Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 15

Jem bent his head. He kept his hair short, and Emma could see the marks of his Silent Brother scars, where runes of silence had once been placed, along his cheek.
“I wanted to talk to you about Kit, actually,” he said. “It’s partly why I came.”
“Really? Because of Kit? He’s all right, as far as I know. Sad, like the rest of us.”
“Kit is more than just a Herondale,” he said. “The Herondales are important to me, but so are the Carstairs and Blackthorns. But Tessa and I knew Kit was in danger from the first time we found out what his heritage was. We rushed to find him, but Johnny Rook had hidden him well.”
“His heritage? Johnny Rook was a con man and Kit says his mother was a showgirl in Vegas.”
“Johnny was a con man, but he also had some Shadowhunter blood in his family—from a long time back, probably hundreds of years. That’s not what’s significant about Kit, though. What’s significant is what he inherited from his mother.” He hesitated. “Kit’s mother’s family has been hunted by faeries for many generations. The Unseelie King has been bent on their destruction, and Kit is the last of their line.”
Emma fell sideways onto the grass. “Not more faeries,” she groaned.
Jem smiled, but his eyes were troubled. “Kit’s mother was murdered by a Rider,” he said. “Fal. I believe you knew him.”
“I believe I killed him,” said Emma. She pushed herself back up to sit beside Jem. “And now I’m glad. He murdered Kit’s mom? That’s awful.”
“I cannot tell you as much as I wish I could,” said Jem. “Not quite yet. But I can tell you there is faerie blood in Kit’s family. Kit’s mother was hunted, and so was her father, on through the generations. Kit is alive because his mother went to great lengths to conceal the fact that he was born. She covered every link between them, and when she died, the King thought the line died with her.”
“And that’s changed?” said Emma.
“We fear it might have,” said Jem. “Tessa and I left Kit with you at the Institute because the warlock sickness was already beginning. We did not know then whether it was something that could spread to humans. We also needed to be in the Spiral Labyrinth and they would not let us bring Kit. We always intended to return for him—we had no idea the Riders would be dispatched to find you. We cannot know whether or not they recognized him. He looks a great deal like his mother.”
“I don’t think so,” said Emma. Kit looked just like Jace, in her opinion.
“So are you going to take Kit with you now?” said Emma. “We don’t want to lose him, but if you have to—”
“The warlock sickness has only worsened. Tessa and I are working day and night in the Spiral Labyrinth to find a cure. And there is something else.” He hesitated. “Tessa is pregnant.”
“Oh! Congratulations!” It was the first good news Emma had gotten in what felt like forever.
Jem smiled the sort of smile that made it look as if a light had turned on inside him. He had been alone so long, Emma knew, imagining that he would never have a family. To have a wife now and a baby on the way—the very ordinary sort of miracles that made up an ordinary life—must be extraordinary for him.
“It is wonderful,” he said. He laid a hand on hers. “I trust you, Emma. I wish only to ask you to look out for Kit, and if you see something suspicious—if you see any signs of a search—please tell me. I will come at once.”
“Should I send a fire-message?” Emma said, her happiness over the baby fading.
“Sometimes it is not possible to send a fire-message. There are easier ways.” He pressed something into her hand. A simple silver ring with a clear stone set into it. “It’s glass,” he said. “Smash the ring and Tessa will know; she has the matching one.”
Emma slid the ring onto her finger. She thought of Kit, standing faithfully beside Ty at the funeral. She thought of his pale curls and blue eyes and gamine face; should she have guessed he had faerie blood somewhere? No. He didn’t look like Mark. He looked like a Herondale. Like that was all he was. “You can trust me,” she said. “I’ll look out for Kit. Is there anything I can do about the ley lines?”
“It would be useful to have a Shadowhunter in Los Angeles checking out the locus point of Malcolm’s magic,” said Jem. “When you get home, contact Catarina Loss. She may want your help.”
“I will,” Emma said. “It’s good for me to have a purpose, I think. Livvy’s dead—Jace and Clary are on a mission and can’t be reached—and Horace Dearborn is the Inquisitor. It’s like there’s no hope for anything now.”
“There is always hope,” said Jem. “When I was very young, it was still permitted to take spoils—the property of Downworlders could be confiscated by any Shadowhunter. I knew a man who kept the heads of slaughtered faeries in the Institute he ran.”
Emma made a nauseated noise.
“There has ever been this strain of poison running through the dark heart of the Clave. But there are many more who know Downworlders are our brothers. We are all children under the Angel.” He sighed. “And though I cannot remain with you, simply smash this ring and I will come, no matter how distant I may be.” He put an arm around her and hugged her close for a moment. “Take care, mèi mei.”
“What does that mean?” Emma asked. But he was already gone, vanishing into the trees as swiftly as he’d come.
* * *
Kit stood and watched the smoke rising in the distance through the window of the room he shared with Ty.
At least, he assumed he shared the room with Ty. His bag was here, tossed into a corner, and nobody had ever bothered to tell him whether he was supposed to be in a different room. He’d gotten dressed in the bathroom that morning and emerged to find Ty pulling his T-shirt on over his head. His Marks seemed unusually black, probably because his skin was so pale. He looked so delicate—Kit had to glance away from the shape of his shoulder blades, the fragility of his spine. How could he look like that and be strong enough to fight demons?
Now Ty was downstairs, with the rest of his family. People tended to cook when someone died and Shadowhunters were no exception. Someone was probably making a casserole. A demon casserole. Kit leaned his head against the cold glass of the window.
There was a time he could have run, Kit thought. He could have run and left the Shadowhunters behind, lost himself in the underground world of Shadow Markets. Been like his father, not part of any world, existing between them.
In the reflection of the window glass, Kit saw the bedroom door open and Ty come in. He was still wearing his mourning clothes, though he’d taken off the jacket and was just in a long-sleeved T-shirt. And Kit knew it was too late to run, that he cared about these people now, and specifically Ty.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Ty sat down on the bed and started unlacing his boots. “I wanted to talk to you.”
The door was still slightly open and Kit could hear voices coming from the kitchen downstairs. Helen’s, Dru’s, Emma’s, Julian’s. Diana had gone back to her own house. Apparently she lived in a weapons store or something like that. She’d gone back to get some kind of tool she thought could fish the splinters out of Julian’s bleeding hands.
Ty’s hands were fine, but he’d been wearing gloves. Kit had seen Julian’s when he’d gone to rinse them at the sink, and they’d looked like shrapnel had blown into his palms. Emma had stood nearby looking worried, but Julian had said he didn’t want an iratze, that it would just heal the skin closed over the bits of wood. His voice had sounded so flat, Kit had barely recognized it.
“I know how this is going to sound,” Kit said, turning so his back was against the cold glass. Ty was hunched over, and Kit caught the gleam of gold at his neck. “But you’re not acting the way I expected.”
Ty kicked his boots off. “Because I climbed up the pyre?”
“No, that was kind of actually the most expected thing you did,” said Kit. “I just . . .”