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.”
“But isn’t Aline the one who’s supposed to be running the Institute?” Dru looked puzzled.
“Helen thought the Conclave should get used to her,” said Mark. “Be reminded she’s a Shadowhunter like any other Shadowhunter. And that she’s a Blackthorn, especially since they might wind up talking about things like whether Diana needs to be replaced as our tutor—”
“I don’t want another tutor!” Tavvy exclaimed. “I want Diana!”
“But surely she is only going to be away a few more days?” said Cristina anxiously. “At the most?”
Mark shrugged. “All of us bouncing around here without a tutor or a schedule is the kind of thing that makes Conclaves nervous.”
“But Tavvy’s right,” Dru said. “We’re already studying with Diana. We don’t need to start with someone else. Isn’t that right, Kit?”
Kit was so startled to be addressed that his juice glass almost flew out of his hand. Before he could answer, Aline interrupted them by stalking over to the table holding a frying pan. Fantastic smells wafted from it. Kit’s mouth began to water.
“What’s that?” Tavvy asked, his eyes big.
“This,” said Aline, “is a frittata. And you’re all going to eat it.” She slammed it down onto a metal trivet in the center of the table.
“Don’t like frittata,” said Tavvy.
“Too bad,” said Aline, crossing her arms and glaring at each of them in turn. “You made Helen cry yesterday, so you’re going to eat this frittata—which, by the way, is goddamn delicious—and you’re going to like it. It’s what’s for breakfast, and since I’m not Helen, I don’t care if you starve or eat Cheetos for every single meal. Helen and I both have a lot of work to do, the Clave isn’t giving us an inch, all she wants is to be with you guys, and you are not going to make her cry again. Understood?”
Dru and Tavvy both nodded, wide-eyed.
“I’m very sorry, Aline,” said Cristina in a small voice.
“I didn’t mean you, Cristina.” Aline rolled her eyes. “And where’s Ty? I’m not repeating this lecture again.” She glared at Kit. “You’re the one glued to his side. Where is he?”
“Probably sleeping,” said Kit. He guessed Ty had stayed up late, researching dark magic. Not that he’d say that out loud.
“Fine. Tell him what I said when he wakes up. And put the frying pan in the freaking sink when you’re done with breakfast.” Aline grabbed her jacket off the back of a chair, slid her arms into the sleeves, and stalked out of the room.
Kit braced himself for either Tavvy or Dru to start to cry. Neither of them did. “That was pretty cool,” said Dru, helping herself to some frittata, which turned out to be a mixture of eggs, sausage, cheese, and caramelized onions. “I like the way she stood up for Helen.”
“You yelled at Helen the other day,” Mark pointed out.
“She’s my sister,” said Dru, heaping frittata on Tavvy’s plate.
Mark made an exasperated noise. Cristina took a bite of frittata and closed her eyes in pleasure.
“I bet you used to yell at your dad,” Dru said to Kit. “I mean, every family fights sometimes.”
“We weren’t really a yelling family. Mostly my dad would either ignore me or spend his time trying to teach me to pick locks.”
Dru’s face lit up. She still looked wan and tired, and very young in her oversize T-shirt, but when she smiled, she reminded Kit of Livvy. “You can pick locks?”
“I can show you how, if you want.”
She dropped her fork and clapped her hands together. “Yes! Mark, can I go learn how to pick locks now?”
“We have Open runes, Dru,” Mark said.
“So? What if I was kidnapped by a tentacle demon and I dropped my stele and I was handcuffed to a chair? What then?”
“That won’t happen,” said Mark.
“It could happen,” said Tavvy.
“It really couldn’t. Tentacle demons can’t operate handcuffs.” Mark looked exasperated.
“Please?” Dru begged him with her eyes.
“I—suppose it would do no harm,” Mark said, clearly out of his depth. He glanced sideways at Cristina, as if seeking her approval, but she looked quickly away. “Just don’t commit any actual crimes with your newfound knowledge, Dru. The last thing we need is something else for the Clave to be annoyed about.”
*