#xx.andy

[x-ceirios-x]

you made your bed

with jace missing, andy struggles with blaming herself for her brother's disappearance accepting the family she has around her.

cw: light cursing, andy having depressive thoughts, angst w/ a nice resolution

There were too many people on the same floor, Andromeda had decided, so she decided to scout around elsewhere. Normally, she had a great time in a crowd of people, but the only people she knew were worried about making sure Clary, the Lightwoods, Rowan, and Simon were okay. Maryse tended to her children, Aric disappeared, and Luke ran off to look for both of his kids. She quickly noticed someone missing in the sea of familiar faces: Jace.

Silently, she slipped into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. She paid attention to the conversations around her; Jace had stayed upstairs to protect Sebastian’s body. She realized she hadn’t seen him much in the last few days and kicked herself for not reaching out. He wasn’t at the Institute for a while, then not at Ironworks, and she suspected there was a better reason behind it, but that didn’t help the fact that she wasn’t there. What a wonderful sister she was turning out to be. 

What would she say to him when she saw him? What would she do? Hug him; punch him, maybe? Reassure him that he could always call her if he needed backup, just like she’d done for Clary a short while earlier? That had been unintentional, though. She’d tailed her to the Church, killed the Hydra demon when things got too rough for her to handle, and patched her up when they got back. She hadn’t thought to call her—how did she convince these people that she was there to help? Sure, sometimes she was a little arrogant and knew she could tone it down a little, but she’d never been around so many people that were a family like this. Even the little vampire was accepted into their ranks. All her life, she’d only ever had herself to rely on. Even in the few years she had Val, she learned not to trust someone that deeply again, because eventually, they’d leave too, even if it wasn’t willingly. 

She didn't get the opportunity to finish her thoughts, because the elevator made a ding noise and the doors opened, revealing the top floor. It was open, dark, and worst of all: empty. She retrieved her witchlight from her pocket and pulled her seraph blade, holding it in front of her and prepared for anything that might come towards her. She walked soundlessly towards the doors opposite her and into the garden outside. 

The cold air hit her immediately. She blinked, a few reflexive tears welling in her eyes as the wind blew into her. Once her eyes focused, she looked around, and saw the mass amounts of rubble from a clear fight. Her eyes landed on the glass casket several feet ahead of her; she drew in a quick breath and broke into a run, stopping only a few inches in front of it. 

Sebastian Morgenstern’s body was gone, the glass casket broken, and Jace was nowhere to be found. 

She fell to her knees, her mouth falling open, as she felt the broken glass dig into her knees. If it weren’t for the shadowhunter gear she’d been wearing, she would have bled, but she didn’t have half a mind to care. All these things were for naught, as Jace was gone. In the last few weeks, she’d done everything she knew how to help him, to help Clary, to show that she cared, and just when she thought they might have time to talk, she might finally find the words to explain all of her complicated thoughts to him, he was gone. 

Andromeda slammed her seraph blade into the tiled floor, tip-first, shattering it. Its glow dimmed as the pieces scattered and quickly disappeared. Something flashed in the corner of her eye—a shadow of sorts, and she held up the broken blade. She raised her head, pushing her hair out of her face, and was met with the face of her former lover. 

She dropped the blade. “Val,” she said, her voice shaking as she spoke. “How are you—”

“You knew this would happen,” she said, sparing her a bored look, barely glancing up from picking at her nails. “You’re too smart for that. You knew.”

“Knew—knew what?” she stammered. “Val—”

She strode towards her and casually sat on the broken coffin. “Your father left, your mother abandoned you emotionally years ago, I left you—and now your brother. Everyone leaves you, Andromeda, when are you going to see the common thread?”

Her eyebrows furrowed and she sat up on her knees, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders. Val, never in a million years, would have called her Andromeda. That was what her mother called her, and she hated it. “You—Val, what is going on?”

Val picked up the hilt of the seraph blade that she’d discarded in her shock when she saw her for the first time, and pushed the remaining, broken blade into her chin, tilting it upward. “It’s you, Andromeda, and I wonder how long it’s going to take you to realize it.”

Andromeda’s eyes flew open suddenly, and as her mind pulled her back to reality from the cruel dream, she realized how heavily she was breathing. She sat up, bracing herself on her arms as she got herself back under control. 

It had been a dream rooted in reality. She remembered finding the broken casket, breaking her seraph blade in a surprising show of angered strength, and returning back to the floor with the rest of the institute. She must have been pale as a ghost because Isabelle, looking suddenly nervous, pointed her mother to her immediately, and she had to explain to Maryse Lightwood that her son was now missing, as was the body of the man the Clave wanted dead the most. 

She checked her phone for the time and realized it was only midnight—she’d gone to bed early after a long day of staying cooped up in the training room. No one had been using it recently, as the Lightwoods and Ashfairs had all been too sick with worry about one person or another’s disappearance to even try training. She’d spent a bit of time with Alec and Clave meetings, but their friendship was incredibly shallow. Clary wasn’t up for talking, too worried about Jace, and it left Andy alone. Even in her mother’s house, she’d never felt that alone: surrounded by people that were supposed to be her friends, but she wasn’t important enough to be family. 

Silently, she pushed herself out of bed, and pulled on a recently-discarded pair of leggings from the floor, a pair of boots she could easily slide on, and her favorite cardigan—the first thing she’d bought for herself in New York City on her shopping trip with Clary. It seemed so long ago, though it hadn’t even been two months since she’d first arrived there. 

Without an end goal in sight, she grabbed her stele and a knife off her nightstand, as well as a few hair pins, and stuffed both into her bra. She fussed with her hair as she walked down the hall, past all the bedrooms with closed doors, and towards the elevator. She paused, suddenly, feeling something pull her back. Her chest tightened and she backtracked a few feet, into Jace’s bedroom. It had sat empty, unchanged other than the occasional rifling through for objects that might possibly be used to track him. Nothing had worked so far. 

His bed was still neat, save for the small, Clary-sized indent in the blanket. She’d spent some time there recently and must have fallen asleep there for a while. Not that she’d know, because she barely saw anyone out and about in the Institute these days.

She scanned the room for a moment and found herself gravitating towards the wardrobe. She opened the one door and pulled down a jacket—a black leather one that looked relatively new. If anything, she understood that Shadowhunters couldn’t keep clothes for very long. Demon blood destroyed many a pair of her favorite pants.

She slid the jacket on and realized it fit decently well. It was a little big in the shoulders but it would help save her from the cold, much more than her thin cardigan and tanktop would. She turned to leave the room and caught herself in the window—her reflection startled her. In that light, with the zipped jacket and hair pulled back, she looked shockingly like her father—or, at least, the photos she’d seen of him. She shook her head to wipe away the thought and turned on her heel, continuing her walk from the Institute into the city. 

Walking the city late at night was never exactly a good idea, which she understood, but she had a feeling that she would be able to fend off whatever demon or drugged-up perv came after her. Which was worse, she didn’t know. She took a right once she stepped off the steps leading into the church, and set off towards the subway station. As she walked, she carved both a soundless and an invisibility rune into her hip, then dropped her shirt back to where it usually sat. It was cold, too cold for her liking usually, but at least the subway itself had a little heat inside. 

She sat on the train silently for what felt like ages. Unable to stop thinking about what she’d seen, even if it was a dream, she spun her stele around her fingers. She felt like something was weighing on her chest and trying to pull it apart at the same time. She’d felt like this before, but never this intense. Part of her felt like punching the wall next to her, but she didn’t want to risk some mundane finding an indent created by no one. 

The ride wasn’t long, but it certainly cut down on the time it would take to get into Brooklyn. She and Clary had walked this path so many times she was half sure she could do it in her sleep. The sad part was, she’d never been inside. Andy walked the few extra minutes down the rough sidewalks before she found herself at Luke’s house, standing a few feet in front of the stairs that led to the front door. With her hand tightly gripped around her stele, she forced herself forward and knocked. 

She didn’t have to wait long. The door swung open and she could see dim lights behind Jocelyn Fairchild, who stood in the door. “Andromeda,” she said, a hint of surprise in her voice. “Are you alright? Clary is asleep for the night—“

“Actually,” she said, offering her best, parent-charming smile. “Is Lucian—“ she stopped herself, remembering that Lucian Graymark—the former Circle member, Shadowhunter and her mother’s younger brother—and Luke Garroway, New York werewolf pack leader and Jocelyn Fairchild’s fiance, were very different people. If she had a name she wanted to put behind her, she had to respect his, too. “Luke. Is he around?”

She paused for a moment and answered her question by stepping aside. Carefully, she shut the door behind her, standing very close to the outside wall, feeling like she wasn’t exactly invited inside. 

Jocelyn leaned over the couch and muttered something to Luke, who kissed her goodnight and let her head off, down the hall. Something between envy and a sense of longing hit her very suddenly—she wondered what it would have been like to grow up with two parents that so obviously loved each other, so evidently so that you could see it in the way they looked at each other. She remembered being that in love, and something in her heart twisted at the idea of it again. 

“Nice jacket,” he said, shifting to sit facing her. “Is it new?”

She opened her mouth to say something but found herself unable to form them. It wasn’t worth explaining all of it to him, she decided, and simply said, “Something like that.” She’d never felt so awkward before—even when she was a young teenager, her mother always told her she was too clever for her own good. She had a smart mouth, sure, but she could talk her way out of any situation she needed to. This—facing Luke, after being so cold to him—only deepend the guilt that had been pooling in her stomach for the last few days. 

He looked at her curiously, blue eyes only lit by the lamp in the corner and shielded behind his glasses. She knew both her parents had blue eyes, but she inherited the deep, dark blue from her father. Just another thing that reminded her she was the spitting image of him. He looked like he decided on something after a moment, and gestured at the couch next to him. “You look like you need to talk. Come sit.”

Weeks ago, when they met again in Idris, she would have snapped back with something rude and left, but his calming nature convinced her. He was right, she did need to talk to someone—to anyone, really. Even when she was by herself in Idris, she had her lab in the cellar or her bedroom to disappear to. She was still somewhat home. New York didn’t feel like home yet, and she still felt like a guest in her own bedroom. She didn’t know if she’d felt at home anywhere since Val died. 

Carefully, she pushed off her shoes and padded over to the couch. She sat on the opposite end of it, facing him, but her knees pulled up to her chest. Even when it was her idea to be here, she guarded herself. “How’s Clary?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper so she didn’t wake anyone in the house. 

“As well as can be expected. Torn up about Jace disappearing and frustrated with the Clave,” he said. “But you’re not here to ask about her—you wouldn’t have come so late. What’s wrong?”

The way he spoke was so parental but casual, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. In Idris, it had pissed her off—she’d spent sixteen years without a father and she didn’t need someone showing up and deciding, randomly, that she needed one. Now, it was almost…comforting. Someone cared. Not the professional manner that Maryse and Aric kept with her at all times, or the tired apathy her mother spoke to her with, but someone genuinely asking how she was doing. A wave of emotion took over her and she felt tears well in her eyes; she wasn’t one to cry and she didn’t know why she was suddenly, but she kept her voice as steady as possible. 

“Guilty as charged,” she said and cut herself off with a quick sniffle. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to dispose of them before he noticed. When she looked back at him, his expression had softened. Andy frowned and her voice hardened. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” he said, putting his hands up in a nonchalant surrender. 

“You are!” She realized quickly that she was much louder than she intended. She took a breath and turned back to him. “I don’t like pity.”

He nodded as if everything she said made something click in his mind, like he understood what he was dealing with now; it only infuriated her, but she had to control her temper. “I’m not pitying you, Andromeda.”

“Andy,” she muttered, bitterness seeping into her tone. “Andromeda’s what my mother calls me, especially when she’s mad at me. Andy is fine.”

“Andy, then.” He looked at her expectantly, and she muttered something about how she shouldn’t even be there at the moment. 

She spoke after a moment of debate. She could just leave, actually, but she’d come too far to chicken out now. “I have just felt…so incredibly overwhelmed with everything going on,” she said. She chose her words carefully to not reveal too much, but every bone in her body wanted to break when she glanced at Luke again. There was no clear way to describe this look he had, all the time, but his eyes softened and he looked concerned for her. No one had been concerned for her in a long time. No one worried about the girl who pretended to have all her shit together, not even her own mother. Of course she hadn’t—she’d iced her out years ago. Now, too much time had passed, she felt like if she tried to apologize now, it would just be awkward. She blamed her mother for years, but only after seeing Clary with her mom did she see where they both had gone wrong. 

Her throat tightened as she thought more, thinking of the dream with Val, of her mother, of the stress at the Institute, of Jace—she had a few weeks of getting to know him, and now he was gone. He disappeared and no one knew where he was or even if he was alive. She knew he was an incredible warrior, even better than most around their ages. 

Her voice got smaller as she realized how ridiculous she sounded. “I just can’t talk about it. The last time I did, I got yelled at because I don’t know Jace like everyone else does. It’s just shitty.”

Luke nodded as she spoke. “I can’t tell you I understand your situation, Andy, but I do think it’s not fair to be told you're not allowed to be upset. You and Jace seemed like you were getting closer, no?”

“I was trying to,” she admitted, pouting. She rested her head on her knees, looking over at him. In all honesty, she felt like a child again, getting so upset over nothing. When she was young and some kids were picking on her over nothing, her mom would make her favorite tea and wrap her in a blanket, and tell her stories of faraway lands with knights and dragons and strong princesses who figured their way out of similar situations to whatever she was upset with at the moment. The memories hurt—even if she wanted to, now, her mom would never do something like that. 

“Then it’s perfectly reasonable to be upset about it. He’s still your brother, whether you grew up with him or met him two months ago.” He offered an encouraging smile, though she couldn’t stand looking at him at the moment. Anything might make her snap and send the tears streaming down her face. 

Part of the reason she spent so much time out at night was so she didn’t have to deal with all this—all the thinking. Because once she started, she couldn’t stop. She tinkered late at night when things got to be overwhelming, but there was nowhere in the institute for her to do that. All the weapons in the weapons room were perfectly functional; broken ones were thrown out. She enjoyed fixing broken things—Clary saw it in the teacup while in Idris, but she’d been doing it for years. Now if she could fix herself, it would be a great step in the right direction. 

“How about this,” he said, noticing her hesitancy to believe him. “It’s late—you can crash here tonight, and maybe spending some time with Clary tomorrow will do you both some good. Get you out of your head a little.”

She smirked. “Why do I feel like you're trying to set up a play date?”

“Who says I’m not?” he said and began to stand. “Go wash up,  do whatever you gotta do, and I’ll get the couch set up for you.”

Andy sniffled, though nodded. “Yeah—yeah. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

She stood and walked back the hall, into the bathroom. Really, she could have fallen asleep on the couch the way it was, but Luke wanted to do something nice for her and she should let him. She sat on the counter for a moment, picking at her nails, when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked disheveled at best—her sweater was falling off her shoulder and her hair was a mess. No wonder Jocelyn looked so concerned for her. The dark circles under her eyes had only gotten worse since the day before when she spent twenty minutes applying makeup to make them disappear, and she could see the remains of mascara she missed in the corners of her eyes. She looked like hell, frankly, and glared in the mirror at herself.

Even if it was a dream, Val was right. So much of this was her own fault. If she had left sooner, gotten to the roof fast enough to see Jace, she could have stopped him. Fought Sebastian. She heard from both Clary and Jace how strong he was, but even if it killed her, it wouldn’t have mattered. Jace would have been safe, and life in New York would have gone back to the way it was two months again. Just the way everyone would have liked it, probably. Shadowhunters die and go missing all the time, right? What was another Herondale with a tragic ending? 

She turned the sink on and splashed her face with cold water, hoping it would wash away the thoughts. It didn't, to her dismay, but it was enough to get her moving again. She dried her hands and face and walked back out to the living room, trying to fix the rat nest she’d pulled her hair into. 

Luke was sitting on the arm of the couch, skimming over some book she didn’t care to know the contents of. The couch had folded out into a bed that didn’t look comfortable in the slightest, but it was a bed, and that was the important part. The throw blanket that had been folded on the back was now laid out for her, and a square pillow was laid on one side. He looked up and smiled warmly; she didn’t have the energy to do so back. He pulled something out from behind him—a mug, she noticed—and handed it to her. 

She took it gratefully, holding it with both hands to warm her cold fingers. She took a sip, then very quickly pulled it away from her mouth. “Lemon mint?” she asked. 

He looked confused for a moment. “Is that not what you like?”

“It is,” she said, setting the mug down on the coffee table next to her. “How’d you know?”

“It was the only tea in the house when we visited, and Amatis thinks tea tastes like hot brown water,” he chuckled. “Stocked up when you and Clary started hanging out more in case you ever wanted some.”

“I—” She stared at him for a long moment, unsure how to react to that. It had been a long time since someone went out of their way to do something so nice for her, just because they could. Even living at home, her mom did what was necessary and not much more; these days, she didn’t blame her. She stammered for a moment, trying to find the words. She finally managed, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he said and stood. “Sleep well, alright? Kitchen light’s on if you need anything.” 

She nodded. He started down the hall, but before he could get too far, she called out, “Hey, Luke?”

He turned. “What’s up?”

Andy’s eyes turned towards the floor and she held her hands behind her back awkwardly. She didn’t know how to ask, but it was better to just rip the bandage off, right? She rocked back and forth on her heels for a moment, then said, “Can I have a hug?”

She stood there for a moment, staring at the carpet. She didn’t know how he’d react to that and she didn’t want to. But then he was in front of her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and she felt like she could cry. She forced the tears back but her breath was shaky. Luke didn’t say anything, just let her lay her head on his shoulder and breathe for a moment. She thought about how he’d been nothing but nice to her since they met in Idris and how she’d been so cold, just because she didn’t trust him. And she thought about how he was with Clary, so worried about her when they’d showed up at her mother’s house in Alicante out of the blue, and realized the reason she didn’t trust him was because she didn’t want to let anyone that cared about her like that in. She didn’t want the heartbreak of getting attached to someone who was either going to die or leave again. And despite her attitude, he was there if she ever needed something, and even when she didn’t. 

And hesitantly, she hugged him, too. 

[x-ceirios-x]

City of Lost Souls, Chapter 10: The Wild Hunt

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

“What in the name of the Angel do you mean Clary isn’t there?” Jocelyn demanded, white-faced. “How do you know that, if you just woke up? Where has she gone?”

Simon swallowed. He had grown up with Jocelyn as almost a second mother to him. He was used to her protectiveness of her daughter, but she had always seen him as an ally in that, someone who could stand between Clary and the dangers of the world. Now she was looking at him like the enemy. “She texted me last night…” Simon began, then stopped as Magnus waved his hand; another, identical dining room chair appeared behind him. 

“You might as well sit down,” he said. Isabelle and Alec were watching wide-eyed from either side of Magnus, but the warlock didn’t look particularly surprised. Neither did Rowan, he noticed, who was silently drinking their coffee. “Tell us all what’s going on. I have a feeling this is going to take a while.”

It did, though not as long as Simon might have hoped. When he was done explaining, hunched over on his chair and staring down at Magnus’s scratched table, he lifted his head to see Jocelyn fixing him with a green stare as cold as arctic water. “You let my daughter off…with Jace…to some unfindable, untraceable place where none of us can reach her?”

Simon looked down at his hand with the gold ring on the finger. “I told you. I heard from her this morning. She said she was fine.”

“You never should have let her leave in the first place!”

“I didn’t let her. She was going to anyway. I thought she might as well have some kind of a lifeline, since it’s not like I could stop her.”

“No one could,” Andy said, her gaze stubbornly on Jocelyn. Simon didn’t know her well and the last thing he expected was for her to jump to Clary’s defense, but he could see it; she completely trusted her decision. “You can’t keep her in a cage, Jocelyn. She does what she wants.”

“I trusted you!” She snapped at Magnus, barely acknowledging Andy’s comment. “How did she get out?”

“She made a Portal.”

“But you said there were wards—”

Magnus cut her off. “To keep threats out, not to keep guests in. Jocelyn, your daughter isn’t stupid, and she does what she thinks is right. You can’t stop her. No one can stop her. She is a great deal like her mother.”

Jocelyn looked at Magnus for a moment, her mouth slightly open, and Simon realized that of course Magnus must have known Clary’s mother when she was young, when she betrayed Valentine and the Circle and nearly died in the Uprising. “She is a little girl,” she said, and turned to Simon. “You’ve spoken to her?” Using these—these rings? Since she left?”

“This morning,” said Simon. “She said she was fine. That everything was fine.”

Instead of seeming reassured, Jocelyn only looked angrier. “I’m sure that’s what she said, Simon. I can’t believe you allowed her to do this. You should have restrained her—”

“What, tied her up?” Simon said in disbelief. “Handcuffed her to the diner table?”

“If that’s what it took. You’re stronger than she is. I’m disappointed in—”

Rowan put their coffee mug down particularly hard, making a loud clink. “Enough,” they said, their eyes fixed on the table in front of them. Simon didn’t expect them to hold so much authority in their voice, especially not in front of people that were all older or more powerful than them, but they all listened. They began to address everyone, “You can’t yell at Simon for something Clary decided to do on her own. And—what happens if you had tied her up? You’d have to let her go eventually, then she wouldn’t trust any of us! She already doesn’t trust you because you stole her memories. But you were so hellbent on protecting her that you just forced her away, forced her into secrecy, and now she’s gone and we don’t know where she is! But we have one person to keep in contact with her, and you—you what, decide to chew him out for doing the exact same thing you’ve been trying to do? Maybe Simon’s actually been doing the right thing and not pushing her away!”

Everyone stared at Rowan, who was now a little red in the cheeks. He didn’t think he’d ever seen them so upset over something—not like this before. Granted, they hadn’t known each other for very long, but this wasn’t the muted, tired anger that usually surrounded them in a glooming cloud. This was a desperate kind that he wished, so badly, that he could fix for them. 

Jocelyn was white around the lips. “I’m going to the station to be with Luke,” she said. “Simon, I expect reports from you every twenty-four hours that my daughter is all right. If I don’t hear from you every night, I’m going to the Clave.”

And she stalked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her so hard that a long crack appeared in the plaster beside it. 

Rowan sat next to Simon angrily and crossed their arms over their chest. If offered an encouraging smile and a silent, mouthed thank you, which melted the furrow in their brow. They sat up a little straighter and one arm fell to their side. Simon took their hand, his fingers laced in theirs, and squeezed it. They smiled at him, just slightly in the corner of their mouth, and squeezed back. 

“So,” Magnus said finally, breaking the silence. Simon swore he almost looked proud. “Who’s up for raising Azazel? Because we’re going to need a whole lot of candles.”

Rowan groaned quietly. “Nothing lavender, please, it makes me nauseous.” 

He smirked. “I’ll do my best, peanut.”

[x-ceirios-x]

City of Lost Souls, Chapter 8: Fire Tests Gold

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

Isabelle emerged in an alien landscape. A deep green plain swept out before her under a lowering gray-black sky. She pulled up the hood of her gear and peered out, fascinated. She had never seen such a great, overarching expanse of sky, or such a vast plain—it was shimmering, jewel-toned, the shade of moss. As Isabelle took a step forward, she realized it was moss, growing on and around the back rocks scattered across the cool colored earth. 

“It’s a volcanic plain,” Jocelyn said. She was standing beside Isabelle, and the wind was pulling red-gold strands out of her tightly-pinned bun. She looked so much like Clary, it was eerie. “These were lava beds once. The whole area is probably volcanic to some degree. Working with adamas, the Sisters need incredible heat for their forges.”

“You’d think it would be a little warmer, then,” Isabelle muttered. 

Andy appeared on her opposite side. When she glanced her way, she noticed the wide grin spread across her face. Her cheeks and nose were red from the cool wind, though she shined like she couldn’t be happier. “I think it’s beautiful,” she said, taking in the scenery. “There was a time I wanted to be an Iron Sister, you know.”

Isabelle looked at her with wide eyes. “Really? How come you haven’t?”

She smirked. “Me? A vow of celibacy? You’re joking.” With that, she strode off, down the hill, toward, what she assumed was, the Citadel. 

“Sometimes you two are both so much like your parents, it astounds me,” Jocelyn said. “Her with Stephen, you with your mother.”

“I take that as a compliment.” Isabelle narrowed her eyes. No one insulted her family. 

“It wasn’t meant as an insult.”

Isabelle kept her eyes on the horizon as she walked, where the dark sky met the jewel-green ground. “How well did you know my parents?”

Jocelyn gave her a quick sideways look. “Well enough, when we were all in Idris together. I hadn’t seen them for years until recently.”

“Did you know them when they got married?”

The path Andy began to take had begun to slant uphill, and as they followed, Jocelyn’s words became slightly breathless. “Yes.”

“Were they…in love?”

Jocelyn stopped short and turned to look at Isabelle. “Isabelle, what is this about?”

“Love?” Isabelle suggested after a moment’s pause. She thought of Tony, whose parents were disgustingly in love still, even into their older age. Older by Shadowhunter standards, she guessed. His father’s hair was graying and his mother’s smile joined by extra lines on her cheeks. Even then, she thought of Aric, who had never stopped loving his late wife. She wondered if her parents were ever that in love. 

“I don’t know why you think I’d be an expert on that.”

“Well, you managed to keep Luke around for his whole life, basically, before you agreed to marry him. That’s impressive. I wish I had that kind of power over a guy.”

“You do,” Andy said, having turned back to join the two of them. “I’ve seen it. It’s something special.”

She scoffed. “Like you can talk.”

Andy smiled at her; it was a soft sort of smile that reminded Isabelle of an older sister about to impart wonderful wisdom on her younger siblings. “I flirt and I entertain, dear, but I’ve never had a man fall in love with me the way I’ve seen one love you.”

“One?” she asked incredulously. “What are you talking about?”

She just smiled at her. Jocelyn pushed her hands up through her hair and Isabelle felt a little jolt. For all that Jocelyn looked like her daughter, her thin long hands, flexible and delicate, were Sebastian’s. Isabelle remembered slicing one of those hands off, in a valley in Idris, her whip cutting through skin and bone. She remembered, that same night, watching Rowan struggle to break from his grasp around their neck as they tried to breathe, and how she felt when she realized they might not all make it out of their duel with Sebastian alive. 

“Neither of your parents are perfect because no one is,” she said, turning to Andy; her jaw set at the mention of her parents. “Yours were manipulated and wounded by a man who everyone mistakenly put too much faith in. And Isabelle—” she turned her way, now— “yours have just lost a child. So if this is about your father staying in Idris—”

“My father cheated on my mother,” Isabelle blurted out, and nearly covered her own mouth with her hand. She had kept this secret, kept it for years, and to say it out loud to Jocelyn and Andy seemed like a betrayal, despite everything. She wondered if Andy would tell Alec, or Jace, if they ever found him. 

Jocelyn’s face changed. It held sympathy now. “I know.”

Andy covered her mouth with her hand silently. Isabelle took a sharp breath. “Does everyone know?”

Jocelyn shook her head. “No. A few people. I was…in a privileged position to know. I can’t say more than that.”

“Who was it?” Isabelle demanded. “Who did he cheat on her with?”

“It was no one you know, Isabelle—”

“You don’t know who I know!” Isabelle’s voice rose. Her mind whirled with the names of every Shadowhunter she knew. “And stop saying my name that way, like I’m a little kid.”

“It’s not my place to tell you,” Jocelyn said flatly, and began to walk again. 

She surged forward, but Andy caught her arm. “Isabelle,” she said, catching her attention before she could scramble off after Jocelyn. “Hey—I don’t know if it’s a good idea—”

Isabelle snapped. “Don’t act like you’re some savior for me now because you decided to be nice to me!”

Her expression hardened. “Don’t act like you’re the only person whose father made some terrible choices about his relationships,” she said, her tone darkening. She took a deep breath to calm herself and spoke again. “I understand your anger. It's not going to get you anywhere.”

“You’re telling me,” she grumbled. 

“Isabelle,” Andy said with a sigh, her eyes boreing into her. “I wanted to hate Jace in the beginning because he was the product of how badly my father had hurt my mother. I realized it wasn’t fair on him, but it was almost too late when I did. I could have gone my entire life without knowing my brother.”

She asked impatiently, “What is your point, Andy?”

Andy placed her hand on her shoulder. “Don’t make my stupid mistakes,” she said. “Answers won’t get you anywhere. Mine just made me more angry.”

Before Isabelle could respond, she turned on her heel and trekked up the hill, following Jocelyn. She didn’t understand her situation—she’d only been at the Institute a few months, and before then, she had no idea any of them existed. Their paths would never have crossed if Clary had never snuck off to Idris. Their situations were entirely different—but were they? She looked ahead and watched as Andy and Jocelyn chatted amongst themselves. In the time she’d known her, Isabelle had never understood why Clary insisted that Andy really was a good person; she was ‘just a little rough around the edges’. She hadn’t believed it, but maybe this was what she meant. It was unwarranted advice, sure, but something to consider nonetheless. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and followed along, a few feet behind them. 

The path took a steeper turn upward, a wall of green rising to meet the thunderous sky. They reached the top of the ridge, and somehow, in front of them, a fortress had sprung like a fast-moving flower out of the ground. It was carved out of white-silver adamas, reflecting the cloud-streaked sky. Towers topped with Electrum reached towards the sky, and the fortress was surrounded by a single all, also of adamas, in which was set a single gate, formed of two great blades plunged into the ground at angles, so that they resembled a monstrous pair of scissors. 

“The Adamant Citadel,” Jocelyn said. 

“Thanks,” Isabelle said. “I figured that out.”

Jocelyn made a noise that Isabelle was familiar with form her own parents. Isabelle was pretty sure it was parent-speak for “Teenagers”. Andy seemed not to hear them; instead, her eyes were fixated on the Citadel ahead of them. A soft smile spread across her face as Jocelyn set off down the hill. 

“Maybe this is what Clary sees all the time when she wants to paint,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”

Isabelle followed her eyes, looking down at the gate. “In a sort of way, I guess,” she said. “You really love this stuff, don’t you?”

Andy turned to her, and if it weren’t for her standing so close, she wouldn’t have noticed the tear trying to escape from her eye. “I’ve been tinkering with weapons since as early as I can remember,” she said with a sad sort of smile on her face. “It was something I used to do with…someone I loved, and it helped me a lot after she died. It's always something I’ve been passionate about.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you snuck off to explore for a little while,” Isabelle said. “I’ll lie to Jocelyn for you.” 

Andy snickered and wiped the corner of her eye. “No, no—don’t do that,” she said, though she looked like she would have considered it for a moment. “But I appreciate it.”

They two continued down the hill, watching the Citadel ahead of them, when Isabelle suddenly ran into Jocelyn’s arm stuck out in front of her. They were standing on an outcropping of rock. In front of her, the earth dropped away into a vast chasm, at the bottom of which boiled a river of red-gold lava, encircling the fortress. Across the chasm, much too far to jump—even for a Shadowhunter—was the only visible entrance to the fortress, a closed drawbridge. 

“Some things,” said Jocelyn, “are not as simple as they first appear.”

Andy shot her a look behind Jocelyn’s back that would have made her laugh if Jocelyn wasn’t still looking at her. Tired of their antics, Jocelyn sighed. “I hope someone taught you both the proper method of approaching the Adamant Citadel,” she said. “After all, it is open to all female Shadowhunters in good standing with the Clave.”

“I did my own reading,” Andy said with a sigh. Isabelle wondered why she seemed to know so much about the Iron Sisters, but that her mother hadn’t taught her much. She didn’t know much about Amatis Herondale, though, and couldn’t pin all the blame on her. Isabelle wracked her brain for what Hodge had taught her and Rowan at a young age. Only those with Nephilim blood…

Andy took a step forward and pulled a dagger off of her belt. She, carefully. Though without wincing, cut across the palm of her hand. “Ignis aurum probat,” she said, raising her hand over the chasm. Blood ran from the cut, a ruby stream that splattered into the chasm below. There was a flash of blue light and a creaking noise. The drawbridge was slowly lowering. She wiped the blade on her gear and slid it back into place. 

“Do you know what that means?” asked Jocelyn, her eyes on the lowering bridge. 

“The motto?” Andy asked. Any cheerfulness that had been in her voice a moment ago had left it. She looked incredibly serious, like some switch had flipped in her that prevented her from being the bitchy, arrogant sorority girl she usually acted like, or the sweet, advice-giving older sister type she’d been a minute ago. Her jaw set as the drawbridge lowered before them. “Fire tests gold.”

“Right,” said Jocelyn, unmoved by such a dynamic change in Andy. “They don’t just mean forges and metalwork. They mean that adversity tests one’s strength of character. In difficult times, in dark times, some people shine.”

“Maybe that’s why my mother always used to say I shined brighter than the sun,” Andy said flatly before stalking off, her heeled boots soundless on the drawbridge. 

“I agree,” Isabelle muttered as she watched her. “I’m sick of dark and difficult times. Maybe I don’t want to shine.”

“If you’re anything like your mother,” said Jocelyn with a sigh, though she didn’t look at Isabelle. She wasn’t sure which of the two of them she was talking to. “You won’t be able to help it.”

[x-ceirios-x]

(Part 2) City of Lost Souls, Chapter 7: A Sea Change

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

It was freezing out, so cold that the thermis rune they’d put on themself, on top of the thick hoodie, weren’t doing much to keep Rowan from shivering as they stood outside the door Magnus’s apartment building. They were not-so patiently waiting for Isabelle to arrive, who they’d called on the ride over. Jordan was nice enough to offer a ride, but they knew he had a long trip—they could hop a subway and be perfectly fine. 

They looked at their forearm, where they’d drawn the rune. The hoodie, stolen from someone in the Institute, was a little big on them and easily slid down their arm if they raised their hand. The thermis rune shone in the moonlight like black ink against their pale skin. They noticed that it had begun to fade around the edges and wished Jensen had been there to do it for them. 

It was hard to describe the emotion they felt now that the anger had dissipated. At first, they’d been ready to swing on anyone that said anything about him if it wasn’t we found him—and had. They still felt a bit bad about going after Andy after the Council meeting, but they also believed she didn’t know when to shut her mouth. Maybe it was a family thing; Jace had the same issue. Now that they’d accepted Jensen and Jace’s disappearances—not that they’d never come back, but the disappearance—they felt numb. It was cruel to say, but they didn’t know if they even missed their brother. They’d never been close. But this suffocating, isolating feeling set in on them when they realized that their entire family was forcibly ripped away from them, and they’d stop at nothing to get him back. 

They felt guilty, these days, about how things between them turned out. Not that they remembered much, but they’d heard from their father that they were incredibly close as young kids. They’d been the one to help fix his scraped knees, take him out riding horses together, and his first steps were right into their outstretched arms. They wondered if there was a scrapbook with a picture of that somewhere; they’d like to see it. 

Everything changed when they arrived in New York. They were angry, hurt, and scared, and had only focused on themself. Jensen was too young to stay home with them all according to Maryse, even with Hodge there, and he wanted to stay with her, Robert, and Max anyway. They understood that as Jensen wanting little to do with them, and instead befriended Alec. He was their first friend in the Institute after Hodge. 

Resentment grew between them over the years. There was a steadily growing wall between them that, to Rowan, would never come down. The worst of their arguments concerned Jensen being so close with their father, but even little things like chores and training could start fights. The barrier between them became worse still, and now that he was gone, they didn’t know if they’d ever be able to fix it. Or even get the chance to. 

Wherever he was, they hoped he knew someone was looking out for him. They couldn’t sleep well knowing that he wasn’t safe; neither could their father or Maryse. Everything they’d done since the return of Valentine, and even before, they’d done to protect him. Despite their issues, they only ever wanted what was best for him and they wanted him to be happy. When the Forsaken attacked just before their trip to Alicante, Rowan hadn’t spared a second look before grabbing him and running through the Portal. Alec or Isabelle could handle themselves; Jensen couldn’t. Even if he was shaping up to be a strong, capable shadowhunter, he wasn’t ready for something so terrible, and he needed to be safe. Above all else, even above their own life, Jensen would be safe. The guilt of not being able to protect Max from Sebastian still nagged them, but they were doing everything they could to save their other brother now. 

“Rowan, hey.” A voice pulled them from their thoughts. Their hand tightened on the dagger attached to their belt but upon realizing it was Isabelle, they relaxed. Just behind her stood Andy, who still had some blue marks near her eyes from the last time they'd spoken. 

Isabelle, clearly worried, stepped forward and hugged them. Rowan had never been one for hugs—not any physical affection, really—but they wouldn’t push her away. They braced their arms around her back for a moment, tense, before she pulled away. “You barely said anything on the phone—what do you need at 4 a.m. that we had to rush to Magnus’s?”

Rowan glanced over her shoulder at Andy. “I don’t know. He hasn’t told me much either.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Andy said with a sigh. “With Aric gone and everyone out of the Institute all the time, I think Maryse is going a little stir-crazy. I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Rowan frowned. They didn’t exactly like her implication but they’d seen it first hand. Everyone knew that Robert and Maryse weren’t exactly together anymore, but the idea of their dad and her wasn’t the most comfortable one. They sighed. “Let’s just head in.”

Isabelle led the way, squeezing a fist and stretching out her fingers repeatedly as she walked. Andy fell into stride with Rowan a few feet behind her as they stepped inside the building. “Sorry for the shiner,” Rowan muttered, glancing over at her. “Can’t an iratze fix that?”

“I deserved it.” She shrugged, as if the idea didn’t bother her much. “I let Izzy do that first rune on me to stop the bleeding, but after that…well, I’m letting it serve as a reminder that sometimes I need to learn when to cut it out, especially when I’m pissed off. I’m sorry for saying…well, what I said. That wasn’t fair on you.”

They nodded slowly as the buzz sounded, letting them step through to the stairs. The walk was incredibly silent, even for Isabelle and Andy, leaving Rowan alone with their thoughts. If all of these events would have happened even six months prior, they would have been distraught that they didn’t know where Jace was, too. And it wasn’t that they didn’t care about him still—they were best friends for years before they ever started dating—but their feelings surrounding him were complicated. When they first met Clary, they were still hung up on him, so much so that they were willing to be his sense of sanity while they were all convinced of Valentine’s lies about him and Clary. Alec had told them it was a bad idea, but they didn’t listen, and paid the price for it later. Jace had single-handedly torn apart any sliver of confidence they’d built up for themself with a few words during their initial breakup, and they still went back to him. Looking back on it, it was stupid, but they couldn’t bring themself to hate him. 

Hating Jace Lightwood was impossible, they realized as they began the last flight up steps before Magnus’s apartment. No one could entirely hate him, even if they had certainly tried for a while. They knew exactly what Clary saw in him; they saw it too, once. But even now, with those feelings gone, they realized they couldn’t hate him. Even if he’d made mistakes in recent times, even if he genuinely hurt them, they still saw that young boy with the falcon, the boy who was so effortlessly perfect but always encouraged them to be better, and the ten year old boy who had lost his parents and came to live with them in New York, only to annoy them about reading Oscar Wilde in the library. 

They were at the front door of Magnus’s apartment now. Light poured through the crack under the door, and they heard murmuring voices. Isabelle, just ahead, pushed the door open, and a wave of warmth enveloped the three of them. They gratefully shuffled inside. 

The warmth came from a fire leaping in the grated fireplace—though there were no chimneys in the building, and the fire had a blue-green tinge of enchanted flame. With how much time they’d spent here recently, the hardwood floors, the familiar scent of expensive candles and burning firewood felt more like home than the unfeeling, harsh tile of the Institute. Alec and Magnus sat on one of the couches grouped near the fireplace. As they came in, Alec looked up and saw the three, and sprang to his feet, hurrying barefoot across the room—he was wearing black sweatpants and a white shirt with a torn collar—to hug Isabelle. 

Rowan awkwardly stepped past them, leaning against the wall next to Andy. She shed her jacket and hung it on the rack nearby. They both looked at the Lightwoods, watching as they spoke quietly together. “Are they always like this?” Andy asked, though when Rowan looked at her, they could see a longing sort of look behind her eyes. They’d always wanted what Alec and Isabelle had between them for themself and Jensen, and maybe Andy wanted the same for her and Jace. They seemed to be trying, at least, to get closer before he disappeared. 

“Peanut,” Magnus’s voice cut through the room, and to their dismay, they looked for him when he said the nickname. They’d started responding to it despite how childish it was. He waved them over, his cat’s eyes shining, and they joined him, sitting on the arm of the chair. “Thank you for bringing them both.”

“Where’s Clary?” Andy asked, sitting on the edge of the couch. Alec returned to his seat next to Magnus and Isabelle sat on the opposite end of the couch from Andy. “And Jocelyn? Aren’t they here?”

“Asleep,” said Alec. “We thought they needed a rest.”

Isabelle frowned. “And I don’t?”

“Did you just see your fiance or your stepfather nearly murdered in front of your eyes?” Magnus inquired dryly. He was wearing striped pajamas with a black silk dressing gown thrown over them. “Isabelle Lightwood, Andromeda Herondale,” he said, sitting up and loosely clasping his hands in front of him. “We need you both.”

“For what?” Andy said, sitting up a bit straighter. Alec joined Magnus back on the couch and Isabelle took a place on the opposite end of the couch from Andy. “What exactly is worth going to Brooklyn at four in the morning for?”

“To go to the Iron Sisters,” said Alec. “We need a weapon that will divide Jace and Sebastian so they can be hurt separately—Well, you know what I mean. So Sebastian can be killed without hurting Jace. And it’s a matter of time before the Clave knows that Jace isn’t Sebastian’s prisoner, that he’s working with him—”

“It’s not Jace,” Isabelle protested. 

“It may not be Jace,” said Magnus,”but if he dies, yourJace dies right along with him.”

“As you know, the Iron Sisters will speak only to women,” said Alec. “And Jocelyn can’t go alone because she isn’t a Shadowhunter anymore.”

“And I requested Andy come as well,” he said, “in case they won’t speak to a child and an ex-Shadowhunter.”

Isabelle frowned. “I’m not a child.”

“But you are in the eyes of the Clave,” Andy said cheerfully, without the usual arrogance. She folded her hands neatly in her lap, in a way Rowan was used to seeing only around Maryse; when she dropped her flirtatious charm and buckled down to work. “You can do the talking—I won’t get in your way. I’ll just be there in case things go sideways.”

Isabelle’s eyes narrowed at her, but Rowan could see she was genuine. It was hard to tell with Andy, and usually they all assumed she was talking down to people, but this time, she looked enthusiastic. Her leg bounced excitedly and her eyes shimmered. “Fine,” Isabelle said. “What about Clary?”

Alec cleared his throat. “She’s still in training. She won’t know the right questions to ask or the way to address them. But between the two of you and Jocelyn, you will. And Jocelyn says she’s been there before; she can help guide you once we Portal you to the edge of the wards around the Adamant Citadel. You’ll be going, all of you, in the morning.”

Isabelle looked at Alec for a moment, considering his words, and sighed. She turned to them. “So, are you getting in on this, too?” she asked. 

Rowan flushed. They crossed their arms over their chest awkwardly and began to slouch, their shoulders hunched forward to hide themself. “The Iron Sisters only ever talk to women,” they said, hoping she would take the hint.

She did not. “Why would that matter? I’m asking you, not Alec.”

Their jaw set as an uncomfortable tension settled over the room. Out of the corner of their eye, they saw Andy shoot them a pitying look—the most sympathy they’d ever seen from her. Magnus cleared his throat. “I need Rowan here for further research. I hear they’re good with demonic languages.”

“Only a few, but sure,” they said. Magnus stared at them incredulously, as if to say shut up?

Isabelle rolled her eyes, though dropped the subject. “When do we leave?”

Alec smiled for the first time since she’d arrived, and reached to ruffle her hair. “That’s my Isabelle.”

Rowan frowned. They’d never been put in direct competition with the Lightwoods for any reason—Maryse never encouraged any of them to be better than the others. That didn’t stop the competitive nature between the four of them as they grew up, and they supposed they never grew out of it. They wished they could be the one to reassure Alec, make him happy enough to smile under all the latest stress, but they weren’t.  Because no matter what they tried, and no matter how much they tried to convince themself, they still weren’t family enough to do that. Their family was sitting across the world, fixing wards outside Wrangle Island or somewhere unknown with a mass murderer. Magnus tried to squeeze their hand, but they pulled out of his grip and slid off the arm of the couch.

“Quit it,” Isabelle ducked out from his reach. Magnus smiled at them softly. He levered himself up and ran a hand through his spiky black hair. 

“I’ve got three spare rooms,” he said. “Clary’s in one, her mother’s in the other. Rowan—”

“I can crash on the couch. Just toss my stuff in the corner, I’ll come get it before I go to sleep,” they said quickly. They didn’t meet Isabelle’s gaze, but they could tell she was staring at them. When needing to share rooms on a trip, the two always slept in the same room, and Alec and Jace would take the other. That was the rule for years. Rowan didn’t feel like spending the night with Isabelle at the moment. 

Andy stood, pushing herself up from her knees. “I guess we’re roomies?” she asked in an incredibly dramatic valley-girl voice. Isabelle snickered and stood with her as Magnus led them down the hall. 

It was quiet for a long moment, save for the crackling fire in front of them. Alec looked over at them. “What’s the matter?” he asked. He held his hand out for them, gesturing for them to come sit with him. 

They stayed put. “Nothing,” they said. “I’m tired.”

“We both know you’re full of it.” He sat up, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Do you want to tell me about it or do you want to wait for Magnus to get back out here?”

Anger flashed in their eyes. “Does it bother you that much that I’m friends with him? Really?”

“It doesn’t bother me at all, what—?” he spluttered. “Where is this coming from? You’re allowed to be friends with my boyfriend, I shouldn’t have to tell you that. You’re my friend, too.”

“What’s with all the passive aggressive, ‘do you wanna wait for Magnus’ crap, then?”

“I wasn’t being passive aggressive!”

They rolled their eyes and turned to leave, going to hide in the kitchen where there was coffee and no people until Alec decided to return to bed. Instead, he followed them and caught their arm before they got out of the living room.

“Hey,” he said, spinning them back towards him. “What the hell is going on? You’ve been like this all day, snippy for no reason. Tell me what’s going on.” 

Rowan stared at him for a moment, mouth shut tight, their eyes narrowed. It was a few moments of silence before he added, “please.”

They were quiet, trying to find the words to explain how they felt at the moment. No one took them seriously when they explained all of this confusion surrounding their identity, and it was evident by Isabelle’s question. Why would that matter? I’m asking you, not Alec. Because, despite their best efforts, they were still seen as a girl by their friends. They started going by their middle name ages ago but they heard Isabelle or Maryse slip every once in a while. Alice this and Alice that—they couldn’t stand it. And despite Alec coming to terms with his own sexuality, this wasn’t something he could help with.

“You won’t understand,” they said, their voice shaking. “It’s–it’s not—”

The words were stuck in their throat. In moments like these, they couldn’t force themself to speak. They stood there, staring at the carpet beneath their feet, still laced in old combat boots that were a little too small but they refused to get rid of. They pulled their arm away from Alec and began to fidget with their ring. 

Alec sighed and ducked into their line of sight.When they were younger, this was much easier, as they were closer in height. These days, he was half a head taller than them and looked utterly ridiculous trying to get them to look at him. “Rowan,” he said, placing his hand on top of theirs. “Whatever’s going on, you can tell me about it, all right? You know I always have your back.”

They nodded and sniffled, still feeling the tightness and pain in their throat that came along with their moments. There wasn’t a good word they’d found yet to describe the feeling but they completely shut down. Even now, they felt their knees locked, their toes gripping the shoes, pushing them into the floor and their hands shaking.

Alec kept them steady. He always kept them steady, even when they were kids. They felt guilty about it as they got older, as they felt like he was given too much responsibility as the oldest to watch over everyone else, even if he was only a child, too. He pulled them forward, into his arms, and for a moment they were stuck, stiff shoulders and locked legs. They were reminded of the night Jensen went missing, how Alec had held them while they panicked, how they screamed into his shoulder when they saw the blood on the sheets hanging outside his bedroom window. Slowly, their muscles relaxed, and they fell into him. They wouldn’t loosen entirely, but they felt the sigh leave him when they relaxed. 

“I know,” he said, though they knew he didn’t. They let him think he did. “I know there’s a lot going on right now, but we need you, okay?”

They nodded, taking another shallow, unsteady breath. Someone behind them—Magnus, they realized—cleared his throat as he entered the room. Alec pulled away. “I believe it’s bedtime for everyone,” Magnus said. He ran his thumb over their cheek before dropping his hand. “Go to bed, peanut.”

They cleared their throat, and while they sounded shaky, Alec had helped. “I do wish you’d stop calling me that,” they said, offering a weak smile. 

Magnus’s eyes glittered. “Never.”

[x-ceirios-x]

(Part 2) City of Lost Souls, Chapter 1: The Last Council

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

In silence, the three of them made their way through the corridors of the Institute, oddly crowded now with other Shadowhunters, some of whom were part of the special commissions that had been sent out from Idris to deal with the situation. None of them really looked at Andy, Isabelle, Alec, or Clary with much curiosity. Initially Clary had felt so much as if she were being stared at—and had heard the whispered words “Valentine’s daughter” so many times—that she’d started to dread coming to the Institute, but she’d stood up in front of the Council enough times now that the novelty had worn off. 

They took the elevator downstairs; the nave of the Institute was brightly lit with light as well as the usual tapers and was filled with Council members and their families. Luke and Magnus were sitting in a pew, talking to each other; beside Luke was a tall, blue-eyed woman who looked just like him. She had curled her hair and dyed the gray brown, but Clary still recognized her—Luke’s sister, Amatis. 

Magnus got up at the sight of Alec and came over to talk to him; Izzy appeared to recognize someone else across the pew and darted away in her usual manner, without pausing to say where she was going. Clary went to greet Luke and Amatis; both of them looked tired, and Amatis was patting Luke’s shoulder sympathetically. To her surprise, Andy was still behind her, and both adults glanced at her for a moment before turning their attention back to her. Luke rose to his feet and hugged Clary when he saw her. Amatis congratulated Clary on being cleared by the Council and she nodded; she felt only half-there, most of her numb and the rest of her responding on autopilot. 

She could see Magnus and Alec out of the corner of her eye. They were talking, Alec leaning in so close to Magnus, the way couples often seemed to curve into each other when they spoke, contained in their own universe. She was happy to see them happy, but it hurt, too. She wondered if she would ever have that again, or ever even want it again. She remembered Jace’s voice: I don’t even want to want anyone but you. 

“Earth to Clary,” Andy said in her ear, standing just behind her. “You alright, there?” 

“Yeah,” she said, taking a deep breath. Andy shot her a soft, encouraging smile—much different than her demeanor when dealing with the other Shadowhunters earlier. She stepped to the side slightly, behind her, and began playing with her hair, pulling it into a loose braid. 

Luke smiled at the two of them. “Do you want to head home? Your mother is dying to see you, and she’d love to catch up with Amatis before she goes back to Idris tomorrow. I thought we could have dinner. You pick the restaurant.” He was trying to hide the concern in his voice, but Clary could hear it. She hadn’t been eating much lately, and her clothes had started to hand more loosely on her frame. “Of course, Andy, you’re invited if you’d like to come.”

She gave a noncommittal hum. Not one that sounded irritated, but like she was still deciding. Andy had been spending more time at Luke’s house lately; it wasn’t to see her, though she did check in with her. She and Luke seemed to be getting closer, though things still appeared icy with Amatis. 

“I don’t really feel like celebrating,” she said. “Not with the Council de-prioritizing the search for Jace.”

Andy’s hands paused in her hair for a moment, like hearing the words had startled her despite her giving the news, but she felt one of her nails pull a small piece of hair into the braid again soon after. 

“It doesn’t mean they’re going to stop,” said Luke. 

“I know. It’s just—it’s like when they say a search and rescue mission is now a search for bodies. That’s what it sounds like.” She swallowed. “Anyway, I was thinking of going to Taki’s with Isabelle, Rowan, and Alec,” she said, and turned her head slightly. “Open invite,” she said to Andy, then turned her attention back to Luke. “Just…to do something normal.”

“As long as I don’t get punched again,” Andy said, chuckling. How she could so easily brush off such a hard hit, Clary didn’t know. 

“You got punched?” Luke asked, and Amatis’s mouth fell open. “By who?”

“It was my fault,” she said with a sigh, and tied an elastic around clary’s hair at the bottom of the braid. “Don’t you look pretty?” she said. “I think I’ll skip dinner with you kids tonight, but do have fun.”

Clary nodded, and another time, she would have found it funny that Andy referred to them as ‘kids’ when Alec was barely a year younger than her. Andy took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze, which she appreciated. “Thanks.”

Luke folded some money into her free hand, clearly relieved that she was doing something as normal as going out with friends. “Just promise to eat something.”

“Okay.” Through the twinge of guilt, she managed a real half smile in his direction. She waved goodbye to Andy and Amatis before she turned away. 

***

Andy waited until she was out of earshot to speak up. “I’m worried about her,” she muttered, biting her thumb. “Poor kid’s not eating, can’t sleep—everyone’s doing what they can, but everyone’s a wreck.”

“How are you doing?” Amatis said, to her surprise. “Luke tells me you and Jace really started to bond before…all this.”

Andy stared at her for a split second, surprised at such genuine concern. She shook her head quickly, not wanting to show anyone that she was taken off guard. “I’m perfectly fine,” she said in the most convincing bold-faced lie she could tell her mother. She didn’t seem to believe it, and Luke hid the confused look he gave her well. “I’m doing what I can to support Maryse, especially now that Aric has to leave. And everyone else, Clary included.”

Luke nodded. “Just don’t work too hard, alright? Take a breath when you need to.”

“Thanks, dad,” she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “I’m going to find Alec and see if he and Magnus have anything for me before I go on rounds tonight. The Clave may stop looking for Jace, that doesn’t mean I will.” 

“Andromeda,” Amatis said, just as she started to turn away. 

She stopped, her hair swishing behind her. “What, mom?” she said. There was venom in her words, though she didn’t mean it. It was just so normal for her mom to lecture her with something like this. She winced at her own words and frowned slightly. 

Her mom’s expression saddened, a crease forming between her eyebrows. “I love you. Please be safe.”

It had been a long time since her mom had said those words to her. Maybe she’d been missing her since her move to New York—she wasn’t sure. Her eyes widened for a moment, but she put on her ‘brave face’: a professional, plain expression that she trained herself to pull anytime she was in an uncomfortable situation. It helped her keep control of a conversation when she needed it. “I will,” she said, and smiled as she turned away. 

Over her shoulder, she heard Luke and Amatis. 

“You’re sure she’s doing okay here, Lucian?”

“She’s strong—she’s shown it over and over, in a battle or in her investigations. Believe in her a little.” 

Amatis hummed. She couldn’t hear anything after that. 

***

Isabelle had peeled away from Clary, originally, because she recognized a very tall head of fake-blond hair in the corner. She walked up to Tony Rosenhart, who was chatting with two people she didn’t recognize, and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, initially surprised, but his face broke into a grin when he saw her. 

“Isabelle!” he said, his blue eyes lighting up in surprise. “It’s great to see you.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she stood on her toes and hugged him, her arms comfortably around his neck for a moment. He reciprocated quickly, a little taken off guard but happy nonetheless. Tony had been her happy little secret—not that anyone at the Institute couldn’t know about him, but he was someone to talk to that was so uninvolved with all the craziness in the past few weeks, she wanted to keep it that way. Since they left Idris two months ago, the two started texting and had the occasional phone call. Even more recently, they’d started exchanging letters in fire messages, and she’d kept some of his in a drawer in her vanity. He wrote like a poet; sometimes, when she felt a little lonely, she’d reread his letters or text him just to say hi. The time difference made it hard to talk regularly, but they made it work. 

Someone behind him cleared their throat, and she begrudgingly pulled away from him. She missed seeing him in person—they’d danced together at the celebration of the Mortal War being over in Alicante, and while he wasn’t the best dancer, she enjoyed being in his company. Being around him was just easy. It was a nice change from her hectic life lately. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, and turned the both of them towards the two standing behind him. “Isabelle, these are my parents. This is Isabelle, my friend that I met when I was up with Uncle Victor.”

The woman, his mother, looked a little sad at the mention of him. She’d never known Inquisitor Aldertree’s first name, or even if he had much of a family. Even though he was a kniving prick that threw Simon in jail and left him to die, she supposed it made sense to miss him. She understood losing a brother. She extended her hand and shook Isabelle’s graciously, both of her hands holding hers. “My name is Miah. It’s wonderful to finally meet you, dear, I’ve heard so many wonderful things.”

Isabelle smiled, and nudged Tony’s arm. “You talk about me at home?” 

He flushed. “Maybe a little,” he muttered.

She didn’t have a chance to respond to him, because his father spoke up next. “You must be Maryse’s daughter,” he said, and shook her hand as well. “You look just like her.”

“I hear that a lot.” Isabelle chuckled. “Do you mind if I ask how you knew my mom?”

“Oh, I taught at the Academy back in the day,” he said cheerfully. Both him and Miah appeared to be about ten years older than her parents, but from what she understood, the Academy hired the best and brightest, not necessarily determined by age. “Your mother was always a bright girl. Her and that Mollie Penhallow were constantly at each other’s necks for top marks. I heard it’s her son that’s missing, along with the Herondale boy.”

She frowned slightly. “It is. I grew up with the Ashfairs, he’s like my little brother.”

Miah elbowed her husband. “By the Angel’s name, Rhys, you may understand demonic languages but you are certainly terrible with people,” she said with a sigh. “I apologize for him. All of us fought for the continuation of the search for the boys.”

“Thank you,” she said. “We’re doing what we can here, too. Thank you all for coming, too.” She looked at Tony for a moment when she said that, and he smiled down at her. 

It was quiet for a moment. Miah looked between the two of them and got an unreadable look on her face, but it appeared to be a very mom-type look. “Actually, dear, why don’t we go find Maryse ourselves? Say hello? I—oh, see, she’s there with your little protégé, too!” She grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him across the room, over to where Maryse and Aric were standing. 

“Sorry about them,” Tony said. “I am really happy to see you.”

She shook her head, smiling up at him. “I think they’re charming. I wish my mom would embarrass me sometimes, she’s so uptight.”

He visibly relaxed at that. “I know you and Jace are pretty close. Sorry about all this—I can’t imagine—”

“I’ve heard it all so many times today,” she said with a sigh. She didn’t mean to be rude and cut him off, but she was tired of the condolences. “I thought we agreed on no apologies for things we have no control over? A while ago.”

“Of course,” he said. He extended his hand with his pinky sticking up—it was childish, but she liked the bit of childish humor he had. “Promise to keep an eye out for everyone, though. They’ll come home if I have anything to say about it.”

Isabelle could have melted in that moment. She couldn’t say he barely knew her, not anymore. She’d spent too many nights calling him as soon as he woke up, talking when it was midnight for her and six for him. He admitted, once, that he started waking up earlier to talk to her and enjoyed his morning coffee and early breakfast before he ‘had to be a real person’ during the day. Like he didn’t have to be what he was expected to with her, but could just be him. And she swore she could do the same with him. There was no stress when she talked to Tony, or listened to him play piano as she faded off to sleep. He was quite good. 

She wrapped her pinky around his and nodded. “Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him. In the last few weeks since they’d seen each other, he seemed to have grown into himself a little—when they first met, he seemed awkward and closed in, but today, he looked a little stronger. In his confidence and, though she wasn’t looking, physically. What happened to teenage boys over a few weeks that they could change so much? Jensen, she thought, was not allowed to grow up like that and had to remain an awkward dork for the rest of his life. And she was going to allow herself to think about that because he would come home, and she would get mad at him in a few years when he grew up, just like Alec and Jace did. 

“Izzy!” a voice called from a few feet away. Aline walked towards them, waving excitedly. Beside her stood a blonde girl who was very pretty, and had pointed ears that stuck out from behind her hair. Just behind them was Lian Mayhew, who still had his crutches, but seemed to walk a little better than the last time she’d seen him. 

She waved hello to everyone, and noticed quickly that Tony hadn’t dropped her hand, just let them fall together, between them. He didn’t say anything about it, and neither did she. 

***

Magnus and Alec were no longer where they had been a moment ago. Glancing around, Clary saw Izzy’s familiar long black hair through the crowd. She was standing by the Institute's large double doors, talking to someone Clary couldn’t see. Clary headed towards Isabelle; as she drew closer, she recognized one of the group, with a slight shock of surprise, as Aline Penhallow. Her glossy black hair was cut stylishly just above her shoulders. Standing next to Aline was a slim girl with pale white-gold hair that curled in ringlets; it was drawn back from her face, showing that the tips of her ears were slightly pointed. She wore Council robes, and as Clary came closer, she saw that the girl’s eyes were an unusual blue-green, a color that made Clary’s fingers yearn for her Prismacolor pencils for the first time in two weeks. 

On Aline’s other side, stood another boy with very dark hair, standing a few inches above her. She noticed that he was hunched forward slightly, leaning on forearm crutches that helped support him. Like Aline, he wore no Council robes, and instead opted for loose khakis and a plain T-shirt. The bottom of a parabatai rune poked out from underneath the sleeve of his shirt, placed in the middle of his bicep. The boy next to him was much taller and slim, with bleached-blond hair and a soft sort of expression that reminded her of Simon. He wore Council robes that sat open over ripped jeans and a loose-fitting sweater. She, by chance, noticed that he was casually holding Isabelle’s hand, and quickly decided it would be better not to comment. 

“It must be weird, with your mother being the new Consul,” Isabelle was saying to Aline as Clary joined them. “Not that Jia isn’t much better than—Hey, Clary, Aline, you remember Clary.”

The two girls exchanged nods. Clary had once walked in on Aline kissing Jace. It had been awful at the time, but the memory held no sting now. She’d be relieved to walk in on Jace kissing someone else at this point. At least it would mean he was alive. 

“Short introductions,” Isabelle said, and began to point at each person in turn as she announced their names. The blond boy, who had since dropped Isabelle’s hand, was Tony Rosenhart, whose parents ran the Brussels Institute. He was also Inquisitor Aldertree’s nephew and a much better guy, she said, than the Inquisitor was. He flushed at the statement. The boy with the crutches next to Aline was her parabatai and childhood friend, Lian Mayhew, whose parents ran the Beijing Institute. He bowed his head slightly in greeting. 

“And this is Aline’s girlfriend, Helen Blackthorn,” she said with heavy emphasis. Clary shot her a glare. Did Isabelle think she was an idiot? Besides, she remembered Aline telling her that she’d kissed Jace only as an experiment to see if any guy were her type. Apparently the answer had been no. Lian snickered at her comment, for which Aline elbowed him. He muttered something in a language she didn’t understand, but based on her reaction, it was probably along the lines of yeah, finally. “Helen’s family runs the Los Angeles Institute. Guys, this is Clary Fray.”

“Valentine’s daughter,” Helen said. She looked surprised and a little impressed. 

Clary winced. “I try not to think about that too much.”

“Sorry. I can see why you wouldn’t.” Helen flushed. Her skin was very pale, with a slight sheen to it, like a pearl. “I voted for the Council to keep prioritizing the search for Jace, by the way. I’m sorry we were overruled.”

“As did I,” Tony spoke up. “I was just telling Isabelle about it. The decision was frustrating for many.”

“Thanks.” She struggled to come up with more to say, but as she wracked her mind for better words, a new figure joined the group. 

Rowan, still rubbing their knuckles, found her and stood to her side. They barely had the chance to say hello before Aline lunged for them, leaving Helen a few steps behind her. She wrapped her arms around their neck and squeezed them tightly, swaying side to side. 

“Good to see you, too,” Rowan said breathlessly. They awkwardly patted her shoulder. 

She pulled away, hands still on their shoulders. “I am so sorry about Jensen. Dad’s distraught, I hear mom’s pissed about the whole meeting, plus with your dad getting sent to Moscow—”

“Thanks, Aline,” they said, painfully monotonous, and offered a clearly fake smile. 

She frowned, but returned to her place with Helen and Lian. “I was surprised Uncle Aric didn’t put his name in for the Inquisitor position himself. He does so much with Mom, you know. Hey, Izzy, did you know your dad put in for it?”

Clary felt Isabelle freeze beside her. “No. No, I didn’t know that.” There was a silent exchange of looks between her and Tony, but Isabelle quickly turned back to the conversation at hand. 

“I thought he was pretty committed to running the Institute here—” Aline broke off, looking past Clary. “Helen, I think your brother is trying to make the world’s biggest puddle of melted wax over there. You might want to stop him.”

Helen blew out an exasperated breath, muttered something about twelve year old boys, and vanished into the crowd just as Alec pushed his way forward. He greeted Aline with a hug—Clary forgot, sometimes, that the Penhallows and the Lightwoods had known each other for years, even before the Ashfairs threw themselves into the mix. He looked at Helen in the crowd. “Is that your girlfriend?”

Aline nodded. “Helen Blackthorn.”

“I heard there’s some faerie blood in that family,” said Alec. 

Ah, Clary thought. That explained the pointed ears. Nephilim blood was dominant, ant the child of a faerie and a Shadowhunter would be a Shadowhunter as well, but sometimes the faerie blood could express itself in odd ways, even generations down the line. 

“A little,” said Aline. “Look, I wanted to thank you, Alec.”

Alec looked bewildered. “What for?”

“What you did in the Hall of Accords,” Aline said. “Kissing Magnus like that. It gave me the push I needed to tell my parents…to come out to them. And if I hadn’t done that, I don’t think, when I met Helen, I would have had the nerve to say anything.”

“Oh.” Alec looked startled, as if the impact of his actions hadn’t really hit him yet. He glanced at Lian, who smiled sheepishly. 

“That’s funny, Aline. I said the same thing at the big party,” he said, his eyes casting downward. “Not that I’ve told my parents yet. They might have my head.”

Rowan nodded in agreement. “I just barely got my dad to wrap his head around some of this stuff. I get where you’re coming from.” They looked at Aline. “How’d yours take it?”

Aline rolled her eyes. “They’re sort of ignoring it, like it might go away if they don’t talk about it.” Clary remembered what Isabelle said about the Clave’s attitude toward its gay members. If it happens, you don’t talk about it. “But it would be worse.”

“It could definitely be worse,” said Alec, and there was a grim edge to his voice that made Clary look at him sharply. 

Aline’s face melted into a look of sympathy. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Tony’s the lucky one, his parents couldn’t care less—”

Tony shot her a look that insisted she needed to stop talking. They seemed to know each other well, she noticed. “I’m fortunate in that my parents are more open minded than most,” he said, looking at Alec apologetically. “My sister, Amelia, wasn’t born a girl, but she felt better living as one, so they did her best to support her how they could.”

Rowan’s eyes widened slightly at his words, like his explanation of his sister piqued their interest for the first time in this conversation. “Was? What happened?”

“A bad mix of fae and human drugs,” he said plainly. “Overdose.”

Isabelle frowned, and Clary thought she grabbed his hand again. “You never told me that.”

“It was ten years ago.” He, very pointedly, tried to change the topic. “My point just is, if any of you need a decent vacation spot or something, my parents are really accepting of anything and would love the company.”

Lian spoke up. “Oh, and Miah makes these apple pastries that are absolutely the best. She makes me a batch every time I visit.”

“Well, either way, I shouldn’t have said anything right now. Not with the boys missing. You must all be so worried.” Aline took a deep breath. “I know people have probably said all sorts of stupid things about jace to you. The way they do when they don’t really know what to say. I just—I wanted to tell you something.” She ducked away from a passer-by with impatience and lowered her voice. “I remember when you guys came to visit once. I think I was thirteen, would have made Jace twelve. We borrowed some horses to go see Brocelind Forest, but you know the woods. It’s impenetrable. I was terrified. I thought we’d die there.”

“I remember that day,” Rowan said, cutting into her story for a moment. They stared at the floor like they were stuck in the memory. “Barely. But I remember being stuck out there for a long time.”

Aline nodded. “Jace was never scared. He was never anything but sure we’d find our way out. It took hours, but we finally found the treehouse in the backyard of the manor. I was so grateful but he just looked at me like I was crazy. Like of course he’d get us out. Failing wasn’t an option. I’m just saying—he’ll find his way back to you. I know it. And he’s not going to let anything hurt Jensen. I know he wouldn’t.”

Clary didn’t think she’d ever seen Izzy cry, and she was clearly trying not to now. Her eyes were suspiciously wide and shining. Alec was looking at his shoes. Rowan’s expression was hard and they had their fists balled at their sides, digging their nails into their palms. She felt a wellspring of misery wanting to leap up inside her but forced it down; she couldn’t think about Jace when he was twelve, couldn’t think about him lost in the darkness, or she’d think about him now, lost somewhere, trapped somewhere, needing her help, expecting her to come, and she’d break. “Aline,” she said, seeing that none of the Lightwoods could speak. “Thank you.”

Aline flashed a shy smile. “I mean it.”

“Aline! Lian!” It was Helen, her hand firmly clamped around the wrist of a younger boy whose hands were covered in blue wax. He must have been playing with the tapers in the huge candelabras  that decorated the sides of the nave. He looked Jensen’s age, about twelve, with an impish grin and the same shockingly blue-green eyes as his sister, though his hair was dark brown. “We’re back. We should probably go before Jules destroys the whole place. Not to mention that I have no idea where Tibs and Livvy have gone.”

“They were eating wax,” the boy—Jules—supplied helpfully. 

“Oh, God,” Helen groaned, and then looked apologetic. “Never mind me. I’ve got five younger brothers and sisters and one older. It’s always a zoo.”

Lian chuckled. “That’s why I help babysit now that I’m with Aline more.”

Helen looked at him gratefully. Jules looked from Alec to Isabelle to Rowan and then at Clary. “How many brothers and sisters have you got?” he asked. 

Helen paled. Isabelle said in a remarkably steady voice, “there’s three of us.”

He looked at Clary, then his eyes narrowed on Rowan. They rolled their eyes, clearly not entertained and probably having got this question before. They had very similar hair to the Lightwoods, but upon looking closer, they didn’t look much like Alec or Isabelle. “I’m not related to them,” they said. “Just good friends. You’d like my brother, though. He’s an inquisitive little—”

Aline coughed. Rowan forcibly grinned. “—kid. Just like you.”

Jules’ eyes focused on Clary, then. “Me, neither. I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“None?” Disbelief registered in the boy’s tone, as if she’d told him she had webbed feet. “Is that why you look so sad?”

Clary thought of Sebastian, which his ice-white hair and black eyes. If only, she thought. If only I didn’t have a brother, none of this would have happened.  A little throb of hatred went through her, warming her icy blood. “Yes,” she said softly. “That’s why I’m sad.”

[x-ceirios-x]

City of Lost Souls, Chapter 1: The Last Council 

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

“Hey.” Alec Lightwood and Andy Herondale stepped into the room and Andy quietly closed the door behind her. Both wore Council wear—black robes with silver runes, Alec’s now open over a black long-sleeve T-shirt and jeans. All the black made his pale skin look paler, his srytal-blue eyes blier. His hair was black and straight like Isabelle’s, but short, cut just above his jawline. His mouth was set in a thin line. Andy, conversely, couldn’t hide her furrowed brow or the anger behind her eyes. She shed the Council robes, revealing her dark yoga pants and cropped sweater, revealing a few inches of skin above her waistline. She folded the robe haphazardly and hung it over her arm. 

Clary’s heart started to pound. Neither of them looked happy. Whatever the news was, it couldn’t be good. 

It was Isabelle who spoke. “How did it go?” she said quietly. “What’s the verdict?”

Alec sat down at the vanity table, swinging himself around the chair to face them all over the back. At another time it could have been comial—alec was very tall, with long legs like a dancer, and the way he folded himself awkwardly around the chair made it look like dollhouse furniture. Andy casually leaned against the corner of the vanity next to him. In the last few weeks, they appeared to have become friends. Friends was a strange way to put it, but they were working towards the same goal: getting their brother home. The sister Jace had never known and the brother he chose to fight endlessly with. 

“Clary,” he said. “Jia Penhallow handed down the verdict. You’re cleared of any wrongdoing. You broke no Laws, and Jia feels that you’ve been punished enough.”

Isabelle exhaled an audible breath and smiled. For just a moment a feeling of relief broke thought the layer of ice over all of Clary’s emotions. She wasn’t going to be punished, locked up in the Silent City, trapped somewhere where she couldn’t help Jace. Luke, who was the representative of the werewolves on the Council had been present for the verdict, had promised to call Jocelyn as soon as the meeting ended, but Clary reached for her phone anyway; the prospect of giving her mother good news for a change was too tempting. 

“Hold your horses, ginger,” Andy said, irritation evident in her tone. It wasn’t directed at her and she understood that. 

She looked at her. Her expression was still as serious as an undertaker’s. With a sudden sense of foreboding, Clary put her phone back down on the bed. “What is it?”

“The Council decided your verdict without issue. Believe it or not, we’ve got bigger problems.”

The ice was back. Clary shivered. “Jace?”

“Not exactly.” Alec leaned forward, folding his hands along the back of the chair. “A report came in early this morning from the Moscow Institute. The wardings over Wrangel Island were smashed through yesterday. They’ve sent a repair team, but having such important wards down for so long—that’s a Council priority.”

“They’re sending their top investigator, too,” Andy said. “Aric.”

Clary gasped quietly. Wards—which served, as she understood it, as a sort of magical fence system—surrounded Earth, put there by the first generation of Shadowhunters. They could be bypassed by demons but not easily, and lept out the vast majority of them, preventing the world from being flooded by a massive demon invasion. She remembered something that Jace had said to her, what flet like years ago: There used to be only small demon invasions in this world, easily contained. But even in my lifetime more and more of them have spilled through the wardings. 

She thought of Aric, who had appeared at the New York Institute a few days after she and the Lightwoods had returned. He worked tirelessly to train her in the weeks between the Mortal War and the battle against Lilith, and between him and Jace, she felt like she’d learned a lot. He was patient and smart, and answered any questions she had. She felt like she didn’t know him as a person well, but he was a constant figure around the Institute to her. Not to mention the fact that his son, Jensen, had gone missing the same night Jace and Sebastian’s body had. Rowan and Aric seemed to have patched their relationship enough to find him, which she was happy to see. Maryse seemed to be barely holding everything together, after losing Max and now with two of her sons missing. 

“I don’t understand,” Clary said. “I don’t want Aric to leave by any means. But what does all this have to do with—”

“Priorities,” Andy interrupted. “They’ve been looking for Jace and Sebastian for two weeks, and there’s no sign of them. No one seems particularly worried about Jensen, poor kid—”

Isabelle’s eyes snapped to Andy. “Watch it,” she said coldly.

“I didn’t say they were right,” she said, waving her off. “The Silent Brothers can’t do anything, Magnus’s tracking spells aren’t working, and they’ve searched every Downworld haunt in the city. They’ve assumed Sebastian kidnapped them both.”

“So?” Isabelle said. “What does that mean? More searching? More patrolling?”

Alec shook his head. “They’re not discussing expanding the search,” he said quietly. Andy’s jaw set as he spoke. “They’re de-prioritizing it. It’s been two weeks and they haven’t found anything. The specially commissioned groups brought over from Idris are going to be sent home. The situation with the ward is taking priority now. Not to mention that the Council has been in the middle of delicate negotiations, updating the Laws to allow for the new makeup of the Council, appointing a new Consul and Inquisitor, determining different treatment of Downworlders—they don’t want to be thrown completely off track.”

Clary stared. “They don’t want Jace’s disappearance to throw them off track of changing a bunch of stupid old Laws? They’re giving up?” 

“They’re not giving up—”

“Yes, they are.” Andy sat up, off of the vanity. “Alec, face it. The Clave is never going to find Jace themselves. I can’t believe that Jia Penhallow has the audacity to send away Aric when we need him the most here, when Maryse needs him, when we all do, and completely give up hope of finding her own nephew—”

There was a knock at the Izzy’s bedroom door, and without a second’s delay, it swung open. Rowan stormed inside and slammed it behind them, a fury in their eyes that Clary had begun to get used to. They were angry in their helplessness, but there was nothing any of them could do right now. 

Alec sat up a little straighter. “Rowan—”

“I just heard,” they said. “They’re sending Dad away. I can’t believe this.”

Clary’s eyes softened slightly. She took a step towards Rowan, but they ducked away from her extended hand and began pacing. She sighed and sat back down on the bed. 

“I just talked to Aline, I can’t believe her mother would do something like this. Why couldn’t Uncle Patrick stop her or something? She’s abandoning Jensen!” Their voice rose, as did the anger in their voice. They stopped, suddenly, and turned to look at Alec, then at Isabelle. Something in their voice changed. “Please tell me there’s something we can do.”

Over the months she’d gotten to know the people at the New York Institute, she began to understand where most people roles fell. Alec and Izzy were both warriors—strong, fast, impossibly well-trained to do whatever they could to complete their mission. Where Rowan couldn’t always keep up with them in a fight, they made up for it in their mind. They were incredibly clever and quick-thinking, able to see a battle in its purest form and sneak past the fighting, only to accomplish their goal. Power didn’t matter when all you needed was one perfect shot for the kill, and they managed it in the times she’d seen them fight. From what she understood, they were the one that recalled the information about Lilith and was able to track her down that night. So for the person who never ran out of ideas to be asking for help…Clary’s heart broke for them. 

Alec took a breath and put his hands up to cover his face. The eye Mark of the Shadowhunters decorated the back of his right hand. “This has always been about finding Jace and Jensen for us. For the Clave, it’s about searching for Sebastian. Those two as well, but primarily him. He’s the danger. He destroyed the wards of Alicante. He’s a mass murderer. Jace is…”

“Just another Shadowhunter,” said Isabelle. “We die and go missing all the time.”

“He gets a little extra for being a hero in the Mortal War,” said Alec. “But in the end, the Clave was clear: The search will be kept up, but right now it’s a waiting game. They expect Sebastian to make the next move. In the meantime it’s third priority for the Clave. If that. They expect us to go back to normal life.”

“Normal life?” Rowan demanded. They said the words Clary was thinking. “I’m tired of hearing things about a normal life! First they tell us that when Max died, then they turn around and tell us that when my brother is missing—”

“You’re not the only one who’s got their brother missing,” Andy said boredly, looking up from picking at her nails. The anger she’d entered the room with seemed to dissipate as the conversation went on. Either that, or she got better at hiding it. “If you lose your shit every time you get back news, kid, you’re never going to survive this world.”

Rowan’s head snapped around to look at Andy. Clary glanced at Isabelle, who paled. They crossed the room in a few quick steps, and stood incredibly close. “You don’t get to show up here out of nowhere and decide, all of a sudden, that Jace is your brother. You know nothing about him,” they said, their voice tight and dangerous. “And you sure as hell don’t get to tell me how to feel about my brother going missing.”

Andy stared them down. “I know you were Jace’s whore for a few months,” she said, matching their tone. “And that if you weren’t so hung up on the vampire, you’d probably still be looking at him like a kicked puppy.”

Neither Alec or Isabelle could move fast enough. A loud crack sounded through the room, and Andy stumbled back into the wall, holding her face. Clary saw a bit of red on the side of her hand and figured she was bleeding. Rowan reared back and prepared to hit her again, but Alec pushed them back towards the door. Isabelle put herself between Andy and Rowan, too, and fumbled for her stele to hand to her. 

“Enough! When will you realize you can’t punch your way out of every situation that pisses you off?” He took a deep breath, his eyes trained on Rowan. “Take a walk. Magnus and Aline are still here, go talk to someone that isn’t going to make you want to hit them.”

Rowan, still angry, opened their mouth to say something, but Alec was too fast. “Go!”

They glared for a moment, glanced back to Andy, and stormed out of the room. Clary turned her attention back to Andy, who now had an iratze on her wrist and a tissue near her face. 

“Damn. They can pack a punch,” she said, and in the moment, she looked shockingly like Jace. Despite the blood pouring down her face, she was still smiling and cracking jokes. 

“No shit,” Isabelle said, a tightness in her voice that told Clary she didn’t want to be taking care of Andy at the moment, but she was going to either way. She ushered her into the bathroom to clean her up, leaving her and Alec alone. 

She gave him a moment to calm down before speaking. “Alec,” she said carefully. “Don’t you…feel anything? With Jace?” she asked. 

Alec’s eyes widened, and for a moment, Clary remembered the boy who had hated her when she’d first arrived at the Institute, the boy with bitten nails and holes in his sweaters and a chip on his shoulder that had seemed immovable. “I know you’re upset, Clary,” he said, his voice sharp, “but if you’re suggesting that Iz, Rowan and I care about Jace any less than you do—”

“I’m not,” Clary said. She, for a moment, wanted to know exactly what Rowan and Jace’s relationship was and what had happened to them, because Andy had clearly found out more than she had. No one really talked about it, and she wondered if there was any residual feelings. She didn’t know if Rowan cared about Jace at all anymore, but she understood the four of them grew up together. They had to somehow, right? “I’m talking about your parabatai connection. I was reading about the ceremony in the Codex. I know being parabatai ties you two together. You can sense things about Jace. Things that will help you when you're fighting. So I guess I mean…can you sense if he’s still alive?”

“He’s alive,” Alec said cautiously. “You think I’d be this functional if he weren’t alive? There’s definitely something fundamentally wrong. I can feel that much. But he’s still breathing.”

“Could the ‘wrong’ thing be that he’s being held prisoner?” said Clary in a small voice. Alec looked toward the windows, the sheeting gray rain. “Maybe. I can’t explain it. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

“But he’s alive.”

Alec looked at her directly then. “I’m sure of it.”

“Then screw the Council. We find him ourselves. Jensen, too. If the Council thinks they’re together, we do everything we can.”

[x-ceirios-x]

(Part 2) City of Fallen Angels, Chapter 15: Beati Bellicosi

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

-

Alec raised his blue eyes. “Who’s Will?”

Magnus exhaled a sort of laugh. “Will. Dear God. That was a long time ago. Will was a Shadowhunter, like you. And yes, he did look like you, but you’re not anything like him. Jace is much more like the way Will was, in personality, at least—and my relationship with you is nothing like the one I had with Will. Is that what’s bothering you?”

“I don’t like thinking you’re only with me because I look like some dead guy you liked.”

“I never said that. Camille implied it. She is a master of implication and manipulation, much like my friend Eleanor you met, though she usually uses such things for good. Camille has a habit of getting into your head and toying with you.”

Alec huffed and rolled his eyes. “Another one of your old friends that doesn’t like me.”

“Eleanor likes you fine, Alexander. She just doesn’t like Shadowhunters.” Magnus sighed. “Camille was wrong. Point blank.”

“You didn’t tell her that.”

“If you let her, she will attack you from every front. Defend one front, she’ll attack another. The only way to deal with her is to pretend she isn’t getting to you.”

“She said pretty boys were your undoing,” Alec said. “Which makes it sound like I’m just one in a long line of toys for you. One dies or goes away, you get another one. I’m nothing. I’m—trivial.”

“Alexander—“

“Which,” Alec went on, staring down at the table again, “is especially unfair, because you are anything but trivial for me. I changed my whole life for you. But nothing ever changes for you, does it? I guess that’s what it means to live forever. Nothing ever really has to matter all that much.”

“I’m telling you that you do matter—“

“The Book of the White,” Alec said, suddenly. “Why did you want it so badly?”

Magnus looked at him, puzzled. “You know why. It’s a very powerful spellbook.”

“But you wanted it for something specific, didn’t you? A spell that was in it?” Alec took a ragged breath. “You don’t have to answer, I can tell by your face that you did. Was it—was it a spell for making me immortal?”

Magnus felt shaken to his core. “Alec,” he whispered. “No. No, I—I wouldn’t do that.”

Alex fixed him with his piercing blue gaze. “Why not? Why through all the years of all the relationships you’ve ever had have you never tried to make any of them immortal like you? If you could have me with you forever, wouldn’t you want to?”

“Of course I would!” Magnus, realizing he was almost shouting, lowered his voice with an effort. “But you don’t understand. You don’t get something for nothing. The price for living forever—“

“Sorry to interrupt, boys.” It was Andromeda Herondale, her phone in one hand and drink in another. “I need to steal Magnus for a moment.”

“Andromeda.” Normally, he liked Jace’s sister well enough, though he didn’t know exactly how well she was considered family by the rest of the institute yet. Rowan hated her and Alec hadn’t been around her long enough to have an opinion. She seemed fine. Not so much at the moment. “Could you please go away? Now is a really bad time.”

Andromeda arched an eyebrow at him, challenging his words with a bored sort of stare. With a dramatic flourish, she downed the rest of her drink and sat the glass down between them. “Then I guess I will just tell Maryse that you were too busy with your relationship issues to come help her find Camille, who I may add, has just broken out of the Sanctuary.”

“Do not tell her that,” Magnus said and sighed. “Why do I have to be present for this?”

Another look, and Magnus understood exactly why. If he didn’t go, the Clave would be suspicious that he had something to do with Camille’s escape, and that was the last thing he needed. Maryse would be furious, complicating his relationship with Alec even further. Andromeda was trying to help him, even if she seemed bitchy about it. And yet—

“She escaped?” Alec said. “No one’s ever escaped the Sanctuary.”

“Well,” she said. “Someone has. I guess tonight is full of firsts, like the first time I’ve had work interrupt me trying to schedule a date with a girl I actually like. I’m not happy about this either and I would like to stake this vampire the next time I see her.”

Alec slunk lower in his seat. “Go,” he said. “It’s an emergency, just go. We can talk later.”

“Fine.” Magnus stood up. “But,” he added, pausing by Alec’s chair and leaning in close to him, “you are not trivial.”

Alec flushed. “If you say so,” he said. 

“I say so,” said Magnus, and he turned to follow Andromeda out of the room. 

The walk back to the Institute wasn't a pleasant one by any means, as he had to deal with the windchill and the million thoughts spinning through his mind about Alexander and how things stood for them at the moment. Andromeda stayed silent for a long time, simply walking in stride with him, holding her arms  and running her hands over them as she tried to warm up. 

“That is what you get for wearing a dress like that in October,” he said, realizing he sounded more judgemental than teasing as he was wrapped in his own thoughts. 

“You’re just bitter because I wear it better than you would,” she said without missing a beat, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a dramatic flourish. He could tell she was simply firing back, testing the waters to see if he was really trying to pick a fight with her. Which, in fact, he wasn’t. After a moment of silence, she spoke up again. “I couldn’t help but hear part of your conversation—“

“You could,” he said flatly. “I know you like to listen in on things you shouldn’t.”

She grinned. “Guilty as charged. But this time, really, I wasn’t. I just wanted to say I see your point about all that.”

“Do you, now?”

She put her hands up in surrender. “I mean that I understand wanting to put your past behind you. It’s not fair for someone to use it to judge you, whether it’s four hundred years or nineteen. Just because you’ve been burned—or even if you weren’t—it shouldn’t be held against you now.”

Magnus sighed. Something about this girl reminded her of Camille in the sense that she was an expert talker and no doubt knew how to coax information out of people, but he didn’t get the malicious intent from her. He’d play along for now. “I’m glad you understand. Getting Alexander to is a different story.”

“I get that, too,” she said, speaking carefully. She was clearly trying not to upset him or get in the middle of anything, but simply trying to share her thoughts. “Unfortunately, I can’t help with that. Not only do I not know Alec, but I really don’t know anyone at the Institute well enough to even try to help.”

“You haven’t exactly made that easy, I heard,” he said before considering it, only thinking of Rowan’s several text messages containing very colorful insults about her since he came back to New York. “Acting better than everyone isn’t an easy way to make friends.”

She chuckled, allowing the statement to roll off her back easily. “I could dial it back, I admit. If it makes you feel any better, I have tried, but Jace keeps shutting me out and Clary is off in her own world of issues. Only other people who seem to even acknowledge my existence is Maryse and Aric, so I befriended them both.”

“I find it very hard to believe anyone can befriend Aric Ashfair these days,” he muttered bitterly. 

His comment amused her, considering how terribly she hid her laugh with a cough. “I lied a little bit. I got Maryse to like me, and I think he just sits in the corner, usually brooding.”

“You don’t say,” he said, rolling his eyes. That sounded incredibly like an Aric thing to do, though he tried to block out the voice in the back of his head that insisted that was bad. He was, justifiably, upset, and wouldn’t continue to be. But part of him felt a little responsible for him, just enough to want to pull him out of whatever hell he put himself in and hope he’d figure out how to be Mollie’s Aric again, not the sad skeleton of a man he faced at the party in Alicante. 

“That sounds like history,” she said, biting back a laugh. He shot her a glare. “Hey, I won’t pry. I don’t want to be involved in anything that makes it harder for me to take Maryse or Aric seriously or like them less. I don’t do hundred year grudges, just petty drama.”

“That’s probably better for you in the long run, actually,” he said, looking over at her. “Why are you so invested in petty drama, anyway? Sometimes it’s entertaining, but most times I just can’t be bothered.”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “When you have no skin in the game, what is there to lose?”

For nineteen, he thought it was an oddly sad look to have on life, but he also knew very little about her life. Only that she was Stephen Herondale’s daughter, Luke’s niece, and Jace’s half-sister, which was a recent discovery Alec informed him of when they found out. 

He was going to ask something further when they turned onto the Institute’s street. He let the question hang in the air as Andromeda ascended the stairs and placed her hand on the doorknob. After a few seconds, he heard a click, and the front door swung open. Shadowhunter magic, he thought. A pain in the ass in its own right. 

“After you,” she said, stepping back and gesturing for him to walk past her. He stepped through the threshold and the door swung closed behind them both, clicking locked behind them. He couldn’t think about her, or Alexander and their relationship issues, or even Aric Ashfair whom he had to work amicably with for the next god-knows-how-long. Now, his only choice was to focus on finding Camille and prove his innocence before it was questioned. 

[x-ceirios-x]

to new friends.

andromeda finds herself invited to a party alone and manages to befriend an old acquaintance she hasn't seen since the battle in Idris. maia doesn't know a girl is flirting with her.

cw: alcohol consumption

Something she wasn’t expecting, upon moving to New York City, was having the opportunity to go to a formal event so quickly after arriving. She honestly thought she’d have to chat up some warlock to get invited to a fancy party, but when Clary mentioned her mother and Luke’s engagement party, she was intrigued. And apparently, Luke had wanted to invite her personally but thought she’d say no if he asked. Don’t shoot the messenger, Clary had said. He just wanted me to offer. 

Of course, she’d responded, already planning the shopping spree she was going to go on to find new clothes for such an event. She hadn’t brought much with her, and since her investigations for Maryse were at a standstill, she could afford to take an afternoon off. If you want me there, I won’t miss it for the world. 

And that was how she wound up sitting at the bar, chatting with the bartender, and getting the latest dish on the drama within the New York pack. Petty, unimportant things that no one in any position of power would want to deal with, but definitely something she enjoyed hearing about. That was when she heard a familiar voice behind her call her name. She spun on the barstool to see Maia Roberts, the girl that she’d fought with in the battle against Valentine’s demons. The two hadn’t stayed in touch, necessarily, but they occasionally ran into each other and they were friendly. Any information she had about her was second or third-hand, mostly coming from Clary. 

As she walked closer, she waved; Andy gave her a once-over, noticing her gold-brown curls falling around her shoulders, intertwined with gold jewelry. Her dress was bright orange and shimmery, a sort of sheath dress that was off the shoulder and rested just above her knees. “Give us a twirl,” she said cheerfully, extending her hand to spin her. Maia chuckled, a little bashfully, but took her hand with no argument.

“You look beautiful, dear,” she said, noticing the handful of gold rings decorating her hands and the butterfly tattoo at the small of her back that she’d never seen. Then again, she didn’t think she’d seen Maia with such a plunging back before. Usually, her style was a graphic tee and jeans, which she couldn’t fault her for. 

“Thank you.” She took a seat at the bar next to her, pulling at the hem of her dress. “I feel so exposed, it’s terrible.”

Andy smiled into her drink as she took a sip. “That’s a tame outfit for me—you should see the things I wore clubbing in Prauge.”

She opened her mouth to say something but paused midway through her thought. “You’ve been to Prauge?”

“Once, yeah. I’ll be honest with you—” she dropped her voice to a whisper, mostly for dramatic effect— “I don’t remember most of it.”

Maia laughed, in that kind of way that looked equal parts concerned and amused, or slightly more amused. “Apparently, I know who to call if I need a fun evening.”

“Of course! I offer to take Jace with me sometimes, but he’s too involved in his own problems to bother having fun.” She chuckled. “Not that I fault him for it. If I was ever that in love with somebody, I don’t think I’d look at a hookup ever again. They’re sickening, aren’t they?”

She frowned slightly, though she could tell it was light-hearted. “I think it’s sweet. But I’m allowing myself to be bitter at happy couples at the moment after the blow-up I just had with Simon.”

“Do tell,” she said, leaning in slightly. She understood the general gist after eavesdropping on a conversation between Isabelle and Rowan recently, but she was never one to turn away the latest scoop. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Don’t get me started.” Maia rolled her eyes; Andy noticed the gold and orange shimmering eyeshadow there and thought it complimented her outfit, and her eyes, quite nicely. She’d always thought Maia was pretty, but sometimes you needed to see someone in formal attire at a fancy event to confirm such things. 

She opened her mouth to start talking when saw something out of the corner of her eye that spooked her—Andy followed her line of sight and they both watched Rowan walk into the building, followed by Simon and Jordan in tow. She looked back at Maia, who hadn’t broken out of her daze yet. “Geeky vampire boy knows how to dress himself, who would have thought,” she said to no one in particular. “But I’d look away before you accidentally make eye contact.” 

Her words seemed to snap her back to reality, as she turned her gaze back to her. “That’s Jordan,” she said, a certain tenseness in her voice that sounded somewhere between anger and hurt. 

“Jordan?” 

“Not important,” she said quickly, and like a light switch, her demeanor changed. She started laughing at nothing and reached out her hand, casually touching Andy’s shoulder. “I don’t know what you said but it was the funniest thing ever!” she said, taking a quick glance at the boys walking through the crowd. 

Without missing a beat, Andy turned in her chair, watching over Maia’s shoulder for them to stop looking at her. She straightened up slightly to see past her and joined in her discussion. “Oh my god, I know, I’m like, the funniest person ever,” she said, doing an incredibly over-dramatized version of a valley-girl accent, mostly to make her laugh more. 

She was taken off guard by the voice and started laughing more genuinely. She fanned at her face with her hand and said, “I can’t ruin this eyeliner, dammit, you’re not supposed to make me actually laugh, Andy.”

In mock innocence, she shrugged. She muttered a quick ‘oops’ that got mostly swallowed by her taking a sip of her drink. Maia took a moment to pull herself together, and once she did, she checked for the boys again. They’d sat down at a table with Clary, and Magnus, who she’d had the pleasure of meeting a few times now. Lately, though, he seemed to be a little less charming than he was when they first met—she chalked it up to relationship issues. Alec seemed to be a little irritated all the time since they both arrived back in New York; she didn’t know either of them well enough to ask. Yet another reason why she promised herself she wouldn’t do anything serious anytime soon. “I think you’re good, dear,” she said. “They’re paying attention to the conversation at the table, less at you.”

“Thank you,” she said a little breathlessly. “I don’t want to cause a scene at this thing for Luke, that wouldn’t be fair to him. This is supposed to be about celebrating his and Jocelyn’s relationship, not dealing with my lackthereof.”

Andy hummed in response, preferring not to comment much on the fact that she was, technically, here for Luke. As far as she was concerned, she was here for Clary, because Clary had asked. Not for Lucian.

She must have let more bitterness slip into her voice than she intended, as Maia gave her a look of mild surprise. “You got some bad blood with him or something?”

“You could say that,” she said with a sigh. “Short version, he’s my mother’s brother, and there’s…tense relations on every branch of the family tree.”

Maia nodded and appeared as if she understood. “I get that. Family is weird like that. My brother’s a little…” she trailed off as if trying to find the proper word for it. “I get it, is my point. And I know I would hate to hear this from anyone about my family, but Luke is a good guy. I don’t know what happened, but it might be worth giving him a shot.”

“You know, Clary has told me the same thing,” she said. “Maybe one day, but tonight isn’t supposed to be for worrying about that, is it?” Without giving her an opportunity to argue, she waved over the bartender and handed him some money out of her clutch. “Another strawberry daiquiri for me, please, and whatever my friend here wants.” She turned to Maia and smiled. 

Maia smiled in return, her eyes falling into her lap for a moment as she thought. “Uh, just a…Shirley Temple, please,” she said, her voice sounding small. She pulled her clutch open as he walked away, going to make the drinks they asked for. “How much did you give him?” she asked. 

“Enough for good service,” she said, biting back a laugh. “Don’t play the money game with me, I will out-stubborn you.”

She glared at her out of the corner of her eye. “No, really—”

“No, really,” Andy said, placing her hand over hers, stopping her from going through her purse. “I insist. And a beautiful girl like you deserves someone to buy her a drink that isn’t one of your two boys over there,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the table behind her. 

Maia thought for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. But you have to let me get you a coffee or something. I don’t like being in debt to people.”

“It’s not debt, call it…a gift.” She grinned at her, only turning away when the two drinks were laid in front of them. “But I won’t say no to coffee.”

“I don’t know what I’ve got going on this week, but how does Saturday sound?”

“Sounds like a date.” She picked up her glass and held it out towards her. With a small clink noise, Maia tapped hers against it. “To new friends,” she said as the both of them took a sip of their drink. 

To her dismay, the moment couldn’t last forever. Despite her best intentions of keeping Maia away from the troublesome boys and entertained for the evening, her phone began to ring, and she pulled it out to answer it. The screen read Maryse Lightwood, and with a sigh, she looked at Maia. “I have to take this, I’m sorry,” she said, standing to walk a few feet away, where it was a little less loud. Maia waved her away, signaling that she didn’t mind. 

“Oh, hell,” Andy cursed under her breath, then clicked the answer call button. “Hello, Maryse,” she said, trying to sound cheerful as she greeted her. Work was the last thing she wanted to think about at the moment when she had a beautiful werewolf girl she wanted to flirt with. “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to get Magnus Bane and get back here,” she said, a very frustrated bite in her tone. Andy straightened up, understanding now that Maryse wouldn’t call if it wasn’t necessary. “Camille has escaped the Sanctuary.”

“She—“ Andy started to ask questions, her eyes widening, but she realized that it was no use. She had to get Magnus and get back immediately. “Understood. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“With Magnus.”

“With Magnus,” she agreed. “Call me with any updates if you have any, but we’ll be there as quickly as we can.”

“Good.” With that, the phone beeped at her, signaling that Maryse had ended the call, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. This was certainly going to be a long night, and not in the way she enjoyed. 

[x-ceirios-x]

City of Fallen Angels, Chapter 11: Our Kind

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

-

“You know, you really should be more careful,” said Andy, putting away the first aid kit with a flourish. They were in one of the Institute’s many spare rooms, meant to house visiting Clave members. Each was plainly furnished with a bed, dresser and a wardrobe, and a small bathroom. And, of course, each had a first aid kid, with bandages, polutices, and even spare steles included. Very gently, she ran her finger over the expertly wrapped bandages. “These will take a little while to heal, but rest will make it work faster. They’ll probably be gone by tomorrow. If not, give me a call.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Andy.” Clary looked down at her hands; there were bandages around the right one, and her shirt was still torn and bloodstained, though the runes had healed the cuts beneath. She supposed she could have done the iratzes herself, but it was nice to have someone take care of her, and Andy, while not the warm and fuzzy type, could be much kinder than she pretended to be. When she felt like it. “And thank you for showing up and, you know, saving my life from whatever that was.”

“A Hydra demon, dear,” she said, leaning back on her hands for a moment. She stared at her, and Clary swore she could see gears in her head turning, when she suddenly stood and began rummaging around the room. “They have a lot of heads, but they’re stupid. And I liked what you did with that book—clever girl,” she said, sparing a second to turn back and wink at her. 

She came back to the bed with a shirt that she’d pulled out of a drawer—a very cropped shirt, that on Clary, probably fit normally save the shoulders. It was a dark green color, one that she’d always liked. “Here,” Andy said. “I don’t wear this much. To replace the torn one.” 

She paused for a moment, and very clearly made a face of some kind, making Andy laugh. “It’s not going to bite you, Clary.”

She looked around, seeing the lack of decoration or personal effects anywhere in the room. There was no sense of Andy anywhere in the room—then again, this was similar to her bedroom in Amatis’s place. Her lab was plain, too, and seemed to be more styled for efficiency than expression. She didn’t strike her as a practical person by any means, but Jace’s room was incredibly plain, too. Maybe it ran in the family. 

Her eyes drifted to the small wardrobe in the corner, where she saw a familiar weapon resting on top. It was the only thing that showed anyone lived here. Everything was meticulously folded and neat, like she was ready to pack up and leave at any moment. She hoped that wasn’t true. 

“Thank you,” she said, taking the shirt from her. She walked into the bathroom and closed the door most of the way, inspecting the thin lines on her stomach that, a few hours ago, were gaping wounds. Everything seemed to be healing well, which she would always appreciate. 

“This Church of Talto stuff is messy, love. I’m glad I caught you when I did,” Andy said from the bedroom, and from the sounds of her movement, she was probably putting away the first aid kit. 

She’d told her as much as she could about why she’d been at the church, even about the demon baby at the hospital, though she’d pretended she was the one who’d been suspicious, and had kept her mother out of the story. Andy deadpanned when Clary had described the way the baby had looked exactly like a normal baby except for its open black eyes and the little claws instead of hands. She expected her to look sick, but maybe that was her poker face. 

“I think they were trying to make another baby like—like my brother. I think they experimented on some poor mundane woman,” Clary said, “but she couldn’t take it when the baby was born, and she lost her mind. It’s just—who would do something like that? One of Valentine’s followers? The ones who never got caught, maybe trying to carry on what he was doing?”

“Perhaps,” Andy said with a sigh. “Or it could just be some demon-worshiping cult and be completely unrelated. I took one of those down in France, once, actually.”

The way she spoke so nonchalantly about taking down a demon cult made Clary crack a smile. “You know, I never know if you’re exaggerating all these adventures. You’re awful young to be doing all these things.”

“I’m just that good, my dear. Can’t spend your whole life cooped up in a library.” She chuckled and continued, “speak of the devil…”

Clary opened the door again, now clean and more comfortable in a not-torn shirt. She saw Andy, still sitting on the bed, and Rowan in the doorway. She frowned slightly, seeing the bags under their eyes and how pale they looked. By the way they acted the last time they saw each other, she knew something was wrong, but she had no idea if they would open up, even if she asked. 

A beat of silence passed, one which Rowan simply stared at her. She walked over slowly and, choosing her words carefully, said, “are you alright?”

“No,” they said in a half-whisper, “but I’m glad you’re here.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Their eyes flitted to Andy in a distrustful way. “Not really. It’s just nice to see you.”

Clary smiled softly and nodded, watching as they began to fidget with the ring on their finger. Their mother’s ring, she remembered, and it was something that soothed them when they were anxious. She placed her hand over both of theirs and squeezed, hoping they’d find some kind of encouragement from her. She turned and sat back on the bed. 

Andy rolled her eyes, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. Whatever that was about, she didn’t know. “Back to our initial conversation—” she looked toward Rowan— “you’re welcome to join us or leave, dear, but please do close the door.”

They did so, though they didn't move far from their place against the wall, leaning against it silently. Clary noticed how they didn’t look away from Andy and she wondered if the issue was that they didn’t like her. As far as she knew, Rowan didn’t like anyone, not new people, anyway. They didn’t like her in the beginning either. 

Andy ignored this, as she thought she did whenever anyone didn’t like her. “So, did you find anything in the Church before that demon attacked you? And why would people be trying to create another Sebastian? I heard he was a pain in the ass the first time—”

“His name is Johnathan,” Rowan said, reaching their hand up to scratch at the side of their neck. She noticed they left a faintly red mark. “Sebastian was my family, who—”

“Oh, by the Angel,” Andy said, rolling her eyes. Annoyance rose in her voice. “You and Isabelle need to decide who this guy is. Call him Alan for all care, but he’s Johnathan to you because Sebastian was your…whatever, and he’s dead and you’re all butthurt about it, but Izzy says he’s Sebastian because Jace is Johnathan and she’s being protective or whatever. Get over yourselves.” She punctuated the sentence by falling backward on her bed with a dramatic sigh. 

Something flashed across Rowan’s face. “God, you just come in and take over everything, don’t you? Sorry that you have a shitty relationship with your mom, but you acting like you want to be Maryse’s golden child is just sad.”

Andy sat up sharply, a hard glare pointed directly at Rowan. Clary watched as her eyes narrowed, her face unmoving and unflinching. Rowan, after a beat, turned on their heel and slammed the door on the way out. “Insufferable teenagers,” she muttered, rolling her eyes again. That seemed to be something she did frequently, especially when irritated. “Please, don’t lecture me about being nice to your girlfriend.”

Clary took a deep breath and shook her head. Whatever tension was between the two of them, it wasn’t her place to get involved. 

“Anyway,” she said in a plain voice, “I’m supposed to go downstairs now for a Conclave meeting, something about your vampire boy.”

“Simon is with the Conclave?” Clary was astonished. She had noticed the Institute had seemed more empty than usual when they’d arrived. Jace, of course, wasn’t there, but she wasn’t expecting him to be—though she hadn’t known why. “I talked to him this morning and he didn’t say anything about doing something for them.”

“Downworld politics, is all. Less you know the better.” She stood and adjusted her skirt, pulling it down much further than it had been hiked up a moment ago. “Must look professional, you know,” she said with a smile, chuckling to herself. “Please rest. You need it.”

She nodded and Andy opened the door. “Hey, Andy?” she asked, catching her before she got too far away. She hummed in response, so she continued, “has Jace told you anything about what’s bothering him?”

Her expression softened slightly at that. “I wish I knew, Clary. I’d tell you everything I could if I knew anything. But he’s very much not alright.” She thought for a moment. “Are you?”

Clary shook her head. 

“I didn’t think so,” Andy said.

[x-ceirios-x]

City of Fallen Angels, Chapter 3: Sevenfold

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

-

“I love you,” Clary whispered. She had his shirt off and her fingertips were tracing the scars on his back and the star-shaped scar on his shoulder that was the twin of her own, a relic of the angel Ithuriel, whose blood they shared.  “I don’t ever want to lose you.”

Jace slid his hand down to untie her knotted blouse. His other hand, braced against the mattress, touched the cold metal of the hunting dagger; it must have spilled onto the bed with the rest of the contents of the box, “That will never happen.”

She looked up at him with luminous eyes. “How can you be so sure?”

His hand tightened on the knife hilt. The moonlight that poured through the window slide off the blade as he raised it. “I’m sure,” he said, and brought the dagger down. The blade sheared through her flesh as if it were paper, and as her mouth opened in a startled O and blood soaked the front of her white shirt, he thought, Dear God, not again. 

***

Waking up from the nightmare was like crashing through a plate glass window. The razored shards of it seemed to slice at Jace even as he pulled free and sat up, gasping. He rolled off the bed, instinctively wanting to get away, and hit the stone floor on his hands and knees. Cold air poured through the open window, making him shiver but clearing away the last, clinging tendrils of the dream. 

He stared down at his hands. They were clean of blood. The bed was a mess, the sheets and blankets screwed into a tangled ball from his tossing and turning, but the box containing his father’s things was still on the nightstand, where he’d left it before he went to sleep.

The first few times he’d had the nightmare, he’d woken up and vomited. Now he was careful about not eating for hours before he went to sleep, so instead his body had its revenge on him by racking him with spasms of sickness and fever. A spasm hit now, and he curled into a ball, gasping and dry-heaving until it passed. 

When it was over, he pressed his forehead against the cold stone floor. Sweat was cooling on his body, his shirt sticking to him, and he wondered, not idly, if eventually the dreams would kill him. He had tried everything to stop them—sleeping pills and potions, runes of sleep and runes of peace and healing. Nothing worked. The dreams stole like poison into his mind, and there was nothing he could do to shut them out. 

Even during his waking hours, he found it hard to look at Clary. She had always been able to see through him the way no one else had, and he could only imagine what she would think if she knew what he dreamed. He rolled onto his side and stared at the box on the nightstand, moonlight sparking off it. And he thought of Valentine. Valentine, who had tortured and imprisoned the only woman he’d ever loved, who had taught his son—both his sons—that to love something is to destroy it forever. 

His mind spun frantically as he said the words to himself, over and over. It had become a sort of chant for him, and like any chant, the words had started to lose their individual meanings. 

I’m not like Valentine. I don’t want to be like him. I won’t be like him. I won’t.

He saw Sebastian—Johnathan, really—his sort-of brother, grinning at him through a tangle of silver-white hair, his black eyes shining with merciless glee. And he saw his own knife go into Johnathan and pull free, and Johnathan’s body tumbling down toward the river below, his blood mixing with the weeds and grass at the riverbank. 

I am not like Valentine.

He had not been sorry to kill Johnathan. GIven the chance, he would do it again. 

I don’t want to be like him. 

Surely it wasn’t normal to kill someone—kill your own adoptive brother—and feel nothing about it at all. 

I won’t be like him. 

But his father had taught him that to kill without mercy was a virtue, and maybe you could never forget what your parents taught you. No matter how badly you wanted to. 

I won’t be like him. 

Maybe people could never really change. 

I won’t. 

Jace sat up with a jolt. A sharp knock rapped against his bedroom door—it made his head pound, considering how terrible he felt. He groaned as he stood, stumbling towards the door, feeling like he was going to fall over while he walked. He leaned against the wall, his arm covering his eyes from the light in the hall as he threw the door open. 

“Well, you look like hell.”

Jace closed his eyes and sighed. He felt like hell, and he didn’t need Andy reminding him. On top of everything with Sebastian and Valentine, here he finds out he does have a sister related by blood, Stephen Herondale’s daughter from his marriage to Amatis. She’d come to New York with him, by his request—she seemed to fit in well enough. Then again, she was never at the Institute, so he hadn’t gotten the chance to get to know her yet. It bothered him because that was the reason he asked her to come. 

“I’m not in the mood,” he muttered, his head swimming. 

She hummed in response, then to his disdain, brushed past him. He sighed and closed the door, knowing the darkness would help. There was enough light coming from the window that he could see her picking over the letters, scanning them, before setting them down. He sat across from her. 

“You know, my mother never showed me these,” she said with a sigh, setting the stack of letters to the side. She looked at him in a way he couldn’t decipher. He could never read her expression, and even Isabelle she couldn’t, either. She always looked calm, maybe expectant, but there was something behind her eyes—walls, he’d learned, that she built around herself a long time ago. Clary mentioned a few weeks ago that there was a lost love in her past, though didn’t elaborate on it. Said he should ask Andy if he wanted to know, that he needed to figure things out with her. 

He didn’t know how to get to know someone, though. All his life, he’d just clicked with people. He’d been described as charming and people liked that. Even Rowan, who thought he was incredibly annoying for the first few months, came around, and they were thick as thieves for years. He didn’t have an awkward, getting-to-know-you phase with Alec, either, they just became friends. Maybe that was how it was with kids: making friends without meaning to. 

And with Clary—god, with Clary. He’d never been more in love before her—he wasn’t sure if he’d been in love before that at all. Everything was completely different with her. They had this connection when they first met, one neither of them could describe, and he believed it was the first moment he loved her. Being with her made him happier than he’d ever been in his life. 

With Andy, there was a silent set of expectations. They were siblings that met when they were adults (or almost)—how are you supposed to navigate that? She didn’t seem interested in knowing him, but she didn’t seem disinterested, either. She was just…absent. A lot. She took rounds frequently, offering to take shifts for people, she was looking into these murdered Shadowhunters; she respected Maryse as head of the Institute, though she didn’t listen to her like she was ‘mom’ like the rest of them did. Because she wasn’t, it made sense. But it was just another thing about their lives that were so different, he wondered sometimes if their lives were too different. Maybe they’d never make it work. 

He simply stared at her, unable to form a response that would provide any kind of condolences. 

Andy frowned. He realized suddenly what she was wearing—in simple terms, it looked more extreme than even Isabelle would wear. Her cropped shirt revealed the very bottom of the burn scar on her ribs, when she’d tried to burn off the star-shaped birthmark. He remembered the shock he felt when she showed him, and how his breath caught, because even in his darkest moments he couldn’t imagine doing something so mutilating like that. She looked a little messy, though—she was so proper to have everything in place all the time. In that way, she reminded him of Maryse: always proper, always looking nice. Where Maryse was straight-laced and very adult-looking, Andy preferred a natural but looser look, where it looked like she was a little messy, but intentionally so. Now, she looked disheveled, makeup smudged, usually bouncy and curly hair borderline unruly, and he swore he saw hints of bruises starting on her neck. She'd been out clubbing again, apparently. 

“Are you drunk?” Jace finally asked, knowing he wasn’t going to have any conversation with her before tomorrow morning if she agreed. 

“Maybe a little,” she said, a small smile creeping on her face. “Relax, I’m fine. I had fun. And it’s only, like…two in the morning?”

“Is that what time it is?” he asked through a sigh. 

She waved off his comment and turned her attention back to him. “I heard a noise, so I came to check on you. I’d ask, but I know you’d like—you’re not alright. What’s wrong?”

Jace sighed and laid his head in his hand. He wasn’t going to explain all of this to Andy right now—he was tired, he felt sick, and if he was going to explain it to anyone, it would be Alec. But Alec wasn’t here, he was across the world, somewhere on vacation with Magnus, and he couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t ruin his time off.

He thought for a moment. Maybe he didn’t know Andy well yet, but this could be his way to. She refused to show him any vulnerability, the most he’d seen was in Idris when she showed him her burn scar, and even then she played it off like it was nothing. Nothing bothered her, not that he could see. If he extended the first olive branch, she might reciprocate. Might. But he was willing to take the chance. 

“I’ve been having these…crazy dreams,” he started, slowly picking his head up. He found anything else to look at than her, not wanting to deal with potentially judgemental stares. “Just…terrible ones. Dark stuff. Darker than I’m used to. Makes me sick when I wake up.”

She shifted, sitting a little closer to him. He noticed her fingers outstretched, just for a second, before she pulled away, deciding against whatever she thought she would do. “I understand that,” she muttered, voice softer than it had been a moment ago. She didn’t—no one completely understood, but she could sympathize with him. 

Andy continued. “I was, ah…seventeen,” she said, stopping and starting as she spoke, like she was trying to find good words to describe all this. “I watched…someone very close to me die. I saw the same thing, over and over in my dreams, for months. Sometimes, I still do.”

He nodded solemnly. This had to be the lost love Clary mentioned, though he wasn’t going to push for more details than she was ready to share at the moment. “Sounds like you loved him.”

“Her,” she corrected, like it was the easiest thing in the world. He wondered if Alec would ever do that—be so confident, so sure of himself, that he could correct anyone without issue. Even people he didn’t know well. If it was Magnus or someone else in his future, he didn’t care who it was, as long as he was loved and cared for. The same went for anyone he knew, really. The Institute was family, and he guessed he considered Andy part of that, too. “But yeah. I did. I do.”

Shadowhunters only love once, fiercely. He knew the saying, and now that he’d met Clary, he understood exactly what it meant. He accepted a long time ago that his life was going to be short, but he was going to spend as much time with her as possible. If Andy had already lost that person…well, he didn’t want to know what would happen if he lost Clary. He would move heaven, hell, and earth to get her back, almost like what she did for him that night in Idris, at Lake Lyn. 

‘I’m sorry’ wasn’t appropriate in the situation—he wasn’t the one that killed her, there wasn’t anything for him to apologize for. But now that he understood what that deep, completely devoted love felt like, he couldn’t imagine losing it. The pain, the anguish, the grief she must have felt, maybe still did. He couldn’t find the words to say anything so kept silent. 

“Hold onto Clary,” she said softly. He looked up and saw a smile on her face, a sad sort of smile that made him agree with her further, though he already did. “She’s a good kid. And she loves you.”

“I plan to.” He looked over at her, offering what ever bit of a smile he could muster despite the exhaustion that was hitting him like a truck. “I love her—”

“I know you do.” Andy rolled her eyes at him, biting back a laugh. “Too busy making out at Wayland Manor to realize I had a chunk of glass in my leg and couldn’t walk, thanks for that.”

Jace spluttered. “We—we weren’t—”

She laughed—it was the most genuine laugh he thought he’d ever heard from her. At least she found enjoyment in his embarrassment. “I’m not stupid. And we got it all fixed, anyway, so I’m fine. See?” She turned her ankle slightly, showing him where she’d gotten hit with debris, then they had to walk six hours back to the city. There was a thin, white scar—the remnants of a healing rune. “It’s a little sore when it rains, but I’ll learn to live with that.” She chuckled and shrugged; he wondered if she really didn’t care, or if it was another thing she was letting roll off her back that he suspected did get to her a little. 

Her demeanor changed. Not severely, but enough he noticed, like she was trying to be a little more serious. “Can I tell you something, Jace?” she asked, the most hesitancy he’d ever heard in her voice. “Without you going and telling Clary—I’d like to still be cool to her, or whatever she thinks.”

He scoffed. “Clary thinks you’re amazing. But yeah, sure. What is it?”

She smiled through a grimace. “I don’t really know how to do the whole friends thing, let alone family. And god knows I haven't been very open about this whole ‘big sister’ thing.” She paused for a long moment. He watched as she closed her hand into a fist, stretched her fingers, then closed them again. It seemed to calm her down a little. “I’m trying. For once in my life, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Half of him wanted to laugh, mostly at the part where she said ‘for once’. He genuinely believed that Andy was calm, cool, and collected most of her life. She was resourceful and clever—he’d learned that training with her. But now it had been six weeks since they came home from Idris and in that time, they’d spent a few hours together. “I know,” he said instead, wanting her to know he saw it. Or, at least, he figured she was. He couldn’t tell the difference between her normally and her trying to spend time with him because this was all so different. “I told you before. We’ll figure it out together.”

She nodded, staring at the floor as if she were lost in thought. Instead of looking dazed, though, she looked confused, like she was trying to recall something. “People are usually out of the training room by eight—I dunno what the hell Aric Ashefair is doing up there at six in the morning, but let me tell you. Most awkward conversation of my life.”

Jace leaned forward and pinched the bridge of his nose, partially because of his headache and partially in disbelief. “What did you do?”

“Oh, nothing. Just doing my usual walk of shame up to my room after a lovely night with some faerie guy and ran into him in the hallway. Going to bed at the same time as someone waking up is certainly an experience, but I feel like it’s worse when you just got home from a club.”

He laughed into his hand, a short, half-snickering laugh, but laughing nonetheless. That was something he noticed about Andy, too, was her unwavering way to make him laugh with these stupid one-liners she came up with. “I bet that was a sight. I heard hickeys from the Fair Folk can turn all sorts of colors—”

“My point,” she said, cutting him off rather abruptly. If it was lighter in the room, he would have sworn she was blushing. “We should start training together. Even if it’s just a few times a week. I know you’re busy with Clary’s training, but—”

“I’ll do it,” he said quickly, That, what she’d said—that was what he was looking for. He got his foot in the door and he wasn’t going to let her pull away like some emotional turtle, like Rowan or Alec seemed to do a lot. “I think that sounds great. Just…not before nine tomorrow. I need the sleep.”

“Oh, god, no. I’m going to have a hangover. Breakfast, then we figure out the plan for the day.” She chuckled and stood up, probably to return to her room for the evening. “But tomorrow it is.” Andy made her way to the door and opened it, though turned in the threshold. “Hey, Jace?”

He looked up. “What?”

“If you get those crazy dreams again…I spend a lot of late nights tinkering. I’m probably up, if you want company.”

Jace smiled softly. She was right—even though he didn’t want to share the details of everything he saw, she understood some of it. And some company when he couldn’t sleep wouldn’t hurt. “I’ll take you up on that.”

“Goodnight, Jace,” she said, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. With that she turned and closed the door behind her, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the city life still moving outside.

[x-ceirios-x]

City of Glass: Epilogue

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

-

“It’s not a scar, it’s a birthmark, of sorts, and a Herondale family secret. The story Stephen told me was that years ago, a Herondale ancestor encountered an angel. The angel touched him on the shoulder, and the touch left a mark like a star. It is the mark of one who has had contact with an angel. The mark was passed on through his blood: all his descendants have it as well.”

Andy paused at the end of the hallway, listening to her mother talk. She knew there was a visitor, though she didn’t recognize the voice until she left her room. Jace. 

Word got around. No one had directly told her, but she heard things as she was helping people fix the city in the past few days—Sebastian Verlac was not, in fact, Sebastian Verlac but instead Johnathan Morgenstern, the older son of Valentine. This put Jace’s parentage into question, then they discovered he was the child of Céline Montclaire and Stephen Herondale. She didn’t know how she felt about it. 

“So anyone who has had contact with an angel—a real, living angel—might have one? Not just a Herondale?”

“I suppose, but I’ve never heard of anyone else having contact like that. You know the Clave says no one but Johnathan Shadowhunter has ever seen an angel face to face. But that’s what your father told me. His scar was here–I’ve never heard of anyone who wasn’t a Herondale having a mark like it. Imogen must have seen it and guessed who you really were.”

“She said something to me. While she was dying. She said, ‘your father would be proud of you.’ I thought she was being cruel. I thought she meant Valentine…”

“She meant Stephen. And she was right. She would have been.”

Andy had never heard her mother speak with such softness and affection, not in a long time, at least. Something in her stirred—hearing them speak about her father so affectionately, hearing her mother talk to Jace that way, the anger ate at her like she’d never felt before. She kept it together, listening to the rest of the conversation. She waited until Jace was about to leave to walk through the living room, into the kitchen without a word to either one of them. She slammed the kitchen door behind her, but to her frustration, it bounced off the wall and slid back open, the wheels squeaking. She ignored it and turned to make her tea. 

“Andromeda,” a curt voice said from the living room. “Don’t slam things, please.” 

She ignored that too. 

It was quiet for a moment, save for the occasional banging of pans and the sizzle of eggs on the stove. It was already early afternoon, but she spent the night in her workshop and didn’t go to bed until the sun was already up. It was a perfectly fine time for breakfast. She heard the front door open, then shut, and she assumed it was Jace who left. She let her shoulders relax, feeling the tension in them leave as she realized she didn’t have to deal with that conversation. 

That was, until she turned around and Jace was sitting at the table in front of her. She jumped, almost dropping her breakfast, but luckily caught herself before she made a mess. Angrily, she put the plate on the table, letting it drop with little grace. “Don’t scare me like that,” she said, sitting down in the chair across from him. She dug into her eggs, not acknowledging him other than that. 

She could feel his eyes on her, watching as she ate her breakfast. She tried to pretend like it wasn’t bothering her, but she had to speak up when it became too much. “If you want eggs, you have to make them yourself. I’m not cooking anymore.”

“I’m fine, I had lunch,” he said casually, leaning back in his chair. “I’m just…amazed.”

“With what?” she asked, glancing up at him. She did a double take—the first time she met Jace, he was a fiery ball of anger, thinking the world had played some cosmic joke on him. He heard about all the drama between him and Clary, though she never exactly believed the whole sibling thing, either. They looked nothing alike. Between herself and him, though, there was a stark family resemblance. She looked like her father—as did he. The only major difference was his golden eyes that shone like, well, gold. He was irritatingly beautiful, in the way she’d be mesmerized with artwork. He seemed to think something similar, by the way he was staring at her. 

“I’ll be honest,” he said, his voice slightly tense. “When Valentine lied to us, I forced myself to believe it. I never really felt like Clary and I fit like that—it didn’t make sense.”

“Please, save me the relationship drama.” Her voice was flat and bored, as was her expression. She spoke without looking at him, though she had stopped eating, she only picked at her food. “I think I’m the only one that put into question how strange that was.”

He frowned, though he didn’t argue with her. “My point is, I get something…different from you. I feel like it explains so much. I have a sister.”

“Just not the one you thought it was, right?” she asked sarcastically. She wasn’t making this easy on him, but he wasn’t the only one with feelings about his newfound family. “Welcome to the Herondale’s. We’re all dead or wish we were some days.”

He was silent. She didn’t look at him, too afraid to meet his eye, to know what he thought about it. After a beat, he said, “do you have the…the star?” 

That was a question she had a direct, non-emotional answer to. She stood and pulled the hem of her shirt up, showing him the birthmark on her ribs. There was the slightly pink, star-shaped mark there, surrounded by a burn scar, about the size of a small melon that covered most of her ribs on that side and some of her back. He didn't have to ask—she’d tell him the story. “I got angry with my mother one night. She was talking about my father, missing him, all that.” She dropped her shirt and leaned back on the counter, facing him. “I tried to burn it off.”

She caught his look of surprise, though he hid it well. He looked much nicer than she was sure she did at the moment—she was angry, she was hurt, unsure and maybe a little afraid of what this news of a brother meant for her. Jace looked at her with a calm sympathy that lit a fire under her. 

“We know our father as very different people, Jace. You see him through my mother’s eyes, maybe through Luke’s, where he was a warrior, a good man, a loving husband put into a terrible situation.” She stared at him, expression hard and unbreakable. “I see him as the man that broke my mother’s heart and abandoned me before I could have any real memory of him. He doesn’t deserve my love and he’ll never get it.”

He stood and walked around the other side of the table, closer to her. She watched as he leaned on the table, half sitting on it, next to where she’d been sitting a moment before. “You’re looking at me like I’m the one that hurt you,” he said plainly. “We’re not our fathers—none of us. I have friends that would agree with that sentiment, too.”

It was the first thing he’d said that day that didn’t make her want to punch him. Maybe, just maybe, he understood where she was coming from. And if not, he could understand. He could try. And if all that was true, just maybe, she could try, too. She was still angry at her mother, at her father, too. But Jace was right—none of this was his fault. She’d try to remember that.

“I came here, originally, to see Clary. But I wanted to see you, too,” he continued. “I have a proposition for you.”

She smirked. “And what’s that?”

Jace looked at her with more sincerity than she'd ever seen in someone’s face before, not even her mother’s. She admired his efforts, that was for sure. “Come to New York with me. Let us…figure all this out. We don’t have to force everything. If you decide you can’t stand me or hate me or anything, you leave. You’ll never have to speak to me again. I—” he cut himself off with a sigh, gathering his words. “Family isn’t just blood. I know that. But I would like to try, if we can, to make my only remaining blood family, too.”

His words took her off guard. She stood there for a moment, mouth slightly open, eyebrows raised at him. It had been a long, long time since anyone had told her they wanted her. Wanted her around, wanted to know her, to care about her, maybe love her. In an attempt to hide her surprise, she brought her hand to her mouth and bit her knuckle. She stared at the floor between them, weighing her options: stay in Idris, continue her life of missions to various places, sleeping with Downworlders to keep her entertained and arguing with her mother until she moved out, and maybe get her name out there as an inventor and weapons maker, or she could go to New York with Jace and be somewhere she had the possibility to do something a little more with her life, even if it meant the inventing had to take a back burner. For now. 

“I’ll do it,” she said, finally meeting his eyes. She smiled at him, feeling a little lighter, despite the fact that she was still upset with some of the situation. “New York. I’ll do it—let’s figure this out together.”

Jace grinned and extended his hand for her. With a moment of hesitancy, she took it, and shook his hand. It was strange, knowing that they were siblings—weren’t siblings supposed to hug or try to kick the hell out of each other?—but she wouldn’t complain. It was a start, and she wanted to see where this could go. 

“I’ll let you know when we’re ready to leave,” he said, eyes shining with something that wasn’t just the midday sunlight through the window. He looked much happier than he had when they first met. All this Valentine stuff being over must have taken a weight off his shoulders—actually, she could see he was standing up straighter and looked more self-assured. “Will I see you at the party later?”

“A Downworld party in Idris? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She laughed. “I’ve got my eye on that werewolf I fought with. Maia something.”

He smirked. “Good luck. I think she’s into Simon.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He nodded, a little amused, and left for the living room to grab his jacket and the things her mother gave him. She’d never had any interest in her father’s things—Jace could have them. A moment later, he poked his head back in the door, leaning against the threshold. “I’ll see you later, then,” he said. “And, Andy?”

She hummed in response, turning her head to look at him. “What is it?”

Jace shrugged. “Just…thanks. For a lot. Taking care of Clary and all that, and agreeing to come to New York.”

For the first time since she’d met him, she smiled at him. Genuinely. “It’s been my pleasure. Now get out of here so I can eat my breakfast and get ready.”

He laughed on his way out the door, and she heard it click behind him. She watched out the window as her mother and Jace said a final goodbye, and he headed off, down the street towards the Lightwood’s current abode. Andy had no idea how her mother would take the news, but she knew that it was the best thing for her. She’d always felt like there was something missing in her life. Val, to her surprise at the time, filled the hole well but never entirely. She fell completely in love with her, a love that made her happier than she’d ever been. Since her death, she’d never been the same, always empty. The feeling never faded, but for a moment, she felt like a little was lifted from her. Maybe that missing piece in her heart was the universe telling her there was someone out there, waiting to meet her—and maybe, it wouldn’t be a life partner, but someone she could really call family.

She finished her breakfast and drank her coffee, enjoying the quiet as her mother ran errands before the party. For the first time in a while, she felt something warm and good in her chest—hope for the future. 

[x-ceirios-x]

(Part 3) City of Glass, Chapter 5: A Problem of Memory

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

-

“But you’re supposed to be in New York!” Isabelle exclaimed. “Jace said you changed your mind about coming. He said you wanted to stay with your mother!”

“Jace lied,” Clary said flatly. “He didn’t want me here, so he lied about when you were leaving, and then lied to you about me changing my mind. Remember when you told me he never lies? That is so no true.”

“He normally never does,” said Isabelle, who had gone pale. “Look, did you come here—I mean, does this have something to do with Simon?”

“With Simon? No, Simon’s safe in New York, thank god. Though he’s going to be really pissed that he didn’t get to say goodbye to me.” Clary paused moment, looking the girl in the doorway over. Andy did the same, biting her knuckle to keep from laughing too much. Despite how badass she looked, Clary looked like a little kid when she got annoyed, like a toddler stamping their foot and crossing their arms with a big, annoying pout at watery eyes. She held herself together better than that, though, thank the Angel. “Come on, Isabelle, let me in. I need to see Jace.”

“So…you came here on your own? Did you have permission from the Clave? Please tell me you had permission from the Clave.”

“Not as such—“

“You broke the Law?” Isabelle’s voice rose, then dropped. Andy snickered from a few feet behind Clary; the Law is hard but it is the Law but the Law was also moronic. The girl looked at her over Clary’s shoulder, but their voices dropped enough that she couldn’t hear their conversation anymore.

After some muttering, she heard Clary ask, “you’d do it for your mother, wouldn’t?” What was it with this girl and mothers?

“Of course I would,” Isabelle said. “But, Clary, Jace has his reasons—“

“Then I’d love to hear what they are.” Clary ducked under Isabelle’s arm into the entryway of the house. She smirked and made her way up the stairs, following the Isabelle girl who didn’t pay a second thought to her, instead choosing to go after Clary. She stopped just behind them both, looking over at the dark-haired boys on the couch, one with their legs kicked into the other’s lap, both reading books. 

One of them looked up and dropped the book in their lap at the same time their mouth fell open. “Clary?” he asked, standing up immediately. He made a beeline for her, all but lunging into her arms. Now that she got a better look at their face, she really wasn’t sure if that was a guy or not, but she was slightly more sure that that was Clary’s boyfriend. Girlfriend maybe? Not that it mattered. 

“Hi,” Clary said, a little breathless as she returned the embrace, arms tight around their shoulders. She seemed to relax for a second (which only confirmed her suspicions) before she pulled away, voice tense and face stressed. She held them at arm's length away. “I need to talk to Jace. Where is he?”

The other boy—who was much taller and more angular, with a pretty face—appeared next to the two, between them and the stairs. “So this is the famous Clary.” His smile lit up his face, dark eyes glimmering like diamonds shimmering under black rock. He looked at her for a long moment and his eyebrows slowly furrowed—he looked puzzled. “I don’t think—have we met before?”

Clary shook her head. 

He pulled himself out of whatever trance she’d pulled him into with a quick shake of his head. His eyes flitted upward; Andy locked eyes with the boy and he wore that same warm smile. “And who is this?” he asked, stepping around Clary to get to her. 

Andy grinned at him and extended her hand. “Andromeda. It’s a pleasure, dear.”

He bowed slightly and kissed the back of her hand, a flirtatious look in his eye. “Andromeda is a beautiful name,” he said as he stood back up. “For a beautiful girl.”

The girl with the dark hair, Isabelle, stomped her foot angrily. It tore his eyes away from her and he looked bored–it made Isabelle furious. “Sebastian!” she exclaimed, her hair coming out of its pins as she moved. 

The other dark-haired boy, the one that hadn’t been flirting with her, spoke up. “Clary, what are you doing here?” they asked. “How—how did you get here?”

Clary stood behind and a little to the left of them, almost as if she was trying to put them between herself and Isabelle. “I came through a Portal,” she said. 

“A Portal?” Isabelle looked astonished. “There isn’t a portal left in New York, Valentine destroyed them both—”

“I don’t owe you any explanations,” she said harshly, then shot (who she assumed was) her partner next to her an apologetic look. “Not until you give me some. For one thing, where is Jace?”

“He’s not here,” Isabelle answered, at the exact same time the taller boy said, “he’s upstairs.”

Isabelle turned on him. “Sebastian! Shut up.”

The taller one, Sebastian, looked perplexed. “But she’s his sister. Wouldn’t he want to see her?”

Isabelle opened her mouth and closed it again. Apparently, their relationship as siblings was a complicated one, and definitely not something she wanted to ask too many details about. She did, however, want to learn more about this Sebastian guy. “Fine, Clary,” Isabelle said, anger clear in her voice. “Go ahead and do whatever you want, regardless of who it hurts. You always do anyway, don’t you?”

It was the other one’s turn to be angry. “What the hell?” they demanded, eyes wide. 

Isabelle spoke coldly. “Drop it, Rowan,” she muttered, throwing her hair over her shoulder. She walked off, heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she made her way into the living room and sat on the couch. Clary turned up the stairs and ran off, Rowan following closely behind her, asking for more information that she wouldn’t give until she found Jace. 

Andy turned to Sebastian, who was the only one still standing there. “Well. That was a lovely experience.” 

He snickered and leaned against the wall next to her. “There hasn’t been a dull moment since the Lightwoods got here.”

Andy’s eyes widened in surprise, though she smiled at her ability to do a little digging. She’d met Maryse Lightwood earlier that day when she was up at the Gard, along with a handful of other self-important shadowhunters that were all arguing over what to do about Valentine. In the hall, there were small groups of people around, filling the rather large hall. Next to Maryse was someone who looked like her son, and on the other side of him was a man she assumed was her husband, along with Jia and Patrick Penhallow, who she was vaguely acquainted with. Next to Patrick sat another man—Aric Ashfair, known among a handful of Institutes as the Clave’s lapdog. If there was something going wrong, he showed up, fixed the issue and disappeared. Consul Malachi seemed to like him, but the heads of Institutes understood a visit from him wasn’t something to be pleased about. 

He did their job better than them. She liked to visit the Gard and catch up on politics. Not because she cared, but because it was much more entertaining than sitting at home. She made connections while she was there, though, and it got her better placement for missions. The Clave liked to keep her busy due to her efficiency in tracking and killing demons, along with some casual investigative work. The travel gave her time to have some fun. 

“Just out of curiosity, are you two…” she trailed off, gesturing back towards Isabelle on the other side of the wall from them. Despite her habit of one night stands, she promised herself ages ago that she would never screw around with someone who was already taken. It happened once—the guy lied to her and she was so pissed when she found out she punched him. 

Sebastian shook his head. “Isabelle? Oh, no, not at all.”

She looked at him through half-lidded eyes. “She seems awfully jealous.”

He shrugged at her observation, a sly smile hinting at the corner of his mouth. “There has been some flirting, but nothing serious, if that’s what you want to know.”

She noticed, out of the corner of her eye, Isabelle shot him a death glare. If her eyes were knives, the both of them would have both bled out by now. Andy turned toward him, completely ignoring her, and smiled. “That’s perfect,” she said. 

Suddenly, there was a shriek from upstairs—it sounded like Clary, which put her on edge. A string of furious curse words left Rowan’s mouth, followed by a “what the hell?” from a new voice, a lower one, no doubt a guy’s. There was indistinct chatter and arguing; it sounded like someone got caught doing something they shouldn’t have. The longer the commotion lasted, the less she felt it was real danger and it was really something petty. She ignored that, too, and asked Sebastian, “do you guys have tea?”

[x-ceirios-x]

face claims

in case anyone was wondering. shadowhunters face claims incoming

ROWAN ASHFAIR

JENSEN ASHFAIR

TONY ROSENHART

ANDY HERONDALE

LIAN MAYHEW

[x-ceirios-x]

andy

template based on this post

Basics

Name: Andromeda Elpis Herondale

Birthplace: Idris

Places Lived: Idris

Current Residence: Idris

Birthday: May 4, 1988

Age: 19

Species: Nephilim 

Appearance

Hair: long, blond, and curly

Eyes: dark blue

Height: 5’10

Extra: star-shaped birthmark on her hip, known in the Herondale family

Clothing Style: most of her clothes outside of gear are various shades of red, brown, or grayscale. she's a gold jewelry person and wears very thin, dainty necklaces and bracelets frequently. almost all of her shirts are tight, cropped and/or low cut and her pants are just the same. she wears mostly jeans but is known to wear a skirt while out clubbing.

Face Claim: Aurora Carter

Family

Mother: Amatis Herondale, née Graymark 

Father: Stephen Herondale 

Sibling(s): Jace Herondale (half-brother)

Other Important Relatives: Imogen Herondale (paternal grandmother), Luke Garroway (maternal uncle)

Personality

Andy is, in short, a flirt. She enjoys toying with people’s feelings when she has little to no interest in actually dating anyone. She’s rather fearless, in the sense that she makes decisions based on what she wants to do and refuses to back down from them. She’s confident, strong, and likes to cause trouble here and there. 

Beneath that, she deeply struggles to create close relationships with the people around her. She’s only had a handful of people close to her in her life, and in one way or another, she doesn’t talk to them anymore. While she does enjoy chatting with people and making friends, they never go below surface level. It leaves her lonely, but she’s learned to live with it. 

Hobbies: creating experimental weapons; partying in Alicante; sometimes reading, but they’re usually books about mechanical things for some weapon she’s trying to figure out why it isn't working 

Shadowhunter Information:

Familial Symbol: a flying heron

Weapon: bo staff, temperamental firearms

Fighting Style: close-combat 

Favored runes: accuracy, agility, persuade, unseen

Parabatai (if any): none

Favorites

Food: general breakfast food

Drink: strawberry daiquiris

 Color: red

Season: summer

Scent: lavender

Music: 80s and 2000s party/club hits 

Time of day: sunrise

Movie: hasn’t watched many 

Background

Andromeda Herondale was born on May 4, 1988, to parents Stephen and Amatis Herondale, surrounded by a lovely extended family, like her uncle, Lucian Graymark, or grandparents, Imogen and Marcus Herondale, and friends of her parents, like Jocelyn Fairchild and Maryse and Robert Lightwood. The peace didn’t last long, unfortunately, due to the Circle’s uprising. Things changed quickly for the Herondale family—Andy wasn’t quite three years old when her father disappeared from her and her mother's life due to the demands of Valentine. Roughly a year later, she attended her father’s funeral. From her limited understanding of the circumstances, she put the blame on her father and holds much resentment for him, even as an adult. 

She grew up incredibly isolated. Her only remaining family after the Uprising was her mother and paternal grandmother—Amatis did her best to give them a relationship, but Imogen was too surrounded with her own grief to see the child that looked almost exactly like her son. So, the two lived on their own in Alicante, occasionally going to the parties held in the city or getting involved with the social life of Shadowhunters. Amatis quit going on missions unless specifically asked to raise Andy, but she also pulled out of the Clave, believing she could contribute nothing to their cause after her involvement in the Circle, especially not with Imogen being the new Inquisitor. 

At the parties and social events, Andy met Valentina Pontmercy. Even from a young age, the two understood the implications of their name and they decided to rebrand them, in a way, as Val, to make a name for themselves without the connotations of Valentine Morgenstern. Their parents were Circle fanatics, but the children found a friend in their determination not to be defined by their parents' choices. 

The older they got, the closer the two became. Val tended to be quieter, but Andy came into her own and enjoyed the socialite life. She knew that most people in the Clave didn’t know how to treat her based on her family, but she made friends with kids her own age easily. None of these friendships could compare to hers with Val, however—the two were thick as thieves and spent plenty of time getting lectured by adults in the Clave for causing problems at galas.

Around age sixteen, the two realized their feelings for each other and began dating—it wasn’t something encouraged by the Clave or their society in general, so they kept it secret from most people they knew. However, Andy decided that the other most important person in her life, her mother, deserved to know the important parts of her life. 

The conversation didn’t go well by any means. Unfortunately, the way Andy understood her mother’s comments, she wasn’t going to accept her daughter or her relationship. Their relationship wasn’t the same after—after the initial shock and anger wore off, Andy pulled away from her. This left her in a very lonely, isolated existence when, two years later, the two went on a mission together and Val didn’t come back alive. She watched her best friend and partner die, and was one of very few people at their funeral. Amatis, for the most part, left her to her own devices. In Andy’s mind, it only solidified her mother’s disinterest in her left when it came to Val, despite that not being her real intentions. 

After Val’s death, Andy changed. She’d always had fun at parties, enjoyed talking to people, liked getting into meaningless trouble, but things were different. She flirted with people with no intention of following through on her words, would frequently sneak out, and when she turned eighteen, started taking missions and traveling anywhere she could to get out of the house. She rarely stays home long enough to see her mother, and when she does, they don’t speak much. Her time away from Alicante is spent screwing around with various Downworlders or other shadowhunters, or raiding Institute libraries for books on the mechanics of weaponry so she can design new weapons or toys, as she usually calls them. She very rarely makes connections with people that last into the next morning and keeps to herself unless she’s looking for some form of entertainment. 

[x-ceirios-x]

(Part 2) City of Glass, Chapter 9: This Guilty Blood

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

-

The rain felt like it would never end. But it wasn’t rain, it was glass, rubble, and dirt from the mansion exploding falling around them. To anyone watching from afar, it might have been a beautiful sight, with the blue and green glass flying through the air and catching the moonlight.

Andy kept her face buried in the ground, wanting to protect herself to the best of her ability. Her armor protected most of her body and she kept her arms wrapped around her head. 

A sharp, stabbing pain started in her leg. The rain didn’t stop for another several seconds and every piece of debris that touched her leg felt like white-hot fire. When the noise around her stopped, she slowly, carefully, raised her head; she picked her head up and turned, to the best of her ability, to see a piece of glass sitting in the back of her leg. She grit her teeth and rolled to the side, fumbling for her stele. To her surprise and frustration, she pulled the pieces of it out of her pocket—she must have fallen on it in all the chaos. 

She cursed. It was silent—incredibly silent. She’d fallen down the hill to the south side of the mansion, where Clary and Jace were nowhere in sight. Fortunately, she still had her staff—with a flick, the staff expanded, and she was able to stand to walk on it. 

When she found Clary, she and Jace were standing in the grass, talking amongst themselves. In the back of her mind, she was a little irritated that they could be standing there when they had no idea where she was, but they looked up when they saw her moving toward them. Clary took off in a run towards her, only stopping when she got within a few feet of her. 

“Oh my God, you’re okay,” she said breathlessly. “We were just trying to figure out where you could have ended up—”

“Stele,” she said, tone flat and uninterested. Realizing how she sounded, she added a quick, “please.”

Clary gasped as she saw her leg. Jace joined them soon after and shook his head. “We lost mine. Where’s yours?”

Andy held up the pieces with her free hand. “Destroyed. So were those books I wanted.”

He nodded solemnly. “No portaling back to the city, then. Can you walk?”

“Mostly,” Andy squeezed the staff tighter in her hand. “This should be okay. How far to the city?” she asks, a little breathless as she focused on trying not to deal with the main shooting up her leg.

“Five hours or so,” he said. “We should get started.”

She hung her head, taking a deep breath. “This is going to be one hell of a trip,” she said through gritted teeth.  

***

Hours later, the sky began to lighten. She’d discarded the staff earlier after it kept getting stuck in the mud, sticks, and it frustrated her more than it was worth. She used Clary as a crutch for about five minutes, but quit when that was more painful than walking alone—she couldn’t hold her up due to her height. Jace took over. He walked with her arm over his shoulder the remainder of the hike. She could tell he didn’t appreciate the extra weight on the already exhausting trek, but they didn’t have another choice. He didn’t argue or say a negative word about it, just kept walking, eyes staring forward. 

The sky began to lighten. Clary, next to them, stared at the sky with her eyes half-closed—she looked as tired as Andy felt. “It’s early for dawn,” she said. 

Jace looked at her for a second, his eyes seemed to be glazed over, like he was off in his own mind. “That’s Alicante. The sun doesn’t come up for another three hours at least. Those are the city lights.”

All three of them, collectively and silently, picked up the pace. They were so close to the city—at this point, she was ready for a hot shower, a million iratzes all over her body, and a nap. They rounded a corner and found themselves walking around a wide dirt path cut into a hillside. The even ground was pleasant until they started the incline. 

She stumbled forward, feeling the glass in her leg shift. She wasn’t stupid enough to remove it and risk bleeding out without access to a nourishment rune or something. It wasn’t comfortable, though—she’d gotten a mundane tattoo once, and it felt like thousands of those tiny needles digging into her leg every time she stepped. 

Jace stopped and let her catch her breath. “You okay?” he asked, It was the most emotion she’d heard in his voice since the explosion. 

She nodded. “I will be.”

She tried to start walking again, but the pain in her leg made her knee buckle under her. Jace, fortunately, was there to catch her—he moved quickly, like he was expecting that to happen. Maybe walking six hours with injuries without a stele wasn’t a good idea, but she couldn’t just stay in the woods, either. 

“Hold still,” he said, and before she had the time to respond, she felt her feet leave the steady ground. Since she was a kid, there hadn’t been anyone that could pick her up as effortlessly as that, but there was Jace, starting up the hill with her in a bridal carry. 

She sighed, though tried to keep herself limp. It was much easier to carry someone when they didn’t fight it. “My knight in shining armor,” she said, tone flat and dull. She rolled her eyes, though she had to admit, it helped a lot. 

“Don’t make it weird,” he muttered, eyes forward. 

They met Clary at the top of the hill. “We must be nearly there,” she said. “Is there a shortcut down the hill?”

He set Andy down and she pulled her staff out again, preferring to walk with that than on Clary again. “Something’s wrong,” he said abruptly. He took off, half-running down the road, his boots sending up dust that gleamed a strange color in the stranger light. 

Clary looked at her, shocked and unsure of whether to follow him. Something in his tone worried her—she took off, too, though not as fast due to her crutch. Clary jogged next to her as they met up with Jace, several feet down the road. They rounded the next curve and Jace skidded to a sudden halt. 

The reddish light they’d seen earlier was stronger now, throwing a scarlet glow up into the night sky, lighting the kill they stood on as if it were daylight. Earlier, they assumed it was the city lights coming up, but it wasn’t—Plumes of smoke curled up from the valley below. Above the black smoke were the ever-gleaming demon towers, now marked with soot, dimming the shine of the crystal tops. Through the smoke, she could see flames, scattered across the city like jewels against a dark cloth. 

It seemed incredible, but there it was: They were sitting on a hillside high over Alicante, and below them the city was burning.

[x-ceirios-x]

City of Glass, Chapter 9: This Guilty Blood

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

-

“I didn’t even remember there being a cellar here,” Jace said, staring past Clary at the gaping hole in the wall. He raised the witchlight, and its glow bounced off the downward-leading tunnel. The walls were black and slick, made of smooth dark stone Clary didn’t recognize. The steps gleamed as if they were damp. A strange smell drifted up through the opening: dank, musty, with a weird metallic tinge that set her nerves on edge. 

“What the hell is that?” Andy asked, grip tightening on the seraph blade on her hip. 

Clary barely heard her. “What do you think could be down there?”

“I don’t know,” Jace said, answering both questions at once. He moved toward the stairs; he put a foot on the top step, testing it, and then shrugged as if he’d made up his mind. He began to make his way down the steps, moving carefully. Partway down he turned and looked up at the two of them. “Are you coming?”

“I will stay here if you don’t want to go,” Andy said, speaking very quietly to her. “I told you I’d help you, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Clary looked up at her—she could see the tightness in her face, and the anxiety behind her eyes. She shook her head, placing her hand over Andy’s; her grip on her seraph blade relaxed slightly. “Let’s go. I’m curious.”

They shared a look. Andy looked like she was trying to convince her it wasn’t safe. She caved, though, and let Clary lead the way towards Jace. The two trailed behind him, down the stairs. They spiraled down in tighter and tighter circles, as if they were making their way through the inside of a huge conch shell. The smell grew stronger as they reached the bottom, and the steps widened out into a large square room whose stone walls were streaked with marks of damp—and other, darker stains. 

The floor was scrawled with white stones scattered here and there. 

Jace took a step forward and something crunched under his feet. All three of them looked down at the same time. “Bones,” Clary whispered. Not white stones after all, but ones of all shapes and sizes, scattered all across the floor. “What was he doing down here?”

The witchlight burned in Jace’s hand, casting an eerie glow over the room. “Experiments,” he said. 

Andy took a step forward, carefully brushing the bones away from her before she stepped down. She walked to the closest wall, looking over the plethora of instruments and magical items, all haphazardly laying around. There was a green liquid that looked like it had been pouring down the side of the lower cabinet, onto the floor, but it looked dried. She picked up the bottle and smelled it, before pinching her nose and dropping it back on the counter. “That’s disgusting,” she said, though she kept inspecting. Clary watched her pick up various vials, some with needles on the end of them, and place them back down. She found a book, some pieces of metal, and handfuls of things she didn’t recognize. She pocketed some of it, and tucked the book under her arm with the other two.

Jace glared, but didn’t say anything. Andy must have noticed his look because she smirked. “Finders keepers, dear,” she said, casting a look over her shoulder. “He’s certainly not using it anymore.”

“What kinds of bones are these?” Clary’s voice rose. “Are they animal bones?”

“No.” Jace kicked a pile of bones with his feet, scattering them. “Not all of them.”

Andy turned around, a different book with dust hanging off the corners like icicles in her hands. “They certainly are not,” she said, running her finger down the page she opened. She rubbed her fingers together to get rid of the dust. “I can’t read it perfectly, but there’s some weird, demonic, human-sacrifice stuff in here.” She must have seen Clary’s face, because she quickly followed with, “not that we can prove he was doing this spell specifically. Bit of light reading?”

Clary’s chest felt tight. “I think we should go back.”

Instead, Jace raised the witchlight in his hand. It blazed out, brightly, and then more brightly, lighting the air with a harsh white brilliance. The far corners of the room sprang into focus. Three of them were empty. The fourth was blocked with a hanging cloth, a humped shape. 

“Jace,” Clary whispered. “What is that?”

He didn’t reply. There was a seraph blade in his free hand, suddenly, and she noticed Andy had put away her witchlight and had her hand on her bo staff, prepared in case whatever the thing was sprung at them. 

“Jace, don’t,” said Clary, but it was too late—he strode forward and twitched the cloth aside with the tip of the blade, then seized it and jerked it down. It fell in a blossoming cloud of dust. 

Jace staggered back, the witchlight falling from his grasp. As the blazing light fell, Clary caught a single glimpse of his face: It was a white mask of horror. Clary snatched the witchlight up before it could go dark and raised it high, desperate to see what could have shocked Jace—unshockable Jace—so badly. 

At first all she saw was the shape of a man—a man wrapped in a dirty white rag, crouched on the floor. Manacles circled his wrists and ankles, attached to thick metal staples driven into the stone floor. How can he be alive? Clary thought it horror, and bile rose up in her throat. The rune-stone shook in her hand, and light danced in patches over the prisoner: She saw emaciated arms and legs, scarred all over with the marks of countless tortures. The skull of a face turned toward her, black empty sockets where the eyes should have been—and there was a dry rustle, and she saw that what she thought was a white rag were wings, white wings rising up behind his back in two pure white crescents, the only pure things in this filthy room. 

She gave a dry gasp. “Jace. Do you see—”

“I see.” Jace, standing beside her, spoke in a voice that cracked like broken glass. 

“Oh my god,” Andy said, voice in a hushed whisper. She clasped her hand over her mouth, breath heavy in the too-silent room. 

“You said there weren’t any angels—that no one had ever seen one—”

“Clary, they’re supposed to be a myth,” Andy said, fighting to gain her composure back. “This…this shouldn’t be possible.”

Jace whispered something under his breath, a string of what sounded like panicked curses. He stumbled forward, toward the huddled creature on the floor—and recoiled, as if he had bounded off an invisible wall. Looking down, Clary saw that the angel crouched inside a pentagram made of connected runes graven deeply into the floor. They glowed with a faint phosphorescent light. “The runes,” she whispered. “We can’t get past—”

“But there must be something—” Jace said, his voice nearly breaking, “something we can do.”

The angel raised its head. Clary saw with a distracted, terrible pity that it had curling golden hair like Jace’s that shone dully in the light. Tendrils clung close to the hollows of its skull. Its eyes were pits, its face slashed with scars, like a beautiful painting destroyed by vandals. As she stared, its mouth opened and a sound poured from its throat—not words but a piercing golden music, a single singing note, held and held and held so high and sweet that the sound was like pain—

A flood of images rose up before Clary’s eyes. Images of Valentine, standing in front of a crumpled creature, wings stretched like a bird that had been shot out of the sky. Images of her mother and Valentine when they were younger; her mother looked so in love with him, and he with her, but there was something darker behind his eyes. Images of Valentine in the woods somewhere, in front of a pentagram. Inside the pentagram stood a woman, face hidden by shadow, blood from her palm pouring into a silver cup on the edge of the pentagram. My Lady of Edom, he called her. 

The forest disappeared and more images came. Her mother, again, and she spoke to someone unseen. He used demon blood, she said. Johnathan’s not a baby anymore. He isn’t even human; he’s a monster. She vanished. Valentine was pacing restlessly around the circle of runes she was just standing in front of. He cursed the angel, and when it did not respond, he drove his seraph blade into him. A golden liquid poured from the wound. Then they were in the Wayland library, and it was Jocelyn, sliding a book on the shelf. And she was gone. 

The scene showed Valentine in the cellar again, ranting to the angel about his goals, about the Shadowhunters’ refusal to make more of them with the Cup, about the lack of power the Nephilim have compared to the Downworld, about his retrieval of the Mortal Cup—all of it. Ithuriel, he called him. That was the angel’s name. Valentine asked for the location of the Mortal Mirror, but he stayed silent. 

The scene broke apart in fragments, and as her vision faded, Clary caught glimpses of images familiar to her from her own nightmares—angels with wings both gold and black, sheets of mirrored water, gold and blood—and Jace, turning away from her, always turning away. Clary reached out for him, and for the first time the angel’s voice spoke in her head in words that she could understand. 

These are not the first dreams I have ever showed you.

The image of a rune burst behind her eyes, like fireworks—not a rune she’d ever seen before; it was strong, simple, and straightforward as a tied knot. It was gone in a breath as well, and as it vanished, the angel’s singing ceased. Clary was back in her own body, reeling on her feet in the filthy and reeking room. The angel was silent, frozen, wings folded, a grieving effigy. 

“Clary!” Andy’s voice brought her back faster than the fading of the images. As she felt herself return into her own mind, she stumbled forward; Andy caught her expertly, keeping her steady on her feet. She kept one hand on her shoulder even when she was upright. “What the hell happened? One moment you’re here and the next both of you zoned out for a few minutes and I’m left here panicking for you—“

Clary let out her breath in a sob. “Ithuriel.” She reached her hands out to the angel, knowing she couldn’t pass the runes, her heart aching. For years the angel had been down here, sitting silent and alone in the blackness, chained and starving but unable to die. 

Jace was beside her. She could see from her grief-stricken face that he’d seen everything she had. Then why hadn’t Andy? What did all the images mean, were they connected to each other? He looked down at the seraph blade in his hand and then back at the angel. 

Jace took a step forward, and then another. His eyes were fixed on the angel, and it was as if, Clary thought, there were some silent communication passing between them, some speech she couldn’t hear. Jace’s eyes were as bright as gold disks, full of reflected light. 

“Ithuriel,” he whispered. 

“Ithuriel,” Andy repeated. “Is that his name?”

Clary nodded, just barely. The blade in Jace’s hand blazed like a torch. Its glow was blinding. The angel raised its face, as if the light were visible to its blind eyes. It reached out its hands, the chains that bound its wrists like harsh music. 

He turned to her. “Clary,” he said. “The runes.”

The runes. For a moment, she stared at him, puzzled, but his eyes urged her onward. He handed Jace the witchlight, took the stele from her pocket, and knelt down by the scrawled runes. They looked as if they’d been gouged into the stone with something sharp. She traced several lines into the floor, changing the runes of binding to those of release, imprisonment to openness. THey flared up as she traced them, as if she were dragging a match tip across sulfur. 

She rose to her feet. The runes shimmered before her. The witchlight stone was gone, the only light in the room coming from the seraph blade Jace had named for the angel. Slowly, Andy reached forward—she pushed her hand through the barrier of runes like there was nothing there. “It worked,” she muttered, turning to them. 

 Jace stretched the seraph blade out and his hand went through the runes as well. The angel reached its hands up and took the blade from him. It shut its blind eyes, and Clary thought for a moment that it smiled. It turned the blade in its grasp until the sharp tip rested just below its breastbone. Clary gave a little gasp and moved forward, but Andy grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. She stumbled backward and Jace caught her, his grip like iron on her arms, just as the angel drove the blade home. 

The angel’s head fell back, its hands dropping from the hilt, which protruded from where its heart would be—if angels had hearts; Clary didn’t know. Flame burst from the wound, spreading outward from the blade. The angel’s body shimmered into white flame, the chains on its wrist burning scarlet, like iron left too long in a fire. 

Clary could no longer watch. She turned and buried her face in Jace’s shoulder. His arm came around her, his grip tight. “It’s alright,” he said into her hair, but the air was full of smoke and the ground felt like it was moving. It was only when Jace stumbled that she realized it wasn’t shock: The ground was moving. 

“We need to leave. Now,” Andy said, tearing her eyes away from the scene in front of them. 

Clary let go of Jace and staggered; the stones underfoot were grinding together, and a thin rain of dirt was sifting down from the ceiling. The angel was a pillar of smoke; the runes around it glowed painfully bright. Clary stared at them, decoding their meaning, and then looked at Jace. She didn’t get to say anything—he had already seized her hand and was running for the stairs, pulling her along after him. Looking past him, she saw Andy running ahead, scattering dust, rocks, and debris away from the stairs with the blade in her hand. The stairs themselves were surging and buckling. Clary fell, banging her knee painfully on a step, but Jace’s grip on her arm didn't loosen. SHe raced on, ignoring the pain in her leg, her lungs full of choking dust. 

They reached the top of the steps and exploded out into the library. Behind them Clary could hear the soft roar as the rest of the stairs collapsed. It wasn’t much better here; the room was shuddering, books tumbling from their shelves. A statue lay where it had tipped over, in a pile of jagged shards. Andy was already a step ahead of them, she grabbed a nearby chair and threw it at the stained-glass window, yelling an apology to Jace over her shoulder. At a glance, he didn’t seem like he cared much. The entire manor was about to go under anyway. 

It sailed through a waterfall of broken glass. Jace turned and held his hand out to her. Behind him, through the jagged frame that remained, she could see a moonlight-saturated stretch of grass and a line of treetops in the distance. They seemed a long way down. I can't jump that far, she thought, and was about to shake her head when she saw, over his shoulder, Andy stand on the windowsill and wave her out. With a worried look, she jumped. 

One of the heavy marble busts that lined the higher shelves had slid free and was falling toward her; she ducked out of its way, and it hit the floor inches from where she’d been standing, leaving a sizable dent in the floor. A second later, Jace’s arms were around her and he was lifting her off her feet. She was too surprised to struggle as he carried her over to the broken window and dumped her unceremoniously out of it. 

She hit a grassy rise just below the window and tumbled down its steep incline, gaining speed until she fetched up against a hillock with enough force to knock the breath out of her. She sat upm shaking grass out of her hair. A second later, Jace came to a stop next to her; unlike her, he rolled immediately into a crouch, staring up the hill at the manor house. 

Clary looked to where he was looking, part of her looking at the house, the other part of her looking for Andy who was nowhere in sight. Jace shoved her into the depression between the two hills. She gasped in surprise as he knocked her down and rolled on top of her, shielding her  with his body as a huge roar went up. It sounded like the earth shattering apart, like a volcano erupting. A blast of white dust shot into the sky. Clary heard a sharp pattering noise all around her. For a bewildering moment she thought it had started to rain—then she realized it was rubble and dirt and broken glass: the detritus of the shattered manor being flung down around them like deadly hail. 

Somewhere in the distance, she heard a sharp cry. Jace pressed her harder into the ground, his body flat against hers, his heartbeat nearly as loud in her ears as the sound of the manor’s subsiding ruins.