~ Chapter Thirteen ~
One Last Night

Jace was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to go home, crawl into bed, and forget this day had ever happened. And Alec seemed to be along the same mindset. They didn't talk as they made their way back into the city. The sun would be setting soon, the funeral going on longer than planned, and Maryse and Robert had sent Jace and Alec on ahead. They hadn't been ready to leave just yet. Jace, on the other hand, had been more than ready—the flames of the pyre still burned behind his eyes.

The house was dark when they got home. Flipping on one of the small lamps, Jace closed the door softly behind him as Alec flopped heavily into a chair. Sighing, Jace went to join him but had not made it very far when a soft rapping came from the door.

"Who the shit could that be?" Jace asked slightly annoyed as he cast a bewildered glance at his brother. But Alec only shrugged his shoulders, too exhausted to speculate. Frowning, Jace crossed the room. "Seriously, who shows up at this time of night? Don't people have any respect—" His words died in his throat the moment he yanked the door open.

"Jace."

Jace bit his cheek hard as looked down at Clary. Her wild ruby curls looked windblown—as if she had run here, and her Idris eyes sparkled in the witchlight behind him. Upon seeing him, she looked just as taken back as he had—staring with shock and sadness at his mourning clothes. But she recovered herself quickly.

"I need to talk to you." And then she frowned. "If—if that's okay."

Why wouldn't it be okay? Jace wondered. Saying nothing, he opened the door wider. That's when he saw Simon standing there. He had been hanging back in the shadows. Fucking vampires. He would point out that given the leech wasn't your normal everyday vampire, he hardly had to hide in the dark. But if Simon hadn't figured that out by now . . . well, that was his problem. Plus, Jace just didn't have the energy to get into it. The funeral had taken a lot out of him.

Back inside, Jace stalled as Simon took the chair opposite Alec, and Clary the couch. He could have sat on the couch next to her, but . . . shaking his head, he went to stand by the window. He could feel Clary's eyes on him as he moved, and it sent his heart racing. But he couldn't bring himself to return her gaze. He was already hurting . . . to look at her would surely kill him.

"So what's up?" Jace asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the window pane as he stared out of the stained glass.

Clary took a breath. "Well . . ." And then she began. She told them about the Council Meeting, how everything had been a mess. How Shadowhunters were fighting with Shadowhunters and how everyone seemed to listen to Luke, even though he was a Downworlder. And then she told them about Valentine—how he had shown up as a Projection and given them all an ultimatum. Fight him and die or join him and live. From there she moved on to the death of the Inquisitor—shocked and confused as to how Valentine had been able to kill him. "Which that brings me to the last part," she said nervously. "It's about Sebastian." From the window, Jace saw Clary stand up and hand something to Alec. "That's the real Sebastian Verlac."

The real Sebastian—what are you talking about? Turning, Jace saw that Alec was holding pictures in his hands, his face as white as a ghost. Jace was at his side within seconds and Alec handed the photographs up to him. The smiling boy in the photograph indeed had dark hair, but that was where the similarities died. This was not the boy that had spent the last few days with them. But how was that possible? "Where did you get these?" Jace asked, not looking up as he thumbed through the photos once more. "And how do you know that this is Sebastian and the other Sebastian is not, well, Sebastian?"

"Aline," Clary answered, and Jace felt his stomach twist. "She came to Amatis' house. She—she was looking for you guys actually, but . . . she didn't think you would have spoken to her. I guess Jia contacted Sebastian's mom and blew up at her." Jace felt a knot of guilt at hearing that, and it was clear from the look on Alec's face that his parabatai was feeling it too. But if Clary noticed, she didn't say anything as she continued. "Aline's aunt insisted that the boy Jia described did not sound like her son . . . so she sent Aline pictures of Sebastian. Obviously you can see that she was correct. Whoever that guy was . . . he was not Aline's cousin."

And then she went silent. You could have heard a pin drop as Alec and Jace tried to process what she had just told them. Valentine walking boldly into the Accords Hall that had been swarming with Shadowhunters in order to deliver a threat, insult Downworlders, and kill the Inquisitor. And Sebastian not being Sebastian, but an imposter. That one hurt the most, especially given how they had treated the Penhallows these last couple days. Sighing, Jace dropped the pictures on the coffee table and crossed back over to the window.

"Well, how about that," he said flatly. "A guy attends the funeral of his nine-year-old brother and misses all the fun."

"Jace," Alec breathed. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Jace asked more aggressively than he had any right to be. But he could feel the anger building. They had just found out that Sebastian was an imposter—making it that much harder to find the bastard. They've been treating the Penhallows like shit for nothing, and to top it all off—there might have been an actual chance of going after Valentine and he had missed it. Wasn't he allowed to be upset?

But Alec only sighed. "You're not mad at Clary," he said, his voice tired. And Jace's eyes snapped to her through the reflection of the glass. Of course I'm not mad at her. "Or Simon," his brother continued, less sure than before. "At least . . . I don't think you're mad at Simon."

Jace chewed thoughtfully on his cheek. Was that how he was coming across? It was not his intention. He just . . . it was so hard to be around her. He was so completely hers and she said that she had wanted him too, but . . . he was a demon. Or at least half of one. And many demons were known to be cunning, and charming, and liars. What made him any different? How could I possibly explain any of that? I can't! In the end, he kept his voice emotionless as he said, "Clary knows I'm not angry at her."

He didn't bother commenting on the vampire—something Simon picked up on right away as Jace saw him roll his eyes before saying, "What I don't get is how he killed the Inquisitor. I thought Projections couldn't actually affect anything."

"They shouldn't be able to," Alec conceded. "They're just illusions. So much colored air, so to speak."

"Well, not in this case," Clary said, and Jace could hear the unease in her voice. "He reached into the Inquisitor and he twisted . . ." she took a shuddering breath and Jace closed his eyes—don't run to her—keeping his feet planted. "There was a lot of blood."

At that, Jace turned his head to look at the vampire, giving him the ghost of a smile. "Like a special bonus for you."

"Has there ever been an Inquisitor who didn't die a horrible death?" Simon asked, once again ignoring Jace's jab. "Its like being the drummer in Spinal Tap."

Leaning forward, Alec rubbed hard at his temples. "I can't believe my parents don't know about this yet," he said, scowling at the photos on the table. "I can't say I'm looking forward to telling them."

"Where are your parents?" Clary asked surprised, and Jace grimaced. "I thought they were upstairs."

Meeting his brother's eyes, Alec shook his head slowly. "They're still at the necropolis. At Max's grave. They sent us home." Taking a breath, Jace looked out the window again as Alec continued. "They wanted to be there alone for a while."

"What about Isabelle?" Simon asked with concern. "Where is she?"

What's it matter to you? Jace turned to look at Simon, his gaze flat and unreadable. He wasn't sure why he was giving the vampire so much shit. Therapeutic reasons perhaps? Alec was right—he wasn't mad at him. And Simon had always been good to Isabelle—the boy was probably just truly concerned. "She wont come out of her room," he decided to answer truthfully. "She thinks what happened to Max was her fault. She wouldn't even come to the funeral."

Simon frowned. "Have you tried talking to her?"

Really? Jace raised a brow. "No. We've been punching her repeatedly in the face instead. Why? Do you think that won't work?"

But Simon only shrugged. "Just thought I'd ask."

Yeah, well—catching the glare his brother was giving him, the thought died away as did any retort Jace might have been planning. And then Alec was looking at the vampire. "We'll tell her this stuff about Sebastian not actually being Sebastian," he said. "It might make her feel better. She thinks she ought to have been able to tell that there was something off about Sebastian, but if he was some kind of spy . . ." Picking up the pictures, Alec looked down at them, shrugging. "Nobody noticed anything off about him. Not even the Penhallows."

Um. Excuse you. "I thought he was a knob," Jace said pointedly.

"Yes, but that's just because—" Alec cut himself off as he cast a glance at Clary. And Jace nearly rolled his eyes. Way to be conspicuous there. Slumping deeper into his chair, Alec tossed the pictures back on the table a bit forcefully, watching as they slid across it and fell over the side. "It hardly matters," he sighed. "Once she finds out what Valentine's threatening, nothing's going to cheer her up."

"But would he really do it?" Clary asked suddenly. "Send a demon army against Nephilim—I mean, he's still a Shadowhunter, isn't he? He couldn't destroy all his own people."

At her words, Jace's eyes flashed to her, his golden gaze capturing her emerald orbs. And when he spoke, it was with barely contained anger. "He didn't care enough about his children not to destroy them," he said coldly. So tell me . . . "What makes you think he'd care about his people?"

Alec sighed. "Jace . . ."

"It does explain one thing," Jace switched track, cutting Alec off. He was still unable to look away from Clary, however, now that he had made the mistake of doing so. "Magnus was trying to see if he could use a tracking rune on any of the things Sebastian had left in the room, to see if we could locate him that way. He said he wasn't getting much if a reading on anything we gave him. Just . . . flat."

"What does that mean?" Clary asked, and Jace noticed that she wasn't looking away anymore than he was.

"They were Sebastian Verlac's things. The fake Sebastian probably took them when he intercepted him. And Magnus isn't getting anything from them because the real Sebastian—

"Is probably dead" Alec finished for him. "And the Sebastian we know is too smart to leave anything behind that could be used to track him. I mean, you can't track somebody from just anything. It has to be an object that's in some way connected to that person. A family heirloom, or a stele, or a brush with some hair in it, something like that."

"Which is too bad," Jace said irritably, finally tearing his eyes away to look out the window again. "Because if we could follow him, he'd probably lead us straight to Valentine. I'm sure he scuttled right back to his master with a full report. Probably told him all about Hodge's crackpot mirror-lake theory."

"It might not have been crackpot," Alec said, rubbing at his head again. Jace suddenly itched for a stele to throw at him. "They've stationed guards at the paths that go to the lake, and set up wards that will warn them if anyone Portals there."

Turning, Jace leaned back against the wall. "Fantastic," he said dryly. "I'm sure we all feel very safe now."

"What I don't get" Simon cut in. "Is why Sebastian stayed around. After what he did to Izzy and Max, he was going to get caught, there was no pretending. I mean, even if he thought he'd killed Izzy—" Jace blanched, "—instead of knocking her out, how was he going to explain that they were both dead and he was still fine? No, he was busted. So why hang around through the fighting? Why come up to the Gard to get me? I'm pretty sure he didn't actually care one way or another whether I lived or died."

"Now you're just being too hard on him," Jace said with a hint of amusement. "I'm sure he'd rather you died."

"Actually," Clary said softly, almost hesitantly. "I think he stayed because of me."

Jace bit down as he looked up at her. Or maybe you're really just angry because I kissed your sister. Because she wanted me. "Because of you?" She has this little habit, you know—the way she gasps when you kiss her, like she's surprised. "Hoping for another hot date, was he?" He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth. Clary's eyes widened and her face flushed as she looked up at him with both hurt and anger. She looked as though he had slapped her.

"No," she said, composing herself. "And our date wasn't hot." Something must have shown on his face then because she quickly said, "In fact, it wasn't even a date." She wouldn't look at him now as she jerked her head irritably. "Anyway, that's not the point. When he came into the Hall, he kept trying to get me to go outside with him so we could talk. He wanted something from me. I just don't know what."

"Or maybe he just wanted you," Jace said. If Sebastian really was the puppet of Valentine, then she was probably right. He wanted Valentine's daughter. He'll die before I let that happen. At his words however, Clary's eyes snapped up to his like she couldn't believe what he had just said. Oh, shit . . . "Not that way," he amended quickly. Well, not completely. But after the glare she had given him—was still giving him—he was not about to bring that up again. "I mean maybe he wanted to bring you to Valentine."

"Valentine doesn't care about me," she said flatly, as if this were an absolute truth. But Jace knew it wasn't. Not after the East River. All the same, Clary shook her head. "He's only ever cared about you."

You're kidding right? Jace felt a flash of annoyance pass through him like an electric currant. "Is that what you call it?" He had seen the way a father should care for his child in watching Luke and Clary. No, his father didn't care about him. Jerking his head slightly to clear the thought, he continued. "After what happened to you on the boat, he's interested in you. Which means you need to be careful. Very careful. In fact, it wouldn't hurt if you just spent the next few days inside. You can lock yourself in your room like Isabelle." Not that you're going to do that.

"I'm not going to do that."

"Of course you're not." He wished he could be even a little surprised by this. "Because you live to torture me, don't you?"

At that, Clary's Idris meadows flashed with an oncoming storm. "Not everything, Jace, is about you."

"Possibly." Jace almost smiled. Almost. He had to admit that he loved hearing her say his name—even if it was angry like that. And really, it wasn't even angry, but annoyed. "But you have to admit that the majority of things are."

Clary's eyes narrowed, her jaw locking as she glared at him. Jace wondered if she might scream. But before he could wonder for long, Simon cleared his throat loudly as if hoping to remind them that he and Alec were still there. "Speaking of Isabelle—" he began as all eyes turned to him, "—which we only sort of were, but I thought I ought to mention this before the arguing really got underway—I think maybe I should go talk to her."

"You?" Alec blurted disbelievingly. Smooth. Jace raised a brow, the corner of his mouth ticking upward slightly. "It's just—" Alec continued quickly as if realizing his tone could have been construed as insulting. "—she won't even come out of her room for her own family. Why would she come out for you?"

Because he's not family.

Before answering, however, Simon got to his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked at Alec. "Maybe because I'm not family." And Jace looked at the vampire. Really looked at him. From the thin white scars that circled his throat and wrists, to the way he held himself now. The boy had changed a lot since Jace had first met him—and not just from being a mundane to becoming vampire. It was more than that. Watch it, rat boy . . . I might actually be growing to like you. Shrugging, Simon continued. "I think I'll have a try at getting Isabelle to talk to me," he said. "It can't hurt." If you believe that, then you don't know Isabelle.

"But it's almost dark," Clary said, frowning. "We told Luke and Amatis that we'd be back before the sun went down."

"I'll walk you back," Jace offered without looking at her. For once, he really wanted the vampire to stay. He was willing to try anything to get Izzy to talk to someone. Even if it was a vampire. "As for Simon, he can manage his own way back in the dark." And then he smiled coyly. "Can't you?"

But it was Alec who answered. "Of course he can," he said defensively, as if his brother had just greatly insulted the boy. "He's a vampire—" Jace raised a brow; wait for it . . . "—and I just now realized that you were probably joking." There it is. "Never mind me."

Meeting Simon's eyes, Jace nodded slightly in approval. He really hoped the vampire could do it. His sister needed someone and right now, it wasn't himself or Alec. I wish you luck. Jace sighed silently to himself then. And screw you for making me think you might actually be deserving of respect.

He would also be lying if he said that he had not wanted to be alone with Clary.

It was with few goodbyes and Clary watching Simon disappear upstairs, that they left. The night air was cool and there was still the light scent of fire clinging to the air, though Jace wasn't sure if it was from the buildings that had been destroyed or the pyres of the other funerals that had taken place. There had been a lot of funerals, and Jace knew that there would be a lot more before they saw the end of this. Which was also why he had wanted to walk Clary back to Amatis' house. It wasn't that he thought she would get lost or abducted (though both were not necessarily far fetched either), but because he wasn't sure how much time they had left together. He had been hoping that he would find out where Sebastian was—where his father was—so that he could go after them. But now . . . well, Jace would have to settle with spending as much time as he could with those he loved before they were all killed. Because there was no way he was going to agree to Valentine's ultimatum. And there was no way his father was going to let him live if he didn't.

As always, he was hyper aware of Clary walking next to him. She was like a magnet to him, pulling him in. She always would be. He loved her though he had no right to . . . not that he had told her that. He was sure she knew it, though. How could she not? It wasn't like he had been all that subtle about his feelings about her. We see your pain, Jace. We feel it. He had nearly told Clary that night lying in the debris of the manor but . . . but then you ruined it like you always do. Now he didn't think he would ever tell her the truth. It wouldn't be fair to her. From the corner of his eye, he saw Clary shiver and wrap her arms lightly around herself.

"Are you cold?" he asked casting a quick glance down at her.

"I was just thinking," she replied softly, tugging gently at one of her curls in that way she did when she was deep in thought. Jace had realized long ago that she didn't know she did it. It was one of the many things he loved about her. "I'm surprised that Valentine went after the Inquisitor instead of Luke. The Inquisitor's a Shadowhunter, and Luke—Luke's a Downworlder. Plus, Valentine hates him."

"But in a way, he respects him," Jace shrugged, watching as a bird flew by overhead. "Even if he is a Downworlder." It was the whole, is the enemy of my enemy my friend? Or is he my enemy. Not that Valentine didn't know exactly how Luke felt about him. Peeking down at Clary again, he saw that she was looking up at him—watching him curiously—and Jace sighed. "Luke is trying to get the Clave to change, to think in a new way. That's exactly what Valentine did, even if his goals were—" Fucked up, "—well, not the same. Luke's an iconoclast. He want's to change. To Valentine, the Inquisitor represents the old, hidebound Clave he hates so much."

"And they were friend's once," Clary pointed out. "Luke and Valentine."

Friends, Jace thought absently touching his chest where his parabatai rune sat. That wasn't exactly the right word. What Valentine and Luke had been was more than that. It should have been absolute. Alas they had been friends in youth; but whispering tongues can poison truths . . . Jace shook his head. "The Marks of that which once hath been," he said, quoting the old poem that Hodge used to read. He had tried to say it mockingly, but he just didn't have the energy. Besides, looking back on it now, he was sure that Hodge read it purposely for this very reason. "Unfortunately," Jace continued flatly, "you never really hate anyone as much as someone you cared about once. I imagine Valentine has something special planned for Luke, down the road, after he takes over."

At his words, he could see Clary turn toward him—feel as she all but gaped at him. He didn't return her gaze. "But he wont take over," she said definitively. Jace said nothing. She couldn't really be all that surprised with their inevitable outcome, could she? "He won't win—he can't." I guess she can be. "He doesn't want war, not against Shadowhunters and Downworlders—"

"What makes you think Shadowhunters will fight with Downworlders?" Jace asked, cutting her off as he stared out over the water of canal street. "Because Luke says so?" He knew that what Luke was trying to do was for the best . . . he would be happy to fight with Downworlders if it meant standing a chance against his father, but he knew better than to expect other Shadowhunters to see it the same way. "Luke's an idealist."

"And why is that a bad thing to be?"

"It's not," Jace sighed. "I'm just not one." He knew that it might have hurt her to hear that. But he also knew his father. He was created by his father. Hell, he might as well have been his father. Because just like his father . . . he knew the hopelessness of the situation. Looking up, he saw that they had reached Amatis' house.

"Maybe," Clary said, after a while, turning to stare at him in the darkness of the front porch. "But you're not like him either."

A shock went through Jace at hearing that, his eyes snapping to her. How could she possibly know what he had just been thinking? How could she . . . Jace shook his head. She knew him. She knew him better than just about everyone. Possibly anyone. Could he really say he was surprised? Taking a breath he looked at Clary. She looked the same as she always did—perfect. "Clary—" he dropped his head. What could he possibly say to make her understand? She knew what he was. Knew what he had been created to be. And that's when he saw it, the blood on her sleeve. Had she been hurt? It looked fresh. What had she been doing? Taking a step toward her, he took her wrist tenderly in his hand. "There's blood on your sleeve," he said, meeting her Idris emeralds once more. "Are you hurt?"

Surprised Clary looked down to where her wrist rested in his hand. She didn't pull away from him as her brows furrowed. "That's not my blood."

Oh, thank the Angel. Jace loosened his grip, though he didn't let go. "Is it the Inquisitor's?"

Clary shook her head. "I actually think it's Sebastian's."

Jace bit down on his cheek. Had she said . . . "Sebastian's blood?"

At that, Clary nodded. "Yes—when he came into the Hall the other night, remember his face was bleeding?" Jace did remember that. He remembered Clary reaching up to touch the asshole's face, and later hoping that the claw marks he had seen there hurt. "I think Isabelle must have clawed him—" She would think right. Izzy had told them about what happened that night, not that he was going to repeat it. "—but anyway—I touched his face and got his blood on me." Clary bent down over her hand still resting in his. "I thought Amatis washed the coat, but I guess she didn't."

This was too easy. This couldn't possibly be so easy, could it? Sebastian had fucked up. It was like Christmas had come early. Reaching up with his free hand, he touched a finger along the green fabric. And then with a quickness he knew she couldn't have possibly seen, Jace pulled a thread from the jacket before letting go of her wrist. Looking up, he met her bewildered gaze. But all he said was, "Thanks."

And she stared at him, as if she knew exactly what he had done. Jace's heart picked up, pounding against his chest. But then she shook her head. "You're not going to tell me what that was about are you?"

Jace's heart slowed a fraction. She had noticed something . . . just not what that something was. Well, he sure wasn't going to tell her. Not if he wanted to keep her safe. "Not a chance," he forced himself to give her a sincere smile.

Letting out an annoyed sigh, Clary threw her hands up with frustration—her eyes glaring at him. "I'm going inside," she snapped. "I'll see you later."

Turning she stormed inside, the warm glow from the living room cutting through the waning light. And then the door was slammed shut, leaving Jace alone on the porch looking after her. I'm sorry Clary, he thought wretchedly, the fake smile slipping instantly from his face. He wished he could tell her the truth—he really did. But he also knew that if he did, she would either insist on talking him out of it . . . or insist on coming. He couldn't have her trying either, cause he knew he would cave. He would always cave to her. "I love you Clary," he breathed the words he would never tell her into the darkness. He clenched his fists, staring at the door. I will keep you safe. If it's the very last thing I do.

Jace didn't know how long he stood on her front porch, or up at her window when he saw the light come on. She had stood there staring at something for a long time before turning out of sight. But it was well after dark when he finally got back to their temporary house. He had only just barely made it thorough the door when there was a knock. Sighing, he turned and opened it.

"Hey Jace." It was Luke. Immediately Jace's heart jumped in throat. Was Clary okay? Was something wrong? But Luke was smiling. Surely Luke wouldn't be smiling if something was wrong. "Is Simon still here?"

Ah. The pack leader was wearing his usual plaid flannel and jeans—which was just as bad as Alec, with his dark sweater and jeans combo. But before Jace could answer, Alec came out of the kitchen. "Yeah, he's upstairs with Isabelle," he said, looking suddenly uncomfortable as both Jace and Luke turned to look at him. "Izzy's been having a hard time since Max's death. Simon's the first one she's let in her room since it happened."

"Well would you mind if I went up to check on him?" Luke asked, not unkindly. Though Jace had the feeling that Luke was going to do it regardless. In the end, both he and Alec merely shrugged nonchalant and watched silently as the pack leader hurried up the steps. He came back down only seconds later, looking slightly as though he were second guessing his life choices. Pulling open the front door, he said, "I'll, uh, let Clary know that he's okay."

There wasn't much to do after Luke left. Alec tried to talk him into eating something but Jace just wasn't hungry. What he really wanted to do was to try a tracking rune on that thread.

"Are you okay?" Alec asked after awhile.

"I'm just tired," Jace answered, rubbing at his eyes. "And I think I want to sleep in my own room tonight. I just . . . need to be alone."

"Okay," Alec said, nodding. And Jace knew he was trying to be understanding—trying to be there for everyone. In fact, with the exception of when he had seen his brother break down and grieve with his mother, he had only ever seen Alec trying to be there for everyone else.

"You're going to run yourself ragged," Jace said halfway to the stairs.

Alec, who had just been about to take a seat, looked up surprised. 'What?"

"I love you Alec, but if you don't take time for yourself, you're going to run yourself ragged."

"I'll be fine."

Jace stared. "Alec—"

"Go lay down."

Nope. Jace made his way back into the living room. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," his brother said quickly, his brow furrowing. And Jace's eyes narrowed. Alec had always been a terribly liar.

"You know, you haven't really talked about Max," Jace hedged softly. "Everyone here—"

"There's no need to," Alec said stiffly.

"Alec, if you're mad at me—if you blame me . . . I wish you would just say so." The Angel knows I blame myself enough.

But Alec only sputtered, truly bewildered now. "Jace, why would I blame you? You didn't cause Max's death anymore than Isabelle did."

"Because Valentine's my father," said Jace. "Because Sebastian was there at my father's command."

"That doesn't mean you killed Max," Alec said. "And Izzy—" he looked at the ceiling, "—up there blaming herself? That's just as ridiculous. I could blame myself too, you know."

At this, Jace bit down, staring at his brother. "How so?"

"Because I left Sebastian with Max and Izzy. I told him to stay and watch them." Alec shrugged as though he were exhausted. "You even told me that you didn't like him—that you thought there was something off about him—a tool, I believe you called him."

Jace gave a half smile. That had seemed so long ago now. And then he was frowning, shaking his head. "But you didn't know," he said, pushing his hair back. "You couldn't have known."

"Exactly." Alec took a breath. "I didn't know. And neither did Izzy and neither did you. We can blame ourselves all we want. Personally, I think that's what Valentine wants. But me? I'm going to put blame where blame is due. Sebastian killed Max—Valentine killed Max. And I will spend my last dying breath making sure I do everything I can to fight them both at every turn—even if that's not that far off. One way or another, I'm going to make that son of a bitch pay."

Chewing on his cheek, Jace nodded. "We both will." Looking back up at the ceiling, Jace smiled then. "Did Iz really let the vampire into her room?"

"Yeah," Alec laughed. "She screamed for us at one point to come remove him but . . . well . . ." he shrugged ruefully. "I didn't respond."

Jace laughed. "Good. Strange as it is to admit, I think he's good for her right now." And then he stretched. "I'm gonna grab my bed out of your room and toss it back in mine."

Alec only waved in return. And Jace watched as he picked up an old book off one of the shelves and sat down. Swallowing, he took a few more minutes to really watch Alec unseen. To memorize his features. If all went as planned, it might be the last time he did. Upstairs, Jace shoved his mattress down the hall and back into the room that had been untouched. He also had swiped Alec's stele up off the nightstand when he was in there. Hopefully Alec wouldn't notice it was missing right away. As he had passed Isabelle's room, he heard her soft laughter from inside. Knowing her as well as he did, Jace knew it wasn't real—no one around here had real laughter anymore—but it was definitely a start.

Alone in his room, Jace sat on his bed and pulled the blood soaked thread out along with Alec's stele. With his heart hammering, it was time to see if it would work. Opening his palm, Jace held the thread, drew a tracking rune, and—

It was like a veil had been pulled over his eyes. He knew that he was still in his room, and yet . . . he was running a path that he knew well. Gasping Jace's eyes flew opened. It had worked. The tracking rune . . . it worked. Sebastian was on foot, and if he kept to the path he was currently taking, he would reach the destroyed manor by morning. Jace was nearly to the window when he stopped. He didn't want to leave it like this. Alec would be so upset and hurt in the morning if he woke to find Jace gone. But he couldn't exactly not go, could he? Crossing to the desk, he pulled out a pen and some paper. Sitting down, he began to write.

.

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The moon was glowing bright as Jace made his third trip through Alicante—past Amatis' house. He had made it out to the stables at one point, noting that Wayfarer was still there, sleeping in his stall, but Jace had not taken the horse. Instead he had walked back toward the city—unsure why he couldn't bring himself to leave.

That was a lie.

He knew why he couldn't bring himself to leave. Clary. From the moment he had met her, there lives had gotten so brilliantly and so disastrously entwined. Jace had been so incredibly intrigued by the sharp eyed mundie girl that had tried to stop him from killing a demon back in Pandemonium. The intrigue only got worse the more he got to know her. He could still feel her dying in his arms as he raced back to the institute. He had been so terrified of losing her. But he didn't. Instead, he had kissed her awake. He had never told her about that—not that that was something he could actually tell her now. He loved her. That would never change—no matter how wrong it was. He knew that now. He had known it before. At Hotel Dumort and again at Renwicks—especially at Renwicks. When she had shown up . . . when she had come for him and threw herself into his arms as if it were the one place she truly belonged.

But she's your sister, he told himself. You shouldn't love her the way you do. Not that he could stop it either. Learning that she was his sister was . . . it was a death sentence—a punishment for something he didn't even know he had done wrong. Every day that he watched her and couldn't have her left him dying a little more on the inside. He had never wanted a girl the way he had wanted Clary and it terrified him. But it was more than just want. Sighing, Jace stopped and rubbed hard at his eyes before pushing his hands roughly through his hair. He was back in front of Amatis' house. Why did he keep coming here? Why could he not just leave and go after Sebastian as planned? He would die happy knowing the girl he loved more than his own life was safe. Not that she knows you love her.

At the thought, Jace looked back up at the house. He had never said the words that there were no going back from, but he was sure she knew. She had to know. When it came to Clary, he was not exactly the master of keeping his heart off his sleeve. He was more like a bull in some china shop filled with emotional turmoil and loathing. Shaking his head, he took a step back. Why are you here? You shouldn't be here! He had to go. Now.

And go he did.

In the wrong direction . . .

Climbing up the lattice, he pulled himself easily onto the porch roof. He was level with her window now, and he hesitated at seeing it open. She would probably be sleeping. Should he knock? Should he call out her name? But then . . . did any of these questions matter? Throwing a leg silently over the windowsill, he pushed the curtains out of the way as his boot came down on soft carpeting that muffled his footsteps. Due to his Nyx Rune, his eyes adjusted quickly in the dark. Clary was in bed, scrambling at her nightstand for her seraph blade. Jace almost smiled at seeing the warrior she had become.

Moving quickly across the room, Jace laid his hand gently over hers. "It's all right," he said softly. "It's me."

Clary took a sharp breath at the sound of his voice—or maybe it was that he was touching her. Flinching inwardly, Jace quickly removed his hand and Clary turned to look up at him, holding the blankets around her as she did. Her hair was messy from sleep, splayed around her head on the pillow like a fiery halo. He should look away—it would be the polite thing to do—but he couldn't. She was so beautiful.

"Jace," Clary whispered, the shock of him standing in her room wearing off. "What are you doing here? What's wrong?" What's wrong? Nothing—everything. Me—you. How could he possibly explain any of that? When he continued to say nothing, Clary met his eyes with those calming Idris meadows as she pulled the blankets up around her. Was she cold? "Jace," she said again with more concern. "Are you all right?"

Jace blinked. He had meant to leave. He had not meant to come up here. What was he even doing here when he should be going after Sebastian?! Biting down hard on his cheek, Jace swallowed. "I don't know." His mind was screaming at him and yet, all he could do was stare at her as if she were an angel that had suddenly appeared. "I wasn't going to come here. I've been wandering around all night—I couldn't sleep," he added, knowing he couldn't tell her the complete truth, "—and I kept finding myself walking here. To you."

Clary frowned, sitting up. In doing so, the blanket that had been covering her fell down around her waist. And Jace saw that she was wearing a sheer tank top. Too sheer. And the moonlight from the window was making her skin glow. He really should look away, but he still couldn't. His heart raced as it always would, but he also felt something else. Sadness. He shouldn't have come here. He had told himself he wouldn't.

"Why can't you sleep?" she asked, looking up at him. "Did something happen?"

Why did you come here? he practically shouted at himself. "I had to see you." He was only vaguely aware of the answer leaving his lips. But he was completely aware of the fact that Clary had heard him. He watched as her eyes widened a fraction—the movement of her throat as swallowed. "I know I shouldn't," he said. "But I had to."

Taking a deep breath, Clary pulled her legs back on the bed. "Well, sit down, then," she said. "Because you're freaking me out." And then she frowned. "Are you sure nothing's happened?"

"I didn't say nothing happened," he said, turning to sit on the bed. I just can't tell you what. Not really. He stared out the window. So many people were out there, hugging the one's they loved—telling them how they feel—knowing this might be one of the last times they get to. But for Jace, it was more than that. Turning to look at Clary, he realized just how close they were. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss her. To caress her cheek. To—

"Is there bad news?" Clary asked anxiously. "Is everything—is everyone—"

"It's not bad," Jace said, shaking his head lightly—the words coming out of his mouth of their own volition. "And it's not news. It's the opposite of news." Was he really doing this? But he couldn't stop himself either. Not now. "It's something I've always known, and you—you probably know it too. God knows I haven't hid it all that well." She was watching him with bated breath—her eyes unable to look away. But he had to tell her, he realized. He may not be able to ever take it back, but he didn't want to. It was selfish and wrong and he didn't care. He could not go to face Sebastian and his father without her knowing at least how he felt. "What happened," he stopped, taking a breath. She's your sister— "Is that I realized something."

"Jace," she breathed unsteadily, her eyes never leaving his. "Jace, you don't have to—"

"I was trying to go . . . somewhere," he began. "But I kept getting pulled back here. I couldn't stop walking, couldn't stop thinking. About the first time I ever saw you, and how after that I couldn't forget you. I wanted to, but I couldn't stop myself. I forced Hodge to let me be the one who came to find you and bring you back to the Institute." Had he told her that before? He didn't think he had. "And even back then," he continued breathily, "in that stupid coffee shop, when I saw you sitting with Simon, even then it felt wrong to me—I should have been the one sitting with you. The one who made you laugh like that. I couldn't get rid of that feeling. That it should have been me." Taking a breath, he met her eyes once more. "And the more I knew you, the more I felt it—it had never been like that for me before. I'd always wanted a girl and then gotten to know her and not wanted her anymore, but with you the feeling just got stronger and stronger until that night you showed up at Renwicks and I knew." Biting down, Jace thought of that night again. It had been the worse night of his life. "And then to find out that the reason I felt like that—like you were some part of me I'd lost and never even knew I was missing until I saw you again—that the reason was that you were my sister." The word came out harsh, but still, Jace pushed on. "It felt like some sort of cosmic joke. Like God was spitting on me. I don't even know for what—thinking that I could actually get to have you, that I deserve something like that, to be that happy. I couldn't imagine what it was I'd done that I was being punished for—"

"If you're being punished, then so am I," Clary said softly, the devastation in her voice more than he could bare. "Because all those things you felt, I felt them too." Dropping her eyes, she shook her head, and Jace wanted so badly to reach for her. "But we can't—" she whispered wretchedly, and Jace clinched his fist. "We have to stop feeling this way, because it's our only chance."

"Our only chance for what?"

"To be together at all," she said meeting his eyes once more. She looked on the verge of tears—please don't cry, Clary. "Because otherwise we can't ever be around each other, not even just in the same room, and I can't stand that. I'd rather have you in my life even as a brother than not at all—"

"And I'm supposed to sit by while you date other boys, fall in love with someone else, get married . . .?" Jace asked miserably as he thought of her and Simon. Them being together had nearly killed him—even remembering it still hurt. So the idea of some unknown faceless boy—and Clary, looking at him as she once had Jace—it was too much. It hurt too much. She had to know that. "And meanwhile, I'll die a little bit more each day, watching."

Clary was shaking her head. "No. You wont care by then." But even as she said it, Jace saw the sharp flicker of pain that passed through her eyes. Because they both knew it was a lie. Jace would always care—he would always love her— "Please," she breathed, her lip trembling as she tugged on one of her curls. "If we don't say anything—if we just pretend—"

"There is no pretending," Jace cut her off. It was the truth. And he was done hiding it. "I love you, and I will love you until I die, and if there's a life after that, I'll love you then."

He had said it.

They both stared at each other unmoving—Clary's full lips popping open to make a perfect 'o' as her eyes flew wide. And still, neither of them looked away. Slowly Jace took a breath when she continued to say nothing.

"I know you think that I just want to be with you to—to show myself what a monster I am." He shrugged. "And maybe I am a monster. I don't know the answer to that. But what I do know is that even if there's demon blood inside me, there is human blood inside me as well. And I couldn't love you like I do if I wasn't at least a little bit human. Because demons want. But they don't love. And I—" Cutting himself off, he shot to his feet. Clary had continued to say nothing, but her face had said enough. The shock on it was gut wrenching. Perhaps he had gone about this the wrong way. Or maybe he should have said nothing at all. Crossing the room, he stared out the window, angry with the people out there who could tell someone that they loved them without it being wrong or complicated.

"Jace?" Clary's soft voice called out behind him. But he said nothing. What could he possibly say to fix something so broken? And then she was next to him, her hand on his arm. "What's wrong?"

"I shouldn't have told you like that," he said dejectedly, staring at the reflection of them standing together in the window. They were like ghosts—he felt like one. "I'm sorry," he breathed, his voice like a stretched wire. "That was probably a lot to take in. You looked so . . . shocked."

"I was," she admitted softly. "I've spent the last few days wondering if you hated me. And then I saw you tonight and I was pretty sure you did."

"Hated you?" How could I possibly . . . I could never hate you. But even as he thought it, he heard Alec's voice telling him to stop acting like he was mad at Clary. Reaching up, he drew a finger gently across her cheek, the feel of her skin sending a shot of heat coursing through his body. "I told you I couldn't sleep. Tomorrow by midnight we'll be either at war or under Valentine's rule. This could be the last night of our lives, certainly the last even barely ordinary one. The last night we go to sleep and get up just as we always have. And all I could think about was that I want to spend it with you."

And Clary gasped, her eyes shooting up to him as the pulse in her throat pounded rapidly. "Jace—"

Shit. "I don't mean like that," he amended quickly. That had come out wrong. "I won't touch you, not if you don't want me to." And then he was begging. "I know it's wrong—God, it's all kinds of wrong—but I just want to lie down with you and wake up with you, just once, just once ever in my life." He couldn't pull his eyes away from the emerald orbs that had captured him so fully and completely. He knew he sounded desperate and probably even pathetic, but he didn't care. "It's just this one night. In the grand scheme of things, how much can one night matter?"

But he knew, even as he said it, that what he was asking mattered. To both of them. He knew he was asking for a lot. Which was why Jace wasn't going to be surprised when she said no. He expected it even. And when she did he would—

"Close the curtains, then," she whispered, taking a step back from him. "Before you come to bed."

Jace turned, the shock clear on his face. She had said yes. She had . . . he could feel his heart pounding as he looked at her. Had she really just said yes? He had told her he loved her. And while she hadn't said it back, she didn't need to. Not with the way she was looking at him now. He felt elated and excited and—catching her arm, he pulled her against him where she would always fit perfectly—no one else. Jace tried to put everything he could into that hug. And she didn't pull away, her hands slipping around his waist and caressing his back softly. "Clary . . ."

"Come to bed," she said, her breath hot against his chest. "It's late."

And then he watched as she turned away from him, his breath hitching as she crawled back into bed, pulling the blankets up to her hips as she looked back up at him. She was looking at him strangely—sadly. Like the thought of doing this hurt her because it could never be more than this. Jace understood it perfectly, for he felt the same. Reaching back, he pulled the curtains shut before slipping out of his jacket. Draping it across a nearby chair, he could feel his pulse racing as he unbuckled his weapons belt and lowered it to the floor, followed by his boots.

And then carefully—very carefully—he got into bed.

His pulse was racing. They were doing this. And he barely let out a breath as he laid back against the pillow. She was facing him, her knees pulled up. He could feel the currant of electricity shooting between them and it made him happier than he had any right to feel. Slowly he lowered his hands to his side and turned his head to look at her. She was watching him, her eyes shining in the moonlight that had managed to filter in through the curtains.

"Goodnight, Clary," he said softly. And she smiled.

Closing his eyes he realized that even if he could sleep, he wouldn't. He didn't want to miss a second of this. His body was a live wire right now—sensitive to her every breath and movement. Which was why he damn near jumped out of his skin when he felt her fingers graze his. Had she meant to touch him? It had been so light, like the brush of a feather, he was sure it was an accident. And yet, he could still feel her. He waited, unsure of what to do. He had told her that he wouldn't touch her unless she wanted him to. So when it became apparent that she meant to be touching him, Jace relaxed, even lifting his own fingers so as to connect a little more firmly. And he could feel her eyes on him. When she still didn't pull away, Jace smiled.

And then she wove her fingers through his, holding tightly to his hand. "Good night," she breathed.

Opening his eyes, Jace looked at her. Her own eyes were closed now, her hand still tightly in his. She looked peaceful. By the Angel he loved her. She may not be his, but he was hers. He would always be hers. And she knew it now. It was all he could ask for. As the time ticked by, Jace stayed perfectly still, watching as Clary slept. He was so afraid of ruining the moment—of accidentally waking her. And he hated knowing that it would have to come to an end eventually. Her hand had stayed in his, her other curled up near her head. With his free hand, he reached over and brushed back a stray curl that had fallen across her eyes.

He froze as she moved, readjusting herself. What was she . . .? His heart began to jack hammer as her hand glided up his arm, sending heat shooting through his body. Was she doing this on purpose? He looked at her in the dark; she seemed to be asleep. And then his hands shot up in surprise as her body began inching closer to him—pushing up against his side and nuzzling him—before her head finally came to rest on his chest, her hand against his stomach.

Jace's breath caught in his throat, his arms suspended above him as he stared down at her in shock and amazement. It wasn't that he was complaining—not even a little bit. It was just that he had not been expecting it. If he had been afraid to breathe before, however, it was nothing compared to now. And what was he supposed to do with his hands? He couldn't exactly keep them held out above them for the rest of the night, but he also wasn't going to wake Clary either. Slowly—so incredibly slowly—he lowered his arms, lying one hand gently across her hand that lay on his stomach and the other around her waist.

And he waited.

When she didn't move, he began to relax—oh who was he kidding? He wasn't going to relax. He could practically hear the steady rhythm of her heart mixing with the terrified drumming of his own; and he could definitely feel the heat of her breath through his shirt. Laying there with her in his arms, he could actually imagine what it would have been like if things had been different. And he reveled in it. Because soon, he would have to leave. The morning would come, bringing with it the truth of tomorrow—the truth about them.

And tonight would just be a dream.

So he would make it the best dream he possibly could.

AN: I know that in the books, Clary states that her and Jace only hold hands . . . but she was asleep and Jace was awake and quite frankly, I just wanted them to cuddle dammit, lol. So I hope you guys liked the slight deviation. As always, Please Review!