A/N: Okay, I think it's been a while since I've updated, but oh well :) I'm doing it now. I don't really have much to say about it, other than that it's pretty much just a segue into the next future chapter. The past is so much more fun to write right now :/ Oh well. Things are going to start heating up in the future as well pretty soon.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own The Dark Artifices.
Emma ran a hand through her hair to undo the braid. It came away sticky.
"Don't do that at the table, dear," Arthur said, passing the potatoes to her. The spoon fell in the steaming white gush. Jules reached to retrieve it. A golden hair settled on the rim of the bowl.
Emma wiped her hand on her pants. "Sorry," she said, looking at the leftover demon on her jeans. It was almost as gross-looking as last week's meatloaf, which was coming her way.
"This stuff wasn't even good on the first day," Tibs complained, shoving his chair back from the table. Emma knew where he was headed- straight to the fridge to get the takeout that Mark had left here the previous night.
His mother stopped him, much the Emma's dismay. "We're having a family dinner, son," she said, "if you wanted to eat something different, maybe you should have cooked it."
"I wanted take-out." Tibs sank back in his chair.
"Lucky thing," Livvy remarked, a gleam in her eye, "because anything Tibs cooked would have been even less edible than this meatloaf."
Everyone laughed except Penelope, but in Emma's opinion, anyone who made meatloaf- and served it again after refrigerating it for four days- was opening himself up for criticism. But cooking for eight people was a hefty task; if she were Penelope, the family would be defaulting on leftovers a lot more.
Jules stabbed at the brown hunk of meat on his plate. Then he sliced it with his fork and took a bite. "It's not actually that bad, if you can get past the texture."
"Well, I can't," said Livvy, pushing her plate away, meatloaf untouched.
"It looks like poo!" Ariadne squealed. Emma reached over and tickled her chin. Ari's cheeks dimpled.
"Tastes like poo, too," Silla said, making a face.
"It makes me need to take a poo," Octavian said, licking his plate clean. The kid ate anything- including four-day-old leftovers. He was always the one cleaning out whatever was left in the fridge. He didn't mind though. For a six-year-old, Emma thought, Tavvy had a huge appetite.
Arthur had a stern look on his face. "None of that," he insisted. "Just enjoy your mother's cooking." Every blanched at him. It was a known fact in the Blackthorn house: mom's cooking was not enjoyed.
"Or," Arthur added, "if you can't do that, enjoy each other's company."
"I nominate Emma to cook tomorrow night," Jules said, grinning at Emma.
She rolled her eyes. She could only cook one meal—spaghetti—and that was about as easy as it could get.
"How 'bout it, Em?" Arthur asked.
"Maybe I could get Margarita in the kitchen," Emma replied, "she could tell me how to make California rolls. You like sushi, right A?" she asked, using her pet name for Arthur. Arthur was A and Penelope was, quite obviously, P. Truthfully, she called them that mostly because she knew she could never feel comfortable calling them Mom and Dad. Not when her parents could still be out there somewhere, fighting their way back to her.
"Where are Margarita and Christina?" Livvy asked. Emma looked around the table: she had noticed the absence of the pair's quick, accented voices, and their comments from the peanut gallery. Christina was always teasing and joking, and when you got around Margarita, it was easy to see where she got it from. She had passed her sharp wit, and her even sharper tongue, down to her daughter.
"They had an appointment with Mr. Gregoire," Penelope answered.
"Doesn't he charge like three hundred bucks a pop?" Julian asked.
"I heard his house smells like demon," Tibs added. So far as Emma knew, he was the only Shadowhunter to even smell demons. He was like a blood hound; he could track with his sense of smell.
"I can't confirm either of those rumors," Penelope said, "but I do know that they went to ask him about treatments for Margarita."
"Guess things aren't as good as she's making them out to be," Emma said.
"No," Penelope agreed.
"But it can only get better from here on out, eh kids?" Arthur said cheerily.
Emma thought back to when Margarita's eyes had first started failing her. She was always in the kitchen, trying new recipes and improving old ones. One day, when she'd been chopping up the vegetables for her famous spring rolls, Margarita hadn't been far from chopping a finger off.
Ever since then, she'd been denying that anything was wrong. Just last week Christina had convinced her to go to Mr. Gregoire, Los Angeles's high warlock.
"I guess we know why we're having soggy meatloaf and overcooked veggies for dinner, then," Silla commented. "I asked Margarita to make risotto tonight."
"She's not a cook, dear," Arthur told his daughter, "and I don't like it when you kids place orders with her."
"She doesn't mind, Dad," Julian said, "I think she likes it."
"Yes, I'm sure she loves being treated like an underpaid waiter." Arthur tapped his fork on his plate and turned his gaze on Emma. "What were you up to earlier this evening?"
Emma looked to Julian. He was wearing his best poker face. Not helping. Tibs? she asked silently. He was busy trying to scoot away without being noticed. Livvy shook her head slightly. It was likely Arthur would shut their mission down if he got any inkling of it being even remotely dangerous- which it was.
"I told you, A. We went to the grocery store."
He didn't look totally convinced. "And what did you get at the grocery store?"
"Ice cream," Julian cut in smoothly. "Who wants some?"
The younger children let out a chorus of "me!"s. Mr. Blackthorn too was distracted by the prospect of the sweet treat replacing the slimy meal his wife had prepared. Emma smiled to herself. Arthur would probably never get the hang of having teenagers. He had three more tries, though. Mark, Helen, she, Julian, Livvy, and Tibs had gotten lucky; he was clueless, as was Penelope, but this was her first time around, so it was excusable.
"By the way, Em, I need to talk to you about the ice cream." Julian smiled tightly as if to say catch my drift?
Emma shrugged. "Alright," she said, not sure what there was to talk about. "Like now or...?"
"Later. I'll catch you before bed." Somehow, that set Emma's teeth on edge. Livvy and Tibs had knowing looks on their faces. She was the last to know. As usual.
Before she could question him further, Jules rose to retrieve the ice cream from the freezer.
"Hurry up!" Emma shouted at whoever was behind the bathroom door showering. On the second floor of the Institute, which Emma, Julian, Tibs, and Silla shared, there was a bathroom in every bedroom, but only one communal shower, which as far as Emma was concerned meant first come first serve. She was normally the first in, but tonight, someone had had the audacity to jump in front of her. "Get out!"
She heard the water shut off and the sound of water flowing down the drain. Finally. She'd been standing there for at least five minutes. The door opened.
And Emma's heart jerked inside of her chest. Julian stood before her, wrapped in a towel, his hair dripping wet and his body gleaming with droplets of water.
"Oh," she stuttered, "sorry, Jules," thought you were Tibs." She couldn't have said why he was having this effect on her; she'd seen him like this a hundred times before. Her feelings were... complicated. All she could do was pray that her blush held off until she was alone.
"Okay," was all Julian said in acknowledgment to her apology. "Can we talk?"
Emma's eyes almost popped out of their sockets. No, they could not talk, not now, not while he was half naked in the hall.
"I need to shower," she said, stepping past him, feeling the heat creep into her neck. "I have demon in my hair."
"I saw that during dinner." Jules laughed. "Okay, whenever you're done."
"Yeah." Emma shut the door.
Someone knocked on Emma's door and rattled the knob. She pulled shirt on and, unsurprisingly, found Julian standing on the opposite side of the threshold.
"Can I come in?" he asked, sticking his head in. Emma hadn't realized the way she had wedged herself between the doorway and Julian until she nodded and moved.
"I just wanted to talk to you- about tonight." He sat down on the bed, patting the mattress beside him. His hair was still wet; he grabbed Emma's towel and tousled it, droplets flying and scattering lamplight. Emma flicked on the main fixture and stood by the switch for a moment.
"I know you already talked to Livvy and Tibs," she said. "Why?"
Jules sighed. "Come. Sit." Emma obliged this time. "When we went out tonight, I didn't realize what you were after."
Emma said nothing.
"We talked about it and... I don't think it's a good idea for you to pursue this."
She blanched at him. "So, you're saying you don't want me to pursue my parents? Because I know for sure that they would pursue me if I had been missing for six years!"
Julian put his hand on her exposed leg. Emma jerked away. She was already uncomfortable in her short shorts and tank top. Now she was angry and she didn't need Julian's reassurance.
He drew back. "I know, and I understand. If you went missing, I'd never stop looking. But Em... They're not coming back. There's nothing to look for."
"There is," Emma said matter-of-factly, "there was never any proof that they died. No bodies. No nothing."
Julian sighed. "There's no proof that they lived either. I- we just don't want you to get your hopes up-"
"They've been missing for years, Jules. My hopes haven't been high. I just want some closure, do I not deserve that? How could I out the rest of my life not knowing?"
"Is that all you want?" He massaged his temples with his long painter's fingers. He hadn't been painting lately, Emma noted against her own will. Everything about Julian was distracting, even the way he breathed and blinked, and the irregularly audible sound of his heartbeat. It was beating out an off-tempo, yet steady tattoo.
"Yes," Emma replied finally, though she could think of at least a dozen other things she wanted. She wanted Julian to say he'd help her; she wanted him to get off her bed, and she wanted her heart to stop drumming like a marching band in her chest; she wanted to remove that dam inside of her that had been holding back any hope of finding her parents, keeping that particularly tide at bay; she wanted to be able to snap her fingers and hold all that she wanted in her hands; she wanted to know if Julian would be one of the things cupped in her palms.
"And if you they are... Dead?"
"Oh, stop with the {ifs} Jules. If they're dead... Well, at least I'll know. So, will you help me?"
Julian stared off into a corner of the room before answering. He seemed so very distant at that moment. A million miles away, weighing all that could possibly go wrong, as was his nature. He failed to see the things that could go right.
"Alright."
Emma's face broke out in a grin.
"Don't get too excited," Jules warned. We'll talk about this in morning,"
"Goodnight," she said sprawling out on the bed when he got up, her body filling the space that his had been occupying. She felt the warmth that remained on the sheets.
"Goodnight." Jules closed the door.
Emma pulled the sheets around her body, not bothering a pillow or the lights, and closed her eyes.
The demon from earlier reared its ugly head up through the floor. Somehow, she had ended up in Julian's room. The rest of the demon's body tried to slither up through the hole; luckily, it was too but to fit.
"Emma Carstairs," it warned in a raspy voice. "If you want to find your parents, beware of the Seven Devils."
That's it... for now. I can't think of the rest of the dream right now, so I'll try to explain it later on. Thanks for reading, and REVIEW please! I wanted to do shoutouts but I can't right now, so next chapter if I remember! Thanks to everyone who reviewed the previous chapters!
-seastar