Jasmine woke up to black eyes staring down at her. She sat up quickly, making her head colliding with something hard. Isabelle shrieked and jumped back, clutching her forehead. Or at least, that was who she thought was Isabelle. She hadn't really introduced herself, but Hodge had mentioned one girl and her name had been that.
Jasmine was breathing hard. "By the Angel! Are you okay? I'm so sorry." She scrambled to her feet, ignoring her throbbing head, and reached out to touch Isabelle, who huffed and slapped her hand away.
"I'm fine." Isabelle crossed her arms. "I just wanted to—nevermind." She turned to walk out, but stopped herself. "If you're… hungry or something, I made spaghetti." There was no kindness in her voice, but Jasmine appreciated the offer.
"Thank you," Jasmine said.
Isabelle eyed her. "Don't sweat it." She threw her long hair back and walked out with long strides, not waiting for Jasmine to catch up.
The curly-haired girl raised a hand and wiped the corners of her mouth, only to notice she'd been drooling in her sleep. Attractive, she thought. She looked around the bedroom in the hopes of finding some kind of mirror. There was a tall one that hung on the back of the door, but she only saw it when she went to close it.
She looked at her reflection, and snorted. Her red lipstick had made a mark on her cheek: a long stripe that went down to her jaw. Her hair was a little messy, but when wasn't it messy? She smoothed out a couple curls and used the back of her fingers and some makeup remover which she had to pull out of her bag to erase the lipstick from her face.
She pulled up her pants, straightened out her top, and followed in Isabelle's footsteps. Until she reached the end of the hall, that is. She had no idea where to go , so she just went with the logic that every Institute was built the same. It sure looked like the one in Amsterdam.
As it turned out, New York's Institute was not built like her home. Jasmine ended up in the infirmary, and then an office, which was most likely her aunt's, and then she was back at the entrance of the building.
She sighed and leaned against the door, feeling strangely homesick. She'd never been away on her own, and she didn't feel very welcome with these people, even though Hodge and Jace had been nice to her. Well, Jace had been nice enough. A little arrogant, but fine otherwise. The fact that he was hot helped. She smiled a little. It had been a while since she'd seen a boy that good-looking.
"Stop," she groaned, smacking her own forehead hard enough for it to hurt. She had always had a soft spot for beauty, and that had to stop. She'd fallen in love at first sight once, with a Shadowhunter—a girl at that—and she'd gotten her heart so broken it took her a year to stick the pieces back together. She was a little cautious around girls now, because they were heartbreakers. Boys were easier to understand in her opinion. They either wanted one thing from you, or every part. Girls were way complicated.
"Talking to yourself?"
Jasmine turned to look at Jace, who was smiling smugly, eyebrow raised. She crossed her arms. "Like you never talk to yourself," she said defensively. "Everyone does it." When he said nothing, Jasmine sighed. "All right, Cocky. I'm looking for the kitchen. Isabelle said she made pasta."
"I wouldn't touch her food if I were you," Jace warned.
Jasmine gave him a look. "Why? Did she poison it?"
"She might as well have," said Jace with a shrug. "My best advice would be not to eat anything Isabelle makes."
"Oh, stop it." Jasmine rolled her eyes. "It can't be that bad."
But when she was served a plate of Isabelle's creation, she began to wonder if Jace had been right. Isabelle watched her curiously, as if she was waiting for Jasmine to throw down her fork and run for the hills, but she never did.
"It's not… terrible," she said after swallowing the first bite. It had tasted of everything one could possibly find in a fridge, and had a bitter aftertaste, but Jasmine was very hungry, and she didn't want to upset Isabelle.
The taller girl, upon hearing this, smiled widely, and then quickly wiped the smile off her face and cleared her throat. "Of course it isn't. Why would it be?"
"Because you made it," Jace said with a snort of laughter.
Isabelle cocked an eyebrow and glared dangerously. "What did you just say?"
Jasmine stayed out of it, because she wasn't sure whether to laugh or feel awkward. Both would be appropriate in that situation.
Jace didn't get the chance to answer, because an(other) attractive boy walked into the kitchen, this one looking a whole lot like Isabelle. He stopped when he saw Jasmine. "This is our guest?" he asked.
Jasmine put down her fork and leaped up to shake his hand. "I'm Jasmine," she said.
The dark-haired boy looked her up and down, and hesitantly shook her hand. "Alec Lightwood," he said. His gaze shifted to her plate of spaghetti and looked back at Jasmine. "I see you're still alive after eating Isabelle's pasta."
Jace chuckled. "She hasn't had enough of the stuff for it to be fatal. Give it time."
Isabelle huffed.
"Aw, it's not that bad," said Jasmine.
"See? Justine likes my food."
Jasmine blinked. "It's… My name is Jasmine."
"That's what I said."
Jasmine shrugged and went to take another bite of the spaghetti. This time, the taste was nauseating, and she swallowed the bite with effort. "All right, I think I'm full." Jace laughed, and Alec looked like he was trying to hide a smile. Jasmine hoped these people liked her. Jace seemed like safe territory, but Isabelle and Alec were still cautious around her.
"I'll go order us some Chinese food," Isabelle grumbled, and left the kitchen.
Jasmine pursed her lips. "Well, now I feel guilty."
"Don't," said Jace. "She'll get over it."
"Thanks." Jasmine took her plate, emptied it in the bin and looked around for the dishwasher. Jace pointed it out, and she loaded it with her plate and fork. "I'm gonna go explore." She didn't wait for either of the guys to follow her, but Jace did anyway. Jasmine eyed him curiously. "You realize you're following me around like a sad puppy, right?"
"I just don't want you to get lost again, that's all. It seems like you have no sense of direction, so I'm only lending you a helping hand," he said. "Is that a problem?"
Jasmine blinked in surprise. "Wha—no. No, not at all." She looked away.
Jace led her to some kind of music room , one like she'd always wanted to have at the Amsterdam Institute, but her father had never allowed it. Said it was a waste of space, that he could use it to store more weapons.
"Oh, wow." Jasmine was quick to sit down on the piano bench. She ran her fingertips along the keys and felt herself starting to grin. She giggled like a child at the sight of music sheets in front of her.
Jace looked at her with amusement. "I see you like music."
"I have a small piano in my room, back in Amsterdam," said Jasmine, looking around at the portraits of musicians like Bach and Mozart. "I wouldn't stop bugging my dad about it, and so he got me one for my fourteenth birthday. On one condition."
Jace sat down next to her. "And what was that?"
"That I would only play when he was out. He said the sound gives him a headache." Jasmine's smile faded a little, and her eyes flashed with the memory or her father throwing her music books to the ground and stepping on them because she'd been playing too late at night.
"Funny," Jace said, but there was no humor in his voice. "Your father hated you playing and mine insisted I did."
"You play?" Jasmine's voice was quiet.
"Occasionally," said Jace.
"Your father sounds nice." Jasmine pushed a key. "If he loved music enough to want you to play it."
Jace said nothing.
"Well, play me something," said Jasmine, lifting one of his hands and placing it on the keys. "I want to hear."
When he started playing, Jasmine closed her eyes and dropped her head, the image of a beautiful woman playing in her mind. Black, waist-length hair, pale skin, slender hands playing her piano. It was her mother. Jasmine could still hear the tune she'd played, and with a start, she realized Jace was playing that same song.
She gasped, opened her eyes and said, "Stop. Stop playing. Please."
Jace lifted his hands off the keys. "I didn't think I was that bad—" He cut himself off. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Jasmine choked out, looking down so her hair would cover her face as she wiped the tear on her cheek. "I'm fine." God, she was dramatic.
"Do you want me to play something else?" Jace asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Jasmine shook her head. "No, I… I'm good. I think I'm going to look around some more. I'll holler if I need anything," she said, remembering what Jace had told her when he'd walked her to her room. She got up, gave him a small smile and walked out, digging her nails into her palm. What was that? It hadn't even been a day and she'd already embarrassed herself.
When she reached her room, she threw herself on the bed, next to the folded pile of clothes she'd unpacked earlier. This was the first time in months she'd thought about her mother, after a long time of pushing memories to the back of her mind. She couldn't stand remembering Noella, remembering the way she'd been treated.
Deciding that sitting around in her room would definitely not do her any good, Jasmine wiped her lipstick and slid her stele and two daggers into her belt. Going on a walk always helped clear her mind, and as a Shadowhunter, it was her job to be protected and prepared to fight at any time. Even during a simple walk.
She passed Alec on her way out, but he didn't object, ask where she was going, or even so much as offer her a smile. Did he know they were cousins? Jasmine couldn't tell.
Stepping outside, she realized she had no idea where to go, or how New York actually worked. Amsterdam was simple. You just had to stay out of cyclists' way, make sure you didn't get hit by cars, and remember which bridge and roundabout was which. That way, you never got lost or hurt, unless you got mugged or attacked by a demon, but she was a Shadowhunter. In her father's words, any mugger that goes after a trained Shadowhunter was to be pitied.
Jasmine just wasn't sure if she fell in the category 'trained Shadowhunters'. She'd been trained well enough to handle herself in a fight, of course, but she was far from skilled, and far from brave.
She started down the street, figuring that she'd find her way back eventually. She walked a long time, or what felt like it anyway. She was fascinated by every building, ever corner she turned. She could have used a glamour, but she didn't feel like putting one up, and she didn't think it would be necessary. Her weapons and stele were hidden under the jacket she'd tied around her waist.
She stopped when she spotted a bookstore somewhere more quiet, and greeted the owner inside. He was a tall man with brown hair and glasses. Nerdy and masculine at the same time. He wasn't unattractive, Jasmine had to admit, but he was too old for her. Probably around forty.
She looked around for a long time, just reading the back covers of the books, and felt herself drawn to a book about spirituality. How to connect to your angels. Her angels? She looked at the back, and then fllipped through the pages. There was a whole of three-hundred pages about this subject, so the author must have had something useful to say. She decided, What the heck, and reached into her pocket for her wallet. She went up to the desk where the owner stood, checking off some things on some kind of list.
He looked up from where he sat. "This one?" he asked, taking the book from her.
"Yes please," said Jasmine, watching the man's hands as he scanned the book. With a start, Jasmine realized that the man was Marked on his right hand. "Shadowhunter," she said, before she could help herself.
"Excuse me?" the man said.
Jasmine looked up at his eyes. "I'm sorry… I just noticed your rune. You're a Shadowhunter."
The man blinked behind his glasses. "I was. I used to be a Shadowhunter," he said.
"But you're not anymore?" Jasmine asked, before shaking her head. "That's none of my business. I'm sorry."
The man smiled unexpectedly. "I'm Luke." He shook her hand and looked at the back of it. She, too, was Marked. "You're a Sianoor, aren't you?"
Jasmine blinked. "Yes. How can you tell?"
"Your hair is a dead giveaway." He grinned. "I could have been wrong, of course, but you look so much like Darya. When she was your age, I mean."
"Darya is my aunt on my father's side. I mean, she was. I've only heard about her," Jasmine said. Darya had been killed in the Uprising, by a werewolf, supposedly. That's what Amir had always told Jasmine.
Luke's eyes were sad. "She was on the wrong side of a war, like many others."
Jasmine pursed her lips. What was she supposed to say? 'I'm sorry'? 'I know'? 'Yeah, you're telling me'? She exhaled. "How much do I owe you?" She nodded at the book in Luke's hands.
"How about a smile?" Luke handed her the book.
Jasmine blinked. "You can't just give a book away for free."
"Hey, if you promise to stop by more often, I'll give you this one as a freebie. It's a good read. Very uplifting." Luke smiled, and Jasmine did as well.
"Thank you," she said.
Luke winked and she turned to leave. Luke called out to her. "I'd appreciate it," he said, "if you didn't tell anyone a former-Nephilim owns this bookstore."
Jasmine nodded. "If that's what you want." And with that she was out the door. She stood outside the shop for a moment, wondering how to get back to the Institute. She wondered if Luke could tell her. Just when she was about to go back inside, she heard something in the alley. A voice.
"Help!" It was a high-pitched, blood-curdling scream that made the hairs on the back of Jasmine's neck stand up. "Somebody help me!"
Jasmine was quick to drop the book, take out her daggers and run into the alleyway. She saw no-one. Not until she looked behind the dumpster. A woman was slouched against the wall, laughing her head off. Jasmine got a bad feeling.
"Shadowhunter," the woman hissed, as if it were an insult. Jasmine narrowed her eyes dangerously, even though her heart was pounding nervously.
"Let me guess, you're a shape-shifter?"
The woman suddenly lashed out and cut Jasmine across the cheek with her nails, which were long and razor-like. Jasmine gasped and jumped back, before throwing one of her daggers at the creature. She missed.
"Good try!" the demon laughed, jumping on top of Jasmine, throwing them both to the ground. Jasmine shrieked and turned the both of them over, attempting to reach for the other dagger she'd dropped. She felt a searing pain in her shoulder, and she realized the demon had bitten her.
Jasmine yelped painfully, as she finally closed her hand around the hilt of one of her daggers. She was thrown off the demon. Her back hit the dumpster, and she fell to her knees. She went to cut at the demon's legs, but felt her movements slowing down a lot. Shit, she thought. She'd been stung by the creature. She looked at the wound in her shoulder and saw it oozing a purple substance that stood out even against the black of her shirt.
She took a breath and slashed at the demon's stomach, making it shriek and lash out at her again. She lay on her back, waiting for another hit or sting or cut, but it never came. She closed her eyes, and then, realizing she had to get up and fight, she opened them again. This time, she was looking at blue eyes.
"Luke?" she said. Her voice sounded strange in her own ears, as if she were talking underwater.
"Hold on, you'll be okay," he breathed. "Where's your stele?" He helped her sit up against the wall.
"Belt," Jasmine managed, her vision going black around the edges. "Luke…"
"You're fine, you're fine," he said, taking her steele from her belt.
"I know," said Jasmine with a drowsy smile. "I know… Hey, Luke? Thank you. I'll tell Darya you mentioned her." She giggled. She gasped when she felt the sting of her steele on the skin of her arm. "My shoulder hurts…" Without thinking, Jasmine raised her heavy hand and pressed it against the wound. Her head fell against Luke's chest, and when she felt him speak—though she couldn't understand what he was saying—she looked back at her shoulder, which was now only scarred. Her mind was still foggy, but the wound was gone. Mostly. Maybe she was imagining it.
"Jesus," said Luke, who tore off a piece of Jasmine's sleeve to wipe away the blood and poison on her shoulder, which felt only warm to her. It didn't hurt anymore. The skin just felt feverish, and so did the rest of her. "Where do you live?"
Jasmine didn't answer. She was too exhausted, too sick. Luke scooped her up in his arms and she fell unconscious, the horrible laugh of the demon still ringing in her ears.
For the people wondering, Sianoor is pronounced See-aw-nour. There ya go. Thanks for reading!
