Clockwork Angel (The Infernal Devices #1)(99)
Author: Cassandra Clare

“That must have hurt you,” Jem said in his most soothing voice. Will opened his mouth, but seeing Jem’s warning look, closed it again. “Seeing Tessa get what you wanted, and not appreciating it.”

“She never understood. The honor that was being done her. The glory that would be hers.” The yellow eyes burned. “When she fled, the Magister’s rage fell on me—I had disappointed him. He swore out a bounty on me.”

That jolted Jem, or seemed to. “You mean de Quincey wanted you dead?”

“How many times must I tell you that de Quincey is not the Magister? The Magister is—” The demon broke off with a growl. “You try to trick me, little Shadowhunter, but your trick will not work.”

Jem shrugged. “You cannot remain in that pentagram forever, Mrs. Dark. Eventually the rest of the Enclave will come. We will starve you out. And then you will be ours, and you know how the Clave deals with those who break the Law.”

Mrs. Dark hissed. “Perhaps he has forsaken me,” she said, “but I still fear the Magister more than I fear you, or your Enclave.”

More than I fear the Enclave. She should have been afraid, Will thought. What Jem had said to her was true. She ought to be afraid, but she wasn’t. In Will’s experience, when someone who ought to be afraid wasn’t, the reason was rarely bravery. Usually it meant that they knew something you didn’t.

“If you will not tell us who the Magister is,” said Will, his voice edged with steel, “perhaps you can answer a simple question instead. Is Axel Mortmain the Magister?”

The demon let out a wail, then clapped its bony hands over its mouth and sank, burning-eyed, to the ground. “The Magister. He will think I told you. I will never earn his forgiveness now—”

“Mortmain?” echoed Jem. “But he is the one who warned us— Ah.” He paused. “I see.” He had gone very white; Will knew his thoughts were chasing down the same winding road Will’s just had. He would probably have gotten there first—Will suspected Jem was in fact cleverer than he was himself—but he lacked Will’s tendency to assume the absolute worst about people and proceed from there. “Mortmain lied to us about the Dark Sisters and the binding spell,” he added, thinking out loud. “In fact, it was Mortmain who put the idea in Charlotte’s head in the first place that de Quincey was the Magister. If it were not for him, we would never have suspected the vampire. But why?”

“De Quincey is a loathsome beast,” wailed Mrs. Dark, still crouched inside her pentagram. She seemed to have decided there was no more point in concealment. “He disobeyed Mortmain at every turn, wishing to be the Magister himself. Such insubordination must be punished.”

Will’s gaze met Jem’s. He could tell they were both thinking the same thing. “Mortmain saw an opportunity to throw suspicion on a rival,” Jem said. “That is why he chose de Quincey.”

“He could have hidden those plans for automatons in de Quincey’s library,” agreed Will. “It is not as if de Quincey ever admitted they were his, or even seemed to recognize them when Charlotte showed them to him. And Mortmain could have told those automatons on the bridge to claim they were working for the vampire. In fact, he could have etched de Quincey’s seal into that clockwork girl’s chest and left her in the Dark House for us to find, as well—all to divert suspicion from himself.”

“But Mortmain is not the only one who ever pointed the finger at de Quincey,” said Jem, and his voice was heavy. “Nathaniel Gray, Will. Tessa’s brother. When two people tell the same lie …”

“They are working together,” Will finished. He felt, for a moment, something almost like satisfaction, which quickly faded. He had disliked Nate Gray, had hated the way Tessa had treated him as if he could do no wrong, and then he’d despised himself for his own jealousy. To know that he had been correct about Nate’s character was one thing, but at what price?

Mrs. Dark laughed, a high, whining sound. “Nate Gray,” she spat. “The Magister’s little human lapdog. He sold his sister to Mortmain, you know. Just for a handful of silver, he did it. Just for a few sops to his vanity. I would never have treated my own sister so. And you say it is demons who are evil, and the humans who need protecting from us!” Her voice rose to a cackle.

Will ignored her; his mind was whirling. Dear God, that whole story of Nathaniel’s about de Quincey had been a trick, a lie to set the Clave off on a false track. Then why have Mortmain appear as soon as they had gone? To get rid of us, Jem and I, Will thought grimly. Nate couldn’t have known we two wouldn’t be going with Charlotte and Henry. He had to improvise something quickly when we stayed behind. Thus Mortmain and this extra trickery. Nate had been in it with Mortmain since the beginning.

And now Tessa is in the Institute with him. Will felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to turn and run out the door, race back to the Institute, and beat Nathaniel’s head against a wall. Only years of training, and fear for Henry and Charlotte, kept him where he was.

Will whirled on Mrs. Dark. “What is his plan? What will the Enclave find when they reach Carleton Square? Certain slaughter? Answer me!” he shouted. Fear made his voice crack. “Or by the Angel, I will make sure that the Clave tortures you before you die. What is his plan for them?”

Mrs. Dark’s yellow eyes flashed. “What does the Magister care about?” she hissed. “What has he ever cared about? He despises the Nephilim, but what is it that he wants?”

“Tessa,” said Jem immediately. “But she is safe in the Institute, and even his blasted clockwork army can’t break inside. Even without us there—”

In a wheedling voice Mrs. Dark said, “Once, when I was in the Magister’s confidence, he spoke to me of a plan he had to invade the Institute. He planned to paint the hands of his mechanical creatures with the blood of a Shadowhunter, thus allowing him to open the doors.”

“The blood of a Shadowhunter?” Will echoed. “But—”

“Will.” Jem had his hand at his chest, where the clockwork creature had torn the skin that night on the steps of the Institute. “My blood.”

For a moment Will stood perfectly still, staring at his friend. Then, without a word, he turned and raced for the dining room doors; Jem, pausing only to seize the cat’s cage, followed. As they reached them, the doors slammed shut as if pushed, and Will came to a skidding halt. He spun to see Jem behind him, looking baffled.