Chapter Text
The night out at Pandemonium was supposed to be fun, but it wasn’t fun as Clary continued to stare at the blue haired boy she had seen talk his way into the club.
There was something about him that drew her stare, but Clary didn’t know why. Perhaps she hoped that he’d look her way, or maybe she just wanted to know——but she wouldn’t know what would’ve happened next because one minute she was surrounded by loud blaring music and strobing lights and then she wasn’t.
It was quiet, the room she had been transported to, and for whatever odd reason, Clary didn’t quite panic yet even when she knew she should.
The room was decorated aptly, nothing too gaudy but not quite bland. It was a room she would have drawn from point perspective with its tall mahogany bookshelves that reached the ceiling and its many golden light fixtures. There were dark navy curtains pulled over the windows and unlike the dead of night like she had been expecting, there was daylight spilling from the shades. Her gaze was more drawn to the center of the room where many chairs were placed all circling around a table with a little over fifteen or so books. And yeah, maybe that is a little weird. What lounge would need that many chairs if it seemed like the place was good enough to house two people?
Clary was curious, when will she ever not be, but it felt like she had been transported to some kind of limbo where time stopped and the outside world didn’t matter.
Clary’s fingers traced the wood of the shelves as she heard distant chatter accompanying her in the otherwise empty room. She walked towards the middle of the room. She couldn’t be the only one here, there had to be others and lurking in the mini library would not do her any good if she wanted to know what was going on.
Clary caught a glimpse of three teenagers dressed in black huddled together, already in the middle of the room that had been empty when she had glanced at it before. Just as she walked towards them, a familiar voice called out to her and she turned.
“Clary!” Her best friend said, crashing into her with a hug, “thank god you're here.” He took a quick glance around the room, “Do you know what’s going on?”
Clary parted her lips to answer and two more bodies came crashing forward, and really, what exactly is going on? It’s already weird enough that she saw three teens whom she has absolutely no clue who they are, then Simon pops up out of nowhere and like serendipity her mother is here along with Luke.
Clary watched as her mother gave her a cursory glance, from bottom to top to make sure she wasn’t harmed in any way. She found that her mom always did that whenever she left the house, as if she assumed Clary would be mauled by some dog or something.
“I told you she’s alright Jocelyn,” Luke’s comforting timbre filled her ears and eased her unease for just a little while.
Her mother glanced up at him and he stared back, seemingly talking through their eyes. And it really shouldn’t matter to Clary as those two always ended up in their own world regardless of who was around, but she felt the fleeting feeling of embarrassment at being the third wheel to her own parental figures.
Her mother let out a sigh and draped her arms around her shoulders, steering them to the middle of the room and though it had only been for a few moments, there were a lot more people than she originally thought.
They all looked out of place, anachronistic even as they wore formal clothing of crisp buttoned shirts and long overcoats to the daily gowns with skirts that reached their ankles. They looked dated in time and even more odd compared to the other three teens who looked just as apprehensive as the rest even though they were pushed behind a stern looking woman and who she supposed was her husband.
Clary didn’t know what they were saying, and even if she had, it seemed like a different kind of language and world she had no real intention of stepping into, especially when she saw the woman from before glare impressively hard at her mother.
—
James Herondale had only just arrived at Waterloo station, stopped mid-sentence during his conversation with the poor porter whose sleeve he had nearly caught, when he was transported to this rustic room that showed no resemblance or familiarity.
On alert, he reached to his side to pull out his dagger, an item he had no recollection of retrieving in his hast to leave the shared home he had with Cordelia.
Cordelia.
His Daisy.
Why hadn’t she just let him explain instead of running away with Matthew to Paris? To be blinded by love so completely that he would be willing to do anything, it reminded him of his father and his endless stories on how mad he was about his mother.
And maybe emotions clouded his judgment, but it was the first time in a while that he’s felt clear from the fog, from the shackles Grace had put on him. Who could really blame him when he got shoved into the nearest wall and disarmed by a curly haired boy with blue-green eyes? He oddly seemed familiar despite James never meeting him to begin with. And really, James should be more focused on the knife at his throat, but what does he have left to lose at this point?
“Who are you?” He felt the boy scan him from head to toe, eyes catching on the rune on the side of his throat. James felt the knife lower, but only by a bit as he asked, “Which institute are you from?”
“James Herondale,” at the surname, the boy stiffened, but James carried on as if he hadn’t seen it, “from the London Institute.”
James gave the boy a prompting stare as if to say well?
The boy lowered his knife, but didn’t put it away as he handed James his dagger back. “Julian Blackthorn, Los Angeles Institute.”
“Never heard of you.”
“Well, I could say the same thing about you.”
“If you don’t mind,” James found himself saying, “but I’d rather not be around another Blackthorn at the moment.”
Like a dog with a bone, “What do you mean another Blackthorn? Have you seen my siblings?”
“Your siblings?” James smoothed the collar of his shirt. “I cannot say I’ve seen them, you're the only person I've seen here.”
“And where is here exactly?”
“I do not hold all the answers, Julian Blackthorn.”
James pushed past the boy, tucking his dagger back in its sheath. What exactly was here, he wasn’t sure, only that it didn’t feel right despite how comforting it may feel.
The room was deceptively small as it felt like he had been walking for a long time through an array of bookshelves. James would’ve focused on the titles, traced the spines with reverence, but he didn’t care.
There was a Blackthorn trailing after him, one of which he has never met, and James knows the boy is different due to the brief look he had at his eyes. He’s seen a lot, has been burdened by many things, but most of all, he looks like he’s had his heart ripped out of his chest, by who? Well, he can join the club.
There were a flurry of steps coming their way and James had little to no time to jump out of the way as, who he assumed to be his siblings, flung themselves at him, well most of them anyways.
“Julian!”
James should’ve taken that as his cue to continue on walking, but he couldn’t help but stare at the siblings embrace even if it was only for a short while. He missed Lucie. After being caught up in all his business, he hadn’t been paying attention to what his sister had been doing, what she still might be doing—
“Who’s this?”
He held out a hand. “I’m James,” he said, purposefully leaving out his family name. This lot seemed to be the curious type and he couldn’t be having them poke around in his business.
He couldn’t help the strained smile that crept onto his face as James retracted his hand when he realized they weren’t going to be shaking it anytime soon, embarrassment flooding his cheeks as he looked for a way out.
Julian stepped in before he could combust. “These are my siblings,” he pointed to a tall looking girl (not as tall as james though), “That’s Livvy,” to the boy who was eyeing James suspiciously, “Ty,” and then to the curvy girl who seemed his age, but he knew better, “and that’s Dru.”
“Nice to meet you all,” he politely said, his manners outweighing his rude desire to leave swiftly when he saw Julian’s eyes continue to flicker around, almost as if he were looking for something or someone. “Are you missing someone?”
“No.”
It was a clear lie, but James didn’t push it. “I should take my leave,” and just as he turned around he ran into the person he had been dying to see but an unwanted dread settled in his bones.
—
Julian can’t exactly say that he knew what was going on, but he just had an inkling that whatever it was, it would affect his future decisions down the line. Assuming he hasn’t yet made those decisions.
He knows that James Herondale, whoever he may be, (considering the fact that he only knows of one other Herondale and that’s Jace, and well, maybe Kit) is different. Julian doesn’t know in which way since he seemed his age, but he talked differently, carefully chose his words, and looked like a fish out of water despite looking like he belonged.
Most Shadowhunters he knew wouldn’t bother with the formal attire as it was finicky and prone to getting dirty on unplanned demon attacks.
Whatever it was, Julian will keep an eye on him, because you can never be too cautious until it stabs you right in the back.
He looked down to see Ty already staring up at him, eyes trying to penetrate the friendly mask he had put on for the other shadowhunter, but Julian was already steering them away from James, who seems to have his own personal things to deal with.
“Have you seen anyone else?” He asked Livvy.
The younger girl nodded, although hesitantly. “We were with Emma and Cristina before we ran off.”
Then that means—he nearly stumbled when Emma threw herself at him and it was strange. Seeing as the last time he had seen her, she had been busy lying to his face and shattering his heart into pieces. Almost like she realized herself, she pried herself off of him and directed her attention towards the kids like she hadn’t hugged him to begin with.
It should’ve hurt, it should hurt, but this was Emma. He couldn’t have hated her even if he tried. Julian knew she was hiding something from him. She wouldn’t say it though, but whatever it was made her try and dump Julian behind as if that would ever work.
“Do you know what’s going on here?”
Julian shook his head. It frustrated him that he couldn’t figure this out like he could with other things, and there was an answer, but whatever it was was one yet to be revealed.
He saw Diana creep into the corner of his vision, followed by Mark and… Helen?
—
She didn’t look like the Cordelia he had kissed on the sofa, minutes before Grace had come knocking. This Cordelia didn’t look battle worn, if anything she looked like when she first arrived in London, bright-eyed and weak in the legs.
“Oh thank the angel,” came his parabatai’s voice and all the feelings he’d pushed down for the moment were slowly bubbling their way back to the surface. “Jamie, you didn’t disappear on us.”
His gaze switched from Cordelia to Matthew, to the other bodies that were slowly coming into view. “Where would I have gone?”
Matthew shrugged, his eyes were hazy up close, still bright, and that only meant one thing. He had been drinking before he was brought here. His hair was a bit damp and if James were to sneak a look at Thomas he’d see the same, and that only meant one thing. Everything they had gone through the past few months, only James would remember because he was the only one out of all of them to live through it. It meant that Matthew didn’t know that he knew about his feelings for Cordelia, that he would soon be running off with her to Paris. That his anger he harbored towards the two of them would be pointless because they didn’t know.
So James straightened his spine and slipped on a smile. “At least we’re all here, this day has been strange.”
“You think?” Thomas ran a hand through his still wet hair. “One minute we’re at the tavern and the next we’re here.”
“This better not be some demon’s trick.” James grimaced.
“A hallucination maybe?” Cordelia added, the first words she’s spoken since he’s seen her, and maybe just because he could, he reached out to hold her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.
She stiffened in surprise, but didn’t pull away and squeezed back. He also didn’t fail to notice Matthew tracking the movement, eyes latched on his right wrist, his bare wrist.
His parabatai didn’t say anything as Christopher spoke. “Whatever it is, it’s very fascinating…” his voice began to trail off in James’ head and soon they were walking.
He let his hand slip from Cordelia’s and trailed after the rest of his friends slowly.
“Did you finally take it off?” He murmured quietly when he noticed James hang back.
James remembered the burning, the shock of it all when the bracelet finally broke, when he felt free.
I wish I could’ve.
“I don’t think I’ve ever loved Grace at all.” He found himself saying and it was a sad thing. It wasn’t pity for the love he could’ve had, it was anger for the one he wanted with Cordelia.
Like clockwork, Matthew’s eyes sharpened. “What do you mean by that?”
“We have a lot to discuss,” he nearly crashed into Christopher, who halted to a stop, if it weren’t for Matthew’s hand pulling him back, “but it looks like we won’t have time.”
James found his hands reaching to rest on top of his throwing knives, the rest of his friends doing the same as they scanned the room.
He recognized Julian and his siblings, but the other six were unfamiliar to him, which was a given seeing as he hadn’t run into them. There was another group of four consisting of two red-headed women, a young boy with glasses, and a tall ragged looking man, who kept their distance from another group, who were eyeing them funnily, Magnus Bane who stood by himself, away from the crowd. Then came the oddities.
James knows what his parents look like, he’s seen them almost every day, but he didn’t think it’d shock him more to see them younger and fresh-faced and not hopelessly in love. All of them really. To see Christopher’s parents apart instead of fused to each other’s sides, Thomas’ not even acknowledging one another, to see Matthew’s parents unburdened by responsibility and tragedy, and Jessamine as a breathing being—it was almost too much that he forgot about one person.
Uncle Jem, whose hair and eyes were silver. He looked so young and human compared to the Silent Brother he’s spent most of his life with. He wasn’t the only one shocked in their group, everyone felt it. It felt like he shouldn't have bare witness to such a scene, like it should’ve stayed sealed off as a point long before he came into the world.
He stepped around Christopher who looked frozen in place.
“Math,” he said. “You’re seeing this as well?”
His parabatai’s words were soft, quiet, awed . “They’re so young .”
They were maybe too distracted with their parents’ counterparts that they didn’t notice the others from their time until James nearly jumped out of his skin as a slender petite girl whose hair was a dead giveaway to her identity, latched onto his arm.
“Oh thank god you’re here.”
What’s with people thinking I will disappear?
James glanced over her head, spotting Alastair and Charles, Ariadne and Anna, and… was that Jesse? He hadn’t classified his battle with Belial as the other, seeing as it wasn’t the Blackthorn boy to begin with, but it was a little odd to see him walking and alive without his grandfather possessing him as a vessel. James didn’t put much thought into it as the situation was already strange for their standards, and they walked amongst the fey, warlocks, vampires, and werewolves, nothing’s really that strange anymore.
That being said, he’d be a fool to not notice the questioning looks from his friends as he pried Grace off of him and relinquished a step to feel Matthew’s hand on his back.
Grace looked confused as to why James had refused her advance and as similar to how Matthew had glanced earlier, she tried to get a glimpse at his wrist, looking for her gift.
“Where is your bracelet?” The question drew a lot of gazes, by a lot, he means the whole room. Nothing more scandalous than strangers getting a full view of your business being aired out in the open.
Grace reached out for his hand and James let her, even when he felt Matthew fist his shirt tight in warning. If she wanted to see for herself, she could, but that’s all James would let her do as she pulled the cuff of his shirt up to see a faded ring of red where the silver should’ve been.
“What happened?” He felt her fingers tremble, like she was afraid of the consequences, and she would. Grace hadn’t had enough of being Tatiana’s blade yet, but James still loathed her for all the things she did—what she will do.
“It broke,” he answered curtly and maybe with a bit of derision.
He heard Matthew stifle a laugh as James slipped his wrist from her hold. “Are you done now, Ms. Blackthorn?”
“Blackthorn?” echoed Julian’s voice across the room and well, it was all going to come ahead eventually, yet James just had to let things slip just a bit too early.
“A better question is,” James’ eyes flicked over to the young red-haired girl, “Who are you all?”
“Clary,” said the unfamiliar boy with glasses, “who are you talking to?”
It's with those words that causes nearly everyone to freeze.
“A mundane?” James’ breath stuttered in his chest when he saw the tall and wiry boy step out from behind his mother. He looked so much like his father that it felt uncanny to even look at him.
James couldn’t help it.
He swore in Welsh.
Loud.
And commence the chaos.