Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments series. Everything recognisable belongs to Cassandra Clare.
Wow, I am so sorry for not updating anything. I was in a rather stupid accident the other day, and I was not allowed on the computer due to minor concussion. But I'm back, and ready with another chapter.
THANK YOU SO SO MUCH FOR ALL THE WONDERFUL REVIEWS YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING!
Approximately 70 per cent of the world's surface is covered with water. That is almost the same percentage as in a human body. If the world was covered in that much water, shouldn't that be enough to stop the fire burning under Clary's skin? Eating her flesh like she was a piece of dry timber.
She had had the same dream four times, and it was beginning to sink in that even though her body was supposed to be made out of mostly water, her body was clearly made out of one hundred per cent flammable petroleum. No matter how much she tossed and turned, it seemed like it only triggered her nightmares more and more.
She was in the middle of a large flock of fire-breathing demons, like dragons. Their horrible skeleton bodies flying over her like she was their next meal.
Clary never had a seraph blade in her dreams; she never had a way of defending herself.
The flames circled her, coming closer and closer. Touching the tip of her shoe. Dancing up her dark jeans. Catching the hem of her jacket. Slithering up until it touched the bare skin on her neck.
Fire, like for most people, scared the crap out of Clary. But she had a more profound bond with flames. When she was a little over one year old, she was caught in the flames of her family home.
It was the day of the Uprising, the same day her father had fought the Downworlders in the Great Hall. The same day her mother, Jocelyn Fairchild, had betrayed him.
She had been told the house they lived in had accidently caught on fire, or at least that that was what the Nephilim in Idris had reported.
Her father told her the truth.
The truth was, Jocelyn Fairchild was a power hungry, heartless monster who couldn't care less about what happened to Clary.
That in itself wasn't hard to imagine. She had seen it in her mother the same day she had woken up in the infirmary. What she couldn't understand, was Jonathan. Why was he so special? Why was he better than her? More worthy of a mother's love?
Clary had been trapped inside the flames; her mother had made sure Jonathan had been with their grandparents that day, leaving Clary alone with her. After the battle was finished, she had sat the house ablaze.
If it hadn't been for her father, who bravely fought through the flames and got her out, she would be left with more than just a ugly pink scar across half of her pale face.
Sitting up abruptly, sweat staining her whole body, making her clothes sticking to her skin.
Clary looked around, it was the first nightmare since she came back a fortnight ago.
Two weeks she'd been free of the nightly terror of her own imagination.
Knowing she would never be able to get back to sleep, at least not without being visited by the same hot flames, she got up.
Early mornings always impressed Clary, the chilling air outside and the large, peaceful grounds. She was dressed in fighting gear, readying herself for a practice with her father.
Little over ten minutes past, Clary threw a few knives and sloppily fought the shadows around her.
" I thought you were better than this my daughter. I have to say, you're making a fool out of the Morgenstern name."
"Ahh, I'd like to see you do it better." Clary smirked, turning around to meet the light-scared face of her father.
"Is that a challenge sweetheart?" Valentine sent her a counterfeit smile.
"You bet it is father." Clary swung the rapier in her hand around.
"Okay, let's see what you've got Clary." Valentine picked up the only other rapier in the grass with great legerdemain. It was covered in the ten thick swords and smaller knives and daggers.
xxxx
The sun raised, light shone over the Fairchilds daunting affair. The sun went down; and reiterate.
Every day were the same, a constant search for the escapee, but as autumn faded into winter, the seek felt more and more hopeless. Like the girl had disappeared off the face of the earth.
The orange morning sun sparkled off the silver and cold iron of the gates in front of the Gard.
The Gard, made out of dark stone looked like a simple fortress, built for safety and supported on all sides by pillars Marked with protective runes. There were four demon towers, smaller than the ones that guarded the city, rising from the four cardinal points of the building.
As a result of fatigue, Jocelyn was beyond exhausted, and her emotional resources were meagre. It did not help that when she entered the Gard, a hundred gazing eyes observed her impatiently.
Jocelyn sat down next to Luke and Jonathan; they had been staying in Alicante, while Jocelyn had to work in the New York Institute.
"Mum, it'll be okay." She heard Jonathan whisper at the same time she felt Luke place a reassuring hand on her knee.
To Jocelyn's relief she recognised many of the Shadowhunters in the room. In the far back, Jia Penhallow, a fellow former circle member, with her daughter Aline, the same age as Jon and Alec. Maryse and Robert Lightwood as well as Alec, the only other Lightwood old enough to enter the meeting. Both Celine and Stephen Herondale had entered the Gard, sitting on the other side of room. Jocelyn recognised many of the Nephilim only by their faces, especially the elder Nephilim.
Consul Dieudonne stood silently in the entrance of the chamber; his Consul robes clashing with the blackness of his hair. He watched carefully as the crowed of Nephilim found their seats. The chamber was built like an amphitheatre, or a half-moon of hard benches facing a rectangular raised dais in the front of the room.
Dieudonne cleared his throat and everyone fell silent. His eyes wandered over Jocelyn quickly, if she hadn't been eyeing his with such intensity as she did, she would've never noticed.
"We have called you here today, November 26th, because we are facing dark times. As you all know, or have been speculating about, it is correct that Valentine Morgenstern is not dead. And it is with great arduousness I confirm this, as well as report the Mortal Sword stolen." Malachi finished speaking when numerous whispering voices reached the four walls of the chamber, echoing, making the sounds multiply.
"Please, I know this might come as a shock for most of you, but I ask you to remain calm." Imogen raised her voice.
"We are doing our best to get the sword back, not to mention capturing the ones responsible for these unfortunate circumstances. Valentine Morgenstern and his remaining Circle members will attack neither Nephilim nor Downworlder that much we can assure you." Imogen continued, with a silent nod from both Malachi and some of the elder Nephilim around the half-moon circle.
"How can you be so sure about that?" a blond Shadowhunter asked loudly, her voice ringing through the chamber as if she spoke through a microphone.
"A reasonable question." Malachi began, "We are organizing search groups around both Idris and the mundane world, we'll hire Warlocks to preform the most effective tracking spells, seeing as tracking marks do not work in this scenario."
"Do you know why they aren't working?" Another Shadowhunter with a thick accent asked.
"They are most likely under a lot of protective wards, guarding them from such simplicity." The same blond woman replied.
"What about Clarissa Morgenstern?" A third Shadowhunter from the crowd asked, shouting Jocelyn's daughter's name out loud. Everyone fell silent; Jocelyn could feel a hundred stares bore into her body. She inhaled deeply. Counting to three.
One. Jonathan was right, it would be okay.
Two. They had no idea where Clary was, nobody, with the exception of Valentine himself, could hurt her.
Three. Jonathan was right, it would be okay.
Jocelyn looked up, meeting Imogen's conflicted gaze. Without leaving the woman's grey-eyed stare, she said, "What about her?"
Imogen broke the connecting gazes right before Consul Dieudonne retorted, "Regarding the Morgenstern girl, Inquisitor Herondale and I felt rather discomposed deciding the girl's fate, and we've decided to let the Council make the final verdict." Malachi told them, everyone started mumbling silently again.
Jocelyn's ears burned with heat, anger rose inside her. Make the final verdict? Final verdict of what?
"We'll get back to the issues regarding Clarissa Morgenstern in a bit, but first we would like to explain how we want the routines and trainings to work for now." Imogen explained, but Jocelyn could no longer focus, her head had split in two with the thoughts haunting her, images of Clary's young body burning in a fire, in the Fairchilds old manor. A young Clary , about six or seven with an ugly red scar covering most of her face.
Even though those images were horrible, the worst pictures were of Clary Fairchild; a young beautiful and happy girl. A girl who could've been. Destroyed by the man Jocelyn had once loved. Manipulated, tortured and ruined by her own father.
xxxx
"That would've been lovely Mr. Fell, but I cannot except such an remarkable piece of jewel. It's an heirloom am I right?" Clary asked, putting on her best performance, keeping the pleased smirk hidden behind the blond curls of Jasmine Clarke. Her alias whenever she had to blend into the world of magic and pandemonium.
"Don't worry, I've been trying to find a place for this chalice for over a century, I will not mourn the loss, Miss Clarke." Ragnor answered, his light green skin shone almost white in the bright lights of the chandeliers over them.
"Well, if you insist so deeply, I do not see any reason to decline." Clary smiled sweetly. She had heard rumours of a cup being auctioned off at the next Pandemonium dinner party, and when she was informed of the seller's identity, she had to check it out.
Never had Clary imagined it to be as easy as it had turned out to be, to lure the Warlock into giving her the cup for free. A persuasion rune and a lot of fake charm, and the cup was hers.
Clary smiled again, her unmistakable green eyes meeting Ragnor's. "Thank you so much Mr. Fell." Clary said, keeping a stern face, forcing herself not to roll her eyes.
"The pleasure is all mine darling." The inebriated Warlock smiled back.
"Sure." Clary bit her lip and lowered the cup into her bag. She turned around fast and headed in the other direction.
Walking fast in the crowed room, she noticed little of the conversations going on around her. But one voice, a strong, gentle voice, she would never miss, never mistake as long as she still breathed.
"I don't know, it must be broken. Izzy, ask Magnus if it's broken."
"I'm standing right here you dimwit."
"Izzy, tell Magnus I'm not talking to him."
"What's wrong with you Nephilim?"
"Iz-" "By the angel Jace, tell him yourself!"
"Fine, you fucked up!"
Clary smiled, letting her emotions get the best of her. She stopped, staring at the three people forming a small triangle in the middle of the room. Jace was dressed in a black suit, blending fairly well in with the rest of the male guests in the room. Isabelle wore a short black dress with matching heels, the type Clary wondered how many hours of practice she'd had to be able to actually walk in them, let alone run.
Magnus Bane was wearing what High Warlock of Brooklyn, Magnus Bane would wear to a dinner party. A dark, red velvet blazer with black suit pants, sparkled with a hint of red glitter. Two layers of scarfs, one white and the other in a deep burgundy colour. Not blending in with the majority of the male guests in the room.
Clary's eyes landed on Jace, his dirty blond hair, with a hint of gold. He was speaking provokingly with Magnus about something, a broken device of some sort. Clary couldn't concentrate, because reality hit her in the face with the force of a small truck.
How come the Shadowhunters had ended up on the same party she'd been to, again. She'd only been to one other Pandemonium Party the last two months, and she had stumbled upon Alec Lightwood, and now both Jace and Isabelle. How?
Clary decided the best way of getting out would be to walk out, not looking like she was guilty of possibly stealing the Mortal Cup. She did not look like Clary Morgenstern, she looked like Jasmine Clarke.
She walked with steady steps towards the three people. Looking down, keeping her bright green eyes out of view.
As she walked she heard Isabelle speak, "Can you two quit acting like you're five years old? We're here because the Conclave sent us, and-"
"Oh no sweetie, I'm not here because of the Conclave, I could honestly not care less about the itty bitty Nephilim problems you're facing. I'm here because of Alec." Magnus exclaimed.
"And as great as that is, I could honestly not care less about your itty bitty relationship with my Parabatai." Jace snapped irritated back.
"For God's sake, shut up!" Isabelle hit Jace in the back of the head, making him grunt irritated. "Fine, Magnus is here because of Alec, not the Nephilim problems, now that that's out in the open, let's go back to figuring out what's wrong with this damn thing!" Jace said, his voice sounded like he was whispering, but it was loud enough for Clary to hear him as she walked.
Suddenly a hard body crashed into Clary, making her stumble and loosing her purse. "Watch where you're going!" Clary snapped at the man, his tall figure reaching high above Clary's tiny body.
"Excuse me?" He snapped back, the smell of alcohol hit Clary hard. Disgusting.
"You heard me dumbass, get out of my way!" Clary pushed past him, but he grabbed Clary by the wrist, twisting her back in front of him. "Whatcha call me?" He asked, speaking fast and unclear.
"Let me go." Clary replied coldly.
"I asked yeaha question girl."
"And I. Told. You. To. Let. Me. Fuckings go!" Clary replied slowly.
He did not respond, only press harder down on Clary's wrist. Clary looked around her, realising she'd caused a scene. People were watching the two of them out of the corners of their eyes. Pretending not to look, but making it pretty obvious as the room had gone dead silent.
She saw the two Shadowhunters come closer, eyeing the situation closely. Then Clary did three things she should've never done.
One, she met Jace's golden eyes.
Two, she punched the drunk guy in the face.
Three, she ran like hell.
"CLARY!" she heard Jace's voice yell after her, and she could hear two sets of feet storm after her down the corridor. Isabelle's high heels making most of the sound.
"CLARY, PLEASE STOP!" Isabelle shouted after them as Clary pushed people out of the way, making some of them fall to the floor, cursing furiously at her as she passed them.
Clary ran down a set of stairs, seeing Jace's blond curls, and Isabelle's black dress out of the corner of her eye.
"CLARY, JUST LISTEN!" Jace yelled, running a few feet behind her.
Clary didn't stop, she ran through a open door down the next hallway and headed for a empty room to perform the portal rune. She had to get away, fast.
As she ran she pushed three chairs in front of the two Shadowhunters, slowing them down and making a wider space between herself and them.
When she ran inside the last room; empty of people, only a few tables stacked in the corners of the room, she drew her stele. The rune was easy to draw now that her adrenaline pumped like crazy in her veins, but she didn't jump through it, she let the two Shadowhunters get inside the room.
"CLARY! Please, please just listen to us!" Isabelle pleaded as she caught her breath.
"Listen to you? What could you possibly tell me that would interest me?" Clary asked, watching the misty colours of the portal form beside her.
"Everything you think you know, it's a lie!"
"Okay, yeah that seems legit." Clary laughed, stepping closer to the portal.
"No, please Clary, we know what happened. The fire, that's why you've got that scar on your cheek, right?" Isabelle asked.
"Who told you? Did she-" Clary started accusing Jocelyn of telling them her secrets, but Jace interrupted, "No, Valentine told us, or he told your mother. It didn't happen Clary, it's all in your head!"
"All in my head? No Herondale, it's not, and Fairchild she is not my mother!" Clary answered calmly in her coldest voice. How could he say something like that? All in her head? She wasn't crazy.
xxxx
"To finish off this meeting, we would like to speak with all of you about the young Nephilim, not in allegiance with the Clave, and one hundred per cent loyal to her father Valentine Morgenstern. We see her as an issue because of the experiments Mr. Morgenstern has performed on his young daughter, making her part demon." Imogen spoke sternly, not letting any emotions escape either her face or voice.
Jocelyn clutched Luke's hand tightly, jaw clenched and eyes closed in anger.
"We would like to inform you that she is not a Shadowhunter on the same level as we, her blood is not pure and we do not even know if the blood of Raziel is still flowing in her veins. She is brutal and malicious and we have not yet experienced any progress in her behaviour while observing her inside the New York Institute." Imogen continued.
"That's not true."
It was Jonathan who spoke, he'd stood up from where he was sitting next to Luke. "Clary did show progress! She saved Max Lightwood and Iwan Herondale from being killed by a clan of vampires!" he looked right at his friend's grandmother, speaking directly to her.
"By killing over ten vampires. We do not seek those measures, not even while we are under pressure. Clarissa Morgenstern acted irresponsibly and put the lives of not only the New York Vampire Clan, which we've been acting peaceful and civil with for the past two decades, but also four other Shadowhunters in danger."
"SHE SAVED YOUR GRANDSON'S LIFE, CAN'T YOU SHOW SOME GRATITUDE?" Jonathan slammed his fist angry down on the wooden bench, only the strong hands of Luke kept him in place.
"Jon, take a deep breath and calm down." Jocelyn heard Luke speak softly to her son.
"This has nothing to do with me being grateful Fairchild, that my grandchild is safe is a great priority of mine, but the larger spectrum of Nephilim will always come first. And right now, Clarissa Adele Morgenstern is a threat!" Imogen raised her voice over the murmuring voices around them.
"What are you going to do then? Hunt her down, imprison her for the rest of her life?" Jonathan asked, still ignoring Luke.
Malachi was the one to answer, "Seeing as this has already proven to be pointless, imprisoning her does not seem like the best option at this point of the situating." He met Jocelyn's eyes as he continued speaking, "The main task will be to capture the young Morgenstern, but she is not the main target here, that is the inner workings of the Circle, but if capturing her leads to lethal fighting, a kill-on-sight might be instructed to the Shadowhunters working on the mission."
"WHAT?" Jocelyn yelled angry, "THAT IS FRATRICIDE! YOU CAN'T!"
"I understand your position Jocelyn, but we have to look at the greater good here. And seeing as Clarissa is not a member of the Clave, it will not."
Shit, what did I just do? haha.
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