Chapter 10

The smirk on Lise's face gradually faded as she approached the Sanctuary. The Sanctuary was intentionally built on unhallowed ground in order to allow the Downworlders a safe place to be. Lise had often thought of the idea as absurd, since the use of Sanctuaries decreased dramatically after the rise of projections. Now, however, she couldn't help but feel grateful for the space. She and Clary had long since renovated the place, so instead of being a meeting place, it was now a rather homey place where their Downworlder allies, Luke's pack in particular, could crash for the night if need be.

Speaking of Luke, there he was now, talking to Maia outside of the Sanctuary doors. Clary's mother Jocelyn had explained to Lise that Luke had always been a trusted friend. Jocelyn's trust in Luke never wavered, even after his transformation into a werewolf. Clary looked at him as a father figure, which was good, because Clary's father... Lise shook her head. She'd rather not think of that man now. As for Lise herself, she had always thought highly of Luke. Luke was the one who taught her to properly use a flamethrower (don't ask), and in return, he had Lise's full trust. She trusted Luke with her life, and for Lise, that was not something to be taken lightly.

While Clary was treated as Luke's daughter, he treated Lise like his niece. Seriously, Luke spoiled her rotten. He was always letting Lise have her pick of weapons from his old collection, and he had trained her how to fight with everything, even everyday objects like spoons or a tree branch. Oh, and her favorite leather jacket with so many convenient weapon concealment places it was ridiculous? Luke said he got it off of a friend back when he was still a Shadowhunter. Lise had often idly wondered which Shadowhunter family stitched birds into their clothing. Oh, well, her jacket had served her well in the past; she didn't really care where it was from. At least, it never bothered her to the point where she had to do research.

But if the leather jacket was the coolest thing she could have ever asked for, then Luke's most recent gift was better than she could have ever imagined. He had surprised her with a motorcycle on her most recent birthday. Apparently, his pack built it out of scraps: polishing it, even tweaking it so it'd be faster and more powerful than its mundane counterparts. When they all fought over who got to keep it, Luke kept the peace by giving it to Lise. She had been ecstatic. To this day, that thing was her baby, her pride and her joy. Everyone in the Institute knew not to touch it unless they wanted the fight of their lives. She had even (quite shamelessly) named it Sydney Carton, after her favorite book character of all time.

"Hello, Lise," Luke's greeting startled Lise out of her reverie. Maia also waved politely.

"Where's Simon?" Lise asked politely.

Maia's nose wrinkled. "He's in there," she grumbled, glaring at the door like it had a disease. Luke shot Lise a look. Lise realized she would probably be treading on a delicate subject if she asked any questions, and so she thanked Maia and slipped into the door that Luke had edged open just enough for her to fit through.

The door shut behind her, and Lise looked up to see the Praetor Lupus member from earlier looking rather distraught. And he looked scarred. Like, literally scarred. Long claw marks tore through his shirt and marred his face. Lise wasn't too worried for his health, though. She knew that werewolves healed fast. But curiosity got the best of her.

"Whoa, someone wasn't happy to you," Lise commented. The Praetor merely looked sad.

After some silence, she asked, "What's your name, wolf?"

The Praetor sighed. "Kyle. Jordan Kyle."

Lise blinked. Maia had once mentioned that she had an ex-boyfriend named Jordan, and that he was the one that turned her into a werewolf. Apparently, Jordan was just fine once. In fact, Maia called it the best time of her life. But suddenly, he turned jealous, possessive, short-tempered, and from what Lise could tell, abusive even. This caused their break-up, which caused Maia to make out with some guy at a party in front of Jordan to prove a point, which caused Jordan to go ballistic and confront her in an alley, which caused… Well, now she knows they're both werewolves.

"Well that explains a lot…" Lise muttered.

At his confused look, Lise explained to Jordan what she knew, and in return, Jordan explained that all his bad behavior was due to being a newly turned werewolf. He said he often didn't remember most of what he's done, only that turning Maia caught the attention of Praetor Lupus, a group that charged themselves with teaching new vampires, new werewolves, and even some young warlocks, how to deal with the supernatural side of their lives. Jordan had risen through their ranks, eventually taking an assignment of a starving newborn vampire in New York City, because Maia was in Luke's pack, and Luke was in New York City.

"All I ever wanted was to see her again," Jordan sighed. "I don't even care if she hates me now. But she does. Which is why I'm leaving in the morning. She shouldn't have deal with me if she doesn't want to…" A wistful look crossed his face, and Lise realized something.

"But if you leave, won't you be abandoning your duty to help Simon? The newborn vampire?" Lise inquired.

Jordan shook his head. "He'll be in good hands with Magnus Bane. The Praetors have dealt with him before."

"Yes I have," came Magnus Bane's voice. Jordan and Lise turned to look at the old (but not old-looking) warlock.

"Good organization, Praetor Lupus," said Magnus. "I knew the man who founded it, back in the 1800s. Woolsey Scott. Respectable old werewolf family."

Lise looked back at Jordan. "I think you should tell Maia what you just told me," she said after a bout of silence. "If she's half as wonderful as you seem to believe she is, she'll warm back up to you eventually."

Before Jordan argued, there was a groan from Simon. Jordan sighed. "I'll go deal with that..." And he walked away with a pensive look on his face. Lise knew: he had a lot to think about.

This left Lise alone with Magnus.

She gave him a soft smile. "How have you been?"

But Magnus would not joke around today. Today, he was all business. It was rather unnerving to see on the Downlord's party boy. "Have you told them yet?"

Lise blinked. "Why would I? Everyone thinks I'm a troubled child anyway. No one's gonna care if I disappear for another week. No one has cared these past few months."

Magnus didn't look like he agreed. "Clary suspects something..."

"Of course she does," Lise snorted. "She's a Fairchild: constantly worrying about other people. She's not some Lightwood that decides that they need to fix their own problems before worrying about other people." Lise's brow crinkled. "Why do you bring this up? I'm not due to be blackmailed for at least another week."

Magnus's expression darkened. He walked over to a table and gestured for Lise to be seated across from him. When she sat, he reached down and gingerly placed a wrapped package on the table between them.

Lise's eyes widened, and she visibly paled, gripping the table for support, despite the fact that she was seated. She suddenly felt like she couldn't breathe, and everything felt surreal. Now, everyone that knew Lise believed that she was unshakable. Nothing offended her, shocked her, or scared her. But Clary knew that there was a softer side somewhere. But even Clary wouldn't believe this shaking mess was the fearless, devil-may-care Lise. Right now, Lise resembled a scared little girl.

Lise swallowed thickly. Meeting Magnus's eyes, she asked, "You know the drill, don't you?" Magnus wanted to snort. Of course he did. But now was not the time to be snarky. The poor girl, whether she would ever admit it or not, needed comfort right now.

"Yes," Magnus answered. "I already took the liberty of packing a bag for you. I knew you'd still be too shaken to remember anything important."

Lise felt herself nodding, but her gaze was still on the package on the table.

Magnus noticed this. "You can open it," he said gently.

Lise blinked. "But…I already know what's inside…" she whispered.

"I know. But I know you still want to see them. Go ahead."

Lise gulped. And before she realized what she was doing, she had carefully peeled back the wrapping of the package. There. It was exactly what she had expected. She had steeled herself. She thought she had been prepared this time. But she had been wrong. She should have known better. Because even after all these years, that delicate package could still make her knees weak, her stomach churn, and her mouth dry and speechless.

After awhile, she finally got up. Bending down and picking up the backpack that had been prepared for her, she began walking toward the Sanctuary exit to the outside. About halfway there, she stopped. Noticing the sudden silence from lack of footsteps, Magnus looked up from carefully covering the package with its wrapping.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I don't know…" Lise sighed. "It's just…this time feels different. Like…I'm not coming back from this one. I mean, I've been lucky so far, but-"

"Things will be worse if you make the wait too long," Magnus interrupted. He didn't want Lise to think about what she was implying.

"I know," Lise replied. "It's just…Thank you. You cover me again and again, and… I feel like I owe you so many times over."

Magnus paused, and then shook his head. "Actually, you already have repaid me."

Lise blinked. "Wait…How? When?"

Magnus's mouth twitched. "You brought two sexy men to the Institute."

Lise's nose wrinkled playfully. "You free-wheeling bisexual, you…"

"Hey, old habits die hard," Magnus teased.

Lise shook her head, and the corners of her lips twitched. The tension in her shoulders lessened ever-so-slightly, and Magnus knew he had said the right thing. The poor girl seriously needed to take horse-sized chill pill. Her health was in enough danger as it was; she didn't need the damage of stress on top of it.

"But…" her face turned serious once more, and Magnus's heart dropped. "Stay away from my brother. Because whether he knows it or not, he's spoken for." Magnus was scared for a second. But then smirk broke her serious façade, and Magnus then knew she was teasing.

"Don't worry, I'm done with blondes," he smiled playfully. "Besides, black hair and blue eyes is my favorite combination."

Lise blinked, then shook her head once more. Clearly, she had decided not to push the matter. "Whatever Magnus…" Then, slinging the bag onto one shoulder, she finally made her exit.

Once the door closed, Magnus's smile faded. Looking back at the table, he uncovered the contents of the package once more. Inside, as it was the same as every other time, there was a pair of wings, complete with dried blood and bone protruding from where they were severed from the bird. Lise had a lot of odd talents; one of them was being able to identify the species any bird and knowing what each bird symbolized. Usually, the wings were from ravens (guidance for the soul) and doves (peace and love). But this time, the bird in question was a heron, which, if Magnus remembered correctly, symbolized longevity.

No wonder Lise had been worse than usual! Magnus figured the severing part was showing what would happen if Lise didn't make her trip. Making her soul lost, ending what little peace and love she had… But this! This time, Magnus supposed, meant that it'd be the end of her chance to live a long life. Poor girl. If only her condition hadn't been already tearing her apart, and these trips were rather necessary…

But there was more to this package than that. Because this time, there was a note. Atop the wings was a folded piece of paper, addressed to the New York Institute. It was short - one sentence - and written in handwriting oddly familiar to Magnus, for in it there was an echo of the cursive of a dead man: the flourishes of his letters, the strong, steady hand. But it was not the dead man's name that was written there… It was, Magnus guessed, code for a location. A code only Lise would understand. Which made sense, since the note, while it was for her eyes only, could have easily been read by someone else. For example, him.

Magnus picked up the note and opened it, reading, as Lise had, the single word of Ancient Greek scrawled in elaborate script across the top of the page.

Erchomai, it said.

I am coming.

Lise sank deeper and deeper into the sense of foreboding. These trips of her never went pleasantly. In fact, the only reason she would take longer than necessary to come back to the Institute was so her body could heal just enough to look presentable. She thanked the Angel for runes that she was too familiar with: the iratze to patch up her wounds, the mendelin to hide herself for awhile as well as strengthen her constitution, and even the lesser known amissio to help slow blood loss and speed up natural blood replacement. The Healing Runes had come through for her innumerable times, but she felt bad for the fact that she always drew them in places no one was likely to see.

But I'm not coming back from this one. That much, she was sure of. And as of now, she really only had one regret. She should have told Clary the truth about these trips. She didn't necessarily lie to her parabatai. She just never told her everything. And she should have. She should have!

Lise was suddenly grateful for the return of Jace and Alec. They would keep the others at the Institute busy while she was out. And when Lise was finally worried about… She'd be long gone. That much, she was sure of. She felt bad for leaving them without so much as a good bye, but this would be far less painful. Besides, it wasn't as if she'd be allowed enough time to say goodbye.

She shouldn't have spent so much time thinking. She should have been paying attention. She would later curse herself for being such a fool later. Because she wasn't two blocks away from the Institute when she was pulled into an alleyway, some sort of cloth soaked in something pressed onto her face and nose. How she wished that it was chloroform! She would have had a twenty second window before it took effect: a better chance than nothing.

But no. Her attacker would not have chosen something so crude, damaging and mundane. Instead, the sickly sweet scent told her: this stuff was Faerie. That was the last thing she registered. She stood no chance; she was out like a light.

Lise had no clue where she was. Just that everything was dark. And yet it was white. Mist? Fog? Clouds? Smoke? Steam? Whatever the stuff was, it swirled everywhere. She couldn't see anything. Except for a lady standing some distance away.

Lise had never seen her in her life. And yet… Those blue eyes… The swirling brown hair… She was so unnervingly familiar. And then, it was out before she realized it in her head.

"Mother?" she whispered with the voice a little girl in a thunderstorm.

The lady simply looked at her with what might have been a smile on her face. But she turned and began walking in the other direction.

"Mother!" she shrieked, still with a little girl's voice. "WAIT!" Without ever really making the conscious decision to, Lise began running after the lady.

When Lise finally caught up, the lady turned. But before Lise could look at the lady's face, her arm was grabbed roughly. Lise's body froze, refusing to struggle. And Lise felt the icy hot kiss of the stele. She felt runes being drawn in two places: her heart and her arm. And speaking of her arms, she couldn't control them either. She felt the familiar weight of a stele, but it felt like she was drawing on someone. Which made no sense, because she would only Mark Clary, if ever. But this person, while they had Clary's steady hand, felt nothing like the petite slender body of Clary.

Her knees were giving, and she knew somewhere in the back of her mind that the runes were finished. Then, black began swirling into her vision. And in the distance, she heard a foreboding voice echo:

"Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave."

A/N: Well. This should be interesting. It's about time that things started to pick up, right?

As always, leave your questions, comments, and concerns in a review.

I'm a terrible updater, I realize.