Lord of Shadows The Dark Artifices 2

They don’t seem to understand what autism is, or mental illness, or therapy, or medical treatment. Do they believe in things like chemotherapy? What if I get cancer? I probably won’t get cancer. But if I did . . .

They won’t tell me how Tessa and Jem found my dad. Or why my dad hated Shadowhunters so much.

That one was the hardest to write. Kit had always thought of his father as a small-time con man, a lovable rogue, a sort of Han Solo type, swindling his way across the galaxy. But lovable rogues didn’t get torn apart by demons the moment their elaborate protection spells fell apart. And though mostly Kit was confused by what had happened at the Shadow Market, he had learned one thing: His dad had not been like Han Solo.

Sometimes, in the dark watches of the night, Kit wondered who he was like himself.

Speaking of the dark watches of the night, he had a new grievance to add to his list. They make me get up early.

Diana, whose official title was tutor but who seemed to function as a guardian-slash-high school principal, had woken Kit up early in the morning and herded him, along with Ty and Livvy, into a corner office with an expansive view and a massive glass desk. She looked pissed off the way adults sometimes looked pissed off when they were angry at someone else, but they were going to take it out on you.

Kit was correct. Diana was currently furious at Julian, Emma, Mark, and Cristina, who, according to Arthur, had disappeared to Faerie in the dead of night to rescue someone named Kieran who Kit had never met. Further discussion illuminated that Kieran was the son of the Unseelie King and Mark’s ex-boyfriend, both of which were interesting pieces of information that Kit filed away for later.

“This is not good,” Diana finished. “Any travel to Faerie is entirely off-limits to Nephilim without special permissions.”

“But they’ll come back, right?” Ty said. He sounded strained. “Mark will come back?”

“Of course they’ll come back,” said Livvy. “It’s just a mission. A rescue mission,” she added, turning to Diana. “Won’t the Clave understand they had to go?”

“Rescuing a faerie—no,” Diana said, shaking her head. “They are not entitled to our protection under the Accords. The Centurions can’t know. The Clave would be furious.”

“I won’t tell,” said Ty.

“I won’t either,” agreed Livvy. “Obviously.”

They both looked at Kit.

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” he said.

“You have a point,” said Livvy. She turned to Diana. “Why is he here?”

“You seem to have a way of knowing everything,” Diana said to Kit. “I thought it would be better to control your information. And get a promise from you.”

“That I won’t tell? Of course I won’t tell. I don’t even like the Centurions. They’re . . .” What I always thought Shadowhunters would be like. You’re not. You’re all . . . different. “Jerks,” he finished.

“I cannot believe,” Livvy said, “that Julian and them have found a fun adventure to go on and just left the rest of us here to fetch towels for Centurions.”

Diana looked surprised. “I thought you’d be upset,” she said. “Worried about them.”

Livvy shook her head. Her long hair, shades lighter than Ty’s, flew around her. “That they’re off having fun and getting to see Faerie? While we drudge around here? When they get back, I’m going to have words with Julian.”

“Which words?” Ty looked confused for a moment, before his face cleared. “Oh,” he said. “You’re going to curse him out.”

“I’m going to use every bad word I know, and look up some other ones,” said Livvy.

Diana was biting her lip. “You’re really all right?”

Ty nodded. “Cristina has studied Faerie extensively, Mark was a Hunter, and Julian and Emma are clever and brave,” he said. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

Diana looked stunned. Kit had to admit he was surprised too. The Blackthorns had struck him as a family so close-knit that “enmeshed” didn’t begin to cover it. But Livvy kept up her cheerful annoyance when they went to tell Dru and Tavvy that the others had gone to the Shadowhunter Academy to fetch something—she was quite convincing, too, as she told them how Cristina had gone along because visiting the Academy was now a required part of one’s travel year—and they repeated the same story to a glowering Diego and a bunch of Centurions, including his fiancée, who Kit had taken to calling Loathsome Zara in his mind.

“In sum,” Livvy finished sweetly, “you may have to launder some of your own towels. Now if you’ll excuse us, Ty and I are going to take Kit here on a tour of the perimeter.”

Zara arched an eyebrow. “The perimeter?”