She paused in the doorway, realizing she was still clutching the Coleridge book, but then decided she might as well take it. It would be a pleasant diversion from the Codex. “What was that?”
“Vathek,” he said again. “By William Beckford. If you found Otranto to your liking”—though, she thought, she had not admitted she did—“I think you will enjoy it.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well. Thank you. I will remember that.”
He did not answer; he was still standing where she had left him, near the table. He was looking at the ground, his dark hair hiding his face. A little bit of her heart softened, and before she could stop herself, she said, “And good night, Will.”
He looked up. “Good night, Tessa.” He sounded wistful again, but not as bleak as he had before. He reached out to stroke Church, who had slept through their entire conversation and the sound of the falling log in the fireplace, and was still stretched out on the book stand, paws in the air.
“Will—,” Tessa began, but it was too late. Church made a yowling noise at being woken, and lashed out with his claws. Will began to swear. Tessa left, unable to hide the slightest of smiles as she went.
A JOURNEY
Friendship is one mind in two bodies.
—Meng-tzu
Charlotte slammed the paper down onto her desk with an exclamation of rage. “Aloysius Starkweather is the most stubborn, hypocritical, obstinate, degenerate—” She broke off, clearly fighting for control of her temper. Tessa had never seen Charlotte’s mouth so firmly set into a hard line.
“Would you like a thesaurus?” Will inquired. He was sprawled in one of the wing-back armchairs near the fireplace in the drawing room, his boots up on the ottoman. They were caked with mud, and now so was the ottoman. Normally Charlotte would have been taking him to task for it, but the letter from Aloysius that she had received that morning, and that she had called them all into the drawing room to discuss, seemed to have absorbed all her attention. “You seem to be running out of words.”
“And is he really degenerate?” Jem asked equably from the depths of the other armchair. “I mean, the old codger’s almost ninety—surely past real deviancy.”
“I don’t know,” said Will. “You’d be surprised at what some of the old fellows over at the Devil Tavern get up to.”
“Nothing anyone you know might get up to would surprise us, Will,” said Jessamine, who was lying on the chaise longue, a damp cloth over her forehead. She still had not gotten over her headache.
“Darling,” said Henry anxiously, coming around the desk to where his wife was sitting, “are you quite all right? You look a bit—splotchy.”
He wasn’t wrong. Red patches of rage had broken out over Charlotte’s face and throat.
“I think it’s charming,” said Will. “I’ve heard polka dots are the last word in fashion this season.”
Henry patted Charlotte’s shoulder anxiously. “Would you like a cool cloth? What can I do to help?”
“You could ride up to Yorkshire and chop that old goat’s head off.” Charlotte sounded mutinous.
“Won’t that make things rather awkward with the Clave?” asked Henry. “They’re not generally very receptive about, you know, beheadings and things.”
“Oh!” said Charlotte in despair. “It’s all my fault, isn’t it? I don’t know why I thought I could win him over. The man’s a nightmare.”
“What did he say exactly?” said Will. “In the letter, I mean.”
“He refuses to see me, or Henry,” said Charlotte. “He says he’ll never forgive my family for what my father did. My father . . .” She sighed. “He was a difficult man. Absolutely faithful to the letter of the Law, and the Starkweathers have always interpreted the Law more loosely. My father thought they lived wild up there in the north, like savages, and he wasn’t shy about saying so. I don’t know what else he did, but old Aloysius seems personally insulted still. Not to mention that he also said if I really cared what he thought about anything, I would have invited him to the last Council meeting. As if I’m in charge of that sort of thing!”
“Why wasn’t he invited?” inquired Jem.
“He’s too old—not meant to be running an Institute at all. He just refuses to step down, and so far Consul Wayland hasn’t made him, but the Consul won’t invite him to Councils either. I think he hopes Aloysius will either take the hint or simply die of old age. But Aloysius’s father lived to be a hundred and four. We could be in for another fifteen years of him.” Charlotte shook her head in despair.
“Well, if he won’t see you or Henry, can’t you send someone else?” asked Jessamine in a bored voice. “You run the Institute; the Enclave members are supposed to do whatever you say.”
“But so many of them are on Benedict’s side,” said Charlotte. “They want to see me fail. I just don’t know who I can trust.”
“You can trust us,” said Will. “Send me. And Jem.”
“What about me?” said Jessamine indignantly.
“What about you? You don’t really want to go, do you?”
Jessamine lifted a corner of the damp cloth off her eyes to glare. “On some smelly train all the way up to deadly dull Yorkshire? No, of course not. I just wanted Charlotte to say she could trust me.”
“I can trust you, Jessie, but you’re clearly not well enough to go. Which is unfortunate, since Aloysius always had a weakness for a pretty face.”
“Even more reason why I should go,” said Will.
“Will, Jem . . .” Charlotte bit her lip. “Are you sure? The Council was hardly best pleased by the independent actions you took in the matter of Mrs. Dark.”
“Well, they ought to be. We killed a dangerous demon!” Will protested.
“And we saved Church,” said Jem.
“Somehow I doubt that counts in our favor,” said Will. “That cat bit me three times the other night.”
“That probably does count in your favor,” said Tessa. “Or Jem’s, at least.”
Will made a face at her, but didn’t seem angry; it was the sort of face he might have made at Jem had the other boy mock insulted him. Perhaps they really could be civil to each other, Tessa thought. He had been quite kind to her in the library the night before last.
“It seems a fool’s errand,” said Charlotte. The red splotches on her skin were beginning to fade, but she looked miserable. “He isn’t likely to tell you anything if he knows I sent you. If only—”
“Charlotte,” Tessa said, “there is a way we could make him tell us.”
Charlotte looked at her in puzzlement. “Tessa, what do you—” She broke off then, light dawning in her eyes. “Oh, I see. Tessa, what an excellent idea.”
“Oh, what?” demanded Jessamine from the chaise. “What idea?”
“If something of his could be retrieved,” said Tessa, “and given to me, I could use it to Change into him. And perhaps access his memories. I could tell you what he recollects about Mortmain and the Shades, if anything at all.”