She was still slashing out with her other hand, but the Downworlders, like sharks smelling blood, had turned away from Ty and Kit and were moving toward her. She hit out, spearing two, but without being able to properly shield her body, her circle of protection was shrinking. A vampire stepped nearer, licking his lips.
Kit began to run toward her. Ty was ahead of him, using his shortsword to hack his way through the crowd. Blood was pattering down on the ground at Livvy's feet. Kit's heart tensed with panic. She slumped just as Ty reached her and the two of them went down on the ground, Livvy in her brother's arms. Umbriel clattered from her hand.
Kit staggered toward the two of them. He threw his pole aside, hitting several werewolves, and snatched up Livvy's seraph blade.
Ty had put down the shortsword. He was holding his sister, who was unconscious, her hair spilling across his shoulders and chest. He had his stele out and was tracing a healing rune on her skin, though his hand was shaking and the rune was uneven.
Kit held up the blazing sword. The light of it made the Downworlders cringe back slightly, but he knew it wasn't enough: They would press on, and tear him apart, and then they would tear apart Livvy and Ty. He saw Barnabas, his suit soaked in blood, leaning on the arm of a bodyguard. His eyes, fixed on Kit, were filled with hate.
There would be no mercy here.
A wolf leaped toward Kit. He raised Umbriel, swung it-and connected with nothing. The wolf had tumbled to the ground, as if shoved by an unseen hand.
There was a blast of wind. Kit's gold hair blew across his face; he pushed it back with a hand stained red. The tents were rattling; more jars and bottles smashed. Blue lightning crackled, and a fork of it stabbed into the ground just in front of Barnabas.
"I see," said a silky voice, "that I seem to have arrived here just in time."
Walking toward them was a tall man with short, black, spiked hair. He was clearly a warlock: His eyes were cat's eyes, with slit pupils, green and gold. He wore a charcoal trench coat dramatically lined with red that swept out behind him when he walked.
"Magnus Bane," said Barnabas, with clear loathing. "The Ultimate Traitor."
"Not my favorite nickname," Magnus said, gently wiggling his fingers in Barnabas's direction. "I prefer 'Our Lord and Master' or maybe 'Unambiguously the Hottest.' "
Barnabas shrank back. "These three Nephilim broke into the Market under false pretenses-"
"Did they break the Accords?"
Barnabas snarled. "One of them stabbed me."
"Which one?" Magnus asked.
Barnabas pointed at Kit.
"Dreadful business," Magnus said. His left hand was down by his side. Surreptitiously, he gave Kit a thumbs-up. "Was that before or after you attacked them?"
"After," Kit said. One of Barnabas's bodyguards started toward him; he jabbed out with his blade. This time the lightning that forked from Magnus's hand snapped like a downed electrical wire between their feet.
"Stop," he said.
"You have no authority here, Bane," said Barnabas.
"Actually, I do," said Magnus. "As the warlock representative to the Council of Shadowhunters, I have a great deal of authority. I imagine you know that."
"Oh, we know entirely how in thrall to the Shadowhunters you are." Barnabas was so furious, saliva flew when he spoke. "Especially the Lightwoods."
Magnus raised a lazy eyebrow. "Is this about my boyfriend? Jealous, Barnabas?"
Kit cleared his throat. "Mr. Bane," he said. He'd heard of Magnus Bane, everyone had. He was probably the most famous warlock in the world. His boyfriend, Alec, helped head up the Downworlder-Shadowhunter Alliance, along with Maia Roberts and Lily Chen. "Livvy lost a lot of blood. Ty used a healing rune, but-"
Magnus's face darkened with real anger. "She's fifteen years old; she's a child," he snarled. "How dare you all."
"Going to report us to the Council, Magnus?" said Hypatia, speaking for the first time. She hadn't joined in the melee; she was leaning against the side of a stall, eyeing Magnus up and down. Shade seemed to have vanished; Kit had no idea where he'd gone.
"It seems to me we have two choices," said Magnus. "You fight me, and you will not win, believe me, because I am very angry and I am older than any of you. And then I tell the Council. Or you let me walk away with these Nephilim children, we don't fight, and I don't report you to the Council. Thoughts?"
"I pick number two," said the woman who'd thrown her bottles at the werewolves.
"She's right, Barnabas," said Hypatia. "Step back."
Barnabas's face was working. He turned abruptly on his heel and strode away, followed by his bodyguards. The other Downworlders began to shuffle away, disappearing into the crowd, shoulders hunched.