Chapter Sixteen

Jace awoke still tangled in dreams of scarlet-eyed demons and hissing laughter.

Cool, gray light filtered through the window, turning the bedroom silver. A light breeze carried snowflakes past the window. Jace watched as the snow began to drift to the ground, dusting the trees below. The sight calmed his thundering heart, slowing his pulse. He had always liked snow; in Idris, he had liked to sit in the window seat and read as the green land outside turned steadily white. When he had come to New York, he had learned to associate snow with hot chocolate, sledding, and snowball fights (Max had always wanted to be on Jace's team, and they had eventually formed a strategy together, Max packing the balls between his small gloved hands and Jace taking aim at Alec and Isabelle). Snow had quickly become one of his favorite things. Exhaling slowly, he turned his head toward another of his favorites.

Clary was still asleep, snoring softly with her mouth slightly open. She had been having fewer and fewer nightmares lately; Jace relished these moments when he could watch her sleep without worrying she would wake in terror. He reached over and pulled a lock of hair away from her mouth. She slept on peacefully, every breath causing the sheets around the mound of her belly to rise and fall slightly.

"How big is a squash?" Clary had said the previous night, squinting at the pregnancy book she was reading in bed. She had already changed into pajamas; reluctant to stretch out her tank tops, she had taken to wearing Jace's t-shirts to bed, something he found very attractive.

"I think it depends on the squash," Jace said as he pulled on his own pajamas. "Why?"

"It says that's the size of the baby." She set the book down, holding up her fingers until they were about ten inches apart. "So...that big?"

Jace went over to look at the book. "This thing is full of crap," he decided. "Why can't they just put the actual size instead of comparing it to fruits and vegetables?"

Clary glared at him, wrapping her arms protectively around her belly. "No swearing," she said sternly. "The baby can hear you."

"Really?" said Jace interestedly.

"Mm-hmm." Clary indicated a passage in the book. "So from now on, no more swearing."

"But the baby doesn't know what swear words are," Jace said, rolling his eyes.

She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it abruptly, cradling her belly with a tiny smile.

"Is he kicking again?" Jace said.

"Yeah." Clary leaned back, closing her eyes as she ran her hands over her belly. "He's getting stronger, too." She opened her eyes again, smiling at Jace. He returned the smile, bending to kiss her lightly before lifting the pregnancy book from her hands and setting it down on the bedside table.

"Bedtime," he said.

Clary laughed. "You're starting to sound like a dad," she told him, reaching over to flick off the light.

Now, Jace stared at her stomach, remembering how she had said the baby could hear him. Curious, he shifted carefully in the bed until his head was facing her belly. "Clary?" he said tentatively. She slept on. Clearing his throat, Jace said in a low voice, "Baby? Hello?"

The bump didn't move.

"Okay, I realize this isn't a telephone and you can't respond," Jace said, feeling very foolish. "But I thought maybe we should talk, you know, man to man—or, I mean, dad to kid. Something like that. Before your mom gets involved, I mean, because while she'll have many important things to tell you, I feel like there are some things I should tell you."

Clary shifted, and Jace froze, staring at her. But she simply turned her head and continued to sleep.

"Um," Jace said, getting back on track. "Right. So. First, no matter what your mom says, never trust a duck. Avoid them at all costs. Oh, and also demons, if you can. Seeing as you're my son, I'm sure you'll want to go chasing down demons the minute you're born, but I already give your mom enough anxiety, and I don't think she needs any more from you. Actually, you give her anxiety, too, but that's beside the point. Speaking of your mom, she really loves you, despite the aforementioned anxiety. So go easy on her, okay? Oh, and I love you, too. I don't know if I mentioned that." Jace paused. "I really love you. And I can't wait to meet you." He bit his lip. "What else...oh, don't let your uncle Simon teach you how to fight. He's okay with a bow and arrow, but he's also an idiot, so—"

"Jace," Clary murmured without opening her eyes, "stop corrupting the baby."

Jace jerked back with a yelp. "Clary! What—how long have you been awake?" he demanded.

"Pretty much the whole time," Clary said, blinking sleepily and yawning as she struggled to sit up. "Oh, don't look at me like that," she added as he scowled. "It's not my fault. He kicks every time he hears your voice, and obviously all the wriggling is going to wake me up. I swear he never sits still for more than five minutes," she griped, though she was smiling.

"Yeah, well, you could've—wait, does he really kick when I talk?"

Her smile widened. "See for yourself." She took his hand and positioned it on her belly. "Okay...now say something."

"Um," said Jace. "Hi, there...baby...thing...you know, this was a lot easier when I thought you were—oh!"

He broke off as something beat against his palm. "Wow, you weren't kidding," he said, grinning. "I think he's practicing fighting off demons in there."

"Wouldn't surprise me," said Clary with a laugh. "I have a feeling he's going to be a lot like his dad." She sat back. "That was very sweet, by the way," she said. "All the stuff you were saying."

Jace felt his face grow hot. "It was also personal. Between the baby and me."

"Well, I don't know how you thought that would work, considering the baby is inside me," said Clary, grinning at him.

Jace leaned forward, addressing her belly. "You should know that I'm not usually this cheesy and sentimental," he told it. "I'm a very macho man, in fact."

Clary laughed, resting a hand on his head. "Oh, please, you're a total softie."

"I have a reputation to protect, woman!"

"Not from me," Clary said.

Jace stretched out, propping his head on his elbow. "No. Not from you," he said, reaching out to play with a strand of her hair. "Never from you."

She looked down at him; she seemed to be steeling herself for something. "And you don't keep secrets either, right?"

Jace sat up slowly, searching her eyes. There was something almost accusatory in them. "What do you mean?" he asked carefully.

"I know you've been haven't been sleeping well. Ever since you went out to fight that demon in the warehouse."

Jace sighed, looking away. "I wish I could say you were wrong."

"Tell me," said Clary quietly. "We promised, no more secrets, remember?"

"I know," Jace said. "You're right. I should have told you sooner. I just didn't want you to worry, not until I was sure what was happening." Clary watched him closely, her eyes filled with apprehension. He took her hand. "The demon was looking for me," he said, before he could change his mind. "And I think those Raveners were, too."

Clary swallowed visibly. "Why?"

"Because I killed Beelzebub." He ran a hand through his hair agitatedly. "Magnus said killing a Prince of Hell would have consequences. The demon in the warehouse told me its master wanted me because I'd killed someone powerful."

He chanced a look at Clary; her eyes were brimming with tears. "Hey," he said quickly. "It's okay. We don't know who it is, or what they want from me. It could be nothing."

"It's not nothing," Clary whispered, pulling her hand out of his. "What if they want to kill you?"

"We don't know," Jace said again. "And as long as we don't know, there's no point worrying about it, okay?" He reached for her, but she pulled away, swinging her legs out of bed and gathering up her robe.

"This is something we should worry about!" she said. "Aren't you even the least bit worried that a demon is looking for you?"

"It might not be a demon. It could be a warlock," Jace pointed out.

"And that's better?" Clary sounded furious. "It doesn't change the fact that you killed a Prince of Hell and someone might want to hurt you for it! Why are you acting like that doesn't matter?"

"I can take care of myself," said Jace, starting to get annoyed.

Clary closed her eyes. "Of course you can." She pulled on her robe, wrapping it tightly around herself. "You know, more and more, I'm beginning to think you're lying to me," she said quietly.

"Lying?"

"About being careful. About not taking any risks." She put a hand on her belly. "About wanting this family."

"Clary," said Jace quietly, but she shook her head.

"I asked you, months ago, if you meant it when you said having a family was worth more than fighting. Has your answer really changed at all?"

"Of course it has!" Jace said, climbing out of bed to face her. "You can't seriously believe I meant all that crap I said about not wanting to be a dad."

"Actually, that's the one thing I'm sure you were sincere about," Clary said, folding her arms. "And when I asked you if I should get the abortion, and you said you wanted me more than the baby—"

"That's not fair," Jace said, pointing a shaking finger at her. "That was an impossible decision. What was I supposed to have said?"

"I know." Clary passed a hand over her eyes. "You're right. I know I can't hold that against you." She looked back at him. "But I can't help but think that nothing's changed with you," she said softly. "You say all this stuff about loving us, but when a battle calls you run toward it without a glance back. And I'm not even sure it's your fault. Like you said, it's the way Valentine brought you up, to value fighting more than love and family."

"I did change," Jace said, his voice cracking. "You know I did. Would I have fallen in love with you otherwise?" He approached her, and she didn't back away. "You weren't brought up in this world, Clary," he said. "But Shadowhunters do have families, and they don't stop fighting. Even Alec still fights, and he loves his family more than anything."

"He doesn't fight the way you do," Clary said. "He never has. He's always been the careful one, and you've always been the reckless one, the one who jumps in headfirst without thinking. The way you ask me to stay behind, the way you don't want me to fight anymore—why can't you be that way about yourself?"

There was a long silence.

"Clary," Jace said finally. "You have to believe that when I fight, I'm fighting to stay alive. That doesn't mean I'm going to stop going into dangerous situations, because that's my job. But it means that I'm fighting for you, and our baby, and everyone else we love. I'm fighting to come home to you. I will always come home to you."

"You don't know that," she whispered.

"Yes, I do," Jace said softly, pulling her into a hug. "I promise." Her stomach pressed against his; he could feel the baby moving. "I promise you, Clary."

The Sensor was beeping wildly.

Hopping on one foot, Simon attempted to simultaneously jam his other foot into a boot and stock his weapons belt. The result was that he nearly sliced off his finger with a dagger, toppled sideways, and crashed into the table, sending the Sensor into a pile of gear and muffling the sound.

"Izzy!" he called out, succeeding in pulling on his boot. "Any day now!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," said Isabelle's voice from somewhere in the apartment. A moment later, she emerged from the bedroom, winding her whip around her arm. She yanked her hair up into a ponytail and grabbed her own weapons belt, slinging it around her waist. "Why are you yelling at me when you're not even ready yet?" she snapped.

"I'm not..." Simon sighed, shaking his head as he retrieved the Sensor and pulled on his gear jacket. He tossed the other one to Isabelle, who turned away to put it on. "Izzy," he said, "can we please—"

"No time," Isabelle said shortly, grabbing the Sensor from him. "Come on." She moved past him, heading out of the apartment. Simon caught the door before it hit him in the face, eased it closed behind him, and followed her down the stairs.

"It's nearby," said Isabelle, holding the Sensor out in front of her. "Might be in the building. I'll check the laundry room, you get the basement." Before Simon could say anything, she disappeared around the corner. Running his fingers agitatedly through his hair, Simon opened the door leading down to the basement and began to descend the steps.

It wasn't long before he smelled it: the ripe stink of garbage that signaled a demon. Pulling out his phone, he dashed off a quick text to Isabelle before stowing it back in his pocket and trading it for his witchlight. He crept along the wall, his witchlight glancing off the metal storage cages with walls made of chain-link fencing. Something shifted in the corner of his vision; he leapt backward as a rat scurried past him, clearly fleeing from something.

"Yeah," Simon said. "I've been there, little guy."

He continued to move deeper into the depths of the basement, casting his witchlight into the shadows. Most of the storage compartments were full, but he came across one that was nearly empty. He stared at it for a moment; then, saying a silent apology to whoever owned the gray futon that looked as though it had recently been a bed for that rat and its friends, Simon carefully pulled out his stele and traced an opening rune on the lock. It clicked open, and he set it down on the floor, cracking the door open.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He spun around, drawing his sword just as a massive shadow lunged for him. He leapt out of the way, swiping his thumb over his witchlight so that the basement burst into light.

The demon looked as if Dr. Frankenstein had suddenly taken a liking for fusing human and animal parts together. Its body was vaguely humanoid but for its lion-like head and the scaly wings sprouting from its back, and its feet ended in talon-like claws. It was only a few feet taller than Simon. It seemed oddly pleased at the sight of him.

"Nephilim," it drawled. "I don't suppose you've brought your friends with you?"

"My—"

"Actually," said a voice from behind him, "he has."

A fiery lash of gold arced through the air, landing two quick slashes on the demon. It hissed, dropping down to all fours.

"Does this mean we're friends?" Simon asked hopefully as Isabelle came up next to him.

She gave an exasperated sigh. "Not now, Simon." She advanced on the demon, flicking her whip again. "Now, what to do with you?"

The demon snarled, lunging at her. She spun away, flinging the whip toward it and opening another cut in its side. Ichor dripped onto the floor. Isabelle raised her whip into the air, and with a sharp flick of her wrist, it curled down and wrapped around the demon's neck. She began to pull it tight, ichor blooming where it cut into the demon's skin.

"Izzy, wait!" Simon shouted. He flung open the door to the storage cell. "In here!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Isabelle snapped. She yanked on the whip; the demon gave a guttural snarl.

"I have a hunch," Simon said. "Just trust me."

She surveyed him for a moment; then she pulled hard on the whip, forcing the demon to stagger toward the cell. Simon ran around to the other side of it, and together they corralled the demon into the cage. Simon took a moment to carve runes of binding and trapping into the concrete before slamming the door shut and relocking it. Isabelle pulled her whip free and wound it back around her wrist as the demon gasped, massaging its throat.

"Well?" Isabelle asked Simon. "What do you want to do with it?"

Simon turned to the demon. "Why would a demon want to come here, of all places?"

"I have my reasons," the demon said.

"You're looking for someone, aren't you?"

"What, like those Raveners, you mean?" Isabelle said, frowning at Simon.

Simon nodded. "Though I'm guessing you weren't looking for us. You asked about my friends."

"Yes," said the demon, glowering at him. "I want someone you know." It took a step toward them, then hissed as the runes glowed menacingly.

"Mm, I wouldn't try that," Simon said. "Even if you do somehow escape, you know we're just going to kill you anyway." He pointed his sword at the demon. "Let's start with your name."

"Pazuzu," said the demon, folding its arms.

"Wait, like from The Exorcist?" Simon asked, momentarily sidetracked.

The demon snarled. "That movie completely misrepresented me! I don't possess people. And the effects were so clearly fake."

"Yeah, I get that," Simon sighed. "Although, to be fair, they were pretty good for the seventies. Plus, that scene where she comes down the stairs upside down is really freaky."

"Oh, please, that's child's play."

"No, that's the Chucky movie," Simon told it.

"Will you both please shut up?" Isabelle snapped. "And since when do demons watch horror movies?"

The demon frowned. "Everyone's heard of The Exorcist."

"Okay, whatever, I don't care," said Isabelle, blowing a piece of hair out of her face. "Who are you looking for and why?"

A smile grew on the demon's face. "I believe you know him. A Shadowhunter named Jace Herondale."

Isabelle paled.

"Jeez, does the guy have enemies in all the dimensions?" Simon muttered.

"Not all of them," said the demon, grinning. "Just one in particular. My master is very interested in him. And even if you kill me, someone else will find him."

"I'm willing to test that theory," Isabelle snarled, and before Simon could get out more than, "Wait!" she had flung a dagger through the holes of the pen. It drove into the demon's throat, causing ichor to spurt out of its neck as it collapsed and began to crumple in.

"We might have been able to get more out of it!" Simon said, whirling on Isabelle. She was breathing hard, watching the demon fold up.

"It said enough," Isabelle said. Her jacket had caught some of the ichor and was smoldering; she yanked it off. "Come on."

"Izzy, what's going on?" Simon said softly, catching her arm as she made to move past him.

"You heard what it said. Someone's after Jace. We have to tell him."

She tried to get past him again, but he blocked her way. "This isn't like you," Simon said. "You're not usually this..."

"This what?" Isabelle said, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"Careless," Simon finished. She made a disbelieving noise and shoved him to the side, heading back toward the stairs. "Izzy," Simon called after her. "Come on. Please. I don't want to fight anymore."

"Oh, you don't?" Isabelle snapped, whirling back around. "Well, then I guess we're done fighting. Because you make all the decisions in this relationship, don't you?"

"Isabelle," Simon said quietly. "Can we please just talk?"

"I'm done talking." She turned away. "Let's go. We have to tell Jace what happened." She disappeared into the darkness before Simon could protest again. Sighing, he followed her.

"Jace. Jace."

He snapped out of his stupor, blinking up at Clary. She looked amused. "I called your name, like, five times. You didn't hear me?"

"Sorry," he said, leaning back in his chair and stretching. He was sitting at the desk in the library, various papers spread out in front of him. The orange light of the setting sun streamed through the window. "Just looking for any anomalies in the demon reports this month."

"You look like you need a break," Clary said.

He smiled wearily. "That would be nice."

"Well," said Clary slyly, "I do have a pressing matter I need your help attending to." She leaned forward over the desk. Jace's eyes flicked down to her chest; she was wearing a fitted sweater with a scoop neck that was dipping lower and lower... "It's urgent," Clary told him, her eyes glimmering.

"Oh?" Jace said, beginning to grin. "How can I assist?"

"I'm sure we'll find some use for you," Clary breathed, bending forward and kissing him. He gave a muffled moan, half standing up to lean into her. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him around the desk, pressing her body against his.

"Are you just using me for sex?" Jace murmured against her lips.

"Are you complaining?" Clary asked him, sitting down on the arm of the sofa and pulling her sweater over her head. He took a moment to drink in the sight of her: the way her hair cascaded over her shoulders like a scarlet waterfall, the hungry glitter in her emerald eyes, the soft swell of her belly.

"Definitely not," Jace said, his voice a little unsteady. Grinning, Clary pulled him down toward her, deftly unbuttoning his shirt. He kicked off his shoes, his hands sliding around her to undo her bra.

"Jace? Jace, are you—ahhh! Put your clothes on!"

They broke apart; blearily, Jace looked up to see Simon and Isabelle standing in the doorway. Simon had thrown his hand up over his eyes, while Isabelle simply looked exasperated. They were both wearing gear.

Blushing, Clary snatched up her sweater and yanked it on. "You could knock, you know!"

"You could have sex in less public places!" Simon pointed out, peeking through his fingers as Jace slid his arms through his shirt and hastily buttoned it up.

"It wasn't public until you showed up," said Clary irritably. "Besides, I'm pregnant and horny. I should get to have sex when I feel like it."

"We have a problem," Isabelle interrupted as Simon opened his mouth to respond.

"Yeah, the problem is that you two don't know the appropriate times to visit," Jace said.

"It's important!" Isabelle said. "We just found a demon in the basement of our building."

Jace straightened, staring at her. "What happened? Are you both okay?"

Isabelle waved a hand impatiently. "We're fine. Listen, the demon was looking for you, Jace."

Jace glanced at Clary; she had paled slightly, but there was a hardness to her gaze when she turned to look at him.

"Wait," Simon said, looking between them. "Did you already know?"

Jace sighed. "Sit down."

Clary slid off the arm of the sofa, settling herself into the corner of it. Her arm curled protectively around her belly. Jace sat beside her, and Simon and Isabelle took the armchairs opposite them. "Remember that demon a few weeks ago, in the warehouse?" Jace began.

"Hunger?" said Isabelle.

"This doesn't seem like a good time to eat," Simon said. Isabelle shot him a quelling look.

"The demon's name was Hunger," Jace clarified. "And it told me it was looking for me, too."

"Wait, and you didn't say anything?" Isabelle demanded. "Alec asked you point-blank—"

"I know, but I didn't think I needed to worry you," said Jace. "It didn't say anything except that its master was looking for me because I killed someone powerful."

"Beelzebub," Simon said, his eyes widening.

There was a taut silence.

"What?" Isabelle said finally. "What the hell you do you mean, you didn't need to worry us? You think whoever sent those demons just wants to have a nice little chat about the fact that you killed a Prince of Hell?"

"I'd be open to it if there was tea involved," Jace said.

"It's not funny," Isabelle snarled. She turned to Clary. "And you've been keeping this from us, too? What, did he convince you that his whole 'don't worry anyone until I might actually be about to die' thing is reasonable?"

"I only found out this morning," said Clary, rather coolly. "And I'm on your side here, Isabelle."

"What is this, 'gang up on Jace' day?" Jace said under his breath.

"No, it's 'try to stop Jace from getting himself killed for the fiftieth time' day," Isabelle shot back.

"Okay, maybe we should all calm down," said Simon, holding out his hands.

"Since when are you the voice of reason?" Isabelle said irritably.

Simon frowned, but looked back at Jace. "I think you should talk to Magnus," he said. "If anyone might have an idea about what's going on, it'll be him."

"I think that's a good idea," said Clary. Her gaze locked on Jace's, almost challenging him. He sighed, knowing when he was defeated.

"Okay. I'll talk to him tomorrow," he said. "It's getting late and I don't want to bother him right now."

"Fine," said Isabelle. "Text me when you get there, or I'll come back to drag you over there myself, since I know you'll come up with some excuse not to do it." She stood up and swept out of the room.

Simon ran a hand through his hair wearily. "I guess I should get going, too."

"What's going on, Simon?" Clary asked, watching him.

Simon sighed. "We're working on it," he said, but he didn't elaborate, only stood and stretched.

Clary pulled herself to her feet and hugged him. "Call me if you need me, okay?"

"Yeah, I will. You too." He waved at Jace and followed Isabelle out the door. Clary turned to Jace; she, too, looked weary.

"Don't worry," Jace said gently. "Not until we talk to Magnus, okay?"

She lowered herself into Simon's chair, rubbing her belly. "I have a really bad feeling about this," she said.

"I know," Jace said, going over to her and perching on the arm of her chair. "But it doesn't do either of us any good to worry until we know what we're up against. And it's especially not good for this little guy." He put his hand on her belly, feeling the baby move against his palm. "Come on. Let's get some dinner, watch a movie." He stood and reached out a hand to her. She took it, letting him pull her to her feet. He kissed the top of her head and led her out of the room.

Clary rolled over in bed with some difficulty; it was becoming harder and harder to shift around. The baby wriggled inside her as she settled more comfortably on her side.

The bed was cold beside her; Jace had told her to go up to bed without him, saying he wasn't tired yet. But though Clary was exhausted, she couldn't fall asleep either. Her thoughts felt like they were tangled in knots, looping around and around inside her brain. She closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind.

Slowly, she became aware of music coming from down the hall. She sat up, listening carefully and picking out the sound of a piano. Curious, she pulled on her robe and slid her feet into slippers, padding to the door and opening it.

The music grew louder as she moved toward the end of the hallway. She paused at the door to the music room, listening to the soft melody. It sounded mournful, layered with quiet chords and tapering phrases. Carefully, Clary eased the door open.

Jace was sitting at the piano, his fingers skimming the keys as if brushing gentle kisses across them. Clary stepped into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft snap.

"Clary?" Jace said without looking up. "Is that you?"

"Yeah."

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Clary said again, moving toward the plush armchair beside the piano. She couldn't count how many times she'd sat here, listening to Jace play. "I couldn't sleep."

"Me neither." The song finished with a delicate cascade of notes. Jace let the chord reverberate for a long moment before lifting his foot off the pedal and turning to Clary. "Any requests?"

Clary leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. "Something gentle," she said. "Something happy."

He began a new melody, this one more content. It made Clary think of a sunlit meadow. It was almost a lullaby; Clary sank into the chair, folding her hands over her belly. "I think he likes it," she murmured. "This is the first time he's been calm all day."

"Is that what was keeping you up?" Jace asked.

"No," Clary said, opening her eyes again. "I was worried about what happened today."

Jace stopped playing, looking at her. "I know," he said. "I was thinking about it too. But I really think it's nothing, Clary. Everything will be fine."

"You keep saying that," said Clary, her voice now shaking, "but you can't know." She sat forward in her chair, imploring him. "This feels strange, Jace. Different than anything we've faced before. And I'm scared—" She cut herself off with a gasp as the baby moved swiftly inside her.

"You okay?" Jace asked again, his voice tinged with worry this time.

She gave a breath of laughter. "He's just so fast. And strong."

Hesitantly, Jace reached over and put a hand on her belly. She let him.

"Jace," she said softly, and his luminous eyes met hers. "Just try to remember, no matter what happens. Remember what you said. Remember that this is what you're fighting for." She touched his cheek gently. "Remember that you have to come home to us."

"I will," he whispered, linking his fingers with hers over her belly as their child kicked within her, alive and real. Something to fight for.

A/N: If you liked this chapter, please leave a review! Thanks so much for reading!

~4L