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?