Discliamer: I own nothing but the plot.

Thanks: Again, the response I'm getting to this story is much better than my other stories'. So that's why I'm prioritizing this fic over I Will Come Back. I know I'm shamelessly self-promoting but... Feel free to check that one out too! ;)

PANDEMONIUM IS FRIGHTENING, to say the least.

After Taki's, Isabelle and I change into dresses that show more skin than not and Jace leads us to an abandoned church near the coastline and introduces it to us as the Institute, one of two hidden entrances to the market. Outside, it looks like the victim of a Holloween toilet-paper attack, with strips of white hanging down its rotting wooden beams that only upon a closer look do I realize are actually cobwebs. But the moment Jace bangs the brass knocker in a funny rhythm that I don't quite catch, a panel in the door slides roughly open and two cold blue eyes glare out at us.

I'm about to hold up my hand and badge when I realize that I didn't bring it for fear of losing it or being found. Isabelle smiles sweetly and I do my best to copy her relaxed, sexy posture. That's when someone slaps my butt and squeezes slightly. I squeal, jumping a little, and look down just in time to see Jace retract his hand poker-faced. I feel myself flushing more than I ever have and my heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my head.

The person's eyes widen and disappear from the view of the slot. A moment later, the door whines open and a tall, lanky boy I'd immediately place as a no-good hooligan comes into view. Without warning, he steps forward and pulls Jace into a hug, throwing Isabelle aside. She isn't even miffed...as if she knows him. I watch as the boy finally pulls away and grins. The smile strangely makes him seem more innocent.

"It's been two years, hasn't it?" he asks, his voice deep and friendly.

"More like forever." I wasn't aware that Jace is capable of replying to someone with any amount of courtesy. "Can we...?"

The boy's face darkens at that and pulls Jace to the corner of the Institute, eyes on me. Although the distance is not very far, I can't hear a word of their seemingly intense conversation and he seems to even keep lip movements to a minimum. Unease builds within me and I glance at Isabelle, who's also trying to eavesdrop, but without success. After Jace replies quickly, they return to the entrance and the boy holds out his hand, although the friendly demeanor is gone. "Alec."

"Clary," I say and instead of taking his hand, I wink as seductively as I can.

It works, I think, because he looks away slightly. That's not enough, though, as I want to be able to draw out blushes.

I snap out of my fantasies to see Isabelle and Alec exchange a funny look of something like recognition and before I know it, I'm being ushered into the Institute.

Into Pandemonium.

FOR THE NOTORIOUS black market, it's clean and presentable.

In fact, it's orderly for any massive organization. More like an office building than a criminal-infested slaughterhouse, Pandemonium is nothing but professional. It even radiates a Victorian Era feel, what with the use of old but polished wood, plush red carpet through the entire first floor, and a winding spiral staircase that took up a large portion of the center of the room. Ten feet tall paintings hang on the walls, each one depicting a person and offering a small description. I look around until my gaze lands on a painting far back against the room, behind the staircase, that is slightly larger than the rest. In it is a delicious-looking man with silver hair and sharp but refined features that for some reason reminds me of Jace - cold, aloof, dangerous.

Before I can ask who he is, Alec stops us. "It's not the same as it was."

"I can see that," Jace says, surveying the hall. "Sebastian's the thing now?"

Alec nods reluctantly while searching the other boy's face for any sign of anger. If Jace's disappointed, he hides it well. Then, after an awkward falling out in the conversation, Alec turns to me and Isabelle. He points to us with his chin and asks, "These yours?"

I have to hold back a flinch when Jace nods, but Isabelle smirks and purrs, "Jealous?"

"Only of you," he replies and turns away. I wonder what his words mean - him being jealous of Izzy?

Just as I'm about to question him, the staircase creaks and all heads swivel upwards. The man in the large painting is standing at the top of the steps, looking down at us like a predator, though we are four and he is one. There's a familiar smile on his face - one that Jace wears all the time, and one that belongs to someone who knows something you don't - as he descends the stairs leisurely. When he speaks, his voice melts over me as if made of chocolate. "Well, well, what have we here? An early release from the bars, is it? Or did you spoon your way out?"

If I thought Jace was bad before, this man is worse. It's not his words, but the manner in which he speaks them. As if he has all the time in the world. As if no one deserves to hear him talk. As if everyone should be listening to his every syllable like they're gold coins. Without meaning to, I frown and cast him a disproving look.

"Straitjackets make it this much more difficult to hold a spoon, much less use one," Jace says and holds up his thumb and index finger just slightly apart. "But I appreciate your confidence in me."

The man is at the bottom of the stairs now and tightens his white gloves like the maniacal surgeons one can only see in horror movies. He doesn't seem the least bit fazed by Jace's bold and arrogant behaviour, or vise versa. "Please do not misunderstand me, Jace, I'd rather you stay in that fancy jacket of yours. I'm only hoping that the Feos have enough sense to not let you out so soon. Unfortunately..."

I look back and forth between them, wondering what their problem is, when the man says almost wearily, "Enough of the babble. Why are you here?"

"You should know better than anyone why I'm here, Sebastian," Jace responds, his usually molten eyes hardening into stone.

"And you, my friend," Sebastian says, rolling the word 'friend' around his tongue before spitting it out venomously, "should know better than anyone that the answer's no."

The pieces slowly come together and the last few that are missing fit into place when Jace hisses, fire burning in his eyes, "What makes you think you can have any say? I never abdicated."

"Please, Jace, we all know getting caught means being weak enough to let the cuffs find you. Don't make this more difficult it needs to be." Whereas Jace is a flame, Sebastian is all ice.

That's when Isabelle speaks up. I admire her for her boldness. Batting her eyelashes and pouting at the golden-haired boy, she says in a sickly sweet voice, "This isn't as fun as you promised it to be, hun. When do I get to see the market?"

It's then I notice I'm standing slightly too far away from Jace to make my character believable, so I quickly make an attempt to patch it up by walking towards him and then tugging at his white collar. But even that revolts me and I can't muster up the courage to say anything, knowing that my throat will somehow manage to make my voice sound like a man's. You never know.

"Who're these?" Sebastian asks, running his coal-black eyes down Isabelle's curvaceous shape hungrily. I resist the sudden urge to throw up.

Jace instinctively slings his arms around both of our shoulders and pulls us close, very nearly making me trip on my several-inch-tall stilettos.

"My definition of fun," he drawls out, letting the sentence almost take on a southern accent. "Meet Belle and Claire."

"Belle," Sebastian repeats, and then his frighteningly dark eyes rivet onto me. "Claire."

Claire's an...interesting name. I swallow thickly, hoping that my pounding heart wouldn't give me away. Jace must be able to feel it through my sparkly and thin outfit, what with the proximity between us. Still, he keeps up the carefree personality when he warns, "Don't touch 'em."

"I would dream of it. Redheads aren't my type..." Sebastian trails off. "Or anyone's, for that matter. Funny how you managed to snatch two girls up so quickly after being released, isn't it?"

"Maybe uncommon for you, but never for me," Jace says and gives Isabelle a quick peck on the ear. Thank goodness he didn't choose me. Sometimes being short is an advantage. "I'll be paying you another visit tomorrow, just to see if you change your mind."

"And if I don't?" Sebastian asks, half out of curiosity and half out of mockery.

Jace's eyes glint in the dim light of the Institute.

"You will."

"THIS IS WHERE you live?"

I cross my arms across my chest and narrow my eyes. "Anything wrong?"

"Of course," Jace exclaims. "It's messier than a pig's den."

"Funny coming from you, the King of all messes," I retort, but quickly kick a magazine under my bed.

Isabelle's out with her usual gang of 'friends,' or if it goes my way, 'beer-buddies,' to a night club, sadistically leaving Jace alone with me. He has nowhere to stay, and I can't really afford to rent him an apartment, so we're staying here. Of all places, here. I shove some things off my unmade bed and quickly gather books into a riskily high stack, and the gesture to the now somewhat clear space. "You can sleep on my bed and I'll bunk with Isabelle. She's practically never here anyway..."

I stop talking at the sight of disgust distorting Jace's usually controlled features. Fury blooms in my stomach and I snap, "Or would you rather sleep on a park bench across the street? That's fine, too."

"You live in this rathole alone?" he asks incredulously, ignoring my sarcastic offer. "Not afraid someone's going to break in and rob the place?"

"I don't keep much cash on me, so it doesn't really matter," I say, brushing his comment aside.

"I was referring to your virginity, but take it how you wish."

My fist nearly makes a hole in the wall. I tell myself to breathe. In a voice shaking with frustration, I say, "Jace, here's a tip. Do your best to not make me angry. Because when I get angry, I become very, very scary, and that won't be good for either of us."

"Hmm," he murmers. "Were you doing your best back there in the Institute? Didn't look like it to me."

"That's different," I say, trying to calm down.

"How different?"

"Different, because I'm the officer here and you're the prisoner. Different, because I'm the one who gets to say what you're saying, not you." I have no idea where this comes from, but at this point I can't care less. Jace's personality is seriously getting on my nerves.

"So this is about power-greediness. Didn't know you were like your father, Clarissa Morgenstern," he says slyly but carefully.

I feel myself go still. "How do you know who my father is?"

"I keep my enemies close," he replies, but something in his voice doesn't make me believe him. There's something more.

Still, I know not to prod at this point and instead say, "'Cause you have no friends to keep closer?"

The side of his mouth curls up into a lopsided grin and he shakes his head. "Not bad. Not bad at all."

Triumph blossoms in my chest and I stand a little taller. Then I shrink. What do I care about what he thinks of me?

All of a sudden, the window nearest to us shatters and a familiar firecracker sound fills my mind.

A bullet is embedded into the wall an inch from Jace's ear.

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-RtMiP