Clary's heart stopped beating altogether.
She couldn't breathe.
She felt Sebastian tense next to her, ready to mobilise, ready to fight, ready to run. But there was nothing to be done; they'd been inactive for too long. Her father's eyes roved around the room, taking in the evidence of their crimes. His face seemed to get paler by the minute. He pressed his lips tightly together.
After a moment Clary realised it was to keep them from trembling.
Her father staggered forwards, and Clary stood up hastily, Sebastian moving with fluid grace out of the way as Valentine took the seat she'd just vacated.
Clary backed away until her spine collided with the wall, and she scrunched her eyes shut as she waited for the blow to fall.
"You have to get out of here."
She snapped her eyes open. Gaping at her father, she choked out, "What?"
He reiterated it. "You have to get out of here. If they find out what you've done, they'll kill you."
"What? They? Who will kill us? You're the one who's leading a veritable army of assassins; aren't you the one doing all the killing around here?"
Clary felt her mouth opening and the words spilling out in a fit of energy, and by the time she'd clamped her mouth shut again her father's face had steeled. But his tone was oddly reminiscent as he said, "I should've known you'd know about the family business. You always were smarter than I'd give you credit for."
"You are not my family." She answered heatedly. In a flash of sense, she spotted Sebastian's face from across the room, so pale he seemed to blend into the beige wall. "And answer the question!"
"I, contrary to what you seem to believe, am not the leader of the Circle." Valentine cut out, then his attention drifted to the screen, and he hastily turned towards it and began undoing everything Clary had done. He was still tapping at the keys as he said, "I simply provide the venue, work the computers, and act as the face of it. The real mastermind behind it all doesn't like to be named, so I get paid extra for putting my neck on the line and pretending to be him. How do you think we managed to keep the manor all these years? There's no way I could've afforded it's upkeep otherwise."
He finished what he was doing, and shut down the computer. He stood up. "Now, I don't know what foolish heroism you two think you're doing by coming in here, but unless you want to be killed, I suggest you leave and let me act like nothing ever happened." His eyes found Sebastian's. "I'll talk to you in the morning, Sebastian."
"No." Her brother spoke for the first time, and the word choked out of his throat. It pained Clary to see how frightened of their father he was. "No." He moved to stand in front of the door, and blocked Valentine's exit. "I won't let you leave." His voice shook. "I won't let you leave because unless the records are found and destroyed more innocent people will die!"
"You will die if he finds you here!" Valentine said, his voice angry now. "I won't let you risk your life just so you can call yourself a hero! These people," he explained, waving a had at the computer. "These people, Nephilim, they are a parasite. They are less than us, because they believe they are more. When they have the chance, they will beat you at survival at every possible turn, until only a race of them remains, and all of the pure humans have been vanquished."
"These people are in this room, Father." Clary interrupted. Her mouth was dry as black eyes narrowed on her. But she steeled her nerve and stepped in front of the door as well, next to her brother. "Mum has the mutation. She's Nephilim. And so are we." She had to swallow to keep from rasping. "She told us so."
These words seemed to hit Valentine like a physical blow, and he went staggering back into the chair he'd been sitting in only moments before. "What?"
"You heard me." Clary dared a step forward. "I don't know how she knows, but she's awake, and she told us we're Nephilim." She felt her hammer take up a hammer to her throat; disgruntled beat trying to shake the words out of her. She swallowed again, and said, "So we're not doing this just so we can call ourselves heroes, as you so kindly put it; we're doing it because we don't want to die!"
Her father's breathing was heavy, and two bright red spots appeared on his face as though he'd been hit. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temple.
"You have no idea how poor your timing was." His voice was hoarse, breaths coming slow and laboured. "He's coming today. In a few hours."
He stood, and an expression of anguish contorted his face. He raked his hands through his hair, then sat down again.
"He comes, sometimes, just to check on things, and to make sure everything's running slowly. I never let you know about it," Valentine nodded at Sebastian, "because I wanted you to stay out of the way. I didn't want you crossing paths with him. Malachi's a dangerous man, and he can sniff disobedience from a mile away-"
"Malachi?" Clary asked, before she could stop herself. So the plot thickens. . .
Valentine froze. He looked at Clary then, and for an instant she revelled in, seemed to see her.
He laughed softly.
"You knew." He shook his head. "I should've known. The leak." He rubbed his brow. "The only person I never saw." He shok his head again. "So many questions, so little time. . ."
Silence fell. The rising sun continued its ascent until a key of light struck Valentine's pupil, and it seemed to break him out of his stupor.
"So, let me get this clear. You children and your mother are technically on that list, and when Malachi comes and expects to receive another name for me to dispatch my assassins to kill, it could be any one of you that comes up. And then he'd expect me, being a fanatically loyal member of the cause, to renounce you as my relations and slaughter you all, because if one of you has the mutation, logic follows that the rest of you might. If I don't, it's a sign of disloyalty, and he'll kill me." He clutched the armrests of the chair with bruising force. "And I could take that risk, and hope it's not your name, or I can wipe the computer and give you the hard copies of the files, so you can do away with them, then improvise what to do when Malachi comes, and hope he doesn't kill me for it."
He looked over at the two of them, then back at the computer, then down at his own hands. Clary wondered if he could see the ghostly blood on them.
Then he turned towards the computer, and began to type in a password.
"What?" Clary jolted forwards at the raw shock in her brother's voice as he said it.
Valentine didn't take his eyes off the screen, but Clary noticed his eyes shining, and his eyelashes growing damp. "I've already lost one son. I don't want to lose another." His gaze cut towards Clary. "Or a daughter." He finished off what he was doing, and slumped back into his chair, passing a hand in front of his face. It was done.
"For what it's worth," he added. "I'm sorry that I was so distant all that years that you thought I would kill you. I'm sorry I hated you - hated your kind. I'm sorry I isolated you. I'm sorry for what a bad person I am."
Clary's breath was glued to the back of her throat. What could she say in response to that? 'You're not a bad person'? But he was, and that was the most heart-breaking thing: The realisation that even monsters have hearts.
Jon's still alive. That was what she could say. But would that hurt any less? Would the knowledge that he'd survived, but also almost killed them all and had hated Valentine's guts ever since?
But it was the truth. The truth deserves to be heard.
She opened her mouth, but Valentine had looked out of the window, and his lips were wan. "He coming." He looked back. "Quickly!" He yanked open a draw they hadn't searched yet and pulled out a sheaf of documents and discs. He whipped his head round wildly as they all came spilling out, and grabbed a plastic bag sitting in the corner from when he'd been carrying things in. Sebastian had dived for the floor, and Clary kneeled down next to him to help shove the scattered items into the proffered bag.
"All my records were destroyed in the fire," Valentine explained in hushed tones. "Malachi gave me his and hasn't gotten round to getting copies made yet."
"Is it true you killed Simon's dad to get these?" Clary hissed. Valentine faltered, which she took as answer enough. She gave a scoff of disgust.
The sound of the doorbell clanging echoed up the hallway, as did the scuffling feet of whoever was going to answer it.
Valentine thrust the bag at her. "Take it. Walk down the stairs and out of the house - you're dressed in clothes to go out, anyway. If you pass him on the way down, act like you have every right to be here. He knows you do, so don't blow it." After a quick glance at Sebastian, Clary nodded her affirmation.
When they stood up, there was a queer, dreamy look in her father's eyes. "Maybe I'll go and say goodbye to Jocelyn before he realises just how royally I've betrayed him." Then his eyes cut back to them, and he near-shoved them out the door.
Clary turned just in time to see Valentine pass something to Sebastian and whisper a few words in his ear. Her brother trembled, but nodded, jaw set.
Her father went upstairs, whilst she and her brother went downstairs, and she couldn't resist the urge to linger for a moment. She heard voices from above them - her mother's room. Husband and wife, reunited once more. She wondered how well it would go, how her mother would look at her father when she finally opened her eyes.
Clary had to resist the urge to tiptoe as they walked, but that would have looked suspicious. She clutched her bag in a death grip as they cleared one flight of stairs, then her heart turned tail and ran as they started on the next and passed a terrifying looking man.
In the dim light of the early morning, his eyes were dark, and they surveyed them with a sort of oppressive curiosity. Nevertheless, he stepped aside and let them past, though Clary could feel his eyes on them until they were out of sight. Malachi. They'd passed him.
They made it to the door, and only Sebastian's surreptitious glance over their shoulders seemed out of the ordinary. Then they were out.
The square little gardens that adorned the fronts of the houses in that row were sprinkled in dew that morning, and Clary let a breath of cold air scourge her lungs. Her shoulders were just relaxing when the gunshots rang out.
There were two of them, one directly after the other, barely space for a breath between them.
Her heart stuttered.
Sebastian lunged, like he'd been tightly wound and this was the snap, and grabbed her, dragging her behind him. He looked around wildly, then they looked up, just in time to see the window Clary calculated must be the one to her father's office shatter, and a bulky body kicked out.
It collided with the ground with an ugly thud, and Clary retched at the sight of the crimson blood spill out into the green green grass, like it was staining a uniform. Her father had landed face up, and his features were arranged into an expression of serenity. What had he been thinking in his last moments? About the wife he'd only just seen wake up? About the children he'd given everything up for?
Her eyes were dragged from the corpse back to the window by some instinct, and she flinched as she beheld Malachi standing there. She saw the realisation collapse his features, then he was roaring at them to stop, roaring at the others to chase after them-
Sebastian yanked at her arm and they ran, their feet thudding the dew-slick pavement of a respectable neighbourhood like a band of thieves fleeing. At some point her brother's hand tore out of hers, and a few steps later she whipped her head round and saw with mounting horror through the hair matted to her face as he sprinted back and lifted whatever it was Valentine had given him before they'd left-
Sebastian lifted the gun and fired at the figure still silhouetted in the window. Once. Twice. Thrice.
Some tether to reality snapped in Clary then, and there was nothing but a buzzing in her ears as Sebastian sprinted back towards her, screaming to run run run but all she could see was his mouth moving and all she could hear was this buzzing and everything was going to hell and Sebastian was grabbing her arm and dragging her along with him and her legs were working on autopilot and she was numb to the cold air slicing at her face and she came to a realisation.
They could run all they liked.
Malachi was dead. They could run from the assassins and they would survive and Malachi and Valentine were both dead and neither of them could get to them ever again.
But it didn't matter. Because no matter where she ran, no matter where she hid, she couldn't escape the fact that her life was in pieces on the floor, and her only family was running next to her cursing, and that no matter how isolated she'd been before, she'd never been more alone in this wide wicked world than she was now.