Leah Carstairs (Book #2)

The Protector Of The LA Institute

2008

Twelve year old Emma Carstairs was going through a stage in life, where she believed she had lost all her sources of happiness. Her parents had died. Mark had been taken by the Wild Hunt (and she doubted he would ever be returned; afterall faeries never returned what they stole, and the alliances between Shadowhunters and the fey folk were anyway not great these days).

Helen was exiled to to a terribly lonely wasteland somewhere in the Arctic Circle. The children had not a single grownup guardian to take care of them in the LA Institute. Given that Andrew Blackthorn had been a very pleasant and fatherly person, Emma had expected his brother to harbour a similar attitude.

But 2 weeks of living with Arthur Blackthorn had diminished all the children's hopes of having a friendly, helpful and understanding adult to take care of them.

Arthur was as useless as the P in pneumonia. And as dreaded as the word itself. He usually spent his time in the Institute library, in his office or in some dark corner of the attic - not that the children were too eager to see his sullen, ghostly face.

The first day he had arrived, Livia had gone up to her uncle, asking him to cook their lunch. But after what transpired in the kitchen that day, everyone swore by the Angel never to ask Uncle Arthur to cook again.

Very discreetly, the lunch was disposed in the dustbin, and the children pretended to have enjoyed the meal - until Arthur (evidently pleased with himself) had retired back to the attic, and then Dru threw up in the kitchen.

In those times, when the children were hungry, cranky, sick, and Julian was haggard under the burden on his shoulder, Emma naturally got the déjà vu that Leah would magically appear and calmly solve their problems for them.

Now, here was the problem - another of Emma's countless griefs. Leah Ravenscar - no, Leah Carstairs, her blood sister - was dead.

Emma couldn't help imagining how things would have been different if Leah had been alive. Maybe she would have permanently moved into Los Angeles and taken care of the children until Emma and Julian were 18 and the others were responsible enough to handle themselves.

Maybe if Leah was alive, Emma wouldn't wake up every night, screaming from her nightmares and Julian wouldn't be so burdened up by his never-ending responsibilities.

Yes, that was another thing that killed Emma Carstairs : the fact that her best friend had become so pressurised with a duty that he was not meant to bear.

Things had indeed been bad in LA ever since after the Dark War.

Emma was determined to become the bravest, fastest, strongest and fiercest warrior - with the aspiration to wave off her troubles with excellent fighting skills. Now that Leah was no more, she wanted to become Leah Carstairs.

She wished to fulfil Leah's legacy and become as strong, as invincible, as graceful and as powerful as Leah had been.

Yet somehow, even the girl's strong exterior shattered when she noticed how homesick, sad, burdened and unsatisfied everyone else were around her. Emma's heart wept for Julian's endless worry and pressure - for all the Blackthorn children, for Mark, for Helen, and for Leah.

She was in her bedroom one day, with her chin rested on the windowsill, sobbing silently and praying that their troubles would end soon, when a light gust of wind blew across her cheek, faintly wiping the tear that had streaked her face.

Emma looked up, and to her horror, saw a translucent face made up of smoke in front of her. And, it wasn't just an ordinary face; without mistake, the dark fumes of smoke created the perfect picture of Leah's face.