The bus comes to a stop a block away from my apartment. I quickly scurry off and dart down the sidewalk. I can't stand walking through groups of people, especially when I can see some of their true faces. Over the years, I've become more and more uneasy with the idea of still being able to see through the Glamours. The more I live in the mundane world, I lose my tolerance to not get sick when I see a demon out on the streets. Part of me wants to run and hide and the other part of me wants to slay it right where it stands because that is what I've known for years. I can't exactly kill it with other people around; I don't think people will understand when I try to explain to them that it was a demon and I did it for the better of us all. I'm not invisible and I can't take any chances. I gave up my Glamour a long time ago. I know there is an Institute here, they can take care of it.
I ease myself up the stairs to my door. I live in a split-level building. I've got the top floor, which, of course, is the smallest. The first floor is an old, ran down Deli, the second floor is an apartment, and then there's me. I can't complain too much; the rent is cheap. If it wasn't for that, I would've had to seek shelter from either the Institute or a Downworlder, and I wanted neither. Since I've got a bit of warlock blood in me, I can swing from between the Shadowhunters and the Downworlders without too much fuss. I like handling things alone though. I don't want to have to rely on anyone to house me and I know the Institute wouldn't like having a "retired" Nephilim staying with them. I gave up my membership card, so I lost that support. I doubt the welcome would be warm. Not only is it frowned upon, but I'm pretty sure I've become a disgrace to my family name. Oh well, sue me.
I fling myself against my bed in my musty bedroom. I've begged the landlord to let me repaint, but he still hasn't given me permission. The walls are a dirty-looking gray. This place has no warmth to it, it's just cold. The heater works, but it's never felt warm. The feeling I get here reminds me of the feeling I get when I'm at the College. It's just an uneasy sensation, almost like there's something behind you at all times. If there was something, I would be able to see it. At least, I should be able to see it. I wish I knew what it was, but I just try to ignore it. I went through something tragic as a child, maybe it just messed me up in the head. I roll onto my back and look up at the white ceiling. There's a ceiling fan above the bed that needs to be cleaned, but I just can't reach it. I don't have a stepladder and I'm not that tall. I sigh to myself, wondering what the rest of my life may be like. Family, job, normal life. But, can I really have a normal life? I mean, my kids will have abilities and will be of my bloodline. I can't keep that from them, not forever at least. Not unless I want to involve magic and that is something I don't want to do. Magic has caused enough problems in the world already and I don't want to add to it. I try to just take things one day at a time. I've given many thoughts about returning and asking for my membership card back, but I left for a reason. I mean, I left. I'd be a fool to go back and throw myself back into the darkness that I crawled out of. The only thing that I could focus on was the next hunt, the next attack. I didn't want that for the rest of my life. Not only that, but it was a rogue Shadowhunter that killed my grandparents. Somewhere, I hold a grudge towards all of them. All of them. I know that they would've wanted me to be happy and that is what I'm trying to do. I've thought about trying to find my parents, but what's the point? Obviously, they haven't tried to find me. There's only one Nephilim family with my last name. I wouldn't be that hard to find since I never changed it. I wanted to keep it to give myself a bit of an edge on others, but in case anyone ever wanted to actually find me. As of right now, I've heard from no one from my past. I guess it's better that way. It's better to keep things separate.
I'm home for the night, might as well get comfortable. I shrug out of my hoodie, remove and fling my bra onto the chair on the other side of the room, put on a tank-top, and change into my night-shorts. Small, almost silver scars cover most of my body. Also hard to explain to someone. It's just another reminder. I look at myself in the mirror that is on the other side of the room. I can see my first rune on my shoulder, the one that my Grandfather did. I smile a bit to myself, thinking back on it. I complained while he was doing it and he never told me to buck up and deal with the pain. He was comforting and understanding. He never pushed me into anything that I didn't want to do. It took me awhile to be comfortable with the idea of handling any kind of a weapon and he waited until I was ready. I got my first knife for my eighth birthday. It was a small dagger. Red gemstones lined the handle and it had my initials engraved into it. I still have it. I think of it more as a good luck charm rather than a weapon. It's always on me, just in case I need it. Just because I gave up the life doesn't mean I gave up defending myself. I haven't lost all of my touch, I still know how to bring someone, or something, down. I might not be as fast as I used to be but I can make do with what I've got.
I feel the tiredness hit me like a wave. I know I should shower, get something for dinner, and actually get ready for bed, but I just don't feel like it. I lay down and curl up into my covers. That is one of my favorite things to do. I absolutely love rolling up in soft blankets and melting into them. It always gives me a safe feeling. Why, I'll never know. It's not like that's going to stop someone from hurting me. Oh, shit, she's in a blanket. We can't kill her. I close my eyes and just plan to take a nap, maybe an hour's nap. Or a twelve-hour nap. Whichever comes first. Before I know it, I'm passed out. The last few nights, I've been swamped with schoolwork. It's the finals and I've been going nuts. To say that I'm tired would easily be an understatement. I can feel myself drifting deeper and deeper into sleep. Glorious.
I can feel the heat from its breath on my face. I can smell the stink that is coming from it. I must be dreaming...I must be dreaming...I must be dream-- I know the growl anywhere. I've killed many of them. Shax. I open my eyes to see it over me on the bed. I can feel it. Panic...I had forgotten what this felt like. Terrifying. In one swift move, I force myself up and throw the Shax off of me. I reach under my pillow and remove my dagger. It's too small to really do anything, but it's better than nothing. If I can hit it in the right spot, I can kill it. The dagger connects with a rune on my lower back and I feel its power course through me. As if I had never stopped, I head into attack mode. It lunges at me as I dodge its blow, the dagger grazing its side. I hear it growl as I run out of the bedroom and into the living room. I can hear its claws scraping and tearing up the floor behind me. It's hot on my heels. That's when I feel it, the hot pain. Part of my back and arm start to burn as a yelp escapes me. I make a hard turn into the kitchen and head straight to my knives. I don't have any magical weapons that I can easily get to right now except the dagger. I grab a Chef's knife and start reciting a spell that I was once taught. I was never taught a lot of magic except for what my Grandfather taught me about the wooden weapons. I don't have time to perform magic, I need to act now. Before I can finish reciting, it's in front of me. Growling, it lunges at me once more. I throw the knife and duck, falling to my knees and elbows. I quickly crawl away, but there's no getting away from this thing. It's going to kill me before I can get close enough to slice it with the dagger. You idiot, you should have kept your weapons handy! If my subconscious were a real person, it would disown me. I scurry away towards the living room, but I can't move fast enough. Blood was running down my arm and onto the floor, making it hard to get any traction. This is it. In a split second, everything becomes fuzzy and I'm suddenly pinned to the floor with the Shax now on top of me. I know it could have killed me by now, but it hasn't. I try to grasp my dagger, but I just can't get a good grip on it. The blood, or the blood loss, is taking a toll on me. My breathing is ragged, stressed. I know this is all happening within a matter of seconds, but it feels like it has been an hour. It opens its mouth and I lay my head back against the floor and just stop fighting. I scream as a blade suddenly impales through its head and comes out of its still opened mouth. Just as fast as it happened, the blade is gone and the Shax collapses on me, its deadweight crushing me.
"Jesus!" I cry out, in shock and in pain.
"Not quite, but thank you for the compliment. Wrong hair color." I hear someone reply.
It's a man's voice. My mind clicks and my eyes widen a bit. It can't be. With a small groan, he removes the Shax. I squint a bit and look at the person who stands almost over me. I hadn't turned on any lights yet and the sun has almost set. There's just a bit of dim light shining through the windows. I catch a glimpse of his eyes. It is. I'd never forgotten his eyes. I have never seen golden eyes before. He's been the only one. "Jace?" I ask in a whisper, breathless. I don't even recognize my voice. I'm amazed he could hear it. I've got to be dreaming this. This cannot be happening right now. The pain you're feeling is real...this is real.
"Hello, Lizzy. It's nice to see you again."
I stare up at him, dumbfounded. At a loss for words, I just lay there, in my own blood, and stare up at the kid I used to know...now a man. "What—Wait..."
"We'll save that for later, let's get you up." Before I know it, I'm standing and having to lean on the counter so I don't fall right back down. "I know you're confused but I'll explain things later. We need to get back, it's getting darker." The quiet boy found a voice.
"What? Back where? For the love of God, turn on a light..." I groan.
"And draw more attention here? No, we need to go."
"Go where?!" I half yell, half screech from my dry throat. "I was asleep and then that thing came in and now you're he—"
He cuts me off. "It's called a Shax, and—"
I cut him off. "I know what it's called, genius. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on. You dropped off the face of the earth and now you're in my apartment. I almost got killed by a demon that I haven't dealt with in years."
"Unless we get you fixed up, you could still die. You'll eventually bleed out while you stand there rattling your mouth. Now, can you just trust me for an hour and let's get out of here." He stressed the last bit. There's tension, major tension. It hits me just how much my back and arm hurt. I can feel the wetness from the blood all down my side. I'm actually surprised I haven't passed out. Probably still running off the adrenaline rush. My senses come back to me a bit as I relax. I nod slightly, feeling myself starting to fade more and more.
"Come on..." I feel something get draped over my shoulders and an arm slither around my waist. I can't help it, even with being wounded and exhausted, I feel my cheeks get warm. Thank God it's mostly dark out. My good arm gets grabbed and draped across his shoulders. I groan a bit and head out with him. He's quick to move with soundless footsteps. We remain within the shadows once we're outside. There's a van parked in front of the apartment, a black van. Great, I'm going to get kidnapped. Someone gets out of the driver's seat and rushes around to the other side of the van. I look up at the other guy as the van's door gets opened and I'm guided inside. Dark hair, blue eyes, rather attractive guy. But the look that is laced through those eyes is alarming.
"The Shax is dead but we need to move before the others come." Jace commanded quickly. The door closes and I sink into the seat, curling up as best that I can. I'm still in my tank-top and shorts with what I now recognize to be Jace's black jacket wrapped around me. I can't help but feel bad knowing that it's getting bloody, but in the New York Winter weather I appreciate it. The only thing that I don't appreciate is the fact that I'm still in my tank-top, ass-cracker shorts, and I have no shoes. And no freaking bra. I've never felt more exposed in my life. It takes me a good solid minute to realize that Jace still has an arm around me. We used to be friends, why is this so weird? The van hauls off down the road and I lean back, getting pressed into the seat/his side. I hiss through my clenched teeth.
"You're getting paler..." He states, out of the blue.
"I've always been pale." I grumble. "But, bleeding will do that."
"Yes, I am aware." He shifts so his chest is to my back. "Lean forward."
I take ahold of the seat and pull myself forward, slowly. He pulls off the jacket and makes a small noise. Whether it was disgust or shock, I don't know. I rest my head against the seat and just wait. I take a soft breath, I already know what he's going to do. It was a part of our classes. That he never finished, at least, not to my knowledge. "Jace,--"
"Hush, don't stress."
I sigh. "But you don't get it, I don't have—" I groan at the burning/stinging that engulfs my back and arm. I can feel his confusion the second he realized that I wasn't getting healed. "I don't have my runes anymore."
"What?!" I hear an irritated groan leave him before I'm overcome with the burning once more, this time more intense. I wince as my breathing suddenly quickens. He's drawing on me! I groan loudly. I didn't want any runes but what am I really supposed to do? It's that or I'm stuck in the Hospital for however long. I know we must be going to the Institute, it's the only thing that would make sense. I'd rather be stuck there where I know nothing is going to kill me. It's been so long since I got any new runes, my tolerance for them has gone down to nothing. I'd wince less if someone was ripping my hair out. I breathe a breath of relief when I feel him pull away. I rest my head against the seat and glance over my shoulder at him and glare. Heavily glare. He replaces the jacket, probably noting my appearance. Anyone can tell that I'm more than just physically uncomfortable. "Thank you for the torture."
"You're welcome. At least, you're not going to bleed out all over me. It'll wait until we can get you stitched."
"Glad to see you haven't changed." I hiss, sarcasm strong in my comment. He had changed, he had changed a lot. Yes, he was young when I knew him. If it hadn't been for his eyes, I would have never known it was him.
"You've changed. You've changed a lot." His tone is more relaxed, as it was more of an observation rather than an insult.
"I know." I straighten out a bit, my body in less pain. "So have you," I quietly state. "You're almost unrecognizable."
A quick grin forms on his lips, then leaves. "Isn't it great? I grew into my looks."
"Your ego is gagging me," I snarl.
"I'll take that as a compliment, thank you."
"Anytime, anytime," I say, my tone matching his. "So, are you going to tell me what exactly is going on?" I ask Jace as I catch a glimpse of the driver's eyes in the rearview mirror. I still can't read the emotion that is laced through them. I'm pretty good with reading people but I just can't get an energy from him. I look out the window.
"Later, when we're on safe grounds." His tone is a bit short.
"Then tell me this, on a scale of one-to-ten, ten being the worst, how bad is this?"
"Eleven." He whispers.
A chill runs down my spine and it's not from the blood loss. Add it up, Beth. Add it up. I had a demon attack me, a demon that is summoned and sent to do dirty business, the guy that I just chalked up to being dead is sitting right beside me, and it's an eleven. He won't tell me what's going on until we're on holy ground. Well, it looks like my Tuesday night just got shot to hell. So much for an early night.