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“The Castle of Otranto—” “Isn’t that the book in which the hero’s son is crushed to death by a gigantic helmet that falls from the sky? And you said A Tale of Two Cities was silly!” said Tessa, who would have died rather than admit she had read Otranto and loved it. “A Tale of Two Cities,” echoed Will. “I read it again, you know, because we had talked about it. You were right. It isn’t silly at all.” “No?” “No,” he said. “There is too much of despair in it.” She met his gaze. His eyes were as blue as lakes; she felt as if she were falling into them. “Despair?” Steadily he said, “There is no
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“It is late. I must retire—I am exhausted.” She stepped past him, and moved toward the door. She wondered if he looked hurt, then pushed the thought from her mind. This was Will; however mercurial and passing his moods, however charming he was when he was in a good one, he was poison for her, for anyone. “Vathek,” he said, sliding off the table. She paused in the doorway, realizing she was still clutching the Coleridge book, but then decided she might as well take it. It would be a pleasant diversion from the Codex. “What was that?” “Vathek,” he said again. “By William Beckford. If you found
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Friendship is one mind in two bodies. —Meng-tzu
“Would you like a thesaurus?” Will inquired. He was sprawled in one of the wing-back armchairs near the fireplace in the drawing room, his boots up on the ottoman. They were caked with mud, and now so was the ottoman. Normally Charlotte would have been taking him to task for it, but the letter from Aloysius that she had received that morning, and that she had called them all into the drawing room to discuss, seemed to have absorbed all her attention. “You seem to be running out of words.” “And is he really degenerate?” Jem asked equably from the depths of the other armchair. “I mean, the old
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“Darling,” said Henry anxiously, coming around the desk to where his wife was sitting, “are you quite all right? You look a bit—splotchy.” He wasn’t wrong. Red patches of rage had broken out over Charlotte’s face and throat. “I think it’s charming,” said Will. “I’ve heard polka dots are the last word in fashion this season.”
Aloysius always had a weakness for a pretty face.” “Even more reason why I should go,” said Will.
“Will, Jem . . .” Charlotte bit her lip. “Are you sure? The Council was hardly best pleased by the independent actions you took in the matter of Mrs. Dark.” “Well, they ought to be. We killed a dangerous demon!” Will protested. “And we saved Church,” said Jem. “Somehow I doubt that counts in our favor,” said Will. “That cat bit me three times the other night.” “That probably does count in your favor,” said Tessa. “Or Jem’s, at least.”
Will made a face at her, but didn’t seem angry; it was the sort of face he might have made at Jem had the other boy mock insulted him. Perhaps they really could be civil to each other, Tessa thought. He had bee...
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“Charlotte,” Tessa said, “there is a way we could make him tell us.” Charlotte looked at her in puzzlement. “Tessa, what do you—” She broke off then, light dawning in her eyes. “Oh, I see. Tessa, what an excellent idea.” “Oh, what?” demanded Jessamine from the chaise. “What idea?”
“Did you say we’d be taking the train?” Tessa asked, looking over at Jem. He nodded, his silver eyes dancing. “The Great Northern runs trains out of Kings Cross all day long,” he said. “It’s only a matter of hours.” “Then, I’ll come,” said Tessa. “I’ve never been on a train.” Will threw up his hands. “That’s it? You’re coming because you’ve never been on a train before?” “Yes,” she said, knowing how much her calm demeanor drove him mad. “I should like to ride in one, very much.” “Trains are great dirty smoky things,” said Will. “You won’t like it.” Tessa was unmoved. “I won’t know if I like it
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Tessa looked at her worriedly—seeing Charlotte like this, doubting her own instincts, made her hate Benedict Lightwood and his cohorts even more than she already did.
“Oh, her father led her down the stair, Her mother combed her yellow hair. Her sister Ann led her to the cross, And her brother John set her on her horse. ‘Now you are high and I am low, Give me a kiss before ye go.’ She leaned down to give him a kiss, He gave her a deep wound and did not miss. And with a knife as sharp as a dart, Her brother stabbed her to the heart.” Nate’s face flashed in front of Tessa’s eyes, and she shuddered.
Sophie, looking past her, didn’t seem to notice. “That’s all she sings about,” she whispered. “Murder and betrayal. Blood and pain. It’s horrid.”
“Why does your sword so drip with blood, Edward, Edward? Why does your sword so drip with blood? And why so sad are ye?”
dozens of grand rooms stood empty while she shared a room with Bridget, singer of murderous ballads.
“Miss Lovelace still regrettably absent?” he inquired without bothering to greet them. His face was calm, the only sign of his earlier agitation a pulse hammering just beneath a Courage in Combat rune inked upon his throat. “She continues to have the headache,” said Tessa, following him into the training room. “We don’t know how long she’ll be indisposed.” “Until these training sessions are over, I suspect,” said Gideon, so dryly that Tessa was surprised when Sophie laughed. Sophie immediately composed her features again, but not before Gideon had given her a surprised, almost appreciative
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wonderful understanding Jem—quite
Just then she heard a rustle at her door, and the faint scratch of something being gently pushed against it. After a moment’s pause she slid off the bed and padded across the room. She eased the door open to find an empty corridor, the faint sound of violin music drifting from Jem’s room across the hall. At her feet was a small green book. She picked it up and gazed at the words stamped in gold on its spine: “Vathek, by William Beckford.” She shut the door behind her and carried the book over to her bed, sitting down so she could examine it. Will must have left it for her. Obviously it could
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For Tessa Gray, on the occasion of being given a copy of Vathek to read: Caliph Vathek and his dark horde Are bound for Hell, you won’t be bored! Your faith in me will be restored— Unless this token you find untoward And my poor gift you have ignored. —Will
Tessa burst out laughing, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Drat Will, for always being able to make her laugh, even when she didn’t want to, even when she knew that opening her heart to him even an inch was like taking a pinch of some deadly addictive drug. She dropped the copy of Vathek, complete with Will’s deliberately terrible poem, onto her nightstand and rolled onto the bed, burying her face in the pillows. She could still hear Jem’s violin music, sweetly sad, drifting beneath her door. As hard as she could, sh...
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Pushing her damp hair out of her eyes, Tessa smiled at him, just as Will returned with an aggrieved-looking porter who relieved Cyril of the baggage and snapped at them to hurry up, the train wouldn’t wait all day. Will looked from the porter to Jem’s cane, and back. His blue eyes narrowed. “It will wait for us,” Will said with a deadly smile. The porter looked bewildered but said “Sir” in a decidedly less aggressive tone and proceeded to lead them toward the departure platform.
“Did you bring anything to read on the journey?” asked Will, settling into the seat opposite Tessa; Jem was beside her, his cane leaning up against the wall. She thought of the copy of Vathek and his poem in it; she had left it at the Institute to avoid temptation, the way you might leave behind a box of candies if you were banting and didn’t want to put on weight. “No,” she said. “I haven’t come across anything I particularly wanted to read lately.” Will’s jaw set, but he said nothing.
“There is always something so exciting about the start of a journey, don’t you think?” Tessa went on, nose to the window, though she could see little but smoke and soot and hurtling gray rain; London was a dim shadow in the mist. “No,” said Will as he sat back and pulled his hat down over his eyes.
“Haven’t you ever been in the countryside before?” asked Jem, though unlike Will’s, his question had the flavor of actual curiosity.
“But I feel as if I have seen it before. In books. I keep imagining I’ll see Thornfield Hall rising up beyond the trees, or Wuthering Heights perched on a stony crag—” “Wuthering Heights is in Yorkshire,” said Will, from under his hat, “and we’re nowhere near Yorkshire yet. We haven’t even reached Grantham. And there’s nothing that impressive about Yorkshire. Hills and dales, no proper mountains like we have in Wales.” “Do you miss Wales?” Tessa inquired. She wasn’t sure why she did it; she knew asking Will about his past was like poking a dog with a sore tail, but she couldn’t seem to help
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“I promise to charm the dickens out of him,” said Will, sitting up and readjusting his crushed hat. “I shall charm him with such force that when I am done, he will be left lying limply on the ground, trying to remember his own name.” “The man’s eighty-nine,” muttered Jem. “He may well have that problem anyway.”
“I suppose you’re storing up all that charm now?” Tessa inquired. “Wouldn’t want to waste any of it on us?” “That’s it exactly.” Will sounded pleased. “And it isn’t Charlotte the Starkweathers can’t stand, Jem. It’s her father.”
“Sins of the fathers,” said Jem. “They’re not inclined to like any Fairchild, or anyone associated with one. Charlotte wouldn’t even let Henry come up—” “That is because every time one lets Henry out of the house on his own, one risks an international incident,” said Will. “But yes, to answer your unasked question, I do understand the trust Charlotte has placed in us, and I do intend to behave myself. I don’t want to see that squinty-eyed Benedict Lightwood and his hideous sons in charge of the Institute any more than anyone else does.” “They’re not hideous,” said Tessa. Will blinked at her.
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“Perhaps we could say she’s a mad maiden aunt who insists on chaperoning us everywhere.” “My aunt or yours?” Jem inquired. “Yes, she doesn’t really look like either of us, does she? Perhaps she’s a girl who’s fallen madly in love with me and persists in following me wherever I go.” “My talent is shape-shifting, Will, not acting,” said Tessa, and at that, Jem laughed out loud. Will glared at him. “She had the better of you there, Will,” he said. “It does happen sometimes, doesn’t it? Perhaps I should introduce Tessa as my fiancée. We can tell mad old Aloysius that her Ascension is underway.”
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Jem’s voice was drowned out by the train whistle as the locomotive emerged from the tunnel. Tessa looked at Will, but he was staring fixedly out the window, not looking at her at all. She must have imagined it. “It’s not a bad idea, I suppose,” said Tessa. “I do know rather a lot; I’ve finished nearly all of the Codex.” “It would seem reasonable that I brought you with me,” said Jem. “As a possible Ascender, you might want to learn about Institutes other than the one in London.” He turned to Will. “What do you think?” “It seems as fine an idea as any.” Will was still looking out the window;
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“We haven’t memorized all their addresses, Tessa.” There was something in Will’s voice, a dangerous undercurrent. Jem looked at him narrowly, and said: “Is everything all right?” Will took his hat off and laid it on the seat next to him. He looked at them both steadily for a moment, his gaze level.
He was beautiful to look at as always, Tessa thought, but there seemed something gray about him, almost faded. For someone who so often seemed to burn very brightly, that light in him seemed exhausted now, as if he had been rolling a rock up a hill like Sisyphus.
Really, why do you bother, Will? Don’t you realize we both know you’re lying? Tessa almost said, but one look at Jem stopped her. His gaze as he regarded Will was worried—very worried indeed, though Tessa knew he did not believe Will about the drinking, any more than she did. But, “Well,” was all he said, lightly, “if only there were a Rune of Sobriety.” “Yes.” Will looked back at him, and the strain in his expression relaxed sl...
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“We don’t,” said Will. “It is customary to give a girl your family ring when you become engaged, but the actual wedding ceremony involves exchanging runes instead of rings. One on the arm, and one over the heart.” “‘Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave,’” said Jem. “Song of Solomon.” “‘Jealousy is cruel as the grave’?” Tessa raised her eyebrows. “That’s not . . . very romantic.” “‘The coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame,’” said Will, quirking his eyebrows up. “I always thought
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Charlotte’s rather fallen off in tutoring us lately, as you might imagine,” said Will. “One either has a tutor or one is schooled in Idris—that is, until you attain your majority at eighteen. Which will be soon, thankfully, for the both of us.” “Which one of you is older?” “Jem,” said Will, and “I am,” said Jem, at the same time. They laughed in unison as well, and Will added, “Only by two months, though.”