Lord of Shadows (The Dark Artifices 2)

"But we'd have no idea about what dosage or what pills. We have no idea how mundanes treat sicknesses like this."

"I am not ill." Arthur slammed the drawer of the desk shut. "The faeries shattered my mind. I felt it break. No mundane could understand or treat such a thing."

Diana exchanged a worried look with Julian. "Well, there are several paths we could go down. We'll leave you alone, Arthur, and discuss them. We know how important your work is."

"Yes," Julian's uncle murmured. "My work . . ." And he bent again over his papers, Diana and Julian instantly forgotten. As Julian followed Diana out of the room, he couldn't help but wonder what solace it was that his uncle found in old stories of gods and heroes, of an earlier time of the world, one where plugging your ears and refusing to listen to the sound of the music of sirens could keep you from madness.

At the foot of the stairs, Diana turned to Julian and spoke softly. "You'll have to go to the Shadow Market tonight."

"What?" Julian was thrown. The Shadow Market was off-limits to Nephilim unless they were on a mission, and always off-limits to underage Shadowhunters. "With you?"

Diana shook her head. "I can't go there."

Julian didn't ask. It was an unspoken fact between them that Diana had secrets and that Julian could not press her about them.

"But there'll be warlocks," she said. "Ones we don't know, ones who'll keep silent for a price. Ones who won't know your face. And faeries. This is a faerie-caused madness after all, not a natural state. Perhaps they would know how to reverse it." She was silent a moment, thinking. "Bring Kit with you," she said. "He knows the Shadow Market better than anyone else we could ask, and Downworlders there trust him."

"He's just a kid," Julian objected. "And he hasn't been out of the Institute since his father died." Was killed, actually. Ripped to pieces in front of his eyes. "It could be hard on him."

"He'll have to get used to things being hard on him," said Diana, her expression flinty. "He's a Shadowhunter now."

3

WHERE DWELL THE GHOULS

Vicious traffic meant it took Julian and Kit an hour to get from Malibu to Old Pasadena. By the time they found parking, Julian had a pounding headache, not helped by the fact that Kit had barely said a word to him since they'd left the Institute.

Even so long after sunset, the sky in the west was touched with feather-strokes of crimson and black. The wind was blowing from the east, which meant that even in the middle of the city you could breathe in desert: sand and grit, cactus and coyotes, the burning scent of sage.

Kit leaped out of the car the minute Julian turned the engine off, as if he couldn't stand spending another minute next to him. When they'd passed the freeway exit that went to the Rooks' old house, Kit had asked if he could swing by to pick up some of his clothes. Julian had said no, it wasn't safe, especially at night. Kit had looked at him as if Julian had driven a knife into his back.

Julian was used to pleading and sulks and protestations that someone hated you. He had four younger siblings. But there was a special artistry to Kit's glaring. He really meant it.

Now, as Julian locked the car behind them, Kit made a snorting sound. "You look like a Shadowhunter."

Julian glanced down at himself. Jeans, boots, a vintage blazer that had been a gift from Emma. Since glamour runes weren't much use at the Market, he'd had to fall back on pulling down his sleeve to cover his Voyance rune and flipping up his collar to conceal the very edges of Marks that would otherwise have peeked out from his shirt.

"What?" he said. "You can't see any Marks."

"You don't need to," said Kit, in a bored voice. "You look like a cop. All of you always look like cops."

Julian's headache intensified. "And your suggestion?"

"Let me go in alone," Kit said. "They know me, they trust me. They'll answer my questions and sell me whatever I want." He held out a hand. "I'll need some money, of course."

Julian looked at him in disbelief. "You didn't really think that would work, did you?"

Kit shrugged and retracted his hand. "It could've worked."

Julian started walking toward the alley that led to the entrance to the Shadow Market. He'd only been there once, years ago, but he remembered it well. Shadow Markets had sprung up in the aftermath of the Cold Peace, a way for Downworlders to do business away from the spotlight of the new Laws. "So, let me guess. Your plan was to take some money from me, pretend you were going to the Shadow Market, and hop a bus out of town?"

"Actually, my plan was to take some money from you, pretend I was going to the Shadow Market, and hop on the Metrolink," said Kit. "They have trains that leave this city now. Major development, I know. You should try to keep track of these things."

Julian wondered briefly what Jace would do if he strangled Kit. He considered voicing the thought aloud, but they'd reached the end of the alley, where a slight shimmer in the air was visible. He grabbed Kit by the arm, propelling them both through it at the same time.

They emerged on the other side into the heart of the Market. Light flared all around them, blotting out the stars overhead. Even the moon seemed a pale shell.

Julian was still gripping Kit's arm, but Kit was making no move to run. He was looking around with a wistfulness that made him look young--sometimes it was hard for Julian to remember that Kit was the same age as Ty. His blue eyes--clear and sky-colored, without the green tinge that characterized the Blackthorns' eyes--moved around the Market, taking it in.

Rows of booths were lit with torches whose fires blazed gold, blue, and poison green. Trellises of flowers richer and sweeter-smelling than white oleander or jacaranda blossoms cascaded down the sides of stalls. Beautiful faerie girls and boys danced to the music of reeds and pipes. Everywhere were voices clamoring for them to come buy, come buy. Weapons were on display, and jewelry, and vials of potions and powders.

"This way," said Kit, pulling his arm out of Julian's grip.

Julian followed. He could feel eyes on them, wondered if it was because Kit had been right: He looked like a cop, or the supernatural version, anyway. He was a Shadowhunter, had always been a Shadowhunter. You couldn't shed your nature.

They had reached one of the Market's edges, where the light was dimmer, and it was possible to see the white lines painted on the asphalt under them that revealed this place's daytime job as a parking lot.

Kit moved toward the closest booth, where a faerie woman sat in front of a sign that advertised fortune-telling and love potions. She looked up with a beaming smile as he approached.

"Kit!" she exclaimed. She wore a scrap of a white dress that set off her pale blue skin, and her pointed ears poked through lavende

r hair. Thin chains of gold and silver dangled around her neck and dripped from her wrists. She glared at Julian. "What is he doing here?"

"The Nephilim is all right, Hyacinth," Kit said. "I'll vouch for him. He just wants to buy something."

"Doesn't everyone," she murmured. She cast Julian a sly look. "You're a pretty one," she said. "Your eyes are almost the same color as me."

Julian moved closer to the booth. It was at times like this he wished he was any good at flirting. He wasn't. He had never in his life felt a flicker of desire for any girl who wasn't Emma, so it was something he'd never learned to do.

"I'm seeking a potion to cure madness in a Shadowhunter," he said. "Or at least to stop the symptoms for a while."

"What kind of madness?"

"He was tormented in the Courts," Julian said bluntly. "His mind was broken by the hallucinations and potions they forced on him."

"A Shadowhunter with faerie-caused madness? Oh my," she said, and there was skepticism in her tone. Julian began to explain about Uncle Arthur, without using his name: his situation and his condition. The fact that his lucid periods came and went. The fact that sometimes his moods made him bleak and cruel. That he recognized his family only part of the time. He described the potion Malcolm had made for Arthur, back when they trusted Malcolm and thought he was their friend.

Not that he mentioned Malcolm by name.

The faerie woman shook her head when he was done. "You should ask a warlock," she said. "They will deal with Shadowhunters. I will not. I have no desire to run afoul of the Courts or the Clave."

"No one needs to know about it," said Julian. "I'll pay you well."

"Child." There was an edge of pity in her voice. "You think you can keep secrets from all of Downworld? You think the Market hasn't been buzzing with the news of the fall of the Guardian and the death of Johnny Rook? The fact that we now no longer have a High Warlock? The disappearance of Anselm Nightshade--though he was a terrible man--" She shook her head. "You should never have come here," she said. "It's not safe for either of you."

Kit looked bewildered. "You mean him," he said, indicating Julian with a tilt of his head. "It's not safe for him."

"Not for you, either, baby boy," said a gravelly voice behind them.