"Lead you into a trap?" Camille's tone was mocking. "And incur the terrifying wrath of the Clave? Hardly likely!"
"Lady Belcourt," said Jem, "whatever Charlotte might have promised you, if you want our help, you will answer the question."
"Very well," she said. "I can see you will not be satisfied unless I give you an explanation. You," she said, nodding toward Will, "are correct. And you seem to know a curious amount about love and revenge for one so young; we must discuss them someday, together." She smiled again, but the smile did not reach her eyes. "I had a lover, you see," she said. "He was a shape-changer, a lycanthrope. It is forbidden for the Night Children to love or to lie with the Moon's Children. We were careful, but de Quincey found us out. Found us out and murdered him, in much the way he will be murdering some poor mundane prisoner at his next party." Her eyes shone like green lamps as she looked at them both. "I loved him, and de Quincey murdered him, and the others of my kind helped and abetted him. I will not forgive them for it. Kill them all."
The Accords, now ten years old, marked a historic moment for both Nephilim and Downworlders. No longer would the two groups strive to destroy each other. They would be united against a common foe, the demon. There were fifty men at the signing of the Accords in Idris: ten of the Night Children; ten of Lilith's Children, known as warlocks; ten of the Fair Folk; ten of the Moon's Children; and ten of Raziel's blood—
Tessa jerked awake at the sound of a knock on her door; she had been half-drowsing on the pillow, her finger still keeping a place in The Shadowhunter's Codex. After setting the book down, she barely had time to sit up and draw the covers about herself before the door opened.
In came lamplight, and Charlotte with it. Tessa felt an odd twinge, almost disappointment—but who else had she been expecting? Despite the late hour, Charlotte was dressed as if she planned to go out. Her face was very serious, and there were lines of tiredness below her dark eyes. "You're awake?"
Tessa nodded, and lifted the book she had been reading. "Reading."
Charlotte said nothing, but crossed the room and sat down at the foot of Tessa's bed. She held out her hand. Something gleamed in her palm; it was Tessa's angel pendant. "You left this with Henry."
Tessa set her book down and took the pendant. She slipped the chain over her head, and felt reassured as the familiar weight settled against the hollow of her throat. "Did he learn anything from it?"
"I'm not sure. He said it was all clogged up on the inside with years of rust, that it was a wonder it was working at all. He cleaned out the mechanism, though it doesn't seem to have resulted in much of a change. Perhaps it ticks more regularly now?"
"Perhaps." Tessa didn't care; she was just happy to have the angel, the symbol of her mother and her life in New York, back in her possession.
Charlotte folded her hands in her lap. "Tessa, there is something I haven't told you."
Tessa's heart began to beat faster. "What is it?"
"Mortmain ..." Charlotte hesitated. "When I said that Mortmain introduced your brother to the Pandemonium Club, that was true, but not the whole truth. Your brother already knew about the Shadow World, before Mortmain ever told him. It seems he learned about it from your father."
Stunned, Tessa was silent.
"How old were you when your parents died?" Charlotte asked.
"It was an accident," Tessa said, a little dazed. "I was three. Nate was six."
Charlotte frowned. "So young for your father to confide in your brother, but ... I suppose it's possible."
"No," Tessa said. "No, you don't understand. I had the most ordinary, the most human, upbringing imaginable. Aunt Harriet, she was the most practical woman in the world. And she would have known, wouldn't she? She was mother's younger sister; they brought her with them from London when they came to America."
"People keep secrets, Tessa, sometimes even from the ones they love." Charlotte brushed her fingers across the cover of the Codex, with its embossed seal. "And you must admit, it does make sense."
"Sense? It doesn't make any kind of sense!"
"Tessa ..." Charlotte sighed. "We don't know why you have the ability that you do. But if one of your parents was connected in some way to the magical world, doesn't it make sense that that connection might have something to do with it? If your father was a member of the Pandemonium Club, isn't that how de Quincey might have known about you?"
"I suppose." Tessa spoke grudgingly. "It's only ... I believed so strongly when I first came to London that everything that was happening to me was a dream. That my life before had been real and this was a dreadful nightmare. I thought that if only I could find Nate, we could go back to the life we had before." She raised her eyes to Charlotte's. "But now I cannot help but wonder if perhaps the life I had before was the dream and all this was the truth. If my parents knew of the Pandemonium Club—if they were part of the Shadow World too—then there is no world I can go back to that will be clean of all this."
Charlotte, her hands still folded in her lap, looked at Tessa steadily. "Have you ever wondered why Sophie's face is scarred?"
Caught off guard, Tessa could only stammer. "I—I wondered, but I—didn't like to ask."
"Nor should you," said Charlotte. Her voice was cool and firm. "When I first saw Sophie, she was crouched in a doorway, filthy, with a bloody rag clutched to her cheek. She saw me as I went by, even though I was glamoured at the time. That's what drew my attention to her. She has a touch of the Sight, as do Thomas and Agatha. I offered her money, but she wouldn't take it. I wheedled her into accompanying me to a tea shop, and she told me what had happened to her. She had been a parlor maid, in a fine house in St. John's Wood. Parlor maids, of course, are chosen for their looks, and Sophie was beautiful—which turned out to be both a great advantage and a great disadvantage for her. As you might imagine, the son of the house took an interest in seducing her. She turned him away repeatedly. In a rage, he took a knife and cut open her face, saying that if he couldn't have her, he'd make sure no one ever wanted her again."
"How awful," Tessa whispered.
"She went to her mistress, the boy's mother, but he claimed that she'd tried to seduce him, and he'd taken up the knife to fight her off and protect his virtue. Of course, they threw her out on the street. By the time I found her, her cheek was badly infected. I brought her here and had the Silent Brothers see to her, but while they cured the infection, they couldn't heal the scar."
Tessa put her hand to her own face in a gesture of unconscious sympathy. "Poor Sophie."
Charlotte cocked her head to the side and looked at Tessa out of her bright brown eyes. She had such a strong presence, Tessa thought, that it was hard to remember sometimes how physically small she was, how birdlike and tiny. "Sophie has a gift," she said. "She has the Sight. She can see what others do not. In her old life she often wondered if she was mad. Now she knows that she is not mad but special. There, she was only a parlor maid, who would likely have lost her position once her looks had faded. Now she is a valued member of our household, a gifted girl with much to contribute." Charlotte leaned forward. "You look back on the life you had, Tessa, and it seems safe to you in comparison to this one. But you and your aunt were very poor, if I am not mistaken. If you had not come to London, where would you have gone once she died? What would you have done? Would you have found yourself weeping in an alley like our Sophie?" Charlotte shook her head. "You have a power of incalculable value. You need ask nothing of anyone. You need depend on no one. You are free, and that freedom is a gift."
"It is hard to think of something as a gift when you have been tormented and imprisoned for it."
Charlotte shook her head. "Sophie said to me once that she was glad she had been scarred. She said that whoever loved her now would love her true self, and not her pretty face. This is your true self, Tessa. This power is who you are. Whoever loves you now—and you must also love yourself—will love the truth of you."
Tessa picked up the Codex and hugged it against her chest. "So
you are saying I am right. This is what is real, and the life I had before was the dream."
"That is correct." Gently Charlotte patted Tessa's shoulder; Tessa almost jumped at the contact. It had been a long time, she thought, since anyone had touched her in such a motherly fashion; she thought of Aunt Harriet, and her throat hurt. "And now it is time to wake up."
9
THE ENCLAVE
May make my heart as a millstone, set my face as a flint,
Cheat and be cheated, and die: who knows? we are ashes and dust.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "Maud"
"Try it again," Will suggested. "Simply walk from one end of the room to the other. We'll tell you if you look convincing."
Tessa sighed. Her head throbbed, as did the backs of her eyes. It was exhausting learning how to pretend to be a vampire.
It had been two days since Lady Belcourt's visit, and Tessa had spent almost every moment since then attempting to convincingly transform herself into the vampire woman, without enormous success. She still felt as if she were sliding around on the surface of Camille's mind, unable to reach through and grasp hold of thoughts or personality. It made it difficult to know how to walk, how to talk, and what sort of expressions she ought to be wearing when she met the vampires at de Quincey's party—whom, no doubt, Camille knew very well, and whom Tessa would be expected to know too.
She was in the library now, and had spent the last few hours since lunch practicing walking with Camille's odd gliding walk, and speaking with her careful drawling voice. Pinned at her shoulder was a jeweled brooch that one of Camille's human subjugates, a wrinkled little creature called Archer, had brought over in a trunk. There had been a dress, too, for Tessa to wear to de Quincey's, but it was much too heavy and elaborate for daytime. Tessa made do with her own new blue and white dress, which was bothersomely too tight in the bosom and too loose in the waist whenever she changed into Camille.
Jem and Will had set up camp on one of the long tables in the back of the library, ostensibly to help and advise her, but more likely, it seemed, to mock and be amused by her consternation. "You point your feet out too much when you walk," Will went on. He was busy polishing an apple on his shirtfront, and appeared not to notice Tessa glaring at him. "Camille walks delicately. Like a faun in the woods. Not like a duck."
"I do not walk like a duck."
"I like ducks," Jem observed diplomatically. "Especially the ones in Hyde Park." He glanced sideways at Will; both boys were sitting on the edge of the high table, their legs dangling over the side. "Remember when you tried to convince me to feed a poultry pie to the mallards in the park to see if you could breed a race of cannibal ducks?"
"They ate it too," Will reminisced. "Bloodthirsty little beasts. Never trust a duck."
"Do you mind?" Tessa demanded. "If you're not going to help me, you might as well both leave. I didn't let you stay here so that I could listen to you nattering on about ducks."
"Your impatience," said Will, "is most unladylike." He grinned at her around the apple. "Perhaps Camille's vampire nature is asserting itself?"
His tone was playful. It was so odd, Tessa thought. Only a few days ago he had snarled at her about his parents, and later had begged her to help him hide Jem's bloody coughing, his face burning with intensity as he did so. And now he was teasing her as if she were a friend's little sister, someone whom he knew casually, perhaps thought of with affection, but for whom he had no complex feelings at all.
Tessa bit her lip—and winced at the unexpected sharp pain. Camille's vampire teeth—her teeth—were ruled by an instinct she couldn't understand. They seemed to slide forward without warning or prompting, alerting her to their presence only by sudden bursts of pain as they punctured the fragile skin of her lip. She tasted blood in her mouth—her own blood, salty and hot. She pressed her fingertips to her mouth; when she drew her hand away, her fingers were spotted with red.
"Leave it alone," said Will, setting down his apple and rising to his feet. "You'll find you heal very quickly."
Tessa poked at her left incisor with her tongue. It was flat again, an ordinary tooth. "I don't understand what makes them come out like that!"
"Hunger," said Jem. "Were you thinking about blood?"
"No."
"Were you thinking about eating me?" Will inquired.
"No!"
"No one would blame you," said Jem. "He's very annoying."
Tessa sighed. "Camille is so difficult. I don't understand the first thing about her, much less being her."
Jem looked at her closely. "Are you able to touch her thoughts? The way you said you could touch the thoughts of those you transformed into?"
"Not yet. I've been trying, but all I get are occasional flashes, images. Her thoughts seem very well protected."
"Well, hopefully you can break through that protection before tomorrow night," said Will. "Or I wouldn't say much about our chances."
"Will," Jem chided. "Don't say that."
"You're right," Will said. "I shouldn't underestimate my own skills. Should Tessa make a mess of things, I'm sure I'll be able to fight our way through the slavering vampire masses to freedom."
Jem—as was his habit, Tessa was starting to realize—simply ignored this. "Perhaps," he said, "you can only touch the thoughts of the dead, Tessa? Perhaps most of the objects given to you by the Dark Sisters were taken from people they had murdered."
"No. I touched Jessamine's thoughts when I Changed into her. So that can't be it, thankfully. What a morbid talent that would be."
Jem was looking at her with thoughtful silver eyes; something about the intensity of his gaze made her feel almost uncomfortable. "How clearly can you see the thoughts of the dead? For instance, if I gave you an item that had once belonged to my father, would you know what he was thinking when he died?"
It was Will's turn to look alarmed. "James, I don't think—," he began, but broke off as the door to the library opened and Charlotte entered the room. She wasn't alone. There were at least a dozen men following her, strangers whom Tessa had never seen before.
"The Enclave," Will whispered, and gestured for Jem and Tessa to duck behind one of the ten-foot bookcases. They observed from their hiding place as the room filled with Shadowhunters—most of them men. But Tessa saw, as they filed into the room, that among them were two women.
She could not help staring at them, remembering what Will had said about Boadicea, that women could be warriors as well. The taller of the women—and she must have been nearly six feet in height—had powder white hair wound into a crown at the back of her head. She looked as if she were well into her sixties, and her presence was regal. The second of the women was younger, with dark hair, catlike eyes, and a secretive demeanor.
The men were a more mixed group. The eldest was a tall man dressed all in gray. His hair and skin were gray as well, his face bony and aquiline, with a strong, thin nose and a sharp chin. There were hard lines at the corners of his eyes and dark hollows under his cheekbones. His eyes were rimmed with red. Beside him stood the youngest of the group, a boy probably no more than a year older than Jem or Will. He was handsome in an angular sort of way, with sharp but regular features, tousled brown hair, and a watchful expression.
Jem made a noise of surprise and displeasure. "Gabriel Lightwood," he muttered to Will under his breath. "What's he doing here? I thought he was in school in Idris."
Will hadn't moved. He was staring at the brown-haired boy with his eyebrows raised, a faint smile playing about his lips.
"Just don't get into a fight with him, Will," Jem added hastily. "Not here. That's all I ask."
"Rather a lot to ask, don't you think?" Will said without looking at Jem. Will had leaned out from behind the bookcase, and was watching Charlotte as she ushered everyone toward the large table at the front of the room. She seemed to be urging everyone to settle themselves into seats around it.
"Frederick Ashdown and George Penhallow, here, if you please," Charlotte said
. "Lilian Highsmith, if you'd sit over there by the map—"
"And where is Henry?" asked the gray-haired man with an air of brusque politeness. "Your husband? As one of the heads of the Institute, he really ought to be here."
Charlotte hesitated for only a fraction of a second before plastering a smile onto her face. "He's on his way, Mr. Lightwood," she said, and Tessa realized two things—one, that the gray-haired man was most likely the father of Gabriel Lightwood, and two, that Charlotte was lying.
"He'd better be," Mr. Lightwood muttered. "An Enclave meeting without the head of the Institute present—most irregular." He turned then, and though Will moved to duck back behind the tall bookcase, it was too late. The man's eyes narrowed. "And who's back there, then? Come out and show yourself!"
Will glanced toward Jem, who shrugged eloquently. "No point hiding till they drag us out, is there?"
"Speak for yourself," Tessa hissed. "I don't need Charlotte angry at me if we're not supposed to be in here."
"Don't work yourself into a state. There's no reason you'd have had any idea about the Enclave meeting, and Charlotte's perfectly well aware of that," Will said. "She always knows exactly who to blame." He grinned. "I'd turn yourself back into yourself, though, if you take my meaning. No need to give too much of a shock to their hoary old constitutions."
"Oh!" For a moment Tessa had nearly forgotten she was still disguised as Camille. Hastily she went to work stripping away the transformation, and by the time the three of them stepped out from behind the bookshelves, she was her own self again.
"Will." Charlotte sighed on seeing him, and shook her head at Tessa and Jem. "I told you the Enclave would be meeting here at four o'clock."
"Did you?" Will said. "I must have forgotten that. Dreadful." His eyes slid sideways, and he grinned. "'Lo there, Gabriel."
The brown-haired boy returned Will's look with a furious glare. He had very bright green eyes, and his mouth, as he stared at Will, was hard with disgust. "William," he said finally, and with some effort. He turned his gaze on Jem. "And James. Aren't you both a little young to be lurking around Enclave meetings?"
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