Los Angeles Institute, 2009

Emma centred her feet on the mat, keeping them hips-width apart, and twirled the dagger in her fingers. Zachariah had been teaching her the finer points of knife throwing over the past few weeks, and she had to admit, she was getting pretty good at it.

Of course, her audience today wasn't doing wonders for her concentration. She took a deep breath, forcing the spectators from her mind. A good knife throw, Zachariah had told her, started from behind the body. Exhaling, Emma pulled her wrist back and let the dagger fly. It sailed end over end across the room, before burying itself in the centre of the painted target on the opposite wall.

Behind her, Julian whooped in celebration.

"Not bad, Carstairs," came a lazy drawl that made her heart beat faster. "Not bad at all."

Emma spun on her heels to face the people watching her. Julian sat on the bench below the weapons cabinet, his legs pulled up lotus-style. Beside him sat a petite, pretty girl with long, red hair and a wry smile – Clarissa Fairchild, of the New York Institute. And lounging against the wall, the only one apart from Emma that was standing; Clary's blond god of a boyfriend, Jace Herondale.

It was Jace who had spoken, grinning lopsidedly in Emma's direction with enough spark in his golden eyes to make her swoon. She attempted a smile in response, but she was fairly certain that she looked too star-struck to manage it. Jace and Clary had come to Los Angeles for a week-long visit, and though they had been in the Institute for two days already, Emma still couldn't get over their presence.

Well, Jace's presence, mostly.

"Who taught you to throw like that?" Clary asked. Her eyes were green as new grass shoots, full of curiosity and kindness. Emma liked Clary, had liked her ever since she had chased after her to check she was okay on the day that she fled from the Council room in Idris, but she couldn't help a queasy sense of jealousy at the fact that Jace was hers.

Not that Emma expected that she, at fourteen, would have a chance with a nearly twenty-year old man, but at least she could dream. Seeing Jace and Clary together, though, seeing the absolute rightness of them as a couple, was enough to kill Emma's fantasies stone-dead.

"Brother Zachariah," Emma answered promptly. "Or, well, just Zachariah, I guess."

Nobody could quite wrap their heads around the transition Zachariah had made, even two years on. It was unheard of.

"The man can throw a knife," Jace said with a grin. "Clearly. You have great technique, Emma."

She flushed at his compliment. "Thanks."

Julian had an uncharacteristically sour look on his face when Emma's gaze landed on him. His eyes were fixed, not on her, but on Jace as he tossed a dagger back and forth between his hands, spinning it in midair. When Jules realised Emma was watching him, he hastily rearranged his expression into a smile.

"Bet you five dollars that you can't do it three times."

Emma scoffed, flicking her blonde hair out of her face and raising an eyebrow at him. Julian knew that she couldn't resist a challenge when he decided to throw down. "You're on, Blackthorn."

He smirked. "Centre of the target, remember."

"Yeah, yeah."

She held out her hand, and Jace placed the dagger he had been playing with in her waiting palm. He winked at her as he did so, and Emma felt herself blushing furiously again. She wasn't usually so ridiculously girly, but, by the Angel, it was Jace Herondale. She could be forgiven.

Emma snapped her wrist back again, and the dagger hurtled into the target, dead centre. She turned to Julian and flashed him a smug smirk. "That's two."

"I can count," he replied, waggling his eyebrows at her. "You'll never make the third one, though."

"By the Angel, they're as bad as you and Alec," Clary said to Jace, who laughed.

"Want to bet?" Emma challenged Julian.

"I thought that's what we were doing."

"Raise the stakes, then." She danced across the room and yanked the dagger free from the target before levelling the point at Jules's face. "Unless you're scared I'll actually win."

"Fine. What do you want to bet?"

Emma considered for a moment. "If I win... you have to do my chores for a week."

Jules grimaced. He hated chores almost as much as she did. "Okay, but if I win, you have to do mine for a month."

"That's not fair!" she protested.

"Thought you were confident?" Julian shot back.

Jace leaned closer to where Clary sat. "I think they're worse than me and Alec," he stage-whispered to her.

Emma held Julian's gaze for a few seconds, a clash of brown and turquoise. "Fine," she said finally.

Julian folded his arms and leaned back against the wall, looking immensely satisfied. "Have fun doing the dishes, Em."

"Don't get too cocky, Jules. You haven't won yet."

He waved a hand in a broad gesture. "On you go, then. Prove me wrong."

Emma gritted her teeth and squared up to the target for one last time. Shaking the tension out of her shoulders, she pulled her wrist back and drew in another deep breath. She really didn't want to have to do Julian's chores.

All eyes were on the knife as it arced through the air this time. The sunlight streaming through the window flashed against the blade, momentarily blinding Emma to its progress, and she heard it sink into the target as she was still blinking black spots from her eyes. When her vision cleared, she saw that it had found its mark – there was her knife, quivering in the centre of the target for the third time.

Clary and Jace's eyes moved from Emma's face to Julian's as she spun around with her arms held aloft in wordless celebration.

Julian groaned.

"Yes!" Emma crowed. "In your face!"

"Bite me," Jules muttered, but he couldn't quite hide his smile.

Clary and Jace exchanged a swift, significant look, and then promptly burst out laughing.