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Clockwork Princess

Clockwork Princess

Titel: Clockwork Princess Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Cassandra Clare
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dead,” Woolsey said. “I still struggle to fulfill his wishes, to continue the Praetor Lupus in his memory, and to live as he would have had me live. Do you think I’m the sort of person who would ever be found in a place like this, consuming pig swill and drinking vinegar, knee deep in mud, watching some tedious Shadowhunter brat destroy even more of my already diminished pack, if it weren’t for the fact that I serve a greater purpose than my own desires and sorrows? And so do you, Shadowhunter. So do you.”
    “Oh, God.” The dagger fell out of Will’s hand and landed in the mud at his feet. “What do I do now?” he whispered.
    He had no idea why he was asking Woolsey, except that there was no one else in the world to ask. Not even when he thought he was cursed had he felt so alone.
    Woolsey looked at him coolly. “Do what your brother would have wanted,” he said, then turned and stalked off back toward the inn.

15
S TARS , H IDE Y OUR F IRES
    Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires
.
    —Shakespeare,
Macbeth
    Consul Wayland
,
    I write to you on a matter of the gravest import. One of the Shadowhunters of my Institute, William Herondale, is upon the road to Cadair Idris even as I write. He has discovered along the way an unmistakable sign of Miss Gray’s passage. I enclose his letter for your perusal, but I am sure you will agree that the whereabouts of Mortmain are now established and that we must with all haste assemble what forces we can and march immediately upon Cadair Idris. Mortmain has shown in the past a remarkable ability to slip from the nets we cast. We must take advantage of this moment and strike with all possible haste and force. I await your speedy reply
.
    Charlotte Branwell
    The room was cold. The fire had long burned down in the grate, and the wind outside was howling around the corners of the Institute, rattling the panes of the windows. The lamp on the nightstand was turned down low, and Tessa shivered in the armchair by the bed, despite the shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders
.
    In the bed Jem was asleep, his head pillowed on his hand. He breathed just enough to move the blankets slightly, though his face was as pale as the pillows
.
    Tessa stood, letting the shawl slip from her shoulders. She was in her nightgown, the way she had been the first time she had ever met Jem, bursting into his room to find him playing the violin by the window
. Will?
he had said
. Will, is that you?
    He stirred and murmured now as she crawled into the bed with him, drawing the blankets over them both. She cupped her hands around his and held their joined hands between them. She tangled their feet together and kissed his cool cheek, warming his skin with her breath. Slowly she felt him stir against her, as if her presence were bringing him to life
.
    His eyes opened and looked into hers. They were blue, achingly blue, the blue of the sky where it meets the sea
.
    “Tessa?” Will said, and she realized it was Will in her arms, Will who was dying, Will breathing out his last breath—and there was blood on his shirt, just over his heart, a spreading red stain—
    Tessa sat bolt upright, gasping. For a moment she stared about her, disoriented. The tiny, dark room, the musty blanket wrapped around her, her own damp clothes and bruised body, seemed foreign to her. Then memory came back in a flood, and with it a wave of nausea.
    She missed the Institute piercingly, in a way she had never even missed her home in New York. She missed Charlotte’s bossy but caring voice, Sophie’s understanding touch, Henry’s puttering, and of course—she could not help it—she missed Jem and Will. She was terrified for Jem, for his health, but she was frightened for Will as well. The battle in the courtyard had been bloody, vicious. Any of them could have been hurt or killed. Was that the meaning of her dream, Jem turning into Will? Was Jem ill, was Will’s life in danger? Not either of them, she prayed silently. Please, let me die before harm comes to either of them.
    A noise startled her out of her reverie—a sudden dry scraping that sent a brutal shiver down her spine. She froze. Surely it was just the scratching of a branch against the window. But, no—there it came again. A scraping, dragging noise.
    Tessa was on her feet in a moment, the blanket still wrapped around her. Terror was like a live thing inside her. All the tales she had ever heard of monsters in the dark woods

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