If you steal any of the books from the library, I will know, and you'll be sorry.
It was signed, with several flourishes: Jessamine Lovelace.
* * *
When Livvy came into Julian's room, he was lying flat on the bed, like a dropped piece of toast. He hadn't even bothered to change his clothes or get under the covers.
"Jules?" Livvy said, hovering in the doorway.
He sat up, fast. He'd been trying to sort through his thoughts, but the sight of his younger sibling-in his room, this late at night-banished everything but immediate, atavistic panic. "Is everything all right? Did something happen?"
Livvy nodded. "It's good news, actually. We figured out where Malcolm's house is-the one in Cornwall."
"What?" Julian scrubbed his hands through his hair, rubbing at his eyes to wake himself up. "Where's Ty?"
"In the library." She sat down on the corner of Julian's bed. "Turns out there's a house ghost. Jessamine. Anyway, she remembered Malcolm and knew where his house was. Ty's checking on it, but there's no reason to think she wouldn't be right. Evelyn's been talking to her for days, we just didn't think she really existed, but Kit-"
"Can see ghosts. Right," said Julian. He felt more alert now. "All right. I'll go tomorrow, see what I can find out."
"And we'll go to Blackthorn Hall," Livvy said. Blackthorn Hall was one of the Blackthorn family's two land properties: They had a manor in Idris, and a large home in Chiswick, on the Thames. It had once belonged to the Lightwoods, a long time ago. "See if there's any papers, anything about Annabel. Kieran can't really leave the Institute, so Mark can stay here with him and Cristina and they can look in the library."
"No," said Julian.
Livvy set her jaw. "Jules-"
"You can go to Blackthorn Hall," he said. "You've certainly earned that much, you and Ty, and Kit, too. But Mark goes with you. Kieran can amuse himself weaving daisy chains or making up a ballad."
Livvy's mouth twitched. "It seems wrong to make fun of the Fair Folk."
"Kieran's fair game," said Julian. "He's annoyed us in the past."
"I guess Cristina can watch him."
"I was going to ask her to come to Cornwall," said Julian.
"You and Cristina?" Livvy looked baffled. Julian couldn't blame her. It was true that their group fell into established patterns based on age and acquaintance. Jules and Emma, or Jules and Mark, made sense. Jules and Cristina didn't.
"And Emma," Julian added, cursing silently. The thought of extended time with Emma, especially now, was-terrifying. But it would be considered bizarre if he went without her, his parabatai. Never mind that Emma wouldn't sit still for it. Not a chance.
Bringing Cristina would help, though. Cristina would be a buffer. Having to put someone between himself and Emma made him feel sick, but the memory of the way he'd snapped at her in the entryway made him feel sicker.
It had been like watching someone else talking to the person he loved the most in the world; someone else, hurting his parabatai on purpose. He had been able to do something with his feelings while she'd been with Mark-twist and crumple them, shove them far underneath his skin and consciousness. He had felt them there, bleeding, like a tumor slicing open his internal organs, but he hadn't been able to see them.
Now they were there again, laid out before him. It was terrifying to love someone who was forbidden to you. Terrifying to feel something you could never speak of, something that was horrible to almost everyone you knew, something that could destroy your life.
It was in some ways more terrifying to know that your feelings were unwanted. When he had thought Emma loved him back, he had not been completely alone in his hell. When she was with Mark, he could tell himself that it was Mark keeping them apart. Not that she would rather be with no one than be with him.
"Cristina knows a great deal about the Black Volume," Julian said. He had no idea if this was true or not. Graciously, Livvy didn't pursue it. "She'll be helpful."
"Blackthorn Hall, here we come," said Livvy, and slid off the bed. She looked to Julian like a little girl from an old illustration in a picture book, in her puffed-sleeve blue dress. But maybe Livvy would always look like a little girl to him. "Jules?"
"Yes?"
"We know," she said. "We know about Arthur, and what was wrong with him. We know you ran the Institute. We know it was you doing all of it since the Dark War."