A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate the reviews, the follows and the favourites.
"Life is a dream for the wise, a game for the fool, a comedy for the rich and a tragedy for the poor"
Clary was late for her first day of her new job which did not surprise her in the slightest. As her mother not so fondly recalled, she had in fact been late for her own birth. Clary sincerely hoped she would be extremely late for her own funeral. At eighteen years of age she had no desire for death any time soon.
She hurried through the city centre, her dark green trench coat boiling her from the inside out. A force of habit that she began wearing her coat once September rolled around. It was nearly always necessary in Ireland. The warm air pervaded the muggy city but the occasional gentle breeze blew Clary's curls away from her sticky neck.
She reached the glass-walled coffee shop and spotted Magnus' majestic glittery spikes. Her dealings on receiving the job had been with the elderly house manager Imogen, who ran the Vice President's household with a frosty, iron grip. Clary had been severely grateful to hear Magnus would meet with her twice before bringing her to work. She had met him the day previously to sign a non-disclosure agreement, a novelty for Clary. Magnus himself had been a novelty, a winning smile that seemed to glimmer as much as his blue glitter encrusted lids did.
Now he enveloped her in a sandalwood scented hug. He was the Lightwood's extravagant personal stylist but his personality did not conform to the Lightwood's dress. As far as Clary could tell from the magazines she had rapidly perused last night, they were always impeccably and formally dressed. Magnus on the other hand not so much.
Today his pants were grey leather and his t-shirt a shocking pink. Studded boots put him two feet above Clary. Her curls gave her some height at least.
"Ah Clarissa," He smiled at her. "Long time no see little leprechaun."
"You saw me yesterday." She reminded him gently.
He shrugged. "Technicalities."
"Aren't we going to the Vice President's manor?" Clary asked confused as Magnus beckoned a waitress.
"Are you joking?" Magnus laughed, fishing a plastic card out of his pocket. "This is the staff credit card. Now what are we having?"
Clary had a healthy respect for money and as such was shocked at Magnus' audacity. But she also had a healthy respect for food and ordered a cup of tea and a steaming plate of waffles. She cared little for the taste of coffee.
Once they had devoured their breakfast and Magnus had shared with her a steaming vat of household gossip, ("Imogen asked me if she could borrow one of Isabelle's leather miniskirts last night.") they left for the manor. It took Magnus just one wave of a bejewelled hand and a chauffeured BMW appeared before them. Clary slid into the supple leather and could not contain an unladylike sound at the feel of the expensive material.
"I take it you're not used to such luxuries." Magnus said, inspecting his manicured nails.
Clary smiled at him. "Is it that obvious?"
Magnus said nothing, which Clary took as an affirmative. "No I'm not. I grew up with my parents in a little flat outside Dublin. We never had much. I've been a maid since I was sixteen and moved here."
"Tough job but someone's gotta do it." Magnus sung, startling the driver.
Clary wasn't sure if she agreed with that sentiment but kept her mouth shut.
The Lightwood's drive swept upwards in a paved arc to one of the biggest houses Clary had ever seen. It was like the White House's slightly younger, slightly more colourful relation.
After being cleared by security, the driver sped Magnus and Clary to the house, dropping them directly outside the house. Clary's Converse crunched satisfyingly loud on the flecked gravel.
"Good service," She commented as the driver leaped out of the car and handed her the luggage she had stowed in the trunk. Magnus grinned but the driver just respectfully tipped his hat.
An elegantly dressed man threw open the double doors and welcomed them staunchly. Clary looked around the tastefully decorated foyer anxiously. It was littered with scuttling maids and staff. At her previous houses Clary had been the only member of staff. Before she could say a word, Imogen hurried up to Clary, her modest, tartan skirt swishing at her calves. Her silver hair is scraped severely back from her face.
"Ah Clarissa you're here." She cast a disdainful look at Magnus as she spoke. He wiggled his fingers at her and she scoffed. "The family are congregated in the upstairs drawing room. I shall introduce you now."
"What now? Oh Jesus." Clary swore in surprise. Imogen shrieked. "Oh shit sorry. No swearing. Got it."
Magnus shunted her up the sweeping staircase in pursuit of Imogen. Imogen looked back at the two of them and narrowed her eyes. "Must you come Magnus?"
"I must." He said solemnly, before winking at Clary. Clary trailed reluctantly after Imogen, her case banging against the marble stairs. Magnus on the other hand bounded eagerly behind her. The stairs were a stormy marble with complimentary cream walls. The walls were stark of decoration but Clary knew the Lightwoods had only lived here a fortnight.
At the top of the stairs Imogen whirled around. "Now Clarissa. There are rules when speaking to the family. Your reference was quite adamant that you knew how to behave in proper company but I," She took in Clary's bright curls and jeans and coat ensemble. "I am not so sure."
Clary felt the urge to strike Imogen but averted her frustration into taming her hair with her fingers. Rude bitch, she thought savagely. Imogen continued relentlessly.
"You shall address Mr Vice President as Mr Vice President at all times. You shall address The Second Lady of the United States as the Second Lady of the United States or Mrs Lightwood at all times. You shall address Master Alexander Lightwood as Master Lightwood at all times…"
Clary suspected she may have lost consciousness for a moment. She certainly wasn't paying attention to what Imogen's brittle voice was chanting.
As Imogen continued in this vein, Magnus' fingers startled Clary awake as they wove into her hair and adeptly pulled it into a braided bun. Finally exhausted, Imogen glanced at Clary's hair and could not find a disapproving word.
Without a word she stalked from the cream carpeted hall to the similarly carpeted drawing room. Mother of God this place was dull, Clary thought as she imagined painting the walls a vivid sunset colour.
The scene inside the room was explosive. Vice President Lightwood stood tensely by the oak wood fireplace, his hand gripping its mantle and his body slightly angled away from where Clary, Imogen and Magnus stood by the door. Clary had only seen him in pictures online and was startled by his overwhelming presence in real life. He was an extremely tall man, his grey suit cut so sharply its seams could have cut glass. His wife sat on the nearest armchair, lavender suit pants and cream silk shirt perfectly pressed. Her glossy dark bun was a lot neater than Clary's. Her lips were pursed but her eyes quite expressionless.
A young man who Clary presumed was the eldest Lightwood child, or Master Alexander as the case may be, sat on the edge of his seat, his arms folded calmly on his lap but a constant wince crossed his face. His dark hair fell into his eyes and he seemed to look pleadingly towards the window. The peacekeeper, Clary assumed. His sister sat by his side, identical in looks but opposites in attitude. She twirled her poker-straight ink hair around her fingers aimlessly. Miss Isabelle slouched against the cushions causing her short navy swing dress to ride further up her slim thighs. Her long legs crossed at the ankles and her high heeled navy pumps dangled off her heels.
Whether they knew it or not, the entire family was inclined slightly toward the window and Clary's eyes were drawn there. In the dazzling light blazing from the arced windows Master Jace stood. His posture was as tense as his stepfather's, his left hand in a fist and a sparkling mountain of shattered glass lay by his feet. His hair was crisp white gold where the sun hit it and his face wore an expression of deadly fury. An angel cast down from heaven, Clary thought. His mouth formed a list of profanities that shocked all but Clary. In her hometown, cursing was second nature to all. Almost their native tongue.
"I will not," Jace bellowed, his fists tightening reflexively and Clary observed a trickle of blood drip onto the carpet. Had he crushed a glass in his hands?
"Jace," Robert began, placing his hand across his eyes in a weary gesture. "It's the only option. You have no choice but to."
Jace swore again and Imogen visibly recoiled. Magnus cleared his throat politely. Heads swivelled and each Lightwood wore an expression of surprise. They looked briefly united.
Imogen recovered her composure and almost curtsied, speaking directly to the Vice President.
"Mr Vice President, Mrs Lightwood, Masters and Miss Lightwood. I would just borrow a moment of your time to introduce the new personal hand maid you requested. This is Clarissa Fray."
No one said anything for a moment and Clary was unsure what to do. She waved at them and Imogen sighed.
Maryse rose slowly from the armchair and crossed the room, her heels sinking in the plush carpet. She towered above Clary and looked down at her through hooded eyes.
"A pleasure to meet you Clarissa." She touched Clary's hand gently with her own in the briefest imitation of a handshake.
"You too, Mrs Lightwood. And please call me Clary." Clary said warmly but she could tell Maryse had stopped paying attention. The rest of the family nodded in her direction and Clary was feeling distinctly disgruntled.
"Clarissa will attend to any personal needs like dressing, laundry collection etc. and will be your liaison between yourselves and the other staff when I am unavailable."
The family seemed too caught up in their own troubles to pay any of them the slightest attention. Only Jace replied.
"Oh, a maid that can do laundry and help us dress. I can see why you appointed her as our personal maid. Someone give this girl a raise." His tone was snarky and his eyes narrowed in Clary's direction. She stared him down angrily for a moment but suddenly remembered her place and glanced away.
Imogen looked flustered and opened her mouth but Clary knew she could handle this on her own.
"I'm also trained in first aid." She said clearly, looking pointedly at Jace's hand. "Master Lightwood." She added as an afterthought.
Jace's eyes glinted. "Oh thank god. I've never put a bandage on before. It's a miracle you arrived when you did."
Clary could sense his sarcasm and pushed down her fiery response, refusing to respond to the bait. She needed this job.
"Just let her clean your goddamned hand Jace." Alexander muttered.
Jace seemed to relent and stalked through the drawing room. He passed Clary without looking at her but when he reached the doorway he beckoned her imperiously to follow. She did, nodding politely to her employers before leaving with her bag. She followed Jace to a bathroom across the hall. His dark jeans slung low on his hips and his t-shirt looked rumpled and slept in. He whipped around as soon as they were both inside and fixed her with a stony look.
"That's ok there's no rush, you take your time. Not like I'm bleeding to death on my mother's crystal tiles or anything."
Clary shrugged off her velvet coat and let it pool at her feet. "Where do you keep the first aid kit Master Lightwood?" She asked calmly.
He sank onto the side of the jet powered taupe bathtub. "In the cabinet under the sink, Clarissa."
She moved to the sink and grimaced at herself in the mirror. She hated her full name. She retrieved the dark green case and returned to Jace's side. Dark droplets dripped steadily onto the tiles and she grabbed his hand hurriedly, covering his wound with her hand. He raised his eyebrows at her and she blushed.
"I apologise Master Lightwood." She mumbled, busying herself with the first aid kit. He ignored her.
She knelt beside him and touched his injured hand tentatively, spreading open the fingers to clean it with antiseptic fluid. He did not wince.
"You have an unusual accent." He commented in a slightly bored voice.
"Unusual, Master Lightwood?" She replied blandly. This was what was expected of her. Polite distance when speaking to those she served. She should neither agree nor disagree if possible, never voice her own opinion unless expressly asked to do so and never engage the family in conversation that may annoy them.
"I believe that is what I said, yes." He replied drily, looking down at her with luminous eyes. "Although I do appreciate your ability to act like a parrot. You should put that on your resumé for when you inevitably quit this job."
"Why would I quit?" Clary asked, straining to keep her voice level. He was extremely annoying. She focused on unrolling a length of plaster.
"I can be extremely trying." He said, almost grinning. "You would not be the first servant to grow tired of my antics. Nor would you be the first servant to grow tired of hiding your blatant attraction to me."
She levelled his gaze with his for a moment before beginning to wrap his hand. He had long musician's fingers that Clary suspected had never worked a day in their life.
"I would not count on me quitting Master Lightwood. It has been a long time since pretty rich boys have had an effect on me."
"You think I'm pretty?" He was truly grinning now, feigning embarrassment. "Well I am flattered."
She tied a knot in the length of plaster, securing it to his hand. She may have pulled it tighter than necessary. "I live to please Master Lightwood."
"I do hope that's true Clarissa." He wrapped a finger around an escaping curl and tugged sharply. He stood up abruptly and made to leave.
"And I prefer to be called Clary." She muttered defiantly, staring at his retreating back.
He did not look back at her as he spoke. "And I do not really care."