Home > Son of the Dawn (Ghosts of the Shadow Market #1)(2)

Son of the Dawn (Ghosts of the Shadow Market #1)(2)
Author: Cassandra Clare, Sarah Rees Brennan

The pain and power struggles of the world seemed very far away, in the Silent City.

It had not occurred to Zachariah that the Downworlders would resent the Lightwoods so much they might decline their aid even when Shadowhunter help was truly needed. Perhaps it should have.

Downworlders and Shadowhunters have a long, complicated history full of pain, and much of the pain has been the fault of the Nephilim, Brother Zachariah admitted. Yet through the ages, they have found a way to work together. I know that when they followed Valentine Morgenstern, the Lightwoods did terrible things, but if they are truly repentant, could you not forgive them?

“Being a damned soul, I have no moral objection to the Lightwoods,” said Raphael in deeply moralistic tones. “I do have strong objections to my head being cut off. Given the least excuse, the Lightwoods would lay waste to my clan.”

The only woman Zachariah had ever loved was a warlock. He had seen her weep over the Circle and its effects. Brother Zachariah had no reason to support the Lightwoods, but everyone deserved a second chance if they wanted that chance enough.

And one of Robert Lightwood’s ancestors had been a woman called Cecily Herondale.

Say they would not, suggested Brother Zachariah. Would it not be preferable to reestablish relations with the Institute rather than hope to catch a Silent Brother at the Shadow Market?

“Of course it would,” said Raphael. “I fully recognize this is not an ideal situation. This is not the first stratagem I have been forced to employ when I required an audience with Shadowhunters. Five years ago I had coffee with a visiting Ashdown.”

He and his companion shared a shudder of distaste.

“I absolutely hate the Ashdowns,” remarked Lily. “They are so tedious. I believe that if I fed on one of them I would nod off halfway through.”

Raphael gave her a warning look.

“Not that I would ever dream of nonconsensually drinking the blood of any Shadowhunter, because it would violate the Accords!” Lily informed Brother Zachariah in a loud voice. “The Accords are deeply important to me.”

Raphael shut his eyes, a briefly pained expression crossing his face, but after an instant he opened them and nodded.

“So how about it, Brother Lipsmackariah, will you help us out?” Lily asked brightly.

A cold weight of disapproval made itself known from his silent brethren, like stones being pressed against his mind. Zachariah was allowed a great deal of latitude for a Silent Brother, but his frequent visits to the Shadow Markets and his annual meeting with a lady on Blackfriars Bridge were already testing the limits of what could be allowed.

If he began consorting with Downworlders on issues that could be handled perfectly well by an Institute, Brother Zachariah’s privileges were in danger of being suspended.

He could not risk missing that meeting. Anything but that.

The Silent Brothers are forbidden to interfere with the affairs of the outside world. Whatever your problem is, said Brother Zachariah, I strongly urge you to consult with your Institute.

He bowed his head and began to turn away.

“My problem is werewolves smuggling yin fen into New York,” Raphael called after him. “Ever heard of yin fen?”

The bells and songs of the Shadow Market seemed to go quiet.

Brother Zachariah turned sharply back to the two vampires. Raphael Santiago stared at him with glittering eyes which left Brother Zachariah in no doubt that Raphael knew a good deal about Zachariah’s own history.

“Ah,” said the vampire. “I see you have.”

Zachariah usually tried to preserve memories of his mortal life, but now he had to make an effort to banish the intruding horror of waking up as a child with all he loved dead, and silver fire burning in his veins.

Where did you hear about the yin fen?

“I don’t intend to tell you,” said Raphael. “Nor do I intend to let that stuff be freely available in my city. A large quantity of yin fen is on its way to the city, on board a ship carrying cargo from Shanghai, Ho Chi Minh, Vienna, and Idris itself. The ship unloads at the New York Passenger Ship Terminal. Will you help me or not?”

Raphael had already mentioned the leader of his clan performing disastrous experiments with drugs. Zachariah’s guess was that many potential customers among the Downworld were talking about the shipment of yin fen at the Market. The fact a Downworlder with conservative views had heard about it was sheer luck.

I will help you, said Brother Zachariah. But we must consult with the New York Institute. If you wish I can go with you to the Institute and explain matters. The Lightwoods will appreciate the information, and you offering it. This is an opportunity to improve relations between the Institute and all the Downworlders in New York.

Raphael did not look convinced, but after a moment he nodded.

“You will go with me?” he asked. “You will not fail? They would not listen to a vampire, but I suppose it is possible they will listen to a Silent Brother.”

I will do whatever I can, said Brother Zachariah.

Cunning crept into Raphael’s voice. “And if they don’t help me. If they or even the Clave refuse to believe me, then what will you do?”

Then I will still help you, said Brother Zachariah, ignoring the chill howl of his brethren in his mind and thinking of Tessa’s clear eyes.

He dreaded missing a meeting with Tessa, but when he did meet her, he wanted to face her with no stain upon him. He could not let any child suffer what he had suffered, not if he could prevent it.

Zachariah was not able to feel all he had felt when he was mortal, but Tessa could still feel. He could not let her be disappointed in him. She was the last star he had to steer by.

“I’ll come to the Institute with you,” Lily volunteered.

“You will do no such thing,” snapped Raphael. “It is not safe. Remember, the Circle attacked Magnus Bane.”

The ice in Raphael’s voice could have laid the whole of New York City under frost for a week in midsummer. He eyed Brother Zachariah with disfavor.

“Magnus invented your Portals, not that he receives any credit for it from Shadowhunters. He is one of the most powerful warlocks in the world, and so tenderhearted he rushes to the aid of vicious killers. He is the best the Downworld has to offer. If the Circle targeted him, they would cut down any one of us.”

“Would’ve been a damn shame,” Lily confirmed. “Magnus throws an amazing rager, too.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Raphael, casting a look of distaste upon the joyful riot of the Market. “I do not enjoy people. Or gatherings.”

A werewolf wearing an enchanted papier-mâché full-moon head shoved past Raphael, shouting “Awoooo!” Raphael turned to look at him, and the werewolf backed away with his hands up, mumbling: “Uh, sorry. My mistake.”

Despite slight fellow feeling with the werewolf, Brother Zachariah unbent a little at this evidence that this vampire was not entirely awful.

I understand that you value Magnus highly. So do I. Once he aided someone very dear to—

“No, I don’t!” Raphael interrupted. “And I don’t care about your story. Don’t tell him I said any of that. I can have opinions on my colleagues. It does not mean I have personal feelings about them.”

“Hey, my man, great to see you,” said Ragnor Fell, passing by.

Raphael paused to fist-bump the green warlock before Ragnor disappeared among the stalls and sounds and many-colored lights of the Market. Lily and Brother Zachariah regarded him.

“He’s another colleague!” Raphael protested.

I like Ragnor, said Brother Zachariah.

“Good for you,” snapped Raphael. “Revel in your hobby of liking and trusting everyone. It sounds as appealing to me as sunbathing.”

Zachariah felt he had become acquainted with another reason, besides Magnus’s evil vampire ex, why Magnus always seemed to develop a migraine when people mentioned the vampire clan of New York in his presence. He, Lily, and Raphael strolled through the Market.

“Love charm for the handsomest Silent Brother?” asked the faerie woman for the fifth time, leering through her dandelion-clock hair. Sometimes one could wish the Shadow Market had not become quite so comfortable with him.

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