“Gracious,” said Cecily. “You must be Mr. Sallows.” “Nephilim,” observed the shop owner gloomily. “I detest Nephilim.” “Hmph,” said Cecily. “Charmed, I’m sure.” Gabriel felt it was about time to intervene. “How did you know we were Shadowhunters?” he snapped. Sallows raised his eyebrows. “Your Marks, sir, are clearly visible on your hands and throat,” he said, as if talking to a child, “and as for the girl, she looks just like her brother.” “How would you know my brother?” Cecily demanded, her voice rising. “We don’t get many of your kind in here,” said Sallows. “It’s notable when we do. Your
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