Drusilla looked at him with cartoon hearts in her eyes. “That’s beautiful.”

Mark rolled his eyes. He was clearly not a member of the Perfect Diego Appreciation Society.

“That’s very touching,” said Emma. “Now talk. What do you know?”

Julian glanced at her. She seemed like Emma, ordinary Emma, sharp and encouraging and tough and normal. She even smiled at him quickly before turning her attention back to Diego. Julian listened, half his brain recording Diego’s story. The other half was in chaos.

For the past five years he had walked a narrow rockway above the ocean, falling away sheer on either side to a boiling cauldron. He had kept his balance by keeping his secrets.

Mark had forgiven him. But it wasn’t just Mark he’d lied to. Lying to your parabatai . . . It wasn’t forbidden, but most parabatai didn’t. They didn’t need or want to conceal things. That he’d concealed so much from Emma must have shocked her. He gazed at her face covertly, trying to read the signs of shock or anger. But he could tell nothing; her face was maddeningly unreadable as Diego launched into his story.

When Diego explained that he had come to the Institute when he arrived in Los Angeles, and that Uncle Arthur had chased him off, telling him he didn’t want non-Blackthorns interfering in Blackthorn problems, Livvy raised a questioning hand. “Why would he do that?” she said. “Uncle Arthur doesn’t like strangers, but he’s not a liar.”

Emma glanced away from her. Julian felt his stomach tighten. His secrets, still a burden.

“A lot of Shadowhunters of the older generation don’t trust Centurions,” he said. “The Scholomance was closed in 1872, and Centurions no longer trained. You know how adults are about things they didn’t grow up with.”

Livvy shrugged, looking mildly placated. Ty was scribbling in his notebook. “Where did you go after that, Diego?”

“He met Johnny Rook,” said Cristina. “And Rook tipped him off about the Sepulchre, just like he did with Emma.”

“I went there immediately,” Diego said. “I’d been waiting days in the alleys behind the bar.” His eyes flicked to Cristina. Julian wondered with a sort of distant cynicism if it was as obvious to everyone else as it was to him that Diego had done everything he did because of Cristina—that if he hadn’t been in a panic over her welfare, it was unlikely he would have rushed to the Sepulchre and spent days watching the place to see what would happen. “Then I heard a girl screaming.”

Emma sat up straight. “We didn’t hear that.”

“I think it was before you arrived,” said Diego. “I followed the sound and saw a group of Followers, including Belinda—though I didn’t know who they were then—attacking a girl. Slapping her, spitting on her. There were chalk protective circles drawn on the ground. I saw that symbol—the lines of water under the sign for fire. I had seen it at the Market. An old, old sign for resurgence.”

“Resurgence,” echoed Ty. “Necromancy?”

Diego nodded. “I fought off the Followers, but the girl got away. Ran to her car.”

“That was Ava?” Emma guessed.

“Yes. She saw me and raced off. I followed her to her house, managed to convince her to tell me everything she knew about the Midnight Theater, the Followers, the Lottery. It wasn’t much, but I learned that she had been chosen by the Lottery. That she had been the one who killed Stanley Wells, knowing that if she didn’t, she would be tortured and killed herself.”

“She told you everything?” Livvy said in amazement. “But they’re sworn to secrecy.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know why she took me into her confidence—”

“Seriously, dude?” Emma said. “Do you not own any mirrors?”

“Emma!” hissed Cristina.

“She’d murdered him a few days before. She was already torn apart by guilt. She’d shown up in the alley because she wanted to see his body. She said an odd thing about the chalk circles—that they were useless, there to mislead. Very little she was saying made sense.” He frowned. “I told her I would protect her. I slept on her porch. The next day she demanded I leave. She said she wished to be with the Guardian and the other Followers. That it was her place. She insisted I go, so I went. I returned to the Market, bought weaponry from Johnny Rook. When I came back to Ava’s that night, she was dead. She had been choked and drowned in the pool, her hand sliced off.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on with the hands,” said Emma. “Ava was missing one hand and was killed; Belinda was missing a hand but they let her live, and she cut off both Sterling’s hands after he died.”

“Maybe they’re proof to the Guardian that someone’s dead,” said Livvy. “Like the Huntsman bringing back Snow White’s heart in a box.”

“Or maybe they’re part of the spell,” said Diego, with a frown. “Ava and Belinda were missing their dominant hands—perhaps Belinda didn’t know which was Sterling’s, so she took both.”

“A piece of the killer to go with the sacrifice?” Julian said. “We’re going to need to dig more deeply into the necromancy section of the library.”

“Yes,” said Diego. “I wished I had access to your library after I found Ava Leigh dead. I had failed in my duty to protect a mundane who needed my help. I swore I would find out who had done it. I waited on her roof—”