Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 90
“Then draw now,” she said, her voice husky. She pressed several pencils into his open hand and began to turn away.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I shouldn’t burden you.”
“You’re not burdening me,” she said, still facing away. “You’re reminding me why I love you.”
The words caught at his heart, sharp with a painful joy.
“You’re not off the hook, though,” she added, and went over to the wardrobe. He left her alone to rifle through the pairs of socks and shoes, looking for something that might fit. He wanted to talk to her—talk to her forever, about everything—but that had to be at her discretion. Not his.
Instead he put pencil to paper and let his imagination go, let the images that rose up inside him and captured his brain flow out in Alicante silver and Seelie green, in Unseelie black and blood red. He drew the King on his throne, pale and powerful and unhappy. He drew Annabel holding Ash’s hand. He drew Emma with Cortana, surrounded by thorns. He drew Drusilla, all in black, a murder of crows circling behind her.
He was conscious that Emma had come to lie down beside him and was watching him with quiet curiosity, her head propped on her arm. She was half-asleep, lips parted, when the door banged open again. Julian threw the sketchbook down. “Look, Cameron—”
But it wasn’t Cameron. It was Livvy.
She had taken off her Sam Browne ammo belt, but otherwise looked much the same. In the brighter light of the bedroom, Julian could see the shadows smudged under her eyes. “Cameron said you asked for a sketch pad and pencils,” she said in a near whisper.
Julian didn’t move. He half felt as if any movement would spook her, as if he were trying to lure a nervous forest creature closer. “Do you want to see?”
Julian held out the sketch pad; she took it and flipped through it, slowly and then faster. Emma was sitting up now, clutching one of the pillows.
Livvy thrust the sketch pad back at Julian. She was looking down; he couldn’t see her face, only twin fringes of dark lashes. He felt a twinge of disappointment. She doesn’t believe me; the pictures meant nothing to her. I’m nothing to her.
“No one draws like my brother,” she said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. She lifted her head and looked directly at Julian with a sort of bewilderment that was half hurt, half hope. “But you do.”
“You remember when I tried to teach you to draw, when you were nine?” said Julian. “And you snapped all my pencils?”
Something almost like a smile touched the edge of Livvy’s mouth. For a moment, she was familiar Livvy, despite the scars and black leather. A second later it was as if a mask had passed across her face, and she was a different Livia, a rebel leader, a scarred warrior. “You don’t need to try to convince me anymore,” she said. She turned away, her movements precise and military. “Finish getting cleaned up. I’ll meet you two in the main office in an hour.”
* * *
“Did we ever date in this world?” Emma said. “You know, you and me.”
Cameron nearly fell down several metal steps. They were in the maze of stairs and catwalks that crisscrossed the inside of the Bradbury Building. “Of course not!”
Emma felt mildly stung. She knew it wasn’t a big deal, considering, but sometimes you wanted to focus on something trivial to take your mind off the apocalypse. Cameron in her world had been almost embarrassingly devoted, always coming back after they broke up, sending love notes and flowers and sad llama pictures.
“You were always with Julian,” Cameron added. “Aren’t you together in your world?”
“I’m right here,” Julian said in the deceptively mild tone that meant he was annoyed.
“I mean, yes,” Emma said. “At least, we’re on and off. Sometimes very on, sometimes very off. You and I dated briefly, is all.”
“We don’t really have time for that kind of personal drama here,” Cameron said. “It’s hard to focus on your love life when giant spiders are chasing you.”
Cameron was pretty funny here, Emma thought. If he’d been this amusing at home, their relationship might have lasted longer.
“When you say ‘giant,’ how giant exactly?” she said. “Bigger than Dumpsters?”
“Not the babies,” Cameron said, and gave them a horrible smile. “We’re here—go on in, and don’t tell Livvy we dated in your world, because it’s weird.”
They found Livvy in another repurposed office—this one had clearly once been more of a loft, big and airy and probably full of light before the windows had been covered. Strips of brick alternated with polished wood on the walls, and dozens of vintage fruit labels advertising California apples, pears, and oranges hung between the boarded-up windows. A group of four sleek, modern couches formed a square around a glass coffee table. Livvy was lounging on one of the couches, drinking a glass of something dark brown.
“That’s not alcohol, is it?” Julian sounded appalled. “You shouldn’t be drinking.”
“You’ll be drinking tomorrow,” Livvy said, and pointed at a bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the glass table. “Just saying.” She waved a hand. “Sit down.”
They settled themselves on the couch opposite her. There was a fireplace in the room too, but the grate had been plugged with metal some time ago. Someone with a sense of humor had painted flames on the metal. It was too bad. Emma would have liked a fire. It would have felt like something natural.
Livvy turned her glass around in her scarred hands. “So I believe you,” she said. “You are who you say you are. Which means I know what you want to ask me.”
“Yeah,” Julian said. He cleared his throat. “Mark?” he said. “Ty? Helen, and Dru—”
“But you also probably want to get out of here,” Livvy interrupted. “Since you ended up here by accident and your world sounds like a much better place.”
“We have to leave,” Emma said. “There are people at home who could be hurt or even killed if we don’t come back—”
“But we want to take you with us,” Julian said. Emma had known he was going to say it; they hadn’t discussed it, but it had never been a question. Of course Julian would want Livvy to come back with them.
Livvy gave a long, slow nod. “Right,” she said. “Do you have a reason to think that there’s any way you can get back at all? Interdimensional travel isn’t exactly easy.”
“We’d only just started to discuss it,” Emma said. “But we’ll think of something.” She spoke with more confidence than she felt.
Livvy held up a hand. “If there’s any chance you can get away, are you really sure that you want to know what happened to—to everyone? Because I wish every single day that I didn’t.”
Without taking his eyes off Livvy, Julian said, “What I wish is that I could’ve been here for you.”
Livvy’s gaze was distant. “You were, I guess. Both of you.” She pulled her knees up under her. “You saved our lives when you sacrificed yourselves to get us out of Manhattan the day it fell.”
Emma shivered. “New York? Why were we in New York?”
“The Battle of the Burren was when everything went wrong,” said Livvy. “Clary was there, Alec and Isabelle Lightwood, Magnus Bane—and Helen and Aline, of course. They were winning. Jace was under Sebastian’s thrall, but Clary was wielding Glorious, the sword of the Angel of Paradise. She was about to break him free when Lilith appeared. She cast the sword into Hell and cut Clary down. Helen and the others were lucky to escape with their lives.
“That was Sebastian’s great victory. After that he joined forces with the Fair Folk. They stormed Alicante while we hid in the Hall of Accords. The Shadowhunters fought—our father fought—but Sebastian was too powerful. As Alicante fell to his forces, a group of warlocks opened up a Portal for the children. Just people under fifteen. We had to leave Helen and Mark behind. Dru was screaming as they ripped her out of Helen’s arms and drove us through the Portal to Manhattan.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I shouldn’t burden you.”
“You’re not burdening me,” she said, still facing away. “You’re reminding me why I love you.”
The words caught at his heart, sharp with a painful joy.
“You’re not off the hook, though,” she added, and went over to the wardrobe. He left her alone to rifle through the pairs of socks and shoes, looking for something that might fit. He wanted to talk to her—talk to her forever, about everything—but that had to be at her discretion. Not his.
Instead he put pencil to paper and let his imagination go, let the images that rose up inside him and captured his brain flow out in Alicante silver and Seelie green, in Unseelie black and blood red. He drew the King on his throne, pale and powerful and unhappy. He drew Annabel holding Ash’s hand. He drew Emma with Cortana, surrounded by thorns. He drew Drusilla, all in black, a murder of crows circling behind her.
He was conscious that Emma had come to lie down beside him and was watching him with quiet curiosity, her head propped on her arm. She was half-asleep, lips parted, when the door banged open again. Julian threw the sketchbook down. “Look, Cameron—”
But it wasn’t Cameron. It was Livvy.
She had taken off her Sam Browne ammo belt, but otherwise looked much the same. In the brighter light of the bedroom, Julian could see the shadows smudged under her eyes. “Cameron said you asked for a sketch pad and pencils,” she said in a near whisper.
Julian didn’t move. He half felt as if any movement would spook her, as if he were trying to lure a nervous forest creature closer. “Do you want to see?”
Julian held out the sketch pad; she took it and flipped through it, slowly and then faster. Emma was sitting up now, clutching one of the pillows.
Livvy thrust the sketch pad back at Julian. She was looking down; he couldn’t see her face, only twin fringes of dark lashes. He felt a twinge of disappointment. She doesn’t believe me; the pictures meant nothing to her. I’m nothing to her.
“No one draws like my brother,” she said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. She lifted her head and looked directly at Julian with a sort of bewilderment that was half hurt, half hope. “But you do.”
“You remember when I tried to teach you to draw, when you were nine?” said Julian. “And you snapped all my pencils?”
Something almost like a smile touched the edge of Livvy’s mouth. For a moment, she was familiar Livvy, despite the scars and black leather. A second later it was as if a mask had passed across her face, and she was a different Livia, a rebel leader, a scarred warrior. “You don’t need to try to convince me anymore,” she said. She turned away, her movements precise and military. “Finish getting cleaned up. I’ll meet you two in the main office in an hour.”
* * *
“Did we ever date in this world?” Emma said. “You know, you and me.”
Cameron nearly fell down several metal steps. They were in the maze of stairs and catwalks that crisscrossed the inside of the Bradbury Building. “Of course not!”
Emma felt mildly stung. She knew it wasn’t a big deal, considering, but sometimes you wanted to focus on something trivial to take your mind off the apocalypse. Cameron in her world had been almost embarrassingly devoted, always coming back after they broke up, sending love notes and flowers and sad llama pictures.
“You were always with Julian,” Cameron added. “Aren’t you together in your world?”
“I’m right here,” Julian said in the deceptively mild tone that meant he was annoyed.
“I mean, yes,” Emma said. “At least, we’re on and off. Sometimes very on, sometimes very off. You and I dated briefly, is all.”
“We don’t really have time for that kind of personal drama here,” Cameron said. “It’s hard to focus on your love life when giant spiders are chasing you.”
Cameron was pretty funny here, Emma thought. If he’d been this amusing at home, their relationship might have lasted longer.
“When you say ‘giant,’ how giant exactly?” she said. “Bigger than Dumpsters?”
“Not the babies,” Cameron said, and gave them a horrible smile. “We’re here—go on in, and don’t tell Livvy we dated in your world, because it’s weird.”
They found Livvy in another repurposed office—this one had clearly once been more of a loft, big and airy and probably full of light before the windows had been covered. Strips of brick alternated with polished wood on the walls, and dozens of vintage fruit labels advertising California apples, pears, and oranges hung between the boarded-up windows. A group of four sleek, modern couches formed a square around a glass coffee table. Livvy was lounging on one of the couches, drinking a glass of something dark brown.
“That’s not alcohol, is it?” Julian sounded appalled. “You shouldn’t be drinking.”
“You’ll be drinking tomorrow,” Livvy said, and pointed at a bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the glass table. “Just saying.” She waved a hand. “Sit down.”
They settled themselves on the couch opposite her. There was a fireplace in the room too, but the grate had been plugged with metal some time ago. Someone with a sense of humor had painted flames on the metal. It was too bad. Emma would have liked a fire. It would have felt like something natural.
Livvy turned her glass around in her scarred hands. “So I believe you,” she said. “You are who you say you are. Which means I know what you want to ask me.”
“Yeah,” Julian said. He cleared his throat. “Mark?” he said. “Ty? Helen, and Dru—”
“But you also probably want to get out of here,” Livvy interrupted. “Since you ended up here by accident and your world sounds like a much better place.”
“We have to leave,” Emma said. “There are people at home who could be hurt or even killed if we don’t come back—”
“But we want to take you with us,” Julian said. Emma had known he was going to say it; they hadn’t discussed it, but it had never been a question. Of course Julian would want Livvy to come back with them.
Livvy gave a long, slow nod. “Right,” she said. “Do you have a reason to think that there’s any way you can get back at all? Interdimensional travel isn’t exactly easy.”
“We’d only just started to discuss it,” Emma said. “But we’ll think of something.” She spoke with more confidence than she felt.
Livvy held up a hand. “If there’s any chance you can get away, are you really sure that you want to know what happened to—to everyone? Because I wish every single day that I didn’t.”
Without taking his eyes off Livvy, Julian said, “What I wish is that I could’ve been here for you.”
Livvy’s gaze was distant. “You were, I guess. Both of you.” She pulled her knees up under her. “You saved our lives when you sacrificed yourselves to get us out of Manhattan the day it fell.”
Emma shivered. “New York? Why were we in New York?”
“The Battle of the Burren was when everything went wrong,” said Livvy. “Clary was there, Alec and Isabelle Lightwood, Magnus Bane—and Helen and Aline, of course. They were winning. Jace was under Sebastian’s thrall, but Clary was wielding Glorious, the sword of the Angel of Paradise. She was about to break him free when Lilith appeared. She cast the sword into Hell and cut Clary down. Helen and the others were lucky to escape with their lives.
“That was Sebastian’s great victory. After that he joined forces with the Fair Folk. They stormed Alicante while we hid in the Hall of Accords. The Shadowhunters fought—our father fought—but Sebastian was too powerful. As Alicante fell to his forces, a group of warlocks opened up a Portal for the children. Just people under fifteen. We had to leave Helen and Mark behind. Dru was screaming as they ripped her out of Helen’s arms and drove us through the Portal to Manhattan.
