HELLO EVERYONE!

What is this? A long overdue Eden post? :D I got really excited about this story after delving back into The Hunt and had to post again in this one ( partially, because I had to rework the current chapter of The Hunt again and I needed a distraction. *sigh* I'm so sorry - I am the worst. :P). Hopefully you like the chapter!

Disclaimer: I don't own Mortal Instruments

CHAPTER 9: QUESTIONS

Clary had been unable to sit still the entire ride to the Institute.

She had fidgeted restlessly in her seat; tugged at the sleeves of her old jacket, toyed with the ends of her red hair; Jace would have dared to call her cute – but the way the cabby had glared at them through the rearview mirror for the last half hour had made Jace irritable, and it had taken away all his good humor.

It had been exactly three days now, he noted, breathing in the stale cab air, since Eve had come to live at the Institute.

Maryse and Robert had taken Eve in with good grace, Jace knew. All the Lightwoods (except for Alec) had been kind, sympathetic, and caring. And although they had kept their distance, it was far more than Jace could have ever asked for, considering the circumstances. Argyle had said it was because Jace himself had been raised in part by Valentine, that everyone seemed to have so much compassion for Eve, but Jace still had his doubts. Eve had been far more involved with Valentine than he had ever been, seen much more of his world...

Jace secretly wondered if the Lightwoods parents had been charmed with Eve simply for her innocent, sweet personality – like he and Isabelle had been.

But regardless of their reasoning, it had been Jocelyn, in the end, who had been the hardest to convince of Eve's goodness.

But, again, after a visit from Argyle, she had allowed Clary to continue her training at the Institute, with a few conditions:

One, Clary and Eve were never to meet with each other.

Two, Eve was never to know in any way that Clary was coming to the Institute.

And three, Jace was to have Clary in his sight – at all times.

Jace had thought Jocelyn was being ridiculous, when he had learned about these rules, but the alternative was not seeing Clary, so he had played along. After all, it was better to be with Clary under Jocelyn's terms than not be with her at all.

Though, despite her mother's rigorous boundaries, he could tell that Clary was far from worried about the Institute's new visitor. Clary was curious about Eve – he had known it the instant that he had told her about her. Jace had tried to give Clary as little of the story as he could, to stop her from being interested, but there was something in the way Clary's eyes flashed when Jonathan Morgenstern was mentioned; something that had made Jace a little wary of bringing her anywhere around Eve.

There had been something bright and scheming behind her bright green eyes that had reminded him, somehow, of -

"Jace," Clary said.

He turned his face to her with an eyebrow raised questioningly. Like always, he felt his chest tighten as he saw her, with love – and it came as a supreme relief.

Jace had almost been afraid that he would feel differently for Clary – that he would look at her or speak to her differently, because of how strongly he had felt for Eve – but that had not happened, and it calmed him. He felt the exact same measure of connection and love for Clary that he had since the day he first met her in Pandemonium. He still felt like he belonged to her as much as he ever did – before he had met Eve.

For a short, terrible time on the cab drive to pick up Clary that morning, Jace had been afraid that he wouldn't feel the same, somehow.

"Jace."

Clary had her small, pale hand on the cab door, as if about to leave, and Jace also noticed that she was looking a little impatient, as if she had been trying to get his attention for the last few minutes. "We're here – at the Institute," she continued.

Belatedly, Jace looked outside the window – and nodded as he saw the familiar building hovering just on the other side of the glass.

He wondered how he hadn't noticed it there before.

After heedlessly throwing some bills at the cabby (which must have totaled far more than their fare, because the cab-driver dropped his severe glare once the money was in his hand), Jace and Clary stepped out onto the Manhattan pavement, standing in the towering shadow of the Institute. The building looked like an old cathedral, with its spires and the ornate, elegant detail in the timeless architecture. Shadows hid in some of the details of the sculptures there, but he was not worried by them.

To Jace, this was home.

The elevator-ride was a long one for Clary. She kept fidgeting; tugging on her hair, or chewing on her lower lip until she was sure that she tasted blood, but even then, the pain did not stop her.

Her mom may have made rules to keep Eve away from her, because she believed that the new girl was dangerous, but Clary knew that there was nothing her mother could do to keep her away from Eve – not if she really wanted to see her.

And Clary wanted to see Eve.

Why wouldn't she?

Eve had lived with Valentine and Jonathan, Clary knew – she had lived with her father and her brother. And those were the only blood relatives that Clary knew of. Maybe Eve could tell her things about her blood-family, Clary thought. Things about the Morgensterns as well as the Fairchilds… Things that her mother would never tell her otherwise.

With a rattling lurch, the elevator came to a stop and Clary flinched in surprise as Jace slid the door open.

"You planning on staying there all day?" Arching an eyebrow, Jace detached from the gilded wall and sauntered off down the corridor. He was wearing all black today, making the gold of his hair startlingly vibrant against his popped-up collar.

Clary wordlessly nodded and pulled her less-elegant puffer jacket back on her shoulder, being careful to mind the uneven step between the elevator and the hallway of the Institute. Internally, her mind was racing.

She had to be cautious for her plan to work - she knew that at the very least. It was not easy to fool Jace Herondale, not to mention that the Institute was more confusing than a labyrinth. Jace had lived seven years here, learning every endless doorway and hidden nook. Clary, on the other hand, still sometimes got lost on the two minute walk between the elevator and the training room.

As far as Clary could tell, if she wanted to see this Eve-girl, it was a three step plan:

First, she would first need to find out exactly where she was in the Institute (without anyone knowing).

Second, she would need to miraculously escape Jace's watch-dog clutches (before he got wise to her plan).

And finally, she would need to actually get to Eve before Jace (or anybody else) could catch her.

Since all of those things sounded basically impossible, her odds of seeing Eve were starting to fall close to zero percent.

With a sullen frown, Clary marched behind Jace through the Institute, heading toward, what she assumed, was the training room. As with most clothes, the sleeves on her jacket were a little too long for her tiny arms, and she irritably pushed up the cuffs. She was so caught up in her own head that she almost missed the sorrowful music that came into earshot, floating through the air like a ribbon of sound, as they turned a corner. When she glanced around, there was nothing out of the ordinary as they passed through, just the gleaming wood paneling and the ornate furniture lining the walls, looking like the set of a historical drama. At first, she couldn't place the music, but as they neared the training room it grew gradually louder and fell into focus.

"That's... a violin." she marveled at no one in particular.

Jace didn't seem interested in dwelling on the fact. He fractionally picked up the pace of his stride until he was in front of her, blocking her vision. "Congratulations, Clarissa," he shrugged. "You guessed the correct sound. Maybe next time, you can tell me that cows go 'moo' or ducks go 'quack'."

Although her pride was begging to snap at him, Clary ignored the jab. "I didn't know that Alec or Isabelle played an instrument," she prodded, pushing past his joke.

The question seemed to put Jace on edge. His eyes darkened as he strode onward. "They don't," he answered shortly.

Some part of her reeled, so much so that she almost forgot to walk forward. So, if it wasn't Alec or Isabelle, then…

Cautiously, Clary stood on her tip toes and peeked down the hall, as if she half-expected to see a girl materialize in the vacant corridor, violin in hand. "So… That must be Eve, then, right?"

There seemed to be a slight falter in his steps - but, in his typical fashion, Jace dodged the question with flawless grace. "Well," he admitted with another shrug, "I doubt it's the cleaning lady."

Clary couldn't help herself. She spun to look at him, sending her red curls flying.

"You have a cleaning lady?!" she wondered aloud.

"Not actually. Unless you count that time where we dressed up Alec in a maid costume. But that wasn't really related."

Her jaw dropped. "Please tell me you are joking."

Jace looked disturbingly amused. "That, I cannot do." he replied, digging his hands into his pockets. "But I can tell you that there may or may not be photos, providing you don't share that detail with Magnus. I'm planning on keeping that juicy piece of blackmail strictly confidential until I feel the need to use it."

With a jolt, Clary realized that Jace had somehow led her to the training room without her knowing it. He shoved the door open with his shoulder and gestured for her to go inside first. Clary had been so caught off guard by his comment that she had almost forgotten the sound that haunted through the corridor - but when it finally met her ears again, she crossed her arms and shivered.

Jace's eyebrows shot up again; this time in dull fascination. He folded his arms over his chest as he leant against the open door. "Not a fan of classical?"

"It's the song she's playing," she muttered, stepping out of the hallway. She was wearing her clunky Shadowhunter boots today, which made her felt less like a kickass warrior and more like a child wearing oversized rain boots. "It sounds… depressing."

Jace must have recognized it, because when he squinted down the corridor, listening for the music, he dropped his gaze and chuckled.

Clary looked over suspiciously as she walked by. "What is so funny?"

With a smile, he lightly shook his head. He closed the door lightly behind her and strode across the training room floor. "It's the song. 'The Devil's Trill Sonata'."

Clary, who had no idea what significance that title held, stared at him in confusion. The training room was about as exciting as it normally was - a gigantic room of arched ceilings, plain white walls, and rows upon rows of an infinite variety of glittering weapons. There was a dark square of mats in the center, and a towering cabinet in the far corner that she new housed some bigger pieces of equipment. It smelt strongly in here of leather and steel, and Clary wrinkled her nose at it.

After a quick look back at her, Jace seemed to read her need for an explanation. He paused halfway across the room and thoughtfully looked at the floor. "It was my fa-" He seemed to realize that he was about to say the wrong words and caught himself. Jaw tight, he turned around and kept walking. "It was one of Valentine's favorite violin pieces."

"Oh." She hadn't thought much about what explanation Jace was going to give her, but if she'd had to guess, that would not have been it. After looking at her toes for an uncomfortable second, she decided to change the subject. "So, what is the plan today?" she tried to offer.

Her statement seemed to pull him out of a train of thought. When he finally reached the cabinet and glanced up at her next, she could tell from his dream-like look that he probably had no clue what she had been saying.

His inattentiveness was enough to make her want to scream. "For my training," Clary repeated, getting impatient. "What's the plan?"

Finally, his eyes lit up, and she knew he was seeing her - really seeing her - for the first time all day.

After flashing a wicked smirk, he swung open the lofty cabinet door and rummaged inside of it. "Ah," he answered. "Today you are going to learn how to properly throw a punch."

"A punch?!" Clary echoed incredulously, but Jace was already returning from the other side of the room, dragging a scary-looking piece of equipment with one arm. It was a tall metal frame, with a chain attached to what looked like a giant padded rolling pin. As far as Clary was concerned, it looked like a torture instrument.

"This, Clary," he explained matter-of-factly, plunking it in front of her, "is a punching bag."

Standing in front of it was like a death sentence. The bag looked about three feet taller than her and four times as heavy. Looking up at it, she felt like an ant facing off with Godzilla.

"This," she replied, dreading what he was about to ask her to do, "is impossible."

"It's easy. Keep your knees bent, square your hips to your opponent, and follow through." Jace, in typical Jace fashion, executed a flawless, textbook example of a punch. She was not sure if it was just that the bag was deceptively light or if Jace was just perfect at everything he ever did, but the bag swung a few feet away from him before it swung back and Jace expertly caught it in his hand. Which seemed impressive, she supposed, considering how heavy the bag looked. In her jealousy, Clary almost considered abandoning the punching bag and thought about aiming at him instead. "Go on," he prompted, shooing her in front of the target. "Your turn."

Honestly, Clary had no hope in hell of her punch actually doing anything, but she knew there was no point trying to avoid it. She stepped up, squared her hips, and, after a quick gasp, threw the punch. When she peeled her eyes open and saw that the bag had actually swung away from her when she landed the hit, she almost cried out in excitement - but in the same instant, a sound came from the doorway, and her attention automatically diverted to the source.

Without warning, Alec barged into the room. He must have been getting fashion advice from his warlock boyfriend, Clary noted distractedly, because instead of a hole-riddled hoodie, Alec was now wearing a surprisingly well-fitting charcoal wool coat and a patterned sapphire scarf.

The sight of Alec wearing anything that wasn't black was such a shock that the punching bag almost swung back and hit her in her face. Luckily, she clumsily caught it before it could make impact and tried to ignore Jace's humored smirk as he watched her struggle.

"Alright. I am running late to see Magnus," announced Alec, striding straight to Jace. Normally, Clary would have been annoyed at him completely ignoring her, but there was something almost feverishly impatient in his blue eyes, simmering just below the surface. "I have my cell on me, just in case. So if anything weird happens when I am gone -"

"- I'll call you. Nice thought," Jace impatiently finished - in a tone that implied he hadn't been listening. He regarded his parabatai with a hooded expression. "Alec, keep an eye on Clary, will you? I need to grab something from the other room. It will only be a few seconds."

"But I -" Alec protested. "I'm late," he tried to stammer.

But Jace was already gone. In one second to the next, he had slipped through the training-room door, leaving him and Clary alone together.

After looking at the now-empty doorway, Alec ran a hand through his black hair and irritably sighed. A sigh that sounded suspiciously like 'grass roll'.

He turned to Clary with a look of thread-bare self-control, and although Clary knew it was not her that the look was directed at, the incisive fury in his icy glare still made her want to hide behind her loose hair. "Clary - Look," he tersely began, rubbing his temple, "If I'm late for another date with Magnus, he might turn me into a newt. So can you please do me this one favor and stay here. Without causing any trouble?"

His comment was a spark - igniting the impossible dream of her Eve-plan to a bonafide possibility. With Jace gone… and if Alec left too… no one would be around to stop her from picking around the Institute. And if she was free to look around then maybe, just maybe… there was a chance that she could find Eve…

Clary had to admit it was a long shot, but right now, it was the best option that she had. Jace had said that Eve may not be at the Institute for much longer. If she didn't make a move now, she may never get another chance to talk to her. Then she would never know anything about her family.

Emphatically, Clary rolled her green eyes at Alec - as if she wasn't dying for him to leave the room. "It's not like I have any reason to go. I'm training after all," she insisted.

Suspicion was written all over his face. "And you swear? You won't leave the room?"

"I swear." Clary shrugged and aimed her best attempt at a 'convincing' smile Alec's way, though she had no idea how the end product looked. Part of her felt a small tinge of guilt, having to betray Alec this way, but it was necessary. And it wasn't as if she had said the full Shadowhunter oath… "Tell Magnus I said 'hi'," she finished, waving him out.

The look must have worked, because Alec shot her a rare, grateful smile.

"Thank you, Clary -" he began, and was interrupted by a shrill ringtone. Fumbling, he rummaged the phone out of his coat pocket, glanced at the caller ID, and cringed. "Ugh, that's him." He moved to leave the room, but cautiously looked over his shoulder before disappearing from sight. "Just - don't move, okay? Jace will be back in a minute."

"Sure," Clary muttered, turning back to the training equipment. Aimlessly, she walked a few paces away and picked up her training sword from the mats - the blunt wooden staff that she had to use to until she was deemed 'ready' for the real thing.

After a final moment of hesitation, she heard Alec's retreating footsteps, the the soft click that indicated that the training room door had been closed.

She waited exactly five endless seconds until she pried her eyes from the plain wall, dropped the training sword to the ground, and spun to look at the door. Cautiously, she glanced in every possible direction, making sure the coast was clear, then slowly stepped across the room.

Through the curtain of her red hair, Clary inched the heavy door open and warily peeked into the hallway. When she saw that there was no one there, she noiselessly closed the door behind her and tiptoed down the hall. Just as before, the distant song of the violin was here, drifting through the lonely corridor like incense. She tried to strain her ears as she moved along the wall, sliding against it as if the towering wood panels could hide her like camouflage. But even as she clenched her eyes shut, trying to focus on the noise, it was not clear. If she wanted to find Eve, she would just have to start moving more than a few feet.

As a test, Clary took a few steps back, toward the direction of the elevator. The song got more faint. When she took a few steps forward, toward the other end of the hall, the song got louder.

She grinned in victory and picked her way forward, toward the unfamiliar territory of the Institute. Her leathery gear was noisier than she had hoped, creaking with every clumsy step, but the confidence from her success was keeping her from caring. She got to the end of the hall, where it jutted into a 'T' of two possible paths. The left was shadowy and creepishly dark, as if it had not seen a living soul in months. When she turned to her right, the music got exponentially louder, like a lighthouse beacon, showing her the way. The sconces on the wall were lit, the paintings on the wall illuminated, the long persian rug on the floor lovingly askew. There was something distinctly recognizable about this place, and Clary's heart began to race.

This is it, she thought, eagerly moving toward the corridor. Somewhere behind one of these doors, that Eve-girl was here. She had the answers she wanted to know, the answers she needed to hear -

But, of course, as she raised her foot to start exploring, it was then that all of her brilliant planning came to a sudden halt.

"Clarissa Morgenstern," growled a familiar voice, (that sounded, to her horror, just like her mother). "Don't. You. Dare."

Clary froze in wide-eyed horror.

When she found the courage to swivel around, Jace was at the far end of the hall, his golden eyes blazing like two furious suns. He'd returned far faster than she had expected and somewhere along the way, had lost his coat as well. Even from the distance, she could tell he was in full-on battle-mode: ready to lunge at her the instant that he saw an opening in her guard. It was more than just the dark gleam of his leathery gear; it was the way his body was tensed, the tightness in the muscles of his neck and shoulders, the way the runes on his bare skin showed glaring and prominent… Momentarily, she wondered if she should just admit defeat and follow Jace back to the training room, knowing that it was the best way to not piss him off any further. But the tiny candle flame of pride in her chest burned onward - telling her not to give up. At least, not yet.

Well, Clary thought, swallowing her nervousness, it is too late to turn back now. If she wanted to see Eve, this was her only chance.

Before she could second-guess her decision, Clary spun on her heels and bolted down the adjacent hallway as if Hell itself was following after her.

There was probably a half-second of delay from the time she started booking it to the time that she heard Jace thundering behind her, cussing elaborately. His footfalls were as swift and soft as a cats, and nearly as fast. He was gaining on her, growing closer with every stride, and the hopelessness rose up again. How could she outrun Jace? What had possessed her to even try?

But as Clary felt her breath sawing in her lungs, felt the burning of her aching limbs, she knew that she wouldn't let this be the end. She couldn't.

Picking up the pace, she found some miraculous inner energy that launched her onward, making her feet move faster than they ever had before, following the mournful call of the violin. Afterward, she would not remember how she miraculously navigated the corridors of the Institute and found the familiar music-room door. Was it the crescendo of the song guiding her? Was it her own, dormant Shadowhunter instincts propelling her forward? Was it fate, drawing her to this Eve-girl?

She honestly could not say.

All Clary knew was that when she half-stumbled, half-bolted into the room, the only thing she could think about was how she wished that she was wearing her familiar sneakers and not the heavy boots of her gear. But as soon as she turned the corner and launched through the doorframe, all thought fell away and her body was stunned into an immediate stop.

On first glance, the music room was the same as always. Specks of dust danced in the air like flecks of glitter-snow. Over a dozen unused, sheet-covered instruments loomed throughout the expansive floor like abandoned ghosts. The grand piano was still gleaming beside the gigantic floor-to-ceiling window, against the bookshelves on the far wall. But upon further investigation, something in the room was shockingly different.

The piano bench had been dragged directly in front of the window now, and the heavy velvet curtains had been pulled away from the glass to let in the light. When she'd first seen Jace playing piano here, they had been shut, and Clary had never gotten a chance to look out at the extraordinary view. The city was alive under the glowing morning sun. A patchwork of multicolored rooftops spanned the skyline as far as the eye could see, broken up in only a few places by lines of traffic-pack streets and chaotic swirls of pedestrians.

There, sitting elegantly on that piano bench, was a girl.

From the back, all Clary could see of her was the thick cascade of golden curls that tumbled to her small waist, the faint bits of her flawless porcelain skin peeking through. Her delicate fingers danced along the neck of a violin, forming the notes while her bow expertly slid across the strings. Her head nodded rhythmically to the music while she played, ever so slightly, as if she was possessed, in a way, by the lovely sound.

Clary was awed.

String instruments had always been her least favorite instruments. They always sounded so… sad. But something about the way this girl played was mesmeric. The melancholy notes swirled around her mind like smoke, taking her breath away…

So much so, that she almost forgot that someone had been following behind her.

When Jace barrelled into the room and furiously hissed her name, Clary almost jumped out of her own skin. She snapped around like a whip, her flaming hair blinding her vision, but he was already looming behind her like a thundercloud. His golden hair was fashionably disheveled, his eyes sparking like summer lightning, his mouth a tight-lipped frown. In a nearly indistinguishable blur of motion, he grabbed her by the arm and savagely dragged her behind his gear-clad body, shielding her from sight.

Suddenly, the music screeched to a stop, like a semi-truck slamming on its brakes.

"It's alright, Eve -" Jace amended, his jaw set. "It's me."

So this was Eve, Clary noted in fascination, peeking around him.

Her gaze darted over, just in time to see the feminine figure jump up from the piano bench. Despite the controlled power in her posture, she rose in an elegant swirl of movement, her violin hanging loosely in her arms. She was average height or so, Clary saw, delicate in build, wearing a short, tattered black dress, but what struck Clary most was her face. The girl was beautiful - with an elegant, soft bone-structure, lovely, full lips, and captivating, blue eyes that were framed by long, silvery lashes. Those eyes were widened in shock at her now, and, Clary noticed with fascination, that there were flecks of gold in her irises that looked just like Jace's.

For a split second, Clary stared past Jace's arm at her, wondering in bewilderment if her mother had been right, after all. If this Eve-girl was really as dangerous as Jocelyn had guessed.

She had been raised by Valentine, after all. Maybe she had been instructed to kill off threats and ask questions later…

But if murder was her agenda, Eve was surprisingly nice about it.

The blonde stared at her for few seconds longer, then, slowly, her parted lips curled into a warm smile. Recognition ignited in those stunning eyes like blue flame as she dropped her tense shoulders.

"Ah," she sighed, as if greeting an old friend. "Hello, Clarissa."

"Hello, Inquisitor Silverspear," Jocelyn greeted, swiping a fiery lock of hair behind her ear. In less than a second, she recovered from her initial shock of seeing him at her front door and tried to flash a smile at him. "I - We had no idea that you would be visiting. Please, come in."

Argyle straightened his dark robes and stepped into their hallway, tentatively at first.

It was hard to ignore how the entrance to the Greymark's new apartment was eerily similar to the one in his former mentor's old home in Idris. He was immediately met with an untidy explosion of shoes at the front door - the haphazard array of coats hanging on the overloaded wall hooks, a few tilted picture frames.

A bittersweet smile curled his lips.

Of course, if this had been Riccardo Buonavento's house, there would have been more than a few bleeding Downworlders sitting in the kitchen, waiting for him or his wife, Maria, to come and administer first aid. Instead of being greeted by sunny 'hello's Argyle probably would have heard Riccardo's rumbling voice, asking him for him to lend a hand in stitching up another wound or setting another bone.

But the only Downworlder in this home, Argyle pleasantly noted, seemed to be in perfect health.

"Good morning, Inquisitor," greeted Luke, peeking out from around the corner. He was wearing his normal uniform of blue jeans and red flannel, gripping a steaming ceramic mug in hand. With a warm smile, he pushed up his glasses and inquisitively raised his eyebrows. "Coffee?"

The Inquisitor couldn't stop himself from chuckling.

Lucian was always so steadily calm - so effortlessly kind. Argyle had first met him in-person while devising a strategy to counter Valentine Morgenstern's attack at Brocelind plain, six long months ago, and seeing him so happy now was a relief.

It was impossible for Argyle not to crack a grin as he waved away the offer. "Not today, unfortunately," he replied, trying to find his footing amid the scattered sneakers. "I'm hoping this visit will be rather short. I don't want to take up any of your time."

"You're always welcome here." Luke shrugged matter-of-factly and motioned across the hall. "Here. This way."

With a sip of his coffee, Luke strode into another room - the living room, Argyle remembered, from the last time he was here - and the Inquisitor warily moved to follow. Given his track record for clumsiness, it was a small miracle when he had managed to tiptoe past the maze of shoes (without falling to his untimely death) and finally meandered into the other room.

Jocelyn was scrambling around, rearranging a dozen canvases and tidying up what looked like the remnants of a rainbow explosion.

Furniture had been pushed against the walls to make room in the centre of the space, and half-finished paintings were scattered everywhere, leaning against every free surface like a vibrant patchwork of billboards. The largest canvas was propped on a tall easel in the middle of the free space. For now, it was just a smear of pale purple and blues, though Argyle thought he could see a mountain range coming into form.

A stained sheet covered the floor like a rug underneath the easel. Probably, Argyle assumed, to protect the dark hardwood from the dozens of dripping brushes, tubes of paint, and endless pallets that were scattered around it.

"Sorry, about this," she muttered under her breath. Rising to her full height, she pensively put her hands on her narrow hips and turned to them. She was wearing a pair of paint-splattered overalls, and had more than a few unintentional streaks of lavender paint dotting the side of her face. "I swear this place isn't usually such a mess…"

Despite her messy appearance, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Lucian looking at his wife as if she was heaven incarnate.

"That is quite alright, Mrs. Greymark," Argyle assured her, casting a wry look at Luke. "In fact, I doubt I would even have time to sit. I just wanted to ask you a few quick questions."

At his response, her green eyes narrowed to green slits. It was dully fascinating, Argyle supposed, how with one simple gesture, she was no longer Jocelyn the bohemian painter, but the Jocelyn Fairchild of Shadowhunter legend. "Questions?" she echoed critically. "Is everything alright? Is Clary -"

"Completely alright," he quickly confirmed, stepping forward. "And certainly where Clary is concerned. I just came to get your advice on a clue from a new investigation." Smoothly, Argyle reached into his billowing sleeve, trying to ignore Jocelyn's suspicious look as he did it. He felt his hand close around the enigmatic necklace, slowly pulled it out, and splayed his long fingers to show it off. "This piece of jewelry turned up, yesterday night. I wanted to ask if you knew anything about it."

Both of the Greymarks stared at his hand for a long, tense minute.

It was hard to blame them, even if it was just to marvel at the craftsmanship. The ribbon of diamonds that was strung through his fingers was singularly exquisite. The expensive cut of each gem, the shocking clarity of every individual stone, was perfection. In the bright morning sunlight, it shimmered like a cluster of blinding stars.

To his surprise, it was Luke who gruffly crossed his plaid-clad arms and replied. "Diamonds are a Morgenstern family trademark, aren't they?"

Argyle nodded apologetically, knowing how this must have upset him. "Which is why I have come to ask for your help," explained the Inquisitor. "I was hoping that Jocelyn may be able to confirm if this is hers or not."

"Mine?" she echoed in bafflement. She rubbed her stained hands off on an old rag and stepped forward. "What makes you say that?"

He blinked at her, his dark emerald eyes scanning her reaction. "So... you have never seen this piece before?"

"Not that I can remember." Jocelyn crossed the room in a few strides and took the necklace from his hand, spinning the string critically between her fingertips. When she flipped it over, she frowned. "'From V'?" she added, upon reading the delicate inscription on the back. "You think this was from Valentine?"

"Perhaps," acknowledged Argyle. It made him feel a twist of guilt, when he saw Jocelyn's face pale to an unhealthy white. After all the pain her ex-husband had caused, Argyle had hoped to avoid causing her any more - but this time, it seemed inevitable. "It is one of the options we are considering."

Frowning, Luke abandoned his coffee cup on a low table and sauntered over to his wife's side. Jocelyn visibly relaxed when he neared and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but behind the frame of his crooked glasses, his blue eyes were stonily grave. "From Valentine to who?" he wondered aloud, peering skeptically at the expensive piece. "If it wasn't for Jocelyn, then who could it have been for?"

"That is the mystery, isn't it?" Argyle thinly chuckled. Internally, he felt exhausted. He had been counting on this necklace being Jocelyn's, and to hear that it wasn't set him up at another dead end. Nervously, he scratched the top of his wild raven hair and took back the string. It was deceptively weighty in a luxurious kind of way. "My apologies. I didn't mean to cause you any alarm."

"No," insisted Jocelyn, quickly looking away. "No, we are happy to help any way we can."

Though Argyle nodded in polite agreement, he knew that she had said the response too emphatically, a bit too hastily, for him to believe she was genuine. Lucian seemed to sense it as well.

He offered them a reassuring smile, though his heart was not fully in it.

"As promised, that is all, then. The Clave is grateful for your cooperation, as always. I'm sure this is nothing for you to worry about." With a shallow bow, Argyle tucked the necklace back into his sleeve and headed for the door. "Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Greymarks. May the Angel guard you both."

It took almost a full minute for Argyle to leave the room and pick his way through the hallway again, and he was only half-shocked to hear footsteps following him to their front door. Before his hand could reach the chipped porcelain door knob, someone insistently cleared their throat behind him and he was forced to turn around.

Unsurprisingly, Lucian was behind him, his face set and his arms tightly crossed. "I suppose," he muttered, leaning tiredly against the wall, "that you can't tell me how that necklace resurfaced?"

Argyle's shoulders slumped as he eyed up Lucian. He felt like he needed an eight hour nap, and knew he was nowhere close to getting one. "I'm afraid that information is confidential," he sighed, crossing his arms. "You know how the Clave is."

Luke nodded knowingly, his spectacles gleaming in the low light. It was the grudging acknowledgement of an unpleasant, irrevocable fact. "Do you think… this has anything to do with Eve? I mean-" His eyes anxiously scanned the walls, catching on a crookedly framed photo of Clary and Jocelyn, years younger. Seeing their smiling faces seemed to make him relax. "Do you think... she is safe?"

Not wanting to answer, Argyle averted his eyes to his toes.

He was sure that his expression was betraying him, but this time, he didn't bother trying to hide it. For any other person, he would have lied for the mission's sake, but he couldn't bear to do it, after seeing the concern in Luke's equally tired face. For the short time that he had known her, Luke had still managed to care about Eve - to seek out her well being. After a few seconds of pondering, Argyle still couldn't decide if this was more of a testament to Eve's goodness or to Lucian's.

"I am not sure," he admitted with a sorrowful shake of his head. "We can't rule it out yet. But rest assured, I will do everything - everything - in my power, to make sure Eve is safe."

Uncomfortably, the werewolf shifted on his feet. "So... What is next then?" he inquired, nudging some sneakers aimlessly with his toe.

After a long minute, Argyle straightened his posture and set his jaw. "I need to return to Idris for a day or two, but I will keep searching," he vowed. "If anything unusual happens, you know how to get a hold of me -"

From the other room, Jocelyn cried out.

Argyle's stomach dropped and his eyes darted down the hall.

Fast as a whip, Luke was gone before Argyle could blink, and the Inquisitor sprinted after him in a blur of shadowy robes, igniting the pain from the recovering injury in his side. The hallway that had once seemed so short now felt endlessly long as he ran the length of it and swung into the living room. His heart was in his throat as he did it, unsure of what he was going to see at the end.

The room was much the same, with the canvasses sprawling across the furniture. But now, the one on the easel was noticeably different, a spray of red covered the serene lavender purples and sky blues with an incongruous streak of red. The color was such a perfect match that Argyle almost thought it could have been blood, but when he scanned over Jocelyn cowering against the back wall, she looked uninjured. At least, not in the physical sense. There was a silent terror that seemed to radiate from her body like dry ice, and Argyle couldn't help but wonder if her horror was somehow worse than any physical pain.

"Jocelyn," Luke barked. He was at her side now, trying to get her attention by firmly holding her shoulders. His grip seemed lethally strong, but she didn't seem to take notice. "What is it?" he demanded. "What happened?"

Her green eyes were wide with horror. She stared at the open window with her pale hand shaking over her mouth. Their thin white curtains swayed in a gentle breeze. Quietly, she murmured a few words to her husband - so softly that Argyle could not hear.

Luke seemed to.

Something almost sad chased away the bright panic in his eyes and with a sigh, he slowly wrapped his arms around his wife and tenderly pulled her against him. "It isn't possible, Jocelyn," he murmured against her red hair. "It could have been anything -"

An instinctual pulse in his veins made Argyle prod further. He took a step into the room and regarded her critically. "What are you talking about, Jocelyn?" Argyle softly asked, straightening his robes. "What did you see?"

There was a stony pause, as if the Greymarks were deciding whether or not to reply. They shared a short, coded glance.

"Munin." Luke finally replied, looking mildly uncomfortable. "She thought she saw Munin."

Perplexed, Argyle could only stare at him. "Munin?" he wondered. "What is a 'munin'?"

Luke chuckled, without much humor. "He isn't a 'what', per se," he clarified, holding Jocelyn firmly in his embrace, her face was angled away from the window now, hiding her face. "Munin was the name of one of Valentine's pet birds. One of two, at least."

Memory swelled in his mind. The flash of that silver-colored raven, attacking Eve outside of the Institute. Argyle's chest froze. "A bird?" he echoed warily. "Valentine's bird?"

"Yeah." Luke met his gaze over the flaming crown of Jocelyn's head. The tone he used was still, like the calm in the eye of a storm. Argyle knew he was studying his face, searching for a response. "Is something wrong, Inquisitor?"

Thoughts swarmed in Argyle's head like angry bees. He could almost audibly hear their deadly buzzing as he looked away and clenched his hands into fists.

"No, Lucian," Argyle lied through his teeth. "Of course not."

Thanks for letting me write a new chapter in Eden! I had a ton of fun doing this one! *Feverishly starts writing the next 'Hunt' chapter to catch up*

As always, feel free to review with your thoughts and comments. :) I love hearing from you guys!

Love, Fishie!