“Is there something we should know about?” Emma said. “Are you collecting really big sea demons to decorate the Institute or something?”

Jace leaned forward, his elbows on the table. He had a calm, catlike face and unreadable amber eyes. Clary had once said that the first time she’d ever seen him, she’d thought he looked like a lion. Emma could see it: Lions seemed so calm and almost lazy until they exploded into action. “Maybe we should talk about why we’re here,” he said.

“I thought you were here about Kit,” Julian said. “What with him being a Herondale and all.”

There was a rustle from upstairs and a faint muttering. Ty had been sleeping in front of Kit’s door for the past nights, an odd behavior no one had remarked on. Emma assumed Ty found Kit unusual and interesting in the manner that he sometimes found bees and lizards unusual and interesting.

“Partly,” said Jace. “We just returned from a Council meeting in Idris. That’s why it took us so long to get here, though I wanted to come as fast as possible when I heard about Kit.” He sat back and threw an arm over the back of his chair. “You won’t be surprised to know there was a great deal of discussion about the Malcolm situation.”

“You mean the situation where the High Warlock of Los Angeles turned out to be a spree killer and a necromancer?” Julian said. There were layers of implication clear in his voice: The Clave hadn’t suspected Malcolm, had approved of his appointment to the post of High Warlock, had done nothing to stop the murders he committed. It had been the Blackthorns who had done that.

There was another giggle from above. Diana coughed to hide a smile. “Sorry,” she said to Jace and Clary. “I think we have mice.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Jace said.

“We’re just surprised the Council meeting ended so quickly,” Emma said. “We thought we might have to give testimony. About Malcolm, and everything that happened.”

Emma and the Blackthorns had given testimony in front of the Council before. Years before, after the Dark War. It wasn’t an experience Emma was excited to repeat, but it would have been a chance to tell their side of what had happened. To explain why they had worked in cooperation with faeries, in direct contradiction of the Laws of the Cold Peace. Why they had investigated the High Warlock of Los Angeles, Malcolm Fade, without telling the Clave they were doing it; what they had done when they had found him guilty of heinous crimes.

Why Emma had killed him.

“You already told Robert—the Inquisitor,” said Clary. “He believed you. He testified on your behalf.”

Julian raised an eyebrow. Robert Lightwood, the Inquisitor of the Clave, was not a warm and friendly sort of man. They’d told him what had happened because they’d been forced to, but he wasn’t the kind of person you could imagine doing you favors.

“Robert’s not so bad,” Jace said. “Really. He’s mellowed since becoming a grandfather. And the fact is, the Clave was actually less interested in you than they were in the Black Volume.”

“Apparently nobody realized it was ever in the library here,” said Clary. “The Cornwall Institute is famous for having a considerably large selection of books on dark magic—the original Malleus Maleficarum, the Daemonatia. Everyone thought it was there, properly locked up.”

“The Blackthorns used to run the Cornwall Institute,” said Julian. “Maybe my father brought it with him when he got the appointment to run the Institute here.” He looked troubled. “Though I don’t know why he would have wanted it.”

“Maybe Arthur brought it,” suggested Cristina. “He’s always been fascinated with ancient books.”

Emma shook her head. “Can’t have. The book had to have been here when Sebastian attacked the Institute—before Arthur came.”

“How much of the fact that they didn’t want us there to testify had to do with them discussing whether I ought to be allowed to stay?” said Mark.

“Some,” Clary said, meeting his gaze levelly. “But, Mark, we never would have let them make you return to the Hunt. Everyone would have risen up.”

Diego nodded. “The Clave has deliberated, and they’re fine with Mark remaining here with his family. The original order only forbid Shadowhunters from looking for him, but he came to you, so the order hasn’t been contravened.”

Mark nodded stiffly. He had never seemed to like Perfect Diego.

“And believe me,” Clary added, “they were very happy to use that loophole. I think even the most faerie-hating of them feel for what Mark went through.”

“But not for what Helen has gone through?” said Julian. “Any word on her return?”

“Nothing,” said Jace. “I’m sorry. They wouldn’t hear of it.”

Mark’s expression tensed. In that moment, Emma could see the warrior in him, the dark shadow of the battlefields the Wild Hunt stalked, the walker among the bodies of the dead.

“We’ll keep at them,” said Diana. “Having you back is a victory, Mark, and we’ll press that victory. But right now—”

“What’s happening right now?” Mark demanded. “Isn’t the crisis over?”

“We’re Shadowhunters,” Jace said. “You’ll find that the crisis is never over.”

“Right now,” Diana went on, “the Council just finished discussing the fact that large sea demons have been spotted all up and down the coast of California. In record numbers. There have been more seen in the past week than in the past decade. That Teuthida you fought wasn’t an outlier.”

“We think it’s because Malcolm’s body and the Black Volume are still out there in the ocean,” said Clary. “And we think it may be because of the spells Malcolm cast during his life.”

“But a warlock’s spells disappear when they die,” protested Emma. She thought of Kit. The wards Malcolm had placed around the Rooks’ house had vanished when he died. Demons had attacked within hours. “We went up to his house after he died, to look for evidence of what he’d been doing. The whole thing had disintegrated into a slag heap.”

Jace had disappeared under the table. He appeared a moment later, holding Church, the Institute’s part-time cat. Church had his paws stuck straight out and a look of satisfaction on his face. “We thought the same thing,” said Jace, settling the cat on his lap. “But apparently, according to Magnus, there are spells that can be constructed to be activated by a warlock’s death.”

Emma glared at Church. She knew the cat had once lived in the New York Institute, but it seemed rude to show preference so blatantly. The cat was lying on his back on Jace’s lap, purring and ignoring her.

“Like an alarm,” Julian said, “that goes off when you open a door?”

“Yes, but in this case, death is the open door,” said Diana.

“So what’s the solution?” asked Emma.

“We probably need his body to turn the spell off, so to speak,” said Jace. “And a clue as to how he did it would be nice.”

“The ruins of the convergence have been picked over pretty thoroughly,” Clary said. “But we’ll check out Malcolm’s house tomorrow, just to be sure.”

“It’s rubble,” Julian warned.

“Rubble that will have to be cleared away soon, before mundanes notice it,” said Diana. “There’s a glamour on it, but it’s temporary. That means the site will only be undisturbed for another few days.”

“And there’s no harm taking a last look,” said Jace. “Especially as Magnus has given us some idea what to look for.” He rubbed Church’s ear but didn’t elaborate.

“The Black Volume is a powerful necromantic object,” said Perfect Diego. “It could be causing disturbances we cannot even imagine. Driving the deepest-dwelling of sea demons to crawl up onto our shores means mundanes are in danger—a few have already disappeared from the Pier.”

“So,” said Jace. “A team of Centurions is going to arrive here tomorrow—”