Fearless

The Rune

"Try it on me," Alec said unexpectedly. "I could do with some fearlessness." He slid his jacket off, tossed it over the piano stool, and crossed the room to stand in front of Jace. "Here. Mark my arm."

Jace glanced over at Clary. "Unless you think you should do it?"

She shook her head. "No. You're probably better at actually applying Marks then I am."

Jace shrugged. "Roll up your sleeve, Alec."

Obediently, Alec rolled his sleeve up. There was already a permanent Mark on his upper arm, an elegant scroll of lines meant to give him perfect balance. They all leaned forward, even Magnus, as Jace carefully traced the outlines of the fearless rune on Alec's arm, just below the existing Mark. Alec winced as the stele traced it's burning path across his skin. When Jace was done, he slid his stele back into his back pocket and stood a moment admiring his handiwork. "Well, it looks nice at lease," he announced. "Whether it works or not..."

Alec touched the new Mark with his fingertips, then glanced up to find everyone else in the room staring at him.

"So?" Clary said.

"So what?" Ales rolled his sleeve down, covering the Mark.

"So, how do you feel? Any different?"

Alec looked considering. "Not really."

Jace threw his hands up. "So it doesn't work."

"Not necessary," Luke said. "There might simply be nothing going on that might activate it. Perhaps there isn't anything here that Alec is afraid."

Magnus glanced at Alec and raised his eyebrows. "Boo," he said.

Jace was grinning. "Come on, surely you've got a phobia or two. What scares you?"

Alec thought for a moment. "Spiders," he said.

Clary turned to Luke. "Have you got a spider anywhere?"

Luke looked exasperated. "Why would I have a spider? Do I look like someone who would collect them?"

"No offense, "Jace said, "but you kind of do."

"You know"-Alec's tone was sour-"maybe this was a stupid experiment."

"What about the dark?" Clary suggested. "We could lock you in the basement."

"I'm a demon hunter," Alec said, with exaggerated patience. "Clearly, I am not afraid of the dark."

"Well, you might be."

"But I'm not."

Clary was spared replying by the buzz of the doorbell. She looked over at Luke, raising her eyebrows. "Simon?"

"Couldn't be. It's daylight."

"Oh, right." She'd forgotten again. "Do you want me to get it?"

"No." He stood up with only a short grunt of pain. "I'm fine. It's probably someone wondering why the bookstores shut."

He crossed the room and threw the door open. His shoulders went stiff with surprise; Clary heard the bark of a familiar, stridently angry female voice, and a moment later Isabelle and Maryse Lightwood pushed past Luke and strode into the room, followed by the grey, menacing figure of the Inquisitor. Behind them, was a tall and burly man, dark-haired and olive-skinned, with a thick black beard. Though it had taken many years ago, Clary recognized him from the old photo Hodge had showed her: this is Robert Lightwood, Alec and Isabelle's father.