Hah, so people have been asking me (and begging me to not let this happen) if anyone dies. I will tell you, that yes, somebody dies. I'm not going to tell you who or why or when. You'll just have to read and figure it out. And yes, Simon will come back.

Once again, I would like to thank my lovely reviewers who put me in a good mood with their kind words. They also inspire me to continue to write. Plot-wise, this is the farthest I've ever made it into a story, but I promise you all that I will finish this unless something terrible happens. And let me tell you, I do not want anything terrible to happen.

Also there is an...informative (I don't want to say important, because it's only important to me) author's note at the bottom.

Chapter 11 :)

The blade was slowly approaching his face, the dull tip pressed lightly against his flesh, right beneath his left eye. Jace continued to grin up at the crazy man.

Bring it on, he thought.

The captor slowly dragged his blade across the skin of Jace's cheek, a thin line of scarlet bubbled in its wake. A choking sob came from Clary, but Jace wasn't worried. The man wasn't about to kill him, not yet. Not after Jace nearly destroyed the man. He knew that he would have to endure punishment for that.

Plus, that was not a killing knife. It was hardly a step up from the knives that Jace used to cut his steak.

The guy lifted his weapon with a haughty cackle, then whirled around to face Clary. "Don't worry, Little One. I'm not going to end your boyfriend yet."

"Seriously Clary, your fingernails could do worse damage than that knife," Jace spat as his blood trickled over his lip and into his mouth. The wound didn't even hurt. Maybe, for about five seconds there was a sharp stinging, but Jace had recieved punches that were more painful.

Crazy Man circled the room, with the same indolent and taunting pace that he had been using since Jace woke up. Jace was not fooled, however, and he had to remember that this guy could move quickly if need be. The guy sheathed the serrated blade and quickly hid it under his shirt and the waistband of his pants.

Then, he bent down and out of his boot he drew another blade. Sharper, shinier, much more lethal. "You know a lot about knives, do you Golden Boy?"

He did. His father used to collect them, threaten him with them. There were very few that Jace had gotten to know personally, but he knew enough about them. "Gurkha," he said, nodding towards the knife that the man was now pressing to his chest fondly.

"Yes, Golden Boy. The Gurkha kukri. Let me give you and your girlfriend here a little history lesson." He approched Jace once more, and rested his unoccupied hand on Jace's shoulder. "The first, most essential thing to know about the Gurkha is that it is sheer tradition that it never be sheathed without first drawing blood."

Jace snorted. "So you intend to cut yourself, because I can assure you that the only blood that is going to be drawn from here on out is your own."

"That tongue of yours is about as sharp as this beauty here." His eyes flickered to the weapon, then back to Jace. He removed his hand from Jace's shoulder and began circling the room once more. "Luckily for me, the Gurkha has three efficient ways of killing."

"Stabbing, slashing, and throwing," Jace said.

"Correct." Crazy Guy stopped walking and eyed the entire room. "And I have three people to kill, then I get my precious Isabelle." His finger tip lightly traced the long curve of the blade. "And I wouldn't even have to put my wrist into it."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jace noticed Clary wincing at the conversation. He wanted to soothe her, tell her not to worry, tell her that there was no way he was going to allow her to get hurt. He kept quiet and kept his eyes locked on their captor.

"Do you know what makes this blade special, Golden Boy? Besides the obvious of course."

Jace's jaw nearly dropped, wishing he had realized it sooner. "It's made of tungsten metal."

Then, just as quickly as Jace had attacked their captor, a plan began to unfold in his mind. Take shape with perfect clarity.

-#^#-

As Isabelle came back to conciousness, the details were disoriented in her mind. She remembered a middle-aged man hitting on her at Alec's friend's party, and she remembered turning away from him in disgust.

Suddenly, there was a gun and she was stuck in his strong grip, and she couldn't break free no matter how desperately she struggled. But what had occurred after that?

As her heavy lids eventually pried open and Isabelle quickly swept her surroundings, she knew that whatever it was was very far from being good.

Then she saw the guy that hit on her, and she froze. He had a very dangerous looking knife in his grip and it was only inches away from Jace's face. There was fresh blood drippng over the dirt and dried blood that had already caked his face.

Isabelle's eyes hurriedly moved to her brother, resting unharmed, without even a bruise. She would have released a relieved sigh, but she knew that she needed to be silent.

Next, her eyes traveled to Clary, who was actually awake and staring at Jace and the captor with obvious horror. She, though, was also in mint condition. The only one who had taken a beating was Jace, which failed to surprise Isabelle.

But where was Simon? He had been at that party, hadn't he?

Jace caught Isabelle's gaze. Subtly he shook his head then blinked hard, his eyes remaining closed for only a second longer than normal. It was hardly distinguishable, and Isabelle knew what it meant.

She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, only listening to the exchange that began between Jace and the captor.

"You're on the top of my list, Golden Boy," snarled the captor. "Do you know what it means to be at the top of my list?"

Isabelle could practically picture Jace's face in her mind. The slight shrug of his shoulders, a wry smile.

"I can imagine," he replied lightly, like he was in the midst of a conversation with Alec. "There's very few lists that I'm not at the top of. Can you believe it? I like to think I'm quite charming." Then in a lower, much more serious tone he added, "But I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Not for long."

Her eyes flashed open as she heard the captor speedily slash down the blade, splitting the air with a light whistling noise.

Sorry, it's not longer. Just gotta leave you hanging!

Anyways, as for the "informative" author's note.

I have added a new MI story. Hehehe. It takes place twenty years in the future with lots of familiar names. Here's an excerpt:

Rip whirled around, but I stayed facing the open air, intent on not falling off of the peak. "Dude," he muttered quietly after a second. "It's that new freak from school."

Now, I did turn. Faber School rarely recieved new students, and when it did, the whole school made a huge spectical about it. With precisely three-hundred fifty-seven students in the combined elementary, middle, and high school, a new addition was always a big deal. Therefore, Rip knew just as well as I did that the girl's name was Tinsley Herondale, he just preferred to call her "that new freak."

She wasn't even really a freak. Rip just had an opposition to what he liked to call "wasted potential." Tinsley, in Rip's eyes, was exactly that. She had the same shiny golden hair that a lot of the cheerleaders at Faber had, but she always wore it tied back. And she wore a lot of black. It wasn't a creepy amount that made you think that in her spare time she listened to screeching music and wrote poems about blood. It was just black. Skinny jeans and v-necks and stiletto boots.

I have posted the first chapter. The story is called Crucial Blood, and it is based a lot upon lineage, and of course romance. Go check it out and review. I know it doesn't seem that great, but if you trust in my writing abilities you'll go read it ;)

It has a really interesting plot line that I am keeping a secret!

In the meantime, tell me what you thought about this chapter!