Chapter 20 - Soul Music
Everything was a dark foggy atmosphere.
Clary felt lost, like she was swimming in the middle of the ocean and she was drowning. And in that ocean, there was a force that kept pulling her down every time she tried to come up for air. The surface was so close yet so far.
With a strong yank, the force pulled her down and kept her there. She could feel herself going paranoid and her head had begun to feel light. Everything was closing in on her.
"There is no pretending," a voice echoed around her, like the person who said it was very far away. "I love you, and I will love you until I die, and if there's a life after that, I'll love you then."
She felt her heart stutter in her chest. Hearing those words, it was like she had found the surface, finally breaking free even though she was still held captive in this oppressing, dark space. To her, the words were like cold water in the middle of a desert, air to a living person or life to a corpse. The words had been so familiar, so real. But they weren't. Were they?
She wanted them to be.
Clary woke up with a start. She sat up and winced, her whole body aching. She rubbed her eyes and found her face stained with tears.
She wiped them away, baffled. She looked around and realized she was in her room, tucked in her bed.
She looked out her window and saw that the sky was dark and cloudy. She was in a pair of blue cotton shorts and a white tank top, When did she get into these clothes?
But even with the fresh change of clothes, she was still filthy; soot, blood and ichor stained her arms. She got out of bed and saw a new shimmering scar on her forearm. The scar of an iratze.
Her dream flashed back into her mind and she laughed quietly to herself. What was wrong with her? That feeling she got in the dream was absolutely ridiculous. She shook her head, clearing her absurd thoughts and dreams.
She padded into the cold bathroom, stripping out of her clothes and jumping into the shower. She turned the knob for cold water before adjusting the knob for warm water. She went under the relaxing shower, letting the water beat against her sore back. She grabbed a bottle of body wash that lied on the floor and squirted some of the soap on her palm.
Slowly, she scrubbed all the dirt and blood off her skin, even washing her hair. She watched the dirt, blood and soot go down the drain along with the lemon scented bubbles. As she scrubbed, bits and pieces of this evening's happenings flashed in her mind.
The face of the person who attacked her was blurry and was constantly changing every time Clary tried to remember.
Did her attacker have blond hair … or was she a brunette? All she remembered was that it was a girl. And that funny glint of gold and silver.
Her head began to throb, like a humongous drum was being hit repeatedly inside her head. She turned off the shower and wrapped herself in a warm towel. She ran the towel through her wet hair harshly, planning to go back to sleep immediately. The clock on her bedside table told her it was four in the morning.
She threw on her clothes and crawled into bed. Her head sunk into the pillow but sleep remained out of reach. She groaned in frustration. She hated when she was tired but sleep ran away. She groaned, turning over as she closed her eyes.
Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep, Clary willed, saying the word over and over again until it lost its meaning.
She opened her eyes and found herself looking at the Codex. She sat up, grabbing the fat book off the bedside table and opened it in front of her. Her eyes skimmed the pages, reading the pages at random when the soft tinkling of music trickled from under her door and into her ears.
She looked up, her eyebrows raising in surprise.
Who could be playing the piano?
The music was soft and smooth. It was the most beautiful thing Clary had heard.
She closed the Codex and hopped of the bed. Her feet brought her to her door and into the dingy hallway. Most of the lights were off and Clary could barely see five feet ahead of her but she trudged on anyway.
The carpet was soft and ticklish under her feet. The music grew louder as she neared the metal stairs. The first step descending the stairs was cold but she was curious to see who was playing.
The music weaved into something more intricate and deep as she reached the first floor. All the lights except for the lights in the living room were off.
She could hear the pronounced amount of emotion that went into the piece that was being played. It put a ball in her throat.
Sadness. Anguish. Grief. Desperation. Hatred.
She peeked around the corner, almost desperate to see who the pianist was. Who she saw surprised her, a small, quiet gasp tumbling from her lips.
Jace sat with his back to her, his hands flowing gracefully and quickly over the ivories, never faltering or missing a note. His posture was relaxed but there was a slight hard tense fixture in his shoulders.
Clary was fascinated by the way Jace's fingers lightly lifted from a key and descending on another with great, graceful speed.
He wore a loose white shirt and a pair of black pants. His blond hair looked messy yet, by some amazing confusing magic, good.
She watched him, mostly concealed behind the wall as he played.
"You're not doing a great job hiding, you know." Jace said lightly as he continued to play his angry piece.
After a few seconds, Clary realized he was talking to her. Slowly, she walked into the living room and towards Jace. She stopped a few feet away, hugging her body awkwardly, partly because she was cold and partly because she had nothing else to do with her hands.
"How did you know?" she said quietly, afraid she would disrupt the quiet nature of the living room and the piece Jace was playing.
"Well, for the last two minutes, I could see you in the reflection of the piano hiding behind that wall and your descent down the stairs weren't exactly ninja-like. Next time, I'd suggest a silence rune." Jace said, never once looking back. He didn't even seem distracted as he talked.
"Next time?" Clary scoffed.
She could almost hear Jace's smile. "Believe me, it's not going to be the last time you spy on me."
Clary scoffed again, rolling her eyes. "Wow."
Jace chuckled quietly, all this while still playing the piano. "You want to sit down?" he said, gesturing to the empty space beside him with his head.
Cautiously, Clary slid onto the piano bench, Jace making some space for her.
Even though he played with a grim, fiery passion for this piece, his face was calm and comfortable - happy even as he concentrated on the keys.
"You play beautifully," she said, admiring the way his long, slender fingers moved. They seemed … looked more … right when Jace was playing the piano than when he was wielding a seraph blade.
His long, slender pianist hands were the hands of a musician. Not a warrior. Yet Jace made them both happen.
"I know right?" he said, smirking. Clary wanted to roll her eyes at his lack of humility. But he knew he was a lot better than alright.
Clary didn't say anything. She just enjoyed the music. She found herself on the same emotional turmoil as the piece. Her own anger, sadness, grief and hatred pieced themselves to the piece.
Anger at herself. Sadness for her mother's death. Grief for everyone that died. Hatred for herself, for the people that killed her mother, for her mother. The emotions disappeared when Jace spoke.
"What are you thinking?"
Clary looked at him, pulled out of her train of thoughts.
"I was just wondering how did you manage to incorporate demon hunting and playing the piano into your life?" Clary lied, giving him a fake smile.
He grinned. "Sometimes, the screams and wailing of the damned can be quite inspiring and musical." he said lightly.
Clary frowned down at her hands which rested on her lap. She didn't like talk about the eternally damned and their eternal suffering. It made her uneasy and frankly depressed.
"Im kidding," Jace said, chuckling and she looked up at him again.
"So how did you learn how to play?" Clary said.
Jace stiffened slightly, his eyes going hard. He didn't stop playing but the music morphed into something more soulful and sad. It tugged at her heartstrings.
"My … adoptive father," he spit the word father. "taught me."
"What happened to your real parents?" Clary asked.
She didn't want to be rude but somehow, Clary felt this … urgency to know. She knew she was breaching a very sensitive topic and she was about to bail from her question when Jace answered it.
"They're both dead. My father died in a … war and my mother killed herself after he died." Jace said, staring at the keys. He said the words without emotion, not even a touch of sadness or grief. Clary felt a sharp pang of pity for him though she knew he probably wouldn't like it.
And the pity must have been written all over her face because Jace gave her a rueful half smile. "You don't have to pity me. I barely knew the both of them. The Lightwoods are my real family."
They didn't speak for a long time after that. Clary just sat beside Jace, listening to the now sweet music fill every crevice and corner of the living room. Jace gave her a sideway glance every so often but she chose to ignore them. Well, tried to.
"What?" she said, raising an eyebrow. The way Jace was looking anther made her feel funny.
"Nothing. You just look so happy." Jace said, shrugging.
"And you have a problem with that because ...?"
"I don't have a problem with it. It's just that it seems a little out of place given the circumstances."
"What circumstances?"
"You know, sitting next to the guy you hate while he plays the piano and you his sad, tragic backstory." Jace said, shooting her a smile that said 'I know that's how you feel exactly. You can't lie'.
Clary punched him lightly in the waist. Jace winced and groaned softly, the music cutting off as he brought a hand to his side.
"Oh my God! Are you okay? I'm so sorry. What did I hit?" Clary said, alarmed. She bit her lip, her eyes wide as Jace exhaled loudly.
"It's nothing. Just a little injury I got back at the club." he said, straightening up. "It still hurts a little. There are some things even iratzes can't fix."
"What injury?" Clary looked at the place where he was still holding.
Jace shifted uncomfortably. "It's nothing, really. When the club exploded, a piece of shrapnel embedded itself in my side." Jace said, shrugging.
"I'm sorry," Clary mumbled.
Jace looked confused, his eyebrows furrowed. "Why? What did you do?"
"Because you were carrying me when you were running out of the club."
Jace looked ready to argue and Clary knew in no way would Jace admit it was her fault. "Tell me about you." Clary said suddenly, so he wouldn't argue with her.
Jace shut his open mouth. He looked over at her. "Why?"
"No reason. I just … I don't know why. I just want to." she shrugged.
"Alright then," he said. "Where do you want to start?"
"Anywhere." she said.
"Okay. About nine months before my … birth, I was conceived. That is a process where my parents, who I think loved each other very much, got -"
"Oh my God. No. Please. Save me the gory details." Clary said, her eyes wide. Jace grinned. "I meant your childhood or your girlfriend, I don't know." Clary said, rolling her eyes. She noticed very slightly, Jace winced.
"There's nothing much about my childhood, honestly." Jace said, shrugging. "It was mostly hunting, studying, hunting and occasionally going to Idris with Robert and Maryse."
Suddenly, Jace swung his whole body to a side so he was now facing Clary.
"Let me tell you about the time a girl screwed my whole life over." he said, grinning.
"This, should be interesting," Clary mused.
"I was in a famous Downworlder club in Brooklyn with Iz and Alec, hunting a minor demon when she saw me. She followed us down into storage room where we were questioning the demon. She thought the damn thing was human and we were going to kill it for kicks. She threatened to call the police. My first thought was 'what a stupid mundane'. Because, of course, being mundane, she wouldn't be able to see that it was a demon or even understand the term demon. Then I realized that we were glamoured. And she could isee us.
"At first, I thought she was a faerie or a vampire but she wasn't pretty or pale enough for either. We freaked out of course but there was something about her that kept me from knocking her out cold and locking her in the storeroom. She caught my eye, I guess."
Clary smiled at the wistful smile on Jace's lips. There was a deep melancholy in his eyes and Clary what happened to this girl.
"Then her stupid mundane friend found her in the storage room and she went home with him. After that, we went home and I couldn't keep thinking of her. Called it obsessed if you want, I'll agree. Hodge, my old tutor, insisted that Isabelle go after her the next day but I all but punched Isabelle out cold so I could go get her. I was determined to drag her back to the Institute. After all, who could resist this manly work of art?"
"I'm guessing her?" Clary guessed, truly amused by this story.
"Her." he groaned. "I tracked here to a sad mundane cafe. She was sitting with that mundane friend of hers so I sat down and watched her."
"Wait. You sat down and watched her? Isn't that a bit too stalker like?" Clary mused.
"I doubt she would prefer me to run in and kidnap her though, now that I think of it, it could have been interesting." Jace said, a thoughtful look on his face. "Anyways, she soon realized I was there. I led her into an alley and she confronted me. For a moment, I honestly thought I'd have better chances of survival with a demon than with her. We had quite the civilized conversation until she got a phone call that made her run like hell was chasing her. I followed her and I found her half dead and lying under a demon.
"I took her back to the Institute and things escalated from there. You're probably going to say it's ridiculously cliche to kiss surrounded by flowers at midnight."
"No … I think it's ..." Clary struggled confined the right word. It wasn't exactly cliche and it wasn't exactly over dramatic. "... perfect. So you kissed her?"
"Eventually. It took me surviving a couple of rogue Shadowhunters, a clan of vampires and Izzy's constant, torturous fussing but it was worth it.
"Then, of all the worst possible things that could happen, I found out she was my sister."
Clary's jaw dropped. Jace had a sister? And he had lip locked with h
"I thought she was then it turned out she wasn't and … it's really complicated. I'll tell you another time."
"What happened to her?" Clary wondered.
The melancholy was back in Jace's eyes. "I don't know. She just went missing. Gone. Dead, if you will."
"She went missing? So you assume she's dead? Don't you hope she's coming back?" Clary demanded. Jace didn't seem like the type of person who would just … give up. He seemed more like the type of person who would have burned the world to ashes and dug this girl out from the ashes and rebuilding the world again.
Jace leaned in closely, tilting his head slightly. When their faces were only an inch apart, he spoke.
"I'm scared to hope. Being let down hurts more than the straightforward truth. And I've been hurt so much already." Jace said truthfully, staring deep into Clary's green eyes with his gold ones. Clary could see the hurt in his eyes, another glimpse of the poor broken boy that hid under that slick arrogant protective armor.
He pulled back and Clary released a breath she didn't know she had been holding in.
"In your worst times, I guess hope is all you have. It's drives you to do things -drives you forward - and if you don't have hope I guess you don't have a reason or goal." Clary said, looking at her hands which looked so small and so fragile compared to Jace's strong, slender hands.
Jace smiled a half smile. "But hope also holds you back. It keeps you in the past because you're hoping for something that will never come or happen." he stated.
"Are you saying this girl is holding you back from living?"
"No. I was simply stating the downside to hoping. Everything has the good and bad to it and I was simply telling you the bad side to hoping which you clearly failed to see." Jace said shrugging. "To me, she will always be my past, present and future."
Clary smiled softly. "You really love her don't you?"
"More than you know." Jace sighed. He turned back to the piano, lightly tracing some of the keys. He traced the keys with both hands and finally applied pressure. Music filled the room again.
Clary wished someone would love her as much as Jace loved this girl. Unthinkingly, she leaned her head against Jace's shoulder. The sweet music was slowly putting Clary to sleep. Realizing what she was doing, Clary sat straight up and blushed. Her entire being was awake again.
"Sorry. Are you okay with that? I … um ..." Clary said, trying to find the correct words. She hung her head, laughing quietly to herself. "I feel like such an idiot." she sighed.
Jace laughed. "It's okay. I don't mind,"
Clary shook her head and Jace didn't push her further. She sat quietly and continued listening to Jace play. Her eyebrows started to droop and grow heavy again when something Jace said earlier tugged at her memory.
"And I don't hate you," she said, trying not to sound so tired. She was already having a hard time keeping her head up. "Yeah, you annoy the crap out of me but I don't hate you. Yet, at least." she teased.
"Yet," Jace scoffed, rolling his eyes. "That's reassuring."
"At least I don't now." Clary retorted, trying to stop the yawn that was threatening to escape. Jace rolled his eyes and smiled his crooked smile before turning his attention back to the piano. In the end, Clary would find herself leaning against Jace's shoulder as his piano lulled her into the dark abyss of sleep.
Magnus sighed, slumped in his seat. He traced the patterns on the arm chair he was sitting on in the cold, barely lit hallway.
He was bored. He wanted to go home and sleep. But he couldn't. Why, you might ask? And why wasn't he home?
To answer the first question: It was because a very worried, very demanding, very cranky Jocelyn showed up at his loft at twelve in the freaking night and hauled his barely glitterized and dressed being to the Institute, claiming something wasn't right. So all of a sudden, Jocelyn Fairchild was a freaking Jedi who sensed a disturbance in the Force.
Which lead to answer the famous second question: Because Jocelyn had hauled his ass to the Institute instead of hauling Luke who was away on official business in Idris. That lucky dog.
Magnus sighed, running a hair through his messy hair. He slumped further in his seat, feeling more and more like an invertebrate.
Through the thick oak doors of the library, Magnus could hear the screaming and commotion between the two ladies that were happening on the inside.
Ugh, women. Not to be sexist or anything, in fact, he adored the opposite sex but this is one of the main reasons he was gay! (Actually, it was so he could wear glitter without being judged. Not that he cared)
"Maryse! I swear on the Angel that if you don't -" Jocelyn screamed, her voice ringing into Magnus's ears.
"Don't what, Jocelyn? And what will you do? I didn't have to tell you anything but here you are!" Maryse yelled and Magnus winced. Things were never good or going great when Maryse Lightwood raised her voice.
"How dare you -" the rest of Jocelyn's sentence dissolved into a stream of profanities, some even unfamiliar to Magnus.
"Calm down, Jocelyn. Hear me out!" Maryse pleaded.
Things quieted down inside the library and Magnus strained to listen. He decided that maybe it was best he didn't know everything. He stared at the painting opposite him, of the Mortal Cup and Sword on a gold lined mahogany table.
It was a new painting, one that wasn't there before. Of course, Magnus hadn't been in the Institute for quite a while so this painting could've been hanging there for maybe a little over a year.
The artwork and skill was flawless, pretty much like every other painting in the Institute but there was something different to this painting compared to the other paintings in the Institute.
The colors were brighter, more vibrant compared to the other dark colored paintings, making it somewhat come alive.
Something in the far left corner of the painting, next to the sword, caught Magnus's attention. It was two small round, heavy looking objects.
Magnus got up from his seat and walked closer to the painting for a closer look.
The small round objects had turned out to be a two rings resting atop one another. One dark silvery gold and one silver. The silver atop the gold.
On one ring, the gold one, Magnus could see the mark of a falling star embedded into the metal. The other ring had the pattern of engraved birds in flight.
The Herondale ring and the Morgenstern ring.
Magnus leaned back and crossed his arms. A small smile appeared on his lips. It wasn't too hard to guess who was the artist now.
Then the smile faded from his lips as all happiness did when he thought of Clary.
He missed the petite biscuit that had wrecked his whole life inside out. To Magnus, her death wasn't fair. She had gone through so much and for her to die like that was despicable. When he heard the news, he was ready to knock on Heaven's door repeatedly and demand the Angel return Clary's soul.
Of course, there were many flaws to that plan. For one thing, on account to the going to Heaven part, there was no way to go to Heaven unless you were near death or already dead. And Magnus was not prepared at all to die. And even if he did, he could be sent on a one way trip to hell and seeing that he was particular believer in any religion, that was kind of guaranteed. Secondly, Heaven, may not even have a door.
Thirdly, the Angel probably wouldn't be happy if Magnus disturbed him from whatever important angel work he was doing in Heaven and an angry Angel was something you do not want to mess with.
The library door opened and Magnus spun around, coming face to face with a red eyed Jocelyn. Tears stains streaked down her cheeks and her nose was red.
"Did you know that this painting was -?"
"Magnus, take me home." Jocelyn demanded. "I can't stand this place any longer." she spat, closing her eyes.
Magnus's eyebrows furrowed in confusion but her took her home anyways.
"Jace, wake up."
Everything was foggy in Jace's head and that voice was annoying him.
"Go away, Izzy." he mumbled.
"I'll throw you on the floor again." Izzy said in a sing song voice. Jace opened one heavy eyelid and glared at his sister.
"What do you want?" he said, pulling himself into a sitting position.
"It's six in the morning. Alec stepped out just now and what are you doing on the couch? Why aren't you in your room?" Isabelle sat next to him and crossed her legs.
"I couldn't sleep last night," Jace said, throwing himself onto the back of the couch.
"So … you decided to come downstairs to sleep?" Isabelle said, sounding amused.
Jace rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."
"Don't I?" Isabelle said. "I was up because I couldn't sleep, what with you making that incredible racket all night long."
"Technically, it was all morning," Jace said.
Izzy rolled her eyes.
"Can I know why you woke me up at the ungodly hour of six in the morning?" Jace said, arching an eyebrow at his sister.
"I needed someone to talk to." Izzy sighed.
Jace's eyes widened. "You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me." he said. "Go talk to the plants! Or Alec!"
"I tried. He didn't want to listen then he went for a run." Isabelle sighed.
Jace rolled his eyes. "Please, Alec has always been ever ready to listen to you. What's any different now? He probably had something really important to do, that's all."
"Like what?" Isabelle scoffed. "Does him taking a morning walk save the world from global warming?"
Jace fought the urge to roll his eyes. Isabelle had always been melodramatic.
"No … I'm just saying -"
A loud banging on the front door cut Jace off.
"It's probably Alec. I'm not surprised if he forgot the keys." Jace said, looking at the door.
"Crap. I was hoping it was those extra naked male strippers I ordered." Isabelle sighed, a small smile on her lips, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"If they're naked, I'd love to see them strip. It'd be quite interesting." Jace mused. He tried to create a mental picture and mentally flinched and cringed.
"Ugh, you're such a perv." Isabelle said, giggling. There a loud knock on the door again but they ignored it.
Jace groaned. "Why do both of you - you and Clary - fail to grasp the fact that all eighteen year old teenage boys are absolute perverts? It's just who we are." Jace said, shrugging.
"I doubt Simon's like that. He's too saint like."
"Saint like my ass. It's all a facade. I can tell you what dirty, kinky thoughts he probably has of you -"
Isabelle put a finger on Jace's lips. "Stop talking. You're going to taint the image I have of Si. And I'm going to be sick."
The banging resumed, louder and more demanding this time and Isabelle groaned in exasperation.
"I can't believe you got freaking locked out of our own home, Alec!" Isabelle groaned. She flung the door open and Isabelle skittered back a few steps, all the blood draining from her face.
Jace was up in half a second. "What is it, Izzy? Who is it?" He was by her side in three long strides.
His eyes widened when he saw who was standing in the doorway.
Oh crap.
Jocelyn Fray stood in the threshold, glaring at Jace heatedly. Magnus stood behind Jocelyn, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. He smiled sheepishly at them.
"I come bearing gifts?" Magnus murmured.
"What are you guys doing here?" Isabelle said casually. Jace could hear the raising panic in Isabelle's voice.
Jocelyn glared at Isabelle and Jace.
Well, I'm a screwed dead man, Jace thought, fully accepting that fact.
"I was just about to ask you that question. Can you -?"
"Jace? Izzy? What's going on?"
Everyone froze, Jocelyn cutting off immediately.
By the Angel, this couldn't get any worse.
Clary was halfway down the stairs, her hair messy and her eyes looked sleepy.
"Who's that?" she inquired.
Jocelyn stumbled forward, gripping Isabelle's arm for support
"Clary? By the Angel," Jocelyn gasped, all the color draining from her face.
"Surprise?" Isabelle squeaked, looking half terrified and half uneasy.
Now Jace was a definite dead man.
A/N - Thanks for all the follows/views/favourites/reviews! You all are fantastic and I just want to squish you all in a big virtual hug! xxxx