The Whitechapel Fiend Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Cassandra Clare
Tags: Fantasy, Young Adult
was elsewhere. Tessa Gray had mentioned two names: Jem Carstairs and Brother Zachariah . Apparently they were the same person. Which was interesting, because somewhere in Simon’s shifting memories, he knew those names. And he remembered Emma Carstairs, facing Jace—he couldn’t remember why, but he knew it had happened—and saying, The Carstairs owe the Herondales.
Simon glanced over at Jace, who was seated in an armchair, being waited on hand and foot by students.
“Miss Gray looks very good for a hundred and fifty,” said George, looking over at where Tessa was examining the tea suspiciously. As she moved away from the table, she cast a quick glance toward Jace. There was a wistful sadness in her expression.
At that moment Jace stood up from his chair, scattering hangers-on. The elites all moved to make way for him, and there was a quiet chorus of “Hi, Jace” and a few wheezing sighs as he made his way over to Simon and George.
“You did really well today,” he said to George, who was flushed and appeared speechless.
“I . . . oh. Right. Yeah. Thanks, Jace. Thanks.”
“Are you still sore?” Jace asked Simon.
“Mostly my pride.”
“That’s supposed to goeth before a fall anyway.”
Simon winced at the joke. “Really?”
“I’ve been waiting to say that for a while.”
“That’s not possible.” Jace’s expression showed that it was indeed possible. Simon sighed. “Look, Jace, if I could talk to you for a second—”
“Anything you want to tell me can be said around my good buddy George here.”
You’re going to regret that, Simon thought. “Fine,” he said. “Go talk to Tessa.”
Jace blinked. “Tessa Gray? The warlock?”
“She used to be a Shadowhunter,” said Simon carefully. “Look, she was telling us a story—more a piece of history, really—and do you remember what Emma said? About the Carstairs owing the Herondales?”
Jace put his hands in his pockets. “Sure, I remember. I’m surprised you remember.”
“I think you should talk to Tessa,” said Simon. “I think she could tell you about the Herondales. Things you don’t know already.”
“Hm,” Jace said. “I’ll think about it.”
He walked off. Simon looked after him, frustrated. He wished he could remember enough about how he and Jace interacted normally to know whether this meant Jace was going to ignore his advice or not.
* * *
“He treats you like a friend,” George said. “Or an equal. You really did know each other. I mean, I knew that, but . . .”
Unsurprisingly, Jonathan Cartwright sidled up to them.
“Just talking to Jace, huh?” he said.
“Are you a detective?” Simon replied. “Your powers of observation are amazing.”
Jonathan acted like Simon had never spoken.
“Yeah—Jace and I will catch up later.”
“Are you really going to keep up the pretense that you know Jace?” Simon asked. “Because you know that’s not going to work now, right? Eventually Jace will just come over and say he doesn’t know you.”
Jonathan looked glum. Before he could say anything, though, the signal was given for everyone to return to the hall, and Simon shuffled in with the others. They took their seats again, and settled in to listen to Tessa.
“We had decided to do nightly patrols of the area,” Tessa began. “Our duty as Shadowhunters is to protect the mundane world from the influence of demons. We walked, we watched, and we warned all those we could. As much as it was possible, women working in the East End tried to take more care and not walk alone as much. But for women in that profession, safety was rarely a consideration. I had always assumed their lives were hard, but I had no idea . . .”
London, November 9, 1888
Tessa Herondale certainly knew what poverty was, that it existed. In the time when her aunt had died and she was a young girl left friendless and defenseless in New York, she had felt the cold breath of poverty like a monster stalking
Simon glanced over at Jace, who was seated in an armchair, being waited on hand and foot by students.
“Miss Gray looks very good for a hundred and fifty,” said George, looking over at where Tessa was examining the tea suspiciously. As she moved away from the table, she cast a quick glance toward Jace. There was a wistful sadness in her expression.
At that moment Jace stood up from his chair, scattering hangers-on. The elites all moved to make way for him, and there was a quiet chorus of “Hi, Jace” and a few wheezing sighs as he made his way over to Simon and George.
“You did really well today,” he said to George, who was flushed and appeared speechless.
“I . . . oh. Right. Yeah. Thanks, Jace. Thanks.”
“Are you still sore?” Jace asked Simon.
“Mostly my pride.”
“That’s supposed to goeth before a fall anyway.”
Simon winced at the joke. “Really?”
“I’ve been waiting to say that for a while.”
“That’s not possible.” Jace’s expression showed that it was indeed possible. Simon sighed. “Look, Jace, if I could talk to you for a second—”
“Anything you want to tell me can be said around my good buddy George here.”
You’re going to regret that, Simon thought. “Fine,” he said. “Go talk to Tessa.”
Jace blinked. “Tessa Gray? The warlock?”
“She used to be a Shadowhunter,” said Simon carefully. “Look, she was telling us a story—more a piece of history, really—and do you remember what Emma said? About the Carstairs owing the Herondales?”
Jace put his hands in his pockets. “Sure, I remember. I’m surprised you remember.”
“I think you should talk to Tessa,” said Simon. “I think she could tell you about the Herondales. Things you don’t know already.”
“Hm,” Jace said. “I’ll think about it.”
He walked off. Simon looked after him, frustrated. He wished he could remember enough about how he and Jace interacted normally to know whether this meant Jace was going to ignore his advice or not.
* * *
“He treats you like a friend,” George said. “Or an equal. You really did know each other. I mean, I knew that, but . . .”
Unsurprisingly, Jonathan Cartwright sidled up to them.
“Just talking to Jace, huh?” he said.
“Are you a detective?” Simon replied. “Your powers of observation are amazing.”
Jonathan acted like Simon had never spoken.
“Yeah—Jace and I will catch up later.”
“Are you really going to keep up the pretense that you know Jace?” Simon asked. “Because you know that’s not going to work now, right? Eventually Jace will just come over and say he doesn’t know you.”
Jonathan looked glum. Before he could say anything, though, the signal was given for everyone to return to the hall, and Simon shuffled in with the others. They took their seats again, and settled in to listen to Tessa.
“We had decided to do nightly patrols of the area,” Tessa began. “Our duty as Shadowhunters is to protect the mundane world from the influence of demons. We walked, we watched, and we warned all those we could. As much as it was possible, women working in the East End tried to take more care and not walk alone as much. But for women in that profession, safety was rarely a consideration. I had always assumed their lives were hard, but I had no idea . . .”
London, November 9, 1888
Tessa Herondale certainly knew what poverty was, that it existed. In the time when her aunt had died and she was a young girl left friendless and defenseless in New York, she had felt the cold breath of poverty like a monster stalking