Lady Midnight

by Cassandra Clare

  Something caught at her wrist. Her seraph blade fell from her hand, a glowing point of light that tumbled away from her as she was hauled to the surface of the water. She gasped in air, but it was too soon. Water filled her lungs, her chest, and darkness slammed into her with the force of a truck.

  Idris, 2009

  It was at Emma and Julian's parabatai ceremony that she learned two important things. The first was that she wasn't the only Carstairs left in the world.

  Their parabatai ceremony was performed in Idris, because they had fought in the Dark War, and their valor was recognized. At least, Julian said, it was recognized sometimes--not when they really wanted anything important, like his sister back from Wrangel Island, but when the Nephilim felt like throwing a party about how awesome Nephilim were, it was always a feature.

  When they arrived, they looked around the streets of Alicante, astonished. The last time they had been in the capital city of Idris, it had been wrecked by the Dark War. The streets torn up, nails hammered into walls to keep out faeries, the doors of the Accords Hall torn away. Now it was pristine again, the cobblestones back in place, the canals winding by the houses, and the demon towers glimmering over it all.

  "It seems smaller," Julian said, looking around from the Accords Hall steps.

  "It's not that it's smaller." The voice belonged to a young man with dark hair and dark eyes, smiling down at them. "It's that you've grown."

  They stared at him.

  "Don't you remember me?" he said. He lowered his voice as if he were quoting. "Emma Cordelia Carstairs. Stay with your parabatai. Sometimes it's braver not to fight. Protect them, and save your vengeance for another day."

  "Brother Zachariah?" Emma was astonished. "You helped us during the Dark War--"

  "I am no longer a Silent Brother," he said. "Only an ordinary man. My name is James. James Carstairs. But everyone calls me Jem."

  There was astonishment, and there was chatter, and Julian gave Emma space to be shocked and to pepper former Brother Zachariah with questions. Jem explained that he had become a Silent Brother in 1878, but he had shed the role now so that he could marry the woman he loved, the warlock Tessa Gray. Julian asked if that meant he was a hundred and fifty years old and Jem admitted that he nearly was, though he didn't look it. He looked about twenty-three.

  "Why didn't you tell me back then?" Emma demanded as they wended their way into the Silent City, down long stone staircases. "That you were a Carstairs?"

  "I thought I might die," he said candidly. "It was a battle. It seemed a cruel thing to tell you if I wasn't going to live through the day. And after that Tessa cautioned me that I should give you time, to grieve for your parents, to adjust to your new life." He turned and looked at her, and his expression was both sorrowful and affectionate. "You're a Shadowhunter, Emma. And neither Tessa nor I are Nephilim, not anymore. To come and live with me, though you would be welcome, you'd have to give up being a Shadowhunter. And that was too cruel a choice to place in front of you."

  "Come and live with you?" It was Julian, a warning sharp in his tone. "Why would she do that? She has a home. She has a family."

  "Exactly," Jem said. "And there is more. Can you give me a moment alone with Emma?"

  Julian checked in with Emma with his eyes, and she nodded. He turned and made his way down the stairs, glancing back several times to make sure she was all right.

  Jem touched her arm with light fingers. She was wearing ceremonial gear, ready for the ritual, but she could feel the scar she had given herself with Cortana flare when he touched her, as if recognizing their shared blood. "I wanted to be here for you, for this," he said. "For I had a parabatai myself once, and the bond of it is precious to me."

  Emma didn't ask what had happened to Jem's parabatai. Silent Brothers were forbidden from having parabatai, and besides, a hundred and thirty years was a long, long time.

  "But I don't know when I can be with you again," he said. "Tessa and I, we have to find something. Something important." He hesitated. "It will be dangerous looking for it, but once it's found I'd like to be part of your life once more. Like a sort of uncle." He gave a half smile. "You might not guess it, but I have a lot of experience in being an uncle."

  His gaze was steady on hers, and though there was no physical resemblance between them, for that moment Emma was reminded of her father--of his level gaze and kind face.

  "I'd like that," she said. "Can I ask you one more thing?"

  He nodded, his expression serious. It was easy to imagine him as an uncle: He looked so young, but there was a calm certainty underneath that made him seem ageless, like a faerie or a warlock. "Yes?"

  "Did you send me your cat?"

  "Church?" He started to laugh. "Yes. Has he been taking care of you? Did he bring you the gifts I gave?"

  "The shells and sea glass?" She nodded. "The bracelet Julian's wearing is made out of sea glass Church brought me."

  His laughter softened into a smile that was a little bit sad. "As it should be," he said. "What belongs to one parabatai, belongs to the other. For you are one heart now. And one soul."

  Jem stayed with Emma through the ceremony, which was witnessed by Simon and Clary, whom she suspected would become parabatai themselves one day.

  After the ceremony, Julian and Emma were led through the streets to the Accords Hall, where there was a special dinner in their honor. Tessa--a pretty, brown-haired girl who looked about Clary's age--had joined them, hugging Emma tightly and exclaiming over Cortana, which she said she had seen before a long time ago. Other parabatai got up and spoke about their bond and their experiences. Waves of radiant happiness seemed to come off the pairs of best friends as they talked. Jace and Alec spoke about nearly dying in the demon realms together, grinning, and Emma felt a sense of joy at the thought that one day she and Jules would be up there, smiling dopily at each other and talking about how their bond had gotten them through times when they'd thought they were going to die.

  At some point during the speeches, Jem had slipped quietly from his chair and disappeared through the doors to Angel Square. Tessa had dropped her napkin and hurried after him; as the doors closed, Emma could see them on the dimly lit steps. Jem had his head down on Tessa's shoulder.

  She wanted to go after them, but she was already being swept up to the front of the Hall by Clary and made to give some sort of speech, and Julian was with her, smiling that calm smile that hid a million thoughts. And Emma had been happy. She'd been wearing one of her first great thrift store finds, a real gown, not like the ragged jeans she usually wore until they fell to pieces. Instead she'd put on a brown Paraphernalia dress scattered with pale gold blossoms like sunflowers growing out of a field and let her hair, which reached her waist, out of its usual ponytail. She'd shot up like a weed in the past year, and she nearly reached Jace's shoulder when he came over to congratulate her and Julian.

  She'd had the worst crush of all time on Jace when she was twelve and she still felt a little awkward around him. He was nearly nineteen years old now, and even better-looking than he had been--taller, broader, tanned, and with his hair bleached from sunlight, but more than anything else, happier-looking. She remembered a tense-looking, beautiful boy who burned with revenge and heavenly fire, and now he looked at ease with himself.

  Which was nice. She was happy for him, and for Clary, who smiled and waved at her across the room. But she no longer got butterflies in her stomach when he smiled at her, or wanted to crawl under something and die when he hugged her and told her she looked pretty in her new dress. "You've got a lot of responsibility now," he said to Julian. "You'll have to make sure she winds up with a guy who deserves her."

  Julian was strangely white-faced. Maybe he was feeling the effects of the ceremony, Emma thought. It had been strong magic, and she still felt it sizzling through her blood like champagne bubbles. But Jules looked as if he were getting sick.

  "What about me?" Emma said quickly. "Don't I have to make sure Jules winds up with som
eone who deserves him?"

  "Absolutely. I did it for Alec, Alec did it for me--well, actually, he hated Clary at first, but he came around."

  "I bet you didn't like Magnus much, either," said Julian, still with the same odd, stiff look on his face.

  "Maybe not," said Jace, "but I never would have said so."

  "Because it would have hurt Alec's feelings?" Emma asked.

  "No," said Jace, "because Magnus would have turned me into a hat rack," and he wandered back toward Clary, who was laughing with Alec, both of them looking happy.

  Which was as it should be, Emma thought. One's parabatai should be friends with the person you loved, your spouse or boyfriend or girlfriend, because that was how it worked. Though when she tried to imagine the person she'd be with, someone she might marry and stay with forever, there was only a sort of blurry space. She couldn't picture the person at all.

  "I have to go," Julian said. "I need some air." He brushed the back of his hand across Emma's cheek before making for the double doors of the Hall. It was a ragged touch: His nails were bitten down to the edges.

  Later that night Emma woke up from a dream of fiery circles, her skin burning hot, the sheets tangled around her legs. They had been put up in the old Blackthorn manor house, and Julian was far away, down corridors she didn't know like she knew the hallways of the Institute. She went to the window. It was a short drop down to the garden path. She kicked her feet into slippers and climbed outside.

  The path curved around the gardens. Emma made her way along it, breathing in the cool, clean air of Idris, untouched by smog. The sky above was brilliant with a million stars, totally free of light pollution, and she wished Julian was with her so she could show it to him, and then she heard voices.

  The Blackthorn manor had burned down quite a long time ago and been rebuilt near to the Herondale manor. Emma wandered down a number of pretty paths until she found a wall.

  There was a gate set into the wall. As Emma approached it, she could hear the murmured voices more clearly. She crept to the side of the gate and peered through the bars.

  On the other side, a green lawn sloped down to the Herondale manor, a pile of white and tawny stone. The grass was sparkling with dew under the starlight and starred with the white flowers that grew only in Idris.

  "And that constellation right there, that's the Rabbit. See how it has ears?" It was Jace's voice. He and Clary were sitting in the grass, shoulder to shoulder. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and Clary was in her nightgown, Jace's jacket around her shoulders. Jace was pointing at the sky.

  "I'm pretty sure there's no Rabbit constellation," Clary said. She hadn't changed as much as Jace had in the past years--she was still slight, her red hair bright as Christmas, her small face freckled and thoughtful. She had her head against Jace's shoulder.

  "Sure there is," he said, and as the starlight touched his pale curls, Emma felt a faint flutter of her old crush. "And that one there, that's the Hubcap. And there's the Great Pancake."

  "I'm going back inside," Clary said. "I was promised an astronomy lesson."

  "What? Sailors used to navigate by the Great Pancake," said Jace, and Clary shook her head and started to stand up. Jace grabbed her ankle and she laughed and tumbled over on top of him, and then they were kissing and Emma froze, because what had been a casual moment, one she could have interrupted with a friendly hello, had suddenly become something else.

  Jace rolled over on top of Clary in the grass. She had her arms wrapped around him, her hands in his hair. His jacket had fallen off her shoulders and the straps of her nightgown were sliding down her pale arms.

  Clary was laughing and saying his name, saying maybe they should go back inside, and Jace kissed her neck. Clary gasped and Emma heard him say, "Remember the Wayland manor? Remember that time outside?"

  "I remember." Her voice was low and throaty.

  "I didn't think I could have you," Jace said. He was propped over Clary on his elbows, tracing the line of her cheek with his finger. "It was like being in Hell. I would have done anything for you. I still would."

  Clary flattened her hand against his chest, over his heart, and said, "I love you."

  He made a noise, a very un-Jace-like noise, and Emma jerked herself away from the gate and ran back toward the Blackthorn house.

  She reached her window and climbed up inside, gasping. The moon shone down like a floodlight, illuminating her room. She kicked off her slippers and sat down on the bed. Her heart was hammering inside her chest.

  The way Jace had looked down at Clary, the way she'd touched his face. She wondered if anyone would ever look at her like that. It didn't seem possible. She couldn't imagine loving anyone that much.

  Anyone but Jules.

  But that was different. Wasn't it? She couldn't imagine Julian lying on top of her, kissing her like that. They were different, they were something else, weren't they?

  She lay back down on the bed, looking across the room at the door. Some part of her expected Jules to come through it, to come to her because she was unhappy the way he often did, seeming to know without being told. But why would he think she was unhappy? Today had been her parabatai ceremony; it should have been one of the happiest days of her life except for maybe her wedding day. Instead she felt flushed and strange and full of the strangest urge to cry.

  Jules, she thought, but the door didn't open, and he didn't come. Instead she curled up around her pillow and lay awake until dawn.

  After the darkness, there was light. Bright white and silver--starlight on water and sand. And Emma was flying. Over the surface of the water, now shallow--she could see the sand of the beach underneath, and a pool of fire where the moon reflected.

  There was a pain in her chest. She twisted to get away from it and realized she wasn't flying; she was being carried. She was being held against a hard chest and arms were around her. She saw the glimmer of blue-green eyes.

  Julian. Julian was carrying her. Wet, dark curls crowned his head. She tried to draw in a breath to speak, and choked. Her chest spasmed; water filled her mouth, bitter and salty like blood. She saw Julian's face twist with panic, and then he was half-running up the beach, finally crashing to his knees, depositing her in the sand. She was still coughing, choking, looking up at him with frightened eyes. She saw the same fear mirrored on his face; she wanted to tell him it would be all right, everything was going to be fine, but she couldn't speak past the water in her throat.

  He fumbled a stele from his belt and she felt the tip burn against her skin. Her head fell back as the rune formed. She saw the moon over her, behind Julian's head like a halo. She wanted to tell him he had a halo. Maybe he'd think it was funny. But the words were drowning in her chest. She was drowning. Dying on land.

  The rune was finished. Julian pulled the stele back and Emma's chest seemed to cave in. She cried out, and water exploded from her lungs. She curled up, racked with deep coughs. It hurt as her body expelled the seawater, as if she were being turned inside out. She felt Julian's hand on her back, his fingers between her shoulder blades, holding her steady.

  At last the coughing slowed. She rolled onto her back and stared up at Julian and the sky behind him. She could see a million stars, and he still had his halo, but there was no longer anything funny about it. He was shivering, his black shirt and jeans plastered to his body, his face whiter than the moon.

  "Emma?" he whispered.

  "Jules," she said. Her voice sounded weak and rough to her own ears. "I--I'm all right."

  "What the hell happened? What were you doing in the water?"

  "I went to the convergence," she whispered. "There was some kind of spell--it sucked me out into the ocean--"

  "You went to the convergence by yourself?" His voice rose. "How could you be so reckless?"

  "I had to try--"

  "You didn't have to try alone!" His voice seemed to echo off the water. His fists were clenched at his sides. She realized he wasn't shaking from cold after all--it wa
s rage. "What the hell is the point of being parabatai if you go off and risk yourself without me?"

  "I didn't want to put you in danger--"

  "I almost drowned inside the Institute! I coughed up water! Water you breathed!"

  Emma stared at him in shock. She started to prop herself up on her elbows. Her hair, heavy and soaked, hung down her back like a weight. "How is that possible?"

  "Of course it's possible!" His voice seemed to explode out of his body. "We are bound together, Emma, bound together--I breathe when you breathe, I bleed when you bleed, I'm yours and you're mine, you've always been mine, and I have always, always belonged to you!"

  She had never heard him say anything like this, never heard him talk this way, never seen him so close to losing control.

  "I didn't mean to hurt you," she said. She started to sit up, reaching for him. He caught her wrist.

  "Are you joking?" Even in the darkness, his blue-green eyes had color. "Is this a joke to you, Emma? Don't you understand?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't live if you die!"

  Her eyes searched his face. "Jules, I'm so sorry, Jules--"

  The wall that usually hid the truth deep in his eyes had crumbled; she could see the panic there, the desperation, the relief that had punched through his defenses.

  He was still holding her wrist. She didn't know if she leaned into him first or if he pulled her toward him. Maybe both. They crashed together like stars colliding, and then he was kissing her.

  Jules. Julian. Kissing her.

  His mouth moved against hers, hot and restless, turning her body to liquid fire. She clawed at his back, pulling him closer. His clothes were wet, but his skin under them was hot wherever she could touch it. When she placed her hands at his waist, he gasped into her mouth, a gasp that was half incredulity and half desire.

  "Emma," he said, a word halfway between a prayer and a groan. His mouth was wild on hers; they were kissing as if they were trying to tear down the bars that held them inside a prison. As if they were both drowning and they could breathe only through each other.