A/N: I came up with this idea after just having re-read the Mortal Instruments series. It picks up in City of Bones. The night that Jocelyn was kidnapped. But instead of waiting until the evening to attack, Valentine came during the day, while Clary was home alone, before Luke and Jocelyn showed up with boxes announcing they were going out to the farmhouse.

This is my version of what would have happened if Clary had met Valentine before knowing anything about the world of Shadowhunters. I'm not sure if I'm going to leave this as a one-shot, or possibly expand it a bit. Please let me know what you think. If you like this idea, I can play it out for a few more chapters. It will, eventually, line up with the series. It's just a slightly different beginning.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, ideas, events, etc. belong to Cassandra Clare. Nothing belongs to me. No copyright infringement intended.

….

Clarissa Fray sat curled up in the corner of the couch in the living room of her small apartment. Her mother was out, presumably with Luke, as they were normally always together. As Clary continued drawing in her sketch pad, she bit her bottom lip in concentration. After a moment, she gave a frustrated grunt, blew a stray lock of red hair out of her face and flipped the page so that she had a blank sheet to work on.

No matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn't get the images quite right. The tattoos the boy had were black but they seemed to almost be glowing. As if they were alive or magical. But that was just silly. Tattoos couldn't possibly be alive and there was no such thing as magic. That's what her mother would say, at least. But Clary was beginning to have her doubts.

The night at Pandemonium still had her baffled. The gorgeous golden haired boy telling her about demons and calling her a mundane. She shouldn't have been able to see them at all, they had said. The girl with the golden whip and the boy with the dark hair and brooding expression. All three of them had skin inked with the black runes.

Closing her eyes, Clary tried to imagine what the individual runes had looked like. She placed her pencil to the paper with her eyes still closed, and it began to move. When she looked down at it, it was a perfect replica of the rune she had been thinking of. But it didn't shimmer the way the tattoos had. Perhaps she would never get it exactly right. A breeze ruffled her shoulder-length hair and Clary looked up sharply.

There shouldn't have been a breeze.

The apartment's front door stood ajar. Clary threw her sketchpad across the couch and got up. Had she forgot to close the door all the way when she came in? Unsure, she closed the door and pressed until she was certain she heard the light snick that signaled it was closed securely. She locked it for good measure.

With a light shake of her head she went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Although she wasn't sure why, she now felt a bit uneasy. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement. She spun around and screamed. Throwing herself back, her spine hit the countertop as she found herself face-to-face with an intruder.

He was tall, handsome in a way, with white blonde hair and bright eyes. He was wearing an oddly formal looking suit and she could tell that beneath the suit he was well built. His stance was confident and Clary found herself shrinking back, as if she could fold in on herself and disappear entirely. "Whatever you want, just take it," she said.

She studied the man for a moment. He brought his hand up and held in his fist a knife. It wasn't the knife, however, that had caught her attention. It was the black tattoo on the back of his hand. A rune. Just like the ones she had been trying to draw. "I'm not a thief," said the man shortly. Still holding the knife aloft, he looked Clary up and down and she couldn't repress the shiver of terror that ran through her. She didn't want this man looking at her. "You look exactly like Jocelyn," he commented, "I don't see any of Lucian in you."

"What?" Clary's curiosity had always outweighed her fear. What was this man talking about? Who was Lucian?

"I forgot," the man sneered, "he goes by a different name now, doesn't he? Luke."

"Why would I look like Luke?" snapped Clary, feeling brave despite the situation.

"Isn't he your father?"

"What? No!" For the first time, the man looked uncertain. He slowly brought his hand down, the knife sliding into a weapons belt that was secured on his hips. He brought his hand up and took a firm hold of Clary's chin turning her face to the left, then to the right.

Why hadn't he seen it before? The stern set of her jaw, the shape of her nose, even in the look of loathing she gave him now. "How old are you?" Although he was shaken, his voice was steady.

"Sixteen," Clary only lied a little bit. After all, it was only a few days until her sixteenth birthday.

"By the angel," he gasped and stepped back away from her. Jocelyn had left him just over sixteen years ago. This girl. She wasn't Lucian's daughter. She was his.

"Let go of me," she snarled.

His long fingers released her chin and she rubbed it ruefully. "My name," he said importantly, "is Valentine Morgenstern."

"Oh no," said Clary, remembering one of the many pieces of knowledge she had attained from her best friend, Simon Lewis, "If the bad guy tells someone his name, it's because he doesn't plan on letting them live."

Valentine's mouth quirked a bit, "I'm not the bad guy here, Clarissa. Do you not recognize my name?"

"Should I?"

"I'm your father."

Clary merely blinked at him, "That was a bit dramatic, don't you think? Overdone, too. Who do you think you are, Anakin Skywalker? You can't just come breaking into my home telling me that you're my father. My father is dead. His name was John Clark. My mom keeps a box with a few of his things in her room. His initials are even on the box; J.C."

Valentine's expression changed. Did he suddenly look…hopeful? "J.C. does not stand for John Clark," he dismissed, "Jocelyn has lied to you about many things. Your parentage is just one."

"My mother wouldn't lie to me," spat Clary, "if J.C. doesn't stand for John Clark, then what else would it stand for?"

"Jonathan Christopher. Your brother." His words were like a slap in the face. She flinched and recoiled.

"I don't have a brother."

"Yet another lie of your mother's. Before you, we had a son. His name was Jonathan Christopher. All of these years she probably believed he was dead. Although I doubt she would have been foolish enough to believe I was dead. That's probably why she changed her name and did all she could to hide yourselves from me."

"You're lying," Clary wondered how long it would be until her mother and Luke arrived home. How much longer did she have to keep this man talking until she was rescued?

"Am I?" Valentine reached for his pocket and Clary flinched again, assuming he was reaching for another weapon. He saw her movement, "I would never hurt you, Clarissa," he paused, saying her name again, "Clarissa. Not a name I would have chosen. I always wanted a daughter, you know. I would have named you Seraphina, after my mother." He extracted something from his pocket and held it out to her.

Cautiously, she reached out, snatched it from him and retreated to the corner of the kitchen. He was blocking the only exit. To her shock, it was a photograph. In the picture was the man before her, Valentine, and her mother. Jocelyn. Clary's knees felt weak. In Jocelyn's arms was a baby. A baby who was very obviously not Clary. The baby had white blonde hair and dark eyes.

Valentine's arm was around Jocelyn as the happy family smiled at the camera. "Your grandmother, Jocelyn's mother, took that photograph. Behind us is Fairchild Manor. The place where your mother grew up. Where your brother was born. Where you would have lived had she not left me."

"Why?" Clary was so full of questions she didn't know which one to ask first, but scarily enough, she believed this man. She believed that the man before her was her father. "Why did she leave you?"

"I presume," he said mildly, "because she wanted to keep you safely out of the way."

"Out of the way of what?"

"Do you really not know what blood runs in your veins?" Clary shook her head and Valentine looked sad, "There is so much I can show you. So much I can teach you that you never knew. But there isn't time here. Come with me, meet your brother, and I will tell you everything. Everything your mother wanted to keep from you."

"What blood runs in my veins?" she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.

"The blood of the angel, of course. You are a Shadowhunter, Clarissa."

"Shadowhunters…and they, are what? Part angel?" her thoughts went immediately back to the three people she had met at Pandemonium, "and hunt demons?"

"Yes," said Valentine, "but that's only a small portion of what we are and what we can do."

"I'll go with you," she said uncertainly, "but only if you take me to see them again. The Shadowhunters I met the other night. Isabelle, Alec, and…Jace."

Valentine's eyebrows came together for a moment in confusion, those names rang a bell. Robert and Maryse Lightwood had children named Isobelle and Alec. Jace…that must be what they call Jonathan now. "Of course. I know the Lightwood children. I would be delighted to formally introduce you."

He stretched out his hand to her. Clary hesitated, feeling like she was about to make a very important decision. This man felt foreign to her. More than that, there was something dark about him, something she didn't like or trust. But he was her father. Her mother had lied to her, kept secrets from her. It was her anger at her mother that made her do it. She reached her hand out and placed it in his. Right as their fingers touched, a figure appeared in the doorway behind Valentine. "Luke," she breathed.

Valentine spun around, Clary in his arms in front of him like a shield as he drew a weapon from his belt. Luke was in a crouch, a throwing star in his hand that Clary had never seen him carry before. "Valentine," Luke snarled.

"Lucian," Valentine said calmly, "as much as I appreciate you looking after my wife and daughter the past sixteen years, I must advise you move out of my way or I will kill you. The girl has agreed to come with me, to learn the ways of Shadowhunters. You cannot stop her. According to the law it is her decision to make. Would you defy the Clave, Downworlder?" he spit the last word like a curse.

"Let her go, Valentine, she doesn't understand our ways."

"Our ways," Valentine repeated, "as if you were still one of the Nephilim, Lucian Graymark."

"Don't," said Clary, "don't hurt him," she was begging Valentine. Her eyes wide and scared. This man, her father, was obviously not someone to trifle with and as she was ignorant of Luke's own skill, she assumed Valentine could easily kill Luke if he felt so inclined.

"Of course I wouldn't," said Valentine and he sounded so sincere that Clary believed him. "I'm your father, Clarissa, and if you make a request of me, I will do my best to honor it."

"Luke? Clary?" Jocelyn's voice came from the living room. "I could use some help with these boxes."

Everyone in the room reacted to the sound of her voice. "Run!" Luke yelled, "Jocelyn, run! He's here! I'll get Clary!"

Jocelyn, of course, having heard Luke's command, instead of running away ran into the kitchen, shocked and unprepared for the scene before her. "Valentine," she sounded like she had been slapped. To Clary, that was all the proof she needed; the look on her mother's face.

"It's truly?" she couldn't stop the tears that were building in her eyes, "this man, he's my father?"

"Clarissa, please," Jocelyn began.

"No! You lied to me! You said my father was dead!"

"To think," said Valentine conversationally, "I came for you, and found a daughter instead. Stand aside, Jocelyn, and I will leave with just the girl."

"Over my dead body," she crouched, like Luke, both of them blocking the door way.

Valentine sighed as if the sight before him was nothing more than a slight inconvenience. "Tell them, Clarissa," Valentine prompted, "what you want."

"I'm-I'm going with Valentine," as she spoke she became more confident, "to learn how to be a Shadowhunter."

"You see? She has made her choice. If you deny her, I will make sure the Clave knows of this and they will come for her."

"I would rather the Clave have her than you," Jocelyn sounded like Clary had never heard her sound before. Like a warrior. Someone who was tough and a formidable opponent.

Valentine looked angered by her words, but it was Luke who said, "Enough! Let go of her, Valentine. Leave now and we won't attack you, but if you try to leave with Clary, we will kill you."

Jocelyn steeled herself and said, "Take me instead. You said that you came here for me and found her. Take what you came here for. I will go with you willingly if you leave Clarissa with Luke."

Valentine considered for a moment. "Why should I do that when I can take you both by force?"

"If you take us by force," Jocelyn's voice was firm, steady, "I will fight you with everything that is within me. I'll never stop fighting you, Valentine. But if you leave Clary, I'll go with you willingly. I'll go collect my things right now and go with you without any resistance."

Valentine weighed his options and nodded, "Get your things then. Quickly, before I change my mind." All things considered, it would be easier this way, he reasoned. Take Jocelyn, then once he was sure she couldn't leave him again, he would return for his daughter. When Jocelyn had left the room, he said to Luke, "Make no mistake, Graymark, I will come back for my daughter."

"I'll kill you when you do," promised Luke. Jocelyn reappeared a moment later, a small bag in hand, "You don't have to do this," said Luke, "we can end this right now, Jocelyn."

But she knew better. She alone knew what Valentine was capable of. She knew that he probably had several demons at his command by now. He wouldn't have come here unless he was confident he would win. "Yes, I do."

"I'll find you," said Luke.

"Take care of Clary." Jocelyn went to Valentine's side and together the two of them walked out of the apartment.