Ghosts of the Shadow Market

by Cassandra Clare

Alec understood being young and scared, but there came a time where you had to choose to be brave.

  “Here’s an address,” he said, offering a scrap of paper. “If you want to find out what’s really happening at your Institute, meet me there tonight. Bring reinforcements—only the people you trust.”

  Joaquín didn’t meet Alec’s eyes, but he accepted the piece of paper. Alec walked away, with Jem and Rafael on either side of him.

  “Do you think he will come?” Jem asked.

  “I hope so,” said Alec. “We have to trust people, right? Like you were saying. Not just people we love. We have to believe in people, and we have to defend them. As many people as possible, so we can be stronger.” He swallowed. “I have a confession to make. I’m—jealous of you.”

  Jem’s face was genuinely startled. Then he smiled.

  “I’m a little jealous of you, too.”

  “Of me?” Alec asked, startled.

  Jem nodded toward Rafael and the picture of Magnus and Max in Rafael’s hands. “I have Tessa, so I have the world. And I have loved going all through the world with her. But there are times I think about—a place that could be home. My parabatai. A child.”

  All the things Alec had. Alec felt as he had last night, putting on Rafael’s boots over his battered feet: stricken, but knowing this was not his pain.

  He hesitated. “Couldn’t you and Tessa have a child?”

  “I could never ask her,” said Jem. “She had children once. They were beautiful, and they are gone. Children are meant to be our immortality, but what if you live forever and your child does not? I saw how she had to rip herself away from them. I saw what it cost her. I will not ask her to suffer like that again.”

  Rafe held up his hands to be carried. Alec swung him up in his arms. Warlock hearts beat differently, and Alec was used to feeling the sound of Magnus’s and Max’s hearts, infinitely steady and reassuring. It was odd, holding a child with a mortal heartbeat, but Alec was getting used to the new rhythm.

  The evening sun was scorching on whitewashed walls of the street they were heading down. Their shadows were long behind them, but the town was still bright, and Alec saw for the first time that it could be lovely.

  Occasionally he despaired: that the world couldn’t be changed, or even that it wouldn’t change fast enough. He was not immortal, and didn’t want to be, but there were times he was afraid he wouldn’t live long enough, that he’d never have the chance to take Magnus’s hands in front of everyone they loved and make a sacred promise.

  At those times, there was an image Alec held against exhaustion or surrender, a reminder to always keep fighting.

  When he was gone, when he was dust and ashes, Magnus would still be walking through this world. If the world was changed for the better, then that unknowable future would be better for Magnus. Alec could imagine that on some scorching-hot day like this, on a strange street in a strange land, Magnus might see something good that reminded him of Alec, some way that the world was changed because Alec had lived. Alec couldn’t imagine what the world would be like then.

  But he could imagine, in some faraway future, the face he loved best.

  * * *

  Jem filled Tessa in on what they had seen and who they were searching for in the Shadow Market.

  Lily caught Jem’s glance at her as he explained. “What are you looking at, you delicious peanut-butter-and-Jem sandwich?”

  Tessa snorted behind Jem.

  “I’ve got more names,” Lily told her, encouraged. “They just come to me. Want to hear them?”

  “Not really,” said Jem.

  “Definitely not!” snapped Alec.

  “Yes,” said Tessa. “Yes, I really do.”

  Lily regaled her with many names on their way to the Shadow Market. Tessa’s laughter was like a song to Jem, but he was glad when they reached the Shadow Market, though the place was a barbed-wire fortress and the door had been barred against them last time.

  The door was not barred against them tonight.

  Jem was accustomed to Shadow Markets by now, after years searching through them for answers about demons and Herondales. He was also used to being somewhat conspicuous among the people of the Market.

  Tonight, though, everyone was looking at Alec and Lily. The Queen of the Shadow Market, a rather lovely and dignified young woman, came out among the stalls to greet them personally. Alec drew her aside to tell her of their plans for the evening and to ask for her help. The Queen smiled and agreed.

  “They’re from the Alliance,” he heard one teenage werewolf whisper to another, in awed tones.

  Alec bowed his head and fussed over Rafe. Alec seemed slightly abashed by the attention.

  Jem met Tessa’s eyes and smiled. They had seen other generations pass, shining bright and hopeful, but Alec’s was something new.

  Alec paused to talk to a faerie girl in her teens. “Rose, have you seen a fey woman with dandelion hair at the Market tonight?”

  “You must mean Mother Hawthorn,” said Rose. “She’s always here. She tells stories to the children. Loves children. Hates everybody else. If you’re looking for her, stick around the kids. She’s sure to come.”

  So they headed toward a campfire where most of the children were congregated. A faerie was playing the bandonion at this fire. Jem smiled to hear the music.

  Rafe clung to Alec’s shirt and glared jealously around. The other kids seemed intimidated by his scowl.

  A teenage warlock girl was doing magic tricks, creating shadow puppets in the smoke of the fire. Tessa whispered helpful hints in the girl’s ear. Even Rafe laughed, all the sullenness gone from his face. He was only a child, leaning into Alec’s side, learning to be happy.

  “He says she is very good,” Lily translated for Alec. “He likes magic, but most of the powerful warlocks left ages ago. He wants to know if the cool man can do that.”

  Alec took out his phone to show Rafael a video of Magnus and a witchlight.

  “Look, it turns red,” Alec said, and Rafe instantly seized the phone. “No, we don’t grab! We stop stealing. I have to text Magnus back sometime, and I can’t if you keep stealing my phone.”

  Alec glanced through the leaping iridescent flames at Jem.

  “I was actually wondering if you could give me some advice,” he said. “I mean, you were saying all that stuff earlier. Like—romantic stuff. You always know what to say.”

  “Me?” Jem asked, startled. “No, I’ve never thought of myself as very good with words. I like music. It’s easier to express what you feel with music.”

  “Alec is right,” said Tessa.

  Jem blinked. “He is?”

  “At some of the worst and darkest times in my life, you have always known what to say to comfort me,” said Tessa. “I had one of my darkest moments when we were young, and we had only known each other a little while. You came to me and said words that I carried with me like a light. That was one of the moments that made me fall in love with you.”

  She lifted her hand to his face, her fingers tracing the scars there. Jem dropped a kiss on her wrist.

  “If my words comforted you, we are even,” he said. “Your voice is the music I love best in all the world.”

  “You see,” Alec muttered darkly to Lily.

  “We do love an eloquent babe,” said Lily.

  Tessa leaned close to Jem and whispered in the language she’d learned for him: “Wŏ ài nĭ.”

  And at that moment, looking into her eyes, Jem caught a flash of movement and then stillness in the dark. The faerie woman with the dandelion hair had been coming toward the children, pushing her little cart full of poisons. She stopped at the sight of Jem. She recognized him, as he did her.

  “Mother Hawthorn,” said the warlock girl Tessa had talked to. “Have you come to tell us a story?”

  “Yes,” said Jem. He rose to his feet and advanced on her. “We want to hear a story. We want to hear why you hate the Herondales.”

  Mother Hawthorn�
�s eyes widened. Her eyes were colorless and pupil-less, as if her eye sockets were filled with water. For a moment Jem thought she would run, and he tensed to spring after her. Tessa and Alec were ready to come for her as well. Jem had waited too long to wait another moment.

  Then Mother Hawthorn looked around at the children and shrugged her thin shoulders.

  “Ah well,” she said. “I have waited more than a century to boast of a trick. I suppose it doesn’t matter now. Let me tell you the story of the First Heir.”

  * * *

  They found a solitary campfire, with no children to hear a dark tale save Rafael, solemn faced and silent in the protective curve of Alec’s arm. Jem sat down with his friends and his best beloved to listen. Light and shadows danced a long dance together, and by the strange fireside of the Shadow Market, an old woman wove a tale of Faerie.

  “The Seelie Court and the Unseelie have always been at war, but there are times in war that wear the mask of peace. There was even a time that the King of the Unseelie Court and the Queen of the Seelie Court made a secret truce and had a union to seal it. They conceived a child together and agreed that one day that child would inherit both the Seelie and Unseelie thrones, and unite all Faerie. The King wished all his sons to be raised as pitiless warriors, and he believed this First Heir would be the greatest of them all. Since the child would have no mother in the Unseelie Court, he engaged my services, and I thought myself honored. I have always been fond of children. Once they called me the great faerie midwife.

  “The King of the Unseelie Court had not expected a daughter, but when the child was born, a daughter she was. She was given into my hands in the Unseelie Court on the day she came into the world, and from that day to this day, the light of her eyes was the only light I wished for.

  “The Unseelie King was displeased with his daughter, and the Seelie Queen was enraged that he would not, being displeased, give her back. There came a prophecy from our soothsayers that the day the First Heir reached for their full power, all of Faerie would fall under shadow. The King was murderously angry, and the Queen was terrified, and all the shades and shadows and rushing waters in my land seemed to threaten the girl that I loved. The war between Seelie and Unseelie raged all the more fiercely for the brief peace, and the faerie folk whispered that the First Heir was cursed. And so she fled, fearing for her life.

  “I did not call her the First Heir. Her name was Auraline, and she was the loveliest thing that ever walked.

  “She took refuge in the mortal world, and she found it beautiful. She was always searching for the beauty in life, and it always made her sad to find ugliness instead. She liked to go to the Shadow Market and mingle with the Downworlders and mundanes who did not know of her birth and would not call her cursed.

  “After visiting the Shadow Market for many decades, she met a magician there who made her laugh.

  “He called himself Roland the Astonishing, Roland the Extraordinary, Roland the Incredible, as if he were something special, when she was the unique one. I hated that insolent boy from the moment I laid eyes on him.

  “When he was not calling himself one of his foolish magician’s names, he called himself Roland Loss, but that was another lie.”

  “No,” Tessa said very softly. “It wasn’t.”

  Nobody heard her but Jem.

  “There was a warlock woman he said he loved as a mother, but Roland was no warlock, nor a mundane with the Sight. He was something far more deadly than that. I learned this warlock’s secret. She took a Shadowhunter child across the seas to America and raised him, pretending he was not Nephilim. Roland was descended from that child: Roland was drawn to our world because his blood called him to it. That boy’s true name was Roland Herondale.

  “Roland suspected enough of his heritage, and he paid to learn more at the Market. He told Auraline all his secrets. He said he couldn’t go to the Nephilim and be one of them, lest it endanger the warlock woman he loved like a second mother. He said instead he would become the greatest magician in the world.

  “Auraline lost all caution. She told him of the prophecy and the danger attached to it.

  “Roland said they were both lost children, and they could be lost together. He said he didn’t mind being lost, if he could be lost with her. She swore the same. He lured her away from my side. He told her to come live with him in the mortal world. He doomed her and called it love.

  “They ran away together, and the King’s fury was a fire that would have consumed a forest. He wanted the prophecy kept secret, which meant he needed Auraline back under his thumb or killed. He sent his trusted messengers to every corner of the world hunting her, even the bloodthirsty Riders of Mannan. He had all the worst eyes of Faerie looking for her. I kept watch for her myself, and love made my eyes the sharpest. I found her a dozen times, though I never told the King where she was. I will never forgive him for turning against her. I followed them and watched them together, my shining First Heir and that awful boy. Oh, how she loved him, and oh, how I hated him.

  “I was at a Shadow Market not long after Roland and Auraline went away together, and there I saw another angel boy, proud as God. He told me of his high position among the Nephilim, and I knew that his parabatai was another Herondale. I played a cruel trick on him. I hope he paid for his arrogance in blood.”

  “Matthew,” whispered Tessa, the name sounding unfamiliar in her mouth, spoken for the first time in years.

  Matthew Fairchild had been parabatai to Tessa’s son, James Herondale. Jem had known that this faerie had tricked Matthew to do a terrible deed, but he had thought it was only spite, not revenge.

  Even this faerie woman’s voice sounded tired. Jem remembered feeling that way, near the end of his days as a Silent Brother. He remembered being that hollow.

  “But what does that matter now?” asked the woman, as if speaking to herself. “What did it matter then? Long years passed. Auraline spent decade after decade with her magician in the filth of the mundane world, my girl born to a golden throne. They were together all the days of his life. Auraline shared what she could of her faerie power with Roland, and he stayed young longer, and lived longer, than most of their filthy kind could. She wasted her magic, like someone prolonging the life of a flower: they can only make the flower last for a little more time, before it withers. At last Roland grew old, and older, in the way of mortals, until he reached an end, and Auraline met the end with him. A faerie can choose the season of their own death. I knew how it would be, when I first beheld them together. I saw her death in his laughing eyes.

  “My Auraline. When Roland Herondale died, she laid down her golden head on the pillow next to her mortal love and never rose again. Their child wept for them both and threw flowers on their grave. Auraline could have lived for century after century, but she was hunted to the point of desperation, and she threw her life away for a foolish mortal love.

  “Their child wept, but I never wept. My eyes stayed dry as the dust and dead flowers on their grave. I hated Roland from the day he took her from me. I hate all Nephilim for her sake, and the Herondales most of their kind. Whatever the Shadowhunters touch is brought to destruction. Auraline’s child had a child. There is still a First Heir in the world. When the First Heir rises, in all the awful glory bought by the blood of Seelie and Unseelie and Nephilim, I hope destruction comes to the Shadowhunters as well as Faerie. I hope the whole world is lost.”

  Jem thought of Roland and Auraline’s descendant Rosemary and the man she’d loved. They might have a child by now. The curse the faeries had talked about had already claimed lives. This danger was far greater than he had ever suspected. Jem had to protect Rosemary from the Unseelie King and the Riders who brought death. If there was a child, Jem had to save that child. Jem had already failed to save so many.

  Jem rose and left Mother Hawthorn. He went to the barbed-wire edge of the Market, moving desperately fast, as if he could race back into the past and save those he had lost there.

  When h
e stopped, Tessa caught him. She held him in her arms, and when he stopped trembling, she drew his head down to hers.

  “Jem, my Jem. It’s all right. I thought it was a very beautiful story,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Not her story,” said Tessa. “Not the story of her warped sight and terrible choices. I can see the story behind hers. The story of Auraline and Roland.”

  “But all the people who were hurt,” Jem murmured. “The children we loved.”

  “My James knew the power of a love story, as well as I do,” said Tessa. “No matter how dark and hopeless the world seemed, Lucie could always find beauty in a story. I know what they would have thought.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Jem instantly.

  He hadn’t meant to make Tessa speak of her children. He knew how much losing them had hurt her. Every time he dreamed of a child, he remembered the pain she had endured, and knew he could never ask her to lose more. She was enough for him: she always would be.

  “Auraline grew up in horror. She felt cursed. And he was lost and wandering. They seemed destined for misery. Only they found each other, Jem. They were together and happy, all the days of their lives. Her story is just like mine, because I found you.”

  Tessa’s smile lit the night. She always brought hope when he was in despair, as she had brought words when everything within him was silence. Jem put his arms around her and held on tightly.

  * * *

  “I hope you learned what you needed to learn tonight,” Alec told Jem and Tessa when they reached their rooms.

  Jem had looked upset when he bolted from the fireside, but he and Tessa had seemed different when they returned.

  “I hope they’re all right,” Alec said quietly to Lily when Jem and Tessa went off to prepare for their midnight visit to the warlock’s house.

  “Of course Tessa’s fine,” said Lily. “You do realize she gets to go to the Jem-nasium anytime she wants?”

  “I’m never talking to you again if those names don’t stop,” Alec told her, gathering his arrows and tucking daggers and seraph blades into his weapons belt. He found himself thinking of the heartbroken way Jem said parabatai. It made him remember the shadow that hung over his father, the wound where a parabatai should be. It made him think of Jace. Ever since he could remember, Alec had loved and felt responsible for his family. There had never been any choice, but with Jace it was different. Jace, his parabatai, the first person who’d ever chosen him. The first time Alec had decided to choose someone back, to take on another responsibility. The first choice, opening the door to all the others.