~Chapter Seven~

Don't Ask - Don't Tell

The silence in the room was deafening. Simon at least had the good grace to look away awkwardly and pretend to be interested in something on the book shelf, but Clary was staring at Jace with open surprise. Could she stop looking at me like that? Jace looked up at the ceiling, biting the inside of his cheek. He wished so much that he had gone after Pangborn and Blackwell. He had never known their names before, and now they rolled through his head incessantly. He wished . . . he shook his head—it didn't matter. He had not acted. That's the only thing that mattered. Just as when he had been ten, he hid from the monsters that had killed his father.

As light as a feather, he felt the brush of Clary's hand against his arm, and he jerked away. He did not want her pity. "We should go." Pushing away from the desk, he walked out of the office and into the living room. He could hear the foot falls of Clary and the mundane following behind him, and he said, "We don't know when Luke might come back."

Jace leaned against the wall in the entryway allowing Clary to exit first, and then Simon. He paused, closing the door behind him. Pulling out his stele, he was in the process of locking up when he noticed a small red thread on the door jam, as if it had gotten caught there when someone walked by. With lightning speed, he plucked it off, and stuck it in his pocket, his heart hammering. And then they walked. The keen-sight rune Jace had applied earlier was starting to fade now, and even if it hadn't, he doubted he would be able to see anything but Blackwell and Pangborn. How long had they plagued his sleep? How long had he thought he had seen them on the streets of New York when he first arrived here? And how long had he wanted to kill them?

"Does anyone want to tell me where we're going?" Simon pulled Jace from his thoughts.

With a controlled calmness, Jace replied. "To the L train."

"You've got to be kidding me," Simon said with disbelief. "Demon slayers take the subway?"

He bit the inside of his cheek. "It's faster than driving."

But Simon was unrelenting—like a fly right before it got the shit knocked out of it. "I thought it'd be something cooler, like a van with Death to Demons painted on the outside, or . . ."

Jace stopped listening. With his jaw locked he thought about the thread in his pocket. If he could do what he wanted to do with it, then he might get his chance to find them. And if he could find them, he could kill them. It was a peaceful thought, and he would need to hold onto it if he wanted to be able to get through the next couple days. He also knew that if he found them, he wouldn't just kill them, but. . .

"Simon," Clary admonished. "Enough."

And Jace heard yet another name for the side of the van they didn't own (The Extraordinary League of Demon Hunters), before Simon's voice died away. Jace couldn't find it in him to care about Simon's rambling though. As they turned down Kent street, he found himself wondering what Clary was thinking. How strange that they had been thrown together like this, and even stranger that they would end up having such common interests. If you could call sharing the desire to hunt down the same men a common interest. Maybe he would kill one of them in honor of her and her mother. From his peripheral, Jace saw that Clary was in a near jog to keep up with him. But why? Why was she doing this? Sometimes she seemed to hate him, and other times—like now, she seemed to be . . . what, trying to be there for him? He suddenly felt bad that he had pulled away so brusquely earlier when she had touched his arm—but he had seen the pity in her eyes, and he had gotten enough pity after his father was killed. That, and the idea of getting pity from her was somehow far, far worse. Not that she knew that. He sighed. Clary was just too much for him. He didn't think he knew how to handle her—how to act around her. She wasn't the typical girl who fell for his charms, nor was she amused by his humor. No—she was the kind of girl who attacked his face and told him off. She frustrated him. All the same, he found himself slowing down so she could keep up till they got to the station.

On the train, Simon kept throwing sharp glares at Jace after Clary chose to sit by him. If he had wanted to be a real asshole to the mundane, he could have thrown his arm over her shoulder, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not for Simon's sake but for hers. After the fifth dirty look, however, Jace was growing fed up.

"Look on the bright side, mundane," he said, giving Simon a condescending smile. "Once the train stops, you can go back to the comforts of your bed and forget all about the handsome, emo wanna-be goth with the naturally blonde hair."

But it was Clary who responded. "What do you mean?" and Jace turned his head lazily to look at her. She was searching his face curiously, as if unsure about something.

"Which part? I really do have naturally blonde—"

"I'm not talking about that," Clary said. "I meant, what do you mean about him going to the comforts of his bed?"

Jace wondered with only slight curiosity which part of that had not been self explanatory? "Well, usually beds are pretty comfortable," he said, carefully controlling his tone so that he sounded bored as he drew out his words in the way he knew she hated. "Now, I don't know about his but, I assume it would be too. So after the train stops and he skips his merry way back to his—"

"I don't skip." Simon cut him off. "And I'm not all that merry either. What I'm really trying to go for is the brooding narcissist thing."

Jace turned slowly to look at him. He could tell from Simon's tone that he had been trying to insult him, but he merely shrugged. "You're doing it wrong." he said. "You'd have to be a lot less—" he gestured at all of Simon. "—you. But hey, your call." And then he turned to look back at Clary, as if the interruption had never occurred. "So once he angrily rhumbas his way back home—"

But Clary was stopping him now. "You do realize that he's coming back to the Institute with us, right?"

At this Simon smiled, and Jace's brow's knitted together incredulously. "Um, no he's not."

"Yes, he is." She insisted

He shook his head. "No."

"Yes!"

"No, he's—by the Angel, are we really doing this?" Jace couldn't hide the exasperation in his voice. But Clary didn't care.

"Why not?" She challenged. "Why can't he come with us?

"Because he's a mundane, Clary," he said as if this should be an obvious answer.

"Not good enough," she said, mutinously crossing her arms.

Jace became incensed. Was she being serious right now? "What do you mean 'not good enough'?" He demanded. "Mundane's don't belong in the Institute!"

"You thought I was a mundane!" Clary countered, her eyes blazing with their emerald fires. "That wasn't going to stop you from bringing me back anyway. So don't give me that crap."

"You were different." Jace muttered, crossing his arms irritably. "You had already proven you had the Sight."

"And he spent three day's spying on Luke!" She stated. "He's proven himself."

"Hiding in a man's vegetation hardly proves oneself." Jace pointed out.

"It does to me. Besides, after three days he could have useful information—information we couldn't get otherwise." Her voice was pleading now, and Jace's stomach tightened. Looking at Simon, he bit the inside of his cheek. He doubted he could be any use to anyone, really. Not that it mattered. Clary was already taking his silence for being close to capitulating. "He's coming with us, Jace. Please." Her voice was soft now; caressing, almost.

Dammit! Jace closed his eyes, his jaw locking hard as he fought the urge to continue arguing. He also knew what this would mean, even if they didn't. A mundane in the Institute? Simon's information had better be amazing. He nodded, knowing that Clary was still watching him. God, he really didn't like her right now. And he had to keep from reaching over and knocking Simon's glasses off his face when he heard him snicker. The rest of the trip was spent in silence.

Now they were walking up to the massive Institute.

"You live here?"

Jace looked at Simon unamused before pulling his key out from from underneath his shirt. Every Shadowhunter had one, though they were only required to use it when allowing a mundane to pass through it's doors for the first time. They were lucky Jace was even carrying it—had been since they had originally thought Clary a mundane. Hodge had given it to him before he had set out to bring her back. Not that he had needed to use it.

"But it's a church." Simon continued to the silent glares he received.

"We find it useful to inhabit hallowed ground," Jace said irritably.

"I get that but, no offense, this place is a dump."

Jace frowned looking up at the Institute. It had been so long ago that he was taught how to look past a glamour, that it was very rare that he didn't just automatically do it. Even now, he wasn't sure what the Institute looked like to Simon. He only saw the beautiful stone walls, with its tall spires and leaded windows. Shrugging, he stopped at the gate that would otherwise not allow Simon through.

"It's a glamour, Simon." Clary tried to explain. "It doesn't really look like this."

"If this is your idea of a glamour," Simon began. "I'm having second thoughts about letting you make me over."

If it weren't for the fact that Jace was exhausted, hungry, still feeling the pulsing of anger at having run into his father's murders, and irritated at having lost to an argument with Clary, he might have told Simon to go screw himself and refused to let him in. He still couldn't believe Clary wanted him here. Or that he had agreed to it. Fitting the key into the lock, he looked over at Simon, who was still looking at the Institute as if he were less than impressed. "I'm not sure you're quite sensible of the honor I'm doing you," he said. "You'll be the first mundane who has ever been inside the Institute." and the gate swung open.

"Probably the smell keeps the rest of them away."

Jace rounded on Simon, but Clary was already elbowing him in the ribs. And Jace, knowing from experience how sharp and pointy her elbows were, felt this might be a worse punishment. "Ignore him." she said apologetically. "He always says exactly what comes into his head. No filters."

"Filters are for cigarettes and coffee," Simon mumbled as he rubbed his ribs painfully. "Two things I could use now, incidentally."

Jace rolled his eyes and went inside.

In the elevator Jace couldn't help but wonder, not for the first time, how Clary could possibly stand the mundane. He knew they had been friends for some time now, but everyone had a limit on what they were willing to put up with. He also knew that the mundane loved her—a feeling she didn't seem to reciprocate. At least, not the same way. But what if she did? Who was he to assume otherwise? Maybe he should back off. Granted, had he ever really got on? He had a headache. Today had been an emotional roller coaster for Jace. One he was ready and willing to get off of. He also knew it would be a little while longer before he could. He still had to find Alec or Hodge and tell them what happened, as well as explain why he had brought a mundane back with him. Part of him figured that Hodge would be the most understanding, as they all had originally thought Clary was a mundane and he had still allowed her to be brought back. If Hodge was unavailable, he would go to Alec. And if Alec was unavailable . . . well, he would just have to hide the mundane under a loose floorboard until one of them was.

As the elevator came to a stop, Jace opened the gate and shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it on a nearby chair. He looked around quickly, but not seeing Church, he whistled through his teeth. Within a few seconds, the fat blue persian came slinking around the corner, coming to a stop in front of them. "Church," Jace crossed to the cat, and knelt to scratch his head. "Where's Alec, Church? Where's Hodge?" The cat stretched lazily, meowing, and Jace scrunched up his nose as he deciphered what the cat was saying. "Are they in the library?" He stood as Church shook himself and then headed down the corridor, stopping to wait for them. Jace pushed his hair out of his face as he begin to follow Church, indicating with a slight wave of his hand that Clary and her mundane were to follow them.

"I don't like cats" He heard Simon say from behind him.

Jace didn't bother to turn around as he said, "It's unlikely, knowing Church, that he like's you either." He did not hear a response. They continued following the cat as he led them through rooms and down corridors with empty rooms.

"How many people live here, exactly?" Simon asked, the astonishment in his voice evident.

Before Jace could answer, he heard Clary reply, "It's an Institute. A place where Shadowhunters can stay when they're in the city. Like a sort of combination safe haven and research facility." And Jace smiled. Clary was always the one so full of questions, and now here she was repeating the answer he had given to her for the same question she had once asked.

"I thought it was a church." Simon stated.

"It's inside a church."

Jace looked down at the cat as it suddenly darted left, and he quickened his stride to keep up with it. He hoped that Clary and Simon were keeping up. "You are taking me to Hodge or Alec, right?" he asked the cat. Church meowed in response. "And they're both in the kitchen?" Another meow. Jace narrowed his eyes, trying to read Church before shrugging. He was hungry anyway. He looked back to see where Clary was and his stomach dropped. Biting his cheek, he turned and entered the kitchen. It was none of his business if she was holding the mundanes hand.

He stopped abruptly. Son of a bitch! Isabelle was standing at the red cast iron stove with her back to him. Steam was rising around her, and the steel counters were strewn with the ingredients of—Oh, dear mother of God, she was cooking. He was just trying to decide whether or not he should back away slowly and run when Clary and Simon walked in. He wasn't sure how to shoo them out without notifying Isabelle of their presence. Not that it mattered. She knew he was there.

"I'm making soup," Isabelle waved the large wooden spoon in the air as way of saying, hello. Then she turned to look at Jace. "Are you hungry?" But before Jace could answer, Isabelle's eyes glazed past him, and he didn't have to guess who it was that she had locked on. He was going to kill that cat; maybe make a hat out of him. The surprise leaving her face now, Isabelle's narrowed eyes found Jace's again. "Oh, my God," She said it as if it were his last rights. "You brought another mundie here? Hodge is going to kill you."

Behind him, Simon cleared his throat and Jace closed his eyes. Don't do it. Don't do—

"I'm Simon."

"JACE WAYLAND," She cried, and Jace's eye's popped open just as Church reappeared. "Explain yourself."

"I told you to bring me to Alec!" Jace hissed, glaring at the cat. "Backstabbing Judas."

But Church was now rolling on his back at Isabelle's feet, purring. Maybe he would make some mittens too. "Don't blame Church," Isabelle said flatly. "It's not his fault that Hodge is going to kill you." Turning, she sunk the spoon back into whatever her concoction was.

Jace didn't think Hodge would be nearly as mad as Izzy was. Besides, if anything was going to kill him, it would be what was in that pot. But all the same, he found himself explaining to her. "I had to bring him," He left out the part where Clary demanded it. And then his stomach knotted as he made a decision. "Isabelle—today I saw two of the men that killed my father." Pangborn and Blackell. Blackwell and Pangborn. The names used Jace's head like a pinball machine.

He could see her body stiffen, but when she turned around her eyes were narrowed as she pointed her spoon at Simon. "I don't suppose he's one of them?"

"Of course not," Jace said, his eyes flashing to Simon. And then back to him again. Was he seriously standing there with his mouth hanging open? While it wouldn't be the first time he had seen someone stare at Isabelle like that—Simon was supposed to be in love with Clary. Was this how mundanes showed their love? By ogling other girls? He looked at Clary, who was standing there fidgeting self-consciously with her hair and her clothes as she glanced furiously at Simon and then Isabelle. Didn't she realize that she was more beautiful than Izzy? Didn't Simon? Jace shook the thought quickly from his head then, and looked at his sister again. "Do you think he'd be alive now if he were?" Though, he may not make it much longer, he added silently.

Isabelle barely gave Simon a passing glance. "I suppose not," she shrugged as she took up a slice of fish and dropped it on the floor. Church pounced on it.

Jace's eyes widened. "No wonder he brought us here," he said with revulsion. "I can't believe you've been stuffing him with fish again. He's looking distinctly podgy." Jace added that last part purposely for the traitorous cat, who looked like he could care less. Stupid cat.

But Isabelle was already dismissing him. "He does not look podgy." She said her tone lighter, and Jace relaxed knowing that he was in the clear with Izzy now. "Besides, none of the rest of you ever eat anything. I got this recipe from a water sprite at the Chelsea Market. He said it was delicious—"

"If you knew how to cook, maybe I would eat," Jace muttered, looking longingly at the fridge, his stomach growling.

"What did you say?" Isabelle said dangerously, pointing her spoon at him like a seraph blade.

"I said—" he could have said something nicer, but screw it. Her cooking sucked. "—I'm going to look for a snack to eat."

"That's what I thought you said," she smiled wickedly.

Jace smiled, knowing that Isabelle wouldn't have expected anything less from him. Moving to the fridge he pulled it open, and sighed. Leaning in, he pushed aside the expired milk and smiled when he saw that Hodge had written Do Not Eat on his food this time. Jace was the reason he wrote it—not that it would stop him. He would keep searching first though. Maybe further in the back. He did find some sliced cheese, but no lunch meat. Not that this fazed him—he could make a mean cheese sandwich when he had to—

"I can't believe you're eating," Clary hissed, suddenly next to him.

"What should I be doing instead?" He asked unruffled. She, fortunately, had never been forced to eat one of Izzy's experiments. And after seeing the fish and peanuts . . . that cheese sandwich was sounding better and better. But instead of responding, Clary leaned forward, her hand on his shoulder to balance herself as she peered in.

"Wow, he's like a crazy roommate."

Confused, Jace looked at her and then followed her emerald gaze, landing on the Hodge's food. "What, Hodge? He just likes things in order." And he likes me to stay out of his food. Behind an expired container of hummus, Jace saw something that could be promising. Pulling out the tupperware, he pulled off the lid hopeful. "Hmm. Spaghetti." It would work.

"Don't ruin your appetite," Isabelle called.

But Jace was already turning around with the spaghetti in hand. "That," he said pointedly, as he grabbed a fork and kicked the fridge door shut, "is exactly what I intend to do." Clary was looking at him as if she couldn't believe his lack in manners. He only smiled and held out the container. "Want some?"

She shook her head.

"Of course not," he said, taking a bite of the soft marinara drenched noodles. "You ate all those sandwiches," he joked.

"It wasn't that many sandwiches." She said, as she looked over at Simon. The idiot mundane had gotten Isabelle talking. Not that that mattered. Isabelle wouldn't give him the time of day. Clary frowned as she watched her friend, though, and Jace's stomach tightened. "Can we go find Hodge now?" she asked suddenly.

Taking another bite, Jace looked from her to Simon. "You seem awfully eager to get out of here."

But she shook her head, "Don't you want to tell him what we saw?"

Jace shrugged and set the container down. "I haven't decided yet," he said, licking the sauce off his knuckles. She was tugging her curls again, her eyes watching Simon. "But if you want to go so badly—"

"I do."

"Fine."

With a shrug, Jace made his way to the door, Clary right next to him. He could tell she was upset, but he didn't say anything. They had just made it to the door when he heard Simon call out, "Where are you going?"

Turning around, Jace was reminded of the last moron that Isabelle decided to make her play thing. His eyes were glazed over and he looked like he had been hit by a Mac truck—just less bloody. For now. The fact that Simon had nearly told Clary he loved her in the coffee shop, guilt tripped her back at Luke's, and had held her hand in the hallway, only to toss her aside for Isabelle was just ludicrous to Jace. And to see that it was actually affecting her only made it worse.

"To find Hodge," Clary said curtly. "I need to tell him what happened at Luke's"

At that, Isabelle looked up, her eyes meetings Jace's. "Are you going to tell him that you saw those men, Jace? The ones that—"

"I don't know." He said stiffly, cutting her off. "So keep it to yourself for now."

"All right," Isabelle shrugged, unfazed by his abruptness. "Are you going to come back? Do you want soup?"

"No." said Jace.

"Do you think Hodge will want any soup?" Izzy asked unperturbed.

"No one wants any soup," he said flatly.

"I want some soup," Simon said.

Jace glared at him. Did he really not notice Clary was upset by his behavior? Obviously not as here the twit was, now asking for fish and peanut soup from Izzy. "No, you don't." Jace was feeling viscous now. "You just want to sleep with Isabelle."

Simon gasped, his face horrified as a deep blush painted his cheeks. "That is not true."

"How flattering," Isabelle said, smirking into the soup.

But Jace wasn't done. He was far from done. "Oh, yes it is," he continued. "Go ahead and ask her—then she can turn you down and the rest of us can get on with our lives while you fester in miserable humiliation." But Simon just glared at him in livid embarrassment, so Jace snapped his fingers at him. "Hurry up, mundie boy, we've got work to do."

Suddenly Clary rounded on him. "Leave him alone," she said angrily, and Jace brought his gaze down slowly to meet her emerald fires. "There is no need to be sadistic just because he isn't one of you."

"One of us," Jace corrected, and then bit the inside of his cheek. Why did he bother? This was pointless. "I'm going to find Hodge. Come along or not, it's your choice." Turning on his heel, he pushed out of the door and into the corridor, anger pulsing through him as he went. He had made it only a few steps down the hall when he realized that if she chose to follow him, she wouldn't know where to go. A part of him wanted to say that he could care less and keep walking. The other part of him was already turning around. Gah! This was ridiculous! Taking out his seraph blade, he began twirling it between his fingers as he leaned against the wall, waiting.

It only took a minute before Clary came out, Church close on her heels. Jace pocketed his seraph blade. "Kind of you to leave the lovebirds to it."

But Clary just stared at him. "Why are you always such an asshat?"

Jace's eyes widened, and he couldn't stop his mouth curving upward into a half-cocked smile as his anger dissipated. He nearly laughed. "An asshat?" The visual picture was even funnier.

But Clary wasn't amused. "What you said to Simon—"

"I was trying to save him some pain," he said cutting her off with a blatant lie now. "Isabelle will cut out his heart and walk all over it in high-healed boots. That's what she does to boys like that." And, really it wasn't all a lie . . . Isabelle would do those things. But he didn't care a bit if she did. It was just easier than telling Clary the truth—Simon had hurt her, so Jace wanted to hurt him.

"Is that what she did to you?" Clary said.

Jace stared at her. How could someone so beautiful and smart and stubborn and compassionate still manage to be so stupid sometimes? He wasn't even sure what to say to her ridiculous question. Did she really think every guy wanted Isabelle? That Isabelle was what counted as beautiful? Jace could only shake his head, turning to Church.

"Hodge." He said. "And really Hodge this time. Bring us anywhere else, and I'll make you into a tennis racket."

With what was most clearly a snort, Church turned and slipped down the hall. Jace followed, Clary just a step behind him. He was tired, and Clary was just so frustrating. Why would she even think that he would want Isabelle? They were like brother and sister. As they turned up another hall, he could feel his body beginning to ache from all that had happened today and he was beginning to think that a hot shower could very well be the greatest thing in the world right now.

"Jace." she whispered in the way that he both loved and hated.

Slowly, he looked at her and saw that she was tugging absentmindedly on her curls, her mouth pulled into a frown. "What?" he asked.

"I'm sorry." She said, meeting his gaze. "For snapping at you."

He chuckled. He couldn't help it. "Which time?"

"You snap at me, too, you know."

"I know," he gave a light smile at the surprise on her face. His admission had caught her off guard. "There's something about you that's so—"

"Irritating?"

"Unsettling."

And now it was his turn to be surprised that he had finally voiced the word that had haunted him from the first day he had met her. He had always been so sure where his life was meant to go. Becoming a Shadowhunter was the only thing that had mattered to Jace. Sure, there had been girls along the way—mundanes and downworlders alike, but never had one effected him like this. Usually he just wanted them to go away after awhile. He didn't want Clary to go away. And that scared him.

"Does Isabelle always make dinner for you?" Clary asked suddenly, her voice light as they entered the music room.

Jace smiled at her attempt to change the subject, and went with it. "No, thank God. Most of the time the Lightwoods are here and Maryse—that's Isabelle's mother—she cooks for us. She's an amazing cook." And it was almost as if he could taste one of her casseroles. How he missed those.

"Then how come she never taught Isabelle?" Clary asked.

"Because," Jace said slowly, distracted by the piano had been recovered with the sheet. He wondered if Hodge had done that. "It's only been recently that women have been Shadowhunters along with men. I mean, there have always been women in the Clave—mastering the runes, creating weaponry, teaching the Killing Arts—but only a few were warriors, ones with exceptional abilities. They had to fight to be trained. Maryse was a part of the first generation of Clave women who were trained as a matter of course—and I think she never taught Isabelle how to cook because she was afraid that if she did, Isabelle would be relegated to the kitchen permanently."

"Would she have been?" Clary asked interested.

"Not Isabelle," Jace laughed, thinking of that gleam Izzy got in her eyes when she killed a demon. "She's one of the best Shadowhunters I've ever known."

"Better than Alec?"

At that moment, Church, who Jace had been following studiously, darted ahead toward the spiral staircase, before turning and stopping to stare at them. "So he's in the greenhouse then," Jace said, looking at the cat. "No surprise there."

"The greenhouse?" Clary asked.

Moving forward, Jace began up the first few steps, the metal railing cold in his hand. "Hodge likes it up there. He grows medicinal plants, things we can use—" Things that saved your life. "—Most of them only grow in Idris. I think it reminds him of home." Something he could hardly fault Hodge for. As they went, Jace could hear Clary's foot falls on the metallic steps as she followed him. He smiled. Moving silently was a skill he had learned through a lot of training, and even then, it was not easy to do.

"Is he better than Isabelle?" Clary asked. "Alec, I mean."

Jace stopped, and holding to the center bar to keep him from toppling down the spiral staircase, he leaned over Clary. She sucked in her breath suddenly and he wondered if she had thought he was going to fall. Given his record with stairs since she had known him, he couldn't blame her. "Better?" he asked, as she looked up at him, her emerald eyes bright. "At demon-slaying?" Her red hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, and Jace realized he preferred her hair like this. "No, not really. He's never killed a demon."

"Really?"

Snap out of it! he told himself firmly. "I don't know why not," he shrugged, starting up the stairs again. "Maybe because he's always protecting Izzy and me." On the landing now, Jace shouldered open the large double doors. These might have been the only large wooden doors in the Institute that he liked. They were engraved with vines and leaves and kept safe one of the only places Jace could feel at home at.

Jace smiled as he held the door for Clary to walk through, her full lips forming a soft "o" as she walked into the greenhouse. Just like with the library, she couldn't hide her surprise as she drank in everything she could with her eyes. He wasn't sure why he found her intrigue amusing but it was sweet almost. Walking forward, he took a deep breath and felt his whole body relax more than it had all day. Up here, he could imagine the rolling green hills of Idris and the honey colored stones of his manor, as real in his mind as they had once been. In that moment, he tried to imagine what it would be like to grow up believing he were a mundane, only to find out that his whole world had been a lie. That a new world he had never heard of, existed in it's place. He couldn't do it. Couldn't even imagine it.

Next to him, he heard Clary release her breath. "It smells like . . ."

"Home," Jace said, "to me." Reaching up, Jace pushed past one of the hanging fronds, holding it to the side as Clary followed. Long ago, Hodge had organized the greenhouse into sections that would best suit medicinal and herbal needs. That way, he wasn't left stumbling on a wild goose chase if he needed to put together a quick concoction for poison, or if he needed a sleep remedy. He could go to whatever section it was that housed those particular plants.

Up ahead, Jace could hear the water from the rock pond. As he approached it, he could see Hodge sitting on one of the benches. He was staring down at the crystal clear water almost wistfully, Hugo resting on his shoulder as he always did. As they got closer, Hodge looked up at the glass ceiling that allowed the sunlight in.

"You look like your waiting for something," Jace announced, as he pulled a leaf off a nearby branch and spun it between his fingers.

"I was lost in thought," Hodge smiled. Standing up, he stretched out the arm that Hugo sat perched on. And then he noticed them. Jace wondered how bad they must really look, for the smile to vanish so suddenly from Hodge's face. Jace cast a glance at Clary, and thought she really didn't look too bad—but then, she had also changed her clothes. So it must have been him that was garnering that look. "What happened? You look as if—"

"We were attacked," Jace stated bluntly. "Forsaken."

Hodge's eyes grew wide. "Forsaken warriors? Here?"

"Warrior," corrected Jace. "We only saw one."

"But Dorothea said there were more," Clary added.

"Dorothea?" Hodge held up his hand, looking from Jace, to Clary, and then back to Jace. "This might be easier if you took events in order."

Jace heard Clary inhale, as if getting ready to speak. "Right," he said, cutting her off before she could. He gave her a look of warning—hoping that she understood it, and praying that she didn't try to add anything. Turning back to Hodge, he smiled. Where to begin? He decided that the elevator trip down was not necessary information, and instead started when they had arrived at Clary's apartment. He knew that Isabelle would be disappointed in his story telling, but he didn't feel the need to include sights, colors, and sounds unless it was required. He gave only the facts. And he didn't lie about the men who had showed up at Luke's house, though he didn't offer up the part about them being the same men who killed his father, either. And then finally he came to a finish, saying, "Clary's mother's friend—or whatever he is, really—goes by the name Luke Garroway, but while we were at his house, the two men who claimed the were emissaries of Valentine referred to him as Lucian Graymark."

"And their names were . . ."

Jace's stomach twisted, his mouth going dry. "Pangborn and Blackwell." he could almost here the pinging of the pinball machine in his head.

Hodge turned white as he looked at Jace, his eyes wide. "It is as I feared," he whispered. "The Circle is rising again."

Jace's brow furrowed. He didn't think he had ever heard that name before, but surely if it was important, it would have been in his studies. A quick glance at Clary, told him that she had no idea what Hodge was talking about either, not that he had really expected her to. "The Circle?"

But Hodge was shaking his head as if plagued by a bad memory. "Come with me," he said. "It's time I showed you something."

When they entered the darkened library, Hodge had immediately went to turn up the gas lamps while Clary made her way to the red overstuffed sofa. Jace, who couldn't fathom what this was about, stared after Hodge as he moved from lamp to lamp. Even turned up, the firelight wasn't enough to chase away all the shadow. Turning to look at Clary, he saw her sitting with her legs drawn up. Her small frame made it look like she was being overtaken by the couch, her green orbs wide as she met his gaze. He silently made his way to her with the intention of sitting next to her, but changed his mind midway and leaned against the arm of the sofa that she rested against instead. Hodge was now scanning the shelves for something. A moment later, he disappeared below his desk as if he had gone down to his hands and knees. Jace's foot began to tap, as he crossed and uncrossed his arm.

"Hodge, if you need help looking—" he began, when Hodge still hadn't reemerged.

"Not at all," Hodge said popping up from behind his desk, brushing dirt off his knees with one hand and carrying a large leather bound book in the other. "I've found it." Taking a step toward them, Hodge balanced the book in his hand as he flipped through the pages, searching once more for something that Jace couldn't seem to help with. the longer he had to thumb through the book, the louder his muttering got. "Where . . . where . . . ah, here it is!" he finally announced. Jace and Clary became a little more attentive as Hodge began to read, "I hereby render unconditional obedience too the Circle and its principles . . . I will be ready to risk my life at anytime for the Circle, in order to preserve the purity of the bloodlines of Idris, and for the mortal world with whose safety we are charged."

Jace cocked an eyebrow, his lip curling with distaste. "What was that from?" It sounded to him like something a cult might write or quote.

"It was the loyalty oath of the Circle of Raziel, twenty years ago," Hodge said, sounding almost as exhausted as Jace felt. And there was that word again—the Circle—what was that?

"It sounds creepy," Clary said, at one with Jace's thoughts. "Like a fascist organization or something."

Setting down the book, Hodge looked at them as if he were suffering some great unknown burden. He looked much older than his years in this moment, Jace thought. "They were a group," Hodge sighed, "of Shadowhunters, led by Valentine, dedicated to wiping out all Downworlders and returning the world to a 'purer' state. Their plan was to wait for the Downworlders to arrive in Idris to sign the Accords. They must be signed again each fifteen years, to keep their magic potent," he added, looking at Clary. "Then they planned to slaughter them all, unarmed and defenseless. This terrible act, they thought, would spark off a war between humans and Downworlders—one they intended to win."

Jace's brow furrowed. "That was the Uprising." Like every young Shadowhunter, he had heard stories of the Uprising. Knew that it had been started by Valentine, and that it had taken place during the Accords. But he had never heard anyone refer to them as the Circle. "I didn't know Valentine and his followers had a name."

"The name isn't spoken often nowadays," Hodge conceded. "Their existence remains an embarrassment to the Clave. Most documents pertaining to them have been destroyed."

"Then why do you have a copy of that oath?" Jace asked. While he didn't agree with the idea of trying to erase a black mark in the past by destroying the documents from that day, it was not his place to question the Clave's decisions either.

Hodge looked at Jace, something flashing in his eyes as he did so, and for the first time since Jace had known Hodge, he felt uncomfortable. Hodge shook his head and turned away. "Because," he finally said, his tone deep with regret. "I helped write it."

Jace stared at Hodge with disbelief. This was Hodge! His friendly, stuffy, and boring instructor. Hodge, who wrote on food containers, mixed herbs, and used a handkerchief. "You were in the Circle?"

"I was," Hodge said, turning toward them again but looking at neither. He was looking into a past he wished he could forget. "Clary's mother as well."

"What?" Clary reared back, blinking in shock.

Hodge frowned as his eyes found her. "I said—"

"I know what you said!" She snapped, her emerald eyes blazing in the dim library. "My mother would have never have belonged to something like that. Some kind of—some kind of hate group."

"It wasn't—" Jace began, turning to her. But Hodge was already cutting him off.

"I doubt," he began slowly, as if he dreaded what he was about to say, "that she had much choice." At this Jace, raised a brow, wondering if it were possible for a Shadowhunter to force another Shadowhunter to do their bidding without a choice. What kind of rune or dark magic would that involve? He shuddered at the idea of not having control of himself, shaking the thought from his head. He would rather die.

Clary, however, stared at Hodge blankly. "What are you talking about? Why wouldn't she have had a choice?"

"Because," sighed Hodge. "she was his wife."

An answer neither Jace nor Clary had been prepared for.


A/N: Hope you guys liked this one! I have to work tonight so I don't know when I will be able to get the next chapter out.