She did not have to do it, she thought. She could walk out there and tel them she had tried and it had not worked. But she knew even as the thought flickered through her mind, she could not do that. Somehow she had come to think of herself as bound with loyalty to the Institute's Shadowhunters. They had protected her, shown her kindness, taught her much of the truth of what she was, and they had the same goal she did-find Mortmain and destroy him. She thought of Jem's kind eyes on her, steady and silver and full of faith.

With a deep breath she closed her fingers around the button.

The darkness came and enveloped her, wrapping her in its cool silence.

The faint sound of the fire crackling in the grate, the wind against the panes of the window, vanished. Blackness and silence. She felt her body Change: Her hands felt large and swol en, shot through with the pains of arthritis. Her back ached, her head felt heavy, her feet were throbbing and painful, and there was a bitter taste in her mouth. Rotting teeth, she thought, and felt ill, so il that she had to force her mind back to the darkness surrounding her, looking for the light, the connection.

It came, but not as the light usual y did, as steady as a beacon. It came in shattered fragments, as if she were watching a mirror break into pieces.

Each piece held an image that whipped by her, some at terrifying speed.

She saw the image of a horse rearing back, a dark hil covered in snow, the black basalt Council room of the Clave, a cracked headstone. She struggled to seize and catch at a single image. Here was one, a memory: Starkweather dancing at a bal with a laughing woman in an empire-waisted bal gown. Tessa discarded it, reaching for another: The house was small, nestled in the shadows between one hil and another. Starkweather watched from the darkness of a copse of trees as the front door opened and out came a man. Even in memory Tessa felt Starkweather's heart begin to beat more quickly. The man was tall, broad- shouldered-and as green-skinned as a lizard. His hair was black. The child he held by the hand, by contrast, seemed as normal as a child could be- small, chubby-fisted, pink-skinned.

Tessa knew the man's name, because Starkweather knew it.

John Shade.

Shade hoisted the child up onto his shoulders as through the door of the house spilled a number of odd-looking metal creatures, like a child's jointed dol s, but human-size, and with skin made of shining metal. The creatures were featureless. Though, oddly, they wore clothes-the rough workman's coveral s of a Yorkshire farmer on some, and on others plain muslin dresses.

The automatons joined hands and began to sway as if they were at a country dance. The child laughed and clapped his hands.

"Look well on this, my son," said the green-skinned man, "for one day I shal rule a clockwork kingdom of such beings, and you shall be its prince."

"John!" came a voice from inside the house; a woman leaned through the window. She had long hair the color of a cloudless sky. "John, come in.

Someone Will see! And you'l frighten the boy!"

"He's not frightened at all, Anne." The man laughed, and set the boy down on the ground, ruffling his hair. "My little clockwork prince . . ."

A swel of hatred rose in Starkweather's heart at the memory, so violent that it ripped Tessa free, sending her spinning through the darkness again.

She began to realize what was happening. Starkweather was becoming senile, losing the thread that connected thought and memory. What came and went in his mind was seemingly random. With an effort she tried to visualize the Shade family again, and caught the brief edge of a memory-a room torn apart, cogs and cams and gears and ripped metal everywhere, fluid leaking as black as blood, and the green-skinned man and blue-haired woman lying dead among the ruins. Then that, too, was gone, and she saw, again and again, the face of the girl from the portrait on the stairwel -the child with the fair hair and stubborn expression-saw her riding a smal pony, her face set determinedly, saw her hair blowing in the wind off the moors- saw her screaming and writhing in pain as a stele was set to her skin and black Marks stained its whiteness. And last, Tessa saw her own face, appearing out of the shadowy gloom of the York Institute's nave, and she felt the wave of his shock ripple through her, so strong that it threw her out of his body and back into her own.

There was a faint thump as the button fell out of her hand and struck the floor. Tessa raised her head and looked into the mirror over her vanity. She was herself again, and the bitter taste in her mouth now was blood where she had bitten her lip.

She rose to her feet, feeling ill, and went over to the window, throwing it open to feel the cool night air on her sweaty skin. The night outside was heavy with shadow; there was little wind, and the black gates of the Institute seemed to loom before her, their motto speaking more than ever of mortality and death. A glimmer of movement caught her eye. She looked down and saw a white shape gazing up at her from the stony courtyard below. A face, twisted but recognizable. Mrs. Dark.

She gasped and jerked back reflexively, out of sight of the window. A wave of dizziness came over her. She shook it off fiercely, her hands gripping the sill, and pulled herself forward again, gazing down with dread- But the courtyard was empty, nothing moving inside it but shadows. She closed her eyes, then opened them again slowly, and put her hand to the ticking angel at her throat. There had been nothing there, she told herself, just the rags of her wild imagination. tell ing herself she'd better rein in her daydreaming or she'd end up as mad as old Starkweather, she slid the window shut.

Chapter 8: A Shadow On the Soul

Oh, just, subtle, and mighty opium! that to the hearts of poor and rich alike, for the wounds that will never heal, and for "the pangs that tempt the spirit to rebel," bringest an assuaging balm; eloquent opium! that with thy potent rhetoric stealest away the purposes of wrath; and to the guilty man for one night givest back the hopes of his youth, and hands washed pure from blood.

-Thomas De Quincey, Confessions of an English Opium-Eater In the morning when Tessa went down for breakfast, she found to her surprise that Will was not there. She had not realized how completely she had expected him to return during the night, and she found herself pausing in the doorway, scanning the seats around the table as if somehow she had accidental y glanced past him. It was not until her gaze came to rest on Jem, who returned her look with a rueful and worried expression of his own, that she knew that it was true. Will was still gone.

"Oh, he'l be back, for goodness' sake," said Jessamine crossly, banging her teacup down in its saucer. "He always does come crawling home. Look at the two of you. Like you've lost a favorite puppy."

Tessa shot Jem an almost guilty, conspiratorial look as she sat down across from him and took a slice of bread from the toast rack. Henry was absent; Charlotte, at the head of the table, was very clearly trying not to look nervous and worried, and failing. "Of course he will," she said. "Wil can take care of himself."

"Do you think he might have gone back to Yorkshire?" said Tessa. "To warn his family?"

"I . . . don't think so," Charlotte responded. "Wil has avoided his family for years. And he knows the Law. He knows he cannot speak to them. He knows what he would lose." Her eyes rested briefly on Jem, who was playing industriously with his spoon.

"When he saw Cecily, at the manor, he attempted to rush to her-" Jem said.

"In the heat of the moment," said Charlotte. "But he returned with you to London; I am confident he Will return to the Institute as well. He knows you obtained that button, Tessa. He'l want to discover what Starkweather knew."

"Precious little, real y," said Tessa. She still felt obscurely guilty that she had not found more useful information in Starkweather's memories. She had tried to explain what it was like to be in the mind of someone whose brain was decaying, but it had been hard to find the words, and she remembered mainly the look of disappointment on Charlotte's face when she'd said she had discovered nothing useful about Ravenscar Manor. She had told them all of Starkweather's memories of the Shade family, and that indeed if their deaths had been the impetus for Mortmain's desire for justice and vengeance, it did seem as if it would be a powerful one. She had kept his shock at seeing her to herself-it was baffling still, and seemed somehow private.

"What if Will chooses to leave the Clave forever?" Tessa said. "Would he return to his family to protect them?"

"No," Charlotte replied a little sharply. "No. I don't think he Will do that." She would miss Will if he were gone, Tessa thought with surprise. Will was always so unpleasant-and often so to Charlotte-that Tessa sometimes forgot the stubborn love Charlotte seemed to feel for all her charges.

"But if they're in danger-," Tessa protested, then fell silent as Sophie entered the room carrying a pot of hot water, and set it down. Charlotte brightened at the sight of her.

"Tessa, Sophie, Jessamine," she said. "Lest you forget, you all have training this morning with Gabriel and Gideon Lightwood."

"I cannot do it," Jessamine said immediately.

"Why not? I thought you had recovered from your headache-"

"Yes, but I don't want it to come back, do I?" Jessamine stood up hurriedly.

"I'd prefer to help you, Charlotte."

"I don't need your assistance writing to Ragnor Fell, Jessie. I'd really rather you took advantage of the training-"

"But there's dozens of replies piling up in the library from the Downworlders we've queried about Mortmain's whereabouts," Jessamine argued. "I could help you sort through those."

Charlotte sighed. "Very well." She turned to Tessa and Sophie. "In the meantime you won't say anything to the Lightwood boys about Yorkshire, or about Will ? I could do without having them in the Institute right now myself, but there's no help for it. It's a show of good faith and confidence to continue the training. You must behave in all ways as if nothing is wrong. Can you do that, girls?"

"Of course we can, Mrs. Branwell," said Sophie immediately. Her eyes were bright and she was smiling. Tessa sighed inwardly, not sure how to feel. Sophie adored Charlotte, and would do anything to please her. She also detested Will and was unlikely to be worried about his absence. Tessa looked across the table at Jem. She felt a hollowness in her stomach, the ache of not knowing where Will was, and wondered if he felt it too. His normal y expressive face was still and unreadable, though when he caught her glance, he smiled a gentle, encouraging smile. Jem was Will 's parabatai, his blood brother; surely if there were truly something to be concerned about where Will was involved, Jem would not be able to hide it-would he?

From the kitchen Bridget's voice rol ed out in a sweet high warble: "Must I go bound while you go free Must I love a man who doesn't love me Must I be born with so little art A s to love a man who'll break my heart?"

Tessa pushed her chair back from the table. "I think I had better go and get dressed."

Having changed from her day dress into gear, Tessa sat down on the edge of her bed and picked up the copy of Vathek Will had given her. It did not bring the thought of Will smiling to her mind, but other images of Will -Wil bending over her in the Sanctuary, covered in blood; Will squinting into the sun on the roof of the Institute; Will rol ing down the hil in Yorkshire with Jem, splattering himself with mud and not caring; Will fal ing off the table in the dining room; Will holding her in the dark. Will, Will, Will.

She threw the book. It struck the fireplace mantel and bounced off, landing on the floor. If only there were some way to scrape Will out of her mind, like scraping the mud off your shoe. If only she knew where he was. Worry made it worse, and she could not stop herself from worrying. She could not forget the look on his face as he had gazed at his sister.

Distraction made her late to the training room; fortunately, when she arrived, the door was open and there was no one there but Sophie, holding a long knife in her hand and examining it thoughtful y as she might examine a dust mop to decide if there was still use in it or if it was time for it to be thrown away.

She looked up as Tessa came into the room. "Well, you look like a wet weekend, miss," she said with a smile. "Is everything all right?" She cocked her head to the side as Tessa nodded. "Is it Master Will ? He's gone off missing for a day or two before. He'l be back, don't you fear."

"That's kind of you to say, Sophie, especial y as I know you are not overfond of him."

"I rather thought you weren't either," said Sophie, "least-ways not anymore . . ."

Tessa looked at her sharply. She had not had a real conversation with Sophie about Will since the roof incident, she thought, and besides, Sophie had warned her off him, comparing him to a poisonous snake. Before Tessa could say anything in reply, the door opened and Gabriel and Gideon Lightwood came in, fol owed by Jem. He winked at Tessa before disappearing, closing the door behind him.

Gideon went straight over to Sophie. "A good choice of blade," he said, faint surprise underlining his words. She blushed, looking pleased.

"So," said Gabriel, who had somehow managed to get behind Tessa without her noticing. After examining the racks of weapons along the wal s, he drew down a knife and handed it to her. "Feel the weight of the blade there."

Tessa tried to feel the weight of it, struggling to remember what he had told her about where and how it should balance in her palm.

"What do you think?" Gabriel asked. She looked up at him. Of the two boys he certainly looked more like his father, with his aquiline features and the faint shading of arrogance to his expression. His slim mouth curled up at the corners. "Or are you too busy worrying about Herondale's whereabouts to practice today?"

Tessa nearly dropped the knife. "What?"

"I heard you and Miss Col ins when I was coming up the stairs.

Disappeared, has he? Not surprising, considering I don't think Will Herondale and a sense of responsibility are even on speaking terms."

Tessa set her chin. Conflicted as she was about Will, there was something about someone outside the Institute's smal family criticizing him that set her teeth on edge. "It's quite a common occurrence, nothing to fuss about," she said. "Wil is a-free spirit. He'l return soon enough."

"I hope not," said Gabriel. "I hope he's dead."

Tessa's hand tightened around the knife. "You mean that, don't you? What did he do to your sister to make you hate him so much?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

"Gabriel." Gideon's voice was sharp. "Shal we get to the instruction, please, and cease wasting time?"