Den tryckta utgåvan av Ghosts of the Shadow Market kommer även att innehålla en tionde novell som har namnet Forever Fallen.
But that night, while Ty was sleeping, Livvy found herself pulled toward Dimmet Tarn again, toward the nothingness of its depths. Every time she thought of Idris, and the experiment that she and Ty would try tomorrow, she thought of her own death, of the blow that Annabel had struck. That moment of pain and dislocation. The stricken look on Julian’s face as she fled her body.
Of course Annabel wasn’t in Idris now. Annabel was dead. And of course, even if Annabel had still been alive, Livvy shouldn’t be afraid of her murderer. A Shadowhunter shouldn’t be afraid. But the thought of her own body on the cold stone of the Accords Hall, the thought of her body burnt upon a pyre, the thought of Lake Lyn, where she had returned, all of these pursued her as she sank into the blackness of Dimmet Tarn and let its nothingness hide her.
It was almost morning when at last she rose up, pearly light already sliding over the crust of snow around the tarn. And there, too, on the lip of the tarn was a small crumpled heap as if someone had dropped their hat or scarf.
Livvy drew near and saw that it was a kitten, starved and motionless. Its paws were torn by the ice, and there were marks of bright blood in the snow. Its ears were long, tipped in black, and its coat was spotted with black as well. “You poor thing,” Livvy said, and the kitten opened its eyes. It looked right at Livvy and snarled noiselessly. Then its eyes closed again.
Livvy fled back to the Scholomance, to Ty.
“Wake up, Ty!” she said. “Hurry, wake up, wake up!”
Ty sat bolt upright. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“There’s a Carpathian lynx down by Dimmet Tarn,” Livvy said. “A kitten. I think it’s dying. Hurry, Ty.”
He threw a coat over his pajamas and pulled on his boots. He bundled up a blanket in his arms. “Show me,” he said.
The kitten was still alive when they got back to Dimmet Tarn, Ty’s boots breaking through the snow with each step. He sank, sometimes, to his knees. But Livvy, of course, floated above the snow. There were advantages, sometimes, to being dead. Livvy could admit that.
You could see the small rise and fall of the lynx’s chest. Small wisps of breath rose from its black nose.
“It is going to be okay?” Livvy asked. “Will it live?”
Ty knelt down in the bank of snow beside the lynx. He began to wrap it in the blanket. “I don’t know,” he said. “But if it lives, it will be because you saved it, Livvy.”
“No,” Livvy said. “I found it. But I can’t save it. You’ll have to be the one who saves it.”
“Then we’ll both have saved it,” Ty said, and smiled at her. If Livvy had had a notebook, she would have written it down. It had been a long time since she’d seen her brother smile.