Clary watched as the flames chased each other around the fireplace, the midnight blues and the vibrant oranges dazzling her eyes. There was something so inexplicably beautiful about fire. It warmed her insides as much as it did her exterior.
There was a knock on the door. "Miss Fairchild?" Clary frowned. Her name of the month. When she'd first been taken in, it was very clear that she could not keep the name Morgenstern. Although everything had been done to minimise the attention paid to the missing child, the Morgenstern suicides had become a very popular new story. And Camille had insisted that she could not adopt the surname Belcourt.
"Sorry, darling," she had drawled. "But my name's a one of a kind. And plus, Belcourt is a dangerous surname in these parts. It's all for the best."
The problem was, Clary had never been able to decide on a last name that fit. Every one she'd tried had just left her with an icky feeling. So she'd just pick one every so often and keep it until she got bored. Sure, it was probably confusing, but who was going to argue with Camille Belcourt's daughter? No one who wanted to keep their brains safe in their skulls.
"Who is it?" Clary asked. Never open a door to anyone, Camille had taught her, without knowing precisely who's on the other side. Even if you think you're safe, you never were. That was the most important lesson for life with Camille.
"It's Simon, miss," the voice said. Clary grinned. Of all the bodyguards she had, Simon was her favourite. Although, she thought as she opened the door to him, she didn't know how he got the gig, since he was hardly the most physically intimidating guy out there. He was short and kind of skinny, and constantly looked anxious about something. Apparently he was an expert in some kind of Israeli martial art, but Clary had yet to see any of his skills put into practice.
"Are you here with a purpose? Or were you just hoping to catch me off guard so I'd have no choice but to fall victim to your powers of seduction?" She asked him innocently, enjoying watching him squirm under her gaze. She knew he had a crush on her, and she had absolutely no intention of letting him do anything about it. But it was fun to toy with people's feelings.
"Cam- Ms. Belcourt wants you to come to the penthouse. She's organised a driver for us both."
The penthouse. That was strange. A few months after Clary had first come to Camille, her new 'mother' had a kind of an epiphany.
"A family home!" She'd exclaimed one day over breakfast. "No child should be raised in a penthouse with disgusting men crawling around every day of the week. A proper house is what you and I need."
It had taken a few years to get built- Camille refused to settle for anything but the best- but finally it was completed. Four stories tall, it had everything either of them ever wanted, right down to the fireplace in Clary's bedroom. It was an hour's drive away from the penthouse, and was kind of in the middle of nowhere. But, as Camille pointed out to her, why did location matter when everyone and everything you could ever ask for could be brought to you in the blink of an eye?
So now the penthouse was only used for Camille's 'business meetings'. It was funny, the details of the business had once seemed so fascinating to Clary. Now they just bored her.
"Why does she need me to go there?" Clary wondered out loud. "Why can't she just call me, or wait until tonight to tell me?"
Simon shrugged. "With all due respect, miss, your mother isn't really one to confide in the bodyguards."
Clary sighed impatiently. "Very well," she said, not bothering to extinguish the fire on her way out. "To the penthouse we go."
"So Simon," Clary said conversationally, finally growing tired of the forty minute long silence that had been present throughout the entire car ride. "How's the family?"
"Well, Rebecca's having a baby," Simon said proudly. He seemed like the sort of guy who'd take the role of being an uncle way to seriously. Probably annoy his poor sister to death in the process.
"That's lovely. And your mother?"
Simon looked uncomfortable. Clary knew he would. "Every bit as rude and intolerant as last time, miss."
Clary rolled her eyes. She had expected a more entertaining reaction.
"Driver, what about you?"
"My name's Jordan Kyle, miss," he said sullenly. "I introduced myself to you before."
Drivers that talked back were so annoying. "Sure. Anything going on with you?"
"I just got engaged. That's my fiancée there," he indicated a photo of a striking, dark skinned girl that was taped onto his dashboard.
"She's beautiful." Clary noted, more out of confusion than politeness. Jordan didn't seem like the type who could land someone as hot as the woman in the photo. Not because he was ugly, because he wasn't, but he had some kind of weird vibe about him that made her feel uneasy.
Jordan didn't seem to notice her bemusement. "Thank you."
"Why are you thanking me? I didn't call you beautiful," Clary driver was beginning to get on her nerves.
He seemed taken aback. "I- what?"
"Do you think she's beautiful?" She wanted to know.
"Well, I don't think I'd be marrying her if I thought she was a dog," Jordan responded.
Ugh. "How romantic."
Jordan either didn't hear her or ignored the comment. "We're here, Miss Fairchild."
Clary hadn't been at Camille's apartment in years. She recalled the first time she had seen the place, back when she was young and innocent. But she'd never been completely innocent, really. Camille had seen how messed up she was from the moment she stepped into her office. That's why they got along so well, they both had just the right amount of insanity in them.
The penthouse was much barer than when she had first seen it. Most of the furniture and ornaments now belonged in their mansion. But somehow the apartment had managed to maintain its chaotic beauty, its sense of organized mess.
There was a fat white man sitting on the couch, the one remaining piece of furniture in the living rom. He had dozed off, drool running down face and onto his grey tuxedo jacket. Clary recalled that first night when she had slept on that couch, and instantly resented him for doing the same.
"Excuse me, would you mind telling me who the fuck you are?" Clary demanded, startling him out of his slumber.
"Um, you must be Clary," he said, rushing hastily to his feet, his pale face growing red.
"Yes. Now answer the question."
"Clary, baby," Camille swept in from the study. Even in jeans and a pale pink sweater, she still managed to look the very picture of glamour and sophistication. "I hope Hodge didn't startle you," she said, kissing her on both cheeks.
"He didn't," she said. "Please tell me you aren't sleeping with him. He's revolting."
Hodge started spluttering whilst Camille laughed huskily. "Don't be stupid," she chastised. "No, Hodge is here for you."
"I'm really hoping this isn't an arranged marriage type thing. Because I really think I could do better on my own."
"You are funny," Camille said fondly. "I've always liked how funny you are. But this is serious. Clary, your birthday's in three weeks."
"I know that."
"And who were you planning on spending the day with?"
"You."
Camille rolled her eyes. "Besides me, darling."
"I don't know. I was thinking of seeing Emma during the day and then getting dinner with Sebastian at night."
"There," Camille said triumphantly. "I knew it."
Um. "Knew what exactly?"
"Clary. Darling. It is highly uncommon for an almost sixteen year old to be best friends with a preteen and a man in his mid-twenties," Camille said sternly. She sounded oddly parental for a change. Although Clary thought of Camille as her mother, she'd never been one of those real parental types. "You don't have any friends your age. That's surely unhealthy. Isn't that right, Hodge?"
Hodge looked way out of his depth. "Um. Yes."
"People my age just piss me off. In fact, most people just piss me off. I get along with Emma because she idolises me, and I like Seb because he's almost as fucked up as I am. And then there's you and Luke, but you know I love you guys. And that's all I need. Oh," I added, remembering he was standing behind me, "and Simon's okay, but he doesn't count because you pay him to spend time with me."
"But remember Clary," Hodge said gently. "Your negative perception on people your age may be due to your lack of exposure to them. Remember, you haven't even been in a school since you were eight."
"Yes I have. I went for a month when I was thirteen." One day, on one of her whims, Camille had decided that Clary simply had to go back to school. Although it had been fun seeing everyone's reactions to the six foot eight bodyguard she brought along, Clary had found her fellow students to be some of the most excessively boring people she had ever encountered. "And my fellow students were the most vapid, unintelligent cretins I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. So I stopped."
"I see," Hodge muttered. "And you say you home-schooled her, Ms. Belcourt?"
"That is correct," Camille said, the smoke from her cigarette spiralling around her.
Well that was a joke. From the very beginning, all Clary had asked for in the way of education were a set of books and an internet connection. She'd basically been her own teacher since the age of eight, if you didn't count Camille's irregular vocabulary lessons ("Oh god, darling, that word makes you sound horrifically unrefined. Go look it up in the thesaurus and say something that doesn't make you sound like a moron.") But this Hodge character clearly knew a thing or two about child development, and Camille was obviously being careful not to make herself seem like a bad parent.
"Baby, the problem with normal school," Camille spoke to her, "is that there are no children like you. Granted, there aren't many children like you anywhere, but in the American private school system all you're left with are the children of irrelevant game show hosts and dull philanthropists. There's no one there who's created what I've created, who's accomplished what I've accomplished."
Clary knew how proud Camille was of her business. And she didn't blame her. You could preach about the illegalities and immorality of it for hours, but you couldn't deny it was fucking brilliant.
"You'll have to remind me, Clary, have you ever met Robert or Maryse Lightwood?"
"I met Robert at one of your parties once. He was unbearable."
Camille giggled. "He is, isn't he? But he is an associate of mine, as is his wife. And I think you'll find his wife is much more pleasant company. She has her head screwed on right, anyway, which is more than anyone can say for darling Robert. I greatly value their loyalty and devotion to me. And although I may not like Robert, per se, I respect and trust him and Maryse deeply. That's why I am confident that they've managed to instil the correct values in their three children. Values that get so often overlooked. Their children have been taught cunning, hard work, and, most importantly, loyalty. And Hodge, as their tutor, has been an enormous hand in that."
I could see where she was getting at, and I didn't like it. "You're going to get Hodge to tutor me with them."
"You seem unhappy," Camille observed, sounding disappointed.
"I just don't understand why it's necessary. I'm basically a genius anyway. And the last thing I want is to hang around with more loser ganster's children. Emma's the only one I've ever met who I could tolerate."
"Oh darling, no one's questioning your intellect."
"And the Lightwoods are great kids," Hodge chimed in. "Alec's seventeen, and Jace and Isabelle are both sixteen."
Clary glared at him. "Throwing some random ages at me is doing literally nothing to endear them to me."
"Mr Starkweather, Simon, could you give us a moment?" Camille asked, although they clearly weren't being given an option.
"Oh, um, of course," Hodge muttered, stepping with Simon back into the elevator. Clary wondered if they planned on going back down to the lobby or just hanging out in there until they got summoned back in.
"Baby," Camille said softly, putting one hand on Clary's shoulder. "Ever since you came to me, I've tried to teach you everything I know. And you've done so well. But you cannot charm. Making people fear you is good, but it will only get you so far if they do not like or respect you at all. You need to learn to network if you want to make it in this Family."
Clary rolled her eyes. As pissed off as she was about the idea, she couldn't come up with a good enough reason to dispute it. "Fine. I'll do it."
Camille took Clary's hands in hers. "Darling. You make me so proud."
A/N: So, we've met teenage Clary! What do we think? I've got some really awesome things planned for the next couple of chapters, so look forward to that. Reviews are always appreciated. Love ya bye xx
