Full description: Jocelyn did her best to run. She did her best to make sure she could escape with even just one of her children. But things never turned out the way she'd planned—and sixteen years later, the same seems to be said of Jace Fray's situation. With his mother missing and strange creatures hunting him down, it's a struggle just for Jace to admit he isn't going crazy and that the pretty girl with the glowing blade isn't a murderer.
Short opening chapter but hey, it's mostly to look at Jocelyn during and after the Uprising. Not sure when I'll update this, since it's mostly a project to do in between other stories when they get too difficult to work through, so I hope you enjoy this little prologue until the next one comes out!
Idris, 1991
There's chaos everywhere. She'd imagined just how the Uprising would turn out, the possible outcomes haunting her nightmares, but none of those feverish dreams compare to what she sees right here, right now.
She fends off one of the Circle members—one of her former comrades, friends—and pushes through the swarm of screams and horror. Jocelyn wishes it had been different, wishes it had never gotten to this point. She steps past the body of a fallen warlock, her heart heavy as she locks gazes with his own dead, green eyes. She's seen countless battles not unlike this one, fought demons that turned their victims into walking blisters just waiting to burst. But this is too much for even Jocelyn to bear.
Above all else, she has to make sure her children are okay. Barely even a year old, the two of them, and they're stuck in the manor while something as chaotic as this goes on in Alicante. The werewolves of Brocelind Forest run past her, some of them in their wolf forms and others wielding weapons to use against the Circle. It's hard to watch as she witnesses Lucian, her old friend, sprint past her with his fangs bared and his skin tearing under the pressure of the wolf threatening to break free.
Jocelyn makes it out of the Accords Hall, miraculously unscathed as she sheaths her dagger. Her blood is burning as she breaks into a sprint, blazing past others who are trying to squeeze their way into the Hall. She can see smoke rising in the distance, coming from what looks to be the area the manors are. Jocelyn feels just the barest hints of panic as she watches it blacken and cloud up. Please let it be someone else's home. Please let her children be okay.
Dread sets in when she sees Fairchild manor in the distance, the beginnings of a fire flickering within.
Jocelyn screeches and kicks down the door as best she can, calling for her children. For the toddler Clarissa; for the infant Jonathan. Smoke hits her face the moment she starts ascending the stairs, racing for the children's room; in a fit of panic, Jocelyn tears at the ends of her dress and wraps it around the lower half of her face. Silk and delicate sheer fabric do little to shield her lungs from the smoke, but it's better than nothing.
She sprints past burning paintings and curtains, eyes locked on the door at the end of the hall. Her heart races as she gets closer and closer to the kids' room; had Valentine been at the Hall when the blaze had started? Was there too little time for him to make it here and start the fire? He wouldn't do it now—he wouldn't do it while their own children were inside, would he?
The door gives way easily as she smashes her weight into it, and she almost regrets doing so. Jocelyn has to hold back a sob as she spots the first of the bodies on the floor—her own mother, Adele, in a pool of her own blood. To have been slain in front of the children—to have slain his own mother-in-law—
A weak cry comes from further in the room. Tears prick at her eyes as she runs over to the cot by the window. It's Jonathan's cot, placed a short distance away from Clarissa's small bed, and within it is one solitary baby. Jocelyn almost weeps at the sight of her baby, her son; despite all the struggles she'd had with loving him after his birth, it is now, seeing him alive in his time of need, that she truly feels relieved that he is safe.
Jocelyn takes the baby into her arms, covering his face as best she can with the fabric of her jacket. Nestled closely to her chest, able to hear the beating of her heart, Jonathan stills and clings to her like a lifeline.
All at once, she runs out of the room and shrieks, "Clarissa!"
There is no answer, so sign of her baby anywhere. She panics as she tries to move further into the manor, hoping to cover more ground and find Clarissa hiding somewhere safe. The chandelier above the lobby breaks free of its chain, and it crashes to the ground with the force of a tsunami. Jocelyn panics, looking over the rail to see if anyone had been down there—if the doors are still unobscured. She thinks she sees someone, familiar red hair illuminated by the fire slowly creeping toward the chandelier.
It isn't until she's at the last step that she realises what the chandelier had landed on. At first she doesn't recognise him, his head practically bashed in by one of the chandelier's branches; but it soon becomes apparent that Valentine is one of the two stuck under the brass decoration, unmoving and lifeless.
Jocelyn can feel herself becoming lightheaded as she tries to peek around his body—to see if that red hair is really Clarissa, to see if Clarissa had really been killed in the same manner. Jonathan fidgets, coughing weakly against her dress. She can feel a small hand weakly rapping at her chest, trying to get her attention—get out, mother; I can't breathe.
It pains her to leave Clarissa behind, the tears no longer held back as she runs out of the manor and into the open field. Jonathan is still coughing as Jocelyn sinks to her knees in front of the burning manor; she screams and sobs, tearing at the grass with her free hand.
This is truly, truly worse than any nightmare she'd ever had.
New York, 1999
New Year's Eve
The wine glass is light in her hand, the chardonnay swirling with each twist of her wrist. It's still a good three hours until midnight, but she can't help open the wine bottle early. She does it every year. Why stop now?
The lights are off and the TV is playing the annual countdown to New Year's. A band is performing—some popular mundane group she has yet to remember the name of—while hordes of people cheer and wave around glow sticks. Beside her, wrapped in his dinosaur blanket, is her son.
Jocelyn sips at the wine as the intrusive thought hits her— the thought that this is not her son. It's been eight years, she tells that nagging voice in the back of her mind. She's raised this boy from infancy, and she'll be damned if she doesn't see him as her own son. It may be true that calling him Jonathan fills her with pain, that it's easier to pretend that she had a third child named Jace, but he is her son nonetheless.
His blond curls bounce as he bobs his head to the music. There's a big smile on his face as he watches the screen, eyes wide and focused entirely on the band. She notes to herself that he needs to have his hair cut just a little bit shorter. Perhaps he'll let her do it this time around instead of putting up a fuss, squirming around everywhere and crying that his hair won't grow back.
There's a knock at the door behind them. Jocelyn barely even have to get up from her seat—Jace jumps from his spot, blanket falling to the floor in abandon, and runs for the front door with a cry of, "I'll get it!"
The door opens. Jace laughs loudly as Luke's voice rings through the apartment. The door shuts behind them.
"Uncle Luke is here!" Jace calls. He sounds like his voice is strained, the way it comes out when Luke slings the boy over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Momma—it's Uncle Luke!"
Jocelyn allows herself a smile as she turns to look at the two. It's a fine sight to behold, her best friend carrying her adopted son with the ease and familiarity one would their own child. It's no wonder Jace had taken to Luke so quickly; he's a man who's gifted with children.
"Did Uncle Luke bring snacks for midnight?" Jocelyn asks Jace, brow raised curiously. Luke struggles to keep his hold on Jace as the blond boy squirms around to properly sit on his shoulder.
Instead of asking, Jace looks down at Luke with wide eyes and a questioning hum. Luke chuckles to himself as he raises the shopping bag in his other hand, holding it out towards Jocelyn as he walks closer to the couch. From what she can see through the thin plastic, he's grabbed everything that Jace likes—with, of course, the addition of a cheese platter for himself and Jocelyn.
"I didn't know which cheese was best with chardonnay," Luke admits. He puts Jace back down on the ground, allowing the little ball of energy to leap onto the couch once more and peek over at the shopping bag. "So I just bought any I could find."
Jocelyn hums with a small smile. "It's brie, for future reference," she tells him. "I appreciate the thought, though. Want a glass?"
He nods, and then the countdown resumes. Jace watches the rest of the band's concert, almost letdown when they clear the stage for the next performer. Luke, after his second glass of wine, suggests to Jace that they go to a nearby batting cage on Sunday; it's met with a screech of agreement. Jocelyn, munching on the last of the Dutch cheese, watches as the timer in the corner of the screen takes over the entire program. Ten seconds to midnight. Ten seconds to New Year's.
Ten seconds to another year without her babies.
Ten seconds to another year with her baby.