Prologue
Fireworks sparked and fizzled in the night sky above the Brocelind Forest, raining orange embers that resembled falling angels into the plumes of green leaves. The Lightwoods and friends laughed and stared in amazement at the sparkling balls of fire, relieved that the war was over.
Mazikeen tiredly leaned against Isabelle's shoulder, a smile tugging at her lips as she watched each squealing rocket ignite into a cacophony of colorful sparks. She had still not quite recovered from the beating she took from an Abaddon demon a few nights prior and was convinced that the Downworlder she had allied with was the only reason she survived. Still, as she tried to relax, something was eating at the back of her skull as if she was being watched. A quick look over her shoulder into the deep woods proved that nothing—or nobody—was there. Chalking it up to fried nerves, she shook her head and focused back on the story Clary was telling about her first encounter with fireworks back in New York.
If Mazikeen had looked up into the scraggling limbs of the trees, she would have seen the dark figure crouched among the thick branches. It studied the white haired shadowhunter with hungry dark eyes and a heaving chest, watching the way she moved and laughed along with the others. A harsh pit grew into its stomach, but still couldn't be sure—couldn't risk getting close enough to confirm its suspicions. It turned on a booted foot, crumbling dried tree bark beneath the treads and made a final decision as it fled deeper into the forest.
It would follow the shadowhunters once the celebration was over.
