A/N: I'm really glad you guys like the story. If there's anything you want to read or point you want clarified or added, pm me or leave a review :)

Chapter Four

Clary was awoken by the sound of a door opening, and the cool breeze of it brushing her face. She opened her eyes to an unfamiliar room of classic Victorian design. She was laying in a four-poster conopy bed of cream and lavender. There was and nightstand beside the best with a lamp, a water glass, and a small ceramic dish containing two white pills. A wooden arm chair stood beside the bed as well.

The door that had awoken her was still open, and there was a man-no, a teenager, just a little older than her-standing beside it. He wore dark jeans and a white t-shirt, his hair unstyled and almost white. Across the exposed skin of his arms and neck, and faintly visible through his shirt, were the sharp black tattoos from her dreams.

"You're awake!" He grinned happily. "I'm glad. How are you feeling? Oh no, don't try to get up! You took a bit of a beating. Here!" He strode toward the bed and helped her sit up, looking concerned when she hissed in pain.

"God, my head…!" She groaned.

"Here," he said, handing her the dish of pills and the water. "Take this. It's Tylenol, of course. I know you're allergic to ibuprofen." He smiled like he was proud to know it.

After a moment of hesitation, Clary took the pills and drained the water.

"Feel better?" He smirked, amused. He sat in the chair.

"I guess, yeah." Clary looked around the room. "Where am I? What happened?" She caught his eye. "Who are you?"

He blinked at her, stunned. "You...you don't remember me?"

He looked familiar, but… "We've never met before."

"Clary…"

"Wait, how do you know my name? Who are you?"

"Clary," he said, sounding almost desperate. "C'mon, it's me! Jonathan! Your brother! How can you not remember me?"

"I'm an only child. I don't have a brother." But oddly, even as she spoke the words, she hesitated. It had always just be her and her mom, hadn't it? Just the two of them moving around together!

Yet his face...it seemed so familiar. It was like seeing all of her things set up in the middle of nowhere. He was as familiar as her mom, as her own reflection in a mirror. His hair, his eyes, his...tattoos. Everything about him struck something, but how? She had no memor of him.

"Clary, of course you do," he said. She could see the hurt in his eyes that he tried to hide. "I'm Jonathan, your brother. And you're Clarissa-Clary, I gave you that nickname when you were three! Our parents are Valentine and Jocelyn Morganstern-"

"My mom is Jocelyn Fairchild," Clary inturupted. "Not Morganstern. She was never married. My father died when I was a baby-and I don't have a brother!" she felt nearly on the verge of panic.

Jonathan moved from the chair to sit on the bed in front of her. "Clary, think about it. I know you recognize me! I look a little different, but not that different."

She shook her head. "We've never met before."

It made no sense. They had never met, but she couldn't deny the familiarity, though she had no memories of him.

But how did he know her name? Or her nickname? Or her mom's name? Or that she was allergic to advil?

Morganstern. Morning star. How did she know that? She'd never heard it before. Had she?

There was a knock at the door, and a man walked in. He looked a lot like Jonathan. They had the same hair color-though the man's was more military cut-and the same tattoos.

"Clary, you're awake! Good." His voice was low, warm and parental.

Jonathan looked at him. "Father, she doesn't remember us!"

The man looked shocked. "What?"

"She doesn't remember us as all!"

The man walked over and sat on the chair. "Clary, what do you remember? It's been a few years, but you must remember something."

She shook her head, growing more upset. "No. I'm sorry, but it's always just been me and my mom."

His eyes flashed. "Your mother. Jocelyn-has she told you anything? Yesterday when you spoke, what did she say?"

"She told me to call someone…?" Clary put a hand on her forehead. Her memory was fuzzy and her head hurt. She remembered eating with Simon, taking the call from her mom...being outside the house calling Tessa...the waking up here. "I was supposed to call Tessa. I had to tell her something."

Jonathan cocked his head to the side. "The warlock girl?"

The man nodded and stood up. "A warlock, of course. I think...there's a block on your mind, Clary, put there by a warlock. I'll make a few calls. Don't worry, hun." He touched her shoulder. "We'll figure this out." He smiled affectionately, if a little sad, then looked at Jonathan. "Look after your sister. Try to help her remember." Then he left.

"Who was that?" Clary asked once he was gone.

"Valentine. Our father."

"Did someone really take my memories?" The idea was scary, even if it sounded inpossible. It seemed more likely that she'd simply sustained amnesia from a head injury.

"If mother was friendly with Tessa, it's possible."

"But why? I mean, if what you're saying is true, why would mom even want to do that?" She was always saying she missed my father, and wished he hadn't died, and how she had always wanted a son as well...why would she have left them?

Jonathan shrugged. "I don't know. She left out of nowhere, in the night. We woke up one morning and you were both gone. I was only thirteen."

That surprised Clary. "Thirteen? Wait, how old are you?" he looked almost her age.

"Seventeen."

"Only a year older than me? So...I was only...twelve?"

He nodded. "That's why it's weird that you don't remember."

"that's crazy though! When I was twelve we'd just moved to LA from San Francisco-Scottsdale before that!"

He shook his head. "No, Clary. Those memories aren't real. They were put there to replace the ones that were taken. We were living in Idris when you were twelve. In the Morganstern manor house. We spent weekends in Alicante."

"What's Idris?" The name rang a million bells, but they led nowhere in her head.

"It's where we're from. Alicante is the Capitol city." his eyes glazed over a bit. "It's the most beautiful place in the world-glass towers, shining buildings. The City of Glass"

An image flashes being Clarys eyes of a shining city with rolling hills behind it-something her mother had painted once. Clary could see it in her minds eye, leaning against the wall in her mother's room, right under the window. Glass towers...She'd even drawn something like it for her graphic novel. Was it the same place?

"Where's my bag?" she asked.

Jonathan stood up and grabbed something from the foot of the bed. Her old leather messenger bag. "This one?" He handed it to her before sitting back down.

Her sketchbook was inside-as were her travel pencils and charcol, thankfully, since they were still expensive-containing sketches of characters and snippets of her graphic novel. She flipped through pages of demonic creatures and runic symbols and clothes until she got the the colored drawing of the glass city she'd drawn.

"I always thought I made it up," she said, sliding the book so he could see.

"That's definitely Alicante. May I?" he asked reaching for the book. She nodded, and he started sifting through it.

"what?" She asked when he made a face.

"You definitely have a block in your head, but you remember a lot." He adjusted to show her what was seeing, and pointed at various pictures. "This is a ravenor demon, Clary. We've fought them togetger. This is the weapons shop in Alicante where we got to pick out our first swords and get them engraved when we were eight. Those are the swords, we got morning stars on the hilts. And these runes here are from the Grey Book-sure footedness, far sighted, Angelic power, unlock, heal…" he pointed to a rune that appeared like hearts around a boy and girl (the main characters) who stood within a circle of fire. "Parabatai," he said sadly. "We were going to get it together"

Clary felt a sudden wave of sadness without knowing why. When he said the word,her heart shuddered. It was like her heart knew what it meant when her brain couldn't find the words for it. She decided right then for herself what her heart said.

Brother.

"why would mom separate us?" she asked, suddenly wanting to cry. "I can feel leaving you, but I can't remember!"

Jonathan dropped the book and pulled Clary into his arms. "Don't cry, Clary, please. Please don't be sad! We'll figure this out, I promise!" He pulled back to smile and wipe the tears from her cheeks. "we're together now, and that's all that matters!"

Then, his smile became soft and deep with emotion that he'd clearly been suppressing: love.

This was the look of a brother, finally reunited with his sister after four long years. It was a look of joy and love that said he really didn't need answers because knowing he had her back was enough for him.

Clary returned his smile as best as she could. She didn't feel the loss the way he did, but could feel pieces of her heart being filled that she hadn't realized had been empty. The difference was that Clary did need answers. She realized as they talked that her childhood memories were all vague, as though they were discribed instead of lived. Spaces were filed with words instead of memories: school, tv, Sacramento, Portland, mountain, friends, river, summer, christmas. Words but no pictures. She realized as she thought that her first actual memory was of her first day of school in Miami, only twelve years old, taking a Tylenol from her mom as they walked through a city alley. Then they'd moved to Texas and spent Christmas dinner at Dennys, like they did for every holiday. And Jocelyn never really dated but was always meeting old friends in the streets when they were out, and they always acted like Jocelyn had died. They would whisper for a long minute, then grab a drink later. Clary always got the sense that her mom was running from always scary past and just didn't want to scare her, but they never talked about it. They'd moved to New York when Jocelyn had learned that Luke was living there, and Clary had learned that Luke had been friends with her parents in school, way before Clary had been born. Luke had been there to see Clarys birth, and would have been the best man at their wedding if her father hadn't supposedly died.

Was any of that even true? Did Luke know Valentine or was it all lies?

"Jonathan," Clary said suddenly. "Where's my mom? I want to see her."

Jonathan looked away. "Clary...our mother isn't well. She's...she's at Beth Isreal in a coma. She's okay, no damage they can find or anything, but they don't know why she won't wake up. She's stable, and it's just a waiting game now."

Her body felt cold. "Can I see her?"

"Yeah, of course. We'll go no. Uhm, I should tell father. There's a bathroom and closet through that door if you want to change or whatever. I'll be back."

Clary hadn't noticed the door before, hidden from her view behind the gause of the beds canopy. She waited until Jonathan was gone before getting out of the bed and heading over, praying there was a shower.