Will made a surprised noise.
“He is unmistakably a Blackthorn in his appearance,” Malcolm added, “and I don’t think he will be able to pretend to be anything else. He looks as much like his father as if he were an artist’s copy.”
“Indeed,” said Will impatiently, “but we’ve already discussed that it will be a problem for him to reappear as himself. Not only does it bring up issues of necromancy, but the last anyone in the Clave heard of him, he was a dead body possessed by a demon in order to murder Shadowhunters.”
Jesse looked down at his hands. At the Voyance rune that had once belonged to Elias Carstairs. He moved his left hand away, as if he could hardly bear to look at it.
“Yes, we’ve been through all that,” said Malcolm tightly. “I am not suggesting he present himself as Jesse Blackthorn. How many people saw him, actually saw him as he is now, after he was possessed?”
There was a short silence. James said, “Lucie, of course. I did. Matthew, Cordelia—the Silent Brothers who prepared his body—”
“Most of the Enclave heard the story of what had happened,” said Malcolm. “But they did not see Jesse.”
“No,” Will said. “They didn’t.”
“You must understand, I have ties to the Blackthorn family that none of you share,” said Malcolm. “I was their ward—the ward of Felix and Adelaide Blackthorn—a hundred years ago.”
“They raised you?” said James.
Malcolm’s mouth set in a hard line. “I wouldn’t call it that. To them, I was their property, and for the privilege of being fed and clothed and housed by them, I was obliged to perform magic at their command.”
Will said, “Some Shadowhunters have always been bastards. My family has good cause to know it.”
Malcolm waved this off. “I don’t hold the Nephilim at large responsible for the actions of the Blackthorns. They are the only ones who should ever have to answer for those actions. For the purposes of this discussion, what is important is only that Felix and Adelaide had four children: Annabel, Abner, Jerome, and Ezekiel.”
“Terrible names they had in olden times,” Lucie murmured, “simply terrible.”
“The children had… different attitudes from their parents,” Malcolm went on, “regarding the treatment of Downworlders. Ezekiel, especially, found their bigotry and cruelty as unpleasant as I did. When he reached the age of majority, he renounced the family and struck off on his own. You will find in the Silent City no record of Ezekiel leaving any children after him, but I know that not to be the case.”
Jesse looked up.
“I happen to know,” said Malcolm, “that Ezekiel did have children. That he went to America, then a very new nation where Shadowhunters were few and far between, and married a mundane woman. They raised their children as mundanes, but of course, Nephilim blood breeds true, and his descendants are Shadowhunters just as much as any of you.
“I propose, then, that Jesse present himself as one of Ezekiel’s grandchildren, come to rejoin the Nephilim and seek out his cousins. That when he learned the truth of his heritage, he wished to be a Shadowhunter and presented himself to Will at the Institute. After all, Will has a not dissimilar history.”
It was true enough, Lucie thought; her father had thought himself a mundane until he learned the truth, whereupon he had walked all the way from Wales to London to join the Enclave. He had only been twelve years old. “An excellent plan,” she said, though Will and Magnus still looked dubious. “We shall call Jesse Hezekiah Blackthorn.”
“We shall not,” said Jesse.
“What about Cornelius?” said James. “I’ve always fancied Cornelius.”
“Definitely not,” said Jesse.
“It should be something with a J,” Will said, his arms folded. “Something it will be easy for Jesse to remember, and to respond to. Like Jeremy.”
“Then you agree with Malcolm?” Magnus said. “This will be the scheme? Jesse is to be Jeremy?”
“Have you a better plan?” Will looked tired. “Other than letting Jesse fend for himself in the world? At the Institute, we can protect him. And he is a Shadowhunter. He is one of our own.”
Magnus nodded thoughtfully. James said, “Can we at least tell the Lightwoods the truth? Gabriel and Gideon, Sophie and Cecily? They are Jesse’s family, after all, and he doesn’t even know them.”
“And my sister,” Jesse said. “Grace must know the truth.”
Lucie saw James’s face tighten.
“Of course,” said Will. “Only Jesse… I don’t know if you’ve been told, but…”
“Grace is in the Silent City,” said James, in a stony voice. “In the custody of the Silent Brothers.”
“After the discovery of what your mother did to you, she took herself there,” Will said swiftly. “The Silent Brothers are making sure that no similar dark magic was worked upon her.”
Jesse looked stunned. “In the Silent City? She must be terrified.” He turned toward Will. “I have to see her.” Lucie could tell he was expending effort to seem calmer than he was. “I know that Silent Brothers are our fellow Shadowhunters—but you must understand, our mother raised us to think of them as fiends.”
“I’m sure a visit can be arranged,” said Will. “And as for thinking of the Silent Brothers as fiends—if a Silent Brother had done your protection spells, and not Emmanuel Gast, you would not have been harmed as you were.”
“His protection spells!” Lucie sat up straight. “They must be done again. Until they are, he will be vulnerable to demonic possession.”
“I will arrange for it with Jem,” said Will, and Lucie saw an odd look flash across James’s face. “We cannot carry out this deception without the cooperation of the Brothers; I will make it known to them.”
“Malcolm, is there anyone else besides you who has access to this information about the American branch of the Blackthorns?” said Magnus. “If anyone were to suspect—”
“We should organize this plan,” said James. “Sit down and think of every objection, every question anyone might have about Jesse’s story, and come up with answers. This must be a complete deception, with no weak spots.”
There was a chorus of agreement; only Jesse did not join it. After a moment, when it was quiet again, he said, “Thank you. Thank you for doing this for me.”
Magnus mimed raising a glass in his direction. “Jeremy Blackthorn,” he said. “Welcome, in advance, to the London Enclave.”
* * *
That night Cordelia put on her red velvet dress and her fur-trimmed cloak, along with a pair of elbow-length silk gloves, and joined Matthew in a fiacre bound for Montmartre. Paris slid by outside the windows as they rode, passing up the Rue de la Paix, lights glimmering from the rows of shopwindows, squares of illumination in the darkness.
Matthew had matched his waistcoat and spats to Cordelia’s dress—scarlet velvet, which flashed like rubies as they passed beneath the light of intermittent gas lamps. His gloves were black, his eyes very dark as he watched her. “There are other clubs we could investigate,” he said as the carriage rattled past the church of Sainte-Trinité with its great rose window. “There is the Rat Mort—”