Takes place in the Foyer area of Clary's building. City of Bones. If Alec and Isabelle had come with Jace and Clary for her 'one last look at home' and had met droves of forsaken rather than just one.
The forsaken comes at me out of nowhere. I thought I was far enough away from the crowd of them that the three "shadowhunters" are in the thick of, but I guess not. Wielding a mace, the grotesque thing lifts his arm, and I watch, too shocked to move, as he moves to bring his arm down.
And then I'm on the ground, having been knocked down, being shielded (if not crushed) by a handsome boy with an angular face and bright, honey-colored eyes. I faintly hear the sound of his friend, the dark haired one, slaughter the forsaken. I look up at the boy that is propped up on his elbows above me. His golden hair falls messily into his eyes as he looks at me. Jace. He must have thrown himself at me while his friend took care of the danger. "Are you okay?" he asks.
"Fine," I respond, and am surprised by the breathlessness in my voice. He rolls to the side and stands up, holding out his hand to help me up. Normally I wouldn't accept such help from people. I can stand up on my own. I'm not a child. But he did just save my life. The least I could do is take his hand. Trying to look as grateful as I can, I slip my hand into his and allow him to pull me up easily as if I was indeed a child. I subconsciously brush strands of fiery hair out of my eyes.
I don't know what I expected him to look like when I stood up next to him, but I never expected the anger I see in his eyes. "We told you to stay off to the side, Mundie!" he says, and I can hear the frustration in his voice.
"I was off to the side! That one," I point to the forsaken on the ground at our feet (the boy who killed it, Alec, is back in the mob of forsaken with his sister) "broke away and came after me. It wasn't like I went looking for it!" I can tell my voice is an octave higher than it usually is and wonder why I feel like I must be so defensive to this boy.
He rolls his eyes and then turns to look to his left, and then his right, as if he is looking for a place to go. He then takes me by the arm, none too gently, and guides me towards the door. We stop just before we get to it. He is not trying to get me to leave. I don't think I am supposed to. His back is to the throng of forsaken, and I wonder if he feels uneasy about it. If he does, he doesn't look like it. Leaning over me (I am much shorter than him) he pulls something out of his black jacket. A medium sized dagger. When he holds it out to me, I look at him like he's crazy. Because I'm beginning to believe he is.
"Take it."
"Umm, no thank you."
"Just take it," he says wearily. "There's no guarantee that you will have to use it if you stay off to the side. It's just in case."
I guess he can see that I'm still hesitant to take it. He reaches down and grabs my hand, pulling it toward him, and sets the dagger in it, closing my fingers around the hilt. It feels cold and surprisingly heavy in my hand. "Please, just stay over here and try not to get yourself hurt," he says sternly. I am taken aback by the urgency that he has allowed to creep into his voice. But then I think - he doesn't want me to get hurt because I'm supposed to be his responsibility today and he will probably get in trouble if he lets the little mundie get herself killed. He whirls around and sprints back into the crowd to fight.
A forsaken breaks out of the crowd once again and comes after me. I see it coming and resolve to show the shadowhunters that I'm not just some little girl. Hoping that at least one of them is watching, I bring the dagger back and fling it at the thing before it can even lift its axe. I put everything I had into that throw, and, thanks to some miracle, it strikes home, right in the forsaken's chest. I look up just in time to see the blonde-haired boy turn his smirking face from me to the creatures surrounding him. I should be proud of myself. After all, I just killed a forsaken. Not many "mundanes" can say the same. Instead I feel anger. Anger at the forsaken for trying to kill me. Anger at myself for wanting approval from the shadowhunters who, for the most part, have been nothing but rude to me ever since I met them. And most of all, anger at Jace. At that smirk of his. It wasn't a smirk of respect or anything. It wasn't a "wow, that little girl just murdered that thing". It was a "wow, look what I created" sort of thing. He thinks it's his doing that I managed to kill the thing and not get hurt. Just because he gave me the dagger.
Fuming, I decide I must continue fighting and show the arrogant boy that I am doing this on my own. I don't need his help. No matter how much he may pride himself in thinking I do. I am going to wipe that smirk clear off of his face. I charge toward the horde of forsaken.
I'm not stupid enough to actually go into the middle of the crowd, so I settle for just trying to get the ones on the outside. I can't manage to catch a glimpse of the shadowhunters, but I can tell from the slicing and grunting and groaning I hear that they are in the midst of the forsaken, tearing them to bits. How hard can it be? I think. I mean, I know they must've had training or something, but I'm just dealing with the ones on the outside. It can't be that difficult.
My thoughts quickly change not even a minute after I began slashing at the forsaken that make up the outskirts of the crowd. Because suddenly I am not on the outside of the crowd anymore. Now I am surrounded on all sides by forsaken. I scream as I, on instinct, begin lashing out in all directions with my dagger. I cry out as I feel a terrible pain on my back, just under my shoulder blade. Even though it's never happened to me before, I know instantly that I have just been sliced with a knife. It's not a fatal injury, and it's not that deep, but it still hurts.
The pain stops me for a fraction of a second, but that is long enough for the forsaken who were delayed just slightly by my dagger-slashing to close in on me. And suddenly there is pain everywhere. I am being hit by something hard in the back, cut in the face with what feels like scissors, sliced with knives. My clothes are being torn, my feet are being stomped on, and I can think of nothing to do but call out. "JACE!" I shriek at the top of my lungs, and the pain in my voice seems to radiate throughout the foyer.