Clary's POV
The sound of the knock echoes down the corridor; the only sound apart from the hammering of my heart. My fist closes around the handle and I let myself in.
"Go away, Isabelle," I hear him spit. He's sitting on a window seat, his stele in his hand as he traces a random pattern on the wall. "I said, go aw-"He repeats, looking up at me as I walk anxiously towards him.
"Do you mind? I can leave if you want," I ask and stuff my hands in my jacket pockets. Jace shakes his head and his blond hair falls into his eyes. I fight the urge to push it back.
"I thought you were Isabelle," He says into the silence. I smile.
"I know." Sitting next to him, I look out over the city, sighing. "It's so weird."
"What's so weird?" He places his stele beside him, studying my face curiously.
"Not remembering," I shrug. Jace nods, silently – his eyes boring into mine. "Everything here is like a really weird sense of déjà vu."
"That's because you have experienced before."
"I know but I don't remember it," I whisper, leaning my head back against the wall. "I want to remember." Jace doesn't say anything. He just stares at me – a confused mixture of emotions on his face.
"What's so interesting about my face that you feel the need to stare at it that long?" I tease him, grinning.
"I haven't seen it in so long, I'm trying to memorize it," He murmurs and crosses his muscular arms over his chest. "I'm also trying to get used to an older you."
"Is there a compliment somewhere hidden in there?"
"I'm trying to get used to a more beautiful you." I blush; a tingling feeling going up my spine.
"I'm covered in ichor and blood and sweat, and you're calling me beautiful?" He nods seriously and I shake my head. "Your idea of beauty is a little strange. "
"You don't know the meaning of the word strange until you've met Magnus Bane." I burst out laughing – throwing my head back and hitting it against the wall. I cry out in pain and Jace snorts. "Smooth, Fairchild."
"Fray," I correct him.
"Fray?"
"Yeah, Mom changed our last name, supposedly, when we moved to America so we couldn't be traced."
"Clary Fray," Jace says, testing the name out. He shakes his head and casts a forlorn look out of the window. "You're still Clary Fairchild to me."
"Can I ask you a question?" I whisper after a moment, spotting Pandemonium in the distance. The neon sign stands out to me amidst the chaos of the city; the Angelic rune dominant in the centre.
"Uh-huh."
"Were we ever anything more than friends?" There's complete silence. I look up at him – watching him as he drags a hand down his sculptured face.
"Maybe we could have been," He mutters. Could have been. As in past tense. Could have been if you didn't forget everything. Could have been if you hadn't disappeared to America. Could have been if you remembered him. "I loved you."
"I loved you too," I mutter. Jace stares up at me with an intense look in his golden eyes.
"Y-You remember?" I roll my eyes.
"I remember a little bit. Some people. Some fights. Some places." I bite my lip – a habit I had grown accustomed to in the last few days. I look down at my hands, frowning slightly, "Mostly you."
One of Jace's hands rests on my knee, his other reaching up to brush a tangled, matted piece of frizzy, red hair out of my face.
"What about me?" He murmurs as his fingers trace my jaw lightly. My eyes flutter under his touch but I remind myself where I am.
"How you would let me win in fights just to make me feel better," I whisper, and Jace grins – the first time I've seen him grin. His thin lips pull back to reveal a set of almost perfect, white teeth, dazzling me further and making my heart stutter. It's nice to see the small imperfection in one of his front teeth though – a small chip probably achieved during a fight. I take his hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. "How it felt to hold your hand. How you looked the last time I saw you." He shuffles closer to me and leans his forehead against mine.
"I was so worried about you," He says. "I didn't want you fighting." He's so close I can see little specks of hazel by the pupils in his eyes and can see the small lines in his forehead he's creating by frowning. I trace the lines with my index finger; smoothing them out. His eyes flutter closed and I let my hand trail down past his temple and towards his jaw.
"I've never hurt so much," I hear him say – his voice breaking. "I never want to hurt that much again. How can you love someone who broke your heart? How do you know they won't do it again?" It sounds like he's convincing himself to pull away from me – save himself the pain – but he doesn't. His hands rest on my waist and his forehead still leans against mine.
"You don't," I reply honestly, watching his eyes open to meet mine. "But I promise you; I'll never leave you again." I think he's going to kiss me and I want him to, with all my heart. But he doesn't. We just sit there; his forehead against mine, his hands on my waist and my hands resting at the nape of his neck. I can't concentrate on anything other than him, and his eyes don't waver from mine.
Peace.
That's what I feel in this moment – blissful happiness.
But.
Deep in the realistic part of my mind...
...something tells me that this feeling won't last.
Third Person POV
"You do understand, don't you, that this girl... she isn't like any other Shadowhunter her age? She possesses powers beyond what even she knows and, if she learns of them, she will prove harder to destroy," The man says, his hands gripping the back of the chair with so much force, his knuckles turn white and the old wood creaks.
"Yes, Master, but-"
"You understand, don't you, that her friends and family are much stronger than you, or any of your weak comrades?" The young man, standing behind his master, frowns.
"I wouldn't say that's true, Master, I –"The Master turns, instantly cutting off his servant's words.
"Even though I hate to admit it, the Lightwoods come from a long line of exceptional Shadowhunters, Twenty-Four. If you want to survive, you will learn to accept this fact quickly, otherwise you will not survive."
"What about the others? – The Downworlders they seem to be allies with? Surely they will easily be... taken care of?" The servant, who goes by the name of Twenty-Four, is a loyal worker. The Master walks across the room, his long maroon cloak rustling against the floor as he walks.
"You would think," The Master shrugs, pouring himself a glass of blood-red liquid, "But Miss Oakwood is... stubborn – smart too. She will prove most difficult to dispose of."
"Now, the Warlock," The Master continues, his hand gripping his glass a little too tightly, "Is very annoying, very talented and very experienced. He's been on this planet for a long time and knows who he is and knows his powers well."
"Magnus Bane you mean? Why would he fight with them? He's been approached by us for recruitment countless of times but never accepted. What's so special about the Lightwoods?" The Master is silent for a moment; swirling the wine in his glass around and around.
"It is to my understanding that he was the one who wiped Clarissa's memory." Twenty-Four crosses his arms across his chest and frowns.
"So, he's what, paying a debt?" The Master shrugs.
"That," He says, "And Ten was saying she thinks Bane was in a relationship with the eldest Lightwood."
"Was?"
"Yes, was. As in: not anymore."
"What about the werewolf?" Twenty-Four questions, his hand coiling into a fist by his side. It had been a long time, but still he sought revenge for what had happened. His blood craved for the death of one of those mutts.
"We know his weaknesses – it shouldn't be hard," The Master says casually, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. For the first time that evening, The Master smiles – a sly, twisted smile that makes the shadows in the dimly lit room, fall on his face in peculiar and menacing ways.
"What are his weaknesses?"
"Jocelyn Morgenstern, of course," The Master says, "And her daughter also."
"So what must we do to win?"
"Break him, what else?"
"So, we kill the woman?" The Master sinks into his favourite armchair by the fire – closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back.
"Oh, no, we already have her," The Master says. "We need the girl. You get the girl, you're already half way there. Her death will break so many people, they'll be begging for death."