Disclaimer: SOME of the dialogue in this chapter, all characters (apart from Grace), main story line and the settings belong to Cassandra Clare. The rest of the writing, Grace and my story plot belong to me. I (unfortunately) do not own The Infernal Devices.

A/N: Who can recite the parabatai oath of by heart??? ;););)
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'Whoa it tears me up
I try to hold on, but it hurts too much
I try to forgive, but it's not enough to make it all okay.'

- Broken Strings, James Morrison

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-*-*-*-*- Will -*-*-*-*-

Will was about to head up to bed when the summoning bell rang. He knew that Charlotte and Henry were busy looking through Benedict's journals, and Jem and Cecily were currently trying to save Church who had somehow got himself stuck on top of the rafters in the training room. Will had voted to leave the arrogant thing up there but Jem, being the animal lover he was, couldn't bear to abandon him.

Running down the stairs, Will only paused to grab a short sword before opening the door. What he saw was the last thing he had expected.

Philip Blackthorn stood on the steps of the Institute dressed in a long, black coat and a hat pulled down over his face. For a moment, Will stood absolutely dumbfounded. He knew that Philip's punishment was to have his Marks removed. He also knew that Grace had been visiting him in the apartment she and Jem had brought him, not that he agreed with that decision.

"I need your help," Philip said. He looked panicked and worried, glancing over his shoulder as if someone was following him. His hair was damp with sweat and his face red, as if he had been running. Will regained his relaxed composure and slouched casually, leaning on the door frame of the door.

"You know I can't help you," Will said. "The law states that I can't help an exiled Shadowhunter. And if you haven't noticed, you're exiled."

"Don't lecture me about the law, Herondale!" Philip snapped. Will straightened from his slouched position, holding the sword to Philip's chest.

"Watch it, Blackthorn," he growled. "You've come to me, remember?" Philip let out a hiss of frustration.

"We don't have time for this," he said. "You need to get your parabatai and come with me right now."

"Why should I listen to you?" Will asked.

"Because Grace's life depends on it!" Philip yelled. Will blinked, taking in the information.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, taking a step forward and digging the sword further into Philip's chest. "What's happened to Grace? What did you do?"

"She's been going to a Downworld fight club," Philip explained hurriedly. "The vampire who owns it is the last person in London who supplies yin fen, and Grace is fighting Downworlders for entertainment in order to get it. I found her a few days ago and she promised me she'd stop going but she lied to me. I need your help to stop her." Will dropped the sword, clattering to the ground, and grabbed the front of Philip's shirt, shaking him hard.

"You've known about this for days and you didn't tell us?" Will shouted. "You know better than anyone that she can't make contact with Downworlders! And now you're telling me she's fighting them for yin fen? Downworlders hate us!"

"She didn't want me to tell you!" Philip cried. "I tried to stop her but she wouldn't listen to me!" Will growled and shoved Philip away, stalking into the Institute and buckling a weapons belt around his waist. He slid daggers and seraph blades into the belt and rushed outside again, swooping up the sword and strapping it to his back.

"Show me where she is," he told Philip.

"But what about Jem-?"

"He doesn't need to know about this right now," Will said curtly then sighed. "He's not well enough to fight, Philip. If Grace is desperate enough to fight for yin fen, then he might be even worse than I thought..." Will trailed off. He didn't even want to think about it.

He and Philip ran through the gates of the Institute, running down the streets of London. Their footsteps echoed on the cobblestones as they splashed through puddles. Philip lead Will deep into the East End of London, near Whitechapel church. They reached a building on the corner street which was streaming with Downworlders pushing and shouting to get through the doors.

"What the hell is this place?" Will muttered. Philip glanced at him.

"It's called The Ring," he replied. "Downworlders from all across London come here each night to watch the fights or take part in them. Some fight for money, others for yin fen. Slewford, the vampire who runs this place, has made a fortune out of it."

Will gritted his teeth and plunged ahead. He pushed through the crowd with Philip just behind him. It wasn't that hard to get inside. With one look at his Marks, Downworlders instantly moved away from him, gasps and whispers running through the room.

He entered the main room and his vision instantly zeroed in on the boxing ring in the middle. Downworlders bustled around it, yelling and shouting at the figures in the ring. Will suddenly felt sick when he saw who was in it.

Grace was being held by two werewolves while a third pummelled her with his fists. She was still struggling and sometimes landing kicks on her opponents, but it was hopeless. She was so beat up that Will didn't know how she was still standing.

Philip sucked in a breath beside Will. "We're too late," he said softly.

Will sprinted forward, shoving past the crowd and leaping into the ring. The werewolves stopped beating Grace and stared at him in complete surprise, although they still held Grace who, if it wasn't for them forcing her to stay upright, wouldn't be standing. The crowd fell silent, all glaring at Will with a mixture of shock and anger.

"What. Do. You. Think. You're. Doing?" a vampire standing at one corner spat. He was dressed very smartly in evening dress amd obviously looked like the one in charge. He must be Slewford.

"Let Grace go," Will said. "Or this will end very badly for you." The vampire laughed.

"You're crazy," he said. "There's one of you, and one hundred of us. You won't make it out of here alive." Philip pulled himself up into the ring and stood next to Will.

"Two of us," he said.

"Oh, because that's going to make much of a difference," Will drawled sarcastically. Even Slewford was caught off guard, looking at Will like he really was insane.

"We had a deal with Miss Blackthorn, that if the Clave ever found out about our location then we would have licence to kill her," Slewford said, ignoring Will. He clicked his fingers and one of the werewolves held his claws to Grace's throat. "If you're here then she broke her oath."

"We're not from the Clave," Will said. "She didn't know that we were coming."

"Nonetheless," Slewford said, grinning nastily. "I think I'll kill all of you." Two of the werewolves left Grace and surrounded Will and Philip, their teeth out and their claws extended. The crowd started cheering again as the werewolves circled them. Will cursed and drew a seraph blade while handing Philip a sword.

"How about we have a wager, Slewford," Will said loudly. "You like wagers, don't you?" Slewford raised an eyebrow and snapped his fingers again. The crowd made a disappointed noise as the werewolves backed off. Will was amazed at his control over the Downworlders. Usually, vampires and werewolves hated each other, but they did everything Slewford said.

"What did you have in mind?" Slewford asked.

"I'll fight instead of Grace," Will said. "You can put anyone you want against me, and I swear by the Angel that I'll fight them."

"Will, no," Grace groaned but that only earned her a brutal punch from the werewolf holding her.

"I suppose that if you win, I'll have to let you all go," Slewford said dryly.

"Yes," Will said. "But if I lose, you can kill all of us."

"I'm sorry, what?"  Philip stuttered.

"Shut up, Blackthorn," Will growled. Slewford considered it.

"What do you reckon, folks?" he called out to the crowd. "Do we want to see some more Shadowhunter blood tonight?" There was a bloodthirsty roar from the crowd. Slewford turned back to Will. "We have a deal," he said, smiling nastily. "You have two minutes to prepare." Slewford nodded to the werewolves who left the ring.

Philip caught Grace in his arms as she crumpled, the werewolf just dropping her to the floor. He eased her down in the corner of the ring and both he and Will crouched by her side. She was barely consciousness.

"Take this," Will said, handing his stele to Philip and shaking off his gear jacket, making a pillow under Grace's head. "Do what you can." Philip nodded but then his eyes widened in shock as he looked over Will's shoulder. Will turned and faced his opponent, and cursed under his breath. Slewford had returned to his post at one corner of the ring, standing above the crowd and taking bets. 

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Slewford yelled. "Tonight I give you the fight of all fights! This Shadowhunter, who so rudely interrupted our show this evening, will attempt to fight The Ring's undeniable champion. You have witnessed this behemoth, this mammoth, this hellion of a demon destroy anyone who dares to cross her. She has printed her name in The Ring's history books! I give you the one, the only, MRS BLAAAAAAAACK!"

The repulsive woman stood in front of Will as the crowd went wild. She gave him a wicked smile. "Did you miss me, Mr Herondale?" she asked with fake sweetness.

"I can't say I did," Will replied. "Although I have to say, death has seemed to have a marvellous affect on your complexion. Greenish tint and black rot seems to be your thing." Mrs Black snarled at him. It was true that she look terrible. Although he couldn't see her hands, which were clad in black leather gloves, her face and teeth looked like she had just crawled from a grave.

"Are we ready?" Slewford shouted. The crowd roared with excitement, jeering at Will. "Three. Two. One. FIGHT!" Mrs Black shot sparks at Will who immediately dropped to the floor, rolling away. He came up in a crouch and yank a seraph blade from his belt, shouting its name.

Mrs Black hissed and lumbered towards him. Will noticed that her movement wasn't smooth but jerky and uneven, like she wasn't fully in control of her body. He slashed with the blade, landing a blow that should have cut her clean in half, but instead his blade got jammed.

"What the-" Will didn't get to finish. Mrs Black cackled and grabbed Will's wrist, twisting it painfully. He yelped and let go, spinning around and sweeping his leg at her knees. She tried to jump but she wasn't fast enough. As she crashed to the floor and Will grabbed a normal dagger, stabbing it down. She didn't even cry out as the dagger went right through her shoulder. There was a horrible screeching sound of tearing metal, and Will could finally see what he suspected all along.

She was now an automaton, with her resurrected head stuck on top. The whole crowd gasped as if they weren't expecting it. Mrs Black snarled and smashed Will in the face. He rolled backwards but by the time he got to his feet, Mrs Black had fled the ring, pushing through the crowd and flying through the door.

Will struggled to his feet, wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve. He faced Slewford who, like the crowd, was staring at the door in a shocked silence. "I take it I win then," Will said to Slewford. "She conceded, so I win by right."

"But-" Slewford started but then cleared his throat, a cold anger settling over his face. "Go," he told Will. "Get out of here now. And if I ever see any of you here again, I will slit your throats, understand?" Will didn't answer. He just turned to Grace, scooped her up in his arms and left The Ring, Philip by his side.

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