"So we both have dead mothers," Ty said. "Do you think you'll want to stay here? And become a Shadowhunter?"
Kit started to answer--and stopped, as a sound like a low, sweet bell tolling echoed through the house. "What's that?"
Ty raised his head. Kit got a quick flash of the color of his eyes: true gray, that gray that was almost silver.
Before he could answer, the kitchen door swung open. It was Livvy, a soda can in her left hand. She looked unsurprised to see Kit and Ty; pushing between them, she jumped up onto the table, crossing her long legs.
"The Centurions are here," she said. "Everyone's running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Diana went to welcome them, Julian looks like he wants to kill someone . . . ."
"And you want to know if I'll go and spy on them with you," said Ty. "Right?"
She nodded. "I'd suggest somewhere that we won't be seen, because if Diana catches us, we'll be making up beds and folding towels for Centurions for the next two hours."
That seemed to decide things; Ty nodded and headed for the kitchen door. Livvy jumped off the table and followed him.
She paused with a hand on the doorframe, looking back over her shoulder at Kit. "You coming?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure you want me to?" It hadn't occurred to him to invite himself--the twins seemed like such a perfect unit, as if they needed no one but each other.
She grinned. He smiled hesitantly back; he was plenty used to girls, even pretty girls, but something about Livvy made him feel nervous.
"Sure," she said. "One warning--rude and catty comments about the people we're spying on are required. Members of our family exempted, of course."
"If you make Livvy laugh, you get double points," Ty added, from the hallway.
"Well, in that case . . ." Kit started after them. What was it Jace had said, after all? Herondales couldn't resist a challenge.
*
Cristina looked with dismay at the group of twenty or so Centurions milling around the massive entryway of the Institute. She'd only had a short time to prepare herself for the idea of meeting Diego's Scholomance friends, and she certainly hadn't planned to do it wearing dusty gear, with her hair in braids.
Oh well. She straightened her back. Shadowhunter work was often dirty; surely they wouldn't be expecting her to look pristine. Though, she realized as she glanced around, they certainly did. Their uniforms were like regular gear, but with military-style jackets over them, bright with metal buttons and sashed crossways with a pattern of vine staffs. The back of each jacket bore the symbol of the Centurion's family name: a sandy-haired boy had a wolf on his back, a girl with deep brown skin had a circle of stars. The boys had short hair; the girls wore their hair braided or tied back. They looked clean, efficient, and a little alarming.
Diana was chatting with two Centurions by the door to the Sanctuary: a dark-skinned boy with a Primi Ordines insignia, and the boy with the wolf jacket. They turned to wave at Diego as he came down the stairs, followed by Cristina and the others.
"I can't believe they're here already," Emma muttered.
"Be gracious," said Diana in a low voice, sweeping up to them. Easy for her to say, thought Cristina. She wasn't covered in dust. She took hold of Emma by the wrist, seized Julian with her other hand, and marched them off to mingle with the Centurions, thrusting Julian toward a pretty Indian girl with a gold stud in her nose, and depositing Emma in front of a dark-haired girl and boy--very clearly twins--who regarded her with arched eyebrows.
The sight of them made Cristina think of Livvy and Ty, though, and she glanced around to see if they were peering down from the second floor as they often did. If they were, she couldn't see them; they'd probably gone off to hide, and she didn't blame them. Luggage was strewn all around the floor: Someone was going to have to show the Centurions to their rooms, welcome them, figure out how to feed them . . . .
"I didn't realize," Mark said.
"Didn't realize what?" Diego said; he had returned the greeting of the two boys who had been talking to Diana earlier. The boys started across the room toward them.
"How much like soldiers Centurions look," said Mark. "I suppose I was thinking of them as students."
"We are students," Diego said sharply. "Even after we graduate, we remain scholars." The other two Centurions arrived before Mark could say anything else; Diego clapped them both on the back and turned to introduce them. "Manuel, Rayan. This is Cristina and Mark."
"Gracias," said the boy with the sandy hair--it was a light brown, streaked and bleached by the sun. He had an easy, sideways grin. "Un placer conocerte."
Cristina gave a little gasp. "You speak Spanish?"
"Es mi lengua materna." Manuel laughed. "I was born in Madrid and grew up in the Institute there."
He did have what Cristina thought of as a Spanish accent--the softening of the c sound, the way gracias sounded like grathiath when he thanked her. It was charming.
Across the room, she saw Dru, holding Tavvy by the hand--they'd asked her to stay in the library and watch him, but she'd wanted to see the Centurions--come up to Emma and tug on her sleeve, whispering something in her ear.
Cristina smiled at Manuel. "I almost did my study year in Madrid."
"But the beaches are better here." He winked.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cristina saw Emma go up to Julian and awkwardly tap his shoulder. She said something to him that made him nod and follow her out of the room. Where were they going? She itched to follow them, not to stay here and make conversation with Diego's friends, even if they were nice.
"I wanted the challenge of speaking English all the time--" Cristina began, and saw Manuel's expression change--then Rayan took her sleeve and drew her out of the way as someone hurtled up to Diego and grabbed his arm. It was a white girl, pale and round-cheeked, with thick brown hair pulled back in a tight bun.
She crashed into Diego's chest, and he went a sort of watery color, as if all the blood had drained from his face. "Zara?"
"Surprise!" The girl kissed his cheek.
Cristina was starting to feel a little dizzy. Maybe she'd gotten too much sun out at Malcolm's. But really, it hadn't been that much sun.
"I didn't think you were coming," Diego said. He still seemed starkly shocked. Rayan and Manuel were starting to look uncomfortable. "You said--you said you'd be in Hungary--"
"Oh, that." Zara dismissed Hungary with a wave. "Turned out to be completely ridiculous. A bunch of Nephilim claiming their steles and seraph blades were malfunctioning; really it was just incompetence. So much more important to be here!" She looped her arm through Diego's and turned to Cristina and Mark, smiling brightly. She had her hand tucked into Diego's elbow, but the smile on her face turned stiff as Cristina and Mark stood in silence, staring, and Diego looked increasingly as if he were going to throw up.
"I'm Zara Dearborn," she said, finally, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure you've heard about me. I'm Diego's fiancee."
5
EARTH AND HEAVEN
Emma led Julian through the building, through hallways familiar to both of them even in the dark. They were silent. Emma's braids swung as she walked. Julian focused on them for a moment, thinking about the thousands of times he'd walked beside Emma on their way out of the Institute, carrying their weapons, laughing and chatting and planning about whatever it was they were going to face.
The way his heart always lightened as they stepped out of the Institute, ready to climb into the car, drive fast up the highway, wind in their hair, salt taste on their skin. The memory was like a weight against his chest now as they stepped into the flat, sandy area behind the Institute.
Jace and Clary were waiting for them. Both were wearing gear jackets and carrying duffel bags. They were speaking to each other intently, their heads bent together. Their shadows, cast into razor-edged precision by the late afternoon light, seemed to merge together into one.
Emma cleared her throat, and the two of them broke apart.
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"We're sorry to go like this," Clary said, a little awkwardly. "We thought it would be better to avoid questions from the Centurions about our mission." She glanced around. "Where's Kit?"
"I think he's with Livvy and Ty," Emma said. "I sent Drusilla to get him."
"I'm here." Kit, a blond shadow with his hands in his pockets, shouldered open the Institute's back door. Light-footed, Julian thought. A natural characteristic of Shadowhunters. His father had been a thief and a liar. They were light-footed too.
"We have something for you, Christopher," Jace said, unusually somber. "Clary does, at least."
"Here." Clary stepped forward and dropped an object that flashed silver into Kit's open hands. "This is a Herondale family ring. This belonged to James Herondale before it was Jace's. James was close with several of the Blackthorns, when he was alive."
Kit's face was unreadable. He closed his fingers around the ring and nodded. Clary put her hand against his cheek. It was a motherly sort of gesture, and for a moment, Julian thought he saw vulnerability flash across Kit's features.
If the boy had a mother, Julian realized, none of them knew anything about her.
"Thanks," Kit said. He slid the ring onto his finger, looking surprised when it fit. Shadowhunter family rings always fit; it was part of their magic.
"If you're thinking about selling it," Jace said, "I wouldn't."
"Why not?" Kit raised his face; blue eyes looked into gold. The color of their eyes was different, but the framing was the same: the shape of their eyelids, the sharp cheekbones and watchful angles of their faces.
"I just wouldn't," said Jace, with heavy emphasis; Kit shrugged, nodded, and vanished back into the Institute.
"Were you trying to scare him?" Emma demanded, the moment the door shut behind him.
Jace just grinned sideways at her. "Thank Mark for his help," he said, pulling Emma into a hug and ruffling her hair. The next few moments were a flurry of hugs and good-byes, Clary promising to send them a fire-message when she could, Jace making sure they had Alec and Magnus's phone number in case they ran into trouble.
No one mentioned that technically, they had the Clave if they ran into trouble. But Clary and Jace had learned to be wary of the Clave when they were young, and it appeared that getting older hadn't dimmed their suspicions.
"Remember what I told you on the roof," Clary said to Emma in a low voice, hands on the younger girl's shoulders. "What you promised."
Emma nodded, looking uncharacteristically serious. Clary turned away from her, raising her stele, preparing to make a Portal into Faerie. Just as the shapes began to flow under her hands, the doorway starting to shimmer against the dry air, the Institute door banged open again.
This time it was Dru, her round face anxious. She was twisting one of her braids around her finger.
"Emma, you'd better come," she said. "Something's happened with Cristina."
*
He wasn't going to play their stupid spying game, Kit thought. No matter how much fun the twins seemed to be having, wedged into a corner of the second-floor gallery and looking down onto the main entryway, securely hidden from sight by the railings.
Mostly the game involved trying to figure out what people were saying to each other from their body language, or the way they gestured. Livvy was endlessly creative, able to imagine dramatic scenarios between people who were probably just chatting about the weather--she'd already decided the pretty South Asian girl with the stars on her jacket was in love with Julian, and that two of the other Centurions were secretly spies from the Clave.
Ty made rarer pronouncements, but Kit suspected they were more likely to be right. He was good at observing small things, like what family symbol was on the back of someone's jacket, and what that meant about where they were from.
"What do you think of Perfect Diego?" Livvy asked Kit, when he returned from saying good-bye to Clary and Jace. She had her knees drawn up, her arms wrapped around her long legs. Her curling ponytail bounced on her shoulders.
"Smug bastard," said Kit. "His hair's too good. I don't trust people with hair that good."
"I think that girl with her hair in a bun is angry with him," said Ty, leaning closer to the railing. His delicate face was all points and angles. Kit followed his gaze downward and saw Diego, deep in conversation with a pale-skinned girl whose hands were flying around as she spoke.
"The ring." Livvy caught Kit's hand, turning it over. The Herondale ring glinted on his finger. He'd already taken note of the delicate carving of birds that winged their way around the band. "Did Jace give you that?"
He shook his head. "Clary. Said it used to belong to James Herondale."
"James . . ." She looked as if she were making an effort to remember something. She gave a squeak then and dropped his hand as a shadow loomed over them.
It was Emma. "All right, you little spies," she said. "Where's Cristina? I already looked in her room."
Livvy pointed upward. Kit frowned; he hadn't thought there was anything to the third floor but attic.
"Ah," Emma said. "Thanks." She shook out her hands at her sides. "When I get hold of Diego . . ."
There was a loud exclamation from below. All four of them craned forward to see the pale girl slap Diego sharply across the face.
"What . . . ?" Emma looked astonished, then furious again. She whirled and headed for the stairs.
Ty smiled, looking with his curls and light eyes for all the world like a painted cherub on a church wall.
"That girl was angry," he said, sounding delighted to have gotten it right.
Kit laughed.
*
The sky above the Institute blazed with color: hot pink, blood red, deep gold. The sun was going down, and the desert was bathed in the glow. The Institute itself shimmered, and the water shimmered too, far out where it waited for the sun's fall.
Cristina was exactly where Emma had guessed she would be: sitting as neatly as always, legs crossed, her gear jacket spread out on the shingles beneath her.
"He didn't come after me," she said, as Emma drew closer to her. Her black hair moved and lifted in the breeze, the pearls in her ears glimmering. The pendant around her neck shone too, the words on it picked out by the deep glow of the sun: Blessed be the Angel my strength, who teaches my hands to war, and my fingers to fight.
Emma collapsed onto the roof next to her friend, as close as she could get. She reached out and took Cristina's hand, squeezing it tightly. "Do you mean Diego?"
Cristina nodded. There were no marks of tears on her face; she seemed surprisingly composed, considering. "That girl came up and said she was his fiancee," Cristina said. "And I thought it must be some sort of mistake. Even when I turned and ran out of the room, I thought it must be a mistake and he would come after me and explain. But he didn't, which means he stayed because of her. Because she really is his fiancee and she matters to him more than I do."
"I don't know how he could do it," Emma said. "It's bizarre. He loves you so much--he came here because of you."
Cristina made a muffled noise. "You don't even like him!"
"I like him--well, liked him--sometimes," Emma said. "The perfect thing was kind of annoying. But the way he looked at you. You can't fake that."
"He has a fiancee, Emma. Not even just a girlfriend. A fiancee. Who knows how long he's even been engaged? Engaged. To get married."
"I'll crash the wedding," Emma suggested. "I'll jump out of the cake, but not in a sexy way. Like, with grenades."
Cristina snorted, then turned her face away. "I just feel so stupid," she said. "He lied to me and I forgave him, and then he lied to me again--what kind of idiot am I? Why on earth did I think he was trustworthy?"
"Because you wanted to," Emma said. "You've known him a long time, Tina, and that does make a difference. When someone's been part of your life for that long, cutting them out is like cutting the roots out from under a plant."
Cristina was silent for a long moment. "I know," she sai
d. "I know you understand."
Emma tasted the acid burn of bitterness at the back of her throat and swallowed it back. She needed to be here for Cristina now, not dwell on her own worries. "When I was little," she said, "Jules and I used to come up here together at sunset practically every night and wait for the green flash."
"The what?"
"The green flash. When the sun goes down, just as it disappears, you'll see a flash of green light." They both looked out at the water. The sun was disappearing below the horizon, the sky streaked red and black. "If you make a wish on it, it'll come true."
"Will it?" Cristina spoke softly, her eyes on the horizon along with Emma's.
"I don't know," Emma said. "I've made a lot of wishes by now." The sun sank another few millimeters. Emma tried to think what she could wish for. Even when she'd been younger, she'd understood somehow that there were some things you couldn't wish for: world peace, your dead parents back. The universe couldn't turn itself inside out for you. Wishing only bought you small blessings: a sleep without nightmares, your best friend's safety for another day, birthday sunshine.
"Do you remember," Emma said, "before you saw Diego again, you said we should go to Mexico together? Spend a travel year there?"
Cristina nodded.
"It'd be a while before I could go," said Emma. "I don't turn eighteen until the winter. But when I do . . ."
Leaving Los Angeles. Spending the year with Cristina, learning and training and traveling.
Without Jules. Emma swallowed against the pain the thought caused. It was a pain she'd have to learn to live with.
"I'd like that," Cristina said. The sun was just a rim of gold now. "I'll wish for that. And maybe to forget Diego, too."
"But then you have to forget the good things as well as the bad ones. And I know there were good things." Emma wound her fingers through Cristina's. "He's not the right person for you. He isn't strong enough. He keeps letting you down and disappointing you. I know he loves you, but that's not enough."
"Apparently I'm not the only one he loves."
"Maybe he started dating her to try to forget you," Emma said. "And then he got you back, even though he didn't expect to, and he didn't know how to break it off with her."
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