Lord of Shadows (The Dark Artifices #2)(137)

"We should go," Livvy said, hovering in the doorway. "It's starting to get dark. Demon time."

Kit glanced toward the window. The sky was darkening, the stain of twilight spreading across the blue. The shadows were coming down over London.

"I have an idea," he said. "Why don't we take it to the Shadow Market here? I know my way around the Market. I can find a warlock or even a witch to help us get at whatever's in this thing."

The twins glanced at each other. Both were clearly hesitant. "We're not really supposed to go to Shadow Markets," said Livvy.

"So tell them I ran off there and you had to catch me," said Kit. "If you even ever have to explain, which you won't."

Neither of them spoke, but Kit could see curiosity in Ty's gray eyes.

"Come on," he said, pitching his voice low, the way his father had taught him, the tone you used when you wanted to convince people you really meant something. "When you're home, Julian never lets you go anywhere. Now's your chance. Haven't you always wanted to see a Shadow Market?"

Livvy broke first. "Okay," she said, casting a quick look at her brother to see if he agreed with her. "Okay, if you know where it is."



       
         
       
        

Ty's pale face lit with excitement. Kit felt the same spark transfer to him. The Shadow Market. His home, his sanctuary, the place he'd been raised.

Trailing around after demons and artifacts with Livvy and Ty, they were the ones who knew everything while he knew nothing. But at the Shadow Market, he could shine. He'd shock them. Impress them.

And then, maybe, he'd cut and run away.

* * *

The shadows were lengthening by the time Julian and Emma finished their lunch. Julian bought some food and supplies at a small grocer's shop, while Emma darted next door to pick up pajamas and T-shirts at a small New Age shop that sold tarot cards and crystal gnomes. When she emerged, she was grinning. She produced a blue-and-purple T-shirt emblazoned with a smiling unicorn for Jules, who stared at it in horror. She tucked it into his pack carefully before they started across the town to find the beginning of the path that led up and around the coast.

The hills sloped up steeply from the water; it wasn't an easy climb. Marked only as TO THE CLIFFS, the path wound up through the outskirts of the town and the precariously perched houses, all of which looked as if they might at any moment tumble down into the half-moon harbor.

Shadowhunters were trained for much more than this kind of exertion, though, and they made good time. Soon they were out of the town proper and walking along a narrow path, the hill rising farther on their right, falling down toward the sea on their left.

The sea itself was a luminous deep blue, glowing like a lamp. Clouds the color of seashells twined across the sky. It was beautiful in a completely different way than sunset over the Pacific. Instead of the stark colors of sea and desert, everything here was soft pastels: greens and blues and pinks.

What was stark was the cliffs themselves. They were climbing closer to the Chapel part of Chapel Cliff, the rocky promontory that jutted out into the ocean, the spikes of gray stone that crowned it ominously black against the rosy sky. The hill was gone; they were out on the spit of land itself: Long gray slate shingles that looked like a pack of playing cards shuffled and then scattered tumbled steeply away on either side, down toward the sea.

The house they had seen from town was nestled among the rocks, the spiked crown of the stone chapel rising behind it. As Emma neared it, she felt the force of its glamour almost as a wall, pushing her back.

Jules had slowed too. "There's a placard here," he said. "Says this place belongs to the National Trust. No trespassers."

Emma made a face. "No trespassers usually means the local kids have made it into a hangout and the whole place is covered with empty candy wrappers and booze bottles."

"I don't know. The glamour here is really strong-it's not just visual, but emotional. You can feel it, right?" 

Emma nodded. The cottage was giving off waves of stay away and danger and nothing here you want to see. It was a bit like being shouted at by an angry stranger on the bus.

"Take my hand," Julian said.

"What?" She turned in surprise: He was holding his hand out. She could see the faint smatter of colored pencil on his skin. He flexed his fingers.

"We can get through this better together," he said. "Concentrate on pushing it back."

Emma took his hand, accepting the shock that went through her at his touch. His skin was warm and soft, rough where there were calluses. He tightened his fingers around hers.