The Land I Lost (Ghosts of the Shadow Market Book 7)

by Cassandra Clare

  She was all around him. All horror and pain was washed away.

  As night fell, Jem and Tessa lay facing one another on the bed, their hands entwined, their voices hushed. They could whisper and laugh all night together, and often had: it was one of Jem’s great joys, just to lie with Tessa and talk for hours.

  But that required quiet and peace, which was not to be had tonight. Light exploded through their dim room, and Jem bolted upright, shielding Tessa from any possible threat.

  Words of shimmering blue and silver had appeared on the wall. Tessa sat up, tucking the sheet around her. “Message from Magnus,” she said, twisting her hair up into a knot at the back of her head.

  The message said that Alec and Lily Chen were on their way to help. Once they had stowed their belongings at the Buenos Aires Institute, they would meet Tessa and Jem outside the walls of the Shadow Market.

  Jem met Tessa’s gaze, and read his own alarm in her eyes.

  “Oh no,” said Tessa. Jem was already scrambling off the bed, searching for their clothes. “We have to find them. We have to stop them. They can’t go to the Institute.”

  The Buenos Aires Institute was located in the town of San Andres de Giles. To mundane eyes, the Institute looked like a large crypt standing in an abandoned cemetery, in a profusion of ghost-pale wildflowers.

  To Alec’s eyes, it looked worse. It was a tall edifice, painted a dull rust color, but one wing of the building was a charred ruin. Alec had known the Institute was damaged during the Dark War, but he’d thought it would have been repaired long before.

  Lily sniffed the air. “They mixed blood in the paint.”

  The Institute looked abandoned, except for the fact there was a guard at the door. Even that made Alec’s eyes narrow. Shadowhunters didn’t typically keep watch on their own Institutes, unless it was a time of war.

  He nodded to Lily, and they moved forward to meet the Shadowhunters of Buenos Aires. The guard at the door looked a few years younger than Alec. His face was hard, his black eyebrows drawn sharply together, and he was squinting at them suspiciously.

  “Um,” said Alec. “Ola? Wait, that’s Portuguese.”

  Lily smiled a sunny fanged smile at the guard. “Let me handle this.”

  “I can speak English,” the guard told Alec hastily.

  “Great,” said Alec. “I’m from the New York Institute. My name is—”

  The guard’s dark eyes went wide. “You’re Alexander Lightwood!”

  Alec blinked. “That’s me.”

  “I was in the Inquisitor’s office once,” the guard confided shyly. “He has a tapestry of you hanging up in there.”

  “Yeah,” said Alec. “I know.”

  “That’s how I know what you look like. I’m so thrilled to meet you. I mean, it’s such an honor. Oh no, what am I doing? I’m Joaquín Acosta Romero. It’s a pleasure.”

  Joaquín held out his hand for Alec to shake. When Alec shook his hand, he felt the younger man vibrating slightly with excitement. He cast a panicked glance toward Lily, who grinned and mouthed “Cute” at him.

  “This is Lily, who is no help,” said Alec.

  “Oh yes, oh, pleased to meet you too,” said Joaquín. “Wow, come in.”

  Lily smiled sweetly, showing her fangs. “I can’t.”

  “Oh, right! I’m sorry. I’ll show you around to the back entrance. There’s a door to the Sanctuary there.”

  Magnus had enchanted the New York Institute so Downworlders could walk in certain places there, but most Institutes still kept them out of all but the Sanctuary rooms. Alec was pleased to see Joaquín flash a smile at Lily that seemed genuine and welcoming.

  “Thanks,” said Alec. “We’re meeting friends on a mission, but I hoped we could stow our bags now so we can come back to sleep later. We can set up cots in the Sanctuary.”

  Joaquín led them down a dark cobwebbed alley. Alec thought of the wing that was rubble. Possibly this Institute wouldn’t have cots.

  “Um, will your friend—will she need a coffin?” asked Joaquín. “I don’t think we have coffins. I mean, I’m sure I could find one somewhere! The head of our Institute is, um, very careful about visitors, but I’m certain he can’t object to a guest who is coming with Alec Lightwood.”

  “I don’t need a coffin,” said Lily. “Just a windowless room. It’s no problem.”

  “You can address her when you’re talking about her,” said Alec, mildly.

  Joaquín cast an anxious look at Alec, then an even more anxious look at Lily. “Of course! I’m sorry. I don’t have much experience talking to—”

  “Vampires?” asked Lily sweetly.

  “Women,” said Joaquín.

  “It’s true I’m five fabulous foot of pure woman,” Lily mused.

  Joaquín coughed. “Well, I don’t know any vampires either. My mother died in the Dark War. A lot of us did. And afterward, most of the women left. Mr Breakspear says that women aren’t suited to the rigor of a tightly run Institute.”

  He peered anxiously at Alec, as if checking in on Alec’s opinion on this.

  “Clary Fairchild is one of the heads of my Institute,” said Alec curtly. “Jia Penhallow is the leader of all Shadowhunters. Anyone who says women are weak is afraid they’re too strong.”

  Joaquín nodded several times in rapid succession, though Alec wasn’t sure if it was agreement or pure nerves.

  “I haven’t been to any other Institutes. When I turned eighteen, I was hoping I could go to one on my travel year, maybe even meet someone, but the head of our Institute said I couldn’t be spared. Not when the Downworlders in our Shadow Market are so dangerous.”

  Joaquín hung his head. Alec was trying to phrase a question that wouldn’t shock the boy further, about why this was such a harsh posting. About what exactly was going on with the Buenos Aires Institute. But before he could, they reached the end of the alley and the battered door to the Sanctuary of the Institute. It looked like the inside of a church that had suffered a blast, the long windows boarded up, the floor blackened.

  There was a man in the center of the charred floor, holding forth to a group of silent Shadowhunter men. He looked about forty, his fair hair already turning silver, and he was the only one in the room wearing gear that was not patched or worn.

  “That’s Clive Breakspear, the head of our Institute,” said Joaquín. “Sir, we have a visitor. It’s Alexander Lightwood.”

  He said something in Spanish, which judging by the repetition of Alec’s name Alec thought was the same thing, then glanced around as if expecting an enthusiastic response. He didn’t receive one. Several of the men in the circle seemed immediately wary.

  Clive Breakspear did not look wary at all.

  “So you’re Alec Lightwood,” said the head of the Buenos Aires Institute slowly. “Then this must be your Downworlder whore.”

  There was a terrible silence.

  It was broken by Lily, who blinked and said: “Excuse me? Have you been living in a hole? Are you not aware Alec is dating famous warlock Magnus Bane and is not interested in ladies of any persuasion?”

  There was a rush of whispers. Alec didn’t think everyone was stunned by this information. They were stunned that Lily would say it, as if they expected him to be ashamed.

  “Let’s be clear on this matter. This is my friend Lily, the head of the New York vampire clan.” Alec put his hand on his seraph blade, and the whispers hushed. “Think very carefully,” said Alec, “about how you wish to speak of her. Or of Magnus Bane.”

  He almost said my fiancé, but it was an awkward word. Once he’d said “my betrothed” and felt like a total idiot. He longed sometimes, with an almost physical ache, just to say my husband, and have it be true.

  “I’m here on a mission,” Alec continued. “I thought I could rely on the hospitality of the Institute and my fellow
Shadowhunters. I see I was wrong.”

  He cast a look around the room. Several of the men could not meet his eyes.

  “What mission?” demanded Clive Breakspear.

  “One which requires discretion.”

  Alec regarded him steadily, until Clive Breakspear flushed and looked away.

  “You can stay here,” he agreed grudgingly. “The Downworlder cannot.”

  “Like I want to,” Lily sneered. “I don’t stay in places where the décor isn’t ten out of ten, and this place is a minus fourteen thousand. OK, Alec, let’s make a plan for where we will meet up after I find a nice windowless hotel room. Do you want to—”

  “What are you talking about?” Alec demanded. “If they won’t have you, I won’t stay here. The hell with this place. I’m going with you.”

  Lily’s face went soft, for the space of time it took to blink. Then she patted his arm and said: “Of course you are.”

  She sniffed disdainfully and spun on her heel. Clive Breakspear barreled toward her.

  “I have some questions for you, Downworlder.”

  Alec caught his arm and stepped in front of Lily. “Are you sure about that?”

  They were outnumbered, but Alec was the Inquisitor’s son, Jace Herondale’s parabatai. He was protected in a way many others were not. That meant he had to use whatever he had, for those who had no protection.

  After a long moment, Breakspear stepped back.

  Alec wished he could’ve thought of a really scathing exit line, but those weren’t his specialty. He and Lily just left, Joaquín chasing after them.

  “By the Angel,” Joaquín said. “I didn’t expect that—I didn’t think—I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not the first Institute I haven’t been welcome in,” said Alec.

  Especially if he was with Magnus. It didn’t happen often, but a couple of Institutes before now had tried to separate them or made clear they shouldn’t have come together. Alec always made clear what he thought of that.

  “I’m so sorry,” Joaquín repeated helplessly.

  Alec nodded to him; then Alec and Lily went out into the night. Alec stood with the blasted building at their backs, and breathed in one long, deep breath.

  “Shadowhunters are trash,” Lily announced.

  Alec gave her a look.

  “Present company excepted. And Jem,” said Lily. “I’m having a terrible time in Buenos Aires, and I don’t eat, but I’m in the mood for a delicious bowl of Jembalaya.”

  “He’s married!” Alec pointed out once again.

  “Please stop reminding me. She smells like books. I may be immortal, but life is too short to spend reading.” Lily paused for an instant, then added quietly: “Raphael liked her. She and Ragnor Fell and Raphael used to have little meetings and tell each other secrets.”

  Alec understood the tension in her voice now. Lily was slightly wary of Magnus too: of anyone not in her clan whom she thought Raphael Santiago might have loved.

  “I told Jem we’d meet him outside the Shadow Market,” said Alec, effectively distracting Lily. “We can just carry our bags until we find a place to stay. For now, let’s see about this place which has the Buenos Aires Institute running scared, where only I can go.”

  Alec went to the New York Shadow Market on Canal Street with Magnus and Max often, but the first time at a new Shadow Market as a Shadowhunter could be tricky.

  The Buenos Aires Shadow Market looked more than tricky. Barbed wire was hung on every plank. The smooth sun-bleached wood and snarled loops of barbed wire were an impenetrable stretch of silver. There was a large metal door in front of them, more suited to a prison than a market, and a werewolf’s eyes shone behind a metal grille. He snapped something at them.

  “He said ‘No Shadowhunters,’” Lily interpreted cheerfully.

  There was a line of Downworlders behind them, staring and murmuring. Alec felt a shadow of the old discomfort at being the focus of attention, and a sudden doubt about the information Jem had provided.

  “I’m Alec Lightwood,” he said. “I hear that I’m allowed in.”

  There was a stir behind his back, a brief silence, and then a rush of different-sounding whispers, like listening to a tide turn.

  “You could just be another lying Nephilim,” the werewolf snarled, switching to English. “Can you prove you’re Alec Lightwood?”

  Alec said: “I can.”

  He took his hands out of his pockets and held up the right one to the grille so the werewolf could see it plainly: scarred skin, calluses from his bow, the dark lines of his Voyance rune, and moonlight striking and holding on the bright band of his family ring with its etched pattern of flames.

  Another set of eyes appeared at the grille, this pair a faerie’s, pupil-less and green as woodland lakes fathoms deep. She said something soft in Spanish.

  “She says the magic in your ring is very strong,” Lily reported at his shoulder. “Too strong. She says that kind of power comes from the very heart of hell.”

  Alec knew that was true. There was not only one charm in this ring, but spell after spell: magic for protection and deflection, magic to guide his arrows and blades, all the power at Magnus’s command poured into the metal. There was everything Magnus had been able to think of, to act as Alec’s armor, and ensure Alec would return home safe to him. Most important, there was the look on Magnus’s face when he gave the enchanted ring to Alec and said he believed they would be married one day.

  “I know where this kind of power comes from.” Alec raised his voice so that the whole murmuring crowd could hear. “I’m Alec Lightwood. Magnus Bane made this ring for me.”

  The werewolf guard held open the door to the Shadow Market.

  Alec and Lily walked into a barbed-wire tunnel. Alec could hear the sounds and glimpse the lights of a Market, but the tunnel split off in two directions. The guard took them to the left, away from light and sound, into a shed lined with wards and metal. Broken weapons were fixed on the walls, and there was a roughly hewn circular platform in the center of the room, and on that platform a huge chair. There were crossed axes on the back of that chair, and a row of glittering spikes ran along the top. A slender faerie girl, with wispy hair and a wistful face, was sitting cross-legged at the foot of the throne.

  Upon the throne was a young woman who looked about Alec’s age. She was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, her legs swung carelessly over the throne’s arm, the row of spikes glinting above her light hair. This must be the woman Jem had written about, the werewolf Queen of the Market.

  She saw Alec and her face went blank. Then she started to smile, and said in English, but with a distinct French accent: “Alec! It’s really you. I can’t believe it!”

  This was very awkward.

  “Sorry,” said Alec. “Have we met?”

  The werewolf swung her legs to the floor, leaning forward. “I’m Juliette.”

  “I’m not Romeo,” said Lily. “But you are cute, so tell us more about yourself in your sexy accent.”

  “Um, who are you?” asked Juliette.

  “Lily Chen,” said Lily.

  “Head of the New York vampire clan,” added Alec.

  “Oh, of course,” said Juliette. “From the Alliance! Thank you for coming with Alec to help us. It’s a real privilege to meet you.”

  Lily beamed. “I know, right?”

  Juliette’s eyes went back to Alec. The way she was looking at him, wide-eyed and startled, did ring a faint bell.

  “And this is my daughter Rose,” said Juliette the werewolf, her hands firm on the young faerie’s shoulders.

  Alec didn’t recognize the woman, but he recognized that tone of voice. He knew how it was to lay claim to what you loved, all the more insistently because people doubted the love that belonged to you. Alec wasn’t sure what to say, so he did one of his favori
te things. He produced his phone and found a really good picture, walked up to the dais, and showed it to them both.

  “This is my son, Max.”

  Juliette and Rose leaned forward. Alec saw the werewolf’s eyes flicker, saw the moment where it registered with Juliette that Max was a warlock.

  “Oh.” Juliette’s voice was soft. “He’s beautiful.”

  “I think so,” said Alec shyly, and showed them a few more pictures. Alec found it difficult to select the best pictures. So many of them were great. It was hard to take a bad picture of Max.

  Juliette gave the adolescent faerie a push between the shoulder blades.

  “Go get your brother and sister,” she urged. “Quick.”

  Rose sprang to her feet, faerie light, cast a last shy sidelong glance at Alec, and ran out.

  “You know me,” said Alec. “How?”

  “You saved my life,” Juliette said. “Five years ago, when demons attacked the Orient Express.”

  “Oh,” said Alec.

  His and Magnus’s first vacation. He tried not to think of the less pleasant aspects of that trip, but he remembered the train, the warm falling water and the shine of demon’s eyes, the screaming wind and the abyss below. He’d been terrified for Magnus that night.

  “You fought demons on the Orient Express?” Lily asked with interest.

  “I fight demons in lots of places,” said Alec. “It was all very normal.”

  “I’d never seen anything like it in my life,” Juliette told Lily enthusiastically. “There were so many demons! They broke the windows. I thought I was about to be killed. Then Alec took out every demon he saw. He was soaking wet, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt.“

  Alec didn’t see how that was relevant.

  “Very normal,” Alec repeated. “Except normally I wear a shirt.”

  Lily’s eyes were dancing with glee. “What a wild time you seem to have on holiday, Alec.”

  “I had a totally standard and boring time,” Alec told her.

  “Sounds like it.”

  “And I was at that party in Venice,” Juliette continued. “When the mansion collapsed.”