WHAT? TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE DAY? Yes, my loyal followers, it is true. I am updating at 10:12 PM my time, aka I don't want to do homework or go to school tomorrow so I'm staying up and writing Fanfic. I'm really upset because the majority of my friends are on a band trip to Ireland right now, so I'm going to be alone in the majority of my classes tomorrow. I didn't go because A.) do you know how much food I can buy with 2,500 dollars? b.) they flew out on friday the 13th, and I'm super superticious, and c.) I play in the Philharmonic Orchestra at my school at their festival was the same day as the flight.
Excuses, excuses.
Anyways, I didn't end up updating Scandals and secrets, because I truthfully have no idea how to end it, or what I even want to be end game. You'd understand if you read the stories. The turmoil I feel inside about it is reflected in everyone's reviews. Does she stay with the asshole, or do I write a new OC? Uhg. The struggle. Please go read it and give me feedback!
Disclaimer: I don't own TMI or the Herondales (sobs)
Chapter Four
"Mommy? Mommy? What's happening?" A small, 11 year old Clarissa Fairchild's voice rang out into their modest brownstone apartment. Clary was visibly frightened, afraid to even move. Her mother, Jocelyn was laying on the floor, clutching a now empty vile in her hands.
"Run, Clary, baby. Draw the Rune you showed me, Portal yourself to the Institute. The New York Institute. They'll take care of you there. Don't tell them who you are." Her mother's once crystal clear voice was raspy as she shifted in and out of consciousness.
"No, mommy. I can't leave you here!" She shrieked, moving to tug her Stele out of her pocket and drag her along with her.
Suddenly, the front door flew open, and three men stepped through. The first two were ugly, broad-shouldered and wildly bearded. They wore their Runes like battle scars and their faces were contorted with a mixture of pride and disgust.
The third man stepped through last. He was tall, most likely over six feet, with white blonde hair and devilish black eyes. He may have been the scariest person Clary had ever seen.
The trio was flanked by two snarling demons, ones Clary had only heard about in her mother's old textbooks. She hadn't wanted Clary to ever see them in person, but knew it was necessary should anything ever happen to Jocelyn. Something like this.
Clary shrunk back into her mother, cowering in the sight of the monstrosity before her. The two burly men smirked at her, whereas the tall one barely paid attention to anything but her mother.
Clary clutched the Stele tighter, ready to pull her and her barely conscious mother through the almost finished Portal rune at any moment.
Jocelyn spat at the tall man's shiny leather boots, growling out the name, "Valentine." The man, presumably Valentine, gave her a toxic smile before bending down to her level.
"Ah, hello, my fair, sweet Jocie. I see you've taken a little potion, so our time together is ticking away. Perhaps ten minutes until you slip into the coma? Fear not, I'll make it worth your time." He glared up at his two lackeys, who proceeded to leave the room, dragging their demons with them, as Valentine began to unbutton his pants. Jocelyn's eyes widened with horror.
Clary watched, bile rising in her throat, as the man began to undress himself and her mother, leaving her in nothing but her undergarments.
Jocelyn was too weak to fight back, having already beginning to feel the effects of the potion.
He began to do unspeakable things to her, chatting to her at the same time, but covering her mouth with his large hand.
"Well, I suppose I should inform you of your child, Jonathan. He's remarkable, but untamed. You did warn me, but I did not listen. He is truly a demon, but he's daddy's little murderer. Aren't you proud, Jocie? He killed his first at the age of five. I was hoping Stephen Herondale would have given up his location by now, but alas, the Angel Boy is currently beyond my reach. Never fear, love, he will be ours soon." Valentine was so smug, so sure of himself, it made Clary want to scream. Her mother just glared at him, not saying a word, but still vocalizing her defiance to his acts.
Her mother's emerald eyes met Clary's matching ones, silently relaying one message: Run. Run and never turn back. Recognizing her mother's last wish, Clary began to finish the Portal Rune. It came alive beneath her hands, glowing a tumultuous violet.
Valentine looked up, shock in his eyes.
"I love you, mommy." Clary sobbed, before allowing herself to be sucked into the whirling winds of the Portal.
She could have sworn she heard laughter afterwards, stabbing at the depths of her soul.
Jace sat on a stool next to Clary's infirmary bed. It was Saturday morning, less than twelve hours since Clary had fainted on his living room floor.
His father had been momentarily shocked, before calling Clary all sorts of names all over again. Jace, finally having enough, told him off, earning him a small smile from Celine.
He should have been furious, floored at the thought that he was just a mission, a stupid little project to Clary, but Jace didn't care.
His father had once told him that Herondale men fall in love once, and they fall hard, which he had found strange, since Stephen wasn't very kind around his mother. They were always fighting, and rarely slept in the same bedroom. He had always assumed it was because of work, but Jace knew better now.
There had been another, one before his mother. Amatis Graymark was the one Stephen would always love.
The one that Valentine took away from him.
Though it was his word's that instigated their divorce, it wasn't Valentine who signed the papers, or who defaced the sacred marriage runes, as Jace had learned about from Mayrse Lightwood over the hours of the night.
It was all on Stephen's conscience, something that did not sit well with the prideful man.
Clary shifted in her sleep, drawing Jace back to reality, and he noticed tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Mommy, I love you." She muttered, before bolting straight up. Her eyes were wild, still spilling over the edges with a waterfall of tears. She noted Jace's hand on her thigh, and clung on to it for dear life, it seemed.
From the short while Jace had known this girl, he knew she was a master manipulator, but Clary was not playing games right now. She was truly distraught, truly hyperventilating as her panic attack ran it's course.
Jace, acting on a whim, pulled Clary into his arms, muttering reassurances and stroking her hair, even if he had no clue what was going on. It seemed like a common occurrence these days, to keep Jace out of the loop.
He still didn't know much about Shadowhunters, or the world they inhabited. Only that he was one, and his mandate was to cleanse the world of demonic forces.
It sounded like something out of a bad video game.
Minutes passed until Clary finally calmed herself down and took a few normal breaths again.
"Thank you, Jace." She muttered, shifting out of his embrace. He inwardly sighed, feeling his walls come back up, until Clary quickly planted a kiss on his cheek before rushing out of the room, mumbling something about how she hoped Izzy hadn't made scrambled eggs again.
Jace stared after her, mind in a mush as he tried to process what just happened.
Clary Fray, -or should he say Fairchild? Morgenstern? Had kissed him. Granted, it was on the cheek, but he had to start somewhere, right?
She was a broken girl, and he intended on fixing her.
Isabelle Lightwood sighed as she handed off, once again, the cooking duties to her much more experienced mother, to the joy of all the other inhabitants. Isabelle was an awful cook, and she knew it, but she wished her mother had let her learn. Sexism was, thankfully, dying in the Shadowhunter community, and cooking was a valuable skill she needed, but nobody would ever let her near a kitchen. It was hugely ironic.
Her brother, Alec, sat next to her on a stool near the kitchen island, waiting for Clary to wake up. There was nothing seriously wrong with her, but Mayrse said she just needed her rest. Isabelle knew what was happening. Her past was catching up with her.
She should have been there for her Parabatai, but Clary was so stubborn, never accepting help from anyone or anything.
Maybe the girl just needed to get laid, which would never happened, since Clary shunned all male company, besides Alec of course.
And now, Jace Herondale. The stupid, practically mundane boy was ripped down the cool, detached demeanor Clary had built up over the last six years. Isabelle didn't know whether to be grateful, or wary. Anyone who had that much power over Clary was to be blacklisted, but her best friend seemed to enjoy his company as more than just her Project Golden Boy.
Without warning, Stephen and Celine Herondale entered the kitchen, bringing a riptide of family drama in their wake.
Isabelle sighed, burying her face in her folded arms. She barely got any sleep last night thanks to their guest's constant bickering.
Clary's name popped up more than once, along with Valentine Morgenstern, a man who had been dead since before Isabelle was born.
She had heard the stories, of course. Who hadn't? The ruthless, yet charming leader of Raziel's Circle, known for attempting to eradicate Downworlders and the Accords. His wife, along with many of his followers, had fled before the Uprising, not including Isabelle's own parents. The mistakes of their generation seemed to haunt the current one wherever they went.
Clary became despondent and rigid every time the name "Morgenstern" was brought up, and she had told Isabelle it was because Valentine killed her mother.
Isabelle didn't doubt that, but she knew there was much more to the story.
Mayrse knew, but never shared any of the information enclosed in the letter that Clary had clutched in her hands the night she had mysteriously shown up at the Institute all those years ago.
Maybe someday her own Parabatai would trust her enough to tell her the entire story.
Until then, the guessing game would have to be good enough.
Pacing. That's all Clary could get her body to do.
Her legs knew where she needed to be, and automatically took her to her 'safe place', the training room.
Clary knew she should be strapping on gear and launching herself from the vaulted ceilings, but she was just too damn exhausted. The only exercise she could even manage was pacing back and forth, occasionally hopping up on the windowsill before continuing her relentless walking.
The nightmare she had this morning was something Clary hadn't experienced since the event itself, six years ago. It had been so vivid, so real, it was enough to send her into a full-fledged panic attack.
Who knows how long she would have sat there, hyperventilating, if Jace had not been there. She most likely would have just passed out again.
By the Angel, Jace Herondale was something else. She had learned from her brief time in the mundane high school system that he was a good student, a great athlete, and a notorious player. He flirted with everything that walked, but never fell in love.
If the way Jace looked at Clary wasn't love, she didn't know what was.
Of course, Clary wasn't naïve to think that they had a chance under the sun of ever working out, but she wasn't stupid, and therefore, she had to acknowledge it.
She would also be lying if she said she didn't reciprocate those feelings, but said feelings needed to be mashed down and murdered brutally.
Once he knew her secret, who she really was and what she was capable of, he would never want her. No one could ever want her.
She was broken, dysfunctional, like a wind-up toy that did nothing but march onwards like it was programmed. To love is to destroy, and to be loved is to be destroyed.
She'd be damned if she'd let the Golden Boy ruin her.
Mayrse shook her straight, dark hair out of its bun, allowing it to fall freely around her face. Her scalp ached, but she felt young again, even if only momentarily.
The news had spread like a wildfire. Valentine Morgenstern, the Clave's biggest failure, was alive, and in New York City.
Of course, Mayrse already knew he was alive from Clary's tearful accounts of what happened the night before her twelfth birthday in her mother's apartment. Everyone and their mother knew not to mess with Clary on August 11th, but only Mayrse knew why.
She eyed the letter from Jocelyn wearily, where it sat untouched since she first received it on that fateful night. It was like the woman knew exactly what was coming for her, and did nothing to stop it. She would never understand Jocelyn Fairchild, and hoped she never would.
Mayrse could see her adoptive daughter struggling with everything life had been throwing at her lately, attempting to take it all in stride.
She had been strong for nearly 17 years, why stop now?
That was the mentality of a girl who knew nothing but survival, nothing but how to function normally. She was worried Clarissa would never find love, never open up to someone willingly.
Mayrse was secretly glad her old friends had been forced to move into the Institute, if it brought Clarissa and Jonathan closer together. She could tell that he brought out the light in her, the light she had been trained to conceal.
She only hoped a certain white-haired man with a vendetta didn't come along too soon to ruin it all.
And with that, Mayrse put pen to paper and began to write.
Well shat, that was an interesting chapter to write. I'm Clace asf, so don't even sweat it, homies. I don't really write smut because well, boys suck and then you die, but I made an exception in Scandals and Secrets, so I'll probably make an exception here. Let me know what your thoughts are on the story thus far in the reviews so I can read them and prolong my insomnia.
xoxo, A