12
Gray
Even this far away from Jace, the heat from his body warmed hers and that, in addition to the pure exhaustion the day had reaped on her, had Clary asleep in a matter of seconds. As she drifted off, she thought of her brother and about the next day, the interrogation by the soul sword, and, as the real world faded away, she felt a new dream world materialize around her.
Clary blinked in the sudden sunlight that poured over her. Holding up a hand to shield her eyes, Clary pushed back the heavy comforter that was covering her, swinging her legs over a strikingly familiar bed. She turned her head to the familiar window set in the neon orange-painted wall where the bright morning sunlight was streaming through and felt a smile spread across her face. She was standing in her bedroom in the old brownstone apartment she used to live in with her mother. Before she'd decided, that week before her sixteenth birthday, to go to the Pandemonium Club. Before she'd even know that all the bedtime stories Luke used to tell her when she was younger were not only true, but far darker and scarier than she cared to think about.
"Really?" Clary gasped and jumped at the unexpected voice behind her. She'd thought she was alone. She spun around to see that it was her brother who had spoken. He looked strange in his black clothes, surrounded by the vibrant colors and Clary's own art, hung sporadically on the walls. "What is this place? It looks like a rainbow exploded in here."
Clary rolled her eyes. "It's my bedroom in Brooklyn. Or, it was. Back before everything changed. It feels like a different lifetime ago," she added, shifting her gaze from her brother to drink in the familiar sight she missed so much.
"Oh please," Jonathan griped. "Enough with the reminiscent bittersweet-ness. It's making me sick. Why did you bring me here?"
"Why are you so snippy?" Clary remarked disdainfully.
Jonathan's lips curled into a scowl. "I wasn't kidding. It really is a rainbow in here. And where there's rainbows," he said pointedly, gesturing to Clary's bed behind her. Confused, she looked over her shoulder, following his gaze. Right to where Jace slept peacefully beneath the covers. "There's always little bit of gold. Or so the stories say."
Clary silently cursed her subconscious mind for bringing Jace into the dream with her. Of course, he wasn't really there—he didn't have a bracelet like Clary's—but now Jonathan knew what was happening in the outside world. And, judging from his look of carefully controlled fury, he was not thrilled about the fact.
Clary held out her hands imploringly. "Jonathan, listen to me. Give me a chance to explain. Whatever you do, don't overreact."
Clary's brother laughed harshly. "Overreact? Please, dear sister, tell me what the proper reaction to this would be." He held up a hand as she prepared to come back with a snappy remark. "Don't answer that. Just tell me what the hell you were thinking."
"I was thinking I didn't wasn’t to be alone," Clary defended desperately. "I told you, my old self has been coming through lately. I'm feeling guilty about Isabelle and when Jace dragged me to the funeral, that guilt almost ate me alive. Do you know how hard I had to fight just to keep myself from looking into Maryse and Robert's eyes, into Jace and Alec's eyes, and not tell them every single little detail about how their daughter really died in that alley? I was exhausted by the time we got back and I just didn't want to be alone." As Jonathan seemed to digest this, Clary huffed and mumbled under her breath. "I'm surprised you aren't proud of me for keeping the enemy close."
Rage flared in her brother's eyes and, in mere milliseconds, Jonathan had her pinned up against her bedroom wall, her arms held uselessly at her side. "This is not a joke, Clarissa," he hissed. "You are loyal to me and only me. You belong to me."
