Chapitre 2 de "Clock work angel"

Une partie du chapitre 2 de clock work angel tiré de la prélogie "the infernal divices"
vient d'être mis en ligne. Cet extrait est un petit bonus spécial pour les fans, il se peut qu'il subisse des modifications avant la publication du livre.
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Plus tard la traduction! à moins qu'il y ait un volontaire parmi vous?

Spoiler:

The knob of the bedroom door turned; the door creaked open. In the
dimness, all Tessa could see was shadows as someone stepped into the
room. She lunged forward, swinging the heavy ceramic pitcher with all
her strength —

The shadowy figure moved, quick as a whip — but not quite quick
enough; the pitcher slammed into its outstretched arm before flying
from Tessa’s grasp to crash into the far wall. Broken crockery rained
down onto the floor as the intruder yelled in pain.
To Tessa's surprise, the yell was undeniably a masculine one. So was
the flood of cursing that followed it.

She backed away, then dashed for the door — but it had slammed shut
after the intruder, and tug as she would on the knob, it wouldn’t
budge. She spun around, just as bright light blazed through the room
as if the sun had risen.

Tessa blinked away the tears in her eyes — and stared.

There was a boy standing in front of her. He couldn’t have been much more
than a few years older than she was — seventeen or possibly eighteen.
He was dressed in what looked like workman’s clothes: a frayed black
jacket and trousers, and tough-looking boots. He wore no waistcoat,
but a a thick leather belt with a number of weapons hanging off it
circled his waist — daggers and folding knives and things that looked
like blades of ice.

In his right hand, he held what looked like a sort of stone — it was shining,
providing the light in the room that had nearly blinded Tessa. His
other hand — narrow and long-fingered — was bleeding where she had
gashed the back of it with her pitcher.

But that wasn’t what had made her stare. He had the most beautiful face she
had ever seen. Tangled black hair and eyes like blue glass. A scar
across his right cheek that somehow didn’t mar his looks but only
enhanced them. He looked like every fictional hero she’d ever imagined
in her head. Except she’d never imagined one of them cursing at her
while shaking their bleeding hand in an accusing fashion.

He seemed to realize she was staring at him, because the cursing stopped.

“You cut me,” he said. His voice was pleasant. British. Very ordinary.
He looked at his hand with critical interest. "Now, is that any way to
treat someone who's just trying to rescue you?"

"Rescue me?" Tessa echoed. She blinked at him. "Who *are* you?"

"Will," he said, and held out his bleeding hand. "Will Herondale."