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sword with a gloved hand.
    Suddenly Benedict reared up like a cobra, his jaws apart and dripping. Gideon raised the sword, looking impossibly small against the creature’s vast bulk.
    “Gideon!”
It was Gabriel, white-faced, raising his bow; Will spun aside as an arrow flew past him and buried itself in the worm’s body. The worm yelped and spun, humping its body away from them with incredible speed. As it slithered away, a flick of its tail caught the edge of a statue, and squeezed it tightly—the statue exploded into dust, showering into the dry ornamental pool.
    “By the Angel, it just crushed Sophocles,” noted Will as the worm vanished behind a large structure shaped like a Greek temple. “Has no one respect for the classics these days?”
    Gabriel, breathing hard, lowered his bow. “You
fool
,” he said savagely to his brother. “What were you thinking, rushing up to him like that?”
    Gideon whirled, pointing his bloody sword at Gabriel. “Not ‘him.’
It
. That is not our father any longer, Gabriel. If you cannot countenance that fact—”
    “I shot him with an arrow!” Gabriel shouted. “What more do you want of me, Gideon?”
    Gideon shook his head as if disgusted with his brother; even Will, who did not like Gabriel, felt a twinge of sympathy for him. He
had
shot the beast.
    “We must pursue it,” said Gideon. “It has gone behind the folly—”
    “The
what
?” said Will.
    “A folly, Will,” said Jem. “It is a decorative structure. I assume there is no real interior.”
    Gideon shook his head. “It is merely plaster. If we two were to go around one side of it, and you and James the other—”
    “Cecily,
what
are you doing?” Will demanded, interrupting Gideon; he knew he sounded like a distracted parent, but he didn’t care. Cecily had slid her blade into her belt and appeared to be trying to climb one of the small yew trees inside the first row of hedges. “Now is not the time for climbing trees!”
    She looked toward him angrily, her black hair blowing across her face. She opened her mouth to answer, but before she could speak, there was a sound like an earthquake, and the folly burst apart in shards of plaster. The worm hurtled forth, heading straight toward them with the terrifying speed of an out-of-control train.
    By the time they reached the front courtyard of Lightwood House, Tessa’s neck and back were aching. She was tightly laced into her corset beneath the heavy wedding dress, and the weight of the sobbing Tatiana dragged down her left shoulder painfully.
    She was relieved to see the carriages come into view—relieved, and also startled. The scene in the courtyard was so peaceful—the carriages where they had left them, the horses cropping grass, the facade of the house undisturbed. After half-carrying, half-dragging Tatiana to the first carriage, Tessa wrenched the door open and helped her in, wincing when the other girl’s sharp nails dug into her shoulders as she heaved herself and her skirts into the space inside.
    “Oh, God,” Tatiana moaned. “The shame of it, the terrible shame. That the Clave might know of what has befallen my father. For pity’s sake, could he not have thought of me, even for a moment?”
    Tessa blinked. “That
thing
,” she said. “I do not think it was capable of thinking of anyone, Mrs. Blackthorn.”
    Tatiana looked at her dizzily, and for a moment Tessa was ashamed of the resentment she had felt toward the other girl. She had not liked being sent away from the gardens, where she might perhaps have helped—but Tatiana had just seen her husband torn to pieces before her eyes by her own father. She was deserving of more sympathy than Tessa had been feeling.
    Tessa made her voice more gentle. “I know you have had a bad shock. If you would lie down—”
    “You are
very
tall,” Tatiana said. “Do gentlemen complain of it?”
    Tessa stared.
    “And you are dressed as a bride,” said Tatiana. “Is that not
very
odd? Would not