Sorry it took me so long to update! I don't have much inspiration for this story, plus, I've been working on my other ones.

Okay, character recap!

The Lightwoods own a club called Pandemonium, and they live above it. Jace, Alec, Isabelle, and Max are all already there, and Maryse is pregnant again.

Valentine was the leader of a gang called "the Circle" but he'd now dead, leaving the gang to Blackwell, and his son, Jonathan, is to inherit it when the time comes.

Jonathan wants to get out of the gang, so he's looking for his half-siblings, who are Clary and Jace (yes, I know that's a bit weird)

Jocelyn was pregnant with Clary when Valentine died, and ran off and changed her name when it happened, not wanting that life for her only child.

Jocelyn is also a midwife, and Madeleine is her assistant.

I hope you enjoy!

Jace came down the winding wooden staircase to answer the door. It was midday, and the club was vacant, and closed. The club opened at six, in about three hours.

Jace walked across the large, empty room as the bell next to the door rang again.

"I'm coming!" Jace called. "Shut up!" He unlocked the door, and opened it. A familiar face was outside, his cat-like eyes narrowing when he saw Jace. "Is it Wednesday already?" He asked.

"Yes," said Magnus. "Now, do you want the alcohol or not?"

Jace opened the door all the way, gesturing for Magnus to come in.

Magnus bane was the head of Ithuriel's Black Market, and provided all of Pandemonium's bar supplies. Rumor had it Magnus had men passing the borders between sectors and getting booze from Zophiel, or Michael, or even Seraph.

"I'm short this week," Magnus said as he walked into the club, "so each bottle is one copper more."

Jace looked at him sharply. "What?!" he slammed the door stomping after him.

Magnus sat down on one of the bar stools and began inspecting his nails. "You heard me." Magnus was wearing dark skinny jeans that were obviously poached from one of the middle-class sectors, and a long coat, which was probably from the same place. He wore black eyeliner, too, like a prostitute might. You never saw anyone good wearing things like makeup, or heels, or leather, but Magnus wore them all (well, his leather boots did make him taller, but perhaps they didn't classify as heels.).

"That is unacceptable." Jace was trying to be firm on business, like Maryse or Robert usually were, but they were both upstairs, doing things for Maryse's pregnancy that Jace didn't want to ask about.

Magnus scoffed, glancing up at Jace. "Where else would you her your booze? The market?" Magnus scoffed. "All they have is piss that locals get drunk on." Magnus was clearly amused. It's hard to negotiate when your opponent knows you need him.

Jace growled under his breath.

"Tell you what," said Magnus, putting his feet up on the bar. Great, now Jace would have to wipe that down again. "If you send your cute brother to negotiate instead of you, we may be able to work something out." Magnus grinned, showing off a single silver molar.

Jace frowned. "You mean Alec?"

Magnus scoffed. "No, your kid-brother," he said sarcastically. "Yes, Alec; the one with the blue eyes."

Jace groaned. "Fine, but I expect a discount."

Magnus shrugged. "Fine."

Jace headed upstairs to get Alec. He was in their bedroom, reading what looked like the family's bar notes, listing recipes, and techniques, and things.

"Alec." Jace still carried his annoyed tone from his previous conversation with Magnus.

Alec looked up at him expectantly. "Yes?"

Jace crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on the door frame. "Your presence has been requested by Magnus Bane."

Alec frowned. "Magnus is here?"

Jace shrugged. "It's Wednesday."

Alec closed the book of notes, and set it down on his small bed, then rose to his feet and passed Jace.

He watched as Alec began fixing his hair as he headed to the stairs. This made Jace frown, but quickly dismissed it. He walked into his room, shutting the door behind him, then plopped down on his close-to-the-ground mattress, bored.

Jace let his mind wander to the new girl, Clary. She was a bit young to be working at a club, but then again, so was Jace. And they could really use the help.

Clary was getting better, too, remembering most of peoples' orders and making fairly good drinks.

And, if Jace was being perfectly honest with himself, he thought she was kinda hot. Not the usual kind, who bent over the bar so Jace would see down their shirts, but the kind that didn't know it, and she didn't have to wear anything mildly flattering to show it.

Not only that, but she was… somehow different from all the other girls who he'd met at the bar, where they tried to impress Jace with their drink orders, or how much they could drink, but… he didn't know.

All he knew was that he hoped Clary would stay.

Jocelyn parked her bike next to Madeleine's against the filthy brick wall of one of the shadiest apartments Jocelyn had ever seen.

"Are you sure the client lives here?" said Madeleine, taking the place in. It was a three-level apartment with tagged brick walls, and it smelled like cigarettes and urine.

"That's the address that's on here," said Jocelyn, looking down at the scrap of paper in her hand.

With a shrug, the two went into the building.

It was poorly maintained, with its rotting wooden floors, and its patchy walls.

Madeleine followed Jocelyn up the stairs carefully, minding the few that were missing.

"Third floor," Jocelyn muttered as she clutched her bag to her chest. When they got to the door, Jocelyn knocked timidly. Places like this scared her, scared her because it was where the unpleasant sort lived, like gang members, pimps, prostitutes…

The door cracked, and a boy peeked through. "State your business," he said firmly.

Jocelyn opened her mouth to speak, but Madeleine beat her to it. "Jocelyn Garroway and Madeleine Bellefleur, the midwives." She seemed to have an air of confidence that Jocelyn didn't. Then again, it was because Madeleine hadn't seen the kinds of things that these sort of men did.

The boy opened the door, gesturing them inside. He was young-looking, seventeen maybe. He was definitely dangerous, though; Jocelyn could see the tattoos and scars down his arms and by the collar of his T-shirt, but she tried to ignore them. They got clients that were shady sometimes, but they cared for them anyway, mostly because no one else would.

"Come in," said the boy, who looked more relieved to see them then anything else.

The two walked in, and Jocelyn noticed him putting a gun into the waistband of his jeans.

"Sorry," he said, "you never know who will come knocking."

Jocelyn looked away from the boy, and at his apartment. It was more of a room, actually, and it was a bit smaller than the main room if Jocelyn's. She suddenly felt very fortunate as she looked around at the cheap, poorly repaired wooden furniture that was there; a small table with two chairs, a small cabinet that looked like it held any and all dishes, a small, soot-covered wood-burning stove, a door-less doorway that seemed to lead to a small bathroom, and a twin-sized futon that lie near the only window, which was filthy, but the only source of light, dim from the streetlamp right outside.

There was a girl sitting on the futon, a man's leather jacket- probably the boy's- pulled around her shoulders, and a dinghy canvas blanket over the rest of her. She smiled gently at Jocelyn, which made her see the fear behind the girl's eyes.

"Hello," said Jocelyn, smiling a friendly smile. "Are you Maia?"

"Yes," the girl said, moving some of her braided hair out of her face. Jocelyn could see the darkness around her eyes, like she'd had makeup there at one point, but it was cleaned off poorly.

The boy went to the girl's side, knelt down, and took her hand. She smiled at him, and he smiled at her.

"Alright." Jocelyn went over to the bed, knelt to the floor, and set down her bag. Madeleine did the same. "Do you know how far along you are?"

"About four months," said Maia, looking to Jocelyn, but keeping a hold on the boy's hand.

"And what's your story?" Jocelyn asked, opening up her bag and looking for her measuring tape.

"Well…" Maia hesitated. "I'm… Do I have to tell you?"

"Not at all." Jocelyn found her measuring tape, and took it out of her bag. Madeleine got out the leather-bound booklet, ink, and writing utensil, and prepared to take notes. "But I may need to know the father's name, but I assure you, its confidential."

"Jordan may or may not be the father," Maia said, looking up at the boy. He gave her a reassuring smile.

So perhaps Maia was a prostitute? Was that why she seemed afraid?

"Then who are you?" Madeleine asked patiently, writing something down.

"I'm the boy that's going to take care of her," he said, squeezing her hand.

"Than I can put you down at the father if you'd like," Madeleine offered.

Maia and Jordan looked at each other for a second, then answered in unison. "Yes."

Jocelyn began rubbing her hands together to warm them, then hesitantly hovered them near Maia's barely poking out stomach. "May I?"

Maia nodded, and Jocelyn pulled up the rim of her brown T-shirt, and put the measuring tape vertically across her stomach.

"Thirteen weeks," Jocelyn said, and Madeleine wrote it down. "Do you both live here?"

"Um…" Maia bit her lip, looking down.

"She's hiding here, rather," said Jordan, "from Raphael."

"If he knew I was pregnant…" Maia trailed off.

"You may need to clean this place up a bit if you want to have the baby here," said Jocelyn.

Jordan nodded.

"And Maia, you should be eating as much fruits and vegetables as possible, okay? And exercising."

Maia nodded. It was not the easiest to find fresh fruits or vegetables in Ithuriel, especially for someone poor enough to live here, but dried fruit on the other hand…

"But also, she needs to rest, and be as stress-free as possible," said Madeleine.

"We'll work on that," said Jordan, squeezing Maia's hand again.

"Alright," Jocelyn went on, "what sort of symptoms have you been having?"

"Um…" Maia glanced at Jordan, as if hesitating due to embarrassment. "Well, I'm not throwing up anymore?"

Jordan looked unaffected, and Madeleine wrote it down.

"I'm very tired," Maia went on, "and I'm constantly wanting random foods."

Jordan chuckled, smiling at her fondly, as if he were remembering something.

Jocelyn looked at him curiously. Valentine hadn't even had this much enthusiasm when she was pregnant with Clary. He'd never been this kind.

"I've…" Maia glanced at Jordan again. "I've stopped getting…" She blushed slightly.

"I got it," said Madeleine, winking as she wrote it down.

"And I feel…" Maia frowned, trying to think of a word. "Fuller?"

Jocelyn nodded. "Perfectly normal."

"She can smell better, too," said Jordan. "The dust hasn't bothered her much till recently."

Maia nodded in agreement. "Oh, and very real dreams. That's it."

"Very good," said Jocelyn. "And… has the baby moved yet?"

"No, not yet," said Maia, touching her stomach.

"Alright." Jocelyn smiled and pulled Maia's shirt down.

Maia offered Jocelyn a tentative smile and pulled the leather jacket around herself more tightly.

Jordan reached forward to shake Jocelyn's hand- something rarely done by someone like him- which surprised her, but she shook it.

"Thank you for doing this," he said, looking extremely grateful.

"Of course." Jocelyn's preconceived notions about this boy had been far from off. Despite his tattoos and obvious involvement in a gang, this boy was rather pleasant, not to mention civil.

Jocelyn put her things in her bag, and Madeleine did the same. The two stood up, and Jordan showed them out.

"We'll return in four weeks," said Madeleine.

"We look forward to seeing you," said Jordan, then he closed the door behind them.

Jonathan picked uncomfortably at the long sleeved shirt he was wearing. For once, he wasn't wearing his leather jacket, and he was wearing a long sleeved shirt to cover up his tattoos and scars.

And though it was uncomfortable, no one was backing away from him, or avoiding looking at him. In fact, he saw a few pretty girls winking at him. He smiled back, not used to this sort of thing.

"Two coppers, please." said the man at the front door. He was tough-looking, and Jonathan hated that he immediately thought of every way to take him down.

He reached into his pocket, and handed the bouncer the two coppers, then he was let in.

The music echoed through the large room, bouncing off the peaked, wooden ceiling as hoards of people danced to it.

Jonathan considered dancing, but decided to go to the bar first. He sat down on one of the wooden stools, and pulled out the small, leather-bound journal that had belonged to his father. He skimmed over Valentine's vague entries, trying to take what he could from them.

From the looks of it, he would probably have more luck with this Jocelyn then with the other one, because Celine is dead, and her son would have never known her. Jocelyn, on the other hand, was alive (he hoped) and had a child that would be Jonathan's half-sibling. He had a feeling it would be a boy, for some reason.

"What can I get you?" a voice interrupted his thoughts and reading. Jonathan looked up to see a girl bartender with fiery red curls. He'd seen her before, though he'd forgotten her name

"Brandy Collins," he said, then added a "please" which he wasn't used to doing.

The girl nodded, and started to make it. He watched as she struggled to remember exactly what to do and it what order, but she was done within a minute.

"Here you go." she set the glass in front of him, then her eyes turned to the leather-bound booklet. Her eyes went wide. "Is that… a real book?"

Jonathan scoffed, slightly amused. "No."

"Oh. Then is it a journal?" You didn't often see journals in Ithuriel, it was true, but Valentine, apparently, not only wanted to document his life, but had trust issues, so he felt he had to write his secrets in a journal that he always had hidden. Jonathan had happened upon it by accident when he was about twelve, since he lived in his father's old house with Hodge.

"You shouldn't bring your journal to a place like this," the girl said. "It could get stolen."

"It isn't mine," he found himself saying.

The girl raised her eyebrows at his.

"It was my father's," he explained.

"Ah." the girl nodded.

"Clary." the blonde boy who Jonathan often saw working at the bar said, looking at Clary while cleaning a glass. "There are more costumers."

"Right! Sorry!" And with that, she went off to serve other customers.

I kinda want to ship Jonathan with someone, but NOT CLARY!

So, since I'm having a hard time writing this story, could you guys give me suggestions/requests? Any questions about the world they live in?

I could also use a beta if anyone's interested.

I'll try and post soon!

-Jade