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The mortal mirror was Lake Lyn.
It wasn’t a normal lake, no matter how Jace tried to convince her otherwise. Clary knew it the moment she submerged in the depths; floating in space and time. At this moment, nothing mattered, so she opened her mouth and took a breath. Muscles more relaxed than they have been in months, the pain seemed to drift away; taking her along with it. Sunk under hundreds of pounds and with the weight of her outfitted leather, Clary has never felt so light. Letting the moment wash over her, time became a distant concept against the lullaby of the mulling mummers. Though, before her eyes, she blinked heavily to reveal a mirage. The Soul Sword glided through the water as if possessed, moving towards her with the whisper of death her only warning. It didn’t feel like a coincidence when Jace gripped her waist tightly and launched them towards the surface.
He has saved her before, from Shax demons out for blood, and wild wolves with vendettas forged longer than she's been alive. She knows she owes Jace more than she knows how to give, more than she has. So when they breach the surface, Clary coughing up a mouthful of water, she can’t understand why all she can feel is disdain.
—
It was a trap.
Clary sprinted through the treeline, carrying nothing but her stele against her thigh and a dagger in hand. She nearly trips over an overexposed root as she jumps out into the clearing, Jace hot on her trail.
Then she sees the angel, Raziel.
It's like looking into the eyes of her mother again, so bright and full of love. She feels Jace’s hands gripping her forearms steady before she realizes she has swayed backwards. As she lets the shock ease away, Clary looks back towards Jace. He seems to be having the same reaction, breathing shallowly against her neck as he squeezes his grip like she's his last lifeline.
“Clary?”
Given the circumstances, she might as well be.
Clary reaches up to grab his hand, for anything to keep them close. It has been so long since she’s got to see him this open in his awe, like he used to look at her. They’ve lost so much time to her father–time she knows will not be wasted again. Not when they finally have the chance too–
“Great angel of heaven! I have called upon you in these dire moments of weakness to grant this vile world the salvation it seeks! The shadow world calls out for your judgment! Let these weak souls find the path to our greatness!!”
It never seems to be their time.
—
“Jace.”
The name comes out like a whisper from her mouth with no air left to give. Stuck lodged firmly in her chest, coiling tight with her anxiety.
Jace…he had been fighting Valentine.
“Jace.”
Breath catching violently, she lets it escape her in a sob that hurts her more than her broken wrist. The seconds seem to slow down the longer her voice rings out without a familiar cocky reply to tell her it was okay.
Jace had been fighting Valentine. They had the upper hand, with Clary fighting alongside him. They have done this a dozen times before. It has always been fine. Jace had to be fine–
“Jace!”
–Right?
—
Standing before Raziel covered in her own fathers blood, she can’t help but wonder, ‘Is my blood still pure enough to summon you?’
“Clary Fairchild.”
Clary looks up through glazed over eyes. This ethereal entity, older than the world itself, is looking back at her. It should feel calming to stare into its eyes, so wise and all knowing.
She wishes it was Jace staring back.
“I can be compelled by one wish from the shadow world. Do you wish to honor your late fathers will?”
The angel looks at her as if addressing a child. Chastising in the way it stands overhead, looking down with disinterest. Like she is inconveniencing it with their fighting.
Suddenly, Clary is angry.
“My father was a madman! He wished for the death of the entire downworld–innocent people-just because of their blood! My father slaughtered thousands for–for nothing!”
Pausing for breath, the angel just continued to watch on. Nothing to say. Just a silent bystander to the world's demise.
“Where were you?” Clary let out in a whisper, eyes sharply locked onto the angel with more scorn then she showed her own father.
“I am an angel. We do not interfere in the mortal world.”
It might have been the callousness in its tone, how unsympathetic it is in the face of all her grief. It could have been the fact that she knows this could have been avoided. Or maybe it was the fact that the man she had loved more than any other was now lying dead in a forgotten field god knows how far from home and–
“How can you say that?! How can you stand there like none of this is your responsibility?! What the hell is the point of angels if they are too stuck up in heaven to do any good?!”
She furiously wiped away her tears on the back of her sleeve. The strong smell of copper assaulting her nose has her looking down at her bloodied hands. She's not sure if it's Valentine’s or Jace’s, and that's–that's just–It all happened so fast. Jace was supposed to be here. He always knew what to do, god, why did she always lose everyone she loved? Why did–
“We are not responsible for the actions that take place in your realm. It is not our responsibility to stop every war your kind starts against each other. You will come to learn this in time, young Fairchild, that responsibilities span far greater than your juvenile mind could comprehend.”
“What the hell are you saying? That what–that we don’t matter?”
Clary held her breath and waited, willing the heavens for one small mercy.
“In the greater world, no.”
She has never felt so small–so afraid and alone. Standing before a greater being, one that was supposed to be caring and vigil, she just feels foolish. Suddenly everything she had ever thought was a lie. Her prayers were pointless because no one cared.
So Clary does the only thing she could possibly do right now.
Standing on shaky legs, she gives the angel a final glance before walking back over to Jace. His lifeless stare provides more comfort than she has ever known, not since her mom. Falling to her knees, she presses her forehead against Jace’s and just breaths. She doesn’t know how to do anything else anymore.
“I have been summoned from the heavens, child. I can be compelled for one wish. Do you–”
“I compel you to get the hell out of here!”
Not bothering to lift her head, she shrieks with every last bit of resilience she has left, voice cracking in her urgency. Collapsing further into Jace with a sob, she clings with one hand gripping his jacket–where he had been stabbed–and the other gently stroking through soft strands.
“Child–”
The voice speaks up suddenly tentatively, but Clary has no regard for pleasantries at this moment, angel or otherwise.
“I told you to get the fuck out of here! What do you even care, huh? We’re all just worthless anyway, right? Just flawed beings waiting to die or to kill each other out of spite. So why the hell bother?”
It feels final, somehow. Like she is letting go of a piece of herself that holds onto some form of security. She feels cold in this revelation, but has no idea how she can possibly feel anything else.
Clary doesn’t see the angel leave, but when the shadows take over Jace's face, she knows it has.
It’s fitting in a way, Jace would have laughed.