Page 73 of Better in Black
“In the past year, yes,” Ari said. “And that is a problem, because I am naturally a homebody, and one of us needs to want to get out of the house sometimes or we’ll never do it.”
“For many of the nights of the past year,” Anna said, and her expression changed subtly as she caught Ari’s gaze with her own, “I have regretted nothing about staying in.”
“Neither have I,” said Ari, taking Anna’s hand in hers. “But I don’t think that’s the only reason you’ve stayed in. Much as it is a compliment to me to say so.”
“I mean every word,” Anna said. “But…no, it wasn’t the only reason. At first, I was, you know. Sad, about Kit.”
Ari nodded.
“But then it started to seem like the topic of my monogamous commitment was the talk of the town,” Anna went on, a trace of bitterness creeping into her voice. “And I hated it. Bets were being placed on whether I would be faithful to you.”
“Only by those who don’t know you,” Ari said, defensive against even imaginary dullards. “Honestly, you have never seemed like someone who cared about that kind of gossiping.”
“I don’t,” Anna said. “I cared about whether it would hurt you.Break your faith in me. Whether, if I continued to go out as I used to, you would begin to wonder if I regretted what I had put aside. Or what I was up to when you weren’t present. So I suppose I just…stayed home.”
“You didn’t need to.” Ari lightly drew her fingers through Anna’s hair. “I am proud of you when we are out, not jealous. You are the loveliest, wittiest creature in the room, and yet you love me.”
“Ari—”
“I want you to be whole and happy, my love, and that means you should go out with your friends. You adore your friends. And as for me, well—I miss having fun. Non-private fun,” she added, and Anna smiled. “Before you I was with Charles all the time, and I never got to have fun with Charles.”
“Because he is not a fun person,” Anna said. “The fun is very unevenly distributed in that family.”
“True,” Ari said, smiling. “Listen to me, my darling. I do trust you. I trust you implicitly. I trust you because I know you, and I know you mean what you say. You absolutely should go out, to see a performance at the Hell Ruelle, or to catch up with friends, and sometimes I will come with you and sometimes not, but I trust you regardless.”
Anna’s eyes were glittering, with tiredness and love and, perhaps, tears. Ari couldn’t tell. But she knew if they were tears, they were good ones. “Why?”
“Because you have the truest heart I’ve ever known,” said Ari. “Because you love your friends and would die for them. Because you are honest to a fault. And all that means I find it not just easy to love you, but impossible not to.”
Anna rolled over on her side to curl her body against Ari’s. “Me too,” she said sleepily.
“You never have to be anything else with me,” Ari whispered to her, “than what you are. That is the only thing I ever want you to be.”
She waited for a response, but in the silence came only steady, gentle breathing. Anna was asleep. Ari closed her eyes, safe, snug, her heart so full it almost ached, and let sleep carry her away.
Bred in the Bone
Saturday night was just gettingstarted, and it already sucked. For one thing, Emma Carstairs—savior of the world (two of them, actually), fiercest Shadowhunter of her generation (ask anyone, except Zara Dearborn), indefatigable warrior for the cause of the Nephilim (and against Anyone Who Betrayed Her Friends)—was suffering a serious wardrobe malfunction. She looked in horror at the deep red stain blooming across her vintage Blondie tee.
Helen Blackthorn gasped at the sight of it. “Is that blood?”
“Worse.” Emma groaned, and sniffed at the ruined shirt. “Ketchup.”
Helen reached out a hand and helped Emma to her feet. Usually Shadowhunters wore gear to work, and Emma had to admit black was better at hiding stains. Tonight, though, had called for aT-shirt and jeans (and various deadly weapons hidden underneath, but that was par for the course). She and Helen were undercover on Venice Beach, on the trail of a warlock supposedly using a burger shack as a front for his demonic blood cult.
There wasn’t supposed to be any fighting, just spying and milkshakes. (London’s chocolate shakes couldn’t measure up to the ones in Los Angeles, so the latter had, frankly, been as big a draw for Emma as the whole warlock thing.) But then the warlock had raised a Palpis demon and the giant caterpillar-like creature had swallowed him whole. Which, unsurprisingly, had led to a lot of screaming cultists and flying cutlery. It only took five minutes or so for Emma to slice off the demon’s swollen head, but it turned out a Palpis demon (not to mention a bunch of panicked demon-worshipping idiots on Rollerblades) could do a lot of damage in five minutes. The burger shack was wrecked. From the distant sound of sirens, she guessed the mundane police were on their way, which was never ideal. And the vintage Blondie T-shirt was definitely a lost cause.
“Would you say you miss this kind of thing when you’re in England?” Helen said, as they walked back to the car.
Emma liked Venice at night. The crowds faded away, the tacky tourist storefronts closed, and the dark made it easier to look past the trash littering the beach. At night, it was easier to imagine it was still the Venice of her childhood, where she’d lived before the Dark War took her childhood away. And okay, it still smelled a little like weed and grease, but beneath that was the familiar scent of the ocean: brine, salt, eternity. Wherever Emma could smell the ocean felt like home.
“There are plenty of demons in England,” Emma protested. Just the other month, in fact, she and Julian had taken out a wholehive of Eluthieds making mischief at Borough Market. “But I have to admit, the milkshakes here are far superior.”
“I believe you,” Helen said, “but surely now and then the demons offer you a full English breakfast before settling into combat?”
“Tea, actually,” Emma replied somberly. “At four o’clock all fighting is paused for half an hour for tea and biscuits.”
“Now that’s civilized.” Helen smiled.
