“Of course. I should have recognized the Blackthorn eyes.” Rook’s voice turned silky. “You look just like your father, Julian.”
Julian didn’t much like the man’s smirk. Then again, he’d never liked anything about Emma associating with Rook. Mundanes who dabbled in magic, even ones with the Sight, were a gray area to the Clave—there wasn’t a Law, but neither were you supposed to deal with them. If you needed magic done, you hired a nice, Clave-approved warlock.
Not that Emma had ever cared much about the approval of the Clave.
LIVVY’S LYING. SHE ALWAYS KNOWS WHERE TY IS. MAKE HER TELL YOU. Jules shoved the phone back into his pocket. It wasn’t unusual for Ty to vanish, into corners of the library or places in the hill where he could coax lizards out from under their rocks. And he was angry, which made it more likely he’d hide.
The man swung the door open. “Come in,” he said in a resigned tone. “You know the rules. No taking out weapons, Carstairs. And no back talk.”
“Define ‘back talk,’” Emma said, stepping inside. Julian followed her. A wave of magic as thick as smoke in a burning building hit him. It hung in the air of the small living room, almost visible in the dim light that filtered through the yellowing curtains. Tall craftsman bookshelves held spell books and grimoires, copies of The Malleus Maleficarum, the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, The Lesser Key of Solomon, and a blood-red volume with the words Dragon Rouge lettered on the spine. A yellowish rag rug that matched the curtains lay crookedly on the floor; Rook kicked it aside with an unpleasant grin.
Under it was revealed a spell circle chalked onto the hardwood planks. It was the kind of circle warlocks stood inside when they summoned demons; the circle created a protective wall. It was actually two circles, one inside the other, making a sort of frame, and inside the frame were scrawled the sigils of the seventy Lords of Hell. Julian frowned as Rook stepped neatly into the circle and crossed his arms.
“A protection circle,” Rook said unnecessarily. “You can’t get in.”
“And you can’t get out,” Julian observed. “Not easily, anyway.”
Rook shrugged. “Why would I want to?”
“Because that’s some powerful magic you’re playing with.”
“Don’t judge,” Rook said. “We who cannot wield the magic of Heaven must use what comes to hand.”
“The sigils of Hell?” Julian said. “There’s some middle ground between Hell and Heaven, surely.”
Rook flashed a grin. “There’s all the world,” he said. “It’s a messy place, Shadowhunter, and we don’t all get to keep our hands clean.”
“There’s a difference between dirt and blood,” Julian said. Emma shot him a quelling look, one that said: We’re here because we need something. She didn’t always have to write on his skin for him to know what she was thinking.
The curtains rustled, though there was no breeze. “Look, we’re not here to bother you,” Emma said. “We just want some information, and we’ll go.”
“Information isn’t free,” said Rook.
“I’ve got something good for you this time. Better than cash,” Emma said. Avoiding Julian’s eyes, she took a pale column of silvery-white stone from the inside of her jacket pocket. She flushed slightly, aware of Julian’s eyes on her as he realized what she was holding: an unnamed seraph blade.
“What is he going to do with adamas?” Julian demanded.
“Adamas that has been treated by the Iron Sisters goes for a high price at the Shadow Market,” said Rook, not taking his eyes off Emma’s prize. “But it still depends on what you want to know about.”
“The Midnight Theater and the Followers,” Emma said. “We want to know about them.”
Rook narrowed his eyes. “What do you want to know?”
Emma gave him a brief rundown of the events of the night before, leaving out Mark and how they’d found out about the Lottery in the first place. When she was done, Rook whistled.
“Casper Sterling,” he said. “I always thought that guy was a scumbag. Yakking on about how he was better than werewolves, better than humans, too. Can’t say I’m sorry his number came up.”
“Johnny,” Emma said severely. “They’re going to kill him.”
An odd expression flickered across Rook’s face, but it vanished quickly. “And you want me to do what about it? They’re a whole organization, Carstairs.”
“We need to know who their leader is,” said Julian. “Belinda called him the Guardian. He’s the one we need to find.”
“I don’t know,” said Rook. “I’m not sure pissing off the Followers is worth even adamas.” But his eyes clung to the silvery-white stuff longingly. Emma pressed the advantage.
“They’ll never know you had anything to do with it,” she said. “But I saw you flirting with Belinda at the Shadow Market. She’s got to know.”
Rook shook his head. “She doesn’t.”
“Huh,” Emma said. “Okay, which of them does?”