“But we will catch the thing that attacked her.”
As soon as they turned onto Fleet Street, Tessa felt something wasn’t right. She couldn’t figure out what it was. The street was utterly quiet. One of the servants from a neighboring property was sweeping leaves from the step. There was a coal cart and a wagon from a greengrocer delivering vegetables. She sat upright, every nerve tense, and when the carriage stopped, she swung the door open quickly and bounded out. Seeing her reaction, the other three followed in a similar fashion.
The first thing that confirmed her fears was that Bridget did not greet them at the door.
“Bridget?” Tessa called.
Nothing.
She looked up at their windows—clean, unbroken, dark. The curtains had been drawn. Will pushed open the door.
They found Bridget at the foot of the staircase. Cecily rushed to her.
“Unconscious,” she said. “But breathing. The children! Who is with the children?”
As one, they raced up the stairs. Every light was out, every door closed, every curtain drawn. They all went in separate directions, running to the nursery, to the bedrooms, to every room on the upper floors. Nothing.
“Shadowhunters . . .”
The voice was neither male nor female, and it seemed to come from everywhere. Will and Tessa met in the corridor, and Will held a witchlight high.
“What are you?” he yelled. “Where are the children?”
“Shadowhunters . . .”
“Where are the children? You can’t have an interest in them. Show yourself.”
“Shadowhunters . . .”
Gabriel and Cecily appeared, seraph blades ready. Will and Tessa reached for theirs. They walked down the steps, watching in every direction.
“I follow you,” hissed the voice, which now seemed to come from below them. “Shadowhunters. I follow you home. Play my game.”
“What is your game?” Will called back. “I’ll play any game you like if you show yourself.”
“The game is to hide. I like to hide. I like to take . . . the pieces. I hide. I take the pieces.”
“I know you have form,” Will said. “You’ve been seen. Show yourself.”
“Spoon!”
The cry came from the direction of the dining room. All four ran toward the voice. When they opened the door, they found James standing at the far end of the room, spoon held aloft.
“James!” Tessa cried. “Come to Mama! Come now, James!”
James laughed and, instead of running to Tessa, turned in the direction of the great fireplace, within which a tremendous fire burned high. He ran directly into it.
“James!”
Will and Tessa both ran for him, but halfway there, the fire flared up in a multitude of colors: blue and green and black. Heat poured from it, sending them stumbling back.
It subsided as quickly as it had arisen. They dashed again for the fireplace, but there was no sign of James.
“No, no!” Tessa screamed. “Jamie!”
She lunged for the fire; Will caught her and hauled her back. Everything seemed to have gone dark and silent in Tessa’s ears. All she could think about was her baby. His soft laugh, his storm-black hair like his father’s, his sweet disposition, the way he put his arms around her neck, his lashes against his cheeks.
Somehow, she had fallen to the floor. It was hard against her knees. James, she thought desperately.
A cool hand closed about her wrist. There were words in her head, soft and silent, cool as water. I am here.
Her eyes flew open. Jem was kneeling over her. The hood of his robes was thrown back, his black-and-silver hair disarrayed. It’s all right. That was not James. That was the demon itself, tricking you. James is in the house.
Tessa gasped. “My God! Is that the truth?”
Strong arms were suddenly around her, hugging her tight. “It’s true. Jem’s had a tracking spell on Lucie and James since they were born. They’re alive, they just need us to find them. Tess—Tessa—” She felt Will’s tears against her shoulder.
Jem was still holding her hand. I called for James, she thought, and he came.
Tessa stayed where she was. It was the first time in her life, she thought, that her legs had felt so weak that she couldn’t rise. Will had his arms around her and her hand was in Jem’s. That was enough to keep her breathing. The Silent City believes the demon to be a sort of trickster. It means for you to chase it around the Institute. Its motives are unclear, but they seem to be those of a child.
“If it is a child . . . ,” Tessa began, almost to herself.
The others turned to her.
“If it’s a child, it thinks it’s playing a game. It plays with women. I think it wants . . . a mother.”
Suddenly it was as if a great wind shook the room.
“I will play,” called a different voice.
“Jessamine!” Will said. “She’s inside the house.”
“I will play with you,” said Jessamine’s voice, louder now. It seemed to come from every room. “I have toys. I have a dollhouse. Play with me.”
There was a long silence. Then all of the gas jets flared, sending columns of blue flame almost to the ceiling. Just as quickly, they were sucked back down to the jets and the room was dark again. The fire went out.
“My dollhouse is wonderful,” Jessamine’s voice went on. “It is very small.”
“Very small?” came the reply.
“Bring the children and we shall play.”
There was another great whoosh of wind through the room.
“Jessamine’s room,” Will said.
They made their way carefully to Jessamine’s room, where the door stood open. There was Jessamine’s dollhouse, her pride and joy, and next to it, the transparent, gossamer figure of Jessamine. A moment later, something came down the chimney, a kind of fog that splintered into pieces and floated about the room like bits of cloud. Jessamine was busy moving about the dolls in one of the rooms and paid attention to no one.
“We need more of us to play,” she said.
“It is very small. So many pieces.”