"Do you think he's going to wake up? It's been three days now."
"You have to give him time. That wound was pretty much fatal. He's lucky to have lasted this long."
"A coma is lucky?"
"Compared to what it could've been, yeah." A pause. "Your kind seems to die pretty easily, don't you?"
"Haven't you heard that it's bad luck to talk about death in a sickroom?"
If he could have, Alec would have chuckled at that, remembering when he'd said the same when Clary had come to the Institute.
It hurt. He ached all over, and whenever he breathed there were sharp pains in his stomach. That paired with his pounding head made it hard to focus, but he could make out those words. He hated it – especially the fact that he'd become somewhat conscious. The dreams he'd been thrown into were bliss, filled with his happiest memories. They were from times with Max, Jace, Isabelle – but mostly with Magnus. Those green-gold cat eyes peering out from long dark lashes, the soft black hair like silk that would tangle in his hands, the heat radiating off the golden skin that kept him warm, the bright colors always present, whether in the makeup or the clothes – everything that had to do with Magnus. Every moment he could remember became so clear, so detailed, and Alec held on to them for dear life. The recently acquired consciousness was pushing them away, the thoughts slipping through his fingers as he woke up.
For a few minutes, he just laid there, trying to get up the strength to open his eyes. He concentrated on his breathing, thankful for the reminder of life in each inhalation. And at the sound of clicking heels, he assumed Izzy was pacing. It was typical for his sister only when something was bad – really bad.
His eyes fluttered, and he squeezed them shut at the faint exposure to light. He groaned and shifted, stopping the heels in their tracks. There was a momentary pause, and they rushed closer to him, a warm hand on his cold one. When he could finally open his eyes fully, he saw his sister's brown ones, full of concern and relief and tears. She let them fall down her face and wrapped him in a tight hug, shaking her head and blubbering without letting go of him. Alec weakly wrapped his arms around his sister, trying to convey his relief at simply being alive. He knew how she felt, especially now: they didn't want to have to let go.
Someone coughed behind her, and she pulled away reluctantly, stepping behind a strangely familiar man. Alec had seen him before; Magnus knew him. Markus, maybe?
"You're awake then. That's good, I suppose," he said, towering over Alec. He seemed unnaturally tall, just like Magnus. Were all warlocks so tall? He'd always considered himself tall, towering over most of his own family, but spending so much time with Magnus and his friends had made him feel like he had more of an average height.
Alec managed a small nod, and rasped, "What happened?"
Isabelle flinched, and with a squeal she grabbed the glass of water on the table beside her and handed it to her brother. She sat down next to him, fussing with her hair and stumbling over the words. "Well, I figured I'd go see how you were after you left Luke's, so I went to the apartment, but it was all dark. I figured you might've gone to sleep already, but you didn't look tired so much as upset, sad, y'know? Well, I turned on the lights and there was blood smeared on the floor and at the end you were lying there in a pool of it." She stopped for a moment when her voice broke, but kept going. "You're usually colder than us, but you were like ice then, Alec, and I was so scared that I was going to lose another brother. You barely made it, and we had no idea what happened. You've been out for about three days, Alec."
He looked at her, really looked at her, and noticed that she wasn't wearing any makeup anymore. It wasn't there to be messed up. And her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail – and not one that was purposely messy, but one that only had the function of keeping it out of her face. It made him see that it wasn't just him that was suffering, but everyone around him as well.
"I'm sorry, Izzy. I didn't mean to make you worry," Alec told her, his voice better once he took a drink of water.
Isabelle shook her head. "I know that. But who did this to you?"
Alec's tone turned bitter. "Can't you guess?"
"Jonathan Morgenstern again?" the warlock asked. Alec and Isabelle nodded in unison, and he rolled his eyes. "Honestly, can't you keep track of your own kind? Find him and deal with it yourself. Shadowhunters," he muttered, shaking his head.
Isabelle whipped around, her hair flying, her eyes glaring murderously and her voice almost out in the open and dripping with venom. Alec spoke up first.
"He's like you."
Markus stopped, not turning around but definitely interested. "What was that?"
"Jonathan. He's got demon blood, Greater Demon blood."
"But that's impossible," Markus whispered. "That would mean –"
"It's burning out his humanity, giving him an edge over everyone. He must be at least half demon now, because he's like you. He's got magic, and he's had it figured out for a while now." Alec explained.
Markus waved his hand dismissively. "Why should we take your word for it?" His words were mocking, but his voice was strained, tight, as if he was desperate to have Alec say that Jonathan was just another Shadowhunter.
Alec's voice stayed quiet. "He took Magnus."
Markus raised his eyebrows at that, but said nothing, opening the opportunity for an explanation. Isabelle jumped in when Alec didn't respond. "They were throwing magic at each other, and he backed Magnus into a corner. He just snapped his fingers and they both disappeared."
Markus said nothing else, shocked into silence, and Isabelle and Alec were silent as well. There were no words anymore.
Simon walked out the front doors of St. Xavier's, his backpack slung over one shoulder and mercifully light. He'd stayed late to practice with Matt, Kirk, and Eric; they'd been able to use the band room at school instead of Eric's garage.
He walked home, a prickling sensation running down his spine. Something was going to happen soon, he just didn't know what.
Later that night, he was on the computer when someone knocked on the door. Simon walked to the door, opening it hesitantly. In the doorway stood a girl that looked only a few years older than him. At first glance, she was completely normal: blond curls, bright green eyes, street clothes. He just didn't know who she was.
Then she smiled, and her sharp teeth glittered like his did when he couldn't control them. He noticed her skin's translucent pallor, and her graceful air, lithe and catlike even when she stood still.
"Simon Lewis, if I'm correct?" She had a mixed accent; a little bit French, maybe Russian or German from the rough tone in her voice, but the British accent was more pronounced. It was definitely not something you heard in New York every day.
Simon stood a little straighter, telling her, "Yes. What do you want?"
She laughed. It sounded soft and compelling, but there was a trace of hysteria underneath. "Of course, how rude of me. I am Camille Belcourt. Nice to meet you, Simon Lewis." She held out her hand.
He didn't shake her hand. She withdrew hers with a trace of disdain, continuing. "You have probably heard of me. I lead the coven in this city."
"I thought Raphael led them."
"In my stead," she added. "I had to attend to some business in Europe. He is of no use to me now."
Simon grimaced. "What does that mean?"
The smile Camille had on her face matched her cheerful tone, but the words didn't fit, chilling him. "You won't have to worry about him anymore."
There was a moment of silence before Camille spoke again.
"Now, I've been meaning to speak to you for quite some time now. Word travels, Daylighter," she told him, using his newly acquired title, her tone making Simon shiver. "You were in Idris during the battle against Valentine, I believe?"
Simon nodded.
"Your condition is interesting. Not completely unheard of, mind you, but interesting nonetheless. Some of our kind has, ah, realized the risk of leaving you alive. You are a hot commodity, as they say."
"Stop with all the polite bullshit. Why did you come here?"
Camille's eyes narrowed, but the smile didn't as much as falter. Her voice, now, was like honey over shards of ice. "I came to see how much of a threat you are. Is that concise enough for you to understand?"
Simon's stomach twisted, but he nodded, aware of the Mark on his forehead. "And what do you think?"
"That the Mark you bear will bring us all trouble," Camille told him.
Simon ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back so she could see the full Mark. "It wasn't my idea, but I'm sure it's better than getting killed."
"I wouldn't be so sure. Shadowhunters are never the most trustworthy in this world," she intoned. "Be careful who you trust, Simon Lewis. You might not be worth the risk of killing, but we know others who aren't so protected as you are." She tuned and started walking away, calling over her shoulder, "Good night, Simon Lewis."
Camille walked away slowly, but Simon didn't bother to watch her go. He closed the door, locking each lock and leaning against it, sliding down until he was sitting. His eyes closed. He knew it was silly and childish to do something like this, something he hadn't done since he'd gotten over being scared of storms. He knew the locks wouldn't keep her away, and a light laugh in the distance reminded him all the more, but the superficial comfort he'd always gotten from it flooded through him. Camille Belcourt scared him more than anyone he'd ever met, and she'd have seemed perfectly sweet in any other situation. He'd gone up against Valentine, Raphael, and an army of demons, and the fear he'd had of all of them put together was nothing to rival his fear for Camille. She seemed far more dangerous than anyone would give her credit for.
He desperately hoped he was wrong.
Clary had locked herself in her room, only allowing Isabelle in, and that was only in the case of food. Clary didn't eat it, but she knew it helped Isabelle feel useful. Sometimes, when Isabelle set down the food and sat next to her, Clary would just sit there with her in companionable silence. Other times she'd fling herself at her friend, sobbing with abandon, wishing she could do so with her mother. Isabelle seemed to understand, even playing with Clary's hair sometimes. It felt so good to be hugged, especially by someone who would understand. Her mother was in almost the same state as she was, probably worse than Clary had seen. Maryse was usually with her, according to Isabelle.
Clary didn't like that. With Luke gone, she and Jocelyn should be finding comfort in each other, not in the Lightwood girls. But it didn't seem possible for her to move to her mom, to get up off the bed, to open the door and walk down the hall, to go sit next to her mother. Clary was already perpetually exhausted. She wasn't even drawing anymore. She would just hold her sketchbook, sometimes flipping through it, sometimes leaving it closed. She let Isabelle see it, but they didn't talk much.
She picked up the leather bound book again, flipping through the pencil sketches, the scribbled notes, the marks of a smudgy eraser or a pen running out of ink on the sides of the pages.
Something caught her attention this time, though. The runes she had drawn beside her picture of Jace, and the coffee cup. The ones that let her pictures become real.
Clary gazed at them for a moment, tracing the broad strokes in them and the thin lines that connected them when something clicked in her head. She saw a rune in front of her, as clear as it would be in front of her. She flipped to a new page, scrambling for a pencil, jotting it down.
Pulling her hand back from it, she studied the rune more closely. It looked like an ornate mirror, in a simple oval with looping lines designing the edges.
It reminded her of Snow White, of the magic mirror she'd always found so interesting when Jocelyn would read the story to her as a little girl.
Jocelyn. She thought of her mother, and was startled when she heard a splash from her bathroom.
Clary jumped up, walking briskly to see that everything was mostly in order. The only thing that had changed was the sink, now filled almost to the brim with water.
And reflecting an image of her mother, half asleep, mumbling in her sleep.
It looked so real. Clary reached out to touch it, almost as an involuntary action, but as she touched the water's surface, the image disappeared, the water draining down the sink's pipes.
Clary sat down on her bed, her sketchbook beside her and open to the rune she'd just drawn.
What was that?
Bookworm24601 - It's not fair. Sorry hon, but that's the point... don't hate me?
dragonfairy16 - I hope your hair survived. Because I just updated. :D
freefall - thank you for the compliment! I'd like to think I'm awesome... yeah, that's a nice thought. Thank you!
Fly Away Dreams - OH MY GOSH. WHY DO YOU KEEP HAVING GOOD DAYS WHEN I UPDATE? It's not fair. I'm so sad for you. But it's alright for now, but some heavy stuff is coming soon. And I'm glad you've got something up your sleeve. I'm already in love with your story :)
DisturbingEmily - I never said I wasn't mean. And I never said I was killing them. Silly! I couldn't do that morally. And I couldn't go up against all the fangirls, because I am one. And since I'm the closest to myself, I'd be the first one to get to me. And that would make it a suicide. And I don't want that to go down.
Kitty Bane - I know! I like to think of him as my best friend, or an absolutely amazing brother! I tell my mom, my friends, my relatives, and everyone else 'IT'S NOT UNNATURAL!' but they keep using the f-word around me. I hate that word. Fictional (shudder) And you're a warlock? I wish I was. That would be... amazing *awestruck eyes*
I realize.. that I didn't update last weekend. Do you forgive me? I had so many projects for school that I had to keep up with, along with my normal homework, and my friends dragged me out to Gnomeo and Juliet for English class extra credit (we're doing Romeo and Juliet right now) so I had almost no time to update. And if I did, I used that time to sleep.
Forgive and forget? Or not? Either way, leave a review and let me know what you think? Some heavy stuff is about to go down. What's going on here is bigger than our boys think.