“Not quite—but I had an idea for some adjustments I could make to the revolver. After what happened to poor Basil Pounceby, I decided to set aside my message-sending project and turn my attentions back to the firearm. Think how useful it could be! If one were able to develop a runed gun that would work on demons and other creatures alike, they could be issued to everyone who goes on patrol. It could be an invaluable tool for defeating Knife Face—or whoever the killer turns out to be.”

James couldn’t help smiling at Christopher’s enthusiasm. His cousin’s violet eyes were shining, his hair was sticking up, and he was gesturing wildly as he spoke. Thomas was also smiling, though he looked a little skeptical.

“So I wanted help from you, James,” Christopher went on. “Obviously I’ve never fired a gun, and neither has Thomas, but you have. We want to make sure we’re doing it right. It is loaded,” he added, rather as an afterthought.

James went over to Thomas. “It isn’t hard,” he said. “You push down the hammer, like this, and sight down along your arm. Aim and pull the trigger.”

With an intense look of concentration, Thomas followed James’s directions, the hammer clicking as he cocked the gun and aimed at the statue of Raziel. James hurriedly backed away as Thomas clamped down on the trigger.

There was a loud click. Christopher’s face fell. Thomas gave the gun a shake, as though it were a cart whose wheels had gotten stuck in snow.

“Don’t wave it about, Tom, even if it isn’t working,” James warned, and Thomas handed the revolver quickly to James. James examined it, taking care to keep the muzzle pointed at the wall, away from the others. The gun was heavier than he had expected, its river-gray barrel etched with the inscription LUKE 12:49.

“Where did you get that thing, anyway?” said Thomas.

“It’s from America,” Christopher said, looking discouraged by the failure of his experiment. “Henry acquired it years ago. It’s a Colt Single Action Army revolver. Mundanes call it a ‘Peacemaker.’ ”

James wrapped his hand around the grip, finding it fit his hand comfortably. Experimentally he pushed down the hammer with his thumb. He squinted down the barrel, lining up the dusty alabaster statue with the sight. “But runes prevent it from firing.”

Christopher sighed. “They do. Only I thought I’d found a way around the problem. I tried different mixes for the gunpowder, different runes, I even said the protection spell over the gun—you know, ‘Sanvi to the right of me, Semangelaf behind me—’ ”

“That’s part of the protection spells they say over Shadowhunters when they’re born,” said James. “It’s a gun, not a baby, Kit. And besides,” he added, resting his finger on the trigger experimentally, “it doesn’t—”