Clockwork Princess

be much of what was keeping Jem upright.
    She and Henry had heard the dying scream of the worm. Gabriel had found them, what felt like moments later, racing down the front steps. He had told them breathlessly of the death of the creature, and then of what had happened to Jem, and everything for Tessa had gone white, as if she had been struck suddenly and hard across the face.
    They were words she had not heard in a long time, but half-expected always, and dreamed of sometimes in nightmares that left her bolting upright, fighting for air—“Jem,” “collapse,” “breathing,” “blood,” “Will,” “Will is with him,” “Will—”
    Of course Will was with him.
    The others were swarming about, the Lightwood brothers with their sister, and even Tatiana was quiet, or perhaps Tessa simply could not hear her hysterics. Tessa was aware of Cecily nearby as well, and Henry standing awkwardly beside her, as if he wished to comfort her but did not know how to begin.
    Will’s eyes met Tessa’s as she came closer, almost tripping again over her torn gown. For a moment they were in perfect understanding. Jem was what they could still look each other straight in the eye about. On the topic of Jem they were both fierce and unyielding. Tessa saw Will’s hand tighten on Jem’s sleeve. “She’s here,” he said.
    Jem’s eyes opened slowly. Tessa fought to keep the look of shock from her face. His pupils were blown out, his irises a thin ring of silver around the black.
“Ni shou shang le ma, quin ai de?”
he whispered.
    Jem had been teaching Tessa Mandarin, at her insistence. She understood
“quin ai de,”
at least, if not the rest.
My dear, my darling
. She reached for his hand, squeezed it. “Jem …”
    “Are you hurt, my love?” Will said. His voice was as level as his eyes, and for a moment the blood came up in Tessa’s cheeks and she glanced down at her hand where it held Jem’s; his fingers were paler than hers, like a doll’s hands, made of porcelain. How had she not seen he was so ill?
    “Thank you for the translation, Will,” she answered, not looking away from her fiancé. Jem and Will were both splattered with black ichor, but Jem’s chin and throat were also stained with flecks of red blood. His own blood.
    “I am not hurt,” Tessa whispered, and then she thought,
No, this will not do, not at all. Be strong for him
. She straightened her shoulders, keeping her grip on Jem’s hand. “Where is his medicine?” she demanded of Will. “Did he not take it before we left the Institute?”
    “Do not talk about me as if I am not here,” Jem said, but there was no anger in it. He turned his head to the side and said something, softly, under his breath to Will, who nodded and let go of his shoulder. Tessa could sense the tension in Will’s posture; he was poised, catlike, to seize Jem again if the other boy should slip or fall, but Jem remained standing. “I am stronger when Tessa is here, you see. I told it to you,” said Jem, still in the same soft voice.
    At that, Will did duck his head so that Tessa could not see his eyes. “I see it,” he said. “Tessa, there is none of his medicine here. I believe he left the Institute without taking enough of it, though he will not admit it. Ride back to the Institute with him in the carriage, and watch over him—someone must.”
    Jem took a rough breath. “The others—”
    “I will drive for you. It will be little trouble; Balios and Xanthos know the way. Henry can drive the Lightwoods.” Will was brisk and efficient, too brisk and efficient to even be thanked; he did not seem as if he wanted it. He helped Tessa get Jem into the carriage, very careful not to brush her shoulder or touch her hand as he did. He moved to tell the others what was happening. She caught a bit of Henry explaining that he needed to remove Benedict’s record books from the house, before she reached to swing the carriage door closed, shutting herself and Jem into a welcome silence.
    “What was inside the house?” Jem asked as they rattled through the open gate bordering the Lightwoods’ property. He still looked ghastly, his head back against the cushions of the carriage, his eyes at half-mast, his cheekbones shining with fever. “I heard Henry speaking of Benedict’s study …”
    “He had gone mad in there,” she said, chafing his cold hands between hers. “In the days before he transformed, when Gabriel said he would not leave the room, his mind must have