Disclaimer: I do not own Tuck Everlasting, any of the lines I use from the movie/book, or anything pertaining to it. I also do not own The Mortal Instruments, any lines I use, or anything pertaining to it. All the rights for all of these things go to their rightful owners.

A/N: Thanks for sticking with it! Tell me what book references I used from TMI in this chapter and you'll get a shout out. *smiley Also, reviews are always welcome. And the year is 1914, by the way.

Chapter One-

Sunshine. Blindingly bright in midday. Clarissa Fairchild was stretched on her back in the grass of her family's spacious front lawn, emerald eyes searching the sky and watching the birds fly by while tree branches of the nearby wood swayed on their endless blue background. She liked to observe these things and more, when she had the time. Any second now her mother, Jocelyn, would be calling her to come inside and practice piano.

"Clarissa! Where have you gone?" called Jocelyn, as if she didn't already know, right on cue.

"I'm here, mother!" Clarissa shouted back, then rolled onto her side. To herself she muttered, "I need a new name. One that's not so worn out from being called so much."

"Clarissa, come inside this instant; your beautiful dress is getting filthy!" reprimanded her mother. Jocelyn's figure was framed in the doorway when her daughter turned her head to see her, red curls gently catching around the dandelions.

"I'm coming!" Jocelyn shook her head, turning to go back into their too-large house (Clary's opinion).

She pushed herself onto her elbows, reluctant to reenter her life. Just then Clary heard a series of yews, a cat. She turned to see the small thing grey thing, so grey to be nearly blue, still as can be just beyond the tall fence keeping Clary in. Huffing, she stood to go to it, both the fence and the cat. She squatted in front of them, and this caused her dress to hitch but she ignored it.

"Hello," Clary greeted the animal. "I see you have your freedom. Must be nice, huh?" Clary glanced away towards the wood. "How lucky," she murmured, "to be able to just… go whenever you please."

"Clarissa! Must I call you incessantly?" her mother shouted. Clary jumped up, brushing herself off quickly as she ran.

"No, mother," she said when was near enough. "I apologize." As usual.

That morning- deep in the wood

"Rob," Maryse whispered to her husband. "Robert! Wake up!"

He stirred, hands flying up to his eyes and rubbing. "Goodness, May! What'd you wake me up for? I was having that dream again, the good one–the one where we all die and go to Heaven."

Pulling on her boots, Maryse shook her head. "No use dreaming such things, you know that. It isn't going to happen."

He snorted while she laced them up, closing his eyes once more. "Where're you going anyway?"

"To town, Robert! The boys'll be getting here soon and I plan on meeting them," she told him, pulling on her shawl.

"Don't need that shawl, Maryse." Robert was so used to her dressing habits he knew with his eyes shut that she would be putting on that damned thing even in this hot weather.

"Oh, well," is all she said, not removing it. "I'll be back later."

"Sure," he murmured to her retreating figure, already falling back into his dreaming.

In town-

Maryse walked slowly, quietly through the town, her head down and not making direct eye contact. It had been ten years since she'd last her boys. But, they were people of few choices.

She bought nothing, as she was in need of nothing, only glanced at the items because she would be thought of as strange if she didn't browse at the market. After what she considered to be a good few minutes of appearing like the others, she sat herself on her cart and began winding her music box adorned with silver flowers and vines. Quite beautiful, and she'd had it a very long time.

Suddenly Maryse heard a shout of, "Mother!" Her head flew up to see her youngest son. "Jace!" she shouted, her inconspicuous nature forgotten. Upon reaching his mother, Jace picked her up and twirled her, and when he set her down she held his face in her hands, brushing his golden-blonde hair from his face. "Oh, Jace…"

His eyes lit up as he reached for something from his satchel bag. "Ma, I got you this!" It was a small statue, about seven inches tall. "It's the Eiffel Tower, the Eiffel Tower from Paris, France! God, I swear you've never seen anything so tall in your life!"

Maryse smiled, laughing, and then heard murmurings behind her. Her eldest son was speaking to his horse, Simon, in low tones. She turned to him, clutching the statue tightly. "Alexander. Give your mother a hug." He did so, firmly, breathing in her familiar soap. It hurt him more than he could admit to be away from her for so long. "My Alec. Ten years. How have you been?" She took them in excitedly, from Jace's light locks to Alec's black cut. "My boys. It's so good to have you back. Come on, come on; let's go home, shall we? Your father is waiting…"

The boys, mostly Jace, spoke of their adventures on the way back to their cabin, his excitement infectious. Even Alec spared a smile once in a while.

Robert greeted his sons with hugs and slaps to their backs, a large smile on his face. "Nice to have the family back together, eh?" he said to Alec.

He shrugged. "I'm joining up, soon as we leave again." Robert stared at him. "Can't stand being in this place any longer than necessary."
"Think it'll change something, do you?" his father asked.

"I know it will. Look, dad… People are onto us. I know it. I can feel it. There's a man… He's been following us. We've lost him, but he always catches on. I think he knows something. This man…" The laughter of his mother and brother cut him off, the tension broken. Alec spoke louder, so they could hear and be serious for once. "We're being tracked." Both stopped mid-laugh.

Jace glared at him as their parents' expressions became concerned.

"Come on, Alec, we lost him," he said. "Why d'you always have to go and spoil everything?"

"Yeah, we lost him, Jace. But for how long?" Alec asked. "He keeps coming back." He looked to his father to help him talk some sense into Jace.

"Only a matter of time until someone found us," Robert said. "Walls are closing in. The entire forest is almost gone. All except this little wood."

Robert patted Alec's shoulder and told his family, "I don't want anyone going into town. Not for anything. See any stranger's getting too close in the woods you know what to do. No exceptions." His eldest son nodded; Jace only stared at him.

Later that day- the Fairchild estate-

It was nearly eight in the night, and Clarissa was again outside. On her short legs she jumped into the air in an attempt to catch a firefly. Needless to say, she had just been desperate to stop playing the piano for five minutes.

She had just pulled down her empty fist when she heard a voice from behind her say, "You'll never catch one that way." Clarissa spun around, taken by surprise, and saw a man in a fine white suit standing just outside the fence. For once, she was grateful for the protection. She did not know him. His white-blonde hair stood out like a beacon in the darkness, and from where she stood his eyes were black.

She moved slightly forward, aware he wouldn't be able to pass the gate. Close to him, she could see that he appeared to be possibly near her parents' ages.

"Do you know anything about catching fireflies?" she asked him, only a bit of attitude breaking through her tone.

The stranger appeared amused. "I'm afraid not. I've never tried. I prefer… bigger game. But I'm sure the strategy is much the same."
"Strategy?"

"One must never announce their presence to their prey," the man clarified. "Must become part of the scenery. One must… disappear, and be patient until the exact, right moment arrives." His hand flew up imperceptibly and grabbed a firefly beside his face; Clarissa jumped in surprise. She laughed and he smiled. "I've taken a prisoner… for you."

She shook her head. He seemed nice enough, but she surely wouldn't go any closer to retrieve the bug from the man's closed hand. "No, thank you," she said politely. He hesitated only a moment before releasing the firefly.

"Quite right," he said. "A girl of your age is more interested in catching suitors than trapping insects anyway." He lifted one slender, pale hand to tap the fence. "Have you lived here long?"
"Forever. Why?"
"I'm looking for some old friends. They live here as well and I was hoping that some of the natives could help me find them."

"My father practically built this town," Clarissa told the man, for some reason being made to feel odd by his presence. "He knows everyone; perhaps he can help you."

"Perhaps," he echoed. "Though I quite like talking to you."

Before Clary could say anything in return, Jocelyn's voice rang out her name as she moved toward her daughter and the man behind the fence. "Clarissa, who are you talking to out there?"

"I don't know!" Clarissa replied. Glancing back to the man she added, "He hasn't told me his name." She said nothing more, and the man spoke out when Jocelyn reached them, her pretty eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Good evening, madame, please forgive my intrusion. This young lady tells me you've lived here forever, and I thought you might know a certain family that goes by the name–"

"I hardly know everyone nor do I want to," Jocelyn told him, her hand coming to rest protectively on her daughter's back. "And I don't stand outside discussing such a thing with strangers."

"I beg your pardon," the pale-haired man said. His dark eyes again came to rest on Clarissa. "Good evening, young lady." To Jocelyn he bid the same, and she turned herself and Clarissa away for the house.

"This is why I worry for you, Clarissa," snapped Jocelyn, "because you don't have the good sense not to talk to a man like that."

As they moved toward the house, the man in the white suit began to whistle a pretty melody. It faded into nothing as he walked on down the road.

The following day-

"Again," repeated Jocelyn. Clarissa's fingers had slipped, the high note turning abruptly low.

"Mother, my fingers are killing me. Can't I take a break?"

Jocelyn shook her head without hesitation. "Practice makes perfect. Pastries do not." Clarissa resisted the urge to roll her eyes upwards, looking back to the keys. Her mother returned to chatting with her grandmother, leaving her daughter to frown.

"Hello, all." Luke, her father, had entered the parlor with a wide smile, and his appearance made even Jocelyn's lips break into a smile. He kissed Clary's head and she grinned up at him.

"Luke. Good," Jocelyn said. "Sophie!" The maid, Sophie, scurried into the room.

"Miss?" she inquired.

"My mother is feeling a bit tired, Sophie, bring her to her room." Sophie nodded, hurrying to help Adele to her feet.

Once they'd gone, Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild, their expressions somber, faced Clarissa. She wanted to say, "What have I done this time?" but kept her mouth shut.

"Clarissa, we have great news," her mother began. Uh-oh. Then it must be bad. "We've gotten you into the Middlehouse Academy for Girls!"

Jocelyn had a pleased smile on her face, the opposite of her daughter's open horror. "Middlehouse? But that's a terrible place; everyone says so! Mother, daddy–"

"Now, now, sweetheart, Middlehouse is one of the most reputable schools in the country. It will be an honor for you to attend finishing school at such a place," Jocelyn told her. "It will teach you manners and etiquette, two things you of which you are sorely lacking. You are already going to be 15, remember." Clarissa bit the inside of her cheek, wanting to scream at her mother. Luke remained still, not looking so enthusiastic.

"Father, please, don't make me go!" He appeared pained.

"I'm sorry, Clarissa, but this is what's best for you."

She clutched her skirts, her emerald eyes tearing up. "I don't want to be one of those girls! I won't do it! I won't and you can't make me!" she shouted before jumping up and running from the house. She made it to the iron fence, gripping the bars like those of a jail door as she breathed hard.

Why couldn't they understand? They wanted to send her so far away and yet they failed to see that all she needed was to step outside her own fence. And, Clary decided, she would.

The wood-

Clarissa spun around slowly, taking in the whole of her surroundings. To think all of this had been a mere 50 yards from her small patch of world, all she'd known. What in these quiet woods could be so forbidding? She had always sensed a mystery there, waiting for her. Beautiful sun beams filtering in through the tree leaves bathed her face deliciously with its warmth. The sounds of nature–birds, wind rustling, animals chattering–filled her ears, and she traveled deeper into the forest, not caring enough to notice. So glad to be free in a place to entirely different from what she knew. So far away from her tight, pruned world.

But, eventually she had to realize that she hadn't been in these parts before, and did not know where exactly she was. What would she do if she couldn't find her way back?

Just when she was about to panic, the surrounding foliage no longer appearing so welcoming, Clarissa heard the quietest trickling of water and desperately glued all of her attention on the sound. Listening intently, she followed it.

She stopped just on the edge of a small clearing consisting of a large tree and tiny spring of water. Kneeling over that was a boy dressed in brown britches and a baggy white shirt, much more practical–though obviously much less appropriate for herself–than her flowing dress, of which had now become quite filthy. Her red locks were slipping from her braid, as well. The boy was washing his face in the spring, sipping occasionally.

A twig broke when she stepped forward and, knowing she had been caught by the way his head perked up, Clary moved fully into the space. "Hello," she said tentatively.

"How long have you been there?" the boy asked her without a greeting in reply. His tone was somewhat sharp, but his voice pleasant to the ears. He had golden hair, and even from some feet away Clary could see his amber eyes.

"Not long. I was passing by, really." His lips quirked slightly into a grin. Clary thought he must be near her age, or a couple of years older.

"You shouldn't be in these parts of the woods, little girl. You should probably just turn around and go home." When Clarissa didn't move an inch, he snapped at her, "Well go on! What're you waiting for?"

"Excuse me? I'll leave whenever I want to. And my name isn't little girl," she told him peevishly.

The boy stared at her with those golden eyes of his, his head tilting in the slightest. "Then what is it?"

"Clarissa." Her mind told her that that was wrong and so she amended, "Clary Fairchild. My father owns this wood," she informed him proudly, though not quite sure why she was so proud.

He laughed. "Really? A Fairchild? Impressive. But, like I said, you need to leave."

"It just so happens that I was on my way home before you so rudely told me to be and would be glad to be on my way… if I actually knew which direction the way would be."

"In other words," Jace said, "you're lost?" He was far too amused for Clary's comfort and, keeping her mouth set, she glared at him. Jace rolled his eyes. "I'll point you home."

He steered her away, inconspicuously blocking the water, and she poked her head around his shoulder. He was nearly a head taller than her, standing up. "Wait," Clary said, "I'm thirsty." She stepped around him and he jumped back in front of her.

"No!" His velvet voice broke with panic and it made her do as told.

"What? Why?"

"It's–The water is poisoned," Jace fibbed.

"But I just saw you drink it," she said to him accusingly.

"Yeah, well, I'm beginning to feel a bit sick myself so…" He rocked on his heels.

"I'm thirsty," she repeated, stepping forward again.

He grabbed her arm with no time to be gentle about it. "Listen, you don't wanna drink that–"

"Let go of me!" she shouted, wrenching out of his grasp. She turned and ran back into the foliage; Jace breathed out heavily, following her.

"Don't run away! Come on, Clary, hang on! Don't run!"

She only stopped when she slammed straight into another body, a man. He held her tightly, his face grim. "Going somewhere?"

She struggled against him, but his grip was firm and impossible to break. Jace appeared then. "Alec, hang on, let her go–"

The man–Alec, apparently–ignored Jace and dragged Clary, as her feet were planted, next to him. "You know what dad said, Jace. No exceptions." He went on his way and Jace went after them, protesting along with Clary all the while.