Lady Midnight (The Dark Artifices 1)

The Hollywood sign twinkled, brilliant, above them. Where the street curved, Emma could see Sterling disappearing around a corner. Emma broke into a flat-out run, Cristina on her heels.

This was why she ran every day on the beach. So she could fly over pavement without feeling it, so that her breath didn't catch and running felt like flying. Cristina was just behind her. Her dark hair had come down out of its careful bun and flew behind her like a dark flag.

They turned the corner. They were on a side street; bungalow houses lined the road, most of their windows dark. Sterling was standing just beside a massive, expensive-looking silver Jeep, his hand still on the remote key. He stared at them in total astonishment as they skidded to a halt in front of him.

"What--?" he sputtered. Up close it was possible to see how shaken he looked. He was pale and sweating, his throat working convulsively. "What are you doing?"

His eyes flashed yellow-green in the light from the streetlamps. Half-werewolf he might be, Emma thought, but he looked like a scared mundane.

"We can help you," she said.

His throat worked again. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, so savagely that Emma heard a snicking sound to her left and realized Cristina had flipped open her butterfly knife. She hadn't moved, but it shone in her hand, a silent threat should Sterling take one step toward Emma.

"The Lottery," Emma said. "You got picked."

"Yeah, I know. You think I don't know?" Sterling snarled. "You shouldn't even be talking to me." He ran his hands through his hair distractedly. His key ring fell from his grip and rattled to the ground. Emma took a step forward, reaching for it. She held it out to him. "No!" he shouted hoarsely and skittered backward, like a crab. "Don't touch me! Don't come near me!"

Emma tossed the keys at his feet and held her hands up, palms open. She was aware of where all her own weapons were, the daggers in her boots, under the hem of her dress.

She missed Cortana, though.

"We don't want to hurt you," she said. "We want to help, that's all."

He bent down and warily grabbed his keys. "You can't help me. No one can help me."

"Your lack of trust is very hurtful," said Emma.

"You have no idea what's going on here." He laughed a sharp, unnatural laugh. "Don't you get it? No one can help me, especially not some stupid kids--" He paused then, looking at Emma. At her arm, specifically. She glanced down and cursed under her breath. The makeup that covered her parabatai rune was smeared--probably from when she had bumped into that girl in the lobby--and the Mark was clearly visible.

Sterling looked the opposite of thrilled. "Nephilim," he snarled. "Jesus, just what I need."

"We know Belinda said not to interfere," Emma began hastily. "But since we are Nephilim--"

"That's not even her name." He spat into the gutter. "You don't know anything, do you? Goddamn Shadowhunters, thinking they're the kings of Downworld, messing everything up. Belinda should never have allowed you in."

"You could be a little more polite." Emma felt an edge creep into her voice. "Considering we're trying to help you. And that you felt Cristina up."

"I didn't," he said, his eyes flicking between them.

"You did," Cristina said. "It was very disgusting."

"Then why are you trying to help me?" Sterling asked.

"Because nobody deserves to die," Emma said. "And to be honest, there're things we want to know. What's the point of the Lottery? How does it make you all stronger?"

He stared at them, shaking his head. "You're insane." He slammed his thumb down on his key remote; the Jeep's headlights flashed as it unlocked. "Stay away from me. Like Belinda said. No interfering."

He jerked the door open and hurled himself into the car. A second later the Jeep was screeching away down the street, leaving black tire marks on the asphalt.

Emma expelled a breath. "Kind of hard to stay desperately concerned about his well-being, isn't it?"

Cristina looked after the Jeep. "It is a test," she said. Her knife had disappeared, slipped back under her collar. "The Angel would say we were put here to save not only those we like but also the unpleasant and disagreeable."

"You said your mother would have stabbed him."

"Yes, well," said Cristina. "We don't always agree about everything."

Before Emma could reply, the Institute's Toyota pulled up in front of them. Mark leaned out the back window. Even with everything that was happening, Emma felt a spark of happiness that Jules had saved the seat next to him for her. "Your chariot, fair ones," Mark said. "Enter and hie we away before we are followed."

"Was that English?" Cristina demanded, climbing in beside him. Emma darted to the car to slide into the front seat.

Julian looked over at her. "That looked like a pretty dramatic conversation." The car slid forward, away from the odd street, the peculiar theater. They passed over the tire tracks the Jeep had made on the road.

"He didn't want our help," said Emma.

"But he's getting it anyway," Julian said. "Isn't he?"

"If we can track him down," said Emma. "They could all have been using assumed names." She put her feet up on the dashboard. "It might be worth asking Johnny Rook. Since they were advertising at the Shadow Market and he knows everything that happens there."

"Didn't Diana tell you to stay away from Johnny Rook?" said Julian.

"Isn't Diana kind of far away right now?" Emma said sweetly.

Julian looked resigned but also amused. "Fine. I trust you. If you think there's a reason, we'll go ask Rook."

They were turning onto La Cienega. The lights and clamor and traffic of Los Angeles exploded all around them. Emma clapped her hands. "And that's why I love you."

The words slipped out without her thinking. Neither Cristina nor Mark seemed to notice--they were arguing about whether "hie" was a word--but Julian's cheeks turned a dull brick red and his hands tightened on the wheel.

When they reached the Institute, a storm was building out over the ocean--a roil of blue-black clouds spiked with lightning. Lights were on inside the building. Cristina began mounting the steps wearily. She was used to late nights of hunting, but something about the experience at the theater had tired her soul.

"Cristina."

It was Mark, on the step below her. One of the first things Cristina had noticed about the Institute was that depending on which direction the wind was blowing from, it smelled either of ocean water or of the desert. Of sea salt or of sage. Tonight it was sage. The wind blew through Mark's hair: Blackthorn curls bleached of all their color, silvery as the moon on the water.

"You dropped these outside the theater," he said, and held out his hand. She looked down and past him for a moment, to where Julian and Emma were standing by the foot of the steps. Julian had pulled the car up and was lifting Cortana out of the trunk. It caught the light and shimmered like Emma's hair. She reached for it, glancing down to run her hand along the scabbarded blade, and Cristina saw Julian glance involuntarily at the curve of her neck. As if he couldn't help it.

Cold fear weighted down Cristina's stomach; she felt as if she were watching trains hurtling toward each other on the same track, with no way of stopping either one.

"Cristina?" Mark said again, a question rising in his voice. Something glittered in his open palm. Two somethings. The gold earrings that had fallen out while she was running, that she had assumed were lost somewhere on a Los Angeles square of pavement.

"Oh!" She took them from him, slipping them into the pocket of her coat. He watched her, his mismatched eyes curious. "They were a gift," she said. "From someone--from an old friend."

She remembered Diego putting them into her hand, and there had been nervousness in his dark eyes, a wondering if she would like them. But she had, because he had given them to her.

"They're pretty," Mark said. "Especially against your hair. It looks like black silk."

Cristina exhaled. Emma was looking up at Julian, smiling. There was uncertainty on her face, uncertainty that cut at Cristina's heart. Emma reminded her of herself, she thought, just before she turned that corner in the garden where she'd heard Jaime and Diego talking. Before everything had fallen apart.

"You shouldn't say those sort of things to me," she said to Mark.

The wind blew his hair across his face; he pushed it back. "I thought mortal women liked compliments." He sounded honestly puzzled.

"Do faerie women like them?"

"I don't know many," he said. "The Seelie Queen does enjoy a compliment. But there were no women in the Hunt."

"But there was Kieran," she said. "And what would he say if he knew you were telling me I was pretty? Because the way he looks at you . . ."

A look of shock passed over Mark's face. He glanced down quickly at Julian, but his brother was absorbed in Emma. "How do you--?"