Author's Note:
I'm really inspired for some reason this week; so here is another chapter for y'all! I have been getting some pretty good feedback so far on my last chapter; hopefully this one will get the same positive responses! Thank you again for reviewing, favoriting, and following! If y'all have any suggestions don't be afraid to leave them in the reviews, or private message me! I love hearing your feedback!
~XhaliaGael
Disclaimer:
The Infernal Devices belongs to Cassandra Clare!
Modern Day: Wales
"My boys have looked over your offer Owens," Aarin hissed in his metallic tone, "I must say, I am quite impresses by your apparent knowledge of warlocks and demons alike, your kind usually don't bother with such things."
"You know I am not one to follow with the normality," he replied simply. Aarin nodded.
"Does this mean that the rumors are true then?" Aarin quizzed.
"I have no idea of what rumors you speak of," he said, looking anywhere but at the demon.
"You were Nephlim before you changed were you not?" Aarin chuckled soundlessly, "Such an odd thing it is; your angel blood should have killed you off when you were just a lad!"
"I do not know what you are talking about," he said calmly, willing himself not to lose his strained control; he was desperate to fulfill this mission, "We have work to attend to I-"
"What was your name when you were a Shadowhunter?" Aarin chuckled thoughtfully.
"For the millionth time, I haven't a clue what you are talking about," he half-cried in desperation, "Please, let us get on with our business, and leave this folly subject alone!" Aarin looked at the blue eyed boy curiously, his silvery teeth shining.
"On one condition," Aarin said slyly, "I do so wish to know what your name was."
"And why would that be," he asked, a bit coldly.
"I have a bet back at the Tavern, you see," Aarin explained, "When the boys learned that I was going to enter a deal with you they insisted on making the gamble. There are so many rumors as to your identity you know!" Will pondered over this for a moment.
"And if I tell you this," he said after a moment, "You will proceed with business without anymore games?" The demon nodded.
"Then, William," he said, "William Herondale. Now help me find my wife."
Tessa pushed open the door of her and Jem's shared apartment; her eyes red and puffy from her recently shed tears.
"Jem," she called, "Jem, are you here?" she sniffled, walking into the living quarters. As if on cue, she heard the sound of feet on the floorboards.
"James," she said, wincing at the word. She had always tried to avoid referring to Jem as James whenever she could; James was her son, her dead son. She didn't like to think about it all that much.
"Jem please speak to me," she whimpered, ambling hastily into the living room where she thought she heard the footsteps. The room was drenched in darkness, but Tessa could still make out the faint figure of a man lounging nonchalantly on one of the couches.
"Jem, I am so sorry," she said, "It is just that Will is my past-" she flipped on the lights.
"How carelessly you dismiss our love, cariad," Will said with playful casualness.
1896
"Papa what is this?" five year old Lucie asked, holding out a batter book for her father; the girl was hardly out of toddler-hood, yet she was seemingly fascinated with the many novels that occupied the Institute's vast library. Will looked down at his daughter from his seat in his large armchair.
"Let me see," Will said, plucking the book from his youngest child's hands. Seeing the title, Will could not help but smile.
"A Tale of Two Cities," Will simpered, running his fingers over the beautifully engraved cover.
"Have you read it Papa?" Lucie quizzed, gleefully climbing up onto her father's lap.
"Indeed I have, cariad," Will chuckled, "In fact, I happen to know a very special story that goes along with this particular novel." Excitement plastered itself across Lucie's face.
"Will you tell me it!" she cried, her pansy blue eyes wide. Her father nodded.
"It all began in the year 1878..." he drifted on, telling the tiny child the story of a Shadowhunter boy who was cursed that no one would ever to love him.
"That is so sad Papa," Lucie sniffled, "I do not think I want to hear this story anymore."
"Ah, no, no! You must listen; you have yet to meet the boy's saviour," Will laughed, as he proceeded to tell the girl all about the grey eyed shadowhunter-warlock who saved the boy from himself. He told her of a broken jug, a clockwork angel, a silver-haired boy, a kiss under the snowflakes, and a letter scrawled in the back of A Tale of Two Cities. As he finished his story, the child lifted the book from her father's hands and flipped it over to the inner cover.
"It is really here Papa!" Lucy cried, "With hope at last, Will Herondale," she read shakily, realization hitting her suddenly.
"Papa! That was the story of you and Mummy wasn't it?" Will kissed his daughter's forehead.
"You're quite the detective my darling," Will said, running his fingers through her brown hair. Lucie smiled, nuzzling her face into her father's chest.
"Will," Tessa cried, bringing her hands to her mouth, "Will, it can't be," she murmured,as the blue eyed boy stood quickly, and rushed towards her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Tears dripped from the girl's gray eyes.
"Will," she sobbed, "Will I thought you were dead, I thought you were dead." Will ran a hand through her hair gently in attempt to soothe his bride.
"Shh, love, shh," he coaxed, "I'm here now." She sniffled, folding her head into his shoulder.
"Promise me you'll never leave me again," she whispered.
"I promise," he replied, lifting her chin with his index finger, and swiftly capturing her lips with his own. In that very moment, both Jem and Tessa's predictions came true; Jem was forgotten, and there was only Will. Only Will.
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