Voice-The sound produced in a person's larynx and uttered through the mouth, as speech or song. (English).

"Oh, bloody, buggering hell," a voice said from the hall as footsteps pelted past.

Magnus sat up, rubbing his head as the shrill noise that had awakened him sounded again, making his whole head ring. He looked around, trying to discern his location, but the room was too dark. The last thing he remembered was Clary in a window of the basement, the men coming down, and sticking him with something. Wherever he was, it didn't smell like a basement, in fact, it was antiseptically clean.

The shrieking noise, which he now realized was a fire alarm, from the smell of the smoke that seeped under the door, finally stopped. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and tried to stand, but his knees gave out from under him, and he sprawled on the floor with a loud thump. The commotion outside finally slowed, and the door opened to reveal a human figure whose features he couldn't make out because the light behind it nearly blinded him.

"Oh, you great lump of meat, what are you doing out of bed?" an annoyed female voice said, as the person stepped forward toward him. She turned her head and Magnus saw the familiar Lightwood features grace her face.

"Some lump of meat set off a fire alarm, and I found myself on the floor," Magnus snapped.

"Oh, well, you know what happens when I try to cook," Isabelle joked.

"And you still manage to have all of that beautiful hair?" he said, Isabelle's hands lifting him up and over until he slumped in the bed, then hauling his feet into it after him.

"Shut up and go back to sleep. You weren't supposed to wake up yet. Elowen's going to have our heads on platters. Well, Alec's anyway," she muttered the last bit as she left the room, and Magnus almost thought he dreamed it as the waves of sleep took him back again.

"What the hell was that all about?" Maryse asked furiously as she surveyed the wreckage that had been the saucepot.

"Well… Izzy tried to cook mac and cheese…" Alec ventured tentatively.

"And you let her? You know what that girl does to kitchens. You or Clary couldn't have done it? Hell, Jace is a better cook than Isabelle," Maryse fumed.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom," Isabelle said, reentering the kitchen. "All the heathens are still in their beds, no harm done."

"Heathens?" Jace muttered to Alec.

"I don't know. I think she's been reading trashy romance novels again," Alec whispered back.

"I have, not that it's any of your business. Besides, whose stash do you think I've been raiding, Shiny Boy?" Isabelle snarked. Jace just blushed. Clary glared thoughtfully at her boyfriend. She had wondered where the books her mother liked to refer to as "soft porn" had gone.

"Well, I'm just going to have to throw this pot out now," Maryse sighed, ignoring the byplay.

"Do ye have to? Ye can't just give it a good scrubbing or sommat?" Alastair asked.

"Would you like to try, Master Southfire?" Maryse drawled at him.

"I'd be happy to try. Ye can't just go throwing things out because they're a little dirty," Alastair said, taking the proffered pan, and going to the sink. "I'm sorry. That was a wee bit brusque. Me mum taught me tae be thrifty as possible."

"It's a good philosophy, if you have the time to adopt it properly," Maryse sighed. Turning to Alec she said, "So. What did Ms. Deverol say about our 'heathens'?"

Alec snorted at his mother's use of the term. "She said they should wake up tomorrow morning sometime. She's coming back at ei-ei-eight," he said, stumbling over the last word as a yawn split his face.

"Well, that's good. You go to bed. You've been up for what, fifty six hours?" Maryse said.

"Give or take."

"Then go. We'll hold down the fort until morning and wake you if anything drastic happens."

Alec was about to object, but he yawned hugely, and his mother's glare convinced him he wouldn't win, even if he tried for the rest of his life. He stood, pushed in his chair, grabbed a banana and a bottle of water, and left the kitchen to hear Alastair say, "See that there? Good as new. Well, good as it was before Miss Isabelle got her hands on it." Alec chuckled.

Alec woke up to the sounds of people running down the hall outside his room, swearing in no less than five languages. He heard Isabelle's favourites, a few choice Gaelic words from Alastair (which he made a note to learn), Jace's staccato Latin swearing, his mother with merde, and another female voice that he didn't recognize. He rolled out of bed, pulled on the first clothes that came to hand, and opened the door.

"Alec! Thank the Angel you're awake. We seem to have lost a mundane," Clary said, coming to a halt in front of him.

"What? There weren't any mundanes here," Alec said confusedly.

"She showed up after you went to bed. About seven. I have no idea how she found the Institute," Clary said.

"Who showed up?"

"Brooke. The busty blonde?"

"I hadn't noticed the busty bit," Alec said pointedly.

"Well, Jace certainly did. I think he's trying to give excuses for wearing my shirt. Again. Because he is. Completely his choice. Anyway, Brooke's disappeared. Elowen got here about fifteen minutes ago to find the infirmary torn apart, the heathens on the floor, and Brooke gone. The werewolf, whose name is Jason, by the way, is awake and in the kitchen eating all of our meat. The faerie and Magnus are still asleep, but it looks like he woke up at least once. He was in a different pair of pants," Clary said. Alec blinked at the torrent of information.

"Where the hell did he get different pants to change into?" Alec asked.

"I'm pretty sure he stole some of Jace's. Or mine. At this point, he keeps wearing so many of my clothes it's hard to tell them apart. I mean, who knew a seventeen-year-old boy could fit into my skinny jeans? It's ludicrous," Clary said, clearly variation on a familiar rant of hers.

"Well, I can fit into your skinny jeans, but that's a completely different story," Alec said, running his hands through his hair, trying to get it to settle into something less resembling a bird's nest.

Jace skidded to a stop next to Clary. "She got out through the front door. The front door! Church didn't even try to stop her. What good is an immortal cat if he can't even stop one mundane teenage girl?"

"I don't think she's what she appears to be," Isabelle said, interrupting Clary's response.

"What?" Clary squawked.

"I agree," Alec said quietly.

"What?" Clary squawked.

"Do you remember how helpful she was? And knowledgeable. For a mundane she was pretty damn useful. And then look at Sabrina. The girl who was frightened out of her wits, the one that clung to Izzy?" Alec began.

"Exactly. The other two mundanes were out of it, and when they woke in the hospital, they spoke of monsters and demons. But Brooke was completely unfazed. Why would they take three uninitiated mundanes and one who knew what was going on? It seems fishy to me," Isabelle continued.

"And then she just up and disappears," Clary finished.

"She's not human," a lyrical voice said from behind them.

"What?" Clary squawked.

"I don't know what she is, only that she's not human," Elowen said, stepping into their circle, Ailill wrapped around her neck like a scarf.

"And how do you know this?" Jace asked her.

"Well, for one, I'm not human either," Elowen said.

"We gathered that a few days ago," Isabelle said.

"But I'm not what you think I am," Elowen said, trailing off.

Alec's question was interrupted by the front door crashing open and two bodies collapsing through, thrashing at each other.

"Oi! Get the fuck off me," a discordant voice shouted. Magnus woke abruptly, again.

His chest still hurt from falling off the bed, and his head pounded. He had somehow managed to change his pants during the night, into whose he did not know. The sounds of scuffling came from the hall, bodies slamming into doors. The door to the infirmary was inset with a large frosted-glass window, and when the combatants pushed up against it, it shattered inward, throwing them half-through it, still flailing about.

"Both of you! Stop it!" a female voice thundered. Pairs of hands grabbed the collars of the fighters, and pulled them apart.

"They broke the window, and that was plate glass," another woman said.

"Yes they did. Alec, you and Alastair take Ms. Taylor here to a room. And don't leave her alone," the first voice, which Magnus recognized now as Maryse's, said.

Magnus swung his feet over the edge of the bed, and tried to stand, nearly losing his balance twice as he made his way to the door. He braced himself on the cabinet next to it, and glanced out the gaping hole. Clary, Maryse, Shiny Boy, Isabelle, Isabelle's boyfriend Sherlock there, and, to his surprise Elowen, stood around, glaring at each other.

"Would someone like to explain to me why I now have to repair my front door, and replace the window in this one? And all before nine in the morning?" Maryse steamed. "How did you even get through the front door, Simon?"

"Six impossible things before breakfast," Magnus muttered to himself. Apparently, Nephilim, vampires, and whatever the hell Elowen was had better hearing than humans, because they all turned to look at him.

"What do you mean?" Clary asked.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Elowen asked.

"What are you doing here?" Simon asked.

"Whose pants are those?" Jace asked.

In unison.

"Ellie, I heard yelling, and crashing. Simon, why don't you ask everyone else? Shiny Boy, I don't even know. I just woke up with them on. And Clary, haven't you ever read Alice in Wonderland?" Magnus said.

"Well… not really…" Clary said.

"Never mind," Magnus muttered.

"Magnus, do you have glass shards in your feet?" Elowen asked.

Magnus looked down to find that he did, indeed, have glass in his feet.

"Oh, bloody, buggering hell," he swore.

So, dearies, here we are, the end of chapter 14. I am sorry that they're not longer, but, honestly, it would take me two months to write something I would consider "long" (ie~7,000 words). These chapters average 1800-2000 words, and I can write them in three (non-consecutive) hours.

Anyway, I thing Piano and Dance are going to be chapters 16 and 17, because now I have to sort out exactly why Simon and Brooke were wrestling through the door. So, this story should reach its crescendo soon, hopefully by the end of July.

I wouldn't expect an update until sometime in mid-June though, because I graduate the 12th, and I'm busy with senior stuff until then, and probably won't have the time to write, between school, Tumblr, and my TV obsessions (see: Doctor Who and Avatar: TLA).

~Firefly, who rambles, even in her Author's notes.