Okay. Well, I got some pretty good feedback from the first chapter of Forgotten. I will take that as a good sign and continue the story with the second chapter. From here on out, I'll update only if I get two reviews on the STORY. It doesn't have to be on the most recent chapter.

So, that said, thanks to Appoli and Guest for reviewing. I know that "Guest" isn't the penname, but just bear with me. :)

Read on! Review?

Fey sat in her new room on her new bed, gazing up at the ceiling as if it held all the secrets of the universe. Two hours ago she, Christina, Kyle, and Marina had all been settled in at the Institute by both Isabel and her mother Maryse. It had been a very kind gesture, and they had been welcomed warmly by the older woman, all things considered.

"We're here to help you with things," Fey had said after shaking her hand. "Grey told you everything, right?"

Maryse had nodded with a slightly uncomfortable smile. "Yes, of course. I was just so busy I forgot to tell everyone. But never mind that for now; come, we'll help you get settled into your rooms."

Flash forward two hours and Fey was done putting her clothes into her closet and lying down on her bed with nothing to do. She wasn't the type of person who liked having nothing to do; it made her twitchy and nervous. When she was younger, her father had made sure she'd always had something to do; gardening, training, piano practice, origami—whatever else he was learning about as he traveled around to take care of problems that arose around New York.

She had to leave New York when her mother and father died; Grey took her in after she'd been administered to foster care for about four months. How he'd managed to find her from all the way in London, she had no clue. All she knew was that she was grateful he had.

There was a knock at the door, so sudden it jarred her out of her thoughts. The door cracked open, and Kyle stuck his head in, peering around in the dark space. His eyes found her lying on the bed, propped up on one elbow to look at him.

"I'm not interrupting a nap, am I?" he asked teasingly.

Fey smirked. "Of course not. What's up?" She slid off the bed in relief; finally, something to do.

"I finished unpacking about a half an hour ago, and did a little exploring—,"

"Exploring," she interrupted, her expression and tone turning skeptical. "Is that what you call it? I don't know, 'snooping around' sounds pretty dead on to me."

Kyle shot her a playful glare. "As I was saying," he continued pointedly, "I found something we could both check out. A music room filled with instruments, including a piano."

Fey pushed past him, out of the room. "You had me at music room."

~0~

"No, no, that's not it! It's not C, it's A."

"Well, fine then, miss expert! Show me how it's done."

"Gladly."

Fey and Kyle were in the music room now, both sitting on the bench before the piano, occupying each side. They'd been at it for about an hour now, having practiced any songs that they knew, or were learning. So far, they were on "How to Save a Life" by The Fray.

Fey slipped her small, slender hands over Kyle's larger ones. "It's like this." She pressed down on his fingers, and moved them over to the following keys, slower than she would usually play for Kyle's benefit.

"Ah," he said now, starting to move his fingers with hers still over his. "I think I see now."

At this, Fey smiled; whenever Kyle claimed he "saw" something, it was always because he was either getting irritated, or even more lost than before. She knew it was the latter by his chipper tone.

"Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend, somewhere along in the bitterness. And I would have stayed up with you all night, had I known how to save a life…" she sang softly along to the music. This was one of her favorite songs for those days when she just couldn't seem to get out of a sad mood. Of course, it only made her sadder, but she felt a little better too for having expressed it a bit.

"So Maryse was nice," Kyle said conversationally. His fingers kept playing, pressing the keys lightly so they weren't as loud.

"Mhmm," she agreed, nodding her head as she slipped her hands off Kyle's. They tingled ever so slightly when she touched skin with Kyle, and the sensation still lingered after she put them in her lap. It was weird, she thought.

"And it was quite lucky," he continued, "that Marina didn't say a word to her about anything. She just nodded and smiled. Well, at least I think that was a smile. It could have been mistaken for a grimace."

Fey laughed, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't say that! That's mean!"

"Then why are you laughing?" he laughed, grinning at her. She merely rolled her eyes at him.

"I'm glad you said what you did back there, though. I'm hoping you've talked some sense into her once and for all." His tone was uncharacteristically serious for Kyle.

"Nobody talks sense into Marina," Fey said gravely, looking him sagely in the eye. She shook her head and sighed, hooking her arm through his and leaning her head on his shoulder. He rested his head on hers after a moment, sighing calmly.

"What do you think Christina is up to?" he asked after a long moment of silence.

She shrugged, not moving her head from his shoulder. "I don't know. Probably organizing her collection of artifacts, informational history books, and all of her other old stuff into her room. She's still a history freak, that one. But you knew that."

"I did." He nodded, his head rubbing against hers. She rubbed his head back. "Show me one of your more intense piano lessons. The ones where your fingers move so fast I can't see them, and they're just a blur, moving across the keys and making such beautiful sounds it's hard to believe you're even trying."

"That's awfully poetic, for you," she said, moving back and eying him with a lopsided smile on her lips.

He shrugged, his cheeks turning slightly pinkish. "You know I like to write sometimes..."

"I do."

"So will you show me?"

"Of course." And so, with a flourished crack of her knuckles-and a wince from Kyle-she began to play.

Her fingers moved slowly, almost lazily across the keys at first. But then she gradually picked up speed, going faster and faster and faster and faster still, closing her eyes to better "feel the music" in her fingertips. She felt it in more than just her fingertips; her entire being felt alive with the power of the music flowing in and through her, out of her fingers and into the piano where it all became real and audible. She loved and relished the feeling, smiling and biting her lip with closed eyes now as she played.

And then the music came to a slow stop, the song ending almost as slowly as it began, her fingers stilling on the keys. Fey took in a deep breath, eyes still closed, and then opened them.

As the world came into focus, she realized that throughout the entire time that she'd been playing, she had accumulated an audience.

Jace, the blonde-haired golden eyed boy, was sitting on another stool across the room from where she and Kyle sat; Isabelle, the girl who welcomed them, sat next to him on the stool, watching her with wide black eyes.

"You've got quite the audience," Kyle muttered, and something in his tone caused her to look back over her shoulder. In the doorway stood Christina, smiling and leaning on the doorjamb.

"You couldn't resist, could you?" she said wryly, her mouth twisting to the side in a smile.

"He asked me to," Fey defended herself, but it was only half-hearted. She probably would've found this place soon enough and played the beautiful instrument she'd just had the pleasure of playing.

"Where'd you learn to play like that?" The question came from Isabelle, who now stood up and came to stand against the piano in front of Fey.

Fey shrugged. "My father made me learn." She didn't elaborate, and hoped she wouldn't be asked to.

Much to her relief, Isabelle just nodded.

"My father tried to get me to learn," Jace said, talking for the first time since Fey noticed him.

"He didn't have any luck, I assume?"

"Not much. I was a difficult child."

"So was I." Fey half smiled. Oh, yes; she'd been a very difficult child.

"You still are," Kyle said.

Fey scoffed. "I am not a child."

"Really? Is that what they've told you?"

"I don't need them -whoever they are- to tell me whether I'm a child or not. I would know."

"Have you met yourself?"

"Yes, actually, I have, thank you very much. I've also met you, sir. You should really do something about your secret habits. Closets don't always hide everything, you know."

Kyle's eyes widened suddenly. "What have you seen in my closet?"

"I don't think you'd want that revealed in front of an audience." Fey smiled wider at his alarm. Really, she was just running her mouth.

"What did you see?"

"My lips are sealed."

"What did you see?"

"What, do you have some sort of secret you don't want anyone to know? I can say it all right now if you want me to!"

"Who is Clary Fray?"

Silence stretched through the room, and Fey's playful smile slid off her face. "What?"

"Who is Clary Fray?" Kyle repeated. He looked like he regretted asking the question. All eyes were on him and Fey now, waiting for her response, her reaction.

"She was an old friend, that's all," Fey said quietly, staring down at her lap.

"Why do I not believe you?" Kyle asked.

"You happen to have issues," she quipped, trying not to sound hurt. She didn't think she quite managed it.

"Fey. Look at me." She complied reluctantly. "Fey," he repeated. "Who is Clary Fray?"

"We knew each other when we were young," she said after a moment of silence. "We were best friends, her and I. Always hanging out with each other, sharing secrets. I didn't go to school with her-my father taught me at home-but she didn't think to question it, and her mother didn't think to ask about it. Had her mother known, I wouldn't have known her as long as I did. When I started my training, I told her about it, but the next time I brought it up, she'd forgotten about it. I kept a journal, a journal my mother gave me, so she could read it and try to remember. Sometimes she would, but other times it was hopeless.

"She saw things from our world, though. I suspected it often. I took her with me to Central Park once, and went near the faeries' spot. She saw some of them, but immediately after she saw them, she just... wouldn't. It was like her mind was pushing the images away, like she was rubber and they were glue, and they just bounced off her and stuck somewhere else. And then I realized that she had something that was making her forget. Her Sight was blinded. And her mother was helping that happen.

"I also knew that Jocelyn was a former Shadowhunter. I could see the rune scars all over her skin, but I knew better than to comment. I knew Clary was one of us. So I kept writing in that journal, kept making her remember. The journal was also kind of a little outlet for me, too. It was special 'cause my mother gave it to me-for reasons you don't have to know," Fey said abruptly, remembering Jace and Isabelle in the room.

"Everything was going alright after that for a few years. But then I turned twelve, and I got my first Mark. I ran over to tell Clary as soon as it was over, covering myself up so that Jocelyn wouldn't see. I must've not covered up enough, though. I ran into Clary's room, shoved the journal at her to read, and showed her my Mark. I was so excited I forgot to be quiet. We must've been talking pretty loudly. A few minutes after we were talking, she burst into the bedroom, saw my Mark, and started screaming at me.

"She screamed such horrible things about us, calling us heartless monsters and killers, and I shouted right back at her, 'I wouldn't talk! You were one of us, too!' She didn't answer me. Instead, she grabbed my arm, and my journal, and dragged me out of their apartment, throwing me out the door. She kept the journal, though, and when I tried to jump back in, she slammed the door on me. I pounded on the door, demanded that she give me back what was rightfully mine, but she didn't. She just threatened to call the police if I didn't split.

"I tried so hard to get it back. I really did. I even broke in once when they were out. But when I looked around, all I found was a garbage bag full of ashes under the sink. Skip five years, and here I am now. Meeting her again. Just like before."

Fey was met with silence and astonished stares.

"Jocelyn Fray," Jace said slowly, breaking the ice. "Jocelyn Fray did all of that to you? That's unbelievable."

"Don't think of her as some evil bad guy, alright?" Fey looked at all of them, particularly at Christina and Kyle's angered expressions. "She was actually pretty nice to me before she found out. She was just trying to protect her daughter form a life of war and blood. We dont' have kids; we wouldn't understand. Yes, I am mad about my journal." She swallowed. "But it's in the past."

"In the past," Kyle scoffed. "What she did was unforgivable. I wouldn't let go of that so lightly."

"I'm not." Fey looked at him with level eyes. "I'm just putting it behind me as best I can."

~0~

"So how did you meet Simon? I've meant to ask."

Fey looked up from her glass of wine at Isabelle. She couldn't help but wonder if she heard the slightest hint of jealousy in her tone. I'm just imagining it, she thought to herself.

"Oh, well, I met him when she slept over at Clary's apartment one night. She set us up to meet, and we've been best friends ever since. I was about eight, then."

"Ah." Isabelle nodded to herself, and then chugged down the rest of her full glass of wine. She'd offered it to Fey and her friends after the incident in the music room as a sort of peace-offering of sorts. They'd accepted. While Fey's father hadn't approved, he hadn't objected to her extremely early tolerance for alcohol. Every Shadowhunter kid she'd ever met-not very many-had gotten an early start at drinking. It wasn't uncommon.

"You guys have met him, right?" Fey asked. Jace and Isabelle nodded. "How... how is he?"

Isabelle shared a look with Jace. She turned back to Fey with a forced smile. "Why don't you see for yourself tomorrow. I'm sure Clary will tell him you're here, and you guys can meet up with him tomorrow. I'm going to see him later, too, so it works out for everyone. Okay?"

Fey nodded, trying not to look disappointed. "Okay." Beside her, Kyle let out a huge yawn, bringing one out of her, and then Christina, and eventually Jace and Isabelle. "I think I'm gonna go to bed. I've had three glasses of wine. If I'm not drunk yet, I will be!" She let out a peal of uncharacteristic giggles, and then hiccupped loudly, covering her mouth with her hand and muttering a dainty, "Excuse me."

Kyle rolled his eyes, smiling knowingly at her. "You are so interesting when you're drunk," he remarked. When she failed to comment, just lolling back on the sofa she was sitting beside him on, he got the idea she wasn't as drunk as she thought. She was worse.

Fey swung her legs over the side of the sofa, pushing herself up to stand. She stayed steady on her feet, standing there with a triumphant grin on her face, until she moved to take a step. She nearly toppled over, and would have if Kyle hadn't acted fast and caught her before she hit the floor. She gasped, giggling uncontrollably now.

"I almost fell!" she laughed. Her arm was thrown over his shoulder, the only thing keeping her upright. "I don't think I can walk..."

"Of course you can't. You're drunk, silly." Kyle decided to humor her and play along, remembering just how... difficult she could be when she was drunk and didn't get her way.

"No, you're silly," she said, words slurred; she tapped the tip of his nose playfully, grinning widely up at him. Her eyes were bright from the alcohol, her cheeks flushed. Her hair was slightly mussed from running her hands through it too much. The edges of her vision were beginning to blur; a sure sign that she was definitely drunk.

She yelped suddenly, when Kyle swooped down and scooped her up into his arms, carrying her out of the room and into the hallway. She smacked his shoulder none too lightly. "Kyle!"

"Well, this gets us to your room faster," he grumbled.

"Whate'er," Fey mumbled. She sighed and buried her head in the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. She felt him relax as he gently swung her back and forth in time with his steps. It was a lulling rhythm, coaxing her to sleep...

But, of course, the peace could only last for so long.

"Decided to come undone on the first night, eh, Fey?" Marina's voice carried to them from the other end of the hallway. They were at Fey's door now; Marina had decided to occupy a room a full hallway away form the others. Out of spite, of course.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Fey said. Her words sounded crisp and clear, no longer slurred and lazy; you couldn't even tell she was drunk at all. Everything came into focus when Fey had an objective; she snapped back to herself because she knew that Marina wouldn't ever let this go if it ended badly. She would hold it over Fey, taunting her every chance she got. I can't believe you got drunk on the first day...

"Oh please," Marina sneered, "I can smell the wine on you from all the way over here. You can't tell me you aren't drunk. We all know how you get around alcohol..."

"What are you doing up past curfew? You ought to be in bed now."

"We don't have a curfew. We're not in London, Fey."

"Uh, actually, yes we do have a curfew. No later than midnight, remember? I was there when Grey told you the rules." Fey disentangled herself from Kyle and walked steadily over to Marina until they were arm's-length apart. She crossed her arms and glared at the younger girl. "Last I checked, you lived under his roof the past five or six years."

"And last I checked," Marina said, getting into her face, "Grey isn't here!"

Fey leaned closer, making sure that Marina could see how angry she was. "And last I checked, I'm seventeen and you're fourteen. I'm three years your senior. You don't speak to me that way. And you especially don't talk about Grey that way. Go to your room and stay there. This isn't helping your case with your phone."

Marina's lips parted, and her face went slack. She spun around hurriedly and walked quickly away, shoulders hunched.

Fey let out a shaky breath; when she turned to Kyle, his eyes widened. She was covered in a light sheen of sweat, and her breathing was labored. He rushed over to her, scooped her up again, and ran to her room, throwing the door open and running into the bathroom inside. He quickly, yet gently set her in front of the toilet and held her hair as she threw up violently in it. He didn't seem to mind the smell or sight of her vomit, she noticed as she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. She stood up on wobbly legs; Kyle held her steady by putting an arm around her waist.

He offered her toothbrush, and she took it with a grateful expression, turning on the faucet and beginning the ritual that she'd memorized at a young age. She had learned it from her father, after watching him get drunk at parties and gatherings with people she'd never met, never wanted anything to do with. She would wake up to the sound of his violent up-chuck in the middle of the night and get up to watch and help him since she was awake and it was something to do. She would offer him his worn toothbrush and sit on the toilet tank as she watched him thoroughly wash the foulness out of his mouth.

"I hope you never have to go through this," he said to her one night after a particularly messy appearance of all the wine and food he had consumed at the party. "It's absolutely degrading and nasty."

Yet here I am, she thought as she rinsed her mouth with mouthwash. She dried her face with a towel, her eyes meeting Kyle's in the mirror. Moss green and sky blue. His eyes weren't judgemental as she kept waiting for them to be; he'd caught her in this 'place' plenty of times. Each time she thought he had to be at least a little disgusted with her, or tired of her behavior. But his demeanor and words indicated otherwise. He didn't think any less of her.

His eyes were understanding and warm; she knew he would always be that way, no matter what. Just as she would always be toward him, no matter what he did.

"Come on," he murmured now, tugging on her waist to move her. "You need to sleep." She let him help her stumble to the bed, let him lift her up onto it, let him take her shirt off and leave her in her tank top. He attempted to help her with her jeans, but she swatted his hands away and said, "I can do it myself!"

Still, in the end he had to tug them off her ankles, keeping his eyes squeezed shut at her command, and tossing her a pair of basketball shorts. Kyle helped her under the covers of the large bed and was about to leave when she reached out and got a hold of his wrist.

"Wait," Fey murmured, sounding tired, "don't leave me. I can't sleep. Tell me a story."

"A story," Kyle mused as he took off his shoes and climbed on the bed beside her. Sleeping in the same bad wasn't unusual for them; they did it before at the London Institute when they were younger and couldn't sleep at night. They shared each other's nightmares and secret dreams, stared up at the same ceiling and looked out at the same stars. They were closer than friends, closer than family.

"A story," Fey repeated.

"Well, let's see. Once, there was a little girl who lived in the woods. Nobody knew what her name was because they always called her a nickname by the thing she always wore: Little Red Riddinghood. Her grandmother was sick in the woods, so her mother sent her to give her grandmother some food to make her better..."

"Does this story have a happy ending?" Fey asked, sounding even more tired than before. She was struggling to keep her eyes open. Kyle let out a loud yawn.

"Depends on how you look at it, I guess," he replied. He settled more into the bed, over the covers beside Fey, who lay underneath the covers. She turned on her side where Kyle was and rested her head on his chest, her arm following. Her hand rested over his heart, and she could feel the thrum of it under her fingertips. It had a lulling effect, luring her closer to sleep.

"Now, this is a good story," she murmured.

"What? 'Little Red Riddinghood'? Sounds a little morbid, if you ask me..." Kyle trailed off, sounding just as sleepy as she did.

"No, your heartbeat. It brings me to sleep every time. I never, ever get tired of hearing it. This is the one story I hope I won't have to hear the end of."

She didn't hear Kyle's reponse -didn't know if he even responded, because the moment the words left her mouth, she was asleep.

So... how was it? Please tell me in a review! I'll have her meet Simon in the next chapter. It'll only come if you review, though! Two reviews, and I'll update!

Ciao!

~Alee V.