I don't own The Mortal Instruments or The Infernal Devices.


It was a heavy, clammy April evening and although Simon Lewis didn't technically have a body temperature to speak of, his t-shirt was still sticking to him. It was one of his favourite t-shirts, one given to him by Clary, about a year before he had been bitten. Ironically it had a picture of Count Dracula and a caption beneath saying 'I vant to suck your blood!' on it. He had just left band practice –the only thing normal left in his life now- and was making his way to Magnus Bane's apartment, where he had been asked to go by Clary with no other explanation than 'It's important'. To say that Simon didn't like Magnus would be an understatement. The glittery warlock couldn't even be bothered to remember his name and he was the reason he was a vampire in the first place. If hadn't been for his stupid colourful drinks at his party, Simon would never have been transformed into a rat, never been kidnapped by vampires and therefore, never would have become a vampire. Admittedly, a badass vampire that could walk in the sun and couldn't be killed because of the Mark of Cain, but still, a vampire nonetheless. A thing despised by his own mother. But of course, Clary had asked him to come, so of course, he came.

He reached the door to Magnus' building and pressed the buzzer.

"Who is it?" Asked Magnus' voice.

"Simon." He replied.

"Ah yes, the Daylighter. Do come in." The lock clicked, allowing Simon entrance into the building. He walked up the stairs until he came to Magnus' front door, which was already open. They lights were off and the apartment was eerily dark. Simon reached for the light switch on the wall, unable to bear the darkness any longer.

"Surprise!" Came a shout. Simon stumbled backwards and his fangs shot out in shock. Then he took in the sight before him. Everyone was there: Alec, his arm around Magnus' waist, Isabelle, smiling at him, Jace, looking fairly disinterested and Clary, beaming at him, holding a large birthday cake in her hands. Simon blinked for a few moments, unsure if what he saw was actually happening.

"Well, say something Simon!" Squealed Clary.

"Um...Today's not my birthday." He said cautiously. "That was yesterday, if you wanna get all technical with the details. Plus the whole 'vampires don't age' thing kind of makes birthdays pointless." Clary rolled her eyes at him.

"You wouldn't've been as surprised if we had your birthday party on your actual birthday Simon!" She said, as though it were obvious.

"Great reasoning, Fray." Said Simon, still recovering from the shock of being ambushed by a group of more-than-capable Shadowhunters and an extremely powerful warlock.

"Dude, just say 'thank you' and hug her already. She's been excited about this for weeks." Said Jace.

"You've been planning this for weeks?" Asked Simon, astonished. Clary blushed.

"Well, yeah," She said. "You're my best friend Simon, and after the year you've had I thought you'd welcome a little fun. But if this isn't what you want, I totally understand and we can leave -" Simon cut her off by wrapping his arms around her, perhaps a little stronger than he had intended to.

"Thanks Clary," He murmured in her ear. He pulled away from her and saw that the huge smile was back on her face.

"Now, if you could just put away the fangs vampire-boy, we could finally get this party started!" Said Magnus, obviously eager to start the festivities. Simon hadn't even realized his fangs were still out and retracted them. He heard Magnus snap his fingers and before he knew it, he was engulfed in a cloud of glitter. He coughed and spluttered, trying to get the glittery substance out of his lungs. He glared at Magnus, who countered with a grin.

"Just thought I'd mark the start of the festivities," He said. The others laughed while Simon scowled.


The party lasted well into the late hours of the night. Though Simon wasn't generally one for parties, he had to admit, he was enjoying himself, just a little bit. It wasn't hugely flamboyant like one of Magnus' parties, it was just a good time spent in the company of friends –more or less anyway. It was almost midnight when Magnus addressed Simon.

"Daylighter, could you please go and fetch me that silver snuffbox on the mantelpiece?" He asked.

"Why can't you just get it yourself?" Simon asked.

"Because you're closer," Said the warlock lazily. Simon sighed, resigned, and got to his feet. He walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up the small silver box with the initials W.S. engraved on it. He turned to hand it over to Magnus, but stopped mid-step. A strange lurching sensation overcame him –the same feeling you get on a roller coaster. The floor seemed to be slipping from beneath him. He looked up, panicked, and met Magnus' strange cat-like eyes. The warlock didn't make a move to help him and just winked at him instead, a mildly amused look on his face. Suddenly Simon was catapulted into darkness. As the pressure grew, his ears popped. He felt like he was being squeezed through a small tube. He was grateful he didn't need to breathe, because he was fairly sure there was no oxygen in the darkness. Simon felt as though he was about to explode, when suddenly, there was a blinding white light. Simon fell face first on a cold, hard floor. He could hear gasps in the background.

"What on earth..." He heard a voice say. It was a woman's voice and she spoke with an English accent. Simon rolled on to his back, blinking away the black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He sat up and looked around, trying his best not to faint from dizziness. There were six people standing around him, three men and three women. They were all looking at him with expressions of shock on their faces. Now, Simon wasn't up to date on English fashion, but he was pretty sure they had moved on since the Victorian age. The people surrounding him were all wearing old-fashioned clothes. The three women were wearing complicated-looking dresses, while the men were wearing suits. Simon tried to get to his feet, but stumbled, almost crashing into the shortest of the women –almost as short as Clary, Simon's dazed mind noted. A pair of strong hands caught him and held him steady. Simon gripped the arm of the red-headed man that was holding him, not letting go for fear he would collapse.

"Easy there boy," Said the ginger man. Simon clung to his arm for a few moments before letting go when he thought he could stand on his own. The ginger man gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"What are you doing in the London Institute?" Asked a tall boy with dark hair and blue eyes. "State your business." Simon blinked. What was he doing in the London Institute?

"William, let the boy regain his senses before you start questioning him," Said the short, brown-haired woman.

"I-I don't know what I'm doing here," Simon managed to say. "I don't even know how I got here. I was in New York just a few seconds ago, I -" An idea suddenly occurred to Simon. "I need to contact the New York Institute!" He said, not addressing anyone in particular. "The Lightwoods, I need to speak with them." Simon noticed a few of the people bristle at the mention of the Lightwoods.

"Did Benedict Lightwood send you here to spy on us, little boy?" Asked the blue-eyed man. Something about him seemed familiar, but he wasn't quite sure what.

"I-What?" Asked Simon, frowning. He had never heard of Benedict Lightwood in his life. "Please, I don't know who Benedict Lightwood is, I need to contact Isabelle and Alec. Their parents are Maryse and Robert." The ginger man, the short woman, the blue-eyed boy and a boy with silver hair all frowned at him. The two others, a tall girl with brown hair and grey eyes and a shorter woman with a long scar running down her cheek, just looked at him, confused.

"I do not know any Lightwoods that go by the names Isabelle or Alec, do you?" Said the blue-eyed man, turning to the short woman and the ginger man. The two both shook their heads. Simon was starting to feel dizzy again.

"Sir, please kindly explain what you are doing in my Institute and your strange attire at once." The short woman said. Just as he was about to explain that he really had no idea what he was doing in the London Institute, a thought occurred to Simon. His mouth went dry at the very thought.

"Excuse me," He said. "But what year is this?" The woman looked taken aback, but answered him nonetheless.

"1878, of course." She replied. Simon's suspicions had been confirmed. He was going to kill Magnus when he got back to 2008.