will missyouterribly.”

“Terribly?” James asked,shyly.

“Your mother says shewillbebraveandkeepastiffupper lip,” said Father.“Americans are heartless. Iwillcryintomypilloweverynight.”

James laughed. He knewhe did not laugh often, andFather looked particularlypleased whenever he couldmake James do it. James

was, at thirteen, a little oldfor such displays, but sinceit would be months andmonths until he saw Fatheragain and he was a littlefrightened to be going toschool,henestledupagainstFather and took his hand.Father held the reins in onehand and put his own andJames’s linked hands into

the deep pocket of hisdriving coat. James restedwith his cheek againstFather’s shoulder, notminding the jolting of thecarriage as they went downthecountryroadsofIdris.

He did want a parabatai.Hewantedonebadly.

A parabatai was a friendwho had chosen you to be

their best friend, who hadmade their friendshippermanent. They were thatsure about how much theyliked you, that sure theywould neverwant to take itback. Finding a parabataiseemed to James the key toeverything, the essentialfirst step to a life where hecould be as happy as his

father was, be as brilliant aShadowhunter as his fatherwas, find a love as great asthe love his father hadfound.

Not that James had anyparticular girl in mind,James told himself, andcrushed all thoughts ofGrace, thesecretgirl;Grace,whoneededtoberescued.

He wanted a parabatai,andthatmadetheAcademya thousand times moreterrifying.

James was safe for thislittle time, resting againsthis father, but all too soonthey reached the valleywheretheschoolrested.

The Academy wasmagnificent,agraybuilding

that shone among thegatheredtreeslikeapearl.Itreminded James of theGothicbuildingsfrombookslikeTheMysteries of UdolphoandTheCastleofOtranto.Setin the gray face of thebuildingwasahugestained-glasswindowshiningwithadozen brilliant colors,

showinganangelwieldingablade.

The angel was lookingdown on a courtyardteeming with students, alltalking and laughing, allthere to become the bestShadowhunters they couldpossibly be. If James couldnot find a friend here, heknew, hewould not be able

to find a friend in all theworld.

***

UncleGabrielwasalreadyinthe courtyard. His face hadturnedanalarmingshadeofpuce. He was shoutingsomething about thievingHerondales.

Fatherturnedtothedean,a lady who wasunquestionably fifty yearsold, and smiled. Sheblushed.

“Dean Ashdown, wouldyoubesoverykindastogivemeatouroftheAcademy?Iwas raised in the LondonInstitutewithjustoneotherpupil.” Father’s voice

softened, as it always didwhenhespokeofUncleJem.“Ineverhad theprivilegeofattendingmyself.”

“Oh,Mr.Herondale!”saidDeanAshdown.“Verywell.”

“Thankyou,”saidFather.“Comeon,Jamie.”

“Oh no,” said James. “I’ll—I’llstayhere.”

He feltuneasy as soonasFather was out of his sight,sailing offwith thedeanonhis arm and a wicked smileat Uncle Gabriel, but Jamesknewhehadtobebrave,andthis was the perfectopportunity. Among thecrowd of students in thecourtyard, James had seentwoboysheknew.

One was tall for almost-thirteen, with an untidyshock of light brown hair.Hehadhisfaceturnedaway,butJamesknewtheboyhadstartling lavender eyes. Hehad heard girls at partiessaying those eyes werewastedonaboy,especiallyaboy as strange asChristopherLightwood.

James knew his cousinChristopher better than anyother boy at the Academy.Aunt Cecily and UncleGabriel had spent a lot oftime in Idris over the pastfew years, but before thatboth families had beentogether often: they had allgone down to Walestogether for a few holidays,

before Grandma andGrandpa died. Christopherwas slightly odd andextremelyvague,buthewasalwaysnicetoJames.

The boy standing besideChristopher was small andthin as a lath, his headbarely coming up toChristopher’sshoulder.

Thomas Lightwood wasChristopher’s cousin, notJames’s, but James calledThomas’s mother AuntSophie because she wasMother’s very best friend.James liked Aunt Sophie,who was so pretty andalways kind. She and herfamily had been living inIdrisforthepastfewyearsas

well, with Aunt Cecily andUncle Gabriel—AuntSophie’shusbandwasUncleGabriel’s brother. AuntSophie came to London onvisits by herself, though.James had seenMother andAuntSophiewalkoutofthepractice rooms gigglingtogetherasiftheyweregirlsas little as his sister, Lucie.

AuntSophiehadoncecalledThomas her shy boy. Thathad made James think heand Thomas might have alotincommon.

At the big familygatherings when they wereall together, James hadsneaked a few glances atThomas, and found himalways hanging quiet and

uneasy on the fringes of abigger group, usuallylooking to one of the olderboys.He’dwantedtogooverto Thomas and strike up aconversation,buthehadnotbeensurewhattosay.

Two shy people wouldprobably be good friends,but there was the smallproblem of how to reach

that point. James had noidea.

Nowwas James’s chance,though. The Lightwoodcousins were his best hopefor friends at the Academy.Allhehadtodowasgooverandspeaktothem.

James pushed his waythrough the crowd,

apologizing when otherpeopleelbowedhim.

“Hullo,boys,”saidavoicebehind James, and someonepushed past James as if hecouldnotseehim.

James saw Thomas andChristopher both turn, likeflowers toward the sun.They smiled with identicalradiantwelcome, and James

stared at the back of ashiningblondhead.

There was one other boyJames’s age at the Academywho he knew a little:Matthew Fairchild, whoseparents James called AuntCharlotte and Uncle HenrybecauseAunt Charlotte hadpractically raised Father,when she was the head of

the London Institute andbefore she became Consul,themostimportantpersonaShadowhuntercouldbe.

MatthewhadnotcometoLondon the few times AuntCharlotte and his brother,Charles, had visited. UncleHenryhadbeenwoundedinbattle years before any ofthemwereborn, andhedid

not leave Idris often, butJames was not sure whyMatthewdidnotcomevisit.Perhaps he enjoyed himselftoomuchinIdris.

One thing James wascertainofwasthatMatthewFairchildwasnotshy.

James had not seenMatthew in a couple ofyears, but he remembered

him very clearly. At everyfamily gathering whereJames hung on the edges ofcrowds or went off to readon the stairs, Matthew wasthelifeandsouloftheparty.He would talk with grown-ups as if he were a grown-up.Hewoulddancewitholdladies. He would charmparents and grandparents,

andstopbabiesfromcrying.EverybodylovedMatthew.

James did not rememberMatthew dressing like amaniac before today.Matthew was wearing kneebreecheswheneveryoneelsewaswearing the trousers ofthe sane, and a mulberry-colored velvet jacket. Evenhis shining golden hairwas

brushedinawaythatstruckJames as more complicatedthan the way other boysbrushedtheirhair.

“Isn’t this a bore?”Matthew asked Christopherand Thomas, the two boysJames wanted for friends.“Everybodyhere looks likeadolt. I am already infrightful agony,

contemplating my wastedyouth.Don’tspeaktome,orI shall break down and sobuncontrollably.”

“There, there,” saidChristopher, pattingMatthew’s shoulder. “Whatareyouupsetaboutagain?”

“Your face, Lightwood,”said Matthew, and elbowedhim.

Christopher and Thomasboth laughed, drawing inclose to him. They were allsoobviouslyalreadyfriends,andMatthewwas so clearlythe leader. James’s plan forfriendswasinruins.

“Er,” said James, thesound like a tragic socialhiccup.“Hello.”

Christophergazedathimwithamiableblankness,andJames’s heart, which hadalready been around hisknees,sanktohissocks.

Then Thomas said,“Hello!”andsmiled.

James smiled back,grateful for an instant, andthen Matthew Fairchildturned around to see who

Thomaswas addressing.Hewas taller than James, hisfairhairoutlinedbythesunas he looked down on him.Matthew gave theimpression that he waslooking down from amuchgreater height than heactuallywas.

“JamieHerondale,right?”Matthewdrawled.

James bristled. “I preferJames.”

“I’d prefer to be in aschool devoted to art,beauty, and culture ratherthaninaghastlystoneshackin the middle of nowherefilled with louts who aspireto nothing more thanwhacking demons with

great big swords,” saidMatthew.“Yethereweare.”

“And I would prefer tohave intelligent students,”said a voice behind them.“Yethere I am teachingat aschoolfortheNephilim.”

They turned and thenstarted, as one. The manbehind them had snowy-whitehair,whichhe looked

too young to have, andhornspokingoutamongthewhite locks. The mostnotable thing about him,however, the thing Jamesnoted right away, was thathe had green skin the colorofgrapes.

James knew thismust bea warlock. In fact, he knewwho it must be: the former

High Warlock of London,Ragnor Fell,who livedpart-time in the countrysideoutside Alicante, and whohadagreed thisyear thathewouldteachintheAcademyas a diversion from hismagicalstudies.

James knew warlockswere goodpeople, the alliesof the Shadowhunters.

Fatheroftentalkedabouthisfriend Magnus Bane, whohad been kind to himwhenhewasyoung.

Father had nevermentionedwhetherMagnusBane was green. James hadnever thought to inquire.Nowhewas rather urgentlywondering.

“Which one of you isChristopher Lightwood?”Ragnor Fell asked in a sternvoice. His gaze swept themall, and landed on themostguilty-lookingperson inthegroup.“Isityou?”

“Thank the Angel, no,”Thomas exclaimed, andwent redunderhis summer

tan. “No offense,Christopher.”

“Oh, none taken,” saidChristopher airily. Heblinked up at Ragnor, as ifthetall,scarygreenmanhadentirely escaped his noticeup until this moment.“Hello,sir.”

“Are you ChristopherLightwood?” Ragnor asked,

somewhatmenacingly.Christopher’s wandering

attentionbecamefocusedonatree.“Hm?Ithinkso.”

Ragnor glared down atChristopher’sflyawaybrownhair.Jameswasbeginningtobeafraidhewoulderuptlikeagreenvolcano.

“Areyounotcertain,Mr.Lightwood? Did you

perhapshaveanunfortunateencounterwhenyouwereaninfant?”

“Hm?”saidChristopher.Ragnor’svoicerose.“Was

theencounterbetweenyourinfantheadandafloor?”

That was when MatthewFairchild said, “Sir,” andsmiled.

James had forgottenabout The Smile, eventhough it was often brokenout to great effect at familyparties. The Smile wonMatthew extra time beforebed, extra Christmaspudding, extra anything hewanted. Adults werehelplesstoresistTheSmile.

Matthew gave his all tothis particular smile. Buttermelted. Birds sang. Peopleslipped about dazed amidthebutterandbirdsong.

“Sir, you will have toforgive Christopher. He’s atrifle absentminded, but heis definitely Christopher. Itwould be very difficult tomistake Christopher for

anyoneelse.Ivouchforhim,andhecan’tdenyit.”

The Smile worked onRagnor, as it worked on alladults.Heunbentatinybit.“Are you MatthewFairchild?”

Matthew’s smile becamemore playful. “I could denyit if I liked. I could denyanything if I liked. But my

name certainly is Matthew.It has been Matthew foryears.”

“What?” Ragnor Felllooked as if he had falleninto a pit of lunatics andcouldnotgetout.

James cleared his throat.“He’s quoting Oscar Wilde,sir.”

Matthew glanced over athim,hisdarkeyes suddenlywide. “Are you a devotee ofOscarWilde?”

“He’s a good writer,”Jamessaidcoldly.“Therearea lot of goodwriters. I readrather a lot,” he added,making it clear that he wascertainMatthewdidnot.

“Gentlemen,”RagnorFellputin,hisvoiceadagger.“Ifyou could tear yourselvesaway from your fascinatingliterary conversation for amomentandlistentooneofthe instructors in theestablishment where youhave supposedly come tolearn? I have a letter hereabout Christopher

Lightwood and theunfortunate incident thatcaused the Clave suchconcern.”

“Yes, that was a veryunfortunate accident,” saidMatthew,nodding earnestlyasifhewassureofRagnor’ssympathy.

“And that was not theword I used, Mr. Fairchild,

as I am sure you are aware.Thelettersaysthatyouhavevolunteered to take fullresponsibility for Mr.Lightwood, and that yousolemnly promise to keepany and all potentialexplosives out of his reachfor the duration of his timeattheAcademy.”

James looked from thewarlock to Matthew toChristopher, who wasregarding a tree withdreamy benevolence. Indesperation, he looked toThomas.

Explosives?hemouthed.“Don’task,”saidThomas.

“Please.”

Thomas was older thanJames and Christopher, butmuch smaller. Aunt Sophiehad kept him at home anextra year because he wassickly.Hedidnotlooksicklynow, but hewas still ratherundersized. His tan,combined with his brownhairandbrowneyesandhisshort stature, made him

look like a small, worriedhorsechestnut.Jamesfoundhimself wanting to patThomasonthehead.

Matthew patted Thomasonthehead.

“Mr. Fell,” he said.“Thomas. Christopher.Jamie.”

“James,”Jamescorrected.

“Donotworry,”Matthewsaid with immenseconfidence. “I mean,certainly,worry thatwe aretrapped in an arid warriorculturewithnoappreciationfor the truly importantthings in life. But do notworry about thingsexploding,becauseIwillnotpermit anything to

explode.”“Thatwas all youneeded

to say,” Ragnor Fell toldhim. “And you could havesaiditinfarfewerwords.”

Hewalked off, in a swirlof green skin and badtemper.

“He was green!” Thomaswhispered.

“Really,” said Matthew,verydry.

“Oh, really?” askedChristopher brightly. “Ididn’tnotice.”

Thomas gazed sadly atChristopher. Matthewignored him superbly. “Irather liked the unique hueof our teacher. It remindedme of the green carnations

thatOscarWilde’s followersweartoimitatehim.Hehadone of the actors in, um, aplay of his wear a greencarnationonstage.”

“ItwasLadyWindermere’sFan,”Jamessaid.

Matthew was clearlyshowingoff,tryingtosoundsuperior and special, andJameshadnotimeforit.

Matthew turned TheSmile on him. James wasunsurprised to find he wasimmune to its deadlyeffects.

“Yes,”hesaid.“Ofcourse.Jamie, I can see that as afellow admirer of OscarWilde—”

“Uh,” said a voice toJames’s left. “You new boys

have barely been here fiveminutes, and all you canfind to talk about is somemundane who got sent toprisonforindecency?”

“So you know OscarWilde too, Alastair?”Matthewasked.

James looked up at thetaller, older boy. He hadlight hair but dark brows,

strongly marked, like veryjudgmental blackbrushstrokes.

So this was AlastairCarstairs, the brother ofLucie’s best friend, whomFather hoped James wouldmake friends with. Jameshadpictured someonemorefriendly, more like Cordeliaherself.

Perhaps Alastair wouldbe more friendly if he didnot associate James withsnottyMatthew.

“I know of manymundane criminals,”Alastair Carstairs said inchilly tones. “I read themundane newspapers tofind hints of demonic

activity. I certainly don’tbotherreadingplays.”

Thetwoboyshewaswithnodded in goodShadowhuntersolidarity.

Matthewlaughedintheirfaces. “Naturally. What usedo sad, unimaginative littlepeople have for plays?” heasked. “Or paintings, ordancing, or anything that

makes life interesting. I amso glad to be at this danklittle schoolwhere theywilltry to squeeze down mymind until it is almost asnarrowasyours.”

He patted AlastairCarstairs on the arm. Jameswasamazedthathewasnotimmediately struck in theface.

Thomas was staring atAlastairwithasmuchpanicasJamesfelt.

“Run along now,”Matthew suggested. “Do.JamieandIweretalking.”

Alastair laughed, hislaughsoundingangrierthanasharpwordwouldhave.“Iwas only trying to give youyoungonesa littleguidance

about thewaywe do thingsintheAcademy.Ifyou’retoostupid to take heed, that isnot my fault. At least youhavea tongue inyourhead,unlikethisone.”

He turned and glareddaggersatJames.Jameswasso surprised and dismayedat this turn of events—hehadn’t done anything!—that

he simply stood and staredwithhismouthopen.

“Yes, you, the one withthe peculiar eyes,” Alastairsnapped. “What are yougawpingat?”

“I—”saidJames.“I—”Hedidhavepeculiareyes,

he knew. He did not trulyneed eyeglasses, except forreading, but he wore them

all the time in order toconceal his eyes. He couldfeel himself blushing, andAlastair’s voice became assharpashislaugh.

“What’syourname?”“H-Herondale,” James

stammeredout.“BytheAngel,hiseyesare

awful,” said the boy toAlastair’sright.

Alastair laughed again,this time with moresatisfaction. “Yellow. Justlikeagoat’s.”

“Idon’t—”“Don’t strain yourself,

Goatface Herondale,”Alastair said. “Don’t try tospeak.Youandyour friendscould perhaps ceaseobsessing about mundanes

and try to think about littlematterslikesavinglivesandupholding the Law whileyou’rehere,allright?”

Hestrolledon,hisfriendslaughing with him. Jamesheard the word spreadingthrough the tightly knitcrowd with laughterfollowing it, like the ripples

from a stone thrown into apond.

Goatface. Goatface.Goatface.

Matthew laughed. “Well.Whatan—”

“Thanks so much fordragging me into that,”James snapped. He turnedonhisheelandwalkedawayfromthetwofriendshehad

hoped for at the Academy,and heard his new namewhisperedashewent.

***

James did what he hadpromised himself heabsolutelywouldnotdo.Hedragged his heavy bagthrough the courtyard,through the hall, and up

severalsetsofstairsuntilhefound a staircase thatseemedprivate.Thenhe satdownandopenedabook.Hetoldhimselfthathewasonlygoing to read a few pagesbefore hewent down again.The Count of Monte Cristowas just descending on hisenemiesinaballoon.

James emerged hourslater, to the sinkingrealization that the sky hadgone dark gray and thesounds from the courtyardhadfadedaway.Hismotherand Lucie were still inLondon, far away, and nowhe was sure his father wasgonetoo.

He was trapped in thisAcademy full of strangers.Hedidnotevenknowwherehe was supposed to sleeptonight.

He wandered aroundtryingtofindthebedrooms.Hedidnotdiscoverany,buthedidfindhimselfenjoyingexploring such a big newplace on his own. The

Academy was a splendidbuilding, the stone wallsshining as if they had beenpolished. The chandeliersseemedmadeof jewels, andasJameswanderedinsearchof thedininghall, he foundmany beautiful tapestriesdepicting Shadowhuntersthrough the ages. He stoodlooking at an intricate,

colorfulweavingofJonathanShadowhunter fightingduringtheCrusades,untilitoccurredtohimthatdinnermustbesoonandhedidnotwant to draw any furtherattentiontohimself.

Thesoundofhundredsofstrangevoices alerted Jamesto where the dining roommust be. He fought the

impulsetorunaway,steeledhimself,andwalkedthroughthe doors instead. To hisrelief, people were stillassembling, the olderstudentsmillingaroundandchatting to each other withthe ease of long familiarity.The new students werehovering, much like Jameshimself.

All except MatthewFairchild, who wassurveying the shiningmahogany tables withdisdain.

“Wehave to select a verysmalltable,”hetoldThomasand Christopher, hissatellites. “I am here underprotest. I will not breakbread with the kind of

violent ruffians and ravingimbecileswhowouldattendtheAcademywillingly.”

“You know,” James saidloudly, “Alastair Carstairswasright.”

“Thatseemsveryunlikelytome,”Matthewresponded,then turned. “Oh, it’s you.Why are you still carryingyourbag?”

“Idon’thavetoanswertoyou,” said James, which hewas aware was a bizarrething to say. Thomasblinkedathimindistress,asif he had trusted James nottosaybizarrethings.

“All right,”Matthewsaidagreeably. “AlastairCarstairs was right aboutwhat?”

“People are attending theAcademybecausetheyhopeto become betterShadowhunters, and savelives. That is a noble andworthy goal. You do nothave to sneer at everybodyyoumeet.”

“Buthowelseam Igoingto amuse myself in thisplace?” Matthew protested.

“You can sit with us, if youwant.”

There was an amusedglint in his brown eyes.James was certain from thewayMatthewwaslookingathimthathewasbeingmadefunof, thoughhecouldnotquiteworkouthow.

“No thanks,” James saidshortly.

He looked around at thetables, and saw that thefirst-year Shadowhunterswere now settled aroundtables in careful, friendlypatterns. There were otherboys and even a few girls,though, who James couldtell were mundanes. It wasnot so much clothing orbuild as the way they held

themselves: as if they wereafraid they might beattacked.Shadowhunters,incontrast, were always readytoattack.

There was one boy inshabby clothes sitting byhimself. James crossed thedining room to sit at histable.

“CanIsithere?”heasked,desperate enough to beblunt.

“Yes!”saidtheotherboy.“Oh yes, please. The name’sSmith. Michael Smith.Mike.”

James reached across thetable and shook MikeSmith’s hand. “JamesHerondale.”

Mike’s eyes widened,clearly recognizing it as aShadowhunter name. “Mymother grew up in themundaneworld,”Jamestoldhim quickly. “In America.NewYorkCity.”

“Your mother was amundane?” said a girl,coming over and sitting athis table. “Esme Philpott,”

she added, shaking handsbriskly. “I shan’t keep itwhenIAscend.I’mthinkingofchangingtheEsmetoo.”

Jamesdidnotknowwhatto say. He did not wish toinsult a lady’s name byagreeingwithherorinsultaladybyarguingwithher.Hewas not prepared to beapproached by a strange

girl.Veryfewgirlsweresentto the Academy: of coursegirls could be just as finewarriors as boys, but noteverybodythoughtthatway,and many Shadowhunterfamilies wanted to keeptheir girls close. Somepeople thought theAcademy had far too manyrules, and some far too few.

Thomas’s sisters, who wereveryproper,hadnotcometotheAcademy.Familylegendreported that his cousinAnna Lightwood, who wasthe least proper personimaginable,had said if theysenthertotheAcademy,shewouldrunawayandbecomeamundanebullfighter.

“Mmm,” said James, asilver-tongueddevilwiththeladies.

“DidyourmotherAscendwith no trouble?” Mikeaskedeagerly.

James bit his lip.Hewasaccustomed to everyoneknowing the history of hismother:thechildofastolenShadowhunterandademon.

Any child of aShadowhunter was aShadowhunter. Motherbelonged to theShadowhunter world asmuch as any of theNephilim. Only, her skincould not bear Marks, andthere hadnever before beenanyonelikeherintheworld.James did not quite know

how to explain to peoplewho did not know already.He was afraid he wouldexplain wrong, and theexplanation would reflectbadlyonMother.

“I know a lot of peoplewho Ascended with notrouble,” James said at last.“My aunt Sophie—SophieLightwood now—she was a

mundane. Father says therenever was anyone so brave,beforeorafterAscension.”

“What a relief!” saidEsme. “Tell me, I think I’veheard of Sophie Lightwood—”

“What a fearfulcomedown,” saidoneof theboys James had seen withAlastair Carstairs earlier.

“Goatface Herondale isactually reduced to sittingwiththedregs.”

Alastair and his otherfriendlaughed.Theywenttosit at a table with other,older Shadowhunters, andJames was certain he heardthe word “Goatface”whispered more than once.

He felt hewas boiling fromtheinsideoutwithshame.

AsforMatthewFairchild,James looked over at himonly once or twice. AfterJameshadlefthimstandingin themiddle of the dininghall,Matthewhadtossedhisstupid blond head andchosen a very large table tosit at. He clearly had not

meantawordaboutbeingsoselect. He sat with Thomasand Christopher on eitherside of him like a princeholding court, calling outjokes and summoningpeople tohis side,andsoonhis table was crowded. Hecharmed several of theShadowhunter studentsawayfromtheirtables.Even

some of the older studentscameovertolistentooneofMatthew’s apparentlyterribly amusing stories.EvenAlastairCarstairscameover for a few minutes.Obviously he and Matthewweregreatfriendsnow.

JamescaughtMikeSmithlooking over at Matthew’stablelongingly,hisfacethat

of an outsider barred fromall the fun, doomed toalwaysbeatthelessexcitingtable with the lessinterestingpeople.

James had wantedfriends, but he had notwanted to be the kind offriend who people settledfor, because they could notget any better. Except he

was, as he had alwayssecretly feared, tedious andpoor company. He did notknow why books had nottaught him how to talk soother people wanted tolisten.

***

James eventuallyapproached the teachers for

help finding his bedroom.He found Dean Ashdownand Ragnor Fell in deepconversation.

“I am so terribly sorry,”saidDeanAshdown.“Thisisthe first time we have everhad awarlock teacher—andwe are delighted to haveyou! We should havethoroughly cleaned out the

Academy and made suretherewerenoremnantsofalesspeacefultime.”

“Thank you, DeanAshdown,” Ragnor said.“The removal of themounted warlock’s headfrom my bedroom will besufficient.”

“I am so terribly sorry!”said Dean Ashdown again.

She lowered her voice.“Were you acquainted withthe—er, deceasedgentleman?”

Ragnor eyed her withdisfavor.Thoughthatmightjust be the way Mr. Felllooked. “If you were tohappen upon thegrotesquely severed head ofone of theNephilim,would

you have to be acquaintedwith him to feel youmightperhaps not fancy sleepingin the room where hisdesecrated corpseremained?”

James coughed in themiddle of the dean’s thirdfrantic apology. “I doapologize,” he said. “Couldsomeone direct me to my

room? I—got lost andmissedallthat.”

“Oh, young Mr.Herondale.”Thedeanlookedquite happy to beinterrupted. “Of course, letme showyou theway.Yourfather entrusted me with amessage for you that I canrelayaswego.”

She left Ragnor Fellscowling after them. Jameshoped he had not madeanotherenemy.

“Yourfathersaid—whatacharming language Welshis, isn’t it? So romantic!—Poblwc,caraid.Whatdoesitmean?”

James blushed, becausehewasmuchtoooldforhis

father to be calling him bypetnames. “It justmeans—itmeansgoodluck.”

Hecouldnothelpsmilingas he trailed the dean downthe halls. He was surenobody else’s father hadcharmed the dean intogiving a student a secretmessage.He feltwarm, andwatchedover.

Until Dean Ashdownopened the door of his newroom, bid him a cheerfulgood-bye,andlefthimtohishorriblefate.

It was a very nice room,airy, with walnut bedpostsand white linen canopies.Therewasacarvedwardrobeandevenabookcase.

There was also adistressing amount ofMatthewFairchild.

Hewas standing in frontof a table that had aboutfifteen hairbrushes on it,several mysterious bottles,and a strange hoard ofcombs.

“Hullo, Jamie,” he said.“Isn’titsplendidthatweare

sharingaroom?Iamcertainwe will get alongswimmingly.”

“James,” James said.“What are all thosehairbrushesfor?”

Matthew looked at himpityingly. “You don’t thinkall this”—he indicated hishead with a sweeping

gesture—“happens on itsown?”

“I only use onehairbrush.”

“Yes,”Matthewobserved.“Icantell.”

James dragged his trunkover to the foot of his bed,took outThe Count ofMonteCristo, and made his waybacktothedoor.

“Jamie?”Matthewasked.“James!”Jamessnapped.Matthew laughed. “All

right,allright.James,whereareyougoing?”

“Somewhere else,” saidJames, and slammed thedoorbehindhim.

He could not believe thebad luck that had randomlyassigned him to share a

room with Matthew. Hefound another staircase andread in it until he judgedthat itwas late enough thatMatthewwould certainly beasleep,andhecreptback,lita candle, and resumedreadinginbed.

James might have read alittletoolongintothenight.Whenhewokeup,Matthew

was clearly long gone—ontop of everything else, hewas an early riser—andJames was late for his firstdayofclass.

“Whatelsecanyouexpectfrom Goatface Herondale,”said a boy James had neverseen before in his life, andseveral more peoplesniggered. James grimly

took his seat next to MikeSmith.

***

The classes in which theelites were separated fromthe dregs were the worst.Jameshadnobodytositwiththen.

Orperhaps the first classof every day was the worst,

becauseJamesalwaysstayedup late into the nightreading to forget histroubles, andwas late everyday.Nomatterwhattimeherose, Matthew was alwaysgone. James assumedMatthew did this to mockhim, since he could notimagine Matthew doing

anythinguseful early in themorning.

Or perhaps the trainingcourses were the worst,becauseMatthewwas at hismost annoying during thetrainingcourses.

“I must regretfullydecline to participate,” hetold their teacher once.“Consider me on strike like

the coal miners. Except farmorestylish.”

The next day, he said: “Iabstainon thegrounds thatbeautyissacred,andthereisnothing beautiful abouttheseexercises.”

The day after that, hemerely said: “I object onaestheticprinciples.”

Hekeptsayingridiculousthings, until a couple ofweeks in, when he said: “Iwon’t do it, becauseShadowhunters are idiotsand I do not want to be atthis idiot school. Why doesan accident of birth meanyouhavetoeithergetrippedaway from your family, oryou have to spend a short,

horrible life brawling withdemons?”

“Do you want to beexpelled, Mr. Fairchild?”thunderedoneteacher.

“Do what you feel youmust,” said Matthew,folding his hands andsmilinglikeacherub.

Matthew did not getexpelled. Nobody seemed

quite sure what to do withhim. His teachers begancallinginsickoutofdespair.

HedidonlyhalftheworkandinsultedeveryoneintheAcademy on a daily basis,and he remained absurdlypopular. Thomas andChristopher could not bepried away from him. Hewandered the halls

surrounded by adoringthrongswhowantedtohearanother amusing anecdote.His and James’s room wasalwayscompletelycrowded.

James spent a good dealof time in thestairwells.Hespent evenmore timebeingcalledGoatfaceHerondale.

“Youknow,”Thomassaidshylyonce,when Jameshad

not managed to escape hisownroomfastenough,“youcould pal around with us alittlemore.”

“I could?” James asked,and tried not to sound toohopeful. “I’d . . . like to seemore of you andChristopher.”

“And Matthew,” Thomassaid.

James shook his headsilently.

“Matthew’s one of mybest friends,” Thomas said,almost pleadingly. “If youspentsometimewithhim,Iamsureyouwould come tolikehim.”

James looked over atMatthew,whowassittingonhis bed telling a story to

eight people who weresitting on the floor andgazing up at himworshipfully. He metMatthew’s eyes, trained inhis and Thomas’s direction,andlookedaway.

“I feel I have to declineany more of Matthew’scompany.”

“It makes you stand out,you know,” Thomas said.“Spending your time withthe mundanes. I think it’swhy the—the nickname foryou has stuck. People areafraid of anybody who isdifferent: It makes themworry everyone else isdifferent too, and justpretending to be all the

same.”Jamesstaredathim.“Are

you saying I should avoidthemundanes?Becausetheyarenotasgoodasweare?”

“No, that’s not—”Thomas began, but Jameswas too angry to let himfinish.

“The mundanes can beheroes too,” James said.

“You should know thatbetter than I. Your motherwas a mundane! My fathertold me about all she didbefore she Ascended.Everyonehereknowspeoplewho were mundanes. Whyshould we isolate peoplewhoarebraveenoughtotryto become like us—whowant to help people? Why

should we treat them as ifthey’re less than us, untilthey prove their worthinessordie?Iwon’tdoit.”

Aunt Sophie was just asgood as any Shadowhunter,andshehadbeenbravelongbefore she Ascended. AuntSophie was Thomas’smother. They should knowthisbetterthanJamesdid.

“I didn’t mean it thatway,”saidThomas.“Ididn’tthinkofitthatway.”

It was as if people didn’tthinkatall,livinginIdris.

“Maybeyourfathersdon’ttell you stories like minedoes,”Jamessaid.

“Maybe not everyonelistens to stories like youdo,” Matthew said from

across the room. “Noteveryonelearns.”

James glanced at him. Itwas an unexpectedly nicething for Matthew, of allpeople,tosay.

“Iknowastory,”Matthewwenton.“Whowantstohearit?”

“Me!” said the chorusfromthefloor.

“Me!”“Me!”“Notme,”saidJames,and

lefttheroom.It was another reminder

that Matthew had whatJames would have givenanything for, that Matthewhad friends and belongedhere at the Academy, andMatthewdidnotcareatall.

Eventually there were somany teachers calling inwith an acute overdose ofMatthew Fairchild thatRagnor Fell was left tosupervise the trainingcourses. James wonderedwhy he was the only onewho could see this wasabsurd, and Matthew wasruiningclassesforeveryone.

Ragnorcoulddomagic,andwas not at all interested inwar.

Ragnor let Esme braidribbons inherhorse’smanesoitwouldlooklikeanoblesteed. He agreed to letChristopher build abattering ram to knockdowntrees,becauseitwouldbegoodpracticeincasethey

ever had to lay siege to acastle. He watched MikeSmith hit himself over theheadwithhisownlongbow.

“Concussionsarenothingto be worried about,” saidRagnor placidly. “Unlessthere is severe bleeding ofthe brain, in which case hemay die.Mr. Fairchild,whyareyounotparticipating?”

“I think that violence isrepulsive,” Matthew saidfirmly. “I am here againstmy will and I refuse toparticipate.”

“Would you like me tomagically strip you andputyouingear?”Mr.Fellasked.“Infrontofeverybody?”

“Thatwouldbeathrillforeverybody, I’m sure,” said

Matthew. Ragnor Fellwiggled his fingers, andgreen sparks spat from hisfingertips. James waspleased to see Matthewactually take a step back.“MightbetoothrillingforaWednesday,” Matthew said.“I’llgoputonmygearthen,shallI?”

“Do,”saidRagnor.

Hehadsetupadeckchairand was reading a book.James envied him verymuch.

He also admired histeacherverymuch.Herewassomeone who could controlMatthew, at last. After allMatthew’s lofty talk aboutabstainingforthesakeofartand beauty, James was

looking forward to seeingMatthew make an absolutefool of himself on thepracticegrounds.

“Anyone volunteer tocatch Matthew up on whatyouhaveallbeenlearning?”Ragnorasked.“AsIhavenotthe faintest idea what thatmightbe.”

Just then Christopher’steamofstudentsactuallyhita tree with their batteringram. The crash and thechaos meant there was notthe rush of volunteers tospend time with Matthewthat there would otherwisehavebeen.

“I’d be happy to teachMatthew a lesson,” said

James.He was quite good with

the staff. He had beat Miketen times out of ten, andEsmenine times out of ten,and he had been holdingback with them. It waspossible hewould also havetoholdbackwithMatthew.

Except that Matthewcame outwearing gear, and

looking—for a change—actually like a realShadowhunter. More like areal Shadowhunter thanJames did, truth be told,since James was . . . not asshortasThomas,butnottallyet, and what his motherdescribed as wiry. Whichwas a kind way to say “noreal evidence of muscles in

view.” Several girls, in fact,turnedtolookatMatthewingear.

“Mr. Herondale hasvolunteered to teach youhow to staff fight,” RagnorFell said. “If you plan tomurder each other, gofartherdownthefieldwhereI cannot see you and won’t

have to answer awkwardquestions.”

“James,”saidMatthew,inthe voice that everyone elseliked to listen to so muchand that struck James asconstantlymocking.“Thisisso kind of you. I think I dorememberafewmoveswiththe staff from trainingwithmy mama and my brother.

Please be patientwithme. Imaybealittlerusty.”

Matthew strolled downthefield,thesunbrilliantongreengrassandhisgoldhairalike, andweighed the staffin one hand. He turned toJames, and James had thesudden impression ofnarrowedeyes:alookofrealandseriousintent.

ThenMatthew’s face andthe trees both went sailingby, as Matthew’s staffscythed James’s legs outfrom under him and Jameswent tumbling to theground. James lay theredazed.

“You know,” saidMatthew thoughtfully. “I

maynotbe so terribly rustyafterall.”

James scrambled to hisfeet, clutching at both hisstaff and his dignity.Matthew moved intoposition to fight him, thestaff as light and easilybalancedinhishandasifhewere a conductor gesturingwith his baton. He moved

with easy grace, like anyShadowhunter would, butsomehow as if he wasplaying,asifatanymomenthemightbedancing.

James realized, to hisoverwhelming disgust, thatthis was yet another thingMatthewwasgoodat.

“Best of three,” hesuggested.

Matthew’sstaffwasablurbetween his hands,suddenly. James did nothave time to shift positionbeforeajarringblowlandedonthearmthatwasholdinghis staff, then his leftshoulder so he could notdefend. James blocked thestaff when it came towardhis midsection, but that

turned out to be a feint.Matthew scythedhimoff atthe knees again and Jameswoundupflatonhisbackinthegrass.Again.

Matthew’s facecameintoview. He was laughing, asusual. “Why stop at three?”he asked. “I can standaround and beat you allday.”

James hooked his staffbehind Matthew’s anklesand tripped him up. Heknew it was wrong, but inthemomenthedidnotcare.

Matthew landed on thegrasswithasurprised“Oof!”which James found brieflysatisfying. Once there, heseemedhappyenough to liein the grass. James found

himself being regarded byone brown eye amid thegreenery.

“You know,” Matthewsaid slowly, “most peoplelikeme.”

“Well . . .congratulations!” Jamessnapped, and scrambled tohisfeet.

It was the exact wrongmomenttostandup.

It should have been thelastmoment of James’s life.Perhapsbecausehe thoughtit would be the last, itseemed to stretch out,giving James time to see itall: how the battering ramhad flown through thehandsofChristopher’steam

in the wrong direction. Hesawthehorrifiedfacesofthewhole team, evenChristopher payingattention for once. He sawthegreatwoodenlog,sailingdirectly at him, and heardMatthew scream a warningmuch too late. He sawRagnor Fell jump up, his

deckchairflying,andlifthishand.

The world transformedinto sliding grayness,everything still movingslower than James was.Everything was sliding andinsubstantial: the batteringram came at him andthroughhim,unabletohurthim; it was like being

splashed with water. Jameslifted a hand and saw thegrayairfullofstars.

It was Ragnor who hadsavedhim,Jamesthoughtasthe world tipped frombright, strange graynessintoblack.Thiswaswarlockmagic.

He did not know untillaterthattheAcademyclass

had all watched, expectingtoseeasceneofcarnageanddeath, and instead seen ablack-haired boy dissolveand change from one oftheirownintoashadowcastbynothing,awickedcutoutinto the abyss behind theworld, dark andunmistakable in theafternoon sun. What had

been inevitable death,something theShadowhunters were usedto, became somethingstrangeandmoreterrible.

He did not know untillater how right he was. Itwaswarlockmagic.

***

WhenJameswokeup,itwasnight, and Uncle Jem wasthere.

Jamesrearedupfromhisbed and threw himself intoUncle Jem’s arms. He hadheard some people foundthe Silent Brothersfrightening,withtheirsilentspeech and their stitchedeyes,buttohimthesightof

a Silent Brother’s robealways meant Uncle Jem,alwaysmeantsteadfastlove.

“Uncle Jem!” he gaspedout, arms around his neck,face buried inhis robe, safefor a moment. “Whathappened?Why do I—I feltso strange, and now you’rehere,and—”

And the presence of aSilent Brother in theAcademy meant nothinggood. Father was alwaysinventing excuses for UncleJemtocome to them—oncehe had claimed a flowerpotwas possessed by a demon.But this was Idris, and aSilent Brother would besummoned to

Shadowhunterchildrenonlyinatimeofneed.

“Am I—hurt?” askedJames.“IsMatthewhurt?Hewaswithme.”

Nobody ishurt,saidUncleJem.ThanksbetotheAngel.Itis only that there is now aheavy burden for you to bear,Jamie.

And the knowledgespilled out from Uncle JemtoJames,silentandcoldasagraveopening,andyetwithUncle Jem’s watchful caremingled with the chill.JamesshudderedawayfromtheSilentBrotherandclungto Uncle Jem at the sametime, face wet with tears,fistsclutchinghisrobes.

This was his mother’sheritage, was what camefromminglingthebloodofaShadowhunterwiththatofademon, and then with aShadowhunter again. Theyhad all thought becauseJames’s skin could bearMarks that James was aShadowhunter and nothingelse, that the blood of the

Angel had burned away allelse.

Ithadnot.Eventhebloodof theAngelcouldnotburnawayashadow.Jamescouldperform this strangewarlock trick, a trick nowarlock Uncle Jem knewcould perform. He couldtransformintoashadow.Hecould make himself

something that was notfleshorblood—certainlynotthebloodoftheAngel.

“What—what am I?”Jamesgaspedout,histhroatrawwithsobs.

You are James Herondale,said Uncle Jem. As youalwayswere.Partyourmother,partyourfather,partyourself.

IwouldnotchangeanypartofyouifIcould.

James would. He wouldhave burned away this partofhimself,wrenched itout,done anything he could toberidofit.Hewasmeanttobe a Shadowhunter, he hadalways known he was, butwould any Shadowhunterfight alongside him, with

this horror about himrevealed?

“Am I—are theythrowingmeoutofschool?”hewhisperedinUncleJem’sear.

No, said Uncle Jem. Afeeling of sorrow and angertouchedJamesandthenwaspulled back. But James, I dothink you should leave. They

are afraid that you will—contaminatethepurityoftheirchildren. They wish to banishyou to where the mundanechildren live. They apparentlydo not care what happens tothe mundane students, andcareeven lesswhathappenstoyou. Go home, James. I willbring you home now if youwishit.

James wanted to gohome. He wanted it morethan he could rememberwanting anything, with anachethatmadehimfeelasifeverybone inhisbodywerebrokenandcouldnotbeputback together until he washome. He was loved there,safe there. He would beinstantly surrounded in

affectionandwarmth.Except...“How would my mother

feel,” James whispered, “ifshe knew I had been senthome because of—she’llthinkit’sbecauseofher.”

His mother, with hergrave gray eyes and herflower-tender face, as quietas James and yet as ready

withwordsasFather. Jamesmight be a stain upon theworld, might be somethingthat would contaminategood Shadowhunterchildren. He was ready tobelieve it. But not Mother.Mother was kind, Motherwas lovely and loving,Mother was a wish come

true and a blessing on theearth.

James could not bear tothink how Mother wouldfeel if she thought she hadhurt him in any way. If hecould get through theAcademy, if he could makeherbelievetherewasnorealdifference to him, thatwouldspareherpain.

He wanted to go home.He did not want to faceanybodyattheAcademy.Hewasacoward.Buthewasnotenough of a coward that hewould run away from hisown suffering, and let hismothersufferforhim.

Youarenotacowardatall,saidUncle Jem. I rememberatime, when I was still James

Carstairs, when your motherlearned—as she thought then—that she could not havechildren. She was so hurt bythat. She thought herself sochanged, from all she hadthought shewas. I toldher therightmanwouldnotcare,andof course your father, the bestofmen,theonlyonefitforher,did not. I did not tell her . . . I

was a boy and did not knowhow to tell her, how hercourageinbearinguncertaintyofherveryselftouchedme.Shedoubted herself, but I couldnever doubt her. I could neverdoubt you now. I see the samecourageinyounow,asIsawinherthen.

James wept, scrubbinghis face againstUncle Jem’s

robes as if he were littlerthanLucie.HeknewMotherwas brave, but surelycouragedidnotfeellikethis;he had thought it would besomethingfine,notafeelingthat could tear you intopieces.

If you saw humanity as Ican see it,Uncle Jem said, awhisper in his mind, a

lifeline. There is very littlebrightness and warmth in theworldforme.Iamverydistantfrom you all. There are onlyfour points of warmth andbrightness,inthewholeworld,that burn fiercely enough forme to feel something like theperson I was. Your mother,your father, Lucie, and you.You love, and tremble, and

burn. Do not let any of themtell you who you are. You arethe flame that cannot be putout. You are the star thatcannotbelost.Youarewhoyouhave always been, and that isenoughandmorethanenough.Anyone who looks at you andseesdarknessisblind.

“Blinder than a SilentBrother?” James asked, and

hiccupped.UncleJemhadbeenmade

aSilentBrotherveryyoung,andstrangely:Heboreruneson his cheeks, but his eyes,though shadowed,were notstitched shut. Still, Jameswasneversurewhathesaw.

There was a laugh inJames’s mind, and he hadnotlaughed,soitmusthave

beenUncleJem.Jamesclungtohimforan instant longerand told himself he couldnot ask Uncle Jem to takehimhomeafterall,ortotheSilent City, or anywhere solong as Uncle Jem did notleave him in this academyfull of strangers who hadnever liked him and wouldhatehimnow.

Theywouldhavetobeevenblinder than a Silent Brother,Uncle Jem agreed. Because Ican see you, James. I willalwayslooktoyouforlight.

***

IfJameshadknownhowlifewould be at the Academyfromthenon,hewouldhave

askedUncleJemtotakehimhome.

HehadnotexpectedMikeSmith to leap to his feet instark horror when Jamesapproachedhistable.

“Comesitwithus,”calledClive Cartwright, one ofAlastair Carstairs’s friends.“You might be a mundie,

but at least you’re not amonster.”

Mike had fled gratefully.James had seen Esme flinchoncewhenhewalkedbyherinthehall.Hedidnotinflicthispresenceonheragain.

Itwouldnothavebeensobad,Jamesbelieved,ifithadbeen anywhere but theAcademy. These were

hallowed halls: This waswherechildrenweremoldedto Ascend or grew uplearningtoservetheAngel.

And this was a school,and this was how schoolsworked. James had readbooks about schools before,had read about someonebeing sent to Coventry, sonobodytalkedtothematall.

Heknewhowhatecouldrunlike wildfire through agroup, and that was onlyamong mundanes facingmundanestrangeness.

James was stranger thanany mundane could everdream, stranger than anyShadowhunter had believedpossible.

He moved out ofMatthew’s room, and downinto the dark.Hewas givenhisownroom,becauseeventhe mundanes were tooscared to sleep in the sameroom as him. Even DeanAshdown seemed afraid ofhim.Everybodywas.

They acted as if theywanted to cross themselves

whentheysawhim,buttheyknew he was worse than avampire and itwoulddonogood.Theyshudderedwhenhiseyesrestedonthem,asifhis yellow demon’s eyeswould burn a hole clearthroughtheirsouls.

Demon’seyes. Jamesheardit whispered again andagain.Hehadneverthought

he would long to be calledGoatface.

He never spoke toanyone, sat at the back ofclass, ate as quickly as hecould,andthenranawaysopeople did not have to lookat him while they ate theirmeals. He crept around theAcademy like a loathed andloathsomeshadow.

Uncle Jem had beenchanged into a SilentBrother because he wouldhave died otherwise. UncleJemhadaplaceintheworld,hadfriendsandahome,andthehorrorwasthathecouldnotbeintheplacewherehebelonged. Sometimes afterhis visits James would findhis mother standing at the

window, looking out at thestreet Uncle Jem had longdisappeared from, and hewould findhis father in themusic room staring at theviolinnobodybutUncleJemwasallowedtotouch.

That was the tragedy ofUncle Jem’s life; it was thetragedyofhisparents’lives.

But how would it be ifthere was nowhere in theworld that you belonged? Ifyoucouldgetnobodytoloveyou?What if you could notbe a Shadowhunter or awarlockoranythingelse?

Maybe then you wereworsethanatragedy.Maybeyouwerenothingatall.

James was not sleepingvery well. He kept slippingintosleepandthenstartlingawake, worried he wasslipping into that otherworld, a world of shadows,wherehewasnothingbutanevilshadeamongshades.Hedid not know how he haddone it before. He wasterrified it was going to

happenagain.Maybe everyone else was

hoping it would, though.Maybetheywereallprayinghewouldbecomeashadow,andsimplyslipaway.

***

James woke one morningand could not bear thedarkness and the feeling of

stone above his head,pressing down all aroundhim, for a moment longer.He staggered up the stairsandoutontothegrounds.

He was expecting it tostill be night, but the skywas bleached by morning,the stars turned invisibleagainstthenear-whiteofthesky. The only color to be

found in the sky was thedark gray of clouds, curlinglike ghosts around thefadingmoon. Itwas raininga little, cold pinpricksagainst James’s skin. He satdown on the stone step ofthe Academy’s back door,liftedapalmtothesky,andwatched the silvery rain

dash down into the hollowofhishand.

Hewishedtherainwouldwash him away, before hehad to face yet anothermorning.

He was watching hishandashewishedthat,andhe saw it happen then. Hefeltthechangecreepingoverhimand sawhishandgrow

darkly transparent. He sawthe raindrops pass throughtheshadowofhispalmasifitwasnotthere.

Hewonderedwhat Gracewouldthink,ifshecouldseehimnow.

Thenheheardthecrunchof feet running, poundingagainst the earth, and hisfather’s training made

James’sheadjerkuptoseeifanyonewasbeingchased, ifanyonewasindanger.

James saw MatthewFairchild running as if hewasbeingchased.

Astonishingly, he waswearing gear that he hadnot, as far as James knew,been threatened into. Evenmore astonishingly, he was

participating in degradingphysical exercise. He wasrunning faster than Jameshad seen anyone run intraining—maybefasterthanJames had ever seen anyonerun ever—and he wasrunning grimly, face set, intherain.

James watched him run,frowning, until Matthew

glanced up at the sky,stopped, and then begantrudging back to theAcademy. James thoughthewould be discovered for amoment, thought ofjumping up and racingaroundtoanothersideofthebuilding, but Matthew didnotmakeforthedoor.

Instead Matthew wentand stood against the stonewall of the Academy,strange and solemn in hisblack gear, blond hair wildwithwindandwetwithrain.Hetippedhis faceupto thesky, and he looked asunhappyasJamesfelt.

It made no sense.Matthew had everything,

had always had everything,while James now had lessthannothing.ItmadeJamesfurious.

“What’s wrong withyou?”Jamesdemanded.

Matthew’s whole bodyjerkedwithshock.Heswungto face James, and stared.“What?”

“Youmight have noticedlife is less than ideal formeat this time,” James saidbetween his teeth. “So giveupmakingatragicspectacleof yourself over nothing,and—”

Matthewwasnot leaningagainst thewall any longer,andJameswasnotsittingonthe step. They were both

standing up, and this wasnot a practice on thetraining grounds. Jamesthought they were reallygoing to fight; he thoughttheymight really hurt eachother.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,James Herondale,” Matthewsneered. “I forgot nobodycould do a single thing like

speak or breathe in thisplace without incurringyour extremely judgmentaljudgment.Imustbemakinga spectacle over nothing, ifyou sayso.By theAngel, I’dtrade places with you in asecond.”

“You’d trade places withme?”Jamesshouted.“That’srubbish, that’s absolute

swill,youwouldnever.Whywould you do that? Whywouldyouevensayit?”

“Maybe it’s the fact youhave everything I want,”Matthew snarled. “And youdon’tevenseemtowantit.”

“What?” James askedblankly. He was living inoppositesland,inwhichthesky was the earth and the

name of every day startedwith Y. It was the onlyexplanation. “What? Whatdo I have that you couldpossiblywant?”

“Theywillsendyouhomeanytimeyoulike,”Matthewsaid.“They’retryingtodriveyou away. And no matterwhat Ido, theywon’t chuck

me out. Not the Consul’sson.”

James blinked. Rainslithered down his cheeksand down the neck of hisshirt, but he hardly felt it.“Youwant...tobechuckedout?”

“I want to go home, allright?”Matthewsnapped.“Iwanttobewithmyfather!”

“What?” James saidblankly,onemoretime.

MatthewmightinsulttheNephilim, but no matterwhat he said he alwaysseemed to be having amarvelous time. James hadbelieved he was enjoyinghimself at the Academy, asJames himself could not.Jameshadnever thoughthe

might really be unhappy.He’d never even consideredUncleHenry.

Matthew’sfacetwistedasif he was going to cry. Hestaredoffdeterminedly intothe distance, and when hespokehisvoicewashard.

“You think Christopher’sbad, but my father is somuchworse,”Matthewsaid.

“A hundred times as bad asChristopher. A thousand.He’s been practicing beingterrible for much longerthan Christopher. He’s soabsentminded, and he can’t—hecan’twalk.Hecouldbeworking on some newdevice,orwritinga letter tohis warlock friend inAmericaaboutanewdevice,

or working out why someolddeviceliterallyexploded,and he would not notice ifhisownhairwasonfire.I’mnot exaggerating, I’m notmaking a joke—I have putoutfiresonmyownfather’shead. My mother is alwaysbusy, and Charles Buford isalwaysrunningafterherandacting superior. I’m the one

whotakescareofmyfather.I’m the one who listens tohim. I didn’t want to goaway to school and leavehim,andI’vebeendoingallIcan to get chucked out andgoback.”

I don’t take care of myfather.My father takes care ofme,Jameswantedtosay,buthefeareditmightbecruelto

saythat,whenMatthewhadnever had thatunquestioningsecurity.

It occurred to James thatone day there might be atimewhenhisfatherdidnotseem all-knowing, able tosolve everything and beanything.Thethoughtmadehimuncomfortable.

“You’vebeentryingtogetexpelled?” James asked. Hespokeslowly.Hefeltslow.

Matthew made animpatient gesture, as ifchopping invisible carrotswith an invisible knife.“That is what I’ve beentrying to tell you, yes. Butthey won’t. I have beendoingthebestimpressionof

the worst Shadowhunter inthe world, and yet theywon’t. What is wrong withthedean,Iaskyou?Doesshewantblood?”

“The best impression ofthe worst Shadowhunter,”James repeated. “So youdon’t—believe in all thatstuff about violence being

repulsive, and truth andbeautyandOscarWilde?”

“No, I do,”Matthew saidhastily. “I really like OscarWilde. And beauty andtruth. I do think it’snonsense that because weare born what we are, wecannot be painters or poetsor create anything—that allwe do is kill.My father and

Christopheraregeniuses,doyou know that? Realgeniuses. Like Leonardo daVinci. He was a mundanewho—”

“IknowwhoLeonardodaVinciis.”

Matthew glanced at himand smiled: it was TheSmile, gradual andilluminatingassunrise,and

James had the sinkingfeelingthathemightnotbeimmuneafterall.

“’Course you do, James,”saidMatthew.“ForgotwhoIwastalkingtoforamomentthere. Anyway, Christopherand my father are trulybrilliant. Their inventionshave already changed theway Shadowhunters

navigate theworld, thewaythey battle demons. And allShadowhunters everywherewill always look down onthem. They will never seewhat they do as valuable.And someone who wantedto write plays, to makebeautiful art, they wouldthrowaway likerefuse fromthestreets.”

“Do you—want that?”Jamesaskedhesitantly.

“No,” said Matthew. “Ican’t draw for toffee,actually. I certainly can’twrite plays. The less saidaboutmypoetrythebetter.Ido appreciate art, though.I’m an excellent spectator. IcouldspectateforEngland.”

“You could, um, be anactor,” James suggested.“When you talk everyonelistens. Especiallywhen youtellstories.”

AlsotherewasMatthew’sface, which would probably—go over well onstage orsomething.

“That’s a nice thought,”saidMatthew. “But I think I

wouldrathernotgetthrownoutofmyhomeandstillseemyfatheroccasionally.Also,Idothinkviolenceisterribleand pointless, but—I’mreally good at it. In fact, Ienjoyit.NotthatI’mlettingon to our teachers. I wish Iwasgood at something thatcould add beauty to theworldratherthanpaintingit

with blood, I really do, butthereyouhaveit.”

Heshrugged.James did not think they

weregoingtofightafterall,so he sat back down on thestep.Hefelthewantedasit-down. “I thinkShadowhunters can addbeauty to the world,” hesaid. “Imean, for one thing

—wesavelives.IknowIsaidit before, but it’s reallyimportant. The people wesave,anyoneof themcouldbe the next Leonardo daVinci,orOscarWilde,orjustsomeonewho is reallykind,who spreads beauty thatway. Or they might just besomeone who—someoneelseloves,likeyouloveyour

father. Maybe you’re rightthat Shadowhunters aremorelimited,thatwedonotget the full range ofpossibilities mundanes get,but—we get to make themundanes’ lives possible.That’swhatwe’rebornto. Itis a privilege. I’mnot goingto run away from theAcademy. I’m not running

away from anything. I canbearMarks, and thatmakesme a Shadowhunter, andthat’swhatIwillbewhetherthe Nephilim want me ornot.”

“You can be aShadowhunter withoutgoing to the Academy,though,” said Matthew.“You can be trained in an

Institute, like Uncle Willwas. That’s what I wanted,soIcouldstaywithFather.”

“I could. But—” Jameshesitated. “I didn’t want tobesenthome.Motherwouldhavetoknowwhy.”

Matthew was silent for alittle while. There wasnothingbutthesoundofthefallingrain.

“I like Aunt Tessa,” hesaid. “I never came toLondon because I worriedabout leaving Father. Ialways wished—she couldcometoIdrismoreoften.”

James had receivedseveral shocks thismorningthat were actually not sobad, but this revelationwasunwelcome and inevitable.

OfcourseMotherandFatherscarcely ever went to Idris.Of course James and LuciehadbeenraisedinLondon,alittle apart from theirfamilies.

Because there werepeople in Idris, there werearrogant Shadowhunterswho thought Mother wasnot worthy to walk among

them, and Father wouldnever have let her beinsulted.

Now it would be worse,now people would whisperthat she had passed on thetaint toherchildren.Peoplewould say horrible thingsabout Lucie, James knew—about his scribbling,laughing little sister. Lucie

could never be allowed tocometotheAcademy.

Matthew cleared histhroat. “I suppose I canunderstandallthat.MaybeIwill stop being so jealousthat you are able to getchucked out of school.MaybeIcanunderstandthatyour aims are noble.However, I still do not

understand why you mustmake it so clear you detestthe sight of me. I know, Iknow, you’re aloof and youwish to be alone withliterature all the time, butit’s particularly horriblewithme. It’s very lowering.Most people like me. I toldyouthat.Idon’tevenhavetotry.”

“Yes, you’re very good atShadowhunting andeverybody likes you,Matthew,” said James.“Thanksforclarifyingthat.”

“You don’t like me!”Matthew exclaimed. “I didtry with you! And you stilldon’t.”

“The thing is,” saidJames, “I tend to like very

modest people? Humble,youknow.”

Matthew paused,considered James for amoment,andthenburstoutlaughing.Jameswasamazedby how gratifying that was.It made him feel like hecouldletoutthehumiliatingtruth.

He closed his eyes andsaid:“Iwasjealousofyou.”

Whenheopenedhiseyes,Matthew looked wary, as ifexpectingatrick.“Ofwhat?”

“Well, you’re notconsidered an unholyabomination upon thisearth.”

“Yes, but—no offense,James—nobodybut you is,”

Matthew pointed out. “Youareouruniquefeatureintheschool, like a sculpture of awarrior chicken. If we hadone of those. You dislikedme before anybody knewyou were an unholyabomination, anyway.Well,I suppose you are simplytrying to sparemy feelings.Decentofyou.Iunder—”

“I’m not aloof,” saidJames. “I don’t know whereyougotthatidea.”

“All the aloofness, Ithink,”Matthewspeculated.

“I’m a swot,” said James.“I read books all the timeand I do not know how totalktopeople. If Iwasagirllivinginoldentimes,peoplewould call me a

bluestocking. Iwish I couldtalk to people like you do. Iwish Icouldsmileatpeopleand make them like me. Iwish I could tell a storyandhave everybody listen, andhave people follow mearound wherever I went.Well, no, I don’t, because Iam slightly terrified bypeople,butIwishIcoulddo

all that you cando, just thesame.Iwantedtobefriendswith Thomas andChristopher, because I likedthem and I thought maybethey were—similar to me,andtheymightlikemeback.YouwerejealousIcouldgetkicked out of school? I wasjealous of you first. I was

jealous of everything aboutyou,andIstillam.”

“Wait,” said Matthew.“Wait,wait,wait.Youdon’tlikemebecause Iamsoverycharming?”

He threw his head backand laughed. He keptlaughing. He laughed somuch that he had to comeand sit beside James on the

step, and then he laughedsomemore.

“Stopit,Matthew,”Jamesgrumbled. “Stop laughing. Iam sharing my innermostfeelings with you. This isveryhurtful.”

“I’ve been in a badmoodthis whole time,” saidMatthew. “You think I’m

charmingnow?Youhavenoidea.”

James punched him inthe arm. He could not helpsmiling. He saw Matthewnoticing, and looking verypleasedwithhimself.

***

Sometime later, Matthewushered James firmly into

breakfast and to their table,which James noticed wasonly Christopher andThomas, and a rather selecttableafterall.

ChristopherandThomas,in another surprise forJames in a morning full ofsurprises,seemedpleasedtoseehim.

“Oh, have you decidednot to detest Matthew anylonger?” Christopher asked.“I’msoglad.Youwerereallyhurtinghisfeelings.Thoughwe are not supposed to talkaboutthattoyou.”Hegazeddreamilyatthebreadbasket,as if it were a wonderfulpainting.“Iforgotthat.”

Thomas put his headdownonthetable.“Whyareyouthewaythatyouare?”

Matthew reached overand patted Thomas on theback, then rescuedChristopherfromsettinghisown sleeves on fire with acandle. He gave James thecandleandasmile.

“If you ever seeChristopher near an openflame, take him away fromit,ortakeitawayfromhim,”Matthew said. “Fight thegood fight with me. I mustbeeternallywatchful.”

“That must be difficult,when surrounded by, um,your adoring public,” saidJames.

“Well,” said Matthew,and paused, “it’s possible,”hesaid,andpausedagain,“Imay have been . . . slightlyshowing off? ‘Look, if youdon’twanttobefriendswithme,everybodyelsedoes,andyou are making a bigmistake.’ I may have beendoingthat.Possibly.”

“Is that over?” Thomasasked. “Thank the Angel.You know large crowds ofpeople make me nervous!You know I can never thinkofanythingtosaytothem!Iam not witty like you oraloof and above it all likeJames or living in cloudcuckoo land likeChristopher. I came to the

Academy to get away frombeing bossed bymy sisters,but my sisters make memuch less nervous thanbattering rams flyingthrough the air and partiesall the time. Can we pleasehave some peace and quietoccasionally!”

James stared at Thomas.“Does everybody think I’m

aloof?”“No,mostly people think

you’re an unholyabomination upon thisearth,” Matthew saidcheerfully.“Remember?”

Thomas looked ready toput his head back on thetable, but he cheered upwhenhe saw James had nottakenoffense.

“Why would that be?”Christopheraskedpolitely.

James stared. “Because Ican turn from flesh andblood into a ghastlyshadow?”

“Oh,” said Christopher.His dreamy lavender eyesfocused for a moment.“That’s very interesting,”hetold James, his voice clear.

“You should let me andUncle Henry performmanyexperiments on you. Wecould do an experimentrightnow.”

“No, we could not,” saidMatthew. “No experimentsat breakfast time. Add it tothelist,Christopher.”

Christophersighed.

Andjust likethat,as if itcouldalwayshavebeen thateasy, James had friends. Heliked Thomas andChristopherasmuchashe’dalwaysknownhewould.

Of all his new friends,though, he liked Matthewthe best. Matthew alwayswanted to talk about thebooksJameshadread,ortell

James a story as good as abook. He made obviousefforts to find James whenJames was not there, andobvious efforts to protectJames when he was there.James did not have manynice things to write lettershome about: he ended upwritinglettersthatwerefullofMatthew.

James knew Matthewprobably only felt sorry forhim. Matthew was alwayslooking after ChristopherandThomas,with the samepainstaking care he musthave lookedafterhis father.Matthewwaskind.

That was all right. Jameswould absolutely havewantedtosharearoomwith

Matthew, now itwas out ofthequestion.

“Why do people call youDemon Eyes, James?”Christopher asked one daywhen they were sittingaround a table studyingRagnor Fell’s accountof theFirstAccords.

“Because I have goldeneyes as if lit by eldritch

infernal fires,” James said.He had heard a girlwhispering that andthought it sounded ratherpoetic.

“Ah,” said Christopher.“Doyoulookatall likeyourgrandfatherasidefromthat?Thedemonicone,Imean.”

“You cannot simply askwhether people look like

their demon grandfather!”Thomas wailed. “Next youwill ask Professor Fell if helookslikehisdemonparent!Please, please do not askProfessorFellifhelookslikehis demon parent.He has acutting tongue. Also, hemightcutyouwithaknife.”

“Fell?” Christopherinquired.

“Our teacher,” saidMatthew. “Our greenteacher.”

Christopher lookedgenuinely astonished. “Wehave a teacher who isgreen?”

“James looks like hisfather,” said Matthewunexpectedly, thennarrowed his laughing dark

eyesinJames’sdirectioninamusingfashion.“Orhewill,whenhegrows intohis faceand it stops being anglespointing in all differentdirections.”

James slowly raised hisopen book to hide his face,buthewassecretlypleased.

Matthew’s friendshipmade other friends creep

forward,too.EsmecorneredJames and told him howsorryshewasthatMikewasbeingan idiot.Shealsotoldhim that she hoped Jamesdid not take this expressionof friendly concern in aromanticway.

“I have rather a tendressefor Matthew Fairchild,actually,” Esme added.

“Please put in a good wordformethere.”

Life was much, muchbetter now that he hadfriends, but that did notmean anything was perfect,orevenmended.Peoplewerestill afraid of him, stillhissing “Demon Eyes”andmuttering about uncleanshadows.

“Pulvis et umbra sumus,”saidJamesonce,outloudinclass,afterhearingtoomanywhispers. “My father saysthat sometimes.We are butdust and shadows. MaybeI’m just—getting a headstartonallofyou.”

Several people in theclassroom were lookingalarmed.

“What did he say?”MikeSmith whispered, clearlyagitated.

“It’s not a demonlanguage, buffoon,”Matthew snapped. “It’sLatin.”

Despite everythingMatthew could do, thewhispers rose and rose.

James kept expecting adisaster.

And then the demonswereletlooseinthewoods.

***

“I’ll be partners withChristopher,” said Thomasat their next trainingexercise,soundingresigned.

“Excellent, I will bepartners with James,” saidMatthew.“Heremindsmeofthe nobility of theShadowhunter way of life.He keeps me right. If I amparted from him I willbecome distracted by truthandbeauty.IknowIwill.”

Their teachers seemedextremely pleased that

Matthew was actuallyparticipating in trainingcoursesnow,aside fromthecoursesonlyfortheelites,inwhichThomasreportedthatMatthew was stilldeterminedtobehopeless.

James did not know whythe teachers were soworried. Itwasobviousthatas soon as anyone was

actually indanger,Matthewwouldleaptotheirdefense.

James was glad to be sosure of that, as theywalkedthrough thewoods. Itwasawindyday,anditseemedasif every tree was stoopingdowntohowlinhisear,andhe knew that Pyxis boxeshadbeenplacedthroughoutthewoodsbyolderstudents

—Pyxis boxes with thesmallest andmost harmlessof demons inside, but stillreal Pyxis boxes with realdemons inside, who theywere meant to fight. Pyxisboxeswerealittleoutmodedthese days, but they werestill sometimes used totransport demons safely. If

demonscouldeverbesaidtobesafe.

James’sauntElla,whohehad never seen, had beenkilled by a demon from aPyxis box when she wasyounger than James wasnow.

Allthetreesseemedtobewhisperingaboutdemons.

But Matthew was at hisside,andbothof themwerearmed. He could trusthimself to kill a small,almost powerless demon,and if he could trusthimself, he could trustMatthewmore.

Theywaited,andwalked,then waited. There was arustle among the trees: It

turned out to be acombination of wind and asinglerabbit.

“Maybe the upper yearsforgot to layoutourdemonbuffet,”Matthewsuggested.“It is a beautiful springtimeday.At such times as these,one’s thoughts are filledwith loveandblossoms,not

demons.Whoam I to judge—”

Matthew was abruptlyquiet. He clutched James’sarm, fingers tight, andJames stared down at whatMatthew had discovered intheheather.

It was Clive Cartwright,Alastair’s friend. He wasdead.

His eyes were open,staring intonothing,and inone hand he was clutchinganemptyPyxisbox.

JamesgrabbedMatthew’sarm and turned him in acircle, looking around,waiting. He could tell whathad happened: Let’s giveDemon Eyes a scare, ademon won’t hurt its own

kind, let’s chase him awayonce and for all with ademon larger than he wasexpecting.

He could not tell whatkind of demon it was, butthat question was answeredwhen the demon cametoward them through thewildwoods.

It was a Vetis demon, itsshapealmosthumanbutnotquite, dragging its gray,scaly body through thefallen leaves. James saw theeel-like heads on its armslifting, like the heads ofpointerdogsouthunting.

James slipped from skinto shadow without athought, like plunging into

water to rescuesomeone,aseasy as that. He ran unseenat the Vetis demon and,raising his sword, cleavedone questing head from itsarm. He turned to face thehead on the other arm. HewasgoingtocalltoMatthewbutwhenheglancedbackhesawMatthewclearly,despitethesparklinggraynessofthe

world.Matthew alreadyhadhis bow out, strung andraised. He could seeMatthew’s narrowed eyes,the determined focus thatalways lay behind thelaughter, and remainedwhen his laughter wasstrippedaway.

Matthew shot the Vetisdemon in the red-eyed,

sharp-toothed face that satatop its neck, just as Jamescut the other head from itsremaining arm. The demonlurched, then fell oversideways,twitching.

AndJamesracedthroughthe trees, through the windand the whispering, afraidof nothing, with Matthewrunning behind him. He

found Alastair and hisremaining friend, hidingbehindatree.Hecreptuptothem, a shadow among thewhirling shadows of wind-tossed trees, and held hisswordtoAlastair’sthroat.

While James wastouchingthesword,nobodycouldseeit.ButAlastairfelt

the sharpness of the bladeandgasped.

“We didn’t mean for anyof this to happen!” criedAlastair’s friend, lookingaround wildly. Alastair waswise enough to stay quiet.“ItwasClive’s idea—hesaidhe would finally get you toleave—he only meant toscareyou.”

“Who’s scared?” Jameswhispered, and the whispercame from nowhere. Heheardtheolderboysgaspinfear. “I’mnot the onewho’sscared.Ifyoucomeaftermeagain, I won’t be the onewhosuffers.Run!”

The pair that had oncebeen a trio stumbled away.James pressed one hand

aroundthehiltofhissword,against thebark of the tree,andwilledhimselfbackintoa world of solidity andsunshine. He foundMatthew looking at him.Matthewhadknown,all thetime,exactlywherehewas.

“Jamie,” Matthew said,sounding unsettled but

impressed. “That wasterrifying.”

“It’s James, for the lasttime,”saidJames.

“No,I’mcallingyouJamiefor a little while, becauseyou just displayed arcanepowerandcallingyouJamiemakesmefeelbetter.”

James laughed, shakily,and that made Matthew

smile. It did not occur tothem until later that astudent was dead, and theShadowhunters feared anddistrusted the demonic—that somebody would beblamed. James did notdiscover until the next daythat his parents had beeninformedof everything thathad transpired,and thathe,

James Herondale, was nowofficiallyexpelled.

***

They kept him in theinfirmary until his fathercame. They did not say thiswas because the infirmaryhadbarsonitsdoors.

Esme came and gaveJames a hug, and promised

to look him up when sheAscended.

Ragnor Fell entered, histread heavy, and for amoment James thought hewasgoingtobeaskedforhishomework. Instead Ragnorstoodoverhisbedandshookhishornedheadslowlyfromsidetoside.

“I waited for you to askme for help,” Ragnor toldhim.“Ithoughtperhapsyoumightmakeawarlock.”

“I never wanted to beanything but aShadowhunter,” James saidhelplessly.

Ragnor said, soundingdisgusted as usual: “YouShadowhuntersneverdo.”

Christopher and Thomasvisited.Christopherbroughta fruit basket, under themistaken impression thatJames was in the infirmarybecause he was unwell.Thomas apologized forChristopherseveraltimes.

James did not seeMatthew,however,untilhisfather arrived. Father did

not come on a mission tocharm the dean. His facewas grim as he escortedJames through the shininggray walls of the Academy,under the flaming colors ofthe stained-glass angel, forthe last time. He stalkeddown stairs and throughhalls as if defying someonetoinsultJames.

James knew nobody everwould, not in front ofFather. Theywouldwhisperbehindhis back,whisper inJames’s ear, his whole lifelong.

“Youshouldhavetoldus,Jamie,”saidFather.“ButJemexplainedtouswhyyoudidnot.”

“How is Mother?” Jameswhispered.

“ShecriedwhenJemtoldher, and said you were hersweet boy,” said Father. “Ibelieveshemaybeplanningto strangle you and thenbakeyouacakeafterward.”

“Ilikecake,”Jamessaidatlast.

Allthatsuffering,allthatnobly trying to spare her,and for what? Jamesthought, as he walked outthedooroftheAcademy.Hehad savedheronly amonthor two of pain. He hopedthat did notmean he was afailure:HehopedUncle Jemwould still think it wasworthwhile.

HesawMatthewstandingin the courtyard, hands inhis pockets, and brightenedup. Matthew had come tosaygood-bye,afterall.Itdidfeel worthwhile to havestayed, after all, to havemadeafriendlikethis.

“Are you expelled?”Matthewasked,whichJamesthoughtwasslightlyobtuse.

“Yes?”hesaid,indicatinghisfatherandhistrunk.

“I thought you were,”said Matthew, noddingvigorously so his much-brushedhairwenttumblingevery which way. “So I hadtoact.ButIwantedtomakeabsolutely certain. You see,James,thethingis—”

“Isn’t that AlastairCarstairs?” asked Father,perkingup.

Alastair did not meetJames’s eyes as he slunktoward him. He definitelydid not respond to Father’sbeaming smile. He seemedvery interested in theflagstonesofthecourtyard.

“I just wanted to say . . .sorry for everything,” hemumbled.“Goodluck.”

“Oh,” said James.“Thanks.”

“No hard feelings, oldsport,” saidMatthew. “As abitofa jollyprank, Iputallyourbelongingsinthesouthwing.Idon’tknowwhyIdid

that! Boyish high spirits, Isuppose.”

“You didwhat?” AlastairgaveMatthewaharriedlook,anddepartedatspeed.

Matthew turned toJames’s father anddramatically clasped hishand.

“Oh, Mr. Herondale!” hesaid. “Please take me with

you!”“It’s Matthew, isn’t it?”

Father asked. He tried todisengage his hand.Matthew clung to it withextremedetermination.

James smiled. He couldhave told Father aboutMatthew’sdetermination.

“You see,” Matthewproceeded, “I am also

expelled fromShadowhunterAcademy.”

“You got expelled?”Jamesasked.“When?Why?”

“In about four minutes,”Matthew said. “Because Ibrokemysolemnword,andexploded the south wing oftheAcademy.”

Jamesandhisfatherbothlooked at the southwing. It

stood, lookingasif itwouldstandforanothercentury.

“I hoped it would notcome to this, but it has. Igave Christopher certainmaterials that I knew hecouldturn intoexplosives. Imeasured them verycarefully, I made sure theywereslowacting,andImadeThomas swear to bring

Christopheraway.Ihaveleftanoteexplainingthatitwasall my fault, but I do notwish to explain this toMother.PleasetakemewithyoutotheLondonInstitute,soIcanbetaughthowtobea Shadowhunter withJames!”

“Charlottewillcutoffmyhead,”saidFather.

He sounded tempted,though. Matthew wassparkling wickedly up athim, and Father enjoyedwickedness. Besides which,hewas nomore immune toTheSmilethananyoneelse.

“Father, please,” Jamessaidinaquietvoice.

“Mr. Herondale, please!”said Matthew. “We cannot

be parted.” James bracedhimself for the explanationabout truth andbeauty, butinstead Matthew said, withdevastating simplicity: “Wearegoingtobeparabatai.”

Jamesstared.Fathersaid:“Oh,Isee.”Matthew nodded

encouragingly, and smiledencouragingly.

“Then nobody shouldcome between you,” saidFather.

“Nobody.” Matthewshook his head as he said“nobody,” then noddedagain. He looked seraphic.“Exactly.”

“Very well,” said Father.“Everybody get into thecarriage.”

“Father,youdidnotstealUncle Gabriel’s carriageagain,”saidJames.

“This is your time oftrouble. He would wantmeto have it, and he wouldhavegivenittomeifIaskedhim, which as it happens Ididnot,”saidFather.

He helped Matthew up,then heaved Matthew’s

trunk into place and tied itsecurely. He gave it apuzzled look as he did so.James imagined Matthew’strunk was significantlyheavierthanJames’s.

Thenhehelped Jamesupbeside Matthew, and thenswung himself up to sit onJames’s other side. He

grasped the reins and theywereoff.

“When the south wingcollapses, there could beflying debris,” Fatherremarked. “Any one of uscould be injured.” Hesoundedverycheerfulaboutthis. “Best to stop on ourwayhomeandseetheSilentBrothers.”

“That seems excessi—”Matthew began, but Jameselbowed him. Matthewwould learnhowFatherwasabout the Silent Brotherssoonenough.

Anyway, James did notfeelMatthew had a right tocharacterize anyone else’sbehavior as excessive, now

that he had blown up theAcademy.

“Iwas thinkingwe couldsplit our training timebetween the LondonInstitute and my house,”Matthew went on. “TheConsul’s house. Wherepeople cannot insult you,and can get used to seeingyou.”

Matthew had reallymeantitaboutbeingtrainedtogether,Jamesthought.Hehadworkeditallout.AndifJames was in Idris moreoften, he could perhaps seeGracemoreoften,too.

“I’dlikethat,”saidJames.“I know you’d like to seemoreofyourfather.”

Matthew smiled. Behindthem, the Academyexploded.Thecarriagejoltedslightlywiththeforceoftheimpact.

“Wedon’t . . . have to beparabatai,” Matthew said,his voice quiet under thesoundof theblast. “I said ittomakeyourfathertakemewithyou,so Icouldexecute

mynewplan,butwedon’t...haveto.Imean,unlessyou...maybewanttobe.”

James had thought hewantedafriendlikehimself,aparabataiwhowasshyandquietandwouldenter inonJames’s feelings about theterror of parties. InsteadherewasMatthew,whowasthe life and soul of every

party, who made dreadfulhairbrush decisions, whowas unexpectedly andterriblykind.Whohadtriedto be his friend and kepttrying, even though Jamesdidnotknowwhattryingtobeafriendlookedlike.Whocould see James, evenwhenhewasashadow.

“Yes,”Jamessaidsimply.

“What?” said Matthew,who always knew what tosay.

“I’dlikethat,”saidJames.He curled his hands, onearound his father’s coatsleeve, and one aroundMatthew’s. He held on tothem,allthewayhome.

Shadowhunter

ShadowhunterAcademy,2008

“So James foundaparabataiand everything worked outgreat,” Simon said. “That’sawesome.”

James was Tessa Gray’sson, Simon had realized, along way into the story. Itwasstrangetothinkofthat:

It seemed to bring that lostboy very close, he and hisfriend. Simon liked thesound of James. He’d likedTessa,too.

And though he wasstarting to get the feeling,evenwithout hismemories,that he hadn’t always likedJace Herondale—he likedhimnow.

Catarina rolled her eyesso hard Simon thought hecould hear them roll, liketiny, exasperated bowlingballs.

“No, Simon. TheAcademy drove JamesHerondale out for beingdifferent, and all the peoplewholovedhimcoulddowasfollow him out. The people

who drove them out didhave to rebuildpartof theirprecious Academy, mindyou.”

“Uh,”saidSimon.“Sorry,is themessage I’mmeant tobe learning ‘getout,getoutasfastasyoucan’?”

“Maybe,” Catarina said.“Maybe the message is totrust your friends. Maybe

the message is not thatpeople in thepastdidbadlybut that now we must allstrive to do better. Maybethe message is you have towork these things out foryourself. You think alllessons have easyconclusions? Don’t be achild,Daylighter.You’renotimmortal anymore. You

don’t have much time towaste.”

Simon took that as thedismissal it was, scoopingup his books. “Thanks forthestory,Ms.Loss.”

He ran down the stairsandoutoftheAcademy,buthe was too late, as he’dknownhewouldbe.

He was barely out of thedoorwhenhesawthedregs,filthyandtired,arminarm,lurching up from thetraining grounds. Marisolwasinfront,herarmloopedwithGeorge’s.Itlookedasifsomeone had tried to pulloutallherhair.

“Where were you,Lewis?” she called. “We

could have used youcheeringforusaswewon!”

Some way behind themwere the elites. Jon waslooking very unhappy,which filled Simon with adeepsenseofpeace.

Trust your friends,Catarinahadsaid.

Simon might speak upfor mundies in class, but it

mattered more that GeorgeandMarisolandSunilspokeuptoo.Simondidn’twanttochange things by being thespecial one, the exceptionalmundane, the formerDaylighter and formerhero.Theyhadallchosentocometry to be heroes. His fellowdregs could win withouthim.

There was one moremotiveCatarinamight havehad that she had notannounced,Simonthought.

She had heard this storyfromherdeadfriendRagnorFell.

Catarina had listened toher friend’s stories, thewayJames Herondale hadlistened to his father’s

stories.Beingabletotellthestories over again, havingsomeonetolistenandlearn,meant her friend was notlost.

Maybe he could write toClary, Simon thought, aswell as Isabelle. Maybe hecould trust her to love himdespite how often hemightfailher.Maybehewasready

to be told stories abouthimself and about her. Hedidn’t want to lose hisfriend.Simonwaswritinghisletterto Clary when George camein,towelinghishair.Hehadtaken his life in his handsand risked the showers inthedregs’bathroom.

“Hey,”Simonsaid.

“Hey, where were youwhile the game washappening?” George asked.“I thought you were nevercomingbackandI’dhavetobepalswithJonCartwright.Then I thought about beingpals with Jon, wasoverwhelmed with despair,and decided to find one ofthefrogsIknowarelivingin

here, give it little frogglasses and call it Simon2.0.”

Simonshrugged,notsurehowmuchhewassupposedto tell. “Catarina kept meafterclass.”

“Careful, or someonemight start rumors aboutyou two,” saidGeorge. “Notthat I would judge. She’s

obviously . . . ceruleanlycharming.”

“She was telling me along story aboutShadowhunters being jerksand about parabatai. Whatdo you think about thewhole parabatai thing,anyway? Theparabatai runeis like a friendship braceletyoucannevertakeback.”

“I think it sounds nice,”saidGeorge.“I’dlikethat,tohave someone who wouldalways watch my back.Someonewho I couldcounton at the times when thisscary world gets thescariest.”

“Makes it sound likethere’ssomeoneyou’dask.”

“I’d ask you, Si,” saidGeorge, with an awkwardlittlesmile.“ButIknowyouwouldn’t ask me. I knowwho you would ask. Andthat’sokay.I’vestillgotFrogSimon,” he addedthoughtfully. “Though I’mnot sure he’s exactlyShadowhuntermaterial.”

Simon laughed at thejoke, as George had meanthim to, smoothing over theawkwardmoment.

“Howweretheshowers?”“Ihaveonewordforyou,

Si,”saidGeorge.“Asad,sadword. Gritty. I had toshower,though.Iwasgross.Ourvictorywasamazingbuthard-won. Why are

Shadowhunters so bendy,Simon?Why?”

George kept complainingabout Jon Cartwright’senthusiastic if unskilledattemptsatplayingbaseball,butSimonwasnotlistening.

Iknowwhoyouwouldask.A flash of memory came

to Simon, as it didsometimes, cutting like a

knife. I love you, he’d toldClary.He’d said it believinghe was going to die. He’dwanted those to be his lastwords before he died, thetruestwordshecouldspeak.

He’d been thinking allthis time about his twopossible lives, but he didn’thave two possible lives. Hehad a real life, with real

memories and a real bestfriend.Hehadhischildhoodas it had actually been,holdinghandswithClaryasthey crossed the street, andthe last year as it hadactually been, with Jacesavinghis lifeandwithhimsaving Isabelle’s and withClary there, Clary, alwaysClary.

The other life, the so-called normal life withouthisbestfriend,wasafake.Itwas like a giant woventapestry portraying his life,scenesshowninthreadsthatwere all the colors of therainbow, except it had onecolor—one of the brightestcolors—rippedout.

Simon liked George, heliked all his friends at theAcademy, but he was notJames Herondale. He hadalready had friends beforehecamehere.

Friends to live and diefor, to have entangled withevery memory. The otherShadowhunters, especiallyClary, were a part of him.

She was the color that hadbeen ripped out, the brightthread woven through hisfirst memories to his last.Something was missingfromthepatternofSimon’slife, without Clary, and itwould never be right again,unlessshewasrestored.

My best friend, Simonthought. Another thing

worth living in this worldfor, worth being aShadowhunter for. Maybeshewouldn’twant to be hisparabatai. God knew Simonwas no prize. But if he gotthrough this school, if hemanaged to become aShadowhunter, he wouldhaveallthememoriesofhisbestfriendback.

Hecouldtryforthebondbetween Jace and Alec,between James Herondaleand Matthew Fairchild. Hecould ask if she wouldperformtheritualandspeakthe words that told theworld what was betweenyou, and that it wasunbreakable.

He could at least askClary.

Anewcoverwillberevealedeach

monthastheTalesfromthe

ShadowhunterAcademycontinue!

Continuetheadventuresofthe

ShadowhunterswithEmmaCarstairsandJulianBlackthornin

LadyMidnight

ThefirstbookinCassandraClare’s

newseries,TheDarkArtifices.

Emma took her witchlightoutofherpocketandlitit—and almost screamed outloud.Jules’sshirtwassoakedwith blood and worse, thehealing runes she’d drawnhadvanished fromhis skin.Theyweren’tworking.

“Jules,” she said. “I haveto call the Silent Brothers.Theycanhelpyou.Ihaveto.”

His eyes screwed shutwith pain. “You can’t,” hesaid.“Youknowwecan’tcallthe Silent Brothers. TheyreportdirectlytotheClave.”

“Sowe’ll lie to them. Sayit was a routine demonpatrol.I’mcalling,”shesaid,andreachedforherphone.

“No!” Julian said,forcefully enough to stop

her. “Silent Brothers knowwhenyou’relying!Theycanseeinsideyourhead,Emma.They’ll find out about theinvestigation. About Mark—”

“You’renotgoingtobleedtodeathinthebackseatofacarforMark!”

“No,” he said, looking ather. His eyes were eerily

blue-green, the only brightcolor in the dark interior ofthe car. “You’re going to fixme.”

Emma could feel itwhenJuleswashurt,likeasplinterlodged under her skin. Thephysical pain didn’t botherher; it was the terror, theonly terror worse than herfearoftheocean.Thefearof

Jules being hurt, of himdying. She would give upanything, sustain anywound, to prevent thosethingsfromhappening.

“Okay,” she said. Hervoice sounded dry and thintoherownears.“Okay.”Shetook a deep breath. “Hangon.”

She unzipped her jacket,threw it aside. Shoved theconsole between the seatsaside,putherwitchlightonthe floorboard. Then shereached for Jules. The nextfew seconds were a blur ofJules’s blood on her handsand his harsh breathing asshe pulled him partlyupright, wedging him

against the back door. Hedidn’t make a sound as shemoved him, but she couldsee him biting his lip, theblood on his mouth andchin, and she felt as if herbones were popping insideherskin.

“Your gear,” she saidthrough gritted teeth. “Ihavetocutitoff.”

He nodded, letting hishead fall back. She drew adaggerfromherbelt,butthegear was too tough for theblade. She said a silentprayer and reachedback forCortana.

Cortanawentthroughthegear like a knife throughmeltedbutter.ItfellawayinpiecesandEmmadrewthem

free, then sliced down thefront of his T-shirt andpulleditapartasifshewereopeningajacket.

Emma had seen bloodbefore, often, but this feltdifferent.ItwasJulian’s,andthereseemedtobealotofit.Itwassmearedupanddownhis chest and rib cage; shecould see where the arrow

had gone in and where theskin had torn where he’dyankeditout.

“Why did you pull thearrow out?” she demanded,pullinghersweateroverherhead.Shehada tank toponunder it. She patted hischest and side with thesweater, absorbing asmuchofthebloodasshecould.

Jules’sbreathwascomingin hard pants. “Becausewhen someone—shoots youwithanarrow—”hegasped,“yourimmediateresponseisnot—‘Thanks for the arrow,I think I’ll keep it for awhile.’”

“Goodtoknowyoursenseofhumorisintact.”

“Is it still bleeding?”Julian demanded. His eyeswereshut.

She dabbed at the cutwithher sweater.Thebloodhad slowed, but the cutlooked puffy and swollen.The rest ofhim, though—ithadbeenawhilesinceshe’dseen himwith his shirt off.Therewasmoremusclethan

she remembered. Leanmusclepulledtightoverhisribs, his stomach flat andlightlyridged.Cameronwasmuch more muscular, butJulian’s spare lines were aselegant as a greyhound’s.“You’re too skinny,” shesaid. “Toomuch coffee, notenoughpancakes.”

“I hope they put that onmy tombstone.” He gaspedas she shifted forward, andshe realized abruptly thatshe was squarely in Julian’slap, her knees around hiships. It was a bizarrelyintimateposition.

“I—am I hurting you?”sheasked.

He swallowed visibly.“It’s fine.Trywith the iratzeagain.”

“Fine,”shesaid.“Grabthepanicbar.”

“The what?” He openedhiseyesandpeeredather.

“The plastic handle! Upthere, above the window!”Shepointed.“It’sforholding

on towhen the car is goingaroundcurves.”

“Are you sure? I alwaysthought it was for hangingthings on. Like drycleaning.”

“Julian,nowisnotthetimetobepedantic.GrabthebarorIswear—”

“All right!” He reachedup, grabbed hold of it, and

winced.“I’mready.”She nodded and set

Cortana aside, reaching forher stele. Maybe herpreviousiratzeshadbeentoofast, too sloppy. She’dalways focused on thephysical aspects ofShadowhunting, not themore mental and artistic

ones: seeing throughglamours,drawingrunes.

Shesetthetipofittotheskin of his shoulder anddrew, carefully and slowly.Shehadtobraceherselfwithher left hand against hisshoulder. She tried to pressas lightly as she could, butshe could feel him tenseunder her fingers. The skin

onhisshoulderwassmoothand hot under her touch,andshewantedtogetclosertohim,toputherhandoverthe wound on his side andheal it with the sheer forceofherwill.Totouchherlipsto the lines of pain besidehiseyesand—

Stop.Shehadfinishedtheiratze.Shesatback,herhand

clamped around the stele.Julian sat up a littlestraighter, the raggedremnants of his shirthanging off his shoulders.He took a deep breath,glancing down at himself—and the iratze faded backinto his skin, like black icemelting, spreading, beingabsorbedbythesea.

He looked up at Emma.She could see her ownreflection in his eyes: shelooked wrecked, panicked,with blood on her neck andherwhitetanktop.“Ithurtsless,”hesaidinalowvoice.

The wound on his sidepulsed again; blood sliddown the side of his ribcage, staining his leather

beltandthewaistbandofhisjeans.Sheputherhandsonhis bare skin, panic risingup inside her. His skin felthot,toohot.Feverhot.

“I have to call,” shewhispered. “I don’t care ifthe whole world comesdown around us, Jules, themostimportantthingisthatyoulive.”

“Please,” he said,desperation clear in hisvoice. “Whatever ishappening, we’ll fix it,because we’re parabatai.We’re forever. I said that toyou once, do youremember?”

She nodded warily, handonthephone.

“And the strength of arune your parabatai givesyou is special. Emma, youcan do it. You can healme.We’re parabatai and thatmeans the thingswecandotogether are . . .extraordinary.”

There was blood on herjeans now, blood on herhandsandhertanktop,and

he was still bleeding, thewound still open, anincongruous tear in thesmoothskinallaroundit.

“Try,” Jules said in a drywhisper.“Forme,try?”

Hisvoicewentupon thequestionand in itsheheardthe voice of the boy he hadbeen once, and sheremembered him smaller,

skinnier, younger, backpressed against one of themarble columns in the HallofAccordsinAlicanteashisfatheradvancedonhimwithhisbladeunsheathed.

And she rememberedwhat Julian had done, then.Done to protect her, toprotect all of them, because

he always would doeverythingtoprotectthem.

Shetookherhandoffthephoneandgrippedthestele,sotightlyshefeltitdigintoher damp palm. “Look atme, Jules,”shesaid ina lowvoice, and he met her eyeswithhis.Sheplacedthesteleagainst his skin, and for amoment she held still, just

breathing, breathing andremembering.

Julian.A presence in herlife for as long as she couldremember, splashing waterat each other in the ocean,digging in the sandtogether, him putting hishand over hers and themmarveling at the differencein the shape and length of

theirfingers.Juliansinging,terribly and off-key, whilehe drove, his fingers in herhair carefully freeing atrapped leaf, his handscatchingher in the trainingroomwhenshefell,andfell,and fell.The first timeaftertheir parabatai ceremonywhen she’d smashed herhand into a wall in rage at

notbeingabletogetaswordmaneuver right, and he’dcome up to her, taken herstill-shaking body in hisarms and said, “Emma,Emma, don’t hurt yourself.Whenyoudo,Ifeelit,too.”

Something in her chestseemed to split and crack;she marveled that it wasn’taudible. Energy raced along

her veins, and the stelejerked in her hand before itseemed tomoveon itsown,tracing the graceful outlineof a healing rune acrossJulian’schest.Sheheardhimgasp, his eyes flying open.Hishandsliddownherbackand he pressed her againsthim,histeethgritted.

“Don’tstop,”hesaid.

Emma couldn’t havestopped if she’d wanted to.The stele seemed to bemoving of its own accord;she was blinded withmemories,akaleidoscopeofthem,allofthemJulian.SuninhereyesandJulianasleepon the beach in an old T-shirtandhernotwantingtowake him, but he’d woken

anyway when the sun wentdown and looked for herimmediately,notsmilingtillhis eyes found her and heknew she was there. Fallingasleep talking and wakingup with their handsinterlocked; they’d beenchildreninthedarktogetheronce but now they weresomething else, something

intimate and powerful,something Emma felt shewas touching only the veryedge of as she finished therune and the stele fell fromhernervelessfingers.

“Oh,”shesaidsoftly.Theruneseemedlitfromwithinbyasoftglow.

AbouttheAuthors

Cassandra Clare is theauthor of the #1 New YorkTimes, USA TODAY, WallStreet Journal, and PublishersWeekly bestselling MortalInstruments series and theInfernalDevicestrilogy,andcoauthor of the BaneChronicles with Sarah Rees

Brennan and MaureenJohnson. She alsowroteTheShadowhunter's Codex withher husband, Joshua Lewis.Herbookshavemorethan35million copies in printworldwide and have beentranslated into more thanthirty-five languages.Cassandra lives in westernMassachusetts. Visit her at

CassandraClare.com. LearnmoreabouttheworldoftheShadowhunters atShadowhunters.com.

SarahReesBrennan is theauthor of the criticallyacclaimed Unspoken. Thefirst book of her Demon’sLexiconseriesreceivedthreestarred reviews and was an

ALA Top Ten Best Book forYoungAdults.UnspokenandTeam Human, a novelcowritten with JustineLarbalestier, were YALSABest Fiction for YoungAdults picks and TAYSHASpicks. Visit her atSarahReesBrennan.com.

MEETTHEAUTHORS,WATCHVIDEOSANDMOREAT

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Rees-Brennan

AlsobyCassandraClare

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CityofAshes

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CityofHeavenlyFire

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MaureenJohnson

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Academy

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