Jem rol ed away and onto his feet; Wil leaped up, pushing Jem aside, and, without a glance at Tessa, took off running—not toward the house but away from it, toward the mechanical creature on the ridge. Jem staggered for a moment, openmouthed, swore, and darted after him.
“Jem!” Tessa cried. But he was nearly out of earshot already, racing after Wil . The automaton had vanished from view. Tessa said an unladylike word, hiked up her skirts, and gave chase.
It was not easy, running up a wet Yorkshire hil in heavy skirts, brambles tearing at her as she went. Practicing in her training clothes had given Tessa a new appreciation for why it was that men could move so quickly and cleanly, and could run so fast. The material of her dress weighed a ton, the heels on her boots caught on rocks as she ran, and her corset left her uncomfortably short of breath.
By the time she reached the top of the ridge, she was only just in time to see Jem, far ahead of her, disappear into a dark copse of trees. She looked around wildly but could see neither the road nor the Starkweathers’ carriage. With her heart pounding, she dashed after him.
The copse was wide, spreading along the ridgeline. The moment Tessa ducked in among the trees, the light vanished; thick tree branches interweaving above her blocked out the sun. Feeling like Snow White fleeing into the forest, she looked around helplessly for a sign of where the boys had gone—broken branches, trodden leaves—and caught a shimmer of light on metal as the automaton surged out of the dark space between two trees and lunged for her.
She screamed, leaping away, and promptly tripped on her skirts. She went over backward, thumping painful y into the muddy earth. The creature stabbed one of its long insectile arms toward her. She rol ed aside and the metal arm sliced into the ground beside her. There was a fal en tree branch near her; her fingers scrabbled at it, closed around it, and lifted it just as the creature’s other arm swung toward her. She swept the branch between them, concentrating on the parrying and blocking lessons she’d gotten from Gabriel.
But it was only a branch. The automaton’s metal arm sheared it in half. The end of the arm sprang open into a multi-fingered metal claw and reached for her throat. But before it could touch her, Tessa felt a violent fluttering against her col arbone. Her angel. She lay frozen as the creature jerked its claw back, one of its “fingers” leaking black fluid. A moment later it gave a high-pitched whine and col apsed backward, a freshet of more black liquid pouring from the hole that had been sliced clean through its chest.
Tessa sat up and stared.
Wil stood with a sword in his hand, its hilt smeared with black. He was bareheaded, his thick dark hair tousled and tangled with leaves and bits of grass. Jem stood beside him, a witchlight stone blazing through his fingers. As Tessa watched, Wil slashed out with the sword again, cutting the automaton nearly in half. It crumpled to the muddy ground. Its insides were an ugly, horribly biological-looking mess of tubes and wires.
Jem looked up. His gaze met Tessa’s. His eyes were as silver as mirrors. Wil , despite having saved her, did not appear to notice she was there at al ; he drew back his foot and delivered a savage kick to the metal creature’s side. His boot rang against metal.
“Tel us,” he said through gritted teeth. “What are you doing here? Why are you fol owing us?”
The automaton’s razor-lined mouth opened. Its voice when it spoke sounded like the buzzing and grinding of faulty machinery. “I . . . am . . . a . .
. warning . . . from the Magister.”
“A warning to who? To the family in the manor? Tel me!” Wil looked as if he were going to kick the creature again; Jem laid a hand on his shoulder.
“It doesn’t feel pain, Wil ,” he said in a low voice. “And it says it has a message. Let it deliver it.”
“A warning . . . to you, Will Herondale . . . and to all Nephilim . . .” The creature’s broken voice ground out, “The Magister says . . . you must cease your investigation. The past . . . is the past. Leave Mortmain’s buried, or your family will pay the price. Do not dare approach or warn them. If you do, they will be destroyed.”
Jem was looking at Wil ; Wil was stil ashy-pale, but his cheeks were burning with rage. “How did Mortmain bring my family here? Did he threaten them? What has he done?”
The creature whirred and clicked, then began to speak again. “I . . . am . . . a . . . warning . . . from . . .”
Wil snarled like an animal and slashed down with the sword. Tessa remembered Jessamine, in Hyde Park, tearing a faerie creature to ribbons with her delicate parasol. Wil cut at the automaton until it was little more than ribbons of metal; Jem, throwing his arms around his friend and yanking him bodily backward, final y stopped him.
“Wil ,” he said. “Wil , enough.” He glanced up, and the other two fol owed his gaze. In the distance, through the trees, other shapes moved—more
automatons, like this one. “We must go,” Jem said. “If we want to draw them off, away from your family, we must leave.”