Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 69
An odd expression passed over the warlock’s face; interestingly, Shade did not look happy. He looked surprised and disturbed. Kit filed the fact away for future consideration.
“Then you can begin the spell,” said Shade slowly. “Once you’ve acquired all the ingredients, of course.”
“What are the ingredients?” asked Kit. “Please tell me we don’t have to do Malcolm’s thing with the hands of twelve murderers. I don’t know twelve murderers. I don’t even know twelve shoplifters.”
“No.” Shade had begun to pace. “Malcolm brought Annabel back the way he did because he had her body. We don’t have your sister’s body, so we can’t use his methods.”
“She wasn’t my sister,” murmured Kit.
“If I remember correctly, there’s only one spell from the book that you can use,” said Shade, still pacing.
“That’s right,” said Ty.
“There’s really a spell?” Kit said. They both looked at him. “I just—I don’t see how you can bring someone back from the dead when their body is gone.”
Ty had gone tense all over. “The book says you can do it,” he said. “It says it’s possible.”
Shade snapped his fingers, and a mug of something steaming appeared on the table. He slumped into the chair and curled his hands around it, looking grim, or as grim as a green warlock in fuzzy slippers could look. “Because there’s no body, this is a highly unstable spell,” he said. “You aren’t the first to try it. Nothing is ever truly destroyed. That much is true. There are ways that the bodiless dead can be returned. Their spirit can be placed in another body, but that is a true evil, because the first body will die.”
“No!” said Ty. “I don’t want that. Livvy wouldn’t want that.”
“The body can return as a living corpse,” Shade went on. “Not dead but not entirely alive. The body could come back with a corrupted mind, looking perfectly like Livvy but unable to think or speak. The disembodied spirit might return, or in some cases a Livvy from another world—like Edom—could be snatched into ours, leaving a hole behind in the world she departed.”
“It seems like there aren’t any good options,” Kit said nervously.
“But it can work,” said Ty. All the blood had drained from his face. “It has worked in the past. People have been brought back, perfectly.”
“Unfortunately,” said Shade, “yes.”
Kit knew already that “yes” was all Ty would hear. “We’ll get it right,” Ty said. “We’ll get the real Livvy back.”
Kit felt the back of his neck prickle. He couldn’t tell if Ty was panicking, but Kit definitely was. What in his life had he ever gotten so right that he had the nerve to volunteer for a project that absolutely couldn’t go wrong?
“What are the things we need from the Market?” Ty said. He didn’t sound like he was panicking, and his calmness let Kit breathe again.
Shade sighed and drew a piece of paper toward him across the desk; he must already have scribbled on it some time before. He began to read the list out loud:
“Incense from the heart of a volcano.
Chalk powdered from the bones of a murder victim.
Blood, hair, and bone of the person to be brought over.
Myrrh grown by faeries, harvested at midnight with a silver sickle.
An object from another world.”
“The person to be brought over?” Ty said. “That’s Livvy, right?”
“Of course,” Shade said.
“Without her body, how can we get her blood, hair, and bone?” said Kit. His mind raced along with the question: Maybe it would be impossible, maybe they couldn’t get the ingredients, and there would never be a chance of getting the spell wrong and inviting disaster.
“It can be done,” said Ty quietly. His fingers touched the locket at his neck briefly. “The incense, the myrrh—we can get those at the Market.”
“What about an object from another world?” said Kit.
“There are a few in this dimension,” said Shade. “Most are in the Spiral Labyrinth.” He held up a hand. “And before you ask, no, I will not help you get one. My assistance ends with advising you.”
Ty frowned. “But we’ll need you to help with the spell,” he said. “Shadowhunters—we can’t do magic.”
Kit knew what Ty meant. Warlocks were among the few who could naturally do magic in the world; magicians like his father had to find an energy source because they couldn’t tap into ley lines, and energy sources—especially clean ones like the one Shade had promised them—weren’t easy to get. Even if you could find someone to sell you a catalyst, Shadowhunters were forbidden by Law to buy that sort of thing, and even if Ty didn’t care about breaking the Law, it would take him years to learn how to perform magic the way Johnny Rook had.
“I said I would contribute a catalyst you could use,” said Shade. “You must do the rest yourselves. I will not touch necromancy.”
Church meowed.
Ty picked up the list of ingredients; his eyes were deep and dark, more black than gray in the cave light. “Okay,” he said. “Good enough.”
He took out his witchlight and gestured for Kit to follow him; Shade rose to his feet and said something about walking them out. Kit hurried after Ty, who seemed as eager to be gone as he had been to come in the first place.
They had reached the end of the tunnel, where the rock opened out into sand and ocean, when Shade put his hand on Kit’s shoulder.
“Christopher,” he said. “Wait one moment.”
Ty had already made his way out onto the beach. He was bent over; Kit realized he was stroking Church’s fur. The cat had followed them out soundlessly and was making figure eights between Ty’s legs, rubbing his head against the boy’s calves.
“Watch over Tiberius,” said Shade. There was something in his voice, an inflection, that made it sound as if he had learned English a long time ago. “There are many ways to be endangered by magic.”
Kit glanced up in surprise. “What do you mean? We don’t have to kill anybody, or create any death magic energy. Isn’t that what makes necromancy wrong?”
Shade sighed. “Magic is like thermodynamics,” he said. “You’re always taking something from somewhere. Every act has repercussions, and this one may have repercussions you do not expect and cannot guard against. I see you think of yourself as Ty’s protector.” His voice gentled. “Sometimes you need to guard people against the things they want, as well as the things they fear.”
Kit’s heart clenched.
Out on the beach, Ty straightened up. The wind blew his hair, and he reached up his hands, unhesitating and unselfconscious, to touch the wind and the night air. His face shone like a star. In all the world, Kit had never met anyone he believed to be so incapable of evil.
“I would never let anything hurt Ty,” he said. “You see, I—”
He turned to tell Shade, to explain to him how it was, how it would always be. But the warlock had disappeared.
* * *
Mark’s skin burned softly where the pure iron manacles had been chained around his wrists.
Oban and his guard rode ahead on their horses; Manuel was in among them, as if it were natural for a Shadowhunter to ride among Unseelie hosts. He turned occasionally to smirk at Mark and Kieran, who walked behind the group. Manacles circled both their wrists, connected to a thick iron chain that clipped to the pommel of Oban’s saddle.
It was a punishment Mark had seen before. He kept an anxious eye on Kieran in case he stumbled. A prisoner who fell would be dragged along behind Unseelie horses while the guards laughed.
Kieran was already pale with pain. The cold iron affected him much more than it did Mark; his wrists were bleeding and chafed where the iron touched them.
“They spoke of hostages,” he said finally, as they reached the crest of a low hill. “Whose death are we being exchanged for?”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” said Mark.
“I am afraid,” said Kieran, naked honesty in his voice. “Manuel Villalobos was at the Scholomance when I was hiding there. He is a terrible person. There is nothing he would not do. Most of the Cohort strike me as followers rather than leaders, even Zara. She does as her father tells her, as she has been taught, though they are teachings of hatred and cruelty. But Manuel is different. He does what he does because he wishes to cause people pain.”
“Then you can begin the spell,” said Shade slowly. “Once you’ve acquired all the ingredients, of course.”
“What are the ingredients?” asked Kit. “Please tell me we don’t have to do Malcolm’s thing with the hands of twelve murderers. I don’t know twelve murderers. I don’t even know twelve shoplifters.”
“No.” Shade had begun to pace. “Malcolm brought Annabel back the way he did because he had her body. We don’t have your sister’s body, so we can’t use his methods.”
“She wasn’t my sister,” murmured Kit.
“If I remember correctly, there’s only one spell from the book that you can use,” said Shade, still pacing.
“That’s right,” said Ty.
“There’s really a spell?” Kit said. They both looked at him. “I just—I don’t see how you can bring someone back from the dead when their body is gone.”
Ty had gone tense all over. “The book says you can do it,” he said. “It says it’s possible.”
Shade snapped his fingers, and a mug of something steaming appeared on the table. He slumped into the chair and curled his hands around it, looking grim, or as grim as a green warlock in fuzzy slippers could look. “Because there’s no body, this is a highly unstable spell,” he said. “You aren’t the first to try it. Nothing is ever truly destroyed. That much is true. There are ways that the bodiless dead can be returned. Their spirit can be placed in another body, but that is a true evil, because the first body will die.”
“No!” said Ty. “I don’t want that. Livvy wouldn’t want that.”
“The body can return as a living corpse,” Shade went on. “Not dead but not entirely alive. The body could come back with a corrupted mind, looking perfectly like Livvy but unable to think or speak. The disembodied spirit might return, or in some cases a Livvy from another world—like Edom—could be snatched into ours, leaving a hole behind in the world she departed.”
“It seems like there aren’t any good options,” Kit said nervously.
“But it can work,” said Ty. All the blood had drained from his face. “It has worked in the past. People have been brought back, perfectly.”
“Unfortunately,” said Shade, “yes.”
Kit knew already that “yes” was all Ty would hear. “We’ll get it right,” Ty said. “We’ll get the real Livvy back.”
Kit felt the back of his neck prickle. He couldn’t tell if Ty was panicking, but Kit definitely was. What in his life had he ever gotten so right that he had the nerve to volunteer for a project that absolutely couldn’t go wrong?
“What are the things we need from the Market?” Ty said. He didn’t sound like he was panicking, and his calmness let Kit breathe again.
Shade sighed and drew a piece of paper toward him across the desk; he must already have scribbled on it some time before. He began to read the list out loud:
“Incense from the heart of a volcano.
Chalk powdered from the bones of a murder victim.
Blood, hair, and bone of the person to be brought over.
Myrrh grown by faeries, harvested at midnight with a silver sickle.
An object from another world.”
“The person to be brought over?” Ty said. “That’s Livvy, right?”
“Of course,” Shade said.
“Without her body, how can we get her blood, hair, and bone?” said Kit. His mind raced along with the question: Maybe it would be impossible, maybe they couldn’t get the ingredients, and there would never be a chance of getting the spell wrong and inviting disaster.
“It can be done,” said Ty quietly. His fingers touched the locket at his neck briefly. “The incense, the myrrh—we can get those at the Market.”
“What about an object from another world?” said Kit.
“There are a few in this dimension,” said Shade. “Most are in the Spiral Labyrinth.” He held up a hand. “And before you ask, no, I will not help you get one. My assistance ends with advising you.”
Ty frowned. “But we’ll need you to help with the spell,” he said. “Shadowhunters—we can’t do magic.”
Kit knew what Ty meant. Warlocks were among the few who could naturally do magic in the world; magicians like his father had to find an energy source because they couldn’t tap into ley lines, and energy sources—especially clean ones like the one Shade had promised them—weren’t easy to get. Even if you could find someone to sell you a catalyst, Shadowhunters were forbidden by Law to buy that sort of thing, and even if Ty didn’t care about breaking the Law, it would take him years to learn how to perform magic the way Johnny Rook had.
“I said I would contribute a catalyst you could use,” said Shade. “You must do the rest yourselves. I will not touch necromancy.”
Church meowed.
Ty picked up the list of ingredients; his eyes were deep and dark, more black than gray in the cave light. “Okay,” he said. “Good enough.”
He took out his witchlight and gestured for Kit to follow him; Shade rose to his feet and said something about walking them out. Kit hurried after Ty, who seemed as eager to be gone as he had been to come in the first place.
They had reached the end of the tunnel, where the rock opened out into sand and ocean, when Shade put his hand on Kit’s shoulder.
“Christopher,” he said. “Wait one moment.”
Ty had already made his way out onto the beach. He was bent over; Kit realized he was stroking Church’s fur. The cat had followed them out soundlessly and was making figure eights between Ty’s legs, rubbing his head against the boy’s calves.
“Watch over Tiberius,” said Shade. There was something in his voice, an inflection, that made it sound as if he had learned English a long time ago. “There are many ways to be endangered by magic.”
Kit glanced up in surprise. “What do you mean? We don’t have to kill anybody, or create any death magic energy. Isn’t that what makes necromancy wrong?”
Shade sighed. “Magic is like thermodynamics,” he said. “You’re always taking something from somewhere. Every act has repercussions, and this one may have repercussions you do not expect and cannot guard against. I see you think of yourself as Ty’s protector.” His voice gentled. “Sometimes you need to guard people against the things they want, as well as the things they fear.”
Kit’s heart clenched.
Out on the beach, Ty straightened up. The wind blew his hair, and he reached up his hands, unhesitating and unselfconscious, to touch the wind and the night air. His face shone like a star. In all the world, Kit had never met anyone he believed to be so incapable of evil.
“I would never let anything hurt Ty,” he said. “You see, I—”
He turned to tell Shade, to explain to him how it was, how it would always be. But the warlock had disappeared.
* * *
Mark’s skin burned softly where the pure iron manacles had been chained around his wrists.
Oban and his guard rode ahead on their horses; Manuel was in among them, as if it were natural for a Shadowhunter to ride among Unseelie hosts. He turned occasionally to smirk at Mark and Kieran, who walked behind the group. Manacles circled both their wrists, connected to a thick iron chain that clipped to the pommel of Oban’s saddle.
It was a punishment Mark had seen before. He kept an anxious eye on Kieran in case he stumbled. A prisoner who fell would be dragged along behind Unseelie horses while the guards laughed.
Kieran was already pale with pain. The cold iron affected him much more than it did Mark; his wrists were bleeding and chafed where the iron touched them.
“They spoke of hostages,” he said finally, as they reached the crest of a low hill. “Whose death are we being exchanged for?”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” said Mark.
“I am afraid,” said Kieran, naked honesty in his voice. “Manuel Villalobos was at the Scholomance when I was hiding there. He is a terrible person. There is nothing he would not do. Most of the Cohort strike me as followers rather than leaders, even Zara. She does as her father tells her, as she has been taught, though they are teachings of hatred and cruelty. But Manuel is different. He does what he does because he wishes to cause people pain.”
