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

Chapter 3: Haunting Nightmares

Chapter 3: Haunting Nightmares

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Clary watched with a sickening, revolting horror in her chest as the sword plunged into the boy's chest, into his heart.

The boy's eyes flew wide. A look of disbelieving confusion passed over his face; he glanced down at himself, where the gleaming sword stuck out grotesquely out of his chest—it looked more bizarre than horrible, like a prop from a nightmare that made no logical sense. The older man drew his hand back then, jerking the sword out of the blonde boy's chest the way he might have jerked a dagger from its scabbard; as if it had been all that was holding him up, the beautiful blonde went to his knees. The sword which he was holding in his grasp slipped out and hit the damp earth.

He looked at it in puzzlement, as if he had no idea why he had been holding it in the first place or why he had let it go. He opened his mouth as if to ask the question, and blood poured over his chin, staining what was left of his ragged shirt.

Clary screamed a name unfamiliar to her ears but it still pierced into her ears, full of meaning.

....

"Clary! Clarissa! Wake up!" a voice screamed in her ear. "Clarissa Adele Ashworth!"

Clary gasped, sitting up, tangled in her sheets.

Her mother was on her bed, her forehead creased with worry.

"Mom?" Clary croaked, her mouth feeling dry as sandpaper. Her heart slammed in her chest painfully, straining to work. She clutched at her chest, gasping for air. Her lungs weren't receiving the air well, making her gasp and choke more.

"Breath, Clary." her mother begged. "Do it with me. Slowly, Clary. Slow that heart." her mother hushed. Clary took the breaths with her mother, trying to slow her breathing.

"You were screaming again, sweetheart," her mother said, pushing Clary's hair out of her face. She was clammy all over though technically it shouldn't be possible, not in her air conditioned room.

"About what?" The dream was already fading to a bad dream, dimming into the back of Clary's head. That was the funny thing at first. The dreams scared the hell out of her, nearly killing her once a year back. Her heart had stopped. But then the dreams calmed and faded though they lingered.

"Nothing important. Something about blood..." her mother said, looking away. Before she could hide her face from view, Clary saw the gleam of a collected tear at the corner of her eyes.

"Mom? Are you crying?" Clary gasped, taking her mother's hands.

"What? No. I'm...I'm going to get you breakfast." her mother said, a slight catch in her voice.

Clary stared after her mother, running a hand through her clammy hair.

Keayla Ashworth looked nothing like Clary. Unlike her daughter, Keayla had silvery blond hair that was mostly wavy rather than curly. Keayla possessed a porcelain-like, untainted beauty that had every single man and woman turning to look twice. Not a freckle or a wrinkle or a facial disfigurement could be seen. Her mother's skin practically glowed with radiance.

Keayla possesed marvel worthy blue eyes that always seemed to frequently gleam purple under the correct light.

Frequently, Clary wondered where all her mother's beauty had gone and why she possesed not an ounce of it. Sighing, Clary laid her questions to rest and got out of bed.

She pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her in her flimsy white camisole. She cringed.

As she padded into her bathroom, she crossed her vanity table and caught sight of a very distinct scar on get upper arm, standing out from the other oddly shaped scars that decorated her body.