"Clary, no."

"What? Why not?"

Jocelyn's folded her arms across her chest. The movement was meant to make her look more assertive, but she just looked like she was protecting herself. Her face was scrunched up like she was smelling something foul. Clary could tell that she hated to say no to her, but Clary missed the Jocelyn who once would have given her everything she wanted.

"You can't run around at bars all night, Clary, what do you want me to do?" Jocelyn leaned against the table, the meager casserole full of organic, enriched ingredients sat untouched in front of her. Clary's was also untouched and lukewarm. "You're still sick, Clary."

"I won't be out all night. It's just for a few hours." She gritted her teeth, hating how immature it made her feel to negotiate with her mother. If it were a better world, she would be able to go out and have fun until her curfew was up like a normal girl on a normal Saturday night, but Jocelyn would happily tie her to the chair and force-feed her vitamins all night long if she could.

"What will you be doing for two hours? Spray painting buildings? I'm not letting you run around the city-"

"But-"

"Not buts."

Her mom picked up her fork and started to scoop up some of the casserole. She paused with the forkful in front of her, and Clary thought for a moment she was going to try to feed it to her. She just pointed at Clary's dinner and said,

"Try to eat, honey."

Eating was the last thing on her mind, not just because she could hardly stomach the smell of her mother's cooking at the moment, but also because she was itching to fly out the door. Jace would be waiting to see her in the crowd. He might wait for her after the show. It was getting dark out, and the October evenings grew shorter, and as they did, Clary's urge to be a night-owl flared up like a fire. She would easily sleep all day, sleep away her sickness in the harsh daylight, and then she would set herself onto the night, feeling strong (well, less sleepy). But daylight had it's advantages, she supposed, thinking of Jace's eyes in the sun this morning. Her lips tingled

Clary sighed, looking down at the green casserole. Her mother wouldn't let up if she didn't at least co-operate on this. Maybe if she wolfed it down, Jocelyn would reward her with a sabbatical from lying in bed all day. She took the elastic from around her wrist and hastily threw her hair up into a ponytail, readying herself for the food like it was work. When she went to take a bite of her dinner, her stomach gave a physical lurch, but she swallowed it down anyway. She was reaching for some water when she noticed the look on her mother's face.

"What is that?" Jocelyn asked, hushed.

Clary didn't know what she was talking about, but her mother's eyes went suddenly wide.

"What is what?"

"On your neck, Clary." She got up and moved around to inspect Clary's neck, dropping to her level, she turned Clary's head in her hands. "Oh honey, it's not a contusion is it? Did you notice it today? When did you notice it?"

Clary pulled away from her mom with the feeling that she had swallowed a brick. A contusion on the skin was not good for her. It was where the cancer had caused patches of her skin to become inflamed and red and angry, would only mean that she was getting sicker. She saw them once on Simon, the large purple stain on his hip. It really did make it look like the blood was poisoned. Fumbling, she reached for her knife to look upon her reflection in the silver.

There, on her neck, was in fact a bruise. Small, butterfly shaped, and nearing the collarbone, right in the place that Jace had been kissing her when he was on top of her…where he had been sucking. Her whole body sagged in relief as she realized what type of contusion this was. Not cancer, she thought, just Jace.

"I think we should go to the emergency room, Clary, I want to get that checked out. They will want to change the dosage if it's become-" Jocelyn had gone into her panic mode of organizing and planning her way into calmness. Clary surged with a mixture of fear and dread as her mother got up and took both their plates, nearly throwing them into the sink. She moved around the kitchen, tucking away the ingredients left out from dinner with her back turned. "Go get your coat and shoes. And make sure you grab your-"

"Mom, wait." How was she going to explain this? Her heart started to thunder, her fight or flight instincts on high. She wanted to get up and flee, but she stayed sitting at the dinner table.

"I'm just going to call Luke, honey, you go get your things, okay?" Oh no. She sounded shaky, and upset. Her mother was going to crash soon if she didn't come out with it.

"It's nothing to worry about," Clary said. She cleared her throat.

Jocelyn came back to the table with the phone in her hand, turning to Clary.

"Oh, sweetie, you're probably right. But we should still have the doctor's run a few-" she started, her eyes wide with concern. Clary shook her head, exasperated.

"No, Mom, it's not that. I… it's not the kind of bruise you think."

"What do you mean?" Jocelyn lowered herself back into the chair beside Clary, her fingers tapping the wooden table nervously. Clary touched the place where the hickey was, refusing to look at her mother in the eyes.

"I think it's a hickey." Blood rushed to her cheeks.

"A hickey?" her mother asked incredulously .

Clary couldn't help but cover her face with her hands. Her voice came out muffled as she said,

"It's just a hickey."

There was a long moment of silence, and it was filled with all of Clary's mortification. Was her mother going to ask how? She'd been shut in her room for the past 72 hours, so how was it that a hickey miraculously appeared on her neck?

"Who's giving you hickeys?" she asked instead. Her mother's voice surprised her- it wasn't mad. It wasn't even judging. It was just a little amazed, a little amused. Clary pried her face away from her hands to look upon her mother's. Jocelyn was hiding a smile behind her hard, unwavering eyes.

"Jace," Clary started. It occurred to her that Jocelyn might think she was making this up.

"Not Simon?"

"No," Clary answered immediately. No one knew about the disaster dating period between her and him, and she didn't plan sharing it with her mother any time soon.

"Well…" Jocelyn trailed off, looking away, over at the pictures on the wall in the living room.

Clary looked at her mother for a long time, trying to think of the right thing to say. Trying to picture herself smiling and gushing over Jace, having good, old fashioned girl talk. She could tell her mother what his eyes were like, and how she wanted to paint them every time he looked at her. She could tell her that when he did look at her, he was filling in all her colors, and when he wasn't there, she felt grey. She could tell her that he might be curing her cancer, or at least replacing it with himself in her veins and her marrow. But she didn't tell her mother any of this. She just asked in a small voice,

"Can I please go, Mom?"

Jocelyn gave her that look again, the concern coming off her in little waves. It was the same look she got when Clary was in the hospital, being poked and questioned on her discomfort levels and having her head shaved.

"Okay," she said.

It was a short bus ride to get back to the clubbing district where the bar was. Normally, she would have walked, but she didn't want to wear herself out. The disgusting feeling of her body reacting to the chemo still lurked behind her eyes, inside her stomach. She promised herself that she wouldn't let it ruin tonight. She wouldn't let it ruin anything.

Fifteen minutes later, Clary found herself holding her breath past the smokers outside, and reaching for the cold door handle of The Steele. She could hear the music immediately, the repetitive sound of the guitar riff was Rebel Rebel. Her mother's David Bowie albums were always on in the background of her childhood. She felt a prickle of nostalgia as she slipped into the bar, which was crowded almost all the way to the door. The space had seemed bigger the last time she was here, but there were more people here now. She sucked in the stale air and noticed him right away.

He was onstage, drilling into the song with his legs bent low, guitar hanging lazily at his side. The singer with the mutton chops sang, "Rebel Rebel, you've torn your dress," shouting the words to the crowd. Everybody jumped, one big thumping entity, slaves to the rhythm. Clary felt the fluttering birds in her chest turn to bees, and begin buzzing around. She jumped once, not liking the way her whole body seemed to disagree with the movement. Her stomach gave another uncomfortable lurch. Okay, she would save dancing for him, but for now, she would get closer.

The crowd was like storm. It was hard to approach it without being blown away or sucked into the middle of it like an undertow. She pressed herself against the people, feeling sweaty bodies slide against her skin. In the thick of the crowd, the air was heavy with pot smoke and heat. Eventually, she made it to the far right. Only a few girls stood in front of her, and she was flanked by jumping boys who looked very drunk. She swayed a bit when the crowd did, and though panting, she was alright in this spot.

Jace was above her. Right above her like he was the first time. She reached onto her tip toes, seeing him, but not knowing if he saw her. The girl playing bass slid beside Jace, pressed her back into his, and moved her fingers slowly up and down her instrument Clary didn't realize that she was so beautiful. The first time she saw them, Jace was the one she was staring at. Now she couldn't take her eyes off the girl, who was tall like a model, and had the face of one. Her hair was so long, down to her ass and black as night. She writhed against Jace's back, dancing along when the singer yelled, "You've torn your dress, your face is a mess!"

Clary's stomach lurched and it had nothing to do with nausea.

The girl pushed off of Jace then, moving on to the singer. Her dark hair swung away while she tossed her around. Clary was sort of gaping at her, her mind furious for no good reason. Maybe him and this girl were friends, or more than that. It was possible that this girl knew Jace, really knew him. She was going to let her eyes follow the girl around the stage more, but then something distracted her.

It was Jace's hair as he flipped it out of his eyes, and his eyes that landed directly on her. She looked up at him, her neck bare, and she realized he could probably see the hickey. He smiled wickedly and she smiled back.

"Rebel Rebel," he mouthed.

She started to sing along with the song as it neared the end. She danced to this song with her mother in her pyjamas. The music went on and madly on while Jace moved back around the stage. Clary felt the energy at her fingertips, buzzing through her, but despite her best efforts, she felt the world start to spin, her head get heavy. Whoa. It was much to hot in here. Don't pass out, she admonished. It took her a moment to notice that the bar on her right was slightly separated from the crowd, darker and calling for her to come lean on it. She tried not to look back up at Jace as she squeezed away from the giant mass of people.

Leaning on the bar, she could still see him. She rested her elbows against the sticky surface and continued to watch the show, trying her best to look like she belonged here. The air was only slightly better over here, but she could feel herself relaxing again. Jace looked relaxed, he looked perfect, and right. His hands were the most beautiful when they were touching his guitar.

"Can I get you something, honey?" she heard a voice say from behind her. She turned her head, seeing the bartender who was not the same one that had been here last time. He was Asian, tall, with a head of spiky black hair. He was essentially tall, dark, and handsome, but she could see glitter on his skin reflecting in the light. He was young, however, Clary got the immediate sense that he was older than her.

"Um…just water." She didn't think ordering water helped her image much, but the guy filled a cup with ice and water and set it in front of her before she could say something cooler like, vodka on the rocks.

"Good girl," he said. "Stay hydrated."

She laughed and took a sip as the bartender leaned over the bar on his elbows, putting his chin in his hand. He looked bored, like he wanted to do something else, which must have been why he started talking to her. He pointed to her neck.

"Somebody really did a number on you."

Her fingers went to the mark again, nervously brushing over it. The skin was a little sensitive and she hadn't noticed that before.

"I guess so." Telltale blood rushed to her face. Being so pale was a disadvantage when you were like Clary, who was always embarrassed.

"I'll raise you," he said, tearing the sparkly black shirt he wore away from his collar. There were two dark purple hickeys there. She could only imagine how passionately someone might have to ravish her neck for those kinds of hickeys to appear. She imagined Jace doing that and felt a little tremor go through her.

"You win," she told the bartender.

"They're like an accessory, these days." Clary laughed at this. She was walking around with her hair up, leaving her neck bare for the world to see, wearing the hickey like it was a necklace. So maybe she wanted everyone to know that she wasn't so pathetic, that she had kissed someone and they'd kissed her back. The bartender asked her,

"Where's your boyfriend?"

She fidgeted with the glass of water. Up on stage, the song was changing into something else slower, but she could still hear Jace's guitar filling the bar with electricity.

"I don't really know if he's my-" she started, but the bartender interrupted her.

"He's got commitment issues, right?" He rolled his eyes. "They all have commitment issues, every one of them."

"No it's not that," Clary said. "He's just new."

Just then, someone else came out of the room behind the bar. There must have been an office back there, but Clary was too busy paying attention to the tall, slender boy that came from the door. He had dark hair, and blue eyes that registered her briefly, and seemed to dismiss her just as quickly. He moved over to the bartender.

"Magnus," the guy said. "You forgot to send the order in again."

The name Magnus lit up in her mind.

"You're Magnus?" she asked. He raised one of his dramatic eyebrows. There was dark kohl under his eyes and curiosity in them.

"The one and only," he said, batting his eyelashes. The tall boy seemed not to be paying much attention to Clary and Magnus's conversation. He raised his hand as if to run his fingers through the spikes of the bartender's hair, but Magnus swatted him away and gave him look. "I worked for three hours on this," he said, pointing to his head. The guy laughed and slid against Magnus so that he could put his arm around him instead.

"Jace says you can do magic," said Clary. At Jace's mention, both the boy's ears seemed to perk up like a dog's. The quiet one who wasn't Magnus looked more sceptically at her.

"Do magic? Jace has been underselling me. Sweet girl, I can conjure your inner most desires out of thin air, I can summon the spirits from the underworld and compel them to do my bidding, and I can assure you that it will always be your card." With that, he drew a deck of playing cards from his sleeve and looked like he was about to hold them out to her, but the boy with the blue eyes spoke.

"So you're Jace's new plaything?" he said. His eyes could have been x-rays, the way they bore into her with some kind of look, almost unpleasant, and entirely judging. Clary squirmed uncomfortably at the word plaything. She recalled Jace's voice saying something like,

"Rock bands don't have fan clubs, they have groupies."

She'd only known him for a week, and this morning she gladly threw herself at him What did that make her, exactly? Clary realized, as she looked at the two boys who probably knew Jace well, that she had no idea what she was doing. She had no idea what Jace would want from her, or what she even wanted from him. For the first time, she got the feeling that this whole thing was doomed from the start. How often did he have these "playthings" hanging around? Suddenly horrified at the idea, she tried to keep her mind from wandering to the worst-case scenario. He might just be keeping her around to kiss and deface property until he got bored, and then he would cut her loose. She remembered another thing he'd said, one of the first things he said about being a musician.

"Don't you know we're just in it to get laid?"

She felt suddenly sick.

"Are you alright, darling?" Magnus asked, and then several things happened all at once. On stage, someone threw a beer bottle that nearly hit the lead singer in the face, but shattered against the drum set when he ducked out of the way. Jace, with another fluid, cat-like movement, slipped out of his guitar strap and leaped off the stage, onto the drunken guy who threw the bottle. Clary spun and vomited on the ground beside the bar stool just as the crowd pushed away to isolate the fight. Without the music, the whole club seemed to be shouting, screaming, bustling. Clary gripped at her stomach, turning her head to see Jace bring his fist down on the inebriated guy beneath him.

She heard Magnus call for her as she fled, half running toward the back exit.