Author's Note: This chapter contains mentions of torture, mentions of captivity, descriptions of violence, death of a side character, and suicidal ideation.

Chapter Eighteen

By the time Luke returned to the Institute, the realization was too little too late.

Something about the Greater Demon attack had been wrong. He'd known that since he'd gotten the call from one of his lower pack members. Why send a Greater Demon? Wasn't that overkill for a single pack of werewolves? And why would Sebastian—certainly, that's who it was that sent the thing—send a demon to attack the headquarters when Luke and all of his upper ranking wolves were at the Institute to provide support in the search for Jace and Clary? Wouldn't it be them who Sebastian wished to have out of the picture?

Well, that had been true. Just not in the way Luke had thought it. Sebastian had wanted them out of the way. Just not dead, as Luke suspected; instead, occupied. Distracted. Drawn away.

When he and the rest of the pack arrived to help, there were two wolves alive of the four who had remained at the headquarters.

They were instantly engaged in battle, and even as Luke shredded and spit out demon flesh from his fangs, he couldn't shake the feeling that something just wasn't right. The demon didn't speak, didn't say what it wanted, or why it was summoned. And it didn't seem to be striking to kill. It kept them occupied for nearly 30 minutes. When Luke was the only one still standing, continually flinging himself at the thing only to be knocked aside, it suddenly looked up, as if realizing something or noting the time, and then vanished from the physical world, slipping down between the cracks of this reality and back into its own.

Now why in the world would Sebastian send a demon if not to kill him and his entire pack?

The back of Luke's mind screamed distraction, but he thought it couldn't have been just that. Distraction or no, if Sebastian had wanted them occupied, their deaths would have kept them out of anything.

Did Sebastian know they were about to pursue a rescue mission for Jace and Clary? Was he worried the pack would unbalance the scales in a fight, tip victory away from Sebastian's hands and allow Jace and Clary to escape? But, again, why not have the Greater Demon kill Luke, then?

It could only mean one thing. He needed the pack, or Luke, to serve another role. But for now, for whatever reason, he was in the way.

Luke had suspected all of this. And yet, as he approached the doors of the Institute, he still did not expect what he found inside. As soon as he'd opened the large, ornate doors to the cathedral, he could smell it—blood, in overwhelming quantities. And he knew instantly his gut feeling had been right. The Greater Demon was just a distraction afterall.

He rushed in to find the entryway completely unharmed, the pews neat and dusty from disuse. But the scene was deadly quiet, and no one was in sight. The elevator ride up to the main floor felt like the longest thirty seconds of his life. When the metal doors clanged open, he saw that the upper floor was devastated, as though a hurricane had whipped through the building, and finally found the source of the awful copper smell saturating the air.

Ten bodies, at least, were strewn across the halls, all donning robes as red as the blood they spilled across the floor.

"Jocelyn!"

It was the first word to leave his mouth. Every ounce of him hoped she had portalled away from this place before the attack, but he knew—he knew—something was wrong.

He leapt over the dead, all unfamiliar faces to him, and pushed further into the building until he reached the library, where the group had all met just a few hours earlier.

"Jocelyn, where—"

When he pushed the cracked door fully open, he saw her, underneath the blade of a single standing Endarkened, weaponless and panting, clutching at her stomach. Luke was moving before he ever commanded his muscles to move, snatching a stray blade off the floor and driving it into the back of the red-robbed man. His blade clattered to the floor as he choked, blood bubbling up his throat and between his teeth, before his eyes rolled up and Luke let him fall to the floor.

"Luke—" Jocelyn coughed, wiping the back of her hand across her cheek, leaving a small trail of smeared blood, her eyes wide in shock.

"My God, what happened? Are you alright?" He dropped to his knees and pulled Jocelyn up into his arms, trying to shake the horrible anxiety that radiated through him. If he had arrived only a moment later….

But now wasn't the time for what ifs. He slid his hands over her to assess her for injuries, and they came away bloody, her clothes soaked in it. "Where is everyone else?"

"I'm—I'm fine. Luke, I'm okay," she said adamantly, pushing him back. "The others portalled out seconds before the attack. It was just me, Robert, and…. Oh, God, Luke—Maryse, check on Maryse." Jocelyn nodded over to the other side of the room, and Luke finally took in the rest of the scene: Robert slumped to his side on the floor, unconscious but groaning; more dead Endarkened; books scattered everywhere; weapons left abandoned, or still clutched in stiff fingers. And at last, his eyes landed on Maryse, leaning back against the desk, her head rolled forward to rest on her chest, her dark hair a veil over her face.

A coldness washed over him at the sight. Luke knew what a dead body looked like. He'd seen them countless times before. He'd been a maker of them. A mourner of them.

Still, he stood and approached Maryse, dutifully brushing the hair from her face, and laid her out flat on the floor, catching her dead weight as she fell to the side. He pressed shaking fingers to the divet in her neck, just under her chin and to the side of her throat. Felt the lack of pulse, the already cooling skin.

Jocelyn was crying before he ever said a word. He was sure she could see it in the set of his shoulders, the way his hand dropped away from Maryse after his fingers brushed over her eyelids, closing them for the last time.

Looking down at her, face slack and pale, he could only barely make out the young woman he'd known all those years ago, with her dark, sleek hair and ambitious set eyes.

He felt his body freeze up in a dull sort of emptiness, and the familiar emotional shut down when his brain knew there was no time to mourn crept over him as Jocelyn came up behind him.

"No…she, she was fine just a bit ago, she just needs…."

"It's too late," he sighed. "The Greater Demon was a distraction. They wanted the pack and I to not be here." Luke heard her take a shaky breath in, his eyes still locked on Maryse's too-pale face.

"...I think she saved Robert," Jocelyn said hesitantly, and Luke gritted his teeth, at last standing and moving away from the body, going instead to Robert. He was unmoving, a trail of blood running down his forehead from a gash on his head, but his chest still rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Numbly, Luke picked the bulky man up, not without struggle considering how exhausted and bruised he was from the demon fight, and headed down the hall. His adrenaline was beginning to fade, his reeling thoughts slowing as he tried to take in the situation.

"The three of you killed all of them?" Luke asked as he stepped over the Endarkened, and Jocelyn hurried behind him, trying to hide a limp in her step. "Maryse and Robert were in the hall when they attacked. We managed to gather in the library and barricade ourselves. Took them a few at a time. But there were so many, and…." She trailed off helping Luke lay Robert down when they got to the infirmary, untouched by the destruction in the halls and gathering room.

She winced as she straightened, and Luke at last saw the bloody gash on her stomach that she had been concealing with her forearm. She startled when he gently pushed her down onto the next bed.

"Your wounds. You need to heal. I'll contact the Clave."

"But what about the others? What about Clary and Jace?"

Luke frowned, snatching some bandages from a tray and a spare stele from a side drawer, which the Institute kept stocked for visitors. "I'd imagine this attack means Sebastian thought everyone else would be here," Luke started, setting the gauze next to Robert. "The Lightwoods, you, maybe even Simon and Magnus, too. He wouldn't have sent this many Endarkened otherwise. Which means, hopefully, the rescue group will have the jump on him."

"But—"

Luke pushed her back down on the bed when she tried to stand, waving the stele at her. "I'll handle this. Please, Jocelyn." He cupped her face with his hand, rubbing his thumb over her cheek to try and wipe the blood away. "Fix yourself up, and treat Robert. We'll take this one step at a time."

"I just…I need them to be okay. I need Clary to be okay," she said, laying her own hand over his. Luke kissed her temple.

"I know. Me, too."

Simon was the first through the portal and instantly he could tell something was wrong. He stumbled to stay upright, the old flooring of the Institute rising up in front of him as he stepped out of the blue-white glow of the portal, creaking slightly under his weight, and his nose stung at the scent of the room.

It was blood—large amounts of it, though old and stale—and he felt his fangs begin to prick at his lower lip, even as his stomach turned at the stiff and aging scent of it. The library was a mess, but even as he looked around, Simon couldn't discern the source of the coppery smell, or the sharp, underlying chemical scent. It seemed to be coming from everywhere, despite the room itself being devoid of people, and his mind flashed back to Jocelyn's hand being wrenched back through the portal.

Something was very wrong. And whatever had happened here, he knew they had to be too late. They left the Institute days ago, and judging by the sour smell, whoevers blood was spilt here was just as old.

The sound of boot heels on the floorboards snapped him out of his daze, Izzy stepping up behind him.

"What the hell happened here?" she gasped, spinning around to take in the scene and then shooting Simon a questioning glance as if he might somehow know anymore than she. At his open-mouthed shrug, she called out, her voice echoing through the high-ceilinged room. "Mom!"

But there was no answer.

"Iz, it smells like…blood. Like lots of blood," Simon started, and Izzy frowned, toeing some books over onto their backs, and then, at seeing their covers, bending over to scoop them up into her arms. "What? It smells like cleaning agents to me."

Maia was next through the portal, her hands immediately flying up to her mouth, only half smothering the sound of her gagging. Portalling was never easy for her.

Just as Alec stepped through, looking cool and steady despite the circles under his eyes, the doors to the room creaked open.

"Oh, thank God," said a weary voice, and all eyes jumped to find the source of it. Luke, shoving the doors the rest of the way open, quickly sheathed the dagger that had been in his hands.

"What happened here?" Alec asked, looking around at the mess, but Luke only shook his head. "You're all okay?" he said slowly, looking from Simon, to Izzy, then Alec. Simon's mouth parted, before he looked guiltily at Izzy and Alec.

How do you tell a man you failed to save his daughter?

The awkward silence remained even as Jace appeared from the portal, looking completely unphased by the tousled room as he stepped over scattered books and splintered wood. Luke let out a relieved breath at the sight of him, and it only made the guilt in Simon's chest heavier. Magnus was directly behind Jace, and dusted his hands off on his pants before looking up, brows pinched slightly.

The portal closed.

"Where's—?" Luke cut himself off.

He stood frozen in place now, eyes locked on the spot where the portal had been just seconds earlier, waiting for one more person to step into the room, to appear from thin air. Though most people might have only seen a stoney expression, Simon had known Luke long enough to tell the little difference in his emotions, and he watched as Luke's face turned from confusion to horrified realization.

When Luke finally drug his eyes away from the empty space next to Magnus, his gaze settled on Jace. Simon didn't think he'd ever seen Jace look away from someone in such shame, but he did then, skirting his eyes to the floor to avoid Luke's desperate and questioning expression.

"What happened? Is she…please tell me she's not…." Luke trailed off, waiting expectantly for an explanation, but Jace was already shoving through the group, heading for the doors.

"No…. No, please—" Luke began, voice starting to quaver.

"She's not dead," Simon said hastily, but he couldn't get the rest of the words out.

"Worse than dead," Jace murmured over his shoulder. Luke looked rapidly to Simon, then Jace and back. "What? What happ—"

"Sebastian got away. With Clary." It was Alec that at last voiced it, and Simon again watched as Luke's face went hard and stoney. There was another awkward silence, Simon waiting to see if anyone would mention the Infernal cup, but it was broken when Jace pushed open the doors.

"Wait, Jace," Luke sighed, running a hand over his face. "There's something I need to tell you all as well."

Jace stopped, his back still to the room. Simon thought he could see the muscles in his shoulders trembling.

"When you left two days ago, the Institute was attacked."

It was as though a giant, metal church bell had been rung just a moment ago, and he had been standing directly next to it. An eerie, empty buzzing lingered in Jace's ears, as though his skull was the softly reverberating iron shell of the thing, and it made it hard to focus on what Alec was saying to him.

They stood in a spare room, Izzy kneeling by the bed and Alec standing just beside her, his hand firm on her shoulder as he looked back at Jace in the doorway. Jace could see the wet sheen in his eyes, see his mouth moving, but all he heard was the ringing.

Izzy picked up the strip of white silk that was lying on the pillow, and Alec abandoned his attempt to gain Jace's attention, turning back to help Izzy.

Jace watched as Alec gently lifted their mother's head off the pillow, and he thought he might be sick as he saw how stiff Maryse's neck was, the angle of her chin frozen in place as Izzy—who, Jace thought he could hear under the buzzing, was sobbing—wrapped the white band around her head to cover her eyes. Shadowhunters had runes to keep a body from decomposing, to hold off putrefaction, for a short time, if needed, but it didn't stop the rigor mortis.

He couldn't do this.

He couldn't deal with this right now.

Robert was still unconscious, his siblings were crying as they prepared their mother's body for transport to be cremated, the Clave was ordering a recall of all Shadowhunters to Alicante, Jocelyn was sobbing in the next room over as Simon explained what happened while they were away, Clary was gone, and now Jace couldn't hear over this goddamn ringing.

He felt his cheeks grow wet and stumbled backwards, away from the sight of Izzy kissing Maryse's forehead, away from Alec, who dropped to one knee beside her, helping fold the sheets over the body.

Beneath the ringing sounded a sudden crash, and then all of the noise in his head fled, leaving a heavy, crushing silence, as he saw the startled looks on Izzy and Alec's faces when then turned to see him, having backed into the dresser so hard that it knocked over the lamp.

The shards of the ornate, glass base shimmered on the floor like scattered diamonds, sparkled like spilled ice chips, shone like the tears in his siblings eyes, or in Clary's as she choked on the blood of the cup.

Jace couldn't do this.

He ran from the room, practically knocking over a very startled Magnus, who was hovering in the hallway just outside the room in case Alec needed him. In an instant he was in his own room, pushing the door open so hard that it slammed into the wall, before he was rushing to grab a bag from under his bed. Mindlessly, he began stuffing it with clothes.

It wasn't long before the door slammed open a second time, and Alec was bursting into his room.

"What are you doing?" Alec demanded, throwing his hands up when Jace continued his packing.

"Jace, please," Alec said to his back, "Listen to me. I know what you're thinking, but now is the worst possible time to be splitting up. The attack on the Institute wasn't the only one. Luke's pack was attacked. Institutes across the world are being hit. There will be more." Alec's voice was a low humming under the incessant ringing in his head, and now the throbbing headache that had been plaguing Jace for the past few days was rapidly turning into a migraine.

"This won't help anyone. You can't just run off alone."

When Jace turned towards the closet, Alec was in front of him, arms crossed, face weary, and Jace could still see the tear tracks on his cheeks. He shouldered past him, and Alec sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know how you get. I know you're hating yourself right now. For being out when she's not, but the Clave is ordering all shadowhunters back to Alicante—"

"I won't leave her," Jace whispered, his voice cracking only slightly.

"You wouldn't be leaving her. We're not going to stop looking. But we can do that from Alicante."

"He's not hiding in Alicante."

"So? What, you think you're going to find him by searching all of New York on foot? All of the US? Europe? Asia? He could be anywhere, Jace—"

"Don't you think I know that?!" Jace shouted, slamming a box of weapons onto the end table, and the neat row of them, stacked by size and type in the container, rattled out of place. Why did Jace ever take the time to organize things like that? God, it was so fucking insignificant.

Somehow infuriated by its neatness, he choked out a frustrated growl and began grabbing weapons at random, shoving them without thought or order into his pack, mixing them in among clothes and belts and straps. Alec froze at the outburst, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"I know he could be anywhere. Hell, he could be in a new city every day, every hour if he wanted. But I will not just sit behind wards in Alicante, waiting patiently while Magnus fails to track him. You got lucky finding us the first time. Sebastian won't let it happen again."

"Then what's your plan?"

"I don't know, okay?!" Jace was screaming now, his voice as loud as the invisible ringing bell, and admitting it outloud, admitting that he had no idea what to do, was like running head first into a wall. He collapsed back onto the bed, dropping the bag he'd been filling with seraph blades, chakrams, and daggers, and let his face drop into his hands, struggling to gasp in full breaths of air.

Alec was right. There was no actual plan. No way that Jace could think of to find her. The only way Magnus managed to track them before was through Jace's parabatai rune, and Clary didn't have one. There was no finding Sebastian if he didn't want to be found.

After the hideout had been cleared of demons and Endarkened, Jace had even gone back inside to try and find personal belongings, anything important enough to Sebastian that it could be used to track him. His ring, his sword, a strand of hair. But there was nothing. Even at the spot where Alec had managed to drive an arrow into Sebastian's shoulder, there wasn't a single speck of blood that could have been used against him. He was careful to leave nothing behind. That, or there was never anything to leave behind in the first place. As in, Sebastian specifically set up that hideout as a temporary holding location, and had another just around the corner, or halfway across the world. Either way, it left Jace with nothing.

"Jace…" Alec started hesitantly, and Jace felt the mattress dip as Alec sat next to him. "What if…I mean, have you thought about what happened? Clary's been turned."

Right. That was the other problem. Even if Jace found Clary…would it really be her?

"It won't even be Clary that you save," Alec said miserably, as if in answer to Jace's thoughts.

"I can't think about that right now. I can't—"

"You have to. You have to think about it. Because all of the Clave's efforts have failed to find a cure for the Endarkened. They aren't the people they were before they were turned. They have no will of their own, nothing but bloodlust, and violence, and—"

"Stop!" Jace shoved off of the bed, staggering away from Alec. "Just shut up!"

"Jace—"

"No! We don't know that there's no way to reverse it. Or maybe—maybe we didn't even see it right, maybe it wasn't the Infernal Cup, maybe it was a fake," Jace's mind spun, grasping at straws, any reason that might make it untrue. "It just…it happened so fast. She was there, and then she was gone. He took her, and it was all so fast…." He trailed off, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms until they no longer stung with tears.

"I know. But…we just got you back. And now Mom is dead. Clary is gone. I'm sorry that we couldn't get to her in time, but I think…I think you just need to take a minute. We need to think things through. We need to stick together."

"Stick together?" Jace scoffed. "Clary has no one. Clary has no one, and she's stuck with…with—"

"Jace—"

"No! You don't know what he did—"

"I do, though!" Alec rose to his feet, any exhaustion and grief in his face replaced with anger. "I know because I could tell what Sebastian was doing to you. I could feel it, I could feel everything."

"Maybe," Jace snarled, "but you weren't there. You don't know what happened to Clary. What's still happening to Clary. God, Alec, the things he's threatened to do to her—the things he made sure I could hear happening to her, the things—" Jace choked to a stop as Alec flinched in understanding, as though an invisible hand that was threatening to slap him had stopped right before his face, and he dropped his gaze to the floor, grief flooding it all over again.

The memory of Clary screaming threatened to buckle Jace's knees, the recollection of the night gown she wore, the deep neck and the deeper cut back revealing the gashes covering her back from shoulder to hip, a checker board of whip marks, signature Sebastian. His stomach churned and he had to fight the urge to vomit, scrambling to gather his bag off the floor.

"She's not Clary anymore," Alec whispered, but the fight seemed to be draining from him even as he spoke.

"Then I'll deal with that when I get there," Jace said, shoving items split from the bag inside it.

What he didn't say was that from the moment he'd seen Sebastian tipping the cup up to Clary's lips—seen her scream and choke on the foul, black ooze that dripped from the corners of her mouth and down her neck—he'd been thinking nonstop about what it meant. What it meant for Clary to be an Endarkened. What it meant was that there was no undoing it, that there was no way to change her back, that she was doomed to be as mindless and will-less as any of the other Endarkened. Sebastian's slave. His weapon. His queen. His plaything. Whatever he wished her to be. And Jace had been thinking over and over again about what that meant for him, and for Clary.

What would Clary have wanted?

What would she have done if it was Jace who was turned?

He recalled the times he'd not been himself, when he'd been possessed by Lilith, and then tied to Sebastian, when he'd been fundamentally a different person, his true consciousness trapped somewhere deep within himself. And throughout it all, Clary had never once given up on him. She'd sliced the seal Lilith had placed on him, she'd tracked him down when he was lost, stayed by his side, even as Sebastian took over his personality—Clary had saved him.

And then Jace recalled the conversation they'd had back when he was plagued by nightmares of killing her, what seemed like ages ago now. Jace had been kneeling on the floor, as he was now, and Clary, sitting at the edge of the bed, wore a stunned look on her face as she cradled her arm where he'd just cut it with his father's dagger.

They'd talked about suicide.

"…I've thought about what it would be like for me if you died. I bet you've thought about the same thing."

"I know what it would be like," Clary had said, her voice sad and distant in remembrance of the events at Lake Lynn. "I wanted to die. But I knew how disappointed in me you'd have been if I'd just given up."

Jace had thought the exact same thing. There was nothing he dreaded more than the idea of being alive when she wasn't, but he would keep going, so he could see her again in the afterlife, whatever that was. But if he had been what killed her….

"...if I hurt you—if I was the cause of your death—there's nothing that would keep me from destroying myself," he'd told her.

"Don't say that," she'd whispered, her knuckles going white as she knotted her fingers into the covers. But he couldn't take it back. He meant every bit of it.

And wasn't everything that happened his fault? Wasn't it Jace who failed to save her, time after time? Wasn't her blood on his hands?

Clary was turned, and her last moments as herself were spent as a captive, tortured by her own brother. As far as anyone knew, there was no cure. No way to undo the demonic changes that happened when someone became Endarkened. This wasn't like any of the times Jace had been possessed; Alec was right—Clary was gone.

But did that mean he should give up? Stop searching for her? Or give up hope on a cure? Let her continue to be used by the monster that was Sebastian?

No. Jace couldn't let that happen.

So, he needed to find a cure. And if there was none, and she was doomed to be a monster, alongside the person she hated most…. She would want it to end, then.

He had already failed in protecting her. It was already his fault that she was as good as dead. The least he could do was bring an end to her torture, and then to his own. Because if it was his fault that all of these things happened to her, then there was nothing left for Jace, and nothing in the world that would keep him from destroying himself.

That was what Jace didn't say to Alec.

That was the only plan Jace had: find Clary, then find a cure.

Or, avenge her, and put an end to it all.

Jace's hands shook as he took up the shoulder strap of the bag, at last rising to his feet. "What if it was Magnus?" he asked.

"What?" Alec balked, standing with him.

"If it was Magnus who was taken. You wouldn't sit aside while the Clave did nothing. You would do anything to get him back. Even if he wasn't himself. You wouldn't let him suffer."

Alec's jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a flat line, and he nodded once. "You know," he said, an odd, wistful smile suddenly breaking his face, "when Sebastian took you the first time, Clary, Izzy, and I, we we're in a similar position. The Clave wasn't doing anything, and Clary was so desperate to get you back that she was willing to offer the Seelie Queen a favor. We tried to explain to her how dangerous that was. To be in the debt of the Seelie Queen?" He laughed, an awful, wet, choking laugh, and looked to the ground, his jaw clenching again. "Clary said she didn't care," he went on, "she said that you would do the same for her, do anything to find her."

Jace watched a few tiny, dark spots appear on the old wooden floor by Alec's feet and he realized his brother was crying again.

"And she was right. You know what I said? I told her, 'he'd burn the whole world down til he could dig you out of the ashes.'"

Jace let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, his chest deflating, the ringing in his ears finally beginning to subside. Alec looked up, and Jace managed a small, sad smile.

"Thanks, Alec," he said, and gripped his parabatai firmly by the shoulders. "You've given me just the idea on how to start my search."

Alec's eyes widened briefly, brows rising in tentative question.

"The Seelie Queen."

Author's Note: Sorry for the late update, I had some trouble getting back to writing from the gang's point of view as opposed to Clary's. I'll be quicker with the next few chapters as they are already almost complete. As always, thanks for reading!