A/N: I decided to take a little break with my other story Glamours. I plan on finishing it but right now i am still coming up with the proper way to fixate words and what not :( It may take awhile and on my attempt to create a good chapter, i made this side story thing just because I felt like making something a little old fashioned-ie :) which is new because I usually dont go for that sort of thing :D

Like I said, I need to take a break from writing Glamours, so here is a little story for you guys :) It depends if Im going to finish it. :) Considering the reviews it may get, and my mood, most definitely :D

Read and Review guys~ tell me if I should continue this or not! :D

//dedicated to City of Bones//


One dark winter evening, a carriage pulled by three horses made its journey across the lonely woodlands of Alicante. The stars, flashing weakly up above, seemed so small that they were almost imperceptible amidst the huge layer of fog that appeared to dominate the sky.

And like every Christmas Clary had in Alicante, she would again be celebrating it indoors because of the freezing temperature.

Not that she hated the holiday, but it hardly seemed to spark concern in her part. Back at the manor house, everyone seemed to hustle and bustle all around, preparing Christmas trees and Christmas decors. Several of the young children would roam the streets— and despite the knee-high snow weighing them down—they managed to play tag or make snow angels, and even throw snowballs at each other.

It was, after all, a joyous season of togetherness but what use was togetherness for her?

"—she wants to name him Greg, but I told her I didn't like it. I wanted something more like Bob—or Simon Jr.,"
Clary hadn't realized she was staring blankly at the carriage window, observing an interesting display of passing leafless trees.

"What?" She turned away from the view. The soft thumping of the horses' feet seemed to fill the entire night.

Straight across her was a young man of her age; his hair was tamed back, making him look scholarly, and his glasses, which he was rarely seen without, hung on the bridge of his nose. He was known by the name Simon Lewis I.

"Oh, I was just spending half the hour telling you about my wonderful bastard-son, a product of a one night stand I had, and the possible names my illegal wife and I are planning to name him." His reply was accompanied by a straight face.

"You're only 16—" Clary paused, and then sighed. "Oh, you were joking." The realization eased her disgust—but in turn, ignited her temper.

"I do believe I was not joking," he retaliated. "But rather, was making fun of you—it's a very entertaining thing to do, especially whenever I come by chilly dark nights, such as now, in my life."

"Aren't you a little too old to be playing practical jokes on innocent, and unsuspecting people?" She shifted in her seat so she could bore her sea green eyes into his deep dark ones.

He raised his arms in mock surrender. "Hey—I'm just your average guy here. I can damn well blow up an entire city and the king wouldn't care. But, you on the other hand—" he trailed off, wincing.

"Yes. I think this friendship was pretty much built because of my father's interest in your father's work." Clary answered dully.

"No," Simon disagreed. "This friendship was built because, technically, I was the only one semi-allowed to talk to you."

"Oh, and how lucky I was." was Clary's reply.

Simon Lewis I broke into a smile, and for the first time during the whole night, Clary found herself needless of dreamland.

"Simon, you are my closest friend—only friend, whichever you prefer—and ever since we were children, we have been very close. I can tell you every secret I can think of, totally confident that you would never tell a soul." Simon listened very carefully to her words. Somehow, he felt something important that needed to be caught was to come from them, most definitely.

Clary tucked a lose strand of curling red hair behind her ear, then she asked, "Have you ever dreamed of making love with someone you've never met?"

Simon made a gagging sound and almost felt his insides turn into butter.

"What kind of question is that?" he cried.

She merely blinked. "A very honest one?" she prompted.

Simon didn't know if he should be concerned of her mental condition, or if he were to laugh at her obvious innocence.

He sighed. "What? Did Jonathan teach you these things? Clary, your brother is full of bull—uhm, he doesn't always know when it's best to keep his mouth shut… especially when he's around his 15 year old little sister." Simon went on.

Clarissa puffed up. "I'm going to be 16 in a few weeks you know!"

The carriage rocked a bit before finally coming to an abrupt halt.

"What was that?" But even before Simon could react quickly enough, Clarissa was already dashing out of the carriage door, a lantern at hand.

"Hello? Are there any wild beasts out there?" she asked, her voice slightly wavering.

"If there were, dear—then I highly doubt they'd even give you a chance to make conversation with them." an unfamiliar voice answered her.

"Gah!" By dropping the lantern on the ground, its flame was totally extinguished by the freezing snow. Clary stood there in the scary darkness with a possible talking beast which might kill her at any moment now. She could feel goose bumps rising in her arms.

But something at the edge of Clarissa's vision sparked. A small lit match stick was floating in mid air a few meters away from her. It moved downward to where the lantern was. Suddenly, the lantern started hovering as well—and soon enough, a portion of the nippy forestland was graced with light.

And the identity of the person responsible for lighting the lantern was no beast, but only a smiling old man. He was obviously a traveler because of his clothes: a darkly colored scarf was twisted around his neck and an over coat buttoned down to the last pin. A black hat was covering most of his head, and Clary could compare him to a camel—what with his hump-like back.

He approached her and handed over the lantern politely.

"You dropped this, milady." he told her.

When Clary outstretched a hand, a sword's tip was flung so that it was positioned between the old traveler's eyes.

"Simon, stop!" With all the strength she could muster, Clary pulled Simon by the back of his shirt to restrain him from doing the old man any harm.

"He's just a traveler—he was only returning my lantern!" she attempted to reason out.

It seemed to bring Simon to his senses because he withdrew his sword. Due to fear or nervousness, the old man huddled in a corner, shivering.

Simon turned to Clary, an angry expression clear on his face.

"What were you thinking, Princess?" His voice was deadly low; like he was trying to keep the old man from hearing. Clary flinched. Simon never called her by her title not unless he was extremely angry at her. Because only when he was extremely angry did he remind her that she was a daughter of the most powerful monarch in Alicante.

You see, Simon Lewis I was son to John Lewis III, Clary's father's—the king's— favorite welder. It was Clary who insisted that Simon call her by her regular name when they were alone and informal. He hasn't called her Princess since they were seven—and hearing him say it now sounded foreign to her ears. But it was still a bitter reminder of her caged and boring life. Maybe that's why he used it to scold and punish her.

Simon caught himself and with a revolted expression, he bowed.

"I'm sorry, Princess." His voice was strained with guilt as he whispered.

"I told you years ago it was alright for you to call me Clary." But even as she claimed so—she felt in her heart a pain of having a friend be so reserved towards her. Back in the castle, everyone addressed her as Clarissa—or Princess—or Milady—or whichever title fit their pleasing. Her father was very uptight—thus he often called her Clarissa, as well—but on the occasions when he was feeling warm and loving, he would entitle her as Daughter.

But this was nothing new to Clary.

Her father was an alien to her; she accepted that. Sure he was around the kingdom, and they were together daily—but a gap had formed between her, her mother and him ever since she was born. Clary liked to think this was because he never took an interest on a daughter who could not heir his throne when he passes on—instead of letting herself believe they were just a perfect family going through tough times because he was king.

He had 15 years to get used to the works of Kingship—Clary saw no reason to give Valentine any compensation now.

Her father may have treated her with lack of concern, but he seemed to love her older brother like he was an extension of his own shadow. Jonathan was not ill towards her, but neither was he warm. He addressed her formally as well, and they rarely spoke of fun topics like you'd expect of siblings. Jonathan preferred solitude while Clary was forced in it. But on the bright side, Clary always had her mother. Jocelyn was a good woman, who Clary thought sadly, was not using her abilities to their fullest potentials.

Jocelyn always told Clary stories of adventure when she was growing up. Clary enjoyed the idea of leaving the castle and seeing the world, but her father would never permit her to until now.

"Excuse me. Sir; Milady," The old man quipped. Simon and Clary broke apart from their whispering stance and the old man began to stand up.

"Please do not fight over an old traveler like me. I was only passing along this road when your carriage stopped. Seems like one of your horses collapsed! Exhaustion, I reckon."

Simon surveyed him critically before nodding. Taking the lantern which fell to the floor during the exchange, he said, "I'll go check it out."

"I'll come with you." Clary said.

"No. Stay here." Simon pointed a warning finger at her. "I'll have to go check on the horses, then on the baggage to see if the parcel is still there."

"In no purpose on being nosy, sir… but are you out to deliver something out of town?" The old man said, twisting his scarf well into his neck. Probably to prevent the cold from reaching there.

"We were asked to do a night errand for my father. He's a—a local blacksmith." Clary said. She may be naïve, but if there was one thing she'd learned from being royalty, it would be to never reveal your blue blood to strangers.

Even if it was just a nice old man.

The old man nodded, and Clary caught that beneath the hat, he frowned.

"Ah, and on the eve before Christmas! How unfortunate for you two; not being able to celebrate it with your families."

Clary couldn't help but let out a snort.

"Oh don't be bothered of it. Nothing much happens with them anyway."

"What she means is," Simon interjected. "Yes, well, as soon as we deliver the package the better. Right?"

Clary grumbled as a reply. Simon jumped off of the carriage and turned to her. "Now I won't be long. Stay inside."

"You don't have to fix it right away you know. I'm in no hurry to go home." She said to him.

"Don't be crazy," He said. "You should feel us lucky. Thankfully we only came across an old man and not some wild animal."

Now what they didn't know was this man was much much worse.


"Jace." An ominous voice filled the small gray room. "I have a job for you."

The room was bare except for a couch and a big flat screen television that showed nothing but static. Not all the rooms in Albatross were like this one—some where actually much brighter—but this one was the most peaceful place to take a little nap in.

But apparently, there shall be no solitude for him today. Jace sighed as he stood up from the couch. He reached for the remote at the far end and turned the t.v. off.

A place known to harness the skills of superhuman beings—make them faster, stronger, and much more attentive to their surroundings—Albatross is both feared, and delighted upon by those who wish to ask for their services.

Mostly high positioned and lofty officials from rich mundane worlds—wanting a witness to their corruption or infidelity killed so badly and ruthlessly they'd trade their dearest possession to assassinate that person.

Usually, those who would make deals with Albatross were those with a degree of familiarity in magic. After all, one could not make contact with an alternate world without knowing how to cast a few spells, or pull a little dark curses.

That was the most Jace knew about transactions in and out of Albatross—the rest was strictly confidential.

Like any highly reputable training facility, Albatross sported a military-style set up where in they were ranked according to how good they are. Jace belonged to the first rank, and his code name was Shadowhunter.

Jace fights with swords, and not once, since he was five, had anyone in Albatross been able to beat him at a sparring match.

As he walked past people in the corridors—some stopped in their tracks and stared, some went the other direction, while some tried to preoccupy themselves with training—Jace felt like the type of guy mothers would keep their children far away from.

Jace didn't have much friends, growing up in Albatross sort of left you alienated from the outside world, but he did care for his training buddies who come to be known as his rank mates.

Alec Lightwood, a timid boy who's older than Jace, had the ability to shoot his arrows even from long range places with speed and precision like that of a caliber bullet racing at 6,000 miles per hour. Rather than being Jace's right hand man, he was also his best friend. In Albatross, he was called Criss Cross.

Isabelle Lightwood, sister of Alec, was called Prima Bronze. Bronze because the whip she used in battle was made from the blood of a demon she had killed in a raid back in their home when she was a child. The blood it oozed out was bronze colored, and when it made contact with any human skin, it would burn it like acid.

Magnus Bane, a high warlock who's probably even older than most middle aged men in Albatross, was called, creatively, Magnus Bane. Though he may not have a cool code name, his gift speaks for itself. Magnus, as stated, is a warlock with decades of experience. In the group, he's the 'battle plan tactitioner' (his own personal description) and is Alec's boyfriend.

"Funny seeing you here, Shadowhunter. Finally let that big airhead of yours deflate a little bit so you could play with the underdogs?"

The voice came from Wolf, a.k.a Luke Graymark He was the one who trained Jace and the others since childhood. He became their Commander in Charge a year before his own teammates were massacred during an assignment.

"Ha Ha," He said sarcastically. "I don't know who you were insulting with that 'dog' joke. Me or you."

"Always the nice little brat; You know, I always did favor you, kid." He tousled Jace's blonde hair. Jace scoffed, but they walked on companionably.

"Just to let you know, I'm on my way to The Voice's room." Jace said, as they continued to walk.

The Voice was what they called their boss. He (or whatever The Voice was) was the one who controlled their job assignments giving them access to the portals which would take them to the place they would carry out the assassination.

Jace called it 'assassination' because in general, that was sort of what they were doing.

He hated it, but there was nothing he could do.

Wolf stayed quiet, but when they reached the door of the said room, he placed a hand on Jace's shoulder and squeezing it.

"Just—Just remember, it's your job, alright?"

Jace smirked, and shrugged his hand off. But Jace entered the dark chamber where he came in many times to be oriented on who was the next guilty soul they were to slaughter for with Wolf's words still ringing in his ear.

"Shadowhunter." The ominous voice said immediately after Jace closed the door behind him. "The coordinates of your journey, details and information you might find useful are well noted into that small note taped at the bottom of the chair. Remember that you may not bring that note along with you on your trip—for the security of the customer. Memorize it, and destroy the evidence afterward. The mission is to be completed in—"

"Yeah, Yeah, I know the drill." Jace said as if he'd been over this a thousand times. "Can I just ask one question?" He didn't wait for a reply. "Can I take Alec, or Isabelle, or Magnus with me?"

The Ominous Voice didn't respond immediately, but after awhile he said, "No." Then after a slight pause, "You embark alone."

That was all Jace needed to hear. He reached under his seat, and just as the Voice had said, a small golden note was taped there, with different words and information compressed into it. Jace stood up and bowed, for it was proper courtesy, though the Voice was not really in the room with him, and walked away without a word of protest.

"Tsk. Always alone." he said under his breath.

A/N: Well, that's where I stopped :) Please let me know what you guys think, and review me if you love it enough to continue :D