It rolled to the side. She blinked at the object revealed under it, then bent to pick it up. A glove--a man's glove, made of leather, soft as silk but a thousand times tougher. The leather was printed with the image of a golden crown snapped in half.
"Mark!" she called. "!Necesito que veas algo!"
A moment later she realized she'd been so startled she'd actually called out in Spanish, but it didn't seem to matter. Mark had come leaping nimbly down the stones toward her. He stood just above her, the wind lifting his airy, pale-gold curls away from the slight points of his ears. He looked alarmed. "What is it?"
She handed him the glove. "Isn't that the emblem of one of the Faerie Courts?"
Mark turned it over in his hands. "The broken crown is the Unseelie King's symbol," he murmured. "He believes himself to be true King of both the Seelie and the Unseelie Courts, and until he rules both, the crown will remain snapped in half." He tilted his head to the side like a bird studying a cat from a safe distance. "But these kind of gloves--Kieran had them when he arrived at the Hunt. They are fine workmanship. Few but the gentry would wear them. In fact, few but the King's sons would wear them."
"You don't think this is Kieran's?" Cristina said.
Mark shook his head. "His were . . . destroyed. In the Hunt. But it does mean that whoever visited Malcolm here, and left this glove, was either high in the Court, or the King himself."
Cristina frowned. "It's very odd that it's here."
Her hair had escaped from its braids and was blowing in long curls around her face. Mark reached up to tuck one back behind her ear. His fingers skimmed her cheek. His eyes were dreamy, distant. She shivered a little at the intimacy of the gesture.
"Mark," she said. "Don't."
He dropped his hand. He didn't look angry, the way a lot of boys tended to when asked not to touch a girl. He looked puzzled and a little sad. "Because of Diego?"
"And Emma," she said, her voice very low.
His puzzlement increased. "But you know that's--"
"Mark! Cristina!" It was Emma, calling to them from where she and Julian had joined Diego and Clary. Cristina was grateful not to have to answer Mark; she raced up the pile of rocks and glass, glad her Shadowhunter boots and gear protected her from stray sharp edges.
"Did you find something?" she asked as she approached the small group.
"Have you ever wanted a really up-close look at a gross tentacle?" Emma asked.
"No," said Cristina, drawing closer warily. Clary did appear to have something unpleasantly floppy speared on the end of her odd weapon. It wriggled a bit, showing pink suckers against green, mottled skin.
"No one ever seems to say yes to that question," said Emma sadly.
"Magnus introduced me to a warlock with tentacles like this once," Clary said. "His name was Marvin."
"I assume these aren't Marvin's remains," Julian said.
"I'm not sure they're anyone's remains," said Clary. "To command sea demons, you'd need either the Mortal Cup or something like this--a piece of a powerful demon you could enchant. I think we have some definite evidence that Malcolm's death is tied to the recent Teuthida attacks."
"Now what?" said Emma, side-eyeing the tentacle. She wasn't a huge fan of the ocean, or the monsters that lived in it, though she'd fight anything or anyone on dry land.
"Now we go back to the Institute," said Clary, "and decide what our next step is. Who wants to carry the tentacle?"
There were no volunteers.
*
"You've got to be kidding," Kit said. "There's no way I'm jumping off that."
"Just consider it." Jace leaned down from a rafter. "It's surprisingly easy."
"Give it a try," Emma called. She had come to the training room when they'd gotten back from Malcolm's, curious to see how it was going. She had found Ty and Livvy sitting on the floor, watching as Jace tried to convince Kit to throw a few knives (which he was willing to do) and then to learn jumping and falling (which he wasn't).
"My father warned me you people would try to kill me," Kit said.
Jace sighed. He was in training gear, balanced on one of the intricate network of rafters that intersected the interior of the training room's pitched roof. They ranged from thirty to twenty feet above the floor. Emma had taught herself to fall from those exact rafters over the years, sometimes breaking bones.
A Shadowhunter had to know how to climb--demons were fast and often multi-legged, scurrying up the sides of buildings like spiders. But learning how to fall was just as important.
"You can do it," Emma called now.
"Yeah? And what happens if I splatter myself all over the floor?" asked Kit.
"You get a big state funeral," Emma said. "We put your body in a boat and shove you over a waterfall like a Viking."
Kit glared at her. "That's from a movie."
She shrugged. "Maybe."
Jace, losing patience, launched himself from the highest rafter. He somersaulted gracefully in the air before landing in a soundless crouch. He straightened up and winked at Kit.
Emma hid a smile. She'd had a horrendous crush on Jace when she was twelve. Later that had turned into wanting to be Jace--the best there was: the best fighter, the best survivor, the best Shadowhunter.
She wasn't there yet, but she wasn't done trying, either.
Kit looked impressed despite himself, then scowled again. He looked very slight next to Jace. He was close to the same height as Ty, though less fit. The potential Shadowhunter strength was there, though, in the shape of his arms and shoulders. Emma had seen him fight, when in danger. She knew what he could do.
"You'll be able to do that," Jace said, pointing up at the rafter, and then at Kit. "As soon as you want to."
Emma could recognize the look in Kit's eye. I might never want to. "What's the Nephilim motto again?"
" 'We are dust and shadows,' " said Ty, not looking up from his book.
"Some of us are very handsome dust," Jace added, as the door flew open and Clary stuck her head in.
"Come to the library," she announced. "The tentacle is starting to dissolve."
"You drive me wild with your sexy talk," said Jace, pulling on his gear jacket.
"Adults," said Kit, with some disgust, and stalked out of the room. To Emma's amusement, Ty and Livvy were instantly on their feet, following him. She wondered what exactly had sparked their interest in Kit--was it just that he was their age? Jace, she imagined, would have put it down to the famous Herondale charisma, though from what she knew, the Herondales who had immediately predated him had been pretty low on the stuff.
The library was in a certain amount of chaos. The tentacle was starting to dissolve, into a sticky puddle of green-pink goo that reminded Emma horribly of melted jelly beans. As Diana pointed out, this meant that the time left to identify the demon was shortening quickly. Since Magnus wasn't picking up his phone and no one wanted to involve the Clave, this left good old-fashioned book research. Everyone was handed a pile of fat tomes on sea creatures, and they dispersed to various parts of the library to examine paintings, sketches, drawings, and the occasional clipped-in photo.
At some point during the passing hours, Jace decided that they required Chinese food. Apparently kung pao chicken and noodles in black bean sauce were a requirement every time the New York Institute team had to engage in research. He hauled Clary off to an empty office to conjure up a Portal--something no other Shadowhunter besides Clary could do--promising them all the best Chinese food Manhattan had to deliver.
"Got it!" Cristina announced, about twenty minutes after the door had closed behind Jace and Clary. She held up a massive copy of the Carta Marina.
The rest of them crowded around the main table as Diana confirmed that the tentacle belonged to the sea demon species Makara, which--according to the sketches between the maps in the Carta Marina--looked like a part-octopus, part-slug thing with an enormous bee head.
"The disturbing thing isn't that it's a sea demon," said Diana, fro
wning. "It's that Makara demon remains only survive on land for one to two days."
Jace pushed the library door open. He and Clary were loaded down with green-and-white take-out boxes marked JADE WOLF. "A little help here?"
The research team disbanded briefly to lay out food on the long library tables. There was lo mein, the promised kung pao chicken, mapo tofu, zhajiangmian, egg fried rice, and delicious sesame balls that tasted like hot candy.
Everyone had a paper plate, even Tavvy, who was arranging toy soldiers behind a bookcase. Diego and Cristina occupied a love seat, and Jace and Clary were on the floor, sharing noodles. The Blackthorn kids were squabbling over the chicken, except for Mark, who was trying to figure out how to use his chopsticks. Emma guessed they didn't have them in Faerie. Julian sat at the table across from Livvy and Ty, frowning at the nearly dissolved tentacle. Amazingly, it didn't seem to be putting him off his food.
"You are friendly with the great Magnus Bane, aren't you?" Diego said to Jace and Clary, after an affable few minutes of everyone chewing.
"The great Magnus Bane?" Jace choked on his fried rice. Church had taken up residence at his feet, alert for any evidence of dropped chicken.
"We're friendly with him, yes," Clary said, her mouth twitching at the corner. "Why?"
Jace was turning purple. Clary thumped him on the back. Church fell asleep, his feet waving in the air.
"I would like to interview him," Diego said. "I think he would make a good subject for a paper for the Spiral Labyrinth."
"He's pretty busy right now, what with Max and Rafael," said Clary. "I mean, you could ask . . ."
"Who's Rafael?" Livvy asked.
"Their second son," said Jace. "They just adopted a little boy in Argentina. A Shadowhunter who lost his parents in the Dark War."
"In Buenos Aires!" Emma exclaimed, turning to Julian. "When we saw Magnus at Malcolm's, he said Alec was in Buenos Aires, and that he was going to join him. That must have been what they were doing."
Julian just nodded, but didn't look up at her to acknowledge the shared memory. She shouldn't expect him to, Emma reminded herself. Julian wasn't going to be the way she remembered again for a long time, if ever.
She felt herself blush, though no one seemed to notice but Cristina, who shot her a look of concern. Diego had his arm around Cristina, but her hands were resting in her lap. She gave Emma a slight wave, more of a finger wiggle.
"Maybe we should get back to discussing the matter at hand," Diana said. "If Makara remains only last a day or two on land . . ."
"Then that demon was at Malcolm's house really recently," said Livvy. "Like, well after he died."
"Which is odd," Julian said, glancing at the book. "It's a deep-sea demon, pretty deadly and very big. You'd think someone would have noticed it. Plus, it can't possibly have wanted anything from a collapsed house."
"Who knows what desires a sea demon might possess?" said Mark.
"Assuming it wasn't after Malcolm's collection of elegant tentacle warmers," said Julian, "we have to imagine that it was most likely summoned. Makara demons just don't come up on land. They lurk on the ocean's bottom and sometimes pull ships down."
"Another warlock, then?" Jace suggested. "Someone Malcolm was working with?"
"Catarina doesn't believe Malcolm worked with anyone else," said Diana. "He was friendly with Magnus, but he was otherwise something of a loner--for obvious reasons, it now appears."
"If he was working with another warlock, he wouldn't be likely to advertise the fact, though," said Diego.
"It certainly appears Malcolm was determined to cause mischief from beyond the grave if anything happened to him," said Diana.
"Well, the tentacle wasn't the only thing we found," Cristina said. "Mark, show them the glove."
Emma had already seen it, on their way back from Malcolm's, but she leaned in along with everyone else as Mark drew it from his jacket pocket and laid it on the table.
"The sigil of the Unseelie King," said Mark. "A glove such as this is rare. Kieran wore such when he came to the Hunt. I could identify his brothers, sometimes, at revels, by their cloaks and gloves or gauntlets such as these."
"So it's odd Malcolm would have one," said Livvy. Emma didn't see Ty beside her; had he gone into the book stacks?
"No faerie prince would part with such a thing willingly," said Mark. "Save as a special mark of favor, or to bind a promise."
Diana frowned. "We know Malcolm was working with Iarlath."
"But he was not a prince. Not even gentry," said Mark. "This would indicate that Malcolm had sworn some kind of a bargain with the Unseelie Court itself."
"We know he went to the Unseelie King years ago," said Emma. "It was the Unseelie King who gave him the rhyme he was supposed to use to raise Annabel. 'First the flame and then the flood--' "
" 'In the end, it's Blackthorn blood,' " Julian finished for her.
And it nearly had been. In order to raise Annabel, Malcolm had required the sacrifice and blood of a Blackthorn. He had kidnapped Tavvy and nearly killed him. Just the memory of it made Emma shiver.
"But this was not the sigil of the King that long ago," said Mark. "This dates from the beginning of the Cold Peace. Time works differently in Faerie, but--" He shook his head, as if to say not that differently. "I am afraid."
Jace and Clary exchanged a look. They were on their way to Faerie, weren't they, to look for a weapon? Emma leaned forward, meaning to ask them what they knew, but before she could get the words out, the Institute doorbell rang, echoing through the house.
They all looked at each other, surprised. But it was Tavvy who spoke first, looking up from the corner where he was playing. "Who's here?"
*
If there was one thing Kit was good at, it was slipping out of rooms unnoticed. He'd been doing it all his life, while his father held meetings in the living room with impatient warlocks or jumpy werewolves.
So it wasn't too much of a challenge to creep out of the library while everyone else was talking and eating Chinese food. Clary was doing an imitation of someone called the Inquisitor, and everyone was laughing. Kit wondered if it occurred to them that it was weird to endorse a governmental position that sounded like it was all about torture.
He'd been in the kitchen a few times before. It was one of the rooms he liked best in the house--homey, with its blue walls and farmhouse sink. The fridge wasn't badly stocked either. He guessed Shadowhunters were probably hungry pretty frequently, considering how often they worked out.
He wondered if he'd have to work out all the time too, if he became a Shadowhunter. He wondered if he'd end up with muscles and abs and all that stuff, like Julian and Jace. At the moment, he was more on the skinny side, like Mark. He lifted his T-shirt and gazed at his flat, undefined stomach for a moment. Definitely no abs.
He let the shirt fall and grabbed a Tupperware container of cookies out of the fridge. Maybe he could frustrate the Shadowhunters by refusing to work out and sitting around eating carbs. I defy you, Shadowhunters, he thought, thumbing the top off the container and popping a cookie in his mouth. I mock you with my sugar cravings.
He let the door of the fridge fall shut, and nearly yelled out loud. Reflexively, he swallowed his cookie and stared.
Ty Blackthorn stood in the middle of the kitchen, his headphones dangling around his neck, his hands shoved into his pockets.
"Those are pretty good," he said, "but I like the butterscotch ones better."
Thoughts of cookie-related rebellion floated out of Kit's head. Despite sleeping in front of his room, Ty had hardly ever spoken to him before. The most he'd probably ever said at once was when he was holding Kit at knifepoint in the Rooks' house, and Kit didn't think that counted as social interaction.
Kit set the Tupperware down on the counter. He was once again conscious of the sense that Ty was studying him, maybe counting up his pluses and minuses or something like that. If Ty was someone else, Kit would have tried to catch his eye, but he kn
ew Ty wouldn't look at him directly. It was kind of restful not to worry about it.
"You have blood on your hand," Ty said. "I noticed it earlier."
"Oh. Right." Kit glanced down at his split knuckles. "I hurt my hand at the Shadow Market."
"How?" Ty asked, leaning against the edge of the counter.
"I punched a board," Kit said. "I was angry."
Ty's eyebrows went up. He had interesting eyebrows, slightly pointed at the tops, like inverted Vs, and very black. "Did it make you feel better?"
"No," Kit admitted.
"I can fix it," Ty said, taking one of the Shadowhunters' magic pencils out of his jeans pocket. Steles, they were called. He held out his hand.
Kit supposed he could have refused to accept the offer, the way he had when Julian had suggested healing him in the car. But he didn't. He held his forearm out trustingly, wrist turned upward so the blue veins were exposed to the boy who'd held a knife to his throat not that long ago.
Ty's fingers were cool and careful as he took hold of Kit's arm to steady it. He had long fingers--all the Shadowhunters did, Kit had noticed. Maybe it had something to do with the need to handle a variety of weapons. Kit was caught up enough in wondering about it to only flinch slightly when the stele moved across his forearm, leaving a feeling of heat as if his skin had passed over a candle flame.
Ty's head was down. His black hair slanted across his face. He drew the stele back when he was finished, letting go of Kit.
"Look at your hand," he said.
Kit turned his hand over and watched as the tears over his knuckles sealed themselves together, the red patches turning back to smooth skin. He stared down at the black mark that spread across his forearm. He wondered when it would start fading. It weirded him out, stark evidence that it really was all true. He really was a Shadowhunter.
"That is pretty cool," he admitted. "Can you heal literally anything? Like what about diabetes and cancer?"
"Some diseases. Not always cancer. My mother died of that." Ty put his stele away. "What about your mother? Was she a Shadowhunter too?"
"I don't think so," Kit said. His father had sometimes told him his mother was a Vegas showgirl who'd taken off after Kit was born, but it had occurred to him in the past two weeks that his father might not have been entirely truthful about that. He certainly hadn't been about anything else. "She's dead," he added, not because he thought that was likely the case but because he realized he didn't want to talk about her.