We're still getting caught up with Team Good to where Clary is. So, the timeline is a little off here.


Chaotic in Nature

It was Alec who managed to calm Jace down. No one else would approach him, afraid of being burned by the Heavenly Fire and of the permanent scowl etched on his face.

His parabatai was able to get enough information out of him to inform everyone else what was going on. They'd either need to find another warlock to return them to the Institute, or wait till Magnus returned.

"I'm coming with you." The way Alec said it told Jace he wasn't leaving it up for negotiation.

"No," he growled out in response. He needed to get to her as soon as possible, and he didn't want his mind cluttered with any more responsibilities. He had Clary to worry about. He didn't want to have to worry about his parabatai, too. He had chosen Clary over Alec once before, and it almost got Alec killed. He wasn't about to risk that again, because he would choose Clary. He would always choose Clary.

"Izzy's there too, Jace."

"He's not after her." The fire that licked beneath Jace's skin flared brighter.

"No, but you and I both know he won't hesitate to mow her down if she stands in the way. And Isabelle is just stubborn enough to stand in his way."

Jace let out a puff of breath in frustration. "Fine, but stay out of my way." Sebastian is mine, he silently added. This time, he'd take the bastard down on his own. This time, he'd stay dead. Jace would make sure of it.

"It's ready," Magnus called, blue streams of magic still swirling around him as the glassy surface of a portal began to take shape amidst the smoke-laden fog that had settled over Brocelind plain.

"How close will it get us?" Jace asked.

"To just outside the wards. Once there, it will take me no time at all to disable them."

Without hesitating, Jace loped up and through the portal, stumbling on the other side when his momentum with abruptly stopped by the carpeted floor of the long, door-lined hallway of the hotel. He quickly righted himself and surveyed the doors in front of him. Everything was too calm. Too quiet. Nothing seemed out of place, but it just felt wrong.

The air changed behind him, sending a gust of air that lifted his blond curls from the back of his neck.

"It's this one, see the Marks in the door? That was done by a stele." A long, glittering finger pointed to the door to Jace's left, the closest one to them.

Jace walked up to the door Magnus had pointed out, pounding on the wood so hard he wondered if it would give under his fist.

"Clary!" He heard the frantic edge in his voice as he called out her name over and over again. Finally, he heard his name in response. Her voice was muffled, but calm. He felt relieved to know that she was still there, but would still be anxious until she was in his arms. Only then would she know she was safe.

"Clary, let us in!" he pleaded as Magnus added, "—and Magnus, too." Jace turned around to glare at the warlock who just shrugged in response.

"Hold on a second. Let me get dressed." Her voice was still muffled through the door, but closer now. The seconds felt like hours as he rested his head against the only barrier between them.

"Shit," Magnus uncharacteristically cursed under his breath. That sent Jace whirling to face him just as Magnus roughly pushed aside the young Shadowhunter.

"A portal's been opened," the warlock hissed before blue flames erupted from under his hands, causing the glowing Marks on the door to char and turn black as if burned away. Jace, at a total loss of what to do, resumed banging on the door.

"Clary! The protection circle! Get in the protection circle," Jace shouted as he continued to pound on the door while Magnus worked.

With a wave of icy, blue magic, the door flew wide, blown clean off its hinges. Behind the door, to Jace's horror, was just an empty room.


Alone in her room, Clary had too much time to think. She tried to busy herself by putting away her clothes in the new chest of drawers and finding a place for all the new furnishings, but it didn't stop her mind from reeling.

She was in Hell—literally Hell—with Jonathan. And though she felt angry, she wasn't angry with him. It was strange really. The closest facsimile of hatred she could feel toward him was indifference. Once again, so many of her emotions felt hollow, forced and unnatural.

She dressed in her new clothes with her eyes locked on the entryway and ears alert for anyone approaching. That was something else she could add to the list of things she would need; a dressing screen. Still, no amount of material things would make this place feel any more accommodating or like home to her. Was there even any water here? A way to shower? Food to eat? Surely there had to be.

Clary settled down onto the bed lying on top of the covers, her hands resting behind her head. She had to think, had to stay on her toes. That's what Jace would do—what he'd want her to do. Loyalty Rune or not, she still loved Jace with every fiber of her being. It was that love she intended to hold onto, to keep in the forefront of her mind to give her strength and purpose. She knew that as long as Jonathan wanted her to stay, the Loyalty Rune would prevent her from leaving. In the meantime, she would stay strong and think.

Loyalty. She thought about what the word meant. Would she be like man's best friend and lick the hand that had just hit her? She rolled the idea around in her head and found it unsettling. So, she did have a sense of self-preservation. That was good. Very good.

Still, she felt tethered to him. There was a commitment there, not like a marriage—thank the Angel—but similar. It was more like the loyalty you felt toward family. Like the commitment she felt toward her mother. Jonathan had done nothing to earn that loyalty, and instead placed a Rune on her chest that twisted and bent her will. Logic told her what he did was wrong, but she couldn't find it in herself to be upset with him, and just the thought of lying to him made her stomach clench with uneasiness. Either that or she was just hungry.

Clary had no idea how much time had passed since she woke up, nor how much time she had been unconscious, knocked out by whatever faerie potion he gave her. Without the sun overhead, she had no idea how to measure time. Minutes, hours, and possibly days could easily blur together.

She placed her hand over her chest, over the Rune's twining lines that swirled over her skin beneath her thermal shirt, and focused on counting each breath in and out of her lungs.

"It's quite beautiful, isn't it?"

She jumped at the sound of his voice. How had she not heard him come in?

"What's beautiful?" She righted herself on the bed, sweeping her legs over the side, her feet still dangling several inches above the woven carpet. Jonathan leaned against the mouth of the cave, one leg crossed casually over the other. He wore black from head to toe, a loose shirt left open to his sternum. There was a sheen to his skin, the light in the room defining each ridge and dip of his muscular chest.

"The Rune. I took my time with it. After all, it had to be perfect. I couldn't risk the spell not working."

Clary felt heat rise to her cheeks and chest with the thought of him 'taking his time' on such an intimate part of her body.

"Well, I guess you should be satisfied with yourself. The spell clearly works." She ducked her head, tucking a stray curl that slipped out of her ponytail behind her ear, unwilling to make eye contact with her brother. His gaze saw too much. It went beneath her skin, making her feel exposed and weak—and she couldn't afford weakness.

Jonathan pushed off of the rocky wall and moved into the room, causing the witch light to flare brighter. He settled into her plush, new chair without her permission, slinging one leg over the side as he studied her. "Yes, well we still haven't tested the limitations of the Rune. After all, a person's loyalty only extends so far."

Clary didn't like the idea of testing the Rune. She had a feeling that would require more than a simple game of twenty questions. "You said you needed me?" she asked, eager to change the subject and finally meeting his eyes.

"Yes, I do." He held her gaze and smiled, letting the silence linger until the point where it became uncomfortable. He seemed to have a special knack for that—making people uncomfortable. "I need your ability with Runes to create new ones for my Shadowhunters."

"Okay. What kind of Runes?" Her fingers already itched for her sketch pad and charcoals.

"A healing Rune would be a good start."

Clary's brow pinched together in confusion. "Why not just use an iratze?"

"My Shadowhunters cannot bear any Marks from the Gray Book. The angelic Runes turn them into Forsaken because of their demon blood."

Clary's eyes widened in understanding. So he was creating Forsaken out of his demonic Shadowhunters, though not on purpose. "How can you bear the Marks, then, if the demon blood is the problem?"

"I'm the only human alive who is both a mixture of angel and demon, for now at least. My angel blood allows me to bear the Marks. When my Shadowhunters drank from the Infernal Cup, Lilith's blood burned the angelic blood from their veins, erasing the Marks from their skin. You were there. You saw it with your own eyes."

Clary shivered, remembering what happened that night. It was the stuff of nightmares, of her nightmares at least. He was right, though. Their Runes seemed to melt away, disappearing from their skin as they drank from the Cup. Afterward, their eyes were the same fathomless black as Jonathans.

There was one thing she didn't understand. "I know the Runes I create aren't in the Gray book, but they are still angelic. It's my extra angel blood that gives me the ability to create them in the first place. I doubt anything I create will work for your Shadowhunters. I'm sorry Jonathan, but I don't think I'll be able to help you." And she really was. She found she didn't want to disappoint him.

"Yes, I know it's your blood that gives you your ability, but you've created Runes that have been used on downworlders, too. The one thing that all downworlders have in common is that they are part demonic, and yet you were able to place the Mark of Cain on your Daylighter. Bravo on that one, by the way. He's the reason it took so long to get to you. Every time Eona would track you, you were either at the Institute or with him. And after what happened to Lilith—what that Mark did to the mother of all demons—I wouldn't dare go up against him."

Clary's mouth opened to correct him, to tell him that Simon no longer bore the Mark of Cain. It took all the will power she could summon to keep her mouth shut. It's not a lie. I'm not lying to him, she told herself over and over again. Her finger nails left crescent-shaped indents on the inside of her palms from her effort.

Jonathan must have noticed her go stiff, but misinterpreted the meaning behind it. "It's nothing to beat yourself up about—getting caught. It was bound to happen sooner or later. In fact, Eona had almost gotten through Magnus's wards when you left the bathroom without putting them back up. I must say, Jace provided the perfect distraction to get you to let your guard down."

Jace. He'd want me to keep as much information from Jonathan as possible. That's just what Clary planned to do. She couldn't outright lie to him, but that didn't mean she had to tell him all her secrets.

"How is Jace, by the way? From what I've heard, he burns those that get too close to him—and I do mean that literally. All those nights alone with a boyfriend who couldn't touch you, I wonder what you did with all that pent up sexual tension. Take up a hobby? It'd have to be something physical, of course, I doubt knitting would help you let off any steam." He leaned forward in the chair, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, looking very amused at the discomfort he was causing her. "Did you throw yourself in your training? I did notice more muscle your frame than before." He deliberately let his eyes slowly run the length of her body, making Clary drop his gaze. "Was it knife throwing? Some extra pell work?"

Clary felt heat fill her cheeks, half from embarrassment and half from anger. "Or maybe I just risked getting burned," she ground out, daring to meet his eyes, enjoying the flash of surprise that flickered over his face.

Before Clary could take a breath into her lungs, before she could react, he was in front of her, all around her, pushing her back. His hands pressed into the bed on either side of her hips, his face hovered a mere inch in front of hers. Black eyes locked with green as his cool breath fanned over her face.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth and whispered in her ear, "Don't tempt me, Clary."

Clary shuddered and tried to turn away, but a hand locked firmly around the back of her neck, pulling her body forward and tilting her head back roughly. She let out a small whimper as his nose skimmed up her neck, drawing in her scent. "Don't make me take you. You know how I do love a good fight."

And as quickly as it had happened it was over. Jonathan was back in the chair, seeming calm and composed as if nothing had happened. Clary struggled to control her breathing, her mind racing, bringing forth images she wished she could forget.

"We'll need to discuss the other Runes I'll need later. Lilith would like to see you, and I'm sure you're getting quite hungry. I'll send Eona over to fetch you some food in the meantime—whatever you'd like, no geographical restrictions." His tone was flippant, unfazed. Jonathan rose from the chair, turning to walk away.

"Wait."

He stopped and turned back toward her. "Yes?"

"Do you know what Lilith wants from me?" Clary remembered clearly that Jonathan said she needed her, too. She hadn't wanted to think about what that meant then, but she was forced to think about it now.

"Yes, I do." His black eyes glinted.

"Then what is it?"

He smirked, a corner of his mouth drawing up as he walked back to the bed, staring down at Clary. "What she's always wanted—children."

Clary swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat. She shifted back on the bed, resisting the urge to pull her legs to her chest in an attempt to hold herself together. She thought of the dead infant from the morgue—its fingers just twisted, angry claws, with eyes so black it completely encompassed the white. She couldn't live with herself if she brought something like that into the world. A baby, defiled by demon blood. She should have known this.

"I don't want to see her." Clary finally found her voice, and surprised herself with how much conviction she managed to put in it.

"She won't be kept waiting, Clary. She's not one for patience." He ran a single finger along her cheek, smiling to himself when she idly slapped it away with a huff.

"I won't do it."

He grabbed her arms and shook her forcefully, willing her eyes to meet his. "You're not in a position to make threats, sister. Do you think the Loyalty Rune is the only one I can make binding? Have you stopped to think about what other symbolic Runes I could use on you? For instance, the Runes of love," he spat the word, "placed on a husband and wife after their wedding." He let go of her, pushing her back and spinning away. She watched his shoulders rise and fall with each breath he took, saw his hands clench and unclench at his sides as he tried to reign in his anger. "I can make you submit to me, or you can do it willingly. It's your choice—your only choice."

With that, he walked away, leaving her a broken, shattered mess.

…..

"She's not here." The words left his mouth as the very weight of them came crashing down, making his knees go weak. They were too late. Only a minute ago, she was here and now she was gone.

Magnus pushed past Jace and into the room, mumbling, "there's still magic in the air."

Jace stayed in the doorway, his eyes blurring, unfocused. His mind barely registered Magnus's words. He heard shouting and crying, but it was all far away. He was locked inside his mind, rattling around inside his cage. All my fault. My own fault. He should have never left her, he knew—he knew they were only safe when they were together.

"Jace! Jace. This is no time to fall apart, you ass! Magnus is opening the portal. We can get to her. Do you hear me? We. Can. Get. Her."

He finally looked up to find Isabelle, her dark hair falling out of rollers and lines of black streaking down her cheeks.

"What the hell, Izzy?" He shot back, rising to his feet and prying her hands from the black leather of his gear. He sidestepped the girl and immediately headed for the streams of blue light emanating from the bathroom. Alec stood in the doorway, watching Magnus's progress.

"He's reopening the portal Eona used with the last bit of energy he has left. So, don't bother him," Alec added, hovering over the warlock as if he were protecting him. Jace took in Magnus's appearance and had to admit that he did look pretty shitty. His shoulders were hunched and rolled forward and his normally blue-tinged spikes drooped like wilted flowers on top of his head.

Strange markings on the narrow, tiled wall began to glow green as the swirling depths of a portal opened in front of them. And just like the last portal, Jace didn't hesitate to fling himself through it, feeling fingers clasp around his wrist a split second later. It was only a moment after that when he felt his face connect with something cold, hard, and unyielding as something else slammed into his back, knocking the air right out of his lungs.

The weight lifted off of him, and he opened his eyes to see concrete and brick with the stench of garbage and smoke filling the air.

Jace groaned as he got to his feet—not because of the pain—but from frustration. They were in a back alley with absolutely no sign of Clary.

"There's nothing here," Magnus confirmed.