CHAPTER ONE

A Sprig of Peppermint

Cecily Herondale was not a girl of many possessions.

She realized this as another girl was set on unpacking her things for her. She neither asked nor objected the help; rather, she sat at her new bed and looked around her new home. Her bag consisted of very few necessities – a solitary bottle of her favourite honeysuckle bath salts, her dresses – a record breaking number of four (excluding the one she was still wearing), her mother's handheld mirror, her father's family ring held on a silver chain, and a few books scribbled with different music pieces.

Not that she was unable to take anything from Ravenscar Manor or anything from her Uncle Axel, it was just that a Herondale had a certain degree of honour and there was none in taking what was not hers. The woman of the household – Charlotte, she said her name was – gave her a room not unlike the one in Ravenscar or her old one in Wales. It was spacious enough to keep a fourteen year old girl satisfied, decent beddings, and even her own vanity.

"I've unpacked all your belongings, Miss Cecily," said the little handmaiden.

The girl was a head shorter that she was but her features dictated their years apart. The helper must have been seven or eight years her senior, she supposed. Cecily was intrigued by the scar that marred the girl's beauty but spoke levels of her courage. A scarred girl was a brave girl. She ought to know that by heart, though she had none that were as permanent as the girl's. Little Miss Herondale did not bluntly voice out her curiosity though – even she knew where certain lines were drawn.

The girl had called her "Miss Cecily". She had never been called that before. Even in her youth, she was always addressed as "little bird", "little fach", "little Herondale", et cetera. It was not as though "Cecily" was a difficult name to remember or pronounce or even slightly hindering. Two syllables surely were not too much of a bother. But to be addressed as both "Miss" and "Cecily" – that was something she was not accustomed to. Where she was expecting to be addressed solely as "Miss Herondale" or "William's little sister", it came as a great comfort to know that she was still herself within those walls - the walls that had kept her brother safe and warm in the five years that she had not known whether he lived or died.

"Thank you, mum," she replied coolly.

"You could call me Sophie, Miss Cecily."

"Well I don't see why I should since you insist on calling me Miss Cecily as if I were being presented to the Queen," she started. "Please. A simple 'Cecily' would suffice."

"Of course."

"That will be all, Sophie," she said, straightening her posture. There was a certain superiority, a certain feeling of rise in hierarchy that could be achieved in the single instance of dismissing a handmaiden for the first time. Having served as one for many a household for a few moons, the reversal of roles was a gratifying change.

"Shall I draw you an evening bath? Are you not tired from your journey?"

"No, no. I prefer to do it myself. That will be all, Sophie," she repeated.

Sophie ducked her head and left the room wordlessly. The room was lit by candlelight and the sound of soft London rain graced the room. It was almost melodic, the soft pitter-patter of rain outside. The walls may have been made of cold stone but the entire room felt warmer. It felt like finally.

She moved to draw her own bath, adding her personal bath salts into the water. The steam from the warm water rose up and felt good against her bare skin. Her arms and legs were a bit bruised and scarred from previous quarrels but she knew none of them would stay on her skin. Most of them had already started to fade away. After trudging in the London weather, the warm bath was all the lullaby Cecily Herondale needed.

( * x * )

"Blueberry tea, Bridget," Will said. "And just a sprig of peppermint."

Bridget nodded briskly and prepared his request in the kitchens. She did so silently, thank the Angel, not drowning him in the sound of her morbid ballads. He was not in the right state of mind for her chants about the plights of her dear bloody (literally) Edward or whatever.

He would have prepared the tea himself if he trusted the shakiness of his own fingers. But he didn't.

"And two, exactly two, sugars. Don't forget the peppermint, Bridget! Just a sprig!"

"Will?" said a voice in the darkness. He had not even noticed the presence of another being near the kitchens. His only focus was the sound of silver hitting porcelain as Bridget prepared the tea to his precise instructions. The voice was familiar and was supposed to be a comfort, instead of adding to his already built up anxiety. It was unlike him to be anxious but there he was and the person noticed it, disbelieving that the nervous being in front of her was that man she had learned to know.

Tessa.

"Where's Jem?"

He did not mean for the question to sound accusatory or condescending and he prayed that she did not take it like that. By the Angel, this is going to be difficult, he thought.

The announcement of their engagement had been muffled by the excitement brought by the sudden arrival of his little sister. Both news of which were less than pleasant for Will – the former leagues more unpleasant than the latter.

"With Charlotte, Henry, and Gideon. They're at the drawing room. They were discussing on what they ought to do given the situation," she replied.

Oh, Tessa. Dear, sweet, kind, thoughtful, Theresa Gray, who was never subtle but always thought she was. Kind of her not to say the girl's name, though the both of them knew it without addressing the matter.

"Oh," he started. "What are you doing here then?"

"You weren't there." He felt heat flood through his face as she briskly added, "Which is understandable, of course, due to the given circumstance but I- I- I just wanted to see how you were after the- after everything, I mean."

"Neither here nor there, Tess," was all he could grit through his teeth. He forced the smallest of smiles to his lips. He could not bear to look at her as his eyes wandered to scan the kitchens for Bridget, who was meticulously adding the sugars to the tea. He could not bear to see those giant gray eyes of hers in the candlelight, looking like the colour of the sky after the hurricane, just before the Sun seeped through to reveal the new day.

Bridget returned with a single teacup in her hand.

"How many sugars are-"

"Two, Master Will."

"And the peppe-"

"Just a sprig, as you said, Master Will."

Bridget turned on her heel and walked off, leaving him with the tea.

"Earl Grey? At this hour?" asked Tessa.

"Blueberry tea, actually. Silly hates bergamot. She's quite particular with her tea."

The both of them were both silent stood in front of each other. It was true, though. The little bird was particular with just about everything she ate, as far as he could remember. She would not take chamomile tea without a hint of vanilla. She would never eat bread that was more than an hour from the oven. She adored bananas with fresh honey. She had the most bizarre wanting for green mangoes and fish paste, however rare that was. And her favourite tea was blueberry with a sprig of peppermint – exactly two sugars.

"Oh," was all Tessa could say.

"She used to take tea all the time before bed. It set her in the right mood."

"Do you really think that would be the best thing for her? For you?"

"It's just tea, Tess."

"It's tea from you, Will."

He had not spoken to his sister in five years. In those five years, he had not even said her name in conversation – except maybe to Jem, once or twice. The others who may have heard him whisper her name had thought Cecily was a pet or a former lover. He let them think what they wanted, the most despicable theory they could come up with could never degrade the reality of the truth.

In his mind's imagination, his little sister was permanently nine years old. Her face would eternally be the colour of cream, her features as sharp as her tongue, with eyes that could flood a man's heart. When he looked in the mirror, he saw not his own eyes but hers – for their eyes were one. The girl who arrived in the Institute, however, was different from the immortal nine year old in his imagination. The new girl still had a thick mane of hair that resembled black fire, cream-coloured skin and strong bone structure, just as his chwaer fach had. The new girl was taller, though, and her eyes were no longer the kind, mischievous pools of water that he had known as a child. They were now colder, sharper – little shards of broken blue glass.

"Could you give her the tea, then?" he asked, his tone low.

"Will, I couldn't-"

"Please. I'll sleep better knowing that she has it."

Tessa considered this for a moment; his eyes were pleading with her. He needed Cecily to know he was there, that he remembered, that she was still home with him, that her brawd mawr still knew how she liked her tea.

"Alright."

"Thank you, Tessa," he said, handing her the tea. "Good night."

He walked away swiftly and quietly, melding into the darkness until he himself became a shadow, and then he, along with his quiet footsteps, disappeared completely.

( * x * )

Cecily looked at herself with her new vanity table.

The candlelight made her look like she was glowing. Her blue eyes seemed to pop from her skin. Her dark hair blended with the shadows, almost disappearing with the darkness completely. She was brushing her hair dry slowly, as her mother and Ella used to when she was a child. She seldom brushed her hair anymore. There was not much use for it.

She was already in a dressing gown that she found stowed away in the dresser, along with her other dresses. The dress she was wearing when she entered the Institute was haphazardly set aside on the floor, like a snake that had shed its former skin. She felt clean – she hadn't felt so clean in a long time – away from the dirt and grime of mundane London. She smelled like honeysuckle. The only thing that would give her a good night's rest would be a spot of tea. Perhaps she could go to the kitchens when her hair was fixed.

Cecily's room had remained quiet for a long time. She had been expecting some questions about her arrival or her brother demanding her to leave him alone. She was not prepared for the silence and it had been silent for about an hour. She was concentrating on untangling the knots at the ends of her hair when she heard two soft knocks at the door. She held her breath praying to God that it was not William. Not yet. She knew it to be inevitable but please, not yet.

"Who is it?" she asked, keeping her tone stable, praying that her voice did not betray her anxiety. She only knew three people in the entire Institute and dreaded the presence of one of them.

"My name is Tessa, Miss Herondale. I've brought you something."

Tessa. The name was familiar somehow but she did not know where she had heard it before. The girl's voice was unfamiliar so she must have been the girl at the dinner table. The girl next to the silver haired man.

"Are you alone?" she asked.

"Yes," replied Tessa, her statement sounding like a question.

"Come in, then," she replied.

Tessa came inside the room, still in her blue dress – made of satin by the looks of it. It was a beautiful dress, the kind that Cecily would often wait outside shops for and stare at but never afford for there were other things to buy. Like bread and milk and cheese and medicine for her mother… Tessa also had flowers in her hair, dark blue flowers that she could not name. She was carrying a teacup in her hand and immediately her eyes widened.

"Thought you might like some tea before bed," said Tessa.

"Oh," she replied. Cecily did not want to be rude to this girl (but she almost always was to just about everyone) but she did not want to have tea that were not to her instructions. There was a reason why she liked doing things for herself. "That's very kind of you, Tessa, but I'm afraid I'm a bit particular with my tea. I'm not fond of bergamot, you see."

"Oh, it's blueberry." Cecily's eyebrows shot up.

"Two sugars and a sprig of peppermint?"

Tessa smiled shyly and nodded. Cecily sighed, shook her head and pursed her lips. "William?"

Tessa nodded again. Cecily accepted the tea and put it on her vanity as she continued brushing her hair. "So… Tessa, is it? Are you a Shadowhunter too?"

"No, actually," she replied. "Actually, that's a bit of a difficult question. I don't know what I am, exactly."

"So you're a demon?" Cecily asked, her voice as calm as if she was just asking Tessa if she was a girl.

"N-no. I believe we can cancel that out."

"Oh. Okay," said the younger girl, brushing her hair. She was still looking at the mirror, concentrating on unknotting her hair. "Did he- Did he ever say anything about me?" She spoke softly, her voice breaking at the end. She was still looking at the mirror intently, as though her question did not faze her.

"Not often," Tessa admitted. "It upset him, thinking about how he left you. All of you."

Cecily only nodded and brushed her hair. She would not cry in front of this girl, who was obviously closer to Will that she was in the nine years she spent with him. Obviously, her brother had become a different person in his five years of absence from her life. And so was she.

"Thank you for the tea, Tessa," she said, her voice stronger. "But I think I'm going to go to bed now."

Tessa nodded and walked towards the door as Cecily started to rise from her vanity. "I hope you-" Tessa started and Cecily turned to her. And it was then that she saw the girl's eyes properly for the very first time. They were Will's eyes – exactly his eyes, and he had her eyes – exactly her eyes. They were one and they were both broken. "He thought about you all the time, you know. He even whispered your name in his sleep."

Cecily looked away and ducked her head. Tessa left the room and bid the girl good night before she closed the door. Cecily listened for the girl's footsteps to leave from the hall and the younger girl counted before the footsteps ebbed away. When all was silent once more, she threw the cup vehemently at the wall, smashing it and its contents against the stone.

She went to bed and forced herself to sleep, her room smelling of blueberry tea. With just a sprig of peppermint.

( * x * )

Will was not at breakfast.

Not that Cecily could see when she entered the room. When she awoke, the broken remnants of the teacup were gone and the floor had already been cleaned from the tea. She changed into a simple gray frock that may not have been the fanciest thing in her wardrobe but she daresay that she looked smashing in it. She was beautiful and she knew it to be true; she did not want a dress distracting from her face.

The people at the table were wary of her presence when she entered the room. The man with ginger hair (Harry or something like that – she was fairly certain that it started with the letter "H") was gobbling up eggs like the hens at the farm had been procreating like rabbits. Charlotte had a smile on her face but her eyes betrayed her doubt. The silver haired man looked up and beamed at her with kind silver eyes. The other one, the blond, looked up at her once and smiled but he was rather transfixed with the handmaiden – Sophie, her name was. She could not bear to look at Tessa and see whether or not she knew what had happened to the tea from Will.

"Good morning, Cecily," said the silver haired man. His eyes were of different shape too. They were unlike anything she had ever seen before, much like the men from Uncle Axel's stories.

"Good morning," she replied curtly. She settled herself next to the blond one, who did not seem fazed by her presence at all. He seemed the only one who was apathetic to her existence.

"My name is James Carstairs," said the silver haired man politely. "You may call me Jem. I'm a very good friend of your brother's."

"Oh," was all Cecily could say.

"I didn't know Will had a little sister," said the blond one.

She bit her tongue and fought back the urge to retort "He doesn't." Instead she just smiled and kept her head down low. She reached for the bread and began to break it apart using with a fork and knife. In front of her were tea, coffee, milk, and orange juice. She set herself with some coffee and exactly three sugars. She began dipping the bread into the coffee before eating it altogether.

"Where is William?" asked Charlotte. Harold (or something that starts with "H") seemed preoccupied with his eggs at the moment, revelling in the salty taste of the boiled whites.

"He took his breakfast early and went out," said Sophie. "He said he was going for a walk."

Cecily exhaled a deep breath and ate more freely with the knowledge that her brother would not be making an appearance at breakfast. Her elation was noticeable but none dared comment on her reaction to her brother's absence.

"So, Cecily, how did you manage to find your way to the Institute?" asked Jem.

"Some Clave people showed up at Yorkshire. Something about an investigation or rather. Asked me what my name was, if my father was Edmund Herondale, if I knew about Shadowhunters, and things like that. Told them what I knew, I did. They asked me if I wanted to be one and I said yes. They said I could go to the one with Mr Starkweather at Goodramgate but I've had enough of Yorkshire to last a lifetime. I've only been to London once, when I was nine, and they said that it would be good for me to be where… he was. They wanted to accompany me but I wanted to say goodbye to Uncle Axel before I left. So I wrote to him, waited for his blessing, and I left. They gave me instructions on how to get here and now here I am."

All of them at the table exchanged a look when she mentioned "Uncle Axel" but she didn't notice. She was too busy dipping bits of bread into her coffee.

"And this Uncle Axel…" pressed Charlotte.

"Good friend of my father. Not really my uncle but he insisted that I call him that. But father turned to drink and gambled away everything we had. Mother… lost herself, basically. She spent her days looking out the window, calling out for her fach. Honestly, she forgot my name eventually. I had to find a way to get food on the table during those three years in Wales. When Uncle Axel showed up, he offered us to care for his home, keeping it tidy and the like, in return for a roof over our heads and a steady allowance. Father spends his days in his study now, drinking whatever liquor he can find. If he's not there, he's out gambling."

Cecily's coffee and bread were finished by the time she recounted her tale. Everyone at the table had stopped eating and listened to her story – save for Henry (she was quite certain that it was "Henry" at this point) who was still fixated with his eggs.

"What of your mother?" asked Jem, his tone kind, as if he were speaking to a child. And he was.

"Mother has just recently passed. Three days before the Clave men came."

"I'm so sorry," said Tessa. Even Henry rose from his beloved eggs, sending her a look of sympathy and condolences.

"It's quite alright," Cecily replied, smiling. "At least she's not in pain anymore; not looking outside whatever window was closest to her, waiting for someone who was never going to show up." They were all silenced after that.

It was a moment before Charlotte spoke again. "Do you still have a way for corresponding with your Uncle Axel?"

"I had this handmaiden at Ravenscar. She was complete rubbish as a handmaiden and I preferred doing things for myself anyway so that suited us just fine. We would give letters to her and she would just send them. I don't particularly know how but that's what we always did."

"And where is he?" pressed Charlotte again.

"Some green bloke asked me this too, though I don't particularly see how this could possibly be relevant to anything. But last I heard, Uncle Axel was somewhere in China. Shanghai, I think. Trading or something. I didn't really press on as it was none of my concern."

"Your father?" asked the blond one.

"Left. After mother was buried, he just left without another word. I don't know where he is. Not that it makes much of a difference as I rarely saw him when he was in the manor. Herondale men have a way of walking out of a home after a death. I didn't really have anywhere else to go but the Institute."

As if by clockwork, Will entered the dining area. There were bags under his eyes but otherwise, he looked clean. He was not feigning drunkenness or any form of illness – he just looked genuinely tired and settled himself a seat away from his sister. Cecily turned away and started fidgeting with the ends of her hair that she did not tie up. The table was stone silent once more. Tessa cleared her throat.

"So, Cecily. This handmaiden of yours. Was she-"

"Human?" Cecily completed. Tessa nodded. "No. Uncle Axel was a bit mad. Father said he must have been part warlock or faerie or something since he knew so much of the Shadow World and its inner workings. The handmaiden, the carriage driver, the cook – all made completely of clockwork. We barely had to care for the house at all, since there were all these clockwork servants about."

Will coughed and opened his mouth to speak when Cecily rose from her chair abruptly.

"I think I'll go for a walk around the Institute."

Cecily left without anyone excusing her and everyone at the table watched her go. Jem slipped his hand underneath the table and held his fiancée's hand. She squeezed it back and rose from the table. She sent a look at Will but all he was looking at was the now empty chair where his sister last sat. Cecily's footsteps were long gone before he tore his gaze away from her chair.

"She can't even be in the same room with me," he murmured. He rose from the chair, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose. He, too, left the room, heading in the opposite direction that his sister took. Henry made himself busy with the eggs again and Charlotte could only watch the two Herondales part ways.

Jem looked to Tessa, her eyes boring into him, telling him what his own heart was urging him to do.

He needs you right now. Go.

She squeezed his hand and he rose from his chair, following his parabatai. Tessa rose from her chair and followed Cecily down the other hall. Charlotte, Henry, and Gideon's eyes followed the four of them as they all left the rooms. It didn't take long for Henry to become reacquainted with his eggs.

( * x * )

"Are you lost?"

Cecily looked behind her to find Tessa walking not far from where she was.

"Does it really matter that I don't know where I am if I don't know where I'm going?" she said, facing the other girl.

"You sound just like him, you know?"

"And that's supposed to make me feel better? That I'm more like William every day?"

"I suppose you have redeemable qualities of your own."

"Well I am better looking," said Cecily, a smirk on her face. Tessa laughed. Even her facial expressions matched her brother's. The younger girl's expression softened and looked away. The two of them walked along the hallway together, the doors looking stationary that it was practically impossible to know what door opened to where.

"I don't hate him," said Cecily after a while. "I don't. I just- I can't look at him and be fine with it. Like I hadn't seen him or heard from him in five years. And we could have been dead for all he cared-"

"He did. He does. More than you know, Cecily."

"How do you know?" asked the fourteen year old, her tone colder than she intended. The girl's blue eyes were piercing, cutting through her like broken glass. And that was exactly what Cecily Herondale was – perfect, pristine, crystal clear glass… that had been shattered once, never to be the same again. Broken. Just like her brother was.

"It- It's not my place to say," said Tessa. "But he didn't… do what he did because didn't care for you. He loves all of you. Especially you, Cecily."

"Then why the bloody hell did he-" Cecily's voice broke and grew louder, her shrill voice resonating across the hall.

"Like I said," said Tessa, cutting her off, her tone soft but firm. "It's not my place to say. Please, Cecily. Please talk to him or allow him to talk with you. I know you're exactly the kind of person he needs right now."

"What kind of person is that?"

"The kind of person who loves him and always has."

Cecily scoffed. "What makes you so sure I still love my brother?"

Tessa smiled. "Because you just called him your brother."

( * x * )

A/N: I'm going to end it here. Woo! That was just horrible. My heart, my Herondale-loving heart just ugh. Take me awaaaaaaaaaay. I'm kind of proud of the fact that I wrote most of thing down in a little notebook at a Starbucks. So yay! How do you all like it so far? Hate it? Burn it with dragon fire? Please, please, please leave reviews! I am a glutton for feedback so I would love some. Pretty please? With Herondale-interaction on top?

Disclaimer: Again, I'm not Cassandra Clare. I'm just a teenage girl with a blog. The characters and the basic plotline are hers but the story and how it's going are mine.

I hope to update soon. This is amazing writing practice for me so yay! Hopefully I don't run out of juice on this one. Reviews keep my brain flowing!

xx, Jonnah.