A/N: Beta-ed! Thank you thank you thank you to Chairman Meow, who patiently tries not to yank her hair out at my ridiculous overuse of this that or the other!

I know I've kept you lot waiting nearlly a month, and I only hope that you haven't lost interest. This chapter picks things up a bit (not so much crying from Clary), but it is also a monstrous 7000 words! I hope you like it :)


"It's not your fault, Clary."

Jocelyn was sitting on the end of her daughter's bed talking to a sizable lump under the covers that seemed to be sobbing. There was a gap in the distraught gasps as Clary fought her way out in order to glare at her, thumping the covers as she did so.

"How could you possibly spin it so it's not my fault?" she demanded. She wondered if her red eyes might make her look more demonic or imposing. She thought probably not.

"Was it your idea to Mark him?" her mother asked, not unkindly.

Clary thought about this briefly. "No, but -"

"Did you go along with it without hesitation?"

"Well, no, but -"

"Were you unconcerned about the possible effects?"

"No," she began. "But -"

"Then it's not your fault," Jocelyn concluded simply.

"But I still did it!" Clary burst out before she could be interrupted again. "It was my stele that Marked him! It was me who remembered the Mark. It was my fault." Clary wailed the last bit, and dived back under the covers in despair.

Jocelyn stood up and addressed the heaving covers sternly. "Clary," she said, all trace of sympathy gone.

Clary emerged timidly, blotchy face leaving her looking rather like a squirrel guilty of raiding the pantry.

"Where is the Clarissa Fray who killed a demon just minutes after discovering the Shadow World? What happened to the girl who braved the Silent Brothers to regain her memory, who confronted High Warlock of Brooklyn to do so, and who rescued her best friend from a nest teeming with Night Children because he managed to turn himself into a rat, of all things?"

Clary giggled weakly.

"And where," her mother continued more gently. "Where is my daughter, who travelled the world in order to save her mother and defeat her father?"

New tears crept down the side of Clary's face as she slowly realised that Jocelyn was not trying to make her feel better anymore, but instead trying to tell her how much she was respected. But in spite of this, a nagging voice that sounded strangely familiar was whispering to her that it was luck, it was all luck, and that Simon was now in danger because her luck had run out.

"It was all luck," Clary echoed.

Jocelyn drew herself up tall, three-inch heels adding to her full Shadowhunter height. "It was not," she told her unsympathetically. "It was courage, integrity, and most of all, talent." She strode to the door and opened it. "When you remember that, come downstairs and help us save your best friend. Again."

With that, Clary's mother left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

For a moment, Clary sat in bed, unmoving, not entirely sure what to think. Jocelyn's tone had switched so quickly and unpredictably that it had left her slightly stunned as to whether she was being reprimanding or strangely comforting. Clary thought back a year and half, of a woman in paint-splattered overalls wielding several brushes simultaneously, fiery red hair clipped up messily and tongue absent-mindedly running along her bottom lip in thought. Back then, Clary had always known what Jocelyn was thinking when she was angry. Or so I thought. There was probably some aspect of the Shadow World in all her anger that I never knew about.

Not for the first time, Clary wondered how well she really knew her own mother.

She sat back and let her swollen eyelids drift shut. She rifled through her memories until she came to the one that she wanted. Simon's face swam in front of her.

"It might not hurt me at all. I mean, I've already been punished, right? I already can't go into a church, a synagogue, I can't say - I can't say holy names, I can't get older, I'm already shut out from normal life. Maybe this won't change anything."

His eyes were full of pleading. He was asking her to maim him, to curse him. The Clary-In-Her-Mind cocked her head at him. She knew what she was supposed to say now. She was supposed to say that, maybe it would change things. But her heart wouldn't be in it. And then she would draw it. The Mark that would save him. The same one that was now hurting him.

She wondered what would have happened if she refused. The Not-Clary tried it out in her head.

"But maybe it will," she said, as she had done before. And then, "And if it does, then I couldn't live with myself. I won't do it."

The Dream-Simon's face fell as he drew Patrick's stele from Clary's belt. "Clary," he said. "Do this for me. Please."

Strange, Clary thought. He still said the same thing.

Dream-Clary frowned with the real one's thoughts. "No. We'll manage without the vampires. I can't do that to you."

The Might-Have-Been-Simon's eyes hardened. "You know you can't do it without Raphael's people. He was right; we'll all die. Please do this for me."

The Perhaps-Clary's eyes dropped. She reached out to Simon and took the stele with numb fingers. The tip touched to Simon's forehead as she thought of the Mark …

Clary's eyes were weeping again, but they remained shut as she let the scene play out. It didn't matter, she realised. She could have refused as much as she wanted, but Simon would have said something to make her do it. A horrible feeling stole over her as her mind's eye completed the scene. Perhaps that made it even more her fault; clearly she wasn't a good enough person to refuse to hurt her best friend. Even when she had hindsight in her fantasies, she still Marked him.

Knock, knock.

Startled, Clary sat bolt up and hastily wiped residual tears away from her eyes and cheeks. "Uh, come in", she called, voice wavering as she realised how much of a mess she must look. Indeed, she caught a glance of her reflection in the mirror - the redness of her eyes contrasted with her pale skin and matched her eyes to give her a very ghostly appearance.

Maia's face appeared hesitantly around the side of the door. Clary's eyes snapped to her as she waved her in.

"Are you sure?" Maia asked, as if frightened that Clary were some kind of time-bomb. "It's just, you look fairly down and I don't want to make you feel worse…" her voice trailed off.

Clary stared. "'Fairly down'," she began sarcastically before realising that Maia was probably joking. "Oh. Um, don't worry. I don't think I could get much worse."

"Simon can't talk."

"I was wrong," Clary evaluated as her heart struggled in the decision as to whether to pound furiously or stop completely. "This is worse."

Something moist left a glistening trail down Maia's face. She looked like she was torn between yelling at Clary and comforting her.

She settled for, "I'm sorry," and they lapsed into uneasy silence.

"You can yell at me," Clary offered eventually. "I know I deserve it."

Judging by Maia's flattened ears, it looked like she was seriously considering doing just that.

"No," she said eventually, although there was a low growl underneath her tones. "I came here because I thought you should know that one of the wolf pack has gone to Idris to tell the Lightwoods what happened. And Jace," she added unhelpfully.

"Oh," Clary said, unsure of what her reaction was supposed to be. Happiness? Frustration? A new emotion previously unknown? "That's … good?"

Maia nodded enthusiastically despite continued snail-tracks of tears. "Luke says that there's bound to be something or someone they know that could help."

"Let me guess," Clary added, unable to keep slight bitterness from entering her tone. "Alec Lightwood has all the answers because he was brought up by the Lightwoods and Hodge."

Maia looked confused. "Actually, I think he said that Isabelle was more likely to have answers."

Clary thought she detected a reflection of her own mildly acidic tone.

"Isabelle?!"

The were-wolf girl nodded, this time with less energy. "Apparently she was on some kind of Downworld exchange program just before you showed up."

"They do that?" she wondered aloud. "I thought Shadowhunters hate Downworlders."

Maia looked unimpressed.

"Sorry," Clary added hastily, catching her expression. "I just meant, the Clave doesn't seem too … fond of you. And neither did the Lightwoods - so why risk an exchange program or whatever?"

"I don't know how to explain it," she began uncertainly. "I suppose the best way is kind of like your Mark. The one where Shadowhunters and Downworlders are linked." Clary nodded in understanding. "Well, some Shadowhunter families let their kids live with Downworlders for a bit. Probably reconnaissance," she added thoughtfully. Clary laughed.

"Probably. So who was Isabelle staying with?"

Maia shrugged. "No idea. Not with the Pack. Probably the Fey or a Warlock."

"That would explain how she met Meliorn," Clary muttered to herself.

"What?"

"Nothing." Clary untangled herself from her covers and gently prodded her face. It seemed less swollen. "Let's go downstairs. See what they're doing."

Maia shrugged agreement, and led the way out of Clary's room.

On the way down, Clary thought about what Jace must be doing at the moment. She could almost see him in front of her, face set in a mask of determination to find out what was wrong with Simon, and how to fix it. Boys, she mused darkly. Always fixing things.

But, another voice sneered at her. If this can't be fixed, then you'll have murdered your own best friend. What would your mother think of her pride and joy turning out to be nothing more than a killer - nothing more than Valentine -

"No," she said aloud. "I'm not like Valentine."

Maia stopped on the stairs and turned around, causing Clary to nearly walk into her and send them both tumbling down the stairs.

"Watch it, Wolf," she snapped. Then stopped. That wasn't her talking! Not at all - she had always respected, if not liked Maia.

"Sorry," Clary apologised feeling colour rising to her cheeks. "I - I don't know what that was. I didn't mean -"

"Whatever," Maia said coldly, and turned back around. Clary cursed under her breath. Why had she not thought about what she was saying before she said it? It's not like she wasn't the sort of girl who had to watch her tongue. At least not usually.

Downstairs, the room had taken on a sombre when Clary walked in. Everyone was rushing around in a sort of dream-like calm, presumably trying to fix Simon. She looked around for her best friend, but he wasn't there - had no one bothered to call Magnus to help? It didn't seem likely. These days, despite his vehement hatred for it, Magnus was the first on anyone's list.

On cue, the front door burst open as if caught by a sudden gale. The whole room seemed to jump with it's occupants at the loud bang.

"Garroway, if you do not have a reasonably legitimate reason for calling me here, like say, someone's head dropping off," Magnus informed the room. "I shall be morally inclined to transfigure every being in this room into a cat." He paused. "Aside from myself, of course. Tails are awfully inconvenient at the best of times."

Luke strode over to attempt wrestling the door shut. The wind that had blown it open seemed to be glittering blue sparks.

"Magnus Bane," Jocelyn addressed him, sweeping in from the kitchen. "I thought I heard your distinguishable tones."

Magnus's orange long coat swished around him as he bowed formally. Clary thought she detected a carefully measured amount of mockery in this gesture.

"Jocelyn Fairchild," he replied in the same oddly formal tone. "It would be such a shame to curse this room, and I think you are quite sensible enough to know that I am not joking when I say I will. So to what end do I owe this inconvenience?"

"Simon," Clary interrupted, suddenly very impatient.

Magnus seemed to attempt a sigh, although the effect was slightly ruined by the smile spreading over his face. "Rat-boy?" he asked. "Well, I'll try not to make the transformation too painful."

Clary flushed furious. "He's dying!"

"Again? Well, I can't say I'm surprised."

"Listen to her!"

Everyone looked around. Maia was clutching the bookcase as she shook, causing the whole structure to tremble with her. She growled loudly to emphasise the point. Jocelyn stepped beside her an lay a cool hand on her arm. Maia's growling quietened.

"Magnus," Clary's mother said just as calmly as before. "Simon's infection with the Mark of Cain has begun to take effect on him. He has lost his speech, but we're almost certain that this is just the beginning."

Infection.

Unexpectedly, Magnus didn't jump to contradict her. Instead, he looked mildly interested.

"Really? That is almost excusable. Do continue."

Luke took over as he finally slammed the door shut, cutting off the wind mid-whistle. "Our girl Maia noticed that Simon was, er, distracted for lengths of times. Little things. Like the ifrit's eyes - the one who bounces at Taki's. Then apparently he just stopped talking mid-sentence and didn't continue."

Clary felt an icy hand twist at her gut as the world around her fazed out. She couldn't help but feel that she should have been the one there, not Maia. She should have been the one to instantly help Simon. Maia was just a - a girl. Clary focused in on her. She was still clutching the bookcase, but the shaking wasn't as violent. A small frown was creasing her forehead. Not even a proper frown, Clary thought. This is my fault.

Magnus had drawn himself up importantly. Clary's mind registered distantly that enough conversation must have passed in order to cause him to wear an expression appropriate to having just been asked to fly a ship off the Demon Towers in Idris.

"…and I'll send a fire-message if by some miracle the books I've read thousands of times over, and which I'm sure don't have anything about the Mark of Cain in them, actually do," Magnus was saying, sounding deliberately ticked off.

"Thank you, Magnus," Jocelyn told him, smiling. "Now, let me see you out."

"And we can discuss my payment outside?"

Jocelyn smiled. It was a smile that made Clary sure that, whatever Magnus wanted, he was not going to get it. "Of course," she said.

The two of them left, closing the door behind them. The second it snapped shut, Maia released the bookcase and hurried through to the kitchen.

"Maia?" Luke followed her through and Clary caught indistinguishable conversation. She heard her name being mentioned, but her mind was too far away to care.

A sudden, overwhelming feeling of fear encased her. Sitting down was instantly the most important thing she could possibly direct her energy towards doing. Clary stumbled from where she had been hovering in the stairway, and collapsed onto the couch. Seconds later, Luke came in. He strode over to her, but didn't make any moves to sit next to her, or to help her. Clary wondered if it was because he thought his fear was infectious. Hers certainly felt like it was.

"It's not that bad," Luke told her, sounding very much as though he didn't believe it himself.

Clary glared up at him. "I muted my best friend!"

"Well, yes, but you know as well as I that with Magnus on the case - "

"He doesn't have a clue," she told him blankly. "You know he doesn't, but you're still pretending like everything will be okay because Magnus Bane," - she put as much sarcasm as she could into those two words as her voice heightened - "is on the case."

Bang.

Clary's voice had risen to a hysterical shriek, and as if to punctuate her last words, the bookcase that Maia had been clinging to fell forward with a smack. Clary and Luke jumped back from where they were, and there was a moment of complete silence as both werewolf and Shadowhunter stared, wide eyed at the fallen shelf, before the kitchen and front doors burst open simultaneously.

"What happened!"

"We heard Clary shout and then -"

"I do believe someone lost control of their -"

"Are you okay?"

"Well, clearly they're in something of a shock -"

"Luke! You said you were just going to talk -"

"Well no one's going to hear even if we do tell you -"

"QUIET!"

Jocelyn's voice rose above the rest, cutting the frantic din of babble off mid-sentence. Magnus studied his nails.

"Now that we've all calmed down and established peace -" he began lazily.

"Oh, please," Clary cut him off. "You were as loud as everyone else."

Jocelyn cut off Magnus's reply before he began with a stern hand being held up in his face. She looked pointedly at Luke, who gently steered a still slightly shell-shocked Maia towards the couch that Clary had vacated. Clary stepped away from it.

"Right," Jocelyn said commandingly, ignoring, if she had noticed, the sudden icy tension in the room between the two girls. "Luke, would you please tell us who did this?"

Luke shook his head at her. "No one touched it."

Clary wondered briefly if Luke ever minded the fact that her mother clearly had a more powerful presence than he. He didn't seem to, and Jocelyn seemed equally unaware during these times that he might mind. She concluded that he probably didn't.

Jocelyn was frowning at Luke, as if they were having some sort of secret communication in the look passing between them. "It's old," she said eventually. It was true - the bookcase was possibly one of the last things that Jocelyn had yet to replace or refurbish in Luke's living room.

There was a small pause before she continued, "And Clary's right, Magnus. You were as loud as the rest of us."

"Be that as it may," Magnus said airily, now running his hand about a foot above his head so that it brushed the tips of his glittered spikes, "Now that we all have adequate reassurance that all our fragile little tooshies are safe, I have one last question to ask before I depart."

"And that question would be..?" Clary asked, fairly content that she had won the upper hand against him for once.

"Who was in here when the bookcase decided to impersonate a lycanthrope with a silver bullet through his heart? No offence," he added, looking at Luke with an expression that clearly stated that he couldn't care less if he had caused offence.

"None taken," Luke told him. Maia frowned unhappily. "And it was just Clary and I. Why?"

"Excellent," Magnus concluded, clapping his hands together and turned with a grand swish of his cloak. The marks and patterns glittered sharply in the light. "Then I'll be off."

He glided to the door and opened it widely, sending a small burst of wind around the room. Clary thought she saw a glint of satisfaction as everyone shivered slightly, before the door clicked shut behind him with surprisingly little sound.

Immediately, Luke addressed the girls on opposite sides of the room.

"I don't particularly care for your attitudes," he told them sternly. "Maia, you're in my pack, and I expect far more gracious behaviour from you. Clary, you are living under my roof, and whilst you do so, there will be no more silent, or otherwise, feuding with members of my pack. Understood?"

He glared menacingly at them. They both shrunk back in shame.

"Yes," they muttered.

Luke's expression cleared. "Good. Now, you should know that Jocelyn and I are going to make a very short trip to Idris."

"To Idris? But -"

"Enough," Jocelyn told Clary before she could even begin her beg to come with them. "We are going to talk briefly with the New Clave to see if they have any resources they'd be willing to lend us." She hesitated for a moment. "The New Clave are our friends, but Simon is not their problem. The Night Children may be particularly difficult to sway, and as you know, there has to be a unified vote in order for them to assist us legally. It is for that reason, Clary, that you will not be accompanying us. The majority of the Council still fear your powers, and it would not be helping Simon if you were to be a hindrance."

Clary's mouth opened involuntarily. A hindrance?

"Without me Valentine would never have been defeated!" She argued.

"Clary," her mother said, tone softening. "They all know that. It's just going to take some time for them to understand that you're on our side."

Makes sense, Clary thought reluctantly.

Jocelyn continued as if she could hear her daughter's defeat. "We're leaving now. Magnus has opened us a portal outside and it would be foolish of us to let this opportunity go to waste. Luke?"

She held out a hand, which Luke took as he opened the door to allow her through first. "Be safe," he told them. "And do not do anything or go anywhere stupid."

The door shut for the third time in about ten minutes.


"What is it about being told specifically to stay away from a place that makes you instantly run there?" Maia grumbled as she and Clary strode across the back alleys of New York.

Clary smiled slightly. "You're here too," she pointed out.

It had taken all of three seconds for Clary to convince Maia to accompany her to the local Vampire nest at Hotel Dumort as soon as Jocelyn and Luke had left, but considerably longer to prepare themselves for said trip, and it was now very close to midnight. Clary had raided Luke's weapons shelf in the back room for steles and seraph blades whilst Maia snuck back to the police station and got whatever she could find there, which happened to be a couple of mirrors.

"For reflecting moonlight," she'd explained to Clary's quizzical look. "In case they decide to be uncooperative."

The reasoning behind their little excursion was simple; the Vampires didn't like Simon. In fact, they would go out of their way to see him dead. And something about this, in conjunction with Raphael's legendary Christian upbringing, made Clary think that perhaps prying information out of them might prove a more fruitful effort than anyone's round-trips to Idris.

Maia had agreed. "I mean, so far there's two werewolves and a Shadowhunter in Idris because of this, and we're getting nowhere."

No one had bothered to mention that they had been abroad for no significant time at all.

Clary hitched the green backpack slightly higher as they passed under a pool of streetlight.

"Besides," she told Maia. "There was nothing specific about Luke's warning."

"I think," Maia said reasonably. "That walking into Dumort right now counts as 'stupid'."

Clary ignored her. "Remember what we're going to say?" she asked.

"Of course," Maia rolled her eyes. "it's not that hard. We tell them to tell us what we know or -"

"Shut up," Clary hissed, eyes darting around her.

"Right. Sorry."

The walk didn't seem as long as it should have, but it passed in silence. Maia supposed that they were both thinking about how this would play out. Her initial bitterness at being left behind when everyone was off saving her boyfriend had caused her to agree to what she now was sure was the stupidest thing she'd ever done in her life. The only reason she was still striding along with wolfish confidence was because she felt like she had something to prove. Simon might have chosen her in the end, but she was acutely aware that she was still second next to Clary.

"You'd walk to the ends of the Earth for him, wouldn't you?" she asked impulsively. Clary nodded sharply.

Maia wondered if she'd do the same. Walking into a nest full of vampires required a certain amount of bravery, yes, but -

An outflung arm stopped her in her tracks.

Maia looked past the arm of Clary's that she'd walked into, and saw a towering building not ten feet ahead. She could just make out the sign above the door that proclaimed the once-grand place to be Hotel Dumont. She squinted slightly and saw that the "n" had been replaced with an "r".

"Vampires have a sense of humour," she observed.

Clary still said nothing. She was gazing up at the hotel as if steeling herself.

"Ready?" she finally asked.

Maia nodded, half trying to convince herself. "Y-yes. Yes." She took a deep breath. "Yes."

Clary looked at her weirdly before shrugging and taking a step towards the gate that separated them from mortality. Or immortality, Maia supposed.

"Clary, wait."

She turned around irritably. "What is it? If you've got cold feet, then leave."

Maia growled. "I have not got cold feet. Being a werewolf, I tend to have warm feet as a rule."

"Then what, because I want to get this over with."

"I just thought; no one knows where we are."

Clary turned back and strode around the back of the hotel. Maia hurried after her, just in time to see her opening a grate and sliding down a small shaft. After a split-second hesitation, Maia followed her.

The shaft was fairly narrow, and Maia supposed it was once used for deliveries when the hotel was at it's prime.

Inside the hotel itself, she could see that, once, it probably was a beautiful place. Whispers of grandeur still clung to the mouldy curtains. She barely had time to glance at all these things as Clary strode towards what looked like an old ballroom.

Clary herself felt that if she didn't get herself into a situation where turning back was not an option, she would do just that. It would be quite simple to just think that they would find the answers in Idris … that being here had no purpose … but no. She felt she had to do something reckless.

Seeing the hotel for the second time only brought back memories of the first. As her gaze swept over her surroundings, Clary saw the curtains that had torn from their first excursion here when Maia's pack had ambushed the vampires.

An imminent doorway announced the ballroom's presence. Clary stepped to the centre before she could hesitate, and turned her face upwards. The galleries were empty.

"Raphael!" she called. "I need to talk to you!"

At once, there was a barely audible rustling, and Clary heard Maia gasp as the balconies were suddenly full of ghostly figures staring down at them.

"What a surprise, Shadowhunter."

Clary looked back down. Raphael was standing in the doorway she had just passed through, with a much taller woman behind him. It appeared to be the boy who had spoken, though.

"You're not surprised at all," she told him coldly.

He cocked his head slightly to the right and smiled very slightly. "No, I am not. But I find that it amuses my people to toy with human emotions."

Clary could feel Maia behind her, a fierce growl festering in every inch of her shaking body. Stay in control, she willed the girl. For Simon.

"Clarissa Morgernstern. So you are the Shadowhunter girl that Raphael has reported of," the tall woman finally spoke. She had a very high voice, radiating a certain power that Clary had never come across in a vampire before. This must be the woman in who's stead Raphael had been leading.

"Well, you may not be loved, but they always recall your name," Maia whispered.

Clary hissed back. "Now is not the time to be quoting Simon's music."

"You recognised it?"

"He's been trying to get me into it for years."

"It's pretty good."

The tall blonde woman behind Raphael held up her hand to the girls. "Enough. You trespass on my territory, and you do so with a werewolf," she spat the word. "Your reasoning behind your assumption that we would not kill you right here and now must be exemplary."

Maia whistled low. "I can see why she outstrips Raphael."

Raphael's cheeks coloured slightly. "Jacob," he called upwards. "Come here."

Clary recognised the slim vampire boy that jumped from one of the uppermost balconies to land, uncannily, on his feet.

"Raphael?"

The two vampire boys exchanged a look that Clary felt could be nothing good. As if to mock her, Jacob moved with lightning speed and caught Maia in his strong arms.

"Let go!" the werewolf shrieked as she struck at the vampire with strong arms. "Get the hell off me!"

Clary dropped the bag of weapons and started behind her to help, but Raphael was suddenly gripping her arm. "Don't", he told her.

Jacob's long arms were now wrapped around Maia's persistent torso. She kicked out at him, but he caught her leg with his, and sent her slamming to the ground. He put a boot-encased foot on her stomach.

"Don't move, Wolf," he told her unconscious form comfortably.

Clary turned back to the tall woman, wide eyes luminous with unwelcome fear that she tried to dispel with confident accusing words. "Why did you do that? There was no reason to!"

The woman grinned almost cockily. "Oh, but I disagree," she said superiorly. "On two counts. First, if you bring a deep-rooted enemy into our midst, you cannot expect us to simply allow it. And second; I did not order this." She looked at Raphael.

Clary glared at the boy and yanked her arm out of his grip. He let go, caught by surprise.

"Let. Her. Go." she snarled. "Now."

A flicker of fear passed briefly and satisfactorily behind Raphael's eyes, before the more familiar, cold, uncaring look flooded them. "No," he said simply. "We, as a race, owe you, Clarissa Morgenstern. You may leave now, unharmed. But we owe lycanthropes nothing, and as such, the wolf-girl will not be bestowed upon such mercy."

Maia stirred on the floor. Jacob pushed his boot into her stomach, earning a small groan of pain.

Clary glared at Raphael so hard that tears stung her eyes.

"What about Luke," she demanded angrily. "Without him, you would probably be dead by now. The Alliance rune saved your kind as well!"

Raphael shrugged delicately. "Possibly. But with no way of knowing that, we do not quickly bestow favours upon our enemies. Now, Shadowhunter, leave."

Clary drew herself up and reached into her pocket. The cool touch of a seraph blade handle sent calming vibrations through her arm. I'm a Shadowhunter, she remembered. I am Jocelyn Fray's daughter. I can do this.

Another voice came, unbidden into her mind. You're Valentines daughter, it reminded her. And the power you have does not extend to Downworlders. Leave the girl. Save yourself.

"Shadowhunter," the blonde vampire called dangerously. "Make your choice, and make it quickly. We are not in a patient frame of mind."

As if to emphasise her point, the vampires in the balconies above stirred restlessly.

Then several things happened at once.

Clary drew out the angel blade, yelling, "Jafriel," as fast as her reflexes would allow, and spun to strike Raphael's side. He shrieked in pain as the bright light him; a shriek echoed by hundreds of unwitting vampires who had looked directly into the blade. The blonde woman screamed loudest, and leapt towards Clary almost as the blade struck the boy.

Before the tall vampire reached them, though, something threw Jacob into their path, and she struck him instead. Fifty vampires jumped from the balconies as the three already on the ballroom floor crumpled in a heap.

Clary didn't wait to watch them, though. She reached down and hauled Maia to her feet, before diving behind some moth-eaten curtains with the wolf girl.

"How did you get him off you?" Clary wondered Maia as the scuffle of disorder reached their ears from the other side of their haven.

Maia pulled a shining object out of her pocket. A mirror. She grinned and replaced it.

A sudden bubble of mirth escaped Clary as a repeat-play of the tall woman striking Jacob played in her mind. As if reading her mind, Maia joined in. Soon, they were laughing hard in spite of the imminent danger. Their laughter was short-lived, though, as an angry hissing reached their ears.

"Why aren't they attacking us here?" she asked hoarsely.

Clary looked at Jafriel, which was still burning brightly despite recently having sliced through a good deal of vampire arm. "I think it's this. They can't look at it, so theoretically, they can't look at us."

Maia looked at her, eyes shining. "Leverage," she said triumphantly.

Clary nodded. "Let's go."

The two girls stepped out from behind the curtains, Clary wielding Jafriel well ahead of them. She saw outlines against the light - several figures shuffling back in discomfort.

"Now listen well," she called confidently. "Because we're not really in the mood to repeat what we say."

There was silence, but Clary felt a stir beside her. She glanced just quickly enough to see Maia transforming into a sleek wolf. She grinned briefly.

"Simon," she said, looking directly at a distinctly dishevelled Raphael. "Remember him? Remember the Mark on his forehead?"

Raphael hissed, eyes still averted away from the angel blade. "The Mark of Cain. It was your doing. Why come here because of that?"

Clary narrowed her eyes menacingly before realising no one could see her anyway. "I'm talking, not you. We're here because we know you are well aware of it's effects and what it'll do to him. And," she hesitated uncomfortably. "We aren't."

Raphael let out a cold laugh. "Simon is damned as it is. The Mark may not -"

"Don't try to tell me it won't do anything," Clary snapped. "Simon told me. Told us. That night, you warned him it was consequential, and that he was foolish to be Marked with it."

The blonde woman stepped in front of Raphael's silhouette. She seemed to be more accustomed to the light than the others, but she still averted her eyes to somewhere above Clary's head. Maia barked violently. The vampire closest to them stepped back.

"It seems that Raphael was correct in prediction the Daylighter's idiocy, in this case," the woman told them. "You cannot blame us for misinforming him."

Clary's impatience finally reached the point where it mixed with her adrenaline, and she waved the blade so that it's light cut a wide arc across the congregation before her. There was a sea of hissing and spitting.

"Tell me what it does!" she shouted.

Raphael answered from behind the tall woman. "I will tell you, for payment."

"Forget -"

Raphael continued seamlessly. "And now thou art cursed from the earth. A fugitive and a wanderer shalt thou be."

Clary almost shrieked in annoyance. "What does that mean!?"

Maia barked again to emphasise the point.

Raphael's voice floated across to them again. "The Daylighter cannot walk upon God's earth," he said simply.

"That's not true!" she yelled. "There is nothing wrong with Simon's walking ability!"

The tall woman cocked her head. "Then perhaps you should tell us what is the effect of the Mark?"

There was a small breeze as Clary saw Maia transform back out of the corner of her eye.

"Forget it," she whispered. "They don't know anything. I know vampires; they're cunning, yes, but if their entire nest is in mortal danger - they'd talk."

Clary sighed slightly. A clock somewhere chimed midnight.

"Fine," she called, disheartened. "We're leaving. Don't try to stop us."

She waved the angel blade again. As she did so, her cell phone rang, ruining the menacing effect. She ignored it.

"Oh," said the blonde vampire, evidently amused. "And how do you propose you do that?"

"Like this," Clary said, drawing out her stele.


References:

1. "What is it about being told specifically to stay away from a place that makes you instantly run there?"

- Ghost Whisperer

2. "Well, you may not be loved, but they always recall your name," Maia whispered.

- Lyrics are: "Well, I may not be loved, but they always recall my name"

From the song, 'Pete Wentz Is The Only Reason We're Famous' by Cobra Starship

3. You may have noticed the unshamed perversion of a scene from COG. Copyright of diologue to Cassandra Clare :)


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