Ghosts of the Shadow Market Read online

  Jem stood coldly stricken. It was as if she had reached into his mind and touched his memory. Standing on Blackfriars Bridge with Tessa on a cold January day. The fear on her face. I do not want to trouble Will . . . but I worry so over Jamie and Lucie. . . . James despairs of his eyes, calls them doorways into Hell, as if he hates his own face, his own bloodline. If I but knew who my demon father was, perhaps I could know, prepare them and myself . . . and Will. Jem had feared even then that it was a dangerous errand, that knowledge would gift them only further worries and doubts. But it was something Tessa had wanted for Will and the children, and he loved them all too much to say no.

  “Your friend Ragnor’s queries have finally borne fruit,” said Leopolda. “I know who Tessa’s father was.” She narrowed her eyes. “In exchange I only need something small. Just the smallest amount of blood from a living Shadowhunter. You will not even feel it. I was going to get it from the girl, the one who dresses as a boy. I like her very much. I would like to collect her, if I could.”

  You will stay away from her.

  “Of course I will,” Leopolda said. “I will help you as well. Just the smallest amount of blood, and I can tell you of Tessa Herondale’s true father.”

  “Brother Zachariah!” he heard Anna yell.

  Jem turned for one moment, and Leopolda moved toward him. He flung up his staff, knocking her backward. She let out a hiss and darted away faster than seemed possible. She lifted her curved blade.

  “Do not toy with me, James Carstairs. Do you not want to know of your Tessa?”

  There was another cry from outside. Jem had no choice. He ran in the direction of Anna’s voice.

  Outside, Anna and the other girl were in a fierce fight with at least six Raveners. They were pressed to the wall, fighting back-to-back. Jem swung out with his staff and brought it down on the back of the closest one. He continued swinging until Anna and the girl were able to regain some ground. Jem took down another, while Anna destroyed two at once with a long swing of her blade. There was but one Ravener left. It extended its spiked tail and pointed it at the other girl’s chest. In a second, Anna was diving through the air, knocking the other girl out of the way. They rolled together, Anna’s arms around the girl, shielding her. Jem struck out at this last demon, landing a blow on its head.

  The street fell quiet. Anna was in the girl’s arms, very still.

  Anna. Jem raced over. The Shadowhunter girl was already tearing away Anna’s sleeve to get to the wound. Anna hissed as the poison stung the surface of her skin.

  Behind them, Leopolda stepped out of the house and began to simply walk away.

  “I’m fine,” Anna said. “Go after her, Ariadne.”

  The other girl, Ariadne, exhaled and sat back. “The poison did not enter your system. But it did get on your skin. We must wash the site with herbs, immediately. And your wound is deep. You will need several iratzes.”

  The girl looked up at Jem.

  “I’ll take care of her,” she said. “I am well trained in healing. I was taught by Silent Brothers while I lived in Idris. Anna’s right. Go after the warlock.”

  You are sure? Anna will need an amissio, a blood-replacement rune—

  “Quite sure,” the girl said, easing Anna to her feet. “Believe me when I say Anna would rather lose a bit of blood than have her parents find out what we did tonight.”

  “Hear, hear,” agreed Anna.

  Take care of her, said Jem.

  “I will.” Ariadne spoke with a firm confidence, and from the way she was handling the wound, her words appeared true.

  “Come,” Ariadne said to Anna. “My house is not far. Can you walk?”

  “With you,” Anna said, “I can go anywhere.”

  Thus assured, Jem turned in the direction of Leopolda Stain.

  * * *

  They walked back to Ariadne’s house, Anna occasionally leaning on her friend for support. The poison on her skin was starting to have an effect, which was a bit like having too much wine, too fast. She tried to keep herself steady. They were glamoured now, walking unseen through the street.

  When they arrived, Ariadne let them in quietly through the front door. They took the stairs gently, so as not to wake anyone. Luckily, Ariadne’s room was on the opposite side of the house from her parents’ room. Ariadne led Anna in and shut the door.

  Ariadne’s room was like the person who inhabited it—perfumed, perfect, delicate. There were lace curtains on the large windows. The walls were papered in silver and rose, and there were fresh-cut lilacs and roses in vases around the room.

  “Come,” Ariadne said, leading Anna to her bureau, where there was a water basin. She removed Anna’s jacket and pushed up her sleeve. Having mixed a few herbs into the basin, she poured the mixture over the wound, which stung.

  “It is a nasty injury,” Ariadne said, “but I am a good nurse.”

  She moistened a cloth and gently cleaned the wound with soft strokes, careful to wipe away any poison that had splashed on Anna’s skin. Then she got her stele and drew an amissio rune to speed blood replacement and an iratze to encourage healing. The wound began to close.

  Throughout all of this, Anna was silent, breathless. She did not feel pain. She felt only Ariadne’s careful hands on her.

  “Thank you,” she finally said.

  Ariadne set her stele down. “It is nothing. You sustained this wound while saving me. You stepped in front of me. You protected me.”

  “I would protect you always,” Anna said.

  Ariadne looked at Anna for a long moment. The only light came in through the pattern in the lace.

  “My dress,” Ariadne said softly. “I think it is quite ruined. I look a fright.”

  “Nonsense,” Anna replied. Then, after a beat, she added, “You have never looked more beautiful.”

  “It has blood on it, and ichor. Help me remove it, please.”

  With trembling fingers, Anna undid the many buttons on the front of the dress, and it slid to the ground in a pile. Ariadne turned so that Anna could undo the stays of her corset. Ariadne wore a cotton chemise underneath, trimmed in delicate lace. Her chemise and bloomers were stark white against her brown skin. Her eyes glowed.

  “You must rest a bit, Anna,” Ariadne said. “You cannot leave right now. Come.”

  She took Anna by the hand and led her to the bed. Anna realized as she sank into it how exhausted she was from the fight, and also that she had never been so awake and alive.

  “Lean back,” Ariadne said, stroking Anna’s hair.

  Anna put her head down on the pillow. Her boots were gone. Her hair had come down, and she pushed it back impatiently.

  “I would like to kiss you,” Ariadne said. Her voice shook with a fear Anna understood all too well. Ariadne was afraid Anna was going to push her away, reject her, run screaming. But how could Ariadne not know how she felt? “Please, Anna, may I kiss you?”

  Unable to speak, Anna nodded.

  Ariadne leaned forward and pressed her lips to Anna’s.

  Anna had lived this moment in her mind a hundred times or more. She did not know her body would grow so warm, that Ariadne would taste so sweet. She returned the kiss, then kissed Ariadne along her cheek, her chin, down her neck. Ariadne made a low sound of delight. She brought her lips up to Anna’s again, and they fell back against the pillows. They were tangled together, laughing and warm, intent on only each other. The pain was gone, replaced by rapture.

  * * *

  During the day, the streets and alleys of Soho could be hard to navigate. At night, they became a dangerous and confusing warren. Jem kept his staff aloft. At this late hour, the only people about were drunkards and ladies of the night. The alleys smelled of refuse, and there was broken glass and the assorted detritus of a London day.

  Jem made his way to a storefront on Wardour Street. He knocked, and the door was opened by two young werewolves, neither of whom seemed surprised to see him.

  Woolsey Scott is expecting me.
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br />   They nodded and guided him through a dark and empty shop that sold buttons and ribbons and through a door. On the other side was a dimly lit but tastefully furnished room. Woolsey Scott was stretched out on a low divan. Sitting opposite him was Leopolda Stain, surrounded by a half a dozen more werewolves. She seemed calm and composed, and was even sipping from a cup of tea.

  “Ah, Carstairs,” Scott said. “Finally. I thought we’d be here all night.”

  Thank you, said Jem, for looking after her for me.

  “It was no trouble,” said Scott. He tipped his chin at Leopolda. “As you know, this one arrived a few weeks ago. We’ve been keeping an eye on her ever since. I didn’t think she would go as far as she did tonight. Can’t have her egging on idiot mundanes to raise demons. It’s the sort of thing that inspires anti-Downworlder sentiment.”

  Leopolda seemed to take no offense at the way he spoke.

  Woolsey rose to his feet. “You had said you wanted to speak with her,” he said. “Shall I leave the matter with you?”

  Yes, Jem said.

  “Good. I have an appointment with a rather staggering bottle of red. I’m sure she won’t cause any further fuss, will you, Leopolda?”

  “Of course not,” Leopolda said.

  Scott nodded, and the werewolves left the room as one. Leopolda looked up at Jem and smiled.

  “It is good to see you again,” she said. “We were so rudely interrupted earlier.”

  You will tell me what you know of Tessa.

  Leopolda reached over to a teapot on a low table and refilled her cup.

  “These terrible beasts,” she said, nodding at the door. “They handled me quite roughly. I would like to leave this place now.”

  You will not be leaving until you tell me what I want to know.

  “Oh, I will. Your Tessa . . . and she was yours, wasn’t she? I may not be able to see your eyes, but I can see it in your face.”

  Jem stiffened. He was no longer that boy, the young man who had planned a wedding to Tessa, who had loved her as much as his heart could bear. He loved her still, but he survived it by having put that young man away, by putting away his human loves as he had put away the violin. Instruments for another time, another life.

  Still, there was no joy in being so cruelly reminded.

  “I imagine her powers are great,” Leopolda said, stirring her tea. “I envy her. Axel was . . . so very proud.”

  There was nothing but the sound of the spoon hitting the sides of the china cup. In the depths of his mind, Jem heard the murmuring of the other Silent Brothers. He ignored it. This was his mission alone.

  Tell me of Tessa’s father.

  “The blood,” she said. “You will give me the blood first. It is a very small amount.”

  That will never happen.

  “No?” she said. “You know, I am merely the humble daughter of a Vetis demon, but your Tessa . . .”

  She waited to see the effect on Jem.

  “Yes,” she said. “I know all. You will put out your arm. I will take the blood, I will tell you what you so wish to know, and I will leave. We will both be satisfied. I assure you, what I give you is so much more than I ask. It is a bargain of the highest order.”

  You do not have the advantages you think you have, Leopolda Stain, he said. I have known you were here since you set foot on these shores. I knew you were a friend of Mortmain’s. I know you want this blood to continue his works, and I will never allow that.

  Her lip curled. “But you are kind,” she said. “You are famous for it. You will not hurt me.”

  Jem took his staff, spinning it between his hands, and held it balanced lightly between himself and Leopolda. He knew a hundred different ways to kill her with it. He could break her neck.

  That was my Shadowhunter self, he said. I have killed with this staff, though I prefer not to. Either you tell me what I wish to know, or you die. It is your choice.

  He saw, from the look in her eyes, that she believed him.

  Tell me what I want to know, and I will let you go with your life.

  Leopolda swallowed. “First, swear upon your Angel that you will allow me to leave tonight.”

  I swear upon the Angel.

  Leopolda smiled a long, vulpine smile.

  “The ritual that created your Tessa was magnificent,” she said. “Such glory. I never thought such a thing could be done, mating a Shadowhunter with a demon. . . .”

  Do not delay. Tell me.

  “Your Tessa’s father is a prince, the greatest of Eidolon demons. The most beautiful creature in any hell, for he has a thousand shapes.”

  A Prince of Hell? Jem had feared it. No wonder James could turn himself to smoke and Tessa herself could take any form, even that of an angel. A line of Nephilim whose blood was mixed with demonic royalty? There was no history of such impossible beings. Even now, he could not think of Tessa and her children as new and strange creations with incredible powers. They were simply people he loved beyond measure. You are saying Tessa’s father is a Prince of Hell?

  The Clave could never know. He could not tell them. His heart lurched. Could he tell Tessa? Would it be better for her to know or not?

  “Indeed a prince,” Leopolda said, “brother to Asmodeus and Sammael. What an honor to be born of him. Sooner or later, Jem Carstairs, blood will out, and such a beautiful power will blaze through this city.”

  She rose to her feet.

  The greatest of Eidolons? I need more than that. What is his name?

  She shook her head. “The price for the name is blood, James Carstairs, and if you will not pay it, another will.”

  She brought her hand out from behind her back and flung a handful of powder at Jem. Had his eyes not been protected by magic, it would likely have blinded him. As it was, he staggered back long enough for her to run past him to the door. She reached it in seconds and threw it open.

  On the other side of it were two huge werewolves, flanking Woolsey Scott.

  “As expected,” Woolsey said, looking at Leopolda with contempt. “Kill her, boys. Let her be an example to others who would freely spill blood in our city.”

  Leopolda screamed and whirled on Jem, wide-eyed. “You said you would let me leave! You swore!”

  Jem felt very weary. I am not the one who is stopping you.

  She cried out as the werewolves, already half-transformed, flung themselves on her. Jem turned away while the sounds of ripping flesh and shrieks tore through the room.

  * * *

  The summer dawn came early. Ariadne was sleeping gently, and Anna heard the maid stirring downstairs. She had not slept yet, even after Ariadne had dropped off. Anna did not want to move from this warm spot. She played with the lace edges of the pillow and watched Ariadne’s eyelashes flicker as if she were in the depths of a dream.

  But the sky was turning from black to the soft peach color of sunrise. Soon there would be a maid at the door with a tray. Soon, life would intrude.

  It would only hurt Ariadne if she were found here. It was her duty to leave this place.

  She kissed Ariadne softly, so as not to wake her. Then she dressed and slipped out the sash window. The dark did not quite obscure her now as she walked through the misty London morning in her men’s clothes. A few people turned their heads to get a second look at her, and she was fairly sure that some of those looks were admiring, even if she was mostly missing one of her sleeves and had lost her hat. She decided to take a circuitous route home, along Regent’s Park. The colors were soft in the sunrise, the waters of the boating lake still. She felt friendship toward the ducks and the pigeons. She smiled at strangers.

  This was what love was. It was total. It brought her together with everything. Anna barely cared if she made it home before someone would notice her missing. She wanted to feel like this forever—exactly this, this soft and fragrant and friendly morning, with the feel of Ariadne still on her skin. Her future, so confused before, was clear. She would be with Ariadne forever. They would travel
the world, fight side by side.

  Eventually, she had to walk toward her home, where she climbed up to her window with ease. She removed her brother’s clothing and slipped into bed. Within seconds, she dropped into the easy embrace of sleep and felt herself back in Ariadne’s arms.

  * * *

  She woke just before noon. Someone had brought her a tea tray and left it next to her bed. She drank the now-cold tea. She took a cool bath and examined the wound on her arm. The healing runes Ariadne had drawn had done their work. The area was still red and angry, but she could cover it with a shawl. She dressed in her plainest, most severely cut gown—so funny now, to be dressed as a girl—and put a silk shawl over her shoulders, winding it carefully over the damaged arm. She went downstairs. Her mother sat in a sunny corner of the sitting room, little Alexander on her lap.

  “There you are,” her mother said. “Are you ill?”

  “No,” Anna said. “I was foolish. I stayed up quite late reading a book.”

  “Now I know you are ill,” her mother said with a smile, which Anna returned.

  “I need to take a walk in the sunshine. It is such a lovely day. I shall go see Lucie and James, I think, and discuss my book with them.”

  Her mother gave her a curious look, but agreed.

  Anna did not walk to the Herondale house. She turned instead toward Fitzrovia, stopping to buy a bunch of violets from an old woman selling them in the street. Her steps were light. The world was perfectly arranged, and all things and beings in it were worthy of love. Anna could have done anything in that moment—fought off a hundred demons at once, lifted a carriage over her head, danced on a wire. She passed along the pavements she had been on only hours before, back to her love.

  At the house off Cavendish Square, Anna knocked once, then stood nervously on the step, looking up. Was Ariadne in her room? Would she look down?

  The door was opened by the Bridgestocks’ unsmiling servant.

  “The family is receiving guests at the moment, Miss Lightwood. Perhaps you would like to wait in the—”