Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 85
The stairs shook underfoot but held; the top of the bluffs was in sight. Emma reached the end of the stairs—and cried out as she was whisked out of sight.
Julian’s vision went white. He had no awareness of climbing the rest of the steps; he was simply at the top of the bluffs—familiar highway, rows of parked cars, sand and grass underfoot—and there was Emma, held in the grip of a tall, redheaded boy whose familiar face smacked Julian like a punch in the gut.
“Cameron?” Julian said, incredulous. “Cameron Ashdown?”
Cameron looked about nineteen or twenty. His thick red hair was cut military short. He was whipcord lean, wearing a tan T-shirt and camo pants, a Sam Browne belt slung diagonally over his shoulder. There was a pistol thrust through it.
His face twisted in disgust. “Both of you together. I might have guessed.”
Julian took a step forward. “Let her go, you Endarkened piece of—”
Cameron’s eyes rounded with almost comical surprise, and Emma took advantage of the moment to kick backward savagely, twisting her body to deliver several quick punches to his side. She spun away from him as he gagged, but he’d already gotten the pistol out of its holster.
He pointed it at both of them. Shadowhunters didn’t use guns, but Julian could tell just by the way he held it that this Cameron Ashdown knew them well.
If Cameron shot, Julian thought, there might be time for him to throw himself in front of Emma. He’d take the bullet, even if he hated the idea of leaving her here alone. . . .
Cameron raised his voice. “Livia!” he called. “You’re going to want to see this.”
Julian’s chest turned to ice. He imagined he was still breathing, he must be or he’d die, but he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel the blood in his body or the pulse of his breath or the beat of his heart. He only saw her, appearing from between two cars: She walked toward them casually, her long dark Blackthorn hair blowing in the wind off the sea.
Livvy.
She looked about seventeen. She wore black leather pants with a bullet belt slung around her waist and a gray tank top with holes in it over a mesh shirt. Her boots were thick-soled with a dozen buckles. On her wrists were D-ring canvas bracelets with short throwing knives shoved under the straps. A scar—one of many—cut across her face, from the top of her left temple, across her eye, to the middle of her cheek. She carried a shotgun, and as she walked toward them, she raised it effortlessly and pointed it directly at Julian.
“It’s them,” Cameron said. “Don’t know what they’re doing away from the other Endarkened.”
“Who cares?” Livvy said. “I’m gonna kill them, and they’d thank me for it if they still had souls.”
Julian threw up his hands. Joy at seeing her, uncontrollable and dizzying, warred with panic. “Livvy, it’s us—”
“Don’t even try,” she spat. She pumped the shotgun expertly. “I’d tell you to pray, but the Angel is dead.”
“Look—” Emma started, and Livvy began to swing the gun toward her; Julian took a step toward his sister, and then Cameron, who Julian had almost forgotten was there, said:
“Wait.”
Livvy froze. “This had better be good, Cam.”
Cameron pointed at Julian. “His collar’s torn—” He shook his head impatiently. “Show her,” he said to Julian.
“Your rune,” Emma whispered, and Julian, realization bursting brightly behind his eyes, yanked his collar down to show Livvy the rune on his chest. Though Julian’s impermanent runes—Night Vision, Stealth, Sure-Strike—had been fading to gray since they’d entered Faerie, his parabatai rune stood out black and clear.
Livvy froze.
“The Endarkened can’t bear Nephilim runes,” said Julian. “You know that, Livvy.”
“I know you think we’re Emma and Julian, the Endarkened version,” said Emma. “But we’ve seen them. They’re down on the beach.” She pointed. “Seriously. Look.”
A flicker of doubt crossed Livvy’s face. “Cameron. Go look.”
Cameron went to the edge of the bluffs and peered down through a pair of binoculars. Julian held his breath; he could tell Emma was holding hers as well.
“Yeah, they’re there,” Cameron said after a long pause. “And they’re making out. Gross.”
“They were always doing that before they were Endarkened,” said Livvy. “Some things never change.”
Emma raised her left hand to show her Voyance rune. “We’re Shadowhunters. We know you, Livvy, and we love you—”
“Stop,” Livvy said fiercely. “Fine, maybe you’re not the Endarkened, but this could still be some kind of demonic shape-changing—”
“These are angelic runes,” said Julian. “We’re not demons—”
“Then who are you?” Livvy cried, and her voice echoed with an awful hopelessness, a loneliness as dark and bottomless as a well. “Who am I supposed to think you are?”
“We’re still us,” Emma said. “Jules and Emma. We’re from another world. One where Sebastian is not in charge. One with runes.”
Livvy stared at her blankly.
“Liv,” said Cameron, lowering his binoculars. “The party on the beach is starting to break up. They’ll be climbing up here any second. What are we doing?”
Livvy hesitated, but only for a second. Julian guessed that a lot of free time to make decisions wasn’t a luxury this version of his sister had. “Let’s take them back to the Bradbury,” she said. “Maybe Diana will be back. She’s seen a lot—she might have some idea what’s going on here.”
“Diana? Diana Wrayburn?” said Emma with relief. “Yes, take us to Diana, please.”
Cameron and Livvy exchanged a look of complete bafflement.
“All right, fine,” Livvy said finally. She gestured toward a black Jeep Wrangler with tinted windows parked along the side of the highway. “Get in the car, both of you, backseat. And don’t even consider trying anything funny. I’ll blow your heads right off.”
* * *
Livvy was riding shotgun, which meant she was sitting in the passenger seat with an actual shotgun slung across her lap. Beside her, Cameron drove with a sharp efficiency that was entirely at odds with the hapless, slightly lazy Cameron Emma knew in her own world. He navigated the car effortlessly around the massive potholes that pocked the asphalt of the Pacific Coast Highway like dings in the side of an old car.
Julian was silent, staring out his window with an appalled fascination. There was little to see, except the ruined road swept by their headlights, but the darkness itself was startling. The absence of streetlights, road signs, and illuminated windows lining the road was shocking in itself, like looking at a face missing its eyes.
Light finally evolved out of the darkness as they reached the end of the highway, where a tunnel connected it to the 10 freeway. On their right was the Santa Monica Pier, the familiar jetty now in ruins as if a giant had hacked at it with an ax. Chunks of wood and concrete lay tumbled and jagged in the water. Only the old carousel was untouched. It was lit up, atonal music pouring from its speakers. Clinging to the backs of the old-fashioned painted ponies were shadowy, inhuman shapes, their chittering giggles carried on the night air. The faces of the ponies appeared to be twisted into tormented, shrieking masks.
Emma looked away, glad when the car went into the tunnel, cutting off her view of the merry-go-round.
“The pier is one of the first places that the hellbeasts staked out,” Cameron said, glancing into the backseat. “Who knew that demons liked amusement parks?”
Emma cleared her throat. “Mad for funnel cakes?”
Cameron laughed dryly. “Same old Emma. Sarcastic in the face of adversity.”
Livvy darted a sharp look at him.
“I guess we shouldn’t ask about Disneyland,” said Julian in a flat voice.
Julian probably hadn’t expected Cameron and Livvy to laugh, but the way they both tensed suggested that something really terrible had happened at Disneyland. Emma decided not to pursue it. There were bigger questions. “When did all this happen?” she said.
Julian’s vision went white. He had no awareness of climbing the rest of the steps; he was simply at the top of the bluffs—familiar highway, rows of parked cars, sand and grass underfoot—and there was Emma, held in the grip of a tall, redheaded boy whose familiar face smacked Julian like a punch in the gut.
“Cameron?” Julian said, incredulous. “Cameron Ashdown?”
Cameron looked about nineteen or twenty. His thick red hair was cut military short. He was whipcord lean, wearing a tan T-shirt and camo pants, a Sam Browne belt slung diagonally over his shoulder. There was a pistol thrust through it.
His face twisted in disgust. “Both of you together. I might have guessed.”
Julian took a step forward. “Let her go, you Endarkened piece of—”
Cameron’s eyes rounded with almost comical surprise, and Emma took advantage of the moment to kick backward savagely, twisting her body to deliver several quick punches to his side. She spun away from him as he gagged, but he’d already gotten the pistol out of its holster.
He pointed it at both of them. Shadowhunters didn’t use guns, but Julian could tell just by the way he held it that this Cameron Ashdown knew them well.
If Cameron shot, Julian thought, there might be time for him to throw himself in front of Emma. He’d take the bullet, even if he hated the idea of leaving her here alone. . . .
Cameron raised his voice. “Livia!” he called. “You’re going to want to see this.”
Julian’s chest turned to ice. He imagined he was still breathing, he must be or he’d die, but he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel the blood in his body or the pulse of his breath or the beat of his heart. He only saw her, appearing from between two cars: She walked toward them casually, her long dark Blackthorn hair blowing in the wind off the sea.
Livvy.
She looked about seventeen. She wore black leather pants with a bullet belt slung around her waist and a gray tank top with holes in it over a mesh shirt. Her boots were thick-soled with a dozen buckles. On her wrists were D-ring canvas bracelets with short throwing knives shoved under the straps. A scar—one of many—cut across her face, from the top of her left temple, across her eye, to the middle of her cheek. She carried a shotgun, and as she walked toward them, she raised it effortlessly and pointed it directly at Julian.
“It’s them,” Cameron said. “Don’t know what they’re doing away from the other Endarkened.”
“Who cares?” Livvy said. “I’m gonna kill them, and they’d thank me for it if they still had souls.”
Julian threw up his hands. Joy at seeing her, uncontrollable and dizzying, warred with panic. “Livvy, it’s us—”
“Don’t even try,” she spat. She pumped the shotgun expertly. “I’d tell you to pray, but the Angel is dead.”
“Look—” Emma started, and Livvy began to swing the gun toward her; Julian took a step toward his sister, and then Cameron, who Julian had almost forgotten was there, said:
“Wait.”
Livvy froze. “This had better be good, Cam.”
Cameron pointed at Julian. “His collar’s torn—” He shook his head impatiently. “Show her,” he said to Julian.
“Your rune,” Emma whispered, and Julian, realization bursting brightly behind his eyes, yanked his collar down to show Livvy the rune on his chest. Though Julian’s impermanent runes—Night Vision, Stealth, Sure-Strike—had been fading to gray since they’d entered Faerie, his parabatai rune stood out black and clear.
Livvy froze.
“The Endarkened can’t bear Nephilim runes,” said Julian. “You know that, Livvy.”
“I know you think we’re Emma and Julian, the Endarkened version,” said Emma. “But we’ve seen them. They’re down on the beach.” She pointed. “Seriously. Look.”
A flicker of doubt crossed Livvy’s face. “Cameron. Go look.”
Cameron went to the edge of the bluffs and peered down through a pair of binoculars. Julian held his breath; he could tell Emma was holding hers as well.
“Yeah, they’re there,” Cameron said after a long pause. “And they’re making out. Gross.”
“They were always doing that before they were Endarkened,” said Livvy. “Some things never change.”
Emma raised her left hand to show her Voyance rune. “We’re Shadowhunters. We know you, Livvy, and we love you—”
“Stop,” Livvy said fiercely. “Fine, maybe you’re not the Endarkened, but this could still be some kind of demonic shape-changing—”
“These are angelic runes,” said Julian. “We’re not demons—”
“Then who are you?” Livvy cried, and her voice echoed with an awful hopelessness, a loneliness as dark and bottomless as a well. “Who am I supposed to think you are?”
“We’re still us,” Emma said. “Jules and Emma. We’re from another world. One where Sebastian is not in charge. One with runes.”
Livvy stared at her blankly.
“Liv,” said Cameron, lowering his binoculars. “The party on the beach is starting to break up. They’ll be climbing up here any second. What are we doing?”
Livvy hesitated, but only for a second. Julian guessed that a lot of free time to make decisions wasn’t a luxury this version of his sister had. “Let’s take them back to the Bradbury,” she said. “Maybe Diana will be back. She’s seen a lot—she might have some idea what’s going on here.”
“Diana? Diana Wrayburn?” said Emma with relief. “Yes, take us to Diana, please.”
Cameron and Livvy exchanged a look of complete bafflement.
“All right, fine,” Livvy said finally. She gestured toward a black Jeep Wrangler with tinted windows parked along the side of the highway. “Get in the car, both of you, backseat. And don’t even consider trying anything funny. I’ll blow your heads right off.”
* * *
Livvy was riding shotgun, which meant she was sitting in the passenger seat with an actual shotgun slung across her lap. Beside her, Cameron drove with a sharp efficiency that was entirely at odds with the hapless, slightly lazy Cameron Emma knew in her own world. He navigated the car effortlessly around the massive potholes that pocked the asphalt of the Pacific Coast Highway like dings in the side of an old car.
Julian was silent, staring out his window with an appalled fascination. There was little to see, except the ruined road swept by their headlights, but the darkness itself was startling. The absence of streetlights, road signs, and illuminated windows lining the road was shocking in itself, like looking at a face missing its eyes.
Light finally evolved out of the darkness as they reached the end of the highway, where a tunnel connected it to the 10 freeway. On their right was the Santa Monica Pier, the familiar jetty now in ruins as if a giant had hacked at it with an ax. Chunks of wood and concrete lay tumbled and jagged in the water. Only the old carousel was untouched. It was lit up, atonal music pouring from its speakers. Clinging to the backs of the old-fashioned painted ponies were shadowy, inhuman shapes, their chittering giggles carried on the night air. The faces of the ponies appeared to be twisted into tormented, shrieking masks.
Emma looked away, glad when the car went into the tunnel, cutting off her view of the merry-go-round.
“The pier is one of the first places that the hellbeasts staked out,” Cameron said, glancing into the backseat. “Who knew that demons liked amusement parks?”
Emma cleared her throat. “Mad for funnel cakes?”
Cameron laughed dryly. “Same old Emma. Sarcastic in the face of adversity.”
Livvy darted a sharp look at him.
“I guess we shouldn’t ask about Disneyland,” said Julian in a flat voice.
Julian probably hadn’t expected Cameron and Livvy to laugh, but the way they both tensed suggested that something really terrible had happened at Disneyland. Emma decided not to pursue it. There were bigger questions. “When did all this happen?” she said.
