“I swear that woman had a previous career as a death-hunter sel ing tragic bal ads down around the Seven Dials,” said Wil . “And I do wish she wouldn’t sing about poisoning just after we’ve eaten.” He looked sideways at Tessa. “Shouldn’t you be off putting on your gear? Haven’t you training with the lunatic Lightwoods today?”
“Yes, this morning, but I needn’t change clothes. We’re just practicing knife throwing,” said Tessa, somewhat amazed that she was able to have this mild and civil a conversation with Wil after the events of last night. Cyril’s handkerchief, with Wil ’s blood on it, was stil in her dresser drawer; she remembered the warmth of his lips on her fingers, and darted her eyes away from his.
“How fortunate that I am a crack hand at knife throwing.” Wil got to his feet and held out his arm to her. “Come along; it’l drive Gideon and Gabriel mad if I watch the training, and I could do with a little madness this morning.”
Wil was correct. His presence during the training session seemed to madden Gabriel at least, though Gideon, as he seemed to do with everything, took this intrusion in a stolid manner. Wil sat on a low wooden bench that ran along one of the wal s, and ate an apple, his long legs stretched out before him, occasional y cal ing out bits of advice that Gideon ignored and that Gabriel took like blows to the chest.
“Must he be here?” Gabriel growled to Tessa the second time he had nearly dropped a knife while handing it to her. He put a hand on her shoulder, showing her the sight line for the target she was aiming at—a black circle drawn on the wal . She knew how much he would rather she were aiming at Wil . “Can’t you tel him to go away?”
“Now, why would I do that?” Tessa asked reasonably. “Wil is my friend, and you are someone whom I do not even like.”
She threw the knife. It missed its target by several feet, striking low in the wal near the floor.
“No, you’re stil weighting the point too much—and what do you mean, you don’t like me?” Gabriel demanded, handing her another knife as if by reflex, but his expression was very surprised indeed.
“Wel ,” Tessa said, sighting along the line of the knife, “you behave as if you dislike me. In fact, you behave as if you dislike us al .”
“I don’t,” Gabriel said. “I just dislike him.” He pointed at Wil .
“Dear me,” said Wil , and he took another bite of his apple. “Is it because I’m better-looking than you?”
“Both of you be quiet,” Gideon cal ed from across the room. “We’re meant to be working, not snapping at each other over years-old petty disagreements.”
“Petty?” Gabriel snarled. “He broke my arm.”
Wil took another bite out of his apple. “I can hardly believe you’re stil upset about that.”
Tessa threw the knife. This throw was better. It landed inside the black circle, if not in the center itself. Gabriel looked around for another knife and, not seeing one, let out an exhalation of annoyance. “When we run the Institute,” he said, pitching his voice loud enough for Wil to hear, “this training room wil be far better kept up and supplied.”
Tessa looked at him angrily. “Amazing that I don’t like you, isn’t it?”
Gabriel’s handsome face crumpled into an ugly look of contempt. “I don’t see what this has to do with you, little warlock; this Institute isn’t your home. You don’t belong in this place. Believe me, you’d be better off with my family running things here; we could find uses for your . . . talent.
Employment that would make you rich. You could live where you liked. And Charlotte can go run the Institute in York, where she’l do considerably less harm.”
Wil was sitting upright now, apple forgotten. Gideon and Sophie had ceased their practicing and were watching the conversation—Gideon wary, Sophie wide-eyed. “If you hadn’t noticed,” Wil said, “someone already runs the York Institute.”
“Aloysius Starkweather is a senile old man.” Gabriel dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “And he has no descendants he can beg the Consul to appoint in his place. Since the business with his granddaughter, his son and daughter-in-law packed up and went to Idris. They won’t come back here for love or money.”
“What business with his granddaughter?” Tessa demanded, flashing back to the portrait of the sickly-looking little girl on the staircase of the York Institute.
“Only lived to be ten or so,” said Gabriel. “Never was very healthy, by al accounts, and when they first Marked her—Wel , she must have been improperly trained. She went mad, turned Forsaken, and died. The shock kil ed old Starkweather’s wife, and sent his children scurrying to Idris. It wouldn’t be much trouble to get him replaced by Charlotte. The Consul must see he’s no good—far too married to the old ways.”
Tessa looked at Gabriel in disbelief. His voice had retained its cool indifference as he’d told the story of the Starkweathers, as if it were a fairy tale. And she—she didn’t want to pity the old man with the sly eyes and the bloody room ful of dead Downworlders’ remains, but she couldn’t help it.