I woke up to the sound of…. Nothing. No pots and pans banging downstairs in the kitchen. No alarm clock going off. I looked over and checked the time. 10:50. I groggily sat up and pushed down on my mane. I looked over at Samandiriel before walking over to put it up. I rotated it in the sunlight that was shining from my window, studying it inch by inch. It had some serious battle scars, some of which looked like acid burns. I would have forgotten about the girl with the acid burns around her face, but I couldn't on account of the fact that I had a dream about her.
I slugged over to the bathroom and turned on the water in the sink, waiting for it to warm up. I leaned over the sink and looked at my profile in the mirror. I had bags under my eyes from the lack of any real sleep the past two weeks. My dark brown eyes looked dull and lifeless. The ends of my mouth pulled downward in what looked like an automatic frown. I closed my eyes. I looked like crap and quite frankly, I felt like crap too. I felt the steam coming up from the faucet and sighed dreamily into the misty fog as I thought about the girl. The longer I thought about her the more my memory of her features came into mind. She had long, flowy jet black hair and huge gleaming black eyes that seemed to reflect off the moon, even on her pain-ridden face.
Wait…. Why am I acting like this? I don't even know this girl yet I'm describing her was moon reflecting eyes and junk. I sighed once more and opened my eyes. Startled by what I was seeing now, I turned off the water and jerked back. There, in the mirror, was a name written in the fog. ISABELLE LIGHTWOOD. So that must be her name. Miss Isabelle Lightwood. I thought to myself as I began to brush my teeth and pick out some clothes to wear today. Once I finished, I picked up Samandiriel and put it inside of my duffle bag with the rest of my shadowhunter gear. I raced down the stairs and stopped dead in my tracks when I saw my adoptive mother sitting at the dinner table alone with a box of Kleenex and six packages of fig newtons. Uh oh, that must mean someone has died or is getting close to death. I set my bag down and walked up behind her, rubbing across her shoulders.
"What's the problem mom?" I asked, trying to look as concerned as possible.
"Your father….," she started but trailed off. She wept a little more silently, blew her nose, and tried to talk again.
"It's nothing, sweetheart. It's just a close friend of mine has been put into a hospice house and it's said he doesn't have much time left on this planet", she rushed through the sentence and began crying again.
"Oh, well I'm sorry mom. Is there anything I can do for you?" I asked grabbing my duffle with one foot already out the door before she had a chance to reply with a no.
As I got on my bike and headed downtown, I thought about what my mom had started to say. Your father. That's what it sounded like she said before she changed it to a close friend of hers. I know that my dad was supposed to be at work right now and I highly doubt that he was in a hospice home. I shook the conversation out of my thoughts as I rode my bike up to Nan's Bookstore. I've always loved coming to this bookstore ever since I was a little kid. Even before I found out that I was a shadowhunter had I loved this bookstore. I let down my bike stand and entered through the ever-so-old double glass doors into the store. The smell of old paper and ink infiltrated my nostrils, making me smile as I thought about my childhood.
I found an open computer and logged on, searching for any close shadowhunter institutes. I found one and wrote down the address. It was right in the center of Manhattan. The New York Institute. I logged off the computer and grabbed my things, stopping in my tracks when I notice a book just barely hanging out of its spot on the shelf. I end up buying the book considering it seemed interesting enough. It was titled The Nephilim. Surely it had to be a good book. I stuffed it down into my duffle and headed out for Manhattan.