Cordelia had thought a tattoo would be rather more like their Marks, but it reminded her of something else instead. It was ink, the way books and poems were made of ink, telling a permanent story.

Lucy applauded. Alastair made an odd sort of noise. He was looking away, as if the sight of Thomas bothered him.

“I think it is lovely, Thomas,” Cordelia said. “North points up your arm, along the vein that runs to your heart.”

“So does that mean you’re close friends with Magnus Bane, Thomas?” said Lucie. “Can you reach out to him for help?”

“He never even made an appearance at the party,” said Thomas, rolling his sleeve down. “But reaching out to Ragnor Fell is a good idea.”

“As long as he will keep all this to himself,” said Christopher, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “We cannot tell any Shadowhunters what happened here tonight. We all heard what that demon said.”

There was a murmur of assent, broken by Alastair. “Cordelia and I must depart,” he said. “As for your little secrets, you cannot trust demons. It does not matter what they claim.”

Cordelia knew that tone in his voice. “Alastair, you must promise to keep everything that happened here tonight to yourself.”

“Why should I promise?” Alastair demanded.

“Because even if demons are liars, the risk is too great,” said Cordelia, a little desperately. “The demon said it would target our families if any of us spoke of what happened tonight. Think of Mother and Father.”

Alastair looked mutinous.

“If you do not promise,” Cordelia added, “I will not go home with you. I will stay out all night and be utterly ruined. I will have to marry Thomas or Christopher.”

“What ho,” said Christopher, looking surprised. Thomas smiled.

“If you have any concern for our family, you must promise,” Cordelia said. “Please, Alastair.”

There was a murmur all around; Lucie looked worried. James was looking at Cordelia with an expression she could not decipher.

Alastair’s eyes narrowed. “Very well, I promise,” he muttered. “Now come away at once. We have much to discuss when we return home.”

It was nearing midnight when the five of them—Lucie, James, Matthew, Thomas, and Christopher—finally returned to the Institute. Lucie regarded the bright-lit windows curiously as they spilled into the courtyard. It was unusual at this hour for all the lamps to be on.

James lifted a finger to his lips before pushing open the wide front doors—they opened to the touch of any Shadowhunter’s hand—and led the way inside and up the stairs.

The first-floor hallway shimmered with witchlights. The door of the parlor stood open, and the sound of a Welsh song rang out into the corridor.

Nid wy’n gofyn bywyd moethus,

Aur y byd na’i berlau mân:

Gofyn wyf am galon hapus,

Calon onest, calon lân.