"Your sister is here," said Kieran. "And we will find her."
"We'll split up and look," said Alec. "Magnus-"
Magnus swung Max up into his arms and headed down the hallway, the other two kids trailing behind him. The rest of them agreed to meet back in the library in twenty minutes. Each of them got a quadrant of the Institute to search. Cristina wound up with west, which took her downstairs to the ballroom.
She wished it hadn't-the memories of dancing there with Mark and then with Kieran were confusing and distracting. And she didn't need to be distracted now; she needed to find Dru.
She headed down the stairs-and froze. There, on the landing, was Drusilla, all in black, her brown braids tied with black ribbon. She turned a pale, anxious face to Cristina.
"I was waiting for you," she said.
"Everyone's looking for you!" Cristina said. "Ty and Livvy-"
"I know. I heard. I was listening," said Dru.
"But you weren't in the library-"
"Please," Dru said. "You have to come with me. There's not a lot of time."
She turned and hurried up the stairs. After a moment, Cristina followed her.
"Dru, Mark's worried. The Riders are terribly dangerous. He needs to know you're all right."
"I'll go and tell him I'm fine in a second," Dru said. "But I need you to come with me."
"Dru-" They'd made it to the hallway where most of the spare bedrooms were.
"Look," said Dru. "I just need you to do this, okay? If you try yelling for Mark, I promise you there are places in this Institute I can hide where you won't find me for days."
Cristina couldn't help being curious. "How do you know the Institute so well?"
"You would too if every time you showed your face, someone tried to make you babysit," said Dru. They'd reached her bedroom. She stood hesitating, with her hand on the knob of her door.
"But we looked in your bedroom," Cristina protested.
"I'm telling you," said Dru. "Hiding places." She took a deep breath. "Okay. You go in here. And don't freak out."
Dru's small face was set and determined, as if she were nerving herself to do something unpleasant.
"Is everything all right?" Cristina said. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather talk to Mark than me?"
"It isn't me who wants to talk to you," Dru said, and pushed her bedroom door open. Cristina stepped inside, feeling more puzzled than ever.
She only saw a shadow first, a figure in front of the windowsill. Then he stood up and her heart caught in her throat.
Brown skin, tangled black hair, sharp features, long lashes. The faint slouch to the shoulders she remembered, that she used to tell him always made him look as if he was walking into a high wind.
"Jaime," she breathed.
He reached out his arms, and a moment later she was hugging him tightly. Jaime had always been skinny, but now he felt positively prickly with pointed collarbones and sharp elbows. He hugged her back, tightly, and Cristina heard the bedroom door close quietly, the lock clicking.
She pulled back and looked up into Jaime's face. He looked like he always did-bright-eyed, edged with mischief. "So," he said. "You really missed me."
All the nights she'd stayed up sobbing because of him-because he was missing, because she hated him, because he'd been her best friend and she hated hating him-burst. Her left palm cracked across his cheek, and then she was hitting him on the shoulders, the chest, wherever she could reach.
"Ow!" He writhed away. "That hurts!"
"¡Me vale madre!" She hit him again. "How dare you disappear like that! Everyone was worried! I thought maybe you were dead. And now you turn up hiding in Drusilla Blackthorn's bedroom, which by the way if her brothers find out they will kill you dead-"
"It wasn't like that!" Jaime windmilled his arms as if to fend off her blows. "I was looking for you."
She put her hands on her hips. "After all this time avoiding me, suddenly you're looking for me?"
"It wasn't you I was avoiding," he said. He took a crumpled envelope out of his pocket and held it out to her. With a pang, she recognized Diego's handwriting.
"If Diego wants to write to me, he doesn't need the message hand-delivered," she said. "What does he think you are, a carrier pigeon?"
"He can't write to you," said Jaime. "Zara watches all his mail."
"So you know about Zara," Cristina said, taking the envelope. "How long?"
Jaime slouched back against a large oak desk, hands propped behind him. "How long have they been engaged? Since you two broke up the first time. But it's not a real engagement, Cristina."