Emma sprang to reassure her. “We think we might have the answer,” she said, and scrambled to tell her story again, ending it on her meeting with Tessa in the cave. There seemed no reason to tell her now what had come after that.
“I told you this?” Tessa seemed astonished. “A me that you encountered in another world?”
“I know it sounds hard to believe. You were living in that cave, the big one up by Staircase Beach. You had Church with you.”
“That does sound right.” Tessa seemed dazed. “What’s the plan? I can help you, though there are few other warlocks well enough to join me—”
“No, it’s all right,” Cristina said. “Jace and Clary are going.”
Tessa frowned. “That seems dangerous.”
“Aline found a time tomorrow when she thinks there won’t be guards at Lake Lyn,” said Cristina. “They’re going to leave at dawn.”
“I suppose danger can never be avoided for Nephilim,” said Tessa. She glanced at Cristina. “Could Emma and I speak for a moment alone, please?”
Cristina blinked in surprise, then hopped down from the desk. “Of course.” She bumped Emma’s shoulder companionably as she headed out the door, and then Emma was alone in the office with a wavering but determined-looking Tessa.
“Emma,” Tessa said as soon as the door had shut behind Cristina. “I wanted to talk to you about Kit Herondale.”
* * *
Kit picked his way across the sand, his sneakers already wet where the incoming tide had caught him unawares.
It was the first time he’d been down to the beach near the Institute without Ty. He felt almost guilty, though when he’d told Ty he was taking a walk, Ty had just nodded and said he’d see him later—Kit knew Ty wanted to talk to Julian, and he didn’t want to interrupt anyway.
There was something restful about this space, where the sea met the shore. Kit had learned long ago in the Shadow Market that there were “in-between” spaces in the world where it was easier to do certain kinds of magic: the middle of bridges, caves between the earth and the underworld, borderlands between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. And the Shadow Market itself, between Downworld and the mundane.
The tide line was a place like that, and because of that it felt like home. It reminded him of an old song he remembered someone singing to him. It must have been his father, though he always remembered it in a woman’s voice.
Tell him to buy me an acre of land,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;
Between the salt water and the sea sand,
Then he shall be a true love of mine.
“That’s a very, very old song,” said a voice. Kit almost tumbled off the rock he’d been clambering over. The sky was deep blue, studded with white clouds, and standing above him on a heap of rocks was Shade. He wore a ragged navy suit with a stitched collar and cuffs, his green skin a stark contrast. “How do you know it?”
Kit, who hadn’t even realized he’d been humming the tune, shrugged. Shade had left off his usual hood. His green face was lined and good-humored, his hair curly and white. Small horns protruded from his temples, curling inward like seashells. Something about him struck Kit as a little odd. “Heard it in the Market.”
“What are you doing out and about without your shadow?”
“Ty’s not my shadow,” said Kit crossly.
“My apologies. I suppose you’re his.” Shade’s eyes were solemn. “Have you come to tell me of the progress you’ve made in your foolish plan to raise his sister from the dead?”
It wasn’t why Kit had come down here, but he found himself telling Shade anyway, about Emma and Julian’s return (though he made no mention of Thule) and the visits they’d made to the Shadow Market in the ensuing chaos, no one noticing they were gone. Julian, usually the most eagle-eyed older brother in the world, had been unconscious, and even today he’d seemed unfocused and groggy.
“You’ve done better than I thought you would,” Shade said grudgingly, looking out to sea. “Still. You’ve mostly gotten the easy stuff. There’s still some objects that ought to trip you up.”
“You sound like you want us to fail,” said Kit.
“Of course I do!” Shade barked. “You shouldn’t be messing around with necromancy! It never does anyone any good!”
Kit backed up until his heels hit the surf. “Then why are you helping us?”
“Look, there’s a reason I’m here,” said Shade. “Yeah, Hypatia passed on Tiberius’s message to me, but I was headed to the cave anyway to keep an eye on you.”
“On me?”
“Yes, you. Did you really think I was sticking around and helping you with your dumb necromancy just as a favor to Hypatia? We’re not that close. Jem’s the one who asked me to look out for you. The whole Carstairs owe the Herondales business. You know.”
It was weird to Kit, the idea that someone would be worried about protecting him just because of his last name. “Okay, but why are you helping us with the spell stuff?”
“Because I said I would protect you, and I will. Your Ty is stubborn like the Blackthorns are all stubborn, and you’re even stubborner. If I didn’t help you two, some other warlock would, someone who didn’t care if you both got hurt. And no, I haven’t told anyone about it.”
“A lot of the other warlocks are sick,” Kit said, realizing that this was what had seemed odd about Shade. He didn’t look even a little bit ill.
“And I might get sick too, eventually, but there will always be unscrupulous magic-users—what are you looking all cross-eyed about, boy?”
“I guess I was thinking that you didn’t know they found a cure for the warlock plague,” said Kit. “Up at the Institute.”
It was the first time he had ever seen the warlock look genuinely surprised. “The Nephilim? Found a cure for the warlock illness?”
Kit thought back on the way he’d been introduced to the idea of Shadowhunters. Not as people but as a vicious, holier-than-thou army of true believers. As if they were all like Horace Dearborn, and none were like Julian Blackthorn or Cristina Rosales. Or like Alec Lightwood, patiently holding a glass of water with a straw in it so his sick warlock boyfriend could drink.
“Yes,” he said. “Jace and Clary are going to retrieve it. I’ll make sure you get some.”
Shade’s face twisted, and he turned so Kit couldn’t see his expression. “If you insist,” he said gruffly. “But make sure Catarina Loss gets it first, and Magnus Bane. I’ve got some protections. I’ll be fine for a good long while.”
“Magnus will be the first to get it, don’t worry,” said Kit. “He’s at the Institute now.”
At that Shade spun back around. “Magnus is here?” He glanced up at the Institute where it gleamed like a legendary castle on a hill. “When he’s well, tell him I’m in the Staircase Beach cave,” he said. “Tell him Ragnor says hello.”
Ragnor Shade? Whatever force blessed people with good names had passed this poor guy over, Kit thought.
He turned to
head back up the path from the beach to the highway. The sand stretched out before him in a shimmering crescent, the tide line touched with silver.
“Christopher,” said Shade, and Kit paused, surprised at the sound of the name hardly anyone ever called him. “Your father,” Shade began, and hesitated. “Your father wasn’t a Herondale.”
Kit froze. In that moment, he had a sudden terror that it had all been a mistake: He wasn’t a Shadowhunter, he didn’t belong here, he would be taken away from all of it, from Ty, from everyone—
“Your mother,” said Shade. “She was the Herondale. And an unusual one. You want to look into your mother.”
Relief punched through Kit like a blow. A few weeks ago he would have been delighted to have been told he wasn’t Nephilim. Now it seemed like the worst fate he could imagine. “What was her name?” he said. “Shade! What was my mother’s name?”
But the warlock had jumped down from his rock and was walking away; the sound of the waves and tide swallowed up Kit’s words, and Shade didn’t turn around.
* * *
* * *
Killer dolls, sinister woodsmen, eyeless ghouls, and graveyards full of mist. Dru would have listed those as her top favorite things about Asylum: Frozen Fear, but they didn’t seem to interest Kieran much. He sprawled on the other side of the couch, gazing moodily into space even when people on screen started screaming.
“This is my favorite part,” said Dru, part of her mind on nibbling popcorn, the other part on whether or not Kieran was imagining himself in a different, peaceful place, maybe a beach. She didn’t quite know how she’d inherited him after the meeting, just that they seemed to be the two people who hadn’t been given a task to do. She’d escaped to the den, and a few moments later Kieran had appeared, flopped down on the sofa, and picked up a calendar of fluffy cats that someone—okay, her—had left around. “The bit where he steps on the voodoo doll and it explodes into blood and—”
“This manner of marking the passage of time is a marvel,” said Kieran. “When you are done with one kitten, then there is another kitten. By the next winter solstice, you will have seen twelve full kittens! One of them is in a glass!”