Here it is, folks! The chapter that will make the story take a sharp turn... Thanks for reading and reviewing everyone!

"Want me to stick around tonight?" Simon offered, twirling around in circles on one of the rotating bar stools.

I carefully placed an array of drinks on the tray, not wanting a reenactment of the other night. Of course, tonight there would be no one to trip me, so it seemed pretty doubtful that I'd go crashing to the floor a second time. I glanced over my shoulder at Simon and rolled my eyes.

"And have you taking up all the room and distracting me from my work?" I pretended to think about it. "On second thought, stay as long as you want."

Simon grinned, twisting his head back and forth as he tried to keep me in sight while his body spun in circles. "Distractions are my forte."

"I know."

To tell the truth, I was in pretty high spirits. My punishment for dumping coffee on Jace and then running out into the streets of New York City was nearly over, and I was dying for some free time to draw. Tonight had been pretty slow, since most of the teenage customers we got were at Isabelle's party, or at least trying to sneak in.

But the best part of all was that Jace wasn't here tonight. I hadn't really noticed how much I dreaded having to see him at work until he was gone. It was like a breath of fresh air; everything seemed so peaceful without his friends' raucous laughter erupting every half a second.

I delivered the drinks to a table full of middle-aged women who were laughing so hard tears were trailing down their cheeks. Simon was snickering as I walked back over to him, imitating one of the women who was smacking the table as she guffawed.

"Stop," I said, slapping his hands down. "You're being rude."

"What? They aren't paying any attention."

I stuck my tongue out at him and he mirrored the action. The place was almost empty by now—it was near closing time, and it was completely dark outside. Well, as dark as it ever gets in New York City.

"Clary," Mona called. She was talking to Chef Timothy, her head poking into the kitchen through the serving window. "Garbage's full."

"Can't you take it out?" I asked without much hope.

"Took it out last time," she said, before growing bored of the conversation and turning back to a sullen Chef Timothy, who looked like he was considering lopping off his own hand with his butcher's knife rather than continue listening to her drone on about her romance problems.

I stared down at the overflowing garbage can. I hated taking the garbage out to the Dumpster in the alley behind the diner; it creeped me out, especially at night. It always felt like the shadows were concealing murderers and monsters, making the back of my neck prickle. Sometimes I could swear I was being watched.

"Simon," I said, turning on my sweetest, most syrupy tone of voice. "Have I told you that I love you lately?"

"Nope," Simon said. He looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. "In fact, I don't think I recall you ever having said that."

"Well, I do," I told him. "Very much. You're my best friend in the entire world, and you always will be."

He smiled at me and put a hand to his chest, touched. "Clary, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Well, aside from when you told me I had some broccoli stuck in my teeth. That was pretty nice, too."

"I appreciate you," I went on, beaming at him. "If not for you, I don't know where I'd be. Maybe I'd be at that horrible party, getting myself humiliated by Wayland. It's because of you that I'm the person I am today."

"That's kind of you," he said warmly. "But I'm still not going to take out the trash for you, Clary."

I scowled and slapped his shoulder. "That's not the reason I said those things!"

"Oh, please. You're a terrible actress, Clary."

I snorted and stormed back to the trashcan, swinging the bulging bag of garbage over my shoulder with more violence than was wise. Simon had to duck to avoid getting clocked in the head—I wished I hadn't missed.

I shouldered past Mona so that I could get into the kitchen, passing through it and out the back door. The resounding laughter of the middle-aged women and Mona's unending chatter cut off abruptly as the steel door closed behind me. The alley was always eerily quiet, with only the distant sounds of traffic to chase away complete silence.

I hummed to myself, thinking it would make the whole scene a little less creepy. Then it occurred to me that you see a lot of murder victims humming to themselves in scary movies just before they're killed, so I stopped that pretty quickly.

I hurried over to the Dumpster, which was near the mouth of the alley. Not only was the hair on the back of my neck rising, but so was the hair on my arms and scalp, too. It was probably my overactive imagination, but I thought I could see shapes moving in the shadows, glowing eyes watching my every move.

I opened the Dumpster cover, grunting as I held it with one hand and tossed the garbage bag in with the other. It landed with a hollow thud at the bottom. I released the cover and it shut with a resounding bang, making me cringe. I really didn't need to be making noise in this dark, horror-movie alleyway.

That was when I heard the sound.

At first I thought it was a cat—maybe a dying one. I froze, my heart racing in my chest, listening hard. It came again, and I realized it was a groan. A human groan.

Something moved in the shadows—and it wasn't just my imagination this time. My eyes darted to the door that led back into the diner, wondering if I could make it there if I ran as fast as my legs could possibly carry me.

Too late. A figure stumbled into the dim light cast by the neon sign across the street, coming from the direction of the mouth of the alley. I instinctively backed away, my back hitting the wall. The man—no woman could make that sound—staggered and nearly fell, barely avoiding a faceplant on the ground.

"Stay away from me," I managed to get out. I'd meant to sound harsh and commanding, but I stuttered out the words in a shaky voice.

The man mumbled something and I inched in the direction of the door, still pressed against the side of the alley.

"I know karate," I lied. "My friend is just inside—he'll hear me when I scream. I have 911 on speed dial on my cell phone. I'm calling it right now." Probably not the smartest threat, seeing as how I didn't have a cell phone in my hand, but I was hoping it was too dark for him to see that. I held my hand up to my ear, petrified as the guy came even closer.

His garbled noises turned into slurred words. "Thought I'd find you here," he said, and I recognized the voice, muddled as it was. I looked closer as he stumbled into brighter light, and instantly felt a rushing mixture of intense relief, shock, and fury.

"Jace?" I said. "You scared the crap out of me! What the hell are you doing back here? What's the matter with you?"

He was swaying so badly on his feet that I knew he was about to fall down at any second. He was completely wasted.

"You're not s'posed to be here," he slurred. "You're s'posed to be at the party. You were s'posed to come so we could get you back. That'll show you." He laughed and staggered. I darted forward without thinking and caught him around the waist before he could tumble sideways. His shirt was wet, and he smelled strongly of alcohol—and something else.

"Gee, thanks," I muttered, knowing it was useless to be angry with him when he was this drunk. I pushed away the hurt I felt at discovering that Simon had been right all along; Jace hadn't invited me to the party out of friendliness. He'd just wanted another opportunity to ruin my life.

He was standing strangely, hunched over with one hand around his stomach like he felt sick. In the faint light, I could see that his face was paper white, and his breathing was fast and shallow.

Something was wrong. He sagged against me, his legs giving out, and I had to stagger a few steps sideways, lowering him awkwardly to the ground.

"Jace? Can you hear me?" I shook his shoulder. His eyelids fluttered. His white shirt was dark—not with spilled alcohol, but with something else.

Blood.

My heart started pounding again. I lifted his shirt to find his stomach covered in the dark, oozing substance. For a second nausea rose inside of me, but I pushed it down. This was not the time to be squeamish.

"Oh no," I whispered. "Jace, how did this happen? You're hurt!"

"Got in a fight," he slurred, barely conscious. "Pulled a knife on me."

"I need to call an ambulance." My hands shook so badly that I had to fumble in my pocket for my cell phone for several agonizing seconds. When I finally managed to extract it, it slipped out of my hand and fell to the ground with a clatter.

His hand shot up and he wrapped his fingers around my wrist, stopping me from reaching for the phone and holding on with startling strength for his condition.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, trying to yank my hand away.

"Can't call police," he mumbled. "Everyone'll get busted for drinking."

I stared at him in disbelief. He could be dying, and he was worried about everyone back at the party getting in trouble for underage drinking? Was he nuts?

"You aren't thinking clearly," I told him, snatching up the phone with my other hand. "This is bad, Jace. You need to go to a hospital."

"No," he said more forcefully, his eyes opening wider. His voice turned pleading. "Please, Clary."

"What the hell do you want me to do?" I snapped, my voice inching a few octaves higher. "Do you want me to just leave you to bleed to death behind my mom's diner? Not going to happen!"

He moaned as I punched in three numbers and held the phone to my ear. A part of me had a feeling that this would only bring on more revenge from Jace and his buddies, and that filled me with a deep sense of dread. He'd already admitted that they'd been planning on humiliating me at the party. If I turned them all in now, it was just going to get worse.

But I didn't have a choice. I'd rather be humiliated a million times over than watch someone die in front of me, knowing I could have done something, and knowing that I'd failed.

It might not have been a good idea to move Jace, but I couldn't stand being in that alley a second longer, so as we waited for an ambulance I managed to get him to his feet and, wrapping both arms around his waist, I half dragged him out of the alley and to the edge of the street. It was pretty much a Herculean show of strength, since he was hardly conscious and I might as well have been giving him a piggyback ride. He was probably over six feet tall and I was not much more than five, so I looked back on that moment with pride. I was stronger than I thought.

The ambulance showed up only a few minutes later, sirens wailing. Cop cars followed, and I thought I heard Jace groan with exasperation, but I was too busy trying to keep him from falling over to look over and make sure.

The paramedics took him off my hands and got him onto a stretcher, rushing him into the back of the ambulance. To my surprise, they ushered me on, too, letting me ride in the back with him. I'd expected to see him off and then return to the diner and pretend nothing had happened. My mom definitely did not need to hear about this.

Before I could protest, though, they'd closed the doors and the vehicle was already moving. I found myself staring at Jace's face, his eyes closed, looking unusually vulnerable. A paramedic sat across from me, strapping an oxygen mask to his face. He looked up at me sympathetically.

"He'll be all right, honey," he said. I had the urge to tell him that I didn't care, seeing as I hated the guy, but somehow I didn't think it would be appropriate. So I just nodded numbly and stared at Jace.

"You're very brave," the paramedic went on, and I wished he wouldn't try to engage me in conversation. I wondered if I was going into shock; I felt sort of numb, and my thoughts were sluggish. It wasn't like I'd ever been faced with this situation before, and especially not to someone I knew. "I can't think of any other teenagers who would help their boyfriend out the way you did. You were practically carrying him back there."

My head snapped up. "He's not my boyfriend," I said, maybe too sharply. The paramedic looked taken aback.

But it didn't shut him up. "That's even braver then. You must be a great friend. You could even be called a hero." Then he gave me a smile like he expected me to be flattered by the compliment, but I didn't want to be a hero under these circumstances. I wished tonight hadn't happened at all.


Will Jace survive?! Probably! But you never know... (Cue ominous music)

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