Queen of Air and Darkness (The Dark Artifices 3)

“Of course not,” said Sebastian. “But you were once her brother and her friend. Humans are regrettably sentimental. She might be tricked into trusting you.”

“Livvy would never trust a pair of Endarkened,” Emma said, and froze. It was the wrong thing to say.

Jace’s golden eyes narrowed with suspicion. He began to speak, but Sebastian cut him off with a dismissive wave. “Not now, Jace.”

Jace’s expression went blank. He turned away from Sebastian and went to Ash, leaning over the back of his chair to point out something on his game screen. Ash nodded.

It would almost have looked like a sweet brotherly moment if it hadn’t been so screwed up and awful. If the chandelier overhead hadn’t been made of frozen human arms, each one gripping a torch that spat demonic light. If Emma could forget the faces beneath the floor.

“What Emma means is that Livvy’s always been cunning,” said Julian. “In a low sort of way.”

“Interesting,” said Sebastian. “I tend to approve of low cunning, though not when directed at me, of course.”

“We know her very well,” said Julian. “I’m sure we can suss out her little rebellion’s location without much trouble.”

Sebastian smirked. “I like your confidence,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe what I—” He broke off with a frown. “Is that damn dog barking again?”

It was a dog barking. A few seconds later, a black-and-white terrier bounded into the room on the end of a long leash. At the other end of the leash was a woman with long dark hair.

It was Annabel Blackthorn.

She wore a red dress without sleeves, though she must have been freezing in the cold air. Her skin was dead white.

Seeing Emma and Julian, she went even whiter. Her grip tightened on the dog’s leash.

Adrenaline spilled through Emma’s veins. Annabel was going to spill, she was going to turn them in. She had no reason not to. And then Sebastian would kill them. I swear, Emma thought, I will find a way to make him bleed before I die.

I will find a way to make them both bleed.

“I’m sorry,” Annabel said petulantly. “He wanted to see Ash. Didn’t you, Malcolm?”

Even Julian’s expression flickered at that. Emma watched in horror as Annabel bent down to rub the dog’s ears. It looked up at her with wide lavender eyes and barked again.

Malcolm Fade, High Warlock of Los Angeles, was now a demon terrier.

“Get your nasty familiar out of here,” Sebastian snapped. “I’m doing business. If Ash needs something, he’ll call on you, Annabel. He’s practically a grown man. He no longer requires a nursemaid.”

“Everyone needs a mother,” Annabel said. “Don’t you, Ash?”

Ash said nothing. He was immersed in his game. With an irritated sigh, Annabel stalked out of the room, Malcolm trotting behind her.

“As I was saying.” Sebastian’s face was tight with annoyance. “Annabel is one of my best torturers—you wouldn’t believe the creative skill she can display with a single knife and a Shadowhunter—but like the rest of those around me, she is too vulnerable to her emotions. I don’t know why people don’t just understand what’s best for them.”

“If they did, they wouldn’t need leaders,” said Julian. “Like you.”

Sebastian gave him a considering look. “I suppose that’s true. But it is like a weight of responsibility. Crushing me. You understand.”

“Let us seek out Livia for you,” Julian said. “We’ll go take care of the threat and bring you back her head.”

Sebastian looked pleased. He glanced at Emma. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

I can’t, Emma thought. I can’t stand here and lie and pretend like Julian. I can’t.

But the warmth of Julian’s hand was still in hers, the strength of their bond—even when it was no longer magical—lifting her chin, setting her jaw hard. She took her hand out of Julian’s and slowly, deliberately, cracked her knuckles.

“I prefer killing,” she said. “?‘Say it with bullets,’ that’s my motto.”

Sebastian actually laughed, and for a moment Emma remembered Clary on the roof of the Institute, talking about a green-eyed brother who had never existed, but could have. Maybe in some other world, a better one than Thule.

“Very well,” Sebastian said. “You will be well rewarded if you succeed in this. There might even be a Bel Air house in it for you. Especially if you find any pretty redheads among the rebels and bring them back for Jace and me to play with.” He grinned. “Run along now, before you freeze to death.”

He flicked a dismissive gesture at them. There was a force behind it—Emma felt herself spun around as if by a hand on her shoulder. She nearly staggered, regained her footing, and found they were almost at the doors of the club. She didn’t even remember passing the mirrors.

Then they were out on the street, and she was gasping in lungfuls of the hot, dirty air, the warmth of the humid night suddenly welcome. They reclaimed their motorcycle from the lizard guard and rode several blocks without speaking a word until Julian leaned forward and said, through gritted teeth, “Pull over.”

The block they were on was nearly deserted, the streetlights smashed and the pavement dark. As soon as Emma pulled to a stop, Julian swung himself off the cycle and staggered over to the storefront of a destroyed Starbucks. Emma could hear him throwing up in the shadows. Her stomach tightened in sympathy. She wanted to go to him but was afraid to leave the cycle. It was their only way back to the Bradbury. Without it they were dead.

When Julian returned, his face smudged with shadow and bruises, Emma handed him a bottle of water.

“You were amazing in the nightclub,” she said.

He took a swig from the bottle. “I felt like I was being torn apart inside,” he said matter-of-factly. “To stand there and say those things about Livvy—to call that bastard monster ‘sir’—to keep from ripping Annabel limb from limb—”

“Do it now, then,” said a voice from the shadows. “Rip me apart, if you can.”

Emma’s Glock was already out as she turned, lowering it to point directly at the pale woman in the shadows. Her red dress was a smear of blood against the night.

Annabel’s colorless lips curled into a smile. “That gun won’t hurt me,” she said. “And the shot, the screams, will bring the Endarkened running. Chance it if you wish. I wouldn’t.”

Julian dropped the bottle. Water splashed over his boots. Emma prayed he wouldn’t launch himself at Annabel; his hands were shaking. “We can hurt you,” he said. “We can make you bleed.”

It was so close to what Emma herself had thought inside the nightclub that she was taken aback for a moment.

“The Endarkened will come,” Annabel said. “All I have to do is scream.” Her Marks had faded, just like all the other Shadowhunters’; her skin was pale as milk, without a single design. Emma was startled by how calm she seemed. How sane. But then, several years had passed here, for her. “I knew who you were the moment I saw you. You look just as you did in the Unseelie Court. The marks of the battle on your faces haven’t even healed.”

“Then why didn’t you tell Sebastian?” Emma spat. “If you wanted to get rid of us—”

“I don’t want to get rid of you. I want to make a deal with you.”

Julian yanked up his right sleeve with enough force to tear the fabric. There on his wrist was the rag he had worn all through Faerie, still crusted with dried blood. “This is my sister’s blood,” he ground out. “Blood you spilled. Why would I ever want to make a deal with you?”

Annabel looked unmoved at the sight of Livvy’s blood. “Because you want to get home,” she said. “Because you can’t stop thinking of what could be happening to the rest of your family. I am still possessed of powerful dark magics, you know. The Black Volume works even better here. I can open a Portal to take you home. I’m the only one in this world who can.”

“Why would you do that for us?” said Emma.

Annabel

gave an odd little smile. In her red dress, she seemed to float suspended like a drop of blood in water. “The Inquisitor sent you into Faerie to die,” she said. “The Clave despises you and wants you dead. All because you wanted to protect what you loved. How would I not understand what that’s like?”

This, Emma felt, was pretty twisted logic. Julian, though, was staring at Annabel as if she were a nightmare he could not look away from.

“You enspelled yourself,” Annabel went on, her gaze fixed on Julian. “To feel nothing. I sensed the spell when I saw you in Faerie. I saw it, and I felt joy.” She twirled, her red skirt spinning out around her. “You made yourself like Malcolm. He cut himself away from emotions to get me back.”

“No,” Emma said, unable to bear the look on Julian’s face. “He tried to get you back because he loved you. Because he felt emotions.”