She was standing in the arch of the door, hands folded primly over the head of her cane. She had put on an amazing outfit in order to see them off to the train station: There was a sort of riding habit involved, and possibly jodhpurs. Her hat had a bird on it, though to Ty’s disappointment, the bird was definitely dead.

The ancient black car that belonged to the Institute had been unearthed, and Bridget was waiting beside it with Cristina and Emma. Their backpacks were stashed in the trunk—Mark had been amused to find out that in England, they called it a boot—and they were talking excitedly. Both were in jeans and T-shirts, since they’d have to pass as mundane on the train, and Emma’s hair was tied back into a braid.

Still, Julian was glad Cristina was going. In the back of his mind, he clung to the idea that she would be a buffer between him and Emma. Emma hadn’t betrayed any hint of being angry that morning, and the two of them had functioned well together, mapping their route to Polperro, figuring out the train schedules and raiding the storage room for clothes. They planned to get a room in a bed-and-breakfast, preferably one with a kitchen they could cook in, to minimize exposure to mundanes. They’d even purchased their train tickets from Paddington ahead of time. All the planning had been easy and simple: They were a parabatai team; they still worked, they still functioned better together than alone.

But even with the most iron self-control imposed on himself, the sheer force of love and yearning when he looked at her was like being hit unexpectedly by a train, over and over. Not that he imagined being hit expectedly by a train would be much better.

Best to be buffered against that, until it stopped happening. If it stopped happening. But he wouldn’t let himself think that way.

It had to end someday.

“Jules!” Tavvy wailed. Julian gave his brother a last hug and set him down. “Why can’t I come with you?”

“Because,” Julian explained. “You have to stay here and help Drusilla. She needs you.”

Tavvy looked as if he doubted that. Drusilla, wearing an overly long cotton skirt that reached her toes, rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re going,” she said to Julian. “The minute you leave, Livvy and Ty start treating me like a servant.”

“Servants get paid,” Ty observed.

“See? See what I mean?” Dru poked Julian in the chest with an index finger. “You’d better hurry back so they don’t maltreat me.”

“I’ll try.” Julian met Mark’s look over Dru’s head; they shared a smile. Emma and Mark’s good-bye had been bizarre, to say the least. Emma had given him a quick, absentminded hug before descending the stairs; Mark hadn’t looked bothered until he’d noticed Julian and the others staring at him. He’d run down the steps after Emma, caught her hand, and spun her to face him.

“It is better that you go,” he said, “that I might forget your fair, cruel face, and heal my heart.”

Emma had looked stunned; Cristina, saying something in a low voice to Mark that sounded like unnecessary, had hauled Emma off toward the car.

Ty and Livvy were the last to come to say good-bye to Jules; Livvy embraced him fiercely, and Ty gave him a soft, shy smile. Julian wondered where Kit was. He’d been glued to Ty’s and Livvy’s sides the whole time they’d been in London, but he appeared to have vanished for the family farewell.

“I’ve got something for you,” Ty said. He held out a box, which Julian took with some surprise. Ty was absolutely punctual about Christmas and birthday presents, but he rarely gave gifts spontaneously.

Curious, Julian popped open the top of the box to find a set of colored pencils. He didn’t know the brand, but they looked pristine and unused. “Where did you get these?”

“Fleet Street,” said Ty. “I went out early this morning.”

An ache of love pressed against the back of Julian’s throat. It reminded him of when Ty was a baby, serious and quiet. He hadn’t been able to go to sleep for a long time without someone holding him, and though Julian had been very small himself, he remembered holding Ty while he fell asleep, all round wrists and straight black hair and long lashes. He’d felt so much love for his brother even then it had been like an explosion in his heart.

“Thanks. I’ve missed drawing,” Julian said, and tucked the box into his duffel bag. He didn’t fuss; Ty didn’t like fuss, but Julian made his tone as warm as he could, and Ty beamed.

Jules thought of Livvy, the night before, the way she’d kissed his forehead. Her thank-you. This was Ty’s.

“Be careful at Blackthorn Hall,” he said. He was nervous that they were going but tried not to show it; he knew he was being unreasonable. “Go during the day. During the day,” he insisted, when Livvy made a face. “And try not to get Drusilla and Tavvy into trouble. Remember, Mark is in charge.”

“Does he know that?” said Livvy.

Julian sought Mark in the crowd on the steps. He was standing with his hands behind his back, exchanging a mistrustful look with a carved stone gnome. “Your pretense does not fool me, gnome,” he muttered. “My eye will be upon you.”

Julian sighed. “Just do what he says.”

“Julian!” Emma called. She was standing beside the car, Cortana—glamoured to be invisible to mundanes—glittering just over her right shoulder. “We’re going to miss the train.”

Julian nodded and held up two fingers. He made his way across the steps to Mark and gripped his shoulder. “You going to be okay?”

Mark nodded. Julian thought about asking where Kieran was, but decided there was no point. It would probably just stress Mark out more. “Thanks for trusting me to be in charge,” said Mark. “After what happened before, with the kitchen.”

In Los Angeles, Julian had left Mark for a night to look after their siblings. Mark had managed to destroy the kitchen, cover Tavvy in sugar, and almost give Jules a nervous breakdown.

“I do trust you.” Unspeaking, Julian and Mark looked at each other. Then Julian grinned. “Besides,” he added, “this isn’t my kitchen.”

Mark laughed softly. Julian headed down the stairs as Emma and Cristina piled into the car. He went around the back to toss his bag into the trunk and came to a stop. Wedged into the space beside the luggage was a small figure in a smudged white T-shirt.

Tavvy looked up at him, wide-eyed. “I want to go too,” he announced.

Julian sighed and began to roll up his sleeves. A brother’s work was never done.

*

One of the benefits of being a Shadowhunter that was rarely talked about, Emma thought, was easy parking at places like train stations and churches. Often a place had been set aside for Shadowhunters to leave their cars, glamoured to appear to mundanes as something they would ignore—a construction site or a pile of trash bins. Bridget pulled the rattling black Austin Metro to a stop on Praed Street, mere feet from Paddington Station, and the Shadowhunters piled out to retrieve their bags while she locked up the vehicle.

They’d packed fast and light, just enough for a few days. Weapons, gear, and few clothes besides the ones on their backs, though Emma had no doubt that Cristina would look elegant all the time anyway. Demurely, Cristina tucked her knife into her pocket and bent to sling her backpack over her shoulder. She winced.

“Are you all right?” Emma asked, sliding into step beside her. She was enormously glad to have Cristina there between her and Jules, something to smooth the prickly and dangerous roads of their conversations.

They passed into the station, which was brightly lit and modern, the walkways lined with stores like the Body Shop and Caffè Nero. She glanced ahead at Julian, but he was deep in discussion with Bridget. Julian had an amazing ability to make conversation with literally anyone. She wondered what he could possibly find to talk to Bridget about. Evelyn’s odd habits? London history?