“Clary,” said Luke, “meet my second and third, Gretel and Alaric.” Alaric inclined his massive head to her. “We have met.” Clary stared, alarmed. “Have we?” “At the Hotel Dumort,” he said. “You put your knife in my ribs.” She shrank against the wall. “I, ah… I’m sorry?” “Don’t be,” he said. “It was an excellent throw.” He slid a hand into his breast pocket and removed Jace’s dagger, with its winking red eye. He held it out to her. “I think this is yours?”
