Author's Note:

Hi! Thanks to all y'all who followed, favorited, and reviewed! I hope you like this chapter; please continue to review, you don't understand how much your comments motivate me to continue writing! Enjoy!

~XhaliaGael

Disclaimer:

The Infernal Devices belongs to Cassandra Clare.

Modern Day: Somewhere in Wales

He stared out into the smoggy atmosphere that clouded the vast town. Moisture from the recent rain dampened his skin. The man rubbed his palms together, his long piano fingers intertwining over them. A line of fast driving cars zoomed past him, their electric paint gleaming in the corners of his eyes, pollution dripping from them. He could not deny that the world had been ashy and polluted when he had grown up, but this new, 'modern world,' was hardly something of his liking; especially these enhanced motor vehicles. He could remember his own son when the vehicles first appeared on the market, loud, chattering things without any protection against the freezing cold rain, or the scorching sun.

"Father, please!" James had begged, "It's a new millenium, a new age! We should embrace it!" He had rolled his eyes at his son's enthusiasm, it seemed like only yesterday he had been so similar to the boy, wild, ignorant, and careless.

"Embrace it if you wish, but I will not be paying for it! You have a wage, pay yourself," he had replied, running a hand through his black hair.

His stomach flopped; he couldn't think back, it only made his heart hurt. It hurt to know that his children were gone, dead in the ground, and yet he was still walking, living, and breathing. The man let out a sorrow-filled sigh, tugging the sides of his jacket closer over his shoulders. His grandfather had somehow managed to force him into some 'fashionable' clothes, as he put it, meaning, in other words, a pair of black 'jeans,' a blue graphite t-shirt with a depiction of an angel's wings, (his grandfather was one for irony,) and a black jacket. The man couldn't help but feel exposed in the open like this; without any glamour to cover him, he was seen by everyone who happened to cross him. He reached down to his belt where his stele should have sat, and finding it vacant a rueful smile inched across his face. No, he was not a shadowhunter any longer; his kind didn't deal in the 'foolish,' and 'pointless,' magics, as his grandfather put it.

It was not long before he arrived at his destination, (though in his mind it felt like more hours than he could count). The Potion Mistress' Tavern shot up before him, it's dark black outerier casting a dreary and almost haunted aura across the place. Summoning up a great surge of courage, the welshman pushed open the door. The first thing he noticed was the noises; it had been so long since he had been crowded into such a place, (Tessa had most definitely not allowed it after they were married). The man flinched as a half-empty mug of beer was flung across the room.

"OWENS!" a loud, barking voice shouted from the other side of the room. He pivoted around to see the exact man, (if that is what you would call him), he had come to see.

"Aarin," he called back, a false grin spreading on his face as he ambled hastily over to the table where his appointment sat. Aarin was a dark creature, even one passing by him casually would know this. He wore long black robes that brushed against the ground, the hood pulled up over his head, almost in the style of the Silent Brothers. His beady, black, pit-like eyes peeked out from beneath the hood, glaring down at any poor unfortunate onlooker. His teeth were what was truly frightening, however. From the thing's mouth, twenty or thirty silver daggers cascaded, their metallic coloring glistening in the dim, and flickering light.

"Owens, you're late!" Aarin boomed as he pulled out a chair and sat himself in front of the creature, "Whatever would your dear grandfather say?" he spat on the word 'grandfather.'

"I would think nothing, as he was the one who caused my lateness," he shot back, a wicked look in his fierce, blue eyes. The creature remained silent, it's beady eyes facing the littered floor.

"Owens, you know why we're both here, and we had best get down to business," Aarin looked up, his dagger-teeth shimmering as he grinned, " What say you?"

"Nothing would please me more," was the blue eyed man's only reply.

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