The Infernal Devices Reimagined

Old Bones

"What is this?" Jem cried out. Starkweather stood at the foot of the portrait of Adele, staring at his feet with a bathrobe thrown over his nightclothes. One of the Institute's servants, Cedric, stood at the precipice of the room, looking from Jem to Starkweather, his face a maze of confusion. 

"It's a portrait of my late granddaughter, Adele, may the Angel rest her soul," Starkweather said. His voice had never sounded so soft in his entire life. 

"I think you have a very fair idea of what it is that I mean," Jem ran a hand through his hair. He felt terribly hot. It was not like him to be so angry and confrontational. What was happening to him? 

Jem took a step back, "This is why you invited us." 

Starkweather looked up. His forehead creased, "Whatever do you mean?" 

"You saw her, didn't you? You saw Miss Gray. She was here." 

Starkweather went back to inspecting his slippered feet. "I haven't a clue-"

Jem cleared the space between them and grabbed Starkweather's bathrobe. He pulled the man straight so he looked him in the eye, "Where is she, Starkweather?"

Cedric raced forward and pulled the two apart. Starkweather retreated back from Jem and stared at him. Cedric put a hand on Starkweather's shoulder and glanced at Jem, frowning.  Jem clenched and unclenched his fists. No one had ever looked at him like this before, with fear and horror in their eyes. His body was thrumming with energy. What was happening to him? 

"Alright," Starkweather rasped, "I saw that girl. I'm aware that she's a Downworlder, but she's the spitting image of my poor Adele. She has to be her." 

"Sir," Cedric said, "Adele passed away thirty-one years ago."

Jem took a deep breath to calm himself. This situation concerned a dead child, and therefore required a more gentle hand."What were the circumstances of the young Miss Starkweather's death?" he said. 

"Poor Adele was a pale, sickly child," said Cedric. "She did not survive her Marking Ceremony and unfortunately died." 

"Sickly or not, it is highly unusual for a Nephilim child to not survive being tuned. Did she have a particular ailment?" 

"No," Starkweather said, and there was a glint in his eyes. He brushed Cedric off and said, "she wouldn't have survived if she was the strongest little girl to have ever lived. That girl was no Nephilim." 

"Is that so?" Jem frowned. 

"Sir..." Cedric urged, but Starkweather ignored him. 

"Her mother knew from the start, but I realised it soon enough. That girl was a Changeling. Those damn Downworlder bastards must have switched my grandchild with some sickly mundane. I know it's true." 

"Do you believe Miss Gray to be your granddaughter?" 

"Ay, I know that the times do not match. My Adele would today be a forty-two-year-old woman, and that Tessa Gray of yours is a young girl. Still, I know that she's my blood. The faeries have their ways. I am not some rambling old man, James Carstairs. Heed what I say." 

"I will make sure to do so," Jem said. He wasn't certain if he would. "In the meantime, I need to know every detail of your sighting of Miss Gray." 

Jem had planned on sleeping that night, but unfortunately, it was not to be. After receiving the information from Starkweather, Jem wrote up a report and mailed it to Charlotte. As he paced up and down his bedroom, Jem mulled over all that he knew now. Firstly, Tessa had been taken by Mortmain, but her captors appeared to be vampires. Mortmain was known to have a demon in his employ by the name of Mrs Dark, however, most of the rest of his minions so far had appeared to be automatons. Had the vampires allied themselves with Mortmain? The Institute had suspected de Quincey of being the Magister before, but that had turned out to be a false lead. Had the vampires decided that they preferred Mortmain after all?