Clary found herself standing in her apartment, staring at the mess around her. The crime scene had been looked over for any forensic evidence, but nothing was found. That didn't surprise her, though. Camille was always careful.
"I don't think you should stay here," Jace said from behind her.
She scoffed. "I don't think your opinion matters in this situation."
"Considering I'm the figure of authority in this situation, I think you're wrong on that. My opinion matters a lot."
Rolling her eyes, she turned around to face him. "I would hardly count you as a figure of authority. Besides, I've had a lot of experience in this kind of thing."
His face shifted into a more serious expression. "What do you mean?"
Clary froze, realizing her mistake. How was she supposed to answer that? Oh, my dad, you know the guy we're looking for, constantly had people threatening our home. But he at least taught me how to defend myself.
"I- I had a weird upbringing. Leave it at that," she finally responded, mentally chastising herself for the lame answer.
He put his hands up in a surrendering motion. "Alright, we can leave it at that. For now."
Walking around him, she sighed. "Whatever. Now, if you don't mind, I have some cleaning up to do."
Jace grabbed her arm to stop her, the serious look returning to his face. "Look, if you're going to be hell bent on staying here, then we're at least going to have police rotating in shifts outside your building.
She groaned at that. "I'm a big girl, Jace. I can take care of myself."
"Someone broke into your apartment, Clarissa. I don't care how much of a big girl you think you are, you need to have people looking after you right now."
She tore her arm out of his grip. "Why do you suddenly care, Wayland? I've known you for years and you have never once seemed to care about what happens to me."
His face suddenly became stoic. "You're right. I don't care. If you want to get yourself killed, be my guest."
He turned on his heal and left, slamming the door behind him. Clary stared at the door, a bad feeling building in the pit of her stomach. Could she really handle all of this on her own?
"Clary!" her mother yelled into the phone. "What do you mean you're staying there? Do you understand how dangerous that is?"
She sighed, staring out at the setting sun. She had been sitting on her balcony reading when her mom called her, having been informed of the day's events by Isabelle.
"Yes, Mom. I know. But don't worry," she said as she looked down at the undercover cop car parked on the curb outside of the apartment building. "There's a patrol car outside as we speak."
If she was being completely honest with herself, catching sight of the car had given her some relief. And on top of that, it had made her heart flutter a little bit at the thought of Jace still going through with it. She didn't know why, though. Maybe it was just that he had done something nice for her for once in his life.
"I still don't like it, Clary. I mean, it is Camille after all."
"Exactly. It's just Camille. If she really wanted to hurt me, she would have. We know what she's capable of. But I am Valentine's daughter. She knows better than to cause any harm to me. He wouldn't be very happy if that happened."
"I know, I know. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to worry. She's not the only person who will get upset with you involving yourself in this case. The others might not show as much restraint."
"I promise you that I'll be fine, Mom. I need to go, though. Call you later."
She hung up the phone before her mother could argue any farther with her. She was feeling overwhelmed with all the attention people were giving her because of the break in. If she didn't think it was that big of deal, then nobody else should either.
Her phone rang next to her and she wanted to scream. She hadn't been left alone all day and she just wanted some peace and quiet.
"What?" she snapped into the phone.
"Clam down there, princess," Jace's said. "We need you down at the station as soon as possible. We have another murder witness."
"Can I ask the officers outside of my building for a lift?"
"How did you know about them?" he deadpanned.
"I know an undercover cop car when I see one, Jace. I'll be there in a few."
She was directed to the same interview room where she had drawn the composite of Valentine. Except this time, it wasn't Aline sitting at the metal table. Instead, it was a boy who didn't look much older than seven or eight. Standing behind him was a female social working wearing an impeccable grey suit. Jace and Alec were nowhere to be seen.
"Are you Clarissa Fray?" the woman asked.
Clary nodded.
"My name's Helen Blackthorn. This is Jonathan Herondale." She gestured the boy who was sitting at the table with a blank expression on his face. "There was a… Incident. Detectives Wayland and Lightwood said you might be able to help."
"Help?" she squeaked out. "There must be some kind of misunderstanding. I'm just a composite artist."
"Oh, I know. Detective wetland actually said you might be able to get him to talk. He said something about you dealing with a little boy named boy Max before."
Clary sighed. Max was Izzy's and Alec's younger brother. When their parents had gone through a divorce, he had shut down. He wouldn't speak a word to anyone. But Clary had eventually figured out a way to get him to open up.
"Alright. I can try," she said.
She pulled out the chair and sat across the table from the young boy. He watched with a blank expression as she pulled out a sketchbook and a few of her cheaper colored pencils.
"Hi, Jonathan. My name's Clary. How are you holding up?" When he didn't respond, she kept going. "I'm really sorry to hear about what happened to your parents. You know, whenever I'm sad, I like to draw. It always makes me feel better. Would you like to try drawing something?"
The boy nodded tentatively and Clary smiled as she pushed the sketchbook and pencils toward him. He hesitated for a moment before taking them and starting to draw. Clary snuck a glance at the social working, who was already looking at her, clearly impressed.
She looked back at Jonathan and watched as he drew. When he was finished, he set the pencils down and met her eyes.
"Are you done with your drawing?" she asked gently, and he nodded. "Do you mind if I take a look?"
He handed the sketchbook over to her without saying a word. As Clary looked at his drawing, her heart broke for the young boy. It was, what she assumed to be, a picture of what had happened to her parents. There were two figures lying on the ground, covered with red pencil. An all black, bulky figure was lurking over them. A smaller figure was hiding in a corner.
"Who's this?" she asked, pointing to the dark figure.
"The man who hurt my parents," he whispered.
"Do you remember what he looked like?"
"He had gray hair and demon eyes."
"Demon eyes?"
He nodded. "They were all black."
"And what did this man do to you and your parents?"
The boy opened his mouth to respond, but someone entering the interview room cut him off.
"Hey, sorry," Jace said from the doorway. "I need to take Clary away from you for a moment."
Clary looked apologetically at Jonathan. "I have to go, but Helen will stay here to help you. Why don't you tell her whatever you were going to tell me?" She smiled slightly at him before getting up and following Jace out of the room.
"What's going on?" she asked once the door closed behind them.
"A man matching Valentine's description just got away with robbing a bank," Jace explained. "Luckily the security guard was the only one killed."
She stared through the two-way mirror at Jonathan, who was now openly talking to the social working. Something about the whole case wasn't sitting right with her.
"What is it?" Jace asked, catching the concerned look on her face.
"There's something off about all of this."
"What do you mean?"
Sighing, she turned to look at him. "He's leaving witnesses behind. That's something Valentine does. I know Jonathan is just a little kid, but Valentine is completely merciless. Back in his prime he would not have hesitated to kill him. Even the bank robbery thing is throwing me off. Valentine should have his old cronies still behind him. Why would he need to rob a bank when they're probably still out there running a drug cartel? And if he did need to rob a bank, you could bet your ass he wouldn't leave anybody in that bank alive. I'm just trying to figure out what changed."
"Maybe all those years in hiding made him lose his touch?" Jace offered.
She shook her head. "No. Someone like Valentine doesn't just suddenly change his MO like this. He's changing it on purpose, and we need to find out why."
Sorry for the wait but college is low key kicking my ass right now. And I'm definitely not writing this to avoid preparing for finals next week or anything.
Reviews are always cool.