The Mortal Instruments: City of Past Ghosts (Book 1)

Chapter 1: Little London Girl

PART 1: Shadows of The Past

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Chapter 1: Little London Girl

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Clary shivered in the cold. Even after living for eighteen years in London, she still found it cold.

How was that even possible?

She was weird, she had to admit.

Even though she had lived in London for the past eighteen years of life, sometimes the busy city felt foreign to her. Not the 'home' feeling she would expect.

She spotted a warm, friendly looking cafe and went inside, oblivious to the watching eyes.

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Raoul looked around in the cafe he worked in in distaste.

He was a vampire, for God's sakes and he chose to work in a disgusting mundane cafe. Why? What was going through his two hundred year old head when he decided to try for a job here?

He made sure that there was a good amount of space between him and the patch of faint sunlight that was streaming in through the windows.

The sunlight was not bright nor as powerful as the sunlight in other sunnier places like New York, Florida or Los Angeles but it was still enough to burn him if he stood there, turning him to fine ash.

He looked around, feeling bored.

Really, of all the things he could have chosen to keep himself out of trouble, he chose to be a freaking cashier?

One of the reasons he worked in this sucky mundane establishment was so he stayed out of trouble to avoid bumping into one of them. Arrogant, annoying adolescents that controlled the Downworlders though the tie between the two kinds had somewhat strengthened after a small little war that Raoul hadn't joined due to a...financial emergency. Raoul had never liked wars, always stayed out of them. But he hated them still. Nephilim.

One moment, the Downworlders and the Nephilim were practically restraining their own to keep from tearing the other's throats out.

And the next, all of them had turned into peace-loving, tolerating and understanding hippies, hugging and watching out for each other.

Treating each other like friends.

Raoul rolled his eyes and put on his crappy mundane, friendly face as another mundane walked in.

He froze when he caught a whiff of her scent that made his saliva pool in his mouth.

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The heat was pleasant inside.

She went up to the counter and ordered a cup of coffee which turned out to be the most favorite thing to her in the whole wide world.

What would she do without it?

"That would be £3." the cashier said boredly, sighing. Clary got the obvious hint he didn't like his job too much. He looked at Clary curiously,this head cocked to the side slightly.

"Here," Clary handed him the money and took the warm cup of coffee in her hands. Her eyes searched for a seat in this occupied establishment, one finger tapping her paper cup.

She finally found one and sat in a chair by the window, looking out as people walked around, swathed in thick coats and gloves and hats. Clary looked down at herself, wearing only a cotton shirt, a black hoodie jacket, a pair of jeans and Converse sneakers.

She reached her hand into her messenger bag and felt around for her sketchbook.

When she felt it, she took out her pens and flipped the book open.

The book was filled with drawings and sketches of things Clary dreamed about at night. The beautiful and, magnificent and the terrors alike.

An array of beautiful knives, a place with odd unidentifiable flora that seemed to be a greenhouse, a beautiful flower that was silver, a grand facade of a church spiraling turrets - the words Institute sketched on the front gates.

Sometimes she wondered why she dreamt of these things.

Things she had whenever seen before or could've imagined with such clarity.

She reached for her coffee before a striking pain seared through her head, an image flashing in her mind.

A handsome blonde with gold eyes being stabbed in the heart by another older fair haired man with a sword by a lake. A gut and heart wrenching feeling overcame her, making her feel like throwing up blood or putting a bullet through her head.

Everything turned black for a moment and when her sight regained, Clary found herself lying on the cold tiled floor of the coffee cafe, breathing heavily and shuddering uncontrollably. Her hand pillows her head while her other hand was on her fluttering, sick feeling stomach.

There were dim voices around her, buzzing like flies or static on a radio, slowly gaining clarity as her ears and mind adjusted.

"Miss, are you okay?"

"Miss, do you need a doctor?"

"Oh my goodness, miss?!"

"What the hell happened to her? Somebody call the ambulance."

Clary pushed herself up, red hair falling into her eyes.

"Miss, are you okay? Do you need a doctor?" a man who Clary suspected was the cafe's barista asked, his eyes worried, lines creating his large forehead.

"No, no. Im fine." Clary said propping herself up.

"Are you sure? I could send you to the hospital nearby here." the barista offered, holding out a hand.

"I really am, fine. Thank you for asking. Excuse me," Clary stuttered, getting to her feet shakily and getting her stuff.

She pushed out of the cafe, heaving as she tried to clear her fogged up brain.

After so long—three months—these...seizures were back.

She didn't know when they began but Clary suspected it started when she was a small girl.

Sometimes, she would get flashes of images during her waking hours. She got them in her sleep sometimes, making her scream and cry as she was jolted awake. They burned her thoughts, traumatizing her on end sometimes. She would scream and thrash and yell words in her dreams though they meant nothing of consequence to Clary. They were just so real...like she had experienced them before but intensified by about a billion percent.

Wind blew her hair in her face and Clary didn't bother to push it out of the way.

She spotted an awaiting cab just idling on the curb and Clary hurried her steps.

And then she rammed into someone, not looking where she was going.

"Sorry," she mumbled before continuing. She was in no shape to make a full pledged apology to an utter stranger.

"What the f—Clary?" the person she rammed into gasped. She ignored him, barely noticing or acknowledging the fact that the complete stranger had just called her by her name. She got into the cab, throwing her head upon the soft, plastic covered leather seat.

"St Marcus Road, number 76, please." Clary whispered, feeling weak. Her heart was still racing, slamming in her ribcage as the cab lurched forward toward's her destination.

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A/N

Hello! I hope you guys loved this chapter. Im kinda hooked on this book now, cruelly ignoring my TMI SPINS. Sorry if I forgot to update. ILYASM and your votes mean so much to me. Pls vote, guys. ILYA. LIKE SERIOUSLY, VOTE.