It snapped in half with an awful sound. Tessa whirled to run, but metal hands clamped down on her shoulders, yanking her back. She struggled to pull free—
And the doors of the Institute burst open. The light that poured from them blinded her momentarily, and she could see nothing but the outline of dark figures, ringed in light, spilling from the church’s interior. Something whistled by her head, grazing her cheek. There was the grinding sound of metal on metal, and then the clockwork creature’s arms relaxed and she fell forward onto the steps, choking.
Tessa looked up. Charlotte stood above her, her face pale and set, a sharp metal disc in one hand. Another, matching, disc was buried in the chest of the mechanical man who had held her. He was twisting and spasming in a circle, like a malfunctioning toy. Blue sparks flew from the gash in his neck.
Around him the rest of the creatures were spinning and lurching as the Shadowhunters converged on them, Henry bringing his seraph blade down in an arc, slicing open the chest of one of the automatons, sending it reeling and jerking into the shadows. Beside him was Will, swinging what looked like a sort of scythe, over and over, chopping another of the creatures to bits with such fury that it sent up a fountain of blue sparks. Charlotte, darting down the steps, threw the second of her disks; it sheared through the head of a metal monster with a sickening noise. He crumpled to the ground, leaking more sparks and black oil.
The remaining two creatures, seeming to think better of the situation, turned and sprang toward the gates. Henry darted after them with Charlotte on his heels, but Will, dropping his weapon, turned and raced back toward the steps. “What happened?” he shouted at Tessa. She stared, too dazed to answer. His voice rose, tinged with furious panic. “Are you hurt? Where’s Jem?”
“I’m not hurt,” she whispered. “But Jem, he collapsed. There.” She pointed to where Jem lay, crumpled in the shadows beside the door.
Will’s face went blank, like a slate wiped clean of chalk. Without looking at her again he raced up the stairs and dropped down by Jem, saying something in a low voice. When there was no reply, Will raised his head, shouting for Thomas to come help him carry Jem, and shouting something else, something Tessa couldn’t make out through her dizziness. Perhaps he was shouting at her. Perhaps he thought this was all her fault? If she hadn’t grown so angry, if she hadn’t run away and made Jem follow her—
A dark shadow loomed in the lit doorway. It was Thomas, tousle-haired and serious, who went without a word to kneel down by Will. Together they lifted Jem to his feet, an arm slung around each of their shoulders. They hurried inside without a backward glance.
Dazed, Tessa looked out over the courtyard. Something was strange, different. It was the sudden silence after all the clamor and noise. The destroyed clockwork creatures lay in shattered pieces about the courtyard, the ground was slick with viscous fluid, the gates hung open, and the moon shone blankly down on everything just as it had shone down on her and Jem on the bridge, when he had told her that she was human.
15
FOREIGN MUD
Ah God, that love were as a flower or flame,
That life were as the naming of a name,
That death were not more pitiful than desire,
That these things were not one thing and the same!
—Algernon Charles Swinburne, “Laus Veneris”
“Miss Tessa.” The voice was Sophie’s. Tessa turned and saw her framed in the doorway, a lantern swinging from her hand. “Are you all right?”
Tessa felt pitifully grateful to see the other girl. She had been feeling so alone. “I’m not hurt. Henry has gone after the creatures, though, and Charlotte—”
“They’ll be just fine.” Sophie put a hand on Tessa’s elbow. “Come, let’s get you inside, miss. You’re bleeding.”
“I am?” Puzzled, Tessa put her fingers up to touch her forehead; they came away stained red. “I must have struck my head when I fell against the steps. I didn’t even feel it.”
“Shock,” Sophie said calmly, and Tessa thought how many times in her employment here Sophie must have done these things—bandaged up cuts, wiped away blood. “Come along, and I’ll get a compress for your head.”
Tessa nodded. With a last glance over her shoulder at the destruction in the courtyard, she let Sophie guide her back inside the Institute. The next short while was something of a blur. After Sophie helped her upstairs and into an armchair in the drawing room, she bustled off and returned moments later with Agatha, who pressed a cup of something hot into Tessa’s hand.
Tessa knew what it was the moment she smelled it—brandy and water. She thought of Nate and hesitated, but once she’d had a few mouthfuls, things began to swim back into focus. Charlotte and Henry returned, bringing with them the smell of metal and fighting. Tight-lipped, Charlotte set her weapons down on a table and called for Will. He didn’t respond, but Thomas did, hurrying down the corridor, his coat stained with blood, to tell her that Will was with Jem, and that Jem was going to be all right.
“The creatures injured him, and he lost some blood,” Thomas said, running a hand through his tangled brown hair. He looked at Sophie as he said it. “But Will gave him an iratze—”
“And his medicine?” Sophie asked quickly. “Has he had some of that?”
Thomas nodded, and the tight set of Sophie’s shoulders relaxed just a bit. Charlotte’s gaze softened as well. “Thank you, Thomas,” she said. “Perhaps you can see if he requires anything else?”
Thomas nodded, and set off back down the corridor with a last glance over his shoulder at Sophie, who did not seem to notice. Charlotte sank down onto the ottoman opposite Tessa. “Tessa, can you tell us what happened?”
Clutching the cup, her fingers cold despite its heat, Tessa shuddered. “Did you catch the ones that escaped? The—whatever they are. The metal monsters?”
Charlotte shook her head gravely. “We pursued them through the streets, but they disappeared once we reached Hungerford Bridge. Henry thinks there was some magic involved.”
“Or a secret tunnel,” Henry said. “I did also suggest a secret tunnel, my dear.” He looked at Tessa. His friendly face was streaked with blood and oil, his brightly striped waistcoat slashed and torn. He looked like a schoolboy who’d been in a bad scrape of some sort. “Did you see them coming out of a tunnel, perhaps, Miss Gray?”
“No,” Tessa said, her voice half a whisper. To clear her throat, she took another sip of the drink Agatha had given her, and set the cup down before running through it all—the bridge, the coachman, the chase, the words the creature had spoken, the way they had burst through the Institute gates. Charlotte listened with a pinched white face; even Henry looked grim. Sophie, sitting quietly on a chair, attended to the story with the grave intensity of a schoolgirl.
“They said it was a declaration of war,” Tessa finished. “That they were coming to wreak revenge on us—on you, I suppose—for what happened to de Quincey.”
“And the creature referred to him as the Magister?” Charlotte asked.
Tessa pressed her lips together firmly to keep them from trembling. “Yes. He said the Magister wanted me and that he had been sent to retrieve me. Charlotte, this is my fault. If it weren’t for me, de Quincey wouldn’t have sent those creatures tonight, and Jem—” She looked down at her hands. “Maybe you should just let him have me.”