" ... We are Nephilim; we fight our own battles." " That's not precisely true, is it?" said a velvety voice. It was Magnus Bane, wearing a long and glittering coat, multiple hoops in his ears, and a roguish expression. Clary had no idea where he'd come from. " You lot have used the help of warlocks on more than one occasion in the past, and paid handsomely for it too." Malachi scowled. " I don't remember the Clave inviting you into the Glass City, Magnus Bane." " They didn't," Magnus said. " Your wards are down." " Really?" the Consul's voice dripped sarcasm. " I hadn't noticed." Magnus looked concerned. " That's terrible. Someone should have told you." He glanced at Luke. " Tell him the wards are down. "