As Black As Hell

CHAPTER 3: No one gets left behind

"FAMILY MEANS NO ONE GETS LEFT BEHIND OR FOGOTTEN."

DAVID OGDEN STIERS

The next few days passed without incident. Patrol was slow going and Jonathan struggled to remember the last time he'd fought a demon. Not that he wasn't busy. He'd spent the last few days planning how best to find his sister, listing information he had, who might know something of her whereabouts and who would actually give them information.

The information he already had was fairly sparse. He didn't know why Clarissa had killed their parents; that was why he wanted to track her down. As for the lead-up to the double murder, Clarissa had been her normal self. There was no dodgy behaviour to indicate she might have been planning something. The only information he had was of the murder itself: Clarissa had taken a kitchen knife and killed Jocelyn Fairchild as she slept. When Valentine Morgenstern had come home and discovered the body, she'd killed him too. Then she'd disappeared  and hadn't been seen since.

That was all Jonathan knew. That was all anyone knew. But he was hoping that someone, anyone, would have some information that would allow him to gain some insight as to where she might be hidden.

Alec was no help. Jonathan tried to bring up the subject a few times, to see if Alec had an opinion on who they should talk to first, but every time Alec just changed the subject. Clearly he didn't want to try to find Clarissa, though Jonathan couldn't imagine why. Didn't Alec want to clear her name? For Jonathan's sake?

Or did he have his own reasons for not wanting the investigation to go ahead?

                                                                                           ***

Deep in the mountains of Idris, Hodge Starkweather returned to the warded cave that had been his home for the past 4 years. In his fist was a bundle of herbs, freshly plucked from Brocelind Forest. Raising his stele, he traced a rune on the stone entrance to the cave, allowing himself to pass through. The interior of the cave was a humble room, with a couple of passages branching off towards what was his and Jonathan's own bedrooms.

Jonathan. When Hodge looked over, he could see the boy sprawled by the fireplace, reading a Dickens novel. The light from the flames picked out the copper in his otherwise golden curls, and his skin was golden and smooth. He was beautiful, in the same manner that a snake was beautiful. He could burn down the world and rise up out of the flames, if he so chose. Fortunately, he seemed tranquil at present. He glanced over at Hodge, his smile as lazy as a cat's. 

"Welcome home Father."

Hodge nodded to him, reaching to pluck a jar from the shelf and deposit the herbs inside it. When he turned, Jonathan had already gone back to his book. He was quite the reader, as Hodge had taught him to be. As a teenager, Hodge had never been one for the battlefield, and he'd gotten on better with books than people. He'd passed on those traits to Jonathan. They were traits that Jonathan's father, in all his rash bravery, had never had. 

Hodge shook his head to clear it. He was Jonathan's father, in all the ways that mattered. He had raised the boy from birth. Jonathan's birth father had never even met him. He'd died before that could happen.

But then Stephen Herondale had always rushed into battle on his gut instinct.

Jonathan didn't know any of this, of course. He believed he was truly Hodge's son, and Hodge wasn't inclined to tell him otherwise. At first, Hodge had raised the boy as a favour to Valentine but, in time, he'd come to love Jonathan as his own. The sight of his son, his glorious son, with his golden curls and dark eyes, brought a joy to Hodge's heart that was quite unlike any other happiness he'd ever experienced. He knew, in spite of the demon blood that ran in Jonathan's veins, that Jonathan loved Hodge too. They shared a bond that could only exist between father and son.

And nothing would ever come between them.