Holy crap, the amount of alerts I've received has blown my mind. I'm eternally grateful to all you guys, so much that I was able to write up another chapter after all the hype that you guys gave me. I'm still a bit apprehensive about this whole story, and i'm worried i'll disappoint you guys.
Please don't hesitate to give me advice and review each chapter.
- Violent Kitsune
Mount Olympus was a five-star quality restaurant, with thousands and thousands reviews placing the venue as one of the top ten places to dine. The waiters were dressed in standard black and white uniforms, while the maitre d's and higher staff members wore bold blue blazers to signify their change in status from the others.
The maitre'd was working at the front desk, fiddling away on her phone. The woman was in her late twenties and hadn't had any customers come in for the last thirty minutes. No one had come in tonight worth looking at, save for that juicy young man that she saw earlier. The blonde woman touched her hair which had been twisted into an elegant chignon, and pursed her full grecian lips. Oh how bored she was, resorting to flicking through the reservations book and seeing how many people shared the same mundane names.
"Excuse me," a young female voice spoke out. "Table for four."
The maitre'd looked up from the book and her eyes nearly bulged. The pair before were in their own rights beautiful; the male had such fine, sharp features that would make any greek swoon, while the the redhead had skin like porcelain, with rare emerald green eyes and a curved, petite body. The woman just had enough brains to begin speaking again, nearly tripping over her own words. "K-kalispéra," she greeted in greek. "N-names please."
"Morgenstern," the ivory blonde spoke out. He raised his lips up into a smile that caused sinful thoughts to run through the older woman's mind. "Here to dine with Mr. Knightingale."
The blonde girl nodded and lead them up the spiral staircase into the more private section of the restaurant, away from the humdrum of the restaurant below. While the decor of the main restaurant was gold, white, and quartz pink, the upper abodes were more focused in gold and heavy ochre, with fine black gossamer curtains drawn up around the upper floor and a few miniature statues placed strategically around the place.
At one of the tables were two figures, both dressed immaculately and awaiting the Morgenstern siblings. One of them was a woman, her hair a pale shade of blue-blonde hair, and skin as white as milk. Her eyes were fathomless pits of rare ice-blue, and her figure was clad in a mint sheath dress that hung off her slim frame, molded to her like a second skin. Clary thought the color of the dress saved the woman from melting into one color, since her hair almost blended in easily with her skin. Beside her was the man that the duo had come to see for business, his face betraying no emotion of any kind as he ran his finger around the rim of his glass. He had a far more expensive taste in fashion, donning one of Savile Row's more finer suits, leaving open the buttons on the collar of his white dress-shirt. He had black hair that was half-pulled back into a ponytail, with a few tendrils draped against his cheekbones. Leaf green cat eyes caught sight of the duo and he stood up as the group approached.
"Thank you Arya," he replied to the maitre 'd in a sombre tone. "That will be all."
The blonde woman nodded and backed away from the group to return to her mundane job. Meliorn, Champion of the Seelie Queen, looked at both Morgensterns as they took their place at the table. "The Morgenstern Siblings; Valentine's Son and Daughter here to grace me with their presence." His eyes settled on the girl, the barest of smirks ghosting his face. "Clarissa Morgenstern. My, how time flies."
Clary arched a fine eyebrow as the associate sat down. "I've changed no less than you have, Meliorn. Although you seem to show almost no change at all."
Meliorn grinned. "Just good genetics, I guess." He gestured to his escort. "This is Kaelie Whitewillow, my associate and one of the Queen's trusted co-workers."
A sly grin fell upon Sebastian's face as he reached over and grabbed her hand, kissing her knuckles with his lips. "Delighted."
"The pleasure is all mine, Jonathan," she replied, her voice like crystal chimes rising in the wind. "And it's an honor to meet you as well, Clarissa. Your reputation as Valentine's Daughter precedes you in our boundaries."
Clary smiled. "Your compliment is much appreciated. Now," she looked across at each face, "-shall we order and then talk? Or did we pay simply for the furniture and the view?"
Everyone reached for their menu's, choosing according to their own taste buds. The members of the Court were vegans and opted for the succulent salads and fruit dishes; Jonathan was nothing short of a carnivore and ordered a full course meal, while Clary remained polite and opted for a souvlaki dish with caesar salad. Normally, she'd go all out at restaurants, but seeing as she was here on business, she had to keep up appearances.
"As you both know," Meliorn stated once the waiter was out of earshot, "my Queen has made contact with Valentine with regards to an item of interest. Kaelie, if you please."
Kaelie reached down for her bag beside her feet and pull out an elegant pale green envelope, the flap ripped off. "One of our members was murdered a few nights ago, and her murderer was charged with prison for life, which greatly satisfied our Queen. However, on that night, this member was delivering a artefact to the queen and as a result, the object was stolen."
Clary reached over and pulled out the photo inside, angling it for Jonathan to see. An elegant set of pan pipes were nestled in blue satin, obviously taken before it was lost. The pipes were all cut to specific sizes and engraved from obsidian glass, with elegant gold runes and designs etched into material. Beside it were several gold-tipped darts arranged in uniform, the same runes etched into the barrel.
"The pipes you see belonged to an aristocrat from England named Hyacinth in the late eighteen hundreds," Kaelie continued, tossing her waves over her shoulder. "The instrument was painstakingly carved and has pure twenty-four carat gold embellished on each individual pipe. It's called Titania's Instrument, inspired by the faerie queen in Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Eve. While it serves as instrument of music, its primary function was as a dart-blower, and was used as an assassination tool. Hyacinth used this very weapon to kill a Baron named Aloysius Starkweather, as part of a contract. It's black market value is estimated to be over 1.5 million, and is quite valuable in the eyes of the Seelie Queen."
Jonathan tugged the photo out of Clary's hands. "Weapon disguised as something ordinary and mundane, very nice touch. I'm assuming that this will be a retrieval mission, yes?"
"Of course," Meliorn replied. "And I assure you that your services will be greatly rewarded."
"Is there any particular reason why you are hiring our services exactly?" Clary asked steely. "What's stopping you from using your own resources to track him down? Surely, the Seelie Court has a number of eyes around the city."
"It is not a question of what, but whom," Meliorn said curtly. "The culprit that murdered our ally was a man named Zeke - one of Raphael Santiago's henchmen, and we cannot investigate Raphael's crew nor reap revenge without causing suspicion on his end. We are already in the middle of tense detenté as reparation on his end for the murder but if we so much as make a move to on Zeke's holdings, then its an all out turf war."
"Basically we're substitutes on your behalf." Jonathan sipped some of the sauvignon blanc that the waiter had kindly poured into his glass, sharpening his eyes on the Champion. "Say that Valentine agrees to this; what do we receive in return? You know that his fees aren't exactly the same as everyone else's. What can you offer him that no one else can?"
"Are normal transactions not good enough for him?" Kaelie spluttered.
"Listen here, Miss Whitewillow," Clary interjected, honey-coating her words and wearing a sweet smile. "Seeing as this is your first time dealing with us, let me tell you a little something about my dear father Valentine. He already has money dear, enough to pave the entire state in gold. But money can easily change hands at a moments notice, disappearing from one account into another. Money is everywhere, and is easy to collect, but just as easy to steal. Why have something so fickle as that, when you could have something far more precious and stable, like land, or rare priceless paintings and items, or even weapons to help stabilise ones reign over their underlings?
Kaelie cringed at the woman's words. Despite the comforting smile she wore, her calm voice, Clarissa's body language conveyed an entirely different message. You've yet to realize what kind of person you are dealing with. Tread carefully before you overstep your bounds.
Meliorn bit the inside of his cheeks and looked across at his companion, gently placing a hand on her thigh to silence whatever reply she was about to send back. "The Seelie Queen is under the impression that Valentine has also been searching for a rare item as well. I believe it is something called the Mortal Cup?"
Both Jonathan and Clary's minds sparked with interest. The deal was starting to get serious. This was one of the few things that their father coveted with a passion, often going to black market auctions in person to see whether or not such an item was present.
"Last month we apprehended a shipment of drugs that someone had ordered within our boundaries, in vain hopes of framing us for possession of drugs. Among other things, we found black market items that were heading to an auction in lower Manhattan, including the Mortal Cup." Meliorn cast his eyes about, his voice lowering in its volume. "Perhaps we can come to a trade of sorts; the Cup for your services."
Clary looked at her brother sternly, her mind mulling over the information at hand. Going up against Raphael would require stealth from both individuals, seeing as the man was in complete control of the Bronx, and had a number of nasty thugs under his command. One of Valentine's many sayings popped into Clary's mind. Don't go for the minimum amount for an offer. If they have something you want, you ask for that and more. Acquisition leads to power, never forget that.
"The Mortal Cup," Clary started, turning her green gaze back onto Meliorn and Kaelie, "and of course a transaction of one million in an offshore account as of tomorrow. That'll serve as funding for our mission."
Meliorn's eyes hardened and his face expression hardened to stone. "Of course."
Jonathan smiled. "Excellent. I'm sure the Seelie Queen won't object to our bargain, seeing as we are acting in the best interests of our father. Now, I do believe it's time to eat."
"Now tell me that wasn't so bad Clarissa. You seemed especially emotive when you were putting Miss Whitewillow in her place.."
Clary's eyes narrowed to slits as she looked at her brother. "I don't want to hear it, Jonathan."
Jonathan smirked and ruffled his locks. Clary hated doing business on Valentine's behalf. It brought out her cold, duplicitous side that she'd inherited from Valentine, making her far less amiable than normal. Clary ripped off the heels she wore and tossed them in the back carelessly, ignoring the outbursts from Jonathan.
"If you're not going to be nice to me, then at least respect the car Clarissa! This baby has done nothing to you whatsoever."
"Oh but I'm sure you can pay for it, Valentine's Son," Clary mocked, sliding the bracelet off. The steel pooped off her wrist and she placed it in the glove-box compartment of the car. 'After all, dad always favored his elder son over his docile daughter."
Jonathan remained calm as he slowed the car to a stop a block away from her apartment. Clary always insisted on being dropped off before reaching the building to give herself time to relax and forget. She unclipped the belt buckle and threw the strap over the shoulder.
"Clary," Jonathan said quietly. Clary froze and looked back at her brother, who had his hands frozen on the driving wheel. "Do you hate me that much?"
Clary's eyes softened a fraction at the sight of her brother's vulnerable state. She huffed and got up out of the car, standing up to straighten out her body. She bent back down and looked in at Jonathan. "I don't totally hate you," she said, flicking a strand out of her eyes. "I just wish you didn't have too much of Valentine's primal side in you."
Jonathan's eyes flashed with something unrecognizable and he flashed Clary a smile. "That's all I needed to hear, sweet sister of mine." Clary slammed the door shut and strode away from the car, not once thinking about glancing back at him. When the engine's roar faded into the background, Clary relaxed and continued on.
The night was her ally, the moon and stars her guardians. New York was far more peaceful at night time. Clary felt her mood lift as she pranced down the street to her apartment. But her mind was still heavy with the things yet to come; dealing with mobsters, infiltrating gangs, breaking and entering. And she still had her bills to pay.
A sharp outburst rang out in the streets and Clary looked across the road, her breath hitched up in her chest. Four men were bearing down on a young man about Clary's age under a streetlamp, throwing punches left, right and center at his torso. The guy valiantly fought back with pure ferocity, growling as he threw an elbow into one of the bulkier guy's faces."Is that all you've got?" His voice rang out in the night. "My sister can hit harder than you!"
A man with a baseball bat whacked him in the ribs, an exhilarating chuckle escaping from the man's mouth. "You think you so hard, asshole? Why the heck aren't we any pain?" The man - whom Clary could see had blonde hair, ducked down and snapped his leg up in an axe kick, knocking his assailant to the ground.
"Hey! Idiots!" Clary cried out from the shadows, her voice ringing out with rage. "I've already rung the cops up and they'll be here any second now! So unless you want your rugged asses to rot in prison, then you better get your behinds out of my neighborhood!"
The men halted their and did a double-take on their victim before gapping it away, with the last guy sending the victim on his knees. "You're lucky this time, sucka. Better hope I don't find you again."
As the men ran away, Clary gingerly rushed across the road. The guy rocked back on his jean-clad knees, looking at the fading figures. "Yeah that's right you better run!" he choked out, coughing hard.
Clary knelt down by the man, taking in his condition; he wore a faded brown leather jacket paired with a blue Henley shirt and grey jeans. Physically, he was in great condition, with broad muscles straining beneath his jacket, and a halo of gold hair trailing around his cheeks. He seemed tall, probably about six foot once he stood up. "Where about is the pain?' Clary asked.
"Everywhere," the man wheezed. "When are the cops going to show up?"
Clary looked mournfully at the dude, whose face was hidden from her eyes. "I'm really sorry, but I lied - I was just trying to freak them out. I don't actually have my phone on me."
The body shuddered and Clary thought that he was having a seizure of sorts, until she realized that he was actually laughing. "You had them running scared shitless!" He rasped. "That's the best thing I've ever heard ever!"
Clary relaxed. The guy wasn't too far gone if he was still laughing. The man sat up and turned to face his rescuer. Clary gasped as he looked at the face before him.
"That ugly, huh?"
Clary shook her head. Despite the blood dribbling from a cut on his head, his face was unmarred. He had finge angles and a wonderfully strong jawline that begged to have her fingers run over them. Almond-shaped eyes stared back, a pair of golden orbs staring back beneath full lashes that brushed his cheeks. And his lips, they were so damn kissable. The artist itched to paint him, to immortalize the angelic beauty before her.
"You're fine." More than fine, Clary thought. "Let's get you up." She pulled him up by the arm with some minor difficulty and slung his arm over her shoulder. 'Let's go to my place and clean you up."
"Thanks," he mumbled, breathing into her neck.
"You have a name?" You beautiful specimen.
"It's Jace. Jace Herondale."
