Glass Wings
Summary: When two members of the New York Clave go missing, all of the hunters have to fight to bring them back. Sometimes family is a gift and sometimes a burden. A Night School/Mortal Instruments Crossover, Rese/Cass, Clary/Jace, Alec/Magnus, Isabelle/Simon, Maryse, Robert, Daemon.
Warning: see above.
Set: Story-unrelated, roughly set after the first MI series. Will contain plot elements of both original stories.
Disclaimer: The Mortal Instrments belong to Cassandra Clare, Night School is property of Svetlana Chmakova.
A/N: For Snowlia, and for everyone else who thinks these two worlds fit each other. And to those who love both – or either.
Prologue – A Hall in Alicante
"Bring them here, Amatis."
Nobody calls her by her last name, as if there was an insult hidden in between the words that could not already be read from the harshness of the Inquisitor's voice. Amatis Greymark has not changed at all except that she has. Her once-vibrant, dark hair has turned grey, as if to match her name. There are lines in her face and her shoulders are bent. As if she has to carry the weight of the world. Nobody has placed it on her, she thinks. There is no contempt in her but no pity, either. Amatis is one of the people who feel guilty no matter how little fault they have. And besides, all of them have things they regret, one or another.
Small, brittle.
The twins stand in the middle of the hall, tiny in the marble splendor of the Hall of Accords, without touching. Still. There is a connection, she feels it instinctively, something that links them together and that goes beyond words. Beyond blood, even.
"There still is the matter of these children."
Michael's children, she thinks. Robert at her side is still as stone, has barely said a word throughout the entire Conclave. Both of them know they are not there because their opinion matters. Anything but. The twins have the same light, blonde hair, though the girl's seems darker. Dark eyes. Small faces. Maryse misses the weight of Max in her arms, suddenly and sharply. Yes, what to do with them? There are more than enough orphaned children in Idris, more than enough in Alicante. Angel, the world is full of them, be they mundane or nephilim. She hopes Hodge remembered to turn on the night light in Isabelle's room. She hopes he took away Alec's book, otherwise he would read until he fell asleep.
"My wife surely would agree to take in the boy," someone offers. Maryse's eyes dart over the hall's crowd – Frederic Hunt, lean and gnarled. He fought on the right side. The thought is poisonous. There shouldn't be sides left but some things can never be undone. "Wayland did train them, didn't he?"
Amatis lifts her hand, hesitatingly, she never will speak freely to the Conclave again. "I would… I would like to take care of her." Her hand, having its own mind, hovers over the girl's shoulder, lingers to touch her cheek. Yes, it would be a solution. It is too much to ask of any nephilim to take in both children at once. But Amatis will be kind and with Frederic, the boy would have the chance to-
"Don't," the boy says. His voice hard and clear and rings through the entire hall, "you dare touching her."
Maryse sees it although she doubts the Inquisitor can.
"I'll take them both."
She ignores Robert's startled movement of surprise as she walks forward. Husband, is he? Max was their last try – her last, desperate move to mend what was broken.
"I'll care for them." She does not say as if they were my own children.
"You already have three children," the Inquisitor says and frowns. Her blue eyes are cold. For her, Maryse can feel pity. And hate. "You are banned from Idris, don't forget."
"I haven't. They will come with us, to New York." They will have to make do. Somehow.
"Both of them." Imogen makes it sound like she just said the skies had split and it was raining frogs. "Does your husband agree?"
Robert clears his throat and steps forward, comes to stand next to her. She does not look at him. She has fought for seven years now. She is weary. "We will be the parents to these children."
Grateful, she lets him help her. They are trying to remain friends, to keep the last pieces of their sanity intact. It is only them, in a house full of shadows and memories. Their children are there, yes, and Hodge, but overall, it is them on their own. Sometimes, it is hard. On other occasions she knows she loves him, even if he does not love her anymore.
…
She leaves the Hall of Accords two hours later.
In the shadows of the marble columns Amatis is waiting; the children small and pale in the afternoon sunlight. Maryse kneels down in front of them.
"My name is Maryse," she tells them; she knows her voice often sounds harsh but she tries. She does not want to scare them further, drive them against the wall. The damage already has been done, she thinks, and then she thinks: Why did I do this? A place that is not her home, children she barely sees because she has too much work, her people do not trust her because she was in Valentine's Circle. Last thing she needs are two traumatized children to add to her gallery of a broken home. She tries to smile. They stir something in her, deep inside. "You will stay with me and my family from now on."
She waits, for an eternity. Two pairs of eyes glance back at her. Then the girl takes a step, gingerly, her arms wrap around Maryse's neck. Sweet-smelling hair brushes her cheek. She embraces the girl and feels for the boy's hand. He lets her hold it. Maryse Lightwood stands there and feels the desperation in the small arms, the sorrow in the trembling little hand in hers. The girl is lighter than even Isabelle.
"Let's go home," she tells them.
She carries Teresa out of the Hall of Accords and Jonathan follows her, his hand still tucked into hers.