So this is a long chapter to make up for last time's short one. I won't hold you up with a long author's note, so I hope you enjoy!
Rights go to Cassandra Clare (:
When Tessa got off the plane, well-rested, a few hours later, she found her backpack to be heavier than she remembered, but shrugged it off. The airport was so much to take in, the extra weight was hardly her greatest concern. How was she supposed to find Nate in all the madness? The arrivals terminal was spectacularly huge, and there were so many people. She pushed away her anxiety. She had adapted to life on the streets—she could adapt to a new city. Right?
All around her, people were greeted by cheesy handwritten signs welcoming them. Would Nate have one? She tried to imagine what it would say… 'TESSIE, welcome to your new home'? But then, she would recognise him without the sign. Still a sweet gesture though, she was sure, if only she could find him. She found herself standing on the luggage carousel for a better view, when a dark gloved hand pulled gently at the hem of her coat. "Miss Gray?" it's owner asked.
She looked down, already knowing it wasn't her brother. She nodded, inspecting his sign, but it hadn't been written by Nate—the writing was neat, precise blocks in fat sharpie. She hated its unfamiliarity. "Who are you?" she asked, standoffish and angry, shoved into a foul mood by how Nate hadn't appeared. He probably hasn't changed at all, the thought bitterly, and I travelled halfway around the world to end up right back where I started, except worse.
"Your brother sent me to pick you up. Come."
Unsure what else to do, she followed him out of the airport. It wasn't like she was getting into a white van with him or anything, and he did know her name. She'd just get a feel for him, see if he had any proof. "How do you know Nate?" she asked as they walked.
He said nothing, but stopped in front of a black Mercedes, gold letters curling artistically across the door, beneath two snakes swallowing each other's tails, read 'Pandemonium Club'. She vaguely recognised the name, thought she might have heard Nate mention it once or twice….
He opened the door for her, and two elegantly disgusting women peered out from within. They seemed well aged, with shrunken, wrinkled faces and yellow, cracked teeth, their thin hair scraped back into identical severe buns. The woman on the left extended a large, bright pink gloved hand, and introduced herself as Mrs. Black. "What a delight to meet you, Theresa Gray," she simpered. "This is my sister, Mrs. Dark. Your brother sent us to accompany you."
She bit back a snappish, smart ass retort, and tried to get a read on the sisters. Ridiculous as they looked in their silken, pink and purple outfits there was nothing to suggest they were lying or untrustworthy. Still, she asked, "How do I know you really know Nate? Did he honestly expect me to trust that you aren't some random creepers come to prey on lost American girls?"
Mrs. Black smiled like a lizard, her thin tongue darting out to wet her lips. "He left us with a letter to give you. He knows you're the smart one." She winked, and Tessa repressed a shudder. These sisters were singularly unpleasant, no matter what her brother had to say. She pulled open the note Mrs. Black passed her.
It briefly apologized for not being at the terminal to greet her, and reassured her that he trusted Mrs. Black and Mrs. Dark—I call them the Dark Sisters, Tessie, for obvious reasons, and they seem to find the name agreeable! —to bring her safely to his flat. Well, the handwriting was certainly her brothers, and the sisters carried the names he mentioned, but it could all be a ruse. But then, it wasn't like she had a lot of other options. She nodded cautiously to the sisters, and climbed into their shiny, expensive car.
It was only a fifteen-minute drive during which she stared out the window before they pulled to a stop outside a beautiful hotel, with ivy crawling up the ancient façade, and a living wall freshening up the entry. "Why aren't we going to see Nate?"
"He wanted to treat you to a meal," the sisters replied. "You're to meet him here."
Uncertain and more than a little scared, Tessa followed the women into the hotel. They ignored the check in desk and the signs pointing to the little main floor restaurant, and made instead for the elevators. With growing trepidation, she followed the sister's shimmery silks inside.
"It is a great honour being done to you, my dear," Mrs. Dark said as the doors closed. It was only the three of them, and the elegant elevator felt, to Tessa, more and more like a cage.
She was silent, trying to understand why seeing her brother was an honour.
"The Magister has been looking for one such as you for a long time," Mrs. Black added.
Tessa couldn't stop her natural curiosity. "The Magister?"
"He who wishes to hire you. When your brother told him about you, he was enraptured. He convinced Nate to bring you over here. So you see, you really ought to be grateful."
Nausea and hurt tightened her chest, but she willed herself calm, and instead asked. "Why was he curious?"
"Your halfwit of a brother, Nathaniel, told him everything about you. Intelligent, with an excellent memory, a virgin, strong, well-versed in the language of the streets, and yet you didn't shy away. You have an unusual tolerance for alcohol, which you demonstrated one evening two years ago, when your brother raided a liquor store, and you didn't need to worry about the future. He said you were beautiful, reserved but quick witted…. He unwittingly painted the magister a portrait of the girl he had so long sought."
Quite taken aback, Tessa asked the first question that came to mind. "Why does it matter if I'm a virgin?" She couldn't believe Nate had told some stranger that. Well, in all honesty, if it was late and there were a couple of drinks, she didn't think there was any secret Nate wouldn't betray. Unlike her, it didn't take much for him to lose his limited restraints.
The elevator came to a stop with a ping, and the doors slid open. "Not now dear," Mrs. Black coaxed, guiding her down the plush hallway like an overbearing aunt.
"It's time to get you cleaned up," Mrs. Dark smiled, pushing the door open to a grand suite. "The bathroom is to your left. There should be soap, and an outfit appropriate to meet your future in." With that, the two women retreated, locking the door behind them. Try as she might, there was nothing she could do to force her way out of the room. With a frustrated sigh, she thought she'd at least make use of the hot water. Despite having used Ms. Jameson's shower, she felt as though the dirt and horror of the last few weeks would take more than a few bars of soap to wash out. She grabbed the hanging luffa and scrubbed herself vigorously.
When she climbed out, she avoided the fogged up window, not wanting to see her ragged, hollow reflection. Instead, her gaze landed on garment back strung up beside the towels. She unzipped it cautiously. Inside was a crisp, dark green dress. Curious, she pulled it on. It fit perfectly, though was not at all to her tastes. A-line cut, it had a white collar, and hung just a few inches above her knees. On the floor beneath it was a pair of black, six inch pumps, that fit perfectly. As she strutted around in them, they stuck her butt and boobs out, and she couldn't help but feel like a hooker; an odd contrast with demure dress.
Cautiously, the opened the door and wandered around the suite. Whatever the Dark Sister intended to use her for, there was no clue. She sifted through the drawers of the desk, hoping for a clue as to who the mysterious magister was, but she found nothing but an old pair of handcuffs. She slipped them out of the drawer, holding them up to the light. Though rusty in places, they seemed to be sound. She shivered, and stuffed them hastily back in the drawer as there sounded a knock at the door.
The Dark Sisters entered, and gave identical nods of appreciation at the sight of her dress. She stared them down. It was Mrs. Black who first noted her position, the papers that fought their way out of the shallow desk drawer. She strode over, and pulled out the handcuffs. "I see you've found our surprise," she smiled. "We meant to save it until later, but as the Magister likes to do this himself, but now you know, we can't have you running off."
And with strength Tessa couldn't have imagined, the sisters had grabbed her wrists and pulled her over to the iron bed. With a click, on of the cuffs was around her wrist, the other around the bedpost, and she was stuck. As hard as she tried to struggle, there was nothing about the metal that would give.
The Dark Sisters sashayed out. "The Magister will be here to see you shortly. We are going for a quick meal. Do try to behave." The door shut with a snick, and Tessa knew that it locked instantly from the outside. Straining her ears, she heard the ping of an elevator arriving and departing, and knew the sisters had gone to the restaurant so many floors below. "HELP," she cried, as loud as she possibly could, straining against the cuffs so the bed dragged a single, painful inch across the floor. It was then she realised the 'rust' on the handcuffs wasn't oxidized metal but blood, and the urge to vomit rose in her throat. She forced it down, crying out again. "Will somebody HELP ME!" She yelled it over and over again, pulling at the bed each time she did, until her own blood began to paint the silver handcuffs. The clock on the bedside table showed minutes passing, and she counted the seconds. "One, two, three, fifteen, thirty…." Nearly an hour had passed when she heard footsteps in the hall. "Help!" she called again, her voice ragged, as she tried not to sob the angry tears of frustration that built in her throat. "I. Don't. Want. To meet. The Magister." she hiccupped. but the steps didn't pause.
So busy staring at the door and supressing her panic, she didn't realise that her backpack was still propped by the bathroom door. With her long legs and arms, and the foot she had dragged the bed, she found that by lying down and stretching out, she was able to get a toe on the bag and slowly, surely, drag it towards her.
She pulled it to her chest, opening it to find her fresh clothes, her toothbrush, and…two books? She smiled as she pulled out Little Women of all things, and Great Expectations. The copy was identical to the one she had peered at on the plane ride over, and as she thought of how her backpack had seemed heavier when she disembarked, she knew who had given her them. She allowed herself as private smile as she cracked the heavy volume and began to read.
It was barely five minutes later that the electronic lock on the door flashed green, and a young man entered. The first thing Tessa noticed was that he was astonishingly handsome—deep blue eyes, softly curling dark hair, the chiseled face of an angel. But that just made her mistrust him further on sight. After all, Nate was a pretty face, she had trusted him, and was now handcuffed to a strange bed in a strange city in a strange country because of it.
Shocked by his appearance, his entry into her room, and the fact that she was promised to him, she did the first thing that came to mind. Great Expectations hit him straight in the face, it's heavy cover reddening his cheek.
"Ouch," he man said mildly as he took in the situation, his gaze resting not on her tear stained face, but at her bloody wrist. "Tell me," he asked, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Do you often sleep tied to the bed?"
"I'm sure Nate would have told you if I did," she snarled, still grasping the weight of her brother's betrayal.
"Nate? I don't know a Nate at all. Did he do this to you?"
"Aren't you the Magister?"
"Magister? Doesn't that mean 'master' in Latin?"
Tessa was taken aback. "I suppose it does."
"No on has ever called me the Magister, though I am a master of many things: wooing girls, concealing a highly intoxicated state—"
"Picking locks?" Tessa interrupted, holding up her wrist.
The man's eyes sparkled, and Tessa realised her was really more of the age of a boy. "Yes, that too."
"Then, if you're not the Magister, get me out."
"For payment," the boy grinned wickedly, "maybe."
Tessa raised her eyebrows, hefting Little Women in her hands. The boy rubbed his still read cheek and knelt beside her. "I'm Will, by the way. Will Herondale."
"Tessa Gray."
"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Gray."
"Likewise, Mr. Herondale." With a smile, he got to work.
I'm on Christmas break (finally!) so I have some time to write. Unfortunately, I also have a massive project due in January because my school is weird so I have to work on that ): If any of you lovely readers have also read Rick Riordin stuff, I just started a knew crossover fic of TMI and PJO called 'Ashes in the Rain' so here's some shameless advertising! I also just found out about a fanfic writing contest called fandom3… it's a cool opportunity someone recommended to me. I don't know but I'm sure it couldn't hurt! The link is /fandom3 if your interested. Sorry for an grammar/spelling mistakes—please R&R!
