"I'm going to kill Maureen," Isabelle said darkly. Alec really needed some new clothes, she thought. Everything she found in his wardrobe either was torn or stained or about six sizes too small for him, or any combination of the three. She was flinging jeans and long-sleeved shirts out of the wardrobe three or four at a time, and Simon, lying barefoot on Alec's bed behind her, was watching proceedings with some surprise.
"You'll have to fight your way through all the vampires of New York to do it," she heard him say. "Apparently they love her."
Isabelle pulled a navy sweater from a hanger, looking sceptically at the holes in the sleeves and cuffs. "Not accounting for taste," she said. She vaguely knew Maureen, had seen her staring at Simon avidly whenever she had attended his gigs. She had seemed relatively normal, if a little hung up on Simon, and she found it hard to make the connection between her and the new insane, bloodthirsty, more than a little kinky vampire queen of New York. "So, Raphael brought you here so you could talk to my dad?"
"Do you think that'll be okay?"
"Sure, why not. My dad loves talking," she said, trying to sound airy, though her voice sounded acrimonious even to her. She turned her head to smile at him, and found, to her relief, that it came naturally. Whatever else had been going on, she was at least pleased to see him.
"Although," she continued, "who knows what will happen, with the attack on the Citadel tonight. It could mean they cancel the meeting, or move it earlier. Sebastian's obviously a bigger problem than they thought. He shouldn't even be able to get that close to the Citadel."
"Well, he is a Shadowhunter," Simon pointed out.
"No, he's not," Isabelle said angrily. The idea of being comparable to Sebastian, to being, even in the tiniest of ways, like the person- and she was reluctant to even use that word- who had killed her brother, was disgusting. She tugged another of Alec's sweaters out of his wardrobe with enough force to add a whole new tear to it. "Besides," she continued, "he's a man."
"Sorry," Simon said. "It must be nerve-wracking, waiting to see how the battle turns out. How many people did they let through?"
"Fifty or sixty," she said, after a brief pause. She had been trying to avoid talking about exactly that. When she saw Simon again, she had wanted to be able to say that they were going to be able to fix things, that they had a plan, that things would be okay. Having their reunion while a battle in which two of their best friends were fighting was something else. Oh God, she hadn't even told him that yet, had she? She forced thoughts of Clary and Jace out of her mind. "I wanted to go, but- they wouldn't let me." It was as much as she wanted to say.
"I would have worried about you," he said.
Despite everything, she found the corners of her mouth going up. "Try this on," she said, throwing him Alec's sweater. It was only slightly worn and there was just a single hole in it.
Simon caught it neatly, eyeing the bottle-green garment with his unique expression of disbelieving courtesy. "Are you sure it's okay for me to borrow clothes?" he asked.
Isabelle gestured to his ridiculous ruffled shirt and leather pants. "You can't go around like that," she said. "You look like you escaped from a romance novel." She saw him smile a little, and for a moment, the thoughts of death and blood and Sebastian faded from her mind without her having to try to force them out. She was with Simon. And if she was with Simon, how bad could things be, really?
She laid a hand against her forehead with exaggerated drama. "Oh, Lord Montgomery," she said breathily, "what do you mean to do with me in this bedroom when you have me all alone? An innocent maiden, and unprotected?" She reached for the zipper on her jacket, tossing it aside impatiently, wanting everything between them gone. The look she gave him told him as much. "Is my virtue safe?"
She saw him look at her in shock. Whatever he had been expecting when they saw each other again, it clearly hadn't been this. "I, ah- what?" he said, startled.
Isabelle slunk towards him, tossing her long hair. "I know you are a dangerous man," she stated, in an approximation of a British accent. As she walked, she kicked her gear trousers down to the floor, stepping out of them impatiently. "Some call you a rake. Everybody knows you are a devil with the ladies with your poetically puffed shirt and irresistible pants." He was watching her with something close to amazement as she sprang up onto the bed, sliding into his lap and giving him the most seductive look she had ever given anyone. "I pray you will consider my innocence," she said, lips hovering a few inches from his. "And my poor, vulnerable heart."
He saw a smile spread across his face rapidly, a sly, crooked smile that was not his own. "Lord Montgomery considers nothing but his own desires," he said, and Isabelle almost laughed at his attempted English gentleman's voice. "I'll tell you something else," he continued, leaning in towards her. "Lord Montgomery has a very large estate… and pretty extensive grounds, too."
She did laugh at that, the bed creaking under them. "Okay, I didn't expect you to get quite so into this."
"Lord Montgomery always surpasses expectations," he said, back in his normal voice, and suddenly his arms were around her waist and she was rolling across the bed, underneath Simon's body. He grinned down at her. "Mothers, lock up your daughters, then lock up your maidservants, then lock up yourselves. Lord Montgomery is on the prowl."
Isabelle reached up, touching either side of his face. If she was honest with herself, when they had met again outside, and he had held her comfortingly in the street, this was what her mind had jumped to. Not long talks or verbal reassurances, not something that would help her when she thought of those at the Citadel, but something she could lose herself in, something passionate and frantic and wonderful. "My lord," she said, "I fear I can no longer withstand your manly charms and virile ways. Please do with me as you will."
She had barely got the last word out before Simon was kissing her, his lip parting hers, his arms sliding under her body, holding her to him. Her left hand slid up into his hair, her legs wrapping round him, keeping him there with her. His lips slid over hers, and she wanted to tell him how much she had missed him, how much she needed him, but equally she wanted the bliss of what they had now, to blot out the world with passion and desire, and the primal part of her fought off the intellectual, longing winning out over thought, and she kissed him again, long and slow and lingering. His mouth broke contact with hers, and she was about to question this, to tell him to keep going, when his lips moved to her neck, seeking out the pulse, and she thought of that night at Magnus' they had shared, and braced herself for fangs to pierce through the vein in her throat. Instead his lips trailed across her neck gently, brushing over the pulse point again, and a slight gasp escaped her. She grabbed at the front of his ruffled shirt; upon discovering it had no buttons, she simply pulled at it with her hands, and to her surprise the shirt tore open, her own necklace falling forwards and nearly hitting her in the face.
"Goodness, that stuff rips like paper," she said between kisses. She reached for the hem of her tank top, and was in the process of pulling it off when the door swung open and Alec stepped inside.
"Izzy, are you-" he started to say, then took in the full scene around him: the wardrobe doors open, most of his clothes piled up on the floor, and Simon and Isabelle, intertwined in his bed. He backed up, nearly slamming his head off the doorframe, his expression one of horror. "What is he doing here?"
Isabelle glared at him, re-adjusting her top slowly. "You don't knock now?"
Alec stared. "It- It's my bedroom!" He lifted an arm as if to shield himself from the sun, looking away deliberately from the two of them. Simon hastily sat up off her, holding his torn poet shirt together as best he could. Isabelle sat up next to him, watching her brother as his eyes fell again on the heap of his clothes on the ground.
"Why are all my clothes on the floor?" he demanded.
"I was trying to find something for Simon to wear," Isabelle said honestly. "Maureen put him in leather pants and a puffy shirt because he was being her romance-novel slave."
Alec gaped. "He was being her what?"
"Her romance-novel slave," she repeated. She knew Alec's mood based on past experience. It was hardly the first time he had made an ill-timed entrance, and she knew what to expect: horror, denial, irritation, then normality again.
Alec shook his head, holding a hand to his forehead. "You know what?" he said. "Don't explain. Just- put your clothes on, both of you."
Isabelle picked up her jacket from the floor. "You're not going to leave- are you?" she said, trying- and failing, she thought- not to sound sulky. She shrugged her jacket on and picked up Alec's green sweater from where it had landed on the floor. She tossed it to Simon, who discarded his ruffled shirt and tugged it on over his head.
"No," Alec said indignantly. "It's my room, and besides, I need to talk to you, Isabelle." He finished his sentence with a dark look at Simon, who took his cue, grabbing up jeans and a pair of Alec's shoes from the floor and ducking into the bathroom.
"Did Dad send you?" Isabelle asked suspiciously. She grabbed her trousers from the floor and tugged them on. "Because I don't want to hear it-"
"No," Alec said shortly. "He and Mom are still arguing back at the Gard. I came here to tell you the battle's over."
"Good," she said. She thought of her parents, alone together on the hill that overlooked the city. A battle was raging, their comrades were dying, and they were arguing over something she'd said. Something she'd said. She had been hurt, when she had realized her parents were most likely separating, upset about it, and yet she had ploughed on anyway, back at the Gard. She had said the cruellest thing she could think of, she had hurt her parents terribly, and by extension, she had hurt herself.
"He would have found out anyway," Alec said, as if reading her mind. "That Mom told you. Don't get too angry at yourself."
"It doesn't mean I should have told him," she said.
"They'll forget they're angry in the next few minutes," Alec told her. "They'll have to. Everyone's coming back, and Dad's meant to tell them what they do next. He's the Inquisitor. He's the one that's meant to keep a cool head."
Isabelle sat down on the bed. "So, the battle's over. What happened?"
"I don't know," Alec said, shrugging. "When I left, they were about to call the others back."
"So they're opening the Portal back up to bring everyone through? Good." She was aware of Simon re-entering the room as she spoke. She glanced at him, briefly, but turned back to Alec as her brother started speaking to her again.
"It is good, but what I felt"- Alec touched his shoulder, over his parabatai rune- "that isn't good."
Isabelle felt the blood drain from her face, and Alec must have noticed, for he quickly added, "Jace isn't dead. I would know if he were. But something happened. Something with the heavenly fire, I think."
"Do you know if he's okay now? And Clary?" Isabelle thought of the fight at the Seventh Sacred Site, the Endarkened warriors they had clashed with, and shuddered inwardly.
"Wait," Simon said, "back up. What's this about Clary? And Jace?"
Isabelle turned to him. She had been dreading this moment. "They went through the Portal," she said grimly. "To the battle at the Citadel."
She saw his eyes widen. Without even seeming to realize it, he reached out to touch the gold ring on his finger. "Aren't they too young?"
"They didn't exactly have permission," Alec told him. He leaned back against the wall tiredly. He looked thinner than usual, the bones in his face more prominent. "The Consul tried to stop them, but she didn't have time."
Simon looked at him for a second, then he rounded on her. "And you didn't tell me?"
Isabelle looked away from him. "I knew you'd freak out." She held a strand of hair between her fingers, and she pretended to be absorbed in twirling it between her fingers.
Alec looked over at Simon, then at her. "You didn't tell him? About what happened at the Gard?"
He sounded disapproving. What did he have to be so haughty about? She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at her brother defiantly. "No. I bumped into him in the street, and we came upstairs, and- it's none of your business."
Alec's expression told her differently. "It is if you do it in my bedroom," he said heatedly. "If you're going to use Simon to make yourself forget you're angry and upset, fine, but do it in your own room."
Isabelle stared at her brother. "I wasn't using him-" she began indignantly, but Simon cut across her.
"You were, though," he said. She turned to look at him. He was wearing a look of mistrust. "Or you would have told me what happened. You didn't mention Clary or Jace, or that you were worried, or anything." He looked hurt, hurt and betrayed. Betrayed. What right did he have to be betrayed?
"Please," she said, "it's not like you asked." She reached up to tie her hair back, glaring from her brother to Simon. "If you're both going to stand there blaming me, maybe you should just go-"
"I'm not blaming you," Simon started, but she was already standing up, striding angrily over to him. She grabbed her necklace and tugged it over his head; she felt the chain dig into his neck and found that she did not care. "I should never have given it to you," she said angrily, dropping the pendant back around her own neck. Back to normal. Back to herself. Why had it taken this argument to make her see what a mistake she had been making? Why she had trusted someone she barely knew, someone she should have guessed would let her down…
"It saved my life," Simon said.
She stopped abruptly. Perhaps she couldn't control her trust. Perhaps, when she needed someone in her life, it acted for her. "Simon…" she started to say, but was stopped suddenly: Alec gasped in pain and slid to the floor behind her.
"Alec?" she said. She dropped to her knees beside her brother; his eyes were shut, and he was clutching his shoulder, his body twisted slightly.
"Alec!" She watched, trying not to panic, as Alec shrugged his jacket partway off and pulled down the collar of his shirt, craning his neck to look at his parabatai rune. Grimacing, he pressed his fingers to the rune; they came away smudged with a dark, ash-like substance. Looking at her brother's expression, Isabelle could tell he was more than just pained physically. "They've come back through the Portal," he said grimly. She knew what his next words would be; forget the look on his face, the Mark on his shoulder made it clear as day. "And there's something wrong with Jace."