CHAPTER 2

That night Jace dreamed of golden cups and beautiful girls with red hair.

It wasn't that he intended for his thoughts to drift to dreaming of the mysterious Clarissa, more that with a few green-gazed glances she'd had him equal parts curious and frustrated at her sultry aloofness. Isabelle would have said his fascination was because he was no longer the centre of attention. As he followed the dust motes whirling down from the beams of the Lightwood's attic, he felt maybe it would be easier to agree than try and explain the inexplicable pull he felt towards the girl.

Recalling her demure expression, eyes glimmering with some unknown emotion, he got the creeping feeling he had encountered her before. The long fingers that had tucked one waving red tress behind a pointed ear, the easy grace, almost nonchalance, with which she moved, the ever present smirk that quirked her lip, missable to someone who didn't recognise that smirk as if it were their own self gazing straight back at them.

It frustrated Jace to no end.

He watched a fly buzz angrily against the tinted glass of the window pane, thinking gloomily that he felt equally helpless.

'Jace Lightwood, master fly at your service', he muttered, kicking at the rug beneath his feet with an unnecessary amount of venom.

'Mum won't appreciate you thread-baring her rugs any more than is acceptably vintage', Isabelle said from her place against the doorframe, one eyebrow raised. Jace looked up, shrugging nonchalantly.

'Yeah, well, from where I'm looking, they're not vintage enough.'

Isabelle laughed.

'You tell Mum that. And since when did you care about interior design?'

'Since the only other option is to sit and watch ants fry in the sun,' Jace snapped.

Isabelle huffed, coming to sit next to him on the bed, the mattress hardly sinking under her slim frame.

'Jace-'

'I hope this is not the beginning of a motivational speech, may I remind you there is a reason I am the most intelligent of all of us, and no its not because of my superior makeup, although having angel fire burning me up from the inside isn't all as bad as it sounds.'

Isabelle sighed, reaching out to ruffle his hair affectionately.

'Sitting here stewing won't make you feel any better, you know?'

'Yeah, well its surprisingly therapeutic to mull over your impending doom, whilst simultaneously knowing you're about as much use as a wooden seraph blade – actually, no even less because I'd set it on fire – you'd find it does wonders for the development of claustrophobia.'

Isabelle looked at him reproachfully.

'I thought you said you'd been getting it under control, that Brother Zachariah said it could become utilised?'

'Tell that Mr Ashdown – he's not best pleased that his front porch has had some home blow-torch improvements, I thought his reaction rather surprising if I'm honest, they were a welcome addition. '

Isabelle laughed but the concern was still there in her big dark eyes that searched his face. He looked away, hating the bitter taste in his mouth that told him he was the curiosity candidate, now and forever.

'Jace-' she started hesitantly. He shrugged off her hand that was laid placatingly on his shoulder.

'Honestly Izzy, I'm fine, I can manage, I beg you to spare me from any more inspirational lectures.'

She stopped, a flash of hurt crossing her face. Jace instantly felt bad.

'I'm sorry-'

'You know Jace, yeah you've had it worse than most of us. We didn't have fucked up parents, we don't have Angel blood coursing through our veins, we haven't killed as many demons, we've not been possessed by some crazy Mother of Hell, we don't have a psychopathic sociopath for a brother-'

She paused, her cheeks flushing.

'But we've been in it together, and right now you're doing everything it seems to push us away when all we want to do is help-'

'Isabelle-'

'No, Jace,' she snapped. 'So what, you've got an Angel's blood running through you – your own brother, evil as he is, has demon poison inside him. You've got the power of Heaven on your side, and all you can do is lash out at everyone else. You say we can't understand and you're right we can't but at least we're trying our damnedest. My brother is dead, Jace, because of Sebastian. And instead of trying to stop him and work out this whole heavenly fire thing, you want to sulk and hide away because that's what you do best!'

She got up from her place next to him, her hands shaking despite the angry words that were spilling out her mouth, ignoring the rapidly paling colour in Jace's face.

'Come find me when you've got your head out your ass!'

With that, she whirled around, her black hair flying after her, and stormed from the room.

Jace closed his eyes, savouring the temporary blackness it brought. Although he'd never admit to either Alec or Isabelle, the foreign taste of fear was becoming ever familiar. Now more than ever, he felt alone amongst those who should be his equals. For the first time he felt he could relate to Simon, annoying as he was – the Daylighter knew what it was to live alongside the similarly gifted and weirdly wonderful, yet at the same time he wasn't really one of them, more an outsider looking in. Jace laughed softly to himself, the sound harsh and lacking in humour.

He breathed out, trying to ignore the rattling of his trembling chest.

It was easily mid-day when Jace ventured outside the Lightwood's lodgings, muttering something about fresh air to Alec who was sat at the kitchen table, an accusatory look on his face. Isabelle had been nowhere in sight but Jace presumed she'd relayed his waspishness to her twin brother. It would certainly explain the burning blue gaze of his parabatai - although Alec didn't possess the same easily riled temper of Isabelle, it didn't stop the twinge of guilt that rose in Jace as he hurried past him.

It was as he wandered Alicante's busy streets that he found himself listening in on the conversation of the middle Blackthorn children and the blonde haired girl with them – Emma Carstairs as he remembered correctly. He'd noticed them a few minutes back, and boredom combined with curiosity led him to hover impatiently nearby, he admitted abashedly, to see if they'd mention Clarissa Kurnemsthor.

He could hear the elder of the Blackthorns – Jules as he'd heard Emma say affectionately – chiding the younger, Ty.

'Ty, we're their guests, you can't say things like that.'

Ty shrugged; Jace's lips quirked, recognising the look of stubborn indifference on his face as one that had regularly frequented his own childhood.

'Just saying, Helen acts funny when she's with them – she wouldn't do that if she was properly happy.'

Jules shared a long look with Emma.

'Ty, it's not up to you decide if Helen's happy or not, she knows for herself, you can't just assume what she feels by watching her.'

'Yeah, well, Emma goes funny when Mark is around, and I know that from watching her-'

'Ty!' Emma snapped, her cheeks flushing. Her chest clenched when she thought about how Mark had been dragged away by Jonathan Morgenstern's brutes. Jace noticed the hurt look Jules quickly hid behind a forced laugh, gently elbowing Emma.

'I do nothing of the sort,' Emma huffed, although the redness had yet to fade from her cheeks.

Ty laughed.

'Its not your fault, all the boys and girls always go funny around Helen and Mark. Dad says its because they're faerie, and it means they've got extra strong glamour.'

That was something Jace could easily identify with – perhaps that had been the pull he felt towards Clarissa. However, some niggling feeling in the back of his mind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up made him think, uneasily, that that was not the case, or at least not all of it.

Emma scowled.

'Its not, Mark's like my big brother.'

Even Jace could hear the uncertainty in her voice. So, it seemed, could Julian, who looked away.

Ty shrugged again.

'Whatever, but the faerie Shadowhunter at the meeting last night could do it too.'

Against his will, Jace felt himself straining his hearing even further. He flushed slightly, realising what he was doing.

Julian and Emma looked at each other, Mark forgotten.

'What do you mean, Ty?' Jules asked.

'She was making everyone go funny, didn't you see how easy the Consul-'

'Jia,' corrected Jules, 'she asked us to call her Jia.'

Ty frowned.

'You must have seen how easy the Consul let her get away. She hardly asked her anything. And all the men were staring at her.'

Jace felt his skin warm under the thick leather of the jacket he was wearing.

'Its still the Mortal Sword though, Ty, no one can lie.'

Ty nodded.

'No one can lie, but faery glamour can distract the people answering the questions. And you must have seen how easily she held the Sword, you and Emma were shaking even with both of you-'

'She's older than us,' Jules interrupted.

'How do you know?' Ty said, narrowing his eyes.

'I heard her saying to Mr Penhallow that she'd just returned from a mission when her Institute was attacked – you can only do that when you're a full Shadowhunter,' Emma replied.

Jace felt a rueful grin turn his lips upwards – he, Isabelle and Alec had been fighting demons far before it had been proper to do so.

Ty dismissed her with a wave of his hand. He seemed much older than his year suggested, thought Jace.

'Yeah, well, she can't be much. And it's not because of her age but because she's faery that it didn't affect her as much as it did you two.'

'That's not possible, Ty-' Emma began.

'Yes, it is,' argued Ty.

'Since when did you become such an expert,' Julian said sharply, 'the Mortal Sword judges everyone, you can't just ask it nicely to not test you.'

'You just never listen in History,' Ty sniffed.

'Dad says its because the Mortal Sword is a Mortal Instrument, one of the three made for the Nephilim.'

Jules frowned, looking at Emma who was wearing a similarly baffled expression.

'Yeh, exactly Ty, Clarissa is a Shadowhunter. And anyway, Mark and Helen said they had to testify by it after the Mortal War and they both said it was horrible, and they're part faery like Clarissa.'

Ty shrugged.

'She must have more powerful faery blood then. Professor Branwell said that the only instances of the Mortal Sword appearing to not affect its witnesses as it does ordinary Nephilim are when they aren't Shadowhunter.'

Julian shook his head.

'But you saw her runes. And you sound like you're spouting off a textbook.'

'I am,' said Ty shortly.

Jules sighed in despair.

'Well, Professor Branwell must be wrong, she's clearly a Shadowhunter-'

At that point, Jace ceased listening, a frown furrowing his brow as he pondered what Ty had said. He agreed with Jules that Clarissa was a Shadowhunter but he found himself looking to the boy's explanation to reason the uneasy feeling he got thinking about the red-headed girl. He cursed himself for never having listened in any of his own History lessons, boring as they had been.

It wasn't until he found himself outside Alicante's seraphsmiths that he remembered his reason for leaving the Lightwood house in the first place. His own blade had been lost in the battle at the Seventh Sacred site, and ever since he'd had to resort to using one of the Lightwoods' spares. He supposed, smiling grimly, that in this respect, he was truly Valentine's creation, naked without a weapon capable of inciting violence on his person.

Ducking his head under the low stone plinth above the doorway, it was only when he felt a petite figure slam into his side that he registered he was gazing down into the fiery green eyes of Clarissa Kurnemsthor. Swallowing, he started to bite out an apology before, noticing, he realised, that her long fingers, their nails uniform and curved, lingered against the skin left bare by his t-shirt and sleeveless leather jacket.

She smiled, her teeth blindingly white. Jace cursed his halfwit reaction, blinking to try and clear his mind. Ty's words echoed in his mind: they've got extra strong glamour.

He narrowed his eyes.

'You're Clarissa Kurnemsthor.'

'And you're Jace Wayland.'

If possible, her smile widened even further. Unlike the easy grin of Alec or the dazzling laugh of Isabelle though, something about Clarissa was decidedly offputting.

'Lightwood,' he corrected shortly.

'Lightwood,' she repeated softly, her eyes raking his face. His skin prickled uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

'I'm sorry to hear about your Institute,' he bit out, thinking how insincere he must sound. In reality, he was speaking through clenched teeth, as though not breathing in her scent – a bizarre combination of spice and vanilla , why was he even noticing – would help him focus.

'You don't sound very sorry,' she laughed, more genuine this time. Jace studied her attentively. Something about her was just too perfect to quite pass as ordinary.

'My apologies,' he replied smoothly, hoping she couldn't detect the huskiness that had broken into his voice. Judging by the narrowing of her eyes, she had.

'Trial by the Mortal Sword is hardly a comfort after such an ordeal.'

He watched her face closely to see her reaction.

'No,' she conceded, 'no, it's not.'

She let out a quick breath – Jace felt it brush his forearm.

'The Law is hard but it is the Law.'

He raised an eyebrow in response.

'Indeed.'

She paused, her eyes drifting away from his face for a split second.

'I hear you're quite the celebrity,' she said.

He snorted.

'Curiosity candidate might be a more appropriate title,' he replied.

She smiled ruefully and he felt some of the tension in his shoulders melt away. Now slightly more relaxed, he noticed the dainty freckles that were smattered across the milky white skin at the bridge of her nose. It gave her, he thought, a look of delicate fragility.

'I shall spare you telling me the details,' she offered, a curious sort of sympathy visible in her eyes.

He shrugged.

'What's one more person.' He felt she too heard the already answered question.

Clarissa stepped back.

'Another time perhaps.'

He fought to quell the twinge of disappointment he felt, instead nodding his head.

'Of course.'

Her eyes held his momentarily before she tore them away.

'Consul Penhallow has requested I accompany her to a Council meeting, I fear I must leave else I shall make her terribly late.'

He stepped aside, and the bright sunshine that had been obstructed behind him, poured inside the doorway, setting her hair alight.

'It was lovely to meet you Jace Lightwood,' she said softly.

'You too, Clarissa Kurnemsthor,' he answered, his eyes still hungrily drinking in her face.

She hesitated.

'Clary.'

He raised an eyebrow – it was surprisingly child-like for a girl who was evidently not.

'Lovely to meet you Clary.'

He watched her walk away, the velvety cloak she was wearing billowing in the slight breeze, the same breeze ruffling the long coppery strands tumbling down around her shoulders.

As he stepped once again inside the entrance to the seraphsmiths he thought he could still feel her green eyes boring into the small of his back.