Hello, again! Thank you to those of you who reviewed! It made my night. Here's chapter four!
CPOV
The rest of the school day was a confusing blur of noises and knowledge I couldn't quite digest. My stomach lurched at the thought of last night's events, and Jace's nonchalant acknowledgement of the whole hallucination. But it couldn't be a hallucination if he knew about it. You didn't tell anyone, my mind chided. But it couldn't be true. There was no such thing as vampires. And I don't know what Jace was, but there was no such thing as what he was either. I slipped out of school into the crisp autumn air. Red and orange leaves whipped around me as I hurried home.
If none of what I'd seen was a hallucination, could that mean that what happened in California was actually real? It would make sense as to why Jocelyn dragged me all the way across country instead of just locking me up in a psych ward. A cold drilled into my bones, this time not from the wind. A flash of white-blonde hair in the sea of people moving on the sidewalks stopped me dead in my tracks. This isn't real, it couldn't be real. But there was only one way to find out: I needed to talk to Jace. But how would I get a hold of him?
I scurried up the steps to the third floor, but was stopped midway by a shirt that read MADE IN NEW YORK. I looked up to a grinning Simon. His hair looked like it'd been combed through, which was odd for Simon, as his hair was always tousled and messy.
"You're still coming to the show tonight, right?" He prodded carefully.
"Yes, of course I am! There's just something I've got to do beforehand. I'll meet you there, okay?"
"Yeah, o-of course!" He said, the excitement leaving his eyes.
Without waiting for further conversation, I hurried up the stairs to my room. I pushed open my door and grabbed my sketch pad. Maybe if I went down in the park, he'd come again. It was wishful thinking, but it was worth the shot. I hurried down—this time using the stairs and doors—to the park, the darkness already hovering over it. I sat down in the same spot I'd been before and doodled small little figures aimlessly off the top of my head. They were all angles and loops, coils and sometimes spirals, and they felt powerful. Though I knew they were just bold designs.
Two hours passed by and I gave up. I called my mom telling her I was off to Simon's show, and headed to Taki's. When I entered, a tinny bell sounded overhead, though it was immediately drowned out by the wailing of Simon's band. I knew instantly they weren't that good of a band, but they needed the fan base and moral support. I trudged over to a secluded table that was hooded by the shadows. I nestled into my seat and took out my sketch pad, getting lost in the mediocre music and my drawing. As if by some pull, I looked up and met the eyes of a boy that seemed to leak sunlight.
Jace.
His tattoo-laced arm was draped lazily over a girl's shoulders. The girl had unsettling, unnatural eyes that I could see even across the room. A sultry grin rested on her plum lips and she gazed at Jace, her tongue tracing her bottom lip. He didn't seem to notice, though. His eyes were trained on me with such an intensity that I looked away. I continued scrawling the odd shapes and designs on my paper even as he pulled up a chair to my table.
"Why are you here?" I finally asked.
"I could ask you the same," he let out.
"Well, it's kind of obvious. I'm here to watch my friend's band," I gestured to the stage Simon and his friends were positioned upon.
"I wouldn't exactly consider drawing as watching. What are you drawing anyway?"
Before I could stop him, his hand shot across the table, stealing my book from its rightful place in my hands. I squealed in protest as his eyes flicked about the page. My sketch book was much like my journal, just with pictures. I never let anyone see it, not even the closest of friends. Not that I really had any of those anyhow. His eyes glittered with a knowingness that made me stop struggling to get it back.
"How do you know these runes?" He asked, his voice harsh.
"Runes? What are you talking about? They're just stupid little shapes I drew. The kind you do in the margin of your notebook in class when you're bored, y'know?"
He shook his head, "No, those are just random, jumbled lines. These? These actually mean something, they have powers."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said truthfully.
"Of course you don't, you stupid mundane," he spat.
I cringed at the harsh tone of his voice and he seemed to notice. The heavenly gold of his eyes seemed to soften. I set the sketchbook down, pushing it toward me. He leaned over the table and gestured to the supposed runes.
"See this here? This means strength, and this Angelic power, and this… well, you may just be right about it being but a design. I've never seen a rune like that in my life," he said fluidly.
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
Jace sighed heavily and looked at me with a dry expression. When I raised my brows in response, he lifted the sleeve of his shirt and showcased his tattoos. I was confused at first but my eyes widened to the size of saucers when I saw that same patterns that decorated my sketch book decorated his arms. I let out a gasp and pushed my chair back in surprise.
"I must've just seen them—that's gotta be why I've been drawing them," I stammered breathlessly.
"Oh really, Clarissa? Because I haven't worn revealing clothes as to not show these marks. Mundanes can't see them, but you must not be a mundane. You have the Sight," he said decidedly.
"What the literal hell are you talking about? Are you apart of some cult or something? What the hell is 'the Sight'?" I asked, mimicking his seemingly ominous tone.
His sculpted lips pursed then formed a bitter smile. He sat back, his muscled arms flexing as he crossed them over his chest. I mirrored him, as it seemed the only logical thing to do at the moment. His molten gold eyes held mine in a steady gaze. All I could do was look away.
"Clary, you need to come with me," Jace said casually.
"Oh, yeah, definitely! Not like you're not a stranger or anything," I scoffed.
He leaned forward in his chair, palms flattened against the diner table. I looked up to him as golden locks cascaded down his forehead, falling just above his eyes. He needed a haircut. His eyes hardened and his mouth drew into a disapproving frown. "With as much as you know, you are no stranger," he hissed.
I cringed at his words and tumbled in the maze that was my mind. He was right, though I didn't want to admit it. I was hoping to find him earlier so he could explain everything, and now, when the opportunity was presented, I became defensive and guarded. Would it be safer to think I was schizophrenic all my life or believe crazy Golden Boy? I chewed my lip subconsciously and looked up at him, deciding on the latter.
"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice wavering.
"Just heaven on earth," he said, throwing a devilish grin my way.
"Well, you're probably going to have to tell your girlfriend or something. She may not like that you're leaving with another woman," I suggested.
"She is the farthest thing from being my girlfriend, Clarissa," he spat, the words coming out like excess spit.
"O-okay," I drew.
Jace proceeded to grab my arm and pull me to the door, hailing a cab as soon as we were outside. I nervously shuffled into the cab as Jace held the door open for me, ushering me in. How gentlemanly, I thought sarcastically. We rode for what seemed like ten or fifteen minutes, and as the cab lurched to a stop, Jace threw a twenty dollar bill at the man and hurried out. We were standing in front of a run-down church and I shook my head in disbelief. "He is part of a cult, you psycho," I mumbled to myself. A snicker to my left showed that Jace had heard me, and a blush crept slowly up my cheeks. I looked down, allowing my curtain of fiery red hair fall in my eyes.
Jace proceeded to walk to the entrance of the church as I stumbled after him. With every blink of my eyes, a layer of filth and dilapidation seemed to tear away from the church. Before I could really register what was happening, the church before me was run-down no more, but more a magnificent cathedral. I stopped in my tracks and gasped. I looked to the door where Jace threw me a knowing and amused look over his shoulder. In front of him stood two large mahogany doors, a symbol tracing the middle of the wood. It was one of the symbols in my sketch book.
Jace whispered something about 'obtaining entrance' and something along the lines of 'meaning no harm', and soon the doors swung open with little force. I blinked in disbelief and followed Jace as he walked confidently into the church. I followed him blindly, not wanting to be left in the dark of New York.
"What is this place?" I finally asked.
"This is what we like to call the Institute. This is where my kind are housed, trained, taught, and all of that lovely stuff," Jace drawled.
"You live in a church?"
"It's hardly just a church, Clarissa," he said plainly, winding through the many hallways of the Institute.
"Just call me Clary," I spat distastefully.
He arched one single golden brow at me, a smirk taking residence on his already smug face. He silently nodded in understanding and stopped in front of another set of large double doors. I stopped abruptly and gulped. He looked over at me slightly and threw open the doors. I gasped at the sight that was laid before my emerald eyes. I walked slowly into the room and spun in a slow circle, taking in all the glory of the room.
The walls were lined, floor to ceiling, with volumes of books—old and new, but none that I recognized. Leather-bound books of all ages were stuffed in the shelves, not one space vacant. Columns lined the perimeter just a little ways in front of the bookcases, and wood floors flowed from the doorway and on. Big arched windows glittered with moonlight shining through on the farthest wall, and a grand desk lie not too far from it, centered in the room.
Behind the desk stood a man no older than my mother it seemed. Our presence went unnoticed to him apparently, as Jace had to clear his throat loudly for the man to acknowledge our presence. The man jumped a tad at the sound, a pencil falling from his hand, papers ruffling as he shuffled out of his seat.
"Jonathan," the man began, "Who is this?"
The man's eyes glittered with recognition and I shrank against his heavy stare. Why was he looking at me with those peculiar eyes? I've never seen this man before in my life.
"Are you Jocelyn?" He asked, this time shaking his head in disbelief.
"Hodge, what in the heavens are you speaking of? This is Clarissa, but she demands to be called Clary," Jace muttered amusedly.
Hodge shook his head, "Sorry, you just look so familiar."
"Wait, my mother's name is Jocelyn," I said hopefully.
Maybe I wasn't schizophrenic. Maybe doctors have just been feeding me lies because I was a subject they just couldn't understand. I looked at Hodge as his expression held a look of horror. Jace seemed to notice as well, and his jaw flexed under tension. I looked back at Hodge, but his eyes were glazed over, his hands trembling at his sides.
"Hodge, knock it off. What's this about?" Jace said, a frown wrinkling his nose.
"Her brother—your brother, Clary—he . . . he's Jonathan . . . Jonathan Morgenstern, yes?"
My insides seemed to freeze over as I thought of the icy blonde hair and dark, bottomless black eyes that haunted my every waking moment. I stumbled backward as if I'd been slapped. How did he know about my brother? He shouldn't know about him. Nobody knew about him. Nobody except for my mother and I. He's the one who'd caused us to move away, caused me to go to the doctor and be diagnosed. I shook my head continuously.
"H-how do you know about him?" I stammered helplessly.
"He's the Clave's number one enemy," Hodge explained, "He has demon blood surging in his veins. He's unlike any other Shadowhunter we know of, and he must be stopped."
"The Clave? Shadowhunters? What are you talking about?" I trailed.
Jace looked at me with curious eyes, almost like a new light had been shed on me, making prominent things he hadn't noticed before. I looked between the two as they then looked at each other. Jace sighed and looked back at me.
"We've got a lot to discuss, Clary," he decided.