~Chapter Nine~
Only For Her
It had taken some time for Clary to stop calling after the mundane. Jace had stood there and listened to each breath she took before yelling for him. He was both confused and upset. She had wanted his kiss in the Seelie Court—his. So why did she care if Simon had left? But even as he wondered it, he knew why. It was the same reason that she went after him at Hotel Dumort. It's also why he didn't try to stop her, but had instead waited for her to give up on her own. He was careful not to show the conflicting emotions on his face, however. When Clary had finally turned to look at him, he could see the sadness in her eyes. But he could also see the guilt. This irritated him. She had nothing to feel guilty over—at least not the way he saw it. With the mundane gone, Clary was torn between just going back to Luke's house and coming back to the Institute with them. Jace had been momentarily afraid that she would leave.
"Don't be ridiculous," he had told her. "You're freezing to death and the Institute is closer. I really don't want to scrape a Clary popsicle off the pavement."
She had said nothing to this, but consented. As they walked through the doors, Jace felt a sense of relief he hadn't felt in a while. He wasn't supposed to be here, but Isabelle had been right—it was still his home. As they moved through the foyer, Jace's eyes narrowed in on the small sleeping frame of Max and he smiled. He knew just by looking at him that he had been waiting here for someone, anyone, to return. Jace felt a flutter of affection shoot through him as he stood next to the little sentinel. He had been reading, but the book was on the floor now and his glasses were lopsided on his face as he took deep even breaths. Jace felt a flood of affection. "Max is like a cat," he whispered to Clary who had stopped next to him. "He can sleep anywhere." Reaching forward, Jace plucked the glasses delicately off of Max's face, making sure not to jostle him, and then folded them and set them neatly on a nearby end table. He loved Max just as much as Alec and Izzy, and it hurt just as much to be away from him as the others. Behind him, Izzy hissed about leaving the boy alone—and something else about mud, but Jace ignored it. Turning, he saw that she was hanging up her wet coat, a frown tugging at her full lips.
"I can feel a cold coming on," she breathed. "I'm going to take a hot shower."
And then like that she was gone, turning the corner of one of the long hallways. Jace watched her go. He missed this. Missed the simplicity of being here with her and Alec. He even missed Maryse and Robert. He shook his head and said to no one in particular, though Clary was the only one there, "Sometimes she reminds me of the poem—'Isabelle, Isabelle, didn't worry. Isabelle didn't scream or scurry—"
"Do you ever feel like screaming?" Clary's whispered breath cut him off. He looked down at her, his heart racing like it always did whenever he looked at her. She was curious. And tired. She was also shivering and he contemplated pulling her against him to warm her. He wondered if she would stop him. She hadn't stopped him from kissing her. She had kissed him back—had pressed herself to him. He thought about that and then answered her question.
"Some of the time," he said honestly, and then added silently, but usually it's because of you. What you do to me and how you make me feel. He took off his wet leather jacket and hung it dripping from the peg on the wall, his own shiver running through him. How much of it was from the cold, though, he wondered as he looked back at her. He smiled. "She's right about the hot shower, though. I could certainly use one." And from the look of Clary, she might need something to help her warm up, too. She could use his shower—would she wear a shirt of his if he gave her one? As if hearing his thoughts, Clary frowned.
"I don't have anything to change into," she said, not looking directly at Jace. "I'll just wait for you out here."
Wait out here? Was she kidding? "Don't be stupid," he said with a roll of his eyes. "I'll lend you a T-shirt." He looked down at her, and his heart began to hammer. First, at the thought of seeing her in one of his shirts, and then at seeing where her eyes were. As if against his will, he looked down at the peek of his abdomen that was showing between his water laden jeans and t-shirt. When he looked back at her, he saw her cheeks flush beautifully before she looked away. His fingers itched to catch her chin and make her look at him again.
"I don't think—"
"Come on," he cut her off. He wasn't going to let her say no. Not this time. She looked up at him from under her eyelashes but she didn't argue. He took this as a good thing. "There's something I want to show you anyway." With that, he turned and walked away. He could hear the light footfalls of her following him, and he smiled. She had already seen what he wanted to show her. In fact, she was the only one who knew that he had had it, though he wasn't sure she remembered. They didn't talk as they walked, but they didn't need to. A part of him knew that she was thinking about the mundane, and it would be a lie to say it didn't bother him. Especially after what had happened down in the Court. But then another part of Jace wondered if she was using him as a shield against him. If so, it was a pretty poor shield. At one point, he tried to hitch his jeans back up over his hipbones, but the weight of the water pulling them down made it pointless. And then he remembered how Clary had been staring at the indentation of his exposed hips and he decided to not bother anymore. He could still see her flush from looking at his bared skin, and he liked it. In his room, he went immediately to his dresser and began rummaging through it until he found a small blue long sleeve. Turning he tossed it to Clary, who caught it deftly. "That one shrank in the wash," he said. She held it against her like a blanket. "It'll probably still be big on you, but . . ." his breath caught as Clary turned her face down to it, almost like she was smelling it and then saw her shoulders relax. Did the scent of him calm her the way her lavender and cotton scent did for him? It had never occurred to him that the same could be true for her. When she looked back up at him, he tried to cover his hitch with a nonchalant shrug. "I'm going to shower. Yell if you need anything."
He turned and paced himself toward the bathroom, his stomach flipping the whole way. Once inside, he closed the door and leaned against it. He knew he shouldn't be thinking of Clary like he was. He had been trying to be so careful to not think of her as anything but a sister. Granted, he had also been failing spectacularly at it. But this was before the Seelie Court—before he had found out that she desired his kiss as much as he desired hers—and had kissed him back just as hard. That couldn't be taken away. And the fact that he was in love with her couldn't be hidden anymore because he knew that she had seen it in his eyes after he had kissed her. He bit the inside of his cheek and pushed himself off the door and toward the shower, turning it on. Taking off his shirt, he folded it and set it on the counter and then kicked off his shoes and socks as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. She knew how he felt, he told himself. She had to know. That kiss . . . it had to mean just as much to her as it did him. But he had never actually told her how he felt because he wasn't allowed. Not to mention she had been preoccupied with Simon as of late. Had she really moved on? Had she really gotten over him? It was a bitter thought, and Jace shook his head. Things were different now, weren't they? Maybe he should tell her. She's your sister. He sucked in his breath. "I know," he told the reflection staring at him. "But . . . we didn't grow up together. We—we never knew." He could see the desperation in the refection's eyes as he spoke. Whatever helps you sleep at night. She's still your sister. Jace felt his eyes go hard. "Shut up," he growled at himself. "I love her. I'm in love with her. She deserves to know." Good luck with that. Jace bit the inside of his cheek as he stared at himself in the mirror. His golden hair was curling in the unfolding shower steam. But the voice was quiet now. He wondered if he was going crazy. Probably. He shook his head, his mind made up, as he turned and opened the door.
And his stomach dropped. Clary was sitting on his bed, his t-shirt across her lap and her phone to her ear. She had no clue he was standing there. He watched for just a second as she tugged on one of her curls before he said, "What are you doing?" Even as he said it, he knew the answer. Of course she would use her time alone to call the fucking mundane. Clary looked up in surprise, her phone snapping shut and dropping onto his bed. Her milky skin flushed red as her Idris eyes darted to him guiltily. Maybe she really had moved on—maybe she really did want to be with Simon now. He knew this had been a very real possibility, but seeing her on the phone . . . it hurt.
"Nothing," she said quickly. Too quickly. "Checking the time."
Jace eyes slid past her to the clock sitting next to her on the nightstand, the time glowing brightly. He raised a brow. "There's a clock next to the bed," he said flatly, irritated that she was lying to him. He decided to call her out on it. "You were calling the mundane, weren't you?" He could hear the disdain in his voice, but there wasn't anything he could do about that. In the back of his mind, a voice laughed cruelly. Great way to start out this whole 'I love you' thing, don'tcha think? Clary met his eyes, her emerald orbs flashing as she picked his shirt up and began balling it in her hands. She's moved on. You should too. And yet, he knew it wasn't even an option for him, and that just upset him more.
"His name is Simon," she said through clenched teeth. Jace wondered if she was going to throw his shirt at him. "And you don't have to be such a bastard—" That hurt. "—about him all the time. He's helped you out more than once."
Jace bit on the inside of his cheek. First, he would use the word 'helped' lightly. Second, what the hell was it about her, he wondered for the hundredth-thousand time. He had come out to tell her how he felt and instead wound up arguing with her. Somehow, it always ended like this. Maybe he shouldn't tell her. Maybe he had been foolish to think that she might feel the same way. It was obvious she must not if while he was in the bathroom pining for her, she was in here calling the rat boy. And why? Because she felt guilty for kissing Jace—for wanting to kiss him over the mundane? That was ridiculous. Anyone in their right mind would want to kiss him over the mundane, so she shouldn't be so upset. Anyone but Clary, he thought bitterly. But that wasn't true either, or he wouldn't have been the one to kiss her down in the Seelie Court. He raised a brow, wondering. "And now you feel guilty because he's run off." It wasn't a question, and she didn't respond. When she continued to say nothing, Jace thought back to the look the mundane had worn. He could sympathize with that look—not that he would. He just could if he wanted to—which he didn't. Regardless of him knowing how the mundane felt in that moment, however, it was clear that Clary didn't. She hadn't seen his expression. In fact, Jace didn't think that she had looked at the mundane at all after leaving the Court. Finally he shrugged. "I wouldn't bother calling him. I'm sure he's avoiding you."
Clary's eyes narrowed, her face flushing with anger, and Jace's skin pricked with excitement. He knew it wasn't the right reaction, however, and he made sure not to show it. But he loved when the fire in her came out. He couldn't help it. "And you know this because you and he are so close," she spit irritably.
Jace shook his head, unfazed by her vehemence. If anything, it only turned him on more. Which it shouldn't. But it did. Which was maybe worse. He had to work hard to keep it from showing. "I know it," he began, his voice neutral. "because I saw the look on his face before he took off. You didn't. You weren't looking at him. But I was." Because I've worn that same look when I've had to watch you and him, Jace added silently. Or at least, he had felt the same way. He was much better at hiding it though. Clary's eyes went wide but she didn't say anything. Slowly she dropped her eyes to the shirt, her hair hair falling into her face. Whether on purpose or absently, she pushed her hair back. Jace leaned against the doorframe, the shower continuing on behind him. He could feel the steam on his bare back. When she looked up again, Jace could see the anger in her eyes, but he didn't flinch back. Not this time. He had wanted her to hate him, and maybe she should. He had wanted to hate her, and he had failed. But now he wanted to be honest—to himself and to her. And if that meant that she was going to be angry at him for it, then that's just the way it would have to be. He wasn't going to pretend anymore.
"It's your fault," she said suddenly, her beautiful Idris eyes flashing dangerously. "You shouldn't have kissed me like that."
Jace pushed himself off the door, never taking his eyes off her. I shouldn't have kissed you like that? "How should I have kissed you?" He asked, his voice lighter than it probably should be giving that she was so upset. But he was willing to try it differently if she preferred. And need he remind her that she kissed him back? Probably not. She might hit him. All the same, he couldn't help wonder . . . "Is there another way you like it?"
"No." The word was so soft, it was almost inaudible and Jace had to keep the smile from spreading across his face. So the way he had kissed her was exactly what she liked then. She wasn't looking at him now, but he could see her flush as she stared at her entwined fingers. In that moment he wanted to throw himself at her feet. To beg her to try being with him. To tell her that it could work—that what they had was far too perfect for it to possibly be wrong. But then she lifted her eyes, halting him. "I don't want to be kissed by you."
That's not true. And he wasn't sure if that was more for her or himself. But what was true—would always be true—is the fact that faeries don't lie. The Queen had said only the kiss Clary truly desired would free her. And it had been Jace who had kissed her. He had free'd her because she wanted him to. She still wasn't looking at him, and he felt a sudden surge of irritation. Why couldn't she just admit that to herself? Why did she keep fighting it? He had seen her eyes afterwards just as she had seen his. The Queen played you both, a voice said and Jace flinched. You should have never seen that look, because you should never have been made to kiss. Jace became incensed. "It didn't seem to me that either of us had a choice in the matter." And again, he wasn't sure if he had said that for her or himself. But Clary responded all the same.
"That's what I don't understand," she said more in frustration than anger now, Jace's shirt was still knotted in her fists. "Why did she make you kiss me? The Queen, I mean." She looked at him as if trying to read his mind. But if she were able to, she would find that the Queen hadn't made Jace do anything at all. He had wanted to. Had been wanting to. Had been dreaming about it, and been frustrated that he couldn't. No, the true gift the Queen had given him was the excuse to do it. He could blame the fey, of course. Say that it was her fault that he had had to kiss Clary—that she had made him do it—but all the while they would both know that it wasn't. Jace didn't say this though. He didn't say anything. Clary continued. "Why force us to do—that? What pleasure could she possibly have gotten out of it?"
The pleasure was in watching them squirm. The pleasure was in knowing that Jace would always know that she knew how he felt about his sister, be it right or wrong. Jace sighed. How could Clary not realize this? The Seelie Queen had said it right in front of her—called it a boon for him. "You heard what the Queen said," he spoke slowly, looking at her. "She thought she was doing me a favor." She did do me a favor, he amended silently. But there it was. The truth. And Jace wouldn't change it if he could. He would kiss her over and over and over again. Every time. Clary shook her head, her eyes wide with disbelief as she searched his face. She would only find honesty. He really did intend to stop pretending. But now that they were breaching the cusp of the truth, his heart began to pound rapidly.
"It's not true," she finally breathed. She was wringing the shirt in her hands now, and Jace found himself wondering just how much more that shirt could take of her abuse. He shook the thought away and looked at her. Beautiful Clary. Was she really so appalled by him that she refused to see what was real? Please, he wanted to say. Please don't tell me that what I feel isn't real. He didn't though.
"It is true," he exhaled, instead, his heart slamming painfully in his chest and his ears buzzing. And then he found himself adding, "How many times do I have to tell you? The Fair Folk don't lie." There it was. He had admitted it. She was a gift to him, and the Queen had known it. But Clary was still shaking her head. Still refusing to believe it. Jace felt a stab to his heart with each shake of her head.
"Then she was wrong." Clary's voice was just a breath, but all the same Jace felt his heart lurch. He could see in her eyes that it wasn't just that she thought the Queen was wrong, but that she wanted desperately for her to be. But why? Why did the Queen have to be wrong? Jace wondered. Because they were related? Jace bit the inside of his cheek, his pulse racing as he suddenly felt hot despite his exposed chest and wet jeans. He had known she may not feel the same. Had realized it the moment he walked out of his bathroom and seen her on the phone. And he knew that he could agree with Clary—that she wanted him to. Claim that he hadn't wanted to kiss her, and pretend it never happened. And she would. She would go on pretending that what had happened in that Court hadn't affected her just as much as it had affected him. But Jace couldn't do it. He couldn't lie to himself anymore. And the fact that she wanted him to made him bitter.
"She wasn't wrong," he said more harshly than he had meant. "She saw the way I looked at you, and you at me, and Simon at you, and she played us like the instruments we are to her." And they had been instruments. That much was true too. But so was what he had said before—and no matter how much she wanted it to not be, didn't make it so. Clary was looking down at the shirt again, and he wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her. Make her look at him. Make her admit what she might be refusing to see. He knew what he had seen in her eyes—that had been the truth. What he felt in her lips and her touch and the pressure of her body against his . . . that couldn't be a lie. It wasn't a lie! Jace refused to believe that.
"I don't look at you."
Jace's heart stopped as he stared at Clary, his eyes widening a fraction. But she wasn't looking at him now, and she had spoken so quietly he wondered if he had heard her right. Had she really just . . . he shook his head. "What?"
Clary glanced up at him and the pain in her emerald eyes was palpable. Pain, not anger. It was like it was hurting her to look at him now, but like she couldn't look away either. "I said, I don't look at you." And then she dropped his shirt back on her lap and looked at it, shook her head, and then looked back up at him. "At least I try not to."
"Why not?" It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. And then his eyes narrowed as he heard her sigh, but he waited for her to answer. Why would she not want to look at him if she had moved on? If she wanted desperately to believe that the Seelie Queen was wrong and that Jace had only kissed her because he didn't have a choice—then why would she act like it was so fucking hard to look at him? She was looking at him now though, and then his skin was on fire like her gaze was burning him. He rubbed his naked arm, but didn't lower his gaze. Say it. He wanted to beg her. Tell me—tell me you love me. Tell me it meant something to you like I know it did. Tell me it doesn't matter that we share blood. He knew she never would. She had felt something when he kissed her, that much was true and Jace refused to believe otherwise, but whatever it was . . . it must not have been enough.
"Why do you think?" It was all she said, and had it not been already quiet in the room, Jace might have missed it. But he didn't miss it and he knew it would be the closest she ever came to admitting anything. His body began shaking. He took an almost imperceptible step toward her, longing to run to her. But he didn't. He knew how he felt—knew the overbearing truth of it, despite it's repercussions. And he was ready to tell her. To fall down at her feet and swear that he would never love anyone but her. That it wasn't even possible. He didn't. He only just took in her conflicted and tormented emerald eyes. And then it hit him, realization so powerful that it sent his stomach plummeting. But no, she couldn't possibly—not like he loved her. Because if that were the case . . .
"Then why?" His voice was shaking, but there was nothing he could do about it. "Why all this with Simon?" His heart hammered. "Why keep pushing me away, not letting me near you—"
"Because it's impossible." Clary threw her hands up, her voice anguished and Jace felt his heart crumble as he heard the finality in her tone. "You know that as well as I do!"
"Because you're my sister," he said flatly, and she nodded miserably without speaking. Jace frowned. So she was pushing him away and seeking comfort in Simon because she didn't think they could ever be together. That the shared blood in their veins was the end of what they might have had. "Possibly," he said, and he suddenly couldn't stop himself, nor could he keep the bitterness out of his tone. "And because of that you've decided your old friend Simon makes a useful distraction?"
"It's not like that," Clary breathed. "I love Simon."
"Like you love Luke," Jace countered. "Like you love your mother." Not like you love me. You may never admit it, but I know it's true. It had to be true.
"No," Clary shook her head, her voice both stubborn and wavering. "Don't tell me what I feel."
Jace looked at her, his body feeling like an electrical fence. He watched her lips frown, and her her Idris eyes skirt his. He watched as she begin to wring her hands together. "I don't believe you." he finally breathed. I won't believe you. I can't. And he wouldn't let her lie to herself. Not now that they've come this far. He couldn't bear the idea of going back to what they had been forced to do before. Pretending desperately that he wasn't in love with her when he was. He just couldn't. At his words, Clary stood up, so much pain and confusion and confliction in her eyes and written across her face, that it almost made him feel guilty that he wouldn't leave it alone. That he didn't just lie and say that he hadn't wanted to kiss her. But almost wasn't enough. Instead he wanted to take her, to caress her cheek, to kiss her. He wanted to tell her that it would be okay. That they would figure it out. That she was beautiful and that he loved her. But before he could do any of that, she had to admit it to herself. He bit the inside of his cheek and shoved his hands in his still damp pockets as her eyes rested at his naked shoulder.
"Jace." There was so much tenderness and anguish when she said his name. "Why are you doing this to me?"
Why do you think? He wanted to shout at her. Instead, he looked at her steadily, still chewing on his cheek. "Because you're lying to me," he said tightly, his hands balling into fists in his pockets. "And you're lying to yourself." He instantly regretted saying it, but he couldn't take it back. He only stared at her. She looked broken, he realized. He had broken her and he had no clue how to put her back together. And then as a single tear slid down her cheek and crashed like a tidal wave around him, she drew her shoulders back.
"What do you want me to tell you?" She cried out suddenly, more torment and misery in her voice than Jace had ever heard before. His mouth popped open slightly before he clamped it shut and bit down on his cheek. But she didn't let him talk. It was like as if everything she had ever tried keeping in was bursting from her now as she continued, her hands—her whole body—shaking. "The truth?" She spit. "The truth is that I love Simon like I should love you, and I wish he was my brother and you weren't, but I can't do anything about that and neither can you!" Her chest was heaving with each breath she took, but Jace could only just stare at her. He couldn't respond now even if he had wanted to. Clary crossed her arms, her emeralds blazing in her watery eyes. "Or do you have some ideas, since your so goddamn smart?" Jace exhaled, her words playing in his head as if on repeat. She wished Simon was her brother, not him. He had wanted her to admit it but he had never really thought she would. And now the air hung open in front of them. Slowly Jace could feel the elation—the unadulterated joy replacing the initial shock of her words. He stared at her in astonishment. She wanted him. She wanted him, not as a brother. How he had always wanted to hear her say that. Clary blinked, her eyes wide with horror at her outburst. "Jace," she breathed suddenly, his name on her lips like heaven. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"No." And then he was moving. Unsteady and terrified and elated and in love. He may have tripped, he couldn't remember. But what he didn't want—what he couldn't stand to hear—was for her to apologize for finally telling him the truth. He didn't want her to be sorry. In fact, "You're not sorry," he said. And then he was in front of her. He took her face in his hands and she didn't pull away. Her green eyes—those Idris eyes that were his only home—the only place he ever wished to be—they looked up at him. They asked to be held. Her full lips parted slightly, asking to be kissed. "Don't be sorry," he breathed, nearly begged, his voice rough. She was so beautiful. So very very beautiful. He caressed her jaw with his thumb while he tried to find the right words. How could he possibly explain everything he felt and had kept hidden. But it went deeper than that. And if she was sorry for how she felt, then what did it mean for him? He had come out here with the intent of telling her the truth, and now he would. He would be as honest as he could. "You don't understand," he said slowly. She stepped into him. Had she meant to do that? His heart leapt, his adrenaline pulsing. Focus, he told himself. Tell her. Tell her the truth—tell her everything. His hands slid tenderly down to her neck and he could feel her pulse beating like a hummingbird against them. "I've never felt this way about anyone," he breathed. "I didn't think I could. I thought—the way I grew up—my father—"
"To love is to destroy." She said quietly, casting her eyes down. "I remember."
Jace quickly ducked his head down to recapture her eyes with his, at the same time that he lifted her chin gently. They met halfway. "I thought that part of my heart was broken." Jace bit on the inside of his cheek as soon as the words left his mouth. That had not been what he had intended to say, and the raw truth of it rocked him. He swallowed. "Forever," he exhaled. He had thought his heart was destined to be broken forever. He was looking at her intently now, his grip on her face both gentle and hard. He had thought his heart would never be mended. Never be used again—unable to love. Always cracked. Always broken. And then there was Clary. When she had walked through the door in Pandemonium, everything changed. He had changed. Her love didn't destroy him, it healed him. He took a breath. "But you—"
"Jace," she breathed, cutting him off as she folded her hands over his and entwining their fingers. "Don't." Her eyes were sad, and it cut him. "It's pointless."
"That's not true," he insisted desperately, squeezing her fingers. He brought her hand to his chest, resting it over his heart. She didn't pull away. She only stared at their joined fingers in front of her. Slowly, he lowered his other arm to her waist and pulled her against him and her free hand grazed his exposed side. Her warm fingers against his bare skin were sending bolts shooting through him—sending his heart racing like lightning. His voice was hitched and gruff. "If we both feel the same way—"
Clary shook her head. "It doesn't matter what we feel," she said miserably. But she was wrong. She had to be wrong. Who cares what anyone else thought? Jace sure the fuck didn't. He only wanted her—Clary. Nothing else mattered. She looked up at him just as he lowered his head to look down at him. Their lips were so close. He could kiss away her worries and her fears. Show her how right this all was. It would be so easy. "Where would we go to be together?" she breathed, her eyes pleading and Jace felt his stomach twist. "How could we live?"
And then he knew. She wouldn't leave her mom or Luke or even the mundane, so what else was there to do? Her slender fingers were drawing tentative circles along his back now, making it hard to think. He pressed his forehead against hers, breathing her in. "We could keep it secret."
She closed her eyes. "People would find out," she whispered, and Jace lifted his head so he could see her better. Why was she trying to make it harder than it needed to be? So they find out! Who cares? As long as he was with her and she with him—as long as they were both happy—then screw anyone else who said otherwise. Jace would just beat the ever-loving shit out of them. Besides, people would only find out if they got sloppy. And that was an area Jace was really good at not being. As if knowing what he was thinking, Clary shook her head, her eye peaking open at him. "I don't want to lie to my family. Do you?"
Jace bit on the inside of his cheek. He knew she was talking about Maryse and Robert, and quite frankly, he really didn't care. Maryse had thrown him out of the Institute and then offered him up to the sadistic Inquisitor without so much as a warning. "What family?" His tone was harsh. "The Lightwoods hate me anyway." He felt her hand slide up his back and then tighten as if she was trying to reassure him.
"No they don't," she said, meeting his eyes. But then she shook her head, a frown tugging at her lips. "And I could never tell Luke. And my mother, what if she woke up, what would we say to her?" Her eyes pleaded for an answer, but Jace couldn't give her one. Instead, he hugged her tighter, their bodies crushing their hands. They would think of something. It was their parents fault anyway. They—Clary and him—were innocent bystanders. Collateral damage. And it wasn't fair. Why should they be miserable just because their parent's couldn't get their shit together? Clary sighed, breathing into his chest and sending goosebumps running through him. "This, what we want, it would be sickening to everyone we care—"
"Sickening?" The word was like a slap and Jace rocked backward, away from Clary, letting her go as his heart plummeted. He shook his head. "What we feel—what I feel—it's sickening to you?" Jace wanted to scream—to beg her to take it back. To say that it wasn't so. But she only just looked at him with those eyes of hers as she began to wring her hands together. She took a breath, but but he didn't want to hear whatever it was she was going to say. He could see it in her eyes. That didn't stop her, however.
"Maybe," she said, her voice a pained whisper. "I don't know." And Jace felt his heart crumble. How many times could it break, he wondered numbly. How many times could he sweep it up and try to glue it back together before he just gave up? He took another step back from her and it physically pained him to do so. But that word, that one word, kept ringing through his head like a nightmare. Suddenly he was angry. She had wanted to kiss him—had desired it. She had told him that she tried not to look at him—that she wished Simon was her brother, and not him. And he had told her the truth of what he feels. He had laid it all out there for her . . . and it had sickened her. All of it.
"Then you should have said that to begin with," Jace spit, feeling betrayed. Her eyes went wide and he could see the pain in them. No. She wasn't allowed to hurt. He was hurting. He was the one in pain. She took a step toward him, and he jerked back as he slammed down on his mental block that separated his emotions from his facial features. He wouldn't let her see him hurting. He wouldn't give that to her. His face was a blank slate.
"Jace," she begged.
"I'm sorry I said anything, then." he said cutting her off, and he could hear how detached he sounded. Like they were in a business meeting. Good, he thought bitterly. But he didn't leave it there, because he never could just stop when it came to her. He crossed his arms. "I won't be kissing you again. You can count on that." And then he spun away from her and headed toward the only escape he could, snatching a towel that sat on his dresser as he did. Behind him, he could hear Clary's hitched breathing.
"But—Jace, what are you doing?" She asked.
Jace turned around to look at her, his brow lifting as if to suggest the ridiculousness of her question. He held up the towel pointedly. "Finishing my shower." And then he looked back at the bathroom before adding in an almost bored sort of voice, "And if you've made me run through all the hot water, I'll be very annoyed." He said nothing else as he stepped into the bathroom and then kicked the door shut hard behind him. With her no longer in sight, Jace was free to crumble. It's what normal people would do in this situation, wasn't it? But Jace wasn't normal and neither was this situation. Now he was just pissed. And a heartbroken and pissed off Jace was never a good thing. Pulling the shower curtain aside roughly, he stripped and got in.
The water was still hot. He knew it would be, he had only said otherwise to irritate Clary. Jace quickly washed his hair and body, but when he was done rinsing off, he had no desire to get out. Instead, he stood under the cascading water and let it coat him. Reaching forward, he turned the water to scalding—making it as hot as he could bear it. He could still feel Clary's warm fingers on his side and he turned, trying desperately to wash it away. And then he filled his mouth with water, rinsing it out—rinsing her kiss away. He spit. Sickening. The word cracked through his head like a bullet and he bit the inside of his cheek. His stomach somersaulted, his heart pounding, the more he thought about it. He had thought—had hoped . . . it didn't matter. None of it did. Or maybe it mattered too much, and that was the problem. Leaning forward, he pressed his palms flat against the wall and lowered his head into the shower stream. Hair and water ran into his eyes, but he didn't care. He stayed like this for some time. When he finally got out, he wrapped his towel around his waist and then realized that he had not grabbed a change of clothing. His pulse began to race at the idea of Clary still being in his room and seeing him in just a towel. Would that sicken her too, he wondered bitterly. Oh no, best not see you're brother in a towel—might make you puke. Running his fingers through his sopping hair, he pulled open the door, his eyes defiant, daring her to say something. She said nothing. She was asleep. On his bed.
Jace's heart hammered as he stared at her, not caring that he was dripping all over the wood floor. She was curled up, but he could see his shirt wrapped in her fingers, holding to it like it were a stuffed animal. Her red curls fanned out on his white pillow. She looked beautiful. Peaceful. His adrenaline began to pulse. Stop looking at her—she's your sister. He reminded himself. Just think of the horror if she were to wake to her brother standing naked in the middle of the room and staring at her. Might creep her out—sicken her. Jace frowned. In all fairness, he was pretty sure one didn't have to be related to be considered creepy for staring at a sleeping girl while standing naked in the middle of the room. And in his defense, he at least had a towel covering himself. And also, this was him . . . many women would love to find him staring at them while he was naked. That was just a fact. He sighed. A fact for everyone but Clary. Jace was careful to move silently as he retrieved some boxers, a pair of jeans, and a dark grey sweater before disappearing back into the bathroom to get dressed. When he was done, he stood uncertainly in the middle of his room and looked down at Clary. He could wake her, but he knew she was exhausted. His anger with her didn't take away how much he loved her, and cared for her. She needed to sleep. And then he thought of Max sleeping in the foyer and he slipped out of his room, shutting the door silently behind him.
It didn't take him long to find Max still asleep on the small couch. He had rolled over to his side and was snoring softly. Reaching forward, he snatched his little brothers glasses off the table and tucked them into his pocket. Bending down, Jace slid his hands gently under Max and lifted him in his arms before heading toward the boy's room. Max rustled only slightly but didn't wake as they walked. It wasn't until they reached his bedroom and Jace pushed open the door that he saw Max was looking up at him. The boy said nothing though, as he laid him on his bed. Pulling out the glasses, he set them on his nightstand. "Goodnight, kiddo," he said as he turned to leave. Max was like Jace when it came to his room—completely neat and everything put away. It wasn't like a nine year old to be so tidy, and it was completely opposite of his actual siblings. He guessed it had something to do with the boy's hero-worship of him, and his desire to be like him.
"Jace?"
Jace stopped and looked back at Max. He could see the boy's bright eyes gleaming in the little amount of light that showed through the door. His dark hair was matted over his eyes, and he didn't raise his head to look at him. Jace took a step back toward him.
"What's up?" Jace asked softly.
Max looked at him briefly before struggling to sit up. "Are—are you supposed to be back here? At the Institute, I mean." Jace chewed on the inside of his cheek as irritation flooded him. How much had Maryse told Max about him? Did they tell him he was a criminal and not to be trusted? He was too young to be burdened with those kinds of things. When Jace continued to say nothing, Max begin to fidget with his blankets. "I'm not going to tell them," he said, looking down. And Jace smiled, his affection for the boy burning brightly. Though he hadn't been worried in the least about that.
"Thanks," Jace said, "but you shouldn't have to keep secrets from your parent's."
"Yeah, well, they shouldn't have let you go with the Inquisitor," Max said stubbornly. "I don't like her."
Jace laughed softly. "Me either, kiddo."
"Are you coming back?" Max blurted then, his eyes wide as he looked at Jace. Jace sighed, looking at his adopted kid brother. He was so good. So innocent. And way too young to be worrying about him. Making a split decision, Jace walked silently back to Max's bed and took a seat on it's edge. Max watched Jace's every movement—studied them. "It's not the same without you here," Max continued.
"I definitely miss it. I wish I could come back, but it's not that simple," Jace said.
"I heard you were supposed to be in prison," Max said. "That some warlock was watching you." And then the boy looked around his room curiously, as if expecting the warlock to appear out of nowhere. His raised a brow. "He's not doing a very good job," he said flatly.
Jace laughed. "No, he's not." And then he ruffled Max's hair. "But be grateful for that, or I wouldn't be here."
"But you should be here!" Max said suddenly, and then his eyes widened, surprised with himself for yelling out. Jace grinned at him.
"I know," he said. "But I can't right now. Hopefully, that changes though because I really miss you, Max."
"I miss you too, Jace." Max said, and Jace could see the boy's cheeks flushing. But then his eyes turned serious as he looked at his older brother. "I don't believe it, you know."
"Don't believe what?" Jace asked.
"What I've heard the Inquisitor saying about you." Max balled his hands into fists. "She's wrong."
Jace raised a brow, his heart racing though he was careful not to show the discord he felt. Especially not in front of Max. "And what's that?"
"That—that your in cahoots with you-know-who." Max said, his voice quiet like he feared being overheard. Jace, on the other hand, was trying not to laugh.You-know-who?
"Have you been watching Harry Potter again?" Jace asked with a grin. "And did she really say 'cahoots?' She looks like the type who would say 'cahoots,' I have to say. Right after she eats a stew made up of little Shadowhunter boys."
Max shivered. "Now that I could believe, too." And then he smiled reluctantly. "And no, she didn't really say 'cahoots.'" Jace noticed he didn't answer the question about Harry Potter, though he would bet all his money that he had. You-Know-Who—He who must not be named—They were what they called the bad guy in the movie. So would that make his father the bad guy of this story? His father was the bad guy, wasn't he? Jace sighed.
"Valentine," Jace said his father's name out loud. "And no, I'm not in cahoots with him" Max nodded but didn't reply. "You should get some sleep, kiddo. And don't forget, I wasn't here." Jace got to his feet as the boy laid his head back against his pillow. He heard him mutter something about not having seen him, and Jace smiled. He had just reached the door again when he heard Max call out his name once more. When Jace turned around, he saw the boy watching him again.
"When you come back, can you bring your sister with you? Clary?" he asked, and Jace's heart jackhammered. He knew Clary? When could Max have possibly met—he bit the inside of his cheek, watching his little brother, but unable to answer. Seeming to sense this, Max smiled. "She showed me how to read my book," he explained. "I really like her."
"Yeah . . ." Jace said quietly. "Me too. Get some sleep."
His pulse didn't slow the whole way back to his room, and when he walked in and saw the light from the moon shining in and casting Clary in a glow on his bed, it only sent his heart rate spiking. Walking to his closet, he pulled out a light quilt and used it to blanket her. She stirred, but didn't wake. When she rolled over, a strand of hair crossed her face and Jace began reaching forward to remove it when he stopped himself, his fingers itching. Slowly, he lowered his hand. She was his sister. Moving away from the bed, from her, he went to his dresser and instead plucked the broken Portal piece out of his top drawer. It hadn't changed. He could still see the blue sky and the green trees that matched Clary's eye color. He took a seat in a nearby chair and watched her, unable to look away as he spun the mirror in his hands. She was his sister—not by choice—it would never be his choice—but that didn't change anything. And the idea of trying to change it sickened her. So that left two possibilities. He could either accept that he was her brother, and she his sister, and deny what he felt. He closed his eyes. Could he do that? Could he push it down and never speak of it again? Watch as she moved on and met other guys? Or he could try to hate her. He sliced his eyes to her sleeping frame. Hating her or her hating him would make it admittedly easier to deny his feelings for her. But he knew, even as he thought it, that he couldn't never hate her. No matter how much he tried. Jace sat there for some time, lost in thought and torn between looking at the Portal and looking at her. It was a little time before she began to move. And then his heart leapt as she gasped. It was hard for him to not run to her, but he managed it. He had decided—she would be his sister. Nothing more. Just his sister. And if he said it enough times, maybe he'd even believe it. When she sat up, Jace noticed that she had his shirt still clutched to her. When her Idris eyes met his, he was quick to wipe any emotion from his face as he turned the Portal in his hands.
"Did you sleep well?" He asked, testing his tone. Surely a brother could be concerned for the sleeping habits of his sister, right?
Clary nodded, her eyes not leaving his face. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
Jace shrugged and decided to answer truthfully. "I thought you could use the rest," he said. And then he cocked his head at her. "Besides, you were sleeping like the dead. You even drooled." He pointed at the shirt clutched in her hands. "On my shirt." He wasn't sure why he had said it. It wasn't true. But as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and her hand flew to her mouth, he suddenly didn't care.
"Sorry," she exhaled, and Jace grinned. Though it felt crueler than he meant it to be. And when he spoke, it was with bored amusement.
"It's not often you get to see someone drool," he said, raising a brow with a smirk. He was being mean. He knew he was being mean. But wasn't that what big brothers were supposed to be toward their sisters?" "Especially with such abandon. Mouth wide open and everything."
"Oh, shut up," she snapped and then turned away from him. He felt his heart lurch at upsetting her, and decided to not continue. He watched as her long slender fingers felt along his bed and then blinked in the glow of her phone coming to life. Was she really going to call the mundane now, with him in the room? But then he heard a voice asking if it mattered if she did. He was her brother after all, so he shouldn't be jealous of the stupid little rat boy. "It's three in the morning," she said in surprise, and Jace rolled his eyes. Yeah, he could have told her that without the need to look at her phone. But then, what good were those old fashioned machines that plug in next to the bed and glow the time when you could just stare at your phone instead? "Do you think Simon's all right?" she asked suddenly, and Jace felt his eyebrows leave his forehead. Was she kidding? Was she really asking him about the mundane while trying to play it off like she was checking the time? Insulting. After everything that had happened. After the kiss and admitting how he felt, that she would act like this—act like nothing even—she's your sister, he cut himself off cautiously. Jace took a steadying breath. This was going to be harder than he thought. But then, he had never thought it was going to be easy. And then he tried to analyze the question the way he supposed a brother should.
He shrugged. "I think he's weird, actually," Jace said. "Though that has little to do with the time." Clary stared at him, a range of conflicted emotions crossing her face before her full lips pulled into a thin line. Jace said nothing. Clary took a deep breath and then got up at the same time as she shoved the phone into her pocket.
"I'm going to change." she said, and then didn't wait for a reply as she crossed his room and disappeared into the bathroom. Jace listened as the faucet came on and then to the silence that followed it shutting off. He stared down at the mirror in his hands, and then stared more intently at it. He knew he wouldn't see anything, because he never did. Only bits of sky, rolling green hills, a cobbled walkway . . . never anything else. He could feel his mood darken the harder he stared. It didn't take long for Clary to come out. He looked up at her, his adrenaline jackhammering at the sight of her in his shirt at the same time that a voice reminded him again for the hundredth time, that she was his sister. She said nothing as she approached him. He swallowed. She leaned against the back of the chair next to him. He bit the inside of his cheek. "What is that?" she asked. Jace looked down at the broken Portal before turning it so that she could see it. He heard her soft intake of breath. "I didn't know you kept that," she breathed. "That piece of the Portal."
"It's why I wanted to come here," he said, realizing how pathetic that might sound. "To get this." He realized that no one would ever be able to understand his feelings for his father, but that didn't change the fact that they were there. He stared at the mirror again and shrugged. "I keep thinking maybe I'll see my father in a reflection. Figure out what he's up to." He looked up at Clary, who was sitting lightly on the arm of the chair now. She was so close to him and his heart pulsed as it always would. He doubted that would ever change, no matter how much he made himself think of her as his sister. But in this moment, he was also grateful. It was so much easier talking to her about their father than it was anyone else.
"But he's not there, is he? I thought he was somewhere here. In the city." Clary asked frowning. It was strange how they could pretend like nothing had happened between each other. If it weren't for the tension between them, Jace might have thought he imagined it all. Jace shook his head in both answer to her and as a response to their tension. They were doing exactly what he had hoped he wouldn't have to do. Pretend. But it was also the only way he could be with Clary. By pretending. He stared down at the Portal again, not wanting to think about it. You know it's bad when you'd rather think of your murderous psychotic father, than the sister you're in love with.
"Magnus has been looking for him and he doesn't think so," he said, leaning his head back on the chair and accidentally bumping Clary's arm. His stomach flipped as she sat up quickly, moving her arm out of the way. Her eyes were surprised when they looked at him.
"Magnus has been looking at him?" She asked, her green eyes flashing beautifully. Jace suddenly felt exhausted looking at her. "I didn't know that," she continued. "How—"
"Magnus didn't get to be High Warlock for nothing," Jace cut her off, and looked back down a the Portal. There was a breeze in Idris right now. "His power extends through the city and beyond. He can sense what's out there, to an extent."
At this Clary snorted and Jace raised a tired brow. "He can feel disturbances in the Force?"
Was she really making a joke of this? Jace turned in his chair so that he was looking at her. Even sitting on the arm, she still met him at eye level, her emerald eyes slowly growing serious as she looked at his face. "I'm not joking," he said, needing her to understand. "After that warlock was killed down in TriBeCa, he started looking into it. When I went to stay with him, he asked me for something of my father's to make the tracking easier." Jace looked down at his naked finger where his family ring usually sat. Okay, maybe Magnus hadn't so much asked as Jace had offered it when he learned what he was doing. He thought back that morning in Magnus's kitchen. He sighed. "I gave him the Morgenstern ring. He said he'd let me know if he senses Valentine anywhere in the city, but so far he hasn't."
Clary rubbed her temples. "Maybe he just wanted your ring," she said flatly, and he caught her cast a glance down at his fingers as well. "He sure wears a lot of jewelry."
Jace bit the inside of his cheek. "He can have it," he said, his voice tighter than he meant it to be. That ring was a lie. It had been a false identity for him—an 'M' easily made into a 'W' in order to fool him and everyone else—and as far as Jace was concerned Magnus could chuck it off the Brooklyn Bridge when he was done with it. "It's worthless to me."
"Hey," Clary said in both alarm and concern, though her voice never really raised. "Easy there." Jace looked at her confused and then he felt her tugging at the Portal and looked down to see the blood dripping from his hands. He hadn't even realized he was gripping it so tight. He didn't fight her, letting it go easily. He felt his pulse racing with anger. Anger towards his father. He watched without saying a word as she got up and slipped the Portal into one of his jackets that hung on the wall. When she returned, she took his hand and examined it. He only watched her, biting the inside of his cheek, as she turned his bleeding hand over. A sister would be concerned if her brother was bleeding, right? Maybe he would need to bleed more often. "Maybe we should get you back to Magnus." Though her voice was gentle, she let go of his hand as if it had burned her. It probably did, he thought dryly. "Alec's been there a long time—"
"I doubt he minds, somehow," Jace cut her off. His parabatai was probably perfectly happy with where he was at the moment. At least somebody was. Somebody should be allowed happiness. And then he was on his feet. He didn't want to think about Alec and Magnus anymore. He didn't think he could handle their happiness when he was so bitter. Was that selfishness, he wondered. Of course it's selfishness, he told himself. Selfishness in it's finest. Good job. Jace bit the inside of his cheek, clearing his thoughts as he reached for his stele that he had left on the nightstand. He stared at Clary briefly before shaking his head and pressing the stele against his palm, drawing an iratze on his skin, and then watched as the cut knitted together. He had thought briefly about asking Clary to draw the Mark on him, but that would be a very bad idea. And then he was involuntarily thinking back to the Silent City, when Alec and Clary had both wanted to heal him. He didn't remember much of that night, but that was one of the things that he did remember. He also remembered how the cell doors seemed to be missing. He frowned and looked at Clary. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you," he said suddenly.
"And what's that?" She had said it casually, but the look in her eyes were anything but. She was nervous. Don't worry, he thought bitterly. I make it a point to only confess my love to my sister after making out with her, once a year. You now have another three hundred and sixty-four days of brother-free kissing. But when that time is up, you'd best watch out—stop! He was never going to get used to this. Not ever. He took a breath.
"When you got me out of that cell in the Silent City, how did you do it?" he asked. "How did you unlock the door?"
"Oh," Clary looked relieved as she brought him his jacket. "I just used a regular Opening rune, and—"
And what, Jace didn't find out as the loud chiming of the Institute doorbell reverberated through his bedroom and down the halls. Clary, startled by the sound, grabbed at her phone in her pocket. She just couldn't wait to talk to the stupid mundane. Jace shook his head as, realizing it wasn't what she thought it was, Clary looked around. But unless she had lived here and heard it before, it wasn't likely that she would ever figure it out. The problem was, who rung it? Shadowhunters could come and go as they pleased. They didn't need to ring to gain entry. And the place was glamoured against mundanes.
"That's the Institute's doorbell," he said in way of explanation as he frowned and took his jacket out of her hands. "Come on." He didn't wait for her as he left his room and made his way toward the elevator. They hadn't gotten far when Izzy came storming out of her own room in a pink bathrobe and a pink sleeping mask on top of her head. She looked like a pink marshmallow.
"It's three in the morning!" she said accusingly and Jace raised a brow. The fact that he and Clary had come out of his room together, she doesn't blink an eye at. Someone rings the doorbell and it must be there fault? "Whose ringing the doorbell at three in the morning?"
"Maybe it's the Inquisitor," Clary said, nearly running to keep pace beside Jace and Iz. Jace frowned but then dismissed the idea.
"She could get in on her own," he said. "Any Shadowhunter could. The Institute is only closed to mundanes and Downworlders."
Simon— "Simon!" Clary said at the same time that Jace had thought it. Only she sounded a lot more happy about it than he did. "It must be him," she insisted as if someone had disagreed with her. Of course its him, Jace thought irritably. Who else would it be? But it was Izzy who responded to this.
"Oh, for goodness' sake," she said yawning. "Is he really waking us up at this ungodly hour just to prove his love to you or something? Couldn't he have just called?" And then her eyes met Jace's and she frowned. It was strange, knowing that Izzy knew how he felt. Stranger still to know that she wasn't saying anything about it. This was Isabelle—the girl who could rarely ever keep her mouth shut. She turned to Clary looking overly annoyed now. "Mundane men are such twits." Jace hid a smile while Clary said nothing. They stepped through the foyer and Jace saw Clary looking to the couch Max had been laying on. He was suddenly reminded of how Max had asked for Clary to come back with him sometime. He took a breath just as they reached the elevator and Izzy pressed the button. "There," she said turning and pressing her back against the gate. "Elevators on it's way."
Jace listened as the elevator grinded it's way upward and then found himself looking at Clary. She looked anxious and excited and . . . and beautiful. He wondered if she would ever look like that for him. No, of course she wouldn't. He was her brother and anything else would be disgusting. His heart began to hammer irritably and he found himself saying, "I can't believe he didn't have the dignity and presence of mind just to get drunk and pass out in some gutter." Isabelle raised a brow at him, and Jace shrugged and smirked. "I must say, I'm disappointed in the little fellow."
Isabelle rolled her her eyes and then turned to Clary, who was watching the elevator like a hawk. She was hugging herself and a shiver passed through her. Jace had to cross his own arms to keep from reaching for her at the same time that Izzy frowned. "It is cold in here," she said turning and grabbing one of her jackets. "Here, put this on."
Jace tried not to watch as Clary slipped her arms into the coat, which was too long on her. He tried not to notice how the blue jacket matched her fiery curls as she pushed the hood back. He failed. She looked up at him just as the elevator arrived and then turned and stepped inside without a word. Jace followed her inside. Izzy on the other side just stood there looking at Clary with confusion. Jace wasn't sure why. "What are you doing?" she asked Clary and Jace raised a brow.
"It's Simon down there," Clary said in response. "I know it is."
Isabelle looked at Jace, and he could see what was confusing her. She thought that maybe she would go down there and send Simon away. Tell him to come back some other time. Maybe she had thought that Jace and Clary would want to have a mundane-free night. She couldn't be more wrong. "But—"
Jace sighed overly loud. "Come on," he said holding the door for her. There was no point in going into how Clary had been pining for Simon since she got here. Checking her phone every five seconds. Well, not every five seconds, he thought bitterly. She took a break to tell Jace he sickened her. As he watched Isabelle get in, he saw from his peripheral that Clary was looking at him. He couldn't bring himself to look back. It was too hard. Instead, he turned and looked at the mirror. He could see the hardness in his eyes and he mentally wiped it away, instead whistling like he didn't have a care in the world. He wasn't sure why he had to pretend that he didn't care that the mundane was here, though. Surely as her brother he was allowed to not like someone she was seeing. Jace's stomach flipped and his whistling became faster. He wondered what she would do if he adamantly and openly disapproved of the mundane. Probably hit him. When the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened, Clary didn't wait. Jace grumbled as he was shoved aside in her haste to get the stupid rat boy. He watched, his heart dropping as she ran forward, her red curls bouncing, and began tugging desperately on the locks.
"Sorry, Jace." Isabelle whispered. She took his hand and squeezed, but he said nothing. Jace took a deep breath and walked after Clary just as she got the locks open and the bell chimed again. Reaching forward, he covered her warm hand with his, his heart pounding from the contact, as he helped her pull open the door. How many moments like that would he have to steal, he wondered. And then he bit the inside of his cheek as he realized that that's what he would be reduced to. Stealing glances and touches just to be close to her while she moved on without him. Don't think about that, he told himself, tugging the door harder to get it open. It was difficult with Clary in the way, but he managed. Once it was open—Oh fuck.
This—this isn't what he wanted.
He never wanted this.
Without thinking, he reached forward and grabbed Clary's arm as Raphael's eyes met his. In his arms he held Simon. Simon dead. Simon covered in blood. He couldn't see Clary's face, but she was unmoving. She just stood there. The moments ticked by and she only just stood there.
And then she screamed.
It was a scream like Jace had never heard before. It reverberated to his very core—chilled him and angered him. He wanted to kill the vampire in front of him. Rip him to shreds for causing Clary such agonizing pain. But he couldn't. Clary's knees gave out and Jace wrapped his other arm around her keep her standing, pulling her against him. His heart was slamming with rage, but his grip on her was tender. "Don't look," he breathed miserably, wanting nothing more than to shield her from this. "For God's sake, don't look." He turned her toward him, trying to block her view, but she pushed his arm away, determined to look. Why? He was vaguely aware that her fist was knotted in his shirt as she turned to look at Raphael. She was steadier on her feet now, but Jace kept ahold of her arm just in case. Clary's face was white in the candlelight, though he was sure that the candles had nothing to do with it. It was Isabelle who finally moved. Jace could see her from the corner of his eye as she whipped a candelabra from the side of the door and pointed it at Raphael's heart.
"What have you done to Simon?" Her voice rang out clear and authoritative as she stared steadily at the vampire holding the dead mundane—Simon. Jace bit the inside of his cheek. Dear God, not this—I never wanted him dead. Not really. His grip involuntarily tightened on Clary and he wondered for one wild moment who was holding up who. He shook his head as he felt the tugging on his shirt—Clary. He needed to be there for Clary. He swallowed. She needed a brother. His heart slammed painfully. She needed a brother. He kept repeating it in his head just as Raphael spoke.
"El no es muerto."
The vampire's voice was emotionless, and even though he heard the words, it took Jace a second to comprehend them. And then his eyes narrowed as the vampire set Simon slowly and gently on the ground. He's not dead. Jace looked at the gap in the mundanes throat, and then lifted a brow to the vampire. But it was Clary who spoke, her grip loosening on his shirt. "Did you say—"
"He isn't dead," Jace said, and then tightened his grip on her. She was staring hard at the vampire and the last thing he wanted was her trying to attack him. "He's not dead."
And then Clary jerked away from him, her grip on his sweater turning into a shove against his chest as she flung herself forward and onto her knees next to Simon. Jace didn't try to stop her. He only watched as she touched Simon tenderly, trying desperately to devoid himself of emotions and failing miserably. Clary didn't seem to care that she was coating herself with the mundanes blood as she scooted around to place his head in her lap. Jace was suddenly reminded of waking up in the Silent City. She had held him the same way. She had caressed his face. She touched Simon's face now. Not caressingly as she had done to him, but as if noticing things wrong. Jace took a breath, unable to watch the intimate scene and looked instead at Raphael who watched with bored amusement. Jace felt his eyes turn hard as Clary whispered something to Simon.
"He can't hear you," Raphael said flatly. "He's dying."
Clary snapped her head up. "But you said—"
"I said he was not dead yet," the vampire cut her off and Jace clenched his fists. "But in a few minutes—ten, perhaps—his heart will slow and stop." And then he looked up at Jace, his black eyes meeting hard golden ones. "Already he is beyond seeing or hearing anything."
Jace bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at Clary. When Simon did die, would she let him pull her away? Already he was feeling a sense of guilt and he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Clary was clutching Simon tightly. "We have to get him to a hospital—or call Magnus." She said desperately, looking up at Jace with pleading eyes. Jace felt his pulse race. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her, but for once he didn't know how. She needs a brother, he reminded himself. But he didn't know how to be a brother. Not to her. But he had to try, didn't he? He owed her this.
"They can't do him any good." It was Raphael who spoke. "You don't understand."
At this, Jace looked up at the vampire. He could feel the anger coursing through him. Why bring the mundane here if there was nothing they could do to heal him? Why cause Clary that torment? When he spoke, he could hear his voice was a razor edged feather. "No," he said, his eyes boring into Raphael's. "We don't. And perhaps you should explain yourself. Because otherwise I'm going to assume you're a rogue vampire and cut your heart out. Like I should have done last time we met." Jace wasn't completely sure that there was anything the vampire could say that would keep him from cutting out his heart anyway. Raphael smiled however, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"You swore not to harm me, Shadowhunter. Have you forgotten?" he said, and this time it was Jace's turn to smile. But his smile was deadly.
"I never actually finished the oath," he reminded the vampire.
"And I never started," Isabelle added, stepping forward with the candelabra. But Raphael didn't look at her. He was watching Jace with a nervousness in his eyes now. It was the most emotion the vampire had shown since arriving here with a dying Simon in his arms. Jace stared back steadily, deciding which way would be best to cut the heart from the demon.
The vampire took a breath that Jace knew was unnecessary. More for show than anything else. "I remember that night you broke into the Dumort looking for your friend," he said gesturing at the mundane. "It is why I brought him here when I found him in the hotel, instead of letting the others drink him to death." He looked down at Simon speculatively before looking back up at Jace, who had crossed his arms to keep himself from throttling the vampire. "You see," Raphael continued, "he broke in, without permission, and therefore was fair game for us. But I kept him alive, knowing he was yours." And then the vampire shook his head. "I have no wish for a war with the Nephilim."
"He broke in?" Clary said before Jace could respond. He looked down at her and saw that she was tenderly moving the mundane's hair out of his face. It was then that Jace realized that Simon was missing his glasses. "Simon would never do anything that stupid and crazy," she whispered, running her hand along his forehead. Jace had to look away.
"But he did," Raphael said and Jace saw his lips quirk up slightly. "Because he was afraid he was becoming one of us, and he wanted to know if the process could be reversed." Jace and Clary both looked at the vampire now in shock. Isabelle looked at all three of them confused as the vampire continued. "You might remember that when he was in the form of a rat, and you came to fetch him from us, he bit me."
"Very enterprising of him," Jace said, though his stomach was twisting as he thought back to that night. "I approved."
The vampire lifted a brow with amusement. "Perhaps," he said. "In any case, he took some of my blood into his mouth when he did it." And Jace blanched, his head whipping down to the mundane in Clary's arms. His first instinct was to jerk her away as Raphael's words played in his head. Not dead yet. Yet. He felt sick. When he raised his eyes back to the vampire, he saw a smile playing on it's lips. "You know," said Raphael, "that is how we pass our powers to each other. Through blood."
Jace wanted to hit something. Son of a bitch! This wasn't what he wanted either. He looked back down at Simon laying motionless on the ground and then up at Isabelle, who looked just as startled and angry as he probably did. He couldn't bring himself to look at Clary now. But he could hear her intake of breath. "He thought he as turning into one of you," she whispered, her voice pained and his heart cracking. "He went to the hotel to see if it was true."
"Yes," Raphael nodded. And then Jace wanted to hit the mundane. He wanted to scream at him for being so stupid. Didn't he think of Clary? Or at the very least, what would possibly happen to him once he was there? Of course not! Jace bit down hard on his anger. You selfish little prick— "The pity of it," Raphael continued, "is that the effects of my blood would probably have faded over time had he done nothing. But now—" He gestured at Simon, and Jace knew what it meant but he couldn't bring himself to say it anymore than the vampire seemed to be able to.
But Isabelle could. And she did. "Now what?" she demanded. "Now he'll die?"
Raphael nodded and Clary whimpered. "And rise again. Now he will be a vampire."
"What?" Isabelle gasped, her eyes going wide as she dropped the candelabra. Jace's hand snapped forward and caught it reflexively before it hit the ground. He hadn't even really realized he had done it until he was holding it. He turned to the vampire, his eyes dark as he tried to gauge Raphael's expression. This couldn't be true. And then he looked down at Clary, who was hugging Simon tightly to her and his heart constricted.
"You're lying," he said, his eyes snapping back up to the vampire.
Raphael shrugged. "Wait and see," he said indifferently. "He will die and rise as one of the Night Children. That is also why I came. Simon is one of mine now." Jace stared at him, his mouth popping open slightly. Slowly, he brought his lips together, a scowl replacing his initial shock. But the vampire was unfazed. He had no emotion whatsoever and Jace realized he hadn't come to gloat. He thought back to seeing him in the Institute—the dead Downworlders and the suspicion on the Night Children—and realization smacked into Jace like a freight train. This was a sign of good faith and nothing else. He bit the inside of his cheek, unable to speak.
"There is nothing that can be done?" Isabelle asked. "No way to reverse it?" Jace could hear the panic in her tone and remembered how she had cried when the mundane had turned into a rat. He also remembered how much that her concern had irritated Clary. He frowned looking down at her, but she didn't seem to care this time. He glanced back at Raphael who was watching Simon with a grim sort of glare.
"You could cut off his head and burn his heart in fire," the vampire finally said, his tone flat. "But I doubt you will do that." Jace's hand tightened on the candelabra. Could he do that? He knew that he wouldn't have a problem doing it to the vampire, but to Simon? The mundane had hated the vampires. He wouldn't want to be one. Jace didn't know Simon that well, but he was sure of that.
"No!" Clary cried out then, but he didn't look down at her. He couldn't. Not with the prospect of what he might have to do looming over him. Instead he stared at Raphael, who was looking down at her. "Don't you dare hurt him!"
The vampire shrugged. "I have no need to."
"I wasn't talking to you," she snapped, and Jace's stomach plummeted as he turned to look numbly at her. But she wasn't meeting his gaze. She was staring down at Simon, rocking him. "Don't you even think about it, Jace." she breathed, and Jace bit the inside of his cheek. How could she—how did she—how? "Don't even think about it." she repeated. No one spoke then. No one breathed a word. Jace swallowed as he stared at Clary. Beautiful blood soaked Clary. Surely, she had to know that her friend wouldn't want—that the only other option was a fate worse than death? He willed her to look at him. Willed her to see what might be the right thing. He had been no friend of the mundanes, but this—what he was thinking about doing—it wasn't out of spite or hate. It was mercy.
"Clary," he finally breathed and saw her flinch away from him. It pained him to see her like that, but he continued. "What would Simon want?" His voice was as gentle as he could make it. "Is this what he'd want for himself?" At that, Clary's head snapped up to look at him and he saw the tears in her eyes, like sparkling diamonds in an Idris meadow. He swallowed as her eyes traveled slowly to the candelabra he held and then back up to him. And then her face twisted, her eyes going wide with fear.
"Get away from us!" She screamed it so loudly that everyone but the vampire jumped. Jace stared at her in shock, his body feeling cold as he saw the fear in her eyes. She was afraid of him—that hurt him more than anything he had lived through so far. She was afraid of what he might do. Never—not ever—did he ever think he would see her look at him like that. She was shielding the mundane now. But he didn't move. He couldn't. He was rooted to the spot. But did she really want Simon to turn into a vampire? Wouldn't that be making his choice for him? Taking away what he would want? Jace glanced up at Isabelle who looked white with shock. He hated that he seemed to be the only one advocating for the stupid mundane.
"Clary," he breathed awkwardly. "You don't think—"
Simon gasped and Jace stepped back, his grip on the candelabra tight, as the mundane arched upward. Clary screamed in surprise and then tightened her grip around him. Simon began reaching upward, grasping at something that wasn't there. Clary pushed his hand down gently, and Jace saw her fingers lace together with the mundanes. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't. "It's me," Clary breathed, her voice hitching. "Simon, it's me. It's Clary." Jace wanted to run. He wanted to run and never look back. He wished he could stand here and watch without emotion as she begged the mundane to look at her—as she desperately tried to get his attention. But he couldn't. He loved her. He couldn't be her brother. He couldn't be. He knew that now. He was far to in love with her. He had given his heart to her, and Clary—she— "Simon, I love you." Her voice was anguished and soft and Jace held tightly to the candelabra for that was all he had as he spiraled down. Because Clary would never love him. Not like that. Not ever.
Jace couldn't move. Somewhere in front of him he saw the mundane go lax. He saw the quivering shoulders of Clary and watched mutely as Isabelle tried to pull her away from Simon. She couldn't. Clary's grip was vice-like. Finally Isabelle stood up and rounded on the vampire. "What was this?" she spit angrily. "Why would you do this? Did you get your enjoyment vampire, because I'm going to get enjoyment when I cut your fucking heart out and shove it down your goddamn'd throat!" The vampire said nothing to this. He only stared at her. Frustrated with his lack of emotion, Isabelle threw her hands in the air. "And now what are we supposed to do?"
"Bury him." It was Raphael, and Jace, who had been looking at Clary saw her blanch. Before he knew what he was doing, he swung the candelabra up in his hands, pointing it at the vampire. Rage had replaced his shock and heartbreak. And now he wanted to hurt something.
"That's not funny," he spit.
"It isn't supposed to be," Raphael shrugged, looking at the makeshift weapon with boredom. "It is how we are made. We are drained, blooded, and buried. When he digs his own way out of the grave, that is when a vampire is born."
Jace felt himself go pale at the same time that Isabelle made a retching noise. "I don't think I could do that," she said. Raphael looked a her speculatively.
"Some can't," he said finally. "If no one is there to help them dig out, they stay like that, trapped like rats under the earth." At this, Clary let out a sob as raw as the scream that had escaped her when she had first seen Simon lifeless in the vampires arms and Jace flinched. He hated that she was in pain. Hated that there was nothing he could do to comfort her.
"I won't put him int he ground," she breathed through her tears.
"Then he'll stay like this," Raphael said unmercifully, setting Jace's teeth on edge. "Dead but not quite dead. Never waking." Jace looked at Clary, wanting to touch her. To bring her some sort of comfort. He stayed his hands. He knew she wouldn't let him. Knew she would bat him away. So he contented himself with doing the only thing he could do now—agree with whatever it was she wanted to do. And if that meant burying Simon and helping to turn him into the undead, then that's what he would do. For no one but her. He said nothing. When Clary finally spoke, her voice was hollow.
"You didn't come into the Institute because you can't, isn't that right?" she said, looking up at the vampire. It wasn't a question. "Because it's holy ground and you're unholy."
Jace frowned, unsure of where she was going with this. "That's not exactly—"
"I should tell you," Raphael cut him off, "that there is not much time. The longer we wait before putting him into the ground, the less likely he'll be able to dig his own way back out of it."
Clary looked down at Simon. There was no expression on her face now, and that scared Jace. Was she in shock? "We can bury him," she whispered then, her eyes closing. "But I want it to be a Jewish cemetery. And I want to be there when he wakes up."
Jace looked at the vampire, who was watching Clary as if deciding something. "It will not be pleasant," Raphael said.
Clary looked up at him, her gaze hard and her jaw set. "Nothing ever is," she said. And for the briefest of moments, her eyes flitted to Jace's causing his stomach to drop heavily. And then she looked away. "Let's get going. We only have a few hours until dawn.
But Clary didn't move. She only stared there with Simon while they were sent to get ready. Jace loathed the idea of leaving her in the presence of the vampire, but he knew he would have no choice. There was no way Clary was leaving the mundanes side. Finally, with the encouragement of Isabelle, they sprinted inside to get the stuff they would need as he thought about what it was they were about to do. He was pretty sure that never in Shadowhunter history had anyone ever helped to create a Downworlder.
Until now.
AN: Please Review!