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Entry tags:
Shawdowhunters - Past is Present
Title: Past is Present
Fandom: Shadowhunters
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~3,800 words
Spoilers: Early Season 1
Warnings: Reference to domestic abuse
Synopsis: Awesome. Great. Fan-fricken-tastic. If the demons and downworlders didn’t get her tonight, her past just might.
Author’s Notes: I kinda sorta fell into a new fandom...
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
The text was as simple as it was terrifying: “He’s out. Listed mom’s address as contact three days ago.”
Clary looked at her phone, pursed her lips, and willed her hands not to shake as she slid it back into her pocket. She was being ridiculous and she knew it. Eighteen months was plenty of time to move on, forgive and forget and all that. When she thought of how much had changed in just barely a month or so for herself, it was hard to fathom just how much was still to come.
“Problem?” Jace asked as he sidled up next to her.
“Nope,” she said with forced cheer. Perhaps too much cheer if the doubting look he now gave her was anything to go by.
He took her at her word though, or possibly figured it would all blow up eventually and he’d probably be in the midst of it anyway, and simply nodded. “Good, we’re headed out.”
Awesome. Great. Fan-fricken-tastic. If the demons and downworlders didn’t get her tonight, her past just might.
If she seemed more on edge than usual, the others at least didn’t comment. They probably figured the rookie was stressed and moved on. They had probably moved past that point themselves sometime around the time they grew out of braces.
Wait, did Shadowhunters need braces? Or did their parents just do a spell to make their teeth straight? Or did the angel blood just fix all that for them in the first place? Or maybe she shouldn’t let her mind drift like that if they were going into a known hive of activity where she knew from her own short personal experience far more people were armed than first appeared.
The mission, such as it was, was simple enough. Intelligence gathering. A deal for downworlder blood had happened here, though it wasn’t clear if it was human or other who wanted it. The reasoning was it made sense some idiot might try it again now that some time had passed and everything cooled down. They were to dance, to drink, to hide in plain sight, and possibly interrogate anyone dumb enough to talk to them, preferably in a little room off to the side so that no one caught on if their shiny blades came into play. Their runes were covered with a simple obfuscation spell, and while they looked the same to each other, their appearance was slightly altered to everyone else with a more powerful glamor.
Well, except for Clary. For some reason she was to keep her bright hair and usual looks, Alec muttered that it caught her enough attention before so it might work in their favor this time. Besides, not many knew her association with the Shadowhunters yet anyway, and her familiarity may work in their favor. She was to stand around and schmooze, the others were to look for clues and maybe make sure she didn’t get hauled off by a vampire or something.
An hour in and her skin itched. She swore she could feel eyes on her, but she could never catch who they belonged to. She figured it was the text, making her stupid, right up until the stupid damn near fell in her lap.
“Well, if it isn’t my dear friend Clary Fray,” an all too familiar voice said from far too close for her comfort. She turned to face him and resisted the urge to punch him outright. He had done his time, had his chance to change. She at least owed him a chance to prove he was better than before.
“Hello, Caleb,” she replied. She tried for casual and was pretty sure she failed. He smiled and she took a moment to get a good look at him. His sandy hair was a little more shaggy and his stubble seemed to highlight a decent scar just at the edge of his jawline. His teeth had yellowed from too many cigarettes, but it was his eyes that told the truth: cold, unfeeling, dangerous.
“I asked around, heard you like to hang out in this dive. You certainly look the part,” he sneered. She didn’t know people actually sneered outside of books and movies, but that was the best description for the way his lip curled upwards and the muscle in his cheek twitched just so.
She glanced down at her outfit for the night. It was tame by Izzy’s terms, which meant a little out of her own personal comfort zone. Leather pants, a shirt that was more corset than tank top, and a pair of boots that were surprisingly comfy for the sheer amount of heel to them. “It’s a club, Caleb. This is how people dress at clubs,” she told him.
“Yeah, if they’re sluts,” he snorted. He took a sip from a drink he must have kiped from someone else as there was no way he could have gotten a decent fake ID that quickly.
Her patience wearing thin, she finally asked, “What do you want, anyway?”
“To repay you for the eighteen long months I got to sit in a cell because of your bitch ass,” he replied.
The punch, when it came, was telegraphed in comparison to what she was used to. That said, she was so shocked that he would be dumb enough to try something, here at Pandemonium, so soon after he got out. Didn’t he have a parole officer or something to report into? In any case, it actually made contact, and with a decent amount of force.
She doubled over from the impact, but kept her breath enough to ask, “Are you really that stupid?”
He grabbed her hair in a fist but she made use of the fact that her hands were still free to flip his drink up and into his face. He didn’t let go, but she had enough slack to get in a punch of her own, upwards against his diaphragm just beneath the bottom edge of his rib cage. She wasn’t sure if it was a flail or actually coordinated, but he managed to toss her backwards where she bounced off of an ill placed table before she crashed to the floor, now missing a few pieces of hair but at least free from his grasp.
“What the actual fuck, bro?” a guy beside her asked. Unfortunately, he was no one familiar, nor did he seem to want to actually intervene. That was to be expected as in a place like this you never knew if you were interrupting a turf war, something far more sinister, or a simple sibling spat.
She tried to push herself up and earned a knee to her chin for her troubles. Her head snapped backwards and connected with the now upturned table leg in the process. The bitter taste of iron burst against her tongue and she was fairly certain she now had a split lip.
For a moment, she flashed back to eighteen months ago, and to four months prior to that when she had been excited that an actual lineman from the football team had taken an interest in her artistic geeky self. To the way he held her wrist just a little too tightly as he dragged her from place to place. To the way he would tell her just what to wear at those places. To the way he would tell her to shut up if she dared to try to join in any conversations.
It hadn’t been her way to give in then, and it sure as hell wasn’t her way to give in now. She had tossed a drink in his face then too, stormed off, and dealt with the consequences later. More precisely, Luke dealt with the consequences when he saw the ring of blue around her wrist and took her to get her fingers splinted - thankfully only dislocated and thankfully only two of them. It was enough though, as apparently he already had a history of this sort of thing and a little coercing brought more than a single ex out of the woodwork, even if he only had eyes for one ex at the moment.
He had stepped closer during her little mental interlude, and others had stepped back. That was fine though, as she needed room to move.
Her foot snapped out and made contact first with his ankle and then with his knee. He didn’t go down, but he was at least stalled enough to get her to her feet again. He swung, she ducked. He swung again and she blocked and may have possibly enjoyed the look on his face when she did so. The problem was that he had always been a brawler and she had about a month’s training off and on at the institute under her belt and nothing more. Well, she had what she was quickly learning to be enhanced reflexes, but was still at least half his size and half his bulk and had the memory of Alec’s voice echoing in her ears that mundanes were not target practice no matter how annoying they got.
Actually, that was Jace’s voice, and it was from the far side of the suddenly much quieter room, likely enhanced by one of the many squiggles drawn into her skin at this point. Frankly, she couldn’t remember which one at the moment. He hadn’t shouted it or anything like that, but he hadn’t needed to as she seemed to hone in on the other Shadowhunters immediately, quickly enough to see Alec snap his fingers and make his bow fade back to nothing.
Jace had his hand tucked into his jacket though, and was trying to push his way towards her without actually hurting anyone else per their promise to both Magnus and the Clave. It made her very aware of her own blade and her urge to use it, even though she knew that would cause far more questions than answers in a place like this, especially for a supposedly unmarked girl.
Hand to hand it was then, or hand to bar stool as Caleb had picked one up while she was distracted and was swinging it in her direction. She tucked and rolled and came back up with a kick to his already injured knee followed through with a uppercut that sadly lacked the strength to knock him out even if it at least knocked him back a step. She would have aimed for his balls, but he was actually smart enough to position himself to make that more difficult than it was worth.
“I was going to have a scholarship,” he seethed. He spat to the side and she didn’t bother to look to see if there was blood. “There were recruiters, contracts, and you ruined it.” He spun the now broken bit of wood in his hand and she knew to watch for that as much as his eyes telegraphing his next move. “I was going to play some college ball and then go pro, and you took that all away!”
“And beating me up is supposed to get that all back?” she asked, ducking the expected swing. “You don’t think someone has called the cops by now? You’ll go right back if you don’t just walk away,” she tried. She always had given people too many chances.
He paused, just enough for her to think she had gotten through to him. His head cocked to the side, his lips pressed thin, and then he scoffed, “Totally worth it.”
A couple of things happened then. He gripped the broken wood in both hands in preparation for his next attack and Izzy whistled high and clear from far closer than she would have expected. The glamour was still in place, as was the mission, so there was little chance of her using her bracelet to whip the guy, but she did one better and tossed Clary a weapon of her own.
She caught the pool cue with ease. It was lighter, thinner than the staves they had trained with, but she most definitely could make due. She blocked and spun and parried each attack, right up until the damn thing broke in two. That was fine though as now she had two weapons to his one. He aimed for the core of her body and occasionally her head. She aimed for his hands and smacked the damn thing right out of them, carrying through with a spin that ended up with her own broken piece of wood snapping even further, this time against his skull.
He landed in a heap on the floor, dazed but not fully out for the count. She was tempted to kick him anyway, but found a far heavier boot took on that task. She traced the fine leather up past tailored slacks and a shirt that she could never afford to eyes rimmed with glitter and gold.
“I am so sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to start a fight!” This, here, this was when she could blow the whole mission and ruin it for everyone. Too many eyes. Too much attention. Even for a place like this.
Magnus, supposedly one of the most powerful warlocks around and the would be proprietor of this little establishment, simply pursed his lips. “From what I saw, you didn’t start it at all my dear.” He sniffed in disgust at the pile of man at his feet. “Actually, from what I saw, there wasn’t anything to see anyway. Isn’t that right?” The last was asked of the room in general, most of whom readily agreed and the rest of whom suddenly found other things to be interested in.
“Thank you,” she said, voice slightly slurred from an already puffy lip.
“Nothing to thank for,” he insisted. He snapped his fingers and two hulking men appeared at his side. “Get rid of that. Not permanently, just... gone.” They nodded and picked up Caleb as though he didn’t weigh anything at all, disappearing into the crowd quickly enough that she couldn’t quite track where they took him. “Now, lets get you some ice for that lip. And that head.” The last part was said with wide eyes focused precisely where she hurt the worst.
He wrapped his arm through hers and walked her back to one of the private rooms. It may have been the same one as before, or it may have been different, she honestly couldn’t tell. Then again, the way her head was swimming, she wasn’t sure of much at the moment other than the night kind of sucked and that she may have actually needed the support to stay on her heeled feet. Once the door snicked shut behind them and the curtains were drawn, she saw that the walls were made of mirrors, and it was her first good look at herself since the night began. Her hair was a knotted mess, there was a trickle of blood from both her lip and from her scalp right over her ear, and there was a good chance she would have a black eye before morning. Needless to say, the makeup she had painstakingly applied was smeared beyond belief.
It came as absolutely no surprise when she was pushed down onto an overstuffed couch. It came as even less of one when her three companions were suddenly by her side. “What the hell happened?” Jace demanded. His words were harsh but his touch gentle as he turned her face into the light to get a better look at the damage. It was disconcerting, seeing the real him with her eyes but seeing the glamour in the reflection. Short, dark hair looked odd on him, as did the piercings.
“Was he involved in the deal?” Alec asked. He didn’t sit beside her, saving that task for Isabella, but kept himself between her and the known entrance to their current sanctuary. She could see the bow in his hands, but nothing but bad fashion sense in his reflection.
“Entirely mundane,” Magnus corrected. “An ex, I believe. Caleb Westmoreland?” At her surprised look, he rolled his eyes and huffed, “You don’t think your mother kept me appraised of your life?”
Alec looked away in disgust. “A lover’s spat? You disrupted a mission for a lover’s spat?”
“Never lovers,” she corrected. She pretended she didn’t notice the way some of the tension left Jace at the pronouncement. She didn’t feel the need to go into her whole storied past, so she summed it up with, “We dated, briefly, but nothing more. Simon thought something was off about him and he wasn’t wrong.”
“Never thought I would agree with Simon,” Alec muttered, earning a smirk from Jace.
“He wasn’t fond of Simon’s opinions and, two hospital visits later, he was arrested and I moved on,” she finished, hoping it would be the last of it.
Of course it wasn’t.
“She’s neglecting to mention only one of those visits was for her intuitive friend. The other was for herself,” Magnus helpfully chimed in. He had procured a drink for himself and shook the glass lightly as if to offer the same to the others. When images of her previous injuries danced before her eyes, she really hoped he wasn’t sharing details with the rest of the class.
“I could find him, make sure he never does this to anyone else ever again,” Jace offered, negating that thought. His voice had dropped at least an octave, and he looked as though he were fighting with the desire to burst out of the room to go take care of Caleb once and for all versus staying to see to her wellbeing.
“I could go with to help, give him a bit of women’s perspective on the whole matter,” Izzy added readily enough. Her glamour wavered in the mirror, streaks of dark mixed in with the light, and Magnus steadied it with flick of a finger.
Clary shook her head, and then held it when the world seemed to swim around her, bright and shimmering except where it faded to near black. “I got him, fair and square,” she reminded them. She managed to find Magnus in the swirl of color and asked, “Could I maybe have some of that ice?” She glanced at her fingers, knuckles scuffed and torn. “Maybe a lot of it?”
Alec glanced disapprovingly at her hands and shook his head. “You held your fists too tight again. We’re going to have to work on that,” he commented absently. There was no heat to his tone though; he wasn’t offering a critique so much as an idle observation.
“We could get her some gloves, protect her knuckles while she learns,” Jace offered.
“We could discuss this while I’m coherent and can have a say in lessons versus fashion choices,” she countered. She flexed her fingers and eyed what she thought was a bucket near the private bar. She may have possibly wondered if they would let her stick her whole hand in it or if that would be bad form.
Jace already had his stele out though and had pulled her wrist towards himself. “Healing rune, different than the venom one and better than ice,” he promised.
A wave of a well manicured hand and the stele was on the couch beside her. “Or we could heal her without burning ancient text into her skin,” Magnus pointed out like they were a bunch of ignorant school children. Another wave, this time in the opposite direction, and a blue mist surrounded her. The worst of the ache seemed to fade immediately, and her lip seemed to slowly begin to reduce back to normal size, even if she grew more sleepy with each passing second.
“Where did your men take him, anyway?” Alec asked in what was sure to be an attempt at being subtle.
Magnus paused his blue mist to wave a bejeweled finger at him. “Alexander, it is taken care of, I promise.” He took a sip from the glass he had yet to put down and added, “As I said out on the floor, no one saw a thing, including him. His memory has been wiped, as has any urge to continue his ridiculous quest for vengeance.”
“You sure seem fast and free on those memory wipes,” Clary commented sourly, even though he had possibly just ridded her of a concussion and the need for law enforcement intervention. Her jibe might have been more cutting if she hadn’t ended it with a yawn.
“Would you rather I bring him back, tie him up, and let you lot have a go at him?”
“Yes,” chorus of voices responded. Izzy even started to unwind her bracelet though Clary was busy poking at her lip with her tongue.
Magnus paused, taken aback. “Well, it’s not happening,” he declared. Then quieter, under his breath, he sighed, “Damned Shadowhunters.”
“She really is one of us, isn’t she?” Izzy declared proudly. She squeezed her tight, but loosened her hold when Clary winced from the action.
The blue mist immediately returned, as did the grogginess. Clary wondered if she would be given the chance to take a nap before the rest of the night’s events, or if she was to be sent home to bed. She was only slightly ashamed to admit both sounded like good options. Better would be if she wasn’t alone during either of them - though that part she was a little less ready to fess up to at the moment.
As if reading her mind, Jace asked, “Should we take her back?”
“Let her sleep here,” Magnus offered. “I’ll look after her myself and, besides, your buyer will be here in about an hour. No need for the entire night to be a bust.” Reluctantly, in response to the doubting look he received, “I would never harm Jocelyn’s child, I made her a promise about precisely that. Feel free to stay if you must, but you may well miss your chance if you leave now.”
“We’ll take turns,” Alec announced as though she were an infant to be babysat. “One of us in here with her at all times, the other two on the floor.”
She was certain that there were more words, just as she was certain she didn’t care. If a mystical magical cure had not been in play, she would have questioned the overwhelming urge to sleep after getting her head well and truly bashed in. No one else seemed concerned though, and she found herself tugged down, head pillowed on Izzy’s leather-clad thigh, long fingers detangling her headful of knots with surprising ease.
“We’ve got you,” Izzy whispered. “And, as soon as Magnus turns his back and I can activate my memory rune, I’ve got this Caleb of yours as well.”
Feedback is always welcomed.
Fandom: Shadowhunters
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~3,800 words
Spoilers: Early Season 1
Warnings: Reference to domestic abuse
Synopsis: Awesome. Great. Fan-fricken-tastic. If the demons and downworlders didn’t get her tonight, her past just might.
Author’s Notes: I kinda sorta fell into a new fandom...
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
The text was as simple as it was terrifying: “He’s out. Listed mom’s address as contact three days ago.”
Clary looked at her phone, pursed her lips, and willed her hands not to shake as she slid it back into her pocket. She was being ridiculous and she knew it. Eighteen months was plenty of time to move on, forgive and forget and all that. When she thought of how much had changed in just barely a month or so for herself, it was hard to fathom just how much was still to come.
“Problem?” Jace asked as he sidled up next to her.
“Nope,” she said with forced cheer. Perhaps too much cheer if the doubting look he now gave her was anything to go by.
He took her at her word though, or possibly figured it would all blow up eventually and he’d probably be in the midst of it anyway, and simply nodded. “Good, we’re headed out.”
Awesome. Great. Fan-fricken-tastic. If the demons and downworlders didn’t get her tonight, her past just might.
If she seemed more on edge than usual, the others at least didn’t comment. They probably figured the rookie was stressed and moved on. They had probably moved past that point themselves sometime around the time they grew out of braces.
Wait, did Shadowhunters need braces? Or did their parents just do a spell to make their teeth straight? Or did the angel blood just fix all that for them in the first place? Or maybe she shouldn’t let her mind drift like that if they were going into a known hive of activity where she knew from her own short personal experience far more people were armed than first appeared.
The mission, such as it was, was simple enough. Intelligence gathering. A deal for downworlder blood had happened here, though it wasn’t clear if it was human or other who wanted it. The reasoning was it made sense some idiot might try it again now that some time had passed and everything cooled down. They were to dance, to drink, to hide in plain sight, and possibly interrogate anyone dumb enough to talk to them, preferably in a little room off to the side so that no one caught on if their shiny blades came into play. Their runes were covered with a simple obfuscation spell, and while they looked the same to each other, their appearance was slightly altered to everyone else with a more powerful glamor.
Well, except for Clary. For some reason she was to keep her bright hair and usual looks, Alec muttered that it caught her enough attention before so it might work in their favor this time. Besides, not many knew her association with the Shadowhunters yet anyway, and her familiarity may work in their favor. She was to stand around and schmooze, the others were to look for clues and maybe make sure she didn’t get hauled off by a vampire or something.
An hour in and her skin itched. She swore she could feel eyes on her, but she could never catch who they belonged to. She figured it was the text, making her stupid, right up until the stupid damn near fell in her lap.
“Well, if it isn’t my dear friend Clary Fray,” an all too familiar voice said from far too close for her comfort. She turned to face him and resisted the urge to punch him outright. He had done his time, had his chance to change. She at least owed him a chance to prove he was better than before.
“Hello, Caleb,” she replied. She tried for casual and was pretty sure she failed. He smiled and she took a moment to get a good look at him. His sandy hair was a little more shaggy and his stubble seemed to highlight a decent scar just at the edge of his jawline. His teeth had yellowed from too many cigarettes, but it was his eyes that told the truth: cold, unfeeling, dangerous.
“I asked around, heard you like to hang out in this dive. You certainly look the part,” he sneered. She didn’t know people actually sneered outside of books and movies, but that was the best description for the way his lip curled upwards and the muscle in his cheek twitched just so.
She glanced down at her outfit for the night. It was tame by Izzy’s terms, which meant a little out of her own personal comfort zone. Leather pants, a shirt that was more corset than tank top, and a pair of boots that were surprisingly comfy for the sheer amount of heel to them. “It’s a club, Caleb. This is how people dress at clubs,” she told him.
“Yeah, if they’re sluts,” he snorted. He took a sip from a drink he must have kiped from someone else as there was no way he could have gotten a decent fake ID that quickly.
Her patience wearing thin, she finally asked, “What do you want, anyway?”
“To repay you for the eighteen long months I got to sit in a cell because of your bitch ass,” he replied.
The punch, when it came, was telegraphed in comparison to what she was used to. That said, she was so shocked that he would be dumb enough to try something, here at Pandemonium, so soon after he got out. Didn’t he have a parole officer or something to report into? In any case, it actually made contact, and with a decent amount of force.
She doubled over from the impact, but kept her breath enough to ask, “Are you really that stupid?”
He grabbed her hair in a fist but she made use of the fact that her hands were still free to flip his drink up and into his face. He didn’t let go, but she had enough slack to get in a punch of her own, upwards against his diaphragm just beneath the bottom edge of his rib cage. She wasn’t sure if it was a flail or actually coordinated, but he managed to toss her backwards where she bounced off of an ill placed table before she crashed to the floor, now missing a few pieces of hair but at least free from his grasp.
“What the actual fuck, bro?” a guy beside her asked. Unfortunately, he was no one familiar, nor did he seem to want to actually intervene. That was to be expected as in a place like this you never knew if you were interrupting a turf war, something far more sinister, or a simple sibling spat.
She tried to push herself up and earned a knee to her chin for her troubles. Her head snapped backwards and connected with the now upturned table leg in the process. The bitter taste of iron burst against her tongue and she was fairly certain she now had a split lip.
For a moment, she flashed back to eighteen months ago, and to four months prior to that when she had been excited that an actual lineman from the football team had taken an interest in her artistic geeky self. To the way he held her wrist just a little too tightly as he dragged her from place to place. To the way he would tell her just what to wear at those places. To the way he would tell her to shut up if she dared to try to join in any conversations.
It hadn’t been her way to give in then, and it sure as hell wasn’t her way to give in now. She had tossed a drink in his face then too, stormed off, and dealt with the consequences later. More precisely, Luke dealt with the consequences when he saw the ring of blue around her wrist and took her to get her fingers splinted - thankfully only dislocated and thankfully only two of them. It was enough though, as apparently he already had a history of this sort of thing and a little coercing brought more than a single ex out of the woodwork, even if he only had eyes for one ex at the moment.
He had stepped closer during her little mental interlude, and others had stepped back. That was fine though, as she needed room to move.
Her foot snapped out and made contact first with his ankle and then with his knee. He didn’t go down, but he was at least stalled enough to get her to her feet again. He swung, she ducked. He swung again and she blocked and may have possibly enjoyed the look on his face when she did so. The problem was that he had always been a brawler and she had about a month’s training off and on at the institute under her belt and nothing more. Well, she had what she was quickly learning to be enhanced reflexes, but was still at least half his size and half his bulk and had the memory of Alec’s voice echoing in her ears that mundanes were not target practice no matter how annoying they got.
Actually, that was Jace’s voice, and it was from the far side of the suddenly much quieter room, likely enhanced by one of the many squiggles drawn into her skin at this point. Frankly, she couldn’t remember which one at the moment. He hadn’t shouted it or anything like that, but he hadn’t needed to as she seemed to hone in on the other Shadowhunters immediately, quickly enough to see Alec snap his fingers and make his bow fade back to nothing.
Jace had his hand tucked into his jacket though, and was trying to push his way towards her without actually hurting anyone else per their promise to both Magnus and the Clave. It made her very aware of her own blade and her urge to use it, even though she knew that would cause far more questions than answers in a place like this, especially for a supposedly unmarked girl.
Hand to hand it was then, or hand to bar stool as Caleb had picked one up while she was distracted and was swinging it in her direction. She tucked and rolled and came back up with a kick to his already injured knee followed through with a uppercut that sadly lacked the strength to knock him out even if it at least knocked him back a step. She would have aimed for his balls, but he was actually smart enough to position himself to make that more difficult than it was worth.
“I was going to have a scholarship,” he seethed. He spat to the side and she didn’t bother to look to see if there was blood. “There were recruiters, contracts, and you ruined it.” He spun the now broken bit of wood in his hand and she knew to watch for that as much as his eyes telegraphing his next move. “I was going to play some college ball and then go pro, and you took that all away!”
“And beating me up is supposed to get that all back?” she asked, ducking the expected swing. “You don’t think someone has called the cops by now? You’ll go right back if you don’t just walk away,” she tried. She always had given people too many chances.
He paused, just enough for her to think she had gotten through to him. His head cocked to the side, his lips pressed thin, and then he scoffed, “Totally worth it.”
A couple of things happened then. He gripped the broken wood in both hands in preparation for his next attack and Izzy whistled high and clear from far closer than she would have expected. The glamour was still in place, as was the mission, so there was little chance of her using her bracelet to whip the guy, but she did one better and tossed Clary a weapon of her own.
She caught the pool cue with ease. It was lighter, thinner than the staves they had trained with, but she most definitely could make due. She blocked and spun and parried each attack, right up until the damn thing broke in two. That was fine though as now she had two weapons to his one. He aimed for the core of her body and occasionally her head. She aimed for his hands and smacked the damn thing right out of them, carrying through with a spin that ended up with her own broken piece of wood snapping even further, this time against his skull.
He landed in a heap on the floor, dazed but not fully out for the count. She was tempted to kick him anyway, but found a far heavier boot took on that task. She traced the fine leather up past tailored slacks and a shirt that she could never afford to eyes rimmed with glitter and gold.
“I am so sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to start a fight!” This, here, this was when she could blow the whole mission and ruin it for everyone. Too many eyes. Too much attention. Even for a place like this.
Magnus, supposedly one of the most powerful warlocks around and the would be proprietor of this little establishment, simply pursed his lips. “From what I saw, you didn’t start it at all my dear.” He sniffed in disgust at the pile of man at his feet. “Actually, from what I saw, there wasn’t anything to see anyway. Isn’t that right?” The last was asked of the room in general, most of whom readily agreed and the rest of whom suddenly found other things to be interested in.
“Thank you,” she said, voice slightly slurred from an already puffy lip.
“Nothing to thank for,” he insisted. He snapped his fingers and two hulking men appeared at his side. “Get rid of that. Not permanently, just... gone.” They nodded and picked up Caleb as though he didn’t weigh anything at all, disappearing into the crowd quickly enough that she couldn’t quite track where they took him. “Now, lets get you some ice for that lip. And that head.” The last part was said with wide eyes focused precisely where she hurt the worst.
He wrapped his arm through hers and walked her back to one of the private rooms. It may have been the same one as before, or it may have been different, she honestly couldn’t tell. Then again, the way her head was swimming, she wasn’t sure of much at the moment other than the night kind of sucked and that she may have actually needed the support to stay on her heeled feet. Once the door snicked shut behind them and the curtains were drawn, she saw that the walls were made of mirrors, and it was her first good look at herself since the night began. Her hair was a knotted mess, there was a trickle of blood from both her lip and from her scalp right over her ear, and there was a good chance she would have a black eye before morning. Needless to say, the makeup she had painstakingly applied was smeared beyond belief.
It came as absolutely no surprise when she was pushed down onto an overstuffed couch. It came as even less of one when her three companions were suddenly by her side. “What the hell happened?” Jace demanded. His words were harsh but his touch gentle as he turned her face into the light to get a better look at the damage. It was disconcerting, seeing the real him with her eyes but seeing the glamour in the reflection. Short, dark hair looked odd on him, as did the piercings.
“Was he involved in the deal?” Alec asked. He didn’t sit beside her, saving that task for Isabella, but kept himself between her and the known entrance to their current sanctuary. She could see the bow in his hands, but nothing but bad fashion sense in his reflection.
“Entirely mundane,” Magnus corrected. “An ex, I believe. Caleb Westmoreland?” At her surprised look, he rolled his eyes and huffed, “You don’t think your mother kept me appraised of your life?”
Alec looked away in disgust. “A lover’s spat? You disrupted a mission for a lover’s spat?”
“Never lovers,” she corrected. She pretended she didn’t notice the way some of the tension left Jace at the pronouncement. She didn’t feel the need to go into her whole storied past, so she summed it up with, “We dated, briefly, but nothing more. Simon thought something was off about him and he wasn’t wrong.”
“Never thought I would agree with Simon,” Alec muttered, earning a smirk from Jace.
“He wasn’t fond of Simon’s opinions and, two hospital visits later, he was arrested and I moved on,” she finished, hoping it would be the last of it.
Of course it wasn’t.
“She’s neglecting to mention only one of those visits was for her intuitive friend. The other was for herself,” Magnus helpfully chimed in. He had procured a drink for himself and shook the glass lightly as if to offer the same to the others. When images of her previous injuries danced before her eyes, she really hoped he wasn’t sharing details with the rest of the class.
“I could find him, make sure he never does this to anyone else ever again,” Jace offered, negating that thought. His voice had dropped at least an octave, and he looked as though he were fighting with the desire to burst out of the room to go take care of Caleb once and for all versus staying to see to her wellbeing.
“I could go with to help, give him a bit of women’s perspective on the whole matter,” Izzy added readily enough. Her glamour wavered in the mirror, streaks of dark mixed in with the light, and Magnus steadied it with flick of a finger.
Clary shook her head, and then held it when the world seemed to swim around her, bright and shimmering except where it faded to near black. “I got him, fair and square,” she reminded them. She managed to find Magnus in the swirl of color and asked, “Could I maybe have some of that ice?” She glanced at her fingers, knuckles scuffed and torn. “Maybe a lot of it?”
Alec glanced disapprovingly at her hands and shook his head. “You held your fists too tight again. We’re going to have to work on that,” he commented absently. There was no heat to his tone though; he wasn’t offering a critique so much as an idle observation.
“We could get her some gloves, protect her knuckles while she learns,” Jace offered.
“We could discuss this while I’m coherent and can have a say in lessons versus fashion choices,” she countered. She flexed her fingers and eyed what she thought was a bucket near the private bar. She may have possibly wondered if they would let her stick her whole hand in it or if that would be bad form.
Jace already had his stele out though and had pulled her wrist towards himself. “Healing rune, different than the venom one and better than ice,” he promised.
A wave of a well manicured hand and the stele was on the couch beside her. “Or we could heal her without burning ancient text into her skin,” Magnus pointed out like they were a bunch of ignorant school children. Another wave, this time in the opposite direction, and a blue mist surrounded her. The worst of the ache seemed to fade immediately, and her lip seemed to slowly begin to reduce back to normal size, even if she grew more sleepy with each passing second.
“Where did your men take him, anyway?” Alec asked in what was sure to be an attempt at being subtle.
Magnus paused his blue mist to wave a bejeweled finger at him. “Alexander, it is taken care of, I promise.” He took a sip from the glass he had yet to put down and added, “As I said out on the floor, no one saw a thing, including him. His memory has been wiped, as has any urge to continue his ridiculous quest for vengeance.”
“You sure seem fast and free on those memory wipes,” Clary commented sourly, even though he had possibly just ridded her of a concussion and the need for law enforcement intervention. Her jibe might have been more cutting if she hadn’t ended it with a yawn.
“Would you rather I bring him back, tie him up, and let you lot have a go at him?”
“Yes,” chorus of voices responded. Izzy even started to unwind her bracelet though Clary was busy poking at her lip with her tongue.
Magnus paused, taken aback. “Well, it’s not happening,” he declared. Then quieter, under his breath, he sighed, “Damned Shadowhunters.”
“She really is one of us, isn’t she?” Izzy declared proudly. She squeezed her tight, but loosened her hold when Clary winced from the action.
The blue mist immediately returned, as did the grogginess. Clary wondered if she would be given the chance to take a nap before the rest of the night’s events, or if she was to be sent home to bed. She was only slightly ashamed to admit both sounded like good options. Better would be if she wasn’t alone during either of them - though that part she was a little less ready to fess up to at the moment.
As if reading her mind, Jace asked, “Should we take her back?”
“Let her sleep here,” Magnus offered. “I’ll look after her myself and, besides, your buyer will be here in about an hour. No need for the entire night to be a bust.” Reluctantly, in response to the doubting look he received, “I would never harm Jocelyn’s child, I made her a promise about precisely that. Feel free to stay if you must, but you may well miss your chance if you leave now.”
“We’ll take turns,” Alec announced as though she were an infant to be babysat. “One of us in here with her at all times, the other two on the floor.”
She was certain that there were more words, just as she was certain she didn’t care. If a mystical magical cure had not been in play, she would have questioned the overwhelming urge to sleep after getting her head well and truly bashed in. No one else seemed concerned though, and she found herself tugged down, head pillowed on Izzy’s leather-clad thigh, long fingers detangling her headful of knots with surprising ease.
“We’ve got you,” Izzy whispered. “And, as soon as Magnus turns his back and I can activate my memory rune, I’ve got this Caleb of yours as well.”
Feedback is always welcomed.