Charlotte’s chest rose and fell rapidly. “If you abdicated your claim on the Institute before the ruling, do you truly think it would be such a disaster? Me, running the Institute?”
“Well, we’ll never find out, will we?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Charlotte said. “I think most Council members would choose a woman over a dissolute reprobate who fraternizes not just with Downworlders but with demons.”
There was a short silence. Benedict didn’t move a muscle. Neither did Gideon.
Finally Benedict spoke, though now there were teeth in the smooth velvet of his voice. “Rumors and innuendo.”
“Truth and observation,” said Charlotte. “Will and Tessa were at your last gathering, in Chiswick. They observed a great deal.”
“That demon woman you were lounging with on the divan,” said Will. “Would you call her a friend, or more of a business associate?”
Benedict’s dark eyes hardened. “Insolent puppy—”
“Oh, I’d say she was a friend,” said Tessa. “One doesn’t usually let one’s business associates lick one’s face. Although I could be wrong. What do I know about these things? I’m only a silly woman.”
Will’s mouth quirked up at the corner. Gabriel was still staring; Gideon had his eyes on the floor. Charlotte sat perfectly composed, hands in her lap.
“All three of you are quite foolish,” said Benedict, gesturing contemptuously toward them. Tessa caught a glimpse of something on his wrist, a shadow, like the coils of a woman’s bracelet, before his sleeve fell back to cover it. “That is, if you think the Council will believe any of your lies. You”—he cast a dismissive look at Tessa—“are a Downworlder; your word is worthless. And you”—he flung an arm at Will—“are a certifiable lunatic who fraternizes with warlocks. Not just this chit here but Magnus Bane as well. And when they test me under the Mortal Sword and I refute your claims, who do you think will be believed, you or me?”
Will exchanged a quick look with Charlotte and Tessa. He had been right, Tessa thought, that Benedict did not fear the Sword. “There is other evidence, Benedict,” he said.
“Oh?” Lightwood’s lip curled upward in a sneer. “And what is that?”
“The evidence of your own poisoned blood,” said Charlotte. “Just now, when you gestured at us, I saw your wrist. How far has the corruption spread? It begins on the torso, does it not, and spreads down the arms and legs—”
“What is he talking about?” Gabriel’s voice was a mixture of fury and terror. “Father?”
“Demon pox,” said Will with the satisfaction of the truly vindicated.
“What a disgusting accusation—,” began Benedict.
“Refute it, then,” said Charlotte. “Pull up your sleeve. Show us your arm.”
The muscle by the side of Benedict’s mouth twitched again. Tessa watched him in fascination. He did not terrify her, as Mortmain had, but rather disgusted her, the way the sight of a fat worm wriggling across a garden might. She watched as he whirled on his eldest son.
“You,” he snarled. “You told them. You betrayed me.”
“I did,” said Gideon, raising his head and uncurling his arms at last. “And I would again.”
“Gideon?” It was Gabriel, sounding bewildered. “Father? What are you talking about?”
“Your brother has betrayed us, Gabriel. He has told our secrets to the Branwells.” Benedict spat his words out like poison. “Gideon Arthur Lightwood,” Benedict went on. His face looked older, the lines at the sides of his mouth more severe, but his tone was unchanged. “I suggest you think very carefully about what you have done, and what you will do next.”
“I have been thinking,” said Gideon in his soft, low voice. “Ever since you called me back from Spain, I have been thinking. As a child I assumed all Shadowhunters lived as we did. Condemning demons by the light of day, yet fraternizing with them under cover of darkness. I now realize that is not true. It is not our way, Father; it is your way. You have brought shame and filth upon the name of Lightwood.”
“There is no need to be melodramatic—”
“Melodramatic?” There was terrible contempt in Gideon’s normally flat tone. “Father, I fear for the future of the Enclave if you get your hands on the Institute. I am telling you now, I will witness against you at the Council. I will hold the Mortal Sword in my hands and I will tell Consul Wayland why I think Charlotte is a thousand times more fit than you are to run the Institute. I will reveal what goes on here at night to every member of the Council. I will tell them that you are working for Mortmain. I will tell them why.”
“Gideon!” It was Gabriel, his voice sharp, cutting across his brother’s. “You know our custodianship of the Institute was mother’s dying wish. And it is the fault of the Fairchilds that she died—”
“That is a lie,” said Charlotte. “She took her own life, but not because of anything my father did.” She looked directly at Benedict. “It was, rather, because of something your father did.”
Gabriel’s voice rose. “What do you mean? Why would you say such a thing? Father—”
“Be quiet, Gabriel.” Benedict’s voice had gone hard and commanding, but for the first time there was fear in his voice, his eyes. “Charlotte, what are you saying?”
“You know very well what I am saying, Benedict,” said Charlotte. “The question is whether you wish me to share my knowledge with the Clave. And with your children. You know what it will mean for them.”
Benedict sat back. “I know blackmail when I hear it, Charlotte. What do you want from me?”
It was Will who responded, too eager to hold himself back any longer. “Withdraw your claim on the Institute. Speak out for Charlotte in front of the Council. Tell them why you think the Institute should be left in her keeping. You are a well-spoken man. You’ll think of something, I’m sure.”
Benedict looked from Will to Charlotte. His lip curled. “Those are your terms?”
Before Will could speak, Charlotte said, “Not all our terms. We need to know how you have been communicating with Mortmain, and where he is.”
Benedict chuckled. “I communicated with him through Nathaniel Gray. But, since you’ve killed him, I doubt he will be a forthcoming source of information.”
Charlotte looked appalled. “You mean no one else knew where he was?”
“I certainly don’t,” said Benedict. “Mortmain is not that stupid, unfortunately for you. He wished me to be able to take the Institute that he might strike at it from its heart. But it was only one of his many plans, a strand of his web. He has been waiting for this a long time. He will have the Clave. And he will have her.” His eyes rested on Tessa.
“What does he intend to do with me?” Tessa demanded.
“I don’t know,” Benedict said with a sly smile. “I do know he was consistently asking after your welfare. Such concern, so touching in a potential bridegroom.”
“He says he created me,” said Tessa. “What does he mean by that?”