Chapter Text
It all started with a text. There was nothing unusual about that — Kit and Dru texted all the time: memes, angry rants, gossip, about movies, about everything and nothing at all.
Now, it was, like, 4 AM on Saturday when the text came.
Obviously. When did Kit sleep like a normal person.
Well, that was a little out of the blue. Not that he minded, but it sparked concern to say at least.
He didn't believe that at all.
He rolled his eyes at the screen.
Kit rubbed his eyes, sitting up a little straighter. This wasn’t about clothes, not really. It was one of those nights.
Kit seriously doubted that she looked as awful as she claimed. It was more likely her eyes just couldn't be trusted when looking at herself. That being said, he should probably be positive.
Oh, damn. Well, at least now he knew what was going on.
Obviously.
He typed, lying in a perfectly tidied up space.
Kit raised his eyebrows, not even realizing it. Okay, now things were getting interesting.
A pause. Then:
Shit.
And that was it. The next day, Kit asked Tessa and Jem about it, feeling like they were even more thrilled than he was. It wasn't that he didn't have any social life — except he didn't, since his only friends were his fuckbuddy (with whom the few things he had in common were trauma-related), his crush's goth sister (who he'd left in LA without saying goodbye), and a toddler (who probably wouldn't put up with him if she didn't have to).
Anyways, point being that Jem and Tessa always got weirdly excited when he wanted to hang out with someone — the reaction so utterly different from what Kit's father's had been the one time he asked, that it still caught him off guard, even after all this time.
It was kind of weird honestly, getting shocked by all these good things, even after living with them for so long. But it was like his brain refused to accept the kindness, always waiting for the catch, for the other shoe to drop. They got really happy when he asked if Dru could come over — he could practically hear their mental high-five — and he knew they would have no problem with it, but he was still waiting for them to do so.
Their faces literally lit up as if he’d just announced he was getting married and adopting three orphans. Like, 'oh thank the Angel, he's not going to spend the next few days laying in bed and drowning in his sorrow, he's about to hang out with a friend like a normal person would!' Maybe next week he’d be hosting a dinner party, with actual conversations and everything.
Anyhow, one thing led to another and then Tessa was opening a portal and Dru was coming through with a duffel bag, dark circles under her eyes (that were matching his) and a smile on her face (also matching his).
She threw her arms around him and he was ready, immediately squeezing her back and relaxing into the hug.
She greeted Tessa and Jem, thanking them for having her and then they were in the wind - well, in his room - and Dru was pulling out skirts out of the bag.
Kit blinked. There were, indeed, three skirts. One was simple plain (kinda giving last century), one was long black and pleated like an accordion (giving too formal), and one was a crime against humanity — a neon pink situation with asymmetrical ruffles that looked like it had been attacked by a pair of scissors and then sewn back together by a drunk gremlin.
Kit held the last one up between two fingers, staring at it like just coming to contact with the anomalia might kill him.
"Okay," Dru said, hands on hips. "Before you judge me, just know I’ve had it since I was like twelve and it was bought as a joke."
By someone who is no longer alive, didn't need to be said. If some of her brothers had bought it, she would've thrown it out by now.
"Well, we are definitely going shopping," he declared, tossing it back onto the bed.
Dru groaned, falling face first onto the mattress. Thank the Angel she wasn't dramatic at all. "I told you. It's a disaster."
Kit flopped on the bed beside her, staring at the ceiling in silence for a while. Then he turned his head towards her and she could probably feel it (or maybe she just couldn't breathe anymore) because she did the same, lifting her face off the mattress to look back at him.
And for a hot minute, they just stared. It was nice seeing her after so long — weirdly grounding, as if she was bringing him back to the world of living even though he hadn't been really dead. That metaphor probably didn't even make sense. Either way, Kit didn't have many of those people.
It was like remembering old times. Like looking back at a painting you did once, knowing that you painted it but not recognizing yourself in the path of the paintbrush anymore. They were different people back then. She used to be just Ty's little sister to him. Now she was the girl who watched horrors so the world outside felt less scary, who felt unseen by people closest to her and reached out to him for advice exactly because she knew he was the one who would look at the skirts and see if it's her.
Kit wasn't ready to let the past go and she was the one anchor that wasn't hurting him. But she was also a reminder that life was moving on, that it was changing. She had changed. And he had. And still, they were here, laying next to each other, pretending the pain from the outside couldn't reach them as long as they existed just inside themselves and for one another.
"Do you even want to put them on?" he asked her, both of them knowing what he meant. Do you want to dress in something you don't feel like yourself in again? Do you want to look in the mirror and not see yourself again? Do you want to show me, do you want me to look when you yourself don't want to see it?
"Not really," she said. "Do you?"
Kit froze. The question wasn't bad, not at all, and Dru didn't even seem phased by it. She just kept looking at him, honest and open, taking giving him the option for granted. But it wasn't like that for Kit. For him it was a granade in a room full of mirrors.
He was sure she could feel that he tensed up, but her expression didn't change, just stayed open.
Kit’s heart thudded a little harder, the words he wanted to say getting tangled up in his throat. There was heat rising in his chest, and a kind of cold panic that pushed against his ribs at the same time. It wasn’t her fault. She was just asking a question. But she couldn’t see it. She couldn’t know.
And the way she looked at him, it was too much. She was pulling him back to reality, out of himself. His mind screamed: not safe, not safe, not safe, but he was staring into the welcoming heat in her eyes and wanted to come out and meet her in the middle, in the small space between their bodies. No barriers. No walls. No defenses. Just Kit, existing right now in this moment, right here in his bed because the world felt too big for them but the bed was just enough, and her, laying next to him, waiting for him to answer like everything was perfectly normal.
And it would have been, if he weren’t so fucking terrified of the answer.
"I-," his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, then took a breath. Alright, it was fine. He could breathe. "I'm not-"
Not what? Not gay? Not cis? Not okay?
Hell, all of it. Not ready to admit any of that, too.
Do you want to show me, do you want me to look when you yourself don't want to see it?
"I don't," was what he settled on. There was no need to defend himself and offend all kinds of people that were different, the same as him, in the process. There was no need to explain. Not to her.
"Okay," she said.
And it was.
Kit turned his gaze back to the ceiling and closed his eyes and when he stopped feeling her gaze on him, he knew she did too. They lay there for a little while longer, just existing, just breathing, just knowing the other one was by their side.
Then he heard her sigh and shift and when he opened his eyes, she was sitting on her heels, looking down at him with raised eyebrows. "So, shopping?"
He sat up too and nodded once. "Yeah. I know a place."
There was a mall not far from Cirenworth, one of those dying ones with little indie stores wedged between a piercing studio and a shop that mostly sold dead-metal band merch. There was a tea shop that claimed to read your future from the leaves, but mostly sold overpriced crystals, some chain stores that sold basic jeans and seasonal fashion, a gaming store and a café right next to it. Kit knew for a fact there was also a few goth shops trying to outcreep each other.
That's where he took Dru. Her jaw dropped as soon as they entered the first one. Her eyes let up as they wandered through shelves of chokers, fishnets and black lace, and Kit couldn’t help but watch her, amused by the way she seemed to glow in this dark, eerie space.
"Okay, this is... everything," she said, rummaging through dark dramatic skirts.
Kit couldn't help but grin. "Much better than the pink nightmare, right?"
Instead of an answer, she threw one of the skirts his way and he almost cracked his spine catching it. "Warn a guy before trying to kill him with fabric, would you?"
"Heads up," she said then, throwing him another one. He catched it with less struggle, drapping both skirts over his forearm like a waiter.
It went on like that, and by the time they went to the fitting room, he had a not so little pile of clothes in his arms, not just skirts, but also a corset and a top and at least one dress.
He handed it all to her and when she pulled the curtain closed he straight up sat down on the ground. This was gonna take a while and his knees were often convinced he was eighty, not seventeen.
But regardless, he was determinated to take the role of her personal stylist very seriously. When she stepped out of the stall for the first time, she was wearing a long black skirt with layered ruffles and a tight top. A smile grew on Kit's face as he took the sight in. "Much better."
She smiled too and in that moment he could see her confidence growing. When she pulled the curtain opened the second time, she did it like she was in a movie and dramatic music was playing. This skirt had a high-low hemline and a high corset-like waistline with laces. She was wearing the same top as before since she didn't pick them as many as skirts. He made her walk the corridor between the stalls like a runway while he clapped like an obsessed fan.
She twirled at the end of the hall, and he watched as the skirt flared around her legs, looking almost magical. He wondered — only for a moment — what it would feel like if he wore something like that. The way it moved, the way it seemed to create its own rhythm as she spun, it looked... freeing.
Then he crushed that thought before it could bloom.
Boys don't wear skirts, Christopher.
It wasn't even the back of his mind where he knew it wasn't true. Boys wore skirts. Girls wore pants. Non-binary people wore whatever made them look like an anime character with emotional trauma that was never dealt with.
That didn't meant the people were wrong. It only meant they were brave. And that they were free.
But Kit wasn't. No, Kit was ashamed. So he couldn't wear a skirt. He couldn't want to do it. But he wanted. And he knew he could.
He still wouldn't.
He locked up the envy feeling to the iron box that he never opened willingly, to the back of his mind where he didn't go, pushed it somewhere to the bottom of his heart, right next to grey eyes and white dress, where it couldn't do anything, just hurt.
Dru giggled as she spun and it sounded like dancing on a meadow in summer. He laughed too, and it sounded like a closed door.
"Be honest," she told him when she stopped spinning. "Do I look totally cool or like I'm about to attend a funeral?"
Kit gave it a thought. "Yes."
She snorted and walked back to the stall where the rest of the clothing was. "You're no help," she told him, drawing the curtain shut.
"You were saying something else when you texted me for advice at 4 am," he couldn't help but tease.
"Shut up," she called back, the rustling of the fabric mixing with her words. "I'm not the only one with a problem here, when you were still awake at the time."
Dru was right. That, they both knew. Kit had problems. He was awake because he was scared to go to sleep. Because if he slept he would be awake an hour later at best again, and he would feel even worse after having a nightmare. And he didn't know what he would do, because he promised Julian to not cut himself when he needed to. So he rather stayed on his phone and watched tiktoks, then played candy-crash, then cleared out his gallery, and then watched tiktoks again. But Dru didn't need to know all of that.
This time she was in the stall longer, and when he called her name to check in, she explained she didn't like the next few choices at all so she got out of them as soon as she put them on. Kit pulled out his phone and began to scroll through social media because he couldn't stand just looking around his surrounding any longer, when she yanked the curtain open.
She was standing in the frame of the stall with her legs wide apart, one hand pinning the curtain to the wall, a little out of breath, with her hair slightly messy, like changing was a fight. When he saw what she had on, he came to the conclusion it probably, indeed, was.
This skirt was black — surprise! — and had a high-low hemline too, layered, lacy and wavy, rising high in the front to show off most of her thighs. He didn't realize it was that short when she picked it and hung on his arm. Where the skirt ended, a corset began — also black — also no surprise there — with little ornaments all over the thing, cinching her waist in a way that highlighted her curves and pushed her boobs so far up she could probably rest her chin on them if she wanted.
He didn't even know where to look to stay respectful, but then he reminded himself this was Dru and she'd asked for his help. Besides, he was in love with her brother anyway.
She was wearing funky mismatched socks and Kit couldn't even decide if it was ruining or adding up to the look. Either way, he couldn't help but let out a low whistle.
Her brows furrowed nervously and she bit her lip. "Too much?"
Kit's eyes met hers, a smirk playing on his face. "Well, if Thais isn't gay already, she's definitely going to be."
Dru threw a hanger at him. Kit caught it effortlessly with one hand. "Hey! You asked for my opinion," he defended himself.
"You're impossible," Dru threw her hands up but didn't reach for another hanger which was a progress.
"And you're hot," Kit pointed out, getting up from the floor, shoving his phone into the packet of his jeans. He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, pushing her gently towards the mirror. Then he rubbed the back of his neck, eyeing the corset-and-skirt combo again. "Okay, if you feel like going full on goddess and being like, ‘Here I am, you’re welcome,’ — this one’s definitely the winner. We could grab you some lace bolero and tights to tie it all together."
Kit paused, then added more gently, "But if you’re not feeling it, the first one was super chill and actually fit you really well. Casual, but flattering, and still hot."
Dru blinked in surprise, not expecting him to have actual advice — or for it to sound that sincere. She looked at herself in the mirror again. Kit stood behind her, leaning slightly to the side so he could catch her eye in the reflection.
"And the second one?" she asked, voice soft.
Kit shrugged, thoughtful. "Definitely bold. Loved the leg action, but it could’ve fit better. You still looked amazing in it though."
Dru turned around, looking at him like she was seeing him anew. "You’re surprisingly good at this," she said. "Like, weirdly good. Where did this whole stylist alter ego come from, huh?"
Kit's face went red and he averted his gaze, awkwardly adjusting the hem of his shirt. "It's not that hard."
She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Oh, it is. I was going to wear jeans and a hoodie because I didn't know what to do. Angel, I still don't think I can pull this off."
Kit met her eyes again, and the serious look that settled on his face out of nowhere almost made her take a step back. "Well, you can. You’re allowed to be the main character, Dru. It’s okay to take up space."
She just blinked at him for a while, stunned. Then she managed to get out in a small voice: "So, tights and bolero?"
Kit grinned, the serious look gone as suddenly as it came. "That's my girl."
They ended up buying two of the skirts — the first one too — and going to one more alternative shop (Kit thought there were more of them, but as it turned out, one got closed a few months back), and even though they didn't find any skirt that Dru liked better, they bought the tights and bolero there. She tried on some dresses and shorter skirts but she didn't like that in the first store either and didn't let Kit see either of it.
After that they just kind of wandered.
The mall was half-empty, the kind of place that felt like it was holding its breath. Kit stayed alert, walking close to Dru, because he knew damn well that besides old people with nowhere else to be there were also creeps. Some of the people hanging around the food court or leaning against the walls gave off a vibe he didn’t like. The kind that made his skin itch. He knew the look too well — the lingering stares, the disgusting smiles, the way their eyes didn't stop at someone's face. He could recognize it before he learned how to tie shoelaces.
And logically, he knew Dru was a shadowhunter with years more experience than he had and if anyone tried anything they would end up in a hospital at least, but he was still careful to always position himself so her body was shielded from their stares.
The mall was slowly dying, but Dru and Kit filled it with something living — laughter, teasing, and the kind of chaos only two emotionally damaged teens could summon when they finally had a little time to just be.
They tried on a bunch of different things just for fun, messing around in the fitting rooms.
“I’m going full Victorian ghost who died at seventeen. Tragically,” she announced as she adjusted a long white veil and struck a dramatic pose in the mirror. “You’re the fiancé who never wrote back from war.”
Kit barked a laugh and adjusted an oversized trench coat he was wearing. “Did I die or did I run away with a field nurse?"
Dru pulled the veil across her face, closing the distance between them with a creepy walk. "Oh, you better hope you died. Trust me, you really don't want to be haunted by me."
She patted his cheek before turning on her heel, the veil swaying dramatically in the air like Snape's coat.
Kit pulled out his phone and quickly took a picture of her like that, the long veil trailing behind her. “Okay, yeah, definitely dead. I died a noble death in the mud. Much better than being cursed by my ghost bride for all eternity.”
Dru spun around, veil fluttering again, and pointed at him. “You were not noble. You tripped on your own bayonet trying to impress the nurse with your poor fencing skills."
Kit clutched his chest in mock offense. “That's rude, my fencing skills were mediocre at least, thank you very much.”
"Mediocre at best, Kit," she teased. "And honestly hence the nurse, you probably died because you were too busy staring at your reflection in the bayonet instead of, you know, paying attention to the war."
Kit rolled his eyes. "No, I probably rather killed myself than come back home to you."
Dru simply shoved him in the shoulder. They tried on a bunch of other stuff after that. Leather vests and steampunk goggles, pointy boots and hats, coats that were too big.
It became a game. They found the weirdest thing they could and the other had to try it on. Kit ended up in mesh gloves and a dark robe that made him look like a vampire uncle, with a ridiculously wide but short purple hat and yellow fluffly boa. Dru cried laughing and made him do a twirl. In return, she had to wear a leopard-print bodysuit with matching heels, oversized flamingo shaped sunglasses and neon green leather jacket with glitter all over it.
They took pictures of everything, of course. Selfies with absurd hats. Mirror shots with both of them mid-laugh. One where Kit was pretending to faint into Dru’s arms because she was 'too stunning and might be an actual siren'. Another where Dru gave the camera a peace sign while Kit was drowning in a cloak at least four sizes too big. Few aesthetic ones when they were just wandering the halls in their own clothes.
Dru tried to convince him to get his ears pierced so they could buy matching earrings, but Kit was a coward so he talked her down to buying matching bracelets instead.
When they were walking around the tea shop — the sign read Leaves of Fate: Tea & Tarot — it seemed like the perfect kind of nonsense to end the afternoon with. She pulled him by the sleeve. "Come on, we're getting our futures read."
Kit stopped dead in his tracks. "We're doing what now?"
Dru tugged at his sleeve again but he didn't move. "You heard me."
"Dru, with our luck, this place is run by faeries and we really shouldn't drink the tea," he tried to be the voice of common sense in the situation.
She just shrugged. "It says tea and tarot. We can just stick to the cards." Kit grabbed his head instead of an answer so she kept going: "Don't tell me you're not curious. What if we find out one of us is going to be the next Inquisitor or a part of a forbidden lovestory?"
Kit let out a long suffering sigh. "Fine. But if you end up cursed or owing them a firstborn, I'm not helping."
He followed her inside, by the few shelves full of crystals and tea the shop was selling, and to the back — through a beaded curtain, into a small, dimly lit room scented with a mix of jasmine and something smoky. There was a round table and an old lady sitting behind it, draped in layers of colorful scarves.
“Welcome to Leaves of Fate,” she said, voice raspy but kind. “I'm Madame Morwen. What brings you here today?"
Kit let Dru speak because if he'd be the one to do it he would end up saying 'this annoying goth is what brought me here actually — I don't believe in this shit at all but unfortunately, she's persistent and I'm terrible at telling her no and why the Angel does your name sound like you own a brothel?' or something like that. Dru just smiled and asked for tarot reading.
"Then sit, dear," Morwen said. "Let’s see what the cards have to say.”
There was only one more chair at the table and Kit had no problem letting Dru go first - especially if it meant he could somehow manage to avoid it at all in the end. She handed him a bag she was carrying and plopped down into the seat across from the woman like she did this sort of thing every day. Who knew, maybe she did. Kit certainly hoped it wasn't at LA's Shadowmarket.
"Where shall we look today?" the lady asked, grabbing a well-worn deck of tarot cards. “The past, the present, or-”
“The future,” Dru cut her off eagerly and Kit couldn't help but let out a soft snort under his breath. Madame's gaze flicked briefly to him and he lowered his head, his cheeks reddening. But she just smirked before turning her gaze back to Dru.
Morwen began to shuffle the cards, and Kit couldn't help but admire her rings — golden bands stacked on her fingers, some with colorful stones set deep into them, one had a shape of a serpent curling around her thumb. She was wearing so many of them it was really impressive that she could still bend her knuckles.
They watched as she fanned the cards out with a dramatic flourish, face-down on the table in front of Dru.
“Pick three,” she told her. “Don't think too hard, dear, just choose what feels right," she stated when Dru reached out, then took her hand back.
The girl ended up picking one from the left, one near the center, and then one right next to it. The lady gathered them with care and then flipped the first one.
To be honest, Kit's first thought was: 'holy shit, the cards know we're shadowhunters!' Because why else would there be a Silent brother drawn on the first one. Then actual logical thinking got to him and reminded that Silent brothers usually didn't have ravens sitting on their shoulders and a scythe in hand.
“Death," Morwen said and Dru went pale.
Kit let out a very incredulous laugh through his nose, because — well, what else was he supposed to do. “Of course,” he muttered, but both of them ignored him.
"It is rarely literal," Madame said as if she'd said it a hundred times before. She probably had. "Means transformations, endings, change. A new chapter is coming whether you're ready or not."
Dru managed to nod even though she still looked like the lady was telling her she had a week to live. The fortune teller didn’t give her more time to process it, her ringed fingers flipping over the second card with the same careful reverence as the first one, like they might bite.
Honestly, Kit thought she was being a little extra — never let Dru tell him he was dramatic again, because this lady made him look like a shrugging slacker when it came to theatrics. She was acting like those were ancient scrolls soaked in angel blood, not an overpriced cardstock.
He glanced at Dru, half expecting her to be just as unimpressed, but her face was all tense focus — like she was waiting for something to jump out of the cards and punch her in the face.
The next card showed another hooded figure, holding a lantern this time. Seriously, what was this — Tarot: Silent Brotherhood edition? The card was upside down which turned out to have a meaning as Morwen said: "The hermit, reversed. Loneliness, isolation," she gazed her up and down. "Are you perhaps a middle child, dear?"
Kit glanced sideways at Dru, whose mouth had tightened. He made a mental note to bring this up during some midnight deeptalk, when her barriers were down.
"I am," Dru said, then looked away, suddenly interested in the pattern of the tiles on the floor.
The old lady just nodded, obviously expecting it. “Loneliness that isn’t chosen. Feeling invisible, pushed to the edges… or worse, forgotten altogether.” Her gaze locked on Dru’s like a trap snapping shut. Kit really wanted to tell her to fuck off, that they didn't ask for her opinion — except they kinda did.
Dru cleared her throat. “Cool,” she said, with a voice that made clear it was in fact not cool at all. “So far we’ve got death and loneliness— that better not be connected," she added once she realized.
Morwen just smirked, then flipped the last card. The picture on it was a tower being struck by lightning, flames licking at the windows and people falling from its heights.
“The Tower,” Madame murmured, staring Dru right in the eye. “Sudden change. Catastrophe."
"Wasn't that the death one?" Kit couldn't help but ask.
"So much for it not being connected," Dru spoke before Madame Morwen could even open her mouth to give some only maybe true but certainly dramatic answer. Dru stood up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Thank you, ma'am, but I think that was enough fortune-telling for one day," Kit almost started doing a victorious dance but then she turned to him and said: "At least for me."
She walked over to him — which in that little room meant she took one step — and reached for the bag he was holding for her. Kit didn't stop her from grabbing it but he didn't let go either. Madame Morwen was watching them from behind her table.
"Kit," Dru murmured.
"What?" he asked as if he had no clue what she was talking about.
“You’re not getting out of this.”
“I don't remember asking to get in-”
“You were snorting through my reading like a smug little gremlin, so now it’s your turn.”
Dru stared at him. Kit stared at her. Madame Morwen stared at them both — like they were the most entertaining thing she'd seen that whole week.
Kit huffed, but Dru's grip on the strap only tightened, and she gave it a little tug. He finally let go, letting her take the bag. “You’re seriously going to make me do this?”
"I want to know how long I'll last before killing you. Sit down, idiot," she giggled as she said it and Kit broke a character for a split second — an easy grin spreading across his face.
He flopped down into the chair. Madame Morwen smiled like she’d been waiting all day for this. "So I take it we're peaking ahead, then?"
Kit nodded. "One glimpse of the future, please."
The lady began to shuffle the cards again, her fingers dancing deftly through the deck in an almost hypnotic way. It reminded him of fearies on the Shadowmarket who used to do similar stuff — ones that Johny Rook always kept him far away from.
As the cards slipped and flipped between her fingers, one suddenly fell out, landing face-down on the table.
Madame Morwen’s smile didn’t fade, but her fingers stilled. “Well now,” she said softly. Kit expected her to pick it up, return to the deck and continue shuffling, but instead she pushed it to the side with two fingers and looked at him. "Sometimes the cards choose themselves when there’s something urgent to reveal, something too important to be ignored — they leap out and demant to be read."
With that she continued shuffling and Kit took the chance to look at Dru, yelling at her with his eyes. She sent him a sweet smile in response.
Finally, Morwen fanned the deck out on the table in front of him. "Choose three more, dear,” she said, her eyes not leaving his once they met. “Let your hand find them.”
Kit reached out, randomly picking three cards, just to get it over with. Madame Morwen gathered them in, laying them in a row beneath the card that fell out, still facedown. Then, with deliberate calm, she turned over the first card, the one that 'chose itself'.
It was the same one Dru got as her last. Kind of ironic. "The Tower," the woman said in the exact same dramatic tone. Even more ironic.
"A catastrophe, right?" Kit cheered, his eyebrows raised, his hand tapping on his thigh.
Morwen’s gaze didn’t flicker at Kit’s tone. “Yes,” she said simply. "An upheaval. A sudden crash, a breaking down. Not just walls, but the very ground beneath you. It speaks of pain that shakes you to your core and leaves you different than you've been."
Kit considered it, then turned to Dru. "Hey, you got that too," he pointed out. "Maybe we'll share the tragedy."
He realized it wasn't the perfect thing to say just when Dru replied: "Another one?"
His chest tightened. How could he forget about Livvy even for a minute? How could his mind push the memory of her so far away that he didn't even think of her while making that joke?
Dru sighed but it wasn't too heavy, as if she knew now wasn't the time. "It's getting kind of old, isn't it?"
Kit couldn't find his voice to answer, but thankfully, Madame Morwen had always something to say. "It is possible that the card speaks of the same event. But your card jump out of the deck, young man. It's warning you."
Kit let out a short, bitter laugh. “Warning me about what? That life sucks?” His voice was too loud, and he knew it. "I fear I already know that."
“Sometimes, the cards do not warn us to prevent pain, but to prepare us for what must be faced," she said and Kit's mind chose to focus on the fact that it kind of rhymed until he realized it didn't.
She turned the next card and layed it on the table unpside down. It showed a round moon with a face, literally crying a river, and two wolves howling at it, one on each shore.
"The Moon, reversed," she said. "Release of fear, surfacing of hidden truths, a shift towards understanding, healing."
Kit stopped tapping his thigh.
Because — what?
If he believed in this crap — and he didn’t, obviously — he’d have a pretty good idea of what she was talking about. He'd have more than one, actually.
Fear. Hidden truths. There were so many things that fit that description. Half of his personality were things he wasn't ready to admit. Half of his life were things he kept hidden. He was determinated to never let that shit see the light of the day, and now she was telling him that, what — one day he would?
Understanding. Healing. Those were words Jem and Tessa used, softly, with care in their eyes. Like facing his trauma was some tepid river and not a fucking ocean dragging him under.
Kit swallowed. His throat felt dry. His chest was tight. His hand tapping again. His leg bouncing. He forced himself to nod to the woman, just so she'd finally got to the end of it.
She turned another card — this one pictured a few — Kit was too lazy to count them — overflowing chalices. There were two kids — or very little people — sitting — or drowning — in a couple of them.
"Oh, cool,” he said flatly. “Is that, like, alcoholism or something?”
The old woman smiled faintly, unfazed. "Sitting in water, so much that it overflows, doesn't have to mean you're drowning," she told him. "Six of cups. Longing for simpler times, joys of childhood."
Kit almost laughed at that. Joys of childhood? What joys? The meals he'd eaten in a minute (and then thrown them up) because it was the first food he'd gotten in days? Running around the Shadowmarket on the rare days when his whole body wasn't aching — because old bruises had faded faster than he could had gotten new ones?
It wasn't a childhood worth missing, he knew that much. His inner child knew that much. The poor kid had burried himself at the bottom of Kit's heart back when he still should've been a king of that body, back when it was still a child's one, hiding himself from the world long before he was supposed to. Now people couldn't see him through his grown-up body anyway, but he still wasn't ready to come out.
"Or it can mean someone from the past, if not yourself. Someone who reminds you who you were, perhaps who you could've been if the world's been kinder," Madame continued, making Kit's whole body tense up. "If things turned out differently."
It didn't even surprised him that he immediately think of Ty at this point. Before he knew what he was saying, the words were out of his mouth: "He comes back?"
That got a reaction from Dru. Out of the corner of his eye, Kit saw her whip her head around so fast it was a wonder she didn't dislocate her neck.
Then he realized that maybe the card was talking about Livvy. Or any of the Blackthorns, honestly. Angel, all of them. And then he took a moment to remind himself he didn't believe in freaking tarot.
“Sometimes, those we lose never truly leave. Sometimes, the past finds its way to us to be our future," Morwen told him.
Kit had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from yelling at her to stop speaking in riddles. His throat felt tight, like someone was choking him, making it hard to breathe. The room seemed to shrink around them when it was already too small before, the faint scent of tea and incense turning sharp and suffocating.
Why was he thinking about Ty? He knew better.
He knew not to do this — especially not out loud, not with people around, not with Dru right there. He didn’t talk about Ty. He didn’t think about Ty. (He dreamed about Ty — but just because dreams didn't ask for permission.)
And fuck this lady — this stranger with her cards with crying moons and drowning children — for putting his name back in Kit’s head like she had any right.
He'd spent so long burying the memories, yet here he was, years later, still haunted. Still stupid enough to ask, 'He comes back?' like it mattered. Like it was possible. Like it would make anything better if he did.
And besides, Kit was the one who left — and he hadn’t stopped running since. Not really. New home, new people, bars and strangers' beds — all of it was just another step further from Ty, from LA, from all the blood and tears he'd shed in that city.
So if this was about coming back, it would have to be Kit to do that. Because Ty had never left.
He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. He knew this — the tight chest and crawling skin and the feeling like he was shoved underwater and told to breathe.
He glanced at Dru, half-wishing she’d laugh and say this was stupid, because he couldn't himself, that they should go look at the crystals or the damn wall or anything else. But she was watching Madame Morwen, quiet.
As usually, the world didn't stop spinning just because he was freaking out, and soon the fortune teller was flipping the last card. There was a woman's figure on it, pouring water from two identical jugs, a huge star behind her head taking up half of the card. She placed it upside down but Kit still managed to read the name at the bottom — The Star.
He found his voice somehow, to remind himself he was fine with a joke. He turned to Dru, saying: "See? Even the cards think I'm gonna be famous."
Dru wasn't amused. "Slow down, Herondale. It's reversed."
Madame Morwen’s eyes flicked up from the card. "Yes. The Star, reversed," she proved Dru right, "It speaks about the need to reconnect with hope, faith, self-care — for these elements have been dimmed or lost."
Kit was sick. He felt Dru's gaze on him but he couldn’t meet it. He wanted out. He needed out. Or he would throw up all over Madame Morwen's overprized deck of fate.
Morwen met his gaze with sad eyes. "You're losing faith in life," she said. "Aren't you, dear?"
Kit’s breath hitched, shallow and rapid, like a trapped animal’s. He felt heat rush to his face, though his whole body was cold. He couldn't bare the weight of Dru's worried gaze. "I-" his voice broke, "-need to get some air."
With that, he basically ran out. Like a coward, leaving Dru there, alone with the shady lady, just because it meant he'd get a moment to himself while she paid. And it was so stupid of him to do that, because what if Madame Morwen were a faerie? What if something happened? What was he going to do — watch Dru's back from outside?
And he would beat himself up over it later, but the only thing he could think of at the time was that he couldn't breathe. He couldn't fucking breathe.
So he ran out of the shop and ran out of the mall, and by the time he was outside, Kit bent double, bracing his palms on his thighs. The air was cold, sharp, burning as it filled his lungs.
When Dru found him, he was sitting on the pavement, with his legs stretched out in front of him, and his back to the wall of the building.
She approached him carefully, her bag swaying in her hand. "Better hope no bike comes by, they'd run over your legs."
Kit didn't answer or looked up, but he did bend his knees, pulling his legs closer to his chest.
"I looked for you everywhere. You weren't picking up," Dru continued.
Kit tensed up, somehow only then realizing she couldn't have known where he went. He pulled out his phone just to see he had three missed calls and, like, fifteen unseen texts from her. Guilt washed over him like a wildfire. "Oh," he breathed out. "Sorry."
Dru just nodded, sitting down beside him on the pavement, placing the bag next to her. She rested her head on his shoulder and he panicked a little before relaxing. For a few moments they just stared across the street. Then Dru said quietly, “You scared me, you know.”
Kit squeezed his eyes shut. He hated himself for making her worry. For making her care. "Sorry."
Dru sighed. “What was it? What did she say that got to you so bad?”
“Nothing,” Kit said as if that ever'd be believable.
“She said you were losing faith in life. That’s not nothing. Was that about the person from past coming back? Is it Ty?" Dru went on, lifting her head of his shoulder and turning towards him.
Kit met her gaze, clenching his jaw. “She’s just some tea shop grandma playing psychic to scam people. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Dru nodded bitterly, her lips pressed tightly together. "So it is him."
Kit could feel panic clawning its way up his throat again. "Drop it, Dru," he forced out through gritted teeth.
Dru didn’t drop it. “I just don’t get why you won’t talk about it,” she said. “It’s not like you don’t have people who care. I care."
"Who asked you to?" Kit snapped, regretting it immediately.
Dru flinched like he’d slapped her. She pulled back sharply, hurt blooming in her eyes. “Well, excuse me for giving a shit!” she barked back, her voice cracking. “You think you're this one big mess that hurts anyone who touches it. I’ve watched you, Kit. When you first came to the Institute — I've watched you. Pretending you’re fine. Making jokes so we don’t look too closely. Disappearing. Hurting. And building these… these walls around yourself so no one can 'touch you and get hurt' anymore."
Kit shot to his feet so fast the movement startled her. He walked a few steps away from her, not even knowing if it was because he needed to move or needed her out of his space. "Then what do you not get?" he yelled, frustrated. "There's a good reason for the walls being there — it's to keep people out!"
Dru stood up too, almost kicking over the bag. “Yeah? And how’s that working out for you, Kit? You ran out of a fake tarot reading, looking like you were about to pass out and then disappeared for half an hour! I don't give a fuck if you want me to care, I was scared shitless!"
Kit’s chest tightened, the anger and shame clashing inside him like a storm. He didn't know it'd been that long. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
A thought crossed the back of his mind and he realized it was the first time he heard Dru swear. Sure, there was a lot of it in their chat, but he never actually heard it
He knew it wasn't fair. He cared about Dru. He didn't let her take care of him, meanwhile he made it his sacred mission to protect her, to have her back, as if she was his little sister or something. But that was exactly why he couldn't let her get too close to the shitshow that his life had been — to protect her.
"Sorry," was what he ended up saying, his voice quiet.
Dru shook her head as if she couldn't believe it. "Yeah, you keep saying that."
"I didn't mean to yell," he went on.
She just looked at him — her expression a mix of frustration and heartbreak — and shook her head again. "It's okay. I'm sorry too."
Kit forced himself to meet her eyes. "You have nothing to be sorry for."
"No, I-" she started then stopped, bringing her hands to her head and burying her face in her palms. For a second, Kit thought she may cry, but when she let them fall back to her sides, her cheeks were dry — though her eyes were red. "Do you want to die, Kit?" she asked, her voice cracking.
He would probably be shocked, maybe freaking out because of the question, if he just hadn't been so damn tired. His jaw clenched again, and he stared down the street like it held the answers to what she'd just asked.
“I just needed air,” he said, not looking at her, his voice hoarse. “That’s all.”
Dru sighed and Kit couldn't tell if it was filled with disappointment because she could tell he was lying, or relief because she wanted to believe he wasn't.
But she didn’t press again. Instead she took a deep breath, swallowing down whatever she was actually feeling at the moment and said: “You’re still paying me back for the reading. And a half of some kind of enchanted jasmine blend — which I’m pretty sure is just grass — that the 'tea-shop grandma' made me buy."
Kit let out a short, humorless laugh. “That's fair."
Dru picked the bag from the ground. "Do you want to head back? I think we've had enough for one afternoon."
She sounded tired as she said it and Kit added it to his never-ending list of things that were his fault.
"Sure," he agreed. "We still need to ritually burn those skirts you brought."
Dru smirked. "I told you they were horrifying."