Chapter 28 - With A Passion
Clary dreamt.
Dreamt of a boy with white hair and black eyes - eyes as soulless and remorseless as the devil's. All planes and angles in his features. Blood dripped from his hands and pooled around his bare feet, crimson against the pale skin. There was a cold beauty to him, in the way he stood and how he looked and a certain dangerous aura that made Clary want to shy away - run and cower and close her eyes. He wore a plain white shirt which could have been innocent enough if not for the shredded and burnt patches in his short and the light smears of blood.
She also dreamed of a boy blessed with a halo of gold hair and eyes burning fiery gold, hard and arrogant. His mouth was set in a hard, stubborn grit, his eyelids slightly hooded. He looked like the exact image of a fallen angel, too beautiful to comprehend, thrown down from Heaven in his arrogance and pride. This boy was far too beautiful to resist. Everything about him was heart shattering. His skin wasn't unmarked; runes curled around his arms and light cuts decorated his bare arms. There even was beauty to his scars and cuts. He wore a plain black shirt with several places scorched and smoking slightly.
Both of them looked like they had just crawled out from the pits of hell.
Clary watched the both of stand apart from each other, backs facing each other, both staring at Clary with blank eyes. She watched them both and her heart ached with sadness, like it was tearing itself apart.
She had dreamt of them both before but there was something different to this dream. It was like how someone could sense the change in the weather.
Two names bubbled to and tumbled from her lips; one foreign to her and the other brought a wealth of pain and ache to it.
"Jonathan. Jace, " Clary whispered. The one named Jonathan, the fair haired boy's eyes filled with recognition at his name. He blinked as if in a daze and slowly, Clary watched as his eyes turned a vibrant green - the same green orbs that she had. His were filled with astonishment, sadness, love and confusion. They focused on her kneeling state, growing wide.
"Clary," he whispered, astonished. "Clarissa is that you?" he asked a little louder, stepping forward.
The cold beauty had melted away, his eyes filling up with emotion and soul. He slowly approached Clary and knelt before her. His hand was slowly brought up and he caressed her cheek gently, the look of pure astonishment still on his features. Jace watched them from where he stood, sadness replacing the lifelessness in his eyes.
The fear and repulsion he felt towards him cracked. "Jonathan," Clary said again, tasting the unfamiliar name on her lips. A sense of horror and overwhelming sadness threatened to bury and suffocate Clary. A tear rolled down her cheek and Jonathan hastily rubbed it away with his thumb, his forehead creasing with concern.
"Hey," Jonathan hushed. "Don't cry."
Clary felt baffled by her actions and emotions. She was feeling things that were ridiculous for her to feel towards an utter, complete stranger but she couldn't help the sadness and grief and pain and resentment she was feeling. She looked at him and she sobbed - sounding so, so broken that the sound was painful to her own ears.
What was she doing?
Warm, reassuring arms went around her, holding her closer to this boy. She wanted to push him away and run and hide but instead she clutched him close like this was the last time she was ever going to see him. The thought, for some reason, was despicable and unmentionable to Clary. She felt warm drops of liquid falling onto her shoulder and she pulled back, looking at her shoulder in surprise.
To her surprise, Jonathan was crying, his cheeks tear stained. "Clary," he breathed, as if she were some miracle sent by God.
Clary was very aware that Jace was watching them. Jonathan craned his head around and smiled lightly when he saw Jace. Slowly, Clary watched as Jace started to fade, his corporeal form fading. Clary could see through Jace and in seconds, Clary could only see his amber eyes before they disappeared too.
"Don't worry. He isn't really here. I'm not even sure if you are really here." Jonathan said, a dazed, disbelieving look on his face.
"I … I don't know what's going on." Clary murmured, looking at Jonathan.
"I know. I'm sorry, Clary. Even when I'm lying in ashes at the bottom of Lake Lyn I'm still messing your life up."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm afraid I have no time to explain. All this, you can figure it out. You're smart and so is Jace. He'll help you." Jonathan said and now realization was dawning in his eyes.
"I don't want any help from Jace." Clary said, trying to sneer his name but it only managed to come out as a choked whisper.
"So stubborn." Jonathan muttered. "He loves you, more than he or you knows. And you do too. You just have to remember."
"He doesn't love me," Clary persisted quietly, the words like poison in her mouth.
Jonathan scoffed. "Even a blind fool with no sense of hearing can feel the love he has for you. Quite frankly, the way he talked about you used to give me goosebumps and made me want to stick a kindjal through his tongue."
"There is a reason the blind guy is a fool, isn't he?" Clary muttered, ignoring the horrifying mental picture of Jace being stabbed in the tongue.
Jonathan looked at her in amusement. He muttered something that sounded like 'duck Valentine'
"The Angel Ithuriel sent me, actually. He said to give you this." Jonathan said. He closed his palms together and when he opened them again, a small flame flickered in his palms. It was beautiful, magical and divine, for a lack of a better words. It flickered a hundred different colors, all vibrant and full of life, accompanied by a bright gold and orange outline, the color of mundane flames but beautiful still. Clary felt the urge to reach out and touch the flame but deftly refrained herself from doing so.
"What is it?" Clary said in wonder. She couldn't remember seeing anything more beautiful.
"A flame, to say the least. Look at the middle." Jonathan said, looking at the flame in his palms with muted wonder. The fire didn't seem to be burning him.
Clary did and saw a design forming in the middle in bright gold. It was a design of several curled lines converging into a circle and a matrix of overlapping points. It was intricate, beautiful and familiar. She had seen the design before but she couldn't remember where.
"What is that?" Clary said, staring as the design flickered amongst the fire.
"It's a Mark. But it doesn't work here. When you wake up, you need to do whatever you can to get to a stele and draw." Jonathan pressed. The flame disappeared in a burst of sparks, leaving Clary staring at Jonathan's pale palm. He gently lifted his hand and stroked her hair lovingly. It almost felt brotherly.
"I feel like I haven't said sorry enough," Jonathan sighed. He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead before pulling back, a tear slipping down his cheek.
"I regret. Just so you know. I regret all. I regret that I didn't get to know my little sister. That I couldn't be your annoying brother that you could count on either way."
Clary stared at him, sadness heavy in her chest. "Wha - ?"
"I'm sorry, Clary. Whatever you do don't give up." Jonathan said, smiling sadly. "I'm sorry, sister."
Slowly, everything was breaking away, the whole image before her cracking and breaking into pieces before fading away into nothingness. She felt herself fall and tumble through a closing, rushing darkness. A pair or green eyes watched her sadly before they faded away, leaving Clary alone and falling.
Her whole body jerked as if she had been electrocuted and when Clary slowly peeled her eyes open, she was not staring at the green eyes of Jonathan but at a crack ceiling of brown and gray.
Clary inhaled a shaky breath, running a hand through her hair. She was lying on a cold hard and painfully uncomfortable surface which felt like cement.
She sat up, her bones screaming in protest and looked around.
She was in what she could only call a cell. It was shaped like a curved semi circle with a sink in the corner and the slab of cement protruding from the wall which she was sitting on. The cell wasn't big width wise but it was deep, roughly two times the length of a normal cell.
Bars of bright pure lights that ran looking like electric currents formed the cell bars. They were the only source of light Clary had. She guessed that they were probably pure energy, not something you could break or dent by throwing something at it which, in this case was probably Clary herself as she was the heaviest and biggest thing in here.
Her eyes started to prickle after a while of staring at the cell bars. She looked away, feeling oddly calm for someone that had been kidnapped and betrayed. The thing that had shaken her the most was the dream she had.
She leaned back against the wall, bringing her legs up. Someone had wrapped her feet with a light covering of bandages. She shifted her hands which were beginning to feel slightly cramped when she felt something tug her left hand down and heard the light clank of metal against metal. A heavy looking manacle was locked around her wrist, the chain pooling atop itself lightly on the floor. The end of the heavy chain was buried deep in the wall Clary was leaning on.
Curiously, Clary gave her chain a yank with her right hand and the chain pulled taut and sturdy, no sign of ever coming loose from the wall.
She shifted and moved her aching wrist which was in the manacle, feeling the rough metal brush and irritate the skin.
She decided to just ignore the manacle. She found that the more she thought of something, the more it bothered her. Instead, she decided to revisit her dream.
The image of the colorful flame flickered in her mind. She thought of the Mark, what it was. Then she thought of the fair headed boy with the sad green eyes: Jonathan.
The last words he said to her echoed in her mind.
I'm sorry, sister.
Who was he to Clarissa Fairchild? Was he her brother? What happened to him? Why did Jace never mention anything to her about her brother?
So many questions but no answers. Clary exhaled in frustration. Her fingers felt like they were itching to grip a pencil and a sketchbook and draw. She also wanted to get her hands on a stele and draw the Mark as instructed but she doubted it would be easy, if not impossible to get her hands on a stele. Maybe if she asked really nicely …
Clary got up and started to pace, her chain clinking and shifting as she moved. She looked up at the cell bars and slowly approached them.
Just as she was about five feet from the bars, her chain painfully pulled taut, the manacle rubbing and scratching painfully on her skin. With the lights she got from the bars, she could see that skin of her wrist was irritated and itchy and dotted with red. The manacle wasn't exactly fine cut metal. It was uneven and slightly sharp and jagged around the edges. She shifted her hand uncomfortably and the rough manacle scratched her skin again.
Stepping a few inches back as so not to yank in the manacle again, Clary reached her free arm out, trying to grip the bars as an experiment to see if they would hurt her. No matter how hard she tried, the manacle wouldn't allow her to go near the bars or touch them, putting at least three inches of space between any body part she reached out and the bars.
A small sense of desperation, dread and panic started to set in, the feelings that should have overtook her from the moment she woke up finally appearing.
Going as far as the manacle allowed her to and ignoring the uncomfortable sharp pains and irritation the movements brought on, Clary tried to see what was around her cell beside the cell opposite her that was being illuminated with the light from her bars. The bars of the cell opposite hers were a bright shining metal and, unfortunately, empty.
The bars of her cell managed to illuminate several other cells in the opposite row, all empty and without inhabitants and that was all she could see. No turnings into other corridors or entrances into rooms or gates that led the way out of this dreary place.
Hopelessness joined the party of depressing and panicked feelings. Slowly, Clary shuffled back to her cement bed and sat there, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around her stick thin legs.
She had no idea whatsoever on how to escape this horror. Her mind thought up several possibilities on how she could escape this place.
One, she could try throwing the sink at the cell bars and hope that they broke. Two, she could pretend to play dead until someone - anyone - came in to check on her. Then she could knock the person out cold and hoped that this person had the key to her torturous manacle. If she managed to unlock the manacle, she would try to be as Shadowhunter like as she could and try to escape this entire facility, wherever it was.
Her mind raced with a dozen ridiculous possibilities that made her want to laugh. She would have if only she wasn't so full of dread. What did they - whoever they were - want from her?
Time didn't seem to exist in Clary's cell. She could have been staring at the dirty ceramic sink for minutes or hours. There was no way to tell time in here. There were no windows that allowed Clary a peek into the outside world or clocks. Time couldn't have been passing at all, for all Clary knew.
She studied the layer of slimy dark green and brown fungi that was covering the base of the sink and the crack that measured from the top to the midway mark.
The only thing that marked the passing of time was when Clary heard the sound of high heels against the stone floor beneath her feet. She sat up straight in anticipation, her legs brushing the floor again.
"Hello, Clary."
The person that came into view was a woman, looking no older than thirty-five. She carried an air of confidence and grace and calm that was unnerving and intimidating with her. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black and her pale lips were pulled into a small proud smile. Bleached white blond hair tumbled in soft curls to her shoulders. She had cheekbones that looked sharp enough to cut through butter.
She wore black Shadowhunter gear except that the tank top she was wearing was red and so were her fingerless gloves. The combination of black and red was ridiculously intimidating on this woman. Clary saw the glint of weapons on her belt and her boots.
"Nice to see you're awake." the woman cooed.
A string of profanities echoed through the dungeons, screamed by a very familiar voice. The fair haired woman exhaled angrily.
"Give me a moment." she said sweetly to Clary before barking the name "Fria!" loudly.
Clary's eyes nearly dropped out of her sockets when Isabelle, the bloody traitor, skipped over to the woman, her shoulder bleeding and her hair a kinky mess.
Something inside Clary exploded and she lunged off her cement bed, her thoughts hell bent on choking the living lights out of Isabelle.
"How could you betray them?" Clary hissed. Her manacle pulled taut harshly and she was yanked back slightly. She felt the manacle cut into her skin and slowly she felt warm blood trickle down her hand and dripping onto the floor.
Isabelle scowled, rolling her eyes at Clary. "Shut up." she hissed, flipping Clary off. "You called, my suzerain?"
Clary tried to charge forward again but her manacle held her back, cutting into her wrist.
"There's no need to be rude, Fria. You don't have to keep the bluff up. She won't tell, will you Clary?" the fair haired woman said gently, smiling.
"I don't?" Isabelle said, sounding relieved. "It's tiring, you know." she muttered.
"I know," the fair haired woman said sympathetically.
Clary watched in shock as Isabelle started to change. Her hair turned a shiny copper brown that reached the middle of her back. Her height decreased by a few inches and she looked less striking in her beauty. She looked almost childlike in her height and the innocence that was displayed upon her face.
The clothes she wore now looked out of place on her petite figure which was smaller than Clary's. Her clothes were all too big and baggy for her but she didn't seem to mind. She turned to look at Clary, her wide eyes no longer black but a startling shade of what could have been light grey or light blue.
She grinned at Clary and nothing about that grin wasn't anywhere near childlike or innocent. It sent chills down her spine but Clary kept a straight face.
"You're even more pathetic looking than I remember." she said, cocking her head to a side. Her voice had changed too. It was now more raspy and seductive, something that didn't suit the innocence her face portrayed.
"Who are you?" Clary whispered. If this wasn't Isabelle, where was Isabelle? "What are you?"
"I'm many things, Clare bear. I'm a drama queen, I'm beautiful, I'm seductive, I'm manipulative, I'm good in bed, I'm sadistic and I'm also very hungry," she growled the last two words, eyeing Clary's bleeding wrist like it was the turkey at a Thanksgiving Dinner.
"What have you done with Isabelle?" Clary said, afraid for her answer. Fria only smiled sickeningly, her lips curling deviously.
"Go take care of our other guest, Fria." the fair haired woman said gently, stroking Fria's hair. "I'll take it from here."
Fria looked up at the fair haired woman, her lip slipping into a pout before turning away and silently disappearing.
"Guest?" Clary scoffed, looking at the fair haired woman with narrowed eyes.
The fair haired woman looked at her, smiling coldly. "Yes. Why?"
"I would hardly call myself a guest."
"With us, everyone is a guest. Anyone who isn't a guest wouldn't be here at all." she said as she reached into her pocket and withdrew a stele. Unlike the ones she had seen being used by the New York Shadowhunters, this stele was red unlike the white ones she was used too. The tip of the stele was applied to one of the bars and she began to draw.
Sparks flew as the stele made contact with the bars, making the most chilling sound that sounded like metal being dragged across stone.
The bars parted and the fair haired woman stepped through before closing again the moment she stepped through. She swiftly slipped her stele back into her pocket before looking at Clary measuredly. Clary took a few steps back, unnerved by being so close to her. She kept an eye on the pocket that contained the stele, thinking of ways she could get the stele.
"I'd rather not be your guest." Clary said quietly.
The woman's eyes visibly darkened. She took a step forward, scrutinising Clary. "Do you know the honour you're doing? Being a guest, that is a privilege limited to only a chosen few." she said, sounding slightly offended but Clary knew that wasn't the case.
"And what have you chosen me for?" Clary said, trying to not sound like she was going to pass out. She eyed the pocket again before quickly looking back at the terrifying woman in front of her.
"You, my dear, are going to be the start of all of it." she said, looking at Clary with a sort of admiration.
"The start?"
"Well, the start of my vision. I'm going to finish what he started but with a bit. More. Bang." she smiled widely, looking like a demented witch. "And all I need from you is your full commitment. Willingly. I also need about a chalice of your blood and of course your soul to bind it all which will have to be, of course, given willingly as well." she said casually, like she was ticking ingredients of a shopping list. Her entirety being the market.
"There is no way you're going to get me to willingly do any of that for you." Clary spat. This woman had to be crazy if she thought Clary would willingly give herself up for something that had killed her mother and had tried to kill her several times as well. She eyed the tip of the red stele that peeked out from the pocket, her hand now itching to grab hold onto it.
"Trust me, you are going to want to be willing." she said in a monotone. "It's quite simple, Clary. All I need is some blood and your soul. A small price to pay for what I'm striving for."
Clary could see herself in her mind lunging for the stele and drawing the rune she had seen. It had to be a rune that could've helped. She just prayed it did work. She nibbled on the inside of her lip, seeing the rune flash in her mind again.
To the woman, Clary must have looked like she was considering because her face brightened expectantly, awaiting Clary's answer.
"Never." Clary said. The disappointment and anger on the woman's face was instantaneous but it quickly changed to surprise when Clary made a grab for the stele that was nestled in her pocket. She shrieked, surprised as Clary's hand grasped around the top of the stele. Her hand grabbed it and she was about to yank it out when a sharp, hot flash of pain shot through her cheek, her vision blurring and going white for a moment.
Her grasp on the stele loosened, the stele slipping from her fingers and she staggered backwards before losing her balance. Clary felt her elbows and thighs hit the cold floor of her cell, pain shooting up her elbows. Her cheek burned and her head was spinning. She put her head on her hands, wishing that the pain would stop.
"Clary!" she said loudly, disbelief and admiration in her voice. "You sly bitch!"
"I'm … not … a mirror." Clary gasped, her cheek flaring with pain with each word.
"You may not be but you've got guts!"
When Clary looked up, she was alone in the cell again. The woman was standing outside of her cell, her eyes narrowed at Clary. Suddenly, she grimaced before laughing lightly.
"I hate to break this to you but that's gonna leave a scar on your pretty pretty face. It's not too big so a little compact powder will do." she said sympathetically. "The beauty of melted demon metal nail polish."
She held up the back of her hand towards Clary and she saw that the woman's nails glinted slightly. She must have gotten backhanded by the woman when she had tried to grab the stele. She sat up and brought the tips of her fingers to her burning cheek. She probed the painful spot and winced as the pain flared with contact. It didn't feel too big, just a small scratch that felt about a centimeter and a half long.
"Now, Clary. I'm going to give you … twenty minutes to think over your decision. I'll be back and you'll give me your answer, which, for the sake of your well being, mental and physical, that it's yes."
Smiling lightly like all was right in the world, the woman turned to leave humming the melody of a kid's nursery as she left, the sound echoing off the walls of the dungeon, slowly morphing the once cheerful song into a depressing off key melody.
A/N - Hi! Okay, so we have about seven or eight more chapters (epilogue included) before this book is finished. What do you think so far? Leave me a comment if you like!
