Read this to find out what originally happened in chapter one of City Of Glass after Clary's conversation with Magnus. As would you. Clary lay on her back, staring sleeplessly up at the
ceiling of Luke’s spare room. She had no idea what Magnus might have
meant by that. Her gift was for runes, and she didn’t see how that
would help in her current situation. Besides, her ability was still
fairly uncontrolled — she shivered a little, thinking about the way
she’d destroyed Valentine’s ship, leaving nothing but layers of ash
and torn slabs of metal floating on top of the gray waters of the East
River. She hadn’t even meant to do it, not really …
She turned on her side, wrapping her arms around herself. She hadn’t
even bothered to change into her pajamas when she’d gotten back to
Luke’s; she’d just thrown herself on her bed, fully dressed. Luke had
been waiting for her on the sofa with a bag of takeout Chinese and
that “Let’s Talk” expression that parents always got when you really
didn’t want to talk. She’d turned down the food and the conversation
in favor of lying on the pullout bed in the spare room and staring dry-
eyed at the wall. She couldn’t even cry any more. She’d cried herself
out. Now she just felt empty and furious, conscious of a desire to
smash things with her bare hands to let her fury out. Except that
smashing Luke’s stuff wouldn’t really make her feel better. If only
she had some of Jace’s things. Smashing those might help.
She sat up. She did have a t-shirt he’d lent her once, she thought.
Maybe ripping it seam from seam would relieve her feelings. Her duffel
bag was in the closet; she dragged it out and knelt down to sift
through the contents. It was weird, she reflected, living out of a bag
for all this time; she supposed she might as well unpack, hang her
stuff up in Luke’s closet, but that would feel so permanent…
She tossed aside a bookmarked copy of Angel Sanctuary with a frown. It
had once been one of her favorites, but since it was a manga about a
brother who was in love with his sister, it probably wasn’t the right
reading material these days. Underneath it was her drawing pad, open
to a picture she’d drawn of Madam Dorothea’s tarot card, the Ace of
Cups.
Frowning, she picked up the pad and gazed down at the sketch. She
hadn’t colored it yet, but she thought she’d caught the energy of the
drawing, the hand gripping the stem of the cup so tightly the knuckles
seemed to bulge. She remembered the way the drawing had rippled and
changed under her hand as she’d looked at it, the Cup changing from a
painted representation to the real thing…
She sat up straight, her heart suddenly pounding. What her mother had
done — trapping the image of something real inside a drawing — it
wasn’t something Clary had ever done, but it was certainly close.
Clearly, the gift she had, of drawing and of runes, was derived from
her mother. If her mother could trap reality in a drawing, than
couldn’t there be a way…?
Clary stood up, dropping the sketchpad onto her bed, and began a mad
hunt for her stele. She found it finally, under a scarf casually
tossed on top of her nightstand. She wondered vaguely if perhaps real
Shadowhunters treated their steles with more respect — if Jace was
here she’d probably get a lecture — but the thought passed out of her
mind as soon as she lifted the stele and realized it was vibrating, as
if it could sense her excitement.
Tightening her grip on it, she turned to face the wall. Luke had never
really decorated this room, and the wall was bare except for a Chinese
fan pinned up in a corner. The pale blue paint was peeling slightly.
She tightened her grip on the stele and it vibrated harder. Steady on,
she told herself. If she was going to do this, she had to be very
careful. She remembered the shudder Valentine’s ship had given as it
wrenched itself apart, depositing everyone on it into freezing water.
Control, she thought. That’s the key here. Control . . .
-Emma
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