Hello, lovelies! I really want to revive this story once and for all and stop leaving all you all hanging! So I hope you enjoy! I know some readers are worried about Simon, but don't worry! He'll get his happily ever after! Also, those of you who like the Jace development (I'm talking about the lovely who left the long review-and you're right his hair is still horrible) thank you! For those of you who think Jace is too mean, don't worry he'll reveal his soft side soon enough! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! I do this for you 3
Chapter 11
"You have two pictures of me?" Jace asked. His grin was so wide it looked like he had a hanger in his mouth.
I rolled my eyes.
"Get over yourself. I completely forgot about that picture of you. I didn't even recognize you at Pandemonium. And the other picture, well it isn't even really a picture. It's a magazine with your face on the cover."
Jace leaned close to me. He pushed a strand of hair out of his smoldering eyes.
"So you bought a magazine with me on it?" he asked.
I matched his cocky expression.
"Is your dick ever jealous of the size of your ego?"
He leaned closer and warmth radiated off of him. I felt myself stepping forward. Jace wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Trust me, Ginger. You don't have to worry about that."
"I won't lose any sleep over it," I responded dryly.
"I think you will." He winked.
Before I could make a witty retort, Simon coughed, which startled both of us. I jumped apart from Jace, not realizing how close we'd gotten.
"Why would someone break into your apartment and only steal a magazine?" Simon asked, looking at me doubtfully.
I shrugged. "How should I know?"
"For the same reason people break into the Louvre and MOMA," Jace said. I stared at him in shock. I had know idea he knew what a museum was, let alone the two most famous art museums in the world.
Simon took the bait. "Why?"
"For the artwork," Jace said with a satisfied smile.
I grimaced at his attempt to be clever. "I'd hardly consider that magazine photo of you to be art," I said.
"But, Ginger, to paraphrase the philosopher Barthes, art is subjective. So if one person thinks its art, therefore it must be." A self-assured look was plastered on his face.
"I—" I started, ready to object. Then, his words hit me. I couldn't believe we were discussing the theory of art.
"Whether or not your face should be hung up next to the Mona Lisa, isn't what I came here to discuss," Simon said without humor. He turned to me. "Was there anything special about the magazine?" he asked.
His words were a demand. I could tell he wanted to believe me. He wanted a lead that would help the investigation.
"I bought the magazine on Friday because there was an article about an impressionist exhibit. Not because it had a picture of Jace on it," I added, throwing a glance of disdain toward Jace.
"Okay, well the obvious connection is that it was stolen because of the picture of Jace." Simon said, throwing a glare at both of us. He didn't appreciate our arguing when there were more important things at stake than who came out on top of this fight. "Now we have to figure out why it was taken."
Simon started pacing. It was a familiar gesture, one he'd done many times in my apartment like when he wanted to ask out Maia and when he was studying for academy training.
"Are you sure it's been stolen? What if you threw it away?" he asked.
I didn't think I threw it away, but I couldn't be sure. And so that's what I told him. It seemed to make him more agitated. Meanwhile, Jace had made himself comfortable on my bed. He pulled out his phone and was preoccupied with it.
"So there's a chance they just broke in and took a browse around your apartment?" Simon said. "I wonder what they were looking for and what they got that would be 'enough for their boss'."
I shivered. The thought of those men wandering around my apartment touching my things made the hair on my arms stand up. I involuntarily glanced over at my underwear drawer. I hugged myself, hoping the chill would go away.
"Maybe they weren't stealing anything," Jace said, not looking up from his phone.
"What do you mean?" I asked, sitting on the edge of my bed. I ran my hand over the painted duvet. It took me a couple months painting the whole thing with fabric paint. But now it bore a striking resemblance to Monet's "A Field of Poppies." When I was sad or scared, I'd open the shades and let the sun pour in. Then I'd lay on the comforter with my eyes closed, imagining I was in Monet's field. Some days I could almost smell the poppies.
I looked up to see Jace watching me. When our eyes met, he quickly looked back down at his phone. The he said, "There's only two reasons someone would break into somewhere: to steal something or... to leave something."
"What would they leave?" My eyes scanned the apartment trying to see if anything was added.
"Bug?" Jace suggested.
Simon and I turned to each other at the exact same time. My eyes were wide with horror. We communicated silently. He nodded to the door. I quickly followed him outside the apartment.
"Oh my god, Simon! They're listening! It's Valentine. I just know it. Oh my god. This isn't good. My life... all this... everything I built... it's all gone!" I was a couple seconds away from hyperventilating.
Simon pulled me to him. His embrace was enough to slow my racing heart.
"Hey shhhh. It's okay. You're gonna listen to that doofus's theory? The only detective experience he has is watching Law & Order."
I tried to laugh. But I knew why Jace's theory could be right.
"But my father..."
"We don't know anything yet. I'll have Luke come out, and we'll sweep the place. No need to fret, Clary." He smoothed down my hair with soothing movements.
Jace opened the door. After taking in our positions, he leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms.
"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," he said, with a smirk.
I pulled a part from Simon.
"Just my life," I retorted, remembering how this whole thing started when he walked into Pandemonium that fateful evening.
"Actually, you came into my life," he pointed out. "So, I guess it's the other way around."
I raised my eyebrows. "Really? Because I remember you showing up asking for me at the strip club."
Jace scoffed, "that was my frat bros."
"And yet," I gestured around me. "They're not the ones in this mess."
"Whatever. I called Alec to come get us and take us to the Institute—that's what I call my house," he added, noticing my confusion.
I thought back to its church-like stature and nodded my approval at the nickname.
"That'd probably be best, Clary," Simon agreed.
I glanced back at my apartment. Just two nights ago, everything was normal. I wished I could turn back time and enjoy those moments before the shit hit the fan. But if I'd learned anything, there was only moving forward—no looking back.
"I'm just going to grab a few things," I said, leaving the boys in the hallway.
I headed back into the apartment that would forever now be tarnished in my mind with this event. I grabbed an olive green duffle bag and started shoving clothes in it. I ignored the urge to grab my at-home paint supplies. I had extra stuff in my studio workspace on campus. I did however stick a few half-used journals and extra charcoal pencils. I then carefully wrapped my mom's self-portrait. It was my most valuable piece of art and no fancy museum could tell me otherwise.
"You should bring the comforter," Jace's voice came behind me.
I glanced back at him, startled that he snuck up on me. I gave him a questioning look.
"It'll make you feel more at home at the Institute. Trust me," he added.
He had a far off look in his eye that made my hands twitch for the charcoal I'd just put away.
"Where's Simon," I asked.
"He went to canvas neighbors, whatever that means," Jace said. I nodded. Silence hung between us like a thick fog. "Um I'll grab the comforter for you since your hands are full," he suggested. I was surprised by his gallantry.
"Wow, how very chivalrous," I teased.
"Oh I'm a perfect gentleman. I open doors and hold out chairs," Jace said, with a 100-watt smile.
"And go to strip clubs?" I added.
I helped him fold the comforter. We met in the middle and pressed the sides together. But we didn't separate. There was something so intoxicating about the sunlight sliding through the windows casing us in warmth. Jace's eyes glittered, and my stomach flipped in an unexpected way.
"If I do recall, I saved your life. I think that wins me a few points in the gentleman department." He said it all-smiles, but for a brief moment, the horror of that night stopped me. I looked at his face. He was beautiful: strong cheekbones, full lips, a devil-may-care expression always guarding the pain that could only show itself occasionally, cracking through the gold in his eyes.
"Thank you," I said softly.
His looked at me, confused.
"I never thanked you for that night... for saving me. What you did... it was incredible," I said. Maybe it was the sunlight that drew me closer to him or maybe it was something else. But, I felt myself stepping closer, wishing the comforter wasn't between us.
"I didn't really do anything," he said, shrugging it off. I watched as his throat constrict as he swallowed. He wasn't being modest—he just really didn't think he did anything special in saving my life. I wondered what would cause someone to brush off something as heroic as saving someone's life.
"You could've died," I said, trying to argue with him. Where was the bragging? The "I'm so great?" The "I'm such a gentleman" act he was playing with earlier.
"It was nothing," he said, a little more urgently.
"It's not nothing. You saved my life." I argued, not sure why I was getting angry.
"Saving your life doesn't mean anything!" he yelled.
I took an involuntary step back, shocked. His expression immediately turned pleading.
"No, no. I didn't mean it like that," he said softly.
"Forget it," I ripped the comforter from him, but he held on.
"No, really. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
I turned away from him and vigorously zipped my duffle bag closed.
"Please, you think you can hurt my feelings? Do you really think I care that much about you?" I laced as much venom as I could into my words. I didn't want him to see how much those words hurt me.
I felt his hand on my arm.
"Clary..."
My name. My actual name. It sounded like a prayer on his tongue.
"It's not what you think..." his voice was strained, and I found myself turning around. "I'm just not a hero..." His eyes were filled with such pain that I don't think I could even capture the depth on canvas.
"What do you mean?"
He just shook his head, like he couldn't even bear to let the words leave his mouth. Before I could press further, his phone rang. He kept his eyes locked with mine as he answered the phone, as if somehow he could get across whatever he couldn't say.
"Alec's here," he said, putting the phone back in his pocket.
"Okay then," I said.
He didn't say anything else. Finally he let out a sigh, and then he finished folding my comforter. Since it was clear he wasn't going to say anything more, I headed for the door, more confused than anything.
"I would do it again," he said suddenly, stopping me. I didn't turn around. "Save you, that is. I would keep saving you."
Okay so what is going on?! There's the confusing break in and now this bizzaro reaction from Jace? Sounds like someone has some skeletons in his past! Also, if any reviewer wants me to actually answer any of their questions just let me know! I normally just read the questions and take them into consideration while writing the next instalment, but if you want answers ask away (unless you want me to divulge the secrets of this plot, which i won't ;) )