Lord of Shadows The Dark Artifices 2

He paused in front of Mark and Cristina as the other Centurions passed by. “I got your message,” he said to Cristina, in a low voice. “If it’s what you want—”

“What message?” Mark said. “What’s going on?”

Zara appeared at Diego’s side. “A reunion,” she said. “How nice.” She smiled at Cristina. “I’m sure you’ll all be pleased to hear how well everything went in Los Angeles after you left.”

“Very impressive of you, killing Malcolm,” said Mark. His eyes were flat and glittering. “It seems to have resulted in quite a bit of advancement. Well-earned, I’m sure.”

“Thank you.” Zara laughed breathlessly, laying her hand on Diego’s arm. “Oh,” she said, with a sharply artificial enthusiasm. “Look!”

More Shadowhunters had entered the room. They were a mix of ages, from old to young. Some wore Centurion uniforms. Most wore gear or ordinary clothes. What was unusual about them was that they were carrying placards and signs. REGISTER ALL WARLOCKS. DOWNWORLDERS MUST BE CONTROLLED. PRAISE THE COLD PEACE. APPROVE THE REGISTRY. Among them was a stolid brown-haired man with a bland sort of face, the kind of face where you could never really remember the features later. He winked at Zara.

“My father,” she said proudly. “The Registry was his idea.”

“What interesting signs,” said Mark.

“How wonderful to see people expressing their political views,” said Zara. “Of course the Cold Peace has truly created a generation of revolutionaries.”

“It is unusual,” said Cristina, “for a revolution to call for fewer rights for people, not more.”

For a moment Zara’s mask slipped, and Cristina saw through the artifice of politeness, the breathy little-girl voice and demeanor. There was something cold behind it all, something without warmth or empathy or affection. “People,” she said. “What people?”

Diego took hold of her arm. “Zara,” he said. “Let’s go sit down.”

Mark and Cristina watched them go in silence.

*   *   *

“I hope Julian’s right,” Livvy said, staring at the empty dais.

“He usually is,” Ty said. “Not about everything, but about this sort of thing.”

Kit sat between the twins, which meant they were talking over him. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up in this position. Not that he minded or even noticed at the moment. He was stunned into near silence—something that never happened—by where he was: in Alicante, the heart of the Shadowhunters’ country, gazing at the legendary demon towers.

He’d fallen in love with Idris at first sight. He hadn’t expected that at all.

It was like walking into a fairy tale. And not the sort he’d grown used to at the Shadow Market, where faeries were another kind of monster. The kind he’d seen on TV and in books when he was little, a world of magnificent castles and lush forests.

Livvy winked at Kit. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“You’re impressed by Idris. Admit it, Mr. Nothing Impresses Me.”

Kit was going to do no such thing. “I like the clock,” he said, pointing up at it.

“There’s a legend about that clock.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “For a second, when it chimes the hour, the gates to Heaven open.” Livvy sighed; a rare wistfulness flashed across her face. “As far as I’m concerned, Heaven is just the Institute being ours again. And all of us going home.”

That surprised Kit; he’d been thinking of this trip to Idris as the end of their chaotic adventure. They’d return to Los Angeles and he’d start his training. But Livvy was right: Things weren’t that assured. He glanced over at Zara and her immediate circle, bristling with their ugly signs.

“There’s still the Black Volume, too,” said Ty. He looked formal and neat-haired in a way he didn’t usually; Kit was used to him being casual in his hoodies and jeans, and handsome, older-looking Ty left him a bit tongue-tied. “The Queen still wants it.”

“Annabel will give it to Jules. I believe in his ability to charm anything out of anyone,” Livvy said. “Or trick anything out of anyone. But yeah, I wish they didn’t have to actually meet with the Queen afterwards. I don’t like the sound of her.”

“I think there’s a saying about this,” said Kit. “Something about bridges and crossing them when you get there.”

Ty had gone rigid, like a hunting dog spotting a fox. “Livvy.”

His sister followed his gaze, and so did Kit. Coming toward them through the crowd was Diana, a smile breaking across her face, her koi fish tattoo shimmering across one dark cheekbone.

With her were two young women in their early twenties. One resembled Jia Penhallow more than a little; she also had dark hair and a decided chin. The other looked incredibly like Mark Blackthorn, down to the curling, pale blond hair and pointed ears. They were both bundled in unseasonably warm clothes, as if they’d come from a cold climate.

Kit realized who they were a moment before Livvy’s face lit like the sun. “Helen!” she screamed, and bolted into her sister’s arms.

*   *   *

The clock in the Council Hall was chiming through the Gard, signaling that all Nephilim were to gather for the meeting.