~One~
They were close. She could practically smell them lurking around in the shadows, her ears perking up at the faintest hiss and growl that echoed around the dilapidated theatre hall. Jasmine stuck close to her small unit, their backs pressed against each-other as they progressed towards the epicentre of the reported demonic activity, her Sensor vibrating wildly in warning.
The London Institute had received numerous complaints of a foul stench coming from the abandoned theatre, with consequent missing-person reports cropping up alongside them. So Jasmine and her nifty team of three other shadowhunters had been deployed to investigate the disturbance, not before she received a firm warning from her dear mother and father to be careful and don't do anything stupid. As if she would.
And so the four shadowhunters edged their way through the debris, carefully stepping over the remnants of a huge organ piece, keeping a beady eye out for suspicious movement. Jasmine surveyed her surroundings, taking in the grand scale of the old theatre. It was quite pretty, she acknowledged; for a mundane building. It was a smooth balance of deep crimson and blazing gold; with intricate carvings etched onto the stage edging and numerous balcony alcoves above, depicting angels and cherubs and all things fantastical. She tried to imagine the vast space at its prime; full to the brim with snooty, mundane aristocrats, primly sipping on delicate champagne flutes as they listened to the precise soprano notes of the opera. Looking upon the space now, it was hard for Jasmine to associate the stench of death and decay with the luxurious place she remembered scoffing at as a child. Disaster leaves no man untouched, as her dear old dad used to say, ever the patriarch.
"Kian," she murmured, so quiet she thought he might have missed it.
The muscular shadowhunter to her left glanced at her. She gestured towards the centre stage, more specifically at the rustling, crimson show-curtains. There was no breeze to be detected - if anything, the hall was stifling with humidity. Jasmine could feel the beads of sweat that soaked her forehead, wiping the sheen away in disgust with the back of her hand.
The group of four paused. The thick curtain continued to rustle with vigor. Jasmine surveyed her team-mates, assessing their strengths and weaknesses. Kian consisted of more brawn than tactical brains, and she doubted he could go on for much longer without drawing attention to the group. The other two shadowhunters, Tia and Zak - formidable twins of Chinese descent - were masterful in the ways of stealth. She made a decision.
"Kian, you're with me - we're gonna check out the stage, especially those curtains. Twins, make your way up to the next floor - we'll signal the all-clear and meet you up there."
The twins nodded once in unison, gliding away instantly towards a grand staircase that had once been pristine marble. Kian looked at Jasmine eagerly - apparently all the standing around had made him antsy. She flicked her head towards the stage and set off, the burly shadowhunter close on her heels.
As they approached the once-magnificent stage, Jasmine halted abruptly, holding up a fist. Drip… drip… drip… The shadowhunter looked towards the ceiling, scrutinising the ornate plaster with distaste, but she could not determine the source. They continued their path to the curtains, and the dripping sound only grew louder.
Jasmine drew out her seraph blade in preparation, crouching slightly as she reached a hand out towards the still-rustling curtain. She gripped the luxurious, velvet material - which somehow hadn't been destroyed by the grim surroundings - and tugged harshly, hoping for the element of surprise. However, she found no demons lurking behind the curtain, primed and ready to pounce. No, all that was behind the fabric was the fresh corpse of an elderly man, his face seemingly frozen in an expression of terror; mouth agape, eyes wide and misty. Jasmine sucked in a harsh breath through her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut. It seemed that whatever creature had killed him had gone for the areas of maximum nutrition: his heart, lungs and brain. The top half of his aged skull was exposed to the elements, having been cracked open by an unbelievable force, revealing the bloody mess that was the remains of his cerebrum. The sides of the skull had been caved in, as if two powerful hands had pushed inwards at an incredible strength, and she imagined that the thick bone collapsed as a watermelon might: loudly and wetly. His abdominal region hadn't fared any better. The area where his chest would have been was a chaotic balance of bone marrow and a vicious, sanguinary display of slimy innards. Drip… drip. Viscous globules of the man's blood seeped from his chest cavity and onto the hardwood floor, slowly draining the corpse. Jasmine had never quite seen anything as bestial as the treatment of the poor man before her, and it took her a moment to find her resolve.
She knelt down next to the corpse, examining the gruesome wounds. A gleam of black caught her eye when surveying the gaping wound in his chest. She grimaced when she noticed that it was embedded in the remainder of his left lung, almost completely hidden by torn sinew, tissue and blood. Not allowing herself to hesitate, she stuck her hand deep into the chest cavity, pushing past his destroyed ribs, and gripped the sharp object. Jasmine tugged and ripped it free from his lung, ignoring the spurt of blood that splattered up her arm. Tightly encased in her scarlet hand was a huge, midnight talon with tiny serrations running along its length towards the tip. Quite simply, it would have been no large feat for them to tear apart the fragile, human flesh of the poor man before them.
Kian wore a mirrored expression of horror, and they both nodded once at one another, dangerous determination coursing through them. Jasmine grabbed a white sheet that had covered an on-stage piano and gently placed it over the man, grimacing at how quickly it became saturated in his blood.
A faint whooshing sound broke the sombre silence, her platinum ponytail swishing with the force of a gust of air.
"Eremiel," she murmured. Her face became illuminated with pure, angelic light as her seraph blade came to life, the celestial weapon humming at the prospect of demon ichor. She was distantly aware of Kian calling out to his own seraph blade and, soon enough, the grand stage was engulfed in divine luminescence.
Jasmine spied movement in one of the alcoves above and her muscles tensed instinctively, hand flexing on her weapon. A flash of haphazard, jet black hair crossed her vision and she relaxed, recognising the unruly locks of Tia as she surveyed one of the alcoves for demonic threats.
A quick, but thorough, check of the rest of the stage yielded no concrete results, and the two shadowhunters turned towards where they knew the twins were, signalling that the area was all clear. Jasmine and Kian started the descent down from the stage, vigilantly searching for signs of the old man's attacker, when a thundering BOOM sounded from above. Gold, marble and plaster violently caved outwards as a solid object flew through one of the balcony alcoves. The two shadowhunters dove out of the way from the careening debris, narrowly avoiding being crushed to death by an angelic carving. Jasmine frantically looked up to the source of the mess. There was a gaping hole where the balcony had been, plaster dust flickering down over the auditorium. A colossal screeeeeech resonated throughout the theatre and, before she had time to even curse, a huge figure thumped down before her. Black, wayward feathers filled her vision, accompanied with the unmistakable, demonic stench of death. The shinigami demon rose up to its full size - at least twice her height - and its beady eyes pinpointed on her smaller, armed form.
She struck while the iron was hot. With the speed and skill of a well-seasoned shadowhunter, Jasmine ducked underneath an oncoming wing with a precise roll, quickly springing up to stab at the demon with her seraph blade while its back was facing her. She noticed Zak groaning as he picked himself up from the midst of the auditorium, covered head to toe in plaster - he must have been the object that went flying through the alcove.
The demon screeched as Jasmine's blade sank deep into its wing, violently shaking it to fling her away. She held firm, ripping the blade free, a great sheen of black ichor staining the celestial metal. Bouncing back a few paces, she widened her stance as the winged demon whipped around to face her, beak wide open revealing rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth. It lunged at her. Jasmine prepared to dodge the talons aimed for her face when Kian blindsided the shinigami, viciously attacking from behind. He had leapt high into the air, stabbing twin daggers into the creature's shoulder blades, smoothly cutting through the tough demon flesh as the force of gravity dragged him down.
The demon bellowed out; once, twice - both ear-splitting yowls that left a high-pitched ringing in her head. Not a moment later, an answering cry resonated throughout the theatre, and a familiar gust tore through the air. Jasmine risked a glance upwards. The second shinigami to arrive was kept distracted by the twins. Shurikens flew rapidly towards the monster, slicing through exposed flesh and feather when the demon wasn't quick enough to avoid the throwing stars.
The platinum-haired shadowhunter returned her focus back to the first demon. It had flung Kian away with a surprisingly powerful whack of its damaged wing, sending him soaring towards the middle of the auditorium. The demon turned its attention back to Jasmine, stretching as it attempted to fly. The shadowhunter frowned. Carved into the chest of the demon was a crude - but recognisable - 'V'. The edges were jagged and the feathers surrounding the mark were soaked in ichor - a quick glance around revealed that the second demon held the mark also.
The winged beast charged on foot, razor teeth bared menacingly. Jasmine ran towards the demon with equal vigor. As soon as the creature was within distance, she smoothly slid underneath the demon, slicing at its talons as she went. Not a second later, Jasmine was already upright and lunging. She gripped a hold of a wing and heaved herself upon the back of the demon, clinging onto obsidian feathers tightly to keep astride. Yanking and tugging on the brittle plumage, she climbed her way up the thrashing demon, weaving as the demon reared its head around to bite her. Jasmine reached the shinigami's head, sticking tight to the creature as it violently batted its wings to dislodge her. With the speed and grace of a viper, she scrambled on top of the demon's head, raised her trusty seraph blade, and sank the weapon deep into its eye. A tremendous shriek echoed throughout the theatre. The shinigami flailed and floundered with enough force to fling Jasmine off the stage. She soared through the air, momentarily enjoying her weightlessness until she crashed into a row of velvet seats. The blonde whipped around to face the doomed demon. It had ceased its thrashing and was steadily folding in on itself, the seraph blade still embedded in its eye and glowing brightly. She waited and watched as the demon perished, disappearing back into its own dimension, leaving nothing but a dark stain of ichor on the polished floor and a jarring clang as the seraph blade hit ground. A cry of triumph broke her gaze - Kian and the twins had easily overpowered the second demon, dispatching it with inhuman swiftness. All that remained of the demonic threat were two, viscous puddles of ichor, the corpse of an elderly mundane and a desperate need for a shower.
Jasmine, Kian, Zak and Tia shared a look, a momentary silence washing through them. The rush of adrenaline subsided. They smirked at each other and quickly dissolved into breathless laughs. Jasmine went ahead to retrieve her seraph blade while the others split up to clear the theatre. The weapon brightened as her fingers wrapped around the hilt and she smiled softly, tightening her grip as the blade deactivated and retracted back into the handle. The body of the elderly man remained in her peripheral. She sighed. While the demonic threat was dealt with, the shinigami had still taken human life. Life they were meant to protect.
She approached the corpse, lifted the piano sheet from his pale, cold body, and rummaged around in his pockets. Pulling out his mobile phone, she swiftly called the mundane authorities, explaining that 'there's a body - oh my god- there's so much blood. Please come quickly' and rattled off the address of the theatre. Jasmine hoped that, at the very least, his family would find some closure.
She noticed the other three shadowhunters lingering near the exit. They nodded in unison, signalling that the theatre was clear of demons and no sign of a nest.
"Time to go," she announced, striding towards her team. "The mundane police are on their way."
As the four warriors departed from the theatre undetected, the shinigami demons weighed on Jasmine's mind. More specifically, the carved 'V' that was marked upon the creatures.
Little did she know, that particular instance would signal the beginning of something much more sinister.
The shadowhunters made it back to the Institute in good time, all of them sporting bruises or cuts from fighting the good fight. The group parted ways with smiles and fist bumps, each retreating to their respective bathrooms for a long, hot shower. She was two doors away from her bedroom, and the prospect filled her with immense relief.
"Jasmine Aileen Farwell," a stern, but melodic, voice scolded.
The blonde rolled her eyes heavenward, huffing and turning to face the music. Before her was her mother. She was dressed formally - painfully so - in a black, silk shirt and pencil skirt, midnight hair tied back into a curly ponytail. Despite best efforts, Madeleine could never tame her unruly locks. Her skyscraper heels clacked against the polished, oak floor as she thundered towards her daughter. She stopped before Jasmine, arms crossed, delicate fingers tapping against her biceps as she levelled her with an unimpressed glare.
"What happened," her mother began, voice as hard as nails, "to checking in with me when you get back from missions?"
Jasmine knew - she knew - that it was a rhetorical question, but she couldn't help but shrug in response, hissing when the movement irritated a particularly nasty bruise on her back. Her mother raised her eyebrows and she sighed. "I'm sorry, I forgot. Honestly, I just wanted a shower and then I would have found you." The platinum-haired shadowhunter raised a single hand. "Swear on Raziel."
An immense and sudden warmth melted Madeleine's icy gaze, her crystal eyes glittering with relief and love. Jasmine was swept up in a flurry of limbs, tightly encased in her mother's strong arms. A contented smile crept upon her lips. The fragrance of wild magnolias and chamomile wafted through her nose and she deeply inhaled the heady scent of her mother, squirming as Madeleine's soft hair tickled her cheek.
"Alright, alright. Enough of this sappiness," she declared, gently breaking away from her mother. "I'm not dead or dying yet. Let's save all of this pent up emotion for that eventuality."
The raven-haired beauty whacked her daughter on the arm, mild but stern. "Don't be so ridiculous all your life," she gruffly retorted, turning her back and striding away. Jasmine could hear her muttering under her breath - something about immature comments and growing up. On the contrary, the younger woman found her musings about the inevitability of death to be quite mature. Jasmine shrugged and hurried into her room. Everyone's a critic.
Jasmine emerged from her sanctuary half an hour later, ichor free and a fluorescent pink towel wrapped around her head. She was feeling mighty peckish and started her journey towards the Institute kitchen, where she would try and find some food that didn't remind her of crushed skulls and half-eaten brains. She was reaching out for the intricate, golden handle that led to her desires when a near-painful, tight weight gripped her outstretched arm. Like any good shadowhunter, Jasmine reacted instinctively, grabbing the offending hand and wrenching it behind the attacker's back, relishing in their grunt of surprise and discomfort. Skilled fingers itched for her deadly blades. She'd left them in her room, and cursed her lack of foresight. Although, it was unusual - almost unheard of - for a random attacker to breach the glamoured and heavily secured London Institute. It was that thought that made her take pause and assess the situation.
"- the Angel's sake, let go of me!"
Jasmine gave the offending person a once-over. It was a male, judging by the baritone voice that cursed and swore at her. He had scruffy, brunette hair that he'd obviously tried to tame with some sort of styling product, and she could make out a faint line of stubble along his jawline as he squirmed in her python grip. More importantly, she noticed the all-familiar, inky, midnight Mark across his throat, the cursive '6' shape of his Soundless rune standing out against porcelain skin. With a resounding sigh that spoke of a thousand disappointments, she abruptly let him go.
The Head of the London Institute's grandson brushed himself off, puffing out his chest and glowering down at her. A part of Jasmine worried that he would run off and tell his beloved gramsy. Instead, he composed his features - despite looking as if it pained him to do so.
"Evelyn wishes to see you," he informed her, skipping the pleasantries, always one to get to the point.
The female straightened ever-so-slightly, casting her mind back to any grievance she may have inadvertently caused. "Why?"
Jackson shrugged, more in apathy than in actual ignorance. "Go talk to her and find out."
With that, he turned heel and strode down the hall, the picture of a perfect soldier. As Jasmine admired his departing gait, she realised - too late - that he hadn't actually told her where Evelyn was. Brilliant.
She gazed at the kitchen doors forlornly, silently promising them of her speedy return, and began trudging down the empty corridor. "It'll be a treasure hunt," she muttered to herself. "Except the treasure is a wrinkly, stubborn, old hag."
With luck, Jasmine located the Head of the Institute in the first place she thought to look - the Library.
It was a cavernous space, to say the very least, and it never failed to give Jasmine a pause for thought. With bookcases that tapered into the sky, massive alcove windows and hundreds upon hundreds of humorous and grotesque gargoyles mounted upon the dark, Victorian walls - a younger Jasmine looked upon the grand space with awe, fear and excitement, for she sensed adventure on the horizon. Present Jasmine, however, whilst still in an amount of awe, was more than a little wary of the library - rose-tinted glasses now well and truly removed.
Tearing her gaze from a crude portrait of - what was supposed to be - one of the very first shadowhunters, Jasmine focused her attention upon her summoner - Evelyn Highsmith. She was a harsh lady, both in appearance and attitude. Her aged, white hair was tied back into a severe bun, seeming to stretch and pull the delicate skin of her temple with it. Jasmine always secretly thought the older lady did that in an attempt to smooth out the multitude of wrinkles that framed her mint green eyes. Evelyn's gaze was piercing and calculating, and never failed to delve into one's soul. Yes, she was old and wrinkly, but there was an aggressive tone to her body language and voice, disdainful of anyone and anything that didn't conform to her idea of a perfect Nephilim world. Jasmine certainly didn't conform, nor would she just to please the old-fashioned shadowhunter.
"Ahh," the Head of the Institute crooned, as if pleased to see the younger shadowhunter. She stood tall, her ego flowering tremendously. Her cocky appearance was only hindered by her heavy reliance on her cane. Otherwise, she managed just fine with coming off as a condescending, old crone. "Farwell, there you are." Jasmine attempted a tight smile at the greeting.
"You wanted to see me?"
The old lady grimaced - though Jasmine knew she was trying for a smile - and bowed her head. "Ah yes, an issue has arisen. You're to return to the New York Institute at once." There was no time wasted on silly preambles. Evelyn absentmindedly grabbed a book on the historiography of vetis demons and started examining it closely, for all the world seeming oblivious to the bombshell she'd dropped on the blonde woman.
"Wait, what?"
Evelyn flicked through a few more pages, tutting away under her breath. She suddenly glanced up at Jasmine, her green, snake-eyes twinkling in poorly-concealed glee, and with the swiftness of a viper she slammed the book closed, leaning her hands on an ancient desk as she peered at the blonde.
"Pack your things. Your mother will fill you in on the nitty-gritty details," was all she said, with the expression of a cat who'd just caught the mouse.
"But-", the blonde floundered, utterly bewildered by the sudden news. But the delighted elderly woman had already forgotten about her existence, and Jasmine was left to stare after her retreating form. If she was not mistaken, the youngest Farwell could almost note a spring in the old shadowhunter's step - positively dancing (as much as she could with her frail limbs and walking stick) out of the library before Jasmine could make her life any more difficult. She knew from past experience that there was no reasoning with the old shadowhunter, for her word was gospel and final.
She scoffed, flopping down dramatically onto the nearest, worn sofa she could see. Jasmine cast her mind back to her earlier experiences at the New York Institute, back when she was only a child. She remembered vast corridors the shade of an ominous forest, shadows clinging to the corners like spiders to a web; ornate, oak doors that towered over her small frame; a beautiful, colourful greenhouse, filled to the brim with all sorts of flora - Jasmine remembered wondering how a place of such light existed in the dark and dreary Institute. She recalled the residents, how some had been incredibly welcoming and some less so. Very less so. Jasmine knew that the Lightwoods were still in charge of the Institute and she had some vague recollection of their children; that one of them was called Annabelle? Or was it just Bella? Either way, the young girl had been pretty kind to Jasmine during her brief stint at the shadowhunter sanctuary, and for that, the present Jasmine hoped that she might receive the same treatment nine years later. Her brother, on the other hand, was crystal clear in her memories. He had been rude, distant and brooding - impressive for a nine year old - and in turn, she had acted much the same. But she remembered being entranced by his ocean eyes, and that when he got angry, it was as if a storm was brewing at sea, threatening to shipwreck anyone in his path. Alec was his name. And whilst he had nice eyes, he was still a git.
All in all, Jasmine wasn't sure how she felt about heading back to New York. Not like she had much of a choice, either way.
The grand doors of the Library entrance creaked open, revealing her father and mother deep in an intense discussion as they strolled towards her. Jasmine's gaze narrowed, frowning as her father's emerald eyes rolled heavenward in exasperation. They were having another argument, it seemed, judging by their wild and flamboyant hand gestures. She was struck - not for the first time - by the disparity between herself and her parents. Where her hair was flaxen, almost white in the sun's glare, her parents had thick, ebony locks. The only similarity she could discern was the shared eye-colour with her mother - a clear, sky blue. She figured that she must have taken after her grandparents, wherever they may be.
The bickering tapered to a hushed disagreement the closer they got to her and, soon enough, it was snuffed out, their words lost like smoke in the wind. They stood in front of her, smiling down, and she was saddened by the apparent distance between them.
Jasmine shook off her feeling of foreboding, and cut straight to the point. "New York, huh?" She folded her arms in emphasis of her disappointment, pointedly glaring at her mother. Her mother - whom she had spoken to not an hour before; who didn't feel the need to mention such pivotal information.
Her parents shared one look with each other, telling her all she needed to know. Her father was the one to break the silence. "It's a necessary move," was all he said, no explanation given of the necessity of it all.
Jasmine glanced at her mother once more. Madeleine's eyes were her most notable feature, for their expressive nature was captivating. She could plainly see the desperation in them now, her anxious anticipation to leave London. Jasmine sighed despondently. She was always a sucker for her mother's eyes. And so, with heavy reluctance, her fate was accepted.
It was big. What a stupid observation, Jasmine thought, shaking her head at her ability to state the obvious. But, the vast scale of the New York Institute had completely knocked her off-guard; it had bewildered her so much so that she couldn't think of descriptors that went past a five year old's vocabulary capacity. The building that Jasmine stared at in awe was well and truly grand, certainly much more so than the London Institute. If only the mundanes could see this.
Jasmine and her parents had travelled from London to New York the day after they had been - in her eyes - evicted. She had rammed as much as she could possibly fit into her single case, only leaving tattered clothes that no longer fit her and silly, juvenile gifts from people whose faces she'd forgotten. Evelyn had waited by the entrance as they departed, shaking her parents' hands and thanking them for their service. For Jasmine, she gave nothing but a cold smile and a feeling of hatred. Truly, if there was any silver lining to the situation, it was escaping the empty, reptilian eyes of Highsmith.
She stole a glance at her mother and father, their hair mussed from the jarring Portal trip. To the untrained eye, they appeared calm and collected, the picture of grace. To Jasmine, they were unsettled, if their subtle, shifty eyes were anything to go by. She considered demanding to know what their deal was - for they had been acting odd during the days leading up to The Eviction. But, by the Angel, she knew she wouldn't get anything with her father around. No, she would be patient and corner her mother later.
They approached the hulking entrance, aptly labelled in obnoxiously large writing "Institute". It was covered in a kaleidoscope of Marks, signalling it as a sanctuary for shadowhunters. Her father pressed his hand against the door. A few seconds passed, and Jasmine heard the symphony of heavy locks unlatching behind the thick oak. It creaked open, the sound reverberating throughout the vast atrium they found before them. As if on cue, a group of shadowhunters appeared from the lurking darkness to greet them. Jasmine took a deep breath and stepped forward.
A/N: Feel free to leave a comment/review if you have any ideas or suggestions.
See you next time!
