So, this is the first chapter of my new story. I know some things aren't the same as in the books, but it's mostly done to accommodate the story to my OC. After all, Izzy doesn't have a twin sister in TMI, so I had to make room for her :) Each chapter is written in first person, but from another point of view. I'll write the name of the character in the chapter's tittle, so you don't get confused. I already know whose point of views will the three parts of prologue and the first chapter be from ( yeah, I know it's a long prologue, but I hope it'll be worth, it's about the events that happen before CoB, the story in the actual first chapter/ fourth to-be-published happen at the beginning of CoB ), but feel free to suggest whose point of view I should use for the chapters after. I'm not promising that I'll use every suggestion, but I'll definitely think over them and see how they would fit into my idea of the story.

Without further delaying, here is the first part of the prologue. I hope you'll enjoy :)

"Doesn't he have anywhere else to go?" I cross my arms over my chest, trying to look dangerous, but knowing that I actually look like a stubborn child. Deep down I know that, in fact, I am one. But, I'm still trying.

It's not really working anyway, since the person I am trying to frighten is my mother, whose patience I've been testing for the last few days. I can see she is almost at the edge and that my complaining is just making everything worse. If she wasn't holding Max and trying to lull him to sleep, she would probably yell at me. And the woman really has good lungs, I've experienced the power of her voice enough times. Luckily, in this situation, she just frowns. May the Angel bless my younger brother.

I definitely can't say the same for my big brother and my twin sister. They are just standing next to me in silence, a true picture of obedient children. They glance at me every couple of seconds, like they were embarrassed, begging me soundlessly to shut up, but it just makes me more eager to keep complaining.

We all wear our best clothes, like the Consul himself is coming. I laugh at myself at the thought that nobody could notice us in the dark street because we all wear black. Well, except for Max, who wears mundane red T-shirt and blue jeans. If we were out there in the mundane world, setting a trap for demons, he'd ruin us right away.

Alec, my big brother, wears pants and shirt and there is a light-yellow tie around his neck, one of Dad's really old ones. I notice he even put a bit of hair-gel. His back are completely upright. My guess is that he hopes to be the tallest child in the room even after next few moments. But, it makes him look like he has just swallowed a broom. I find his pretending to be something more than an eleven year-old ridiculous, but since I always try to look older than I actually am, I restrain myself from laugh and comments.

Next to me, Isabelle looks adorable in her calf-length dress. She is a miniature version of Mum, having the same black hair and dark brown eyes. We are twins, but not identical ones. We share the hair-colour and we are almost equally tall, but I have blue eyes, like Alec. But, that doesn't help me at all. When people see Isabelle, one can see on their faces they think she is the prettiest creature that has ever walked the face of the Earth. She has long black hair that reaches half of her back, cute small nose, a gorgeous smile; practically everything. One can see that Mum is very proud when she talks about Isabelle and when people say Isabelle looks just like her.

I'm exactly the opposite. My hair barely reaches top of my neck. I still remember the times when I had long hair and how it distracted me while I was doing practically everything. I have no idea how Isabelle copes with her hair. I have mine cut the moment it passes the line of my neck. Unlike Isabelle, I don't know how to laugh quietly and lady-like. If I find something to be amusing, the whole room knows about it, because I burst out laughing in a second. Since I love to read, Mum has even taken me to a mundane library a couple of times. There I've found a story about a wooden puppet whose nose has grown long because he'd been lying. I don't think I've said too many lies during my nine-year-long life, but I still feel like I share the puppet's fate.

Unfortunately, it's not the Consul that is coming. In a few minutes or so, our father should be back. It's not his arrival that bothers me. It's the fact that he shouldn't be alone, although my hopes haven't completely abandoned me yet. A boy should come with him. And he should stay with us because we are meant to be his new family.

I don't like that. He's not a Lightwood. He doesn't belong with us. But, whenever I try to explain it to Mum, I end up punished. She sends me to bed without dinner or forbids me to go to the weapons-room or to the library. She knows my weak spots and uses them against me.

But, the boy not being a Lightwood is not the true reason for my resistance. With Alec being the oldest and first child, Isabelle being so perfect and Max being the youngest, the last thing I need is another person to compete against. I've been losing the fight against the first born one, the perfect one and the one who must to be taken care of. What chance do I have against an orphan then?

But, I keep complaining. I can't help it. I mean, I can, but I don't want to. I don't want some strange kid to come to live with us.

"Why does he have to live with us?" I ask again, considering Mum's anger has cooled down enough. "It's not our fault that ... "

"Jacqueline, stop it." she interrupts me, and I feel like her gaze is piercing my skull. "How can you act like that? He's just lost his father. You should feel sorry for him. What if your father and I got killed and you had nowhere to go?"

That makes me shut up for few moments, but no more. He's worthy of pity, but that does not mean we should let him to live with us. He can find pity elsewhere.

"I wouldn't be coming to live with a family that doesn't want me." I mumble for myself, but she still hears me. I love the fact that my whole family, myself included, are Shadowhunters, but there are still times that I curse our powers, like a good sense of hearing. This is one of those times.

"Jacqueline!" she still bothers to sound shocked, although she has been familiar with my opinion of this matter for a long time. And she knows how much I hate to hear my name, so there is another one of my weak spots. "You'd better get used to him being here. Otherwise, you'll have to stay locked in your room to avoid him. I won't even have to bother to punish you."

"I'll kick him out of the Institute." I say, clenching my fists. "This is my home, not his."

"C'mon, Jacqueline." Alec supports Mum, that's obvious. He'd never use my first name if he was on my side. "You'll get another brother. You should be happy about that."

"I'm still trying to get rid of the last one I got." I reply, but with a big grin on my face. Everyone knows I adore Max. We play together every day, even though he's just two years old. Our favourite game is making faces. I always make the funniest ones, I'm unbeatable at it. He laughs like crazy when he sees me touching my nose with my tongue. So I do it for him right now, partly to make him laugh, but partly to distract myself so I can forget for a moment that I still haven't got what I want.

"Max!" I call for him and wait for his sleepy eyes to open completely. "Look at me."

The moment I perform my show, he is completely awake and ecstatic. He reaches for me with his little hands, thinking it is time for playing.

"'Line!" he doesn't use the nickname I picked for myself, but even ''Line' is better than 'Jacqueline'. I have no idea what Mum was thinking when she gave me that name. It's horrible. If I had a daughter, I would never, ever, name her 'Jacqueline'.

"He was just about to fall asleep!" Mum sighed. "Do you have to do that all the time?"

I want to say 'yes', but with my tongue touching my nose, I only produce a hiss and accidentally spit at Max and Mum. He thinks I'm funny. She doesn't.

"Jacqueline, enough." she rolls her eyes.

The elevator suddenly opens and we see two men coming out of it. Actually, only one of them is old enough to be called a man. That's my father, Robert Lightwood. He walks fast, leaving the other silhouette few steps behind. He approaches to Mum first and gives her a kiss on the cheek.

"Welcome home." she says, but there is no real happiness in her voice.

I raise an eyebrow, but keep my mouth shut. I have bigger problems than my parents' relationship at the moment.

Dad caresses Max's head and even smiles at him. It's nice to see him smiling. I've been told multiple times that I smiled like he did. That fact makes me proud.

But, I'm disappointed when he doesn't greet the rest of us one at the time. He's distracted by the approach of the boy.

I study him carefully. The first thing I notice is his eyes. They are gold like leaves in autumn. I have never seen such eyes. But, there is more to them than their colour, I know it, but I can't guess what exactly. They hide in shadows, like the boy doesn't want any of us to see what lies beyond them. He avoids looking at us and just stares at the floor.

"Alexander, Isabelle, Jacqueline." Dad points at the boy. "This is Jonathan Wayland."

"Hi." Alec and Isabelle say as one, but I'm still staring soundlessly at the boy.

Look at me. I don't say it out loud, because it would make me look ridiculous. Even worse, my family could think that I've changed my mind about him staying with us. But, I haven't. It's just my curiosity getting the best of me. But, it won't last, I swear. Look at me, damn it.

"Jacqueline, won't you greet Jonathan?" my mind-talk is interrupted by Dad's voice.

But, Dad's words served its purpose. Jonathan raised his head and looked at me.

For a moment, I desperately want to look away. I even try, but I can't. Those gold eyes are so penetrating. They make me freeze at the spot, like I have suddenly turned into a stone. But, it seems like this is a two-way line. Like our minds have somehow connected, suddenly I notice slight changes in his expression. And I know what he's thinking. I surprised him because I hadn't greeted him. He had expected me to be a good little girl who obeys her parents' every word. Now his eyes are captivating mine, not letting me go until he is done. He judges me, forms an opinion that won't be so easily changed. He doesn't plan to be surprised the next time.

But, I don't intend to let him to find out my thoughts. I find strength to look away from him and face Dad's strict gaze.

"If I wanted him to be here, then I would." I say it loudly, making every member of my family except for Max gasping.

I glance at Jonathan for a moment, wondering if he has been hurt by my words. His eyes are still on me. Maybe he thinks that looking in his eyes will make feel ashamed of myself.

But, there's no chance for that to happen. I don't want him here. I am not afraid of speaking my mind. After all, I was taught not to lie.

Suddenly, I feel someone grabbing my shoulder. The hand grabs me so roughly that I almost lose my balance. Luckily, the dress isn't long enough for me to stumble over it. I manage to restore balance, but now I have to see who has caused this earthquake around me. As I've thought, I am facing Dad.

"Go to your room." he says sharply. "You're not coming out until you decide to apologize."

"Can I decide to apologize, come out and then change my mind?" I push it as much as I can, not caring about crossing the line. I don't want the boy to stay here. This place is overcrowded for me even without him. I'm tired of fighting to be noticed. If I can't do it any other way, I will be as rude as possible.

Dad's face frowns ever more than before. I have never seen him this angry. I realize that if I say one more thing, he will slap me. Neither he nor Mum does that often, only when we are really way over the line. Mostly, it is always I who is way over the line. Alec – rarely as snow in July, Isabelle – never. I'm the troublemaker. Sometimes I even like to be one, but it has its consequences.

My pulse increases and for the first time today I'm truly afraid. I know I should keep my mouth shut now and do as he says. But, then I glance at Jonathan again.

There is a smile on his face. He thinks that me being grounded again is funny. My words haven't hurt him at all. He knows he is beating me, because my family is on his side. That restores all of my courage. He will learn soon enough what happens if he laughs at me.

"If that's the case, I'll never leave my room again." I rouse out of Dad's grip and make few steps backwards, glancing at all of them. "I'll just starve to death."

The moment I said those words, I start to run. I know Mum and Dad will catch me in a matter of seconds, but I continue to run like a demon army is hunting me. One corridor after another, I'm getting lost in the labyrinth. Every room seems like a poor hiding place, so I move on and on.

After few minutes, I have to stop to catch my breath. I turn around, ready to face an inevitable punishment, but the corridor behind me is empty. Nobody follows me. I am all alone.

It is an advantage I haven't hoped to have. I have a chance to hide properly. Luckily, the Institute is big, so it will take time for them to find me. I've run by so many rooms and they will have to search them all.

There are five doors in this corridor. I pick the fourth one, hoping it is the least obvious choice. It's not the first or the last, nor that in the middle and it's not a choice that tries to fool the hunters by not choosing the first, but the second door. Yeah, the fourth door is ideal.

I enter the room. It looks like any other room in the Institute, with one bed, one cabinet, few shelves and a door that leads to bathroom. Good enough for me.

I crawl in under the bed, ignoring dust that fills my nostrils. I hit the bed with my head once, but it doesn't stop me. After few moments of making myself comfortable, I'm finally satisfied with my hiding place. I lie with my belly against the floor, my chin leaned on my hands. I notice the black sleeves of my dress have become grey, but I don't care, in fact, the scene makes me smirk. I have never been fond of dresses, so ruining one amuses me more than it makes me worried.

I prick up my ears, looking after sounds of footsteps. They will find me, I know it. It's inevitable. I've made them angry and I will have to face the consequences of my words. But, I won't make it any easier to them. If they want to punish me, firstly they will have to find me.

I have been waiting for hours. Nobody's coming and I wonder if it's possible that they have forgotten about me.

No, they wouldn't. I'm trying to convince myself, but I feel my hands shaking on the thought. They want me to think they have. They think I will get scared and come out. Nice try.

So I remain lying under the bed, determined to make them look for me. I want to stay awake in case they finally show up, but boredom and fatigue soon make me start to yawn. After a couple of seconds I'm already sleeping.

When I wake up, the room is dark as a cave. My whole body aches and I notice I'm not lying in my soft bed, but on the floor. I haven't fallen off the bed since I was six, but I guess it can happen anytime. So I start to stand up straight.

Suddenly I hit my head against something. I have no idea what is happening and who put a damn shelf somewhere over my bed. I try again, but with the same result. Luckily, I'm smart enough not to try it for the third time. I pull my witchlight out of my pocket, thanking the Angel I never separate from it. When it is lit, I stretch my hand out and see something made of wood just few centimetres above my face.

I force my blurred mind to remember what had happened before I fell asleep. I start with the today's morning, that's the easiest way to remember the rest. I skip the boring parts like washing my teeth and such. I remember how I beat both Alec and Isabelle on this morning's training at throwing blades. I love doing that, both throwing blades and beating Alec and Isabelle. It makes me feel great. It makes me feel like I'm not a lost case.

Then it was lunch and then I had to put a dress on. Because the strange boy was going to come. And then he came. And then I said those words to my family. And then I ran away. And I've been hiding since.

I have no idea how much time has passed since I fell asleep, but my stomach reminds me I haven't eaten anything since lunch. I roll to the left. After roll and a half, there is more light than under the bed. It's coming through the window, meaning that New York is still awake.

I come closer to the door and open it carefully. The corridor is completely dark. I raise the hand with witchlight and start to walk slowly through the corridor. For a moment, I'm scared that I won't find the way to the kitchen, but then I force myself to stay calm. Just because it's dark and desolated, it's still the Institute where I live and which I know like the palm of my hand. I know how to find my way. I just have to focus. And stop thinking about how some demon is going to jump out of the darkness and strangle me.

Bad thoughts, bad thoughts. I rebuke myself. Think of ... of ... sandwich. Yeah, a tasty sandwich with butter and honey. And a cup of tea. And a chocolate bar for dessert.

That distracts me long enough. I am so focused on my sandwich that I almost miss the corridor that leads to the kitchen. When I realize I recognize where I am, I wish to jump and sing in happiness. But, since the rest of the Institute is silent as a grave, I restrain myself. Everything has turned out pretty good for me, since I've avoided seeing anyone for the rest of the day after the fight, I'd have to be dumb to ruin that now. And I don't consider myself dumb.

I grab the doorknob and open the door. They resist for a moment, enough to creak.

"Damn it!" I swear under my breath and glance over my shoulder, making sure there is no light turning on in the corridor.

I close the door as fast as I can and then turn around, ready to open the fridge and enjoy a little private feast. But, my intentions are ruined when I notice someone is already here. There is another witchlight on the table, but there is not enough light to recognize the intruder. But, the game of elimination always helps. The person is too short to be Mum or Dad or Hodge and has hair too short to be Isabelle. Unless he hasn't grown a meter and a half since I saw him today, it can't be Max either.

"Alec?" I ask with hope in my voice, but I know it's not him before he answers. My older brother sleeps like a log. He never gets up during the night.

That leaves only one option. And I don't like it at all.

"Jonathan." I growl, frowning at him.

He turns around and looks at me.

"Will you make up your mind?" there is a smirk on his face. "Am I Alec or Jonathan?"

"Alec is my brother." I emphasize the word that describes the difference between him and Alec the best. "You mean absolutely nothing to me."

"And you mean absolutely nothing to me." he says and takes a gulp of yogurt. "I guess that makes us even."

"It doesn't." I cross my arms over my chest. "This is my home, not yours."

He swallows abruptly, giving me the satisfaction of seeing that my words have affected him. I'm waiting to see if he has a smart answer for that too. But, his voice sounds completely honest when he says:

"I didn't choose to come here."

I mustn't soften up to him. I warn myself. This is my chance to say everything to his face without being disturbed. He's not my brother. And he never will be.

"Trust me, neither did I." I make my way past him, taking the butter out of the fridge. "I don't want you here, orphan. Go away."

I pretend cold and indifferent while I'm looking for honey, bread and a knife. He says nothing. I hear him drinking the yogurt slowly, gulp by gulp, like he wishes that bottle never empties. I smile at myself, knowing I'm succeeding. If I show him how unwanted he is, he will run away. He will leave us alone. And that's all I want.

I sit down and start making a sandwich. Just its scent is enough for me to feel the sweet taste of honey on my tongue. I can barely force myself to finish making the sandwich, especially because it has been long since my last meal. But, after few minutes, a piece of bread with fat layer of butter and honey is ready to be eaten. I'm so hungry that charge it like a wolf attacking its prey. I'm done in a minute, so I start making another one.

"If I had anywhere else to go, I'd go there." Jonathan says suddenly.

I completely forgot he was still there. His voice frightened me, making me drop the knife. But, I'd die sooner than admit that.

"Damn it!" I swear loudly enough for him to hear me, pretending I cut myself. I put my thumb in my mouth, like I'm trying to stop the bleeding.

But, because I'm too busy enjoying my little show, I'm not fast enough to pick up the knife. Suddenly, Jonathan appears next to me and the knife lies on his palm.

"You dropped this." his voice is much calmer than before.

"Don't you fawn on me!" I frown again. "You're wasting your time. You are not my family. And you never will be. I don't care whether your Dad was killed or not. You're not getting mine."

His golden eyes flash in the light of witchlight. For a moment, we stare at each other and I see tears in corners of his eyes. But, then he turns around, grabs his witchlight and walks toward the door.

But, I won't let this to end here. I'm finally beating him. I will finish him off today.

"What is it, orphan? The truth hurts?" I smirk.

He stops. I look at his back for a very long minute. Then he turns around and faces me again.

"You're obviously honest to the death. So, I have a question for you." he says. There is a weird expression on his face that it takes few moments for me to recognize. It's that judging expression that I saw this afternoon. "What's your problem with me?"

I'm taken aback by his directness. I try not to show it, but it beats me. And there is something about the way he said I was honest to the death. It's weird, but it sounded more like a compliment than mockery to me. And I had promised myself that I would tell everything to his face. Even now I don't want to lie; not for his sake, but for my own.

"I already have too many siblings." my tone is gentle, so he wouldn't get the wrong impression. "I mean, I love them, all of them, but sometimes I feel like I can't compare with them. And with you here, I ... "

"You think your parents will care more about me than about you." he finishes my sentence when I don't feel I can say those words out loud.

I nod, avoiding his gaze. I don't want him to take pity on me. I'm strong; I can fight this feeling of loneliness. I don't need him to do it for me.

Now I'm already regretting my words. I shouldn't have told him anything. I should have kept my shut. But, like always, my mouth has been faster than my brain.

"I won't get in your way." I hear his voice, but he is closer than before. I raise my head and see that he's standing right next to me. "I ... I don't want to stand between you and your family. I promise."

"Don't promise something you can't fulfil." I shake my head with a sad smile on my lips, returning my gaze on the table in front of me.

My family will make sure he has everything he needs, ask him if everything is alright, if there is something they can do to help him with his burden. Until they get used to him being around, they will watch over him. It could take years before they remember I still exist. They didn't look for me today. That describes perfectly how unimportant I am to my family now.

Suddenly, there is a sound close to me. A chair is creaking as he sits down. His gold eyes reflect the light of the witchlight in his hand.

"Believe me, I wish I still ... " suddenly, he is the one who can't finish the sentence.

I owe him one. So I return the favour.

"You wish you still lived with your Dad." I say and he nods.

It seems like he can't continue on his own. The light in his eyes has become different than before, more blurred. I can't see his face very well, but I could swear he is crying.

For the first time, I actually sympathize with him. I can't even imagine a world without my Dad. And his has been killed. I was told his mother had died when he was born. I bite my lip, remembering the awful word I've called Jonathan: "orphan". I hate myself so much for it right now. I should never have let that word cross my lips.

"I'm sorry." I mumble.

That makes him look at me again.

"You have nothing to apologize for." there is firmness in his voice, but I hear he tries to hide the truth about his feelings. "It's not your fault."

I stare at him quizzically for a moment, not understanding how he can say it's not my fault. But, then I realize he's talking about his father's murder.

"I'm not apologizing for that." I say. "I'm sorry for calling you an orphan."

He just shrugs.

"Well, that's what I am now, isn't it?" he rubs his eyes and yawns, but I know that yawn is just for the show. He is pretending that he is tired, so he can wipe away the tears from his eyes without showing the weakness.

"But, me saying it out loud isn't helping." I point out quietly.

He doesn't answer.

My opinion of him is becoming better and better with every second that passes. I've noticed he's much like me. We are not afraid of speaking our minds and we don't want others to see our weaknesses. Despite what happened to him, he remains strong because he is a fighter. I admire him for that. And then I realize I am ready to give him a chance. If he is like me, he will understand me. I will have him by my side and therefore I won't feel lonely.

"Look, I know we kind of started on a wrong foot." I say and wait for him to look at me again. When he does, I continue. "But, I think we should start all over again."

For a moment, he looks like he is going to reject my offer. But, then he nods.

"OK." that is the only thing he says.

"OK." I repeat, take a deep breath and then stretch my hand out. "My name is Jacqueline Stephanie Lightwood. But, if you ever call me any of those names, you'll be dead in less than five seconds."

That scatters all of his sadness. I can tell my words amuse him.

"If I can't use any of your names, how should I call you?" he shakes my hand. A grin appears on his lips and I feel somehow proud of myself. I've managed to distract him from the dark thoughts in his mind and to make him smile. It's quite an achievement, if I may say so myself.

"Jamie." I reply. "I made it up. It's like a puzzle made of my first and my second name."

"Why isn't 'Jackie' then?" he asks and a cunning shine in his eyes shows me that he thinks he has gotten me into a trap, but I already have an answer ready.

"'Jackie' is too similar to 'Jacqueline' and I hate my first name." I explain, but I can't help myself but to add: "And 'Jamie – the-best-Shadowhunter-in-the-world' sounds much better."

"I'd prefer 'Jackie', but that's just me." I know he's teasing me, so I don't let him have the pleasure of seeing me annoyed. But, talking about my nickname gives me an idea.

"We should give you a nickname." I say enthusiastically. "Jonathan is way too long and it's too formal, it sounds like you're eighty years old. So, what's your second name?"

His gaze becomes a bit sceptical, but he still answers.

"Christopher."

"Jonathan Christopher." I repeat, trying to think of a good nickname. It takes few minutes, but then I come up with one.

"I have a perfect nickname for you." I point with my finger at him. "Jace. How's that sound?"

"Jace." he says, trying the nickname on his lips. "I can go with it, I guess. 'Jace – the-best-Shadowhunter-in-the world' sounds pretty good."

"Hold on!" I shake my head. "You can only get 'Jace – the-second-best-Shadowhunter-in-the-world'. 'Cause I'm the best one. Or I'm certainly going to be one day."

He laughs. For the first time since I met him, he laughs out loud. And I can't deny that I like that sound. It's a bit secretive, a bit amused, a bit devoted, all at the same time.

"I guess I have no choice now." he says, but his eyes are now completely fixed on mine.

I'm slightly uncomfortable with those eyes staring at me like that, but I don't want to show it, so I start to babble.

"Of course not. It's kind of tradition to have a nickname in this Institute." nothing better crossed my mind. "Only our parents call my brother 'Alexander'. It's also too long and sounds like he's ninety, not eleven. So Isabelle, Max, Hodge and I call him 'Alec'. You've met Hodge, haven't you?"

"I have." he replies, but doesn't go into details. I couldn't have been special, so I don't push the subject.

"I always forget 'Max' is a nickname too." I smile when I think of my younger brother. "His name is actually 'Maxwell', but can you imagine calling a cute little two-year-old 'Maxwell'? Like I'm talking to grandpa. Except for I wouldn't call grandpa his name, but 'grandpa', but you know what I mean."

For a reason I can't guess, he grins again. I pretend not to notice. When he agreed we should start our acquaintance all over again, he accepted to handle my sometimes unstoppable talking.

"You may call Isabelle 'Isabelle', but when she's in an extremely good mood, she'll let you call her 'Izzy'. I explain further. "We kind of forced her to have a nickname. She thinks her name is pretty. But, if you ask me, it sounds like a seventy-year-old lady. 'Izzy' sounds much better."

"If 'Jonathan' sounds like eighty-year-old, 'Alexander' like ninety-year-old, 'Maxwell' like 'grandpa' and 'Isabelle' like seventy-year-old, where is 'Jacqueline' on that scale?" he asks and I finally realize what's the reason for his grin.

"'Jacqueline' is the worst." I sigh overdramatically. "It's like I live in seventeenth century. You do the math."

"It's just like you're four hundred years old." his eyes shine mockingly. "You're extremely good-looking for your age."

"Well, thank you." I get up and bow slightly. "The secret is in eating late at night. It does wonders for your skin."

"Will we repeat it tomorrow?" suddenly, his face is serious. I don't know if it's for real or just pretending, but I keep my easy-going attitude.

"Sure." I've just had an idea. I walk to one of the cabinets and take two stem glasses out of it. I pour some water in both of them and give one to Jace. "There are many years to come. We must make sure you're as good-looking as I am when you're four hundred years old."

"Deal." he accepts the glass and smiles again, making me feel relieved.

"So, Jace Wayland ..." I raise my glass, pretending I'm holding a glass of champagne. "Welcome to the family of first-name-haters."