Lord of Shadows The Dark Artifices 2

“I will explain in more detail when I can,” said Kieran. “For now, you must know this. The King my father has sent the Seven Riders to find the Black Volume, and they are here in London. I imagine he believes the location of the Black Volume is known by those in this Institute. The danger is great. We are safe within these walls for now, but—”

Mark had gone white. “But Livvy and Ty aren’t within these walls,” he said. “They went with Kit to get the ingredients for the binding spell. They’re somewhere in the city.”

There was a babble of voices, Alec snapping out a question, Magnus gesturing. But the pain and shock—not just hers, but Mark’s—was graying out Cristina’s vision, however much she tried to cling onto consciousness. She tried to say something but the words disappeared, everything sliding up and away from her as she tumbled into the shadows.

She wasn’t sure whether it was Mark or Kieran who caught her as she fell.

*   *   *

Rain clouds had replaced blue sky over London. Ty, Kit, and Livvy had decided to walk back from Hypatia’s after picking up Magnus’s ingredients, rather than wait in the fussy, damp line for the riverboat.

Kit was enjoying himself kicking his way through puddles on the Thames Path, which wound like a granite snake along the side of the river. They’d passed the Tower of London again, and Ty had pointed out Traitor’s Gate, where condemned criminals had once entered the tower to have their heads chopped off.

Livvy had sighed. “I wish Dru was with us. She would have liked that. She’s hardly come out of her room lately.”

“I think she’s afraid someone will make her babysit if she does,” said Kit. He wasn’t sure he had a clear impression of Dru yet—more a blurred sense of a round face, flushed cheeks, and a lot of black clothes. She had the Blackthorn eyes, but they were usually focused on something else.

“I think she’s keeping a secret,” Livvy said. They’d passed Millennium Bridge, a long iron line stretching across the river, and were nearing an older-looking bridge, painted a dented red and gray.

Ty was humming to himself, lost in thought. The river was the same color as his eyes today, a sort of steely-gray, touched with bits of silver. The white band of his headphones was around his neck, trapping his unruly black hair under it. He looked puzzled. “Why would she do that?”

“It’s just a feeling I have,” said Livvy. “I can’t prove it . . . .” Her voice trailed off. She was squinting into the distance, her hand up to shield her face from the gray afternoon light. “What’s that?”

Kit followed her glance and felt a coldness pass through him. Shapes were moving through the sky, a line of racing figures, silhouetted against the clouds. Three horses, clear as paper outlines, with three riders on their backs.

He looked around wildly. Mundanes were all around, paying little to no attention to the three teenagers in jeans and hooded raincoats hurrying along with their bags full of magic powders.

“The Wild Hunt?” Kit said. “But why—?”

“I don’t think it’s the Wild Hunt,” said Livvy. “They ride at night. It’s broad daylight.” She put her hand to her side, where her seraph blades hung.

“I don’t like this.” Ty sounded breathless. The figures were incredibly close now, skimming the top of the bridge, angling downward. “They’re coming toward us.”

They turned, but it was too late. Kit felt a breeze ruffle his hair as the horses and their riders passed overhead. A moment later there was a clatter as the three landed in a neat pattern around Kit, Livvy, and Ty, cutting off their retreat.

The horses were a glimmering bronze in color, and their riders were bronze-skinned and bronze-haired, wearing half masks of gleaming metal. They were beautiful, bizarre and unearthly, entirely out of place in the shadows of the bridge as the water taxis skated by and the road above hummed with traffic.

They were clearly faeries, but nothing like the ones Kit had seen before in the Shadow Market. They were taller and bigger, and they were armed, despite the edicts of the Cold Peace. Each wore a massive sword at his waist.

“Nephilim,” said one, in a voice that sounded like glaciers breaking apart. “I am Eochaid of the Seven Riders, and these are my brothers Etarlam and Karn. Where is the Black Volume?”

“The Black Volume?” Livvy echoed. The three of them had squeezed tighter against the wall of the path. Kit noticed people giving them odd glances as they passed by, and he knew they looked as if they were staring at nothing.

“Yes,” said Etarlam. “Our King seeks it. You will give it up.”

“We don’t have it,” said Ty. “And we don’t know where it is.”