She snorted. “Hardly. I’m worried for Thomas. I’m here to keep other people out, not keep him in. The whole Enclave has been walking on eggshells since these murders began; it wouldn’t surprise me if an angry mob showed up with torches and pitchforks now that there’s a suspect.” Her eyes flashed. “Go on, tell me I’m being foolish.”

“On the contrary,” said James. “I’m glad you’re here. We all are.”

“Indeed,” said Christopher. “You’re very frightening, Eugenia. I still remember the time you tied me to a tree in Green Park.”

“To be fair, we were playing pirates, and I was eight,” said Eugenia, but she smiled a little. She held out the angel key to James. “Tell him we’ll get him out,” she said fiercely, and James nodded and unlocked the doors.

Inside, the large stone room was dim, lit only by the light of a row of burning candelabras. The windowless walls were hung with long tapestries, each featuring the intricately woven image of a Shadowhunter family crest. A mirror nearly the size of one wall made the room seem larger still. In the middle of the room was a massive stone fountain, dry of water, an angel rising from its center. Its eyes were closed, its blind face sorrowful.

The last time James had been in this room, it had been at the meeting where Cordelia had stood up to declare that he was innocent of burning down Blackthorn Manor—that she had spent the night with him and would vouch for his whereabouts. He still remembered the moment. He had been stunned, not so much by what she had said, but that she had said it at all: he had never imagined anyone making such a sacrifice for him before.

The traces of that meeting were still here, in the family crests on the tapestries, the black velvet chairs scattered about the room, the lectern still in one corner. On one of the chairs, by the dry fountain, sat Thomas. His clothes were creased and spotted with blood, his hands pulled behind the chair, his wrists tied. His eyes were closed, his head hanging.

Christopher gave an indignant gasp. “He’s already locked up. They didn’t need to tie him up as well—”

Thomas lifted his head, blinking. Exhaustion showed in his sunken eyes. “Kit?”

“We’re here,” Christopher said, racing across the room toward Thomas. James followed, joining Christopher in kneeling down before Thomas’s chair, while Matthew went behind, sliding a dagger from his belt. With one slash, the rope parted and Thomas pulled his arms free with a gasp of relief.

“Don’t be angry,” he said, looking at his friends. “I told them it was all right to tie me up. Bridgestock insisted, and I didn’t want my parents to have to keep defending me.”