Chapter 84 – Sweet Pain, Bitter Regrets

- 1 day before the start of the war. -

"Sometimes I forget that she and Jace are actually related," Alec whispered under his breath as soon as we slammed the doors of Imogen's office behind us.

"Oh, right at the beginning, the resemblance was unmistakable," I shot back, and both Alec and Isabelle grimaced in remembrance.

"Imogen Herondale is a good leader," Magnus interjected, walking on Alec's other side. His golden-green cat eyes reflected the witchlights that were placed on the walls every few meters. "Rigid in her worldview. Arrogant about the Nephilim's abilities. Driven by anger, but with good intentions. Most of her predecessors would have accepted the extinction of their people rather than ally themselves with the Shadowworlders."

Alec seemed to have other worries. "How am I supposed to keep this mission a secret from Jace? He's my Parabatai!"

"Sure, because Clary and I have it so much easier," Isabelle snapped, punching her brother in the shoulder as she walked away, making him grit his teeth. "I'm pretty bad at keeping unnecessary secrets like that. I'll be itching to say something all evening, especially when I'm drunk."

"So you don't want to tell him?" he asked, astonished and reproachful at the same time. Ignoring Isabelle's words, his deep blue eyes slid searchingly from her to me until he finally raised one of his curved, black eyebrows.

"I don't know what I'm going to do yet. I have other things on my mind right now," I said, avoiding his stare. The evasion in statement and tone overly clear.

Alec's grimace deepened. After all, he was the one who had always followed the rules without fail. Not letting Jace in on the secret could actually prove difficult. At least for Alec and Isabelle. Since I didn't know exactly how the Parabatai bond worked, I couldn't say whether Jace would become suspicious of Alec. But my problems with Jace were of a completely different nature right now, so this stupid list wasn't high on my priorities.

"Well, I'll keep my mouth shut for now." Isabelle raised her arms theatrically and shrugged. A mischievous grin pulled up her rose-red lips. "But I take no responsibility for what I say later at the party."

This only seemed to lower Alec's mood further.

Relief swept through me as we finally emerged from the Gard and the low sun greeted us with its gentle light. The air was almost sweet. You could almost taste the burgeoning spring on your tongue. Despite the gloom looming on the horizon, this gave me an unexpected boost. Suddenly the weight around my chest was released, breathing became easier and I felt something like balance in my stomach.

Lies. That was what spring did to you. It awakened the happiness hormones that lay dormant somewhere deep inside you and simulated a reality whose vivid emotions actually made you happy for a few moments. Only to then remember all the difficulties that brought this precarious framework crashing down like the last gust of a winter storm. Spring was a liar. Wonderful for the people who actually had the freedom to let themselves go. Fatal for those to whom spring only pretended.

Our boots crunched under the loose grains and stamped deep holes in the flattened earth as we crossed the Gard's courtyard downhill. With the great iron gates at our backs, Magnus said goodbye to us.

"It's time for me to report to the warlocks."

"I'll go with you," Alec said hastily, staggering after the warlock. His heart must have spoken faster than his mind.

I thought about Isabelle's confession in the library yesterday. That Alec was flirting with Magnus. The smile spread naturally on my lips and I didn't have to glance over at Isabelle to know that my face was mirroring hers. Magnus's eyes flashed as he watched us and smugly looked at Alec from the side. Alec, pretending not to notice our silent exchange, blushed at the collar of his uniform.

I decided to put him out of his misery. "Then see you at the party tonight?"

They both nodded in unison and now I had to really try hard to keep a somewhat neutral face.

"We wouldn't want to miss one of Isabelle Lightwood's parties," Magnus sang over his shoulder, beaming with anticipation. "Hopefully this one ends better than the last one."

"Hey!" Isabelle called after him, half angry, half giggling. "I told Bat twice that I had also invited vampires. It's not my fault he got his ass kicked."

Magnus shook his head, like a father who has seen his child commit a misdeed but finds it too amusing to intervene. So instead of responding, he and Alec simply walked away. I couldn't shake the feeling that he was trying to grab Alec's arm. They were walking so close together that he was close enough to do so.

For a moment I just stood there, staring at the cobblestones at my feet, still wet from yesterday's rain. I ran the toe of my boot over the edge of a stone as I thought about what I would do next.

I could go back home and help Isabelle prepare for the party. Although I probably wouldn't be much help. There was a good chance I would run into Jace, and I had been avoiding him for half the day. I wasn't sure I could face him now. He would want to talk about yesterday, and I ... part of me was dreading that confrontation. So much so that I had disappeared out my window early this morning. And that was uncharacteristic enough, because I didn't normally run away from conflict.

Next to me, Isabelle cleared her throat, apparently thinking that my daydreaming was taking too long. I hesitantly looked up from my feet and met her analyzing gaze. I felt as if she was looking directly into my brain and I couldn't do anything about it. When she finally found what she was looking for, she sighed in a long breath.

"Jace will have most of it set up by now anyway," she murmured, linking arms with mine. "Delaying a little longer won't ruin anything."

Was my fear so easy to read on my face? Sooner or later I would have to face Jace. I had to go to this party, if only for Isabelle's sake. Maybe it was better if I just got it over with. Grit your teeth and hope for the best. But we had only just passed the first street when another idea popped into my head. A distraction and an excuse at the same time to stay away from my real fears a little longer.

"Do you know where Adam lives?" Judging by Isabelle's puzzled expression, she hadn't expected this question. But she nodded silently and directed us in a direction that wasn't too far from the Lightwood estate.

The property we stopped in front of covered more land than the Lightwoods'. The tall bushes that surrounded it were precisely trimmed and accompanied by a thin black iron garden fence. Like the Lightwoods', runes had been carved into it. Some formed directly from the metal, others drawn in gold paint. The nameplate to the right of the wide gate was a single, oval gold plate set into the fence. A single word could be read in cursive script. A name. Demonhunter.

I had never been here in person, had never visited Adam in his home once during my entire stay in Alicante. I had no idea if he was even here. I pushed down the handle and the right-hand gate slid inwards under a heavy weight.

A wide, circular stone staircase led up to a stately home. A robust facade with stone elements and classical decorations. Rainbow windows and a balustrade on the first floor, directly above the entrance area, gave the building an air of elegance. I recognized Adam no matter where I looked: The perfectly mowed lawn. The symmetrically planted fir trees that guarded the house on both sides. Golden ornaments on the walls and windows to demonstrate subtle grandeur.

I climbed the steps and, feeling a little uncertain, stopped in front of the wide, emerald-green mahogany doors that looked as though they would survive any war unscathed. In the middle was a gold-colored door knocker in the shape of two angel wings. I looked from Isabelle to the knocker and back again. She nodded encouragingly, but made no sign of knocking herself. I had to do this alone. Whatever I wanted to do. After some hesitation, I knocked and waited.

At first there was no wind. The birds had fallen silent with their powerful, metallic beating. All noises from the street were blocked out by the hedges growing up. It was almost deadly quiet. Then, as I was about to turn around and disappear on tiptoe, I suddenly heard noises coming from inside the house. With each breath I took, they became louder and finally I was able to identify them as footsteps moving toward the door – toward us.

Someone rattled the inside of the door and then it opened. In such a reserved manner that it contrasted with the impression of this imposing house. To my relief, it was Adam I found myself facing. His dark green eyes, almost the same shade as his front door, widened slightly as he recognized first me and then Isabelle. In the second it took him to process his surprise, I surveyed him.

Adam didn't really look any better than he had this morning. The bags under his eyes weren't any worse, but they hadn't gotten any better either. His hair fell in tousled strands around his ears. Only his fresh gear was new.

"Clary." It sounded like a question. His eyes slid past me. "Isabelle."

"We wanted to check on you and make sure you're okay," I explained our appearance.

A little of the tension left his mask. "Thank you, that wasn't necessary."

So formal. So distant. "You have a very nice home."

Adam nodded slowly, a pained smile twisting his face. "By the looks of things, this could all be mine pretty soon." He leaned against the doorframe before his well-rehearsed manners proved him wrong and he straightened up. "Would you like to come in?"

A minute later, I was sitting in what must have been the most comfortable chair I had ever sat in. Isabelle had commandeered the sofa to my right, but still hadn't said a word. She held back to give us the floor. She was just there to make sure it stayed civilized in case things got ugly between us. I followed Adam with my eyes alone as he strode through the Demonhunters' open living room. He stopped in front of a glass drinks cabinet and opened it absentmindedly. As he reached for glasses, both Isabelle and I took in the room curiously. It seemed she had never been here before either.

The decor, with its green and gold color palette, exuded a restrained elegance. Like the facade of the mansion, it was clear that great effort had been made to appear modest and devout at first glance. It was only upon closer inspection that the opulent and cultured details came to the forefront. Once noticed, they were impossible to ignore.

The clinking of glasses drew my attention back to Adam, who slammed the cupboard shut with a vibration of the glass. Such carelessness in such splendor. "You have the choice," said Adam, placing the three crystal glasses on the low table between us. "Water, lemonade, beer, brandy, whiskey. Whatever your heart desires."

That finally elicited an amused snort from Isabelle and I sank deeper into the soft velvet armchair that I would love to take with me later. "And what are you drinking?" she asked, a tiny smile hovering around her red lips.

"Scotch. And not just any scotch, but ..." Adam marched back to the drinks cabinet and fished out a clear bottle. A bronze-colored liquid sloshed around in it. He peered at the label. "Single Malt Scotch Whisky. It's the most expensive bottle in my father's collection."

"And what exactly are you trying to achieve with this?" I wanted to know – in a much more reserved tone than Isabelle.

"My father will be extremely unhappy to find out that I have dismantled his collection in such an unceremonious manner," he explained casually, but his facial muscles tense.

Isabelle tilted her head and pretended to consider his words. "So what? Is drinking scotch some new revenge plot I haven't yet heard of?"

"Not really," Adam made a dismissive gesture that was completely out of character. "But stepping out of line is one. Especially when you've always been the perfect model son."

The statement made all of our expressions change. He was suffering. It was obvious. "I think I'll take the same as you," I murmured.

A flicker of emotion flashed across Adam's pupils. For a brief moment, he seemed to let go of the fog he was clinging to. "Are you sure? The last time we drank together ..." He hesitated, his lips curling up at an unpleasant memory. "It didn't end too well. I don't want you to think you have to drink just to comfort me."

"I don't drink to comfort you," I assured him, giving him a crooked grin that felt heavy and twisted. Despite our ugly past hanging over us like a hammer, I meant it. "I may be dead by tomorrow night." The directness of my statement made Adam flinch and open his eyes wide. "I think I should take the opportunity to taste a drop of this very precious scotch. When will I ever get that chance again?"

"I can only agree," added Isabelle, showing us her teeth.

A genuine laugh burst out of Adam and he poured us both a drink. "I'm warning you. This is pretty strong stuff compared to what we drank at the ball."

I turned the glass in my hand so that the alcohol, glistening in the light, began to spin in circles and sniffed the rim. A smoky note wrapped around my nose. Carefully, I put the glass to my lips and took a small sip. The first thing I noticed was a spice reminiscent of pepper. This was followed by a sweet note, possibly honey. But before I could make any sense of it, the familiar burning sensation spread across my tongue. Only it was at least three times as strong as I remembered from the ball. My cheeks deformed in repulsion of their own accord. I shuddered once, a touch of goosebumps as the scotch disappeared into my throat.

"That was disgusting." I stifled a cough.

"Your father has despicable taste," Isabelle gasped, waving her hand in front of her eyes, probably to hold back the tears that were already rolling down my cheeks.

Adam's focus shifted from me to Isabelle and then to his own scotch. He gave us a wry, apologetic smile for a moment before tilting his head back slightly and taking a generous sip himself. When he set the glass down on the table, unresponsive to the alcohol, the expression on his mouth relaxed into the shadow of a genuine grin. "The bottle is older than me. That makes me really happy right now."

"And I thought Clary was the only messed up person," Isabelle murmured, barely audibly. She had to avoid my hand as I turned to smack her. But she had already moved across the sofa out of my reach, an amused gleam in her dark pupils.

I turned back to Adam, who was sitting across from us, and caught his eye. For a second I thought about why I had wanted to come here. I thought about him kneeling at the Lightwoods' door, begging me for a second chance. There was little left of the boy, his facade no longer crumbling but already resembling an unstable ruin – long since abandoned and left to the harsh weather; only a matter of time before it collapsed completely.

Was I ready to forgive Adam or was it just pity that spoke from within me?

"Tell me what happened," I demanded quietly, continuing to turn the cool glass in my hand. I felt silly doing it.

"I ..." His mouth opened and he looked down at the floor – at the thick, ebony carpet beneath our armchairs. "They have placed my siblings with distant relatives of ours. I insisted. It's better for them if they remain in a familiar environment. At least for the last few days."

"How did they receive it?"

Adam shrugged in an unknowing gesture. "Gabriel sort of gets what's going on. He's picked up on what our parents have been saying to each other. He knows they've made a mistake. Their conversations have already started to shape his understanding, so it's probably a good thing they're separated now. We've let the younger ones believe our parents are on a business trip. Which isn't new, because they've done exactly that often."

"You did the right thing, Adam," Isabelle consoled in a compassionate voice. We could see the worry reflected in Adam's pupils. "If they knew what was really going on, they would only suffer more."

Suddenly I was quite grateful that Isabelle was here with me. Despite the many hours I had spent studying human behavior, I didn't feel like I could even remotely understand other people. Or even comfort anyone. I was completely useless in that area. Everything I had learned from my father's lessons was applicable only to the battlefield.

"It doesn't make it any easier that my parents aren't really cooperating." Frustrated and battered, Adam gritted his teeth. He leaned back in his chair, took another sip and squeezed his eyelids shut. As if reality couldn't harm him that way; as if he could shut it out so easily. "They don't even hate me for my betrayal. Of course not, that would be far too easy for the oh-so-great Demonhunters; beneath their dignity. No, they are disappointed and worried about my mental health. They doubt my sanity." A humorless laugh pressed against his larynx. "They think the last few weeks with Clary and Blake have taken too much out of me."

"I can give my father credit for one thing," I finally said. "He's honest. He doesn't try to manipulate me. He wants me to be by his side of my own free will."

"Why are our parents so fucked up?!"

My eyes widened in surprise and before I knew it, a loud laugh burst out of me. I searched for his eyes, but Adam vehemently refused to open them. "You sound like you always knew they were messed up."

"Blake was my friend." Adam's eyelids fluttered and our eyes met. He looked exhausted. Not just physically, but as if he was done with the world. It saddened me that he had always hidden this side from me so well. "I wanted us to be friends. All Shadowhunters my age were children of my parents' friends. I grew up believing that we're all like that. That the Downworlders weren't equal to our minds. Eventually I reached the age where I could have questioned everything. For a while I did. But who was I supposed to talk to? If everyone is swimming to the right, how can you even think of going left?"

This time, even Isabelle didn't know what to reply. The uncomfortable, frayed silence enveloped us like the smoke of a fire, growing denser with each new revelation from Adam, as if the flames were feeding on newfound oxygen.

"I know what you mean." We were still staring at each other. All the unforgiven things lay between us, hidden by the smoke and pushed out of reach for the moment – and yet an obstacle that separated us that had to be overcome. If we dared to try to take the oxygen out of our conflict. "I needed the distance from my father, I needed my mother's explanations to even begin to understand what was going on."

"You still did better than me." The accusation fought its way up his vocal cords. An accusation directed at himself. "What am I now, without my impeccable upbringing; without my family that opened all doors for me; without a community that supported me as long as I shared their values?"

"Better late than never." I gave the scotch a second try, this time trying not to taste the alcohol in my mouth, but instead swallowing it straight down. The burn of it still made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "You're Adam Demonhunter. You can still restore the honor of your house. You can become a better person. Look at what people have said about me, what some still say. You don't have to prove yourself to anyone, but you can if you want to."

"I don't know if I want to," said Adam after a moment of silence. In a too-casual movement, he put his feet up on the table. " The Demonhunters have always been obsessed with power. The unconventional form. Deals under the table. Conversations behind closed doors. I think I just want to be Adam now."

A smile lit up Isabelle's face. "And it would be completely sufficient if you just wanted to be Adam. I think that you should listen to what your subconscious thinks is right. Even if it might not be easy to filter out among all your other emotions."

This time the silence lasted for a much longer time. Although neither I nor Isabelle seemed to enjoy the scotch, we continued to drink obediently. Even though the contents of our glasses barely changed. Adam crouched in his chair and watched the tiny swirls of bronze liquid that his hand created.

"I know almost nothing about my ancestors," I realized at one point as I pondered Adam's story. "My mother was a Fairchild. My father a Morgenstern. But who were these people? Everyone says I'm more Fairchild than Morgenstern."

"What I know about my parents doesn't make me very happy either," noted Isabelle, who had now made herself quite comfortable on the couch. Like a cat. "As the people they are today, I can't imagine that they were once Valentine's followers. They must have changed a lot. If they're capable of that, then others can too."

"Sometimes it's better to be in the dark than to face the ugly truth." Adam drained his glass and absentmindedly reached for the bottle. Only to pause halfway and frown. His eyes slid to the black clock on the wall, its small gold hand pointing to seven. He forced a sigh through his closed lips. "There are still two hours until your party."

"I completely forgot about the party." Hearing this from Isabelle confirmed how much this meeting had truly consumed her, even though she outwardly appeared amused and composed.

My face didn't show that I had no idea when the party was even starting. "You want to go to the party?" I asked instead.

Adam's open attitude was new to me and I didn't know how to deal with it. It got me thinking. He was always so controlled, always so conscious of all his actions. I had never seen him so relaxed as he was now. Not a calm relaxation, but the kind just after a bomb explodes – when the world is too destroyed to hold on to anything – when you just let go because there is nothing left to hold it all together.

"I have to go to the party!" Adam shot back. "This house ... I've been alone since lunchtime and the roof is already falling in on me."

In other words, he needed the distraction. Our heads snapped back to the majestic clock as if by magic. Our looks, however, couldn't have been more different. Isabelle's full of compassionate realization. Adam's full of silent pleading, as if it would make the hands turn faster. Mine full of future fear. The fact was that I could use a distraction as well. Even if the party would confront me with the very person I was compulsively trying to avoid.

I focused again on the glass in my hand, the contents of which were slowly starting to warm up. But before I could look down, my gaze fell on Adam's face, which was still staring at the clock. I watched him. The troubled, defeated expression in his moss-green eyes. Seeing him like that, so different, so open, so vulnerable, felt uncomfortable. He was my friend. I didn't want him to suffer. Even if that meant putting my own conflicts aside.

So I took a deep breath, inhaled the distant aroma of scotch and asked, "Are you afraid of heights?"

What are your thoughts on Clary's and Isabelle's visit?