Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments or any of the characters within except for the ones of my own creation, all inspired by the series created by Cassandra Clare. Enjoy.
I- Alley
Wind swooshed past Clary's ears, whipping her hair back as she faced the East River. The dark water twinkling in the moonlight relaxed her. After everything that had happened these past few weeks, it was hard for her to find even a second of calmness. She was always on edge.
Nightmares plagued her sleep; visions of the blood spattered streets of Alicante, dying bodies of Nephilim, Downworlders, and Demons gurgling their last breaths as the life drained out of their eyes, the smell of evil hanging in the air as their enemies surged, and of Jace. She always saw Jace, lying on the bank by Lake Lyn, the gaping hole in his chest where his own father had attempted to sacrifice him staring at her, searing into her mind, burning her heart open.
She never got to the part where Raziel appeared, where he granted her wish for Jace to return to her. Where he brought Jace back to her. Her dreams always ended before that moment, leaving Clary to awaken in a cold sweat, panting, believing for just a moment that reality had been a dream, and the dream a reality: that Jace was dead. The only thing that reassured her was looking over to see Jace in the bed next to her, the nights he spent with her, simply lying with her as they slept, nothing more but that peace. Or if his presence was absent, looking at her phone, reading text messages or replaying voicemail saved from him.
Clary knew Jace was alive, and for now at least, he wasn't going anywhere, but she was still haunted by that terrible day. So many lives were lost, and the beautiful splendor of Alicante was tainted crimson as black smoke curled into the sky from the wards.
The cold wetness of a previous rain was dampening her jeans as she sat perched on a short ledge, the concrete pressing into her. She felt a small desire to get up and leave, go somewhere warm, but she didn't have the heart to retreat. Besides that, she was feeling lazy.
Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her black jacket pocket, reading the screen to see a text from Simon.
Need to talk. SOS.
She sighed and placed it back into the folds of her coat. Simon always needed to talk lately, always had another emergency. Ever since he had become a vampire, a Child of the Moon, he had changed, become braver… more attractive. His newfound self was appealing to two girls in particular, his girlfriends, Maia, the werewolf girl, and Isabelle, Jace's adoptive sister, a Nephilim. Both were Clary's friends, and both were being used by Simon, who couldn't decide what he wanted.
And why would he even try? Clary thought with a tinge of bitterness. He's so damn hot now; of course he's going to use that to his advantage. He's not used to being fawned over by girls like Maia and Izzy.
Her phone buzzed again, this time twice. She groaned and pulled it out once more. The screen read a message from Simon again and one from Jace. Curious now, she read them.
Please Clary. We need to talk now. That was from Simon.
Clary, come to the institute. That one from Jace.
She stood up, knowing something was wrong now. Clary had been avoiding the institute lately, despite the fact that that was where she was currently living. Her mother returned to her in full health was nice, but they didn't have the money for a new apartment, income cut off obviously while her Jocelyn Fray had been incapacitated. Jocelyn had been staying with Luke, her longtime friend, the closest thing to a real father Clary knew, and Jocelyn's… well lover, Clary supposed, sort of. And, Clary did not want to get tangled up in that soap opera, so she was staying with the Lightwoods and Jace at the institute, in the bedroom she lived in for those first few days after the Ravener demon had attacked her, when her mother left her… when Jace had saved her. But, Jocelyn and Maryse Lightwood were at the Institute all the time now, discussing Clave business, now that it was united with the Downworlders, and Clary, despite having forgiven her mother, was having trouble forgetting. And, for some odd reason she couldn't place, she just didn't want to see her all that much.
Her phone buzzed, more fervently this time, and Clary, seeing that it was a phone call from Jace, picked it up immediately. "What's up?" She asked nonchalantly.
His voice wasn't as calm, "Clary, you need to get back to the institute now."
"What?" She asked, perplexed, "What's wrong? What's so urgent?"
"I'll tell you when you get here," He answered, not meaning to sound as coy as he did.
She sighed, annoyed, "No, Jace, you can tell me now." She stopped walking, "Good God, I mean, why does everything have to be so secretive. There honestly can't be anything so direly important that you need to tell me in person. That's why phones were invented." She took a breath, having said that all in one, "You need to stop being so paranoid Jace. Valentine's dead. Everything's good now."
"Everything," Jace said sharply, "Is not good." Clary entered an alley, trying to cut through the back ways of the city to arrive at the glamorized Cathedral that was the Institute all the sooner. "Look, you're not safe out there right now. I don't want you wandering around on the phone. You need to be on your guard. Someone's after…" But he didn't get to finish.
"I have to go Jace." She whispered. Clary shut her phone and placed it back in her pocket.
She smelled it in the air, her senses starting to become more attuned to her Shadowhunter roots as of late: demon. It was rancid and heady, the smell wafting up her nose, like burning flesh and grime.
She whipped around, the small quarters of the bricked alley feeling suddenly very close indeed. There, at the end of the alley, was a tall, slight figure, obviously male, wearing a hooded cloak, covering his face except for the mouth, which was turned up in a cocky smirk.
"Who are you?" She demanded, finding her voice. She may not have become so tough as Simon had since this whole Shadowhunter business began, but she definitely wasn't the tiny, fragile, weak Clary she was only a little over a month ago.
The figure simply chuckled, a low buzzing sound in her ears. Before she had a chance to act, something hard and heavy slammed into the back of her head. She crumpled to the alley floor, her vision doubling as her skull seared in pain. She could already feel the wetness of blood dampening her fiery hair.
Unable to move from the pain, fearing a concussion, Clary couldn't defend her self as she felt a pair of long, scaly fingered hands, definitely inhuman, grasp her wrists and secure them with what felt like a thin wire, which burned against her skin. She could tell it was something magical. She lifted her head slowly to see the figure before her, the other of her attackers.
"Don't do this. Who are…" She was cut off as a makeshift gag out of a scarf was stuffed into her mouth and tied around her head. The figure before her bent down as the one behind her, on top of her, securing the gag. He lifted back his cloak just in time for her to see his eyes; startlingly familiar, black, soulless eyes, before a hood was yanked down over her head.
She felt a sharp stinging on the back of her neck, a rune she supposed, and the world began to fade.
Just before it turned to black, she heard his voice, the one with the cloak and the hideous smirk, greet her in a smooth voice like dripping acid, "Hello little sister."
Then, she was gone.
