Then the horses shot forward. The sky blurred above them, the stars turning to streaks of shimmering, multicolored paint. Julian realized that he was grinning--truly grinning, the way he rarely had since he was a child. He couldn't help it. Buried in everyone's soul, he thought as they spun forward through the night, must be the yearning desire to fly.
And not the way mundanes did, trapped inside a metal tube. Like this, exploding up through clouds as soft as down, the wind caressing your skin. He glanced over at Emma. She was leaning down over her horse's mane, long legs curved around its sides, her brilliant hair flying like a banner. Behind her rode Cristina, who had her hands in the air and was shrieking with happiness. "Emma!" she shouted. "Emma, look, no hands!"
Emma glanced back and laughed aloud. Mark, who rode Windspear with an air of familiarity, Kieran clinging to his belt with one hand, was not as amused. "Use your hands!" he yelled. "Cristina! It's not a roller coaster!"
"Nephilim are insane!" shouted Kieran, pushing his wildly blowing hair out of his face.
Cristina just laughed, and Emma looked at her with a wide smile, her eyes glowing like the stars overhead, which had turned to the silver-white stars of the mundane world.
Shadows loomed up in front of them, white and black and blue. The cliffs of Dover, Julian thought, and felt an ache inside that it might be over so quickly. He turned his head and looked at his brother. Mark sat astride Windspear as if he'd been born on a horse's back. The wind tore his pale hair, revealing his sharply pointed ears. He was smiling too, a calm and secret smile, the smile of someone doing what they loved.
Far below them the world spun by, a patchwork of silver-black fields, shadowy hills, and luminous, winding rivers. It was beautiful, but Julian could not take his eyes off his brother. So this is the Wild Hunt, he thought. This freedom, this expanse, this ferocity of joy. For the first time, he understood how and why Mark's choice to stay with his family might not have been an easy one. For the first time he thought in wonder of how much his brother must love him after all, to have given up the sky for his sake.
PART TWO
Thule
15
FRIENDS LONG GIVEN
Kit had never thought he'd set foot in one Shadowhunter Institute. Now he had eaten and slept in two. If this kept up, it was going to become a habit.
The London Institute was exactly the way he would have imagined it, if he'd ever been asked to imagine it, which he admittedly hadn't. Housed in a massive old stone church, it lacked the glossy modernity of its Los Angeles counterpart. It looked as if it hadn't been renovated for eighty years--the rooms were painted in Edwardian pastels, which had faded over the decades into soft and muddied colors. The hot water was irregular, the beds were lumpy, and dust limned the surfaces of most of the furniture.
It sounded, from bits and snatches Kit had overheard, as if the London Institute had once had many more people in it. It had been attacked by Sebastian Morgenstern during the Dark War, and most of the former inhabitants had never returned.
The head of the Institute looked nearly as ancient as the building. Her name was Evelyn Highsmith. Kit got the sense that the Highsmiths were a big deal in Shadowhunter society, though not as big a deal as the Herondales. Evelyn was a tall, imperious, white-haired woman in her eighties who wore long 1940s-style dresses, carried a silver-headed walking stick, and sometimes talked to people who weren't there.
Only one other person seemed to live in the Institute: Evelyn's maid, Bridget, who was just as ancient as her mistress. She had bright dyed-red hair and a thousand fine wrinkles. She was always popping up in unexpected places, which was inconvenient for Kit, who was once again on the lookout for anything he might steal. It wasn't a quest that was going well--most of what appeared valuable was furniture, and he couldn't imagine how he was supposed to creep away from the Institute carrying a sideboard. The weapons were carefully locked away, he didn't know how to sell candlesticks on the street, and though there were valuable first editions of books in the enormous library, most of them had been scribbled in by some idiot named Will H.
The dining room door opened and Diana came in. She was favoring one arm: Kit had found out that some Shadowhunter injuries, especially those that involved demon poison or ichor, healed slowly despite runes.
Livvy perked up at the sight of her tutor. The family had gathered for dinner, which was served at a long table in a massive Victorian dining room. Angels had once been painted on the ceiling, but they had long ago been nearly completely covered by dust and the stains of old burns. "Did you hear anything from Alec and Magnus?"
Diana shook her head, taking the seat opposite Livvy. Livvy wore a blue dress that looked like it had been stolen from the set of a BBC period piece. Though they'd fled the L.A. Institute with none of their belongings, it turned out there were years' worth of clothes stored in London, though none of them looked as if they'd been purchased after 1940. Evelyn, Kit, and the Blackthorn family sat around the table in an odd assortment of clothes: Ty and Kit in trousers and long-sleeved shirts, Tavvy in a striped cotton shirt and shorts, and Drusilla in a black velvet gown that had delighted her with its Gothic appeal. Diana had rejected all the garments and simply hand washed her own jeans and shirt.
"What about the Clave?" said Ty. "Have you talked to the Clave?"
"Are they ever useful?" Kit muttered under his breath. He didn't think anyone had heard him, but someone must have, because Evelyn burst out laughing. "Oh, Jessamine," she said to no one. "Come now, that isn't in good taste at all."
The Blackthorns all raised their eyebrows at each other. No one commented, though, because Bridget had appeared from the kitchen, carrying steaming plates of meat and vegetables, both of which had been boiled to the point of tastelessness.
"I just don't see why we can't go home," Dru said glumly. "If the Centurions defeated all the sea demons, like they said . . ."
"It doesn't meant Malcolm won't come back," said Diana. "And it's Blackthorn blood he wants. You're staying within these walls, and that's final."
Kit had passed out during the horrible thing they called a Portal journey--the terrible whirl through absolutely icy nothingness--so he'd missed the scene that must have occurred when they'd appeared in the London Institute--minus Arthur--and Diana had explained they were there to stay.
Diana had contacted the Clave to tell them about Malcolm's threats--but Zara had been there first. Apparently she'd assured the Council that the Centurions had it all under control, that they were more than a match for Malcolm and his army, and the Clave had been only too happy to take her word for it.
And as if Zara's assurance had in fact effected a miracle, Malcolm didn't turn up again, and no demons visited the Western Seaboard. Two days had passed, and there had been no news of disaster.
"I hate Zara and Manuel being in the Institute without us there to watch them," said Livvy, throwing her fork down. "The longer they're there, the better claim they have for the Cohort taking it over."
"Ridiculous," said Evelyn. "Arthur runs the Institute. Don't be paranoid, girl." She pronounced it gel.
Livvy flinched. Though everyone, even Dru and Tavvy, had finally been brought up to speed on the situation--including Arthur's illness and the facts about where Julian and the others really were--it had been decided it was better for Evelyn not to know. She wasn't an ally; there was no reason she'd side with them, though she seemed patently uninterested in Council politics. In fact, most of the time she didn't seem to be listening to them at all.
"According to Zara, Arthur's been locked in his office with the door shut since we left," said Diana.
"I would be too, if I had to put up with Zara," said Dru.
"I still don't see why Arthur didn't come with you," sniffed Evelyn. "He used to live in this Institute. You'd think he wouldn't mind paying a visit."
"Look on the bright side, Livvy," Diana said. "When Julian and the others return from--from where they are--they're most likely to go straight to Los Ang
eles. Would you want them to find an empty Institute?"
Livvy poked at her food and said nothing. She looked pale and drawn, purple shadows under her eyes. Kit had gone down the corridor the night after they'd arrived in London, wondering if she wanted to see him, but he'd heard her crying through her door when he put his hand on the knob. He'd turned around and left, a strange, pinching feeling in his chest. No one crying like that wanted anyone to come near them, especially not someone like him.
He got the same pinching feeling when he looked across the table at Ty and remembered how the other boy had healed his hand. How cool Ty's skin had been against his. Ty was tense in his own way--the move to the London Institute had constituted a major disruption in his daily routine and it was clearly bothering him. He spent a lot of time in the training room, which was almost identical in layout to its Los Angeles counterpart. Sometimes when he was especially stressed, Livvy would take his hands in hers and rub them matter-of-factly. The pressure seemed to ground him. Still, at the moment Ty was tense and distracted, as if he'd folded in on himself somehow.
"We could go to Baker Street," Kit said, without even knowing he was going to say it. "We are in London."
Ty looked up at that, his gray eyes aglow. He had shoved his food away: Livvy had told Kit that Ty took a long time to warm up to new foods and new flavors. For the moment, he was almost solely eating potatoes. "To 221B Baker Street?"
"When everything with Malcolm is cleared up," Diana interrupted. "No Blackthorns out of the Institute until then, and no Herondales, either. I didn't like the way Malcolm glared at you, Kit." She stood up. "I'll be in the parlor. I need to send a fire-message."
As the door closed behind her, Tavvy--who was staring at the air next to his chair in a way Kit found frankly alarming--giggled. They all turned to look in surprise. The youngest Blackthorn hadn't been laughing much lately.
He supposed he didn't blame the kid. Julian was all Tavvy had in the way of a father. Kit knew what missing your father was like, and he wasn't seven years old.
"Jessie," Evelyn scolded, and for a moment Kit actually looked around, as if the person she was addressing was in the room with them. "Leave the child alone. He doesn't even know you." She glanced around the table. "Everyone thinks they're good with children. Few know when they are not." She took a bite of carrot. "I am not," she said, around the food. "I have never been able to stand children."
Kit rolled his eyes. Tavvy looked at Evelyn as if he was considering throwing a plate at her.
"You might as well take Tavvy to bed, Dru," said Livvy hastily. "I think we're all done with dinner here."