My beta team amaggiepie and sunshiiine23 worked their usual magic with this chapter, and they deserve all the kudos I can give. Thanks, ladies.

Warnings: Mature themes including perceived incest, explicit sexual content, and strong language. Immature themes including excessive dash usage and copious amounts of unapologetic relationship angst. Proceed with caution.

Context: This story is set after a City of Glass in which Clary and Jace do NOT figure out that they aren't really brother and sister. They never got the Book of the White to Magnus, so Jocelyn is still comatose. (This ignores City of Fallen Angels entirely.)

Keep the Next Breath

PART FIVE

Clary used to shudder every time she walked into a hospital. There's something unsettling about the alien white halls, staffed by unnaturally clean and put-together people. It's always made Clary self-conscious about her perpetually untamed hair and the dirt beneath her fingernails. But now, when Clary walks through the automatic doors, she hardly takes note of her surroundings. The route to her mother's private room is worn into her bones, and she doesn't dally as she follows the long hallway to the elevator and takes it up three floors.

At first it was hard for Clary to sit by Jocelyn's bed for any length of time. The resounding silence was so disheartening she didn't understand how Luke had managed to do it day in and day out for as long as he did. With Luke in Idris, Clary is her mother's only visitor, and she's come for an hour nearly every day for the last two months. It's still painful seeing her this way, and Clary always leaves feeling heavier than when she arrived, but the words come more easily than they once did.

She tells Jocelyn the little things, details no conscious person would sit still long enough to listen to. She tells her what she ate for dinner, the color of the sky outside, the latest move she's learned in training, and the song that was playing in the coffee shop on the corner. But Clary tells her the big things, too. She has a lot to say about Luke's abandonment, Jocelyn's years of deception, and the upside down world that is now her life.

She tells her about Jonathon, but not about Jace. It's as if they've become two separate people to Clary. Jonathon is her brother, the son Jocelyn thought she lost, the one she kept in a box and quietly grieved for years. A boy who is nothing like his father, even if he has every reason to be. Jace is the boy she loves, the person she sleeps beside at night and smiles with during the day. He's an angel who thinks he's demon because blood is thicker than anything. He makes Clary feel impossibly full of life and love, and Jocelyn will never know that.

"You'll get to meet him when you wake up," Clary says while squeezing her mother's limp hand. "He doesn't ever come with me because he's afraid, I think. He's not sure how to feel about you right now. But once you're back and he gets to know you, it'll be better."

Once you're back. It strikes Clary as something from a fairy tale, as purposely vague as once upon a time or they lived happily ever after. It's the type of thing you say without actually believing it. The more time that passes, the more hallow the words sound as they leave her lips. She was so certain when she left for Idris that she would come back with a cure. Arriving at the Wayland manor only to find the Book of the White gone from its hiding place was crushing. And Clary would have broken down in tears there on the library floor had they not then stumbled upon the captive angel.

"Magnus is still looking for it," Clary assures her. "But there's not much he can do until someone tries performing one of the spells from it." Clary prefers not to think about it too much because it makes her feel incredibly useless knowing all she can do is wait and hope that when someone decides to use the book, Magnus or one of his contacts will detect it.

After glancing at the clock, Clary tightens her hold on Jocelyn once more before getting to her feet. "I'll be back tomorrow," she says and runs her fingers lightly over Jocelyn's hair even though it's perfectly neat against the pillow. "If Luke sends a letter tonight, I'll bring it to read to you."

She leaves the room while reflecting on the contents of Luke's last letter. He sends one every week, and they're all more or less the same: a brief, generalized description of the Clave's activities followed by an inquiry into Clary and Jocelyn's wellbeing. By nature Luke isn't a talkative person, and that's when it's face-to-face. Over the phone and in letters he's even more tight-lipped. But in the letter Clary received from him last night, he made a comment of particular interest.

Demon activity has increased all over the world since the battle at Idris. Everywhere, except in New York.

Clary wrote back right away asking for more details, and she hopes to have some answers sooner rather than later. Lost in thought as she exits the hospital, Clary doesn't notice Jace fall into step beside her until he speaks.

"Will you be done punishing me anytime soon?"

Clary only allows herself a brief glance over at him, and she's still struck by how handsome he is in just a pair of worn jeans and leather jacket, the brisk wind whipping through his hair. "I'm not punishing you," she says evenly, looking at her shoes as she takes the steps down to the street.

Jace doesn't touch her but follows so closely she catches faint traces of his aftershave. "Really? Because you avoiding me for the past two days feels an awful lot like punishment."

"I was spending time with Simon."

"At night?"

At the intersection, Clary has to stop, and she really has no choice but to look at Jace, who's staring down at her without a trace of amusement or sarcasm. His eyes are pale and rimmed with shadow, and there's something so disheartening about the grim line of his lips. It makes her think he hasn't smiled all day.

"I couldn't sleep," he tells her and steps forward, hand raised. His fingertips stop just shy of her face. "I'm used to you being there, and you weren't. So I couldn't sleep."

Clary bites at the inside of her lip, unable to look away when he's staring at her like that—completely open, defenses nowhere in sight. "I couldn't sleep either," she says quietly.

Finally he touches her, brushes his knuckles along her cheek. "Then why—"

"Because I was mad at you. I still am. Sort of." She's only absently aware of the traffic light changing and the people around them crossing the street. She's far too distracted by Jace and the fact that she hasn't kissed him since Magnus's party two nights ago.

"I'm sorry."

"For not believing me or for waiting to tell me that until after we had sex?" Clary's surprised by the hurt in her own voice and the way it catches on the last word.

Jace's eyes crinkle in confusion. "Neither."

Clary pulls his hand away from her face. "You shouldn't touch me like that."

Jace leans forward then, remembering himself, rocks back on his heels. He looks at their surroundings as if noticing them for the first time. "I won't apologize for not believing you when I suspected you were under the Fey's influence. I turned out to be right."

"And you couldn't have mentioned your suspicions when I first told you I saw Sebastian instead of waiting until after I let you—"

"Is that what you think?" Jace cuts in, and Clary can't decide if he's offended or amused. "That I wanted to have one more go at it before you stopped talking to me for days?"

She tries to fight down the clogged feeling in her throat which means she's close to tears. She's being silly. Jace makes her silly. "Why else wouldn't you just tell me?"

Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair. "I didn't even know about the hallucinogen until we went back inside, and I overheard a couple of vampires having a good laugh about it. I took you in that back alley because I didn't care about Sebastian—real or not. I just wanted to be with you. That's all I ever want. And I'm not sorry about it."

Clary knows that if they were alone right now, Jace would take her in his arms, maybe rest his forehead against hers, until she melts into him. But they're not alone, and Clary's melting with nowhere to go. "That's all I want, too."

Jace grins. "Go out with me."

"Go out with you?" she echoes curiously.

There's something boyish about the way he shoves his hands into his coat pockets. His smile broadens. "Yeah, let's go out."

"You mean...like a date?" The word stirs a strange fluttering of excitement in her stomach, and Clary bites her lip to keep from smiling like an idiot. She's never been on a date before. In the brief time she and Simon had been a couple, they never went out anywhere they didn't usually spend together. In fact, nothing much about their relationship changed aside from the kissing and hand-holding.

Taking advantage of the brisk November weather, Jace moves closer to Clary and makes a show of pulling the hood of her jacket up over her head. While tucking in her hair, he talks quietly so that no one around them can hear. "What? I can't take my girl on a date?"

It's the first time she's been verbally acknowledged as anything of Jace's but his sister. "You know we can't," she says just as softly, even though it's almost physically painful to deny him.

"Yes, we can. Just not anywhere around here."

Jace doesn't really have a plan when they get on the subway. They ride for a long time, and when he's confident that they're far enough from the all of the familiar haunts, he takes Clary's hand, entwines their fingers, and pulls her to him until she's sitting with her head on his shoulder. Then they ride for a while longer. They get off at a stop Jace doesn't catch the name of, in a part of New York he doesn't frequent. The streets are narrow and lined with narrow shops marked by narrow doors. There aren't many people around, but those who are don't look twice at Jace and Clary as they walk down the street holding hands.

Jace feels the tension drain out of Clary bit-by-bit the longer they walk until finally she's relaxed enough to pull him inside an art supply shop. Instinctively, he scopes the place out as they enter, identifying the 30-something woman behind the front counter as the only other occupant. She smiles at them from beneath her bulky glasses. "Hey there. Anything I can help you find?"

Clary smiles back. "No, we're just browsing. Thanks."

Jace has always seen Clary most clearly when she has sketch book in her hands. Here amongst the shelves of paper, chalk, and pencils, she's brought into even sharper focus, as if she's never been more herself than she is at this moment. Her eyes try to go everywhere at once, not searching for threats but wonders. She lets out a small contented sight before crossing to one of the walls, which is stocked floor to ceiling with paints.

"There's so many," she murmurs in appreciation.

Jace steps behind her and slides his arms around her middle. "I've never seen you paint."

When she answers, he can feel the gentle vibration against his chest even through the layers of clothes between them. "I'm not very good at it."

"I doubt that."

She shrugs. "I'm not as good as my mom, I mean, our mom. And it's easier to draw because there isn't a bunch of supplies to lug around. Just my sketchbook and a pen or pencil." Stretching up onto her toes, she grabs a tube of gold paint from the shelf. "I'd like to paint you, though. Some day."

Jace grins and lowers his mouth to her ear. "And would this be a nude portrait? I've been told I have the perfect jaw for nude portraits."

"Hmm. I'm still trying to figure out how to capture your ego. I'm not sure it'll fit on one canvas."

He chuckles, fingers digging into her sides as he nips punishingly at the skin of her neck. When she wriggles in his arms but doesn't try to escape, Jace pulls her back more firmly against him. The tube of paint clatters to the floor amidst Clary's surprised laughter.

"Clary?"

Jace feels her tense, and he curses under his breath when they turn to find Hayden standing behind them looking amused but uncertain. Reluctantly Jace lets his arms fall away as Clary takes a conscious step forward.

"H-Hayden," she stammers, blushing a rather attractive shade of pink.

"I don't think I've ever seen you in here before." Hayden's eyes dart from Clary's nervous form to Jace, who regards him with thinly veiled annoyance. "And I'm here a lot."

Jace crosses his arms and looks around the nearly-silent shop. "I can see why. It's a very happening place."

Shaking his head, Hayden says, "It's hard to explain to someone who's not into this stuff."

"I think it's great," Clary agrees readily. "But it's the first I've been here."

Hayden reaches into the front pocket of his jeans. "Then it's just my luck. Because I have something for you."

"Careful what you pull out there," Jace mutters under his breath, and Clary's elbow digs into his side. A moment later, Hayden is drawing a thin silver chain from his pocket. Dangling at the bottom is a heavy-looking ring. Jace recognizes it immediately.

"Where'd you get that?" Clary gasps, hand going to her chest, where the Morgenstern ring usually hung from around her neck. Her fingers grasp at thin air.

"At that party the other night. It must have fallen off. I found it in the booth and forgot to give it to you."

Clary looks relieved as she steps forward to accept the ring, and Jace wonders what it means to her. For Jace, it will always represent the lie, everything he thought he knew about himself before that night in Renwick's when he learned that his father is Valentine Morgenstern and Clary his sister. The ring belongs to Jace Wayland, a boy who was sure of himself, if nothing else. Jace Morgenstern doesn't even have that certainty. But he has Clary—which is more than he deserves—and as she drapes the chain around her neck and the ring settles beside her heart, he's glad she has that piece of him. Even though he can't bear to carry it, he couldn't bear for it to disappear entirely, either. Clary, he knows, will keep it safe.

"Thank you," she tells Hayden. "It's sort of a family heirloom."

Hayden looks pleased but shrugs. "Sure thing." His dark eyes linger on the ring as Clary tucks it beneath the neck of her sweat shirt. "Something that valuable shouldn't be let out of your sight."

"What a happy coincidence then," Jace says, regarding Hayden intently, "that we both happened to visit the same shop at the exact same moment on the exact same day. It's as if fate's intervened, or something equally nefarious is afoot."

When Hayden smiles at Jace, it's strained and not at all pleasant. "Or something."

"I'll see you on Tuesday, Hayden, right?" Clary asks while bending down to retrieve the tube of paint she fumbled a moment ago. "I think I heard something about starting ceramics this week."

"Yeah. I wouldn't miss it."

"Great." She smiles. "See you then."

There's no chance in hell Jace is saying anything as remotely cordial as a 'goodbye,' so he remains silent as Clary replaces the paint on the shelf. He has to force himself not to react when Hayden checks out her ass the moment she turns her back. Jace is considering how socially acceptable it would be for a brother to hit a guy for something like that when Clary tugs at the sleeve of his coat. She tips her head towards the front door.

"You ready?"

"Sure. Let's go."

As they leave the narrow shop on the narrow street, Jace glances back to see Hayden watching them through the window.

[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]

"I told you this would be a flop."

Clary can hardly hear Isabelle, who is several strides ahead of everyone else, but her annoyance is made quite clear by a vehement snap of her neglected whip. Of course, none of the Mundanes they're walking amongst so much as bat an eye at the sight of a towering Isabelle stalking down the sidewalk, restlessly cracking her whip to and fro. Clary isn't altogether certain they would even feel the blow on the off chance Isabelle accidentally struck one of them. Glamours are an invaluable tool for Shadowhunters, and their effectiveness always impresses Clary, who still isn't accustomed to maneuvering unnoticed and unhindered through the New York masses.

"And it's totally unfair to Clary," Isabelle continues her rant. "Her first hunt, and not a single demon had the courtesy to show up."

Alec's attention has been focused on his phone for the last ten minutes—undoubtedly exchanging texts with Magnus. He continues typing but sighs the way brothers do when their sisters are being unreasonable. "I'm pretty sure that's the reason Dad let her come along in the first place. She's not ready to officially start hunting yet." He looks over at Clary. "No offense."

Clary shrugs. "I was mostly curious about the process." When they set out from the Institute that night, Clary hadn't been expecting much action, not after how silent things have been the last two weeks and the contents of Luke's letter. A trip to Pandemonium was more of a last-ditch effort to relieve boredom than a full-fledged hunt, and Robert had been easily persuaded to let Clary tag along.

"No," Jace says from her other side, "Robert let her come because he's got a soft spot for her. She's charmed him somehow. I haven't quite figured it out yet, but I'm working off the assumption it has something to do with all those freckles."

Clary self-consciously touches a hand to her face. "There's nothing wrong with freckles."

"Exactly."

"You're going to ruin your makeup if you keep doing that," Isabelle says without turning around.

"And who's going to notice?" Jace asks. "The dozens of people who can't see us? We'll be home soon anyway."

"That's not the point. I spent 45 minutes making her look fabulous, and she's going to keep looking fabulous until the night is officially over."

Clary, whose feet are aching in a pair of strappy, four-inch heels, is regretting those 45 minutes more and more as the evening wears on. "I don't think the demons we're hunting care what I look like."

Isabelle slows down so that they catch up to her. "Of course they care. Demons who go to Pandemonium Club aren't there for an easy kill. If that was all they wanted, they'd pluck a homeless person from a park bench. They come to the club because they want to be seduced." When Clary makes a face, she continues. "A human's life force has a lot of energy, which is why demons consume them. It's their raw fuel. All that power can be a real turn on." Isabelle shrugs. "Like a demonic aphrodisiac."

Jace looks mildly impressed. "So you have been reading the dictionary I got you."

"Demons have sex with humans?" Clary can't quite wrap her mind around the idea.

Jace hunches his shoulders against a particularly strong gust of wind. "How do you think Demon Pox got started?"

Alec pockets his phone. "There's no such thing as Demon Pox." To Clary he says, "And you know that warlocks are half human, half demon."

"I guess I never really thought about it too much," Clary admits. She doesn't get to ponder it a moment longer because Isabelle's hand suddenly clamps around her wrist, bringing them both to a halt.

"Ow," Clary mutters.

"Look!" Isabelle hisses, a clear note of excitement ringing in her voice. "Up there."

Clary follows her line of sight to a second floor fire escape of a darkened apartment building across the street. At first, all she can make out are shadows and brick. But then there's something in the darkness, a pair of red shimmering orbs that catch the light of the street lamp. Adrenaline begins to seep into Clary's veins.

She listens vaguely to Alec's firm voice. "We need to be make sure it's—"

The glowing red orbs are suddenly moving, dancing in tandem. They leave the cover of the shadows, revealing themselves to be pupil-less red eyes set in a broad gray face shaped like a cruel mockery of a lion's head. The demon's body only vaguely resembles that of a human's—overly broad shoulders, a muscled torso, clawed hands and feet. Two bat-like wings protrude from the shoulders, and it uses them to launch itself from the fire escape. The demon drops down, circles the street right above their heads, and then swoops into a nearby alleyway with a terrible screech.

Clary looks back to the others to see that they've already drawn their weapons. She quickly draws a dagger from the sheath around her thigh. "Is that…a gargoyle?"

Alec seems uncertain. "I've never seen anything like it."

"I don't care what it's called," Jace says, eyes bright with anticipation. "A demon by any other name would die just as swiftly."

"We don't know what it's capable of, so we can't give it an easy target. Let's split it up. Iz and I will take the alley entrance—"

"And I'll take the roof," Jace finishes, already eying the pawn shop and convenient store the alley runs between.

Clary frowns. "What about me?"

"You stay here."

"Why?"

"Alec's right; you're not ready," Jace says.

"But how am I ever going to getready if I don't learn?"

"You learn in the training room."

Clary bristles. "That's not true, and you know it."

"We don't have time for this," Alec cuts in. "Isabelle, go with Jace. Clary will cover the alley with me."

"But-"

"Go, Jace, Or it's going to get away!" And with that, Alec takes off down the sidewalk, easily dodging a small group of teenagers as he goes. Clary begins to follow suit, when Jace steps in front of her.

"Jace..."

"Be careful," he tells her softly, and then he's gone.

She takes off after Alec, seraph blade in hand. He's waiting, back against the storefront as he peers around into the opening of the alley. "It's just sitting in there," he mutters. "Like it's waiting for something."

"Castiel." The seraph blade comes to life with a soft hum, and Clary feels the power of it warming her hand, stirring her blood. It's the only weapon that's come to Clary with any amount of ease, and she feels a surge of confidence holding it now.

Alec waits a beat before nockingan arrow. He glances up at something Clary can't see from her spot beside him. "Jace and Isabelle are in place." Clary nods—not that Alec is looking at her—and a moment later watches him step in front of the alley, feet braced and bow drawn taught. He takes aim and lets the arrow fly. There's a brief whistle of air being rapidly displaced before the distinct sound of impact.

Alec swears and presses his back to the building wall beside Clary.

"Did you miss?"

"No." Alec sounds regretful. "The shot ricocheted right off its chest. It was like striking stone."

She decidedly doesn't like the sound of that. "Now what?"

Bow and quiver fall to the ground. Alec pulls a seraph blade from his belt. He calls its name and it glows with life. "We hope that these are more effective."

An angry shriek rings out from the alley, and Clary and Alec share an anxious glance before darting around the corner. They find Jace crouching several feet ahead, his back to them as he faces off against the demon. Standing this close, Clary can tell Alec's assumption was accurate. The demon doesappear to be made from stone. Everything from its three-inch canines to the wings on its back. And yet it's moving, growling even. A black scorch mark runs the length of one arm. Clary can only assume it's a token of the shining blade in Jace's left hand.

"I'm sure someone's already told you this, but you are terribly unattractive," he says as if striking up a conversation over tea. "And by that I mean you might be the single ugliest thing I've ever seen. And I see Simon quite frequently."

If the demon understands the taunt, it gives no indication of it. Instead, bright red eyes look beyond Jace, the inhuman gaze landing on Clary and Alec. Without a moment of hesitation, the demon propels itself into the air, clear over Jace. Robert's instruction on evasive maneuvers leaps to the forefront of Clary's mind. Her muscles tense in preparation for a forward roll, but she never gets the chance to execute it. There's a lightning-like flash of light as an electrum whip coils around the demon's ankle, jerking it to a halt mid-air. Isabelle is standing on the roof of the convenience store, the other end of her whip clutched in both hands as she struggles to brace herself against the ledge.

While Clary is momentarily paralyzed by the sight of the demon looming above them, Alec doesn't hesitate to jump, seraph blade raised, and strike at the demon's exposed sternum. Dust rains down from the resulting wound. With a thunderous cry, the demon gives a powerful flap of its wings, and Isabelle's strength is no match. As the demon careens upward, Isabelle is jerked from her place on the roof. Although the whip is still secured to the demon's foot, the tension isn't enough to save Isabelle from a nasty impact with the ground. After landing on her feet, she falls immediately to her knees, her whip falling in graceful spirals around her.

Executing a swift backwards loop in the air, the demon lets out another screech. This time Clary forces her body into motion. Pulling out her stele, she draws an accuracy rune on the palm of her right hand. Her skin is still stinging with the rushed Mark when she pulls back her arm and sends the seraph blade hurdling through the air.

At first, it appears her throw wasn't strong enough to reach its target, but the demon continues its descent toward her with a blind fervor and the alley is too narrow for it to dodge sideways. The blade embeds itself foot-deep in the stone-like shoulder. But the demon only falters for as long as it takes to recoil from the assault before doubling its efforts and moving swiftly towards her, jaws gaping open.

She hears Jace shout her name, but she can't take her eyes off of the crackling electricity shinning from inside the demon's mouth. The light grows bigger and brighter behind jagged teeth, and as the demon rears back its head, Clary is keenly aware of the fact that she has nowhere to go. She hurries backward blindly, but the movement only gives her room enough to see Jace driving his seraph blade into the demon's back as it lets out a startling blast of red-tinged light. She's forced to close her eyes against the brightness.

Something solid and heavy slams into Clary, sending her sprawling to the ground. The air is forced from her lungs. She gasps for breath, but the weight on her chest hasn't lifted, and there's an intense, dry heat suffocating the air around her. If this is death, I thought it would hurt more.

But maybe death isn't a coldness. Maybe life isn't a flame waiting to be snuffed out by a dark hand. Life could be ice, an ever-changing solid, melting, disappearing with the passage of time. Death, an inexhaustible heat that slowly whittles away at life or douses it in an instant, until all that's left is a trickle of water running along the cut of the land—whether it be high or low.

There's no fire when Clary opens her eyes. No light. Just a blue-black sky.

The weight on top of her shifts. With a low noise of discontent, Alec rolls off of her onto his back.

Dazedly, Clary rises to her knees and looks around for any sign of the demon. She finds only the rubble of crushed rock scattered across the dirty alley floor. "What happened?"

Jace appears before her, eyes wide and searching. "Are you hurt?" His grab her shoulders. "The blast…I couldn't stop it."

Clary shakes her head. "No. I'm fine. But Alec…" He's still lying on the ground, running a hand across his face, eyes closed to the world. Clary leans over him as Jace moves to his other side. She touches a hand to his chest. "Alec?

Jace checks over his body for wounds. "He must have been hit in the back."

"What's wrong?" Isabelle is hovering anxiously over them. She's got most of her weight resting on one leg, and there's an iratze slowly fading away on the other.

"Nothing's wrong," Alec mutters, and his hand drops from his face. Deep blue eyes appear from beneath dark lashes. He blinks slowly, as if it's a conscious effort, and then meets Clary's concerned gaze. "Just a headache. I must have hit it during the fall."

Jace immediately sets about drawing an iratze below Alec's collar bone. But Alec doesn't look at him; his eyes haven't left Clary. "Are you hurt?" he asks.

"I'm fine. Thanks to you." She shakes her head. "You didn't have to do that."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you could have died."

His eyebrows furrow, and Clary can't help but think there's something he wants to say but doesn't. He sits up, wincing slightly as he does. "I hardly felt a thing. Are you sure it didn't hit you?"

"All I felt was heat. But it didn't burn me."

"You were lucky," Jace says. "Both of you. Lucky that I was here to save the day. Yet again."

"But saved from what?" Alec wonders aloud as they all get to their feet. "I've never heard or read anything about a demon made of stone."

"Well, whatever it was, it's dust now." Isabelle kicks at a stray chunk of stone with toe of her boot.

"I should go to Luke's."

The three of them look back at Clary with matching puzzled expressions.

"You think the stone bat-man belonged to him?" Isabelle sounds doubtful. "I mean, I know Luke isn't exactly known for his fashionable taste in outdoor décor, but…"

Jace crosses his arms. "'Never trust a lawn ornament' is what I always say."

"I don't think Luke had anything to do with it," Clary says. "But we might find something about it in one of his books."

"The Institute has books," Alec points out.

"Yes, but you just said that you've never seen anything about it in the books at the Institute. Luke's collected quite a few rare volumes over the years. He may have something the Institute—"

"You're ringing."

Clary blinks at Jace. "I—what?"

"You're ringing." He points at the pocket of her jacket.

Clary hears it then, the muffled sound of her cell phone going off. It's a familiar heavy metal tune that grows louder as she fishes the phone from her pocket and flips it open. "Hey, Simon. Can I call you back in a couple of minutes? I'm sort of in the middle of something."

Simon's voice is quick and eager on the other end of the line. "Where are you?"

"A couple blocks from the Institute. We ran into a demon, believe it or not."

"So you haven't heard, then?"

Clary sighs. "Heard what?"

"It's all over Facebook, and I didn't believe it at first, but I just saw something about it on the news. And you can't just make something like that up."

"Simon," she prompts impatiently.

His next breath is a low rustling in her ear. "It's Hayden, Clary. He's dead."

"What?"

"Hayden Risser. From school. His dad found his body at their house."

Clary can't speak past the lump forming in her throat. She sees Hayden in her mind as she had seen him just that morning in the little shop. Her hand goes to the ring hanging from her neck, and all she can do is stare—astonished—at Jace, who looks concerned as he steps closer.

She doesn't hear Simon say her name until he's repeated it several times.

"Yes?" she answers hollowly.

"Clary, the thing is…he's been dead for three days."

AN: Thank you to those of you who took the time to review the last chapter. You're fabulous, and I really appreciated it. :)