“Ah.” Scott turned his gaze on Charlotte. “You’re concerned that I’m betraying you the way you thought de Quincey did. That I’m in league with the Magister—let’s just cal him by his name, shal we? Mortmain—and I’m letting him use my wolves to do his bidding.”
“I had thought,” Charlotte said, haltingly, “that perhaps London’s Downworlders felt betrayed by the Institute, after what happened with de Quincey.
His death—”
Scott adjusted his monocle. As he did, light flashed along the gold band he wore around his index finger. Words gleamed out against it: L’art pour l’art. “Was the best surprise I’ve had since I discovered the Savoy Turkish Baths on Jermyn Street. I despised de Quincey. Loathed him with every fiber of my being.”
“Wel , the Night Children and the Moon’s Children’s have never quite—”
“De Quincey had a werewolf kil ed,” Tessa said suddenly, her memories mixing with Camil e’s, with the recol ection of a pair of yel ow-green eyes like Scott’s. “For his—attachment—to Camil e Belcourt.”
Woolsey Scott turned a long, curious look on Tessa. “That,” he said, “was my brother. My older brother. He was pack leader before me, you see, and I inherited the post. Usual y one must kil to become pack leader. In my case, it was put to a vote, and the task of avenging my brother in the name of the pack was mine. Only now, you see—” He gestured with an elegant hand. “You’ve taken care of de Quincey for me. You’ve no idea how grateful I am.” He cocked his head to the side. “Did he die wel ?”
“He died screaming.” Charlotte’s bluntness startled Tessa.
“What a beautiful thing to hear.” Scott put down his teacup. “For this you have earned a favor. I wil tel you what I know, though it isn’t much.
Mortmain came to me in the early days, wanting me to join with him in the Pandemonium Club. I refused, for de Quincey had already joined, and I would not be part of a club that had him in it. Mortmain let me know there would be a place for me should I change my mind—”
“Did he tel you of his goals?” Wil interrupted. “Of the ultimate purpose of the club?”
“The destruction of al Shadowhunters,” said Scott. “I rather thought you knew that. It isn’t a gardening club.”
“He has a grudge, we think,” said Charlotte. “Against the Clave. Shadowhunters kil ed his parents some years ago. They were warlocks, deep in the study of the black arts.”
“Less of a grudge, more of an idée fixe,” said Scott. “An obsession. He would see your kind wiped out, though he seems content to start with England and work his way out from there. A patient, methodical sort of madman. The worst kind.” He sat back in his chair and sighed. “News has reached me of a group of young wolves, unsworn to any pack, who have been doing some sort of underground work and have been getting paid very wel for it. Flashing their tin around among the pack wolves and creating animosities. I did not know about the drug.”
“It wil keep them working for him, night and day, until they drop from exhaustion or the drug kil s them,” said Wil . “And there is no cure for addiction to it. It is deadly.”
The werewolf’s yel ow-green eyes met his. “This yin fen, this silver powder, it is what your friend James Carstairs is addicted to, isn’t it? And he’s alive.”
“Jem survives it because he is a Shadowhunter, and because he uses as little as possible, as infrequently as possible. And even then it wil kil him in the end.” Wil ’s voice was deadly flat. “As would withdrawing from it.”
“Wel , wel ,” said the werewolf breezily. “I do hope that the Magister’s merrily buying the stuff up doesn’t create a shortage, in that case.”
Wil went white. It was clear the thought hadn’t occurred to him. Tessa turned toward Wil , but he was already on his feet, moving toward the door.
It shut behind him with a bang.
Charlotte frowned. “Lord, he’s off to Whitechapel again,” she said. “Was that necessary, Woolsey? I think you just terrified the poor boy, and probably for nothing.”
“Nothing wrong with a bit of foresight,” said Scott. “I took my own brother for granted, until de Quincey kil ed him.”
“De Quincey and the Magister were two of a kind—ruthless,” Charlotte said. “If you could help us—”
“The whole situation is certainly beastly,” observed Scott. “Unfortunately, lycanthropes who are not members of my pack are not my responsibility.”
“If you could simply send out feelers, Mr. Scott. Any bit of information about where they are working or what they are doing could be invaluable.
The Clave would be grateful.”