My eyes are sore, my fingers are numb, my legs have gone to sleep and i have 9-hour day at work ahead of me in t-minus fiver hours. To top it all off, I leave for the Philippines in less than 3 months and several trips to plan with my crew of hombre's before I leave for a new country that i will live in for 18 months.

On the upside, there is a while tonne of music that I have discovered, from Nao's song Another Lifetime to my good old nz band Six60 - definitely urge you to listen to them cos its vibey. Other than that, I am now 21 people, I have finally got myself an instagram - i use it more to save all the fanart people post, but yeah, I'm on there guys, and I have just finally figured out how to curve this story back to life. Talk more at the bottom.

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Chapter 34: Words of Colour

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Jace did not expect the university to look like a place setting for a teenage thriller. With all the bad weather, and the ominous lights on in the art block, Jace was feeling skeptical about whether or not Clary wasn't going to turn out to be a serial killer of sorts. He'd seen one too many cases where jealous girlfriends had ended up performed insane deeds just to lay claim on their boyfriends. A few seconds spent running from his car into the safety of the building had left him with a slick leather jacket and damp blonde curls. The rainfall had steadily worsened over the last hour, and he'd been blissfully oblivious to Mother Nature's mood up to the point where he left work.

While Jace climbed the stairs to the upper level, he passed a few people hauling their bags with them, cursing the rain outside. He was surprised when he walked past an open door filled with two dozen people, all facing one direction with paper in their hands. Surely people didn't have classes going this late into the night? Curiosity got the better of him and he moved closer to the door to see what had their complete attention.

Wow.

A cluster of people stood in the corner, each posing differently and featuring various body shapes and distinguishing features.

All of them were nude.

Jace slowly backed away from the door, moving away from the sight to go find Clary. He'd heard of nude modeling classes, but he'd never actually seen anyone brave enough to showcase their whole body. And they had no shame. Bravo for the courageous, he thought. He knew he was good looking and teased many with his bare torso, but there was a fine line between playful stripteases and full nudity.

And boy did he play a close game on that line.

The blonde cop could hear music playing in the room down the hallway. He came to the open door and stood against the doorframe. Clary was so immersed in her job, moving about while hauling huge folded cardboards inside a large case at the back of the room. Her hair had strays, and her clothes were in no better condition than his. The coat she had thrown over the top was splattered with dried up paints and dye on the sleeves.

Not the kind of person one would suspect in a homicide.

Jace had a number of questions that he wanted to ask Clarissa. Hours spent researching past affiliations with Valentine had planted a number of suspicions involving the redhead, and while he was sure they weren't one and the same, he couldn't throw away his issues completely. Alec had done his part and given him a list of names that he should look into, and they sounded so familiar to him. There were key clues that stuck out like a sore-thumb from the cases that he'd been working on, and he needed to narrow down the list one factor at a time.

She should be fine...

The redhead threaded between the tables with her arms loaded and attentions focused on the task at hand.

Such an easy target...

Simple scare pranks always held a classic appeal to Jace, and here was an opportunity too perfect to let pass; she was completely distracted by her actions, and the harsh rainfall masked the sounds of any other noises perfectly, save for her own squeaky shoes. Was this act completely immature for a man his age? Probably. Was it worth a laugh? Absolutely.

Ducking down low, Jace moved stealthily beneath Clary's line of sight to where she was. For years, Jace had perfected the art of moving without a sound, and his footfalls were deathly silent, leaving no telltale sounds to warn the redhead. Among other things, Jace had been the king of scare-pranks at school, and it had been a while since he'd pulled one on a new victim. When he finally got close enough behind the redhead, he smirked. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled. "ARGGH!"

"WARRGH!"

His redhead girl flinched at his voice and swung around, gripping the folders to her chest. Jace wasn't expecting any other reaction and was confused when his body folded in around the kick aimed at his ribs. The wind was knocked out and he crashed onto his knees against the side of a table. The woman snapped her leg back and followed up in succession with another kick aimed specifically for his head. Jace leaned back and fell flat onto the ground in surprise, and used both hands to stop the foot from dropping down onto his face and breaking his nose.

"JACE - WHAT THE HELL?"

The blonde peaked his head out from underneath Clary's shoe and looked up at her with a childish grin on his face. "Surprise," he winced.

Clary's face had gone from inflamed fury to embarrassment as she looked down and recognised him. Her bright eyes beamed down at Jace and he couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled from his chest. She'd knocked him down well onto his ass, something that he hadn't expected this girl to be able to do so easily. Sure, the element of surprise was on her side, but that didn't change the outcome.

"You've got quite a kick in your arsenal there, Red. Where'd you pick it up?"

"Thai boxing and Kyokushin karate, you idiot." She dropped her folders onto the bench with a loud smack and folded her arms across her chest. "I could've seriously damaged your face."

"I hope not. You're the one that has to kiss it."

"Ha ha, funny, ha." Clary looked down at Jace and frowned worriedly. Her eyebrows arose and she clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh god, are you in pain? Are you bleeding? Is there an-"

Clary had been dragged off balance and was now holding herself up on Jaces shoulders, her lower half straddling the blonde cop on the ground. He pushed himself up and brushed her hair back off her face. "You-" he brushed his lips against her jaw, "-are-" against her nose, "-adorable." Jace pulled back and wound his arms around her hips. " I'm still in one piece, nurse. No harm, no foul."

Green eyes rolled back. Clary huffed and sat up straight over Jace's lap. "Good. Because you scared the bejeezus out of me, and no way am I having you put me in the slammer."

"It was a harmless jump-scare, promise."

"Yes, and it backfired on you now, didn't it?" Clary pushed herself up off of Jace and slipped over to the folders she had flat on the bench. "Could've killed you, y'know."

"I'm sure you can." Jace rose up off the ground and dusted himself. Looking around, the studio was more docile than he thought, like it had been cleaned recently. Sure there were pieces on display and works in progress sitting on the easels in the corners, but the overall class appeared relatively clean. No stains on the linoleum, no build up of paper waste in the bins. The sinks along the wall had several containers of brushes soaking, and he saw a line of chemicals sitting inside glass cupboards.

Jace stood beside Clary and looked at the open folders laid out before them. Some were easy to understand; foreign landscapes, skylines under changing skies, close-up sketches of body parts in various positions. The abstract concepts escaped his understanding, with the kaleidoscope of colors and sharp edges cutting through to connect. But each one had a distinctive taste to it, an individual signature to the way it was captured. Chaotic, but oddly eye-catching.

"Any of these yours?"

"All first-year works," she answered smoothly. "Third-years have a studio up a level. That's where I stash the golden stuff. Curious?"

"Of course I am." Art was a huge part of what made her unique, so naturally Jace was curious to see what kind of work she produced.

The sincerity of his answer made her smile. "If you're that desperate, there's a sketchbook in my bag over there."

"You don't mind?"

"Go for it. Just be weary of the loose stuff between the pages."

Jace wandered sluggishly. He was getting some insight into the world of Clarissa Fray, slowly piecing together the puzzle to make a picture. Gesso… Acrylic paint… Black ink in film canisters. Art had never interested him, even as a boy. He had an appreciation, but no passion. He'd done his fair share of doodling and defacing the odd school building and public transport, but his skills had never extended further. His hands memorised the trigger of a gun, while his fingers could instinctively dance up and down a set of piano keys.

He pulled out one of the heavy sketchbooks in the bag on the table and flipped it open to one of the pages. The first thing was a crown of flowers, with red and blue outlined around it to give off a 3D impression. The next page had traditional doodles with notes beside them, with the odd splash of color. He found several sketches of everyday objects, all in realistic detail and extremely life-like. There were still-life's of Simon and Magnus, both as separate models and captured in the same frame. Short comic strips of chibi characters. Swirls of color patented from melting ice-creams, New York's skyline smudged with charcoal and various cutouts of historical artworks with notes for future reference. Paper collages glued carefully into a face, with different patches from different faces and colour schemes referenced on the side.

"Not freaked out by any of them, are you?"

"Only impressed by the talent in your fingertips."

Her imagination was boundless, and true to her word, she experimented with all types of media, traditional, modern and uncanny. It was startling how realistic some of them appeared, and Jace could only imagine how many hours she'd spent mixing and testing to get those specific shades for her pieces.

He closed the current book and reached in the bag for another book peeking out. It felt lighter than the other one, with a simple red leather cover. Smaller, intimate - personal.

Faces stared back, caught unawares by the hand etching them into the pages he flicked through. Magnus holding a fluffy cat in his palms, eyes closed in temporary peace. Simon held a guitar in his hands with his hair falling in his face. Jace was surprised at the appearance of his siblings further on, merely floating heads and shoulders that faced each other, but the piercing eyes and dark hair were picturesque.

Then there was his face.

Her rendition of him made Jace feel like a god. When she'd done this, he didn't know, but he couldn't stop admiring it. He recognised the balcony from the jazz bar, saw the way she had shaded the light from behind him. He had a small smile drawn on his face, the very same he wore as she disappeared into the night. She spared no details, from the way his hair seemed to blow in the page, to the golden hues she added in his eyes.

The was a quote underneath the sketch: A face so fine, the heavens looked down in envy. It made him feel all sorts of fuzzy butterflies and raging hormones in his chest.

He turned to the next page and stopped.

Second the best.

There was a photo accompanying the sketch. Two people danced across the paper, a mass of swirling skirts and a dark suit. Red hair was pulled up high, and blue eyes beamed back at the woman. The photo captured the same couple in the same state of complete bliss.

It had to be Clary's mother. He saw the same eyes copied from her, her hair a deeper shade than Clary's curls. Her face had a certain maturity to it, a sense of wisdom lit up in her eyes. Dressed in white with a gold crown holding her hair back, her hands hovered over the cake, torn between cutting and smiling at the groom. As for the groom, he had an aged air about him. Broad shoulders tensed beneath the white shirt and navy waistcoat. His body was tall, built strong like a fighter, but standing protectively near the woman. Greying near the temples, brown hair had been combed back, with a few strands sticking against his head. Blue eyes focused heavily on his bride, a face clean-shaven and full of complete and loving devotion for the love he called his own.

"That's my step-dad." Lost in the pages, Clary had come up to Jace's side. Her gaze was nostalgic while she ran her fingers over the photo in Jace's hand. "Luke's been my mom's guardian angel a long time. And I was more than happy when he asked for my mom's hand."

Luke. Clary spoke the name with such familiarity. Jace had seen the face enough times on the monitors to recognise who he needed to call.

Lucian Graymark and Jocelyn Fairchild.

The two people at the top of Valentine's social list.

"You look very much like your mother."

The smile that appeared was sweet and endearing. She looked fondly at the page. "I'm often told I take after her in many things. Hopefully all the good stuff."

"And your father? Do you take anything from him?" Jace went to turn the page and caught a glimpse of a face before her hand pressed his down.

"Jonathan's more of a daddy's boy than I am." Her voice was light but when she gently tugged the book out of his grasps, he could see that her eyes were guarded. She waved the sketchbook in her hands. "This little puppy here is like a journal, so let's keep all the girly secrets between the pages."

I've hit a wall. Jace leaned back against the bench as Clary shoved the book back in her bag. "Is he that bad?"

"Only the tip of the iceberg." The redhead shook her her head dismissively and strapped the buckle of her bag closed tightly. "Dad and Mom were high school sweethearts. Dad had a reputation and fell in with a certain crowd. Mom's morale compass was too strong for his friends' tastes, and yet somehow he still managed to rein her in."

"Good girl meets bad boy trope?"

"I guess. Well, if you can even call a snake such a thing. I'd describe it as a beauty loves a beast - except there's no magical transformation or symbolic scene of stripping away the past sins. My father was charming, but my mother was stubborn. Ever since they met, he had eyes for her, and he was patient enough to wait for her to come his way. My stepdad often said that plenty of girls were willing to throw themselves at him while they grew up, but in my father's eyes, they weren't Jocelyn Fairchild. None of them seemed good enough for him, I guess."

Jace folded his arms. "I guess you can call that romantic."

"Or creepy." Clary pushed her bag aside and propped herself on the high tables and swung her legs back and forth. "I don't doubt that he loved my mother, there's no ignoring that. I'm sure he still misses her. Their marriage lasted long enough that they had two kids, I mean. But my old man… he pushed us too hard to keep up with the world he came from. If it was just the two of them, my mother would have been fine, but when children are involved…" Her voice became softer while she reminisced over a childhood Jace knew he would never understand. "Priorities needed to be re-evaluated, and my father couldn't sacrifice his own selfish habits in favour of our well-being. Family became less of a concern, and he pushed too hard on his wife to keep up with a legacy she had no intention of inheriting."

Her home wasn't broken by any means, but it had cracks running through it long before it had begun. Clary sat hunched over her knees, so deep in thought. She probably hadn't realised how much she'd said to him. Just talking about this phantom father of hers had changed the entire atmosphere between them. The way she talked about him reminded Jace of the juveniles that would pass through for a night in their cells. They were haunted by bad parents that left such a profound imprint on their souls, and it nested at the back of their mind for all their days, following them and reminding them that they were no better.

Her mother is Jocelyn Fairchild. Top five contacted people from the phone logs.

"Do you still keep in contact with him? Your father, I mean?"

"Ha! He tries to butter me up with all the cash he has nested underneath him. Like bribery will ever absolve him of all the crap he threw me into. Dummkopf."

Jace leaned over and pulled one of her hands into his own. "Some strong opinions you have there, nurse."

Clary twisted her head to the side. "Strong opinions come from strong experiences." She sat up and wiped her hair off her face. "Anyways, enough sappy stories and family history lessons. You still have a ways to go before you unlock the true history behind one Clary Fray."

Clary Fray. Jocelyn Fairchild. Two different surnames.

Clary slid off the high bench and stood between Jace's legs. She put on a more optimistic expression and drummed her fingers on the bench. "So. What do you feel like doing?"

That put a smile on Jace's face. He didn't expect any more out of her about her family for now. He cupped her face gently between his hands. "I'm open-minded tonight. I picked last time, so it's your turn now."

"Really? Anything I want?"

"Within reason, of course." Jace slid his palms down her neck, feeling her pulse beat steadily while they moved to her shoulders. "Although, I have some suggestions if you can't think of anything."

"Oh, I've thought of something, don't worry." Clary pulled his hands off her and backed out from between his legs. The smirk on her face was devious and hungry. She let her eyes drift slowly, taking him in piece by piece, and he loved the attention she gave him.

"Strip."

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Every art student had a specific field they leaned towards, a type they favoured about all others. Clary knew one of her predecessors who hated painting, but loved sculpting, and took basic sketch classes as an elective to get some groundwork done. Textile students came in to mix and match colour palettes for their fabric orders for clothing designs, while those studying photography played about with sets and watched the light and shadows play about in their frames.

Clary loved to dabble in the world of inks and dyes and endless paints that eased onto the canvas, and read up on the historical pieces that pioneered the world of art, but at the end of the day, she would always choose a good pencil and paper.

"You know, usually when someone says 'strip', there's a bed involved."

"Or a pole, followed up by a lap dance." Clary looked up from the sketch pad on the table. "Are you hinting there?"

"You're the one that said lap dance, Clary. Are you offering?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I'd like anything to do with you, Miss Fray."

And I'd like to do you, demigod. Jace was posed on a seat angled off to the left, with his front aligned against the back of the seat. He'd stripped off his jacket and jumper and wore a black crew neck shirt that did wonders to Clary's hormones. On her way in, she saw they had another nude modelling class on, and saw some of her favourite models, like Mrs Wincroft, with her collection of tattoos overlapping across her skin, and old man Carlton's thick beard that was so long, he wrapped it around his neck like a scarf.

"Stop moving."

"Yes, ma'am."

Magnus was often her point of reference when it came to still-life, but Jace had a body people would kill to have, and Clary's memory had never been able to do justice when she tried to draw it. Now that she had him in one place, in soft lighting that highlighted each contour, she could properly begin to map out what her hands had explored. Her hand moved gently over the page, outlining the finer features she missed in her earlier renditions with academic precision.

"Drawing me like one of your French boys?"

"What other way is there?" Clary looked back up in time to see Jace's back muscles ripple with quiet laughter, and her heart began drumming a beat of its own.

The silence between them was calm. No awkwardness, no pressure to fill the absence. Jace controlled the music while she ran the pencil up and down the paper, playing soft instrumentals that helped her concentrate. It was different from when she was working with Raphael. Though the man was every painter's ideal model, there was a layer of judgement. She might've been the one behind the brush, but it still felt stifling, as if he were controlling her hands. The cop, however, was flexible. Jace simply sat there, breathing deeply every second. Tension was absent from his body language, and it translated well into the sketch.

"Anything new you want to tell me about your day? Or is it still the same old same old?"

"There's been some recent developments in a case I've been working on," Jace said lightly. He went to move but Clary waved her pencil defiantly and shushed him, and waited till he sat back in position before continuing her sketch. "Pushy girl."

"Stubborn boy."

"I aim to please." Jace tapped his foot lightly. "Remember that case Isabelle told you about a while back at Java? The one from the paint party? We haven't been able to I.D the body, but we did find some footage on the cameras. The guy was served one hell of a beating in one of the top booths. Can't see much, but there's enough to work on."

Clary could smell the blood through her nose and felt like she'd been thrown under a frozen lake. That night had ended in drunken misery and violent stupor. "Am I allowed to know those details? I feel like that's, what, a breach of privacy? With me being a civilian and whatnot."

"Sorry, my bad." Jace's shoulders rose up and down out of the corner of her eye, and she could hear the disappointment in her voice, not at her but his lack of focus. "It's just… you were one of the last few people who saw him. I hate having to deal with dead end cases like this without all the facts."

It felt like a trap. The conversation was sending Clary back into a relapse and she tried to keep herself calm. Her alibi was solid. "Well, if I'd stayed that night with you, maybe things would have turned out differently."

"Maybe." Jace exhaled and shifted his head over his shoulder ever so slightly. "Tell me about your art. What's the main thing you struggle with?"

Her hands slowed down. This was a topic she could answer in her sleep. There were so many answers to pick from, little things that pushed her over the edge. "The equivalent of writer's block. Some days, the vision I see is so vivid, and my hands just know what to do, right? It comes out clearly and smooth. Then there are spells where no matter what I use, my hands aren't working with my eyes, and it just comes out way warped than what I wanted it to be. And colours."

"Colours?"

"There's plenty of paint to go around, but some colours just clash when you blend it in, so experimenting is needed. And the blending!" She dragged her pencil across the page and started shading in the creases in his shirt. "Classic styles are far more comprehensive and difficult to imitate than you would believe. There are layers and layers of paint you have to build to get the right kind of glass blue, and the way you lay out strokes can be the difference between billowing grass swaying in the breeze, or soggy seaweed clumped on the canvas. Honestly, there have been plenty of days where I've completely shredded a canvas I spent weeks on, and late-nights I've spent trying to correct minor details. And I'll fight anyone who says that art students have it easy, because capturing the imagination is not some simple process."

Jace's laugh was soothing, another piece that harmonised with the room they were in. Another reason that Clary couldn't seem to let him go.

He's an addiction that I can't give up. Every intake gives me a destructive high that I'm dying to replicate.

The redhead flicked her eyes up to the cop. "Worst thing about law enforcement. Shoot."

His breathing remained even, but she saw something cross his eyes fleetingly. "The lies."

That made her hands pause. "What do you mean by lies?"

Her model shifted slightly so he could match her eyes and he poured out his truth to her. "I've sat court side to plenty of cases where witnesses have been paid off to withhold their testimonies. Crooked lawyers lie straight to the jury for the promise of a fatter wallet. Scared girlfriends always blame themselves for bruises and marks that no drunken stumble into the wall can cause, especially if it's the same 'wall' sending them back to the hospital six times a month. College athletes get off because coaches and school leaders value future alumni fame than justice. If no one speaks the truth, everything I do goes out the window."

Clary stopped moving completely. This subject was border-lining something else, a smoke screen for a larger statement that she couldn't identify. "Maybe some people lie to protect someone they care about."

"Everyone lies for different reasons when asked. Women lie to protect themselves; the guilt settles inside and they feel ashamed about speaking out about sexual harassment, abuse, the likes - because the spotlight is on them, and the world judges harsh on those they should protect. They lie because they think they'll be forgiven, and that their partners will love them for their loyalty through suffering. Men lie with ease. After all, in a world like ours, guys can get away with so much more - victim blaming, lenient charges, the works. Especially if it comes down to the assailants racial background. Cops lie when a case goes wrong because they don't want the blame on them. They can't risk a blackmark on their profile when they work future cases. It doesn't help. All it does is postpone the punishment and move the damage onto another victim."

"What about lies parents tell to children?" Clary had dropped her pencil all together and sat with her arms folded on the bench. Her voice stayed even and inquisitive. "The lies they tell to keep their innocence? To keep them happy and safe from the skeletons in the closet? Wouldn't it be easier to live behind a white lie than to see a truth so excruciating that it shakes the perspective you carry of who you are?"

"A lie is a lie, regardless of its intention or the person who says it. It's a land mine waiting to explode, and it's indiscriminate to those it hurts, despite its intention to keep someone safe. Even though it hurts, the sooner the truth comes to light, the less dangerous the fallout is after."

Those words were chilling. For someone who had so much to lose, Clary was playing a delicate game on a thin wire. His words echoed in her head, and she was reminded of the future that was potentially hers to claim if her charade slipped. This was a warning for her, whether he knew it or not. He was a smart man, Jace Herondale. And it wouldn't be long before he knocked on her door with an entourage in black body armour, and a new jumpsuit picked fresh just for her.

My addiction. Eating me out from the inside ever so slowly.

"Clary - you there?"

She reached for her pencil and twirled it between her fingertips to calm her anxiety. Clary smiled and nodded her head vigorously. "Spacing out for a moment there, sorry." She held her book up to compare it with Jace. The edges were rough and would need smoothing out, but she was happy with the outcome. Thirty minutes had given her plenty to work with. "Not a bad try, don't you think?"

Jace spun around on the chair, free to move now that Clary was showing him her impression. "Talented, nurse fray." His smile turned crooked and he flicked his eyes up beneath his hair. "I'm a little offended that you didn't draw my six-pack abs, though. No future material for the erotic romance novels? A darn shame."

Clary pulled her book in and snickered. "Don't brag unless you have it, pretty boy. No one wants to see your man-boobs splayed on paperback."

She missed the daring gaze in his eyes when she turned around, but she heard the rustle of clothes on skin, and when she turned back with a new page at the ready in her sketch pad, it took every ounce of discipline ingrained in her body not to drool at the body before her.

"Do these look like 'man-boobs' to you?"

Her throat was tight and she clamped her fingers hard around her pencil. Her words were almost slurred drunkenly. "De-efinitely not. No. Absolutely not." Fuck me.

Torso bare and jeans clinging to his hips were enough for any hormonal teenagers imagination to go into overload. The light hid nothing from her eyes, spared no opportunity to display the various muscle groups that Clary would never bother to learn the names of other than 'hunk' and 'yummy'. No more bruises this time. No bandages wrapped around his ribs. He was tanned all over, and the scars he had only made made her more ravenous for his touch. The cop moved closer to her bench and pulled a stool out beside her, keeping a short distance between them.

"I'm not distracting you, am I?" He asked innocently. It didn't help that his voice sounded like a soft caress on her ears, or that the dimples in his smile were more prominent up close.

Keep it together, you weak-willed hormonal woman. "I'm fine."

"Your face and hands say otherwise"

Clary sucked in her cheeks. She hates boys teasing her, and it was more irksome when Jace was the one making veiled innuendos to her face. She didn't know if she wanted to slap him or kiss him. She swung her body on the stool to face Jace and eased her grip on her things.

"You are overdue for a lesson in humility."

"And your face is an open book right now, Clary. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were embarrassed."

"Embarrassed? Of what?"

His smirk deepened and Clary felt warm sparks begin in her stomach. "Let me put it in perspective, Red. A boy and a girl, alone in an empty room; one shirtless, the other breathless. Both young adults, both feeling the same sexual attraction towards each other. One more than happy to accommodate the other individual holding back."

The reality of the situation hit Clary like a tonne of bricks, and her core temperature spiked. Any worries she had flew out of her mind when she looked at Jace and saw the sly glint in his eyes. She wasn't going to deny that his body made her mind scream out all sorts of suggestions of what she'd like to do to him. No one would interrupt them - cleaners weren't due until eight, and that was another hour away. She was the only one with a key at this hour, and the door was locked firmly behind them. If Clary had been more conscious of where his visit could have lead to, she would've given herself a round of applause for reeling him in on her territory. It was like the opening scene of every dirty sex fantasy all hormonal students had.

"Fantasising about me, Red?"

Words did not come easily to Clary like it did her brother. She lacked the talent for flirtatious wordplay, and found her mind scrambled one too many times in Jace's presence to fire off witty insults consecutively. But she more than cleared the gap with her actions, and she had no issues being direct with the man before her.

"You are terrible." She dropped her book and pencil on the bench and wrapped her arms around the blonde. "I'm already a damn mess around you; I don't need you tainting my innocent mind either."

"Innocent?" Hands wound themselves onto her waist and gripped tightly. "I can use a number of words to describe you, and innocent is not one for them."

"Really?" Clary cupped his face in front of her and held him still. "What would you use then, you wise old man?"

He chuckled lightly at her words and brought one hand up to her left hand, twisting his head to her wrist. "Talented," he began, biting softly at the inside, and sending all sorts of butterflies flying inside. "Soft," he continued, skimming his lips down her inner forearm, and bringing her in closer to his reach. "Charitable." He dropped her hand on his chest, letting her feel her heart beat beneath her palm. "Safe."

The word made her heart shudder at its implications. Her train of thought derailed when Jace began grazing his teeth against her throat, biting softly and deeply. "A vixen," he whispered against her.

"'Vixen'? That's an exaggeration."

"Not for you, Red." He dragged her right up against him between his legs, grasping her tightly by the hips. "You are a number of things, Clarissa Fray, an enigma yet to fully understand. And I'm going to enjoy unraveling every mystery that makes you who you are. That is, if you'll let me."

Clary glanced up at the clock in the room. She had plenty of time. Her schedule had been cleared of any impending doom, and by all rights she has closed off her deal with the Seelie Court on behalf of her family's company. Jonathan would be closing the business end of the deal and reap his rewards, her father would have one of the few items he coveted in his possession, and she could slip back into her life of plain animosity, provided that Raphael never finds a reason to question her credentials.

Time was in her court, and she could do with it as she pleased.

"Let's see how many layers you can break down tonight."

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The Guggenheim was an impressive place to visit, with the building itself being the pinnacle of every architects dream. The gallery wound up and around in a spiral ribbon footpath, branching off and evolving seamlessly from one art era to another. During the evenings, energetic families and the somber elderly were culled from the crowds, leaving behind young students seeking inspiration on the walls, and couples who wanted to impress their dates with their knowledge of facts they'd googled about famous paintings. The staff on duty guided those who came from afar to see their donations displayed for all, and the more elite were blessed with entry into the private parties in opening galleries.

It bored the eldest Morgenstern offspring to tears.

Words were exchanged with the front desk and he was moving up in the elevator to his destination without interruption with a map in his hand. Walking the spiral was for those who wanted to take in the sights. He just wanted to clear this exchange off his plate and move on to bigger deals.

The Thannhausen exhibit was one of the redeeming features in the building. Other exhibits focused heavily on the abstract and eclectic trends that were popularly today, confusing their audience with optical illusions and requiring a two page description on the deeper meaning behind the squiggles on the wall. Jonathan had no love in his heart for art, but it didn't mean he had no opinion on the subject. And where the members of the Seelie Court were concerned, this wing was the least tacky for them to look at while they made their trade.

Leather bag in tow, Jonathan looked like his sisters geeky friend on his best days. He was dressed down for this trade, with casual jeans and a corduroy jacket thrown over a jumper, but people were more likely to remember a man who dressed to the nines in labeled button-ups than a lacklustre hipster student lingering in front of paintings.

He was already there. Standing shoulder to shoulder with his assistant before a Picasso painting, backs turned to him, and dark hair pulled back behind his ears. It had been a while since he last saw the pair of them together in the same room. Jonathan slowed down, pausing a few feet behind them.

"I could never tell the difference. Cubism, Impressionism, Surrealism - they all look like a mess to me."

"To the untrained eye, perhaps." Meliorn looked over his shoulder to face the eldest Morgenstern heir and graced him with a mocking smile. "A smart man like you should be able to find a pattern if you invest enough time."

"Why waste the energy?"

"You could learn a thing or two. You were always lacking in brain cells."

Jonathan smirked. "And yet I still managed to surpass you in those negotiations. Not still bitter that I entered your queen's graces as quickly as you did when you started, are you? I'm sure you're still her favourite lackey."

"And you're just another trophy for her display." Jonathan's introduction into Glamour had always left a bitter taste in Meliorn's mouth. He was her Champion, and Jonathan's coming and going with his boss was a sign of blatant disrespect in the man's eyes.

Not that he cared about Meliorn's feelings. "Lovely to see you yet again, Miss Whitewillow."

"And you," the silver-blonde answered in kind. Her hands were clasped tightly around a silver briefcase in her hand. "Will Miss Morgenstern be joining us?"

"She is indisposed for the night." He could've sworn he saw her eyes relax a fraction. He'd have to talk to his sister later about frightening the help they had in the future.

"A shame," Meliorn tutted. "I'd have thought she would come see this trade through to the end."

"One Morgenstern representative is enough. Shall we?"

The trio moved through the exhibit together, following along the natural direction of the wing to an empty corner. They were an odd trio to those that saw them. Jonathan's clothes made him look younger, Meliorn's face made him stand out, and Kaelie's walk spoke of authority. There was one lone camera in the room, but unless the security knew what they were looking at on the screen, they were simple art enthusiasts trading art samples.

"I'm curious," Jonathan mused. "You agreed so easily to my sisters demands that it makes me wonder what other details you left out."

"One million will hardly be missed from our budget. We have plenty of money invested in our assets, and they come back to the company with interest."

"That's still a fair amount of pocket change you've got to give away." Jonathan squared his shoulders and raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Come on, Meliorn. Don't make me beg."

The comment didn't humour Meliorn. "Don't assume you are privy to all of the Seelie Courts affairs just because you spent one summer with the company. You barely made it up the ladder."

"Tsk tsk, touchy." Jonathan pushed his glasses up on his nose. He unslung the satchel on his shoulder and sat it down on one of the benches. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

While the seelie reps hurriedly unlocked the case for him, they all but snatched the bag he had for them. Jonathan was careful when he had the pipes; he stowed it inside a velvet jewellery case in the satchel, easy to carry past security and refined enough for their brand. He tipped the lid up and took a moment to study the cup. It was no bigger than a wineglass; the chalice had been dipped in gold and held a subtle glow beneath the gilded frame lining it, as if light had been captured beneath the gold, making it seem translucent.

Adamas, Valentine had called it. A rare substance that could hardly be discovered anywhere else on the planet, harder than diamond and a bitch to mould if you didn't know its chemical properties. The Morgensterns, and a number of old family lines founded and experimented on the substance generations past, Jonathan had been told. Now the Morgensterns were the only family who remembered adamas. His great-grandfather had seen to that. From what his family history said, there was a silent war that saw to the end of all the families involved in the element's discovery.

"Satisfied?" Kaelie had the bag closed and swung it over her shoulder while Meliorn focused on Jonathan.

"Immensely." Jonathan snapped the case closed and grabbed the handle. "Always a pleasure to be doing business with the court. I'll be sure to send an emissary over to your company once a date has been chosen. Your queen will have plenty of toys to choose from, I promise."

"Don't be so quick to run away, Morgenstern." If Jonathan hadn't spent the better half of his childhood with narcissistic babysitters who taught him strict control over his expressions, he would have shot a filthy look befitting of an entitled frat boy. Meliorn looked up at the lenses and circled the room slowly. "While you may have showed up alone as a sign of good faith, we're not like your other business partners you've dealt with in the past."

"Do share," the blonde boy said dismissively, sitting down on the bench.

"You planted a suicide bomber on the floor directly above where we are standing, Mr. Morgenstern." Kaelie's facade dropped a fraction while her mentor stayed completely calm as he walked about. "There's a woman up there, clutching her purse for her dear life. Old enough to be dismissed as a threat, and quite the actress too, telling stories about a husband she used to bring here. Doesn't hide the fact she carries a dirty bomb on her personnel with a subtle but definitive radioactive signature. "

The declaration was frightening for Kaelie. Her skin looked more pale than ever and it almost looked like she was trying to plant herself in the ground to prevent her legs from running away like a coward.

Jonathan leaned over his knees. His grin grew slowly, bleeding across his face until it stretched from ear to ear, menacing and enticing all in one glance. "You faeries have your spies everywhere, don't you?" He sat up straight and pulled out his phone from his back pocket. "One can never be too careful nowadays. I'd love to know the name of the birdie that sang in your ears."

"Our birds come and go as they please." Meliorn looked back at his assistant and dipped his chin in her direction. "No need to shake, Miss Whitewillow. Morgenstern here will just send his pawn on her merry way back to the back alley she came from, and then we can go back to our office." Jonathan put away his phone and watched the green-eyed sociopath move Kaelie towards the exit. "If you open up the case again, you'll see that there is a false bottom with a cheque for you to cash in. Do spend the money wisely. And I'd move quickly if I were you."

Alarms began to ring in Jonathan's mind. "Why?"

"We tipped off the police just as you arrived about your pawn up above. We're not shy about using the public services to our advantage." He could hear the smugness in his voice while the pair were escorted out by the lone security they came across earlier in the wing. "If I were you, Morgenstern, I wouldn't waste precious time. It takes about twelve minutes for the patrol cars to arrive, and it won't be long before you have the SWAT vans swarming outside the building."

He watched them disappear around the corner. He was impressed. He had to give it to the prickly green-eyed bastard. Never would he have thought to use the police as his own unofficial lackeys. It was clever idea, a devious one that came straight from their head's playbook.

Jonathan strode down the hall to the stairs and began climbing down to the basement carpark where his ride was waiting to take him back to the Morgenstern Manor. No doubt the news would feature a piece on an abandoned bomb in the gallery, but the spotlight wouldn't find its way to the settlement made that night. It just meant that the police would have another case to run circles around while Jonathan did what he did best and continued to create chaos in his father's name.

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People, it has been an AGE since I have published anything on this website. I have literally aged twice since the last time i did anything on here. I have added a few speals here and there but I ACTUALLY haven't added to this story, my pride and joy, in ages! So much has happened over the last few years e.g. Kpop has picked up more in the mainstream media, I've gotten better at dressing up as a girl, and I've gotten back into reading manga again. As i mentioned, I'm off to Manila at the end of the year for 18 months, I had a panic attack while driving the other day, and I spent the last weekend chasing after the sun at a beautiful place called Raglan with my sister-hombres.

Also, if you ever want some good chill music to vibe with for summer, spring, or night roadies, Tash Sultana is at the top of my playlist, guys. Go for it.

If you ever go to NZ ppl, please - Raglan is the place for sunsets, and the east coast is the best for a sunrise. Golden hour is the best for natural lighting for photos, but blue hour, or twilight zone, sets the mood for confessions amongst the squad.

But yes, message me, thank you to those who kept reviewing over the years that i was offline and the ones who checked in at random. You guys spoil me so, and I'm glad that I still managed to keep ahold of the storyline that I had for this. i've written so many little one-shots that fit in perfectly with this story, but its all about the placement and timing with it all. When will I write again, I don't know. But know that I am still writing. I do have an endgame for this story and though there are heaps of little plot holes, just know that i am trying my best to fill them up as i go along.

Until then, a young kitsune here is about to go get some shut-eye before she ends up shuffling like a zombie on her way to work.

See yah, sis x *cue an epic fade out to my favorite song at the moment by Nao, Another Lifetime