The sky had turned a shade darker when she came back out onto the steps. Cyril was there, whistling off-key; he broke off abruptly when he saw Tessa’s expression. “Is everything al right, miss? Did you get what you wanted?”
Tessa thought of Gideon moving Sophie’s hair away from her face. She remembered Wil ’s hands gentle on her waist and the softness of Jem’s kiss on her cheek, and felt as if her mind were whirling. Who was she to tel Sophie to be careful, even silently, when she was so lost herself?
“Yes,” she lied. “I got what I wanted. Thank you, Cyril.”
The warehouse was a great limestone building surrounded by a black wrought iron fence. The windows had been boarded over, and a stout iron padlock held closed the front gates, over which the blackening name of Mortmain and Co. could barely be seen below layers of soot.
The Shadowhunters left the carriage drawn up to the curb, with a glamour on it to prevent it from being stolen or molested by passing mundanes, at least until Cyril arrived to wait with it. A closer inspection of the padlock showed Wil that it had been oiled recently and opened; a rune took care of the lack of a key, and he and the others slipped inside, closing the gate behind them.
Another rune unlocked the front door, leading them into a suite of offices. Only one was stil furnished, with a desk, a green-shaded lamp, and a floral sofa with a high carved back. “Doubtless where Jessamine and Nate accomplished the majority of their courtship,” Wil observed cheerful y.
Jem made a noise of disgust and poked at the couch with his cane. Charlotte was bending over the desk, hastily going through the drawers.
“I didn’t realize you’d taken up such a strong anti-courtship stance,” Wil observed to Jem.
“Not on principle. The thought of Nate Gray touching anyone—” Jem made a face. “And Jessamine is so convinced he loves her. If you could see her, I think even you might pity her, Wil .”
“I would not,” said Wil . “Unrequited love is a ridiculous state, and it makes those in it behave ridiculously.” He tugged at the bandage on his arm as if it were paining him. “Charlotte? The desk?”
“Nothing.” She slid the drawers shut. “Some papers listing the prices of tea and the times of tea auctions, but other than that, nothing but dead spiders.”
“How romantic,” murmured Wil . He ducked behind Jem, who had already wandered ahead into the adjacent office, using his cane to sweep away cobwebs as he went. The next few rooms were empty, and the last opened out onto what had once been a warehouse floor. It was a great shadowy cavernous space, its ceiling disappearing up into darkness. Rickety wooden steps led up to a second-floor gal ery. Burlap bags were propped against the wal s on the first floor, looking for al the world, in the shadows, like slumped bodies. Wil raised his witchlight rune-stone in one hand, sending out spokes of light through the room as Henry went to investigate one of the sacks. He was back in a moment, shrugging his shoulders.
“Broken bits of loose-leaf tea,” he said. “Orange pekoe, from the looks of it.”
But Jem was shaking his head, glancing about. “I am perfectly wil ing to accept that this was an active tea-trading office at one point, but it’s clearly been shuttered for years, ever since Mortmain decided to interest himself in mechanisms instead. And yet the floor is clear of dust.” He took Wil ’s wrist, guiding the beam of witchlight over the smooth wooden floor. “There has been activity here—more than simply Jessamine and Nate’s meeting in a disused office.”
“There are more offices that way,” said Henry, pointing to the far end of the room. “Charlotte and I wil search them. Wil , Jem, you examine the second floor.”
It was a rare and novel thril when Henry gave orders; Wil looked at Jem and grinned, and commenced making his way up the rickety wooden stairs. The steps creaked under the pressure, and under Jem’s slighter weight behind Wil . The witchlight stone in Wil ’s hand threw sharp patterns of light against the wal as he reached the top step.
He found himself on a gal ery, a platform where perhaps trunks of tea had been stored, or a foreman had watched the floor below. It was empty now, save for a single figure, lying on the ground. The body of a man, slim and youthful, and as Wil came closer, his heart began to pound crazily, because he had seen this before—had had this vision before—the limp body, the silver hair and dark clothes, the closed bruised-looking eyes, fringed with silver lashes.
“Wil ?” It was Jem, behind him. He looked from Wil ’s silent, stunned face to the body on the floor and pushed past him to kneel down. He took the man by the wrist just as Charlotte reached the top of the steps. Wil looked at her in surprise for a moment; her face was sheened with sweat and she looked slightly il . Jem said, “He has a pulse. Wil ?”