Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 136

“There are no such things as unicorns,” Jace said.
“I know,” Clary said. “That’s why it’s funny.”
“To return to the issue of betrayal—” Jace began.
“What if I told you I expected betrayal?” said Julian. “In fact, that I was counting on it? That it was part of my plan?”
“What plan?” said Jace.
“I always have a plan,” said Julian calmly.
Dru lifted her coffee cup. “It’s great to have you back, Jules. I missed your lunatic schemes.”
Helen was on her feet now. Aline appeared to be trying not to giggle. “How did you invite them all here?” Helen said. “How would you even have gotten in touch with so many Downworlders and Nephilim, and so quickly?”
“I corresponded with them all for years,” Julian said. “I know how to send fire-messages to warlocks and Shadowhunters, and acorn messages to Faerie, and the telephone numbers of every important vamp and werewolf. I knew how to reach the Downworlder-Shadowhunter Alliance. I had to know those things. For five years, it was my job.”
“But didn’t you usually write to them as Arthur, before?” said Helen, clearly worried. “Who did you pretend to be this time?”
“I wrote as myself,” said Julian. “I know these people. I know their personalities. I know which of them will be on our side. I’ve been the Head of the Institute here for years. I called on my allies, because it’s been my job to know who my allies are.” His voice was quiet, but firm. There was nothing disrespectful in what he’d said, but Emma knew what he meant: I’ve been a diplomat for years now, unknown and unacknowledged. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t skilled at it. I’ve put those skills to use—whether you like it or not.
“We can’t fight the Cohort alone,” he added. “They’re part of us. Part of our government. They’re not an outside threat like Sebastian was. We need these allies. You’ll see.”
And then he looked at Emma, as if he couldn’t help it. The message in his eyes was clear. Though she was reeling from the shock of what he’d done, he was hoping for her approval. As he always had.
She felt a burning pulse through her parabatai rune. She winced, glanced down at her left arm: Her skin felt hot and tight, but the rune looked normal. It had just been a look, she thought. That was all.
“I’ll help finish setting up the Sanctuary for the meeting,” she said. “We’ll need chairs—”
Kieran got to his feet, pushing sea-blue hair behind his ears. “I will also help,” he said. “I thank you on behalf of my people for calling Downworlders to the table as equals. You are right. None of us can do this alone.”
Diana stood up. “I will send a message to Gwyn,” she said. “I know he will be pleased to come, and you will have the Wild Hunt on your side.”
It was Cristina’s turn to rise. “Did you reach out to the Mexico City Institute?”
“Yes,” said Julian. “Your mother said she’d be pleased to attend.”
Cristina looked alarmed. “I have to go change my clothes,” she said, and fled.
The younger Blackthorns watched with wide eyes as Jace held up his hand. Emma tensed. Jace was a powerful Shadowhunter—not just physically but politically. He and Clary could upset every facet of this plan if they wanted.
“Did you invite Magnus and Alec?” he said. “Do they know our plans have changed?”
Our plans. Emma began to relax.
“Of course,” said Julian. “I invited everyone I thought would be on our side. And I told everyone I invited they could reach out to others they trusted.”
“This is probably a bad idea,” Jace said. “Like, a record-breakingly bad idea. Like a go-down-in-history bad idea. But—”
Clary bounced to her feet. “What he means is, we’re in,” she said. “We love bad ideas.”
“That’s true,” Jace admitted, a smile breaking over his face. Suddenly he looked seventeen again.
Aline was the last to rise. “Technically, this is my Institute,” she said. “We do what I say.” She paused. “And I do what Helen wants. What do you want, baby?”
Helen smiled. “I want a war council,” she said. “Let’s get ready.”
27
FAR AND FREE
They streamed in through the open doors of the Sanctuary, one after another: Downworlders and Shadowhunters in a seemingly never-ending cascade.
First came the vampires with their paper-white faces and cold elegance, enchanted black umbrellas held aloft as they took the few steps from their tinted-window cars to the Sanctuary doors, eager to escape the sun. Emma recognized Lily Chen among them, on the arm of a tall vampire with dreadlocks. A gaggle of blond Swedish vampires came in chatting with the Lindquists, who ran the Stockholm Institute.
There were werewolves from all over the world: Luke Garroway, scruffy and bearded in his flannel jacket, Clary’s mother, Jocelyn, at his side. Werewolves in kilts and hanboks and qipaos. Maia Roberts and Bat Velasquez—Emma felt a pang, thinking of the other version of them in Thule: still together, still hand in hand.
There were warlocks, too, more than Emma had ever seen in one place. Catarina Loss, blue-skinned and white-haired: She marched in with Tessa and Jem, wearing nurse’s scrubs, and looked around her thoughtfully. Her eyes lit on Kit, and she gazed at him with a quiet recognition that he, absorbed in talking to Ty, didn’t notice.
Hypatia Vex, with her bronze hair and dark skin, regal and curious. Warlocks with bat’s wings, with hooves and gills and rainbow eyes, with delicate antennae and curving stag’s horns. A bat-faced woman who went up to Cristina and began muttering in Spanish. A dark-skinned warlock with a white mark on his cheek in the shape of a spiderweb.
And there were Shadowhunters. Emma had seen many Shadowhunters gathered together before—she’d been to quite a few Council meetings—but it was gratifying to see how many had answered Julian’s call. He stood at the front of the room, where the Blackthorns and their friends had hastily assembled a long table. A rolled-up banner hung on the wall behind it. Julian leaned calmly against the table, but Emma could sense the tension running through him like electrical lines as the Shadowhunters began to file into the Sanctuary.
Julie Beauvale and Beatriz Mendoza, their parabatai runes glimmering on their forearms. Marisol Garza, wearing white in memory of Jon Cartwright. Magnus and Alec had just arrived with Maryse and their kids, and were standing by the door opposite Aline and Helen, greeting the Downworlders while the two women greeted the Shadowhunters. Kadir Safar of the New York Conclave gave Diana a somber nod before going to speak with Maryse, who was dandling little blue Max on her lap while Rafe ran around them both in circles.
The Romeros had come from Argentina, the Pederosos from Brazil, the Keos from Cambodia, and the Rosewains from Northern England. A dark-haired, petite woman darted over to Cristina and hugged her tightly. Cristina’s mom! Emma had an urge to bow in acknowledgment of the woman who had named Perfect Diego.
“It’s cool to see the Alliance in action,” said Mark, who had been helping the others set up rows of chairs. He had put on a somber dark suit jacket in an attempt to look more serious. Like the careful arrangement of the food at the meeting the other day, the small gesture made Emma’s heart spark with tenderness. There were many ways to serve your family, she thought. Julian’s way was in large and passionate gestures; Mark’s were smaller and quieter, but meaningful just the same. “Alec seems to know every Downworlder in the place.”
It was true—Alec was greeting a werewolf girl who spoke in excitable French and asked him something about Rafael; a tall, dark-haired vampire wearing a T-shirt with Chinese characters on it slapped him on the back, and Lily and Maia darted over to confer with him in low voices.
Mark suddenly straightened up. Emma followed his gaze and saw that several faeries had come into the room. She laid her hand on Mark’s arm, wondering if he remembered the last time he had been in this Sanctuary, when the Wild Hunt had returned him to his family.
Kieran had turned around—he had been speaking with Julian in a low voice—and was staring as well: Gwyn had come in, of course, which everyone expected, but following him were several others. Among the dryads and pixies and nixies Emma recognized several piskies, the Fair Folk she and Julian had encountered in Cornwall. Behind them came a tall phouka in a JUSTICE FOR KAELIE T-shirt, and after him, a woman in a long green cloak, her face hidden but a bit of white-blond hair escaping nonetheless.