Prologue

As I stuff my thermos of hot coffee into my bag, I sigh and try to wrack my brain to make sure I didn't forget anything for my nightly excursion. This should be routine now that I've been sneaking out almost every night for two and a half weeks.

Its just past one in the morning and I'm trying not to make too much noise as to wake my mother. I zip up my back pack and swing it over my shoulder, heading to the window. I wince as my foot clad in my black biker boots hits a bad spot in the floor making a sharp, loud creak.

I quickly stash my bag on the floor and jump into bed, throwing my comforter over my legs, biker boots and all. Sure enough, I hear the quiet steps of my mother shortly before she peaks her head through the door.

"What are you still doing awake, Clary?", she asks once she sees me sitting on the bed. "Its late."

I cant help but feel bitterness when I see her.

You knew and didn't tell me for eighteen years, I seethe internally. My response slips out before I can bite my tongue.

"I don't have to tell you anything, its not like you're my real mother," I snap. The moment I see the hurt look on her face, I feel the shame of my words.

She stares at me for a moment before telling me goodnight and shutting my door behind her.

I kick myself mentally as I migrate from my bed to the chair at my desk.

Two and a half weeks ago, I was walking back from my daily coffee run at the small cafe down the street when I was approached by a tall oriental man. He appeared to be in his early to mid-forties, although he was in quite good shape. I knew because of the speed at which he ran across the road to flag me down.

It was a strange approach and I was alarmed at first. However, as he continued to explain that he was Magnus Bane and he knew my mother Elizabeth Grale. Alarm turned to confusion, as I quickly assured him that my mothers name was Jocelyn.

Long story short, I'm adopted. Which I already knew, and I've accepted it a long time ago. We have a really good relationship and the news does not make me love her less. Something I didn't know was that my biological mother committed suicide two days after I was born. My mom hid it from me, but I still cant help but feel lied to.

Magnus Bane, and old friend of Elizabeth's, tracked me down to fulfill her dying wish; to find me when I'm eighteen and give me access to her personal belongings which Magnus kept in a warehouse locker.

I've been going to the warehouse at night since I got the key, taking turns rummaging through her clothes or shuffling through her CD's. I wanted to get to know her through her things. I wanted answers.

I pull myself back to the present with a big yawn. Great, now I have to wait at least half an hour for my mom to go to sleep. I need to wake myself up, I tell myself as I look around my desk for something to do the trick.

I reach in one of the drawers and wince as something sharp bites into my wrist. I inspect the wound and see blood welling along a small cut.

Shit.

I look into the drawer for the culprit and pull out the open camping knife I got from my uncle one Christmas.

At that exact moment, my mom comes in my room to find me with the knife in one hand and a cut wrist in the other. She sucks in a breath.

"What… are you doing," she shutters. Her breathing staggered, uneven.

"Mom, its not what it looks like!" I quickly say. But she isn't having any of it.

"This is what you're doing to yourself? For how long? How long!", she begs.

I stupidly just continue staring at her open mouthed, arms still held midair. I'm too slow to recover, which upsets her even more.

"I'm calling 911! You shouldn't hurt yourself like this."

"Mom, I can explain -," I start.

"You leave me no choice!", she cries.

And thus, we continued to fight late into the night.

I replay the scenario in my head, but I still don't understand how I got here. The white fluorescent lights in the Emergency Room washroom at Centennial Hospital flicker as I change out of my regular clothes and into a hospital gown, pants and slippers.

I never thought I'd be falsely admitted into the Teenage Crisis Unit on the Mental Health floor of our local hospital. The bitter words my mom threw at me to get me to finally give in to "get help for my serious problem", as my mother put it.

I keep hearing her yelling at me .

Now I know you're not my blood, because a daughter of mine wouldn't cut herself.

When I heard that, I agreed to come here. Anything to get away from home. Who would stay after hearing that from her adoptive mom? I guess in the end, neither my biological mom or my adoptive mom wanted me.

Thats a depressing thought. Maybe I do belong here.

I exit the washroom and return to the nurse my mom talked to about the situation.

She told me it was perfectly natural to be overwhelmed and traumatized by the news of my birth mother. And if I prove that I'm not a threat to my own safety, I can leave after three days, according to the medical release form I signed when we were checked in.

I didn't need to be here. This was a mistake. But to late apparently, looking down to see the hospital band on my right wrist covering the single thin red line across it.

Clary Fray.

My adoptive mom's last name looked natural and right written on the wristband. Thats why it hurt so much to hear those angry words from her last night. I really did accept her as my own mom.

Might as well hurt her less and just do what she wants, I rationalized.

"Are you ready? I'll show you to your room now," my nurse tells me. She turns to walk away.

I take a deep breath and steel myself before following her through the doors.

I had a gut feeling that these three days might change me forever. But nothing could prepare me from meeting him.