Compartmentalizing, she thought as they headed toward a roped-off area at the back of the club. That was how Julian got through things. Pushing down thoughts, walling them off, living in the moment of the act that had become his reality.

She did her best to shove the thoughts of the dead away as they ducked under the ropes and found themselves in an area full of couches and chairs upholstered in ice-blue velvet. Sprawled in the largest armchair was Sebastian.

Up close, he was clearly older than the boy Emma remembered from her world. He was broader, his jaw more square, his eyes tar black. He wore a crisp black designer suit with a pattern of roses on the lapels, a thick fur coat draped over it. His ice-white hair mixed with the pale gold fur; if Emma hadn’t known who he was and hated him, she would have thought he was beautiful, a wintry prince.

Standing beside him, his fingers resting lightly on the back of Sebastian’s chair, was Jace. He too wore a black suit, and when he turned slightly, Emma saw the strap of a holster beneath it. There were leather gauntlets on his wrists, under the sharp cuffs of his jacket. She would have bet he was carrying several knives.

Is he Sebastian’s bodyguard? she wondered. Does it amuse Sebastian to keep one of the Clave’s heroes as a sort of pet, bound to his side?

And then there was Ash. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, sprawled in a chair some distance away with an electronic device in his hands, he seemed to be playing a video game. The light from the game came and went, illuminating his sharp-featured face, the points of his ears.

Sebastian’s cold gaze swept over Emma and Julian. Emma felt her whole body tense. She knew their runes were covered by fabric and concealer, but she still felt as if Sebastian could see right through her. As if he’d know immediately they weren’t Endarkened.

“If it isn’t the two lovebirds,” he drawled. He glanced at Emma. “I haven’t really seen your face before. Your friend here’s been too busy sucking it.”

Julian replied in a flat monotone. “Sorry to have annoyed you, sir.”

“It doesn’t annoy me,” Sebastian said. “Just an observation.” He settled back in his chair. “I prefer redheads myself.”

A flicker of something went over Jace’s face. It was gone too quickly for Emma to guess at its meaning. Ash looked up, though, and Emma tensed. If Ash recognized them . . .

He glanced back down at his game, his expression evincing no interest.

Emma was finding it hard not to shiver. The cold was intense, and Sebastian’s gaze colder still. He templed his fingers under his chin. “Rumors have been swirling,” he said, “that a certain Livia Blackthorn is raising a pathetic little rebellion downtown.”

Emma’s stomach lurched.

“She’s nothing to us,” Julian said quickly. He sounded like he meant it too.

“Of course not,” said Sebastian. “But you were once her brother and her friend. Humans are regrettably sentimental. She might be tricked into trusting you.”

“Livvy would never trust a pair of Endarkened,” Emma said, and froze. It was the wrong thing to say.

Jace’s golden eyes narrowed with suspicion. He began to speak, but Sebastian cut him off with a dismissive wave. “Not now, Jace.”

Jace’s expression went blank. He turned away from Sebastian and went to Ash, leaning over the back of his chair to point out something on his game screen. Ash nodded.

It would almost have looked like a sweet brotherly moment if it hadn’t been so screwed up and awful. If the chandelier overhead hadn’t been made of frozen human arms, each one gripping a torch that spat demonic light. If Emma could forget the faces beneath the floor.

“What Emma means is that Livvy’s always been cunning,” said Julian. “In a low sort of way.”

“Interesting,” said Sebastian. “I tend to approve of low cunning, though not when directed at me, of course.”

“We know her very well,” said Julian. “I’m sure we can suss out her little rebellion’s location without much trouble.”

Sebastian smirked. “I like your confidence,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe what I—” He broke off with a frown. “Is that damn dog barking again?”

It was a dog barking. A few seconds later, a black-and-white terrier bounded into the room on the end of a long leash. At the other end of the leash was a woman with long dark hair.

It was Annabel Blackthorn.

She wore a red dress without sleeves, though she must have been freezing in the cold air. Her skin was dead white.

Seeing Emma and Julian, she went even whiter. Her grip tightened on the dog’s leash.

Adrenaline spilled through Emma’s veins. Annabel was going to spill, she was going to turn them in. She had no reason not to. And then Sebastian would kill them. I swear, Emma thought, I will find a way to make him bleed before I die.

I will find a way to make them both bleed.

“I’m sorry,” Annabel said petulantly. “He wanted to see Ash. Didn’t you, Malcolm?”

Even Julian’s expression flickered at that. Emma watched in horror as Annabel bent down to rub the dog’s ears. It looked up at her with wide lavender eyes and barked again.

Malcolm Fade, High Warlock of Los Angeles, was now a demon terrier.

“Get your nasty familiar out of here,” Sebastian snapped. “I’m doing business. If Ash needs something, he’ll call on you, Annabel. He’s practically a grown man. He no longer requires a nursemaid.”

“Everyone needs a mother,” Annabel said. “Don’t you, Ash?”

Ash said nothing. He was immersed in his game. With an irritated sigh, Annabel stalked out of the room, Malcolm trotting behind her.

“As I was saying.” Sebastian’s face was tight with annoyance. “Annabel is one of my best torturers—you wouldn’t believe the creative skill she can display with a single knife and a Shadowhunter—but like the rest of those around me, she is too vulnerable to her emotions. I don’t know why people don’t just understand what’s best for them.”

“If they did, they wouldn’t need leaders,” said Julian. “Like you.”

Sebastian gave him a considering look. “I suppose that’s true. But it is like a weight of responsibility. Crushing me. You understand.”

“Let us seek out Livia for you,” Julian said. “We’ll go take care of the threat and bring you back her head.”

Sebastian looked pleased. He glanced at Emma. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

I can’t, Emma thought. I can’t stand here and lie and pretend like Julian. I can’t.

But the warmth of Julian’s hand was still in hers, the strength of their bond—even when it was no longer magical—lifting her chin, setting her jaw hard. She took her hand out of Julian’s and slowly, deliberately, cracked her knuckles.

“I prefer killing,” she said. “?‘Say it with bullets,’ that’s my motto.”

Sebastian actually laughed, and for a moment Emma remembered Clary on the roof of the Institute, talking about a green-eyed brother who had never existed, but could have. Maybe in some other world, a better one than Thule.

“Very well,” Sebastian said. “You will be well rewarded if you succeed in this. There might even be a Bel Air house in it for you. Especially if you find any pretty redheads among the rebels and bring them back for Jace and me to play with.” He grinned. “Run along now, before you freeze to death.”

He flicked a dismissive gesture at them. There was a force behind it—Emma felt herself spun around as if by a hand on her shoulder. She nearly staggered, regained her footing, and found they were almost at the doors of the club. She didn’t even remember passing the mirrors.

Then they were out on the street, and she was gasping in lungfuls of the hot, dirty air, the warmth of the humid night suddenly welcome. They reclaimed their motorcycle from the lizard guard and rode several blocks without speaking a word until Julian leaned forward and said, through gritted teeth, “Pull over.”

The block they were on was nearly deserted, the streetlights smashed and the pavement dark. As soon as Emma pulled to a stop, Julian swung himself off the cycle and staggered over to the storefront of a destroyed Starbucks. Emma could hear him throwing up in the shadows. Her stomach tightened in sympathy. She wanted to go to him but was afraid to leave the cycle. It was their only way back to the Bradbury. Without it they were dead.

When Julian returned, his face smudged with shadow and bruises, Emma handed him a bottle of water.

“You were amazing in the nightclub,” she said.

He took a swig from the bottle. “I felt like I was being torn apart inside,” he said matter-of-factly. “To stand there and say those things about Livvy—to call that bastard monster ‘sir’—to keep from ripping Annabel limb from limb—”

“Do it now, then,” said a voice from the shadows. “Rip me apart, if you can.”

Emma’s Glock was already out as she turned, lowering it to point directly at the pale woman in the shadows. Her red dress was a smear of blood against the night.