“Sterling’s an idiot,” Emma said. “He knows someone’s trying to kill him. He shouldn’t be wandering around the city.”

“He probably thinks his own house isn’t that safe,” Cristina pointed out reasonably. “I mean, I ambushed him there.”

“Right,” Emma said. She couldn’t stop worrying a rip in the knee of her gear. The memory of Julian on the beach, the things he had said to her, pressed against the backs of her eyes. She let the thoughts pass through her. When it came time, she’d have to let them all go and concentrate on the fight.

“And, of course, there are the enormous bunny rabbits,” Cristina said.

“What?” Emma snapped back to the present.

“I’ve been talking at you for the last three minutes! Where is your mind, Emma?”

“I slept with Julian,” Emma said.

Cristina shrieked. Then she clapped her hands over her mouth and stared at Emma as if Emma had just announced there was a grenade strapped to the roof of the car and about to explode.

“Did you hear what I said?” Emma asked.

“Yes,” Cristina said, taking her hands away from her mouth. “You slept with Julian Blackthorn.”

Emma’s breath whooshed out of her in a rush. There was something about hearing it said back to her that made her feel as if she’d been gut punched.

“I thought you weren’t going to tell me what was wrong!” Cristina said.

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?” They were whipping around corners lined with palm trees, stucco houses set back from the streets. Emma knew she was driving too fast; she didn’t care.

“I mean—I was in the ocean, and he pulled me out, and things got out of hand—”

“No,” Cristina said. “Not why did you do it. Why did you change your mind about telling me?”

“Because I’m a horrible liar,” Emma said. “You would have guessed.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Cristina took a deep breath. “I suppose I should ask the real question. Do you love him?”

Emma didn’t say anything. She kept her eyes on the broken yellow line in the middle of the road. The sun was a fiery orange ball lowering in the west.

Cristina exhaled slowly. “You do love him.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s all over your face,” Cristina said. “I know what that looks like.” She sounded sad.

“Don’t pity me, Tina,” Emma said. “Please don’t.”

“I’m just frightened for you. The Law is very clear, and the punishments are so severe.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Emma, her voice tinged with bitterness. “He doesn’t love me. And being unrequitedly in love with your parabatai isn’t illegal, so don’t worry.”

“He what?” Cristina said, sounding shocked.

“He doesn’t love me,” said Emma. “He was very clear about that.”

Cristina opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

“I guess it’s flattering that you’re surprised,” Emma said.

“I don’t know what to say.” Cristina put her hand over her heart. “There are the things you would normally say in this situation. If it was anyone else but Julian I’d be telling you how lucky he was to have someone as brave and smart as you are in love with him. I would be scheming with you about how we could make such a silly boy realize such an obvious thing. But it is Julian, and it is illegal, and you must not do anything more, Emma. Promise me.”

“He doesn’t want me that way,” Emma said. “So it doesn’t matter. I just—” She broke off. She didn’t know what else to say or how to say it. There was never going to be another Julian for her.

Don’t think that way. Just because you can’t imagine loving anyone else doesn’t mean that you won’t. But the soft inner voice of her father didn’t reassure her this time.

“I just don’t know why it’s illegal,” she finished, though that had not been what she had meant to say. “It doesn’t make any sense. Julian and I have done everything together, for years, we’ve lived and nearly died for each other, how could there be anyone else better for me than him? Anyone else better—” She broke off again.

“Emma, please don’t think like this. It doesn’t matter why it’s illegal. It just matters that it is. The Law is hard, but it is the Law.”

“A bad law is no law,” Emma countered, swinging a hard right onto Pico Boulevard. Pico ran almost the full length of metropolitan Los Angeles—it was swanky, gritty, dangerous, abandoned, and industrial by turns. Here between the freeway and the ocean it was full of small businesses and restaurants.

“That motto has not served the Blackthorns well,” Cristina murmured, and Emma was about to ask her what she meant when Cristina sat up straight. “Here,” she said, pointing. “Sterling’s here. I just saw him go into that building.”

On the south side of the road was a low, sloping brown-painted building, windowless, with a single door and a sign proclaiming NO ONE UNDER 21 ALLOWED.

“Looks friendly,” Emma muttered, and pulled over to park.

They got out of the car and went to collect their weapons. They already bore glamour runes, and the few pedestrians passing by—hardly anyone walked in L.A., and while there were plenty of cars around, there were very few people—looked through them as if they weren’t there. A girl with bright green hair glanced at Emma as she passed by, but didn’t stop.

“You’re right,” Emma said as they buckled on their seraph blades. Each blade had a small hook that allowed it to be affixed to a weapons belt and removed with a quick downward jerk of the hand. “About Julian. I know you are.”

Cristina gave her a quick, one-armed hug. “And you will do the right thing. I know you will.”

Emma was already scanning the building, looking for entrances. There were no windows that she could see, but a narrow alley snaked around the back of the bar, partially blocked by an overgrown patch of needle grass. She gestured toward it, and she and Cristina slipped silently through the low, dusty vegetation that grew—barely—in the polluted air.

The sun was setting, and it was dark in the alley behind the bar. A row of chained-together trash cans were propped under a barred and boarded-up window.

“I can get the bars off, if I climb up there,” Emma whispered, indicating the trash cans.

“Okay, wait.” Cristina pulled out her stele. “Runes.”

Cristina’s runes were careful, precise, and beautiful. Emma could feel the power of a strength rune jolt through her like a kick of caffeine. It wasn’t like having Julian put runes on her—that felt as if his strength were flowing into her, doubling her own.

Cristina turned around, shrugging her jacket down, presenting the line of her bare shoulder to Emma. She handed the stele to Emma, who began to draw—two overlapping Soundless runes, Sure-Strike, Flexibility.

“Please don’t think I’m angry,” Cristina said, facing the opposite wall. “I worry for you, is all. You are so strong, Emma. You are strong down to your bones. People live through heartbreak, and you are strong enough to live through it many times. But Julian is not someone who can just touch your heart. He can touch your soul. And there is a difference between having your heart break and having your soul shatter.”