Hello my lovelies! It's been a while... Sorry about that, for anyone who followed Highschool, Drama, and Orange Jumpsuits... I kind of lost some of my interest in Maximum Ride after I started reading The Mortal Instruments. I may decide to pick that story up, but I honestly don't even remember what direction I planned on taking it. Again, very sorry...

But anyways, on to the good stuff. This story popped into my head quite a while ago, and i finally had the motivation to write it (boredom). This is my first Shadowhunters/The Mortal Instruments fanfic. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of The Mortal Instruments. Just the plot. So no stealing...

I am but dust and shadows.

The phrase reverberates through my head as I leap with a feline grace from one rooftop to the next, never once losing sight of the shadowy figure slinking through the alleyways below. My target. Probably some vile piece of ilk terrorizing the streets of New York. Maybe not. I don't ask questions of my clients. I just take names and slit throats. I suppose that's how I, Clarissa Fairchild, became one of the greatest assassins in the country, and undoubtedly the most infamous.

The sounds of the New York night life surround me in a thick cocoon as I continue my silent pursuit. My target weaves his way through the busy streets festering with stumbling drunks and whores, my soundless footfalls echoing his far above. His gait is one of pure, unchallenged male arrogance . A flicker of glittering gold flashes in the corner of my eye as he rounds a lamp lit corner. His walk seems to drag on and on for eternity, before he finally comes to a halt outside a dusty warehouse. The words "Pandemonium Club" are illuminated in bright letters just above the doorframe. As he passes into the dim light, I finally have the chance to take in his features. I inhale a sharp breath of surprise.

The man before me is astonishingly beautiful. Tall and broad shouldered, honey gold hair curling lightly over his ears, his face is all planes and angles. His high, golden cheekbones seem to be carved out of some exquisite stone, and above them, striking amber eyes stare back at me.

Shit. I had been so lost in my revelry to notice his eyes flick to the spot where I lay tucked in the darkness, my features hidden by my hooded black cloak. I go utterly still, willing myself to blend into the shadows cast by the towering buildings surrounding my perch on the tiled roof of an abandoned storehouse. The blonde man sweeps his eyes across the area a few times before he dismisses my presence as a gust of wind, or a trick of the light, perhaps. Good. As he deems the area safe and slips into the club, I descend the brick wall, as silent as the night around me. I use the same ethereal grace to slip through the door after him, letting it slam with a light thud.

I am immediately struck by dancing colored lights, turning the floor ahead into a faerie realm of electric pinks and blues and greens. Dry ice smoke floats around me in a trance-inducing mist, amplifying the otherworldly feel of the room. Electronic music boomed through my very bones, wordlessly inviting me to move. A quick glance at the throng of revelers before me informs me that most people have been unable to resist its allure. My eyes scan the crowd of bright haired people jumping to the beat in ecstasy, searching for my victim. When I finally spy a golden head weaving through the crowd, I return to my prowl, only to have my path blocked by two enormous bouncers in matching black suits, corded with muscle from head to toe.

"ID, please," the one the left spits at me, wearily eyeing my sinister midnight cloak. I swiftly swipe one of many false ones from my cloak and flash it at him, never daring to take my eyes off of the blonde head of the tall man now heading towards the back of the club. As soon as I'm cleared, I glide through the shadows after him, still undetected. My target rounds a corner and whirls around, scanning the club. I quickly toss back my hood and join the revelers on the dance floor, my face a mask of drug-induced bliss as I seamlessly merge with the throng of people grinding against each other. Girls clad in barely more than scraps of extravagant silk and black leather toss their long hair back and forth all around me . I subtly keep an eye trained on him as my wild red curls bounce in time with the pounding trance music. When he turns on his heel again, I wind through the endless mass of partiers after him, throwing my dark hood back over my head. I round the corner just in time to see the golden man slip into a back room.

After a few drawn out moments, I press my ear to the door, listening intently. Two voices, one male, one female, leak through.

"Have you received news yet? From Pangborn?" the man asks in a voice as smooth as honey.

The woman pauses briefly, seeming to debate whether she should divulge this information to him. "Indeed. He ordered another shipment yesterday. It is expected to arrive at the docks tomorrow night."

"And does he desire my presence?"

"You are to keep Lucian- occupied while the deal is struck," the woman croons, her tone full of superiority. "Do not fail, Herondale, or there will be consequences."

The man—Herondale—swallows. "I understand."

The woman paces a few steps on high-heeled shoes. "Good. Now, onto more important matters of business. Have you retrieved the cup?"

Herondale seems pained as he replies, "No—not yet. But I'm close, so close. If you'll just allow me more time—"

"No. You've already been allowed plenty of it. You have two days." The woman's tone made it apparent that this is the end of this conversation, along with the fading clicks of her heels as she exits the room, likely through some back exit.

Now is my chance. Silent as a forgotten melody, I slip into the room, soundlessly unsheathing one of my deadly silver fighting knives. Creeping along the shadows, I survey the small room. Herondale is nowhere to be found. But there were no footste—

My body slams against the wall, a curved knife now resting at my throat. The wielder of the weapon, in all his golden beauty, grins at me, his amber eyes glinting with wicked amusement. The Lion Incarnate.

"Hello, assassin," he drawls. "Would you care to tell me why, exactly, you've been following me?"

I give him a grin of my own and stomp hard on the soft part of his foot and slam a vicious knee into his stomach, causing his iron grip on me to falter as he keels over. Swiping his blade from his grasp, I use the deadly muscle lining my deceptively thin body to swing his lean body so that our positions are reversed.

Pushing his blade so hard into his neck that I draw blood, I retort, "And would you care to tell me why, exactly, someone wants you dead?"

Voila! That's chapter one! I hope you enjoyed it!

Reviews=inspiration for writing=more chapters so please please pleaseeeeee leave a quick review! I would greatly appreciate it

Fly on, my fellow Shadowhunters

Kat