Something was wrong.
Of course, if something weren't wrong, Clary would have been worried that there was an apocalyptic event on the horizon. Complete with zombies.
Clary had been at her apartment, supposedly working on developing new runes. No matter how many times she explained to the elder Lightwoods that she couldn't just create new runes on command, they, or at least Marys, refused to believe her. So, while she was supposed to be working on runes, in reality she had been painting. What with all the training she had been doing to make up for not being raised a Shadowhunter, Clary had been anxious to steal any time she could for her art.
She had just started filling in the sunset in the background of her piece when the feeling of wrongness had started. It felt like spider feet crawling up her spine, like her stomach was rolling, her hands were clammy, her knees were wobbly, and her head was pounding. Worst of all, though, her back felt as if something was trying to claw its way out.
Clary collapsed, the red paint splattering across the floor in a garish imitation of blood.
After a moment, the feeling faded, leaving Clary disoriented and afraid. She wasn't sure how, but somehow she knew that the pain hadn't been hers. It was Jace's.
As soon as she caught her breath, Clary was up and out the door, sprinting towards the Institute.
Various scenarios ran through her mind as she went, some of them more fantastical than others.
Maybe Jace had been at a Downworlder club and gotten cursed by a faerie he had deliberately provoked.
Maybe he had seen a vampire and a werewolf fighting and decided to help. Knowing him, he had needled them until both attacked him. That was a little unlikely though, Clary remembered, seeing as he was still being held in the Institute's infirmary.
Maybe it was another side effect from being run through by Raziel's sword. Yet Clary couldn't figure out a reason why she would feel his pain.
Maybe it had something to do with Sebastian. Perhaps he had attacked the Institute with his army of demons. Wait, no, demons couldn't go on hallowed ground. He was attacking with his minions, then. Only crazy people would follow him, though, so he killed the others and turned them into zombies. Clary couldn't remember if she had ever heard if it was possible to raise zombies, but if anyone could do it, it would be Sebastian.
By this time, Clary had reached the Institute. She raced up the stairs, nearly trampling Isabelle.
"Isabelle!" Clary panted. "Are you alright? Have the zombies attacked yet? Is my brother here?"
Isabelle raised her eyebrows from her position on the floor. "Zombies? What have you been smoking? Zombies don't exist. And why would Sebastian be here of all places?"
"Never mind," Clary was in too much of a rush to answer Isabelle's questions. She had to find him. "Where's Jace?"
"Jace is still in-"
She was cut off by a hoarse scream. They both paled.
"-the infirmary."
Both girls turned and ran towards the scream. They burst into the infirmary to see Jace on the floor clutching at his back, jaw clenched in pain. His hair and shirt were soaked with sweat.
Clary hurried to his side. "Jace, what's wrong?"
His only reply was a low, agonized moan.
"Hold him down." Isabelle demanded, a knife in her hand.
Clary warily eyed the knife but complied with her command nonetheless. Isabelle deftly cut open the back of his shirt, revealing Jace's angry red back.
Clary gasped in sympathy, still able to feel a phantom trace of her earlier pain. The skin of his back look as if it was stretched tight as something tried to break through.
Bloody cracks began to appear between his shoulder blades, rapidly spreading. Jace's hands scratched at his back, tearing the cracks wider, allowing Clary and Isabelle to see glimpses of white. Clary and Isabelle pinned his hands to his side, and he thrashed in an attempt to free himself.
Finally, the thing under his skin broke free, and Jace collapsed into unconsciousness.
Isabelle's knife tumbled from her fingers to the floor with a thump that echoed in the sudden silence.
Clary sucked in an awed breath, unable to look away from Jace and the things growing from his back.
Lying limply across his body was a pair of bloody white wings.