Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 32

She turned in his arms and saw Kieran. He was in velvet where Mark was in plain linen, and there were heavy gold rings on his fingers, his eyes shimmering and black-rimmed with kohl. He was a piece torn out of the night sky: silver and black.
One of Mark’s arms went around Cristina. The other reached for Kieran. And Cristina reached for him too, her hands finding the softness of his doublet, gathering him toward both her and Mark, enfolding them in the dark velvet of him. He kissed Mark, and then bent to her, Mark’s arms around her as Kieran’s lips found hers. . . .
“Cristina.” The voice pierced through Cristina’s sleep, and she sat up instantly, clutching her blankets to her chest, wide-eyed with shock. “Cristina Mendoza Rosales?”
It was a woman’s voice. Breathless, Cristina looked around as her bedroom came into focus: the Institute furniture, bright sunlight through the window, a blanket loaned to her by Emma folded at the foot of the bed. There was a woman sitting on the windowsill. She had blue skin and hair the color of white paper. The pupils of her eyes were a very deep blue. “I got your fire-message,” she said as Cristina stared at her, dazed. What did I just dream?
Not now, Cristina. Think about it later.
“Catarina Loss?” Cristina had wanted to talk to the warlock, granted, but she hadn’t expected Catarina to just appear in her bedroom, and certainly not at such an awkward moment. “How did you get in here . . . ?”
“I didn’t. I’m a Projection.” Catarina moved her hand in front of the bright surface of the window; sunlight streamed through it as if it were stained glass.
Cristina tugged discreetly at her hair. No roses. Ay. “What time is it?”
“Ten,” said Catarina. “I’m sorry—I really thought you’d be awake. Here.” She made a gesture with her fingers, and a paper cup appeared at Cristina’s bedside.
“Peet’s Coffee,” Catarina said. “My favorite on the West Coast.”
Cristina hugged the cup to her chest. Catarina was her new favorite person.
“I really wondered if I’d hear from you.” Cristina took a sip of coffee. “I know it was a weird question.”
“I wasn’t sure either.” Catarina sighed. “In a way, this is warlock business. Shadowhunters don’t use ley lines.”
“But we do use warlocks. You’re our allies. If you are getting sick, then we owe it to you to do something.”
Catarina looked surprised, then smiled. “I wasn’t—it’s good to hear you say that.” She glanced down. “It’s been getting worse. More and more warlocks are affected.”
“How is Magnus Bane?” said Cristina. She hadn’t known Magnus for long, but she’d liked him a great deal.
She was startled to see tears in Catarina’s eyes. “Magnus is—well, Alec takes good care of him. But no, he’s not well.”
Cristina set her coffee down. “Then please let us help. What would a sign of ley line contamination be? What can we look for?”
“Well, at a place where the ley lines have been compromised, there would be increased demon activity,” said Catarina.
“That’s something we can definitely check.”
“I can look into it myself. I’ll send you a marked map via fire-message.” Catarina stood up, and the sunlight streamed through her transparent white hair. “But if you’re going to investigate an area with increased demon activity, don’t go alone. Take several others with you. You Shadowhunters can be so careless.”
“We’re not all Jace Herondale,” said Cristina, who was usually the least careless person she knew.
“Please. I’ve taught at Shadowhunter Academy. I—” Catarina began to cough, her shoulders shaking. Her eyes widened.
Cristina slid out of bed, alarmed. “Are you all right—?”
But Catarina had vanished. There wasn’t even a swirl of air to show where her Projection had been.
Cristina threw on her clothes: jeans, an old T-shirt of Emma’s. It smelled like Emma’s perfume, a mixture of lemons and rosemary. Cristina wished with all her heart that Emma was here, that they could talk about last night, that Emma could give her advice and a shoulder to cry on.
But she wasn’t and she couldn’t. Cristina touched her necklace, whispered a quick prayer to the Angel, and headed down the hall to Mark’s room.
He’d been up as late as she was, so there was a high possibility he was still sleeping. She knocked on the door hesitantly and then harder; finally Mark threw it open, yawning and stark naked.
“Híjole!” Cristina shrieked, and pulled her T-shirt collar up over her face. “Put your pants on!”
“Sorry,” he called, ducking behind the door. “At least you’ve already seen it all.”
“Not in good lighting!” Cristina could still see Mark through the gap in the door; he was wearing boxer shorts and pulling on a shirt. His head popped through the collar, his blond hair adorably ruffled.
No, not adorable, she told herself. Terrible. Annoying.
Naked.
No, she wasn’t going to think about that, either. Am I awake? she wondered. She still felt wobbly about the dream she’d had. Dreams didn’t mean anything, she reminded herself. It probably had something to do with anxiety, and not Mark and Kieran at all.
Mark reappeared in the doorway. “I’m so sorry. I—we often slept naked in the Hunt, and I forgot—”
Cristina yanked her shirt back down. “Let’s not discuss it.”
“Did you want to talk about last night?” He looked eager. “I can explain.”
“No. I don’t,” she said firmly. “I need your help, and I—well, I couldn’t ask anyone else. Ty and the others are too young, and Aline and Helen would feel like they had to tell Jia.”
Mark looked disappointed, but rallied. “This is something the Clave can’t know about?”
“I don’t know. I just—at this point, I wonder if we can tell them anything.”
“Can you at least tell me what this is about? Demons?”
“For a change, yes,” said Cristina, and explained about the ley lines, the warlock sickness, and her talk with Catarina. “All we are doing is going to see if there’s anything unusual to report on. We probably won’t even get out of the car.”
Mark perked up. “You’ll be driving? It’ll just be the two of us?”
“I will,” she said. “Be ready by seven tonight.” She started to walk away, then paused and glanced over her shoulder. She couldn’t help it. “Just do me a favor tonight. Wear some pants.”
* * *
When Kit came into the kitchen, Ty wasn’t there.
He almost turned around and left, but the others had already seen him. Aline, in black jeans and a tank top, was at the stove, her hair tied up on top of her head, a frown of concentration on her face. Dru, Mark, Cristina, and Tavvy were at the table; Dru was fussing over Tavvy, but Cristina and Mark both greeted Kit with a wave.
He sat down and was immediately overwhelmed by awkwardness. He’d never spent much time with any of the Blackthorns besides Ty and Livvy. Without either of them there, he felt as if he’d wandered into a party full of people he barely knew with whom he was expected to make small talk.
“Did you sleep well?” Cristina asked him. It was hard to feel awkward around Cristina—she seemed to radiate kindness. Kit managed it, though. Johnny Rook had defrauded plenty of extremely kind people in his life and Kit doubted he lacked the capacity to do the same.
He mumbled something in response and poured himself some orange juice. Had he slept well? Not really. He’d spent half the night awake worrying about going to the Shadow Market with Ty, and the other half being oddly excited about going to the Shadow Market with Ty.
“Where’s Helen?” Dru said in a low voice, eyeing Aline. Kit had been wondering the same. She’d looked pretty stressed out the previous day. He wouldn’t blame her if she realized what she’d taken on and ran screaming into the desert.
“The Conclave is meeting today,” said Mark. “Helen’s attending.”