CHAPTER ONE
"Cary?"
"No it's Clary."
"Whatever." The girl shrugged like she couldn't care less, which is what Clary figured. She stepped aside so Simon could get his name tag.
"Hi Simon Lewis."
"Hello Simon I'm Meredith." She extended her hand, leaning forward slightly so Simon would have a nice view down her shirt. As usual he didn't notice the flirty attempt and shook her hand.
"Nice to meet you...can I have my name tag now?" Clary rolled her eyes as Simon's good looks were holding up the line. He wasn't obviously handsome at least not to Clary. She grew up looking into his light brown eyes and the brown mop of hair covering them slightly. He was tall and thin not in a scrawny way but he wasn't built either. Simon loved his flannels and ironic t-shirts. His glasses were always a little crooked and his cheeks a little flushed. Clary knew he wasn't ugly but...he was Simon. And Simon just looked like Simon.
"There's a sharpie heart on your name tag." She pointed out as they were heading inside.
"Yeah she was nice." Clary's green eyes rolled again. Simon always thought girls were just nice to him to be nice. He believed it was silly to think otherwise. Gripping her shoulders he guided them through the growing crowd of teenagers. Him at 6'1 and her at 5'3 he towered over her as he made a beeline to the only booth that mattered.
"Hey! Are you guys interested in the Art Academy?"
"Very." They both chimed. College Fairs were always full of Juniors exploring their options but Simon and Clary knew what they wanted and came to get it.
Clary had creativity in her blood thanks to her mother who painted for a living. But she preferred the pencil to paintbrush and spent her time building her portfolio of drawings. Simon wasn't interested in art until highschool began when he got obsessed with Manga. Before he knew it he was sketching his own stories. Simon and Clary were inseparable as kids but with time people typically drift apart from their childhood friends. In this case, they only got closer thanks to their newly shared interest in the arts.
"Where are the applications for your summer program?" Clary threw her red hair into a floppy bun. It was always in the way and it stood out too much in her opinion. It's hard to be the quiet one that sits at the back of the classroom when your hair constantly looks like it's on fire.
An hour later and Simon and Clary were catching a cab back downtown.
"I feel bad for the booth guy. We talked his ear off the whole time we were there." He laughed. When Simon laughed it lit up his whole face making his glasses raise above his eyes a little.
"Even when other people came up to him we did not give that guy a break!" Clary started. They laughed together riding the "excited-for-college high" till the cab pulled to the curb. She got out with her messenger bag and college papers in tow. "You going to Erick's?" Simon popped his head out the window.
"Yeah. Got practice." Practice was just Simon and his friends coming up with band names for when they "make it big." No one took it that seriously but it was an excuse to hangout.
"Ok. What's your guy's name this week?"
"Flamingo Chopsticks."
"Sounds...tasty?"
"Eh- we'll change it tonight." He winked as he ducked his head back in the car and told the driver Erick's address. Clary turned around to find Jeffrey holding the door open.
"Thanks Jeff."
"Anytime kiddo." Clary didn't live in the hotel. It was way too nice for Jocelyn to afford being a single mom of a teenager. I mean her dad, Luke, was in the picture but he never helped her mom out, not with financial matters. No, Clary lived in an apartment building a few blocks from there but for the weekend, this was her home. Jocelyn was friends with the manager, Jeffrey, there and he would help get her jobs from the tourists. On the rare occasion people paid for her mom to stay with them so she could paint a self portrait before they left New York. All in all a seemingly outrageous thing to do but when you're rich and find someone as talented and charming as Jocelyn, it happens.
Waiting for the doors to open, she looked at herself in the elevators' reflection. Squinting in dissatisfaction as she assessed herself. Her red hair was a little messed up from the day, pieces of her bun falling into her face. Her pale skin contrasted with the plain black t-shirt that was half tucked into her jeans. Her army green jacket looked a little too big on her fragile frame but it was a hand-me-down from her 5'9 mother so that wasn't a surprise. Oh and one of her black combat boots was untied.
"Clary?" Snapped out of her self examination she noticed Jeffrey talking her way.
"Huh?"
"The elevator is out of order." She looked up and sure enough there was a sign right above her head. She muttered a thanks and went to the stairwell. It was closed in and had really loud stairs. You could always tell if you were the only one using them. And at that time it sounded like Clary was. She got lost in her own thoughts again when she heard her phone ringing. It was probably Jocelyn worried why she was 3 minutes late.
Jocelyn used to never worry about kinds of things like curfew, but lately she's been consumed with Clary's safety. Clary thought it was because her 16th birthday was coming up in a few days and her mom was finally realizing she wasn't a little girl anymore- and that had scared her. Fumbling for her phone, she dropped all her college info on the stairwell.
"Damn." She muttered right before hitting the answer. "Hello?"
"Hey honey almost here?"
"Yeah mom the elevator was out of order so I'll be up in a second."
"Ok love you." Clary hung up. As she knelt down to get her papers from the floor she felt an impact of a steel like punch. Flying through the air, she smacked against the hard wall. Clary barely could catch her breath before she was tossed down another flight like a rag doll. This time she heard a resounding crack as her head hit a stair. Looking up everything was blurry and all she saw was blonde hair and blue skin fighting with each other. And with that, she blacked out.
Opening her eyes was a task in itself. The first thing she saw was those crooked glasses with worried eyes behind them.
"Clary?"
"Simon?" He let out a breath making him slouch.
"Geez Clary what's wrong with you? You don't tie your damn shoelaces before you walk up seven flights of stairs?" If it weren't for the way his lips curved at the ends she would think Simon was mad at her. But he wasn't, Simon was never mad at Clary. She grumbled as she sat up her head throbbing from the movement.
"What?" The flash of blue skin went through her mind, but was quickly replaced by the memory of seeing her untied boot through the elevator reflection.
"You tripped on your shoelace and fell down the stairs. You don't remember? Your mom found you unconscious on the floor but there was no blood so she brought you back here." Here being the hotel room they got but there were bags in the corner. It wasn't time to leave yet.
"What day is it?"
"Sunday. You slept through yesterday your mom thought you were in a coma but you started talking like you always do in your sleep, and she was fine."
"Where is my mom?" Simon shrugged as he pulled Clary out of bed. Now that she was awake, he seemed to be back to his normal self. Well the tired version of him. He was wearing the same "Pet Obesity Prevention" t-shirt he had on last time she'd seen him, which meant he hadn't gone home.
"Don't know. Think she went to get you breakfast. Do you need anything? Water, Ibuprofen, TV-"
"Simon," Clary interrupted, "I need you to go home. I appreciate you staying here but you need sleep too...and a clean shirt." A flash of hurt appeared on his face, quickly taken over by exhaustion.
"You're right. I'll see you at school tomorrow."
Still a little tired and very confused, Clary got out her sketch pad. She wanted to draw the memory of the stairwell. Or was it just a dream? Spreading out her paper she grabbed her pencil and thought.
She looked out the window at the city trying to sharpen the image in her mind. When she looked down at her paper she realized something was already there. A faint purple line shimmered in the center of the page. She grabbed her pencil and traced it. Another line appeared instantly next to it. It was like playing a game of follow the leader but she had no idea who that leader was. It was all a purple haze until there were no more lines left to draw and the picture was done. Head clearing she looked at the paper from a distance to see it better. It was a face, the face. It wasn't blue in the drawing but she knew it was what had attacked her. And somehow she knew its' name.
"Drale," she let go of a breath she didn't know she was holding and whispered the last part even though she was the only one there. "The Warlock."
