Jonathan, he’d thought first, and flinched at even the thought of that name, which had surprised him. He hadn’t done much flinching in Thule.

“Janus,” he’d told the Queen. “The god with two faces. The god of endings and beginnings, and passages between strange doorways.”

“The god?” the Queen repeated.

“My father gave me a classical education,” Janus told her. “To go with my classical good looks.”

That had made the Queen laugh. “I see some things do not change, no matter the world.”

She saw nothing. Nobody in this world could know what he had been forced to become.

It was in Faerie that Janus had heard of the faerie-and-warlock stall and the magic it could do, and he hadn’t been able to resist. He knew Shadowhunters were not welcome at Shadow Markets. He’d thought that if he wore a hood and cloak, the risk would be minimal.

Unfortunately, several people were looking at him as if they recognized him. Well, let them think that the Jace of this world made a regular practice of haunting the Shadow Market. He had nothing invested in protecting that Jace’s reputation.

Janus turned. A werewolf slammed into him and cursed.

“Hey, Shadowhunter, watch where you’re going!”

Janus had his hand on his dagger when another werewolf came by and slapped the first werewolf upside the head.

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” he demanded. “That’s Jace Herondale, the head of the Institute.”

The werewolf paled. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Please forgive him. He’s from a horrible desert wasteland and he doesn’t know what’s going on,” said the other werewolf.

“I’m from Ohio!”

“That’s what I said.”

The two werewolves gazed at Janus in apologetic misery. Janus was very confused, but he slowly let go of the hilt of his dagger. This pair might be more useful alive.

“So sorry,” the second werewolf stressed.

“It’s …” Janus cleared his throat. “It’s fine.”

“He’s also the Consul’s parabatai,” said the werewolf. “You know, Alec Lightwood.”

Janus felt something twist deep in his gut. The sensation surprised him. He was used to feeling nothing at all.

He held the thought of Alec being Consul in front of his mental eye, like a peculiar stone he was studying. He’d heard from the Queen that in this new strange world everything was different and everyone was alive, but when he had imagined those he’d known once alive again, he’d imagined them unchanged. Alec as Consul. He couldn’t imagine it.

“I’m actually here on … a secret mission,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you kept quiet about seeing me.”

“I thought so,” said the second werewolf. “Cloak. Hood. ‘Secret mission,’ I said to myself.”