A/N: So I actually published this story quite a while ago, but didn't continue it. I want to give it a second chance and try FanFiction again, plus I want to develop my writing skills. I know I'm not the best writer, and I can work on a bunch of areas, and I'm trying to improve. Basically, if you've got any constructive criticism please PM me because I'd really appreciate it!
Oh, also, this won't happen much but this chapter is Rated M for language!
CHAPTER 1:
Clary tightens her grip on her mother's portfolio as a gust of cold wind blows in her face, blasting her hair out of her eyes. Tiny droplets are falling from the sky, making their way down Clary's face. The sun's setting on the horizon, painting the sky a pinky-orange colour, and dark clouds are approaching the city. She dawdles down the street as another gust of wind thrashes the trees about. She likes the way the thunder rolls on, and the way the lighting imprints its pattern in her vision. It's good to be out, even in this weather.
The crowds grow, and the sidewalk thickens with people as the night clubs and bars opened, and people began taking notice of Clary walking in the rain. Her bright red hair made her easy to spot and her modest ('unusual') taste in clothing earned her a few odd looks from passers-by, rolling their eyes at the idea of even wearing something that covered their collarbone. She was the only one with-out an umbrella, yet she didn't seem to mind. Within minutes of opening, all the most popular clubs had developed lines so long you would have thought they were waiting to meet Kim Kardashian.
She could almost picture her mum in England, sitting in front of a large blank canvas, deciding whether to paint the city life from the view of her window, or to wait for a sunset. Jocelyn had told Luke what she expected of Clary; no visitors other than Simon, and if something the slightest bit odd occurred, he wanted Clary to ring straight away. Yeah right, like that's gonna happen.
She absentmindedly checked her watch, 8:29. Groaning in realisation, Clary sighs and rolls her eyes, quickening her pace. Jocelyn wants her home by 8:30, and she's expecting a call from Clary. A call before bed, a call when she wakes up, a call when she's feeling sick. Like she can control her every move? So she lets of her mind wonder, and dreams about what it would be like to have no responsibilities; no expectations. To have no one judging her. Instead she was stuck in a mass of responsibility called 'life'. Looking around town, she noticed just how trapped she was. New York wasn't a place she could be free. Stories and stories of boring grey buildings encased every street in town. The only freedom here came with a cost, and quite a literal cost. You can't just walk into a club without a ticket.
She glances up as she passes the only 'all ages' club, Pandemonium. Stopping in her tracks, she looks behind her. The sign almost blinds her, the neon name was glowing white-hot. Colourful flashing lights escaped the entrance and danced over the footpath. It was almost as if they could hypnotise you, capturing you and luring you into a trance. They called for her to breathe the air inside, even take a sip of the alcohol. This time she could tell the pull of the club was much stronger. It was a magical kind of a pull. Surely she could get in? After all, what trouble could Clary cause?
Snapping herself out of a daydream, she continues on the path home, but later turns around, just for one last look. She won't go in, she's just admiring.
Before she can turn back around she's shocked by a shove. Oh, fuck. Something's struck her. She can feel the wind, her hands reaching out, her hair clouding her vision. She can see nothing… Something? Everything. It was not her yelp she heard, but rather the yelp of the boy. She didn't have time to care about him, she was in the air. It didn't matter how high she was, it was going to be a painful landing. What on earth hit her to send her sprawling five feet away from the collision? Where would she land? On the road? On the pavement? She was in a position with absolutely no control. Clary flung her hand's out in instinct, and Jocelyn's artwork scattered across the pavement and the street as she let it go.
A sharp pain greeted Clary as she landed and she rolled over on her stomach, groaning in pain. Clary was still dazed from the blow, and her vision blurred and stunned, half images drifting, objects doubling. Once she had recovered she looked around for an explanation. Ah, shit. Mum's not going to be happy about this… Her eyes settle on all of the prints, her mother's art, strewn across the street, wet, muddy and torn, with dirty tire tracks claiming the art. The guilt surfaced, and she felt herself looking away. All those paintings had been sold, and that was the only evidence, Jocelyn said, that they ever existed. All those years of hard work, wiped away with one single action. Now what would her mum use to apply for her job at the National Gallery?
She brushed the thought from her mind. After all, there was nothing she could do about it now, right? Looking up from the concrete she noticed a peculiar boy. He lay crouched, half on the street, half on the side-walk. He was crouched with his knees and arms to his chest, groaning in pain. Maybe a broken rib or two. But what a weird colour to die your hair. The blue strands almost seemed alive with electricity. But damn, those green eyes, Clary gulped. At his feet lay an upturned black and white skateboard.
She placed her hand on her head in confusion, but was instead welcomed by the warm and wet sensation of blood. 'What have I done?' Clary thought. She felt drops rolling down her face one by one, the wind slowly turning them cold. She clinched as one landed on her eyelid, and she had the sense to wipe it off, but not without smudging it. Both her head and her hand were bleeding. A deep cut had formed on her right hand, but she had no clue about her head injury. Clary felt like face-palming. This was something her mum would probably kill her about. Then there was the possibility of concussion. What had she gotten herself into?
The other figure stood up, only to fall back down a second later. This was her fault, Clary realised. If only she had been paying attention and not daydreaming for the thousandth time. She stood up abruptly and raced to his side in concern, checking for any injuries.
"Sorry, are you alright?" She held out her hand for him, and he took it in his without acknowledging her, still shielding his face with his other hand. "Ouch!" The boy's head snapped up at her exclamation, revealing wide-alert eyes, as Clary drew back her hand quickly, making him fall backwards once again. His snake-like eyes, locked onto hers. Her hand still felt warm and tingly, sizzling like she had just been shocked. Curious, she examined her hand. On it was a drop of a black fluid, like blood, slowly mixing in with her own. She subtly snuck a glance at the boy's hand and noticed that his were also grazed and bloody. Though his blood was not red; it was a greenish-black colour. Not the colour of human blood, she observed.
That was the first thing she noticed. It was greenish-black, not red. Not red. Her heart rate was gradually rising as she came to realise what this meant. Not human. It wasn't human. It took no more than a second for Clary to react. For the first time, she saw him for who he truly was. She saw through his false layers of skin. He moved like a holographic protection, sliding in and out of focus, with the same piercing green eyes and electrical hair, but his skin was no longer human.
As soon as they made eye contact, Clary looked away, attempting to hide her secret. What would he do to her if he realised she knew? Clary thought she was going crazy, thought she had lost it. The streets were still busy, so she wasn't alone, yet no-one had seen what happened. No one had noticed the odd one out. What could that mean?
Turning away, Clary looked to her mother's portfolio. She seemed to be searching the scattered art for clues, or something to tell her what was lights of the street were dimming, flickering as they did so, and she felt a headache coming. Maybe she was just exhausted and the light was distorting her view? As she glanced behind her, she hoped to see a perfectly normal boy with blue hair and green eyes.
She didn't scream or cry. She just pushed through the small crowd that formed, and skip-hopped to the other side of the road, before breaking out into a full sprint back to the apartment.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it and please R &R