Cassandra Clare - Clockwork Prince

“Astriola,” he said. “That is demon pox. You had evidence that demon pox existed and you didn’t mention it to me! Et tu, Brute! ” He rolled up the paper and hit Jem over the head with it.

“Ouch!” Jem rubbed his head ruefully. “The words meant nothing to me! I assumed it a minor sort of ailment. It hardly seemed as if it were what killed her. She slit her wrists, but if Benedict wanted to protect his children from the fact that their mother had taken her own life—”

“By the Angel,” said Charlotte softly. “No wonder she killed herself. Because her husband gave her demon pox. And she knew it. ” She whirled on Sophie, who made a little gasping noise. “Does Gideon know of this?”

Sophie shook her head, saucer-eyed. “No.”

“But wouldn’t the Silent Brothers be obligated to tell someone if they discovered this?” Henry demanded. “It seems—well, dash it, irresponsible to say the least—”

“Of course they would tell someone. They would tell her husband. And no doubt they did, but what of it? Benedict probably already knew,” said Will. “There would have been no need to tell the children; the rash appears when one has first contracted the disease, so they were too old for her to have passed it on to them. The Silent Brothers doubtless told Benedict, and he said ‘Horrors!’ and promptly concealed the whole thing. One cannot prosecute the dead for improper relations with demons, so they burned her body, and that was that.”

“So how is it that Benedict is still alive?” Tessa demanded. “Should the disease not have killed him by now?”

“Mortmain,” said Sophie. “He’s been giving him drugs to slow the progress of the disease all this time.”

“Slow it, not stop it?” asked Will.

“No, he’s still dying, and faster now,” said Sophie. “That’s why he’s so desperate, and he’ll do anything Mortmain wants.”

“Demon pox!” Will whispered, and looked at Charlotte. Despite his clear excitement, there was a steady light flickering behind his blue eyes, a light of sharp intelligence, as if he were a chess player examining his next move for potential advantages or drawbacks. “We must contact Benedict immediately,” said Will. “Charlotte must play on his vanity. He is too sure of getting the Institute. She must tell him that though the Consul’s official decision is not scheduled until Sunday, she has realized that it is he who will come out ahead, and she wishes to meet with him and make peace before it happens.”

“Benedict is stubborn—,” Charlotte began.

“Not as much as is he is proud,” said Jem. “Benedict has always wanted control of the Institute, but he also wants to humiliate you, Charlotte. To prove that a woman cannot run an Institute. He believes that Sunday the Consul will rule to take the Institute away from you, but that does not mean he will be able to pass up a chance to see you grovel in private.”

“To what end?” Henry demanded. “Sending Charlotte to confront Benedict accomplishes what, exactly?”

“Blackmail,” said Will. His eyes were burning with excitement. “Mortmain may not be in our grasp, but Benedict is, and for now that may be enough.”

“You think he will walk away from trying to get the Institute? Won’t that simply leave the business for one of his followers to take up?” Jem asked.

“We’re not trying to get rid of him. We want him to throw his full support behind Charlotte. To withdraw his challenge and to declare her fit to run the Institute. His followers will be at a loss; the Consul will be satisfied. We hold the Institute. And more than that, we can force Benedict to tell us what he knows of Mortmain—his location, his secrets, everything.”

Tessa said dubiously, “But I am almost certain he is more afraid of Mortmain than he is of us, and he certainly needs what Mortmain provides. Otherwise he will die.”

“Yes, he will. But what he did—having improper relations with a demon, then infecting his wife, causing her death—is the knowing murder of another Shadowhunter. It would not be considered only murder, either, but murder accomplished through demonic means. That would call down the worst of all punishments.”

“What is worse than death?” asked Tessa, and immediately regretted saying it as she saw Jem’s mouth tighten almost imperceptibly.

“The Silent Brothers will remove that which makes him Nephilim. He will become Forsaken,” said Will. “His sons will become mundane, their Marks stripped. The name of Lightwood will be stricken from the rolls of Shadowhunters. It will be the end of the Lightwood name among Nephilim. There is no greater shame. It is a punishment even Benedict will fear.”

“And if he does not?” said Jem in a low voice.

“Then, we are no worse off, I suppose.” It was Charlotte, whose expression had hardened as Will had spoken; Sophie was leaning against the mantel, a dejected figure, and Henry, his hand on his wife’s shoulder, looked unusually subdued. “We will call on Benedict. There is no time to send a proper message ahead; it will have to be something of a surprise. Now, where are the calling cards?”

Will sat upright. “You’ve decided on my plan, then?”

“It’s my plan now,” said Charlotte firmly. “You may accompany me, Will, but you will follow my lead, and there will be no talk of demon pox until I say so.”

“But—but . . .” Will sputtered.

“Oh, leave it,” said Jem, kicking Will, not without affection, lightly on the ankle.

“She’s annexed my plan!”

“Will,” Tessa said firmly. “Do you care more about the plan being enacted or about getting credit for it?”

Will pointed a finger at her. “That,” he said. “The second one.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes skyward. “William, this will be either on my terms or not at all.”

Will took a deep breath, and looked at Jem, who grinned at him; Will let the air out of his lungs with a defeated sigh and said, “All right, then, Charlotte. Do you intend for all of us to go?”

“You and Tessa, certainly. We need you as witnesses regarding the party. Jem, Henry, there is no need for you to go, and we require at least one of you to remain and guard the Institute.”

“Darling . . .” Henry touched Charlotte’s arm with a quizzical look on his face.

She looked up at him in surprise. “Yes?”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

Charlotte smiled at him, a smile that transformed her tired, pinched face. “Quite sure, Henry; Jem isn’t technically an adult, and to leave him here alone—not that he isn’t capable—will only add fuel to Benedict’s fire of complaints. But thank you.”

Tessa looked at Jem; he gave her a regretful smile and, hidden behind the spread of her skirts, pressed her hand with his. His touch sent a warm rush of reassurance through her, and she rose to her feet, amid Will rising to go, while Charlotte sought for a pen to scribble a note to Benedict on the back of a flossed calling card, which Cyril would deliver while they waited in the carriage.

“I’d best fetch my hat and gloves,” Tessa whispered to Jem, and made her way to the door. Will was just behind her, and a moment later, the drawing room door swinging shut behind them, they found themselves alone in the corridor. Tessa was about to hurry down the hall toward her room, when she heard Will’s footsteps behind her.

“Tessa!” he called, and she swung around. “Tessa, I need to speak with you.”

“Now?” she said, surprised. “I gathered from Charlotte that she wanted us to hurry—”

“Damn hurrying,” said Will, coming closer to her. “Damn Benedict Lightwood and the Institute and all this business. I want to talk to you .” He grinned at her. There had always been a reckless energy to him, but this was different—the difference between the recklessness of despair and the abandonment of happiness. But what an odd time to be happy!