Chapter Eleven

We're running out of time.

The thought had been at the forefront of Jace's mind for the last three days. He and Clary had tracked Lexie halfway across Faerie, following the Scourge down snaking paths through glens and forests. They were gaining, if only by cutting their food and rest breaks uncomfortably short, but even then, progress was slow. And Jace could feel himself growing slower by the minute, try as he might to keep up with Clary. He hadn't told her about the poison, and he wasn't planning to—she would only exhaust herself trying to heal him fruitlessly. And it would be a fruitless effort; he was painfully conscious of the fact that every beat of his heart was one beat closer to its last.

We're running out of time.

How long would it be before he held his daughter in his arms again? And then how long would he be able to keep her there? Hours? Minutes? All he knew was that he could not die before seeing her again.

They came to a crossroads. Clary pulled out Lexie's toy, drew a tracking rune onto the back of her hand, and closed her eyes. Jace watched as her brow furrowed; he was forcefully reminded of how she used to sit at the desk in the library with that same look of concentration, until Jace would break it by saying something, and then she would look up at him with a small, familiar smile. Sometimes Jace would ask her a question just to make her look at him like that. But that had been before all this, before she had changed into someone distant and frightening and alien. A stranger with Clary's face.

Jace's chest spasmed suddenly. He coughed into his elbow, spitting up something wet. It glistened in the twilight; when he touched it lightly, his fingers came away red. The poison had reached his lungs.

I'm running out of time.

Clary opened her eyes, and Jace quickly tucked his arm behind his back. "This way," she said, pointing at the leftmost path. "And we should pick up the pace, they're moving faster than we are." Jace nodded, suppressing another cough. Clary scrutinized him. "What's wrong with you?"

"What?" Jace said, feigning surprise. "Nothing. I'm fine. Just worried about her."

"I know, but...you don't look well. Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah," Jace lied smoothly. "Let's keep moving."

Clary gave him one last appraising look before starting down the path, Jace following.

Over the years, he had given much thought to how he would die. He had always assumed it would be in battle, perhaps jumping in front of someone he loved to save their life; but in all his dark musings, he had at least thought it would be swift and sharp. He remembered what it had been like to bleed out in Valentine's arms: one instant of blazing pain, then a clouded feeling like sinking into a cold ocean until there was nothing. It had been remarkably humane, all things considered. Jace would choose that over this in a heartbeat. This was slow torture, this helpless waiting for the poison to overtake him. And he had never thought he was afraid of death, but he was afraid now. Not for what would come after—he had already ventured into that black, unfeeling world—but for what he would leave behind. For never seeing Lexie grow up, for never meeting his child, for leaving Alec without a parabatai, for Isabelle losing another brother, Maryse another son...

And Clary.

It had always been Clary. That instant before his life had ended, it had been her face he saw. He had heard it said that your life flashed before your eyes when you died, but his hadn't. He had only seen the faces of people he loved, and Clary's had been the brightest, like she had been a river carving through his mind of stone since the day he met her, making herself inextricably part of him. That was the Clary he wanted to remember. The Clary that burned brighter than every star in Faerie.

"I miss you," said Jace abruptly.

Clary glanced at him. "I'm right here."

"No, you're not." He was suddenly feeling very reckless. "I don't know who you are, but you're not Clary. Not the Clary I know, anyway."

"Don't be so dramatic," said Clary, scanning ahead.

"I'm serious," Jace said.

Clary sighed. "What do you want me to do, Jace? Scream, cry, hit something?"

"Maybe," said Jace. "Would it make you feel better?"

"I feel fine," she said. "Let's just focus on finding Lexie."

"And what happens after that?" Jace snapped. Clary gave him a brief, dispassionate look; it only made him angrier. "How long are you going to keep this up?" he demanded. "This charade, pretending you're okay?"

"I am okay," Clary said flatly. "If you want to scream and cry or whatever, I won't stop you. But don't get mad at me because I'm not reacting the way you want me to."

"That's not the point," said Jace, frustrated. "You think I haven't been paying attention all these weeks? You think I haven't noticed you shutting yourself down any time something bad happens? And if you're trying to stop yourself from having panic attacks, it's not working. All you're doing is pushing it down until it explodes out of you, and you and I both know that only makes it worse."

"We've had this conversation already," said Clary, sounding exasperated.

"We haven't, actually," Jace said. "You shut me down too. Every time I try to get you to open up, you shut me down."

"This isn't about you," Clary said. "It has nothing to do with you. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe I know myself better than you do? That whatever you do or say might not always be the right thing?"

"I'm just trying to help," Jace said, hurt.

"I didn't ask for your help," Clary said bluntly. "And I don't need it. Like I said, I'm doing fine."

"You're not fine," Jace said, "and you do need help." Clary gave an irritable sigh. "The Clary I know would never have been so reckless as to try to fight the Seelie Queen. The Clary I know would never have murdered a faerie the way you did."

"It was a battle," said Clary icily, "and I only did it to get closer to Lexie."

"There are lines," Jace said. "And you've never been the type to cross them."

"People change," Clary said quietly.

Jace stared at her. Her expression was smooth, her gaze cold and distant. "I guess they do," he said.

They walked on.

Although Isabelle was a tall person, by any standard, the piles of paper on the desk had reached such a height that she could no longer see over the top of them. She couldn't even remember which pile was which—one was definitely last month's demon reports, and another had to be data on Downworld disputes, but what was this stack by her left elbow? And where had the one next to her ear even come from? She groaned and sank lower into her chair, silently appreciating how much work Clary and Jace had to do to keep the Institute running.

"You okay?"

Isabelle jumped and craned her neck to see over the top of a stack. Simon was peering concernedly at her as he tucked his phone into his pocket; she hadn't seen him come back in.

"What is all of this?" she asked him, waving an arm helplessly at the mess on the desk.

"Hell if I know," said Simon. "I'm beginning to think Clary and Jace just start burning things when it gets too much. There's no way they actually do all this work."

Isabelle came out from behind the desk, trudging to the couch and flopping onto it. Simon joined her. "Do you think they're okay?" she said, looking over at him. "Clary and Jace?"

"Yeah." He touched his forearm. "Physically, anyway. Emotionally..." He gave a dry laugh. "Well, I don't think any of us are okay emotionally."

Isabelle tried to smile, but it was too much effort. "What did Alec say?"

"Hold on, I took notes." Simon pulled a crumpled bit of paper out of his pocket.

"Nice," said Isabelle. "Very professional."

Simon rolled his eyes at her before glancing down at the paper. "Magnus has been trying some tracking spells, but they're not working, so he's going to spend more time trying to figure out the ritual instead. Lily and Maia have the clan and pack on alternating shifts on patrol across the city. No one's found anything yet, but they have ears everywhere, and Eli's keeping an eye out too. And Alec said Jace might have a minor injury, but he seems okay. He says we should stay focused on running the Institute and let the Alliance handle the search."

"Well, good," said Isabelle, pointing, "because if that stack over there gets any bigger, I think the desk is going to collapse."

Simon gazed over at the desk. "How many trees died for this?" he said mournfully.

"Too many," Isabelle sighed, patting his shoulder sympathetically. Simon gave a weary smile, and she managed one too. He reached up and slid his fingers through hers.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked.

Isabelle shrugged. "Tired," she admitted. "And...well, you know. The usual."

Simon nodded, his smile fading; Isabelle had tested negative again the day before, and she knew they were both taking it hard, if silently. "I wanted to ask," he said. "If we're going to see a Silent Brother, we should probably do it soon, right?"

"Yeah," Isabelle said uncertainly. Simon raised his eyebrows at her. "It just feels...I don't know, weird. Selfish."

"Selfish?"

"That we're thinking about having a baby right now when Lexie..." She swallowed. "Maybe we should just focus on what we need to do. Another month won't make much of a difference anyway."

"I guess you're right," said Simon. "We can keep trying though, can't we?"

"Yeah," Isabelle said. "And once Lexie's home safe and the Scourge has been stopped, we'll make an appointment."

"Okay." Simon leaned over and kissed her. "Soon," he said softly, his lips brushing hers. "All of this will be over soon."

He leaned into her; the kiss deepened, sending a shiver up her spine. "What are you doing?" she said, poking his arm playfully. "You know trying right now won't help."

"This isn't trying," he murmured into her ear. "This is me seducing my gorgeous, amazing wife." He grinned at her; it was the kind of smile that warmed her from the inside, lightening all of the worry within her. She smiled back and trailed a finger down his arm, bringing her lips to his again.

The phone's piercing ring blasted through the room. Isabelle groaned. "How did Jace and Clary even manage to conceive two children in this godforsaken place?" she griped, untangling herself from Simon and storming over to the desk. She snatched up the phone. "What?" she barked into it.

"Uh—hi. Sorry. Is this Isabelle Lightwood?"

The voice was vaguely familiar; Isabelle narrowed her eyes. "You've got to be kidding me," she said. "Benji?"

"So you remember me!" Benji said, sounding pleased. "Always nice to make an impression."

"For the Angel's sake," Isabelle said exasperatedly. "Benji, you just interrupted—never mind. What do you want?"

"Hey, now, take it easy," Benji drawled. "Let's not cut the small talk, hot stuff. How you doing? Dropped that dorky husband yet?"

"If you called just to flirt with me and insult my husband, I'm hanging up," Isabelle declared, going to set the phone down.

"Okay, okay, wait!" Benji said, his voice tinny through the earpiece. Isabelle put the phone to her ear again, tapping her foot. "Lily said I had to call you, all right? I heard something in the Shadow Market and I told her and she said I should tell the Institute."

"What did you hear?" Isabelle said resignedly.

"The Scourge is meeting tonight."

Isabelle stood up straight. "You idiot, why didn't you lead with that?"

"I—"

"Forget it," she said, cutting him off. "Where are they meeting and when?"

"In that abandoned subway tunnel on West 91st. Around nine P.M."

Isabelle glanced at the clock and swore. "That's in less than an hour!"

"Well, yeah, that's why I—"

"Tell Lily to gather the clan and meet us there," Isabelle said, "and be prepared to fight."

"Yeah, okay," said Benji. "By the way, most guys would be intimidated by a girl who orders them around, but I actually—"

"Bye, Benji," said Isabelle loudly, before dropping the phone back into its cradle. She turned to Simon; he had already gotten to his feet, looking alert. "Gear up," she said. "We're putting an end to this tonight."

Isabelle had lived in New York City all her life, but it still found ways to surprise her. She must have walked past this station countless times, barely sparing its domed entrance of grimy glass and tarnished green metal a second glance. Now, as Alec, having jimmied the door open, led them all through it and down a short staircase into the base of the station, Isabelle gazed around in wonder. It was a wide, cavernous space, stretching across what looked like an entire block. Mosaic tiles were chipping off the wall, spelling out half of the station's name. Graffiti decorated the area, bright new colors layered over the old fading ones. Even with the litter strewn across the ground and the dirt clinging to every surface, it was beautiful in its way—like a living map of the history of this place.

By her witchlight, Isabelle could see that this was where the ticket kiosks had been, and that there were stairwells to the left and right that must lead down to another level where the trains ran. Warm wind blew through the station as a train passed below them, screeching faintly.

"Quiet," said Alec sharply; the werewolves and vampires had been chattering behind him, but now they fell silent. "If they're coming, it'll be any minute now. Get ready to fight, but remember that we still need information. Aim to injure, not kill. With any luck, we'll have them outnumbered and this will be a clean battle." He swept his witchlight to the right end of the tunnel. "Lily, I want half your clan in that stairwell. Maia, same with your werewolves in the other one. The rest of you stick around here. Eli and Magnus, we'll need your power concentrated at the entrance in case they try to escape. Izzy, Simon, and I will be your guard. If we can herd them toward the center and block off the entrance, we should have the advantage."

"Okay," Lily said, "anyone who was born after 1980, go to the stairwell." There were several groans, then a group of vampires trudged down the tunnel. Beside Isabelle, Maia was divvying up her pack, sorting them into two groups. Isabelle drifted back toward the entrance and found herself next to Eli. He was bouncing on his heels, chewing his lip continuously.

"Nervous?" she asked. He jumped. "I'll take that as a yes," she said.

"Sorry," Eli said. "I haven't been in too many battles."

"Don't worry," Isabelle reassured him. "Like Alec said, this should be quick." Eli nodded, still biting his lip.

"Take your positions, everyone," Alec said. The tunnel went quiet as Simon joined Isabelle. He squeezed her hand; she squeezed back.

Minutes ticked by. Isabelle could hear the shallow breathing of the others around her and dripping water from somewhere down the tunnel. She reached over and pressed a button on Simon's watch, lighting up the display; it was ten past nine.

"Something's wrong," she whispered. "They should be here by now."

Beside her, Alec shifted. "Be patient. They might be running late."

"The Scourge doesn't run late," Isabelle insisted. "They plan everything to a T. Something's wrong."

She pushed through the crowd of vampires and werewolves, making her way toward the right end of the tunnel. "Benji," she hissed. "I need to talk to you."

"Finally come around?" came Benji's voice through the darkness. Isabelle turned on her witchlight, picking him out in the crowd. He glided toward her, grinning. "I'm basically running things over here, but I can spare a minute for you, sweet cheeks."

"Who taught you how to flirt?" Isabelle demanded. "Was it someone in the clan? You know their technique is outdated by about a century, right?"

"Hey, I have my own technique," said Benji, winking at her. "Works with most ladies, but I can tell you're special."

Isabelle exhaled. "I need to know what you heard in the Market," she said.

"I told you already," Benji said, leaning against the wall in a would-be casual way. "The Scourge was supposed to meet here at nine P.M."

"Right, but who said that?" Isabelle said. "Who did you overhear, what did they look like?"

Benji looked confused. "I mean, I didn't overhear it. They were pretty obvious about it. It was a couple of faeries, and they were practically broadcasting it to the whole market. They weren't even trying to keep it a secret, really."

Isabelle pinched the bridge of her nose. "And did you maybe think that was a little bit suspicious?" she said through gritted teeth.

Benji shrugged. "Figured they were just looking for more people to recruit. Although," he said, with a look of dawning comprehension, "maybe that's what they wanted me to think, and this was all a set-up!"

Isabelle groaned and turned away. "All right, everyone, this was a waste of time," she said, her voice carrying through the tunnel. "Let's get out of here."

"Wait, they might still come!" Benji said hastily. "Shouldn't we stick around a little longer?"

"Your info was wrong," Isabelle snapped. "Drop the ego and let's move."

"It's not ego," mumbled Benji petulantly.

"Hey, I think I found something over here!" said Eli from across the tunnel.

"See?" Benji said, smirking. "I was right. Now who's got the ego?"

"Benji, I swear on Raziel himself—"

"Eli, wait, don't touch—" Magnus began.

There was a flash of white light. A blast of wind swept through the tunnel, stinking of sulfur and smoke. Isabelle's witchlight flickered, then went out altogether. The floor shook—then there was the sound of screams and the thunderous clattering of stone from near the entrance. Isabelle shoved Benji and the other vampires back into the stairwell, protecting them as debris rained around them.

Finally, the rumbling stopped. The floor steadied; Isabelle coughed, waving dust out of her face. "Is everyone okay?" she called.

"I think so," said Alec from the other side of the room. "But the entrance caved in. We're trapped down here."

There was a horrified silence.

"Okay," Benji said. "It might have been a set-up."

The moon was high above them by the time Clary slowed. Jace tried not to betray how grateful he was; his side was aching, and every breath was more painful than the last. Clary led him to a thinning part of the forest, the edge of which met the base of a small hill, before dropping her bag.

"We should start again in a few hours," said Clary without looking at him.

He couldn't even bring himself to be angry with her, or upset; all he felt was exhausted. He set his bag down too and took out two granola bars. "Here," he said, offering her one.

She shook her head. "I'm not hungry."

Jace felt a prickle of irritation. "You haven't eaten all day," he reminded her.

"I'm fine, Jace," Clary said.

"You won't be of any use to Lexie if you don't have any energy."

"I have plenty of energy," said Clary.

"Eat the damn granola bar," Jace snapped. Clary looked at him for a long moment before taking the bar and unwrapping it. "I don't know what you think you're accomplishing by not eating, but I'm not going to let you starve to death."

"I'm eating the damn granola bar," said Clary tonelessly, taking a bite. "Will you leave me alone now?"

"No," Jace said. Clary sighed and sat down against a tree. Jace sat across from her; the movement made pain shoot through his torso. "I'm not always going to be reminding you to eat and sleep," he said. "You need to take care of yourself."

"I am taking care of myself," Clary said. "I just haven't been hungry or tired. I'll be fine once we have Lexie back."

"That could be days," Jace said furiously. "Are you just not going to eat until then?"

"What does it matter?" Clary asked, taking another bite. "As long as I'm functioning—"

"You call this functioning?" said Jace with a humorless laugh. "You're barely alive." Clary rolled her eyes. "And in case you'd forgotten," he added with a surge of anger, "you're pregnant."

Clary froze mid-chew. For a moment, Jace thought she had actually felt something—fear, worry, he would have even welcomed anger at him—but then she took a breath, swallowed, and said, "I didn't forget."

"No," Jace said quietly. "You just don't care, do you?"

Clary sighed again. "I care, okay? It's just not the most important thing right now." She began to wrap up the uneaten half of her bar.

"Finish it," Jace snarled. Clary fixed him with a glare, but unwrapped the bar again. "If you really cared, you'd be keeping yourself healthy for the baby's sake." Clary flinched. Jace raised his eyebrows. "Seriously?" he said incredulously. "I can't even call it a baby in front of you? Are you going to keep this up until it's born?"

Clary put the rest of the bar in her mouth and crumpled the wrapper. "There," she said through her mouthful. "I finished it. Are you happy now?"

Jace didn't know how to answer that, but Clary didn't seem to want an answer. She got up, tossed the wrapper into her bag, and took out Lexie's stuffed wolf to track her.

"I don't understand," Jace said quietly, "how you can be so worried about Lexie and not give a damn about your other child."

Clary stiffened, something unreadable flashing across her face. Jace pushed himself to his feet. "Clary, just talk to—"

She pointedly turned her back on him. He stared at the back of her head for a moment, his eyes burning, before beginning to unpack his bedroll with an unnecessary amount of force. He would just have to accept it, he thought. He would die estranged from the person he loved more than anything. And when he was dead...well, she would go on. He wondered if she would even mourn for him.

Suddenly, Clary gave a shuddering gasp from behind him. He spun around. Her knuckles had tightened on the toy, her eyes squeezed shut. "What is it?" he said, coming to her side. She shook her head jerkily, switching hands and scrawling the tracking rune onto her right hand. She gave another sharp gasp and opened her eyes; they were wide with fear.

"She's gone," she whispered.

Jace's heart seized. "Gone? What do you mean, gone?"

"She's not there, it's just dark—"

Jace took the toy and stele from her and drew the tracking rune onto his own hand, closing his eyes. All he saw was an inky black void.

He heard Clary take in another trembling breath. "She's gone," she said numbly. Jace opened his eyes again; she was shaking, her face stark white. "She's gone. She's dead, we're too late—"

"We don't know that," said Jace, though his heart was pounding with fear. "She could still be alive, okay? We just have to keep going in the same direction, we'll catch up with them—"

"No," Clary moaned, crumpling to her knees. "No. No!"

Her scream split the still night air. Sharp, ragged breaths were bursting out of her. "Oh God," she sobbed. "She's gone, she's really gone—"

Somewhere nearby, a twig snapped. Jace dropped down beside Clary. "Shh," he whispered, "Clary, breathe, just breathe, it's okay—"

"No!" Clary cried again. Jace tried to take her hands, but she ripped them away and wound them into her hair. "She's dead, she's dead—"

Her voice was rising. Jace heard a crackle of leaves, closer this time. His mind was racing—whether these woods held creatures or members of the Scourge, they were exposed. They had to get out of the open, find somewhere to hide—

Suddenly, yellow light spilled out onto the ground. "In here!" said a voice. "Quickly!"

Jace didn't think twice. He hoisted Clary into his arms, keeping his grip on her as she twisted and screamed. He ducked through the door that had opened, letting it fall shut behind him. Half his brain registered a cozy living space and a faerie woman with blonde hair; the other half was focused on Clary. She was still sobbing, horrible, wracking sobs that shook her whole body. He eased her to the ground, propping her against a smooth dirt wall.

"Take my hand," he said gently. "Breathe, Clary."

She jerked away from him, drawing her knees to her chest. "Make it—stop—" she gasped, tears pouring down her face. "Make—it—stop—"

Jace could think of nothing else to do. He seized his stele and inked a sleeping rune into Clary's wrist. She slumped instantly, tipping forward. He caught her and cradled her against his chest.

"It's okay," he whispered, stroking her hair. "It's going to be okay." He wiped tears from her cheeks as her face relaxed, her eyelids fluttering. It struck him that he had not held her like this in a very long time; he had almost forgotten how she fit against him perfectly, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder.

There was a shuffling noise. Jace looked up; the faerie was watching Clary with some concern. "Is she all right?" She had a soft, musical voice that reminded Jace of a piano.

"She will be," Jace said cautiously; he was aware that he had put them both in this stranger's territory. "What can we call you?"

"Ornella," said the faerie. "Nell, if you prefer."

"Thank you, Nell," Jace said. "We appreciate your help."

Nell shifted again; her gaze was fixed on Clary. "I heard you talking," she said. "About your child, and that you're going to have another. And I—that is to say, I also—" She dropped a hand to her stomach.

"Oh," said Jace. He would have said, "Congratulations," but something in her expression stopped him.

In any case, she went on quickly, "I wanted to help. A child needs their parents."

Jace nodded. Now that he was able to concentrate, he could tell that this faerie was no threat to them. She was small, only a little taller than Clary, with fine blonde hair that fell to her shoulders and a light, willowy frame. He let his gaze sweep around the room, taking stock; it was a small house that seemed to be built into the hill itself, with sloping walls and a rounded roof made of packed dirt. The room was lit with candles and a fire was crackling in the hearth, giving the place a warm glow. All the furniture was made from a light polished wood, including a sofa with soft white cushions and a simple dining table and chairs. Jace had never been inside a faerie's home before, but if he had imagined one, it would have looked like this.

"Alexandra." The faerie said it delicately, as if she were shaping the name precisely. "She isn't dead. She's just hidden. They must have reached the ritual site. It is heavily warded."

Warily, Jace got to his feet, positioning himself so that he was guarding Clary. "You're with the Scourge," he said.

"I was," said Nell. "No longer." Jace shifted his weight, balancing. Nell glanced down at his feet. "I mean you no harm," she said. "If I did, I would have left you out there. I have not been part of the Scourge for many weeks now."

"What made you leave?" Jace asked, glancing surreptitiously around the room for hidden spaces, anywhere Scourge members could be hiding.

Nell turned away. "I have a spare bedroom," she said. "You are welcome to it if you wish. I will bid you goodnight."

Jace watched as she crossed the room; she moved slowly, ducking her head as she went. He recognized a deep, quiet sadness in her. It perplexed him.

"Wait," he said. She paused, looking over her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to accuse you."

"I understand," Nell said, smiling faintly. "I cannot blame you for being cautious. For protecting your family." Her voice faltered on the last word. Jace saw her swallow. "You should rest," she said softly.

"We can't stay," said Jace. "We have to keep moving."

"The ritual will not take place tonight," said Nell with certainty. "They will not have finished their preparations yet. It will be in two more days at the least, and the site is not far from here. I can show you a shorter path in the morning. If you leave early, you will make it in time."

Jace weighed his options: he could wake Clary up and they could head out immediately, or he could hope that the faerie was right and take the night to rest. He knew what Clary's vote would be, but he couldn't help but trust Nell. She clearly had information they didn't, and if Jace was honest with himself, he needed the rest. If he tried to face the Scourge now, weakened as he was, he would lose. And he could not afford to lose.

"All right," Jace said. "Thank you."

He went out to collect their things and heaped them in a corner before gathering Clary back into his arms. Nell led him into a small bedroom with a canopied bed built from the same light wood and set with plush-looking white bedding and pillows. Jace's body ached just looking at them. He lowered Clary onto the bed; she gave a soft moan, curling up. Jace sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed her hair back. He could feel Nell's gaze on them; he glanced at her.

"I will leave you," she said quickly, backing out of the room and closing the door with a soft click—though not before Jace caught the wistful look on her face.

Clary moaned again; Jace looked back at her, touching her cheek gently. She opened her eyes, gazing blearily at Jace. "What..."

"It's okay," he said. "Everything's fine."

Her eyes widened; she sat up. "Lexie—"

"She's safe," said Jace. "She's still alive. You should sleep."

He laid a hand on her arm to guide her back down, but she shook him off. She looked disoriented as her gaze flicked around the room, then down at her wrist. "You knocked me out," she said, a note of accusation in her voice.

"I had to," Jace said quietly. "You were panicking. Begging me to make it stop."

Clary looked away, picking at the blanket. "Where are we?" she asked abruptly. "Where's Lexie?"

Jace explained about Nell and what she had told him. Clary's face hardened as she listened.

"You trust this faerie?" she said, sounding skeptical. "If she left the Scourge, how do we know her info is still accurate?"

"I get the feeling she's been keeping tabs on them," Jace said. "And I think she must have been pretty involved. She seems to know a lot about their inner workings."

"And you expect me to just go along with your feeling?" Her tone was definitely cynical now.

"My instincts are usually right," Jace reminded her. "And right now, Nell is our only hope of finding Lexie."

Clary stared at one of the bedposts, clearly thinking hard. Then she nodded. "Fine. Let's get some sleep." She laid down, rolled over, and closed her eyes.

Jace's chest was throbbing again; he cleared his throat, tasting bitter blood. He forced himself to swallow and laid down beside Clary, feeling the inches between them as if they were miles. Two days, Nell had said. He just had to make it through two more days.

And perhaps death would be welcoming after all.

With this uneasy thought on his mind, he blew out the candle on the bedside table, closed his eyes, and let his exhaustion overtake him.

It felt as if Clary had been asleep for less than an hour when she woke again. She kept her eyes closed and tried to go back to sleep, but her body would not comply. Finally, she sighed and opened her eyes. The room was pitch-black and windowless, silent but for Jace's slow breathing. She turned her head toward him, making out the outline of his face. He made a soft grunting noise, coughed, and rolled over. She wondered what he was dreaming about.

Sleep seemed elusive, so she thought to get some fresh air. She slid out of the bed and padded to the door. When she opened it, she was surprised that light leaked through the crack, and she entered the living area to find that she was not alone.

The faerie looked up as Clary walked in. She seemed to be in the middle of making tea, her silky robe wrapped tightly around her slender frame. Through the narrow stone windows, Clary could see that it was still late, though the sky was deceptively bright from the stars. The candles around the room were guttering low.

"I'm sorry," Clary said. "I didn't think you would be awake."

Nell shook her head. "I don't sleep much these days." She carried the copper kettle and a wooden cup to the coffee table, setting them down before sitting on the sofa. Clary watched as she poured; she had a delicate way of moving, her fingers light on anything she touched. She seemed very young, though faeries aged differently than humans. If Clary had to give her a human age, it would be around twenty.

"I'm Clary, by the way," said Clary.

"I know who you are." She took a long sip before meeting Clary's gaze. "Sit with me." She said it lightly, as an invitation rather than an order. Clary hovered for a moment before crossing the room and sitting on the couch beside Nell. "Will you tell me about your daughter?" Nell asked softly.

The request surprised Clary. She would have thought the Scourge knew everything they needed to about Lexie. But then, she didn't think that was what Nell was asking. Her expression was open, honest—Clary could see why Jace intrinsically trusted her. But Clary was not so unguarded anymore.

"What do you want to know?" she said carefully.

"What's she like? Her personality?"

Clary saw a true curiosity in Nell's pale green eyes. She thought to lie; but there seemed to be no real danger in telling her the truth. "She's sweet," Clary began. "She loves her family. Jace, especially. I think he's her favorite person. And she's curious. You can't leave anything in her reach, or she'll try to put it in her mouth." Nell laughed. Clary found herself smiling too; it felt difficult, her muscles straining. "She's mischievous too," she said. "And stubborn. Always trying to get in trouble. She gets that from her dad, I think."

Nell's smile faded. She poured more tea, though her cup was only half-empty.

"Jace mentioned that you're expecting," said Clary. Nell nodded stiffly, avoiding her gaze. "You don't want it," Clary guessed.

Nell drank silently for a moment, and when she spoke again, she sounded as if she were choosing her words carefully. "I didn't plan it."

Hesitantly, Clary said, "Can I ask where the father is?"

"I don't know," said Nell shortly, setting her cup down and beginning to comb her fingers through her hair. "I suppose he went on with his life. As if he had done nothing. As if he hadn't..."

Clary watched her. She was twisting the ends of her hair between her fingers, staring at a spot across the room. Her gaze was hard with rage and pain. With a dull jolt of horror, Clary understood. "Oh," she whispered. "Oh, Nell. I'm so sorry."

Nell said nothing, but a tear rolled silently down her cheek. She wiped it away, still staring blankly at the wall.

"Who was he?" Clary asked quietly.

The faerie shrugged. "One of your kind. Nephilim. I don't know his name."

Nephilim. It couldn't be... No, Clary told herself firmly. It definitely couldn't be. What were the odds? But it was easy for her mind to put the pieces together. She thought of what Isabelle had said, the pale faerie who had killed Bainewright in what seemed like revenge...

If this was Bainewright's victim, she deserved to know the truth.

She drew in a breath. "Nell," she began. "I—I think he's dead. The father."

Nell's lips parted. "What do you mean?"

"He had dark hair, right? Blue eyes? A little over six feet, scruffy beard?"

"Yes," said Nell uncertainly.

"His name was Gaius Bainewright, and he's dead," said Clary. "He died in a cell, by silvershadow."

"How do you know all this?" Nell said. "How do you know it was him?"

Clary steeled herself. "Because I was the one who sent him here," she said.

Nell sprang to her feet, stumbling away from Clary. "You—" she whispered, "you sent—"

"He was never supposed to hurt you," Clary said quickly. "It was a reconnaissance mission. He was only supposed to watch and learn about the Scourge. I promise, if I had had any idea he would—" Her throat closed. She swallowed. "We were going to put him on trial," she said. "Before he died. He was going to pay."

Nell stood there in silence, a tear trickling down the side of her face.

"I'm sorry," Clary said, wishing she could say more. The words felt empty, useless. "I'm so sorry for what he put you through. I take responsibility."

"No," said Nell wearily. She sank back onto the couch. "I believe you. I believe you didn't want this."

They sat quietly for a long moment. A prickle of guilt cut through Clary's stony façade. If it hadn't been for her, Bainewright would never have entered Faerie, and Nell would never have been hurt.

At last, Nell said softly, "I have always wanted a child. But not this way. I never imagined it would be like this." She gazed at Clary with shimmering eyes. "I thought I would be like you."

"Like me?" Clary repeated numbly.

"I thought its father would be someone who loved me." She brushed at her eyes. "Someone who cared for me as much as your husband does for you. I thought that when I had a child, I would be excited. Happy." Her voice broke on the last word. "But all I am is alone," she said bitterly. "Not even my brother..." She shook her head, gathered up her cup and kettle, and took them to a small washbasin on a counter.

"Why didn't he tell you he'd killed Bainewright?" Clary said. "Didn't he think you would want to know?"

Nell shrugged, her back to Clary as she scrubbed at the dishes. "Perhaps he did. I confess I was not in much of a state to listen." She scrubbed harder. "But I saw little of Orrin after that night. Less once I left the Scourge. He became so obsessed with his revenge, plotting and scheming all the time. I think he forgot why he wanted revenge in the first place. He just wanted to hurt people. And I...I just wanted to go home." She set the dishes on a rack and faced Clary again, leaning on the counter. She looked weary, her face too drawn for someone so youthful.

"Have you tried talking to him?" Clary asked.

The ghost of a smile flitted across Nell's lips. "My brother is notoriously single-minded," she said. "Even before that night, he would not listen to me. And he will not until this thing with the Scourge is over and done with, one way or another." She traced her finger over the handle of the teapot. "I miss him," she whispered.

Something stirred in Clary's chest; numb as she was, it took her a moment to recognize it as pity. She got to her feet hesitantly, unsure of what to do. Nell looked up with a soft expression.

"You should rest," she said. "I will see you in the morning."

Clary tried to wrap her tongue around words, any words of comfort she could offer, but the moment had passed. Nell drifted through a door and closed it behind her.

Feeling suddenly stifled, Clary crossed to a shuttered window, opened it, and rested her elbows on the stone windowsill. The stars twinkled above her. Somewhere out there was Lexie, and if Nell was to be believed, she wasn't far. She was still safe. And soon, she would be back in Clary's arms.

And what happens after that? Jace's voice echoed in her mind. How long are you going to keep this up?

Clary found herself staring at the door Nell had disappeared through. Here was someone who wore her heart on her sleeve, and all it seemed to bring her was pain. Clary was right to push it all down. She still felt exhausted from her earlier panic attack—but she had let her feelings get the best of her, had allowed all that pain to bubble up. She just had to be strong enough to not let it happen again. This was better. Safer. And if she had to keep this wall up for the rest of her life, she would.

Yet as she climbed back into bed beside Jace and listened to his soft breathing, memories came unbidden to her mind. Memories of laughter and warm embraces and electrifying kisses. They felt so distant now. Everything felt distant now. Deep down, she knew that by shutting out pain, she was shutting out love and joy too. But maybe that was the sacrifice she had to make. Maybe it was worth making.

Though somehow, she thought as she drifted off to sleep, she did not think Nell would agree.

A/N: By the way, I took a few liberties with the layout of the 91st street station, in case anyone's actually been there!