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Chapter Text

Ever since she was a kid, Isabelle Lightwood had always been astutely perceptive. It is somewhat a side effect from Shadowhunters' training, yes, but it is also the cause of having a too standoffish older brother who had absolutely no idea in self-preservation and dealing with emotions while figuring out his sexual orientation. And oh, being observant around Jace was just merely instinctual. The blond got in way too much trouble than he's worth so she had to immediately distinguish between the i-got-this look and the I'm-just-being-cocky-please-cover-for-me-i-don't-want-detention look within seconds before mother jumped right to the conclusion.

So yeah, Alec can say he is pretty hopeless in concealing anything from his baby sister. She even found out he was gay before Alec himself did.

However, there is still this one thing that she never noticed. Never.

Two birthmarks in the exact shape of two feathers heading in opposite directions lay right in the place of Alec's shoulder blades which get bigger and more defined along with the rest of Alec’s body seem to have slipped his sister's notice. As well as the constant pain in his back throughout childhood. Or after that one night, Alec went out without telling anyone and came back with blood-stained on the back of his shirt, the birthmarks on his skin now looked like an intricate and weirdly detailed tattoo. Not to mention the monthly visit to the City of Bones for the treatment on his back was suddenly redundant.

Like growing a pair of wings from your birthmarks is not a big deal at all.

Nevertheless, Alec is glad no one knows about his little wingy secret. Ever since that night when he snuck out to an abandoned warehouse full of acromantulas and got out with barely a scratch on his body, he can practically feel the angelic magic beneath his skin strengthening, humming alongside his own heartbeat. His sighting got significantly better (noticing Izzy's another new brown eyeshadows colour from a good few feet afar in a very ungodly hour to be awake was simply considered impossible, but somehow he managed it and received a toothy smile from Izzy and an astounded look from Jace). He had once beaten Jace while forgetting to use his strength and stamina runes. His arrows had never missed any targets. And – it got even scarier – he could heal at the speed of using an iratze without actually activating one. It felt like he was cheating on nature, and his siblings, by growing wings.

Alec did go to the City of Bones and talk to Brother Jeremiah about the wings for precautions, but the Silent Brother just shrugged it off. It was the last time he had to visit the Silent City for the said matter.

Mother said the pain was an anchor holding him back, and to some certain extent, she was right.

After a while of figuring out things he can do with his wings, Alec admits having wings comes with a lot of advantages. The first interesting thing he figured out was how to magically conjure up feathers with ease. Sounds like the most random thing to do, but each feather actually holds a fragment of Alec's magic. When they are detached they can leave a magic trail wherever they go and allow Alec to feel the feathers' surroundings for at least a fortnight in good condition. He usually uses his feathers for tracking purposes. Tracking his parabatai is no big deal, of course, but Izzy is a whole different story. His little sister has always had a thing for Downworlders – especially Seelies. Sometimes, when she’d just had a heated argument with mother, she would sneak out to one of her Seelie friends. The worst thing was she never brought her phone or even left a message for Alec. One time, Izzy had not come home for a week, and it freaked the hell out of him. Normal Shadowhunter tracking wouldn’t reach the Seelie realm, but he tried to concentrate and found out one of his feathers had somehow slipped into Izzy’s pocket. After sensing that his sister was fine and healthy with the fair folks, he mentally noted himself to give his little sister a proper speech when she came back.

Another unachievable thing Alec is capable of, is sending out electricity. Or in other words, angelic magic waves. At first, it was just a smidge of angelic energy, constantly slipping out from his fingertips to his arrows and causing any demons turning into clouds of dust. It was somewhat normal, until one day he was having an argument with Jace. They fought, and after one grip of his hand on Jace’s bicep, Jace jolted and yelped. The bruise on Jace’s arm looked suspiciously like a burn.

They all agreed it was the friction of their shirts that caused too heated electricity.

Every now and then Alec would sneak out of his bedroom, standing on the rooftop of the Institute to stretch out his wings, white, pristine and shimmering in a blue-ish hue under the moonlight, and – after putting an extra glamour on the wings – he throws himself into the sky. Alec has never had any trouble controlling his wings, they feel just like his arms, legs, or any other parts of his body. Letting himself free from all the pressure the wings put on his back is his favourite way to release all the stress he got from work, from his duty to uphold the Lightwood name. The wings lead him around the streets and buildings, feeling the wind swirl around his feathers, relishing the quiet night of New York City, letting all the natural magic sink into the core of his soul. Those nights are the only moments he can be himself – not the Alexander Gideon Lightwood, heir of the Lightwood legacy, the oldest son of one of the most respectable families among Shadowhunters – but rather be Alec, just Alec. No Shadowhunters diplomacy, no mother breathing “Lightwoods have to follow the rules” and “It’s your duty” down his neck, no reckless baby sister and ignorant parabatai to cover, no—

Just Alec.

#######

Magnus is so not expecting this.

He thought tonight would be just another ordinary boring full-moon night, with him having a way-too-late-to-be-called-dinner at his balcony, a meal of martini and steak can never go wrong in a full moon. Just a night to relax, to swim in the delicate moonlight, to enjoy himself and temporarily forget about the Circle, Valentine or well – sometimes Camille, when he accidentally picked up some random things that remind him of the most horrific phase of his very long life.

Sensing a goddamned Angel right above his ward is not at all how he wanted to spend this lovely night.

He immediately looks up, eyes squinting. Definitely, something is flying out there, under a thick and opaque layer of glamour, something that has an awfully close feel of magic to an Angel. Not one, though, as if the realisation helps anything. The angelic magic is too strong and ancient to be a Shadowhunter, but still not enough for an Angel. Then what could it be? He conjures up more of his magic, the glamour of his own eyes drops to have a clearer image of whatever that is.

A flash of wings catches his eyes. Beautiful, untarnished, pristinely white with just the faintest hint of a blue hue.

He blinks.

Huh.

The - thing - is nowhere in sight again.

Chapter Text

“Isabelle, let’s go,” calls Alec, his voice carries an unmistakable exasperation. It’s just a mission, why does she have to spend nearly three hours doing make-up and choosing an outfit? It’s not like the shapeshifter is going to notice anyone’s appearance, there is the glamour rune for that.

“Hey there, big bro.” Alec looks at his sister, with an outfit that clearly shows an unnecessary amount of her skin. A quick glance at the wig on her hand and he has to summon every single strand of self-restraint within him to not roll his eyes.

“Really?”

“What can I say… Demons dig blondes.” A playful smirk playing at the edge of her mouth. Well, Alec’s sure demons are not the only ones who would appreciate his sister dressing like that.

“Of course they do,” he retorts, “but that’s white. And we already have a natural blond waiting for us.”

“Platinum. And they don’t exactly like Shakespear, okay, Alec? It has to be a bit off-blonde. Looking at Jace’s hair when he uses too much hair wax would likely burn their eyes off,” She sighs, it’s not like she hasn’t warned Jace when he bought that extra shiny hair wax. Now he looks like a walking lamp in the Institute.

“You’re plenty distracting on your own.”

“So be yourself? Is that what you’re trying to say?” and a woosh, he is right in Izzy’s trap. Curse his little sister and her ability to bring up everything he doesn’t want to think about.

“Nice choice, Izzy. Demons dig blondes,” Jace greets, before returning to the screen to locate their target and giving them a brief summary of the case. Apparently, the shapeshifter is killing mundanes and draining their blood. Which, in Alec’s opinion, makes absolutely no sense. What could be special about mundane blood?

“We’ll have more answers when we figure out exactly who the demons are working for,” said Jace, handing him and Izzy their seraph blade.

“So you don’t think they’re acting on their own?” Izzy inquires, earning a sharp “no” from the blond.

“They’re not exactly creative thinkers,” Alec says, automatically finishing his parabatai’s sentence, “they’re shapeshifters.”

“This,” Jace points at the screen, an image of a middle-aged man appears, “is what our target looks like.”

“For now.” Izzy intones.

“Great,” Alec pulls out his phone, “I’ll get approval for the mission.”

“Come on Alec, by the time you’ve sent that message we’ve killed six demons.” Oh, Alec mentally rolls his eyes, by the time you finished the mission I’ve already been criticised for my people not following the rules. He pressed ‘send’, the approval will arrive during the mission anyway.

“Besides, it’s more fun to break the rules, than to follow them.” Izzy snickers by his side.

Alec sighs in defeat.

############

It seems like tonight is one of the busy nights in Pandemonium. The sun has just disappeared behind the horizon, yet the street gets significantly more crowded. The more people on the street, the fewer people are going to notice two people look exactly identical to each other. Their shapeshifter friend has effectively used that to its advantages, though a certain tall man standing in front of the fruit stall may have slipped its notice. Alec carefully trails behind the demon, eyes holding an alarming gaze. The shapeshifter in disguise may have sensed the danger from behind, as the middle-aged man turns around. Alec promptly jumps up to a rooftop, mentally reminds himself to remember using the strength rune next time when there are other people around. Even after a good 8 years, he’s not ready for anyone to know about the presence of the wings as well as his new powers, and having the power of the runes themselves can be very easy to abuse the conveniences.

By the time they reach the Pandemonium’s entrance, the shapeshifter has transformed into a woman. Alec doesn’t miss a beat, immediately follows the woman inside. But then, a tug by his side stops him from going in.

“What is this, Iz?” he sighs, genuinely hoping the reason she interrupts their mission is not related to her wanting to introduce him with another guy. Dealing with his may-or-may-not-be brotherly feelings for Jace is quite enough already, thank you very much.

“Look who Jace is talking to,” she grins, “Oof, he fell hard.”

They both look in Jace's direction, only to spot a redhead mundane standing in front of Jace. The girl seems confused somehow. Meanwhile, Izzy just arches an eyebrow at him.

Oh.

There are no runes on her body – Alec’s eyes widen – and his angelic magic can tell there is not a shred of demon blood in her vain.

Then how the hell can she see Jace?

Alec subconsciously furrows his eyebrows, an alarm immediately howls in his mind. If she was a Shadowhunter, then why did she have no runes whatsoever on her skin? If she wasn’t a Shadowhunter—

Alec mentally stops himself from deducing any further.

As Jace approaches them, seemingly after throwing some kind of mental bomb to the redhead, they continue searching for the shapeshifter. Luckily, the woman is just a few feet ahead of them, the perfect distance for stalking someone from behind.

“Soooo… who was that girl, hum?” Izzy tries to keep her voice as clear as possible for Jace to hear among the deafening sound of music on the dance floor.

“No one in particular.” Jace nonchalantly replies, though he may have failed to keep the nonchalance in his mind as Alec feels a warm, fuzzy sensation tingling through their parabatai bond.

Great, Alec scoffs, attracted at first sight then.

“Hah, I can already hear your mind screams ‘girlfriend material’. As if you can conceal anything from me.” Izzy laughs, waiting for the denial that would never come.

“Focus, guys,” reminds Alec, eyes searching for the shapeshifter that is nowhere to be seen, “we lost our demon friend.”

His words immediately bring them back to the mission. They split up, decided that would be a better strategy to find one demon among hundreds of people. Alec wanders to the left side of the club, trying to reduce the number of physical contacts between him and everyone else to a minimum. Which is kind of impossible, considering Pandemonium is the most well-known club among the Shadow World in New York and the night is still young. Alec hopes their target hasn't turned into someone else, otherwise their mission would be nothing but a failure. His hazel eyes cast a quick scan under the blinding blue lights, taking in every little detail of his surroundings.

The blue-haired werewolf seems to have just broken up with her mate, who is standing right at the bar with a new lover in his arms.

A Seelie, possibly a Knight judging by the golden marks curve behind his ears, is already drunk, laughing and giggling uncontrollably among his fellow Seelies.

The group of vampires seems to be taking care of their new fledging as they form a protective crowd around a pale and lithe teenager.

Moving on to the other side—

There it is, Alec thought triumphantly as he spots an oh-so-familiar figure. His pace speeds up, the distance between them is just enough for him to see the demon hands two men in suits (seriously, even Alec knows to not wear a goddamned suit to somewhere like Pandemonium, along with sunglasses) a bottle of some liquid that looks suspiciously like blood.

Mundane blood.

The shapeshifter continues to head to the dance floor. However, Alec decides to end his stalking here, knowing Jace and Izzy are right behind those curtains. Instead, he shifts his focus towards the two men, who have absolutely no clue about choosing an outfit for going undercover at a Downworlders' club. Or hiding their Circle tattoo, for that matter.

He creeps up behind them, muscles tense up when he forces a smidge of magic tingling at his fingertips, preparing for a quick, sudden attack. Two grabs at both of their wrists to send a shred of angelic magic through their veins should be enough to immobilise them in a blink of an eye.

Or he can just paralyse one of them, then bind a feather on the other's soul to track down other Circle members' hideout.

Two birds with one stone. Sounds like a plan then.

"Circle members are not welcome in my club." Alec instantly freezes at the sound. He snaps up, eagerly searching for its source. Standing in front of the Circle members is a man, apparently in his late twenties judging by his appearance, irritation spreads in both his voice and his gaze.

And boy, isn't he pretty.

Dark hair sticks up in a stylish cut. Dark eyeshadows with a tinge of glitter painted at the edge, bringing out those rich chocolate brown eyes. A mischievous smirk curves at the corner of the mouth. Jewelry tangles at the exposed chest. Shiny silks pliantly cover the broad shoulders, moving smoothly with every slightest movement.

The man is mesmerizingly gorgeous.

Then one of the men in front of him must have said something particularly unpleasant, as the warlock – yes, Alec is still able to listen to their conversation to catch that little piece of information, no matter how utterly distracted he is by the prettiest man he has ever seen – reveals his marks, cat eyes pins them in place with unmistakable anger reeling in the golden irises.

That, is definitely undeniably the utmost beautiful thing Alec has ever had the luck to stumble across in his life.

It has been minutes, or maybe seconds, or perhaps centuries – hell, even time doesn't matter anymore – since Alec freezes on his feet, hypnotized by the sight of the warlock he barely knows. The way those golden cat eyes shine like marbles, the intimidating voice that can somehow stay oh-so-gentle, the vigorous demonic magic swirling in the air to show just how dangerously stupid it is to displease the warlock.

Alec has to suppress his own magic from singing out loud.

Only when the warlock dismisses the two Circle members does Alec drag himself back to consciousness. Although he is terrified to have any kind of interactions with the dazzling warlock, there is no way he’s going to let their first lead escape that easily. He squeezes the blond man from behind, immediately kicks the man’s right knee joint, forcing him to get down on his knees as he sends just the barest shot of angelic energy.

As the blond man screams in agony and crumbles on the floor, Alec swings around to catch the punch that was directed to his face, twisting it until a loud crack emits from the other Circle member’s wrist. The man’s face scrunches up in pain when Alec’s grab strengthens, his free arm reaching to the man’s pocket to clutch the glass bottle, and then simultaneously ties a tiny feather to the man's soul.

Alec gives him a kick and lets go of the man’s hand, the glare in his eyes sends a chill running down the Circle member’s spine as he realises the message.

Run, Alec’s scowl would say, before you already lost those legs to do so.

Another blink of an eye, and the Circle member is gone into the crowd.

“Well, as much as I don’t appreciate you Shadowhunters turning my club into your battle field,” Alec's whole body instantly locks up at the sudden voice behind his back, “I must say that was impressive.”

Chapter Text

The rumour of Valentine’s return has been treated as a common fact among the Downworld, so Magnus would be lying if he said he was surprised when he saw two Circle members in his club, receiving a bottle of red liquid that looks just like Mundane blood from a shapeshifter. What had him taken aback though, is that they chose to wear suits with sunglasses in a Downworlder club.

And oh, a Shadowhunter just appeared out of nowhere and knocked the hell out of them, how about that for surprises?

The Shadowhunter is of the tall sort, dresses in black from tip to toe, the usual outfit for hunting in the night. Beautiful features on his angel face, dark hair, and runes in contrast to his light skin. Eyes shimmer green, or maybe brown, under the flashing lights, holding a predatory gaze. His whole body carries a sense of self-confidence, the sense that says ‘mess with me, and you’ll regret it’, cold like the infinite depth of the ocean. A definitely well-trained Shadowhunter.

The man grabbed the blond Circle member's wrists, a sudden magic wave lingered in the air before sinking in the Circle member’s veins, making him immediately lose consciousness and crumble on the floor.

The same angelic magic Magnus had felt above his ward the day before.

Magnus almost yelled to alert the Shadowhunter to the fist that was going in his face. Although, the warning stayed stuck in his throat as the Shadowhunter turned to his side, instantly catching the punch with one hand. He squeezed and twisted the man’s wrist, and Magnus could practically hear the unspoken threat the Shadowhunter was telling. In just a heartbeat afterwards, the other Circle member fled, bearing a broken wrist and an unaccomplished mission on his way out.

Magnus lets out a huff, only then realising he was holding his own breath the whole time.

“Well, as much as I don’t appreciate you Shadowhunters turning my club into your battlefield,” Magnus isn't even aware he is voicing his thoughts out loud, “I must say that was impressive.”

The Shadowhunter turns around, with a startled look on his face, like he didn’t expect anyone to notice him, much less talk to him.

But really, how in the name of the Devil could Magnus not notice a man that beautiful?

The Nephilim stares at him with those hazel orbs, the menace in them immediately melts into a soft surprise. Curly strands of ink-black hair tangle at his forehead as Magnus tries to resist the urge of brushing them away. Defined cheekbones, lush lips, strong neck accentuated with a curvy rune, and - is that a blush forming on his cheeks? - absolutely adorable.

Tall, dark, handsome, a little dangerous, exactly Magnus’ type.

“Uh, um…” the man stammers, eyes avert shyly away from Magnus’, “Thanks, I guess…” he nervously scratches the back of his head, “And… um… sorry for making a mess in your club, it won’t happen again…”

Magnus suppresses a coo slipping out of his throat. After first-handedly experiencing Nephilim's abhorrence towards Downworlders, he was expecting a more… Shadowhunter-y reply. Something indifferent, callous, offensive even. Saying thank you and apologising to a Downworlder is definitely on Magnus’ list of most Nephilim’s inability.

“You are very welcome, and I do believe it will not happen again on your watch,” he chuckles, “I’m Magnus. I believe we are not formally introduced?”

“Alec,” the man – Alec – smiles bashfully, a genuine glee sparks in his eyes.

“Short for Alexander, I assume? I must admit I like Alexander better,” Magnus inquires, earning a confirming nod from the other man.

“So…” he continues, “care to enlighten me about what you just did?”

“Oh—um… I don’t think I’m allowed to talk about it… C-Clave’s security and all…”

“I mean what you did to the unconscious Circle member there,” his lips quirk up at the sincerity held in Alexander’s voice – should it be another Shadowhunter, Magnus would have already been threatened for sticking his nose in Clave’s business – “I have never seen a Shadowhunter do it, or is that also a Clave’s security precaution?”

“It’s more like… a family trick,” he grins.

“Hum… is that so?” Magnus smiles, letting something coy play at the corner of his mouth, “How about I buy you a drink? And then you continue to tell me how many ‘family tricks’ you have up your sleeve?”

Again, he is awaiting a rejection, as these kinds of… things are heavily frowned upon among Shadowhunters. Magnus has no interest in being a someone’s affair—

The smile stretched out on Alexander’s face seems to rival the sun itself.

But then, before he has the chance to answer Magnus’ request, a small vibrating sound comes out from his pocket. He makes a gesture at Magnus, waiting for him to mouth ‘go ahead’ and pulls out his phone. A frown immediately shows up on his face as he replies to the person on the other line.

“I have to go…” Alexander sighs, sounding as disappointed as Magnus.

“In that case,” a flare of blue sparkles on Magnus’ fingertips. He snaps, a piece of paper magically slips in the nephilim’s chest pocket, “you know how to call me.” He adds with a brazen wink.

Alexander is flushing bright red when he hesitantly turns away. Magnus curiously wonders where he finds the strength to easily carry the paralyzed Circle member on his shoulder. He throws Magnus a nod and then heads to the entrance. Magnus huffs, flinging himself on the couch, having a sip on his martini before his eyes go back to search for the nephilim he just met.

The man is long gone.

Magnus finds himself utterly fascinated.

****************************

Alec can’t believe he just did that.

Talking to a gorgeous stranger, a man, a warlock, no less.

And somehow managing to have his number. Magnus’ number.

Alec gently places his hand on his left chest pocket, feeling his heart thumping like a drum, feeling his chest heaving for air, feeling the rough edge of the piece of paper Magnus just left.

Yeah, there is no way Alec is going to believe all of that.

He forces himself to calm down, regaining his usual irritated expression as he reaches the Institute’s doorstep. He places the unconscious Circle member on the bed behind bars and steps out for the nurse to do his job. Izzy, appearing right in front of him out of nowhere, immediately pulls him in for a hug.

“Alec I was so worried!” she murmurs, “Don’t you ever disappear that long again.”

“It was long?”

“It has been 3 hours since we splitted up. It had never been that long for you to come back. Jace and I took care of the demons in like, 30 minutes. Then I let Jace chase after the mundane girl and went back to the Institute. I thought you were already here! But you weren’t, and you weren’t answering my messages, so I have to wait to call you because I was scared you were gonna be distracted in the middle of a fight,” she pats him on the cheek, “never do that again. Promise.”

“Promise,” he smirks, “now you understand what I felt like when you just go off to the Seelie realm.”

“Yeah, sorry,” mumbles Izzy, “now tell me how did you find a Circle member in Pandemonium dressing like that.”

“There were two, actually. The other escaped, but I did manage to get this out of his pocket,” he holds out a glass bottle, red and full with mundane blood. Izzy beams in delight as she scans the bottle up and down.

“Gosh, you are a genius!”

“I'm not, pretty sure that’s what you are,” Alec chortles, “but hey, it’s already late. Leave this for tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir!” she laughs, quickly turning to the lab to place the bottle in a safe before returning to Alec, wrapping her arm around his. Izzy looks up in his eyes, holding a gaze that clearly delivers the message ‘I found something interestinggg’. Alec gives her a frown.

“What happened now?”

“Jace brought the mundane girl to the Institute,” she snickers, dragging him to the Infirmary.

*************************

There lies a girl, about Izzy’s age, her iconic red hair spreads out over the pillow. Definitely the same girl Jace met outside Pandemonium. Alec approaches closer to the bedside, takes a deep breath, and releases his angelic energy just a little to sense the girl’s blood. Potent Nephilim blood.

“How could she be a Shadowhunter? There is no such thing as a ‘new’ line of Nephilim,” Alec’s frown deepens.

“I said ‘a mundane girl’ and the first thing you say is claiming she’s a Shadowhunter?” Izzy's eyebrow tugs into an amused arch.

“She saw Jace, she looks too healthy to be a vampire, no Seelie marks in sight, obviously she’s not a warlock,” he lies smoothly, trying to not think about a certain warlock at the last word and failing.

“Fair enough,” she huffs, then settles down on the edge of the bed, “Jace brought her here unconscious. He said she was attacked by, well, Circle members.”

How come Circle members just randomly show up like bugs and meddle with everyone’s lives now?

“Valentine is indeed making a come back then,” Alec sighs, seems like tonight is another sleepless night, “I’ll report this to the Clave.” He pulls out his phone, immediately starts typing.

“Hold on there Alec,” Jace waltzes in the room, throwing him a look.

“Already typing,” Alec shrugs.

“Hey, hey!” he yelps, “now here’s a word you never hear me say: please?”

Alec rolls his eyes. Why can’t his parabatai ever let him do his work properly?

“What do you want, Jace?”

“Just give me a minute.”

“To do what?” Alec scoffs, “why am I the only one find this unusual?”

“You find everything unusual, Alec. Dial it down a notch!”

“My brother doesn’t have a dial,” Izzy interrupts, a cheeky grin plays on her face, “I love you, Alec. But you have a switch that’s always on.”

“I love you, too,” Alec’s glare softens for a millisecond, “but this—”

A sharp ‘ouch’ from Izzy immediately cuts him off. Wonderful, the redhead is awake now, and the first thing she does is head-butting Izzy by her forehead. Is this the mundane way to greet new people or what?

“I – I don’t know who you—”

“I’m Isabelle,” she smiles sweetly, not letting the frightened girl finish her sentence and freak out even more, “I’ve never seen Jace so curious about a Mundane…” Izzy passes the blond a playful glare, earning a “really?” in return, “Or distracted. Like you saw earlier distractions are dangerous in our line of work.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” she shakes her head, “Who’s Jace?”

Jace jerks up when he hears his name, eagerly introduces himself, “I’m Jace Wayland.”

“Uh – um - I’m—”

“Clary Fray,” says Jace, receiving a startling look by the girl, “we know who you are.”

“But apparently you don’t know that much, do you?” ah, yes, Alec can recognise the ‘inquiry’ tone anywhere. Good to know there are still people who haven't lost their common sense.

“All I know is some psychos took my mother, and now you people have taken me.” Alec practically feels his sister's urge to roll her eyes.

“And by ‘taken’ I assume you mean ‘saved your life’?” she asks sardonically.

“Where am I? What exactly are you people?”

“You are at the Institute,” he says nonchalantly. The girl snaps back at him, seems to be alarmed by the stone-cold tone of his voice, “And you shouldn’t—”

“—Shouldn’t leave here, until you are fully recovered,” Alec shots him a fatal gaze. Nevertheless, he continues, “Alec, Izzy, can you give me a minute?”

Izzy snickers almost violently, looking back and forth between Jace and the redhead. Meanwhile, Alec decides he is officially done with this mess.

“Okay, fine, whatever,” he grumbles, heading towards the door with his sister.

“We’ll leave you to your lady then,” Izzy throws him a wink, earning a confused look from the girl. Alec feels his parabatai bond humming in a warm sensation. The same feeling Jace had felt for his first girlfriend.

For some unknown reason, he is not as irritated by the feeling as he normally would.

Chapter Text

Alec climbs up to the top of the Institute, relishing the cool wind swirling around him. He closes his eyes, his mind wanders to search for a part of his own: the feather he left inside the other Circle member’s pocket. 

Angelic magic starts shimmering under his skin, following the track of the feather. A mundane house, he sees, all torn apart, blood stained the wooden ground, glass shattered on the floor as a clear result of an unexpected ambush. Every drawer and closet is opened, the furniture scatters all over the floor - the result of a desperate search for something, perhaps? 

The magic leads him out of the house, wandering through streets, dark alleys, buildings, and then settles in somewhere like the wreckage of a construction site in the middle of nowhere. A sudden burning sting runs down his spine, his whole body immediately combusts with flame tingling under his skin. 

Wards , Alec realises, powerful warlock’s wards. 

He tries to punch through the wards, like what he usually did to find Izzy in the Seelie realm. He gradually reaches the aura of a cold body, concrete walls and floor, lights flashing inconsistently from the ceiling. 

The Circle member must be already dead, as there’s no warmth of living magic around. His feather is likely to be lying on the ground, losing its strings of energy to hold on to. 

Alec immediately lets out an agonizing yelp, his birthmarks ignite as if they are actually on fire.

A flare of heat hovers beneath his skin. The pain sinks in his muscles, cutting his flesh piece by piece. 

The feather is literally being burned on the other end.

The heat cools down, as Alec crumbles on the floor, chest heaving heavily for air.

Maybe he should stop doing this for a while.

*************************

The way to his room suddenly feels so long and tiresome. As soon as Alec reaches the doorknob and locks it, he throws himself on the bed, burying his face into the soft pillow. His limbs are still shaking from the last exercise, his head is dizzy and his back is still in pain. He quickly strips off his top, revealing his bareback as a pair of wings thrusting through his skin, gently flapping before settling on the bedsheets. The repressed magic breathes out under his muscles, finally relaxing in the air. Alec stretches out languidly, making just the perfect winged reflection of an enormous cat. 

A piece of paper slips out of his jacket's pocket. A line of numbers in black ink carves on its beige surface.

Magnus. 

Alec's mind immediately gets lost in the memories of the warlock. He remembers his eccentric style, his lean body, his gorgeous face, his mesmerizing cat eyes, the way his magic feels, the honey-sweet voice he used to threaten the two Circle members, how his lips always curved into a smile while flirting with Alec, how he said he liked 'Alexander' better, how—

How Alec can hear his heart beating frantically at the mere thought of Magnus. 

Alec takes out his phone and starts dialing a number.

**************************

Magnus spends the rest of his evening being ridiculously nervous. 

He knows he is hundreds of years old, he knows he has had countless lovers and courtship and romance with all different species and sexualities.

But never with a Shadowhunter. Never, until now, apparently. 

Magnus is honestly surprised with himself, he wonders why he had given the Nephilim his private number after like, barely five sentences exchanged with each other. It was just a spur-of-the-moment impulse, the kind he wasn’t aware of until it was already settled. 

Five hours has passed since the Shadowhunter disappeared into the crowd, and it's been the 57th times he looks at his phone – yes he counts – for a call, a text, anything from Alexander. 

Before he realises it, Magnus has just mentally thrown the 3-day rule out of the window. Let’s just hope that Alexander would do the same thing, for he very much does not want to scare the Shadowhunter off by taking things too fast. 

But well, the Shadowhunter is probably asleep at this hour anyways. He forces himself to be a little bit patient and wait for tomorrow. 

Magnus lounges on the couch, lazily sipping a fizzy turquoise cocktail while he tries to concentrate on something else. Anything else from a certain Shadowhunter, that is. Just anything other than Alexander’s curvy, ink-black hair, or his solid stance in front of the Circle members, all confident and dangerous and threatening. Or his hazel eyes with green and brown streaks tangling with each other; his smile that shone up with pure, innocent glee every moment they interacted. Or how the Shadowhunter turned from an intimidating predator to a blushing and stuttering mess in a heartbeat, proved that he was also as fascinated by the other as Magnus…

Or the strange Angelic magic he felt from the man is identical to the magic he felt on his wards before. But then, Shadowhunters who have 'unnatural gifts' are not unheard of.

What is unheard of among Shadowhunters, however, is a general respect and gratitude towards Downworlders. The kind Alexander had proven to be in possession of through their very brief conversation. 

Alexander, Alexander, Alexander,... Magnus chants the man’s name like a prayer in his head. 

The common name sounds like new music to his ears.

An oh-so-gentle, warm and pleasant something swells up in his chest. A familiar yet at the same time so foreign sensation buries itself in the place that was left empty and abandoned a long time ago, waiting, anticipating for a spark urging it to bloom. 

The one who sowed it in there is a Shadowhunter . The descendant of a whole society that despises Downworlders. Someone could crush his heart at the drop of a hat for the benefit of their own kind. Even the kindest ones.

It terrifies Magnus.

A sudden ring promptly drags him back to reality. He startles, placing his cocktail down the table just a bit too hard for it to let out a loud ‘clunk’. Grabbing his phone, he stares at the words ‘unknown number’ for a tad too long to take a deep breath, calming his heart down and mentally preparing for whatever may come. 

He answers. 

“Um- hey… it’s Alec, Alexander,” a warm greeting fills his ears.

“Hello to you, too,” Magnus keeps his tone as normal as possible, though his heart is stuttering in excitement and the grin on his face is getting ridiculously wide, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I… Uh…” Alexander trails off, then Magnus hears a sharp inhale on the other line, “I-I know there’s a rule about this kind of thing like how many days you should wait to call a complete stranger at Pandemonium but uh… w-what would you feel about lunch? Around twelve tomorrow?”

Magnus lets out a delighted chuckle. Oh, the agitation in his voice. He is really that adorable, isn’t he?

“Was… was it too straight-forward? You can decline, obviously, um, if you want…”

“It’s perfect,” he immediately reassures, avoids scaring the rather skittish Shadowhunter away, “I just happen to know the head chef of a French restaurant downtown. Have you ever heard of Le Petit Château ? A lovely place, good wine, poetic atmosphere. What do you think?”

“It’s been a long time since I ate French food,” the soft vibrating sound of Alexander’s light laugh shouldn’t feel this warm, “I would love that.”

They exchange a few goodbyes and hang up. Magnus lets out a puff and leans back down on the couch, unaware of the fact he literally jumped out of it when he heard his ringtone. Gulping down all of the remaining cocktails in his glass, fingers still fidgeting with his phone as he hears a small ting utters. A text from Alexander’s number. 

Good night.

A warm, velvety feel gently spreads under Magnus’ skin, wraps around his heart like a soft blanket in the mild cold of the spring. It reminds him of something so familiar, something has been long forgotten now comes around the corner, greeting him like an old friend. Yet it breaths in the new air, strange and beautiful and terrifying.

So what if he would be left behind like he had always been, what if he would get out of this with his heart broken all over again…  

Good night, Alexander. 

Tonight is not the night to care about that.

Chapter Text

A deafening ring violently pushes Alec away from his sleep. He grunts, hand reaching out to the phone, mentally suppresses the urge to throw it across the room. No sooner than the obnoxious pip dies away does he sink back in the soft pillow, his wings still on display flapping gently as the Shadowhunter tries to steal some extra seconds in bed.

After 5 minutes of preparing himself to face the new day, Alec fully wakes up, gives his wings the last stretch before letting it submerge under the birthmarks, then deliberately rolls himself out of the warm sheets.

Bits and pieces of yesterday’s memory gradually connect themself in his mind. He recalls the shapeshifter and the Circle members; the dazzling warlock he met at Pandemonium; the tiny redhead girl that Jace seemed to fancy instantly; the burn he felt when his plan backfired, quite literally…

The date he arranged at the very last hours of the day.

By the Angel

Alec asked a male warlock - Magnus - out on a date. After a blink of an eye of knowing each other’s existence.

To be completely honest, Alec hadn’t a clue of what he would say when Magnus picked up the phone. He was so, so exhausted, and when a spark somewhere inside Alec kept pushing and pushing him to dial the warlock’s number, he gave up confronting his instinct. It was late already, Alec didn’t even expect Magnus to answer.

But he did.

And Alec had to assemble every brain cell remaining in his brain to not hang up immediately hence making a fool out of himself, and spit out a greeting.

Magnus replied within a second, one of the most intense seconds of Alec’s life.

Magnus, being the amazing warlock as he was, asked him why he called in the most beautiful voice possible.

Alec had never been that close to a nervous breakdown.

He had no idea how to come up with a reasonable, non-creepy explanation for his unexpected call in the middle of the night. Every cogwheel in his brain was spinning frantically, his heart was threatening to jump out of his ribcage and scream in terror.

Before Alec realised what he had done, a date had been formed and a goodnight message had been sent.

Alec doesn’t know what he should feel about all of this.

It’s the first time he has ever felt this way about someone. Not even with Jace. Alec has been wondering about his feelings for Jace since ages ago. He, thanks to Izzy, had come to the realisation about his sexuality – he accepts it, and the only one knowing about it is his sister. But with Jace, his parabatai, it had been… confusing. Alec most of the time he couldn’t decipher if the things he felt for the blond is parabatai-y or romantical.

But for most of his life, he really thought there would be no one he could love – platonically or romantically – more than Jace. Apart from Izzy, of course.

Alec had simply stopped looking for love.

And then Magnus comes along, and suddenly the ambiguous line of brotherly love and romance becomes so vibrant, so distinguished.

It’s the first time his mind is all tangled up and his heart flutters in unknown delight. The first time his magic tingles desperately under his skin at the thought of someone.

The first time he feels so helplessly out of control.

Alec always hates being out of control. From a very young age, he was taught to obey the rules unconditionally, to be the perfectly grounded heir of the Lightwood family. He absolutely loathes being unbalanced on his own feet.

But then, he doesn’t hate this. Quite the opposite actually.

The feeling is so unfamiliar, yet it fills in a blank space he didn’t even realise he had, swirling in there flawlessly like a missing piece of himself. Overwhelmingly foreign, but also warm and oh-so-promising.

It shouldn’t, since mother had put her point across agonizingly clear: he could never get what he actually wanted. It shouldn’t feel this hopeful.

Alec stands up from the bed, glances at his phone to look at the time. A message from the night before appears on his lock screen.

“Goodnight, Alexander.”

Today starts with a smile painted on Alec’s lips.

***************************

By the time Alec finishes his breakfast, Izzy approaches and handed him a white folder. Knowing exactly what it is about, he cocks an eyebrow at her.

“You didn’t have to get up early for this.”

“It wasn’t that early! Plus, you know how excited I can get with this kind of thing,” she pouts, putting on her baby-sister eyes to look at him.

Alec just sighs. His sister’s ignorance of self-care is truly exasperating. He turns his attention back to the sheets, thumbs through them quickly, then lets out a surprised hum.

The report shows no sign of abnormality in the mundane blood.

“If there’s nothing special about this mundane blood, why would Valentine want it?” he asks, mostly to himself. Izzy huffs in the same bewilderment by his side.

“How much time do we have until the Circle member is sent to Alicante?” Izzy intones. And after spending years fighting side to side with each other, Alec understands the hidden message perfectly.

“They will be here at 9. Meaning we have an hour to do whatever you are having in mind,” he smirks.

Izzy beams viciously, dragging him to the Circle member’s cell. They are going to have some heart-to-heart conversation.

*****************************

As expected, the Circle member - despite being completely drained of his physical and mental strength due to their little ‘interrogation’ - didn’t let out a word about Valentine. Which is not exactly a disappointment, because seeing the horror and despair in his eyes when being pushed through a portal to Alicante is extremely satisfying. It is common knowledge in the Shadow World: if there is anything that the Circle and the Clave have in common, they are the monstrosity of their punishment and the hatred both of them hold towards Downworlders and traitors.

Inquisitor Herondale coming to compliment him in person is just a bonus.

Alec thanks the Angels that the conversation between them was quick, because the very time the Inquisitor steps into the portal and disappears, a loud, unfamiliar voice echoed through the Institute’s aisle. Alec rushes downstairs as the aura of a mundane immediately catches his magic’s notice.

“Why—,” he stops mid-sentence, scowling at his parabatai in confusion, eyes flickering between the redhead and the baffled mundane, “By the Angel, Jace! Why is there a Mundane in the Institute?!”

“A Circle member followed him to get to Clary,” Jace sighs, his attention turning towards a screen of NYPD police officers trying to get through the wards.

“What exactly is a Circle member and why are they trying to kill us?” Alec winces at the volume of the Mundane. Does he have to be so loud?

“All we know is a long time ago the Circle led a revolt,” explains Jace, “A lot of Shadowhunters got killed… including my father.”

Alec instinctively places his hand over the parabatai rune, then picks up where Jace left off, “And since the revolt, we’ve been forbidden to even hear about the Circle.”

It wasn’t a lie, because researching about the Circle is actually banned for most Shadowhunters. But then, the Lightwoods are anything but normal Shadowhunters. They are one of the most ancient and respectable families in Idris.

And if it means that their heir, Alec, had been educated with every single detail of the revolt that Valentine led, it’s none of anyone’s business but his own.

“But how is that even possible? It’s your history!” the little girl exclaims, earning a look from Jace.

“Says the girl who didn’t know she was a Shadowhunter?” remarks Jace, amused.

“Yeah, yeah you’re right,” the girl deadpans as Jace turns towards Izzy, “And now the only person who knows the truth is missing so I don’t care about your rules or what’s forbidden! There’s got to be someone out there who can tell us why they’ve taken my mother.”

“Who are you to say you don’t care about our rules?” Alec scoffs. The redhead’s attention immediately snaps to him, her chin holds high as she takes a step forward, determination stains in her green eyes. Alec cuts her off before she could say a word in return, “If you want to find your mother, why can’t you just go to your mundie police? Oh yes, because they can do nothing. So your only option is to rely on us, and if we help you, we are going to do that on our terms.”

It was not a negotiation. All Alec did was stating a fundamental fact.

The girl looks utterly taken aback, eyes blinking rapidly as her posture stiffens at his words. The mundane beside her seems to be even more freaked out, shrinking closer to her. Alec rolls his eyes at a giggling Izzy by his side, looking evidently entertained by the whole situation.

“W-Who are you—”

“He is, actually, the Acting Head of this Institute,” Izzy turns around, smiling sweetly at her, “and that was my brother’s infamous ‘authoritative’ voice. Do try to avoid making him use it, would you?”

The girl hesitantly nods. Alec hopes she takes it seriously. Jace is not going to appreciate his parabatai scolding his potential girlfriend.

“Anyways, there is one person who might be able to help us,” Jace gestures at the redhead, “You coming?”

The little girl and her mundane friend promptly follow Jace to the training room. Alec notices Jace stands just a bit too close to the girl and surprises himself by realising he doesn’t feel that uncomfortable. Not uneasy like he remembered he was every time Jace showed interest in someone.

He wonders what has changed.

“Woa woa hey…” Alec watches the blond push the Mundane back, a bit too violently, “not you.”

“What? We’re package deal! If I’m coming, he’s coming too,” demands the redhead.

Jace raises an unimpressed eyebrow, “There’re runes all over the training room that will burn your mundie boyfriend alive.”

Oh, he sees where this is going.

“We-we’re not-” “No, he’s definitely not-” “Yeah, no-'' the word ‘boyfriend’ seems to have hit a sore spot, for the mundane boy, at least. They start stumbling over each other's words, the Mundane’s hands look like they are about to fall apart if he doesn’t stop with all the gestures.

It is quite hilarious.

“We’re just friends,” she turns towards the boy, looks directly in his eyes, then states firmly, “best friends.”

Izzy claps a hand on her mouth, her body squeezes into a pretzel as she convulses vigorously on her chair, trying to hold back her laughter and clearly failing. Alec is pretty sure he has her toothy grin mirrored on his own face.

“Yeah…” the Mundane tears his eyes away, “And I’m tough, I can handle runes. So uh, bring on the runes!” hitting Jace’s steel-hard shoulder with the back of his hand is probably not the Mundane’s best move - he regrets it instantly, snatches his hand back and keeps them to himself, “What exactly are runes?”

“They give Shadowhunters our demon-fighting powers,” Izzy, having successfully pulled herself together and regained her straight face, grabs her stele to generously give the Mundane a demonstration. The precision rune glimmering golden-red under her skin.

“So hot…” the Mundane’s eyes glue themselves entirely on Izzy, earning a warning cough from Jace and an amused frown from Alec, “the rune, I mean.”

“I sure you mean the rune,” Izzy laughs whole-heartedly, “I’m Izzy, and this is Alec,” she points a thumb towards him, then holds the back of her hand high in the air, expecting a proper greeting kiss.

Instead, the Mundane shooks her hand awkwardly, babbles out an introduction, “I’m Lewis, Simon - Simon Lewis. Two first-names, am I still talking?”

Izzy chuckles, as she turns to the redhead, “Don’t worry Clary, I’ll watch over the… best friend. In fact, I’m just about to make some snacks.”

“On second thought, the runes might be less lethal,” Jace smirks from behind, then immediately shuts himself after Izzy shots him a glare. He gestures towards a giddy Mundane whose eyes are still locked on Izzy, “See, best friend safe and sound here.”

“Jace, if anything happened to him-”

“Go on,” the boy abruptly cuts her off, “I’ll be fine.”

The girl reluctantly watches Izzy drag the Mundane away and follows Jace to meet Hodge.

Alec sighs, his feet turning towards his office. A newfound Shadowhunter and a Mundane – what has he got himself into? He counts everything he has to do in the next two hours in his head, mentally organising their order of priority. A couple of demons report here and there, shooting the report on the little girl off to the Clave, a file for the Clave’s next meeting, and he is finally free…

To have lunch with Magnus.

Alec shudders at the thought, surprised by his own eagerness. Sitting behind his desk, he takes a deep breath, then pulls out his phone, fingers start hovering over a certain warlock’s contact.

*****************************

Magnus is not anxious about today’s lunch at all. No. Definitely not. ‘Magnus’ never goes with ‘anxious’. He is very much not anxious.

Okay, maybe a little.

Fine, a lot.

He was asked out by a Shadowhunter. A gorgeous one at that. Can you blame him for being anxious?

Magnus is pacing to and fro in front of his magical floating closet. His fingers spark purple, flourishing in the air as he tries to pick a proper outfit for today’s date with Alexander. Which is going to be tough, considering their very brief interaction, he doesn’t really know what to wear to impress the man.

And believe him, he wants to impress the young Shadowhunter so badly.

For Magnus, fashion is like a language - one among many he has mastered thoroughly. This date with Alexander requires something coy, something that indicates obvious interest yet still mysterious enough to spark a sense of curiosity. He needs something that says ‘I noticed you, I want to take time to know more about you’, and, ‘I want you to know more about me too’. It also has to go with the French atmosphere - something elegant, posh, but not too over-the-top to scare the skittish Nephilim away. The choices of accessories are still in consideration. Would it be too much if he wore both necklaces and bracelets? And of course, there is the matter of rings. And maybe ear cuffs. And oh glitter—

His phone makes a small sound, notifying him of a new message. Magnus leans over, hoping the High Warlock’s duty wouldn’t call in this ungodly moment. He really, really wants to make the best out of this date.

A name flashes on the screen - Alexander.

Hey Magnus.

Magnus glances at the clock: it’s only a quarter past 10. Why is Alexander texting him? Is he as eager as Magnus for this date… or maybe he finally regrets going on a date with a Downworlder and wants to cancel it? Magic, he genuinely prays it's not the latter.

Absently bites his lower lips, he texts back, Hello, Alexander. Everything alright?

Oh magic, he didn’t mean to reply with such an eager response. That might sound creepy. Too late for that now.

Everything’s fine, Alexander’s bubble pops up, I was going to ask if you like flowers. I thought it would be nice to buy you some, I just want to make sure you are good with that. Allergies and all.

Magnus hums in surprise, involuntarily forming a smile on his face. Alexander is definitely not that sweet and kind, because of course, that is something a Shadowhunter would do on a date with a Downworlder, right?

Warlocks don’t have allergies, Alexander, he teases, though I appreciate your adorable concern. Flowers sound perfect.

There comes a slight pause in Alexander’s reply. Magnus can only imagine a blush spreading on his pale cheeks.

Thought so. I’ll see you at twelve?

I’ll be there with bells on.

A few minutes after Alexander’s text bubble stops moving up with new messages, Magnus still finds himself grinning dumbly at the screen. Pretty sure he wouldn’t mind doing that all day, but unfortunately Magnus does not have the time - he hasn’t chosen anything to wear for the date yet.

Magnus sighs, typing down a contact number he had learnt by heart (and already had it saved in his contact list, but well, it’s Magnus’ way of doing things). He patiently waits for the pips to die down, and soon enough a familiar feminine voice greets him.

“Lucky for you today is my day off, Magnus,” she pauses to have a sip of something which Magnus assumes is her favourite punch, “spill.”

“Catarina, dear,” he sighs sweetly, “I need your help.”

Chapter Text

“He asked you out? On a romantic lunch date?” Catarina, who is currently on speaker, intones with her usual dramatic flair, “Really Magnus, a Shadowhunter?” 

“I know, right?” Magnus hums, spinning on his heels as he magically changes into a purple satin shirt with gold buttons and matching jeans, “It’s definitely on my list of absolute Sisyphean tasks. Right after making Ragnor eat peanut butter.” 

Catarina giggles softly at the memory of their dear friend, but then concern bleeds in her voice, “Do you think you can trust him? Camille… she really hurt you, Magnus. Are you ready?” 

‘to open up your heart again’ remained unspoken. Magnus is thankful to her for keeping it that way.

He stares distantly at the mirror, stops dead in his tracks. His mind wanders back to the first time he saw Camille. Her long, dark hair, soaked wet in the rain. Her umbrella held out for Magnus. Her smeared lips murmuring soft nothings into his ears. She… she used to be an angel, always so sweet and caring. She helped him stand back on his feet, providing him with a safe place. And Magnus blindly fell for her, trusted her, following her like a puppy, accepting each of her requests like her own little warlock. 

The day he told Camille he loved her, he received a laugh in the face. 

It has been over one hundred years since he completely closed himself off, and Camille’s laugh is still his nightmares’ favourite incidental music.

“What Camille and I had is ancient history, Cat. And it’s not like what I might have with Alexander is going to be serious,” he forces out a weak laugh.

“We both know that is not true. A few simple sentences with the Shadowhunter was all it took for you to go back on the vow you made a century ago, Magnus. That speaks great volumes, don’t you think? Our magic always knows, and sometimes it’s too sensitive for our own good,” she says bitterly, “And you have always been a one-soul-at-a-time kind of guy. You love with your whole heart, my dear,” Catarina pauses to gulp down the rest of her drink, then lets out a sigh, “Are you ready ?”

Magnus’ mouth hangs open, though nothing seems to come out. The face in the mirror is suddenly not his own, but the mock happy mask he wore around Camille. She was cruel to him, and yet he kept on coming back, kept on loving her with his whole heart. When it was shoved back into him, broken to pieces, it was too late. The damage was beyond repair. He thought she had locked his heart off for good. 

Then Alexander comes along, blowing a gust of life into his barely pounding heart. Making it alive once more. Making hope comes back to Magnus. 

Is he ready?

To open up again?

To give someone his trust? A Shadowhunter – not just anyone – his trust?

To endure the inevitable pain?

To risk his heart shattered?

“No, I’m not ready,” he breaths out, “But I want to be. I am ready to leave her behind.” 

He doesn’t trust the Shadowhunter yet, but he wants to. He wants to hope for a slim chance of this, for whatever the turnout might be.

Catarina stays silent for a moment, and suddenly the air turns into goo, dense and heavy. After a minute or two, Magnus hears her pouring another drink in her glass, then huffs out a content sigh. 

“Alright, whatever your choices will be, just remember I will always have your back. Please be careful though, Shadowhunters are tough.”

Her soft voice makes a smile stretch out on his face, loosen up all his muscles. That is Catarina for him, always there to catch him when he falls, always there to glue his crushed pieces into one as much as she can. Magnus is lucky to have her as his best friend in his very long life. 

“I know careful personally ,” he chuckles, “But please keep your promise by helping me choose a proper outfit for a date with a Shadowhunter. I’m already running out of time.”

“Just so I’m clear, he did meet you at your club, did he not?” Catarina waits for Magnus to make a small hum of confirmation, and continues, “And you were what? In full swing? Glitter, martini and all?”

“Yeah, glitter, martini and all… Just being a good ol’ me…” he replies absently, flickers his fingers to snap back and forth between two colours of eyeshadow. Would burgundy eyeshadow go better with his cinnamon satin shirt than maroon? “Your point?” 

“And he did call you after that barely-five-sentences-exchanged conversation?”

“Hm…”

“What the hell, Magnus!?” she yells exasperatedly, “Can you tell me one thing that is more expressive and over-the-top than your ‘party mode’? What would scare the guy away after he saw you in that ? Just be yourself! You are naturally good at picking outfits…” 

“You are never too much, Magnus.”

And Catarina, somehow always says the thing he needs to hear the most.

“Thank you, my dear,” he murmurs, suddenly knowing exactly what he would wear, “You're a lifesaver.”

When a portal is opened in the middle of his living room, Magnus walks through it with no hesitation and a smile already painted on his face. 

*********************

On the contrary on what some people may think, the part when Alec offered to buy flowers for Magnus is completely intentional. 

Yes, he did dumbly stare at his empty desk to come up with a nice thing to do on a date with a warlock for a good fifteen minutes, sue him. 

This is, after all, his first date ever, and it’s not like he is ready to let Izzy know about this and ask for her advice. No, too soon for that. 

But he still wants to do something nice for Magnus. 

And Alec has opened the Institute’s door for enough of Izzy’s dates to know flowers can never go wrong. Except when a Seelie accidentally gave his sister red carnations, which she is allergic to. 

Alec was sure his face resembled a perfect tomato when he realised warlocks don’t have allergies. 

These little tiny things make Alec realise just how inexperienced he is about the whole situation. Limited in his knowledge of both the warlock kind and the… dating things. Ever since he learned to fly with his wing properly, a whole new world had opened up to him. Each night when he found the time to spread his wings, he always came back with a new thing to learn about the Downworld. He had seen werewolves protecting their pack, vampires taking care of their fledgeling, Seelies treating his sister with such care and adoration. The more he learns about them, the more he realises how absolutely wrong the Clave is.

(Alec didn’t know when exactly he had started bending the Clave’s rules – just a little bit, for necessary circumstances only, as he had broken enough rules for Izzy and Jace – to ensure the safety of the people in the city. Downworlders, Nephilims, and Mundanes alike. Let’s just thank the Angels for his siblings to take up all of mother’s worries.)

But the warlocks – due to their cautious and discreet nature – are still mysteries to him. Alec did see them from time to time, but they quickly disappeared before he had any chance to form an impression. 

Well, the first one he gets to have a tiniest closer look on has been marvellous, so there's that. 

Alec doesn’t know what he is going to make out of this, but he is certain about wanting to learn more about the warlock kind and his new-found feeling. With Magnus. If Magnus let him, that is. 

***********************

The little bell chirps crisply as soon as Alec pushes the white frame of the glass door, notifying its owner about the new guest’s arrival. Although, Alec is anything but new to Hansel’s Bouquet. 

The shop’s owner is already beaming at him, dropping her scissors onto the table and pulling him in for a casual hug. 

“Hello badass Shadowhunter,” she grins widely, “Here without Izzy, huh? What can I do for you?”

“If I said I wanted some quality time to hang out with my friend would you believe me, Gretel?” he teases. 

“Hm… very much not,” Gretel laughs lightly, shaking her head, making the long, white braids wiggle. 

“You wound me, Gretel Monroe,” Alec makes a faux-offended noise. 

“I caught you, Alec Lightwood,” she retorts before snapping her fingers, showing off her newly-painted teal nails, “I can smell something is out of place. Spill.”

“Alright, alright,” Alec chuckles nervously, dragging out a chair to sit on. It’s too late for reconsideration now, as he genuinely wants to give Magnus something the warlock would like, but at the same time has no clue about whatsoever to do. He needs someone with professional eyes and taste.  

Taking a deep breath, he asks tentatively, “Can you do me a favour?”

“You are my friend, and you saved my life, Alec,” Gretel’s eyebrows nits together, concern and curiosity stained on her face, “I can do you a million favours.”

It’s one of many reasons why Alec is fond of the girl: how stubbornly adamant she is for ‘repaying her life-debt’. Alec just happened to be flying in the same night she was scratched by a feral werewolf. Bringing her to the nearest pack was the thing every person with common sense would do in Alec’s place. And yet the girl still finds the need to ‘repay’ him. They got close, she became his friend (Alec doesn’t have many of them, and he appreciates them with his whole heart), helped him with multiple conflicts between Shadowhunters and werewolves; she is cool enough with Jace and she helps Izzy with choosing the right flowers to give to her Seelie boyfriends all the time – it is more than enough. 

“It’s just…” he sighs, mentally preparing himself to dodge as many questions will be thrown at him as possible, “I… uh… I may be buying flowers for someone… and just… don’t tell anyone about it and help me?” Ugh, Alec can feel all the blood rushing to his face right now. Curse the Lightwoods’ pale skin. 

Gretel's face, not to his surprise, looks like she has just been punched in the stomach. ‘Wait—what the fuck?’ written all over her face, in caps. Alec just rolls his eyes, deliberately ignoring his flushed and heated cheeks. 

“You—ohmygod,” she chokes out, eyebrows raising impossibly high, “You, of all people, met someone? And you are going on a date with her? And you want to buy her flowers!?” 

Alec grimaces at the word ‘her’, but decides this isn’t the good time for coming out, “Well, on the contrary to what people might think, I do have a heart that can show emotion.”

“Of course you do! You care so much about everything,” an annoyingly big grin stretches out on her face, “But uh-oh, this is another level of caring, Lightwood. I’ve known you for what, two years? Never a time there’s a partner beside you. Just the lone wolf of the New York Institute,” she snickers, knowing too well Alec hates that joke, “And now look at you!”

“It’s just a first date, nothing that serious,” he groans. Somehow saying those words sounds odd, as if they were not in the English vocabulary. But it is partly true. Alec knows he is not the most affable person in the world, and he thinks every person with eyes can say Magnus is on the other end of the spectrum. Now that they are going to have lunch and interact , he isn’t sure if Magnus is going to like him, or if they can find anything in common to both talk about.

Angels, it is going to be awkward, isn’t it?

“Okay, okay,” she huffs, smiles still very brightly, “What can I get for this… special person?”

“I’m not going to tell you the name, nuh-uh. But… that is sort of why I need your help? Um — we’ve just met and I don’t know what to get—”

“So I get to be the one helping you choose the best bouquet for a special someone ,” Gretel claps her hands enthusiastically, “Never thought I’d live to this day! It’d be my pleasure, but where’s Izzy? I bet she’d do anything to help you with your date.”

Alec winces, nervously scratching the back of his neck, “Uh… Can you not tell her about this? Just… Don’t?”

The werewolf furrows her eyebrows, confused, and for a split second, Alec thinks she would not help him until every question was answered. But she just shrugs, already stepping towards the shelves.

“Things like this are your choice to say. I’ll keep my mouth shut,” she says matter-of-factly, and then walks towards the shelves of bouquets, “Tell me something about her. Anything. Just give me a glimpse of her style and personality… Oh but you guys have just met, ” Gretel huffs, “Take a guess then. Tell me what you think would please the girl. The thing that best represents her.”

Alec stands beside the werewolf, trying to form the right words to describe Magnus. Beautiful. Confident. Powerful. Elegant. Charming. Breathtaking—

“I need something exotic,” says Alec, absent-mindedly, “Extraordinary and exquisite. Strong but delicate. Thrilling,” his hazel eyes staring at nothing, frowning as if he is checking a mental list, “And I want it to be… golden.”

Gretel walks around the shelves, whistling an unfamiliar tune to herself. Soon enough, she reaches for a bouquet resting on the top tier, wrapped in white paper cloth. 

“Quite the lady, huh Mr Poet,” Gretel snickers as she turns towards the cashier and pulls out a roll of gold sheets and glitter. After a while of wrapping and adjusting, she finally holds the bouquet up for Alec to see, smiling smugly. 

“What do you think? Perfect?”

Yes, a grin spreads out on Alec’s face, it is quite perfect.  

Chapter Text

Magnus glances at the pocket clock for the fifth time, nervously shifting in his seat at the Le Petit Châteu . The smooth metal surface vibrating quietly against his palm, tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock ...

It's twenty minutes from twelve. Alexander can be here anytime now. 

He can’t help but fiddles with his ear cuff, gazing down at his ringed fingers to consider some last-minute tweaks. 

Magnus, despite all the symptoms of nervousness he is showing, actually believes he has picked quite the outfit: burgundy blazer, dark trousers and shirt, go along with cherry-red hair tip and soft makeup. A balance between casual and formal. Expressive, but in a reserved way. More like vanilla and chocolate chips instead of his usual extra-sprinkled sundae, but with a little cherry something on top. Still very Magnus.  

It indicates the perfect message. But then, agitation, an annoying bitch as it is, has to wait for this very moment of him counting down every single second for Alexander to arrive, to kick in. 

It’s just… he wants the date to go well , regardless of the direction it might be heading to. Magnus wants both of them to have a good time, to relax – he had chosen a Mundane restaurant and even put up a ward around their table, for the Shadowhunter most certainly doesn’t want to be seen with a male warlock – and if… if this doesn’t turn out the way he wants it to, hopefully it will be good enough to have Alexander as a… friend. 

A bitter something suddenly startles him with a rumble under his skin, which Magnus’ conscious mind does its best to ignore. It fails. 

Warlocks’ magical sixth sense is usually on point, all due to the blood in their veins and the cruel world. Magnus’ magic, in particular, is most sensitive to affection - it was rooted in the Magic of Love after all. So first attraction is not uncommon for him –  uncommon in terms of ‘it’s been a century’, sure – but it’s not like he has never had an instant attraction formed at first sight.

The keyword here, being attraction — not love.

Alexander, however, is something else entirely. 

His magic seems to like the man way too much in such a short time. 

The thing is, his magic usually doesn’t differentiate between platonic love and romantic one. There had been people who he thought he could love , but after a while realised they are better off friends. And his magic liked them being Magnus’ friends just the same as it liked them to be his lover. 

It’s just love to him, really. 

Then there comes Alexander .

He supposes his magic has been making its opinion known since yesterday. But it’s now that Magnus is acknowledging it. 

He doesn’t even know why suddenly his magic is acting like this. Like being just friends with Alexander is miles away from enough. 

That’s— That’s concerning. 

A quiet ting brings Magnus back to reality. He startles, pulls out his phone, stares down at the white bubble appearing on the screen.

Hey

I’m at the restaurant

You there yet?  

Alexander is here.  

Despite his remarkable effort, Magnus’ heart races up, thumping in his chest. 

I’m upstairs. Balcony table. 

Magnus sits back on his chair, finger tapping impatiently on the table as his eyes pin at the stairway. 

And he sees Alexander. 

With his tall physique standing there in the soft yellowy light, the Shadowhunter looks a little breathless, as if he’s just run up the stairs to meet Magnus. A faint black-ish something pokes out at the side of his neck, probably the curvy rune that is glamoured from Mundanes. He dresses in all black again, the fabric frames his body in all the right places. A bouquet is pressed up against his chest, yellow paper glittering under the light. 

It is , Magnus realises, for him.  

Alexander’s eyes dart around the room, searching for Magnus. And then, as soon as their eyes meet, he blushes and smiles . 

It is so bright , innocent and oh so sincere . Full of a warm something that Magnus is scared to put a name on. 

It makes his heart leap in the most wonderful way. 

Alexander is pacing towards him now. He abruptly stands up, keying the Nephilim in his ward. Magnus’ magic gives a pleased little hum as soon as the Angelic one touches his magical barrier. 

“H-hey…” the Shadowhunter breathes out, a blush darkens on his pale cheeks. His hazel eyes now look almost green, gaze at Magnus then flutter away, moving attention to the bouquet in his hands instead, “I— uh… This is for you… I didn’t know what you’d like so I took a wild guess and—” 

He promptly cuts the stuttering Alexander off, brings the flowers up close, inhales the sweet freshness: freesia, marigold, yellow carnation, Persian buttercup, and his personal favourite – Graham Thomas rose. The bouquet is sparkling under the soft sunlight of New York City, melting into a warm luminous sirup. Golden , like— like his real eyes.  

And Magnus almost falls for that insidious of a coincidence. Almost .

Because a warlock mark is not something a Nephilim would cherish. Because a warlock mark is not something anyone would cherish. 

The golden theme, therefore, is nothing but an evil trick of fate. 

Magnus tries – he really does – to keep that notion in mind. But his magic starts to whirl in his chest, fluttering with giddy warmth.

“It’s beautiful, Alexander,” he murmurs, glancing up only to see that bedazzling smile beams at him again. It’s making him a bit light-headed, “Far from beautiful as you , though.” Magnus winks, earning a delightful blush from the Nephilim. 

“I— I’m glad you like it…” Alexander takes a small step back, fidgeting adorably with the hem of his shirt, “You look really… uh... really nice, too…” 

With a happy grin stretched out on his own face, Magnus flutters his hand towards the opposite chair, gestures for Alexander to take his seat. 

****************************

The rest of their date, oh , is heavenly .

It starts out a bit tense at first – like most first dates normally would. It is mostly Magnus speaking, telling the Shadowhunter about his adventures throughout history. As much as he loved seeing Alexander blushes at his flirting ( ‘darling’ and ‘pretty boy’ has recently made their way into his list of Pet Names to call Alexander ), Magnus can’t help but worry that the other one is somewhat ill at ease. Maybe the food is not his taste? Maybe something about the atmosphere – including how some certain Mundanes look at them – makes him uncomfortable? Or maybe everything about them is just on two entirely different wavelengths?

Maybe— Maybe the problem is Magnus? Has he done anything wrong?

It turns out – to his relief and surprise – that Alexander simply enjoys listening to him. 

(Magnus swears his heart made a double backflip when he heard that . The Nephilim’s bluntness is certainly not something to be underestimated. Not that he is complaining.)

And they sit there, inside the blissful bubble that is Magnus’ ward, surrounded by getting-to-know-you and good wine. As time goes on, the Shadowhunter begins to truly relax. Alexander’s little giggles mingle with the soft background music like a velvety harmony. 

Soon enough, it’s Magnus’ turn to listen while the other shares his stories. He talks about the sweet Isabelle, who happens to be the only Shadowhunter welcomed in the Seelie’s Court— by the Queen herself, no less. Then there is Jace – Alexander’s adopted brother as well as parabatai – who is the supposedly best Shadowhunter of their generation ( “Though kicking his ass in the training room is rather easy,” he adds with a smirk that does things to Magnus’ inside). Little Max is only five, living in Alicante to attend the Academy. 

“All those jazz about having siblings is truly overrated. Like, there was this one time Jace let one Shax demon escape because of a duck and I had to clean up the mess it made,” Magnus finds himself unable to look away from Alexander’ lips sipping the red wine, “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, I guess.”

“Hm? Never thought you’d be a Shakespear kind of man, Alexander,” now that’s a pleasant surprise.  

The Shadowhunter fiddles with his fork, smiling sheepishly, “Izzy talked me into reading all those Mundane Classics and well, I blame the Fair Folks for her obsession with Shakespear.”

Just like that, they talk about all the things in the world. Talking with Alexander feels so natural , so easy and simple. If someone had told him he would be this comfortable around a Shadowhunter , it would have been an annoying joke. He would have laughed. 

But with Alexander, everything feels different . Better or worse, he can not decide.

Under the soft sunlight of New York, Alexander’s laugh glows, looking like some precious gem hidden in the Fairy Land. Otherworldly. Surreal. 

It’s risky – he knows – yet for that moment, Magnus lets himself sink into the swirling lake that is Alexander. 

****************************

“Duty calls?” Magnus asks, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. It’s the third time Alexander has declined a call, and although the selfish idea of keeping him for the rest of the afternoon sounds tempting, Magnus knows Shadowhunters have responsibilities to fulfil.

Alexander gives him an apologetic smile, “Yeah… But I’m sure it’s just Jace being annoying. There’s a new… nuisance at the Institute,” his phone joggles again, now rumble relentlessly with messages. 

“Now now Alexander, whatever it is, it must be important. Do pick up the phone and go back to your job, Shadowhunter,” he adds with a smirk, “And try to clear your schedule for a second date, would you?” 

“I— I’d do that,” crimson blooms on the Nephilim’s cheeks again, “And uh… I’d pay for today—”

“Thank you, but there’s no need,” Magnus promptly interrupts. It’s usually him who takes care of these things, considering all the widespread rumours about his fortune are pretty accurate. Magnus is rich , and he prides himself on that. 

“But I insist ,” Alexander’s pout is adorable , “Though The Clave is lacking in many things, money is certainly not one of them.”

Magnus arches an eyebrow in disbelief. Did he just suggest using The Clave ’s money to please a Downworlder ?

Alexander’s phone is ringing again, but Magnus flutters his hand to stop him from turning it off.

“Answer it, Alexander,” he coos, “And I still have every intention of having Nephilim’s money to pay for my meal. Another time, though. For a much larger sum.”

The Nephilim sighs, but his lips seem quite satisfied with the compromise as it forms into an elegant curve. Magnus casts a sound block spell around him when he finally puts the ringing phone out of its misery, not wanting to overhear. 

And suddenly, it’s not the sweet, adorable Alexander sitting across him anymore. This Alexander is the Shadowhunter in his club, who had single-handedly taken down two skilled Circle members in a blink of an eye. Professional, confident, dangerous. A commander .  

Damn , why is that hot ?

When Magnus realises he is blatantly staring, the call has already ended, Alexander’s hazel orbs are back at him. For the first time in decades, heat scrawls up his cheeks, tingling under his skin. 

“So um… I’ll see you again?” asks Alexander, almost timidly, as if Magnus’ desire for a second date hasn’t been made abundantly clear.

“Of course, Alexander,” he affirms, caressing the other’s name, “Now go back to your work, darling. Better not keep your brother waiting.” 

Giving him the last tug of his lips, Alexander turns to the staircase. Magnus finds himself immediately longing for his tall figure when he is gone. 

The flowers would look perfect in his loft. 

*************************

Alec is checking all the messages unseen on his phone. The simple task, however, has never been this difficult. 

It’s not easy to read Jace’s messages while he has his head filled with the image of a beautiful warlock, okay? 

And the date he’s just had… Alec didn’t know dates could be that enjoyable. With all the differences he and Magnus have – which is plentiful – he expected the date to be awkward. He expected both him and the other man to be cautious and tense – Alec because he was scared of messing anything up and Magnus because he didn’t trust a Shadowhunter. 

He certainly didn’t expect his carefully put on façade to melt away the exact moment he saw the stunning warlock. Didn’t know his full name could be spoken so soft and graceful. Didn’t dream of someone who can actually get him, or the date to turn out to be the beginning of something more .

But Magnus— he was utterly beautiful and considerate . He made sure that Alec felt comfortable first and foremost (the ward around the table hadn’t slipped through his notice, guarding them against any unwanted attraction). Not to mention, the colour red looked like it was custom-made by God himself just for Magnus to wear.

When Magnus started talking, Alec just lost it. His ability to breathe and function simply vanished into thin air. There was something gorgeous about the way his hands flowed, elegant and sparkling with the metal of his rings. The glitter on his cheekbones glistened every time he laughed, making him glow. Magnus’ voice was deep and warm, rising and falling expressively— it kind of made Alec want to listen to him forever. 

Alec wants something he cannot have, and that should scare him. 

But the wine tasted too good to be an alcoholic drink. Perhaps it was because Alec couldn’t care less for its actual flavour – he is still a bit light-headed from Magnus’ smile. 

****************************

When the phone in his hand rumbles again, Alec has reached the doorstep of the Institute. Silently praying the Angels to not bump into Izzy, – for she has the nose of a dog and can easily smell the faint lingering alcohol in his breath – he taps on the green button before even looking at the flashing name. 

And that , was an irreversibly stupid move. 

“Good afternoon, Mister Lightwood,” Alec almost jumps when he hears the feminine voice, “I am Lydia Branwell, current vice Captain of team V,” which stands for Valentine , his mind elaborates, “May I have a few minutes with you on the phone – preferably somewhere private – to discuss the matter on Clary Fray?” 

“Of course, Miss Branwell,” he purposely lets she hear the door of his office closing, drawing a soundless rune on its surface, “Please continue.” 

“The Clave had asked for access to The Brotherhood’s record. A new line of Nephilim is certainly impossible, though the image you gave of Clary Fray bears a significant resemblance to Jocelyn Fairchild in her youth.”

“Jocelyn Fairchild, as in Valentine’s runaway wife ?” 

“I’m afraid so. We’d like you to investigate the mother of Miss Fray. Joycelyn Fairchild changing her name in the Mundane world is a high possibility. And we cannot know for sure if she betrayed Valentine, or that’s what she wanted us to believe. In the worst scenario, Clary Fray is of Morgenstern and Fairchild blood, making her a potential spy.” 

Wonderful, not only the little girl is annoying, but she is also problematic, and currently under Alec’s responsibility. Should’ve seen that coming. 

“Keep a close eye on the girl, Mister Lightwood. And make sure she doesn’t step out of your Institute,” Branwell then adds, for good measure, “That’s an order.”

“Then I shall follow that order,” Alec has done this so many times that he is certain Branwell heard a well-disciplined Shadowhunter, not someone who has bent half of the Clave’s regulation for his siblings and the Downworlders. However, this order actually has a valid point.

“I expect just as much, Mister Lightwood. Have a good afternoon, I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow.” 

Branwell hangs up, and Alec feels his energy slowly being drained out of his body. He would much prefer to spend his afternoon with Magnus , not investigating the red nuisance. With a sigh, he stands up from his seat, on the way to the Op-Center to find Little Girl just in time for Jace to send a message. 

Izz and I are taking Clary out to find her mother. Approve? 

And Alec thinks there must be something wrong with his parabatai's hearing, for he had given him an order to stop meddling and let me handle it the time Jace called. 

Furious Alec is not the Alec to mess with.  

Chapter Text

When Alec reaches the floor of the Op-Center, the odd little group – being Jace, Izzy, Redhead and Loud – is already standing beside the armoury. Which is not a good sign, for that means they think they have the plan all figured out, determined to make it work, giving no fuck about Alec’s opinion whatsoever.

“Fifty bucks says he doesn’t approve this mission,” Izzy, as usual, only speaks facts.

“Of course I don’t approve of this mission!” Alec scolds, voice loud and sharp, “I spoke with the Clave, they have a team exclusively for searching Valentine and they made it clear that the little girl is not leaving the premises.” 

“My name is not ‘little girl’,” she snaps back, the red curls of her hair flicker like fire, “And I don’t care about what you want, or what your Clave thing wants! I’m going to get my mother back.”

And Alec wants to scream in her face, getting the fact that she is in no position to not care into her thick skull. But Jace holds up his hand to interrupt. 

“We have a lead. A warlock. Look, Alec, this warlock could have all the answer we need—” 

“And how do you know that?” He notices something about his tone makes Jace inconspicuously wince. Good, the blond deserves it. 

“Because—” Jace stops with a ragged breath, then his eyes flutter as if he is considering the proper information to share to his own parabatai , before dropping his voice low, “Because Clary’s mother is Jocelyn Fairchild, a former Circle member, who might have hidden the Mortal Cup from Valentine and this warlock is a close friend of hers. She might have erased Clary’s memory about the Cup. If we get her, we can have a chance to find Clary’s mother and keep the Cup far away from Valentine’s hand.” 

The investigation on Jocelyn Fray ends before it begins. 

“Alec, the Circle is out there looking for Clary. She isn’t safe outside on her own.” 

“And she wouldn’t be outside on her own,” Alec shoots Izzy a glare just in time for her to put her hand off the seraph blade, “In fact, she wouldn’t be outside at all. You are going to find the warlock since you’re so adamant about it.”

“Dot wouldn’t talk to them without me. I have to go!” the girl protests, challenging him with stubborn eyes. Alec isn’t going to let her win that easy. 

“The Mundane can come along,” oddly enough, Izzy is the first to react, immediately turning towards the startled boy, “Of course two well-trained Shadowhunters can protect one Mundane and Best Friend here would be close enough for the warlock to trust, would he not?”

“But—” her voice rises again.

“That, or your plan would get to nowhere. End of discussion,” the biting cold in his attitude is every bit intentional, and particularly well-expressed, “Either way, you are not stepping out of this Institute. You are under my watch now.”

“He can’t do that!” she yelps, trying to convince herself. But then, she notices Jace sighing and Izzy’s attention has moved to a rather interesting floorboard. The next time she speaks, it’s small and timid, “He can’t do that, can he?” 

“He is the Acting Head, Clary,” says Izzy, “But, he is not the Official Head, which means he’s broken at least 7 rules when he approved our mission without asking superiors. Be grateful.” 

It wasn’t only directed at the girl. Although his sister could have done this so long before, it’s better late than nothing. 

Alec really should get mad at them more often. 

*****************************

With a last fiery scowl at him, the ginger turns towards her best friend, breaking the silence, “Simon, you can come home. I’ll figure this out. You shouldn’t be dragged into this, it’s too dangerous.” 

“Really now, Fray?” exclaims the Mundane, raising his eyebrows dramatically, “You actually think I’d leave you in this alone? Jocelyn and Dot are my family too! I’ll do anything to get them back.” 

Alec feels the parabatai bond shivers when they hug. 

“It’s all settled then,” says Alec, passing a look to Jace. The blond just nods. “Get started on your plan. And you,” he turns to the girl, pulling out his stele, “I’ll need a sliver of your magic.”

“Magic?” 

“Everything has magic, just in different types,” Jace explains as Alec presses the stele at her wrist, “Only warlocks and Seelies can sense it though. The ward was constructed by a warlock, but operated with Angelic energy. Alec’s stele was carved with a rune so that he can reconstruct it. Once the ward has your magic keyed in, it won’t let you step a step out of this Institute.” 

When the tip of his stele touches the wall, the glowing blue spreads out, staining the surface, swirling in an abstract pattern, before emerging back into the stones. 

*****************************

“A word with you, hermano ,” Alec looks up from his desk, only to see Izzy closing the door, a soundless rune glittering with the movement of her stele. He sighs, leaning back to his chair, eyeing her attentively. Izzy’s hands shuffle awkwardly at her sides, nails leaving crescent marks on her skin – a habit they rub off on each other. His sister is nervous . 

With a breath out, she finally starts talking, “Alec— um, I’m sorry. Mom called earlier today and told me all the trouble Jace and I caused you. She said all the time you broke rules for us can harm your position as the Acting Head,” there’s a soundless rune on the door, yet her voice is barely a whisper, “I didn’t notice at that time— I thought she was being dramatic. But then I recall every mission we’ve been on and I did some research and—” she adds with a shaky breath, “I’m so sorry.” 

And Alec— he has never been good with words. So he pulls her in for a tight hug, running his hand soothingly through her long hair. 

“It’s alright. I’m the eldest, it’s what is expected of me,” he reassures. 

“But you were criticized! Punished, even. And yet every time you tried to talk some sense into us we didn’t give a fuck!” she cries, “What kind of sister am I?”  

“Hey, you are the best sister ever. You realise your mistake and I forgive you. Thank you for apologising,” he murmurs into her dark locks, “Two more months and the trial phase is over, I’ll officially be Head. Then we can carry out our plan to wreck the Clave.”

“The one we made when I was six?” Izzy giggles light-heartedly, which means Alec’s attempt to lighten up the mood has succeeded. 

“Precisely,” and as he pulls back to place a comforting kiss on her forehead, Alec finds his lopsided grin has a twin. 

“I’m gonna make it up to you, you know that? I’m gonna take your side whenever Jace is being a dick and I promise— I swear I’ll behave better from now on,” she glides a hand her hip and the points her index finger at his plain grey shirt, face paints with determination, “And I’m gonna pull you to the mall. Your wardrobe is begging to have a makeover as an apology present.” 

Alec rolls his eyes amusedly at her tactics. If it wasn’t for Izzy going shopping for him, Alec would still be wearing the same clothes when he was twenty— holes and dull colours and harsh, crumpled fabric. After all the tension has been drained out of the air, Izzy jumps back onto the couch, stretching her legs comfortably. Alec leans back against his table, knowing if apologising was all his sister was here for, she would have left by now. He quirks up an eyebrow.

A confused look shot right back at him, “You smell like soap. I thought you hate showering in the middle of the day?” 

Ah, looks like she is back to her usual dangerously perceptive self. 

“I was sparring earlier. Letting off some steam,” Alec feels his breath stuck in his throat. He hasn’t lied to her for a long, long time— and it’s much more difficult now, with Izzy as an adult. She just hums, looking clearly dissatisfied with his answer, but lets the topic slide. Thank the Angels , Alec doesn’t know whether he could keep himself from tripping over his words had she continued. 

“What’s up with Clary, then?” those Professors at the Academy certainly didn’t exaggerate when they claimed his sister to be one of their best interrogators. 

“You’re saying me a Shadowhunter popping in out of nowhere isn’t suspicious?” he scoffs, “Not to mention the girl’s annoying as hell. She barely knows a thing about the Shadow World but acts like she owns it. If she went on that mission she’d have been killed.” 

“But that wasn’t enough for you, the notoriously collected Alec Lightwood, to get angry at her. You were like, absolutely furious ,” her brows wriggle suggestively, a smirk already forming, “Maybe you didn’t like the way Jace was looking at her.”

And Alec stills, for a moment, to actually mull over that . Now he sees the way his parabatai has looked at the redhead as if she was made out of a million sparkling stars. Alec has never seen Jace care for someone like that— like he just knows he needs to take care of this stranger he’s just met. 

Something familiar stirs in Alec’s chest, but for the first time in his life, he understands exactly what it is. 

“Well, at least she’s a Shadowhunter now. I’d disown him had he meddled with Mundanes.”

Izzy looks stunned, “Wait— you’re chill with that?” 

“Um… yeah? I mean, it’s Jace’s choice to make. I’m his parabatai , Iz, if there’s anyone should support him, it’ll be me,” he talks quickly, not because he’s trying to dodge the topic as fast as possible— more like trying to put something off his chest, “But of course if she hurt Jace in any possible way, it’d be my perfect excuse to shoot an arrow through her head.” 

His voice was just so truthful , so genuine that Alec himself is taken aback. But oh , does he believe in its every single word.

Izzy’s eyebrows squish into a disoriented line as she looks at him like he has grown another head. But right before she has the chance to decipher Alec’s statement, the phone in her pocket vibrates with rhythmic thumps (Alec has to admit he likes her recent ringtone— ‘Bad guy’ is a good song). 

With a curse under her breath, Izzy picks up, Alec can guess she gives the redhead her number and Jace is currently doing some weird shit that the girl could not handle.

“Jace and Nerd-Hot are fighting over Clary,” she huffs exasperatedly, shrugging at his ‘Nerd-Hot? Seriously?’, “I gotta be there to make sure no blood is shed. And it seems like Clary magically knows where the warlock is, so things are sailing more smoothly than expected.” 

“Off you go, then. Just send me a brief of your plan on the way.” 

“Will do. Thank you for all the shit you put up with us, big brother,” she says with a bright smile, “And um… if you’re okay with this Jace-and-Clary thingy, try not to be so hard on the girl, yeah? I know she’s annoying, but she’s also young and naive… and just lost the family she cares for so much. I don’t know… maybe you should talk to her a bit, make everything clear.” 

Alec only nods because Izzy looks like she’s not leaving without it.

***************************

The rest of Alec’s afternoon is fairly pleasant— a finished report on demonic activities in the past three months for the Clave’s meeting tomorrow, sparring with Hodge and some fellow Shadowhunters and a bit ( a lot ) of thinking about a certain warlock. 

Not— not in a creepy way. Alec just finds it impossible to not think about Magnus whenever he has the chance, to not envision that blinding smile and glittery smudge on his cheeks. Every time he reminds himself of the way Magnus’ magic lingered in the air, engulfing their table, barely touching his skin— it makes Alec flush and heat up in all the right places. 

Alec is starting to wonder whether Magnus would mind if he called tonight. To chat. It’s just so easy to talk to Magnus, and more than easy to listen to his stories. 

And maybe… they can plan a second date. 

Alec secretly hopes no one catches him standing in front of the monitor screen blushing. It would be extremely embarrassing if people see the Head getting distracted during work and he has a reputation to uphold. 

A continuous peep from the screen rudely drags Alec out of his day-dreaming. The ley line scanning software makes a red spot on the map, pinpointing the accommodation that radiates the above-average amount of magic. He zooms in, catching the flashing name. 

Pandemonium.  

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, the rest of Magnus’ afternoon goes downhill the moment he stepped through the door of his loft. Just as he places the newly bought ingredients on the shelf and conjures up a nice vase for Alexander’s flowers, his ward makes a soft hum, notifying its owner of an unexpected arrival. Catching the fire message with a sigh, his fingers snap, letting the wrapping paper to undo itself. The faint whirl of blue lingers on the burnt edges, and Magnus doesn’t need half a second to realise the message’s origin. Elias . 

‘The Circle attacked. Pandemonium is no longer safe. Waiting for your order.’  

That’s… abnormal, to say the least. The ward on his club made sure– supposedly so– that he’d be acknowledged had there been a Circle rune inside. It was a tough one— the construction being carried out by not one, but four warlocks: himself, Catarina, Ragnor and Tessa. To take down that much power without alerting one of them would need at least fifteen skilled warlocks, not a bunch of Shadowhunters who can’t even feel magic.

Well, colour him surprised.

With a sigh and a flutter of magic, Magnus puts on his battle clothes— a good mixture of spikes and bold, dark colours is always his go-to— while replacing the soft makeup with sharp eyeshadow (because the answer to would Magnus let that outfit be associated with anything other than the date with Alexander? is no, absolutely not ). A portal is already swirling in front of him, and the flowers are dancing into the vase.

As much as Magnus wants to individually hand-style those pieces of beauty, it seems like he is needed elsewhere. 

****************************

Outside the ward, Pandemonium looks just like it always does. The flashing letters are now starting to pop out, prominent under the darkening sky. The grand door is always left ajar for a faint, purple-ish smoke to creep out, promising bypassers with something more on the inside. Alluring.

That would be how Mundanes view the club. Magnus half-heartedly wishes he was mundane.

Everyone with The Sight can see how wrecked Pandemonium is. Two unmoving bodies right at the front— both wolves. The bloodstain fits in ungracefully with the graffiti, brown and sordid. 

A burnt mark on the wooden gate. A Shadowhunter Rune.  

Magnus feels the wrath rooted deep inside his core starts to stir. 

Things look even more horrendous inside. The dim blue light flickers restlessly, adding sinister tones and shades to the catastrophe. Different kinds of glass shattering all over the floor, glistening with wine and beer and juice. Chairs and tables are everywhere, flipped over and disoriented. 

But Magnus cares about none of that. Because there are more bodies on the floor— not only Circle members but also his people . Two Seelies, two wolves and perhaps that dust is what remnants of some vampires. A warlock, whose fingers were chopped off for a twisted hobby that only Nephilims can pursue. 

A group of people crowds up around each other by the corner of the stage. They just stand there in silence, passing empathic looks to one another. Like this is something normal , a disturbance that has happened daily and they can do nothing but accept it.

History-wise, they are not wrong. 

It’s all The Circle. They dared to break into his club, his domain , throw off his throne, hurt his people. It’s Valentine . 

It is this kind of moment that Magnus’ magic reminds him just how much of him is a Prince of Hell’s son. And he lets it.

“Magnus,” Elias rushes to him, “What’s the plan, then?” 

“The warlocks are retrieving to the Spiral of Labyrinth. I’ll have a word with the Elders about Valentine’s recent activities. As for the others, I’m sure you wouldn’t decline a portal to home?” Magnus sways to the group of Downworlders, eyes softening with empathy. They are in his club, after all. His responsibility, “The Circle can still be out there, and I would much rather everyone returns in one piece. Bodies are also not the most subtle thing to be carried on the streets.” 

A couple of minutes passes with rumbles and nods. Soon enough, a Seelie— one of the Queen’s knights, he recalls— steps forward, “Thank you, High Warlock Bane. We owe you.” 

“Ah, I believe everyone can use some favours in life, my dear,” a piercing snap of fingers, and four portals simultaneously appear, “We have to hurry. There’s no telling whether Valentine’s men are still waiting for their next attack or not.” 

They move quickly, silently— something that has been involuntarily passed down through generations of Downworlders. The vampires are the first to finish, followed by the wolves. Meanwhile, Magnus moves around, inspecting the marred ward on his club. An oh-so-familiar sensation greets his fingertips, weak, but recognisable. What remained of his magic after the attack. 

But there’s also something else. Something unwanted and unwilling. An evident linger of multiple warlocks’ magic. 

The question flips from what, how and then why in a matter of seconds. Magnus can already envision a tiring, back-aching meeting with the Elders when he arrives at the Spiral of Labyrinth. 

**************************

Just as the last group of people disappears behind the swirling portals and Magnus has done taking mental notes to himself, a sudden call forces him to turn around. 

“Magnus,” that’s a face he would never forget, “Jocelyn is taken and Clary is missing—”

“Let me stop right there,” he holds up a hand, studying her breathless face briefly before concluding, “So Jocelyn’s brilliant plan is screwed. Just like what I told you.” 

“I’m not taking your ‘I told you so’ right now, Magnus,” Dorothea’s face scrunches up in irritation, which is strange, since she then follows, “I need your help. I’ve been portaling around the whole day to find Clary but there’s no hope, my magic is dangerously low.” 

“Valentine has returned, taken Fairchild, and I know about your little plan with her. A warlock’s potion, no less,” Magnus tries not to sound bitter and accusing— Dorothea is doing what she thinks is right, after all, “Put two and two together and we have a hundred of Valentine’s men hunting warlocks down one by one .”

“But you have to help me find Clary! She knows about the Shadow World now, she can be in grave danger!” 

“I don’t have to do anything. Save for protecting my people.”

“You were the one who erased her memories!” cries Dorothea, desperately. 

“At her mother ’s request, excuse you,” and Magnus is done . His friend truly knows how to get on his nerves. The low tone of his voice must have given away the anger because Dorothea’s hand reaches out to his arm at a poor attempt of apologising. He brushes it off quickly, stepping back to the portal behind. 

“Would you risk your life for a Shadowhunter ?” he huffs, hands gesturing in the air, “I’m offering you a way out, Dorothea.” 

The sight of Dorothea turning on her heels, heading to the Pandemonium’s impaired entrance is the last thing Magnus sees before stepping in the portal. 

**************************

Rummaging his desk drawer, Alec thinks Fate has to be fucking kidding him. And very much enjoying it.

Because there’s something wrong with Pandemonium . With Magnus’ club. And Alec is losing his mind because his goddamn phone decides to get lost at the absolutely perfect moment. 

It must have been the Circle. Alec knows it better than anyone, he was there to take them down yesterday, after all. 

Magnus could be in danger . He could be injured, taken captive, tortured or worse . 

Alec deliberately refuses to find the reason for that mere thought making him uneasy and instead focuses on solely panicking . The only thing holding him from grabbing his motorcycle and speeding to Pandemonium is his fucking phone going missing . (He is this close to leaving without any kind of communicative device, but the rational part of him recalls the current circumstance— Valentine’s men are everywhere in the city, like pigeons. ) 

“Alec, hey,” there comes a call, and he must have snapped his head back quite violently, for there stands a startled Raj at the doorway, “I— uh… You forgot your phone in the training room.” 

“Ah— yes. Thanks,” Alec says abruptly, snatching his phone from the guy’s hand. Raj, still looking a bit confused, wisely decides to retreat without another word. 

A shower of messages from Izzy is never a good sign. 

Alec

Hey

Where r u

Anyways, change of plan

Clary just called and she said the warlock was at Pandemonium

Don’t blame the girl, warlocks portal fast

We’re heading to Pandemonium, just so you know

If the warlock worked for Valentine, that would be a perfect trap. Damn it . 

Pandemonium is red , Alec types quickly with one hand, while the other swinging his jacket on, could be the Circle. Don’t enter until I come. 

When Izzy replies, her exasperation is literally screaming out for help, Jace is a hairbreadth away from kicking Simon out of the car, but I’ll try my best.

She’d better— the last thing anyone needs right now is an annoyingly missing Mundane. 

**************************

It may sound a bit embarrassing— but Alec’s right thumb is starting to feel sore from all the texts he’s sent to Magnus’ contact the last few minutes. He is worried , and the warlock not replying is certainly not helping. 

“I’m going to Pandemonium,” momentarily forgetting the unease eating up inside his chest, he raises his voice while pacing through the Op-Center, “There could have been a Circle attack. Always be on alert and ready for any possible circumstances. If The Circle is still there, I’ll need back-up.”

 “You are going there alone?” Raj looks up from the screen, “Beta Team can come with you.” 

“No, my team is heading there,” Alec deadpans. The only ones he can trust to help the Downworlders at Pandemonium— and potentially Magnus — are his siblings only. As other Shadowhunters are still stuck in the Clave’s torturous mindset, they are not going to handle it well if their Acting Head is helping Downworlders. 

Raj still holds a troubling look on his face, but before he has the chance to say anything, Alec cuts him off with a muted glare. 

The keys on his belt jingle restlessly as he skips steps down the stairs. Elevators aren’t quick enough. Not missing a beat, Alec strolls to the corner of the garage, immediately spotting his motorcycle. A thin veil of dust settled on top of the dashboard— Alec hasn’t used her for a while, mostly due to the monstrosity of Mundanes’ traffic. But now seems like a perfect time to take her out for some fresh air.

Putting on his gloves and brushing some of the dust away, a sudden piercing call puts him to a halt when he’s just about to climb on. 

“Alec! Wait!” a breathless Redhead runs towards him, and Alec has never disliked anyone more in his life. 

“What do you possibly want?” he hisses, “Make it quick.” 

“Dot is at Pandemonium! You can’t keep me here! She’s in danger, I have to go save her!” 

“And how would you do that, huh? A half Shadowhunter, without any training, acting solely on emotions— there is enough trouble already, no need to play the heroine and cause more.” 

“But—” 

“No is no , Fairchild,” it is cold and harsh, and loud— just in case the girl has any problem with her ears, “Now kindly move out of my way because, as you put it, the warlock is in danger so I need to be there now .” 

Alec puts on his helmet and expects Redhead to be at least competent in understanding ordinary English, but clearly, that is an overestimation. She doesn’t move an inch, arms folded to her chest and bulging eyes look ready to explode. 

He does not have time for this. 

A crackle of the key and the engine is rumbling relentlessly. The wheels roll backwards as he switches gears, and after a semi–U-turn, the girl’s figure is just a faint spot fading into the background. 

****************************

When Alec catches the sight of Pandemonium a few minutes later, the constant dismay fluttering in his stomach could have swallowed him up right then and there. Blood paints a miserable colour on the wall, the wooden doors are sprung open, and the Unlock rune has never looked so unsettling. 

Pandemonium is wrecked . 

Magnus has not replied to his texts.

It is so easy to put two and two together that for the first time in his life, Alec wishes it did not equal four. 

Having half the mind to draw the Avoidance rune on his motorcycle, he dashes inside. And there stands Pandemonium, covered in junks and literal chaos. Alec can already depict the onslaught in his mind— ruthless and barbarous. 

But it isn’t the attack that has his heart racing. Shadowhunters are engaged in field duty from an early age. He’s seen worse.

It’s the silence . The obtrusive, spine-chilling silence in a place intended for upbeat rhythm and people talking and sounds . 

That doesn’t bode well. 

And suddenly there is sound. Thumps and thumps of footsteps rumbling towards him. If he didn’t recognise it so well, an arrow or two would have already escaped his bow. 

“Alec!” calls Izzy, her heels clashing with the floor, “What happened?” 

“We're late,” he turns around, then furrows his eyebrows when noticing some missing figures, “Where is Jace and the Mundane?” 

“Simon saw the warlock— or at least he thought he did— so he ran after her. Jace told me to come here with you and went with him,” she huffs, “Anyways, what are we late for?” 

“The attack, Iz. The Circle must have attacked Pandemonium,” Alec moves behind a flipped couch, wincing at the sight he found— a body, “Here, look.”

They both kneel on the ground, putting on white gloves that Izzy tossed. Alec lets his magic out just a tiny bit, so that the glow is invisible. The feel of warlock’s magic nearly got him, but the distinct tingle of the Circle rune is also there. This Circle member was killed by a warlock. 

“Looks like a blood spell,” commented Izzy, checking the corpse’ pull point above the Circle rune, “I’ve read one can increase the blood pressure.” 

As the investigation continued, they found five more dead bodies, all Circle members. Though Alec doesn’t know if he should be relieved— there is still zero response from Magnus. He takes advantage of Izzy’s determination of checking every single corpse ( ‘traces of magic can be lost when we move them to the lab!’ ), and scrutinise the whole club with his magic. The ward is mostly destroyed— ripped into no more than a rag. There is a linger of Magnus’ magic, too, probably left right before Alec got here. 

What if— what if he could have saved the warlock had he come sooner? 

Fuck.

“Alec, you okay?” Izzy stands next to him, examining his expression. Her eyebrows squish closer together as Alec gives a weak nod, trying to focus back on the matter at hand, “I’m calling Raj now, yeah?” 

“Yeah… It’s just— where are the Downworlders? It’s so strange not to find even their bodies,” the image of Magnus flashes in his head again, making his stomach clench with an unpleasant feeling. 

Izzy, understanding exactly what he is talking about, gently squeezes his bicep and softens her voice, “We can only wish the best for them now.” 

One day, in a future far, far away, that would not be the only thing Alec could do for the Downworld.

*****************************

That evening, after all the corpses were moved into the laboratory and Jace’s message said ‘On my way’ , Alec thinks the day is officially ended now. Even though he would most likely spend the night sleepless and flying around to find just the slightest tint of Magnus’, today is over. It’s like the drama of his last peaceful eight years had finally caught up with him, and squished itself into twenty four hours. Exhausting .

It is why, when a redhead violently bangs his office door open, Alec reminds himself to never, ever guess what Fate had decided to throw in his way again. 

There the girl stands, all anger on her face, eyes filled with both tears and fire. Jace’s hand seems to be reaching out to comfort her, but she brushes it away.

It takes a few seconds for Alec to realise her Mundie tail is no longer following her. Or here , as he should have come back with Jace. 

The Mundane is missing.  

Chapter Text

Magnus throws himself on the couch, magic dancing on his fingers to conjure up his comfort drink. Sipping the martini with a sigh, he leans back, closing his eyes for the glamour to drop. 

Too much magic used in one day. 

He barely had a second to sit down since he arrived at the Spiral of Labyrinth with a dozen of other warlocks. Making sure his warlocks have settled in, reinforcing the wards lest Valentine found a twisted way of entering the realm, briefing the current situation to the Warlock Council— things were hectic. Had he not protested, the Consul would have arranged a meeting right then and there. No, he needs his beauty sleep, thank you very much. 

He could have gone to bed right away, but that would mean not being conscious until at least ten in the morning. Magnus wants to stay awake a little more— the last five hours needs some serious reflection. 

So Valentine had come back and made his arrival officially known. He even managed to, forcefully, bend many warlocks to his will. They must be from other cities around the world, as Magnus still keeps track of the warlocks in New York. 

A mental alarm pierces his mind. He needs to call Cat . 

(Hopefully Ragnor’s got himself a legit hide-out, too. That bastard— all of Magnus’ fire messages couldn’t reach him.)

And that brings up another matter for him to handle. Despite his constant demand for mobile services in the realm, the Warlock Council has been turning a blind eye. Magnus is very much fed up with having to magick his own. 

Stretching Mundanes’ mobile network to the Labyrinth is not an easy task, especially with his low level of energy. But he managed. Being one of seven warlocks constructing the wards has its perks. 

He supposes the little encounter at Pandemonium has already been informed to warlocks all over the world, for his phone immediately goes nuts after the phone line is activated in the realm is hardly a surprise. It’s probably Cat, and if he did not pick up now she would portal straight to the Spiral of Labrinth, leaving her work in Lyon behind. 

“Why in the Devil’s name did it take you that long to pick up the fucking phone!” Magnus curses himself for having not foreseen her volume, “Details. Now.”

“Not even a ‘how are you’ ?” he jokes half-heartedly, letting out a dramatic gasp, “I’m a bit hurt, my dear.”

“Had you been in that attack, the only bodies we would be counting are the Nephilims’,” Magnus giggles when he hears an impatient gulp of drink, “Stop beating around the bush, would you?”  

“Right, right,” taking a sip from his glass, he sinks back to the couch, getting comfy for storytime, “From what my people told me, the Circle had torn down our ward around Pandemonium and forced their way in.”

“But I didn’t feel anything?”

“Neither did I. There must be at least fifteen warlocks doing his dirty work,” he rubs his finger pads together, remembering the foreign magic, “Weirder still, they said the Circle was looking for a warlock.” 

“Indeed, there has been a warlock missing in Reims lately. The young Antoinette. They thought she was just moving away from her disastrous ex. Apparently, there’s so much more to it.” 

“So Valentine suddenly comes back and is kidnapping warlocks .” 

“For what exactly?”

“Well, darling Dorothea has informed me—rather rudely—that Jocelyn activated her ‘Plan B’ . But that does little to shed light on why Valentine is kidnapping multiple warlocks, and using their magic for his good.”

“He abhors our demonic magic. Why the hell would he do that?” Catarina sighs exasperatedly, “This is getting too complicated in such little time.”

“Totally agree, my dear,” murmurs Magnus, “Clarissa Fairchild is also conveniently missing.”

“As in Jocelyn Fairchild’s daughter? She is of Morgenstern blood too, is she not?”

“It is most likely, yes. Although Valentine seems to be kept in the dark about her existence. The question is how much time we have until he found out.”

“By magic, all of this is hurting my head,” she exhales, the tension visible in her voice, “Thank God I don’t have any night shift today. Now, please entertain me with something more light-hearted,” just like that, she catches Magnus completely off guard, “How’s your date, by the way?”

“When have you gotten this sneaky?” he yelps, letting out a faux irritated groan, suddenly feeling heat creeping up his neck. Gosh, he is acting like a flustered teenager in those cringey Mundane TV shows.

“Just looking out for you, Magnus,” Cat replies smugly, “I suppose it went well?”

Somehow it feels like he can hear Alexander’s harmonious laugh and the fresh scent of flowers is surrounding him again. And perhaps with everything that has been happening, right now is not the appropriate time, but he lets himself relax in content at the memory.

“Hmm… yes. It went marvellously.” 

“You are going to elaborate,” Magnus chuckles at her eagerness. 

“Alexander… is not like other Shadowhunters,” with his eyes closed, he lets his mind wander back to a room bright with sunshine, and an even brighter Shadowhunter, “Like— I’ve said that millions of times already but it’s still worth repeating. He cares about his family so much, Cat. I am positive that he is willing to break every single rule to keep them safe. And for some reason, his mind wasn’t drowned with the Clave’s institutions. His literal words were ‘though the Clave is lacking in many things, money is not one of them’ after offering to pay,” Magnus’ chest is all warm and fuzzy now, “He is something else.” 

“He really is, isn’t he?” Catarina teases, “Not everyone can make the all-mighty Magnus Bane this smitten at first date.”

“I’m not smitten,” he protests, trying to convince himself rather than anyone, “I’m just— slightly over-infatuated.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, my dear,” she yawns, indicating the end of their phone call, “But you being smitten certainly helps me to drift off, probably right now. Looking forward to your infatuation updates.”

“Hm, sweet dreams, mon amie .” 

**************************

The line goes off and Magnus yawns, too. Stretching his arms over his head, he gulps down the rest of the martini, then heads to his beloved bed. Too tired and lazy to do anything in the mundane way, he conjures up some last drops of his magic, relishes the fresh mint filled his mouth and the cool feel of his silk ropes. Settling under the red duvet, he checks his phone again, just in case someone needs his assistance of any kind. 

Two messages flash under the row ‘Unread’ of his inbox. One of them is from Raphael, sent presumably right after done taking care of the injured vampires. Unlike Cat, the grumpy vampire actually asked if Magnus was okay—in his own very grumpy way—and said that Camille sent him on a mission. Magnus hopes it does not involve violating the Accords—that would be messy . But knowing Camille, there is little to say. 

The other one, to his utter astonishment , is from Alexander . 

He swears his heart is magnified to the same size as his chest while reading the shower of messages. Alexander was so worried that his texts show. Misspelt words, abbreviations and a lot of ‘Magnus’ .

And Magnus is nuzzling into the pillow right now, hoping the silk will cool down his heated face. Even his magic is boiling.

Again, a damn teenager.

The rational part of his mind is screaming right now, saying it is too soon — too soon for this feeling, too soon for putting in that much hope . 

Believe him, he tries desperately to listen to it. Perhaps under different circumstances could he be able to. Now, magic depleted and all defences down, all it takes are Alexander’s worried texts to turn him into a puddle of jelly. 

(And it’s not his fault! Who doesn’t go weak at the thought of their date looking out for them? A devilishly handsome one at that. Yes, he is putting it all down to Alexander.)

He has to admit it’s nice to be cared for like this. Magnus can’t really recall any of his past lovers expressing this kind of honest concern towards him. Perhaps much further in the relationship, but it always circled around wealth or the convenience of having a warlock at their beck and call. Never pure, genuine worry for his well-being. 

This boy is a wonder, isn’t he?

And Magnus definitely didn’t spend ten more minutes rereading the other’s texts before finally typing back. 

************************

The little girl is pacing through the hall, her footsteps relentless and her hair fickling with rage. Right beside her is a strangely unsettled Izzy, who seems to be much more worried than she looks. Jace follows them to the Op-Center, looking like a kicked puppy with his slouched shoulders. He tried to take hold of Redhead’s hand once, though completely brushed off. 

Alec, despite the sad tingle of the parabatai bond under his skin, can’t help but agree that the blond has no one to blame but himself. ‘Accuracy in Dealing with Mundanes’ was supposed to have been learnt by heart, as it is of equal importance to The Gray Book.  

“Attention, everyone. Dear Jace here has something to confess,” he announces loudly, not even trying to hide his accusatory tone. 

Jace winces, mutters to him a precious ‘Sorry’ , before speaking up, “The Mundane is in the hands of the Vamps.”

Only then does he have their full attention. Surprised gasps filled the room. Their mouths hang open, seemingly eager to query, but remain silent when Alec holds up a hand. 

“Mind elaborating, Jace?” 

“The Mundane thought he saw the warlock, who is the key asset to tracking down Valentine,” Jace’s eyes are set on the little girl’s as if she is the only person in the room. She returns the favour, stares right back— it is Jace who has to turn away, “He was right, but the Circle was one step over us. I told him to stay put and wait before chasing them. The Circle got away by another warlock’s portal. When I came back his glasses were the only thing I could find.” 

The silence then follows is the echo of an explosion. A Mundane was dragged into the Shadow World, and now completely at the Vampires’ mercy. Things are going to get chaotic just to take him back, let alone filling in the report for the Clave.

“I tracked his glasses and was led to Camille’s territory. They were already waiting for me. One of them said they were not breaking any Accords, just negotiating— the Mundane for the Mortal Cup—” 

Jace’s voice comes to a halt, his hand twitching as his brain catches up with the words. Expectantly, the other Shadowhunters no longer maintain the silence, exchanging not-so-discreet murmurs and glances. Alec is quite perplexed himself, even though the speed at which rumours travel in the Downworld is common knowledge. And that’s definitely not a good thing— it always gets much more complicated when the Downworld’s involved. 

Especially with the Vampires. Gretel’s opinions on their clan leader—Camille—was, and he quotes, ‘a mad, vulgar lady’ . 

Now, he doesn’t know much about women. But this one, she yearns for not just any power— the Cup is one of the most sacred Nephilim emblems, the key to be the ruler of the entire Shadow World. 

She dreams big . And after her first move, it seems like her confidence only has the sky as the limit. 

“Why the Mundane? They know well enough that’ll break the Accords, and we don’t even have any idea where the Cup is,” Raj inquires, inciting even more bewildered whispers.

Uncontrollably, Alec’s eyes turn to a ruffle of red locks, finding his siblings doing the same. The hitherto Mundane girl shifts awkwardly as she realises the attention being placed on her. 

With a glance to Jace, he speaks up, “Ms Fairchild, our new addition to the Institute, is the daughter of Valentine’s ex-wife,” he can hear the air being stirred up with incoherent noises, and wonders if he should elaborate. But then, Shadowhunters have a knack for gossip— the news would soon be spread from Alicante anyways.

“Joycelyn Fairchild is rumoured to have hidden the Mortal Cup,” continues Alec, “And Ms Fairchild here claims that her memory—potentially about the Cup— has been taken. Let’s just say the Vampires did not believe that part and kidnapped her Mundane best friend.” 

An outburst of noises comes right after he finished his briefing. Concerned (and angry ) eyes passing back and forth, though the little girl is always the subject of attention. She looks so uncomfortable that indignant tears begin to swell in her eyes and Izzy has to wrap an arm around her.

“Why is she here? Shouldn’t she be in Alicante or the Silent City?”

“We cannot trust this girl. Might be a spy. Put her under the Soul Sword!”

“Isn’t she a Morgenstern too?”

“Enough!” ever the feisty, Fairchild rises from her spot, her voice echoing through the hall, “I don’t care what you people think about me—a risk, a spy, whatever— but my best friend is out there with a bunch of Vampires! Isn’t protecting humans what you do?” 

“She has a point,” before Alec can do anything, Jace counters in her defence, “Our first priority here is to find the Mundane.” 

“Clary is restricted by the Ward anyways. She is not a threat,” Izzy, at last, intervenes. 

She leads the threat to us, Alec thinks bitterly, but, sure.

“Rescuing the Mundane is easy, isn’t it?” Rachel, captain of the Beta team, moves the attention to herself, “The Vamps broke the Accords, we can attack tomorrow morning and voilà .” 

“The Vampires have only broken one minor law. No one can simply waltz in and kill,” growls Alec, mentally putting her on the list for cleaning duty when she shoots him a contemptuous roll of her eyes, “ We were the one that opened up the Shadow World to the Mundane. And the clan said they were negotiating .” 

“ Downworlders don’t have the right to negotiate !” 

“ The Accords would have to disagree.”

The tension in the air is tangible, dense and heavy. Alec feels magic boils with anger in his vain, clenching his jaw to keep it in place. Jace tugs through the bond to calm him, which admittedly does help, albeit less than it used to do. 

Rubbing his eyes, the soon-to-be Head huffs out an infuriated groan, wondering how he can deal with these people and the Clave’s executives at the same time tomorrow. 

Which is why Izzy is taking over. And Alec can’t help but smirk at Rachel’s frightened face— as legend has it: the only thing more terrifying than a Lightwood is a female Lightwood.  

Sweet victory .

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Alec closes the door behind with way too much force, locking it just as violently. Tossing his shirt away, the muscles of his back start contracting, the bones under his skin move themselves to release his wings. 

His skin itches in the need of a shower. A cold one to ease the tension on his body, as well as to stay awake. There is  still  zero response from a certain warlock, and Alec would rather not fall in the arms of Sleep with a restless mind.

Quickly discarding his black trousers, he steps in the pouring water. Cold streams hitting his face and shoulders, running down his back and chest, forming a soothing pressure on his muscles. Alec sighs in relief, arching his back for the wings to stretch. It has to be from a certain angle—and a bit awkwardly—nonetheless, he is forever thankful to the Silent Brothers to have somehow convinced mother that he needs an unconventionally big bathroom for his ‘illness’. 

The pleasant numb of cold water on his mind never last long, much to his irritation. Can’t help itself, a plan for the last few minutes of the day and tomorrow begins to organise in his head. 

The first priority is finding out what happened to Magnus. Alec has about twenty minutes before the Institute is properly asleep, save for some pulling their night shift. It would be best if he started then, and returned by six in the morning to head for Alicante. (The Heads’ presence is demanded by half-a-day earlier than the occurrence of the actual meeting, for God-knows-why.) 

And frankly speaking, Alec has not got a clue how to seek the warlock out. Yes, he can feel magic—at least up to the Seelie Realm, which entry is across the city—and has stored Magnus’ power signature to his muscle memory, but considering the wards he felt on Valentine’s supposed hideout, it would take much more magic than his usual usage. (There is also a possibility—too high of which for his liking—that Magnus’ magic might not be  in  New York, or too depleted for him to feel, or has completely vanished—

He would sure as hell try anyways.)

*************************

Alec turns off the shower, quickly grabs a tower to wrap around his waist and another to dry his hair. Squeezing his wings through the bathroom door, he picks up his jacket from the floor, just to take out his phone before tossing it carelessly on the bed. His eyes catch a stack of papers on the bedside table with a sigh, the foreseeable fatigue from the Clave’s meeting appears briefly in his mind. Luckily he has got a very competent little sister dealing with Rachel and the Mundane’s case. 

Alec’s phone joggles in his hand as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. The much-anticipated name flashing on the screen gets his heart speed up. 

Magnus.  It reads,  Well hello to you too.

Some incorrigible part of Alec’s Shadowhunter instinct almost considers the possibility of Magnus’ phone being in somebody else’s hands.  Almost.

But then he recalls countless lectures from the Clave on Valentine’s tactics. He doubts anyone of the Circle can mimic Magnus—a  very  flamboyant Downworlder—or bother to care about a piece of Mundane device. 

After those ten seconds of thoughts, Alec presses on the bubble. A trio of dots is already dancing at the bottom of the screen, but is replaced before he can type anything.

Miss me that much already, Alexander?

His face heats up embarrassingly fast at the text. Okay,  that’s Magnus . Only he can make Alec’s inside all tangled up with one simple sentence. 

You alright?  

He almost continues with a  ‘Where are you?’ , but figures it’s not the best thing to ask someone who is running away from a mad Nephilim. Magnus will share his location if he is comfortable to.

Magic depleted, exhausted and sore, not the good kind,  Alec can literally see Magnus’ wink at the end there, and it’s doing...  things  to him,  But yes, I’m alright. 

Really enjoying you going all protective mode on me.

Thank the Angels , he is not having a face-to-face conversation with the warlock. Alec thinks he would  crumble  to the ground if Magnus was in sight. 

He wants to come up with  something  to text back—anything to keep up with Magnus’ playful tone, but his mind goes blank, as usual. So Alec sidesteps with another question.

Do you mind telling me what happened? 

It takes the next message a quick few seconds to appear. 

Unfortunately I wasn’t there when they attacked. Could’ve saved lives. 

Alec huffs out in relief, dropping himself onto his bed and props one arm up to face the phone. His fingers type back absent-mindedly. 

I’m glad you weren’t there.

Oh no. Wrong move. That came out so  wrong . 

 I mean, it’s not that I’m glad you couldn’t help your people, no

I’m glad you didn’t get hurt 

You didn’t right? Just tired?

Alec thinks if this is going to be how he talks to Magnus, he should do himself a favour and  shut the fuck up.

Yes, just tired,  Magnus is laughing at him now, isn’t he?  And I know you didn’t mean it like that. 

Thank you, though.

For?  He texts back, perplexed,  I didn’t do anything.

You cared, my darling.

A sudden  something  bangs in his chest. Loud and expressive and certain and  it stuns Alec.

Now, he admits that there is  something  between him and Magnus. He knows their chemistry has bloomed from a not-so-subtle mutual interest. 

And perhaps, deep inside, he also knows that he cares about the warlock much more than he should. 

But seeing the words typed out—it’s a dangerous recognition.

It left him  terrified  for a brief second. But like how most dangerous things are, it is  breathtaking. 

Alec finds he rather likes a bit of danger.

Of course I did,  comes his confirmation,  And I still do. 

The next message doesn’t arrive right away, and Alec would be lying if he said how the trio of dots repeatedly deleting itself didn’t look daunting at all. 

Eventually, his phone makes another  ‘ting’.

I care about you, too.

Neither of them texts back anything after that. And instead of the expected awkwardness, the silence is… oddly comforting. 

It leads his mind to wander. How good it would be if they were like this in real life? Being close to each other, enjoying one another’s mere presence, nothing more. Touching. Cuddling. Kissing—

Instantly, heat surges up to his neck. The stinging warmth floods his chest and Alec thinks his heart has reduced to a pile of goo. 

Angels above , he doesn’t even know what to do with their—somewhat more than acquaintances,  but not really— relationship.  Pull it together, Lightwood. 

After a while, before Alec’s eyes decide to burn out and shut themselves, they bid goodnight.

And a good night it is.  

************************

As anticipated, Magnus wakes up in the middle of the day. He has slept like a rock—even with the restless downpour outside, he had not once stirred. Alexander’s goodnight wish probably added even more to it. 

So here he is, stretching under the duvet and magically brushing his teeth before conjuring up a feast to regain lost physical energy. One serving of medium-rare steak with mashed potato, finished up by his favourite butterscotch budino taken straight from Italy and of course, lots  of martinis—there you have it, Magnus’ little heaven. 

He hums delightedly when the piece of meat seems to melt in his mouth. Soon enough, the table is cleared of dirty dishes, leaving Magnus and the martini to have their moment. 

He should probably stop himself when the first thing he thinks of is  Alexander , but oh well, foolish of him to believe he can.

And Magnus just sits there, appreciating the blurry mountainous view of his chamber, idly sipping from the glass while his mouth slowly tugs into a smile. There is that warm, giddy feeling again, frizzing pleasantly in his stomach. 

He hopes Alexander meant what he had texted, because he certainly did. 

************************

It’s two o’clock sharp, and Magnus has recharged enough energy to keep himself going for the remaining half of the day. As if knowing, a ball of fire immediately flies through his window, then settles on his tea table. 

While I badly want to let you to your rest, the curvy, all-too-familiar handwriting imprinted on the toned paper, the Elders need you in the Head Chamber. 

Please, take your time to put some undergarments on. 

Ah, dear Tessa. She knows him too well. 

With that, Magnus snapped himself into some presentable clothes and makeup, before letting himself be swallowed by a swirling portal. 

***********************

Idris is undoubtedly one among few marvels of the mortal realm. With its untamed natural scenery and magnificent piece of architecture—namely The Gard—the city breathes in pristine air. Never a day is it too cold or too hot, too humid or too dry—a perfect elemental balance is always maintained, as if the Angels themselves are guarding their territory. 

Alec shivers at the cool breeze of Idris as it reaches out to welcome its son. The ancient magic twirls around him, humming melodiously. Alec finds himself trying to decipher what it is singing. The harmony of Nature ,  Magic  and  Home —but then, mundane words can hardly capture such profundity. 

Alec has always loved Idris. A kid Alec would use the little time he had outside of training to wander around the woods. An adult Alec would easily overlook whatever exhausting expectations he has to meet to relish some precious minutes surrounded by trees and sing-song wind. Jace and Izzy (and back in the days, even mother, or Aline) occasionally join him, too. Every time Izzy went off to the Wandering Woods, he and Jace would climb on the highest tree they could find, joking about how loving the woods runs in the Lightwood blood.

Idris feels like home to him. 

The people of Idris,  such irony , are the closest thing to absolute strangers. 

The vision of the meeting springs into his mind. Alec sighs.

He says goodbye to the trees and the wind and the spirit of Idris, before pacing towards the Accords Hall. 

************************

Three hours of meeting, and the Warlock Council has announced their strategy to every warlock on Earth: retreat to the Spiral of Labyrinth and keep low. Which means the Labyrinth has become a literal hotel, with warlocks portalling out every day to return to their life, and then in to sleep at night. 

High  Warlocks, however, remain in their city to deal with whatever emergency there might be. 

That makes  Magnus  have to work with everything now. Vampires, Werewolves, Seelies,  Shadowhunters , they all have to come to  him . 

Dear Magic, it sounds  laborious  already. 

Well, at least he has the chance to work with Alexander. Hopefully.  Finger crossed.

”Magnus!” Tessa’s voice echoes through the high arch of the hall, mingles with the drum of the rain. Magnus turns right back, eager to meet an old friend.

There she is, all in newly Consular Warlock glory, striding quickly towards his spot and giving him a loud kiss on both cheeks. 

“Where are you going?” she says, “I just thought we could have some tea. It’s been a while.” 

“That it is,” Magnus gives her an apologetic smile, “But I’m afraid I have to check on my wreck of a business. Can’t have Mundanes notice a ruin in the middle of New York when the glamour wears off.”

“I’ll tag along then,” Tessa eyes crinkle, and it dawns on him that he should have recognized that look. 

“You’ve been waiting just to say that, haven’t you,” he gasps theatrically, making her smile stretch into an outright grin.

“What can I say, it’s the Nephilim in me.” 

“Well, I must warn you that the local Shadowhunters have probably inspected every speck of dust in the club,” his head shakes in half-hearted exasperation, albeit with a fond look evident on his face, “But if you insist…” 

Tessa promptly holds on to his offered arm. A flicker of hand, the portal to Pandemonium spears through the air. 

“Lead the way, Magnus.”

It only takes half a blink of an eye for them to see his precious club. Leading Tessa to the wooden door that happens to be the only thing he had repaired (if not count the wobble temporary glamour), Magnus hears the other warlock clicking her tongue instantly. Even without the presence of lifeless bodies scattering all over the place, Pandemonium still holds the perfect definition for chaos.

“Yes yes I know,” he sighs when she winces at a horrid bloodstain on the floor,  tsks  and  tchs  escaping her mouth, “The wards need an upgrade. What do you suggest?”

“I’d say make it  unholy ,” Tessa deadpans while crouching under the west bar, “A circle of Hell dirt—first level, nothing more—and  bye-bye .” 

“Now you are just messing with me,” Magnus laughs, “Nephilim blood is still running in your veins, dear. And I only want  The Circle  to be kept out.” 

Not  Alexander. Never Alexander. 

“Well…” she snaps her fingers for a pair of tweezers, carefully picks some kind of crystallized substance on the ground into a small bag, “We can try a Circle Rune determent spell. Would be easy enough, given the contaminating energy Valentine poured in it.” 

“Alright. We are having a spellcasting session, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Tessa hums absent-mindedly in reply, and Magnus takes the cue not to interrupt her train of thoughts. Leaving Tessa to trot about the club, he starts to build up a base ward to accommodate more spells later on. Then the blood is cleaned, couches are repaired, shelves are rid of spilt wine and broken bottles (after Tessa ensures that she has inspected them, of course.)

“You know what,” the other warlock intones triumphantly when he has settled on his throne, stirring a glass of cocktail with his pinky finger, “The Clave always overlooks Downworld’s matters.”

She gestures her hand for Magnus to come over the sound management board. In that dark corner, shatters of something glisten at the foot of the shelf, hardly noticeable. Tessa’s gloved hand places a thin needle on them, white magic swirls to return its initial shape. The pieces assemble themselves. 

A syringe. 

***********************

You see, Alec Lightwood is by no means an exciting person. His siblings often rant about how monotonous his life is—an endless cycle of work-work-work.  “Alec, it’s ’bout time you spend your adrenaline in something that is not hunting demons,”  Izzy once said before pushing him in front of one of her fellow male Seelies. (He fled.)

But even  Alec  admits The Clave’s meetings are painfully  tedious . They serve the mere purpose of  reporting  a problem, never  solving  anything. All the Consul said about Valentine’s come-back was  ‘Our special agents are dealing with it.’  Is he supposed to be  reassured  by that?

Alec has been in two meetings as the Active Head now, and the second is just as oppressive as the first. People ask vague questions to get even vaguer answers.  Lifeless.

Clary’s presence, on the other hand, is the hot talk in town. It is her existence that makes Alec attend a semi-meeting at eight in the evening. 

“Branwell,” he addresses, carefully assessing the blonde behind the office table. 

“Mister Lightwood,” she greets back with equal measure, “Please take a seat.” 

Alec pulls the guest chair slightly to sit down. Branwell’s office is clean and utilitarian; grey and the brownish colours make a good space for logical thinking—it somewhat reminds him of his own, which is really not a surprise.  

“As we’ve discussed briefly on the phone before, I’ll go straight to the point,” Branwell, the professional she is, pushes a blue folder towards him, “This is the information I have pulled from Mundane departments about Jocelyn and Clary Fray. It looks like the Frays’ve existed only about nineteen years ago.” 

Jocelyn Fairchild’s image is presented in front of him, along with Valentine’s, and Alec knows it is undeniable now—the little girl is their blood daughter. She got most from her mother’s side—red hair, green eyes, fire and all. And yet, the resemblance she has with Valentine is obtrusive, some sort of eerie. It unsettles him.

“Our hypothesis is after the fire at the Fairchild mansion, Joycelyn fled away with an unborn baby and the Mortal Cup, then gave birth to Clary Fray in the Mundane world. You did say she lost some of her memories?” she inquires, continuing when Alec gives an attentive nod, “Consul Malachi demanded her presence in the City of Bones tomorrow to retrieve them.”

“Why?” his eyebrows knit together, “You think they might be related to the Cup?”

“It is most likely so,” Branwell leans back a little, casually offers Alec a coffee candy before tossing one in her mouth, “And the girl also needs a DNA test.”

“Well that can be handled at the Institute,” he politely declines the treat, putting it back into the pot, “But I’m concerned that she might be too weak for the Sword. It can tear her mind apart.”

“Can she bear runes?”

“Her first was  iratze .”

“Well then the Sword shouldn’t be a problem,” she concludes, leaving no room for argument. Alec does not have one anyways.

Thus, he excuses himself, seeing that they both are drained after a long day. The blue folder in his hand, Alec reaches the doorknob of the vice-captain office, wanting nothing more than to meet his beloved bed.

Branwell’s sudden call puts him to a halt.

“Wait, Lightwood,” she walks to him, “Are your wards still working alright?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t they be?”  And why are you asking?

“I just think you should have a warlock reinforce them. Protection is priceless.”

“Right, for Fairchild,” he deadpans, still confused about where this is going.

“And for Hodge, and your parents,” Branwell, somehow, looks even more perplexed than him, “Valentine is known for holding grudges, ex-Circle members have to be careful. It’s why we advised every Institutes put on extra—”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Alec thinks his stamina rune is burning out, for his ears are playing tricks to him. But the blonde gives him a puzzled frown.

“I said that you should put on more wards for your parents because they’re ex-Circle members—”

She may have said more, judging by the movements of her mouth, yet Alec hears  nothing. Time has frozen, Space has shrunk, and Alec’s mind stops working, glues itself on the words.

Ex-Circle members.

Just like that, something goes off like a bomb. He feels deaf, and then sounds and noises   burst in his head. The ground below his feet is swirling, and Alec has nothing to hold on. All of a sudden, he has the urge to run. To scream. To  destroy.

His parents—they were Circle members. 

Chapter Text

Alec doesn’t know for how long he has been flying. 

He has been able to keep a straight face when pacing out of Branwell’s office, thankfully so. Though the moment his foot reached a dark and far-away corner between the woods, anger punched through the mask, leaving it shattered. 

Nights in the woods are usually chilly, but even its serenity could not cool the fury coiling inside him. 

With a glamour rune etched on his skin, Alec has every intention of exhausting himself to the point his brain simply doesn’t work anymore. Stop feeling anything. Numb.  

It’s how Alec always deals with it. Emotions cloud judgement, as they say. It’s better not to feel anything at all. Exhaustion helps him sleep, anyways. (Izzy argues that the correct phrase is ‘losing consciousness due to extreme physical exertion’—same thing.)

A stinging ache seeps its way through his muscles. With only a tank top and trousers on his body, he should have felt cold. His own fingers feel foreign to his body, and the breeze is drying his eyes. For a brief, tiny instant, in some secret corner of his mind, Alec wishes to be the wind. 

Just a little longer, he thinks to himself, then we’ll head home. 

***********************

Alec drags himself on the dark corridor of the New York Institute, silently begging his traitorous mind not to replay the conversation with Branwell earlier, but to no avail. There are only a few Shadowhunters on the night shift, which means it’s going to be silent for a couple hours more and his brain would go crazy with nothing to distract from the new-found information. 

“You’re late for dinner, and you look like shit.” Izzy’s voice mercifully snaps him out of his head, “What in the Hell happened?”

“Good evening to you, too.” He goes past her, approaching the kitchen island to pour himself a glass of water. His sister doesn’t have to burden herself with this, “Where’s Jace?”

“Filling in today’s report. And before you ask, no, he did it willingly,” she chuckles, a hint of amusement in her tone, but it falls immediately, “Are you gonna tell me what’s the matter now?”

“Nothing.” It was not a lie, per se. He and his siblings just happen to communicate with each other like that. It is their way of saying ‘something horrible occurred and I very much don’t want to ruin your day’.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.” Izzy’s eyebrows are all knitted together, her big eyes filled with concern, “Or Jace. I can get him now if you want.”

Alec looks at her through tired eyes and sighs. His siblings shouldn’t worry about this sort of thing. It is a family matter, yes, but it is also a political matter. Alec handles politics. 

But Izzy has already stood there, jaw tight, shoulders squared and arms crossed, indicating that she is not leaving, “I told you I wanted to help, Alec.”

“Mom and Dad were in The Circle.” There it is. Voicing the matter out loud, by his own mouth, makes it seem a lot more real. Too real.

His sister seems to be at a loss for words—Alec notices his exact chain of reaction going through her face.

“By the Angels…” she whispers, a small, quiet thing. 

“I know.” Alec wishes he could say something more, but that’s all he has, “I know.”

“But how?”  

“Lydia Branwell. It was a… awkward situation,” he shrugs, feeling very helpless of it all, “Just the way to find out you have been lied to your whole life.”

“Let’s go upstairs, hermano. ” Her arm hooks with his, dragging him forward, “We’ll tell Jace about this, and then you go to bed.”

“Can’t, Iz.” The words slip past his mouth, and he is awarded Isabelle Lightwood’s lethal glare. Alec makes a reasonable decision to shut up.

Jace’s reaction is equivalent to a roar of thunder. 

“And they just— hide this whole time!” exclaimed the blond, propping his laptop onto a precarious pile of clothes. Alec reaches out to secure it on the bed, “How can they lie to their own kids for that long?"

“’Cuz they’re fucking cowards, that is.” Izzy huffs indignantly, flopping down beside Jace, “Can’t even face the repercussion of their actions.”

“They expect nothing less than perfection from us.” Alec hears himself laugh, “—from me . To ‘uphold the Lightwood name’ .” The anger drained every strand of energy out of him; his own body feels heavy, “The name they tarnished.” 

Every study, every task, every mission he had perfected for his parents, only to hear that he would never be good enough. And yet somehow Alec strived to be their perfect, infallible son, to seek their approval on his life. 

Jace places a hand on his shoulder, silently stabilizing his chaotic mind. Alec thanks the Angels for his siblings’ lack of discipline, because he can’t imagine what kind of man he would be if they had been as uptight as him. 

“What are you gonna do now?” His parabatai asks, a question he does not have the answer for. 

“You've done everything for them, Alec.” Izzy’s tender tone borders on something of hope, encouragement , “Maybe it’s time to live for yourself.” 

“I don’t know, Iz.” The wall behind him is supporting his whole body now, “I don’t know what I know anymore.” 

The silence stretches between them, dense and heavy and Alec has thought he could be drowning . Then he sees his siblings—still there, exchanging concerned glances, but definitely not going anywhere. 

He’ll be fine. He isn’t alone. He’ll be fine. 

Even if he won’t, he’ll have to be. 

***********************

Truth be told, Clary Fairchild handles the Mortal Sword just fine. It may have left her a small cut on the forehead, but aside from a slightly disoriented soul and a scream that scared the hell out of Jace, nothing went askew at the spiritual procedure. 

Except for the fact that it was useless. All Fairchild managed to utter was the confirmation of her lineage, which could be easily revealed by the DNA test she took earlier in Idris laboratory. 

Alec could sense how the Sword breached her mind, easily swept the first layer of spells away before halted, as if surprised. Blue light hummed along its blade as it struggled to pierce through a bundle of magic, only to no avail. The magical fog was impenetrable, strong and somehow familiar to him, though Alec could not place his finger on it. 

The girl can barely propel herself on her legs after the Sword withdrew, stumbling right into Jace’s ready lap. Though, she quickly shoves the blond away, pressing her back against the wall for some leverage. A flash of guilt rumbles through the parabatai bond, and Alec can’t help but feel rather impressed at her influence on his brother. 

“We have that part settled, then. I’m sure the DNA test wouldn’t object.” He says, then turns to Brother Zachariah, offering a nod of gratitude, “But that’s not all of her missing memories, is it?”

Indeed, Mister Lightwood. A part of her mind seemed to be empty, the Silent Brother replies, Whoever took those memories had left no trace behind. 

“There’s this— hollow in me,” Redhead huffs, the signature indignant bleeds in her voice, “I just—I need to find out who did this. It could be the answer to everything."

“Or not.” Alec shrugs nonchalantly, rolling his eyes at Jace’s glare, “What? It could be some random rune or whatever—”

“ Or, it could lead to the Mortal Cup. Either way, you’ll get your memories back.” The girl’s eyebrow arches up, and Jace sighs, “I promise.”

She doesn’t look all that convinced. Well, Alec can see her reason. But on the contrary to popular beliefs, no, Jace Wayland take s promises personally . 

If his dumbass of a brother does anything stupid and probably dangerous to retrieve the girl’s memories he swears—

“Well, I supposed that’s the end of our session here.” A cordial smile plays on Alec’s face, “Thank you for your help, Brother Zachariah. It’s time we left for the day.”

It’s no problem at all, Mister Lightwood. The Silent Brother offers a small smile of his own before retreating to a passage behind the dais. Alec then whisks his head towards the others, gesturing to follow him out of the City of Bones. 

“Damn, I still have no idea how you could navigate around this place.” Jace’s nose scrunches up in bedazzlement after their sixth turn, “It’s a literal maze .”

“I did spend more time here than most normal Shadowhunters, remember?” He retorts, not bothering to have a glance at the signposting statue when taking a turn into a shadowy tunnel. Alec could see just fine in the dark, and Jace would too if he activates his Night Vision rune, but the blond pulls out a witchlight for the girl’s sake. 

The murmurs they exchange are obtrusive, especially in such a narrow space, and Alec wishes he could cover his ears and stay deaf for the rest of their journey because Jace, seriously? How can one fathom the idea of turning translating a sentence from the dead language into flirting?  

Luckily, their small talk dies down. After a while, they walk in silence again, only with the girl’s occasional hum when she sees something worth remembering—probably for some sort of art project of her. Alec strolls casually between the brick walls, feeling at ease like he always did around the familiar magic of the Bone City. 

They eventually arrive at the end of the tunnel, where there is nothing but bricks and rocks and skulls. Alec takes one step back, silently assessing the brick wall, magic curling ever-so-slightly.

“Would anyone tell me why we are staring at a dead end?” The girl pipes up, evidently confused, only to be even more perplexed when Jace mouths a “Wait” at her. 

Alec presses the fifth block from the right. It dips back an inch, then the so-called ‘dead end’ turns transparent, glowing blue in the dark. 

“Yeah, still no clue how he does that.” Jace shrugs, smirking as the girl has her mouth agape in amazement. 

***********************

The portal brings them right to the New York City Marble Cemetery, which is a good twenty minutes car ride from the Institute. Thank the Angels, because Alec has had more than enough of please-look-at-me-I’m-sorry and I’m-mad-at-you-but-not-really for the rest of his life. 

As it turns out, things get much more dramatic when they walk through the Institute’s door. 

“You can’t just go home !” The girl’s smile when she sees the Mundane immediately flames out as her anger grows. “You’ve just been kidnapped by vampires less than 48 hours ago! It’s not safe out there.” 

“ That is exactly why I must go home! My family is out there, Fray, wondering where the Hell have I been in the last couple of days and I have to protect them!” The boy shoots back in equal vigour, which Alec is surprised at. What is this, trouble in paradise?

Not that he cares, anyways. 

Alec makes his way to the Op-Center, up the corridor and straight into the lab. Izzy, as per usual, is crouching over the microscope, with a pencil ready in her hand. She has her protection glasses on, looking completely engrossed in her task. 

It is at these kinds of moments that Alec admires her immensely. Izzy is so colourful— a sister, a player, a scientist, a soldier. Mother has always been wrong for dismissing her as impulsive and reckless, and Father for viewing her as a fragile princess. But well, they’ve been wrong for many things. 

“A new project?” Alec asks, earning a yelp out of her. 

“I just wish you would stop doing that!” Izzy glares at him, albeit half-heartedly, “Turn your Stealth rune off, please. Heart attacks are bad for scientists.” 

“They are for everyone,” Alec chuckles as her scowl fades into a smirk. 

“So, what’s the news?”

“Nothing much. Fairchild saw a memory of her mother telling that she’s Valentine's daughter,” he sighs, “Brother Zachariah said the rest was wiped out.” 

“A morning for just that.” Izzy grimaced, “ Ugh .” 

“Yeah… But she did mention it felt like a hollow inside. That’s something to start with.”

“Warlocks’ magic symptoms. Interesting.” She hums, phasing out for a second as if to recall every warlock she knows, then all of a sudden, grinning impishly at him. 

That is… suspicious as Hell. 

Alec’s mind conjures up every single thread that could be linked to the word ‘warlock’. Only one makes sense.  

Impossible. She couldn’t have known—

“Hey, uh… Alec, right?” Just as Izzy is about to carry on, the Mundane’s boyish voice breaks in from behind him. And while Alec does not want to entertain the possibility of Izzy knowing his… something with a certain warlock, he must acknowledge the Mundane’s marvellous timing. 

“I’m leaving here to, y’know, go home...” His eyes flicker to Izzy, but doesn’t linger there long, “And I’m just wondering if you have some anti-vamps tech or runed garlics or somethin’. Anything to steer the vamps away from my house.” 

“We do, actually,” Izzy chimes in, “Protection rune can be altered to also deter vampires. There’s holy water as well. It’s best to go old-school.”

The half-joke cracks a smile out of the boy’s gloomy face. Izzy immediately mirrors him, rendering Alec feeling increasingly uncomfortable between the two.  

Anyways, the boy wants to protect his family—that, Alec can sympathise with. 

“Izzy would love to help,” he proposes. Izzy only has half the heart to scowl at him.  

“Of course, but not right now. Tomorrow's good?” 

The boy replies with an earnest grin, then stumbles his way out of the Institute. Alec notices how Izzy’s eyes follow him until he is nowhere in sight. 

“Playing hard to get?” He smirks, eyeing her playfully, “ Not sure if he likes a challenge. A new one, that is.” 

“Oh, no. Just wanna play around a little.” She drops the matter in an instant. “But, dear brother, I do have plans.” 

***********************

“... And good as new,” Magnus chirps, swirls his hand around in a graceful move to finish off the glamour over a plenitude of warding layers. The reinforcement has cost him a whole afternoon to prepare and a morning to realise, but it is definitely worth it. More protection is priceless, after all. 

“Now this is the Pandemonium I’m looking for.” Tessa stands beside him, eyes glistening with enthusiasm, “You’ve made a good business here, Magnus.” 

“As a non-party-goer, I must agree.” Catarina makes quick work of gathering the half-spent candles and sending them to his loft with a flair of her hand, “He has made quite the fortune out of this club.” 

“You all flattered me.” Magnus can’t stop a curl on his lips. Pandemonium is a place that he holds close and dear to his heart, and above all, his greatest accomplishment (save for the portal.) More than just a nightclub, it provides fun to ones who want to forget reality for a good time, the privacy to a lonely soul among the crowds, the safety to those who don’t fit in. 

Collected chaos. It is Magnus. 

“Well, since we are done for the day,” he swings to the two women, clapping his hands together, “May I propose afternoon tea? My treat, of course.” 

“Oh, excellent! I’m so drained after all this magicking,” exclaimed Tessa eagerly, “I also want to wander around a bit. It’s been quite some time since I last visited New York.” 

Cat, the only person with an actual Mundane job, scrutinises her schedule on her phone, before agreeing to his offer, “Same place?” 

“You know the one.” 

***********************

They ended up strolling and portaling around Brooklyn, halfway through Manhattan, before finally arriving at their destination. The lovely sign of “Cheshire” hangs high above a modest tea shop hidden between New York’s skyscrapers. 

Ragnor was the first of them to discover this place. As far as Magnus knows, it is old. Ancient, even. There is this unique aura of its—one that reminds him of the Seelie Realm.

The owner is a fair folk, after all. Them Seelies are inclined to stay in touch with their roots.

The bell jingles merrily when they push past the door. Cheshire is just as delightful as he remembers it to be—bright, cheery and idyllic with various types of plants adorning the place.

They are all poisonous to a certain extent, as the shop happens to be one of the most reputable suppliers of herbal ingredients. But animals are not allowed, and surely the customers don’t have the habit of biting off random leaves, so he supposes that’s quite a smart tactic.

“Let us take a seat, shall we?” Cat prompts, leading them to a secluded table near the corner. Once they are seated, a familiar waiter strides quickly towards their table, a greeting smile on his face. 

“Mr Bane, Ms Lot, long time no see. You brought a friend.” He slides the menu to Tessa before pulling out a pen in his chest pocket, “I’ll get your usuals?” 

“With your latest flavour of flower cake.” The boy hums in acknowledgement at Cat’s order, scraping his pen on the paper. 

“How ’bout you?” He turns to Tessa.

“I’ll hav—” 

Magnus never knows what she has ordered. The bell chirps again, and this time a very tall figure walks in. Magnus can hear his own heartbeat in his ears. 

Alexander. 

And admittedly, in the middle of a poetic Seelie tea shop, he sticks out like a sore thumb. Black frames his firm body; pale skin free of runes. Alexander outright pops on top of the background, black-and-white in a colour-blasting world. Like the calm in a stormy sea. 

Magnus never once understood the beauty of Monochrome Art. He does, now. 

The Shadowhunter walks in long, confident strides towards the cashier counter, not sparing a glance at some cautious Downworld customers nearby. Magnus finds his own body moves to catch up with him.

“Alexander,” he calls, “What a coincidence.” 

The Nephilim springs back, startled by his greeting, but then pulling his lips into an endearing smile.

“Hi, too.” He breathes out, looking delightfully flustered, “I-um—I’m getting some pastry takeouts… You?” 

Alexander’s eyes border on piercing blue now, with just a few flecks of reddish-brown. 

“Tea with old friends.” Magnus gestures to their table, then turns to wink at him, “But they’ll be fine without me if you want to.” 

That earns him a beautiful blotch of pink on top of Alexander’s fair cheeks. How adorable.  

“I’m afraid if I don’t return in less than fifteen minutes with some sugar my brother will tear the Institute apart.” He grimaces, though his eyes sparkle fondly, “But I can—I mean, about another date—” 

Magnus jumps at the opportunity, rather too eagerly for his own liking, “When are you free?” 

“This Saturday. I’m free this Saturday.” Alexander quickly replies. Magnus sees his hand sneaking in the jacket to silent his phone. Always a busy man, indeed . 

“Is Saturday okay?” 

“Of course it is, Alexander.” 

The Shadowhunter gives him a sweet, sunny smile in return. Magnus finds it hard not to reciprocate. 

After Alexander has got his order, they part ways. Magnus comes back to a cool cup of green tea, a slice of lavender cake, and two overenthusiastic sets of eyes. 

“Who is he? A Shadowhunter ? Really, Magnus!” Tessa giggles, “Damn, he’s fineeee.” 

“Is he the one you were talking about?” Catarina joins in, eyeing him with her spill-the-tea look. Magnus rolls his eyes at her, but can’t help his mouth curling into a smirk. 

“Tell us everything ,” Tessa orders, grinning like a child with her birthday presents. 

“Well, we met—” 

Magnus’ phone, curse it, rings. 

He sighs, mumbling an apology to his friends, before picking it up. The voice of his assistance immediately greets him. 

“Elliot dear, I’m afraid today is not one for non-personal warlock duties.” 

“I just need to inform you about the local Shadow World leaders, like I’m supposed to—”

“Which I , the High Warlock of Brooklyn for the last fifty years , have already known,” Magnus shushes him when a ‘but’ comes by, “My ex, Her Majesty, Lucian Garroway and Maryse Lightwood. Now, if you excuse me. Answering the phone during a tea party is incredibly rude.” 

The phone is now back in his pocket. 

At the other end of the line, Elliot assumes the recent development of the title Head-of-the-Institute shouldn’t matter much to the warlocks. 

“Well,” Magnus has a sip of his tea, “we met at Pandemonium…”