Jace’s face softened. “My good boy! He should—”
“No!” said Alec. “And nobody will let you have your own kid until you stop putting other people’s kids in bags meant for axes and trying to smuggle them out on patrol.”
“I almost got away with it, due to my supernatural speed and unmatched cunning,” Jace claimed.
“No, you didn’t,” said Alec. “That bag was wriggling.”
Jace shrugged philosophically. “Ready for another round of heroically defending the world from evil? Or if it’s a slow night, pranking Simon?”
“Actually, I can’t,” said Alec, and explained the message from Jem and Tessa.
“I’ll come with you,” Jace offered instantly.
“And leave Clary to run the Institute alone?” asked Alec. “A week before her exhibition?”
Jace looked shaken by the force of this argument.
“You’re not letting Clary down. Lily and I can deal with whatever’s going on,” said Alec. “Besides, it’s not like Jem and Tessa can’t handle themselves. We’ll be a team.”
“Fine,” said Jace reluctantly. “I guess three other fighters are an acceptable substitute for me.”
Alec thumped him swiftly on the shoulder with a fist, and Jace smiled.
“Well,” he said. “To the Hotel Dumort.”
From the outside the hotel’s façade was grimy, the graffitied sign the dark brown of old blood.
Lily had redecorated on the inside. Alec and Jace opened splintered double doors on a shining hall. The flight of stairs and the balcony above them had a glittering rail, gilt-painted iron fretwork depicting snakes and roses. Lily liked things to look like the 1920s, which she said was the best decade. The décor wasn’t the only thing that had changed; now there were hipsters in the know, and though Alec didn’t understand the allure himself, there was a waiting list to be a party victim.
A pair of legs was sticking out from under the curving flight of stairs. Alec strode over and peered into the shadowy alcove, seeing a man wearing suspenders, a blood-smudged shirt, and a grin.
“Hi,” Alec said. “Just checking. Is this a voluntary situation?”
The man blinked. “Oh yes. I signed the consent form!”
“There’s a consent form now?” Jace murmured.
“I told them they didn’t have to do that,” Alec murmured back.
“My fabulous fanged lady friend said I should sign it, otherwise the Clave would get stern with her. Are you the Clave?”
“No,” said Alec.
“But Hetty said that if I didn’t sign the consent form, the Clave would look at her with those disappointed blue eyes. Your eyes are very blue.”
“And very disappointed,” said Alec sternly.
“Are you bothering Alec?” demanded a vampire girl, running out of the double doors that led to the parlor. “Don’t bother Alec.”
“Oh dear,” said the man, in delighted tones. “Is my mortal soul doomed? Are you about to visit your undead wrath upon me?”
Hetty snarled, and dived under the stairs with a giggle. Alec averted his eyes and headed for the parlor, Jace falling in behind him. Jace let Alec take point when it came to the vampires. As Head of the New York Institute, Jace reprimanding a vampire might sound like a threat. Jace and Alec had talked over how to make the city welcoming to all Downworlders, now that New York was a refuge in the times of the Cold Peace.
Through the parlor doors came the sound of music: not Lily’s usual jazz, but a pounding mix that sounded like rap and jazz combined. Inside the parlor were tufted chairs, a gleaming piano, and an elaborate set of turntables and wires. Bat Velasquez the werewolf DJ was sitting cross-legged on a plush velvet sofa, fiddling with dials.
In other cities, vampires and werewolves didn’t get along. Things were different in New York.
Elliott, second-in-command of the vampire clan, was dancing around in a happy circle by himself. His arms and dreadlocks waved to the beat like plants underwater.
“Is Lily up?” asked Alec.
Elliott suddenly looked hunted. “Not yet. We had a bit of a late morning yesterday. There was an incident. Well, more a disaster.”
“What caused this disaster?”
“Well,” Elliott said. “Me, like usual. But this time it really wasn’t my fault! It was a total and complete accident that could have happened to anyone. You see, I have this regular selkie Thursday night booty call.”
Selkies were water faeries who shed their seal skins to assume human form. They were fairly rare.
Alec subjected him to a judgmental stare. “So this disaster could have happened to anyone with a regular selkie booty call.”
“Yeah, exactly,” said Elliott. “Or, like, regular booty calls with two different selkies. One of them found the other’s sealskin in my wardrobe. There was a scene. You know how it is with selkies.”
Alec, Jace, and Bat shook their heads.
“Only one tiny wall fell down, but now Lily’s all mad.”
Lily had made Elliott her second-in-command because they were friends, not because Elliott had any aptitude for leadership. Sometimes Alec worried about the New York vampire clan.
Bat said, “This guy. Why do you have to suggest threesomes to everybody? Why are vampires like this?”
Elliott shrugged. “Vampires love threesomes. Live long, get decadent. We aren’t all the same, of course.” His face brightened with a pleasant memory. “The boss used to get very cross about decadence. But really, I’m ready to settle down, I think you and I and Maia—”
“My abuela wouldn’t like you,” Bat said firmly. “My abuela loves Maia. Maia’s learning Spanish for her.”
Bat’s slightly raspy voice went low and warm whenever he talked about Maia, the leader of the werewolves, and his girlfriend. Alec couldn’t blame him. Alec never worried about the werewolves. Maia always had everything under control.
“Speaking of Spanish,” Alec said, “I’m going to Buenos Aires, and I’m asking Lily to come with me, since she’s fluent. By the time Lily gets back, she’ll have cooled off.”
Elliott nodded. “A trip would be good for her,” he said, his voice unusually serious. “She hasn’t been doing well lately. She misses the boss. Well, we all do, but it’s different for Lily. It takes us like this sometimes.” He glanced at Alec and clarified: “Immortals. We’re used to seeing each other off and on through the centuries. Years go by, then someone’s back, and it’s just the way it was before. Because we stay the same, though the world doesn’t. When someone dies, it takes us a while to process. You think to yourself: I wonder when I’ll see him again. Then you remember, and it’s a shock every time. You have to keep reminding yourself, until you believe it: I’ll never see him again.”
There was an achingly sad note in Elliott’s voice. Alec nodded. He knew how it would be, one day, when Magnus had to think “never again” about him.
He knew how strong someone had to be, to withstand the loneliness of immortality.
“Also honestly Lily could use some help with the clan.”
“You could help her,” said Alec. “If you were just a bit more responsible—”
Elliott shook his head. “Not gonna happen. Hey, mister Head of the Institute, you’re a leader! How about it? I make you a vampire, you help lead the clan, you stay gorgeous forever.”
“That would be a gift to future generations,” Jace remarked thoughtfully. “But no.”
“Elliott!” Alec snapped. “Stop offering to make people immortal! We have spoken about this!”
Elliott nodded, looking abashed but smiling a tiny smile. From outside and above, a voice drifted down.
“I hear someone bossing people around! Alec?”
One of the most worrying things about the vampire clan was that speaking to them reasonably didn’t work at all, but they
were delighted to be told off. Raphael Santiago had really left a mark on these people.
Alec walked over and peered out of the open doors. Lily was standing on the balcony, wearing rumpled pink pajamas with drawings of snakes and the words RISE AND STRIKE on them. She looked tired.
“Yeah,” he said. “Hey. Jem asked me to come to Buenos Aires and help him out. Do you want to come with?”
Lily lit up. “Do I want to come on a bro road trip with you, rushing to the aid of gorgeous damsel in distress, Jem I’d-love-to-climb-’em Carstairs?”
“So, yes.”
Lily’s smile was wide enough to show fangs. “Hell yes.”
She darted away from the balcony. Alec noted the door she went through, and climbed the stairs. He waited a bit, leaning against the rail, then tapped on the door.
“Come in!”
He didn’t come in, but he opened the door. The room inside was narrow as a cell, with stripped floorboards and walls bare except for a cross on a hook. This was the only room in the Hotel Dumort Lily hadn’t redecorated. Lily was sleeping in Raphael’s room again.
Lily was wearing a leather jacket that had been Raphael’s too. Alec watched as she fluffed her hot-pink-streaked hair, then kissed the cross for luck and headed out. Christian vampires were burned by a cross, but Lily was a Buddhist. The cross meant nothing to her, except that it had been Raphael’s.
“Do you . . .” Alec coughed. “Do you want to talk?”
Lily tipped her head back to stare all the way up at him. “About feelings? Do we do that?”
“Preferably not,” said Alec, which made her smile. “But we could.”
“Nah,” Lily answered. “Let’s go on a road trip and see hotties instead! Where’s that idiot Elliott?”
She ran lightly down the stairs to the parlor, and Alec followed her.
“Elliott, I’m leaving you in charge of the clan!” said Lily. “Bat, I’m stealing your girl!”
Bat shook his head. “Why are vampires like this?” he murmured again.
Lily grinned. “For administrative purposes. Maia’s running the Shadowhunter and Downworlder Alliance until we get back.”
“I don’t want to be in charge of the clan,” Elliott wailed. “Please be a vampire and lead us, Jace! Please!”
“I used to walk in here and have to fight for my life as the place fell down around me,” Jace mused. “Now it’s all velvet cushions and insistent offers of immortal beauty.”
“It’s just one tiny bite,” Elliott coaxed him. “You’ll like it.”
“Nobody likes getting all their blood sucked out, Elliott,” Alec said severely.
Both the vampires in the room smiled because he was telling them off, then looked upset because of what he was saying.
“You only think that because Simon did it wrong,” Lily argued. “I’ve pointed out to him many times that he messed up everything for all of us.”
“Simon did fine,” Jace muttered.
“I didn’t like it,” said Alec. “I won’t talk about this again. Let’s get going.”
“Ah yes.” Lily brightened. “I’m very curious to see how the hottest Shadowhunter in the world is doing.”
“I’m great,” said Jace.
Lily tapped her foot. “Nobody’s talking about you, Jason. Have you heard the phrase ‘tall, dark, and handsome’?”
“Sounds like an old-fashioned saying,” said Jace. “Sounds like something people used to say before I was born.”
He grinned at Lily, who grinned back at him. Jace didn’t just pull the pigtails of people he had crushes on. He pulled the pigtails of everyone in the world he liked. This was something Simon still had not figured out over the years.
“There are a lot of hot Shadowhunters,” said Elliott. “That’s the point of them, isn’t it?”
“No,” said Alec. “We fight demons.”
“Oh,” said Elliott. “Right.”
“I don’t mean to brag. I’m just saying that if they made a book of hot Shadowhunters, my illustration would be on every page,” Jace said serenely.
“Nope,” said Lily. “It would be filled with pictures of the Carstairs family.”
Alec said: “Are you talking about Emma?”
Lily frowned. “Who’s Emma?”
“Emma Carstairs,” said Jace helpfully. “She’s Clary’s penpal who lives in LA. Sometimes I write postscripts to Clary’s letters and tell Emma handy knife tricks. Emma’s very good.”
Emma was a single-minded force of destruction, which of course Jace liked. Jace fished out his phone and showed Lily a recent picture of Emma that Emma had sent Clary. Emma was holding her sword on a beach and laughing.
Lily breathed: “Cortana.”
Alec glanced at her sharply.
“I don’t know Emma,” Lily said. “But I’d like to. I don’t normally go for blonds, but she’s hot. Bless the Come-And-Stare family. They never fail me. On that note, I’m off to admire the views in Buenos Aires.”
“Jem is married, you know,” said Alec.
“Don’t leave me in charge!” Elliot begged. “You can’t trust me! It’s a terrible mistake!”
Lily ignored them both, but she caught Alec studying her as they left the hotel.
“Don’t look so worried,” she said. “Elliott probably won’t burn the city down. When I get back, everybody will be so grateful that they’ll do everything I say. Leaving that fool in charge is part of my leadership strategy.”
Alec nodded, and didn’t say that he was worried about her.
There had been a time when Alec was unsettled by vampires, but Lily had always so clearly needed someone, and Alec had wanted to be there for her. They’d been teammates running the Alliance with Maia for long enough now that Lily felt like Aline Penhallow, a friend close enough to be family.
The thought of Aline sent a familiar pang through Alec. Aline had gone into exile on Wrangel Island to be with her wife, Helen. They had lived in that stony wasteland for years, just because Helen had faerie blood.
Whenever Alec thought of Helen and Aline, he wanted to change everything about the way the Clave worked, and bring them home.
It wasn’t only Aline and Helen. He felt that way about all the warlocks and vampires and werewolves and faeries who streamed to New York to talk to the Alliance because they couldn’t go to their Institutes. Every day, he felt the same urge he’d felt on his first mission, when he saw Jace and Isabelle charge into a fight. Protect them, he’d thought desperately, and lunged for his bow.
Alec squared his shoulders. Worrying wouldn’t help anyone. He couldn’t save everybody, but he could help people, and now he intended to help Jem and Tessa.
Brother Zachariah walked through the Silent City, down corridors lined with bones. The ground was marked with the relentless passage of the Silent Brothers’ feet, of his own feet, moving in their accustomed path day after silent day, year after dark endless year. He could not get out. Soon he would forget how it had ever been to live and love in the light. Every skull grinning at him from the wall was a thing more human than he.
Until the darkness he’d thought inescapable was obliterated by consuming fire. The silver fire of yin fen had burned in him once, the worst burning the world had to offer, but this golden fire was remorseless as heaven. He felt as if he were being torn apart, every burning atom of him weighed in the balance by a cruel god, and every piece found wanting.
Even in the midst of agony, there was some small measure of relief. This is the end, he told himself desperately, and was desperately thankful. At last this is the end, after all that misery and darkness. He would die before his humanity was entirely crushed out. Finally, there might be rest. He might see his parabatai again.
Except with the thought of Will came the thought of another. He thought of soft cool air drifting from the river, and her sw
eet serious face, unchanging as his own heart. With the thought of Will, he knew what Will would say. He could hear him, as if even the veil of death were burning between them and Will was shouting in his ear. Jem, Jem. James Carstairs. You can’t leave Tessa on her own. I know you better than you know yourself. I always did. I know you would never give up. Jem, hold on.
He would not dishonor love by letting go. In the end, he chose to endure any pain rather than do that. Through the fire, as through the darkness, he held on.
And impossibly, through fire and darkness and time, he survived.
Jem woke gasping. He was in a warm bed, with his wife in his arms.
Tessa was still sleeping, on white sheets in the small whitewashed room they were renting in the small lodging house. She murmured as Jem watched her, a soft string of incomprehensible words. She talked in her sleep, and every sound was a comfort. More than a century ago, he’d wondered how it would be to wake up with Tessa. He’d dreamed of it.
Now he knew.
Jem listened to her sweet sleepy murmurs, and watched the rise and fall of the white sheet with her breathing, and his body eased.
Tessa’s curling lashes stirred on her cheeks.
“Jem?” she asked, and her hand found his arm, palm sliding down his skin.
“I’m sorry,” Jem said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Tessa smiled sleepily.
Jem leaned over to the pillow beside his, and kissed his wife’s eyes closed, then watched them open again, clear and cool as river water. He kissed her cheek, the eloquent curve of her mouth, her chin, and trailed his open mouth hungrily down the line of her throat.
“Tessa, Tessa,” he murmured. “Wŏ yào nĭ.”
I want you.
Tessa said: “Yes.”
Jem lifted the sheet and kissed the line of her collarbone, loving the taste of her soft sleep-warm skin, loving every atom of her. He laid a trail of kisses for himself to follow all the way down her body. When he drew his mouth down the tender skin of her stomach, her hands slipped into his hair and fastened tightly there, anchoring him, encouraging him on. Her voice, no longer soft, made the walls ring with his name.
The Land I Lost (Ghosts of the Shadow Market Book 7) Page 2
