Clockwork Princess

reluctant to move forward with this as a basis of information
.
    In Raziel’s name
,
    The Members of the Nephilim Council
    The Consul’s carriage was a shining red five-glass landau with the four Cs of the Clave on the side, drawn by a pair of impeccable gray stallions. It was a wet day, drizzling faintly; his driver sat slumped in the seat up front, almost entirely hidden by an oilskin hat and cloak. With a frown the Consul, who had said not a word since they had left the breakfast room of the Institute, ushered Gideon and Gabriel into the carriage, climbed up after, and latched the door behind them.
    As the carriage lurched away from the church, Gabriel turned to stare out the window. There was a faint burning pressure behind his eyes and in his stomach. It had come and gone since the previous day, sometimes rolling over him so strongly that he thought he might be sick.
    A gigantic worm … the last stages of
astriola
… the demon pox
.
    When Charlotte and the rest of them had first made their accusations against his father, he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Gideon’s defection had seemed like madness, a betrayal so monstrous it could be explained only by insanity. His father had promised that Gideon would rethink his actions, that he would return to help with the running of the house and the business of being a Lightwood. But he had not come back, and as the days had grown shorter and darker, and Gabriel had seen less and less of his father, he had first begun to wonder and then to be afraid.
    Benedict was hunted down and killed
.
    Hunted and killed. Gabriel rolled the words around in his mind, but they made no sense. He had killed a monster, as he had grown up being trained to do, but that monster had not been his father. His father was still alive somewhere, and any moment Gabriel would look out the window of the house and see him striding up the walk, his long gray coat flapping in the wind, the clean sharp lines of his profile outlined against the sky.
    “Gabriel.” It was his brother’s voice, cutting through the fog of memory and daydream. “Gabriel, the Consul asked you a question.”
    Gabriel looked up. The Consul was regarding him, his dark eyes expectant. The carriage was rolling through Fleet Street, journalists and barristers and costermongers all hurrying to and fro in the traffic.
    “I asked you,” the Consul said, “how you were enjoying the hospitality of the Institute.”
    Gabriel blinked at him. Little stood out for him among the fog of the past few days. Charlotte, putting her arms around him. Gideon, washing the blood off his hands. Cecily’s face, like a bright, angry flower. “It is all right, I suppose,” he said in a rusty voice. “It is not my home.”
    “Well, Lightwood House is magnificent,” said the Consul. “Built on blood and spoils, of course.”
    Gabriel stared at him, uncomprehending. Gideon was looking out the window, his expression faintly sick. “I thought you wished to speak to us about Tatiana,” he said.
    “I know Tatiana,” said the Consul. “None of your father’s sense and none of your mother’s kindness. Rather a bad bargain for her, I’m afraid. Her request for reparations will be dismissed, of course.”
    Gideon twisted about in his seat and looked at the Consul incredulously. “If you credit her account so little, why are we here?”
    “So I could speak with you alone,” the Consul said. “You understand, when I first turned over the Institute to Charlotte, I had some thought that a woman’s touch would be good for the place. Granville Fairchild was one of the strictest men I’ve known, and though he ran the Institute according to the Law, it was a cold, unwelcoming place. Here, in London, the greatest city in the world, and a Shadowhunter could not feel at home.” He shrugged fluidly. “I thought giving over administration of the place to Charlotte might help.”
    “Charlotte
and
Henry,” Gideon corrected.
    “Henry was a cipher,” said the Consul. “We all know, as the saying goes, that the gray mare is the better horse in that marriage. Henry was never meant to interfere, and indeed he does not. But neither was Charlotte. She was meant to be docile and obey my wishes. In that she has disappointed me deeply.”
    “You backed her against our father,” Gabriel blurted, and was immediately sorry he had. Gideon shot him a quelling glare, and Gabriel folded his gloved hands tightly in his lap, pressing his lips together.
    The