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“Is it Dru?” Julian sounded breathless. Magnus knew that Julian wasn’t just Dru’s older brother: He had raised her after their parents died, and in many ways he was more like a father. “If something’s happened to her, tell us right now—”

“Clary was kidnapped tonight, we believe by soldiers from Faerie. And Dru was taken, too,” Magnus said, knowing that this would not be the last time he would have to say these words to someone stunned and grieving. “I’m sorry, Jules. We have no idea where they are.”

4

Among the Disappearing

Dru paced back and forth on the stone floor like a caged animal, examining her prison. She’d woken disoriented, unable to remember for a moment whether she was in her own bedroom in the Los Angeles Institute, or in the room she shared with Thais at the Academy. Her limbs had felt heavy, her mind clouded, but reality had come rushing back when she realized there were silk sheets pooled around her waist, and that the bed was piled with velvet blankets thick as fur. Gossamer fabrics were drifting from the posts of the bed, like the white foamy caps on waves, and there was a faint scent in the air of earth and flowers.

She was undeniably in the Seelie Court. Right. Pandemonium, the fight on the rooftop, Ash catching her out of the air. Clary in a golden cage. Janus, the Huntsman. And Ash, with daggers in his hands.

Oddly, she had no memory of having gone to bed or falling asleep. Just a disjointed impression of being led down long, packed-earth corridors by Elara, the green-skinned faerie woman with eyes the color of spilled black ink. And a sense of exhaustion numbing her, padding the shock and horror she would have felt otherwise. Elara hadn’t done a good job with the blindfold, and Dru had been able to glimpse a bit of the hallway, including the wooden door, etched with a design of vines and suns, that led to this room.

The space was cave-like. The bed was tucked into a niche in the wall, and steps led down into the main room. Dru had clomped down them in her boots, forgetting how sore and tired she felt, determined to search for any potential escape routes. There were no windows, but the glowing moss-veined rock provided illumination. The ceiling—roof?—was high up, lost in shadow.

A narrow waterfall spilled from a rocky outcropping in one corner of the room; where it struck the ground it became a small stream, winding across the floor like a silver ribbon before vanishing through a low arched hole in the wall. There was furniture in the room, though not much of it—a table that was clearly cut from a polished tree trunk, surrounded by chairs whose backs were carved to look like swans, and a low couch with leaf-colored velvet cushions. On one side of the room, vines draped down like curtains. Hanging among them were various garments cut from unfamiliar, shimmering fabrics. It gave Dru a slight shock to see them—was she sleeping in someone else’s room?

When Emma and Julian had stayed in the Seelie Court, they had been given a room that belonged to a gentry faerie. And it had been beautiful, just as this room was beautiful—beautiful enough to give Dru a sick twist in her stomach when she remembered that Clary was locked in a cage.

A sound at the door startled her as the handle rattled. Dru moved into a defensive posture—if only there was anything in the room she could use as a weapon. Though it was certainly no coincidence that there wasn’t. Ugh. Her fishnets were ripped beyond recognition, and her T-shirt was sticky with sweat, dirt, and blood. And of course her stele and the trusty dagger Jaime had given her had been taken.

The door swung open, and Elara stepped inside, holding a carved wooden tray covered by a white cloth. Her black hair spilled down her back, woven with glossy green oak leaves. Her nixie teeth were sharp, flashing when she smiled a polite smile. “Your breakfast, my lady.”

Dru stood back as Elara hurried by her, setting the tray down on the polished-tree table. She whisked away the white cloth to reveal a bowl of porridge with a pitcher of heavy cream and an assortment of nuts and red berries. There was also a steaming wooden cup of what looked a lot like coffee. Dru felt her stomach rumble; it must have been more than a day since she’d eaten anything.

Still, she shook her head. “I’m not eating faerie food.”

Elara, having finished settling the tray, turned to look at her with smooth black eyes. “It isn’t enchanted,” she said.

Dru just shook her head again.

“I cannot lie to you,” said Elara. “And if you do not eat, I will be beaten.”

Dru narrowed her eyes. Do you think I’m a sucker? she thought, but at the same time the mental image of Elara being flogged intruded into her mind. Okay, maybe I am a sucker.

She marched over to the table and flopped down in one of the cushioned chairs. The fork and spoon—there was no knife, Dru noted—were of delicate faerie workmanship that reminded her of her brooch, and the porridge and berries were delicious. She was both hungry and nauseated with anger and fear, but she forced the food down. Better to stay strong.

“So who are you?” she asked, between bites. Elara was still standing upright, her hands folded in front of her, watching Dru impassively. “Did they put you in charge of keeping me locked up?”

“I am not important enough to be your jailer,” said Elara. “I am a servant of the Seelie Court. A runner of messages, mainly. The Queen asked her handmaidens who among us would serve a mortal, and I volunteered to look after your comfort. But should you decide to run, I am not the one who will be chasing you. That would be the Huntsman and his woodsmen.”

The Huntsman. That was what Elara had called Janus before taking her away from Clary. Dru couldn’t help but think of the story of Snow White—the queen, the huntsman. She supposed she herself did have pale skin and black hair, but the black was dye. She was pretty sure Snow White had been au naturel. And she was also pretty sure that if Janus caught her running away, he’d cut out her heart for real, not set her free and lie to the Queen about it.

“I am also to accompany you when you need to move about the Court,” said Elara. “After your breakfast, I will bring you to the training room.”

Dru almost spit out her coffee. “The training room?”

“That is the wish of the Prince.”

“But ‘training room’ sounds like a Shadowhunter thing,” said Dru. “Not a faerie one. I know your warriors must be taught how to fight, but still—”

“It is what the Prince calls it. He is half Shadowhunter, and had the room made to his specifications. No one uses it but him. And now, you. It is a great honor.”

“Whoopee,” said Dru. “Is an honor you have no choice about really an honor?”

Elara looked at her silently.

“Fine,” said Dru. “No need for us to have an existential conversation about choices, I guess.”