Notes: Okay, it's been awhile since I've written a lot, but I've had this idea in my head since I finished Cassie Clare's newest book- a true spark of brilliance, I believe - and I simply could not resist writing it down. I ask that you bear with my writing style as I am working on that throughout this project, so if you are one of those people who prefer just knowing what someone is going to say next, give this chance! I've been working on this for awhile now, refining and elaborating as I found necessary.

*offers yummy cookie to those who R&R* Yes, that does in fact mean that you do not get a cookie if you do not R&R, and you're definitely missing out. Made them fresh when you clicked onto this page!

Disclaimer: you all know it, I'm sure, but I'll go ahead and say it - Cassie Clare owns Infernal Devices and Mortal Instruments, so just about all of the world and characters upon which this story is built! I own NONE of what can be found lying on the pages of her books. Happy now? I thought so.

Alright, now that I am done with my rambling, let the story start!

Prologue

London, June 1878.

A fire, nearing its death in the large fireplace, had a log tossed on it which took a moment to catch, but then lit the room more fiercely than before. The parlor's rosewood furniture shone brightly in the renewed firelight, casting shadows across the floor and up the burgundy wall. Two figures stood, contemplating the flickering orange and yellow flames in the fireplace in front of them.

The hall outside the locked parlor door was empty, barely lit with small torches in ornate metal brackets that lined the walls of only the ground floor of the house. The servants of the vampire who owned the house were spread between the first and second floors, maintaining order of the place in their mistress's absence, while the warlock Magnus Bane managed several affairs of his own there in her stead.

The Shadowhunter had come to Magnus, soaked from the rain, but did not really seem to care either way about that. When Magnus had walked into the room, the boy had turned around to face him, putting his back to the fireplace. Magnus moved to stand nearer the fire, causing the boy to turn, keeping face to face with the warlock. Now his face appeared half lit while the other half was darkened by shadows.

As the boy began to speak, he was so involved with what he was telling the warlock that his surroundings seemed to matter not as his eyes lost focus and he came to stare over Magnus' shoulder, not really seeing what it was he actually looked at.

He presented an issue that Magnus knew no one in their world, Nephilim or Downworlder, had ever been privy to hear before this. The boy was noticeably stripped of all his defenses as he spoke, sounding as if he were in great pain, as if he were choking on the water that dripped down him while he talked, his voice cracking towards the end. He cleared his throat and turned partially away from the warlock, the shadows on his face deepening even as he turned towards the firelight. Silence filled the air for a moment before he finished by asking Magnus for help.

This was a boy who never asked for help. Anyone who was anyone in the London Downworld and Enclave scene knew of this kid and knew that he was normally extremely cocky, arrogant, did not care a bit about anyone besides himself, did what he pleased and above all never asked for or even indicated in the slightest needing anything from anyone. So to have him now show up in a Vampire's London town house, whether this vampire was an informant to the Clave or not, soaking wet and asking, no, pleading for Magnus' help was a situation completely out of both of their elements. Yet as Magnus regarded the Shadowhunter who stood there in front of him, who was rather oblivious to the fact that he and his clothes continued dripping water into the puddle that had formed at his feet and that he did not seem to be drying at all while standing in front of the fire, Magnus found he could not refuse. Only one other person had seen him in such a pathetic, defenseless state, and though Magnus did not know the whole of that story, he understood it was probably the only other time the boy had been so desperately in need that he was willing to actually ask someone for their help.

"I think we had better pay a visit." Magnus Bane said, turning to face the young Nephilim before him. Observing the boy, Magnus noted how water continued to streak down his face almost as if there were tears, which he began to suspect, though the boy's black hair was also completely drenched, plastering itself to his forehead. Still parchment white, he had not regained any color to his skin, since he had arrived.

With his voice only barely wavering on the last word, the boy responded, "Do you really think it wise?" His arms crossed in front of him now in a rather protective stance as shadows only he could possibly understand danced across his face.

"William Herondale," Magnus said quietly, "you came to me. Obviously you trust me enough to ask for help and therefore you also apparently trust my judgment in this matter." Magnus' voice hardened, "Do not start doubting me now if you wish to continue with this-" Magnus paused, watching William's facial features contort into a mixture of hurt, anxiety and something else.

"This was not a questioning of your judgment." William countered in a low voice. "I considered that option long before this and it did not seem plausible then, therefore I cannot see it as being plausible in the least now. It cannot possibly render anything of use to me," his eyes cast down to the floor as he finished, "to us."

"Well it's the only lead we could possibly find at the moment unless you already have something in mind." Magnus worked to cover up his frustration with the boy's lack of reasoning, reminding himself of how personal an issue this was to William. But the boy just shook his head, and Magnus indicated a certain level of sadness and possibly confusion that went with it.

Magnus started again, "This endeavor which you are set on and plan to drag me along for-"

"Drag? I'd hardly call it that." The boy's natural bored drawl edging into his voice for the first time since he had arrived at Lady Belcourt's town house to confront the warlock. "It's more like an investigation for which I am requiring the assistance of a certain informant of the Clave in order to get to the nasty details beneath an otherwise misted over cover. And you," his eyes flicked over, scanning Magnus' choice hair and dress styles before coming to rest on his face. Magnus himself was also presently scrutinizing the troubled boy standing before him.

The boy continued, "You are like my partner in crime or something similar." He turned his head slightly away from the fire, towards the warlock.

Magnus spent a moment to reassess William's stance and facial features before responding. "You are paying me for this. Like any other London Downworlder, at the moment, all I want is to understand her powers. There truly is nothing like her. I do not mean to utilize her for anything other than to fulfill my curiosity, yet - she shows no signs of otherwise being a warlock. But how? Is there any possibility that she simply has a bit of demon in her, yet is mostly human, therefore probably denoting her not as a warlock but half-breed human?"

"You're rambling, you realize?" William coolly watched the Warlock consider his options.

Magnus glanced up, "Yes, but don't you wonder as well? Downworlders and Nephilim alike have never seen such a creature, such a creation-"

"That's what she is," he interrupted, "someone's creation. Intentional, with years of planning and refining. Does anyone truly know her function?" William said darkly.

"Besides the upper members of the Pandemonium Club, I doubt it."

"So if you would like that chance to actually begin trying to understand her, then you'll help me. Well, that or once we're done here, we track down the so-called mundane 'Magister,' torture him until he tells us what she is supposedly capable of, kill him and make off with her!" A bit of a grin played around William's mouth before he took on a rather cynical look, staring back into the fire.

Noticing this, Magnus recalled why he had such a hard time justifying the boy's beauty. Things which are striking and beautiful, Magnus thought, are not always good. And that was what rubbed him the wrong way with this boy. Beauty always struck Magnus as a great wonder, yet something was off with this one instance of it.

William always maintained a look of boredom and yet slight amusement, mixed with a hint of cynicism. The only thing he could appear more of was cynical. Never anything else. Except maybe rash and arrogant or even cold and calculating, but, really, cynicism lay underneath it all. His black hair lay limp and slightly tangled, covering part of his forehead and his blue eyes, his impossibly blue eyes which held so much, yet told so little. Right now, though the light of the fire was probably playing tricks, Magnus noted a great mix of emotions, from immense anger to great humor, being held back. And then those lips which apparently knew not how to smile, much less laugh; sure, they dabbled in a smirk or a slight grin here and there, and that was of some combination of self-amusement and overconfidence. But never did they truly smile.

Magnus exhaled and began again, "I personally think it best if we pay someone, or rather somewhere, a visit right now. They won't miss you at the Institute, tonight will they?"

With his hands clasped behind his back, William spun on his heel to fully face Magnus and responded. "Nope, never do and probably never shall." He glanced around the room. "So, a portal then?"

Magnus gave a quick nod before setting to work on opening a portal.

New York, 2009.

Had there been daylight, a single ear bud could just have been seen in one of the ears while the other no doubt hung loose underneath the black zipped up jacket. Dark blonde hair hung down, covering the headphone wire as well as most the neck of the jacket, which, had it been even slightly undone, would have opened to bare skin, revealing layers of pale scars on the fair skin. One black strap from a navy blue backpack was slung over the left shoulder, trapping some hair underneath it. Normally, a pair of rectangular sunglasses would have just hidden the dark cobalt blue eyes from view, but it was presently too dark to see with them on. One gloved hand was shoved in a jacket pocket, the other swung at its owner's side, rather carelessly.

It was around midnight and the yellowing lamps overhead did little to influence the already well-lit streets as the ever-changing lights from billboards and skyscrapers towering over blocks and blocks of the city dominated lighting the city's nightscape. The subway seemed to be the only self-lit area.

No one noticed the lamps all flicker slightly, briefly casting odd shadows originating from one seemingly empty spot on the sidewalk leading to the subway entrance. No one saw a figure slip underground to the trains that ran underneath New York City at pretty much all hours. No one knew that two seats were taken up by someone and a backpack, just across the main aisle of the train from a tired-looking nurse still wearing part of her uniform. No one noticed that someone got off several stops later, walking only a few blocks before turning to face a renovated gothic-style church that really no longer existed in that spot. No one heard a voice softly mumbling before reaching and opening the ornate door at the front of the church. No one saw a figure slip silently inside the church and approach an elevator at the far end, pushing the button that would allow access to the main part of the Institute. No one knew this person even existed. Except for the cat.

Dun-dun-dunnnnn... Hope you enjoyed this- I promise more to come and soon!

~Miss M