Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments series. Everything recognisable belongs to Cassandra Clare.
You guys are amazing, thanks for all the wonderful reviews.
Hope you enjoy another chapter, filled with answers instead of questions. Or maybe some questions, but you know how it works. Can't reveal too much.
Clary couldn't remember the last time she had fallen asleep that early, let alone the last time she slept through a whole night without waking up to flames burning in her unconscious mind.
She stretched out in the king sized bed; it was funny, how her room was large enough to fit at least ten of the residential wing's guest rooms. When she looked back at her two months in the Institute she couldn't understand how she had ever been able to live there. Or how the people living there right now had managed it for so long.
She lifted herself out of the comfortable bed, knowing she would be awaited for breakfast as soon as possible. Her father would want whatever information Clary could scrape together, and wouldn't let her sleep any longer.
She sat down, brushing her tangled red hair. She had dressed up in her own, beautiful fighting gear. The black leather felt soft against her skin, warming her like wool.
"Don't you look beautiful?" The voice sounded so habitual, so familiar and heart-warming that Clary's first instincts told her to get up and swing her arms around her neck. But Clary didn't do that. She had to keep herself in check, not letting her emotions get the best of her.
"Ah- ain't that the truth?" Clary replied sardonically.
"No, not really. But we'll get you fixed in seconds, that's why I'm here." Her orange Iron-sister eyes glowed fiercely in her direction. "What do you mean?" Clary asked confused.
"Ahh, you've not talked with your father yet?" Maggie retorted, her voice grim.
"I told him to let you rest a little bit, but he insisted on getting you out to work, said you wouldn't want to rest if you knew what he had planned." Maggie smiled, but Clary could detect her bitter voice.
"What? An assignment already?" Clary asked, shooting her a questioning look. "Are you sure? But he said I should rest?" Clary got up from her chair, her hairbrush still stuck in her bushy red hair.
"No, I am pretty sure I know what I'm talking about." Maggie laughed as she picked the brush out of Clary's hair carefully. "But I will be happy to tell him you're not ready."
"NO!" Clary snapped back, "No, don't do that. I am, I'm as ready as one can get." Clary said a bit too eagerly.
"Okay, why don't you go tell him yourself, and I'll be making sure everything is ready before you leave." Maggie touched Clary's shoulder, sending her a careful smile.
"Great." Clary muttered, 'making sure everything is ready', that meant she wouldn't be wearing gear.
Maggie left a few minutes later, leaving Clary in her room. She finished up, looking much better than she had when she woke up.
The hallway outside her room hadn't changed at all, neither had any of the other rooms or hallways around the Morgenstern manor, but seeing her hallway, her space looking like it had before she had been captured, it made the faintest of smile creep up on Clary's lips.
She walked down the stairs and found her father seated in the same chair he had been sitting in when she left him the evening before.
"You've stopped moving or something?" Clary asked him with a soundless laughter buried under her words.
"Ah, Clarissa, darling take a seat." He ignored her sarcastic remark.
Clary did as he asked of her and sat down next to him. She kept silent, waiting for him to speak first. Hopefully telling her about his planned mission.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, snapping his finger.
A young man came walking in. The only thing Clary disliked about living in the manor; was the way the Nephilim that walked in and out every day lacked the sense of normal rights and their view on a human life.
They were used like a vampire used his or hers subjugates. They were human, absolutely, but they were no longer afforded with the rights and respect of a human being. They were called servants, and back in the day, they actually were. Normal mundanes, who were either born into a family serving the Nephilim, or found themselves granted with the sight.
Now, they were nothing more than a Nephilim subjugate; subjugation was in essence voluntary slavery. And the Nephilim treated them like nothing more. Like they were their property.
This man, Clary did not know his name, carried a tray of food.
Clary nodded, her jaw set tight as the man walked towards her. His blond hair stroked in dirt and his clothes ragged and too small.
"Thank you." Clary whispered, not meeting her father's glare as the blond man sat the tray down in front of her.
"Have you spoken with Magdalena?" Valentine asked after she had, out of gratitude, taken a few bites of her breakfast.
"Vaguely." Clary replied, putting down her cutlery.
"She mentioned an assignment?" Clary hinted for information.
"Yes, of course." Her father began, "I should've asked you first, but I found it necessary that we continue the search for the rest of the Mortal Instruments at the earliest opportunity."
"What is the plan?" Clary asked, her eyes lighting up as she spoke. The assignments might be stressful, but it was her thing, her way of proving herself. Her way of showing she could live up to his expectations.
xxxx
"My daughter thinks she killed you." He took a long, dramatic pause, "And I want it to stay that way."
Jocelyn looked up, her head felt like it was cracked in two. She tried to focus her eyes, clearing her view of the man speaking.
Valentine.
She had heard the voice so many times, in the haunting memories of her past. All she wanted to do was stand up and shove a knife through his heart.
She tried to get back up on her feet. It hurt. She remembered Clary hitting her in the head with something heavy; it must've knocked her unconscious.
Valentine stood in front of her, framed in the glow of the sunlight escaping past the red curtains.
For some reason, Jocelyn did not panic, she did not scream nor throw herself at him. She just stared.
Valentine looked older, of course, he had aged fifteen years since they'd last met. Even though he wore lines in his face and the dark eyes showed a deeper understanding of the world he so sickly had twisted around his finger, he still managed to look handsome.
He wore an elegant grey suit and a tie. Jocelyn could not see any blood on his clothes, nor was he armed with his usual collection of weapons.
"V-" she tried to speak, her throat felt sore and burned. Her eyes dry, like she'd forgotten to blink, tears welled up in them and she pressed the hot water back behind her eyes.
"Valentine." She managed to say after a good, long minute of silence.
"Ah, I see you still remember my name."
"How could I forget?" Jocelyn asked, her voice shining brightly of the disgust that burned in her vocal cords.
Valentine ignored her hateful remark, "I must say Jocelyn, I had expected more from you. Letting her go like that, shameful, even for you." He drew a deep, collecting breath, "But then again, what can one expect from someone who marries half-breed?"
Anger grew in Jocelyn's chest, like a flower bursting to life, like the sun-kissed petals in the greenhouse, she felt her hate rise, her anger flowing over.
She tried once again to stand, forcing her legs to cooperate.
"She was alive all this time." Jocelyn told him, of course he already knew it, but Jocelyn had to say it out loud, "You took her away. You took my child away from me, you sick, twisted, sad excuse of a human being. YOU BASTARD!" Her voice escalated quickly, she lurched for him, ready to kill him with her bare hands.
Except, they went straight through him, like he was just air. Jocelyn made a strangled sound as she stumbled painfully to the floor. A wave of pain tore into her already thumping head.
Valentine turned, meeting his former wife's icy stare. There was a look of barely concealed hatred shining in her green orbs.
Of course, how could she think he had managed to get inside the Institute, let alone her private studio? No, he was just a projection. He couldn't hurt her, and she couldn't hurt him.
"Ah, I see you are as foolish as always." Valentine smirked, sending a shiver down Jocelyn's spine
"What do you want?" Jocelyn managed to speak, overpowering her own aching head.
"I." Valentine looked at her, giving her a warming, twisted smile. "I want you dead." He explained.
"But, seeing as Clarissa failed immensely on doing that, I want you to stay away from her."
"ME?" Jocelyn's voice was screaming, "YOU STOLE HER FROM ME, AND YOU EXPECT ME TO JUST IGNORE THAT AND LEAVE YOU ALONE? HOW FUCKED UP ARE YOU?"
"Easy now Jocelyn," he glanced around the room before his raven-black eyes landed on the redhead on the floor, "no need to get so worked up." He laughed.
"Sit up." His voice demanded.
Jocelyn shook her head; even the slightest motion made her insides twist. "I SAID SIT UP!" his spat in her direction. Jocelyn obeyed.
"Does Clary know you're here?" Jocelyn asked after pushing herself back up.
"Of course not, she's away on one of her assignments. I had to send her away, wouldn't want her to question my way of getting what I want." He explained.
"What do you mean?" Jocelyn asked confused.
"The Mortal Cup." Jocelyn gasped at his words.
"What about it?" Jocelyn asked.
"I want to know where it is." Valentine told her, "And I think you know exactly how to help me."
"I don't know, it's been gone for years!" Jocelyn spat angry.
"Yes, yes, so I've heard, but I think you, of all people will find a way to tell me where I can find this missing instrument." Valentine crouched down, inches away from Jocelyn's burning face.
"And why is that?" she asked.
Malevolence burst into his trilling laughter, "Because your daughter is in my hands dear, and I will stop at nothing to get what I want."
"What did you do to her?" Jocelyn asked.
"Nothing." The simple answer relaxed Jocelyn immensely, but the evil smirk that followed his words made her tense back up again. "You're lying." She stated.
"Well, technically I am, but according to Clarissa, I'm not." What was that supposed to mean?
"What did you do to her?" she repeated the question, pushing as much hate and anger into the words as she possibly managed.
"I already told you, nothing." The smirk never left his lips and Jocelyn could feel his need to explain his statement.
"The real question is, what did you do?" he replied.
"Have you never wondered why she hates you so much? Why she never let you close? Why she tried to kill you?"
Jocelyn had wondered all of that, but she had never done anything to provoke that kind of behaviour.
"What did I do?" she asked, a broken tone in her voice, caused by the heartbreak she was feeling and her exhausted state.
"You tried to kill her."
xxxx
Clary looked around the large room. It was elegantly built. Large Greek columns connected to a tall ceiling, beautiful chandeliers hanging glamorously from ceiling roses. Cream walls and luxurious silk curtains coloured in different shades of gold. Soft large cream sofas covered in warmer coloured cushions. An ornate fireplace burned in the other end of the room, orange flames lighting up the floor in front of it.
Clary had never seen anything like this. It was overwhelmingly impressive, and Clary did not dare ponder upon who might live here.
She was dressed in a long, black silk dress. Her blond hair was done perfectly, with a few loose curls hanging from the side of her mask.
When she had been asked to wear a dress, Clary knew the assignment would be horrible, but receiving the details about it, she wondered if her father had just come up with it on the spot.
She was to check for any unusual behaviour amongst the mundanes of the Pandemonium Club, like a bunch of mundanes in deep interest of the Shadow World wasn't unusual behaviour enough.
It had been said the Pandemonium Club was an rather old organisation of mundanes, and their main interest were the magical art and the powers of summoning spirits and demons. Not that they would ever manage that.
Other members, the once Clary was associating with at the moment, were simply enthusiastic towards the possibility of another unknown world, but their main purpose was to use their money, influence and knowledge to climb higher on the social ladder.
Clary inhaled deeply, what was the point of this?
Many minutes passed and Clary began walking into the throng of people standing around, chatting, laughing and enjoying themselves.
She searched the crowds, her unchangeable green eyes landing on something interesting. A symble.
It was a double ourobous; two serpents biting each other's tails, forming a circle.
Where had she seen that before?
She hadn't, or at least not the full symbol, but she remembered the ourobous from the pyxis she had stolen from Jocelyn's 'magic room'. She felt stupid for still calling it that, but she had no better name for it.
"Ah, Magnus!" a man slammed his hand against another, slimmer and more elegant man's hand.
"Ragnor." Magnus exclaimed, both men seemed strange, but Clary couldn't see behind their shielding masks.
Clary walked closer, and as she studied them, she saw the man, Ragnor, had a shade of green coloured skin.
Warlocks.
Magnus? Wait, Magnus Bane? Clary forced herself not to tear across the room and rip the warlock's throat out. High Warlock of Brooklyn, Magnus Bane.
He had been the warlock preforming the spell on Clary, the one who imprisoned her.
Clary detected some of the dialog between the warlocks.
"No, but they are still looking." Magnus said.
"I don't see why they bother, she obviously don't want anything to do with them. I say leave the damaged girl alone." Damaged? Clary snorted, whom the hell was the guy calling damaged, had he looked at himself?
"And I don't think it's healthy for you Magnus, mingling with the Nephilim. They will only bring you trouble." Ragnor told the High Warlock.
"Thanks for the joyous expression of view Ragnor, but I think I'm old enough to take care of myself." Magnus said with a ghost of a smile hanging on his lips.
The masquerade ball turned extremely boring, extremely fast. After Magnus and Ragnor parted, Clary began walking slowly around the room, examining the luxurious furniture.
"Are you looking for anything in particular?" the young voice called behind her.
"What do you mean?" Clary dared ask, turning around to meet a pair of dull brown eyes. The dark-skinned man smiled at her, he was handsome, even thought most of his features were hidden behind a black mask, "You look like you could need a tour." The man explained, "I mean, if you want."
Clary began shaking her head, but changed her mind, looking around.
"Sure." She replied, walking out beside him.
He talked a lot. Kristopher, he had told her his name was. He was from Europe, but judging form his ability to speak fluently English and lack of foreign accent, he had lived here for a long time. His father was a Chief Executive Officer for some large company in New York.
"You don't seem very impressed." Kristopher stated.
Clary looked up at him, her eyes scanning the room they were heading into. It was one of the smaller rooms, not more than a dozen people in fancy dresses and suits.
"I am not easily impressed." Clary explained, dullness in her voice.
"I see." Kristopher replied.
There was a long pause between the two of them, before a new voice interrupted the silence.
"Ah, what a beautiful companion you have found yourself this evening Kristopher." The voice called out, it was the same she had overheard earlier.
"I'm not his companion, I came her on my own." Clary told Magnus harshly.
"Certainly." He smiled, Clary noticed his cat-like green eyes behind his mask, and his hair was covered in a faint layer of glitter, some of which had fallen onto the shoulder of his blue velvet suit.
"Magnus Bane." He held out his hand, waiting for her to reach for it.
All Clary wanted to do was slap him, she wanted to hurt him so badly for what he had done to her, but knowing that would definitely blow her cover, she took his hand gently.
He kissed the back of her hand and smiled a blinding smile in her direction. "Can I ask for a name?" he asked her.
"I think you just did." She replied, as she withdrew her hand from his.
"I must say, you seem extremely familiar, have we met before?" Magnus stated, his cat eyes scanning her. Her blond hair and masquerade mask saved her, leaving only her bright green eyes to detect any 'Clary ' in her.
"I do throw exceptionally magnificent parties, maybe you've been to one?" Why couldn't the warlock just leave her alone?
"No, I've never been to one of your parties." Clary snapped, struggling with her emotions.
"Now Jasmine, no need to be rude." Kristopher told her. Clary looked up at him confused for a second, then she remembered she was operating incognito.
"Of course not, I am so sorry Mr. Bane." She managed to say out loud before a tall, dark-haired man, or boy, he was only eighteen, walked up to Magnus. And Clary knew him, maybe not well, but they had shared a few short interactions back in at the Institute.
Wow, how lucky could she get, one day out of the hell house and you're was already stumbling upon a Lightwood.
"Nothing." Alec whispered to Magnus, barely loud enough for Clary's sharp ears. He ignored Clary as he searched the room, what was he looking for? Clary felt her body tense under Kristopher's grip. He guided her away, leaving the warlock and the Shadowhunter alone.
Why were they here? They couldn't possibly know she would be here?
xxxx
Tears streamed down Jocelyn's face. If her head still ached, she could no longer feel the pain. Her heart banged too quickly and too loudly in her chest for her to feel anything.
"How could you?" she managed to whisper. Valentine stood in the doorway; he'd been pacing back and forth while telling his brilliant plan.
"Easy, I needed a warrior, a soldier that would do anything to protect me and my secrets, someone that would never seek out her mother when she found out you was still alive." Valentine looked down at Jocelyn's trembling body.
"You son of a bitch, you-" Jocelyn couldn't find the words to express her anger. She remembered seeing Clary's hateful eyes stare up at her, her green eyes burning with rage. After hearing what Valentine had done, what he had made Clary believe, Jocelyn had no problems excusing her daughter.
She remembered the reactions Clary had shown whenever Jocelyn was in the room; one conversation hit the front of her memory harder than the others;
"Clarissa, I have never tried to hurt you in any kind of way." Jocelyn remembered saying, but that wasn't what struck her mind, it was the hurt and resentful voice of Clary, looking at Jocelyn with a twisted, infuriated smirk, "If you say so." She had replied.
Jocelyn felt sick to the stomach, Clary had left small hints behind for Jocelyn to catch up on, but she hadn't. She had never suspected anything, never wondered about her strange behaviour, always assumed it was just an aftereffect of living with the abhorrent former husband of hers.
"Why are you saying that? We are alone Fairchild, you don't have to pretend around me."
"I would've loved to dig a little deeper, see if I could find anything that could destroy you once and for all."
All the times Clary told her not to touch her. Oh God.. Jocelyn felt the tears stream down her face; Clary's face crept in front of her eyes. Why had she never questioned it?
"So, now you see. You will never get her back, she belongs to me, and she always will." Valentine spoke in such a voice, Jocelyn thought her guts turned to solid ice. Cold and numbing.
"No." Jocelyn whispered, her sore throat burning against her words, "No, you won't. I will never let you, I will find her, and I will tell her the truth!" Jocelyn scream through the burning fire in her body.
Valentine let out the faintest hints of laughter, "And how will you do that my dear? How will you tell her life is a lie? Do you really think she will ever trust a word you say?"
"You fucking monster! You can say whatever you want, but I will-" her words disappeared into a small breath, he had somehow silenced her.
"Ah, you should really learn to hold your tongue Jocelyn. That was always your biggest flaw, too many words for such a small woman." He said.
Jocelyn stayed silent, unable to talk, like he had marked her with a Quietude rune.
"I am going to leave now Jocelyn, and you think about my offer. Tell me the location of the cup, and nothing bad will happen to our pretty little daughter, but mark my words dear, you fail me.." he bent down on one knee, touching her cheek. She couldn't feel his fingers, as it was just a projection, but the image was disturbing enough, "and I will burn your world to the ground once and for all."
xxxx
Clary had fled the Pandemonium Club's masquerade ball as soon as she had detected Alec Lightwood. He might not recognise her, but she did not dare let herself be seen by Jace or Jonathan.
The assignment hadn't been of any use, nobody at the ball had seemed willing to give out any information, if they were even in possession of the information she needed.
"You look tired." Maggie told her when she entered the drawing room.
"Thanks for pointing it out." Clary sighed, "Is father home?"
"No, he went out for a business meeting a few hours ago, but he will be back soon." Maggie answered.
"Good, because when he gets back, I will tell him how ineffective and tragic that assignment was." Clary complained.
"I am sorry to hear that my dear."
Clary spun around, meeting Valentine's black eyes, "Father." She said surprised, "I am so sorry, I didn't mean.."
"Don't apologise Clarissa, I hope you have not forgotten the most important rule," Valentine stopped, waiting for her to finish his sentence. "A Morgenstern never apologize." She said, looking up at him with a faint smile on her lips.
"So, I take it you didn't find out much?" her father continued, as if she hadn't said anything.
"No father, nothing. The mundanes know nothing of considerable significance." Clary stated irritated, "I could've walked up to a Vetis demon and it wouldn't have made a difference."
A smile formed on Valentine's lips, Clary was the only person who was able to make a genuine smile appear on her father's lips, not the evil smirk or the threatening half-sided smile.
"You just got to dig a little deeper." He told her, brushing the side of her face, tracing her faded, pink scar with his thumb.
"We've got all the time in the world now that you are home darling, don't you worry."
xxxx
Jocelyn sat with down in her room, the tears had never left her red, swollen eyes.
How could she live knowing that monster had her child in his possession? How could she pretend like everything was okay in front of Luke and Jonathan? She couldn't tell them what had happened, it would only create fear and chaos amongst the Shadowhunters.
They did not need to know Valentine Morgenstern had entered the Institute, even only as a projection.
Back home in the Fairchild manor, she let herself free. Her loud sobs filled the air and she pressed her pillow against her face.
Crying. The only thing that felt right was crying. Crying over the child she had lost. The child she had gotten back. And lost once again. The child she would never get back. The child Valentine had created. The child Clary though Jocelyn had created.
Jocelyn stayed that way, thinking about everything that had happened, she didn't know how long she laid there, and in that moment time did not matter.
Suddenly she felt a warm hand touch her back, "Jocelyn?" Luke's calm, loving voice called out for her.
She looked up, her tears falling from her cheeks.
"What happened? We've been looking all over for you." He said before he saw her swollen eyes and pale face.
"Oh god! What happened?" he asked again, this time concern was flooding his voice.
"He- he-" Jocelyn stuttered.
"He took my child!"
"I know, I know." Luke said soothingly, "I know, but we will do everything in our powers to get her back, there are three teams of Shadowhunters looking for the manor, looking for her, any sign of her ,right now." He tried to calm his crying wife down.
"No, it won't matter." Jocelyn cried, "I can't see her, not after what I've done to her!" Jocelyn's voice passed hysterical.
"Jocelyn, you haven't done anything to Clary, Valentine is the one-"
"You don't understand." Jocelyn told him, clearing her teary eyes with the back of her hand.
"She thinks I tried to kill her." Jocelyn replied, forgetting all about not telling anyone, she couldn't keep the truth hidden.
"She thinks I started the fire Luke, she thinks I tried to burn my own child alive!"
Okay. I AM SO SORRY. I know you've all been thinking Clary is just a bitch, and that would probably be better than what she actually thinks.
Please leave a review.
I'm sorry.