There was a sound. The window. Instantly, I had whirled around, and my knife flew and- -was caught by a hand. An all too familiar hand. And the figure in the window calmly said, "That was three inches farther from my head than when we last met, Fray. You're getting sloppy."

Jace POV

Damn. What the hell just happened? I wasn't about to deceive myself: I knew I was scared. But fear wasn't the strongest thing I was feeling right now. I just kept watching this mysterious redhead. For some reason, there was a different emotion clouding my head. An emotion all too familiar to me, but why was I feeling it now?

"I like to think I trained you better than that," the window figure mused, looking at the girl standing next to me with an unreadable expression. The redheaded girl grinned, and I noticed that the front two overlapped ever so slightly, forming the cutest, most tasteful little ridge...

Wait- the figure in the window- that was who trained the redhead? I thought it'd be some buff motorbiker dude, or some dude that could take said motorbikers on. The figure in the window, however, was certainly the type to take on motorbikers before breakfast... but it was a girl. Normally, I'd check the girl out, but this one...too damn scary. She seemed manlier than me. And I was an actual male. That's how scary she was. Seriously, she looked like the kind of person who'd come over to your house and burn it down just for kicks.

But it fit with Redhead's fighting style... Her expression when she stabbed those people. Her lips were the color of the blood on her knife. Her hair whirled around her face as she spun to face her opponent. The strange tattoos lined her arms, legs, and shoulders and continued under that tight tank top. The heels of her boots could tread crush a snake. Her skirt drifting tantalizingly upward as she bent down to pick up the knife. And God, if she didn't look good in black…

Most of the girls who followed me to my room wore red. (No one knew I had secret inexplicable weakness for black.) And usually if I had a girl in my room, she'd be in my bed by now. Hell, I wouldn't be pushing her there; she'd be leaping into it. But Redhead…she'd probably stab me if I tried anything. Maybe it was the fact Redhead would be able to put up a fight rather than leap in (or on) without so much as a word of protest. Most girls were pretty and dumb. But Redhead seemed…smart and...

Clary POV

"Yeesh. It's great to see you too, Garroway," I said, grinning and shaking her head. Then, there was a dark blur, and I was pinned to the ground.

"I swear on the Angel, Fray, if you ever make me panic again-" I had the nerve to laugh. If it were anyone else, they would have (and should have) been scared spitless. But instead, the cold, impossibly-dark-brown-and-golden-flecked eyes warmed, and the straight black eyebrows furrowed less. Barely, but the anger in her expression softened nonetheless. Only I was capable of somewhat softening that expression now.

"Consider me warned, Garroway," I chuckled slightly as I added, "And is it just me, or is your grip looser than when we last met?"

Keep in mind, she was pinning me to the ground, and she would have punched anyone else who said it, but since it was me, she rolled her eyes, I was helped off of the ground, and the conversational subject was merely changed.

"Fray..." my best friend began. "I guess this mundie somehow broke the secrecy spell?" Oh Angel. I forgot the boy was still in here. He was gaping at me, with all the blood drained from his face. Understandable, since I got beat up by Garroway, and he saw me "kill" two "people." He knew it took a lot to pin me to the ground. And my best friend *clearly* had what it took to do so.

All in all, Garroway always reminded me of leather: deep, dark, mysterious and smooth, but still cool, tough, durable, flexible, liberal, rebellious, and maybe even controversial and risqué. Even "worldly," so to speak. That much was obvious in her accent: a strange combination of London, New York, and…another UK accent?

"No, actually," I replied. Garroway looked shocked...well, as shocked as my best friend could ever look. "The spell was broken by some Eidolons," I explained.

"Oh, Eidolons," my best friend spat the word. "The only demons capable of breaching secrecy spells and glamours…Ugh, I hate Eidolons..."

"You hate all types of demons, Garroway. Not just Eidolons…"

"But, Fray, Eidolons in particular are-"

"Wait a second..." the boy said.

My best friend blinked, not used to being interrupted. Especially not by mundies. Recovering, she shook her raven-haired head slightly. "I never understand why people say that," Garroway said, to no one in particular. "I wasn't going anywhere."

"...demons?" he asked, turning to me and giving his back to Garroway. Another first in behavior towards my best friend, who was like a tiger: a rough-and-tumble, fierce and powerful imposing figure, but was still graceful, exotic, and dare I say it…gorgeous. Yup, she'd be real pretty if she weren't so cold. No one just turned their back on my best friend. This boy was either really brave or really stupid.

"Demons," Garroway drawled, tracing the word on the air with a finger. "Religiously defined as Hell's denizens, the servants of Satan, but understood here, for the purposes of the Clave, to be any malevolent spirit whose origin is outside our own home dimension-"

"That's enough, Garroway," I said. "Nobody here needs a lesson in semantics- or demonology."

My best friend shrugged nonchalantly. Turning to the boy, she said, "Fray thinks I talk too much. Do you think I talk too much, mundie?

He frowned. "What's a mundie?"

"Mundies, or mundanes, are what you would consider 'normal' humans," Garroway said. "Ordinarily, they can't see us, or the Shadow World, but perhaps you have the Sight..." A calculating look crossed her face.

"Well," he said. "If you're not normal humans, than what are you?"

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you..." my best friend muttered.

"We're called Shadowhunters." I said.

"Shadowhunters..." Mundie repeated.

"At least, that's what we call ourselves," Garroway said bemusedly. "The Downworlders have less complimentary names for us."

"Downworlders?" Mundie asked.

"The Night Children. Warlocks. The Fey. The magical folk of this dimension."

Mundie snorted. "Don't stop there. I suppose there are also, what, vampires and werewolves and zombies?"

"Of course there are," Garroway raised an eyebrow. "Although you mostly find zombies farther south, where the voudun priests are."

"What about mummies? Do they only hang around Egypt?"

"Don't be ridiculous. No one believes in mummies."

Weird. Garroway is never this talkative with a stranger. But watching her and Mundie go back and forth...I was reminded of...siblings. Wait... is Mundie getting paler?

Shaking my head, I said, "Garroway, he clearly knows too much now. What do we do with him?"

"Simple," she replied. "We take him back to the Institute. I'm sure Hodge would like to talk to him."

Then suddenly, Mundie collapsed, leaving just enough time for me to catch him before he hit the floor.

A/N: Hello, readers. This is the second chapter...I don't know if I should make it a three-shot or a full-blown story. Could you leave me your thoughts in a review? Because if this does become a full-blown story, I don't know where I'd go with it. I have some ideas, but... Perhaps you guys could leave suggestions?

And to : Thank you for your support. KissingFire is indeed an excellent writer, and yes, I did ask KissingFire before writing this.