Ghosts of the Shadow Market Book 1_Son of the Dawn

by Cassandra Clare

  “Jonathan?” Maryse remarked. “Does anyone ever call you anything else?”

  “No,” said Jonathan. “My father used to tell a joke about having another Jonathan, if I wasn’t good enough.”

  Isabelle did not think that was much of a joke.

  “I always think that naming one of our kids Jonathan is like the mundanes calling kids Jebediah,” said Isabelle’s mother.

  “John,” said her father. “Mundanes often call their kids John.”

  “Do they?” asked Maryse, and shrugged. “I could have sworn it was Jebediah.”

  “My middle name is Christopher,” said Jonathan. “You can—you can call me Christopher if you like.”

  Maryse and Isabelle exchanged a speaking look. She and her mother had always been able to communicate like this. Isabelle thought it was because they were the only girls, and special to each other. She could not imagine her mother telling her anything she would not want to hear.

  “We’re not going to rename you,” said Mom sadly.

  Isabelle was not sure if her mother was sad that Jonathan thought they would do that, give him a different name as if he were a pet, or sad that he would have let them.

  What Isabelle was sure about was that her mother was watching Jonathan in the same way she had watched Max when he was still learning to walk, and there would be no more discussion of a trial period. Jonathan was obviously here to stay.

  “Maybe a nickname,” Maryse proposed. “What would you think of Jace?”

  He was silent for a moment, observing Isabelle’s mother carefully from the corner of his eye. At last he offered her a smile, faint and cool as the light in early morning, but growing warm with hope.

  Jonathan Wayland said: “I think Jace will work.”

  As a boy was introduced to a family, and vampires slept cold but curled together in the hold of a ship, Brother Zachariah walked through a city not his own. The people hurrying by could not see him, but he saw the light in their eyes as if it had been made new. The blare of car horns and scream of tires from yellow cabs and the chatter of many voices in many tongues formed a long, living song. Brother Zachariah could not sing the song, but he could listen.

  This was not the first time this had happened to him, seeing a trace of what had been in what was. The coloring was entirely different. The boy did not really have anything to do with Will. Jem knew that. Jem—for in the moments he remembered Will, he was always Jem—was used to seeing his lost and dearest Shadowhunter in a thousand Shadowhunter faces and gestures, the turn of a head or the note of a voice. Never the beloved head, never the long-silent voice, but sometimes, more and more rarely, something close.

  Jem’s hand was firmly clasped around his staff. He had not paid attention to the carving beneath his palm like this for many a long, cold day.

  This is a reminder of my faith. If there is any part of him that can be with me, and I believe there is, then he is at hand. Nothing can part us. He allowed himself a smile. His mouth could not open, but he could still smile. He could still speak to Will, though he could no longer hear any answer.

  Life is not a boat, bearing us far away on a cruel, relentless tide from all we love. You are not lost to me on some forever distant shore. Life is a wheel.

  From the river, he could hear mermaids. All the sparks of the city by morning were kindling a new fire. A new day was born.

  If life is a wheel, it will bring you back to me. All I must do is keep faith.

  Even when having a heart seemed hard past bearing, it was better than the alternative. Even when Brother Zachariah felt he was losing the struggle, losing everything he had been, there was hope.

  Sometimes you seem very far away from me, my parabatai.

  Light on water had not rivaled the boy’s blazing contradiction of a smile, somehow both indomitable and too easily hurt. He was a child going to a new home, as Will and the boy Zachariah had been had once traveled in lonely sorrow to the place where they would find each other. Jem hoped he would find happiness.

  Jem smiled back at a boy long gone.

  Sometimes, Will, he said. You seem very close.

  Read on for an snippet from the second Ghosts of the Shadow Market story, “Cast Long Shadows,” by Cassandra Clare and Sarah Rees Brennan:

  Cast Long Shadows excerpt

  Old sins cast long shadows — English Proverb

  London, 1901

  The railway viaduct passed only a hair’s breadth away from the church of St. Savior. There had been discussion among the mundanes about the possibility of demolishing the church to make way for the railroad, but it had met with unexpectedly fierce opposition. Instead the railway took a slightly more circuitous route, and the spire of the church still remained, a silver dagger against the night sky.

  Beneath the arches, crosses, and rattling rails, a mundane market was held by day, the largest association of grocers in the city. By night, the market belonged to the Downworld.

  Vampires and werewolves, warlocks and the fey, met under the stars and under glamour that human eyes could not pierce. They had their magic stalls set up in the same pattern as the humans’ stalls, under the bridges and through tiny streets, but the Shadow Market stalls did not hold apples or turnips. Under the dark arches the stalls shone, laden with bells and ribbons, gaudy with color: snake green, fever red, and the startling orange of flames. Brother Zachariah smelled incense burning and heard the songs of werewolves for the distant beauty of the moon, and faeries calling for children to come away, come away.

  It was the first Shadow Market of the New Year by English standards, though it was still the old year in China. Brother Zachariah had left Shanghai when he was a child, and London when he was seventeen, to go to the Silent City, where there was no acknowledgment of time passing save that the ashes of more warriors were laid down. Still he remembered the celebrations of the New Year in his human life, from egg nog and fortune-telling in London to the setting off of fireworks and nibbling of moon dumplings in Shanghai.

  Now, snow was falling on London. The air was crisp and cold as a fresh apple, and felt good against his face. The voices of his brothers were a low hum in his head, affording Brother Zachariah a little distance.

  Zachariah was here on a mission, but he took a brief time to be glad he was in London, in the Shadow Market, to breathe air clear of the dust of the departed. It felt something like freedom, like being young again.

  He rejoiced, but that did not mean the people of the Shadow Market rejoiced with him. He observed many Downworlders, and even mundanes with the Sight, casting him looks that were the opposite of welcoming. As he moved, a dark murmur threaded through the hum of conversation all around him.

  The denizens of the Downworld considered this Market time as space snatched away from angels. They clearly did not relish his presence among them. Brother Zachariah was one of the Silent Brothers, a voiceless fraternity that lived long amid old bones, sworn to seclusion with hearts dedicated to the dust of their city and their dead. Nobody could be expected to embrace a Silent Brother, and these people would not be likely to take pleasure in the appearance of any Shadowhunter at all.

  Even as he doubted, he saw a stranger sight than any he had expected in the Market.

  There was a Shadowhunter boy dancing a cancan with three faeries. He was Charlotte and Henry Fairchild’s younger son, Matthew Fairchild. His head was thrown back, his fair hair bright by firelight, and he was laughing.

  Brother Zachariah had an instant to wonder if Matthew was spellbound before Matthew caught sight of him and bounded forward, leaving the fairies behind him looking discomfited. The Fair Folk were not accustomed to having mortals skip out on their dances.

  Matthew did not appear to notice. He ran up to Brother Zachariah, threw an exuberant arm about his neck, and ducked his head under the hood of the Silent Brother to give him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Uncle Jem!” Matthew exclaimed joyfully. “What are you doing here?”

  “Cast Long Shadows�
� by Cassandra Clare and Sarah Rees Brennan will be published on 8 May, 2018.

  Newsletter

  Sign Up for Cassie’s Mailing List to Get News & Exclusive Content Delivered to Your Inbox: cassandraclare.com/newsletter

  Cassandra Clare online

  About the Authors

  CASSANDRA CLARE was born to American parents in Teheran, Iran and spent much of her childhood traveling the world with her family. She lived in France, England and Switzerland before she was ten years old. Since her family moved around so much she found familiarity in books and went everywhere with a book under her arm. She spent her high school years in Los Angeles where she used to write stories to amuse her classmates, including an epic novel called “The Beautiful Cassandra” based on the eponymous Jane Austen short story (and from which she later took her current pen name).

  After college, Cassie lived in Los Angeles and New York where she worked at various entertainment magazines and even some rather suspect tabloids. She started working on her YA novel, City of Bones, in 2004, inspired by the urban landscape of Manhattan, her favorite city.

  In 2007, the first book in the Mortal Instruments series, City of Bones, introduced the world to Shadowhunters. The Mortal Instruments concluded in 2014, and includes City of Ashes, City of Glass, City of Fallen Angels, City of Lost Souls, and City of Heavenly Fire. She also created a prequel series, inspired by A Tale of Two Cities and set in Victorian London. This series, The Infernal Devices, follows bookworm Tessa Gray as she discovers the London Institute in Clockwork Angel, Clockwork Prince, and Clockwork Princess.

  The sequel series to The Mortal Instruments, The Dark Artifices, where the Shadowhunters take on Los Angeles, began with Lady Midnight, continues with Lord of Shadows and will conclude with Queen of Air and Darkness.

  Other books in the Shadowhunters series include The Bane Chronicles, Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy, and The Shadowhunter’s Codex.

  Her books have more than 36 million copies in print worldwide and have been translated into more than thirty-five languages. Visit her at CassandraClare.com.

  SARAH REES BRENNAN was born and raised in Ireland by the sea, where her teachers valiantly tried to make her fluent in Irish (she wants you to know it’s not called Gaelic) but she chose to read books under her desk in class instead. The books most often found under her desk were Jane Austen, Margaret Mahy, Anthony Trollope, Robin McKinley and Diana Wynne Jones, and she still loves them all today. After college she lived briefly in New York and somehow survived in spite of her habit of hitching lifts in fire engines. She began working on The Demon’s Lexicon while doing a Creative Writing MA and library work in Surrey, England. Since then she has returned to Ireland to write and use as a home base for future adventures. Her Irish is still woeful, but she feels the books under the desk were worth it. Sarah is also the the author of the Lynburn Legacy series, and the novels Tell the Wind and Fire and In Other Lands. Visit her at sarahreesbrennan.com.

  Bonus Material:

  Not for Humans

  by

  CASSANDRA CLARE

  and

  HOLLY BLACK

  Kaye really wasn’t expecting Shadowhunters to come to Moon in a Cup, especially on opening day. She wasn’t even really sure what Shadowhunters did. They appeared to believe that the world was menaced by demons, wore a lot of weapons, tattooed one another, and didn’t trust anyone who wasn’t one of them. Kaye had once pointed out that she’d never seen a demon and, really, she’d seen plenty of odd things. The Shadowhunter she’d been talking with had claimed her not seeing any demons only proved that the Shadowhunters were doing their job. She’d stopped arguing after that.

  You can’t prove a negative, Corny had said. It annoyed her, though, because not only did they believe in demons, but they thought faeries like her were part demon too. That made all the weapon carrying and weirdness a little more nervous-making than it might have been otherwise. But Luis liked them and, besides, Kaye needed customers.

  She just hoped they didn’t eat the scones.

  Moon in a Cup was her dream and now that it was finally happening, she was incredibly nervous. She loved the smell of the espresso in the air, the clouds of steam and the sound of frothing milk. She loved all the things that she and her friends had scavenged from thrift sales and from the side of the road. Ratty little wooden tables that she and Valerie and Ruth had decoupaged with postcards and sheets of music and pages from encyclopedias. Gold-painted chairs. Outsider art and weird antlers and a few landscapes with sea serpents painted on top of them. Mismatched cups that ranged from bone china to chipped bowls with pictures of ducks on them to mugs with slogans for businesses long closed. Every single one felt like a treasure to her, but she’d never owned anything before or been very responsible. She’d worried over whether she could handle it–whether she’d even like it once it was real–for months.

  And now, finally, finally, finally, the place was open.

  Ravus and Luis had painted a big sign announcing their GRAND OPENING, which hung above the register. There, in somewhat organized canisters, were the makings for many things, both mortal and less so. In addition to various coffee drinks, including the terrifying Red Eye, and the Dirty Chai, they were serving herbal teas made from nettle, milk thistle and dandelion, rosehip and sticklewort, bluecap and coltsfoot.

  Then one of the Unseelie knights, Dulcamara, had sent Kaye a large basket of pastries – scones, muffins, all tarts – all baked with faerie fruit, none of which Kaye could picture the knight making herself. Corny had put them out, but marked them NOT FOR HUMANS, which Kaye worried might confuse people who came in off the street. Still, she’d been too busy to do more than promise herself that she was going to keep an eye on them.

  The place was already half full by the time the Shadowhunters arrived. There were a ton of faerie folk that Kaye didn’t know — denizens of Roiben’s court, looking curiously around at the décor. Corny was helping Kaye behind the bar, mixing up a pot of seaweed tea for a sharp-dressed kelpie who winked at him. Corny didn’t wink back, probably because Luis was watching him from across the room with an amused expression, flanked by Val, her short red hair growing out in curls, Ravus, and Val’s best friend Ruth with her new girlfriend whose hair was dyed the color of a blueberry.

  Luis stopped watching his boyfriend, though, and looked over at the door when the Shadowhunters came in. They tended to attract attention, even though they were often glamoured up like they really didn’t want it. Still, it was hard to ignore a group of tall, heavily armed people whose cheekbones were as sharp as their weaponry.

  It was a group of three of them: two boys and a girl. The taller boy had black hair and blue eyes, and wore a bow and quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. His hands were in his pockets and he was glaring like he really didn’t want to be there. The boy next to him was blond, really bright blond, with hair the same color that the gold chairs were painted. He was wearing a long leather jacket so any weapons he had on him were probably concealed, although Kaye was sure they were there. The girl had the same long black hair as the tall boy—siblings, Kaye guessed—though her eyes were dark. She was wearing a flowing lacy top and a velvet skirt, and a very unusual sort of golden bangle that curled over and over up her arm.

  “Meliorn!” the girl cried out upon entering, and dashed across the room to throw herself into the arms of a faerie knight in white armor. Kaye recognized him as one of the Seelie Court’s knights, kind of a silent, stuck-up type. He returned the Shadowhunter girl’s embrace.

  “Isabelle,” he said. “You are as lovely as a willow tree.”

  Kaye smirked to herself. Ah, faerie compliments. Some willow trees were lovely and some weren’t, so the compliment didn’t mean much. The Shadowhunter girl, Isabelle, seemed to purr under his words, though; grasping him by his slightly pointed ears, she kissed him firmly.

  Well, that was new. Shadowhunters dating faeries?

  The two boys came up to the bar, looking around like they wer
e sure that anyone would be honored to serve them coffee. Kaye wasn’t so convinced.

  “So what’s a red eye?” asked the blond one.

  “It’s a shot of espresso in a cup of coffee,” Kaye explained. “Not for amateurs.”

  The blond boy grinned. He had that kind of grin that really good-looking people who knew they were good-looking had. It was more than a little intimidating. “I think you’ll find I’m not an amateur at anything.”

  “So does that mean you want one, or not?” Kaye always felt awkward around boys like him, sure that they were laughing at her.

  “I think it means if you come out from behind that counter and spend a few minutes with me somewhere a little more private, you won’t be disappointed.”

  Kaye stared at him, open-mouthed. Was he really suggesting they go have sex? Like right then, in the middle of her shift? Or maybe he meant something else. She took another look at him. Nope, probably not.

  “Jace,” hissed the boy standing next to him. “Just order a freaking cookie or something.”

  “I like cookies,” said Jace, with a particularly charming smile, “but what I really prefer is pretty ladies with green skin.”

  “Slow your roll, Captain Kirk,” said Corny. “She has a boyfriend.”

  “A serious one?” Jace inquired — he was still smiling in that annoyingly charming way that made it hard to be irritated.

  “He has a seriously big sword,” Corny said. “And he’ll be here any minute.”

  Jace’s hand went to his waist. “Well, if it’s seriously big swords we’re discussing—”

  The dark-haired boy thunked his head down on the countertop.