Chapter Four

The dinner table was unbearably quiet, the silence pressing down on Jace like a weight. Clary's fork clinked against her plate softly as she twirled it in her pasta. He could read her face like a book, could see that she wasn't hungry but that she knew she should eat. She might have told him this herself, but they hadn't spoken in three days, ten hours, and twelve minutes. Not that he was counting.

He kept telling himself she was being irrational, that she should be the first to apologize; and yet every time he saw her absentmindedly brush her fingers across her stomach, or heard her dash out of the room in the morning to throw up, he felt a ripple of guilt, immediately followed by a wave of fear and that constant, crushing thought: I can't do this.

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. Clary glanced up as he took his plate to the counter and began to scrape his untouched food into a small Tupperware box.

"Don't."

He froze, his fork poised over his plate.

"You're not going to eat it anyway," said Clary wearily from behind him. "Just throw it."

Jace stood there for a moment, disbelieving, before he set the plate and fork down on the counter and turned away, walking out of the kitchen.

"Jace," Clary called after him, but he quickened his pace, not knowing where he was going or why, just needing to get away from her and those sad eyes that wracked him with guilt. He turned down random corridors until he found himself at the doors to the library, his feet having carried him there unconsciously. He pushed the doors open and went inside.

Bright moonlight streamed through the window on the opposite wall, illuminating the room even before the witchlight flickered on. Neither Jace nor Clary had been in the library since the day they had fought. The side table was still piled with spare weapons, and there were faint scorch marks on the wall where Clary had made the Portal. Jace's gaze snagged on the box that was sitting, unassuming, on the arm of the sofa. The Pyxis.

It was a small thing, hardly bigger than his hand. The outside was decorated with carved swirls and whorls, the whole thing painted a deep, glittering gold. Ornate and almost ornamental, it was impossible to tell from the outside that it contained a deadly, powerful demon.

He felt himself move towards it, almost in a trance. There was a strange energy around it, dark and tumultuous, churning from within the box. He picked it up gingerly; the metal was cold enough to make his fingertips hurt, but for some reason he couldn't seem to let it go. He had the strangest urge to open it, to release the demon; his fingers strayed to the latch—

"Jace?"

He wrenched his hands away from the Pyxis, letting it fall to the ground. His heart was pounding, his fingers burning where they had touched the box. There were footsteps behind him, slow and unsure.

"Jace?" said Clary again. "Are you all right?"

He didn't answer, just snatched the Pyxis back up and crossed over to the staircase. He heard Clary sigh, following him as he climbed to the second level of the library and slid the Pyxis onto a bookshelf, nestling it against the bindings of the books.

"Jace, please," said Clary softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Please talk to me." He let her turn him towards her. She slid her thumb across his cheekbone, her eyes searching his. "We can figure this out," she whispered. "Please, Jace."

He tilted his head towards hers instinctively as she pulled him down to her, wrapping her arms around his neck. Their lips brushed—

And a clanging bell cut through the Institute. Jace tore himself away from Clary, stumbling backward. Guilt settled again in his stomach.

"Jace," Clary whispered, reaching for him, but he turned away from her, hurrying back down the staircase and out of the library.

This time, she didn't follow him.

The Institute's doorbell usually only rang at night for one of three reasons.

One: Mundane kids daring each other to touch the creepy, broken-down church.

Two: Pizza delivery.

Three: Downworlders in trouble.

Knowing this, Jace was unsurprised when he opened the door to find a young girl collapsed against the wall, face taut with pain. Her skin was a pale, pearly white, marred by the dark veins that showed through it, like cracks in porcelain. When she opened her mouth to speak, Jace saw the tips of her fangs shine in the darkness.

"Please," she said weakly. "Help me."

He approached her cautiously. She was hunched over, her hands fisted against her stomach. She couldn't have been older than fourteen. Jace crouched beside her, stretching out a hand. "What's your name?" he asked softly.

"Em-Emily," she whispered, laying her trembling hand in his.

He helped her to her feet; she was trembling, knees buckling from the effort. He pulled her arm around his shoulders. "I'm Jace," he said. "I'm the head of this Institute. Do you think you can make it to the Sanctuary? It's not far."

"I—I think so," she said feebly. She took a few hesitant steps, her body shaking against his.

"How long has it been since you fed?" said Jace quietly as they moved slowly towards the Sanctuary.

"I don't know...a week, maybe."

"Are you with a clan? Do you know who turned you?"

"I don't remember," said Emily, her voice shaking. "It was dark...there were so many of them. I remember...pain..." She shuddered. "And then I remember waking up in the woods, covered in blood...I think I killed a deer or something. I—I didn't mean to..." She had begun to cry, red-tinged tears streaking her white face.

"It's okay," said Jace soothingly. "You're going to be fine. I know the leader of the New York clan. We can get you some blood, and then the clan can protect you."

"I just want to go home," Emily whispered.

"I know," Jace said softly.

They had reached the Sanctuary. Jace set Emily down for a moment on the stoop so he could detach his key ring from his belt. He slid the key into the lock, wincing as it screeched open, spraying flakes of rust into the air. Clipping the keys back onto his belt, he turned to help Emily up—only to find that she was no longer there.

He swore under his breath, spinning around. "Emily?" he shouted into the darkness. His voice echoed in the eerie quiet. He listened intently for any sound that might lead him to her, but all he could hear was the rustling of leaves as the wind whistled by. Jace swore again, turning back around—and stumbled backwards as he found his nose inches from Emily's.

"By the Angel, Emily, I thought you'd been kidnapped or something," Jace said, letting out a breath of relief. "Where did you go?"

She bobbed up and down on the balls of her feet, her hands clasped behind her. In that moment, she looked very young. Her face was still streaked with bloody tears, but she didn't seem upset at all. "I was looking for this," she said, pulling her hands out from behind her. She was holding a large rock, the bottom still wet with mud. Her nails were caked in dirt and grass, too, as if she had pried the rock out of the ground.

Jace stared at her. "Well..." he said uncertainly, "I'm not sure now is the time to get a new pet rock. Let's go into the Sanctuary, okay?"

He pushed the door open for her, but she stayed where she was, letting out a shrill giggle. Jace was suddenly struck with a vivid memory of Maureen. "It's not a pet," said Emily, smiling wide enough that Jace could see each of her pointed teeth. "It's a weapon."

"A...weapon," Jace repeated slowly. "And what do you need a weapon for?"

Emily giggled again, leaning in towards him. Her face seemed to flicker, the pearly skin turning brown and wrinkled, the eyes turning black as onyx. "My master sends his regards," she hissed in his ear, and then she brought the rock down.

Clary...

She opened her eyes blearily, wincing as her neck twinged in pain. It took her a moment to orient herself; she must have dozed off in the armchair after Jace left. Rubbing her neck, she sat up slowly.

Clary...

She paused as the whisper echoed in her ears, a strange hiss that seemed to come from within her own mind.

Clary...

As she strained her ears, a faint rattling reached them. She glanced up to the second floor, curious, and then stood and made her way up the stairs.

The Pyxis sat on the bookshelf where Jace had left it. Clary had been right; the latch was fluttering, clattering against the box, but the box itself was almost unnaturally still, as if it should somehow betray the movements of the creature inside it but didn't.

Clary...

She shivered as the whisper grew louder, calling her from inside the box. It seemed to be exuding an icy energy, wrapping around her as she stretched out a hand—

The sound of a door opening somewhere in the Institute echoed down the corridor. She stepped back from the Pyxis, Jace's name on her lips—but something stopped her from calling out. She listened more closely. Footsteps were approaching the library, but they did not sound like Jace's; they scraped against the stone floors, shuffling unevenly down the hallway. Her heartbeat quickening, Clary crept down the staircase and into the shadows beneath it. The table was still stacked with weapons; she plucked a sword off the top of the pile and held it close, ready to strike out at any moment.

The footsteps came to a halt and a shadow fell across the library floor. Clary peered out from her hiding place and had to stifle a cry of shock. Standing in the doorway was a ghastly figure, a half-rotted corpse with bulging black eyeballs. Stringy hair hung down from its scalp, just brushing its exposed collarbones. As the creature moved into the room, its tattered clothes fluttered aside to reveal withered brown skin stretched thin over its ribcage.

"Where are you?" said the creature. Its voice was raspy, a coarse whisper in the silent room. Clary's heart pounded more insistently as the creature took a step toward her hiding place. Then, like a flash of lightning, a bright red light burst through the room, bathing Clary in its bloody glow.

The creature's eyes locked on hers. It let out a terrible screech, lunging for her. Clary leapt out from beneath the staircase, swinging out at the creature with her sword and slashing a long arc across its chest. Though the skin split, no blood spilled. The creature advanced, its torn skin flapping. Red light pulsed through the room, almost in sync with Clary's heartbeat.

"Hand over the Pyxis," the creature hissed. Clary sucked in a startled breath, and the creature chuckled. "I know it's here. Give it to me now and I won't kill you."

"You're wrong," said Clary, her heart pounding. "I don't know where it is."

"Liar!" the creature snarled. Its head whipped around, black eyes swiveling in its skull. Clary followed its gaze; the red light was still flashing, pulsing out from between the bookcases on the upper level.

"Found you," the creature breathed, turning away from Clary. Without thinking, Clary leapt forward and flung her arms around the creature's chest, tackling it to the floor. It screeched, rolling over and pinning her to the ground. She struggled to free herself, but her sword was trapped between her and the creature. With all her might, she snapped her head forward, hearing it collide with the creature's with a satisfying crack. The creature's grip loosened enough for her to free herself; she scrambled to her feet just as the creature got to its own, lifting its head. Clary's stomach turned over as she saw that its skull had caved in. It smiled at her, advancing lopsidedly.

"I was looking forward to fighting a Nephilim," it said. "I'd heard you were good, but your husband was such a disappointment." It wiggled its fingers at her, and Clary saw that they were coated in something wet and dark.

It felt as if an ice cube had slipped into her stomach. "What did you do to him?" she whispered.

The creature chuckled. "I'm sure you'll see him soon." Clary's heart constricted, but before she had a chance to think, the creature flung itself at her again. Instinctively, she slashed out, grazing its chest. It chuckled and lunged again, forcing her backward. She feinted to the left, then lunged the other way, swinging a leg out to sweep the creature's feet out from under it. It let out a shout, crashing down to the floor, but Clary had already dashed for the stairs.

"No!" screamed the creature, and it leapt forward, tearing after her. Clary swung around the banister, diving between the bookcases to snatch up the still-glowing Pyxis.

All at once, pain exploded in her mind. She let out a cry, stumbling backwards as the library dissolved in front of her, transforming before her eyes. She saw Jace, as clearly as if he were a foot in front of her, crumpled and bleeding from the head, too still, too pale.

A voice echoed inside her mind, too dark and sinister to be her own. Yes, it whispered. I know your fears, Clarissa Fairchild. And I can make them all come true.

A sharp pain sliced through her abdomen and her knees gave out. She slid to the floor, pain rippling across her back. Something warm gushed between her legs.

"N-no," she gasped, a strangled sob escaping her throat.

Give the demon the Pyxis.

No, she thought. I can't. I won't.

Give it the Pyxis!

No!

GIVE IT THE PYXIS!

"NO!" Clary screamed, tightening her hold on the Pyxis. The pain exploded into a white-hot inferno, enveloping her in agony. The wetness between her legs grew uncontrollably. She let out another sob as the demon skidded up the stairs.

With a gargantuan effort, Clary struggled to her feet, white spots dancing before her eyes. The creature charged, and she swung her sword in a wide arc, severing the demon's skull from its body. Ichor sprayed at last, and the corpse collapsed, crumbling to ash as black smoke poured from its neck. Clary heard a faint screech as the smoke dissipated.

The pain was blinding; she could hear the voice from the Pyxis shrieking inside her head as she fell to her knees, in too much agony to even scream. The sword fell from her hand with a clatter.

She struggled to draw breath, but the pain was all-consuming. The Pyxis tumbled from her limp fingers, her head hit the ground, and everything went black.

"Clary? Clary, by the Angel, please...please..."

A soft moan escaped her. Her whole body was throbbing, ripples of pain washing over her. She peeled her eyelids open, wincing at the harsh light.

"Clary..." came a soft voice. Someone's fingers slid through her hair. She blinked hazily as golden eyes came into focus above her.

"Thank the Angel," Jace whispered, his voice shaking. His hair was matted with blood on one side, standing out starkly against his pale face.

"Jace," she murmured.

"Shh," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple as he reached for his belt. "You're okay." She felt the sting of a stele healing the burns from the demon's blood.

"Jace," she whispered again, "am I bleeding?"

"What?" he said. "No, it's just ichor. You're going to be fine. See?" He lifted her arm to show her the already-healing burns.

"Not there." She took in a shuddering breath, willing herself not to cry. "I think...I think I'm having a miscarriage."

The color drained from Jace's face. "Oh. Oh." He swallowed visibly. "Clary—"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Please just check," she whispered.

There was a moment's hesitation before he moved. She felt him gently spread her legs apart, his fingers delicate against her skin. She squeezed her eyes tighter. Please, please...I'll do anything...

He exhaled softly. "You're okay," he said, his voice cracking in relief. "You're okay, you're not bleeding. Clary..."

And then his hands were on her arms, pulling her in towards him in a hug so tight it almost hurt. Clary wrapped her arms around him, stroking his back. He was shaking, she realized, so hard she could feel her own body vibrating.

"I thought you were dead," he whispered, and his voice broke. "I thought you had died, and the last thing I'd said to you was that I didn't want to be a dad...but I want to, Clary, I want this baby, and I was such an idiot...and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

He pulled away from her, and she saw that he was crying. She reached up and wiped his tears away. "It's okay," she said softly. "Shh. It's okay."

His face crumpled into fresh tears, and she felt tears of relief spring to her eyes, too. She slid her arms around him and he brought his lips to hers, kissing her fiercely.

When they finally pulled apart, their cheeks were both wet. Jace wiped his tears away hastily, letting out a long, slow breath. "I love you," he said softly.

"I love you, too," she said, smiling gently.

He let out another shaky breath, visibly trying to pull himself together. He glanced behind her. "What's this doing here?" he asked, reaching for the Pyxis.

"Don't!" Clary cried, throwing herself in front of it. Jace recoiled, startled.

"What?" he said, staring at her as if she'd gone insane.

"Don't touch it," Clary gasped.

"Why not?"

Clary swallowed hard. "It...did something to me. It gave me visions. I saw you, bleeding. And it...it made me think I was going to lose the baby."

Jace's eyebrows drew together in concern. He slipped his jacket off, wrapping it carefully around the Pyxis, and picked the box up, sliding it back onto the bookshelf. "We should get someone to look at it," he said, shrugging his jacket back on. "Magnus, maybe. A demon in a Pyxis shouldn't have much power, if any at all."

"It did," Clary whispered, staring at the box. "I don't know how, but it got inside my head. It felt so real...I thought...I really thought..." She slid her hand over her stomach, drawing in a trembling breath.

"Hey," said Jace softly, kneeling beside her. "You're okay." He laid his hand on top of hers. "Both of you."

Clary nodded shakily, and Jace pressed a kiss to her forehead before standing back up, swaying slightly. He winced, putting a hand to his temple.

"Your head," said Clary, pulling herself up. "Here, sit down. Let me have your stele." He obeyed, sinking back to the ground and handing his stele over. "What happened to you?" she murmured as she began to carefully trace an iratze at the base of his neck.

"A surprisingly crafty vampire," said Jace irritably. "Or, I thought it was a vampire, but I think it must have been a demon wearing a glamour. I thought she needed help, but she managed to distract me and hit me over the head with a rock—ouch!"

Clary's hand had slipped; she had had a sudden flashback of her vision. Jace, dead from a head wound. "Sorry," she said hurriedly, finishing the iratze with a hasty slash as she tried to steady her shaking hands. Jace's face relaxed as his wound began to heal. "What did it look like?"

"I didn't get a good look at it before it knocked me out, but I remember a rotting face." He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Clary nodded. "It possessed a corpse, I think. And then it used your blood to get into the Institute. It was trying to get the Pyxis."

Jace chewed his lip. "Well," he said. "That's not good."

"No," Clary agreed. "I think we need to call a Conclave."

Jace shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "We need a better idea of what we're dealing with here. Otherwise we'll just end up scaring everyone and looking like we don't know what we're doing."

"But we don't know what we're doing," said Clary with a playful smile.

"Yeah, but they don't need to know that," said Jace, rolling his eyes.

Clary bit her lip thoughtfully. "Well, if we need help figuring all this out," she said slowly, pulling herself to her feet, "I think I know just who to ask."

A/N: I'm so grateful to everyone who has followed and faved this story in the last week! If you liked this chapter, I would really really appreciate it if you'd leave a review. Thanks to those who have for the last few chapters!

Next chapter's a juicy one, stay tuned :)

Thanks for reading!

~4L