Hans Zimmer-Barbastella
JAMIE
My God-Father sat lazily on the lowest level of golden benches that formed one of many wide circles around the room. The Gathering Court sat like a pit in the center of the Accords Hall, completely sound proof so that unless Byron meant for all of Idris to listen, we couldn't be heard outside of the walls. The room was set up in the shape of a clock, the golden benches sectioned off to represent Shadowhunters from different parts of the world. I wasn't sure if it went by country or by population, but the room was large and organized enough to entertain either idea. In my earlier teenage years I'd been sent here nearly hundreds of times for breaking one rule or another, and now here I was at eighteen, giving orders.
"Are you sure of what you're asking?" Byron murmured warily, his fluffy white eyebrows knitting together in concern.
I could see the rest of the Council raise their own in surprise at my request. It wasn't that it had been particularly unconventional or outrageous- but asking that Hazel be monitored was the first demand I had made of the Clave. They were probably astounded I had gone off the deep end in the manner my father probably would have at the fact she blew up my house, or more so than Isabelle was that I had even been brave enough to step foot in the Accords Hall after being "banished."
That was the beauty of having power in times like these; people gave you an inch and you could make a mile out of it with the right words.
"I'm positive." I said loudly, my voice clear and strong as it echoed through the large room. I allowed my eyes to travel among the faces of the Council, making sure to assert myself, but it had been no secret that I couldn't help but sneak glances about Hall when I'd first entered.
The Accords Hall had been refurbished since Jordan Perez had smeared the Guard Towers with demon blood and allowed for an invasion. The walls were now made of solid gold, the floors black and shiny underneath the sound of combat boots and dragging weaponry. The staircases were now black instead of white marble. The iron banister that I'd flown through and nearly fallen off of was completely gone. It seemed as though they'd tried to erase all memory of that night from this place. Pussies.
I'd pushed through the wide black iron doors like I had a year before, remembering the pain that had seared through the pit of my stomach and kept my mind racing most nights since. That was the night Dad had died. It was the night that sealed Mom's fate too, but I liked to pretend they weren't both my fault although I knew they were. If I had just gotten there soon enough...Simon had to clear his throat several times before I'd been snapped out of my trance.
The faces of the Council stared back at me now, an ocean of mixed expressions. I could see fear, anger, irritation, pity; all of the above, on those who had that large of an emotional wage. Before all of this I would've sneered at the very idea that they were so comfortable with themselves in public. I would've scoffed at the way they allowed their feelings to be seen so plainly across their faces. If they couldn't handle themselves in the face of an eighteen year-old boy, how could they handle themselves in the face of the enemy? It would've made me sick, and it still sorta did, except now I understood and supported it.
Things were meant to be felt as a form of punishment. There was a middle-ground, and it meant that you could feel everything your little heart desired as long as no one found out.
If you were afraid? Fine. Be afraid. Just don't make it obvious. Are you angry? Perfect .Take it out on the enemy. Sad? Whatever. Slap a smile on your fat little face and get on with the day.
That is how emotions were meant to be handled, and they were here to remind us of our stupid mistakes. If we trained harder, we'd never find reasons to be afraid. If we kept thinking two steps ahead, nothing could ever get us angry. If we remembered not to get attached, we'd have nothing to be sad about.
I was in genuine pain when I stepped foot in the Accords Hall.
It was a reminder that if I'd been faster, I wouldn't be an orphan.
"I want her watched at all times," I continued. "Anastasia Lewis will help me organize and direct certain monitor parties so that it all runs smoothly."
"That couldn't possibly work," scoffed a long, pale woman with orange-red hair. The color reminded me of Mom, and I clenched my jaw a little, gripping the hilt of the Seraph blade so tightly the strap on my hip threatened to break. "There are far too many things to put together, by the time we make an orderly plan, get the volunteers together and send them out with all the proper equipment, the girl will be gone. We have no idea where she's currently being held- or where she'll go."
"Then what do you suggest, Delilah?" Byron hissed, the offense clear in his tone. I could see Simon smile lightly out of the corner of my eye, the both of us glad to have someone on the inside that truly liked Hazel. Prejudice had not been our friend in her case, as if it ever would be. As Delilah Wilt and Byron continued to argue, the rest of the Council chiming in every few seconds, I let my full gaze travel to Simon's aging face.
Over the years, his eyes had returned to their rich, brown "coffee" color as Mom had liked to describe it. There were streaks of grey in his unruly dark curls, long enough for Isabelle to still run her fingers through absent-mindedly as she did now. There were wrinkles falling into his soft skin, although "wrinkles" seemed like too flighty of a word for me to use. I liked to think of them more as evidence of living, the way I liked to think of the scars that covered every Shadowhunter's body. There were lines of worry, lines of laughter, lines of fear, of joy, of pain. I could see the crease that formed on his forehead whenever Ella ran too quickly, or Stasi didn't call back in time.
Simon's hands were soft, despite the years of fighting and struggle he'd been through. There were little silver hairs on his knuckles that made the corners of my mouth twitch up. I was hit with a memory, one of Mom and Simon lounging in the library one afternoon. She'd grabbed his hand suddenly, a grin spreading across her lovely face as she began to tease him.
"Gross," she chimed, her eyes twinkling. Simon rolled his eyes, lounging back lazily.
"What now?" he prodded. Mom ran a thumb across his fingers.
"You're getting old." she whispered, still grinning. Simon hadn't been able to help himself. Mom's smile had been infectious, and slowly it had crept upon Simon's features, erasing any evidence of life, all wrinkles disappearing within seconds.
The old man winked when he caught me looking at him, rolling his eyes and jabbing a thumb at the two Clave idiots still arguing above us. While I stood firmly on the tan granite floor, surrounded by golden benches filled with Shadowhunters in their black and silver silk robes, Byron was perched behind a podium high above the rest of us, the Shadowhunters representing America sitting stiffly behind him.
"None of this matters!" Delilah cried in a moment of lost self-control. "We have nor the time nor the organizational resources to carry this plan of action out before tomorrow."
"I agree," I piped up loudly, Ms. Wilt narrowing her blue eyes at me. One of her light orange eyebrows raised slightly in a challenge, her thin lips growing taut.
"Do you?" she asked coldly, clasping her long, bony fingers together in her lap.
"I do. Which is why I had Anastasia organize the groups and give them their assignments yesterday. Just to be safe," Delilah's eyes widened in a mixture of anger and confusion, murmurs floating all around the room as I turned towards the corridor that cut through the benches behind me, leading to a Golden door. "Simon?"
The old man got up from his seat before humming down the hall, his footsteps echoing loudly against the gold as he walked. I turned back towards Ms. Wilt as the doors opened behind me, whispers turning into fully-developed voices as a smaller, quicker pair of footsteps began to follow Simon's back into the Court.
Byron tried to hide a red-cheeked smile as stared down at me, shaking his head in amusement. Silver light shone through the windowed dome above us, washing over Anastasia's shiny black hair as she followed her father hand in hand through the Court.
"Inquisitor Byron," she said politely, her voice dripping with charm. Gregory Lionel was staring so intensely at my cousin he barely noticed when his wife began swatting at him furiously. "Hazel Kyle Roberts is being held at the House of Seven," several people in the Council gasped and I couldn't help but to roll my eyes. How dramatic could these people get? Although the idea of Hazel hanging out with Fallen angels made me extremely irritated, you didnt' see me gasping and wailing and whispering about it as if we weren't all adults having a serious fucking conversation. "Casper Atlas has been assigned as her Guardian, and has been acting as such since five months ago, January of this year when he found her at Dominus Creto's Institute for the Astoundingly Gifted."
I snapped my head to my left, Simon looking past Anastasia at me with a look of such confusion that I knew instantly none of us had known about Casper's position until now. There was no controlling the voices, people were shouting complete slurs and claims of disapproval across the Court so loudly that even Byron was having a hard time controlling them.
"You didn't think that was something we needed to discuss before you dropped it like a fucking bomb in the Court?" I hissed angrily, Anastasia flickering her black eyes to me for only a second.
"I knew you wouldn't handle it well," she whispered. "Turn around before they think we're scheming." I was pissed off, but I did as I was told, turning back to face the Council with my arms crossed in frustration.
"I told you to watch and report, not withhold information." I growled, not taking my eyes off Simon as he began climbing up the benches towards the podium.
"Jamie, the only thing stopping you from going over there and slaughtering everyone in the House of Seven is the fact that the Clave will want to take matters into their own hands and doing so would be against the Law. Now that it's been brought up in Court, you have to wait for orders like the rest of us."
"You're protecting them?" I spat, the betrayal overcoming me. "How could you do this to us?"
"How could you request that Thomas be kept in Silent City?" she hissed back. I clenched my jaw, trying to choose my words carefully. The topic had hit me like a wrecking ball. The truth was, I had never planned on telling her. I had never planned on her figuring it out, either, but Anastasia had a way of knowing everything, even when you did your best to keep it from her.
"He was a danger to you and everyone else on our team," I said lowly, trying to not to lose my temper as her lip quivered. "Now is not the time to get emotional about it."
"I can't believe you."
"Stasi, he was going to hurt you!" I cried, escaping my facade and facing her. I ran a hand through my messy hair, making a mental note that it needed to be cut.
"You don't know that."
"Everybody knew that."
"He could've been useful to us."
"Yes, drooling in the background while we fend for our lives would've been mighty helpful in times like these." I drawled sarcastically. "They poisoned his mind so deeply in Creto's Institute that he couldn't even remember his own fucking name-"
"No you're right!" Stasi cried, tears finally spilling onto her cheeks. "But he remembered mine."
Dread sank into my stomach like a stone as I tried to think of a point worth arguing against that. Anastasia was an eighteen year old girl, you couldn't tell her that anything she thought about love was wrong even if you had valid facts and pie charts. I felt like an ass.
I was an ass, but why couldn't she see that it was what needed to be done?
"This isn't about how you feel," I said calmly, Simon shouting into the Court for everyone to calm down. "This is about keeping our team together and working efficiently."
"What would you know about working efficiently as a team anymore?" Anastasia asked harshly, narrowing her coal-black eyes at me. Her mascara was smudging, but I figured now wasn't the best time to tell her. "Ever since Hazel came back without a clue of who you are, we haven't been a team. Don't get all high and mighty on me now just because you can turn your feelings off and on and the rest of us can't."
"Stas-"
"Whatever," she spat, wiping her eyes quickly so that no one could see and turning to face her father. "Now's not the time to get emotional about it."
I turned away from her, the sting of my own words biting at the back of my mind. This was our problem. Everybody wanted to feel. Everybody wanted to love. Everybody wanted something they couldn't have and because of this they couldn't see.
It bothered the very essence of my mechanics simply because I knew from that point on I'd have to explain every move I made at least ten different ways so everyone could see past how they felt and comprehend it's purpose.
"Alright then," Simon breathed, shaking his head in irritation as the Council came to a quiet hum of voices. "If you could please just shut up, that'd be great."
Everyone was either respectful enough or appalled enough to shut their traps. Either way, it worked. Stasi breathed unevenly next to me, still trying to keep herself from crying. The fact that I'd made her so upset made me want to vomit. Simon ran his skinny fingers through that curly mop of his and sighed.
"Seeing as Hazel was brought to my Institute, she is my responsibility," he began warily. I could tell he was trying to choose his words carefully, the judgemental eyes of the Council flickering towards him with mixtures of anger and fear.
Very few gazes coming from the crowd looked supportive.
"It is our Law that Head of the Institute lays full claim to the children who are enrolled and train under their care. Therefore, Hazel is of my breach and will remain there until she turns eighteen."
"Oh, so we're just supposed to wait until she's of legal age to take action and continue letting her burn down the city until then?" Delilah spat, her blue eyes furious. Byron's own icy iris' drifted downwards. He was torn.
This was the hard part about being in charge, something only he seemed to understand.
No matter what you did you'd always be the bad guy.
"Byron..." Delilah pressed. "You know what must be done. Had the Clave known this girl even existed previously..."
"She wasn't a threat!" Simon argued.
"Well she certainly is now!" Ms. Wilt scoffed. "I'm surprised the Lightwood boy has yet to be punished for concealing such a fact from his own government!"
"Hazel Roberts is the very reason every man, child, and woman that attended the Fair last year is alive."
"And the reason it was attacked! Let's not forget the murder of Clary Fra-"
"DON'T YOU DARE BRING UP CLARY'S DEATH." It was Simon who'd screamed the words, but the shock of Delilah being horrendous enough to bring it up had frozen every inch of my body. Anastasia looked at me wide-eyed in anticipation and fear, unsure of whether to move out of arm's reach or coddle me. My God-Father was red-faced, looking just as furious as he did the day he saw Mom's dead body for the first time.
Ms. Wilt had been paralyzed with fear, her eyes wide as Isabelle looked on at her husband with pride.
Luke Garroway stood immediately, all eyes turning to the elderly man as he clenched and unclenched his fists several times, the apples of his cheeks a flaming red as he tried to keep himself from exploding.
"Clary Fray willingly sacrificed herself to save the girl and you know that Delilah," he hissed warningly, his voice loud enough to be heard but quiet enough to instill fear. For the first moment in my life I realized how unappreciative I'd been of him. "The Clave has the letter to prove my statement and it will be drawn forth if necessary. Clary and Jace's deaths were tragic ones," he continued warily. "But don't you ever in your life blame this poor girl again for what happened."
Ms. Wilt looked appalled at his forward bravery, shrinking in her seat slightly. Luke moved amongst the crowd towards the lanky woman who looked like she might pee herself should he raise a hand at her. We all readied ourselves for that moment, some of us silently praying he would do it no matter how much trouble he'd get in for such an action.
"Maia Roberts was Alpha of my Pack the day she died," he choked. "The girl would've been next in line had it not been for her...odd heritage. But there's still time." I could see the hope flickering into his nearly lifeless orange-gold eyes, weary with age. "There's always the option of her coming with us."
"And live where? Build a home where?" Simon challenged.
"Anywhere she wants," Luke said softly, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. There was a far away look in his eyes as if he were remembering what it was like to run wild. "That's the beauty of it. She could go wherever she liked and still be protected."
"Putting her with a Pack isn't going to stop whatever she's planning." Delilah grumbled ruefully.
"Casper Atlas was assigned to Hazel because of his gift of negation," Stasi's voice came out quiet but steady, her eyes glazed over as she watched Byron evenly. "He's the only thing keeping her in control right now. If you take her away from that there's no telling what could happen."
"She nearly killed you all in her sleep," Delilah agreed, pressing the subject further. "Imagine what she can do when she is trying."
I couldn't help but keep quiet. There were so many things I wanted to say, so many people I wanted to choke out in this room, but I couldn't bring myself to say them or it do it.
I felt like the largest coward in the world, despite not having run from a fight in my entire life. I wanted to fight for Hazel, I wanted to fight for the Clave, I wanted to fight for my friends and family: yet here I was, fighting for nothing, staying silent because I was still riveted by the fact that although she didn't mean to be, Hazel was dangerous. So dangerous she needed someone else to balance her out.
Someone who wasn't me.
"Unless we Marked her," Luke piped up suddenly, as if the idea had just struck him. He rubbed his long nose with his hand, his olive skin sticking out against the golden walls. "If we allow her into the Pack she must be Marked, not only with my insignia but with a Downworlder Marking as well."
"The first time I met her she burned off my Angelic Rune...that's when her powers first started showing up." I added quietly, my eyes meeting Luke's for a moment.
"She chooses..." Simon whispered, blinking several times. Byron raised his eyebrows. "My God, she's choosing..."
"She's wielding angelic powers because of the angelic rune she's carrying," Stasi murmured. "If they branded her with a Downworlder Mark it would negate everything she's developed over the past year."
"You think she'd become one of them?" I asked cautiously. "She's never changed into a wolf before."
"She would if she bore their Marking." Byron said gravely. I swallowed thickly, trying not to think of the love of my life as a giant dog.
Clearing my throat, I silently reminded myself that now was not the time for that. The only way to save Hazel was to remove myself from her and keep her out of my thoughts in all regards not including that of a mission. That's all she could be right now.
Simon took a couple steps away from the podium so that Byron could take his place again. The old man's face was redder than usual with anxiety, and his blue eyes looked heavy from time and stress. I felt sorry for him. And I never felt sorry for anyone. A hush washed over the room as Byron made way for the final verdict. I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. Even then, I kept biting.
"Hazel Roberts will be under the care and responsibility of Simon Lewis, Head of the Brooklyn Institute along with those protecting her at the House of Seven. Her acceptance into the Brooklyn Institute lies solely in the hands of Simon Lewis, and those who aid in any rebuttal against his future decisions regarding said child will be punished. Should Hazel cause more issues causing injury or death to those around her, the previous will be held accountable and shall be punished with her alike."
"And what if she comes home?" Luke asked hopefully in the back. I was grateful he'd asked so I wouldn't have to. Byron sighed, taking a few moments to think before giving his answer.
"Should anyone make contact with her, or should she return on her own terms...Hazel will be informed of all options and their consequences.
'One, on Simon's allowance, she shall be permitted back into the Institute, ascending and abstaining from all Mundane school systems and activities, to learn and train with the other children. She will become one of us." Byron began losing his tone of authority as the weight of these decisions came over us all. They were binding, unfair, too black and white.
They weren't fit for her.
There was no way to keep everyone happy.
"Two, that she remain in the House of Seven and have little to no affiliation with the Institutes and their Shadowhunters young or old, nor their Council or...Inquisitor," he choked the last bit out, not wanting to explain the possibility of any of us losing her. There were dozens of people in this room who wouldn't miss Hazel if she were found dead tomorrow morning, but Byron knew that there were a few of us to whom she meant the world. "If the second option seems fitting for her to choose, Hazel will be under the occasional surveillance of our kind and will be punished for any acts against our community, or the Mundane community as well."
'Third, Hazel may join Luke Garroway's Pack, keeping limited contact with Shadowhunters and their Council alike. She will abide by all Pack rules and will sign the Accords with full knowledge of what the contract binds and demands with no argument, rebuttal, or betrayals. Should she disobey, punishment will fittingly ensue."
"And what's number four?" I piped up, the worlds tumbling out before I could stop them. Byron dragged his eyes up to mine with what seemed like incredible force.
"Four, Hazel will continue on her path of destruction, forcing us to bring...to take action and...to...swiftly carry out her..." Byron cleared his throat, trying to maintain eye contact with me as I clenched my jaw tightly.
"What?" I demanded. I needed him to say it out loud, to verify what I knew would be a possibility from the moment I met her. Byron's face turned beet red as the Council flickered their eyes back and forth between us.
"We must have her make a decision!" He cried, his voice wavering. This man was like a metaphor for the Clave as it fell apart in front of me, all because of Hazel, and I had no idea how to handle it. None of us did. That was the truth. That's why we had a Council, a group instead of one single leader. Nobody wanted to take the complete blame for fucking something up.
"She must choose, Jamie...we must have her choose. There is only one way to put a stop to her if she does not choose, and we all know what it is. Don't make me say it, child." he pleaded, trying to keep calm as the rest of them fidgeted uncomfortably.
I kept my eyes on his, curling my toes in my combat boots to keep myself together. If Hazel didn't figure her shit out, I was going to lose her again, for good this time. There would be no going back, and I would have to help make it happen.
"What happens, Byron?" I pressed. "What happens if she doesn't choose?"
The old man looked at me with sad blue eyes, fidgeting in his silk black robe.
"You know what happens, Jameson." he said gently, as if we were the only two people in the Court. "She dies."