Oh my gosh this chapter was so terribly hard to write. But thankfully, I had JMDeaton to help me out so so so much! I would probably still hate this chapter if she didn't help revise and change things around. You're seriously a life saver dude! Thank you so much. Check out her stuff, it's great all human Clace :D

Don't forget to review and tell me what you think! Song recommendations are also always welcome (: Enjoy!

xoxo Em

I keep using my energy

Pushing and shoving my way to please
Almost there, almost there
Feel like we've been getting nowhere
Almost there, almost there
Feel like we've been getting nowhere

Almost there, almost there
Well...

Electronic world, supersonic girl
We keep holding onto nothing
We keep typing, we're not talking
We lose endlessly, world won't get by me
I feel like I'm onto something
We keep moving, we're not there yet

Getting Nowhere, Magnetic Man ft. John Legend

Jace

"You know, that doesn't look too comfortable," I tell Jonathan as he wheels his way across the cobbled street. It's just like every other street we've come down on the way to Hodge Starkweather's shop: uneven, full of large cracks and missing stones, and sharp edges. "Plus, I have no clue what to do if you pop a tire. I don't think Alicante has a wheelchair repair shop. Hell, I don't think there's even a bicycle shop," I laugh.

"You know, your humor peaks at the weirdest times," Jonathan replies dryly. I can tell that he's nervous about meeting Starkweather, but I've already been through the entire process with his nonsense ramblings and the creepy staring. "Besides, if a tire pops, you'll be carrying me like a pretty lil princess," he adds on with a cheeky grin

"By the Angel, you would make a hideous princess. I don't think all the wax in the world could make your hairy legs smooth enough for a dress," I muse, smirking at him sideways. We cross another street and turn the corner onto a much narrower one. Hodge Starkweather's shop sits on the right, tucked away between an antique store and a shop with wilted flowers in the window. It looks a lot more run down than the other buildings surrounding it, with a dilapidated roof and a cracked window in the front.

"Shut up, I'd be beautiful," he grumbles, but his heart isn't in it. Any humor that peaked just a minute ago is gone in an instant. I grab onto the handles of his hair and tilt his wheels up over the curb and onto the side walk. Alicante is not very handicap accessible.

"Should we knock?" He asks, looking back at me. I roll my eyes and step around him to open the door.

"It's a bookshop, you just go in," I tell him. He shrugs and rolls in through the door that I hold open, a bell tinkling on the door.

"Well, I don't know I've never been in here," he snaps irritably.

"Relax," I sigh, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "It's fine. We got this."

"Yeah, of course. We've got this," he says, the breath leaving in a deep sigh. He inhales and sits up straighter, a determined look crossing his face.

"Just a moment!" A voice calls from somewhere in the back of the store. I feel a flash of déjà vu as the stout old man comes running out from the back, just as eager for visitors as before. The second he rounds the corner and his eyes land on me, he's gasping and turning right back around. I dart forward and grab the back of his shirt, yanking him towards me.

"Where do you think you're going? It's rude to leave guests waiting," I laugh humorlessly and roughly shove him towards the front room where Jon is waiting. He sits with his hands folded in his lap, watching up with sharp green eyes, just like Clary's.

Hodge regains his balance and one look at Jonathan has him spiraling into a fit.

"Valen—no, dead. He's dead. Right? By the Angel, help me," he stutters, his eyes wide and his hands shaking. He looks so small and pale and absolutely terrified. It seems like Valentine had a much stronger hold over this small man than I thought. But for him to be so startled by Jonathan who is generally a kind person and nothing like Valentine - besides his hair and physical build - makes me want to laugh, but I choke it down when I turn my back to them and lock the shop door.

"Mr. Starkweather," Jonathan nods, his gaze never wavering while Starkweather's darts everywhere and focuses anywhere but on Jon. "You knew my father. Most people say that I am a striking resemblance of him. But what you don't see is we don't share anything more than DNA and the same hair color. I am not a monster. I am not manipulative. I am not here to hurt you. But I have questions that I need answers to, and you will answer them for me."

His voice is so calm and neutral, borderline friendly, but there's a sharp undertone, and I know that if Hodge doesn't answer Jonathan's questions, then I'll have to shake him up a bit more. That's if the poor old bastard doesn't have a heart attack before then. Judging by the way that he's shaking under Jonathan's gaze, it's a possibility.

"Y-yes, of course. You must be Jonathan," he stammers, dabbing at his sweaty forehead with a time-worn handkerchief that probably used to be white. "I will assist you in any way that I can."

I roll my eyes and bite my tongue. Last time he did no such thing; hell, I'm almost positive that he sent word to Valentine that we were here, that Clary was here. And the second that Valentine came back into her life is the exact moment that her life started to spiral out of control, farther and farther from her control. I casually circle the room, running my finger along the spines of the dusty books lining the shelves.

"So then tell me what exactly my father was planning on doing with my sister," Jon demands in a sharp, demanding tone. Gone is the calm and collected diplomat, and there is the man wanting answers for his family.

"I don't know what Valentine wanted," Hodge says quickly. Much too quickly for him to be telling the truth. I turn my back on the books and step up next to the old man before grasping him firmly by the shoulder farthest from me, like an intimidating half hug.

"Now you don't wanna lie to us, Starkweather. You mislead Clary and I, and I won't let that happen again. Got it?" I ask before patting him on the back roughly, which makes him lurch forward another step.

"But, I didn't mislead you. I wouldn't dare do that to a Morgenstern," he tells me earnestly before turning back to Jon. "I swear on the Angel."

"If you didn't mislead us, then what did you mean?" I ask skeptically. Jonathan sits back and watches as Hodge's eyes dart between the both of us.

"Well, tell him!" Jon snaps, making the older man flinch.

"I told you about a prophecy," Hodge says. "I didn't lie about that or mislead you."

"No, you just said some nonsense and kept us here until Valentine got here, and I'm pretty sure you're the one that tipped him off," I grill him, stepping closer and leaning down so that we're eye level. "So you might want to start talking."

"Right, of course. It might be best if you come sit down, it may take a while to explain what I do know. Which is very limited, might I add."

"We're fine right here," Jonathan tells him, sitting back in his chair and getting comfy, his elbows resting at his sides and his fingertips templed together. There's something extremely calculated about the stance, like he's trying to gauge the room from afar. I suppose he is; he's always so determinedly calculated in everything he does, especially when it comes to composing and presenting himself in a certain way. He exudes the sort of aura that demands respect when needed, like now. He has the situation perfectly controlled, and Hodge is starting to realize that there's no getting out of can't run from a Morgenstern. "So start talking."

Jon

I have him right where I want him. The old man is sweating bullets and fidgeting around, his eyes never staying too long in any one particular place. It brings disgust. Not in Starkweather, but in myself.

I'm not particularly proud of acting so superior and manipulating people to get the answers I'm looking for, but we do need them. And quickly, might I add. This all reminds me of something that my father would do. I know the old man isn't really intimidated by me because of me, but rather who I was raised by. Who I could be, not who I am. Even from his eternally damned resting place at the crossroads, he is still influencing my life in some way or another. I can't escape him.

"As I said before, I don't know much about it. I am not a mystic, I'm just a simple historian. I don't know what is true, and what is false. I just know what I've found in books so I don't even know all of it, but I will tell you everything that I told your father when he came to me," he says, slowly walking to a chair piled high with books, and gently setting them on the ground. He continues clearing the chair and then swiping a handkerchief over the old cloth to remove the dust.

"Please, do proceed with your spring cleaning," Jace drawls sarcastically from his stance of lazily leaning against one of the bookshelves. I roll my eyes and watch as the old man sits down and nervously looks between us both. I nod and watch him for any signs of lying.

"Right, then. This… prophecy comes from unknown sources, and its validity is questionable at best. It is vague, and confusing. I don't know how else to put it to you boys, but even I have my own doubts about it actually being real." Hodge takes a deep breath. "It mentioned a Shadowhunter of pure lineage, someone who would experience the sort of grief that would break others," he says, cautious with his words. "But this Shadowhunter is different. He or she is supposed to have extraordinary powers unlike anything we've ever seen. Powers known only to the angels."

"Is that it?" I ask skeptically, and narrow my eyes at him. That can't be all of it.

"Of course not," he grumbles before taking another deep breath and continuing. "The Shadowhunter will supposedly find something that was once lost, and that will strengthen them. He or she will also, well for lack of better words, find their soulmate and their power will grow threefold."

"Soulmates?" I scoff. He's completely correct, it sounds like a farce. Shadowhunters don't have soulmates, at least as far as I know. We're too busy fighting and dying to truly focus on love and family. We don't have that luxury in the lives we lead.

"As I said, the credibility is questionable. But, your father had an interest in this little tall tale. Surely that holds some weight with you, Jonathan," he says slowly. His beady eyes watching me closely, probably waiting for any signs that I might actually believe his stories.

The truth is that I don't know what to believe at all, and seeing as how Hodge Starkweather isn't exactly on the top of my list of credibility, I'm left back at square one; being wheeled around Alicante with a brooding Jace and no clue where to go from here.

Most Shadowhunters are born of pure lineage, and many of them that come from stronger lines are better hunters, and that's just how the dice fall. Some families carry more favorable traits, while others pass on the more unfavorable ones, just like Mundanes. It's a survival of the fittest, and sometimes the purer bloodlines have a little bit more angel blood in them. That's just how genetics work.

And as for the soulmates bit that the old cook spieled… I don't believe it for a second. This isn't some Mundane book where the story ends with the couple living happily ever after. This is the Shadowhunter world, where we die every day and are brought up just as quickly; to kill demons and continue the loop that we call life.

None of it makes sense, and it leaves me with a headache that rivals an earthquake. I wish I could just go home, take a nap, and wake up in an alternate universe where Clary is home safe and sound, Isabelle notices me, and I can walk again.

But then again, that's not how Shadowhunters work. Or life, for that matter.

"What did you think about all of that?" Jace suddenly asks once we've made it around the corner. It startles me out of my thoughts and makes me grunt a little in surprise.

"Not much at all. It sounded fake," I sigh, letting my head fall into my hand. We've wasted an entire day here in Alicante, chasing dead ends. "What'd you think?"

"It sounded," Jace pauses, mulling over his words. "Weird. Different for sure, but I don't know. There was something about what he said that felt right."

"I don't know, Jace," I groan, becoming slightly frustrated. Surely he's not buying into that confusing mess that Starkweather was spewing, without any proof. Where did that man even come across this sort of thing? I ponder the possibilities. What if the original source could somehow be found? I don't know where we could even begin to search for something of that nature. Well, maybe I do. "I do however know someone who might, though. Or at least have access to something a little more tangible than that," I scoff while gesturing with my head towards the small bookstore.

She's the only person that I can think of that will be able to find out anything close to what we need and should be able to shine some light on whether this is real or not; and I know she'll help us. My only problem is tracking her down since she's always on the move; like smoke.

For the sake of our sanity, I hope that I can find her, and soon.