Several things happened at once.
Tessa jammed the back of her hand against her mouth before she could scream. There was no point in running. The demons had already seen them and had come to a dead stop on the path. The smell of rot wafted from them, blotting out the scent of the trees.
Magnus raised his hand, blue fire circling his fingers. He was muttering words under his breath. He looked as discomposed as Tessa had ever seen him.
And Will—Will, whom Tessa had expected to reach for his seraph blades—did something entirely unexpected. He raised a trembling finger, pointed at the blue-skinned demon, and breathed, “You.”
The blue-skinned demon blinked. All the demons stood stock-still, looking at one another. There must have been some agreement in place, Tessa thought, to keep them from attacking the humans at the party, but she did not like the way the wet red mouths were licking their lips. “Er,” the demon Will had addressed said, in a surprisingly ordinary voice. “I don’t recall—That is, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of your acquaintance?”
“Liar!” Will staggered forward and charged; as Tessa watched in amazement, he barreled past the other demons and threw himself onto the blue demon. It let out a high-pitched shriek. Magnus was watching what was going on with his mouth open. Tessa cried, “Will! Will!” but he was rolling over and over on the grass with the blue-skinned creature, which was surprisingly nimble. He had it by the back of its waistcoat, but it tore free and dashed away, streaking across the gardens, Will in hot pursuit.
Tessa took a few steps after them, but her feet were a white-hot agony. Kicking off Jessamine’s shoes, she was about to race after Will when she realized the remaining demons were making an angry buzzing noise. They seemed to be addressing Magnus.
“Ah, well, you know,” he said, having regained his composure, and he gestured in the direction Will had disappeared in. “Disagreement. Over a woman. It happens.”
The buzzing noise increased. It was clear the demons did not believe him.
“Gambling debt?” Magnus suggested. He snapped his fingers, and flame burst up from his palm, bathing the garden in a stark glow. “I suggest you not concern yourselves over-much with it, gentlemen. Festivities and merriment await you inside.” He gestured toward the narrow door that led to the ballroom. “Much more pleasant than what will await you out here if you continue to linger.”
That seemed to convince them. The demons moved off, buzzing and muttering, taking their stench of garbage with them.
Tessa spun around. “Quickly, we have to go after them—”
Magnus reached down and scooped her shoes up off the path. Holding them by their satin ribbons, he said, “Not so quickly, Cinderella. Will’s a Shadowhunter. He runs fast. You’ll never catch him.”
“But you—there must be some magic—”
“Magic,” Magnus said, mimicking Will’s disgusted tone. “Will’s where he has to be, doing what he has to do. His purpose is killing demons, Tessa.”
“Do you—not like him?” Tessa asked; it was an odd question, perhaps, but there was something in the way Magnus looked at Will, spoke to Will, that she could not put her finger on.
To her surprise, Magnus took the question seriously. “I do like him,” he said, “though rather despite myself. I thought him a pretty bit of poison to start with, but I have come around. There is a soul under all that bravado. And he is really alive, one of the most alive people I have ever met. When he feels something, it is as bright and sharp as lightning.”
“We all feel,” Tessa said, thoroughly surprised. Will, feeling more strongly than everyone else? Madder than everyone else, perhaps.
“Not like that,” said Magnus. “Trust me, I have lived a long time, and I do know.” His look was not without sympathy. “And you will find that feelings fade too, the longer you live. The oldest warlock I ever met had been alive nearly a thousand years and told me he could no longer even remember what love felt like, or hatred, either. I asked him why he did not end his life, and he said he still felt one thing, and that was fear—fear of what lies after death. ‘The undiscover’d country from whose bourne no traveller returns.’”
“Hamlet,” said Tessa automatically. She was trying to push back thoughts of her own possible immortality. The concept of it was too grand and terrifying to truly encompass, and besides . . . it might not even be true.
“We who are immortal, we are chained to this life by a chain of gold, and we dare not sever it for fear of what lies beyond the drop,” said Magnus. “Now come along, and don’t begrudge Will his moral duties.” He started off down the path, Tessa limping quickly after him in an effort to keep up.
“But he behaved as if he knew that demon—”
“Probably tried to kill it before,” said Magnus. “Sometimes they get away.”
“But how will he get back to the Institute?” Tessa wailed.
“He’s a clever boy. He’ll find a way. I’m more concerned with getting you back to the Institute before someone notices you’re missing and there’s the devil of a row.” They’d reached the front gates, where the carriage awaited, Cyril resting peacefully in the driver’s seat, his hat pulled down over his eyes.
She glared mutinously at Magnus as he swung the carriage door open and reached out a hand to help her up into it. “How do you know Will and I didn’t have Charlotte’s permission to be here tonight?”
“Do give me more credit than that, darling,” he said, and grinned in such an infectious manner that Tessa, with a sigh, gave him her hand. “Now,” he said, “I’ll take you back to the Institute, and on the way you can tell me all about it.”
13
THE MORTAL SWORD
“Take my share of a fickle heart,
Mine of a paltry love:
Take it or leave it as you will,
I wash my hands thereof.”
—Christina Rosetti, “Maude Clare”
“Oh, my dear merciful heavens!” said Sophie, starting up from her chair as Tessa opened the door to Jessamine’s bedroom. “Miss Tessa, what happened?”
“Sophie! Shh!” Tessa waved a warning hand as she shut the door behind her. The room was as she had left it. Her nightgown and dressing gown were folded neatly on a chair, the cracked silver mirror was on the vanity table, and Jessamine—Jessamine was still soundly unconscious, her wrists rope-bound to the posts of the bed. Sophie, seated in a chair by the wardrobe, had clearly been there since Will and Tessa had left; she clutched a hairbrush in one hand (to hit Jessamine with, should she awaken again, Tessa wondered?), and her hazel eyes were huge.
“But miss . . .” Sophie’s voice trailed off as Tessa’s gaze went to her reflection in the looking glass. Tessa could not help but stare. Her hair had come down, of course, in a tangled mess all over her shoulders, Jessamine’s pearl pins gone where Will had flung them; she was shoeless and limping, her white stockings filthy, her gloves gone, and her dress obviously nearly choking her to death. “Was it very dreadful?”