Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy

by Cassandra Clare

  “Home,” she said.

  “Home,” Tessa replied wearily.

  They had arranged for a carriage to come for them that morning on Gun Street. They met Will and Gabriel there. They looked a bit worse for wear, as they often had to drink gin all night in order to blend in with the locals. There had been no Jem that night, and Will seemed restless.

  “Did you find out anything?” Tessa asked.

  “The same as usual,” Gabriel said, slurring a little. “All the victims were seen with a man. He varies in stature and all manner of appearance.”

  “So likely an Eidolon,” Will said. “It’s so generic that it might even be a Du’sien, but I don’t think a Du’sien could get that close and convince a woman he was an actual human male, no matter how drunk she was.”

  “But that tells us nothing,” Cecily said. “If it’s an Eidolon, it could be anyone.”

  “It’s being remarkably consistent, though,” Will said. “It always comes as a man and it always takes women. We’re getting nowhere with this.”

  “Or we’re getting everywhere,” Gabriel replied. “It hasn’t come back.”

  “We can’t do this forever.”

  They’d been having this same conversation every night for the past week. This one ended as it usually did, with the two couples leaning against each other in the back of the carriage and falling asleep until they reached the Institute. They greeted their children, who were having their breakfast with Bridget, and they listened with half-closed eyes as Anna rambled on about her many plans for the day and James banged his spoon.

  Tessa and Will started the climb up the steps to their bedroom. Cecily waited for Gabriel, who was lingering in the front parlor.

  “I’ll be up shortly,” he said, his eyes bloodshot. “I just want to read the morning papers.”

  Gabriel always did this—always checked, every morning. So Tessa, Will, and Cecily returned to bed. Once in their bedroom, Tessa cleaned her face in the basin with the hot water Bridget had left. Their fire was burning, and the bed was turned back, waiting for them. They fell into it gratefully.

  They had barely fallen asleep when Tessa heard a fevered banging at the door and Gabriel admitted himself.

  “It’s happened again,” he said, breathless. “By the Angel, this is the worst one yet.”

  The carriage was recalled, and within the hour, they were on their way back to the East End, this time dressed in gear.

  “It happened in a place called Miller’s Court, off Dorset Street,” Gabriel said.

  Of all the terrible streets in East London, Dorset Street was the worst. It was a short road, just off Commercial Street. Tessa had learned much of the goings-on of Dorset Street in the last few weeks. A pair of abusive slum landlords controlled much of the street. There was so much screaming, so much poverty and stench crowded into a small space that it felt like it could push the air out of the lungs. The houses there were subdivided into tiny rooms, each little space rented away. This was a street where everyone had an empty stare, where the prevailing feeling was of desperation.

  On the way, Gabriel told them what he’d managed to find out from the morning papers—the address (number thirteen), the victim’s name (Mary Kelly). There was a parade moving through the city for Lord Mayor’s Day. News of the crime had spread, though, and was making its way along the parade route. Newspaper boys were chanting about the murder and selling papers like mad. Cecily peered out from the curtain of the carriage.

  “They seem to be celebrating it,” she said. “They’re smiling and running to buy the newspapers. My God, how can people celebrate such a thing?”

  “It’s interesting,” Will said, with a dark grin. “Danger is appealing. Especially to those with nothing to lose.”

  “It’s going to be madness down there,” Gabriel said.

  Indeed, crowds had already gathered all along the road to Dorset Street. The residents were all out watching the police. The police were attempting to hold people back from a small, dark doorway halfway up the road.

  “There,” Gabriel said. “Miller’s Court. We won’t be able to get near it unless you can get in, Tessa. There’s a detective down there called Abberline from Scotland Yard. If we can get him over here, or one of the constables working inside the room . . .”

  “I’ll get one of them,” Will said, breaking through the crowd.

  He returned a few minutes later with a man of middling age, with a kindly appearance. He did appear to be very busy, and his forehead was creased with consternation. Whatever Will had told him, it was enough to lure him away from the place of the crime.

  “Where is it?” he said, following Will. “You’re quite sure . . .”

  “Quite sure.”

  It was hard to keep people from following them, so Cecily, Tessa, and Gabriel had to block the way while Will led the inspector down an alley. He whistled a few moments later. He was standing in the doorway of a cheap rented room.

  “In here,” Will said. The inspector was in the corner, looking quite asleep. His clothes were missing. “He’ll be fine, but he’ll likely wake up soon. Put these on.”

  While Tessa took the clothes and changed herself into the form of Abberline, Will filled her in on a few more facts he had gotten from people in the street. Mary Kelly was probably last seen at two thirty in the morning, but one person claimed to have seen her as late as eight thirty. No matter what, whatever had killed her had probably long since vanished.

  Once Tessa was ready, Will helped her push her way back through the crowd, down Dorset Street, to the small entryway that was Miller’s Court. Tessa stepped through the dark passageway into a very small courtyard, barely wide enough to turn around in. There were several houses here, cheaply whitewashed. Dozens of faces peered at her from dirty, broken windows.

  Room thirteen was barely a room—it was clearly part of a larger space in which a cheap partition had been constructed. It was mostly empty, containing only a few pieces of broken furniture. It was very, very hot, as if a fire had blazed all night.

  In all her time fighting demons, Tessa had never seen anything like this.

  There was blood.

  It was in such a large amount that Tessa wondered how one small body could contain so much. It had turned part of the floor black, and the bed, on which the woman rested, was utterly stained. There was no other color. As for the woman herself—she was no more. Her body was destroyed in a way that could barely be comprehended. This had taken time. Her face—there was nothing much left to speak of. Many parts of her were removed. They could be seen in many places, around her on the bed. Some parts of her were on a table.

  A man was leaning over her. There was a doctor’s bag on the floor, so Tessa steadied herself and then spoke.

  “Well, doctor?”

  The doctor turned.

  “I think we’ll have to move her soon. They’re trying to break in. We’ll have to move her carefully.”

  “Summarize for me the general situation. I need a concise report.”

  The doctor stood and wiped his bloodstained hands on his trousers.

  “Well, a very deep cut across the throat. The head is nearly off. You can see the nose is gone, much of the skin. There are so many slashes and incisions in the abdomen I barely know where to start. The abdominal cavity is empty and her hands have been placed inside the opening. You can see he’s left some of the contents here in this room, but some are missing. The heart is gone. The skin on the table I believe to be from the thighs. . . .”

  Tessa could not really take in much more of the information. This was enough.

  “I see,” she said. “There’s someone I have to speak to.”

  “Make the arrangements for her to be moved,” the doctor said. “We can’t keep her here. They’re going to get in. They want to see.”

  “Constable,” Tessa said to a policeman by the door, “see to it that a cart is brought.”

  Tessa walked away quickly, back down through the crowd, breathi
ng in as deeply as she could to get the smell of blood and entrails out of her nose. She felt a queasiness she had not experienced since her pregnancies. Will took one look at her and embraced her. Cecily came forward and put smelling salts under her nose. They had learned that smelling salts were necessary.

  “Bring out the detective,” Tessa said, when she had recovered. “He’s needed.”

  The inspector was retrieved and dressed. The smelling salts were applied, and he slowly came around. Once they had him on his feet and assured him that he had simply fainted, they left the area quickly and walked toward White’s Row.

  “Whatever it was,” Gabriel said, “it’s likely long gone. It happened hours ago. By having the body indoors, it went unnoticed for some time.”

  He took out his Sensor, but it showed no activity.

  “I suggest we return to the Institute,” he said. “We’ve learned what we can here. It’s time to apply ourselves to the problem in a different way. We have to look at the clues it leaves behind.”

  “The people,” Tessa said.

  “The people,” Gabriel corrected himself.

  They were more awake now. Tessa wondered if she would ever sleep again. She found the transition from East to West London more repugnant this time—the clean buildings, the space, the trees, the parks, the lovely carriages, and the lovely clothes and shops. And just a mile or so away . . .

  “What is done cannot be undone,” Will said, taking her hand.

  “You didn’t see her.”

  “But we will catch the thing that attacked her.”

  As soon as they turned onto Fleet Street, Tessa felt something wasn’t right. She couldn’t figure out what it was. The street was utterly quiet. One of the servants from a neighboring property was sweeping leaves from the step. There was a coal cart and a wagon from a greengrocer delivering vegetables. She sat upright, every nerve tense, and when the carriage stopped, she swung the door open quickly and bounded out. Seeing her reaction, the other three followed in a similar fashion.

  The first thing that confirmed her fears was that Bridget did not greet them at the door.

  “Bridget?” Tessa called.

  Nothing.

  She looked up at their windows—clean, unbroken, dark. The curtains had been drawn. Will pushed open the door.

  They found Bridget at the foot of the staircase. Cecily rushed to her.

  “Unconscious,” she said. “But breathing. The children! Who is with the children?”

  As one, they raced up the stairs. Every light was out, every door closed, every curtain drawn. They all went in separate directions, running to the nursery, to the bedrooms, to every room on the upper floors. Nothing.

  “Shadowhunters . . .”

  The voice was neither male nor female, and it seemed to come from everywhere. Will and Tessa met in the corridor, and Will held a witchlight high.

  “What are you?” he yelled. “Where are the children?”

  “Shadowhunters . . .”

  “Where are the children? You can’t have an interest in them. Show yourself.”

  “Shadowhunters . . .”

  Gabriel and Cecily appeared, seraph blades ready. Will and Tessa reached for theirs. They walked down the steps, watching in every direction.

  “I follow you,” hissed the voice, which now seemed to come from below them. “Shadowhunters. I follow you home. Play my game.”

  “What is your game?” Will called back. “I’ll play any game you like if you show yourself.”

  “The game is to hide. I like to hide. I like to take . . . the pieces. I hide. I take the pieces.”

  “I know you have form,” Will said. “You’ve been seen. Show yourself.”

  “Spoon!”

  The cry came from the direction of the dining room. All four ran toward the voice. When they opened the door, they found James standing at the far end of the room, spoon held aloft.

  “James!” Tessa cried. “Come to Mama! Come now, James!”

  James laughed and, instead of running to Tessa, turned in the direction of the great fireplace, within which a tremendous fire burned high. He ran directly into it.

  “James!”

  Will and Tessa both ran for him, but halfway there, the fire flared up in a multitude of colors: blue and green and black. Heat poured from it, sending them stumbling back.

  It subsided as quickly as it had arisen. They dashed again for the fireplace, but there was no sign of James.

  “No, no!” Tessa screamed. “Jamie!”

  She lunged for the fire; Will caught her and hauled her back. Everything seemed to have gone dark and silent in Tessa’s ears. All she could think about was her baby. His soft laugh, his storm-black hair like his father’s, his sweet disposition, the way he put his arms around her neck, his lashes against his cheeks.

  Somehow, she had fallen to the floor. It was hard against her knees. James, she thought desperately.

  A cool hand closed about her wrist. There were words in her head, soft and silent, cool as water. I am here.

  Her eyes flew open. Jem was kneeling over her. The hood of his robes was thrown back, his black-and-silver hair disarrayed. It’s all right. That was not James. That was the demon itself, tricking you. James is in the house.

  Tessa gasped. “My God! Is that the truth?”

  Strong arms were suddenly around her, hugging her tight. “It’s true. Jem’s had a tracking spell on Lucie and James since they were born. They’re alive, they just need us to find them. Tess—Tessa—” She felt Will’s tears against her shoulder.

  Jem was still holding her hand. I called for James, she thought, and he came.

  Tessa stayed where she was. It was the first time in her life, she thought, that her legs had felt so weak that she couldn’t rise. Will had his arms around her and her hand was in Jem’s. That was enough to keep her breathing. The Silent City believes the demon to be a sort of trickster. It means for you to chase it around the Institute. Its motives are unclear, but they seem to be those of a child.

  “If it is a child . . . ,” Tessa began, almost to herself.

  The others turned to her.

  “If it’s a child, it thinks it’s playing a game. It plays with women. I think it wants . . . a mother.”

  Suddenly it was as if a great wind shook the room.

  “I will play,” called a different voice.

  “Jessamine!” Will said. “She’s inside the house.”

  “I will play with you,” said Jessamine’s voice, louder now. It seemed to come from every room. “I have toys. I have a dollhouse. Play with me.”

  There was a long silence. Then all of the gas jets flared, sending columns of blue flame almost to the ceiling. Just as quickly, they were sucked back down to the jets and the room was dark again. The fire went out.

  “My dollhouse is wonderful,” Jessamine’s voice went on. “It is very small.”

  “Very small?” came the reply.

  “Bring the children and we shall play.”

  There was another great whoosh of wind through the room.

  “Jessamine’s room,” Will said.

  They made their way carefully to Jessamine’s room, where the door stood open. There was Jessamine’s dollhouse, her pride and joy, and next to it, the transparent, gossamer figure of Jessamine. A moment later, something came down the chimney, a kind of fog that splintered into pieces and floated about the room like bits of cloud. Jessamine was busy moving about the dolls in one of the rooms and paid attention to no one.

  “We need more of us to play,” she said.

  “It is very small. So many pieces.”

  The fog drifted toward the dollhouse, but Jessamine suddenly flared. She became like a web, wrapping herself around the dollhouse.

  “We need more of us to play,” Jessamine hissed. “The children.”

  “They are in the walls.”

  “In the walls?” Gabriel said. “How can they . . .”

  “The chimneys,” Cecily said. “It
uses the chimneys.”

  They ran from room to room. Each child was found, sound asleep, tucked up into a chimney. Anna was in one of the empty Shadowhunter rooms. James was in the kitchen, Christopher in the parlor. Lucie was in Cecily and Gabriel’s bedroom. Once they were secured, along with Bridget, the two sets of parents returned to Jessamine’s room, where the shimmering figure of Jessamine was playing with a small girl. Jessamine appeared to be utterly engrossed in the game until she saw the others, who nodded to her.

  “Now we will play a new game,” Jessamine said.

  The small girl turned toward Jessie, and Tessa caught sight of her face. It was pale and smooth, a child’s face, but her eyes were entirely black, with no whites to them at all. They looked like specks of ash. “No. This game.”

  “You must close your eyes. It is a very good game. We are going to hide.”

  “Hide?”

  “Yes. We shall play hide-and-seek. You must close your eyes.”

  “I like to hide.”

  “But first you must seek. Close your eyes.”

  The demon child, a small girl, barely five years of age in appearance, closed her eyes. As she did, Will brought the seraph blade down on her and the room was splattered with ichor.

  “And it was gone,” Tessa said. “The problem, of course, was that the rest of London couldn’t be told that it was over. Jack the Ripper had been conjured up out of thin air, and now there was no Jack the Ripper to put in the dock. There would be no capture, no trial, no public hanging. The killings simply stopped. We considered trying to stage something, but there was so much scrutiny by that point that we felt this might complicate matters. But as it turned out, we didn’t need to do anything. The public and the newspapers carried the story. New things were published every day, even though we knew there was nothing to report. It turned out people were willing to make up many theories of their own, and they’ve continued to do so since 1888. Everyone wants to catch the uncatchable killer. Everyone wants to be the hero of the story. And this has remained true in many cases since. In the absence of facts, the media will often make up stories of their own. It can save us a lot of work. In many ways, modern media is one of our greatest assets when it comes to covering up the truth. Do not discount mundanes. They weave their own stories, to make sense of their world. Some of you mundanes will help us make better sense of ours. Thank you for your attention this afternoon,” Tessa finished. “I wish you all the luck in the world as you continue your training. What you do is brave and important.”