Slowly Sophie nodded and drew herself upright. In silence she led Tessa through a winding mass of corridors until they reached the one corridor she remembered from the night when she had met Camille. After taking a lamp from a holder on the wall, Sophie lit it, and they hurried on, until they finally reached the great iron doors with their pattern of Cs. Brought up sharply in front of the doors, Sophie put a hand to her mouth. “The key!” she whispered. “I’ve forgotten the bloody—pardon me, miss—key!”
Tessa felt a wave of frustrated anger, but pushed it back. Sophie had just had a friend die in her arms; she could hardly be blamed for forgetting a key. “But you know where Charlotte keeps it?”
Sophie nodded. “I’ll run and fetch it. You wait here, miss.”
She hurried off down the corridor. Tessa watched her go until her white cap and sleeves faded into the shadows, leaving Tessa alone in the darkness. The only light in the corridor came from the illumination that seeped beneath the doors to the Sanctuary. She pressed herself back against the wall as the shadows gathered thickly around her, as if she could disappear into the wall. She kept seeing the blood pouring out of Agatha’s chest, staining Sophie’s hands; kept hearing the brittle sound of Nate’s laugher as Jessamine collapsed—
It came again, harsh and as brittle as glass, echoing out of the darkness behind her.
Sure she was imagining things, Tessa whirled, her back toward the Sanctuary doors. Before her in the hallway, where a moment before there had been empty air, someone was standing. Someone with fair hair and a grin plastered across his face. Someone carrying a long, thin knife in his right hand.
Nate.
“My Tessie,” he said. “That was very impressive. I wouldn’t have thought either you or the servant could run that fast.” He twirled the knife between his fingers. “Unfortunately for you, my master has gifted me with certain … powers. I can move faster than you can think.” He smirked. “Probably much faster, to judge by how long it took you to catch on to what was going on downstairs.”
“Nate.” Tessa’s voice shook. “It’s not too late. You can stop this.”
“Stop what?” Nate looked directly at her, for the first time since he had knelt to Mortmain. “Stop acquiring incredible power and immense knowledge? Stop being the favored acolyte of the most powerful man in London? I’d be a fool to stop all this, little sister.”
“Favored acolyte? Where was he when de Quincey was about to drain your blood?”
“I had disappointed him,” Nate said. “You disappointed him. You ran from the Dark Sisters, knowing what it would cost me. Your sisterly affection leaves something to be desired, Tessie.”
“I let the Dark Sisters torture me for your sake, Nate. I did everything for you. And you—you let me believe de Quincey was the Magister. All the things you claimed de Quincey did were done by Mortmain, weren’t they? He’s the one who wanted me brought here. He’s the one who employed the Dark Sisters. All that rubbish about de Quincey was just to lure the Enclave away from the Institute.”
Nate smirked. “What was it Aunt Harriet used to say, that cleverness that comes too late is hardly cleverness at all?”
“And what will the Enclave find when they go to the address you claimed was de Quincey’s nest? Nothing? An empty house, a burned-out ruin?” She began to retreat from him, until her back struck the cold iron doors.
Nate followed, his eyes gleaming like the blade in his hand. “Oh, dear me, no. That bit was true. It wouldn’t do to have the Enclave realize so soon that they’d been made fools of, would it? Better to keep them busy, and cleaning out de Quincey’s little hiding place will keep them quite busy indeed.” He shrugged. “You’re the one who gave me the idea to let the blame for everything fall on the vampire, you know. After what happened the other night, he was a dead man, anyway. The Nephilim had their sights set on him, which made him useless to Mortmain. Sending the Enclave off to get rid of him and Will and Jem off to rid my master of that pestiferous Mrs. Dark—well, it’s three birds with one stone, really, isn’t it? And quite a clever plan of mine, if I do say so myself.”
He was preening, Tessa thought in disgust. Proud of himself. Most of her wanted to spit in his face, but she knew she should keep him talking, give herself a chance to think of a way out of the situation. “You certainly fooled us,” she said, hating herself. “How much of that story you told was the truth? How much was lies?”
“Quite a bit was the truth, if you really want to know. The best lies are based on the truth, at least in part,” he bragged. “I came to London thinking I was going to blackmail Mortmain with my knowledge of his occult activities. The fact was, he couldn’t have cared less about that. He wanted to get a look at me because he wasn’t sure, you see. Wasn’t sure if I was our parents’ first child or their second. He thought I might be you.” He grinned. “He was as pleased as punch when he realized I wasn’t the child he was looking for. He wanted a girl, you see.”
“But why? What does he want with me?”
Nate shrugged. “I don’t know. Nor do I care. He told me that if I procured you for him, and you turned out to be all he hoped you would be, he would make me his disciple. After you fled, he gave me to de Quincey in revenge. When you brought me here, to the heart of the Nephilim, it was a second chance to offer the Magister what I’d lost for him before.”
“You contacted him?” Tessa felt sick. She thought of the open window in the drawing room, Nate’s flushed face, his claim that he hadn’t opened it. Somehow, she knew, he had sent Mortmain a message. “You let him know you were here? That you were willing to betray us? But you could have stayed! You would have been safe!”
“Safe, and powerless. Here I’m an ordinary human, weak and contemptible. But as Mortmain’s disciple, I will stand at his right hand when he rules the British Empire.”
“You’re mad,” Tessa said. “The whole thing’s ridiculous.”
“I assure you it isn’t. By this time next year Mortmain will be ensconced in Buckingham Palace. The Empire will bow before his rule.”
“But you won’t be beside him. I see how he looks at you. You’re not a disciple; you’re a tool to be used. When he gets what he wants, he will throw you aside like rubbish.”
Nate’s grip tightened on the knife. “Not true.”
“It is true,” Tessa said. “Aunt always said you were too trusting. It’s why you’re such an awful gambler, Nate. You’re such a liar yourself, but you never can tell when you’re being lied to. Aunt said—”
“Aunt Harriet.” Nate laughed softly. “So unfortunate the way she died.” He grinned. “Didn’t you think it was a bit odd that I’d sent you a box of chocolates? Something I knew you wouldn’t eat? Something I knew she would?”
Nausea gripped Tessa, a pain in her stomach as if Nate’s knife were twisting there. “Nate—you wouldn’t—Aunt Harriet loved you!”
“You have no idea what I would do, Tessie. No idea at all.” He spoke rapidly, almost fevered in his intensity. “You think of me as a fool. Your foolish brother who needs to be protected from the world. So easily duped and taken advantage of. I heard you and Aunt discussing me. I know neither of you ever thought I’d make anything of myself, ever do anything you could be proud of me for. But now I have. Now I have,” he snarled, as if completely unaware of the irony in his words.