Chapter 15 "Heavenly Altercation"

The floorboards were made of polished wood and the walls were painted a plain white. To the right, the hallway opened into the kitchen and living room. To my left hung a mirror and next to it was a locked door. Straight ahead, the hallway led to a staircase that went to the upper floors.

Maryse opened the door and let me in. She went into the living room and I followed her. "Your room is on the second floor on the right at the end of the hall," she said, sitting down at a light blue glass-table. A dark blue world map was printed on the glass. All continents, oceans and the polar regions. Only Idris, the Wrangel Islands and the site of the Adamant Citadel were gold marked. Books and documents were spread out on the table. "Unfortunately, I don't have time to show you around, but feel free to look for yourself. You can always help yourself from the fridge in the kitchen."

The kitchen was square structured. On the left were cupboards, a stove and refrigerator and on the right, under the large window overlooking the front yard and the street, stood a long table with four chairs. The fridge was filled with different foods, local and earthly. I grabbed a bowl of rice and apple juice and sat down at the table when Isabelle burst into the kitchen.

My sight seemed to astonish her. "Oh ... hello Clary," she finally managed to say and strolled to the fridge. "I didn't expect you back so soon." Her words meant nothing other than, Had I known you were here already, I wouldn't have come down.

I shrugged and turned to her. "It was actually over relatively quickly. The Inquisitor only explained the rules of my freedom to me." I briefly explained to her what the Inquisitor had said, whether she wanted to hear it or not.

Isabelle made a face and sighed. "This is going to be exhausting," she said, her mouth curling up as she stuck her face in the fridge. "If someone always has to accompany you, I mean." Of course she didn't want to play babysitter for me, I knew what she thought of me. She didn't want to spend any more time with me than was necessary.

I smiled while stirring the rice. "Don't worry, Adam will be more than willing to fill in for you."

Isabelle got a handful of tomatoes from the fridge and moved to the stove. She cut the tomatoes into slices with a knife. "That would be good, I think. It might not seem like it, but we're all very busy." Oh yes, they must be really busy ...

We were both silent for a while while I ate, and she prepared her salad. Eventually, I remembered her brother. "How is Alec?" The last time I saw him he had been sick in the bed next to me, and he hadn't looked very well then.

The question about her brother seemed to surprise Isabelle a little. She gave me a look as she sat down at the table next to me, with a chair as safe distance between us. "He is doing better. In any case, so good that he can now be at home and no longer in the Basilias. He's resting upstairs." A mild expression crossed her face.

I smiled kindly. "That's good." I sighed. "I don't want more people to suffer because of Valentine and Jonathan." Instead of looking at her, I stared down at the empty bowl. I knew she didn't expect words like that from me, and I surprised myself by telling them out loud, to her of all people.

For a while, Isabelle watched me in silence, frowning. "The odds of the number of the hurt and dead remaining constant is very slim and you know it. As long as you're alive, they won't stop." Then she began to eat.

I looked at her, keeping silent. Her shiny black hair was pinned up, probably to keep it out of her face as she ate. I could have been upset or angry with her comment, but what was the point? After all, she was right. Now that my mother was dead, I was the only one they wanted. As I thought about it, I began to realize that my death probably wasn't going to stop them anyway.

"While my mother and I were the catalysts behind all of what happened in the past few days, my death wouldn't change anything. They would still continue their plan. Valentin has waited eighteen years and what are the chances that he will ever get a chance like this again? No, Isabelle, he will do everything to achieve his goal now." My voice didn't sound unfriendly or condescending like it used to when I talked to her.

With these words I got up from the table, took my dirty dishes to the sink and then left the kitchen. I climbed the stairs silently. At the top stood a wooden dresser with a vase of flowers on it. Above it hung a family portrait painted in oil colors. It showed a Shadowhunter family of five. Two teenage boys and a girl with broad shoulders and brown hair stood in the middle, their parents on the outside. They weren't the Lightwoods I knew, but there were a few facial features that were familiar nonetheless. As I got a little closer, I could read the small caption on the right edge. Alicante, 1880.

As below, the floor was crafted of polished wood, but covered with a thick dark green carpet. The hallway wasn't very long and opened out into five doors, most of them closed. On the left were two of the doors and one of them was ajar. I walked towards it and carefully grasped the doorknob. Then I pushed them a few centimeters further open. It was a bathroom with a shower, bath and toilet. Sobering, I closed the door again.

The other room must have been Maryse's and Robert's bedroom because the three doors down the hall to the right had the initials of Alec, Isabelle and Max carved on them. There was nothing else to see here, so I climbed the stairs to the second floor. The hallway was set up the same as the first floor: dark green carpet, a chest of drawers and an oil painting, this time depicting a different part of the Lightwood family. On the left there were two more doors, one being a bathroom again. The other door was heavier than the previous one and had no knob. I carefully prized it open, suppressing a surprised sigh when I saw the bookshelves that took up the space.

The library smelled of old books and dust. Warm light streamed in through a window that I couldn't see because of the high shelves. The room reminded me of the library in our mansion, in fact they were about the same size. With quick steps I went to the first shelf and the door slammed shut behind me. I skimmed through the books curiously, they were sorted by subject. Demonology, martial arts, weapon martial arts and many more.

On another shelf stood a variety of novels from the human world. My fingertips traced the scratchy covers and my eyes finally settled on a dark red spine. I felt a pang in my chest as I deciphered the ancient gold letters. The Stranger written by Albert Camus. If my father hadn't always made us read, this book might have been my favorite. Even as a child I despised the things I was forced to do. I didn't have a favorite book, yet I had surely read this one about a dozen times. It was a tenuous connection to my past life and I couldn't help but pull it off the shelf.

The Stranger deals with different peoples who inexplicably felt a deep hatred for one another. Murder, death and conflict between human races who were actually so alike and yet refused to recognize each other as such. The Stranger had taught me a great deal about human nature, had shown me what destruction a depraved man could cause.

My fingers dug into the back cover and I clutched the book to my chest as if it were a life preserver. With lips tightened and thoughts far from Alicante, I continued through the shelves and rounded a corner to the window which let in the light, wincing when I spotted Jace on the windowsill.

I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at him with wide eyes. Jace regarded me with as well. He must not have been expecting me because his gaze was casual and relaxed. When he recognized me, the expression in his eyes changed. For a moment he seemed amazed to see me here and then the liquid gold in his eyes froze. Jace sat, legs outstretched, on the windowsill, which was long enough for his right foot to just touch the wall. His left leg was hanging in the air, relaxed. The window behind him was open to the outside and a cold breeze ruffled his blond hair. For a brief moment he seemed incredibly peaceful and suddenly the sight of him made me sad. If it hadn't been for my father, I might have gotten along with him quite well. I thought back to our initial meeting and the smile on his face when he had first spotted me. But the cold look in his eyes now brought me back to reality.

Jace eyed me distantly and I spotted the book he was clutching convulsively. I guess I wasn't the only one who was attached to certain books. My eyes fell on the cover. It was a French book. La Condition humaine by André Malraux. My father had taught us various foreign languages, including French. I had read the book once, but it was too long ago to remember what it was about. I didn't like the French language too much.

"Interesting choice," Jace finally said after several minutes of silence. His gaze rested on my book and it seemed like he didn't want to look directly at me.

I didn't know how to answer that. He wouldn't understand the real meaning the book had for me anyway, and he probably wouldn't care either. "It was one of my favorite books in our library."

Almost immediately, his eyes darkened and his lips twisted into a disapproving grimace. Of course, he didn't like my answer, because the book reminded me of my old home and thus of the time with Valentine. And one could definitely interpret favorite book as a metaphor for something else that I favored: my old life. I sighed and leaned against the shelf to my right, exhausted. "What can I do for you to stop staring at me like I'm a leper?"

I didn't know why I asked him that question in the first place. As if there was anything that would mitigate Jace's hatred for me. He wouldn't stop just because of his stubbornness. Arguing with him would be pointless and I wouldn't get an honest answer from Jace Herondale anyway.

With a powerful leap, Jace jumped down from the windowsill and stood now only a few feet from me. His left hand was clenched into a fist while his right hand still held the book. "Why are you here, Clarissa? Your mere presence will only make things worse for the Nephilim. Your stupid thought of belonging to us or becoming one of us is deeply pathetic. You could never be one of us, not you," he said, his lips trembling as he spoke. "If you had just stayed with Valentine, then the whole Shadow World wouldn't be in danger now!"

I stared at him uncomprehendingly. Jace's eyes were wide and the vein in his neck was throbbing. He was standing there and his whole aura testified his anger, like he had any right to be angry with me. As if he had any right to judge me or express his opinion. I felt my own anger spreading through my body. "Had we stayed, Jonathan would have killed me in the short or long term. He almost killed me back then."

Jace just shrugged. He didn't seem to care what would have happened to me. He wouldn't care as long as I wasn't here but somewhere else. I might as well have been dead, that would probably give him satisfaction. But that was not how the world worked, you couldn't just throw things out there without really having a clue. And Jace had no idea, even if he didn't realize it himself. If he had even a shred of empathy, and if he could think for a second without being controlled by his anger and vengeance, he would know that we were actually more alike than he cared to admit. My whole life was one big lie. I had lived with a man I never really knew. A man who for eighteen years had the opportunity to instill lies and misinformation in me, to influence and manipulate me. It might take me the rest of my life to understand what was really a lie and what was the truth. It would take me so much time to distinguish between good and evil in the future without resorting to a memory he manipulated.

"You're fooling everyone with your act, but not me," Jace replied, not thinking about my previous words. I guess he really didn't care. "The truth is clear, even if the others don't want to see it. I see clearly who you are. If Jonathan wanted you dead, he would have killed you long ago. The only reason he hasn't hurt you is because you're one of them. All of this, this game of yours, is all part of Valentine's plan. He's sneaking his poor daughter in with the Shadowhunters while he prepares his grand assault on us!" As he spoke, he took a step toward me, his eyes sparkling. I didn't know what he was up to, but it seemed like he could barely control himself.

I felt the hot anger eating through my veins, my hand became heavy and I would have liked to let it fly up on him. The desire to hurt Jace was greater than ever, fighting it and not letting the situation escalate was as hard as not drinking for days and someone just put a cold glass of water in front of you. I was fed up with his behavior towards me. I understood his pain, they had taken his parents from him and my mother from me. He saw me mourn, he saw how devastated I was, he was the one who had taken me to the infirmary. He couldn't seriously believe his statements himself and the accusation that I had let my mother die on purpose just to put my father's plan into action brought tears to my eyes. The pain in my chest seemed to explode. For a moment I no longer saw him, but my mother lying on the floor in front of me, convulsed in pain, covered in blood. I gasped and had to hold on to the shelf to keep from tipping over.

I couldn't understand how he could say such things after seeing me like this, at rock bottom and ready to end it with the world. He couldn't really mean it, even Jace wasn't that kind of person, or was he? I just stared off into the distance beside him for a moment. Then Jace started to move, his footsteps bringing me back to reality. He wanted to walk past me to the library door. But before he could reach it, I spun around and grabbed his arm. With a firm hand movement, I pulled him back towards me. He had no choice but to turn.

"I'm on your side, you know that very well. But your pain and anger make it impossible for you to accept that. You fight me because you hate my father. You hate him for what he has done and you fear what he might do next. I want to catch him more than any other Nephilim. Nobody knows him as well as I do. I'm your best bet, but you only think of your personal revenge. You want to be the one to avenge your parents' deaths. You feel threatened by me because I'm his daughter and yet I'm nothing like him. I'm not portraying his values and you know that, but it doesn't fit with the ideas you've been building in your head over the years. That's why you hate me, because I'm not who you think I should be." I was talking so fast I had to catch my breath.

"Valentine and Jonathan killed my mother. They murdered her in cold blood and I will never forgive them for that. She was the only one I could trust, the only one who knew what our new life should be like. They've stolen my connection to your culture and now I have to try to fit in all by myself, which is difficult enough as it is. But as if all this pain wasn't enough, you come along and feel like you need to work your vengeance on me just because the real perpetrators are out of reach." Jace stared at me, his eyes no longer glowing with anger. There was another expression in them, but I couldn't define it. His hand was still clenched into a fist.

"They killed my mother," I repeated, feeling hot tears running down my cheeks. But my voice didn't tremble, it was firm and determined. "That doesn't justify the deaths of your parents, but in all your vengeance you've suppressed one crucial thing. Both your father and your mother joined the Circle voluntarily, nobody coerced them into anything. They swore allegiance to Valentine because they believed in his words and his values. Each of them knew what they were getting themselves into. The fact that Valentine appointed your father as first commander only testifies to the friendship between them. Your father admired my father. Your parents died believing they were doing the right thing. They died in Valentine's service and it was their free choice, while my mother died by my brother's sword. She had no choice, she was massacred. From her own son. Now think about which scenario is fair."

I watched Jace, saw the brief flicker of his pain before he buried it under a mask of anger. My words had been harsh, I knew that, and I even felt a little sorry for addressing them so directly. But there was no other way to get to Jace. In fact, I was certainly right in what I said, and yet everything was far more complicated than simply being able to say that my mother's death was worse than his parents'. His parents might have served Valentine, but they had been blinded by him, as had many other Shadowhunters, all of whom paid with their lives. My words weren't as fair as I'd made them out to be, but I'd had enough of his behavior towards me. He didn't have to like me, but every word he said hurt me, every angry look. I didn't want to be accountable for my father's sins, and rationally he had no right to do so. I, Clary Morgenstern, had done nothing to him.

Jace's whole body began to tremble and he bared his teeth in anger. In a lightning-fast movement he tore himself away from me, I hadn't even noticed that I was still holding on to him. My nails had dug into his skin, leaving dark red imprints. Jace took a step back, then threw his book in my direction. My hand went up before it could hit me and I caught it in mid-air. With a whirling movement, he turned and stormed out of the library.

Here we were, two broken souls. Angry at each other while the one we should really be angry at plotted both of our deaths.

-

Hi!

Sitting in the café of my new uni right now, finally having time to upload. Atm it's hard to find time because there's so much to do. I hope you liked the chapter! Let me know. 

See you soon,

Skyllen :)