Queen of Air and Darkness

by Cassandra Clare

SEEK CHURCH.

  “Do you understand it?” Diana said. “Nobody here does. Churches aren’t doing well in this world. They’re all deconsecrated and full of demons.”

  “Everyone’s so quiet,” Emma said, whispering herself. “Are they—scared?”

  “Not really,” said Diana. “I think it’s just been so long since any of us have seen magic.”

  Livvy pushed her way through the crowd toward them, leaving Cameron behind. “Is this from Tessa Gray?” she demanded, eyes wide, as she reached them. “Is this a response to that summons? Did it work?”

  “Yeah,” Julian said. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what this is. Tessa wants us to come to her.”

  “Not too trusting,” said Diana. “She must have some sense.”

  “But the church part?” Livvy looked puzzled. “What church does she mean?”

  “She means a cat,” said Julian.

  “And please don’t say all the cats are dead,” said Emma. “I’m not sure I can cope with feline death on a massive scale.”

  “Cats actually do okay here,” said Diana. “They’re a little demony themselves.”

  Livvy waved her hands. “Can we stick to specifics? What do you mean, a cat?”

  “An unusual cat,” said Julian. “His name’s Church. He belonged to Jem Carstairs once, and he used to live with us in the Institute after the Dark War.”

  “We can’t go to the Institute,” said Emma. “It’s full of evil Ashdowns.”

  “Yeah, but Church was a wandering cat—you remember,” Julian said. “He didn’t really live in the Institute with us. He padded around on the beach and stopped by whenever he felt like it. And he led us where he wanted us to go. If we find Church—he could lead us to Tessa.”

  “Tessa and Brother Zachariah did have a foul-tempered cat with them in New York, after the war,” said Livvy.

  “I’ll go with you to the beach,” Diana said.

  “That means you have to cross the whole city in daylight,” Livvy said. “I don’t like it.”

  “Would it be safer to go at night?” said Julian.

  “No, that’s even worse,” Livvy said.

  “Hey,” said a soft voice.

  Emma turned to see a boy with wavy hair and light brown skin looking at them with a mixture of annoyance and—no, it was mostly just annoyance.

  “Raphael Santiago?” she said.

  She recognized him from the Dark War, from pictures in history books about its heroes. Emma had always thought that Raphael, who had made his famous sacrifice to save Magnus Bane’s life, had an angelic face. The crown of curls, the cross scar at his throat, and the wide eyes in the child-round face were the same. She had not expected the sardonic expression overlaying all that.

  “I know who you are,” Emma said.

  He didn’t look impressed. “I know who you are too. You’re those Endarkened who always make a disgusting display of yourselves. I realize you are evil, but why can’t you be more discreet?”

  “That’s really not us,” said Julian. “Those are different people.”

  “So you say,” said Raphael. “This is a stupid plan and you are all going to die. I see all the Angel’s gifts are truly gone, leaving only the Nephilim gift of remarkable short-sightedness. Out of the demonic frying pan, right back into the demonic frying pan.”

  “Are you saying we shouldn’t answer Tessa’s summons?” said Emma, who was starting to get annoyed.

  “Raphael’s just in a bad mood,” said Livvy. She ruffled Raphael’s curly hair. “Aren’t you in a bad mood?” she cooed.

  Raphael glared daggers at her. Livvy smiled.

  “I didn’t say you should or shouldn’t do anything,” Raphael snapped. “Go ahead and look for Tessa. But you might want my help. You’re a lot more likely to make it across the city if you have transportation. But my help’s not for free.”

  “Annoyingly, everything he says is true,” Livvy admitted.

  “Okay,” said Julian. “What do you want, vampire?”

  “Information,” said Raphael. “In your world, is my city still standing? New York.”

  Julian nodded.

  “Am I alive?” Raphael said.

  “No,” said Emma. There didn’t seem to be any point in beating around the bush.

  Raphael paused only for a moment. “Then who is the leader of the New York vampire clan there?” said Raphael.

  “Lily Chen,” Emma said.

  Raphael smiled, surprising her. It was a real smile, with real fondness in it. Emma felt herself soften. “In our world, you’re a hero. You sacrificed your life so Magnus could live,” she said.

  Raphael looked horrified. “Tell me you’re not talking about Magnus Bane. Tell me you’re talking about a much cooler Magnus. I would never do that. If I did do that, I would never want anybody to talk about it. I cannot believe Magnus would shame me by talking about that.”

  Julian’s mouth twitched at the corner. “He named his child for you. Rafael Santiago Lightwood-Bane.”

  “That is revolting. So everybody knows? I am so embarrassed,” said Raphael. He looked at Diana. “Under a tarp in the garage are several of my motorcycles. Take two of them. Do not crash them or I will be very angry.”

  “Noted,” said Diana. “We’ll have them back by nightfall.”

  “Shouldn’t you be asleep, Raphael?” said Emma, suddenly struck. “You’re a vampire. It’s daytime.”

  Raphael smiled coldly. “Oh, little Shadowhunter,” he said. “Wait until you see the sun.”

  * * *

  They found the motorcycles in the garage, as Raphael had said they would, and Divya opened the metal door so they could wheel the cycles onto the street. She closed it up quickly after them, and to the sound of the clanging and whirring of gears, Julian looked up and saw the sky.

  His first thought was that he should step in front of Emma, protect her somehow from the ruins of the sun. His second was a fragmented memory of a piece of poetry his uncle had taught him. Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day.

  The sun was a red-black cinder, glowing dully against a bank of streaky clouds. It cast an ugly light—a reddish-brown light, as if they were seeing the world through blood-tinted water. The air was thick and carried the taste of dirt and copper on it.

  They were on what Julian guessed was West Broadway, the street much less crowded than it had been the night before. The occasional shadow slunk in and out of the gaps between buildings, and the convenience store offering blood milk shakes was, surprisingly, open. Something was sitting behind the counter, reading an old magazine, but it wasn’t shaped like a human being.

  Trash blew up and down the mostly empty street, carried on the heated wind. This kind of weather came sometimes in Los Angeles, when the wind blew from the desert. Los Angelenos called them “devil winds” or “murder winds.” Maybe they came all the time in Thule.

  “You ready?” said Diana, throwing one leg over her cycle and gesturing to the second one.

  Julian had never ridden a motorcycle. He was willing to have a whack at it, but Emma had already climbed on. She zipped up the leather jacket she’d taken from the wardrobe and crooked a finger at Julian. “Mark showed me how to ride one of these,” she said. “Remember?”

  Julian remembered. He remembered how jealous of Mark he’d been too—Mark, who could flirt with Emma casually. Who could kiss her, embrace her, while Julian had to treat her like a bomb that would explode if he touched her. If they touched each other.

  But not here, he reminded himself. This might be hell, but they weren’t parabatai here. He settled himself on the cycle behind Emma and slipped his arms around her waist. She had a Glock thrust through her belt, just like he did.

  She reached down to brush her fingers across his clasped hands where they rested above her belt. He ducked his head and kissed the back of her neck.

  She shivered.

  “Enough, you guys,” Diana said. “Let’s go.”

  She took off and Em
ma started up their own cycle, pulling in the clutch while holding down the start button. The engine revved with a loud noise and they were hurtling after Diana down the deserted street. Diana gunned her cycle toward a hill; Emma crouched down low, and Julian did the same. “Hold on,” Emma shouted into the wind, and their cycle lifted off the ground, angling into the air. The ground fell away below them, and they were soaring, Diana beside them. Julian couldn’t help thinking of the Wild Hunt, of flying through the air above a sleeping England, riding a path of wind and stars.

  But this was different. From above, they could see the utter destruction of the city clearly. The sky was filled with wheeling dark figures—other airborne motorcycles, and demons abroad at daylight, protected by the dim sun and the thick cover of clouds. Fires burned at intervals, smoke swirling up from the Miracle Mile. The streets around Beverly Hills had been dammed up and flooded, forming a sort of moat around Bel Air, and as they soared over it, Julian gazed down into the churning water. A massive sea monster, hideous and humped, was pulling its way along the moat by its tentacles. It threw back its head and howled, and Julian glimpsed a black, yawning mouth, studded with teeth like a great white shark’s.

  They soared over Wilshire, which had become a boulevard of horrors. Julian glimpsed a human musician dangling from puppet strings made of his own nerves and blood vessels, being forced to play a mandolin even as he screamed in agony. A demon lounged at a covered table where xylophones of human ribs were for sale, another—a massive one-eyed serpent—coiled around a “lemonade” stand where vampires stepped up for a wedge of lemon and a bite of a screaming, terrified human.

  Julian closed his eyes.

  When he opened them again, they were flying north over the highway by the sea. At least here it was mostly deserted, though they could see down into the ruins of the once-wealthy houses that had lined the shores of Malibu. They were overgrown now, their swimming pools empty or full of black water. Even the ocean looked different. In the dim daylight the water was black and churning, without fish or seaweed to be seen.

  He felt Emma tense. Her words were torn away by the wind, but he caught enough of them to understand. “Julian—the Institute.”

  He glanced to the east. There it was, their Institute, glass and stone and steel, rising from the scrub grass of the Santa Monica Mountains. His heart lurched with yearning. It seemed so familiar, even under the red-orange hell glow of the dying sun.

  But no—two flags flew from the Institute’s roof. One showed the star-in-circle symbol of Sebastian, and the other the family crest of the Ashdowns: an ash tree surrounded by leaves.

  He was glad when Emma swung the cycle around and the Institute was no longer in view.

  Diana was ahead of them, her cycle descending toward the beach. She landed with a few puffs of sand and turned to watch as Emma and Julian lurched down after her with considerable less grace. They hit the sand with enough force to snap Julian’s teeth sharply together.

  “Ouch,” he said.

  Emma swung around, her cheeks pink, her hair windblown. “You think you could do better?”

  “No,” he said, and kissed her cheek.

  Her face turned a darker pink, and Diana made an exasperated noise. “You two are almost as bad as the Endarkened versions of yourselves. Now, come on—we have to hide these cycles.”

  As Julian rolled their cycle under a rock overhang, he realized he didn’t mind Diana’s teasing at all. He hadn’t minded Cameron’s teasing about the bed, either. It was all a reminder that here, he and Emma had a completely normal relationship—nothing secret, nothing forbidden. Nothing dangerous.

  It was perhaps the only thing in Thule that was ordinary, but in this world without angels, it felt like a blessing.

  “Well, here we are,” Diana said, once the cycles were hidden. “Looking for a cat on a beach.”

  “Church usually comes to us,” said Julian, glancing around. “It looks—almost ordinary here.”

  “I wouldn’t go in the water,” said Diana darkly. “But yeah, Sebastian seems to like the beach. Mostly he leaves it alone and uses it for ceremonies and executions.”

  Emma began to make cooing, clicking kitty-come-here noises.

  “Don’t blame me if you summon a cat demon,” said Diana. She stretched, the joints in her wrists popping audibly. “A week to get back from Mexico City, and now this, two days after I get home,” she said, half to herself. “I really thought I might get a chance to rest. Silly me.”

  Emma whirled around. “Mexico City?” she demanded. “Did you—do you know if Cristina Mendoza Rosales is all right?”

  “Cristina Rosales? The Rose of Mexico?” Diana said, looking surprised. “Because of her, Mexico City is one of the few Shadowhunter strongholds left. I mean, there’s no angelic magic, but they patrol, they keep the demons down. The Rosales family are a resistance legend.”

  “I knew it,” Emma said. She wiped hastily at her damp face. “I knew it.”

  “Are there other pockets? Places people are resisting?” Julian said.

  “Livvy’s doing what she can here,” said Diana somewhat pointedly. “There’d be a lot more dead if not for her. We hear things about Jerusalem—Singapore—Sri Lanka. Oh, and Bangkok, which doesn’t surprise me. I know that city pretty well since I transitioned there.”

  Emma looked puzzled. “What do you mean, transitioned?”

  “I’m transgender,” Diana said, puzzled. “You must know that if you knew me in your world.”

  “Right,” Julian said hastily. “We just didn’t know about the Bangkok thing.”

  Diana looked even more puzzled. “But when I—” She broke off. “Is that what I think it is?”

  She pointed. Sitting on top of a nearby boulder was a cat. Not just any cat—an angry-looking blue Persian cat with an aggressively fluffed-out tail.

  “Church!” Emma scooped him up in her arms, and Church did what he usually did. He went limp.

  “Is that cat dead?” Diana demanded.

  “No, he isn’t,” Emma cooed, and kissed his furry face. Church went limper. “He just hates affection.”

  Diana shook her head. She seemed completely unaffected by having told them something that in their world was a secret she had guarded. Guilt and annoyance with himself were rising inside Julian; he tried to shove them down. Now wasn’t the time, nor would it be right to burden this Diana with his feelings.

  “I wuv you,” Emma said to Church. “I wuv you very much.”

  Church wiggled out of her grasp and meowed. He padded toward Julian, meowed again, and then turned to frisk away along the beach.

  “He wants us to follow him,” Julian said, clomping after Church. His enormous boots were a pain when it came to walking on sand. He heard Diana mutter something about how if she’d wanted to run around after deranged animals, she would have volunteered for the zoo patrol, but she headed after them anyway.

  They trailed Church along the inner bluffs until they reached a path that led to a hole in the cliff face. Julian knew it well. When you grew up on the beach, you explored every rock, arch, cove, and cave. This one led to an impressive but empty cave, if he recalled correctly. He and Emma had once dragged a table in there and held meetings before they’d gotten bored with having a secret society with only two people in it.

  Church scrambled up to the entrance of the cave and meowed loudly. There was a grinding sound like stone moving aside, and a figure stepped out of the shadows.

  It was a man with dark hair, in long parchment robes. His cheeks were scarred, his eyes dark, full of wisdom and sorrow.

  “Jem!” Emma screamed, and began to run up the path, her face shining with eagerness.

  Jem held up his hand. His palms were scarred with runes, and Julian ached to see them—runes, in this runeless place. Insight. Quietude. Courage.

  And then Jem began to change. Diana swore and yanked a pistol from her belt as a ripple went over Jem’s features and the parchment robes slid to the ground. His hair
lightened and tumbled, long and waving, to the middle of his back; his eyes turned gray and long-lashed, his figure curved and feminine inside a plain gray dress.

  Diana cocked the pistol. “Who are you?”

  Emma had stopped in the middle of the path. She blinked back tears and said, “This is her. The Last Warlock. This is Tessa Gray.”

  * * *

  Tessa had set the inside of the cave up as cozily as possible. There was a small fireplace, whose smoke went up a flue built into the rocks. The stone floor was brushed clean and dotted with carpets; there was a small sleeping annex and multiple chairs covered in cushions and soft pillows. There was even a little kitchen with a small range, a refrigerator humming along without being plugged into anything, and a wooden table already set with teacups and a loaf of warm sweet bread.

  Realizing she hadn’t had breakfast, Emma wondered if it would be a faux pas to leap on the bread and devour it. Probably.

  “Sit down and eat,” Tessa said, as if reading her mind. As they settled around the table, Church climbed into Emma’s lap, rolled onto his back, and promptly fell asleep with his feet in the air.

  Diana tore off a hunk of the bread and stuffed it in her mouth. She closed her eyes in bliss. “Oh. My. God.”

  Emma decided that was her cue. For the next minute, she shut out the world around her and entered a blissful carb coma. The last time she’d eaten real food was in that clearing with Julian, and this was warm and home-cooked and felt like the taste of hope.

  When she opened her eyes, she realized Julian hadn’t even taken a bite yet. He was looking at Tessa—that Julian look that seemed completely innocent but actually meant he was taking someone’s measure, assessing their weaknesses, and deciding if he trusted them.

  It was pretty hot, actually. Emma sucked a piece of sugar off her thumb and tried not to smile to herself.

  “You must be wondering who we are,” he said as Tessa poured their tea.

  “No.” Tessa set the teapot down and took a seat, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. “I know who you are. You are Emma Carstairs and Julian Blackthorn, but not the ones from this world.”

  “You already know that?” said Diana in surprise.