“Human?” Tessa stared. “Why wouldn’t they have been human?”
Before Charlotte could answer, the door opened, and a slender, dark-haired girl in a white cap and apron came in, carrying a tea tray, which she set down on the table between them. “Sophie,” Charlotte said, sounding relieved to see the girl. “Thank you. This is Miss Gray. She will be a guest of ours this evening.”
Sophie straightened, turned to Tessa, and bobbed a curtsy. “Miss,” she said, but the novelty of being curtsied to was lost on Tessa as Sophie raised her head and her full face became visible. She ought to have been very pretty—her eyes were a luminous dark hazel, her skin smooth, her lips soft and delicately shaped—but a thick, silvery ridged scar slashed from the left corner of her mouth to her temple, pulling her face sideways and distorting her features into a twisted mask. Tessa tried to hide the shock on her own face, but she could see as Sophie’s eyes darkened that it hadn’t worked.
“Sophie,” Charlotte said, “did you bring in that dark red dress earlier, as I asked? Can you have it brushed and sponged for Tessa?” She turned back to Tessa as the maid nodded and went to the wardrobe. “I took the liberty of having one of our Jessamine’s old dresses made over for you. The clothes you were wearing were ruined.”
“Much obliged,” Tessa said stiffly. She hated having to be grateful. The Sisters had pretended they were doing her favors, and look how that had turned out.
“Miss Gray.” Charlotte looked at her earnestly. “Shadow-hunters and Downworlders are not enemies. Our accord may be an uneasy one, but it is my belief that Downworlders are to be trusted—that, indeed, they hold the key to our eventual success against the demon realms. Is there something I can do to show you that we do not plan to take advantage of you?”
“I . . .” Tessa took a deep breath. “When the Dark Sisters first told me about my power, I thought they were mad,” she said. “I told them such things didn’t exist. Then I thought I was trapped in some sort of nightmare where they did. But then Mr. Herondale came, and he knew of magic, and had that glowing stone, and I thought, Here is someone who might help me.” She looked up at Charlotte. “But you do not seem to know why I am the way I am, or even what I am. And if even you do not . . .”
“It can be . . . difficult to learn how the world truly is, to see it in its true shape and form,” Charlotte said. “Most human beings never do. Most could not bear it. But I have read your letters. And I know that you are strong, Miss Gray. You have withstood what might have killed another young girl, Downworlder or not.”
“I didn’t have a choice. I did it for my brother. They would have murdered him.”
“Some people,” Charlotte said, “would have let that happen. But I know from reading your own words that you never even considered that.” She leaned forward. “Have you any idea where your brother is? Do you think he is most likely dead?”
Tessa sucked in a breath.
“Mrs. Branwell!” Sophie, who had been attending to the hem of a wine-red dress with a brush, looked up and spoke with a reproachful tone that surprised Tessa. It was not the place of servants to correct their employers; the books she’d read had made that very clear.
But Charlotte only looked rueful. “Sophie is my good angel,” she said. “I tend to be a little too blunt. I thought there might be something you knew, something that wasn’t in your letters, that might give us knowledge of his whereabouts.”
Tessa shook her head. “The Dark Sisters told me he was imprisoned in a safe location. I assume he is still there. But I have no idea how to find him.”
“Then you should stay here at the Institute until he can be located.”
“I don’t want your charity.” Tessa said mulishly. “I can find another lodging place.”
“It would not be charity. We are bound by our own laws to help and aid Downworlders. To send you away with nowhere to go would break the Accords, which are important rules we must abide by.”
“And you wouldn’t ask for anything in return?” Tessa’s voice was bitter. “You won’t ask me to use my—my ability? You won’t require me to Change?”
“If,” Charlotte said, “you do not wish to use your power, then no, we will not force you to. Though I do believe you yourself might benefit from learning how it might be controlled and used—”
“No!” Tessa’s cry was so loud that Sophie jumped and dropped her brush. Charlotte glanced over at her and then back at Tessa. She said, “As you wish, Miss Gray. There are other ways you could assist us. I’m sure there is much that you know that was not contained in your letters. And in return, we could help you to search for your brother.”
Tessa’s head went up. “You would do that?”
“You have my word.” Charlotte stood up. Neither of them had touched the tea on its tray. “Sophie, if you could help Miss Gray dress? Then I will bring her in to dinner.”
“Dinner?” After hearing such a deal about Nephilim, and Downworld, and faeries and vampires and demons, the prospect of dinner was almost shocking in its ordinariness.
“Certainly. It’s nearly seven o’clock. You’ve already met Will; you can meet everyone else. Perhaps you’ll see that we’re to be trusted.”
And with a brisk nod, Charlotte left the room. As the door closed after her, Tessa shook her head mutely. Aunt Harriet had been bossy, but she’d had nothing on Charlotte Branwell.
“She has a strict manner, but she’s really very kind,” Sophie said, laying out on the bed the dress Tessa was meant to wear. “I’ve never known anyone with a better heart.”
Tessa touched the sleeve of the dress with the tip of her finger. It was dark red satin, as Charlotte had said, with black moiré ribbon trim around the waist and hem. She had never worn anything so nice.
“Would you like me to help you get dressed for dinner, miss?” Sophie asked. Tessa remembered something Aunt Harriet had always said—that you could know a man not by what his friends said about him, but by how he treated his servants. If Sophie thought Charlotte had a good heart, then perhaps she did.
She raised her head. “Much obliged, Sophie. I believe I would.”
Tessa had never had anyone assist her in getting dressed before, other than her aunt. Though Tessa was slender, the dress had clearly been made for a smaller girl, and Sophie had to lace Tessa’s stays tightly to make it fit. She clucked under her breath while she did it. “Mrs. Branwell doesn’t believe in tight lacing,” she explained. “She says it causes nervous headaches and weakness, and a Shadowhunter can’t afford to be weak. But Miss Jessamine likes the waists of her dresses very small, and she does insist.”
“Well,” said Tessa, a little breathless, “I’m not a Shadow-hunter, anyway.”
“There is that,” Sophie agreed, doing up the back of the dress with a clever little buttonhook. “There. What do you think?”
Tessa looked at herself in the mirror, and was taken aback. The dress was too small on her, and had clearly been designed to be fitted closely to the body as it was. It clung almost shockingly to her figure down to the hips, where it swelled into gathers in the back, draped over a modest bustle. The sleeves were turned back, showing frills of champagne lace at the cuffs. She looked—older, she thought, not the tragic scarecrow she had looked in the Dark House, but not someone entirely familiar to herself either. What if one of the times I Changed, when I turned back into myself, I didn’t do it quite right? What if this isn’t even my true face? The thought sent such a bolt of panic through her that she felt as if she might faint.
“You are a little pale,” Sophie said, examining Tessa’s reflection with a judicious gaze. She didn’t appear particularly shocked by the dress’s tightness, at least. “You could try pinching your cheeks a bit to bring the color. That’s what Miss Jessamine does.”
“It was awfully kind of her—Miss Jessamine, I mean—to lend me this dress.”
Sophie chuckled low in her throat. “Miss Jessamine’s never worn it. Mrs. Branwell gave it to her as a gift, but Miss Je
ssamine said it made her look sallow and tossed it in the back of her wardrobe. Ungrateful, if you ask me. Now, go on then and pinch your cheeks a bit. You’re pale as milk.”
Having done so, and having thanked Sophie, Tessa emerged from the bedroom into a long stone corridor. Charlotte was there, waiting for her. She set off immediately, with Tessa behind her, limping slightly—the black silk shoes, which did not quite fit, were not kind to her bruised feet.
Being in the Institute was a bit like being inside a castle—the ceiling disappearing up into gloom, the tapestries hanging on the walls. Or at least it was what Tessa imagined the inside of a castle might look like. The tapestries bore repeating motifs of stars, swords, and the same sort of designs she’d seen inked on Will and Charlotte. There was a single repeating image too, of an angel rising out of a lake, carrying a sword in one hand and a cup in the other. “This place used to be a church,” Charlotte said, answering Tessa’s unasked question. “The Church of All-Hallows-the-Less. It burned down during the Great Fire of London. We took over the land after that and built the Institute on the ruins of the old church. It’s useful for our purposes to remain on consecrated ground.”
“Don’t people think it’s odd, you building on the site of an old church like this?” Tessa asked, hurrying to keep up.
“They don’t know about it. Mundanes—that’s what we call ordinary people—aren’t aware of what we do,” Charlotte explained. “To them, from the outside the place looks like an empty patch of land. Beyond that, mundanes aren’t really very interested in what doesn’t affect them directly.” She turned to usher Tessa through a door and into a large brightly lit dining room. “Here we are.”
Tessa stood blinking in the sudden illumination. The room was huge, big enough for a table that could have seated twenty people. An immense gasolier hung down from the ceiling, filling the room with a yellowish glow. Over a sideboard loaded with expensive-looking china, a gilt-framed mirror ran the length of the room. A low glass bowl of white flowers decorated the table’s center. Everything was tasteful, and very ordinary. There was nothing unusual about the room, nothing that might hint at the nature of the house’s occupants.
Though the entire long dining table was draped with white linen, only one end was set, with places for five people. Only two people were already sitting—Will and a fair-haired girl about Tessa’s age in a shimmering low-necked gown. They appeared to be studiously ignoring each other; Will looked up in apparent relief when Charlotte and Tessa came in. “Will,” Charlotte said. “You remember Miss Gray?”
“My recollection of her,” said Will, “is most vivid indeed.” He was no longer wearing the odd black clothes he’d been wearing the day before, but an ordinary pair of trousers and a gray jacket with a black velvet collar. The gray made his eyes look bluer than ever. He grinned at Tessa, who felt herself flush and looked quickly away.
“And Jessamine—Jessie, do look up. Jessie, this is Miss Theresa Gray; Miss Gray, this is Miss Jessamine Lovelace.”
“So pleased to make your acquaintance,” Jessamine murmured. Tessa couldn’t help staring at her. She was almost ridiculously pretty, what one of Tessa’s novels would have called an English rose—all silvery fair hair, soft brown eyes, and creamy complexion. She wore a very bright blue dress, and rings on almost every one of her fingers. If she had the same black skin markings that Will and Charlotte did, they weren’t visible.
Will cast Jessamine a look of plain loathing, and turned to Charlotte. “Where’s your benighted husband, then?”
Charlotte, taking a seat, gestured for Tessa to sit opposite her, in the chair beside Will. “Henry is in his workroom. I’ve sent Thomas to fetch him. He’ll be up in a moment.”
“And Jem?”
Charlotte’s look was warning, but “Jem is unwell” was all she said. “He’s having one of his days.”
“He’s always having one of his days.” Jessamine sounded disgusted.
Tessa was about to inquire as to who Jem might be, when Sophie entered, followed by a plump woman of middle age whose gray hair was escaping from a bun at the back of her head. The two of them began to serve food from the sideboard. There was roast pork, potatoes, savory soup, and fluffy dinner rolls with creamy yellow butter. Tessa felt suddenly light-headed; she had forgotten how hungry she was. She bit into a roll, only to check herself when she saw Jessamine staring.
“You know,” Jessamine said airily, “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a warlock eat before. I suppose you needn’t ever bant, do you? You can just use magic to make yourself slender.”
“We don’t know for certain that she’s a warlock, Jessie,” said Will.
Jessamine ignored him. “Is it dreadful, being so evil? Are you worried you’ll go to Hell?” She leaned closer to Tessa. “What do you think the Devil’s like?”
Tessa set her fork down. “Would you like to meet him? I could summon him up in a trice if you like. Being a warlock, and all.”
Will let out a whoop of laughter. Jessamine’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no call to be rude,” she began—then broke off as Charlotte sat bolt upright with an astonished shriek.
“Henry!”
A man was standing in the dining room’s arched doorway—a familiar-looking tall man, with a shock of ginger hair and hazel eyes. He wore a torn tweed Norfolk jacket over a shockingly bright striped waistcoat; his trousers were covered in what looked peculiarly like coal dust. But none of that was what had made Charlotte scream; it was the fact that his left arm appeared to be on fire. Little flames licked up his arm from a point above his elbow, releasing tendrils of black smoke.
“Charlotte, darling,” Henry said to his wife, who was staring at him in gape-mouthed horror. Jessamine, beside her, was wide eyed. “Sorry I’m late. You know, I think I might nearly have the Sensor working—”
Will interrupted. “Henry,” he said, “you’re on fire. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Henry said eagerly. The flames were now nearly to his shoulder. “I’ve been working like a man possessed all day. Charlotte, did you hear what I said about the Sensor?”
Charlotte dropped her hand from her mouth. “Henry!” she shrieked. “Your arm!”
Henry glanced down at his arm, and his mouth dropped open. “Bloody hell” was all he had time to say before Will, exhibiting a startling presence of mind, stood up, seized the vase of flowers off the table, and hurled the contents over Henry. The flames went out, with a faint protesting sizzle, leaving Henry standing soaking wet in the doorway, one sleeve of his jacket blackened and a dozen damp white flowers strewn at his feet.
Henry beamed and patted the burned sleeve of his jacket with a look of satisfaction. “You know what this means?”
Will set the vase down. “That you set yourself on fire and didn’t even notice?”
“That the flame-retardant mixture I developed last week works!” Henry said proudly. “This material must have been burning for a good ten minutes, and it isn’t even half burned through!” He squinted down at his arm. “Perhaps I ought to set the other sleeve on fire and see how long—”
“Henry,” said Charlotte, who appeared to have recovered from her shock, “if you set yourself on fire deliberately, I will institute divorce proceedings. Now sit down and eat your supper. And say hello to our guest.”
Henry sat, glanced across the table at Tessa—and blinked in surprise. “I know you,” he said. “You bit me!” He sounded pleased about it, as if recollecting a pleasant memory they’d both shared.
Charlotte shot a despairing look at her husband.
“Have you asked Miss Gray about the Pandemonium Club yet?” Will asked.
The Pandemonium Club. “I know the words. They were written on the side of Mrs. Dark’s carriage,” Tessa said.
“It’s an organization,” Charlotte said. “A rather old organization of mundanes who have interested themselves in the magical arts. At their meetings they do spells and try to summon up demons and spirits.” She sig
hed.
Jessamine snorted. “I can’t imagine why they bother,” she said. “Messing about with spells and wearing hooded robes and setting little fires. It’s ridiculous.”
“Oh, they do more than that,” said Will. “They’re more powerful in Downworld than you might think. Many rich and important figures in mundane society are members—”
“That only makes it sillier.” Jessamine tossed her hair. “They have money and power. Why are they playing around with magic?”
“A good question,” said Charlotte. “Mundanes who involve themselves in things they know nothing about are likely to meet unpleasant ends.”
Will shrugged. “When I was trying to track down the source of the symbol on that knife Jem and I found in the alley, I was directed to the Pandemonium Club. The members of it in turn directed me to the Dark Sisters. It’s their symbol—the two serpents. They supervised a set of secret gambling dens frequented by Downworlders. They existed to lure mundanes in and trick them into losing all their money in magical games, then, when the mundanes fell into debt, the Dark Sisters would extort the money back at ruinous rates.” Will looked over at Charlotte. “They ran some other businesses as well, most unsavory ones. The house in which they kept Tessa, I had been told, was a Down-worlder brothel catering to mundanes with unusual tastes.”
“Will, I’m not at all sure—,” Charlotte began dubiously.
“Hmph,” Jessamine said. “No wonder you were so keen to go there, William.”
If she had hoped to annoy Will, it didn’t work; she might as well not have spoken, for all the attention he paid her. He was looking at Tessa across the table, his eyebrows arched slightly. “Have I offended you, Miss Gray? I imagined that after all you’ve seen, you would not be easily shocked.”
The Infernal Devices Series Page 6