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Chapter 17
Jace slashed at another training dummy. He wasn't sure how long he had been in the Institute's training room and he really didn't care. He had come in here to shake off some of his anxiety and as he hadn't succeeded in that yet, he had no intention of leaving.
Sweat dripped down his back as he took down another dummy. Isabelle and Max were here too, hopefully trying to catch up on the sleep he had made them miss. Alec had gone back home with Magnus. They were all just waiting now. Waiting for what, they didn't know.
Jace lowered his blade as his mind obsessively replayed Simon's conversation again. The way he had described Clary, how she had stupidly run into the lake…
They had all been prepared to go to Idris and track Clary down, but Simon had objected. 'She's not here anymore,' he had said. 'She doesn't want to be found. Look, I think we just need to let her be. Whatever she's doing, she'll get us involved when she's ready. We have to wait.'
'How long are we supposed to just 'wait'?' Jace had barked.
Simon had sighed. 'Jace, she's scared. Cornering her and trying to force her to tell us her problem isn't going to have good results. It sucks, I know. But I saw her and really, I don't think we can afford to take any chances of pushing her. She could do something stupid.'
'More stupid than running into Lake Lyn?'
'Yeah.'
Nobody had been happy about this plan. Jocelyn asked Magnus to try two more locater spells in hopes of something, but to no avail. Whatever Clary was using to hide herself was doing a spectacular job. Finally, Jocelyn had said that Simon was right. If Clary said she would come home soon, all they could do was wait.
Jace paused as he remembered Jocelyn's pale face. He thought with a stab of guilt that everything she had feared happening to Clary, every reason of hiding her from the Shadow world was coming true. As if the events from last year hadn't been bad enough…
Jace threw his sword down. It clattered loudly on the floor, echoing through the large room. He ran his hand through his hair in irritation. Simon never answered his question on how long they were supposed to just 'wait', and no one had offered any suggestions. Clary, Jace thought desperately. What the hell are you doing?
….
Clary sat in the abandoned room. For hours she had been wandering around the old building, a sick feeling in her stomach from the fear of being discovered. Though that was unlikely. No one would have much reason to visit Renewicks this late at night.
The entire building had looked virtually untouched since she had been here last year. The air was very still, as if the building was holding it's breath to see if those pesky fighters would be back to cause more mayhem. Clary spent some time in the room Valentine had had her mother in. She had tried to envision the scene her mother had described- Valentine speaking to Jocelyn, confessing about his mistakes with Jonathan and explaining about Jace. She wondered if there was anything else Valentine had spoken about, something else that her mother didn't share.
The children froze at the man in the doorway. Clary felt her heart stop as his eyes fell on her, shock in them. ''What is going on here?''
Clary had run from the room, blinking the scene from her mind. The visions were getting worse, getting more and more real. She wasn't as startled at them anymore, and didn't feel the urge to smash and break things in rage as she had after she had drawn the Remembrance Rune. Though that could be because she wasn't around anything she could break since leaving her room. Or because those things are everything I'm mad about…
Clary had come to Renewicks after Lake Lyn because it was another clue. She had been right about the Lake- it had given her a sense of clarity. She had belonged there, as if another piece of her had slipped into place by being in the water. She felt the same pull about Renewicks. Here she would find another piece of the puzzle, another clue as to what she was forgetting.
The Remembrance Rune burned under her bandage. She removed the wrappings as she walked the halls, rubbing it in order to lessen the pain. It kept burning as she came across this old room. Empty entirely, nothing of interest inside. And yet here was where she sat, her heart hammering in her ears as her mind spun.
Red paint on the walls. Power. A voice. 'It's art, Clarissa,' said the boy with no pupils. 'Art created through blood, sweat, and tears.'
Clary reached into her pocket. Her fingers went to her stele, feeling the cold stone before moving towards her knife. She held it in front of her.
Red paint on her hands.
Without realizing she was doing it, she made a cut across her palm.
The sudden pain made her shout. She bit her tongue as she watched the blood pool in her hand. She laid her knife aside as she tucked her knees under her. She leaned back and dipped her right index finger into the blood. She traced a pattern on the floor.
'Yes,' the boy purred. Though his eyes do not focus on the pattern, he is smiling with pleasure. 'It's perfect, little artist. Perfect.' His praise terrifies her and excites her all at once. The reaction remains as someone else enters the room, horror on his face. He shouts her name-
''Clarissa?''
Clary snapped back to the present, looking up from the floor and to the doorway. Standing there, looking sick and faint, was Jonathan.
Their eyes locked in wariness. ''How'd you know I was here?'' Clary asked carefully.
Jonathan looked surprised at that. ''I'm not sure,'' he admitted. He took a step further into the room. The little moonlight that was shinning through the room illuminated Jonathan, making his pale complexion and hair look almost transparent. His green eyes went to the floor. ''What are you doing?''
Clary followed his gaze. Her hand had acted of it's own accord and sketched out a small design with her blood. Two circles inside each other, a line though them. She had done it all in one movement. ''Nothing…''
Clary tensed as Jonathan came closer. He crouched across from her. Clary didn't meet his gaze but looked at his hand as he used it to balance on the floor. He was putting a lot of pressure on it, as if he would fall without it. ''Your family is looking for you,'' he said.
''I know.'' Clary forced herself to meet his eyes. He wasn't looking at her, but at her hand and the blood that was still dripping from it.
''You're bleeding.''
''I know that too.''
Jonathan finally met her gaze and for a moment, they stared at each other.
Her hand paused in grasping her bag, voices reaching her ears. Shouting. Who was her mother yelling at? She snuck up the hall and glanced into the kitchen. Crying, but not her mother crying. A boy…
Clary inhaled sharply. This could go wrong in so many ways, but it was another piece she could collect. Knowing is always better than not knowing. ''What did he do to me?''
Jonathan tilted his head. ''What do you mean?''
Clary tried to keep the shakiness out of her voice. ''Something- something's wrong with me. Everything is so wrong.'' She averted her gaze again, looking back at the pattern on the floor.
'But what if I can't call you?'
His eyes sparkled. 'You're an artist, aren't you? Make a symbol. One that will always help us find each other.'
''He must have done something,'' Clary continued. ''Valentine. Or, if not him, someone else. But you…'' she looked back at him, ''You know, don't you?''
Jonathan kept his face expressionless. ''Know what?''
Clary cast through her mind for the words. ''Why did I feel like I knew you when I met you?'' she asked in a whisper. ''Why were you so surprised that I was nothing like you?''
Jonathan's eyes flashed. ''I don't know.''
''Bull.'' Clary kept her gaze on him hard. ''You do know. You know I'm missing something. I need to know what it is.''
''Clarissa,'' Jonathan's voice cracked. ''I don't know anything. But please believe me when I say sometimes knowing is the worst thing in the world.''
Clary studied him. He looked sincere. He looked as though he knew first hand how damaging knowing something could be. But she didn't care what he thought. She needed to know, to find out and stop this horrible limbo she was in. ''Jonathan, will you help me?''
He looked surprised at that. ''With what?'' he asked carefully.
Clary thought quickly. To explain would be showing her hand, would be manipulating the facts and possibly screwing up the outcome. It wouldn't work. ''I can't tell you.''
Jonathan sneered. He leaned back on his heels. ''Don't.''
''Don't what?''
''Don't play games.'' Clary realized he was trembling. She resisted the impulse to reach for her knife when she realized he wasn't trembling in anger. Scared. He was scared. ''You know who played games? Valentine. He was good at them. Always won.'' Jonathan breathed heavy. ''If you want to kill me, then do it. But for god's sake don't play games. I can't take that.''
Clary felt a stab of guilt at herself. Since he had come back, Jonathan had played one game after another. Max had tricked him, she had tricked him. And if he knew she had been missing, no doubt Jace and the others had done something to him. She shouldn't play any more games.
He's a demon, she reminded herself sternly. He hurt me. I owe him nothing.
This thought kept her from telling her reason. But it didn't harden her tone. ''I don't want to play a game,'' she said. ''I need your help. Not to trick you or to kill you. But because…''
''Because why?''
Clary closed her eyes and sighed.
She had never seen her mother so angry and scared. Her words were loud and scolding, but Clary couldn't quite hear them. She was focused on the boy her mother was yelling at, who was trembling in tears as each worded landed on him like a blow.
''Because it concerns you. It concerns us.'' She opened her eyes and looked at Jonathan as his suspicious gaze bore into her. ''You were here, weren't you?'' Clary gestured to the room around them. ''When we were?''
Jonathan blinked. He nodded hesitantly.
''It's like I can feel it,'' Clary continued in a whisper. ''I don't know how, or why. Something's happening to me. Something- something he did…'' she trailed off. She took a breath to steady herself. ''Jonathan, I am asking you-as your sister- to please help me.''
Jonathan stood as still as a statue. And with his pallor, he looked like one. Finally, he gave a small jerk of his head. ''Okay.''
Clary felt half relief and half terror. This could go horribly wrong. She got shakily to her feet, pulling out her stele. She held it out to Jonathan. ''Here.''
He eyed her warily as he stood. He didn't take the stele. ''What do you want me to do?''
''Make a portal,'' she said.
''To where?''
Clary tried to ignore the chanting in her head. Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea. ''Your home.''
Jonathan looked absolutely bewildered. Clary wondered if he was having the same voice chant in his head, screaming at him not to trust her. If he did, he didn't show it. He simply took the stele and began to draw.
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