Lady Midnight (38 page)

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, looking at Tiberius. He’d stopped shaking—thankfully, since he’d been driving—and his voice was steady and soft. “It was too dangerous for you to come with us.”

Ty put his hands in his pockets. “I know what you think. But this is my investigation too.”

“Mark texted me to tell me you were missing,” Julian said, and Emma started; she should have guessed that was what all the business with Jules’s phone had been about. “I almost walked right out of Rook’s house. I don’t think he would have let us back in.”

“I’m sorry you were worried,” said Ty. “That’s why I hugged you outside Rook’s house, because I was sorry you were worried. But I’m not Tavvy. I’m not a child. I don’t need to always be there so that you or Mark can find me.”

“You shouldn’t have come into Rook’s house either.” Julian’s voice rose. “It wasn’t safe.”

“I wasn’t planning to come inside. Just to look at the house. Observe it.” Ty’s soft mouth hardened. “Then I saw you go in, and I saw someone moving around downstairs. I thought they might come up and attack you when you didn’t expect it. I knew you didn’t realize anyone was down there.”

“Jules,” Emma said. “You would have done the same thing.”

Jules shot her an exasperated look. “Ty’s only fifteen.”

“Don’t say it’s dangerous because I’m fifteen,” Ty said. “You did things just as dangerous when you were fifteen. And Rook wouldn’t have told you Sterling’s address if I hadn’t been holding a knife on his son.”

“That’s true,” said Emma. “He got into that protection circle too fast.”

“You couldn’t have known he had a son hidden down there,” Julian said. “You couldn’t have predicted what would happen, Ty. It was luck.”

“Prediction is magic,” Ty said. “It wasn’t that, and it wasn’t luck, either. I’ve heard Emma talk about Rook. Diana too. He sounded like someone who would hide things. Who you couldn’t trust. And I was right.” He looked hard at Jules; he wasn’t looking him in the eye, but his gaze was direct. “You always want to protect me,” he said. “But you won’t ever tell me when I’m right. If you let me make decisions on my own, maybe you’d worry about me less.”

Julian looked stunned.

“It could help that we know Rook has a son,” said Ty. He spoke with a clear confidence. “You can’t be sure it won’t. And I got you Sterling’s address. I helped, even if you didn’t want me there.”

In the dim light spilling down from the Institute, Julian looked as vulnerable as Emma had ever seen him. “I’m sorry,” he said, almost formally. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like you didn’t help.”

“I know the Law,” said Ty. “I know fifteen isn’t grown up. I know we need Uncle Arthur, and we need you.” He frowned. “I mean, I can’t cook at all, and neither can Livvy. And I wouldn’t know how to put Tavvy to bed. I’m not saying you need to put me in charge or let me do whatever I want. I know there are rules. But some things—maybe Mark could do them?”

“But Mark—” Julian began, and Emma knew his fear.
Mark might not stay. He might not want to.

“Mark’s just getting to know you all again and know what it’s like being here,” Julian said. “I don’t know if we could ask him to do too much.”

“He wouldn’t mind,” said Ty. “He likes me. He likes
us
.”

“He loves you,” said Julian. “And I love you too. But Ty, Mark
might not— If we don’t find the killer, Mark might not be able to stay here.”

“That’s why I want to help solve the mystery,” said Ty. “So Mark can stay. He could take care of us, and you could rest.” He pulled his jacket closed, shivering; the wind off the ocean was intensely cool. “I’m going to go inside and find Livvy. Mark too. He was probably worried.”

Julian stared after Ty as he went into the house. The look on his face—it was as if Emma were looking at one of his paintings, but crumpled and torn, the colors and lines jumbled. “They all think that, don’t they?” he said slowly. “They all think Mark is going to stay.”

Emma hesitated. A few days before, she would have told Julian not to be ridiculous. That Mark would stay with his family, no matter what. But she had seen the night sky in Mark’s eyes when he talked of the Hunt, heard the cold freedom in his voice. There were two Marks, she thought sometimes: the human and the faerie. Human Mark would stay. Faerie Mark could not be predicted.

“How could they
not
?” Emma said. “If I got one of my parents back somehow—and then thought they were going to leave again, voluntarily—”

Julian looked ashen. “We live in a world of demons and monsters, and the thing that scares me the most is the idea that Mark might decide he belongs with the Wild Hunt and leave. Even if we solve the mystery and satisfy the Fair Folk. He might still go. And he’ll smash their hearts to pieces. They’ll never recover.”

Emma moved closer to Julian, laying a hand against his shoulder.

“You can’t protect the kids against everything,” she said. “They have to live in the world and deal with what happens in the world. And that means loss sometimes. If Mark chooses to leave, it’ll be awful. But they’re strong kids. They’ll live through it.”

There was a long silence. Finally Julian spoke. “Sometimes I almost wish Mark hadn’t come back,” he said in a dry, tense voice. “What does that make me?”

H-U-M-A-N
, Emma traced on his back, and for a moment he leaned into her, seeming to draw comfort from her, the way
parabatai
were supposed to. The noises of the desert dimmed around them—it was something
parabatai
could do, create a quiet space where there was nothing but themselves and the live connection of magic that bound them.

A loud crash broke through the silence. Julian drew away from Emma with a start. There was another crash, clearly coming from inside the Institute. Julian spun around; a moment later he was racing up the back steps of the house.

Emma followed him. There was more noise: She could hear it even on the staircase, the clanging of dishware, the sound of laughing voices. They hurried upstairs, side by side. Emma reached the kitchen first and swung the door open.

She gasped.

17

T
HE
D
EMONS
D
OWN
U
NDER THE
S
EA

It looked as if the
kitchen had exploded.

The refrigerator had been emptied out. Ketchup decorated its once-white surface in scarlet swirls. One of the pantry doors was hanging off its hinges. The Costco tub of maple syrup had been dragged out, and syrup covered almost every available surface. A massive bag of powdered sugar had been torn open and Tavvy was sitting inside it, completely covered in white powder. He looked like a tiny abominable snowman.

Mark seemed to have tried cooking, since there were pans on the stove, filled with burned substances that were pouring smoke into the air. The flames were still on. Julian darted to turn them off while Emma stared.

Julian’s kitchen, which he’d stocked with food for five years, kept clean and cooked in, made pancakes in—was destroyed. Bags of candy had been ripped open and littered the floor. Dru was sitting on the counter, poking at a glass of something foul-looking and humming happily to herself. Livvy was curled up on one of the bench seats, giggling, a stick of licorice in her hand. Ty was beside her, licking a speck of sugar from the back of his wrist.

Mark emerged from the pantry wearing a white apron with red hearts on it and carrying two pieces of singed bread. “Toast!” he announced happily, before catching sight of Julian and Emma.

There was a silence. Julian appeared to be struggling for words; Emma found herself backing toward the door. She had suddenly remembered the fights Mark and Julian used to have when they were children. They had been vicious and bloody in scope, and Julian had given as good as he got.

In fact, sometimes he had given
before
he got.

Mark raised his eyebrows. “Toast?”

“That’s
my
toast,” Ty pointed out.

“Right.” Mark crossed the room, side-eyeing Julian as he went. Julian was still wordless, slumped against the stove. “And what do you want on your toast?”

“Pudding,” Ty said promptly.

“Pudding?” Julian echoed. Emma had to admit that when she’d imagined the first word Julian was going to say out loud in this situation, it hadn’t been “pudding.”

“Why not pudding?” Livvy said equably, locating a container of tapioca pudding and handing it to her twin, who began to spoon it onto the bread in measured doses.

Julian turned to Mark. “I thought you said she was locked in her room.”

“She came out when you guys texted that you found Ty,” said Mark.

“There didn’t seem to be any reason not to,” said Livvy.

“And why is the toaster in the pantry?” Julian said.

“I couldn’t find any other . . .” Mark seemed to be searching for words. “Electrical outlets.”

“And why is Tavvy in a bag of sugar?”

Mark shrugged. “He wanted to be in a bag of sugar.”

“That doesn’t mean you should
put
him in a bag of sugar.”
Julian’s voice rose. “Or practically destroy the stove. Or let Drusilla drink—what
is
in that glass, Dru?”

“Chocolate milk,” Dru said promptly. “With sour cream and Pepsi.”

Julian sighed. “She shouldn’t be drinking that.”

“Why not?” Mark untied the apron around his waist and flung it aside. “I do not understand the source of your anger, brother. They’re all alive, aren’t they?”

“That’s a pretty low bar,” Julian said. “If I’d realized all you thought you had to do was keep them alive—”

“That’s what you said,” Mark said, half angry and half bewildered. “You joked about it, said they could take care of themselves—”

“They can!” Julian had risen to his full height; he seemed suddenly to tower over Mark, bigger and broader and altogether more adult than his brother. “You’re the one causing the chaos! You’re their older brother, do you even know what that means? You’re meant to take better care of them than this!”

“Jules, it’s fine,” Livvy said. “We’re
fine
.”

“Fine?” Julian echoed. “Ty sneaked out—and I’ll talk to you about that later, Livia—got into Johnny Rook’s house, and held his son at knifepoint; Livvy locked herself in her room, and Tavvy is possibly permanently coated in sugar. As for Dru, we’ve got about five minutes until she throws up.”

“I won’t,” Dru said, scowling.

“I’ll clean it,” Mark said.

“You don’t know how!” Julian was white-faced and furious. Emma had rarely seen him so angry. “You,” he said, still looking at Mark, “you used to look after them, but I guess you’ve forgotten that. I guess you’ve forgotten how to do anything normal.”

Mark flinched. Tiberius stood up; his gray eyes burned in his pale face. His hands were moving at his sides, fluttering. Moth’s
wings—wings that could hold a knife, could cut a throat. “Stop,” he said.

Emma didn’t know whether he was talking to Julian, to Mark, or to the room in general, but she saw Julian freeze. She felt her heart contract as he looked around the room at his brothers and sisters. Dru sat unmoving; Tavvy had climbed out of the sugar and was gazing at Julian with wide blue-green eyes.

Mark was unmoving: his face pale, color striping the high cheekbones that marked out his faerie heritage.

There was love in his family’s eyes as they looked at Julian, and worry and fear, but Emma wondered if Jules could see any of it. If all he saw was the children he had given up so much of his life for, happy with someone else. If, like her, he looked at the kitchen and remembered how he had taught himself to clean it when he was twelve years old. Taught himself to cook: simple things at first, spaghetti and butter, toast and cheese. A million cheese sandwiches, a million burns on Julian’s hands and wrists from the stove and the spatter. The way he’d walked down the path to the highway every few days to accept the grocery delivery, before he could drive. The way he’d dragged and carried all their food back up the hill.

Julian on his knees, skinny in jeans and sweatshirt, scrubbing the floor. The kitchen had been designed by his mother, it was a piece of her, but it was also a piece of everything he’d given over the years to his family.

And he would do it again, Emma thought. Of course he would: He loved them that fiercely. The only thing that made Julian angry was fear, fear for his sisters and brothers.

He was afraid now, though Emma wasn’t sure why. She saw only the look on his face as he registered their resentment of him, their disappointment. The fire seemed to go out of him. He slid down the front of the stove until he was sitting on the floor.

“Jules?” It was Tavvy, white granules coating his hair. He shuffled close and put his arms around Julian’s neck.

Jules made an odd sound, and then he pulled his brother in and hugged him fiercely. Sugar sifted down onto his black gear, dusting it with white powder.

The kitchen door opened and Emma heard a gasp of surprise. She turned and saw Cristina gaping at the mess.
“¡Qué desastre!”

It didn’t exactly require a translation. Mark cleared his throat and began stacking dirty dishes in the sink. Not so much stacking them as flinging them, really. Livvy went over to help him while Cristina stared.

“Where’s Diana?” Emma asked.

“She’s home. Malcolm Portaled us there and back,” said Cristina, not taking her eyes off the charred pots on the stove. “She said she needed to catch up on sleep.”

Still holding Tavvy, Julian stood up. There was powdered sugar on his shirt, in his hair, but his face was calm, expressionless. “Sorry about the mess, Cristina.”

“It’s fine,” she said, looking around the room. “It is not my kitchen. Though,” she added hastily, “I can help you clean up.”

“Mark will clean up,” Julian said, without looking at his brother. “Did you and Diana find anything out from Malcolm?”

“He had gone to see some warlocks he thought might be able to help,” said Cristina. “We talked about Catarina Loss. I’ve heard of her—she teaches at the Academy sometimes, Downworlder studies. Apparently both Malcolm and Diana are good friends with her, so they exchanged a lot of stories I didn’t really understand.”

“Well, here’s what we learned from Rook,” said Emma, and launched into the story, leaving out the part where Ty had almost sliced off Kit Rook’s head.

“So someone needs to tail Sterling,” said Livvy eagerly when Emma was done. “Ty and I could do it.”

“You can’t drive,” Emma pointed out. “And we need you here for research.”

Livvy made a face. “So we get stuck here reading ‘it was many and many a year ago’ nine thousand times?”

“There’s no reason we can’t learn how to drive,” said Ty, looking mulish. “Mark was saying, it’s not like it matters that we’re not sixteen, it’s not as if we have to obey mundane laws anyway—”

“Did Mark say that?” Julian said quietly. “Fine. Mark can teach you how to drive.”

Mark dropped a plate into the sink with a crash. “Julian—”

“What is it, Mark?” said Jules. “Oh, right, you don’t actually know how to drive, either. And of course teaching someone to drive takes time, but you might not actually be here. Because there’s no guarantee you’re staying.”

“That’s not true,” Livvy said. “We’ve practically solved the case—”

“But Mark has a choice.” Julian was looking at his older brother over his baby brother’s head. His blue-green gaze was a steady fire. “Tell them, Mark. Tell them you’re sure you’ll choose us.”

Promise them,
his gaze said.
Promise them you won’t hurt them.

Mark said nothing.

Oh,
Emma thought. She remembered what Julian had said to her outside. This was what he was afraid of: that they loved Mark too much already. He would give up the children he loved to Mark without a murmur, if it was what they wanted—if, as Ty had said, they wanted Mark to take care of them. He would give them up because he loved them, because their happiness was his, because they were his breath and blood.

But Mark was his brother too, and he loved him as well. What did you do, what could you do, when what threatened the ones you loved was something else you loved just as much?

“Julian.” To everyone’s surprise, it was Uncle Arthur, standing in the doorway. He cast a brief, uninterested look over the mess in
the kitchen, before zeroing in on his nephew. “Julian, I need to talk to you about something. Privately.”

Faint worry flickered in the back of Julian’s eyes. He nodded to his uncle just as something buzzed in Emma’s pocket. Her phone.

Her stomach clenched. It was only two words, not from a number but from a series of zeroes.
THE CONVERGENCE
.

Something had tripped the monitor at the convergence site. Her mind raced. It was nearly sunset. The convergence door would be opening—but the Mantids would be stirring as well. She needed to leave immediately to get there at the safest time.

“Did someone call you?” Julian asked, glancing over at her. He was setting down Tavvy, ruffling his hair, gently pushing him toward Dru, who was looking distinctly green.

Emma stifled a frown—wouldn’t the message have gone to him, too? Or not—she remembered him saying that his phone was nearly dead, back at Johnny Rook’s. And Diana was asleep. Emma realized she might well be the only person here who had received the convergence message.

“Just Cameron,” she said, grabbing for the first available name she could think of. Jules’s eyes shuttered; maybe he was still worried she was going to tell Cameron about Mark. He looked pale. His expression was calm, but she could feel a tense misery coming off him in waves. She thought of the way he had clung to Ty in front of Johnny Rook’s house, the way he had looked at Mark. At Arthur.

Her training said she should bring Julian with her to the convergence. He was her
parabatai.
But she couldn’t tear him away from his family right now. She just couldn’t. Her mind rebelled against the thought in a way she couldn’t bring herself to examine too closely.

“Cristina.” Emma turned to her friend. “Can I talk to you in the hallway?”

With a worried look, Cristina followed Emma out into the corridor.

“Is this about Cameron?” Cristina said as soon as the kitchen door shut behind them. “I do not think I am up to giving any romantic advice right now—”

“I do have to go see Cameron,” said Emma, her mind working quickly. She could bring Cristina with her to the convergence. Cristina was trustworthy; she wouldn’t mention to anyone what they were doing. But Julian had been so clearly hurt—not just hurt, gutted—by her going to the cave alone with Mark and not telling him. And so much had strained and troubled their
parabatai
relationship—she couldn’t do it to him again by bringing someone else with her. “But it’s not that. Look, someone needs to tail Sterling. I don’t think anything’s going to happen with him—we’re still within the window of two days—but just in case.”

Cristina nodded. “I can do it. Diana left the truck; I’ll take it. I need the address, though.”

“Julian has it. And I’ll give you a note for him.”

“Good, because he’ll ask,” said Cristina dryly. There was a sudden terrible noise from the kitchen: the sound of Dru running across the kitchen floor and throwing up noisily into the sink.

“Oh, poor girl,” said Emma. “But I mean, that thing she drank was really disgusting. . . .”

“Emma, I know that you’re not telling me the truth. I know you are not going to see Cameron Ashdown.” Cristina held up a hand, stifling Emma’s protest. “And it is all right. You would not lie to me without good reason. It’s just—”

“Yes?” Emma said. She tried to keep her eyes guileless. It was better, she told herself. If Diana caught her, if she got in trouble, she’d be the only one who did: Cristina and Julian didn’t deserve that. She could weather it on her own.

“Be careful,” Cristina said. “Don’t make me regret lying for you, Emma Carstairs.”

*   *   *

The sun was a brilliant ball of flame out over the ocean as Emma steered the Toyota up the dirt road that led to the convergence. The sky was darkening fast. The Toyota bumped the last few yards over the field, nearly rolling into a shallow ditch before she braked and cut the engine.