The Infernal Devices #3 Beginning

True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
Which is as thin of substance as the air
And more inconstant than the wind

- William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet



         Magnus found the body on the side of the street.
         He had been taking a nighttime walk, hoping that the fresh air and peaceful scenery would ease his restless mind. But no matter what he tried, his thoughts returned to the origin of his troubles.
         “William Herondale,” he muttered angrily. “He just can’t leave well enough alone, can he? Pesters me during the day, haunts me during the night.” But it wasn’t Will who haunted him, Magnus knew. It was the boy’s story.
         I thought whoever loved me would die. That wasn’t a light threat, and Will had been trying to deal with it alone for years. If it had been the other way around, the boy said miserably, I could have stopped myself from loving. I could have locked myself away. But Magnus knew better. Although his youthful appearance belied his true age, his eyes had watched thousands of lives pass by. Over the centuries, he had shed plenty of tears and witnessed the destruction of those he cared for. And yet, without them, his life would have no meaning. Even though their loss had been painful, they lived on in his life and his memory. To spend an entire lifetime without loving - even one that wasn’t infinite - would be impossible.
         Enough, Magnus ordered himself, shaking his head to dislodge the heavy weight of death and loss. There was too much of that already; no need to go dredging it all back up.
        He was just rounding the corner to the harbor when he saw the body.
        At first, he thought it was someone’s garbage strewn about their lawn. But then the figure twitched.
        “What . . .” Magnus muttered, turning toward the misshapen pile. He was about to pass it off as some drunken warlock when the figure let out a low moan.
        “Oh, no,” Magnus whispered, indulging in a few choice words. “Oh, by the Angel.” He started towards the noise when the figure made another sound. A name. One whispered word that told Magnus all he needed to know.
        “Tessa.”


        Magnus stood by his large ebony desk wrapped in a plush red robe edged with gold trim, surveying the room with a critical eye. It was one of the prettiest studies he’d ever seen, with wall-to-wall wooden bookshelves, two large windows with the curtains drawn, and beautiful upholstery that Magnus secretly suspected had not been legally obtained. It would be a charming picture, he thought, if not for the crumpled body on the floor.
        Will Herondale looked, to Magnus’s eye, as though he had been in a fight with a tornado. Both of his eyes were purple and swollen; his face was covered with scratches; and there was a sizable chunk of flesh missing from his left arm - or at least, there had been when Magnus had picked him up. Since then, he had dragged the boy home and done his best to heal him. The missing part of Will’s arm had quickly grown back, and most of the scratches faded, although Magnus had decided to leave a few as a reminder of his foolishness. But he doubted he had dealt with the real trouble: whatever was on the inside. There were some wounds, Magnus knew, that couldn’t be healed by magic. And those were the most dangerous of all.
        “Uuuuughhhhhhmmmmmm,” Will moaned, and Magnus jumped. Will’s eyes flickered open, startling Magnus as always with the brightness of their blue. The boy clumsily swiped at his cheek, bringing his finger to eye level and examining it with a clinical interest.
        “Interesting,” he croaked. “I must have been crying in my sleep. I’m not sure that’s ever happened to me before.” Then he rolled over on his side and began to retch.
        “Not my new shoes!” Magnus shouted, watching with dismay as the contents of Will’s stomach sprayed all over them.
        “Sorry,” Will said, not sounding remotely sorry at all. “It’s rather hard to control one’s aim in this sort of situation, although I’m sure projectile vomiting would be a valuable asset.”
        “Do you know how much I paid for those?” Magnus cried, eyeing the dripping mess.
        “Oh, just magic up some gold, you’ll be fine,” Will replied irritably, clearly unmoved by the sentiment.
        “I cannot just ‘magic up’ some gold,” Magnus started to say, then caught sight of the look on Will’s face. His eyes held none of their usual humor; on the contrary, they looked unbearably sad. His mouth was pulled in a tight grimace, and he looked somehow older, as though he, like Magnus, had seen much more than his years should allow.
        “Will?” Magnus asked gently. “What happened? I thought . . .” He trailed off, unsure of how to say what he was thinking. I thought you were finally happy.
        “I know what you thought,” Will replied tonelessly. “I thought so, too.” He turned on his side, away from Magnus, apparently ready to close the discussion.
        “Well, what happened?” Magnus asked, aware that he was being insensitive but too curious to let it go. For a long time, there was no response, and Magnus was almost sure Will had fallen asleep when he heard a whispered, “Tessa.”
        “What about her?” he asked briskly.
        Silence.
        “Come now, Will,” Magnus implored. “I won’t be able to help you if I don’t even know what’s going on.”
        Suddenly, Will leaped to his feet. Magnus was so surprised by the action that he stumbled back, almost tripping over his ruined shoes. Will closed the gap between them in several strides, his face inches from Magnus’s own.
        “You want to know what happened?” he whispered, and Magnus felt there was something more frightening in his tight control than if had shouted. “They’re going to be married. Jem and Tessa are going to be married.” He took a steadying breath. “She doesn’t love me. I am nothing to her. Nothing!” Before Magnus could respond, he stalked over to the couch, picked up a wineglass, and threw it against the fireplace.
        “William!” Magnus cried. “That is enough!” But all the fight seemed to have drained out of Will. He staggered backwards and collapsed on the white-and-red Victorian couch, not even bothering to avoid the pile of vomit on the ground. He stared blankly at the ceiling, his eyes like glass, shattered and lifeless.
        “Oh, William,” Magnus said softly. “What am I going to do with you?”


         Tessa was standing on Jem’s favorite bridge, looking out over the gray water of the Thames. The day was uncharacteristically sunny, and she felt incredibly peaceful, watching the river dance.
         “Tessa.” The voice came out of nowhere, jolting her from her tranquility. She turned to see Will standing behind her, dressed in one of his finest suits. Her eyes drank in his appearance hungrily, from his messy black hair and mischievous eyes to his black dress shoes.
         “Will,” she whispered.
         “I love you, Tessa,” he said softly.
         “Oh, Will, I -” Tessa began, clapping a hand to her mouth. “I can’t, Will. I’m so sorry, but I just can’t.”
         “I understand,” he said, his eyes hardening, a twisted smile tugging at his mouth. “You have Jem to take care of.”
         “I’m not taking care of him,” she replied, unable to look away from his beautiful face, his haunted eyes. “I . . .”
         “Love him?” Will finished sarcastically. “I don’t think so.”
         “How dare you!” Tessa said, but she heard how weak her own voice sounded. “I do love Jem. How could you say that?” Will took several steps closer, his eyes captivating her, rooting her to the spot so she couldn’t move.
         “Everyone knows you don’t love him,” he hissed fiercely, and as though a spell had been broken, Tessa fell back as though pushed by the power of his words. “It’s as clear to them as it is to me. Even Jem can see it. You’re breaking his heart, one way or the other.”
         “No,” she whispered. “No.”
         Will’s grin was terrifying.
         “It’s horrible, isn’t it?” he said mockingly. “Not being able to have a choice in love. I should know.”
         “Will, stop!” Tessa cried.
         “Stop?” he asked menacingly. “Fine, I will. Just say the magic words.”
         “Please,” Tessa implored.
         “That’s not it,” Will replied, looking sickly delighted. And then Tessa knew, somehow, without being told. She knew what he wanted her to say. I love you. Tessa gasped, her hands tightening around her angel necklace for support. “I can’t, Will. I already told you I can’t.”
         “Say it,” he threatened, climbing onto the bridge’s ledge, “or I’ll jump.”
         “Will!” Tessa screamed. “Come back down, Will. Will, please come down!”
         “Say it,” he hissed.
         “I can’t, I can’t!”
         He held up three fingers.
         “Three -” One finger down.
         “Will, don’t do this -”
         “Two -” Another finger. Tessa stared frantically at him, poised to jump to his death.
         “Please, Will!” He glanced down at her, and for a second she thought he looked just like an avenging angel. His hair was haloed in gold, his arms spread as though to welcome death. She could almost imagine wings sprouting from his back, ready to carry him off to Heaven.
         “One!”
        “Wait!” she called at the same time. He barely stopped himself from plummeting off the side, turning to her with expectant blue eyes.
        “I love you,” she said in a rush. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Will smiled, but his eyes lacked any warmth. And then, instead of Will, he was Mortmain, with the same ice-cold eyes Will had.
        “I knew it,” he hissed. “He loves you. And you love him. What could be more fun than this?” Tessa stared at him in horror, unable to think straight.
        “Oh, yes, this will be fun!” Mortmain continued. “William Herondale, the greatest Shadowhunter of his time. And now I know his greatest weakness.” Mortmain’s eyes locked on Tessa’s and he smiled wickedly.
        “You.”


        Rough hands grabbed Tessa, shaking her from sleep. It’s Mortmain! she thought wildly. He broke into the Sanctuary, he’s come for me!
        “Miss. Miss!”
        Tessa’s eyes flew open to see Sophie’s haggard face leaning over her. The faint candlelight cast shadows over her scar, making the wound that disfigured her otherwise comely face seem longer and more menacing. The girl’s eyes were wide with alarm, the hollows beneath her eyes dark with exhaustion.
        “Sophie,” Tessa said thickly, her mind still spinning from the nightmare. “Sophie, what’s wrong?” Seized by a sudden irrational fear, she asked, “Is it Will? Is he all right?”
        “I don’t know, miss,” she replied tiredly, sinking down onto the bed beside Tessa. “He’s gone missing.”