They erupted into motion. Jem shouldered the front door open, readying his sword to face whatever lay beyond. Tessa followed close behind, her hands sparking with angry light. Inside, they found a nightmare: Rosemary lying still in a pool of blood. Looming over her, a massive faerie, his body covered in thick bronze armor, a longsword raised overhead. Its point aimed straight at Rosemary’s heart.

In many ways, Jem Carstairs was no longer a Shadowhunter. But in the most important ways, he would always be a Shadowhunter.

He launched himself forward, a whirl of deadly motion, sword stick a silver blur as he hacked at the faerie with the full, righteous force of Shadowhunter rage. His blows glanced off the creature’s body without leaving a single mark. Tessa raised her hands and dispatched a blinding white wave of energy at the faerie—he absorbed it without flinching, then, almost carelessly, grabbed Tessa in one massive hand and flung her across the room. She slammed into the wall with a thud that caused Jem physical pain. Jem threw himself in the faerie’s path, kicked, spun, swung the sword down sharp and sure in what should have been a mortal blow. Any ordinary faerie—any ordinary Downworlder—would have been felled. This one only laughed, shoved Jem to the floor, and pinned him there beneath a massive foot. Leaving Jem helpless to do anything but watch as the longsword found its mark and stabbed Rosemary through the chest.

The faerie stepped back, freeing Jem to rush to her side—too late. He tore off his shirt, pressed it desperately to Rosemary’s gushing wound, determined to keep her life from draining away. Too late.

“I have no quarrel with you, Shadowhunter,” the faerie said, then gave a sharp whistle. An enormous bronze steed crashed through the bungalow’s front windows in a hail of glass. The faerie hoisted himself onto the horse. “I suggest you refrain from quarreling with me.” The horse reared and leaped into the air.

And just like that, horse and Rider were gone.

Rosemary’s face was deathly pale, her eyes closed. She was still breathing, if barely. Jem put pressure on the wound, willing her to hold on. Tessa knelt beside him.

He let out a sharp breath, his heart clenching. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. But Rosemary …” Tessa gripped Rosemary’s hands and closed her eyes in concentration. Seconds passed as she summoned the will to heal. He could see the effort written on her face, the torment. Finally, Tessa turned to Jem, a hollow look in her eyes. He knew what she would say before she said it.

“It’s a mortal wound,” she murmured. “There’s nothing to be done.”