Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Isabelle is being followed by a certain vampire. But when her stalker saves her life will she learn to be grateful, or will the consequences lead her into a world of dark desire?
. . .
Haunted
"I hunt for you with bloody feet,
Across the hollow ground . . ."
- Howl by Florence + the Machine -
Chapter 4 | Howl
From his position across the room Raphael watches her – something he seems to always be doing in her presence – and he is surprised (it having only been three days since he last saw her) by how different she looks. Or at least, she does in his eyes.
Raphael notices the little changes. He has never seen her with her hair down, he realises – it is always either tied back or tucked under a beanie hat – and he thinks it looks nice. Or it would, if the dark shade weren't such a stark contrast to her pale skin. Her brown eyes are glassy, dark circles bruising the skin underneath.
Beautiful.
He was surprised to see her here – fascinating, considering surprise is such a rare occurrence for him – but he has no objections. Especially when staring at her flushed cheeks distracts him from the inane words her mother is speaking.
When Maryse leaves for whatever reason he notices Isabelle's initial discomfort at being alone with him, and it bothers him, but then she yells at him that she is not stupid and he can't help but smile.
He remembers the first time they met, the night of Simon's turning; she had been as strong and demanding then as she is now.
Then Raphael had found it annoying. Now, as she stands before him, her pretty eyes wide as if she can't believe her own courage, it is just another part of the allure.
And then Maryse returns, and damn her because the moment is ruined.
He watches Isabelle walk away with something akin to sadness; but it is short lived.
Because as she disappears from view he reminds himself that he will be seeing her again.
Very soon.
. . .
Beep
Isabelle? Isabelle, its Simon. Are you there?
Erm . . . I guess not.
Look, we need to talk.
Alec called me. He's really worried about you. And I am too.
Just, call me. Okay?
Bye.
Beep
. . .
The person looking back at her through the mirror is not one Isabelle likes very much, and she turns away, instead staring hopelessly at her answering machine as the message draws to an end.
Simon had sent her that message three days ago and Isabelle has still failed to call him back.
She has barely spoken to Alec in that time also, opting instead after receiving the message to childishly give her brother the silent treatment.
She isn't angry with him anymore; she just doesn't have anything to say.
Of course, Jace is still happily wandering through Clary-land so at least Isabelle doesn't have to worry about him.
Yet.
She turns back to her vanity mirror then, noting with resentment that not only does she hate her reflection, she barely recognises it.
The nightmares have yet to fade and Isabelle finds that with every sleepless night she begins to look more and more like one of the Forsaken; bloodshot eyes, skin gaunt and greying. Isabelle has always been slim, but the way her bones are beginning to stick out from underneath her skin is sickening and she finds, as of late, that she has to force herself to eat anything.
She blames it on the stress, which she blames on the lying, which is necessary.
There is no point burdening anyone with this, she thinks. In a few weeks, maybe less, the blood will be out of her system and her body will return to normal as if nothing had ever changed. She just has to make it until then.
Or at least, that is what she tells herself.
. . .
"Isabelle! Feet off the table!"
Maryse is in a bad mood. She and Robert are on an important mission from the Clave and their slow progress is stressing her out.
Apparently Isabelle inherited her impatience from her mother.
All morning Isabelle and Alec have watched as their mother frantically paced the kitchen floor, drinking three cups of coffee, brows furrowed and face getting more flushed by the second.
Isabelle thinks that she is partly to blame. Two nights ago, not thirty minutes after leaving Hodge's office, Maryse had burst through her bedroom door demanding to know exactly "what your relationship with Raphael is?"
She had been stunned at first, Okay, so Raphael couldn't have made it anymore obvious that they were more than just 'acquaintances' at present, but Isabelle didn't think that their exchange when Maryse was in the room had given too much away.
By the Angel, she hoped it hadn't.
When Isabelle had answered her mother with a simple, "Nothing, nothing at all," clearly not the best lie she'd ever told, Maryse had stared at her suspiciously for a moment before demanding that she go to bed and leaving the room.
Isabelle had vowed that, from then on, she would never be caught in Hodge's office again.
Maryse stops her pacing, leaving the Institute with a hurried "I'll be back before dinner," and a "be careful today," and Isabelle and Alec are left alone.
Isabelle keeps quiet, refusing to be the one to break the silence.
She doesn't have to wait too long.
"Are you still mad at me?"
The words are quiet and awkward and Isabelle feels some sort of sadistic pleasure in knowing that Alec is suffering. The feeling shocks her, but it doesn't last long and she answers truthfully all the same.
"No."
"Then why aren't you talking to me?"
"Because I have nothing to say."
A pause as Alec registers these words and she doesn't miss the flash of hurt across his face.
"Are you going to see Simon today?"
Isabelle sighs. Sometimes her brother is too persistent for his own good.
"I think it would be in your . . . best interests," he continues, as if in conformation of her thoughts, "I mean . . . he is your best friend."
His voice is small and Isabelle realises that he is . . . jealous? He thinks that she would rather share this with Simon than with him. She supposes that she would feel jealous too, if the situations were reversed. But they are not and what Alec doesn't realise is that she can't tell anybody. Not about this.
She fails to tell Alec how badly she wants to confess her secret to him this second. She fails to tell him that, yes, visiting Simon would be in her best interests, but not for the reason he thinks.
Simon is vampire – no matter how short a time it has been since he was turned – and therefore a lot more likely to know about the effects of vampire blood than her, having also experienced it firsthand.
And he probably went through the exact same thing I am, she thinks.
Isabelle realises that, maybe, on some unconscious level, she has already decided to visit Simon today and she tells her brother as much, feeling something akin to satisfaction wash over her as a look of relief shows on his face.
At least I can give him this.
"That's great, erm," he answers tone considerably lighter as he rises from his seat at the kitchen table, "I'm coming with you."
Isabelle quirks an eyebrow.
"You are?" she inquires, noting how quickly the atmosphere in the room has changed.
"Yeah, go grab your coat," Alec presses, smiling down at her.
Isabelle smiles back reluctantly before fetching her coat from her room.
She has a very bad feeling about this.
. . .
Knock, knock.
A curse.
A crash.
"Ow!"
A laugh.
Isabelle turns to her brother with an accusatory stare, "This was a bad idea."
Alec stares back, expression sheepish as if he is starting to believe the words himself.
Footsteps can be heard from the other side of the door, muffled voices, before the door bursts open to reveal a smiling Maia and Simon. The latter's smile falls when he recognises her.
"Isabelle?"
Yes Simon, don't be too excited to see me.
She merely raises an eyebrow in acknowledgement.
"Isabelle, good to see y-" Maia trails off, seemingly detecting Isabelle's less than happy mood. She tries to smile warmly at the werewolf girl, but she suspects that it looks more like a grimace.
Apparently Maia is a smart girl because, realising that this is more than just a social visit, she mutters a quick "goodbye," kisses Simon on the cheek and just like that she is gone.
Isabelle mourns her departure; it brings her one step closer to telling Simon what she has sworn not to tell.
She did a lot of thinking on the way here coming to the conclusion that, although Simon is not the sharpest tool in the shed, he will probably figure her predicament out after Alec tells him what he knows.
At first the thought had scared her half to death. She had promised Raphael that she would not tell anyone about this and up until now she had kept that promise.
But, she thought, why should I?
Yes, Raphael had saved her life and for that she should be grateful, but since then all he had been to her was a nuisance; one that she couldn't stop thinking about, but a nuisance all the same.
And besides, Isabelle was still unsure of his reasoning for saving her in the first place and until that reason became clear she had decided that she didn't owe him anything.
She has this feeling in her gut, something she suspects is guilt, but she will not feel bad. If Simon is to figure it out, so be it.
Simon waves them into his house then and she trudges in behind Alec, reminding herself all the while exactly who she is doing this for. Alec had looked so happy when she had agreed to come: she couldn't refuse him.
They wander into the living room, Simon and Alec talking in serious tones, but Isabelle is not listening. She stares curiously around the room, as if seeing it for the first time; the cream couches, blue walls, abnormally large television set in the corner. There is a photograph of Simon when he was younger on one wall and she smiles at his goofy grin and too large ears.
That's when she smells it. It hits her, the scent so strong it burns her nostrils and makes her eyes water. She gags, taking a step back as if to put distance between her and the smell but it no use.
"What is that smell?" she chokes out and the two others in the room look at her, a mixture of worry and shock clouding their features.
Simon opens his mouth to talk but Isabelle doesn't stop to listen. She moves, in pursuit, towards the smell because curiosity gets the better of her and she needs to know what it is.
The smell gets stronger when she walks through the kitchen, passed the refrigerator and she yanks open the door, inspecting the contents for the source. Her hand falls from her face, a frown creasing her forehead as she reaches inside, ignoring the tingling in her nostrils.
Alec and Simon enter the room just in time to see her pull out the object.
Cheese: A small, square lump of yellow cheese, greenish grey mould covering one side.
Isabelle looks at them. They look at her. They look at each other.
"See what I mean?" concern laces Alec's tone.
Simon turns to her, a scowl tensing his pale features.
"Isabelle . . . we need to talk."
. . .
They sit in silence. Not saying a word because, as Isabelle has already explained, she only came so Alec would stop looking at her with puppy dog eyes.
So maybe that is a lie, but she doesn't think that he is likely to accept her real reason for not talking. The truth is: she doesn't know where to start.
This is more complicated than she thought it would be this afternoon when she and Alec left the house. She thought that Simon would have found the answer all on his own by now, without her help, leaving her guilt free and able to finally relieve some of the weight burdening her shoulders.
Huh. She should be so lucky.
Alec had left the room a while ago, wanting to "give you some privacy". He is hoping that she will tell Simon everything, she knows, but this is not quite that easy.
And this isn't exactly something you can just drop into casual conversation:
"Oh, I've been great! Went to the movies, drank some vampire blood. Erm . . . how's your sister by the way?"
No, no, because that would be too simple. And nothing about this is simple.
"You know Isabelle," Simon begins now from where he is seated opposite her, snapping her out of her reverie, "If you don't mind my saying," he smiles apologetically, "you look like crap."
Isabelle rolls her eyes. Oh, Simon, ever the charmer.
"Yeah, well, sleep deprivation will do that to a girl."
He is silent for a moment, contemplating her words, and when he speaks, Isabelle rolls her eyes again.
"Okay Lightwood, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."
"Oh yeah? What's the easy way?"
"You tell me what's been going on. The hard way is I annoy you until you do."
Eye roll.
"Stop that."
"I told you. I only came f-"
"For Alec's sake I know."
There is another pause, during which she childishly thinks about how unfair this all is and that she would like to go home.
"Alec told me that you beat him up last week."
"I did not be-"
"He says you've been acting weird-"
She doesn't interrupt, because that part is true.
"-and I figure that, seeing as it's your world and nothing is ever normal that there must be some bizarre explanation for it."
Isabelle hangs her head; this is the part she has been worrying about.
"So let's see. You have . . . what is it? Improved strength? You can smell the rotting cheese from my fridge, that's a little weird."
She is getting antsy now. He is so close and though a part of her is screaming at her to end this now. The other part desperately wants him to know.
"You can't sleep. You look . . . worse than usual . . ." Isabelle is more than surprised when a soft chuckle bursts forth from his mouth, "You know," he continues, between laughs, "if I didn't know any better I'd say that you . . ."
She can pin point the exact moment that he figures it out. His voice trails off, breaths become laboured and Isabelle closes her eyes, not really caring that her broken expression is a sure give away that he is right.
She knows he has guessed it, but she still flinches when he speaks the words aloud.
". . . drank vampire blood."
The silence that ensues is deafening. Isabelle opens her dark eyes, staring into Simon's perturbed brown ones and she feels . . . nothing. Nothing. No guilt. No relief. Nothing. The realisation is so frustrating she wants to scream. But, she reasons, Simon doesn't know the worst part yet.
His expression is suddenly furious.
"You drank vampire blood?"
"Shush, keep it dow-"
"What the hell Isabelle?"
"Look I didn't want to," she explains desperately.
"Oh, they forced it down your throat did they?"
"They saved my life!"
"What," clearly Simon thinks very little of his own species because he is finding it hard to believe a word she is saying, "and which vampire would save you-"
Apparently Isabelle underestimated Simon, because he is putting two and two together and coming up with four faster than she thought possible.
"It's Raphael isn't it?" and she assumes he will take her silence as confirmation, "That's why he was looking at you so much the other week when you were both here isn't it?"
She thinks about telling Simon that it happened after that day, but she can't find the words.
Simon shuffles uncomfortably, "Oh, this is bad Isabelle, bad. Raphael is not a good guy. He's still after me because of this," he pulls back his shaggy, side fringe, revealing the rune underneath.
"I know," she begins insistently, a little put out that he's not happy about Raphael saving her life, "okay, I know he's not a good guy, but at the time I was nearly dead Simon, and there wasn't a lot I could do to stop him."
"Well you can now! You can stay away from him. You have to forget about him"
There is pause, whilst she considers his words, before answering.
"I'm not sure I can."
Try as she might in the past she cannot forget him. There is always something, some reminder that makes her mind drift back to him and that night.
But that is not the only reason why.
"But- what do you mean?"
She takes a deep breath.
"I- I hear him sometimes, in my head. It's like he's talking to me."
This has only begun recently and she hadn't thought about it much until now – putting it down to one of the many effects of vampire blood – but every now and then she will hear him, his voice, whispering her name exactly like he did on the night that he saved her.
Sometimes she finds it comforting, but then she remembers that it is wrong and she puts the thought from her mind.
It is always there, in the back of her mind, ready to spring on her when she is not expecting it.
Simon looks at her now as if he might throw up – can vampires even do that? – and his expression is more unsettling than any voices in her mind.
"What?" she asks, voice small, "Did you not . . . hear anything, when you drank his blood?"
Slowly, he shakes his head.
"No."
Isabelle's heart drops to somewhere below her ribcage.
If what Simon is saying is true – which she doesn't doubt – then this is wrong, very wrong and everything she thought she knew has just been thrown out of the window.
What does this mean? The question echoes through her mind, the mixture of words and pain and wrong that it has become and suddenly it is too much. The stress is eating away at her mind and it is too much.
She doesn't think before she acts. She just rises from her chair, out of the living room, – almost tripping over own feet in her haste – past a surprised Alec and out the front door.
Simon's cries of protest are drowned out by the cool, city air.
. . .
"Isabelle-"
"This was a stupid idea."
They are walking home, Isabelle charging furiously ahead as Alec trails behind her. He has been trying fruitlessly to make her turn around and go back to Simon's since they left, but she will not have it.
Alec doesn't understand, she thinks to herself. He didn't hear what Simon said. He doesn't understand anything.
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this."
She stops at a crossing, carefully avoiding a chubby, balding man as he comes to stand in front of her – they are using their glamour, and the prospect of people trying to walk through her is not a welcome one.
Alec comes to a stop beside her and Isabelle has half a mind to walk out into the oncoming traffic just so she doesn't have to listen to her brother's stupid questions any longer.
"Whatever Simon told you-" Alec begins and he is trying to sound friendly, but Isabelle can hear the strain in his voice, "-it can't be that bad. Right?"
She turns him, the glare in her eyes conveying how very wrong he is.
"Alec, you have no idea."
And without a second thought, she steps out onto the tar-mac road.
"Isabelle? Isabelle!"
Go away, she thinks furiously, just narrowly avoiding the path of an approaching taxi cab before dodging out of its way.
"Look, would you at least watch where you walk-"
"Go away Alec. Get the hint and leave me alone. We're not talking about this," Isabelle answers bitingly, refusing to look anywhere but at the street ahead, even as cars continue to filter in from her left; she avoids them as easily as if they were not there.
Alec is lagging behind, weaving carefully through the traffic and she has that annoying sensation when you know that someone is following you.
"Isabelle, just stop, this is ridiculous . . . walking in the middle of the street!"
"Then why are you doing it?"
She is in the centre of the two roads now, and she steps over the narrow, concrete path to where the traffic filters in from the opposite direction, carrying on as if no obstacle stood in her way.
"Isabelle? Isabe-"
"Alec, just shut up!"
She stops dead, swirling around to face her brother, and what she sees sends a jolt of terror straight to her core. Alec's face contorted in what can only be described as horror; his eyes darting from her to something on her left.
After that, everything seems to happen very slowly.
Isabelle turns, a thought of what she is about to see flashing through her mind. But it is so fast she doesn't register it and it is gone as quickly as it came.
Her stomach drops when she sees the car coming towards her, travelling well beyond the speed limit.
She just has time to instinctively close her eyes and bring her arms up to shield her head before the car collides with her side.
End Chapter
. . .
A/N: Originally this chapter was reeeeeally long. So I split it in two and left it on cliffie :D AHH CLIFFIE!
Sorry if this seems a bit jumpy but I just really want to get to the Raphael/Isabelle interacts which are coming in the next two chapters. YEY!
Now, I'm not one to beg for reviews – I find it desperate and needy for want of a better word – but this is me begging! Tell me what you think? Love it? Hate it? Does it make you feel slightly sick?What can I do better? Flames welcome!
Thanks to Seph Meadowes for the review last chapter! :D
Erm, I've run out of things to say.
Ohhh! Has anyone read the first chapter extract from City of Fallen Angels, I which Isabelle calls Raphael a jerk? Ahhhh, made my day . . .