(( Disclaimer: I do not own The Mortal Instruments universe, or any characters indigenous to it. That all belongs to their owner, Cassandra Clare. I do, however, own the plot line, the writing itself, and any original characters I insert into The Mortal Instruments universe. If you like what you read, please review! The story line is building. Don't worry, we'll catch up with Clary soon, and Jace and Isabelle are coming up in the next chapter. I hope you enjoy. :D ))

"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety."

Antony and Cleopatra ( II, ii, 244)

Alec had been standing weaponless in front of the young woman, who was an intruder, and although it went against his Shadowhunter training he continued to stand. The dagger was still abandoned on the floor by the wall across from them, and the stele was knocked out of his hand so quickly he hadn't been able to see where it went. Alec had not dealt with anyone that possessed the speed this young woman displayed.

He raised a brow at her, hesitant to divulge his curiosity. As he spoke, he framed his guesses with an air of certainty, in order to at the very least draw her out. "You are a soldier of some kind, for some faction or organization that has heard of us. And, yet, I can think of nothing that fits you."

"You wouldn't have even heard of me. I am less relevant than the whisper of wind across a mountain peak, to you. Not only would we, under normal circumstances, never cross paths, you wouldn't know it if we ever did." She held her smirk. Alec could not discern the truth of her tenor, having only just met her, so instead he watched her body to see if she was lying. Some people, as he'd been taught to recognize, had a tick when they were nervous or being dishonest. She seemed so relaxed, it irked him. The only rigid thing about her was her posture, and yet the limbs that clung to it were unrefined. The young woman was both elegant and abrasive. Even her eyes, crowded with the darkness of her lashes, held imperfections. One pupil was noticeably bigger than the other, the smaller one a slightly oblong shape instead of the usual circle. The divide of her nose, its subtle curve downwards when she smirked, the fullness of her cheeks, the slope of her brows, the way her lower lip was thicker than her upper lip, all seemed to pull Alec in deeper the longer he studied them. A mere second felt like several hits from a drug, and though he had never actually tried drugs Alec imagined the rush felt something like the current inflation of his chest. Tight breaths, and perhaps the smallest bit of danger, filled him up, raising his shoulders.

She interrupted his thoughts. "I'm surprised you had nothing to say to that. You've suddenly become boring, and I regret sparing you." Her dark eyes fluttered with the remnants of a cheeky wink.

"Why aren't these circumstances normal?" Alec tried to look annoyed.

This made her pause. The smirk on her face was replaced with a stoic, straight-lipped gaze. Silence invaded the room, and it strayed Alec's thoughts once more. He felt his chest filling rapidly again.

"Why aren't these circumstances normal?" He echoed himself, slightly breathless.

"Are you alright?" Her question surprised him, but what was even more unexpected was the gentleness in her voice.

Alec almost believed it. "You're mocking me."

She chuckled. "You made it easy."

"Whoever's soldier you are... is being a sarcastic instigator part of your orders?" He regarded her with bitterness.

This seemed to have struck a chord in the young woman, for she suddenly moved forward and seized the front of Alec's shirt, tossing him effortlessly across the room. He sailed through the air like a rag doll, quite luckily hitting the headboard, bouncing off and rolling over onto the bed. Clutching the back of his head, he gave a low grunt. And then a slew of curses. As he tried to sit up, hands grabbed the sides of his head, covering both ears. The young woman pulled Alec's face up to meet hers.

When she spoke, it was a slow whisper. "I am not a soldier of anything that thinks, eats, walks, speaks, breathes, or feels emotions, emotions like the one you had for that Warlock... yes, did you forget him so easily? I am sarcastic because I choose to be, and what you may call instigating I call killing time. You think this is all such a big deal, and perhaps you're right. Perhaps, for you and for your friends and your Nephilim brothers and sisters this is a big deal. But, for me, this is a janitor job. This is a punishment. This is the snot dribbling down a baby's nose, bleeding into its mouth while mommy is too drunk to remember what a fucking napkin is. For the last and final time, stop asking me who I am, and stop trying to prod information out of me. You will answer my questions, you will do as I say, and you will pray to your God that your friend, Clary Valentine, is the last payment that will be extracted from the mess you have all created."

She finally had Alec's attention more than she had his suspicion. "What did you say, about Clary?"

"The same thing I said earlier, essentially." The young woman sounded increasingly bored, and she let go of his head with a violent shove.

"Do you have Clary? Did you take her?" He jumped off the bed and took a few steps back, glancing between the young woman and the dagger that had fallen against the wall earlier. His head was throbbing, but the adrenaline coursing through him dulled the pain with each passing second.

The question seemed to have offended her, for a cool detachment washed over her face. Her eyes, trenchant upon him, deepened their brown hue in mere seconds. "I didn't do anything. You, however, are clearly a poor listener. Don't try to bargain for your friend, or ask me where she is or what happened to her. Understand that you upset the balance, and life does not favor the pretty heroines and their lovestruck male suitors. Here," she paused, gesturing around them, arms outstretched, "here is where we are. Where everyone is. This is space. You occupy space. Your precious Isabelle and Jace Lightwood occupy space. Clary Valentine occupies space. When you occupy space that does not belong to you, there are consequences. I didn't do a damn thing. I am simply-."

"The janitor?" Alec echoed her very same words from before. "What did Clary do to upset the balance?"

The young woman opened her mouth, presumably to answer Alec, but she suddenly stopped. Perking a brow, she glanced towards the door and waited, slightly squinting one of her eyes. Then, she smirked. "We are not alone anymore."

Alec followed her gaze to the door, but saw nothing. He checked a dubious glance back at her, realizing that she was fixated on the doorway, giving him a chance to move closer to the dagger still left on the floor. And he did so, with quiet control in each step.

"That dagger is made of metal, which, though processed by human hands, comes from nature. You cannot harm me with that dagger any more than you could harm me with the tickle of your hand on the nape of my neck. There is more use in trying to overpower me with sheer force than to use a natural weapon against me." Despite staying in her place, the young woman's eyes bore down Alec as she spoke.

He flirted with an unreadable expression. The young woman almost seemed annoyed by a lack of something coming from Alec. "Are you not shocked? Does that not interest you?" She fired, the strange taste of vulnerability lingering in her anxious tone.

Alec nodded slowly, walking towards her as he did. "Yes, actually, I am interested." He stopped when he was close enough for their toes to touch. "In what you said." His hand slowly came up, and although she flinched she did not step away. Soundlessly, he picked up a hanging tendril of her damp hair and moved it over her shoulder, leaving it to dangle between her shoulder blades. Pushing away the shorter pieces from the site of her collarbone, he slipped his calloused hand across the skin until the nape of her neck sat in his palm. Carefully, delicately, he moved his fingers against her skin as though he might be playing the piano. "As harmful as a dagger." He whispered, unsure himself of what he meant.

At that exact moment, much to Alec's surprise, the door to his room swung open. Mouth agape, hands clutching each side of the doorway, stood Simon. Alec quickly pulled his hand away from the young woman's neck, and cleared his throat while side-stepping away. "Simon." He hurried the greeting, keeping his gaze from directly meeting Simon's.

"What is going on here? Where is everyone? Who is this?" Simon was watching the young woman surreptitiously.

"My, my. Everyone here is too curious. It's an epidemic." The young woman tutted.

"What? Who are you?" Simon repeated, this time addressing her instead of Alec.

"I am Shiva," the girl giggled, "God of death."

"That's from a movie," Simon said accusingly.

"Why, you're right, it is isn't it? You are smart." Her eyes were on Alec as she spoke.

Alec, whose face was slightly flushed, was only looking at the floor. In fact, he appeared to be so absorbed in the floor that Simon looked down himself, thinking there might be something important he wasn't noticing.

The young woman sighed, running a hand through her hair, piling it all to one side and tossing it haphazardly. "I'm sure the floor is incredibly interesting to you two, but believe it or not I have a job to do so let's get to my questions, shall we? Remember what I said, about the Valentine girl."

This snapped Simon to attention. "What? Clary? What about Clary?"