Chapter Seven
They worked long and hard throughout the rest of the day and into the late hours of the night, leafing through volume after volume in the great library, making phone calls, and calling in favors. Tessa and Jem left after a few hours, intending to go back home and look through Jem's records from his time as a Silent Brother before Tessa left for the Spiral Labyrinth. Magnus and Alec left next, taking the children with them and promising to examine Magnus's collection of texts at home. Maryse went with them, claiming that she needed to spend more time with her grandchildren, much to Magnus's and Alec's chagrin. Simon, Isabelle, Clary, Jace, Jocelyn, and Luke continued to scour the books in the library, looking for any sort of spell that might be useful. Finally, long after the last tendrils of sunlight had evaporated and the moon had risen high and bright in the sky, Jace slammed his book shut, sending dust up in a thick cloud.
"This is useless," he snapped as everyone else coughed, waving dust away. Beside Simon, Izzy sneezed violently, groaned, and leaned over, laying her head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head. "We should have found something by now," said Jace, shoving the book across the table.
"It's only been a day," said Clary wearily, closing her own book and laying her head in her hands. Simon had noticed her rubbing her temples throughout the day, almost absentmindedly. He touched his parabatai rune; it hadn't given so much as a twinge of pain all day. "We just have to be patient. Something will turn up."
"We don't have time to just sit around leafing through all these books," said Jace, waving an arm at the towering shelves of the library. "Jocelyn's right. It could take weeks, or months."
"What am I right about?" said Jocelyn sleepily, lifting her head off the thick book she had been using as a pillow.
"Clearly, we all need a break," said Luke, regarding his wife with some amusement. "Maybe we should pick this up tomorrow."
"Of course," Clary said. Her voice was hoarse, but she gave a weak smile. "You should all go home," she added, looking around the table. "You've helped enough today."
"I'll stay," said Simon, even as his eyes burned with exhaustion. "I'm not that tired."
"You've been reading the same page for half an hour," Izzy pointed out, lifting her head off his shoulder and stretching widely.
"I was...studying it thoroughly!" Simon protested. Izzy gave him a look. "Okay, fine, but it's a really boring book."
"If none of you are going to take this seriously, maybe you should just go home!" Jace snapped, snatching Simon's book out of his hands and slamming it down in front of himself. Simon blinked, taken aback.
"Jace," said Clary softly, putting her hand on his shoulder.
He shrugged her off, standing up. "I need some air," he muttered, stalking out of the room.
There was a tense silence. Clary seemed to sag in her chair. "Sorry," she said, sighing. "He's just...stressed. I know you've all been doing the best you could. And I'm grateful you're even giving up your time to help."
"You don't need to be grateful," said Simon, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. "It's a given. We're all here to help."
She smiled at him. "Well, I'm grateful regardless. But you should all head home. It's been a long day."
"I think I'll take you up on that, but only because I can hardly keep my eyes open," said Jocelyn, pushing her stack of books to the center of the table. "But I promise I'll be back tomorrow, bright and early."
"It's fine, Mom," said Clary. "We're doing all we can. There's no use in everyone getting burnt out in the first two days."
Jocelyn yawned and went over to Clary, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I know. We'll be back in the morning anyway."
"You should get some sleep, too," said Luke, hugging Clary goodbye. "You need to take care of your health."
"I know, I know," said Clary, waving a hand. "Maryse gave me the spiel already. I promise, your grandchild will be perfectly healthy."
Luke chuckled. "Love you. See you tomorrow."
"Love you, too," Clary said, smiling. "Get home safe." Her parents nodded and walked out hand in hand.
"I think I'll turn in, too," said Izzy, yawning. She pushed her chair back from the table. "Can we crash here tonight? I don't feel like taking the train to Brooklyn right now."
"Of course," said Clary. "You know where your room is."
Izzy nodded slowly, rubbing her eyes. Simon tilted his head up and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. "I'll be up in a bit," he said.
"Mm-hmm," said Izzy, wandering out sleepily.
Simon sighed and pulled his book back towards him, flipping it open. "Aren't you tired?" Clary asked him.
"Exhausted," he admitted. He ran his fingers through his hair, shook his head to clear it, and flicked through a few pages. "But I want to help. I can stay up a little longer."
"Don't worry about it," said Clary, turning back to her own book with a sigh. "I think I can manage."
Simon glanced at her. She looked ill, her skin sapped of color. "How are you doing, Clary?" he asked, his tone gentle.
She looked up. She had the appearance of someone forcing themselves to keep it together. There was a shakiness in her smile. "I'm okay," she said. "I'm just...tired...." She blinked hard, her lip quivering—and then her face crumpled, her shoulders collapsing inward as she burst into tears.
"Oh...hey..." Simon stood up quickly and hurried around the table. Sitting down in Jace's abandoned chair, he wrapped an arm around Clary's shaking shoulders. "Hey," he said again, softly. "It's okay."
She turned towards him, burying her face in his shoulder. He stroked her back as she burrowed into him, muffling her sobs against him.
Eventually, the tears subsided. Clary let out a slow, shaky breath and pulled away from him. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, mopping at her eyes. "I...I don't even know why I'm crying. Damn hormones..."
"Clary," said Simon gently. "You know I love you, but you have to cut the crap." She looked up at him, surprise flashing across her face. "What's really going on?"
"I..." She shook her head, sniffling. "Nothing. It's...it's nothing."
"It's not nothing," said Simon. He put a hand to his rune again. "Clary, please tell me. I—I haven't felt anything. All day."
She looked at him, her eyes following his fingers. "Oh," she said softly.
"Did I do something, Clary?" said Simon desperately. "Is that why I didn't feel it when you got burned last night?"
"Simon," Clary sighed, shaking her head. "You didn't do anything. I think...I think you didn't feel it because it happened in my mind." She sniffled again, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "It might manifest physically, but it's not happening in this world. It's happening inside my head. I think that's why the healing runes haven't been working, either."
Simon hesitated. "Okay," he said eventually, "but that means that if it happens again, I won't know about it. You have to tell me, Clary, because I won't know."
"There's nothing to tell," Clary said, visibly pulling herself back together as she turned back to her book.
"You're hiding something," said Simon quietly. She stared at her book. "I know you are. What I don't understand is why."
"It's..." Clary sighed and put her head in her hands. "It's complicated, okay?" she said, her voice sounding thick.
"I just want you to know that you can trust me," said Simon. "You probably have a good reason for whatever you're hiding, but you don't have to do this alone. I'm here for you. I'm—I'm the Luke to your Leia. I'm the Harry to your Hermione."
Clary cracked a small smile. "Really," she said dryly. "You're Harry?"
"Yes, I am," said Simon with dignity. "We all know I'm the protagonist in this story."
Clary gave a watery chuckle. "You're such a dork," she said, bumping his shoulder with hers.
"You know it," said Simon, grinning. "Been that way for twenty-five years. I popped out of the womb wearing a Batman mask."
Her smile faded; she put a hand over her stomach, eyes shining.
"Clary..." said Simon softly.
She stood up abruptly. "I'm—I'm going to go find Jace," she said without looking at him. "Get some sleep, okay?" She left the room without waiting for an answer, rubbing aggressively at her eyes.
Simon sighed and closed his book. He leaned back in his chair wearily, fingers tracing the edge of his parabatai rune.
The hallway was silent. Moonlight cast an icy sheen against the stone walls, creating shadows in the hollow alcoves. The hall gave off an eerie vibe; Clary shivered as she walked down the corridor, her footsteps echoing off the walls.
Now that she was alone, she was all the more aware of the dull ache in her head; in fact, it was intensifying with every step. She rubbed her temples, massaging them so hard she thought she might leave bruises, but the headache only seemed to move to wherever her fingers weren't, and after a few moments she gave up, letting her hands drop to her side.
The wind shifted, blowing an icy draft through the open windows, and Clary shivered again. She picked up her pace, following the corridor to the entrance hall. She pushed open the doors and stepped outside. Jem and Tessa's new wards rippled around her, as if she were moving through a rushing waterfall.
Jace sat on the steps, arms around his knees. Moonlight shone off him, turning his hair silvery and illuminating the angles of his cheekbones. He looked so unlike himself, shoulders hunched as if he were trying to physically hold himself together. A pang for him went through Clary, her lip quivering again; she bit down on it hard before taking a deep breath and moving towards him.
He glanced up as she approached. "You shouldn't be out here," he said wearily. "It's not safe."
"You're out here," Clary pointed out as she lowered herself next to him.
"It's different," he said shortly, turning away from her.
"Why? Because you don't care if you get hurt?"
He didn't answer, just folded his arms more tightly around his legs. Clary sighed. "Jace, what's going on with you?" she said gently.
"Nothing."
She closed her eyes, taking a long, slow breath. When she opened them again, he was looking at her.
"Your lip is bleeding," he said almost absentmindedly, reaching out to wipe the blood away. His fingers were light on her lower lip. They lingered for a moment; his eyes searched hers; then he dropped his gaze, pulling away.
"Jace," said Clary, reaching for him. "Talk to me. Please." His hair was falling in his eyes; automatically, she brushed it away from his forehead. He closed his eyes at her touch. "What's wrong?"
He stared out at the gates, his gaze stony. "I just..." he began in a tight voice. "I just feel like this is my fault."
He'll blame himself.
Clary swallowed hard. "And why is that?" she said carefully.
"I started this whole thing," said Jace. He dug his nails into his arms. "I trapped the demon. It's my fault he's in the Institute, attacking you."
"If you hadn't trapped him, Magnus would be dead right now," said Clary. She reached over and pulled his hands toward her, loosening his fingers' death grip on his arms. "You did what you had to do. You saved him."
"Maybe there was another way," Jace said, frustration tingeing his voice. "Maybe I acted too rashly, didn't think it through—"
"You couldn't have known this would happen!" said Clary desperately.
"But I should've done more!" Jace shouted, vaulting to his feet. "I should've figured out a plan instead of marching in half-assed, I should've tried harder to find another way! And maybe if I had, seven Shadowhunters wouldn't be dead right now and a Prince of Hell wouldn't be trying to kill you!"
"It's not your fault," said Clary helplessly. "You did all you could."
"Yeah?" said Jace savagely. "And am I doing all I can now? I can't even figure out a goddamn way to fix this, Clary. I can't..." He sank back down on the steps, cradling his head in his hands. "I can't do anything to make it right."
"You're doing everything you can," said Clary gently.
"It's not enough," Jace said, his voice hard.
"No," she said softly. "Nothing ever is for you." She slid her arm around his waist, pressing herself closer to him. He turned in towards her, resting his forehead against hers. "But I know you're doing your best, and that's good enough for me."
He squeezed his eyes shut. "It's all my fault," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry, Clary."
Clary's heart skipped a beat. "Jace," she said sharply, pulling away from him. "It's not your fault. Do you hear me? You can't blame yourself."
He looked at her, seemingly taken aback at the intensity of her tone. "I..."
"Promise me," she said, squeezing his hand. "Promise me you won't blame yourself, no matter what happens."
"What do you mean?" said Jace, straightening to look her in the eye. "Clary, what's..."
"Promise me," she said. "Swear on the Angel, Jace."
His eyes searched hers. "Okay," he said uncertainly. "I swear."
She loosened her grasp on his hand. She felt suddenly sapped of energy, exhausted to the bone. Her head was pounding. "Let's go to bed," she said, getting to her feet.
"Clary," said Jace, standing up, too. "What aren't you telling me?"
She hesitated. "I—"
There was a soft snap from behind her. Immediately, she whirled around, squinting into the darkness. She felt Jace come up behind her, his hands on her shoulders. Clary strained her ears; she could just make out a quiet shushing noise, like something dragging itself across the grass.
"Demon," she said automatically, grabbing Jace's hand and pulling him quickly towards the doors. She shoved them open and pushed him inside, passing through Tessa and Jem's wards as they crossed the threshold. Clary threw the deadbolt and backed away from the doors, listening intently.
Something slammed against the doors, making the entire frame shudder. Clary leapt backward, yanking Jace with her. He pressed a finger to his lips, eyes wide, as he pulled her away from the door and into an alcove. Clary held her breath.
There was a skittering noise, like something scaly dragging against stone. The door shook again; there was an inhuman screech of pain, the sound of sizzling flesh—and then blinding white light blasted from under the doorframe.
Clary threw up a hand to block out the light; the air in front of her shimmered, the spell visible for a split second, pearly white and rippling in midair. Then, slowly, the light faded. The hall was silent.
"Well," said Jace, his voice slightly shaky. "At least we know the wards work." He stepped out of the alcove, moving towards the doors. "Wait here."
"Jace—" said Clary nervously.
"I'll be fine," he said, smiling reassuringly at her over his shoulder as he reached into the hidden niche by the door where they kept spare weapons and gear. He pulled out a sword. "Two minutes." He approached the doors cautiously, listening for a moment—then he pushed them open, disappearing outside.
She stepped forward, intending to press her ear to the door and listen for any sound of conflict, but before she had gotten within a foot of it, her head gave a sudden, nasty throb. She braced her hand against the wall as the hallway swung dizzyingly in front of her.
Clary...
Her whole body tensed. It's not real, she thought, furiously trying to tamp down the hissing voice in her mind. I'm nowhere near the Pyxis. I'm imagining things.
Clary...
There was a sharp, jabbing pain in her head, as if someone had shoved a white-hot poker into her brain. She gave an involuntary gasp, her knees buckling.
CLARY...
No, she thought forcefully, even as black spots began to encroach on her vision. You can't give in. The moment you pass out, you enter his world, and he has all the power. You have to stay awake.
CLARY...
Stay awake—
CLARY!
STAY AWAKE!
Her legs gave out; she slid to the floor as the pain intensified, washing over her with tidal-force waves. She opened her mouth—to call out, or scream in pain, she wasn't sure which, but before she could find out, her head hit the ground and everything went black.
Her eyes snapped open again as she drew in a rasping breath that tasted of sulfur and smoke. She was lying flat on her back on a rough, dusty ground, staring up at the flame-red sky.
"Welcome back, Clarissa."
She scrambled to her feet. The world swung around her, and she staggered, trying to get her footing. Her head throbbed painfully. Her surroundings came into focus, and she saw that she was on a plateau that jutted hundreds of feet into the air, bordered on three sides by rock walls. Beelzebub lounged across from her, leaning against the cliff wall with a practiced insouciance.
Clary didn't wait for him to say anything else; she turned on her heel and ran.
Beelzebub moved in a flash, blocking her path. She skidded to a halt, then tried to duck under his arm. He caught her forearm easily; her feet left the ground as he swung her to the side, flinging her against the wall of the cliff. She hit it hard, the breath leaving her in a rush. She struggled to rise, choking on the smoke.
"So eager to leave," said Beelzebub, faking sorrow. "But I'm afraid we're just getting started, Clarissa." He leaned in close enough that she could feel his breath, hot against her cheek. "I am going to have so much fun with you tonight," he whispered, his eyes glittering hungrily.
Gasping for breath, she told him to go do something she never would have said in front of her mother. Beelzebub tutted disapprovingly.
"Still fighting?" he said, frowning at her. "We'll stamp that out of you, in due time." His head snapped suddenly to the side, as if he'd heard something. Clary strained her ears, hearing nothing. "Ah," he said, sounding disappointed. "But that'll have to wait, unfortunately. We're about to be interrupted."
"Clary...?"
A voice echoed down through the thick smoke cover over their heads. Beelzebub grinned. "Sweet dreams, my dear," he said, his voice enveloping her as the world dissolved.
"Clary!"
She snapped awake, her eyes flying open; she only got a glance of someone bending over her before her headache redoubled, and a moan escaped her as pain swept over her. She closed her eyes, riding out the ebbing waves, trying to ignore the remnants of the whispering voice in the back of her mind.
"Clary?"
She let out a shaking breath before opening her eyes. Simon's face hung over her, his eyes piercing hers.
"I'm fine," she said, struggling to sit up. Her voice shook slightly, but she swallowed hard, digging her nails into her hands, the physical pain grounding her. "I thought you went to bed," she said, forcing herself to sound normal.
"I was going to," said Simon shakily. He was very pale, still watching her intensely. "But I heard a noise—like a demon screeching. And then I came out here and you were on the ground."
"The noise was a demon," said Clary, taking another long breath. She pushed herself to her feet, locking her knees to keep them from trembling. "Something tried to get into the Institute. Jace is outside looking for it."
"And, what, it attacked you?"
She shook her head. "Nothing like that. I—I passed out, I think. I haven't eaten much today."
He locked eyes with her. "Are you lying to me?"
"Simon," she said, hoping she sounded convincingly exasperated, "I know what you're thinking, but I swear I just fainted. That's all."
He held her gaze for a measured moment. "Okay," he said eventually, sounding doubtful.
"Hey." She squeezed his hand. "I'm fine. I promise. Just—just don't tell Jace, okay? He has enough to worry about right now besides me eating enough."
"Right," said Simon.
She kissed his cheek. "You should go to sleep. I'll wait for Jace."
"Clary." He caught her eye. "You'll tell me if anything happens tonight, right?"
Her heart was still pounding, but she plastered a smile on her face. "Of course," she lied. "But nothing's going to happen. The Pyxis isn't even anywhere near our bedroom. I'll be fine, Simon."
"Okay." He pulled away from her. "Good night, Clary."
She smiled again, a soft, genuine smile this time. "Good night."
He turned away from her, making his way down the corridor. As he turned the corner, vanishing out of sight, Clary pressed her shaking body against the wall. Beelzebub's voice echoed in her mind: Sweet dreams, my dear...
The door opened; she straightened hastily as Jace entered, sheathing his sword. "It was an Elapid," he said, tossing the sword back into the niche. "The wards killed it. Doesn't look like there's anything else out there." He paused, catching sight of her standing against the wall. "Didn't I tell you to stay in the alcove?"
"When do I ever listen to you?" she said, forcing a grin.
He grinned back. "I should've known better." He reached out, taking her hand. She let the familiar warmth steady her. "Come on. Let's go to bed."
She lay awake in the moonlit bedroom. Jace was pressed against her back; she could feel him breathing, could feel the steady beating of his heart in rhythm with hers. Her eyes burned, but she refused to let them close for more than a second. Sweet dreams, my dear...
She swallowed hard and turned over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. The bed shook slightly, and Jace made a soft noise beside her.
"Clary?" he murmured. "You still awake?"
"Yeah," she said softly.
She felt his fingers on her jaw, turning her head gently toward him. His gold eyes were luminous in the moonlight. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she said again. "I'm fine."
He sighed, then reached across her and flicked on the witchlight lamp. The room was bathed in the soft glow.
He propped himself on his elbow, looking down at her. "What's wrong?" he said, smoothing back her hair. The sensation was soothing; it made Clary want to close her eyes and drift off to sleep, but she forced herself to keep looking at him.
"Nothing," she said. "I just can't fall asleep."
"Aren't you tired?"
She shrugged. "Not really."
"Well," said Jace, his lip quirking up at the corner, "I can think of a few ways to tire you out..."
Normally she would have rolled her eyes, making some quip about how this was all really just for his benefit, but she couldn't muster the energy to do so. Jace's smile faded as he searched her eyes. "Clary," he said softly. "Are you afraid you're going to have another nightmare?"
She didn't know how to answer that; instead, she turned her gaze back up toward the ceiling. Jace seemed to take her silence as answer enough. "I wish I could promise you it wouldn't happen," he said, stroking her hair. "And maybe it won't. Maybe the Pyxis is far enough away that he won't be able to reach you."
"Maybe," said Clary. Jem had said he had left the Pyxis in the East Wing. Perhaps the entrance hall had been too close to it. Perhaps she had put enough distance between them now. "You're probably right. I'll be fine."
Jace sighed, clearly not convinced. "If it happens," he said in a low voice, "I promise I'll wake you up. I know it's not much, but—"
"It's enough," said Clary, exhaling. She turned to look at him; his eyebrows were knit in worry. "It's enough to know you're here," she whispered, reaching up to lay a hand on his cheek.
His expression softened. "Always, Clary."
She tilted her head up, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "Will you hold me?"
He nodded. She reached up, turning off the lamp. Jace pulled her against him, tucking their bodies together, his lips brushing her neck. The warmth of his body was making her eyelids droop—she forced them open, staring hard at a spot on the wall. Her eyes stung from the effort.
Jace stroked his thumb lightly across her shoulder. "I'll watch over you," he murmured. "Sleep, Clary."
She couldn't deny how exhausted she was. Slowly, she relaxed into him, loosening her tense muscles. Her eyelids fell closed, and she slid softly into sleep.
Consciousness came to her slowly, as if she were swimming through honey. She felt the comfortable weight of Jace's arm slung carelessly across her body, heard the soft susurration of the blowing wind against the walls of the Institute, saw the moonlight dancing across her eyelids. Exhaling slowly, she opened her eyes.
It felt as if she were dreaming. Carefully, hardly willing to believe it, she rolled over to look at Jace, the bed rocking underneath her.
"Clary?" Jace mumbled, opening his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Clary whispered, reaching out to stroke his cheek. His skin felt rough under her fingers; she could see the miniscule cut on his chin where he must have nicked himself shaving that morning. She felt hypersensitive, aware of even the most minute details on his face.
"What happened?" said Jace, sounding more awake now as he stared at her through the darkness. "Did you have another nightmare?"
"No," said Clary. She found that she was smiling. "I didn't have one." Her voice broke with relief, and she felt tears spring to her eyes. "I didn't have one," she whispered again.
Jace smiled softly, curling a piece of her hair around his finger. "I'm glad." He leaned over and feathered a gentle kiss across her temple. "Go back to sleep."
"I wi..." Her voice faltered as he pulled back to look at her; he was smiling, stroking his finger lightly against her bare shoulder. Goosebumps erupted down the length of her arm, and she sat up slowly, studying him.
"What is it?" he said, his voice low, still rough from sleep.
"Nothing," she said. "I thought I saw..." There. Something shadowy flickered in his eyes as he sat up, his expression full of concern. "Jace?"
"What?" He reached for her, but she slid off the bed, her feet automatically planting in a fighting stance. "What are you doing?"
She had memorized every line on his face, every feature of his body, and his brow was furrowed and one side of his lip was crinkled the exact same way it was when he was trying to solve a problem, but this wasn't Jace.
He got out of bed, still looking at her with that same quizzical expression. "Clary, are you okay?" he asked, coming around the bed.
She moved faster than she had thought possible, flinging open the bedside drawer and seizing the dagger inside. "Get away," she gasped.
He blinked at her in surprise. You're a damned good actor, she thought, but I know him. "You're not Jace," she said. Her voice shook slightly, but her hand on the dagger was steady. "Where is he?"
He lifted his hands slowly, palms empty. "Clary," he said in a measured tone, "it's me. Just—just put the dagger down, okay?"
"Liar!" she screamed. "Tell me where he is! Tell me what you did to him!"
And there it was again, that dark flash in his eyes. A smile spread across his face, and Clary felt the hairs on her neck stand up. "You're being crazy," he said, letting his hands fall to his side. "Come back to bed. It's late."
He reached for her again; without thinking, she plunged the dagger into his chest.
He gave a strangled gasp, blood spraying from his lips. His mouth gaped wordlessly as he collapsed onto his knees, then his back. Clary pulled the dagger free, her own breath coming out in bursts. The hilt of the blade stuck to her palm, glued there by Jace's blood—no, not Jace's blood, this wasn't Jace...
He stared at her with wide golden eyes, his face leeched of color. Despite herself, she knelt at his side, leaning over him. The shadows of his eyelashes fell across his cheekbones like scars. His lips were shaping words...her name...
I love you.
A cold wave of horror flooded her body. "Jace?" she whispered. She pressed her hands to the wound automatically, feeling hot blood gush up around her fingers. "It's not you—it's not..." She stared into his eyes through a veil of tears, and there was nothing in them, no shadow, no darkness, just that spark that was Jace...
And then the spark was gone. He gazed up at her, unseeing, as his chest stopped rising beneath her hands.
The room spun around her. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think; he wasn't dead, he couldn't be dead, because if he was dead then it was her fault, she had plunged that dagger into his heart, she had done this to him—
It felt as if she were shattering. She collapsed over him, a terrible scream exploding through the silence, ripping through her as if it were a demon clawing at her. "JACE! JACE!" She was clutching at him, fingers scrabbling across his body as if there were some way she could bring him back, some way she could pull him back to her. "NO! JACE! PLEASE! I'm sorry, Jace, I'm so sorry, please don't—please—JACE! JACE!"
"Clary, wake up!"
There were hands on her shoulders, shaking her forcefully. Her eyes flew open. She barely caught sight of their bedroom swinging wildly around her before something twisted inside her, and she knocked the hands aside, stumbling half-blind across the room. She threw herself in front of the trash can and vomited, bile scalding her throat.
"What the hell is going on?" She had just enough time to identify Simon's voice before her stomach lurched and she retched again, choking and coughing.
"Nightmare," said another voice. Jace's voice.
Relief flooded through Clary even as guilt made her stomach clench. She was aware that she was sobbing, clutching the edge of the trash can like a lifeline. A hand stroked down her back—she flinched, pressing up against the wall, shaking uncontrollably as her sobs redoubled.
"Clary, it's okay," came Jace's voice again, soft and tender. She shook her head violently, curling into herself until she slid down onto her side, gasping into her knees.
"Clary," said Simon, his voice shaking.
Footsteps approached—then they halted abruptly as if someone had been stopped in their tracks. "Let me," came another quiet voice, hardly audible over Clary's sobs.
More footsteps, these ones lighter and more measured. Clary felt someone's weight settle beside her.
"Clary," said Isabelle gently. "Take deep breaths, okay? Can you do that?"
Clary drew in a trembling breath, let it out with a soft whimper. "You're okay," Isabelle said in a soothing voice. "Can I touch you?"
She nodded, slowly. She felt Isabelle's hand slide into hers. "Squeeze my hand. Take another breath."
She obliged; her heart rate was slowing, her breaths coming more easily. "You're okay," Isabelle whispered again. "Keep breathing."
"Clary," Jace murmured. The image of him, soaked in blood, still and lifeless, flashed across her vision, and she gave another shuddering sob, feeling tears spill down her face. She squeezed Isabelle's hand more tightly, felt a thumb rub gently across the back of her own.
Slowly, her breathing evened, her tears stopped flowing. She laid there for a long moment on the cold stone floor, feeling the pressure of Isabelle's hand in hers. Finally, she peeled her eyes open.
Isabelle was kneeling next to her, her face pale under her dark curtain of hair. "Feeling okay?" she said softly.
Clary didn't know how to answer that. She sat up slowly, releasing Isabelle's hand to wipe away her tears. She was hyperconscious of Jace hovering between her and the bed, shifting his weight cautiously. She couldn't bear to look at him, couldn't get the image of his bloodstained body out of her mind. Instead, she glanced at Simon, who was still standing near the door. He, too, looked pale, though he was doing far worse of a job than Isabelle at hiding his obvious terror. Clary's fingers went automatically to the parabatai rune on her shoulder; she saw him mirror the gesture, seemingly unconsciously.
"I'm—I'm okay," she said, her voice scraping her throat.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jace take a step towards her, and she instinctively pressed herself against the wall, her breath hitching as she turned her body away from him. "Give her some space," Izzy murmured, holding a hand up to him. He retreated, though Clary knew his eyes were still locked on her.
She let her eyelids shut, drawing in another deep breath. Jace was alive, he was healthy—she knew this, and yet she couldn't stop replaying the dream in her mind, feeling her own hand plunge a dagger into his chest. She had killed him. She had done it—it had been her fingers wrapped around the knife. And it had felt so real...she had killed him without even thinking about it. Without even hesitating.
Her cheeks were wet again; she pulled up the hem of her tank top, wiping her face. "I'm okay," she whispered again, without looking at any of them.
"Do you need anything?" Isabelle said, her voice still gentle and soothing. "A glass of water?"
She nodded; her throat felt like sandpaper.
"I'll get it," said Jace. She felt his footsteps shake the floorboards as he passed.
"Clary," said Simon gently, approaching her slowly. "What happened?"
She shook her head, trying not to see Jace's lifeless body again. "It was—just a dream." With a great deal of effort, she pushed herself off the floor. Her knees were shaking. Isabelle made a soft noise, reaching out to help, but Clary moved away. "I'm fine," she said. She felt like she was on autopilot, tucked away inside herself. "I'm okay now."
"Are you sure?" said Isabelle. She was watching Clary concernedly, but before she could say anything else, Jace walked back in. He moved towards Clary carefully, as if he were approaching a frightened animal.
"Here," he said, offering her the glass of water. She reached out to take it, and as she did, her fingers brushed against his.
For a split second, she was back in the dream, and all she could see was his face, white and still, as if someone had carved it out of marble—and he was dead, really dead, and she had done it.
Her chest constricted. Distantly, she heard the sound of glass shattering.
"Clary?"
She blinked; she was back in her bedroom. Somehow, she had managed to press herself into a corner of the room. Her body was shaking so hard that the room seemed to be vibrating around her.
"Clary..." Jace said again, softly.
She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"It's okay," said Jace gently. He reached out to her. She flinched.
"Please don't." She was barely aware of the tears sliding down her cheeks. "Please."
Hurt flashed across his face; he took a step back. "Okay," he said, his voice tight. "I'll—I'll go check on the Pyxis. Move it further away." He turned and left the room without looking at her.
Clary buried her face in her hands. She thought the weight of the guilt might crush her. It had only been a dream, she knew that—and yet when Jace touched her, she remembered how real it had all felt. She didn't want to be near him, didn't know if she could trust her own mind to see the truth. Had she imagined that shadow in the dream, or had Beelzebub manufactured it all? Was she even sure she was awake right now?
Stop, she told herself sharply. You're awake. Jace is fine.
So why can't I look at him?
Someone's arm slid around her shoulders. "Come on," said Isabelle softly. Clary let Isabelle lead her carefully around the shattered glass and to the bed, lowering her carefully on the edge of it.
"I'm sorry," Clary mumbled again. "Tell Jace I'm sorry."
"He knows you are," said Isabelle, sitting down beside her. She reached out and wiped Clary's tears with her sleeve. "But you don't need to be. It's not your fault."
Clary squeezed her eyes shut, unable to respond. She felt the bed depress on her other side. "Do you want to talk about it?" said Simon, taking her hand in his and rubbing it gently.
She shook her head again. "You should...you should go back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you up."
"It's okay," said Simon. "We'll stay with you."
She didn't have the energy to argue. Exhaling slowly, she leaned over and rested her head on Simon's shoulder. She felt numb, spent. She wanted to sink back into sleep, into blissful ignorance, and she would have gone back to bed if it weren't for the fear that she would have another nightmare.
Simon's shoulder was mildly uncomfortable, hard with muscle. She closed her eyes, hoping the discomfort would be enough to keep her awake. Jace's face, white with shock and pain, seemed imprinted on the inside of her eyelids. She squeezed them tighter, trying to push it out of her mind, taking long breaths like Isabelle had told her to.
The minutes passed. Clary found herself somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, zoning in and out of consciousness. She could feel the low vibration of Simon's voice in her own skull.
"Izzy," he was saying, "how did you do that? How did you know how to help her?"
There was a long pause before she answered. "Max used to have nightmares sometimes," she said in the carefully measured tone she reserved for talking about her brother. "I learned how to calm him down."
They lapsed back into silence. A moment later, Clary heard footsteps and the creak of a door.
"Is she asleep?" came Jace's voice. Rough, tight—as if he were holding himself back.
"I think so," Simon said. "What took you so long?"
"I was walking around. I needed to clear my head. And I moved the Pyxis."
"Where?"
"The garden." There were a couple of tentative footsteps; they stopped abruptly, several feet away.
He won't come near me, Clary thought, even in her half-asleep state. He thinks he's hurting me.
She opened her eyes with a great deal of effort; it felt as if someone had glued iron weights to her eyelids. "Jace," she murmured. "Come here."
His footsteps approached, cautious and hesitant. Clary lifted her head off Simon's shoulder and pushed herself to standing, swaying slightly. Jace stood between her and the door, rocking back and forth warily. Slowly, Clary closed the distance between them and pulled him into a hug.
"I'm sorry," she said again. The words seemed robotic to her, devoid of meaning. Nothing she could say would erase the expression he had had on his face when she had recoiled from him.
He stroked her back lightly. Carefully, in the way Jace rarely was. "Don't apologize," he whispered. "You didn't do anything wrong."
There was a soft shuffling behind them; Simon and Isabelle made their way out of the room, shutting the door behind them. Clary pulled away from Jace slightly and looked up into his eyes. They were shadowed, difficult to read. He smiled at her, a little sadly.
"Do you want to sleep?" he said softly.
Yes. Forever. "I don't know."
"Try," he said, stroking her cheek. "You look exhausted."
Her eyelids felt heavier; she let him lead her to the bed and slipped under the covers automatically. He tucked them in around her and climbed in behind her.
"I'll stay awake," he said, his voice a soft rumble. "If you so much as twitch, I'll wake you up."
"No," she murmured, already beginning to drift into unconsciousness. "Sleep. You should sleep."
"I'm fine," said Jace, and Clary thought she detected a sharp edge to his voice. "I won't let it happen again, Clary."
She opened her mouth to argue, but then darkness swirled around her and drew her down into its depths.
A/N: If you've enjoyed reading this chapter, please leave a review! I would greatly appreciate it :)
As always, thanks for reading!
~4L