“Look, I know what you’re thinking, and I know I can’t stop you from following me. So I’m just asking you flat out: You want me to trust you? Then you try trusting me. And I’m swearing, on whatever you need me to, that your precious lost Shadowhunter will be on that bridge waiting for you at dawn.”

Against his better judgment, Brother Zachariah nodded.

Go.

Céline had no taste for torture. Not that this was what they would call it, whatever they did to the warlock to get her to talk. Valentine had taught his Circle to be careful with their words. Robert and Stephen would “interrogate” Dominique du Froid, using whatever methods they deemed requisite. When they got the answers they needed—names of her Shadowhunter contacts, details of crimes committed—they would deliver her and an inventory of her sins to Valentine.

The warlock was bound to a folding chair in the cheap flat they were using as a home base.

The warlock was unconscious, blood trickling from the shallow wound on her forehead.

This was how Robert and Stephen referred to her, not by name but as “the warlock,” as if she were more thing than person.

Valentine had wanted them to conduct this investigation without alerting the warlock to their presence. It was only midnight on their first day in Paris, and they’d already screwed everything up. “If we bring him some answers, he can’t be too mad,” Stephen said. It sounded more like wish than prediction.

Stephen had stopped commenting on the gamine beauty of Céline’s legs and the addictive qualities of her porcelain skin. He claimed not to remember the effects of the warlock’s potion, but his glance strayed to Céline every time he thought she wasn’t looking. She couldn’t help wondering.

What if he did remember?

What if, having finally touched her, held her, kissed her, he’d discovered a new desire in himself?

He was still married to Amatis, of course; even if he desired Céline—maybe even, a little bit, loved Céline—there was nothing to be done about it.

But what if?

“Is anyone else hungry?” Céline said.

“Am I ever not hungry?” Stephen said. He slapped the warlock sharply. She stirred but did not wake.

Céline backed toward the door. “Why don’t I go find us something to eat, while you’re … taking care of this?”

Robert yanked the warlock’s hair back, hard. She yelped, and her eyes flew open. “Shouldn’t take long.”

“Great.” Céline hoped they couldn’t tell how desperate she was to get out of the apartment. She didn’t have the stomach for this kind of thing, but she couldn’t have them report that back to Valentine. She’d worked too hard to gain his respect.

“Hey, you’re limping,” Stephen said. “You need another iratze?”

He was worried about her. She told herself not to read anything into it. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore,” she lied. “I’m fine.”

She’d applied the healing rune half-heartedly, and it had not completely closed her wound. She preferred, sometimes, to feel the pain.