“You can help him,” said Jem. “You lost your own parents. You know what it’s like.”
“But I don’t think—” Emma was alarmed. “If he stays, I don’t know—” She thought of Julian, of Uncle Arthur, of Diana, of the secrets they were all hiding. “Can’t you stay?” she said, and was surprised at the wistfulness in her voice.
Jem smiled at her over Church’s head. That smile she remembered from the first time she’d really seen Jem’s face, the smile that reminded her, in a way she couldn’t have described, of her father. Of the Carstairs blood that they shared. “I would like to stay,” he said. “Since we met in Idris, I have missed you, and thought of you often. I would like to visit with you. Spend time with my old violin. But Tessa and I, we must go. We must find Malcolm’s body, and the Black Volume, for even leagues underwater a book like that can still cause us trouble.”
“Do you remember when we met at my parabatai ceremony? You told me you wished you could be watching over me, but there was something you and Tessa had to find. Was that something Kit?”
“Yes.” Jem set Church down, and the cat wobbled off, purring, in search of a shady spot. Smiling, Jem looked so young, it was impossible for Emma to think of him as an ancestor—even an uncle. “We’ve been searching for him for years. We narrowed the search to this area, and then finally to the Shadow Market. But Johnny Rook was an expert at hiding.” He sighed. “I wish he hadn’t been. If he’d trusted us, he might be alive now.” He pushed a hand distractedly through his dark hair. A lock of it was silver, the color of aluminum. He was looking over at Tessa, and Emma could see the expression in his eyes when he looked at her. The love that had never dimmed over a century.
Love is the weakness of human beings, and the angels despise them for it, and the Clave despises it too, and therefore they punish it. Do you know what happens to parabatai who fall in love? Do you know why it’s forbidden?
“Malcolm—” she began.
Jem turned back toward her, the light of sympathy in his dark eyes. “We heard everything from Magnus. He told us that you were the one who killed Malcolm,” he said. “That must have been hard. You knew him. It’s not like killing demons.”
“I knew him,” Emma said. “At least, I thought I did.”
“We knew him too. Tessa was heartbroken to hear that Malcolm believed that we all lied to him. Concealed from him that Annabel was not an Iron Sister, but was dead, murdered by her family. We believed the story, but he died thinking we all knew the truth. What a betrayal that must have felt like.”
“It’s strange to think he was your friend. Though I guess he was our friend too.”
“People are more than one thing. Warlocks, no less. I would not even hesitate to say that Malcolm once did much good, before he did evil. It is one of the great lessons of growing up, learning that people can do both.”
“His story—the one about Annabel—such terrible things happened to both of them, just because they fell in love. Malcolm said something—and I wondered if it was true. It just seemed so strange.”
Jem looked puzzled. “What was it?”
“That the Clave despises love because love is something human beings feel. That that’s why they make all those Laws, about people not falling in love with Downworlders or with their parabatai. . . . And the Laws don’t make sense. . . .” Emma watched Jem out of the corner of her eye. Was she being too obvious?
“The Clave can be awful,” he said. “Hidebound and cruel. But some of the things they do are rooted in history. The parabatai Law, for instance.”
Emma felt as if her body temperature had dropped several degrees. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know if I should tell you,” said Jem, looking off toward the ocean, and his expression was so somber that Emma felt her heart freeze inside her chest. “That’s a secret—a secret even from parabatai themselves—only a few know: the Silent Brothers, the Consul . . . I took a vow.”
“But you’re not a Shadowhunter anymore,” Emma said. “The vow doesn’t hold.” When he said nothing, she pressed on: “You owe me, you know. For not being around.”
The corner of his mouth flicked up into a smile. “You drive a hard bargain, Emma Carstairs.” He drew in a breath. Emma could hear Tessa’s voice, faint on the wind. She was saying Jace’s name. “The ritual of parabatai was created so that two Shadowhunters could be stronger together than they were apart. It has always been one of our most powerful weapons. Not everyone has a parabatai, but the fact that they exist is part of what makes Nephilim what they are. Without them, we would be infinitely weaker, in ways it is forbidden for me even to explain. Ideally, the ceremony increases each parabatai’s power—runes given to each other are stronger—and the closer the personal bond, the greater the power.”
Emma thought of the healing runes she’d drawn on Julian after the arrow poisoning. The way they’d glowed. The Endurance rune he’d given her. How it had behaved like no Endurance rune she’d ever known.
“It was not long after the ritual had been in use for some generations,” Jem said, lowering his voice, “that it was discovered that if the bond was too close, if it tipped into romantic love—then it would begin to warp and change the kind of power that was generated by the spell. One-sided love, a crush even, all that seems to pass by the rule—but real, requited, romantic love? It had a terrible cost.”