The Herondale Legacy

Jace sat impatiently in the coffee shop, waiting for a familiar face to show up. The long-sleeved black turtleneck that Clary had given him was itching badly. He hated how it felt against his skin, even though he had to admit that it was useful to make sure the mundanes couldn't see the Marks covering his arms. Too many curious young people had asked him what his "tattoos" meant. It was annoying.

        The only reason he agreed to wear the itchy turtleneck (at least it was in a Shadowhunter colour, and didn't look like one of the ugly Christmas sweaters he kept seeing on the way over) was because he didn't actually know who he was meeting. When the anonymously signed message appeared at the Institute the other day, requesting that Jace go to the coffee shop, he couldn't help but be curious as to who the sender was. At first, he had hoped that whoever the sender was would perhaps approach him with a tip. An offer to slay some demons? He could do that. Small talk? Not so much. However, the letter had explicitly said that Jace had met them before, and although there were many people that he hadn't seen in quite some time-both Downworlders and Shadowhunters alike-there weren't many who were secretive.

        The bell chimed and Jace's head jerked up. He expected to be disappointed, to have another unknown mundane step through the door, smiling like a normal person would, a person whose life wasn't at stake every single day. Instead, Jace was surprised. When the message arrived, he had expected it to be from Magnus (after all, mystery and intrigue were his style), or Maia (the incredibly straightforward werewolf was one of the last people Jace thought would have sent a message like that), or anyone else that he knew, but he didn't expect her.

        It had been at least a year since he had seen her, this brown-haired young woman who entered, ordering her drink and surveying the room at the same time before her eyes finally settled on him. "Jace Herondale," she said, sliding into the chair opposite him, a coffee cup in hand. "I didn't think you would actually come."

        "I didn't think you would be the one to contact me," Jace said, skipping past the formalities. The young woman who sat across from him looked like an ordinary girl in her late teens or early twenties, much like Jace; many of the patrons would assume that she was a friend or even a lover of his. In reality, she was nearly a hundred and fifty years old, and a closer friend to Clary than Jace. In fact, Tessa Gray had rarely had a need to contact Jace at all.

        And yet, despite that, here she was.

        "I understand that you're using the Herondale name now?" she said conversationally.

        Out of all the reasons Jace had assumed the warlock would want to see him, he certainly didn't expect her to ask about his recently chosen identity. "Yes."

        She watched his fingers gently twist the Herondale ring he wore, the one that Clary had presented to him on the night of her mother's wedding, saying that it was from Tessa and that it was genuine. "That ring belonged to James Herondale, you know," Tessa said.

        "Clary told me that."

        "Well, I'm assuming that you have some questions about the Herondale family. Ones that I can answer for you."

        He looked at her curiously, abruptly stopping the twisting of his ring. "How do you know about the Herondales?"

        Tessa took a deep breath before answering. "Because I am one."

        Jace was silent for a moment, which wasn't something that happened very often. "How can you be a Herondale? You're a warlock."

        "Well, technically I am a Herondale by marriage. The ring I gave to Clary? It was my son's."

        "Your son was James Herondale?"

        Tessa nodded. "Let me tell you about the Herondale family, starting from the first one I ever met. The one who would eventually become my husband, Will."

        She launched into the story of the Herondales she knew, a story that took a good hour to tell. Jace sat quietly, never interrupting, listening intently to tales of Herondales of ages past, of love and loss, of bravery and sacrifice.

        "And then there's you, Jace," Tessa finished. "You, with your future ahead of you. You've done many great things for the Shadowhunters, and I'm sure you'll be able to do even more in the future."

        "I am the best Shadowhunter out there, after all," he said confidently, causing Tessa to smile a little. "There is one thing, though," he added.

        "What is it?"

        "I've always had this fear that I could never explain. I'm afraid for no reason. I was wondering if it perhaps ran in the family."

        "Afraid of what?"

        "I have this irrational fear...of ducks."

        To his surprise, Tessa threw her head back and laughed. It was a nice laugh, one that sent heads turning and caused smiles to light up people's faces. "You're more like Will than I thought," Tessa said. "He was afraid of ducks, too. Evil creatures, he called them."

        "They are!" Jace insisted, now having a better understanding as to why he always felt strange and scared around ducks.

        She stood up suddenly. "I have to leave now," she informed him, not unkindly. "This chat of ours was nice. You don't know how long I have been wanting to sit down with you to tell you about your heritage. Enjoy your life, Jace Herondale." She was out the door as swiftly as she had arrived, leaving Jace to think about what she had just told him. It was a lot of weight for a person to carry, and she had just shared several lifetimes' worth of memories with him. He sat in that shop, in the itchy black turtleneck he had been forced into, thinking about the Herondale legacy on that cold December day, thinking continuously about what Tessa had told him. He did not leave until the shop was almost empty, and Clary found him staring at his long-cold cup.