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So far he knew of no Downworlder who had been targeted, and he had been in touch with his usual network of Downworlder contacts, many of whom were stepping in themselves to try to curtail the demon activity that had risen since the Nephilim had begun to disappear. Luke and Jocelyn had taken the students of the Academy—none of whom had vanished except Thais—and brought them to Praetor House, the werewolf headquarters. Maia had her pack patrolling downtown, and usually after each mission she came to the Institute to tell Magnus what she’d seen. Magnus knew that she was probably taking the time for these visits because she wanted to check up on him, but he didn’t mind. Meanwhile, Lily’s clan of vampires were trying to cover the defense of uptown. Or so Magnus had been told—he hadn’t actually talked to Lily in some time. She had been acting oddly evasive and paranoid, but given the situation, he couldn’t blame her.

He looked down again at the reports on the wards around Idris. He’d been studying them for hours. These particular wards had always been tricky, but it seemed clear to Magnus something in their fundamental nature had changed. Before, they had been linked to the demon towers of Alicante, whose power came from the angelic material of which they had been constructed. But now—now they were tied to something else entirely. Those who had visited the border reported that the wards meant to keep Alicante safe now radiated with a sort of volatile force, a superhuman power, as if they had been made by Raziel himself—or, on the flip side, a powerful demon like Lilith or a Prince of Hell.

Thinking about the Princes of Hell only served to remind Magnus of his own father, Asmodeus. Asmodeus would certainly have been able to analyze the magic of the wards, but he wasn’t the sort of parent you could just call up for help.

Something rattled in the corner. Magnus looked over and saw Church and Chairman Meow pawing at a leaded glass window. Hypatia had brought Church to him after Ragnor found the cat alone at Cirenworth. Maybe they wanted to get out and see the view. Cats, Magnus thought, were not so smart.

Or maybe they understood something he didn’t. A few seconds later, there was a thump against the glass. Several sharp, imperious raps followed, and Magnus raised an eyebrow. He knew that sound.

After shooing the cats away from the window, Magnus opened it, allowing the raven perched there to swoop past him into the room. When it landed atop one of the library tables, it flapped a wing at Magnus, as if to say, Get over here.

The cats stared at Magnus as he approached the raven and greeted it. “It’s Todd, right?” Magnus asked.

The bird inclined its head.

“And you have a message for me?”

Todd stuck out one of his skinny legs, to which a small silver tube had been attached. Magnus retrieved the message, praised Todd (which he was not sure Todd noticed), and leaned against the table to read the message. He recognized Ragnor’s handwriting without surprise—Todd was, after all, Ragnor’s favorite raven.

Magnus,

I have finally deciphered a good chunk of the prophecy. I am interested in your read on a passage, which I completed yesterday. My conclusion is that Kit and Ty may be in grave danger. They are traveling together and should not be hard for you to find. Kit already knows that he must open a way into Faerie, but I think if you read closely, you will understand my concern.

Below the message was the section of the prophecy. Magnus scowled before he read it. He’d assumed that Kit had disappeared with his family, and Ragnor had told him that Ty was safe at the Scholomance. Apparently neither of those things was true. “Lying green bastard,” he muttered, before turning himself to the words of the prophecy, written in Ragnor’s shaky, slanting hand.

There will come a time when a great adversary will rise, one who bore a sword of Heaven, and by him the Nephilim will be undone. When it will seem the end of all Shadowhunters has come, and with none to hold back the demons, that this world will slide into the abyss. First the Clave shall be split in two, and Faerie shall be sealed apart from the world; if a new door into Faerie is not opened by the Heir, a great darkness will come, for the land of fey must know its master.

The werewolves and the vampires will forget what peace they have known and turn upon each other. Peace shall become War, the Four Horsemen will be loosed upon the world, and mortals shall forget their humanity. All will be lost in the drive for power unless a great King rises. This King will have the blood of Nephilim and faerie, and he shall be known by his actions, which are four:

He shall wake the sleepers from beneath the lake

He shall carry a sword forged by Wayland the Smith

He shall bear the sign of the Prophet King into battle

He shall restore the great crown of Faerie but by him it will again be broken

And you will know him by his companions: the Truth Seer, the Lost One, the Deceived, and the Traitor.

Magnus squinted. The prophecy contained all the elements that made him despise prophecies: It was vague, unspecific, and offered no action plan. But it was interesting that upon reading the full prophecy, Ragnor had thought immediately of Kit and Ty. There was the mention of the Heir needing to open a way into Faerie, but apparently Kit already knew about that.

Still. His eyes were bleary, his mind slow; he was exhausted and not thinking as clearly as he should. Ragnor felt that Magnus would immediately see a problem, so, determined to find the problem, Magnus read the prophecy a second time. It was on the third reading that he stiffened and sat up straight.

For the land of fey must know its master.

“Oh, hell,” Magnus said to the empty room. “Ragnor, what have you done now?”

13

Revel the Night

Something was strange in the Seelie Court.

Not that the Court wasn’t always strange, Dru thought, but there was something different about the feel of the place right now. A restlessness in the air. She’d only been out of her room once today (if it had been today—without sunlight, it was frustratingly hard to know how much time was passing). She’d gone to the training room with Elara, but Ash had never shown up. Elara had eventually walked Dru back to her room almost apologetically, as if Ash’s behavior were somehow Elara’s fault.

Even that brief trip had been enough for Dru to get the sense that something was happening. The Court servants were rushing every which way, carrying odd things like large mirrors and bundles of twigs. The gentry fey whispered among themselves, looking over their shoulders as they hurried along the tunnels. There was a whisper in the air that felt like anticipation, but anticipation of what, Dru wasn’t sure. It was the Seelie Court, so it could be anything from a party to an execution.

She was pacing restlessly back and forth, following the path of the little stream, when the door of her room opened. She turned, expecting to see Elara. But it wasn’t Elara. It was Rathna.