The blade came down. The demon shrieked and flinched back—and arms were suddenly around Kit, dragging him backward.

It was Diana. She was half-drenched in blood, some human and some demon. She seized hold of Kit’s arm, pulling him back toward the stairs, the Institute.

“I’m fine—I don’t need help—” he panted, wrenching at her grip.

She plucked Adriel out of his hand and threw it toward Diego, who caught the blade and spun to drive it into the thick body of a jellyfish demon, bringing his ax down with the other hand. It was very impressive, but Kit was too angry to care.

“I don’t need help!” he shouted again, as Diana hauled him up the steps. “I don’t need to be saved!”

She spun him around to look at her. One of her sleeves was bloody, and there was a red mark on her throat where her necklace had been ripped away. But she was as imperious as always. “Maybe you don’t,” she said. “But the Blackthorns do, and you are going to help them.”

Stunned, Kit stopped fighting. Diana let go of him and shouldered the doors of the Institute open, stalking inside; after one last glance back, he followed.

*

The moments after Julian seized Erec and put his knife to his throat were chaotic. Several of the faeries near the pavilion howled; the knights fell back, looking terrified. The Unseelie King was shouting.

Julian kept his mind focused: Hold your prisoner. Keep the knife to his throat. If he gets away, you have nothing. If you kill him too quickly, you have nothing. This is your advantage. Take it.

At a command from the King, the knights moved aside, forming a sort of tunnel for Julian to walk down, marching Erec ahead of him. The tunnel ended below the King’s throne. The King was standing at the edge of the pavilion, his white cloak snapping in the breeze.

Erec didn’t struggle, but when they reached the pavilion, he craned his head back to look up at his father. Julian could feel them lock eyes.

“You won’t cut my son’s throat,” said the Unseelie King, gazing down at Julian with a look of disdain. “You’re a Shadowhunter. You have a code of honor.”

“You’re thinking of Shadowhunters the way they used to be,” said Julian. “I came of age in the Dark War. I was baptized in blood and fire.”

“You are soft,” said the King, “gentle as angels are gentle.”

Julian settled the knife more firmly into the curve of Erec’s throat. The faerie prince smelled like fear and blood. “I killed my own father,” he said. “You think I won’t kill your son?”

A look of surprise passed over the King’s face. Adaon spoke. “He is telling the truth,” he said. “Many were in the Hall of Accords during the war. It was witnessed. He is a ruthless one, that one.”

The King frowned. “Adaon, be silent.” But he was clearly troubled. Shadows moved behind his eyes. “The price you would pay for spilling the blood of my family in my Court would be unspeakable,” he said to Julian. “Not just you would pay it. All the Clave would pay it.”

“Then don’t make me,” Julian said. “Let us depart in peace. We will take Erec with us, for the distance of a mile, then let him go. No one is to follow us. If we sense we are being followed, we will kill him. I will kill him.”

Erec cursed and spat. “Let him kill me, Father,” he said. “Let my blood begin the war we know is coming.”

The King’s eyes rested for a moment on his son. He is the King’s favorite, Mark had said. But Julian couldn’t help but wonder if the King was more concerned about the war to come, controlling how and when it began, than he was about Erec’s fate.

“You think angels are gentle,” said Julian. “They are anything but. They bring justice in blood and heavenly fire. They take vengeance with fists and iron. Their glory is such it would burn out your eyes if you looked at them. It is a cold and brutal glory.” He met the King’s gaze: his angry eye, and his empty one. “Look at me, if you doubt what I say I will do,” said Julian. “Look at my eyes. Faeries see much, they say. Do you think I am someone who has anything to lose?”

*

They were in the entryway: Ty, Livvy, Arthur, and the younger ones, Dru holding Tavvy in her arms.

They lit up when Diana and Kit came in, though Kit didn’t know if that was for him, or for her. Arthur was sitting on the stairs, silent and staring in his bloodstained bathrobe. He lunged to his feet at the sight of them, though he clung to the banister with one hand.

“We heard everything,” Livvy said. She was gray with shock, her hand in Ty’s. “Malcolm wants Blackthorn blood and he has an army of demons—”

“When he says ‘Blackthorn blood,’ there isn’t any chance he just means, like, an ounce?” said Kit. “Maybe a pint?”

Everyone glared at him except Ty. “I thought of that too,” Ty said, looking delightedly at Kit. “But spells are written in archaic language. ‘Blackthorn blood’ means a Blackthorn life.”

“He isn’t getting what he wants,” said Diana. She shrugged off her blood-soaked jacket and threw it on the floor. “We need a Portal. Now.” She dug around for her phone in her jeans pocket, found it, and began to dial.

“But we can’t just disappear,” said Livvy. “Malcolm will release all those demons! People will be killed!”

“You can’t bargain with Malcolm,” said Diana. “He lies. He could get the Blackthorn blood he wants and still release the demons. Getting you safe and then striking against him is the better bet.”

“But—”

“She’s right,” said Kit. “Malcolm promised all sorts of things to my dad, including keeping him safe. In the end, it turned out he’d made sure that if anything happened to him, my father would die too.”

“Catarina?” Diana turned aside, the phone pressed to her ear. “I need a favor. A big one.”

“We’ll be seen as cowards,” said Dru unhappily. “Running away like this—”

“You are children,” said Arthur. “No one would expect you to stand and fight.” He went across the room to the window. No one moved to join him. The sounds coming from outside were enough. Tavvy had his face pressed against his sister’s shoulder.

“To London?” said Diana. “That’s fine. Thanks, Catarina.” She hung the phone up.

“London?” said Livvy. “Why London?”

“Why don’t we go to Idris?” said Dru. “Where Emma and Jules are.”

“Catarina can’t open up a Portal to Idris,” said Diana, not meeting Dru’s gaze. “But she has an arrangement with the London Institute.”

“Then we should contact the Clave!” said Dru. She jumped back as the air in front of her began to shimmer.

“We need to get our things,” said Tavvy, looking at the growing shimmer with worry. It was spreading, a sort of pinwheel now of whirling colors and moving air. “We can’t go with nothing.”

“We don’t have time for any of that,” said Diana. “And we don’t have time to contact the Clave. And there are Blackthorn houses in London, safe places, people you know—”

“But why?” Livvy began. “If the Clave—”

“It’s entirely possible the Clave would prefer to trade one of you to Malcolm,” said Arthur. “Isn’t that what you mean, Diana?”

Diana said nothing. The whirling pinwheel was resolving into a shape: the shape of a door, tall and broad, surrounded by glowing runes.

“As would the Centurions, at least some of them,” said Diana. “We are running from them, as much as from anyone else. They are already vanquishing the sea demons. There is little time.”

“Diego would never—” Dru began indignantly.

“Diego isn’t in charge,” said Diana. The Portal had resolved into a steadily wavering door, which was open; through it, Kit could see a living room of sorts, with faded, flowered wallpaper. It seemed incongruous in the extreme. “Now, come—Drusilla, you first—”