Lord of Shadows by Cassandra Clare
Then the horses shot forward. The sky blurred above them, the stars turning to streaks of shimmering, multicolored paint. Julian realized that he was grinning--truly grinning, the way he rarely had since he was a child. He couldn't help it. Buried in everyone's soul, he thought as they spun forward through the night, must be the yearning desire to fly.
And not the way mundanes did, trapped inside a metal tube. Like this, exploding up through clouds as soft as down, the wind caressing your skin. He glanced over at Emma. She was leaning down over her horse's mane, long legs curved around its sides, her brilliant hair flying like a banner. Behind her rode Cristina, who had her hands in the air and was shrieking with happiness. "Emma!" she shouted. "Emma, look, no hands!"
Emma glanced back and laughed aloud. Mark, who rode Windspear with an air of familiarity, Kieran clinging to his belt with one hand, was not as amused. "Use your hands!" he yelled. "Cristina! It's not a roller coaster!"
"Nephilim are insane!" shouted Kieran, pushing his wildly blowing hair out of his face.
Cristina just laughed, and Emma looked at her with a wide smile, her eyes glowing like the stars overhead, which had turned to the silver-white stars of the mundane world.
Shadows loomed up in front of them, white and black and blue. The cliffs of Dover, Julian thought, and felt an ache inside that it might be over so quickly. He turned his head and looked at his brother. Mark sat astride Windspear as if he'd been born on a horse's back. The wind tore his pale hair, revealing his sharply pointed ears. He was smiling too, a calm and secret smile, the smile of someone doing what they loved.
Far below them the world spun by, a patchwork of silver-black fields, shadowy hills, and luminous, winding rivers. It was beautiful, but Julian could not take his eyes off his brother. So this is the Wild Hunt, he thought. This freedom, this expanse, this ferocity of joy. For the first time, he understood how and why Mark's choice to stay with his family might not have been an easy one. For the first time he thought in wonder of how much his brother must love him after all, to have given up the sky for his sake.
PART TWO
Thule
15
FRIENDS LONG GIVEN
Kit had never thought he'd set foot in one Shadowhunter Institute. Now he had eaten and slept in two. If this kept up, it was going to become a habit.
The London Institute was exactly the way he would have imagined it, if he'd ever been asked to imagine it, which he admittedly hadn't. Housed in a massive old stone church, it lacked the glossy modernity of its Los Angeles counterpart. It looked as if it hadn't been renovated for eighty years--the rooms were painted in Edwardian pastels, which had faded over the decades into soft and muddied colors. The hot water was irregular, the beds were lumpy, and dust limned the surfaces of most of the furniture.
It sounded, from bits and snatches Kit had overheard, as if the London Institute had once had many more people in it. It had been attacked by Sebastian Morgenstern during the Dark War, and most of the former inhabitants had never returned.
The head of the Institute looked nearly as ancient as the building. Her name was Evelyn Highsmith. Kit got the sense that the Highsmiths were a big deal in Shadowhunter society, though not as big a deal as the Herondales. Evelyn was a tall, imperious, white-haired woman in her eighties who wore long 1940s-style dresses, carried a silver-headed walking stick, and sometimes talked to people who weren't there.
Only one other person seemed to live in the Institute: Evelyn's maid, Bridget, who was just as ancient as her mistress. She had bright dyed-red hair and a thousand fine wrinkles. She was always popping up in unexpected places, which was inconvenient for Kit, who was once again on the lookout for anything he might steal. It wasn't a quest that was going well--most of what appeared valuable was furniture, and he couldn't imagine how he was supposed to creep away from the Institute carrying a sideboard. The weapons were carefully locked away, he didn't know how to sell candlesticks on the street, and though there were valuable first editions of books in the enormous library, most of them had been scribbled in by some idiot named Will H.
The dining room door opened and Diana came in. She was favoring one arm: Kit had found out that some Shadowhunter injuries, especially those that involved demon poison or ichor, healed slowly despite runes.
Livvy perked up at the sight of her tutor. The family had gathered for dinner, which was served at a long table in a massive Victorian dining room. Angels had once been painted on the ceiling, but they had long ago been nearly completely covered by dust and the stains of old burns. "Did you hear anything from Alec and Magnus?"
Diana shook her head, taking the seat opposite Livvy. Livvy wore a blue dress that looked like it had been stolen from the set of a BBC period piece. Though they'd fled the L.A. Institute with none of their belongings, it turned out there were years' worth of clothes stored in London, though none of them looked as if they'd been purchased after 1940. Evelyn, Kit, and the Blackthorn family sat around the table in an odd assortment of clothes: Ty and Kit in trousers and long-sleeved shirts, Tavvy in a striped cotton shirt and shorts, and Drusilla in a black velvet gown that had delighted her with its Gothic appeal. Diana had rejected all the garments and simply hand washed her own jeans and shirt.
"What about the Clave?" said Ty. "Have you talked to the Clave?"
"Are they ever useful?" Kit muttered under his breath. He didn't think anyone had heard him, but someone must have, because Evelyn burst out laughing. "Oh, Jessamine," she said to no one. "Come now, that isn't in good taste at all."
The Blackthorns all raised their eyebrows at each other. No one commented, though, because Bridget had appeared from the kitchen, carrying steaming plates of meat and vegetables, both of which had been boiled to the point of tastelessness.
"I just don't see why we can't go home," Dru said glumly. "If the Centurions defeated all the sea demons, like they said . . ."
"It doesn't meant Malcolm won't come back," said Diana. "And it's Blackthorn blood he wants. You're staying within these walls, and that's final."
Kit had passed out during the horrible thing they called a Portal journey--the terrible whirl through absolutely icy nothingness--so he'd missed the scene that must have occurred when they'd appeared in the London Institute--minus Arthur--and Diana had explained they were there to stay.
Diana had contacted the Clave to tell them about Malcolm's threats--but Zara had been there first. Apparently she'd assured the Council that the Centurions had it all under control, that they were more than a match for Malcolm and his army, and the Clave had been only too happy to take her word for it.
And as if Zara's assurance had in fact effected a miracle, Malcolm didn't turn up again, and no demons visited the Western Seaboard. Two days had passed, and there had been no news of disaster.
"I hate Zara and Manuel being in the Institute without us there to watch them," said Livvy, throwing her fork down. "The longer they're there, the better claim they have for the Cohort taking it over."
"Ridiculous," said Evelyn. "Arthur runs the Institute. Don't be paranoid, girl." She pronounced it gel.
Livvy flinched. Though everyone, even Dru and Tavvy, had finally been brought up to speed on the situation--including Arthur's illness and the facts about where Julian and the others really were--it had been decided it was better for Evelyn not to know. She wasn't an ally; there was no reason she'd side with them, though she seemed patently uninterested in Council politics. In fact, most of the time she didn't seem to be listening to them at all.
"According to Zara, Arthur's been locked in his office with the door shut since we left," said Diana.
"I would be too, if I had to put up with Zara," said Dru.
"I still don't see why Arthur didn't come with you," sniffed Evelyn. "He used to live in this Institute. You'd think he wouldn't mind paying a visit."
"Look on the bright side, Livvy," Diana said. "When Julian and the others return from--from where they are--they're most likely to go straight to Los Ang
Livvy poked at her food and said nothing. She looked pale and drawn, purple shadows under her eyes. Kit had gone down the corridor the night after they'd arrived in London, wondering if she wanted to see him, but he'd heard her crying through her door when he put his hand on the knob. He'd turned around and left, a strange, pinching feeling in his chest. No one crying like that wanted anyone to come near them, especially not someone like him.
He got the same pinching feeling when he looked across the table at Ty and remembered how the other boy had healed his hand. How cool Ty's skin had been against his. Ty was tense in his own way--the move to the London Institute had constituted a major disruption in his daily routine and it was clearly bothering him. He spent a lot of time in the training room, which was almost identical in layout to its Los Angeles counterpart. Sometimes when he was especially stressed, Livvy would take his hands in hers and rub them matter-of-factly. The pressure seemed to ground him. Still, at the moment Ty was tense and distracted, as if he'd folded in on himself somehow.
"We could go to Baker Street," Kit said, without even knowing he was going to say it. "We are in London."
Ty looked up at that, his gray eyes aglow. He had shoved his food away: Livvy had told Kit that Ty took a long time to warm up to new foods and new flavors. For the moment, he was almost solely eating potatoes. "To 221B Baker Street?"
"When everything with Malcolm is cleared up," Diana interrupted. "No Blackthorns out of the Institute until then, and no Herondales, either. I didn't like the way Malcolm glared at you, Kit." She stood up. "I'll be in the parlor. I need to send a fire-message."
As the door closed behind her, Tavvy--who was staring at the air next to his chair in a way Kit found frankly alarming--giggled. They all turned to look in surprise. The youngest Blackthorn hadn't been laughing much lately.
He supposed he didn't blame the kid. Julian was all Tavvy had in the way of a father. Kit knew what missing your father was like, and he wasn't seven years old.
"Jessie," Evelyn scolded, and for a moment Kit actually looked around, as if the person she was addressing was in the room with them. "Leave the child alone. He doesn't even know you." She glanced around the table. "Everyone thinks they're good with children. Few know when they are not." She took a bite of carrot. "I am not," she said, around the food. "I have never been able to stand children."
Kit rolled his eyes. Tavvy looked at Evelyn as if he was considering throwing a plate at her.
"You might as well take Tavvy to bed, Dru," said Livvy hastily. "I think we're all done with dinner here."
"Sure, why not? It's not like I didn't find clothes for him this morning or put him to bed last night. I might as well be a servant," Dru snapped, then snatched Tavvy out of his chair and stalked out of the room, dragging her younger brother behind her.
Livvy put her head into her hands. Ty looked over at her and said, "You don't have to take care of everyone, you know."
Livvy sniffled and looked sideways at her twin. "It's just--without Jules here, I'm the oldest. By a few minutes, anyway."
"Diana's the oldest," said Ty. Nobody mentioned Evelyn, who had placed a pair of spectacles on her nose and was reading a newspaper.
"But she's got so much more to do than look after us--I mean, look after the little things," said Livvy. "I never really thought about it before, all the stuff Julian does for us, but it's so much. He always holds it together and takes care of us and I don't even get how--"
There was a sound like an explosion overhead. Ty's face drained. It was clear he was hearing a noise he'd heard before.
"Livvy," Ty said. "The Accords Hall--"
The noise sounded less like an explosion now, and more like thunder, a rushing thunder that was taking over the sky. A sound like clouds being ripped apart as if cloth were tearing.
Dru burst into the room, Tavvy just behind her. "It's them," she said. "You won't believe it, but you have to come, quickly. I saw them flying--I went up to the roof--"
"Who?" Livvy was on her feet; they all were, except Evelyn, who was still reading the paper. "Who's on the roof, Dru?"
Dru swept Tavvy up into her arms.
"Everyone," she said, her eyes shining.
*
The roof of the Institute was shingle, stretching out wide and flat to a waist-high wrought-iron railing. The finials of the railings were tipped with iron lilies. In the distance, Kit could see the glimmering dome of St. Paul's, familiar from a thousand movies and TV shows.
The clouds were heavy, iron-colored, surrounding the top of the Institute like clouds around a mountain. Kit could barely see down to the streets below. The air was acrid with summer thunder.
They had all spilled up onto the roof, everyone but Evelyn and Bridget. Diana was here, her arm carefully cradled. Ty's gray eyes were fixed on the sky.
"There," Dru said, pointing. "Do you see?"
As Kit stared, the glamour peeled away. Suddenly it was as if a painting or a movie had come to life. Only movies didn't give you this, this visceral tangle of wonder and fear. Movies didn't give you the smell of magic in the air, crackling like lightning, or the shadows cast by a host of impossibly soaring creatures against the sky above it. They didn't give you starlight on a girl's blond hair as she slid shrieking in excitement and happiness from the back of a flying horse and landed on a roof in London. They didn't give you the look on the Blackthorns' faces as they saw their brothers and friends coming back to them.
Livvy leaped at Julian, hurling her arms around his neck. Mark flung himself from his horse and half-tumbled down to find himself being hugged tightly by Dru and Tavvy. Ty came more quietly, but with the same incandescent happiness on his face. He waited for Livvy to be done nearly strangling her brother and then stepped in to take Julian's hands.
And Julian, who Kit had always thought of as an almost frightening model of control and distance, grabbed his brother and yanked him close, his hands twisting in the back of Ty's shirt. His eyes were shut, and Kit had to look away from the expression on his face.
He had never had anyone but his father, and he was sure beyond any words that his father had never loved him like that.
Mark came up to his brothers then, and Ty turned to look at him. Kit heard him say: "I wasn't sure you would come back."
Mark laid his hand on his brother's shoulder, and spoke gruffly. "I'll always come back to you, Tiberius. I am sorry if I ever led you to believe anything else."
There were two other arrivals as well among the Blackthorns, who Kit didn't recognize: a gorgeously scowling boy with blue-black hair that waved around his angular face, and a wide-shouldered, massive man wearing an alarming helmet with carved antlers protruding from either side. Both of them sat astride their horses silently, without dismounting. A faerie escort, perhaps, to keep the others safe? But how had the Blackthorns and Emma managed to secure a favor like that?
Then again, if anyone could manage to secure such a thing, it would be Julian Blackthorn. As Kit's father used to say about various criminals, Julian was the kind of person who could descend into Hell and come out with the devil himself owing him a favor.
Diana was hugging Emma and then Cristina, tears shining on her face. Feeling awkwardly out of place at the reunion, Kit made his way to the edge of the railing. The clouds had cleared away, and he could see Millennium Bridge from here, lit up in rainbow colors. A train rattled over another bridge, casting its reflection into the water.
"Who are you?" said a voice at his elbow. Kit started and turned around. It was one of the two faeries he had noticed earlier, the scowling one. His dark hair, up close, looked less black than like a mixture of deep greens and blues. He brushed a bit of it away from his face, frowning; he had a full, slightly uneven mouth, but far more interesting were his eyes. Like Mark's, they were two different colors. One was the silver of a polished shield; the other was a black so dark his pupil was barely visible.
"Kit," said Kit.
The boy with the ocean hair nodded. "I'm Kieran," he said. "Kieran Hunter."
Hunter wasn't a real sort of faerie name, Kit knew. Faeries didn't generally give their true names, as names held power; Hunter just denoted what he was, the way nixies called themselves Waterborn. Kieran was of the Wild Hunt.
"Huh," said Kit, thinking of the Cold Peace. "Are you a prisoner?"
"No," said the faerie. "I'm Mark's lover."
Oh, Kit thought. The person he went into Faerie to save. He tried to stifle a look of amusement at the way faeries talked. Intellectually, he knew the word "lover" was part of traditional speech, but he couldn't help it: He was from Los Angeles, and as far as he was concerned, Kieran had just said, Hello, I have sex with Mark Blackthorn. What about you?
"I thought Mark was dating Emma," Kit said.
Kieran looked confused. A few of the curls of his hair seemed to darken, or perhaps it was a trick of the light. "I think you must be mistaken," he said.
Kit raised an eyebrow. How close was this guy actually to Mark, after all? Maybe they'd just had a meaningless fling. Though why Mark would then have dragged half his family to Faerie to save him was a mystery.
Before he could say anything, Kieran turned his head, his attention diverted. "That must be the lovely Diana," he said, gesturing toward the Blackthorns' tutor. "Gwyn was most enraptured with her."
"Gwyn's the big guy? Antler helmet?" said Kit. Kieran nodded, watching as Gwyn dismounted his horse to speak with Diana, who looked quite tiny against his bulk, though she was a tall woman.
"Providence has brought us together again," Gwyn said.
"I don't believe in providence," said Diana. She looked awkward, a little alarmed. She was holding her injured arm close against her. "Or an interventionist Heaven."
" 'There are more things in heaven and earth,' " said Gwyn, " 'than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' "
Kit snorted. Diana looked flabbergasted. "Are you quoting Shakespeare?" she said. "I would have thought at least it would have been A Midsummer Night's Dream."