Back to Angel in the Marble

Chapter seven

Half an hour later, Clary hadn’t stopped crying. She’d barely listened through the introduction to Ragnor before unburdening the woes troubling her soul into Magnus’ ears. She told him all about how she didn’t realise the extent to which Simon had been struggling since the vampires from Dumort had captured him and how she should have been a better friend.

Magnus patted her on the back, wondering what to say. Was this a moment for comfort or brutal honesty?

What would Alec do? Magnus’ involuntary snort at the mental picture brought Clary’s tears to a momentary halt.

She drew back a little to look at his face. “What?”

The well-timed sound of a text notification prevented Magnus from having to think up an answer.

“Excuse me,” said Magnus, gently extricating himself from her grasp. He liked to think he was an empathetic person, but he’d known Clary for less than a week. She was young, but it was a little strange that she trusted him enough to would turn up alone at his loft in the early hours of the morning. Had Jocelyn and Luke really not taught her better self-preservation skills?

The text was from Lydia Branwell, asking him to perform a full inspection of the Institute wards at his earliest convenience. Dread gripped him. Was that a veiled reference to Alec’s mission? Hoping again that nothing had gone wrong, he texted an affirmative, adding his intention to arrive at nine in the morning, and considered what to do now.

Clary’s presence complicated matters. He couldn’t risk asking her, because if whatever ward situation had prompted the text wasn’t about Alec, then the question would give away more than was wise.

He sent Alec a quick text warning him that Clary had turned up and that he should keep his bracelet on. After a moment’s consideration, he sent a follow-up, informing Alec that he would open a path for him through the wards over the fire escape.

That taken care of, Magnus turned his attention back to his newest guest. At least the interruption of her tears seemed to be holding. “Why are you running around alone, Biscuit? Why isn’t your blond knight with you?”

“I didn’t tell him I was leaving,” Clary confessed. “I know he’s doing his best to be understanding, but he doesn’t…didn’t…even like Simon. I wanted to talk to Luke, but he’s busy with pack business, so I thought I’d come and see you.”

Magnus closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and waited for the urge to subside. “It’s not safe for you to be roaming the street at night,” he said as gently as he could. “Did you leave a note or something to say where you were going?”

Clary looked away. “I know I should have, but the Institute felt too much like a prison, and I…” She sniffed again. “I miss my mom, and now I’ve lost Simon too. I need someone to talk to, and Izzy is the only one who even liked Simon, and she was too busy, so…”

Magnus wanted to roll his eyes. Now that he was paying attention, the teen drama was unmistakable. Whatever it was about Clary that made people listen to her, go along with her, was remarkably potent if it could convert this much teen angst into the appearance of drive and strength.

“There’s this thing called a phone,” Magnus said, modulating most of the sarcasm out of his voice. “It allows you to talk to people without running around a dangerous city, alone at night.”

Clary frowned slightly. “You didn’t answer when I called yesterday, so I thought maybe something had happened to your phone. Jace told me that there might have been a way to turn Simon into a vampire, but it was too late because his family were already sitting Shiva for him. I thought if you just altered their memories a bit, we could make them think he’d never been found dead. Now it really is too late; he’s gone forever.”

Magnus’ bristled, offended. “Even if you’d reached me in time, it would have been out of the question. For starters, I don’t go around performing non-consensual memory manipulation on people. Even if I were that kind of warlock, mundanes are protected under the Accords. Messing with their minds would have been grounds for my arrest and trial, which I would have lost.”

Clary dashed the remaining tears away from eyes that had already narrowed with temper. “You didn’t seem nearly so principled when you took my memories.”

Magnus glared back. “Firstly, you’re not mundane. Secondly, your mother had to do some fast talking before I did as she asked, and I only bowed to Jocelyn’s demands because she managed to convince me that keeping the memories put your life in danger.”

“But if it meant that Simon—”

Magnus held his hand up to halt whatever impassioned declaration she was about to make. “Thirdly, I was concerned that if I continued to refuse her, Jocelyn would look elsewhere to find the solution she required. Warlocks would have taken her money despite their inability to perform the task competently, and young minds are very fragile. Because, under law, parents have the power of consent over their underage children, I eventually agreed to do it. Playing around with the memories of your friend’s family for your convenience isn’t anywhere near the same thing.”

“I wanted to save Simon’s life!”

“Simon was already dead.” Magnus tried to be gentle. “The time for saving him was already past.”

“You know what I mean! I could have got him back!”

A sigh from where Ragnor was seated made Clary give a surprised start. Magnus wondered if she’d forgotten he was there. If so, it showed a worrying level of self-absorption. That lack of awareness of her surroundings would get her killed, sooner or later.

Ragnor sat back in his chair, regarding them with sardonic amusement. “You remind me a great deal of your mother, you know. Jocelyn Fairchild wasn’t the sort who was willing to take ‘no’ for an answer, either, at least, not when she thought she was right. It was a trait she and Valentine Morgenstern shared; one of the reasons they made such a good team. And why when it fell apart, it broke so completely.”

Clary frowned at Ragnor, folding her arms across her chest. “How do you know my parents?”

“Shadowhunters have been hiring warlocks for centuries,” Ragnor replied. “Is it so astonishing that I would have met them both?”

Magnus’ got another incoming message. It was Alec, saying that he’d rather keep his distance until Clary was gone but saying nothing about the success or failure of his mission. Hesitating only a moment, Magnus immediately texted Isabelle, asking her to send someone to retrieve the Institute’s wayward duckling. Surely Izzy would mention Alec’s removal of the Cup being discovered if that was what was keeping her busy?

Izzy’s responded in under a minute. Will do.

That was no help at all.

Thankfully, Ragnor’s evasive non-answers were distracting Clary enough that Magnus didn’t have to try and find something to say to her.

Just as Clary started to lose patience with the verbal game of cat and mouse that Ragnor was enjoying, the wards alerted Magnus to another approaching nephilim. He was unsurprised when it was Jace. He was surprised at how irritated Jace looked.

Now that Magnus was looking for it, the similarities between his old friend, Will, and Alec’s parabatai were noticeable. It made him wonder if Tessa was aware that her line hadn’t died out after all; he made a mental note that he should talk to her. He briefly wondered if he should say anything to Jace before deciding that it would be better to wait for Alec. Jace was his parabatai and brother; he’d know how to break the news.

Jace didn’t bother with greetings; he just started on Clary straight away. “What in the angel’s name are you doing, running off like this?” he demanded. “Who knows how many of those monsters might be roaming around!”

“You agreed I can take care of myself!” fired back Clary. “Remember the shax demon? I’m not helpless anymore! I can fight! I don’t need protection all the time!”

Jace looked at the ceiling as though it might supply him with patience. “The thing that attacked the Institute was strong enough to take down Hodge, Clary. Hodge, who has been training all his life; the man who trained me, Izzy, and Alec! If he can’t stand alone against it, how do you possibly think you could fight one of them off? Hodge would have died if the backup hadn’t arrived in time! You wouldn’t last a minute!”

Abandoning the utterly ridiculous argument that she should be considered a seasoned warrior, Clary burst into tears. “Everything is just so overwhelming. My mother is still missing, and now I’ve lost Simon. My whole life is falling apart around me!”

Jace sighed. “I know things are tough. I know you want to find your mother. I promise that I’m doing everything I can to help you. But putting yourself into danger for no reason is stupid. What good will you do your mother if you get captured or killed? Do you think that’s what Simon would want?”

The fire returned to Clary’s eyes, and the tears dried up again. “Don’t call me stupid! And you have no idea what Simon would want! I’ll never know what he would want because you wouldn’t let me bury him!”

Jace shook his head. “Raphael told us that Simon said he didn’t want to be a vampire. A true friend would respect his choice.” Despite the harsh words, the tone he used was gentle.

Clary scoffed. “Like I trust anything that vampire says! It was his fault that Simon was in that situation to start with! Him and Alec!”

Jace jerked as though she’d slapped him. “What?”

“Raphael kidnapped Simon and took him to Camille because Alec threw a jealous fit and stomped off in a huff!”

Magnus was suddenly furious. “Be careful about the accusations you make, Clarissa Morgenstern. I have been informed that the only reason your mundane friend was placed in danger in the first place was that you ignored instructions that he wasn’t to be brought into the shadow world.”

“Magnus is right,” agreed Jace, eyes hard. “You insisted on telling Simon, and it was me who gave in when you demanded that he be allowed to come along. Alec told us it was a bad idea, warned us, but you were determined to have your way. I, like an idiot, didn’t see the harm.”

“But Alec—”

“It’ wasn’t Alec’s responsibility to play guard dog for mundanes who insist on poking their noses into shadow world business,” said Jace angrily. “Alec was the de facto Head of the Institute, responsible for ensuring the Institute ran smoothly and that the shadowhunters under his command followed the law and operated safely. The only way he failed in his duties was in not locking you and me both up the moment you regained consciousness from that first attack.”

“Well, maybe he should have!” Clary retorted. “Simon would still be alive!”

Jace raised his eyebrows. “You sure about that? I seem to remember finding him nosing around outside the New York Institute at the same time as a couple of Circle members. More likely, they would have captured him and taken him to Valentine, who would have happily tortured him for information about you.”

“Why are you being so horrible! This whole shadow world is confusing and frightening, and I’m just doing my best!”

“Because you’re refusing to take any responsibility,” cut in Magnus. “Your perspective on these events is entirely selfish. It’s your refusal to listen to those with the experience that you’ve already admitted you lack that put your friend into a dangerous situation he wasn’t equipped to deal with.”

“But I never wanted him to be hurt.”

Clary looked so sad that Magnus felt the hard edges of his anger begin to soften. “Part of being an adult is accepting that your decisions may have outcomes that you didn’t foresee or intend. If you can’t accept that responsibility, let someone else make the choices.”

Clary’s eyes filled with tears again. “I just want to find my mom.”

Magnus sighed. “Biscuit…suppose you’d discovered your mother had been in witness protection all your life and had subsequently been abducted by ordinary human terrorists. Would you be charging around local FBI headquarters with your best friend in tow, demanding that they do things your way?”

The tears overflowed and dripped down Clary’s face, but neither Magnus nor Jace comforted her.

“Come on,” said Jace, sounding tired. “We need to get back to the Institute. Our best lead right now is the monster that attacked; we might be able to trace that back to one of Valentine’s bases.”

Clary nodded. With perfunctory goodbyes, they left.

Magnus waited until they’d completely left the building before letting himself relax. He flopped ungracefully back into his armchair, only to see that Ragnor was laughing at him.

“It finally happened, my friend,” said Magnus in the most mournful tones he could muster. “I’m now officially old.” The wards pinged the approach of a shadowhunter. Magnus groaned. “If that’s not Alec, I may cry.”

Thankfully, it was Alec. He still wore his standard black mission gear and now carried a black duffle bag in each hand. At first glance, he appeared to be completely unharmed, but Magnus sent a sneaky spell to double-check anyway.

“That was easier than I expected,” Alec announced, frowning. “The substitution went off without a hitch; there was some kind of emergency that got everyone’s attention.”

“Valentine sent one of his experimental creatures to attack the Institute,” explained Magnus, approaching with a tall glass of mint-flavoured water. “Something he did to it allowed it to get through the wards, and Hodge was badly injured.”

A complicated expression passed over Alec’s face too fast for Magnus to categorise. “I see.” He sighed. “I took advantage of the opportunity to take some things from the armoury for the decoy pocket. Nothing that can’t be easily replaced. I’ve also got some ideas about how the Institute can tighten security so that no one else can do what I did.” He drained the glass and handed it back. “Thanks.”

This time, Magnus’ sigh was fond. “You and your self-assigned homework.”

Alec shrugged. “It’s something to keep my mind occupied. Here.” Unzipping one of the bags, he pulled out the Mortal Cup and handed it to Magnus. “Is there some way to test it? I’d hate to find out someone else managed to get into the safe before me, and I only stole a substitute.”

Magnus took it, eyes wide. “Alexander! You can’t just hand the Mortal Cup to a warlock!” Within moments it was piping hot and hurting Magnus’ hands; he hurriedly put it down on a side table, examining the red marks left behind. A burn healing spell was unsuccessful. “Unless someone happened to have a replica of the Mortal Cup made of blessed adamas lying around to use as a substitute, that’s the real thing.”

“I’m sorry,” said Alec, alarmed. “I didn’t think. Are your hands okay?”

“They’ll be fine in a few hours,” Magnus assured him. “I’ve had worse playing with fireworks.” He eyed up Alec’s duffle bags. “What else did you bring with you? A couple of adamas weapons and the Cup wouldn’t take up that much room.”

“After I got the Cup, I dropped my stele off in my office and went to my room to grab some stuff,” Alec admitted. “Izzy and Jace are the only ones who’d know that anything’s gone, and I doubt they’ll say anything. Mostly, I wanted some standard arrows; without them, my bow isn’t much use.”

Magnus blinked. “Why would the Clave confiscate your arrows but not your bow?”

“My bow isn’t Clave issued,” said Alec. “They can’t confiscate it.”

Magnus raised one eyebrow. “Forgive me for blunt speaking, Alexander, but the Clave is not known for letting minor technicalities like ownership laws get in the way of their edicts. Even without Clave issued arrows, the bow is a useful weapon. I’m surprised the Consul didn’t try to hold onto it ‘to investigate ownership,’ or something.”

“I didn’t mean that the law won’t allow the Clave to take it,” explained Alec, “although that is also true. I meant that they can’t. This bow was Gifted to me. No one can take it from me without my consent but Raziel himself.”

“I see.” Magnus didn’t see.

Ragnor rose from behind Magnus’ desk and approached. “Truly? It isn’t a myth? The Gift is actually a thing?” His eyes were bright with enthusiasm. “May I look at your bow?”

Alec reached behind him and plucked his bow from thin air, handing it over to Ragnor. “I do have other bows, both Clave issue and historical family weapons. But this is my primary weapon and was presented to me on my seventeenth birthday by the angel.”

Magnus’ eyebrows rose higher. “Excuse me? Raziel just appeared to you and handed over a bow?”

“It was a dream, rather than a corporeal manifestation, but yes. I dreamed about Raziel giving me a bow, then I woke up, and it was there beside me.”

“Shadowhunter lore talks of the angel’s favoured warriors,” said Ragnor, eyes tracing the bow he was holding reverently in his hands. “Those who will be called to greatness. Most of the students I talked to regarded it as a tall tale, shadowhunter propaganda. You know the sort; if you’re a very good shadowhunter and eat all your vegetables, the angel will bless you with a mystical weapon.”

“I thought it was standard for shadowhunters to have signature weapons,” said Magnus, charmed by the faint pink that had suffused Alec’s face.

‘We do,” said Alec, taking his bow back and somehow making it disappear again. “It’s just that most signature weapons, like Izzy’s whip, are forged by the iron sisters. Sometimes heirs of old lines are Gifted, but it’s less about being called to greatness than our strong blood. If we get Gifted by the angel, we’re expected to keep it to ourselves. Boasting is frowned upon.”

Ragnor frowned. “You would still be expected to notify the Clave, I expect.”

“Yes, and then go in for testing and training.”

“What kind of testing?” asked Magnus.

Alec shrugged. “Mostly to see how the weapon can be used. Possibly to check whether the Gift is legitimate; the old families have been known to pretend, if they haven’t had a Gifted in the line for several generations.”

Magnus was confused. “So, is it a status symbol, or not? If it doesn’t matter, why do the old families care?”

“I have no idea,” said Alec. “When I went to show my parents my bow, my mother gave me this big lecture on how Gifting was an outdated notion, a superstitious holdover from the early days of shadowhunting, and how I shouldn’t flaunt it.” He sighed. “Knowing she was part of the Circle…now I wonder how much of what she taught us is influenced by Valentine’s rhetoric.”

“If she was trying to teach you and your sister to be elitist bigots, she failed spectacularly,” said Magnus bracingly. “Ragnor, have you finished with your calculations?”

Ragnor turned and retrieved several sheets of paper covered in his spidery scrawl. He passed one to Magnus. “I could tinker with these for another ten years and still find room for improvement, but I think I’ve got something workable. Get me everything on that list. When you’re done, read over the method. While you do that, I’ll take care of the mandala.”

List in hand, Magnus turned back to Alec. “When we’re done, remind me to tell you about the discussion I had with Jace and Clary. You might find it interesting.”

Alec looked unconvinced but didn’t verbalise any doubts. “Do you mind if I watch?”

“You need to be here anyway,” Ragnor informed him. “Your blood has to be the primary link. That way, the Mortal Cup is technically never out of shadowhunter custody.”

Alec nodded.

Gathering the ingredients didn’t take long, although Magnus’ rare ritual components were starting to look alarmingly depleted. Perhaps Alec wouldn’t mind helping him replenish it? It was usually a tedious chore, but with some company, that might change.

The mandala wasn’t as complicated as the pentagram needed to summon a greater demon. However, it was still more complex than most ritual circles due to the suppressive layers built into the finished result. Thankfully, ritual magic was one of Ragnor’s areas of speciality, and he’d had a lot of practice drawing precise and accurate diagrams.

“I know you said the dimensional pocket could be accessed from anywhere,” said Alec as they watched Ragnor mark the floor with swift, sure strokes, “but I still thought we’d need to go there to set it.”

Magnus shook his head. “All we need is a sufficiently evolved anchor point. Both Ragnor and I have several suitable options available.” At Alec’s confusion, he explained further. “Anchor points can be used for many purposes, but they need to be stable. That takes time, time and magic. The best way to ensure you have a mature anchor point available when you want one is to create them regularly. So long as you retain the same magical signature, they’ll quietly sit there until you need them.”

“Like a hidden weapon’s cache.”

“Close enough.”

Ragnor had the design done to his exacting standards in half an hour, giving Magnus plenty of time to memorise his part.

The ritual was a finicky bit of business. The conditional access, the concealment, the need for it to be self-sustaining… Magnus wouldn’t have dared attempt such an undertaking on his own.

It wasn’t that he didn’t have the magic; Magnus’ biggest pitfall was that because he had more magic than most, he could achieve most things he desired by throwing enough power at the concept to brute-force it. For the first century of his life, he’d thought that everyone did it that way.

When Ragnor realised what he was doing, he’d been horrified. He’d immediately set about teaching Magnus how to use his magic correctly. It was the start of their long and rewarding friendship.

Ragnor’s power levels were minuscule, compared to Magnus’, but he had a far defter touch. It was thanks to his ongoing tutelage over the centuries that Magnus had achieved much of the finesse he displayed in daily life.

Watching him work like this, taking a ritual from idea to implementation, was a rare treat and Magnus watched avidly.

“That was fast,” Alec said as Ragnor stepped back from the completed mandala. “You’re very skilled.”

“I’ve had centuries of practice,” replied Ragnor. “I’m afraid this bit will be very boring for you. Magnus and I need to build this pattern into a functioning piece of magic. I want you to stand by, ready to hand me the ingredients as I require them. I’ll lay them out in the correct order; it won’t be difficult. Then, at the conclusion of the spell, I’ll need you to provide about a tablespoon of fresh blood.”

“Should we draw the blood first then?” asked Alec, not batting an eye at a warlock he’d only just met asking to use his blood in a magical ritual. Magnus didn’t know whether to be horrified or gratified at his lack of concern.

“No, when he said fresh, he meant very fresh,” Magnus explained. “I should get you an athame. Unless…Ragnor, should he use his stele to make the cut?”

“I left my stele in my office,” Alec reminded them. “That way, when the loss of the Cup is eventually discovered, I won’t be the only suspect.”

Magnus frowned. “How will you activate your runes without your stele? Or did you bring a spare? Do shadowhunters even have spare steles?”

Alec shook his head. “No. I mean, there are spares in the armoury; it’s just implausible that I’d have been carrying a spare when there was nothing wrong with my primary. Taking one from the armoury would be noticed, so I decided I’d just have to do without.”

Magnus was appalled. A shadowhunter without a stele was like a turtle without a shell. “I’ll see if I can scare one up for you,” he said. “I’m sure I have one floating around here somewhere. If not, I can hit Tessa up for one of hers: she still owes me a few favours. Ragnor, is the lack of a stele going to negatively impact the ritual?”

“A stele would be overkill. Ragnor narrowed his eyes in thought. “An athame would be better. Just make sure it’s been properly purified.”

Magnus made a rude gesture in Ragnor’s direction. “I know that I’m an amateur compared to you, but even I know that much.”

“Better to be safe than sorry.”

Alec watched curiously as Ragnor began to lay the components out on a table Magnus summoned from his storeroom. “I’ve never seen a ritual this involved before.”

“Few shadowhunters have,” replied Magnus. “Shadowhunter requirements tend to revolve around wards, portals, and healing. To be honest, there aren’t even many warlocks that have witnessed magic like this; Ragnor’s skill and knowledge in this area are unparalleled. I wouldn’t be able to put together something half as intricate.”

Alec turned his gaze onto Magnus consideringly. “Modesty, Magnus?”

Magnus poked him in the side with a finger. “I can be modest.” At Alec’s raised eyebrow, he laughed. “No, you’re right. I’m probably just a bit tired.”

“Is this a good time to be doing this ritual, then?” asked Alec. “Surely it could wait a few hours.”

“In a few hours, I’m expected at the Institute to see what I can do about the ruckus earlier,” explained Magnus. “I suppose we could leave this till tomorrow night, but to be honest, I’d rather not risk it. Thankfully, I won’t have to be at my witty best. Due to Ragnor’s familiarity with my skill level, he’s managed to craft this ritual to take advantage of my strengths while mitigating my weaknesses. All I have to do is channel the magic to him, and he’ll do all the fiddly stuff.”

“A bit like when I helped you to heal Luke.”

Magnus wrinkled his nose. “A tad more involved than that. I’ll need to modulate the power flow and attune the energy correctly.”

Alec nodded. “Sounds reasonable. I…” He hesitated, before starting again. “When the Cup is safe, I’d like to talk to you about moving forward on the other matter.”

Magnus blinked. “What other matter?” He tried to recall what plans he’d made with Alec in the last few days. “You want to go on a date?” What a marvellous idea! They could portal somewhere exotic and romantic—Gozo, perhaps—and enjoy an evening of fine food and wine. Or maybe Alec would prefer something more active? They could go white-water rafting on the Futaleufu River, in Chile.

Alec blushed. “No. I mean, yes, I do want to go on a date. But I was talking about the plan to find out what the Consul was up to with my strange exile.” He cleared his throat. “We could do both?”

Magnus beamed at him. “You’re full of good ideas, Alexander. Why don’t you spend the night in my spare room; when I get back from the Institute, we can progress both courses of action.”

v^v^v

The ritual took an hour and a half. When it was done, the Mortal Cup was safely stashed beyond the easy reach of anyone who would use it for nefarious purposes, and Ragnor and Magnus looked ready to fall asleep on their feet.

“You need sleep,” Alec stated, frowning. “Both of you.”

Ragnor yawned. “We’ve still got to cleanse the room.”

Magnus nodded, swaying slightly. “Right.”

“Can’t it wait?” asked Alec.

“Best not,” replied Ragnor. “Leaving a mandala as complex as this intact is just asking for a magical eruption.”

Magnus nodded but remained stationary. “I’ll get onto it in a moment.” His eyes drifted closed for a long moment before they opened wide again.

Alec pursed his lips. “Does it need to be done by magic, or would old-fashioned elbow grease do the trick?”

Ragnor glared at him. “Are you seriously offering to scrub Magnus’ floor so that he can go and rest?” At Alec’s confused nod, he muttered something incoherent in a language Alec didn’t recognise before reverting to English. “I give up. I give up! Fine, you take care of the floor; I’ll put our exhausted friend to bed.”

“I’ll need—” Alec broke off as two pails of water, a scrubbing brush, a pair of gloves, and a bottle of dish soap appeared in front of him. “Thanks.”

“Thank you,” replied Ragnor. “I’ll hang a sign on the spare room door so you know which one to use. Come on, Magnus. You have to be up in two hours.”

Alec got to work. Scrubbing floors wasn’t his favourite task, but he had plenty to think about, which helped pass the time. He finished up, emptied the water left in the buckets and stacked the cleaning equipment next to the entrance to the ritual room.

True to Ragnor’s word, one of the doors off the main room had a sign on it saying ‘Alec.’ Inside was a bed, much longer than expected, turned down and waiting for him. There was also a pair of sleep pants like the ones he’d bought while out with Magnus.

Alec was unsurprised to find that both the bed and the sleep pants fit him perfectly. Relaxing into the lovely, firm mattress, Alec reflected that there were definite advantages to having magic.

He drifted to sleep and dreamed about flying through the air with Magnus, chasing after a manically laughing Valentine, who kept popping up from behind clouds. Magnus and Alec alternated arrows with magical fireballs, but no matter how many times they shot Valentine, he wouldn’t stay down.

Just as Alec ran out of arrows, Valentine pulled the Mortal Cup out of nowhere and drank. In seconds, he caught fire and burnt to ash. Alec and Magnus kept flying, concentrating on aerobatics rather than combat, before turning their movements into a dance. From then on, Alec’s dreams followed their usual patterns, the only difference being the frequency that Magnus appeared in them.

Chapter eight

Alec woke in a strange room.

It was several moments before he remembered the events of the previous night. He’d broken into the New York Institute, stolen the Mortal Cup, and then conspired with two warlocks to keep it out of the Clave’s custody for the foreseeable future.

If someone had told him a month ago that this would be his life, he would have been seriously concerned for their mental health.

The amount of light in the room was enough to inform him that the sun had been up for a while. A glance at his phone told him that it was nearly ten in the morning, which meant he’d had just over three hours of sleep. If his stomach wasn’t trying to get his attention, he might have rolled over to see if he could rest some more.

Hoping that Magnus had returned from the Institute, Alec wandered out into the main room. Magnus wasn’t anywhere in sight, but Ragnor was sitting in a pool of sunshine, a plate with the remains of some pastries and a tiny cup that still smelled of coffee at his elbow.

It struck Alec how deceptive a warlock’s abode was. In the Institute, there were runes on display everywhere and deliberate shows of grandeur. While Magnus’ apartment showed his wealth, it was also a cosy, comforting place. Yet the magic performed within these walls would have awed even the highest-ranked shadowhunters with its power.

Ragnor looked up from the book he was reading. “Good morning. There are some Danishes and coffee in the kitchen, or, if you prefer, I could provide eggs and toast.”

“Danishes are fine, thank you,” Alec replied. The selection looked delectable; Alec was grateful that he wouldn’t have to fight his parabatai for the raspberry and cream cheese pastry.

Thinking of Jace reminded Alec of the visit Magnus had spoken of the night before. Alec filled a plate and took it into the sun-filled room Ragnor was basking in, sitting close by.

Ragnor looked at him from over the frames of his spectacles and sighed before removing them and putting his book to one side. “You look like someone who has questions.”

“I was hoping to get the gist of Clary and Jace’s visit,” admitted Alec. “If you prefer, we can talk about something else.”

“No, no, I have no objection. Magnus said that the Herondale boy is your parabatai, is that correct?”

Alec stared at him. “You think he’s a Herondale too?”

Ragnor frowned. “He’s not? He reminds me so much of Stephen, I assumed…”

“He’s an orphan,” explained Alec. “When he was ten, the man who raised him, Michael Wayland, died. Michael Wayland was my father’s parabatai, so Jace came to live with us. We’ve never had any reason not to think he was Michael Wayland’s biological son. I know Jace certainly thinks he is. But the other day, Magnus said Jace reminded him of his friend Will, and if you see a Herondale resemblance too…”

“It should be easy enough to check,” Ragnor pointed out. “I know that the Clave knows how to do DNA analysis.”

“When I tell him, I’ll suggest he ask my sister to look into it. If he is Stephen Herondale’s son, his grandmother is still alive. That should help.” Alec inhaled the steam from his coffee, enjoying the rich aroma. “But that’s another matter. The answer to your question is: yes, Jace is my parabatai. Is that important?”

“I just like to be informed of the personal relationships of those around me. It makes predicting behaviour much easier.” Ragnor settled back in his chair. “In all honesty, the Morgenstern child’s arrival last night was a blessing. Magnus was driving me mad with his fretting. The switch from worried boyfriend to exasperated uncle was most amusing.”

Alec ate his breakfast while Ragnor gave him a blow by blow of Clary’s late-night visit. He only interrupted once. “Wait. She seriously expected Magnus to just play around with the memories of some mundanes?”

“She didn’t appreciate Magnus’ reaction,” Ragnor replied. “She then attempted to guilt him into feeling bad about the time he removed some of her memories, but Magnus wasn’t having any of it.”

Alec blinked. “I thought Clary’s mother commissioned the memory removal?”

Ragnor nodded. “Yes, and according to Magnus, she wouldn’t take no for an answer and didn’t want to consider any other options. It doesn’t surprise me; Jocelyn Fairchild was always a stubborn lass. I doubt motherhood made her less so.” He continued to relay who said what, the expressions they were wearing, and his conclusions.

“Your parabatai looked tired and stressed,” Ragnor finished. “He was trying to be patient, but I could see the frustration building in him. He didn’t appreciate having to come across town to retrieve her but, to his credit, didn’t attempt to blame Magnus for the situation as so many other shadowhunters might have done.”

Alec winced. “Knowing that a lack of immediate accusation is enough of an oddity to merit mention is a terrible indictment on the way shadowhunters have been treating the rest of the shadow world.”

“It’s been that way all my life,” said Ragnor in dispassionate tones. “Sometimes it gets better for a while; sometimes it gets worse. Werewolves and nephilim live short lives, but vampires, seelie, and warlocks have long memories. For some, it can be hard to let go of past wrongs long enough to find commonality. Over time some of our number lose the will to even try.” He shrugged. “I hope that one day, someone will find an answer. In the meantime, life goes on.”

“You taught at the Academy,” said Alec, “you’re one of the ones working towards acceptance. It must have been tough to realise so many of your students were out there committing atrocities against your people.”

Ragnor’s eyes lost their focus. He stared at nothing, lost in memory for a long moment, before speaking again. “The pendulum had already started to swing towards hate; I’d hoped to moderate the inevitable violence by showing that we didn’t have to be enemies. Either my efforts fell on deaf ears, or my presence provided a rallying point for those who felt insulted and outraged by a downworlder presuming to think he could instruct his betters.”

“I used to wish my sister and I could go to the Academy, but my parents always found some reason why we had to stay in New York.” Alec used his forefinger to methodically remove all the crumbs from the plate he was holding. “It’s only with the recent revelation that they were Circle members that I realised the real reason. It’s interesting; despite my parents’ bigotry, being isolated from our peers’ group-think might have benefited us.”

Ragnor raised his eyebrows. “It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve heard growing up in New York described as ‘isolation.’”

“It wasn’t like we never met up with people our age; we even used to go on training trips with some of them. But we were always under adult supervision, and there was always some purpose. There wasn’t any time for socialisation.”

“Sounds like a recipe for dysfunction.”

Alec shrugged. “I don’t think the Clave cares about dysfunction, so long as we follow orders. The social isolation didn’t bother me much; I don’t like having to pretend to like people I can’t stand, and my manner has been described as ‘offensive in the extreme.’ On top of that, I’ve always known that my parents expected me to rise high in the Clave. The lowest level of success that they’d accept is Institute Head, and as such, I’ve been training for that job all my life.

“Izzy and Jace are the ones who like to surround themselves with strangers. Both are attractive and charming, and the Institute wasn’t enough of an outlet for them. If they’d attended the Academy, I imagine they would have gathered the other students around them and led them into various hair-raising scenarios. Instead, they explored New York’s downworld nightlife.” He laughed. “To be honest, it’s a bit of a surprise that Magnus and Izzy haven’t known each other for years.”

Ragnor gave him a speculative look. “I take it Magnus hasn’t told you about how he came to be the High Warlock of Brooklyn?”

“No,” Alec replied slowly. “He hasn’t volunteered the information, and I didn’t think to ask. For some reason, I thought he’d been the High Warlock for ages. Certainly, as long as I can remember.”

Ragnor smirked. “Yes, but that’s not very long now, is it?” The smile slid off his face, and he sighed. “I should probably leave the tale to him—if he wants to tell it—but let’s just say that he’s taken steps to avoid nephilim for anything except official business he couldn’t get out of. Even then, he often sent a ‘representative’ in his place. Usually, someone who owed him a favour.”

Just then, Magnus portaled in, dismissing it with a sharp flick of the fingers. His whole posture reminded Alec of an irritated cat. If Magnus had a tail, it would be lashing.

Alec raised his eyebrows. “Bad day, I take it?”

“Whenever shadowhunters start making me think there might be hope for the Clave, something happens to burst my bubble,” fumed Magnus. Tiny bits of blue magic leapt from his hair, dissolving into the air.

Alec was transfixed by the power Magnus was radiating. It was astonishing that this was the same warlock who’d looked dead on his feet only a few hours ago. Was there a recharge socket in Magnus’ bedroom or something?

Magnus noticed Alec staring at him. “Oh, hello, Alexander. I hope you weren’t offended by my tirade.”

Alec gathered his scattered wits. “I’m sure you had a good reason. What did the Clave do now?”

Magnus stalked over and threw open the French doors leading to the balcony. “That’s better; I needed some fresh air.” He whirled around. “So. It turns out that the Forsaken creature Valentine cobbled together to attack the Institute managed to bypass the wards by using an infusion of seelie blood with angel properties. I reinforced the wards as much as I could, but there’s no foolproof method to defend against something like that. Robert wasn’t happy with my diagnosis, but he didn’t argue with it either.”

“Clever,” murmured Ragnor. “Point one to Valentine. To ward against a Forsaken with blood like that, you’d need to ward against all nephilim.”

“Exactly. Afterwards, I thought I would check in on Isabelle. We had a lovely bit of double talk, which, if I understood it correctly, was her telling me that the Consul has requested direct access to the Institute surveillance feeds going forward. Following that conversation, Isabelle kindly walked me to the front doors. We were almost there when Meliorn arrived. That was when we discovered that the Clave, in its infinite wisdom, had ordered that Meliorn be arrested.”

Alec blinked. “What? Why?”

“The charge was, ‘Soliciting state secrets from a shadowhunter on behalf of Valentine Morgenstern.’”

Alec groaned, letting his eyes fall closed, and his head fall back. “Of course. Which of my parents leapt to carry out this ridiculous order?”

“It was the Clave envoy, Lydia Branwell. I might have been a bit too hasty in declaring her a good egg.”

“Izzy would have been furious.”

Magnus gave a humourless laugh. “That was a slight understatement. Meliorn thought he’d been summoned to a conference and came alone. Things might have gone rather badly for him if I hadn’t been there. A lone Seelie Knight would have had no chance of fighting his way out, but not only am I the High Warlock of Brooklyn, but I hold the Institute’s wards.”

Alec put himself in Lydia’s shoes and thought about what argument he would have made for detaining Meliorn. “She tried to use the ‘Suspicion of Conspiracy’ paragraph under the fourth subsection of the Accords, didn’t she?”

Magnus regarded Alec through narrowed eyes. “She did.”

“And you countered with item three under section two, ‘Ambassadorial Rights,’ am I correct?”

Magnus nodded, the tension around his eyes relaxing slightly. “Naturally.”

“At which point her choices were either capitulation or overwhelming you both with force.” Alec raised his eyebrows. “Or, I should say, trying to overwhelm you both with force.”

Magnus examined his glittering fingernails. “She chose capitulation. In her defence, she didn’t appear personally affronted, so perhaps she was truly only following orders. Still, she suggested that it might be better if we avoided the Institute for a while. As if downworlders are the ones with the reputation for barging in where they’re uninvited. Then she saw us out.”

Alec frowned. “What was the point of all of it? Surely no one thinks that Meliorn is acting on his own cognisance or that he’d betray his Queen. Was it just a pointless exercise in flexing their muscles? Worse than pointless, any goodwill the New York Institute has built with the seelies just went up in flames. It was burnt just getting Meliorn there in the first place.”

“Don’t ask me why shadowhunters do the things they do. I don’t have any answers that aren’t insulting.”

Alec shook his head. “To be honest, it’s nice not to have to find some way to reconcile the Clave’s orders with my conscience.”

Ragnor cocked his head slightly. “What would you have done if you’d been ordered to detain and question Meliorn?”

Alec thought about it, working through his options. “On the surface, it probably would have looked a lot like what Lydia did. The Clave isn’t interested in Institute Heads telling them it’s a bad idea, and we’re not allowed to refuse a direct order. Most high-ranked seelies are gracious enough to recognise the difference between a shadowhunter following the Clave’s orders and one acting on their own inclination.”

“You know a lot about the seelies,” noted Ragnor.

Alec shrugged. “I was the ambassador to the seelies for a time. But that means that they know me too; they know I communicate differently when I’m being forced to act. The message to Meliorn would have looked straightforward to any Clave official reviewing the case, but I would have ensured it was off enough to give Meliorn some warning. He would have brought back-up or asked to meet in a neutral setting.”

Ragnor regarded him with approval. “The seelies love that sort of subtle machination. You’re not concerned that they really might be working with Valentine?”

“I’m very sure they are,” Alec replied. “The seelie version of ‘working with,’ at any rate. Seelies are adept at reading the direction the wind is blowing; they’ll want a foot in each camp so that the winner does not wipe them out. It would be better for them if the Clave won because, as imperfect as the Clave is, it’s less likely to turn on the seelies and try to eradicate them. But working with him doesn’t mean that any of them want to help Valentine. They’ll help us too if we leave the door open for them to do so. After all, the more opportunities to be on the winning side, the better.”

“Maybe the Clave was hoping that their ploy with Meliorn would be seen as a show of strength,” suggested Ragnor. “Seelies respect strength.”

Magnus’ smile was cynical. “If that was the intention, I’m afraid I foiled them somewhat. Then—and you’ll love this next bit—just as I created the portal, Meliorn threw out a comment about the Clave wasting their time with seelie conspiracies when Valentine’s daughter was running around New York with the Mortal Cup. Then we left.”

Alec sighed. “Looks like we got the Mortal Cup out of there just in time.”

“Indeed,” agreed Magnus. “I left Meliorn at one of the entrances to the Seelie Realm; no doubt he’s already informed his queen of today’s events. It occurred to me that the seelies might be useful for that matter you wanted to discuss today.” He smiled, and this time it was genuine. “The Consul trapping matter, rather than the dating one.”

“Oh?”

“The way I see it, you want the Consul to be able to find you without letting him know you want him to find you, yes?

Alec nodded.

“You said yourself that you were an ambassador to the seelies. Would it be in the realm of possibility for you to approach them? If you were in a bind, with no resources?”

Alec tried to imagine a situation where he had no interaction with an Institute, no way to contact Jace or Izzy.

The vampires and the werewolves would likely turn on a single shadowhunter-in-exile showing up without support. Vampires would want his blood—nephilim blood was a delicacy that wasn’t often available—and werewolves would want his death.

His only choices would be the warlocks and the seelie, and seelie were by far the better option. Shadowhunters and seelie shared blood and could interbreed; theoretically, a nephilim could live amongst them without strife. Owing to his previous ambassadorial duties, Alec was a known quantity amongst the nobility. Additionally, Alec’s sister was known to have contacts amongst the seelies.

If Alec had to search for Alec, staking out seelie hotspots would be one of his first moves. The seelies didn’t help anyone for free, but anyone who’d lasted as an ambassador for over a year had to have built up enough mutual respect that they’d be willing to negotiate a deal for him.

The more Alec thought about it, the more he agreed with Magnus’ evaluation. “You’re right,” he said. “I take it you think I should make my way to the Hardtail or one of the other downworld bars and open negotiations with whichever high ranked seelie is there?”

“Not quite as haphazard as that,” replied Magnus. “I suggest we liaise with Meliorn first. We can get him to prepare one of his kin in advance, make sure they indicate interest in your overtures. Seelies might not be able to lie, but we all know they can misdirect with the best of them.”

Alec frowned. “That part seems easy enough. Do we just expect Dieudonné to pop up out of the woodwork to chat with me?”

Magnus shrugged. “That’s why I suggested the seelie should show interest. It would be better if they didn’t agree to help you. It’s typical enough behaviour for them: to keep a fish hanging just long enough to get desperate before they reel him in.”

Alec tapped the tips of his fingers against his leg as he thought that over. “If Dieudonné is watching, he might try to tail me home. I don’t want him knowing where my apartment is, and if he followed me here, it would be worse.”

“I can set up a deactivation zone with a portal on the other side, if you like,” said Magnus. “Do your best to lose anyone tracking you—activating your bracelet at an opportune moment should achieve that—then make for our pre-arranged area. Unless they manage to plant a physical item on you, that should work well enough for our purposes. If he’s openly pursuing you, that would be a different matter.”

“If he even turns up.”

“There is that.” Magnus sat on the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Ragnor and I can keep watch from a distance, see if we can spy any spies.”

“What do you plan to do if he does confront you?” asked Ragnor.

“Depends on what he has to say,” Alec replied. “At this point, his motivations are a complete mystery. We don’t even know if he has plans for me at all. This whole thing might be a wild goose chase.”

Ragnor frowned. “No, I think you’re on the right track. Deviations to protocol while an organisation is in a state of uncertainty always have a reason. Best to plan for as many eventualities as possible.”

Alec nodded. “If no one turns up, it will be because he doesn’t care, doesn’t know I’m there, knows I’m there but doesn’t care, or knows I’m there and is having me watched to see what I do. A circuitous route back, accompanied by Magnus’ exit strategy, will be sufficient in those cases.”

“What will you do if he asks you to go undercover?” Magnus asked. “If you’re taking suggestions, I vote that you say no.”

“I’ll tell him I’ll think about it,” Alec said. “That will be my answer to any offer or suggestion he makes, to be honest.”

“What if he doesn’t want to let you go?” asked Ragnor. “What’s your exit strategy for that situation?”

Alec sighed. “He’s already risked inviting scrutiny by exiling me in such a strange fashion. If our hypothesis is correct, and he did it that way to make me inclined to co-operate with him, then trying to force me to co-operate would run counter to that. I think that tactic is unlikely.”

“He might just have wanted to get you out of the Institute and on your own for whatever reason,” Magnus pointed out. “Your family name might have been tarnished, but you’re still the heir to one of the oldest shadowhunter lines. Two of them, in fact. Maybe he doesn’t mind forcing you to do what he wants so long as no one else knows he’s doing it.”

“One shadowhunter line; my mother hasn’t designated an heir yet,” said Alec. “I think she’s waiting until one of us starts providing grandchildren. But I agree that if Dieudonné does want my help with something, it’s not something that would hold up to any scrutiny.” He sighed. “He might also send someone else to do his dirty work, to keep his nose clean if whatever plans he’s making blow up in his face.”

Magnus made a face. “Everyone knows not to believe nameless lackeys when they say they’re acting on behalf of some bigwig. If he tries that, just say that you don’t believe they’re from the Consul and suggest that they’re Circle members trying to fool you.”

“That’s a thought.” Ragnor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What if a group of Circle members find you?”

“I guess I’ll have to try and fight them off.” Alec frowned. “Would downworlders help in that situation, do you think? Or would they consider it a shadowhunter matter and leave well alone?”

“Depends on the individual,” said Magnus thoughtfully. “I expect most would rather not get involved in a shadowhunter altercation even if the Circle is involved. When the Circle was last active, downworlders were sometimes penalised by the Clave for ‘interfering with shadowhunter business’ if they assisted when Circle members were involved. Most won’t want to risk it.”

“Can’t blame them,” said Alec. It sometimes seemed like the Clave wanted everyone to hate them. “So, I’ll not count on the possibility of aid. If it does turn into a fight—either with Dieudonné’s people or the Circle—then I’m probably done for.”

“That is a terrible exit strategy, Alexander. Only slightly better than ‘going undercover with Valentine’ levels of bad.”

Alec raised his eyebrows. “Do you have a better solution? One that doesn’t shout, ‘I’m in contact with a badass warlock’ to anyone paying attention?”

Magnus narrowed his eyes. “No need to get snarky.” He tapped his index finger against his lower lip. “Not off the top of my head, which means we should wait until we have a workable strategy before you put yourself in danger.”

Ragnor cleared his throat, leaning back into his chair. “I may have a solution.” He reached into a dimensional pocket and pulled out a large blue crystal covered in carvings. “This is something I’ve been working on for the last couple of decades: a personal defence module. Once it’s activated, it creates a five-metre diameter bubble of effect. If you’re keyed into the device, you’re safe. If not….” Ragnor made an explosion noise and threw his hands away from each other. “Boom. Well, sort of.”

“Boom?” repeated Magnus. “The energy explodes. Like a grenade? Ragnor, did you make a magical grenade and not tell me about it?”

“I said sort of. It has a smaller radius than a grenade, and there wouldn’t be a casualty zone. It isn’t so much a fragment dispersal device as it is a portable disintegration device. The boom is figurative. It should only be used as a last resort, mind, and not anywhere there might be a possibility of friendly fire.”

“I can see why,” said Alec fervently. “That’s amazing. And scary.”

Magnus squinted at the stone distrustfully. “Most items like this are destroyed on use, making testing difficult. How certain are you that this one will work the way you said it would?”

“Ninety-five per cent, give or take a per cent,” answered Ragnor. “The only thing different about this one is the material used, which I’ve calculated will increase the area of effect to five times the previous model, which was just shy of a metre.”

Alec was still stuck on the idea of disintegration. “How does that work? How do you even test something like that?”

“With many safety measures, believe me. Basically, it’s a combination of wards and spells that I’ve chained together so that they’ll act and react together in a certain way. The result is that any living tissue not magically keyed into the device has its energy sucked out and turned into light. Atoms fall into their component parts.” He turned the stone over in his hands. “I’m confident that I’ve nailed this particular action. Lately, I’ve been attempting to develop something a little less lethal with negligible success. But you should take this; it will ensure your safety if Valentine captures you.”

Magnus disagreed. “It will only ensure his safety if everyone threatening him was inside a two and a half metre radius.”

Ragnor rolled his eyes. “Fine, it will assist in your safety. Is that better, Mr Pedant?”

“Even if it doesn’t get everyone, something like that would probably disorient them enough to give me a window of escape.” Alec could only see two problems. “Only, how would using a magical relic not be shouting, ‘I’m in contact with a badass warlock,’ to any witnesses? Won’t it show up on a magical scan?”

“Until it’s activated, it gives off the same magical signature as a run of the mill magical talisman,” Ragnor assured him. “The type that looks flashy but doesn’t actually protect against anything. Anyone who doesn’t know what it is or where you got it will probably think that you spent your entire life savings on an impressive-looking magical placebo.”

“You’d have to be careful to ensure you didn’t accidentally kill the Consul,” said Magnus. “Can you imagine the furore that would cause? The Clave would identify the magic use, and then warlocks everywhere would be rounded up and killed in retaliation.”

Ragnor made a face. “Good point. It might be best if you don’t link it to warlocks at all. If the Clave ever asks, maybe say you found it on a beach or something.”

“Jonathon Shadowhunter survived his first demon fight because a glowing stone he’d attached to his sword turned out to be angel-blessed,” said Alec thoughtfully. “Because it was destroyed in that encounter, we only have brief references in our oldest histories. Most dismiss it as a legend, but some believe it was real.”

“Sounds like a useful bit of lore,” said Magnus. “Are you prepared to lie to the Clave, though?”

“If you like, we can go down to the beach so that he really can ‘find it,’” suggested Ragnor. “That way, it won’t technically be a lie, might even hold up if he’s questioned under the Soul-Sword.”

“It’s a thin layer of truth, but we might as well employ it,” agreed Magnus. “A local beach might be best. Somewhere Alexander might have gone to contemplate the angst of his soul after being exiled.”

They went through with the small farce. Magnus portaled Ragnor to the beach; he dropped the stone in the sand and portaled back. Then Magnus portaled Alec to the same location, where Alec looked around and picked up the stone.

Back in Magnus’ loft, Alec ran his fingers over the carved surface, looking closely at the engravings. “Are those carvings arranged in the shape of an ‘A,’ or am I just imagining that.”

“Hold it so I can see it!” Magnus demanded. He peered at it for a few moments before throwing back his head in laughter. “Ragnor! Is that…did you…you did! You made the Holy Grenade of Antioch!”

Ragnor shrugged casually, although his faint smile was pleased. “I didn’t set out to carve the symbols that way, but once I realised what it was shaping up to be, I couldn’t resist. And it’s rather appropriate, considering our actions last night.”

“I’ve never heard of the Holy Grenade of Antioch,” said Alec. “What’s its significance?”

“It’s fictional,” Magnus informed him. “There’s a movie where a group of Knights go on their quest for the Holy Grail and use the Holy Grenade of Antioch against a formidable foe. Remind me when we have time, and we’ll watch it together.”

Alec could tell there was something he wasn’t getting, going by the way Ragnor’s amusement increased with Magnus’ explanation. “I’d like that.” He looked back at the grenade, hefting it to work out what it weighed. It was heavier than he’d expected it to be. It also felt strangely slippery, and Alec held it carefully so as not to drop it. “I thought this was quartz?”

Ragnor scoffed. “Quartz can’t hold more than one spell at a time. That, dear boy, is pure aluminium oxide. It holds six hundred times the saturation of magic that you’d get from quartz. The amount of magic layered within it increases the density, making it heavier.”

Alec looked up at Ragnor. “It’s a sapphire? It’s huge! How much did this thing cost? I can’t repay you for this.”

Ragnor waved a dismissive hand. “The moment I started carving, it became effectively worthless.”

Alec wasn’t fooled for a moment. “More likely, the moment you started carving, it went from being an expensive gemstone to a unique magical artefact worth considerably more than the sum of its parts.”

“I would never sell it, so the question is moot.” insisted Ragnor.

“He’s not going to let you give him money,” Magnus said to Alec in the long-suffering tones of someone who had previously lost similar arguments. “He’s infuriatingly stubborn like that.”

Ragnor rolled his eyes. “That’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black.” He met Alec’s eyes. “This one has a habit of coming to visit and ‘accidentally’ leaving behind priceless magical tomes and relics that happen to correlate to my research. And then mysteriously ‘forgets’ they were ever in his possession.”

Magnus sniffed. “My memory is impeccable. I think you’re making it up.”

Alec made a mental note to do something nice for Ragnor if he ever got the opportunity. “Hopefully, it won’t be necessary to use it.” He went to hand it back, but Ragnor shook his head.

“You might as well hold onto it. Come to think of it, we should get it attuned to you now.”

Attuning the sapphire involved much the same process as Magnus had used to attune Alec’s bracelet. A bit of blood, some concentration, and done. Whether it was the result of Alec’s body heat transferring from his hands or a consequence of the spell, the sapphire now felt warm to the touch, and the slippery feeling disappeared.

“Here, let me get a necklace for it,” Magnus offered. “Ragnor, devise an appropriate setting or cage for it; it will be harder to lose if it’s around his neck. Engrave it with something like, ‘Love Izzy’; his desire to wear it will be self-explanatory.”

“Remind me to tell Izzy about it later,” said Alec. “She’ll think it’s hilarious.” The chain was heavy, and the grenade was a solid weight, although not uncomfortable.

“With that taken care of, all you have to do to activate it is say, ‘Sucks to be you,’ with intent. It will activate immediately.”

Alec raised his eyebrows. “In all the history books I’ve read, spells are spoken in an arcane language that warlocks refuse to allow non-warlocks to learn.” The ritual they’d performed to create the dimensional pocket had, as expected, involved a lot of mystical sounding words.

“Depends on the spell,” said Magnus, interrupting smoothly. “Strictly speaking, an activation phrase isn’t a spell, any more than a safety fuse is a bomb. They’re merely tools to give the initiator distance. In the case of a bomb, it’s spatial distance; for a spell, it’s time.”

That made sense. Alec carefully tucked the Holy Grenade of Antioch beneath his shirt so that it rested against his skin. “Now I have an exit if I end up trapped, regardless if it’s the Circle or the Consul. If I’m not trapped, I’ll listen to whatever the Consul has to say and ask for time to think it over, then do my best to misdirect and lose anyone following me on my way to the deactivation zone.”

Magnus nodded. “I’ll set up an alternate location if the exercise needs to be repeated.” He twirled his fingers, and a representation of Manhattan formed in the air. “The Hardtail is here,” a glowing red dot began pulsing in the Meatpacking District, “and you’ll need space to dodge around for a bit…how about over here?” He zoomed in on an alley off Lafayette Street. “It’s gated, but that shouldn’t pose an issue for a fit young shadowhunter like yourself.” His gaze travelled up and down Alec’s body.

Ragnor ignored the byplay. “It’s a fair distance. Not too close to the Institute?”

“I’m more worried about its proximity to my apartment,” Alec admitted. “But that’s my fault for making my choice based on proximity to the Hardtail in the first place.”

Magnus stopped giving Alec elevator eyes and turned back to his map. “We could pick somewhere else? What about somewhere further west?”

“Jones Alley will do fine,” Alec said firmly. “If matters progress and I have to reveal my bolt hole, or if they already know about it, it will be more believable.”

Magnus made a grabbing gesture at the map, and it shrank down before disappearing. “So, in the next few hours, I need to get hold of a stele and prepare the alley. Ragnor, I’d like you to source some arrows and work on making a quiver that can act as a transfer for a repository. Alexander…” He came up short with a frown. “Is there anything you’d like to do in preparation for your mission tonight?”

Alec shrugged. “I could do with some training. I normally get at least two hours a day, but the last couple of days, I haven’t had the chance.”

Magnus snapped his fingers. “And a shadowhunter can hardly just rock up to the nearest gym. Ragnor, will we need the ritual room again any time soon?”

“We need to set up the decoy dimensional pocket,” Ragnor reminded him.

“Hmm.” Magnus drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair he sat in. “I don’t like shoving my rooms in and out of storage without giving the spells time to settle, but I’m already pushing the amount of space I’m using here.”

“Then don’t use this area,” suggested Ragnor with a roll of his eyes. “You own real estate all over the world; pick one of those locations and unpack your training rooms there. You should probably beef up the wards; you won’t have the ones centred on the loft as you normally do. Since it’s only a temporary measure, they don’t have to be spectacular.”

Magnus snapped his fingers. “Good idea. What do you think, Alexander? Is there anywhere you’d like me to put it? Anywhere but Peru.”

Alec blinked, distracted from his initial intention to tell Magnus he didn’t have to go to such trouble. “Why not Peru?”

Magnus gave a guilty little cough and avoided his eyes. “Just a little dust-up that resulted in me being banned. Nothing to concern yourself with.”

Alec put that piece of info away for later. “Is Spain an option?”

Magnus brightened. “I have a lovey place in Valencia, overlooking the Turia gardens. I’ll see to it right away.” He leapt to his feet and sailed out of the room, muttering something under his breath that Alec couldn’t catch.

Alec watched him go, nonplussed by Magnus’ sudden burst of energy. A glance at Ragnor showed that he was being laughed at.

“You’ll get used to Magnus’ methods. He tries to portray himself as an indolent hedonist, but he prefers to be busy.”

“He’s been incredibly generous,” said Alec, “with both his time and magic. If it weren’t for him, I’d probably be ripe for whatever the Consul has in mind for me.”

“So, you do think he has plans for you?” asked Ragnor. “You didn’t sound certain earlier.”

“I know something is going on,” replied Alec. “Sometimes I think it’s paranoia or arrogance. Why should the Consul put so much effort into getting me into a situation where I’m relatively helpless and losing hope? On the other hand…”

“On the other hand, you can’t afford not to think the worst,” agreed Ragnor. He sighed. “You seem like one of the more decent shadowhunters I’ve met, so I’m glad you weren’t left to fend for yourself.”

Alec heard the silent qualifier. “But…”

“But I’m worried that Magnus might have bitten off more than he can chew. Again. My friend has a habit of throwing his heart into taking care of things…people…and forgetting that he needs to take care of himself.”

“I want to keep him safe, too,” Alec assured him.  “As much as he’ll let me, anyway.”

“I believe you.” Ragnor sighed. “Maybe it will be different this time.” Despite the optimistic words, he didn’t sound hopeful.

Chapter nine

Usually, Alec didn’t go on stakeouts. Izzy and Jace hated them and frequently complained about how tedious they were. Since Alec didn’t particularly enjoy listening to them whine, it was easier to leave them to other shadowhunters.

The plan for the Hardtail was a combination of stakeout and undercover operation. Alec was prepared to linger there for several nights, lurking in the shadows and occasionally approaching the seelies Meliorn had sent. He figured it would take one, maybe two nights for word to make it back to Dieudonné that he was there.

Nightclubs weren’t his favourite places, but without Izzy and Jace to pester him about dancing, the Hardtail wasn’t less irritating than it usually was. The three-hour workout that afternoon had loosened his muscles nicely, soothing some of the irritation that had been building at the inactivity of the last few days. The mission to get the Cup had at least been something, but since it had been more about moving quietly and stealthily, it didn’t exactly build up a sweat.

Alec had come back from Valencia feeling refreshed and invigorated and discovered that Magnus had followed through on his intention to locate and acquire a stele. The stele Magnus had sourced for him was cool in his hand and held unfamiliar energy. Despite that, there was only slight interference when he used it.

Ragnor was already working on the quiver Magnus had commissioned from him and had contacted a fletcher who’d agreed to provide arrows. They wouldn’t have any adamas in their construction, so each would need runes applied manually. It was time-consuming, and each arrow needed to be attended to several times to get full coverage. On the positive side, Alec had a lot of free time on his hands.

It was unlikely that he’d need many arrows, not while hanging out in the Hardtail, but he was grateful that a decent supply would soon be available.

The seelie contact that Magnus had arranged with Meliorn was already present when Alec arrived at 11.30 pm.

Alec didn’t approach immediately. He carefully surveyed the crowd, analysing it the same way he would have if he’d been on his own and planning a risky operation. He checked out the exits and noted who was covering them, watching the dance floor to get a feel for the current energy. When his senses had been attuned to the noise, he approached the seelie at the bar wearing the orange and purple flower crown.

The seelie watched him approach from the corner of her eyes. “A shadowhunter. Just what I needed to make my evening complete.” She raised her brows slightly.

Alec inclined his head politely. “Greetings. I was hoping to speak with one of the knights, someone who has the ear of your queen.”

The eyebrows went higher. “Were you? And why might that be?”

“We might be able to be of mutual service to each other.”

The seelie turned to face him properly. “You haven’t introduced yourself.”

“My name is Alec Lightwood. And you are?”

“You may call me Tiana.” She let her gaze wander over Alec in much the same way Magnus had done earlier that day. “What is it that you would like to offer my Queen? She may not be averse to acquiring a lover of such…interesting lineage.” She smiled, showing her teeth in a gesture that even the stupidest shadowhunter should know how to interpret.

Alec stifled a grimace. “I would never presume to share intimacy with someone so high above my station.”

Tiana’s tooth-filled grin faltered. “Indeed? How amusing, mortal. I’ve not often found one of your kind with enough wit to be worth a conversation. Perhaps I’ll see you here again.”

The dismissal was blatant. Alec ignored the way everyone in earshot pretended not to be listening and inclined his head again. “Perhaps we will.” He glanced around the room again before making for the exit.

Before Alec got to the door, two shadowhunters melted out of the shadows to flank him. It was incredibly unsubtle, and if Alec had been pinning his hopes on the seelie, he would have been equal parts furious and wary. He leant into that. Instead of leaving, he positioned himself to have a wall directly at his back and then turned to face his pursuers.

They were older than him, closer to his parents’ age than his. Neither looked familiar, and neither carried a Circle rune on their neck. Not that the lack of rune was definitive, Alec had a vague recollection that they could be glamoured if Valentine allowed it.

“Lightwood,” said the taller of the two. “Someone wishes to speak to you. Privately.”

Alec glared. “Who?”

The shorter one narrowed his eyes but reached into a pocket on his vest, pulling out a folded sheet of paper and offering it to Alec. “Someone who would prefer not to have their name bandied about in public.”

Alec ran his eyes over the short message. It was a command to follow the two men; the Consul’s official seal—or an excellent replica—was affixed to it.

Alec handed it back. “That letter could be faked; I’m not going anywhere with you. If this person wants to talk to me so badly, he can come and see me here.”

The shorter one’s eyes went flat and dangerous. “You, a disgusting exile, think you can give orders to us? To him?”

Alec stared back, not giving an inch. “I doubt that the man whose name is on this letter knows anything about this. What possible reason could he have to want to talk to me? The whole idea is preposterous, which means you’re here for another reason. I might be an exile, but I will die before joining the Circle or going anywhere with Valentine’s lackeys.”

The taller one narrowed his eyes. “He can’t be seen meeting with you in public.”

Alec shrugged. “Fine. Give me a meeting place and time, and I’ll make my way there. If it doesn’t look like a trap, I’ll even talk with whoever shows up.”

The shorter one sneered at him, but the taller one considered Alec’s words for a moment before nodding grudgingly. “You might not be such an idiot after all.” He passed over a different sheet of paper.

There’s a hidden underground storage facility beneath the building opposite Pier Sixty. It will be empty, aside from myself. My two guards will wait outside. Be there at 2.00 am.

Alec gave the appearance of thinking about it. “Fine. But if I see anything I find even remotely suspicious, I’ll leave.”

The shorter one plucked the paper from Alec’s hand, sneer deepening. Without further discussion, they both turned and left, striding through the crowd as if they owned the place. More than one downworlder threw dark glares their way, not that they cared.

Alec pulled out one of several burner phones Magnus had provided him for this mission—Magnus was very organised—and texted Magnus with his next move. Magnus texted back an acknowledgement and suggested that Alec should give him half an hour to relocate.

With nothing better to do, Alec slipped in and out of various buildings and alleyways, sometimes going high, sometimes low. He had to admit that a building on the waterfront was a good strategy on whoever’s part; it limited the number of approaches Alec could make.

Magnus texted that he was in place fifteen minutes later, and then he and Alec spent the remaining time exchanging increasingly innuendo-laden small talk. It was flirty and fun, and Alec was sorry to destroy the sim card. Still, they’d agreed that the probability of Alec being searched was too high for him to keep anything that would point to him having support.

He wasn’t searched, but better to be safe than sorry, and Alec appreciated the novelty of not being the only one advocating for caution. It was something he hoped to get used to.

Alec had been hunting and killing demons for over a decade. In all that time, he couldn’t remember feeling quite as vulnerable as when entering the designated meeting area.

The man waiting for him certainly looked like Malachi Dieudonné.

“Lightwood. You’re more resourceful than I gave you credit for.”

It also sounded like the Consul. The man had given enough speeches during Clave functions that Alec had a passing familiarity with his voice and intonations. Not enough that he was absolutely sure, but enough to be relatively confident.

Alec stood at parade rest about six feet away from him, alert and wary, and waited until Dieudonné activated a set of secrecy runes that made adamas lining the walls light up briefly. “I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment. What do you want?”

Dieudonné watched Alec as carefully as Alec was watching him. “I have a task for you. It’s highly classified and vital to the Clave’s survival, and I think you might be just the person to undertake it. Do well, and your recent exile can be overturned. Your record will note that the trial was a farce to facilitate your entry into an undercover operation, part of a wider plan.”

Alec kept his face blank and unresponsive. “It seems strange that you would choose someone whose resourcefulness you just admitted to lacking faith in for something so important.”

Dieudonné’s eye’s narrowed slightly. “You were suggested to me as an ideal candidate. I admit, I thought my advisor was wrong. Nonetheless, I have used current events to test you. I expected you to make contact with your parabatai or your sister, or to seek shelter from other known associates. Imagine my surprise when you fell off the grid so completely that we couldn’t track you.”

Alec stared at him.

Dieudonné paused for a long moment. Alec felt that the Consul was waiting for Alec to volunteer information about his methods, and a week ago, Alec would have indulged him. The Consul was the titular leader of the Clave, and Alec knew better than to be obstructionist unless there was a specific reason.

But Alec wasn’t a member of the Clave anymore. The man in front of him was the one who’d seen to that, and Alec didn’t owe him anything. True, he still had power over the rest of his family, which meant that Alec still had to be careful, but not even the Clave expected exiled members to be at their beck and call.

Dieudonné continued. “Since then, my people have been watching for you to emerge from wherever you’ve been hiding. Tell me, what was your purpose in approaching the seelie?”

Since it was a direct question, Alec decided to answer. “I can’t skulk around New York forever, so I hoped to come to an agreement with the Seelie Queen. I must have some skills she would find valuable.” He shrugged. “Perhaps as a liaison.”

“You would have worked for the Seelie Queen against the Clave?”

Alec didn’t drop his poker face. “I’ve worked with the seelie enough to know that I don’t have to betray my vows to Raziel to assist them. All it takes is very careful negotiation. It might not have worked out; the Seelie Queen might have refused to even consider it; in which case, I would have moved on to something else.” Alec knew there was no way a politician like Dieudonné could miss his evasion.

“You don’t have any loyalty to the Clave?”

“I’m not part of the Clave.”

This time, the long silence was different. Dieudonné evaluated and assessed Alec, whether as a threat or a possible asset, Alec couldn’t tell. He waited.

“If you accept this mission, your trial will be overturned. You’ll be part of the Clave again.”

“I was on the path to becoming Institute Head,” Alec pointed out. “Will that be restored too? Or will my Clave membership be as a pardoned exile?”

“Do you think your recent actions would stand up to a regular trial? Should you be restored to your former position when you allowed your people to break the Accords? The Clave can’t be seen condoning such things.”

“I think that hindsight sometimes allows us to see that certain choices might be interpreted differently than was originally the case. Everyone knows that history is written by the victors. If it suited their purposes, the Clave would have easily fabricated evidence to see me exiled.”

Something like triumph flashed through Dieudonné’s eyes. “Is that your price? You will undertake this mission, the payment being reinstatement to your former position with full honours for your covert work?”

“No. I’ll hear you out on the understanding that if I choose to undertake the mission, the least possible recompense will be reinstatement with full honours upfront.” He let that sink in. “What is the mission?”

Dieudonné went back to watching him warily. “I’d like you to work with one of my most trusted agents, a man who has given years of his life to this mission and whose existence I’ve worked hard to keep secret. The two of you will attempt to locate Valentine Morgenstern, with the primary goal of retrieving the Mortal Cup. The secondary goal is Morgenstern’s capture, although if that can’t be achieved, his death is acceptable.”

Dangerous, but far less hazardous than the undercover mission that Alec had been half-expecting. He allowed doubt to show on his face for a moment before resuming his impassive mask. “I fail to see why this needs to be conducted in such a covert manner. It’s no secret that the Clave is interested in learning Valentine’s location and apprehending him.”

“Both you and my other agent are officially disgraced, although his disgrace was a less public matter. Should your investigations bear fruit, Morgenstern will learn of your status from his spies and find you less alarming than a known Clave representative. At that point, Morgenstern will have several options.”

Alec nodded. “He might abandon his hideout and go to ground in another location—”

“Which we hope your lack of Clave credentials will forestall.”

“—either killing us, or not. He might kill us and remain where he is, confident that our deaths will ensure his secret is safe. Or he might make an offer of membership. Two disgraced former Clave members should be prime pickings for the Circle; they’re likely to want revenge on the organisation that disgraced them. With my family history, there’s an increased possibility I would agree with his views, even if I don’t openly espouse them.”

“Discovery likely means your death,” Dieudonné agreed. “On the off chance that Morgenstern is feeling merciful, I want you to agree to join the Circle.” There was the undercover aspect that Magnus had warned him of. “In that event, I will assign a handler to receive your reports. Any information either you or my other agent can provide will aid the Clave in keeping our people safe.” He paused. “Unless you manage to get your hands on the Mortal Cup, in which case I’ll expect you to do everything in your power to ensure it’s returned to Clave custody over and above other considerations.”

“The Mortal Cup is already in Clave custody,” Alec lied. “It’s being held in the New York Institute.”

Dieudonné scowled, a break from his previously composed demeanour. “This information would have been more useful to me three days ago, Lightwood. Last night, Morgenstern managed to break into the Institute. The safe, which I have since been formed contained the Mortal Cup, was robbed. We can only assume that the Circle now has it.”

“Then someone inside the Institute is a traitor; not many knew that the Cup was even there.” Alec wondered who’d taken the replica. If they tried to use it, they were in for a disappointment. “Fine. If Valentine’s got the Cup, then the entirety of the shadow world is under threat. I’ll help. But since there’s a chance I’ll need to join the Circle, I want proof of my position as an undercover agent spelt out in my pardon upfront. I won’t have my family bear the stigma of my defection if you and I die.”

Dieudonné’s expression smoothed out again, and he nodded his agreement. “Very well. I already mentioned your new partner has been at this task for some time. He’s narrowed down several possible areas Morgenstern might be located and created a base of operations near one of the most promising. It’s located in Pripyat, within the Chornobyl disaster zone. A standing portal has been constructed there, and another was recently placed at a safehouse in Huntingdon. Neither are on Clave records, so they’re a safe mode of transport for the foreseeable future.”

Alec kept his surprise to himself. The construction of a standing portal wasn’t either cheap or straightforward. Creating two, just for a couple of shadowhunters? The Clave was putting a lot of resources into this project, resources that would be difficult to absorb into the budget without explanation. Still, that wasn’t his concern.

“When will the mission be considered complete?” asked Alec. “Fulfilling either of the objectives might make the other nigh on impossible.”

“Ideally, you would achieve both,” replied Dieudonné. “I recognise that that may not be possible; in which case, I will accept the completion of either objective as fulfilment of the mission. At that time, you may present the writ of reinstatement to the Clave for actioning.”

That seemed straightforward enough. “Who is my partner going to be?”

“I’ll let him introduce himself. He initially hoped that I would assign your parabatai to this mission. However, I convinced him that although your parabatai might be considered one of the Clave’s finest warriors, you are the better choice for a mission that requires this much patience.”

That was reasonable. Although Jace’s hot-headedness wasn’t a secret, it wasn’t as well documented as his combat scores. It was weird that someone thought requisitioning one of the most well-known young shadowhunters in the Clave was a good idea for a covert operation. Whoever it was, he had a lot of influence for the Consul even to consider it.

Alec decided not to comment on that. Perhaps finding out this mysterious man’s identity would answer some of the questions this meeting had raised. “When is he expecting me?”

“If you want to go now, I have a car that can take us to the Huntingdon Portal.”

“Do you have my writ of exoneration and reinstatement at hand? On official, adamas infused Clave letterhead, with the appropriate seals?” One advantage of being the de facto Head of the New York Institute was that Alec was familiar with the requirements for a Clave declaration, like the one he’d been promised, to be legally binding. That was going to come in handy.

Dieudonné’s eyes tightened. “Not yet. Crafting a legally binding declaration in secret takes time. The adamas paper is carefully monitored; I cannot remove sheets of it at will. I give you my word that I will make documenting your exoneration and reinstatement a priority, but locating Morgenstern’s stronghold can’t wait.”

Alec was unmoved. “You must have expected my price; you’ve had more than enough time to have a document prepared. That you haven’t already done so gives me doubt that you ever intended to. Perhaps you hoped that I would be naive enough to take a politician’s promise on faith.” Plus, Alec had no intention of going anywhere with Dieudonné before discussing this development with Magnus and Ragnor.

“You’re a soldier of the Clave; you follow my orders.”

“Not yet, I’m not. Until I have that document, I’ll consider myself a free agent. If you want to talk to me again, I’ll be at the Hardtail each night just before midnight.” He turned to go, then remembered that as far as Dieudonné knew, Alec was a bit short in the weapon department. Over his shoulder, he said, “By the way, if you intend to utilise my skills to their full potential, I’ll need weapons: a full set of blades and a bow, quiver and supply of arrows. My preferences are on file.”

Walking out on the Consul shouldn’t have felt so good. It was a petty power play, one that Alec knew might backfire on him in the future, but after years of following Clave orders to the letter—even if his interpretation of some of those orders had been stretched almost beyond recognition—it felt good to vent his annoyance with them just a little bit.

He opened the door, breaking the secrecy barrier that Dieudonné had put into place, and left.

v^v^v

Magnus was pleased that the planned method of getting Alexander home safely worked as well as expected. The dear creature had tried to suggest he go back to his tiny little flat rather than impose on Magnus again, but Magnus was having none of it.

“If you’re worried about all that food we bought the other day spoiling, you’ll be relieved to know that your entire kitchen is currently under a preservation charm,” Magnus informed him airily. “In the meantime, we should get this debrief out of the way as soon as possible and then get some sleep.”

Alec smiled that adorable, shy smile Magnus was becoming so addicted to. “Thank you. I really enjoyed sleeping on a bed without my feet hanging over the end.”

Magnus mentally patted himself on the back for an excellent conjuring job and made plans to lengthen his own bed, just in case. “While I’m thinking about it, I’ll recharge that bracelet for you.” He traced his fingers over the symbols, pushing his magic into them again. “There. Now, which would you prefer first, the good news or the bad news?”

“The bad news, please.”

“The bad news is that the runes interfered with the bug I planted in your shoe. The good news is that with some rather ingenious spellwork,” Magnus stopped briefly to preen, “I was able to lock onto the Holy Grenade and hear past the runic shielding. Ragnor and I missed the first part of the conversation but heard everything from the point where you said you’d hear him out.”

“This whole setup seems highly suspicious to me,” commented Ragnor. “I don’t like that Dieudonné wasn’t willing to tell you the other agent’s name. That suggests that you’d recognise it and have a negative reaction.”

“Someone with a famous name, who was disgraced,” murmured Alec, trying to think of someone who met those criteria. “And who hasn’t been seen in years. Maybe someone who’s supposed to be imprisoned but has been free all that time. It can’t be Hodge; he’s been too visible around the Institute, and besides, we have strong evidence that he’s working with Valentine, not trying to locate him for the Consul.”

“Or even someone who was declared dead,” Magnus suggested. “That’s one of the simplest ways to make sure no one notices when someone goes missing for years at a time.”

Alec shrugged. “I guess I won’t know until I meet him; if I meet him. What do the two of you think?”

“You know my thoughts on going undercover with Valentine,” Magnus reminded him. “It would be signing your death warrant, with a side order of torture and possibly experimentation. I’m also not sure I trust this Dieudonné fellow.”

Ragnor rolled his eyes. “He’s a high-ranking Clave official; of course you don’t trust him. That doesn’t mean that Alec can’t rely on him.” He turned to Alec. “Not that I’m suggesting you should; you should make your own assessment. But Magnus and I are obviously going to be biased against him, given his history with the downworld.”

Alec frowned. “What history is that? All I know about him, other than his record as Consul, is that he invented a way to cage greater demons. He leveraged that into a political career and rose to Consul shortly after, although it’s been suggested quietly that it was less on his own merits and more because the major factions of the Clave were deadlocked. Neither side would relent and allow the other side’s candidate to win, and Dieudonné was a compromise that both could agree on.”

Ragnor turned that over in his mind. “That makes a lot more sense than a sudden meteoric rise through the ranks. When I was at the Academy, he was considered a solid bureaucrat, a stickler for upholding even some of the more non-sensical of the Clave laws. Certainly not a man with the charismatic or forceful personality one would expect the Consul to have.”

“His history with the downworld isn’t very dramatic either,” Magnus explained, since it looked like Ragnor wasn’t going to. “It’s more that he always, without fail, ascribes the worst possible motivations to any downworlder he interacts with. An ordinary shadowhunter with prejudices like that can be worked around and avoided. When it’s the Consul…”

“There’s no hope that his superior might be more reasonable and mitigate his rulings,” finished Alec. “Huh.” He compared that interpretation of the Consul’s character to his own observations and found that they fit together well enough. “So, you’re saying that the only good thing you can say about him is that at least he’s not working with Valentine.”

Magnus shrugged. “Ragnor’s right; you should come to your own conclusions.”

“Aside from trying to screw me over with that official exoneration and reinstatement, he hasn’t given me a reason to distrust him. On the other hand, he’s not given me any reasons to trust him, either. And this covert operation is being run in a highly questionable manner.” Alec sighed. “I think I should go through with it. At least as far as meeting this agent, anyway.”

“Pripyat is an inspired place to secrete a base,” said Ragnor thoughtfully. “A city with no population, full of useful buildings that no one pays any attention to. Some careful shielding will take care of any concern about long-term radiation exposure, and anything short term will be shrugged off by shadowhunter’s natural resilience. I’m surprised the Clave hasn’t taken advantage of the situation.”

“If there are no people there, the Clave won’t bother wasting resources,” Alec said. “Institutes are placed in high population areas because those are the places demons are drawn to. Idris has plenty of space for anything not directly related to protecting populations, and there’s no need for extra shielding.”

Ragnor rolled his eyes. “Of course. Silly me for expecting the Clave to consider anything but the most efficient way to expedite their goal of removing all demon blood from the earth.” At Alec’s look of vague discomfort, he waved a hand. “Don’t mind me. I’m not poking my finger at you; it’s just that sometimes the bitterness gets the better of me.”

“The Clave isn’t perfect, but it does perform a necessary service,” said Alec. “We’re taught that it’s our duty to hunt demons and kill them—hopefully before they can harm mundanes—and any militarized society has extremists and malcontents. The problem arises when the extremists achieve positions of power, but other than raising a vigilant population, there’s no real way to guard against that. And populations get complacent.”

“I’ve travelled the world for hundreds of years, young Lightwood. You don’t need to tell me that oppression is inevitable.”

“Don’t mind Ragnor,” Magnus interrupted. “He’s an ornery old fusspot, and he sometimes likes to stir the pot at inopportune times. And there’s—” Magnus fiddled with his ear cuff, “—something I should probably tell you.”

Alec raised his eyebrows. “You’ve got the same look on your face that my sister had when she didn’t want to tell me she accidentally dropped my back-up quiver in the Hudson after she ‘borrowed’ it for a mission without asking.”

“Well, hopefully, my news isn’t quite as dire as that.” Magnus wasn’t sure how Alec was going to take this. “Remember our discussion about Jace being a Herondale? The friend who lent me the stele you’re using, she, uh,” Magnus cleared his throat. “Kind of married my friend Will and bore his children. I happened to mention that Jace has the birthmark and told her about the duck thing. To make a short story even shorter, she was thrilled to hear that she still has a living descendant and wants to meet him.”

Alec heaved a deep sigh. “You did tell her that we’re not certain? That Jace believes himself to be a Wayland?”

“Of course I did!” replied Magnus indignantly. “She responded that anyone can claim a baby as their own, but magical birthmarks can’t be stolen.” No need to remind Alec that Tessa’s reaction mirrored Magnus’. “The last time she saw Stephen, he told her Céline was pregnant. Next thing she knew, all three of them were dead, and the Herondale line was extinct.” He paused. “Stephen and Céline’s child would be twenty-one. How old is Jace?”

Alec swallowed, wide-eyed. “Twenty-one,” he confirmed. “His birthday is in January.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I need to talk with Jace. He needs to know about this.”

“At some point, we need to talk to Biscuit about our suspicions regarding her power of persuasion,” Magnus pointed out.

Alec shook his head. “She won’t be in a place to listen until she gets her mother back. Especially not if she discovers I have anything to do with it.” He sighed. “I’m surprised Izzy hasn’t been in touch. If the Consul knows the Mortal Cup is gone, she must know too. I guess the question is whether she hasn’t contacted us because she thinks we took it or because she doesn’t want to worry us.”

“Which do you think is most likely?”

“That she suspects we took it and is laying low in the Institute. Also, with what nearly happened to Meliorn, she might be trying to keep a closer eye on Lydia Blackwall.”

Magnus nodded. “Would you like me to arrange another meeting? I could ask her to bring Jace.”

Alec considered the question for a moment, stifling a yawn. “No, I’d prefer to know what the situation with this agent of the Consul will involve, first. Although, if she reaches out to you first, then set up a meeting.” He tapped his fingers against his chair. “We could also pass information through Meliorn, provided we didn’t mind the Seelie Queen finding out about it.”

Magnus winced. “That might not be an option. From something Meliorn said, I gather she recently sent him a fire message to sever her ties with him.”

“What?” Alec’s bewilderment was unmistakable. “Why would she do that? Meliorn was her favourite…oh.” A pained expression crossed his face. “It was for me. The dress, the shoes, ending it with Meliorn; she did it to protect me. And then it was wasted when I was exiled.”

“Protect you?” asked Ragnor. “From what?”

“Having to make a marriage of convenience,” said Alec. He lowered his face into his hands, looking more distressed by this news than by his own exile. “She knows I’m gay; she’s always known. When my mother told me the only way Izzy and Max would have choices was if I married well enough to restore our standing in the Clave, I knew I couldn’t avoid it anymore.

“Izzy told me not to, said that she’d take care of it, but I wasn’t going to let her sacrifice herself like that. At least she has the chance of being happy in a shadowhunter marriage. If I’m going to be miserable either way, I’d at least like to know that my sister is happy. I thought I’d made that clear.”

“Alexander, you were willing to sacrifice your happiness and career for your sister,” Magnus pointed out. “Why is it such a surprise that she would be willing to make a sacrifice for you?”

Alec’s mouth twisted with unhappiness. “I’m the eldest! I’m supposed to protect them!” He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I need to talk to Meliorn. He should know what it was really about.”

Magnus privately thought Alec was less concerned with Meliorn’s feelings than with how his sister was perceived by someone she cared about, but that was understandable coming from a protective elder brother. “I don’t know if he’ll want to speak with you. Whatever she said caused him great offence; I’ve rarely seen a seelie react in such a prickly fashion. Not over a personal matter, anyway.”

“Maybe that’s something that can wait until after you meet with the Consul’s agent,” suggested Ragnor. “If Valentine has shown himself enough of a threat that the seelies are trying to placate him, we don’t want to notify them of this covert operation. The Seelie Queen is capricious and inconstant; it’s impossible to predict the path she’ll choose.”

“In the meantime, there’s nothing to stop me from setting up a base in the city, too,” said Magnus, wondering if it was worth it to make a semi-permanent installation. Maybe a second home? The radiation levels at Pripyat were even less of an issue for warlocks than for shadowhunters, and there was a great deal of space going begging. “I’ll tell Tessa she’ll have to wait until things are a little calmer, and Ragnor can amuse himself in our absence by taking care of my backlog of clients!”

“I knew that this whole thing would end up with you foisting your duties onto me,” Ragnor said accusingly.

Magnus beamed at him. “If you want to take point on a field trip into an irradiated city to search for Valentine Morgenstern and whatever horror show he’s set up, then fine. I’ll stay here and mix up glamour paste and magical energy boosters.”

Ragnor sighed. “Fine. But only if you leave me with a case of that brandy I like.” He gave Magnus a significant look. “And don’t go wearing yourself to a flinder because you’re too proud to ask for help.”

Magnus scoffed. “I’ll have you know that my stamina is excellent.”

Alec, remembering how unsteady Magnus had looked while healing Luke, made a mental note to keep an eye on things and make sure he got enough rest. In a lot of ways, Magnus and Izzy were very alike. Both energetic and kind, with a love of pretty things and socialising. Both were highly intelligent and just as curious, and both were only too willing to exhaust themselves to help someone who needed it.

Luckily Alec had two decades of practice looking after Izzy. It would make good training for looking after Magnus.

Chapter ten

Alec and the Consul went through the portal in Huntingdon at midnight, arriving in Pripyat at 7.00 am local time. Meeting Dieudonné’s agent was a shock. He’d speculated on the man’s identity, but the thought that it might be his parabatai’s father had never entered his head.

When Jace came to the Lightwoods, he’d been well trained in standard shadowhunter weapons—and a few non-standard ones—knowledgeable about runes and their uses, and with a near encyclopaedic understanding of demon anatomy and weakness.

He was also jumpy and untrusting, determined not to allow ‘feelings’ to create weaknesses that an enemy might exploit, and nursing a pathological hatred for Valentine Morgenstern, who he’d seen murder his father with his own eyes.

It had taken a year of reassurance, and Max’s birth, for Jace to choose to let go of the notion that caring for others made a shadowhunter weak. Even after more than a decade with the Lightwoods, Jace still struggled with self-worth.

Jace tended to regard his—previously thought dead—father as an ideal. A consummate warrior who focused on the mission, discarding distractions and unnecessary attachments.

Alec, on the other hand, regarded Michael Wayland as an abusive asshole who’d nearly broken one of the most important people in Alec’s life. The story with the hawk, in particular, was horrifying. Shadowhunters had hard lives; their childhoods were given over to training, and they often died young. Deliberately setting a child up for trauma the way Michael Wayland had done with Jace…. Alec despised it, despised him.

The Consul explained the situation. Wayland had been captured by Valentine, rather than killed, but had escaped five years ago. Since then, he’d been working with the Clave to discover Valentine’s locations.

Alec didn’t buy it. He’d been the de facto leader of the New York Institute long enough to know what a rehearsed story sounded like. The Consul was lying to him, although how much and what part of the story was a lie was yet to be discovered. But even if it had been true, it would mean that the man who’d raised Jace, that Jace had mourned and swore to avenge, had been alive and well and free for five years. During that time, he hadn’t once contacted Jace.

Looking into the pale eyes of a man he detested, it took all of Alec’s training not to let his true feelings show on his face.

Wayland didn’t look any more impressed with him.

The Consul either didn’t pick up on the tension or decided to ignore it. “Wayland, I expect you to continue reporting on the usual schedule. Lightwood, for the first couple of weeks, I expect daily reports to be left at the Huntingdon safehouse. Address them to Uncle Vinny.”

Alec nodded. “Full mission details, or a condensed summary?”

“Full mission details to start with,” Dieudonné replied. He looked between the two of them. “Well then. If there are no questions, I’ll let the two of you get on with it.”

His two loyal guards following close behind, Dieudonné returned to New York. Alec and Wayland stared at each other for nearly a minute before Wayland broke the silence.

“You’re the Lightwood heir?” Wayland’s lip curled ever so slightly. “I thought Roberts’ son would be shorter. Are you sure you’re genetically a Lightwood? Maryse used to be chummy with the Castel boy back in the day. Robert would never listen to suggestions that she might be betraying him, but he couldn’t, could he? It was common knowledge that his parents arranged the marriage as soon as his disappointing Academy scores came to light.”

Alec rolled his eyes. Hodge had warned him about those rumours years ago. It was true, he did bear a passing resemblance to Felipe Castel, but the gossip mongers seemed to forget that Robert Lightwood’s maternal grandmother was a Castel. As for his mother’s familiarity with Felipe, the Castels—Ricardo and Morena and their two children, Trina and Felipe—were the family Maryse had been fostered with during her childhood.

Alec had fostered for several months with the Penhallows and still had a close relationship with Aline. But that closeness didn’t translate to anything other than a deep friendship; it was perfectly reasonable for his mother to have developed similar ties to the Castels.

Any quiet doubts Alec might have had about his legitimacy had been put to rest by Izzy, who’d done a DNA test which proved they were full siblings. Felipe Castel died a year before Izzy was even conceived, so he couldn’t have fathered her.

Given Magnus’ certainty that Jace had been fathered by Stephen Herondale, Wayland’s insulting line of questioning struck Alec as hypocritical in the extreme. Not that he was going to say so. As much as he wanted answers from Wayland, it was Jace’s prerogative to ask for them, not his.

“What exactly did you need another pair of hands for?” Alec asked, ignoring the taunts. “Dieudonné wasn’t forthcoming with details.” He let his gaze linger over the damaged and deteriorating walls and the uneven, battered floor of the old warehouse they were in.

Three feet away from the portal was a situation table that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an Institute. Four large plasma screens were set against the nearest wall, with a seven-drawer unit sitting next to them, tucked into the corner.

Benches ran along the perpendicular wall, littered with seraph blades in various states of repair, some steles and what looked like a pair of kindjal daggers. At the far end was a small room that had probably served as an office. The glass that had initially separated the office from the central warehouse had long since shattered, and even from this distance, Alec could see it was now set up as a sleeping area.

“I believe I’ve located the primary base,” replied Wayland. “If not the primary, then at least a high-value location; I’ve seen Morgenstern himself twice. I’ve set a camera to monitor the entrance, but it won’t be much use if they’re using their runes. Someone needs to be watching. On top of that, I’m trying to pinpoint three other locations of interest. One of them is in New York; another is in London; the third is in Kinshasa.”

Alec frowned. Kinshasa rang a mental bell, but he couldn’t quite place it. “I’m still not seeing where I come in.”

“I traced him to those cities, but after that, I hit a brick wall,” said Wayland. “I’m concerned that I might have been made, that Morgenstern’s people might be leading me around by the nose while the important stuff is happening elsewhere. For the first couple of weeks, I’ll keep an eye on the base here so you can be a fresh pair of eyes. Hopefully, you’ll see what I’ve missed. You’re an archer, right? You’re used to paying attention to the small details. We’ll compare notes every day at seven am local time, after which you’ll take watch for three hours so I can get some sleep.”

“Where in New York?” Alec’s mind was racing. Was it possible Valentine had a base in the same city where Jocelyn and Clary were hiding, and Luke was a police officer? The whole idea was madness, yet Alec could see how someone with Valentine’s reputed arrogance might enjoy such a gambit.

It would certainly explain the frequency that Alec and his siblings had been tripping over Circle members lately.

“I’d bet money that it’s close to the East River, somewhere between Astoria and the Navy Yard. I’ve spotted Circle members in that area too often to be a coincidence. I’ve also clocked several of them quartering New York’s boroughs over the years. Malachi told me Morgenstern’s wife and daughter were discovered in Brooklyn; I think we can make an educated guess as to what they were looking for.”

“You think Valentine knew that Jocelyn and Clary were somewhere in New York?”

Wayland’s eyes glinted with amusement. “There’s no way to say for sure, but I think we can safely assume he knew they were somewhere in the vicinity. Considering the rumours surrounding his wife and his parabatai, he would have been a fool to have lost track of them, and Lucian’s employment is a matter of public record for those who know where to look.” He grimaced. “It’s hard to believe that Lucian didn’t kill himself; it’s what I would have expected. I don’t know how he can live with it.”

It wasn’t the first time Alec had heard a shadowhunter express the opinion that Luke would be better off dead than as a werewolf. Personally, Alec thought coping with the betrayal of his parabatai would have been the more challenging aspect of that whole situation.

Wayland had already moved on. “It’s possible Morgenstern won’t be focusing as much manpower on New York anymore, now that they’ve been found. I suppose it remains to be seen.”

Alec had to concede that for someone who was supposed to be hiding, Jocelyn had made some rather glaring mistakes. It was the same strategy as she’d used to conceal the Mortal Cup; leave it out in plain sight and hope no one puts the pieces together. “If Valentine’s been paying attention to his daughter’s movements in the last couple of weeks, he will be familiar with my face.”

Wayland openly scoffed. “You think someone with as many plates in the air as Morgenstern will pay that much attention to a peripheral satellite like you? Trust me; he’s got bigger fish to fry than a second-rate bureaucrat who’s already thrown away his best chance at making something of his life.

“If you’re worried your stealth skills are under-par, leave New York till last. It’s possible that Circle members posted there will have been given information on the more well-known members of the Institute, and they’ll probably shoot first and ask questions later if they catch you lurking in the shadows.”

Interesting. Wayland was deliberately trying to wind him up. Alec let some of the anger he was feeling on Jace’s behalf rise to the surface and show on his face before squashing it down again. Maybe if Wayland thought he was getting what he wanted, he’d accidentally let something slip that would give Alec a better idea of what was really going on.

Wayland’s automatic assumption that Alec carried around an inferiority complex showed him to have some glaring blind spots of his own. It was an odd opinion to have of someone he’d never met; however, if Michael Wayland had carried Robert Lightwood as much as Ragnor said he had, Wayland might expect Alec and Jace’s bond to function similarly.

The parabatai bond Alec shared with Jace wasn’t perfect, but it was strong enough that Alec was confident that their situation was nothing like that. Jace might be more skilled at weapons craft, runeology, and demonology, but Alec was the closest thing Jace had to an equal in their age group. He wasn’t some barely average heir to a prestigious line, indulged and accommodated because of an accident of birth.

Neither Alec nor Jace was particularly good at lateral thinking—they relied on Izzy for that kind of inspiration—but Alec was better at following a conclusion back to a logical starting point, filling in the gaps to make a chain for others to follow. He was also better at looking beyond the immediate goal to the larger picture and was streets ahead of Jace when it came to leading other warriors.

Other shadowhunters found Jace’s enthusiasm engaging and his skills inspiring, but he had a habit of rushing off without considering all the possibilities. Alec’s insistence on research, caution, and planning, had saved them from many situations that might have ended in their deaths. People might like Jace more, but they were happier to follow Alec.

“Dieudonné put you in charge,” Alec said. “And you’re the one with the operational knowledge. Walk me through what you’ve already done, and I’ll see what other avenues I can think of.”

No need to tell Wayland that four days of freedom had been more than enough for Alec to realise that he’d never again bow to Clave authority the way he used to. Hopefully, his insistence on receiving written confirmation of his reinstatement would lull Dieudonné and Wayland into thinking he wanted to be part of the Clave enough to be ready to take stupid risks to prove himself.

Like taking Wayland’s word for it that Valentine wouldn’t know who he was at first glance. The odds of Wayland being correct were low, and Alec knew his worth far too well to place himself at risk for such a low gain. It would be as good as serving himself to Valentine on a silver platter! Then, he’d not only have two hostages, rather than one, but he’d have one who was intimately familiar with the inner workings of the New York Institute.

Alec was thankful to have the Holy Grenade of Antioch hanging around his neck. He really needed to do something nice for Ragnor. Perhaps there were some rare vintages in the Lightwood wine cellar that Ragnor would appreciate? Alec made a mental note to check that out the next time he was in Idris. Or ask Izzy to check for him, if things turned out as badly as he feared they might.

“The location with the least Circle traffic is Kinshasa,” said Wayland, bringing up a map on the situation table with several spots highlighted in red. “These are the areas I’ve managed to track them to most often. Kinshasa would be a good starting point for you, so familiarise yourself with the map.”

Alec nodded. “What about the base here?”

“We’ll get to that. When you’re up to speed with the systems I’ve set up, I’ll show you the vantage point overlooking the entrance I think they’re using. When patrolling the area, I return there at least once an hour to make notes. If you learn something important that you can’t wait until check-in to tell me, wait for me there. Do not send fire messages. I also want you to take watch for the three hours I’m asleep. Remain at the lookout point, I don’t want you screwing this up by getting caught, and there’s no way to blend in with a crowd in Pripyat.”

Another attempt to wind him up. “Before I go anywhere or do anything, I need to be familiar with the data,” said Alec firmly. “I’ll start at the beginning, with your oldest mission reports.”

v^v^v

Magnus was unhappy to discover that the base Dieudonné’s agent had set up for himself was better warded than the meeting place in Manhattan.

Going by the results of some gentle, investigatory spells Magnus had sent out—they mimicked natural magical eddies and weren’t good for anything but bouncing off magical obstructions such as wards—there were at least four areas in the vicinity with significant wards.

That was not a good sign.

Since he was flying blind until Alec contacted him, Magnus placed a few discreet magical sensors near the warded buildings so that he would be notified of demon or angel-blooded beings moving around. Then he got down to taking stock of his magical anchors. He’d used enough of them recently that his usually plentiful supply was barely adequate. Running around with shadowhunters was hell on resources.

After some consideration, Magnus created new anchor points in several places around the deserted city. It would take them longer than usual to mature; magic moved sluggishly without the activity of active users to stir it into motion. Still, the radiation should provide an interesting variation. Perhaps it was something that could be explored in the future.

With that done, Magnus settled in to carve stones to be used as ward anchors.

The creation of anchors, either stones or points, wasn’t especially taxing, but it was tedious and time-consuming. It was a process that was unforgiving of interruptions; Magnus had destroyed many a half-complete anchor by not ensuring he would be free from distractions for the duration.

While waiting for Alec to emerge from whichever of the warded buildings was the one he’d been taken to that morning, Magnus had completed a full set of five anchor stones. He was marking up the stones of a second set when his magical sensors detected Alec’s now-familiar presence.

Alec was accompanied by another with angel blood, although the sensors also reported the presence of demon blood, which was interesting and concerning. Perhaps the Consul’s secret agent was someone who’d run afoul of Valentine and his monstrous experiments during his first rise? Something to keep an eye on.

Magnus waited as the two shadowhunters made their way towards the ruins of the Chornobyl reactor. Sooner or later, Alec would… There. He’d stooped, picked something up—was it a rock?—and was throwing it into the air and catching it. Once, twice, thrice…then dropped it to the ground.

Alec expected to be another three hours in this stranger’s company, and since he let the stone drop rather than throwing it at something, didn’t expect it to be dangerous.

According to their discussion on how to proceed in this scenario, Alec would expect Magnus to go back to his loft and wait for Alec to contact him. Magnus was tempted—he was bored out of his brain—but he really didn’t like the idea of leaving Alec alone here without backup. Not when those warded locations could hold any number of concealed enemies.

After a brief period of indecision, Magnus decided it was stupid to ignore his instincts. He shadowed Alec and the other man, keeping a careful distance. He wore a chameleon cloak that he’d borrowed from Ragnor for this purpose and the enchanted goggles and earmuffs that had been a joke gift from Catarina nearly a hundred years ago. Magnus didn’t need to use active magic with those, which was the point. The chameleon cloak would muffle his presence, but if he started throwing active magic around, he’d light up like a bonfire on the senses of anyone with enough skill to notice.

Alec and the shadowhunter disappeared into another one of the warded areas. The other shadowhunter returned the way they’d come while Alec remained.

It was a long wait.

Aside from a coach load of mundane tourists being shown around the derelict city, nothing happened. Even so, Magnus couldn’t relax. Whatever was making his gut squirm uneasily didn’t go away.

When the three hours were up, the unknown shadowhunter made his way back to Alec’s location. Magnus was relieved when Alec emerged safe and sound.

Magnus retreated to his warded base and teleported to the loft, where the newly risen sun bathed the kitchen with warm light. As soon as he arrived, he realised he was starving and tired. The time difference between New York and Ukraine must have unsettled him. Magnus was used to flitting around the world, in and out of different time zones, but he usually only stayed an hour or two, not the seven he’d spent in Pripyat.

Since Alec would be hungry too, Magnus made sure to get enough food for them both, with hot chocolate rather than coffee, because he intended to sleep as soon as he knew what had happened on this covert mission. He left Alec’s share on a plate, covered with a cloche that had his name on it with glitter to match his eyes and tucked into what was left. He was contemplating whether he wanted a third croissant when Alec arrived.

Alec came into the kitchen, removed the cloche, and helped himself. “This is amazing, thank you,” he said after almost inhaling the first croissant. “Do you and Ragnor always eat French food for breakfast?” He picked up the second one. He ate this one slower and remained focused on the food in a way that made Magnus glad he’d chosen to err on the high side when he estimated how many to get.

Magnus pushed his plate away. “We lived together in Paris for a time. Ragnor adores Parisian cuisine, so I generally indulge him when he’s visiting. When I’m alone, I’m more likely to have roti with my coffee, if I’m up early enough to need breakfast. Often, I start with brunch.”

Alec nodded, swallowing the last bite of his second pastry and picking up the third. “The Institute commissary serves oatmeal all day long, so I’m used to eating that for my first meal regardless of the time of day. This is better, though.”

Magnus wrinkled his nose at the thought of eating oatmeal every day. Oatmeal was fine and good as an occasional food, but it would never be Magnus’ first choice. “I choose what type of meal I’m eating based on time of day in the timezone I’m sleeping in. It helps me keep mental track of the days passing, especially when I’m doing a lot of travelling in a short amount of time.”

By the time Alec finished his third croissant, he was eating at a more normal pace. He picked up the fourth but didn’t dig into it right away. “Were you able to bypass the wards in Pripyat?”

“I could have, but not without advertising my presence,” said Magnus, wrapping his hands around his mug of hot chocolate. “I also didn’t want to probe them too much, in case whoever cast them registers it. It would be too coincidental, given you only just arrived. Maybe in a week or two.”

Alec’s brow furrowed. “You’re going to be tailing me for that long? I thought it was only about making sure this mission wasn’t a trap.” He took another bite, chewing slowly and with enjoyment.

Magnus gave Alec his best disappointed eyes. “Alexander, dearest. Have you never seen a cop drama? The moment you stop surveillance of an undercover agent, the mission goes to hell, and the bad guys get the drop on everyone.”

Alec finished his mouthful, rolling his eyes. “Firstly, no. I haven’t seen a cop drama. I haven’t had the time to spare for TV. Secondly, this isn’t TV, Magnus, and we’re not cops. I’m not some raw newbie; I’ve been running missions for over a decade. I once led shadowhunters over two decades my senior into a situation where we were outnumbered five to one. I came out the other side with my whole team intact and got a commendation on my record. I know what I’m doing.”

“No reason we can’t learn from fiction,” Magnus pointed out. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Alec. It’s that I don’t trust your Consul or that sketchy shadowhunter you met today. Put it this way. Isabelle is an accomplished shadowhunter with a good head on her shoulders; she’s received the same training as you. If it were her going undercover into a situation where Valentine might get his hands on her at any moment, would you want someone to be keeping track of her?”

Alec sighed. “I see your point.” He frowned, abandoning his half-eaten croissant for his hot chocolate. “Remember when we were talking about whether Jace was a Herondale, and I told you that Valentine murdered Michael Wayland, and that’s why Jace came to live with us?”

Magnus nodded.

“The man I met today claimed he was Michael Wayland.” Alec then proceeded to relate the morning’s events.

“The experiments might explain the demon blood I detected,” mused Magnus once he’d been brought up to date. “What isn’t explained is how he managed to escape. I don’t believe the ‘carelessness’ story any more than you. Also, why lie? What’s he hiding?” His eyes sharpened. “You said, ‘claimed.’ You don’t believe him?”

Alec shrugged. “There are so many lies surrounding him; I can’t take anything he says as truth. I know that Jace is certain he saw his father die, and Jace was no stranger to what death looks like. To fool him, it would have to be a damn good imitation. The sort that can only be achieved with the ‘victims’ help. So, either Wayland died, and this man is an imposter wearing his face, or Wayland didn’t die and collaborated with Valentine in his disappearance.”

“The things to tell your parabatai are starting to pile up.”

“Agreed. I need to talk to him; I can’t keep this from him on top of anything else.”

Magnus nodded, yawning. “I’ll let Isabelle know we want to meet. Perhaps after we’ve had some sleep? I don’t know about you, but I could do with a few winks.”

“I could sleep,” Alec admitted. “Something about Pripyat made me more tired than normal.”

“I think it’s our bodies fighting the effects of the radiation,” suggested Magnus. “I know I normally don’t eat as much as I did just now, but I don’t feel overfull. Just sleepy.”

Alec smiled. “I won’t say no to another kip on that wonderful bed. Then I might have a look around the East River. I’m not sure if Wayland was trying to make that section more interesting or less interesting; he all but forbid me from starting my search here.”

“You think he was trying reverse psychology?”

Alec shrugged. “Could be. Or maybe reverse reverse psychology. Hell if I know. But the more I think about it, the more I’m positive Valentine would want to have a base as close to Jocelyn and Clary’s home as possible.”

Ragnor emerged from his bedroom. “The two of you are back already? I thought it was going to take longer than that.” He wandered over to Magnus and picked up the last croissant. “I managed to finish working out how to attach the enchantments to your quiver, Alec. If you leave it with me, I can get working on it this morning.”

“That would be wonderful,” said Alec gratefully. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for you?”

“It was nice to have something to think about in between the mind-numbing drivel I had to deal with all day,” replied Ragnor. “I can’t say I’m sorry that’s over; I can’t stand dealing with entitled clients.” With a snap of his fingers, he had a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. “Magnus, how could you get croissants and not leave enough for me?”

“You’re not off the hook for my clients,” Magnus informed him. “Alexander and I are about to go to bed.” Ragnor raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth; Magnus rolled his eyes. “None of that, thank you. We both need sleep; then afterwards, we have business elsewhere.” He stood, stretching his arms high into the air to let his back align properly, enjoying how Alec’s gaze dropped to the stretch of skin exposed by his shirt riding up. “And don’t try to guilt-trip me. You’re a skilled warlock; you can get your own breakfast.”

Ragnor’s eyes narrowed. “This is terrible hospitality, Magnus.”

“Give me a bad review on trip advisor. I’m sure that will soothe your injured feelings.”

Chapter eleven

After six hours of sleep, Alec felt renewed and refreshed.

He took the time to enjoy the decadence of Magnus’ shower, delighting in the water pressure and the scalding hot water, before getting dressed for patrol. There were several hours to kill before the meeting Magnus arranged, and he wanted to scout out the banks of the East River.

Now that he knew where to look, he hoped to spot indications of shadowhunter activity not authorised by the Institute. Using his runes and his bracelet, Alec felt confident that he would go unnoticed.

Since shadowhunters were trained not to leave obvious signs of their passage, there wasn’t much to find other than the occasional nephilim presence pinging off Alec’s rune-enhanced senses.

He wished he had Jace and Izzy with him. While assured in his abilities, when he patrolled with his siblings, there was a gestalt effect that was only partly due to the parabatai bond. Together, the three of them regularly completed tasks older and more experienced patrol groups failed. If they had been with him, Izzy might have seen a trail that could be followed, or Jace might have noticed a pattern in the markings.

As it was, all Alec learned was that Wayland was correct about clandestine activity and that it led to the river. After a single afternoon’s investigation, he concluded that Roosevelt Island was involved somehow. Of course, those traces might have been left deliberately, and the whole thing might be nothing more than a wild goose chase.

Tracking Circle members was a much more complicated task than tracking demons.

Rather than turn up empty-handed and eat Magnus’ food again, Alec chose to stop at a small Spanish restaurant he and his siblings had discovered three years prior. Mama Sofia’s was ruled over by the titular Sofia, the matriarch of a small family comprised of one daughter, one son, one daughter-in-law, and five grandchildren aged from seven to twenty-nine. She always welcomed Alec and his siblings cheerfully, and her fideuà was a gastronomical delight.

By some magic of interrogative ability that remained a mystery even after three years of knowing her, Sofia quickly discovered that Alec would be sharing this meal with his querido—her word, not Alec’s—and pulled out all the stops.

It was worth the heat that Sofia’s words and laughter brought to his face to watch as Magnus delighted in the savoury dish.

The discovery of a small container containing two marzipan hearts in the bag required an explanation, and Alec soon found himself telling Magnus and Ragnor all about Sofia and her family.

“You must introduce me to her,” said Magnus. “She sounds delightful. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this for years.”

“He does like to know all the best places to eat,” Ragnor commented. “It’s part laziness, part gluttony.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to him, Alexander; he’s the gluttonous one. He’s only jealous that his transportation and conjuration spells don’t have enough power to bring food directly to him; he has to actually go out if he wants to eat food prepared by other people.”

They continued to bicker amicably as they ate. Alec enjoyed the floor show almost as much as the food.

v^v^v

The plan had been to meet Izzy, Jace, and Clary at Pandemonium at seven. Magnus offered them the use of the same private room Alec had met Izzy in the previous Wednesday, and since none of the staff arrived at the club until eight, no one would see them arrive.

In the flurry of getting ready, Magnus remembered to recharge Alec’s bracelet for him, muttering, “I need to work out a better system; this is ridiculous.”

Alec was waiting for Magnus to finish giving Ragnor detailed instructions relating to an elixir that hadn’t quite finished simmering when Izzy called to say that the plan had changed.

“What do you mean, changed?” asked Alec irritably, after Magnus handed the phone over so Alec could talk to Izzy himself. He’d been psyching himself up to give Jace the bad news all day, and he didn’t appreciate further delays.

Izzy paused. When she started speaking again, her voice was carefully neutral. “Clary had a vision about her mother’s location. When she described it, Hodge recognised it as an abandoned smallpox hospital—”

“Roosevelt Island,” interrupted Alec. “East River.” He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. “A vision. I take it she got hold of the necklace and tried to use it again? Let me guess the next part; Clary needs to go there now, and Jace agrees. Neither has much of a plan other than to wing it once they get there, but Clary isn’t listening to reason, and Jace supports her.”

“It’s almost like you were still here.”

Alec was rather glad that he wasn’t. “Tell them that Magnus and I are on the way to meet up with you. Which bridge will you use?” If it were just him, Izzy, and Jace, they would have just dropped off the side of the Queensboro, but since Clary was coming, it would be quicker to continue along the Queensboro and circle back over to the toll bridge at the end of 36th.

“The Roosevelt,” said Izzy, confirming his expectations.

Alec pictured the area in his mind. “We’ll meet you on the southwest corner. See if you can persuade Clary to leave the necklace behind.”

“You flatter my powers of persuasion, hermano.”

Alec laughed. “You can’t be worse at it than me. Give it a go; it’s worth a shot. I’ll see you soon.” He ended the call and handed the phone back to Magnus, who’d already changed the dramatic purple and silver outfit he’d intended to wear to something more sedate, although still eye-catching.

“Biscuit strikes again.”

“Shocking, isn’t it? I think we can safely say that they were the ones who grabbed the substitute Cup. I imagine they took it while rifling the safe for the necklace I’d locked away. Clary used the necklace, experienced a vision, and now we’re heading to the old smallpox hospital on Roosevelt Island on Hodge’s suggestion.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes. “Are you just hoping no one sees us accompanying your siblings into this very obvious trap?”

“Jace will follow Clary no matter what anyone else says,” said Alec, wondering why he suddenly felt so much older than his parabatai. “Izzy won’t abandon him any more than she’d abandon me, and there’s no way I’ll let them walk into one of Valentine’s traps without me to watch their backs.”

“And the whole thing with the Consul’s secret mission?”

Alec smirked. “He’s already given me my official pardon.” He ran his hand over the strap holding his quiver in place, the smirk turning into a frown. “There’s too much going on and too many questions around Michael Wayland. I’m not going to leave my siblings in danger just to play along with whatever game they’ve got going.”

Magnus regarded him for a moment longer before nodding. “So long as you’ve considered the ramifications. I trust you to look before you leap.” His eyes glinted gold for a second, and his devilish smile got Alec’s blood thrumming in a now-familiar way. “Besides, what do you want to bet that this whole thing is a setup so that Valentine can get his hands on the Cup?”

Alec smiled back. “He’s going to be so disappointed. We should break it to him gently.”

“I can be gentle.” Magnus twirled his fingers and then flicked them in Alec’s direction.

Alec felt the soft imprint of phantom lips on his cheek. His smile widened. “I don’t know that you need to be that gentle, not with Valentine, at any rate.”

A disgusted noise from the dining area reminded Alec that Ragnor was still there. “Oh, for goodness sakes. Can’t the two of you go and flirt somewhere where you won’t make innocent warlocks nauseous?”

Magnus’ smile changed as he regarded his old friend. “I think you mean ‘jealous,’ old friend. But if you insist. Alexander, I think you said the southwest corner of 36^th?”

v^v^v

Watching Alec’s reunion with his parabatai was interesting. An ever-present tightness around his eyes was soothed while his shoulders gained extra rigidity.

Although, the extra tension might have been because of Clarissa, who spared Alec and Magnus the briefest of greetings before demanding they continue to where she was sure her mother was being held.

For once, Jace was paying more attention to Alec than to Clary. He practically beamed as he gripped Alec’s arm in greeting. “Alec! I’m glad you’re okay. We’ll have a long talk later about you hiding from us. If it wasn’t for our bond telling me you were okay, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“As soon as Jocelyn is safe, we need to talk,” said Alec insistently. “No more delays. I’ve discovered some things you need to know.”

“Can the two of you leave your homoerotic reunion for after we rescue my mother?” snapped Clary, drawing everyone’s attention. “Normally, I’d be all for getting some popcorn and sitting down to watch, but we’re on a timetable here.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow at Isabelle. This was the first he’d heard about a timetable.

“Clary’s vision showed a clock striking nine,” Isabelle explained. “We’re not sure what the significance is, but Clary got the impression that something important was going to happen then. That’s why it couldn’t wait.” She smiled, but it looked brittle and false. Nothing like the ones she’d been throwing around at the Pandemonium only a few nights ago.

Alec, distracted from Jace, frowned at his sister. He opened his mouth, then reconsidered and shut it without saying anything.

Jace had already switched his focus to Clary again. “Come on. It’s this way.”

“Wait,” objected Magnus. “Shouldn’t we at least have a plan? What reconnaissance has been done?”

“I told you, we don’t have time!” Clary turned, bright hair flaring like a banner in the deepening twilight. “We don’t know what could be happening to her right this moment!” She grabbed Jace’s hand and started across the bridge.

Isabelle just sighed before following.

Alec offered Magnus a half-smile that said everything it needed to. “Come on.”

By the time they reached their destination, night had fallen. They came to a halt at the sight of mundanes carrying guns guarding the doors of the Renwick ruin.

“This isn’t right,” Magnus murmured under his breath. With their runes active, his companions would easily hear him. “No wards, and only mundanes on guard? This couldn’t scream trap any louder than if neon arrows pointed the way, with helpful signs saying, ‘Definitely not a trap’ in three-foot-high letters.”

“We can sneak by them,” whispered Clary, as if he hadn’t spoken. “They won’t be able to see us, right? Like Simon,” her voice hitched slightly, “couldn’t see any of you until you deliberately let him?”

If Magnus weren’t as read-in on the situation, he might have regarded her ignorance with sympathy. He would have been incensed on her behalf that no one had taken the time to teach her anything and blamed her screw-ups on those who should have known better. It was only expected that she would make mistakes if she were making everything up on the fly.

But Magnus had heard the sheer frustration in Alec’s voice when he’d talked of trying to calm things down, to get his siblings and their new best friend to work on finding and rescuing Jocelyn methodically. Clary was still ignorant because she refused to take any advice that didn’t agree with her plans or listen to anyone who disagreed with her.

Perhaps having her mother back, combined with the recent loss of her best friend, would temper her impetuosity.

“We’re not leaving armed enemies at our backs,” stated Alec. “At the very least, they need to be disarmed and contained. Jace, Izzy, you take the two on the doors. Magnus, could you get the one on the roof? I’ll do a sweep around the back.”

“Of course,” Magnus replied, sending a sleeping spell directly at the mundane Alec had pointed out.

Less than two minutes later, all three mundanes had been bound, gagged and frisked, their weapons emptied of ammunition which was confiscated along with the spare cartridges they carried.

Jace wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know how mundanes can stand the smell of guns.”

Clary was already moving ahead. “Come on!”

“We have to wait for Alec,” murmured Isabelle. “He won’t be long.”

Clary flicked a glance her way but continued towards the door. “He’ll be fine. He’s a trained warrior and can take care of himself, remember?”

Isabelle’s eyes sparked with anger, and her whip coiled in readiness. She looked to be spoiling for a fight which, while perfectly understandable, might have negative consequences a little further down the line. Magnus touched her gently on the arm to get her attention. “You wait here for Alexander. I’ll go with Romeo and Juliet and hopefully stop them from doing anything too foolish.”

Isabelle gave him a sharp nod. “Agreed. You’d best get moving; I don’t think they’ll wait.”

“It’s like dealing with children,” Magnus muttered, pleased to see her anger soften. “I’ll see you soon.” He hurried after Jace and Clary.

The room Jocelyn was kept in was large and only dimly lit by the city’s light. Jocelyn lay unconscious, suspended in a magical field.

“Mom!” cried Clary, running straight to her mother’s motionless form. “Mom, wake up! Why won’t you wake up?”

Manus followed her, sending his magic out to assess Jocelyn’s status. “It’s a stasis spell of some kind. So long as her body has the strength to power the spell, it will remain. Very strong. It reminds me of something.”

“Wake her up!” urged Clary. “Please! It’s not safe for her to remain like this!”

Magnus resisted the impulse to immediately do everything he could to bypass the stasis spell. “This isn’t the best location, Biscuit. For now, your mother is in no danger. Let us get her to safety before putting ourselves at more risk.”

“Wait!” said Jace, facing a dark corner. “Someone’s here. Show yourself!”

The darkness moved. A man’s voice spoke. “You always had good instincts.”

Jace twitched, eyes narrowing. “I said, show yourself!”

Michael Wayland stepped out of the darkness.

Magnus sighed. So much for preparing Jace gently. Hmm. Now that Magnus was close enough to see Wayland’s eyes, something about them looked odd, nagged at his memory. He kept silent, hoping it would come to him.

“Father,” said Jace, expression guarded. He didn’t lower his blade.

“You said your father was dead,” said Clary, not leaving Jocelyn’s side.

“He is. He was,” said Jace. “I don’t know how this can be him.”

Isabelle came striding down the corridor, blade in one hand, whip in the other. She was soon at Jace’s side, slightly behind him. Her eyes darted around the room, lingering on Jocelyn, Clary, and Magnus for a moment before moving on.

Alec was hot on her heels and took his place on Jace’s other flank, bow drawn, arrow nocked. “Wayland.”

“Lightwood. I thought I told you to stay away from New York.”

The tension in Jace’s body increased. He glanced at Alec. “You knew my father was alive?” Magnus could hear the ‘you didn’t tell me?’ loud and clear.”

“I found out this morning,” said Alec dryly, lowering his bow but not putting it away. “Remember when I told you I had something important to tell you? I didn’t think a fire message was appropriate. Besides, I have my doubts about whether he really is Michael Wayland.”

“The Consul himself told you my existence was classified, and you couldn’t keep it to yourself for twenty-four hours?” Derision dripped off Wayland’s words. Alec appeared unaffected.

Jace looked slightly mollified. “I suppose that’s reasonable.” He narrowed his eyes at Wayland. “If you’re my father, then where have you been? I watched as you were murdered!”

“I wasn’t killed,” Wayland explained, “only badly wounded. I was captured and kept prisoner for years, experimented on. Eventually, I got free, and I’ve been working to bring the Circle down.” He smiled. “Remember our first demon fight? You were only eight, but you were so brave. Do you remember what you said?”

Jace stared at him with bewildered hope. “I said, ‘I’m ready to die.’”

Wayland stared back intently. “And then I said, ‘Sometimes it’s as brave to live as it is to die.’ Do you remember?”

“I do,” said Jace. “It’s you.” He looked past Wayland to Jocelyn’s unconscious form. “Why are you here?”

“Yes,” said Alec, “why are you here? Last I knew, you were staking out Pripyat.”

Wayland ignored Alec, focusing on Jace. “I’m trying to stop the Circle, just like you. An hour ago, I overheard two Circle members talking about this place; I had to investigate. I didn’t expect to find you here, consorting with a warlock, no less. You know you can’t trust him. He’ll betray you the moment his interests diverge from yours.”

Magnus finally realised what was wrong with what he was looking at. “You’re under a glamour.”

Alec’s bow came up again, the nocked arrow pointing at Wayland.

Wayland sneered at Magnus. “You think your accusations are going to work? I know what you’re after. You’re after the Mortal Cup, and you’re using my son and the rest of them to get it.”

Jace tensed, and Clary shifted, her hand going to the bag she was carrying.

That confirmed Alec’s hypothesis about who’d taken the substitute Cup. Wayland followed the movement, too, a disquieting gleam in his eyes.

Magnus drew the attention back to himself by giving Wayland his best condescending smile. “Who do you think comes across as more trustworthy? The one wearing his own face, or the one hiding behind the face of Jace’s dead father? Or is it not your face that you’re hiding? You wouldn’t happen to be concealing a controversial rune, now, would you?”

Jace gripped his seraph blade tighter. “My father wouldn’t have worked with Valentine. Valentine was the one who killed him!”

“The only way Valentine could stage his death convincingly enough for you to believe it would have involved his co-operation,” said Alec calmly. “Either he’s not Michael Wayland, or he collaborated with Valentine.”

Jace took a deep breath, then nodded. “Drop the glamour.”

The tense moment was interrupted by the screeching sound of approaching demons. Many demons, by the sound of it.

Wayland reacted immediately, pulling a seraph blade from his hip and igniting it. “It’s the Circle! They’ve found us! We need to work together, or we’ll all fall here!”

“We need to get my mother out of here!” Clary commanded. “Magnus, make a portal!”

Magnus was already forming his magic into the familiar shape when a dagger flying directly at his face made him drop the spell to dodge. Demons poured into the room, accompanied by triumphant looking shadowhunters with their Circle runes on full display.

Without a word being spoken, Jace, Izzy, and Alec took up positions around Jocelyn, Clary, and Magnus.

Magnus tried to form a portal again, only to be blocked by a ward rising around them. “They’ve got a barrier that interrupts the portal,” he informed Alec, switching to combat magic instead. “I knew this place was too unguarded.”

“Can you raise a barrier inside their barrier?” Alec asked, drawing, nocking, and loosing arrows one after the other. Demons and Circle members cried out in pain as they found their mark. “At least enough to keep them from overwhelming us?”

Magnus threw another fireball at a Circle member whose face he remembered from the first rise. “Yes, but I won’t be able to hold it up for more than a couple of hours. After that, I won’t be any use for at least a day.”

“We won’t need that long,” Alec assured him.

Magnus did as he asked, trusting that Alec had a plan that wouldn’t end up with him depleted of magic and left at the Circle’s mercy. It was much harder maintaining a barrier without stones or anchor points to stabilise it, and perspiration beaded his forehead almost immediately.

Alec lowered his bow and turned to Clary. “We need to get rid of the demons. With them gone, we’ll have a chance against the Circle. Use the Cup to get rid of them. Send them to attack Valentine.”

Looking frightened but determined, Clary reached into her bag and pulled out the substituted Mortal Cup. She raised it high in the air. “Demons, I command you! Stop attacking us! Attack Valentine!”

The demons continued pushing against Magnus’ barrier.

“You need to be more specific,” Wayland explained. “I’ve got experience with relics; let me try.” He held the hand not holding a seraph blade out imperatively. Clary frowned at him, unsure.

“Don’t be an idiot!” Alec warned. “You can’t trust him!”

“I can make my own choices!” Clary fired back, raising her chin and handing the Cup to Wayland.

“We need to hurry this up,” Jace said, his blade stained with ichor.

“We do, don’t we?” replied Wayland. Holding the Cup in one hand, he used his blade to cut through a rune on his arm that Magnus hadn’t noticed before.

Michael Wayland’s features melted into those of Valentine Morgenstern. “Thank you, my children. I’ve been looking for this.”

Only the knowledge that the Cup Morgenstern was holding wasn’t the Mortal Cup stopped Magnus from dropping the barrier and attempting to incinerate him on the spot. That, and a curiously blank look on Alec’s face. Alec glanced his way, saw Magnus looking at him and gave his head the slightest of shakes.

Alec wanted this to play out. Magnus really hoped he knew what he was doing.

“You killed my father!” snarled Jace. “Prepare to die!” Still holding his blade at the ready, he stepped towards Valentine.

Magnus stifled his slightly hysterical laughter. Now was not the time.

“I am your father, Jace,” said Valentine, making Magnus’ difficulties worse. “I always have been. When I raised you, I wore Michael Wayland’s face for my own reasons, but it was always me. You’ve always been my son. It’s time, Jace. Time for you to take the Morgenstern name and start living up to your potential. Join me.”

Jace faltered. “No. No! You’re lying!”

“Jace, Jace,” said Clary urgently, “don’t listen to him! He’s my father, not yours.”

“You’re both my children,” said Valentine. “You can’t know what a dream come true this is for me, to finally have you both with me. Come with me, my children. Together we can restore your mother and be a family like we were always supposed to be.”

Jace’s hand trembled. “No.”

Valentine shook his head, stepping forward. “Caring for people makes you weak, Jace. Family is what’s important. Everyone else is dead weight, dragging you down. They’ll betray you if you give them power over you. Even your parabatai.”

Alec stepped forward to stand at Jace’s side. “You would think that. We know what you did to your parabatai. Earlier today, you told me that you expected him to kill himself. Instead, he’s been raising your daughter. You know that Clary thinks of Luke as her father, don’t you? He’s the only father she’s known.”

Valentine’s persuasive demeanour fell, rage suffusing his features. “He swore himself to me, then betrayed me! With my own wife!” He took a deep breath and calmed, although his eyes remained lit with some inner fire. “But that’s over. Come now, Jace. You know it’s true. You’re my son, Jonathon Christopher Morgenstern.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Alec said under his breath.

“What if he’s telling the truth?” Jace asked, looking desperate.

Alec shook his head, still watching Valentine warily. “He’s not; I promise he’s not. Clary was right; he’s lying. You’re not Valentine’s son; you’re not even Michael Wayland’s son. You’re the son of Stephen Herondale.”

Valentine regarded Alec with increased hostility. “You’re beginning to get on my nerves, Lightwood. I don’t know why my son burdens himself with you.”

Jace scowled. “I’m getting sick of people ragging on Alec, telling me he’s holding me back. If it weren’t for him, I’d be a barely civilised mess! The day that Alec agreed to be my parabatai was the second-best day of my life, second only to the day of our ceremony.”

“That was my best day, too,” said Alec, exchanging a glance with Jace.

In that moment of distraction, Valentine struck. With a move so swift that Magnus barely saw it, he lunged at Alec, getting his blade to his throat. He retreated, pulling Alec with him. “Stay back! You move one step towards me; I’ll cut his throat!”

“Alec!”

Both Jace and Izzy started forward, only to halt as Valentine’s blade dug into Alec’s throat, drawing blood.

“I said stay back!”

Clary looked shocked, but Isabelle and Jace were more furious than afraid. Despite having a blade at his throat, Alec hadn’t lost his calm. He met Magnus’ worried gaze and winked.

Valentine slowly pulled Alec towards a tall mirror at the edge of the barrier Magnus was holding. “I’ve got what I needed, so I’ll be leaving now. It’s a pity that I can’t take my darling wife too, but perhaps my new companion will be more fun. That stasis spell made things very boring, you know. Lightwood here has no protection of any kind.” His smile was chilling. “It’s time you had another lesson, my son. You’ve forgotten what I tried to teach you with the hawk.”

“No!” shouted Jace, horrified.

Alec finally dug in his heels. “Hey, Valentine,” he said, voice strained around the hand at his neck. “Sucks to be you.”

Magnus closed his eyes.

And then there was light.

Chapter twelve

When the light faded, Magnus opened his eyes.

Alec stood alone, taking deep breaths and rubbing where Valentine had pressed against his throat. Valentine’s empty clothes, the fake Cup, and the deactivated seraph blade lay on the ground.

“Alec!” Jace and Isabelle called frantically, staring around with wide, unseeing eyes.

Clary blinked rapidly, holding onto Jocelyn with all her strength. “Why can’t I see?”

Maintaining the barrier had become much easier. Voices from the other side exclaimed in alarm and confusion over their sudden blindness, and bodies were no longer pressed against it.

“I’m fine,” Alec assured them. His voice sounded a bit rough, and blood was slowly trickling down his neck, but other than that, he looked reasonably okay. “Hopefully, the blinding is temporary.” He didn’t seem to have any problems with his sight as he quickly checked Jace and Isabelle before meeting Magnus’ gaze.

“Well done, darling.”

Alec smiled and shrugged. He looked around. “We should probably do something about this.” He gestured to the other side of the barrier, where most of their opponents had disappeared.

Something about the light show had destroyed the demons, leaving only piles of ichor to mark where they’d been. About a dozen disoriented Circle members remained.

Deciding the risk was worth it, Magnus dropped his barrier, formed a fireball, and threw it into the face of the nearest Circle member. Alec pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked his bow, which had appeared from wherever he kept it. In moments, arrows were protruding from various eyes and throats. Jace and Izzy kept their weapons at the ready but didn’t engage.

It wasn’t anything resembling a fair fight, but Magnus couldn’t bring himself to care.

“What happened?” demanded Jace. “Where did Valentine go? Did he escape?”

Alec sent an arrow through the throat of the last Circle member still standing. “He’s gone, but he didn’t escape.”

Jace scowled. “I’m not in the mood for riddles, Alec.” He blinked. “Wait, I think my eyesight is returning.” He blinked a couple more times before squinting, first at Alec, then around the room.

As soon as she could see again, Isabelle grabbed Alec and looked him over carefully. “Other than your neck, you’re fine. Jace, he needs an iratze.”

Alec shook her off irritably. “I don’t need an iratze, Izzy; it’s just a scratch.”

“It will only take a moment,” said Jace, pulling his stele out of his pocket. “Alec, hold still. Who knows what you’ve been up to in the last few days without Izzy and me to keep you safe? I’d better just—” He reached for Alec’s shirt.

“I’m fine,” Alec insisted, dodging away from them. “Tell them, Magnus.”

“He probably is fine,” agreed Magnus. “Although, I really don’t like how close he came to slitting your throat, Alexander.”

Alec groaned. “Why did you have to mention that again? I’m fine. My rune didn’t even activate!”

Isabelle put her hands on her hips. “You know the rules, hermano. When one of us has been away from the Institute and out of the sight of the others for longer than twenty-four hours, they’re required to submit to a full inspection and a precautionary iratze.”

“That rule isn’t for me,” objected Alec.

Jace shook his head sadly. “We can’t have double standards, Alec. After all, the law is hard, but it’s the law.”

Alec rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Fine. One iratze.” He submitted, allowing Jace to draw the familiar rune. The slight stinging at his neck faded, and when he wiped away the blood, the skin was whole again.

“There. Now all you need is a full check-up in the infirmary,” added Isabelle. “With that settled… What happened to Valentine?”

“We can talk about it once we’re safe,” interrupted Magnus. “Will you be wanting to take Jocelyn to the Institute, Biscuit?”

“Yes,” agreed Clary gratefully, going over to the discarded Cup and putting it back in her bag. “And someone needs to call Luke; he needs to know we found her. But how will we get her there? The barrier is still up.”

Magnus shrugged. “We move her outside the barrier and portal from there.”

v^v^v

It was strange to walk through the Institute doors as an outsider. Alec had belonged to the New York Institute for his entire life; to be treated as an unwelcome guest by people he’d worked with for years was jarring and left him feeling unbalanced.

Lydia Branwell came across as brisk and competent. She took short statements from Magnus and Alec before leaving them to accompany Clary and Jocelyn to the infirmary.

Izzy listened to the explanation for the light show that Alec, Magnus and Ragnor had concocted with interest. The narrow-eyed look she sent his way indicated that she wasn’t fooled.

With the handover complete, Magnus began to make noises about leaving.

Now that Valentine was dead, Alec was within his rights to produce the Consul’s writ and be reinstated immediately. Then again, it wasn’t like the document had an expiry date on it. It was years since Alec had taken time off for anything completely selfish, and he suddenly realised that he didn’t want to go back yet.

Alec turned to Magnus. “I’ll come with you.” He avoided Izzy’s hurt expression and Jace’s scowl. “I’m still exiled; I shouldn’t even be here.”

“We can give the Clave the Mortal Cup, barter it for your reinstatement,” suggested Izzy.

Alec didn’t think the Clave would be impressed with a fake, but he couldn’t exactly say so while he was surrounded by his ex-co-workers. “Let me know when they’ve agreed to that in writing, and I’ll come back. In the meantime, I think of nicer places to spend my time than the holding cells.”

Jace’s frown deepened. “What about those explanations you promised me?”

Alec shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to come and get them elsewhere. Magnus, would it be okay with you if Jace and I talked at your place?”

Magnus offered a brilliant, insincere smile. “Not at all. Why on earth would I have a problem with shadowhunters using my humble abode as a meeting place? I am, after all, always at the disposal of the Clave.”

Alec decided that the twinkling of Magnus’ eyes meant that he actually meant what he was saying, and the sarcasm was feigned. “I’m not part of the Clave, remember? We were literally just talking about that.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “I suppose that means you’re a free agent, at least until the Clave comes to its senses.” He gave Alec a deliberate once-over, bringing warmth to his cheeks. “By all means, I’d be glad to have you for a while.”

“That makes two of us,” Alec declared. “Jace, if you want to talk to me, you can find me at Magnus’. After you’ve written your reports, of course. Since I’m not part of the Clave, I don’t have to do that anymore.”

“Do be sure to call ahead,” Magnus added. “Interruptions can be such a drag. Come along, Alexander.”

Alec savoured the shock on the faces surrounding him—some more than others—and obediently followed Magnus out of the Institute and then through the portal.

When they arrived in the loft, Magnus was already laughing. “Ragnor! You’ll never guess what we just did!”

Ragnor looked up. “You’re both intact, so it can’t have been too exciting.”

Ragnor listened with interest to their activities of the evening. “The demons turned to ash and ichor? That will certainly add weight to the ‘angel-blessed relic’ explanation, although that never happened in my simulations. I wonder if it might have had something to do with Valentine’s angelic blood?”

“You know more about it than either of us,” Magnus said. “It’s a bit difficult to test without angel-blooded beings to test it on, and I’m not allowing you to disintegrate Alexander.”

“Thank you, Magnus.”

Ragnor gave them both a withering look. “As if I would suggest anything of the kind.”

“There’s always Circle members,” Alec pointed out. “We still don’t know what Wayland-stern’s purpose was with the bogus mission. Or if the Consul was in on it or more of an unwitting dupe. Remember me telling you that Wayland-stern wanted me to investigate three locations? As well as the Pripyat base, there was London, Kinshasa, and New York. He said the New York location was somewhere near East River, and that’s where we just were. If the East River location was the Renwick Ruin, then Pripyat, London, and Kinshasa could also be Circle strongholds.”

Magnus nodded. “And Circle strongholds will have Circle members.”

“I can’t experiment on sentient beings without their consent, even if they are in the Circle,” said Ragnor with a frown.

Magnus rolled his eyes. “I’m not suggesting you tie them down and run tests on them, Ragnor. I’m suggesting you supply some trusted allies with experimental devices when they raid those locations and ask them to keep note of the results.”

Ragnor thought about that before nodding reluctantly. “I suppose that’s acceptable.”

Magnus rubbed his hands together. “When can you have another one ready? We should give it a different name. Maybe something shorter.”

“It will have to wait,” said Ragnor. “If Jocelyn was recovered, we’ll need the spell to reverse her stasis. And for that, we’ll need the Book of the White.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes. “You seem strangely knowledgeable about it, considering I only just described her condition.”

Ragnor waved a hand. “Yes, well, as the one who supplied the potion in the first place, it would be remiss of me not to be able to locate the counter for it, wouldn’t it? I couldn’t keep the Book of the White myself; the danger if Valentine caught up with me was too great. But I did keep a method of tracking it. While you were gone, I did a bit of investigation, and I believe I know who currently owns it.”

Magnus’ expression grew stony. “You have ‘but’ face, Ragnor.”

“Camille somehow got hold of it,” explained Ragnor, wincing. “Last I knew, she’s incarcerated in the Gard, one of the few places you and I can’t go. Not if we want to leave again. I’m sorry, old friend.”

Magnus let the silence drag out for a long moment. “I suppose it’s good that Raphael owes me a favour. Between us, we know all her bolt holes. Alexander, I hope you don’t mind if I ask you not to accompany me on this outing. Things will proceed more smoothly if I go alone.”

“Of course.”

Magnus disappeared into his bedroom to change, then left without his usual fanfare.

Ragnor sighed. “Even when she’s gone for good, that awful woman torments him. It’s my fault; if I’d just kept hold of the book…”

“It was a reasonable precaution,” Alec comforted him. “After Jocelyn got Magnus to take Clary’s memories, he fed them to a demon so that if Valentine ever managed to capture him, he couldn’t be forced to hand them over.”

Ragnor laughed humourlessly. “Maybe when this is all over, that will make me feel better. Right now, I feel like I just shoved a knife into his heart.” He gave himself a shake. “So tell me, did the quiver work as expected? I thought it might be useful to separate the interior into sections, quarters perhaps.”

They spent the next half an hour discussing how the enchantments Ragnor had put on his quiver had performed in the field, followed by Alec giving demonstrations of his draw technique.

When Ragnor suggested exploding arrowheads, Alec started to suspect that Ragnor just liked explosions. Still, he couldn’t deny being intrigued by the possibility.

Ragnor pulled out some prototypes and had just begun explaining the safety features when he paused in the middle of a sentence and blinked. “Are you expecting a visitor? A shadowhunter just passed through the wards.”

“It will probably be my parabatai, coming for the answers I promised him,” said Alec. “Or maybe my sister, looking for answers about what happened to Valentine. Either way, you can let whoever it is through the wards. Between the two of us, we’d be more than a match for any lone shadowhunter here for mischief.”

As he finished speaking, his phone chimed with an incoming message. It was from Izzy, saying that she’d lost track of Jace and that he was probably coming Alec’s way.

Alec texted back his thanks and opened the door just as Jace was about to knock. “I distinctly recall Magnus asking you to call ahead.”

Jace frowned. “He was joking about that. Besides, I don’t seem to have interrupted anything, so it’s fine.” He shouldered past Alec and into the apartment. “Ragnor! You’re here again.”

“Still here, would be more precise,” drawled Ragnor. “Don’t mind me.”

“Ragnor was one of the people who recognised you as a Herondale,” explained Alec.

“You mean you weren’t just making up crazy lies to piss Valentine off?”

“Why would a crazy lie bother Valentine?” Alec shook his head. “The truth, on the other hand, pisses liars like him off. Both Magnus and Ragnor independently noticed your resemblance to Will Herondale, and Magnus described your birthmark to me. It’s hereditary, apparently. He was good friends with Will, so he knows a lot about it. We’ll need to confirm with the Inquisitor, but I’m already convinced.”

“Wait, how long have you known about this?”

“I’ve known it was a possibility for a few days now, and I recently got some secondary confirmation that makes it nearly certain. I haven’t had the chance to tell you.”

“Several days? There have been plenty of chances! You’ve been in contact with Izzy; you could have found a way to meet me and tell me. How could you keep something this important from me?”

“To be honest, I didn’t think it was that important. It doesn’t matter to me who provided your genetics. You’re my brother and my parabatai; the rest is just details. The possibility that Michael Wayland was alive…when I discovered that, I organised a meeting immediately. But you decided we had to go do something else.”

Jace stared narrowly at him before giving a grudging nod. “Okay. Fine, you have a point. But don’t keep anything like this from me ever again.”

“I will absolutely not keep astonishing truths about your parentage from you ever again.”

Jace rolled his eyes. “I already said you were right; you don’t have to rub it in.” He sighed. “He might not have been my biological father, but he still raised me. I’m still the weapon he wanted me to be. I’m more Morgenstern than anything else.”

“You’re not a Morgenstern; you’re a Lightwood.”

“Am I? Valentine was right in front of me; Alec, I should have killed him. But I couldn’t.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “That’s why you have a parabatai. I had no difficulty whatsoever killing him. I kinda wish I could do it again.”

Jace’s despondent expression melted into the pleased look he wore when he realised there was a loophole for his bad behaviour. “Since you’ve got a piece of my soul, it’s almost like I did kill him, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely.”

Jace beamed at him. “What was that secondary confirmation you were talking about?”

“It turns out Will Herondale’s wife, the mother of his children and your ancestor, is a warlock.”

Jace blinked. “I thought warlocks couldn’t have children.”

“Don’t ask me,” replied Alec. “Maybe it’s different for nephilim warlocks? Anyway, she kept in contact with her descendants and knew that Stephen’s wife was pregnant. You’re the same age as the baby would have been, you look like a Herondale, you have the Herondale birthmark, and you have the same weird duck phobia. It’s not ironclad proof, but the evidence is piling up.”

“Just the birthmark was enough for Tessa,” commented Ragnor. “She wants to meet you. She thought her line had died out, that you’d been killed with your mother. She’s thrilled that you’re still alive.”

“I’ve got blood relations,” Jace said to Alec wonderingly. “Yesterday, I was the only Wayland left, an orphan in the truest sense of the word. Now I have two blood relations, and suddenly I’ve got a name as prestigious as yours.”

“Wait,” said Alec, concerned. “Jace, you know we don’t care what your last name is, right? I can’t speak for my parents anymore, I’m wondering if I ever knew them, to be honest, but Izzy and I wouldn’t care even if you had turned out to be a Morgenstern.”

Jace’s smile was sadder than Alec was used to seeing. “I know you never cared, but I did. Not enough to reject your offer of family, but I did feel that I needed to prove myself more. I worked hard to live up to you and Izzy. You were so capable and assured; you always knew what we should do and how to get things done. Izzy was so smart, talking our ears off about science, metallurgy and anything else that caught her fancy. All I had was my skill as a fighter. I was determined not to let you all down.”

Alec gave him a half-smile. “So, you were working your butt off to be worthy of us, I was working my butt off to be worthy of you, and Izzy was working her butt off because she refused to be left behind.”

“Sounds about right. And now all three of us kick ass on a regular basis.”

“While managing to look exceptionally pretty,” said Magnus from behind Alec. “It’s really too much for a little warlock’s heart.”

Alec was relieved that Magnus seemed to have recovered most of his poise. In his hands, he held a large book bound with white leather. “You found it!”

“Indeed, I have.” Magnus walked to his correspondence desk and placed the book carefully on its surface. “I’ve found the entry for the potion Jocelyn used and glanced over the spell that will reverse its effects. Performing it can wait until tomorrow—” he looked at the clock, “—or perhaps later today. After I’ve had some rest, anyway.”

“Wow.” Jace looked impressed. “I was sure it would be a whole other mission to find out how to reverse that spell.”

“It’s amazing what can be achieved when one consults professionals in a calm, orderly manner,” replied Alec flatly. “It’s almost like it’s more effective than running around without any plan.”

Jace wrinkled his nose. “You’d think that someone who was exiled a few days ago would be a bit less anal about following rules.”

“You’d think that someone whose blatant rule-breaking got his brother and parabatai exiled might be a bit more concerned about following procedure.”

“Alec, even you haven’t come up with a procedure for what to do if your dead father comes back to life then turns into your new girlfriend’s mass-murdering, terrorist father.”

“I will soon,” retorted Alec. “Speaking of your new girlfriend, I’m surprised she didn’t come with you. Didn’t she want to support you in your search for the truth about your parentage?”

Jace shrugged, unconcerned. “She only just got her mother back, and it’s not like I need her to keep me safe or anything.”

Alec sighed. Jace had honed infuriating obliviousness to an art form. He was so good at it that Alec, who arguably knew Jace better than anyone, could only be ninety per cent sure he was doing it on purpose.

“As amusing as this witty repartee is, do you think we could wrap it up?” Magnus had acquired a full martini glass from wherever it was he kept them and was observing Alec and Jace with raised eyebrows. “Far be it from me to attempt to teach manners to the exalted nephilim, but it’s past midnight, and it’s been a long day.”

Alec was in complete agreement. “Go home, Jace. Tell Clary her mother will be restored tomorrow; maybe let Luke know as well.”

“Will you be coming with?” Jace asked. “I promise I won’t let them put you in a holding cell.”

Alec shrugged. It was an empty promise, and they both knew it. Not that Alec was truly apprehensive. He could always activate the Consul’s writ if things started looking bleak. “Maybe. I’ll talk it over with Magnus. It’s not like my presence is strictly necessary, after all.”

Jace decided not to push it. He gave Alec a quick hug, said a brief farewell, and headed back to the Institute.

Alec closed the door behind him with a sigh. “No doubt he’s looking forward to giving Clary the good news. Why is it that over the last few weeks, I’ve started to feel the age gap between us is larger than it’s ever been before? Right now, those two years feel more like two decades.”

“Situations like this tend to bring out the best and worst in people,” said Magnus, handing Alec a banana daiquiri. “Often at the same time. It’s not surprising that you’ve aged more quickly than your siblings, what with your increased level of responsibility. They’ll get there, eventually.”

“Will I survive that long?” asked Alec. His phone rang with an incoming call from Izzy. “Speak of the devil…. Hi, Izzy.”

“I want to know what you did to Valentine,” said Izzy, not bothering with a preamble. What was that light show about? Where did he go? Don’t try to give me that guff about glowing stones or angelic blessings; you knew exactly what would happen. You steered the confrontation in that direction deliberately.”

Alec repeated what Ragnor had told him about how the Holy Grenade of Antioch turned the electrical bonds holding Valentine’s atoms together into light.

There was a brief pause while Izzy digested that. “Alec, that makes no sense at all. You can’t just…” She vented her feelings with a loud, wordless shout. “It doesn’t work like that! The energy release should have melted New York into a puddle, not just given us a brief occurrence of light-blindness!”

Alec shrugged. “It’s magic, Izzy, not science. If you want to know more about it, you should talk to Ragnor or Magnus. Just…don’t spill the beans to anyone else. While I trust you to keep this from the Clave, I don’t trust Jace not to blurt it out without thinking. And Clary would diligently keep it a secret right up until it benefited her to reveal it.”

Izzy sighed. “You have a point.” She was silent for a moment. “Alec… I saw the look on your face tonight. Will you ever be coming back?” She sounded younger than usual, unsure of herself, of him. “I know that I let you down. You should never have had to cover for me; I should have cared more about the position I was placing you in. If you come back, I promise I’ll be better.”

Alec couldn’t stand hearing her sound so unhappy. “Hey, I thought we already talked about this. I was just as much to blame as you and Jace. I am coming back, Izzy. I’ve got a lot to tell you about what’s happened since I saw you on Wednesday, but the short version is that having killed Valentine, I can be fully reinstated. I just…didn’t want to get into it tonight.”

“I understand.” Relief almost dripped off her words. “Take whatever time you need. With Valentine gone and the Mortal Cup recovered, our parents can come home. The worst is finally over.”

Alec gave a short laugh. “Come on, Izzy. You know better than to say stuff like that. Look, Magnus has worked out how to release Jocelyn from the effects of the potion she drank. I’ll come with him and hand over proof of my exoneration. Okay?”

“Okay,” agreed Izzy. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After a quick goodbye, Alec ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. “I guess that settles it. I’m going back tomorrow.”

Ragnor had approached during the conversation and now regarded him with concern. “You’re going to use the writ the Consul gave you?”

“I don’t see how I can’t,” replied Alec. “It’s not that I don’t want to go back to the Institute; I do. It’s what I’ve trained for, what I’m good at. I just…” He glanced over at Magnus, who was examining his fingernails with great interest. “I don’t know if I’m ready. But then I might never be ready.”

“You’ve had a taste of freedom,” said Ragnor, understanding in his eyes. “Buck up, lad. You have to go back, yes. That doesn’t mean that it has to be like it was.”

“That’s true,” said Alec. “I don’t fear exile the way I used to. And I’m no longer willing to play along with the Clave or my parents just to keep the peace.”

Magnus smiled, looking up at Alec. “That’s good to hear, sayang.”

Alec sighed and took a mouthful of his daiquiri, enjoying the sweet, tangy flavour. “At least with Valentine gone, things should be a little calmer. Not that the Circle isn’t still a problem, but there’s likely to be an internal power struggle that the Clave can capitalise on. Based on my time with him, I’d judge that Valentine would never have tolerated a deputy capable of filling his shoes. He was too paranoid about betrayal to trust someone with that much power, which means there won’t be a clear successor.”

“I don’t envy the job you have ahead of you,” said Ragnor. “Will you expose the Circle spy under everyone’s noses? What about the Mortal Cup? The Clave will surely notice that the one the Fairchild girl turned in is a fake. Should we hand over the real one?”

Alec shook his head. “Until the Circle is completely dealt with, I think the Mortal Cup is safest hidden away. Maybe even after that, although we can cross that bridge when we come to it. I’m more concerned about the discussion I’ll be having with Jocelyn. It’s not exactly a great way to introduce yourself: “Hi, your daughter and I don’t get along at all, and by the way, I think she’s subconsciously subverting people’s free will. I don’t suppose you’d tell her to stop.” Yeah. That’s going to go down well.”

Ragnor laughed. “It shouldn’t be a problem if you go about it the right way.

Alec raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Really? I thought she was a revolutionary firebrand. Despite my exile, I’m anything but.”

“Remember that I’ve been in touch with her in the years since she broke away from her husband,” pointed out Ragnor. “Motherhood tempered Jocelyn’s need to rebel. She might have married Valentine, but she raised her daughter with Luke.”

“Your parabatai relationship does superficially resemble the one Valentine had with Luke,” Magnus mused. “Valentine was the charismatic visionary, the one who drew the eye, captured hearts. Perhaps Clary even gets her gift of persuasion from him; look at how many intelligent people he convinced to follow him. In contrast, Luke was the steady, reliable one. He stood in the shadows and let Valentine shine, content to play a support role. He would likely still be doing that if Valentine hadn’t deviated so far from their original values.”

“Exactly,” said Ragnor. “Jocelyn fell for Valentine’s charm as many others did, but she eventually saw through it to the rotten core of him. In more recent years, she’s come to trust and appreciate the steady responsibility that Luke embodies. All you have to do is be yourself…perhaps a little less openly antagonistic towards her daughter…and talk to her calmly and seriously. Treat her as an equal; I imagine she’ll like that.”

Alec frowned, swirling the liquid in his glass. “I’m worried that Jocelyn will hear Clary’s version of events and decide against me.”

“She might,” admitted Ragnor. “I think it’s unlikely, but it is possible. Obviously, you can’t openly contradict anything her daughter says. But you don’t need to. Wait until Jocelyn has met your parabatai and he’s had the chance to charm her. Then, when she thanks you for killing Valentine—which I’m sure she will—tell her that you didn’t do it for the Clave, but to keep your siblings safe.”

“Yes,” said Magnus. He drained the last of his martini and threw the empty glass into the air, where it disappeared into a fine blue mist. “That will appeal to her. Jocelyn’s a big believer in family over everything; it’s one of the things that drew her and Valentine together. Come to think of it, if you can arrange to somehow let her know that you’d already let yourself be exiled to protect them, that should help too.”

Alec frowned. “I thought you didn’t know her very well.”

“I helped her get settled when she first came to New York,” replied Magnus. “After the incident that made Jocelyn want Clary’s memories altered and her sight removed, I suggested that we should keep our distance from each other. But before then, I suppose she needed someone to talk to. I doubt a warlock would have been her first choice, but she couldn’t trust shadowhunters. Mundanes were out of the question, so she confided in me.” Magnus shrugged.

Alec decided not to dig further into that subject right now. “It’s a plan, at least. As far as Hodge goes… I think I’ll leave it for now. Until the rest of the Circle is dealt with, having him nearby might come in handy.”

“Perhaps,” said Ragnor. “Better the spy you know, and all that. If we’re leaving the Mortal Cup where it is, we still need to create the decoy. Why don’t I get that set up in the ritual room? We can do the actual ritual tomorrow, before Jocelyn is revived.”

“Thank you, both of you,” said Alec, putting down his now empty glass. “You’ve done so much to help me; I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

“You killed Valentine,” returned Ragnor. “To be frank, it was cheap at the cost. Don’t be surprised if you get a lot more respect from the downworld when it becomes known.”

“I didn’t really do anything,” Alec pointed out. “You were the one who created the weapon. All I had to do was say an activation phrase.”

“After putting yourself in mortal danger,” Magnus disagreed. “Consider also that you only had Ragnor’s word that the device even worked.”

Ragnor nodded. “I, for one, would not have volunteered to be under Valentine’s blade for even a second. Now, enough of all these mutual thanks. I’ll see you both in the morning.” He walked purposefully into the ritual room, already muttering to himself.

Alec stepped closer to Magnus, holding his gaze. “I haven’t forgotten our discussion. And I haven’t forgotten that we agreed to see where this thing between us is leading. I still want that, if you do too. If you don’t object, I thought maybe we could move things along a bit.”

“Absolutely,” said Magnus leaning into Alec. “I’m not sure how shadowhunters feel about these things, but watching you outwit and kill the man who’d killed many of my friends only made me more attracted to you.”

Alec felt almost dragged in by an invisible line until there was barely an inch between their lips, and Magnus’ brown eyes had taken on a gold shimmer. “I thought your barrier was amazing. Without it, we would have been overrun by demons. Three of the people I care most about in the world would have died.”

Magnus swallowed. “You bought me dinner; I think we can count that as a date. Would you mind terribly if I kissed you?” One of his hands came up to cup Alec’s jaw.

“I’d mind terribly if you didn’t,” said Alec, pulse thundering in his ears. He was hyperaware of the touch of Magnus’ skin against his own, the warmth and softness of his fingers. “Just remember that I haven’t had any practice, so I might be—”

While Alec was talking, Magnus slid his hand around to the back of Alec’s neck, pulling him forward gently until their lips met.

When they broke apart, Alec’s lips were tingling. In fact, most of his body was tingling, but it was most noticeable on his lips. “I’m glad that’s over and done with,” he breathed.

Magnus pulled back slightly. “You are?”

Alec laughed. He couldn’t remember ever feeling quite this euphoric. “Yeah. The first kiss is out of the way, not hanging over our heads anymore. I can do this,” and he dipped in and pressed his lips to Magnus’ again, quick, like a steal, “whenever I want.” Another swift kiss. “Unless you don’t want me to, of course.”

“Until further notice, you have permission to kiss me as much as you like,” replied Magnus. This time their kiss was deeper.

Alec pulled Magnus’ body closer as they got intimately acquainted with the taste of each other’s mouths.

“You’re extremely good at this for a beginner,” said Magnus the next time they came up for air. “That’s a rather promising indicator for the future, you know.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Alec rested his forehead against Magnus’. “If someone told me a week ago that I would be thanking the angel that I was exiled from the Clave, I would have thought they were either a liar or insane. But I’m truly grateful. You’re amazing, and the thought that a misplaced sense of duty would have led me to deny myself this, to deny you… It’s unthinkable.”

“Then don’t think of it anymore, Alexander,” urged Magnus. “Michelangelo once said, ‘I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.’ You set yourself free, sayang. You sacrificed your future for your loved ones, and then instead of letting that drive you to despair, you forged ahead and managed to achieve something extraordinary.”

“If it weren’t for you and Ragnor, I would still be lurking in my tiny apartment, wondering what to do with myself. Rapidly running out of money and hope. I owe you both a lot.”

“You would have fallen on your feet eventually,” Magnus assured him. “You could have made a fortune as a model. But if you insist on paying me back, kisses will do fine.”

Alec smiled. “As you wish.”