Bat didn’t push the issue. “I do have some good news,” he said. “We heard from Idris: your friend Simon’s all right. He’s there, actually, with the Shadowhunters.”

“Oh.” Maia felt the tight knot around her heart loosen slightly with relief.

“I should have told you right away,” he apologized. “It’s just—I was worried about you. You were in bad shape when we brought you back to headquarters. You’ve been sleeping since then.”

I wanted to sleep forever.

“I know you already told Magnus,” added Bat, his face strained. “But explain it to me again, why Sebastian Morgenstern would target lycanthropes.”

“He said it was a message.” Maia heard the flatness in her own voice as if from a distance. “He wanted us to know that it was because werewolves are allies with the Shadowhunters, and that this was what he planned to do to all the Nephilim’s allies.”

“I’ll never pause again, never stand still, till either death hath closed these eyes of mine, or fortune given me measure of revenge.”

“New York is empty of Shadowhunters now, and Luke is in Idris with them. They’re putting up extra wards. Soon we’ll barely be able to get messages in and out.” Bat shifted in his chair; Maia sensed there was something he wasn’t telling her.

“What is it?” she said.

His eyes darted away.

“Bat . . .”

“Do you know Rufus Hastings?”

Rufus. Maia remembered the first time she’d been to the Praetor Lupus, a scarred face, an angry man exiting Prateor Scott’s office in a rage. “Not really.”

“He survived the massacre. He’s here in the station, with us. He’s been filling us in,” said Bat. “And he’s been talking to the others about Luke. Saying that he’s more of a Shadowhunter than a lycanthrope, that he doesn’t have pack loyalty, that the pack needs a new leader now.”

“You’re the leader,” she said. “You’re second in command.”

“Yeah, and I was put in that position by Luke. That means I can’t be trusted either.”

Maia slid to the edge of the bed. Her whole body ached; she felt it as she put her bare feet on the cold stone floor. “No one’s listening to him, are they?”

Bat shrugged.

“That’s ridiculous. After what’s happened, we need to be unified, not to have someone trying to split us up. Shadowhunters are our allies—”

“Which is why Sebastian targeted us.”

“He’d target us anyway. He’s no friend to Downworlders. He’s Valentine Morgenstern’s son.” Her eyes burned. “He might be trying to get us to abandon the Nephilim temporarily, so he can go after them, but if he managed to wipe them off the earth, all he’d do is come for us next.”

Bat clasped and unclasped his hands, then seemed to come to a decision. “I know you’re right,” he said, and went over to a table in the corner of the room. He returned with a jacket for her, socks and boots. He handed them over. “Just—do me a favor and don’t say anything like that this afternoon. Emotions are going to be running pretty high as it is.”

She shrugged the jacket on. “This afternoon? What’s this afternoon?”

He sighed. “The funeral,” he said.

“I’m going to kill Maureen,” Isabelle said. She had both doors of Alec’s wardrobe open and was flinging clothes onto the floor in heaps.

Simon was lying barefoot on one of the beds—Jace’s? Alec’s?—having kicked off his alarming buckled boots. Though his skin didn’t really bruise, it felt amazing to be on a soft surface after having spent so many hours on the hard, dirty floor of the Dumort. “You’ll have to fight your way through all the vampires of New York to do it,” he said. “Apparently they love her.”

“No accounting for taste.” Isabelle held up a dark blue sweater Simon recognized as Alec’s, mostly from the holes in the cuffs. “So Raphael brought you here so you could talk to my dad?”

Simon propped himself up on his elbows to watch her. “Do you think that’ll be okay?”

“Sure, why not. My dad loves talking.” She sounded bitter. Simon leaned forward, but when she raised her head, she was smiling at him and he thought he must have imagined it. “Although, who knows what will happen, with the attack on the Citadel tonight.” She worried at her lower lip. “It could mean they cancel the meeting, or move it earlier. Sebastian’s obviously a bigger problem than they thought. He shouldn’t even be able to get that close to the Citadel.”

“Well,” Simon said. “He is a Shadowhunter.”

“No, he’s not,” Isabelle said fiercely, and yanked a green sweater down from a wooden hanger. “Besides. He’s a man.”

“Sorry,” Simon said. “It must be nerve-racking, waiting to see how the battle turns out. How many people did they let through?”

“Fifty or sixty,” Isabelle said. “I wanted to go, but—they wouldn’t let me.” She had the guarded tone in her voice that meant they were closing in on a subject she didn’t want to talk about.

“I would have worried about you,” he said.

He saw her mouth quirk into a reluctant smile. “Try this on,” she said, and tossed him the green sweater, slightly less frayed than the rest.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to borrow clothes?”

“You can’t go around like that,” she said. “You look like you escaped from a romance novel.” Isabelle laid a hand dramatically against her forehead. “Oh, Lord Montgomery, what do you mean to do with me in this bedroom when you have me all alone? An innocent maiden, and unprotected?” She unzipped her jacket and tossed it to the floor, revealing a white tank top. She gave him a sultry look. “Is my virtue safe?”

“I, ah—what?” Simon said, temporarily deprived of vocabulary.

“I know you are a dangerous man,” Isabelle declared, sashaying toward the bed. She unzipped her trousers and kicked them to the floor. She was wearing black boy shorts underneath. “Some call you a rake. Everybody knows you are a devil with the ladies with your poetically puffed shirt and irresistible pants.” She pounced onto the bed and crawled over to him, eyeing him like a cobra considering making a snack out of a mongoose. “I pray you will consider my innocence,” she breathed. “And my poor, vulnerable heart.”

Simon decided this was a lot like role-playing in D&D, but potentially much more fun. “Lord Montgomery considers nothing but his own desires,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I’ll tell you something else. Lord Montgomery has a very large estate . . . and pretty extensive grounds, too.”

Isabelle giggled, and Simon felt the bed shake under them. “Okay, I didn’t expect you to get quite so into this.”

“Lord Montgomery always surpasses expectations,” Simon said, seizing Isabelle around the waist and rolling her over so she was beneath him, her black hair spread out onto the pillow. “Mothers, lock up your daughters, then lock up your maidservants, then lock up yourselves. Lord Montgomery is on the prowl.”