I set my alarm for 9:00 am the next morning, knowing Jace had the morning shift at Java Jones and he would already be gone. I wasn't quite ready to face him after last night. I knew I would have to see him eventually – I mean we lived together – but I could a least postpone it until tonight. I got out of bed, made myself some toast, and put myself together enough to be presentable. I had decided to go and meet Luke at his bookstore, although I was scared about what I might find out. For all I know, my mother could have been a serial killer, and that is why we were on the run. Or something even worse. But my curiosity overtook all of my fears. I had to know the truth, or I would wonder for the rest of my life.

I managed to find the bookstore again on my own, and this time I noticed the sign above the door. It read "The Gray Book" in big block letters, stretching the length of the storefront. I smiled at the thought of such a curious name for a bookstore. When I looked through the window, I couldn't see anyone working, so I assumed Luke was in the back taking stock or whatever owners of bookstores do in their back rooms. The bell tolled as I pushed open the door and I heard his gruff voice bark from the back, "One moment."

As I waited, I strolled around the store, stroking the book spines, and inhaling the sweet, musty smell or worn paper. Before I left the farm, I never imagined how many different smells there could be in the world. All my life it had been the smell of the grass by the lake and the musty old house, my mother's perfume, and the lemon scent of my father and brother's homemade soap. Now there was the scent of fresh bread from the deli downstairs, the faint scent of urine on the subway, and the smell of freshly ground coffee beans when Jace gets home from work. Books have different smells of their own. There is the intoxicating smell of crisp, freshly printed pages, but there's something nostalgic about the smell of old books. I couldn't resist opening a decorative copy of Jane Eyre and simply inhaling the book, as if I could read all the words on each of the 682 pages in that one breath.

"Sorry about that…" Luke started as he emerged from the back. "I was sorting through a new pile of donations." He stopped as he saw me come out from my hiding place between the shelves, as if he were still surprised to see me, even though I was invited. Maybe he could see a resemblance in me to my mom. At least I hope he could. Somehow it felt like an honor to look like my mother.

"You… you said I could come back to talk," I started hesitantly. "So, here I am."

"Clary…" He seemed surprised and I wondered if he thought I would never come back. "It's so nice to see you. You look just like your mother."

"Thank you," I said with a smile. I was almost scared to asked the one question on my mind, worried that maybe he lied or was one of my father's goons. But I had to know. "You said you knew her?"

"Yes. I knew your mother quite well." His face was strained, as if he had painful memories of my mother that caused him physical pain to speak of. "But we should speak more privately."

He flipped the sign on the door to "closed" and then led me through a dark curtain, to the back room. I expected to see a storage space with piles of books so high they might topple over. Well, I was right about the stacks of books, but the room was far from a storage room. It was set up as a secret reading room with three plush couches and two cushiony armchairs (all mismatched colors). There was a dark, mahogany coffee table in the center with books splattered across it. Luke got two cups of coffee from the machine in the corner and brought them over to the couch area, taking a seat across from me on one of the couches. Then he began his story.

"The truth is, I have known your mother since we were children. Back then we were inseparable. We would run around my father's farm, where you and your family lived, playing pirates, searching for buried treasure. She used to plan these extravagant picnics, even when we were young. She insisted on cooking an entire meal, with four courses. Then she would pack my mother's china in a basket and we would haul it down to the lake and sit on a blanket, eating all afternoon.

Anyways, when we were about fourteen, Valentine moved to town. Your father, as I'm sure you know, has a way of charming people. He charmed everyone, even me, but your mother… she fell completely under his spell. From then on, it was Valentine and Jocelyn and I. As we grew up, the two of them got closer, and then Val got into some shady business deals, started hanging around with guys I can only describe as criminals. He got into dealing drugs, but I tried to keep myself and your mother out of it. But eventually, he persuaded me to help. I handled the money throughout his various… transactions. He was working with some dangerous guys, and he was skimming off the top of their split. And I knew everything. I was the one who kept the books.

One day, one of Valentine's "business partners" tracked me down and threatened me. He told me to give him his share of the money or he would kill Val and Jocelyn. So I did the only thing I could do. I had to save my best friends. I got him the money from Valentine's safe and told him to leave town and never come back. He was true to his word. He never bothered us again. But Val found out what I had done. He confronted me about it.

'How dare you steal MY money!' He screamed at me. 'I thought you were my best friend, but you are a liar and a traitor and a thief.'

He was right of course. About all of it. He told me that he was going to propose to Jocelyn and that they were going to share a wonderful life together and that they would never have to worry about money.

'But you won't be there to see any of it,' he scowled. 'You are going to leave town, and you will never come back. You will never try to contact me, or my wife, again. And if I ever see your face again, the barrel of my shot gun will be the last thing you see.'

So I left. I went out to my farm and I didn't see or hear from them for four years. Those were the loneliest years of my life. But then one day, there was a knock on my door. And there was your mother, red hair blazing in the sun, gorgeous as ever, with a wedding ring on her finger, baby Jon at her hip, and a black eye. Things had gotten worse after I left. Apparently the rest of the gang came back for their money and beat the shit out of your father to get it. He was left broke with a pregnant wife and no means to feed his family. He got desperate. He started dealing in dangerous things, buying and selling illegal weapons, funding terrorist groups, and even dealing dirty bombs. Things got ugly. Fast. And Valentine turned to drinking and took out his frustrations on his wife. Sometimes the abuse was physical, the source of the black eye she had the day she showed up at my door.

She needed a place to stay, to hide and keep her family safe. She stayed with me on the farm for a month before Valentine found us. The day he found us, he pulled up in a beat up car, drunk as a skunk, with a revolver in his right hand and a bottle of gin in the other. He pointed it straight at the front door and screamed, 'LUKE! Luke I know you are in there! I know you are hiding her!'

I made sure that Jocelyn and Jon were safe in the upstairs closet and went out to confront Valentine. As I opened the front door, a shot rang out, missing my face by an inch. I brought my hand up in surrender. 'Come on, Val. Can't we talk about this like men.'

He didn't respond but instead made another bad shot, this time barely missing my elbow. 'Val, I know you're in trouble. I know you need a place to hide. You have no where else to go!'

He was shaking his head, drunk and crying. 'You stole from me,' he growled.

'Val,' I reasoned, 'Stay here. You have a wife and child to think about.'

He lowered his gun slowly as the idea formulated in his mind. He was working out plan to ensure his true identity would never be discovered, working out how he could live here safely. He seemed to sober up suddenly as he said, 'You need to go.'

'What? Val…'

'Don't "Val" me! The Valentine you knew no longer exists. Now, like you said, I have a wife and child to think about. They will be safe here, with me, but you have to go and stay away.'

'But…' I couldn't bear leaving them again, not with this monster.

He brought the gun back up and leveled it between my eyes. 'Or we could end this right now… and I won't miss this time.'

So once again, I was forced to leave them. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. I would wish anything to have the change to go back and take them with me, away from that monster. Your mother still had a few ways of sending me messages, though. She would send me pictures of her and Jon, and a year later I found out about you, Clary. I am so sorry I couldn't save you from him. Any of you."

By the end of Luke's story he had tears in his eyes. I could tell he cared a lot about my mother and even Jon and me. It felt nice for once, to have someone care for you like that, like my father never did. It almost felt like having a dad. And even though this man was technically a stranger, I couldn't resist reaching over the table to give him a big hug.

Our afternoon wasn't completely tears and consolation. I told him funny stories about my mom and Jon, and I told him about our best picnic ever. He told me about how brave my mother was when they were kids pretending to fight pirates, and I told him how I wished she were more like that now. I told him about Jace, and he told my about his German shepherd named Alaric. I told him about meeting the Lightwoods, and he told me he knew their parents years ago. And suddenly three hours had passed.

"I really should be getting home," I said regrettably. "Jace will be getting off work soon and I should be there when he gets home."

"It was really nice talking to you, Clary." He stood up to walk me out. "I hope we can do this again."

"Actually…" I began. "I was wondering if you ever needed help around the store?"

He paused and seemed to be thinking about something.

"I only mean that I don't go to and I don't have a job, so I could help out and maybe we could talk some more."

"Now that you mention it," he said with a smile, "I was about to hire a salesperson to help out around the store. I'm getting older and can't do the job by myself."

I raised my eyebrows in expectation.

"I can't think of a better girl for the job!"

"Oh, thank you!" I reached out and hugged him again before adding, "For everything."

The bell rang as I pushed out the door and started down the street with the satisfaction that me, Clary Fairchild/Fray/Herondale the social hermit, had managed to get a job.