I do not own The Mortal Instruments or the Characters.
They are all property of Cassandra Clare.
All that I take credit for is the twist in the storyline and any original characters that may pop up.
I'm sorry, baby, you were the sun and moon to me.
I'll never get over you. You'll never get over me.
And when the big wheel starts to spin, you can never know the odds.
If you don't play you'll never win.
The kitchen smelled like soured milk and burnt coffee - a combination that clawed against the inside of her nostrils and made her flinch away from the unwelcome stench so early in the morning. "What did you do now?" she grumbled as she rubbed the back of her hands into her tired eyes, her bare feet sluggish despite the cold that seeped up through the hardwood floors.
She could hardly count the number of times that had she stumbled into the small kitchen of the apartment that she and her mother shared in New York only to find Luke or Simon, (sometimes both on special occasions), in the middle of what looked to be the ruins of Pompeii. The gestures were always the sweetest, albeit disastrous: Chicken-noodle soup for when she was sick that could fumigate the entire building; a dinner for Jocelyn when she'd hosted her first gallery showing that looked a bit like a Salvador Dali painting and taste about just as good; even a birthday cake gone horribly, horribly wrong somewhere in the fifteen minutes that Clary had left the apartment to stall her mothers entrance that would have spoiled the surprise.
Just like every other hostile odor that had graced her kitchen, this one too was unwelcome.
However, unlike the others, when Clary's red-rimmed and sleep deprived eyes finally opened, she was not met by the adorably apologetic faces Luke or Simon as they scrambled about the small apartment looking for a fire extinguisher. Instead, there was Jonathan.
"I wasn't aware that making breakfast was a crime, little sister," He said, his voice full of the regular velvety arrogance.
"Breakfast or a bomb?" She retorted, her lack of a goodnights sleep lessening her tolerance for her older brother even more so than usual.
All night, she had been studying the list that her Jace had left her until every name, address, and scratch of the pen had been engraved into her mind and she had assembled a strategy to get away from Jace and Jonathan. Her scheming had left her with very little rest and a million hypersensitive nerves bounding about in her stomach like crickets. Her nose crinkled once again as the smells emanating from where Jonathan stood as she perched atop a barstool, awaiting Jace's arrival.
"You can't honestly say that you aren't curious to see just how vast my abilities are?" He responded, a sticky tone dripping from his words that made Clary wish she'd stayed in her room.
"Curiosity killed the cat," she said, ignoring his attempt to bait her into some sort of altercation. It seemed a game of his, how quickly he could frustrate her until her head exploded.
"But satisfaction brought it back," he said, his smirk so obvious she could practically hear it when he spoke.
With the roll of her eyes, Clary turned her attention to the newspaper that was folded and waiting to be read. Her teeth captured her lower lip as she forced her eyes to scan the newspaper before her as she silently went over her plan in her mind.
1. Convince Jace to take me into New Orleans.
2. Get separated in the crowed and hide until it's safe to hail a cab.
3. Find Violet Devough and whatever Jon is trying to get from her.
4. Hitch a ride through someones portal and find the Lightwoods so they can save Jace from my demon brother.
No problem.
Right.
Clary gave a quiet sigh as she dropped the paper and slumped at the bar, her face resting in the palm of her hands as she fought the stubborn urge to cry. Jace did the planning, not her. He over analyzed, and weighed the risk – even if his ideas seemed halfcocked and based off of adrenaline half of the time. He'd done all that he could in the few hours that they had together, but he had granted her with a crossword puzzle that was missing its hints.
"Clary?"
The sound of Jace's voice pulled her from her slump and brought a genuine smile to her face. Possessed or not, her was still alive and unharmed, two things that she hadn't been able to say before he'd come to collect her.
"Morning," She said, her tone as light as she could manage, a yawn fighting its way out mid-greeting.
Jace smiled at the sight of her as he removed the space between them and pulled her into a snug hug and pressed his lips to the crown of her head. The light jacket that he wore crinkled with their contact and cold droplets of dew pressed to her bare arms, making her shiver. He chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling with his smile, as his hands moved to rub the gooseflesh from her skin.
"Sorry," he said, releasing her to peel the damp jacket off and draping it over the back of one of the barstools before sliding his arms into place around Clary's waist once more, "So, what do you want to do for our last day in good 'ol N'awlins?"
Clary leaned back into Jace's embrace, relishing in his warmth and doing her best to commit everything about him to memory: the way he smelled like mint all the time, how safe she felt with his arms around her, and the way his laugh vibrated through his entire body and into hers. She would need to remember it all where she was going.
Ignoring the pair of onyx eyes that seemed to take in Clary and Jace's interaction as if they were a play on stage, she fanned out the paper that she had been reading and held it up for Jace to see. "The festival is still going on in the Quarter," She said, pointing to the picture of a parade packed with girls in bejeweled bikini's and elaborate feathered headdresses, "It could be fun. I've always wanted to go to Mardi Gras." Her eyes flicked up to sneak a glance at Jonathan, finding his dark eyes still fixated on her, before looking up to gauge Jace's reaction to her proposal.
Brilliant and cocky as ever, his smile had remained in it's place as he quickly scanned the print of the paper that she'd provided. Not a moment ticked by before he placed the newspaper back onto the counter, "They wouldn't be able to call me the Night in Shining Armor if I said no to such a simple request."
Clary couldn't help the easy laugh that bubbled up then. "Who calls you that?"
"Everyone. I'm widely adored." He shot back, a look of feigned hurt replacing his previous grin, "My breathtaking good looks, unbeatable whit, and unmistakable sex appeal are known and appreciated across the globe, I'll have you know."
"God, you are so-" she began, only for him to place a solitary finger over her lips to silence her,
"Please, You know I prefer to be called 'Jace'.
Clary rolled her eyes playfully, swatting away his hand, before sliding from her seat and heading for the stairs. "I'm going to go get dressed before you start comparing yourself to the 'Creation of Adam'."
"If you have paid better attention the last time, I wouldn't need to keep bringing up the PowerPoint. There are just too many comparison for it to be a coincidence." He said as if he were explaining something for the umpteenth time, that mischievous smirk that she loved playing on his lips.
"Whatever you say," she called back as she began to pile her hair in a messy bun atop her head on her way to her room.
Once she found herself inside the sanctuary of her empty bedroom, Clary closed her door, locking it, before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath and a moment to get her thoughts in order.
Breathe, she told herself mentally as she ran through Jace's list once more. You can do this. You can do this for him.
Finally composed, she flitted across the room to the large armoire that held the clothes that had been bought with her mother in mind. The thought alone was enough to coax a shiver through her veins. She had done her best to keep Valentine form her thoughts despite the constant reminder that was Jonathan. She didn't want to think about the fact that he had hand picked each article of clothing that she had been wearing recently, or that he had created this floating home with the hopes of keeping she and her mother housed and hostage so many years ago.
Closing her eyes tightly, she forced the thought from her mind. Valentine Morgenstern was dead – slain by the angel Azazel on the banks of Lake Lyn moments before restoring the life that her father had stolen from Jace. He was gone. There was nothing to fear.
Except for Jonathan.
With a sigh, she rubbed the palms of her hands into her eyes before rifling through the neat stacks of clothing until she found one of the few pairs of jeans that the collection held. Even they were designer and had probably cost more than all of Clary's normal outfits combined. After tugging on the jeans, she swapped out the old t-shirt that she had slept in for a soft, dark maroon cardigan over a black tank top. Checking her appearance in the mirror, she released her hair from its bun and adjusted the long curls until they fell to her liking.
Her teeth gnawed at her lower lip as she examined herself in the mirror, her reflection making her miss her mother even more. In the past month, Clary's face had lost the remnants of baby fat that had filled her cheeks and her hair had darkened from its orangeish hue to the same dark copper color of her mother's hair. She absentmindedly spun the end of a loose curl around her finger, shaping the strand in a way that she had watched her mother do a thousand times.
With a knock on her door, Clary blinked away the moisture that threatened to spill and, assuming it was Jace being as impatient as ever, hurried to unlock the door. "I'm almost ready-" she began, tugging open the door only to be met by black eyes rather than the gold she had been expecting. "What do you want?" She asked rather harshly as she placed her hand on her hip and kept the door half way closed, using it as a barrier between Jonathan and herself.
"Just wanted to see what the hold up is," He said, a seedy grin playing on his lips. Clary's obvious change in attitude seemed t0 amuse him, her make-shift barricade doing nothing to dissuade him, as he used one hand to push the door open further and the other to wind around her small body until she was trapped against him. Using his boot, he kicked the door closed before moving them forward, paying no mind to Clary's reluctance and arguments, until her back pressed to the bedpost.
"Get the hell off of me," She hissed, pressing her palms to his chest and shoving with all of her might to no avail. "What do you want?"
"I just want to talk, Clarissa. No need to panic." He moved his free hand up to cup her neck, leaving her unable to move her head. "I was just thinking of our time together in Alicante. Do you remember that? We had quite a bit to talk about then, if I remember correctly." He licked her lips, his hand on her hip tightening and releasing before sliding to grip at the small of her back. "You were much more… eager then." He leaned in so close that the too pungent scent of his cologne nearly choked her.
Clary floundered, a panic rising in her chest when her attempts to escape his hold seemed to only encourage him. "That was when you were pretending to be someone else. Before I knew who you were, who Jace really was." She argued, moving to slap him only for him to trap hands, capturing both wrists in a single hand, and trapping them behind her back.
"You mean when you were lusting after the man you thought was your brother?"
She felt a rush of heat to her skin, her anger and attempts to scape his hold causing her to flush. "Let. Go." She hissed, kicking at his shins and bucking her body hoping to loosen his grip.
Jonathan inched forward even more so, as if her struggle didn't faze him in the slightest, until his face was a breath away from hers. "Make me," He said in a low growl, a storm brewing within the depths of his black eyes that froze the scream that had been building in the pit of her stomach.
"By the angel, Clary, what is taking you so long?"
Clary's eyes snapped open wide and darted to the door, Jace's voice and the sound of his footsteps growing closer. Her hands were released and she was righted in the blink of an eye, a strong hand placed over her mouth before she could call out. An annoyed furrow at his brow had replaced the amused lines on Jonathans face; his words like the taunting rattle of a rattlesnake's tale, "Say anything and I'll kill him." When she nodded helplessly, he dropped his hand and dipped his face into her neck – taking in a long breath of her scent and murmuring "to be continued" against her skin, making her quiver in fear.
Just like that, he pulled away from her, ran a quick hand through his white blonde hair, and pulled open the door to be met by Jace, hand raised for a nock. "I was just letting Clarissa know that I have decided to join you in your festivities."
Jace raised a brow, obviously confused, but quickly shrugged off the oddities and stepped into the room, wrapped his arm across Clary's small shoulders, and lead her out of the room in Jonathan's wake. "You okay?" He asked, tucking her into his side when he noticed her shiver.
She nodded slowly, not daring to look into his eyes, Jonathan's threat echoing in her mind. "I'm just tired."
The street coursed with electricity as music, midday heat, and excitement seemed to pulsate around the crowd that filled the streets of the French Quarter. Never before had Clary seen so many people in one place, all sporting some sort of decoration causing those enjoying the festival to look as if they belonged right alongside the great floats.
"Look," Jace said, bending down with his lips to her ear so that she was able to hear him over everything else. He pointed a few yards ahead of them to where what looked like two statues stood.
They were gorgeous, more intricate than any sculpture that she had ever seen. Mouth agape in awe, she moved forward to admire them more closely. The figures were draped from head to toe in lavender silks and velvets with bits of embroidered lace and pearls to accentuate and decorate. The few places that were not covered by lush layers of fabric where painted the smoothest of silver and Clary had to suppress the urge to reach out and touch. They looked to be a Lord and Lady, stepped from the pages of a Renaissance textbook.
Just as she lifted a cautious hand to adjust a string of pearls that had been jostled out of place, the female figure moved, nearly giving Clary a heart attack in the process and causing her to give a small shriek of surprise. "Thank you," the statue – ney, street performer – said with a kind smile and nod as she and her partner both switched stances before freezing once again.
Despite the loud music and hum of the crowd, Clary could very clearly hear Jace's low chuckle from where he stood a few feet behind her.
"Shut up," she grumbled, doing her best to hide her own amusement at her reaction, and turning to follow the sea of people through the Quarter.
In a few quick strides, Jace diminished the distance between them and intertwined their fingers as they strolled through the streets. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as they weaved through the pedestrians, his contagious good mood flowing through their laced fingers and easing some of the worry in her stomach.
As they walked, her emerald eyes darted about, surveying her surroundings and coming up with a million exit strategies should her chance to disappear present itself.
Stealing a glace up at Jace, Clary's heart shuddered within the confines of her chest and a wave of guilt and worry washed over her. She had been a wreck during the few weeks after Jace had first disappeared off of the rooftop with Jonathan. She hadn't slept, eaten only what he mother practically force-fed her, and was an all around useless member of society. Grief had completely and utterly crippled her. Since meeting Jace, he had always been the oen with the plan, the golden and brilliant sunshine showing her the way and keeping her out of trouble. He had burst into her world and opened her eyes, but his absence had left her blind and fumbling. The idea of leaving him again, with Jonathan of all people, terrified her to her core.
Reaching up with her free hand, she ran her fingertips over Jace's ring that she wore in a chain around her neck.
'I love you and I will see you again soon,' his letter had said. He was counting on her to save him, trusting her to set aside her own fears to bring him back.
Jace had risked everything for her in the past. He had fought demons, nearly lost his best friend – his parabatai – when he had been more focused on keeping her safe than the fight. He always put her first, always loved her with all of his being.
Now it was her turn.
Ahead of her was a large group of college students, their woots and hollers as loud as their blood-alcohol levels. Their group consisted of at least fifty, all with their faces and/or bodies painted in the traditional purple, green, gold, and yellow or wearing feathered boas and face masks. Masks and beads were scattered all along the pavement. All she would need to do was scoop one up and attach herself to the group to disappear.
To her right, down the center of the street, was a slow moving hearse decorated in yards of shimmering fabric. A beautiful woman in an elaborate red ball gown sat atop the hearse, her hair teased tall, curled, and adorned with large red roses and bits of baby's-breath. Her entire face was painted like a skill, the only exception being her full lips that were a vibrant red. All about her, on-lookers stopped and called out for her favor – a mixture of flowers and beads – as the caravan moved on. She could easily get lost in the crowd if she told Jace that she wanted to get a better look: ducking behind the hearse and into a back ally.
Deciding that would be her easiest escape route, Clary turned to Jace prepared to spout something about getting a closer look only to be cut off when Jonathan's cold hands clapped down onto her and Jace's shoulders. He nodded towards a bar and ushered us forward, successfully demolishing her plan.
Mermaid's Bay was exactly like it sounded: a mini island of warm beaches and sunshine in the middle of a city. Complete with a tiki hut set up and potted palm tree's, Clary felt like she had stepped through a portal into Hawaii. As they moved deeper into the club, the colors and décor changed as if they were descending into the water: the light colors of a sunny day on the beach fading into darker blues and purples of the ocean, complete with seashells, shimmering green seaweed, and large glass lights that resembled bubbles hanging from the ceiling.
"Wow," she breathed in amazement, Jace's grip on her hand tightening as the crowed around them surged with the DJ's change of song.
"I'm going to look into something," Jonathan said, his cold and calculated voice sending a chill through Clary's body despite the immense body heat that filled the room.
With Jace's amused grunt, she turned to follow Jon's gaze, only to find it zeroed in on a beautiful girl that looked to be in her mid twenties. She felt an instant pang of worry for the girl that Jonathan set his gaze upon.
"Relax, Clary," Jace said as Jonathan moved toward where the girl sat at the bar, his movements reminding her of a tiger hiding within the tall grass, waiting to pounce. "This is supposed to be fun. You're supposed to be having fun." He said, placing his finger under her chin to turn her face and attention to him. "Stop watching him like he's about to sprout a second head. While our lives are linked, he's not a threat."
She took a deep breath forcing herself to nod as she tossed him the best smile she could manage. "I know, I know. I'm sorry," she said, shaking her hair out of her face before stretching up on her tiptoes so that she could wind her arms loosely around his neck – his hands dropping to rest on her hips as she did so. "And I am having fun. I was just really looking forward to it being just us. I miss you."
"Well, it's just us right now," he said, that confident smile that made her heart melt playing on his lips.
"Quite the deduction, Sherlock," she teased, her fingers curling in his hair and tugging playfully before dropping her arms after placing a quick kiss to the corner of his lips. "I need a minute," she said, nodding towards the ladies room. "Save me a dance?"
"I can't promise anything. That would involve literally beating the woman away with a stick, and I just don't know if I can handle that kind of power again."
With a teasing shove, Clary untangled herself from Jace's arms and slithered through the pulsating crowd in the direction of the restroom. When she finally made it to the door, she looked back and stretched up onto her tiptoes to see over the moving bodies, only to find Jace right where she left him and engaged in a conversation with a group of twenty-something's that looked like they belonged on a Hollister bag, all sporting little more than body paint.
With a final glance at him, she took in the way his cheeks were tinted slightly pink from the heat and how his shirt clung to his frame in the moisture filled air. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and hurried passed the restroom and into a door that was marked EXIT – STAFF ONLY.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Clary nearly jumped out of her skin when she pushed through the heavy exit door only to be met by a small wisp of a girl that looked as if she thought she were as mighty as a giant. She took a step back, her green eyes large with surprise and her mouth fumbling for an explanation. "I – I took a wrong turn somewhere."
"Right, 'cause 'EXIT' and 'STAFF ONLY' aren't any indication that you're not supposed to be using that door," the girl huffed, tossing a few discarded brown beer bottles into a recycling bin. She whipped her hands off on her nearly completely shredded jeans before bending over, gathering her thick hair into her first, before righting herself and molding her blue-tipped locks into a perfectly messy bun. "Are you stupid or something? Can you not read?" The spritely girl continued, her hands planting firmly at her hips.
"Sorry, I'll get out of your way," I huffed, my window of opportunity dwindling the loner I remained planted in place. It would take Jace all of five minutes to go looking for her when she didn't return from the restroom, and she only had about three and a half left.
"Not so fast," the girl said, placing her tiny self directly in Clary's path. Being barely over 5'2", she could hide her astonishment when she could see right over the girl's head. "You look a little bambi-ish. What's wrong with you? Did someone try something?" Her previous tone of dismissal was quickly traded for one of fierce protectiveness. "I don't put up with that bullshit in my club. If someone can't take no, then they can find somewhere else to stalk their pray."
"No, I just-" She froze midsentence as the sound of Jon's voice drifted into earshot from around the corner. Swallowing, she quickly changed her tune. "Yeah, just this guy that's been bugging me all night. I just want to get out of here without worrying about him following me."
The girl before her pursed her lips in thought before nodding her head to the side, down the ally in the direction away from the street and Jonathan. "Take a right down there, then a left to get back onto Bourbon. You shouldn't have a problem loosing him in this crowd." After a moment more of thought, she pulled a check pad and a souvenir pen with floating fish in the stock from her back pocket, scribbled something quickly, then ripped the check and handed it to Clary. "If he shows up and starts giving you more problems, you call me," she pointed to the scribbled phone number with the end of the pen. "This world is fucked up enough without some asshole that can't take a hint. We don't put up with that around here." She said simply before moving past Clary and back into the club.
Shoving the number into the pocket of her jeans, Clary thanked her quickly before hurrying in the direction that she had been instructed – right, then left – and retreated into the sea of people.
