Queen of Air and Darkness (The Dark Artifices #3)

“Drinks, madam and sirs? A draft to cool you after dancing?” said the tabby faerie in a soft and cooing voice. Cristina stared, remembering. Mark had bought her a drink from this cat-faced faerie at the revel she’d been to with him. He held the same gold tray with cups on it. Even his tattered Edwardian suit had not changed.

“No drinks, Tom Tildrum, King of Cats,” said Kieran. His voice was sharp, but he clearly recognized the cat faerie. “We need to find a Seelie procession. There could be several coins in it for you if you led us to the road.”

Tom gave a low hiss. “You are too late. The Queen’s procession passed by here an hour ago.”

Mark cursed and flung his hood back. Cristina didn’t even have time to be startled that usually gentle Mark was cursing; she felt as if a hole had been punched through her chest. Emma. Emma and Jules. They’d missed them. Kieran, too, looked dismayed.

“Give me a drink, then, Tom,” said Mark, and seized a glass of ruby-colored liquid from the tray.

Kieran held out a staying hand. “Mark! You know better!”

“It’s just fruit juice,” Mark said, his eyes on Cristina’s. She flushed and glanced away as he drained the glass.

A moment later he sank to the ground, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Mark!” Cristina gasped, flinging herself to the ground beside him. He was clearly unconscious, but just as clearly breathing. In fact, he was snoring a bit. “But it was just fruit juice!” she protested.

“I like to serve a variety of beverages,” said Tom.

Kieran knelt down by Cristina. His hood had partly fallen back, and Cristina could see the concern on his face as he touched Mark’s chest lightly. The smudges on his cheeks made his eyes stand out starkly. “Tom Tildrum,” he said in a tight voice. “It’s not safe here.”

“Not for you, for the sons of the Unseelie King are at each other’s throats like cats,” said Tom Tildrum with a flash of incisors.

“Then you see why you must lead us through to the road,” Kieran said.

“And if I do not?”

Kieran rose to his feet, managing to exude princely menace despite his dirty face. “Then I will yank your tail until you howl.”

Tom Tildrum hissed as Kieran and Cristina bent to lift Mark and carry him between them. “Come with me, then, and be quick about it, before Prince Oban sees. He would not like me helping you, Prince Kieran. He would not like it at all.”

*

Kit lay on the roof of the Institute, his hands behind his head. The air was blowing from the desert, warm and soft as a blanket tickling his skin. If he turned his head one way, he could see Malibu, a chain of glittering lights strung along the curve of the seashore.

This was the Los Angeles people sang about in pop songs, he thought, and put into movies; sea and sand and expensive houses, perfect weather and air that breathed as soft as powder. He had never known it before, living with his father in the shadow of smog and downtown skyscrapers.

If he turned his head the other way, he could see Ty, a black-and-white figure perched beside him at the roof’s edge. The sleeves of Ty’s hoodie were pulled down, and he worried their frayed edges with his fingers. His black eyelashes were so long Kit could see the breeze move them as if it were ruffling sea grass.

The feeling of his own heart turning over was now so familiar that Kit didn’t question it or what it meant.

“I can’t believe Hypatia agreed to our plan,” Kit said. “Do you think she really means it?”

“She must mean it,” said Ty, staring out over the ocean. The moon was hidden behind clouds, and the ocean seemed to be absorbing light, sucking it down into its black depth. Along the border where the sea met the shore, white foam ran like a stitched ribbon. “She wouldn’t have sent us the money if she hadn’t. Especially enchanted money.”

Kit yawned. “True. When a warlock sends you money, you know it’s serious. I guarantee you that if we don’t get this done like we said we would, she’s going to come after us—for the money, at least.”

Ty pulled his knees up against his chest. “The issue here is that we have to get a meeting with Barnabas, but he hates us. We’ve already seen that. We can’t get near him.”

“You should maybe have thought of that before you made this deal,” said Kit.

Ty looked confused for a moment, then smiled. “Details, Watson.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe we should disguise ourselves.”

“I think we should ask Dru.”

“Dru? Why Dru?” Now Ty looked baffled. “Ask her what?”

“To help us. Barnabas doesn’t know her. And she does look a lot older than she is.”

“No. Not Dru.”

Kit remembered Dru’s face in the library when she’d talked about Jaime. He listened to me and he watched horror movies with me and he acted like what I said was important. He remembered how happy she’d been to be taught lock picking. “Why not? We can trust her. She’s lonely and bored. I think she’d like to be included.”

“But we can’t tell her about Shade.” Ty was pale as the moon. “Or the Black Volume.”

True, Kit thought to himself. I’m definitely not telling Drusilla about a plan that I hope falls apart before it ever comes to fruition.

He sat up. “No—no, definitely not. It would be dangerous for her to know anything about—about that. All we need to tell her is that we’re trying to get back on good terms with the Shadow Market.”

Ty’s gaze slid away from Kit. “You really like Drusilla.”

“I think she feels very alone,” said Kit. “I get that.”

“I don’t want her to be in danger,” said Ty. “She can’t be in any kind of danger.” He tugged at the sleeves of his hoodie. “When Livvy comes back, I’m going to tell her I want to do the parabatai ceremony right away.”

“I thought you wanted to go to the Scholomance?” said Kit without thinking. If only Ty could see that was a possibility for him now, Kit wished—and instantly hated himself for thinking it. Of course Ty wouldn’t want to consider Livvy’s death to be any form of freedom.

“No,” Ty said sharply. “Remember, I told you, I don’t want to go there anymore. Besides, you can’t have parabatai at the Scholomance. It’s a rule. And rules are important.”

Kit didn’t even want to think about how many rules they were breaking right now. Ty had clearly compartmentalized what it would take to bring Livvy back, but nothing like that ever worked perfectly. He was worrying hard at the cuffs of his hoodie now, his fingers shaking a little.

Kit touched Ty’s shoulder. He was sitting slightly behind him. Ty’s back curved as he hunched forward, but he didn’t avoid the touch.

“How many windows does the front of the Institute have?” Kit said.

“Thirty-six,” said Ty. “Thirty-seven if you count the attic, but it’s papered over. Why?”

“Because that’s what I like about you,” Kit said in a low voice, and Ty’s shaking stilled slightly. “The way you notice everything. Nothing gets forgotten. Nothing”—and no one—“gets overlooked.”

*

Emma had begun to nod off again as the night wore on. She woke when her horse stopped in its tracks and pushed her hood back slightly, gazing around her.

They had reached the tower. Dawn was breaking and in the first threads of light, the only permanent manifestation of the Unseelie Court looked less like Julian’s mural and more like something from a nightmare. The hedge of thorns surrounding the tower was nothing like modest rosebushes. The thorns were steel-colored, each easily a foot long. Here and there they were studded with what looked like massive white flowers. The tower’s walls were smooth and dark as anthracite, and windowless.

Emma’s breath made tracks against the chilly air. She shivered and drew Nene’s cloak closer, murmurs rising all around as the sleepy procession of Seelie faeries began to come back to wakefulness. The girls behind her were chattering about what kind of rooms and welcome they might expect from the King. Julian was motionless beside Emma, his spine straight, his hood concealing his face.