Here's the fourth chapter. I hope you enjoy :)

We had been working on the seraph blades for a decent amount of time when I heard the door open and footsteps echo in. Clary.

I looked up at her as she entered. "Where's Hodge?"

"Writing to the Silent Brothers."

I looked her over, noticing that she looked much better now than she had when we left her with Hodge. Color had returned to her face and she was no longer shaking or holding back tears.

"Ugh," Alec uttered, shuddering a little.

She walked over slowly, watching Alec nervously. I bit back a laugh. She looked like she was waiting for him to reach out and stab her. Then I narrowed my eyes, watching him. Maybe that wasn't so far-fetched.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting the last touches on these." I moved out of the way, giving her a view the glowing blades. "Sanvi, Sansavi, and Semangelaf. They're seraph blades."

Her head tilted to the side slightly when she looked at them, and I saw on her face that she had more questions. It was good to see her curiosity returning.

"Those don't look like knives. How did you make them? Magic?" she guessed.

I raised a brow. Magic?

"The funny thing about mundies," I observed, talking to anyone who wanted to listen. "is how obsessed they are with magic for a bunch of people who don't even know what it means."

"I know what it means," Clary said sharply.

"No, you don't. You just think you do," I said absently. "Magic is a dark and elemental force, not just a lot of sparkly wands and crystal balls, and talking goldfish."

"I never said it was a lot of talking goldfish you—"

I waved a hand, effectively silencing her argument.

"Just because you call an electric eel a rubber duck doesn't make it a rubber duck, does it? And god help the poor bastard who decides they want to take a bath with the duckie."

Clary blinked at me.

"You're driveling." I furrowed my brows.

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are," Alec said, shocking me. "Look, we don't do magic, okay? That's all you need to know about it."

Clary's next words shocked me, causing me to almost lose my grip on the blade. "Hodge said I can go home." I saw Alec's eyes light up, as though he had been waiting to hear that.

"He said what?"

"To look through my mother's things," she clarified then, allowing my breathing to return to normal. "If you go with me."

"Jace," Alec said.

"If you really want to prove that my mom or dad was a Shadowhunter, we should look through my mom's things. What's left of them," she added sadly.

"Down the rabbit hole," I said, shooting her a grin. "Good idea. If we go right now, we should have another three, four hours of daylight."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Alec asked. I shook my head, walking to the door.

"No. That's all right. Clary and I can handle this on our own," I said.

There was no need to subject her to even more dirty looks while she was going through the ruins of her home.

I walked down the hall quickly, guiding myself through the familiar hallways.

"Have you got your house keys?" I checked, looking at her to the side.

"Yeah."

"Good. Not that we couldn't break in, but we'd run a greater chance of disturbing any wards that might be up if we did." I wondered if I should warn her that she might not like what she found. But that thought quickly evaporated. There was no way she didn't already know that what she found wouldn't be good. It was pretty clear, you know, since there was a demon there the last time she had visited.

"If you say so," she said simply.

We were silent for a while. We had just approached the old, rickety elevator when she said my name.

"Jace?"

"Yeah?" I looked at her from the corner of my eye. She appeared to be lost in thought, her eyes far away as we stepped onto the elevator.

"How did you know I had Shadowhunter blood? Was there some way you could tell?" She looked at me with curiosity sparkling in her green eyes.

"I guessed," I admitted, feeling the familiar mixture of guilt and relief that I received whenever I thought of my actions that night. Guilt, for putting her life in danger like that, and relief, from when I realized that I hadn't killed her.

She looked around the elevator warily, as though waiting for it to collapse around us. Her lips were parted a little in wonder at her elaborately decorated surroundings. As my eyes landed on her lips, all I could think of was kissing her. I was shocked at my reaction. I had never felt such a strong desire to just kiss a girl. I looked away, deciding that I just needed to stop seeing her.

"You guessed?" she asked skeptically. "You must have been pretty sure, considering you could have killed me."

I pressed the down button, my mind racing for a reply. I wouldn't lie; I wasn't one hundred percent sure when I put that Mark on her that she would receive it well. But I had been pretty sure. Did that count as close enough to say I was sure?

"I was ninety percent sure."

There was a pause for a moment, and I almost thought that she wasn't going to say anything, that my answer had been satisfactory.

"I see," she finally said. Her voice was flat and hard, making it impossible to detect any emotions. I looked at her in confusion.

Before I could even process her expression, a sharp stinging erupted on the side of my face. I tipped back slightly in shock, putting my hand on the place where her hand had just connected. It hadn't really hurt, but it had taken me completely by surprise. It was nothing that hadn't happened before, but it had never been so unsuspected before. I saw the anger in her eyes, the hard set to her jaw.

"What the hell was that for?" I asked angrily.

"The other ten percent."

I took one look at her face and I knew I should be angry, insulted, and maybe even—if I were a mundane—pained. But as I took in the hard line her lips were pressed into, all I could think about was that she would never let me kiss her now.

We were silent, not a word spoken between us to break the tension. I knew she was angry, and I was too. But by the time we were halfway through the train ride to Brooklyn, I would have pushed that aside just to hear her say something. Since I had met her, the only time she had been this quiet for this long was when she was unconscious. I longed to say something to break the silence, but I didn't know what to say. For the first time since I could remember, I couldn't figure out a single damn thing to say.

When I snuck looks over at the redhead, I could see that her anger was waning, and she seemed to, again, be lost in thought. She looked as if she was deep in her own mind. I looked away, not wanting to be caught staring.

I saw her turn out of the corner of my eye. She was staring at me, not really inconspicuously at all. Her green eyes were flickering over my face and I turned to look at her. She didn't seem to notice at first, still looking me over. When she did, she blinked quickly and I saw a scarlet blush rise to her cheeks.

"Can I help you with something?" I asked, mostly to be an ass. I raised an eyebrow.

"Those girls on the other side of the car are staring at you," she said quickly.

So are you. I grinned cockily. I wasn't an idiot. I knew what affect my appearance had on girls, especially mundanes.

"Of course they are. I am stunningly attractive." I saw her response was an effort not to roll her eyes.

"Haven't you heard that modestly is an attractive trait?"

"Only from ugly people," I responded easily. "The meek may inherit the earth, but at the moment it belongs to the conceited. Like me," I said, shooting a wink at the blondes across the car. I had noticed them and their obvious staring minutes after we stepped onto the train.

The girl beside me just sighed, clearly giving up on her argument. "How come they can see you?"

I shrugged lightly. "Glamours are a pain to use. Sometimes we don't bother," I confided.

I was in a much better mood when we stepped from the train. It was a combination of messing with those girls and actually speaking to Clary again that had raised my spirits. I hummed to myself as we walked, flipping one of the seraph blades, Sanvi, around in my fingers.

"Do you have to do that?" Clary asked irritably. "It's annoying."

I hummed louder, just to bug her. It was too easy to get under her skin and I couldn't help but try.

"I'm sorry I smacked you," she finally said.

I stopped humming then, pausing to think. "Just be glad you hit me and not Alec. He would have hit you back." I grimaced a little at the visual, before shaking it out of my head.

"He seems to be itching for the chance," she muttered bitterly. I saw her kick a soda can out of her path , her eyes on the ground.

I knew it had been foolish to hope that the hostility had gone over her head—she wasn't a young child after all—but I still wished she hadn't noticed it. I felt embarrassed of the way my parabatai was acting.

"What was it Alec called you? Para-something?"

"Parabatai," I responded. "It means a pair of warriors who fight together—who are closer than brothers. Alec is more than just my best friend. My father and his father were parabatai when they were young. His father was my godfather—that's why I live with them. They're my adopted family."

I thought of Alec, and our recent disputes. And over a girl, no less. I had to talk to him. We couldn't let something silly like this drive a wedge between us.

"But your last name isn't Lightwood?"

"No," I confirmed. I turned to look at her when we stopped in front of her house. I could see the age in the building, the grandeur it used to have, not twisted and hidden by the city that had grown up around it, like weeds overrunning a beautiful garden. The house was all in one piece, nothing to even hint at the things that had gone on inside it.

"It looks the same," Clary said.

I grimaced a little.

"On the outside." I pulled out my new sensor, identical to the one Clary had killed the Ravener with. I saw her looking at it with a new curiosity.

"So that's a sensor? What does it do?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with the familiar curiosity.

"It picks up frequencies, like a radio does, but these frequencies are demnic in origin," I explained. It felt something like talking to a child. Not in a demeaning way, or insulting, but just the fact that everyone I had ever met who was my age already knew everything about Shadowhunters. I didn't have to explain anything because they already knew. I was beginning to realize, though, that it was somewhat refreshing to get a new point of view on things. It was nice to see how somebody, raised so drastically different, saw things.

"Demon shortwave?" I fought back a smile. She never failed in relating things I told her to things that she understood better.

"Something like that."

We climbed the stairs, her feet echoing hollowly. I held my sensor out warily. It clicked quietly, but the frequency wasn't strong enough for it to heat up at all, so I wasn't really concerned.

"It's picking up trace activity, but that could just be left over from that night. I'm not getting anything strong enough for there to be demons present now," I assured her, when she looked at the sensor. It fell silent moments later, erasing any leftover doubts.

"Good," she said. I heard her let out a breath and smiled. She bent over and pulled her keys out from her shoelaces. As she straightened up, I saw her freeze, her eyes widening. I followed her gaze to see the deep gouges in the wooden door. They were from a Ravener, I had no doubt. Probably the one she killed.

I placed my hand lightly on her arm. "I'll go in first," I said. It looked like she wanted to argue, but her eyes were far away, and she said nothing.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside, gesturing for her to follow suit. It was dim inside, I noticed immediately. I looked around for a light source, and saw only one bare bulb hanging above, blackened to the point where I knew it must have blown. The door leading to the hedge-witch's home was closed and it appeared to be empty. I looked around the room again, noticing something glistening on the banister. I ran my hand on it and lifted it up to look at the substance. I grimaced. "Blood."

"Maybe it's mine," Clary said weakly. "From the other night."

"It'd be dry by now if it were," I said, struggling to come up with a plausible explanation. I couldn't imagine one so I didn't give her one. "Come on."

I walked up the stairs, glancing behind to make sure she was following me. When we reached the door, she struggled to get her keys in the door, her hands shaking ever so slightly. I leaned forward, waiting for her to manage the simple task of unlocking a door.

"Don't breathe down my neck," she hissed at me. My eyebrows rose and I leaned back a little, just as I heard the click of the door unlocking. She moved to enter, but I pulled her back.

"I'll go in first." She didn't move for a second, making me think that she wasn't going to listen, before she stepped aside.

I passed by her, feeling the temperature drop when I entered the apartment. There was no way that could mean anything good. I walked down the hallway, Clary just behind me, until I reached the living room. My eyes narrowed as I took in the room in front of me. As opposed to the war-zone it had been before, the room was now spotless, and completely bare. There wasn't an ounce of furniture to be found, no decorations, not even curtains. I saw Clary, stunned and silent, walking towards the kitchen. I followed her slowly. The kitchen was just as empty as the living room. The only difference was, while the living room had seemed to not have been touched in years, the kitchen looked as though it had been looted, cabinets left open with bare shelves. I heard Clary clear her throat.

"What would demons want with our microwave?" I shook my head, frowning.

"I don't know, but I'm not sensing any demonic presence right now," I assured her. "I'd say they're long gone."

When she said nothing, I spoke up. "Are you satisfied? There's nothing here."

She looked to me quickly, shaking her head. "I want to see my room."

I opened my mouth to snap at her. What could she possibly gain from seeing another empty room? But I didn't. I couldn't blame her for wanting to see everything. I probably should have thought to check the whole place as well.

"If that's what it takes." Sure that any danger that had been here was gone now, I tucked my seraph blade away.

When we went into the hallway, I wondered for a moment how Clary could see well enough to navigate. I had a rune to help me with my vision, but she had no such commodity. Then I felt a little stupid when I realized that she'd lived here all her life. How could she not be able to find her way?

I saw her stop at a door and reach for the knob. She jumped a little when her hand touched it. Just then, I heard a sound from inside the room. I opened my mouth to stop her, but it was too late, she had already turned the knob.

The door blew outward, knocking Clary to the ground. She skidded across the floor while my back slammed against the wall. I fumbled for my seraph blade, cursing myself for putting it away. I looked up in shock at the Forsaken towering over me. The Forsaken was big but definitely not the biggest one I'd fought alone. It would be easy to take it out—the Forsaken weren't very smart—but the real challenge would be keeping Clary from harm while I fought it. Knowing her, she'd probably try to help.

I eyed the ax the monster held, finally lifting my blade. "Sansavi!" The blade shot out, and I swiped it at the giant. It slashed across its chest and it stepped back, roaring inhumanely.

I raced over to Clary, grabbing her arm and yanking her to her feet. I pushed her ahead of me down the hall, trying to get her to move faster. I was used to the speed of Shadowhunters, not untrained mundanes.

We raced through the entry way out to the landing. I turned to slam the door shut behind us, trying to buy some time to instruct Clary. The door trembled against the giant's weight. I saw Clary backing away, her eyes wide. I turned to her quickly, feeling my adrenalin began to pick up as it always did during a fight.

"Get downstairs! Get out of the—"

I heard the impact of the door snapping from its hinges and jumped to the side, just as the door flew right into where I had been standing. I turned to Clary, shouting. "Get downstairs! I can't kill it and protect you!"

The monster was bellowing loudly when I turned back to it. It was racing towards me, faster than its anatomy should have allowed. I ducked as the axe it had been holding flew towards me. I just barely escaped an unwanted haircut as it bit deeply into the wood of the railing behind me.

I laughed. The thing's aim was horrendous. It didn't go for the axe like I'd expected, instead it jumped at me, its fists—each twice the size of my head—raised.

I swung my blade out, feeling it slice through skin and muscle. It sunk to the hilt, a solid hit, in its shoulder. I tried to jump aside as it reached for me, but it had grabbed me before I could get out of the way. I felt my body hitting against the steps as we fell, and then it was still. I kept my eyes clenched against the pain in my shoulder and legs. I breathed deeply through my nose, taking a minute to get my situation figure out. I heard footsteps slapping on the stairs quickly. I felt a hand rest on my shoulder, light as a feather.

"Jace?" I heard the concern and fear in Clary's voice and felt my heart clench a little. I opened my eyes to look at her.

She was kneeling over me, her face a mask of worry, and then relief when she saw me open my eyes. Her bright hair fell around her face, her green eyes shining.

"Is it dead?" I asked, averting my eyes from the angel hovering over me for a fraction of a second before looking back at her. She grimaced.

"Almost."

I tried to move, only to wince against the pain in my legs. I could barely feel the,, pinned so under the giant.

"Hell. My legs—"

"Hold still," she ordered, moving away. I felt her crouch by my head, grabbing under my arms and pulling. I felt a mixture of relief and pain when my legs slipped free. I looked over to see Clary's face a little red from her effort then looking at the spasming, dying creature. Clary's hands slipped away and I struggled to my feet, holding my left arm carefully. I'd injured it falling. I had felt it too, when my shoulder cracked against one of the steps. I saw Clary scrambled to her feet beside me.

"Is your arm alright?"

"No," I said. "Broken. Can you reach into my pocket?"

I saw her eyebrows shoot up and she bit her lip hesitatingly before nodding. "Which one?"

I fought a smirk at her reaction, knowing I was fully capable of using my good arm to retrieve the weapon.. "Which one?"

"Inside jacket, right side. Take out one of the seraph blades and hand it to me," I instructed.

I didn't move when she stepped closer, reaching for my pocket unsurely. She slipped her hand in, and I felt her warmth, her hair tickling my nose. She pulled away, blushing, and held out the tube, looking away.

"Thanks," I said, biting my cheek to hold back a grin. "Sanvi," I said, watching the blade shoot out just like the other one, a dagger of light.

"Don't watch," I told Clary, assuming that she wouldn't appreciate what I did next.

I stood over the Forsaken, bringing my blade down into its chest in one swift movement.

Blood splattered out, speckling my boots. I heard Clary let out a small sound in the back of her throat. I huffed. "I told you not to watch," I said, grimacing against the pain in my shoulder.

"I thought it would disappear," she said. I could hear some panic in her voice, which confused me. What was she panicking about? "Back to its own dimension—you said."

"I said that's what happens to demons when they die," I corrected. I flinched when I began to pull my jacket off of my injured shoulder. I brandished my stele, watching with a little amusement when Clary eyed it with mistrust.

"This is a stele." I began to apply the mark, her eyes watching the movement carefully. "And this is what happens when Shadowhunters get injured." I finished the mark, feeling it began to work its power as I pulled my hand away. It disappeared quickly, leaving just silvery lines behind.

I moved my shoulder in a circular motion, sighed as the pain eased. I clenched my fist, shrugging it up and down. Clary watched me in awe.

"That's amazing. How did you—"

"That was an iratze, a healing rune. Finishing the rune with the stele activates it," I told her. I slipped my stele back into my belt and put my jacket back over my shoulder.

Then I smiled a little. "We're going to have to report this to Hodge. He'll freak out."

She raised a brow at me. "Why will he freak? And I get that that thing isn't a demon—that's why the sensor didn't register it, right?" I nodded, proud that she was grasping things so well. She was going to fit well into the world of Shadowhunters.

"You see the scars all over its face?"

"Yes." I saw her shudder as she glanced at it. I couldn't blame her.

"Those were made with a stele, like this one. You asked me what happens when you carve marks into someone who doesn't have Shadowhunter blood. Just one mark will only burn you, but a lot of marks, powerful ones? Carved into the flesh of a totally ordinary human being with no trace of Shadowhunter ancestry? You get this. The runes are agonizingly painful. The marked ones go insane—the pain drives them out of their minds. They become fierce, mindless killers. They don't eat or sleep unless you make them, and they die, usually quickly. Runes have great power and can be used to do great good—but they can be used for evil. The Forsaken are evil." When I finished explaining it, I felt like I had just given a forty-five minute lecture.

"But why would anybody do that to themselves?" Clary asked, looking at me in horror and shock.

I shook my head, my mouth twisting to the side.

"Nobody would. It's something that gets done to them. By a warlock, maybe, some Downworlder gone bad. The Forsaken are loyal to the one that marked them, and they're fierce killers. They can obey simple commands, too. It's like having a—a slave army," I said, struggling to find the right words before stepping over the carcass.

I glanced back at Clary. "I'm going back upstairs."

"But there's nothing there," she said, looking bewildered.

"There might be more of them." I felt my stomach clench in excitement at the thought of another fight. "You should wait here."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The strongly accented, high pitched voice was case for me to whip around in shock.

"Madame Dorothea?" Clary exclaimed in shock. I eyed the old woman carefully. Although I had already checked out her home and confirmed that she wasn't a real witch, I was beginning to hold my doubts. How did she possibly know about the Forsaken?

"But…"

"More what?" Clary cut in.

"More Forsaken," the hedge-witch replied cheerfully. She looked disdainfully at the bloody surroundings. "You have made a mess, haven't you? I'm sure you weren't planning on cleaning it up, either. Typical," she spat.

"You're a mundane," I finished my earlier thought. Her eyes shot to me, her thin eyebrows raised.

"So observant, the Clave really broke the mold with you." My confusion was suddenly overrode with anger. How dare his mundane, who had clearly know about the danger without warning us, insult me?

"You know about the Clave? You know about them, and you knew there were Forsaken in this house and you didn't notify them? Just the existence of Forsaken is a crime against the Covenant—"

"Neither Clave nor Covenant have ever done anything for me," she replied angrily. Her accent switched then, from a typical New York to something more abnormal and foreign—almost like the ones Idris natives like myself held, but not quite. "I owe them nothing."

"Jace, stop it," Clary snapped, infuriating me further. She turned away from me, to the woman. "If you know about the Clave and the Forsaken, then maybe you know what happened to my mother," she said hopefully. I rolled my eyes skyward. As if this woman, clearly against the Clave, would willingly help two Nephilim children.

Dorothea's gaudy earrings jingled when she shook her head. "My advice to you is to forget about your mother. She's gone."

I stepped over quickly as Clary began to sway where she stood, putting my hand under her elbow so I could catch her if she began to fall. I glared at Dorothea hatefully. How did she possibly think that that was needed?

"You mean she's dead?" Clary's voice was a near-whisper. I heard the tremor in it and narrowed my eyes at Dorothea. If Clary's mother was dead, and she dropped it on her like she just had, I would slit her throat where she stood, mundane or not.

"No," she said reluctantly, her eyes flashing to my warning glance as she did. She better not be lying now either. "I'm sure she's still alive. For now."

"Then I have to find her," Clary said, her voice strengthening. "You understand? I have to find her before—"

The woman held up a hand stubbornly, cutting Clary off. "I don't want to involve myself in Shadowhunter business."

I saw Clary's eyes shimmer as her hope of help from this woman began to crumble.

"But you know my mother. She was your neighbor—" I saw Dorothea's eyes harden and knew she was going to say no, no matter what Clary said. So I cut her off, using our last option to receive some answers.

"This is an official Clave investigation. I can always come back with the Silent Brothers," I threatened, knowing I would do it. I would do anything to keep Clary's cheeks dry.

She saw the truth in my eyes and sighed. "Oh, for the—" She glanced from her door to us. "You might as well come in. I'll tell you what I can." She led us back to her door before pausing to shoot me a glare.

"If you tell anyone I helped you, Shadowunter, you'll wake up tomorrow with snakes for hair and an extra pair of arms," she threatened. I smirked.

"That might be nice, an extra pair of arms. Handy in a fight."

"Not if they're growing out of your…" She glanced at Clary, cutting herself off when Clary blinked innocently at her. "Neck."

"Yikes," I said mildly, finding amusement in the fact that Madame Dorothea's original implication went right over Clary's head. She was too innocent.

"Yikes is right, Jace Wayland." And the woman turned and stormed into her apartment, her amazingly gaudy ensemble flowing with the wind.

Clary looked at me, her head tilted to the side a little in curiosity. "Wayland?"

"It's my name," I clarified, wary. "I can't say I like that she knows it."

We watched the woman disappear, leaving the strong scent of incense to mix with the stench the fight had left. Clary shrugged a little.

"Still, I think we might as well try talking to her. What have we got to lose?"

I sighed. Definitely too innocent.

"Once you've spent a bit more time in our world you won't ask that again."

She frowned a little at me before turning and following Dorothea into the apartment. I trailed after her, my hand carefully on the knife in my belt.

Okay guys, this Friday, I'm going to be leaving for Florida for a week. I might update the next chapter on Friday before we leave, but I'm not sure yet.

Review and let me know if you want the update this Friday or when I get back.