"Are you sure this is the address?" asked Luke, bringing the truck to a slow stop. "Magnus isn't here."
Clary glanced around. They had drawn up in front of a large factory, which looked as if it had been destroyed by a terrible fire. The hollow brick and plaster walls still stood, but metal struts poked through them, bent and pitted with burns."He'll come," she said. "If he told Alec he was coming, he'll do it."
They got out of the truck. Though the factory stood on a street lined with similar buildings, it was quiet, even for a Sunday.
Luke slammed the truck door shut and zipped his flannel jacket closed. Silently, he offered Clary a pair of his thick woolly gloves. She slid them on and wiggled her fingers. They were so big for her that it was like wearing paws. She glanced around. "Wait—where's Jace?"
Luke pointed. Jace was kneeling by the waterline, a dark figure whose bright hair was the only spot of color against the blue-grey sky and brown river.
"You think he wants privacy?" she asked.
"In this situation, privacy is a luxury none of us can afford. Come on." Luke strode off down the driveway, and Clary followed him. The factory itself backed up right onto the waterline, but there was a wide gravelly beach next to it. Shallow waves lapped at the weed-choked rocks. Logs had been placed in a rough square around a black pit where a fire had once burned. Jace was standing by the edge of the water, his jacket off. As Clary watched, he threw something small and white toward the water; it hit with a splash and vanished.
"What are you doing?" she said.
Jace turned to face them, the wind whipping his fair hair across his face. "Sending a message."
Over his shoulder, Clary thought she saw a shimmering tendril-like a living piece of seaweed emerge from the grey river water, a bit of white caught in its grip. A moment later it vanished and she was left blinking.
"A message to who?"
Jace scowled. "No one." He turned away from the water and stalked across the pebbled beach to where he'd spread his jacket out. There were four long blades laid out on it. As he turned, Clary saw the sharpened edges gleaming of runes.
Jace stroked his fingers along the blades, the rays reflecting off its surface.
"I'm all right," Luke said and drew his jacket aside to show the kindjal thrust through his belt.
"What types of blades are these?" Clary asked. "I've never seen them before."
"These are actually specialized blades." Jace twirled one in his long fingers. "Seraph blades are used because the adamas are the most fatal to demons. It burns them. Otherwise, we use these; which are rare since running metals are really hard. It's Allison's stash actually. She wanted me gone and sacrificed her own belt. I do feel a bit hurt."
"Because not everyone wants you?" Clary couldn't help but smile. "That's why I like her."
He took out the only seraph blade and named it, handing it to Clary. She took it, feeling the energy tremble in her hands.
"Do you ever use Raziel's name?" Clary asked as Jace slid the blades into his belt and shrugged his jacket back on, getting to his feet.
"Never," Luke said. "That's not done." His gaze scanned the road behind Clary, looking for Magnus. She could sense his anxiety, but before she could say anything else, her phone buzzed. She flipped it open and handed it wordlessly to Jace. He read the text message, his eyebrows lifting.
"It looks like the Inquisitor gave Valentine until sunset to decide whether he wants me or the Mortal Instruments more," he said. "She and Maryse have been fighting for hours, so she hasn't noticed I'm gone. But your niece had promised she'd convince her as soon as possible. Never thought I'd end up trusting her."
"She'll convince Imogen," Luke said. "If Imogen trusts anyone, it's definitely her granddaughter,"
Jace nodded and turned to Luke and demanded, with surprising abruptness, "Was the Inquisitor's son's death the reason she hates Valentine with pure hatred?"
Luke sighed and thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat. "How did you figure that out?"
"The way she reacts when someone says his name. It's the only time I've ever seen her show any human feelings. Allison as well. She always winces when his name is said aloud. And why she hates me."
"She does not hate you, Jace." Luke corrected. "She was the one who was willing to trust your statement against her grandmother's."
"That makes me feel slightly honored."
"We were talking about Stephen?" Clary interrupted.
Luke expelled a breath. "Her son was her whole world before Allison. I'm pretty sure Imogen is not a literal block of ice because of her granddaughter, a little humanity still exists. Stephen was her golden boy. In fact, he was everyone's ... everyone who knew him. He was one of those people who were good at everything, unfailingly nice without being boring, handsome without everyone hating him. Well, maybe we hated him a little."
"He went to school with you?" Clary said. "And my mother—and Valentine? Is that how you knew him?"
"The Herondales were in charge of running the London Institute, and Stephen went to school there. I saw him more after we all graduated when he moved back to Alicante. And there was a time when I saw him very often indeed." Luke's eyes had gone distant, the same blue-grey as the river. "After he was married my sister, Amatis."
"So he was in the Circle?"
"Not then," Luke said. "He joined the Circle after I—well, after what happened to me. Valentine needed a new second in command and he wanted Stephen. Imogen, who was utterly loyal to the Clave, was hysterical—she begged Stephen to reconsider—but he cut her off. Wouldn't speak to her, or his father. He was absolutely in thrall to Valentine. Went everywhere trailing after him like a shadow." Luke paused. "The thing is, Valentine didn't think Stephen's wife was suitable for him. Not for someone who was going to be second in command of the Circle. She had undesirable family connections. Valentine forced Stephen to divorce Amatis and remarry.
"Remarry?" Jace looked utterly surprised. "Is that why Allison is bitter about him?"
"That's why she talked with distaste about her father," Clary remarked. "So she's his first wife's daughter."
Luke nodded distractedly. "His second wife was a very young girl, only eighteen years old, named Celine. She, too, was utterly under Valentine's influence and did everything he told her to, no matter how bizarre. Then Stephen was killed in a Circle raid on a vampire nest. Celine killed herself when she found out. She was eight months pregnant at the time. And Stephen's father died, too, of heartbreak. So that was Imogen's whole family for a while, all gone. They couldn't even bury her daughter-in-law and grandchild's ashes in the Bone City, because Celine was a suicide. She was buried at a crossroads outside Alicante. Imogen survived, but she turned to ice. When the Inquisitor was killed in the Uprising, Imogen was offered his job. She returned from London to Idris—but never, as far as I heard, spoke about Stephen again. "
"I don't understand," Jace said in doubt. "Where does Allison come in the picture?"
"I didn't even know she was born until a few days ago," Luke reminded him. "I was with Amatis for a few weeks after turning into a werewolf. She'd just got divorced from her husband and wasn't exactly thrilled to have me. After that...I didn't bother to check on her."
"So Valentine is the reason," Clary said bitterly. "No wonder the Inquisitor hates us."
"Because my father poisons everything he touches?" Jace asked.
"Because your father, for all his sins, still has a son, and she doesn't. Because she blames him for Stephen's death. And she fears you both might be trying to convince her granddaughter too to join your father's side."
"History repeating itself," Jace said bitterly.
"That's stupidity at its highest," Clary said in aghast.
Luke turned away as if to hide a smile, and paused. "Someone's coming."
Someone was indeed coming, someone very tall with black hair that blew in the wind. "Magnus," Clary said. "But he looks ... different."
As he drew closer, she saw that his hair, normally spiked up and glittered like a disco ball, hung cleanly past his ears like a sheet of black silk. The rainbow leather pants had been replaced by a neat, old-fashioned dark suit and a black frock coat with glimmering silver buttons. His cat's eyes glowed amber and green. "You look surprised to see me," he said.
Jace glanced at his watch. "We did wonder if you were coming."
"I said I would come, so I came. I just needed time to prepare. This isn't some hat trick, Shadowhunter. This is going to take some serious magic." He turned to Luke. "How's the arm?"
"Fine. Thank you." Luke was always polite.
"That's your truck parked up by the factory, isn't it?" Magnus pointed. "It's awfully butch for a bookseller."
"Oh, I don't know," said Luke. "All that lugging around heavy book boxes, climbing stacks, hard-core alphabetizing..."
Magnus laughed. "Can you unlock the truck for me? I mean, I could do it myself" - he wiggled his fingers - "but that seems rude."
"Sure." Luke shrugged and they headed back toward the factory.
~~~~~
Allison was pacing in the hall for a solid twenty minutes.
She knew she should enter the library soon. It would only be a few minutes before it's found Jace had escaped. She had to talk with Imogen and convince her. But it'd also mean she'd have to talk to Imogen; especially after the debacle in the weapons room earlier.
"Finally gathered your courage?" George, the imbecile, asked as he walked towards her, his tread so silent she hadn't heard it before. For a person with such a gigantic build, he walks so softly.
Allison badly wanted to snap but remained silent, pacing.
"Not enough, I guess." He observed.
"What were you doing in Izzy's room?" She asked to deflect, which seemed to work.
He froze, clearly deciding how to answer that. Honestly, the information shocked her at first, but now it made sense. She knew the Penhallows and the Lightwoods were good friends when the Lightwoods were allowed in Alicante. George and Alec seemed to have gotten off quite well. Izzy wouldn't be an exception.
"We were talking," He shrugged. "She was upset with Alec and, well, everything. I figured I'd help her out." He crossed his arms, which Allison knew was his defensive pose. "Besides, is it that bad I talk to Isabelle?"
"It is, since both of you get defensive about it." Allison noticed the way Isabelle, who is rarely ruffled, argued with her own brother about it. She had known George since they were kids. He was her pillar, someone who had been by her side forever, who cared about her just like her mom and Imogen. She knows him like the back of her hand. He fools around just like her. But that's where the line ends. Allison is happy with mindless flings, while she knows, that deep down George wants something real. Perhaps that's why she gets protective over him. He wouldn't survive a heartbreak.
Despite his towering height, broad shoulders, and stern face, he has a heart of gold. Something that he wears on his sleeve, even though he pretends otherwise. Honestly, Allison has no ire towards Isabelle.
Yet, Allison knows Isabelle would walk over George's heart with her heels.
"Trust me, I'm not going to fall in love with her," He rolled his eyes, of course. "Despite her alluring looks, that is,"
"Sure, If you say so,"
"If you're done deflecting," He gave her a taunting grin, "Let's talk about grandmother dearest. You loathe confrontations. Something must've made you come this far. Care to share?"
Ah, fuck. Of course, he was always good at reading her. Especially her.
"I helped Jace escape," Allison said with a straight face.
His jaw dropped.
"It's the best way, George. Because—"
"Alec asked you? He batted his eyelashes and what? Mesmerized you?"
Allison stared at him blatantly. "Are you serious? You really think that low of me?"
"Then why did you release the prisoner who the Inquisitor had personally imprisoned?" He asked in an exasperated voice.
"What if he told me what happened in Jace's and Valentine's meeting last night?" She didn't bother to conceal her irritation. "What if he figured that Valentine intended on planning something tonight?"
When George didn't speak, she continued, prowling toward her friend. "During the talk with the Seelie Queen, she said I was part of Valentine's experiment." His dark eyes widened. "She told me that I can summon Heavenly Fire, George."
"Heavenly Fire?" He muttered in disbelief.
"No, she was not lying. Or uttering twisted truths. I researched a bit and...it fits."
George remained silent for a long, dragging minute. His black locks fell into his eyes, his head bowed down, thinking. Allison had told him once about her condition with seraph blades. He hadn't asked her further unless she wished to talk about that.
"Valentine will use you as a weapon?" He asked, his voice low.
She gulped the question replaying in her head. She had considered it but didn't admit it. "Against Downworlders, definitely. I have to ask Imogen about it, to know anything that might help me. As for Jace...maybe he could stop Valentine. Perhaps the man does have a bit of parental sentiment which might stall him. Nevertheless, we have to round up the Conclave and prepare an attack. We could at least have a chance to at least retrieve the Mortal Instruments, if not defeat him." She stood before him, tilting her head to look up at him. "You really think a boy could make me choose hastily about something so complicated?"
George was deadly silent, clearly letting her words sink in. For a moment, fear surged inside. Would he not believe her? If George didn't believe her, she stood no chance against her grandmother.
With a sigh, he walked towards the door, leaving Allison confused. Allison let out a shriek when George placed his hand on the knob. "What are you doing!" She rushed forward and pulled his hand back.
"You would never go against the Inquisitor's decisions unless it's direly important," He pulled her in front of the door and opened it. Allison for the first time had never felt such a panic as the library came into view. "And I'm sure releasing Jace would be an important game-changer." soon."
She gave him a grateful but turned her eyes towards the door. Noticing her hesitance, he said, "She's your grandmother, Ally. She will always be, even if you hurt her. Take a chance."
George was right. She did hurt her grandmother. But she can set it right now. Finally, address what she feels with honesty. She owns Imogen that. Taking a deep breath, she nodded towards the door, which he opened.
George cleared his throat, which caught the attention of the battling women.
Maryse looked annoyed by their entrance. Imogen too. But when her gaze—more of a glare—landed on Allison, it cleared into something close to relief.
"Maryse," Imogen said. "Can you give me and Allison a moment alone?" It wasn't a question.
I am going to shit my pants, Allison thought bitterly.
"Not while more pressing matters which includes my—"
"Mrs Lightwood," George interrupted, a wicked glint she knew all too well. "I was hungry earlier and I tried my hand at cooking. I don't know any takeaways in this city. It did not end well."
However big his mouth may be, it was useful in some situations.
Maryse, thankfully, was very fond of her kitchen.
"By the Angel! Couldn't you have asked me, George?" She exclaimed and started outside. George grinned behind her back and gave Allison a wink before following her out.
"I need to talk to you about an important thing, Inquisitor," Allison started, trying not to fidget due to the sudden silence.
"If it's about our previous altercation, please, do go ahead," Imogen said calmly. Too calmly. As if all her guard was up. Allison looked away, her heart contracting again. It took her years to soften that old woman's strict demeanor. Now, it felt as if they were back to square one. Just from a single look.
But Allison owed her grandmother the truth. Meeting her grandmother's eyes again, she began, "I was under the influence of the Fearless rune."
Imogen blinked in confusion, but Allison continued. "The rune makes me believe that fear doesn't overrule me. I volunteered to test it out. It was created by Clary Fairchild."
Her grandmother seemed astonished. "No one could create new runes. That is impossible—"
"Do you not believe my word?" Allison asked rather sharply. "Besides, do you really expect I would've spoken to you of such things outright? My fear would've prevented it unless it was absent."
She knew Imogen wanted to question her. But Allison would never, never lie to Imogen about something so serious. Dropping heavily into the chair at the head of the table, Imogen turned alarmingly pale. But Allison's temper hadn't receded, making her pause a few feet away. The table in front had a few books scattered and a black cloak slung in the back of the opposite chair. Maryse must have left it.
"How do you know about this?" Imogen asked finally. "When did Clarrisa gain this ability?"
Allison placed her hands on the table and leaned forward. "Two days ago, Jace and Clary received an invitation from the Queen of the Seelie Court." Her eyes widened a fraction. "We had just found out about the Infernal Conversion and I needed answers. I thought the Queen might answer them. When we reached her court, the Queen called me, alongside Clary and Jace as experiments. Valentine's experiments." She saw Imogen tense, already sensing the upcoming question. "My condition with the seraph blades, the fire which I summon is Heavenly Fire, isn't it?"
"I knew it from the beginning." Imogen began slowly, guilt coating her words. "As you know, Brother Zachariah is the only other person to know about it. If the others found out, they'd take you to be experimented on. I could never let it happen. And I thought I could tell you when you're older."
"I am older now," Allison played with the edge of a book.
"I didn't look much into the matter. You can contact Brother Zachariah. He would never deny your request."
She nodded absently, finding the ridges on the table suddenly interesting.
"The Queen tried to play with me, using her mind tricks." She didn't dare to look at her grandmother's eyes. "She cast an illusion on my mind. Showing my life as Allison Herondale. I would've been Allison Herondale if Stephen hadn't joined the Circle. If our family was whole. If I didn't have to become an Investigator."
"Allison..." Her grandmother's voice sounded pained.
Nevertheless, she continued. "I was born eleven months after Stephen's death. Eleven months. You are aware of that, I know. I never asked my mother about that. I could never bring myself to. She says I'm Stephen's child." The words choked inside her, and she only whispered it. "Am I?"
"How dare you ask such a question?" Imogen's words cut sharp, though a hint of vulnerability underlay.
"I deserve to know," Allison's voice shook.
"Look at me, Allison."
She couldn't.
"Allison, look at me,"
"I can't," She admitted, taking in a sharp breath. "Not when I know you might not be my grandmother."
"How dare you say that?" Imogen's sharp voice made her flinch but made her look up. Her steel grey eyes were livid as she said, "How dare you doubt me? You are Amatis Graymark's and Stephen Herondale's daughter. You are Imogen Herondale's granddaughter. You are the Herondale Heir. How dare you question your lineage?"
Allison gave her a startled look. "But I'm born on—"
"You were born at the right time," Imogen cut her off. "As for that explanation, it's your mother who should answer,"
"I deserve to know," Allison repeated. "Now. I can't live in doubt about my own life when others question it. I can't dispel the jabs if I'm not sure about my own family."
"And Amatis deserves to tell you about it," Imogen's voice turned fragile, the rage now vanished. "There's more to the story of your mother and Stephen, dear. Something only your mother deserves to tell you about."
Chillness ran down her spine. "What do you mean?"
Imogen sighed, and to Allison's surprise, moisture coated her eyes. "Please, Allison. It's your mother's place to talk to you about your father. I won't disrespect her decisions. Please."
Allison cursed mentally. By the Angel, she was daft. She should've never troubled Imogen, who was already on her limit. Allison should never bring that woman back to the darkest days of her life.
So she silently nodded, dropping the subject for now.
"You are Stephen's daughter, dear," Imogen's words made Allison straighten. "Never doubt that. The moment I saw you, yes, you shared Amatis' distinctive looks. But I saw bits of my Stephen in you. Your triumphant smile when you win in chess against me. Your way of words tricks me, just as my son used to do. Your look of defiance when you don't accept my decisions." A bittersweet smile graced her bloodless lips. "Especially when you clench your jaw, to stop your tears,"
Allison froze, and unclenched her jaw, ignoring the itch behind her throat.
"You are my granddaughter. Don't doubt that. Ever."
Allison couldn't form words for a long minute, and silence settled around them in a comfortable embrace. Slowly, "Would Stephen love me even if he knew I was born to the woman he had divorced from? Could that happen?"
The question hung over the tense air. Allison couldn't bear it, shutting her eyes to control herself. Taking a deep breath, she finally gathered a pinch of courage to glance at her grandmother.
She had never, never seen her grandmother so hurt. Allison knew Imogen had suffered much unspeakable pain in her life, but the walls around her were let out for a moment, her true pain displayed. She could only stare.
Imogen's eyes met hers, and she opened her mouth to speak. No words came out, her throat had constricted.
"Grandmother..." Allison whispered. She wanted her to speak something. She needed to hear some words or she was scared that she'd give into the hollowness in her chest.
Her grandmother held out a single hand.
Allison didn't bother to hide her shakiness as she reached out and clasped their hands. She tugged her close, to which Allison obliged and knelt next to Imogen's chair.
Her grandmother's other hand disappeared into her pocket, searching. The hand which was holding her had the Voyance rune - a mandatory rune for all shadowhunters - was stark against her pale and wrinkled skin. But the hand didn't shudder or tremble; strong and unwavering as if Imogen was indeed made of iron and old age hadn't rusted her even an inch. Allison tightened her grip; the touch was a lifeline, and the warmth calmed her hopelessness.
Imogen turned her palm up and placed a small, velvet bag.
Allison shook it slowly in confusion. The light clinking of metal was produced. She gave her grandmother a questioning look. A pleasant smile settled on her thin lips, making Allison curious to learn what was inside.
Loosening the rope, she tilted the bag to drop the contents into her.
She let out a surprised noise as a silver bracelet fell out. It wasn't actually silver; possibly an alloy of different metals. Allison could guess it might be cold iron or even electrum. All in all, it was a small uneven-shaped charms linked together like a chain, a clasp at the end. With a closer look, she noticed it wasn't uneven. They were the shape of a bird; specifically like herons, with sapphires replacing their eyes.
"Your father had this made," Imogen said silently, which made Allison snap her head up. "After getting married, he wanted his own family. He always preferred a girl child and wanted a girl just like Amatis. So even before they decided to have a child, he had this specially made. For he had always described your mother's eyes as sapphires."
"How do you have it?" Allison asked, touching the cool metal with her fingertips, tracing the shape of the herons.
"Stephen entrusted it to me, before joining the Circle, that is. After leaving your mother, I asked him about this. I thought he would snap, as he always did when I tried to console him. I remember that moment all too well." Imogen reached forward and ruffled Allison's hair tenderly. "It was a rare moment since he was always annoyed, as I tried to change his mind. He took this bracelet in his hand and said, This is a reminder of a dream I had crushed with my own stained hand. The most beautiful dream of mine, which I knowingly tossed away. I want it to be a reminder of a life which I would give anything to get back, mother. Keep it with you. If you ever meet my heart again, give it to her." Her eyes, for the first time in her life, were brimmed with tears. "His bittersweet smile was the last thing before seeing him covered with white silk in...the funeral pyre." She choked on the last words, the tears spilling out as the memories seemed to replay before her eyes.
Allison leaned into her grandmother's touch as Imogen wept slowly. Even the unbreakable could shatter with just a tiny pinprick.
Taking a deep breath, Imogen continued with a hoarse voice. "I wanted to give this to you the moment I saw, Allison. But you never liked the name Herondale and tried to run away from that part of your life. And making you wear this, I thought you'd hate me more."
"I have never hated you," Allison said, trying to keep her voice steady.
"I know you fantasize that Allison Herondale is the girl who would've been if your father didn't join the Circle. And Allison Graymark is just a fatherless girl. But you are Allison Graymark, youngest Investigator of the Clave. You've endured training that men twice your age could never complete. You have nothing to be ashamed of as you are now. But never forget you will always have the Herondale blood in you." Her grandmother's adamant eyes bore into her's. "You come from a family line who had guarded the London Institute generations, crafted many Nephilim families to the glory they are now. You are a Herondale, Allison, and you will never yield."
Allison felt the impact of the words deeply. Her eyes wandered towards the bracelet, mind considering her options. It was not a big declaration to the whole world, but wearing it would mark her as a Herondale. But if it meant she'd move closer to such a proud bloodline, if it had Imogen in it, she would wear it with pride.
She dropped the bracelet in her grandmother's hand and held out her right hand. "Help me wear it, grandmother."
Imogen's initial reaction was surprise. But it morphed into unwavering proudness which made Allison smile. The proud look on Imogen Herondale's face was everything to Allison. The bracelet went around her wrist, the cool metal settling on her skin. And as the clasp joined, something unshakable settled inside her heart.
"Thank you," Allison whispered, a new feeling entered her heart as the smog inside seemed to clear.
"No, thank you," Imogen said, holding her hand within her own. "Thank you for bringing me back from the abyss I fell into after my family's death. Thank you for showing there was still something worth for me to live on. I have never been happier to be part of your childhood, even more than my son's, Allison. I will never forget the moment we met when you hugged me as if you weren't afraid of the hollow thing I was. I had never been hugged by someone for a long time."
Allison let out a cross between a sob and a laugh and hugged her grandmother, holding her tight. Imogen sighed and leaned in as if she was exhausted and longed for one like this. "I knew you had so much potential to be uncovered," Imogen said. "But I feared that you'd be taken away by Valentine; I guessed he might have been the reason for your power, dead or not. That's why I wanted to prepare you for the worst. And make you the best shadowhunter of your age. In that way, you could stand against anything the world might throw at you. That's why I made you train as an Investigator." Allison buried her head into Imogen's shoulder, keeping silent. "I was driven by fear and love that I didn't realize you were just a young girl. And I know apologies would never repent my sins."
"No," Allison drew away just to look at Imogen, whose face was filled with guilt. "You never have to say sorry. I am glad you made me into the person I am. Shaping my skills to be at its best." Some guilt seemed to have disappeared. "And the mind you trained to be sharper than the knife in my hand tells me that the exchange with Valentine would never work."
Imogen blinked. "Why won't it?"
"Because he's a man driven with an ambition that would resort to ensuring endless suffering on the people around him and himself. Valentine had made up his mind that he would sacrifice anything to make his motive a success. Even if it meant losing his son. Deep down, you know that's the truth. Besides," Allison added. "I'm not a fan of Jace so take it from my point of view instead of Maryse's."
Imogen took a while to consider the words, realizing the truth in her words. Finally, "What do you suggest we do instead?"
She sunk into her knees fully and placed a hand on Imogen's knee. "We launch a full-on attack on Valentine's boat. He could start the Infernal Conversion anytime soon, so I think we need to round up the Conclave."
Imogen took a long time to think of the pros and cons of this deformed plan. Even Allison could guess the cons - they have a smaller number than the demons Valentine could summon using the Mortal Instrument. She did hope Jace had somehow managed to board the ship since he would've escaped with Luke and Clary probably. They are the only ones he could call for a ride.
"I think we have no other choice," Imogen said, at last, the Inquisitor's proud look bloomed on her face which made Allison smile. "The others are more likely to fail, and this does seem to have more odds in its favor.
Allison nodded. "Then I'd get Maryse and Robert to call in the whole Conclave."
The doors to the library opened suddenly, startling both.
George stood on the threshold. "Maryse is on her way. Apparently, my talk and her wine couldn't keep her rooted in the kitchen for long. Let me emphasize on my talk."
Allison gave her grandmother a sideways look. "George could always charm an older woman and none of our age, Imogen. You should have seen the food my mom packs for him every time he talks to her."
George cleared his throat. "That's because no one of our age could ever handle my charm."
"I never believed your stories before, Allison, but I understand now," Imogen observed. "I think that's why I never chased him away from you even though he's a boy."
George blinked, surprised by Imogen's smile. "I can definitely sense what you are implying, Inquisitor, but I'll take what I can get from you."
Imogen had taken a glass of wine from the table, some amusement lingering in her face.
He gave Allison a questioning look, looking at her on her knees near Imogen. She gave him the brightest grin, assuring him she'd tell the whole story later. George looked suddenly towards the corridor and said. "Maryse is coming. I better try to stall her for a little while."
"Thank you, George," Imogen said.
George looked alarmed.
"I think he's having a panic attack, Inquisitor," Allison observed.
George, with a withering glare, left the room.
"I have meant to tell you this for a while now," Imogen started carefully. "We may somehow stop Valentine's plans soon. We wouldn't have to live in fear that he'd use you. And I am getting old. I think it's time to retire for me."
Honestly, Allison had expected it but kept quiet.
"After retiring, I would return to the Herondale Manor to live the rest of my days." Imogen stopped, considering for a moment. "I was wondering whether you - and Amatis, of course - would come live with me."
Allison sighed. "It is too far away from the Gard. I can maybe try—"
"No, what I'm saying is that you could also resign yours as an Investigator. If you want,"
Allison stared, wondering if she heard the words correctly.
"I mean..." Imogen seemed tense. "It would take at least a few more months to settle all feuds and make amends. You'd be seventeen soon. So when you're finally eighteen, you could go on a travel year. You can visit New York too since you've made new friends here." To Allison's open mouth, Imogen started to withdraw. "That is your choice. If you want to proceed as an Investigator, I will definitely support you, Allison. You could have a bright future in Clave's politics. You can definitely continue as an Investigator, and reach great heights. "
"I—" Allison tried to muster a reply. "I don't know what to say." She really didn't. Of course, she wanted to go on a travel year and enjoy what a normal eighteen-year-old shadowhunter does. Yet, her Investigator post has slowly grown to her liking. She loved the exhilarating thrill of solving cases. She didn't want to forget that.
Imogen only smiled and patted her head gently. "Take your time to think about it, dear. We have enough time."
Word count - 5623