AN: Um...better late than never? Right? No? No. Okay.
THANKYOUMAGGIEFORBEINGMYBETA. YOUROCK. THANKYOUGIDGEFORCOACHINGMETHROUGHTHETOUGHSPOTS. YOUDESERVEBETTERTHANTHISTARDINESS.
Compulsory Butterflies: Part V
"I'm not going."
"Jace, this isn't a suggestion. We have to leave now."
"Why should we? We're at the heart of my fa—Valentine's operation. The perfect place to gather intelligence."
"The Sword isn't here. Our mission was to find it. And since when do you care about 'gathering intelligence'? There's no one here for you to stab."
"If I go with you, do I get to stab Jonathan?"
"I told you—it's complicated. We need him to—"
"What? Gather intelligence?"
"You're being difficult on purpose. Why can't you just do as you're told for once?"
"Because you're telling me to run away."
"We're not running away. We're following a lead. I know you want to confront Valentine, but Jonathan is the bigger threat."
"Jonathan is nothing but a—"
Clary can't stay quiet a moment longer. It's the middle of the night, they're practically shouting, and no one is making any decisions. "I agree with Jace. I came here to do something, and I'm not leaving until I do it."
"There. Even she agrees—"
"But Alec is right," she cuts him off. "Jonathan is dangerous, and he's up to something—something Father doesn't know about. The two of you should go with him. I'll stay here."
The boys object simultaneously. She ignores Jace and squeezes Alec's hand. "I promise I can handle it, okay? And I managed to find a way out last time. If something happens, I'll come find you. Wherever you are."
"I know you can handle it," Alec's voice rasps, worn thin, "but I need you to come with me."
She knows he's not mad at her—he hates their impossible situation. This secrecy and Jonathan's involvement in their escape make her feel powerless to console him.
Her eyes ache. She wants to cry. She knows she should stay because it's her best chance of finding Jocelyn. But an hour ago, Alec was weeks away, and now he's here, right in front of her, and she wants to follow him, even if it only means she can hold his hand a little bit longer.
Alec tugs at her fingers. "I can get you to your mother."
Clary's mouth falls open. "How did you know?"
"Jonathan. Like I said, he's waiting for us."
\ /
She doesn't know what to expect when they step through the portal. Electricity is still crackling in her ears when she feels her boots sink into a plush rug. Contemporary jazz music tinkles from speakers off to her right. Her first breath overwhelms her with the scent of pine and clean cotton. The three of them are alone only for a moment. Jonathan's approaching footsteps land on hardwood floors and bounce off the walls of what must be a spacious room.
"I'm glad Alec could convince you to come."
He isn't talking to her, Clary realizes. The words are directed at Jace. She measures the tension in the room through the pulse in Alec's wrist.
"He's family. I go where he goes," Jace answers. "I imagine family loyalty isn't something you're really into, considering you've been keeping this hideout secret from your Old Man." Jace clicked his tongue at Jonathan. "I have to say, I'm unimpressed with your villainous digs—the place is a little drab. It could use some texture: some bright paint, a few fur pillows, maybe a disco ball. I know a guy who could get you a great price on glitter. He buys it in bulk."
Clary nervously anticipates her brother's livid response. She's never heard someone speak to him the way Jace just did, and she knows Jonathan has killed for less. So when he takes another measured step toward them, she feels goose bumps rise on the back of her neck.
"I know you must not think very highly of me." Jonathan's voice is all regret and understanding, "because you don't understand what's really been going on. But I do appreciate family. It's why I've brought us all together."
"Us?" Jace steps forward. Clary feels him pulsing blood-red. "How are you and I anything but two people waiting for the chance to drive swords through each other's chests?"
"Jace, you're my brother. I mean you no harm."
"We are not related."
"You and Alec are brothers, but you are not related by blood." Jonathan's calm is like a rope tied in noose around Clary's neck. "I love my sister, and you love Alec, and they love each other. That makes us all family, doesn't it?"
Jace doesn't say a word.
\ /
It feels strange when her brother casually directs Clary and Alec toward a single bedroom. Alec guides Clary around the room, allowing her to experience the layout. When they encounter the walk-in closet, he explains that half of it is filled with clothing just her size.
Clary is too cold to change. She tells Alec as much, and he leads her into the bathroom. While holding her hand, he turns on the shower. As the room fills up with warm steam, she sits on the toilet seat. They don't break contact once. She's not sure who's holding on tighter, but neither of them lets go.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
He pushes away the shower curtain and sits on the edge of the tub. They both still have their boots on, and there's not enough floor space for both of their feet. He crosses his legs over hers. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't have a plan."
"Why are we here?" The question sounds loud in the small, humid room.
"It was the only way I could get him to let me see you. I had to promise to help him."
"Help him do what? What does he want?"
"I just promised—"
Clary's entire chest throbs with her next heartbeat. "What kind of promise?"
"All I could think about was getting to you alive."
"Alec, tell me you didn't—" She can't believe she didn't recognize it sooner. Clary places a hand over Alec's chest, and even through two layers of cotton she can feel the raw, steady presence of a new Mark. Its power makes her gasp.
Alec covers her hand with his. "I wish I knew what I'm doing."
\ /
She's already half-awake when Jace slips into their room. It's almost dawn, and Clary hasn't gotten any better about sleeping in strange places. Knowing that Jonathan is just down the hall in this strange, teleporting house makes rest impossible.
Alec doesn't suffer from the same insomnia. Clary made sure of that. An hour ago, she gently traced a comatose rune on his arm, and he hadn't fought her on it. Of course, she had promised to give herself one as well. He was asleep within 30 seconds. Clary stays awake in the relative silence.
As Jace pads toward them, Clary reaches for her stele and traces a line through Alec's comatose Rune, nullifying it. She's about to nudge him awake, when Jace throws himself down on the end of the bed, landing on Alec's ankles and startling him awake.
Alec struggles to sit up. "Whatshappening."
Clary sighs. "Jace is here. For some reason."
Alec's response is a strangled noise in the back of his throat.
"Be glad I came." Jace sprawls across the bed, forcing Clary to back up against the headboard. "Consider it a cautionary tale. What if I'd been Jonathan? I could have slit both of your throats before either of you managed to get a pair of pants on."
Exasperated, Alec throws the blanket aside. "I'm wearing pants. We're both wearing pants."
"Sorry to bring up a touchy subject."
"It's not touchy."
"I think it's the only thing in this bed that is."
Clary laces her arm through Alec's. "Is this why you're here, Jace? To make us listen to you talk? I'm sure there's a mirror in your room. I hear they can be almost magical for people like you."
Alec's elbow catches her gently in the ribs; she pretends not to notice. She's too tired and frayed to worry about being nice. Maybe it's not fair to use Jace as a scratching post, but he's the sturdiest person around.
Jace doesn't miss a beat. "Yes, it's too bad you'll never have the benefit of one. If you did, maybe your hair wouldn't be so…well, it wouldn't look like that."
"I wish you were Jonathan and that you really had just come in and slit our throats. At least then this conversation would already be over."
"If Jonathan wanted to slit our throats, he would have done it by now." Alec dutifully steers the discussion toward safer ground. "I'm assuming that's why you're here. To talk about Jonathan?"
"I was wondering if you've reconsidered your feelings about me stabbing him." Jace says this so casually it's impossible to think he's anything but serious.
Clary shakes her head. "We can't."
"Is it the fratricide that's putting you off?"
"No,"—although the thought of being an accomplice to her brother's murder makes her gut twist—"you can't kill him because if you do, Alec will die."
For a moment, Jace is silent. For only a moment. "By the angel. What the hell happened in those three days you spent with him? Did you bond over archery? Was there a German dungeon porn marathon with popcorn and Whoppers? Don't tell me you exchanged friendship rings and made pinky promises."
Alec throws his hands up in exasperation, wrenching his armfrom her grasp. "Jesus, Jace. She means it literally. Like my literal death."
"What do you mean?" Jace shifts closer to them, and the new distribution of weight has Clary sinking toward the middle of the mattress and the sudden tightness of Jace's voice. "You did something stupid, didn't you?"
"I took a calculated risk."
"Alec, show him."
\ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ /
"Alec, show him."
He really doesn't want to. It isn't that Alec is ashamed of what he did; he just doesn't expect Jace to understand. Wwhen it comes to Clary, Alec is always somewhere between a push and a pull, and there's no use in fighting gravity. He likes having his feet on the ground.
So he lifts the hem of his shirt, and he knows the moment that the Mark is visible because Jace inhales sharply, and the rune warms as if brightening under the attention.
"What is that?"
"A Mark Jonathan gave me."
The rune is so red it almost glows. Two circles overlap on the center of his chest—the bold shapes twined together by fine lines that seem to form an unbreakable chain. It hurts Alec to look at it.
"But what does it mean?"
Clary's touch is light on his skin. Her fingertips glide over the lines of the rune. "It's a binding contract. A blood bond. Jonathan has one, too. Can't you feel it, Jace?"
Alec finally meets the gaze of his parabatai. Jace looks stunned—too stunned to hide the hurt that briefly crosses his face. "What sort of contract?"
Clary's hand falls away. "It means that their lives are bound. One can't live without the other. If Jonathan dies, so does Alec. And if Alec dies…"
"Is that it? Is that all it does?"
"Is that all?" Alec tugs at his hair and falls back against the headboard. "Isn't that enough? Half the world's Shadowhunters want Jonathan dead, including you. The chances of both of us making it through this war alive—"
Jace folds his arms across his chest. "Maybe you should have thought of that before getting matching tattoos with your new boyfriend."
"There's more," Clary interjects hesitantly.
Alec closes his eyes. This is the part he'd heard about only a couple of hours ago, when Clary explained the Mark's full significance.
"Their life force isn't the only thing that could pass through the bond. Things like thoughts and feelings can be shared, too."
Jace stares back at her blankly. "Jonathan doesn't strike me as the type who likes to share his feelings. Not unless they involve killing things or destroying the world. Those feelings he's very vocal about."
"The point—" Clary interrupts, "—is that if Alec is getting bits and pieces of Jonathan's consciousness through the bond, it might become difficult for Alec to distinguish which thoughts are his own, and which are Jonathan's. At least, I think that's how it might work."
Jace crosses his arms, unimpressed. "Great. So if Alec begins experiencing perverse, homicidal desires and starts parting his hair to the left, we'll know that your theory is right."
"Hey, this isn't an exact science, okay?" Clary huffs and tucks her legs under her, rising up onto her knees. "Blood bonds are dangerous and unpredictable. The good news is that the bonded Shadowhunters can't physically hurt each other. So, Jonathan can't threaten suicide, even if he wants to"
This fact doesn't provide Alec with a whole lot of relief; he can tell that Jace shares this sentiment. Jace rolls onto his back and covers his face with his hands. "I don't understand how this is even possible. I've never seen anything like it."
Clary flinches. She drops back on her heels. "It shouldn't be possible. I mean…runes like this aren't meant to be used by people like Jonathan."
"That kind of Mark isn't in the Gray Book. So where the hell did he get it from?"
Alec glances at Clary in time to catch her grimace. He takes her hand. She squeezes back.
She sighs. "He got it from me."
\ /
Alec hasn't always seen eye-to-eye with his parents. When he was young, they were strict—bound by the fear of the Clave's retribution. When he was older, they were intolerant—choked by the bitterness of their own failed ambition. And for the last three years, they've been absent—distracted by a narrow ray of light shining through a crack in the ceiling.
For a while, he hated them. He hated them for looking concerned when he came home without bruises on his body or ichor on his shirt. He hated them when his father pushed Jace harder than anyone else he trained. He hated them every time they criticized Isabelle's love life. He hated them for never asking about his love life.
But Alec has never had to make excuses for his parents. They've never raised a hand against him, so he's never had to explain a broken bone. They've never called him a failure, so he's never had to rationalize tough love. They've never manipulated him into believing that love is proven by how much you're willing to suffer for the people you care about.
For the second time, Alec listens to Clary explain how Valentine discovered her gift, when she was seven. One day, he noticed that instead of practicing brail, she was doodling runes in the margins of the paper—runes she had never been exposed to. Valentine gave her a stele, and for a while, she did nothing with it but draw in the dirt. Then, one night, Valentine came to tuck her in and noticed that her white cane wasn't by the bed. He asked her if she'd lost it again. Clary told him that she'd decided to keep it in her notebook from now on. Valentine found a page with a drawing of the cane and an unknown rune in the corner. Clary reached into the drawing, and pulled the cane out.
Valentine was intent on learning what else she could create. When she failed to produce runes on command, he began to dose her with a drought every night before bed. Clary still doesn't know what was in it, but Valentine called it an 'elixir' and promised it would make her stronger. Drinking it gave her intense dreams and nightmares. Sometimes, she would wake up in the middle of the night with Marks burning in her mind, and Valentine would make her sketch all of them into a book. The blood runes were the last ones she saw before she started experiencing seizures as a side-effect of the drug.
Only then did Valentine relent. He stopped forcing her to drink the elixir, sending Clary into weeks of withdrawal where she was too sick to leave her bed. Valentine explained to the seven- year-old that her illness was punishment for her failure to supply the Runes he demanded.
Alec's father is dead, and it feels like a crime. When Valentine dies, it will feel like justice.
\ /
The next morning, Jonathan divulges the first few details of his plan over breakfast.
"Father thinks he can save the Nephilim race." Jonathan cuts into a steak that's so rare blood pools across his plate. "What he refuses to acknowledge is that they aren't worth saving. And they're only barely worth killing."
"You shouldn't say such things about yourself." Jace is sitting across the kitchen table. He looks calm, but Alec knows better. "I think you're worth killing."
"I'm no average Nephilim. Neither are you and Clary. And now,"—Jonathan touches his chest, indicating the blood rune concealed beneath his expensive-looking shirt—"neither is Alec."
Alec stabs at his eggs.
Beside him, Clary nibbles on a slice of bacon. She hasn't touched her omelet despite Jonathan's claims that he had it made just the way she likes it. "If you don't want to save the Nephilim and you don't want to kill them," Clary says, "what do you want to do with them?"
Jonathan carefully sets aside his dripping silverware. "I'm going to change them into something more useful. I am going to make them stronger, faster, and completely obedient to us."
"Sounds like enslavement."
Jonathan doesn't disagree. "They're already enslaved. They fight and die to fulfill a heavenly mandate that they never question and that they can never fulfill. When they fight for me, they will win and they will be rewarded."
Jace looks grim. "And how do you plan on managing that?"
The door to the kitchen opens, signaling the entrance of the cook, who's carrying a basket of freshly baked bread. Jonathan takes one of the biscuits and splits it down the middle with a dull butter knife. "Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo."
Alec's out of practice with his Latin, and it takes a moment to translate the phrase. But once he places it in the context of Virgil's Aeneid, there is no misunderstanding the nature of Jonathan's intentions.
If I cannot move heaven, I will raise hell.
\ /
That night, Jonathan comes to their room long after the sun has set. He is dressed in Shadow Hunter gear, black as the fresh marks drawn over pale skin. Jonathan has Clary's complexion. Alec thinks it might be the only thing they have in common.
Jonathan's smile is dangerous. "Are you ready?"
A shot of awareness travels down Alec's spine. Adrenaline begins to curl its way through his veins the same way it would if he were back in New York, getting ready to go on patrol with Jace and Isabelle. He already feels the phantom weight of a weapon in his hand.
"Where are we going?"
\ /
Jonathan leads them down a dark, narrow stairway with stone steps. The air smells of mold and something acrid. Water seems to be leaking down the walls, and at one point, Clary slips in a puddle. Before Alec can steady her, Jace reaches out and snags the back of her jacket. She sways but doesn't tumble forward down the steep incline.
Alec doubts that Jace can make out the grateful look he gives him in the darkness.
Below them the muffled thump of a lethargic bass hums. The lower they climb, the louder the sound gets, the tenser Alec becomes.
Clary shouldn't be here. None of them should be here, but Clary isn't trained to use the dagger tucked inside her jacket. Valentine may have taught his daughter what "sharp" means, but he never taught her how to sink a blade into an assailant—an enemy she can't even see. But apparently Valentine never taught her to run away, either. Or if he had, the lesson never took because Clary insisted on coming out with them tonight. Jonathan was pleased by her willingness.
Alec tried to talk her out of it, but Clary never wavered. With her mouth set into a stubborn line, she told him, "I'm not afraid of the dark."
\ /
The stairs eventually lead to a grimy metal door guarded by a werewolf with a tattoo of a rope around his neck. Jonathan hands the man something that looks like a rock. It obviously has some significance to the werewolf, because he opens the door and lets the four of them through without comment.
Inside is wide room with a low ceiling supported by row after row of brick arches. The only light comes from circles cut into the sticky concrete floor. A rainbow of lightbulbs shoot pillars of color into the dusky room, illuminating dense clouds of smoke in magenta and aqua. Patrons sit in groups, bent over low tables and small piles of white powder. Vampires. Werewolves. Warlocks. Faye. They're all here.
The music that pulses through the room isn't the type Alec is used to hearing at Downworlder clubs. It's too slow to dance to. The steady, driving beat causes his ears to throb, so that he can't quite make out the quiet, yawning lyrics.
No one turns to look at them as Jonathan leads them forward through the warren of smoke and bodies.
Beside Alec, Clary chokes. "What is that?"
"Yin fen," Jace supplies. "Among other things."
Jonathan stops beside what appears to be the bar, though there's nothing on tap and none of the amber bottles stacked along the wall are labeled. He drops some cash on the table—liras, because they're in Turkey. "My business contact is skittish," Jonathan says. "Alec and I will meet him alone."
Alec waits for some protest, but both Clary and Jace let the exclusion slide with uncharacteristic stoicism. Jace falls into a high-backed barstool, and Clary gently squeezes Alec's hand before releasing it and reaching for the bar top. "I'll be here."
\ /
It's the first time Alec has ever talked to a demon. Of course, he's heard them speak. He's been threatened by a demon more than once. But usually it's in the midst of the battle. Usually the demon is screeching profanities while Alec lands two or three arrows in its hide.
Now Alec is sitting across from a narrow, scaly demon at a corner table in a seedy Downworlder bar in Turkey. His angel blade is sheathed and Alec has to battle the instinct to swing it out and plunge it through one of the demon's wide, owl-like eyes. More than once, Alec's hand jumps, but he's restrained by something he can't quite name. Beside him, Jonathan appears perfectly relaxed.
"Now, Junan, we had a deal." Jonathan's voice is firm, but unconcerned. "I did you a favor, and in return, you will deliver me the adamas."
"I don't have it." The demon, Junan, fidgets. "I mean, I don't have it here."
"Then where is it?"
"It's someplace safe. My shop in—"
"Alec."
All it takes is his name. One moment, Alec is sitting impatiently still, and the next he finds himself standing on top of the table, seraph blade raised.
The demon's eyes widen until they nearly engulf his entire face. "There are wards! You'll need me to—"
The path of Alec's blade is a wide arc that severs the demon's neck in a single pass. The spray of ichor earns some scowls from a couple of nearby Ifrits. Others laugh jubilantly, cupping their hands as if catching raindrops. A Faye waitress reaches for the wallet the demon left behind.
Alec sheathes his blade. He frowns down at the mess of ichor staining the leather couch where the demon was sitting. He does not recall deciding to leap atop the table, and he quickly jumps down, joining Jonathan, who is already making his way back through the throng of Downworlders. "So this was just a waste of time."
"I never waste time." Jonathan holds out a hand to the pilfering waitress. She smiles, a deadly flash of razor teeth that's intended to be seductive. As she places the wallet in his palm, Jonathan's answering smirk is just as sharp. "We know where the adamas is, and we tied up a loose end."
We know where it is. We tied up loose ends.
Alec looks back at the bar, where they left Jace and Clary. Clary is sitting now, and Jace has scooted his stool closer so that the two of them can talk privately. They would almost look friendly—if Jace weren't scowling so noticeably. Alec can guess what they're talking about.
"They won't find a way to break the bond."
Alec whips around to find Jonathan watching him knowingly.
"Not even Clary has the power to unmake runes," Jonathan continues. He speaks with unconcerned certainty. "And you wouldn't want them to break the bond, anyway. It's the only thing keeping me from killing you."
Alec looks away. Even from this distance, he can make out the dusting of freckles across Clary's bare shoulders. "No," he says, "not the only thing."
She looks beautiful tonight.
He's not sure where the thought comes from. It doesn't feel like it belongs to him at all. It's too simple—too understated. Certain parts of Clary may be beautiful, but taken as a whole, she's more than that. She's—
Jonathan stares at him. "We want the same things, Alec."
\ /
There is a combat training room, fully stocked with weapons, in (the west wing) of Jonathan's endless house. . Jonathan encourages all of them to use it in order to stay sharp. One afternoon, while Jonathan is out on an unknown errand, the three of them convene there. Jace walks around, taking note of the weapons at their disposal. Clary stands in the middle of the room, looking nervous and not touching anything. Alec sits on a sparring mat.
"We have to get word to the resistance." Alec tracks Jace's movements around the room. "They need to know that Jonathan has gotten his hands on raw adamas and that he plans on making a second Mortal Cup."
"Telling them that would be pointless." Jace sounds bored. Or he's pretending not to be impressed by the craftsmanship of Jonathan's scimitar collection. "They already know Valentine is trying to get his hands on the real Mortal Cup. What good would it do for them to worry about a second one? They're already doing everything they can. We're the ones in a position to actually do something about it."
"Do what?" Clary turns in a slow circle. "He can't make a cup without an Iron Sister to work the adamas. We aren't anywhere near the Adamant Citadel, so I don't know what we're doing here in Venice."
"I would suggest sight-seeing,"—Jace runs a finger over the curve of a hulking axe—"but that wouldn't be very exciting for Clary, would it?"
Clary ignores him. "Alec, the night you came for us, you said you could help me get to Jocelyn."
"Well, Jonathan knows where she is. He didn't tell me where exactly. He might take you to see her if you asked, but I'm not sure now's a good time for that." Alec stands and crosses to Clary's side. He takes her hand and brings it to his cheek. Her skin is clammy. "I know you want to see your mom, and I promise you will. But Valentine has her under tight security, and it could be dangerous now that Valentine is looking out for any move we might make."
"Of course," Jace continues, "I could always describe the sights to you. That could be exciting. I've often been told that my voice is so smooth and pleasurable that it arouses immediate interest in anything I have to say. I once caused a faerie to orgasm simply by reading from the book of Psalms."
"By "we" you mean us, and Jonathan."
"Well, yeah. I mean, we're working with him now. We're pretending to."
"Right."
Jace circles toward them. "That would be pleasant, wouldn't it? I could regale you with tales of the greed and bloodshed which mark the histories of this city's great monuments. It would be a divine experience. I'm half tempted to regale myself."
\ /
"I heard you fucking my sister last night."
Alec freezes halfway down the stairs. Below him, Jonathan is sitting in living room, a book in his lap. He carefully turns a yellowed page.
Alec doesn't know what to say.
"Don't look so horrified. It's hardly a secret."
Slowly, Alec finishes descending the steps, certain that the ground will give beneath him at any moment. "It really isn't any of your business."
Jonathan closes the book. "Of course it is. It's why I brought you home in the first place. So that you could fuck her. Because it's what she needs." He rises to his feet, the motion effortless and subtle, as if he were merely shifting his weight to another foot. "If I hadn't picked you, it would be some other man in there fucking her. And she'd still be here, with me."
Alec tries not to react under Jonathan's calculating stare. But Alec isn't Jace; he doesn't know how to push his fury down, to focus it into a point so small it can fit into a single ironic comment. His entire body feels hot and shapeless.
Jonathan continues to watch him. "That makes you angry, doesn't it?"
"What do you want from me?"
"Let's go for a walk."
"Jace and Clary?"
"They'll be fine. We won't be gone long."
\ /
All of the lights in the house are off, only darkness streams in through the windows. Alec stumbles inside the front door, catching himself on a sofa in the living room. He jars his knee against an end table and almost falls as he hurries up the stairs. When he finds Jace's door, he doesn't even have to knock before it swings open and reveals his parabatai.
Jace is carefully expressionless. "You and Jonathan were gone all day."
Alec can't find his voice. It feels caught somewhere in his head, spinning around amongst the events of the last 12 hours. He can hardly breathe. "We…I…"
Wordlessly, Alec raises his hands. The dim light from Jace's bedroom reveals the patchwork of red stains that discolor his fingers, the dark pulp beneath his nails. The cuffs of his ivory sweater are crusted and brown, and a sliced sleeve reveals even more dried blood.
Jace's indifference falls away. He reaches out. "What happened? Are you hurt?"
"No—"
"Clary?"
"No. I—"
"Alec—"
The sound of his own name breaks the dam. "We were at a house. An Iron Sister's house. She didn't live there, but she was there, just temporarily. I think she was being threatened, or maybe Jonathan was bribing her. I'm not sure. But she was talking to Jonathan as if they knew each other. She was upset. He must have given her the adamas. I don't know how we didn't notice. He didn't tell us. I didn't know. He keeps things from me. Somehow. And I—"
"Alec." Jace's hands are like vices on Alec's shoulders. His eyes are lit, burning. "What did Jonathan do? What did you do?"
Alec is caught under his brother's scrutiny. "I—I killed her."
Jace's hold relaxes. He exhales. The tone of his voice turns sympathetic. "Alec, you did what you had to. If she had used the adamas to create a second cup…"
"No, Jace! I killed her!" Alec can't contain his ferocity, his self-loathing. "She'd already made the cup. And Jonathan wanted to tie up any loose ends. He told me to kill her, and I did it. I drove a sword through her chest. I wanted to."
Jace falls back a half-step. Alec can tell he's trying to bury his reaction, to disguise his shock. But Alec sees the flicker of fear.
"Alec, where's Jonathan? Does he have the cup?"
"I want you to swear something." Alec steps toward Jace until they are nearly touching. "I want you to swear that no matter what happens, you'll protect Clary."
"What are you—"
"Protect her from Jonathan. And protect her from me."
Jace has gone completely still. "You wouldn't hurt her."
"Swear it."
There are several moments of silence, then, "I swear by the Angel to protect her."
Footsteps approach from the hallway. Clary appears in the darkness, dressed for bed, hand-pressed to the wall.
"What's going on?"
\ /
"What if it gets worse?"
Jonathan never allows all three of them to leave the house at once without his supervision. He figures that so long as one of them is in his custody, the other two will be forced to return. He's right, of course.
So Alec and Clary are alone, sitting outside of a pub in Edinburgh. They're not far from the Royal Mile, and Edinburgh Castle rises in the distance like an old, ancient gate to the heavens.
Clary picks at the seam of her jeans. "How do you mean?"
"What if he makes me want to do something worse?" And that is the part Alec has the most trouble reconciling. Jonathan did not force him to kill that woman against his will. Alec had agreed with him. He had seen the need, felt the logical pull when he drew his blade. The horror and disbelief set in only after he and Jonathan left the house, walking side-by-side down the street.
Clary remains silent. She takes the mug of cider from Alec's hand and sips. It doesn't taste good to Alec, and it makes Clary wrinkle her nose.
Alec accepts the mug back. "Jonathan has a cup for the ritual. Now he just needs the right time and the right place."
"And Lilith's blood."
"And Shadowhunters."
Clary sighs. "He has Shadowhunters."
This startles Alec. He has never considered the possibility that Jonathan would make any of them drink from his Infernal Cup. But, of course, it should have occurred to him. It should have been one of his first concerns when Jonathan revealed his plan. Even now Alec can't muster the dread he ought to feel at the thought. Because a part of him can't believe that Jonathan would ever do that to him—or Jace, or Clary.
Alec feels nauseous.
"Clary?"
"Hm?"
"If we can't stop him soon, if the pieces don't start falling our way, we might have to do something more drastic. We can't bide our time forever"
"Something drastic?"
"Jonathan is twice as vulnerable as you or Jace. He has two hearts."
Clary pushes to her feet. Her expression is cold. She's restless, pacing in place. Alec wants to reach out and steady her. But her skin is white, so white he's afraid a touch will burn him.
She smacks her cane against the side of the bench. "I'm not killing you. And neither is Jace."
"It might be the only option."
"No."
"Jace will do what he has to. He's sworn an oath."
"Well, I haven't. I haven't sworn anything to the Clave. I don't care about them. I care about you. If Jonathan has to die, then we'll find a way to get rid of the blood bond first."
"Something you've said is impossible."
"And you forget that Jace has made an oath as your parabatai. He'll fight to the death for you. The same way I will. So stop giving up."
Jace has made a lot of promises.
AN: I've held on to this chapter for a month because I knew I wouldn't have time to work on the next chapter over the holidays. But now the next chapter is well underway.
STOP GIVING ME DOUBTFUL LOOKS.
My New Year's resolution is to schedule weekly time to write. I'm gonna make it happen. And I will keep writing this story as long as at least one person (*cough*maggie*cough*) is still reading it. Or, you know, until the story ends.
VIVA LA FRAYWOOD