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“How did she get here?” James said. “Tatiana. I thought she was in the Cornwall Sanctuary.”
“We’ll discuss that later,” said Will. There were dark lines at the sides of his mouth. “Go upstairs. Stay there. Do you understand me?”
“We understand,” James said calmly. “We’ll take care of the situation.”
And he did. Lucie saw why the Merry Thieves had always called him the leader of their group. With a calm that brooked no argument, he gathered them all—Alastair and Cordelia, Anna and Ari and Matthew, Thomas and Jesse—and even though each one of them objected, herded them out of the (now nearly empty) ballroom and up the stairs. They had reached the second floor when Anna began to protest.
“James,” she said, her voice a harsh rasp. “I ought to be with my mother—”
“I understand,” James said. “And if you choose to be there, you should be. But I thought you might want the chance to go after Alexander.”
Anna sucked in a breath. “James? What do you mean?”
James took a left off the landing and began to lead them down the hall; Lucie could hear the others muttering in puzzlement, but she was beginning to have an inkling of where her brother was taking them. James said, “Jesse, tell them what you told me.”
“I think I know where my mother will have taken the child,” said Jesse.
“Alexander,” Anna said, a savage edge to her voice. “His name is Alexander.”
“Anna,” said Ari gently. “Jesse is trying to help.”
“Then why not tell everyone?” Thomas asked Jesse. He did not sound hostile, only puzzled. “Why not tell Will, let him spread the word that you know what your mother would have done?”
“Because nobody knows who Jesse really is,” said Alastair as James paused in front of a large iron door. “They think he’s Jeremy Blackthorn.”
“Indeed,” said Matthew. “If Will claims to have knowledge gained from Tatiana’s son, it will blow up the whole enterprise.”
“It’s not only that,” Jesse said quickly. “I would sacrifice my identity happily. But I could be wrong. It’s a guess, a feeling, not a surety. I cannot send everyone in the Enclave off after a belief I have—what if they all descend on one location, but it’s the wrong one? Then who would be looking for Alexander elsewhere?”
He’s right, Lucie wanted to say, but that would be seen as mere partisanship. Everyone knew how she felt about Jesse.
It was Cordelia who spoke.
“Jesse is right,” she said. “But James—you did swear to your father that we’d stay here, didn’t you?”
James’s face was set like iron. “I’ll have to beg his forgiveness later,” he said, and swung the doors open. Beyond it was the weapons room. It had only grown since Will had taken over the Institute, and now spread over two chambers of axes and longswords, hammers and quoits and shuriken that gleamed like stars, runed bows and arrows, whips and maces and polearms. There was armor: gear and chain mail, gauntlets and greaves. On the wide table in the center of the room, seraph blades were lined up like rows of icicles, ready to be named and used.
“Everyone who wants to come—and there is no shame in remaining here—arm yourselves,” James said. “Your preferred weapon might not be available,” he added, looking at Thomas, “but we have no time to gather those. Take something you think you’ll be able to use, and whatever gear you need. Do it quickly. We have little time to lose.”
“So you think that she would go to Bedford Square?” Anna said, as they set off through the darkened streets. James had brought them out of the Institute through a back way and looped around the narrow streets carefully so as to minimize the chance of running into an Enclave patrol. They could not afford to be immediately sent back. “To my parents’ house?”
The note of fear in her voice made Ari’s heart ache. Not that Anna would show her fear. She usually lounged like a purring cat, but she was stalking along the streets now like a tiger in the Odisha forests, elegant and deadly.
“Yes,” said Jesse. He had armed himself with the Blackthorn sword. It was strapped to his back in a tooled leather sheath and made him look as if he had been a practicing Shadowhunter for years, rather than days. “I can’t be absolutely certain, but it is my instinct, after years of knowing her, of listening to her.”
“How can you not know—” Anna began, but Ari caught her hand and squeezed it.
“He is being honest, Anna,” she said. “That is better than false hope.”
But Anna did not squeeze back. Ari could not blame her; she could only imagine the terror that was in Anna now, the terror that she was only barely holding back. She wished she could take some of it into her own heart, that she could bear that fear for Anna, share it with her that the burden might be lessened, even a little bit.
“But why?” said Thomas. He shifted his shoulders; the gear jacket he wore was too small, but there had not been one in the weapons room to fit him. “Why Uncle Gabriel’s house? Wouldn’t she expect to be caught there?”
“Not before—” Jesse broke off, but Thomas could guess at what he had almost said. Not before she kills Alexander. “Not immediately,” Jesse said. “I doubt anyone is going to look there first, other than us.”
They were on High Holborn; it was quiet at this hour, though no street in London was ever entirely deserted, no matter how late it became. At night, the damp patches on the pavement froze, and their boots crunched on ice as they walked. Hansom cabs rolled by, spraying them with filthy gutter-ice; they tried to stay well back from the curbs, since they were invisible to drivers.
Jesse said, “My mother will want to inflict the most hurt possible. She’ll want her revenge symbolic and visible.”
