“Santángel is running an errand for me.

“Don Marius, Don Víctor, Pérez, maybethe king himself ... they’re all the same really. They spin in their orbits andwe are left to wonder at their movements. You must be careful with ... withSantángel.”It seemed everyone wanted to warn her today. “Because he made a dealwith the devil?”Valentina winced. She shook her head. “Because he is a man, Luzia.”

“I sometimes feel I’ve spent my whole life longing,” she said.“As have I.”

Ihave no talent for miracles or illusions. Maybe that was a lie too.

“She has left the torneo and is returning to Sevilla. She said she wouldkeep you daily in her prayers and give alms in your name for the rest of herdays. She went on like that for quite a while.”

The Inquisition treated allheretics the same way, and a child sinner was no less dangerous to the soulof Spain

Only the Holy Child was fully dressed, as if she had known this momentand this fate were coming. Maybe her angel had whispered in her ear. Ormaybe her guilt had done that work. Her face was streaked with tears, butshe was calm and she was praying loudly, though the prayers were nothingLuzia had ever heard.

“Where did you learn to braid a woman’s hair?” she asked, watching hispale face in the mirror, the concentration there.“I don’t recall,” he said. “But I’m happy for the skill. I would spend alifetime braiding and unbraiding your hair.”

As dawn broke and Luzia felt for the first time the joy of waking in alover’s arms,

The morning bread tasted of sweetoranges

hey slipped into the shadows of the hedges where the cold groundcaught up their whispers and moans, and where the next day the gardenerwould find a mysterious patch of white blossoms.

But now her room seemed too still, and in themoonlight, she saw the shadows lengthening, long-clawed demons comingfor her bitter, grasping soul

She sighed. “Then we are trapped here, you and I. Despite all our gifts.”She turned her head to him. “Will you kiss me now, Santángel?”

“‘We are bound to each other. So long as you remain in my service, yourluck is mine and eternal life is yours. Ah, my friend, I dreaded this day andthe look in your eyes. I’m grateful it didn’t come sooner.’

He knelt behind her, looking down upon her upturned face, her pinkcheeks, her parted lips, her many freckles like desert sand. How had he notunderstood how lovely she was? She opened her dark eyes, her gaze direct.

“‘Because I love you best in the world,’ Tello replied. ‘And if thisbargain will put an end to this ceaseless travel and we can go home, I willdo it.’ So the bargain was struck.”

efuse. But they didn’t understand how little Tello had. No family, nofortune, no home. Life was not so precious to him, and the prince’sobsession with hoarding it mystified him. Tello agreed to the bargain

“I still meet grief in sudden places, when I least expect it. A familiarsong. A smell from the kitchen. Then there it is. An enemy that can’t bebested.”

“I’ve been alive a long time.” His youth had been spent in countless beds,on floors, in fields, once between the rows of a vineyard. There had beentimes when the only way he’d been able to cope with his own immortalitywas to fuck himself free, to feel briefly, truly alive in another’s pleasure.

Clothed or unclothed, if you’re found here, I’ll be damned, and I might aswell be comfortable when I’m cursed to hell.”

She kept her eyes on the coals and said, “When we were on your horse, Iwanted you to keep riding. I wanted you to charge through the gates andonto the road. I didn’t want to come back.”For a long moment she thought he would say nothing.When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, as if he were confessing. “Ithought the same thing,” he said. “I wondered how far we might go.”

Gracia de Valerahas asked to leave the torneo.”A wise choice. A competition plagued by blood and demons was not theplace for matchmaking.

He looked down at her, his eyes glinting like coins. “This promise I cankeep.”Luzia nodded and he nudged the horse’s sides with his heels.

“Good. I will come to you.”“Swear it.”

“I didn’t come here to win!” Gracia bellowed. “I came here to find ahusband!”

“This is noillusion. Something’s wron

Corpus Christi

Then a new character appeared, dressed in olive green velvet andcarrying a tiny vihuela. The guests broke into laughter and applause.“Fortún,” Gracia said with a smile, “you’ve never looked so well.”“It’s me!” he exclaimed

“Every time you use your gift, every time you use me, you let me take abit of your power for myself. Just as I make you stronger, you do the samefor me. You make the blood flow in my veins once more. You remind myheart to beat.”“A heart cannot forget to beat,” she scoffed.His face shuttered. “All things can be forgotten given enough time. Nowcease your complaining and fix your mind on the task ahead.”He strode away and she had to resist the urge not to let a little song slipfree and trip him with a tree root.

“Doña María is kind and gentle, and being eaten alive by her ownlonging. An astróloga read her chart and told her that she wouldn’t conceiveuntil the Dutch were brought back under Catholic control.”

Shefelt something brush against her fingers. Teoda stood beside her, and thoughshe didn’t turn, Luzia was certain it had been her hand that she’d felt

“Perhaps her dreams demanded it,” Teoda said quietly.

But would she be used to putdown rebellions, to murder heretics and indios and Jews and any otherenemy of Philip’s God? Would she be covered in the blood Teoda Halcónhad seen in her dreams?

Only last night, he had spoken to her, alone in her room, as if theywere lovers, tall and white as a phantom, and yet seeming to grow strongerand more beautiful with every day that passed. He had looked at her in themirror and again she’d had the sense of rising out of her body. She hadremembered the dream of the orange grove and she knew that if she didlose her tether and somehow drifted up into the night sky and over the city,he would find a way to meet her there. She’d been certain of it.

“It’s said she has anapartment in Toledo where men come and go at all hours.”“Women too,” said the widow

Next tohis wife

But now he seemed eager to share with her, turning to her at meals tosuggest she taste an interesting dish, returning from the hunt brimming withstories, even inquiring over her own day.Last night he’d told of a man being thrown from his horse, a near deadlything.“Well,” she’d said without thinking, “I had to spend the afternoon withSeñora Galves, so I’m lucky I didn’t expire from boredom.”When he’d burst out laughing, she’d nearly toppled from her chair insurprise. Had she ever made her husband laugh?“Isn’t she the one with the son who writes poetry?” he asked.“Yes. She recited some of his verses for us.”“Please tell me you remember them.”“Only the very worst lines,” she confessed. They had spent the rest of thenight making up awful couplets and getting very drunk, and as the hourgrew late, the talking turned to kissing, but still they laughed when theystopped to catch their breath. She hadn’t known such a thing was possibleor permitted, and though she’d woken with a headache, she felt the price ofdiscovery was well worth it.

He needed to be gone from here. This sickness would pass, given time anddiversion.

That he had come to respect this woman,even like her, was understandable, if an unwanted burden given what hemust do. But that he should desire her, that he should be left addlepatedwhen she mentioned the pleasure of a hot bath? It was unacceptable. Justthat morning, when Luzia had said she thought anticipation might unravelher, his mind had been overtaken by the thought of twining a strand of herhair around his finger, of releasing it and watching the curl spring back.Unravel. A single word might drive him mad. It stuck in his mind like athorn, infecting him with a kind of fever, the thought of Luzia Cotadounraveling.

He pursued poor loveless DoñaBeatriz. He brought his guitar and played outside of her palace for days toget her attention.”“Maybe it was greater attention than he wished for.”“Or he is trying to blunt your appetite for victory, to weaken your resolve.You have as much to lose as he does.” Santángel certainly did.

The Dutch and the English will build markets fortheir goods, colonies for their taxes, new routes of trade. They will bleed theworld for an age.

He was sorry to see her remarkable hair was still in its tight braids, butthat was for the best. His grasp of this tangled situation had begun to slip,maybe in the moment of Álvaro’s death, maybe long before it. He didn’tneed further temptation.

his cock hardened.

but he knew thatwas not the only reason

As for the scorpion, Santángel had ridden out to place him in a warm spotby a rocky crag and spoken the same words he’d said when he’d subduedthe little creature: “You are not where you belong.” The scorpion had creptfrom his hand, free until death found it

is appetite for food had returned, but not for the pomp ofsuch meals or the dull conversation that accompanied them.

“I loathe her.” The words rumbled in his throat, like a pot brought to boil.“It’s why I must win. If the king makes me his champion, I will havemoney, and silks, and fine food, and I will not have to fuck her to get it.Maybe then I won’t hate myself so thoroughly.”

“Señor Donadei, if we are to be friends, don’t flatter me. It makes youlook a fool and makes me feel like one.”“I know you’re not a city beauty. But ...” He shrugged. “You look likethe girls from my town.”Was this flirtation? Luzia didn’t know, but the Holy Child was right—hewas charming.

“I’m a farmer’s son. My days were shaped by sunrise and sunset, byrainfall, fear of blight. When Doña Beatriz found me she gave me music,art, the finest food I’ve ever eaten. I should tell you I loved the simple life,that I long for home, but ...” That brilliant smile appeared again, smallerthis time, a kept secret. “I don’t! I don’t want my father’s life. I don’t wantto work until my back breaks. I don’t want to clear fields of stones andharvest the fruit and work the presses. I like this easy life.”

It was only that she was fairly sure no onehad ever told her they were glad to see her.

Her small shoulders rose and fell. Her gaze was distant. “It’s this house.My dreams are troubled here. There’s too much silver, too much gold. Allof it plunder. All of it stinking of death. At night the walls bleed.”

Something new had been born between them, something with a shape shecouldn’t quite determine. Álvaro’s death, the pomegranate, now thescorpion, each moment taking on its own alchemy. But was she changing,or was Santángel?

Santángel hesitated. “I suppose that’s a way of looking at it.”

“Speak plainly, señora.” Santángel stood in the hallway where thefootmen had been moments before. He wore boots and hunting clothes, andonly now, seeing him without his long cloak, did Luzia understand how

He would bring them home to Spain and safety. Theywould join his collection and the monks would see to the making of thereliquaries under his supervision.He knew soon he would have to turn his mind to the matter of Pérez. Hisspies had reported great workings at the torneo, but he would wait to hearwhat the vicar had to say. He would close no doors that God wanted leftopen.

She glanced atLuis, half-dressed and hoping for attention, and sighed. When she couldn’twrite, it was almost always a sign that an affair was at an end, and thatmeant crying and recriminations and many ballads badly sung. She wouldwait until they left La Casilla to end this romance, and make what use she

She smiled again and Marius caught himself preening. It had neveroccurred to him that his wife could be happy, or that he might be the one tomake her happy, or that in doing so he might be made happy in return.Perhaps his doctor was wrong and there was something to this drink ofchocolate after all

He was moving slowly toward her. She was afraid to look away from thescorpion but she could sense him drawing nearer. He had said he was akiller. Why hadn’t she feared him then?

She didn’t know how to answer. Her refranes were Spanish and Hebrewand Turkish and Greek. They were none of those things. They changeddepending on what part of the world the letter came from. They were wordsbattered and blown to all corners of the map, then returned to her, as thepeople who spoke them could never return.

I would be called a familiar

She sat down in the chair placed before her dressing table. The woman inthe watery glass before her was a stranger, her thick hair free of its braids,her dark eyes wild. She had never seen herself angry before.

“Do you? I know what it is to lower yourself, to keep your eyesdowncast, to seek invisibility. It is a danger to become nothing. You hope noone will look, and so one day when you go to find yourself, only dustremains, ground down to nothing from sheer neglect.”

Maybe she had wanted him to. See me. See that I am more than thischarade of mumbling humiliation.

“Well,” Hualit said, as Donadei descended the stairs to be greeted by hispatroness, who wore matching green and gold. “I think the whole room justfell a bit in love with Fortún Donadei.”“But only one woman has paid for his love in return,”

He looked beautiful in thegolden light of the stage, his curls darker, his sun-bronzed skin

“What is the matter with you?Why do you look like you’re ready to do murder?”Santángel mustered a smile. “I am merely thinking of what challengemay come next and how to meet it.”Assuming the liar Luzia Cotado survived the night.OceanofPDF.com

“Horseshit,” said Santángel, and Doña Valentina gasped.

thought make him want to find this mysterious suitor and bury a knife in hisheart?

There is noholier man, no holier country, no holier cause.”

A child. A farmer. A scullion. And a young woman who looked like theVirgin herself had stepped from the frame of one of Pérez’s many paintings.Luzia could taste the pomegranate in her mouth, the flavor of her ownambition, her appetite for more. She eyed the golden curtains of the stageand knew she would prove Santángel right. She was done going hungry.

ould she have felt the lossless keenly, if she had known her mother would die? Or would it have beenworse? A death drawn out over weeks or months, the knowledge taking onits own life as if feeding on hers? Would she have wondered if she hadbrought about her mother’s death by dreaming it like Lucrecia with Philip’sarmada?

Luzia wanted to ask why a centaur would stand at the center of thelabyrinth and not a minotaur, but that was too heady a question for a

image of a centaur at the center of alabyrinth.

“Close your mouth, señora,” Luzia said gently as she gathered her skirts.“You look like you’re waiting for someone to push a cake into it.”

“I feel certain your husband would take Don Víctor inhis mouth himself for the price of a fine racehorse.”

freckles

Perhaps they should have cut her hair that day. If Valentina had picked upthe razor, or Hualit the shears, if Luzia had bent her head to theirministrations, maybe more than one of them would have returned to theshabby house on Calle de Dos Santos and lived to tell this story.

“No,” said Santángel. His voice was like a sudden change in temperature,the sign of bad weather to come.Valentina and Hualit both startled.“You shouldn’t be here,” said Valentina. “It isn’t decent.”“I instruct her every day in this room.”“It’s not the same. A man—”Hualit’s laugh was forced. “Santángel is not a man. He doesn’t care forwomen or men or anything at all besides his books.”Santángel’s face remained impassive. “A book may disappoint, but it isfar easier to be rid of.”

Luzia turned. That was when she saw Santángel, his eyes glittering in theshadows beyond the doorway, sparks that didn’t burn, cold fire. She wasn’tsorry he was there. Maybe she wanted him to see something about her thatwasn’t a dirty neck and a lack of manners

What does it mean? she had asked.I don’t remember, her father admitted. I’m not sure my own fatherremembered.But her mother had the words, not just the echoes. Blessed are you, Lordour God ... Luzia couldn’t remember the Hebrew. Latin had seemed moreimportant at the time.

It stayed damp long after washing, heldthe scent of almond oil in its coils. Hair that had survived the destruction ofthe temple, the Roman legions, the long road to Morocco, that had enduredconquest, and conversion, to be tied up like a secret in her little white cap.Hair of the sands, of sun-washed stones, of a horizon she would never see.Desert hair.

When had the widow arrived? Had Juana let her in? Why had no oneknocked? How had Valentina agreed to grant a stranger such access to herhome? She voiced none of these questions.

She felt aheat pass through her, a liquid pleasure that made her press her thighstogether.

Luzia had always been a liar and now she was a killer. For it to meananything, she had to keep going. She had to find a way to win. She wouldbuild herself a life of plenty. She would force her world to bloom as she’dmade the pomegranate tree grow, and Santángel would help her do it. Evenif blood watered the soil

Eat it or don’t. Enter the torneo or turn your back on it. It isyour choice.”

A kind of stone, atalisman. They were rare and used for concentrating a sage’s abilities. Thesespells were of such great power they would crack the stone with a singleattempt.”

“Ah,” said Santángel.“Ah?”He reached for a segment of pomegranate and bit into it as if it were anapple.“I’ve never seen someone eat a pomegranate that way.” She was annoyedat how tidily he’d done it, not a fleck of juice or pith gone astray.

He dug his fingertips into the skin and pulled the fruit open, revealing itsblood-colored seeds, its juice staining the linen. “Eat, Luzia.”Luzia folded her arms even as her mouth watered. She’d had littleappetite since Álvaro had died in this room. She had killed a man—andworse, she hadn’t intended to. She wasn’t sure if it was guilt or fear thatplagued her, but she somehow knew that to eat this fruit would compoundher sin.“This feels like a trick,” she said. The kind that the devil might play.

There was comfort in this easy exchange and she realized she’d beenafraid that what had happened in this room, what she’d done to Álvaro,would alter something between them. It wasn’t that she trusted him, but sheenjoyed their lessons. She liked the feeling of his concentration on her, thepleasure he seemed to take in her success. And she liked looking at him.Strange as he was, she’d had few occasions to study a man, and he wasmore beautiful than Don Marius or the farmers and butchers down at themarket. He was finely made in the way of a seashell, the silvery gleam of anoyster, the tight, bright-edged spiral of a nautilus.

Instead he stood inher doorway and said, “Your dress doesn’t fit. I’ve brought you apomegranate.”“Is this a new way of saying good morning?”

“Luzia, I might be the holiest and most pious of Christians and it wouldnot be enough for them. Their great religion can make bread into flesh andwine into blood. But they don’t believe that any amount of holy water orprayer can truly make a Jew a Christian.”

But what are we, their descendants, who say falseprayers and kneel in their murderers’ churches?”

Luzia turned her head away, but Hualit grabbed her chin just as DonVíctor had. “Listen, Luzia. Do you know where I got the money for thecoach I took to the Prado every night to wait for Víctor? For the gowns thatso enticed him? For my own linajista to make me a good Christian widowworthy of more than a nobleman’s cock? I let a man wash my hair with hispiss because it gave him pleasure. I dressed as a milkmaid and let thealguacil fuck me in a field while I pretended to weep. And those were theleast of my humiliations. Learning to curtsy, to perform for the king, it isnothing. You must seek to please Don Víctor and Pérez or we will both payfor it.”

Yes, mama, she’d said. A good remedy is worth some pain. Blanca hadlaughed and called her daughter bold.

scorpion oil could be used to heal all kinds of ailments. But you have tocatch them and fry them up first, mi tesoro. Is the danger worth it?

He was said to speak to angelsas the Holy Child did. But if his God was not Catholic, whose voice did hehear? Was it the same devil who had spoken in this room? Who had movedthrough Luzia to tear a man in two?

She went to the window. Acrossthe street, the music room was dark, the dim shape of the harp like the prowof a ghost ship.

while Santángel was left to contemplate thetruth of what had split Luzia’s tongue and the uglier truth of his own nature.

and Santángel wassurprised to discover he was hungry. He hadn’t thought about the strength ithad taken to lift Luzia until he’d settled her in Valentina’s bed. His healthwas returning and with it his appetites. Because of her.

The danger was always that he would heal too quickly, before thebones had been properly aligned, and then they would have to be brokenagain.

“Good,” said Santángel. “And if my master would be so kind to send forsomeone who might set my broken bones so that they heal straight?”He waited for Víctor to meet his gaze.“Yes,” Víctor rasped.With his scullion in his arms, Santángel strode past the luckiest man inMadrid.

He knew this song, fromlong ago. He had heard it in a garden. His nostrils filled with the scent of anorange grove in bloom.

He grasped her hand in his. “I was wrong when I told you to fear menand their ambition,” he murmured in her ear. “Fear nothing, Luzia Cotado,

“Luzia,” he said again, her name repeated, an incantation. “Luzia, payattention to my voice and nothing else. You must find a song. You are theburnt bread. You are the broken glass. I cannot put you back together, butyou can.”

The pomegranate tree burst to life beside him, its branches slammingagainst the ceiling, heavy fruit tumbling from its branches.

She had been lulled by this room, by Santángel’s patience, by velvetdresses and lessons in comportment. She hated this house and everyone init. She hated this city too. Anywhere but here, she thought. I would beanywhere but here. She fought to find the melody and then there, the song,she followed it, humming, the sound blooming from her chest with thestrength of a hive, a swarm of bees singing with her, the words takingshape, traveling across the sea, across time, the words of exile, of newbeginnings, of survival.Aboltar kazal, aboltar mazal.The song emerged in a shout and Luzia screamed as pain tore throughher.

Santángel said nothing. He didn’t fight or resist or cry out. His gaze waslocked on Víctor, but there was no light in his eyes, only a long cold night.

“Álvaro, break his fingers. If ourstudent is making such wonderful progress, she will be able to repair them.”

“Pomegranate,” she gasped, delighted.

ut in thisroom, in the quiet of the morning or the afternoon, there was only the lessonand the pleasure of letting magic take shape, of feeling it expand and growstronger. It was why she forgot herself so easily with him, why sheneglected to curb her tongue or hunch her shoulders

Heremained in his chair, staring at Luzia, still as a cat that has spotted its prey.

the faint glimmer of anisland in the darkness

kind of dye to burnishred.

She had heard of heretics and witches being burned alivealongside Jews and Muslims suspected of keeping to their laws after beingbaptized.

Later Luzia would understand that when it came to anything worthhaving, there was no end to more. She would reflect on the path she’d seenbefore her and how wrong she’d been about where it would lead.But on this day she only smiled at her aunt and said, “They will tire ofmy tricks eventually and then I will return to my sad servant life.”“If you’re lucky,” Hualit said. She gave Luzia a little shove through thegate. “And our family has never been lucky.”

and rage and something nameless that had the shape of a bird, lost inthe rafters of a building, searching for sky.

“Señorita Cotado, I am employed at Casa Olmeda and my mistress bademe inquire if you might consider a change in position. She can offer you afar better wage and situation.”

“I hear Quiteria Escárcega has two lovers and lets them both take her atthe same time,”

Valentina’s handswere trembling as she took it.The tear was gone

Lucrecia deLeón had dreams of the future, the disgraced prophet Piedrola claimed hespoke to angels, and the Mendozas were said to have a holy sage in theiremploy who could move objects with his mind.

It felt like a mouse inher hand,

At well past twenty,

None of it was strictlyMoorish, but it was all decadent enough to give De Paredes the feeling ofthe forbidden.

Now the girl looked up, and Valentina was startled to see her eyes weredeep brown, nearly black.“What did you see, señora?” she asked, her dark gaze like a slick river

endure the discomfort of DoñaValentina’s anger than the peril of her interest

it was said to deny themiracle of resurrection.

but since her son had fallen inlove with that dashing lady playwright

“MagnusBane.”

Jem took the ruby pendant from Tessa to bring it tothe vampire

“Oh, God,” she said in a soft whisper to Jem. “I—my heart’snot beating. I feel as if I’ve died. Jem—”He stroked her hand, carefully, soothingly, and looked up ather with his silver eyes. The expression in them had not changedwith the change in her; he looked at her as he had before, as ifshe were still Tessa Gray. “You’re alive,” he said, in a voice so softonly she could hear it. “You’re wearing a different skin, but you’reTessa, and you’re alive. Do you know how I know that?”She shook her head.“Because you said the word ‘God’ just now to me. No vampirecould say that.” He squeezed her hand. “Your soul is still the

“And of course you wouldn’t be going alone,” Will saidimpatiently. “I would go with you. I wouldn’t let anything happento you.”“Will, no,” Charlotte said. “You and Tessa alone, in a house fullof vampires? I forbid it.”“Then who would you send in with her, if not me?” Willdemanded. “You know I can protect her, and you know I’m theright choice—”

I was atthe gambling house that night because a warlock friend of minewas hoping to win a little easy money at cards.

Will and Jem, walking on either side of her

Tessa looked at him measuredly. The witchlight made his skinpaler, his eyes more intently blue. They were the color of thewater of the North Atlantic, where the ice drifted on its blue-black surface like snow clinging to the dark glass pane of a

When no onereplied, she turned to Jem as the likeliest to give her an answer

Jessamine bared her teeth at him. “You’re being ridiculous.”“You are, you know,” Charlotte told him.“I mean, I’m wearing blue. Blue goes with everything,”Jessamine went on. “Which, really, you ought to know. You’revain enough about your own clothes.”“Blue does not go with everything,” Will told her. “It does notgo with red, for instance.”“I have a red and blue striped waistcoat,” Henry interjected,reaching for the peas.“And if that isn’t proof that those two colors should never beseen together under Heaven, I don’t know what is.”“Will,” Charlotte said sharply. “Don’t speak to Henry like that.Henry—”Henry raised his head. “Yes?”Charlotte sighed. “That’s Jessamine’s plate you’re spooningpeas onto, not yours. Do pay attention, darling.”

and Willwas lying on the floor at her feet in a welter of broken crockeryfrom the sideboard

As he turned his head tolook at Tessa, she saw something green gleam against the base ofhis throat

“But Mr. Carstairs is not like that. He isn’t at all like theothers.

“Him.” The disgust was plain in Sophie’s voice. “He’s—Well,he’s a bad sort, isn’t he? Reminds me of the son of my lastemployer. He was proud just like Mr. Herondale. And whateverhe wanted, he got, from the day he was born. And if he didn’t getit, well . . .” She reached up then, almost unconsciously, andtouched the side of her face, where the scar ran from mouth totemple.

t’s modeled exactlyon the house we lived in, on Curzon Street.

Mortmain looked faintly surprised to be asked. “The Magister.”

“Ihate you!” Jessamine shrieked, her voice thin and trembling. “Ihate you, and everything like you—Downworlders—disgusting,disgusting—”“Jessamine!” Tessa ran to the other girl and threw her armsaround her, pinning Jessamine’s arms against her body. For amoment Jessamine struggled, and Tessa realized there was noway she could hold her. She was strong, the muscles under hersoft feminine skin coiled and as tense as a whip.

. “Charlottenever listens to anyone. She’s always henpecking poor Henry. Idon’t know why he married her at all.”“I assume because he loved her?”Jessamine snorted. “No one thinks that. Henry wanted accessto the Institute so he could work on his little experiments in thecellar and not have to fight. And I don’t think he minded marryingCharlotte—I don’t think there was anyone else he wanted tomarry—but if someone else had been running the Institute, hewould have married them instead.”

advised enough times—not to force on Henry affection heprobably did not want.

“You’re not a bumbler, Henry,” Charlotte said gently. Shelonged to reach out and stroke his face, push his hair back andreassure him. But she held herself back. She knew—she had been

“Goodness,” Tessa said to the back of his head. “If you keepseeing Six-Fingered Nigel like this, he’ll expect you to declareyour intentions.”Jem choked on his tea.

“Bah.” Jem spoke lightly, but there was an edge to his voice.“He made his fortune in opium. All of them did. Buying opium inIndia, sailing it to Canton, trading it for goods.”

“We’ve met,” Jem said quietly, and Tessa felt a rush of heat inher face. She couldn’t help staring at him as he picked up a pieceof bread and applied butter to it. It seemed hard to imagine thatanyone quite so ethereal-looking could possibly eat toast.

“He is quite well enough.” The voice wasn’t Charlotte’s. It wasJem’s

nd Tessa wondered who BenedictLightwood might be

“You’d better tell Benedict Lightwood, too,” said Will. “Youknow how he is.”

“Please, Tessa.” There was a pleading urgency in Will’s blueeyes. “It would be better if you said nothing about it.”Somehow Tessa found she could not say no. “I—all right.”“Thank you.” Will released her shoulder, and raised his hand totouch her cheek—so lightly she thought she might almost haveimagined it.

Something about the way he smelled wasstrange, but she couldn’t place exactly what it was.

“I’ll get it, then.” It was as gently as Tessa had ever heard Willsay anything. “Stay here.”

Will unhitchedhimself from the doorway and sauntered into the room.

as if he had just come fromoutdoors, and his cheeks were flushed.

—tea from Fortnum and Mason, and chocolates. Andthen Aunt took sick and died,

“I was three when they died in a carriage accident

His eyes were closed. “Will?” he said, without opening his eyesor ceasing to play. “Will, is that you?”

But they were, she thought, so I can’t possiblybe a warlock, thank God.

a tiny piece ofland sliced out of what was then the Holy Roman Empire

“I never said I was an orphan.” Will spoke with unexpectedsavagery. “And I loathe poetry. So, as it happens, you really don’tknow anything about me at all, do you?”

“Not at you,” said Will, grinning, “more because of you. I’venever seen anyone get so excited over books before. You’d thinkthey were diamonds.”

“But she can’t be any good at it, can she? I mean, women don’thave those sort of feelings.”“What kind of feelings are those?”“Bloodlust, I suppose,” Tessa said after a moment. “Fierceness.Warrior feelings.”

thehard T, the caressing S, the way it seemed to end on a breath.

or there would be morethan you and Jessamine—”“And Jem,” Will reminded her.

“Oh! Do you have A Tale of Two Cities?”“That silly thing? Men going around getting their headschopped off for love? Ridiculous.”

Will’s eyes were very blue. “There’s plenty of sense in nonsensesometimes, if you wish to look for it.”

“Do you think the library has The Wide, Wide World? Or LittleWomen?”“Never heard of either of them,” said Will. “We haven’t manynovels.”

He leaned against the door, his arms crossedover his chest. “I said I would get you more books, didn’t I?”

Tessa was glad to hear it. She’d felt awful about her reaction toSophie’s scar, and the thought that Sophie had a male admirer—and a handsome one at that—eased her conscience slightly.

Oh,no you don’t,” he added as Tessa reached for the box. He deftlystepped in front of her. “The Pyxis can’t be touched by anyonewho isn’t a Shadowhunter. Nasty things will happen.

Thomas grinned. He had asweet, pleasant, open sort of face, and a lot of curling hair. Hisshirt was open at the neck, showing a strong throat. Despite hisobvious youth, he was extremely tall and muscular

Tessa couldn’t help wondering what it was thatHenry Branwell did, and where he did it.

Will looked horrified. “What kind of monster could possiblyhate chocolate?”

She shuddered. “Oh, no. I hate chocolate.”

(InNew York, he added, the term was “Conclave.” AmericanShadowhunters, it seemed, had their own lexicon.)

“Lost?” inquired a voice behind her. A slow, arrogant voice,immediately familiar.Will.Tessa turned and saw that he was leaning carelessly against thewall behind her, as if he were lounging in a doorway, his feet intheir scuffed boots crossed in front of him.

Magnus Ban

harlotte cast Jessaminea freezing look.

For a moment Will’s eyes met hers, his own a very dark blue.Then his expression changed—only a slight change, but she sawit, though she could not have said what the change meant

he feltsomehow as if she knew him better than she really did

I had been told, was aDown-worlder brothel catering to mundanes with unusualtastes.”

Jessamine ignored him. “Is it dreadful, being so evil? Are youworried you’ll go to Hell?” She leaned closer to Tessa. “What doyou think the Devil’s like?”

“It was awfully kind of her—Miss Jessamine, I mean—to lendme this dress.”

Whatif one of the times I Changed, when I turned back into myself, Ididn’t do it quite right? What if this isn’t even my true face?

“She has a strict manner, but she’s really very kind,” Sophiesaid, laying out on the bed the dress Tessa was meant to wear.“I’ve never known anyone with a better heart.”

But Charlotte only looked rueful. “Sophie is my good angel,”she said. “I tend to be a little too blunt.

Before Charlotte could answer, the door opened, and aslender, dark-haired girl in a white cap and apron came in,carrying a tea tray, which she set down on the table betweenthem. “Sophie,”

she was so slight that the chair roseup high above her, as if she were a child sitting in a parent’s chair.

and Tessa saw with some surprise that she had darktattoos. A woman with tattoos!

eside him stood a very small woman, almost child-size, withthick brown hair knotted at the nape of her neck, and a neat,clever little face with bright, dark eyes like a bird’s. She wasn’tpretty exactly, but there was a calm, kindly look on her face thatmade the ache of panic in Tessa’s stomach ease slightly,

She turned her head to the side and sank herteeth into the hand gripping her left arm. Someone yelled and letgo of her; spinning, she saw a tall man with a shock of untidyginger hair staring at her with a reproachful expression, hisbleeding left hand cradled against his chest. “Will!” he shouted.“Will, she bit me!”

For a moment they stared at each other,silently, across the space that separated them

Then do it! Whip me bloody. Kill me. I don’t care!” Tessashouted, and was gratified to see that the Dark Sisters looked atleast a little taken aback by her outburst;

“Henry! Some assistance, please!Henry!”

The place was a slaughterhouse. There were long woodentables running the length of the room. Bodies lay on one of them—human bodies, stripped and pale. Each had a black incision inthe shape of a Y marking its chest, and each head dangled backover the edge of the table, the hair of the women sweeping thefloor like brooms. On the center table were piles of bloodstainedknives and machinery—copper cogs and brass gears and sharp-toothed silver hacksaws.

He stared at her for another long moment, the corners of hismouth twitching, then held out his hand

. “By the Angel, it’s like the ninthcircle of Hell down here—”“The ninth circle of Hell is cold,” Tessa said automatically.Will stared at her. “What?”“In the Inferno,” she told him. “Hell is cold. It’s covered in ice.”