The Failing Sense (CassandraClare Fanfiction)

Prologue

                                                                                 Prologue

                                                    "And time remembered is grief forgotten."

                                                                                      -William Blake

London, 1877

          It was an unusually quiet night that surrounded Akira Masanori as he made his way rather nervously along the side of The Devil's Tavern. The crumbling red brick that walled him in on either side felt like it was closing in on him as he went. Akira couldn't help but think he was about to be crushed to death. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard as he involuntarily imagined his bones bending and breaking under his own compressed flesh, the damp walls around him inching closer and closer to him in his tortured imagination.

          He shivered- and not from the biting chill of the soft breeze that had begun dancing across the back of his neck, rustling his long, silky black hair, casting it across his features. His eyes widened in solace, finally discerning the subdued glow that indicated the mouth of the alley.

         Akira felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him as his chest finally expanded again after what felt like ages. He saw the familiar red flush of the of the tavern's entrance and couldn't help but sigh in relief as he noticed it settling itself like a fine scarlet powder over the curiously bright silver hair of Mr. James Carstairs.

          Mr. Carstairs seemed to be leaning against the front wall of the tavern, staring off in the opposite direction, as if observing some breath-taking spectacle only he could see. Next to him leaned his jade-headed cane, exquisite in the rouge light streaming from the open doorway to its left.

          "Mr. Carstairs," Akira called. If his voice had startled him at all, Mr. Carstairs didn't show it.

          "Ah, Mr. Masanori, it's good to see you. I was beginning to worry you had gotten lost." James smiled warmly. Akira was glad it was him, and not Mr. Herondale that had come to meet him. Out of the two Shadowhunters, Mr. Carstairs was without question the one he preferred to deal with. He lacked the arrogant sarcasm that was omni-present within his parabatai.

          "Thank you for your concern, Mr. Carstairs, but it was in fact the abhorrent amount of incapacious alleyways I was forced to traverse on my journey here that threw me off."

          James chuckled at this. "Yes, London does seem strangely opposed to the idea of actual roads. You'll get used to it soon enough."

          "Perhaps." Akira didn't think much of this statement, however, as he'd been battling severe claustrophobia for nearly his entire life. 'Getting used to it' seemed like a distant dream. "Just as well, may I inquire what exactly the Enclave is requesting of me this time?"

          "A rogue vampire," James said, a seriousness suddenly altering his features. It was then that Akira noticed the dark rings around his brilliantly silver eyes. He must be exhausted. "He was turned recently, and has since murdered five mundanes, leaving a ridiculously careless trail behind him. We need you to dispose of him quickly and appropriately. You will, of course, receive proper compensation for your troubles."

          "Understood," Akira said with a more rigid brusqueness. "I will contact the Enclave again when I've completed the job. Farewell, Mr. Carstairs." After a quick nod, the two turned away in opposite directions. This was just like the Clave; to call on him for the menial tasks they didn't feel like doing.

          Although it wasn't as if he had anything better to do with his time, and he had been around long enough to know it was a very unwise decision one made to deny the Nephilim anything they asked for. The Clave had little patience for the Downworld, and didn't like hearing the word 'no' from anyone. For an impressively competent warlock such as Akira, however, they are a bit more lenient. It would be a great inconvenience for them to be on his bad side.

          Akira pressed his lips together grimly. What a state their society was in. Even though the Accords were signed not long ago, not much had changed in the last hundred years. The Nephilim had too much pride, the vampires were too vain, the warlocks too wayward, and the faeries were hidden away somewhere, desiring no part of our defective community.

          He sighed heavily and stared into the dark and murky distance. Akira could smell the dank stench of the Thames from here. The river ran like a loathsome scar down the center of London, obliterating all sense of serenity in any area near it. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, Akira gathered his strength, pushed himself from the wall he'd been leaning against, and headed off into the delicate radiance of the impending dawn.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Hello! Everyone vote and comment, I would love the feedback. If this gets good results, I'll be posting every Sunday.. Maybe. I'd suggest reading The Mortal Instruments and Infernal Devices series' by the lovely Cassandra Clare, as this is a Fanfiction of the world created in those books.

Thank you for reading!