“Don’t go near him,” Isabelle urged. “I think vampires are gross.”
Isabelle was used to being able to whisper to her brother in a crowd. The vampire turned his head slightly, and Isabelle remembered vampires did not have pathetic hearing like mundanes. The vampire could definitely hear her.
This nasty realization caused Isabelle to relax her hold on Alec. She watched in horror as he pulled away from her and advanced with nervous determination toward the vampire. Not wanting to be left out, Isabelle trailed a few steps behind him.
“Hello,” said Alec. “It’s, um, very nice to meet you.”
The vampire boy gave him a thousand-yard stare that suggested a thousand yards was too close up and the vampire wished he were enjoying blissful solitude in the far reaches of space. “Hello.”
“I’m Alexander Lightwood,” said Alec.
Grimacing as if the introduction were vital information being tortured out of him, the vampire said: “I am Raphael.”
When he made that face, Isabelle did see the fangs. They were not as cool as she had hoped.
“I’m basically twelve,” continued Alec, who was totally eleven. “You don’t look a lot older than me. But I know it’s different with vampires. I guess you kind of stay the same age you stop at, though, right? Like you’re fifteen, but you’ve been fifteen for a hundred years. How long have you been fifteen?”
Raphael said flatly, “I’m sixty-three.”
“Oh,” said Alec. “Oh. Oh, that’s cool.”
He advanced several steps toward the vampire. Raphael did not take a step back, but he looked like he wanted to.
“Also,” Alec added shyly, “your jacket is cool.”
“Why are you talking to my children?” Mom asked sharply.
She was already up from her chair opposite the Silent Brother, and as she spoke she seized hold of Alec and Isabelle. Her fingers pinched, she was holding them so hard, and fear seemed to travel to Isabelle through her mother’s touch, even though she had not been afraid before.
The vampire had not been looking at them as if he thought they would be delicious at all. Maybe that was how he lured you in, though, Isabelle considered. Maybe Alec was just ensorcelled by vampire wiles. It would be nice to be able to blame the Downworlder for making Isabelle worry.
The Silent Brother rose from his chair and glided to join them. Isabelle heard the vampire whisper to the Silent Brother, and she was pretty sure he said, “This is my nightmare.”
Isabelle stuck her tongue out at him. Raphael’s lip curled the tiniest fraction farther from his fangs. Alec did glance at Isabelle then, to make sure she was not scared. Isabelle wasn’t scared of much, but Alec was always fussing.
Raphael came here out of concern for a Shadowhunter child, said the Silent Brother.
“No, I didn’t,” Raphael sneered. “Better watch your children. I once killed a whole gang of boys not much older than your boy here. Shall I take this as a refusal to help with the shipment? I am deeply shocked. Well, we tried. Time to go, Brother Zachariah.”
“Wait,” said Robert. “Of course we will help. I will meet you at the drop-off point in New Jersey.”
Naturally her dad would help, Isabelle thought indignantly. This vampire was an idiot. Whatever mistakes they might have made when they were really young, her parents ran this whole Institute and had killed lots and lots of evil demons. Anyone sensible would know you could always count on her dad.
“You can consult with us on other Shadowhunter matters at any time,” her mom added, but she did not let go of Alec and Isabelle until the vampire and Brother Zachariah had left the Institute.
Isabelle had thought the visit would be exciting, but she had ended up feeling more apprehensive than ever. She wished that Jonathan Wayland was not coming.
Guests were terrible, and Isabelle never wanted any more.
* * *
The plan was to stow away aboard ship undetected, apprehend the smugglers, and dispose of the yin fen. The child would never have to know about any of it.
It was almost nice to be in one of the sleek Shadowhunter boats again. Brother Zachariah had been in the multihulled trimarans as a child on lakes in Idris, and once his parabatai had stolen one and they had rowed it down the Thames. Now he, an edgy Robert Lightwood, and two vampires had used one to navigate the black nighttime waters of the Delaware River, coming down from the port of Camden. Lily kept complaining that they were practically in Philadelphia, until the boat drew close to the tall cargo ship. DAWN TRADER was painted in dark blue letters against its gray side. They waited for their moment, then Robert threw a grappling hook.
Brother Zachariah, Raphael, Lily, and Robert Lightwood made it onto the boat and into a deserted cabin. This journey, short and stealthy though it was, left them with the impression that there was no mundane crew on board at all. Hiding there, they counted the voices of the smugglers and realized there were far more than had been reported.
“Oh no, Brother Hop-in-the-sack-ariah,” Lily whispered. “I think we’re going to have to fight them.”
She looked very cheerful about the prospect. As she spoke, she winked and pulled her feathered flapper’s headband from her yellow-streaked hair.
“It’s actually from the 1920s, so I don’t want to damage it,” she explained, and nodded to Raphael. “I’ve had it longer than I’ve had him. He’s from the 1950s. Jazz baby and greaser teen take on the world.”
Raphael rolled his eyes. “Desist with the nicknames. They are getting worse.”
Lily laughed. “I will not. Once you go Zachariah, you never go backariah.”
Raphael and Robert Lightwood both looked appalled, but Zachariah did not mind the nicknames. He did not hear laughter often.
What worried him was the child.
We cannot allow Jonathan to be scared or hurt, he said.
Robert was nodding and the vampires looking supremely unconcerned, when a boy’s voice came from outside the door.
“I’m not frightened of anything,” he said.
Jonathan Wayland, Zachariah presumed.
“Then why are you asking about the Lightwoods?” asked a woman’s voice. She sounded irritated. “They’re taking you in. They won’t be unkind to you.”
“I was only curious,” said Jonathan.
He was clearly doing his best to sound airy and aloof, and his best was not bad. His voice almost swaggered. Brother Zachariah thought it would have convinced most people.
“Robert Lightwood’s got some influence in the Clave,” remarked the woman. “Solid man. I’m sure he’s ready to be a father to you.”
“I had a father,” said Jonathan, cold as the night wind.
The woman was silent. Across the cabin, Robert Lightwood’s head was bowed.
“But the mother,” said Jonathan, a touch tentative. “What’s Mrs. Lightwood like?”
“Maryse? I barely know her,” the woman replied. “She’s already got three kids. Four’s a lot to handle.”
“I’m not a kid,” said Jonathan. “I won’t bother her.” He paused and observed, “There are a lot of werewolves aboard this ship.”
“Ugh, kids raised in Idris are exhausting,” said the woman. “Werewolves are a fact of life, unfortunately. Creatures are everywhere. Go to bed, Jonathan.”
They listened as another cabin door shut and a lock was shot home.
“Now,” said Robert Lightwood. “Vampires, starboard. Brother Zachariah and I, port. Contain the werewolves by any means necessary, then locate the yin fen.”
They spilled out onto the deck. It was a rough night, the wind pulling Zachariah’s hood down farther, the deck jerking beneath their feet. Zachariah could not open his lips to taste the salt in the air.
New York was a glimmer on the horizon, shining like the lights of the Shadow Market in the dark. They could not allow the yin fen to hit the city.
There were a couple of werewolves on the deck. One was in wolf form, and Zachariah could see a tinge of silver in his
fur. The other had lost color in his fingertips. Zachariah wondered if they knew that they were dying. He remembered, too vividly, how it had felt when the yin fen was killing him.
Sometimes it was good to be without feeling. Sometimes being human hurt too much, and Zachariah could not afford pity now.
Brother Zachariah slammed his staff against one of their heads, and when he turned, Robert Lightwood had already dealt with the other. They stood braced, listening to the howl of the wind and the surge of the sea, waiting for the others to come from belowdecks. Then Zachariah heard the sounds from the other side of the ship.
Stay where you are, he told Robert. I will go to the vampires.
Brother Zachariah had to fight his way to them. There were even more werewolves than he had guessed. Across their heads, he could see Raphael and Lily, leaping as if they were insubstantial as shadows, teeth shining in the moonlight.
He could see the werewolves’ teeth too. Zachariah shoved one werewolf over the side of the ship and knocked out another one’s teeth in the same swing, then had to dodge a swipe of claws that almost sent Zachariah over himself. There were so many of them.
It was with vague surprise that Zachariah thought this could be the end. There should have been something more than surprise to the idea, but all he knew was the hollowness he had felt walking through the Market and the sound of his Brothers’ voices, colder than the sea. He did not care about these vampires. He did not care about himself.
The roar of a werewolf sounded in his ear, and behind it came the crash of a wave. Brother Zachariah’s arms ached from wielding the staff. It should all have ended a long time ago, anyway. He could scarcely remember a reason why he fought.
Across the deck a werewolf, almost fully shifted, whirled a clawed fist directly at Lily’s heart. She already had her hands locked around another werewolf’s neck. She did not have a chance to defend herself.
A door swung open, and a Shadowhunter woman ran out into the path of the werewolves. She was not ready. A wolf tore her throat out, and as Zachariah tried to get to her, a werewolf slammed against his back. The staff fell from his nerveless fingers. A second werewolf piled onto him, claws digging into his shoulders, bearing him down to his knees. Another climbed on, and Zachariah’s head slammed onto the wood. The dark rose before him. His Brothers’ voices could be gone, along with the crash of the sea and all the light of the world that no longer touched him.
The dead woman’s eyes stared into his face, a last empty gleam before the dark consumed all. It seemed as if he were as empty as she. Why had he ever fought?
Only he remembered. He would not allow himself to forget.
Tessa, he thought. Will.
Despair was never stronger than the thought of them. He could not betray them by giving up.
They are Will and Tessa, and you were Ke Jian Ming. You were James Carstairs. You were Jem.
Brother Zachariah drew a dagger from his belt. He fought to his feet, sending two of the werewolves sprawling and backhanding the third through the open cabin door. He looked to Lily.
Raphael was standing in front of her. His arm was flung out to shield her, his blood a macabre scarlet splash across the deck. Human blood was black at night, but vampire blood never looked anything but red. Lily screamed his name.
Brother Zachariah needed his staff. It was rolling across the wood of the deck, silver in the moonlight and rattling like bones. Its carving leaped out, shadow dark against the silver, as the staff rolled to the feet of a boy who had just stepped out into this space of chaos and blood.
The boy who must be Jonathan Wayland stared around him, at Brother Zachariah, at the wolves, at the woman with her throat ripped out. A werewolf woman was bearing down on him. The boy was too young to even bear warriors’ runes.
Brother Zachariah knew he was not going to be fast enough.
The boy turned his head, hair bright gold in the silver moonshine, and picked up Zachariah’s staff. Small and slim, the most fragile of barriers possible against darkness, he charged at the snarling teeth and bared claws. He struck her down.
Two more went for the boy, but Zachariah killed one, and the boy spun and struck the other. When he twisted in the air, Zachariah thought not of shadows, as he had with the vampires, but of light.
When the boy landed on the deck, feet spread wide and staff twirling between his hands, he was laughing. It was not a child’s sweet laugh, but a wild exuberant sound that rang out stronger than sea or sky or silent voices. He sounded young, and defiant, and joyful, and a little mad.
Brother Zachariah had thought earlier in the night that he did not hear laughter often. It had been an achingly long time since he had heard a laugh like that.
He stabbed another werewolf running for the boy, and another, throwing his body between the boy and the wolves. One got past his guard and swiped at the boy, and Zachariah heard him make a small sound between his locked teeth.
Are you all right? he asked.
“Yes!” the boy shouted. Brother Zachariah could hear him panting at his back.
Never fear, said Brother Zachariah. I am fighting with you.
Zachariah’s blood ran colder than the sea, and his heart hammered until he heard Robert Lightwood and Lily coming to their aid.
Once the remaining werewolves were subdued, Robert took Jonathan with him to the bridge. Zachariah turned his attention to the vampires. Raphael had taken off his leather jacket. Lily had ripped part of her shirt off and was tying the material around his arm. She was crying.
“Raphael,” she said. “Raphael, you shouldn’t have done it.”
“Sustained a wound that will heal in a night in preference to losing a valuable member of the clan?” Raphael asked. “I acted to benefit myself. I generally do.”
“You’d better,” Lily muttered, wiping tears savagely with the back of her hand. “What would I do if something happened to you?”
“Something practical, I hope,” said Raphael. “Please salvage material from one of the many dead werewolves next time. And stop embarrassing the clan in front of Shadowhunters.”
Lily followed Raphael’s line of vision, over her shoulder to Brother Zachariah. There was blood smudged and mixed with her blurred eyeliner, but she gave him a cheeky fanged smile.
“Maybe I wanted to rip my shirt for Brother Let-him-see-my-rack-ariah.”
Raphael lifted his eyes to heaven. Since he was not looking at her, Lily could look at him. She did. Brother Zachariah saw her lift a hand, her fingernails painted red and gold, and almost touch his curly hair. Her hand moved as if she might stroke the shadows over his head, then curled into a fist. She did not permit herself the luxury.
Raphael motioned her away and got to his feet.
“Let’s go find the yin fen.”
It was not difficult to locate. It was in a large box in a cabin belowdecks. Lily and Brother Zachariah carried the box up between them, Lily clearly ready to make a scene if Raphael tried to help.
Zachariah pried open the lid of the box. Even after all these years, seeing the glimmer of yin fen in the moonlight made his stomach lurch and turn, as if the sight pitched him onto a boat on a different sea, one in which he could never keep his balance.
Lily moved to tip the box over the side and let it be swallowed by the hungry waters.
“No, Lily!” said Raphael. “I will not have drug-addled mermaids infesting the rivers of my city. What if we end up with glowing silver alligators in the sewers? Nobody will be surprised, but I will know it is your fault, and I will be extremely disappointed in you.”
“You never let me have any fun,” Lily grumbled.
“I never let anyone have any fun,” said Raphael, and looked smug.
Brother Zachariah stared into the box full of silver powder. It had meant the difference between quick and slow death to him once. He set the fire using a rune known only to the Silent Brothers, a rune meant to burn away harmful magic. Life and death were nothing but ashes in the air.
&nb
sp; Thank you for telling me about the yin fen, he told Raphael.
“From my perspective, I took advantage of your weakness over the stuff,” said Raphael. “You used to take it to keep yourself alive once, as I understand it. Didn’t work, I see. Anyway, your emotional state is no concern of mine, and my city is safe. Mission accomplished.”
He wiped his hands, gleaming with blood, over the lapping waves.
Does your leader know anything about this mission? Zachariah asked Lily.
She was watching Raphael.
“Of course,” she said. “My leader told you all about it. Didn’t he?”
“Lily! That is stupidity and treason.” Raphael’s voice was chill as the sea breeze. “If I was ordered to execute you for it, make no mistake, I would do so. I would not hesitate.”
Lily bit her lip and tried to pass off how hurt she clearly was. “Oh, but I have a good feeling about Brother Zacharide-him-like-a-bad-pony. He won’t tell.”
“Is there a place here for a vampire to be stowed away safely from the sunrise?” Raphael asked.
Brother Zachariah had not considered that the protracted fight with the werewolves meant the sun was close to rising. Raphael glanced at him sharply when he did not answer.
“Is there only room for one? Lily needs to be secured. I am responsible for her.”
Lily turned her face away so Raphael did not see her expression, but Zachariah saw it. He recognized her expression from a time when he had been able to feel that way himself. She looked sick with love.
There was room for both vampires in the cargo hold. On their way to examine the hold, Lily almost tripped over the dead Shadowhunter woman.
“Oooh, Raphael!” she exclaimed brightly. “It’s Catherine Ashdown!”
It was like the faint cold spray of seawater, to see how utterly indifferent she was to human life. Brother Zachariah saw her belatedly recall his presence.
“Oh no,” she added in not terribly convincing tones. “What a senseless tragedy.”
“Go to the hold, Lily,” Raphael commanded.
Will you not both go? asked Brother Zachariah.
Ghosts of the Shadow Market Page 25
