Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night out at Pandemonium was supposed to be fun, but it wasn’t fun as Clary continued to stare at the blue haired boy she had seen talk his way into the club. 

There was something about him that drew her stare, but Clary didn’t know why. Perhaps she hoped that he’d look her way, or maybe she just wanted to know——but she wouldn’t know what would’ve happened next because one minute she was surrounded by loud blaring music and strobing lights and then she wasn’t. 

It was quiet, the room she had been transported to, and for whatever odd reason, Clary didn’t quite panic yet even when she knew she should. 

The room was decorated aptly, nothing too gaudy but not quite bland. It was a room she would have drawn from point perspective with its tall mahogany bookshelves that reached the ceiling and its many golden light fixtures. There were dark navy curtains pulled over the windows and unlike the dead of night like she had been expecting, there was daylight spilling from the shades. Her gaze was more drawn to the center of the room where many chairs were placed all circling around a table with a little over fifteen or so books. And yeah, maybe that is a little weird. What lounge would need that many chairs if it seemed like the place was good enough to house two people? 

Clary was curious, when will she ever not be, but it felt like she had been transported to some kind of limbo where time stopped and the outside world didn’t matter. 

Clary’s fingers traced the wood of the shelves as she heard distant chatter accompanying her in the otherwise empty room. She walked towards the middle of the room. She couldn’t be the only one here, there had to be others and lurking in the mini library would not do her any good if she wanted to know what was going on. 

Clary caught a glimpse of three teenagers dressed in black huddled together, already in the middle of the room that had been empty when she had glanced at it before. Just as she walked towards them, a familiar voice called out to her and she turned. 

“Clary!” Her best friend said, crashing into her with a hug, “thank god you're here.” He took a quick glance around the room, “Do you know what’s going on?” 

Clary parted her lips to answer and two more bodies came crashing forward, and really, what exactly is going on? It’s already weird enough that she saw three teens whom she has absolutely no clue who they are, then Simon pops up out of nowhere and like serendipity her mother is here along with Luke. 

Clary watched as her mother gave her a cursory glance, from bottom to top to make sure she wasn’t harmed in any way. She found that her mom always did that whenever she left the house, as if she assumed Clary would be mauled by some dog or something. 

“I told you she’s alright Jocelyn,” Luke’s comforting timbre filled her ears and eased her unease for just a little while. 

Her mother glanced up at him and he stared back, seemingly talking through their eyes. And it really shouldn’t matter to Clary as those two always ended up in their own world regardless of who was around, but she felt the fleeting feeling of embarrassment at being the third wheel to her own parental figures. 

Her mother let out a sigh and draped her arms around her shoulders, steering them to the middle of the room and though it had only been for a few moments, there were a lot more people than she originally thought. 

They all looked out of place, anachronistic even as they wore formal clothing of crisp buttoned shirts and long overcoats to the daily gowns with skirts that reached their ankles. They looked dated in time and even more odd compared to the other three teens who looked just as apprehensive as the rest even though they were pushed behind a stern looking woman and who she supposed was her husband. 

Clary didn’t know what they were saying, and even if she had, it seemed like a different kind of language and world she had no real intention of stepping into, especially when she saw the woman from before glare impressively hard at her mother. 

—

James Herondale had only just arrived at Waterloo station, stopped mid-sentence during his conversation with the poor porter whose sleeve he had nearly caught, when he was transported to this rustic room that showed no resemblance or familiarity. 

On alert, he reached to his side to pull out his dagger, an item he had no recollection of retrieving in his hast to leave the shared home he had with Cordelia. 

Cordelia. 

His Daisy. 

Why hadn’t she just let him explain instead of running away with Matthew to Paris? To be blinded by love so completely that he would be willing to do anything, it reminded him of his father and his endless stories on how mad he was about his mother. 

And maybe emotions clouded his judgment, but it was the first time in a while that he’s felt clear from the fog, from the shackles Grace had put on him. Who could really blame him when he got shoved into the nearest wall and disarmed by a curly haired boy with blue-green eyes? He oddly seemed familiar despite James never meeting him to begin with. And really, James should be more focused on the knife at his throat, but what does he have left to lose at this point? 

“Who are you?” He felt the boy scan him from head to toe, eyes catching on the rune on the side of his throat. James felt the knife lower, but only by a bit as he asked, “Which institute are you from?” 

“James Herondale,” at the surname, the boy stiffened, but James carried on as if he hadn’t seen it, “from the London Institute.” 

James gave the boy a prompting stare as if to say well? 

The boy lowered his knife, but didn’t put it away as he handed James his dagger back. “Julian Blackthorn, Los Angeles Institute.” 

“Never heard of you.”

“Well, I could say the same thing about you.” 

“If you don’t mind,” James found himself saying, “but I’d rather not be around another Blackthorn at the moment.” 

Like a dog with a bone, “What do you mean another Blackthorn? Have you seen my siblings?” 

“Your siblings?” James smoothed the collar of his shirt. “I cannot say I’ve seen them, you're the only person I've seen here.” 

“And where is here exactly?” 

“I do not hold all the answers, Julian Blackthorn.” 

James pushed past the boy, tucking his dagger back in its sheath. What exactly was here, he wasn’t sure, only that it didn’t feel right despite how comforting it may feel. 

The room was deceptively small as it felt like he had been walking for a long time through an array of bookshelves. James would’ve focused on the titles, traced the spines with reverence, but he didn’t care. 

There was a Blackthorn trailing after him, one of which he has never met, and James knows the boy is different due to the brief look he had at his eyes. He’s seen a lot, has been burdened by many things, but most of all, he looks like he’s had his heart ripped out of his chest, by who? Well, he can join the club. 

There were a flurry of steps coming their way and James had little to no time to jump out of the way as, who he assumed to be his siblings, flung themselves at him, well most of them anyways. 

“Julian!” 

James should’ve taken that as his cue to continue on walking, but he couldn’t help but stare at the siblings embrace even if it was only for a short while. He missed Lucie. After being caught up in all his business, he hadn’t been paying attention to what his sister had been doing, what she still might be doing—

“Who’s this?” 

He held out a hand. “I’m James,” he said, purposefully leaving out his family name. This lot seemed to be the curious type and he couldn’t be having them poke around in his business. 

He couldn’t help the strained smile that crept onto his face as James retracted his hand when he realized they weren’t going to be shaking it anytime soon, embarrassment flooding his cheeks as he looked for a way out. 

Julian stepped in before he could combust. “These are my siblings,” he pointed to a tall looking girl (not as tall as james though), “That’s Livvy,” to the boy who was eyeing James suspiciously, “Ty,” and then to the curvy girl who seemed his age, but he knew better, “and that’s Dru.” 

“Nice to meet you all,” he politely said, his manners outweighing his rude desire to leave swiftly when he saw Julian’s eyes continue to flicker around, almost as if he were looking for something or someone. “Are you missing someone?” 

“No.” 

It was a clear lie, but James didn’t push it. “I should take my leave,” and just as he turned around he ran into the person he had been dying to see but an unwanted dread settled in his bones. 

—

Julian can’t exactly say that he knew what was going on, but he just had an inkling that whatever it was, it would affect his future decisions down the line. Assuming he hasn’t yet made those decisions. 

He knows that James Herondale, whoever he may be, (considering the fact that he only knows of one other Herondale and that’s Jace, and well, maybe Kit) is different. Julian doesn’t know in which way since he seemed his age, but he talked differently, carefully chose his words, and looked like a fish out of water despite looking like he belonged. 

Most Shadowhunters he knew wouldn’t bother with the formal attire as it was finicky and prone to getting dirty on unplanned demon attacks. 

Whatever it was, Julian will keep an eye on him, because you can never be too cautious until it stabs you right in the back. 

He looked down to see Ty already staring up at him, eyes trying to penetrate the friendly mask he had put on for the other shadowhunter, but Julian was already steering them away from James, who seems to have his own personal things to deal with. 

“Have you seen anyone else?” He asked Livvy. 

The younger girl nodded, although hesitantly. “We were with Emma and Cristina before we ran off.” 

Then that means—he nearly stumbled when Emma threw herself at him and it was strange. Seeing as the last time he had seen her, she had been busy lying to his face and shattering his heart into pieces. Almost like she realized herself, she pried herself off of him and directed her attention towards the kids like she hadn’t hugged him to begin with. 

It should’ve hurt, it should hurt, but this was Emma. He couldn’t have hated her even if he tried. Julian knew she was hiding something from him. She wouldn’t say it though, but whatever it was made her try and dump Julian behind as if that would ever work. 

“Do you know what’s going on here?” 

Julian shook his head. It frustrated him that he couldn’t figure this out like he could with other things, and there was an answer, but whatever it was was one yet to be revealed. 

He saw Diana creep into the corner of his vision, followed by Mark and… Helen? 

—

She didn’t look like the Cordelia he had kissed on the sofa, minutes before Grace had come knocking. This Cordelia didn’t look battle worn, if anything she looked like when she first arrived in London, bright-eyed and weak in the legs. 

“Oh thank the angel,” came his parabatai’s voice and all the feelings he’d pushed down for the moment were slowly bubbling their way back to the surface. “Jamie, you didn’t disappear on us.” 

His gaze switched from Cordelia to Matthew, to the other bodies that were slowly coming into view. “Where would I have gone?” 

Matthew shrugged, his eyes were hazy up close, still bright, and that only meant one thing. He had been drinking before he was brought here. His hair was a bit damp and if James were to sneak a look at Thomas he’d see the same, and that only meant one thing. Everything they had gone through the past few months, only James would remember because he was the only one out of all of them to live through it. It meant that Matthew didn’t know that he knew about his feelings for Cordelia, that he would soon be running off with her to Paris. That his anger he harbored towards the two of them would be pointless because they didn’t know. 

So James straightened his spine and slipped on a smile. “At least we’re all here, this day has been strange.” 

“You think?” Thomas ran a hand through his still wet hair. “One minute we’re at the tavern and the next we’re here.” 

“This better not be some demon’s trick.” James grimaced. 

“A hallucination maybe?” Cordelia added, the first words she’s spoken since he’s seen her, and maybe just because he could, he reached out to hold her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. 

She stiffened in surprise, but didn’t pull away and squeezed back. He also didn’t fail to notice Matthew tracking the movement, eyes latched on his right wrist, his bare wrist. 

His parabatai didn’t say anything as Christopher spoke. “Whatever it is, it’s very fascinating…” his voice began to trail off in James’ head and soon they were walking. 

He let his hand slip from Cordelia’s and trailed after the rest of his friends slowly. 

“Did you finally take it off?” He murmured quietly when he noticed James hang back. 

James remembered the burning, the shock of it all when the bracelet finally broke, when he felt free. 

I wish I could’ve. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever loved Grace at all.” He found himself saying and it was a sad thing. It wasn’t pity for the love he could’ve had, it was anger for the one he wanted with Cordelia. 

Like clockwork, Matthew’s eyes sharpened. “What do you mean by that?” 

“We have a lot to discuss,” he nearly crashed into Christopher, who halted to a stop, if it weren’t for Matthew’s hand pulling him back, “but it looks like we won’t have time.” 

James found his hands reaching to rest on top of his throwing knives, the rest of his friends doing the same as they scanned the room. 

He recognized Julian and his siblings, but the other six were unfamiliar to him, which was a given seeing as he hadn’t run into them. There was another group of four consisting of two red-headed women, a young boy with glasses, and a tall ragged looking man, who kept their distance from another group, who were eyeing them funnily, Magnus Bane who stood by himself, away from the crowd. Then came the oddities. 

James knows what his parents look like, he’s seen them almost every day, but he didn’t think it’d shock him more to see them younger and fresh-faced and not hopelessly in love. All of them really. To see Christopher’s parents apart instead of fused to each other’s sides, Thomas’ not even acknowledging one another, to see Matthew’s parents unburdened by responsibility and tragedy, and Jessamine as a breathing being—it was almost too much that he forgot about one person. 

Uncle Jem, whose hair and eyes were silver. He looked so young and human compared to the Silent Brother he’s spent most of his life with. He wasn’t the only one shocked in their group, everyone felt it. It felt like he shouldn't have bare witness to such a scene, like it should’ve stayed sealed off as a point long before he came into the world. 

He stepped around Christopher who looked frozen in place. 

“Math,” he said. “You’re seeing this as well?” 

His parabatai’s words were soft, quiet, awed . “They’re so young .” 

They were maybe too distracted with their parents’ counterparts that they didn’t notice the others from their time until James nearly jumped out of his skin as a slender petite girl whose hair was a dead giveaway to her identity, latched onto his arm. 

“Oh thank god you’re here.” 

What’s with people thinking I will disappear? 

James glanced over her head, spotting Alastair and Charles, Ariadne and Anna, and… was that Jesse? He hadn’t classified his battle with Belial as the other, seeing as it wasn’t the Blackthorn boy to begin with, but it was a little odd to see him walking and alive without his grandfather possessing him as a vessel. James didn’t put much thought into it as the situation was already strange for their standards, and they walked amongst the fey, warlocks, vampires, and werewolves, nothing’s really that strange anymore. 

That being said, he’d be a fool to not notice the questioning looks from his friends as he pried Grace off of him and relinquished a step to feel Matthew’s hand on his back. 

Grace looked confused as to why James had refused her advance and as similar to how Matthew had glanced earlier, she tried to get a glimpse at his wrist, looking for her gift. 

“Where is your bracelet?” The question drew a lot of gazes, by a lot, he means the whole room. Nothing more scandalous than strangers getting a full view of your business being aired out in the open. 

Grace reached out for his hand and James let her, even when he felt Matthew fist his shirt tight in warning. If she wanted to see for herself, she could, but that’s all James would let her do as she pulled the cuff of his shirt up to see a faded ring of red where the silver should’ve been. 

“What happened?” He felt her fingers tremble, like she was afraid of the consequences, and she would. Grace hadn’t had enough of being Tatiana’s blade yet, but James still loathed her for all the things she did—what she will do. 

“It broke,” he answered curtly and maybe with a bit of derision. 

He heard Matthew stifle a laugh as James slipped his wrist from her hold. “Are you done now, Ms. Blackthorn?” 

“Blackthorn?” echoed Julian’s voice across the room and well, it was all going to come ahead eventually, yet James just had to let things slip just a bit too early. 

“A better question is,” James’ eyes flicked over to the young red-haired girl, “Who are you all?” 

“Clary,” said the unfamiliar boy with glasses, “who are you talking to?”  

It's with those words that causes nearly everyone to freeze. 

“A mundane?” James’ breath stuttered in his chest when he saw the tall and wiry boy step out from behind his mother. He looked so much like his father that it felt uncanny to even look at him. 

James couldn’t help it. 

He swore in Welsh. 

Loud. 

And commence the chaos. 

Chapter Text

Isabelle isn’t quite sure what to make of this peculiar situation they’ve gotten themselves into. From a brief look around the room, nearly everyone was a Shadowhunter. Maybe in different areas and parts of the worlds, but they were still Shadowhunters nonetheless. That’s not the most important bit as each of them only panicked when they realized there was a mundane amongst them. They haven’t had much experience in dealing with a mundane as it wasn’t their world. And it was bound to go to the deep end when the swearing began. Isabelle didn’t blame the Shadowhunter as they were all barely holding together themselves. It just happened to be the final string holding them all together.  

Her mother has been acting strange since the moment they got here and she hasn’t for one second taken her eyes off of the red-haired woman, who she assumed to be Jocelyn , seeing as she muttered it under her breath the moment she’d seen her. 

The rising chaos of voices should give Isabelle a headache the same way it did Alec, but it gave her a bit of time to think, to wonder why they were here. 

It didn’t feel like being portaled to and fro, it felt more like they were being plucked from their lives and put into a place where time doesn’t move forward. And maybe that’s the only reason why Isabelle was anticipating something as she plucked the fire message from the air before it fell. 

The room hushed and turned contemplative as each of them read the message. 

Call it divine intervention, a sign from above, but it is fate that brings us together on this day. 

You’ve all been summoned from the past to learn of your futures and how you may proceed with your actions going forward. 

Would you make the same mistakes and resign to your fate or change the course of time to avoid destruction? 

The choice is in your hands and be wary fellow Shadowhunters, not everything ends in paradise. There comes a time where you must say ‘hail and farewell.’ 

If you are observant, faces are new, some are of old. It would be in your best interest to state your name and the year, to fully grasp what lies ahead. 

It does make a bit sense, but entirely unnecessary if this has all happened already. What good does it make to avoid disaster when there’s another one lurking around the corner? 

“I’m a little lost here,” said the mundane. “Are there other people in the room?” 

For the sake of the mundane, they all collectively sighed as they de-glamoured themselves. 

As expected, the mundane nearly jumped out of his skin when they all appeared. But she supposes it would be a bit odd to see an almost empty room and then seconds later see it filled with over forty people who are strangers. 

“Seeing as no one else would,” the High Warlock of Brooklyn said, smoothly and calmly, “I’ll go first. Magnus Bane, 2007.” 

Her mother sighed. “Maryse Lightwood, 2007” 

There were whispers on the other side of the room, but her father ignored them, “Robert Lightwood, 2007.” 

“Alec Lightwood, 2007.” 

“Isabelle Lightwood, 2007.” 

“Jace Wayland, 2007.” 

“Clary Fray, 2007.” 

Isabelle couldn’t help but look at Clary as Simon Lewis introduced himself. She had seen them, heard their conversations, but she didn’t have a Shadowhunter name. She seemed as mundane as Simon despite having the sight and it only made Isabelle wonder what was so special about those four when it seemed like they didn’t belong. 

“Luke Garroway, 2007.”

“Jocelyn Fray, 2007.” 

The two adults had an effect on her parents, but, again , what was so special about two mundanes? They weren’t a part of their world, they didn’t matter. 

And then came the fun and confusing bit. 

The boy who had begun the swear circle stepped forward. And though he looked nervous, he didn’t waver. “James Herondale, 1903.” 

“Wait a minute,” said a boy to Isabelle’s left. “You’re from 1903?” 

James Herondale offered the boy a tight smile. “It seems so, Julian Blackthorn.” 

“Have you met already?” chirped a blond-haired boy with green eyes, who was looking over James’ shoulder. 

“We have, just before you got here.” 

The handsome boy looked contemplative before saying, “Matthew Fairchild, 1903.” 

Isabelle heard a hitch of breath to her right and she couldn’t help but side-eye Jocelyn Fray. There’s that feeling again. 

“Cordelia Carstairs, 1903.” 

“So that’s how he knew,” came a quiet murmur, but it was clear as day in the otherwise silent room. 

“What do you mean?” Julian asked. 

“When I first met J—” her sentence cut off and the blonde girl looked confused as she opened her mouth only to have no noise follow. “That’s odd,” she frowned, “I can’t say J–my cousin’s name.” 

“There might be something blocking us from saying things about the future.” Julian surmised and looked across the room at James Herondale, like he’d figured out something the rest of them hadn’t. “James, who is your father?”

The other Shadowhunter caught on immediately and he didn’t seem too happy about it as he parted his lips to answer and was void of noise. James narrowed his eyes at Julian, wary and a bit impressed. 

“What were you saying before?” Cordelia Carstairs asked to get the conversation back on track, and to maybe sate a bit of her curiosity. 

“I–” the beautiful blonde stuttered for the right words, but she resigned with a placid smile. “It doesn’t matter.” 

—

Emma doesn’t think this situation can get any weirder. Not only are they seemingly from different eras, but they would also be meeting their relatives who came before them. And it’s just so odd to think that someone would break time for the sake of the world. 

Emma Cordelia Carstairs, stay with your parabatai . 

Emma had thought her middle name had come from her mother, but had it also come from Cordelia? 

There’s still so much she doesn’t know, but she hadn’t thought any of this possible. Emma’s now around the same age of Clary Fairchild—as Jace Herondale. She’s meeting them before the Dark War ever happened, before the Mortal War could be won. 

Not only has that not happened yet, it seemed like they would be learning about the generations before them and the battles & hardships they had. 

“Christopher Lightwood, 1903.” 

“Thomas Lightwood, 1903.” 

Siblings or cousins? You can never really tell with the Lightwoods, only that they were related and meant well in their intentions. Most of the time. 

“Lucie Herondale, 1903.” 

There weren’t many Herondale’s in her time, so it is a bit surprising to hear that there were more of them once upon a time before tragedy struck. 

“Alastair Carstairs, 1903.” 

Matthew Fairchild made a noise she could only describe as a mocking scoff, and it warranted a half-hearted shove from James and a “ knock it off,” from Cordelia. 

“Anna Lightwood, 1903.” She was a well dressed woman in a waistcoat, a change from the elaborate gowns others in her time were wearing. 

“Ariadne Bridgestock, 1903.” 

“Jesse Blackthorn,” a shadow loomed over his face and she’d soon know why. “1896.”  

He came a different year from the rest of them, yet he looked like he belonged with the rest of them. Emma couldn’t help but look back at Julian, who was already scanning his ancestor. Jesse had eery green eyes and looked more like Ty’s brother than Julian did. 

There was an overwhelming feeling of dread as she took in how they looked at Jesse. Like he was a dead man walking. 

“Grace Blackthorn, 1903.” Emma had a nosing feeling that those from her era did not like her very much. 

“Charles Fairchild, 1903.” She saw Alastair Carstair glance at him before forcing his eyes down to his shoes. 

Hurt and in love. 

— 

Jace Wayland doesn’t really get the reason behind this, but he doesn’t entirely care enough to figure it out. The only thing they can do at the moment is see it through to the end. 

—

Matthew Fairchild just wants this over with. It’s already odd enough to know that they’re all from different points in time, but nothing will ever top the shock he felt when he saw his parents. He meant it when he said they were so young. 

“Teresa Gray, 1878.” 

“Will Herondale, 1878.” 

He kept his hand to James’ back, he knows how his parabatai must be feeling. Even though Tessa hadn’t aged, she wasn’t the same person they knew, the maternal figure they loved. They were their age, they didn’t have experience raising kids. And while they may have looked like their parents, they weren’t at the same time.  

“Cecily Herondale, 1878.” 

“James Carstairs, 1878.” 

Matthew had to smile when uncle Jem spoke. Despite his sickly appearance, not much has changed as he still had that kind voice. He’s always had that comforting presence, even as a Silent Brother. At the corner of his eye, he saw someone else shed a smile of their own. 

“Gideon Lightwood, 1878.” Ah, Uncle Gideon, he couldn’t look him in the eyes quite the same anymore. 

“Gabriel Lightwood, 1878.” There was a noticeable sneer on his face and if he had to guess it was directed to the Herondale of his time. 

“Henry Branwell, 1878.” He couldn’t help but look down at his father’s legs and yet again, it felt odd to see him on his two feet instead of whatever contraption he used to skirt around their house.  

“Charlotte Fairchild, 1878.” And only a year later Charles would be born. 

“Sophie Collins, 1878.” 

“Jessamine Lovelace, 1878.” 

—

Jesse Blackthorn doesn’t know why the looks he’s been getting from Grace is succeeding in making him anxious. Maybe it was that she looked around the same age as him, or maybe it was that she came from a different year than him. An earlier year. She’d know what would happen to him—where he ended up after he’d finally convinced Tatiana to get his voyance rune. 

“Julian Blackthorn, 2012.” 

Jesse snapped to attention. He hadn’t had any siblings other than Grace and though he loved his adopted sister as if she were blood, Blackthorn Manor grew quiet whenever they left to god knows where. The silence that accompanied him on those days was lonely as the only thing he had were the Shadowhunter training manuals he had dug up when he was eight. 

“Dru Blackthorn, 2012.”

“Livvy Blackthorn, 2012.” 

“Emma Carstairs, 2012.” Another Carstairs. Jesse saw Cordelia glance at Emma and then to James and back to her (brother?) Alastair, almost like she didn’t really believe they were of the same family name. 

“Cristina Rosales, 2012.” 

“Diana Wrayburn, 2012.” 

“Mark Blackthorn, 2007.” Jesse saw Julian jump with shock, but he didn’t say anything until after his sister Helen introduced herself with the same year as Mark’s. 

“So you don’t know about the…” he trailed off, and Jesse knew it wasn’t because of the restriction that was earlier found out, it was Julian’s body trying to catch up with his brain. 

“I don’t know what you may be thinking,” Helen began, sorrow filling her words, “but I can barely recognize you.” Tears pricked the corner of her eyes, “My Julian is still twelve, but here you are so grown and tall.”

Almost like he couldn’t help himself, he hugged his sister and brother. He saw the confusion, the elation, and acceptance of the hug fly by quickly. Jesse clasped his hands together and tried to ignore the odd stirring of feelings, focusing on the next introduction.  

“Tiberius Blackthorn, 2012.” 

“Kit…” the young boy hesitated before swallowing the stone in his throat. “Herondale, 2012.” 

Jesse expected there to be an odd silence as all of them tried to accept the situation at hand, but there was a shifting of the table in the center of the room overpowering his previous thought. The books lying on them were shifted to one side, stacked in book towers of three sans the one with five. A lone novel lay bare and Jesse nearly jumped when the paper came out of thin air once again. 

Take your seats as the shadow world awaits. 

And remember, secrets are revealed and the truth isn’t always what it seems. 

Bonds are either broken or strengthened, it's up to you to decide. 

First up: City of Bones

Chapter Text

—

Clary sat down next to her mother with Simon claiming the seat on her other side. She doesn’t entirely know why all these people have been summoned to read books. They’re from different years, what exactly could they do to change their futures when it already seemed to be set in stone? 

Part I - Dark Descent 

Clary nearly jumped out of her skin when the voice came out of nowhere. It wasn’t one she recognized, it was a calm, almost monotone voice, that would’ve been comforting in life if it weren’t so hollow. 

I sang of Chaos and eternal Night, 

taught by the heav—nly Muse to venture down

The dark descent, and up to reascend … 

— John Milton, Paradise Lost 

Not ominous at all. Nope. 

Chapter 1 - Pandemonium 

Clary’s fingers trembled as she realized when this would be taking place. Just seconds before she was transferred here, she was at the club. She clamped them tight in her lap. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the bouncer said, he stared down at the boy in the red zip-up jacket and shook his shaved head. “You can’t bring that thing in here.” 

The fifty or so teenagers in line outside the Pandemonium Club leaned forward to eavesdrop. Fifteen-year-old Clary Fray, 

She felt her mother’s stare burn into the side of her head. “Just what do you think you’re doing going to a club at fifteen?” 

Clary didn’t answer, she didn’t have to as, 

standing in line with her best friend, Simon…

Simon offered Jocelyn a guilty smile as the book continued on to detail the blue haired boy’s encounter with the bouncer. 

He was normal-enough-looking, Clary thought, for Pandemonium. // The boy’s wide eyes were way too bright a green, Clary noticed: the color of antifreeze, spring grass. 

Unbeknownst to Clary, the three teenagers sitting behind her knew exactly what she was detailing. They’d been there as well, but why were they seeing it from her view? 

… “You thought he was cute,” said Simon, sounding resigned. “Didn’t you?” 

Another thing that nearly shocked Clary was that when the cool narration switched to Simon’s own voice, repeating the same words he had said before they entered. 

“That is…” Simon’s voice trailed off, looking for the right words. 

“A nuisance.” Jace answered instead, and the narration continued. 

…The boy in the red jacket stroked the long razor-sharp blade in his hands, an idle smile playing over his lips. It had been so easy–a little bit of a glamour on the blade, to make it look harmless. 

Nearly every inhabitant in the room sat up in their seats, trying to figure out which being it was. If it was of the downworld, or worse, a demon amongst mundanes. 

… and he had begun to step out onto the dance floor, when a girl broke away from the mass of dancers and began walking towards him. // Around her neck was a thick silver chain, on which hung a dark red pendant the size of a baby’s fist. 

Anna looked across the room at Isabelle Lightwood. She was wearing the necklace, the one her mother had given her, the same one that was lying under the collar of her shirt. Had it become a family heirloom down the line? 

… He slipped into the room after her, unaware he was being followed. 

Clary wasn’t paying much attention to their immediate surroundings—her eyes were on the blue-haired boy who’d talked his way into the club. 

Jace couldn’t help but look at Clary. She seemed unremarkable in the typical way mundanes were, but there was something different—something nagging at him to find out what it was exactly. 

He was prowling through the crowd as if he were looking for something. There was something about the way he moved that reminded her of something. 

“I, for one,” Simon went on, “am enjoying myself immensely.”

This seemed unlikely. 

Clary didn’t need to glance at Simon to know the other was blushing. She knows she may seem unaware at times, but she knows her friend. And he’s feeling embarrassed at being caught out, even if it wasn’t vocally. 

… She wasn’t even sure why it was that she liked it—the clothes, the music, made it like a dream, someone else’s life, not her boring real life at all. 

Clary sunk further into her seat. The note wasn’t kidding when it said that it’d reveal secrets, even the ones she wouldn’t say aloud. 

The book then continued to probe around Clary’s thoughts, what she thought of the blue-haired hoy, how foolishly hopeful she had been to want his attention, to the deflating of her hope when his focus was anchored on the gorgeous girl who was tall and ribbon slim with a black spill of hair. 

… too distracted to notice anything else around him—even the two dark shapes hard on his heels, weaving after him through the crowd. // She couldn’t have said how she knew that they were following the other boy, but she did. 

Alec’s eyes narrowed. She shouldn’t have been able to see them in the first place, not for that long without losing track of them. Any other mundane wouldn’t have been able to see them, but he knew she wasn’t just another mundane they had to protect. She had the sight, but to track Shadowhunters for that long without brushing it off… something’s not right.  

… The two guys had stopped at the door… // One of them was blond, the other dark-haired. The blond one reached into his jacket and drew out something long and sharp that flashed under the strobing lights. 

Alec scowled and immediately elbowed his parabatai. 

He saved the scolding for his parents. 

“Why are you so reckless?” 

“I was glamoured.” Jace stated coolly. “Why does it matter?” 

“What if it were another mundane?” 

“I’m not so sure the little girl is a mundane.” 

Clary frowned and turned to meet Jace’s burning gaze. “My name is not little girl.” 

The tawny eyed boy only smiled. It was a wicked thing and the words she read in his eyes were for her only. 

We’ll see about that. 

“Do you see those two guys over there? By that door?” // “Are you sure?” Simon stared harder, shaking his head. “I still don’t see anyone.” // …Clary started to wriggle through the crowd. 

Stay where you are mundane, Alec thought. It’s better if you don’t get involved. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Isabelle.” 

Isabelle frowned at hearing her own voice. It was odd and a bit startling if you didn’t expect it to come. 

… just under the cuff of her dress—then, as he neared her, he saw that it wasn’t a bracelet at all but a pattern inked into her skin, a matrix of swirling lines.

 Clary couldn’t help but be intrigued. The blue haired boy wasn’t someone normal, he certainly didn’t think that way about Isabelle, ready to take her life away and corrupt her. Clary knew she wasn’t as observant as she wanted (an artist’s eye and all), but she at least hoped to pick up on social cues as those would help her stay alive in the long run.  

… Her smile glittered like poisonous water. “He’s all yours boys.” 

As he struggled, someone walked around the side of the pillar into his view: a boy, as young as Isabelle and just as pretty.  // “So,” said the boy. “Are there any more with you?” 

… “Any other what?” 

“Come on now.” // “You know what I am.” 

“ Shadowhunter,” he hissed. 

The other boy grinned all over his face. “Got you.” 

Jem felt a slight smile creep over his face. The blond Shadowhunter reminded him of his parabatai and his impulsive tendencies to taunt and pick at every living thing. 

As if he knew what Jem was thinking, Will knocked his knee with his, telling him that he did not appreciate the comparison. 

Clary pushed the door to the storage room open, and stepped inside. // There’s no one in here, she realized, looking around in bewilderment. // It was as if they had sprung into existence between one blink of her eye and the next. 

The mundane was odd, Isabelle couldn’t help but think. She could see them clear as day in the club but in an enclosed room she didn’t see them at first. 

“So,” he said. “You still haven’t told me if there are any other of your kind with you.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“He means demons,” said the dark-haired boy, speaking for the first time. “You do know what a demon is, don’t you?”

Simon couldn’t stay quiet any longer, curiosity getting the better of him. “Who are you people?”

Several of them opened their mouths to answer, but James Cartstairs’ voice rang out true despite it being one of the less commanding tones in the room. The silver-haired boy had a comforting air around him that made you calm and clear-headed. 

“We are Shadowhunters, Nephilim . We were born to fight demons and protect the world from them to keep our world safe, but yours as well, Simon Lewis.” 

It took the boy a couple moments to wrap his head around the information that had been dropped on him and James Carstairs merely sat patiently, pianist fingers splayed across his dragon-headed cane. 

“And why couldn’t I see you at first?” 

“We are glamoured to be unseen by the natural world as we belong to the shadows. We’re here to protect and serve in any way we can because it is our duty as Shadowhunters. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Robert and Maryse Lightwood shifted uneasily in their seats. They had lost sight of that mandate once, had wanted more, to eradicate the Downworld and those with demon blood. They had felt the shame wash over them before, had felt disgraced when they were exiled in front of the Clave, but it was stronger now that they were in the presence of the Shadowhunters before them. They were all young, not quite yet adults, just about the same age as their children, yet they had a better moral compass than they had at their own age.    

… “I could give you information,” he said. “I know where Valentine is.” 

Jocelyn stiffened, as did Luke. 

“Who is Valentine?” Cordelia asked, voicing the question that was on the minds of those who did not know. 

A cold sort of silence settled over them. How could they explain who Valentine was to an era who has not heard of him? 

“To not be specific,” Magnus Bane started, “Valentine Morgenstern gave the Shadowhunters a bad name after he started going after not only demons, but Downworlders as well.” 

James Herondale sat up in his seat, his eerie golden eyes settling on Robert and Maryse. “And you allowed that to happen?”  

Matthew’s eyes flew to James’ face, taken aback by the dark tone his parabatai had taken, but he understood why. Nearly everyone in their group did. Has nothing truly changed since their time? 

“The Clave did what they could James,” Magnus continued, cat eyes plagued by something far in the past. “And they were blind to see what was bound to happen. Tensions between the Nephilim and the Downworld were always fraught and this was the final straw.” 

“But why—” James’ control slipped for the barest of seconds, he felt his breath hitch, vision filling with darkness. His dagger was already in hand and before Matthew could understand what was happening, James gripped the blade, allowing the pain to shock him back to the present. 

“Jamie.” He blinked. 

It took James a minute to realize where he was, and he did not miss the concerned yet curious looks of the others, but he was too occupied with the feeling of Matthew’s hands on his shoulders and the fact that his parabatai was kneeling down in front of him instead of the seat next to him. 

“I’m fine Math.”

Matthew didn’t say anything as he pushed James’ sleeve back to draw an iratze . 

“I wish you’d stop doing that.” He said quietly. “It frightens me whenever you slip.” 

“It won’t happen again.” James couldn’t have it happening in a public setting like this. He remembers how mortifying it was when it happened in the ballroom. 

Once Matthew returned back to his seat after one final cursory glance at James, the narration continued. 

“Valentine’s in the ground,” Jace said. “The thing’s just toying with us.” 

“Valentine is back!” he protested, // “All the Infernal Worlds know it—I know it—I can tell you where he is—” 

“By the Angel, every time we capture one of you bastards, you claim to know where Valentine is. Well, we know where he is too. He’s in hell. And you—” 

The narration had everyone’s spine straightening as Jace’s voice rang out with agitation and rage.  

Jace turned the knife in his grasp, the edge sparking like a line of fire. “You can join him there. ” 

Clary could take no more. “Stop!” she cried. “You can’t do this.” 

Why would she try to get involved in a situation where she is outnumbered? It's not like Simon would’ve made it in time with the bouncer. And they were armed, what could she have done besides talk them out of it? 

Jocelyn wanted to clutch her daughter tight the moment she saw Clary dig her fingers into her hair. None of this would’ve ever happened if she hadn’t missed her appointment with Magnus. 

It was Alec who spoke first. “What’s this?” 

“A mundie girl,” Jace said, half to himself. “And she can see us.”

“Of course I can see you,” Clary said. “I’m not blind, you know.”

“Oh, but you are,” said Jace, bending to pick up his knife. “You just don’t know it.” He straightened up. “You’d better get out of here, if you know what’s good for you.”

Listen to him, many thought. This was no business for a mundane. 

“She’s lying,” said Alec, but there was doubt on his face. “Jace, do you—”

He never got to finish his sentence. At that moment the blue-haired boy, with a high, yowling cry, tore free of the restraints binding him to the pillar, and flung himself on Jace. 

Jace, who had been minding his business up until this point, jolted in his seat, like he had been jumped by some imaginary force, the legs of his chair screeching back. 

Alec was on his feet in an instant. “What the—” 

Clary backed up, wanting to run, but her feet caught on a loop of wiring and she went down, knocking the breath out of her chest.

Clary keeled over, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of her. Just like the description. 

There were a lot of worried eyes on the two of them and many had a feeling that this would be the tip of the iceberg. 

The blue-haired boy slashed at Jace with claws extended. Jace threw an arm up to protect himself, and the claws raked it, splattering blood. 

Jace hissed at the sensation of being split open and immediately clutched his arm. To his surprise, his hand came away wet. 

“What in the actual—” 

“ Jace .” Alec was next to him with a stele but the blond waved him off, looking down at his arm in wonderment as did the rest of the room. Jace shucked off his jacket to reveal his arm with four jagged slash marks cut into his pale skin. 

Maryse paled significantly, as did Jocelyn. 

“Did that come from the book?” Julian asked, looking warily at Jace, whose blood was dripping onto the hardwood floor. 

“It would seem so,” he said absently, allowing Alec to draw an iratze on his wrist, only for it to sink into his skin like nothing happened. 

Alec frowned, as did Isabelle. “It should’ve worked.” 

“Perhaps runes don’t work,” Christopher Lightwood proposed. “The injury wasn’t inflicted currently but in the novel, so the rules are different. It’s possible that the wound isn’t actually there.” 

"And in return,” said Emma, “there is no wound to heal.” 

… Jace rolled over, blade gleaming in his hand He sank the knife into the blue-haired boy’s chest. // His black shirt was blacker now in some places, wet with blood. // His eyes, fixed on Jace, seemed to burn. “ So be it. The Forsaken will take you all.” 

Clary’s brows drew together. The Forsaken? It was becoming abundantly clear that she was severely ignorant of what was going on. 

None of them were paying attention to her. // Clary turned to run—and found her way blocked by Iaabelle, whip in hand. // She flicked it toward Clary, and the end wrapped itself around her wrist and jerked tight. 

Clary’s head snapped back as she gave a gasp of pain, pushing down the sleeve of her shirt to reveal an angry red mark on her skin. 

Charlotte Fairchild couldn’t help but frown. This was no way to treat a mundane, even when they interfered. No matter how young her wards were, she knew they wouldn’t go near them and cause them harm. 

Emma and Julian couldn’t help but look at the 07 group in surprise. They knew Isabelle and Clary, how close they seemed, but they didn’t expect their first encounter to be like this. 

“Stupid little mundie.” // You could have gotten Jace killed.” 

“He’s crazy.” // The whip bit deeper into her skin. // You’re all crazy…” 

Clary’s blood welled under skin, the invisible force of the whip causing her to grit her teeth as their conversation went on. None of which made sense to her. 

The blue-haired boy’s body returning back to his home dimension, how they should be careful with how they approach the situation going forward, Jace refuting Alec’s point just as instantly. 

“Let her go.” Jace said quietly. Isabelle… 

“Maybe we should bring her back with us,” Alec said. “I bet Hodge would like to talk to her.” 

Robert couldn’t help but beam at his son sticking to protocol. It didn’t matter if the  mundane was harmless, it was still best to look into her after she interfered with a mission. 

“No way are we bringing her to the Institute, // She’s a mundie. ” 

“Or is she?” said Jace softly. 

Jocelyn reigned herself in to prevent her eyes from flying to Jace’s face in fear of what he might find. 

“Have you had dealings with demons, little girl? Walked with warlocks, talked with the Night Children? Have you—”

Clary scowled at being called little girl again. 

“My name is not ‘little girl,’” Clary interrupted. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Don’t you? said a voice in the back of her head. You saw that boy vanish into thin air. Jace isn’t crazy—you just wish he was. “I don’t believe in—in demons, or whatever you—” 

“Clary?” It was Simon’s voice. // “Are you okay?” // “Why are you in here by yourself? What happened to the guys—you know, the ones with the knives?” 

Clary stared at him, then looked behind her… , // he wasn’t surprised that neither Simon nor the bouncer could see them. 

Somehow neither was Clary. 

You’re a strange one, Clary Fray, Jem thought almost fleetingly. It took a lot of courage to look like a fool despite knowing what you saw—what you did see. 

… “It was a mistake.” 

Behind her, Isabelle giggled. 

Simon, hurt, that Clary didn’t tell him, let go of that anger. It’s not like he would’ve believed her after seeing nothing but an empty room with wires tangled at her feet. Though it did seem odd at how adamant she was about it, just maybe he’d poke holes into her story to stop the concern from overtaking him fully. 

“I don’t believe it,”... // “You—I don’t believe you. I don’t believe those guys with the knives just disappeared.” 

“Maybe there weren’t any guys with knives, Simon. Maybe I just imagined the whole thing.”

“No way.” // “I saw your face when I came into that storage room. You looked seriously freaked out, like you’d seen a ghost.”

“I’m sorry for giving you a hard time,” her best friend whispered. “I wouldn’t have believed it myself before today.” 

“It’s alright Simon,” she said back. “I wouldn’t have either. 

She glanced down at her wrist, braceleted by a thin red line where Isabelle’s whip had curled. No, not a ghost, she thought. Something even weirder than that. 

Clary looked warily at her wrist. It’d be the first of many, she’s sure of that at least. 

“It was just a mistake,” she said wearily. She wondered why she wasn’t telling him the truth. Except, of course, that he’d think she was crazy. // “What do you care? You hate Pandemonium.” 

… then he turned to Clary. “Look, you know you can tell me anything, right?” 

Clary hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Sure, Simon,’ she said. “I know I can.” 

… and the taxi took off into the night. 

Almost instantly, the wounds on Jace’s arm healed and the red ring around Clary’s wrist dissipated. 

It was quiet, the silence suffocating and all encompassing. Mouths were slightly parted as they tried to make sense of what would be happening moving forward. 

1. When they spoke, their voices would be the ones speaking instead of the cool narration 
2. There was no avoiding the deepest and most inner thoughts (no matter how embarrassing) 
3. Healing runes won’t work on their wounds, no matter how bad they look 
4. Information that is to be revealed in the books will be restricted unless it is vague. 

Chapter Text

“Clary,” said Lucie Herondale, a lovely enough looking girl with light brown hair. “Have you ever encountered the Shadow World before?” 

All Clary could do was shake her head. She had no clue as to what Jace had been talking about in that club backroom, and she had no clue why she wasn’t freaking out.  

Lucie looked at her with big blue eyes. “You just seem to be calm for someone who has never been a part of our world.” 

“Maybe she comes from a Shadowhunter family.” Thomas Lightwood said. “It’d explain why she can not only see the Downworld, but see us just as clearly.” 

“Yet she is as mundane as they come,” Charles Fairchild cut in dryly. 

Thomas’ ears flushed red. 

“From a family of Shadowhunters who are exiled, Charles,” Alastair Carstairs said, pointedly not looking at the other.  “It does not matter if she is mundane at the moment. Don’t you remember being told about the Herondales?” 

“Alastair.” Cordelia warned. 

“It is no slight, Layla. I am only stating that Shadowhunters come from different backgrounds and it's possible that Miss Fray could be one of them, just as Mr. Lightwood said.” 

Matthew stared at Alastair with narrowed eyes. Since when did he start defending Thomas and not Charles? 

“It’s just a stretch.” Clary said. This was her life they were talking about after all. “I would know if I was a Shadowhunter, and I’m not.”  

Chapter 2 - Secrets and Lies 

The dark prince sat astride his black steed, his sable cape flowing behind him. // With a sigh she tore yet another sheet from her sketchpad, crumpled it up… // She wished for the thousandth time that she could be a bit more like her mother. Everything Jocelyn Fray drew, painted, or sketched was beautiful, and seemingly effortless. 

“You’re perfect just the way you are.” Luke said, offering Clary a warm smile, to which she returned shyly. 

The book then went on to follow Clary, who picked up the red retro phone near her front door. Her conversation with Simon was mundane as there wasn’t much to listen to. Jocelyn had freaked out that Clary had arrived home late and she was on house arrest for the foreseeable future. 

Simon would then invite Clary to Java Jones for Eric’s (awful) poetry reading. And that was pretty much it, until Clary stared a second too long at her father’s picture on the mantle. 

A thoughtful-looking fair man in military dress, his eyes bore the telltale traces of laugh lines at the corners.

Maryse frowned. That didn’t sound like— 

… when Jonathan Clark had crashed his car into a tree just outside Albany and died before his daughter was even born. 

Did Jocelyn lie to her daughter about who she was, and was never planning on telling Clary who she had once been married to? 

She never talked about Clary’s father, but she kept the box engraved with his initials, J. C., next to her bed. //… a wedding ring, and a single lock of blond hair. Sometimes Jocelyn took the box out and opened it and held the lock of hair very gently in her hands before putting it back and carefully locking the box up again. 

Oh Clary, Maryse thought pitifully. She’s not mourning your father. 

The sound of the key turning in the front door roused Clary out of her reverie. // Jocelyn recognized reading as a sacred pastime… // The door opened with a thump. It was Like, his arms full… // “Hey, Un—hey, Luke,” she said. He’d asked her to stop calling him Uncle Luke about a year ago… // he wasn’t really her uncle, just a close friend of her mother’s who’d known her all her life. 

At least that’s one thing you didn’t lie to her about. 

Luke couldn’t help but flush and look away. The reason he had given Clary was just a lie to both her and him. He couldn’t prod that sleeping wolf he’s been avoiding for years. 

“Luke?” // “What would you do if you saw something nobody else could see?” 

The tape gun fell out of Luke’s hand, and hit the tiled hearth. 

“Why are you shocked?” Clary asked innocently. 

“It only caught me off guard.” And the other reason is that you shouldn’t. 

“You mean if I were the only witness to a crime, that sort of thing?” 

“No. I mean, if there were other people around, but you were the only one who could see something. As if it were invisible to everyone but you.”

He hesitated, still kneeling, the dented tape gun gripped in his hand. 

“You know something,” Will Herondale said, peering at Luke with his pansy colored eyes. “Yet you aren’t saying why.” 

“It’s not my place to say.” 

Will pursed his lips but didn’t say anymore. 

What exactly could he say without being a hypocrite? 

…“Clary, you’re an artist, like your mother. That means you see the world in ways that other people don’t. It’s your gift, to see the beauty and the horror in ordinary things. It doesn’t make you crazy—just different. There’s nothing wrong with being different.” // In her mind’s eye she saw the storage room, Isabelle’s gold whip, the blue-haired boy convulsing in his death spasms, and Jace’s tawny eyes. Beauty and horror. 

Jace couldn’t help but grin. “Beauty and horror you say?” 

“Oh screw you.” 

Before he could answer her, the door swung open and Clary’s mother stalked into the room… // People always told Clary that she looked like her mother, but she couldn’t see it herself. //  To be beautiful you had to be willowy and tall. When you were as short as Clary was, just over five feet, you were cute. Not pretty or beautiful, but cute. 

Clary flushed. Her most inner thoughts were being aired out in a room full of people and it wasn’t of some event like the previous chapter. These were her insecurities. Sure, the first chapter had been just as invasive, but it wasn’t quite deep cut as this. 

“Clary,” said a soft voice to her right. She reluctantly met her mother’s eyes and was not surprised to see them soft. “You are your own person. Create your own standards instead of trying to meet others’. You are beautiful in your own way and I am proud of who you have become.”  

Alec had to look away from the pair. When was the last time his father had said he was proud of him instead of treating him like a child? 

“Thanks for bringing the boxes up,” Clary’s mother said to Luke, and smiled at him. He didn’t return the smile. // Clearly there was something going on. 

… “Mom?” Clary interrupted. “What are the boxes for?” 

Jocelyn bit her lip. Luke flicked his eyes towards Clary, mutely urging Jocelyn forward. 

“Is this about last night?” 

Clary felt just as uneasy as her book counterpart. What was going on? 

… “just tell her Jocelyn,”… 

“Could you not talk about me like I’m not here?” // “And what do you mean “tell me’? Tell me what?” 

Jace unconsciously slid forward in his seat, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

… “We’re going on vacation.” 

Luke’s expression went blank, like a canvas wiped clean of paint. 

… Clary glanced at Luke but he had his arms crossed over his chest and was staring out the window, his jaw pulled tight. She wondered what was upsetting him. 

“You’ve never changed Lucian,” Robert Lightwood said, the first thing he’s said since they’ve started. “You still wear your emotions on your face.” 

The kids sitting in the vicinity, turned in their seats to look at the eldest Lightwood. 

“You know him?” Alec braved to ask. 

“We used to… know each other,  yes.” 

“When?”

A stern look from Robert had them slumping back in their seats. 

“For the rest of the summer?” // “I can’t do that, Mom. I have plans— … I’ve got a bunch of meetings with my art group, and ten more classes at Tisch—” 

“I’m sorry about Tisch. But the other things can be canceled…” 

Clary heard the implacability in her mother’s tone and realized she was serious. 

“Mom you can’t do that—” 

“Honey—”

“No, why are we going up to the farm house all of a sudden?” 

“Clary—” 

“I don’t get it.” // “Why?” 

“I have to get away, Clary,” Jocelyn said, the corners of her mouth trembling. 

“Jocelyn,” Maryse said, cutting into the heated argument between mother and daughter. “What are you running away from?” 

“Does that really matter Maryse?”

Maryse’s already cold exterior hardened further. “It does because then there’s a reason for all your lies.” 

“Then how about this, Maryse,” Jocelyn hissed, venom coating her usually calm voice, “he found me.” 

The three adults paled. 

“What do you mean he found you?” Luke asked, the same time Robert said, “But he died. We saw the bodies Jocelyn—” 

“Just forget it.” 

— “I’ll pay you back for the art classes, Clary. … You’re too young to stay here on your own. Something could happen.” 

“Like what? What could happen?” 

 —Luke had knocked over one of the framed pictures… When he straightened, his mouth was set in a grim line. “I’m leaving.” 

“Wait.” // Twisting around on the sofa, Clary could just overhear her mother’s urgent whisper. “...Bane,” // “I’ve been calling him for the past three weeks. His voice mail says he’s in Tanzania. What am I supposed to do?” 

Bane?

Like “Magnus Bane?” 

Now all the attention was directed towards the warlock who looked as detached to the world as you possibly could when you were an immortal. 

“What?” he said flatly. “It’s my business.” 

— “You can’t keep going to him forever.” 

“But Clary—”

“Isn’t Jonathan, // You’ve never been the same since it happened, but Clary isn’t Jonathan.” 

What does my father have to do with this? Clary thought, bewildered. 

Jocelyn held in her frustration. She couldn’t tell Clary, it was best that she didn’t know, she’d be safer that way. 

“Talk to her, Jocelyn.” // “I mean it.” 

What was so dangerous that her mother just had to keep her in the house? Clary thought about it as Simon showed up at the worst possible time, but it was an opening book Clary had been looking for. She had quickly seized the opportunity and had said words she would’ve regretted. 

It was only when they were leaving the brownstone, that Clary stepped back into the present. 

Clary was about to reply when the door to Madame Dorothea’s swung fully open and a man stepped out. He was tall, with maple-syrup-colored skin, gold-green eyes like a cat’s, and tangled black hair, He grinned at her blindingly, showing sharp white teeth. 

A wave of dizziness came over her, the strong sensation that she was going to faint. 

—She shook her head. The memory of having seen something teased her, but when she tried to concentrate, it slid away like water. 

“… I thought I saw Dorothea’s cat, but I guess it was just a trick of the light.”  

“That is very odd.” Christopher Lightwood said, joining the list of people who looked at Clary with curious eyes. 

“It’s like some sort of blockage.” Henry Branwell, couldn’t help but blurt out. “Seeing but not believing.” 

“Then how was she able to keep track of three Shadowhunters?” Jessamine Lovelace said unkindly. 

“Like the other Lightwood said, Jessie,” Will answered. “It is an oddity no one can quite figure out.” 

“Everyone except them.” Jem finished, silver eyes sliding to Magnus Bane and Jocelyn Fray. 

“I find this quite confusing.” Tessa admitted. “I have not met any of you formally and I do not know how to digest all of this.” 

Jem looked at the girl sitting next to him and offered her a patient smile. “Take all the time you need Miss Gray as we are learning with Clary as well.” 

Tessa shyly muttered her thanks. 

 “Well, because I know your mom,” // “I mean, you and I have been friends for what, ten years now? …” 

“Do you, though?” // “Know her, I mean? I sometimes wonder if anyone does.” 

Clary was starting to feel the same way. She knew virtually nothing about her mother other than what she asked. 

“Maybe she hates them. Maybe they were abusive or something.” Simon suggested. “She does have those scars.”  

— “She has what?” 

“Those little thin scars. All over her back and arms. I have seen your mother in a bathing suit, you know.” 

Shadowhunter. 

There’s no other explanation. Jocelyn is or was a Shadowhunter, but she had given it up after Clary was born. And Luke… was he also a Shadowhunter or was he something else entirely? Whatever it was, it had to be the secret Jocelyn was unwilling to share. 

“I’ve never noticed any scars.” // “I think you’re imagining things.” 

–Clary punched the voice mail button on her phone. Her mother’s voice sounded tense, but she was clearly trying for lightness. // Clary hung up the phone before the message ended, feeling even guiltier and still angry at the same time. 

… “Are you still going to the poetry reading?” Clary asked. 

“I promised I would.” 

“Then I’ll go with you…” // So what’s up with the band?” 

Simon’s band never really produced music other people could listen to, all they did was sit around and debate name titles and logos. And Clary didn’t really care for the normalness of their conversation, now when she’s still processing the conversation—well, argument between the four adults. Who had found her mother that she was going to run away for the summer? 

She could see her mother in her mind’s eye, small and alone in the doorway of their apartment. Guilt unfurled in her chest. 

She glanced up at Simon who was looking at her… // “Come on,” // “We’re going to be late for the show.” 

Clary mustered the courage to look at her mother. “What aren’t you telling me?” At her mother’s hesitant face, she added, “And don’t lie to me this time. Tell me why you want to go to the farmhouse.” 

Jocelyn swallowed harshly. “Your father isn’t who I said he was. He was a bad man and I couldn’t allow you to grow up hating him. I thought he had died before you had been born, but the whispers carry and I knew I was out of time.”

“Then who is Jonathan?” 

“He’s,” Jocelyn let out a sharp breath, almost like she had been restricted from air, but her mother fought through it and said through gritted teeth, “your brother.”

Chapter Text

Clary’s breath stuttered in her chest. “I had a brother?”

Joceyln nodded sadly and didn’t shy away from the hand on her shoulder, she instead leaned into Luke’s grounding touch. 

“Is he the reason why you’re so overprotective?” 

Her mother was dead serious as she said, “I can’t live with myself knowing I lost another one of my kids.” 

“Then why not tell me the truth?” Clary pleaded, understanding but not fully. 

“I didn’t want you to be a part of this world. It has taken so much from me and I can’t lose you to it as well.” 

“You can’t Ms. Fray,” said Jesse Blackthorn, tone somber yet understanding. “My mother has tried to keep me from being a Shadowhunter due to her grudges and bitterness. I understand wanting to keep your daughter safe, but she has to make the decision herself.” He seemed to hesitate before saying, “And you do not want her to run off or be threatened with such a thing as I did with my own mother.” 

It seemed drastic to put a cage on another’s wants, but to hear how Jesse felt trapped enough to think about running away— “And did she?” Jocelyn asked quietly. “Let you be a Shadowhunter?” 

Jesse regarded his hand thoughtfully. “I was supposed to have my rune ceremony before I got here.” 

Grace’s breath caught. She remembered holding her brother as he died, the agony and despair—and it’d happen again whether she wanted it to happen or not. 

Chapter 3 - Shadowhunter 

By the time they got to Java Jones… // Finally, Clary found an unoccupied love seat in a darkened corner toward the back. The only other person nearby was a blonde girl in an orange tank top… // The girl leaned over… tapped Clary on the shoulder. “Excuse me.” // “Is that your boyfriend?” 

… prepared to say, No I don’t know him, when she realized the girl meant Simon. // “Uh, no,” // He’s a friend of mine.” 

Simon tried not to make the statement hurt, even if it was true. 

Jace however, couldn’t help but look at the two teens in front of him. Even as the narration continued in the background. 

There was nothing more fascinating than unrequited love, especially when it’s as obvious as this. Mundanes were terrible liars when they were unwilling to see what was right in front of them. Shadowhunters could be dense as well, but when it was well hidden, no outsider could notice a thing. 

— when she heard someone cough loudly behind her. It was a derisive sort of cough, the kind of noise someone might make who was trying not to laugh out loud.

She turned around. 

Sitting on a  faded green sofa a few feet away from her was Jace. // Worse than the feeling of being laughed at was Clary’s absolute conviction that he hadn’t been sitting there five minutes ago. 

“What are you doing?” Alec furiously whispered. 

“I don’t know yet,” Jace answered, voice pondering. 

“What is it?” Simon had followed her gaze, but it was obvious from the blank expression on his face that he couldn’t see Jace. 

And it’s pissing me off, Simon thought. 

But I see you. She stared at Jace as she thought it, // … began walking, unhurriedly toward the door. // He was leaving, just like that. 

 She felt Simon’s hand on her arm. He was saying her name, // She barely heard him // … as she sprang off the couch, // She raced towards the door, leaving Simon staring after her. 

This hurt more, Simon determined. Being ditched for someone who was dangerous and so wrong for his best friend. Not only was he being lied to point blank, but there was no explanation for why Clary was racing off so damn much to run off after someone she barely knew. 

He had meant it when he said that Clary could tell him anything. Sure it’d take a bit to put his incredulity aside, but he was willing to do it for her if it meant that he wouldn’t be walked out on so frequently. 

Clary burst through the doors, terrified that Jace would have vanished into the alley shadows like a ghost. But he was there, slouched against the wall. He had just taken something out of his pocket and was punching buttons on it. He looked up in surprise as the door of the coffee shop fell shut behind her. 

Why was he so surprised? Clary thought. Didn’t he want me to follow him? 

… “I want to know why you’re following me.” 

“Who said I was following you?” 

“ Nice try… Do you want to tell me what this is about, or should I just call the police?” 

“And tell them what?” // The invisible people are bothering you? Trust me, little girl, the police aren’t going to arrest someone they can’t see.”  

“He reminds me so much of you, Will,” Jem said, almost thoughtlessly, but anyone who knew James Carstairs, knew he didn’t say things just for the sake of it. “Jace Wayland, do you have a parabatai ?” 

“I do,” Jace answered, though cautiously. “Why does it matter to you?” 

Jem didn’t rise to the slight, he never did lose his calm exterior, even when he felt Will stir up in his seat ready to spit fire. “No reason,” he sounded aloof, but Will heard the amusement in his voice, “only that they must be quite frustrated with you. I know I would be.” 

“You have no idea,” Alec said, not even batting an eye at the vicious shove Jace had given him, prompting Will to do the same with Jem. 

Jem laughed, it was melodic and comforting, and fond. Magnus had forgotten how human he used to sound, how young they all looked. If it was jarring for James Herondale, it was melancholy for Magnus Bane. He had missed the first couple of Shadowhunters who had wormed their way into his heart. Would’ve forgotten what they had looked like if it weren’t for the photo he possessed. 

“You cannot tell me it isn’t true,” Jem said. 

“No, but it wounds my pride to be compared to another.” 

“I told you before, my name is not ‘little girl,’” // “It’s Clary.”  

“I know,” // Pretty name. Like the herb, clary sage…”

Clary felt her cheeks flush at the compliment, thought indirect. 

“You don’t know much do you?” // “You seem to be a mundane like any other mundane, yet you can see me. It’s a conundrum.” 

“I really wish you’d stop calling me that,” Clary couldn’t help but say. 

“It’s what you are isn’t it?” Gabriel Lightwood drawled lazily. 

He most likely would’ve said more if Gideon hadn’t stepped on his foot to make him bite his tongue. “We mean no disrespect, Ms. Fray,” the older Lightwood said, ignoring the scowl his brother gave him. “We know your reasons, but like other families who walk away from the Clave, their children are informed of their history as to not have run-ins like your daughter is currently having.” 

“It’s alright.” Jocelyn found it a bit odd to be talking to a Lightwood who seemed apologetic for their words & actions instead of battling their pride. 

“You think you’re better. That’s why you were laughing at us.” 

“I was laughing at you because declarations of love amuse me, especially when unrequited,” he said. 

Simon froze in his seat.

  Don’t look at him, one voice said. 

He already knows, another hissed. 

And all the fight just went out of him. So what? He’s already admitted to himself that he loves Clary and was okay with it as she seemed to not be interested in anyone, so it wasn’t quite Simon’s fault that it was unrequited. It didn’t stop hurting, of course it wouldn’t. But he at least understands that it isn’t entirely his fault. 

“—Who’s Hodge?” 

“My tutor.” // He leaned forward. “Let me see your right hand.” 

“My right hand?” // If I show you my hand, will you leave me alone?” 

“Certainly.” His voice was edged with amusement. 

“Were you looking for her Voyance rune?” Diana Wrayburn said. 

“What is a Voyance rune?” Kit Herondale asked in frustration. 

“It’s one of the first runes a Shadowhunter gets,” Ty answered, and held out his own hand, allowing the other boy to look at the eye-like image. “It’s permanent and allows us to enhance and focus the Sight. We can see through glamours and recognize Downworlders.” 

Kit’s fingers gently brushed over the skin of Ty’s hand. “And you all have one?” 

Nearly everyone in the room nodded. 

There was a look of contemplation on his face, like he was scared of something—scared to ask. And it was a feeling Will was accustomed to. Families in exile always try to steer their family away from the life, saying that becoming a Shadowhunter was not a glorious lifestyle, that it was monstrous and dangerous. It stemmed from the overarching fear of their children dying young as much as it was when they thought of those same kids being trained to be soldiers. 

“You are afraid.” Will said bluntly. “You think we are not great people.” 

“And what would you know about it?” Kit shot back just as sharply, dropping Ty’s hand. 

“I used to be like you,” and there was nothing sharp in Will’s voice now, surprising the Lightwoods of his time. “Your father didn’t want you involved in this life right? Raised you to be afraid of the Shadowhunters?” Kit’s silence was answer enough. “I used to think that until I actually became one. Sure, there are insufferable bastards, you can never avoid those.” Gabriel Lightwood kicked the back of his seat in retaliation. “But there are people you’ll love, people you’d die for. Be who you want to be, Kit Herondale.” 

The boy looked vulnerable, and he truly looked young, younger than anyone in the room. 

He showed her the back of his left hand; it looked perfectly normal to her. // “I don’t see anything.” 

“Let your mind relax,” // “Wait for it to come to you…”  

—she relaxed, gazing at his hand… // It jumped out at her suddenly, flashing like a DON’T WALK sign. // She blinked, and it vanished. “A tattoo?” 

— “I  thought you could do it. And it’s not a tattoo—it’s a Mark. They’re runes, burned into our skin.”

Burned into skin? Kit wanted to feel sick.  He doesn’t understand this world any more than Clary does, yet she is taking it far better than he had. And she was practically a blank slate with no prior knowledge. Maybe it was better to be that way. Ignorant. 

“Different Marks do different things. Some are permanent but the majority vanish when they’ve been used.”

“That’s why your arms aren’t all inked up today?” she asked. “Even when I concentrate?”

“That’s exactly why.” He sounded pleased with himself. “I knew you had the Sight, at least.” // “It’s nearly full dark. We should go.”

“We? I thought you were going to leave me alone.”

“I lied,” Jace said without a shred of embarrassment. “Hodge said I have to bring you to the Institute with me. He wants to talk to you.” 

“Why would he want to talk to me?”

“Because you know too much Clary,” Luke answered for her, the same time the book explained. “Mundanes who have the sight either want to be a part of the Shadow world or they would like to return back to their old lives and live in ignorance.”  

“And what happens when mundanes want to be Shadowhunters?” Tessa asked curiously. 

“They go through Ascension, Miss Gray.” Sophie Collins answered, hands clasped in her lap. “They train for months before they are able to drink from the Mortal Cup just as Jonathan Shadowhunter had.” 

“It is a dangerous endeavor,” Charlotte added. “The older you are, the higher chance it will not work.” 

“—who knew about us for at least a hundred years.” 

“About us?” she echoed. “You mean people like you. People who believe in demons.”

“People who kill them,” said Jace. “We’re called Shadowhunters. At least, that’s what we call ourselves. The Downworlders have less complimentary names for us.”

And for good reasons, Magnus couldn’t help but think. It was incredibly hard to find Shadowhunters who were kind to Downworlders and didn’t see them as a nuisance or a waste of space. It was why there were so few Shadowhunters who had touched him, the ones he remembered were all in this room. 

“Downworlders?” // “The Night Children. Warlocks. The fey. The magical folk of this dimension.”

“—Look, Hodge will explain all this to you when you see him.”

“What if I don’t want to see him?”

“That’s your problem. You can come either willingly or unwillingly.”

“Are you really threatening to kidnap me?” 

“If you want to look at it that way,” Jace said with a smug grin, “then yes.” 

Simon stared at Clary for a little too long to be considered a glance, but she wouldn’t notice it. She never noticed the way Simon looked at her, not when she was looking at Jace with irritation, but there was something else in her gaze. One that had Simon shifting in his seat uneasily. 

Clary opened her mouth to protest angrily, but was interrupted by a strident buzzing noise. Her phone was ringing again. // The phone stopped ringing, then started up again, loud and insistent. // —her mom must really be freaking out. She half-turned away from Jace and began digging in her bag. By the time she unearthed the phone, it was on its third set of rings. She raised it to her ear. “Mom?”

“Oh, Clary. Oh, thank God.” A sharp prickle of alarm ran up Clary’s spine. Her mother sounded panicked. “Listen to me—”

“It’s all right, Mom. I’m fine. I’m on my way home—”

“No!” Terror scraped Jocelyn’s voice raw. “Don’t come home! Do you understand me, Clary? Don’t you dare come home. Go to Simon’s. Go straight to Simon’s house and stay there until I can—” A noise in the background interrupted her: the sound of something falling, shattering, something heavy striking the floor—

The past two chapters had been mundane. Not much had been going on, but this—this was something they hadn’t been expecting. Not this drastic. 

It had their spines straightening, their hands drifting towards their belts for weapons that would do them no good. They didn’t know what was going on, but it awoke every instinct most of them had that was to protect those in danger. But here in this room, they could do nothing but listen instead of acting.  

“Mom!” Clary shouted into the phone. “Mom, are you all right?”

“Just promise me you won’t come home. Go to Simon’s and call Luke—tell him that he’s found me—” 

“Jocelyn—” Luke said in horror, and the Lightwoods froze. 

It’s not true—it can’t be true. 

Jocelyn felt resigned, she had been expecting it for some time but not this soon. This would’ve happened tomorrow if she hadn’t been dropped here in the dead of night. 

“Who’s found you? Mom, did you call the police? Did you—”

Her frantic question was cut off by a noise Clary would never forget—a harsh, slithering noise, followed by a thump. Clary heard her mother draw in a sharp breath before speaking, her voice eerily calm: “I love you, Clary.”

The phone went dead. 

Clary felt just as panicked as her book counterpart while the the rest of the room listened on with wide eyed shock. 

“Mom?” Her voice sounded shaky even to her own ears, but she didn’t care. “Who found you?” 

Jocelyn opened her mouth to answer, but it was void of noise, the only thing she could focus on was the choking noise coming from her mother as she restarted her sentence over and over again, and Clary realized with silent terror that she wouldn’t know. Not until this damn book was finished. 

But the Lightwoods knew— Luke knew. But would they even say it? It would hurt a lot more if they could answer and didn’t. Was it because of her age? Did they see her as a child? 

“Forget it,” she silently said, turning away from her mom. 

“ Mom! ” Clary shrieked into the phone. “Mom, are you there?” 

“Clary,” Jace said. It was the first time she’d ever heard him say her name. “What’s going on?” 

Clary ignored him. 

“You should listen to him,” Charles Fairchild dared to say. 

“Don’t you think she knows that Charles?” Anna said. “She’s in shock.” 

Charles turned to glare at Anna, but not before Matthew said, “She has a point, brother,” the younger Fairchild twisted in his seat to stare Charles down. “What would you do if mother suddenly went missing?” 

Charles quieted with a huff. 

Clary’s hands had begun to shake uncontrollably. // —the phone sipped out of her shaking grasp… // She dropped to her knees to retrieve it, but it was dead, // “Dammit!” Almost in tears, she threw the phone down.

“Stop that.” Jace hauled her to her feet, // “Has something happened?” 

“Give me your phone,” // “I have to—” 

“It’s not a phone,” // “It’s a Sensor. You won’t be able to use it.” 

Henry Branwell piqued with interest and turned to Charlotte with sparkling eyes. “Charlotte, darling, my efforts were not in vain after all.” 

Charlotte tried to keep the fondness from shining through her voice, “No, I suppose not.” 

“But I need to call the police.” 

“Tell me what happened first.” // “ I can help you.” 

Rage flooded through Clary, // Without even thinking…, she struck out at his face, nails raking his cheek. He jerked back in surprise. 

Jace hadn’t been expecting the blow either but hadn’t flinched back like before. He instead pressed a very slow hand to his cheek, covering the scratches that had just appeared on his cheek. 

He looked at Clary with interest as Alec couldn’t help but glare at the red-head. She was fiery and incredibly impulsive.  

—Clary ran toward the lights of Seventh Avenue. 

When she reached the street, she spun around, half-expecting to see Jace at her heels. // She spun on her heel and ran for home. 

Jocelyn sighed. Of course Clary wouldn’t take his help, she was stubborn just as she was, naive as she was. She wanted Clary to be better than her, not mirror her disastrous choices. But she couldn’t blame her. Running on impulse clouded every other instinct and thought except for the most important one. 

“Clary,” Jocelyn began, only to angrily be cut off by her daughter. 

“Did you really expect me to get help from someone else when I could be helping you out?” 

“But what would you do, Clary Fray?” Jessamine Lovelace said haughtily. “Leave it to those who could actually help.” 

Cecily Herondale couldn’t help but frown at the girl’s attitude. She’d do anything to save her family, to keep them together even if it meant diving into danger. She looked at Clary, “I would’ve done the same thing.” 

As expected, Will objected. “You most certainly will not.”

“Why would you care?” she scowled at him. “You ran off and joined the Shadowhunters . You left without a word, you do not get to have a choice in my life.” 

“You don’t understand Cecy—”

“Then make me understand.” 

Her brother turned back around in his seat, folding his arms over his chest and did not look back at her. And Cecily should’ve expected that, but she had been hopeful that he’d at least grant her an explanation. 

She was wrong. 

Chapter Text

Dru Blackthorn isn’t entirely sure why her or any of her younger siblings were here amongst other Shadowhunters who were close to being adults (or were already adults). They seemed so terribly mature while her experiences paled to comparison. But then again, she had been optimistic. This was a chance to learn, gather knowledge before experiencing it so they wouldn’t make the same mistakes. Wouldn’t bear the same pain. 

She hadn’t said much, neither of her siblings had, as they were trying to take in the new information of how Clary Fairchild became a Shadowhunter, how the Lightwoods and Jace Herondale were before both of the wars. 

And what could she say when she was born a Shadowhunter, having lived this life ever since she was little? She wasn’t Cecily Herondale who had defended what Clary had done, she didn’t live amongst mundanes whilst knowing her bloodline. All Dru wanted was to be seen more than a teen who gets in the way of what needs to be done. But how? 

She hoped the books will have the answers she’s desperately looking for. 

Chapter 4 - Ravener 

The night had gotten even hotter, and running home felt like… // She jittered up and down impatiently on the balls of her feet… // She tried to call home again, but Jace hadn’t been lying; 

“I rarely ever do.” 

Alec’s lips twisted to the side. “Debatable.” 

Jogging up the street toward her house, she saw that the second-floor windows were lit, // Okay, she told herself, Everything’s fine. But her stomach tightened the moment she stepped into the entryway. 

Listen to your instincts, Clary , Helen thought anxiously. Though she didn’t know the other girl that well, it didn’t mean that she didn’t care. 

The overhead light had burned out, and the foyer was in darkness. The shadows seemed full of secret movement. Shivering, she started upstairs.

On the edges of their seats, they all leaned closer towards the table in the middle, as if they could force it to go faster. 

“And just where do you think you’re going?” said a voice.

Clary whirled. “What—” She broke off.  // … in front of Madame Dorothea’s closed door. —“Your mother,” Dorothea said, “has been making a god-awful racket up there. What’s she doing? Moving furniture?”

“I don’t think—”

“And the stairwell light’s burned out, did you notice?” Dorothea rapped her fan against the arm of the chair. “Can’t your mother get her boyfriend in to change it?”

“Luke isn’t—”

Luke didn’t look Jocelyn’s way as Clary didn’t refute Madame Dorothea’s claim. 

Luke is NOT the landlord, Clary wanted to say, but didn’t. This was typical of her elderly neighbor. // Clary sighed. “I’ll ask.” // Clary’s sense that something was wrong only increased when she reached the apartment door. It was unlocked, hanging slightly open, // With a feeling of increasing panic she pushed the door open. // Inside the apartment the lights were on, all the lamps, everything turned up to full brightness. 

Who would be that sloppy? Jace thought. This wasn’t the typical mundane robbery that was for sure, but he expected something a bit cleaner instead of the dilapidated state the apartment was being described as. Windows open, torn cushions tossed on the floor, books scattered, paintings cut from their canvases—what were they looking for? Why go through all that trouble in the first place? 

—She knew she should race out of the apartment, get to a phone, call the police. But all those things seemed distant—she needed to find her mother first, needed to see that she was all right. What if robbers had come, what if her mother had put up a fight—?

“Clary,” Simon said sadly. “There’s nothing you can do.” 

Her anger flared, of course she knew that. But at least she tried instead of running away from the first sight of danger. Clary didn’t like to be saved and pushed to the side when she could be helping out any way she could. 

She didn’t snap at him though, just bit down on her anger. 

She was at the door to her mother’s bedroom now. For a moment it looked as if this room, at least, had been left untouched. // A sob rose in Clary’s chest. Mom , she cried inside, what happened to you? 

… No, not silence—a noise sounded through the apartment, raising the short hairs along the nape of her neck. 

Jocelyn’s hand flew out and gripped her daughter’s for a comforting squeeze. She was anxious for Clary but she couldn’t help but feel that this was her fault. Clary should’ve been better prepared for a situation like this, and Jocelyn was foolish to think that she would always be there to protect her daughter. 

… a dragging slithering noise—and it was coming toward the bedroom. // —Clary scrambled to her feet and turned around slowly. 

For a moment she thought the doorway was empty, and felt a wave of relief. Then she looked down. 

It was crouched against the floor, a long scaled creature… Something like a cross between an alligator and a centipede. 

Cordelia would’ve interjected, asked if it was a ravener demon as the chapter pertained to it being, or even said something else, but she was startled by the next few words that came from the book. 

—just as the creature lunged at her. She rolled to the side and it missed her by inches, sliding along the wood floor, its claws gouging deep grooves. // She scrambled to her feet and ran toward the hallway, but the thing was too fast for her. // A long tongue flicked out between its jaws as it gurgled and hissed. To her horror Clary realized that the noises it was making were words. 

Clary felt queasy despite the fear that was beginning to consume her. She was way out of her depth, but she wasn’t going to give up until her body failed on her. She’d do this again if it meant that she would find her mother. 

“ Girl,” it hissed. “ Flesh. Blood. To eat, oh, to eat.” 

James Herondale felt chills run down his spine. Despite all his experiences with Belial, nothing made him more on edge than this Ravener demon going after Clary. A girl who didn’t know anything about this world, but she was about to. And being severely unprepared was the fear many have faced, but it was a feeling Shadowhunters rarely felt unless they were staring death right in the face. 

The thing was on its feet now, crawling toward her… backing away, she seized a heavy framed photo… —and flung it at the monster. 

The photograph hit its midsection… striking the floor with the sound of shattering glass. // It came on toward her, broken glass splintering under its feet. “ Bones, to crunch, to suck out the marrow, to drink the veins… ” 

Clary’s fingers began to shake and she realized it wasn’t because of the book, but because of the actual terror she was feeling in this room. 

Clary’s back hit the wall… she felt a movement against her hip… she drew out the plastic thing she’d taken from Jace… she closed her hand around the Sensor just as the creature sprang. 

The creature hurtled into her, knocking her to the ground, and her head and shoulders slammed against the floor. 

Clary felt the brunt of the attack. It was teeth rattling and had her chair tipping over from the force and she would’ve hit the floor if it weren’t for Jace’s hands catching the wooden seat. 

“Are you alright?” He said quietly, his face suddenly hovering above hers. He looked unguarded for that little second he and Clary shared. 

She nodded, and her world was righted, for just that little moment. 

  “To eat, to eat,” // “But it is not allowed, to swallow, to savor.” 

… She couldn’t breathe. Her ribs felt like they might shatter. Her arm was pinned between her body and the monster’s, the Sensor digging into her palm. She twisted, trying to work her hand free. 

“Valentine will never know. He said nothing about a girl. Valentine will not be angry.” 

Jocelyn’s blood ran cold. She had suspected that Valentine had been behind this, but to be in league with the very demons he had sworn to destroy—to leave a Ravener demon behind in her apartment where it could possibly kill her daughter… 

“Jocelyn,” Luke said, “breathe.” 

She tried to match Luke’s breaths, to calm herself down from the all consuming panic she hadn’t felt since Idris, but she couldn’t not when everything she has done has put Clary in danger. 

“ Jocelyn .”  Luke said again, this time his hands were holding her face, forcing her to look at him. “Clary is okay, she’s still here, you’re still here.” 

“Oh Luke,” Jocelyn helplessly whispered. “Why didn’t I listen? Why didn’t I tell her?” 

“You did what you thought was best,” he comforted. “You didn’t think this would have happened.”

“But I should’ve known—”

“There’s nothing you can do now. What you can do is be there for her.” 

Clary’s hand came free. With a scream she hit out at the thing, wanting to smash it, to blind it. She had almost forgotten the Sensor. As the creature lunged for her face, jaws wide, she jammed the Sensor between its teeth and felt hot, acidic drool coat her wrist and spill in burning drops onto the bare skin of her face and throat. 

Clary let out a gasp of surprise and then she was screaming in pain at the burning sensation that she was feeling. She didn’t dare look down at the red raw skin of her arm. Clary could barely stomach the pain, she didn't think she could look at what she could only assume to be some sort of chemical burn. 

She heard Simon swearing next to her, but she couldn’t hear much over her very loud heart, whose pulse had jumped to her ears, blocking her senses one by one. 

Her head was tipped back, eyes glazed over with tears. 

—the creature jerked back, the Sensor lodged between two teeth. // Clary saw it swallow, saw the movement of its throat . I’m next, she thought, panicked . I’m— 

Suddenly the thing began to twitch. Spasming, uncontrollably, it rolled off Clary and onto its back… // Black fluid poured from its mouth. // Gasping for air, Clary rolled over and started to scramble away… She’d nearly reached the door… whistle through the air next to her head… An object slammed heavily into the back of her skull, and she collapsed forward into blackness.

Clary wasn’t prepared for the blow and before she could brace herself for it, it crashed into her with full force. And she didn’t have any time to give anyone a warning as she fell forward and off her seat with a heavy thud, skidding to a stop before she hit the ornate table. 

“ Clary!” was all she heard, and though she was still conscious, she couldn’t move. Clary felt weightless, like her body wasn’t her own. 

Through her daze, she heard someone swear as they looked at her arm and neck, where the acid had bitten into her skin. Then she was being turned on her side, her hair spilling over her shoulder to reveal the back of her neck. 

Shouts of panic rang out then, and Clary wanted to ask what was it? but she could not get her mouth to move—- any part of her body to move. She could only stare blankly and try to decipher what was being said amongst the sudden crowd that had formed around her. 

Light stabbed through her eyelids, blue white, and red… Clary gagged and opened her eyes. // She was lying on cold damp grass… Jace knelt beside her… as he tore the piece of cloth he was holding into strips. “Don’t move.” 

Simon, though thoroughly hating it, let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t quite like Jace, but he was grateful that he was helping out his best friend. 

… Clary turned her head to the side…was rewarded with a razoring stab of pain that shot down her back. She was lying on a patch of grass… The foliage hid her view of the street, where a police car… was pulled up to the curb… Already a small knot of neighbors had gathered…

The police. She tried to sit up, and gagged again, fingers spasming into the damp earth. 

“I told you not to move,” Jace hissed. “The Ravener demon got you in the back of the neck. It was half-dead so it wasn’t much of a sting, but we have to get you back to the Institute. Hold still.” 

“Is there anything else you didn’t tell her?” Alec hissed. 

“It doesn’t matter Alec,” Jace said, his hands still hovering over Clary from where he had shifted her onto her side. “She already knows a lot.” 

“It doesn’t change the fact that she is a mundane.” 

“Do you guys realize how you sound when you say that?” Kit said scowling. 

“And how do we say it?” Jace asked, oddly patient, taking his eyes off Clary to stare at the younger boy. 

“Like an insult.” 

“I can’t promise you we won’t say it again,” Jace said, staying in that low tone of his. “But I’ll try.” 

“That thing—the monster—it talked.” 

“You’ve heard a demon talk before.” Jace’s hands were gentle as he slipped the strip of knotted cloth under her neck, and tied it… 

“The demon in Pandemonium—it looked like a person.”

“It was an Eidolon demon. A shape-changer. Raveners look like they look. Not very attractive, but they’re too stupid to care.”

“It said it was going to eat me.”

“But it didn’t. You killed it.” Jace finished the knot and sat back.

To Clary’s relief the pain in the back of her neck had faded. 

Clary, still prone on the floor, did feel that relief in the form of a stuttered breath and a violent twitch of her finger. 

“Can you stand?” Jace asked quietly, still there even after everyone returned back to their seats. 

Clary struggled to push herself up onto her elbows and nearly collapsed back into the floor if it weren’t for his hands (once again) catching her. 

“There’s nothing they can do… aren’t real police officers. Demons have a way of hiding their tracks.” /

“My mom,” … forcing the words through her swollen throat. 

 “There’s Ravener poison coursing through your veins right now. You’ll be dead in an hour if you don’t come with me.” …held out a hand to her. She took it and he pulled her upright. “Come on.”

The world tilted. Jace slid a hand across her back, holding her steady… “Can you walk?”

The Jace in the room mirrored his actions and walked Clary over to her seat, painfully aware of her labored breath and pale clammy skin. 

… She could see the police coming up the path… a slim blond woman, …a flashlight in one hand. As she raised it, Clary saw the hand… a skeleton hand sharpened … at the fingertips. “Her hand—”

… “We have to get out of here. Can we go through the alley?”

—“It’s bricked up. There’s no way—” Her words dissolved into a fit of coughing. She raised her hand to cover her mouth. It came away red. 

Startled, Jace nearly dropped Clary out of his hold but momentarily tightened his grip and easing up when Clary hacked out a cough that coated her mouth red. 

He settled Clary into her chair just as James Carstairs walked over and handed Jace an ivory handkerchief. He looked stricken for her wellbeing, but somehow Jace knew that wasn’t all there was to it. There was a melancholy glint in his silver eyes, he smelled sweet–something familiar— he decided to put this aside as he muttered his thanks and kneeled down in front of the red-head, holding it out for Clary to take. 

He grabbed her wrist, turned it over…her inner arm lay bare under the moonlight… There was something in Jace’s hand, something sharp and silver. 

Alec inhaled harshly just as Maryse locked her hard gaze on her adoptive son. 

He wouldn’t. 

But Jace didn’t look at either of them, golden gaze locked onto Clary as she pressed the cloth to her mouth and held it there, stifling the cough. 

—She felt a stinging kiss against her skin. When he let go, she saw an inked black symbol like the ones that covered his skin…  This one looked like a set of overlapping circles.

Clary turned over her wrist just as she felt the stinging. She couldn’t feel much at this point, but that felt like being burned by a bright star. 

There, clear as day, lay a stark mark on her pale skin. 

It was the final nail in the coffin for Jocelyn, who, up until this point, had been terrified for her daughter, now felt the iron resolve that she would have to let Clary make her own decisions. She didn’t want to have her daughter in a cage when she could be out in the world spreading her love and art. It meant coming to terms with the fact that she would have to pay a visit to the New York Institute, to reopen the old wounds that hadn’t yet closed. 

“What’s that supposed to do?”

“It’ll hide you,” // “Temporarily.” // “My stele,” he said.

Clary didn’t ask what that was. She was busy trying not to fall over.

Maryse struggled with herself not to yell at Jace, not when she could possibly startle Clary into another coughing fit. Yet she couldn’t help but be angry with him even when she knew Clary had Shadowhunter blood running through her veins. You just didn’t go around marking mundanes because of a hunch or dire situation. 

 The ground was heaving up and down under her feet… He caught her… swung her up into his arms, saying something in her ear that sounded like Covenant. Clary tipped her head back to look at him… Then the bottom dropped out of everything, and even Jace’s arms around her were not enough to keep her from falling. 

Clary finally fainted in her seat, collapsing onto her mother as the handkerchief fell from her hand. 

Chapter Text

“Just what did you think you were doing marking her?” Maryse demanded after the chapter finished. 

Jace tore his eyes away from Clary and looked past Jocelyn stroking her daughter’s hair to lock eyes with Maryse. “I was only following my hunch.” 

“Your hunch shouldn’t have you marking mundanes.” Jace couldn’t help but frown. 

“Maryse,” Jocelyn cut in. “That’s hardly fair considering you and everyone else in this room knows that Clary isn’t a mundane.” 

“It’s technicalities Jocelyn,” Robert interjected. “No Shadowhunter should mark a human they don’t know.”

As the adults continued arguing, on the left side of the room, Emma whispered to Cristina, “I didn’t think that they were such a mess.” 

“It’s like what they say,” Cristina mumbled. “Never meet your heroes.” 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Emma glanced over at Jace, whose eyes drifted back to Clary as he took his seat. “It makes them more human.” 

Chapter 5 - Clave and Covenant 

“Do you think she’ll ever wake up? It’s been three days already.” 

Three days? Luke thought. He’d be panicking to find her after three days. 

“You have to give her time. Demon poison is strong stuff, and she’s a mundane. She hasn’t got runes to keep her strong like we do.” 

“Mundies die awfully easily, don’t they?” 

“Isabelle, you know it’s bad luck to talk about death in a sickroom.” 

It was bad to talk about death anywhere , Will thought. It was best not to think about it wherever as it could quite possibly be true. Will lives in fear of that everyday. Wondering if his better half would rip his heart in two. 

… I have to wake up. But she couldn’t… dreams held her… a river of images… her mother lying in a hospital bed… 

Jocelyn paled as she looked down at her barely conscious daughter. Who knew what these dreams could mean?  

… Luke standing atop a pile of bones. 

Now it was Luke’s turn to look at Clary. Why would she dream of that? 

Jace with white feathered wings sprouting out of his back, Isabelle sitting naked with her whip curled around her like a net of gold rings, Simon with crosses burned into the palms of his hands. 

Angels, falling and burning. Falling out of the sky. 

James has had his fair share of dreams to know that dreams had consequences, that they’d soon come true before you least expect it. It could be a vision of the present or very well be the future.

He dug his nails into the palm of his hand. 

“... Jace said she killed a Ravener.” 

“Yeah… She’s not pretty enough to be a pixie, though.” 

If Clary were awake, she would’ve felt the self-consciousness weigh down on her, but she wasn’t, and some part of her didn’t care about how she looked. 

“. . . nobody looks their best with demon poison in their veins…” 

“I hope not… Anyone who mutilates themselves like that—”  

“We mutilate ourselves.” 

“I know, Alec, but when we do it… it doesn’t always hurt…” 

“. . .  Speaking of which, where is Jace? He saved her, didn’t he? I would have thought he’d take some interest in her recovery.” 

“You didn’t check on her?” Simon asked incredulously. 

“Don’t be so shocked,” Jace said. “It’s part of the job.” 

“Part of the job?” Simon shot back bitterly. “That’s my friend you’re talking about.” 

“And where were you?” It was underhanded, Jace knew that, but the other irritated him that much to the point that he didn’t care.

Simon’s mouth twisted, but he didn’t say anything more, he wouldn’t give Jace the satisfaction of seeing him lose control. 

“Hodge said he hasn’t been to see her since he brought her here. I guess he doesn’t care.” 

“Sometimes I wonder if he—Look! She moved.”

Jace felt a frown pull at his mouth, one Alec didn’t fail to see. “We didn’t mean anything like that—”

“I know Alec,” he said calmly. “You just didn’t understand.” 

“But I’m your parabatai,” Alec argued. “I should understand.” 

“And you will.” If these books have anything to say about that. 

“I guess she’s alive after all.” // “I’ll tell Hodge.”

Clary’s eyelids felt as if they had been sewed shut. 

Clary stirred, groaning and blinking rapidly. She felt the ache in her bones, but she didn’t feel any of the scorching pain from before. It must’ve worn off, now that the book was progressing along. If symptoms crossed multiple chapters, they’d be on a ride with a hell of a lot of pain. 

Painfully she hauled herself into a sitting position. Every part of her ached, especially the back of her neck. 

She pushed herself off of her mother, gritting her teeth at the phantom aches. 

“So you’re finally awake,” said a dry voice. “Hodge will be pleased. We all thought you’d probably die in your sleep.” 

“You should be nicer Izzy,” Jace said. 

“And what?” His adoptive sister said as the book went on about her description of what she had been wearing when Clary woke. “Be more like you?”

“ Accommodating ,” he answered. “You should be accommodating, not everyone is us.” 

“Then maybe you should’ve been the one in the room.” 

“Sorry to disappoint you.” // “Is this the institute?” 

“Is there anything Jace didn’t tell you?” 

… “This is this Institute, right?” 

“Yes. You’re in the infirmary, not that you haven’t figured that out already.”

A sudden, stabbing pain made Clary clutch at her stomach… 

Clary groaned, arms thrown around her midsection as she hunched over. This was going to get tedious real soon. 

Isabelle looked at her in alarm. “Are you okay?” 

The pain was fading… an acid feeling…strange light-headedness. “My stomach.” 

“Oh… almost forgot, Hodge said to give you this when you woke up.” Isabelle grabbed for the ceramic pitcher… it was full of a cloudy liquid that steamed slightly… “You haven’t eaten anything in three days,” // “That’s probably why you feel sick.” 

James felt that pain, remembered having a scalding fever that didn’t allow him to stomach anything and had him drifting in and out of consciousness. His savior had been Cordelia, who once accompanied him when he was sick and never left. 

… “Hodge was furious. You got ichor and blood all over the carpet in the entryway. If he’d done it while my parents were here, he’d have gotten grounded for sure.” 

Maryse narrowed her eyes at Jace, who grinned innocently. 

“Jace said you killed that Ravener demon all by yourself.” 

—“I guess I did.”

“But you’re a mundie.” 

There was no mistaking the disbelief in Isabelle's voice, and Clary felt a little pride fill her veins. Everyone in the room knew what she did, and they couldn’t refute it as they heard it a chapter ago. 

“Amazing isn’t it?” // “Where is Jace? Is he around?” 

Jace could barely hold his smirk as he watched Simon in front of him, ball his fists tight. That’s right, she thought of me first. And then he quickly came to his senses. Since when did he care? 

Isabelle shrugged. “Somewhere,” // “I should go tell everyone you’re up. Hodge’ll want to talk to you.”

“Hodge as in Hodge Starkweather?” It was a question that had been nagging at Jocelyn since his name first popped up and she knew it bothered Luke as well. 

“How do you know that?” Isabelle asked. 

“We trained at the academy together.”

“In Idris?” 

“I thought that we all came to the conclusion that I was a Shadowhunter?” Jocelyn said bluntly. “There’s no point in denying it as Maryse and Robert know—” 

“And who else knew Mom?” Clary asked, voice low and raspy. “Because surely, your daughter should’ve known.” 

“Clary,” she began gently. “Everytime we have this conversation we end up back in the same place.”

“And I wonder why,” she muttered bitterly, turning away from her mother. 

… “What happened to my clothes?” 

“They were covered in blood and poison. Jace burned them.” 

“Did he?” // “Tell me, is he always really rude, or does he save that for mundanes?” 

“Oh he’s rude to everyone,” 

Jem saw the similarities between his parabatai and Jace Wayland. Will was rude to just about anyone save for him and never apologized for it. Jace seemed just as unshakable. It unnerved him to see the spirit in something other than his other half. 

“It’s what makes him so damn sexy. That, and he’s killed more demons than anyone else his age.” 

Nearly every Shadowhunter in the room appraised Jace, who sat there leaned back in his chair with a smug look on his face. 

“How old are you?” asked Christopher, peering at him through his spectacles. 

“Seventeen.” 

Matthew and James exchanged glances. They’ve barely had to kill any demons in their tenure as Shadowhunters. How many demons did you have to kill to get such a reputation? 

“Isn’t he your brother?” 

That got Isabelle’s attention. She laughed out loud. “Jace? My brother?. . . “

“… doesn’t he live with his own parents?” 

For a fleeting moment Isabelle looked uncomfortable. “Because they’re dead.” 

Now Jace slumped in his seat, despising all the attention. He didn’t need the pity. Shadowhunters die young all the time, they know the life expectancy that is looming over their heads. 

“This may be insensitive,” Charlotte asked. “But how did they pass?” 

It was like Charlotte Branwell knew when to push and prod, like she knew that this was something he wouldn’t take to heart and lash out. Like she had practice dealing with his type . “My mother died when I was born. Father died when I was ten.” 

“And you saw it.” It wasn’t a question. 

He answered with a nod  anyway. “I used to live in Idris before the New York Institute took me in.”  

“The Lightwoods?” 

“My father and Robert were parabatai.” 

“And no bond is stronger than a parabatai’s. ” 

“Yeah.” He said with a softer voice. 

There was a purpling bruise high up on her left cheek, 

Clary felt it form on her cheek and resisted the urge to press her fingers to it. 

I have to call Luke… there was a phone around here somewhere… use it after she talked to Hodge. // … she took a deep breath and left to find Isabelle. 

The corridor outside the infirmary was empty… // In the distance she could hear a faint and delicate noise… She set off down the corridor slowly… // The sound she was following grew louder…sound of a piano being played with desultory but undeniable skill, though she couldn’t identify the tune. 

Jem smiled softly to himself. What he wouldn’t do to have his violin, to feel the familiar strings beneath his fingers… It was nice to know that music was still classically played, even if his type may have faded with time. 

… she came to a doorway… clearly a music room. // Jace was seated at the grand piano… // She must have made some noise, because he twisted around on the stool… “Alec?” he said. “Is that you?” 

“It’s not Alec. It’s me.” // “Clary.”  

“Our own Sleeping Beauty. Who finally kissed you awake?” 

Emma and Cristina exchanged looks that could only be deciphered as blitheful. Seeing these heroes act human instead of standing on the pedestals they were constantly put on, it was a change, it really was. 

Emma had always admired Jace, even when she had a stupid crush on him when she was twelve. To be as strong a fighter as the other was to put in your whole being; blood, sweat, tears and all. Just to hear that he had been playing the piano before his life became chaotic, it was those details that would be lost on time and would only live in very few minds. 

“I should have warned her about your habit of never doing what you’re told.”

Jocelyn bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from agreeing, unwilling to give her daughter another thing to get mad at her about. But it had some validity to it as Clary didn’t listen when Jocelyn had told her to not come to the house, which resulted in a demon attack. Maybe it’d do her daughter some good to grow as a person by allowing her to make mistakes instead of trying to coddle her at every turn. 

 … “Come on, I’ll take you to Hodge.” 

—

“. . . most of these rooms are empty.” 

“People come and go…” 

It was a universally known fact that there were very few Shadowhunters ever took up permanent lodgings in an Institute when they had another home to return to. 

“. . . usually it’s just us: Alec, Isabelle, Max, and their parents—and me and Hodge.” 

“Max?” 

Isabelle smiled fondly at the mention of the youngest Lightwood. She hadn’t seen him since he went to Idris with her parents. 

“… Alec is her elder brother. Max is the youngest, but he’s overseas with his parents.” // “You can think of them as—as foreign diplomats…Right now they’re in the Shadowhunter home country, working out some very delicate peace negotiations. They brought Max with them because he’s so young.”

… “I take it you’ve been there. To Idris, I mean.” 

“I grew up there.” Jace’s voice was neutral, but something in his tone let her know that more questions in that direction would not be welcome. 

“Did you ever train at the Academy?” James Herondale asked. 

“No,” and he didn’t sound too bothered by it. “I was trained by my father.” 

“You didn’t miss much mate,” Matthew said, a bright sparkle appearing in his dark green eyes. “It was a bloody sh—” 

“Matthew!” Charles chided. “Watch your mouth, there are women and children here—” 

“We’ve heard a lot worse,” Isabelle retorted, voice flat. 

By that statement, Matthew sat up straighter in his seat, an unadulterated giddiness lining his body. “See, not all women are delicate, brother.”  

“That may be true for Ms. Lightwood,” Charlotte said, “but it does not mean you can say what your please, Mr. Fairchild. Reputations are important.” 

The tops of Matthew’s cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. It was one thing to be scolded by your mother, but it was another to see her younger and inexperienced, yet still having that same instinct to rein you back in. 

“My apologies, mo–Mrs. Branwell.” 

“As Math was saying,” James picked up, dutifully ignoring his parabatai’s fumbling words. “The Academy was nothing special.” 

“It was not like you would’ve missed it after being expelled—” 

“And who blew up a portion of the Academy?” 

“You blew up the Academy?” The incredulous question was aimed at Matthew, while another was at James, “You were expelled?” 

Will turned to Jem, his brow raised. “Those two are troublemakers.” 

“Like you aren’t.” 

“You don’t see me blowing up buildings.” 

Jem looked at him skeptically. “I’m sure you’d like to.” 

“Well who wouldn’t want to set up an explosion?” 

“You do whatever you like William,” a sigh, “you always do.” 

“… to a Shadowhunter, Idris is always ‘home.’” // “We’re sent where we’re needed. [...] there are a few, like Isabelle and Alec, who grow up away from the home country…” [...] “This is the library.” 

“Wait,”[ ... ] “Alec and Isabele and Max—they're the only Shadowhunters your age that you know, that you spend time with?” 

[... ]“Yes.” 

“That must get kind of lonely.” 

“Does it?” Tessa asked. “Does it get lonely?” 

“Not at all,” said Will. “Like everyone else, Shadowhunters are flawed. There are some who are prideful in their family statuses, making them insufferable and well known pricks. Like the Lightwoods—” 

A protest erupted from Gabriel the same time Robert fixed a glare at the Victorian Era Shadowhunter.  

Just seats away, Thomas and Christopher exchanged glances, amused yet so very confused by how the older Herondale was acting. In their lifetime, the Herondales and Lightwoods were close as family, especially since Cecily married Gabriel. Yet back in 1878, there was nothing but hostility between the two families. 

“Like Will had been saying,” Jem said, taking over to placate the Lightwoods in the room, “making friends with Shadowhunters of the same age is difficult as some aren’t as forthcoming or understanding of backgrounds. There are bigots even in the Clave.” 

“Have you ever had to…?” 

“To face opposition?” Jem clarified. “No, the Nephilim see me as a Shadowhunter, as one of them, it is the mundanes who look at me like they do not understand—a boy who is not quite white and not quite foreign either." 

Tessa nodded and said in a quiet voice, “Shadowhunters love very few don’t they?” 

Jem nodded, unaware of the contemplative glance James gave him. It was very odd to see Jem talking as an active Shadowhunter instead of the Silent Brother he’s come to know. And despite his younger age, he was still wise beyond his years. 

“I have everything I need.” He pushed the doors open. After a moment’s hesitation she followed him inside. 

—

The library was circular… walls were lined with books, the shelves so high [ …] These were no ordinary books either… were not just old but were well used, and had been loved. // The floor was polished wood, inlaid with chips of glass and marble… a pattern that Clary couldn’t quite decipher [...] In the center of the room sat a magnificent desk.  [...] Behind the desk sat a thin man with gray-streaked hair and a long beaky nose. 

“A book lover, I see,” he said, smiling at Clary. “You didn’t tell me that, Jace.” 

“Do you actually like books?” Lucie asked, perking up in her seat. The Institute library had sounded heavenly, had nearly resembled this room if it weren’t for the different details. 

“I have more of an artist's eye,” Clary said, “but books are just as enjoyable.”  

Jace chuckled. [...] “We haven’t done much talking during our short acquaintance,” he said. “I’m afraid our reading habits didn’t come up.” 

Clary turned around and shot him a glare. 

“How can you tell?” she asked… “That I like books, I mean.” 

“The look on your face when you walked in,” he said, standing up and coming around from behind the desk. “Somehow I doubted you were that impressed by me. ” 

Clary stifled a gasp as he rose… As he approached, she saw that the hunch was actually a bird… 

“This is Hugo,”

And maybe Jocelyn was paranoid, but hearing about a raven made her freeze just for a second. 

[...] “I would be honed to make the acquaintance of anyone who could kill a Ravener with her bare hands.” 

“It wasn’t my bare hands.” It still felt odd to be congratulated for killing something. 

“You held your own against a demon you knew nothing about,” Emma said. “That warrants a congratulations.” 

Clary shyly thanked her for the compliment and found herself agreeing with her book counterpart. It was odd being congratulated. 

[… ] “That was quick thinking. What gave you the idea of using the Sensor as a weapon?” 

Before she could reply, a sharp laugh sounded through the room. Clary had been so enraptured by the books and distracted by Hodge that she hadn’t seen Alecsparlwed in an overstuffed red armchair by the empty fireplace. “I can’t believe you buy that story, Hodge,” he said. 

“You see what I mean?” Will wrinkled his nose. “Lightwoods and their arrogance.” 

“What is with your vendetta against my family?” Robert demanded, the same time Alec looked down at his shoes. 

He’s not exactly proud of the person he’s become, but it had been a drastic tonal change compared to the beginning of the chapter when he had been defending Clary from Isabelle’s prodding words. Alec had sounded bitter— jealous— even, from one sentence, but of what? Clary had only been there for under a week ( and she wasn’t even conscious, his brain supplied helpfully), what impact would she have? 

Will didn’t back down from the older man’s stare, meeting it head on with all the fierceness a Herondale could possess. “You’re only proving my point, Robert Lightwood. Too proud to admit to your wrongdoings, blame it on others for problems you cause, shunning others for their differences.” 

He’ll never know how true that statement is , Robert thought, scowling. The disastrous decision in joining The Circle, Michael—

“Mr. Herondale—”

He ignored Gideon and glanced over at Thomas, Christopher, and Anna. “I don’t know you three yet and I don’t want to if you are anything like the rest of your family.” 

They were blunt yet  harsh words, uncharacteristic of the loving man they had looked up to, and they cut deep. It hurt in a way they couldn’t describe, being written off as arrogant and selfish. Now all they wanted to know was what made the Herondales and Lightwoods despise one another, at least during 1878. 

Emma Carstairs, however, couldn't help but see the irony. Jace was a Herondale, though he didn’t know about it. What scene would break out when that was revealed? How would Will react to a Herondale being parabatai with a Lightwood, a family he seemed to despise at the moment? 

James stood in his seat, drawing attention from not only from his father, but the room. “These are my friends you are smearing, fa—Mr. Herondale. You’d best not extend your grievances against Gabriel and Gideon to others in the room.” 

It will never not be odd to be talking to his teenage father, speaking like they were associates instead of the familial familiarity he’s grown accustomed to. Yet, this wasn’t his father, not yet anyway. It seemed like he hadn’t mellowed out yet, all sternness and cutting quips. 

James saw him swallow harshly, fists clenched by his sides, before nodding and saying to the Lightwoods of 1903, “My apologies. I seem to have let my emotions cloud my judgment.” 

As James sat down, Jem was already furiously whispering his distaste for the unwarranted behavior of his parabatai. It was a defensive outburst, Jem saw that the moment Robert Lightwood voiced his displeasure, and Will being Will, took the opportunity to push everyone further away before they got too close. 

The tension in the room didn’t cease as the narration continued. 

At first Clary didn’t even register his words… Like many only children, she was fascinated by the resemblance between siblings, and now, in the full light of day, she could see exactly how much Alec looked like his sister… 

The other Lightwood’s in the room exchanged glances at one another. They saw the resemblance between Gabriel and Gideon, but it stopped there when they looked at Christopher and Anna, then to Thomas who looked more related to Christopher than his older sister. Genetics were very odd. 

But where Isabelle was all arrogance, Alec slumped down in the chair as if he hoped nobody would notice him. His lashes were long and dark like Isabelle’s, but where her eyes were black, his were the dark blue of bottle glass. They gazed at Clary with a hostility as pure and concentrated as acid. 

Alec shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He doesn’t like the direction this is taking. Not one bit. 

“I’m not quite sure what you mean, Alec.” Hodge raised an eyebrow. [...] “Are you suggesting that she didn’t kill that demon after all?” 

“Of course she didn’t. Look at her—she’s a mundie, Hodge, and a little kid, at that. There’s no way she took on a Ravener.” 

There it was again, that word, Kit thought bitterly. He hasn’t met the Clary of his time, she’d be older than him by now, but if he were her, he wouldn’t be taking the holier than thou bullshit they’re currently spitting. 

“I’m not a little kid,” Clary interrupted. “I’m sixteen years old—well, I will be on Sunday”

“The same age as Isabelle,” Hodge said. “Would you call her a child?” 

“Isabelle hails from one of the greatest Shadowhunter dynasties in history,” Alec said dryly. “This girl, on the other hand, hails from New Jersey.”

Clary’s mouth tightened, nails biting into the skin of her palms. She would not get angry at Alec–she would not get angry at Alec–-

“I’m from Brooklyn!” 

Too late for that it seems. 

“And so what? I just killed a demon in my own house, and you’re going to be a dickhead about it because I’m not some spoiled-rotten rich brat like you and your sister?”

Will grinned, leaning towards Jem. “I like her.” 

His parabatai sighed, already worn out. “Of course you do, she insulted a Lightwood.” 

“ What did you call me?” 

Jace sounded as if he could barely contain his laughter. “She has a point, Alec [...]” 

“Are you for real?” Alec asked tightly. “You’re just going to let her call me names?” 

And Jace didn’t have to answer. 

“Yes,” Jace said kindly. “It’ll do you good—try to think of it as endurance training.” 

“And I agree.” Jace said. “You can’t just insult someone you know nothing about just because of what happened back at the club.” 

“She doesn’t exactly like you either.”

“No.” Jace concurred, “but I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt, you aren’t giving anything.” 

“She’s just a girl,” Alec hissed. “There’s nothing special about her.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong.” 

“I can’t believe you right now—” 

“We may be parabatai ,” Alec said tightly. “But your flippancy is wearing on my patience.”

“And your obstinacy is wearing on mine. When I found her, she was lying on the floor in a pool of blood with a dying demon practically on top of her. I watched as it vanished. If she didn’t kill it, who did?” 

It seemed petty to even discuss it now that they knew that Clary did kill the Ravener, even if it was clumsily and not at all painless. 

Alec felt the shame all the same, but was unwilling to admit it at the very moment. 

[...] “It isn’t right for her to be here. Mundies aren’t allowed in the Institute…” 

“On the contrary,” Charlotte interjected. “Mundanes are allowed to sanctuary under certain circumstances. Miss Collins, here, is a mundane, but she resides in the London Institute.” 

Alec nodded tersely, looking very red due to a multitude of factors. It could be embarrassment, anger, or even shame. 

[…] “A Ravener has already attacked Clary’s mother—she could well have been next.”

Attacked. Clary wondered if this was a euphemism for “murdered.” 

Jocelyn placed a warm hand on her daughter’s shoulder. She knows how hard it is to be thrust into another life you knew nothing about. 

“Raveners are search-and-destroy machines,” Alec said. “They act under orders from warlocks or powerful demon lords…” 

Magnus felt nothing but disappointment. Should he have really expected something different from a Shadowhunter? 

“Demons don’t make those kinds of mistakes. If they went after your mother, there must have been a reason. If she were innocent—” 

“What do you mean, ‘innocent’?” Clary’s voice was quiet. 

Alec looked taken aback… 

“ Damn Fray,” Simon mumbled to his friend. 

“[...] is extremely unusual for a powerful demon…  to interest himself in the affairs of human beings. No mundane may summon a demon… who have found a witch or warlock to do it for them.” 

“My mother doesn’t know any warlocks…”

Jocelyn gave Clary a regretful look and it was one she didn’t miss. 

Clary looked so tired of the secrets that it showed on her young face. It had no right to settle on her face, in just the mere hours they were here. 

[...] “It seems the time has come to notify the Clave.” 

“No!” Jace said. “We can’t—”

“Jace–” 

“You don’t understand Maryse—”

“It’s you who doesn’t understand, child .” Maryse insisted. “Clary has recovered from her attack and she is the first outsider to pass through the doors of the Institute in over a hundred years. You know the rules, the Clave must be informed.” 

“The Clave can go to hell.” 

“You’d best watch your mouth.” Robert sternly scolded. “The Clave is the law and the law…”

“Is the law,” Isabelle finished lamely. “We all know that.” 

“She’s not a mundane.”

Hodge’s eyebrows shot back up to his hairline… Alec… choked with surprise[…] “But I am,” she said. 

This whole conversation seemed pointless with the information they knew, but the reactions over what they thought Clary was, it only showed what could’ve been. 

[...] “That night—there were Du’sien demons, dressed like police officers… Clary was too weak to run, and there wasn’t time to hide… So I used my stele—put a mendelin rune on the inside of her arm. I thought—”  

“Are you out of your mind?” 

Jace nearly jumped from the anger lacing his tutor’s voice. He hadn’t heard Hodge get that angry and it prickled some long forgotten memory he had wished stayed buried. 

“... You—you of all people ought to know better!” 

“But it worked,” said Jace. “Clary, show them your arm.”     

“You’re so reckless,” Isabelle whispered to Jace. “You shouldn’t actively try to get yourself killed.”

“Would I be me if I wasn’t?” 

With a baffled glance in Jace’s direction, she held out her bare arm… she could see three faint overlapping circles… “See, it’s almost gone,” Jace said. “It didn't hurt her at all.”

“That’s not the point.” Hodge could barely control his anger. “You could have turned her into a Forsaken.”

… “I can’t believe you, Jace. Only Shadowhuntes can receive Covenant Marks—they kill mundanes–” 

Clary whipped her head around to glare at Jace. “What would you have done if I wasn’t a Shadowhunter?” She asked incredulously. 

“But you are.” 

“That hardly matters if you could’ve killed me.” 

“Well it saved your life so I don’t think you have the authority to complain.” 

Clary huffed. 

“She’s not a mundane. Haven’t you been listening? It explains why she could see us. She must have Clave blood.”

Clary lowered her arm, feeling suddenly cold. “But I don’t. I couldn’t.”

“You must,” […] “If you didn’t, that Mark I made on your arm …”

“That’s enough, Jace,” said Hodge, the displeasure clear in his voice. “There’s no need to frighten her further.”

Clary knows she would’ve been confused, not frightened, just confused and then angry because then they would start talking about her like she wasn’t even there. 

“But I was right, wasn’t I? It explains what happened to her mother, too. If she was a Shadowhunter in exile, she might well have Downworld enemies.”

It’s not the Downworlders, Jocelyn thought frowning. Shadowhunters still haven’t learned from their mistakes and alienation. 

“My mother wasn’t a Shadowhunter!”

“Your father, then,” Jace said. “What about him?”

Clary returned his gaze with a flat stare. “He died. Before I was born.”

Jace flinched, almost imperceptibly. 

She knew that it struck a chord, but she hadn’t expected to see Jace flinch by a simple statement. 

Isabelle, however, couldn’t help but contemplate Clary, how she managed to find a chink in Jace’s otherwise impenetrable armor. 

… “If her father were a Shadowhunter, and her mother a mundane—well, we all know it’s against the Law to marry a mundie. Maybe they were in hiding.”

Kit couldn’t help but shake his head. Shadowhunters and their stupid laws. Maybe his father had been right. This wasn’t a life he would want. 

“My mother would have told me,” Clary said, although she thought of the lack of more than one photo of her father, the way her mother never spoke of him, and knew that it wasn’t true. 

“Who is my father?” Clary asked quietly. 

“I can’t tell you that, Clary.” 

“And why not?” There was a note of anger that creeped into her voice, and it unsettled Alec just like it had in the book. She had sounded aloof yet when something crept into her tone, it set off warning bells. 

“You deserve to have a father you love and admire,” Jocelyn’s voice turned pleading, 

“So he’s a monster.” Clary accused. 

Jocelyn opened her mouth, taken aback by the blunt statement, and couldn’t provide an answer. 

“Not necessarily,” said Jace. “We all have secrets.” 

“Luke,” [...] “It’s been three days—he must be frantic. Can I call him? Is there a phone?” She turned to Jace. “Please.” 

“Why turn to Jace when you could’ve asked Hodge?” Simon asked his friend none too carefully. 

“Maybe she’s already comfortable with him.” Isabelle suggested. 

It wasn’t an answer Simon liked, but it was one that had to do. He hasn’t forgotten the dig Jace had taken at him, his lack of appearance in the many paragraphs. Her first instinct was to call Luke, the one she had been concerned about, not him. 

[...] Next to the globe was an old-fashioned black telephone with a silver rotary dial. // Luke picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” 

“Luke!” // “It’s me. It’s Clary.” 

“Clary.” She could hear the relief in his voice, along with something else she couldn’t quite identify. “You’re all right?” 

“Don’t do something stupid.” Jocelyn whispered to Luke. “I know Clary didn’t figure it out, but I did.” 

“I can’t make you any promises Jocelyn.” 

“I’m fine,” [...] // “I’m in the city [...] With some friends. My wallet’s gone, though. If you’ve got some cash, I could take a cab to your place—” 

“No,” he said shortly. 

“What do you mean no? ” 

[...] “It’s too dangerous. You can’t come here.” 

“We could call—”

“Look.” His voice was hard. “Whatever your mother’s gotten herself mixed up in, it’s nothing to do with me. You’re better off where you are.”

Both mother and daughter turned to glare at Luke. 

“I didn’t think you had it in you Lucian.” Robert observed. “You were always so loyal to Jocelyn, what made you change your mind?” 

Luke could only purse his lips as he couldn’t provide an answer. Why wouldn’t he have wanted Clary to come to him? Shouldn’t he have tried to keep her safe instead of basically delivering her to the Shadowhunters? 

“But I don’t want to stay here.” She heard the whine in her voice, like a child’s. “I don’t know these people. You—”

“I’m not your father, Clary. I’ve told you that before.”

Tears burned the backs of her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just—”

“Don’t call me for favors again,” he said. “I’ve got my own problems; I don’t need to be bothered with yours,” he added, and hung up the phone. 

Julian couldn’t help but wince at the conversation. He knows what it’s like when you think your life is falling apart. It always starts with your family before it comes with new burdens and experiences you had no idea how to deal with. 

To feel helpless and lost at twelve years old… it was a feeling no child should ever have to feel at that age, so he couldn’t imagine how it felt at sixteen when everything seemed to be going fine. 

As if she knew what Julian had been thinking, Emma placed her hand on top of his, tracing her fingers against his palm. A-R-E Y-O-U O-K-A-Y-? 

He turned her hand over. F-I-N-E. 

She…stared at the receiver, the dial tone buzzing in her ear like a big ugly wasp. She dialed Luke’s number again…it went to voice mail. She banged the phone down, her hands trembling.

Jace was leaning against the armrest of Alec’s chair, watching her. “I take it he wasn’t happy to hear from you?”

Jace winced. Way to be insensitive. He knows he wouldn’t take those words too kindly from someone he considered family. 

Clary’s heart felt as if it had shrunk down [...] I will not cry, she thought. Not in front of these people. 

Luke curled his palms into fists. Why did future him think this was a better alternative? 

“I think I’d like to have a talk with Clary,” said Hodge. “Alone,” he added firmly, seeing Jace’s expression.

Alec stood up. “Fine. We’ll leave you to it.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Jace objected. “I’m the one who found her. I’m the one who saved her life! You want me here, don’t you?” he appealed, turning to Clary. 

Clary looked away, knowing that if she opened her mouth, she’d start to cry. 

Jace was usually good at reading people, but how hadn’t he seen that? How hadn’t he noticed that she was on the verge of tears? He wasn’t entirely soulless; he understood and didn’t disregard human emotions. He may seem that way, but it’s just how he was raised. Emotions made you weak, made you soft, and they had no place in the Shadowhunter life. 

“Not everyone wants you all the time, Jace,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she heard Jace say, but he sounded disappointed. “Fine, then. We’ll be in the weapons room.”

The door closed behind them with a definitive click. 

Clary’s eyes were stinging the way they did when she tried to hold tears back for too long. Hodge loomed up in front of her, a fussing gray blur. “Sit down,” he said. // She sank gratefully onto the soft cushions. Her cheeks were wet… 

Clary just let them fall down her cheeks. No point in being ashamed, everything is being revealed whether she liked it or not. Just like that message had said. She’s come to this conclusion so many times, but it will never not shock her. 

“I don’t cry much usually,” [...]

“Most people don’t cry when they’re upset or frightened, but rather when they’re frustrated. Your frustration is understandable. You’ve been through a most trying time.” 

… “You could say that.” 

Hodge pulled the chair… His eyes, she saw, were gray… there was a kindness in them. “Is there anything I could get for you?” he asked. “Something to drink? Some tea?” 

“I don’t want tea,” // “I want to find my mother. And then I want to find out who took her in the first place, and I want to kill them.” 

“ Clary .” 

The red-haired girl scooted her seat away from her mother, unable to meet her horrified look. Jocelyn Fray was a protective person, one who will take all extensive measures to keep her loved ones safe, and that felt like a cage to Clary. It doesn’t mean Clary isn’t ungrateful, she just feels like a toddler swaddled in a bunch of blankets when all she needed was a nap.  

“Unfortunately,” said Hodge, “we’re all out of bitter revenge at the moment, so it's either tea or nothing.” 

That all got a chuckle out of them. They’ve all wanted revenge at some point in their lives, whether they realize it or not. 

[...] “What am I supposed to do, then?” 

“You could start by telling me a little about what happened,” […] He produced a handkerchief… she took it with silent astonishment. She’d never before known anyone who carried a handkerchief. 

Jem let out a little chuckle. “Now you know about ten of us who do.” 

Clary smiled awkwardly, remembering that it had been his handkerchief that she had held to her previously bloody mouth. “It makes sense for you, it just isn’t as common in 2007 anymore.” 

“The demon you saw in your apartment—was that the first such creature you’d ever seen? You had no inkling such creatures existed before?”

Clary shook her head, then paused. “One before, but I didn’t realize what it was. The first time I saw Jace—”

“Right, of course, how foolish of me [...] In Pandemonium. And your mother never mentioned them to you… another world…that most people cannot see? Did she seem particularly interested in myths, fairy tales, legends of the fantastic—”

“No. She hated all that stuff. She even hated Disney movies. She didn’t like me reading manga. She said it was childish.”

Clary felt the pieces shift into place. Her mother’s adamance that she shouldn’t be looking at that stuff, that she should focus more on her studies than fantastical tales. She couldn’t help but frown. Another cage she hadn’t understood till now. 

… “Most peculiar,” he murmured.

“Not really,” said Clary. “My mother wasn’t peculiar. She was the most normal person in the world.”

“Normal people don’t generally find their homes ransacked by demons,” Hodge said, not unkindly.

“Couldn’t it have been a mistake?”

“That’s not possible, Clary,” Charlotte said. “If you were ordinary, you would not have seen the demon for what it was after you awoke. It also spoke to you, it means that you are of importance to it, that you are relevant to the problem.”

“But why attack now?” Clary wondered. “If it had always been a Shadowhunter at birth, if she—” a glance at Jocelyn, “was a Shadowhunter, wouldn’t we have been attacked sooner?” 

“That is the theory,” Charlotte agreed. “And that is what makes the situation most peculiar, as Mr. Starkweather had said.” 

“They could’ve been protected,” Diana Wrayburn suggested. “Had help from a warlock to put up wards against those threats.” 

“Raveners are generally under the control of a stronger demon… Did it say what its master was looking for?”

Clary thought. “It said something about a Valentine, but—” 

Hodge jerked upright… Hugo… launched himself into the air with an irritable caw. “ Valentine?” 

Now this was another peculiar situation. Why had Hodge reacted more than the teens had to Valentine’s name when they heard it from the Eidolon demon at Pandemonium? 

“Yes,” Clary said. “I heard the same name in Pandemonium from the boy—I mean, the demon—”

“It’s a name we all know,”... His voice was steady, but she could see a slight tremble in his hands. 

Poor Hodge, Jocelyn couldn’t help but think. Though he had been one of the more devoted members of the Circle, he had seemed afraid of Valentine, even after his supposed death. 

“A demon?” 

“No. Valentine is– was— a Shadowhunter.” 

“A Shadowhunter? Why do you say was?” 

“Because he’s dead,” said Hodge flatly. “He’s been dead for fifteen years.”

“The same age as Clary.” Tessa observed offhandedly, making Jocelyn tense. 

“Are you suggesting something Miss Gray?” Will asked amusedly. 

“I’m only making an observation, Mr. Herondale.” 

James and Lucie gagged quietly. 

[...] “Could it be someone else? Someone with the same name?” 

Hodge’s laugh was a humorless bark. “No. But it could have been someone using his name to send a message.” [...] “And this would be the time to do it.” 

“Why now?” 

“Because of the Accords.” 

“The peace negotiations? Jace mentioned those. Peace with who?” 

“Downworlders,” // “Forgive me,” he said. “This must be confusing for you.” 

“You think?” 

“You said it,” Kit muttered under his breath. 

Despite basically living at the Shadow Market, he’s not well versed in whatever this was. Shadowhunters were a topic his father barred him from, practically scared him from it saying that they’d take him away the moment they saw him. 

… “Downworlders are those who share the Shadow World with us. We have always lived in an uneasy peace with them.” 

“Yet every Shadowhunter wonders why that is the case,” Magnus bitterly said. 

James frowned. Nothing’s changed, even with time, nothing has changed. 

“So what are you Shadowhunters?”

“We are sometimes called the Nephilim,” said Hodge. “[…] the origin of Shadowhunters is that they were created more than a thousand years ago, when humans were being overrun by demon invasions from other worlds. A warlock summoned the Angel Raziel, […] Those who drank the Angel’s blood became Shadowhunters, as did their children and their children’s children. The cup thereafter was known as the Mortal Cup. […] when Shadowhunter ranks were depleted, it was always possible to create more Shadowhunters using the Cup.” 

“ Was always possible?”

“The Cup is gone,” 

Outrage broke out in the room. 

“What do you mean the cup is simply gone ?” 

The Lightwoods were tightlipped, unwilling to articulate answers without self-incriminating themselves. 

And oddly enough, it was Magnus who answered. “After the Uprising, the Clave believed that the cup was destroyed by Valentine after he burned himself to death along with his family, wife, and child.” 

“How did the Clave even allow that to happen?” James wondered aloud. 

“They were focused on the signing of the Accords,” Jocelyn said sadly. “They couldn’t have predicted an attack from their own.” 

“…The Clave hands down curses on occasion as punishment for breaking the Law. Valentine broke the greatest Law of all—he took up arms against his fellow Shadowhunters and slew them. He and his group, the Circle, killed dozens of their brethren along with hundreds of Downworlders during the last Accords. They were only barely defeated.”

Gabriel swore under his breath. Despite their tensions, he doesn’t think he would ever raise a blade at Will, even with the wrongdoings they’ve both committed to one another. 

“Why would he want to turn on other Shadowhunters?”

“He didn’t approve of the Accords. He despised Downworlders and felt that they should be slaughtered, wholesale, to keep this world pure for human beings. Though the Downworlders are not demons, not invaders, he felt they were demonic in nature, and that that was enough… 

James was going to get permanent lines around his mouth from all the frowning he’d be doing. 

This was part of the reason why he had been bullied at the Academy, for being different. For having golden eyes instead of the typical Herondale blue. The reputation that had been spread around about his mother had made his blood boil, had made him drop somebody in the drink, and hear that not much has changed… It made him ashamed that future generations could not do anything to shift their views. 

…The Clave did not agree—they felt the assistance of Downworlders was necessary if we were ever to drive off demonkind for good. And who could argue, really, that the Fair Folk do not belong in this world, when they have been here longer than we have?”

“Did the Accords get signed?”

“Yes, they were signed. When the Downworlders saw the Clave turn on Valentine and his Circle in their defense, they realized Shadowhunters were not their enemies. Ironically, with his insurrection Valentine made the Accords possible.” 

“And thus,” Magnus said mockingly cheerful. “Uneasy peace.” 

“Instead of working together, Shadowhunters and Downworlders separated themselves over prejudice?” Tessa mused. 

Magnus snapped his fingers and pointed at his old yet young friend. “That is correct.” 

“[…] That was Valentine. A firebrand, a visionary, a man of great personal charm and conviction. And a killer. Now someone is invoking his name …”

“But who?” Clary asked. “And what does my mother have to do with it?”

Hodge stood up again. “I don’t know. But I shall do what I can to find out. I will send messages to the Clave and also to the Silent Brothers. They may wish to speak with you.” 

“Who are the Silent Brothers?” Tessa couldn’t help but ask,  always ready to take in new knowledge. 

“Perhaps we should hold on that information,” Gideon said apologetically. “It would do none of good if we were to repeat answers that will most likely come up again due to Ms. Fray’s curious nature.” 

“Is there any chance I could go home?”

“No, I—I wouldn’t think that would be wise.”

“He is right though,” Simon said at his friend’s protesting face. “You could be attacked again, it isn’t safe.” 

“Listen to your friend,” Isabelle urged. “There’s still a lot you don’t know yet. Even if you are a Shadowhunter, you aren’t properly trained to deal with these situations like all of us have.” 

Clary settled with a sigh.  

[…] “Please,” Clary said. “I have to see if—I have to see what’s left.”

Hodge hesitated, then offered a short, inverted nod. “If Jace agrees to it, you may both go.” // “He’s in the weapons room.”

“I don’t know where that is.”

Hodge smiled crookedly. “Church will take you.”

She glanced toward the door where the fat blue Persian was curled up like a small ottoman. 

“What is Church?” Cordelia asked curiously. 

“He’s sort of like a guide for us,” Jace answered. “He knows the ins and outs of the Institute, always seems to know where everyone is.” 

[…] When she looked back over her shoulder, she saw Hodge already scribbling on a piece of paper. Sending a message to the mysterious Clave, she guessed. They didn’t sound like very nice people. She wondered what their response would be. 

“You have no idea,” Julian said dryly, which earned him a scolding from not only Diana, but Helen as well. 

The red ink…Hodge Starkweather rolled the letter, carefully and meticulously, into the shape of a tube, and whistled for Hugo. The bird, cawing softly, settled on his wrist. Hodge winced. Years ago, in the Uprising, 

“Hodge fought in the Uprising?” Alec asked his parents, the information was new and it unsettled him. How little they knew about his past, as well as his parents. 

His mother nodded carefully.

“And what about you two?” Isabelle said none too gently. “You fought as well?” 

The parents swallowed and couldn’t look at their children any longer. 

There were some memories, though, that never faded. 

Do they ever? 

Images burst…behind his lids when he closed his eyes. Blood and bodies…a white podium stained with red. The cries of the dying. The green and rolling fields of Idris and its endless blue sky, … 

Jocelyn had nothing but pity for Hodge, for the fate he had subjected himself to when he could’ve fled like Pangborn and Blackwell. 

The pain of loss surged up inside him like a wave; he tightened his fist, and Hugo…pecked angrily at his fingers, drawing blood. Opening his hand, Hodge released the bird… // Shaking off his sense of foreboding, Hodge reached for another piece of paper, not noticing the scarlet drops that smeared the paper as he wrote.

The room fell silent. They were weary of what was to come. How could they change the world they lived in if they couldn’t get past the divide between Shadowhunters and Downworlders? 

Clary yawned, dreary and ready to crash in a bed before the headache that was pounding into her head made it unbearable to keep her eyes open. It felt like she had been sitting in her wooden chair for hours, her bones certainly felt like it. Or maybe that was the demon attack. Who knows at this point. 

As if the room had been reading her thoughts, it shifted in on itself. The bookshelves that had lined the walls and ceiling had collapsed onto themselves and revealed a long winding hallway that seemed to resemble the Institute if the shocked inhales from behind had anything to go off by. 

Like a flame from the sky, a piece of paper fell from the air with one last foreboding call before they claimed their individual rooms. 

Rest while you can as it is only the beginning 

Actions have the mightiest consequences 

And truth is not always what it seems 

Fear not the monsters who lurk

But the ones disguised as allies 

You will not like what you find

Chapter Text

Clary claimed a room of her own, shutting out not only her mother, but Luke and Simon as well. She wanted to sleep, to have a bit of alone time without everyone staring and hearing her most inner thoughts. It was invasive to sit in that room filled with mostly strangers and have her thoughts written out in paragraphs. 

There was a knock at her door, and Clary should’ve gotten up from her spot on the bed, but she didn’t. She did not want to deal with anyone at the moment, most certainly not Jocelyn, Luke, and definitely not Simon. She stared at the door instead as if she could will whoever stood on the other side to leave. 

“Clary?” came the familiar voice, but it wasn’t any of the people she had noted earlier, it was Jace. 

Clary doesn’t know what to think of Jace just yet. He seemed arrogant, confident in not only himself, but in everything. Yet that mask had wavered when she had been attacked in chapter five. He had been the one to stay by her side when the demon poison had slowly started to take its effect. And she learned about his family situation. But she still didn’t know him. Just because you knew a few personal facts about someone did not mean to know them. 

She quietly toed her way towards the door, fingers ghosting against the knob. She heard him take a breath, hesitating before saying too softly that she wouldn’t have heard it from the bed, “good night.” 

Clary would spend the rest of the night repeating the words he softly said that when she finally did fall asleep, it would be waiting for her in the early hours of the morning where a tray a food had been waiting for her, for when she noticed a folded stack of fresh clothes, and for when she took her seat after avoiding her mother. 

She couldn’t even look at the golden-eyed boy without thinking about those words she wasn’t really meant to hear. 

Chapter 6 - Forsaken 

An uneasy feeling settled into the room. 

The weapons room looked exactly the way something called “the weapons room” sounded like it would. [...] The place smelled like metal… Alec and Jace… heads bent over an object between them. Jace looked up as the door shut behind Clary. “Where’s Hodge?” he said. 

“Writing to the Silent Brothers.” 

Alec repressed a shudder. “Ugh.” 

“Are you afraid of the Silent Brothers?” James asked, it had been a question nagging at him since the last chapter. 

“Who isn’t?” Isabelle said. 

James hadn’t thought of it that way. Maybe it was because he knew Uncle Jem was one and that mystique kind of faded into nothing as the only Silent Brother he ever really saw was Brother Zachariah. It was partially due to his father, requesting him most of the time, but the Brothers haven’t awoken that fear that apparently most Shadowhunters have.  

She approached the table slowly, conscious of Alec’s gaze. “What are you doing?” 

“Putting the last touches on these.” Jace moved aside… three long slim wands of a dully glowing silver. They did not look sharp or particularly dangerous. “Sanvi, Sansanvi, and Semangelaf. They’re seraph blades.” 

“You say that like I know what they are,” Clary couldn’t help but say. 

“Right,” from that word alone, his voice oozed with mirth. “They’re what Shadowhunters use to kill demons. A seraph blade is one of the most important weapons the Nephilim possess.” 

“These don’t look like knives. How did you make them? Magic?” 

Magnus winced. That wasn’t going to go over well.

Alec looked horrified, as if she’d asked him to put on a tutu and execute a perfect pirouette. 

Simon stifled a laugh. The imagery was vivid and ridiculous for someone like Clary. 

“The funny thing about mundies,” Jace said, to nobody in particular, “is how obsessed with magic they are for a bunch of people who don’t even know what the word means.” 

“I know what it means,” Clary snapped. 

“No, you don’t, you just think you do…

“Then what does it mean genius?” 

“Magic is a dark and elemental force,” Jace haughtily answered, “not some cheap sleight of hand trick you see in a circus.”

Simon looked like he wanted to punch Jace in the face. And he probably would’ve done it if he hadn’t taken into consideration the inevitable fight he would lose. 

…Jace waved a hand, cutting her off. “[…] And God help the poor bastard who decides they want to take a bath with the duckie.” 

Uh, what? 

“You’re driveling,” Clary observed. 

“I’m not,” said Jace, with great dignity. 

“You are,” Jem said. “I’ve spent more than enough time around Will to know when someone is speaking nonsense.” 

“I do not speak nonsense,” Will protested. “I speak truths you can’t understand.” 

“Give it a rest will you William?” Charlotte said tiredly. “Need any of us bring up your god awful song about demon pox?” 

Will only huffed, looking like a scorned child who was denied a piece of candy. 

“Yes, you are,” said Alec, rather unexpectedly. 

Jace kicked at his parabatai’s foot. 

“Look, we don’t do magic okay?” he added, not looking at Clary. “That’s all you need to know about it.” 

Clary wanted to snap at him, but she restrained herself. Alec already didn’t seem to like her;

“Don’t take it personally kid,” said Luke. “The Lightwoods rarely like anybody but family.” 

 there was no point in aggravating his hostility. 

Alec raised his brows. Everything about Clary was impulsive, but she was perceptive as well. 

She turned to Jace. “Hodge said I can go home.” 

Jace nearly dropped the seraph blade he was holding. “ He said what?” 

“ To look through my mother’s things,” // “If you go with me.” 

“Jace,” Alec exhaled, but Jace ignored him. 

Alec tried not to let it hurt too much. Jace was always like this and sometimes it made him wonder if he truly cared before a voice in the back of his mind berated him for ever thinking that in the first place. 

“If you really want to prove that my mom or dad was a Shadowhunter, we should look through my mom’s things. What’s left of them.” 

“Down the rabbit hole.” // “Good idea. If we go right now, we should have another three, four hours of daylight.” 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Alec asked, as Clary and Jace moved toward the door… He was half-out of the chair, eyes expectant. 

“No,” Jace didn’t turn around. “That’s all right. Clary and I can handle this on our own.” 

Now this one stung. To be dismissed by that and so blatantly in front of a stranger? It’s no wonder why book Alec despised Clary with his whole being. Yet here in this room, he understood. For whatever odd reason, he understood that this mundane raised Shadowhunter just had her life uprooted the same time it felt like his was. It felt like Jace was being pulled from his fingers—that green rush of envy came flushing in; he knew it was unwarranted. 

“You shouldn’t be so dismissive towards your parabatai. ” Will said, a frown marring his handsome features. “I’d be hurt if Jem had done that to me.” 

“That’s because Mr. Carstairs is more tolerable to your actions,” Sophie said. “I wouldn’t be so forgiving.” 

Jace took it with a simple nod and a blank stare. They had good intentions, but they didn’t know their situation. How they worked. Not all parabatai were the same. 

Jace led the way… Clay half-jogging to keep up… “Have you got your house keys?” 

… “Yeah.” 

“Good. Not that we couldn't break in, but we’d run a greater chance of disturbing any wards that might be up if we did.” 

Knowing Jocelyn Fairchild, there most certainly were wards. 

“If you say so.” … a black metal gate set into one wall…when Jace pushed a button… she realized it was an elevator… “Jace?” 

“Yeah?” 

“How did you know I had Shadowhunter blood? Was there some way you could tell?” 

The elevator arrived…Jace unlatched the gate… The inside reminded Clary of a birdcage… “I guessed,” he said, latching the door behind them. “It seemed like the most likely explanation.” 

“And what if she had been a mundane with the sight?” Maryse said disapprovingly. “What would you have done then?” 

Jace didn’t have an answer for her. 

“You guessed? You must have been pretty sure, considering you could have killed me.” 

… the elevator lurched into action… “I was ninety percent sure.” 

“I see,” Clary said. 

There must have been something in her voice, because he turned to look at her. 

Jace somehow knew to brace for impact. 

Her hand cracked across his face, a slap that rocked him back on his heels. 

He could imagine his cheek rattling when his head snapped to the side with the stinging force. No looked particularly disapproving at Clary’s course of action. 

“You deserved that.” Isabelle couldn’t help but say. 

“Yeah I think I got that.” 

He put a hand to his cheek, more in surprise than pain. “What the hell was that for?” 

“The other ten percent,”... and they rode the rest of the way down to the street in silence. 

—

Jace spent the train ride to Brooklyn wrapped in an angry silence. 

“Completely unwarranted if I might add.” 

“Oh shut up Izzy.” 

Clary stuck close to him anyway, feeling a little bit guilty, especially when she looked at the red mark her slap had left on his cheek. 

“How hard did you hit him?” Simon asked, taking in the red blooming mark on Jace’s cheek. 

Clary looked down at her hand, it wasn’t red by any means, but maybe that was maybe in part due to the book not explaining such a thing. 

She didn’t really mind the silence; it gave her a chance to think. She kept reliving the conversation with Luke, over and over in her head. It hurt to think about… 

Luke sighed to himself. He still doesn’t know why he would cut ties with Clary not unless…

Farther down the train, two teenage girls…were giggling together. The sort of girls Clary had never liked at St. Xavier’s… Clary wondered for a moment if they were laughing at her, before she realized with a start of surprise that they were looking at Jace.

“Now why is that so surprising?” Jace’s voice was low, and Clary nearly jumped in her seat when she realized he had leaned forward to speak into her ear. It sent vibrations down her spine, tingling something that had been buried in the ground. And that abnormality made Clary turn her head, just so she could push him back in his seat and relish in his surprise. 

…Girls always got that look on their faces when they thought someone was cute. She had nearly forgotten that Jace was cute, given everything that had happened. 

Clary felt her cheeks flare a violent red once she heard those words, and Jace’s mocking chuckle did not help to reduce the crimson color. 

He didn’t have Alec’s delicate cameo looks, but Jace’s face was more interesting. In daylight his eyes were the color of golden syrup and were … looking right at her. He cocked an eyebrow. “Can I help you with something?”

She scowled now. There it was, that arrogance that made her want to slap him across the face, again. 

…“Those girls on the other side of the car are staring at you.”

Jace assumed an air of mellow gratification. “Of course they are,” // “I am stunningly attractive.” 

“Haven’t you heard that modesty is an attractive trait?” 

Isabelle scoffed playfully. “Have you met Jace? There isn’t a modest bone in his body.” 

“I’m starting to believe that.” 

“Only from ugly people,” // “The meek may inherit the earth, but at the moment it belongs to the conceited. Like me.” 

“Red flag,” Cristina whispered to Emma. “Overconfidence.” 

“ Green flag,” Emma said back. “Honesty.” 

Both girls looked at one another before dissolving into a fit of laughter. 

“How come they can see you?” 

“Glamours are a pain to use. Sometimes we don’t bother.” 

“And what about the rest of you?” Tessa asked. 

The Shadowhunters in the room just exchanged glances with one another. They hadn’t really thought about it before. 

“I’m sure we’ve forgotten it once or twice,” Jem finally answered, “but we don’t spend a prolonged amount of time amongst the mundane world to notice unless we are on patrol.” 

The incident with the girls on the train did seem to put him in a better mood. 

“Of course it did,” Alec bitterly muttered, quiet enough that Jace didn’t hear it. 

… he took one of the seraph blades out of his pocket… humming to himself. 

“Do you have to do that?” // “It’s annoying.” 

Jace hummed louder. 

Of course he’d take it as a challenge, Clary thought. He seemed to be that type of person to get on a person's nerves and not be apologetic about it. 

“I’m sorry I smacked you.” 

He stopped humming. 

Isabelle threw her hands up in exasperation. “Of course you’d wait for an apology.” 

“Just be glad you hit me and not Alec. He would have hit you right back.” 

“He seems to be itching for the chance,” 

“I don’t by the way,” the older Lightwood clunkily said, almost tripping over his words. “At least not right now.” 

Clary just nodded her head even though she didn’t understand why he felt the need to interject. 

“What was it that Alec called you? Para-something?” 

“ Parabatai,” // “It means a pair of warriors who fight together—who are closer than brothers. 

“And are you?” The question wasn’t aimed at Jace, but at Jem, who didn’t look the least surprised. He had been answering a lot of Tessa’s questions since they first arrived and had seemed rather close despite only meeting yesterday.  

Jem just smiled softly. “Of course. Will became my family after I lost mine.” 

Tessa’s face didn’t waver, didn’t express sorrow or a hollow condolence many say to make them feel better for asking an impersonal question. She just smiled back. 

“It’s the same for us,” Emma said softly, but her voice carried in the room. “After I lost my parents in the Dark War, all I had left was Jules.” 

None of them really knew what to say, as they knew Shadowhunters die young and that sometimes their kids outlived them. That is until Matthew opened his mouth. 

“I blew up part of the Academy to stay with James,” Matthew said, breaking the somber atmosphere. “I had to beg his parents to let them take me with them.” 

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you blew up the Academy,” Robert said dryly. 

“There’s nothing to understand,” said the blond Fairchild. “I blew up a part of the Academy because my parabatai got expelled. Perfectly reasonable no?” 

“I don’t think you know what the word reasonable means,” said Anna playfully. 

Matthew glanced over his shoulder to look at her, flashing her a grin. “Well Christopher helped, and he’s pretty reasonable.” 

Alec is more than just my best friend. My father and his father were parabatai when they were young. His father was my godfather—that’s why I live with them. They’re my adopted family.” 

“But your last name isn’t Lightwood.”

Will looked like he would say some offensive remark, so Jem nudged him with the end of his cane, barely suppressing his smile when he felt the retaliatory smack on his arm. 

… they had arrived at her house… There was a humming in her ears…She stopped in front of the box hedges, and raised her eyes slowly, expecting to see yellow police tape… // But there were no signs of destruction…

“It looks the same,” Clary said. 

“On the outside.” …drew out another one of the metal and plastic contraptions she’d mistaken for a cell phone. 

“So that’s a Sensor? What does it do?” she asked. 

Henry slid forward in his seat. All this sitting around had made him anxious, made him want to fiddle around with something as he wasn’t quite used to sitting still. 

“It picks up frequencies, like a radio does, but these frequencies are demonic in origin.” 

“Do you have one on you by any chance?” Henry blurted out. 

The Lightwoods of 07 looked at him oddly while Jace was already fiddling around looking in his pocket for the Sensor (that shouldn’t even be on him, mind you; this was a safe place after all), face triumphant when he did pull the device out. 

Ignoring Matthew’s sharp inhale, Henry walked over, meeting Jace halfway in the middle of the room. There was wonder over the red-haired man’s face, and it was then that they all realized that this man was an inventor, a thinker who isn’t afraid of trial and error. 

“What interested you in the Sensor?” Jace couldn’t help but ask as Henry began walking away to his seat. 

It caused the older man to pause in his steps, before saying brightly, “I am currently trying to create one in my time, but all I have done so far is set myself on fire apparently.” He unknowingly looked at Matthew, “did I do it?” 

Matthew’s throat closed up, green eyes unnaturally glossy, and he nodded as he did not trust his words. 

“Something like that.” …he approached the house. It clicked faintly as they climbed the stairs, then stopped. Jace frowned. “It’s picking up trace activity, but that could just be left over from that night. I’m not getting anything strong enough for there to be demons present now.” 

… She bent to retrieve her key. When she straightened up, she saw the scratches on the front door. It had been too dark for her to have seen them last time… 

Clary let out a deep breath. The brownstone had been her home, a comforting place to relax after class and it would no longer be there in the coming days if they followed this timeline. 

Jace touched her arm. “I’ll go in first,” … She could taste the terror she’d felt when she’d first seen the Ravener…

She curled her hands, pushing away that shadow feeling of fear. 

he pushed the door open with one hand… The bulb overhead was still out… Madame Dorothea’s door was firmly shut… Clary wondered uneasily if anything had happened to her. 

Jace raised his hand and ran it along the banister. It came away wet, streaked with something… “Blood.” 

That shouldn’t be there, Ariadne thought distantly. 

“Maybe it’s mine,” // “From the other night.”

“It’d be dry by now if it were,” // “Come on.” 

… she fumbled her keys three times before she managed to slide the right one into the lock. Jace leaned over her, watching impatiently. “Don’t breathe down my neck,” she hissed; her hand shaking. 

“You really know no boundaries,” Clary managed to say over the pretense of her book’s counterpart all consuming fear, “do you?” 

“Boundaries are meant to be crossed,” he said with an arrogant smile. 

Jace pulled her back. “I’ll go in first.” 

She hesitated, then stepped aside to let him pass… it was cool inside the apartment, almost cold… // It was empty. Startlingly, entirely empty, the way it had been when they’d first moved in… 

Jocelyn placed a hand over her mouth. There was no trace that they were ever there to begin with, it had been cleaned out, everything. 

“Are you satisfied?” // “There’s nothing here.” 

“You didn’t even search the whole apartment,” Alec chided. “How can you say that there isn’t anything there?” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be one of the best Shadowhunters of your generation?” came Alastair’s question, and none of them could really disagree with the statement, even if it was said a bit more cruelly than they liked. 

“I want to see my room.”

[…] “If that’s what it takes,” … 

The light in the hallway was out… With Jace just behind her she found the door to her bedroom and reached for the knob. It was cold in her hand—so cold it nearly hurt… 

Clary unclenched her unfeeling fingers once the frigidness set into her skin, biting on her tongue to suppress the hiss. 

She saw Jace look at her quickly, but she was already turning the knob, or trying to. 

Sensing danger, Clary bent over, cold fingers gripping tight on the sides of her seat, the same time Jace settled his hands on the back of her seat. Isabelle didn’t question the action and settled on the floor to hold the leg of the chair in place while Alec took the other side. Not to be left out, Simon held out his hand for Clary to take, which she took gladly, keeping the other anchored to her seat. 

It moved slowly, almost stickily, as if the other side of it were embedded in something glutinous and syrupy—

The door blew outward, knocking her off her feet. 

Clary’s head snapped backward, back slamming into the harsh wood of the chair, her nails dug into the meat of Simon’s hand. The impact rattled through the three young Shadowhunters, the legs scraped against the floor from initial impact but stopped after the Lightwoods tightened their grip. 

She skidded across the hallway floor and slammed into the wall, rolling onto her stomach. 

Clary let out a slight gasp of pain that had her mother staring at her with unfiltered worry, but also sadness as she realized the support system her daughter had gained. That had been her once, feeling like she was on top of the world as she had everything she wanted, then it all came crashing down one by one. She lost friends who would’ve lasted a lifetime if it weren’t for the choices she made. 

There was a dull roaring in her ears as she pulled herself up to her knees. 

Jace, flat against the wall, was fumbling in his pocket…Looming over him like a giant in a fairy tale was an enormous man… a broad-bladed ax clutched in one gigantic dead-white hand. Tattered filthy rags hung off his grimy skin… He stank of poisonous sweat and rotting flesh. Clary was glad she couldn’t see his face—the back of him was bad enough. 

“By the angel,” Jocelyn whispered. Her daughter had faced an Eidolon demon, followed by a Ravener, and now she had to witness a Forsaken? 

Jace had the seraph blade in his hand. He raised it, calling out: “Sansanvi!” 

A blade shot out from the tube…she’d never seen a blade like this before; clear as glass, with a glowing hilt, wickedly sharp… He struck out, slashing at the gigantic man… // Jace whirled around, racing after her. 

Alec and Isabelle let go of their tight grip on the chair, shaking out their hands once they deemed the situation a bit safer in the way that they wouldn’t be hit with an unexpected collision. Jace also slunk back to his seat the same time Simon drew his hand away from Clary’s. 

…She could hear the thing behind them, following… // …Jace whipping around to slam the front door shut… The door shook on its hinges… Clary backed away to the stairs. Jace glanced at her. His eyes were glowing with manic excitement. 

You’re an odd one Jace Wayland, Gabriel thought in his head. Though he’d never admit it, the plethora of demon attacks he’d encountered at his age has made him wary of the consequences, yet this Shadowhunter seemed to covet the danger. 

… the hinges gave way and the door flew outward. It would have knocked Jace over if he hadn’t moved so fast that Clary barely saw it; suddenly he was on the top stair… ax was flying, whipping through the air, slicing toward Jace’s head. 

Alec sharply inhaled. One of these days Jace was going to give him a heart attack and he doesn’t know how he’d cope. 

He ducked, and it thunked heavily into the banister, biting deep. 

He let out that breath, but he knew that it was just getting started. 

Jace laughed. The laugh seemed to enrage the creature;

There it was. Jace had this ability to piss off everything and one day it’d be his downfall if he didn’t start valuing his life. 

… Jace brought the seraph blade around in an arcing sweep, burying it to the hilt in the giant’s shoulder. For a moment the giant stood swaying. Then he lurched forward…Jace stepped aside hastily, but not hastily enough: 

Jace sucked in a deep breath. 

The enormous fists caught hold of him as the giant staggered and fell, dragging Jace in his wake. Jace cried out once; there was a series of heavy and cracking thumps, and then silence. 

Everyone looked at Jace like he was a dead man walking, but all the blonde boy did was grimace at the sudden overbearing pain that laced through his arm. 

Clary scrambled to her feet… Jace lay sprawled at the foot of the steps, his arm bent beneath him at an unnatural angle. 

Maryse looked at her adoptive son through the corner of her eye. She wished he stopped being so reckless. 

Across his legs lay the giant, the hilt of Jace’s blade protruding from his shoulder. He was not quite dead… 

Jace couldn’t help but let out a groan, even despite the burning in his arm. He got tackled down a flight of stairs and couldn’t even kill the damn thing?

dead white and paper, latticed with a black network of horrible scars… Fighting the urge to gag, Clary stumbled down the last few stairs… and knelt down next to Jace. 

He was so still. She laid a hand on his shoulder, felt his shirt sticky with blood… “Jace?” 

“You almost sound like you care.”

Whatever worry Clary had felt immediately dissipated. 

His eyes opened. “Is it dead?” 

“Almost,” Clary said grimly. 

“You’re taking this oddly well,” Simon couldn’t help but comment, and Clary had to agree. 

How would one react after seeing an almost lifeless body of a monster that looked like it used to be human? Clary wasn’t one of those girls who screamed bloody murder, but then again, she wasn’t much of a crier either and she had let tears spill in the Institute. 

“Hell.” He winced. “My legs—” 

“Hold still.” […] Clary slipped her hands under his arms and pulled. He grunted with pain as his legs slipped out from under the creature’s spasming carcass. Clary let go, and he struggled to his feet, his left arm across his chest. 

Jace just let his left arm hang to the side. The pain was excruciating, but he couldn’t let it show on his face, he didn’t allow himself to. 

“Is your arm all right?” 

“No. Broken,” he said. “Can you reach into my pocket?” 

She hesitated, nodded. “Which one?” 

“Inside jacket, right side. Take out one of the seraph blades and hand it to me.” He held still as she nervously slipped her fingers into his pocket. 

Simon felt his lips push down into a frown, but he tried not to think too much of it because jealousy would get him nowhere but self-loathing. 

She was standing so close that she could smell the scent of him, sweat and soap and blood. His breath tickled the back of her neck. 

Clary’s cheeks heated the same time Simon frowned further, his fists curling in the fabric of his pants. 

Jace just let his left arm hang to the side. The pain was excruciating, but he couldn’t let it show on his face, he didn’t allow himself to. Jace didn’t have it in him to tease the two friends, he knows an explosive situation when he sees one. 

Her fingers closed on a tube and she drew it out, not looking at him.  

“Thanks,” […] “Sanvi.” […] “Don’t watch,” he said, going over to stand over the scarred thing’s body. He raised the blade over his head and brought it down. Blood fountained from the giant’s throat, splattering Jace’s boots. 

She half expected the giant to vanish… 

“I wish it did,” Isabelle said in disgust, “but they unfortunately don’t.” 

“And why doesn’t it?” Tessa said, curiosity getting the best of her once again. 

“Because Forsaken were human once,” Alec answered shortly. 

… But it didn’t. The air was full of the smell of blood… Jace ade a sound low in his throat. He was white-faced, whether with pain or disgust she couldn’t tell. “I told you not to watch,” he said. 

It was displeasure, Clary was sure. Possibly because she didn’t listen to his request or that he had encountered the Forsaken to begin with. 

“I thought it would disappear,” she said. “Back to its own dimension—you said.” 

She didn’t sound shaken despite the fact that she had watched something die in front of her. Clary had sounded more shaken when she realized her mother was in danger, yet the simple slaying of a monster did nothing to unsettle her. 

“I said that’s what happens to demons when they die.” […] “That wasn’t a demon.” With his right hand he drew something out of his belt. It was the smooth wand-shaped object he'd used to carve those overlapping circles into Clary’s skin… 

Jace saw her staring and grinned the ghost of a grin. “This,” he said, “is a stele.” He touched it to an inked mark just below his shoulder […] “And this,” // “is what happens when Shadowhunters are wounded.” 

“I guess you all have them?” Simon asked, trying to distract himself with the new information instead of his own feelings. 

The Shadowhunters who had bothered to carry them took it out, and they noticed that they looked different for each generation, modified for their time. 

With the tip of the stele, he traced a line… the mark was shining as if it had been etched with phosphorescent ink… it sank into his skin… It left behind a ghostly reminder: a pale, thin scar, almost invisible. 

An image rose in Clary’s mind. her mother’s back, not quite covered…the blades of her shoulders and curves of her spine dappled with narrow, white marks. It was like something she had seen in a dream—her mother’s back didn’t really look like that, she knew. But the image nagged at her. 

Jocelyn stared sadly down at her hands while Clary did not move an inch. Clary has just come to the conclusion that she’s been lied to for most of her childhood because of her mother’s fears. With the amount of lies that are being uncovered, she won’t be forgiving her mother anytime soon. 

Jace let out a sigh, the tense look of pain leaving his face. He moved the arm […] Clearly it was no longer broken. 

Jace let out a relieved sigh, grateful to finally be able to clench his fingers instead of it having his arm hang like dead weight.  

“That’s amazing,” Clary said. “How did you—?”

“That was an iratze —a healing rune,” Jace said. “Finishing the rune with the stele activates it.” 

“Is that what you tried to use on Jace yesterday?” Clary asked Alec. 

The raven-haired boy nodded his head, feeling compelled to add, “It’s one of the more important runes we learn from the Gray Book.” 

Tessa couldn’t help but perk up in her seat, yet she kept quiet, knowing that a lot more would be explained than what was given at face value. 

“We’re going to have to report this to Hodge,” he said. “He’ll freak out,” he added, as if the thought of Hodge’s alarm gave him some satisfaction. 

Knowing Jace, that’s exactly what he hoped for. He was sort of an anarchist if you were going to take that view, but he just liked the chaos as he was naturally a teasing and somewhat promiscuous personality. 

Jace, Clary thought, was the sort of person who liked it when things were happening , even things that were bad.

Isabelle had to agree as only Jace would run head first into danger without thinking about the consequences, but Alec would and that only solidified her belief that parabatai were meant to compliment one another, simply choosing another for the sake of being stronger would not work like many power hungry Shadowhunters would. 

“Why will he freak?” // “And I get that that thing isn’t a demon—that’s why the Sensor didn’t register it, right?” 

“Don’t you pick on fast,” Jace observed, meaning for it to be a compliment, but it came out patronizing. 

“Kind of have to,” Clary shot back. “You people don’t explain things clearly like you expect us to know everything.” 

Jace nodded. “You see the scars all over its face?” 

“Yes.” 

“Those were made with a stele […] You asked me what happens when you carve Marks onto someone who doesn’t have Shadowhunter blood. Just one Mark will only burn you, but a lot of Marks, powerful ones? […] You get this.” // “The runes are agonizingly painful. The Marked ones go insane—the pain drives them out of their minds. They become fierce, mindless killers. 

Clary turned pale, willing herself to swallow down the bile that threatened to force its way out her mouth. Who would ever want to do that to themselves—who would want to do that to others? 

Kit’s face turned ashen. He was starting to understand why his father kept him away from view, but he couldn’t exactly justify the means he took. 

… Runes have great power and can be used to do great good—but they can be used for evil. The Forsaken are evil.” 

Clary stared at him in horror. “But why would anyone do that to themselves?” 

“Nobody would. It’s something that gets done to them. By a warlock, maybe, some Downworlder gone bad. 

“It’s always you Shadowhunters blaming your business on the Downworld,” Magnus said distastefully. “Nearly half of the Downworld doesn’t care about the Nephilim, let alone care about which runes you use.” 

Jace just gave the warlock an apologetic glance, but Magnus didn’t care. A Shadowhunter’s prejudice wouldn’t change when they were raised by parents who saw the Downworld as the scum of the Earth. 

The Forsaken are loyal to the on who Marked them…They can obey simple commands, too. It’s like having a—a slave army.” // “I’m going back upstairs.” 

“But there’s nothing there.” 

“There might be more of them,” he said, almost as if he were hoping there would be. 

“You need to stop trying to get yourself killed,” Alec said for the nth time. 

“And you need to stop being such a worrywort.” 

“You should wait here.” He started up the steps. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said a shrill and familiar voice. 

“Madame Dorothea?” slipped from Clary’s mouth without her realizing. 

“You mean the mundane you live with?” Alec said pointedly. “The one who wouldn’t know anything?” 

“There are more of them where the first one came from.” 

Jace, who was nearly at the top of the stairs, spun and stared. So did Clary, although she knew immediately who had spoken… // The old woman inclined her head regally. […] Jace was still staring. “But…” 

“More what ?” Clary said. 

“More Forsaken,” replied Dorothea with a cheerfulness that, Clary felt, didn’t really fit the circumstances… “You have made a mess, haven’t you? I’m sure you weren’t planning on cleaning up either. Typical.” 

“Did Madame Dorothea know too?” Clary questioned. “Did she know about you too?” 

Seeing no way out, Jocelyn had no choice but to tell the truth. “Yes.” 

“Is this what Luke was talking about? To tell me the truth?”

“Clary…” 

“I don’t want your half-assed excuse of protection,” Clary angrily stated. “I just want a yes or a no. Is this the truth you couldn’t tell me?” 

Jocelyn swallowed tightly. “Yes, but it’s—”

“It’s for your own good,” she finished bitterly. 

“But you’re a mundane, ” Jace said, finally finishing his sentence. 

“So observant,” // “The Clave really broke the mold with you.” 

Jace didn’t like the way the woman said it. He’d take it as a compliment from any other person, but not from Dorothea. 

“She has a point,” Gabriel said. “You’re not all that careful about who finds out, nor are you afraid of the consequences.” 

“Now you sound like Alec.” Jace said, words pondering, making the implication known. 

Alec looked at Gideon Lightwood, taking in the London Shadowhunter’s green eyes and brown hair, a different coloring to his blue and inky black. He looked more like Will and Cecily Herondale than he did a Lightwood. 

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” 

The bewilderment on Jace’s face was fading, replayed by a dawning anger. “You know about the Clave?” // “You knew about them, and you knew there were Forsaken in this house, and you didn’t notify them? Just the existence of Forsaken is a crime against the Covenant—” 

Magnus didn’t have it in him to defend Madame Dorothea, whoever she was. He wouldn’t want to keep living in a building when there was a lurking danger just a staircase away, and he wouldn’t want to get his hands dirty by handling the business when someone else could do it for him. 

“Neither Clave nor Covenant have ever done anything for me,” …her eyes flashing angrily. “I owe them nothing.” For a moment her gravelly New York accent vanished, replaced with something else, a thicker, deeper accent that Clary didn’t recognize. 

Clary felt goosebumps spread over her skin. She had been living with this woman for years and she didn’t know a damn thing about who she was, other than that she should stay away. 

“Jace, stop it,” // “If you know about the Clave and the Forsaken,” // “then maybe you know what happened to my mother?” 

Dodthea shook her head… There was something like pity on her face, “My advice to you,” // “is to forget about your mother. She’s gone.” 

 The floor under Clary seemed to tilt. “You mean she’s dead.” 

“No.” Dorothea spoke the word almost reluctantly. “I’m sure she’s still alive. For now.” 

Clary had the overwhelming urge to strike something, and she knew it was because she wanted to hit Dorothea for withholding information that could help her, and for even implying that her mother was dead to begin with. 

“Then I have to find her,” Clary said. The world had stopped tilting; Jace was standing behind her, his hand on her elbow as if to brace her, but she barely noticed. “You understand? I have to find her before—” 

… “I don’t want to involve myself in Shadowhunter business.” 

“But you knew my mother. She was your neighbor—” 

“Not everyone does things out of the goodness of their hearts,” Grace said, willing herself to not look at James, who clenched his hand tight. 

“This is an official Clave investigation.” Jace cut her off. “I can always come back with the Silent Brothers.” 

“Oh for the—” // “I suppose you might as well come in,” // “I’ll tell you what I can.” // “But if you tell anyone I helped you, Shadowhunter, you’ll wake up tomorrow with snakes for hair and an extra pair of arms.” 

“That might be nice, an extra pair of arms,” // “Handy in a fight.” 

Alec snorted. “Of course you’d take it that way.” 

“It’s not like I’m wrong.” 

“Not if they’re growing out of your…” // “Neck.” 

“Yikes,” said Jace mildly. 

“Yikes is right, Jace Wayland.” 

Jace’s smile slipped from his face. “How the f—” 

“I don’t know,” Alec said, cutting him off before he got an earful from Maryse. 

Clary looked at Jace. “Wayland?” 

“It’s my name.” Jace looked shaken. “I can’t say I like that she knows it.” 

This would be one of the few times, Clary noted, that Jace would appear shocked enough to let down his guard. 

Clary glanced after Dorothea… “Still, I think we might as well try talking to her. What have we got to lose?” 

“Once you’ve spent a bit more time in our world,” Jace said, “you won’t ask me that again.” 

The chapter ended on an ominous note, one they all despised yet found truth in the answer Jace had supplied. Shadowhunters give up so much at a young age to uphold their solemn vow, and they lose even more when they grow older and become adults.

They’ve grown accustomed to loss even when they shouldn’t, and Clary would soon learn that lesson. 

Chapter Text

They wasted no time getting into the next chapter, not when they wanted to know more about what was to come. 

Chapter 7 - The Five-Dimensional Door

“What’s a five-dimensional door?” Simon asked, prompting the oldest era to wonder as well, they hadn’t heard that term used before. There were a lot of things that had changed since them, but not very much. They’d realize that soon enough. 

“It’s just another term we use to describe portals.” Jace flippantly, as if it was something they all knew, but the smugness dropped from his face when he saw the confusion from the Nephilim of 1878. “You do know what portals are don’t you?” 

“Not the faintest clue,” Will answered. 

“But I thought you would know.” Jace sounded genuinely put off by their lack of knowledge, so much that he turned to Alec. “Weren’t portals invented in 1878?” 

“Just because they are from 1878 does not mean it was developed in the time frame they came from.” 

“Wasn’t it Henry Branwell—” Isabelle began. 

Henry’s head snapped up, his hands nearly fumbling the sensor he had taken to analyzing. He hadn’t yet taken it apart to see how it would work as it would require a type of focus he would not be able to settle into with this many people around. 

He looked at the 07 Shadowhunters with sparkling yet shocked eyes. “Pardon?”  

Alec laughed nervously and was saved by the book narrator. 

Madame Dorothea’s apartment seemed to roughly have the same layout as Clary’s… reeking of incense […] // One of the bead curtains rattled, and Madame Dorothea poked her head through. “Interested in chiromancy?” she said, noting Clary’s gaze. “Or just nosy?” 

“Neither,” Clary said. 

Jace suppressed his chuckle. Nosy, was a word he’d use next to curious and impulsive. 

“Can you really tell fortunes?” 

“My mother had a great talent. She could see a man’s future in his hand or the leaves at the bottom of his teacup. She taught me some of her tricks.” // “Speaking of tea, young man, would you like some?” 

“What?” 

“Eloquent response,” Alec teased. 

“Tea. I find it both settles the stomach and concentrates the mind. Wonderful drink, tea.” 

Kit couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose. Tea tasted like flavored water, and it wasn’t even good water. 

“I’ll have tea,” Clary said, realizing how long it had been since she had eaten or drunk anything… 

“You haven't eaten anything since you woke up,” Sophie observed, voice taking on a chiding tone. Has hospitality been thrown out the window in the future? They should’ve at least given the girl something to eat before they had summoned her for questioning. 

Clary nodded her head as she realized the truth to the statement. Had she disregarded her well-being because she wanted to find her mother that nothing else mattered? 

She didn’t need to look to her side to see her mother give her a disapproving look. 

… “All right. As long as it isn’t Earl Grey,” he added, wrinkling his fine-boned nose. “I hate bergamot.” 

“A tea snob, are you?” Jessamine asked. 

“No,” Jace replied simply, aloof and uncaring of who he was talking to, and it made her smile inwardly even if the reply grated on her nerves. 

“I happen to enjoy Earl Grey,” Will said. 

“I don’t think we have a viable opinion,” Jem said. “We drink tea nearly everyday.” 

“Do you really have tea time?” Simon couldn’t resist asking. 

Will exchanged glances with Jem, their faces doing all the talking for them.

I’m not answering that. 

 And it was Jem who sighed, almost always giving in. “There is not a set time, but we drink it in our down time when we aren’t on patrol.” 

Simon looked a bit disappointed that the notion of this so-called tea time didn’t really exist. 

Clary raised her eyebrows at Jace. “You hate bergamot?” 

Jace had wandered over to the narrow bookcase… “You have a problem with that?” 

“You may be the only guy my age I’ve ever met who knows what bergamot is, much less that it’s in Earl Grey tea.” 

“Do those in the States not drink tea?” 

“No,” and it was Tessa who answered. James had nearly forgotten that his mother wasn’t English, she had taken so well to the customs that he didn’t see the differences. “Americans like drinking alcoholic beverages like whisky or in your case, brandy.” 

“Yes, well,” // “I’m not like other guys, Besides,” // “at the Institute we have to take classes in basic medicinal uses for plants. It’s required.”    

“I figured all your classes were stuff like Slaughter 101 and Beheading for Beginners.”

Simon stifled a laugh. 

“I wish they were called that,” Will amusedly said aloud, eyes distant as if imagining it. 

“So you can say that you went to Slaughter 101?” 

“You always know what I think, Jem.” 

“Unfortunately.” 

…“Very funny, Fray.”

Clary, who had been studying the palmistry poster, whirled on him. “Don’t call me that.”

He glanced up, surprised. “Why not? It’s your last name, isn’t it?”

The image of Simon rose up behind her eyes. 

Clary turned away from her long-time best friend. She had some feeling that he’d be looking for some sort of sign she couldn’t give him. 

… She turned back to the poster, blinking. “No reason.” 

“I see,” Jace said, and she could tell from his voice that he did see, more than she wanted him to. 

Simon didn’t want the false hope, he didn’t want it creeping into his traitorous heart that made it beat a skip too fast. 

…“This must be the trash she keeps up front to impress credible mundanes,” // “There’s not one serious text here.”

“Just because it’s not the kind of magic you do—” Clary began crossly.

Here we go, Magnus thought to himself. Shadowhunters always got so touchy when magic was involved. He still couldn’t tell if it was because of the limitations they were constantly reminded of or because of the comparison to the Downworlders many of them despise. 

He scowled furiously, silencing her. “I do not do magic,” he said. “Get it through your head: Human beings are not magic users. It’s part of what makes them human. Witches and warlocks can only use magic because they have demon blood.”

Clary took a moment to process this. “But I’ve seen you use magic. You use enchanted weapons—”

  “It’s just a common misconception those raised mundane constantly make,” Magnus cut in before an argument could erupt. “Anything larger than life is written off as magic or fantastical, but in the shadow world there are niches, an explanation for everything. To the conception of Shadowhunters and the establishment of the accords.”

“So what’s that make Shadowhunters?”

“Half angel, half human. Extra emphasis on the human part.” 

“We live and die like everyone else,” Jace said. “The only people who live forever are warlocks, vampires, and faeries.” 

“Wait,” Simon interjected, “faeries are real?” 

There was a massive eye-roll from Jace. “To prevent myself this massive headache, I’ll say that whatever you grew up thinking was fake is real in our world.”

“Then—” 

“Just take this out mundie ,” Isabelle said. “You wouldn’t want to deal with Jace when he’s irritated.” 

Simon held up his hands in surrender. 

“I use tools that are magical. And just to be able to do that, I have to undergo rigorous training… If you tried to use one of the seraph blades, for instance, it’d probably burn your skin, maybe kill you.” 

Not scary at all, Clary thought. To be told that you’d die doing something others were born to do; with absolute certainty no less. 

“What if I got the tattoos?” Clary asked. “Could I use them then?” 

“Clary no—” Her mother began to protest. 

“No,” Jace said crossly. 

Jocelyn felt grateful that Jace would refuse her daughter’s wishes as it felt like he would just accept her into the world without giving her the proper information all Shadowhunter children grew up knowing. He also seemed like the type of person to prosper alone rather than in a group, which is why it had been surprising to learn that he had a parabatai. Those who are selfish and solitary typically do not prosper well in a duo where half of your soul is shared. 

“ —look, just forget it okay?” Stay away from my blades. In fact, don’t touch any of my weapons without my permission.” 

“Well, there goes my plan for selling them all on eBay,” Clary muttered. 

“Selling them on what?” 

Clary smiled blandly at him. “A mythical place of great magical power.” 

Simon choked on his laugh while Kit didn’t have any qualms. Now that Kit was thinking about it, he and Clary were similar in the way that they had both lost their parents, propelling them face first into meeting Shadowhunters they didn’t know or care to like. 

The rest of the Shadowhunters in the room took glances at the trio like they were some alien species. 

“Is that really what it is?” Robert’s voice sounded skeptical, and really, the irony of a scary man like Robert Lightwood, asking what eBay was, set the three of them into a fit of giggles. Their amusement wasn’t felt by anyone else other than Magnus, Luke, and Jocelyn. 

“Don’t tell him,” Kit wheezed. 

“Not planning to,” Simon said smiling. 

Robert was saved from further embarrassment by book Jace. 

Jace looked confused, then shrugged. “Most myths are true, at least in part.” 

“I’m starting to get that.” 

The bead curtain rattled again, and Madame Dorothea’s head appeared. “Tea’s on the table,” // “There’s no need for you two to keep standing there like donkeys. Come into the parlor.” 

“I’m starting to hate her,” his previous mirth disappeared from Simon’s voice. 

“Join the club,” Clary grumbled. 

“There’s a parlor?”

“Of course there’s a parlor,” // “Where else would I entertain?” 

“I’ll just leave my hat with the footman,” said Jace. 

… “If you were half as funny as you thought you were, my boy, you’d be twice as funny as you are.” 

“What?” slipped from Jace's mouth, and was the only word that made sense at the moment. “I’m not sure what she meant by that.” 

“It made perfect sense to me,” Clary shot back. 

“Sure it did.” 

… The parlor was so dimly lit [...] bats dangled from the ceiling… […] In the middle of the table was a silver tea service… blue teapot unfurling a thin stream of white smoke, and two teacups on matching saucers… 

“Wow,” Clary said weakly. “This looks great.” […] 

… “Have some tea,” // “Milk? Sugar?” 

Clary looked sideways at Jace […] Jace shrugged, took a sandwich… He shrugged again. “Cucumber,” he said, in response to her stare. // “I hate cucumber,”Jace said, and handed the rest of his sandwich to Clary. 

“Is there anything else you hate?” Clary asked wryly. 

“Oh plenty of things,” Jace began, only to be cut off. “Like–”

“Ducks?” 

Jace looked at his parabatai with betrayal. “I told you that in confidence—” 

“You aren’t the only one.” Jem found himself saying, only to be immediately talked over by Will. 

“They are blood-thirsty beasts, Jem!” 

“I guess it runs in the family,” Emma whispered to Cristina. 

Cristina couldn’t help the soft incredulous laugh. “For a hatred of ducks ?” 

“It’s not the most normal thing,” Emma relented, “seeing as I got a sword passed down to me.”

“Fair.” 

“Cucumber and bergamot,” // “Is there anything else you hate that I ought to know about?” 

Jace looked at Dorothea over the rim of his teacup. “Liars,” he said. 

“Madame Dorothea’s right,” Charlotte said, ignoring the somewhat scathing looks she was getting, “the Clave really did break the mold with you.” 

“What she means,” Jem said, quickly jumping in, “is that you lack the discretion and tact when it comes to interacting with people.” 

“Is that supposed to make me feel bad?” 

“No,” the silver haired boy was unaffected by the warning tone. “Just an observation.” 

“You can call me a liar all you like. It’s true, I’m not a witch. But my mother was.” 

It was so quiet in the room that you could hear a pin drop and those who were confused as to why this as dire didn’t voice it in fear of setting off something they couldn’t handle. 

… “That’s impossible.” 

“Why impossible?” […] 

“Because they’re half-human, half-demon. All witches and warlocks are crossbreeds. And because they’re crossbreeds, they can’t have children. They’re sterile.”

But some people are an exception, James thought, risking a glance at the younger version of his mother, who visibly let it show on her face, her fascination with the world she would soon be accustomed to. 

“Like mules,” // “Mules are sterile crossbreeds.” 

“Your knowledge of livestock is astounding,”

“Match made in heaven huh?” Emma said to no one in particular, but quiet enough that Jace nor Clary heard. 

“To take the insult and then dish it out?” Diana asked confusedly. 

“I think Emma means that not only are they both stubborn, they like to poke fun at each other because it amuses them in some way.”

“Today’s definition of love is odd.” 

“All Downworlders are in some part demon, but only warlocks are the children of demon parents. It’s why their powers are the strongest.” 

And the ones Valentine was most obsessed with, Jocelyn thought, recalling a conversation she had with her ex-husband about the limitations the Nephilim were born with, how they weren’t blessed with more power and gifts like warlocks. A conversation that still follows her to this day. 

“Vampires and werewolves—they’re part demon too? And faeries?” 

Vampires and werewolves are the result of diseases brought by demons from their home dimensions. Most demon diseases are deadly to humans, but in these cases they worked strange changes on the infected, without actually killing them. And faeries—” 

“Faeries are fallen angels,” // “cast down out of heaven for their pride.” 

“That’s the legend,” // “It’s also said that they’re the offspring of demons and angels, which always seemed more likely to me […] And you’ll notice most of them avoid midday sunlight—” 

“For the devil has no power,” // “except in the dark.” 

Jace scowled at her. 

Typical Jace, Alec thought. Getting frustrated when someone steals the spotlight. Always having to be the center of attention, his brain supplied mockingly before he quickly pushed it down. He knew where that was coming from, and frankly, he didn’t like it. 

“Supposed to be? You mean angels don’t—” 

“Enough about angels,” said Dorothea, suddenly practical. “It’s true that warlocks can’t have children. My mother adopted me because she wanted to make sure there’d be someone to attend this place after she was gone. I don’t have to master magic myself. I have only to watch and guard.”

“It’s a bit morbid to think about,” Tessa said. “Not having the choice to have children, but every other form of attachment you choose to have means you have to say goodbye while they lie on their deathbed as you remain as you were.” 

Magnus smiled at her knowingly with a solemn smile. “No one said life was easy.” 

“Guard what?” 

“What indeed?” // “…In my day, girls were robust, strapping creatures, not twigs like they are nowadays.” 

“Thanks,” Clary said. She thought of Isabelle’s tiny waist and felt suddenly gigantic. 

Clary resisted the urge to wrap her arms around her midsection at the intrusive comment and thought. She instead chose to dig her nails into the meat of her palms as she tried to ignore the many pitying yet understanding glances she felt prickle her skin. 

She set her empty teacup down with a clatter. // Instantly, Madame Dorothea pounced on the cup and stared into it intently… // “What?” Clary said nervously. “Did I crack the cup or something?” 

“She’s reading your tea leaves,” … sounding bored, but he leaned forward along with Clary […]

“Is it bad?” 

“It is neither bad nor good. It is confusing.” Dorothea looked at Jace. “Give me your cup,” she commanded. 

… “But I’m not done with my—” 

The old woman snatched the cup out of his hand… 

This got a startled jolt from Jace who felt like something had been ripped out of his hand, though he hadn’t been holding anything to begin with. The rules in this room (or whatever the hell they are) were weird. 

“I see violence in your future, a great deal of blood shed by you and others.

The room suddenly felt too cold, to the point that Jace felt the shivers run down his arm. 

You’ll fall in love with the wrong person. Also, you have an enemy.” 

Jace didn't know what it could possibly mean. He was always so sure of himself, in his ability to suss out what was truth, what were lies, and what he was certain of. He felt like all his senses were blurring into  one indistinguishable mass that left him struggling to untangle the threads that had somehow gotten knotted together. You’ll fall in love with the wrong person. Love. That word. He didn’t like it the same way he didn’t like liars. Love was for hopeless fools who become blinded by it until they can no longer see through the rose tinted glass. 

Alec side-eyed his parabatai who was oddly quiet, clearly deep in thought, a sign of the momentary drop in his arrogant mask he puts on for all to see. He couldn’t help but mirror the silence, however. A violent and bloody future, a new enemy, and falling in love with the wrong person. It couldn’t stop at falling in love, it just had to be the wrong person. What could that even mean? Alec doesn’t see Jace loving someone he doesn’t know, let alone the wrong person. 

“Only one? That’s good news.” 

A huff escaped Alec’s mouth. “Of course you’d be worried about that.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” A bit of that arrogance crept back into his demeanor, somewhat easing Alec in the process, that he just brushed the comment off. 

…picked up Clary’s again. She shook her head. // “There is nothing for me to read here. The images are jumbled, meaningless.” // “Is there a block in your mind?” 

Almost instantaneously, Jocelyn tensed the same time Luke bawled his fists. He knew it would come back to bite them later, but he didn’t think it’d be revealed through a tea reading of all things. The least likely method. 

… “A what?”

“Like a spell that might conceal a memory, or might have blocked out your Sight.” 

Damn you Dorothea. 

… “Of course not.”

Jace leaned forward alertly. “Don’t be so hasty,” // “It’s true that she claims not to remember ever having the sight before this week. Maybe—” 

“Not the most outlandish claim we’ve heard in the last twenty four hours,” Gabriel said tiredly, eyes droopy and half-lidded, like he hadn’t slept all night. “Yet it's a viable one.”

Will snuck a glance over his shoulder to look at the younger Lightwood. He looked horrible, pale faced and red-eyed. Maybe it was why he was strangely amicable the last hour or so. He was like a leaf, all it’d take was one strong wind to knock him over. It also explained why Gideon seemed tenser than usual, leg bobbing up and down. Had they talked last night? Said something they regretted as they didn’t bother to look at one another? Will pushed the curiosity into the deepest cavity of his mind. He shouldn’t care. It was not his problem to solve. 

“Maybe I’m just a late developer,” // “And don’t leer at me, just because I said that.” 

… “I wasn’t going to.” 

“You were working up to a leer, I could tell.” 

“She already knows your tricks Jace,” Isabelle said. 

“Does that make me predictable?” He sounded genuinely horrified at the prospect that Isabelle just had to laugh him off. 

“Maybe,” // “but that doesn’t mean I’m not right. Something’s blocking your memories, I’m almost sure of it.” 

“Very well, let’s try something else.” […] silk-wrapped tarot cards. She fanned the cards and held them out to Clary. “Slide your hand over these until you touch one that feels hot or cold, or seems to cling to your fingers. Then draw that one and show it to me.”

Obediently Clary ran her fingers over the cards… none seemed particularly or cold, and none stuck to her fingers. Finally she selected one at random, and held it up. 

“The Ace of Cups,” // “The love card.” 

It was too easy to draw the lines connecting the two teens together. And Lucie might’ve felt a bit giddy about a possible love story until she realized that it wouldn’t be smooth sailing and rocky as other romances she’s read or witnessed, it’d likely be one of pain and hardship when concerning their world. 

Jocelyn, however, did not think about the love aspect, but the fact that her daughter had chosen the most damned card she could have pulled from that deck. The cup that will either lead the world to salvation or ruin. 

Clary turned it over… The card was heavy in her hand… a hand holding up a cup in front of a rayed sun painted with gilt… The style of the artwork was familiar to her as her own breath. “This is a good card, right?” 

“Not necessarily. The most terrible things men do, they do in the name of love,” // “But it is a powerful card. What does it mean to you?” 

Jocelyn felt her stomach turn. Later, years before the uprising, she had thought Valentine had loved her in the most purest way possible; after it, she had come to realize that she was just another one of his pawns that he had grown attached to. 

Alastair saw some truth to the statement. He had seen what Charles had done to secure a spot in the Clave, and it was a terrible thing to have to watch from the side as he plasters on a smile for Ariadne, while still harboring the lingering feelings he has tried to shut out. 

“That my mother painted it,” // “She did, didn’t she?” 

Dorothea nodded… “She painted the whole pack. A gift for me.” 

“So you say.’ Jace stood up, his eyes cold. “How well do you know Clary’s mother?” 

The backlash was instantaneous as he went from aloof arrogance to calculating and frigid. It nearly startled Clary to hear the flat tone she’d normally associate with a killer from a horror movie. 

… “Jace you don’t have to—” 

Dorothea sat back… “Jocelyn knew what I was, and I knew what she was. We didn’t talk about it much. Sometimes she did favors for me… I’d tell her the occasional piece of Downworld gossip. There was a name she asked me to keep an ear out for, and I did.” 

…“What name was that?” 

“Valentine.” 

If Jocelyn was still wary of her dead husband, then maybe he wasn’t dead at all. And that meant none of them were ever safe. Maryse already feels the weight of her disastrous decision, feels it everyday when she sees Alec, what his future could have been if it weren’t for the Circle. 

“Valentine?” Cordelia said. “The same Valentine you claim to have died?” 

“There are far worse things than someone coming back to life,” Matthew said. 

James couldn’t help but feel the irony seep into him as he begged to differ seeing as it was a nightmare that came with unforeseen consequences. 

Clary sat straight up in her chair. “But that’s—” 

“And when you say you knew what Jocelyn was, what do you mean? What was she?” Jace asked. 

“Jocelyn was what she was,” // “But in her past she’d been like you. A Shadowhunter. One of the Clave.” 

“No,” Clary whispered. 

Clary would’ve felt the same way if she didn’t already know what her mother was. If she didn’t feel so strongly and negatively that her mother—and Luke—were lying to her face for all her life that set these actions into gear. 

Dorothea looked at her with sad, almost kindly eyes. “It’s true. She chose to live in this house precisely because—”

“Because this is a Sanctuary,” Jace said to Dorothea. 

“Quick to the trigger aren’t you?” It wasn’t even a malicious comment from Alastair, but there was something in his voice that just offset Matthew, that made him want to berate the older Carstairs and embarrass him like he has done so many times to James. And apparently he wasn’t even trying to hide it as he felt a nudge not only from James but from Christopher as well, both of whom were plastering on innocent expressions.  

“I hate the both of you,” he grumbled, earning soft laughs from them. 

“—It’s not like you knew what she was,” Jace was arrogantly replying. “I’d rather be confident and wrong than not say anything at all.”  

“I find that hard to believe.” 

“Because of my pride?” Jace knew his faults in and out, knew when to hide them so everyone else could focus on the one they saw that they overlooked everything else. “I’d say the same for you Carstairs.” 

Alastair’s mouth tightened. “You don’t know me.” 

“And you don’t know me either.” Jace cocked his head to the side, challenging. 

Alastair would’ve taken the bait if he didn’t realize that this was exactly what the naturally blond man wanted. For him to make a fool of himself in this room. Something he would’ve done to deflect the attention to make himself seem superior. 

Maybe he understood Jace Wayland way more than he wanted to. 

“Isn’t it? Your mother was a Control. She made this space, hidden, protected—it’s a perfect spot for Downworlders on the run to hide out. That’s what you do, isn’t it? You hide criminals here.”

“You would call them that,” // “You’re familiar with the motto of the Covenant?” 

“ Sed lex dura lex,” said nearly every Shadowhunter, making both Clary, Simon, and Kit exchange incredulous glances around the room. 

“You all seem like a cult,” said Kit. 

“I agree with the kid,” Simon confessed, not missing the way Kit scowled. “You are one, don’t deny it.” 

“And how old are you ?” 

“Seventeen.” 

“You’re only two years older than me,” he pointed out.  

“Yeah right now,” Simon sarcastically agreed. “I’m like twenty two during your time.” 

Kit wasn’t going to give up that easily. “But you’re not right now .” 

“Fine, Herondale. ” 

… “The Law is hard, but it is the Law.” 

“Sometimes the Law is too hard. I know the Clave would have taken me away from my mother if they could. You want me to let them do the same to others?” 

“So you’re a philanthropist.” // “I suppose you expect me to believe that Downworlders don’t pay you handsomely for the privilege of your Sanctuary.” 

“There’s the Shadowhunter behavior many Downworlders despise,” Magnus said. 

“Which is?” Robert almost sneered. 

‘You’re supposed superiority,” Magnus’ eyes flared, shining with the events of the Uprising. “You’re on the same level as the rest of us. Just because your duty is to protect humankind from demons doesn’t mean you can treat us like the same ilk.” Like Valentine. 

It hit the intended cord and Robert fell silent. 

[…] “We can’t all get by on our looks like you.” 

Jace looked unmoved by the flattery. “I should tell the Clave about you—” 

“You can’t!” // “You promised.” 

“Read between the lines, Clary,” Jace said hardly. “Don’t focus on yourself for once and realize what’s going on here.” 

Clary’s mouth set into a hard frown and she didn’t get a word in as Simon jumped to her defense. “You don’t get to speak to her like that. Just because she isn’t from your world—”

“But she is now, you aren’t.” 

Simon looked like he’d knock aside his chair to lunge on the blond. Isabelle, seeing the situation for what it’d escalate to, pinned him to his seat with an eyebrow raise. “It’s not worth it.” 

“I never promised anything.” […] He strode to the wall and tore aside one of the velvet hangings. “You want to tell me what this is?” he demanded. 

“It’s a door, Jace,” […] set strangely in the wall between the two bay windows. Clearly it couldn’t be a door that led anywhere, or it would have been visible from the outside of the house. It looked as if it were made of some softly glowing metal… knob had been cast in the shape of an eye. 

Henry cataloged the details of this so called door. Call it instinctual, but he knew it’d prove useful in the long run if he were going to continue his experiments. 

“Shut up,” // “It’s a Portal. Isn’t it?” 

“It’s a five-dimensional door,” // “Dimensions aren’t all straight lines, you know,” // “There are dips and folds and nooks and crannies all tucked away. It’s a bit hard to explain when you’ve never studied dimensional theory, but in essence, that door can take you anywhere in this dimension that you want to go. It’s—” 

“Amazing.” Henry breathed out. 

Charlotte smiled fondly at her husband, silently wishing he sounded like that when speaking to her. Like something marvelous and worth the attention. 

“An escape hatch,” Jace said. “That’s why your mother wanted to live here. So she could always flee at a moment’s notice.” 

“Then why didn’t she—” Clary began, and broke off, suddenly horrified. “Because of me,” // “She wouldn’t leave without me that night. So she stayed.” 

“Don’t blame yourself Fray,” Simon said. 

“It’s not your fault honey,” Jocelyn said. “I made my choice not to tell you about any of this. If I had, we'd be more prepared.” 

“Mom…” 

Jocelyn gave her daughter a sad smile, already knowing the words she was going to say. “You have nothing to apologize for. I made the choice to stay behind, not you.” 

Jace was shaking his head. “You can’t blame yourself.”

…Clary pushed past Jace to the door. “I want to see where she would have gone,” she said, reaching for the door. “I want to see where she was going to escape to—”

Isabelle clamped a hand over her mouth the same time her parents watched on with horror at what they realized would happen. 

“Clary, no!” Jace reached for her, but her fingers had already closed around the knob. It spun rapidly under her hand, the door flying open as if she’d pushed it. Dorothea lumbered to her feet with a cry, but it was too late. Before she could even finish her sentence, Clary found herself flung forward and tumbling through empty space. 

“By the Angel,” Isabelle swore. “You could have died. ” 

Clary was still a bit disoriented from the sensation of being thrust forward into oblivion to catch onto the meaning of Isabelle’s words right away. “You’d think I’d learn something by now,” she breathed out. 

“Not when you’re pent up on emotions,” Jace pointed out. “Which is understandable when considering family.” 

Clary, feeling a bit faint, said, “Let’s just get to the next chapter.” 

Chapter Text

It’d make sense to say that Grace Blackthorn didn’t care for who was in the room other than her alive and breathing brother. The same brother she had held as he took his last breaths. But for whatever reason, she had taken an interest in the people she had no reason to like. Maybe it was the lack of pressure resting on her shoulders or the blaring presence that Tatiana Blackthorn held was nowhere to be found. And she felt safe enough to be comfortable instead of keeping up this charade of belonging. Because Clary Fray didn’t belong anywhere as she knew who she was and didn’t project a fake mask around others when she should. 

Grace would be blind to not notice the somewhat scathing look James Herondale had given her when he first laid eyes on her. The absence of the bracelet had made her hands sweat and her heart bleed in fear for what Tatiana might’ve done if she found out. That was until she noticed that she wouldn’t be facing those consequences for however long she would be here in this room absent of time. 

She’d take the freedom—however long it lasted—and bide her time until the reason why she was here in the first place is revealed. 

Chapter 8 - Weapon of Choice 

She was too surprised to scream. 

Clary breathed through her nose, braced for the incoming impact of her disastrous choice. 

The sensation of falling was the worst part… her hands out trying to catch at something…might slow her descent. // Her hands closed on branches… She thumped to the ground, hard, her hip and shoulder striking packed earth. 

She grinded her teeth together, letting out a hiss at the incoming bruises that were going to line her pale skin. That was another downside. Clary would be getting the same scars from the amount of trauma her body would be put through. And they wouldn’t fade the same way the pain did. 

She rolled over…beginning to sit up when someone landed on top of her. // She was knocked backward. A forehead banged against hers, her knees banging against someone else’s. 

A swear escaped Clary’s mouth as she rubbed her fingers against her forehead. She already knew the likely culprit she had collided with. 

… Clary coughed hair—not her own— […] under the weight that felt like it was crushing her flat. 

“Ouch,” Jace said in her ear, his tone indignant. “You elbowed me.” 

“Well, you landed on me.” 

Jace made no noise, not visibly in pain like Clary clearly was projecting after taking all of his weight full force. 

He levered himself up on his arms and looked down at her placidly. […] “Well, you didn’t leave me much choice, did you?” // “Not after you decided to leap merrily through that Portal like you were jumping the F train. You’re just lucky it didn’t dump us out in the East River.” 

It wasn’t lost on Clary that the book had just described how she and Jace were in a compromising position. Her supine on the ground while he just held himself above her. It was an image she wanted to banish from her head, but Clary couldn’t help but envision what it’d look like and that made her want to slap herself across the face. 

“How do portals work exactly?” came Henry’s curious question. 

“You have to think of a destination you want to go to,” Alec explained. “The portal would take the user to the place they imagined. If you have no clear destination,” a stare at Clary, “it’ll take them to the last destination the user before them went to.” 

He whispered, voice full of awe, “Fascinating.” His eyes were bright, shining with endless ideas. “You’re saying that it just works on a whim?” 

Charlotte took the opportunity to squeeze her husband’s hand before quickly letting go. She didn’t see the brief look of disappointment from the disentanglement as Alec answered with a nod. 

“You didn’t have to come after me.”

“Yes, I did,” he said. “You’re far too inexperienced to protect yourself in a hostile situation without me.”

“That’s sweet. Maybe I’ll forgive you.”

“Forgive me? For what?”

“For telling me to shut up.”

Clary didn’t forget that part either. Being told to shut up was not a good feeling, joking or not. No one wants to be told that whatever you said was useless when you already felt it and Clary has felt that throughout the course of her stay in this odd room. 

Nearly everyone besides Simon knew what was going on, and it made her feel useless despite the book being about her life. 

His eyes narrowed. “I did not … Well, I did, but you were—”

“Never mind.” Her arm, pinned under her back, was beginning to cramp. Rolling to the side to free it, she saw the brown grass of a dead lawn, a chain-link fence, and more of the gray clapboard house, now distressingly familiar.

The description had sounded familiar to Clary, and it crossed her mind that maybe she was at Luke’s house, but it was a suggestion she quickly shot down. And she wouldn’t say she was in denial (she was in fact, in denial) Clary just wasn’t thinking of Luke’s house, she hadn’t been thinking of anything when she placed her hand on the door knob. Unless… no? He wouldn’t… he would. He knew your mother longer than you’ve been alive.

She froze. “I know where we are.”

There it was. Just another confirmation of another secret they both kept from her. 

Jace stopped spluttering. “What?”

“This is Luke’s house.”

Jocelyn looked at her longtime friend at the corner of her eye, taking note of how he pulled his fingers. He’s come to the same conclusion she has and it wasn’t one they would’ve liked to entertain. 

They stood in front of a small gray row house, nestled among the other row houses that lined the Williamsburg waterfront. [ …] He glanced at the dark front door, its knob wound with a heavy padlock… He glanced at Clary. “He lives in a bookstore?”

“He lives behind the store.” Clary glanced up and down the empty street […] “Jace, how did we get here?”

“Through the Portal,” // “It takes you to whatever place you’re thinking of.” 

“But I wasn’t thinking of here,” // “I wasn’t thinking of anywhere.” 

“Yeah I think we got that,” Jace couldn’t help but comment. 

Clary, not wanting to be shown up, said, “Oh shut your mouth.” 

Jace’s lips parted in shock, but if asked he would’ve said that he was gearing up for another retort. No one asked however and the reading continued. 

“You must have been.” He dropped the subject, seeming uninterested. “So, since we’re here anyway…” // “What do you want to do?” 

“Leave I guess,” Clary said bitterly. “Luke told me not to come here.” 

“And I’m sorry for saying that,” Luke said. 

“Doesn’t matter now does it?” voice dissimilar to the somewhat joking tone she took when speaking to Jace. 

Luke’s lips pressed down into a frown, but said nothing more. 

Jace shook his head. “And you just accept that?” 

… “Do I have a choice?” 

“We always have choices,” Jace said. “If I were you, I’d be pretty curious about Luke right now. Do you have keys to the house?”

… “No, but sometimes he leaves the back door unlocked.” 

“You live in New York and you sometimes leave the door unlocked?” Emma's voice was incredulous.

“Do you know anybody who’d rob a bookstore in New York?” Luke said dryly. 

“No,” Emma admitted. “But wouldn’t it be safer to lock your doors?” 

“07’ is a different time than you’re used to,” he observed. “Things were more safer, no?” 

Emma didn’t dare to think of how things were in 2007. It was a year she wanted erased from her memory. Yes, things were simpler back then, but the latter half of the year changed her life so much that it hurt to even think of that period of time. 

… “You sure he isn’t home?” Jace asked. 

She glanced at the empty curb. “Well, his truck’s gone, the store’s closed, and all the lights are off. I’d say probably not.” 

“Then lead the way.” 

“Not like that bothered you anyway,” Alec whispered. 

“No,” Jace agreed. “But it's better to take someone else’s judgment instead of your own.” 

The narrow aisle […] // “Up and over,”Jace said, jamming the toe of a boot into a gap in the fence. He began to climb. The fence rattled so loudly that Clary glanced around nervously… 

Clary’s instincts were rarely ever wrong, even when she didn’t know what was going on. It was one thing Helen addmired about the other. She’s had to prove herself time and time again due to her heritage that she didn’t have much luck relying on gut feelings instead of cold hard intuition. 

Jace cleared the top of the fence and sprang down the other side, landing in the bushes to the accompaniment of an earsplitting yowl.  

The sound startled them out of their seats. 

For a moment Clary thought he must have landed on a stray cat. 

“It didn’t sound like a stray cat,” Jace said, pulling at his ear. 

“Certainly,” Will said. “It sounded like a wounded mule.” 

No one questioned the Englishman.  

She heard Jace shout in surprise as he fell backward. A dark shadow—much too big to be a feline—exploded out of the shrubbery and streaked across the yard, keeping low. Rolling to his feet, Jace darted after it, looking murderous. 

Alec would send a silent prayer to whoever had caught Jace’s attention if he hadn’t noticed Simon jolt in his seat at an unexpected impact. No one else noticed it and would they when they were all gathered around a circle listening to a book doing absolutely nothing but think of the possibilities, 

Clary started to climb […] just as Jace cried out in triumph. “Got him!” Clary turned to see Jace sitting on top of the prone intruder […] “Come on, let’s see your face—” 

“Gert the hell off me, you pretentious asshole,” the intruder snarled, shoving at Jace. He struggled halfway into a sitting position, his battered glasses knocked askew.

“Simon,” Clary asked. “What are you doing at Luke’s house?” 

“What makes you think it was me?” His tone was indignant. 

Clary stopped dead in her tracks. “ Simon?”  

Clary’s brows rose, challenging Simon to disagree. 

“Fair enough,” he amended, “ but I don’t know why I’m there. I haven’t done any of this yet.” 

“Oh, God,” said Jace, sounding resigned. “And here I’d actually hoped I’d got hold of something interesting.” 

“Ha ha,” Simon said sarcastically. 

“Well, are you interesting?” Jace asked. 

“I can be very interesting once you get to know me.” 

“Luckily I don’t.” Jace said, smiling. 

“But what were you doing hiding in Luke’s bushes?” […] Somehow when she’d pictured her reunion with Sumon, when all this was over, he’d been in a better mood. “That’s the part I don’t get.”

“All right, that’s enough. I can fix my own hair, Fray,” Simon said, jerking away from her touch. 

“And here I thought you’d like that,” Jace said, just a tad bit cruelly. 

“So now you know me?” Simon shot back. 

“No one needs to know you to sense your desperation.” 

“Jace,” Clary said, finally cutting in before Simon could blow up. “Give it a rest yeah?” 

The blond held his hands up in a placating manner. 

… Jace had propped himself on the porch railing and was assiduously pretending to ignore them, while using the stele to file the edges of his fingernails. Clary wondered if the Clave would approve. 

“They don’t care about what we use our tools for,” Jace said haughtily. “Just as long as we do our job and stick to the rules.” 

“They never do like teenagers causing trouble,” Julian added. 

“Nor do they like anything different.” Charlotte said under her breath. 

“I mean, did Luke know you were there?” she asked. 

“Of course he didn’t know I was there,” // “I’ve never asked him, but I’m sure he has a fairly stringent policy about random teenagers lurking in his shrubbery.” 

“You’re not random; he knows you.” She wanted to reach out and touch his cheek, still bleeding slightly where a branch had scratched it. 

Simon swiped his cheek, not all that surprised that his fingers came away red, nor did the sudden stinging pain that erupted from the movement. 

“The main thing is that you’re all right.” 

“That I’m all right?” Simon laughed, a sharp, unhappy sound. “Clary, do you have any idea what I’ve been through the past couple of days? 

“Compared to what she went through,” Isabelle said. “I think your worry pales in comparison.” 

“It doesn’t mean that worry doesn’t completely take over,” James countered.

“It’s human of us to be worried,” Jem says, “our loved ones are the bane of our existence, and without them we feel we are nothing.” 

“That’s… kind of poetic,” Simon said. 

“I appreciate the admirance.” 

The last time I saw you, you were running out of Java Jones like a bat out of hell, and then you just… disappeared […] Luke told me you were off staying with some relatives upstate when I know you don’t have any other relatives. I thought I’d done something to piss you off.” 

Jocelyn looked at Luke as if to say, you really couldn’t be bothered to come up with a better lie? 

And Luke gave her a look of his own. I shouldn’t have to lie in your stead. 

“What could you possibly have done?” Clary reached for his hand, but he pulled it back without looking at her. 

“I don’t know,” // “Something.” 

Jace, still occupied with the stele, chuckled low under his breath. 

Everyone besides Clary knew exactly what Jace was chuckling about. They knew unrequited love when they saw it, and Simon was as obvious as anyone can be when harboring feelings for their closest friend. 

“You’re my best friend,” // “I wasn’t mad at you.” 

Julian couldn’t help but wince. It was the friendzone at its finest. 

“Yeah, well, you clearly also couldn’t be bothered to call me and tell me you were shacking up with some dyed-blond wannabe goth you probably met at Pandemonium.” // “After I spent the past three days wondering if you were dead.” 

“Again,” Isabelle said. “She was currently trying not to die.” 

“ And,” Alec couldn’t resist saying. “She has no phone to call you back with.”  

When she did, she called Luke, not you. Simon’s brain supplied. 

“For the record,” Jace said. “I am not a dyed-blond wannabe goth,” he gestured towards his hair. “This coloring is all natural.” 

Simon glanced at Jace’s hair, expression dubious. 

“I was not shacking up,” […]

“And my hair is naturally blond,” // “Just for the record.” 

“So what have you been doing these past three days, then?” 

“Trying not to die,” Clary said mockingly rueful. 

“No need to keep using that as an excuse,” Simon said. “I already feel bad.” 

… “Do you really have a great-aunt Matilda who contracted avian flu and needed to be nursed back to health?” 

“Did Luke actually say that?” 

“No. 

Of course he wouldn’t, Maryse thought. Lucian had been the smartest out of all of them when it came to keeping his feelings under check without being suspicious. He was better under duress than in everyday life, where his feelings for Jocelyn overshadowed his very being. 

He just said you had gone to visit a sick relative, and that your phone probably just didn’t work … Not that I believed him… looked in the back window… he was going away for the weekend. That was when I decided to stick around and keep an eye on things.”

And there it was. He may have kept a straight face and lied to the Lewis boy without giving it away, but he was never subtle in his actions or had the foresight to take the precautions, but then again he was dealing with teenagers. They were a nosy bunch, always going against authority. 

“Why? Because he was packing a bag?”

“He was packing it full of weapons,” // “Knives, a couple daggers, even a sword. Funny thing is, some of the weapons looked like they were glowing.” // “Now, are you going to say I was imagining it?”

“No,” / “I’m not going to say that.” She glanced at Jace. The last light of sunset struck gold sparks from his eyes. 

Jace leaned into his hand, staring at the back of Clary’s head. She had no reason to catch that detail, but then again, she has an artist’s eye. To be observant of values and shade… it was a type of accuracy he didn’t have. Sure he was observant, a somewhat good judge of character, but he never had that creative touch, never really could lean into it when he was a child. 

… “I’m going to tell him the truth.” 

“I know.” 

“Are you going to try and stop me?” 

“He should.” Maryse said disapprovingly. “We don’t interfere with the mundanes.” 

“It’s more of a secrecy sort of thing,” Ty said to Kit, who was understandably confused. “Shadowhunters aren’t allowed to reveal these sort of things to ordinary people as knowing them could put them in danger.” 

“Like Clary?” 

He nodded. “She didn’t know for most of her life, and now that she does… it’s pretty self-explanatory.” 

… “My oath to the Covenant binds me,” // “No such oath binds you.”

She turned back to Simon… “All right,” // “Here’s what you have to know.”

There was then a long tirade of questions that were already answered. What was a Shadowhunter, real boring stuff that could be skipped over. And really, it was more shocking to find out that Simon took it all in stride instead of questioning it like many others before him. 

… “For real?” His eyes were narrowed, as if he half-expected her to tell him that none of it was true and Jace was actually a dangerous escaped lunatic she’d decided to befriend on humanitarian grounds. 

A laugh bubbled in Alec’s chest, one that did not escape Jace as he knew exactly what his parabatai was thinking. 

“Cut that out.” 

“Not a chance,” Alec said grinning,  “you are a lunatic.” 

[…]  For a moment Simon merely sat and stared down at his feet… He had a stronger practical streak than almost anyone else she knew;  he might hate knowing something like this, something for which there was no logical explanation. 

“But there are explanations for these things,” Jace pointed out. 

“Well we normal people don’t learn those explanations as believing in the supernatural makes us crazy.”

“Those who believe are always crazy.” 

She leaned forward anxiously, just as Simon lifted his head. “That is so awesome ,” he said. 

Jace blinked slowly because what? 

“What did you just say?” Isabelle asked. 

“Yeah I’m not sure either,” Simon said, shrugging his shoulders. “I would’ve thought all of you were insane if you didn’t all appear out of nowhere.”  

“And somehow this doesn’t compare to the craziest thing that has ever happened to me,” Kit muttered under his breath. 

Simon nodded enthusiastically… “Totally. It’s like Dungeons and Dragons, but real.” 

Kit snorted. “Dungeons and Dragons is so old, no one even plays that anymore.” 

“What even is Dungeons and Dragons?” Gabriel asked. “It sounds bloody ridiculous.” 

“It’s just some sort of board game.” 

Simon took offense. “It’s not just some board game— ” 

“It’s one that no one even plays anymore,” and just because he could, Kit added with a grin, “it’s turned into some cosplaying bonanza for people who live in the basement.” 

“That’s oddly specific.” 

“Just calling it like I see it.” 

“This is  not helpful at all,” Cecily muttered. 

Jace was looking at Simon like he were some bizarre species of insect. “It’s like what?” 

“It’s a game,” // “People pretend to be wizards and elves, and they kill monsters and stuff.” 

“Do you understand it at all?” Cecily dared to ask Gabriel. 

“Not one bit, Miss Herondale.”

Jace looked stupefied. 

Simon grinned. “You’ve never heard of Dungeons and Dragons?”

“I feel that you take pride in my cluelessness,” Jace found himself saying,” but for once I feel glad to not know.”   

“I’ve heard of dungeons,” // “Also dragons. Although they’re mostly extinct.” 

… “You’ve never killed a dragon?” 

“He’s probably never met a six-foot-tall hot elf-woman in a fur bikini, either,” // “Lay off, Simon.” 

Alec looked uncomfortable at the imagery. 

“Elves aren’t even that tall anyway,” Jace said. “They’re like eight inches tall. They bite too.” 

“How would you even know that they bite?” As soon as the question left Simon’s mouth, he regretted it when he took in the secretive smile on his lips. “You know what, never mind.” 

“…vampires are hot, right?” // “I mean, some of the vampires are babes, aren’t they?” 

“I’m embarrassed for him,” Cristina said to Emma. 

“You think?” Emma looked at the future heroes. “This is changing my perception of them so much.” 

Clary worried for a moment that Jace might lunge across the porch and throttle Simon senseless. Instead, he considered the question. “Some of them, maybe.” 

… Clary decided she had preferred it when they were fighting. 

“You’ll be eating your words,” Isabelle pointed out. 

“Maybe,” Clary agreed, “but it’s very weird to see them get along at the moment.” 

It’s not surprising that Jace and Simon were at each other's throats the moment they spoke to one another, whether it’d be a disagreement over actions, a moral standpoint, or even how they act, they did not get along as their personalities clashed constantly. Them actually getting along was far more scarier than them fighting. 

… “So are we going to search the house, or not?” 

Simon scrambled to his feet. “I’m game. What are we looking for?” 

“We?” // “I don’t remember inviting you along.” 

“And there goes the peace.” 

“Did you really expect it to last that long?” 

… “Just joking.” // “Shall we?” 

Clary fumbled for the doorknob… the door that led into the bookstore was closed; Clary jiggled the knob. “It’s locked.” 

“Allow me, mundanes,” said Jace, setting her gently aside. He took his stele out of his pocket and put it to the door. Simon watched him with some resentment. No amount of vampire babes, Clary suspected, was ever going to make him like Jace. 

You were never going to like someone you envied, Simon thought. There was no point in trying to get along with them if you were always going to feel like you were second best to the confident person who looks like he has everything. 

“He’s a piece of work, isn’t he?” Simon muttered. “How do you stand him?”

“He saved my life.”

Simon glanced at her quickly. “How—”

Simon didn’t care to explain himself. Nearly everyone besides the person he wanted to know knew exactly why he was acting this way. 

With a click the door swung open. “Here we go,” […] Clary saw the Mark on the door—just over his head—fade as they passed through it. […]

“The apartment’s through there.” Clary headed toward the door she’d indicated, at the far end of the room.

Jace caught her arm. “Wait.”

She looked at him nervously. “Is something wrong?”

“You need to stop scaring the girl,” Maryse chided. “She’s going to die prematurely from shock.” 

The tips of Jace’s ears flushed red. 

“I don’t know.” // “Clary, you might want to come over here and see this.”

…It was dim in the storage room, the only illumination the porch light shining through the window. // Light flared up, bathing the room in a brilliant glow. Simon turned his head aside, blinking. “Ouch.” […] Something glowed in his palm, the light escaping through his cupped fingers. “Witchlight,” he said. 

“Is a witchlight just a flashlight?” Clary asked. 

“In a way,” Jace confirmed. 

“And what is a flashlight?” Henry just had to ask. 

Jace looked stupefied by the question before remembering how old the Shadowhunter was. “It’s a handheld lighting device.” 

“Like a lantern?” 

“Yes, just more portable.” 

…Clary was already clambering through the boxes, pushing a way to Jace. He was standing behind a teetering pile of mysteries… “Look at that,” he said, indicating a space higher up on the wall. 

At first she thought he was pointing at what looked like a pair of ornamental sconces. As her eyes adjusted, she realized they were actually loops of metal attached to short chains, the ends of which were sunk into the wall. “Are those—”

Gideon looked curiously at Luke, a conclusion already forming in his mind at what this detail could entail. Appearances were more or less deceiving, but Luke didn’t hold himself the same way most Downworlders did; which was full of swaggering pride. But then again, this was America, not only were the years different, customs were drastic as well. 

“Manacles,” // “That’s, ah …”

“Don’t say ‘kinky.’” Clary shot him a warning look. “This is Luke we’re talking about.”

Clary scrunched her nose. “I don’t like the imagery you just tried to implant.”

Simon held his hands up. “I didn’t like what I said either. It’s weird imagining Luke like that.” 

Jace reached up to run his hand along the inside of one of the metal loops. When he lowered it, his fingers were dusted with red-brown powder. “Blood. And look.” 

Jocelyn looked at her old friend, saying through a sharp whisper, “I thought you had more discretion than that.” 

“Well I didn’t expect my home to be broken into,” he said, matching her tone. 

“You should be prepared regardless of the situation.” 

He pointed to the wall right around where the chains were sunk in; the plaster seemed to bulge outward. “Someone tried to yank these things out of the wall. Tried pretty hard, from the looks of it.” 

Many already had an inkling of what that entailed. The manacles were already a dead giveaway, the wear and tear was just another clue to add onto their growing suspicions. 

[…] The door to the apartment was unlocked [ …] // “I think he’s still around,” called Simon, standing in the doorway of Luke’s small kitchenette. “The percolator’s on and there’s coffee here. Still hot.”

Clary peered around the kitchen door. […]Some part of her had been absolutely certain that when they walked in they’d find the place torn to pieces, and Luke tied up, injured or worse. Now she didn’t know what to think. 

Luke felt guilty for making Clary have mixed feelings about him. She was like a daughter to him, a surviving piece of the past that wasn’t tainted in the worst possible way. Now here she was doubting who he was despite spending most of her childhood with him. 

Numbly […]  a backpack full of extra things here so she didn’t have to lug her stuff back and forth from home. [ …] // She found Jace in Luke’s book-lined office, examining a green duffel bag that lay unzipped across the desk. It was, as Simon said, full of weapons—sheathed knives, a coiled whip, and something that looked like a razor-edged metal disk. 

“Luke,” Clary said. “ Why do you have weapons in your house?” 

“You’ll figure it, kid,” Luke responded tiredly, yet cryptically, “that being prepared will never be enough for this world.” 

“It’s a chakram ,” // “…You twirl it around your finger before releasing it. They’re rare and hard to use. Strange that Luke would have one. They used to be Hodge’s weapon of choice, back in the day. Or so he tells me.”  

“It was,” Robert confirmed. 

“Luke collects stuff. Art objects. You know,” Clary said, indicating the shelf behind the desk, […] “Pretty things.” 

“Is that even normal for mundanes?” Ty asked Kit. 

“No,” he answered, then thought about it, quickly adding, “ not that many anyway. It’s a bit weird.” 

… “I think this is yours, by the way.” 

He drew out a rectangular object hidden among the clothes: a wooden-framed photograph with a long vertical crack along the glass. The crack threw a network of spidery lines across the smiling faces of Clary, Luke, and her mother. “That is mine,” […]

“Wasn’t that back at the apartment during your attack?” 

Clary’s lips pursed. Indeed it was. 

“It’s cracked,” Jace observed.

“I know. I did that—I smashed it. When I threw it at the Ravener demon.” // “That means Luke’s been back to the apartment since the attack. Maybe even today—”

Clary’s head spiraled, because what? What did she just hear? Not Luke. She can’t accept that. 

“He must have been the last person to come through the Portal,” said Jace. “That’s why it took us here. You weren’t thinking of anything, so it sent us to the last place it had been.”

“Why were you there?” She dared to ask. “Did you send that demon after my mother?” 

“What?” Luke was aghast and a bit hurt that she would even think that way. “God no, Clary. I would never do anything to hurt you or your mother.” 

““Nice of Dorothea to tell us he was there,” said Clary. 

“He probably paid her off to be quiet. Either that or she trusts him more than she trusts us. Which means he might not be—”

Luke frowned, miffed, but he knows that he hasn’t given the Shadowhunter a stellar impression of him. He would jump to the same conclusion if he were still Nephilim and tracking down a lead. Back then he would have done anything to gain approval to prove himself to anyone who would recognize him for his efforts. 

“Guys!” It was Simon, dashing into the office in a panic. “Someone’s coming.”

…“Is it Luke?”

…“It is. But he’s not by himself—there are two men with him.”

“Men?” Jace crossed the room in a few strides, peered through the door, and spat a curse under his breath. “Warlocks.”

“What do you mean by that?” 

“Just a classic declaration made by a Shadowhunter,” Magnus said. “No need to wrap your head around it, little one.” 

Kit frowned. He had a feeling this was going to be frequent. 

[ …] “Is there some other way out of here? A back door?”

Clary shook her head. The sound of footsteps in the hallway was audible now, striking pangs of fear into her chest.

Jace looked around desperately. His eyes came to rest on the rosewood screen. “Get behind that,” he said, pointing. “Now.”

“You’re going to give me a premature death,” Alec said, nudging Jace. 

“I know.” 

Clary dropped the fractured photo on the desk[ …] the door swing wide open, the sound of people walking into Luke’s office—then voices. Three men speaking … Jace, who had raised the stele in his hand and was moving the tip lightly, in a sort of square shape, across the back of the screen … the square went clear, like a pane of glass. She heard Simon suck in his breath—a tiny sound, barely audible—and Jace shook his head at them both, mouthing words: They can’t see us through it, but we can see them.

Smart thinking, Charlotte thought. Not many Shadowhunters were able to think under duress, especially with a mundane. Things are different. You can’t just throw on a glamour and walk right on out, you’d actually have to hide to not get caught. She knows none of her wards were ever that careful, they were more brash and self-centered than most with only one person to ground them to earth. 

[ …] She could see the room beyond perfectly: the bookshelves, the desk with the duffel bag thrown across it—and Luke, ragged-looking and slightly stooped, his glasses pushed up to the top of his head, standing near the door. [ …] // Luke turned, looking back through the door-way. “Yes, feel free to look around,” // “Nice of you to show such an interest.” 

“Who are you talking to?” 

Luke drew his brows together. “I do not know.”

[…] two men were there with Luke, both in long reddish robes, their hoods pushed back. One was thin, with an elegant gray mustache and pointed beard… The other was burly, thickset as a wrestler, with close-cropped reddish hair. His skin was dark purple.. over the cheekbones, as if it had been stretched too tight. 

Jace stiffened in his seat. An image formed in front of his eyes, unwanted and full of pain. It was one he never wanted to relive—to even think about—yet the description of those men triggered that long forgotten memory because he remembered those men. 

[…] rigid all over, stiff as a bar of iron. He’s afraid I’ll make a run for it, try to get to Luke, Clary thought. 

“It’s not that Clary,” Jace said, voice void of all emotion. “If you want to get caught by Luke and two scary men, then go for it.” 

“What is wrong with you?” 

“You,” he stated, “thinking you know me.” 

Clary didn’t know what was worse, being dismissed by Jace after thinking they finally reached a middle ground, or being so terribly wrong about who he was. 

[…] “Consider this a friendly follow up, Graymark,” 

“ Graymark?” Gabriel muttered, asking his brother, “Isn’t that a Shadowhunter name?” 

“It is,” Gideon answered. “A rather uncommon one, not as popular.” 

“So is Luke a Shadowhunter in exile like Jocelyn?” 

“It would seem so.” 

“There’s nothing friendly about you, Pangborn.” Luke sat down on the edge of his desk[…] his face and hands were badly bruised, his fingers scraped and bloody. A long cut along his neck disappeared down into his collar. What on earth happened to him?

Jocelyn was worried now. Of course she didn’t expect him to stay in line once she was gone, but she didn’t think that he’d have to ward off former Circle members, as well as other matters. 

“Blackwell, don’t touch that—it’s valuable,” Luke said sternly.”

The big redheaded man, who had picked up the statue of Kali from the top of the bookcase, ran his beefy fingers over it consideringly. “Nice,” he said.

“Ah,” said Pangborn… “She who was created to battle a demon who could not be killed by any god or man. ‘Oh, Kali, my mother full of bliss! […] thy helpless toys.’”

“They’re Shadowhunters and they’re crazy,” Emna muttered. 

“Remind you of someone?” 

Emma felt something ugly curl in her chest. “Unfortunately.” 

“Very nice,” said Luke. “I didn’t know you were a student of the Indian myths.”

“All the myths are true,” said Pangborn, and Clary felt a small shiver go up her spine. “Or have you forgotten even that?”

Robert felt a pang in his chest. These were his friends—acquaintances—Michael had been his only friend—once before, when he was young and dumb. When he didn’t have the same steely nerves as his wife to go through with certain actions. What could’ve been is set in stone, there was no room for further thoughts as it wouldn’t do much but torture the mind of what ifs and chances not taken.  

“I forget nothing,” said Luke. Though he looked relaxed, Clary could see tension in the lines of his shoulders and mouth. “I suppose Valentine sent you?”

“He did,”// “He thought you might have changed your mind.”

“Then he doesn’t know Lucian at all,” Maryse uttered. 

“There’s nothing to change my mind about. I already told you I don’t know anything. Nice cloaks, by the way.”

“Thanks,” said Blackwell with a sly grin. “Skinned them off a couple of dead warlocks.”

Magnus felt sick to his stomach. There were still people who thought this way, who took pleasure in wreaking havoc on the Downworld instead of helping them. There was a time where Shadowhunters had taken a special place in his heart due to their humanity and hospitality, yet there were very few at the present time that had managed to change his life. 

“Those are official Accord robes, aren’t they?” // “Are they from the Uprising?”

Pangborn chuckled softly. “Spoils of battle.”

Horror filled Tessa’s gut. “Shadowhunters don’t normally do that, right?”

Will’s face was grim. “Only the entitled ones.” 

“It used to be common practice,” Jem added. “Old Shadowhunter families collecting trophies from the Downworlders they’ve killed.” 

“You are one strange group of people,” Simon interjected. “You do know that right?” 

“We are well aware, Mr. Lewis.” 

Simon’s face looked mildly disgusted. “You make me sound like I’m someone’s father.” 

[…] Pangborn fondled the edge of his robe. “Do you remember the Uprising, Lucian?” he said softly. “That was a great and terrible day. Do you remember how we trained together for the battle?”

“You were a Shadowhunter?” Clary asked, shock filling her bones. 

“I was.” The implication of was didn’t go unnoticed by the room, but Clary didn’t see it the way the rest of them had; which was being turned into a werewolf (being a vampire was off the table as he was clearly walking through the day), she had thought he’d been exiled as well. 

Luke’s face twisted. “The past is the past. I don’t know what to tell you gentlemen. I can’t help you now. I don’t know anything.”

“‘Anything’ is such a general word, so unspecific,”// “Surely someone who owns so many books must know something .” 

“That’s like saying all Shadowhunters are brave because they have a weapon,” Alistair pointed out, garnering small laughter. 

Robert couldn’t help but look away. 

“ […] if you want to know where the Mortal Cup has disappeared to…” 

“‘Disappeared’ might not be quite the correct word,” // “ Hidden, more like. Hidden by Jocelyn.” 

Eyes flew to the older woman. “ You hid the cup?” Maryse accused. 

A wry smile spread across Jocelyn’s mouth. “So you believe their word over mine?” 

“You were the one who plotted against Valentine, so you tell me.” 

“I can say with certain positivity that I don’t have it.” 

“That may be,” // “So hasn’t she told you where it is yet?” 

“She has not yet regained consciousness,” // “Valentine is disappointed. He was looking forward to their reunion.” 

“Wait a minute,” Clary blurted. “Why would Valentine look forward to meeting you?”

“That’s not relevant right now Clary.” 

Keep your secrets then, she thought bitterly. 

“I’m sure she didn’t reciprocate the sentiment,” muttered Luke.  

Pangborn cackled. “Jealous, Graymark? Perhaps you no longer feel about her the way you used to.”

An awkward sort of silence took form in the room with Luke turning away from Jocelyn’s inquisitive stare. He didn't think his life would be dragged into this. Now he knew what Clary felt. Your personal business isn’t yours anymore. 

[…] “I never felt any way about her, particularly,” 

Jocelyn didn’t know why the dismissive remark hurt. 

“Two Shadowhunters, exiled from their own kind, you can see why we might have banded together. But I’m not going to try to interfere with Valentine’s plans for her, if that’s what he’s worried about.”

“I wouldn’t say he was worried,” said Pangborn. “More curious. We all wondered if you were still alive. Still recognizably human.”

“What does he mean by that?” Clary asked. 

Luke opened his mouth to answer and found himself choking on his words. Was his true nature really a spoiler for what was to come? 

Luke arched his eyebrows. “And?”

“You seem well enough,” // “There was a child, wasn’t there? A girl.”

Luke looked taken aback. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb,” // “We know the bitch had a daughter. They found photos of her in the apartment, a bedroom—”

Clary swore a litany of curses that had some of the Victorian women covering their ears.  “ — who does he think he’s talking to?”

The tips of Jessamine’s ears flared red. Has society really gotten so crass that unmarried women can swear in the presence of others? 

“[ …] Yes, Jocelyn had a daughter. Clarissa. I assume she’s run off. Did Valentine send you to find her?”

“Not us,” said Pangborn. “But he is looking.”

“Why would Valentine be looking for me?” 

“Isn’t it obvious Clary?” Jace drawled lazily. “Your mother was more than just an ordinary Shadowhunter during the Uprising. She betrayed him.” 

“Then what does he want with me if he already has her?” Clary challenged, twisting in her seat to stare him down. 

“Who knows, maybe they were married once.” 

The implication disgusted Clary. 

“Why would you even suggest that my mother could be married to a monster…” Clary trailed off, almost like something had just snapped into place, like she had remembered something that was said the day before. 

Jace looked sympathetic as the emotions played across Clary’s face. It’s not easy when you’re out of your depth and learning to adapt to the world around you. 

“We could search this place,” added Blackwell.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” said Luke // “What makes you think she’s still alive? I thought Valentine sent Raveners to scour the place. Enough Ravener poison, and most people will crumble away to ashes, leave no trace behind.”

Clary felt queasy as she attempted to organize her many thoughts. She thought she knew her mother after all these years, now she didn’t know what to think. This was a whole secret life she has never heard of before and how she is only now learning about it. 

“There was a dead Ravener,” said Pangborn. “It made Valentine suspicious.”

“Everything makes Valentine suspicious,” said Luke. “Maybe Jocelyn killed it. She was certainly capable.”

Alec looked at Luke through the corner of his eye. The man was lying through his teeth to protect Clary and Jocelyn, even when it meant coming out of it with his image less than intact to those he loved. It’s more than what he can say for his father, the reason why he’s so unhappy with his life.   

[…] “Look, I’ve got no idea where the girl is, but for what it’s worth, I’d guess she’s dead. She’d have turned up by now otherwise. Anyway, she’s not much of a danger. She’s fifteen years old, she’s never heard of Valentine, and she doesn’t believe in demons.”

“Now all of that is a lie,” Clary tried to joke, but it sounded flat even to her ears. Her voice have away her true feelings and it garnered pity from the rest of the room. 

[…] “…I’m not planning on interfering with Valentine’s plans, do you understand that? I’m not a fool.”

“Really?” said Blackwell. “It’s nice to see that you’ve developed a healthy respect for your own skin over the years, Lucian. You weren’t always so pragmatic.”

A muscle in Will’s face twitched. Shadowhunters weren’t allowed to run away from battle to save themselves. It was always kill or be killed. A different family line of his solidified the Clave’s standing on cowardice. 

“You do know,” // “that we’d trade her, Jocelyn, for the Cup? Safely delivered, right to your door. That’s a promise from Valentine himself.”

“It’s a trap Lucian,” Robert pointed out. “There’s always an ulterior motive when it comes to Valentine. You know it well.” 

“That I do,” he muttered bitterly. 

“I know,” said Luke. “I’m not interested. I don’t know where your precious Cup is, and I don’t want to get involved in your politics. I hate Valentine,” // “but I respect him. I know he’ll mow down everyone in his path. I intend to be out of his way when it happens. He’s a monster—a killing machine.”

Some of the Shadowhunters in the room felt uneasy. They’ve met Nephilim who had seemed off the rails, but they never quite turned their swords toward their own kind. They were prideful, they used their influence to get what they wanted, not their blades. So what drove Valentine to turn his back on his own kind other than his hatred for the Downworld?  

[ …]Luke nodded slowly. “Going to the country. I plan to lie low for a while.”

“We could stop you,” said Blackwell. “Make you stay.”

Luke smiled. It transformed his face. Suddenly he was no longer the kind, scholarly man who’d pushed Clary on the swings at the park and taught her how to ride a tricycle. Suddenly there was something feral behind his eyes, something vicious and cold. “You could try.”

“You have a good assessment of character,” Jem complemented, “but you need to realize that nothing will ever be the same as it was. Dwelling on the past will only slow you down.” 

“I know that,” she said softly. “It’s hard to wrap your head around when it’s technically only been three days. I’m barely skating by on two.” 

“It’s understandable, being lost. To grow as a person, one needs to be able to adapt to a situation within the moment.” 

Clary was a bit shocked at the wise words coming from the (somewhat) sickly looking boy. He was around the same age as her, yet he had an experienced aura and seemed way more mature than Clary could ever be. 

Pangborn glanced at Blackwell, who shook his head once, slowly. Pangborn turned back to Luke. “You’ll notify us if you experience any sudden memory resurgence?”

Luke was still smiling. “You’ll be first on my list to call.”

A small huff escaped Robert’s mouth. Like that would ever happen. Lucian was the last person to give information to Valentine, not after everything that has happened. 

…“I suppose we’ll take our leave. The Angel guard you, Lucian.”

“The Angel does not guard those like me,” said Luke… “On your way, gentlemen?”

Lifting their hoods to cover their faces again, the two men left the room, followed a moment later by Luke. […] // Clary stayed where she was, frozen, hearing the front door swing shut and the distant jingle of chain and keys as Luke refastened the padlock. She kept seeing the look on Luke’s face, over and over, as he said he wasn’t interested in what happened to her mother.

“That’s what you took away from that whole conversation?” Jace asked. “That he didn’t care about what happened to your mother?” He didn’t allow Clary time to reply. “How selfish are you?” 

“What are you even—so now it’s okay to make assumptions?” Clary angrily retorted. 

Jace just let out a sharp sounding laugh. “What’s there to assume?” 

Her mouth twisted, wanting nothing more than to punch Jace in his perfect looking face to knock him off his game. He was too observant for his own good and possessed an abysmal brain to mouth filter that no doubt has landed him in hotter water than the one that was currently bubbling. 

“The difference between us is that I can put my feelings aside for the moment to focus on the main problem at hand.” 

“And what was that?” 

“The fact that you even had to ask that shows how caught up you are in your own business.” 

“You—” 

“Children,” Magnus said, halting whatever curse was no doubt going to escape Clary’s mouth, “we don’t have time for your meaningless squabble. We are here to learn not fight.” 

Jace relented first. “Agree to disagree.” 

“Whatever.” 

…“Clary?” It was Simon, his voice hesitant, almost gentle. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head, mutely. She felt far from okay. In fact, she felt like she’d never be okay again.

Haven’t they all felt that way once? 

“Of course she isn’t.” It was Jace, his voice sharp and cold as ice shards […] “At least now we know who would send a demon after your mother. Those men think she has the Mortal Cup.”

Clary felt her lips thin into a straight line. “That’s totally ridiculous and impossible.”

“Open mind,” Jace said into her ear. 

Clary just jerked her head away from his voice. 

“Maybe,” // “Have you ever seen those men before?” // “Lucian seemed to know them. To be friendly with them.”

“I wouldn’t say friendly,” said Simon. “I’d say they were suppressing their hostility.”

“They didn’t kill him outright,” said Jace. “They think he knows more than he’s telling.”

“Valentine’s men were always cautious and borderline paranoid.” 

“How did Pangborn and Blackwell even find you?” Robert asked. “You aren’t the type of person to make mistakes like that.” 

“The better question is why did Valentine decide to act now when he could’ve found the both of you at any time?” Maryse pointed out. 

It was a question they didn’t know how to answer.  

“Maybe,” said Clary, “or maybe they’re just reluctant to kill another Shadowhunter.”

Jace laughed, a harsh, almost vicious noise that raised the hairs up on Clary’s arms. “I doubt that.”

Alec looked at Jace. What did he mean by that? 

She looked at him hard. “What makes you so sure? Do you know them?”

The laughter had gone from his voice entirely when he replied. “Do I know them?” he echoed. “You might say that. Those are the men who murdered my father.”

Jace couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. This was going to be a talk that he couldn’t bear to have, not after what he let Maryse and Robert believe. 

Chapter Text

“Jace,” came Maryse’s voice. “Why didn’t you tell us about this?” 

“Why would it matter?” Jace said, tone harsh and cold. “Wasn’t it enough that you knew Michael Wayland was dead? Why do you need the details of his demise?” He didn’t need to sneak a glance at Robert to know that the man was battling something internally. “To alleviate your guilt? It’s too many years too late for that.” 

“We could’ve helped.” Robert’s face wasn’t guarded or frigid like it normally was, it was vulnerable, a bit broken, and way too open to be gazed upon by a room of his ancestors. It humanized him to Alec, who wanted nothing more than approval from the overarching shadow of a man, who terrified him since he could remember. 

“Unlikely,” Jace spat. “You couldn’t have found Pangborn or Blackwell because I didn’t know who they were until now, nor would you even know where to look. Don’t start thinking I’m breakable, because I’m not.” 

His voice left no room for no further discussion. 

Chapter 9 - The Circle and the Brotherhood 

Clary stepped forward to touch Jace’s arm, say something, anything—what did you say to someone who’d just seen his father’s killers? 

“Nothing,” Jace answered, still a bit red in the face, the remaining traces of anger starting to fan out. “You say absolutely nothing .” 

… “We should go,” // “We don’t know when Luke might come back.” 

They left through the back entrance […] Simon said, “Does anyone want to tell me where we’re going?” 

“To the L train,” said Jace calmly. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” // “Demon slayers take the subway?” 

Henry knew that the future would be different than their present, but he didn’t think it’d change that drastically to the point that he did not know what a certain word meant or how it was now taken. Imagine his shock and overwhelming fascination when he heard the word subway. And the Wayland boy beat him in responding to the question that was left unasked. 

“The subway is a more modern railway system that runs underground as opposed to tunnels. A piece of public transportation that is accessed by everybody in the area.” 

Trains used to be a luxury to be on as the more common way in traveling was using a carriage or riding horseback. Not the train. They were used by an affluent couple going on vacation without their children, not to get to work or anywhere on a normal weekday. 

“It’s faster than driving.” 

“I thought it’d be something cooler, like a van with Death to Demons painted on the outside, or…” 

Jace didn’t even bother to interrupt. Clary shot Jace a sideways look. Sometimes, when Jocelyn was really angry about something or was in one of her upset moods, she would get what Clary called “scary-calm.” 

Emma would describe Julian the same way. The past month was proof of that. He always seemed so put together and unbothered that Emma never thought of how much change he was forced to endure after losing not only his parents, but Helen and Mark. 

It was a calm that made Clary think of the deceptive hard sheen of ice just before it cracked under your weight. Jace was scary-calm. His face was expressionless, but something burned at the backs of his tawny eyes. 

A good assessment of character, Jem said, and Will had to agree with his parabatai. Jem was rarely ever wrong when it came to his observations of people, he was more empathetic than Will ever allowed himself to be. A perfect balance, you could say, to Will’s fiery disposition. Looking at Jace Wayland, you wouldn’t think that he was a complex character from what you can see on the surface, but people were always more than what they seemed. 

“Simon,” she said. “Enough.” 

Simon shot her a look as if to say, Whose side are you on? but Clary ignored him. 

Simon didn’t take the same offense as his book counterpart. He understood that his grudges didn’t matter  when a bombshell as big as that was just dropped on them. Jace was an asshole, but a likable one when he wanted to be and it wasn’t because he despised Simon. There was a wall separating the blond from the world and there were no amount of words that would break it down. 

… She wondered if it was wrong that she was glad in some way that the men who’d taken her mother were the same men who’d killed Jace’s father all those years ago. 

Isabelle leaned forward, dropping her voice so only Clary heard. “It wouldn’t have mattered. He would have helped you anyway he could.” 

For whatever reason, Clary’s heart warmed at the thought, but she knew that he wasn’t feeling that generous at the moment. Not after calling her selfish for the very same reason the book was detailing. She only cared about those she loved and everyone else was just caught in the crosshairs. 

For now, at least, he’d have to help her find Jocelyn, whether he wanted to or not. For now, at least, he couldn’t leave her alone. 

Not that he’d want to, Simon thought somewhat bitterly. Leaving her alone, he means. He’s not stupid to ignore what’s going on between them, what would happen, most likely, if he didn’t say anything and kept mum. 

“You live here?” Simon […] “But it’s a church.” 

Jace reached into the neck of his shirt and pulled out a brass key… he hadn't locked the door behind him when they’d left the Institute before, just let it slam shut.  

“Mundanes can’t enter the Institute because of the glamours.” 

And because you aren’t a Shadowhunter, Kit thought. He remembered being in denial when Jem and Tessa told him that the Institute doors only opened to Shadowhunters and being so full of hope that he wouldn’t have been able to open the door, only for it to open in the most ironic way possible. 

Simon looked contemplative. Sure it was explained to him earlier, but there were still small details that stumped him. “So that’s why I couldn’t see any of you at first.” 

“That and with the Institute appearing to you as dilapidated,” Isabelle confirmed. “It’s not meant to be seen by those without the sight.” 

[…] Clary let her mind relax… cleaning away the glamour as if it were old paint. // There it was: the true vision… soaring spires of the cathedral… brass plate fixed to the stone wall… Institute’s name etched into it. She held the vision for a moment before letting it go almost with a sigh. 

“You haven’t gotten the chance to have your Clairvoyance rune right?” asked Jace. 

“No,” Clary answered, still navigating the hot-and-cold relationship she was starting to have with the other, “I haven’t.” 

“Would you want one?” 

She hesitated, glancing at the back of her hand, imagining what it’d be like to have a rune inked on her skin—a permanent one. It’d mark her as one of them, but she could never return to what it used to be (who was she kidding? It was already way past that, she could never go back to normal). 

Clary zoned back in to hear Jace saying, “…I could give one to you or—” 

“ I could.”

Clary whipped her head towards her mother, not expecting those words to ever leave her mouth. She didn’t know what to say and she was saved from answering when Jesse said, “Wouldn’t it be better to receive one from a Silent Brother?” to the suffocating silence, he added, “It is customary is it not?” 

She found herself agreeing with Jesse’s sentiment. It’s a permanent rune, one that solidifies her standing in this world. She’d be allied with the Shadowhunters but an enemy to the Downworld. “I’ll make my decision once this is all over.” 

“It’s a glamour, Simon,” // “It doesn’t really look like this.” 

“If this is your idea of glamour, I’m having second thoughts about letting you make me over.” 

… “I’m not sure you’re quite sensible of the honor I’m doing you,” // “You’ll be the first mundane who has ever been inside the Institute.” 

In New York, Sophie thought. She’s eternally grateful for Charlotte and the chance she had given Sophie when the Institute Head had found her in that alleyway. She knows now that no one else would’ve done what she did, they would’ve left her in that alley as she wasn’t one of them. 

“Probably the smell keeps the rest of them away.” 

“Ignore him,” // “He always says exactly what comes into his head. No filters.” 

“Like Jace in a way.” Isabelle said. 

Both Simon and Jace’s faces screwed up in disgust at the comparison. 

“Filters are for cigarettes and coffee,” Simon muttered… “Two things I could use right now, incidentally.” 

“You can have the coffee, not the cigarette.” Jocelyn warned. 

… stairs, each one carved with a glyph. She was beginning to recognize some of them… 

That’s impressive, Julian thought almost distantly. Those who didn’t know Latin or the mythology of the Nephilim—Angels and Demons—it’d be hard to understand the concept of it, let alone try to read as languages were one of the hardest things to learn way out of your prime age. 

[ …] At the thought of Luke, Clary’s stomach tightened, her appetite vanishing. 

It was wishful thinking, wondering if Clary would forgive him for what he’s kept from her. 

The elevator came to a hissing stop… “Chuch,” Jace said, kneeling down to stroke the cat’s gray head. “Where’s Alec, Church? Where’s Hodge?” 

Church arched his back and meowed. Jace crinkled his nose, which Clary might have found cute in other circumstances. 

Oh my god, Clary thought, face flushing at her own words. She did not just have that revealed in front of everyone. 

“Are they in the library?” [ …] Jace followed the cat as if this were the most natural thing in the world, indicating with a wave of his hand that Clary and Simon were to fall into step behind him.

“I don’t like cats,” Simon said, his shoulder bumping Clary’s as they maneuvered the narrow hallway.

“It’s unlikely,” Jace said, “knowing Church, that he likes you, either.”

Emma wondered how Church ended up in New York if Jem knew the cat. Surely something must've passed during that time frame for Church to even end up in a different institute overseas. Church only seemed to really like Jem’s presence over everyone else’s, but a glance at the young adult showed that he did not yet meet Church. 

They were passing through one of the corridors that were lined with bedrooms. Simon’s eyebrows rose. “How many people live here, exactly?”

“It’s an institute,” Clary said. “A place where Shadowhunters can stay when they’re in the city. Like a sort of combination safe haven and research facility.”

“I thought it was a church.”

“It’s inside a church.”

“Because that’s not confusing.” 

“But it’s not?” Kit said. “It’s exactly as it sounds. The Institute isn’t actually a church, it just looks like one on the outside.” 

Simon scowled. No one liked being schooled by a teenager or anyone younger than you, especially when it was things that were easy to grasp with his vast knowledge of the fantasy genre. 

…Clary reached down and took his hand, winding her fingers through his cold ones. His hand was clammy, but he returned the pressure with a grateful squeeze. // “I know it’s weird,” she said quietly, “but you just have to go along with it. Trust me.”

Simon let out a breath. It was things like this that he thought within the moment that maybe, just maybe, Clary would reciprocate his feelings. 

Simon’s dark eyes were serious. “I trust you,” he said. “I don’t trust him.” He cut his glance toward Jace, who was walking a few paces ahead of them, apparently conversing with the cat… 

Oddities aside, many knew why Simon didn’t trust Jace. He didn’t want to lose Clary to a stranger when he’s known her for longer. He sees the attraction she has for him and it’s clouding his judgment. And they all know what some would say: emotions cloud your judgment. This was a prime example of that. 

“Well, try,” she said. “Right now he’s the best chance I’m going to have of finding my mom.”

A little shudder passed over Simon. “This place feels not right to me,” he whispered.

“New experiences always feel wrong,” Cecily stated. 

Clary remembered how she’d felt waking up here this morning—as if everything were both alien and familiar at the same time.

Jocelyn had been hoping that Clary possessed the blind inner eye (hoping that she had to be trained to see the Shadow World), she was dead wrong when anything her daughter came into contact with was familiar and of the same world Jocelyn wanted to protect her from seeing. 

[ …] “You don’t have to stay with me,” she said, though she’d fought Jace on the train for the right to keep Simon with her, pointing out… he might well know something that would be useful to them…

Jace resisted the very strong urge to respond that Simon wouldn’t be of any help. 

“Yes,” Simon said, “I do.” …found themselves inside a kitchen… it was all modern… Isabelle, a round spoon in her hand, her dark hair pinned up on top of her head… // “I’m making soup,” … “Are you hungry?” …her dark gaze taking in Simon as well as Clary. “Oh, my God,” // “You brought another mundie here? Hodge is going to kill you.”

“What is your aversion with having mundanes in the Institute?” asked Gabriel Lightwood, one of the least likely candidates to ask such a question (especially when thinking about which family he came from).  

Isabelle didn’t have an answer for the question because that’s how she’s been taught. No outsiders belong in the Institute because they had no place there. It’s technically in the rules that institute heads should and could offer sanctuary to mundanes, but it just hasn’t happened under her parents’ guidance. 

“Isn’t that obvious?” Matthew pointed out, not nastily, but as an observation. “They don’t like outsiders.” Then to his parabatai he said, “Remind you of somebody, Jamie?” 

James couldn’t disagree, but he was trying to put what happened in the past, stay in the past. All he could say was, “Cut it out Math.” 

[ …] Jace was glaring at the cat. “I told you to bring me to Alec! Backstabbing Judas.”

Church rolled onto his back, purring contentedly.

Amused chuckles sounded in the room. 

“Don’t blame Church,” Isabelle said. “It’s not his fault Hodge is going to kill you.” She plunged the spoon back into the pot. Clary wondered what exactly peanut-fish-olive-tomato soup tasted like.

Clary pulled a face at the description. She had a feeling that Isabelle had no idea how to cook, but she had the spirit. 

“I had to bring him,” Jace said. “Isabelle—today I saw two of the men who killed my father.”

Isabelle’s shoulders tightened, but when she turned around, she looked more upset than surprised.

And why is that?  Clary thought stupidly before immediately supplying herself with the answer. She thinks—knows—he’s still hung up on his father’s death. Isabelle knows Jace far more better than Clary ever could. 

 “I don’t suppose he’s one of them?” she asked, pointing her spoon at Simon.

To Clary’s surprise, Simon said nothing to this. He was too busy staring at Isabelle, rapt and openmouthed. 

Simon scratched the back of his neck. He won’t lie and say that Isabelle isn’t attractive, gorgeous even, but it was startling to look at her when he saw her the first time. He can admit to himself that Isabelle is way out of his league, he knows a lost cause when he sees one. Especially when he’s still hung up on Clary. 

Of course, Clary realized with a sharp stab of annoyance. 

Simon reigned in his desire to look at Clary. He was surprised that she even thought that way. Why would she think that way? She didn’t like him like that, did she?

Isabelle was exactly Simon’s type—tall, glamorous, and beautiful. Come to think of it, maybe that was everyone’s type. 

Sophie saw some truth to Clary’s statement. People wanted beauty over other qualities. People were vain, selfishly wanting things they can’t have and taking it out on the innocent. She resisted the urge to run her fingers over her scar. This was what beauty got her in this cruel world. 

[…] “Of course not,” Jace said. “Do you think he’d be alive now if he were?”//… “I can’t believe you’ve been stuffing him with fish again. He’s looking distinctly podgy.”

“He does not look podgy. Besides, none of the rest of you ever eat anything. I got this recipe from a water sprite at the Chelsea Market. He said it was delicious—”

“If you knew how to cook, maybe I would eat,” Jace muttered.

Isabelle smacked him in the arm, making sure he jumped in his seat from the pain. 

“Ow!” Jace exclaimed, giving his adoptive sister a dirty look. “That was completely unnecessary.”

“It’s what you deserve.” 

[ …] Clary, inexplicably furious, dropped her backpack on the floor and followed Jace to the refrigerator. 

“I can’t believe you’re eating,” she hissed.

“What should I be doing instead?” // …She glanced over at Simon, who appeared to have succeeded in engaging Isabelle in conversation. “Can we go find Hodge now?”

Jace had many antagonistic words he could say to Clary at this very moment. He could point out why he didn’t have to follow her desires instead of taking a break (seeing as he did a lot of the heavy work, i.e killing a Forsaken and cleaning up after her impulsive actions so as to not get caught by Luke and the other men). It was incredibly childish (dare he say) for wanting to leave the moment things got hard just because you couldn’t handle it. Why couldn't he compartmentalize after seeing his father’s killers before seeing Hodge? Did everybody have to run on her time, to revolve around her?

He didn’t say any of it however. Jace already knew she was thinking it and while poking a sleeping tiger may be exhilarating, it doesn’t mean he’ll get out unscathed. 

[…] “I haven’t decided yet.” // “But if you want to go so badly—”

“I do.”

“Fine.”

He seemed awfully calm, she thought, not scary-calm as he had been before, but more contained than he ought to be. She wondered how often he let glimpses of his real self peek through the facade …

Unsettling, is the only word Jace could use to describe Clary Fray. It’s one thing to be seen, but it’s another to be seen like you were a fresh pane of glass. 

“Where are you going?” Simon looked up as they reached the door… he looked stupidly dazed…as if someone had hit him across the back of the head with a two-by-four.

Simon stifled the urge to scoff. So now it was okay for her to be busy and distracted by someone else, but the moment he does suddenly he looks dumb?

“To find Hodge,” she said. “I need to tell him about what happened at Luke’s.”

Isabelle looked up. “Are you going to tell him that you saw those men, Jace? The ones that—”

“I don’t know.” He cut her off. “So keep it to yourself for now.” […] // “No one wants any soup.”

“I want some soup,” Simon said.

“No, you don’t,” said Jace. “You just want to sleep with Isabelle.”

The air turned awkward. 

Jace’s cheeks flushed uncharacteristically at his blunt approach. He knows the mindset his counterpart is currently inhabiting (he doesn’t particularly like strangers and Simon was barely likable at the moment) and there were a lot of thoughts running through his head. None of them particularly pleasant. 

Simon was appalled. “That is not true.”

“How flattering,” Isabelle murmured into the soup, but she was smirking.

Isabelle held in her wince. She was not helping the situation one bit. At times she was just as bad as Jace, and she can see that from an outsider’s point of view. 

“Oh, yes it is,” said Jace. “Go ahead and ask her—then she can turn you down and the rest of us can get on with our lives while you fester in miserable humiliation.” // “Hurry up, mundie boy, we’ve got work to do.”

“That’s a bit cruel,” Emma said to her role model, a bit surprised to see how he had changed so much.  

“I never said I was perfect.” 

“I think you have,” Alec pointed out. “Multiple times.” 

“Shut up,” he said to Alec before turning to Emma, “I am human, I may be perfect at times, but I am selfish, cruel, and all the above. I can admit that.” 

…Clary, who a moment ago would have been meanly pleased, felt a rush of anger toward Jace. “Leave him alone,” she snapped. “There’s no need to be sadistic just because he isn’t one of you .”

Alec shot a look at Jace as if to say, are you seeing this? 

Jace just shook his head. There’s no point in trying to understand Clary Fray. She can be incredibly loyal to her friends while also forgetting about them in the next to focus on her own goals. 

“One of us ,” // “I’m going to find Hodge. Come along or not, it’s your choice.” 

It was a truth Clary would have to accept, but it was hard to. Being told something you aren’t exactly sure of. She may have Shadowhunter blood, but it does not mean she is one of them yet. She’s still that girl who wants to attend her Tisch art classes without much fanfare. Clary doesn’t want to wield a blade nor does she want to kill anyone. 

…Isabelle ladled some of the soup into a bowl and pushed it across the counter toward Simon…soup was a dark green color, studded with floating brown things.

Dru didn’t think it sounded that appealing. Who would want to eat that when there were far better things? Like pancakes? 

“I’m going with Jace,” Clary said. “Simon …?”

“Mmgnstayhr,” he mumbled, looking at his feet.

“What?”

“I’m going to stay here.” Simon parked himself on a stool. “I’m hungry.”

“He’s a liar.” Dru said to Ty. “Would you want to eat green soup?”

Ty’s face scrunched up in disgust. 

“Fine.” Clary’s throat felt tight, as if she’d swallowed something either very hot or very cold… 

Clary didn’t know why she was feeling this way. Sure, Simon was her friend, but she doesn’t control him or his actions. She’s not his mother, she has no claim over him. He can do what he wants, so why is she so butthurt about him wanting to hang out with Isabelle than coming along with her? 

…“Kind of you to leave the lovebirds to it.”

Clary frowned at him. “Why are you always such an asshat?”

“Clary!” 

“No offense Ms. Fray,” 

“An asshat?” Jace looked as if he were about to laugh.

“What you said to Simon—”

“I was trying to save him some pain. Isabelle will cut out his heart and walk all over it in high-heeled boots. That’s what she does to boys like that.”

“Is that what she did to you?”

“Ew,” immediately flew from both Isabelle and Jace’s mouths. 

“She’s like a sister,” Jace glanced at Isabelle with a vaguely disgusted look on his face. “It’s like kissing Alec,” Alec’s grip on his arm rest tightened, he knew what was coming. It’d still hurt for as long as he let it, but it was no slight on Jace. He just wasn’t interested. He’s known that for a while, but denial was one emotion that was hard to shake. “No offense,” he said to Alec. 

“None taken.”  

 […] Clary, trailing a little behind Jace, could see the stress and tiredness in the line of Jace’s shoulders. She wondered if the tension ever really left him. 

Unlikely, Alec thought somewhat resentfully. You could never get Jace to take a break, no matter the circumstances around the situation. It’s one of the qualities that are both admirable yet difficult to deal with

. 

 …“I’m sorry. For snapping at you.”

He chuckled. “Which time?”

“You snap at me, too, you know.”

“I know,” he said, surprising her. 

“I’n not a liar, you know?” 

“I don’t actually, that’s why I’m surprised.” 

“There’s something about you that’s so—”

“Irritating?”

“Unsettling.”

So he felt the same way as he did now. Just when you thought you understood Clary Fray, you realize you never did in the first place. It’s not that she’s unpredictable (because she certainly isn’t, sometimes she’s too predictable), but it’s what she chooses to focus on and how she reacts to it. If it were anyone else who had just found out about a completely new world they’ve never witnessed, they’d be in denial and unwilling to trust a stranger, yet here she was plowing ahead to make ends meet (albeit for selfish reasons; she had no regard for the mortal cup). 

She wanted to ask if he meant that in a good or a bad way…“Does Isabelle always make dinner for you?” she asked.

“No, thank God…

“Asshole.” 

“I won’t deny that as long as you admit you can’t cook.”  

…Most of the time the Lightwoods are here and Maryse—that’s Isabelle’s mother—she cooks for us. She’s an amazing cook.” […]

“Then how come she never taught Isabelle?” […]

“Because,” // “it’s only been recently that women have been Shadowhunters along with men. I mean, there have always been women in the Clave—mastering the runes, creating weaponry, teaching the Killing Arts—but only a few were warriors, ones with exceptional abilities…

“That is true,” Charlotte said. “Women aren’t held to the same standard as men and we have to fight to have our voices heard.” 

Something in her voice made Jace ask—to confirm , “Did you say you were Charlotte Fairchild?” 

“Yes?” Charlotte didn’t know what the other was thinking. What’s so special about her family name? 

Jace’s face transformed, shining with some new discovery, but he didn’t say. It was unlikely he could, seeing as he possibly knew something about her future. 

…They had to fight to be trained. Maryse was a part of the first generation of Clave women who were trained as a matter of course—and I think she never taught Isabelle how to cook because she was afraid that if she did, Isabelle would be relegated to the kitchen permanently.”

Jessamine thought otherwise. It was partially due to her family background, but women didn’t need to be the protectors when they could just marry someone who could. She’s always wanted a domestic life that wasn’t full of blood and demons, but everything had to topple over, landing her in the London Institute where she never wanted to be. And she’s bloody miserable. 

“Would she have been?” Clary asked curiously. She thought of Isabelle in Pandemonium, how confident she’d been and how assuredly she’d used her blood-spattering whip.

If Isabelle was anything like her mother, she wouldn’t take it standing still. Maryse was fiery and self-assured when she was younger, still possibly is, but Jocelyn hasn’t spent much time with the other woman to find out. 

Jace laughed softly. “Not Isabelle. She’s one of the best Shadowhunters I’ve ever known.”

“Better than Alec?”

“That’s a bit uncalled for don’t you think?” Alec hadn’t taken much offense to that as he now knew that Clary had a natural curiosity that was both irritating yet admirable. He had a feeling his book counterpart wouldn’t feel the same way. 

“I’m sorry,” Clary said a bit sheepishly. “I didn’t know how that’d sound.” 

[…] “So he’s in the greenhouse,” Jace said. It took Clary a moment before she realized he was speaking to the cat. “No surprise there.”

“The greenhouse?” Clary said.

…“Hodge likes it up there. He grows medicinal plants, things we can use. Most of them only grow in Idris. I think it reminds him of home.”

“And why can he not go to Idris?” Cordelia asked.  

“He can’t leave the New York Institute,” Jace answered. “He’s cursed to never leave.” 

That’s part of it, Robert thought a bit guiltily. 

…“Is he better than Isabelle?” she asked again. “Alec, I mean.”

He paused and looked down at her, leaning down from the steps as if he were poised to fall. She remembered her dream: angels, falling and burning.  

“Dreams are a warning,” James said. “It is not a good omen for what is to come.”

“And how do you know that?” Clary asked. 

He hesitated slightly, knowing Matthew was bound to have so many questions. “I have had a few of my own and  they have come true with very real consequences.” 

Clary nodded, eyes contemplative as she tried to make sense of his words. 

Matthew nudged him in the ribs, “You’re telling me about this later,” he whispered. 

“Better?” he said. “At demon-slaying? No, not really. He’s never killed a demon.”

Will’s eyebrows raised to his hairline, but he didn’t comment on it. His experiences with the Lightwoods told him that his words would not be taken too lightly. It was a pride issue if you pointed it out. And that was just fine. Being a Shadowhunter didn’t mean you had to be excellently skilled at killing demons, but you had to be there for your fellow warriors and be able to stand your ground when the time called for it.

Alec, true to Will’s assumption, flushed with embarrassment. He’s sure others in the room have killed demons (and haven’t) and didn’t have the same feelings as he did. But it was something he wasn’t proud of. He’s supposed to be the head of the family after his father. Marry, continue on the bloodline for the sake of the family instead of focusing on his own desires. And maybe that included being able to protect that family rather than taking a backseat and letting them fend for themselves. (He blames his father for all his problems, but he won’t ever admit it, always thinking there’s something wrong with him.)

…“I don’t know why not. Maybe because he’s always protecting Izzy and me.” […] // The smell struck Clary the moment she passed through the doors: a green, sharp smell, the smell of living and growing things, of dirt and the roots that grew in dirt. […] a huge glass-walled enclosure, lined with trees whose thickly leaved branches breathed out cool green-scented air. […] 

The greenhouse was the one place in the institute that Jace fully felt at peace and he was (somewhat) glad that Clary could see the beauty in it. 

Clary exhaled. “It smells like …” Springtime, she thought, before the heat comes and crushes the leaves into pulp and withers the petals off the flowers.

Julian admired Clary’s imaginative mind. She may not know it yet, but she was a good artist because she had an eye for the details, to focus on what is important while also catching onto the small things without much difficulty. 

“Home,” said Jace, “to me.” 

“Is it like Idris?”

“Like the forest,” Jace said wistfully. He hasn’t visited Idris since he’s arrived in New York, but he didn’t imagine himself being homesick. There weren’t many memories there he’d like to relive, but it was still home for a time. 

[…] greenhouse was laid out in what seemed to Clary’s untrained eye no particular pattern, but everywhere she looked was a riot of color[…] a low granite bench rested against the bole of a drooping tree with silvery-green leaves…Hodge sat on the bench, his black bird perched on his shoulder…staring thoughtfully down at the water, but looked skyward at their approach…the glass roof of the greenhouse shining above them like the surface of an inverted lake.

“It sounds like Lake Lyn,” Gabriel said quietly, enough so that his words would’ve fell on deaf ears if it weren’t for Cecily catching them. 

“What is Lake Lyn?” She asked just as silent. 

His eyes shot to her, wide and so devastatingly green, like he had forgotten she was there. Cecily had kept her mouth shut for most of her tenure because she could not think of something to say, and when she did, someone else had already asked so there was no reason for her to speak.