Clockwork Angel (The Infernal Devices #1)

Jem looked at Will and shook his head. They both turned toward the door; as they went out, Jem looked at Tessa and gave her a little shrug. I wish you were a Shadowhunter, she thought his eyes were saying, but maybe it was simply what she hoped they were saying. Perhaps he was merely smiling at her kindly and there was no meaning in it.

Nate poured himself another hot water and brandy. He and Jessamine had abandoned the pretense that they were playing cards and were leaning close to each other, murmuring in low voices. Tessa felt a dull thump of disappointment. Somehow she had expected that Nate’s ordeal would have made him more thoughtful—more inclined to understand that there were larger things at work in the world, more important things than his own immediate pleasures. She expected nothing better of Jessamine, but what had once seemed charming in Nate now grated on her nerves in a way that surprised her.

She leaned toward the window again. There was a carriage in the courtyard. Will and Jem were on the front steps. With them was a man in evening dress—elegant black tailcoat, high silk hat, a white waistcoat that shone under the witchlight torches. He looked like a mundane to Tessa, though at this distance it was difficult to tell. As she watched, he raised his arms and made a broad gesture. She saw Will look at Jem, and Jem nod, and wondered what on earth they were talking about.

She looked past the man to the coach behind him—and froze. Instead of a coat of arms, the name of a business enterprise was painted across one of the doors: MORTMAIN AND COMPANY.

Mortmain. The man her father had worked for, whom Nathaniel had blackmailed, who had introduced her brother to the Shadow World. What was he doing here?

She looked at Nate again, her feeling of annoyance washed away by a wave of protectiveness. If he knew Mortmain was here, he would doubtless be upset. It would be better if she found out what was going on before he did. She slid off the windowsill and made her way quietly to the door; deep in conversation with Jessamine, Nate hardly seemed to notice as she left the room.



It was surprisingly easy for Tessa to find her way to the huge stone-bound spiral stairway that speared through the center of the Institute. She must have been learning her way around the place at last, she decided as she made her way down the steps to the ground floor, and found Thomas standing in the entryway.

He was holding a massive sword, point down, his face very serious. Behind him the massive double doors of the Institute were open on a rectangle of blue-black London twilight, lit by the blaze of the courtyard’s witchlight torches. He looked taken aback at the sight of Tessa. “Miss Gray?”

She pitched her voice low. “What’s going on out there, Thomas?”

He shrugged. “Mr. Mortmain,” he said. “He wanted to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Branwell, but since they’re not here—”

Tessa started toward the door.

Thomas, startled, moved to prevent her. “Miss Gray, I don’t think—”

“You’ll have to use that sword on me to stop me, Thomas,” Tessa said in a cold voice, and Thomas, after a moment’s hesitation, moved aside. Tessa, with a twinge, hoped she hadn’t hurt his feelings, but he looked more astonished than anything else.

She moved past him, onto the steps outside the Institute, where Will and Jem were standing. A hard breeze was coming up, ruffling her hair and making her shiver. At the foot of the stairs stood the man she had seen from the window. He was shorter than she would have imagined: small and wiry-looking, with a tanned, friendly face beneath the brim of his tall hat. Despite the elegance of his clothes, he had the bluff, natural bearing of a sailor or tradesman.

“Yes,” he was saying, “Mr. and Mrs. Branwell were kind enough to call on me last week. And were even kinder, I understand, in keeping our meeting something of a secret.”

“They didn’t tell the Enclave about your occult experimentations, if that is what you mean,” Will said a bit shortly.

Mortmain reddened. “Yes. It was a favor. And I had thought to return the favor in kind—” He broke off, looking past Will at Tessa. “And who is this? Another Shadowhunter?”

Will and Jem both turned at the same time and saw Tessa. Jem looked pleased to see her; Will, of course, looked exasperated, and perhaps a touch amused. “Tessa,” he said. “Couldn’t keep your nose out, could you?” He turned back to Mortmain. “This is Miss Gray, of course. Nathaniel Gray’s sister.”

Mortmain looked appalled. “Oh, good God. I should have realized. You look like him. Miss Gray—”

“I don’t think she does, actually,” Will said, but rather quietly, so Tessa doubted Mortmain could hear him.

“You can’t see Nate,” Tessa said. “I don’t know if that’s why you’ve come here, Mr. Mortmain, but he isn’t well enough. He needs to recover from his ordeal, not be reminded of it.”

The lines deepened at the corners of Mortmain’s mouth. “I’m not here to see the boy,” he said. “I recognize that I failed him, failed him abominably. Mrs. Branwell made that clear—”

“You should have looked for him,” Tessa said. “My brother. You let him sink into the Shadow World without a trace.” Some small part of Tessa’s mind was amazed she was being so bold, but she went on, regardless. “When he told you he’d gone to work for de Quincey, you should have done something. You knew what kind of man de Quincey was—if you can even call him a man.”

“I know.” Mortmain looked gray beneath his hat. “That is why I am here. To try to make up for what I’ve done.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” asked Jem, in his clear, strong voice. “And why now?”

Mortmain looked at Tessa. “Your parents,” he said, “were good, kind people. I have always regretted introducing them to the Shadow World. At the time, I thought it all a delightful game and a bit of a joke. I have learned otherwise since. To assuage that guilt, I will tell you what I know. Even if it means I must flee England to escape de Quincey’s wrath.” He sighed. “Some time ago, de Quincey ordered from me a number of mechanical parts—cogs, cams, gears, and the like. I never asked what he needed them for. One does not inquire such things of the Magister. Only when you Nephilim came to see me did it occur to me that his need for them might be connected to a nefarious purpose. I investigated, and an informant within the club told me that de Quincey intended to build an army of mechanical monsters meant to destroy the ranks of Shadowhunters.” He shook his head. “De Quincey and his ilk may despise Shadowhunters, but I do not. I am only a human man. I know they are all that stand between me and a world in which I and my kind are the playthings of demons. I cannot stand behind what de Quincey is doing.”

“That is all very well,” Will said, a hint of impatience in his voice, “but you are not telling us anything we do not already know.”

“Did you also know,” Mortmain said, “that he paid a pair of warlocks called the Dark Sisters to create a binding spell that would animate these creatures not with mechanics but with demonic energies?”

“We did,” said Jem. “Though I believe there is only one Dark Sister remaining. Will destroyed the other one.”

“But her sister brought her back via a necromantic charm,” said Mortmain, a hint of triumph in his tone, as if he were relieved to at last have a piece of information that they did not. “Even now the two of them are ensconced in a mansion in Highgate—it used to belong to a warlock, until de Quincey had him killed—working on the binding spell. If my sources are correct, the Dark Sisters will attempt to implement the spell tonight.”

Will’s blue eyes were dark and thoughtful. “Thank you for the information,” he said, “but de Quincey will soon be no more of a threat to us, or his mechanical monsters, either.”

Mortmain’s eyes widened. “Is the Clave to move against the Magister? Tonight?”