Demon Blood (Jace Lightwood Romance)

You Have Got To Be Fucking Kidding Me

        The autumn wind blew through the tops of the trees as the girl quickened her pace, drawing her jacket closer to her in an effort to keep warm. She had just finished a successful band practice and was now on her way back to her tenement in the heart of the city. Though the setting sun was bathing her pale skin in warmth, the weather still seemed to have grown colder since she left her apartment just two hours ago. Fall days were always cold in Chicago and today was no exception. She sighed inwardly as she took a left turn and slowed her steps. Her apartment building was at the end of a long row of trees that she was now walking in the shadow of. She could almost feel the heat from the radiator, and hear the brewing of tea on her stove. She took another left turn and started up the walk  that led to her building.  She glanced up and her eyes ran over its appearance. It was constructed of dark brown-red brick, with rich green ivy climbing up its side. It was common for here, especially on older and desolate buildings such as this one. Wrought iron balconies that had once been elegant and regal were now starting to get an edge of rust. They climbed higher up the building; begging for a view of the city. Her apartment was on the second floor, which was just high enough to look out above the shorter trees and get a clear look at the park across the street. It wasn’t exactly a beautiful cityscape, but it had definitely served for song inspiration on more than one occasion. This complex wasn’t exactly luxurious, but it had gradually become home to her. Three years ago, she was basically disowned; kicked out of her family for something she couldn’t control. Or more specifically, something she could. She shivered as she walked in the door, feeling the heat from inside slowly melt the cold that had settled in her bones because of her long walk. Before continuing her way upstairs, she sauntered to the mailboxes that were for the staff and tenants and grabbed her own mail.  She then walked back into the parlor and made her way up the rickety stairs, counting each one: a habit she had acquired over years of walking up and down them. Twenty-three. She thought, as she reached the second floor where her apartment was.  She walked through the seemingly forlorn hallway and stopped in front of an old oak door marked with the number '17', snatching her keys out of her jacket's pocket. They jingled as she shoved them into the lock and turned them clockwise.  The tumblers groaned and then clicked into place and she walked inside.

        Her dog, Malboro, greeted her when she stepped inside her warm apartment. She had been given the dog quite some time ago by some family

friend and Malboro had been a loyal companion ever since. Breaking from her moment of nostalgia, she took sat down on the leather love seat that occupied her living room and shuffled through her mail. Junk mail, flyer, junk mail, bill- A crème colored envelope caught her eye. The address had been ordinary, yet unfamiliar. Who could’ve sent this? She thought, as she squinted at the letter. The envelope had been addressed to her, but she had no idea of who this person was, or how they knew her. She didn’t want to open it yet, though. She wanted to somehow figure out exactly who it was who had sent the letter before she read its contents.  She blankly stared at it while it consumed her thoughts and her imagination ran wild with outrageous guesses and identities. Malboro noticed her intense fascination and nudged her knee with his muzzle.  Slowly, the glamour peeled itself away, as if the heat of her stare had finally caused it to give up. Flowing calligraphy was inscribed on the front of the envelope and an ornate wax stamp marked with the letter ‘C’ sealed the back flap of it. The girl’s eyes widened with disbelief and confusion as the writing revealed the true origin of the mysterious letter.

            “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”