Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments!

For anyone who has read this story before, this is a chapter I added because one kind reviewer pointed out that this story jumps around a lot. And for those of you who want to know more about the girls childhood, A, I may do a prequel that covers it, and B, there is a flash back in this chapter which deals with a pivotal point in Alyssa's childhood.

Enjoy!

Thanks for reviewing, and keep em coming Btw.

Ciara said goodnight to her grandmother and went back to her room, her fingers still running over the smooth surface of her mother's rings. Clary's moonstone engagement band glowed brightly, and checking her calendar Ciara wasn't surprised to discover that there was a full moon that night.

The institute's bare rooms reminded her of the rooms at the academy, where nobody dared unpack and personalise their rooms on the fear of being chucked out the next day. The only rooms that really showed any signs of somebody living in them day in day out were the teachers, but Jace's had always been bare as long as she could remember, ever since she was a little girl, basically.

She ruffled through her worn duffle bag and pulled out the only photo of her and her dad- the one from the day she was born. His eyes were full of adoration, and she was curled up fast asleep in his arms, tiny and fragile. On the back of the photograph was a note in her mother's cryptic hand-

Ciara and Jace, aged 6hrs old. Who would have thought?

She'd memorised every flick of her handwriting, every word of hers that she'd ever seen. The black book had been mass produced multiple times over, and the copy Ciara owned- the only one she'd been allowed to see- was written by one of the Silent Brothers.

Ciara knew that her father had Clary's original version somewhere, but she'd never seen it or been able to find it. He kept it somewhere safe, somewhere that even Nikki couldn't guess where he'd hidden it, and her Uncle had tried. You see, Nikki missed his sister greatly, and often reminisced over the short few years they'd spent together.

Christi also missed her pack leader, Ciara knew, and that was half the reason she refused to teach her how to Change when it first became apparent that the moon didn't affect her. Her reasoning was that Ciara's mother would never have forced her life on her, and anyway, Jace forbade it. Nikki didn't side with him in that decision, but he backed down without putting up much of a fight.

So Ciara was stuck in one single form with no idea who or what she was or was going to be, and it was infuriating. Her father held so much back from her, and kept her on such a tight leash that she was more stressed and angry than any half werewolf had any right to be.

She decided it was time to change that- to find out once and for all why her father had denied her so much during her life. She grabbed her weapons and tied them securely around her waist, and walked down the corridor with a purposeful determination fixed on her face. Her father's room was in a different wing, but everyone was either asleep or on their way home, so the institute was dead, if it ever was alive. A small Persian cat suddenly appeared and trotted at her heels, meowing angrily like it was trying to talk to her.

She finally made it to her father's room, and she didn't even bother to knock on the door. She slammed it open, ready to demand to know the truth, but he wasn't there.

There was a worn old sketch book on his meticulous covers, left open to a page covered in writing and drawings. Next to it was a note, but she didn't bother to read it. Her father's Stele and Seraph blades were abandoned on the bedside table, proof that he wasn't going to be coming back anytime soon. Jace never went anywhere with his blades, ever. Something was wrong, and Ciara knew it.

She was a whirlwind as she searched every inch of the institute, looking for him, but to no avail. She couldn't find him anywhere. Nikki materialized as she desperately ran out onto the street, calling Jace's name into the night, and wrestled her back in the doors.

His hypnotic eyes fell on hers, and all her fear, all her desperation vanished like a hazy mist. He sat her down on a chair and asked her what was the matter, and she told him, watching as his face grew more and more serious, his laugh lines stretching out into worry lines.

By morning, the news had spread around the whole of New York that Jace Herondale was missing.

The only sad thing was that his sister wasn't there to hear it.


Sometimes a person can't help but cry, because it is human nature. The last time Alyssa cried thought, she was six, no more than a child, but she was already a killing machine. Her Uncle had made sure that she knew how to maim someone since she was old enough to hold a knife, old enough to kill.

The hardest lesson she'd ever learnt was to do with sympathy. When she was a young girl, she thought that her life was perfect- her Uncle gave her anything she wanted, within reason. He also taught her whatever she needed to learn, whenever she needed to learn it.

But she also felt other people's pain, and she felt sorry for them. She felt sorry for downworlders with their demon diseases and half breed ways, for mundanes with their unseeing eyes. But her Uncle saw her sympathy as a curse, not a blessing.

So one day, he sent the cook out to do an exceptionally long job form him.

He grabbed her by her hair and dragged her into the bathroom, kicking and screaming. Her wild thrashes didn't deter him in anyway; in fact they seemed to make him even more determined. He'd filled the bath with scalding water, and he threw her heartlessly into it.

The water burned her skin and she thrashed harder, trying desperately to escape. Stinging tears poured from her eyes, and then he dunked her head under, boiling her face. He said that it would teach her that crying was something that was reserved only for the weak. He said that it would teach her a lesson, a lesson he had learnt too late- that caring and feeling got you killed.

He then pulled her out and shoved her against the icy white tiled wall, slicing a thin red line across her scalp, leaving behind a small smear of red.

"Sympathy will get you killed in this war! Feel no pain! Not your own! Not mine! Not anyone's! Or I will have to kill you!"

And that is why she found herself unable to feel. That is why crying wasn't in her vocabulary. That's why she was frozen, and there was nothing she could do to change that- she'd been like it too long.

The bag moved under her hands- she could almost swear that she heard it grunting as her fist smashed into the worn leather. The chains securing it rattled loudly in time to the music, her heart pounding in her ears. Her breath hissed into her lungs, and she was exhaling every time her fists connected with the target- s technique she'd learnt long ago about putting power into techniques- and about stopping yourself getting winded if someone (or something) hit you at the same time.

She almost didn't hear her Uncle come in, but when she spun to deliver a bone crunching spinning back kick, she saw him leaning casually against the wall, the stereo remote in his hand. When their eyes met, turned the thing off, meaning he wanted to talk to her. To give her a mission.

"Relax Alyssa. You're too tense- you'll never be better than the Nephilim if you are tense." She relaxed her shoulders, breathing out deeply. He nodded in approval. "Good. Now, I have a small task for you- alone. I want you to find out some information for me about a group of werewolves named the Terra's. I think Reni's would be the best bet for the kind of information I seek. It's almost opening time, so you should go dress and prepare your weapons." He spun on his heel and walked out, the true master of his own little world.

Alyssa threw her dripping clothes on her bathroom floor and stepped into the shower, rinsing out her thick red hair under the warm stream of water. Once she'd washed all the sweat off her body, she wrapped her towel around herself and walked into her room, going over to her wardrobe to select an outfit.

She chose one of her favourite black ensembles, one that her Uncle rarely let her out in, but for this task, it was perfect. She slipped on a silver bracelet, embossed with crosses and dipped in holy water, and an intricate iron anklet, along with her whip coiled neatly around her neck, disguised as a choker- which she supposed was kind of fitting, seeing as what she usually used it for was strangling people- not people, she reminded herself. Downworlders.

Reni's was a Downworld bar that was well known for catering some of the dirtiest types of Downworlder- those who were on the run, those who had turned their backs on their packs or covens. It was also the best place to find out gossip- mainly because so many of its patrons were the individuals involved.

Once she arrived, her eyes automatically sought out a werewolf with a scar that marred his face- one she had never seen before. He couldn't have been much more than thirty, but he had a sense of wisdom- like he had already seen the horrors of the world.

She walked over, knowing she was probably going to regret it. The moment he saw her though, his half-drunk face sobered up. But not in the way that most did when they saw her- no, this was… recognition, very well concealed recognition. Her Uncle had taught her how to read somebody, decipher what they were thinking.

Suddenly, a very drunk, very male werewolf got in her face, his intentions written clearly all over his face. He tried to grab Alyssa, but before she could knee him in the balls, a strong arm wrenched him back, sending him sprawling across the bar. The man stood over him, the scarred side of his face towards Alyssa.

"Go back to the gutter you crawled out of!" he barked. "wolves like you disgrace the name and reputation the Terra's built for us. You are a disgrace to the cause they died for, and disgrace to the cause our saviour died a martyr for!" just what I need. Alyssa thought slyly. Someone who knows something about the Terra's.

"the Terra's are all dead. They've been dead for years. nobody cares about them anymore." The drunk werewolf growled, and shoved the man away. He recovered himself and turned to look at Alyssa.

"Maybe they should care, or my name isn't Mattie." He muttered, and walked towards her, grabbing her arm and dragging her out of the bar. "Don't come back here. It's not safe for someone like you to come to a place like this."

"I can handle myself thank you." She ripped her arm out of his grasp. "anyway, seeing as you have escorted me away from my predetermined purpose, you'll have to do. I want to know about the Terra's."

"That story is a long one to tell, and I'm not sure that you'll want to hear everything I have to say about it."

"I do."

"Well, I suppose I have time… come find me at the Birckwick three weeks today. I'll tell you the whole story then. But until then, adios." He turned and walked away.

"You didn't even tell me your name!"

"Mathew." He called over his shoulder.

Phew. It's surprising how productive a prep session can be.

So, to all you who said it jumps around too much, this is the beginning of my response. Please review and tell me what you think, and also pointers to where else it jumps around too much would really be great.

Yes, I am continuing this story. Those reviews I got telling me to keep on going were so inspirational guys, thanks. One in particular really moved me, so yeah, thanks a lot. Like a million. And those who didn't review, you should totally thank them to. And those who subconsciously told me to go on, thanks. And of course, thanks to anyone who reads this!

And I even managed over 2,000 words without putting a song in! yay!

And thanks to Serenity Shadowstar, for her advice on where to take it next.

Bow Wow!

Vikki ;)~