"Is he perfect?" Livvy asked.
"No," Cristina said. When Cristina was upset, she didn't get angry; she just stopped talking. She was doing that now, staring at the target painted on the wall. Emma spun the knives she'd retrieved in her hands.
"We'll protect you from Perfect Diego," Emma said. "If he comes here, I'll impale him." She moved toward the throwing line.
"Emma's a master of the impalement arts," Livvy said.
"You'd be better off impaling my mother," Cristina muttered. "All right, flaquita, impress me. Let's see you throw two at a time."
A knife in each hand, Emma took a step back from the throwing line. She had taught herself to throw two knives at once over the course of a year, throwing again and again, the sound of the blades splitting the wood a balm to shattered nerves. She was left-handed, so normally would have taken a step back and to the right, but she'd forced herself to be nearly ambidextrous. Her step back was direct, not diagonal. Her arms went back and then forward; she opened her hands and the knives flew like falcons whose jesses had been cut. They soared toward the target and thudded, one after the other, into its heart.
Cristina whistled. "I see why Cameron Ashdown keeps coming back. He's afraid not to." She went to retrieve the knives, including her own. "Now I am going to try again. I see that I am far behind where I should be."
Emma laughed. "No, I was cheating. I practiced that move for years."
"Still," Cristina said, "if you ever change your mind and decide you don't like me, I'd better be able to defend myself."
"Good throw," Livvy said in a whisper, coming up behind Emma as Cristina, several feet away, paced back and forth at the throwing line.
"Thanks," Emma whispered back. Leaning against a rack of gloves and protective gear, she glanced down into Livvy's sunny face. "Did you get anywhere with Ty? And the parabatai thing?" she inquired, almost dreading the answer.
Livvy's face clouded. "He still says no. It's the only thing we've ever disagreed about."
"I'm sorry." Emma knew how badly Livvy wanted to be parabatai with her twin. Brothers and sisters who became parabatai were unusual but not unheard of. Ty's stark refusal was surprising, though. He rarely said no to Livvy about anything, but he was obdurate about this.
Cristina's first blade slammed home, just at the rim of the target's inside circle. Emma cheered.
"I like her," Livvy said, still in a whisper.
"Good," Emma said. "I like her too."
"And I think Perfect Diego maybe broke her heart."
"He did something," Emma said guardedly. "That much I've guessed."
"So I think we should set her up with Julian."
Emma almost overturned the rack. "What?"
Livvy shrugged. "She's pretty, and she seems really nice, and she's going to be living with us. And Jules hasn't ever had a girlfriend--you know why." Emma just stared. Her head seemed full of white noise. "I mean, it's our fault--mine and Ty's, and Dru's and Tavvy's. Raising four kids, you don't exactly have a lot of time to date. So since we sort of took having a girlfriend away from him . . ."
"You want to set him up," Emma said blankly. "I mean, it doesn't work like that, Livvy. They'd have to like each other. . . ."
"I think they could," said Livvy. "If we gave them a chance. What do you say?"
Her blue-green eyes, so much like Julian's, were full of affectionate mischief. Emma opened her mouth to say something, she didn't know what, when Cristina let her second knife go. It slammed into the wall so hard that the wood seemed to crack.
Livvy clapped her hands. "Awesome!" She shot Emma a triumphant look, as if to say See, she's perfect. She glanced at her watch. "Okay, I have to go help Ty some more. Yell for me if anything awesomely exciting happens."
Emma nodded, a little stunned, as Livvy danced away to hang up her weapons and head for the library. She was nearly startled out of her skin when a voice spoke from just over her shoulder--Cristina had come up behind her and was looking worried. "What were you two talking about?" she asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Emma opened her mouth to say something, but never found out what, because at that moment, a commotion burst out from downstairs. She could hear the sound of someone pounding on the front door, followed by running feet.
Catching up Cortana, Emma was out the door in a flash.
The pounding on the front door of the Institute echoed through the building. "Just a minute!" Julian yelled, zipping up his hoodie as he jogged toward the door. He was almost glad someone had shown up. Ty and Livvy had ordered him out of the computer room with the announcement that Julian was wrecking their concentration by pacing, and he'd been bored enough to consider going to check on Arthur, which he was fairly sure would put him in a bad mood for the rest of the day.
Julian swung the door open. A tall, pale-haired man lounged on the other side, wearing tight black pants and a shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. A plaid jacket hung from his shoulders.
"You look like a strip-o-gram," Julian said to Malcolm Fade, High Warlock of Los Angeles.
There had been a time when Julian had been so impressed by the fact that Malcolm was High Warlock--the warlock to whom all other warlocks answered, at least in Southern California--that he'd been nervous around him. That had passed after the Dark War, when visits from Malcolm had become commonplace. Malcolm was in reality what most people thought Arthur was: an absent-minded professor type. He had been forgetting important things for almost two hundred years.
All warlocks, being the offspring of human beings and demons, were immortal. They stopped aging at different points in their lives, depending on their demon parents. Malcolm looked as if he had stopped aging at about twenty-seven, but he had been (he claimed) born in 1850.
Since most of the demons Julian had ever seen had been disgusting, he didn't like to think too much about how Malcolm's parents had met. Malcolm didn't seem inclined to share, either. Julian knew he'd been born in England, and he still had traces of the accent.
"You can mail someone a stripper?" Malcolm looked bemused, then glanced down at himself. "Sorry, I forgot to button my shirt before I left the house."
He took a step inside the Institute and instantly fell over, sprawling lengthwise on the tiles. Julian moved aside and Malcolm rolled onto his back, looking disgruntled. He peered down his long body. "I seem to have also tied my shoelaces together."
Sometimes it was hard not to feel bitter, Julian reflected, that all the allies and friends in his life were either people he had to lie to, ridiculous, or both.
Emma came rushing down the staircase, Cortana in her hand. She was wearing jeans and a tank top; her damp hair was pulled back in an elastic band. The tank top was sticking to her skin, which Julian wished he hadn't noticed. She slowed down as she approached, relaxing. "Hey, Malcolm. Why are you on the floor?"
"I tied my shoelaces together," he said.
Emma had reached his side. She brought Cortana down, neatly severing Malcolm's shoelaces in half and freeing up his feet.
"There you go," she said.
Malcolm looked warily at her. "She may be dangerous," he said to Julian. "Then again, all women are dangerous."
"All people are dangerous," said Julian. "Why are you here, Malcolm? Not that I'm not pleased to see you."
Malcolm staggered to his feet, buttoning his shirt. "I brought Arthur's medicine."
Julian's heart thumped so loudly he was sure he could hear it. Emma frowned.
"Has Arthur not been feeling well?" she asked.
Malcolm, who had been reaching into his pocket, froze. Julian saw the realization dawn on his face that he'd said something he shouldn't, and he silently cursed Malcolm and his forgetfulness a thousand times.
"Arthur told me last night he's been under the weather," Julian said. "Just the usual stuff bothering him. It's chronic. Anyway, he was feeling low on energy."
"I would have looked for something at the Shadow Market if I'd known," Emma said, sitting down on
the bottom step of the staircase and stretching out her long legs.
"Cayenne pepper and dragon's blood," said Malcolm, retrieving a vial from his pocket and proffering it to Julian. "Should wake him right up."
"That would wake the dead up," said Emma.
"Necromancy is illegal, Emma Carstairs," scolded Malcolm.
"She was just joking." Julian pocketed the vial, keeping his gaze fixed on Malcolm, silently begging him not to say anything.
"When did you have a chance to tell Malcolm that your uncle wasn't feeling well, Jules? I saw you last night and you didn't say anything," Emma said.
Julian was glad he was facing away from Emma; he was sure he'd gone white.
"Vampire pizza," Malcolm said.
"What?" Emma said.
"Nightshade's opened up an Italian place on Cross Creek Road," Malcolm said. "Best pizza for miles, and they deliver."
"Don't you worry about what's in the sauce?" Emma asked, clearly diverted. "Oh!" Her hand flew to her mouth. "That reminds me, Malcolm. I was wondering if there was something you'd look at."
"Is it a wart?" said Malcolm. "I can cure that, but it'll cost you."
"Why does everyone always think it's a wart?" Emma pulled her phone out and in a few seconds was showing him the photos of the body she'd found at the Sepulchre Bar. "There were these white markings, here and here," she said, pointing. "They look like graffiti, not paint but chalk or something like that. . . ."
"First, gross," Malcolm said. "Please don't show me pictures of dead bodies without a warning." He peered closer. "Second, those look like remnants of a ceremonial circle. Someone drew a protective ring on the ground. Maybe to protect themselves while they were casting whatever nasty spell killed this guy."
"He was burned," Emma said. "And drowned, I think. At least, his clothes were wet and he smelled like salt water."
She was frowning, her eyes dark. It could have been the memory of the body, or just the thought of the ocean. It was an ocean she lived across from, ran beside every day, but Julian knew how much it terrified her. She could force herself into it, sick and shaking, but he hated watching her do it, hated watching his strong Emma torn to shreds by the terror of something so primal and nameless she couldn't explain it even to herself.
It made him want to kill things, destroy things to keep her safe. Even though she could keep herself safe. Even though she was the bravest person he knew.
Julian snapped back to the present. "Forward me the photos," Malcolm was saying. "I'll look them over more closely and let you know."
"Hey!" Livvy appeared at the top of the stairs, having changed out of her training gear. "Ty found something. About the killings."
Malcolm looked puzzled.
"On the computer," Livvy elaborated. "You know, the one we're not supposed to have. Oh, hi, Malcolm." She waved vigorously. "You guys should come upstairs."
"Would you stay, Malcolm?" Emma asked, scrambling to her feet. "We could use your help."
"That depends," Malcolm said. "Does the computer play movies?"
"It can play movies," said Julian cautiously.
Malcolm looked pleased. "Can we watch Notting Hill?"
"We can watch anything, if you're willing to help," Emma said. She glanced at Jules. "And we can find out what Ty discovered. You're coming, right?"
Silently Julian cursed Malcolm's love of romantic movies. He wished he could head to his studio and paint. But he couldn't exactly avoid Ty or abandon Malcolm.
"I could get snacks from the kitchen," Emma said, sounding hopeful. After all, for years it had been their habit to watch old movies on their witchlight-powered TV, eating popcorn by the flickering illumination.
Julian shook his head. "I'm not hungry."
He almost thought he could hear Emma sigh. A moment later she disappeared after Livvy, up the stairs. Julian made as if to follow them, but Malcolm stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
"It's gotten worse, hasn't it?" he said.
"Uncle Arthur?" Jules was caught off guard. "I don't think so. I mean, it's not great that I haven't been here, but if we'd kept refusing to go to England, someone would have gotten suspicious."
"Not Arthur," said Malcolm. "You. Does she know about you?"
"Does who know what?"
"Don't be dense," Malcolm said. "Emma. Does she know?"
Julian felt his heart wrench inside his chest. He had no words for the feeling of upheaval Malcolm's words caused. It was too much like being tumbled by a wave, solid footing giving way in the slide of sand. "Stop."
"I won't," Malcolm said. "I like happy endings."
Julian spoke through his teeth. "Malcolm, this is not a love story."
"Every story is a love story."
Julian drew away from him and started toward the stairs. He was rarely actually angry at Malcolm, but right now his heart was pounding. He made it to the landing before Malcolm called after him; he turned, knowing he shouldn't, and found the warlock looking up at him.
"Laws are meaningless, child," Malcolm said in a low voice that somehow still carried. "There is nothing more important than love. And no law higher."
Technically, the Institute wasn't supposed to have a computer in it.
The Clave resisted the advent of modernity but even more so any engagement with mundane culture. But that had never stopped Tiberius. He'd started asking for a computer at the age of ten so that he could keep up to date on violent mundane crimes, and when they'd come back from Idris, after the Dark War, Julian had given him one.
Ty had lost his mother and father, his brother, and his older sister, Jules had said at the time, sitting on the floor amid a tangle of wirestouch, sleeping in bed together. As kids they'd fought over the blankets, stacked books between them sometimes to settle, at least it would be something.
And indeed, Ty loved the computer. He named it Watson and spent hours teaching himself how to use it, since no one else had a clue. Julian told him not to do anything illegal; Arthur, locked away in his study, didn't notice.
Livvy, ever dedicated to her sibling, had also taught herself to use it, with Ty's help, once he'd familiarized himself with how it worked. Together they were a formidable team.
It looked like Ty, Dru, Livvy, and even Tavvy had been busy. Dru had spread maps all over the floor. Tavvy was standing by a whiteboard with a blue dry-erase marker, making possibly helpful notations, if they could ever be translated out of seven-year-old.
Ty was seated at the swivel chair in front of the computer, his fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard. Livvy was perched on the desk, as she often was; Ty worked around her, completely aware of where she was while at the same time focusing on the task at hand.
"So, you found something?" Julian said as they came in.
"Yes. Just a second." Ty held up his hand imperiously. "You can talk to each other if you like."
Julian grinned. "That's very kind."
Cristina came hurrying in, braiding her damp, dark hair. She'd clearly showered and re-dressed, in jeans and a flowered blouse. "Livvy told me--"
"Shh." Emma put her finger to her lips and indicated Ty, staring intently at the computer's blue screen. It lit up his delicate features. She loved the moments when Ty was playing detective; he so clearly fell into the part, into the dream of being Sherlock Holmes, who always had all the answers.
Cristina nodded and sat down on the overstuffed love seat beside Drusilla. Dru was nearly as tall as she was, despite being only thirteen. She was one of those girls whose body had grown up quickly: She had breasts and hips, was soft and curvy. It had led to some awkward moments with boys who thought she was seventeen or eighteen years old, and a few incidents where Emma had barely stopped Julian from murdering a mundane teenager.
Malcolm settled himself in a patched armchair. "Well, if we're waiting," he said, and began typing on his phone.
"What are you doing?" Emma asked.
"Ordering pizza from Nightshade's," said Malcolm. "There's an app."
"A what?" said Dru.
"Nightshade?" Livvy turned around. "The vampire?"
"He owns a pizza place. The sauce is divine," Malcolm said, kissing his fingers.
"Aren't you worried what's in it?" said Livvy.
"You Nephilim are so paranoid," said Malcolm, returning to his phone.
Ty cleared his throat, spinning his chair back around to face the room. Everyone had settled themselves on couches or chairs except Tavvy, who was sitting on the floor under the whiteboard. "I've found some stuff," he said. "There definitely have been bodies that fit Emma's description. Fingerprints sanded off, soaked in seawater, skin burned." He pulled up the front page of a newspaper on-screen. "Mundanes think it's satanic cult activity, because of the chalk markings found around the bodies."
"Mundanes think everything is satanic cult activity," said Malcolm. "Most cults are actually in service of completely different demons than Lucifer. He's quite famous and very hard to reach. Rarely does favors for anyone. Really an unrewarding demon to worship."
Emma and Julian exchanged looks of amusement. Ty clicked the computer mouse, and pictures flashed up on the screen. Faces--different ages, races, genders. All of them slack in death.
"There are only a few murders that match the profile," said Ty. He seemed pleased to be using the word "profile." "There's been one every month for the past year. Twelve counting the one Emma found, like she said."
Emma said, "But nothing before a year ago?"
Ty shook his head.
"So, there was a gap of four years since my parents were killed. Whoever it was--if it was the same person--stopped and started up again."
"Is there anything that links all these people?" Julian asked. "Diana said some of the bodies were fey."
"Well, this is all mundane news," said Livvy. "They wouldn't know, would they? They'd think the bodies were human, if they were gentry fey. As for anything linking them, none of them have been identified."
"That's weird," said Dru. "What about blood? In movies they can identify people using blood and DTR."
"DNA," corrected Ty. "Well, according to the newspapers none of the bodies were identified. It could have been that whatever spells were done on them altered their blood. Or they could have decayed fast, like Emma's parents did. That would have limited what the coroners could have found out."
"There is something else, though," Livvy said. "The stories all reported where the bodies were found, and we mapped them. They have one thing in common."
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