The Lost Book of the White (The Eldest Curses #2) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,52
Shadow Markets?”
“Some of them,” Jem admitted.
“I’d rather not deal with Tessa’s wrath if anything happened to you. Stay here; we can confer when we get back.”
At that moment Alec appeared, wearing what for him were going-out clothes: gray jeans, a many-times-washed blue T-shirt that matched his eyes, and a pin-striped gray-and-white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. “We should go,” he said to Magnus. “The Portal finally seems demon free.”
Magnus handed the bowl he was holding to Jem. He ignored Jem’s raised eyebrow. “Did you ever have to wash dishes in the Silent City?”
“No,” said Jem.
“Then this’ll be good practice.”
* * *
ON THE WAY TO THE Downworlder Concession, Tian took them past a huge brick Gothic building, with two spires on either side of its door; it looked like it had been teleported in straight from the French countryside. Alec was used to taking note of houses of worship when he traveled—it was always good to know where the closest weapons cache could be found—and he’d been frustrated by not really being able to identify religious buildings on sight, in this city of so many different mundanes and mundane religions. This building, however, was familiar in a way that made it stand out in a sea of unfamiliarity.
“Is that a church?” he said to Tian as they walked.
Tian nodded. “Xujiahui Cathedral,” he said. “Also called Saint Ignatius. It’s got the largest cache of Nephilim arms in the city, if we need them. But it’s also swarming with tourists most of the time, so we don’t use it much.”
He was right; the place was abuzz with activity. Tourists lined up outside to go in. Some of it seemed to be under renovation, also: scaffolding was wrapped around most of the stained-glass windows along one side.
“Maybe we should stop by and pick up a few more weapons,” Simon muttered. “I feel a little naked going into this Market with only one seraph blade and nothing else.”
“Just like that dream you have sometimes,” Clary said brightly, and Isabelle snorted with a hastily suppressed laugh.
Jace gave Simon a quick sympathetic look. “Maybe Simon is right,” he said. “The bad guys seem to be able to find us when they want to, but we can’t find them. We should have gone in gear.”
“No,” Tian said. “This is better. The Institute and the concession are on fairly good terms, as these things go, but the Cold Peace has made everybody more tense. We need to be seen to come in a spirit of friendship.”
“We’ll see how much they like our spirit of friendship when demons swarm the place,” Jace said, and Simon looked over at him nervously.
Alec, meanwhile, looked at Magnus, who seemed relieved that they wouldn’t be going into the church. Magnus, like most warlocks, didn’t love spending time in mundane religious buildings. Mundane religions didn’t usually have much kindness for warlocks, and that was putting it mildly.
After some twists and turns, Tian led them through an elaborate red gate into a pedestrianized, cobblestoned street. The gate was guarded by two bronze statues: one a rather intimidating wolf on its hind legs, its claws up in either threat or welcome, Alec couldn’t be sure; the other a large bat, its wings folded over its body in a way that made it look strangely coquettish.
“Welcome to the Downworlder Concession,” Tian said, gesturing proudly.
There was, at least at first, nothing particularly Downworld about the place, although it wasn’t like Downworlders had their own styles of architecture. It looked like Shanghai in miniature, really, an eclectic pile of the city’s history all built on top of itself. Traditional Chinese curved roofs jostled against Western-style buildings, some looking like they had been teleported directly from the English or French countryside, some all classical columns and marble. And all the people were Downworlders.
The streets weren’t crowded this time of morning, but Alec was amazed to see faeries, werewolves, even the occasional warlock walking around, no glamours or illusions at all. He saw Magnus taking it in as well: a place where Downworlders lived freely, without having to constantly hide themselves from the mundane world. It was strange. It was nice.
Tian caught his look. “The whole concession is warded from mundanes,” he said. “The arch looks like the entrance to a ruined building, destroyed in the 1940s and never rebuilt.”
“Why doesn’t this exist anywhere else?” Clary said. “Why aren’t there glamoured Downworlder neighborhoods all over?”
Magnus, Tian, and Jace all spoke at the same time.