Chapter Five
A/N: Thanks to Jace5000 and Guest for reviewing the last chapter. Hopefully some answers for you here!
Jocelyn felt the cool touch of adamas against her leg, the presence of the blade threaded through the waistband of her jeans comforting her. When she was younger, she would never leave the house without a Seraph blade or a throwing knife, wanting to be ready to fight at a moment's notice, the keen enthusiasm of one newly initiated into the Academy. Even when she ran to New York, throughout her pregnancy, she had carried a kitchen knife or a pair of sharp scissors, expecting Valentine to come after her, to threaten herself and her child. 'It seems I never really stopped behaving like a soldier.'
Valentine had bought her clothes, more traditional garments like the ones her mother had used to wear, as well as items of typical fighting gear. Jocelyn had considered his offer, the leather jacket giving her a sense of power she had not felt in a long time, but she did not want to be in his debt. Not now she was trying to escape.
Instead she had donned the same old jade shirt and worn-out jeans she had always worn while painting, the only things she could risk being ruined by the acrylics, something she had learnt when Clary was young and left paint handprints all over her best blouse. Jocelyn inhaled deeply, smiling at the memory; somewhere beneath the ichor, the battle and the burnt-sugar magic, she could smell paint and books and the vanilla candle Clary had bought for her birthday. Somewhere, buried beneath it all, was home.
Jocelyn barely managed to stop herself before she walked headfirst into a wall. She had reached the end of the corridor without noticing, so lost in her daydreams. The woman glanced around, trying to work out where she was. The location seemed familiar, but then all parts of her old home would do. Still, there was something about it, the feeling of a death of a battle comrade. She had never wanted to look at them as they fell, but she could not help herself. Turning her attention to the nearest door, the redhead pushed it open.
Her knees almost gave way at the sight. The room was clean and orderly, just as all Shadowhunter rooms were, a militaristic lesson drilled into them at the Academy, always ready to leave at a moment's notice. There were no posters on the wall, no Academy notes strewn across the desk, barely any sign that the room was occupied. The only thing betraying its simplicity was the photographs, frame upon frame adorning every surface. Jocelyn shuddered as she saw her own face looking back at her, time and time again. Photographs from her youth, an arm slung around Luke's shoulders, her head resting on Valentine's, and from years later, some of them with Clary in them as well, drawing happily at a park bench or playing with Simon on a climbing frame. It felt like the kind of surveillance footage you would see in a crime drama. Jocelyn could feel herself growing dizzy, her stomach churning.
'I knew he would never let me go.' Jocelyn acknowledged. She knew her husband better than anyone, knew his obsessive nature. He would never have let her live in peace, she had never believed he would. 'I just never imagined he would go this far. Why would he have photographs of me and Clary? Why would he care?'
"I thought you'd end up here eventually." came a voice from the doorway and Jocelyn jumped, whipping her head around to face the intruder, her fingers instinctively coming to linger at her waistband, wrapping themselves around the hilt of her dagger. He was fairly young, with dark hair and even darker eyes, which studied her intensely as she brushed the hair out of her eyes. There was something in his gaze that seemed familiar, but she could not think of what.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude." Jocelyn apologised, although she did not know what made her do so. Surely this boy was as much of an intruder as she was.
"It's quite alright. I expected it really." the young man stated, shrugging his shoulders. The gesture seemed stiff for something so nonchalant, almost as if he was forcing himself to do something not in his nature. "You were always quite curious, or so I've been told. Of course you'd go exploring."
"You know who I am?" She would rather not confirm a stranger's expectations of her outright, but the words slipped out. This boy was seeming more familiar by the moment; perhaps she had met him before.
"Of course I know who you are." The boy laughed, as if the idea was absurd. "How could I not? Naturally all these years apart have dulled your memories of me a bit, but I would have thought you'd recognise me. It's supposed to be instinct, isn't it? Not that you ever had much of one, not for me at any rate."
Jocelyn's grip on the dagger fell slack, her legs shaking so violently she almost fell to the ground. It was not possible. He was dead.
The door creaked open further as another familiar face appeared in the doorway. It took all of the redhead's strength not to be sick as Valentine entered the room, coming to stand beside the boy without a moment's hesitation. 'Why would he hesitate, when he clearly knows him so well?'
"I wanted to tell you before you found the room, but I never really found the time." Valentine sighed, flashing a frown of irritation towards his companion. "I was trying to avoid you being shocked like this, give you a bit of time to come to terms with it. I'm sorry about that."
"Don't." Jocelyn hissed, gritting her teeth. She would not cry in front of Valentine, not this time. "All this time, he was here with you."
"Well, it wasn't as if I had any other option." the boy pointed out, his eyes the kind of black she had only seen once before. He smiled, a joyless farce laced with cruelty. "Isn't that right, Mother?"
A/N: And now we have Jonathan, who never fails to make things more interesting! Please review!