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Kit closed the door and leaned against it. He could see himself in the mirror above the sinks—he looked wild haired, flushed, his clothes a bit grimy. There was faint gold stubble on his jaw. He dumped the clothes he was holding onto a small table nearby before he spoke.

“You said it was about Ty. And you seemed worried.”

Livvy’s translucent eyes flicked over him. “You really care about Ty, don’t you?” She sounded relieved.

“I always have,” Kit said. “So tell me. What do I need to know?”

Livvy told him.

When she was done, she vanished, presumably to give Kit a chance to process. He spent a long time leaning against the sink, staring into nothing. Better change clothes, he thought finally—it was what he’d told Ty he was going to do. He swapped his grimy clothes for clean ones before returning to the bedroom. Plastering a smile on his face, he opened the door—and found Ty asleep, curled on his side in the bed, his pale skin nearly the same color as the sheets. His eyes were closed, the lids flickering slightly as he dreamed.

Too tired to think, Kit set the alarm clock on the nightstand for seven and crawled into the bed with Ty, pulling the blanket up over both of them. He curled himself around Ty’s body, not touching him but close, and within seconds, he was asleep.

—

The crisp evening air nipped at Kit’s face as he and Ty made their way through the city. It was just after sunset, and the sky had turned that deep indigo color that was Kit’s favorite. Shop windows and streetlights were coming alight, though Kit couldn’t really keep his mind on his surroundings, however picturesque.

He kept thinking of that afternoon, of the way Ty had looked at him. Had touched him. Of those brief moments where he’d thought, Maybe this isn’t the last time. Of the brush of Ty’s thumb across his lips.

Of the things Livvy had told him.

Kit pushed the memory away firmly. He’d told Livvy that the only thing that mattered right now was opening a route to Faerie and rescuing Clary and Dru. Everything else had to wait. Livvy had listened to him, frowning, and said, “You have to, Kit. He’ll still love you if you do.”

And Kit hadn’t said anything. Mostly because he hadn’t even let himself think the word love yet. It was a dangerous word, one that threatened to spiral him into uselessness, like the thought of Mina and Tessa and Jem.

You’re going to get them back. You’re going to rescue Dru and Clary. And Ty—

“Kit?” Ty brushed Kit’s shoulder lightly with his fingers, and Kit turned to him, snapping out of his reverie. Ty was standing on the pavement, looking at him curiously; he had the hood of his gear jacket up, and the darkness of the hood mixed with the blackness of his hair, making it look as if his face were floating in shadow. “You almost walked right past the church.”

Kit blinked, seeing the Asamkirche rising over them, its pale white-and-gold facade almost spectral in the low light. It was fairly impressive that he’d missed it. “Right. Sorry.”

Ty shrugged. “You don’t need to apologize to me.” He led Kit to the small door, but once again, it was locked. Ty rapped sharply on the door and, when nothing happened, backed up to stare at the church. “They have to be expecting us,” he said. “They left that note earlier.”

“Maybe this is the puzzle,” Kit said. “Maybe we need to figure out how to get inside.”

Ty looked dubious. “We need an Open rune,” he said. “Not much of a puzzle. I hate to barge in, but—”

“No choice.” Kit took out his stele and slashed an Open rune across the door, wincing for a moment at the damage he was doing to what he was sure was a historical monument. Not that the rune wouldn’t fade once the door was locked again.

Ty tried the knob, and the door swung open, creaking slightly on its hinges. Inside was lightless dark. If someone was expecting them, they hadn’t gone out of their way to make the place welcoming.

Ty lit his witchlight and they both ducked to pass through the doorway. On the other side was a narrow hallway, the white and gold of the walls gleaming faintly in the witchlight. It was quiet here, the noise of the city muffled by the thick door and walls. Only the sound of their footsteps, boots on stone, echoed off the marble.

Up ahead, Kit could see what looked like a chapel; it was dark, but he just made out the white-draped altar and the sheer quantity of goldwork surrounding it. Being inside it would be like standing inside a baroque jewel box.

Before he could take a step toward it, though, there was a thump and a crash from close by. Ty swung around, his hand at his weapons belt; Kit caught up a seraph blade and searched for the source of the noise.

Kit frowned. Halfway down the hall was a pair of boring, modern-looking wooden doors. “Those weren’t there before,” he said. “Were they?”

Ty shook his head. “No. And they don’t go with the rest of the church at all. Everything in here is either marble, or was dunked in gold at some point. But not those doors.”

They looked at each other with dawning realization, then lowered their weapons and threw the doors open. A short flight of steps led down from the door, and Kit took them carefully. Ty, a second behind him, gazed around in wonder.

The place was a hall of mirrors. The room was a bizarre shape, a sort of polyhedron, with a crazy quilt of mirrors covering every surface. Some were curved, some blurred, some straight; some threw the boys’ reflections back at them in ways that made them appear absurdly wide or strangely elongated. All were shattered, lines spiderwebbing across their surfaces. Kit glanced briefly into one that reflected his own face back at him as if it were a skull, with cavernous black eyes and a grinning mouth. He jerked his gaze away.

“I don’t understand.” Ty was frowning, his brow furrowed. “Something about all this isn’t right—”

Thump. Thud. The sound came again, and this time Kit could track the source. It was coming from inside one of the mirrors.