Lord of Shadows The Dark Artifices 2

Zara looked up, her eyebrows creasing. Someone was coming—Kit heard the quick tread of feet, and a tousle-haired figure in jeans appeared at the far end of the room.

“It’s Manuel,” Livvy whispered. “Maybe they’re having an affair?”

“Manu,” Zara said, frowning. She didn’t sound lovelorn. “You’re late.”

“Sorry.” Manuel grinned a disarming grin and grabbed for the free chair, swinging it around so he could seat himself with his arms folded over the back. “Don’t be cross, Zara. I had to wait until Rayan and Jon fell asleep—they were in a chatty mood, and I didn’t want to chance anyone seeing me leave the Institute.” He indicated the papers. “What have you got there?”

“Updates from my father,” Zara said. “He was disappointed about the outcome of the last Council, obviously. The decision to let that half-breed Mark Blackthorn remain among decent Nephilim would offend anyone.”

Manuel picked up her glass of wine. Red lights glinted in its depths. “Still, we must look to the future,” he said. “Getting rid of Mark wasn’t the point of our journey here, after all. He’s a minor annoyance, like his siblings.”

Ty, Kit, and Livvy exchanged confused looks. Livvy’s face was tight with anger. Ty’s was expressionless, but his hands moved restlessly at his sides.

“True. The first step is the Registry,” Zara said. She patted the papers, making them rustle. “My father says the Cohort is strong in Idris, and they believe the Los Angeles Institute is ripe for the plucking. The incident with Malcolm sowed considerable doubt in the West Coast’s ability to make judgments. And the fact that the High Warlock of Los Angeles and the head of the local vampire clan both turned out to be enmeshed in dark magic—”

“That wasn’t our fault,” Livvy whispered. “There was no way to possibly know—”

Ty shushed her, but Kit had missed the last of what Zara was saying. He was only conscious of her grin like a dark red slash across her face.

“Confidence isn’t very high,” she finished.

“And Arthur?” said Manuel. “The putative head of the place? Not that I’ve laid eyes on him once.”

“A lunatic,” said Zara. “My father told me he suspected as much. He knew him at the Academy. I talked to Arthur myself. He thought I was someone named Amatis.”

Kit glanced at Livvy, who gave a puzzled shrug.

“It will be easy enough to put him up in front of the Council and prove he’s a madman,” said Zara. “I can’t say who’s been running the Institute in his stead—Diana, I imagine—but if she’d wanted the head position, she’d have taken it already.”

“So your father steps in, the Cohort makes sure he carries the vote, and the Institute is his,” said Manuel.

“Ours,” Zara corrected. “I will run the Institute by his side. He trusts me. We’ll be a team.”

Manuel didn’t seem impressed. He’d probably heard it before. “And then, the Registry.”

“Absolutely. We’ll be able to propose it as Law immediately, and once it passes, we can begin the identifications.” Zara’s eyes glittered. “Every Downworlder will wear the sign.”

Kit’s stomach lurched. This was close enough to mundane history to make him taste bile in the back of his throat.

“We can start at the Shadow Market,” said Zara. “The creatures congregate there. If we take enough of them into custody, we should be able to seize the rest for registration soon enough.”

“And if they’re not inclined to be registered, then they can be convinced easily enough with a little pain,” said Manuel.

Zara frowned. “I think you enjoy the torture, Manu.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his face open and handsome and charming. “I think you do too, Zara. I’ve seen you admiring my work.” He flexed his fingers. “You just don’t want to admit it in front of Perfect Diego.”

“Seriously? They call him that too?” Kit muttered under his breath.

Zara tossed her head, but Manuel was grinning.

“You’re going to have to tell him eventually, about the Cohort’s full plans,” he said. “You know he won’t approve. He’s a Downworlder-lover if there ever was one.”

Zara made a disgusted noise. “Nonsense. He’s nothing like that disgusting Alec Lightwood and his stupid Alliance and his repulsive demon-spawn boyfriend. The Blackthorns may be faerie-loving morons, but Diego’s just . . . confused.”

“What about Emma Carstairs?”

Zara began gathering up the pages of her father’s letter. She didn’t look at Manuel. “What about her?”

“Everyone says she’s the best Shadowhunter since Jace Herondale,” said Manuel. “A title I know you’ve long coveted for yourself.”

“Vanessa Ashdown says she’s a boy-crazy slut,” said Zara, and the ugly words seemed to echo off the rock walls. Kit thought of Emma with her sword, Emma saving his life, Emma hugging Cristina and looking at Julian like he hung the moon, and he wondered if he could get away with stomping on Zara’s foot the next time he saw her. “And I haven’t been particularly impressed by her in person. She’s quite, quite ordinary.”

“I’m sure she is,” said Manuel as Zara rose to her feet, papers in hand. “I still don’t understand what you see in Diego.”