Clockwork Angel (The Infernal Devices #1)(41)
Author: Cassandra Clare

Jessamine bared her teeth at him. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“You are, you know,” Charlotte told him.

“I mean, I’m wearing blue. Blue goes with everything,” Jessamine went on. “Which, really, you ought to know. You’re vain enough about your own clothes.”

“Blue does not go with everything,” Will told her. “It does not go with red, for instance.”

“I have a red and blue striped waistcoat,” Henry interjected, reaching for the peas.

“And if that isn’t proof that those two colors should never be seen together under Heaven, I don’t know what is.”

“Will,” Charlotte said sharply. “Don’t speak to Henry like that. Henry—”

Henry raised his head. “Yes?”

Charlotte sighed. “That’s Jessamine’s plate you’re spooning peas onto, not yours. Do pay attention, darling.”

As Henry looked down in surprise, the dining room door opened and Sophie came in. Her head was down, her dark hair shining. As she bent to speak softly to Charlotte, the witchlight cast its harsh glow over her face, making her scar gleam like silver against her skin.

A look of relief spread over Charlotte’s face. A moment later she had risen to her feet and hurried out of the room, pausing only to touch Henry lightly on the shoulder as she went.

Jessamine’s brown eyes widened. “Where’s she going?”

Will looked at Sophie, his gaze sliding over her in that way that Tessa knew was like fingertips stroking over your skin. “Indeed, Sophie, my dear. Where did she go?”

Sophie shot him a venomous look. “If Mrs. Branwell had wanted you to know, I’m sure she would have told you,” she snapped, and hurried out of the room after her mistress.

Henry, having set down the peas, attempted a genial smile. “Well, then,” he said. “What was it we were discussing?”

“None of that,” Will said. “We want to know where Charlotte’s gone. Did something happen?”

“No,” Henry said. “I mean, I don’t think so—” He glanced around the room, saw four pairs of eyes fixed on him, and sighed. “Charlotte doesn’t always tell me what she’s doing. You know that.” He smiled a little painfully. “Can’t blame her, really. Can’t count on me to be sensible.”

Tessa wished she could say something to comfort Henry. Something about him made her think of Nate when he was younger, gawkish and awkward and easily hurt. Reflexively she put up her hand to touch the angel at her throat, seeking reassurance in its steady ticking.

Henry looked over at her. “That clockwork object you wear around your neck—might I see it for a moment?”

Tessa hesitated, then nodded. It was only Henry, after all. She unhooked the clasp of the chain, drew off the necklace, and handed it to him.

“This is a clever little object,” he said, turning it over in his hands. “Where did you get it?”

“It was my mother’s.”

“Like a sort of talisman.” He glanced up. “Would you mind if I examined it in the laboratory?”

“Oh.” Tessa couldn’t hide her anxiety. “If you’re very careful with it. It’s all I have of my mother’s. If it were broken …”

“Henry won’t break or damage it,” Jem reassured her. “He’s really very good with this sort of thing.”

“It’s true,” said Henry, so modest and matter-of-fact about it that there seemed nothing conceited about the statement. “I’ll return it to you in pristine condition.”

“Well …” Tessa hesitated.

“I don’t see what the fuss is,” said Jessamine, who had looked bored throughout this exchange. “It’s not like it has diamonds in it.”

“Some people value sentiment over diamonds, Jessamine.” It was Charlotte, standing in the doorway. She looked troubled. “There is someone here who wants to speak with you, Tessa.”

“With me?” Tessa demanded, the clockwork angel forgotten for the moment.

“Well, who is it?” Will said. “Must you keep us all in suspense?”

Charlotte sighed. “It’s Lady Belcourt. She’s downstairs. In the Sanctuary Room.”

“Now?” Will frowned. “Did something happen?”

“I contacted her,” said Charlotte. “About de Quincey. Just before supper. I hoped she would have some information, and she does, but she insists on seeing Tessa first. It seems that despite all our precautions, rumors about Tessa have leaked into Downworld, and Lady Belcourt is … interested.”

Tessa set her fork down with a clatter. “Interested in what?” She looked around the table, realizing that four pairs of eyes were now fixed on her. “Who is Lady Belcourt?” When no one replied, she turned to Jem as the likeliest to give her an answer. “Is she a Shadowhunter?”

“She’s a vampire,” Jem said. “A vampire informant, actually. She gives information to Charlotte and keeps us apprised of what’s going on in the Night community.”

“You needn’t speak to her if you don’t want to, Tessa,” Charlotte said. “I can send her away.”

“No.” Tessa pushed her plate away. “If she’s well informed about de Quincey, perhaps she knows something about Nate as well. I can’t risk her being sent off if she might have information. I’ll go.”

“Don’t you even want to know what she wants from you?” Will asked.

Tessa looked at him measuredly. The witchlight made his skin paler, his eyes more intently blue. They were the color of the water of the North Atlantic, where the ice drifted on its blue-black surface like snow clinging to the dark glass pane of a window. “Aside from the Dark Sisters, I’ve never really met another Downworlder,” she said. “I think—that I would like to.”

“Tessa—,” Jem began, but she was already on her feet. Not looking back at anyone at the table, she hurried out of the room after Charlotte.

8

CAMILLE

Fruits fail and love dies and time ranges;

Thou art fed with perpetual breath,

And alive after infinite changes,

And fresh from the kisses of death;

Of langours rekindled and rallied,

Of barren delights and unclean,

Things monstrous and fruitless, a pallid

And poisonous queen.

—Algernon Charles Swinburne, “Dolores”