Shadowhunter

Chapter 1: Unpleasant Surprises

A/N: I know, I know…

You're probably asking, "Jeez, why is she writing another story when she has two unfinished ones?" Well you see…

I've had this idea in my head for a while and it is just tormenting me in the back of my brain. I don't fully know where this one will go, but, let's go over a few things before we get into this story.

This story will be a somewhat-crossover between The Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare and Pitch Perfect. What I mean by somewhat-crossover: Pitch Perfect characters, The Mortal Instruments Shadowhunters and Downworlders (vampires, warlocks, werewolves, faeries).

For those of you who do not know what Shadowhunters are, or are not familiar with the book series: Shadowhunters are half-human, half-angel warriors that protect our world from demons. No, they do not have wings. No, they are not immortal. They age and can die. Their home is Alicante, Idris, but they live among us as well. Most use these buildings called Institutes as a safe haven. Shadowhunters have these things called Marks/Runes. They heal, make you soundless, give you stealth, speed, strength, agility, courage, etc. Mundanes (AKA humans, mortals, muggles, whatever) do not know about Shadowhunters, demons, or the Downworld. They cannot bear Marks—human bodies are too weak. I recommend looking up some of these runes to have a further understanding, and perhaps a little bit of Shadowhunter history, because I WILL be using a lot throughout this story.

I will also mention the Clave. It's basically the Shadowhunter government.

VERY IMPORTANT. Most Shadowhunters are invisible to mundanes. If not, there is a GLAMOUR. A glamour is what prevents mundanes from seeing what is really there. For example: Imagine a blue-skinned demon with red eyes and silver hair. A mundane may see this as an overweight, middle-aged man with a hygiene problem. Or something. You get the point.

This story will be told in third-person POV. So, without further ado, here we go…


Beca Mitchell was an ostensibly ordinary realist living with her parents in the heart of New York City. She loved her family, with all her heart. Her dad, Dr. John Mitchell, was an English teacher at Barden High School. Her mom, Sheila, was an artist struggling to sell her work.

The small family lived in a two-bedroom apartment above Madame Dorthea, a dark-skinned woman, probably in her fifties, that always burned incense. She didn't talk much; she ignored all of the Mitchell family's efforts to communicate.

Beca did not look like her mother. She had dark brown hair and startling blue eyes, while Sheila had blonde hair and brown eyes. Beca was short, Sheila was tall. It was never fair.

The short brunette was a junior at Barden High. She had a car, but it was being fixed and since her dad had to be at work early and Sheila was at an art show, she had to walk. But she never walked alone.

"Becaw!"

She turned her head to the sound of the noise but saw nothing. Okay, maybe it was nothing.

"Becaw! Becaw!"

She whipped her head back again. Nothing. What the hell?

"Bec—"

"Gotcha!" She turned around and grabbed Jesse's wrist before pulling him into a deep kiss on the sidewalk.

Jesse and Beca have been dating for two years and two months, and counting. They met in kindergarten, but didn't started dating until freshmen year, when she was finally allowed to date. Beca was not much of a planner, but Jesse was. He planned for them to graduate and go to college together, and Beca didn't doubt him. He was right a lot—more than she'd care to admit.

The couple held hands as they walked the last block to school. Just as Jesse opened his mouth, a phone buzzed. To be more specific, Beca's phone buzzed in her pocket.

Received at 8:12AM
From: Dad

Hey Becs. Just letting you know I'll be home in about ten minutes. With second semester starting, my planning period got changed around and I don't have a class first thing in the morning anymore. Do you need a ride to school still?

Beca read over the text and rolled her eyes.

Sent at 8:13AM
To: Dad

I'm almost there, thanks anyway.

"Who was that?" asked Jesse.

"My dad. He was offering a ride since he gets home soon. Guess he forgot school starts in seven minutes," Beca replied, sticking her phone back into her pocket.

"Can't blame him. He always seems to have a bad case of the Saturdays."

"I appreciate your optimism, but it's Friday."

"Speaking of optimism, I have a little surprise for you." He swung his arm around and retrieved a small box out of his backpack and handed it to Beca.

"Jesse, you know I'm not a fan of birthdays. Plus—"

"Just open it, weirdo," he grinned.

Beca eyed him suspiciously and then continued her gaze down to the small cardboard box in her hand. She removed the top and her eyes widened.

"You did not have to do this."

"Yes I did. It's your birthday and I love you." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Inside the box lay a silver necklace with a charm that said "SM" on it. Beca lifted up the necklace and focused on it.

"'SM'?" she asked.

"It stands for Swanson-Mitchell. I figured it was more appropriate than Beca-Jesse, otherwise known as BJ."


After school ended, the couple had plans to go to the movies and celebrate her seventeenth birthday. Rather, Jesse was making Beca go to the movies to receive a 'formal movication.' She obliged, but only if he agreed they would go for another walk afterwards. Beca loved walks, especially since she lived in New York City. Jesse wasn't too thrilled with walking around New York at night, but he'd do anything for his Beca.

"Pick me up in an hour," she told him as she ascended the stairs to her apartment. He ran up to catch her and gave her one last kiss before smiling and running out the door.

Beca fumbled with her keys and entered the living area of her small home. White walls, dirty-white wooden floors with antique furniture and various canvases scattered around. Her dad was sitting on the couch, drinking coffee and watching television. Sheila, on the other hand, was cooking dinner.

"School ended an hour ago," her dad informed. "What took so long?"

"Jesse and I were walking around," Beca replied. He eyed her. "I'm serious, Dad."

"You know I don't like that Jesse kid very much."

Beca rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. "Why? He never did anything."

"He took your virginity."

"John," Sheila said.

"Wow, yeah. Thanks Dad," Beca moved towards her room.

"Where are you going?" John set his coffee down and ran after Beca, catching her wrist.

"Jesse and I are just seeing a movie."

"You don't want to spend time with us on your birthday?"

She shrugged his hand off and went into her room, shutting the door with a loud slam.

John turned towards Sheila. She was pouting at him.

"You know she gets like this when she's overdue," Sheila said. John sighed. "You can't let her live in the shadows of what she really is for her whole life, John."

"She's not ready. I need to take her back to Magnus's tonight for her treatment. Her memories are resurfacing. She needs—"

"Mom," said Beca as she crept her door open. "What time will dinner be ready?"

"In about thirty minutes. I'm gonna run to the grocery store and get some green beans to go with it," Sheila informed. "John, if I'm not back in time can you take the casserole out of the oven?"

"Sure thing, dear."

With that, Sheila motioned off her apron and left the house.


The next hour sped by in what felt like minutes. The small family ate in silence as an indication that the chicken and wild rice casserole was a grave success.

Ding-dong!

"That's Jesse," Beca said, excusing herself from the table.

"Beca, wait," her dad exhaled.

"What?" She turned around.

"Make sure you come straight home tonight."

She gave Sheila a sideways glance and then looked back at her dad. "It's just a movie. I'll be home before nine, as always."

She opened the door for Jesse; he was wearing an indigo and black closed flannel and jeans. He smiled and opened his hand. She accepted it.

"Jesse, make sure to have her home by nine o'clock on the dot," said John.

"Yes sir," Jesse nodded, but didn't take his eyes off Beca. Together, they left the building.


Since Jesse and Beca were going on a walk after the movie, they decided to walk to the theater. It didn't take long; it was only about a ten to fifteen minute walk. But for some inconspicuous reason, Beca felt as if she were being followed the whole time. She frequently checked behind her, but there was nothing there.

"Are you okay?" Jesse asked, rubbing his thumb on her hand.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I keep getting this bizarre feeling though… never mind. It's stupid," she shook her head.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

Jesse nodded, as if Beca just mentally ended the conversation. He knew her boundaries, and more importantly, when to stop pushing them. "Well," he started, changing the subject. "Are you excited to finally be seventeen?" Yeah, he wasn't the best at subject changes.

"Definitely. I get to change my twitter bio to 'seventeen and sassy,'" she replied. He chuckled. "And I'm one year closer to getting a tattoo."

"I better be there when you get it."

"Yeah, I'll need a hand to squeeze." He looked at her like she was crazy. "I'm kidding, nerd. I know how sensitive you are."

"And I know how insensitive you are," Jesse lightly punched her in the arm. She unattached her left hand from his right hand and playfully slapped his bicep back. He looked as if he were taken aback.

"Beca? What's on your hand?" he asked, grabbing her left hand and turning it so the palm was facing down.

"I-I don't know…"

On her hand was a black mark that looked like an outline of an eye with a swirl in the middle. The world 'Clairvoyance' appeared in the back of her brain.

"Clairvoyance," Beca whispered, so quietly that Jesse couldn't make out what she said.

"What?" Jesse asked. Beca blinked into reality.

"I have no idea. Can we just get our tickets and go inside? It's cold."

Jesse, doing the oldest trick in the book and possibly being the geekiest romantic ever, took of his jacket and placed it around Beca.

"Dork."

"You're welcome."

She glanced down at her left hand once again, but the mark was gone.


"That film was… grotesque," Beca confessed.

"Definitely not one of my favorite plot lines. Good scoring, though. Sorry Becs. It looked good," Jesse sighed.

"It's okay. I enjoyed being with you."

"Well now who's the romantic one."

Jesse and Beca roamed hand in hand down the empty streets of New York. This neighborhood was always quiet. It was currently 8:39 PM, but Beca had no intentions of actually being home before nine. What? She didn't have to listen to her parents. She was almost an adult. Her dad was just being overprotective anyway. Asshole, Beca thought. He always thinks he can control her life. Who she hangs out with. What she does.

No. Not anymore.

Beca took Jesse by the collar of his flannel and before he could react, she pushed him against the brick wall, engulfing his mouth in a hot, passionate kiss. It was only when air was becoming a problem that she broke away.

Jesse breathed in and out a few times before saying something. "What was that for?"

"I'm in a mood. Can we go somewhere? Your house? Anywhere but mine?"

"But your dad—"

"The hell with my dad." She pressed a hard kiss against his mouth and then retreated. "Please."

And together they walked back to Jesse's house and spent the night doing what high school couples did on Friday nights.


Beca woke up to a phone call the next morning. It was from her dad. Not wanting to wake Jesse up, she took the call on the balcony extending from his room.

"Hello?" she said.

"Beca! Sweetheart—" Dr. Mitchell said. His voice was full of worry.

"Dad, calm down, I'm coming home—"

"No! Do not come home. Do you hear me? Don't come home." There was a crash in the background. "I love you!"

"Dad?"

The line went dead.

What was that supposed to mean? He loves her but told her not to come home? Is he mad? No, that wouldn't make sense. Is he in trouble? No, don't jump to conclusions. He was probably just being dramatic, again. Maybe she should go home and make sure everything is okay.

She looked at her hand; the mark was there again.

"Jesse," she said, shaking him awake. "Jesse."

"Hmm…" he replied in his sleepy voice. Damn, his sleepy voice. Perhaps she should just let him sleep. Beca decided to text him a quick message so he'd know what to do when he woke up:

I'm going home. Meet me for coffee in the afternoon at Java Jones. Love you.

She slipped on her underwear and bra first, then her tank top, jeans, and long-sleeve. She pressed a light kiss to Jesse's ruffled hair. He groaned and stirred, but didn't wake up.


Beca walked one block from Jesse's house to her house and abruptly stopped when she reached her destination. She felt a sudden pain in her left hand, where the strange mark was. She would get an ice pack on it once she got to the kitchen. Beca ascended the brick stairs and opened the door to the loft apartment. She then walked a short distance to the entrance to her house, and stared motionless.

Her front door showed signs of being forcibly removed from its hinges. The door frame was cracked, and the door itself was laying on the ground in front of it. She slowly and quietly made her way through the destroyed entrance and looked around.

The entire loft looked like a tornado swept through it. The couch had been knocked down, every lamp was broken, there were holes in the walls, Sheila's canvases were broken, everything was destroyed and out of place.

Were we robbed? Beca thought. No, this is too big for a robbery.

She began to pull out her phone to call Jesse, but then she heard a noise coming from her room. Beca slid her phone back into her pocket and moved carefully to the bedroom. She picked up the closest thing she had, which happened to be a butter knife laying on the floor, amongst other scattered silverware. She gripped the knife in her left hand and kicked open the door to her room. Her mouth dropped.

A dog?

A dog did this?

In front of her stood a growling Rottweiler. Its teeth were bared, and it looked intimidating for a dog. Even though Beca had always loved dogs, she began to back up. The dog growled louder.

All of a sudden, her vision went fuzzy. The dog no longer looked normal; its teeth grew longer, and its eyes were a glowing red.

What the hell did I drink last night?

It barked and Beca jumped back. A drop of spit fell from the thing's mouth, and bubbled like acid when it hit the floor. Okay, now I'm in trouble.

The dog barked again, and braced itself. It looked as if it was going to—

It pounced.

Immediately, she closed the bedroom door and ran, but the dog was fast. It started beating down the door and it was slowly coming down. She had to think.

Beca ran to the kitchen, reached for the vodka in the top cabinet, and finally got it after overcoming her shortness difficulties. She poured it on the stove and down to the refrigerator.

The door busted open and the two-headed thing came running after her; now it had grown a red and bloody suctioned tentacle. She needed to light the vodka so the oven would explode and the thing would die, but it was taking too long to light. The dog pounced on her.

It snarled on top of her and bared its teeth—which she now noticed were oozing the acid spit. She raised her legs to kick the dog off, but got nowhere. She tried punching it, but that only made it madder. Acid spit dripped onto her neck and chest, and Beca screamed in pain. She reached for the empty vodka bottle on the floor, cursing at herself for not thinking of that beforehand, and hit the dog—monster—in the side of the head. It tumbled sideways, giving Beca enough time to scramble backwards, hide behind the fridge door, and try lighting the vodka again. This time it worked.

With the dog using its suction tentacle to reach her, it was unaware of the fire trailing to the stove. And when it did notice, it was too late. The stove caught fire and blew up. Glass scattered everywhere, and the beast itself had blown up with it.

Beca, on the other hand, was safe inside the fridge. Although she blinked in surprise from the impact. She opened the door of the fridge and shakily stepped out.

She took in her new surroundings. There was black ash raining down where the stove once stood, and the dog-thing was a pile of dust and goo. Beca reached for the phone, about to call the police, when she noticed that the dust and goo began to pile together. The dog was reforming.

She didn't know what to do. She was motionless.

The dog was now completely reformed, and it snarled once again.

Beca felt weak, and her arm hurt. There were second-degree burns on her chest and blood ran down her face and arms. Her legs gave out and she crippled to the floor. When the dog pounced, all she could do was watch.

Suddenly, a bright flash of silver sliced the air, taking the dog with it. It yelped, actually sounding like a dog, and disappeared into thin air, only leaving behind a cloud of smoke. Beca didn't even feel the tears running down her face.

When the smoke cleared, a redhead appeared. She was wiping a green, thick liquid off of her blade onto her sleeve. Wait—was that the dog's blood? Why is it green?

"W-Who are you? How did you know where to find me? Why did you…" Beca's voice trailed off.

"Usually when someone saves your life, you thank them," she stated, her voice unearthly tranquil. "The name's Chloe. Chloe Fairchild."

"Chloe," said another feminine voice, "she's hurt. A demon bite. Look at her arm."

It was true. Beca had slipped unconscious after she heard the news. The two girls exchanged a glance, but Chloe was the first one to act.

"Stacie, hand me your stele." Chloe took the instrument and began to carve a healing rune, iratze, into Beca's arm, near the wound.

"Chlo, what are you doing? Humans can't bear marks—"

"She's not entirely human. She wears the Clairvoyance rune on her left hand whenever she's near danger. I've seen it more than once when I was working my case. And if I'm wrong, or if it doesn't work, she's dead anyway."

When Chloe finished drawing the rune, the two girls lifted the small brunette and carried her out the door.


Hours later, Beca began to stir, and slowly she raised her heavy eyelids. Where am I? Her senses were gradually coming back as well. She heard a murmuring of voices coming from her left, maybe ten or twenty feet away, she was aware she was in a bed, and, unfortunately, she was also aware of the antagonizing pain seething through her arm. Beca tried putting her head up but regrettably failed when another sharp pain shot through her neck.

"Hey, she's awake," said the redhead from… how long ago? What was her name again? Courtney?

"Where… am I?" asked Beca. "Where's my dad? Who even are you?"

"This is the New York City Institute. It's a refuge for Shadowhunters like us. Like you," the taller one—Stevie? Sammy..?—said. Okay, so they had a bad acid trip recently and they're using weird lingo from the nineteenth century. Or I'm dreaming.

"You survived the mark. Which proves you aren't a mundane. I was right," what's-her-face-redhead said.

Beca sat up. "Excuse me? A what?"

"Mundane. Human. Mortal. Muggle, if you're a Harry Potter fan."

"Well if I'm not a human then what am I?" Beca asked in disbelief. There was no response. "Look," she cleared her throat. "I appreciate your help, but I really just want to talk to my dad. Is he here? Is my mom here?" Here, she repeated in her head. Where is 'here'?

"Rebeca—"

"It's Beca."

"Okay, Beca. I'm Chloe Fairchild, this is Stacie Lightwood," Chloe introduced. She had red hair and bright blue eyes. She looked about 5'5", and she had strange markings covering her arms and a little of her exposed neck. Stacie, on the other hand, was very tall with long, dark brown—maybe even black—hair and brown eyes. She was also covered in the marks. "Your dad isn't here," the two girls said simultaneously.

Beca managed to sit up. "Well, where is he?"

"We can get into all that after you've been taken care of. You need to eat, shower, and put on fresh clothes. Yours are covered in blood."

"No. I want to talk to my dad. Tell him I'm okay. The last time I talked to him he was… telling me not to come home."

Chloe straightened up, like the conversation just intrigued her. "You talked to Jonathan?"

"He goes by John and—wait, how do you know my father's name?" Beca raised her voice.

"Research. While trying to find you," said Chloe as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "Look, Beca. We can talk to you about all this after you've cleaned up a little. Stacie, get her some clothes. I'll get her something to eat—"

"I'll cook for her. Unless you're trying to poison our guest, then by all means cook your signature spaghetti," said another voice that entered the room. This one was British and masculine. When he came into view, Beca eyed him up and down. He had ruffled blonde hair, chiseled features, and a five o'clock shadow. The tall man was also covered in the weird tattoos. "Name's Luke. Luke Herondale. Welcome to the Institute, mundie."

"Fine," said Chloe. "You cook for her. And she's not a mundane, Luke. Beca, I'll show you to the showers."

So I guess I have to move now. Beca faltered with getting up, but managed to do so. Her legs were sore, like she just had a good workout. There were a few places where she could feel bruises that had formed during her slumber. Her arm was still stinging.

Why does my arm hurt so much?

She glanced down at the side of her arm and noticed a strange symbol tattooed into her skin.

"Whoa, what the hell is this?" she said, stopping in her tracks and causing everyone to look at her. "I passed out and you guys tattooed me? I thought that only happened in Vegas."

"By the Angel—" Luke sounded annoyed.

"It's not a tattoo," Chloe cut him off. "We'll explain later. You need to clean up first. And eat. This kind of news doesn't settle well on an empty stomach."


Beca stepped into the shower and allowed for the hot, steaming water to pour down her bare body. It felt good, because she was in so much pain. There were more bruises on her body than there was her normal, pale skin.

She had a lot of unanswered questions for these tattooed-lunatics that are making her shower. All she remembers is being attacked by a vicious, acid-spitting, tentacle-whirling dog and then she was brought here. Hell, she hasn't even gotten any explanation for this.

And what about Jesse?

Oh shit, Jesse! Beca was supposed to meet him at Java Jones and—what time is it? What day is it? Was that this morning? Or yesterday? Where was her phone?

She turned off the water and wrapped up in a towel. She glanced at the clothing that hand been left for her: a black tank top, black jeans, and a black leather jacket. Gee, wonder what the color of choice here is. she joked to herself.

Once Beca had changed into the dark clothing, she wiped off the fogged mirror and gave a look at herself.

There were no longer bloodstains along the edges of her face, but there was a bruise on her jaw. Her makeup had disappeared in the shower. She hated not wearing makeup.

Beca shuffled through the drawers under the sink and found drug store mascara and eye shadow. She quickly applied the darkest shade to her eyelid and mascara to her eyelashes. There, she thought, much better.

She opened the door and peered down the hallway, but saw no one. Beca exited the bathroom and began making her way towards the stairs she had previously come up.

The walls were painted a dark grey to match the dark wood of the flooring. On these walls hung several weapons, photographs, and quotes. She recognized one from The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling.

"The strength of the Pack is the Wolf

And the strength of the Wolf is the Pack."

Sheila always said that. It even hung in hers and Beca's dad's room.

Beca reached the end of the stairs and came into earshot with familiar voices. She walked towards the voices and found herself in a large kitchen area. The blonde man, Luke, was cooking some dish that used chicken. Chloe and Stacie were engaged in a conversation about something Beca couldn't quite understand. She heard the word 'vampire' many times, however. She loudly cleared her throat, announcing her entry.

"Ah, you're back. Sorry, I was gonna meet you back upstairs, but I didn't know you'd be done this soon," said Chloe.

"That's because your showers take longer than it takes a Behemoth demon to cross the road," Luke joked. Stacie had laughed, earning a glare from Chloe.

The ginger turned back around to Beca, who was still standing at the door. "Don't be scared to come in and sit. You must be hungry."

"Yeah well, it's not every day a dog rips apart your house and no one will tell you where the hell your dad is. It makes it a little hard to trust people, especially ones who talk about bohemian demons," Beca said.

"Behemoth," Luke corrected.

"Whatever."

Luke grabbed four plates from a pantry and set them out on the counter. He then got a big spoon and poured an equal portion of the casserole on all four plates. Grabbing forks from a drawer and matching them with each plate, he handed them out.

"Lunch is served!" he announced. "And, I hope you don't mind leftovers for dinner, mundie. That's how we do things here."

"I live in an apartment in the heart of New York City. I live off of leftovers," Beca sassed. Luke gave her a look, but a smile was creeping at the edge of his mouth. "You didn't poison it did you?"

"Yes. We tracked you down, killed a demon for you, healed you, let you shower in our house and gave you clothes all so we could sprinkle some cyanide on your food," Luke said. What the hell is he talking about? Beca thought to herself. Demons don't even exist.

"Do you enjoy harassing people with sarcasm?"

"It's hardly harassing. In fact, I'm almost disappointed you'd think I would poison you."

Beca eyed him as she took a bite of the chicken and wild rice casserole. Immediately, she felt as if her insides were smiling.

"See, you enjoy my poisonous dish," Luke said without acknowledging her.


She had tried to ask questions before the meal, but no one had answered. Finally, she was brought over to a living room and sat down in an antique chair with intricate patterns sewn into the fabric.

"Okay," Stacie started. "Before you attack us with more questions, there's one thing you need to know. Everything you've heard about monsters, about nightmares, the legends whispered around campfires, all the stories are true. Truth is, we live in a world with demons and angels. And that 'dog' that attacked you at your apartment? That was a demon. Got it?"

Beca stared in utter bewilderment. "No, I definitely don't 'got it'! What the hell? Do you really expect me to believe that? Yeah, sure, the dog thing was a little weird. But I was tired and probably hallucinating. You guys are crazy."

"We aren't crazy Beca. We're Shadowhunters," said Chloe.

"I don't even know what that is."

"Nephilim. Half-human, half-angel warriors created to protect this world from demonic violence. This life, this world, it's all a secret. Which is why it sounds so crazy. It is kept hidden from the vast majority of the mundane world, who do not even know our kind exist, much less the many varieties of monster among whom we are responsible for keeping peace. Jonathan used his blood to create the first race of Shadowhunters, and their gifts were passed on to their children and their children's children and so on. Naturally, the denizens of that world may make a common reference to places and things which you are not yet familiar. We can help familiarize you with—"

"I don't want to be familiarized with this. Any of it. I want to go home. I want my parents, and I want Jesse. I also want my phone. And I want to leave. Got it?"

Stacie, Chloe, and Luke exchanged glances. Beca rolled her eyes. "Whatever, I'm leaving. There's an asylum about thirty minutes from Times Square. Go east, if you're interested. And if you ask me, it would be in your best interest to go. Because you're all out of your mind." She started to get up.

"Beca, wait," said Chloe. She stopped and looked at Chloe. "Tell me what you saw."

"What?"

"The dog. What did it look like?"

Beca sat down slowly and began describing the animal that attacked her house. "It was a big Rottweiler with anger issues."

"You know that's not all you saw," Stacie jumped in. Beca looked at her, and then at her hands.

"Okay. At first it looked normal, but then it… changed. Its teeth grew longer and sharper and it had acid spit and… a tentacle. A big, bloody, suction-cup tentacle that pierced me in the arm. Is that what you wanted to hear?" She crossed her arms.

Chloe looked satisfied. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear. Beca, that was a Ravener demon. You saw it as a dog because it had a glamour. A Ravener demon actually has a squamous black body with a long domed skull like an alligator's. Unlike on an alligator, however, its eyes are in an insectile cluster on the top of its head. It has a vicious, barbed whip tail and a thick snout. Like you said, they possess sharp-fanged teeth that inject poison into your veins when they bite. That's what happened to you. That's why you blacked out. That's why we brought you here. The fact that you could withstand a rune from the Gray Book indicates that you belong in this world, in our world. This is where you belong—"

"NO!" Beca yelled, standing and backing up a safe distance away from the three Shadowhunters. "None of that is true. My name is Beca Mitchell. I live in reality. I was born and raised in New York City. I'm a junior in high school, and I have a boyfriend who loves me and who I love back. My dad's an English teacher, my mom's a painter. I don't believe in demons, angels, vampires, werewolves, wizards, or whatever else you have in your pretend magical world. It's bullshit. I want my phone, and I want to leave."

"And go where?" Luke asked. Beca stared at him with tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "Back to your apartment? Your destroyed apartment? Beca, it's not safe there."

"I'll live with Jesse. My dad and Sh—"

"Your dad is gone!" Luke yelled. Chloe and Stacie's eyes both widened.

"Luke," Stacie addressed. "You weren't supposed to—"

"What?" Beca's voice cracked. Luke's face turned from anger to sorrow. Beca straightened up and cleared her throat, trying to relax as best as she could with teary eyes. "What do you mean he's gone?"

Chloe spoke up this time. "Beca, it's okay."

"No, it's not actually. You won't truthfully answer any of my questions. You keep replying with these bat-shit crazy excuses. Wake up. This isn't a fairytale. Where. Is. My. Dad."

"He was kidnapped," Chloe exhaled. Beca didn't say anything. She just moved towards the door. "We can help you find him."

"I don't need your help. I'm calling the police."

"Beca Maryse Mitchell," Stacie spoke.

Beca turned. "How do you know my middle name?"

"It's my mother's name. That is who your father named you after. His best friend. My mother. My full-on, Shadowhunter mother. Your dad is a Shadowhunter. Look at this," Stacie walked towards Beca and handed her a folded piece of paper. Beca eyed her, but accepted the paper.

She unfolded the flimsy material, careful not to rip it, and stared.

It was a picture of her father dressed in all black with a sword in his hand, standing with Sheila who was also in black, a woman who resembled Stacie, and an unfamiliar face. All four of them wore the same black marks that Stacie, Chloe, and Luke had. Beca didn't understand.

"What… is this?" she asked.

"It's a picture from eighteen years ago. A year before you were born. Your dad is a Shadowhunter, Beca. We live in a world with demons and angels. Like it or not, you're in it now. Because if you aren't you won't find your dad."

"What do you mean?"

"Shadowhunters took your dad. Bad Shadowhunters. You won't be able to help your dad in any way, shape, or form unless you let us help you. And to do that, you have to trust and believe in us. To do that, you can't leave."

Beca's knees gave out and she fell on her palms. Shakily, she sat herself down. "Okay," she said. "What do I need to do?"


Stacie, Chloe, and Luke gave Beca the run-down. She would have to go into training before she was ready to face any of the consequences that lay ahead. She wasn't too thrilled, but she did want to find her dad.

"I want to contact Jesse and my mom," Beca said.

Luke was caught by surprise. "You can't—"

"Okay, no problem," Chloe nodded. "Stacie go get her phone. And Beca, you can't tell Jesse. About this. About any of it."

"Why not?"

"It's not safe for him. Tell him, and you're putting him in harm's way."

Beca began to shiver, slowly understanding what she was saying.

Chloe cleared her throat. "So when you call him—"

"You want me to say goodbye."

Stacie returned within moments with Beca's phone. As soon as Beca was within reach, she grabbed it and started to dial Sheila's number. It rang seven times, but she didn't pick up. She checked the time, it was 11:09 AM. She tried again.

"Hello?" said Sheila.

"Mom! It's Beca. Dad, he—"

"I can't talk to you right now, Beca."

Beca's voice subsided to a hard whisper. "What?"

"Whatever problem you have, you're gonna have to deal with it on your own because I'm done helping." She hung up.

"Hello? Mom?"

No answer.

Beca let the phone drop to the floor, while also letting the tears fall from her eyes.

"Beca? What happened?" asked Chloe.

Beca turned her head. "My mom… she wasn't acting right. She's usually so nice, friendly, always puts others' needs before her own but… I don't know." She shook her head in disbelief. "I want to talk to Jesse in person."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," said Luke.

"I don't care. I can't," her voice broke, "I can't break up with him… through text. I'll do it in person or I won't do it. And then when it's over, I want to go to Sheila's art gallery and library a few blocks from my house. I want to see if she's okay."

"You're gonna need to gear up first, just in case," Chloe said. "I'll take you to the weapon room. Everyone get ready. Meet by the door in ten minutes."


Chloe led Beca down a hallway near stairs leading up to another floor after Stacie and Luke disappeared into their bedrooms. She pulled out a key from her pocket and unlocked the secret keyhole behind a painting on the side of the staircase.

"Secret room behind the staircase? Really?" Beca inquired.

"Don't pretend like this is the strangest thing you've seen today."

She pulled back the door and white stones illuminated the room, which turned out to be a lot bigger than Beca thought. There were axes, guns, swords, daggers, knives, whips, crossbows, and any weapon one could think of.

"What are these?" Beca asked, picking up one of the alabaster-looking stones from inside the lamp.

"Witchlight. White stones with runes carved into them to create an angelic light. It burns the skin of anything dark or demonic. Also, they look nice as decoration," Chloe informed. "I assume since you are accustomed to modern-day weapons you would probably prefer a gun and a knife, rather than a sword or anything else."

"I don't know how to use a gun. I've never really wielded any weapon before."

"It's simple," Chloe said, grabbing one of the guns from the shelves. Up close, Beca could see that it wasn't built to contain bullets. "This is a vampire gun. Cock it," she pulled the lever back, "and pull the trigger." When she did, a sharp metal rod stuck out, blades coming from all sides, and twisting. "You try." Chloe handed the gun to Beca.

"I don't…"

"It's okay. it won't hurt you if you do it properly."

Beca cocked the gun and pulled the trigger with a little hesitation. The gun did what it did when Chloe used it.

"See? Not too scary. Now, let's find you a few daggers."


Beca, Stacie, Luke, and Chloe all met at the door, as promised. Beca complained that she didn't want Jesse seeing her like this, but she was then informed that his human eyes wouldn't be able to see any of the rune-carved weapons. She checked her phone; it was 11:59 AM. Meet me for coffee at Java Jones in the afternoon, she had texted him right before she went to her house this morning. Right before the attack. It broke her heart knowing she may never get coffee with him ever again. She clutched the SM necklace and closed her eyes, remembering his scent, his touch, the feel of his skin, the curls of his hair, the brown orbs of his eyes. This would be the last time she could see him.

"Beca, you're crying. Are you okay?" asked Stacie. Beca snapped back into reality, wiping the tears off of her face.

"Me? Yeah, I'm okay. Just… miss my dad." It was half-true.

Stacie put a hand on Beca's knee and smiled. "We'll find him."

They arrived at Jesse's house, and suddenly Beca felt a knot at the base of her stomach. It sent chills up and down her spine repetitively. Stacie had offered to go with her, but Beca decided it would be better if she went alone.

She knocked on the door and waited.

Jesse's mom answered the door. "Beca! How are you, dear?" she greeted, pulling Beca into a strong hug. Jesse's mom was a tall woman with short brown hair and hazel eyes. Her smile was warm and welcoming, and Beca had always liked her.

"I'm great," she lied. "Where's Jesse?"

"Upstairs. I'll get him. JESSE!" she called from the foot of the steps. There was a clash and clang and Jesse came running down the stairs. "I'll leave you two be." Mrs. Swanson closed the front door, leaving Beca and Jesse on the front porch, alone.

"Hey Becs. Everything all right? I was in the middle of getting ready to go to Java—"

"We need to talk, Jesse," Beca spoke. There were tears flooding her eyes, so she looked away from Jesse. They sat on the stairs.

"What about?"

This time, tears came pouring out of her eyes and suddenly she was crying like a baby. She hugged Jesse, and he let her cry into his shoulder.

"Beca," he rubbed circles on her back. "Bec, what's wrong?"

Beca sniffled and wiped her cheeks, turning her head so she was looking directly at Jesse. "I have to leave."

Jesse looked confused. "What?"

"I have to leave. I can't… I can't stay here. Something came up. I have to go. I'm sorry."

"Beca, you don't have to go anywhere. What makes you think that you have to leave?" he asked. Beca said nothing, just held her face in her hands. "Is it your dad?"

Beca lifted her head and nodded. "But not in the way you think."

"Tell me what's going on. You can tell me what's going on Beca."

"No, I can't. And I think we would both be better off on our own. I'm sorry, I have to go." She sat there for a minute, kissed his cheek, stood up and walked away as quickly as she could. She left him. She was never going to see him again. And that hit her like a truck.

He watched her walk away. He watched the love of his life walk away from him, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop her because she wouldn't tell him what was going on and he knew better than to push her. It felt like a piece of him had just walked away with her. He felt utterly empty, as did she.

Beca went and caught up with the others, who were waiting behind a shrubbery the next house over. She didn't even bother holding in her tears. She sank to the ground where her back was rubbed and her tears were wiped off of her face. She sat there and cried. All she wanted to do was lay in bed and close her eyes, maybe even not wake up. No, she didn't want that. What she really wanted was to go back and apologize to Jesse, and then get coffee. But that could never happen.

"Beca." Luke's words were like an echo in her head. "To love is to destroy, and to be loved is to be the one destroyed."


Three Years Later, To The Day

It had been three years. Three years since she had seen her mom, dad, or Jesse. And now, Beca Mitchell was a sworn badass of the Nephilim. Three years ago, she would have never imagined this life. A life of battle, bloodshed, death, and excitement. Her favorite part? The adrenaline rush that was present right before, during, and after a fight with a demon. It sent tingles throughout her body. It was the best feeling in the world.

She now wore the runes like all the other Shadowhunters. They covered her arms, stomach, back, and parts of her chest, neck, and legs. It was as if she had never been a different person. It was as if she had always been a Shadowhunter.

She pulled out her stele, a magical object much like a pen without a point that allowed her to carve runes into her body, and began tracing a Visible rune on the inside of her forearm, making her visible to others. Shadowhunters, normally invisible to mundanes, always had to use this rune when going shopping or ordering takeout. In this case, it was the latter.

Beca entered Taki's with the swift movements of the Nephilim, aware of the guys staring at her. Beca, Chloe, Stacie, and Luke had just finished an important mission to steal faerie rings from a demon-guarded cave. The two faerie rings allowed for the two wearing them to be able to communicate through thought, no matter the range. They now lay in the showcase in the hallway of the New York Institute.

The three had sent Beca to pick up the takeout from Taki's, because it was her birthday. It actually made no sense, but she was in too good a mood to refuse.

"Order for Beca!" the waiter, who was familiar with Beca, called out. "Happy birthday, by the way."

"Thanks Jonah." Beca smiled. She grabbed the food and walked out of the restaurant, but just her luck, some clumsy idiot bumped into her, making her drop the food.

"Dammit," she said.

"Sorry, didn't see you there," said the stranger. "I can pay for…" He lifted his head up as Beca did. His mouth gaped open.

"Jesse?"


A/N: Fair warning, most of the chapters won't be this long. There was just a lot of information that had to be said before this story could get going.

Tell me what you think of it so far! I really enjoy writing it.