Overwhelmed [3] 《SHADOWHUNTERS》

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The air was salty so close to the bay, the breeze more than happy to smack hair into faces even after a portal had closed. Andina's neck strained itself as she stepped forward on a well-worn sidewalk and found herself on a residential street, houses painted with bright colors and worn down to dull pastels over time. Isabelle watched her carefully from behind, much aware of how vulnerable they were in the open. Clary confirmed they hadn't left the city as she recognized the collection of two-story homes, "Luke almost bought a book store that went up for sale down there."

Izzy allowed her whip to slither off of her wrist as she offered the redhead a strange look, the statement not something she would have expected to learn about the burly NYPD officer. Andy hardly caught it, too focused on pinpointing what had brought them there. The burn of open skin against her palm frustrated her, the strange heat that had encompassed it beginning to fade. She worried she'd gotten it entirely wrong as the fingers of her right hand curled into her brother's clothing. Her chest hurt, more intensely than the presence of the heavy emotions she stunted and it angered her. Until she wondered if there was a reason it felt that way.

Andy looked behind her, up to the house they'd portal in front of, where three windows were lined with blinds, a potted plant silhouetted in the middle. Clary noticed the Herondale's hand brush by her holstered weapon, and it prompted her to reach for her stele – Andy hadn't exactly given her assistants enough time to prepare for the battle that she clearly anticipated. Andy also hadn't dared to share how deeply worried she was. Her mind repeated the notion that somehow, someone had gotten ahold of Jace's mind again and planned to take advantage of him.

Her grip found the frozen touch of a bronze doorknob and she pulled out her stele to pop its lock, no mind for the silver plate of apartment buzzers that was drilled into the grey-blue siding. Izzy wanted to question her, but the hope that they would stumble upon the man they searched for kept her silent. Even if she highly doubted that he had ended up in a dark and quiet residence.

The front door opened to two sets of narrow stairs that went to the bottom and top floors. One slim door was cut in to the wall at their right, a golden nameplate with the number 2 engraved into it with swirls. Andy ignored it and targeted the staircase that led upwards. She hardly trusted her own inclinations, despite the results that this rune had brought her before. Isabelle and Clary followed cautiously behind her with glimpses to the spaces they left empty behind them. No demons took solace within these shadows, to their relief.

A slightly wider door with a label of 3 met them in a small, closed off alcove that looked down upon the entryway. Andy faltered for a moment – her hint of her brother's presence did not lapse, but she suddenly struggled to find the best way to confront what laid beyond it. She did not want to be loud with bursting her heel through the wood, as it would alert him and offer him a head start to leave. Her breath left her throat, strained, as her younger sister stepped up to her side.

The Lightwood woman leaned down and held out her hand for a stele, which Clary gave to her quickly. The stone at the tool's tip ignited, and Isabelle took extreme care as she drew an opening rune until she heard a gentle click of the lock at the top, and a chain jingled down from the other side of the door. Clary was impressed as she wondered if she would ever master control of her power with the angelic tool that precisely. 

Izzy turned the door's handle at an agonizingly slow pace, stifling the noise of the uneven wood leaving its crooked home. It emitted a low squeal for a breadth of a second as a well-renovated apartment met their eyes. Clean, dark wood ran straight through an open floor plan, with just a blue half-wall at the edge of a kitchenette to hide a hallway from their view. 

Clary knitted her brow as she looked upon the decor that had been fastened to the walls. Amongst musical posters, album covers, still-life photos, and a few mounted guitars, she found a few familiar personal affects of her best friend. It seemed a coincidence of common interests until she recognized one of the artworks she had drawn for Simon's band when it had been donned "Panda Bear Junction". Light filtered in through the blinds, to an array of succulents that he had just sent her a picture of the day before, insisting he had "saved them" from the local hardware store. "I think this is Simon's new place," she muttered in as much disbelief as the women that accompanied her soon projected.