Clockwork Princess

looked at peace, though—more so than she had ever seen him before. His breath was regular, his eyelashes fluttering slightly in dreams.
    She had fallen asleep with her head on his arm, the clockwork angel, still around her throat, resting against his shoulder, just to the left of his collarbone. As she moved away, the clockwork angel slipped free and she saw to her surprise that where it had lain against his skin it had left a mark behind, no bigger than a shilling, in the shape of a pale white star.

20
T HE I NFERNAL D EVICES
    Like wire-pulled automatons,
Slim silhouetted skeletons
Went sidling through the slow quadrille,
Then took each other by the hand,
And danced a stately saraband;
Their laughter echoed thin and shrill
.
    —Oscar Wilde, “The Harlot’s House”
    “It’s
beautiful
,” Henry breathed.
    The Shadowhunters of the London Institute—along with Magnus Bane—stood in a loose half circle in the crypt, staring at one of the bare stone walls—or, more precisely, at something that had
appeared
on one of the bare stone walls.
    It was a glowing archway, about ten feet in height, and perhaps five across in width. It was not carved into the stone but rather was made of glowing runes that twined into one another like the vines of a trellis. The runes were not from the Gray Book—Gabriel would have recognized them if they had been—but were runes he had never seen before. They had the foreign look of another language, yet each was distinct and beautiful and spoke a murmuring song of travel and distance, of whirling dark space and the distance between worlds.
    They glowed green in the darkness, pale and acidic. Within the space created by the runes the wall was not visible—only darkness, impenetrable, as if of a great dark pit.
    “It truly is amazing,” Magnus said.
    All but the warlock were dressed in their gear and were bristling with weapons—Gabriel’s favorite double-edged longsword was slung over his back, and he was itching to get his gloved hands on the hilt. Though he liked the bow and arrow, he had been trained in the longsword by a master who could trace his own masters back to Lichtenauer, and Gabriel fancied the longsword his specialty. Besides, a bow and arrow would be much less use against automatons than a weapon that could chop them into component parts.
    “All down to you, Magnus,” Henry said. He was glowing—or, Gabriel thought, it could have been the reflection of the lighted runes against his face.
    “Not at all,” Magnus replied. “If not for your genius, this could never have been created.”
    “While I am enjoying this exchange of pleasantries,” Gabriel said, seeing that Henry was about to respond, “there do remain a few—central—questions about this invention.”
    Henry looked at him blankly. “Such as what?”
    “I believe, Henry, that he is inquiring whether this … doorway—,” Charlotte began.
    “We’ve called it a Portal,” said Henry. The capitalization of the word was very clear in his tone.
    “Whether it works,” Charlotte finished. “Have you tried it?”
    Henry looked stricken. “Well, no. There hasn’t been time. But I assure you, our calculations are faultless.”
    Everyone but Henry and Magnus looked at the Portal with refreshed alarm. “Henry …,” Charlotte began.
    “Well, I think Henry and Magnus should go first,” Gabriel said. “They invented the blasted thing.”
    Everyone turned on him. “It’s like he’s replaced Will,” said Gideon, eyebrows up. “They say all the same sort of things.”
    “I am
not
like Will!” Gabriel snapped.
    “I should hope not,” said Cecily, though so quietly that he wondered if anyone else had heard her. She was looking especially pretty today, though he had no idea why. She was dressed in the same plain black woman’s gear as Charlotte; her hair was secured demurely behind her head, and the ruby necklace at her throat glowed against her skin. However, Gabriel reminded himself sternly, since they were most likely about to direct themselves all into mortal danger, thinking about whether Cecily was pretty ought not to be foremost on his mind. He told himself to stop immediately.
    “I am
nothing
like Will Herondale,” he repeated.
    “I am perfectly willing to go through first,” Magnus said, with the long-suffering air of a schoolmaster in a room full of ill-behaved schoolboys. “There are a few things I need. We are hoping Tessa will be there; Will may be also; I should like