“But wouldn’t the Silent Brothers be obligated to tel someone if they discovered this?” Henry demanded. “It seems—wel , dash it, irresponsible to say the least—”
“Of course they would tel someone. They would tel her husband. And no doubt they did, but what of it? Benedict probably already knew,” said Wil . “There would have been no need to tel the children; the rash appears when one has first contracted the disease, so they were too old for her to have passed it on to them. The Silent Brothers doubtless told Benedict, and he said ‘Horrors!’ and promptly concealed the whole thing. One cannot prosecute the dead for improper relations with demons, so they burned her body, and that was that.”
“So how is it that Benedict is stil alive?” Tessa demanded. “Should the disease not have kil ed him by now?”
“Mortmain,” said Sophie. “He’s been giving him drugs to slow the progress of the disease al this time.”
“Slow it, not stop it?” asked Wil .
“No, he’s stil dying, and faster now,” said Sophie. “That’s why he’s so desperate, and he’l do anything Mortmain wants.”
“Demon pox!” Wil whispered, and looked at Charlotte. Despite his clear excitement, there was a steady light flickering behind his blue eyes, a light of sharp intel igence, as if he were a chess player examining his next move for potential advantages or drawbacks. “We must contact Benedict immediately,” said Wil . “Charlotte must play on his vanity. He is too sure of getting the Institute. She must tel him that though the Consul’s official decision is not scheduled until Sunday, she has realized that it is he who wil come out ahead, and she wishes to meet with him and make peace before it happens.”
“Benedict is stubborn—,” Charlotte began.
“Not as much as is he is proud,” said Jem. “Benedict has always wanted control of the Institute, but he also wants to humiliate you, Charlotte. To prove that a woman cannot run an Institute. He believes that Sunday the Consul wil rule to take the Institute away from you, but that does not mean he wil be able to pass up a chance to see you grovel in private.”
“To what end?” Henry demanded. “Sending Charlotte to confront Benedict accomplishes what, exactly?”
“Blackmail,” said Wil . His eyes were burning with excitement. “Mortmain may not be in our grasp, but Benedict is, and for now that may be enough.”
“You think he wil walk away from trying to get the Institute? Won’t that simply leave the business for one of his fol owers to take up?” Jem asked.
“We’re not trying to get rid of him. We want him to throw his ful support behind Charlotte. To withdraw his chal enge and to declare her fit to run the Institute. His fol owers wil be at a loss; the Consul wil be satisfied. We hold the Institute. And more than that, we can force Benedict to tel us what he knows of Mortmain—his location, his secrets, everything.”
Tessa said dubiously, “But I am almost certain he is more afraid of Mortmain than he is of us, and he certainly needs what Mortmain provides.
Otherwise he wil die.”
“Yes, he wil . But what he did—having improper relations with a demon, then infecting his wife, causing her death—is the knowing murder of another Shadowhunter. It would not be considered only murder, either, but murder accomplished through demonic means. That would cal down the worst of al punishments.”
“What is worse than death?” asked Tessa, and immediately regretted saying it as she saw Jem’s mouth tighten almost imperceptibly.
“The Silent Brothers wil remove that which makes him Nephilim. He wil become Forsaken,” said Wil . “His sons wil become mundane, their Marks stripped. The name of Lightwood wil be stricken from the rol s of Shadowhunters. It wil be the end of the Lightwood name among Nephilim.
There is no greater shame. It is a punishment even Benedict wil fear.”
“And if he does not?” said Jem in a low voice.
“Then, we are no worse off, I suppose.” It was Charlotte, whose expression had hardened as Wil had spoken; Sophie was leaning against the mantel, a dejected figure, and Henry, his hand on his wife’s shoulder, looked unusual y subdued. “We wil cal on Benedict. There is no time to send a proper message ahead; it wil have to be something of a surprise. Now, where are the cal ing cards?”
Wil sat upright. “You’ve decided on my plan, then?”
“It’s my plan now,” said Charlotte firmly. “You may accompany me, Wil , but you wil fol ow my lead, and there wil be no talk of demon pox until I say so.”
“But—but . . .” Wil sputtered.
“Oh, leave it,” said Jem, kicking Wil , not without affection, lightly on the ankle.
“She’s annexed my plan!”
“Wil ,” Tessa said firmly. “Do you care more about the plan being enacted or about getting credit for it?”
Wil pointed a finger at her. “That,” he said. “The second one.”