Clockwork Princess

been deliberately bought up in the last few weeks. There is nothing.”
    “But Jem,” Tessa said, shock buzzing through her like fire. “Without the
yin fen
…”
    “He’ll die.” Will paused for a moment in front of the library door; his eyes met hers. “Just this afternoon he gave me permission to seek a cure for him. To search. And now he will die because I cannot keep him alive long enough to find it.”
    “No,” Tessa said. “He will not die; we will not let him.”
    Will moved into the library, Tessa beside him, his gaze roaming over the familiar room, the lamplit tables, the shelves of old volumes. “There were books,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Books I was consulting, volumes about rare poisons.” He moved away from her, toward a nearby shelf, his gloved hands running feverishly over the tomes that rested there. “It was years ago, before Jem forbade any more research. I have forgotten—”
    Tessa moved to join him, her skirts swishing about her ankles. “Will, stop.”
    “But I have to
remember
.” He moved to another shelf, and then another, his long, slender body casting an angled shadow across the floor. “I have to find—”
    “Will, you can’t read every book in the library in time. Stop.” She had moved behind him, close enough to see where the collar of his jacket was damp from the rain. “This will not help Jem.”
    “Then what will?
What will?
” He reached for another book, stared at it, and threw it to the floor; Tessa jumped.
    “Stop,” she said again, and caught at his sleeve, turning him to face her. He was flushed, breathless, his arm as tense as iron beneath her grip. “When you searched for the cure before, you did not know what you know now. You did not have the allies you have now. We will go and we will ask Magnus Bane. He has eyes and ears in Downworld; he knows of all kinds of magic. He helped you with your curse; he can help us with this as well.”
    “There was no curse,” said Will, as if he were reciting the lines of a play; his eyes were glassy.
    “Will—listen to me. Please. Let us go to Magnus. He can help.”
    He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Tessa stared. She could not help watching him when she knew he could not see her—the fine spidering dark lashes against his cheekbones, the faint blue tint to his eyelids. “Yes,” he said finally. “Yes. Of course. Tessa—thank you. I did not think.”
    “You were grieved,” she said, suddenly aware that she was still holding his arm, and that they were close enough that she could have pressed a kiss to his cheek, or wrapped her arms about his neck to comfort him. She stepped back, releasing him. His eyes opened. “And you had thought he would always forbid you from searching for a cure. You know I have never been at peace with that. I had thought of Magnus before.”
    His eyes searched her face. “But you have never asked him?”
    She shook her head. “Jem did not wish it. But now— All is changed now.”
    “Yes.” He drew back from her, his eyes lingering on her face. “I will go down and call Cyril to fetch the carriage. Meet me in the courtyard.”
    To: Consul Josiah Wayland
From: Members of the Council
    Dear Sir
,
    We can but express our great distress at receiving your letter. It was our impression that Charlotte Branwell was a choice you wholeheartedly embraced, and that she had proven herself a fit leader of the London Institute. Our own Inquisitor Whitelaw speaks highly of her and the manner in which she managed the challenge laid against her authority by Benedict Lightwood
.
    It is our opinion as a body that George Penhallow is not a fit successor to the place of Consul. Unlike Mrs. Branwell, he has not proven himself as a leader of others. It is true Mrs. Branwell is young and passionate, but the role of Consul is one that requires passion. We urge you to put aside thoughts of Mr. Penhallow, who is too young and green for the position, and take time to consider again the possibility of Mrs. Branwell
.
    Yours in Raziel’s name
,
    Members of the Council

5
A H EART D IVIDED
    Yea, though God search it warily enough,
There is not one sound thing in all thereof;
Though he search all my veins through, searching them
He shall find nothing whole therein but love
.
    —Algernon Charles Swinburne, “Laus Veneris”
    To: Members of the Council
From: Josiah Wayland, Consul
    It is with a weighted heart that I take up my pen to write to you, gentlemen. Many of you have