Clockwork Angel (The Infernal Devices #1)(92)
Author: Cassandra Clare

“She’s sure.” Jessamine sniffed when Tessa didn’t answer. “Just look at her. She looks so disapproving.”

Tessa tore her gaze from the window. “I’m not disapproving. It just seems wrong to play games while Henry and Charlotte and others are out risking their lives.”

“Yes, I know, you said that before.” Jessamine set her cards down. “Really, Tessa. This happens all the time. They go off to battle; they come back. There’s nothing worth getting worked up over.”

Tessa bit her lip. “I feel I ought to have said good-bye or good luck, but with all the rushing about—”

“You needn’t worry,” Jem said, coming into the drawing room, Will just behind him. “Shadowhunters don’t say good-bye, not before a battle. Or good luck. You must behave as if return is certain, not a matter of chance.”

“We don’t require luck,” said Will, throwing himself into a chair beside Jessamine, who shot him an angry look. “We have a heavenly mandate, after all. With God on your side, what does luck matter?” He sounded surprisingly bitter.

“Oh, stop being so depressing, Will,” said Jessamine. “We’re playing cards. You can either join the game or be quiet.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “What are you playing?”

“Pope Joan,” said Jessamine coolly, dealing out cards. “I was just explaining the rules to Mr. Gray.”

“Miss Lovelace says you win by ridding yourself of all your cards. That seems backward to me.” Nate grinned across the table at Jessamine, who dimpled annoyingly.

Will poked at the steaming cup that sat beside Nathaniel’s elbow. “Is there any tea in this,” he inquired, “or is it simply pure brandy?”

Nate flushed. “Brandy is restorative.”

“Yes,” said Jem, a little edge to his voice. “It often restores men right to the poorhouse.”

“Really! The two of you! Such hypocrites. It isn’t as if Will doesn’t drink, and Jem—” Jessamine broke off, biting her lip. “You two are just fussing because Henry and Charlotte wouldn’t take you along with them,” she said finally. “Because you’re too young.” She smiled at Nate across the table. “I prefer the company of a more mature gentleman, myself.”

Nate, Tessa thought disgustedly, is exactly two years older than Will. Hardly a century. Nor is he by any stretch of the imagination “mature.” But before she could say anything, a great, echoing boom sounded through the Institute.

Nate raised his eyebrows. “I thought this wasn’t a real church. I thought there were no bells.”

“There aren’t. That sound isn’t church bells ringing.” Will rose to his feet. “That’s the summoning bell. It means someone is downstairs and demands conference with the Shadowhunters. And since James and I are the only ones here …”

He looked at Jessamine, and Tessa realized he was waiting for Jessamine to contradict him, to say that she was a Shadowhunter too. But Jessamine was smiling at Nate, and he was leaning in to say something in her ear; neither of them was paying attention to what else was going on in the room.

Jem looked at Will and shook his head. They both turned toward the door; as they went out, Jem looked at Tessa and gave her a little shrug. I wish you were a Shadowhunter, she thought his eyes were saying, but maybe it was simply what she hoped they were saying. Perhaps he was merely smiling at her kindly and there was no meaning in it.

Nate poured himself another hot water and brandy. He and Jessamine had abandoned the pretense that they were playing cards and were leaning close to each other, murmuring in low voices. Tessa felt a dull thump of disappointment. Somehow she had expected that Nate’s ordeal would have made him more thoughtful—more inclined to understand that there were larger things at work in the world, more important things than his own immediate pleasures. She expected nothing better of Jessamine, but what had once seemed charming in Nate now grated on her nerves in a way that surprised her.

She leaned toward the window again. There was a carriage in the courtyard. Will and Jem were on the front steps. With them was a man in evening dress—elegant black tailcoat, high silk hat, a white waistcoat that shone under the witchlight torches. He looked like a mundane to Tessa, though at this distance it was difficult to tell. As she watched, he raised his arms and made a broad gesture. She saw Will look at Jem, and Jem nod, and wondered what on earth they were talking about.

She looked past the man to the coach behind him—and froze. Instead of a coat of arms, the name of a business enterprise was painted across one of the doors: MORTMAIN AND COMPANY.

Mortmain. The man her father had worked for, whom Nathaniel had blackmailed, who had introduced her brother to the Shadow World. What was he doing here?

She looked at Nate again, her feeling of annoyance washed away by a wave of protectiveness. If he knew Mortmain was here, he would doubtless be upset. It would be better if she found out what was going on before he did. She slid off the windowsill and made her way quietly to the door; deep in conversation with Jessamine, Nate hardly seemed to notice as she left the room.

It was surprisingly easy for Tessa to find her way to the huge stone-bound spiral stairway that speared through the center of the Institute. She must have been learning her way around the place at last, she decided as she made her way down the steps to the ground floor, and found Thomas standing in the entryway.

He was holding a massive sword, point down, his face very serious. Behind him the massive double doors of the Institute were open on a rectangle of blue-black London twilight, lit by the blaze of the courtyard’s witchlight torches. He looked taken aback at the sight of Tessa. “Miss Gray?”

She pitched her voice low. “What’s going on out there, Thomas?”

He shrugged. “Mr. Mortmain,” he said. “He wanted to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Branwell, but since they’re not here—”

Tessa started toward the door.

Thomas, startled, moved to prevent her. “Miss Gray, I don’t think—”

“You’ll have to use that sword on me to stop me, Thomas,” Tessa said in a cold voice, and Thomas, after a moment’s hesitation, moved aside. Tessa, with a twinge, hoped she hadn’t hurt his feelings, but he looked more astonished than anything else.

She moved past him, onto the steps outside the Institute, where Will and Jem were standing. A hard breeze was coming up, ruffling her hair and making her shiver. At the foot of the stairs stood the man she had seen from the window. He was shorter than she would have imagined: small and wiry-looking, with a tanned, friendly face beneath the brim of his tall hat. Despite the elegance of his clothes, he had the bluff, natural bearing of a sailor or tradesman.