DARKNESS DOWN
The old church tower and garden wall
Are black with autumn rain,
And dreary winds foreboding call
The darkness down again.
—Emily Bronte, "The Old Church Tower"
While Charlotte dashed to the library to notify the Enclave that emergency action would need to be taken that evening, Henry remained in the drawing room with Nathaniel and the others. He was surprisingly patient as Nate painstakingly indicated on a map of London the spot where he believed de Quincey's hideaway to be—a house in Chelsea, near the Thames. "I don't know which one it is exactly," Nate said, "so you'll have to be careful."
"We are always careful," Henry said, ignoring Will's wry look in his direction. Not long after that, however, he sent Will and Jem to the weapons room with Thomas to ready a stock of seraph blades and other armaments. Tessa remained in the drawing room with Jessamine and Nate while Henry hurried off to the crypt to retrieve some of his more recent inventions.
As soon as the others had gone, Jessamine commenced fluttering around Nate—building up the fire for him, going to fetch another blanket to wrap around his shoulders, and offering to find a book to read aloud to him, which he declined. If Jessamine was hoping to win Nate's heart by fussing over him, Tessa thought, she would be in for a disappointment. Nate expected to be fussed over and would hardly notice her special attentions.
"So what's going to happen now?" he asked finally, half-buried under a mound of blankets. "Mr. and Mrs. Branwell—"
"Oh, call them Henry and Charlotte. Everyone does," Jessamine said.
"They'll be notifying the Enclave—that's all the rest of London's Shadowhunters—of the location of de Quincey's hideaway, so they can plan an attack," said Tessa. "But really, Nate, you shouldn't be worrying about these things. You should be resting."
"So it'll just be us." Nate's eyes were closed. "In this big old place. Seems strange."
"Oh, Will and Jem won't be going with them," said Jessamine. "I heard her talking to them in the weapons room when I went to get the blanket."
Nate's eyes opened. "They won't?" He sounded astonished. "Why not?"
"They're too young," said Jessamine. "Shadowhunters are considered adults at eighteen, and for this kind of undertaking—something dangerous that the whole Enclave is participating in—they tend to leave the younger ones at home."
Tessa felt a strange little pang of relief, which she covered by asking hurriedly, "But that's so odd. They let Will and Jem go to de Quincey's—"
"And that's why they can't go now. Apparently, Benedict Lightwood is arguing that the raid on de Quincey's turned out as badly as it did because Will and Jem are insufficiently trained, though how any of it was meant to be Jem's fault, I'm not sure. If you ask me, he wants an excuse to make Gabriel stay at home, even though he's already eighteen. He babies him horribly. Charlotte said he told her that there have been whole Enclaves wiped out in a single night before, and the Nephilim have an obligation to leave the younger generation standing, to carry on, as it were."
Tessa's stomach twisted. Before she could say anything, the door opened and Thomas came in. He was carrying a stack of folded clothes. "These are old things of Master Jem's," he said to Nate, looking slightly embarrassed. "It looks like you might be about the same size, and, well, you ought to have something to wear. If you'll accompany me back to your room, we can see if they fit."
Jessamine rolled her eyes. Tessa wasn't sure why. Perhaps she thought castoffs weren't good enough for Nate.
"Thank you, Thomas," Nate said, rising to his feet. "And I must tender my apologies for my earlier behavior, when I, ah, hid from you. I must have been feverish. That's the only explanation."
Thomas flushed. "Just doing my job, sir."
"Perhaps you should get some sleep," Tessa said, noting the dark rings of exhaustion around her brother's eyes. "There won't be much for us to do now, not until they return."
"Actually," Nate said, looking from Jessamine to Tessa, "I think I've had enough of rest. A fellow ought to get back on his feet eventually, oughtn't he? I could stand to eat a bite of something, and I wouldn't mind some company. If you wouldn't mind my joining you here once I'm dressed?"
"Of course not!" Jessamine looked delighted. "I'll ask Agatha to prepare something light. And perhaps a game of cards to keep us occupied after we eat. Sandwiches and tea, I think." She clapped her hands together as Thomas and Nate left the room, and turned to Tessa, her eyes bright. "Won't that be fun?"
"Cards?" Tessa, who had been shocked nearly speechless by Jessamine's suggestion, found her voice. "You think we ought to play cards? While Henry and Charlotte are off fighting de Quincey?"
Jessamine tossed her head. "As if our moping around would help them! I'm sure they'd rather we were cheerful and active in their absence rather than idle and morose."
Tessa frowned. "I really don't think," she said, "that suggesting cards to Nate was a kind idea, Jessamine. You know perfectly well he has ... trouble ... with gambling."
"We're not going to gamble," Jessamine said airily. "Just a friendly game of cards. Really, Tessa, must you be such a wet blanket?"
"A what? Jessamine, I know you're only trying to keep Nate happy. But this isn't the way—"
"And I suppose you've mastered the art of winning men's affections?" Jessamine snapped, her brown eyes sparking with anger. "You think I haven't seen you looking at Will with puppy-dog eyes? As if he were even— Oh!" She threw up her hands. "Never mind. You make me sick. I'm going to talk to Agatha without you." With that, she rose to her feet and flounced out of the room, pausing in the doorway only to say "And I know you don't care how you look, but you ought to at least fix your hair, Tessa. It looks like birds are living in it!" before the door slammed shut behind her.
Silly as Tessa knew it was, Jessamine's words stung. She hastened back to her room to splash water on her face and run a hairbrush through her tangled hair. Looking at her own white face in the mirror, she tried not to wonder if she still looked like the sister Nate remembered. Tried not to imagine how she might have changed.
Finished, she hurried out into the corridor—and nearly walked directly into Will, who was leaning against the corridor wall opposite her door, examining his nails. With his usual disregard for manners, he was in shirtsleeves, and over the shirt was a series of leather straps crisscrossing his chest. Across his back hung a long, thin blade; she could see the hilt of it just over his shoulder. Thrust through his belt were several long, thin white seraph blades.
"I—" Jessamine's voice echoed in Tessa's head: You think I haven't seen you looking at Will with puppy-dog eyes? The witchlight was burning low. Tessa hoped it was too dim in the corridor for him to see her blush. "I thought you weren't going with the Enclave tonight," she said finally, more to have something to say than anything else.
"I'm not. I'm bringing these down to Charlotte and Henry in the courtyard. Benedict Lightwood is sending his carriage for them. It's faster. It should be here shortly." It was dark in the corridor, dark enough that though Tessa thought that Will was smiling, she wasn't sure. "Concerned about my safety, are you? Or had you planned to gift me with a favor so I could wear it into battle like Wilfred of Ivanhoe?"
"I never liked that book," Tessa said. "Rowena was such a ninny. Ivanhoe should have chosen Rebecca."
"The dark-haired girl, not the blonde? Really?" Now she was almost sure he was smiling.
"Will—?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think the Enclave will actually manage to kill him? De Quincey, that is?"
"Yes." He spoke without hesitation. "The time for negotiation has passed. If you've ever seen terriers in a rat-baiting pit—well, I don't suppose you would have. But that's what it will be like tonight. The Clave will dispatch the vampires one by one until they are wiped out utterly."
"You mean there will be no more vampires in London?"
Will shrugged. "There are always vampires. But de Quincey'
s clan will be gone."
"And once it's over—once the Magister is gone—I suppose there will be no more reason for Nate and me to stay in the Institute, will there?"
"I—" Will seemed genuinely taken aback. "I suppose— Yes, well, that's true. I imagine that you would prefer to stay in a less ... violent locale. Perhaps you could even see some of the nicer parts of London. Westminster Abbey—"
"I would prefer to go home," Tessa said. "To New York."
Will said nothing. The witchlight in the corridor had faded; in the shadows she couldn't clearly see his face.
"Unless there were a reason for me to stay," she went on, half-wondering what she herself even meant by that. It was easier to talk to Will like this, when she couldn't see his face, and could only sense his presence near hers in the dark corridor.
She didn't see him move, but she felt his fingers touch the back of her hand lightly. "Tessa," he said. "Please don't worry. Soon it will all be settled."
Her heart thumped painfully against her ribs. Soon what would be settled? He couldn't mean what she thought he did. He had to mean something else. "Don't you wish to go home?"
He didn't move, his fingers still brushing her hand. "I can't ever go home."
"But why not?" she whispered, but it was too late. She felt him retreating from her. His hand drew back from hers. "I know your parents came to the Institute when you were twelve and you refused to see them. Why? What did they do to you that was so dreadful?"
"They did nothing." He shook his head. "I must go. Henry and Charlotte are waiting."
"Will," she said, but he was already walking away, a slim dark shadow moving toward the stairs. "Will," she called after him. "Will, who is Cecily?"
But he was already gone.
By the time Tessa returned to the drawing room, Nate and Jessamine were there, and the sun had begun to set. She went immediately to the window and looked out. In the courtyard below, Jem, Henry, Will, and Charlotte were gathered, their shadows cast long and dark across the Institute's steps. Henry was putting a last iratze rune on his arm while Charlotte seemed to be giving Jem and Will instructions. Jem was nodding, but Tessa could tell even at this distance that Will, whose arms were crossed over his chest, was being recalcitrant. He wants to go with them, she thought. He doesn't want to stay here. Jem probably wanted to go as well, but he wouldn't complain about it. That was the difference between the two boys. One of the differences, at any rate.
"Tessie, are you sure you don't want to play?" Nate turned to look at his sister. He was back in his armchair, a rug over his legs, cards laid out on a small table between him and Jessamine beside a silver tea service and a small plate of sandwiches. His hair looked slightly damp, as if he had washed it, and he was wearing Jem's clothes. Nathaniel had lost weight, Tessa could tell, but Jem was slender enough that his shirt was still a little tight on Nate at the collar and cuffs—though Jem's shoulders were still broader, and Nate looked a little slighter of frame in Jem's jacket.
Tessa was still looking out the window. A great black carriage had drawn up, with a design on the door of two burning torches, and Henry and Charlotte were getting into it. Will and Jem had vanished from view.
"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 th
e 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.
"Yes," he was saying, "Mr. and Mrs. Branwell were kind enough to call on me last week. And were even kinder, I understand, in keeping our meeting something of a secret."
"They didn't tell the Enclave about your occult experimentations, if that is what you mean," Will said a bit shortly.
Mortmain reddened. "Yes. It was a favor. And I had thought to return the favor in kind—" He broke off, looking past Will at Tessa. "And who is this? Another Shadowhunter?"
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