“Do you—not like him?” Tessa asked; it was an odd question, perhaps, but there was something in the way Magnus looked at Wil , spoke to Wil , that she could not put her finger on.
To her surprise, Magnus took the question seriously. “I do like him,” he said, “though rather despite myself. I thought him a pretty bit of poison to start with, but I have come around. There is a soul under al that bravado. And he is real y alive, one of the most alive people I have ever met. When he feels something, it is as bright and sharp as lightning.”
“We al feel,” Tessa said, thoroughly surprised. Wil , feeling more strongly than everyone else? Madder than everyone else, perhaps.
“Not like that,” said Magnus. “Trust me, I have lived a long time, and I do know.” His look was not without sympathy. “And you wil find that feelings fade too, the longer you live. The oldest warlock I ever met had been alive nearly a thousand years and told me he could no longer even remember what love felt like, or hatred, either. I asked him why he did not end his life, and he said he stil felt one thing, and that was fear—fear of what lies after death. ‘The undiscover’d country from whose bourne no travel er returns.’”
“Hamlet,” said Tessa automatical y. She was trying to push back thoughts of her own possible immortality. The concept of it was too grand and terrifying to truly encompass, and besides . . . it might not even be true.
“We who are immortal, we are chained to this life by a chain of gold, and we dare not sever it for fear of what lies beyond the drop,” said Magnus.
“Now come along, and don’t begrudge Wil his moral duties.” He started off down the path, Tessa limping quickly after him in an effort to keep up.
“But he behaved as if he knew that demon—”
“Probably tried to kil it before,” said Magnus. “Sometimes they get away.”
“But how wil he get back to the Institute?” Tessa wailed.
“He’s a clever boy. He’l find a way. I’m more concerned with getting you back to the Institute before someone notices you’re missing and there’s the devil of a row.” They’d reached the front gates, where the carriage awaited, Cyril resting peaceful y in the driver’s seat, his hat pul ed down over his eyes.
She glared mutinously at Magnus as he swung the carriage door open and reached out a hand to help her up into it. “How do you know Wil and I didn’t have Charlotte’s permission to be here tonight?”
“Do give me more credit than that, darling,” he said, and grinned in such an infectious manner that Tessa, with a sigh, gave him her hand. “Now,”
he said, “I’l take you back to the Institute, and on the way you can tel me al about it.”
13
THE MORTAL SWORD
“Take my share of a fickle heart,
Mine of a paltry love:
Take it or leave it as you will,
I wash my hands thereof.”
—Christina Rosetti, “Maude Clare”
“Oh, my dear merciful heavens!” said Sophie, starting up from her chair as Tessa opened the door to Jessamine’s bedroom. “Miss Tessa, what happened?”
“Sophie! Shh!” Tessa waved a warning hand as she shut the door behind her. The room was as she had left it. Her nightgown and dressing gown were folded neatly on a chair, the cracked silver mirror was on the vanity table, and Jessamine—Jessamine was stil soundly unconscious, her wrists rope-bound to the posts of the bed. Sophie, seated in a chair by the wardrobe, had clearly been there since Wil and Tessa had left; she clutched a hairbrush in one hand (to hit Jessamine with, should she awaken again, Tessa wondered?), and her hazel eyes were huge.
“But miss . . .” Sophie’s voice trailed off as Tessa’s gaze went to her reflection in the looking glass. Tessa could not help but stare. Her hair had come down, of course, in a tangled mess al over her shoulders, Jessamine’s pearl pins gone where Wil had flung them; she was shoeless and limping, her white stockings filthy, her gloves gone, and her dress obviously nearly choking her to death. “Was it very dreadful?”
Tessa’s mind went suddenly back to the balcony, and Wil ’s arms around her. Oh, God. She pushed the thought away and glanced over at Jessamine, stil sleeping peaceful y. “Sophie, we are going to have to wake Charlotte. We have no choice.”
Sophie looked at her with round eyes. Tessa could not blame her; she dreaded rousing Charlotte. Tessa had even pleaded with Magnus to come in with her to help break the news, but he had refused, on the grounds that internecine Shadowhunter dramas had nothing to do with him, and he had a novel to get back to besides.
“Miss—,” Sophie protested.
“We must.” As quickly as she could, Tessa told Sophie the gist of what had happened that night, leaving out the part with Wil on the balcony. No one needed to know about that. “This is beyond us now. We cannot come in over Charlotte’s head any longer.”
Sophie made no more sound of protest. She laid the hairbrush down on the vanity, stood up, smoothed her skirts, and said, “I wil fetch Mrs.