Gabriel flicked his eyes toward his brother, who shrugged in bafflement. The Argent Rooms were a notorious music hall and gentleman's club in Piccadilly Circus. Ladies of ill repute frequented the place, and there were rumors that the business was owned by Downworlders, and that on some evenings the "magic shows" featured real magic.
"I used to come here with your father," said the Consul, once all three of them were on the pavement. Gideon and Gabriel were staring up through the drizzle at the rather tasteless Italianate theater front that had clearly been grafted onto the more modest buildings that had stood there before. It featured a triple loggia and some rather loud blue paint. "Once the police revoked the Alhambra's license because the management had allowed the cancan to be danced upon their premises. But then, the Alhambra is run by mundanes. This is much more satisfactory. Shall we go in?"
His tone left no room for disagreement. Gabriel followed the Consul through the arcaded entrance, where money changed hands and a ticket was purchased for each of them. Gabriel looked at his ticket with some puzzlement. It was in the form of an advertisement, promising the best entertainment in london!
"Feats of strength," he read off to Gideon as they made their way down a long corridor. "Trained animals, strongwomen, acrobats, circus acts, and comic singers."
Gideon was muttering under his breath.
"And contortionists," Gabriel added brightly. "It looks like there's a woman here who can put her foot on top of her--"
"By the Angel, this place is barely better than a penny gaff," Gideon said. "Gabriel, don't look at anything unless I tell you it's all right."
Gabriel rolled his eyes as his brother took firm hold of his elbow and propelled him into what was clearly the grand salon--a massive room whose ceiling was painted with reproductions of the Italian Great Masters, including Botticelli's Birth of Venus, now rather smoke-stained and the worse for wear. Gasoliers hung from gilded mounds of plaster, filling the room with a yellowish light.
The walls were lined with velvet benches, on which dark figures huddled--gentlemen, surrounded by ladies whose dresses were too bright and whose laughter was too loud. Music poured from the stage at the front of the room. The Consul moved toward it, grinning. A woman in a top hat and tails was slinking up and down the stage, singing a song entitled "It's Naughty, but It's Nice." As she turned, her eyes flashed out green beneath the light of the gasolier.
Werewolf, Gabriel thought.
"Wait here for me a moment, boys," said the Consul, and he disappeared into the crowd.
"Lovely," Gideon muttered, and pulled Gabriel closer toward him as a woman in a tight-bodiced satin dress swayed by them. She smelled of gin and something else beneath it, something dark and sweet, a bit like James Carstairs's scent of burned sugar.
"Who knew the Consul was such a ramper?" Gabriel said. "Couldn't this have waited until after he took us to the Silent City?"
"He's not taking us to the Silent City." Gideon's mouth was tight.
"He's not?"
"Don't be a half-wit, Gabriel. Of course not. He wants something else from us. I don't know what yet. He took us here to unsettle us--and he wouldn't have done it if he weren't fairly sure he has something over us that will prevent us from telling Charlotte or anyone else where we've been."
"Maybe he did used to come here with Father."
"Maybe, but that's not why we're here now," Gideon said with finality. He tightened his grip on his brother's arm as the Consul reappeared, carrying with him a small bottle of what looked like soda water but what Gabriel guessed likely had at least a tuppence worth of spirit in it.
"What, nothing for us?" Gabriel inquired, and was met with a glare from his brother and a sour smile from the Consul. Gabriel realized he had no idea if the Consul himself had a family, or children. He was just the Consul. "Do you boys have any idea," he said, "what kind of peril you're in?"
"Peril? From who, Charlotte?" Gideon sounded incredulous.
"Not from Charlotte." The Consul returned his gaze to them. "Your father did not just break the Law; he blasphemed it. He did not just deal with demons; he lay down among them. You are the Lightwoods--you are all that is left of the Lightwoods. You have no cousins, no aunts and uncles. I could have your whole family stricken off the registers of the Nephilim and turn you and your sister out into the street to starve or beg a living amid the mundanes, and I would be within the rights of Clave and Council to do it. And who do you think would stand up for you? Who would speak in your defense?"
Gideon had gone very pale, and his knuckles, where he gripped Gabriel's arm, were white. "That is not fair," he said. "We did not know. My brother trusted my father. He cannot be held responsible--"
"Trusted him? He delivered the deathblow, didn't he?" said the Consul. "Oh, you all contributed, but his was the coup de grace that slew your father--which rather indicates that he knew exactly what your father was."
Gabriel was aware of Gideon looking at him with concern. The air in the Argent Rooms was hot and close, stealing his breath. The woman onstage was now singing a song called "All Through Obliging a Lady" and striding up and down, hitting the stage over and over with the end of a walking stick, which made the floor shudder.
"The sins of the fathers, children. You can and will be punished for his crimes if I desire it. What will you do, Gideon, while your brother and Tatiana have their runes burned off? Will you stand and watch?"
Gabriel's right hand twitched; he felt sure he would have reached out and seized the Consul by the throat if Gideon hadn't caught hold of him first and held his wrist. "What do you want from us?" Gideon asked, his voice controlled. "You didn't bring us here just to threaten us, not unless you want something in return. And if it was something you could ask easily or legally, you would have done it in the Silent City."
"Clever boy," the Consul said. "I want you to do something for me. Do it, and I will see to it that, though Lightwood House may be confiscated, you retain your honor and your name, your lands in Idris, and your place as Shadowhunters."
"What do you want us to do?"
"I wish you to observe Charlotte. Most specifically her correspondence. Tell me what letters she receives and sends, especially to and from Idris."
"You want us to spy on her." Gideon's voice was flat.
"I don't want any more surprises like the one about your father," said Consul. "She should never have kept his disease a secret from me."
"She had to," Gideon said. "It was a condition of the agreement they made--"
The Consul's lips tightened. "Charlotte Branwell has no right to make agreements of such scope without consulting me. I am her superior. She should not and cannot go over my head in that manner. She and that group in the Institute behave as if they are their own country that exists under its own laws. Look what happened with Jessamine Lovelace. She betrayed us all, nearly to our destruction. James Carstairs is a dying drug addict. That Gray girl is a changeling or a warlock and has no place in an Institute, ridiculous engagement be damned. And Will Herondale--Will Herondale is a liar and a spoiled brat who will grow up to be a criminal, if he grows up at all." The Consul paused, breathing hard. "Charlotte may run that place like a fiefdom, but it is not. It is an Institute and reports to the Consul. And so will you."
"Charlotte has done nothing to deserve such a betrayal from me," Gideon said.
The Consul jabbed a finger toward him. "That is exactly what I speak of. Your loyalty is not to her; it cannot be to her. It is to me. It must be to me. Do you understand that?"
"And if I say no?"
"Then you lose everything. House, lands, name, lineage, purpose."
"We'll do it," said Gabriel, before Gideon could speak again. "We will watch her for you."
"Gabriel--," Gideon began.
Gabriel turned on his brother. "No," he said. "It's too much. You don't want to be a liar, I understand that. But our first loyalty is to family. The Blackthorns would throw Tati out on the streets, and she wouldn't last a moment
there, her and the child--"
Gideon whitened. "Tatiana is going to have a child?"
Despite the horror of the situation, Gabriel felt a flash of satisfaction at knowing something his brother hadn't known. "Yes," he said. "You would have known it, if you were still part of our family."
Gideon glanced around the room as if searching for a familiar face, then looked helplessly back at his brother and the Consul. "I ..."
Consul Wayland smiled coldly at Gabriel, and then his brother. "Have we an agreement, gentlemen?"
After a long moment Gideon nodded. "We will do it."
Gabriel would not soon forget the look that spread over the Consul's face at that. There was satisfaction in it, but there was little surprise. It was clear he had expected nothing else, and nothing better, from the Lightwood boys.
"Scones?" Tessa said incredulously.
Sophie's mouth twitched into a smile. She was down on her knees before the grate with a rag and a bucket of soapy water. "You could have knocked me into a cocked hat, I was that startled," she confirmed. "Dozens of scones. Under his bed, all gone hard as rocks."
"My goodness," Tessa said, sliding to the edge of the bed and leaning back on her hands. Whenever Sophie was in her room cleaning, Tessa always had to hold herself back from rushing over to help the other girl with the tinderbox or the dusting. She had tried it on a few occasions, but after Sophie had set Tessa down gently but firmly for the fourth time, she had given it up.
"And you were angry?" Tessa said.
"Of course I was! Making all that extra work for me, carrying the scones up and down stairs, and then hiding them like that--I shouldn't be surprised if we end the autumn with mice."
Tessa nodded, gravely acknowledging the potential rodent issue. "But isn't it a bit flattering that he went to such lengths just to see you?"
Sophie sat up straight. "It's not flattering. He is not thinking. He is a Shadowhunter, and I am a mundane. I can expect nothing from him. In the best of all possible worlds, he might offer to take me as a mistress while he marries a Shadowhunter girl."
Tessa's throat tightened, remembering Will on the roof, offering her just that, offering her shame and disgrace, and how small she had felt, how worthless. It had been a lie, but the memory still held pain.
"No," Sophie said, looking back down at her red, work-roughened hands. "It is better that I never entertain the idea. That way there will be no disappointment."