Hey guys!
One half here! This is our first Mortal Instruments fanfiction so go easy on us here! We really hope you like it, and as with anything we've ever written, CC is most definitely welcome and ENCOURAGED!
So I just wanted to mention that I usually write humorous stories that are in third person, so this is kind of a major change for me!
I'm actually finding it quite hard, so if I casually start making unnecessary jokes, just be like whoa! Stop! You've just ruined a brilliantly tense moment with an innuendo! (Or something of the sorts..)
Disclaimer: As much as I would love to own Jace- I mean the Mortal Instruments.. I unfortunately claim nothing. *sob*
Chapter One - Too many boxes, too little time.
Clary sighed to herself, as she emptied yet another cardboard box.
Nothing and she'd been here for hours.
The spare room was where her mother kept all of the old junk that she didn't want to throw away, but still not a trace of anything that could be related to her father or her grandparents.
It was hopeless.
Her father she knew was dead. There was a picture of him kept on the mantle along with a box that contained a lock of his hair. It was engraved with the initials J.C.
Jonathan Clark.
Was it so wrong that she wanted to find out more about him? Wanted to find out more about her family? More about herself?
The only relative she knew was her mother, and to be honest, she didn't even know her very well. She was very secretive, refusing to let information about herself slip out, even to her own daughter. She remained tight lipped about any relatives from either side of the family, not even endless questioning from an inquisitive Clary could break her.
Her Mother had gone out with Luke today, so instead of listening to her friend Simon's band or dragging herself around the mall, she'd decided to try and find something – anything that could possibly be related to her family in some shape or form.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nada. Nil.
All she'd gained from this experience was an old rattle of hers, a fur rug and possibly a cold due to the amount of dust she'd inhaled. It was a good job she wasn't asthmatic.
Flopping down on the old fur rug that she had found, Clary groaned only to be cut off by the shrill ringing of her cell phone.
She leaned over to the desk where she'd left it and glanced at the caller ID. It was Simon.
Clicking the green button she pressed the phone to her ear. "Hey Simon." She sighed, feeling slightly dejected.
"No luck then?" He asked.
"Nah." She replied. "I just have to face it, there's nothing here, and Mom's clearly not willing to mention anything."
She had let Simon in on what she had been planning on doing, he was intelligent and she thought he could help her. Turns out he was just as stumped as she was.
"Never mind," He sympathised. "You just need to keep looking. You'll find something eventually." She then heard the muffled sound of someone in the background talking, and a yelp of pain.
"Eric?" She asked.
"How'd you guess?" Simon replied dryly.
Eric was a twit. There was no other word for him, he was a twit in every form and every description.
Simon on the other hand was nice. He'd been her best friend for longer than she could remember he was pretty much her only friend to, because she was too shy to talk to anyone else.
He was way too interested in things like chess and his strange music for her to understand though, and although he was pretty cute in a geeky sort of way, he generally scared away any impending female attention when he started talking about Dungeons and Dragons – a game Clary herself didn't particularly understand.
"I heard yelp and presumed someone was hitting him again." Clary said. "But seriously Simon, there's nothing here! Nothing at all. You'd have thought that she'd at least have a photograph?"
Simon paused for a moment and Clary could imagine him shrugging. "Maybe she's just not the picture type. Jocelyn doesn't strike me as particularly sentimental."
Simon didn't know about the box, with the lock of hair. It wasn't really something she wanted to announce to the world, it seemed more private and special to her and her mother. "Hmm… Maybe you're right there."
They made a little more small talk and Clary found herself agreeing to watch the band practice one Saturday. She wasn't really in the mood to argue.
They eventually hung up on each other and Clary went to find herself some different clothes to change into. Her current ones were all covered in dust. Pulling on a pale blue T-Shirt, Clary glanced out the window.
Raining, great.
She had wanted to go to the art store to buy herself some new pencils. The ones she had at the moment were mere stumps and wearing down quickly. Judging from the dark clouds overhead, a storm was approaching and if she didn't fetch them now, it was going to pour.
Clary pulled on a hoodie over her T-shirt and put up the hood. She tied the laces of her converse and decided that it was worth taking an umbrella as well.
The elevator was out of order again so she ran down the stairs and to the front door of the apartment. It was only spitting so far, but Clary put up her umbrella never the less and started on the ten minute walk it would take to get to the art store.
It was only six, but unnervingly dark and the city was strangely empty for Brooklyn. A few cars drove by every now and then and a couple of passers-by ran into shops and home in order to take cover with the upcoming storm.
The weather didn't particularly bother Clary, she'd always found thunder and lightning rather beautiful, and as for the rain… Well she could take it or leave it.
Every now and then above the rain, she would hear the tap tap of somebody's footsteps. She would occasionally turn to look over her shoulder, but whatever was making that sound never seemed to be there.
Clary sighed.
She was tired, her mind was obviously playing tricks on her. She had spent all day rummaging through her Mom's old boxes from when they had moved in, it was clearly taking its toll on her now.
Putting it down to this, Clary carried on walking, but picked up the speed a little – determined to make it in and out of the art store before closing time, which was six thirty.
She maybe shouldn't have left it so late to go, but she had wanted to get her search out of the way first to make sure that her mother wouldn't discover her.
From behind her, she heard a snap, as if someone had stood on a twig.
She stopped and span around.
About ten or fifteen metres away under a tree planted in the ground stood a tall boy, around her age with a mass of fair honey blonde hair falling onto his face.
He was staring at her, as intently as she was him.
Not moving a muscle.
Not saying a word.
They stood like this for what seemed like an age, but was perhaps only a couple of seconds before Clary span back around to face the other way.
After a quick mental debate with herself, she turned once again to face the boy and decided to call out a quick "Hey..." but trailed off as she realised that the boy that was once standing under the maple was no longer there.
Confused, she shook her head and carried on walking to the art store, just missing its closing time.
With a muttered "Damn." She turned on her heel and started to make her way back home, trying to dismiss the strange disappearing boy from her mind.
When she started to approach her apartment Clary heard her mother's faint laughter from behind the door.
Later that night she lay in bed, surrounded by the noise of rain pouring down the window and thunder booming overhead.
The lightning flashed through her curtains and she turned over and closed her eyes. As sleep took her she smiled to herself, wondering how she could work out that the mystery boy that she'd met earlier in the day had eyes that were undoubtedly amber.
Thanks for reading guys! Please review!