God, Johnny had said, after a long, long pause. God could do that. And those who raise the dead may think they are God, but soon enough they will find out the lie they have believed.
“The head of the Los Angeles Institute is dead?” Evelyn exclaimed, dropping the remains of her sandwich on a likely very expensive antique table.
Kit didn’t really blame her for her surprise. The Blackthorns didn’t act like a family in grief over the death of a beloved uncle. Rather they seemed stunned and puzzled. But then, they had behaved around Arthur almost as if they were strangers.
“Is that why he wanted to stay behind in Los Angeles?” Livvy demanded, her cheeks flushed. “So he could sacrifice himself—for us?”
“By the Angel.” Diana had her hand against her chest. “He hadn’t replied to any of my messages, but that wasn’t unusual. Still, for Zara not to notice—”
“Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t,” said Livvy. “But it’s better for her plans if he’s out of the way.”
“What plans?” said Cristina. “What do you mean, Zara’s plans?”
It was time for another long explanation, this time of things Kit already knew about. Evelyn had fallen asleep in front of the fireplace and was snoring. Kit wondered how much the silver top of her cane was worth. Was it real silver, or just plated?
“By the Angel,” said Cristina, when the explanation was done. Julian said nothing; Emma said something unprintable. Mark leaned forward, a flush on his cheeks.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “Zara and her father want to run the Los Angeles Institute so they can push their anti-Downworlder agenda. The new Laws would likely apply to me and to Helen. Certainly to Magnus, Catarina—every Downworlder we know, no matter how loyal.”
“I know of their group,” said Diana. “They don’t believe in loyal Downworlders.”
“What is their group?” Emma asked.
“The Cohort,” said Diana. “They are a well-known faction in the Council. Like all groups who exist primarily to hate, they believe that they speak for a silent majority—that everyone despises Downworlders as they do. They believe opposition to the Cold Peace is moral cowardice, or at best, whining from those who feel inconvenienced by it.”
“Inconvenienced?” said Kieran. There was no expression in his voice, just the word, hanging there in the room.
“They are not intelligent,” said Diana. “But they are loud and vicious, and they have frightened many better people into silence. They do not number an Institute head among them, but if they did . . .”
“This is bad,” Emma said. “Before, they would have had to prove Arthur wasn’t fit to run an Institute. Now he’s dead. The spot’s open. All they have to do is wait for the next Council meeting and put their candidate forward.”
“And they’re in a good place for it.” Diana had risen to her feet and begun to pace. “The Clave is enormously impressed with Zara Dearborn. They believe she and her Centurions beat back the sea demon threat on their own.”
“The demons vanished because Malcolm died—again, and this time hopefully for good,” said Livvy furiously. “None of it’s because of Zara. She’s taking credit for what Arthur did!”
“And there’s nothing we can do about it,” said Julian. “Not yet. They’ll figure out Arthur is dead or missing soon enough—but even abandonment of his post would be cause to replace him. And we can’t be seen to know how or why he died.”
“Because the only reason we do know is thanks to the Seelie Queen,” said Emma in a low voice, eyeing the sleeping Evelyn.
“Annabel is the key to our finding the Black Volume,” said Julian. “We need to be the only ones looking for her right now. If the Clave finds her first, we’ll never get the book to the Queen.”
“When we agreed with the Queen’s plan, though, we didn’t know about the Cohort,” said Mark, looking troubled. “What if there isn’t time to find the book before the Cohort makes their move?”
“We’ll just have to find the book faster,” said Julian. “We can’t face the Dearborns in an open Council. What’s Zara done wrong, according to the Clave? Arthur wasn’t qualified to run an Institute. Many Council members do hate Downworlders. She wants to run an Institute so she can pass an evil law. She wouldn’t be the first. She’s not breaking the rules. We are.”
Kit felt a faint shudder go up his spine. For a moment, Julian had sounded like Kit’s father. The world isn’t the way you want it to be. It’s the way it is.
“So we’re just supposed to pretend we don’t know what Zara’s up to?” Emma frowned.
“No,” said Diana. “I’m going to go to Idris. I’m going to speak to the Consul.”
They all looked at her, wide-eyed—all except Julian, who didn’t seem surprised, and Kieran, who was still glaring at his food.
“What Zara is proposing would mean Jia’s daughter would be married to one of the Downworlders being registered. Jia knows what that would lead to. I know she’d meet with me. If I can reason with her—”
“She let the Cold Peace pass,” said Kieran.
“She had no choice,” said Diana. “If she’d had warning of what was coming, I’d like to think it would have turned out differently. This time, she’ll have that warning. Besides—we have something to offer her now.”
“That’s right,” said Julian, gesturing at Kieran. “The end of the Cold Peace. A faerie messenger from the Queen of Seelie.”
Evelyn, who had been napping by the fire, bolted upright. “That is enough.” She glared daggers at Kieran. “I can accept a Blackthorn into this house, even one with a questionable bloodline. I will always accept a Blackthorn. But a full-blood faerie? Listening to the business of Nephilim? I will not allow it.”
Kieran looked briefly startled. Then he rose to his feet. Mark began to rise too. Julian stayed exactly where he was. “But Kieran is part of our plan—”
“Stuff and nonsense. Bridget!” she called, and the maid, who had clearly been lurking in the corridor, stuck her head into the room. “Please lead the princeling to one of the spare bedrooms. I will have your word, faerie, that you will not depart it until you are allowed.”
Kieran looked at Cristina. “What is your desire, my lady?”
Kit was baffled. Why was Kieran, a prince of the gentry, taking orders from Cristina?
She blushed. “You don’t need to swear you won’t leave the room,” she said. “I trust you.”
“Do you?” Emma said, sounding fascinated, as Kieran gave a stiff bow and departed.
Bridget’s muttering could be heard by all as she led Kieran out the door. “Faeries in the Institute,” she muttered. “Ghosts is one thing, warlocks is another thing, but never in all my born days—”
Drusilla looked puzzled. “Why is Kieran here?” she said, as soon as he was gone. “I thought we hated him. Like, mostly hated him. I mean, he did save our lives, but he’s still a jerk.”
There was a murmur of voices. Kit remembered something he’d overhead Livvy say to Dru a day or two ago. More pieces of the Kieran puzzle: Livvy had been angry that Mark would go to Faerie to help someone who had hurt him. Had hurt Emma and Julian. Kit didn’t know exactly what had happened, but it had clearly been bad.
Emma had moved to sit on the couch beside Cristina. She’d arrived wearing a pale gossamer dress that looked like something Kit would have seen in the Shadow Market. It made her look delicate and graceful, but Kit remembered the steel in her, the way she’d sliced apart the praying mantis demons in his house with all the calm of a bride cutting slices of wedding cake.
Julian was quietly listening to his family talk. Even though he wasn’t looking at Emma, an almost visible energy crackled between them. Kit remembered the way Emma had said this isn’t Julian’s kind of place to his father—one of the first things he’d heard her say, in the Market—and the way her voice had seemed to hug the syllables of his name.