Chapter 2

Clary woke from her slumber with a gasp as a torrent cold water descended onto her head. She shot up in bed and managed to bang the chin of someone leaning over her, gasping for air after the shock of the water had left her breathless.

"Damn what a pansy," someone muttered with disdain. Clary immediately stiffened, controlling her breathing even though her heart felt like it was about to burst out of her chest. She let her eyes adapt to the light and noticed a few girls wandering away from Clary's bed, clearly just interested in a reaction. Clary didn't give it to them, but she wasn't entirely sure what to say.

What do you say when you've just been woken up with a bucket of water?

"Does she speak?" A girl with ratty dark hair and dark eyes assessed Clary in a way that a predator might assess its prey. The girl was leaning against the wall next to Clary's bed; lounging so comfortably that it was obvious that was her element. She was the one in charge. Clary's eyes narrowed at the girl, but still said nothing. She wasn't going to start picking any fights with anyone until she knew how things worked in juvie.

"I do," said Clary, measuring her words carefully, "speak, I mean. But, if you're going to wake me up by dumping water on my head, it really is common courtesy to tell me what you want." Clary cringed as the words fell out of her mouth, hoping that she hadn't just said the worst thing possible.

However, to Clary's relief, the girl just laughed. Her smile lit her face up in a way that somewhat obscured the fact that she looked like hell. She almost looked nice.

"I'm Becca," said the girl with the ratty hair, not bothering to shake hands. She stood and moved from the wall to walk toward what looked like a bathroom. The rest of the girls had dispersed, and Becca looked back at Clary, eyebrows raised, "you coming?"

Clary scrambled up off of her bed, then controlled her movements and slowed down. She didn't want too look too eager—she figured that was just as bad as completely mouthing off.

"This is the bathroom. Basically just stay out of everyone's way. You aren't a night showerer, are you?" asked Becca, eyes narrowing at Clary. Clary shook her head. She wasn't—she preferred showering in the morning. Becca looked satisfied and moved on, surveying the disheveled room as if it were her kingdom.

"There are only twelve of us in here. There are plenty of other cells with twelve other girls, but if I were you, I'd just stick to your own cell." Clary was beginning to realize that Becca wasn't really offering friendly advice—she was actually making demands. Before the whole trial thing, Clary wouldn't have let people talk down to her. It was actually one of her pet peeves, and common with her being so small, but Clary was willing to let it slide. There was no reason to purposefully put herself on someone's bad side.

"Why can't we talk to the other girls?" blurted Clary before thinking. She wanted to hit herself; she had just talked herself out of questioning the obvious authority in the cell, and now she was doing just that. Becca gave her a look of condescension and Clary's blood boiled, overriding her common sense. Just a little bit though.

"Oh, you can. I just wouldn't recommend it," said Becca in a sickly sweet voice that betrayed her word's true meanings. She basically meant, "don't do it." Clary took a deep breath and nodded, trying not to show outwardly how irritated she felt. Becca gave her a once over, and something seemed different in her eyes. They had tightened almost imperceptibly. Almost as if Becca was responding to the hint of a challenge in Clary's voice.

"Well, that's that." Whatever had been present in Becca's eyes moments ago had vanished, and her confident mannerism had been restored. Clary desperately wanted to ask her questions that would knock her right off of her high horse, but luckily, something more pressing came up.

"Fray, you have a visitor."

Of course it was the guard from before, thought Clary. Of course.

The room had gone silent. Clary gathered from the way that several people had stopped what they were doing to stare at her that many of them didn't get visitors often, if ever. Even Becca had stopped what she was doing to look at Clary again, that look from earlier back in her eyes.

The whole room seemed to be looking at Becca to see how she would respond, and Becca seemed to know that. She opened her mouth and took a deep breath as if she were about to say something, but then closed her mouth again, as if she had thought better of it. Becca just turned around and walked back over to her bed, and the other girls resumed whatever they had been doing.

Clary frowned, wondering what exactly had just happened, but slid her hands out for the guard to cuff anyway. Clary wondered if he took some kind of sick pleasure in handcuffing girls. She shivered a bit at the thought and turned away so that she wouldn't have to look at him. She wasn't sure what it was, but her really freaked her out.

He led her down the hallway past the other cells, dozens of girls amidst morning chores and other activities stopping what they were doing to look at Clary. Clary belatedly realized why it was that she was getting such odd looks—this was a prison for felons. There wasn't anyone in this juvie who wouldn't be going to real jail for a long time. It was unlikely that they kept in touch with anyone in the outside world.

That was when Clary realized that she had no idea who was visiting her. She supposed it could have been her mother or Luke, but they had made it very clear what they thought of her the day that she was sentenced.

You are not my daughter, her mother had screamed at her, tears flowing down her face. Luke had looked at her with a look of fury and disappointment before turning to comfort Jocelyn.

Clary shook her head abruptly, not wanting to go down that path again. She had been down it to many times in this juvie, and the last thing that she needed was to start crying in front of hundreds of girls easily twice her size. She had thought that there must be plenty of other girls her size, but she had yet to see many.

"Here we are, small-fry," said the guard, depositing her into what looked like another cell, but was connected by a large window to what must have been the visiting room, telling her that her visitor would greet her shortly. She cringed at the nickname. It was almost worse than "Fray," which did nothing but remind her of Simon. And that was the worst.

Clary thought that he believed her. He must have known she wouldn't have killed Dorthea, despite how convincing the evidence seemed. But, just before Jocelyn and Luke had ambushed her, he had told her in that quiet steady voice that he loved her. And then he told her that he hated her, and walked out of the courtroom without looking back.

Clary wiped a tear out from under her eye and frowned at herself. She had promised herself that she wouldn't cry anymore, and yet here she was breaking that promise. She didn't have much time to speculate on that, though, before she found out whom her visitor was.

Clary knew that there must have been some sort of mistake. There was no way that this… this god was coming to see her. He had fine but curly golden-blonde hair, but that was only an echo to his golden, luminous eyes. His face was angular but not harsh. His expression, though, was the icing on the cake. He had the pretty boy smirk of someone who was hot and knew it, and Clary wasn't going to have it no matter how physically attractive he was.

"Clary Fray," said the mystery man as he plopped down into the chair on the other side of the divider. Clary couldn't help but delight in the way that her name rolled off his tongue. But, she still didn't know who he

"Who are you?" He clearly was in the right place—he had said her name after all—but she couldn't fathom why someone this attractive was attempting to make friends with her after she had been sentenced to a probably life in prison.

He didn't respond to her question, just widened his smirk and answered with, "The really question is, "who are you?"" Clary grimaced in irritation. She hated it when people answered one question with another question.

"You're the one coming to visit me," said Clary pointedly, "I'd hope you would already know who I am." He didn't seem at all phased by her quip.

"Are you always this nice?" He asked, running his finger through his hair with a grin, "Somehow I expected more out of a convicted felon." Clary stopped talking and decided that she was completely content to just glare at him for the duration of the visit. Cleary someone had sent him as some sort of joke, but she didn't want any part of it.

Nothing seemed to faze him. "Come on, aren't you going to ask why I came?" he baited her, leaning in slightly to prop his elbows up on the counter. Clary refused to take the bait. He laughed softly and leaned back.

"Fine. I'll just tell you. I'm here to break you out." Clary's eyes widened and she looked around frantically. He couldn't say stuff like that.

"Are you crazy?" She hissed under her breath, trying to look as relaxed as possible even though on the inside she was freaking out. Her only chance of ever getting out of this hellhole was the prospect of good behavior—and that was iffy at the best. Even a whisper of her trying to break out would completely ruin any chances that she might have had.

"Calm down. They can't see me." Now Clary realized what the problem was. He was insane.

"What do you mean they can't see you?" She asked crisply, trying to be as delicate with the situation as possible while inwardly, she was fuming. Either he was insane, which was very sad but not her problem, or he was deliberately sent to sabatoge her chances of ever going home. Either way, she was not happy.

Clary stood up suddenly, her chair scraping against the ground. The first real sign of emotion other than cockiness showed up in the guys eyes at her sudden movement. He looked panicked.

"Where are you going?" He asked, standing up too, as if he would have been able to restrain her through the glass. He seemed to realize this and took a small step back but didn't sit back down.

"Well, clearly you have nothing important to say to me. There are… better things for me to do." She winced over her last sentence. They both knew that there was absolutely nothing better for her to do inside that prison. As soon as she rang that bell that meant she was done, she was back to doing what seemed like absolutely nothing.

"I'm sorry. Fine. Let's start over—I'll tell you everything you need to know." As much as Clary didn't want to be, she was intrigued with this guy. Whether it was what he had to tell her or his piercing golden eyes, she couldn't tell. Whatever it was, she slowly pulled her chair out and sat back down.

"Okay. My name is Jace Wayland. I have a deal to offer you." Clary didn't say anything, but allowed him to keep going. She looked up nervously at the security camera again. He noticed and gave a small laugh.

"I wouldn't worry about that," he said, nodding up at the camera. Clary blushed slightly at having been caught worrying about it. "Why not?" she sounded indignant, like a child, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I ah, let's just say I took care of that. Anyway," he continued hastily after noting her panicked expression, "back to that deal. I will break you out of prison." Clary stared at him incredulously. There was no way that he could actually break her out of prison—she was at one of the most secure juvenile prisons in all of America.

He noticed her incredulity and waited for her to say something. She opened and closed her mouth, trying to find the right words. He didn't offer to help her—in fact, he seemed quite amused. "What do I have to do?" she finally got the words out, glaring at his mocking interpretation of her struggle.

"All you have to do," he said cautiously, "is hear me out on an idea." Clary immediately narrowed her eyes. That was too good to be true, and she told him such, asking him what exactly that entailed.

"Ah, sorry, that's a deal-breaker. I can't tell you until you've agreed to listen to me. But, we can talk somewhere innocuous. Coffee shop, diner, cabin deep in the woods," he grinned at her eye-roll.

"Think about it," he said, pointing at her as he walked away, "I'll be back tonight for your answer."

She stared after him skeptically. Even if she decided that he wasn't crazy, there was no way that he was going to be able to break her out. Even professionals couldn't do that kind of thing. Not at this juvie.

The door banged open, interrupting her thoughts of a very attractive but possibly insane certain someone, and replacing them with the less tantalizing image of an overweight, overconfident juvie guard with a handcuff fetish.

"So your visitor never showed, huh?" Asked the guard as he cuffed her yet again. Clary looked at him in confusion.

"What—," he cut her off before she fully got her question out, "Yeah we monitor on the video screens. It almost looked like you were talking to yourself for a while there…" He studied Clary closely, almost as if assessing whether or not she could really be insane. He shook his head as if dismissing the thought and began to lead her back past the rooms and rooms of delinquents.

Clary hadn't thought that anything that Jace had said could be true, yet it didn't seem like the guard was just saying that she hadn't had a visitor to mess with her. Clary wasn't sure what was true and what wasn't, but she figured that she just had to wait until tonight and see for herself.

She had bargained on a lot of odd things happening when she came to prison, but never on this. This was not at all what she had been expecting.