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Downworlders milled around, buying and selling, stopping to admire items for sale or lounging behind the glass-fronted cases, waiting for customers. There was a vampire selling stuffed pastries from which red liquid oozed. A faerie vendor whose delicately patterned glass orbs held individual will-o’-the-wisps, their light casting fractured shadows against the walls of the booth. A warlock showing off scrolls sealed in wax, a werewolf with a variety of weapons spread out on a velvet table in front of him: blades made of wood and copper and jagged-edged iron daggers that had the few faeries in attendance edging away. As Kit scanned the room, he caught sight of Ty standing in front of a booth, his jacket unzipped, a calculating expression on his face.

Kit rushed over. He knew that look. And indeed, the unmanned booth housed not magical objects but adorable baby badgers, each asleep in a small cage.

“Ty,” he said. “You cannot steal a badger. Or even pay for a badger. We—you, right now, have nowhere to keep a badger.”

“They must be so bored,” Ty said, looking sadly at the badgers.

Kit followed his gaze. The badgers seemed happy enough; each had a cozy blanket and toys inside its cage. “There are way worse things than bored,” he said, gesturing for Ty to come away from the booth. “And zip your jacket up. You look like you’re trying to sell stolen watches.”

Ty looked puzzled, but Kit was already hustling him away before he could filch a badger. At the far side of the hall, they found it: a booth with a simple wooden sign that depicted a hyacinth flower. Dark blue curtains were pulled tight, indicating the booth was closed, but Kit knew better—Hyacinth had owned a nearly identical booth at the Shadow Market in LA, and she liked to nap in between customers.

He stepped up and rang a little silver bell hanging from a hook. He heard something thump inside the booth, followed by a round of faerie cursing (which sounded like water tumbling over rocks), and the velvet curtains flew open.

Hyacinth—blue skinned and slender, wearing a gown of deep purple silk—stared at him. Her lavender hair was long and flowing, and layers of silver faerie jewelry were clasped around her neck. Behind her, Kit could see what looked like the inside of a little caravan, with embroidered pillows for sitting on and a low wooden table covered in tarot cards.

“Kit Rook?” Hyacinth said, with genuine surprise. “What are you…?”

“You know I’m a Shadowhunter, Hyacinth,” Kit reminded her gently. “I’m Kit Herondale now. And this is Ty Blackthorn.”

Ty inclined his head politely. Hyacinth looked between the two of them, her surprised expression fading into a wary one. “And you’re here because…”

“Ragnor Fell sent us to collect the artifacts from the Order of the Briar,” Kit said quietly. “You’re our next stop.”

Hyacinth looked surprised. “You’re the Heir?” She cocked her head to the side. “Not to offend you, but I’ve always thought of you as that little kid in the Shadow Market in Los Angeles. Johnny Rook’s son.”

“Kit is the Heir, and he’s passed all the tests so far,” Ty said, and Kit felt a little pulse of warmth at what sounded like Ty defending him.

“But there’s something we should tell you,” Kit added. “At our last stop, in Bruges, we had to flee. The Riders of Mannan are after us.”

Hyacinth’s sapphire skin paled to pastel. Her hands flew to her face. “The Riders of Mannan?” she wailed. “I never should have gotten involved with the Order of the Briar! Four centuries, and I haven’t learned a thing! Anything involved with Shadowhunters is always a disaster. Herondales doubly so.”

“Hyacinth! Shhh!” Kit glanced around to see if any of the Market-goers were looking, but they seemed to be minding their own business—part of the unspoken code of the Market was don’t get involved. “Look, the Riders are after us, not you. We have the first two artifacts. If the Riders catch us, they’ll take them. You know what that means.”

Kit wasn’t sure he knew what it meant, but Hyacinth nodded reluctantly. “All right. Come in. Quickly.”

She stood aside to let Kit, then Ty, slip through the velvet curtains and sit down, a bit awkwardly, on the pillows covering the floor. (Livvy drifted in after them, but Hyacinth was clearly unable to see her.)

Hyacinth sank down gracefully opposite them, and drew a small, folded piece of paper out from under the wooden table. “This is a map of Kerepesi Cemetery.” She held it out to them. “You have to find a red mausoleum there. It’s marked on the map, and you’ll know it when you see it. There is a stone statue of a weeping angel nearby.”

Kit took the map. “And what do we do then?”

Hyacinth shook her head. “I don’t know. It is for you to discover, not for me to tell you. Once the test is done, I will come to you with a message. Then you will know where to go next.”

So this isn’t the end, Kit thought. It was disappointing news, but mixed with his frustration was a tiny spark of relief. A spark he didn’t want to examine too closely.

“Thank you,” Ty said. “Is there…” He hesitated. “Any news from Faerie? About the pathways opening back up?”

“Everything is still closed off. I myself cannot return to my land.” Hyacinth sounded mournful.

“My sister is in the Seelie Court,” Ty said. “She’s a prisoner there. You haven’t heard anything, even a rumor, about a Shadowhunter girl at the Queen’s Court?”

Hyacinth met his gaze, and for a moment, Kit could see a flicker of emotion in her eyes—sympathy, maybe pity. “No,” she said. “But…” She bit her lip. “My grandmother’s mirror. You may look within it, if you like. If you concentrate, it will show you someone you miss, and where they are. But you must picture their face, or the enchantment cannot work.”

She slid her hand into the pocket of her silk dress, and drew out a small, ornate mirror that reminded Kit of the sort Tessa used to check if her hair, as she said, “had exploded.” Hyacinth handed the delicate object to Ty, who took it carefully. Kit leaned toward him as Ty stared down into its depths.

A minute passed, and then another. Hyacinth had started to look concerned when Ty said, sharply, “Kit. Look.”

The glass was shimmering like mist was passing across its surface. Kit craned his neck to see and his shoulder bumped against Ty’s. Ty was breathing quickly, his cheeks flushed, as the mist seemed to part.