Lady Midnight
Page 25
“Well, all right, then a girlfriend. You should find a nice Downworlder girl, maybe a vampire, so she’ll live forever.”
“Leave Malcolm’s love life alone, Dru,” said Livvy.
“True love is hard to find,” Malcolm said, gesturing at the people kissing on-screen.
“Movie love is hard to find,” said Julian. “Because it’s not real.”
“What do you mean?” said Cristina. “Are you saying there is no true love? I don’t believe that.”
“Love isn’t chasing someone to the airport,” said Julian. He leaned forward, and Emma could see just the edge of the parabatai Mark on his collarbone, escaping above the neck of his T-shirt. “Love means you see someone. That’s all.”
“You see them?” Ty echoed, sounding dubious. He’d turned the music down on his player, but his headphones were still on, his black hair scrunched up around them.
Julian took hold of the remote. The movie had ended; white credits scrolled down the screen. “When you love someone, they become a part of who you are. They’re in everything you do. They’re in the air you breathe and the water you drink and the blood in your veins. Their touch stays on your skin and their voice stays in your ears and their thoughts stay in your mind. You know their dreams because their nightmares pierce your heart and their good dreams are your dreams too. And you don’t think they’re perfect, but you know their flaws, the deep-down truth of them, and the shadows of all their secrets, and they don’t frighten you away; in fact you love them more for it, because you don’t want perfect. You want them. You want—”
He broke off then, as if realizing everyone was looking at him.
“You want what?” said Dru with enormous eyes.
“Nothing,” Julian said. “I’m just talking.” And he shut off the TV and picked up the pizza boxes. “I’m going to throw these away,” he said, and left.
“When he falls in love,” said Dru, looking after him, “it’s going to be like . . . wow.”
“Of course then we’ll probably never see him again,” said Livvy. “Lucky girl, whoever she’ll be.”
Ty’s brows drew together. “You’re joking, right?” he said. “You don’t mean we’ll actually never see him again?”
“Definitely not,” Emma said. When Ty was much younger, he’d been puzzled by the way people talked and the way they exaggerated to make a point. Phrases like “raining cats and dogs” had caused him annoyance—and sometimes a small amount of betrayal, since he liked cats and dogs a great deal more than he liked rain.
At some point Julian had begun a series of silly drawings for him, showing the literal meaning of phrases and then the figurative ones. Ty had giggled at the illustrations of cats and dogs falling out of the sky and people having their socks knocked off, as well as the bubble pictures of animals and people explaining what the idioms really meant. After that he was often to be found in the library, looking up expressions and their meanings, committing them to memory. Ty didn’t mind having things explained to him, and he never forgot what he’d been taught, but he preferred teaching himself.
He still sometimes liked to be reassured that an exaggeration was an exaggeration, even if he was 90 percent sure of it. Livvy, who knew better than anyone the anxiety that imprecise language could cause her brother, scrambled to her feet and went over to him. She put her arms around him, her chin against his shoulder. Ty leaned against her, his eyes half-lidded. Ty liked physical affection when he was in the mood for it, as long as it wasn’t too intense—he liked having his hair ruffled and his back patted or scratched. Sometimes he reminded Emma a bit of their cat, Church, when Church wanted an ear rub.
Light flared. Cristina had gotten up and flicked the witchlight back on. Brightness expanded to fill the room as Julian came back in and looked around; whatever composure he’d lost was back. “It’s late,” he said. “Bedtime. Especially for you, Tavvy.”
“Hate bedtime,” said Tavvy, who was sitting in Malcolm’s lap, playing with a toy the warlock had given him. It was square and purple and sent off bright sparks.
“That’s the spirit of the revolution,” said Jules. “Malcolm, thanks. I’m sure we’ll be needing your help again.”
Malcolm set Tavvy gently aside and stood up, brushing pizza dust from his rumpled clothes. Picking up his discarded jacket, he headed out into the hallway, Emma and Julian following him. “Well, you know where to find me,” he said, zipping the jacket up. “I was going to talk to Diana tomorrow about—”
“Diana can’t know,” Emma said.
Malcolm looked puzzled. “Can’t know about what?”
“That we’re looking into this,” Julian said, cutting Emma off. “She doesn’t want us involved. Says it’s dangerous.”
Malcolm looked disgruntled. “You could have mentioned that before,” he said. “I don’t like keeping things from her.”
“Sorry,” Julian said. His expression was smooth, faintly apologetic. As always, Emma was both impressed and a little frightened by his ability to lie. Julian was an expert liar when he wanted to be; no shadow of what he really felt would touch his face. “We can’t go much further with this without help from the Clave and the Silent Brothers anyway.”
“All right.” Malcolm looked at them both closely; Emma did her best to match Julian’s poker face. “As long as you talk to Diana about this tomorrow.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, the light gleaming off his colorless hair. “There is one thing I didn’t get a chance to tell you. Those markings around the body that Emma found, they weren’t for a protective spell.”
“But you said—” Emma started.
“I changed my mind when I got a closer look,” Malcolm said. “They’re not protective runes. They’re summoning runes. Someone’s using the energy of the dead bodies to summon.”
“To summon what?” said Jules.
Malcolm shook his head. “Something to this world. A demon, an angel, I don’t know. I’ll look at the photos some more, ask around the Spiral Labyrinth discreetly.”
“So if it was a summoning spell,” Emma said, “was it successful or unsuccessful?”
“A spell like that?” Malcolm said. “If it was successful, believe me, you’d know.”
Emma was woken up by a plaintive meow.
She opened her eyes to find a Persian cat sitting on her chest. It was a blue Persian, to be precise, very round, with tucked-in ears and large yellow eyes.
With a yelp Emma leaped to her feet. The cat went flying. The next few moments were chaos as she stumbled over her nightstand while the cat yowled. Finally she succeeded in turning on the light, to find the cat sitting by the door of her room, looking smug and entitled.
“Church,” she wailed. “Seriously? Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
It was clear from Church’s expression that he didn’t. Church was a cat who sometimes belonged to the Institute. He’d shown up on the front step four years ago, left in a box on the doorstep with a note addressed to Emma and a line of script underneath. Please take care of my cat. Brother Zachariah.
“Leave Malcolm’s love life alone, Dru,” said Livvy.
“True love is hard to find,” Malcolm said, gesturing at the people kissing on-screen.
“Movie love is hard to find,” said Julian. “Because it’s not real.”
“What do you mean?” said Cristina. “Are you saying there is no true love? I don’t believe that.”
“Love isn’t chasing someone to the airport,” said Julian. He leaned forward, and Emma could see just the edge of the parabatai Mark on his collarbone, escaping above the neck of his T-shirt. “Love means you see someone. That’s all.”
“You see them?” Ty echoed, sounding dubious. He’d turned the music down on his player, but his headphones were still on, his black hair scrunched up around them.
Julian took hold of the remote. The movie had ended; white credits scrolled down the screen. “When you love someone, they become a part of who you are. They’re in everything you do. They’re in the air you breathe and the water you drink and the blood in your veins. Their touch stays on your skin and their voice stays in your ears and their thoughts stay in your mind. You know their dreams because their nightmares pierce your heart and their good dreams are your dreams too. And you don’t think they’re perfect, but you know their flaws, the deep-down truth of them, and the shadows of all their secrets, and they don’t frighten you away; in fact you love them more for it, because you don’t want perfect. You want them. You want—”
He broke off then, as if realizing everyone was looking at him.
“You want what?” said Dru with enormous eyes.
“Nothing,” Julian said. “I’m just talking.” And he shut off the TV and picked up the pizza boxes. “I’m going to throw these away,” he said, and left.
“When he falls in love,” said Dru, looking after him, “it’s going to be like . . . wow.”
“Of course then we’ll probably never see him again,” said Livvy. “Lucky girl, whoever she’ll be.”
Ty’s brows drew together. “You’re joking, right?” he said. “You don’t mean we’ll actually never see him again?”
“Definitely not,” Emma said. When Ty was much younger, he’d been puzzled by the way people talked and the way they exaggerated to make a point. Phrases like “raining cats and dogs” had caused him annoyance—and sometimes a small amount of betrayal, since he liked cats and dogs a great deal more than he liked rain.
At some point Julian had begun a series of silly drawings for him, showing the literal meaning of phrases and then the figurative ones. Ty had giggled at the illustrations of cats and dogs falling out of the sky and people having their socks knocked off, as well as the bubble pictures of animals and people explaining what the idioms really meant. After that he was often to be found in the library, looking up expressions and their meanings, committing them to memory. Ty didn’t mind having things explained to him, and he never forgot what he’d been taught, but he preferred teaching himself.
He still sometimes liked to be reassured that an exaggeration was an exaggeration, even if he was 90 percent sure of it. Livvy, who knew better than anyone the anxiety that imprecise language could cause her brother, scrambled to her feet and went over to him. She put her arms around him, her chin against his shoulder. Ty leaned against her, his eyes half-lidded. Ty liked physical affection when he was in the mood for it, as long as it wasn’t too intense—he liked having his hair ruffled and his back patted or scratched. Sometimes he reminded Emma a bit of their cat, Church, when Church wanted an ear rub.
Light flared. Cristina had gotten up and flicked the witchlight back on. Brightness expanded to fill the room as Julian came back in and looked around; whatever composure he’d lost was back. “It’s late,” he said. “Bedtime. Especially for you, Tavvy.”
“Hate bedtime,” said Tavvy, who was sitting in Malcolm’s lap, playing with a toy the warlock had given him. It was square and purple and sent off bright sparks.
“That’s the spirit of the revolution,” said Jules. “Malcolm, thanks. I’m sure we’ll be needing your help again.”
Malcolm set Tavvy gently aside and stood up, brushing pizza dust from his rumpled clothes. Picking up his discarded jacket, he headed out into the hallway, Emma and Julian following him. “Well, you know where to find me,” he said, zipping the jacket up. “I was going to talk to Diana tomorrow about—”
“Diana can’t know,” Emma said.
Malcolm looked puzzled. “Can’t know about what?”
“That we’re looking into this,” Julian said, cutting Emma off. “She doesn’t want us involved. Says it’s dangerous.”
Malcolm looked disgruntled. “You could have mentioned that before,” he said. “I don’t like keeping things from her.”
“Sorry,” Julian said. His expression was smooth, faintly apologetic. As always, Emma was both impressed and a little frightened by his ability to lie. Julian was an expert liar when he wanted to be; no shadow of what he really felt would touch his face. “We can’t go much further with this without help from the Clave and the Silent Brothers anyway.”
“All right.” Malcolm looked at them both closely; Emma did her best to match Julian’s poker face. “As long as you talk to Diana about this tomorrow.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, the light gleaming off his colorless hair. “There is one thing I didn’t get a chance to tell you. Those markings around the body that Emma found, they weren’t for a protective spell.”
“But you said—” Emma started.
“I changed my mind when I got a closer look,” Malcolm said. “They’re not protective runes. They’re summoning runes. Someone’s using the energy of the dead bodies to summon.”
“To summon what?” said Jules.
Malcolm shook his head. “Something to this world. A demon, an angel, I don’t know. I’ll look at the photos some more, ask around the Spiral Labyrinth discreetly.”
“So if it was a summoning spell,” Emma said, “was it successful or unsuccessful?”
“A spell like that?” Malcolm said. “If it was successful, believe me, you’d know.”
Emma was woken up by a plaintive meow.
She opened her eyes to find a Persian cat sitting on her chest. It was a blue Persian, to be precise, very round, with tucked-in ears and large yellow eyes.
With a yelp Emma leaped to her feet. The cat went flying. The next few moments were chaos as she stumbled over her nightstand while the cat yowled. Finally she succeeded in turning on the light, to find the cat sitting by the door of her room, looking smug and entitled.
“Church,” she wailed. “Seriously? Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
It was clear from Church’s expression that he didn’t. Church was a cat who sometimes belonged to the Institute. He’d shown up on the front step four years ago, left in a box on the doorstep with a note addressed to Emma and a line of script underneath. Please take care of my cat. Brother Zachariah.
