The Mortal Instruments: City of Glass - What could have been

Chapter 1

The only thing Idris was missing was coffee. Clarissa Morgenstern had visited a lot of places around the world and they all had coffee. Idris was the only exception. It was a beautiful place with flowers and plants that only could be found in the meadows of Idris. The weather never seemed to go from the steady sun to dark clouds and rain. The whole country was powered by witchlight – a natural angelic light and power source. Clarissa loved all of the things about it, except the lack of black, caffeinated drinks that just happened to help her function. Idris was the home country of the Nephilim. It's where the angel Raziel rose from Lake Lyn and gave his blood to Jonathan Shadowhunter, the blood that would give him his angelic powers. The powers that now all his decedents possess, that helped them on their mission against demons. Clarissa was one of the Nephilim, one of the shadowhunters.

With a book on Nephilim history propped up in front of her Clarissa read. Trying to focus on the words on the page but failing. She blamed the lack of coffee. Instead she sat with her steal – the tool that were used to create marks that gave the shadowhunters their powers. They called them runes. The mundane Clarissa had met in her life said they looked like tattoos – and drew the rune for fire on pieces of papers from her notebook, turning them to ashes.

"You are creating a mess." Clarissa's father stood in the doorway. It was a small room, her bedroom. Pale, simple colors painted the walls and the only furniture was her bed, made with white silk sheets, her desk, towered with books, mostly ones given to her from her father for her to study, and a small dresser. His father moved from the doorway and stood instead in front of her. "If you cannot put your focus into reading a simple book", he sounded calm, but Clarissa new better, "how do you suspect me to believe you can focus in battle."

"I can assure you father, in battle my focus is at its peak." She gave her father a serious and grown-up – at least she tried to look grown-up – face. "It's only, I have already read this book and–" He cut her off. With the cool leaving his voice and features he snapped: "Excuses!" Even though panic rose in Clarissa she forced her face not to show it. "You know I hate excuses, Clarissa, especially the pathetic ones."

"I know, father, I apologies," Her father's features softened. She felt her heart slow, even though she hadn't noticed her heartrate go up. "And if you'll excuse me asking, I thought you would be spending the next couple of days in London." Her father smiled now.

"First of all, that was not a question. Second of all, I did say that. Change of plans, that's all." She took her arm and sat her down on the bed, sitting himself next to her. "I came back here to ask you of something." This surprised Clarissa. Her father was a proud man and often went for commanding instead of asking. "Your brother, he's going on a mission, in Alicante." Clarissa new all this. Her father had fought the residents of the New York institute and the members of the conclave. He had gotten what he wanted, as he always did, two of the mortal instruments: The mortal cup and the mortal sword. Now he needed the third and last of the instruments. The only problem is, no one knows where it is. Only that it is a mirror. When the angel Raziel gave Jonathan Shadowhunters his blood, he also gave him a golden cup made of adams giving the power of the Nephilim to everyone drinking from it, and a sword that drags the truth out of the one holding it. The two mortal instruments are painted in every history book Clarissa have ever read. It's always the same picture. Raziel raising from Lake Lyn, in one hand he held the sword, the other held the cup. The mirror where never painted.

"I would like you to go with him."

With one last glance around the room Clarissa was ready to go. She had lived a life on the go. Never settled in on specific place. She and her father had the small house at the edge of Idris and even though her stays here where few, it was the only place she could call a home. Her bags where packet, mostly with clothes, all black – the unofficial color of the Shadowhunters – and some paint, brushes and her pencil and sketching pad. She loved to draw and paint and let her hands explore different techniques. It was also the only thing her father had let her do – and eventually encourage – that was simply for pleasure. She also had weapons and some hygiene products and makeup. Her father had explained the plan the other day. Her brother, Jonathan, was going to take the identity of some Shadowhunter boy, she couldn't remember the name, and then he was going to stay in Alicante with the boy's family. Clarissa did not think that made any sense but her father promised they had everything under control. After the fight her father had had in New York, the Clave – the active political body of the shadowhunters – had summand most of the active Shadowhunters for a meeting in Idris capital, Alicante.

Clarissa was going to pretend to be one of the Branwells. Her father had made sure only one of the children was going to Alicante. The oldest of their children. One that she shared a name with. Clarissa Branwell. They shared the same roots in ancestors so they shared not only a first name but also some of their features. The red hair, the green eyes, they had the same pale, freckled skin Clarissa had always hated. Her father had every detail figured out; the kidnapping of the real Clarissa Branwell, how to fool the residence of the house she was staying at, everything. She was staying at the Penhallow manor, as was Jonathan. She was coming as his guest. Her father had told that it would be believable since the two families had been friends for years. She had no choice but believe him.

Zipping close the bags she carried them out of her room and into the hallway. Her father stood in front of the door, fully dressed in shadowhunter gear. Black clothes in tough material made to protect them in battle as much as possible.

"Are you ready, Clarissa?" One wall was covered in runes. Not angelic runes Shadowhunters used. These where from a warlock. Warlocks where downworlders. So was vampires, werewolves and fairies. Warlocks are the creations of demons mating with humans. They live forever, just as vampires, and for the right price, they will do everything you ask. They had hired on to create a portal that could take her to her brother. He was in France. Where he was taking care of the poor boy whose identity was going to be taken from him. Clarissa was nervous. She vent on missions all the time but this was different. It was bigger. And she was getting to meet her brother again. They hadn't seen each other since she was four. She was sixteen now. Jonathan was eighteen. She had no idea what he would be like, if they would get along. It was nerve racking thinking working with someone else, she was always going solo. And if everything her father had said was true he was going to be extraordinary. The perfect fighter. She knew it was ridicules but she feared he would outshine her completely.

"Did you not hear me? I asked if you were ready." Her father sounded annoyed, not angry but she knew she'd better answer him.

"I'm ready, father" They hugged. A quick brief hug goodbye. He moved out of her way and she went to the portal.

France was cold. Why Jonathan couldn't come to Idris instead of her coming here she didn't understand. Clarissa had ended up in an alleyway. She only wore a thin black leather jacket over a tank top and skinny jeans. She walked out of the alley and came out in a big street full of traffic. The wind blew her red curls in her face. Was she really in the right place? People walked on the street in front of her and she heard French conversations so at least she was in the right country.

"Bonjour, sœur!" She understood the words. French was one of the five languages, besides Romanian, Latin, Italian, and English, that her father had taught her. Good day, sister! Turning around she saw him. He looked a lot like she remembered, only bigger. More grown-up. His face was more sculptured, his shoulders broader. Pale, perfect skin and the same silvery hair.

"Jonathan." Swallowing hard, she took him in. She looked like a god, she thought. How was it he got the length, the smooth, flawless skin and the cheekbones, and she got the freckles and the even in her heals that added four inches she barely reach his shoulders. Most times she didn't mind being short but in fights she had to work harder because of it.

"Who's Jonathan?" He smiled playfully and at her puzzled look it only grew. "I'm Sebastian" He reached out his hand for her to shake. She took it. "Sebastian Vervlac.

"Oh. In that case. Clarissa. Clarissa Branwell." Now she was smiling, too.

"Nice to meet you Clarissa Branwell."

Jonathan – who, in attempt to get into character, only answered to Sebastian – took her back at the hotel he was staying at. He left her alone while he went to the bathroom to get ready. When he came back, he looked like a completely different person. He had colored his hair. Instead of blond it was now a very dark brown, almost black.

"Does it look okay?"

"Eh, yeah... What?" He looked pleased, like he liked shocking her.

"Sebastian is not a blondie. So, does it look natural?" Clarissa stood up from the sofa she sat on and walked up to him. Inspecting him she grabbed his head from the back and ruffled his hair.'

"It looks fine." She said eventually. "It will look natural for everybody who hasn't seen you blond." After getting the okay from Clarissa he gathered his things in a bag and left it by the door that led to the hotel corridor. He offered to get her something to eat or drink but after declining and insisting she did not need anything, they left for Alicante.