The Institute, New York, and Poll na mBrón, Ireland, Wednesday Evening

[seveninchmotto]

Alec slammed his hand against the button in the small cage elevator, and slumped back against the wall. "How much time do we have?"

Isabelle checked the glowing screen of her mobile phone. "About forty minutes."

The elevator lurched upward. Isabelle cast a covert glance at her brother. He looked tired — dark circles were under his eyes. Despite his height and strength, Alec, with his blue eyes and soft black hair almost to his collar, looked more delicate than he was. "I'm fine," he said, answering her unspoken question. "You're the one who's going to be in trouble for staying away from home. I'm over eighteen. I can do what I want."

(The joke was on him, because she was eighteen now too. It was just that none of them had realized that.)

"I texted Mom every night and told her I was with you and Magnus," Isabelle said as the elevator came to a stop. "It's not like she didn't know where I was. And speaking of Magnus..."

Alec reached across her and pulled the elevator's inside cage door open. "What?"

"Are you two okay? I mean, getting along all right?"

Alec shot her an incredulous look as he stepped out into the entryway. "Everything's going to hell in a handbasket, and you want to know about my relationship with Magnus?"

"I've always wondered about that expression," Isabelle said thoughtfully as she hurried after her brother down the hallway. Alec had long, long legs and, though she was fast, it was hard to keep up with him when he wanted it to be. "Why a handbasket? What is a handbasket, and why is it a particularly good form of transportation?"

Alec, who had been Jace's parabatai long enough to have learned to ignore conversational tangents, said, "Magnus and I are okay, I guess."

"Uh-oh," Isabelle said. "Okay, you guess? I know what it means when you say that. What happened? Did you have a fight?"

Alec was tapping his fingers against the wall as they raced along, a sure sign that he was uncomfortable. "Quit trying to meddle around in my love life, Iz. What about you? You've never brought a mundie to a demon summoning before."

"He likes me."

"Of course he does. Guys always like you. But don't you think it's more than that?"

Isabelle wrinkled her nose. "Well, obviously. Actually, he loves me."

They had almost reached the library. Alec looked sideways at Isabelle through his lashes. "But what about you, how do —"

"Alec." She held up her hand, indicating that he should be quiet. Voices were coming from the library, the first one strident and immediately recognizable as their mother's: "What do you mean she's missing?"

"No one's seen her in two days," said another voice—soft, female, and slightly apologetic. "She lives alone, so people weren't sure — but we thought, since you know her brother —"

Without a pause Alec straight-armed the door of the library open. Isabelle ducked past him to see her mother sitting behind the massive mahogany desk in the center of the room. In front of her stood two familiar figures: Aline Penhallow, dressed in gear, and beside her Helen Blackthorn, her curly hair in disarray. Both of them turned, looking surprised, as the door opened. Helen, beneath her freckles, was pale; she was also in gear, which drained the color out of her skin even more.

"Isabelle," said Maryse, rising to her feet. "Alexander. What's happened?"

Aline reached for Helen's hand. Silver rings flashed on both their fingers. The Penhallow ring, with its design of mountains, glinted on Helen's finger, while the intertwined thorn pattern of the Blackthorn family ring adorned Aline's. Isabelle felt her eyebrows go up; exchanging family rings was serious business.

"If we're intruding, we can go —" Aline began.

"No, stay," said Isabelle, striding forward. "We might need you."

Maryse settled back into her chair. "So," she said. "My children grace me with their presence. Where have you two been?"

"I told you," Isabelle said. "We were at Magnus's."

"Why?" Maryse demanded. "And I'm not asking you, Alexander. I'm asking my daughter."

"Because the Clave stopped looking for Jace," said Isabelle. "But we didn't."

"And Magnus was willing to help," Alec added. "He's been up all these nights, searching through spell books, trying to figure out where Jace might be. He even raised the —"

"No." Maryse put up a hand to silence him. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know." The black phone on her desk started to ring. They all stared at it. A black phone call was a call from Idris. No one moved to answer it, and in a moment it was silent. "Why are you here?" Maryse demanded, turning her attention back to her offspring.

"We were looking for Jace —" Isabelle began again.

"It's the Clave's job to do that," Maryse snapped. She looked tired, Isabelle noticed, the skin stretched thin under her eyes. Lines at the corners of her mouth drew her lips into a frown. She was thin enough that the bones of her wrists seemed to protrude. "Not yours."

Alec slammed his hand down on the desk, hard enough to make the drawers rattle. "Would you listen to us? The Clave didn't find Jace, but we did. And Sebastian right along with him. And now we know what they're planning, and we have ––" He glanced at the clock on the wall. "–– barely any time to stop them. Are you going to help or not?"

The black phone rang again. Again Maryse didn't even move to answer it. She was looking at Alec, her face white with shock. "You did what?"

"We know where Jace is, Mom," said Isabelle. "Or at least, where he's going to be. And what he's going to do. We know Sebastian's plan, and he has to be stopped. Oh, and we know how we can kill Sebastian but not Jace —"

"Stop." Maryse shook her head. "Alexander, explain. Concisely, and without hysteria. Thank you."

Alec launched into the story — leaving out, Isabelle thought, all the good parts, which was how he managed to summarize things so neatly. As abbreviated as his rendition was, both Aline and Helen were gaping by the end of it. Maryse stood very still, her features immobile. When Alec was done, she said in a hushed voice: "Why have you done these things?"

Alec looked taken aback.

"For Jace," Isabelle said. "To get him back."

"You realize that by putting me in this position, you give me no choice but to notify the Clave," said Maryse, her hand resting on the black phone. "I wish you hadn't come here."

Isabelle's mouth went dry. "Are you seriously mad at us for finally telling you what's going on?"

"If I notify the Clave, they will send all their reinforcements. Jia will have no choice but to give them instructions to kill Jace on sight. Do you have any idea how many Shadowhunters Valentine's son has following him? Alec shook his head. "Maybe forty, it sounds like."

"Say we brought twice as many as that. We could be fairly confident of defeating his forces, but what kind of chance would Jace have? There's almost no certainty he'd make it through alive. They'll kill him just to be sure."

"Then, we can't tell them," said Isabelle. "We'll go ourselves. We'll do this without the Clave."

But Maryse, looking at her, was shaking her head. "The Law says we have to tell them."

"I don't care about the Law —" Isabelle began angrily. She caught sight of Aline looking at her, and slammed her mouth shut.

"Don't worry," Aline said. "I'm not going to say anything to my mother. I owe you guys. Especially you, Isabelle." She tightened her jaw, and Isabelle remembered the darkness under a bridge in Idris, and her whip tearing into a demon, its claws locked onto Aline. "And besides, Sebastian killed my cousin. The real Sebastian Verlac. I have my own reasons to hate him, you know."

"Regardless," said Maryse. "If we do not tell them, we will be breaking the Law. We could be sanctioned, or worse."

"Worse?" said Alec. "What are we talking about here? Exile?"

"I don't know, Alexander," said his mother. "It would be up to Jia Penhallow, and whoever wins the Inquisitor's position, to decide our punishment."

"Maybe it'll be Dad," muttered Isabelle darkly. "Maybe he'll go easy on us."

"If we fail to notify them of this situation, Isabelle, there is no chance your father will make Inquisitor. None," said Maryse.

Isabelle took a deep breath. "Could we get our Marks stripped?" she said. "Could we... lose the Institute?"

"Isabelle," said Maryse. "We could lose everything."

-----

It was a rocky plain, whipped by wind, with nothing to break the force of the gale. Patches of grass grew up between slabs of gray rock. In the far distance bleak, scree-covered karst hills rose, black and iron against the night sky. And then the ground rose to a low hill. Atop the hill, facing north, was a massive ancient stone tomb. In front of the tomb a flat sill stone, like the floor of a stage, stretched across the shale and grass. Grouped before the flat stone was a half-circle of about forty Nephilim, robed in red, carrying witchlight torches. Within their half-circle, against the dark ground, blazed a blue-white pentagram. And Lilith was there, and Jace and Sebastian both in red gear, and they had their version of the Mortal Cup, and it was being reached for by someone.

Who suddenly staggered back, an arrow in his throat. Alec stood on top of the stone dolmen, holding his bow. He grinned in satisfaction and reached back over his shoulder for another arrow. The rest of them poured out onto the plain. A pack of wolves, running low to the ground, their brindled fur shining in the variegated light. Maia and Jordan were among them. Behind them walked Shadowhunters in an unbroken line: Isabelle and Maryse, Helen and Aline, and Jocelyn,. With them was Simon, the hilt of a silver sword protruding over the curve of his shoulder, and Magnus, hands crackling with blue fire.

"Can you see her?" Jocelyn demanded. "Is she there?"

Simon looked like he was focusing all his vampire senses. "I see her," he said. "Jace has hold of her. He's pulling her behind that line of Shadowhunters there."

"If they're loyal to Jonathan like the Circle was to Valentine, they'll make a wall of bodies to protect him, and Clary and Jace along with him." Jocelyn was all cold maternal fury, her green eyes burning. "We're going to have to break through it to get to them."

"What we need to get to is Sebastian," said Isabelle. "Simon, we'll hack a path for you. You get to Sebastian and run him through with Glorious. Once he falls —"

"The others will probably scatter," said Magnus. "Or, depending on how tied they are to Sebastian, they might die or collapse along with him. We can hope, at least." He craned his head back. "Speaking of hope, did you see that shot Alec got off with his bow? That's my boyfriend." He beamed and wiggled his fingers; blue sparks shot from them. He shone all over. Only Magnus would have access to sequined battle armor.

Isabelle uncurled her whip from around her wrist. It shot out in front of her, a lick of golden fire. "Okay, Simon," she said. "Are you ready?"

Simon's shoulders tightened. They were still some distance from the line of the opposing army — well, how else to think of them? — who were holding their line in their red robes and gear, their hands bristling with weapons. Some of them were exclaiming out loud in confusion. He grinned.

"Name of the Angel, Simon," said Isabelle. "What's there to smile about?"

"Their seraph blades don't work anymore," said Simon. "They're trying to figure out why. Sebastian just shouted at them to use other weapons." A cry came up from the line as another arrow swooped down from the tomb and buried itself in the back of a burly red-robed Shadowhunter, who collapsed forward. The line jerked and opened slightly, like a fracture in a wall. Simon, seeing his chance, dashed forward, and the others rushed with him.

It was like diving into a black ocean at night, an ocean filled with sharks and viciously toothed sea creatures colliding against one another. Isabelle was on one side of Simon, Magnus on the other, protecting him, protecting Glorious, as he tried to shove forward through the tightly packed Shadowhunters, who hacked at him with blades. Isabelle's whip sang out strong and sure, and Magnus's hands spat fire, red and green and blue. Lashes of colored fire struck the dark Nephilim, burning them where they stood. Other Shadowhunters screamed as Luke's wolves slunk among them, nipping and biting, leaping for their throats.

It was chaos. Isabelle often welcomed the chaos of battle, but this was different. These were her people, turned bad, and she had to harden herself to the idea that they were fellow Nephilim. It was still terrible, but her only goal was to keep Simon safe. To keep Glorious safe.

That was, until someone sprang at Simon, and when Magnus turned to defend him, turned on him instead. The Dark Shadowhunters moved far faster than they should have been able to. They did impossible things, like making Magnus fall. Attempting to stab him in the heart. Alec stopped it with a swift arrow, but it was really too close to happening. Isabelle knelt down by Magnus's side. Soon she had her hands against the warlock's chest, but Magnus — Magnus, who was always so kinetic, so bursting with energy — was utterly still under her ministrations. She looked up and saw Simon staring at them; her hands were red with blood, but she shook her head at him violently. "Keep going!" she shouted. "Find Sebastian!"

Thankfully, he listened to her. And Isabelle herself slipped back into the fray after Alec made his way to them, and Magnus came back to consciousness. She went back into the whirlpool, just hoping everyone else was doing okay.

And then there was a scream. A scream, and a bright light, and instinctively, Isabelle turned towards it. She couldn't comprehend what she saw. Clary was holding Glorious. It was buried in Jace's chest –– no, that couldn't be right. Sebastian's chest?

No. It was Jace.

And Jace fell to his knees. The sword still pierced him, but it was burning now, with a white-gold flame, and the fire was filling his body like colored water filling a clear glass pitcher. Golden flame shot through him, turning his skin translucent. His hair was bronze; his bones were hard, shining tinder visible through his skin. Glorious itself was burning away, dissolving in liquid drops like gold melting in a crucible. Jace’s head was thrown back, his body arched like a bow as the conflagration raged through him. His hands clutched at his chest, and a river of golden blood slipped through his fingers. The stone on which he knelt was blackening, cracking, turning to ash. And then Glorious burned up like the last of a bonfire, in a shower of sparks, and Jace collapsed forward, onto the stones.

Isabelle screamed.

All around them were running feet. The shattered remains of Sebastian’s small army was fleeing across the Burren, dropping their weapons as they went. It had been Sebastian screaming before, when the angel's sword had pierced Jace's chest. It had done what it had been sought after to do.

Clary was still with Jace. Jocelyn had already made her way to them, and Simon was rushing there now. Isabelle moved towards them, but slowly. She felt as if she was sleepwalking.

"Sebastian," she heard Clary say, or try to say. Her voice came out as a croak. "Someone should go after him."

"They're looking for him now." Her mother leaned in, anxious, her eyes wide. "Clary, let him go. Clary, baby..."

"Let her be," Isabelle heard herself say sharply. She heard Jocelyn's protest, but ignored it. Everything seemed to be going on at a great distance. Clary pleaded with Jace. Simon tried to hush her. Isabelle just watched them, a numbness spreading through her mind. All the work they'd put into this, all the sacrifice, only for Jace to die. Only for the Lightwoods to lose another member.

Then, suddenly, Clary froze. She leaned forward, almost overbalancing, and pressed her hand against the torn scarlet material over his chest, as if she could heal the wound she had made. Her head snapped up, and even though her face was tear-streaked and even though the expression was unsteady, she was smiling. "I can feel his heartbeat."

[ooc: NFB, NFI, OOC-okay! Summarized from City of Lost Souls, warning for a bloody fight scene.]