The horses were a glimmering bronze in color, and their riders were bronze-skinned and bronze-haired, wearing half masks of gleaming metal. They were beautiful, bizarre and unearthly, entirely out of place in the shadows of the bridge as the water taxis skated by and the road above hummed with traffic.

They were clearly faeries, but nothing like the ones Kit had seen before in the Shadow Market. They were taller and bigger, and they were armed, despite the edicts of the Cold Peace. Each wore a massive sword at his waist.

“Nephilim,” said one, in a voice that sounded like glaciers breaking apart. “I am Eochaid of the Seven Riders, and these are my brothers Etarlam and Karn. Where is the Black Volume?”

“The Black Volume?” Livvy echoed. The three of them had squeezed tighter against the wall of the path. Kit noticed people giving them odd glances as they passed by, and he knew they looked as if they were staring at nothing.

“Yes,” said Etarlam. “Our King seeks it. You will give it up.”

“We don’t have it,” said Ty. “And we don’t know where it is.”

Karn laughed. “You are but children, so we are inclined to be lenient,” he said. “But understand this. The Riders of Mannan have done the bidding of the Unseelie King for a thousand years. In that time many have fallen to our blades, and we have spared none for any reason, not for age or weakness or infirmity of body. We will not spare you now.” He leaned over the mane of his horse, and Kit saw for the first time that the horse had a shark’s eyes, inky and flat and deadly. “Either you know where the Black Volume is, or you will make useful prisoners to tempt those who do. Which will it be, Shadowhunters?”

23

SKIES OF FIRE

“I win again.” Jaime threw down his cards: all hearts. He grinned triumphantly at Dru. “Don’t feel bad. Cristina used to say I had the devil’s luck.”

“Wouldn’t the devil have bad luck?” Dru didn’t mind losing to Jaime. He always seemed pleased, and she didn’t care one way or the other.

He’d slept on the floor at the side of her bed the night before, and when she’d woken up, she’d rolled over and looked down at him, her chest full of happiness. Asleep, Jaime looked vulnerable, and more like his brother, though she thought now that he was better-looking than Diego.

Jaime was a secret, her secret. Something important she was doing, whether the others knew it or not. She knew he was on an important mission, something he couldn’t talk much about; it was like having a spy in her room, or a superhero.

“I will miss you,” he said frankly, linking his fingers together and stretching out his arms like a cat stretching in the sun. “This is the most fun, and the most rest, I have had in a long time.”

“We can stay friends after this, right?” she said. “I mean, when you’re done with your mission.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be done.” A shadow crossed his face. Jaime was much quicker of mood than his brother: He could be happy, then sad, then thoughtful, then laughing in a five-minute period. “It could be a long time.” He looked at her sideways. “You may come to resent me. I’ve made you keep secrets from your family.”

“They keep secrets from me,” she said. “They think I’m too young to know anything.”

Jaime frowned. Dru felt a little pinch of worry—they’d never discussed how old she was; why would they have? Usually, though, people thought she was at least seventeen. Her curves were bigger than other girls’ her age, and Dru was used to boys staring at them.

So far Jaime hadn’t stared, at least not the way other boys did, as if they had a right to her body. As if she ought to be grateful for the attention. And she’d discovered she desperately didn’t want him to know she was only thirteen.

“Well, Julian does,” she went on. “And Julian’s pretty much in charge of everything. The thing is, when we were all younger, we were all just ‘the kids.’ But after my parents died, and Julian basically brought us all up, we split into groups. I got labeled ‘younger’ and Julian was suddenly older, like a parent.”

“I know what that is like,” he said. “Diego and I used to play like puppies when we were children. Then he grew up and decided he had to save the world and started ordering me around.”

“Exactly,” she said. “That’s exactly right.”

He reached down to pull his duffel bag onto the bed. “I can’t stay much longer,” he said. “But before I go—I have something for you.”

He pulled a laptop computer out of the bag. Dru stared at him—he wasn’t going to give her a laptop, was he? He flipped it open, a grin spreading across his face. It was a Peter Pan sort of grin, one that said that he would never be done with mischief. “I downloaded The House That Dripped Blood,” he said. “I thought we could watch it together.”

Dru clapped her hands together and scrambled up onto the mattress beside him. He scooted over, giving her plenty of room. She watched him as he tilted the screen toward them so they could both see. She could read the words that curled up his arm, though she didn’t know what they meant. La sangre sin fuego hierve.

“And yes,” he said, as the first images began to unroll across the screen. “I hope we will in the future be friends.”

*

“Jules,” Emma said, leaning against the wall of the church. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Doesn’t there seem something kind of sacrilegious about burning down a church?”

“It’s abandoned. Unhallowed.” Julian pushed his jacket sleeves up. He was marking himself with a Strength rune, neatly and precisely, on the inside of his forearm. Behind him Emma could see the curve of the bay, the water dashing itself in blue curls against the shore.

“Still—we respect all religions. Every religion tithes to Shadowhunters. That’s how we live. This seems—”

“Disrespectful?” Julian smiled with little humor. “Emma, you didn’t see what I saw. What Malcolm did. He ripped apart the fabric of what made this church a hallowed place. He spilled blood, and then his blood was spilled. And when a church becomes a slaughterhouse like that, it’s worse than if it was some other kind of building.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Remember what Valentine did with the Mortal Sword? When he took it from the Silent City?”

Emma nodded. Everyone knew the story. It was part of Shadowhunter history. “He changed its alliance from seraphic to infernal. Changed it from good to evil.”

“And this church has been changed too.” He craned his head back to look up at the tower. “As sacrosanct a place as it once was, it’s that unholy now. And demons will keep being attracted to it, and keep coming through, and they won’t stay put here—they’ll come to the village. They’ll be a danger to the mundanes who live there. And to us.”

“Tell me this isn’t just you wanting to burn down a church because you want to make a statement.”

Julian smiled at her blandly—the sort of smile that made everyone love him and trust him, that made him seem harmless. Forgettable even. But Emma saw through it to the razor blades beneath. “I don’t think anyone wants to hear any statements I have to make.”

Emma sighed. “It’s a stone building. You can’t just draw a Fire rune on it and expect it to go up like matches.”

He looked at her levelly. “I remember what happened in the car,” he said. “When you healed me. I know what a rune that’s made when we draw on each other’s energy can do.”

“You want my help for this?”

Julian turned so he was facing the wall of the church, a gray sheet of granite, punctuated by boarded-up windows. Grass grew out of control around their feet, starred with dandelions. In the far distance Emma could hear the cries of children on the beach.

He reached out with his stele and drew on the stone of the wall. The rune flickered, tiny flames lapping at its edge. Fire. But the flames died down quickly, absorbed into the stone.

“Put your hands on me,” Julian said.

“What?” Emma wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.