“I see that.” Zara’s mouth was set into a little smile, a look that never seemed to leave her face. She swept a glance over Cristina and put her hand on Diego’s shoulder. “Come back inside,” she said. “We’re figuring out what grids we’re going to search today. You know this area well. Time to help out. Tick, tick.” She tapped her watch.

Diego looked once at Cristina, then turned back to his fiancée. “All right.”

With a last superior glance, Zara slipped her hand into Diego’s and half-dragged him back toward the Institute. Cristina watched them go, the coffee she had drunk roiling in her stomach like acid.

*

To Emma’s disappointment, the Centurions refused to allow any of the Blackthorns to accompany them on the search for Malcolm’s body. “No, thanks,” said Zara, who appeared to have appointed herself unofficial head of the Centurions. “We’ve trained for this, and dealing with less experienced Shadowhunters on this kind of mission is just distracting.”

Emma glared at Diego, who was standing next to Zara. He looked away.

They were gone almost all day, returning in time for dinner, which the Blackthorns wound up making. It was spaghetti—lots of spaghetti. “I miss the vampire pizza,” Emma muttered, glaring at an enormous bowl of red sauce.

Julian snorted. He was standing over a pot of boiling water; the steam rose and curled his hair into damp ringlets. “Maybe they’ll at least tell us if they found anything.”

“I doubt it,” said Ty, who was preparing to set the table. It was an activity he’d enjoyed since he was little; he loved setting up each utensil in precise and even repeated order. Livvy was helping him; Kit had skulked off and was nowhere to be found. He seemed to resent the intrusion of the Centurions more than anyone else. Emma couldn’t really blame him—he’d barely been adjusting to the Institute as it was, when in swept these people whose needs he was expected to cater to.

Ty was mostly right. Dinner was a large, lively affair; Zara had somehow managed to wedge herself in at the head of the table, ousting Diana, and gave them an abbreviated account of the day—sections of ocean had been searched, nothing significant found, though trace elements of dark magic indicated a point farther out in the ocean where sea demons clustered. “We’ll approach it tomorrow,” she said, elegantly forking up spaghetti.

“How are you searching?” Emma asked, her eagerness to know more about advanced Shadowhunting techniques outweighing her dislike of Zara. After all, as Cristina had said earlier, the situation wasn’t really Zara’s fault; it was Diego’s. “Do you have special gear?”

“Unfortunately, that information is proprietary to the Scholomance,” Zara said with a cool smile. “Even for someone who’s supposed to be the best Shadowhunter of her generation.”

Emma flushed and sat back in her chair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know how people talk about you in Idris,” said Zara. Her tone was careless, but her hazel eyes were dagger points. “Like you’re the new Jace Herondale.”

“But we still have the old Jace Herondale,” said Ty, puzzled.

“It’s a saying,” Julian said, in a low voice. “It means, like, someone just as good.”

Normally he would have said, I’ll draw it for you, Ty. Visual representations of sometimes-confusing expressions, like “he laughed his head off” or “the best thing since sliced bread” resulted in hilarious drawings by Julian with explanatory notes about the real meaning of the expression underneath.

The fact that he didn’t say it made Emma look at him a little more sharply. His hackles were up because of the Centurions, not that she blamed him. When Julian didn’t trust someone, all his protective instincts kicked into gear: to hide Livvy’s love of computers, Ty’s unusual way of processing information, Dru’s horror movies. Emma’s rule breaking.

Julian raised his glass of water with a brilliantly artificial smile. “Shouldn’t all Nephilim information be shared? We fight the same demons. If one branch of Nephilim has an advantage, isn’t that unfair?”

“Not necessarily,” said Samantha Larkspear, the female half of the twin Centurions Emma had met the day before. Her brother’s name was Dane; they shared the same thin, whippety faces, pale skin, and straight dark hair. “Not everyone has the training to use every tool, and a weapon you don’t know how to wield is wasted.”

“Everyone can learn,” said Mark.

“Then perhaps one day you will attend the Scholomance and be trained,” said the Centurion from Mumbai. Her name was Divya Joshi.

“It’s unlikely the Scholomance would accept someone with faerie blood,” said Zara.

“The Clave is hidebound,” said Diego. “That is true.”

“I dislike the word ‘hidebound,’?” said Zara. “What they are is traditional. They seek to restore the separations between Downworlders and Shadowhunters that have always been in place. Mixing creates confusion.”

“I mean, look at what’s happened with Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane,” said Samantha, waving her fork. “Everyone knows that Magnus uses his influence with the Lightwoods to get the Inquisitor to let Downworlders off the hook. Even for things like murder.”

“Magnus would never do that,” Emma said. She’d stopped eating, though she’d been starving when they’d sat down.

“And the Inquisitor doesn’t try Downworlders—only Shadowhunters,” said Julian. “Robert Lightwood couldn’t ‘let Downworlders off the hook’ if he wanted to.”

“Whatever,” said Jessica Beausejours, a Centurion with a faint French accent and rings on all her fingers. “The Downworlder-Shadowhunter Alliance will be shut down soon enough.”

“No one’s shutting it down,” said Cristina. Her mouth was a tight line. “That’s a rumor.”

“Speaking of rumors,” said Samantha, “I heard Bane tricked Alec Lightwood into falling in love with him using a spell.” Her eyes glittered, as if she couldn’t decide if she found the idea appealing or disgusting.

“That’s not true,” said Emma, her heart beating fast. “That is a lie.”

Manuel raised an eyebrow at her. Dane laughed. “I wonder what will happen when it wears off, in that case,” he said. “Bad news for Downworlders if the Inquisitor’s not so friendly.”

Ty looked bewildered. Emma could hardly blame him. None of Zara’s circle seemed to care about facts. “Didn’t you hear Julian?” he said. “The Inquisitor doesn’t supervise cases where Downworlders have broken the Accords. He doesn’t—”

Livvy put her hand on his wrist.

“We all support the Accords here,” said Manuel, leaning back in his chair.

“The Accords were a fine idea,” said Zara. “But every tool needs sharpening. The Accords require refining. Warlocks should be regulated, for instance. They are too powerful, and too independent. My father plans to suggest a registry of warlocks to the Council. Every warlock must give their information to the Clave and be tracked. If successful, it will be expanded to all Downworlders. We can’t have them running around without us being able to keep tabs on them. Look what happened with Malcolm Fade.”

“Zara, you sound ridiculous,” said Jon Cartwright, one of the older Centurions—about twenty-two, Emma would have guessed. Jace and Clary’s age. The only thing Emma could remember about him was that he had a girlfriend, Marisol. “Like an ancient Council member, afraid of change.”

“Agreed,” said Rayan. “We’re students and fighters, not lawmakers. Whatever your father may be doing, it’s not relevant to the Scholomance.”

Zara looked indignant. “It’s just a registry—”

“Am I the only one who’s read X-Men and realizes why this is a bad idea?” said Kit. Emma had no idea when he’d reappeared, but he had, and was idly twirling pasta on his fork.

Zara began to frown, then brightened. “You’re Kit Herondale,” she said. “The lost Herondale.”

“I didn’t realize I was lost,” said Kit. “I never felt lost.”

“It must be exciting, suddenly finding out you’re a Herondale,” Zara said. Emma restrained the urge to point out that if you didn’t know much about Shadowhunters, finding out you were a Herondale was about as exciting as finding out you were a new species of snail. “I met Jace Herondale once.”