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himself worthy.”
    “Simon had to save the world, and the rest of us get in because we have the right surname?” George asked lightly. He winked at Simon. “Hard luck on you, mate.”
    There was an uncomfortable silence around the table, but Simon suspected nobody felt as uncomfortable as he did.
    “Sometimes those of Shadowhunter blood are put in the dregs stream, if they disgrace themselves,” Julie said shortly. “Mainly, yes, it is reserved for mundanes. That’s the way the Academy always worked in the past; it’s how it will work in the future. We take some mundanes, those with the Sight or with remarkable athletic promise, into the Academy. It’s a wonderful opportunity for them, a chance to become more than they could have ever dreamed. But they cannot keep up with real Shadowhunters. It would hardly be fair to expect them to. They can’t all be Simon.”
    “Some of them simply will not have the aptitude,” Jon remarked in a lofty tone. “Some of them won’t live through Ascension.”
    Simon opened his mouth, but before he could ask any further questions he was interrupted by the sound of a lone clap.
    “My dear students, my present and future Shadowhunters,” said Dean Penhallow, rising from her chair. “Welcome, welcome! To Shadowhunter Academy. It is such a joy to see you all here at the auspicious official opening of the Academy, where we will be training a whole new generation to obey the Law laid down by the Angel. It is an honor to have been chosen to come here, and a joy for us to have you.”
    Simon looked around. There were about two hundred students here, he thought, uncomfortably crammed around rickety tables. He noticed again that several of them were very young, and grubby and desolate. Simon’s heart went out to them, even as he wondered exactly what the running water situation at the Academy was.
    Nobody looked as if they felt honored to be here. Simon found himself wondering again about the Shadowhunters’ recruiting methods. Julie talked about them as if they were noble, searching for lost Shadowhunter families and offering mundanes amazing opportunities, but some of these kids looked about twelve. Simon had to wonder what your life must be like, if you were ready to leave it all and go fight demons at twelve.
    “There have been a few unexpected losses from the staff, but I’m certain we will do splendidly with the excellent personnel we have remaining,” Dean Penhallow continued. “May I introduce Delaney Scarsbury, your training master.”
    The man sitting next to her got up. He made Jon Cartwright’s biceps look like grapes held up to a grapefruit, and he actually had an eye patch, like the angel in the stained-glass window.
    Simon turned slowly and looked at George, who he hoped would feel him on this one. He mouthed: No way.
    George, who obviously did feel him on this one, nodded and mouthed: Pirate Shadowhunter!
    “I look forward to crushing you all into a pulp and molding that pulp into ferocious warriors,” announced Scarsbury.
    George and Simon exchanged another speaking glance.
    A girl at the table behind Simon began to cry. She looked about thirteen.
    “And this is Catarina Loss, a very estimable warlock who will be teaching you a great deal about—history and so on!”
    “Yay,” said Catarina Loss, with a desultory wave of her blue fingers, as if she’d decided to try clapping without bothering to lift both hands.
    The dean soldiered on. “In past years at the Academy, because Shadowhunters come from all over the globe, every day of the week we would serve a delicious dish from a different nation. We certainly intend to keep up that tradition! But the kitchens are in a slight state of disrepair and for now we have—”
    “Soup,” said Catarina flatly. “Vats and vats of murky brown soup. Enjoy, kids.”
    Dean Penhallow continued her one-woman applause. “That’s right. Enjoy, everyone. And again, welcome.”
    There really was nothing on offer but huge