Hey, I'm back! I was really upset about the lack of response from last chapter... THREE reviewers. Not sure what went wrong... *sigh* Anyways, this chapter is dedicated to those three reviewers: MaxWaylandGrey, Serenity Shadowstar, and BadAssChick01. Thanks.

To those of you who are refusing to review because Alec is dead: Just because he's dead, doesn't mean he won't be in the story. Max is dead by City of Fallen Angels... but in Chapter Fourteen (at least, I think it's fourteen), Jace is apologizing to Max. It's true; look on Cassandra Clare's website for the chapter titles. Review and let me know you want the link and I'll PM it to you.

No, Jonathon is not the antagonist of this story; has this story really been that predictable?

Disclaimer: I'm not Cassandra Clare.

Chapter VI

Clary gaped at Magnus, her mouth unashamedly hanging open. She had not seen the warlock since Alec's death, sure that he thought they were to blame. Glancing around quickly, everyone else was in the same state of shock. The reason for their befuddlement was not so much confusion for Magnus' presence, but more so for the lack of hostility in his voice and body language.

They exchanged gazes with each other, trying futilely to communicate silently with wide eyes. "Oh, please. I am some eight hundred years old. Do you really think I can't read your faces? You lot are more expressive than theatre troupes," Magnus berated them, a colorful cloud of sparkly smoke emanating from his cigarette.

Quickly, the Shadowhunters – plus Downworlder – dropped their eyes, averting each other's questioning looks and Magnus' amused and skeptical one, suddenly seeing some splotch on their shoes. All of them opened their mouths; however, upon seeing their companions about to speak, they shut their own mouths resolutely, nervous smiles quirking at the corners of their lips.

Magnus simply arched one of his perfectly plucked eyebrows and decided to help them out. "Let's start again, shall we? My name is Magnus the Magnificent Bane –"

"High Warlock of Brooklyn, yeah, yeah… And you'd like to ask us what was happening and whatnot, yes?" Simon finished for him.

Pretending to ponder, Magnus stroked his nonexistent goatee in deep thought. "Hmm… yes, that'd be a good place to start."

"Hold it!" Jace barked out. "We've no idea where you've been and what's happened. Why should we tell you everything?"

Clary bit her lip; her eyebrows drew together, indecision and worry clear on her face. Nevertheless, Jace had a point that couldn't be argued: How could they trust Magnus, who had left them without a word? However, she would really prefer to not be on Magnus' bad side. Izzy and Simon seemed to be in the same predicament, their eyes darting from Jace to Magnus, and back again. Everyone was leaning towards the table; the tension was thick enough to be cut with the dagger in Clary's hair.

Magnus narrowed his eyes, "Might I remind you, little Shadowhunter, that you were my boyfriend's parabatai, and therefore should've been watching his back? Instead, you abandon your life-long brother for this girl that you thought was your sister." He gestured vaguely at Clary, his voice twisted with scorn since Shadowhunter.

Jace's eyes simmered, almost like boiling water before it bubbled over. "Yeah? Well, let me remind you –"

Clary cut him off here. "STOP! This won't get us anywhere. Both of you – actually all of you – listen here. If we keep arguing with each other, there'll only be anarchy, chaos, and the beginning of chasm… of which could spread throughout the entire Clave as soon as anyone finds out." Here, she turned to Magnus. "How did you know what happened? How did you know that Jace chose to my safety over Alec's?" An inking suspicion was spreading through her, swiftly diffusing to her fingertips and extremities of her body. Despite her words on cooperating with each other, she couldn't help but feel uneasy that Magnus knew this.

Everyone else caught on to what she had silently implied… that Magnus knew more than he was saying. He sighed. "I have sources in Idris, you know. I'm not the High Warlock of Brooklyn for just my fashion skills."

The entire room visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping, the tense silence from before Magnus' statement broken as everyone inhaled a huge gasp of air.

"Okay then. I went to Idris because I knew I'd be shunned if I remained here. When I got there, I ended up in the Morgenstern manor, albeit I've never been there before. There was a passageway that lead to the Wayland manor, and I found Valentine's little manifesto about his experiments." Jace's voice twisted around experiments, the disgust evident in his voice. Clary couldn't help but silently second that emotion. "I also found a note, which incidentally, was destroyed by Clary. So, I'm confused," Jace concluded.

"Well, I can shed some light on the note. It's a glam –"

"We know that much." Izzy was evidently extremely ticked off; her full lips were distorted into a sneer. Surprised, Clary swiveled her head towards Isabelle. There was an unmistakable hardness and thinly veiled anger in her eyes. Abruptly, the pieces clicked in her mine. The other girl was resenting the way Magnus had abandoned them when he was needed most.

"I know you know it's a glamour," the warlock replied, unafraid of meeting the challenge. "But do you know how to trace the glamour to its caster?" Magnus smirked, knowing he held the trump card, and waving it ostentatiously.

Clary was viciously jerked out of her sleep-induced haze at these words. "That's possible?"

"Only the fey know without doing any work if they had spies their… however, some warlocks can trace the source."

Simon sat upright, immediately intrigued. He hadn't been paying much attention before; his attention was completely focused on the glittering Asian Downworlder, now. The little hamster wheels that turned his undead brain were whirring at a ridiculously feverish speed. "Can you?"

"Certainly. But why should I? What would you pay me?"

Jace and Isabelle were absolutely enraged now. "Excuse me? This is your dead boyfriend we're talking about!"

"Pay you? What, you don't even care about the murder of someone who was your friend?"

Their voices rose in a deafening torrent, each of them clamoring and fighting to be heard, to be listened to, a crescendo of tenor and soprano. Simon's fangs slid out, pricking his lower lip, the veins becoming prominent, the civilized look of humanity leaving his face, replaced with the dreadful, feral look of a predator on its hunt. For the first time, all of them were united in a common cause, fueled by their rage.

Worn out, Clary's eyes rolled back, and she sank into the oblivion of much needed sleep.

"Clary? CLARY?" Isabelle noticed her friend slump without warning. Just like in August, Izzy never noticed how much she cared about Clary – almost as a sister – until she wasn't there. She'd felt incredibly guilty calling Clary for help when she'd basically called her a bitch just hours ago. There was no other choice, she reminded herself. But there was. There was the Clave… but you didn't want Maryse to know her son had been murdered. There was a sharp pain in the palms of her hands; her nails had driven in, her slightly calloused hands unable to stand against the sharpness of her manicured fingers.

Everyone looked over, alarmed by Izzy's shout. For a moment, there was wild panic in her companions' eyes… until Clary snored. Immediately, they turned back to Magnus, all three of them glowering, refusing to pay Magnus so he could help find the cause of death of a common friend.

However, the warlock appeared to remain unfazed, sparkly face as smooth and unruffled as when they first saw him at his cat's birthday party. Who holds a birthday party for their cat? Isabelle's mind wandered, in denial that any of this was happening. Exasperated, Izzy made up her mind. "Look, if you can help us, do so. If not, you can show yourself out."

Everyone gawped at her, stunned into silence. She never gave up that easily. It was completely out of character for her to do so. Guess Clary really has been rubbing off. Not that Clary gave up easily…

That earned her a Cheshire cat's grin. "Certainly, m' dear." And with that, he vanished.

A brief moment of silence followed. Then, they unleashed their fury on her. "Don't say anything," she warned them. "The fey know. Why don't we go to them, instead of bothering with some idiot who's obviously not going to help?"

"Even the Seelie Court doesn't give us anything for free. There's always a price."

"I know." Surprisingly, Jace agreed with her. "There's no point dawdling here, attempting to barter with an unwilling warlock. Did you notice how he didn't comment on anything? I think he knows more than he's willing to admit."

"Well, he is an eight-hundred year old warlock who's been all over the world." Do all Downworlders put each other before Nephilim and mundanes?

"If someone murdered Clary, how far would you go to find out the truth? Or if you knew information, and we asked you, would you give it to us?" Jace's voice was soft, with an icy undertone.

"That's different," Simon replied firmly, but Isabelle could see in his eyes that he didn't believe that himself.

"How so?"

"She's my childhood friend. I've known her since I was six. Magnus has only known Alec for two or three months," Simon futilely attempted to defend the only other Downworlder that was in the company of the New York Shadowhunters with any regularity.

"All right. Let's rephrase that, shall we? If you knew information about me being murdered, and Clary asked you if you'd help, would you?" Jace's eyes held Simon's, daring him to say no.

"Yes," he replied with only a brief moment's hesitation. Nevertheless, that miniscule amount of time was enough to get the information that Jace was looking for. Obviously, he didn't say that was the information he was looking for, but Isabelle had, after all, known the blond Shadowhunter since they were twelve. They glanced at each other, now more or less certain of the where the vampire's loyalties lay.

"Wait! Before you jump to any conclusions, you should know this: It depends on who did the killing. What if it was you, Izzy?" Simon asked, turning to her, desperation in his eyes beseeching her to understand.

"Are you implying that I would kill my brother?" she challenged, her tone cold enough to match the temperature of Simon's skin. The way she spoke, paired with the icy black of her eyes, was like flinging ice shards at the vampire. She longed for her glimmering electrum whip, yearning to burn off the frustration of the day in physical exhaustion. How dare he assume she'd kill her only remaining brother?

A ray of reddish sunlight burst through the drawn, translucent curtains, illuminating her face in a horrifically beautiful way. Izzy started, not realizing that so much time had passed since Clary had come and saved them.

As the realization of what he'd said dawned on Simon, his eyes grew large as golf balls. "No, no, that's not what I meant," he backtracked hastily. Nevertheless, the damage had been done. Albeit Izzy knew it was a hypothetical situation meant to put her and Jace into an impossible predicament with no choice, she was too tired to deal with it and think logically.

"Because I would never. I would never murder anybody. Especially not my family," she hissed. The Law! There's a higher law than the Clave, Alec. The law of family. Thinking of Alec brought a fresh pang to her heart; it was hard to get over going from the middle child to the only child in a few months. She felt someone pull her into his arms; a brotherly hug. Jace. He knew her pain, too. His favorite brother and his parabatai… all gone. At least he had Clary. She had no one. Stiff and unyielding, she outwardly betrayed no feelings. That was what being a Shadowhunter was sometimes: acting like you didn't give a care in the world; that you were better and above everything. Lately, she was beginning to understand that it was all false.

The entire room was illuminated now, and Clary shifted in her slumber. The orange glow hit her face, tinting it to almost match her hair. She emitted a soft moan and turned her face away from the sunrise. Exhausted and annoyed, Isabelle rubbed her eyes and shoved her hair back.

"Are we going to ask the Seelie Queen or not?" Jace queried, always cutting through the drama and getting to the heart of the problem.

Frowning, Izzy shot him a glare as she pulled away. "Haven't you heard that patience is a virtue, Jace Herondale Lightwood?"

"Only from those without lives," came his cutting remark.

"Sorry to interrupt this touching familial moment, but we really do need to figure this out. If Magnus the Oh-So-Magnificent refuses to help us for his own devious little reasons, and we don't want to owe the Seelie Queen…. What do we do?" Clearly, Simon had been trying to suppress his rudeness out of remorse for his earlier words, but some of the harshness still seeped through, like spilt water from the table onto the floor.

"Not much choice, is there?" Isabelle answered bleakly. Her hollow voice was devoid of emotion, as if she'd already given up, and accepted that her older brother was dead and no one knew who the murderer was.

"There's always a choice. Isn't that what you said to me, Jace, when I first met you guys?" Clary's voice rang out, still slightly muddled with sleep, though not as crabby as before her nap.

"Hello to you, too. Currently, we're debating whether or not we should ask the fey for help. We don't really want to owe them any favors –"

"– But we don't have any alternatives." Clary cut Izzy off, much to the annoyance of the more experienced Shadowhunter. Isabelle quickly quashed those feelings of resentment. They'd all been through Hell in the last several days… and for someone who was raised a mundie…. Well, she doubted that she'd be doing much better, herself.

"Yes, there's always a choice. However, sometimes… they're all so abysmal and dire that we just don't bother considering them," Jace answered Clary.

"True that. Could we ask any other warlocks? The Clave has so many working with them. Besides, we should already have notified them of a fallen comrade, anyways, right?"

Izzy and Jace exchanged a brief, desperate glance. She couldn't help it; Isabelle started fiddling with a long strand of her hair. It was a nervous habit that she'd never quite been able to get over. That didn't go unnoticed by Clary. "What?" she demanded.

"We are supposed to. It's just…" Isabelle trailed off helplessly, begging Jace silently to help.

"Maryse and Robert are in the Clave, too. And they've already lost one son, how do you think they're going to handle hearing about the death of another one? Especially because they're negotiating some treaty in Idris right now (something or other about stabilizing the New Accords?) they're definitely not going to take kindly to hearing about Alec."

Izzy watched as Clary's shoulders fell in defeat, and her perceptive glance became downcast. "Well, the Seelie Queen doesn't like me that much, right now… especially after I refused to tell Luke to help Meliorn."

"Magnus is being uncooperative, and Ragnor is dead," Jace quipped, unhelpfully, albeit true.

"We can't turn to the Clave, either."

"I believe we've already stated that," Clary remarked dryly. Izzy glared at her.

"I'm trying to be helpful – clearly not appreciated," she snapped back. "That leaves us with nothing. There's no way we could possibly track the origins of the glamour on our own."

"Unless…" Jace trailed off.

"What?" Isabelle and Clary demanded together. Glancing over at Clary, she noticed that her posture was similar to that of her own: back straight, feet flat on the floor, leaning forward slightly.

"Tessa might be able to help; albeit, I doubt it."

"How could she possibly help? Besides, we haven't seen her around much either. Come to think of it, no one's been in our immediate vicinity for a long time."

"You think it's deliberate." Izzy didn't ask Clary for a confirmation. Instead, she stated it. "However, Jace's right. If Tessa could change into Magnus, we could get the information we needed."

Cynically, Clary replied, "No, you're wrong. Magnus said he could track who cast the glamour. He didn't say he knew who cast the glamour."

Here, Jace spoke, "Our isolation probably is deliberate. Not to mention that we all suspected each other, and were wary of one another. If we're cut off from the rest of the world, with no contacts to call on for help, and we don't trust ourselves, that'd be an impeccable time to attack us if you're the enemy, right? It's considerably easier to kill a bunch of Shadowhunters that are grievous, desperate, and alone, than a group of Nephilim that protect each other and are vengeful for a brother's death."

"Who can we trust, then? The fey never give anything without a price, sometimes more than it's worth. Magnus wants us to pay him." Bastard! How could he expect us to pay him for help finding out why his boyfriend's dead? Furious, Izzy continued to rant silently, all but unaware of the conversation between Jace and Clary. Like we haven't done favors for him? And we didn't charge him. Stupid, glittery freak.

Suddenly, a long-fingered hand was waving itself in front of her face, the fingers blurring, creating a tanned tint across her vision. It focused, the fingers snapping, the loud pop reverberating in her mind. "Isabelle!" She heard Jace's voice demanding for her attention.

She shook her head of the cobwebs that had formed, sticky and warping at the corners of her mind. Eyes wide, she glanced at Clary, before returning her undivided attention to Jace, giving him her best sorry I zoned out; you were saying? gaze. "Yes?"

"We've conceded that the only logical and legitimate course of action is going to the faeries and asking them – very politely, mind you – to please help us and keep the conversation off records. That okay with you?" Clary piped up from her perch.

Mutely, Isabelle nodded. Shocked at how much time had passed, she offered, "We should clean up the place. Want me to do it?"

Clary smiled her thanks. "I'm coming. Jace, is there any way you could schedule an audience with the queen? She likes you the best."

"I'll do my best." His mouth quirked in an arrogant smirk, though his eyes were still old with sorrow.

Efficiently, she and Clary worked together, removing the stains on the couch; vacuuming the glitter; washing the coffee mugs. When they finished, she peered outside, where the back of Jace's blond head was facing her, his hands gesturing animatedly. Well, he's obviously exasperated. He seemed to be arguing with a pixie, her sharp teeth gnashing together, as she spat responses to his pleads. The bickering didn't cease, not even ten minutes later when Clary joined her at the window, wearing new clothes that weren't covered in blood, and a clean set for her as well.

"Thanks."

Just then, Jace turned his back on the faery, his hands flying into the air once more in anger. The pixie shot forward, her talon-fingered hands outstretched, her mouth gaping open, her eyes ferocious. The distance between them closed, three feet… two…one….

They collided.

So, that's it. I hope it's getting better. But that's up to you. Review? Please? I would say I'm aiming for thirty-five, but I'm probably just going to disappoint myself. So, yeah. No review goals for this chapter.

P.S. I included Izzy's perspective because I feel she should be represented more.

P.P.S. This is my first fanfic... and I don't have a beta. Should I get one? Do I need one? Let me know what you think.