I didn't leave Jem's side once we arrived back at the Institute. Gideon and Sophie were waiting for us at the front doors, both looking concerned and immediately rushing over to the carriage to help when they saw that Will and Tessa were unconscious. I felt a sudden surge of liking towards Gideon when I saw the genuine worry reflected in his eyes, and wondered if I shouldn't have passed judgment on him before we had even spoken to each other.
He slung one of Will's arms around his shoulder while Henry took the other one. Will's blue eyes had cracked open slightly, and he seemed semi-conscious, but unable to support his own weight. Next to me, Jem was watching them with an anxious expression on his own face, but there was no way he was able to help with his broken leg. I surreptitiously took his wrist in mine, stroking the underside of his hand as he had done with me earlier today, and he gave a little start of surprise. I smiled at him, and he returned it, albeit wearily.
Charlotte had rushed ahead into the Institute, presumably to call on the Silent Brothers, and Sophie was left with the task of handling Tessa. Although both girls were tall, Sophie seemed unable to hold up Tessa's weight by herself. I moved to help her, but Bridget was already there, stocky and strong: the three of them disappeared inside after Henry, Will and Gideon. Jem and I were the last to climb out of the carriage and walk through the courtyard; after thanking Cyril, I looped Jem's arm through mine and allowed him to lean on me as we slowly made our way inside. He was careful not to put his entire weight on mine, and not a curse or a cry of pain escaped his lips. I remembered when I had put up such a fuss after breaking my arm, and flushed in embarrassment.
But instead of going up to the infirmary like the others, Jem turned into his room and closed the door behind us. I stared at him, bewildered, as he sat down heavily on his bed, bowing his head and bracing his hands on his knees. "Jem?" I asked uncertainly, my voice cutting through the silence. "Do you…want me to leave?"
He glanced up at me, his face nearly drained of color. "Please don't," he admitted. "I just need an iratze and…perhaps some of the drug. I did not take enough before we left—it was foolish of me."
An empty glass and his box of yin fen stood on his bedside table; wordlessly, I walked over to it and poured the contents of the jug into the glass before opening the box, trying not to inhale the bitter tang of the drug, and scooped a spoonful into the glass. The white powder swirled around the water as it dissolved, a few grains lining the bottom of the glass.
Jem had drawn up his sleeve and was drawing an iratze onto his arm with a stele. I sat down beside him and handed him the glass; he pressed his lips gratefully to my cheek, his fingers grazing my jaw. "Thank you, Abby," he murmured, and I thought back to when I'd first mixed the yin fen together for Jem, without knowing what it was or why he'd needed it, and Will saying those exact words to me when he'd run in.
"How long will it take your leg to heal?" I whispered when he set the glass back onto the table.
"It should be better tomorrow," Jem answered. "It was only a fracture."
Despite everything, I laughed once, the sound startling even me. "Only a fracture?"
Jem's arm wound around my shoulders. "We Shadowhunters heal quite quickly, you know," he said huskily, and I pulled his face down to mine, kissing him softly for a moment before the room began to spin around me. I froze, still clinging on tightly to his shoulders: I often felt like the world was falling away when I was with Jem, but this was more literal than I would have liked. The surge of dizziness I'd felt at the tea warehouse had returned in full force.
"Abby?" Jem asked, alarmed. He stared down into my eyes, lines of apprehension written into his face.
"It's—it's nothing," I lied. "I'm just a bit dizzy, that's all."
He touched my face. "You're exhausted," he observed, although I could just have easily said the same about him. "The shock has gotten to you. You need to rest."
"No," I argued weakly. "I want to visit Tessa—"
"Tessa will likely be unconscious for the foreseeable future," Jem said, quietly but firmly. "You need to give your own body time to heal. Come. I'll bring you to bed." He took my hand and guided me to my feet, keeping one hand on the small of my back to steady me. I began to protest, but he silenced me by putting a finger to my lips, his silver eyes soft. I reluctantly yielded to his touch and followed him across the corridor into my own bedroom. Now I was beginning to realize that I really was tired: my eyelids felt heavy, my eyes as scratchy as sandpaper, and there was a bone-deep weariness in my limbs. Perhaps the fall from the balcony had injured me more than I'd thought.
I sat down on my bed in the same manner that Jem had been doing previously, pulling out the pins from my hair and letting it tumble down around my shoulders. My gear was stained with dried blood, and I tried to brush to off, unsure whether it was mine, Jem's, Will's, or Nate's.
Jem had drawn the curtains over my windows and, once the room was cast in darkness, handed me my witchlight stone, which flared up immediately at my touch. Now it was my turn to thank him, but my voice trailed off when I saw that he had turned slightly red, an effect that I instinctively knew wasn't because of the drug. "What is it?" I prodded gently, taking his hand in mine and pulling me down to him, as if we were about to kiss again. Our noses brushed together, but our lips hadn't quite met. Strange, how we were so close and yet I still felt as if we were miles apart.
"Do you…" Jem trailed off, and I could see the color in his face even in the faint light, "Do you require assistance getting dressed?"
I managed to smile even through my fatigue. "Does that question have some sort of ulterior motive, James?"
Jem quickly looked away from me, his eyes widening. "No, of course not," he stuttered. "I would not take advantage of you in such a way, Abby."
I grinned, feeling more rash and impulsive than normal. "Well," I breathed, "I was thinking I might take a bath, actually. I'm absolutely filthy."
Jem's reaction did not disappoint; I could feel his heart speed up against my hand and he froze, his breathing coming in short gasps. I was now awkwardly blushing as well—the night we had spent together didn't make the tension between us any less pronounced. If anything, it had only become heightened now that I knew what I had been missing out on.
"Very well," he murmured, and I felt his teeth graze my ear, "I shall fetch some water." But he never got the chance, for I had pushed him down onto the bed and was holding his face between my hands, careful not to put too much weight on his leg. In my mind's eye I saw the ashen face of the dead werewolf, his pupils ringed with silver, and blood splattering onto Jem's sleeve as he coughed loudly. He had tried to hide the horrors of his illness numerous times, but I had always seen through it to his hidden agony, both mentally and physically.
"Abby," Jem whispered, seeing the frenzied expression in my eyes. "We cannot…" But I could see that his resolve was wavering, his eyes darkening. His hands twisted through my hair, and his body had already arched up to mine.
"I almost lost you tonight," I whispered hoarsely. "And I realized just how…fragile…life really is. Jem, I don't care about what's proper or what's not. I never have. All I know is that I love you, more than I ever thought I could love anyone, and I…I want you." It was a bold statement, but I said it as fiercely as I could, looking him directly in the eye.
Jem murmured something, very quietly, in Mandarin. At my quizzical glance, he smiled and stroked my face, answering, "It means that I want you too. No—it's more than that. I need you."
And we fell back together onto the bed just as we had two nights ago, only this time it was my bed instead of his, and we weren't in a feverish heat like last time, all fire and fervency. It was slower and gentler, but no less passionate. Now Jem was almost shy, and his kisses were exploratory, as if he was savouring each one, storing them in his memory. I was the one leading him on this time, as my lips traced a pattern down his throat and over his chest…he shuddered, and one hand slid from my hair down to my back as he pressed his mouth to my shoulder, pushing aside my shirt—
And then there was a knock at the door, and we both jumped apart, his hair mussed, my heart pounding. I leapt to my feet, pulling Jem up with me as I did, knowing that if we made eye contact it would be the end of both of us. I quickly straightened out my clothes, hoping that our faces weren't too red.
"Miss Abby?" Sophie asked when she walked in, not looking at all surprised to see Jem there. "Mrs Branwell has asked me to check on you. Is there anything you require?"
I looked at Jem."Go to the infirmary," I instructed. "Go take care of Will. He needs you more than I do right now." I wasn't entirely sure of this, as I doubted Will was burning with desire for Jem, but there was no way we would be able to finish what we had started now.
"Are you sure?" Jem asked, and when I nodded firmly, he brushed his thumb along the back of my wrist once—the touch had become an unspoken gesture of reassurance—and reluctantly stepped away from me, greeting Sophie on the way out.
When he had disappeared, I sat back down on the bed, my exhaustion all but vanished. "If you wouldn't mind, Sophie," I said thoughtfully, "I was going to get some water for a bath, but that idea was postponed…"
Like the excellent ladies' maid she was—I knew I would never get used to the whole idea of maids and servants; sometimes I felt as if I was trapped in a period film—Sophie ran the bathwater and then helped me into my nightgown when I got out, brushing the tangles from my hair until it was sleek and shiny again. Although it was the end of July, the room was still cold, and she helpfully tended to the fireplace until the walls were shimmering with warm golden light. I watched her bustle around the room with half-closed eyes, her dark hair tied up into a bun at the nape of her neck. I wanted to thank her, to tell her just how much she deserved someone like Gideon—or rather, how much Gideon deserved her—but I was more tired than I thought I was, and just as I was about to speak I slipped into dreams, unsure whether she was still in the room or it was just my imagination.
When I opened my eyes, the fire had long died, leaving only glowing embers scattered here and there among the ashes. Sunshine had replaced the firelight, and the clock ticking in the corner showed that it was just before noon.
I climbed out of bed and quickly changed into the dress that Sophie had left lying out for me on the blankets, trying not to think about Jem's hands on me the night before. I drew my hair up into a messy bun and tiptoed out in the corridor, crossing over into Jem's room. The bed was smooth and untouched, the covers drawn up neatly. I placed a hand on the pillow and frowned; it was cold. Jem evidently hadn't slept here last night.
As I left his room, I met Sophie coming up the stairs with a breakfast tray. "Master Jem is in the infirmary with Mr Herondale," she explained, correctly guessing who I had been searching for. "Miss Tessa has not awoken yet."
I felt a spark of worry for Tessa. I hadn't spoken to her much at all lately, not since we had returned from Yorkshire, and I felt guilty. "Will she be all right?"
"I hope so," Sophie answered briskly as she led me back into my own bedroom, placing the tray down on the bedside table where I attacked it hungrily. "Mrs Branwell has called in one of the Silent Brothers to examine her condition."
I remembered her bravely standing up to Nate—her own brother—and the terror in her eyes when she thought that Will was dead. She had played her part perfectly, I thought, and yet she had been the one to suffer the most.
Sophie clucked disapprovingly as she examined my dress, causing me to snap back to reality. "If you keep tying them like that, miss, they'll just fall right off you someday."
"They already have," I mumbled, thinking of the time when Jem had had to tie up the back of my dress in the carriage; it had been the first occurrence I'd consciously realized I was beginning to think of him as more than a friend. Sophie gave a startled gasp, and I nearly dropped my scone in bewilderment, wondering crazily for a moment if she could read minds.
"You must not let that happen again, Miss Abby," she urged me, a hint of reproach to her voice.
"Or what?" I asked her, grinning crookedly. "I'll bring scandal to the Institute? Maybe from now on I'll ask everyone to refer to me as 'The Girl Who Cannot Keep Her Dress On'."
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Sophie exclaimed, a scowl crossing her face. "You sound like Mr Herondale." Throwing her hands up, she gathered the now-empty breakfast tray and left my room, but I caught the ghost of a smile on her face as she did. It suddenly struck me that I barely noticed her scar at all anymore.
As soon as she was gone, I went over to my wardrobe and picked up my purse from where it was hanging on the handle. I hadn't touched it in days, perhaps even weeks, and I found myself brushing away dust from the zipper as I opened it, my hand first closing around my wallet, which was empty save for a five-dollar bill, and then my house key. I absentmindedly traced the shape of the key in my palm, feeling the cold metal press into my skin. It was strange, how different I felt holding it now. As if it was the key to a stranger's house. In some ways I felt so far removed from my life in 1978 that it was difficult to believe I had ever lived there at all. And yet I knew I would never feel like I truly belonged in 1878. I was suspended between two worlds, unable to completely sever my ties to either of them.
It took me a moment to realize I was clutching the key so hard it had dug into my skin; I dropped it onto the table with a clatter, impatiently wiping away the blood and reaching into my purse again to pull out the picture of my parents. I stared at my mother's face for a long moment, feeling a sharp pang of longing, before turning to my father. I had never before realized how young he looked—how young both of them looked. They were still children when I was born. And, like me, they had been thrown into a situation beyond their control. Mom hadn't wanted to lose the love of her life while she was still a teenager and be forced to raise me on her own. Dad hadn't wantedto leave the Clave; hadn't wanted to be stripped of his Marks and cast out into the mundane world, cut off from his parents and severed from his parabatai. And yet, despite the similar situation I now found myself in, I knew I couldn't ask Jem to do the same for me.
If my parents could brave through the worst moments of their lives, I thought, then so can I. I was their daughter, after all. And, when I looked at myself in the mirror, I no longer saw myself as simply Jonathan Cartwright's shy, mousy daughter, but as Abby Cartwright, a bridge to both the mundane and the Shadow worlds. I had the qualities of both races in my blood. I could embrace the side of me that had always and would always be a Shadowhunter, but I didn't have to completely shun the mundane world, either.
Did all children of Shadowhunters and mundanes feel like this? Did Will feel like this? He also had a father who had left the Clave to marry a mundane woman, after all. Perhaps we had more in common than either of us cared to admit, and I wished I could ask him about it. But that was impossible. Whether or not he actually hated me, I had no doubt that I would be met with scorn either way. "It is better for you if we are not friends, Abby,"he had said—and if being 'friends' with him meant that I would be constantly mocked and derided, I wanted nothing to do with Will Herondale. How Jem and Tessa managed to put up with him was one of life's great mysteries.
I nearly ran up to the infirmary that afternoon, anxious and eager to see Tessa. When I entered, my first sight was of Jem, still dressed in his gear, sitting on the bed next to Will, who was tossing and turning about and muttering in Welsh under his breath. Perhaps it was better nobody could understand what he was saying, I decided, but still felt a pang of sympathy—even unconscious, he looked like he was in severe pain.
Tessa was lying in a bed closer to the windows, her brown hair fanning across the pillow. She was wearing a white nightdress, washing out her already pale skin. Charlotte was sitting in a chair pulled up next to the bed, her hands knotted in her lap. Brother Enoch was standing on the opposite side of her. Both of them turned when I hurried up; I answered Charlotte's inquiries about my own health as best as I could before deflecting the conversation to Tessa. "How is she?" I asked nervously; I had never seen her look so pale.
The wound to her head is superficial, Brother Enoch said, which did little to alleviate my uneasiness.
"But she fainted," Charlotte protested. "With a blow to her head—"
She fainted from repeated shocks. Her brother died in her arms, you said? And she may have thought Will was dead as well. You said he covered her with his body when the explosion occurred. If he had died, he would have given his life for her. That is quite a burden to bear.
Charlotte and I exchanged a troubled glance. "But do you think she'll be well again?"
When her body and spirit have rested, she will wake. I cannot say when that will be.
"My poor Tessa," murmured Charlotte, gently pushing her hair back away from her face like a mother would. "She has no one in the world at all now…"
Nor does Abigail, reminded Brother Enoch. She will be fine, Charlotte. She is wounded significantly more emotionally than she is physically. He pulled up his hood and drifted across the room to Will, who, I supposed, was in more dire need of medical attention. I met Jem's gaze for a moment, and his eyes were wide and worried. He looked sick, but I knew it was because of Will and not his illness. I wanted to go over to him, but something held me back.
With a great sigh, Charlotte stood up and put her hand on my shoulder. "Try speaking to her," she suggested. "Brother Enoch said there is a chance that she is able to hear us."
I nodded and took the chair that she had just vacated, leaning forward to take Tessa's hand in my own. Her fingers were cold, a weak pulse beating in her wrist. She didn't move, but I thought I felt the pressure on my hand increase slightly, as if she was somehow aware of my presence. "Tess," I said quietly, lowering my voice so the others were out of earshot, "Whether you can hear me or not, there's something I want you to know, something I should have told you a long time ago." I paused. "You are the closest friend I've ever had, and one of the only people I can completely trust. I care very much about you, and please know that you can talk to me about anything. I…I'm sorry if this sounds silly—I'm not good with words like you are—but you're truly my best friend, and I'll be right here if you ever need me. And I have a lot to tell you when you wake up—"
A harsh cry of pain from Will startled me, and I twisted around in the chair just as Tessa's eyelids fluttered. He was lying on his stomach, the covers drawn back to his waist and exposing his bare torso, but I had no desire to look at him. I was watching Jem instead, whose face was whiter than ever, his eyebrows knit together as if he was experiencing his parabatai's pain himself. "Will," he was saying anxiously. "Will, are you sure you won't have another pain-killing rune?"
"No—more," Will groaned. "Just—get it over with."
Brother Enoch was holding a pair of sharp metal tweezers; I winced as he drove them down into Will's skin, the blood spilling over his side and staining the white sheets. Jem shuddered as Enoch pulled out a jagged piece of metal from where it was embedded in Will's back—the remnants of where he had thrown himself over Tessa to save her from the automaton's explosion.
"Grip my fingers," Jem urged, taking Will's hand in his own. "It will help the pain. There are only a few more."
"Easy—for you to say," Will managed to choke out, but at least this time he didn't cry out when Enoch drove the tweezers into his back again. I averted my eyes, unable to bear the sight, and stared fixedly at the wall until there was silence again. Tessa had shifted ever so slightly to the side, so that she was facing Will's bed, and I guessed that if she wasn't able to speak, she was conscious in some distant way. When I finally dared to look back, I saw that Brother Enoch was gone and Will had fallen asleep, his breathing slow and steady. Jem placed a glass of water on the table next to him before walking toward the infirmary doors, only pausing to turn in my direction with a silent question in his eyes. Somehow I knew that he wanted me to come with him; I gently placed Tessa's hand back at her side before standing up and hurrying towards Jem.
He was holding the door for me, and let it fall softly closed behind us as we headed down the hallway side by side, the backs of our hands just brushing together. "He'll be all right," I said soothingly; when had I suddenly been the one comforting everyone instead of the other way around?
Jem sighed, and I saw him reach up to touch his parabatai rune. "I know," he acknowledged, but the concern still hadn't quite left his eyes. "The Angel knows I've seen him in worse situations—but the power of our binding is such that I share his burdens and his pain. If one of us is going through a difficult time, the other can sense it, feel it as if it was our own."
"Oh," I said quietly. Was that why Will often looked just as sick as Jem did? "And Tessa…"
"I expect she shall feel guilty that Will injured himself to protect her," Jem explained, but there was no blame in his voice. "I expect that he is going to have to convince her that it was his choice."
"Or not," I muttered.
Jem's lips twitched. "Well, I suppose there is no harm in being optimistic." We had reached his bedroom now, and I paused in front of it, unsure what he wanted, but he pulled me inside and closed the door behind us. He pressed me against the door, cupping my face in his hands and his eyes warm and soft. I smiled uncertainly at him, unused to his boldness—this was something I would have thought would be more in-character of Will—but I wasn't about to question it. My lips sought his, our bodies pressed so close together that the pendant was touching both of our throats, and when Jem pulled away slightly there was an imprint on his collarbone. "Your dress—" he began, but I waved his reservations away impatiently.
"—Is too bulky?" I asked. "Believe me, it's even more irritating when you actually have to wear it." I grinned slyly. "I can take it off if you want."
Jem flushed a bright shade of red. "Actually, I was going to apologize for crinkling it." He touched the shoulder, where the puffy sleeve had been unceremoniously pushed against the door until it was almost completely flat.
I shrugged. "The dress isn't foremost on my list of concerns, to be quite honest." My gaze moved down to his gear, where his and Will's dried blood stained the fabric. Before my rational mind could shoot down the idea, I heard myself asking, "Do you…require assistance getting dressed?"
Now Jem's face was so pink it was almost fuchsia. He swallowed, but his eyes met my own steadily as he said, "Does that question have some sort of ulterior motive, Abby?"
We were deliberately recreating our conversation from the previous night, and I could already feel my heart beating faster in anticipation. "It most certainly does," I replied as brazenly as I could, smirking up at him.
Jem wrapped me tightly in his arms, and just as we stumbled over to his bed there was an annoyed yowl from its depths and a grey shape shot out from under the covers. Church meowed angrily at us, upset at the disturbance of his nap. I immediately jumped away from him, remembering what had happened the last time I'd encountered him.
Jem chuckled in surprise, but I wasn't so amused. He scooped up Church and, carrying him under one arm, opened the door and placed him in the corridor before coming back inside. "I'd forgotten that he likes to do that," he said, a little breathlessly.
"First Sophie, now Church," I grumbled. "I'm beginning to think that someone is doing this on purpose."
"If that was the case, I think they would have been able to prevent—" Jem suddenly threw up his sleeve to his face, bent double in a severe coughing fit. I was at his side at once, putting my hand on his back and guiding him to the bed.
"I'll get some of the drug," I began, but Jem held me back, raising his arm now stained with blood and shaking his head.
"I took some this morning," he explained; the color that had just been so prominent in his face was fast draining out of it. "It is dangerous for me to take too much at once."
"So what can I do?" I asked urgently, seeing that his eyes were beginning to slide out of focus. "Jem? Jem, please answer me!"
"Stay with me. Please," he rasped, grasping at my wrist. "I just need to sleep…the encounter with Will was worse than I thought."
I had misinterpreted, then, his sick look in the infirmary, and his breathlessness when he'd been speaking to me. Jem hid the reality of his illness so well that sometimes it was a shock when he suddenly deteriorated like this, and I wondered just how much he was holding back.
He hadn't changed out of his gear from yesterday, and I reflected on the fact that I was, in fact, helping him get dressed, but an entirely different way from the one I had wanted. I was too worried to even feel remotely embarrassed or electrified as I peeled off his clothes, since he was by now too weak to do it himself, and helped him into a pair of brown trousers and a white shirt. Jem watched me with blank eyes, always keeping his hand in mine and occasionally breaking out into harrowing coughs. As if he was a child, I lay him down on the bed and pulled the covers over him, his eyelids closing against the pillow. I gently stroked his hair until he was asleep, his breathing evening out although it still rattled horribly, trying not to betray any outward signs of fear to him.
When I was certain that he was asleep, I washed the blood from his gear before hanging it over the back of his chair to dry. I wasn't certain what my next move should be—Jem had asked me to stay with him, but I didn't know whether he had meant just until he was asleep, or even longer than that. But I didn't want to leave him, not when he looked as vulnerable and delicate as he did now. I couldn't leave him.
Very delicately, so as not to jostle him, I curled up in the space beside him, watching his eyelids flutter as he slept. I hoped he was losing himself in pleasant dreams. My dress was now becoming even more crinkled and flattered, but I didn't care. Reaching out my hand, I intertwined my fingers with his and, despite the fact that it was mid-afternoon, closed my eyes against the bright sun, thinking of the time not so long ago that we had been in this very situation.
I woke up on several occasions after that, only catching slivers and glimpses of reality. At some point Jem's arms had unconsciously wrapped around me, and my leg was twined around his waist in a most improper way, our clothing sweaty and sticking to our bodies. Our faces were inches apart on the pillows, and although neither of us woke properly, we knew that the other was there. The sky outside gradually darkened, turning into night, and then eventually lightened again with dawn. I finally woke for good at mid-morning, dazed and disoriented. I'd been asleep for nearly eighteen hours, and my muscles were sore and cramped. But I wouldn't have changed it for the world.
When I rolled off the bed, Jem slowly sat up as well, blinking confusedly at me. "Abby?" he asked blearily, still half-asleep. "You stayed?"
"Of course," I said, sneaking a sip of water from his glass. My throat was so dry that it was painful, and my stomach was tense with hunger.
"I did not think you would want to," Jem said, almost musingly, but a beatific smile had spread from ear to ear.
I leaned over the bed to squeeze his hand once more before straightening up, smoothing out my now hopelessly wrinkled dress. "I hope Sophie hasn't been wondering where I am," I remarked, biting my lip. "Maybe she thinks I'm still in the infirmary. How…how are you feeling?"
"Much better," Jem reassured me. It was true: he looked much healthier, thankfully not as deathly pale as he had been earlier, and his eyes were bright and alert. "I fear that this is terribly improper," he teased. "Imagine what she or any of the others would say if they were to walk in now."
"It's positively scandalous," I grinned, almost giddy at his recovery. "But I think we passed that marker a very long time ago."
"We will almost certainly forfeit the Institute now," Charlotte sighed. We had all gathered in the infirmary again, standing over Tessa's bed. She was still asleep, as was Will a few beds over. His back was covered in bandages and there were several iratzes on his neck. Sophie was hovering at the windows, pretending to dust them, but I could see her head swivel in our direction. "We have lost Nathaniel Gray as a source, one of our own has turned out to be a spy, and we are no closer to finding Mortmain than we were a fortnight ago."
"After all that we have done, have learned?" Jem asked. "The Clave will understand—"
"They will not," Charlotte said bleakly. "They are already at the end of their tether where I am concerned. I might as well march over to Benedict Lightwood's house and make over the Institute paperwork in his name. Have done with it."
I shifted uneasily from foot to foot, feeling queasy. What would happen if the Institute was placed into Benedict's hands? He would turn me over to Mortmain at once, and I had absolutely nowhere I could run; nowhere I could hide. But I didn't voice my dread to Charlotte: she had enough on her plate as it was.
"What does Henry say about all this?" Jem was asking.
"Oh, Henry." She said the name like it was the source of all her burdens in the world. "I think he's just so shocked that one of his devices actually worked that he doesn't know what to do with himself. And he can't bear to come in here. He thinks it's his fault that Will and Tessa are hurt."
"Without that device we might all be dead, and Tessa in the hands of the Magister," Jem said gravely.
"You are welcome to explain that to Henry. I have given up the attempt."
"Charlotte…" Jem began, gently. "I know what people say. I know you've heard the cruel gossip. But Henry does love you. When he thought you were hurt, at the tea warehouse, he went almost mad. He threw himself against that machine—"
Her eyes had turned wet during his speech, and I quickly looked away. "James," she told him, patting his shoulder in a maternal sort of way, "I do appreciate your attempt to console me, but falsehoods never do anyone any good in the end. I long ago accepted that Henry loves his inventions first, and me second—if at all."
Now Jem rubbed his eyes, looking drained. "Charlotte…" he began, but before he could get a word out Sophie walked over to us, her expression unusually determined.
"Mrs Branwell," she said, almost sharply. "If I might speak to you for just a moment."
Charlotte looked just as world-weary as Jem did now. "Sophie…"
"Please, ma'am." I had never seen such intensity in Sophie's eyes, at least not when Gideon wasn't present, and after surveying her for a moment Charlotte appeared to be echoing my thoughts. "Very well. Come with me to the drawing-room." She stood up and, after touching Jem's shoulder and giving me a rare smile, followed Sophie out of the infirmary, the double doors swinging shut behind them.
I turned to Jem to ask him what he supposed that was all about, but he was staring at Will, an unfathomable look on his face. I could sense his desire to go sit with his parabatai, but not wanting to leave me either. I had never and would never force him to choose between us, and so I lightly prodded him forward. "Go," I said, smiling. "I'll see you at dinner." It was an order, and my fingers brushed the skin just under the hem of his shirt. Jem gave a small start and glanced back at me, and I grinned wickedly, showing him what he was missing. Before he could say anything, I was already walking away, but as I passed her bed I thought I saw Tessa smiling as well.
I spent the remainder of the afternoon wandering around the Institute, trying not to think too much about anything in particular. I forced the worry about Jem's illness out of my mind, telling myself that this sort of thing happened to him all the time, as well as the anxiety about Charlotte losing the Institute. I knew that she and Henry could easily find somewhere else to live, and they would likely bring Sophie, Cyril and Bridget along with them, but what would become of Jem, Will, Tessa and I? If Henry wasn't able to use the crypt as his laboratory anymore, what would happen to his inventions? Would he even be able to continue working on the Portal? What if I was stuck in 1878 for the rest of my life?
But such thoughts were dangerous things, and in a desperate attempt to make myself forget about them I tried my hardest to occupy myself with menial tasks. I snuck some apples from the kitchen and went out to the stable to give them to Balios and Xanthos. When both horses grew tired of my presence I went back inside and upstairs to the music room, but all the notes I could get out of the piano were jarring and flat. It was only when I realized I was rearranging everything in the music room and tidying up like I had turned into Sophie that I finally gave up, spending the remainder of the day in the library reading books on the history of the Nephilim that I wasn't particularly interested in, sitting in the window seat and staring out at the courtyard to watch Cyril polish the carriage.
Jem appeared very restless at dinner; he was fidgeting around nervously and seemed preoccupied, barely touching his food. I wondered if something had happened with Will, but he could barely even speak to me: he mumbled that it had nothing to do with Will at all before standing up and hurrying out of the dining-room, leaving me gaping after him in astonishment. Had I done something wrong? Why was he so tense? I had never seen him like that before.
Now I had yet another thing to lose sleep over; I trudged to my room, dejected, and collapsed facedown on my bed, resisting the urge to scream as loudly as I could. I settled instead for grabbing one of my pillows and throwing it against the wall, where it sank to the ground with barely a sound. I waited for the frustrated, angry tears to come, but my eyes stayed dry. I knew I ought to go to bed, but I wasn't tired at all: sleeping for extended periods of time tended to do that to a person.
I had just reluctantly dragged myself to my feet to retrieve the pillow when there was a knock at my door. Relieved for a distraction, no matter how monotonous, I changed directions at once and hurried over, expecting it to be Sophie or Charlotte. But it was Jem, standing in the moonlight and looking as ethereal as ever. He was more agitated than I had ever seen him: beads of sweat were gathering on his brow and he was shifting around restlessly.
"Jem!" I exclaimed, gladly holding open the door for him. "What is it? You look upset."
He was wringing his hands together; he looked almost nauseous. "Abby, I—" he began, and suddenly broke off, his voice tortured. "Forgive me. I never intended to be so forward." And suddenly he had disappeared, running off down the corridor. I was left staring after him in shock again, and by the time I had finally recovered myself he had vanished.
I called after him, but there was no response. There was no telling where he was now, and when I was forced to accept the fact that he wasn't going to come back, I retreated back into my room, flopping down onto the bed.
This time I actually did bury my face in the blankets and scream as loudly as I could.
Needless to say, I slept very little that night, tossing and turning fitfully. None of my dreams had much substance, and faces and shapes floated by without giving me enough time to see who and what they were. When I awoke for good, it was very early morning, and the birds hadn't even started singing yet. I didn't want to wake Sophie in case she was still asleep, so I threw caution to the winds and changed into my fighting gear. I knew that no one would bat an eyelid if I showed up wearing it, and as far as I was aware I wasn't planning to leave the Institute today.
After putting up my hair and splashing cold water on my face, I headed up to the infirmary, curious to see if Tessa was awake yet. Sophie was already there straightening things out, and of course Will was gone. Truthfully, I was surprised that he had stayed in one place for that long.
"Good morning, miss," Sophie greeted me as she fluffed up the pillows on one of the beds. "It's a good thing you're here—I was just about to wake Miss Tessa."
I walked over to Tessa's bed and put a hand on her shoulder, shaking it softly. "Tess?" I asked, and her eyes opened, looking around confusedly before landing on me. "Tess, you have to wake up now. You've been in here for days."
"I have?" she asked, slowly sitting up and staring around the infirmary. "It feels like it has been merely hours…"
"Mrs Branwell wanted me to bring you back to your room," Sophie said, bustling over to us to help Tessa out of bed.
"Is Will all right?" Tessa asked, trying and failing to conceal her worry. She leaned on me while Sophie slid slippers onto her feet. "I woke for a bit yesterday and saw them taking the metal out of his back. It looked dreadful."
I hid my grin; so she had been awake. It wasn't just my imagination.
Sophie laughed. "Looked worse than it was, then. Mr Herondale barely let them iratze him before he left. Off into the night to do devil knows what." We began to shuffle out of the room, Sophie and I on either side of Tessa, supporting her weight.
"Was he?" Tessa asked thoughtfully. "I could have sworn I spoke to him last night..."
"You must have dreamed it," Sophie said firmly, but I wasn't so sure. We were silent all the way back to her room, where Tessa slumped into her armchair and helped herself to the plate of sandwiches and tea on her bedside table while Sophie swept up the fireplace.
"I was sorry to hear about your brother, miss," she said. I wasn't sure what my feelings were about Nate, but I perched on the edge of Tessa's bed and nodded, hoping I looked appropriately sorry.
"You don't have to say that, Sophie," Tessa replied quietly. "I know it was his fault, really, about Agatha—and Thomas—"
"But he was your brother. Blood mourns blood."
Tessa blinked several times in rapid succession, and I could tell she was trying not to cry. My heart went out to her, and as a distraction I quickly said, "I don't think Will is going to stay away too long. He'll come back soon enough."
"Yes," Sophie agreed, straightening up to sweep the remaining residue into her pail. "Mr Herondale always returns, even if no one wants him to." She suddenly gasped, putting her hand over her mouth and looking embarrassed. "I am very sorry, miss," she apologized profusely. "I did not mean to sound so brash."
Tessa smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes. "Don't worry about it, Sophie," she said. "Will can drive even the sanest person to madness."
But Sophie still looked guilty, and quickly excused herself after that, hurrying out of the room so she wouldn't be able to "put her foot in her mouth again," as she called it.
"I saw her with Gideon Lightwood the other day," Tessa confided when she was gone, unable, it seemed, to keep this bit of news to herself. "He was…well, he was acting like her suitor."
"Was he?" I asked vaguely.
"Yes. I'm worried about her," Tessa said in a low voice, leaning towards me. "If Gideon is putting on airs—"
"He isn't," I interrupted, thinking of the way he had been looking at Sophie when I'd seen them in the corridor. "He is truly…taken by her. I'm sure he would even turn against his father for her."
Tessa looked at me sharply. "Does that please you, Abby?" she asked. "Now that Sophie isn't…" She trailed off, but I knew what she had been going to say: Now that Sophie isn't in love with Jem.
"I guess so," I said truthfully. "It takes away a lot of the guilt, at least."
"And…how is the relationship between you and Jem?" Tessa inquired. There was a time where she would have apologized for interfering in my affairs, but we were too close now for that.
I couldn't stop myself from grinning wryly. "It has long surpassed the bounds of respectability and turned into indecency. I fear I shall be smote if we continue it."
Tessa went slightly pink. "So you do not have a chaperone, then?"
I was so startled that I laughed out loud. "We have never had a chaperone, Tess. We…we've done everything."
She blinked, and hysteria bubbled up inside me. She honestly didn't know. It was times like these I was reminded more than ever that this was the Victorian era. "Everything?" she asked quizzically.
I was seriously debating whether or not to elaborate when the door opened again and Sophie returned to gather up the empty plate and kettle. "So," I said slyly, abruptly changing the subject, "How are things between you and Will?"
Tessa gave me a baleful glare and Sophie looked up, shocked, but seeming to remember that she had misspoken earlier, kept her mouth shut. "They are as fine as one can be with Will," Tessa said stiffly.
But I pressed on. "He protected you from that automaton. I know he cares about you more than he lets on. You went to Benedict Lightwood's ball with him, didn't you? That must have been…interesting."
"It was fascinating," Tessa echoed, but now she didn't look as if she was thinking about Will at all. I saw her eyes begin to shine with tears again, and knew she was trying to hold them back. "It was difficult to concentrate on Will when Nate was fondling me—Jessamine. Well—I suppose it doesn't matter now…now that he's dead." And she put her face in her hands.
Sophie shot me a reproving look as she dashed over to Tessa, murmuring reassurances in her ear. I knelt down in front of the armchair, gently prying her hands away. Tessa's eyes were red, her face streaked with tears. "I'm sorry," I told her fervently. "I didn't mean to—"
She shook her head. "It is not your fault, Abby. It is my own for speaking of Nate." I hugged her as tightly as I could while Sophie rubbed her back soothingly. I had never seen Tessa cry before; I knew that composure and pride were both important to her.
"Delayed shock," Sophie whispered to me. "She just needs to let it out and she'll be fine."
When Tessa's sobs had ceased, when she had wiped the last of the tears from her face with a handkerchief, Sophie and I helped her out of her nightgown and into a pretty violet dress. Tessa appeared to have gone numb, which made it easier for us to sit her down in front of the vanity table, Sophie braiding flowers into her hair while I brushed it. None of us spoke for a long time, and when Tessa finally broke the silence her voice was subdued. "Thank you," she said. "I am forever indebted to both of you. I never believed I would find such good friends—not just here, but anywhere."
Now Sophie had to dry her eyes with her apron. "You are too kind to me, Miss Tessa."
"It's true," Tessa said stubbornly. "Gid—any man would be lucky to have you, Soph. And you are a wonderful companion and confidante, Abby."
I ruffled her hair. "You too, Tess."
Seeing her job was done, Sophie left not long after, and I followed her, wanting to give Tessa a chance to mourn Nate privately. As I crossed the hall to my room, Sophie smiled at me almost shyly. "Miss Tessa is right," she said. "You are a lovely girl. I wish you and Master Jem all the happiness in the world."
My heart swelled with gratitude. "Thank you, Sophie," I said quietly, and she continued off down the corridor. I had barely touched the handle on my door before Jem himself appeared next to me. He looked more composed than he had the previous evening, though still pale, as if he was steeling himself for something difficult. "Jem," I breathed. "Come in. Or are you just going to run away again?"
He didn't laugh, and my grin disappeared. "What's wrong? Are you well? Should I get—"
"No," Jem said; he looked positively seasick. Without even glancing up and down the corridor to make sure we were alone, he took me by the hand and pulled me into my bedroom, shutting the door behind us. I stood there, baffled, as he began to pace up and down the length of the room, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Jem, please tell me what is bothering you," I begged. "If it's not your illness, and it isn't Will, what is it? Are you upset that Charlotte might lose the Institute? I'm a bit nervous about that too—I mean, I'd have nowhere to go and Benedict would immediately give me to Mortmain, but—"
Jem halted in the middle of the floor, spinning around to face me. In his grey waistcoat, he looked like a ghost, and I wondered, stupidly, if he was even real at all. "You needn't worry about that," he said, and this time his voice didn't waver. "I would never let you out of my sight if I could. You will always have me. Abby…" He dropped to one knee in front of me so that he was staring up at me from under his silvery hair, and took both of my hands in his. "You have given me so much, so incredibly much. I would do anything you requested of me, and I love you more than any words in any language could ever properly describe." He took a deep, shuddering breath, sliding the Carstairs ring from his finger and holding it out to me. "I have wanted to ask this for days, and it was only now that I finally gathered up the courage to speak it aloud. My question is this: Abby Cartwright, will you marry me?"
I stood rooted to the spot, my brain frozen in astonishment. Never before had I been so completely and utterly stunned. "Marry you?" I repeated dumbly. "Jem…but we are only sixteen!"
"I am seventeen," he reminded me; his face had fallen slightly, and his hands were trembling. "I shall be of age soon, but I do not even know if I shall make it to that. I have asked so much of you, and I hope you will forgive that I am asking you to make yet another sacrifice—the greatest one of all, to tie yourself to a dying boy at such a young age. But…I know that our time together is limited on both fronts, and I can only wish to become entwined with you in every way possible. I promise to give everything about myself to you, Abby, everything you want, everything I am…" His voice was cracking, and now his entire body was shaking madly. He believed that my answer was going to be no.
"Jem," I said. It was all I could say. It took me a moment to realize that I was quivering just as much as he was.
"It is a no, then," he said, in a remarkably steady voice. He dropped my hands, letting them fall to my sides, and bowed his head so I couldn't see his expression.
"I never said that!" I exclaimed, more vehemently than I intended, and I quickly lowered my voice. "Jem, I…I was just overwhelmed. I never expected that you would even want to marry me." He slowly raised his head, hope dawning in his eyes like the sun breaking over the horizon, and in that moment I completely forgot about the Portal and my life in 1978. The only thing that was important was the present, and in this present was Jem, and I would give up everything I had to be with him, no matter how long or short that period of time was. I took the ring from his fingers and slid it onto my own hand. "My answer is yes. Yes, I will marry you. Today, if you want—"
"You…you are certain?" he asked, slowly pushing himself to his feet. His eyes were shining as he stared at his family ring on my finger. "I would not want to force you into a marriage—"
"James," I insisted, and took his face in my hands. "You aren't forcing me into anything. I want to be your wife. I want to wake up next to you every morning and face the world together. You said that you would give me everything of yourself—well, I would give you everything of myself as well. I already have."
He kissed me so heatedly and so deeply that I felt lightheaded and breathless, his hands resting on the curve of my waist, fitting perfectly there. "I cannot believe this," he murmured once he had drawn back, staring into my eyes as if they held all the world's wonders. "In my wildest dreams I did not think that this was possible…"
"It is possible," I said, and he gave a breathless laugh as I kissed him this time, only pulling away when I was dizzy from lack of oxygen.
"But I want to do things the right way," Jem insisted, leaning his forehead against mine. "The proper way. I want to marry you before we…procure the benefits of being husband and wife."
"You mean again," I teased before turning solemn. "Are you saying that you…regret the night we spent together? Do you regret what we did?"
Now it was his turn to reassure me. "Of course not," he said, softly rubbing his thumb across my cheek. "It was truly the best night I have ever experienced, Abby, and I would not take it back for anything. But I was raised in an entirely different era than you were, and doing such things is not…recommended, even when the couple is engaged."
"Then I shall comply with your wishes," I told him firmly. This was classic Jem, chivalrous to a fault. He believed that he was ruining my virtue. I didn't have the heart to tell him that technically, he already had, and any further dalliances would not affect that fact in any way. "And I will marry you anytime."
"Perhaps we should wait until we know the fate of the Institute before telling the others," Jem said, his hand ghosting up from my waist to my shoulder. I shivered. "If Charlotte loses it, you and I can move to Idris. Mortmain could not find you there. My uncle would surely know of us a place for us, and likely Will as well. But obviously, I would prefer to stay here."
I thought of living on my own with Jem, exploring Alicante and hopefully searching for a cure there while we lived as newlyweds, finding out all we could about each other. There was still so much I didn't know about him—like how he felt about his uncle, for instance. But instead of asking that question, I said, "What about Tessa? Where will she go? She is a warlock…"
Jem's face darkened. "I do not know," he said after another moment. "Perhaps—" But he was interrupted by a knock at the door. Reluctantly, I untangled myself from his embrace and went to open it, revealing Tessa herself. I blushed, hoping she hadn't heard the last part of our conversation, but there was no suspicion at all in her face.
"Charlotte has called us down to the drawing-room," she explained. Her voice was calm and her eyes dry; she did not look as if she had ever been crying. "Will has returned, and she wishes to have a meeting."