Chapter 7:
His face is still obscured by the darkness, but his voice is clear as day. Johnathon.
I willed myself not to scream as he half-dragged, half-carried into the opening. Rocks and stumps dug themselves into my skin, telling me I was going to be covered in bruises tomorrow.
But that didn't matter now; what matters is making it to tomorrow. As I tried to calm my heart rate and clear my scattered brain, Johnathon gave me a once-over. A lazy smile spread across his lips, and in that moment I've never wanted to kill anybody more. I desperately racked my brains for a possible way to escape him.
"Hey there, Jessica. You never called me back."
Seeing the gooseflesh on my skin only made his smile widen. This is a game for him, I thought to myself.
"Bad reception", I retorted.
Quick as lightning, anger flashed in his eyes. I'm getting to him. Silence hung over us like a blanket,but I didn't mind. I have to think.
"You can't escape me.", he started. "I've been watching you. You train hard, you've got natural ability; someday you'll be an amazing demon hunter. But you're no match for me."
His pride and arrogance seemed to radiate off of him, but I knew he wasn't exaggerating. He was that good. I went to spit back a rude response, but what came out was
"Really? You think I'm good?"
Great. Now I sound like some little princess who can't take a compliment. His right eyebrow lifted slowly, an over-played way to explain his interested surprise in my words.
"Yes, I do. With the right trainer, you'd be as good, if not better, than your beloved brother." He spoke slowly, as if tasting the words before he spoke. He was really theatrical.
"The right trainer?"
"Me", he said, nodding.
Chapter 8:
It was my turn to laugh. At that, Johnathon's face distorted with rage. His hand shot out and grabbed me by the collar of my tshirt.
"You shouldn't be laughing at such a prestigious proposal. Not many people get the opportunity to train with me, and I'm offering a chance to be my protégée. Plus, I'm sure Jace would love to see you after all these years."
At the sound of my brother's name, my blood ran cold. The iciness in my veins froze up and made it hard for me to breathe, and I knew one thing: I have to get warm.
"Wh-what? Jace?"
A sly smile crept on his face. "Yes, indeed. After all this time, you two could be reunited as a family. The same why Clary and I have."
The chill was passing, but my eyes widened when he mentioned Jace's girlfriend. He couldn't- wouldn't- have possibly-?
"Clary?", I whispered.
His toothy smile finally reached his eyes.
"Yes, my baby sister. She's with Jace, and they are inside."
It was at that point I finally realized our surroundings.
We were just outside of a large house that blotted out most
of New York's skyline. It could only have been one place: his house.
Chapter 9:
As we got closer, I noticed how his house was unlike any other house I saw. It wasn't homey, per say. It was an open wall of stone, with the windows set high. As I fully distinguished the building, I started to see buildings surrounding it with exactly the same feeling of homelessness and repetitiveness as I saw in Johnathon's.
When we entered, I was taken aback by what I saw. Where I had expected to see a dungeon or perhaps some crude prison cells that accompanied the thought of Johnathon's house, there was instead black and white furniture fashionably arranged in such a way that surprised me.
This is his house after all. The child-murderer, the one who burnt down the City of Glass, the one who killed my brother: Johnathon Christopher Morgenstern. He isn't supposed to have good taste in furniture or any other civilized thing; he is subscribed to plot his vengeance all day and night, not resting until the Nephilim pay for his father's death.
In a small part of me, my hatred for him dims ever so slightly. Maybe he's not truly evil. He hasn't tried to torture me. In fact, he wanted to train me to be an amazing Shadowhunter. No one can truly be that awful, I tell myself.
Bit by bit, I begin to let my guard down around Johnathon. As he guides me through the house, I don't even survey my surroundings. I'm too focused on him. The graceful ways in which he moves, the natural glide in his step, the intensity and amusement of his gaze, the slyness of his smile.
No, he's not awful, or a monster. He's a mystery, a rebel of the Clave.
And I've always liked a good mystery.
