The tree in the back was leaning at an odd angle into the yard when Jonathan and Simon pulled into the driveway, and they noticed it immediately.

"What the hell?" Simon started to say, only to realize that he was talking to nothing. He saw the front door open. "Damn, he's fast." Clearly, Jonathan had been holding back on him in the woods.

When he got inside, Jonathan was nowhere in sight. Simon fought against the remaining fatigue and soreness, and ran to the back door. No one was there, but the tree was broken in the middle, seriously battered with splinters strewn around it, and leaning almost at a 45 degree angle. Was that blood? A bladeless handle from a dagger was tossed a few feet away. Bits of what looked like a metal staff were broken around the scene as well. Blood was everywhere. Damn. He ran around to the stairs and up, checking every room. He paused outside his own, just long enough to hear a sound across the hall in Clary's room. He spun around and pushed the door open.

"Simon!" Jonathan gasped. "Call father! Now!"

It took Simon a long moment to realize what was happening.

Clary's room was covered in drawings once again, and more than half of them were streaked in blood like it was some macabre detailing. There were drops of blood on the floor, smeared on the desk, on the bed. There were three broken pens on the floor by the desk that Simon could see, and seven snapped pencils. Jonathan was on his knees in the middle of the room holding Clary's limp body, and they both had blood on them, mostly Clary. Along with the blood, she also had ink and graphite all over her hands. Her hair was sticking together with it all, and some was stuck to her face and neck. Eyes closed, limp, she looked like the victim of a bad cop show.

Jonathan pressed his fingers to the side of her neck, and lifted her arm to hold her wrist. He looked up. "Simon. Now!"

"I-is she—"

"I've got a pulse," he said tightly. "Go call my father and tell him to get back here!"

Simon went across the hall to grab his phone, still on the charger, and called the number saved under 'Valentine Morganstern Might Not Work In Idris.' Indeed, it went straight to voicemail.

"Valentine," Simon said, trying to sound calm. "It's Simon. Jonathan and I just got home and found Clary in her room covered in blood. She's unconscious, and she's been drawing again. Please call me back!" He hung up and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

"Well?" Jonathan asked when he returned. He was sticking his stele back into his boot. Simon saw at least three iratzes on Clary, all fading.

"Voicemail. Did she wake up?"

"No. But I think she made herself bleed. I don't think she was attacked."

"Huh?"

"You saw the tree. Simon, she's bleeding from her hands and knees. She was drawing and there's only blood on some of the pictures. There's blood coming up the stairs. Her phone was in her pocket!" He shook her head. "I don't know what really happened, but I know that there wasn't someone here."

"Well, that's a start."

"Yeah." Sighing, Jonathan lifted Clary into his arms and stood up. "At least she stopped bleeding." He took her over to her bed and laid her down.

Simon avoided looking at the pool of blood where she'd been on the floor. She was wearing shorts and a tank, and was covered in enough blood as it was. The wounds on her hands and knees were closing as he watched them. "I'll grab a wet towel."

"I'll get a mop," Jonathan nodded, leaving the room.

In the bathroom, Simon wet a clean rag and went to sit beside Clary's bed. Carefully, he swiped at her legs. The blood came off easily. It hadn't been there long. Jonathan came back with the mop and began wiping up the blood on the floor. When Simon was finished cleaning Clary's arms and face, he folded the rag and knelt beside her desk to get the blood on the chair. He took the rag from the mop and went downstairs, catching up the blood on the handrail of the stairs. When he was finished, he went to the laundry room and tossed them into the wash with some bleach—whoever had chosen white towels and rags was crazy.

Jonathan was in the kitchen when Simon left the laundry room. He was leaning against the counter, with his cell phone pressed to his ear.

"No, she's fine. She's sleeping…no, she hasn't woken up…three. I don't know, but it all looked self-inflicted…yeah…I'm not sure. I'll take some pictures once she's awake. I don't want to wake her…Yeah. Okay. Let me know…I will. I'm sorry we worried you, Father. Okay. Bye." He hung up and sighed loudly, almost falling into the barstool beside him. He looked over at Simon. "That was my father."

"He okay?"

"Yeah. He was just worried. I told him everything was fine. He's still needed in Idris. I told him we were fine here and would call if anything happened."

"Okay. Did you tell him about the tree?"

"Yeah."

"Poor thing."

"I know. She really did a number on it," he shook his head, chuckling. "Whatever happened, I don't think the tree deserved it."

"It was probably talking smack. You know how trees are. They never know when to shut up."

"Yeah. I don't think it'll be a problem anymore though. She really…well, it'll probably have to be cut down."

"As it should. Dumb-ass tree."

"Agreed."

"Hungry?"

"I don't want to leave."

"Jonathan," Simon said patiently. "We already picked up food."

"Oh. Right. I'll get it."

"No, I will. Just sit down. I'll be right back."

In the driveway, the car windows were still open and the keys were in the ignition. At least the thing was off. Simon grabbed their backpacks from the back seat along with the two plastic bags of food. He sighed and leaned against the side of the car, stuffing the keys into his pocket.

Things hadn't really been normal for a while now, but they'd seemingly been about to start getting normal—as normal as things could get for shadowhunters. Once everything was done and he could know what was happening, he would help Clary and her family move back to Alicante. He would go back to the Academy. He would graduate and ascend. Clary would adjust into her life.

So why, why now was everything getting weird again? It had been a while since Clary had drawn like that. Recently, she'd been nervous and looked upset, but he wasn't allowed to know why. Why after all this time had she started drawing like that again? He hadn't really paid attention to what exactly she'd drawn, but he knew they were detailed images—he also knew that Clary would normally have spent a least a full day working to make pictures so perfect. It was one of the things that had made him so nervous about the drawings over the last few months. Clary was definitely capable of doing some amazing art, and she frequently did. She had a very specific style that was present in all of her pictures, clearly marking them as hers. But in all the years he'd known her, she'd never been able to draw so well and so quickly. The thing that worried him most about the speed she used for these was that it was so unnatural—not just for Clary. No person should be able to do such detailed pieces so quickly.

"What the hell is going on?" He asked quietly.

Clary woke up confused and sore. She didn't remember getting into bed or even inside the house. Slowly, she lifted her hands and saw they were clean and blank. No blood or splinters. Had she imagined it? Dreamt it?

Carefully, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She wasn't under the blanket, merely lying on top. That was weird. She didn't bother turning on the light, going straight for the bathroom to shower. When she was done, she went to her dresser and pulled on a new pair of loose workout shorts and a t-shirt with pineapples on it. She grabbed socks and a pair of converse before leaving. She sat on the stairs to put them on, and then headed down to get something to eat. How long had she been asleep? She was starving.

The angle of light from the windows suggested it was late morning or sometime in the afternoon. Jeez. It had been mid-morning when she'd been outside—maybe it was a dream and it was still the day before? Who knew?

Jonathan was sitting in the kitchen with a glass of OJ, texting hurriedly on his cell phone.

Clary leaned against the kitchen doorway with her arms crossed, and watched her brother for a long moment. From where she stood, she could clearly see that he was texting their father, but not what he was typing out. It looked like they'd been exchanging long messages. She wondered what they were talking about. It occurred to her that it was a little weird to be watching him this way, so she cleared her throat and stepped into the kitchen.

"Hey," she said, jumping up onto the counter beside him.

"Clary! You're awake!" He looked relieved. "Thank god! I was worried."

She shrugged. "Sorry. I guess I wore myself out with training. I don't even remember coming inside. When did you get back? Where's Simon?"

"He went out to the car to grab food. Wait, what are you talking about? You don't remember coming in?"

"Nope. Last I remembered I was outside. I must have had a bad dream...anyway, I woke up in bed just now like nothing happened. Maybe I slept all day." She shrugged again and jumped down. "What'd you guys get for dinner?"

"Uh-"

"Clary, you're awake!" Simon was suddenly there, dropping bags on the counter and pulling her into a tight hug. "God, Clary, we were worried! What the hell happened?"

She blinked, then looked quickly between him and her brother. "What do you mean? I just woke up."

Simon looked at Jonathan, then back at Clary. "No, Clary, when we got back, you were on the floor of your room covered in blood! You'd been drawing again. You killed the tree in the backyard! What happened?"

Shaking her head slowly, she looked down at her hands again. Not even a scratch. "No, that was just a dream. Did I sleep-call you or something?"

"You don't remember?"

"No! Look, I was doing some training with a staff and that was it. I mean, I guess I came in and fell asleep after because the next thing I remember is waking up in my bed just a few minutes ago."

The boys looked at each other. "Clary, we found one of the staffs broken by the tree," Simon said.

"And," Jonathan added. "A dagger handle with the blade stuck in the tree. You were in your room bleeding from your hands and knees."

"That's crazy," she said. "I'm fine."

"It took three iratzes to make you stop bleeding."

Her eyes widened. "I don't remember any of this."

"Why do you keep looking at your hands?" Simon asked.

"I mean, you keep saying I was bleeding from my hands. But I'm fine. Not even a scratch!"

Jonathan stood up. "I know, that's because I used three iratzes to stop the bleeding. But we spend almost an hour cleaning up the blood. It was everywhere, Clary. I...I thought you were dead."

"You looked dead," Simon whispered.

Clary looked between them. The blood, the dagger, the broken staff...she didn't remember any of it. Had she been attacked? No, she would have remembered that. Plus, they'd brought up the drawing again, and she wouldn't have been able to draw in that way if she'd been hurt by someone.

"Clary?"

She looked up. "Huh?"

"Are you okay? You look freaked out."

"I...I'm fine. I just don't remember. I was vaulting across the yard with the staff, and then I was waking up in my bed. What the hell..."

"Okay, that's that. I'm calling father to come home."

Jonathan reached for his phone, but Clary got it first. "No! You don't have to call him. We're fine! He doesn't need to come home."

"Clary. You were hurt. You were drawing. You were bleeding-less than two hours ago, and you don't remember any of it. We have to tell father."

"No, Jonathan. He's busy. He's working-that's why he's in Idris. It's not like he's on vacation or something. He's working. We don't need to pull him away from all that just because I forgot a couple things. Okay, maybe I hit my head while I was training-it happens all the time. Maybe it's nothing. But whatever it is, we can figure it out on our own. Let dad finish his work, okay?"

"Well, we already told him initially."

"Huh?"

"When we found you in your room we called him. And then I called him when I decided you were okay. Now I'm texting him. You know he could be home in less than an hour, right? Bringing him home wouldn't be the end of the world, Clary."

"I know, but it's not necessary. We can figure it out. Just let him work and tell him that I'm fine. Whatever's going on, dad can't help up, Jonathan. He wasn't here."

"So what do you suggest?"

Clary shrugged and crossed her arms. "How about we look at the pictures and go from there?"

"Fine. But one thing goes wrong, and I call father to come home."

"Fine."