Gideon shook his head slowly. “I told them nothing. I do not think they expected Wil there in any capacity. The Shadowhunters of the Institute are meant to be in pursuit of Mortmain.”
“They are,” said Sophie slowly, and when his only look was one of incomprehension, she said: “Those clockwork creatures at your father’s party —where did you think they came from?”
“I didn’t—I assumed they were demon playthings of some sort—”
“They can only have come from Mortmain,” said Sophie. “You haven’t seen his automatons before, but Mr. Herondale and Miss Gray, they have, and they were sure.”
“But why would my father have anything of Mortmain’s?”
Sophie shook her head. “It may be that you should not ask me questions you don’t want the answer to, Mr. Lightwood.”
“Miss Col ins.” His hair fel forward over his eyes; he tossed it back with an impatient gesture. “Miss Col ins, I know that whatever you tel me, it wil be the truth. In many ways, of al those I have met in London, I find you the most trustworthy—more so than my own family.”
“That seems to me a great misfortune, Mr. Lightwood, for we have known each other only a little time indeed.”
“I hope to change that. At least walk to the park with me, Soph—Miss Col ins. Tel me this truth of which you speak. If then you stil desire no further connection with me, I wil respect your wishes. I ask only for an hour or so of your time.” His eyes pleaded with her. “Please?”
Sophie felt, almost against her wil , a rush of sympathy for this boy with his sea-storm eyes, who seemed so alone. “Very wel ,” she said. “I wil come to the park with you.”
An entire carriage ride alone with Jem, Tessa thought, her stomach clenching as she drew on her gloves and cast a last glance at herself in the pier glass in her bedroom. Just two nights ago the prospect had precipitated in her no new or unusual feelings; she had been worried about Wil , and curious about Whitechapel, and Jem had gently distracted her as they’d rol ed along, speaking of Latin and Greek and parabatai.
And now? Now she felt like a net of butterflies was loose in her stomach at the prospect of being shut up in a smal , close space alone with him.
She glanced at her pale face in the mirror, pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to bring color into them, and reached for her hat on the stand beside the vanity. Settling it on her brown hair, she caught herself wishing she had golden curls like Jessamine, and thought—Could I? Would it be possible to Change just that one smal part of herself, give herself shimmering hair, or perhaps a slimmer waist or ful er lips?
She whirled away from the glass, shaking her head. How had she not thought of that before? And yet the mere idea seemed like a betrayal of her own face. Her hunger to know what she was stil burned inside her; if even her own features were no longer the ones she’d been born with, how could she justify this demand, this need to know her own nature? Don’t you know there is no Tessa Gray? Mortmain had said to her. If she used her power to turn her eyes sky blue or to darken her lashes, wouldn’t she be proving him right?
She shook her head, trying to cast the thoughts off as she hurried from her room and down the steps to the Institute’s entryway. Waiting in the courtyard was a black carriage, unmarked by any coat of arms and driven by a pair of matched horses the color of smoke. In the driver’s seat sat a Silent Brother; it was not Brother Enoch but another of his brethren that she didn’t recognize. His face was not as scarred as Enoch’s, from what she could see beneath the hood.
She started down the steps just as the door opened behind her and Jem came out; it was chil y, and he wore a light gray coat that made his hair and eyes look more silver than ever. He looked up at the equal y gray sky, heavy with black-edged clouds, and said, “We’d better get into the carriage before it starts to rain.”
It was a perfectly ordinary thing to say, but Tessa was struck speechless al the same. She fol owed Jem silently to the carriage and al owed him to help her in. As he climbed in after her, and swung the door shut behind them, she noticed he was not carrying his sword-cane.
The carriage started forward with a lurch. Tessa, her hand at the window, gave a cry. “The gates—they’re locked! The carriage—”
“Hush.” Jem put his hand on her arm. She couldn’t help a gasp as the carriage rumbled up to the padlocked iron gates—and passed through them, as if they had been made of no more substance than air. She felt the breath go out of her in a whoosh of surprise. “The Silent Brothers have strange magic,” said Jem, and dropped his hand.