To Take What You Want
Chapter song: Fire by Jena Gogo (The Next Step Songs)
Idris, 2004
Jonathan cast a wary glance at his sister as she ran ahead of him through trees. They'd been playing a friendly game of hide and seek, Clary being the one to hide, as always, but she hadn't been fully present as they did so, and Jonathan had caught up to her with an insulting ease. He'd tickled her, but she barely laughed, looking over her shoulder with a deep set frown at odds with her soft features.
It made him uneasy.
"What's wrong, Clare?" He asked, when he couldn't take it anymore. She turned towards him with a confusion scowl dragging her eyebrows together, and he swallowed at the sight. "You seem a little. . . distracted today. Are you okay?"
She nodded, slowly, then with more vigour. "Yeah!" She said enthusiastically, though her gaze was still distant. She wriggled and he looked down to see he was still holding her flush against him. He swallowed again and let go, a little reluctantly. "It's just. . . " She trailed off. "I saw a door back there - you know, by that stretch of ruined wall? It was never there before."
His heart thudded against his chest. This was not something they should look into; Clary could get hurt. They mustn't they mustn't they-
"Let's have a look!" She decided resolutely, throwing herself off the ground and scurrying off. No. He sighed, then scrambled to his feet and went to follow her, unable to deny that something awakened in his gut, opening a large slumbering eye.
He didn't like it. Anything his demon deemed important enough to surface for, was something he wanted far away from his little sister.
But he didn't have much of a choice but to follow her and to carry the added weight of dread as they neared the stretch of wall that Clary had gestured to. She got there first, and stood about a foot from the wall, eyeing it like she too felt the essence of death and destruction that emanated from it, the essence his demon was basking in, revelling in the fear. But. . .
It was just a wall. No door, no gate, nothing.
"What are you talking about, Clary?" He asked, and he tried to make it come out exasperated and irritable, but his voice betrayed him and his voice was wary, only a little exasperated, and it was almost frightened. No! He was not frightened. "There's nothing there."
She frowned again, looking back at him like he was stupid. He stood there awkwardly, a little unnerved by how much she looked like their father when she made that expression. "Can't you see it?" She mused, running a hand down the wall. Her pale hand seemed to leave a rip in the wall and the image coalesced into- "A glamour, maybe?"
Jonathan blinked. The darkness that he'd spied in the trail Clary's hand made had warped into a door, old and rotting, set deep into the stone. A single iron handle and key were set in it. "I see it now," he said hoarsely, then stepped up next to her. He shuddered as his demon writhed in glee.
He didn't want to go in there. If he was happy being in there, then he didn't want to go in there. "Let's not go in," he decided.
Clary scoffed. "Are you serious? No way I'm backing out now." At her brother's silence, she continued, more vehemently. "Come on, Jonathan. A door neither of us have seen before, hidden by a strong glamour? Don't tell me you don't want to find out what's inside."
He hesitated. No I don't want to know, thank you very much, echoed in his thoughts. He hated that his father had impressed such obedience into him, such unquestioning loyalty. He loathed it actually. He wished he could be a carefree as Clary, without having to worry about being whipped.
Clearly he hesitated for too long, because she huffed, and tugged out her stele. "Fine, if you want to be a killjoy, go do it somewhere else. But I'm going in there."
She'd slashed the Open rune into the door and ducked through before he could grab her. He growled, low in his throat, and resolved himself to following her.
He wrinkled his nose physically at the stench of blood and gore as he stepped into the passage, but in reality he couldn't stop himself from taking a deep breath of it, letting it sate his demon. He hated himself for doing it, especially as a glance at Clary revealed the tenseness of her posture, and tightening of the skin of her nose, minute changes that betrayed her discomfort in the situation.
But she kept going, and Jonathan, damning them both to hell, followed after her. He knew something was wrong the moment the corridor snaked sideways - under the house - and he felt a crunching under his feet that Clary openly cringed at. Bones.
And sure enough, something was wrong.
They passed into a room lined with cells. And one glance at them had Clary falling to her knees and throwing up. Jonathan was so disgusted by his demon's pleasure that his stomach roiled himself.
The cells were filled with Downworlders. In one cell a vampire had his left hand in holy water, and through the glass walls of the tub Jonathan could see the skin peeling off his bones. In the next one over a young faerie child had multiple piercings - through his ear, through his nose, through the skin between his thumb and forefinger. Judging by the red, irritated skin around them, they were made of iron. A young werewolf - not much older than Clary - with olive skin had a band of silver encasing his calf, and he clawed at it, glaring at them and growling.
Jonathan growled right back, and went to immediately stand between Clary and him.
She barely noticed, still dry heaving on the ground, but when she looked up, they shared a glance, and he knew she understood what was going on. "Why would father do this?" She asked, then went back to retching.
He led her out of there, but had a ghostly feeling that she couldn't just forget about it. And sure enough, the next morning their father was raging down the halls and pushing them harder than ever in training, and when Jonathan slipped down there to have another look, the cell doors were unlocked, swinging in the non-existent wind.
New York, 2007
"Fancy seeing you here," came a voice.
Clary looked up. She'd been sitting in Central Park sketching idly as an. . . almost an escape from the mess of thoughts that rattled around inside her skull. Of course, she was still armed, with numerous knives surreptitiously tucked into her boots and various folds of clothing, but she was in ragged jeans and a faded yellow t-shirt, that was too baggy on her and one end slipped off her shoulder. She was no less a warrior than when she stood in full battle regalia, but she felt more. . . normal, would be the word. It was similar to the feeling Simon had given her when he first befriended her, when his mother had started buying Jocelyn's paintings.
What she saw, however, was not one that would fit into any mundane's mind. Jace Wayland stood in all his glory, the black of his gear and his runes stark against his gold skin, like tiger stripes. He went to sit next to her on the bench, and she just kept surveying him, face blank. Otherwise, the minute widening of her eyes and the catch of her breath might have alerted him to his racing heart.
"Well," she said calmly, but the haste with which she shut her sketchbook and went to shove it back in her bag was anything but calm. He quirked an eyebrow, and she instantly hated him for being able to do so. "It's not like it was planned," she pressed on. "Unless you're insinuating it was?"
He grinned, and that spark of mischief that had had her so enamoured with him when they were children glinted, like an unsheathed sword. "I would never," he declared, pressing a hand to his heart. "I know you would never stoop to such levels to stalk me. You wouldn't need to, smart girl such as yourself."
She tilted her head; her plait flopped over her shoulder to hit the back of the bench. "For one thing, I wouldn't stalk you in a million years. That's your job, considering you're the one who asked me to come on the hunt with you. And on another note," she tilted her head again, and had the satisfaction of feeling her plait thud back between her shoulder blades. "Are you flirting with me?"
"Depends," his grin widened, her heart beating a little faster as it did. "Is it working?"
Yes. "No." She said flatly. He titled back his head and guffawed, clutching at the arm of the seat to steady himself.
"Well then," he continued. "How about I'm a bit more open about it?" He stood up, and turned to face her. This alone caught other pedestrians' attention in the park, but Clary felt her cheeks try to imitate a ruby as he got down on one knee and proclaimed, very loudly and pompously, reaching for her right hand. "My dear Clarissa. . . whatever your name is-"
"Fray," she filled in, with both indignation and amusement limning her voice.
He waved it off. "Would you do me the honour," he stressed the word, and she laughed, and she saw the corner of his lip curl up at the sound, "of attending a faerie revelry I was invited to with me?"
As entertaining as that sounded - and how much she'd always longed to see the beauties of the Seelie Court herself, when the waitress at Taki's had taken time off work to describe them to her - she swallowed, then slowly shook her head. It hurt - it hurt so much more than she expected to watch Jace's cheerful face fall at the gesture, but she kept shaking her head. Faeries were manipulative and cunning. If word got back to her father about where she was. . .
She internally cringed at the thought of what would happen.
She laughed lightly though, to hide her pain, and she watched as Jace wiped away his own with an expertise she remembered well. "Why would you want someone to go with you to one of those festivities? I'm pretty sure that if a faerie invited you, they expect you to go as their date."
He winced, and retook his seat on the bench next to her. "Yeah. . . About that. The reason I asked is because my ex-girlfriend - a faerie - asked me, and I really want to see one of these legendary events but I'm afraid she'll get the wrong impression if I say yes. So I figured if I took someone as my date, she would get the hint."
"Why me, though?" She couldn't help but ask, and regretted the words the moment they passed her lips.
He cocked his head, and his blonde hair fell in his eyes. "I like you. I'm not just saying that; I genuinely like you. It would be a pleasure to go with you. But then if you don't want to then. . ." He shrugged. "Then fair enough. I just wanted to tell you I'm interested."
Clary was struck speechless. "Oh." Then "Who was your ex-girlfriend?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, apparently indifferent to the question, but Clary saw the flash of gratitude in his aureate eyes at the change of subject. "A fey named Kaelie Whitewillow."
Her copper eyebrows climbed into the hair. "The waitress at Taki's?" She asked for confirmation. Jace nodded his confirmation. "She's my friend. I'll go with you so long as she's comfortable with it - the only reason I said no was that I did not want to come and get glared at by some ethereal-looking faerie who could probably curse me if she really wanted to. So long as Kaelie gets it's just friendly."
He smiled then, albeit a little wistfully, and nodded. "Done."
Then he leaned forward and kissed her.
The breath left Clary all at once, but before she could back away or reciprocate it, it was over; Jace had pulled back almost as fast as he'd lunged forward. He smiled hesitantly at her, and, after a moment, she smiled back.
"Why did you do that?" She asked shyly, blushing.
One side of his mouth tugged upwards.
"Because I wanted to," he said earnestly.
Disclaimer: I don't own TMI.
Okay, first I'm going to apologise profusely for the lack of updates. I know; I'm awful. I'll try to catch up.
On another note: OH MY GOSH. 13 REVIEWS ON ONE CHAPTER. I'm thrilled. Thank you all so much.
So yeah, I know this chapter was sort of a filler, but the plot should become a bit more exciting once this "date" at the Seelie Court comes to pass.
Review?
