Back to Angel in the Marble

Chapter one

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood, you are hereby exiled, unless and until you can prove your loyalty to this body. Only your exemplary service history and parabatai bond have prevented you from being de-runed. You have one hour to vacate the premises. You may take personal items; however, you are henceforth forbidden from carrying Institute supplied weapons as you are denied all Clave resources. You are dismissed.”

Alec kept his expression impassive and stared straight ahead as his sentence was pronounced. His arrest and trial had been fast-tracked to an unprecedented and alarming degree. Even stranger, it was held by the Consul rather than the Inquisitor.

Despite these irregularities, it was legal. It also wasn’t as surprising as Malachi Dieudonné had undoubtedly intended it to be. This was the result Alec had been expecting from the moment he discovered that Jace used an iratze on Clary and brought her to the Institute before knowing her identity.

The Clave did not look kindly on those who broke the law in so obvious a fashion. It had only been a matter of time before someone would have to take the fall. As the eldest, it was Alec’s responsibility to look after his siblings, and he would have sacrificed much more than his place in the Clave to keep them from harm.

When Clave finally decided to take notice of the recent events in New York, the reaction was as bad as Alec had expected it to be. Somehow, the Consul was aware that Alec’s team had revealed the shadow world to a mundane and that the mundane in question was dead. That was all that was needed to have Alec exiled.

Maryse had recently notified him that a Clave official was being sent to evaluate the Institute as a whole, so Alec had already been mentally preparing for the worst. The sudden trial was a surprise, but not a shock.

All in all, Alec was inclined to think he’d been let off lightly. The sentence was confusing, to say the least. Either too harsh or not harsh enough, depending on the message the Inquisitor wanted to send.

Thankfully, Jace, Izzy, and Clary were absent from the Institute while the trial took place.

Clary had taken off that morning after getting a voice message breaking the news of Simon’s death. Jace had offered to go with her, but Clary had been so dismissive in her refusal that Jace had rather obviously been hurt by it. Izzy had exchanged a look with Alec and then invited Jace to join her on her trip to talk to the Seelie Queen.

Even before the Consul’s surprising appearance, Alec had been grateful that Jace would be absent.

In many ways, Jace was the perfect Clave soldier. He was skilled and intelligent and delighted in killing demons. However, respectful of Clave authority, he was not. The last thing Alec needed was his parabatai being rude and passive-aggressive to the person whose report to the Clave could make or break the Lightwood presence in New York.

At first, Alec had wondered if the Consul himself was planning to conduct their evaluation. As soon as he realised the purpose behind the Consul’s presence, Alec was even more grateful that his siblings were elsewhere. If either Jace or Izzy had been there, they would have kicked up such a fuss they would have ended up exiled alongside him, which would have defeated the purpose of pleading guilty in the first place.

Alec held his head high as he made his way to the armoury to hand in his weapons. Some of his former co-workers were openly smug and triumphant over his downfall, but most sent him sympathetic glances.

On the way out of the armoury, he ran into Hodge.

“I can’t believe that bastard exiled you,” Hodge growled. “You weren’t the one to blame!”

“I was in charge,” Alec pointed out gently. “I knew the possible consequences.”

Hodge’s narrowed eyes and pinched expression broadcast his disagreement, but he declined to pursue that line of discussion. “Where will you go?”

Alec shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know yet.” He paused, trying to work out what to say. “When you see Jace and Izzy, tell them not to come after me. This whole thing will have been pointless if they get themselves thrown out too. I’ll be fine. Make them stay put, and I’ll find some way to contact them once I’ve sorted myself out.”

Hodge’s frustration was written all over his face. “You think they’ll listen to me better than they did to you?”

“You trained them,” Alec reminded him. “I’m only their brother.” He gave into impulse and pulled Hodge in for a brief hug. “I need to be by myself for a bit, Hodge. I’ll use my runes to ensure I won’t be followed.”

His bow and quiver, hidden from sight, were a reassuring weight on his back; his stele was in his pocket. Since the Clave didn’t supply them, he didn’t have to hand them in. The stele and quiver were family heirlooms, and the bow could only be forcibly taken from him by Raziel himself.

Hodge’s frown deepened. “Is that a good idea? What if there’s an emergency and someone needs to find you? What if you’re attacked?”

Alec raised his eyebrows. “Unless there’s a kuri nest somewhere in New York that the Institute’s somehow missed, I’m sure I’ll manage. Be well, and take care of them, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Hodge promised. He shook his head. “The Consul doesn’t realise that he’s just shot the New York Institute in the foot. I don’t think he’s aware of how responsible you are for the smooth running of this place.”

“How could he be?” Alec replied. “My parents are still the official leaders. As far as the Clave is concerned, I’m a senior patrol leader and an assistant trainer. There are plenty of shadowhunters able and willing to step into those roles at a moment’s notice.”

“We both know you do far more than that.”

“My parents will be here, and the Clave representative we were expecting will be arriving from Alicante shortly,” Alec went on. “Unless someone deliberately screws with the systems in place just because I implemented them, nothing should go wrong.”

Hodge raised his eyebrows. “You’re more optimistic about that than I am.” He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “But then the Clave has always excelled at screwing up by attempting to fix things that weren’t broken.” He gestured at Alec. “Case in point.”

Alec gave him a half-smile. “Don’t worry about me. The worst has already occurred; in some ways, it’s a relief that it’s finally happened.” He shifted his quiver so that it sat more comfortably. “I’m running out of time. Just…try to get Jace and Izzy to be sensible for once.”

v^v^v

Alec hadn’t been entirely forthcoming with Hodge. He did have a plan for an eventuality such as this, a plan that he hadn’t shared with anyone.

Even before Clary started stampeding through the shadow world and negligently trampling over the delicate boundaries the Accords had upheld, Alec had known that he might one day need a bolt hole, a place of safety where the Clave couldn’t find him.

Knowing how close Valentine’s uprising had come to succeeding, how a genocidal man had nearly overrun the heart of the Clave itself, Alec had looked for ways to safeguard his family if such a thing were to happen again.

Alec wasn’t a member of the Clave solely because he’d been born into a prominent family. He might have been pushed into a leadership role since he could walk, but that was an obligation to his name rather than a calling. His birth had meant certain things were expected of him, and Alec tried to be a dutiful son.

It wasn’t all he was, though, and over the years, he’d given long and careful thought to the Clave’s mission; on what it meant to protect humanity from demons. At present, the best way to work for that was under the Clave.

However, if the Clave ever fell—either to someone like Valentine or just to general corruption that impeded rather than forwarded the mission—Alec wanted a safe place to go. Somewhere to stand while planning what to do next.

He’d researched his options and then bought a small apartment in a slightly dilapidated building in Lower Manhattan. It wasn’t much, not by Clave standards, but it was perfect for his needs: two tiny bedrooms, a compact kitchen, and a small lounge area. The shower was a bit cramped, and the hot water wasn’t reliable, but it was his, which made the inconveniences easy to deal with.

So far, he’d resisted the temptation to show it to his sister or his parabatai. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them; he just…liked having something for himself. Sometimes, when the two of them went out to dance, drink, and get laid, Alec would go to his tiny apartment and revel in the solitude.

With his exile only an hour old, Alec was glad to have gone to all the effort. Having divested himself of his quiver, jacket, shoes and socks, Alec collapsed onto the too-short bed. There were a hundred and one things he could be doing, but a sudden feeling of exhaustion rolled over him.

A week where he’d had less than three hours of sleep a night had added to the stress Alec was already under. Everything had been crazy since that fateful moment when a perfectly ordinary demon hunt was interrupted by Clary Fray, and Alec wanted to close his eyes and rest for a while. He rolled over and buried his head in the pillow, too tired to even get undressed.

Later. He could start to deal with things later.

v^v^v

If anyone were to ask him, Magnus would say that the worst part of regular potions research was stocktake. The acquisition of ingredients could be exciting, and the brewing process was always enjoyable, but keeping up-to-date records of what he had on hand was a tedious business at best.

Unfortunately, it was also necessary. Experience had taught him that the only thing worse than the tedium of going through his extensive collection of ingredients and supplies was wanting to make a potion and discovering that he’d used all his bearded corneas and forgotten to replace them.

Since the fight to save Luke Garroway’s life had considerably depleted several of Magnus’ stocks, it was time to take an inventory. Magnus was nearly a quarter of the way through his list when his wards notified him that two nephilim were approaching.

Brightening at the thought of seeing Alexander again, Magnus made a quick notation of his current progress, then used his magic to change into something that made him look mysterious and exotic, but also available. A quick touch up of his hair and make-up, and he was ready.

By the time his angel-blooded guests began pounding on the door, Magnus was the epitome of idle sophistication. Colourful cocktail in hand, he opened the door with a grand flourish, only to be disappointed. Alexander’s sister and parabatai stood in the doorway, but the man himself was absent.

Magnus consoled himself with a large sip of his rather fine blood-orange martini. “Ah, my young shadowhunter friends. What do you need me for this evening?”

“You need to find Alec,” Jace blurted out. Only the wildness in his eyes stopped Magnus from giving the refusal that sprang to his lips in response to such a rude demand.

“What happened?” Magnus asked, sending his glass to a side table with a snap of his fingers. “Is he in danger?”

“The Clave exiled him,” Jace replied, anger and desperation in his voice. “We were gone for two hours. When we returned to the Institute, it was all over and done with. They made him hand over his phone and weapons, shoved him out the door, and now we don’t know where the hell he is.”

That stopped Magnus short. “The Clave did what?”

“The Consul put him on trial and found him guilty,” Isabelle said. She appeared far more controlled than her brother; only her blank expression and the tightness around her eyes indicated how stressed she was. Without her usual smile, the resemblance to Alec was stronger than ever. “Hodge said the only reason they didn’t de-rune him is because of his parabatai bond.”

Magnus blinked. “The Clave arrested Alec, held a trial, and sentenced him in two hours?”

“Malachi Dieudonné, the Consul, used a trial format that has historically only been used for treason cases in active battle zones,” Isabelle explained, eyes flashing briefly with anger. “The appeals process is going to be difficult. Usually, the Inquisitor holds trials, and any irregularities can then be brought to the Consul’s attention. But who do you appeal to when the highest power in the Clave is the one you want to lodge a complaint against?”

“What were the charges?” Magnus asked, mentally checking off the items he would need to track a nephilim. Hopefully, Alec hadn’t taken steps to keep himself hidden. Not that there was anything a single shadowhunter could do to hide from Magnus forever, but he didn’t intend to advertise that. Especially not to his current audience. Better for shadowhunters and the Clave to remain unaware of the full scope of his abilities. “Not treason, surely?”

“Breaches of the Accords, dereliction of duty, failure to follow established Clave procedures leading to a mundane death.” Isabelle met Magnus’ surprised stare unflinchingly. “The trial was short because Alec took full responsibility on all counts; he agreed to plead guilty on the condition that no charges would be levied against Jace and me.”

Magnus closed his eyes, sympathy for Alexander threatening to overwhelm him. “Of course he did.”

“They had no right!” Jace exploded. “Alec wasn’t even there for half of it! It should have been me on trial, not him!”

Magnus completely agreed with that sentiment, but there was no point expressing it right now. “They exiled him, but let him keep his runes? That seems…unusual.”

“They only exiled him temporarily,” Isabelle said. “If he can ‘prove his loyalty,’ he’ll be reinstated as a shadowhunter.”

“How, exactly, is he going to prove his loyalty?”

Isabelle threw her hands in the air. “I don’t know! The only thing I can think of is that they intend for him to go after Valentine directly. But if that was their plan, why exile him? Why take his weapons?”

Magnus briefly wondered if the Consul planned to use Alec as an undercover agent or bait to lure Valentine into the open. Even the thought made Magnus feel slightly ill.

Wanting some fresh air, he abandoned his spell preparation and opened the doors onto the balcony. There was no point in dwelling on the worst-case scenario; there were other matters to consider. “It was my understanding that Alec’s been training most of his life to run an Institute. Even if he ‘proved his loyalty’ enough to be reinstated, would the Clave ever consider him for that post again?”

Isabelle sighed. She looked at the floor, expression downcast. “I don’t know. Probably not.”

Oh, Alexander. Everything he’d worked for, destroyed so completely, so quickly. Magnus pressed his lips together, imagining the whole thing playing out in his head. “What are the exact terms of his exile? I want the specific words spoken.”

“We don’t know,” Jace said impatiently. “We already told you that we weren’t there. What does it even matter? We need to find him.”

Magnus turned and pinned them with his best unimpressed look. “It hasn’t occurred to either of you that he might not want to be found right now?”

Jace blinked, confused. “Why would… That makes no sense!”

“Alec would know that you’d come here,” Magnus pointed out. “If he wanted to see you, wouldn’t he be waiting for you?”

Isabelle’s expression didn’t change. “We won’t bother him if he doesn’t want to see us; I just need to know that he’s alright. As alright as he can be, anyway. I owe him an apology, but that can wait until he’s ready for it.”

Jace turned on her. “What? No! We have to find him!”

Isabelle raised her chin. “We have to respect his wishes, Jace. Haven’t we hurt him enough? He wouldn’t even be in this position if we hadn’t been ignoring him!”

“I’ve never ignored him!” Jace declared vehemently.

Isabelle raised her eyebrows. “No? So, all those times since we met Clary when he objected to what we were doing, when he tried to get us to stop and let him find a way to achieve our goals that fit within the Clave’s edicts, you didn’t blow him off and just do what you wanted anyway?”

Jace stared at her, his jaw clenched mutinously.

“Ever since Clary showed up, you’ve ignored his opinions, suggestions, and even his orders, all the while exploiting his loyalty to you as his parabatai,” Isabelle continued relentlessly. “I’m no better. I saw it, I heard it, and I did nothing. I was too caught up in the excitement to consider the fallout. Alec was aware, though. He knew all along that there were going to be serious repercussions. That’s why he objected in the first place.”

Jace lowered his gaze, but his jaw remained clenched.

“Clary said it loud and clear more than once; she doesn’t care about him, she doesn’t care about the Clave and their ‘stupid laws,’ she only cares about getting her mother back. Alec knew that. He knew she couldn’t care less about the fragile peace that the shadow world has been existing under.”

“You can’t blame her for wanting to save her mother,” Jace objected.

“Of course I don’t,” Isabelle responded. “Neither did Alec. He never said that he wouldn’t help, just that the way we were going about it was wrong. And he was right! How many lives, Jace? How many people have already died because of this crusade, this quest that we’ve enabled and supported? Do you not care because they were downworlders? How many more downworlders will die so that a bunch of shadowhunters can save one Circle member from another? I don’t care how ‘reformed’ Clary’s mom is supposed to be; how do you think that looks to them?”

Magnus listened to the argument with great interest. He’d noticed the tensions that existed between this delightful group of young nephilim from the first, only someone utterly blind to body language could have missed it, but he’d not had enough background to work out the intricacies.

It had been a stressful few hours. There was the discovery that the lair had been invaded and that many of his people had already been killed, followed soon after by meeting Alec and feeling that impossible spark spring up between them.

Magnus had agreed to perform the ritual to summon the memory demon for several reasons.

Firstly, he’d never felt comfortable taking young Clarissa’s memories away, and he thought returning them was the right thing to do.

Secondly, it was vital to keep the Mortal Cup out of Valentine’s hands. The last thing the downworld needed was Valentine handpicking mortals and then using the Cup to create an army of loyal nephilim.

Thirdly, Magnus had wanted to strut his warlock stuff and impress the tall, handsome shadowhunter with such expressive eyes and the adorable, stammered introductions.

Fourthly, gorgeous young shadowhunter notwithstanding, he’d wanted them gone so that he could tend to what was left of his people and make suitable arrangements for those who’d died. Giving them what they’d come for seemed the most expedient method of achieving that.

Then, despite the caution he usually displayed when dealing with shadowhunters, Magnus had found himself swept up in the same excitement that Isabelle just described. Clarissa had an almost magical way of convincing people to help her.

That thought gave Magnus pause.

It really was almost magical. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that she had some sort of warlock gift. But Valentine and Jocelyn were both nephilim through and through, and Clarissa was most definitely their daughter.

On the other hand, Valentine had been rather big on biological experimentation. Jocelyn had spoken several times of what Valentine had done to their son, and it was the thought of what he might do to an unborn Clarissa that had been the impetus that finally drove her from her husband’s side. Was it possible he’d already begun?

This needed some thought.

Jace and Isabelle were still arguing.

“I never wanted him to take the blame for me!”

“You never once gave it any thought!” Isabelle replied harshly. “Neither did I! We never thought we’d suffer any true repercussions for our actions because we knew that Alec would smooth things out for us, like he always does! And he did! Don’t you see Jace? He always knew that this was going to happen. He tried to tell us; no, he tried to warn us. But we’ve become used to dismissing him, treating him like a killjoy who never wants to have fun. We ignored his warnings like we always do.”

Jace opened his mouth to reply, but Isabelle just raised her voice and kept on talking. “We weren’t just breaking Institute rules, or even Clave rules! We were breaking the Accords, Jace. We broke them more than once! When the consequences finally arrived, Alec did what he always does, what we’ve counted on him doing for years. He smoothed it over for us.” She laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “For all I know, he thinks he was the one in the wrong. He was in charge, after all. Shouldn’t he have stopped us?”

Jace winced, then sighed. The fight drained out of his body, leaving him looking tired. “The only way to stop us would be if he charged us and locked us up. But that would have left permanent marks on our records.”

“And Alec would sooner fall on his seraph blade than do that to us,” Isabelle finished. “So that’s what he did. He came along with us to keep us as safe as possible, and then when the Clave came calling for an accounting…he took the fall.”

How enlightening.

Magnus plastered a bright, insincere smile on his face and aimed it at Alec’s siblings. “I think we can all agree that your brother has ample reason to want some time to himself. Why don’t the two of you run along? I’ll do my best to find him and ensure that he’s alright. If he tells me he wants to talk to either of you, I’ll arrange a way for him to contact you.”

Jace’s expression darkened, and he stepped forward. “Look, Magnus, I don’t care what you think—”

“Jace!” Isabelle interrupted him. “Leave it! I’m sure Magnus just wants to make sure Alec is okay. The longer we stand here arguing with him, the more time there is for Alec to get into difficulties.”

“Exactly,” Magnus said, grateful that at least one of Alec’s siblings had a modicum of sense. “Did you bring me something of his? To help with tracking?”

“Give it to him,” Isabelle instructed Jace, who pulled a faded black cotton singlet from inside his jacket and handed it over. “Thank you for this, Magnus. Jace and I need to have a discussion about how this happened and what we should do about it. Tell Alec that we’re sorry and that we’ll keep our heads down until we know what he thinks we should do.” She glared daggers at the brother beside her. “We won’t run off after Clary again, will we, Jace?”

Jace agreed reluctantly. “I don’t know where she is, anyway,” he muttered. “She got a message on her phone and just took off.”

Isabelle winced. “Simon was found dead, Jace. The message was from his mother, wanting answers. It was one of the things the Consul used against Alec.” She sighed. “Someone should investigate. He was fine yesterday, which means he was either hit by a car or his death directly resulted from his introduction to the shadow world. Given the whole thing with the vampires abducting him, coincidence seems unlikely.”

Magnus felt a headache beginning behind his eyes. “Which brings up a point…you have impressed upon Biscuit the necessity of keeping the shadow world a secret, haven’t you? You don’t think she’ll try and enlist any more mundanes to her cause?”

Jace’s expression turned slightly apprehensive. He looked at his sister. “I think so? We told her it was a secret, but…”

“But then she immediately went ahead and told Simon all about it,” Isabelle finished for him. She sighed again. “It was one of the things that Alec was most angry about. It just seemed so harmless; what harm could one teenage mundane do?”

“We should go and check,” Jace concluded.

“You should do no such thing,” Magnus told him. “You have no subtlety at all. I’ll get in touch with Luke Garroway; he can take care of it. He’s an officer of the law, and he’s already known to Clary’s mundane friends. He also knows how to be discreet.” He pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to Luke. Simon is dead; Clary is with his family. Ensure secrecy is kept.

“Thanks again,” Isabelle said. “Come on, Jace. Let’s get back to the Institute. We should probably make sure all our paperwork is up to date.” Her mouth twisted down. “Alec isn’t around to remind us anymore.”

Jace lingered in the doorway for a moment. “You’ll tell us if he needs our help?” For a moment, his expression revealed just how lost he was feeling. Then his usual confident mask was firmly in place.

Magnus’s heart softened. “I’ll call you if he’s in any difficulty.”

As soon as they crossed over his ward line, Magnus abandoned any pretence of calm and burst into a flurry of motion. Although he was confident in his abilities, tracking a shadowhunter wasn’t the quickest and easiest thing to do. It was twice as hard if the shadowhunter in question was taking steps to conceal themselves.

On the positive side, unlike Valentine, Alec would only have his runes to hide him. Depending on what runes he was using and whether he was on the move, triangulating his position might take a few minutes to a few hours.

Rather than waste time and resources on a series of increasingly complex spells, Magnus went straight for the one that was almost guaranteed to work. It was an expensive spell, calling for components that most warlocks found rather difficult to come by.

Luckily for Magnus—and something he didn’t advertise—his time in Edom had left him with more than just a boundless regret and a distinct desire to eschew his father’s company forevermore.

While trying to find a diversion from the activities Asmodeus had thought it appropriate for the son and heir of a prince of hell to occupy his time, Magnus had met and managed to befriend the local underdwellers. They were a race of beings who dwelt in the shadowy spaces between the realms, incredibly self-sufficient and disinclined to talk with strangers. Those friendships had endured, and the underdwellers remained open to trading with him.

Combined with some astutely negotiated contracts with various other entities—including the Clave itself—Magnus’ storehouse of ingredients and reagents held an impressive range of rare and exotic components that, if known about, would make him the envy of many. More than he already was that is.

His potion stocks took another beating as Magnus gathered everything he would need together. It took him half an hour to prepare, during which he received confirmation from Luke that he had Clary in hand. Good. Hopefully, that wouldn’t turn into another tire fire that required his attention.

With that taken care of and having messaged the day’s clients to postpone their appointments, Magnus metaphorically rolled up his sleeves and readied himself to cast.

v^v^v

Ten minutes later, Magnus was standing in front of a very ordinary-looking door in Lower Manhattan. It wasn’t precisely dingy, but it was a far cry from what he was used to, what he knew shadowhunters were used to. He raised his hand to knock, then hesitated. What if Alexander didn’t want to see him? He’d had a traumatic day, and he might not want company just yet.

The door opened before he had the chance to make a choice either way. A deliciously rumpled looking Alexander was on the other side, eyebrow raised in query. He didn’t say anything, just leaned in the doorway.

Magnus let his gaze trail over him, from the hair, which was sticking up in all directions, to his feet, which were bare. How strange. Magnus hadn’t found men’s feet erotic before. A woman’s foot—soft, supple and with well-kept, painted toenails—yes. Men’s feet tended to be more…prosaic. But something about seeing Alec’s vulnerable feet sparked unexpected fires in Magnus, reminiscent of a time when the sight of a woman’s ankles made men feel faint.

“Was there something you wanted?” Alec asked, voice dry. He looked amused rather than annoyed, so Magnus decided to brazen through it. He’d been around for centuries; he’d had more lovers than Alec had eaten hot dinners. This sort of thing shouldn’t fluster him so much.

“I recently played host to two extremely distressed shadowhunters, darling,” Magnus explained, remembering what had brought him here. “They said you’ve been turned out with nothing but the clothes on your back.” He peered around the tall form in the doorway, trying to glimpse the room beyond.

Alec rolled his eyes. “You might as well come in.” He retreated, leaving the door open. “It’s not much, I’m afraid, but it suits my purposes.”

Magnus glanced from the functional but plain couch to the functional but plain curtains. The walls and floor were bare of decoration; functional but plain. “You’ve had this place for a while, I see.”

Alec shrugged. “It’s always wise to have a bolt hole or two, as I’m sure you’d agree. I don’t have a lot to spend my money on, so getting set up here wasn’t any hardship.”

Magnus sat on the couch, surprised at how comfortable it was. “I take it your siblings aren’t aware you had somewhere to go?”

Alec sat down beside him.

Magnus tried not to read too much into it; there was only a single piece of furniture, after all. Aside from the fact that there wasn’t any room for more, Alec clearly wasn’t in the habit of having company over. Magnus wondered if he was the first person Alec had allowed inside this space.

Not that he’d given Alec much choice. Magnus fiddled with his ear cuff, feeling a little guilty for invading while also delighted at the exclusivity that it implied. He was aware of how utterly ridiculous it was to feel so possessive about someone he’d known for such a short time, but feelings were feelings.

“Jace and Izzy have their own hobbies,” Alec explained. “Having my own space… It wasn’t really a hobby, but knowing that it was here gave me peace of mind.” He leaned back, his head resting against the wall. “I hoped that it would never be something I needed, although I can’t say that I’m surprised that it happened.”

“Isabelle said something similar,” Magnus told him. “That she should have seen this coming sooner. That it was their fault.”

“Partly,” Alec agreed. “It was my fault, too, since it was my weakness that she and Jace were exploiting. They’ve always been the wild cards in my deck. If I’d been truly focused on the Clave, the way we were brought up to be, then I would have discarded those ties as soon as I understood just how far I’d go for them.”

“Don’t blame yourself for not being a mindless automaton,” Magnus said gently. “I’ve met shadowhunters who allowed their service to the Clave to override all other aspects of their life, and they all died wasteful, lonely deaths. I wouldn’t want that for you.” He eyed Alec’s relaxed posture. “Isabelle said that you’d find a way to blame yourself.”

“I don’t, not really,” Alec said thoughtfully. “In some ways, the trial and the exile are a bit of a relief. Walking away, knowing that the leadership of the Institute is out of reach…it made me realise just how much I was willing to sacrifice for it; for something that I had never really chosen for myself.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “And how much were you willing to sacrifice?”

“Almost everything,” Alec answered simply. “Everything but my parabatai, sister, and younger brother.” He met Magnus’ eyes squarely. “My parents had already started to increase the pressure for me to contract a suitable marriage, to bolster the family reputation and strengthen our voice within the Clave.”

Magnus understood his unspoken words. “You would have done it. Committed yourself to a loveless marriage for the sake of duty.”

Alec shrugged. “It’s what I’ve been trained for. There’s no such thing as gay shadowhunters, Magnus. Oh,” he waved a dismissive hand, “I’m not saying that I’m the first shadowhunter who has no interest in the opposite sex. There’s just no ‘gay’ as far as the Clave is concerned. Part of our duty to the Angel is to marry and produce children; there’s no space for personal preference.”

Magnus wrinkled his nose. Marriage and children were supposed to be fulfilling and rewarding. Trust the Clave to turn those things into another way to control people. Their own people, no less. “Is that no longer something in your future, then?”

Alec smiled mirthlessly. “What respectable shadowhunter would want to marry such a disgrace? It wouldn’t surprise me to discover I’m not even listed as a Lightwood anymore. My parents always made it clear that death was preferable to dishonouring the family name; they might have already disowned me.”

Magnus scoffed. “If they have, they’re even more hypocritical than I thought!”

“What?” Alec asked, startled.

“After their own acts as Circle members, if they then disown you for the ‘dreadful dishonour’ of not reining in your sister and parabatai, it would be hypocrisy of the highest order!”

Alec stared at him. “My parents were what?”

Magnus stared back. “Circle members. You didn’t know?”

Alec continued staring at him, but Magnus could almost see his brain working, putting together bits of the puzzle. “Those bastards!” He got to his feet and began pacing the small space, scowl firmly in place.

Magnus conjured himself a martini and sipped it. He might as well enjoy the view. He thought about offering Alec a drink too, but the poor thing didn’t seem in the mood to appreciate the finer things in life right now. Perhaps he should be remorseful about shattering Alec’s illusions, but he was too entertained by imagining Alec’s confrontation with Maryse and Robert Lightwood. He wondered idly if Alec would agree to record it.

“I can’t believe them!” Alec fumed, spinning on his heel in a particularly graceful move that reminded Magnus of dancing. “That’s why we’ve been raised under such pressure? Why nothing Izzy ever does is right, why my parents have hammered duty into us to the point of indoctrination?” He stopped pacing and glared at Magnus. “The Clave knows, right?”

“Oh yes,” Magnus informed him. “My understanding is that Robert and Maryse withdrew from Valentine’s side at the eleventh hour; that they traded information to the Clave in the hope of receiving leniency.”

“Which they got.”

Magnus shrugged. “I hear that the existence of young children might have played a part in that. There was some talk about how it wouldn’t be fair to punish the innocent along with the guilty and that you and your sister weren’t to be held accountable for your parents’ crimes.”

“Except we have been,” Alec growled. “Izzy and I have been paying the price all our lives. That isn’t even what infuriates me. What I can’t stand is that they had the gall to keep this whole thing a secret. The lengths they must have gone through to keep it from us! No wonder we never joined the Academy! No wonder our visits to other Institutes were always supervised!”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Magnus said, his amusement at the situation evaporating at the sight of Alec’s continued distress. He drained his drink, banishing the glass with a snap of his fingers. “This must be a big shock to you.”

Alec’s energy wound down, and he collapsed back onto the couch. “How am I going to tell Izzy? Scratch that; how am I going to tell Jace?”

Magnus blinked. “Why would Jace be more bothered than Izzy?”

“Izzy has a more realistic view of who our parents are than Jace,” Alec told him. “It’s complicated. Valentine, or Valentine’s people, killed his father, Michael Wayland. It’s why he came to live with us; my father and Michael Wayland were parabatai.” He sighed. “Jace was raised… Let’s just say that Michael Wayland wanted his son to be a razor-sharp weapon, and he moulded Jace as such.”

Magnus winced. “It’s not the most diplomatic thing to say, darling, but sometimes the way you shadowhunters raise children seems entirely barbaric.”

Alec shrugged. “We’re warriors for the Angel. We live hard and die young for the cause, marrying early in the hope that our name will live on once we die. We produce children and train them to do the same. It’s the way it’s been for centuries.”

“Just because it’s tradition doesn’t make it right,” Magnus pointed out. “Women were regarded as inferior beings without the ability to think on the same level as men and were traded as chattel for centuries, you know.”

Alec’s smiled ruefully. “I’m not arguing. Although, the Clave’s loss of the Mortal Cup has changed things slightly. With no way to replenish nephilim numbers whenever they get low, the higher-ups have had to work much harder at keeping shadowhunters alive than they have historically.”

“If I see Valentine, I’ll make sure to tell him,” said Magnus. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” He snapped his fingers. “What about the Mortal Cup? If you brought that back to them, they might reinstate you.”

Alec shook his head. “I did think about offering it to them.” He frowned. “Something about the whole situation felt off, though. Until I figure out what isn’t right, the Mortal Cup can remain where it is.”

“You mean that you managed to locate it?” Magnus asked, sitting up straighter.

Alec nodded. “We brought it back to the Institute last night. I locked it in a secure safe and set it to respond only to my stele.” Alec pulled a stele out of his pocket and twirled it expertly around his fingers. “This one.”

Magnus felt a smile creeping across his face. “As the warlock who helped design some of the protections on those safes, I can confidently say that the kind of power needed to break into it would be quite significant. Certainly not something that can be done without attracting a lot of attention.” A tension he’d barely been aware of drained out of him. “Well. At least that’s one thing we can stop worrying about. Although I would have thought returning it to Idris immediately would have been the more prudent choice.”

“No kidding,” Alec replied. “That was originally my intention. Clary argued that it needed to be kept close in case we needed to use it as leverage.” He blinked, forehead creasing in perplexity. “Which is an insane idea. It looks like I wasn’t as immune to her powers of suggestion as I thought.”

Magnus reached out and patted his hand. “There, there. We can start a club: otherwise intelligent, rational beings who’ve been suckered into doing outrageous things by Clary Fray.”

Alec snorted. “I’d nominate Jace for president, except for the ‘rational’ part you included there.”

“He does strike me as the reckless sort.”

“Not always,” Alec hastily amended. “He’s not an idiot, and he knows a lot about all kinds of demons. It’s just that he prefers direct action rather than sitting around making plans. It’s one of the ways we balance each other out. He’s too reckless; I’m too cautious. When we work together, we make well thought out choices and execute them expediently.”

“And Isabelle?”

“Izzy manages to be balanced all by herself.” Alec smiled fondly. “She chafes under authority, though. Doesn’t like being told what to do.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “‘Soldier’ is an interesting profession for a free spirit.”

“It’s not like we got any choice in the matter,” Alec pointed out. “Izzy and I even less than most nephilim. Shadowhunter is the most highly regarded profession in Idris, and Lightwoods historically rise high in the Clave. The only way to get any autonomy in this life is to be skilled enough to have your whims indulged. Maybe if I’d risen to Head of the Institute, I could have worked at changing that, at least locally, but…” He shrugged.

“You don’t sound convinced,” observed Magnus.

“Finding out my parents were Circle members hasn’t just put my history with them into perspective; it’s also made me reconsider the Clave. Despite our differences, I love my parents. But allowing them to walk free, to run an Institute, when it was known that they’d followed Valentine? It’s unconscionable.” He snorted. “Not that the Clave has ever cared what I think. Or ever will care, now.”

“Maybe this whole thing will blow over,” Magnus suggested, although he didn’t really believe what he was saying.

Alec shook his head. “No. Things don’t just ‘blow over’ for the Clave.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Magnus insisted. “If someone had told me a month ago that I would be in a tiny apartment doing my best to cheer up one of Raziel’s chosen, I’d have turned them into a newt.”

That got a smile. “Why a newt?”

Magnus waved a hand. “Because sometimes the old ones are still the best.” He rolled his eyes at Alec’s confusion. “Remind me to introduce you to Monty Python someday.”

“Who is Monty Python? A warlock?”

“Not is, are,” Magnus replied. “Never mind, it’s better just to experience it yourself.” The gurgle of an empty stomach made itself heard.

Alec looked embarrassed. “Sorry about that. I haven’t had a chance to buy any food. To be honest, the grocery store is a little intimidating.”

Magnus laughed. “A fearless shadowhunter, brought low by the prospect of self-checkouts. Don’t fret, darling; I’m happy to go with you a couple of times until you get your feet under you. In the meantime, how about I shout you lunch?”

Alec’s relief was palpable. “That would be great. I’ll return the favour sometime; I know a wonderful Thai restaurant in Greenwich.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” Magnus promised. “Anything, in particular, you want right now?”

“I don’t mind,” Alec replied. “Whatever’s easiest.”

Magnus scoffed, twirling his magic around his fingertips ostentatiously. “When a warlock is your delivery driver, my dear, nothing is hard. Do you like pasta? I can get some great spinach and ricotta cannelloni to go in seconds. Or they do a mean risotto.”

Alec licked his lips. “The cannelloni, please.”

“As you wish. And perhaps…” Magnus rose to his feet and considered the space available. “Hmm.” Narrowing his eyes slightly, he magically reinforced the apartment’s walls before carefully casting a temporary expansion charm on the small room. Once he was satisfied that it was large enough, he conjured a table and chairs, complete with place settings and cutlery. Then he snapped his fingers, transferring steaming, fragrant pasta from a little bistro he liked to frequent. “Tuck in, my dear.”

“Thank you.” Alec picked up a fork, looking impressed. He sniffed the first forkful cautiously before taking a bite. His eyes widened. “Wow. That’s amazing!”

Magnus preened. It was always so nice to have an appreciative audience.

Chapter two

They didn’t talk much while they ate. The cannelloni deserved their full attention, and Magnus enjoyed Alec’s enjoyment almost as much as the meal itself. It wasn’t often he let himself splurge like this, and he’d ordered far too much food with the thought that Alec would have leftovers.

When Alec finally sat back with a satisfied sigh, Magnus had already discarded his fork for his wine. He swirled it in the glass, admiring the depth of colour. “So, what do you think of this ‘exile’ you’ve been sentenced to?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Alec admitted. “On the one hand, exile is a legitimate sentence for breaking the Accords. It’s on the extreme side of things and generally only imposed on shadowhunters whose actions have directly and negatively impacted the Clave. On the other hand, they didn’t de-rune me, which is standard procedure for an exile, and that takes most of the bite away. My biggest concern is that I don’t know what the Consul was hoping to achieve.”

Magnus leaned forward. “Could it be a test? For you, or your friends and family? To see if they obey the Clave’s edict?”

“That occurred to me,” Alec admitted, twirling his empty fork around his fingers the way he’d twirled his stele. “It’s one of the reasons I didn’t leave a message for Jace and Izzy. If they’re being watched, they won’t be seen contacting me.” He put the fork down abruptly.

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “So, not at all because you wanted to punish them.”

Alec shrugged. “There might have been a little bit of that. I know that the responsibility ultimately rested with me, but the last couple of weeks have been hard. They refused to listen to anything if it meant they couldn’t do what they wanted.” He frowned again, more confused and hurt than angry. “I don’t know how they thought it would end any other way than badly. People have died, most of them needless deaths that could have been avoided if we’d just taken things through proper channels. But they didn’t seem to care. Clary Fray batted her eyelashes at them, and off they ran.”

Magnus sat up straighter. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that. During your siblings’ recent visit, it occurred to me that my own behaviour since Biscuit showed up has been a little worrisome.”

Alec immediately looked concerned. “Yeah?”

Magnus waved a hand. “Nothing drastic, my dear. Little things. Normally, I wouldn’t be quite so impetuous about leaping into shadowhunter business. Since that meeting at the Hardtail, I’ve found myself increasingly involved in the crusade to locate and save Jocelyn Fairchild. It was only today that I stopped to wonder why.”

With a discreet swirl of his magic, he packed up the leftovers and sent them into Alec’s fridge. He also cleaned the dishes and stacked them back in the cupboards before refilling Alec’s glass.

“Thank you,” Alec tilted his head slightly. “Have you come up with a theory?” He rose to his feet. “Come on; it must be tiring having to maintain a spatial expansion like this. Join me on the couch; relax for a bit.”

The drain on Magnus’ magic had become a bit of a drag, so he gracefully conceded. If he took the opportunity to sit a bit closer to his host than earlier, Alec didn’t seem to mind.

“I know you shadowhunters have runes for all sorts of things,” Magnus began once he got comfortable. “I’ve been friends with shadowhunters before, and they’ve discussed some of the benefits and shortcomings with me. The most common complaint is that aside from a few notable exceptions—such as the parabatai rune—each rune has a ‘life,’ so to speak, and once it’s been used, it must be reapplied.”

Alec nodded. “That’s true, although most can be applied in advance and only used as needed.” He gestured to the rune on his neck. “This one, for instance. Deflect, or block. It wouldn’t do much good if I had to stop and inscribe it in the heat of battle.”

“I assume you also need to consciously decide when to use it, too,” Magnus said thoughtfully. “Otherwise, it would activate every time you sparred.”

“Not every time,” Alec objected, although the smile in his voice told Magnus that he wasn’t offended. “I might not be as highly rated as Jace, but there aren’t many who can defeat me one on one, you know.”

“Of course,” Magnus replied smoothly. “What was I thinking? But back to the issue at hand. Do you, by chance, have a rune that helps you…convince people? Persuade them, perhaps?”

Alec blinked. “Yes. A couple of runes can ‘enhance the expectation of co-operation,’ to quote the text. Most of them are restricted and available only to some higher-level Clave members; you need special dispensation even to know about them. The only reason I even know they exist is because I watched Jia Penhallow use one in an interrogation once. She didn’t know I was there until afterwards, and she swore me to secrecy.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “Aren’t you breaking that oath now?”

Alec smirked briefly. “While she was very thorough in forbidding me from conveying the information to nephilim, my oath didn’t cover downworlders. A lot of the Clave’s internal laws don’t mention downworlders. It’s a glaring operational oversight for a group as racist and bigoted as the Clave is.”

Magnus laughed. “Most communities don’t bother making laws for things they believe could never happen.”

Alec shrugged. “Whatever their reasons, I’m aware of the loopholes those laws provide. If the necessity arises, I can use them.”

Magnus stared at him, fascinated. “You really are different from every other shadowhunter I’ve known, Alexander.”

Alec blushed lightly. “Thanks, I think. But what were you saying about the coercion runes? You think that Clary is using them somehow?”

Magnus spread his hands. “I wondered if maybe she’s somehow able to tap into the ability without needing to actually apply runes.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” Alec replied. “It would explain some things, though.”

“Valentine was known for running some rather exotic biological experiments,” Magnus suggested. “Perhaps something he did, either to himself or Jocelyn, or even to Clarissa when she was in utero, might have triggered it?”

Alec tilted his head slightly. “If it’s true, I wonder why her power took so long to work on me?”

Magnus coughed lightly. “Perhaps you had a specific reason to view her with disfavour from the start? It might be possible that your…dislike…insulated you from the effect.”

Alec nodded slowly. “You’re right; I didn’t like her. From the first, Jace was intrigued, and Izzy was excited to be doing something different. I was annoyed that Jace had put runes on someone he had every reason to believe was mundane, and then brought her to the Institute just so that he could moon over her.” The blush returned, although Alec looked more ashamed than Magnus would like.

“No doubt she compounded this inauspicious first impression by continuing to break the rules, left, right and centre,” Magnus continued lightly. No need to poke that bee’s nest. “Thus, cementing your dislike.”

“It’s an interesting idea,” Alec said, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders when Magnus didn’t push further. “How does one armour oneself against a compulsion like that?”

“I imagine that a propensity to dislike everyone you meet would be a good first defence,” Magnus said with an attempt at playfulness. “From what I hear, you have a head start on that, my dear. Not that I’ve seen any evidence of it, of course.”

Alec smiled, shaking his head. “You’re different. I don’t know why I trust you so much. It’s crazy; everything in my upbringing tells me I shouldn’t. But you’re easy to talk to, and I feel like you see me. I’ve never…” He let the sentence trail off, looking frustrated.

Magnus didn’t need him to finish. For all that Alec was a stunningly beautiful man, his parabatai and his sister were both just as beautiful, but much flashier and more flamboyant. They drew attention like flame drew moths, no doubt leaving Alec—who preferred to hover in the background protectively—in the shade.

“You’re different for me, too,” Magnus offered, feeling that it was important to reassure Alec that he wasn’t alone in feeling this strange affinity. “For decades now, I’ve closed myself off from forming connections with people. There have been too many hurts: some unintentional and unavoidable, others quite the opposite. I’ve been living in the moment, trying to ensure neither the future nor the past could lay a claim on me. But you’ve changed that. For the first time in a long time, I feel.” He shrugged, smiling. “You’ve unlocked something in me, Alexander Lightwood. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Alec’s return smile was bright and open. “Me too. I spent years thinking I was in love with Jace. It was my biggest shame. Not because he’s a man—well, not only because he’s a man—but because it felt like a betrayal of our parabatai bond. Parabatai aren’t supposed to love each other like that. When I considered calling off our ceremony, Izzy convinced me that I should go ahead with it anyway.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “You said you thought you were in love with him. What changed?”

“I think my inexperience led me to complicate things needlessly,” Alec replied. “I love Jace, and I was attracted to him, which added up to being in love with him. I’ve recently realised that something was missing, and now I think perhaps I wasn’t in love with him after all.”

“It must be a great relief,” Magnus observed, trying not to let his hope show.

“You have no idea,” Alec replied. “It’s like an enormous weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Naturally, a completely different problem immediately showed up to supplant it. I’ve always known I would need to make a good, Clave-sanctioned marriage. Knowing that I was falling for a downworlder, one who appeared to return my interest…it didn’t make me as happy as Izzy thought it should have.”

“Because you’d been brought up to do your duty,” Magnus nodded. “Am I a terrible person for being glad that your exile has changed that, my dear?”

Alec shook his head. “No. I’m glad, too. Even at best, the path I was walking led to a passionless marriage. A union of convenience during which I would be required to sire as many children as possible. Even if I rose to Head of the Institute, I would have remained under scrutiny. The Clave might like to talk loudly about not visiting the sins of the fathers on the children, but we both know that’s garbage. If they really believed that, they’d have no issue at all with warlocks. No child can choose how they are conceived, or who their parents are.”

Magnus found it suddenly difficult to talk around the lump in his throat. “I completely agree.” Ragnor would have a field day when Magnus told him that a shadowhunter not yet in his thirties had managed to strip Magnus of his hard-earned emotional armour so easily. “We’ve strayed off-topic again. Where were we?”

“I wondered if there was something we could do to protect ourselves from falling under Clary’s sway,” Alec replied promptly. “It must be an insidious thing.”

“Oh, it is,” Magnus replied ruefully. “Most mind manipulation involves noticeable coercion, as you described. When you know it’s happening; it’s much easier to recognise and throw off; the mind doesn’t like it when outside forces act on it. If Clary is somehow unconsciously…” he groped for the right word, “…enthralling people, then the best defence is being prepared for it in advance.”

Magnus sighed. “I’m afraid it also means that even the smallest thing she says would need to be carefully evaluated before we could put faith in it. At least until she gets this power under control. I’m almost positive that she’s not doing it on purpose.”

“I don’t think she is either,” Alec said grudgingly. “This whole thing is giving me a headache.”

“Indeed,” Magnus said. “My headache started when I discovered that she’d left the Institute to talk with her dead friend’s family. If I discover that she’s revealing the shadow world to more mundanes, I will report her.” He eyed Alec sympathetically. “Your parabatai won’t like that, I’m sure, but as High Warlock, I have responsibilities.”

Alec didn’t even lift his head. “I completely agree with you. If it weren’t for Jace calling on our bond, I would have reported her already. Maybe if I had, her mundane friend would still be alive.”

“There’s no way of knowing,” Magnus said. “With the Mortal Cup on the line, vampires and werewolves would have gone sniffing around anyway. More than one werewolf already knew Simon’s scent, knew that he was important to her. As soon as she was exposed as Valentine’s daughter, all it needed was for the downworld to decide she knew where the Cup was for life as he knew to be over. He would have been taken as a bargaining piece eventually.”

“But with less drama and more thought, we could have relocated his family before that happened.” Alec closed his eyes and sighed. “Do you think she’ll learn anything from this? Not that I would have wished for Simon’s death—no matter how annoying I found him—but if it teaches her to stop and think about the consequences of her actions for once, then at least something good will come from it.”

Magnus considered that. “Depends on whether or not she accepts any responsibility,” he pointed out. “I once heard her talk about how terrible it was that people keep dying because of her, but then her next sentence was about how she just wanted her mother back, and she’d do anything to achieve it. I can’t believe that I didn’t pick up on it at the time.”

“You’d had an awful time of it,” Alec reminded him, opening his eyes again. “I don’t think I ever asked, how many warlocks did you lose in that attack?”

Magnus sighed sadly. “Too many. If only I hadn’t agreed to meet with you all, I would have been there to protect them.”

Alec sat up. “That’s a good point. It was a little coincidental, wasn’t it, that the attack on your lair occurred as soon as you left? You were only gone, what, ten minutes?”

“Not even that,” Magnus replied, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “One of the attackers mentioned Elias, and he had been acting rather squirrelly, true. But he tried to stop me from leaving.”

“And there’s no reason for a Circle member to tell you the truth, and every reason for them to lie. Particularly if doing so will protect their real source,” Alec continued. “Maybe Elias was pressured and gave up the lair’s location, secure in the knowledge that you’d be able to protect them.”

“But the only reason I even thought of leaving was because of your message. That would mean that someone on your end is in Valentine’s pocket.”

Alec frowned. “Our planning meeting wasn’t exactly secret; it wouldn’t have been difficult to listen in. On the other hand, it wasn’t a Clave-sanctioned mission, which means that the fine details were only known by a few of us.” His frown cleared. “We should talk with Izzy and Jace, see if they discussed the mission with anyone else.” He grimaced. “Clary too, I suppose. Not that she knows anyone in the Institute to tell.”

“I’ll ask them about it now,” Magnus said, getting his phone out of his pocket. “No one else was involved in your planning?”

“Just Hodge, and he can’t leave the Institute.”

Magnus paused. Could that be who he thought it was? How many shadowhunters named Hodge could there be? “Who is Hodge, and why can’t he leave the Institute?”

Alec blinked. “Hodge Starkweather. He can’t leave because part of his sentence for being involved with Val…oh.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “A Circle member, still under sentence from the Clave, is helping you plan your missions? The missions which place you in direct conflict with Valentine?”

“Hodge wouldn’t…” Alec broke off, looking suddenly devastated. “But then, why wouldn’t he? He’s still being punished for doing the same things as my parents. Meanwhile, they’ve been swanning around as Institute Heads, leaving him to train their children.”

Magnus, whose memories of Hodge Starkweather weren’t nearly as fond as Alec’s obviously were, kept a tactful silence. Much as he disliked the man, the double standards were glaring enough to engender a tiny smidge of sympathy. There was much more sympathy for Alec, who’d had far too many nasty shocks for one day. “Perhaps it wasn’t him?”

Alec’s face settled into a scowl. “No. It was Hodge who suggested using the necklace to draw you out. He just ‘happened’ to know that it would be enough to get your attention and that it was on Institute grounds.” He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. “It never occurred to me that Hodge shouldn’t have access to that inventory information. He trained me; I’m used to relying on his advice. Since Clary arrived on the scene, he’s been so helpful.” He took a couple of deep breaths. “I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

“Hey,” Magnus said softly. “Everyone makes mistakes, Alec. What’s important is how we deal with them. What do you plan to do?”

“I don’t know,” Alec replied. “I don’t have any hard proof, and with my exile, I have no way of finding any.” He laughed bitterly. “I told him to take care of them, you know? I was happy that at least he’d be there to look out for them.”

Magnus tapped his lip thoughtfully. “There are ways to use the situation to your advantage.”

Alec raised his head, the self-recrimination fading from his expression as he thought about Magnus’ words. “You think that we could feed false information to Valentine? Maybe even set a trap for him.”

“The hardest part of setting that kind of trap is that we don’t know what resources Valentine has at his disposal,” Magnus replied. “He’s unlikely to have shared the meat of his plans with an asset as vulnerable to compromise as Hodge is, so I doubt it’s worthwhile to reveal your knowledge of his duplicity.”

Alec shook his head. “I’m not comfortable leaving any agent of Valentine’s in such proximity to my family. Not without them knowing, at least.”

“Is there any reason they shouldn’t know?”

Alec thought that over. “Izzy and Jace should know, for sure. My parents…” He sighed. “I don’t know. After hearing that they were in the Circle and never bothered to tell us…what if they’re still in touch with Valentine?”

“Do you think they might be?”

Alec made a frustrated noise. “That’s the whole thing; I don’t know! Yesterday I would have said absolutely not, but yesterday, I didn’t know they’d been lying to me my entire life. It’s not like they’ve given up their prejudices along with their Circle membership. My instincts are not to tell them anything. On the other hand, my youngest brother, Max, spends time in New York. I don’t want him anywhere near Hodge. Not until we know for sure what the story is.”

“Then tell Jace and Isabelle, and trust them to keep your younger brother safe,” Magnus advised. “Giving them something to focus on might be a good idea.” He hesitated, then plunged on. “Being responsible for the life of someone they care about, someone who looks up to them…they might learn a valuable lesson.”

“And they might get distracted and get Max killed.” Alec ran a frustrated hand through his hair, rumpling it even more. “Okay, let’s say we go with that plan. How can I tell them without contacting them?”

“Let me be your voice,” Magnus suggested. “I’ll come up with an excuse to visit the Institute. While I’m there, I’ll encourage your sister to visit Pandemonium. If she’s as smart as I think she is, she’ll get the message. Then, I can give you a disguise that will keep you safe from detection while under my wards and you can talk with her yourself.”

“That would be wonderful,” Alec said thankfully. “What about Jace?”

Magnus took out his phone and sent a quick text to Alec’s number. Please arrange an appointment so we can follow up on the werewolf issue. MB

“It’s up to you, darling, but I would advise against it. Unless you think he’s in a place to listen to our suspicions about Biscuit?”

“You’re right; I doubt he’d be receptive right now.”

Magnus reached out and bopped Alec’s nose with a finger. “You’ll find that I’m often right, my dearest Alexander.”

Alec’s breath caught in his throat. “Am I?”

Magnus blinked. “Pardon?”

“Your ‘dearest Alexander?’”

Magnus hadn’t been put on the spot like this in decades, centuries even. His standard practice when the person he was flirting with got unexpectedly serious was to make a glib reply and then a quick exit. Alec… Alec was different. “More each day. Something is growing between us, Alexander. Something beautiful and strong. You take my breath away with your strength and your integrity. I’m so thankful that I have the chance to get to know you.”

Alec blinked rapidly. “Me too. I mean, you’re important to me too. All my training says that I should be warier, but…I trust you. My instincts tell me that my training doesn’t apply here, which scares me. My feelings for you are so different from the ones I had for Jace; what if I’m as wrong about these as I was about those?”

“That’s understandable,” Magnus assured him. “There’s no rush here. It’s okay if we take the time to get to know each other before we think about moving things forward.” He hesitated, then decided to just go for it. “We’ve made no promises to each other, and I don’t think we should. Not yet. But perhaps you should know that, until we come to a decision, I won’t be seeing anyone else, casually or otherwise.”

Alec’s smile was beautiful. “Me neither. Not that I ever have, but—” His eyes widened, and his smile faded. “Ah. Yes.” He looked away, face turning pink.

Magnus’ eyebrows rose. “Never? You mean you haven’t…” He looked away from Alec’s embarrassed blush. “Oh. Well, that’s…” He was a little lost for words. How did Alec, who was breathtakingly gorgeous and moved with the innate confidence of someone completely at ease with his long, well-trained body, not have any experience in this area? Were shadowhunters all completely blind? “What about less…involved…relationships?”

Alec sighed. “There didn’t seem any point. I grew up in the Institute, separate from most of my shadowhunter age-mates. I could have looked for someone outside the Institute, I suppose, but why bother when nothing would come of it? I’m not interested in sex for the sake of it, not the way Izzy and Jace are, so it was just easier to…” He shrugged, gesturing to the room they were in. “That’s one reason why I got this apartment. It was a place I could be, where I could relax.”

Magnus nodded, understanding. “A sanctuary.”

“Yes, that.”

“I hope I’m not intruding. I can go, if you prefer, or we could relocate?” Magnus realised that he was fiddling with his ear cuff and lowered his hand self-consciously. That was a neon sign that he was feeling vulnerable and uncertain.

“No, that’s okay,” Alec replied. “Having you here feels right.” He gave a self-deprecatory smile. “I can’t believe I’ve said all this stuff to you.”

“Rest assured that I will keep your confidences,” Magnus said. “I do not doubt that you will keep mine.”

“Of course.” Alec looked startled as if the very idea that it would be any other way was ludicrous. Magnus found himself smiling fondly. For a shadowhunter, this man was all too adorable. It was so rare to find nephilim that even tried to look beyond the prejudice of their upbringing, and Magnus had somehow stumbled on a small group of them.

Technically, they had stumbled upon him, but Magnus wasn’t going to argue semantics with himself. Not when he had such a beautiful man sitting within arm’s reach, looking approachable and inviting.

“Magnus?”

Magnus blinked and refocused on Alec. “Sorry, my dear, my mind took me away for a moment.” He clapped his hands together. “We’ve meandered again. Where were we? Oh yes, talking about Biscuit and her strange way of drawing otherwise sensible people into the most preposterous situations.”

Alec eyed him but allowed the diversion. “I agree that we shouldn’t tell her. She already ignores anyone who shows the slightest bit of disagreement with her; imagine what she would be like if she knew that she had the power to convince almost anyone of anything she wanted?” He shuddered, dropping his head back to rest against the wall with a soft thud.

Magnus grimaced. “You have a point there.” A thought occurred to him. “I wonder if it has an upper range? If there’s a distance factor, or if the number of people involved would matter.”

“It would be difficult to test without letting her know about it,” Alec responded dryly.

“Oh, I know. But it would be fascinating, don’t you think?”

Alec smiled fondly. “You sound like Izzy. She’s always telling me about some experiment she’s got running.”

“And you listen, like a good big brother.” Magnus found it easy to imagine the scene.

Alec shrugged. “I don’t understand half of what she says, but she likes having someone to talk things over with. The least I can do is be a sounding board.”

“I don’t think you realise just how remarkable you are, Alexander.”

Alec looked slightly uncomfortable. “I’m nothing special. If I was, the Clave wouldn’t have been so ready to get rid of me.”

“About that,” Magnus said cautiously. “Are you open to a few theories?”

“I’m all ears.”

Magnus considered how best to word his suspicions. “What if the Consul plans to place a spy in Valentine’s Circle?”

Alec twisted slightly, so he faced Magnus. “What? And you think…” he gestured towards himself and raised his eyebrows.

“The Clave has had stupider ideas,” Magnus pointed out. “Most shadowhunters wouldn’t have the first clue about taking care of themselves on finding themselves bereft of the Clave’s sheltering arms. Here you are, the eldest son of an ancient line…unlike your siblings, you’re not inclined to rebellion for the sake of rebelling. I’m sure that on paper, you look every inch the dedicated, capable young warrior.”

“I’ve been in trouble plenty,” Alec replied. “Nothing serious, not until recently. But I haven’t been an automaton or anything. I have several reprimands on my file.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “And how many of those reprimands don’t include you taking responsibility for your siblings’ peccadilloes?”

“Fine,” Alec said grudgingly. “So…what? They exile me, isolate me, and then make me an offer?”

“It’s a bit cliché,” Magnus admitted. “Still, there’s a reason that things become cliché.”

Alec relaxed back against the couch and stared at the ceiling. “I can see it happening that way,” he conceded. “Anyone paying attention would have been able to see a growing—” he grimaced, “—rift between Jace, Izzy and me. If someone wanted to take advantage of it, now would be an opportune moment.”

“Then all they need to do is keep a careful eye on Isabelle and Jace to see if you all join up again.”

Alec sighed. “It’s plausible, I suppose.” His eyes narrowed, and he licked his lips thoughtfully.

Magnus was alarmed. “You’re not considering saying yes, are you?”

Alec glanced at him. “It’s dangerous, but it might get us some useful information.”

“Is it worth the risk?” Magnus asked. “My dear, Valentine is a monster. Your heritage isn’t going to stop him from harming you. Your parents’ defection almost guarantees that he’d want to make an example of you. An undercover agent needs to be someone the mark won’t suspect. For you to do such a thing would be akin to a long, painful suicide. Please. I beg you, Alexander, don’t do it.”

“It’s hypothetical at this stage anyway.”

“But if it comes up,” Magnus persisted. “Will you say no?”

Alec frowned. “We’ve been trained not to say no to direct order from someone higher in the chain of command.” He paused. “Then again, I’ve been exiled.” He tilted his head to one side consideringly. “By exiling me, they’ve placed me outside the Clave’s protection and ensured that any illegal actions—such as joining a terrorist cell of disaffected shadowhunters—won’t reflect directly on them. But they’ve also cut me loose from Clave authority, which means I’m no longer answerable to them.”

“If what I suspect is true, whoever is behind this probably expects you to follow your training,” Magnus said thoughtfully. “Or they might present it as a ‘secret mission’ and tell you it’s vital to the security of Idris; that this is how you can earn your way back. If you were as isolated and traumatised by the exile as most young shadowhunters would be, those tactics would almost be guaranteed to succeed.”

Alec pursed his lips. “Should I string them along? Pretend to be what they expect long enough to find out what exactly the plan is, where Valentine’s base is?”

Magnus felt excitement curling in his belly. “I could be your backup! I can even provide you with a talisman that will allow me to track you anywhere. Just in case, of course.”

Alec drummed his fingers lightly on his leg. “What if we took it further? Is it possible to create something that Valentine can’t shield against, something that shadowhunters won’t be able to detect?”

Magnus shook his head. “I can do one or the other, I’m sorry. Anything strong enough to break through shielding will be detectable to anyone looking for it.”

Alec’s enthusiasm decreased slightly. “Right. Let me think about that.”

“Of course,” Magnus agreed. He snapped his fingers and summoned a double espresso. “Can I get you anything, darling?”

“No, thank you,” Alec replied absently, staring unseeingly at the wall opposite. “What if I carried both? Something that can’t be shielded against, hidden as best we can, and something undetectable.” He frowned. “Except that having something that strong will be advertising my connection to a warlock, which might set off alarm bells.”

Magnus took a sip. “If we’d known about this in advance, we could have staged a semi-public altercation where you accosted one of my warlocks and confiscated such an item.”

Alec snorted. “Perhaps. Behaving like that would have been out of character for me. Anyone paying enough attention would find those actions suspicious.”

Magnus had to agree. “And if they’re not paying attention, then the whole rigmarole would have been pointless anyway. To be honest, I don’t feel that the possibility of learning Valentine’s location is worth the probability of you being discovered and executed.” A thought occurred to him. “I wonder if we could place a tracker on whoever contacts you? That way, we could at least—” He was interrupted by a fire message flaming in front of him. He plucked it out of the air, scowling. He’d turned his phone off for a reason.

The message was short. The New York Institute requests the presence of Magnus Bane on a matter of importance. We await your response within an hour. Lydia Branwell. How typical. Not even a please.

Alec was already frowning. “That’s an Institute fire message.”

Magnus showed it to him. “Is this one of your people?”

“They’re not my people anymore,” Alec reminded him before glancing over the charred missive. “I don’t recognise the name. A Clave envoy was supposed to arrive today, ostensibly to evaluate the Institute’s day-to-day. Maybe it was from them?”

Magnus regarded it with disfavour. “They’ve not made the best first impression, although I suppose the use of the word ‘requests’ is an improvement.”

Alec winced. “In her defence, we’re given a set of pro-forma communication structures that the Clave prefers us to use when sending official messages. The fact that Lydia Branwell changed it enough to include the word ‘request’ is already a deviation from standard protocol.”

Magnus made a face. “I suppose I should answer, given the magnanimity on display. Not immediately, of course. I do have an image to maintain.”

“Naturally,” Alec agreed. “The careless, carefree, High Warlock of Brooklyn. A hedonistic pleasure-seeker with no care for anything but fulfilling his desires. I’m starting to wonder if anything in your Clave file was true.”

That was a sobering thought. “I’d have to read it to say for sure, but the bulk of the facts in the file are likely correct. The unfortunate truth is that facts can be used to paint a situation any way you choose, and the Clave has never had any interest in making downworlders look anything but monstrous.”

Not that there would have been many difficulties where Magnus was concerned. He’d done plenty of monstrous things in his life, things he wasn’t proud of. Every warlock who managed to make it over a century had at least one skeleton rattling away in their closet.

Alec’s eyes softened. “I’ve been trained to fight since I could walk, Magnus. I went on my first patrol at eight and killed my first demon three weeks later. By the time I was nine, I’d seen comrades die and had dealt death to the blood-crazed vampire that killed them. On paper, I imagine I’m a mundane psychologist’s nightmare. But those things aren’t even included in my Clave file. Under the Clave, that kind of thing is normal.”

Magnus had previously thought that the Clave—and the shadowhunter way of life—had no more shocks for him. It wasn’t pleasant to discover that he was wrong. “Your whole patrol group died, and it wasn’t even mentioned in your file? Did you at least get counselling?”

“I was assessed for mental stability and deemed ‘acceptable,’” Alec replied. “I wasn’t the patrol leader, so the incident didn’t merit an inquiry into my conduct. As far as the Clave was concerned, the biggest consequence for me was that, as the only survivor, I became responsible for submitting the reports for that patrol.”

Magnus eyed him. “What would have happened if you had been the patrol leader?”

Alec shrugged. “There would have been interviews to assess whether I had handled the situation correctly; if my reactions had been timely and within Clave standards. If I was found to have been derelict… Due to my age and lack of experience, I would probably have been demoted from team leader and sent for remedial training.”

“And if you were older and more experienced?”

“It would depend on how recently I’d become a team leader and my history. My old patrol reports would have been reviewed to see whether it was a one-off or a systemic problem. Even if other team members hadn’t complained outright, there are red flags that supervisors have been trained to pick up. A one-off would get an official reprimand and a return to duty, with the expectation that I would be more careful. If it looked like a systemic problem, I would be demoted and watched.”

Magnus sighed. “When I hear all of this, I wonder how it is that any of you are sane.”

“Maybe we’re not.” Alec shrugged. “Or maybe something in Raziel’s blood helps, I don’t know.”

“It’s easy to forget that nephilim are as non-human as the rest of the shadow world,” Magnus mused. “Maybe because there’s no obvious external transformation.”

Alec’s brow creased slightly. “That’s an interesting way of looking at it. I’ve never considered it, but there’s truth there. Shadowhunters are taught to see downworlders as their non-human side first. A werewolf isn’t a human infected with lycanthropy; they’re a lycan with a human face. Whereas we think of ourselves as humans who Raziel has blessed.”

This wasn’t new thinking to Magnus; he and some of his friends had discussed similar theories on several occasions, usually over fine brandy or aged scotch. He’d never talked it over with a shadowhunter before. Until today, he would have scoffed at the very idea of finding one of the ‘angel-blessed’ with enough self-awareness and humility to admit to such thinking to a downworlder.

Shadowhunters usually tried to portray themselves as ‘good,’ an interesting perspective since ‘good’ often included blades still dripping with downworlder blood. Literally, on some occasions.

This young shadowhunter continued to be exceptional in many ways, not least of which was the intriguing mix of confidence and uncertainty he displayed. Magnus was greatly looking forward to discovering all the different facets that made up the delightful individual in front of him.

For now, though, duty called.

“I should make my way to the Institute,” he murmured, banishing his empty coffee cup and rising to his feet. “If I should run into Isabelle or Jace, is there anything you’d like me to tell them?”

Alec stood up too. “Better not say anything overtly. Can you work kissing a shax demon into the conversation somehow? That will reassure them that I’m fine and that they shouldn’t ask you questions in public.”

Magnus gave him a reproachful look. “It will be child’s play work something so simple into ordinary conversation, Alexander. When we have time, I’d like the story of how you made that your code phrase.”

Alec’s smile was slightly bashful. “I’ll enjoy telling you about it.”

His own smile widening, Magnus let his pleasure show. “Then it’s a date. Now, do you mind if I portal from here, or would you prefer me to find a dark, dingy corner somewhere?”

Alec rolled his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Magnus.” He paused. “Will I see you later?”

“You can count on it,” Magnus replied. With a gesture that was only a little more ostentatious than it needed to be, he called a portal into being two steps away. He stepped through, finding it harder than usual to keep his mind firmly on his destination. Still, he’d challenge anyone who thought to blame him for being so distracted.

Chapter three

Lydia Branwell turned out to be far less offensive in person than the impersonal fire message had prepared Magnus for. She was brisk and efficient, put on no airs, and offered a reasonable rate for the consultation that she’d asked for.

All in all, Magnus was inclined to like her. He did not like hearing that some perverted form of shadowhunter had attacked the Jade Wolf. When Lydia asked him to join Isabelle in examining the corpse, he readily agreed.

“Magnus,” Isabelle greeted him, her smile tight and worried. “How nice to see you again.” Her eyes darted from Magnus to Lydia and back before focusing on the body on the table.

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you know each other? My apologies, High Warlock Bane. If I knew, I would have sent my request through more familiar channels.”

“The lovely Isabelle and I have crossed paths once or twice,” Magnus replied. “It’s good to see you again, my dear.” He stepped forward and gave the corpse a cursory once over. “This one is not quite so lovely. Look at that face; looking like that, he’d struggle to get a kiss from a shax demon. How Valentine thought this fellow would pass under the radar is beyond me.”

Isabelle’s eyes flew to his face again, and her shoulders relaxed infinitesimally.

Lydia didn’t appear to notice, all her attention on the corpse. “You think Valentine sent this?”

Magnus shrugged. “I have no way of knowing, of course, but it has all the earmarks of one of his plans. Sent to kill the current alpha, no doubt? For a man who preached rebellion and uprising, he was extremely vindictive towards those he felt had betrayed him.”

Lydia nodded. “Alpha Garroway said much the same thing. I’ve already increased security here, and I’ll want to go over the current wards with you later.”

Isabelle looked up at her. “You think Valentine will target Hodge?”

“Possibly,” Lydia replied. “I’m more concerned about your parents; they offered to testify of their own free will.”

Isabelle blinked. “My parents.”

Lydia cast a swift glance at her. “Given that their defection from the Circle directly contributed to the uprising’s ultimate failure, I imagine that they’re high on Valentine’s list for retribution.” She paused. “You didn’t know.” It wasn’t a question.

Isabelle’s face was blank, the same lack of expression that Magnus had seen on Alec’s face earlier that day. “No. But it explains a great deal.” She squared her shoulders, another familiar gesture. “That’s not important right now. The High Warlock’s time is valuable; we should concentrate on why we asked him here.”

“Of course,” Lydia murmured. She turned to Magnus. “When you’ve completed your assessment, please ask someone to come and find me so that we can talk about those wards.”

“Of course,” Magnus echoed, shaking out his sleeves and running through the steps he needed to take in his mind. He began casting, keeping an eye on Isabelle in his peripheral vision.

With Lydia gone, Isabelle’s ice-cold composure cracked slightly. “Did you know?” she asked abruptly. “Wait, no, of course you knew. No wonder you took the necklace and left without a backward glance.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “Are you implying that by doing so, I was somehow non-compliant with the terms of the meeting?” He liked Isabelle; from what he’d seen, she was a woman to be admired. Bold, beautiful, intelligent, accomplished. Her reputation in the downworld was positive, she was known to be unprejudiced, and so far, she’d borne that reputation out.

That didn’t mean he was going to let her disrespect him. Magnus Bane was the High Warlock of Brooklyn, the only surviving offspring of a Prince of Hell. Nephilim had shown, time and time again, that if you gave them an inch, they would take a mile. He already knew from Alec that Isabelle and Jace had been running wilder than usual; Magnus wasn’t going to encourage that. Not when it was Alec who was paying the price.

Isabelle took the rebuke well. “No, of course not.” She smiled ruefully. “Alec warned us that it was a mistake, you know. We should have listened to him more.”

That was a perfect opening. “Where is your older brother, then?” Magnus asked, raising his eyebrows and looking at her meaningfully. “I was hoping to have a word with him about the recent werewolf business. I texted him earlier, but he hasn’t responded yet.”

Isabelle’s eyes widened for a moment. “I’m afraid he’s unavailable at the moment,” she replied without missing a beat. “He’s usually very diligent about responding to messages, so there might be an issue with his phone. I’ll be sure to mention it when I see him.”

“No matter,” Magnus replied, turning back to the corpse. “These things work themselves out, and it wasn’t urgent. Now, let’s get this gentleman sorted out before he decays completely.”

Isabelle nodded, eyes narrowing slightly. “Of course. After you.”

v^v^v

The examination of the corpse didn’t take long. Magnus left Isabelle with an airy invite to Pandemonium, “So I can introduce you to some friends of mine who’ve been looking forward to meeting you, my dear,” and went looking for Lydia. She was where he’d expected her to be, overseeing the operations area and making notes.

The meeting with Lydia went well. She remained respectful and polite until the wards had been discussed thoroughly—Magnus was pleased to discover that she knew more on the subject than many Institute heads he’d dealt with. At that time, her professional façade softened. Lydia then revealed that she was a direct descendant of his old friend Henry. She’d read all her illustrious forebear’s diaries and had been looking forward to meeting Magnus ever since.

Magnus took the opportunity to ask Lydia for Alec’s whereabouts, more to cement the idea that they’d had no contact than because he thought it would achieve anything.

Lydia was refreshingly blunt in her appraisal of the situation. “He’s run afoul of some political machinations and was exiled,” she told him. At his raised eyebrows, she went on. “The footage of his trial under the Consul’s auspices was mysteriously ‘leaked,’ so I expect it will be common knowledge soon enough. There was barely enough evidence to get him a smack on the hand. Even if he’d only been demoted, he would have had grounds for an appeal.”

Magnus was now even more confident that Alec’s trial had nefarious intent behind it. “But you said the Consul was the one trialling him. Who would he have appealed to?”

Lydia inclined her head. “You have a point. But Institute Heads can get good use out of a politically demoted shadowhunter, and even a Consul can be…persuaded…to change their ruling.” She grimaced expressively. “Exiling Alec Lightwood for the misdemeanours of his siblings is unheard of. Exiling someone without taking their runes? Nonsensical. Doing it so quickly and quietly, allowing him no official representation? It’s so obviously a ploy of some sort that I’m embarrassed on the Clave’s behalf.”

Magnus eyed her. “Did you know it was going to happen?”

Lydia shook her head. “No. I had my final briefing on this assignment yesterday, and I arrived this morning expecting I’d be working closely with him.” She took a deep breath. “It’s outside my purview as Investigator, so this isn’t an official request, but if Alec Lightwood comes to you for help, I would be grateful if you would do what you can for him.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware you’d met him.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t refute his statement. “It’s cliché to say that you can know a man by his work, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. I’ve spent a lot of time looking over Alec’s documentation, studying the personal notes he added to people’s files and the things he highlighted in the patrol reports. I’ve seen enough to know that Alec Lightwood is a good man who cares about his people. No, I haven’t met him, but I was looking forward to it.” She pursed her lips. “I’m loyal to the Clave, but that doesn’t mean that I agree with some of the actions that Clave officials take.”

Magnus smiled at her. “It’s lovely to see so many shadowhunters in this generation who think for themselves. I agree that Alec Lightwood is an admirable man, and if he crosses my path, I will help him. But he didn’t come to me.”

Lydia nodded. “That’s all I can ask. Thank you, High Warlock.”

Magnus contemplated her composed friendliness. “Do call me Magnus, my dear. And next time you desire my services, send a text.” He offered a card with a flourish, enjoying her widened eyes when she saw that his number was made from wispy blue magic that floated about an eighth of an inch above its surface.

Lydia’s smile softened her stern countenance. “I would be honoured, Magnus, and I’m Lydia.”

“Until next time, Lydia.”

Magnus left the Institute three hours after entering it. He portaled away as soon as he was out from under the exterior wards, still thinking about the ramifications of the day’s events.

v^v^v

After Magnus left, Alec found himself at something of a loss. He’d gone from having a hundred and one things to get done each day, to nothing. No reports, no requisitions, no training scenarios to approve, nothing.

Although, he’d always wanted to have enough time to restructure the Institute training curriculum. The current guidelines had been in place for decades now, with occasional tweaks being made in place of proper updates. Maybe now was the time to get some of those ideas down.

Not having a device or even any writing paper handy, Alec made do with the backs of packing slips leftover from when he’d set this place up. It was more good luck than good management that he even had a pen. There was a limited surface area to write on; hopefully, it would be enough to keep him occupied until Magnus returned.

It was only the roughest of drafts—until he had access to Institute resources, he had to trust his memory of the current curriculum—but an outline of his preferred structure soon began to form. He was so engrossed that he didn’t notice time passing and was honestly surprised when a portal formed in his kitchen.

Magnus took one look at what he was doing and shook his head. “Alexander, my poor deprived darling. Here, these might help.” He offered Alec a tablet and a phone that he pulled out of thin air.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Alec replied, taking them. He thought about protesting, but already knew Magnus well enough to know that refusing would just result in an argument that he wouldn’t win. Truthfully, these would be immensely helpful. Alec resolved to do something very nice for Magnus as soon as he thought of something. “Thank you; these are just what I needed.”

Magnus’ pleased smile held a hint of surprise, although Alec wasn’t sure what prompted it. Had Magnus been expecting an argument? Was he surprised to be thanked? He wanted to be able to read these things in Magnus’ expression, wanted to be able to decipher him. Along with all the other things he wanted to do, of course. He’d never been so utterly aware of someone else’s presence before. Not even Jace, and they were parabatai.

It was terrifying and exhilarating, and Alec never wanted it to stop.

Magnus glanced over at his scribbled outlines. “Why am I not surprised that you’re still hard at work, even after being exiled?” He moved a stray packing slip still awaiting use and resumed his seat from earlier. “I saw your sister, by the way. I managed to get both parts of the message to her.”

That was a relief. “Did she seem okay?”

“Stressed, but otherwise fine,” Magnus reassured him. “I also talked to Lydia Branwell, the Clave Investigator. I think you’d like her.”

Unlikely. “Why is that?” Alec asked, not bothering to keep the disbelief from his tone.

Magnus shrugged. “She seemed practical and forthright. I asked if I might have a word with you, and she straight up told me you had been exiled but that it was a political move rather than a merited action.”

Alec blinked, surprised. “Bold. She doesn’t even know you, does she?”

“I’ve never met her before, but her great-grandfather worked with me some years back,” Magnus replied. “Henry once told me that he was considered a bit of a failure as a shadowhunter. He wasn’t interested in fighting demons with swords; instead, he was fascinated by runes and what they could achieve. He was a good man, if a little absentminded. I’m glad he managed to find someone to settle down with.”

“You didn’t keep in touch with him?”

Magnus waved a hand. “We weren’t bosom buddies or anything; our relationship was strictly professional. He sought me out for my expertise, and his proposition was interesting enough that I complied.” His smile turned slightly mischievous. “Aside from the intellectual stimulation, it was a very profitable venture for me. Whoever was bargaining for the Clave was either a friend of Henry’s, a bad negotiator, or wasn’t paying attention. I’m still getting regular royalty payments.”

“It can’t be very much, by today’s standards,” Alec pointed out. He wasn’t an expert on mundane life, but he did know about inflation.

“If I’d asked for my payment to be in coin, that might be the case. But one of the advantages of living a long life is to be more aware of certain cycles. My payment is in the form of fresh specimens of certain plants that were flourishing at the time but have since become a lot scarcer. In lieu of the actual specimens, I’m to be paid their equivalent value in either similarly rare goods—of my choosing—or, failing that, pure adamas.”

Alec’s mouth dropped open. “The Clave would never sell adamas to downworlders.”

“I’ve never received so much as a gram of it,” Magnus admitted. “I have received a plethora of rare potions ingredients, though. Several of which were used to save Luke’s life recently.”

“Serves them right for allowing adamas even to be mentioned in a contract,” Alec replied. “Why didn’t the Consul at the time declare the contract void and renegotiate another one?”

“He tried,” Magnus told him. “The difficulty was that by the time anyone noticed, the contract had already received Consular approval. Partly my doing, a clever bit of legal work ensured I wasn’t referred to by name in the official contract, so the Consul might be forgiven for letting it through. The Clave was very intent on getting the licencing agreement for Clave use of standing portals. He might have even thought it was worth the expense; these days, the only cost is the licencing, rather than regular payments to warlocks in every city with an Institute.”

Alec finally realised what they were talking about. “The standing portal? You helped invent the standing portal?”

Magnus preened. “It was a true collaboration, my dear. One might just as easily say that Henry Branwell helped invent the standing portal. It was his idea, but there are very few warlocks with my knowledge of both demonic and angelic runes.”

“Why would you know about angelic runes?” Alec asked, interested. “How would you even learn about them?”

Magnus paused. “In my youth, I spent some years with the Silent Brothers. They occasionally take in warlock orphans, and I was one such.”

Alec could read between the lines. “Ah. Yes, I see.” He reached out a tentative hand and touched Magnus’ knee. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’d like to hear what that was like. I can’t imagine that the Silent Brothers were the warmest caretakers.”

“No,” Magnus admitted. “But then, from what I’ve been hearing, Maryse and Robert weren’t the cuddly types either.”

Alec’s smile was only slightly bitter. No, neither of his parents had been particularly demonstrative, not with their affection, anyway. Alec had often wondered if he and Isabelle were anything more than necessary parts of shadowhunter life for his parents. Maryse had concentrated on Alec, while Robert had spent his attention on Isabelle, but it seemed more like an agreed division of duties than anything else.

“Even so, it seems strange that this ‘Lydia Branwell’ would be so open about something so sensitive.”

Magnus fiddled with his ear cuff. “I wondered that myself, but she explained that the footage of your ‘trial’ had somehow been released, and there was no point hiding the truth. She was very forthright.”

Despite himself, Alec was impressed. Most Clave officials he’d dealt with were the kind that would rather burn to death than admit that they were on fire, if they thought their being on fire might make the Clave look bad. “She sounds amazing.”

“She was disappointed not to be working with you,” Magnus relayed. “She said she liked the way you ran things, so I think she’ll take good care of your Institute for you. Shadowhunters don’t often impress me much, but I liked her.” Magnus paused. “Not as much as I like you, of course.

Alec flushed slightly. “That’s good to hear. Not that you like me more, although that is good, but that you like her.” He looked down at the tablet he was holding, unsure what to say. Magnus had always flirted shamelessly with him, but since their discussion earlier, it felt different. “And that the Institute is being looked after.”

When Magnus’ phone buzzed, he took one look at the screen and sighed. “It’s Biscuit. Is it wrong of me to ignore her? I don’t particularly want to deal with whatever drama she’s embroiled herself in now.”

“You don’t owe her anything,” Alec replied, his annoyance with Clary ramping up again. “You should do what you want to do.”

Magnus tapped his phone with a finger before nodding and putting it away. “It hasn’t even been a day since whatshisface died; she can’t have found more trouble already.”

“Or maybe she has,” said Alec, “but it’s not your responsibility to rescue her from herself all the time. Eventually, she’ll have to learn that actions have consequences and that the world doesn’t actually owe her any favours.”

“True.” Magnus looked a lot happier. “Besides, I’m busy. You and I have some difficult decisions to make and not much time to do it.”

Alec frowned. “Oh?”

“Of course, darling,” Magnus said seriously. “If you’re coming to Pandemonium with me to visit Isabelle, we need to find you something to wear.”

Alec had been resisting Izzy’s attempts to dress him up for most of his life. Somehow, the idea of saying ‘no’ to Magnus was harder. “I’m not really into wearing tight, revealing clothing. Not that there’s anything wrong with that; it’s just not for me.”

Magnus tilted his head to one side. “Is it that the clothing is uncomfortable or that you don’t like the attention that being dressed that way brings?”

“The second one,” Alec said, grateful that Magnus had been able to put it into words. He’d never been able to explain it adequately to Izzy, and she’d eventually concluded that he was just determined not to have any fun. After that, she only made a perfunctory effort to get him into what she considered ‘acceptable’ clubbing gear. “I don’t like strangers touching me.”

Magnus nodded understandingly. “Say no more. If you ever change your mind or want to try wearing some of those things in a more controlled environment, I’d be happy to help with that.”

Alec stared at him. “That’s it?”

Magnus looked surprised. “That’s what?”

“You’re not going to keep trying to convince me? You don’t think I’m being precious?”

Magnus’ surprise turned to concern. “Of course not. Your body is your own, and you get to decide what to do with it.”

“Oh.” Alec didn’t know what to do with that. The relief that he didn’t have to defend his choices was staggering. Knowing that Magnus would take his ‘no’ for ‘no’ and wouldn’t try to convince him or look disappointed in the hope that his guilty conscience would compel him to capitulate… The prospect of going out to a nightclub suddenly felt a lot less daunting.

Magnus was tapping his lower lip. “Maybe an enchantment to make you easy to overlook? I could attach it to a necklace, or maybe a bracelet or anklet. What do you think? Which would you prefer? It’s a runic enchantment, and it’s got enough magical weight that it will work best if engraved on something strong and durable—metal would be best—but there’s no need to be uncomfortable wearing it.”

“A bracelet,” Alec decided. “Something wide and fitting so it won’t get in the way in a fight. Although…why couldn’t I use something like this for infiltration?”

Magnus pulled a gleaming silver bracelet out of nowhere with one hand and a black, felt-tipped marker with the other. “The best way to make it inconspicuous is to make the active portion look like part of the decoration, but it would be a terrible idea to draw the runic script more than once. I suppose I could make it central and add some important looking doodles to either side. What do you think?”

“Izzy always says my fashion sense is abysmal,” Alec replied. “I’d prefer to let you decide, really.”

Magnus studied him for a moment before nodding agreeably. Contemplating the bracelet again, he cocked his head to one side before carefully starting to draw a design onto the surface. “An array like this is good for remaining unnoticed, but as soon as you talk to someone or make yourself known to them somehow, the effect will shatter. It’s a good tool for infiltrating a busy location, but not for going undercover. Anyone on the lookout for concealment magic will spot it instantly.”

Shadowhunter runes worked similarly, except that if a shadowhunter placed a concealment rune on a necklace, the rune would only conceal the necklace itself. There was a reason that they inscribed the runes directly on their skin, and most angelic runes had a finite life and burned out after use.

Alec suddenly wondered if the concealment of his quiver really was an angelic based enchantment of a type that had been lost to history, as his father had told him. He was starting to suspect it wasn’t angelic magic at all.

Magnus finished his drawing and looked at the result with a critical eye. “What do you think, Alexander? Is this something you’d wear?”

“It looks nice,” Alec agreed. “Not too fussy.”

Magnus winked at him. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to foist something fussy off onto you, darling. Now, how to… Oh yes.” He closed his eyes, blue mist gathering around the bracelet in a thick fog. A sharp, acidic smell in the air made Alec wrinkle his nose. Then it dissipated along with Magnus’ magic, leaving him holding the finished product. The design that Magnus had marked out was now sculpted deep into the surface, and all traces of the marker pen were gone. “Not bad, if I do say so myself.”

Alec was fascinated by the process, but something was bugging him. Warlocks couldn’t just magic up things, could they? Or could they? “Uh, Magnus? Where did you get the original bracelet from?”

“It was something I had lying around,” Magnus said, turning it so that it caught the light. “We should probably bond it to you before I activate the runes. It would be dreadfully annoying if we lost it and couldn’t find it again.”

“Does it work the same as it did with my quiver?” Alec asked, pulling his stele out of his pocket.

“I would imagine so,” Magnus replied. “A blood sacrifice, yes?”

Alec frowned. “My father never called it a ‘sacrifice.’ He just said that the unseen rune had to be drawn in my blood.”

“The rune is optional,” Magnus explained. “The important part is that you spill your blood with the intent to claim, and then deliberately mark the item with it. An unseen rune would work as well as anything else, of course, but it wouldn’t add any specific concealment value to the item.”

Alec did as Magnus had instructed. He felt the moment when the bracelet accepted his claim, an almost electrical buzz, but without electricity’s sting. He put it on and admired it before looking up at Magnus. “Will I need to do anything to make it work?”

Magnus smiled fondly at him. “Once I’ve charged it, you only need to put it on and activate it. The runes will work until you take it off. At that point, you won’t be able to activate it again without a warlock to charge it again, I’m afraid.”

“I could just keep it on,” Alec suggested, only partly joking.

Magnus tilted his head thoughtfully. “You could if you wanted to; it wouldn’t be the first time this array was used like that. Its effectiveness is unlikely to last over time; when people know you might be wearing it, they search for you harder. Anyone concentrating hard enough on seeing you would be able to break through the magic.”

“Pity,” Alec murmured. “How do you activate it?”

“This point here,” Magnus ran his finger lightly over part of the design raised higher than the rest, “is the ignition point. A bit of focussed magic, and…” A spark of blue landed where Magnus’ finger had just been; then a blue-tinged shimmer spread out to cover the whole bracelet.

Alec shivered in reaction as the increasingly familiar touch of Magnus’ magic flowed over his skin. It wasn’t unpleasant; quite the reverse. With Magnus this close, Alec could breathe in his scent, earthy, rich, slightly exotic, with an undercurrent of something Alec couldn’t put a name on.

“There,” Magnus said, still focused on the bracelet. “Everything seems to be in working order. You’ll be able to use your stele to trigger the ignition.”

Alec wrenched his mind back to what they were doing. “Did you ask Izzy to come alone? If you didn’t, she might bring Jace and Clary with her.”

Magnus shook his head. “I specifically said that I wanted to introduce her to some friends, but I didn’t exclude anyone else. What would you like me to do? I can message her, if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Alec said, not bothering to disguise his relief. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to see Jace. His brother had been so focused on supporting Clary in her reckless crusade through the shadow world that he’d stopped listening to any opinions but hers.

It hurt, being disregarded so wholly by the person who he should have been able to count on most to have his back. Since Clary arrived, Jace had only cared about their bond if it could benefit him. It felt like a betrayal, and Alec didn’t know how to deal with it. If they discovered that Clary did have some sort of mind-influencing thing going on, that would mitigate it, but Alec didn’t know if he’d be able to forgive as easily as he should.

With his mind so full of confusion on the issue, it was probably best to avoid Jace for now. They had their bond; they both knew the other wasn’t in great distress, which would have to be enough.

Having Magnus offer to be a go-between, the way he was actively trying to make things easier for Alec… It was a long time since he’d felt so safe and cared for in someone’s presence. Izzy tried, sometimes, to be a source of comfort for him—and she was—but it wasn’t the same as what he was getting from Magnus.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her to take care of him; it was that it was so ingrained in him that he needed to take care of her that he could never fully relax into the role of accepting comfort.

The way that Magnus just started doing things to help him… It felt good.

Chapter four

Magnus and Alec arrived at Pandemonium just after eleven that night.

Having assured himself that Alec would be fine for the evening, Magnus had portaled back to the loft to get changed and eat a light dinner. It was worth the hour he’d put into choosing this outfit when he saw the way Alec’s breath stuttered, how his pupils dilated, how his fingers twitched as though he wanted to reach out and touch.

Magnus smiled brightly, then preceded Alec through a portal directly to the heavily warded corner of the dance floor. His arrival was noticed, but Alec was wearing the activated glamour bracelet, and eyes just slid off him as if he wasn’t there.

Since Alec wanted privacy to talk to his sister, Magnus ushered him to the concealed, warded room overlooking the dance floor and left him there, promising to bring Izzy to him as soon as she arrived.

Magnus had created the space for use during some sensitive meetings. It was not only well warded and well-provisioned, but it also boasted some rather exquisitely crafted sound spells too. They allowed occupants to enjoy the atmosphere of the busy club without all the noise, a must when a misunderstanding could have dire consequences.

This particular room was also one of several spaces in the club where the only way past the wards—which encompassed the entire room, not just the door—was with Magnus’ direct intercession. Not even Ragnor or Catarina had access to these spaces, although they’d also never indicated wanting such a thing. Neither of them appreciated his nightclub.

With Alec comfortably settled and working on his self-issued Clave homework like the sweet, overly dedicated thing he was, Magnus touched base with his manager and then made his way to the main floor.

He didn’t always make an appearance among the dancers, but it was always an excellent way to get a feel of the general downworld atmosphere. That night, there was an edge to the energy that spoke of stress. Everyone knew that the Mortal Cup was in the wind, and the Circle’s recent re-emergence only increased the tension.

Drink and make merry, for tomorrow we might be killed. Or worse, captured and experimented on by a psycho sadist.

Another reason for dancing was that the dance floor was an ideal place to ‘run into’ Isabelle. Magnus had been known to take dance partners to his private rooms, so his inviting Isabelle to leave with him wouldn’t be out of character to a casual observer and thus not memorable. Magnus settled into the rhythm far easier than he’d expected to; perhaps he also had some stress that needed to be worked off.

There was also the titillating factor that Magnus knew Alec’s room had a good view of the dance floor. Alec might be watching him right now, tablet set to one side, eyes hooded, breath coming quicker…

Magnus always liked to put on a show.

He was so engrossed in dancing for Alec—who might not even be watching, for fucks sake—that when Isabelle appeared in front of him, dressed to draw the eye in a tight red mini-dress and black thigh-high boots, he was almost disappointed.

Nonetheless, he leered at her playfully and danced closer. In another life where he hadn’t met and been instantly charmed by her older brother, he would have offered Isabelle a tumble or two. She was everything he liked in a woman; beautiful, deadly, sure of herself and her appeal, in touch with her sensuality and sexuality.

They danced together as though they’d practised for years. They fit together so well that a small space opened around them, those closest to them slowing their gyrations to watch. Isabelle looked to be enjoying herself as much as he was, so Magnus took the opportunity to just dance.

When he was feeling a little less tense, he leaned forward suggestively. “Come upstairs with me?” He had to yell to be heard over the music and the other dancers.

Isabelle gave him a speculative once-over, lips pursed in sultry speculation, before nodding and reaching out to take his hand. Magnus brought it to his lips before linking his fingers in hers and leading her towards the stairs. The space they’d created closed behind them as if they’d never been there.

v^v^v

With all the best intentions in the world, Alec hadn’t made any progress on the project he’d brought to work on. He’d spent the first few minutes exploring the room he was in, opening the cupboards in the cabinet against the wall and poking at the wards and marvelling at their strength and elasticity.

When Alec had explored enough to feel comfortable, he sat down and picked up his tablet, planning to get down to work. His glance out the viewing window was cursory, a quick flick towards the exits and a brief scan of the dancers. It was a habit; most shadowhunters routinely scanned their surroundings since odd empty areas, among other discrepancies, could indicate a cloaked demon about to spring.

Alec’s gaze was snagged by Magnus stalking onto the dance floor as if he were some sort of god-king, with subjects who knew that they should get out of the way.

And they did.

Magnus greeted several of the more spectacular dancers—at least two seelie and a werewolf that Alec recognised immediately—and then began to move.

Watching Magnus on the dance floor made Alec’s mouth go dry, his face grow hot, and his pants feel tight. Magnus danced alone, but it was clearly by choice. He was approached multiple times but managed to dance alongside each hopeful for a few moments and then extricate himself deftly.

It was as though he was dancing for an audience, an invisible presence. Alec wondered if it was egocentric to hope that Magnus was dancing for him, to wonder if he was imagining Alec sitting up here and storing away images that he’d replay when he was alone, in the shower or in his bed.

A bright flash of familiar red and Izzy appeared beside Magnus, dressed in what she liked to call her ‘ass-stomping’ outfit. It was bright and tight and drew men’s and women’s gazes alike.

Izzy said once that it was a statement piece, that it was as much a mask as his scowl and that she used it for much the same purpose. People rarely wanted to know what she was thinking or her opinions when she was wearing it. They wanted something entirely different.

It was as though someone had flipped a switch; something in Magnus’ dancing changed. Or maybe it was Alec who was watching differently; he wasn’t an expert or anything. But Magnus’ dancing went from seductive and sultry to…fun. He danced with Izzy the way he’d refused to do with others, but Alec could see how Izzy’s mouth was twitched up mischievously despite their lingering touches and long looks.

Before long, space had been made around them. Izzy had always been the best dancer in the family, and she finally had a partner worthy of her talents with Magnus.

They were brilliant, other dancers stopping to stare even in the dim light.

When Magnus finally extended his hand and drew Izzy towards the stairs where Alec was waiting, Alec finally came back to himself. He’d achieved absolutely nothing, yet a sense of ease had settled into him, a sense of accomplishment similar to what he got when a plan came together and worked flawlessly.

He got to his feet to wait for them. It was less than a day since he’d seen his sister, but so much had happened since then that it felt like weeks.

“Alec!” Izzy threw her arms around him and squeezed tightly. “Are you alright?” She stepped back and gave him a thorough visual inspection. Whatever she saw must have reassured her because she relaxed slightly. “What the hell happened? Do you know what’s going on, how we can fight this? It can’t be legal!”

“I’m fine,” Alec replied patiently, resting his hands on her shoulders.

“But where have you been? You didn’t have your phone, and you must have activated your deflect rune because when we tried to track you—”

“Izzy!” Alec interrupted. “I’m fine. I didn’t want to talk to anyone right away, you know? I needed time to myself, to process.”

Izzy took a deep breath, then let it out again slowly. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump on your back straight away. I’m just so relieved, and…”

Alec waited. Izzy didn’t often let her softer side show; it had been ingrained in her that shadowhunters couldn’t show weakness. When she did, she sometimes had trouble finding the words she needed.

“You should never have been put in that situation in the first place,” Izzy said. “You tried to tell us that we were going too far, crossing too many lines, and we just ignored you. I’m sorry, it should have been Jace and me on trial there.”

“But I was responsible,” Alec pointed out. “I was in charge; it was up to me to ensure that you followed the rules. When you didn’t, it was my responsibility to report you.”

“But we knew that you’d never do that to us, no matter how much we deserved it,” Izzy said, tears gathering in her eyes. “That’s what makes this whole thing worse. We knew that we wouldn’t get away with what we were doing if it were anyone else; we knew that you’d never let us be properly censured for breaking Clave law. We were counting on it.”

“I know.” Alec tried to be gentle, but she couldn’t hide the flinch he was looking for.

“I was going to turn myself in,” Izzy admitted. “I went to talk to Lydia about it, and she convinced me that it wouldn’t help anything.”

“Thank the angel,” Alec muttered. This Lydia Branwell sounded better and better. “The only reason I pleaded guilty was so that you and Jace wouldn’t be arrested with me. If either—or both—of you throw yourselves on your swords, then the whole thing was pointless.” He hesitated, looking nervously at Magnus. Magnus nodded encouragingly. “We think that the Consul might have something else going on. No need to put you in danger as well. Especially if…”

Izzy’s gaze sharpened. “Especially if what? What’s going on, Alec? Is this about the strange way the case was handled? Lydia and I agree that there’s something not right about the whole thing.”

“Don’t go poking that demon’s nest,” Alec begged, alarmed. “Whatever it is, the Consul is involved. That leaves us very little room to manoeuvre. Until we know the truth about why he did things the way he did, then it would be best not to rock the boat.”

“You have a theory, though,” Izzy said, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And you think I won’t like it, so you don’t want to tell me.”

“It’s just a guess,” Alec assured her. “Magnus pointed out that Malachi might be setting me up to go undercover in Valentine’s Circle. I don’t know what the purpose in that would be, but it’s one explanation as to why he exiled me for treason but didn’t take my runes.”

“Sending you to Valentine undercover would be insane!” Izzy said. “Especially since—” She pulled herself up short. “I discovered something that you’re not going to like. Maybe we should all sit down.”

Alec raised his eyebrows. “Is about our parents being in the Circle? Because Magnus already let that slip earlier today.”

Izzy blinked. “Oh. That was easier than I expected it to be.” She sighed. “I’m not looking forward to telling Jace.”

Alec shook his head. “That’s my responsibility.”

Izzy rolled her eyes at him. “It’s really not. You’ve got enough on your plate dealing with the fallout of the last week or so. I can tell Jace. He might enjoy being distracted for a while.”

Alec frowned. His bond with Jace had been quieter than usual since Clary arrived on the scene, not surprising since Jace had been concentrating almost solely on her and her problems. Nonetheless, it was still active enough for Alec to get a general idea of his parabatai’s state of being.

Jace wasn’t precisely happy and excited at that moment, but he wasn’t in the depths of despair, either. Not that Jace would let that stop him from being a pain in the ass just because he could. Sometimes Jace was all strength and surety, a star shining brightly for all to cleave to. For others, he was a boisterous toddler, poking at things to get a reaction and then chortling with glee.

“Don’t look so concerned,” Izzy said. “He’s trying to help Clary deal with Simon’s death. Luke mentioned that there was a chance that he could become a vampire, and she got all excited. When he got called back to the Jade Wolf after the attack, he called Jace to go and sit with her. I think he was worried that she’d do something reckless.”

“No, really?” Alec asked. “Not Clary, ‘It’s terrible that people keep dying, now come with me to incite a werewolf fight,’ Fairchild. What a shock.”

Izzy poked him in the arm with a finger. “She’s had a lot going on, and it’s not like she’s got the training to deal with it all. You could stand to be a little more sympathetic.”

“You could stand to be a little less sympathetic,” Alec retorted, although his heart wasn’t really in it. “Her stupid crusade is the main reason why we’re in this mess. And if she hadn’t broken half a dozen Clave laws and the Accords by insisting on bringing her mundane friend into all of this, he’d still be alive.” He thought about his impressions of Simon Lewis. “Probably. He didn’t strike me as having a lot of self-preservation.”

Izzy frowned. “Clary couldn’t have known how that would go; she doesn’t know how things work in the shadow world.”

“She also refused to take any advice from people who do know, unless that advice was ‘go on, do what you want.’” Alec retorted.

Izzy winced. “You have a point.” Her brow creased slightly. “I should have at least tried to rein her in. Some of her ideas on how to proceed were always going to end in disaster. For some reason, I just didn’t see it.” She sighed. “I thought I was smarter than that.”

Alec exchanged a loaded glance with Magnus. “We think she might have some sort of power to persuade people,” he said cautiously. “It would explain why everyone keeps doing crazy things because she asks them to.”

“What?” Izzy looked at Alec as though he was the crazy one. “That’s absurd; until her birthday, she didn’t even have the Sight! She’s not some kind of succubus!”

“The only reason Biscuit didn’t have the sight is because I cast a spell on her,” Magnus reminded her. “It dispersed on her 18^th birthday because I insisted on it when Jocelyn hired me.”

Izzy folded her arms. “If that was the case, why didn’t you arrange for her memories to return, too?”

“Removing someone’s memories isn’t as easy as blocking the Sight,” Magnus explained. “Also, given the percentage of her life that she’d lived without those memories, she might never have known they were missing. The only reason they became relevant at all is because of Jocelyn’s absence and the uncertainty around the Mortal Cup. At the time, I considered it more important to keep them safe from Valentine than to have the memories stashed close by on the off-chance that Biscuit might discover their loss and want them back.”

“The idea that Clary might have mind powers just seems preposterous,” Izzy said, shaking her head. “I’ve never seen any records of shadowhunters having abilities like that.”

Magnus eyed her apologetically. “Valentine is known for running experiments, both on his followers and captives,” he pointed out. “Is it such a stretch of the imagination that he experimented on his wife and his unborn child?”

Izzy paced backwards and forwards in the small space as she put everything together in her mind. “Wouldn’t I know if my mind was being manipulated, though?”

Magnus shrugged. “Not really, especially if there was no intent behind it. Not when you already had reason to make excuses for any differences you might feel from her. After all, how often have you met a born shadowhunter her age without a lick of training? One who hasn’t received even a single rune?”

“Never,” Izzy agreed. “And the whole thing was so exciting…” She sighed. “It would explain a lot. It doesn’t excuse it, though.” She turned and looked at Alec. “You managed to resist her well enough.”

Alec carefully wiped at an imaginary mark on his tablet. “My initial dislike might have insulated me from many of its effects. However, it didn’t stop me from agreeing not to hand the Mortal Cup to the Clave. ‘In case we need to use it as a bargaining chip’ is not the kind of argument I would normally listen to, not when it comes to one of the most sacred—and dangerous—artefacts we have.”

Izzy blinked. “By the angel, you’re right! Even the suggestion that we trade it… It’s insane!”

“I wasn’t immune either,” Magnus comforted her. “Do you think I often summon greater demons on a whim? Considering the day’s events, the sensible choice would have been to delay the summoning until my magic levels had time to replenish. Especially with the ever-present danger of Valentine and his goons looming in the background. If I’d taken a little time to recharge before performing such intensive magic, keeping Luke stable while preparing the potion to heal him wouldn’t have been nearly so burdensome.” He winked at Alec. “Not that I minded the help I received.”

Alec’s cheeks warmed. “Given some of our suspicions, having the Mortal Cup locked securely away in the Institute is probably a good thing. Last time Valentine was active, he had followers seeded all through the Clave; there’s no knowing where he’s getting his information.” He braced himself. “I’m also worried about Hodge.”

“You think Valentine will target him?” Izzy asked. “It occurred to me earlier, but then Lydia distracted me by telling me about our parents being ex-Circle members.”

“I’m concerned that Magnus’ safe house was attacked as soon as we drew him away from it,” Alec replied. “Hodge was the only one involved in that planning who wasn’t on the mission. He practically suggested it, then pointed out the perfect bait that would work.”

“Hodge wouldn’t betray us like that,” Izzy said vehemently.

“Yesterday, I would have agreed with you,” said Alec sadly. “Then I found out about Mom and Dad being in the Circle. Would he really think he was betraying us, or would he be betraying the Clave? They imprisoned and tortured him while letting our parents go free. Not just free, they were allowed to run the Institute he was imprisoned in. The Clave is unrelenting; you know that. Do you think they were ever going to free him? Do you think that he thinks they’ll ever free him?”

Izzy opened her mouth, then hesitated and closed it again. She looked devastated. “But…”

“I know.” Alec pulled her to him for a quick hug. “I can’t condone it, but I do understand it. He might not even care about Valentine’s agenda; the prospect of finally being free would probably be enough.” Izzy’s forehead rested on his collarbone. In moments like this, it always felt strange that she was so much shorter than he was. She was such a big part of his life; it was like she should take up more physical space.

Izzy allowed herself to draw comfort from him for less than a minute before she pulled back, already settling her emotional armour into place. “So, in order of importance: Clary might have some mystical power for persuasion that convinces people who should know better to follow along with her plans, no matter how reckless and ill-advised. Hodge is probably working with Valentine, and the Consul is playing deep games and might be planning to send you into Valentine’s arms for a purpose we have yet to determine. Was there anything else you wanted to drop on me?”

Magnus pretended to think it over. “I think that was everything we had on the agenda, Alexander?”

“That’s it,” Alec agreed. “We’re concerned you and Jace might be under surveillance to see if you contact me. We didn’t want to make anyone who might be watching suspect our suspicions.”

Izzy nodded slowly. “I buy that.” She tilted her head slightly, looking at Alec through slightly narrowed eyes. “Why didn’t you want Jace to be here? He’s as worried about you as I am.”

Alec raised his eyebrows sceptically. “Jace has other priorities right now, Izzy. And can you honestly tell me that he’d be able to listen to any speculation that Clary might be influencing his choices, purposefully or not, with any kind of grace?”

Izzy grimaced. “You might have a point. He is worried about you, though, Alec. Maybe look at it as a vote of confidence in your ability to take care of yourself. He doesn’t seriously think that you’re in trouble, or he’d be tearing New York apart to find you.”

Alec didn’t bother arguing with her. It stung that Jace was so focused on Clary that he barely acknowledged Alec’s existence—except when he needed something from him—but there was no point in upsetting Izzy any further.

“Excuse me,” said Magnus, attention caught by something on the Pandemonium dance floor. “There’s something I need to take care of. Alexander, darling, feel free to go or stay as it pleases you. Here, let me charge your bracelet. I’m happy to portal you back home once I’ve taken care of this matter, or you can stay. No one will disturb you here.”

Alec was startled at how business-like Magnus suddenly was. “Of course,” he replied. “Is it anything I can help with?”

Magnus smiled at him. “If there is, I’ll be sure to let you know. It was lovely to see you, Isabelle. We must catch up sometime; your nail polish is divine, and I must find out what you’re using.”

Moments later, he was gone.

Izzy raised her eyebrows. “Something got him riled up.”

They both watched out the viewing window as Magnus made his way through the crowd to a corner of the bar.

Izzy squinted. “Is that…Raphael Santiago? Of the Brooklyn Vampire Clan?”

“Looks like,” agreed Alec.

There was a tense exchange that lasted several minutes. Finally, Magnus nodded, the uncertainty in his posture lasting only a millisecond before it was replaced with his usual confidence. Their argument began afresh, and this time Raphael was the one to concede.

With a flourish of his hands, Magnus created a portal right there, in the corner of his club. Moments later, he and Raphael Santiago were gone, the portal winking shut behind them.

Izzy sighed. “Remember when I said that I wanted life to be more exciting than just fighting demons? I might have been wrong.”

Alec hugged her to his side. “I know what you mean. Life was a lot simpler a few months ago. Although…it wasn’t as if all this stuff wasn’t there. We just didn’t know about it. All things considered…I prefer to know.”

“Of course you do.” Izzy turned away from the window. “So, now that he’s gone, spill!”

“Spill?”

Izzy gave him a censorious look. “Don’t play coy with me; tell me about Magnus!”

Alec didn’t even try to stop the smile on his face. “There isn’t much to talk about,” he defended. “He’s been very helpful.” At her open scepticism, he relented. “We’ve agreed that there’s a thing between us, but we’re going to take it slow.”

“Tell me everything,” Izzy commanded. “As close to word for word as you can get it.”

Alec did as instructed. “Part of me is glad we’re going slow,” he admitted once he’d finished. “The other part wants to…” He felt his face grow hot.

Izzy laughed wickedly. “Don’t worry, hermano, I can fill in the blanks myself. He’s very flexible, isn’t he? And he’s had centuries to learn what works and what doesn’t. Given how well he dances…” She waggled her eyebrows at him.

“Izzy!”

Izzy’s smile smoothed out, and her eyes softened. “I’m happy for you, big brother. I like this confidence on you; I like seeing you smile.”

Chapter five

Magnus had known for decades that it was only a matter of time before Camille’s actions caused repercussions she couldn’t outrun.

In the last few years, Raphael had been growing ever more concerned with the safety of his clan as their leader repeatedly showed a lack of care about how her lawbreaking would affect them.

Her most recent crime—killing a mundane known to the local Institute, the best friend of a young shadowhunter who also happened to be the last known scion of two long and storied lineages—was only going to end in tears for the Brooklyn Clan. It didn’t take a genius to conclude that Camille intended to let her lower-ranked clan members act as distractions while she escaped, especially since she was known to have used that tactic more than once before.

Unfortunately for her, Raphael was more intelligent and better connected than Camille’s previous Seconds. He could see the way the wind was blowing, and he had no intention of being sacrificed to pay for Camille’s arrogance and whims.

He also knew exactly what he was asking of Magnus when he came to him for help.

The moment Magnus understood what Raphael wanted of him, he understood that he’d reached a crossroads he’d been avoiding for decades.

If he left Raphael to deal with Camille on his own, Raphael’s chances of success and survival were low. Almost non-existent. If Magnus agreed to help Raphael, he would aid in Camille’s final destruction. Whether the vampires executed her or the Clave did, Camille would be gone forever.

Magnus had never wanted to be in this position, but now that Camille’s actions were directly endangering Raphael, it was time for something to be done.

v^v^v

As they’d both expected, Camille refused to take responsibility for her crimes. She rejected her Clan’s right to put her on trial, denouncing Raphael and promising dire retribution on any member who voted against her.

When that didn’t work, she tried to play on Magnus’ love for her, as he’d known she would. If Raphael hadn’t been standing right there, he might have faltered. Magnus never did learn how to protect his heart from those he’d given it to.

Camille knew it, had been counting on it. Right up until the portal enveloped her, she didn’t believe he’d do it, that he’d send her to the Clave.

At the moment of truth, when he was hesitating to go past the point of no return, something Alec said when he was talking about his parents echoed in his ears. That while he loved them, allowing them to walk free was an unconscionable choice on the Clave’s part.

Sometimes the right thing to do was also the hardest.

v^v^v

When Magnus returned to the Pandemonium, he discovered Alec and his sister had departed. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

On the one hand, Alec’s presence was more soothing than Magnus had expected. Despite all the stress and upheaval in their lives and the attraction that had sparked between them from the start, being with Alec had given him clarity he’d been unable to find anywhere else. When he was with Alec, everything made sense.

On the other hand, Magnus didn’t want to have to explain just why dealing with Camille had left him feeling so delicate.

Only one person would understand what he was going through right now, the one who’d been there and witnessed the whole sorry affair.

Pandemonium’s staff was well trained and didn’t need his presence, so Magnus decided to take the rest of the evening off. He portaled home, got rid of all his usual armour, then sent out two fire messages.

One was to Alexander, explaining that he’d get in touch the next day, and the other was to Ragnor, asking his old friend to join him. No one in the world knew him as well as Ragnor did, not even Camille.

v^v^v

Ragnor arrived amid the usual whirlwind he liked to impress people with. When he saw that Magnus was alone, he almost looked disappointed. He shook that off moments later and went straight to the drinks cart. “Where’s the fire?” His eyes flicked over Magnus, touching on his ringless fingers, lack of jewellery, flat hair, and the glass of amber liquid in his hand. “Or rather, what did she do this time?”

Magnus’ smile held no mirth. “How well you know me, old friend.” He tipped back his glass, draining it before allowing his magic to refill it. “She killed a mundane.”

Carrying his glass over to his favoured chair, Ragnor sat. “Was there a reason for it, or was it something she did to pass the time?”

Magnus didn’t bother defending her; he’d run out of excuses for Camille long ago. “I have no idea what she hoped to achieve. But this time, the mundane was connected to the local Institute. Tangentially, but solid enough that harming him directly endangered the rest of her clan.”

That startled Ragnor in a way that hearing about Camille’s crimes usually didn’t. “The local Institute is fraternising with mundanes now? Who’s running it? Last I heard, it was the Lightwoods, but—”

“But they’re bigots, and the only thing less likely is if they openly accepted downworlders,” finished Magnus, swirling the liquid in his glass. “The Lightwoods are still in charge, nominally. I’ve recently discovered that Maryse and Robert gave most of the day-to-day over to their eldest son several years ago. The mundane Camille killed was the best friend of Clarissa Fairchild, Jocelyn’s daughter.”

“Ah,” said Ragnor. “Matters become clearer. I take it Jocelyn finally decided to tell her daughter about her heritage. I wondered if she would ever think the time was right.”

Magnus shook his head. “The spell I used to remove her sight broke on her eighteenth birthday. Naturally, that very night the young woman walked right into the middle of a demon hunt. Literally. Jocelyn didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

Ragnor winced. “I imagine that didn’t go down well. The mixture of blood in that child is volatile, to say the least.”

“Not to mention that Jocelyn wasn’t even able to finish her reveal speech before the Circle attacked them.”

“What?”

Magnus gave his old friend a quick rundown of everything that had happened, finishing with Alec’s strange exile that wasn’t an exile and the attack on the Jade Wolf. He didn’t mention his visit with Alec earlier in the day or the news that the Mortal Cup had been retrieved.

By then, Ragnor was on his fourth brandy. “You certainly like to live dangerously, my friend. I’m not quite seeing why you needed my presence, though.”

Magnus sighed. “Raphael came to me for help,” he explained. “Camille has always been capricious, but matters were speeding wildly out of control. He asked for my help to overcome her and either put her into an enforced slumber or turn her over to the Clave.”

“Oh, dear boy,” said Ragnor. He sighed with a mixture of sympathy and resignation. “You know that turning her into the Clave would have been wiser. She will never forgive you for acting against her, and she is an implacable enemy.”

“I know.” Magnus drained his glass again, but this time didn’t refill it. He rolled it between his palms, enjoying the feel of the glass against his skin. “I sent her to the Gard.”

Ragnor shook his head slightly, then blinked. “I’m sorry; could you repeat that for me?”

“I turned her in, Ragnor, okay? I opened a portal and sent her through. Raphael will have sent them statements detailing her recent Accord-breaking activity by now. Since most of it was motivated by her desire to acquire the Mortal Cup, the Clave will undoubtedly be very interested in making an example of her.” Magnus glared at his empty glass and then thought, what the hell. It filled with the same brandy Ragnor was drinking.

Camille had always hated brandy.

Understanding finally bloomed across Ragnor’s face. “So, this is the final end. Ah, my dear friend… I know that this will be cold comfort, but you did the right thing. It breaks my heart that you’re in pain, but I hope that now, you will finally start to heal.”

They sat and drank in silence for a while. One of the things that Magnus truly appreciated about his friendship with Ragnor was how easy it was to be in company with him with no expectations that either of them fill the silence.

Even Catarina, his other dearest friend, would have been unable to let Magnus sit and sulk. She would have wanted to talk about his feelings, dissect his choices and burrow down into his psyche to discover his innermost thoughts. And Magnus was usually fine with that, just not…not right now.

“It does rather surprise me that you’d choose to take this step,” said Ragnor eventually, when Magnus felt more relaxed. “I’d despaired of you ever being able to make a clean break.”

“It was something Alexander said to me about his parents,” said Magnus. “He’s had his whole world turned upside down repeatedly, but he still holds to the ideals of honour and justice. He’s ridiculous, Ragnor. Did I tell you he let me share his energy so that I could heal Luke? There was no hesitation, not a moment. And his power was beautiful. I’ve never met anyone quite like him, and the fact that he’s a shadowhunter…”

Ragnor looked alarmed. “Wait, this is the shadowhunter that’s been running around with Jocelyn’s daughter?”

“No, that’s Jace.” Magnus grimaced. Jace rubbed him up the wrong way. “I’m talking about Alec. Although they are parabatai.”

Ragnor groaned. “This is going to be Will Herondale all over again.”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Magnus. The mention of his old friend pinged something in his mind, but that could wait to be examined later. “I was never in love with Will.”

“Aha!” said Ragnor triumphantly. “So, you’re in love with this paragon of angelic virtues!”

Magnus glared at him. Why had he wanted Ragnor here, again? “No, I’m not in love with him.” At Ragnor’s raised eyebrow, he rolled his eyes. “Not yet. I think. He’s just so…”

“Don’t try to deny it, my friend,” said Ragnor, looking pleased as punch. “I know you too well; you always were one to fall hard and fast. No, I won’t listen to your tepid denials. In truth, I’m glad to see it. I’ve been concerned about you these last few decades. The way you locked up your heart… It hurt me to see.”

Magnus dropped his gaze again. He’d known Catarina and Ragnor worried about him. He hadn’t liked being a cause of their distress but couldn’t help it. The thought of making himself vulnerable again was a risk he hadn’t been prepared to take. He’d reasoned with himself that they would be reassured once they saw he was fine the way he was, but their worry hadn’t faded. If anything, it had intensified.

“Not that choosing a shadowhunter makes me particularly convinced of your sanity,” continued Ragnor. “A Lightwood, no less. Really, Magnus. Is it a cry for help? Do you need an intervention?”

Magnus rolled his eyes, but it was nothing less than he expected. “Don’t you think you should meet him before deciding his worth?”

Ragnor snorted. “I doubt very much that I will find him as ‘different’ as you claim. You always were a sucker for a pretty face.”

“You want to lay a wager?” suggested Magnus, doing his best to look innocent. “I’ll introduce you to Alec, and if you truly think I’m fooling myself as to his good qualities, I’ll…” He cast a glance around the room, hoping for inspiration. “I’ll provide you with a year’s worth of that cognac you like.”

Ragnor narrowed his eyes. “Tempting. Very tempting. And what forfeit would you demand from me, then?”

Magnus shrugged. “A year’s worth of favours. More to the point, favours that I can get without jumping through your usual hoops.”

“You enjoy having to work for your information,” accused Ragnor.

“Sometimes,” admitted Magnus. “Not all the time, though. Sometimes I’m in a hurry, or my problem is time-sensitive. Given the way things are heating up in the shadow world, having a cache of favours would be beneficial.” He raised an eyebrow. “Of course, if you think you’re going to lose, we can just drop the whole idea.”

“This seems too much like a lose/lose for my comfort,” grumbled Ragnor.

“Sounds more like a win/win to me. What’s the matter, mon petite chou? Is isolation rusting your negotiating skills?”

Ragnor frowned. “Maybe a little.”

Magnus leaned forward. “Isolation is dangerous right now, Ragnor. You and I both know that there are no wards so secure that they can’t be broken. The best safety is in numbers.”

Ragnor’s eyes flashed. “Like your recent protection scheme? I heard about that.”

“Alec and I think we’ve discovered how that happened,” replied Magnus, sitting back. “Valentine has a spy in the heart of the New York Institute. Through him, Valentine was able to manipulate events to draw me away while the attack took place. It was terrible; far too many of my people died. Yet…”

“Yet?”

“They were being picked off one by one anyway. At least warlocks weren’t the only ones to die in this attack. Circle members died too.”

Ragnor shook his head. “Valentine wouldn’t have sent anyone whose loss he would feel; you know that. If he’s got Jocelyn, he’ll eventually get his hands on the Mortal Cup. As soon as he does, he’ll be able to create an army as large as he wants.”

Magnus examined his nail beds. “Would you feel better if I told you that I know where the Mortal Cup is?”

Ragnor straightened. “Excuse me?”

Magnus didn’t answer. He just smiled and let his magic manifest in swirls of blue that twined around his fingers like a playful cat.

“How safe is it? Does Valentine know where it is? Do you want help relocating it? Or devising protections?”

Magnus sighed, letting his magic dissipate. “Valentine probably does know where it is, yes, but he currently has no way of getting to it. As far as your help goes…hmmm. Let me discuss it with Alexander, see what he thinks. If we can guarantee that Valentine will never get his hands on it, he might be willing to listen to our suggestions.”

Ragnor collapsed back into his seat with a groan. “Why is it that every time I visit, you find some way to screw with my head? Are you telling me that the Mortal Cup is in the hands of a shadowhunter, a Lightwood, and you think you can talk him into letting two warlocks have custody of it?”

Magnus shrugged. “To be honest, I can’t say for certain that he’ll be interested in letting us help protect it. I am sure that he won’t think less of either of us for wanting to keep it out of Valentine’s hands.”

“You are even further gone than I thought you were, Magnus Bane,” said Ragnor, draining his glass and putting it down. “I accept your offer of a place to lay my head until this whole mad business has been seen to, one way or another.”

Magnus scowled. “I don’t remember asking you to stay with me.” He ran over the conversation in his mind. “Advising that you stop isolating yourself is quite different from asking you to move in.”

“Nonsense, you’ll be delighted to have me,” said Ragnor, beaming with pleasure at the prospect of making a nuisance of himself. “I’ll pop back home and get my place squared away, pick up a few odds and ends that I’m currently working on—”

“Like your wine cellar, you disreputable old lush,” muttered Magnus. Much as he would normally love having Ragnor stay, it would be most inconvenient having him underfoot at present. Things with Alec were still so new and tentative; the last thing Magnus wanted was Ragnor constantly poking his nose in and making sarcastic comments.

Ragnor looked entirely too pleased with himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, shall I?” He called up a portal, and seconds later was gone.

Magnus was left with two empty glasses and the necessity of retrieving Ragnor’s old bedroom from the pocket dimension he’d stored it in.

On the plus side, he wasn’t obsessing over Camille anymore. He decided to count it as a win.

v^v^v

Alec had spent the night at his apartment before, usually when Izzy and Jace wanted to find ‘extra diversion’ after a patrol; they’d agree to arrive at the Institute at a specified time. Knowing that this was where he lived now, waking up felt different.

Alec lay in bed staring at the ceiling. It was the first time in his recent memory that he didn’t have to get up right away. There was no pile of tasks waiting for his input; no reports to read over, no requisitions to examine, no training or patrol schedules to go through.

Even on the short family vacations to Idris, there had always been something to drag Alec out of bed. Often, it was knowing that if he wasn’t in the kitchen making breakfast when Izzy got up that she would attempt to cook herself, which never ended well.

Izzy was a disaster in the kitchen, always had been. She kept trying, though, convinced that her errors were ones that anyone would make and if she just persevered, she’d be as brilliant a cook as she was a scientist, warrior, and weaponsmith.

It was the only area in her life that Izzy deluded herself about her skills, and neither Alec nor his brothers could bear to enlighten her. They’d collectively decided the best way to manage the situation was to avoid placing her in the position where the need to cook spurred her into action. Alec took breakfast duty, and since Izzy was an early riser, that meant that Alec was too.

Now that Alec finally had the chance to lie about in bed, he wondered what the appeal was. He was wide awake; without other distractions, his mind kept circling his situation. It wasn’t achieving anything except worrying him about things he had no control over.

Bored with the whole thing, Alec got up, went through his morning routine—shorter than usual thanks to the abysmal hot water supply—and made his way to his tiny kitchen.

That was when he remembered his lack of food. It had never been a problem before; Alec was usually on his way back to the Institute, where food was always available.

This would require the grocery shopping trip that he’d been dreading. Remembering Magnus’ offer to go with him, he picked up his new phone to send a text, then hesitated.

In his fire message the previous night, Magnus said he intended to contact Alec. Would it come across as too needy to pre-empt him? Alec vaguely remembered Izzy talking about ‘relationship rules,’ something about accepted time frames and the fine line between appearing either desperate or uninterested.

After giving it a minute’s thought, Alec shrugged. If Magnus cared about that sort of thing enough that he’d think less of Alec for ignoring it, then maybe Magnus wasn’t the person Alec thought he was.

AL: I need to buy food. Do you still want to come with me?

Moments later, a ping signalled a reply.

MB: I’ll be with you in five minutes, darling.

Alec found himself smiling stupidly at the screen. He gave himself a shake and went looking for his shoes.

v^v^v

Magnus was delighted to demystify grocery shopping for Alec; he also suggested getting some clothing essentials. The dear thing wasn’t used to acquiring his own underwear, socks, workout gear and sleepwear. He even let himself be talked into a couple of pairs of jeans that fit much better than the utilitarian items he usually wore.

With that accomplished, Magnus accompanied Alec back to his apartment. Alec didn’t ask about Magnus’ abrupt departure the previous night, a reticence that Magnus appreciated. The lack of prurient curiosity made Magnus decide he wanted to share.

Over lunch, Magnus laid out the bare facts of his history with Camille, leaving out the more sordid details and glossing over how wrecked he’d been by her infidelities. He was as clinical as possible as he related the number of times he took her back, how he allowed himself to be convinced that she’d changed, that this time would be different. How Ragnor had finally helped him see that it would never get better, and Magnus’s attempts to forget he’d ever loved her in the years following. The shame he still felt knowing he still loved her, would probably always love her.

Alec listened quietly and attentively until Magnus explained his shame. “I know that just telling people they don’t need to be ashamed is futile,” Alec interrupted him gently. “The angel knows that Izzy telling me that there was nothing shameful about being attracted to men didn’t stop me feeling that way. But just so we’re clear: I don’t think you have any reason to be ashamed, and I don’t think less of you for telling me about it.”

Magnus blinked his eyes to clear away the blur. “You never fail to astound me, Alexander.”

Alec made a face. “Given how your experiences with shadowhunters have probably gone, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“I think I’ve already mentioned that your lot aren’t the first group of shadowhunters that I’ve befriended,” said Magnus, glad to be able to divert the conversation. “I knew Will Herondale, you know, before he rose to lead the London Institute. He was married to one of my dearest friends.”

“Really?” Alec asked. “The histories he wrote in the early twentieth century are compulsory reading for trainees. They’re good, less dry than some of the older works. I always thought he would have been interesting to talk to.”

Magnus chuckled, remembering some of their more memorable conversations. “I’d heard that he was an author, although I never read his books; they weren’t exactly available at Hatchards. I don’t suppose he mentioned his vendetta against ducks?”

Alec shook his head, smiling. “No, and believe me, I would have remembered. Jace is terrified of them, refuses to be anywhere near them.”

That was interesting. “I didn’t know Jace was a Herondale,” said Magnus slowly. “Come to think of it, maybe that’s why I keep thinking he looks familiar.”

“He isn’t a Herondale,” replied Alec. “He’s a Wayland.”

“If he’s carrying a line curse tied to the Herondales, he’s a Herondale.”

“Maybe his mom was a Herondale,” suggested Alec. He frowned. “No, that can’t be right. The Herondale line ended with Stephen, and he was an only child. Maybe it’s a coincidence?”

“A line curse doesn’t make mistakes,” Magnus insisted. “Does Jace have a star-shaped birthmark anywhere on his body?”

Alec stared at him. “Yes, he does. But… Does that mean that Jace’s mom was having an affair with Stephen Herondale?”

“Most probably,” agreed Magnus. “Either that or Jace was adopted as a baby.”

“No,” said Alec, “Imogen would never have let her grandson be adopted if she knew of his existence.” He ran a hand over his face. “What am I supposed to tell Jace? I can’t keep this from him.”

Magnus shrugged. “You could test his blood. Does the Clave keep blood records?”

“I have no idea,” replied Alec. “Probably. Would that information be on our medical files? I’ll have to check with Izzy.” He sighed. “Why is all of this happening at once? It’s crazy; I feel like we’re bouncing from one shocking revelation to the next without time to stop and catch our breath.”

“That would be ideal, wouldn’t it? Ordering our earth-shattering drama to be delivered on a bi-weekly basis.”

“You’re laughing at me,” Alec accused. He picked up the dishes and took them to the sink, rinsing the plates and stacking them in the dishwasher. When he was done, he leaned against the bench and looked around. “I need to find something to do. I’m not built for sitting around, doing nothing.”

“Not many people are,” said Magnus, fiddling with his ear cuff. “There’s something I should tell you. When I talked with Ragnor last night, I might have mentioned that you managed to get hold of the Mortal Cup.”

Alec blinked. “I take it you didn’t just volunteer the information out of the blue.”

“No, we were talking about Valentine’s plans and his capture of Jocelyn. Ragnor was gloomily foretelling Valentine’s imminent production of a nephilim army… I might have mentioned that you had it in your keeping.”

“The more people know, the more likely someone will find a way to take it,” Alec pointed out.

“I know,” replied Magnus. “I should have asked before saying anything. I’m used to sharing all my thoughts with Ragnor, and I didn’t guard my tongue the way I should.”

“Do you think he can be trusted not to spread it around?”

Magnus snorted. “My dear, Ragnor is a notorious hermit who rarely even speaks with his oldest friends. He’s also one of the wisest people I know—although I would be grateful if you don’t repeat that to him. No need to give the old curmudgeon a bigger head than he already has.”

“If he’s a recluse, I think my chances of stumbling across him are slim.”

Magnus coughed. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? He’s decided to come and stay with me for the foreseeable future. And he wants to meet you.”

Alec stared at him. “I’m not sure what to think about that.”

“You don’t have to, of course,” said Magnus hurriedly. “Although, I’m sure the two of you will get on like a house on fire! Either that or hate each other like poison.”

Alec laughed. “I doubt I’ll hate him. I might not be the friendliest person, but contrary to popular opinion, I don’t go around hating people. Unless he regularly ignores the Accords for personal gain, or is an unrepentant murderer?”

Magnus relaxed. “No, neither of those describes Ragnor. But I thought I better mention it. Also, when I let it slip that you hadn’t taken the Cup to Idris, he immediately offered his help to keep it safe.”

“I’d be happier if it were hidden better,” admitted Alec. “I’m not going to decide that without meeting him first, though.”

“Then how about dinner tonight?” Magnus offered. “My place, of course. Complimentary portals included.”

“That sounds great.” What looked like genuine enthusiasm turned into a frown. “Uh, Ragnor won’t expect me to get dressed up, will he? I’m a bit cut off from my formal wardrobe.”

Magnus waved a hand, already running through menu options. “Just wear the clothes I got you for last night. If you like, I could give them a quick clean? Warlock service, no waiting.”

Alec blushed slightly. “I’d appreciate that. I’m not sure how to go about getting my laundry done.”

“We can explore the wonders of the laundromat tomorrow,” promised Magnus. He gave his fingers a deliberately ostentatious twirl, making his magic visible. The laundry spell was one that he was very familiar with—no need to bother going to all the trouble to get your clothes cleaned when you didn’t have to—so it was over in two seconds. “As at this moment, every item of clothing in this apartment is clean and fresh.”

“Thank you,” said Alec. “I really appreciate how much easier you’ve made this for me.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Magnus, ignoring the warm feeling in his stomach at Alec’s honest gratitude. “I’m sure you’d have worked it all out without my assistance. Besides, I like to keep my finger on the pulse of mundane daily life, so I benefitted too.”

“I have wondered how you’re so familiar with so many aspects of living like a mundane,” Alec admitted. “Do you even need to go food shopping? I already know you don’t need to get your clothes cleaned.”

“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you seek new experiences, even those as prosaic as grocery stores and laundromats. Particularly since a lot of popular culture incorporates these things. Sometimes you can’t appreciate the subtleties of a gentle mockery unless you’re familiar with the thing being mocked.”

Chapter six

Despite his assurances to Magnus, Alec was nervous about meeting Ragnor Fell. The fact that Ragnor was the one Magnus called when he was coping with the emotional fallout relating to Camille Belcourt was enough to tell Alec that this particular warlock was probably closer to Magnus than anyone else alive.

The initial introduction wasn’t promising.

Ragnor took one look at him and rolled his eyes. “Oh, for…of course he’s tall, dark, and handsome.” He didn’t get to his feet. “I’m Ragnor Fell, warlock, Magnus Bane’s best friend. You’re Alec Lightwood, shadowhunter, Magnus Bane’s latest squeeze.”

Alec raised his eyebrows. “There’s yet to be any squeezing, but the rest is accurate.”

“Ragnor!” Magnus scolded. “I told Alec that you’d be on your best behaviour!”

Ragnor hmphed. “More fool you. Don’t just stand there like a numpty, Lightwood, take a seat. I promise the big, bad warlock isn’t going to eat you.” Despite his abrasive words, his manner wasn’t antagonistic.

“It never crossed my mind that you might,” said Alec, already starting to relax. “A trained shadowhunter would be too leathery to be worth the bother, and our runes would probably give you indigestion.” He sat on the couch, hoping that Magnus would sit beside him.

“Can I get you a drink, Alexander?” Magnus asked. “I can offer you a selection of single malts or fine cognacs. Or, if you prefer something mixed, a Mai Tai? Perhaps something sweeter?”

“Whatever you’re having will be fine with me,” said Alec. He’d not had much experience with alcohol, aside from the fruity mixes that Izzy sometimes got for him. Unfortunately, he didn’t know what they were called, and he didn’t want to ask for ‘the drink with the banana and the umbrella’ in front of Ragnor.

Magnus sighed. “I saw your expression when you tried the martini, darling; the nose scrunch was adorable. But cute expressions aside, I would like to serve you something you enjoy. Can you give me any clues?”

“I like bananas,” offered Alec, hoping that would be enough information for Magnus.

Ragnor burst out laughing.

“Quiet in the cheap seats,” commanded Magnus, smiling. “I’ll put together a banana daiquiri.”

Alec was too used to Izzy and Jace’s ribald comments to blush at Ragnor’s reaction. One look at the drink Magnus made for him was enough to tell him that he’d got it right.

Bringing the straw to his lips, Alec took a sip. The familiar sweet, slightly tangy flavour burst over his tongue. “Thank you,” he said, smiling. “I never knew what it was called.”

“If you like that, you might also like a pina colada,” said Magnus, bringing a tall glass filled with something pink over to Alec. “Try this; it’s not quite as sweet but still refreshing.”

Alec took a cautious taste. It was nice, just not as nice as the drink he already had. “Not bad,” he said, handing it back. “What’s it called?”

“Bliss on the Beach,” replied Magnus, waggling an eyebrow and sitting next to him.

That made Alec blush.

Ragnor groaned. “Ugh. Are the two of you going to be like this all evening?”

Alec dragged his eyes away from Magnus to look at Ragnor. Despite his griping, he looked more fond than annoyed. “Magnus told me you have some ideas on how to hide the Mortal Cup.”

“I have several,” Ragnor confirmed, eyes narrowing. “No method is foolproof, of course. Magnus tells me that Jocelyn was hiding it in plain sight. Ballsy, but arrogant, much like her. Also, not a method that’s likely to work a second time.”

Alec took another sip of his drink. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Ragnor’s eyes narrowed further. “Why aren’t you handing it to the Clave?”

“That was my original intention,” admitted Alec. “But it occurred to me that the Clave is only as secure as its members.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t want to believe that any of the Council are in Valentine’s back pocket, but it would be naive not to expect him to have subverted at least one. Since the most important thing is ensuring Valentine can’t use it to build a private army, the Clave doesn’t strike me as the safest place.” His hand dropped back down. “As I said, I’m open to suggestions.”

“That’s a lot of trust to place in people you don’t know very well.”

Alec shrugged. “I know that the likelihood that either of you are secret Circle members is so slim as to be non-existent. The only other people I can say the same about are my sister and my parabatai.” He made a face. “Given recent events, I wouldn’t trust the Cup in my parabatai’s hands either. If Clary decided she needed to trade the Cup for her mother, I can’t count on him to hold firm.”

“You really believe that,” stated Ragnor. “You think the Mortal Cup is safer with warlocks than with shadowhunters.”

“Not all warlocks,” Alec corrected. “With Magnus, specifically, and with you on his recommendation.”

Ragnor’s gaze darted back and forth between Alec and Magnus. “How long have you known each other, again?”

“Only a few days,” Alec admitted. “But a lot has happened in that time.”

“Word,” muttered Magnus, taking a mouthful of his drink. “Clary Fray is like a mobile explosion; everywhere she goes, there’s debris and wreckage all over the place.”

“I taught Valentine and Jocelyn,” said Ragnor. “They were both charismatic and highly opinionated, even at the Academy. If their daughter has even half of their combined drive and egotism, I’m not surprised that she’s making waves.”

“If you taught at the Academy when Valentine was there, you also taught my parents,” said Alec. “What were they like as students?”

Ragnor raised his eyebrows. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

Alec nodded. “Don’t worry about offending me; I’m genuinely curious.”

Ragnor shrugged. “You asked for it. Robert was a solid student, above average but not great. He did better in theory than in the practical, but didn’t excel or underachieve in anything enough to make him noticeable. It was my impression that his parents considered him a bit of a disappointment, to be honest.”

“That fits,” said Alec. “My father stopped sparring with us when we had our rune ceremonies, leaving that side of things to our mother. Mom said it was because he had other claims on his time, but if he was never better than good, he might have wanted to avoid being bested by his preteen children.”

“That follows my reading of his character,” agreed Ragnor. “It was a seven-day surprise when he and the Wayland boy passed the requirements to become parabatai. Wayland was more in Maryse’s league than Robert’s from the get-go. Still, Wayland always looked at Robert through rose-tinted glasses. Often said Robert was better than most people could see, wouldn’t be dissuaded from that point of view.”

“Huh.” Alec used to wonder about the bond between his father and Jace’s, especially after going through the ceremony himself. Until Jace had appeared in their lives, Alec didn’t even know that his father had a parabatai. When Alec had asked, Robert looked uncomfortable and said that he and Michael had drifted apart.

Drifted apart from someone who literally had part of his soul? Whose soul he was carrying around in exchange? Alec couldn’t comprehend it. The idea of going a decade without contact with Jace was anathema. Just thinking about the possibility made him feel slightly unwell.

Alec pulled his wandering mind back to the conversation at hand. “What about my mother?”

“Maryse? She was always near the top of the class. She was never content to just succeed; she always wanted to do better, to be the best.”

Alec nodded. That sounded like his mother, alright.

Ragnor wasn’t finished. “She had a chip on her shoulder about her family, didn’t take criticism well. She had that arrogance that most skilled shadowhunters have, that nose-in-the-air superiority. I always knew that she didn’t respect me; I was a useful tool to learn from but not worth her time otherwise.”

Alec sighed. “Yeah, she hasn’t changed much. It’s funny; all my life, she’s pushed me to be stronger, to be better, to ‘live up to the Lightwood name.’ Even when I was maintaining a place in the top three of my peer group, it wasn’t good enough. I always thought it was because I’d failed somewhere. Now, I wonder if she was just transferring her expectations for herself onto Izzy and me.”

“It’s not like Maryse would be the first parent to do something like that,” Magnus pointed out. “She might even have thought she was helping you. She raised you to run the Institute, didn’t she? That’s hardly something assigned solely based on a name, especially one with such a recent scandal attached to it.”

“Are you defending Maryse, Magnus?” asked Ragnor, eyebrow raised.

Magnus looked irritated. “I just think it’s important to look at motivations as well as results. When you live in a warrior society, survival can depend on how deeply embedded the habit of continuing in the face of impossible odds is rooted. I may not like her—or agree with her opinions or child-rearing methods—but that doesn’t mean I don’t respect her.”

That was kinder than Alec expected, especially considering his recently acquired knowledge of his parent’s Circle leanings.

Magnus got to his feet. “I don’t want to talk about Maryse Lightwood anymore. Come on, let’s eat.”

v^v^v

Dinner was delicious, not that Alec expected any different. Ragnor dropped a lot of his initial hostility towards Alec in favour of ribbing Magnus mercilessly. Magnus gave as good as he got, and Alec was in a constant state of amusement.

Alec loved how relaxed and happy Magnus seemed, how comfortably he used his magic to emphasise stories about travelling all over the world. More than once, Ragnor’s anecdotes had Alec nearly choking on his food when he tried not to laugh aloud with his mouth full.

Dessert was a French-style coconut parfait, served with chocolate syrup and fresh berries. Going by Ragnor’s delight and appreciation when Magnus presented it to him, it was an old favourite. As soon as he tasted it, Alec understood completely.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Ragnor savoured each bite as though it were his last. “The ungrateful brat knows how much I like it, but will only make it for me once a decade or so.”

“If you ate it every week, you wouldn’t appreciate it nearly so much,” Magnus informed him, not bothering to hide his delight in their approval.

“You made this yourself?” asked Alec, raising his eyebrows at Magnus. “Wow.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m not just a pretty face, Alexander.”

“Evidently not,” Alec agreed, licking his spoon before scraping it against the plate to pick up the last of the melted sweetness. When he was a kid, he would have had no hesitation in licking the plate clean, but the table manners his mother had drilled into him forbade it. It was a pity to waste even that much.

By the time the three of them had retired to the lounge area, Alec had concluded that Magnus’ reasons for trusting Ragnor seemed sound. His comments tended to be cynical and sarcastic, but they were just as often self-deprecatory as they were accusatory. Ragnor didn’t mince his words and was often blunt to the point of rudeness but didn’t seem interested in slipping sly, passive-aggressive digs into his conversation, which Alec appreciated.

Given that Magnus had apparently known Ragnor for over two hundred years and still counted him as one of his best friends, Alec thought he would be a good ally. He certainly seemed more trustworthy than anyone else on Alec’s list of possible allies in this awkward situation, where he simultaneously was and wasn’t a shadowhunter.

Aside from Magnus, of course.

His internal debate must have shown on his face because Ragnor raised his eyebrows. “So, what’s the verdict; did I pass the test?”

Alec shrugged. “As much as anyone can in an evening. How about me? Do I pass?”

“As much as anyone can, in an evening,” parroted Ragnor. “You could be playing an incredibly deep long game, but it seems unlikely. As crazy as it sounds, Magnus might have managed to fall for someone whose morals are as pretty as his face.”

Magnus scowled half-heartedly. “Stop making me sound like a danger-seeking idiot.”

“I call it as I see it. Chasing after shadowhunters for your bad-boy thrills is a new one, but it seems to have worked out this time.”

Alec wasn’t sure how to take that. “My siblings—and most of the Institute—would tell you I’m the least ‘bad-boy’ shadowhunter in New York.”

Magnus’ scowl turned real. “Ragnor, if you somehow convince Alexander that I’m some kind of—”

Ragnor spoke over him, directing his words to Alec. “It’s been his downfall more than once. Magnus is attracted to the mystery and danger but, at heart, wants to settle down into domestic bliss. Naturally, most mysterious and dangerous types are not in the slightest bit interested in domesticity and comfort. With you, he’s finally managed to find someone who ticks the mysterious and dangerous box while still being a decent person.”

Alec blinked. “You’ve picked that up in a single evening?”

Ragnor’s smile was sardonic. “When you get to my age, you have to learn to evaluate people quickly. Getting it wrong is not conducive to good health.”

Alec wondered if this whole conversation meant that he’d passed one of the important relationship milestones, either the family or the friend one. Possibly both. He smiled, tilting his glass towards Ragnor in a silent toast.

Ragnor’s eyes widened. “Hellfire, Magnus, that smile could be weaponised.”

“Hands off,” replied Magnus, although he was smiling too. “I saw him first.”

Alec blushed and decided now was a good time to change the subject. “We should probably talk about what to do with the Mortal Cup. What are your thoughts?”

Ragnor smirked at them both but allowed the diversion. “I’ve been considering the matter all day, and I’ve worked out something that might please you. Between us, Magnus and I could create a dimensional pocket, accessible only by a warlock familiar with Tevorian dual-weave constructs, but also secured with something that is essentially an intelligent blood lock—”

Magnus sat up straighter. “Stage two dimensional pockets have always been tied to a single warlock; to make it accessible to both of us, we would somehow need to manage—”

“If we made it to be self-sustaining, it would—”

“But the power draw required would soon—”

“I thought if we tied it to a—”

“Fine, but then we risk drawing the wrong kind of attention. Any structure we tied it to would not only need to be able to support a dimensional pocket but also able to hide—”

“There are several locations—”

“All of them are—”

“Isn’t that better? A closed pocket, even if we disguise it, will still be vulnerable to—”

“Perhaps, but the structure would need—”

“I was thinking Wiltshire because—”

“Are you insane? You think Valentine won’t hesitate to—”

“I agree; its historical importance won’t stop him. On the other hand, if he does destroy it, there won’t be any way to hide it. Too many mundanes—”

“It’s still too risky; he could just hire mundane terrorists to—”

“Then we set the space to collapse if it’s ever forcibly disconnected.”

Magnus stared at him. “But that would mean—”

Ragnor was nodding. “Better for it to be lost forever than Valentine get his hands on it, don’t you think?”

“It’s not our choice,” Magnus reminded him. “Alexander, what do you think?”

“I didn’t follow all of that,” Alec admitted. “I caught the mention of Wiltshire, though. That’s in England, isn’t it?”

“He suggested that we tie the dimensional pocket to Stonehenge,” explained Magnus. “It needs to be tied somewhere with an ongoing source of energy. Otherwise, the magic would eventually wear out and fail. At that point, anything kept inside would either be ejected—with no protection—or lost forever.”

Alec poked at a piece of ice with his straw. “I don’t know that I’m the right person to be making a decision that big.”

“You’re more qualified than either of us,” Ragnor pointed out. “Besides, the beauty of the idea is that Stonehenge radiates an intense magical aura already. Any number of spells and enchantments have been placed there over the millennia; a dimensional pocket—even one holding the Mortal Cup—will be as noticeable as a drop of black ink in a barrel of water. Or a needle in a haystack, if you will.”

“It will still be possible to find, if searched for correctly with enough effort,” warned Magnus. “But then, nothing is ever completely hidden. What we’re aiming for is a solution that’s unlikely both because of its simplicity and also because it’s so devilishly complicated.”

“I thought you said hiding it in plain sight wouldn’t work twice? You don’t think suspicions will be raised if we suddenly take multiple trips to visit Stonehenge?”

Magnus shook his head. “That’s not how dimensional pockets work.”

“A dimensional pocket can be accessed from anywhere,” explained Ragnor. “Even one that has been anchored and made self-sustaining. It’s only a matter of knowing the wavelength, so to speak.”

“I’m also concerned about making the dimensional pocket accessible to other warlocks. Doesn’t that make it more vulnerable?”

Ragnor drained his glass and held it out to Magnus, who obligingly wiggled his fingers and refilled it. “In a way. The truth is that restricting access to Magnus and me is a risk of its own. Both of us are high profile targets for the Circle; if we were both to fall, the Mortal Cup would be lost forever.”

Alec leaned back and closed his eyes while he considered the ramification of either choice. On the one hand, the Clave had been coping perfectly well without the Mortal cup for close to two decades now. One could even say it functioned more efficiently, since the lack of regular new blood meant that the Clave had to work harder to ensure it didn’t run out of resources.

On the other, the Mortal Cup was a sacred object: given to Jonathon Shadowhunter by Raziel to help raise an army to fight the demons. One of the three holiest relics in shadowhunter history, and Alec, an exile, was seriously considering allowing it to be lost forever. He had no right to make a decision this momentous: a decision that would impact the whole shadow world.

Alec took a deep breath, held it until his lungs felt like they would burst, then let it out again. He needed to think through this logically.

Okay. The Mortal Cup was given to Jonathon Shadowhunter to help him keep humanity safe from the demons. Its value wasn’t as a historical relic; it was in how its purpose aided that fight. If the Mortal Cup became an object used to harm humanity, if its purpose were corrupted, it would need to be destroyed.

Alec opened his eyes. “Better to ensure it never falls into Valentine’s hands, even if there’s a risk that it’s lost forever.”

“If the Clave finds out, we would all be executed,” Ragnor pointed out.

Alec shrugged. “If my death is what it takes to ensure the rest of my family won’t have to face an unholy army risen in Valentine’s image, then I’m okay with that. I’ve risked my life for lesser goals.”

Magnus sighed. “Let’s all aim for no executions, shall we? As pretty as I am, a beheading would ruin my style.”

Alec wasn’t fond of the thought of Magnus being beheaded either. “Are there other ways to make the Mortal Cup safer? How about if you made another dimensional pocket and put it somewhere that’s slightly less hidden. Then, if that site gets attacked, we have some warning for the real thing.”

Magnus tapped his fingers together thoughtfully. “That might work. Especially if you managed to get hold of something with a strong angelic resonance that we could store inside.”

“I could easily get hold of a couple of adamas blades damaged beyond repair,” suggested Alec. “They normally get sent back to the Iron Sisters, but one or two could be diverted.”

“It’s worth a shot,” agreed Ragnor. “It will take effort, helping to set them up, but I do a lot more to keep the cup out of Valentine’s hands.”

Magnus sighed. “I should look at increasing the loft protections too. With two of us on Valentine’s hit list under the same roof, the target we present is much more alluring.”

Alec nodded. “Let me know as soon as you’re ready to hide the Cup, and I’ll work with Izzy to get it here.” Despite the necessity, Alec didn’t like asking her to do something the Clave would automatically take her runes for. Then he remembered the bracelet Magnus made for him. “Unless…would that glamour work in the Institute?”

Magnus narrowed his eyes. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t. The biggest problem would be getting through the wards undetected. Lydia seems the type to keep an eye on things like entry and exit logs, and you were exiled.”

“There are two entry points the official logging system doesn’t cover,” said Alec. “My siblings have been using them for years to sneak in and out of the Institute. I would have brought them under the main wards, but they’re safe enough. Using them requires moving through the family quarters, which are currently blood-locked to my family. Since Magnus hasn’t been asked to make any adjustments, my access will still be available.”

Magnus nodded in understanding. “You can slip in while under glamour, retrieve the Mortal Cup, and slip out again.”

“It will still be dangerous,” Ragnor pointed out. “You’re very tall for someone trying to sneak around such a well-lit, traffic-heavy area.”

“But I also know the New York Institute like the back of my hand,” countered Alec. “I know where all the surveillance points are and which angles they catch. I know the standard routines and patrols, and if we do this before Monday, they’ll still be using the assignments I set out.”

“Are you sure?” Magnus asked seriously. “If you’re caught, it might be some time before we can stage a rescue.”

“I’m not going to get caught.” It was cute how concerned both warlocks were at the prospect of Alec being in danger. Alec wasn’t worried; he’d practised his stealth in the Institute’s corridors and halls and knew what he was doing. “When do you think the two of you will be ready?”

Magnus and Ragnor exchanged eyebrow wiggles for a moment before Magnus turned back. “As soon as possible, I suppose.”

Alec put down his drink. “Then I guess I’ll have to prepare.” He slid the bracelet off his wrist and handed it to Magnus even as he pulled his stele out of his pocket.

Magnus took the bracelet, looking astonished. “Alexander? Are you…. Are you getting ready to break into the New York Institute right now?”

“No time like the present. I don’t suppose you could make me a copy of the Mortal Cup I can exchange with the real thing?”

“Oh gods,” Ragnor muttered, covering his face with the hand not holding his drink. “You’re as bad as he is. Magnus’ antics turned my hair grey; yours will probably make it all fall out.”

v^v^v

“How long has it been?” Magnus asked, despite being perfectly able to check the time himself. His question wasn’t about the time; it was a way to express his anxiety.

Waiting for Alec to steal the Mortal Cup was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences in Magnus’ recent history. Usually, Magnus took the risky role whenever he was involved in crazy hijinks. If the plan had involved breaking into any place other than a Clave stronghold, Magnus would have insisted on going along, if not as the primary thief, then at least to help if needed.

Even Magnus’ work on the wards wasn’t playing in his favour. If it were many of the more recently established Institutes, Magnus could have waltzed in and out without allowing the wards to register anything. However, the New York Institute had been built around an entity that the shadowhunters egotistically named the ‘angelic core’ but was, in reality, a territorial earth spirit.

Over the last couple of centuries, the spirit had been absorbing the angelic energy shed by the shadowhunters that lived and worked in the Institute. All shadowhunters shed such energy—like a tinkly version of radiation—and as a result, the spirit had become attuned to that energy. While not precisely sapient, it had a distinct sentient consciousness, and that consciousness was still as territorial as it had ever been.

Alec, who had grown up under the angelic core’s care, was probably safer in that building than anywhere else in the world. If he desired to be invisible, the angelic core would likely assist. Magnus, on the other hand… No. Even though the structures of the wards themselves were built with his magic, the angelic core knew that he didn’t belong and would subtly nudge the shadowhunters to notice him.

Despite all that, Magnus hated being left behind. Having to wait to find out what was happening was agonising.

Even with all the advantages that Alec had going for him, it was the equivalent of walking into the lion’s den with nothing but a water pistol for protection.

“You could at least use all that energy you’re wasting on something productive,” grumbled Ragnor, who’d commandeered Magnus’ desk. “We’ll be needing the ritual room, so you might as well get it ready.” He didn’t bother to answer Magnus’ question but continued calculating the effects of various components when used in rituals together.

It was for the best, really; Ragnor had the eye for fine detail that designing the Stonehenge dimensional pocket needed. With the correct ritual components in the right quantities, they’d hopefully balance the signatures well enough to make the completed project almost invisible.

The other pocket needed care too, but it didn’t matter if some of the angelic energy escaped. Of course, an obviously baited trap would be useless, but a little wouldn’t do any harm.

Calling the ritual room back from storage and ensuring it was anchored correctly took just over a minute, leaving Magnus at loose ends again.

“He’s been gone over two hours,” Magnus fretted. “How long can it possibly take to open a safe, retrieve a relic, and then retreat? What if he’s been caught?”

Ragnor sighed. “Magnus, he didn’t look even the slightest bit worried. Why don’t we give him until morning? We have no idea how much skulking around in the shadows he’ll have to do. Remember the time we infiltrated Catherine’s midwinter ball and stole the diamonds from her cloak? Remember how long we had to wait for a moment when she stood still for more than a few seconds without a guard directly behind her?”

“Five hours,” remembered Magnus with a shudder. He used his magic to summon one of his armchairs and collapsed as though the effort had exhausted him. “Five hours of holding an incomplete shift before we finally had an opportunity. I swore that I’d never play for favours with Gwyn again. You know, I’m sure he cheated.”

Ragnor laughed. “Of course he cheated, dear boy! He always cheats when he wants the prize.”

Magnus arranged his face in his most exaggerated pout. “And my best friend didn’t think it was worthwhile to warn me?”

“There wasn’t any point. You’d already made the bet, and although I absolutely know he cheats, I’ve never managed to catch him at it. Besides, you got your revenge. I’m still not sure how you managed to rope me into it.”

“You owed me a favour for the bluebell thing,” Magnus reminded him. The mention of favours made him think of the conversation they’d had about Alexander. Magnus smirked. “Just like you now owe me a year’s worth of favours. Or are you going to try and claim that Alexander isn’t everything I said he was?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Your preposterous proposition might have been tabled, but I never once agreed.” Ragnor lifted his eyes from his task to look down his nose at Magnus’ scowl before relenting slightly. “I will agree that, on this occasion, you seem to have chosen wisely.”

“Providing he doesn’t get himself killed before we can do anything other than exchange an agreement that we’re both interested,” said Magnus, rising to his feet again. “How long has it been now?”

Ragnor went back to his calculations. “I’m not going to play this game with you, Magnus; it’s useless to keep trying. Call that sister of his and ask her if there’s anything odd going on.”

“I can’t do that; the whole point is to not bring any attention to him!” Magnus made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “If only I’d managed to find a way to make his phone invisible without breaking it.”

With Magnus as Alec’s only line of defence if he was caught, he’d elected to leave his phone in a hidden location outside the Institute, planning to retrieve it when the heist was complete.

It was all very sensible and logical, but Magnus really would have preferred to have some way to keep in contact. “I hate waiting!”

Ragnor ignored him

Magnus wondered if the infuriating man would look quite so smug after Magnus hurled a ball of chilled water directly into his face. Only Ragnor’s location at Magnus’ desk stayed his hand; that desk held several items that Magnus didn’t want to be exposed to water. If he took the time to shield them, then Ragnor would have enough time and warning to cast a shield, which would render the whole exercise pointless.

Ragnor continued to work, either blissfully ignorant of Magnus’ baleful intentions or, more likely, uncaring.

Magnus was almost ready to throw the water ball anyway, regardless of the consequences for his desk, when his wards informed him that a nephilim had entered the building.

Magnus collapsed back into the chair he’d not long ago risen from. “Finally!”

Ragnor raised his eyebrows. “That was quicker than I expected. Does he have the Cup with him?”

Magnus focused on the signature of the approaching nephilim. “Not that I can tell.” He jumped up again. “I do hope he’s not hurt.” Breaking all his usual rules about waiting to acknowledge visitors until after they’d knocked, Magnus threw open the door into the vestibule.

Instead of tall, dark, and handsome, the shadowhunter approaching was short, red-haired, and pretty. Her woebegone expression could give a sad toddler a run for their money.

Magnus sagged against the doorway. “Hello, Biscuit.”

“Simon is dead!” She threw herself into his arms. “Simon is dead, and it’s all my fault!”