Clockwork Angel (The Infernal Devices #1)

“That,” said Charlotte, “is likely only going to make him angrier.”

“Perhaps,” said Will. “And perhaps if you hadn’t insisted on tying the success of my plan to the functionality of one of Henry’s ridiculous inventions, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now. You can dance around it all you like, but the reason everything went wrong last night is because the Phosphor didn’t work. Nothing Henry invents ever works. If you’d just admit your husband’s a useless fool, we’d all be a lot better off.”

“Will.” Jem’s voice held cold fury.

“No. James, don’t.” Charlotte’s voice shook; there was a sort of thump, as if she’d sat herself down very suddenly in a chair. “Will,” she said, “Henry is a good, kind man and he loves you.”

“Don’t be maudlin, Charlotte.” Will’s voice held only scorn.

“He’s known you since you were a boy. He cares for you like you were his own younger brother. As do I. All I’ve ever done is love you, Will—”

“Yes,” said Will, “and I wish you wouldn’t.”

Charlotte made a pained noise, like a kicked puppy. “I know you don’t mean that.”

“I mean everything I say,” said Will. “Especially when I tell you that we’re better off sifting through Nathaniel Gray’s mind now rather than later. If you’re too sentimental to do it—”

Charlotte began to interrupt, but it didn’t matter. This was too much for Tessa. She hurled the door open and stalked inside. The inside of the room was lit by a roaring fire, in contrast to the squares of dark gray glass that let in what there was of the cloudy twilight. Charlotte sat behind the large desk, Jem in a chair beside her. Will, on the other hand, was leaning against the fireplace mantel; he was flushed with obvious anger, his eyes blazing, his shirt collar askew. His eyes met Tessa’s for a moment of pure astonishment. Any hope she had entertained that he might have magically forgotten what had happened in the attic the night before vanished. He flushed at the sight of her, his fathomless blue eyes darkening—and looked away, as if he couldn’t stand to hold her gaze.

“I suppose you’ve been eavesdropping, then?” he asked. “And now you’re here to give me a piece of your mind about your precious brother?”

“At least I have a mind to give you a piece of, which Nathaniel won’t, if you have your way.” Tessa turned to Charlotte. “I won’t let Brother Enoch go pawing through Nate’s mind. He’s sick enough already; it would probably kill him.”

Charlotte shook her head. She looked exhausted, her face gray, her eyelids drooping. Tessa wondered if she’d slept at all. “Most assuredly, we will allow him to heal before we think about questioning him.”

“What if he’s ill for weeks? Or months?” Will said. “We might not have that much time.”

“Why not? What’s so urgent you want to risk my brother’s life on it?” Tessa snapped.

Will’s eyes were slivers of blue glass. “All you’ve ever cared about is finding your brother. And now you’ve found him. Good for you. But that was never our goal. You do realize that, don’t you? We don’t usually go quite this far out of our way for the sake of one delinquent mundane.”

“What Will is trying to say,” Jem interjected, “though failing at civility, is—” He broke off, and sighed. “De Quincey said that your brother was someone he had trusted. And now de Quincey is gone, and we have no idea where he’s hiding. The notes we found in his office hint that de Quincey believed there would soon be a war between Downworlders and Shadowhunters, a war those clockwork creatures he was working on doubtless figured into prominently. You can see why we want to know where he is, and what else your brother might know.”

“Maybe you want to know those things,” Tessa said, “but it’s not my fight. I’m not a Shadowhunter.”

“Indeed,” said Will. “Don’t think we don’t know that.”

“Be quiet, Will.” Charlotte’s tone held more than its usual asperity. She turned from him to Tessa, her brown eyes beseeching. “We trust you, Tessa. You need to trust us, too.”

“No,” Tessa said. “No, I don’t.” She could feel Will’s gaze on her and was suddenly filled with a startling rage. How dare he be cold to her, angry at her? What had she done to deserve it? She’d let him kiss her. That was all. Somehow, it was as if that alone had erased everything else she had done that evening—as if now that she’d kissed Will, it no longer mattered that she had also been brave. “You wanted to use me—just like the Dark Sisters did—and the moment you had a chance to, the moment Lady Belcourt came along and you needed what I could do, you wanted me to do it. Never mind how dangerous it was! You behave as if I have some responsibility to your world, your laws and your Accords, but it’s your world, and you’re the ones meant to govern it. It’s not my fault if you’re doing a rotten job!”

Tessa saw Charlotte whiten and sit back. She felt a sharp twinge in her chest. It wasn’t Charlotte she had meant to hurt. Still, she went on. She couldn’t help herself, the words coming out in a flood, “All your talk about Downworlders and how you don’t hate them. That’s all nothing, isn’t it? Just words. You don’t mean them. And as for mundanes, have you ever thought maybe you’d be better at protecting them if you didn’t despise them all so much?” She looked at Will. He was pale, his eyes blazing. He looked—she wasn’t sure she could describe his expression. Horrified, she thought, but not at her; the horror ran deeper than that.

“Tessa,” Charlotte protested, but Tessa was already fumbling for the door. She turned at the last moment, on the threshold, to see them all staring at her.

“Stay away from my brother,” she snapped. “And don’t follow me.”



Anger, Tessa thought, was satisfying in its own way, when you gave in to it. There was something peculiarly gratifying about shouting in a blind rage until your words ran out.

Of course, the aftermath was less pleasant. Once you’d told everyone you hated them and not to come after you, where exactly did you go? If she went back to her own room, it was as much as saying she was just having a tantrum that would wear off. She couldn’t go to Nate and bring her black mood into his sickroom, and lurking anywhere else meant risking being found sulking by Sophie or Agatha.

In the end she took the narrow, winding stairs that led down through the Institute. She made her way through the witch-lit nave and came out onto the broad front steps of the church, where she sank down on the top stair and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in the unexpectedly cold breeze. It must have rained sometime during the day, for the steps were damp, and the black stone of the courtyard shone like a mirror. The moon was out, darting in between racing scuds of cloud, and the huge iron gate gleamed blackly in the fitful light. We are dust and shadows.

“I know what you’re thinking.” The voice that came from the doorway behind Tessa was soft enough that it could almost have been part of the wind that rattled the leaves on the tree branches.

Tessa turned. Jem stood in the arch of the doorway, the white witchlight behind him lighting his hair so that it shone like metal. His face, though, was hidden in shadow. He held his cane in his right hand; the dragon’s eyes gleamed watchfully at Tessa.

“I don’t think you do.”

“You’re thinking, If they call this damp nastiness summer, what must winter be like? You’d be surprised. Winter’s actually much the same.” He moved away from the door and sat down on the step beside Tessa, though not too close. “It’s spring that’s really lovely.”

“Is it?” Tessa said, without much real interest.

“No. It’s actually quite foggy and wet as well.” He looked sideways at her. “I know you said not to follow you. But I was rather hoping you just meant Will.”