“Each Downworlder registered will be given a number,” said Horace. “If a Downworlder is stopped by a Shadowhunter for any reason, anywhere, they can be asked for this number.”

The noise in the room was decidedly more worried now.

“Think of it as a sort of identification card,” said Manuel. “Safety and accountability are two of our chief concerns.”

“I want to hear from the Consul!” shouted Carmen Delgado Mendoza, head of the Mexico City Institute, from the audience. She was Cristina’s mother, and looked more than a little bit like her daughter.

Horace looked annoyed; technically, as the one proposing a new Law, he had the floor and could speak for a certain number of minutes uninterrupted. Diana felt that he had already been speaking for several years.

He gestured ungraciously toward Jia, who gripped the arms of her chair tightly. “It is my opinion that this Law is not a good idea,” she said. “Downworlders will resist what they will see to be a major overreach on the part of the Nephilim. It establishes an atmosphere of mistrust.”

“That’s because we don’t trust them,” said Manuel. There was a gale of laughter from the back of the room.

Diana could stand it no longer. She rose to her feet. “I have a question for the Inquisitor!”

Horace looked at her with hooded eyes. “We will take questions and comments later, Diana.”

Diana didn’t like the emphasis he put on her name. As if he found it distasteful. Probably Zara had told her father a pack of lies about Diana; Diana had once humiliated Zara in front of her fellow Centurions. Narcissists like Zara didn’t forget insults.

“Let her speak,” said Jia. “Everyone on the Council has a voice.”

Intensely aware of the eyes on her, Diana said, “This may seem like a small action, but it’s not going to seem small to Downworlders. It will have repercussions. Even if the Registry is temporary, there will always be reasons to continue it. It is far harder to dismantle this sort of structure than it is to build it. We could face a situation where Downworlders insist that Shadowhunters also be registered, for parity. Are you prepared to have Nephilim carry their papers everywhere with them?”

This had the desired effect. The Council burst into angry buzzing. “No! Never!” Dearborn snapped.

“Then this effectively creates an underclass of Downworlders,” said Diana. “We will have rights that they don’t. Think about that.”

“And why are you so bothered by that idea, Diana Wrayburn?” said Manuel in his soft, charming voice. His eyes glittered like marbles. “Is there a Downworlder, perhaps dear to you, that you worry will be affected?”

“Many Shadowhunters have Downworlders that are dear to them,” said Diana evenly. “You cannot cleanly sever us from a group of human beings who have more in common with us than mundanes do.”

Diana knew the answer to that: We’re not afraid of mundanes. It’s Downworlders we fear, and we seek to control what we fear. But it was unlikely Horace had that kind of self-awareness. He glared at her with open loathing as she took her seat.

“This is clearly a complex issue,” said Jia, rising to her feet. “I suggest we stay this vote for a week until the Council has had time to come to terms with all its ramifications.”

Horace transferred his glare to her, but said nothing. The Council was now a hum of relief, and even Horace Dearborn knew better than to fly directly in the face of popular opinion during a vote. He stayed on the dais as the meeting was dismissed, his supporters flocking around him in a thick crowd.

Feeling inexpressibly weary, Diana made for one of the exits. She felt as if she had been called to witness a bloody execution only to see the victim spared for a week. Relief mixed with fear of what the future would bring.

“Diana!” said a light, accented voice behind her. Diana turned to see one of the women from the Barcelona Institute—Trini Castel—approach her. She put a birdlike hand on Diana’s arm.

“I was inspired by what you said, Miss Wrayburn,” she said. “You are correct that rights—anyone’s rights—are not to be discarded lightly.”

“Thank you,” said Diana, more than a little surprised. Trini Castel gave her a quick smile and scurried away, leaving Diana with a clear view of the dais.

Zara stood at its edge, her gaze fixed on Diana. In the pale light filtering through the window, the naked hatred on her face—far more than anyone might feel over a past insult—was clear as day. Shuddering, Diana turned and hurried from the Hall.

*

Catarina’s suspicious confluence of ley lines turned out to be in a small desert park near the Antelope Valley Freeway, famous for its massive sandstone formations. Both Helen and Aline seemed faintly surprised that Mark and Cristina were planning to go out on patrol, but they hadn’t done anything to stop them, as if they reluctantly acknowledged that patrolling was a normal part of Shadowhunter life, and the sooner everyone got back to normal life, the better.

The drive from Malibu—they’d taken Diana’s truck, which had been left in the parking lot of the Institute—reminded Cristina of long ambling road trips she’d taken with Emma. Windows down in the truck, music playing low on the speakers, beach turning to highway turning to desert as the sun went down in a haze of fire. Mark had his long legs up on the dashboard and would sometimes turn his head to look at her as they rolled along in silence; the weight of his gaze felt like skin against her skin. Like a touch.

The Vasquez Rocks park closed at sunset, and the dirt parking lot was empty when Cristina cruised the truck into it and turned off the engine. They collected their weapons from the bed of the truck, snapping on wrist protectors and buckling weapons belts. Cristina strapped a longsword and her trusted balisong to her belt, while Mark found a runed black whip and cracked it a few times. He wore a look of pleasure on his face as it snaked across the darkening sky.

They had runed themselves before they left. Cristina could see Mark’s Night Vision rune gleaming black against his throat as they passed under the lights of the ranger station and crossed onto a dirt path that wound through scrub among rocks that twisted and folded like envelopes.

Cristina breathed deeply. Of all the things she loved about California, she loved the scent of the desert the most: clear air mixed with juniper, manzanita, and sage. The sky opened above them like a secret told, scattered with a million stars.

They passed a wooden sign for a trail just as a massive rock formation rose ahead of them, nearly blocking out the moon. “The ley line confluence,” Mark said, pointing.

Cristina didn’t ask him how he knew; faeries had a sense for such things. They moved closer to the rocks, which rose above them in tilted slabs, like the remains of a spaceship that had crashed into the sand. Cristina’s boots crunched on the sand, the sound loud in her ears thanks to her Audio rune.

A sharp, insect-like sound buzzed behind her. She turned. Mark was frowning at the Sensor in his hand. “It’s making a buzzing noise, but not one I’ve heard before,” he said.

Cristina turned around slowly. The desert stretched around her, a carpet of black and brown and dim gold. The sky was dark velvet. “I don’t see anything.”

“We should wait here,” said Mark. “See if it happens again.”

Cristina was in no mood to hang around under the romantic moon with Mark. “I think we should keep moving.”

“Cristina,” Mark said. “You seem wroth with me.”

Cristina rolled her eyes. “Nothing gets by you, Mark Blackthorn.”

Mark lowered the Sensor. “Last night—It wasn’t that I didn’t want to—I did want to—”

Cristina blushed furiously. “It’s not that, Mark,” she said. “You can want to or not want to. It’s your business. It was that you lied.”

“Humans lie,” he said, his bicolored eyes suddenly blazing. “Mortals lie to each other every day, especially in matters of love. Is it that my lie wasn’t good enough? Should I be more practiced?”

“No!” She whirled on him. “I like that you don’t lie, Mark. It is why I was so—Mark, can’t you understand? I didn’t expect you to lie to me.”

“You saw me lie to Kieran,” he said.

“Yes, but that was to save lives,” she said. “Unless you’re telling me that you not wanting to have sex with me has something to do with saving lives, which I find hard to believe—”

“I did want to!” Mark exploded. “One thing you must understand—I did want to be with you in that way, and all ways, and that is not a lie.”

Cristina sank down on a low rock. Her heart was pounding. And she’d just said the word “sex,” which horribly embarrassed her. “Then I don’t understand why you did it,” she said in a small voice. “Were you trying to spare someone? Kieran?”

“I was trying to spare you,” he said, his voice dark and hard, like late-winter ice.