A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! I'm glad you are enjoying the story. I have been away for a little bit, but now I am back with several more chapters to follow this week. I will be updating as often as I can. There are plenty of surprises yet to come for Isabelle and Simon!

Chapter Nine - A favor is a Dangerous Thing to Owe

It was 3pm before Isabelle made it from Simon's house to the N train that would take her into Chinatown. The sun was just hitting the buildings on the east side, casting foreboding shadows of all shapes and sizes along the glass panes as she briskly made her way to the station platform. She carefully ducked down the subway steps, and slid her metro card through the gates that separated her from the tracks ahead. She could have easily maneuvered her way through the sea of Mundanes with a glamour, but ever since Simon had entered her life, she'd taken to blending in with the populace. The subway was just as packed as it always was and though the tight space usually bothered her, she found her self not caring about the occasional shoves of the passengers moving about inside the subway car. She just gripped railing as the train departed Penn street station, and held on tightly to the small bag clutched between her fingertips.

Through the stagnant haze of the subway car, Isabelle could distinctly see that she was not the only otherworldly person wedged in among the oblivious Mundanes. Two seats ahead of her—staring her down with an icy glare—sat what appeared to be an elderly gentleman with long, silvery hair that cascaded across his shoulders with a greasy shine. As Isabelle concentrated through his apparent glamour, she could faintly make out the blue-green tint to his eyes, and the transparent webbing between his fingertips. Ahead of him—almost as oblivious as the Mundanes—was another downworlder that Isabelle recognized from Luke's pack. She was sitting rigid in her seat, conversing with a young man about half her age who seemed more interested in discussing politics than paying her ounce of attention. Isabelle just rolled her eyes and tried not to stare any longer than she had too. She wasn't used to being in such close quarters with other downworlders when there was no chance of escape if a fight should ensue. But they didn't really seem interested in her. The man who'd been staring her down earlier cast his attention to the passing tracks as the train continued along its route towards the Canal Street Station.

One by one, passengers filed out of the subway car, always being replaced with a constant influx of Mundanes and downworlders. How could she have been that naïve to believe that downworlders were outcasts of civilization. She'd never really taken the time to look at them before. Although they were hidden behind a glamour, they still led a human life. Most of them anyway. There were, of course, the elite few who would always seek to destroy the Mundanes, and battle shadowhunters, but most of them just wanted to be left in peace. They used the same transportation as the Mundanes, they still wished to keep on living in the city, and they still wanted all the same things that they'd had before their change. Even those who had never felt what it was like to human still craved that sense of normality. Everyone except the Fey. They would always keep to themselves, always hidden, always secret. It seemed rather odd to Isabelle that they were now attempting to submerge themselves in the Mundane world—in her world. But Isabelle had to give it up to the Seelie Queen. She always seemed to know what she was doing, even if what she was doing wasn't in the best interest of the other person. She always had a plan. Isabelle just needed to figure out what that plan was before it drove Simon into madness.

"Canal Street Station," A robotic voice boomed from overhead.

Isabelle shook her head to clear her mind and shuffled out onto the platform alongside dozens of Mundanes that immediately took off up the stairs into the streets of Chinatown. There was a soft music playing throughout the station that was emanating from a musician who sat nestled in the corner next to the turn style. Isabelle flipped a dollar into the open violin case at his feet, flung her bag over her shoulder, and scrambled up the damp stairs into the blinding sun of the afternoon.

The streets were full of grocers, vendors, and what Isabelle had come to refer to as bag ladies—all shouting at one another in their attempt to persuade the eager tourists to purchase souvenirs from their stall as opposed to their neighbors', eat at their restaurants, or entice them with the highly sought out offer of genuine Coach, Prada, and Gucci handbags. Isabelle simply pushed past the Mundanes and slid down the alleyway towards her first destination.

She'd left the house with the knowledge that if she were to find Simon, he would no doubt be in bad shape. Not just from the events of last night, but also from the lack of fresh blood in his system. She knew of a butcher's shop behind Mott Street that actively sold animal blood to both Mundanes and downworlders alike—mostly warlocks and witches. Isabelle thought that she'd better get something for Simon just in case he was still in the same shape as their last encounter. The only problem was trying to find it.

Isabelle ducked around the corner without looking and jumped back as a bike messenger nearly clipped her in shoulder. "Watch where you're going jerk!" She shouted, raising her fist in the air before stopping short of any further obscenities. She squinted over the crowd of Mundanes wedging their way into the intersection, and was shocked to see that the bike messenger had pointed ears, and three small gashes above the collar of his shirt on either side of his neck.

"Damn warlocks," Isabelle mumbled as she collected herself and turned into the Mott Street alley. At least she was in the right place.

All the doors looked the same as she counted them off one by one. They all had the exact same tattered brown awnings, and identical streaks of faded wood along the frames. It was a stark contrast to the beautiful Chinese decorations that were displayed on the store fronts along Mott Street, but Isabelle knew that place she was looking for lay in the alley, away from the prying eyes of Mundanes. Only those Mundanes who had actual knowledge of witchcraft would ever find this place. It was so carefully concealed that even she had a hard time remembering where it was. She only knew that it was here.

Isabelle came to a stop at the eighth door, and tried to get her bearings. There was a slight chill to the air which made the hairs on her arms stand on edge, forcing her to collect her thoughts before carrying on down the desolate pathway. The alley stunk of day old refuse that had been left to stew in the rain from the night before, and each step she took seemed to cause the stench to infiltrate her lungs, choking off her resolve. She knew it was merely a deterrent; a way to persuade a passerby to choose a new path. But she had to do this. Simon needed her.

The scent was strongest to her left, so she followed the rotting stench to a door with oddly shaped Chinese symbols that didn't seem familiar to her. As she ran her hands over the intricate markings, she heard voices approaching from the opposite side of the door. Isabelle stepped away to allow the shop patrons to exit the building. Two more warlocks, both dressed in black slacks with tightly pressed cotton threaded sweatshirts pulled snugly against their skin. They barely noticed her as they carried on down the alley and back out onto Mott Street. Isabelle took her chance and entered the building before the door clicked shut.

Inside, the small shop was bustling with life. Isabelle wasn't sure what she had expected to find, but what she did see surprised even her. Downworlders and a select few knowledgeable Mundanes happily interacted with one another here, drinking concoctions of all different colors and smells. The scent of putrid garbage had lifted, and in its place were flavors of lavender, freesia, and strawberry. The humans seemed at peace here, though they weren't really oblivious to the presence of downworlders like the passengers on the subway if they dabbled in the art of witchcraft. It wasn't Isabelle's main concern now anyway.

She made a mental note to revisit the tiny butcher shop in the near future.

The line to the front counter wasn't very long. Most of the patrons were gathered around a small bar in the back of the shop, gulping down fancy colored drinks and chatting about the latest news on the circuit.

"Rex says he totally just kicked them all out like he owned the place. He heard Raphael is livid."

"What does it matter to him. He lives in the Dumont."

Dumont? Raphael? Was it possible they were talking about Simon? Isabelle's heart skipped a beat as she listened. If they were talking about Simon then her instincts had served her well. She was pleased she was on the right track.

"It's still his territory, Daigon. Or has living under the Hudson messed with your brain?"

"No more than living with vampires has damaged yours, my old friend."

The two men chuckled to each other before clinking glasses and going back to the chess game that was laid out on the table between them. It was clear to Isabelle that the one called Daigon was a Fey, but the other looked more Mundane than anything else. It had to be another warlock. Isabelle couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw something twitch at the base of his spine.

"Probably a tail," Isabelle mumbled to herself with a little smile.

"We ran out of tail about an hour ago," An overbearing man behind the counter whispered in her ear. Isabelle turned around startled, but regained herself a moment later.

The man was quite tall with short, blonde hair that jutted out from the roots in different directions. He wore an earring in his left ear, and a had an orange scarf wrapped around his throat that set off the amber gleam to his eyes. Isabelle ventured a guess that he was a vampire donor, or at the very least, he was hiding something that he couldn't glamour. He would have been attractive if it weren't for the fact that his apron was covered in a thick layer of blood. He had to be another warlock, just like the rest of them. Isabelle wondered how many warlocks Magnus had to supervise. She'd seen so many in the space of a few short hours. She would have to ask him later.

"Good thing I'm not looking for tail then, isn't it," Isabelle answered as politely as she could.

"We don't serve your kind in here anyway shadowhunter," He grumbled and pointed to the door.

Isabelle ignored him, and carried on. "What do you have on tap in the way of blood?"

"Did you not hear what I said? You are not welcome here."

Isabelle snatched a seraph blade from her boot in less time than it took the butcher to take his next breath. The shine of the hilt came crashing down on the counter with an audible crack that made every patron in the shop cease in their activities to stare at her. She suddenly felt very foolish, and very outnumbered. She just wanted to get what Simon needed and be done with this mess, and she would take it by force if she had to.

"I'm not asking anymore," Isabelle sneered. "Tell me what you've got. I have money. I can pay."

"There is no need for hostility young shadow hunter," A voice echoed from behind her. It was Daigon—the Fey she'd seen earlier playing chess and discussing Simon. He was now standing directly behind her, and although Isabelle could fight him if necessary, she'd rather not be the cause of upset for the Seelie Queen.

Isabelle ignored him, and focused her gaze on the blonde haired warlock behind the counter. "I need blood. Are you going to serve me or not?"

"I already told you no."

"Festus, surely you can make an exception?" Daigon interceded. "She has come here by herself and made a request. We are not at war with the Angels any longer."

"If I bend the rules for her, what's to say the vampires won't want special privileges, or the wolves…or even the Mundanes," Festus snapped in return.

"My lady would consider it a personal favor if you would sell the young woman what she requires."

My lady? Oh, Isabelle thought, he means the Seelie Queen. Isabelle wasn't sure how she felt about being indebted to the Queen, but then again, it wasn't really her that was doing the Queen a favor. She felt a pang of sympathy for the young butcher. Having any kind of favor hanging in the air between yourself and the Seelie Queen seemed like a dangerous situation to put yourself in. She always wanted more than you were willing to give, even if was she who owed you the favor instead of the other way around. However, Isabelle doubted that declining a favor from the Queen was a very smart thing to do.

Festus grumbled under his breath and disappeared into what looked like a large, stainless steel, walk-in fridge. Isabelle turned on her heel and stared down Daigon in disbelief. "Why are you helping me? And more importantly, why is your Queen helping me?"

He smiled, the corners of his mouth nearly reaching his lower lids. Up close, Isabelle could now see the blue to his Irises, and the sharp features that every fairy possessed. Even his hair was a mixture of earth and grass, making him seem more tree-like than anything else. "I cannot speak for my lady other than what I am told to say on her behalf. I am just simply in the right place at the right time."

"Not likely," Isabelle huffed. Even though fairies never lied, she still had a feeling that the Queen knew exactly when and where to send her minions, and Daigon was just skirting around the truth. It was starting to get really irritating.

"Is it not customary to thank one for their actions of good faith?"

Isabelle mumbled a thank you as Festus returned with three bags of cow blood. "It's all I've got in stock at the moment. I'd say come back tomorrow, but I'd rather not see your face in here again. If that's all right with you."

It was perfectly fine with Isabelle. This place gave her the creeps. "Don't have to tell me twice." She paid for the blood and snatched the red liquid from Festus' hands, suppressing a gag as she tucked the packets carefully into her shoulder bag. Isabelle thought for a moment about how silly it seemed to be put off by the sight of animal blood while she was dating a vampire. She smiled slightly at the irony, and exited the shop without another word.

The damp alleyway was deserted, giving Isabelle a small sense of relief. Being cramped into a tight space with no one else to watch her back had been a foolish thing to do. Even if downworlders had no quarrel with shadowhunters anymore, it was still uncomfortable to have to interact with them. Especially when she was buying cow's blood. What would Alec think if he knew she was here? Isabelle shuddered at the thought, and proceeded down the long tunnel towards the subway.

Alec was the least of Isabelle's worries at the moment. Every step she took towards the compound—towards Simon—seemed to drag on forever. She knew exactly where to go, and based off of the conversation in the shop, Isabella had no doubt that Simon had trapped himself in there until dark. Whatever state she found Simon in, she was prepared to face it. She would even fight him if she had to, just to get him to drink something. Isabella knew that Simon was in desperate need of the blood. He hadn't touched anything in days.

"If Jace could see me now," Isabelle laughed under her breath as she slid through a thin slit in the stone wall.

Jace would be laughing his ass off, Isabelle knew that. They'd grown up together, and not once in all those years had Isabelle ever gone to such extreme lengths for another person. But Jace had done some extreme things in his time, and since Clary had come into his life, that seemed like all he was capable of doing now. Maybe love did something to a person when they couldn't see past the fear of losing that love? Isabelle didn't want to lose Simon. Jace didn't want to lose Clary—although he'd done a pretty decent job of showing the opposite lately. Isabelle had to laugh herself as she thought about Jace. She was not about to mess up as badly as her adopted brother had when it came to love.

Isabelle's feet landed with a loud crunch. She was in a deep corridor that led under the subway tracks. The ceiling above her was made of dirt, with areas of patchy roots slithering their way along the tunnel. The rumble of a passing train car shook the walls around her as she hurried down the path. She'd only been here a handful of times, but she could remember the way even with her eyes closed.

The terrain changed from the dirty graveled appearance as she cautiously walked further into the vampires world, and soon Isabelle heard her boots tapping against the stone entrance to the stronghold. Brass candelabras decorated the ornate hallway, each one of them lit up as if to beckon an unsuspecting human into the web of a spider.

"Vampires have way too much time on their hands," Isabelle mumbled.

She drew her seraph blade from her belt just in case someone sent out a welcome party, and whispered "Michael", bringing the weapon to life. The blue light echoed through the corridor for a brief moment, bouncing off the adjacent walls long enough for Isabelle to notice that something really was different about this place that she hadn't noticed before. It seemed the vampires had been on the move, stealing things that didn't belong to them, or perhaps taking items from their victims. Isabelle couldn't be sure, but the deeper she moved into the underground compound, the more this place reeked of civilization. Every room she passed was full to the brim with decorations, golden mirrors and beds. Even a completely unnecessary kitchen had been built in her absence. The Clave would be interested to know that the vampires had been doing all sorts of renovations down here. It seemed very unlikely to Isabelle that they'd come across all these things on accident.

It wasn't a bad place to live actually, though Isabelle needed the light of the sun to really find peace. That would never happen here. Still, Isabelle felt welcomed by the normality of her surroundings. It was as if the entire world was just revolving around the vampire threshold, everything else changing while this place went unnoticed. She could see why they liked it. However, there was one thing missing.

Where was everyone?

"Hello?" Isabelle whispered as she carried on through the complex. "Anyone home? It's me…your friendly neighborhood shadowhunter."

Nothing. Isabelle's word were met with silence.

She turned the corner, and passed through a few rooms that were each furnished with double beds, dressers, and trinkets that were scattered across the tops of the sheets. It didn't look as if anyone had slept in the beds for days which puzzled Isabelle. She couldn't remember how many vampires there had been on her last visit, but to find it empty was surprising.

Isabelle thought back to the conversation she'd overheard between Daigon and the Warlock. Rex said he kicked them all out. So they had been talking about Simon. Suddenly, Isabelle's heart began to race with the promise of having Simon in her arms, and she sprinted through the lit tunnels like she was trying to win a marathon. Her breath caught in her throat, the seraph blade in her hand was all but forgotten as she tumbled into the last room in the compound. Something was pounding against her throat, vibrating a warning the likes of which she'd never felt before. But Isabelle shrugged off the sensation, thinking it was merely her heartbeat responding to the sight before her.

There, curled up in a ball on the floor, was Simon.