Thomas had taken Cordelia aside; James heard him say something about the battle, and the name Alastair, and he saw Cordelia brighten. So Alastair was all right; James realized he was relieved about it, and not just for Cordelia’s sake. Interesting. Ariadne, too, was fine, according to Anna and Christopher. There had been no deaths, and the most seriously injured were in the infirmary, being tended to by the Brothers.

Ariadne appeared at the top of the steps. Usually neat and put-together, she wore torn gear, a bandage around one arm. Her cheek was scratched, her hair tangled. Her eyes were alight. “Anna, is everything—?” She brightened at the sight of Cordelia and James. “Oh, lovely,” she said. “Mr. and Mrs. Herondale were just saying they were going to send to Curzon Street for you.”

James and Cordelia exchanged a look. “And where are my parents, exactly?” said James. “It’s best I talk to them as soon as possible.”

He was still planning to tell the whole truth, even as Ariadne led them all to the library. Thomas, Christopher, and Anna were describing the attack—Gabriel had nearly been badly hurt, but a group effort had freed him from Leviathan’s barbed tentacles—and Cordelia was still walking along in silence.

James wanted to put his arms around her, to hug her, to whisper comfort in her ear. But she was holding herself the way she had when her father died: still and careful, as if too spontaneous a movement might shatter her. He could not comfort her without exciting curiosity among the others, and he knew Cordelia did not want their sympathy. Not right now.

“You’ll be glad to know Uncle Jem and Magnus are back,” Anna said, glancing at James sideways as they reached the library door. “Apparently an Institute being attacked by a Prince of Hell is surprising enough news even to reach the Spiral Labyrinth. What happened to you lot, by the way? You were meant to be snug at home, but you look as if you’ve been through a war.”

“Would you believe it if I said parlor games gone terribly wrong?” said James.

Anna smiled; there was a quizzical turn to her mouth. “You seem different,” she said, but there was no time for her to expound: they had come into the library and it was absolutely packed full of Shadowhunters.

Will was there, sitting at the head of a long table. Tessa standing beside him. Many of the assembled Nephilim, like Catherine Townsend and Piers Wentworth, wore the marks of recent battle: bandages, torn clothes, and blood. Some, like the Bridgestocks and Pouncebys, were gathered into clusters, muttering and gesticulating. Others sat at the table with Will and Tessa. Sophie was there—Cecily and Alexander were likely in the infirmary with Gabriel—as was Alastair, who looked up as they came in. Seeing Cordelia, he got to his feet.