Jessamine glared.
"She also says she knows where Malcolm lived," said Kit.
"She does?" Livvy moved over to the desk, grabbing a pen and a notebook. "Will she tell us?"
"Polperro," said Jessamine again. She was very pretty, with blond hair and dark eyes. Kit wondered if it was weird to think a ghost was attractive. "It's a small town in southern Cornwall. Malcolm used to talk about his house plans sometimes, when he was in the Institute." She waved a translucent hand. "He was very proud of the house--right on top of some famous caves. Dreadful he's turned out to be a villain. And poor Arthur," she added. "I used to look after him sometimes when he slept. He had the most awful nightmares about Faerie and his brother."
"What's she saying?" Livvy asked, her pen poised over her paper.
"Polperro," said Kit. "Southern Cornwall. He was very proud of the location. She's sorry he turned out to be an asshole."
Livvy scribbled it down. "I bet she didn't say asshole."
"We need to go to the library," Ty said. "Find an atlas and train schedules."
"Ask her something for me," said Livvy. "Why didn't she just tell Evelyn where Malcolm's house was?"
After a moment, Kit said, "She says Evelyn can't really hear her. She often just makes things up and pretends Jessamine's said them."
"But she knows Jessamine's here," said Ty. "She must be a faint spirit, if none of the rest of us can see her."
"Humph!" said Jessamine. "Faint spirit indeed; it's clear none of you have practice observing the undead. I have done everything to get your attention outside of smacking one of you in the head with a Ouija board."
"I just saw you," said Kit. "And I've never practiced being a Shadowhunter at all."
"You're a Herondale," said Jessamine. "They can see ghosts."
"Herondales can usually see ghosts," said Ty, at the same time. "That's why I wanted you to get the Voyance Mark."
Kit swiveled to look at him. "Why didn't you say so?"
"It might not have worked," said Ty. "I didn't want you to feel bad if it didn't."
"Well, it did work," said Livvy. "We should go wake up Julian and tell him."
"The older boy, with the brown curly hair?" said Jessamine. "He's awake." She chuckled. "It's nice to see those lovely Blackthorn eyes again."
"Julian's up," Kit said, deciding not to mention that the ghost might have crush on him.
Ty joined Livvy at the door. "Are you coming, Kit?"
Kit shook his head, surprising himself. If you'd asked him a few weeks ago if he'd be pleased to be left alone with a ghost, he would have said no. And he wasn't pleased, exactly, but he wasn't bothered, either. There was nothing terrifying about Jessamine. She seemed older than she looked, a little wistful, and not at all dead.
She was, though. She drifted in the waft of air from the closing door, her long white fingers resting on the mantel. "You needn't stay," she said to Kit. "I'll probably disappear in a minute. Even ghosts need rest."
"I had a question," Kit said. He swallowed hard; now that it had come to the moment, his throat was dry. "Have you--have you ever seen my father? He just died a little while ago."
Her brown eyes filled with pity. "No," she said. "Most people don't become ghosts, Christopher. Only those with unfinished business on earth, or who have died feeling they owe someone something."
"My father never thought he owed anyone anything," muttered Kit.
"It's better that I haven't seen him. It means he's gone on. He's at peace."
"Gone on where?" Kit raised his head. "Is he in Heaven? I mean, it seems so unlikely."
"Christopher!" Jessamine sounded shocked.
"Seriously," said Kit. "You didn't know him."
"I don't know what comes after death," Jessamine said. "Tessa used to come and ask me too. She wanted to know where Will was. But he didn't linger--he died happy and at peace, and he went on." Her hands fluttered helplessly. "I am not like Charon. I am no ferryman. I cannot say what lies on the other side of the river."
"It could be awful," said Kit, making a fist, feeling his new Mark sting. "It could be torture forever."
"It could be," Jessamine said. There was wisdom in her featherlight voice. "But I don't think so."
She bent her head. The firelight glinted off her pale blond hair, and then she was gone, and Kit was alone in the room. There was something in his hand, though, something that crackled when he moved.
It was a folded piece of paper. He opened it, scanning the words quickly; they had been sketched in a delicate, feminine hand.
If you steal any of the books from the library, I will know, and you'll be sorry.
It was signed, with several flourishes: Jessamine Lovelace.
*
When Livvy came into Julian's room, he was lying flat on the bed, like a dropped piece of toast. He hadn't even bothered to change his clothes or get under the covers.
"Jules?" Livvy said, hovering in the doorway.
He sat up, fast. He'd been trying to sort through his thoughts, but the sight of his younger sibling--in his room, this late at night--banished everything but immediate, atavistic panic. "Is everything all right? Did something happen?"
Livvy nodded. "It's good news, actually. We figured out where Malcolm's house is--the one in Cornwall."
"What?" Julian scrubbed his hands through his hair, rubbing at his eyes to wake himself up. "Where's Ty?"
"In the library." She sat down on the corner of Julian's bed. "Turns out there's a house ghost. Jessamine. Anyway, she remembered Malcolm and knew where his house was. Ty's checking on it, but there's no reason to think she wouldn't be right. Evelyn's been talking to her for days, we just didn't think she really existed, but Kit--"
"Can see ghosts. Right," said Julian. He felt more alert now. "All right. I'll go tomorrow, see what I can find out."
"And we'll go to Blackthorn Hall," Livvy said. Blackthorn Hall was one of the Blackthorn family's two land properties: They had a manor in Idris, and a large home in Chiswick, on the Thames. It had once belonged to the Lightwoods, a long time ago. "See if there's any papers, anything about Annabel. Kieran can't really leave the Institute, so Mark can stay here with him and Cristina and they can look in the library."
"No," said Julian.
Livvy set her jaw. "Jules--"
"You can go to Blackthorn Hall," he said. "You've certainly earned that much, you and Ty, and Kit, too. But Mark goes with you. Kieran can amuse himself weaving daisy chains or making up a ballad."
Livvy's mouth twitched. "It seems wrong to make fun of the Fair Folk."
"Kieran's fair game," said Julian. "He's annoyed us in the past."
"I guess Cristina can watch him."
"I was going to ask her to come to Cornwall," said Julian.
"You and Cristina?" Livvy looked baffled. Julian couldn't blame her. It was true that their group fell into established patterns based on age and acquaintance. Jules and Emma, or Jules and Mark, made sense. Jules and Cristina didn't.
"And Emma," Julian added, cursing silently. The thought of extended time with Emma, especially now, was--terrifying. But it would be considered bizarre if he went without her, his parabatai. Never mind that Emma wouldn't sit still for it. Not a chance.
Bringing Cristina would help, though. Cristina would be a buffer. Having to put someone between himself and Emma made him feel sick, but the memory of the way he'd snapped at her in the entryway made him feel sicker.
It had been like watching someone else talking to the person he loved the most in the world; someone else, hurting his parabatai on purpose. He had been able to do something with his feelings while she'd been with Mark--twist and crumple them, shove them far underneath his skin and consciousness. He had felt them there, bleeding, like a tumor slicing open his internal organs, but he hadn't been able to see them.
Now they were there again, laid out before him. It was terrifying to love someone who was forbidden to you. Terrifying to feel something you could never speak of, s
omething that was horrible to almost everyone you knew, something that could destroy your life.
It was in some ways more terrifying to know that your feelings were unwanted. When he had thought Emma loved him back, he had not been completely alone in his hell. When she was with Mark, he could tell himself that it was Mark keeping them apart. Not that she would rather be with no one than be with him.
"Cristina knows a great deal about the Black Volume," Julian said. He had no idea if this was true or not. Graciously, Livvy didn't pursue it. "She'll be helpful."
"Blackthorn Hall, here we come," said Livvy, and slid off the bed. She looked to Julian like a little girl from an old illustration in a picture book, in her puffed-sleeve blue dress. But maybe Livvy would always look like a little girl to him. "Jules?"
"Yes?"
"We know," she said. "We know about Arthur, and what was wrong with him. We know you ran the Institute. We know it was you doing all of it since the Dark War."
Julian felt as if the bed were tilting under him. "Livia . . ."
"We're not angry," she said quickly. "I'm here by myself because I wanted to talk to you alone, before Ty and Dru. There was something I wanted to say to you."
Julian still had his fingers in the bedspread. He suspected he was in some kind of shock. He'd thought of how this moment might go for so many years that now that it was happening, he had no idea what to say.
"Why?" he managed finally.
"I realized something," she said. "I want to be like you, Jules. Not this second, not right now, but someday. I want to take care of people, other Shadowhunters, people who need me. I want to run an Institute."
"You'd be good at it," he said. "Livvy--I didn't tell you because I couldn't. Not because I didn't trust you. I didn't even tell Emma. Not until a few weeks ago."
She only smiled at him, and came around the side of the bed to where he was sitting. She bent down, and he felt her kiss him softly on the forehead. He closed his eyes, remembering when she'd been small enough for him to lift her in his arms, when she'd followed him, holding her hands out to him: Julian, Julian, carry me.
"There's nobody else I'd rather be like than you," she said. "I want you to be proud of me."
He opened his eyes at that and hugged her awkwardly, one-armed, and then she pulled away and ruffled his hair. He complained, and she laughed and headed for the door, saying she was exhausted. She flipped off the light as she went out of the room, leaving him in darkness.
He rolled under the blanket. Livvy knew. They knew. They knew, and they didn't hate him. It was a weight off him he had almost forgotten he'd been carrying.
17
HAUNTED
It was a perfect English day. The sky was the color of Wedgwood china, smooth and blue. The air was warm and sweet and full of possibilities. Julian stood on the front step of the Institute, trying to prevent his smallest brother from choking him to death.
"Don't go," Tavvy wailed. "You were already gone. You can't go again."
Evelyn Highsmith sniffed. "In my time, children were seen and not heard, and they certainly did not complain."
She was standing in the arch of the door, hands folded primly over the head of her cane. She had put on an amazing outfit in order to see them off to the train station: There was a sort of riding habit involved, and possibly jodhpurs. Her hat had a bird on it, though to Ty's disappointment, the bird was definitely dead.
The ancient black car that belonged to the Institute had been unearthed, and Bridget was waiting beside it with Cristina and Emma. Their backpacks were stashed in the trunk--Mark had been amused to find out that in England, they called it a boot--and they were talking excitedly. Both were in jeans and T-shirts, since they'd have to pass as mundane on the train, and Emma's hair was tied back into a braid.
Still, Julian was glad Cristina was going. In the back of his mind, he clung to the idea that she would be a buffer between him and Emma. Emma hadn't betrayed any hint of being angry that morning, and the two of them had functioned well together, mapping their route to Polperro, figuring out the train schedules and raiding the storage room for clothes. They planned to get a room in a bed-and-breakfast, preferably one with a kitchen they could cook in, to minimize exposure to mundanes. They'd even purchased their train tickets from Paddington ahead of time. All the planning had been easy and simple: They were a parabatai team; they still worked, they still functioned better together than alone.
But even with the most iron self-control imposed on himself, the sheer force of love and yearning when he looked at her was like being hit unexpectedly by a train, over and over. Not that he imagined being hit expectedly by a train would be much better.
Best to be buffered against that, until it stopped happening. If it stopped happening. But he wouldn't let himself think that way.
It had to end someday.
"Jules!" Tavvy wailed. Julian gave his brother a last hug and set him down. "Why can't I come with you?"
"Because," Julian explained. "You have to stay here and help Drusilla. She needs you."
Tavvy looked as if he doubted that. Drusilla, wearing an overly long cotton skirt that reached her toes, rolled her eyes. "I can't believe you're going," she said to Julian. "The minute you leave, Livvy and Ty start treating me like a servant."
"Servants get paid," Ty observed.
"See? See what I mean?" Dru poked Julian in the chest with an index finger. "You'd better hurry back so they don't maltreat me."
"I'll try." Julian met Mark's look over Dru's head; they shared a smile. Emma and Mark's good-bye had been bizarre, to say the least. Emma had given him a quick, absentminded hug before descending the stairs; Mark hadn't looked bothered until he'd noticed Julian and the others staring at him. He'd run down the steps after Emma, caught her hand, and spun her to face him.
"It is better that you go," he said, "that I might forget your fair, cruel face, and heal my heart."
Emma had looked stunned; Cristina, saying something in a low voice to Mark that sounded like unnecessary, had hauled Emma off toward the car.
Ty and Livvy were the last to come to say good-bye to Jules; Livvy embraced him fiercely, and Ty gave him a soft, shy smile. Julian wondered where Kit was. He'd been glued to Ty's and Livvy's sides the whole time they'd been in London, but he appeared to have vanished for the family farewell.
"I've got something for you," Ty said. He held out a box, which Julian took with some surprise. Ty was absolutely punctual about Christmas and birthday presents, but he rarely gave gifts spontaneously.
Curious, Julian popped open the top of the box to find a set of colored pencils. He didn't know the brand, but they looked pristine and unused. "Where did you get these?"
"Fleet Street," said Ty. "I went out early this morning."
An ache of love pressed against the back of Julian's throat. It reminded him of when Ty was a baby, serious and quiet. He hadn't been able to go to sleep for a long time without someone holding him, and though Julian had been very small himself, he remembered holding Ty while he fell asleep, all round wrists and straight black hair and long lashes. He'd felt so much love for his brother even then it had been like an explosion in his heart.
"Thanks. I've missed drawing," Julian said, and tucked the box into his duffel bag. He didn't fuss; Ty didn't like fuss, but Julian made his tone as warm as he could, and Ty beamed.
Jules thought of Livvy, the night before, the way she'd kissed his forehead. Her thank-you. This was Ty's.
"Be careful at Blackthorn Hall," he said. He was nervous that they were going but tried not to show it; he knew he was being unreasonable. "Go during the day. During the day," he insisted, when Livvy made a face. "And try not to get Drusilla and Tavvy into trouble. Remember, Mark is in charge."
"Does he know that?" said Livvy.
Julian sought Mark in the crowd on the steps. He was standing with his hands behind his back, exchanging a mistrustful look with a carved stone gnome. "Your pretense does not fool me, gnome," he mutter
ed. "My eye will be upon you."
Julian sighed. "Just do what he says."
"Julian!" Emma called. She was standing beside the car, Cortana--glamoured to be invisible to mundanes--glittering just over her right shoulder. "We're going to miss the train."
Julian nodded and held up two fingers. He made his way across the steps to Mark and gripped his shoulder. "You going to be okay?"
Mark nodded. Julian thought about asking where Kieran was, but decided there was no point. It would probably just stress Mark out more. "Thanks for trusting me to be in charge," said Mark. "After what happened before, with the kitchen."
In Los Angeles, Julian had left Mark for a night to look after their siblings. Mark had managed to destroy the kitchen, cover Tavvy in sugar, and almost give Jules a nervous breakdown.
"I do trust you." Unspeaking, Julian and Mark looked at each other. Then Julian grinned. "Besides," he added, "this isn't my kitchen."
Mark laughed softly. Julian headed down the stairs as Emma and Cristina piled into the car. He went around the back to toss his bag into the trunk and came to a stop. Wedged into the space beside the luggage was a small figure in a smudged white T-shirt.
Tavvy looked up at him, wide-eyed. "I want to go too," he announced.
Julian sighed and began to roll up his sleeves. A brother's work was never done.
*
One of the benefits of being a Shadowhunter that was rarely talked about, Emma thought, was easy parking at places like train stations and churches. Often a place had been set aside for Shadowhunters to leave their cars, glamoured to appear to mundanes as something they would ignore--a construction site or a pile of trash bins. Bridget pulled the rattling black Austin Metro to a stop on Praed Street, mere feet from Paddington Station, and the Shadowhunters piled out to retrieve their bags while she locked up the vehicle.
They'd packed fast and light, just enough for a few days. Weapons, gear, and few clothes besides the ones on their backs, though Emma had no doubt that Cristina would look elegant all the time anyway. Demurely, Cristina tucked her knife into her pocket and bent to sling her backpack over her shoulder. She winced.
"Are you all right?" Emma asked, sliding into step beside her. She was enormously glad to have Cristina there between her and Jules, something to smooth the prickly and dangerous roads of their conversations.
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