Clockwork Prince (The Infernal Devices 2)

"He knew what he was doing when he gave you that drug," said Jem. "He knew it would kil you. He doesnt deserve your secrecy. tell us what he was doing-what he was keeping you working on all night and day. "

"Puttin

g those things together-those metal men. They dont arf give you the Will ies, but the money were good and the drugs were better-"

"And a great deal of good that money Will do you now," said Jem, his voice uncharacteristical y bitter. "How often did he make you take it? The silver powder?"

"Six, seven times a day. "

"No wonder theyre running out of it down the Chapel," Will muttered.

"Mortmains control ing the supply. "

"Youre not supposed to take it like that," said Jem. "The more you take, the faster you die. "

The werewolf fixed his gaze on Jem. His eyes were shot through with red veins. "And you," he said. " Ow much longer ave you got left?"

Will turned his head. Charlotte was motionless behind him at the top of the stairs, staring. He raised a hand to gesture her over. "Charlotte, if we can get him downstairs, perhaps the Silent Brothers can do something to help him. If you could-"

But Charlotte, to Will s surprise, had turned a pale shade of green. She clapped her hand over her mouth and dashed downstairs.

"Charlotte!" Will hissed; he didnt dare shout. "Oh, bloody hell. all right, Jem. You take his legs, Ill take his shoulders-"

"Theres no point, Will. " Jems voice was soft. "Hes dead. "

Will turned back. Indeed, the silver eyes were wide open, glassy, fixed on the ceiling; the chest had ceased to rise and fall. Jem reached to close his eyelids, but Will caught his friend by the wrist.

"Dont. "

"I wasnt going to give him the blessing, Will. Just close his eyes. "

"He doesnt deserve that. He was working with the Magister!" Will s whisper was rising to a shout.

"He is like me," said Jem simply. "An addict. "

Will looked at him over their joined hands. "He is not like you. And you Will not die like that. "

Jems lips parted in surprise. "Will. . . "

They both heard the sound of a door opening, and a voice call ing out Jessamines name. Will released Jems wrist, and both of them dropped flat to the ground, inching to the edge of the gal ery to see what was happening on the warehouse floor.

Chapter 16: Mortal Rage

When I have seen by Times fell hand defacd

The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age;

When sometime lofty towers I see down-razd,

And brass eternal slave to mortal rage

-Shakespeare, "Sonnet 64"

It was a peculiar experience walking the streets of London as a boy, Tessa thought as she made her way along the crowded pavement of Eastcheap.

The men who crossed her path spared her barely a glance, just pushed past her toward the doors of public houses or the next turn in the street. As a girl, walking alone through these streets at night in her fine clothes, she would have been the object of stares and jeers. As a boy she was-invisible. She had never realized what it was like to be invisible before. How light and free she felt-or would have felt, had she not felt like an aristocrat from A Tale of Two Cities on his way to the guil otine in a tumbrel.

She caught sight of Cyril only once, slipping between two buildings across the road from 32 Mincing Lane. It was a great stone building, and the black iron fence surrounding it, in the vanishing twilight, looked like rows of jagged black teeth. From the front gates dangled a padlock, but it had been left open; she slipped through, and then up the dusty steps to the front door, which was also unlocked.

Inside she found that the empty offices, their windows looking out onto Mincing Lane, were still and dead; a fly buzzed in one, hurling itself over and over against the plated glass panes until it fell, exhausted, to the sill. Tessa shuddered and hurried on.

In each room she walked into, she tensed, expecting to see Nate; in each room, he was not there. The final room had a door that opened out onto the floor of a warehouse. Dim blue light filtered in through the cracks in the boarded-up windows. She looked around uncertainly. "Nate?" she whispered.

He stepped out of the shadows between two flaking plaster pil ars. His blond hair shone in the bluish light, under a silk top hat. He wore a blue tweed frock coat, black trousers, and black boots, but his usual y immaculate appearance was disheveled. His hair hung lankly in his eyes, and there was a smear of dirt across his cheek. His clothes were wrinkled and creased as if he had slept in them. "Jessamine," he said, relief evident in his tone. "My darling. " He opened his arms.

She came forward slowly, her whole body tensed. She did not want Nate touching her, but she could see no way to avoid his embrace. His arms went around her. His hand caught the brim of her hat and pulled it free, letting her fair curls tumble down her back. She thought of Will pul ing the pins from her hair, and her stomach involuntarily tightened.

"I need to know where the Magister is," she began in a shaking voice. "Its terribly important. I overheard some of the Shadowhunters plans, you see. I know you didnt wish to tell me, but . . . "

He pushed her hair back, ignoring her words. "I see," he said, and his voice was deep and husky. "But first-" He tipped her head up with a finger under her chin. "Come and kiss me, sweet-and-twenty. "

Tessa wished he wouldnt quote Shakespeare. Shed never be able to hear that sonnet again without wanting to be sick. Every nerve in her body wanted to leap screaming through her skin in revulsion as he leaned toward her. She prayed for the others to burst in as she let him tilt her head up, up- Nate began to laugh. With a jerk of his wrist, he sent her hat sailing into the shadows; his fingers tightened on her chin, the nails digging in. "My apologies for my impetuous behavior," he said. "I couldnt help but be curious to see how far youd go to protect your Shadowhunter friends . . . little sister. "

"Nate. " Tessa tried to jerk backward, out of his grasp, but his grip on her was too strong. His other hand shot out like a snake, spinning her around, pinning her against him with his forearm across her throat. His breath was hot against her ear. He smelled sour, like old gin and sweat.