~Two~
Alec was having a bad day.
The downward spiral of his mood began with his parabatai, as was expected. Jace had been particularly careless that morning, throwing himself literally headfirst into a Drevak nest, all the while laughing mercilessly as his seraph blades sliced and diced the demons. Jace meant the world to him… But, by the Angel, Alec desired to wring his neck.
He looked upon the cocky blonde, who was busy recounting his daring hunt to an admiring group of youthful shadowhunters, and rolled his eyes. Though his gaze lingered on Jace's torn and bloody shirt - a remnant of his violent encounter. His abdominal muscles, littered with Marks and scars, peeked through a large gash. Alec swallowed thickly and swiftly averted his gaze.
"Look alive, boys!" A familiar, enthusiastic voice boomed. Alec jumped at the sound, his mind having wandered. He crossed his arms, appearing - for all the world - nonchalant, when really he desperately tried to tame his racing heartbeat. The group that surrounded Jace quickly backed off, not wanting to intrude on the trio's conversation, much to the blonde's disappointment.
His sister, Isabelle, smiled widely, showing off her array of perfect, pearly whites. She looked excited. Alec didn't put too much thought into it, however - Isabelle usually got excited over the most mundane things.
"We've got guests coming!" She exclaimed, smoothing her hands down the burgundy, form-fitting dress she'd decided to wear to impress the newcomers.
Jace, who looked especially miffed that she'd taken the attention off of himself, frowned. "We get guests all the time," he moodily replied, examining his destroyed shirt. Alec made sure that he kept his eyes focused on his sister.
Isabelle pouted and turned her gaze to Alec, wide, hopeful eyes pleading for a positive response. Alas, he was never one to force a fake reaction, and so, he shrugged indifferently. His sister was disheartened by their gloomy answers, and she huffed in aggravation.
"But we know them already," she supplied, as if she anticipated them to jump up and exclaim in exultation at the fact. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.
He could practically hear his parabatai's eye roll as Jace sarcastically asked, "Who, my dear, sweet Isabelle is gracing our decrepit halls with their presence?"
If looks could kill, Jace would be dead ten times over. The glare that she served him was sweltering, so much so that Alec could see a tinge of nervousness to the blonde's smile. Isabelle pointed a finger at him, a silent warning to be cautious, and opened her mouth to speak - or shout. A booming clack of the Institute locks interrupted her. The three of them turned towards the sound, a mere corridor away, and Isabelle broke out a girlish grin, grabbing her brother's arm to pull him in the direction of the commotion.
Alec rolled his eyes in vexation, huffing and sharing a look with his parabatai. They advanced through a particularly grand hallway - the witchlight adorned to the walls illuminating the glee on Isabelle's face - towards the Institute entrance where they could faintly hear a welcoming speech given to the newcomers. The trio set foot into the vast foyer, taking stock of the three new shadowhunters to arrive.
They appeared to be a family, Alec decided, having noticed the air of closeness they exuded - which was not so different to the feeling that he and Isabelle shared. The two older adults both had jet black hair - although he noticed highlights of auburn when the sun reflected on them - and they looked somewhat - for lack of a better word - haggard, as if the world rested on their shoulders and theirs alone. Both had dark circles around their eyes - eyes that seemed unnerved, despite their smiles and polite handshakes.
Now the girl, however, did not hugely resemble her parents. The only aspect she shared with them - her mother, more specifically - were her bright, crystalline irises. As he and his family got closer, he noticed that there were flecks of green and grey in the glittering orbs, and those very eyes flickered towards him more than once. Framing her rosy cheeks was a thick mane of platinum hair which trailed down towards the middle of her back. He could have scoffed aloud - surely having hair like that would not give her a tactical advantage in combat - and he plastered on a welcoming nod to the group as they stopped before them.
Hodge Starkweather - their pseudo-mentor - had been the shadowhunter to meet and greet the group. Alec saw a woman with him - a tall lady with strawberry blonde waves - and he recognised her as Olivia Stargrove, a notoriously, well-respected shadowhunter of high ranking. Before he could wonder too deeply into her appearance, Hodge noticed the Lightwood siblings approaching and grinned brightly at the three of them.
"Ah, there you are." Hodge gestured towards the newcomers. "Alec, Jace, Isabelle, meet Nicholas," he gestured towards the man, who waved a scarred hand, "Madeleine," the older woman smiled warmly at the three, "and Jasmine Farwell." The vanilla-blonde female lazily surveyed the trio, gaze lingering on Alec's toned chest and arms; he resisted the compulsion to smirk. Although he sobered up when he noticed the sour look on Jace's face when he realised that he wasn't being drooled over. "Farwells, meet Alexander and Isabelle Lightwood, and Jace Wayland."
Madeleine and Nicholas shared a look at their introduction, so quick that Alec might have missed it if he wasn't paying attention, and Jasmine's eyes widened infinitesimally, gazing at the three of them with a renewed sense of respect. She sauntered forward, sticking her hand out towards him, her azure eyes trained on his. His fingers wrapped around her soft hand. A surge of electricity flowed through him at her touch, their gazes locked in an intense hold. He could feel his hair practically stand on end, muscles tensed and coiled readying themselves for something. He quickly shook her hand and all-but threw her touch away from him, ignoring the way her precise, midnight-painted fingers brushed against his as he released her. Jasmine gazed up at him, irises sparkling in curiosity, before hurriedly moving on to shake Isabelle and Jace's hands in greeting - though he spied that Jace did not react the same way that Alec did, and a small rush of relief swirled around his chest, even if he wasn't exactly sure why.
Hodge was explaining the Farwell's situation: they'd come to help - why? We don't need any help - and they'd be in New York for an indeterminate amount of time. So essentially, the Lightwood siblings and Jace were left with more questions than answers about the mysterious appearance of the family. Alec could tell that Jace would corner Hodge once the family went off to find their bedrooms; knew that he would weasel his way into finding out the truth.
As the Farwells were directed along towards their living quarters, he couldn't help but stare when the platinum-haired girl traipsed past, keeping his expression ambivalent as she turned her head to look back at him; a feat that became particularly difficult as her lips broke out into a soft beam before rounding the corner. Alec sighed.
Why could his life never be simple?
Jasmine surveyed her new bedroom with neutrality, mentally comparing it to her bedroom back in the London Institute. The walls were a plain, navy blue shade with a dark, walnut wainscot lining the old wallpaper and matching the wood flooring. She was unsurprised, really. The New York Institute as a whole screamed 'gothic'; thinking that her bedroom would be any different was laughable. Jasmine was used to the light, airy space that she had grown up in - the soft lilac wallpaper coupled with a light, cedar floor. The only two positive differences that she could discern was the ridiculously excessive wardrobe that she was blessed with and a large window nook that overlooked the bustling city. She could picture herself nestling up against the plush, velvet cushions that were artfully arranged on the window seat.
Glancing down at her single case mournfully, she thought about all she had left behind. Not silly material things, but people. Jasmine hadn't been particularly close with any one person at the London Institute, but she had lived with them, watched them grow as they did her, had fought and bled with those people, had seen death and mourned with them. And she had just left, in the space of a day, without so much as a goodbye - and no, Evelyn Highsmith definitely did not count as her farewell bid. Jasmine sighed, dropping her case carelessly, ignoring the jarring thud as it hit the hard wood. There weren't many things that the shadowhunter regretted in her relatively short life, but her sudden departure was certainly one of them.
Jasmine thought back to their heart-warming reunion with Olivia – where her mother positively sagged with happiness. It was her anchor, her incentive, to make living in New York, at least, enjoyable. Olivia made her mother happier than Jasmine had seen in a long while and seeing the bright smile on Madeleine's face was worth uprooting their life in London.
A quick, rhythmic knock sounded on the door and, before she had time to even part her lips, the thick oak swung open and a flurry of silky, obsidian hair filled her vision. Jasmine prepared to reprimand her forgetful mother for her excruciatingly annoying habit of barging into rooms, but the face that met her own was not that of Madeleine. She recognised the girl as Isabelle – not Bella – Lightwood, and she had a beautiful, beaming smile complemented with dark chocolate, expressive eyes.
So shocked by her presence, Jasmine couldn't help herself. "What are you doing here?" She blurted out, unthinkingly. The question might have seemed rude to anyone else, but Isabelle took it in stride and her smile somehow widened.
The girl took a step forward, seeming completely at ease – and, for some reason, she probably was. "I just wanted you to know that – while I don't quite know what you're feeling – I'm here if you want to chat or hang out." Dark eyes with long, luscious lashes batted prettily against her unblemished skin. "There usually aren't many opportunities for girlfriends here," she explained, pursing her pink, full lips as a frown pulled on her delicate eyebrows, "and I know that you probably don't remember me, but don't be a stranger."
Flabbergasted is what Jasmine felt at that moment. Isabelle's wholesome proclamation of friendship(?) was not something that she was prepared for when the black-haired beauty flounced into her bedroom. A fluttering sensation flowered inside of her chest and her throat tightened – all involuntary responses, just like the small smile that bloomed across her face. "I do remember you," she assured Isabelle, "and thanks for the offer – I might take you up on that."
The answering beam that the Lightwood woman bestowed upon Jasmine rivalled the sun – it was blinding, to say the least. The fair-headed shadowhunter shot a quick smile back and busied herself with lugging her suitcase onto her bed, solely concentrating on unzipping it. She tried to ignore the curious gaze of Isabelle as she sidled closer, but not so close that she became suffocating – which Jasmine appreciated. She opened the case, scrutinising her lacklustre collection of clothing and sighed deeply.
Glancing towards a fabulously dressed Isabelle, she dramatically gestured towards her huge closet. "Some much space, and yet so little to go in it. Know any good clothes shops?" She raised a playful eyebrow at the dark-haired female, laughing when her smile became a wickedly giddy grin.
"Girl, you have no idea."
Perhaps New York would not be so bad, after all.
Jasmine soon came to realise just how big the New York Institute really was.
Once Isabelle had left, claiming the need to find and talk to her brother, she took it upon herself to explore the space that she hadn't visited since she was a child and found that it was quite easy to get lost in the grand structure. She traipsed through hallways that never seemed to end, opened doors that led to nowhere, and managed to loop around back towards her room without intending to. It would take a while to fully get used to it, she figured.
The Library, she discovered, was humongous – perhaps even more so than the grand one in the London Institute. It was a circular room with a towering ceiling that tapered to a sharp point. Ancient bookcases lined every inch of wall available and Jasmine noticed numerous tall ladders set on casters, allowing the books at the very top of the wall to be accessible – her fingers itched to scan the vast collection of dusty tomes, the smell of leather and velvet calling to her.
Her heels clacked against the floor as she gazed around and she noticed that the polished wood was actually inlaid with marble and glass, forming an intricate pattern that she assumed would have to be viewed from above to decipher.
There were several long tables set at regular intervals around the room, more than several shadowhunters hunched over – furiously scribbling away and examining the ancient texts. Almost all of them looked up at her arrival, shooting her disapproving looks and refocussing their attention. She ignored them. What really caught her attention was the desk that rested central of the Library. A dense slab of oak – nearly as thick as the length of her hand – rested upon the backs of two angels. Their faces were carved with an expression of pain and suffering, and she was hard-pressed to look away.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Jasmine flinched, not having heard her mother creep up behind her. She cast a cursory glance towards the matriarch, noticing her soft gaze set firmly upon the anguished angels.
The younger Farwell chuckled, not at all dumbfounded at her mother's ability to constantly see the beauty in misery and distress. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'morbid', actually."
Madeleine shook her head with an exasperated, if not warm, grin. "My daughter, ever the pessimist."
"Realist," Jasmine countered, turning away from the angels to face her mother, arms crossed loosely, rolling her eyes at the fond smile she found cast her way. "C'mon, I'm hungry."
She linked arms with her mother, leading her out of the Library and (hopefully) towards where the kitchen was. As they wandered around, Jasmine could feel Madeleine's heated gaze on the side of her face and waited patiently for her mother to ask her desperate question.
She didn't have to wait long, it seemed – only two minutes later, the raven-haired woman tentatively asked: "So – what do you think of New York?"
Jasmine barked out a single ha of laughter – genuinely amused – glancing in astonished disbelief towards her mother. "Mum, it's been, like, 3 hours. I don't even know where the kitchen is," she reasoned, calmly.
A downtrodden expression marred Madeleine's pretty features. The blonde sighed and gripped her mother's hand tight, trying to comfort the older woman. "It seems nice enough," she admitted. "Isabelle's been pretty friendly, at least, and the library is amazing… It's a place that I could get used to." She couldn't bear to see the tight, guilty smile of the matriarch and instead focused on finding the kitchen.
Soon enough, they located their destination by pure luck. A prominent – though not a necessarily nice – smell of food emanated from an open archway and they peered inside to find a surprisingly modern kitchen. It was enormous with sleek, steel counters and sophisticated, glass shelves that held rows upon rows of sturdy crockery. Isabelle stood hunched over a grand, red cast-iron stove, chucking ingredients into a large, silver pot, stirring vigorously. Leaning casually against a countertop was her brother, ocean eyes running over the ingredients strewn across the kitchen.
"I told you, you need to brown off the mince before you add anything else," he reprimanded his sister, snatching the large, wooden spoon from her hands.
Isabelle huffed, sticking her hands on her voluptuous hips. "If I brown it off anymore, it'll be burnt. I'm the one cooking, I'll be the judge of how brown the mince is, thank you very much."
Alec pointed towards a thick, colourful book on the counter beside the stove. "It even says it in the book – 'thoroughly brown off mince and add the tomato paste'."
His sister frantically waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "That's just a guide. And anyway, the mince is brown. Now hush!"
Jasmine and her mother glanced at each-other in amusement, smirking at the sibling squabble that they were witnessing. Madeleine motioned to her daughter towards the kitchen in a 'go ahead, you first' sort of manner. The platinum-haired shadowhunter rolled her eyes and mouthed 'coward' before hesitantly knocking on the door and pulling the two siblings away from their argument.
Isabelle's maroon eyes lightened in glee when she saw Jasmine creep in the room. Alec's, however, narrowed in her direction, closing off the fond smile she had caught a glimpse of as she entered. She bristled at the passive-aggressive acknowledgment. Jasmine had tried to offer him a friendly grin when she first arrived, and she thought that perhaps the years had nurtured him into less of a twat. It appeared that she was wrong, and so Jasmine ignored him, placing all of her attention onto his exuberant sister.
She tacked on a goofy smile. "What's cooking, good-looking?" she playfully asked, obnoxiously winking at Isabelle. Alec rolled his eyes, huffing as he crossed his arms. He seemed much more comfortable when he was all disapproving – the grouchy look suited him better anyway.
"I'm making spaghetti bolognese," Isabelle enthused, checking the simmering pot of sauce. Jasmine watched as it bubbled wildly, making a loud POP every so often, and she caught a faint whiff of burning.
Her mother chose this time to make her grand appearance, smiling politely at the Lightwood siblings as she sidled her way towards her daughter. "Oh, Jazz, you love bolognese, don't you?" She encouraged, affectionately winding an arm around the blonde's shoulder, giving her cheek a light pinch in jest.
Jasmine smiled tightly, hating the way Isabelle's eye lit up with interest. From behind her, Alec snorted, looking far too amused with her predicament. She smoothly shrugged Madeleine's arm away. "I do, but I already ate before we left," she explained to the young woman, before firing off a quick and muttered "Remember?" towards her mother.
"Oh, it's okay. I can keep some back for you for later, if you like," Isabelle offered gracefully.
Her smile became a little more genuine at the honest display of kindness, and Jasmine found herself accepting Isabelle's offer. How could she refuse a face like that after all? Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the unrestrained surprise on Alec's face before he carefully composed his stupidly symmetrical features – once again narrowing his eyes at her – and she was left wondering what the hell that was all about.
Her lips parted and she frowned so deeply that it almost gave her a headache. "What is your prob—".
"Jasmine. A word," her father's deep voice echoed throughout the kitchen, and she huffed at being so obviously interrupted. Her mother looked at her sympathetically, patting her lightly on the back.
She waved towards the Lightwood siblings – well, more Isabelle than the brooding Alec – and gave Madeleine a quick peck on the cheek as she left the room. Nicholas was stood to attention, arms crossed, and he offered her a slight smile as he gestured for her to walk with him. He was silent as they strolled along the corridor and Jasmine stared at him expectantly – taking note of his tired eyes and sharp stubble that began to creep down his neck.
"I know you didn't want to come here."
His voice startled Jasmine, her having become used to the stony silence. Her father was observing her, his intelligent, calculating eyes pinpointed on her. She could have squirmed underneath the scrutiny, but she held firm.
"Yeah, I think I made that pretty clear," she ventured, befuddled by his cryptic yet blindingly obvious statement. "What's up?"
A sigh rattled through his chest, yet he ignored her question. "What do you know about the Circle?"
Okay, now she was completely mystified, and she briefly wondered about his sanity. "As much as any shadowhunter, I guess." She shrugged, feeling as though she was being tested. "Some loony supremacist didn't like the Downworld and thought his all-mighty self should kill them all. Hence the creation of an equally loony group who followed him in his plans of shadowhunter domination," she rattled out, straight-faced. "You mean that Circle, yeah?"
"You're ridiculous," Nicholas reprimanded her, frowning sullenly. "But yes, that is the Circle I mean." A breath of silence followed where her father seemed to be composing himself. "They were a formidable force, borne of torment and violence. They cut down many Downworlders – only kept those rare few alive when they proved to be of use to finding others like them."
"And they're gone, punished for their crimes," Jasmine reminded him, voice enunciating the words carefully as if explaining a complicated concept to a child.
Her father's long strides halted abruptly, and his contemplative gaze rested on her. He looked at her as if he had never seen her before – rich, emerald eyes boring into her azure ones. An absent-minded hand lifted to Jasmine's cheek, his calloused fingers tentatively caressing her skin. Her eyebrows tightened, and she resisted the urge to pull away in astonishment.
"There's so much you don't know," he sighed, hand moving from her face to rest on her shoulder. She recoiled as if she had been slapped, almost offended at his statement. Jasmine was about to slip away from his grip, but he had already released her, taking a step back. "Something is stirring back up; I can feel it. Something stronger than the last time."
Jasmine stared at the man she called her father. She barely recognised him at that moment – the paranoid man who had taken his place; seeing shadows creeping in the darkness, imagining villains who weren't there. And that begs the question of why, of all people, did he choose to come to her with his manic accusations?
Mind whirling with thoughts and theories, she plainly asked: "How could you know that and, better yet, why are you telling me?"
His face darkened, mouth twisting menacingly, and, for a moment, she was terrified of her father. "Because you – of everyone – must be vigilant." He left it at that and gestured for her to keep following. This time, she hesitated. But ultimately, he was her father, and she would have followed him anywhere. She now wasn't so sure if that was a good thing.
Elsewhere in Brooklyn, Clarissa Adele Fray was planning her eighteenth birthday with Simon, her best friend; a momentous day, which would change the lives of those around her for better or for worse.
Disclaimer: See the first chapter. Unfortunately, I am not Cassandra Clare nor the producers of Shadowhunters.
Please leave a comment/review letting me know what you guys think/what you're expecting. Would love to hear your opinions, or just have a nice chat.
See ya next time :)
