A/N: So I first wanted to say thank you for the amazing reviews I have been receiving! They mean a lot to me. Also, I know that I have been steadily pushing out the chapters over the last four days, but I have to admit, that that is because of my days off. Unfortunately, I work tomorrow, so I won't be able to devote my time to writing. Over the next work week, I hope to update with at least one chapter though. As always, I hope you like it!

~Chapter Four~

Nothing Can Ever Be Easy

Jace was still upset that Clary had not asked him to stay with her. He had thought she would with undeniable certainty. Alec had said that not everyone wanted him all the time, but Jace knew that couldn't be true. He had thought that Alec might have been right at first, but after sending him to the Weapons Room, while he went and grabbed his shoes, Jace had realized that thatcouldn't be it. But still, a nagging voice wondered if perhaps Clary just truly didn't like him. In the Weapons Room, they had done everything from throwing knives, which subsequently did happen to cheer him up a little (this whole 'Alec being right' thing was getting to be a little too much), before moving on to sparring. From there they had practiced tumbling. Now they sat at a table containing seraph blades. Using their steles, they were marking them with the runes that would name them, preparing them for use.

The soft click of the door shutting caught Jace's attention. Looking up, he saw Clary standing there, her eyes were no longer watery but the traces of having shed tears still evident on her face, if only just. His stomach twisted and he bit down on his on the inside of his cheek. She doesn't want to be here, Jace reminded himself.

"Where's Hodge?" he asked as flippantly as he could, causing Alec to look up.

"Writing to the Silent Brothers."

"Ugh," Alec said, repressing a shudder. Jace couldn't help but to wonder if it was because of Clary's reply, or just because of Clary. He grinned to himself and watched as Clary moved closer.

"What are you doing?" Her tone was light and curious now. No trace of the stress she had been in in the library.

"Putting the last touches on these," Jace said, moving so that she could see what he was talking about. Pointing to each one, he called them by their chosen names, "Sanvi, Sansanvi, and Semangeleaf." Seeing the confusion on her face, he add, "They're seraph blades."

"Those don't look like knives." she said with wonder. "How did you make them? Magic?"

Alec's face immediately distorted with horror; his eyes widening and his brows knitting together. It would have been funny, if Jace hadn't felt the same way—though he chose not to show it with by painting a ridiculous look on his face. He wondered if he should bother to explain it to her, what with her not knowing them, nor wanting to be there.

"The funny thing about mundies," he said, looking at no one in particular but knowing that Clary knew he was talking to her. "is how obsessed with magic they are for a bunch of people who don't even know what the word means."

"I know what it means," Clary snapped at him, her emerald orbs blazing.

"No you don't," Jace said dismissively. "You just think you do. Magic is a dark and elemental force, not just a lot of sparkly wands and crystal balls and talking goldfish."

She looked pissed now. "I never said it was a lot of talking goldfish, you—"

But Jace was already cutting off what he was sure was going to be a most lovely pet name with a wave of his hand. He couldn't say why he was enjoying himself, but he was. "Just because you call an electric eel a rubber duck doesn't make it a rubber duck, does it?" And then he cringed inward. God how he hated ducks—with their beady little eyes and self entitled superiority. "And God help the poor bastard who decides to take a bath with the duckie."

"You're driveling," Clary said with a slight hint of amusement.

"I'm not," Jace said, drawing himself up regally. I just really, really, hate ducks.

"Yes, you are," Alec quipped suddenly, and Jace turned vexed eyes to him. "Look," he went on hastily, purposely avoiding Clary, but not looking at Jace now either. "We don't do magic, Okay? That's all you need to know about it."

Clary looked as if she were about to yell at Alec again, and Jace thought back to the library when she had called him a dickhead. Then she had had Hodge at her side, who Alec never crossed. Jace wasn't sure what would happen if she said something rude to Alec without Hodge here. Jace would step in, of course, but . . . either way, he didn't think it would end well. Picking up a seraph blade, he turned it in his hands, waiting. He was saved from having to find out when her next sentence contained nothing derogatory.

"Hodge said I can go home."

They did bring him up short, though. The blade nearly fell from his hand as he looked up at her in shock. "He said what?"

"To look through my mother's things," she amended quickly, reaching up and nervously tugging on one of her crimson curls. "If you go with me."

Somewhere next to him, Jace heard Alec say his name, but he could not bring himself to answer. He was watching Clary with keen interest—as if she were one of Da Vinci's famous pieces of art that hid a lost painting beneath it. Jace felt he had only just begun to scratch the surface with her. Isabelle's too big tank top and too long jeans made her look smaller than she already was, more fragile. And yet, Jace knew she was anything but. He knew that she remembered what had happened at her house, remembered the Ravener demon—and still she was willing to go back? And not just willing, but it was clear she wanted to, and was probably going to go with or without him.

At his silence, Clary went on quickly. "If you really want to prove that my mom or dad was a Shadowhunter, we should look through my mom's things. What's left of them."

Was she trying to bait him into coming with her, now? Jace could feel the corner of his lip crook upward into a half-cocked grin. "Down the rabbit hole," he said, and he could picture it then: Clary as a young Alice venturing into an unknown world that was sure to only get stranger for her. "Good idea." —Wait, does that make me the Mad Hatter? Clearing the thought with a slight jerk of his head, Jace stood; grabbing up the blades as he went. "If we go right now, we should have another three, four hours of daylight."

They had just started for the door when he heard Alec call out, "Do you want me to come with you?" but Jace didn't turn around. Partly because they were losing time, and mostly because he didn't want to see Alec's face when he responded.

"No, that's alright. Clary and I can handle this on our own."

As the door shut behind them, Jace swiftly made his way down the hall with Clary half-jogging behind him to keep up. "Have you got your house key?" he asked as he turned down another corridor. Had he even locked up when he carried her out of there the first time?

"Yeah," Her voice floated up from behind him.

"Good," he said. "Not that we couldn't break in, but we'd run a greater chance of disturbing any wards that might be up if we did."

"If you say so."

He smiled at her tone, before stopping suddenly at the black gate in front of them. Darting his hand forward, he pushed the button on the side and waited as the elevator clanged and rattled it's way up to them.

"Jace?" he heard her whisper, the hair on his arms raising. He turned to look at her. She was playing with one of her curls again, and he realized that it was a nervous tick. It was endearing.

"Yeah?"

"How did you know I had Shadowhunter blood? Was there some way you could tell?"

Jace bit the inside of his cheek just as the elevator arrived, saving him from an immediate answer. Unlatching the gate and sliding it open, he stepped back and allowed Clary to enter first—the way a gentleman should. He hoped that maybe she would forget she asked, but upon looking at her expectant face, he knew that idea was a no-go. He sighed quietly, stepping in beside her and turning to latch the gate. He decided to go with the truth. She knew everything else now, no sense in hiding this.

"I guessed," he said after the gate was secure. "It seemed like the most likely explanation."

"You guessed?" Her eyebrows raised as she looked up at him, though her voice held neither shock nor anger. "You must have been pretty sure, considering you could have killed me."

She turned away from Jace as he reached forward to press the button on the wall, and the elevator groaned in protest before beginning its descent. He wanted to say it was more than just a guess. He had been nearly positive of what she was. "I was ninety percent sure."

"I see."

She had said it in such a contemplative whisper, that Jace couldn't help but to look at her questioningly. And then he was wheeling back on his heels as her hand struck his face with resounding force. His eyes flew wide and disbelieving—his hand on his cheek—as she turned to stare to the front again as if she had done nothing more than merely asked for the time. The shock was worse than the first time she had attacked him. And what was her issue with his face? "What the hell was that for?" he demanded when he finally found his voice.

"The other ten percent." She said it neither snarky nor angry. It was merely a fact.

Suddenly Jace wanted to kiss her more than he had ever wanted to kiss anyone before. He wanted to throw her against the rails of the elevator, pin her there with his body, hitch her leg up around his waist, and crush his lips to hers with an urgency and fierceness he didn't even realize he possessed. Lowering his hand slowly, he clenched his fists at his sides and locked down hard on his jaw. He had never realized just how hot this elevator could get.

Jace and Clary had not spoken since she slapped him. He had merely grabbed his jacket as they walked out of the door to the Institute in silence, and now—on the train to Brooklyn, Jace was still unsure of what to say to her. He wasn't necessarily mad at her anymore—though he wasn't sure that he had ever really been. He also still couldn't imagine what it was about his face that seemed to draw violence toward it. Perhaps he just had that effect on women. Not women—he amended. Woman. One woman. Clary. How she unsettled him. He could still feel the slight sting on his cheek, and could only imagine the red welt that it contained. A small hand shaped welt that could fit Clary's delicate fingers and palm. He could have pressed his own palms against hers after he had pinned—Stop! He had not been able to look at her since visualizing the passionate embrace that he had so desperately wanted to act out, the last thing he needed to do was continue to think about it!

Casting a side-long glance at her—and felt his stomach tighten as he realized that she was staring blatantly at him, her eyes curiously roving his features with . . . was that appreciation? He watched with building amusement as she continued on, somehow unaware that he was staring right back at her. When she finally met his gaze, her eyes widened with surprise and a blush painted her cheeks. His brow cocked upward at her expression of embarrassment, a half smile tugging at his lips. "Can I help you with something?"

"Those girls on the other side of the car are staring at you," she said immediately, her blush darkening. He also noted an undercurrent of displeasure in her tone.

His smile widened as he casually glanced to the girls in question, and found that she was right. But then, "Of course they are," he said unsurprised but not displeased as he smiled at Clary. "I am stunningly attractive." It was because of this that he usually glamoured himself, despite the pain in the ass that it sometimes was. And he wouldn't say he was vain so much as—brutally aware of his good looks and amazing abilities. His eye for detail and—Oh! Conceited!—That word would also work. He smiled again at Clary, seeing the annoyed look on her face.

Clary threw a look of contempt at the girls, but it was so quick that had Jace not been watching her, he would have missed it. He found this both interesting and confusing. Wasn't this the same girl who had tried to mutilate his face twice now?

"Haven't you ever heard that modesty is an attractive trait?" she asked, looking back at him. Jace noticed that she had smoothed over her features now.

Why, yes I have! But— "Only from ugly people," he truthfully confided. He could see the unamused expression on her face, but he couldn't help but to just be happy that they were speaking again. "The meek may inherit the earth," he continued with a grin. "But at the moment it belongs to the conceited. Like me." Yes! He knew that had been a good word. Turning, he winked at the girls across from them and heard them giggle as he immediately glanced at Clary to see her response.

She sighed. "How come they can see you?"

She sounded as if she were trying to hide her annoyance—as if she wished that they couldn't see him. Jace wasn't sure how to take that, so he told the truth. "Glamours are a pain to use. Sometimes we don't bother."

Clary said nothing to this, and Jace watched with amusement as she sat back and crossed her arms, refusing to look at him.

His mood had certainly improved since the train ride. It wasn't the girls that had him humming, nor they're annoying giggling and waving. It was Clary. The way she had glared at the girls on the train had left him amused, but it wasn't until she inched closer to him that he had fully allowed himself to entertain the thought of the idea of them together. He wasn't sure whether she had done it on purpose, trying to make a statement—or just an absentminded gesture, like when she tugged on her curls. Either way, he liked it.

As they walked, he began to flip one of his seraph blades back and forth between his hands and across his knuckles. He was still humming an unknown tune, though if he had to give it a title, he might have went with, 'An Ode to My Nefarious Loins.' He nearly laughed out loud.

"Do you have to that?" Clary asked. "It's annoying."

Jace hummed louder, glancing at her with a sly smile as he did so.

"I'm sorry I smacked you," she said suddenly, her voice quiet.

At this, Jace's humming died in his throat. He looked at her speculatively, deciding whether she was being facetious or not. She wasn't. This was ridiculous. She really didn't need to apologize. Besides, he had been in such a good mood. "Just be glad you hit me and not Alec." he smiled. "He would have hit you back." He had meant it as a joke, but a small part of him thought that Alec probably really would hit her back.

"He seems to be itching for the chance," Clary said. Jace slowed his steps to fall into stride with her as she kicked at a tin can. He said nothing though. It would be foolish to think that she hadn't noticed Alec's dislike for her. She looked up at him. "What was it Alec called you? Para-something."

"Parabatai," He said automatically. "It means a pair of warriors who fight together—who are closer than brothers." Seeing the confused look on her face, he went on. "Alec is more than just my best friend. My father and his father were parabatai when they were young. His father was my godfather—that's why I live with them. They're my adopted family."

"But your last name isn't Lightwood."

"No," Jace's voice trailed off as they came to a stop in front of the brownstone apartment. From the outside it sat just as unchanged as ever. The hedges that he and Clary had hid behind were undisturbed. Even one of the windows upstairs that Jace had sworn should have been broken was gleaming merrily with the sun's reflection. In fact, no one would ever be able to tell that a demon had been here. But he also knew that it wasn't what was on the outside that mattered, but within. He looked down at Clary, who was staring out at the street.

"It looks the same," Clary said, speaking his thoughts.

"On the outside." He conceded as he pulled a Sensor from his pocket and twisted one of the dials. He had grabbed it while in the Weapon's room with Alec.

"So that's a Sensor?" Clary asked, looking at it with interest. "What does it do?"

"It picks up frequencies, like a radio does, but these frequencies are demonic in origin."

"Demon shortwave?" She asked surprised.

Jace smiled. "Something like that."

Holding the sensor out in front of him as he approached the house, he watched it carefully. Its steady clicking searching the area as they went. It didn't seem to be finding anything, but Jace was still weary. He trusted his instinct more than he trusted a piece of electronic equipment. It continued this way up the stone steps when the clicking suddenly stopped, and Jace saw the needle hop lightly. He frowned, tensing up as he did so—a habit every Shadowhunter had. He glanced at the door in front of them, his frown deepening. He couldn't remember claw marks having been gouged into the door the last time he was here. In fact, he knew that there hadn't been. Besides, a Ravener wouldn't have done this.

"It's picking up trace activity," Jace began, looking back down at the Sensor. "But that could just be left over from that night. I'm not getting anything strong enough for there to be demons present now." And yet, he still felt as if something was off.

"Good" Clary breathed behind him, and Jace could hear the tremble in her voice.

He watched as she bent down to untie the key from her shoe, pausing only momentarily, before she was standing back up. Reaching up, she tugged on one of her long curls—the only sign of her nervousness. She looked ready to push the door in front of her open, but Jace reached forward and cupped his hand tentatively around her arm, stopping her. He knew when to be a gentleman, but he also knew when to be a Shadowhunter. And there was no fucking way he was letting her go in ahead of him, unarmed and untrained. Even if she was armed and trained. . .

"I'll go first." He said when she looked up at him. And he didn't wait to see if she would argue as he moved in front of her to push open the door with one hand, while waving her in behind him with the Sensor he still held in his other. Standing in the entryway, Jace watched as Clary shut the door behind them. Without the light from the outside sun or the bulb that was out overhead, the were left in the dim glow from the dirty sunroof. Something on the banister caught his eye and he quickly made his way to the stairs. He frowned looking down at the dark stain that almost could have looked apart of it in the gloom. He ran his hand along the slender wood and then looked at the dark red, wet stain. He looked up at Clary, and saw her watching him. "Blood." he explained grimly.

"Maybe its mine," she practically squeaked, terror clear in her tone. "From the other night.

Jace stood there, torn between pulling her into his chest and calming her fears; and continuing their investigation. He knew why she wanted so badly to believe it was her blood—if it was hers, then it wasn't her mom's. Jace bit on his cheek before responding. "It would be dry by now." And he saw Clary nod as if what he said made the most logical sense, but her chin quivered. "Come on." he said, not unkindly.

As he made his way up the stairs, Jace could feel Clary brushing lightly against his back as she stayed close to him. He bit back on his smile, pleased with the idea that she felt safe with him. At the top of the stairs Clary fumbled with her keys. Coming up from behind, Jace leaned over her shoulder—something easily accomplished as she was very short, and she fumbled the keys again. He could feel the heat coming of her body, and smell the lavender soap in her hair as her trembling fingers searched for the correct key again. After nearly dropping them a third time, he sighed. He was about ready to pluck them from her hands and do it himself.

"Don't breath down my neck," she hissed, as if hearing his impatience. Maybe she could, he mused. Finally—and much to Jace's relief—she managed to get it on the fourth try. Reaching forward, he pulled her to face him.

"I'll go in first," he said, repeating his words from outside. He saw the brief hesitation in her eyes, but luckily she stepped away from the door before he had to do something drastic like pick her up and move her. Just as before, there was no way he was letting her go in before him. Especially not here, where the sensor was picking up activity. He didn't care how faint it was.

Again, he felt her lightly brushing against him as they moved slowly into the entryway and down the short hall, he watched the Sensor as they went—the needle still moving lightly, but not enough to cause worry. Walking into the living room, Jace was surprised to see that everything was gone—from the broken furniture right down to the tattered curtains. The walls and floors had also been repaired. Tucking away the Sensor, he pulled out one of his seraph blade instead. Clary moved toward the kitchen and Jace quickened his steps in order to pace her, his eyes narrowing as she passed over the spot where he had found her and the Ravener.

In the Kitchen all the cabinets hung open, showing the bare cupboards within. Jace had heard of demons cleaning up after their messes, but this was overkill. Usually they just returned furniture to its original state, patched up a few holes, and called it a day. This—this was a complete gut job!

"What would demons," Clary began with sudden indignation, "want with our microwave?"

Jace would have found her question funny, if it hadn't been so odd. "I don't know," he said frowning. "but I'm not sensing any demonic presence right now. I'd say they're long gone." He watched as she looked around the empty complex, beginning to feel frustrated. It had all been for naught—everything. They didn't even seem to have a starting point now. Whoever did this, wanted to make sure that they, nor Clary's mother, were found. "Are you satisfied?" Jace asked annoyed. "There's nothing here."

Either Clary hadn't heard his tone of voice, or she just didn't care. She looked at him and shook her head. "I want to see my room."

Jace stared at her. Of course she wanted to see her room! Why wouldn't she want to see her room? It was going to look just as empty as these other rooms, but sure why not. "If that's what it takes," he said stiffly, sliding his seraph blade back in his pocket. Jace let Clary take the lead this time, as she knew the unlit halls better than he did, though he wasn't far behind her. Finding her room, he moved to Clary's side just as she took the knob in her hand. Jace looked at her quickly, his mind racing, as he heard a low hiss of surprise escape her lips. All the doors were open . . . all of them. All of them except Clary's.

With an ear shattering crack, the door blew outward and he was sent flying backwards. Time slowed down, then. With a light spin, Jace managed to turn himself with the wind, keeping himself upright as he threw out his arms to brace himself against the wall opposite of him. With the amount of force he hit it with, he was surprised he didn't go through it. From the corner of his eye, he saw something crash into the wall.

Clary!

And he watched as she ricocheted off the wall and onto the ground, sending terror shooting down his spine. Not her. Not again. Flipping himself so that his back was against the wall now, Jace gasped in surprise as a very large man filled the doorway carrying a very large ax. Not a man—a Forsaken. He immediately began pulling the seraph blade from his pocket. From this peripheral, he saw Clary pushing herself up to her knees at the same time that the Forsaken stumbled into the hallway—cutting them off from each other. Jace bit back his revulsion upon seeing the thing up close. The matted hair, caked with blood and dirt, the black Marks that painted his face, the red eyes that were pocked with blistering pus filled boils; and the pasty, sagging, flesh. This one seemed to have had his mouth bashed in as well. These things were never very pretty. Just once, Jace thought it might be nice to see a pretty Forsaken—just to change things up.

Finally freeing the seraph blade, he ran his thumb over the rune calling out, "Sansanvi!" and then watched as the long sharp blade glowed to life in his hands, flashing before his eyes as a peaceful calm settled over him. He could hear his heartbeat counting his pace. He smiled. The monster blinked its grotesque eyes at the blade, and Jace didn't hesitate to use his distraction to dart forward and slash at its chest. It roared as is stumbled backwards, but Jace was already moving again—this time twirling around the creature and racing toward Clary. Grabbing her arm roughly—he pulled her to her feet and begin pushing her hastily down the hall. He was thankful that this was one of those moments where she didn't need to be told twice. As they ran, Jace could hear the Forsaken giant pounding after them, the ground shaking with each lumbering step it took. Clary cleared the front door first, followed closely by Jace. Whipping around on the landing, he slammed the door shut and heard the instantaneous click of the lock just as something immense struck it from the other side.

Jace took a step back, his heart still pacing his movements as he glanced at Clary. She had started backing away to the stairs, but stopped as he met her gaze. What was she doing? "Get downstairs! Get out of the—"

Another blow drowned out his words. Time slowed to a near standstill as Jace watched the hinges fly off the door in slow motion. With lightning speed, Jace flew to the side, tucking his body in and tumbling past Clary before popping to his feet at the top of the stairs—his blade ready in his hand. And then, as if someone had hit the fast forward button, everything sped up and the door flew from the frame with a resounding crack. Clary, who was now standing several feet in front of him, jerked her head to look at him—confusion and terror painting her face.

"You need to get out!" Jace shouted. But his voice was instantly masked by the giant Forsaken barreling out of the door and towards him. Clary threw herself against the wall to prevent getting ran over, and Jace just had time to duck as it swung its heavy axe. He could hear it whistle past his head before it sliced into the banister with a thunk. Popping up with light agility, Jace laughed at the creature, who was trying to tug his ax loose. The monster snarled in rage and abandoned his weapon; lurching at Jace with his heavy swollen fists instead.

With his jaw locked, Jace avoided the monsters fist and then buried the blade in it's shoulder. Letting go of the hilt, he bounced back as the monster swayed, momentarily dazed. To Jace's disappointment, it didn't last long before the Forsaken giant was lurching again, grasping wildly for him. Shit. With the stairs behind him, and the giant in front of him, he stepped aside as quickly as he could. Unfortunately it was not quick enough, and the creatures large fist clasped down on him and sent him flying downstairs after him. Jace's body collided hard with the giants as he fell, and he rolled sideways to avoid the sharp tip of the blade that was protruding of its shoulder. Somehow, upon doing so, however, his left arm was snagged beneath their tumbling bodies. He cried out in shock as it bent unnaturally against the stairs. He could hear the accompanying crack of the breaking bone as pain seared up his arm. Son of a bitch! Jace's head bounced on one of the stairs now as the giant whirled on top of him, grabbing a fistful of hair. Jace sunk his elbow into its face in response. And however absurdly it was to think it in that moment, Jace couldn't help but to wonder if this was the longest it had ever taken someone to fall down a flight of stairs. Then with a flip and a thunk, Jace's head bounced hard on the floor as the creature landed on top of him. Everything went white.

"Jace?"

His whispered name on her lips brought him back.

Opening his eyes, he saw Clary kneeling over him, her hair hanging around her face like a crimson curtain; her gaze anxiously watching his. Was that concern? He would have asked if everything hadn't rushed back at him right then. "Is it dead?" he asked suddenly.

"Almost," Clary whispered, looking back at the monster.

Jace realized then that he was pinned to the ground, the Forsaken shuddering across his legs, and his broken arm wedged painfully behind him. This was not happening. Couldn't the thing just have died? "Hell," he said wincing as he tried to sit up and failed. He wasn't going to get very far with a broken arm and the twitching rhino impeding his progress. "My legs—"

"Hold still."

He watched as Clary crawled around to his head, and gently slipped her hands under his arms. He had to bite down as hot pain seared down the broken one at her touch. She began pulling, and he could feel her hot breath against his ear as she went. He had imagined what it might be like to have her hold him. He wasn't sure this was quite what he had had in mine, however. He grunted with pain as his legs were suddenly freed. When Clary let go, he quickly brought his left arm in to his chest, wincing as he did, and scrambled to his feet.

"Is your arm all right?" She asked getting to her feet.

"No. Broken." It wasn't his his first break, and he was sure it wouldn't be his last, he just hated when it was his main hand or arm. It was so much harder to get things done. "Can you reach into my pocket?" he asked as his eyes fell on the accursed quivering beast.

"Which one?" he heard he whisper.

"Inside jacket, right side," he said. "Take out one of the seraph blades and hand it to me."

As he held still for her, Jace could hear her breath hitch in her throat as she stepped forward, and was surprised to hear her swallow hard as she pulled aside his jacket and slipped her hand into the pocket. He had to admit, that his own heart was racing at her close proximity, but he had not imagined that she might be nervous as well. Because she was looking down, he couldn't see her face but he wondered if a blush painted her cheeks. The corner of his mouth crooked up into a half smile, watching her with amusement. And then she was pulling away, handing him the blade without looking at him.

"Thanks," he said. The moment was gone. Jace's brow furrowed now, his smile slipping away as he looked down at the blade in his hand, his thumb running lightly over the rune. "Sanvi," he whispered. Turning to Clary, he saw her looking at him. But it would be better if she didn't. Not with what he was about to do. "Don't watch," he told her.

Turning to the Forsaken beast, who still lay spasming on its back, he brought the blade down swiftly into its throat. Blood began to bubble up around the dagger, and pool out around its head, spraying Jace's boots. As he let go of the hilt, as a dull pain shot through his aching body, and then seared down his broken arm. Jace choked back on the cry of pain, causing a guttural sound to rumble in his throat. Turning away from the now dead creature, he looked up and saw Clary watching him.

"I told you not to watch," he said without anger. He was hardly surprised.

"I thought it would disappear." She said, her eyes falling on the Forsaken. "Back to it's own dimension—you said."

"I said that's what happens when demons die," Jace corrected, wincing as he shrugged the jacket off his left shoulder. Taking a deep breath against the pain, he continued. "That wasn't a demon." Now reaching for his his stele with his good hand, he removed it from his belt. Looking up, he saw Clary looking at it curiously before meeting his gaze. Did she remember him Marking her? He grinned, biting back on the pain as he did. "This is a stele," he explained and then looking at his left shoulder, he touched it to the permanent Mark there that looked similar to an unfinished star. "And this is what happens when Shadowhunters are wounded." Using his stele, he connected the parts of the star that looked unfinished. When he lowered his hand, the iratze shimmered for a moment, before sinking into his skin, leaving the star unconnected once again.

A warm comforting heat slowly made its way down his arm, and Jace sighed with relief as the bones began to mend. Moving his arm in front of him, he slowly brought it to the side and then up and down; clenching and opening his fist.

"That's amazing," Clary said in awe. "How did you—?"

"That was an iratze—a healing rune." Jace said with a smile. "Finishing the rune with a stele activates it." Shoving the stele back in his belt, and his jacket back over his shoulder—he couldn't help but to feel buoyant now. He had to admit, he loved being a Shadowhunter. Turning to the dead carcass on the floor, he nudged it with the toe of his boot as if were something interesting to be looked at. "We're going to have to report this to Hodge," he said. "He'll freak out." And then he grinned. Twice, Jace and Clary have come hear, and twice, they were attacked. He wouldn't put it past Hodge to try to put them under house arrest.

"Why will he freak?" Clary asked. "And I get that that thing isn't a demon—that's why the sensor didn't register it, right?"

Jace nodded. "You see the scars all over its face?" he gestured down at the giant.

"Yes"

"Those were made by a stele. Like this one." He tapped his belt where the stele was now secured at, and then he bit the inside of his cheek. This is what she hit you for, you know, he reminded himself. But he knew she had the right to know. He just hoped his face lived through it. "You asked me what happens when you carve Marks onto someone who doesn't have Shadowhunter blood. Just one Mark will only burn you, but a lot of Marks, powerful ones? Carved into the flesh of a totally ordinary human being with no trace of Shadowhunter ancestry? You get this," he said jerking his chin toward the creature. He could see the horror in Clary's eyes, but he could not stop now. She asked, and he would tell her the truth. "The runes are agonizingly painful. The Marked ones go insane—the pain drives them out of their minds. They become fierce, mindless killers. The don't sleep or eat unless you make them, and they die, usually quickly. Runes have great power and can be used to do great good—but they can be used for evil. The Forsaken are evil."

Clary's emerald orbs were wide, the terror still plain on her face. "But why would anyone do that to themselves?" she whispered, and Jace had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms.

"Nobody would. It's something that gets done to them," he said in a mixture of disgust and pity. "By a warlock, maybe, some Downworlder gone bad. The Forsaken are loyal to the one who Marked them, and they're fierce killers. The can obey simple commands, too. It's like having a—a slave army." With that, he stepped over the dead beast. "I'm going back upstairs."

Clary's eyes grew wider still. "But there's nothing there."

"There might be more of them," he said. Where there was one, there was usually another, and it was his job to make sure they were dead. And then he stopped, looking at Clary. He wondered if he should even bother—but the idea of her in danger—"You should stay here." Maybe saying it as a suggestion instead of as an order—he just hoped she would listen. He started up the steps.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a piercing voice called out from behind him as neared the top. "There are more of them where the first one came from."

Spinning, he stared down at the old woman he knew as Clary's neighbor in surprise. She was wearing what he could only describe as a purple silk muumuu and enough fake gold to make a costume designer jealous. It was Clary who spoke first though.

"Madame Dorothea?"

The old woman inclined her head as if she were royalty.

Jace only stared. "But. . ." Was this even possible? She was—is a mundane! How could this fake know what could possibly be up there?

"More what." he heard Clary ask.

"More Forsaken," she smiled cheerfully, as if this were the most normal thing in the world to be talking about. And then she went on, looking out into the entryway with disapproval. "You have made a mess, haven't you? I'm sure you weren't planning on cleaning up either. Typical."

"But you're a mundane," Jace said, coming down the stairs quickly, stepping over the dead Forsaken.

"So observant." And he saw her eyes gleam, as if she knew something he didn't. "The Clave really broke the mold with you."

Did she just— "You know about the Clave?" He could feel his anger rising as he glared at her. "You knew about them, and you knew there were Forsaken in this house, and you didn't notify them?" He was breathing hard now. Had she told somebody, had she reported it . . . Clary would have never been put in unnecessary danger. The thought caused him to flare up. "Just the existence of Forsaken is a crime against the Covenant—"

"Neither Clave nor Covenant have ever done anything for me," the mundane witch cut him off indignantly, and Jace felt his face flush as rage boiled through him. "I owe them nothing."

And just what was that supposed to mean, Jace wondered. And then they stood there, staring each other down. Jace thought briefly about dragging the woman kicking and screaming upstairs and tossing her in the house, just so she could get a taste of what she did by not reporting a Forsaken to the Clave. The old bat was lucky that he had boundaries. He thought about how Clary could have been hurt. If she knew what was up there now, did she know what awaited Clary that night?

"Jace, stop it," Clary said as if sensing that he was working himself into another tirade. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek at her command, as she turned to the horrible woman. "If you know about the Clave and the Forsaken . . . then maybe you know what happened to my mother?"

But the old woman was already shaking her head, gazing at Clary with pity. Jace wanted to poke the witch in the eye. Not hard enough to damage it—but enough to make it water and sting. Clary never said he couldn't do that. But the time passed, and Dorothea spoke. "My advice to you," she said, with what Jace was sure was supposed to resemble kindness. "is to forget about your mother. She's gone."

Jace's eye widened, his head snapping to Clary as she gasped. "You mean she's dead?" He watched as she took an unsteady step forward. Jace closed the distance between him and Clary swiftly, stopping just behind her. Reaching forward, he gently took her by the elbow to help balance her. He watched her carefully, ready to catch her should he need to. In front of him, he could hear Dorothea sigh hesitantly. "No. I'm sure she's still alive. For now." And Jace wondered if tacking that on at the end was really necessary.

"Then I have to find her," Clary said with urgency. "You understand? I have to find her before—"

But the old crone threw her hand in the air, shaking her head. "I don't want to involve myself in Shadowhunter business."

Jace bit the inside of his cheek again, wondering if Clary would let him chime in yet. The pain in her voice was heartbreaking as she said with near desperation, ""But you knew my mother. She was your neighbor—"

"This is an official Clave investigation." Jace said cutting off Clary's anguished pleas. Playing and asking nicely were going to get them no where with this woman. He watched as the mundanes back stiffened at his words, her lips becoming a thin line. Her gaze held a clear disdain for Jace, but he glared back unwavering. "I can always come back with the Silent Brothers." He said, when she still said nothing.

"Oh for the—" Dorothea cried irritably, glancing back at her door and then back to them. She sighed, defeated. "I suppose you might as well come in. I'll tell you what I can." She started toward the door, but then stopped suddenly bringing both Jace and Clary, who had started to follow her, up short. Spinning around, she glared at Jace. "But if you tell anyone I helped you, Shadowhunter, you'll wake up tomorrow with snakes for hair and an extra pair of arms."

Jace, unfazed, couldn't help himself. "That might be nice, an extra pair of arms. Handy in a fight."

"Not if they're growing out of your. . ." Oh this will be colorful, Jace thought as she smiled at him with malice in her eyes. "Neck." she finished.

"Yikes," Jace said almost bored. He had hoped for something more colorful.

"Yikes is right, Jace Wayland,"

Jace's eyes grew wide, his stomach dropping, as he watched the old woman march into her apartment. He didn't understand how she could have possibly—

"Wayland?" Jace heard Clary ask, and he had to pry his eyes away from where the witch had disappeared inside. He met her gaze.

"Its my name," He said, feeling almost as if the witch had unearthed some great secret about him. He looked back up at the open door. "I cant say I like that she knows it."

Clary followed his gaze, frowning. "Still," she said. "I think we might as well try talking to her. What have we got to lose?"

Jace closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath. "Once you've spent a bit more time in our world," he opened his eyes, his voice hard. "You wont ask me that again."