Lady Midnight (The Dark Artifices #1)(125)

“Kit!” The voice was a roar. Emma heard skidding footsteps on the stairs, and Johnny Rook appeared. One of his sleeves was singed. Emma had never seen him look so furious. “Leave my son alone!”

Ty steadied his grip on the knife, straightening his spine. He faced Johnny Rook without a speck of fear. “Tell us about the Lottery,” he said.

Kit winced. Emma could see it, even in the gloom. Ty didn’t seem frightening to her, but then, she’d cuddled him when he was three years old. But fear was clear in Johnny Rook’s face: As far as he was concerned, Nephilim had snuck a Shadowhunter into his basement to murder his son.

“I’ll give you Casper Sterling’s address,” he said as Kit stared at him, looking bewildered. Clearly he had rarely seen his father so shaken. “I’ve got it, okay? He’s got a bunch of identities, he isn’t easy to find, but I know where he lives. All right? Good enough? Let my son go!”

Ty lowered the knife and stepped back. He kept it in his hand, his eyes on Kit as the other boy rubbed ruefully at the dent in his throat. “Dad, I—” Kit started.

“Be quiet, Kit,” Johnny Rook snapped. “I’ve told you. Don’t say anything in front of Nephilim.”

“We’re on the same side,” Julian said in his calmest voice.

Johnny Rook whirled on him. His face was red, his throat working. “Don’t you dare tell me what side I’m on, you know nothing, nothing—”

“Enough!” Emma shouted. “By the Angel, what are you so frightened of?”

Johnny slammed his mouth shut. “I’m not frightened,” he said through his teeth. “Just get out,” he said. “Get out, and don’t ever come here again. I’ll text you the address but after that, don’t call, don’t ask me for favors. We’re done, Nephilim.”

“Fine,” Emma said, gesturing for Ty to come toward her and Julian. “We’ll go. Ty—”

Ty slid the knife he’d been holding into his belt and darted up the steps. Julian turned and went after him. The boy at the bottom of the stairs didn’t watch them go; his eyes were fixed on his father.

He wasn’t much younger than Emma—maybe by a year or two—but she felt a sudden inexplicable surge of protectiveness toward Johnny Rook’s son. If he had the Sight, then all of Downworld was open to him: terrifying and inexplicable. In his own way he was like Tiberius, living in a world he saw differently than everyone else.

“Fine, Johnny,” Emma said again, loudly. “But if you change your mind, you have my number in your phone. Under Carstairs.”

Johnny Rook glared at her.

“Call me,” Emma said again, and this time she looked directly at Kit. “If you ever need anything.”

“Get OUT.” Rook looked as if he were going to explode or have a heart attack, so with a last look over her shoulder, Emma went.

Emma found Ty out by the car. Clouds had gathered, scudding in quick bursts across the sky. Ty was leaning against the trunk, the wind ruffling his black hair. “Where’s Jules?” she asked as she got close.

“Over there.” He pointed. “I got into the house with an Open rune. I broke the lock on the basement door. He’s fixing it.”

Emma glanced over toward Johnny Rook’s and saw Jules’s lean, long figure outlined by the stuccoed wall. She opened the trunk of the car, unbuckling her weapons belt. “How did you get here, anyway?”

“I hid in the backseat. Under that blanket.” Ty pointed. Emma could see the edge of a pair of headphones peeking out from under the quilt’s fuzzy edge. “You think Julian’s mad at me?” With the knife put away, he looked very young, his gray eyes clear and open, fixed on the clouds overhead.

“Ty.” Emma sighed. “He’s going to murderate you.”

Julian was heading back toward them. Ty said, “That’s a neologism.”

Emma blinked. “It’s a what?”

“A word you made up. Shakespeare made up words all the time.”

Emma smiled at him, oddly touched. “Well, ‘murderate’ isn’t exactly Shakespeare.”

Ty braced himself as Julian walked directly up to him, not breaking stride, his jaw set, his blue-green eyes as dark as the deep part of the ocean.

He reached Ty and caught hold of him, pulling him into a fierce hug. He pressed his face down into his little brother’s black hair as Ty stood, frozen and astonished at Julian’s lack of anger.

“Jules?” he said. “Are you all right?”

Julian’s shoulders shook. He held his little brother tighter, as if he could crush Ty into himself, into a place where he’d always be safe. He put his cheek against Ty’s curls, squeezing his eyes shut, his voice muffled. “I thought something happened to you,” he said. “I thought Johnny Rook might—”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Ty put his arms carefully around Julian. He patted his back, gently, with his slender hands. It was the first time Emma had seen Ty comfort his older brother—almost the first time she’d ever actually seen Julian let someone else take care of him.

They were silent on the long highway drive back to the Institute; silent as the clouds cleared away, blown inland by the ocean air. The sun was low on the water as they drove up the Pacific Coast Highway. They were silent as they got out of the car and Julian finally really spoke.