Hey everybody. :)
NOTE: This is the last Flashback chapter I have formally planned for The Hunt. I had a few people PM me who wanted to know how Jada/Argyle met or who want to see a flashback with Jada's parents… I do intend to write this eventually, but I also wanted to focus on the plot/ ensure the story starts moving along at a good pace for those of you who care more about the main story arc.
If you want to see more Flashback chapters, please add a review with your requests and I will try to write more, in the future!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments. :)
"Jada!" Argyle exclaimed, leaning against the doorframe for support. "I had no idea - How did you-?"
"Get out of the Guard already?" she inquired, her eyes raking him from head to toe.
The last time he had seen Jada, she had been deathly ill, blinded with murderous hate - so unlike herself. This time, even though she was dressed in what looked like a poorly constructed bed sheet, she was exactly as she had always been since the Academy. Effortlessly elegant. "I was bitten in the middle of the lunar cycle," she continued, tossing back her long hair. "It only took another couple of weeks for the full moon to pass. I suppose you could count me lucky, in a way. The observation period for lycanthropy infection isn't usually so short in duration."
Recovering from his shock, Argyle scanned her over with clinical precision, the way Riccardo had once taught him to do, when initially evaluating patients, trying to note every physical detail. Part of him wanted there to be a clue, a way of telling whether she had gone through the werewolf change during the full moon, or not – but in her normal human form, he knew there was almost no way to tell. Argyle was almost too afraid to utter the words, but he knew he had to.
He needed to know the answer, no matter how terrifying it was to say out loud.
"And… did you… Did you Change?" Argyle asked. Something flickered in her eyes, then. Not so much an emotion as much as a shimmer of intelligence, any indication of how quickly her mind was working. "N-Not that it matters to me, either way -" he added hastily, waving his hands. "Are you alright? If there is anything you need…"
With a dismissive scoff, Jada sauntered past him into the manor, every bit as confident as he recalled her being. He turned to watch her as she passed him, marveling, not for the first time, at the striking silhouette she carved against the elegant gleam of the foyer. For years, he had nurtured the fantasy that one day – just maybe - Jada could have lived here one day as Jada Silverspear. Taken on this home as her own.
But now, the sight of her in his family's gaudy foyer was making his stomach turn.
On top of having way too much money and spare time on their hands, many of the most established families in Idris had some familial trademarks, symbols or physical tokens, a way of identifying themselves visually, in comparison to the other lineages.
The Silverspears were no exception.
Cato Silverspear, their founding father, was best known for being the first Nephilim in history to find a way to kill werewolves: Silver spear.
As a result, most of the house's furnishings were gilded in the metal, glinting under the ridiculous, dripping crystal chandelier like a million flickering stars in a sea of white marble. For a werewolf, this house would have been a torture chamber.
He eyed Jada as she stepped lightly to the foot of the looming central staircase, careful not to touch anything. Pensively, she looked upward – and Argyle winced once he comprehended what she was looking at. Above the elaborate curve of the stairs, hung a painting that Argyle had known since his childhood – a vast acrylic mural that almost overtook the endless wall. In it, the original Silverspear patriarch, donned in primitive Shadowhunting gear, was posed in what looked like an ancient war zone. Red-eyed wolves circled him in the image, watching on as Cato, his face glowing with righteous fury, sank the end of a long-handled weapon into the chest of a howling beast.
With a shudder, Argyle looked away from it and silently wished that Jada would as well.
"I should ask you the same thing," she murmured, not breaking her gaze from the painting, "You are in full mourning dress, Argyle. Wearing the Red Runes. Despite the love you had for my father, I sense it is not him, for whom you are grieving."
Argyle's jaw tightened.
"It…" He could barely manage to say the words. "It… was Emile."
"Emile?" Jada echoed. Finally, her focus on the painting broke, and she spun to look at Argyle with wide eyes. "He is -?" She recovered. "How could that have possibly happened?"
"I went to see him as soon as Giuseppe and Rosalina came to take Theo. He had been so unhappy for the last few months... I had thought if I brought him the news if I could tell him that I found you, that maybe… But I was too late."
"Too late?" Sudden realization hit her eyes - and, he saw, a wave of sympathy. "Oh, Argyle… You don't mean he… He didn't take his own life, did he?"
Argyle sank into one of the ornate chairs poised in the grand foyer, dropping his face to his hands. The furniture was more decorative than practical, and the padding was stiff and unwelcoming. "How am I supposed to be a medic, if I couldn't save your parents - couldn't even save my own parabatai?"
Her brown eyes were solemn. "Being a medic is not about saving everyone, Argyle. It is about saving who you can. You are only human."
He sighed against his palms. "I can't seem to save anyone."
"You saved me." There was a swell of emotion in her voice and Argyle's pine-colored eyes darted to look up at her. Jada seemed to catch herself and stiffened - her expression suddenly a locked door. She took a step back from him, and although she was still in arms reach, suddenly and hopelessly distant.
"There… There is something I came here to say."
Alarm prickled the back of his neck like needles. "To say? What do you mean?"
Jada straightened to perfect posture. "I owe you a blood debt, Argyle Silverspear," she continued, as formally as if he was a stranger. "You saved me from death. I am obligated to repay the favor, even at the cost of my own life."
"What? Why would you say something like that? I don't want your death. I want your life –"
With me, Argyle mentally added.
He flushed red and shakily continued. "Things don't have to change. Your parent's work – you know it could change the world. We can work together - pick up where they left off -"
Jada's eyes had darkened. Argyle was certain that she understood exactly what he had meant – at least the romantic part - and had not felt the same.
"You mean petitioning to the Clave?" she inquired delicately. "Trying to make them see reason? My parents spent years doing that, with almost no success. The Clave cannot be trusted."
"But we have to try -"
"I will try." she insisted. "By the Angel, I swear to devote my life to saving this godforsaken country. But it will not change by suggestion, Argyle; it will only change by force. And to make that change happen, I need power. Where I must go – this path I am walking… you cannot follow."
She turned to walk away, and Argyle was startled to hear his own voice, eking out a wavering: "Why?"
Slowly, Jada turned to look at him - with the same remorse as when she had snapped the pack leader's neck. "You are a good man, Argyle Silverspear," she replied, misery clouding her expression. "And for what I must do, goodness would only be a burden to me. It is better if you stay away from me."
"What?!" he exclaimed, rocketing to his feet. "Jada - if this is because -" His voice cut out - he couldn't even bear to say the words. Couldn't bear to see her as a murderer, no matter how justified. "Because of what happened with the pack leader -?"
Her voice was cold. "Argyle, can't you see? The pack leader will be the first of many. The Clave is no longer what it once was. It is corrupt, rotten… It needs to be reformed. I will not stop - not until I reach my goal. And I will do whatever it takes to get me there."
Argyle was suddenly incensed. "Your parents believed that all lives mattered - you plan on taking more? Leaving more orphans like you – like Theo?"
The words seemed to stab her like individual knives, making her wince at every syllable.
Jada balled her hands into fists. "You know that I would never do that."
This conversation was nothing like how Argyle had planned it out. He wanted to tell Jada all about Emile. Tell her about Eve. Ask Jada for help in finding her. After all, Jada led the most influential information network in all of Downworld. If anyone could have found Eve, it would have been her... but Argyle's petty pride couldn't get the words out. Ever since her parents' death, Jada had turned into someone else - and the realization that she was leaving him behind stung like a whiplash cracking over his heart.
A long moment of pause stretched out, and despite his personal conviction not to look at her, his natural concern won out. Argyle glanced upward, and his stomach sank to his toes. She looked light years away. As if she had been teleported to a completely different reality.
Pausing, she rested her hand on the door frame, as if it was the only thing holding her up.
"It…" Jada replied, slowly shaking her head. "It is better this way. The less you are involved the better." When she raised her face to smile at him, her eyes were sorrowfully bright. "May the Angel guard you, Argyle. And." She swallowed, loudly. "Thank you. For everything."
Before Argyle could stop her – Jada swung out of the door, leaving Argyle alone in the towering foyer.
The road between the Silverspear manor and the Buonavento family home was an unusually scenic route, a peacefully undulating dirt path, barely wide enough for a carriage to pass through and framed on either side by fields of the tall whispering grasses native to Idris. Twilight had painted the sky in a deep royal blue - still tinged, far to the west, with the final golden glow of the sun's smoldering departure. Stars flung across the sky like pixie dust, waiting for the final sliver of light to disappear, to signal the full reign of the night. Far in the distance, a range of mountains laced the darkening horizon like a cluster of glaciers.
It was somehow both infinitely shocking and strangely fitting to see Lady Orsa there when Atrean finally barreled out of the portal, stumbling to the ground in his clamoring urgency. He was vaguely aware of the other members of her intel network crashing through the shimmering curtain of air behind him - panting to keep pace as he righted himself and rushed to her side.
Atrean had tried finding her as soon as he had gotten word of her parent's death, but to no avail. He had gotten very good at tracing her energy - her aura, so to speak - in the last five years of knowing her, so it had been terrifying when he had spent a week scanning the globe in every way he knew how, only to come up with nothing. Not even the smallest of indications as to where she might be.
Prior to this, the only time her aura seemed to disappear from his psychic 'radar' was when she was in Alicante - something about those crystal towers disrupted his tracking - But to completely vanish for over two weeks - after running off after that Italian pack leader alone? Not saying a word to anyone during that whole time?
As much as he had not wanted to admit it - Atrean had begun to fear the worst.
It was not until a week ago that he had finally heard the truth: that the Clave had imprisoned her in their 'Guard' in Alicante on suspicion of lycanthropy infection. That they were detaining her like a common criminal until the passage of the Full Moon.
It had taken all three of Orsa's confidants - the werewolf, the vampire, and the fairy knight - to stop him from portaling to the city gates and burning the city to the ground for their insolence.
So, when he had felt her energy pop up again a few minutes prior - a glow as softly diffused as a firefly - he had immediately rounded up Orsa's other three council members and portalled to the pinpoint of her location.
But when Atrean finally took in the sight of her, it was not at all as he expected her to be.
Jada was wearing what looked like a loose white sheet, her feet kicking up dust as she marched down the road with the ruthless, razor-sharp focus she reserved for missions.
Despite her grave expression, she looked younger than usual now - her hair fell loose and tangled, over her shoulders, her features softened by the glow of the moon.
"My Lady –" he heard Oliver yelp from the rear. Despite the vampire's age, his voice was still that of a young boy.
Refusing to let anyone reach her first, Atrean darted forward immediately. In a blur of dark fabric, he shrugged his black trenchcoat off and swung it around Jada's shoulders. Surprisingly, it seemed to fit her frame perfectly.
"The gall of those Clave bastards -" the warlock hissed, shivering in the twilight air. He hadn't worn anything underneath the jacket, leaving his pale torso entirely bare from the hips up. Aside from the shaggy blonde hair spilling down his back, there was nothing to keep the frosty air away - and despite his own discomfort, he was happy that it was him, not Lady Orsa, who was battling the cold. "If they so much as laid a hand on you - I swear by every level of Hell that I will portal to the city and -"
There was a light gasp from behind him - and it was an overwhelming shock to see the towering werewolf woman, Genevieve, darting past him to Jada's side.
Atrean jumped back in surprise to let her pass; he couldn't remember a time when she made a sound before, much less being overtaken by emotion in any way…
Her thick, snow-white dreadlocks were cascading over her shoulders like icicles - a shocking contrast from her ebony skin and black leather bodysuit. With a look of motherly concern, she gently took Jada by the hand, raising her hand to the starlight to inspect… something. Horror gripped Atrean's stomach like a chain, yanking his organs to his feet with nauseating force, when he saw what the older woman had seen.
Thick, ugly-looking scars were circling Jada's wrists - the damage so severe that the scars were raised from her skin like blisters. He knew for a fact that they had not been there two short weeks ago - and he could only assume it was something that the Clave had done. Something that had happened when she had been imprisoned in their Guard.
Genevieve regarded the marks with a look of horrified familiarity. An injury both painfully familiar and, somehow, dreadfully worse. With sickening clarity, Atrean saw the same scars, albeit older and less defined, wrapping around the werewolf woman's wrists. The scars of manacles. Of imprisonment.
Jada's expression darkened to a fierce intensity. Her eyes gleamed in the low light, shining silver.
Atrean took another step backward, his body shaking with fury. "My Lady…" he whispered menacingly. "What did they do to you?"
Orsa's eyes refused to rest on him. Shrugging off his hands, Jada walked ruthlessly forward, one hand fastening the front of the billowing trench coat shut.
"My time away has given me room to think," she announced, avoiding the question. "To ponder our future." Her back was to them, her tangled hair cascading down her shoulders. "Aiming to monopolize the intel network in Downworld was too simple a goal. We need to set our sights higher."
To Atrean's surprise, it was the Fairy Knight that replied next, bowing at their leader extravagantly. "And what can be a loftier aim than taking over Downworld, my Lady?"
Atrean saw Jada's hands clench. "Our network needs to extend to the entire Invisible World - not just Downworld," she clarified. "It's the Clave - I want the Clave as well. I see now how corrupt they have truly become… They cannot be allowed to continue as they are."
The Downworlders all paused, looking at each other with matching expressions of shock.
"But my Lady," Oliver objected, "no one has ever done anything like that before. We don't have any contacts in the Clave."
"Not yet." Her voice was disturbingly confident. "But we will."
Atrean couldn't stop himself from interrupting. "And how are we supposed to do that? We are Downworlders. Those arrogant Clave bastards wouldn't tell us anything." All at once, he caught a glimpse of the lacy gleam of the Rune scars decorating Jada's bare limbs - and he caught himself. "I don't mean any offense towards you, my lady," he amended, stepping back. "You are not the same as the other Nephilim…"
Jada didn't seem to hear him, or if she did, she seemed beyond caring.
"We should not tackle this from outside the Clave, but rather, from within," she explained relentlessly. "We aren't the first group to seek the reformation of the Clave. There is already an expansive network within the Clave, and their influence is very vast indeed. If we infiltrate that network, we will have the Clave."
The vampire boy cocked his golden head to one side, looking, in spite of his deadly abilities, oddly innocent. "From within?" Oliver echoed. "You mean find Shadowhunters who want to overthrow their own government? Who would want to do that?"
Sparking with alarm, Meliorn's leaf-green eyes widened. "Milady, you couldn't possibly mean-"
"Yes," Jada answered, confirming their communal dread. "I mean the Circle."
Atrean felt the comment like a smack in the face, rocking him off balance - and the others seemed to reel from it as well.
He had been at the Uprising, seen the turmoil that those rogue Nephilim had caused. Felt the implacable fire of their rage. Witnessed the fanatical passion of their leader first-hand.
They were far too radical - far too dangerous - for him to allow Lady Orsa anywhere near them.
"Why?!" Atrean demanded, darting towards her. "We can build our Clave network like our Downworld one; step by step. You don't need the Circle, Lady Orsa…Together we -"
She spun to him, as fierce and sudden as a whiplash.
"I never said that I needed them. But for now, they serve a purpose." Her brown eyes were clearer than he had seen them in years, absorbing the sky's starlight. "It took me five years, to build our network in Downworld to the heights it has reached now. The Circle will be a vehicle. A way of achieving the same results we saw in Downworld, more quickly. First, we infiltrate the Circle, then we use their connections to build more power within the Clave."
Oliver glanced up at Genevieve and shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable. "And... after that, milady?"
Slowly, Jada smiled. He was not sure if it was a trick of the light, but Atrean could have sworn he saw some of the Circle's fanatical passion, flickering like dark lightning in her eyes.
"And after that," she answered. "We will rule them all."
And there you have it! That is the end of this arc of the Flashbacks (for now)!
Thank you to everyone for reading this story. :) Next chapter the main plot will really start ramping up.
Eventually, I also plan to release some one-shot chapters about how Jada met each of her four Downworld representatives, (including a short series with Jada's parents and explaining how she met Argyle at the Academy, which is pretty comical/ explains how she met Meliorn), as it is really fascinating & shows a lot about the softer side of Jada's character… If any of that interests you, let me know by reviewing and I may prioritize one for future release! :D
Love, Fishie.