It stretched upward. The shadow of a man, head bent, broad shoulders slumped. Cristina put her hand to the pendant at her throat and murmured something—a prayer, Mark guessed.

The light in the room increased. The shadow was no longer a shadow. It had taken on color and form and was Gwyn ap Nudd, arms crossed over his thick chest, two-colored eyes gleaming from beneath heavy brows. “Mark Blackthorn,” he said, his voice a rumble. “I did not give that token to you, nor was it meant for you to use.”

“Are you really here?” Mark demanded, fascinated. Gwyn seemed solid enough, but if Mark looked closely, he thought he could see the edges of the window frames through Gwyn’s body . . . .

“He’s a Projection,” said Magnus. “Greetings, Gwyn ap Nudd, escort of the grave, father of the slain.” He bowed very slightly.

“Magnus Bane,” said Gwyn. “It has been a long time.”

Alec kicked Magnus in the ankle—probably, Mark suspected, to keep Magnus from saying something about how it hadn’t been long enough.

“I need you, Gwyn,” said Mark. “We need you.”

Gwyn looked disgruntled. “If I had wanted you to be able to call on me at your will, I would have given the acorn to you.”

“You called on me,” Mark said. “You came to me to ask me to help Kieran, and so I rescued him from the Unseelie King, and now the Riders of Mannan are hunting my brothers and sisters, who are only children.”

“I have carried the bodies of countless children from the battlefield,” said Gwyn.

He did not mean to be cruel, Mark knew. Gwyn simply had his own reality, of blood and death and war. There was never a time of peace for Gwyn or the Wild Hunt: Somewhere in the world, there was always war, and it was their duty to serve it.

“If you do not help,” said Mark, “then you make yourself a servant of the Unseelie King, protecting his interests, his plans.”

“Is that your gambit?” Gwyn said softly.

“It’s no gambit,” said Kieran. “The King my father means to wage a war; if you do not move to position yourself against him, he will presume you are with him.”

“The Hunt stands with no one,” said Gwyn.

“And that’s precisely who will believe that is true, if you do not act now,” said Mark. “No one.”

“The Hunt can find Livvy and Ty and Kit,” said Cristina. “You are the greatest seekers the world has ever known, much greater than the Seven Riders.”

Gwyn gave her a slightly incredulous look, almost as if he couldn’t believe she’d spoken at all. He looked half-amused, half-exasperated by her flattery. Kieran, on the other hand, looked impressed.

“Very well,” Gwyn said. “I will attempt it. I promise nothing,” he added darkly, and vanished.

Mark stood staring at the place Gwyn had vanished from, the blank wall of the library, unmarked by shadows.

Cristina offered him a worried smile. Cristina was always a revelation, he thought. Gentle and honest, but astonishingly capable of plying faerie tricks if necessary. Her words to Gwyn had sounded utterly sincere.

“He might sound reluctant, but if Gwyn says he will attempt something, he will leave no stone unturned,” Magnus said. He looked absolutely exhausted in a way Mark didn’t remember ever having seen him look before. Exhausted, and grim. “I’m going to need your help, Alec,” he said. “It’s time for me to Portal to Cornwall. We need to find Emma and Julian before the Riders do.”

* * *

The Council Hall clock was ringing through the Gard, sounding like the tolling of a huge bell. Diana, having finished her story some minutes ago, folded her hands atop the Consul’s desk. “Please, Jia,” she said. “Say something.”

The Consul rose from her seat behind the desk. She wore a flowing dress whose sleeves were edged with brocade. Her back was very straight. “It sounds like the work of demons,” she said in a strained voice. “But there are no demons in Idris. Not since the Mortal War.”

The previous Consul had died in that war. Jia had remained in power since, and no demons had entered Idris. But demons were not the only beings who ever meant harm to Shadowhunters.

“Helen and Aline would know had there been demon activity in Brocelind,” Jia added. “There are all sorts of maps and charts and sensitive instruments at Wrangel Island. They saw when Malcolm broke the wards around your Institute and reported it to me even before you did.”

“This was not the work of demons,” said Diana. “It did not have that feeling, the stench of demons—it was the death of growing things, a blight on the earth. It was what—what Kieran has described as happening in the Unseelie Lands.”

Be careful, Diana told herself. She had almost said it was what Julian had described. Jia would be an ally, she hoped, but she had not yet proved herself one. And she was still part of the Clave—its highest representative, in fact.

There was a knock on the door. It was Robert Lightwood, the Inquisitor. He was pulling riding gloves from his hands. “What Miss Wrayburn says is true,” he said, without preamble. “There is a blighted space in the center of the forest, perhaps a mile from Herondale Manor. Sensors confirm no demon presence.”

“Were you alone when you went to look at it?” Diana demanded.

Robert looked faintly surprised. “A few others were with me. Patrick Penhallow, some of the younger Centurions.”

“Let me guess,” said Diana. “Manuel Villalobos.”

“I didn’t realize this was meant to be a confidential mission,” said Robert, raising his eyebrows. “Does it matter if he was there?”

Diana said nothing, only looked at Jia, whose dark gaze was weary.

“I hope you took some samples, Robert,” Jia said.

“Patrick has them. He’s taking them to the Silent Brothers now.” Robert stuffed his gloves in his pocket and glanced sideways at Diana. “For what it’s worth, I considered your request, and I believe a Council meeting regarding the issues of the Cohort and the faerie messenger would be useful.”

He inclined his head toward Diana and left the room.

“It’s better that he took Manuel and the others along,” said Jia in a low voice. “They cannot deny what they have seen, should it come to that.”

Diana rose from her chair. “What do you think they’ve seen?”

“I don’t know,” said Jia candidly. “Did you attempt to use your seraph blade, or a rune, when you were in the forest?”

Diana shook her head. She hadn’t told Jia what she’d been doing in Brocelind at dawn—certainly not that she’d been there on a semi-date with a faerie in her pajamas.

“You are going to argue this is a sign of the Unseelie Court’s incursion into our lands,” said Jia.

“Kieran said the Unseelie King would not stop at his own lands. That he would come for ours. That is why we need the Seelie Queen’s help.”

Which was contingent on finding the Black Volume, Diana knew, though she had not told Jia that. Getting rid of the Cohort was too important.

“I read the file you gave me,” Diana added. “I think you may have forgotten to remove some papers regarding Zara’s history from it.”