Julian glanced up at the clock that hung over the kitchen range. He flicked off the gas burner and began to calmly untie his apron. “They should be getting here any moment,” he said.

“They should what?” Diana put her fork down. “Julian, what are you talking about?”

Tavvy was standing up on a wobbly chair, his face pressed to the window. He made an excited squeaking noise. “Who are all the people coming up the road, Jules?”

Kit and Ty immediately jumped to their feet and scrambled for a window view. “I see faeries—” Ty said. “I think those are werewolves—those black cars have to be vampires—”

“And Shadowhunters,” said Kit. “So many Shadowhunters—”

“The Sanctuary’s almost ready,” said Julian, throwing down a dish towel. “Unless someone else wants to do it, I’ll go downstairs and greet our guests.”

Jace stood up. Clary looked up at him in concern: His golden eyes were flat with anger. “I’m not going to ask you a second time, Julian Blackthorn,” he said, and his usually amused voice had no amusement in it at all. “What did you do?”

Julian leaned his hip against the counter. Emma realized with a shock that though he did look much younger, he was just as tall as Jace. “Remember when you said my coalition idea was a bad one because we couldn’t trust other Shadowhunters to be telling us the truth about their loyalties?”

“Vividly,” said Jace. “But I gather you invited everyone to a war council anyway?”

“They’re here right now?” Clary sputtered. “But—I’m wearing a T-shirt that says ‘Unicorn Power’—”

“There are no such things as unicorns,” Jace said.

“I know,” Clary said. “That’s why it’s funny.”

“To return to the issue of betrayal—” Jace began.

“What if I told you I expected betrayal?” said Julian. “In fact, that I was counting on it? That it was part of my plan?”

“What plan?” said Jace.

“I always have a plan,” said Julian calmly.

Dru lifted her coffee cup. “It’s great to have you back, Jules. I missed your lunatic schemes.”

Helen was on her feet now. Aline appeared to be trying not to giggle. “How did you invite them all here?” Helen said. “How would you even have gotten in touch with so many Downworlders and Nephilim, and so quickly?”

“I corresponded with them all for years,” Julian said. “I know how to send fire-messages to warlocks and Shadowhunters, and acorn messages to Faerie, and the telephone numbers of every important vamp and werewolf. I knew how to reach the Downworlder-Shadowhunter Alliance. I had to know those things. For five years, it was my job.”

“But didn’t you usually write to them as Arthur, before?” said Helen, clearly worried. “Who did you pretend to be this time?”

“I wrote as myself,” said Julian. “I know these people. I know their personalities. I know which of them will be on our side. I’ve been the Head of the Institute here for years. I called on my allies, because it’s been my job to know who my allies are.” His voice was quiet, but firm. There was nothing disrespectful in what he’d said, but Emma knew what he meant: I’ve been a diplomat for years now, unknown and unacknowledged. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t skilled at it. I’ve put those skills to use—whether you like it or not.

“We can’t fight the Cohort alone,” he added. “They’re part of us. Part of our government. They’re not an outside threat like Sebastian was. We need these allies. You’ll see.”

And then he looked at Emma, as if he couldn’t help it. The message in his eyes was clear. Though she was reeling from the shock of what he’d done, he was hoping for her approval. As he always had.

She felt a burning pulse through her parabatai rune. She winced, glanced down at her left arm: Her skin felt hot and tight, but the rune looked normal. It had just been a look, she thought. That was all.

“I’ll help finish setting up the Sanctuary for the meeting,” she said. “We’ll need chairs—”

Kieran got to his feet, pushing sea-blue hair behind his ears. “I will also help,” he said. “I thank you on behalf of my people for calling Downworlders to the table as equals. You are right. None of us can do this alone.”

Diana stood up. “I will send a message to Gwyn,” she said. “I know he will be pleased to come, and you will have the Wild Hunt on your side.”

It was Cristina’s turn to rise. “Did you reach out to the Mexico City Institute?”

“Yes,” said Julian. “Your mother said she’d be pleased to attend.”

Cristina looked alarmed. “I have to go change my clothes,” she said, and fled.

The younger Blackthorns watched with wide eyes as Jace held up his hand. Emma tensed. Jace was a powerful Shadowhunter—not just physically but politically. He and Clary could upset every facet of this plan if they wanted.

“Did you invite Magnus and Alec?” he said. “Do they know our plans have changed?”

Our plans. Emma began to relax.

“Of course,” said Julian. “I invited everyone I thought would be on our side. And I told everyone I invited they could reach out to others they trusted.”

“This is probably a bad idea,” Jace said. “Like, a record-breakingly bad idea. Like a go-down-in-history bad idea. But—”

Clary bounced to her feet. “What he means is, we’re in,” she said. “We love bad ideas.”

“That’s true,” Jace admitted, a smile breaking over his face. Suddenly he looked seventeen again.

Aline was the last to rise. “Technically, this is my Institute,” she said. “We do what I say.” She paused. “And I do what Helen wants. What do you want, baby?”

Helen smiled. “I want a war council,” she said. “Let’s get ready.”

27

FAR AND FREE

They streamed in through the open doors of the Sanctuary, one after another: Downworlders and Shadowhunters in a seemingly never-ending cascade.

First came the vampires with their paper-white faces and cold elegance, enchanted black umbrellas held aloft as they took the few steps from their tinted-window cars to the Sanctuary doors, eager to escape the sun. Emma recognized Lily Chen among them, on the arm of a tall vampire with dreadlocks. A gaggle of blond Swedish vampires came in chatting with the Lindquists, who ran the Stockholm Institute.

There were werewolves from all over the world: Luke Garroway, scruffy and bearded in his flannel jacket, Clary’s mother, Jocelyn, at his side. Werewolves in kilts and hanboks and qipaos. Maia Roberts and Bat Velasquez—Emma felt a pang, thinking of the other version of them in Thule: still together, still hand in hand.

There were warlocks, too, more than Emma had ever seen in one place. Catarina Loss, blue-skinned and white-haired: She marched in with Tessa and Jem, wearing nurse’s scrubs, and looked around her thoughtfully. Her eyes lit on Kit, and she gazed at him with a quiet recognition that he, absorbed in talking to Ty, didn’t notice.

Hypatia Vex, with her bronze hair and dark skin, regal and curious. Warlocks with bat’s wings, with hooves and gills and rainbow eyes, with delicate antennae and curving stag’s horns. A bat-faced woman who went up to Cristina and began muttering in Spanish. A dark-skinned warlock with a white mark on his cheek in the shape of a spiderweb.

And there were Shadowhunters. Emma had seen many Shadowhunters gathered together before—she’d been to quite a few Council meetings—but it was gratifying to see how many had answered Julian’s call. He stood at the front of the room, where the Blackthorns and their friends had hastily assembled a long table. A rolled-up banner hung on the wall behind it. Julian leaned calmly against the table, but Emma could sense the tension running through him like electrical lines as the Shadowhunters began to file into the Sanctuary.

Julie Beauvale and Beatriz Mendoza, their parabatai runes glimmering on their forearms. Marisol Garza, wearing white in memory of Jon Cartwright. Magnus and Alec had just arrived with Maryse and their kids, and were standing by the door opposite Aline and Helen, greeting the Downworlders while the two women greeted the Shadowhunters. Kadir Safar of the New York Conclave gave Diana a somber nod before going to speak with Maryse, who was dandling little blue Max on her lap while Rafe ran around them both in circles.

The Romeros had come from Argentina, the Pederosos from Brazil, the Keos from Cambodia, and the Rosewains from Northern England. A dark-haired, petite woman darted over to Cristina and hugged her tightly. Cristina’s mom! Emma had an urge to bow in acknowledgment of the woman who had named Perfect Diego.