Clockwork Angel (The Infernal Devices #1)(104)
Author: Cassandra Clare

Tessa heard her own voice as it emerged from her throat as if it were a stranger’s. “Stop it. Please, please, stop it!”

Sophie had broken away from the creature holding her and was scrambling across the floor on her hands and knees. Reaching out, it caught her by the ankle and jerked her backward across the floor, her apron tearing as she sobbed.

“Please,” Tessa said again, fixing her eyes on Mortmain.

“You can stop it, Miss Gray,” he said. “Promise me you won’t try to run.” His eyes burned as he looked at her. “Then I’ll let them go.”

Jessamine’s eyes, visible above the metal arm clamping her mouth, pleaded with Tessa. The other creature was on its feet, holding Sophie, who dangled limply in its grip.

“I’ll stay,” Tessa said. “You have my word. Of course I will. Just let them go.”

There was a long pause. Then, “You heard her,” Mortmain said to his mechanical monsters. “Take the girls out of this room. Bring them downstairs. Don’t harm them.” He smiled then, a thin, crafty smile. “Leave Miss Gray alone with me.”

Even before he passed through the front doors, Will felt it—the jangling sense that something dreadful was happening here. The first time he’d ever felt this sensation, he’d been twelve years old, holding that blasted box—but he’d never imagined feeling it in the fastness of the Institute.

He saw Agatha’s body first, the moment he stepped over the threshold. She lay on her back, her glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling, the front of her plain gray dress soaked with blood. A wave of almost overwhelming rage washed over Will, leaving him light-headed. Biting his lip hard, he bent to close her eyes before he rose and looked around.

The signs of a melee were everywhere—torn scraps of metal, bent and broken gears, splashes of blood mixing with pools of oil. As Will moved toward the stairs, his foot came down on the shredded remains of Jessamine’s parasol. He gritted his teeth and moved on to the staircase.

And there, slumped across the lowest steps, lay Thomas, eyes closed, motionless in a widening pool of scarlet. A sword rested on the ground beside him, a little ways away from his hand; its edge was chipped and dented as if he had been using it to hack apart rocks. A great jagged piece of metal protruded from his chest. It looked a little like the torn blade of a saw, Will thought as he crouched down by Thomas’s side, or like a sharp bit of some larger metal contraption.

There was a dry burning in the back of Will’s throat. His mouth tasted of metal and rage. He rarely grieved during a battle; he saved his emotions for afterward—those he had not already learned to bury so deeply that he barely felt them at all. He had been burying them since he was twelve years old. His chest knotted with pain now, but his voice was steady when he spoke. “Hail and farewell, Thomas,” he said, reaching to close the other boy’s eyes. “Ave—”

A hand flew up and gripped his wrist. Will stared down, dumbfounded, as Thomas’s glassy eyes slid toward him, pale brown under the whitish film of death. “Not,” he said, with a clear effort to get the words out, “a Shadowhunter.”

“You defended the Institute,” Will said. “You did as well as any of us would have done.”

“No.” Thomas closed his eyes, as if exhausted. His chest rose, barely; his shirt was soaked almost black with blood. “You’d’ve fought ’em off, Master Will. You know you would.”

“Thomas,” Will whispered. He wanted to say, Be quiet, and you’ll be all right when the others get here. But Thomas manifestly would not be all right. He was human; no healing rune could help him. Will wished that Jem were here, instead of himself. Jem was the one you wanted with you when you were dying. Jem could make anyone feel that things were going to be all right, whereas Will privately suspected that there were few situations that his presence did not make worse.

“She’s alive,” Thomas said, not opening his eyes.

“What?” Will was caught off guard.

“The one you come back for. Her. Tessa. She’s with Sophie.” Thomas spoke as if it were a fact obvious to anyone that Will would have come back for Tessa’s sake. He coughed, and a great mass of blood poured out of his mouth and down his chin. He didn’t seem to notice. “Take care of Sophie, Will. Sophie is—”

But Will never found out what Sophie was, because Thomas’s grip went suddenly slack, and his hand fell away and struck the stone floor with an ugly thump. Will drew back. He had seen death enough times, and knew when it had come. There was no need to close Thomas’s eyes; they were closed already. “Sleep, then,” he said, not quite knowing where the words came from, “good and faithful servant of the Nephilim. And thank you.”

It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, but it was all there was. Will scrambled to his feet and dashed up the staircase.

* * *

The doors had closed behind the clockwork creatures; the Sanctuary was very silent. Tessa could hear the water splashing in the fountain behind her.

Mortmain stood regarding her calmly. He still wasn’t frightening to look at, Tessa thought. A small, ordinary man, with dark hair going gray at his temples, and those odd light eyes. “Miss Gray,” he said, “I had hoped our first time alone together would be a more pleasant experience for us both.”

Tessa’s eyes burned. She said, “What are you? A warlock?”

His smile was swift, and without feeling. “Merely a human being, Miss Gray.”

“But you did magic,” she said. “You spoke in Will’s voice—”

“Anyone can learn to imitate voices, with the proper training,” he said. “A simple trick, like sleight of hand. No one ever expects them. Certainly not Shadowhunters. They believe humans are good at nothing, as well as being good for nothing.”

“No,” Tessa whispered. “They don’t think that.”

His mouth twisted. “How quickly you have grown to love them, your natural enemies. We will soon train you out of that.” He moved forward, and Tessa shrank back. “I will not hurt you,” he said. “I merely want to show you something.” He reached into the pocket of his coat and drew out a gold watch, very fine-looking, on a thick gold chain.

Is he wondering what time it is? The mad urge to giggle rose up in the back of Tessa’s throat. She forced it down.

He held the watch out to her. “Miss Gray,” he said, “please take this.”