Hello again!
*SCREAMS* I know I said this would roll out in Chapter 5 before, but I just couldn't wait! I had to have some fun after that depressing Flashback!
P.S. I think I forgot to mention this before, but I am planning on having a number of other MI characters in the story (some of them closer to the end). I think I'll just add the characters in the description as they make appearances. (I say this because someone PM'd me asking if Magnus was gonna show up and I had to spill some beans, haha. ANYWAY, ON WITH THE STORY!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments.
The moment her front door closed behind her, Jada immediately sensed that something was wrong. Perhaps not wrong per se, but different – a break from the normal monotony.
First, there had been an unfamiliar carriage waiting outside when she got home, which was enough to set her on edge. But when Jada shrugged off her coat, swung into the living room, and saw who was sitting there – she began to fully understand the meaning behind her instinct.
An unfamiliar, matronly woman was perched on their sofa, where Meliorn had sat only hours before. The new visitor looked nearly as stern: rigidly formal posture, stiffly pulled back, greying chestnut hair, hard lines at the corners of her blue eyes and tight mouth. Her grey dress was plain but ironed within an inch of its life, Jada thought – the tell-tale uniform of a woman who loved order.
Jada's eyes traveled down the woman's form, to where her weathered hands, were clasped in her lap. There, it was easy to see what the fabric of her modest gown was trying to hide. This woman was entirely unmarked – not a single Rune-scar to be seen.
Jada stared, trying to make sense of it all.
This visitor was not a Shadowhunter. That much was clear.
So, what was she? Jada wondered.
Other than the four representatives she had appointed in her information network, no Downworlders should have known about this address. Or if they did, they would only associate it with Jada Buonavento – certainly not with Lady Orsa. And despite Orsa's known affinity for the members of Downworld, Jada Buonavento had a track record of not being very welcoming to their kind. At least, ever since she snapped the pack leader's neck.
Only a fool would dare to come here unannounced.
Jada let her gaze narrow, scanning the rest of the room.
Giuseppe was nowhere to be seen, and her godmother, Rosalina, had taken his spot on a threadbare armchair across from their new visitor. Her aunt's arms were crossed petulantly - a clear sign that her limited patience was running dangerously thin. Rosa heard the door latch shut and spun to look at Jada, judgment flashing in her dark irises like peals of white-hot lightning.
"Bambina," her aunt greeted in a clipped tone. "I wish you would have warned me that you were expecting more 'guests'. I could have prepared better for their arrival."
The older visitor started at the sound of her name. The mundane woman rose to her feet, spun to face Jada – and stared, eyes wide in shock.
Whatever this woman had expected, Jada clearly had not been the case.
"Ex-Excuse me, Miss…" their visitor stammered. "Are you Jada Buonavento?"
Amusedly, Jada watched the other woman's eyes run unbelievingly over her form, scanning from head to toe in open-mouthed disbelief. Both Buonavento parents had been good-looking, and Jada's combination of their handsome features had made more than a few jaws drop, in her lifetime.
"I am." Jada smiled, reading her flustered expression like a well-loved novel. "My apologies, have I startled you in some way?"
There was a flash of emotion that shimmered behind the other woman's eyes, part guardedness and part embarrassment. "No, certainly not, my lady," the visitor replied, hastily bowing her head in respect. "I fear the wrong is my own. I wasn't expecting you to be so…." Another flicker of emotion touched her eyes. "Young," she added candidly, and Jada immediately knew she was lying.
"Ah," she sighed knowingly. Jada gestured openly to the sofa, inviting their visitor to sit down. "I don't believe we have met before, Miss…?"
She let the question hang open, waiting to be answered.
"Martha," replied the woman, with a slight shake of her head. Returning to her seat on the couch, she looked mildly dazed - like someone had transported her to a different country with no warning or explanation.
Martha?
Jada forced her smile to widen pleasantly, although she felt far from jovial.
Martha? As in the mundane woman who had been delivering Circle letters to Thaddeus? It was foolish to assume this visitor wasn't connected to Thaddeus Ashguard in some way. But who she was – and how much she knew – was still a mystery.
Cautiously, Jada slid into the room. "And… do you have a last name, Martha?" Jada politely offered.
The other woman smiled wryly. "People like me do not have the luxury of family names, in this country," was all she said in reply.
"She's a mundane," hissed Rosalina, confirming Jada's next thought. Heat seemed to emanate from the scowl emanating from her aunt's armchair. "One of the ones with the Sight."
Well, Jada mused. Perhaps her former theory wasn't too good to be true…
The Circle was comprised of the greatest Shadowhunter lineages in Idris. Only those families who were wealthy enough to have access to mundane servants with the Sight. This 'Martha' woman must have been sent by a different family than the Ashguards, though - someone with higher connections in the Circle, presumably, considering how discrete the interaction had been, thus far…
Regardless of where she came from, Jada knew to tread lightly.
After shooting an admonishing glare at her aunt, Jada picked her way across the room to her side, perching on the sturdy wooden chair arm.
"According to legend," Jada began, flicking back her hair, "we Shadowhunters were once Mundanes as well, Zia. Our mundane heritage deserves as much respect as our angelic one." She turned her head to Martha with a polite nod. "Excuse my aunt's rudeness. How may I be of service to you?"
For a second, Martha eased back into the couch, gratitude clear on her face. Suddenly, she was all business - back to the rigid pose she had started with. "I come on behalf of the family I serve to request your assistance."
"Oh?" Carelessly, Jada combed her hair through her fingers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her aunt's eyes shooting daggers at Martha. "What type of 'assistance' do you require?"
"Thaddeus Ashguard referred us to you," Martha began - and through sheer force of will, Jada kept her posture as loose as she knew how: her lips curled to an easy smile, her shoulders open and relaxed.
Internally, she was deciding how to best throttle Atrean when she saw him next.
Had he botched the spell on Thaddeus? If so, how much did Ashguard remember? How badly had she been compromised?
"He said you were one of the best tutors in all of Idris. One of the 'greatest young minds of our time'." continued Martha. "High praise, might I add, for a woman so young."
An interesting statement, Jada thought.
At least as far as this Martha-woman was concerned, the association that Jada had with Thaddeus was positive. Perhaps the spell had not been botched after all.
"And who is this 'us' you keep referring to?" Jada inquired. "What family are you serving?"
"That," Martha replied evenly, "is not something I am at liberty to discuss. It is something you will have to discover for yourself."
The thrill of the challenge danced in Jada's eyes like fireworks.
Fascinating.
This family must have been very connected to Circle, indeed. All the better, as far as Jada was concerned.
The Circle was still the largest underground network for Clave intel, even after the tragedy at the Uprising five years ago. Apparently, they had infiltrated almost every rank of the Nephilim government, even some of the more prominent Institutes worldwide, according to the rumors her Downworld contacts had been reporting.
The closer she got to the top of the Circle, the closer she got to accessing that network. And as soon as she had that network, she would have the Clave.
Jada narrowed her eyes at her. "So, you are asking me to tutor for the family you serve, but won't tell me who they are?" Trying to seem aloof, she began inspecting her fingernails.
"They share some of your political allegiances," Martha murmured ruminatively, "if that eases your conscience at all."
"Political allegiances?" echoed Jada, knowing exactly what she was referring to. "I am not sure what you mean."
"I mean," Martha patiently replied, "your involvement with the Circle."
Silence filled the room - a full minute where no one dared to speak a word.
Jada spent the time staring at their visitor with a steady calculation.
A bold assertion, Jada noted, bringing up the Circle so flippantly to a stranger. Perhaps Thaddeus had mentioned something directly about her involvement with the families of the Circle. Perhaps Martha was just impatient. Of course, it was not a fact that Jada would have shared herself, if she were in Martha's shoes, but then, she had been in the business of information since she was sixteen years old. It was precisely because of her subtlety that she had stayed in the game this long.
Quickly, Jada shot a quick glance at her aunt. As she suspected, Rosalina looked optimistically intrigued.
"Any family aligned to the Circle," her aunt slowly answered, "is a friend of ours."
Martha looked relieved. "I'm glad to hear it," she replied. "What do you say, Miss Buonavento. Will you take our offer or not?"
Jada knew what she should have said – 'no'.
Asking her to tutor a family without even knowing who they were? Offering no additional information other than a shared Circle affiliation? It would be insane to accept… But in the middle of listing off her aversions, Jada's earlier conversation with Argyle jumped to mind, giving her pause.
'Interesting' and 'dangerous' always seemed to go together, in her line of work. And this was certainly starting to sound, at the very least, dangerous...
Besides, if things were to go awry, she had an army behind her. As with Thaddeus, a simple word from her and any memory could be wiped and replaced with another. She had an infinite number of Downworld contacts in Idris, who could be summoned at a moment's notice.
Perhaps there was not such a downside, after all...
Jada narrowed her eyes, her mind whirring.
"How soon would you like me to start?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Rosalina looked ready to kick her.
Martha, on the other hand, looked infinitely pleased. "As soon as possible, my lady."
Jada eyed her massive suitcase - leaning freshly packed against the wooden doorframe.
"It appears," she replied, purposefully drawing out the words, "that I am already packed. I can leave now if you need."
Rosalina looked shocked. She bolted upright in the armchair, her hands looking disproportionately tiny against the thick arms of the chair. "Jada -!" she exclaimed. "You just got home! What about -?"
Suspecting that she was going to say 'Theo', Jada tersely raised a hand to silence her aunt. She had been running an information network long enough to know that knowledge was power - and anything, even a child, was leverage to be used in the game. No mission, no amount of Circle intel, was worth gambling with her little brother's safety.
The less this stranger knew about her, the better.
"I trust -" Jada cut off, ignoring Martha's suspicious look, "that you can take care of the house while I am away, Zia?"
To her surprise, Rosalina said nothing. Her godmother was liable to frequent outbursts from her fiery temper and being told what to do usually resulted in retaliation of some sort. But this time, she leaned back into her chair with an exhausted groan, as if she had not slept for days.
"As if I had a choice," she sighed, rubbing her fingers on her temples. "Your uncle won't be happy, you know. When he learns you left without saying goodbye..."
Jada smirked, knowing she was right. But Giuseppe had always had a soft spot for her. She doubted that there was much she could do that her godfather would not forgive - and she had never been shy in testing that theory.
Smoothly, Jada rose to her feet and brushed off the hem of her knee-length dress.
"Not very patient, is he?" Jada inquired lightly. At Martha's wondering expression, she added, "Your master, I mean."
The corners of Martha's mouth flickered - with humor. "Not one of his greatest strengths, I'm afraid."
So, it was a 'he', Jada noted. Ideally, she would have preferred a 'she', given her track record with the men of the Circle - but beggars, she supposed, could not be choosers. If he was a high enough member of the Circle, then she supposed the end would justify the means.
Smiling lightly, Jada buttoned her jacket closed and pinned her long hair into an elegant knot. "Then we had best not keep him waiting," Jada replied, stepping resolutely toward the doorway.
"Jonathan," Eve whimpered, her little hands nervously clasped behind her back. "Valentine told us to go to our rooms. You know we aren't supposed to be here..."
Jonathan was lounging at a height far above her reach, swinging a leg casually from his window-ledge perch. With an arrogant scoff, he crossed his arms and glared down at her. "Shut up already, Angel-girl. You are ruining all the fun."
He jumped from the high windowsill and landed expertly on his feet; his back bowed in an elegant arc as he crouched down low. Eve thought he looked very much like a cat as he straightened and flashed a mischievous smirk her way - but dressed in all black, he looked like the kind that was destined to bring her bad luck.
Somehow, it was oddly fitting. Based on her limited experience of Jonathan Morgenstern, 'bad luck' seemed to be his specialty.
"If Father is telling us to go to our rooms," he explained matter-of-factly, pacing towards her, "then it means someone new is coming to the Manor. And if someone is coming to the Manor, then I want to know who it is…"
"I don't see why," Eve replied, fidgeting with her long blonde hair. The ends of it curled around her tiny fingers like spools of golden thread. "What if it is someone scary?"
"Scarier than my father? Please." scoffed Jonathan. He petulantly flicked some of his snow-white hair from his forehead. "Even if they were, Father would finish them off before you could even blink. There isn't a better Shadowhunter alive." His face was beaming with gleeful pride as he cut the air with his pale fist, swinging his arm as if there was a sword in it.
Suddenly, Jonathan tensed, his face darting back up to the window and Eve flinched at the sudden motion. The opening was small and port-like, hovering a good ten feet up the wall.
An eager glitter was now igniting his dark eyes, and it filled Eve with a sense of impending dread.
She had spent almost two years in this Manor with the Morgensterns, and she knew exactly what that conspiring look on Jonathan's face meant.
"Listen," he snapped with anticipation. "Can you hear that?"
Eve listened as she had been told, straining her ears in the way Valentine had taught her. Moments later, she heard it: a faint noise, a sound like tap-water running a room away - a distant rushing. "What is it?" Eve asked, studying him nervously. He was focused like a hunting dog on point.
"A carriage," he replied, grinning wickedly. "Come here. Let's look."
Without warning, Jonathan ducked and grabbed her by the wrist. Before Eve even had time to protest, she was already mid-air, being propelled upward against her will. Jonathan latched onto the windowsill with one hand, using his other to swing her up to the ledge with him. The wall knocked the air out of her chest like a punch, and she sucked in a gasp as her hands scrambled for a grip to stop herself from falling. Using her elbow to drag herself up to the sill, Eve heaved herself to Jonathan's level, blew a long curl out of her face, and stared at him in horror.
"Jonathan, stop!" she begged. "You are going to get us both in trouble -"
But suddenly, Eve saw what he was talking about through the window-glass and her words cut off.
Far below, scrambling down the driveway like a tiny beetle, was their familiar black carriage. It left a cloud of dust billowing behind it as a pair of horses rocked it toward the house, and Eve couldn't suppress her surprise. No one ever came to the Manor. No one other than Jonathan and Valentine, of course. The idea of meeting a new person was both cripplingly nerve-wracking and oddly exhilarating - but Jonathan had only seemed to absorb the latter of the two emotions.
"See?" Jonathan exclaimed, jabbing a finger at the glass pane. "I told you someone was coming to the Manor." With a condescending sniff, he crossed his arms and made a leering face at her. "And you wanted to stay in your room… some 'fearless warrior' you are."
Ignoring the insult, Eve looked down at the wooden ground, a drop over two times her body height.
All she wanted to do was silently slink away from Jonathan, go back to her room, and curl up in her pillowy bed. To obey Valentine as he had asked her to do. She hated displeasing Jonathan's father.
But being towed along on Jonathan's rebellious tirades was as inevitable as breathing. And resisting him only seemed to cause her more trouble than following him in the first place.
"Jonathan," Eve quietly urged, trying to deter him. "Now that we know someone is coming, don't you think we should leave? What if someone sees us?"
"Not yet, Goldilocks. We aren't leaving until I know who it is," he sneered.
Goldilocks?
Eve made a face at him, which Jonathan seemed to enjoy immensely.
He eased back into the windowsill smugly, looking for all the world like a young prince lounging on a tiny throne. Part of her wanted to punch that entitled look off his face, but in the end, she decided against it. The gesture would be, what Valentine considered, 'unladylike' behavior - meaning, in essence, that it would have resulted in much more scolding than it was worth.
Well, at least that insult was new, Eve noted with a dull tinge of annoyance.
"But, Jonathan -" she insisted.
"Shh. Look."
There was something urgent in his tone. Slowly, Eve looked.
The carriage had slowed to a stop in front of their towering front doors now, the driver swinging down from his lofty perch to open the midnight-colored carriage door for his passengers. The first to emerge was Martha - her chestnut brown hair slightly dishevelled from her day of travel. She stepped down from the carriage and her dove-gray dress swayed drearily at her heels.
"I bet it'll be a Circle Member," Jonathan added. "I wonder if they have news for Father."
Eve rather hoped it wasn't.
If the Circle members were as imposing as Jonathan made them out to be, she would prefer they stayed as far away from the Manor as possible.
Before she could say so, a second figure stepped out of the carriage - and memory suddenly overtook Eve's mind, blocking her mental vision.
Eve recalled the first time she had exited that same carriage with Valentine, on the day she had come to the Manor. There had been something mesmeric about the way he had moved that day – descending as effortlessly as if he was treading fluid air.
Their visitor, somehow, had that same impossible grace; otherwise, Eve observed, they were Valentine's complete opposite… Where the Morgensterns were all snowy skin and hair, this new person was all dark, with pulled-back raven hair and honey-bronze skin that glowed like satin in the evening sunlight. Besides all of that, this visitor was –
"A girl," Eve breathed, marveling at the thought.
With a look of horror, Jonathan lunged forward and plastered his face to the glass, trying to confirm the truth on his own. Once he saw it too, he recoiled from the window as if the sight was acid burning his eyes.
"A GIRL?!" he shrieked, almost falling off the window ledge.
Sure enough, it was true. Although Eve would have probably considered her more of a woman than a girl, she realized on second glance.
She looked several years younger than Valentine, Eve could tell from the distance between, with lovely features and a beautiful hourglass torso and a tiny, elegant waist. In the high-necked coat and the pointy-heeled shoes, she looked more like a queen from one of Eve's fairytale books than a real-life human. She wore a clever smile as she glided to the front door, conversing with Martha as easily as if they were old friends - and Eve was instantly mesmerized.
Other than her mother and Martha, Eve really had never seen another woman. And this one looked different, somehow. Much… nicer.
The idea of a 'nice' woman was a bit of a cosmic anomaly, as far as Eve was concerned.
Her sapphire eyes were dancing dreamily, and she silently prayed that it wasn't all a dream.
"Jonathan," she sighed, beaming at the window. "Isn't this wonderful?"
She may as well have suggested a poison-drinking contest, as far as Jonathan was concerned.
"WONDERFUL?!" he demanded. "THIS IS A DISASTER, YOU IDIOT!"
Suddenly, he sprang down from the ledge, dragging the unprepared Eve to the ground with him. She did not recover from the fall as elegantly as he did and knocked her knee gracelessly against the wooden floorboards. It sent a howling bolt of pain up her leg, which Jonathan pointedly ignored. Instantly , he was tugging ruthlessly at her tiny wrist, towing her, against her will, down the long corridor to the staircase.
She sucked in a wounded gasp through her teeth but refused to cry out in pain. Valentine had told her that a warrior never shows injury, and considering how many of his rules she was breaking now, it made her feel better to be following at least one…
Shaking her golden curls out of her face, Eve spun to throw a bewildered look at Jonathan. He was not looking at her as he marched in front of her down the hallway – his dark, gleaming eyes glared at a target far beyond the manor walls. "I - I don't understand…" she stammered, vainly struggling against his grip on her wrist. "Where are we going?"
"To fix this," he snapped determinedly. "Come on!"
Jada Buonavento smiled winningly as she let Martha lead her through the magnificent foyer, wanting to smack her head against one of its marble walls until her forehead bled.
All in all, this day was turning out to be Jada's worst nightmare.
First, it was prying that panting Ashguard leech off her in the morning. Then, a mysterious visitor coming to her house, rushing into tutoring for an unknown Circle family with indefinite motives, and, finally, seeing that impenetrable glamor encasing the property on their way here.
It was a rash decision to come here, Jada had known that from the start. But she had never guessed it would be this bad.
In a magical shield this strong, she could assume that Atrean had probably lost sight of her energy – she knew the Wards in Alicante did the same thing – which, of course, was going to turn him into a nervous wreck. Ever since she had been imprisoned in the Guard two years ago, he took every minor disappearance as an indication of her certain death. Thankfully, she had her own ring to portal out, if need be… but she wasn't sure if she could pinpoint this location well enough with a portal to bring Atrean back here if this required Thaddeus-level cleanup.
But now that she was here, it was far too late to turn back.
Plus, Jada realized with a sliver of humor returning, it had been a while since it was just her on a mission – nothing between her and danger but her own skill and blind luck. For the last few years, her four Downworld representatives had circled her as closely as a pack of guard dogs. It had saved her more times than she was willing to admit, but in other ways, she had to confess that the notion of rushing into danger alone was mildly invigorating –
Albeit idiotic, she added, scanning the empty foyer.
Most rich families - at least the ones rich enough to have a Manor of this size - were from venerable Shadowhunter lineages. Some of the oldest bloodlines known to Nephilim. They all had symbols or family trademarks, some way of identifying themselves from the other spoiled pedigrees vying for power and prestige: a type of metal or jewel, some sort of brand or crest… But as Jada followed Martha through this vaulted foyer - there was nothing to give away the family's identity. No symbol or clue to hint to what family lived here, and it only served to infuriate her further.
Entering these kinds of missions without any information was suicide. And she felt closer and closer to the inevitable with every echoing step.
Martha led her down a nearly endless corridor to an ornate doorway – a tower of shiny, molded wood set into the stone walls – and bowed her greying head politely.
"Go ahead, Miss Buonavento," Martha assured her. After a momentary pause she added, "And good luck."
A bit of a bad omen, as far as Jada was concerned.
Steeling herself, Jada set her jaw and walked into the room.
This was a magnificent room – what looked like an office. Dark wooden bookshelves lined the walls, filled to the brim with literature. A Persian rug covered much of the marble floor in an elegant, blood-red tapestry. A heavy desk sat in front of a wall of windows to the rear, which offered an incredible view of the front lawn of the Manor, but it was not the view that captured Jada's attention.
"Good afternoon, Miss Buonavento…" a cool voice greeted.
A man was sitting at the far end of the room, scanning her from his impressive-looking desk. Fascination sparked in his dark eyes like candle flames. "I suppose we could go through the pleasantries of introductions, but… I have a feeling they may not be necessary, in this case."
When she registered his features, Jada jumped back - far enough to hit the closed door with a cracking slam.
A flicker of a smile passed over his sculpted mouth.
His features were striking, high-boned, spartan. Cheekbones carved the planes of his face like the steely angles of a longsword. Deep-set eyes as dark as a moonless midnight, in shocking contrast with the marble pallor of his fair skin and hair. The division between iris and pupil in those eyes was nearly imperceptible from the distance between them, and her eyes glued there with hopeless intrigue. She would have considered the contrast of his coloring bizarre if it wasn't for the way those black irises shone. It was as if they contained the cumulative brightness of every star in the universe, glimmering and rotating together in the endless obscurity of space.
Jada bonelessly stared, fighting the urge to turn tail and run.
Salt-white hair.
Black eyes.
Approximately the right age and build.
There was only one person it could have been – the one she had been searching for.
Jada cleared all emotion from her face as her father had taught her to do. A medic, he had always told her, should be composed in all circumstances. The pillar of calm in a sea of chaos.
Still, that irking feeling tugged at the corners of her mind. That strange familiar magnetism, as she studied him - as if they had met some time before, when she knew for a fact, they hadn't.
Jada swallowed against the dryness of her parched throat.
"You…" she began warily. "You are Valentine Morgenstern."
**SCREAMS* I AM SO HAPPY! :'D
#1. I am overjoyed to be able to FINALLY write J/V together. (their new relationship is so fun)
And
#2. It has been sooooo long since I have been able to write any Jonathan/ Eve moments, and I have missed those two terribly. (If I was being completely honest, I was terrified to write them, in a way... But for you lovely readers, I have conquered my fears! Yay for little Jonathan/ Eve moments! They're so fun. :") )
Anyway, I will see you all next time~!
Love, Fishy.