Lady Midnight (50 page)

“Someone so mad to get back their lost love that they founded a cult, killed more than a dozen people, created that cave at the convergence, etched that poem on the wall, created a Portal to the ocean . . . ?” Livvy sounded dubious.

“I would do it,” Dru said, “if it was someone I really loved. It might not even have been a girlfriend—maybe a mother or a sister or whatever. I mean, you’d do it for Emma, right, Jules? If she died?”

The black horror that was the thought of Emma dying rose against the backs of Julian’s eyes. He said, “Don’t be morbid, Dru,” in a voice that sounded very distant to his own ears.

“Julian?” Emma said. “Are you all right?”

Thankfully he didn’t need to answer. A solemn voice spoke from the doorway. “Dru is right,” Tavvy said.

He hadn’t gone to sleep after all. He stood by the door, wide-eyed, brown hair tousled. He had always been small for his age, and his eyes were big blue-green saucers in his pale face. He was holding something behind his back.

“Tavvy,” Julian said. “Tavs, what have you got there?”

Tavvy drew his hand from behind his back. He was carrying a book—a child’s book, oversize, with an illustrated cover. The title was printed in gold foil.
A Treasury of Tales for Nephilim.

A Shadowhunter children’s book. There were such things,
though not many of them. The printing presses in Idris were small.

“Where did you get that?” Emma asked, honestly curious. She’d had something like it as a child, but it had been lost with many of her parents’ things in the chaos after the war.

“Great-Aunt Marjorie gave it to me,” Tavvy said. “I like most of the stories. The one about the first
parabatai
is good, but some of them are sad and scary, like the one about Tobias Herondale. And the one about Lady Midnight is the saddest.”

“Lady what?” said Cristina, leaning forward.

“Midnight,” said Tavvy. “Like the theater you went to. I heard Mark say the rhyme and I just remembered I read it before.”

“You read it before?” Mark echoed incredulously. “When did you see that faerie rhyme, Octavian?”

Tavvy opened the book. “There was a Shadowhunter lady,” he said. “She fell in love with someone she wasn’t supposed to be in love with. Her parents trapped her in an iron castle, and he couldn’t get in. She died of sadness, so the man who loved her went to the King of the faeries and asked if there was a way to bring her back. He said there was a rhyme.

‘First the flame and then the flood:

In the end, it’s Blackthorn blood.

Seek thou to forget what’s past

First thirteen and then the last.

Search not the book of angels gray,

Red or white will lead you far astray.

To regain what you have lost,

Find the black book at any cost.’”

“So what happened?” said Emma. “To the man who went to Faerie?”

“He ate and drank faerie food,” said Tavvy. “He was trapped
there. The legend is that the sound of the waves crashing on the beach is his cries for her to return.”

Julian exhaled. “How did we not find this?”

“Because it’s a children’s book,” said Emma. “It wouldn’t have been in the library.”

“That’s dumb,” said Tavvy serenely. “It’s a good book.”

“But why?” Julian said. “Why Blackthorn blood?”

“Because she was a Blackthorn,” said Tavvy. “Lady Midnight. They called her that because she had long black hair, but she had the same eyes as the rest of us. Look.”

He turned the book around to show a haunting illustration. A woman whose jet-black hair spilled over her shoulders reached out for the retreating figure of a man, her eyes wide—and blue-green as the sea.

Livvy gave a little gasp, reaching for the book. Hesitantly, Tavvy let her have it.

“Don’t tear the pages,” he warned.

“So this is the full rhyme,” she said. “
This
is what’s written on the bodies.”

“It’s instructions,” Mark said. “If the rhyme is a true faerie rhyme, then for the right person, it is a clear list of instructions. How to bring back the dead—not just any dead, but her. This Blackthorn woman.”

“Thirteen,” said Emma. Despite her exhaustion, her heart was racing with excitement. She met Cristina’s eyes across the room.

“Yes,” Cristina breathed. “What Sterling said—after we caught him, after he’d killed the girl. He said she was the thirteenth.”

Emma said, “‘First thirteen and then the last.’ He’s killed thirteen. He’s got one last one to go and then he’s done. He’ll have enough magic to bring back Lady Midnight.”

“So there’ll be one more,” said Julian. “One that might be different from the last.”

“There must be more instructions than this,” said Ty. “No one
could figure out exactly how to complete this spell just from this rhyme.” He looked around, a flicker of uncertainty in his gray eyes. The look he got very rarely, but sometimes, when he thought that there was something in the world that everyone understood but him. “Could they?”

“No,” Mark said. “But the rhyme tells you where to look for the rest of the instructions. ‘Search not the book of angels gray’—the answer is not in the Gray Book. Nor is it in the Book of the White or in the Red Texts.”

“It is in the Black Volume of the Dead,” said Diego. “I have heard of that book, in the Scholomance.”

“What is it?” said Emma. “Are there copies? Is it something we could get hold of?”

Diego shook his head. “It is a book of very dark magic. Almost legendary. Even warlocks are forbidden to own it. If there are copies, I do not know where. But we should set ourselves to find out, tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Livvy said, her voice blurry with sleep. “Tomorrow.”

“Do you need to go to bed, Livvy?” Julian asked. It was a rhetorical question: Livvy was drooping like a wilted dandelion. At his words, though, she forced herself bolt upright.

“No, I’m fine, I could stay up—”

Ty’s face changed subtly as he looked at his twin sister. “I’m exhausted,” he said. “I think we should all go to sleep. In the morning we’ll be able to concentrate better.”

Julian doubted Ty was actually tired at all: When he was engaged in a puzzle, he could stay up for days at a time. But Livvy nodded gratefully at the words.

“You’re right,” she said. She slid off the chair she was sitting on and picked up Tavvy, handing him back his book. “Come on,” she said. “You should definitely be in bed.”

“I helped, though, didn’t I?” Tavvy asked as his sister carried
him toward the door. He was looking over at Julian as he said it, and Julian remembered himself as a child, looking toward Andrew Blackthorn that way. A boy looking to his father, seeking approval.

“You didn’t
just
help,” said Julian. “I think you may have solved it, Tavs.”

“Yay,” said Tavvy sleepily, and put his head down on Livvy’s shoulder.

*   *   *

The others soon followed Ty and Livvy to bed, but Emma found she couldn’t sleep. She found herself, instead, sitting on the front steps of the Institute before the sun rose.

She was in flip-flops, a tank top, and pajama bottoms. The air coming off the ocean was chilly, but she didn’t feel it. She was staring at the water.

From every angle of the steps you could see the ocean: blue-black in the rising morning now, like ink, raked with swells of white foam where the waves broke far out to sea. The moon had shrunk and cast an angular shadow across the water. A blue-and-silver dawn.

She remembered the spilling cold of that blue ocean all around her. The taste of salt water and demon blood. The feeling that the water was pressing her down, crushing her bones.

And the worst part, the fear that once her parents had felt the same pain, the same panic.

She thought of Julian then. The way he had looked in the dining room. The strain in his voice as he’d stood there telling her and Mark everything he’d done for the past five years.

“Emma?”

Emma half-turned and saw Perfect Diego coming down the steps. He looked immaculate, despite the night they’d had, even his boots polished. His dark brown hair was thick and fell charmingly over one of his eyes. He looked a bit like a prince in a fairy-tale book.

She thought of Julian again. His untidy hair, his bitten nails, his dusty boots, the paint on his hands.

“Hey, Perfect Diego,” she said.

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“You wish in vain,” Emma said. “Where are you going? Is Cristina all right?”

“She’s asleep.” Perfect Diego looked out at the ocean. “It’s very beautiful here. You must find it peaceful.”

“And
you
must be kidding.”

He flashed a fairly perfect smile. “You know, when there aren’t murders happening and small armies surrounding the place.”

“Where are you going?” Emma asked again. “It’s practically dawn.”

“I know the cave will not be open, but I am going to the convergence site to see it for myself. The demons should have disbanded by now. I want to take another look around the area, see if there is anything you missed.”

“You are just bursting with tact, aren’t you?” Emma said. “Fine. Go ahead. See what we all missed while we were nearly being cut to pieces by giant grasshopper demons.”

“Mantids aren’t technically grasshoppers—”

Emma glared. Diego shrugged and jogged to the foot of the steps. He paused there and looked back over his shoulder at her.

“Does anyone else in the Clave know about your investigation?” he said. “Anyone but your family?”

“Just Diana,” said Emma.

“Diana is your tutor?” When Emma nodded, he frowned. “Weren’t Jace Herondale and the Lightwoods betrayed by their own tutor?”

“She’d never betray us,” Emma said, outraged. “Not to the Clave or to anyone else. Hodge Starkweather was different.”

“Different how?”

“Starkweather wasn’t Diana. He was a minion of Valentine’s. Diana is a good person.”

“So where is she now?” Diego asked. “I’d like to meet her.”

Emma hesitated. “She . . .”

“She’s in Thailand,” said a voice from behind them. It was Julian. He’d shrugged on a hooded army jacket over his jeans and T-shirt. “There was a witch there she wanted to question about energy spells. Someone she knew when she was younger.” He paused. “We can trust her.”

Diego inclined his head. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

Julian leaned against one of the pillars, and he and Emma watched as Diego strode away across the trampled grass and headed down the road. The moon had disappeared entirely and the eastern sky was beginning to turn pink.

“What are you doing out here?” Julian said finally in a quiet voice.

“I couldn’t sleep,” said Emma.

Julian had his head tipped back, as if he were bathing in the dim illumination of the dawn. The strange light made him into something else, someone made out of marble and silver, someone whose inky curls clung to his temples and neck like the acanthus leaves in Greek art.

He wasn’t perfect, like Diego, but to Emma, there had never been anyone more beautiful.

“We’re going to have to talk about this eventually,” she said. “What you told me and Mark.”

“I know.” He looked down at his long legs, the frayed hems of his jeans, his boots. “I had hoped—I suppose I’d hoped it would never happen, or that at least we’d be adults when it did.”

“So let’s be adults about it. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Do you think I liked keeping secrets from you? Do you think I didn’t want to tell you?”

“If you’d wanted to, you could have.”

“No, I couldn’t.” He spoke with a quiet despair.

“Did you not trust me? Did you think I’d tell on you?”

Julian shook his head. “That wasn’t it.” Enough light had spread over the landscape for the color of his eyes to be visible despite the darkness. They looked like artificially illuminated water.

Emma thought of the night Julian’s mother had died. She had been ill, attended by Silent Brothers to the end. There were some diseases even Nephilim magic couldn’t cure: She had cancer of the bone, and it had killed her.

Andrew Blackthorn, newly widowed, had been too devastated to be the one to go to Tavvy when the baby cried in the night. Helen had been efficient: heating Tavvy’s bottles, changing him, dressing him. But Julian had been the one who stayed with him during the day. While Mark and Helen trained, Julian sat in Tavvy’s room and sketched or painted. Emma would sit with him there sometimes, and they would play the way they normally did, with the baby gurgling in his crib a few feet away.

At the time Emma hadn’t thought much of it. She, like Julian, had been only ten years old. But she recalled it now.

“I remember when your mother died,” she said. “And you took care of Tavvy during the days. I asked you why, and I remember what you said. Do you?”

“I said it was because no one else could,” said Julian, looking at her quizzically. “Mark and Helen had to train. . . . My father was . . . well, you know how he was.”

“Everything you’ve done is because no one else would or could do it. If you hadn’t covered up for Arthur, no one else would even have thought of it. If you hadn’t been so determined to hold everything together, no one else would have. Maybe it started back then, when you took care of Tavvy. Maybe it gave you the idea.”

He exhaled. “Maybe. I don’t entirely know myself.”

“I still wish you’d told me. I know you thought you were being unselfish—”

“I didn’t,” he said.

She looked at him in surprise.

“I did it for entirely selfish reasons,” he said. “You were my escape, Emma. You were my way away from everything terrible. When I was with you, I was happy.”

Emma stood up. “But that can’t have been the only time you were happy—”

“Of course I’m happy with my family,” he said. “But I’m responsible for them—I was never responsible for you—we’re responsible for each other; that’s what
parabatai
means, don’t you understand, Emma, you’re the only one, the only one who was ever meant to look after
me
.”

“Then I failed you,” she said, feeling a bone-deep sense of disappointment with herself. “I should have known what you were going through, and I didn’t—”