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cheollipop · 2 years ago

Text

bai, you--- I- we.... ??!!

you see, I knew this was going to be soft. of course I did -- it's san and the tags are right there. however, I did not expect it to turn me into puddle of tears and snot on my bedroom floor. I... bai, I'm- *deep breath* every single word, every single description left me with this unbearable warmth rushing through me like a hurricane (I seriously had to take off my hoodie)- it's so gentle, so delicate, and I don't know how I'm supposed to just move on with my life after reading this masterpiece.

now, for some of my favourite parts~~ (bc tumblr won't let me add all of them ;-;)

I'm sorry but you need to chill- "found not in four walls, but in this gentleman" had me gripping my plushie for dear life because GOD- this kind of love, this adoration.... I can only imagine how safe it must feel.

AGAIN WITH THE DESCRIPTIONS!?!?!?! this sentence has me in a chokehold. I'm painting the words all over my bedroom wall first thing tomorrow. I want to BE these words, INHALE them, make them a permanent part of me.

and what if I cried real tears rn. the dialogue.... cheeky!san needs to think about my sanity for second because THIS- the smut was so insanely soft and just the most perfect model of "lovemaking"... I held my breath for quite a while because I was so immersed in just how much love is shared between the two of them.

just the visual of him looking up at reader so fondly and SMILING??............ I'm okay. everything is okay (pov: I'm a liar)

my heart skipped a beat. I'm not even joking, oh my god. BAI- this is beyond soft, beyond beautiful.... I can't even form a meaningful sentence to describe the way I'm feeling right now, the way this specific piece of dialogue made me feel. it's like a warm hug, followed by a gentle squeeze and a pat on the head. just a cocoon of warmth that I wish to wrap myself in forever.

we'll take the pen... and write it....

bai, I don't know what to say tbh. I feel so overwhelmed with all these emotions, and I'm hugging my plushie so tight rn I feel bad for him </3

I am resisting the urge to email the louvre and demanding they section off a whole room to display this work of art. I might just build my own museum and plaster your whole masterlist all over it. free access to the public because everyone should be allowed to feel this content and warm after reading your work.

this is yet another breathtaking fic, bai, and I hope you know that I will never be able to express just how much I love your writing -- words are simply not enough anymore. <3<3 (but I will try my very best~~)

Golden hour

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR MOUNT'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist) (join taglist)

🟡 pairing: bf!san x fem!reader 🟡 genre: smut, pwp, a lot of fluff, established relationship 🟡 summary: in the busy urban jungle, one fateful night at a jazz bar, choi san met his angel of light. from then on, each moment is a breathtaking golden hour, your love a wondrous duet. 🟡 wordcount: 6.5k 🟡 warnings/tags: loving bf san, jazzman!san, you are the apple of his eye, trumpet player, two lovebirds making it in the big city, discussion of marriage, discussion of planning for the future, yes he wants a future with you, late night coffee, being goofy, lots of hugs+heart eyes, lmk if I missed anything! 🟡 a/n: presently in the middle of being a san appreciator and listening to a lot of jazz, which resulted in quite a few song references being interlaced in this ahah; thank you so much for your support, any reblogs, comments, thoughts always appreciated!~

🟡 perma-taglist: @legohwas @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven @cqndiedcherries @uwuheeseungie @cheollipop @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @mingigoo @michel-angelhoe @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @mystar1024 @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @memoriesofwoo @ate-ez @toxicccred

🟡 nsfw tags: switch!san/the softest dom!san, switch!reader, the sheer volume of pet name use (sweetheart, darlin', love, angel, my light, my sun...), slight(?) hints at exhibitionism, light nipple play, lovebites/hickeys (giving/receiving), fingering, oral (f!recieving), handjob, hugging during sex, slow and steady, multiple orgasms, cockwarming, riding, unprotected sex (wrap that before you tap that pls), cum inside, soft and gentle aftercare

Enchanted by the ghostly wisps of steam rising from the cooling rich mahogany brew, twirling into the barren nightscape until they were nothing more than echoes of a magical breath, you waited. You were tired of conversing with the shadow stretched before you, from the sun-like lamp light rays that hopped from the window at the top of the stairs all the way down. So you sat there, between the fourth and the fifth floors of your apartment complex, studying the circular holes in the steps that had become your rocking chair for reminiscing. At nights like these, you took things slow, and let yourself sink into an intimate fragility. Only you and the remnants of a busy late night shift. The hair and skin, which even after bathing seemed to cling onto most, if not the entire bouquet of aromas from the bar; the hands, still bearing the traces of coolness from having heaped buckets of ice into overpriced drinks; the faded eyeshadow, the lipstick - most of it transferred to the mug of coffee, steadily approaching lukewarm, cradled in your hands. Habitually, you traced its rim, feeling for the chip in the ceramic that it sported like a scar, after you had accidentally dropped it on the counter. Its presence was grounding. A reminder that you existed in a world beyond the endless cycles. That sometimes, the unpredictable could happen to you too.

You found companionship in the fluorescent light perched above a sign that attempted, but failed to remind the locals not to litter, and the miniature exhibition of waste backs collected right below it. This scene, viewed from so many metres above, was almost poetic. It was endearing seeing the last hints of humour that your neighbours managed to retain despite the bleakness of the complex and its surroundings. Windows facing brick walls and going grey from smog, a cacophonic roar drilling into the ear drums from the ceaseless chatter of clubbers and late night diners ambling down the nearby wonders of nightlife. The flickering, leaking neon signs above business either long-closed for the day, or just beginning to awaken were practically pitiful, and yet, you could not help but feel a twinge of sentimentality when your mind traversed the area, reminding you of any changes you had spotted, new faces, new flyers; these were the only things that, without fail, would greet you as you walked back home in your midday, another’s time for deepest slumber. Perhaps one would think you were alone or lonely in this hour, remaining out of dreamland solely to tomorrow’s disillusionment. But to anyone who would dare propose something so ridiculous, one look at the smile that graced your lips as soon as you spotted a familiar figure making its way down the courtyard, and stopping to wave at you - knowing full well that you were sat at the stairwell, would be enough to cut any argument at its root. While he was not someone who you came home to often, despite you having lived together for what was about to be a year, Choi San was the music that soothed your soul, the sweetest song, the melody of your heart. He was there for you, and you were there for him. Even if that meant turning into a nocturnal creature, conversing aimlessly with a cuppa into the early hours.

You closed your eyes and counted his steps. Both of you had made it something of a routine to avoid the main entrance. Initially it had been as a joke and as a means to flee from the permanently vexed madam in her seventies who lived on the ground floor, shrill voice and a shivering, bitey pooch cooped up and cradled like baby; she had seen the two of you in states deemed dissatisfying in her view, and as such had turned into a guardian of the complex. A guardian from two young fools who lived to the fullest. In an adoring duet, you had found paths to your comfort, and soon enough, the emergency stairs were an ascension to your palace - shared paradise spanning a couple of rooms.

San’s resolved, confident steps as he made his way up the stairwell, skipping the second, avoiding the worn down centre of the step between the first and second floors; it was so worn down, in fact, that on some nights when the moon caught this side of the building just right, it was like a fallen star. You grinned to yourself as you recalled this theory. That star worked hard on giving you your wish; the wish whose slicked back, jet black locks you could already detail in your line of sight. As he made the last turn, you gripped your mug tighter; somehow, even after years of knowing this man, of loving this man, San never failed to ignite the warmest, cosiest flame within your soul. The home you had dreamed of, found not in four walls, but in this gentleman, who was now standing before you, hand outstretched and a gentle smile on his face. You graciously accepted the assistance, and let yourself be lifted off the ground with a light pull, to come face to face with your boyfriend. Your precious, funny valentine, with a heart of gold.

“Hey, darlin’, now, I told you the gig was gonna run ‘til late, why’re you up? And with your coffee?” he drawled as he searched for a place to put the case for the second most precious aspect of his life: his trumpet, settling on a nook closer to the inner railing - protected on all sides from a fall. You hummed, and took another cautious sip, studying the man before you.

Despite having woken up at the crack of dawn to walk you to your second job before commuting to his own, there was still that inextinguishable glint in his magnificent dark eyes. Feeling your gaze on him, San rolled his shoulders back, as though he had not a hint of weariness in his muscles, accidentally forcing one side of his favourite jacket, a vintage brown piece made of corduroy, to slip and commence its slow climb down his upper arm. Sighing, you twisted to set your cup aside on one of the stair steps, and made a move to fix it back in place, ignoring the way in which San's hands rapidly snaked to your waist.

"Mm, missed you Sannie." You responded, smoothing the non-existent creases on the black t-shirt he was wearing underneath, your touches lingering as if you had not rested your form on his chest thousands of times, each occasion imprinted in your memory for as long as there was music.

"I missed you more, Y/N…” his eyes darted a couple of times to your hands, only to slowly rise, and focus on the black top that you had chosen to change into after your workday. San exhaled, amused as he imagined you waddling around the apartment wrapped up in that fleece towel you liked, ready to raid the wardrobes. Taking the very edge at the base of the article between his thumb and index finger , he toyed with it, and stated as a matter of factly: “I can see you're stealing my shirts again."

"Well… I can take it off…" you trailed off, moving to undo the very top button, stifling a giggle as San instantly dropped his act and pinched the collar together. He shook his head, gaze glossed over, unreadable. His other hand inched a little closer to your hip, sliding down - a barely noticeable change, but it nevertheless sent sparks across your skin and left you struggling to breathe.

"Uh-uh, that's for my eyes only. Can't have you flaunting something priceless for the whole block." tugging on the shirt, he guided you into his arms and wrapped himself around you, taking in the smell of home. The aroma of his gift that was today, the promise that was tomorrow, and the dream that was the symphonies of a future to come.

It was surreal, the moment he came home. Be it to wait for your shift to end while he tried to get a simple dinner cooking on the stove, or to have you waiting, just like this, curled up on the stairs, every bit a cat basking in the warm glow that resembled the sunset in its hue, falling down the steps from the window of your, and his apartment. As he stood in front of you, etching your form into his memory as if each time he saw you you were someone new, he imagined what it would be like to truly come back at sundown. Have dinner earlier than midnight, spend the evening chatting away about this and that, hidden under a woollen throw that you had found at a thrift store. Let the last rays of the sun, departing to its sleeping quarters, wash over the two of you as you would hold one another in a long, loving embrace, rocking to the ballads only you knew and shared. Sometimes he wondered whether what he played outside of this magical golden hour that was ‘you and him’ was truly music, when all the melodies to divine adoration played in your caresses. Whether the words he sang held any meaning if they were not dedicated to you, sung to you. Whether the sultry notes of the trumpet were anything but noise if you were not there to hear it.

Crash landed into the big city, he had been a boy with stars in his eyes and boundless ambition. He had wanted to fight the world alone, head on, and had no feel for the rhythm of the metropolis, its people, its jazz scene. He had assumed that he was wanted, and oh, how wrong he had been. Rejection after rejection, San had found himself playing on the streets for a couple of bills to last the day, and had run into a debt with a cruel landlord - so large, that he had considered turning to less conventional solutions. But then, by some stroke of luck, he had met other musicians who were dreamers, warriors of the arts, those with impeccable feel for every note, every off-beat both in the pieces they would cover or improvise, as well as life. Just like that, San had found himself a band, and by the grace of destiny itself, he had found himself performing at a bar, the bar, where he had the boundless joy of meeting you.

An old hole in the wall in the middle of downtown, it had been your first place of work since moving in more central from the outskirts. Having been on the scene for a lot longer than him, sweeping, cooking, mixing - anything you could get your hands on, you knew practically all the artists around town, thanks to your appreciation of their life’s essence in the form of jazz and their habitual lingering around the bar to chat after a show. As such, a new face had immediately caught your eye, and there, your gaze stayed. All through the night. All through his impeccable covers of Chet Baker’s ‘I Fall In Love Too Easily’ and ‘Like Someone In Love’, during both of which you swore you had never felt yourself being regarded with more intensity. All through the years in which you had come to move in a shared rhythm, existing in a gentle swing, cheek to cheek. For the first time, you felt as though you were staring right into the sun, but instead of tears rolling down your cheeks and agony spreading over your body, your vision cleared and new hope settled.

This rhythm did not falter. Even when some notes were played with their respective delays or anticipations, this was all a wondrous interpretation of life as a duet that was you and your favourite, your only, beloved San, trumpet player, singer, an artist through and through. The man with a dream and the resolve to achieve it. You had promised to one another that one of these days, you will see yourselves as the makers of a new oasis. Your own corner in the glimmering canyons of steel to serve as a sunny safe haven for jazzists from all walks of life. You as the owner of the new Blue Note, him as the first man on the stage. This was the future towards which you both strode, and alongside it, a heavenly devotion bloomed.

As you rocked in a sweet embrace, it was impossible to imagine anything more right. Arms around his torso and hidden from the nighttime breeze by his jacket, you sank into San’s reassuring heartbeat and loving warmth. Caught in a trance, he pressed you impossibly close as though he had not seen you in an agonising ‘forever’, and ran his fingers through your hair while a hand rested on the back of your head. The brilliant, cascading tresses that still retained some of the aroma of the cordials and syrups you often used at your job, despite the top notes being yours, and consequently, his favourite shampoo. He admired the way in which it reflected the sunset captured in the apartment, only half a flight away, a golden luminescence that made him all the more convinced that this was where the glowing, comforting star had found safety to rest. After walking through the town that was enveloped in dark hues, passing by dingy shops and streets in dire need of tender love and care, he could not help but feel blessed that all that time ago, the sun had risen for him, and all he had the pleasure of experiencing was brighter, lighter, and any trials and tribulations were merely a simple test. He fondly recollected your first meeting, having purposefully made a detour on his journey back to walk past the location that marked the beginning of your history.

“We played at a club a couple of blocks from that place tonight.”

“Where we met?” you asked, nuzzling into the crook of San’s neck and relishing in his soft hum as he continued.

“Mhm. Actually, I walked past it while going home.”

“And?” you inquired, pulling away to glance at San’s cheeky lopsided grin.

“Made me walk faster.” you raised an eyebrow, only making your boyfriend chuckle, the honey-like tone never failing to induce a thrilling flurry in your chest.

“Damn, is it that run down?”

San imitated a pondering stance, looking off to the side before returning to study your very irises, with such attentiveness that you thought he was in a world of his own. And in a way, he was. He was convinced that, for as long as he lived, San’s best view would be exactly this. These eyes that had hypnotised him as they followed his figure from across the bar, these gorgeous orbs that held the moon, the stars, the songs sung and unsung. No matter where he went and no matter what new challenge life threw at him, all he needed was to imagine you and suddenly, everything would fall into place. The young man moved to press his forehead against yours, a strand of hair that grazed his eyebrow tickling your face and causing you to scrunch your nose. The adorable reaction proved to be too much for San’s poor enamoured heart as it skipped a beat, and in an attempt to subdue the overwhelming ache he rubbed his nose against yours.

“Nope, just made me want to see you even more.” he spoke low, focusing only on your shallow, lightly trembling breaths and the intoxicating feeling of his skin against yours.

“Can you see me now?” you joked, hinting at your closeness, hands moving to graze his sides, trailing down until you could tap his alluring waist with your fingertips, stepping forward until you were practically hip to hip and you could feel the friction of his navy jeans against your skirt.

“I don’t know, Y/N, I think I need to get a little closer…” in one cautious trailing of the jawline, he cupped your face, waited for a tiny nod from you to proceed - something he had always subconsciously done when it came to loving you, and what little space had been left between your bodies was no longer.

Tenderly, like early mist settling on the dazzling midnight sea, he worshipped you with every move. Lost in a sigh, in softest caresses, you indulged in the sweetness of his precious lips, fitting so perfectly with your own. While you had not been a believer in soulmates, the only way in which you could describe the idyllic nature of your coexistence was that it was meant to be. It was as if, even though you had your respective, independent melodies, they oh so seamlessly flowed into one, body and soul. San kissed you as though you were life itself, at such a slow, sultry tempo and yet it set your soul ablaze, caught up in a wild wind. Lost in exploring your lover, you only realised how he gingerly lifted the shirt at its base when his arms brushed against yours, causing you to snicker right against him. Immediately you could feel him retract his tongue and lean back to look at you. Your eyes fluttered open after having automatically given themselves up to a sensory bliss, only to be met with San’s signature pout that was dramatically contrasted by an enticing darkness in his half-lidded orbs.

“What…” he whined barely audibly, only making your smirk deepen.

“Now what about that ‘show’ you were talking about, hm?”

“My shirt, my business.” he attempted to dive back into a kiss, digging his fingers into your sides when you tilted your head back and chuckled.

“My lips, my business.”

“Awh darlin’ don’t tease.” he batted his eyelashes, gaze darting around your face to catch any signs of caving in to his charms. However, even if he tried his hardest, his searches would amount to nothing at all, for you would not be able to get mad at his cute face even if you wanted to. As such, your facade soon dropped and you were seeking him once more.

“Don’t be bossy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good- Choi San put me dow-” you yelped as he stepped to the side, and with mischief flashing across his face, hooked you under the knees and supported your back, sweeping you off your feet for good. Careful not to let you hit the stairs, San’s strong arms held you tight against his chest, and he smiled down to give you a cheeky retort.

“Don’t be bossy~” playfully shaking your head, you let your hands find themselves loosely hanging from his neck, and gave into the addictive fiery pecks that he was leaving on your cheek, across your jaw, only to culminate in a deeper, ravishing kiss, punctuated by an unmistakable undercurrent of sensual longing. As your passion ascended into a crescendo, and the heat rising in your bodies was elevating into being unbearable, San breathlessly whispered the shared desire against your reddened lips:

“It’s time to quit stalling, methinks. Yeah?”

“Sounds fine by me.” you agreed, not fearful of sounding eager. Though apparently, that was not enough. While San dipped you forwards, eliciting a giggle and a compliant hooking of the trumpet case with your finger, he tried to correct you.

“Now, fine won’t do.” giving you another quick peck on your cheek, he began climbing towards the fifth floor, though you were certain that he was spending more time studying you than checking if he was stopping at the right level. Not bothering to mention the mug that had been abandoned, concluding that the beverage was always going to be nothing compared to the energy this wondrous love of yours gave you, you simply gave into the boisterous affection.

“Mighty fine.”

“A little better…” he mumbled back while stepping through the open window into your piece of urban heaven.

“Gonna have to work for any more than that, darling.”

“A challenge?”

“An invitation.”

The phrase almost made him falter as he attempted to gather at least some form of coherence before the submitting to your priceless seduction. Setting you back down onto the floor only to return to his hold of your waist, he shadowed your movements as you set the case down. At the first given opportunity, your boyfriend focused and nipped at the sensitive skin right above your exposed collarbone, one hand rising to hastily unbutton the shirt as you gasped at the contact and in a daze, rushed to tug at his jacket. Promptly, the article found itself on the floor, soon joined by the black shirt that you had borrowed and leaving your chest entirely exposed.

Entranced, San let himself be guided by you to the bedroom as he cupped one of your breasts and ran languid circles across the nipple, while catching you once more in a feverish kiss. Upon hearing the hint of a moan, muted by his own mouth, he inadvertently bucked his hips against you, the pressure on the growing arousal making him needy, and desperate for more touch. Stumbling down the corridor, you felt for the doorframe of the bedroom, stopping right underneath and running your hands under San’s black tee and up his abdomen. He obeyed your unspoken wish and gave you the pleasure of watching him undress, the divine, sculpted lines and edges of his body, muscles working overtime under his beautiful sunkissed skin, all in a magnificent dance. Before you could indulge in him once again, you felt a couple of pulls on the fabric of your skirt, and soon enough the elastic band had given in, and rolled down to let the material pile on the floor around you.

San guided your two hazy forms to the bed, hissing as you trailed kisses up his neck, to the side and nipped at his earlobe, your erratic, shallow breaths nearly sending him into a frenzy. Burning skin, each touch turned scalding making heat pool to your core; you saw stars as your boyfriend slipped his hand into your panties and ran two digits across your dripping sex to collect some of the nectar, before starting to rub your aroused clit, teasing it as you shot out to grab a hold of his upper arms for some illusion of stability. Whispering sweet nothings against your skin he laid you down onto the bed sheets; you could swear they had retained some of the warmth where the sun had hit them during its routinely finale, orange streaks stalking across the apartment. Nuzzling into San's neck you muffled your whines by turning your attention to making this moment bloom, lovebite after lovebite.

"Ah… Y/N…" he sighed, voice husky as he shifted in his half-lying posture in an attempt to get at least some friction. As he flicked your clit and glided two fingers into your entrance, curling them exactly how he knew it would drive you closer to your high, you dug your nails into his biceps to resist a tremble and uttered:

"My man, my business."

"Yours, all yours, darlin', just as you're mine."

"Mhm, ah, San, I'm- cl-" you moaned as he increased his rhythm, the wanton sounds of his digits pumping into your pussy only accelerating you to your orgasm.

"Close? Already, sweetheart?" You could sense a hint of pride in his tone, but could not form any snarky comment, thoughts turned to mush.

"Too good to me, love…"

"Now, now, and I wanted to make you feel even better…" he chided jokingly, lifting your lower half ever so slightly from the bed to slip the wet panties off fully, not once taking his eyes off yours. You tried to reach for his jeans, the erection so painfully obvious that all you could wish for was to give San at least some relief, but to no avail as he intercepted by taking a hold of your wrist, kissing your knuckles lovingly and simply requesting: “Lie back for me, darlin’, won’t you?”

Of course you would not disagree, not when you felt an emptiness from where his fingers had denied you a complete release, leaving your walls clenching around nothing, and desperation approaching an all-time high. Eagerly, you crawled and fell back on the bed, watching his figure follow you until he was hovering dangerously close, clouded over with lust. After resting his hands on your knees and then, at a deliberately slow pace, sliding them down your inner thighs for you to part your legs wider for him, he lowered himself to devour you. Placing a long kiss on your sensitive clit while holding your legs in place so you were in his temporary control, he ran his hot tongue along the length of your fold, stopping to give the bud extra attention with dedicated licking, and sucking until you were melting into the sheets and the only thing escaping your mouth were pathetic moans laced with his name and praises. As if you had been blinded by the sun, you ceased to see any definition in the world around you as your climax crashed down hard and fast, leaving you shaking and crying out for your boyfriend, who, after leaving a tentative trail of open-mouthed kisses on your pulsating core and on each of your thighs, rose to hook you under your back.

“You’re so beautiful, my love…” he cooed as he wrapped you up in a long hug, careful to let you ride out your high in the safety of his arms. He bit his lower lip as your leg accidentally grazed his clothed cock, only to squeeze his eyes shut when the action prompted him to taste you once again, sending his mind into an overdrive.

As you returned to a brighter lucidity, you gingerly fiddled with the button on San’s jeans, and proceeded to free him of their confines with the lowering of the zipper. Unable to restrain yourself from feeling the hardness of his length, you palmed it through the cotton briefs that were already showing traces of his pre-cum, and pulled down the waistband to let it spring free.

“Oh, San, please, why wait so long, you must be so on edge, I’m sorry baby…” you mumbled, lifting your hand to collect some spit, then wrapping it around his member. Instinctively his hips bucked towards you as you pumped him, barely registering how close San’s face was to yours.

“‘s alright, Y/N, but if you could… mh… kiss it better? May I?”

“Of course.”

You could taste the remnants of your orgasm on his lips and tongue, but only momentarily as he hungrily explored you. Low grunts and breathy moans fell from his mouth, only to be swallowed by your newly blooming desire for more. Deepening the kiss, you absorbed his moan as you sped up the movements of your other hand. Unable to resist the building frustration any longer, San brushed your arm and tilted his head back to show you his eyes - glazed over, full of raw want.

“I need you.”

“How?”

“I need your pussy, sweetheart.” you slowed down, teasing the tip of his cock as he gripped your hips, a coy smile dancing across your features.

“Didn’t you just have it?”

“Not enough, it seems.”

“I think we can do something about that… tell me how you want me.”

“Ride me.”

“Be my guide.”

Nodding, moved to the edge of the bed on his knees, and slid down until he was in a seated position. He motioned for you to come closer, helping you understand his wish. Raising yourself from how you had been positioned, you crept towards your boyfriend, cautiously throwing a leg over his lap until your core was millimetres away from his throbbing member. San’s hands found your ass and gave you a few nudges towards him, while you ran your fingers through his dishevelled locks, a shy smile gracing you as you thought back to how pristine he had managed to look when he had been in the stairwell. Now, he was perfect. When you tapped him to suggest your readiness, San took his cock to slot it into your entrance and with a couple of adjustments, he bottomed out inside you. Sighs combined into a single, intimate breath as his length pressed against your walls, and you rose into an unimaginable euphoria.

Foreheads pressed against one another, neither of you wanted to rush, instead succumbing to a darkness behind your eyelids and focusing exclusively on the other senses. How your inhales and exhales were equally as shallow, how the light tinge of sweat had mixed with the dark accords of his perfume - one that, after having made the step to live together, now almost permanently lingered on your skin, how the contact was every bit like being wrapped in the golden glow of a sunset. You peeked at San, catching him still in a trance, and admired how the light from the ceiling lamp out in the corridor highlighted his sharp and alluring features, all contrasted by the softest, plushest lips which you gave into the instinct to peck.

Your boyfriend gazed up at you, breaking into a heart-melting smile. Little did you know, he was counting his blessings and had to consciously remind himself that somehow you were not a sun goddess. Perhaps in disguise. You were the melody he would never get tired of hearing, the dawn and dusk that he would always greet and cherish. His muse and guiding light.

“My sun…” he pecked your cheek, flicking his nose against it while restraining himself from acting rashly. Not tonight. Tonight was all about you and him. Together.

“The light of my life…” kissing the other cheek, he groaned as you grinded your hips to have your chest almost flush against him.

“My Y/N,” “My San,”

You whispered in unison, looking at one another with an unequivocal tenderness and adoration. Two seamlessly blending into one, you did not need the days to guide you. Existing in a glittering bliss, before either of you was an angel of light. Truthfully, there need not be anything more. Only the sound of jazz to give you rhythm, and the radiance of your mutual enamourment.

As you began to ride his member, you took immeasurable pleasure in seeing San’s face contort into that of ecstasy. The fluidity of the motion rivalled that of waves that lapped the distant shores of a paradise. The oncoming bubbling of a climax that threatened to drown you in a sensual unravelling left you lost at sea, with only the rays of your favourite star enveloping you. Rocking your hips, you felt his cockhead hitting your ideal spot over and over, and whenever you would need a break, he would soothe you with a feathery touch.

The leisurely pace proved to be a build up to unfathomable ruin, as the clenching of your pussy around his hard length left San’s thoughts in a total disarray. He could not register the most basic things around him, jutting into you without a single decipherable word spilling from his lips. He gripped onto you harder, silently begging you to take him deeper, faster as his high became more imminent and he could barely hold on.

“Darling, you’re… I-I swear…”

“Ah… yes? What?”

“Can I? Please, love…”

“Yes, Sannie, please- ah!” he thrusted his hips with a newfound vigour, practically lifting you to give himself space to accelerate. The sudden change of pace sent curls of pleasure to the knot that had been building in your core, leaving you like putty in San’s hold.

“Fuck yes, Sa-an-ie… please…” lewd moans filled the bedroom as his member snapped into you with the exact beat that would send you into a frenzy. Falling apart over him, your pants rapidly turned into high-pitched whines as you could feel yourself approaching the edge to your undoing.

Just as he began to falter, you fell between his head and shoulder, shaking as another orgasm overtook you. The spasming of your sex sent him into uncontrollable pleasure and with a final few snaps of the hips, San kept you still on his cock as hot ropes of cum painted your inner walls. Embracing you like you were the most fragile being on the Earth, he glanced at you even in his half-consciousness to check if you were comfortable. Elated when you returned his regard with an elated grin, San beamed right back, giving you a quick peck before hugging you even tighter, attempting to slow his breathing while his length was still pulsating, surrounded by a divine warmth.

“So unreal… so, so marvellous, Y/N.” that seemed to reel you back from the wonderfully overwhelming sensation, and you brushed your cheek against his. Silence. Two bodies connecting, not needing the light as they lived in the afterglow. Listening to San’s heartbeat, your temple against his, you mumbled:

“I would never leave.”

“Then don’t. I would never let you go anyways.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to carry me to the bathroom.”

“I’ll even hold you in the shower.”

“Oh how romantic.” you tried to shift, only eliciting a groan from San as he cautiously moved you back, a sheepish grin on his features.

“You know what, darlin’, let’s stay like this for a bit, yeah?”

“Fine by me.”

“Fine?”

“Very, very, very fine.”

Once the two of you had in part returned from your post-coital utopia, and San kept his promise and carried you around the entire apartment as though showing you off to every piece of furniture and every wall, you were clean, fuzzy from the perfectly warm shower, and wrapped up in fresh bed sheets which you had playfully commanded for San to lay down.

After having given up on immediately settling down to sleep, you and San had dissolved into a giggly mess. You had convinced him to bring his trumpet into the room and let you have another go at playing it - even though these attempts had already likely accumulated into hundreds - without much progress. At the moment, the one piece which you could confidently play was ‘a whole lot of nothing and painfully blown out air’. As you tried for the umpteenth time to produce as much as one hint of a note, you were distracted by a sudden ‘oohing’ from your boyfriend, who was watching you unwaveringly.

“What?” you lowered the trumpet and raised an eyebrow.

“That was an indirect kiss, darlin’.”

“Come on, San, what in the world-” you hit his chest playfully and attempted to return the instrument, “I’m out here huffing and puffing and that’s what you’re thinking about?”

“Mhm, and so much more…”

“Choi San.” you addressed him sternly, though nothing in your expression even remotely suggested that you meant it.

“Fine, fine, want me to show you again and proper?”

“You know what, I think I practised enough for today.” you handed him the instrument, restraining your laughter while he returned it to its case, clipping it shut and setting it aside on the bedside table closest to him.

“Well done, Y/N.” he praised you, though a hint of sarcasm did not go unnoticed.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh at me as much as you want, but you still can’t make a bloody mary.” you pointed out, making San jut out his lower lip and nod in agreement.

“Fair.”

He opened his arms wide, leaning back onto the large pillows to invite you to rest against his bare chest, an offer which you simply would never refuse. Snuggling up to him, you were in seventh heaven. One arm over his torso and the other propping you up so you would be level, you doubted that there could be anything that felt more safe, more comforting and more adoring than this. Feeling him rubbing unrushed, lulling circles on your back, accompanied by the rustling of cotton, you wanted to dissolve in this moment, your molecules reflecting onto every surface until this was all you knew.

“Y’know, I’m s’posed to have a gig next week that’s gonna cover at least three month’s rent.” he broke through the quietude with the exciting news, making you immediately look up at him, gleaming.

“What? No way, who?”

“Some bigshot from uptown wants music for his party. And who am I to refuse?”

“Damn, San, that’s amazing-”

“And, and, and, they were looking for a mixologist to make the magic happen, so if you are happy to accept, the man’s asked me to call him back tomorrow noon,” the continuation left you stunned, and you wrapped a leg around your boyfriend, embracing him until you could barely breathe.

“WHAT? San, no you didn’t I… thank you? How? I mean…” you stumbled over your words, trying your hardest to not squeal at the opportunity.

“No words needed, lovely. See? We’re gonna save up for that wedding dress in no time.”

He stated casually, but the words sent butterflies into your stomach. You had discussed official commitment early on, deciding that this was to be in your plans for certain, but considering your careers, your desires and your dreams, you wanted to find that golden sliver of stability before taking that next step. Though, as months ticked by, you could tell San’s motivation grew stronger and stronger to be able to call you his wife.

“Oh Sannie, but I told you that I don’t need anything fancy, I just need you.” you responded, trying to provide reassurance that either way, happiness was guaranteed; but it appeared that in the ghost of an intimate night, your boyfriend found entertainment in misconstruing your words into a lustful implication.

“Say that again and you are not getting out of bed for that morning shift.” you hit his chest so faintly that there was barely any impact before hiding your face against him, not reappearing until San brushed some hair away from your face and cupped your chin, “Darlin’, I just wanna have, and live a life with you. Many lives. More than.” melting into his touch, you wiggled upwards, closer to him.

“We’ll make it.” San nodded at your resolution, glancing out into the corridor - although the lamp that had provided the sun-like hues had long been turned off, the heat of your passion prolonged its echoes.

“It’s us we’re talkin’ ‘bout, it’s written out for us. And if not, we’ll take the pen and write it. You promised I’ll be the first to play at your bar… opening night.”

You took in the adoration in his eyes, while San delighted in the same feeling that was held in your own.

“Of course. And you said that the song you’ll sing will be the one you wrote for me.” barely audible, you answered, getting closer and closer to the sun that you knew would never burn you and instead only help you amplify your shine.

“The whole set, love. My all.”

#this was beyond beautiful #so heartwarming and gentle....#yearning to be this in love with someone <3 #bai you brilliant writer #fat smooches for you #and warm hugs and cuddles <3<3 #my bai 🦋

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mostlyvoidpartiallysass · 2 years ago

Text

Through a Glass, Darkly

This fic was created for the Shadowhunters Reverse Bang 2022: Presented by the @malecdiscordserver in collaboration with the amazing and lovely Flynn who created the art this fic is based on!

Beta’d by Su (Who does not have a tumblr), who is a gem for putting up with my tendency to write tired enough I might as well be drunk and who cheered me on and cleaned up messes.

Pairing: Malec

Rating: T

Word count: 31k

Tags: Soulmates, Canon Divergence(?), Downworld politics, Clave politics, red-string of fate, little bit of book/show fusion

Read it on Ao3

-Prologue:

100 years ago, give or take a few since Magnus sometimes didn’t have the clearest memory of the 60s, Magnus had done the Clave a massive favor. Well. Not really. He did the Downworld a massive favor and let the Clave think it was for them.

He put up the Veil; the divider that kept the Shadowhunters separated from the Downworld in all but a few neutral zones under the watch of the High Warlocks. It had functioned near perfectly, with one messy exception in the form of Jocelyn Fairchild, but that business was long done with.

Jocelyn had begged her old teacher, Ragnor Fell, for a way through the Veil permanently after a creatively disgusting application of demon ichor allowed her to punch through long enough to find the man at all. Ragnor had led her to Magnus, who had begrudgingly found himself agreeing to bring her and her daughter over to the non-Nephilim side of things. Jocelyn herself had never been Magnus’ favorite, though after she started seeing Luke she relaxed enough to move up in his estimation. Her daughter, tiny, inquisitive, red-haired Clary, wormed her way into Magnus’ heart as the only child he’d ever really seen grow up.

He thought about that now, sitting with a small group in Pandemonium. There were a few Nephilim in the crowd, moving easily with the mundanes and the Downworlders. Here, in this Unveiled neutral zone at the heart of his territory, the Shadowhunters who did come were decent sorts. Mostly.

A single pair of Circle members had made themselves known a few months back, but Magnus had learned that lesson the hard way, the first time Valentine had tried. In the first, early days, the Unveiled zones had been left vulnerable, places that quickly became hunting grounds for Valentine and his experiments. A Downworlder stuck with angel-blood, was able to be dragged through the Veil for a handful of hours. The Clave both protecting and targeting the Circle even as the Circle tried to destroy the Clave. Sighted mundanes captured and used to help Valentine’s sycophants control Downworlders. It had been a time of sadness, of suspicion and loss that Magnus had thought the Veil protected them from.

When the pair of circle-runed men had appeared in his club, he’d known there could be no room for error or further torment. The Veil had come down hard, cutting the Nephilim out of the Shadow World entirely.

Without a supply of Downworlders to experiment on and force to his will, Valentine hadn’t lasted long, particularly after he’d decided to target one of the Lightwood’s own. Magnus knew little of them, only seeing the blonde that Valentine had been after and a dark-haired sister who he often shared playful flirting looks with. They came to Pandemonium for fun, but steered largely clear of him and he returned the favor.

He only thought about them, the Veil, and Valentine’s failures now because of the fire message, burning out in a forgotten drink on the table in front of them.

A succinct notification from the Clave: Maryse and Robert Lightwood had been replaced, the New York Institute formally given to their oldest son. He was listed only as A. Lightwood in the brief missive from the office of the Consul.

Normally Magnus might’ve bothered to send him some sort of acknowledgement, but after the last year and with a slow but steadily growing number of demon incidents not being handled by the Shadowhunters, he wasn’t feeling terribly inclined.

He held his empty glass out idly, easily letting someone pull it out of his hand and replace it with a full one.

Another Lightwood. Well, at least nothing would change.

Chapter 1 (Or, something Changes)

Alec slouched against the bar, trying to ignore the prickling feeling of having his back to the majority of the room. He knew he wasn’t in danger of being sneak-attacked here. Bar fights usually started with words. Loud ones.

Not that he was a barfighter, but he came into the Hunter’s Moon enough to recognize the start of one. Usually they didn’t get very far before Maia tossed the culprits out, tails (literal or otherwise) tucked.

He wasn’t much of a drinker either; a fact only Maia truly remained privy to. She slid him what looked like a blood-red cocktail and he accepted it with a grateful smile. Dressed up cranberry juice and the occasional mocktail were his preferences. He had no idea if that was because he genuinely didn’t like being intoxicated or if he was just uncomfortable enough with the strangers in the room that he couldn’t let go. The purpose of his routine visits to the Hunter’s Moon was three-fold, though it hadn’t started that way.

Alec loved his siblings. He did not love their insistent need to have a good time in sweaty crowds with music that was too loud to enjoy anyone’s company. They both were adamant he needed to spend time away from the Institute, so Jace had suggested “that Unveiled bar, the one with the hot bartender who hates me?” and Alec had gone. Initially it had been a way to get them off his back and to stare at a wall in peace. Slowly it had become a personal haven.

He was a familiar face by now, the Downworlders no longer flinched at the sight of him and the only reason anyone glared at him was for his pool game. It helped immensely that on his third visit, Maia had squinted at him wincing his way through a beer and declared him, for the entire bar to hear, the only tolerable Shadowhunter.

Today the bar was slow and after tapping her fingers over the bartop for a few minutes, she came to join him.

“Any good war stories today, Lightwood?”

He took a slow drink of his cranberry juice, thinking, “I broke Jace’s nose this morning.”

Her eyes lit up and she grinned. “Any particular reason or just because it was a day ending in y?”

“We were training and he thought hand-to-hand was a good idea.”

She gave him a look, “and was it?”

“Never is, for him.” Alec let himself grin at that bit of hard won pride.

Maia lightly tapped his shoulder in a mock slapping motion. “Look at you. So, greatest Shadowhunter of his generation is bullshit, then?”

Alec sighed, “No. He’s the best fighter, stronger and faster than any of the others. I’ve just trained with him for years and my hand-to-hand is cleaner because I don’t only focus on going for a kill. Jace is on another level, but I will always out-politic him, which is better for all of us.”

Maia snorted, “You could say that again. I know he’s your brother and Shadowhunter-crazy soul-bound-warrior-partner, or whatever— “ she didn’t pause to let Alec explain, though she did give him a look when he opened his mouth, “but if Jace was in charge, I would personally lead the revolt.”

“Good to know you’ll settle for me.”

Maia shrugged one shoulder. “You care. You come in here and you interact and you listen and you keep your people in line, Veiled or not. You can’t hold your liquor, when you do drink it, for shit, but I can forgive that since you’re my second-best tipper.”

Alec fought the urge to duck away from her sincerity and just smirked at her a little instead. Waving her off as a group of vampires came in, talking quickly about some party they were headed to after a plasma shot.

He tugged out his phone and made a note to check in with Raphael in the morning, since Downworld parties sometimes resulted in demon activity spikes and Raphael would be happy to let him deal with the clean-up. So coming to the Hunter’s Moon achieved three things for him: Satisfied his siblings, gave him an excuse to bitch with Maia, and kept him in the loop of Downworld happenings.

Maybe, someday, the Veil would come down. His fingers flexed around the cranberry juice. Maybe the Downworld would drag the Clave into the modern era. Maybe he could be himself then.

For some reason, he doubted it.

—

The old church had a broken-down charm to it from across the street, but once Clary Fairchild crossed the glamor threshold she had to pause. The building was beautiful. Stained glass windows glittered in the mid-afternoon sun, the stones were clean and well-cared for, the graveyard was part garden, plants visible as they spilled toward the front steps, and the two large oak doors were. . .closed.

She walked slowly up the front steps, looking for signs of the Shadowhunters her mother said called this place home. The only indication of them, aside from the kept building and the glamor, were the cameras that she could just distinguish from the stone embellishments. They had to know she was there.

Clary glared at the lovely wooden door but the well-cared for gloss didn’t shatter under her determination. It did, however, swing open.

She brightened, putting on her best and most personable expression, ready to stick out a hand and introduce herself when she realized she didn’t see anyone. Not a single soul. The door opened enough for her to see a hallway with bright lights, a sleek elevator, and a room beyond with startlingly modern technology and lit floors blending surprisingly well with the old architecture. She leaned into the open door, only to find herself being knocked back several stumbling steps.

“What the hell? Hello!?” she called, looking around for whatever had collided with her. She jumped when the doors swung closed again and a moment later the leaves at the base of the steps moved, just slightly, and the gate at the end of the stone walkway that led to the church clicked shut where she’d left it open.

Clary figured that any mundane would be shaking in their boots, but mundanes were not in the protection of Magnus Bane and they didn’t know about the Veil. Now, she realized that she was invisible to the people she needed to talk to and they were invisible to her, unintentionally running into her aside. Clary tossed her hands up, frustration making her footsteps more like stomps as she turned away from the church, her excitement curling into irritation.

“Great. Just. . .Gah! Magnus!”

She was a Nephilim, for Magics’ sake. Veiling her was just. . .just. . .exactly what her mother had wanted.

Clary scrunched her nose. Alright, she decided, talk with mom and then ask Magnus if he could please Unveil her.

Except. . .Then she wouldn’t be able to see her mom or any of her friends.

“This is so dumb.” She huffed aloud.

—

Magnus did so love when Catarina came to his club. She was relaxed and grinning at the bar with a drink in her hand, and it warmed him to see her that way. He appreciated the short bronze dress she’d chosen to wear, as it complemented his own teal themed outfit nicely.

Catarina had pulled him out of plenty of messy, drunken moments, but she’d been right beside him for just as many and with Ragnor to round out their trio, they’d had some truly unfortunate (and amazing) adventures. He watched her moving through tightly packed bodies to return to the VIP lounge with him, smiling widely.

In the last century, they had both behaved themselves more often than not. Catarina had been especially tame, largely due to her commitment to mundane medicine and the rapid changes in technology that she’d been forced to keep up with in the field.

Magnus had settled into his role as High Warlock and found that there was always something to keep him busy as a result.

“You look like you’ve eaten a lemon!” Catarina called to him as she passed through the drawn-back curtains that separated the VIP lounge from the rest of the club.

“Worse.” Magnus sighed, slumping back against the gray couch he was seated on, just for effect, “I’ve realized that we’ve spent the last century being mature.”

Cat just laughed, “It had to happen sometime. If you think we’re too responsible for all of this— “ she gestured back toward Pandemonium’s main room, “—I can call Ragnor and we can go drink whiskey in his smoking room?”

Magnus just groaned at that, listening to her laugh at him.

“He’s always liked playing the proper, adult, gentleman the most,” she pointed out, sipping her violently green drink.

“And he’s better at it than we’ll ever be, so we shouldn’t even try,” Magnus answered.

She just hummed, happily smacking her lips and examining her glass. “You know, your new bartender is very good. This is delicious and quite strong.”

Magnus snorted, sitting up enough to sip from his own drink.

“You are absolutely right. I’ll have to make sure they’re not doubling everyone’s drinks like that, but I have a suspicion they pegged you for a warlock and knew exactly what to do.”

Cat shrugged, her mouth curled into a smile around the rim of her glass. “I think you should trust their judgment then. Although—”

She nodded toward the bar, a flash of bright red hair visible even through the edges of the crowd and Magnus sighed.

“Biscuit’s a big girl.” Magnus dismissed Catarina’s amused eyebrow raise. Clary was not, in fact, old enough to drink, but Magnus liked to apply European age limits in his bar, regardless of its New York location. At least, for the members of the Shadow World that visited.

“She’s also headed this way.” Cat said, draining her glass and pushing off the couch, “I’m getting a tray of these—” she waved the glass in his direction, “—and you’re taking care of me for once.”

Magnus grinned at that, “Please, I remember Mardi Gras in ‘87.”

Catarina made a gesture then that left Magnus laughing loudly at her retreating form and a wide smile still on his face as an irritated- looking Clary ducked into the VIP lounge. Magnus noted that she was holding what looked like a tumbler of water but was undoubtedly much stronger.

“Biscuit!” Magnus sat on the edge of the couch, gesturing for her to come sit beside him. “Bee in your bonnet?”

“No.” She sat and huffed, “Yes!”

Well used to Clary’s often single-minded and near-sighted troubles, though her heart made up for some of it, Magnus only hummed.

“I’m supposed to be on the other side of the Veil.”

Magnus gave her a blank look, purposely not letting her see his immediate dismissal of the thought. She was more a Downworlder than a Nephilim. Jocelyn had seen to that, and even on his worst day, Magnus would rather have them on his side of the Veil.

Clary seemed to realize exactly who she was complaining to, as he stayed quiet, because her pout lessened.

“I’m sorry Magnus! I didn’t mean that I wanted to be, but I want to learn how to Shadowhunt, or whatever, and Mom said I would need to go to the Institute if I wanted to get proper training and learn about Nephilim history.” She shook her head and Magnus snapped his drink away.

“And you went and realized that no one there could see you?” Magnus asked.

He knew how well his spellwork functioned. If someone was on one side of the Veil they would be almost completely undetectable from the other side. Only by physically colliding would either party know someone was there, and even then they would maintain no sense of each other except as a barrier. He’d been intentional in creating that interaction. Even trying to run your hands around the outline of someone through the Veil would only yield a solid rectangle of resistance.

Clary sunk further into the couch, “Yes!”

Magnus chuckled at how far she was slouched, her drink held like she was thinking about trying to take a sip. As amusing as it would be to watch her spill it on herself in her childish fit, Magnus did understand why she might want to connect to her heritage, unfortunate as it may be.

“While I can’t say I personally see the appeal of spending time with Shadowhunters, especially while they’re not partying, I do understand why that was annoying.” Magnus tapped his chin. “If you’re truly determined to meet with the most uptight race of the bunch, I would suggest spending more time here, well after your bedtime. The few Nephilim who wander in usually do it after their patrols, near dawn.”

Clary sat up quickly, managing to keep a hold of her drink, “Really? Could you help me—”

Magnus shook his head, “I stay out of their business here. Besides, you should come to them on your own behalf. If I facilitate the meeting it adds a whole mess of politics that don’t apply to you simply wanting to speak with them about your personal learning.”

He really needed another drink. He craned his head, looking for Catarina and her tray, but she was still at the bar, grinning at the bartender.

“Politics?” Clary asked with a frown.

Magnus reminded himself that she was incredibly young and, thanks to her mother’s overprotective tendencies, naive. That he was the High Warlock, controller of the Veil in New York, and that she was a hidden Nephilim under his personal protection looking now to possibly cross that Veil, didn’t register to her. For Clary, she was a curious girl being kept away from something she wanted to know about.

“Oh, yes. Biscuit, there’s enough bad blood between the Clave and myself as it is, no need to spill more. Besides, the red tape of an official meeting would only delay you.”

It looked like Catarina was coming back and Magnus truly wanted to get drunk and dance with his often-too-busy best friend, without Clary.

“Now, go join the crowd.” Clary opened her mouth to protest and he quickly added, “If you’re lucky, maybe some of the angel-blooded frustrations will be here tonight.”

That did the trick and she left him with a quick smile of thanks.

Catarina set her tray full of drinks on the low table in front of him and he grinned when he saw a martini among them.

“You’re a Goddess among us lowly folk.” He gave her a wink.

“And you’re a stubborn fool who wouldn’t just summon another drink.” She swept up her own glass, looking more restless now as she sipped, undoubtedly getting ready to dance soon.

Magnus pressed a hand to his chest with a teasing fondness, Clary slipping his mind as he enjoyed Catarina’s company. “And cut into my own bottom line with the theft? Catarina!”

She reached over and stole his olives for that, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

—

Jace stumbled toward the bar, grimacing at the volume and press of people. He liked dancing and drinking and getting lost in the crowd, but even he could admit that Pandemonium could be a little much. Still. Any other club and he wouldn’t be able to relax at all, years of instincts honed to hyperawareness could only be so appeased. The wards of the High Warlock and the guaranteed truce within the walls were as good as it got.

He flagged down the bartender, grinning when they swapped to the good stuff at the sight of him. Shadowhunters might not have a good reputation with many, but the bartenders both here and at the Hunter’s Moon knew one thing about them they liked: they were loaded and most of them had no idea what mundane drinks should cost.

Jace and Isabelle spent too much time in the club for the bartenders to try and swindle them, except maybe the newest, but they also tipped extravagantly. The only perk of making a shit-ton of money and having almost no free time to spend it.

Jace did have a sneaking suspicion that Alec might honestly be overdoing it at the Hunter’s Moon, since the last time he’d gone for a quiet beer his four hundred percent tip had gotten a sniff and an eyeroll. That might’ve just been Maia though.

Isabelle’s weight pressed into his shoulder, her dark hair swinging around before the rest of her. She was grinning with her bright red lips and Jace rolled his eyes, holding up his hand again to let the bartender know they would need two of whatever concoction was being made.

“Having fun?” Jace half-shouted.

Izzy just laughed, the sound lost in the thrumming bass. He knew she was enjoying the dancing, even if they didn’t have as much time as they might like. Patrol had been blessedly easy but they were both expected at a monthly meeting in the early afternoon and wouldn’t be able to stay until sunrise.

Once, both of them would’ve ducked that meeting and hardly been bothered. That was before Alec was appointed Head of their Institute. Now shirking their responsibilities only undercut their brother and piled work on his plate. He’d trusted them with promotions of their own, appointing them along with several others when he’d taken the reins.

“Just remember!” Izzy said, directly into his ear, “If Alec thinks you're hungover he’s going to make you train the kids.”

Jace was well aware of his parabatai’s preferred method of torture. They had a rotation of young Shadowhunters in house, not ready for first patrols but nearly, and if Alec thought someone needed a little humbling, he’d stick them on sparring drills with the kids for a day. It was a special kind of hell.

“I haven’t seen that much stupid in a room since—” Jace accepted their drinks with a grin, the bartender winking at him and sliding away.

“Since we were the ones being used as punishment?” Izzy asked, snagging her bright white cocktail.

“I was going to say, since Raj asked you on a date with Alec right behind him.”

Izzy gave him that one. Jace wished he’d had a camera for the expression on Raj’s face when he’d realized that Alec was towering over him. It wasn’t that Alec hated the guy, well, anymore than he disliked anyone trying to flirt while working, but Raj had cornered Izzy on a bad day.

Jace took a step away from the bar, intending to head for the standing tables to finish his drink and survey the dance floor, when a small body collided with his.

“Oh shit!” His reflexes saved his drink, but the step back he’d taken knocked Izzy’s around and got the back of his shirt. He twisted toward his sister at the same time whoever had run into him started talking.

“I’m so sorry, oh my god! I’ll buy you another drink, I swear I was just— “ Jace saw Izzy’s eyes widen and turned back to see a short girl with vivid red hair staring at them both, her mouth still open.

“It’s cool,” he said, ignoring the spreading feeling of stickiness on his back. She was cute, with her big, bright eyes. He couldn’t help but smile at her, ignoring the way Izzy scoffed and elbowed him enough so that she could stand right beside him.

“You guys are Shadowhunters!” The girl nearly shouted.

“In the Black.” Jace grinned.

“Me too!” She said and his grin faded.

“Okay.” Izzy tossed back what was left of her drink. “So you’re a Shadowhunter. How?”

The red-head huffed, arms crossed at Izzy’s dismissive tone and Jace wished, for just a moment, that his siblings were just a little less like that sometimes.

“I mean, my mom was a Shadowhunter and now that I’m old enough, I want to learn. I’m Clary.” She introduced herself with firm confidence, like any of that made sense.

“Jace.”

“Isabelle. So you’re Nephilim, but you’re not old enough or whatever— “

“I’m 18!”

Jace snorted and Clary glared at him.

“No offense, Clary, but the problem isn’t that you’re too young. We start training when we can walk. We learn runes while Mundies are still learning shapes. I got my first blade when I was four.” Jace shrugged. “We can definitely ask our commander to welcome you for training, but you’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Clary seemed less certain now, but she raised her chin. “My mom said I would be fine. I’ve done martial arts.”

Izzy hummed, “That’s something. Not much, but something.”

Jace knew that tone of voice. Something about Clary had convinced Izzy and honestly he was pretty inclined himself, she was cute and reminded him of someone trying to find where they belonged.

“Alright,” he said, only for Izzy to take over.

“We’ll have to confirm with our brot-our Head, but if he okays it you can come to the Institute for, uh, orientation! We’ll have you on your way to being able to kick ass in no time!”

Clary’s face lit up, “Thank you! I can’t wait!”

She deflated in a split second and Jace blinked in surprise at the annoyed expression on her face, “I’m on the wrong side of the Veil though! I tried to come by earlier, but Magnus said I had to ask Shadowhunters before he’d Unveil me and— “

“You know Magnus Bane?” Izzy cut in and Clary nodded.

“Yeah, he helped my mom get away from the Clave and my dad when I was a baby. He’s sort of like my uncle?”

Izzy and Jace exchanged a look, “Your mom wouldn’t happen to be Jocelyn Morgenstern would she?”

Clary huffed again and Jace did his best not to smile at the way her nose wrinkled, “It’s Fray, now, actually. Jocelyn and Clary Fray.”

“And Magnus Bane, the High Warlock, is kind of an uncle?” Jace repeated.

Clary nodded and Izzy laughed.

“Alec’s gonna love this.”

—

Alec did not, in fact, love it.

“A random girl claiming to be the daughter of Jocelyn Morgenstern—”

“Fray,” Jace corrected, ignoring the withering glare it earned him from Alec.

“Fine. Jocelyn Fray’s alleged kid came up to you at a club, in the most ridiculously cliché way possible, I might add, and you decided it would be a good idea to let her cross the Veil?” Alec was trying very hard not to sound like an asshole. Jace, for all that they were bonded and knew each other too well, always managed to bring out the most judgemental tones in him. Mostly because Alec was fully aware Jace could make better choices. Not to mention Izzy.

“No!” Jace started, only for Isabelle to cut him off.

“Stop being a dick about this Alec. We didn’t just say, “yeah okay, let’s train you!” We told her we would need our Commander to make the decision. She said that she’s connected to Magnus Bane too, so I’m sure you can verify who she is.” Izzy looked thoroughly unimpressed and Alec felt himself soften a little.

“I’m sorry. You can both understand why I’m skeptical though.” He looked between them and was gratified to see they did seem to hear him.

“New Nephilim aren’t unheard of,” Jace raised his hands to stop Alec from interrupting, “but someone fully on the other side of the Veil is strange. We’re just asking permission to request an audience with the High Warlock to talk about her.”

Alec squinted at them both, weighing the options.

He didn’t trust new people with ease, which was only prudent in his role, but he could acknowledge when he was being a little irrational. If Magnus Bane said that this Clary Fray was who she claimed to be and allowed her through the Veil, then Alec would train her like any other Nephilim who found their heritage later in life. It would, undoubtedly, be an uphill battle of wills since the girl obviously thought she was ready to jump in. Still, he would be a fool to turn away another able body, and someone who might be in Bane’s good books.

He sat back and Jace started to smile, recognizing the win.

“Alright. Go, see Magnus Bane.” Alec gave them both a sharp look, gaze settling more fully on Jace as Izzy’s spine straightened, recognizing the Commander over her brother. “You’re going as my personal representatives under the protection and auspices of the New York Institute to make a formal request to the regional Controller of the Veil and High Warlock. I expect a full report.”

Jace nodded, face tight, and reached an arm out to clasp forearms with Alec.

“Understood,” he said, and though there was a playful light in his eyes, Alec knew the message was received loud and clear. Don’t make a mess.

Izzy flashed him a smile, “We’ll use our words first, promise.”

Alec relaxed and picked up the patrol reports piled up on his desk, “Well, you’d better figure out what you’re going to wear, since Bane holds court at his club.”

“Please, some of us are naturally fashionable.” Jace still headed for the door, ignoring Alec’s snort.

“Like me. Don’t worry, I’ll make Jace presentable.” Izzy made a kissing sound at him and followed a protesting Jace out of his office, tugging the door shut behind her.

Alec shook his head at them. He loved them both and he trusted them, but when they’d brought him news of the Fray girl, they’d both seemed too invested to be clear-headed. Still, he knew they would do well with Bane and free him from the obligation.

He glanced at the reports in his hands, the top page a listing of casualties. As was the current, alarming trend, a few mundanes had been injured and one killed last night.

Alec’s people were too thin on the ground and Alicante’s latest rejection for transfers or even more weapons to replace the ones that had been destroyed by ichor and improper care, since they couldn’t keep the dedicated maintenance crew staffed all hours, sat innocently in Alec’s inbox.

He would be needed for the night’s patrol rosters. He thought about trying to take a short nap after he went over the paperwork for the day and checked in with the infirmary, where supplies were also being stretched thin, when his phone buzzed.

Raphael Santiago’s name appeared and Alec sighed.

“Hello, Mr. Santiago.”

“Lightwood. About that party— I’ve got a situation.”

Alec closed his eyes. “Tell me.”

—

When Magnus’ home wards registered Simon Lewis, without Clary or Raphael, he was immediately alert.

There was very little reason for the fledgling to visit him, especially alone, and his concern for the Clan spiked. They were Downworlders in his territory, they were his responsibility; to say nothing of Raphael or the havoc Camille had wreaked in her last tantrum over his rejection.

He didn’t bother waiting for the knock on his front door, just snapped it open and stood, waiting in his jeans and purple button up.

Simon seemed to stutter into existence, vampire speed making him appear out of thin-air mid-step. He didn’t look hurt, though he was clearly worried about something. He was also better dressed these days, which Magnus credited to Raphael’s love of good jackets.

He gave Magnus a sheepish, surprised smile when he saw him waiting with his door open.

“Hey, Mr. Bane.” He gave a nervous little wave, and Magnus raised an eyebrow.

“Simon.”

The young vampire lit up at the sound of his name. “You remembered!”

Magnus’ nerves didn’t have time for this, but he could recognize that nothing could be really dire. Simon might be overtalkative and often naive, but he could cut to the chase when it mattered, usually by just blurting out whatever crisis without so much as a greeting. Magnus relaxed a little at the realization.

“I manage, occasionally. What’s brought you to my door, alone?”

Simon shuffled awkwardly and Magnus smiled a little. “You can come in.”

It wasn’t actually a rule for vampires to have to be invited in, but Magnus had a feeling that even when he was a mundane, Simon would’ve needed a little prompting. He’d always been a little frightened of Magnus, for whatever reason.

“Well, um, normally I would have asked Raph to come with me— don’t tell him I called him that, he hates it— but he’s like, super busy meeting with the Shadowhunters about some blood-party that got out of hand or something.”

Magnus was careful not to react to that, though it spiked his concern and his curiosity. Why had Raphael turned to the Institute and not come to him if he needed help? Or had the Shadowhunters summoned him for the meeting? And where was it happening? Magnus hadn’t been asked to part the Veil in any of the formal meeting places. Simon was still going on.

“—and I didn’t want Clary to know I was talking to you so I couldn’t go to Pandemonium, ‘cause she’s probably going to be there tonight and she’d want to know what we were talking about, and I’ve never been good at lying to her, not even—”

“Sherman, get to the point,” Magnus interrupted, not unkindly as it looked like Simon was working himself up.

SImon shut his mouth and nodded quickly, bouncing nervously and quickly enough it made Magnus’ eyes hurt to watch.

“Clary wants to be a Shadowhunter, but I don’t want her to cross the Veil.”

“Ah.” Magnus said.

It was a problem he had considered himself, but not one he was concerned with addressing until he’d met with the Nephilim. A meeting that was happening tonight, which he’d been trying to forget. He knew that Jace and Isabelle were going to be the duo he was negotiating with, which both helped since he was familiar with them at a distance, and chafed since he still hadn’t met the new Lightwood Head.

“That, Simon, is something between myself, Clary, and the Shadowhunters. If you feel that way, you should speak with her. This is her decision in the end. I’m sure that you will still see her at Pandemonium, and perhaps the Hunter’s Moon. I won’t speak too much about it, though.”

Simon sagged. “Yeah. I didn’t think you would, but I wanted to—,” he sighed, “ — I don’t know what I wanted, but I couldn’t not say anything.”

Magnus nodded in sympathy. “Your best friend is making some big choices, it’s natural to be afraid of the separation that might occur, but really, you need to talk with her.”

Simon looked at the ground, “You’re right.”

“I often am.” Magnus winked, though it was lost on the downtrodden vampire.

“Raphael says you’re the biggest fool he knows, and he goes on about how much glitter you use, but even he says you give good advice.” Simon looked back at him with a smile.

Magnus grinned. “Did you resort to torture to get him to admit it?”

“No? But he was pretty out of it when he said it.”

That brought back the worry that Magnus was successfully ignoring, “What’s happened?”

Simon shrugged, “I think a normal party, with mundanes who signed contracts and who wanted to be there, per the Clan rules, went a little far. Someone was turned without a writ, though they confirmed they wanted it in front of witnesses and once they—” Simon cringed, no doubt remembering the mess of his own turning, “—dug themselves out and could speak, they told Raphael the same thing. He’s meeting with the Head of the Institute about it, so it gets recorded properly, since some of the Clan were freaked out about it. I guess there was a Shadowhunter in the Hunter’s Moon when a big group was talking about the party, and they were worried the Shadowhunters would find out about the guy who was turned. Raphael didn’t seem concerned about it, though.”

Magnus hummed, thinking. Part of the Veil’s purpose was to free them from the fear of Clave repercussions for things they were perfectly capable of policing themselves. If a Shadowhunter hadn’t overheard chatter about the party, the Clan wouldn’t have thought twice about Clave involvement in the turning. It was concerning that someone had been changed without a writ, but everything seemed above board aside from the paperwork, and Magnus was sure that Raphael would take steps to prevent it from happening again.

“Did Raphael or Lightwood call the meeting?”

Simon shrugged, “Raphael, I think. He said he was “going to call Lightwood” so the Clan would “stop being idiots.” He seemed pretty calm about the whole thing.”

“And you thought you’d slip out to see me while he was busy?”

Simon couldn’t blush anymore, but his wide eyes said enough and Magnus laughed lightly, “Relax. I know he seems overbearing, but you are very young.”

Simon nodded and Magnus stared at him, waiting.

“Was there anything else?”

“Oh! Uh, no? I guess not. I’ll, uh, I’ll talk to Clary.” Simon looked nervous again.

“Sherman?”

“Yeah?”

“You have to leave my loft to talk to anyone else. Unless you wanted to practice your conversation with Chairman, but he’ll probably just hiss at you.” Magnus purposely drifted closer to his apothecary, giving the impression he was busy.

It wasn’t inaccurate, he was busy, just not with potion making. He wanted to get back to youtubing how to knit tiny paw covers for the Chairman, who kept tracking dirt from the balcony plants into the loft.

“Yep, no, sorry Ma— uh, Mr. Bane. I’m good. I’ll see you, uh, tonight?” Simon was walking backwards toward the door, looking very uncomfortable and Magnus hid a smile.

“I imagine so, Sherman. Good-bye.” He gave a little wave, watching Simon finally make it into the hall.

“Right. Bye!”

Magnus shut the door with a click of his fingers before Simon could say anymore. He was oddly fond of the awkward little vampire, but Simon was best in small doses, at least while he was still so uncomfortable around Magnus. Really, you let someone see you summon a demon once and they’re freaked out by you for years.

Magnus could admit that getting Elyaas’ slime all over a thirteen year-old Simon, who hadn’t known Magnus was a warlock, after the demon had made some very descriptive lewd comments about Magnus’ appendages, was a bit much. Still, six-years and a crash course in the Shadow World that had become very relevant when Camille targeted Simon for his proximity to Magnus and Clary, seemed like the kind of thing that should have helped SImon get over the demon incident.

Magnus returned to his seat on his bed, laptop open to the video he needed and soft ball of yarn waiting.

There had been a lot of slime.

—

The meeting with Jace and Isabelle had been nearly pleasant. They were both obviously comfortable in the club and had no issue with exchanging handshakes and sharing a table with Magnus. There weren’t many concessions needed, just reassurances as to Clary’s identity and how her passing through the Veil would work. Magnus had made his suggestions for her spending weekdays with the Shadowhunters and weekends with her mother and friends, with certain precautions taken on both sides to prevent incidents. It was agreed that after a trial period, she may have to decide to be fully on one side or the other, since the Veil existed to keep the Clave out of Downworlder business and vice versa, and someone bouncing across the line would defeat the purpose.

With that sorted and promising to bring the overall idea to their Head, Isabelle had drawn Magnus into a conversation about fashion that Jace had been surprisingly well-versed in, though his comments had mostly served to prod Magnus into a passionate defense of glitter and silk cuffs.

It had been far calmer and more enjoyable than he’d expected, though he didn’t envy the Nephilim when Clary accosted them on their way out of the club. Her face had quickly been irritated and Magnus could imagine the restrictions were displeasing her, along with the assurance that was no doubt being repeated that she wouldn’t be on patrol for at least eighteen months.

Magnus chose to leave before Clary could find him. He didn’t want to go home yet, though and he was still worrying after Simon’s visit, so he decided to drop in on Raphael.

Literally.

He hit the leather couch with a little oof as his portal dropped him slightly higher than he’d meant it to.

“Dios,” Raphael said, from his left.

Magnus pointedly brushed glitter from his sleeve onto Raphael’s floor before turning to face him with a widening grin.

“Hola, mi pequeño gruñón.”

Raphael was wearing slacks and a white undershirt, clearly half-way through changing his clothes for the coming dawn. A gold cross rested on his chest and Magnus resisted the urge to point out it was one that Magnus had given him. Rosa’s cross was worn on Sundays, but Magnus had given Raphael a few others so he wouldn’t have to worry about damaging hers in his everyday dealings.

“If you’re here to ask me to keep Simon away from you, I won’t. He’s almost as annoying as you. I’m sure you’ll learn something.” Raphael picked up a dark red shirt that was draped over the arm of the couch Magnus was making himself comfortable on. “Next time, at least portal outside the door.”

Magnus laughed, “Afraid I’ll see something shocking?”

Raphael rolled his eyes. “Is there anything left that shocks you?”

“The cooking of upper middle-class white women, mostly.” Magnus summoned himself a glass of wine, a matching glass with Raphael’s preferred vintage appearing on the side table.

Raphael made a face, but didn’t disagree with him and Magnus was sure he’d also seen the nachos-on-the-counter nightmare. Raphael finished buttoning his shirt and swept up the glass. Magnus settled more comfortably. If Raphael was really not in the mood, he’d have turned down the drink.

“Did you come just to annoy me?”

“It’s a favored pastime.” Magnus took a long drink, watching Raphael’s face as he finally sampled his own, scowling all the while. There was a lightening of his expression, his eyebrows less creased and Magnus congratulated himself on picking a good blood-wine.

“You’re here about the party, then,” Raphael said, “since Simon cannot be expected to keep quiet, you make him too nervous.”

Magnus shrugged, “A little too much demon slime between us, apparently. I admit, I am curious why the Shadowhunters were involved, and Simon said that you called the meeting with them. I might’ve been able to help.”

Raphael frowned at his glass. “You weren’t who I needed. Martin and Celeste were panicking and they put everyone else on edge, because they’d been talking about the party with a Shadowhunter around at the Hunter’s Moon. I tried to tell them the Shadowhunters had no way of knowing what happened, and even if they did, that Lightwood wouldn’t move against us over it, but they were tense and I didn’t want anyone to do something stupid. No point in attracting the Clave’s attention by going after a Shadowhunter in a neutral zone, just because they were being stupid.”

Magnus stared at him. “You think they’d have done that? The whole purpose of the Veil is to stop that sort of thing.”

Raphael sighed, “I know. Martin is old, he slept a long time, he’s still not used to the way things are now. He’s too used to looking over his shoulder and he was fixated on the Shadowhunter in the bar. He didn’t know, of course, who they were. I sorted it out with Lightwood.”

“You told him about the mundane without the writ?” Magnus was surprised. That seemed like inviting the trouble that Raphael was apparently trying to avoid.

“You haven’t worked with this Lightwood yet, but he’s not worried about our ability to keep our own laws. In fact, the meeting was mostly just to soothe the Clan. He gave me a written promise of no action, bought me a drink, and that was that.” Raphael huffed, “You’d have made a big, annoying, show out of it, if I’d asked you to get involved.”

Magnus chuckled, “I would’ve asked for a formal meeting room, at least.”

“I wanted to be seen meeting with him. It helps everyone to see us at peace. The Veil protects us all, but if the leaders are never visible, it will create more tension between our peoples, especially the young ones and the wolves.”

Magnus’ wine went a bit sour on his tongue at that. “You think the Veil is a bad idea.”

Raphael made a frustrated sound. “I think it’s a good idea, but it’s not absolute enough. We should either be completely cut off from Nephilim or we should start evaluating bringing the Veil down, at least in some cities. New York is much calmer, the leadership here works well together in the Downworld. Even Maia and I. I’ve been getting more vampires in the city. They’re coming here because there’s trouble brewing in other territories. The Unveiled spaces are becoming spots for trouble. Downworlders, who have barely interacted with Nephilim, taking offense to their presence or their weapons, or even just their words. Nephilim, who don’t know anything about the Downworld, disrespecting traditions. The separation is becoming messy where we do meet.”

Magnus let out a heavy sigh, tipping his head back and staring at the ceiling.

“I admit I wondered if something had begun. Many of the High Warlocks tasked with maintaining the Veil have been terribly cagey. I was hoping it was something petty. They probably didn’t want to say anything yet since I haven’t brought it up and I was the one who brought the Veil into play.” Magnus traced the shadows cast on the ceiling. If the Veil was beginning to create issues with Shadowhunters in Unveiled spaces, a Council would have to be called. A century had passed since the last one, all the races at a table, and Magnus had hoped to put it off for longer still. Councils were exhausting, stretching weeks at a time and filled with posturing and arguing and ridiculous power struggles, especially with the Clave involved.

“The Veil has served us well for most of the last century, but it’s time to re-evaluate.” Raphael sounded almost apologetic and Magnus rolled his head to look at the man.

Raphael gave him a regretful grimace. “I wasn’t going to bring this up yet, but it needs to be looked at.”

“I’m sure it does, if the troubles you mentioned are happening. I’ll make some inquiries.”

Raphael nodded and Magnus gathered himself, that was a problem for him to ruminate over in his own time.

“I noticed you let Simon borrow one of your jackets.” He made a show of drinking his wine.

“And?” Raphael said with a tight sniff.

“What did Lily have to say about that?”

Raphael scowled and Magnus laughed. No doubt Lily had teased Raphael relentlessly about his soft spot for the younger chatterbox.

-Chp 2

Magnus’ senses lit up as a surge of demonic energy rippled through the leylines of New York. In a moment he snapped the bag of goodies he’d been out buying for Catarina back to his loft. Another quick flourish of his hands changed his outfit into one that looked more dangerous, deep red coat, black leather pants, black shirt, and black and red makeup to match. Higher Demons, more than mortals, traded in visuals and Magnus wanted whichever one had come through to know who he was.

He focused on where the waves of power were originating. A building in the Bronx. He could feel a weak magical signature there, a young warlock undoubtedly in over their head. With a mournful thought to his evening plans, Magnus conjured a portal and swept it over himself.

It dropped him half a block from the building, outside a tiny shop that Magnus had been to some years before. The place had changed hands, and goods. Magnus hadn’t been to the area in a long while, but the pulsing demonic energy meant he barely paused before striding confidently in the right direction.

Outside the building was a Shadowhunter patrol, only visible to him because the Veil didn’t obscure his sight. A man with blonde curls and a sturdy warhammer, adamas glittering in the witchlight his companion held, grasped in front of him.

“Why aren’t we going in yet?” the other man complained, his mouth pulled into a scowl even as he blew a lock of dark hair out of his face. A third man was with them, though he stood slightly apart, staring at the building with his arms crossed.

The blonde answered, even as Magnus carefully stepped past them, “Our Commander said to give it a moment.”

“What’s he playing at?” the first man demanded, and Magnus wondered that himself as the snarls of demons grew in volume as he neared the building.

“He wanted to give the Warlocks a moment. He said he was pretty sure this was a botched summoning.”

Interesting. Magnus knew that, how did a Shadowhunter?

“If some asshole called a bunch of demons up, they get what they deserve!”

If this had been intentional, Magnus might be a little inclined to agree with that sentiment, especially as the wall in front of him, and by extension the three Shadowhunters, exploded outward with the sound of splintering wood and hissing demons. A single large raum demon and half a dozen smaller shax demons were forcing their way out of the building.

“Duncan, on your left!”

Magnus decided the Shadowhunters could handle the shax just fine, especially as the sound of demon squeals came from behind him, along with the men shouting to each other. He gathered a ball of magical fire and lobbed it at the raum demon.

Its terrible face swung toward him and he started to ready another attack, only to watch a streak of silver and red bury itself in the raum’s eye, followed by a neat line of attacks down the demon's front, leaving it reeling and blinded. Magnus whistled, impressed by the archer’s aim. He didn’t waste anymore time on the raum, as more arrows flashed in the mix of witchlight and Magnus’ own glowing power.

Through the ruined wall Magnus could see more demons coming from an open circle in the floor, a minor summoning that hadn’t been—

The warlock, wearing a thick blue sweater and ragged jeans splattered with ichor, was backed in a corner, firing weak blasts at the writhing mass. Magnus sighed and with a twist of his wrist, snapped open a portal beside the young warlock, stepping through.

“I’m guessing this isn’t what you had in mind for your evening?” Magnus asked, burning the nearest demons to a crisp.

“No! I was just collecting some potion ingredients but I—” The younger warlock looked sheepish, a pale pink tail coming to drape over their shoulder as they slumped.

“Thought, hell, why not make it a party?” Magnus let a spark of his power clean the ichor off of them both, revealing his companion’s bubblegum pink curls underneath.

They ruffled a hand through their hair with a grateful look, “No. I uh, I sneezed?”

Magnus stared at them, flicking a demon away from them, “You sneezed?”

“I’ve been brewing potions for three straight days! I have no idea how much stuff I’ve inhaled, but I was standing too close and I sneezed and I broke the salt line. I couldn’t close it fast enough and I’m not. . . I’m only forty, I don’t usually do this stuff!” They looked ashamed, and like they were expecting Magnus to smite them. They also, on further scrutiny, looked exhausted and quite ill.

Magnus sighed, “Three-day potion binges should only be done after you go ingredient shopping, which I expect you’ll remember for next time. Now be a good warlock and stand over there,” Magnus gave them a gentle nudge toward the back wall, “and let me clean up.”

They nodded, clearly somewhat dazed and very embarrassed, and stepped aside. Magnus took in the demons still clawing through the open summoning circle and glanced toward the torn open wall.

The Shadowhunters were clearly holding their own, as no demon made it more than a few steps through. Arrows were scattered in puddles of ichor and ash but the archer wasn’t visible from where Magnus stood, though the blonde was. His warhammer sang as he swung it in a smooth arc.

Their presence meant Magnus didn’t have to contain anything, which was good, but he needed to get this sorted and get the—

“What’s your name?” he asked, magic pooling in his palms.

From behind him, they said, “I’m Ferran.”

He needed to get Ferran out of there, their magic was dangerously drained and Magnus had a feeling that whatever had prompted their potion binge was something he should’ve been made aware of.

He let the magic go, a wave of blue lightning jumping from demon to demon, even as a second wave sealed the small rift. Interestingly, red-fletched arrows rained through the opening faster than his magic could reach the demons nearest it. He wondered if the archer saw the dying demons and felt competitive, but dismissed the thought. Shadowhunters were hardly his business.

With a flourish, ignoring the way his magic was starting to strain from use, he wiped the remains of the summoning circle. The Shadowhunters could deal with the ichor and ash.

“It’s time to go, I should think.” Magnus offered a hand to Ferran, who took it with an awed and grateful look.

“Thanks,” they breathed and Magnus huffed.

“Don’t thank me yet, I’ve got questions.”

—

Alec spent a few extra minutes, while collecting his arrows, to look where the summoning circle had been, according to Andrew. Underhill had been the only one to actually make it into the building and he’d said there was a circle that was probably made of salt that was where the demons had come from.

Raj was still bitching about the warlock, that had to have been present with the wave of power that had killed so many demons, leaving them to clean up. He seemed to think the summoner and the warlock who dealt with the bulk of the demons were one and the same, but Alec didn’t think so. Whoever had taken care of the circle, and probably the original summoner, had come in through the destroyed wall, the same as Andrew. He’d seen the raum demon take what had to be a blow of magical fire before he’d been in position to fire at it.

He’d have to send a message with Izzy and Jace to pass along his thanks to the warlock community, and maybe ask Maia if she knew who would have come to deal with this sort of thing.

Alec plucked another arrow from a small pool of ichor, bringing the rag he carried for just this to wipe it. He shivered as a residual flash of blue crackled against his fingertips. The adamas and runes had captured a touch of the magic that had encompassed the room. He stared at his hand, waiting to see if there would be any effect.

Nothing happened, but Alec couldn’t help feeling like the magic had been waiting for him to come pick up the arrow. He looked at the secondary quiver strapped to his thigh, kept explicitly to stop contaminated arrows from mixing with clean ones. He’d retrieved far more of his weapons than normal, none of them starting to dissolve in the ichor.

Alec rubbed his fingers together. He’d definitely have to send along a thanks, as much as he could.

“Commander Lightwood.” Underhill stepped back in, his hammer strapped across his shoulders now that he wasn’t using it. Alec had been surprised by his signature weapon, used to seeing Underhill in his capacity within the Institute. They’d decided to add themselves to the patrol roster as a two-man team to cover more ground, which Alec was immensely grateful for since Duncan and Raj would’ve been in over their heads tonight. As it was, they were going to be stuck cleaning this up for the rest of the night.

“Underhill.” He nodded at Andrew, gesturing to the ichor-stained space, “Any ideas?”

Andrew gave him a look and Alec sighed, “Yeah. I was hoping you might have something up your sleeve. I’ll send Duncan back for buckets and bleach.”

“Hey!” Raj shouted from where he was dragging the ruined pieces of the wall back, together with Duncan.

“If I send you along, will you come back?” Alec said, with a pointed look and Raj scoffed.

“Yes. I hate this shit, but it’s part of the job. Though if that warlock had— “

“We get it, Raj,” Andrew sighed.

“Alright, both of you go retrieve supplies and update the standby teams, with us tied up they might have to go out. Again.” Alec watched Raj and Duncan give crisp nods and activate their strength runes. They both understood, despite the general grumbling and Raj’s tendency to think with his dick more than his head half the time, how thinly stretched everyone was.

As soon as they were gone, Alec allowed himself a moment to just breathe, staring at the floor.

“Alicante turned down another request?” Underhill asked, his voice even.

Alec closed his eyes. “This morning.”

“I’m sorry, Alec.”

Alec let out a short, bitter laugh and looked at Andrew, “No. I’m sorry. If I had played their game a little better, they might have bothered to send help.”

Underhill frowned at him. “The Clave’s been shafting New York for years. It’s just more obvious because they’re angry that you had the backing to take the command when Maryse left. It’s not your fault that our government is full of petty children.”

Alec rolled his eyes, but didn’t disagree.

“C’mon, if we don’t get clean up started, Raj is never going to shut up.”

Andrew snorted, “I’ll figure out the wall, you go do your thing.”

Alec nodded, pulling his phone out again and writing up an email with a quick explanation of what actually happened and what would sell as a good story if they needed to throw the mundanes off. He addressed it to the Mayor, several mundane journalists with the sight who were on the Institute’s payroll, and the High Warlock. Magnus Bane had yet to respond to any of the emails and, since he spent many nights in an Unveiled club where he could easily check them, Alec knew it was intentional.

He wasn’t sure why Bane remained uncommunicative with them, but he let it go. His parents had burned a lot of bridges in their time and though they both seemed more intent on changing, they weren’t likely to explain their mistakes just yet. His mother, in particular, had warned him to avoid Bane as much as possible, though there was a flicker of shame in her when she did.

His father had jetted off to the LA Institute with little more than a friendly clap on the arm and an empty “good luck”, but then, Alec had been too angry at him for anything more. Maybe he should try to reach out to them and ask just what they had done to alienate the High Warlock.

That was something to consider when he wasn’t standing in puddles of ichor.

—

Alec half-stumbled through the door of the Hunter’s Moon fifteen minutes before closing time, giving Maia an apologetic smile. He would have to add to her tip jar, though it had been a good night if the hundred sticking slightly out was any indication.

He slumped onto a stool at the end of the bar, adjusting his breathing as his hand pressed tight against his side. There was a lingering smell in the air that he tried to focus on, it was nice, whatever it was, some kind of cologne.

“Uh, Alec?” Maia asked, sounding more concerned than he’d ever heard her. He just shook his head, grimacing at the way the bartop went fuzzy in front of him. Venom tipped claws. Wonderful. He swallowed the feeling and took another slow breath through his nose. It would pass as his runes did their work, but he needed to just sit somewhere relatively safe. He resisted the urge to chuckle at that thought, it would only hurt and the bar was safe. For him.

“Seriously?” Maia’s curls came into his field of vision and he blinked, she was leaning so she could look him in the face. Her brows were pinched and her lips pursed, and he tried for a smile.

“ ‘m alright. Just took a hard hit tonight and needed to sit down for a few. I’ll be gone before you have to lock up. Sorry.” He winced, mentally trying to decide how possible it was going to be to stick to that. Thirteen minutes and counting, then.

“God, Lightwood, if you need a hospital—”Maia paused and Alec could imagine her scrunching her nose.

“No. Runes are working, I swear. I really do just need to sit long enough to let them. Maybe some water?” He managed to look at her properly and she stared back until he could see her decide he wasn’t lying.

“Water. And you're staying put until I’m finished up here. Then I’ll walk you home, since I don’t want the only Shadowhunter I can tolerate turned into mince-meat because I let him out of my sight.” She shoved a glass of water at him and he raised it slightly in thanks before draining it.

“You remember that home is the Institute in Queen’s, and we'll be invisible to one another before we even reach the next block, right?”

“It’s New York, walking someone home encompasses all the taxis, trains, and smells along the way.” She slapped her bar rag over her shoulder and sniffed, like she hadn't forgotten the barrier between them. “I won’t walk you home, then. You’re still staying until I actually believe that rune stuff worked, though.”

She gave him a pointed stare, one that Alec was sure kept young wolves in their places, and turned away to return to her tasks.

Alec snorted into his glass of water, glad that the world was slowly steadying. There were still glimmering spots on the counter, but a few blinks told him that it was glitter, a lot of it, caught in the grains of the wood.

“I owe you one.”

Maia rolled her eyes, “You owe me several by now, I think.”

Alec wasn’t going to argue with the truth.

—

Several days, many hours of potion-brewing and young-warlock berating later, Magnus finally had a moment to breathe. Ferran had been one of several warlocks contracted by an older nurse working at a children’s hospital. She had called in every favor she had and managed to redirect funds from a charity to pay for warlocks to brew several complex healing potions in large quantities. Her final gift, before she retired, was to try magic to heal the children she could.

Magnus loved the sentiment behind it, knew from Ferran that none of them had taken the money for payment, only used what they needed to get ingredients for the potions, but there were things to consider. A load of children magically, miraculously getting better would be difficult to hide and might lead to a mess, if enough sick children were brought to the hospital expecting the same, only to be met with mundane treatment instead.

Magnus had made it very clear to the knot of, mostly young, warlocks that he would help them to make sure their good deed did not leave a mess in its wake. It had taken him days to modify the potions enough that they would facilitate recovery over a period of time and respond to mundane treatments for different things, to make the recoveries appear as natural as possible.

Not for the first time, Magnus found himself wondering what could be different, if the mundanes knew. Too many variables, too much chance of terrible things, yes, but also the ability to help more people.

He shook the thought away, though it had plagued him since Ferran explained what they were doing, summoning demons. That was not the sort of thing he needed to be focused on tonight. He was here for a little company, a drink, and maybe a round of pool.

The sign for the Hunter’s Moon was a welcome sight, as were the warm sounds of life from within.

Magnus pushed open the door and grinned at Maia when she looked over, hands busy with glasses. She gave him a quick smile and nodded toward a seat at the end of the bar, his usual spot.

Yes, tonight was good for a spot of company and then early to bed.

—

There had to be some way to either force hands in Alicante or stop demons from coming through as frequently. Enough, at least, to give his people a break.

Alec stared at the forms on his desk, more requests to send off, asking for transfers, temporary staffing, even just a few more bodies for a night or two. Anything. The ones from the week before, red-lettered denials stamped on all of them, sat in a sad pile to his right.

At this point, he knew Alicante wasn’t going to help them. Their numbers were stretched thin around the world, though not so badly in most places as in New York, and they would love to force him to step down, to admit defeat. He didn’t understand the logic here, he was already practically begging for help, but without him in charge, it wouldn’t get better.

He would hate to see what sort of schedule some politician would put together, undoubtedly not including their own name on the roster. No, Alicante was useless but that left him with scare—

“Sir?” Underhill sounded like he’d been trying to get Alec’s attention for a while, standing in the doorway to Alec’s office.

“Yes?” He shook himself from his thoughts to focus on Andrew.

Underhill held out Alec’s phone, “Your line’s been ringing a while now. I thought you might want to take it.”

Ah. He thought he’d left that somewhere, though Ops made the most sense.

Alec accepted the device, frowning at the display. The number for the Hunter’s Moon showed in his call logs and even as he looked at them, lit up his screen. He swiped to answer and didn’t bother to say a word.

The Veil was thorough and all anyone on the other side would hear through his phone was ambient noise, but since the call was coming from an Unveiled location, he would hear them.

“Lightwood, that better be you finally.” Maia’s annoyed tone came through, making Underhill raise his eyebrows at Alec, who just shook his head.

“I’m going to assume it is and that you can hear this. Get here. Now. I’ve got a wolf losing his head over demons and I won’t be able to contain him until we can get him to believe that there are people out there who deal with that.”

There was a long silence, only the muffled sounds around Maia coming through, and then a single “Good” before she hung up.

Underhill looked between the phone and Alec. “Well. I can let Jace know the reigns are his for a couple hours?”

Alec made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat. “See you later, apparently.”

They both knew that Alec would jump at this opportunity to help the wolves, always looking to build stronger ties, and a new wolf was a great place to start. Werewolves were protective of the newly turned, the closest thing to children many of them would ever have or be near, in any meaningful way.

Underhill left him to gather his gear. Alec had started keeping his leathers and his bow in his office. They were tucked safely into a well-designed storage cabinet that looked like a file cabinet, except the whole front was a door that opened. It was a handy thing from one of Jace’s many pranks in their teen years. He’d bought it specifically to hide in, but their parents hadn’t found “spy” furniture very amusing and sent it to the basement to gather dust.

It was one of the first things Alec had moved into the office and fitted with an insert to hold his bow and blade. Izzy and Jace liked it, Underhill liked it, his father called it “paranoid” but Alec thought his father missed the point.

It saved him precious minutes now, and Alec was running at a steady, rune-enhanced pace towards the Hunter’s Moon, in no time.

“Alec!” Maia sounded relieved to see him as Gretel led him inside. She’d been standing lookout and though she, personally, didn’t care for him, she hadn't said a word against his arrival. Alec thought she’d seemed almost as glad to see him as Maia.

The bar was mostly empty, just a few of the wolves with the levelest heads dotted around the space. It felt like they were forming a barrier, undoubtedly a loose way of containing the young man standing with his hand braced on the pool table at the back. Any tighter formation would set the uneasy new wolf off and Alec quickly stepped so he wasn’t blocking the guy’s line to the door. Gretel nodded to Maia and stepped back outside.

Ah Alec thought. She was there to stop unwanted exits as well, just less obviously.

Maia spoke fast and low as the young wolf growled at Alec, another man trying to keep him calm, covering her words.

“Kid’s name is Bartholomew. He likes us to call him Bat.” She rolled her eyes a bit and sounded fond but Alec didn’t think it was the time to point that out.

“How long?” He asked, instead.

“A month or so. Russell was being a real dick about my takeover but we thought he skipped town. Turns out the jackass has been skulking around turning people to make another pack.” At the sharp look Alec sent her Maia shrugged, “We’ve handled it.”

He let it go. If Maia said it was handled, he trusted her.

“The demon?”

Maia grimaced over the sound of Bat shouting about “monsters” as whatever the other wolf said to him seemed to freak him out.

“Yeah. A pair of Elapids. From what he said about it, I’d guess your people showed up to handle them, but he’d already run away. He doesn’t believe us when we explain what they are and what Shadowhunters do. We, uh, haven’t gotten to the Veil with him yet. Taking it slow, and all.”

Well, that explained some of his disbelief then. Not even knowing there was a whole other race of people who specialized in killing the monsters in the dark would make it hard to hear about them after you’d met one of the most frightening looking monsters.

“I’m good to approach?”

“Just back off if he gets the twitches.”

Twitches. The obvious movements of muscles under skin and the twitching around the mouth that usually signaled a wolf's transformation. Someone as new as Bat would have no way to control them, not like Maia. Alec had seen her shift once, she’d rolled her shoulders back and breathed out and then there had been a wolf. It was impressive.

With a quick thought to push general calm to his parabatai, since getting slashed by a young wolf would bring Jace running if he didn’t have some warning, Alec approached Bat.

“Bat?”

A flinch and dark eyes pulsing green locked onto him. “Who are you?”

“Alec Lightwood. I’m the Head of the New York Institute. I command the New York Shadowhunters.” He settled into a neat parade rest, non-threatening with his hands at his sides, but displaying his runes and his weapons.

“Shadowhunters? You’re one of the people who kills those. . .things?” Bat sounded doubtful, but Alec had grown up in Jace’s shadow, he knew how to prove himself when it was needed.

“We’re tasked with killing demons and keeping the world safe from the forces of various Hells. I know the demons you saw were frightening and I don’t look like I could beat them, but if you’d like, I can show you a few things?” He gestured to his bow with an open hand, careful not to make any moves too fast or too close to his blade.

Bat’s eyes were still a bit wild.

“I’m not going anywhere without, uh,—”

Alec gave him a nod, “Without Pack. We can’t go further than the side alley without the Veil dividing us anyway. Did they manage to explain that?”

Bat seemed a bit steadier, which didn’t surprise Alec. Izzy always said that his tendency to fall into “calm command” mode when people were panicking, pulled them back too.

“Yeah. Uh, Dave said that a warlock made it and Shadowhunters were usually on the other side, except here and another bar.” Bat was looking around, like he wanted someone to verify what he said. He seemed very young to Alec then, and he purposely didn’t look for the scars left from his first change.

“Magnus Bane.” Maia supplied, stepping up beside Alec, “He’s the warlock. You met him earlier in the week, Bat. Glitter, whisky, talked about music with you and Simon?”

Alec raised an eyebrow that Maia ignored. He didn’t know Magnus Bane came to the Hunter’s Moon, especially when he owned the other Unveiled locale in town. He would have to ask her about it later.

“Oh. Oh. He was great.” Bat was visibly calming down.

“Do you want a demonstration?” Alec reminded him.

Maia scoffed good-naturedly, “Lightwood, you just want to show off to someone new.” Alec gave her a look and she relented with a sigh, “Oh, let him show you Bat. You’ll feel better about what Shadowhunters can do and once everyone’s gotten their skin settled, you can buy Alec a drink and ask him all about demons.”

“Why do I have to—”

“Maia! I have an Institute to—”

Maia called over both of them. “I’ll be taking anyone who wants to bet that Lightwood can’t Robin Hood his arrow! And someone get Gretel.”

Several of the other wolves seemed keen on that and shuffled toward her to talk about it. Bat stayed put, shifting nervously and watching them. Alec relaxed his posture, purposely making himself a little smaller and more at ease.

“I will answer any questions I can.”

Bat blinked at him, then darted a glance at the other wolves, “Do you—” He cleared his throat, seeming uncertain, “Do you really kill those things? Even when no one can see you?”

Alec studied him a moment and realized that Bat was feeling a little embarrassed he’d run away.

“I do. My siblings, my people, do. You, and most other downworlders, shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Without training or studying demonology, you could be killed trying, and not just by teeth and claws. Plenty of demons are venomous or egg-laying, or they can play with your head. Also, most of the smaller ones will run away if you attack them and then who knows what they’ll do.”

At the look of confusion on Bat’s face, Alec resigned himself to a long evening of explaining. The sound of Maia calling his name reminded him, after he won her whatever pot she’d gotten pooled together about his shooting.

He dropped his head with a brief sigh at her, and realized the floor near the pool table was covered in glitter.

—

Magnus ran into demons twice over the next week and a half. The first one was already fading when he nearly tripped over it out the side door of a client's shop, an adamas arrow with red fletching glimmering in the bubbling ichor.

The second time, a small nest of Kuri demons had taken up residence in a subway car for the evening. Magnus was a car behind them and watched, fascinated and amused, as they’d curled up on seats and luggage racks, like demented passengers. Mundanes had instinctively steered clear of the car. The Shadowhunters found them after a couple of stops, Jace’s distinctive blonde hair reflecting the lights as he led a small group off the platform.

Magnus watched the demons burst into ashes and ichor and tried not to think about how often he’d been. . .well. . .thinking about the Nephilim. Or their Institute. Or the Veil in general, after his talk with Raphael.

He leaned against the pole next to him, eyes following the last kuri’s movements though he was not really seeing it. What Raphael said was true. Magnus had only needed to ask around in other circles, other cities, to learn that tensions in Unveiled spaces often ran high. Total isolation had its appeals, but Magnus wasn’t sure it was truly possible.

For one, more Nephilim would die without emergency healing from a warlock being a stipulation for temporary Unveiling, and without the potions they often purchased. For two, Downworlders, generally, couldn’t handle fighting demons and, while the immortals would always remember, not knowing who or what was fighting them would only cause problems. Magnus thought it would be terribly sad, cutting the Nephilim off completely. Their people were already so isolated, from mundanes and the Downworld alike, and shutting them out further felt wrong.

Magnus was pulled away from his musings when bright red splattered on the nearest windows to his car. It was the wrong color to be a demon’s, but there wasn’t so much of it that he thought he should try to portal over. He would, maybe, switch cars at the next stop.

The demons were all killed before he could decide how strongly he felt about it, anyway, and when the train slowed to a stop, the Nephilim let themselves out.

Magnus elected to do the city of New York a favor, and snapped the remaining ichor away before it could do any more damage to the seats.

This time there were no arrows and Magnus felt oddly disappointed.

—

Jace brought home an interesting souvenir from Pandemonium, not that he realized. A note that fell off his jacket when he was in Alec’s office, reporting on some weird activity on the subway.

Alec saw it peel off of Jace’s jacket, but at the sight of the lip mark pressed to the paper, he stayed quiet. Jace didn’t need another “night out”. Like all of them, Jace needed real rest, a day with no patrol, no emergency calls for help, and no one to make demands of his time. Alec wouldn’t begrudge Jace a night with someone from Pandemonium, but the note had obviously been stuck to him, and was not likely one Jace wanted to keep.

When he bent to pick it up, after Jace left with a firm reminder to “get some kind of rest”, Alec realized it wasn’t even meant for his brother. It was addressed to a friend, the words “Get your boring ass out for a night”, clearly not a come-on. The SWAK on the note reminded Alec of the way Jace would blow him a kiss after being a particularly smug asshole about something. He shook his head at it and dropped it into his trash.

The lipstick was a nice shade of blue, though.

—

Weeks passed and Magnus found he missed Clary, a little. He rarely saw her, except on the few weekends she’d dropped by the club for him to pull her back through the Veil. Her Shadowhunter training was going well, from what she said, but he got the feeling she’d been told not to say much about it.

Maybe she just didn’t want to spend her free weekend talking about what had, essentially, become her job.

He told himself that missing her was why he found himself outside the New York Institute. It was easier to deal with than the admission that he’d felt drawn to the place for a while now. The tingle of awareness whenever he was near the old church, or times when Shadowhunter patrols would sweep near his street, that he’d attributed to his wards for years, had come to life as a full pull. Magnus was very good at ignoring it.

Most of the time.

He had no intention of trying to go inside, though the Shadowhunters wouldn’t be able to see him here either. He watched two of them milling around outside the front door, not looking like any sort of guard.

A minute later, another pair came out with what Magnus was certain were pruning shears and a jug of water.

What?

Magnus watched, fascinated, as the four of them set to trimming the hedges that lined the low iron gate. They seemed to have a great care for the plants, patting the leaves when they would finish a section or wincing when their shears couldn’t make a clean cut. It was bizarre to Magnus, so used to seeing Nephilim wielding weapons and violent emotion.

They shared the water between them and surveyed their work.

“Should we help with the back garden?” the tallest said.

“No. Lightwood said he thought the lily of the valley could use some care and to spend some time with the flowers on the side. Katie thinks there might be a mint problem,” a blonde woman answered.

Magnus wondered if Lightwood usually treated his staff like gardeners, but had barely had a moment to think it when the taller Shadowhunter spoke again.

“Is the Commander in the back garden, then?”

There was a knowing sort of amusement in the group and the shortest laughed aloud.

“He needs a minute with his hands in the dirt; I saw him earlier and I thought his teeth were going to break from how hard his jaw was clenched.”

Apparently the Nephilim liked yardwork. How very odd.

Magnus decided to leave them to it, pushing off the bench he’d occupied for the last hour or so. He glanced back, right at the edge of the church’s glamor and smiled to himself. Someone’s leather jacket was dangling from the back fence, a quiver of red-tipped arrows hanging beside it.

—

Magnus was holding a curiosity. His customary seat at the end of the bar in the Hunter’s Moon had come with reading material tonight.

A well-loved copy of The Art of War had been sitting beside the tip jar and Magnus had cracked a joke about it being an odd tip. Gretel had only rolled her eyes and pushed the book toward him.

This was why Magnus preferred when Maia was working. Gretel was lovely and mixed as well as Maia, but she had a very low tolerance for Magnus, or perhaps just anyone who wasn’t Pack.

He flipped the book open and had to smile at the note scribbled on the inside.

“To the best, most stubborn big brother in the world. You wanted to know where I got so smart, so here’s a start.”

-Izzy

Magnus blinked in surprise. The only older brother he could think of with a younger sister named “Izzy” who might gift a book of military strategy was the current Head of the New York Institute. Not a man likely to be reading in the Hunter’s Moon.

He flipped a few pages, seeing sections underlined and a few neat notes in the margins. Examining the handwriting, he had to admit it matched that of an odd “thank you” he’d received signed by A. Lightwood.

That had been after the incident with Ferran, and Magnus had dismissed it quickly.

The more he heard, both in direct conversation and light eavesdropping, the more he thought he should’ve replied. It seemed Lightwood was more tolerant than his parents and Magnus ought to at least try to work with the man.

He barely had the thought when a scream outside pulled the attention of every patron in the Hunter’s Moon. The few mundanes looked worried and confused among various Downworlders. The Downworlders were tense, ready to respond at a moment’s notice.

Another scream, closer than before. Gretel and the other wolves all made faces and Gretel growled out, “Demon.”

Well. Damn the Shadowhunters for never doing their jobs, anyway.

Magnus headed for the door, magic flaring to life at his fingertips.

It was definitely time to have a word with the Shadowhunter Commander.

Chapter 3

Magnus waited two more weeks before his tolerance ran out. There had already been an uptick in the number of demon attacks over the last several months. More and more of his people encountering demons with no Shadowhunter invisibly intervening and the incident outside the Hunter’s Moon pushed Magnus to the edge. Today, he was tipped over.

A pair of shax demons and a ruined pair of Louboutins later and he was fuming.

He snapped a fire message off to the Head of the New York Institute, his magic ensuring that it wouldn’t be directed to the special receiving box for fire messages that had to cross the Veil, but would smack into Lightwood, wherever he was.

Lightwood.

Belated congratulations on your accession and all stiff felicitations required.

Your people are failing to do their sworn duty in the streets of New York and even the usual liaisons have been inaccessible. While a few demons slipping through here and there is to be expected of the Nephilims usual level of quality protection, the number in the current days is unacceptable.

I hope that you have not all decided to become gardeners without telling anyone.

I expect a resolution or the Downworld council will be forced to convene to discuss appropriate measures.

Magnus Bane,

High Warlock of Brooklyn

The answering message came back so fast that Magnus, for one moment, thought Lightwood had some truly impressive personal wards. It wasn’t a rebound that he snatched out of the air, however.

High Warlock Bane,

My people are dangerously thin on the ground at this time and the uptick in demons has not escaped our notice, merely our capacity to handle. I have been in talks with Alicante regarding the situation that have yet to result in acceptable returns.

If you would like to meet regarding the incidents and steps that we, as leadership in this city, could take, I am available for limited hours of the day. Your thoughts would be welcome any time before noon tomorrow or we may arrange another time to meet.

You are welcome to bring your own trowel.

Alec Lightwood

Head of the New York Institute.

Magnus felt the unique brand of ire that politically-polite assholes inspired in him.

—

Magnus had decided two things about his meeting with the Commander of the New York Shadowhunters: He couldn’t be serious about the trowel, and Lightwood wasn’t going to know what hit him.

Ripped jeans that made his ass look great, a black sheer button up over a cropped red tank with a neat bow tied at his throat to mock a tie, and hair, makeup, and boots to match and Magnus was ready. It was long-standing tradition for Magnus to make his first impression a memorable one and nothing was quite as fun as making bigoted Shadowhunters uncomfortable.

He portalled to the New York Institute, ignored the Shadowhunter waiting by the door, undoubtedly on some kind of watch, and strolled into the place. Standing in the center of their “Operations Room” he felt a frown forming.

Where there had always been movement, bodies hurrying from screen to screen or bent over tables, there were only a scattered few Nephilim. All of them looked several days out from any real rest and Magnus watched one of them slowly lose the battle to stay upright at their table in real time.

Apparently, Lightwood did need his help. He headed straight for the Head’s Office, taking a moment in the quiet hallway off of Ops to focus his magic and step through the Veil. Unveiled, he took another step, only to immediately stop again.

The tingling of his fingers and the strange pull he still couldn’t ignore had him drifting from his path, turning toward an open doorway to his right.

He’d barely reached it when someone stepped out.

Wow, bless the angels in-fucking-deed, who is he?

The Shadowhunter in front of him seemed similarly affected, if the slight step back and the way his tongue darted over his bottom lip as his gaze roved over Magnus was any indication. He was tall with dark hair curling slightly with what must’ve been sweat. He was dressed in workout clothes, a tight gray long-sleeve that was clearly intended to be sweated in, and loose pants. Magnus stopped himself from glancing down to see if those pants worked like the much vaunted gray sweatpants.

“Terribly sorry, I’m here for a meeting with— “

“Me.” The very gorgeous, very sweaty man said.

Magnus sighed, reaching out slightly, like he was going to touch the Shadowhunter, and pulling back at the last moment, “Ah, if only. I’m looking for the Head of your Institute. Proper stick-up-his-ass sort, spends a lot of time in his office,” Magnus paused at the look on the Shadowhunter’s face, “I’m just assuming.”

“Yes,” distressingly hot guy said, “that’s me. Alec Lightwood.”

He held out a hand, clearly wiping it on his pants as he went, and Magnus just stared at it, properly baffled for the first time in years.

But you checked me out! I saw it. Dear Magic, I checked you out.

“Apologies, Mr. Lightwood. I admit I was expecting someone more like your father.”

Lightwood dropped his hand, since Magnus hadn’t taken it in his, surprised and raised his eyebrows, “So you said.”

Magnus shrugged, used to putting his foot in his mouth by now, “What can I say? I’m a man taught by history, and the one between myself and this establishment has been. . . unfortunate to say the least. Would you like a moment to change before our meeting?”

Lightwood looked down at himself and then back at Magnus, his gaze cool, “You never scheduled a meeting.”

“You said you were free until noon. It’s eleven— “ he paused, summoning his phone to his hand, just to make a point, “ — ten.”

“I was expecting a reply.” Lightwood looked him over. “We can certainly talk, Mr. Bane, and I’m happy to listen to your suggestions about our situation, but I have tasks that need to be completed this morning. I don’t have time to change now, but if that makes you uncomfortable I would be happy to schedule something later this week?”

Magnus wanted to rail against that, but nothing in Alec Lightwood’s tone was condescending. He was simply making Magnus aware that he had not, in fact, scheduled his whole morning to wait on Magnus’ potential appearance. A petty part of Magnus was annoyed by that, but the bigger part of him understood. He also understood he needed to let go of some of his ideas about what this meeting would entail. Maybe of who Lightwood was. Maybe.

“Your office, then?” Magnus asked, stepping back to let Lightwood come into the hallway. He felt odd as he put distance between them, like stretching a thick rubber-band. There was a brief expression of discomfort that flickered over Lightwood’s features and Magnus wondered if he felt it too.

Lightwood shook his head a little, gesturing toward a different hallway, one that Magnus could see led into the back gardens.

“Ah,” said Magnus.

“I did say you could bring a trowel.” Lightwood shrugged and walked past him. A pair of gardening gloves were sticking out of the back pocket of his pants and Magnus found himself staring at them. Maybe a little more at the rather shapely ass under them.

“I thought you were being smart,” he answered, hurrying to follow.

“I was.” Lightwood said, as he let them out into the gardens.

—

Alec hadn’t actually meant to meet with Magnus Bane while he was working like this, but the man had just shown up in his Institute. Unveiled.

“Mr. Bane— “

“Would you please just call me Magnus.”

Alec didn’t falter, “ — did you check in with my security officer when you arrived?”

Magnus turned away from the garden he’d been staring out at, not that Alec could blame him, it was beautiful. “No. I’m afraid I was expecting a very different reception than the one you’ve given me and I was trying to by-pass more unpleasantness.”

As much as he could understand why Bane thought coming to meet him would be a trial, for them both, it irked Alec all the same. He’d spent a lot of time working with the Downworld leaders, a lot of fire messages and informal meetings at the Hunter’s Moon, and more time still in formal meetings that he knew Magnus was aware of. After all, Magnus was the one who had to allow leaders through the Veil to meet. That their first meeting, and the first time Magnus Bane had even acknowledged his appointment, came from the man being fed up that Alec’s team wasn’t able to do their jobs. . . it rankled.

Worse, Alec found it difficult to hold on to real ire when he was looking at the other man. The High Warlock was gorgeous and though he’d clearly meant for his outfit to be off-putting, to a Shadowhunter Commander like Alec’s father anyway, Alec wanted to touch the sheer fabric of his shirt instead. As he had when coming out of the training room to the sight of a beautiful man, Alec pushed those thoughts away.

“Please notify him you were here, when you leave.” Alec didn’t wait for an answer, heading quickly toward the small plot that was in desperate need of weeding. The calendula was planted before anyone realized it tended to do a bit better in pots, and it was important for the infirmaries ichor-burn treatments.

The sound of Magnus’ healed boots crunching across the pathway of white stones followed Alec, though the High Warlock didn’t speak. When Alec reached the area that needed care, he turned to face Magnus and realized he was still looking around their garden.

“You know, I was mostly joking about my gardener comment,” Magnus started, “I happened to see a few of your people out trimming the hedges a few weeks ago, but you really do have quite the array out here. Plenty of these herbs wouldn’t be out of place in my apothecary, and more of them in a kitchen.”

Alec knelt in the dirt, tugging his gloves on. “It started out of necessity.”

Magnus sat on the low brick and concrete bench, one of several that Jace had put up in the garden. He was clearly listening, and Alec figured it was as good a place to address their meeting as any.

“You wanted to know why my people have been “letting” demons through. This is how it started.” He gestured with a clump of thistle that was growing out of its designated area swinging from his hand. “The Clave supplies the Institutes with everything. A couple of years ago this garden was mostly empty, some flowers, the privacy hedges, the bushes and bigger shrubs that my mother or someone must’ve planted when there was time. A year and half-ago the Clave cut back our kitchen supplies. That’s when we started growing a few of the herbs. Then the next few deliveries to medical were smaller. Eventually they stopped sending anything but the barest necessities. No spices, hardly any produce, the cuts of meat that are harder to make stretch. The medicine deliveries now are single packets of mundane painkillers and a few rolls of gauze. I haven’t held a new seraph blade in months. The day I took over, our roster was at three-fourths capacity.”

Alec grunted as he tugged a stubborn weed up by its roots. They’d learned through crash courses on the internet, Alec taking every short-term garden class at the community center, and advice from Izzy’s Seelie friends at Pandemonium, how to grow some of what they needed. He tried very hard not to let his voice shake as he continued, aware of how still Magnus had gone at his side.

“Between the initial transfers out, regular injuries, and a few leave requests, the numbers started falling below baseline quickly. It’s normal, when a new head takes over, to see some of their roster leave, dislike or simply feeling it’s time, but the Clave has always rotated in others. This time the only Shadowhunters they sent in were a group of cadets, not trained for patrols yet. I’m losing more people on the ground everyday, because I’m having to pull them from duty over injuries that we should be able to deal with or because they’re burning out and transferring.” Alec stopped what he was doing and turned to look at Magnus, his expression calm, though he could feel a flush of angry heat in his cheeks.

To his surprise Magnus’ own eyes were full of empathy and there was an angry slant to his mouth, though it seemed to be anger for Alec, rather than directed at him.

“They’ve hung you all out to dry.”

Alec snorted and nodded.

“I thought your Iratze handled injuries?” Magnus ventured, staring at the dirt under Alec’s fingernails.

“Not all of them. Not enough of them.” Alec shrugged, “And it’s more than just that, that’s most of what the garden is for, food and medicine. We also need new sheets, new clothes, more shampoo. . .”

Magnus was staring at him still, “Don’t they pay you?”

Alec met brown eyes, letting himself hold Magnus’ gaze and admire the red and black makeup he was wearing. He rolled his shoulders, uncertain how to explain to someone who wasn’t a Shadowhunter. Clary had been hard enough, and she did get paid differently than the rest of them.

“Our pay is funneled into a larger holding for each family. Some of the Nephilim with less. . .known family names might see something closer to a mundanes “paycheck” but for most of us, we have to submit expense requests to treasurers in Alicante, even for personal expenses. Usually there’s no problem in sending a quick request and having your accounts funded, but the Clave can bury those requests in red tape. Izzy, Jace, and I have been good at setting money aside from approved expenses for years now, but it’s not enough to cover the costs of an entire institute, especially when so much of the money anyone has is going to keeping us clothed and fed, and we’ve been trying not to let anyone find out. The Lightwood fortune has been put to use as a drinking fund, since the Clave doesn’t care about that.” Alec said, aware of how exhausted he sounded.

He was surprised when Magnus, with a quick flash of his magic to summon gloves of his own, came to kneel in the dirt beside him.

“I’ve always said the Clave was filled with control freaks.” Magnus wasn’t looking at him, reaching for a weed as he spoke.

“Yeah.”

“I had no idea they were this bad. I used to complain about how Nephilim never seemed to take risks or try to leave the Clave, but the financial control they have makes it sound impossible. How have they been able to do this for so long?” Magnus glanced at him and Alec purposely stopped staring at the man's arms. They looked good as he braced himself to lean forward.

“I don’t think it’s been a problem like this before. Even Valentine was still able to access his family’s holdings, up until he made a major move against the Clave, and by then he’d drained them into a mundane account the Clave couldn’t touch. If I would’ve thought this could happen. . . “ Alec grimaced. He didn’t want to admit to any agreement with Valentine, but in his disdain for the Clave’s monetary control, he was right.

“I still don’t see how this did happen.”

Alec looked at his glove-covered hands, seeing how the dirt settled in the fibers over his fingers and palms, anything to avoid looking at Bane.

“My parents held a spectacularly public party in Alicante. It was an open doors sort of thing, anyone could come and have a drink, talk, mingle. They told me, halfway through, that they were hoping I’d find a girl that way. No one warned my mom that Izzy had been refilling my wine glass all night and her idea of good wine comes from drinking at your club.”

Magnus let out a slight laugh, Pandemonium only served Seelie wine.

“I tried to brush it off, like I always had. I’d been named Head just a couple of days earlier and it was partially advertised as a part for that, not that I wanted one. I thought they were just pushing for me to find a co-head. My father, though, wouldn’t stop asking what I thought of the girls at the party. He kept comparing them to Izzy, or my mom.” Alec pressed his gloved hands together, the weight of Magnus’ attention on him.

“In front of most of the guests, and definitely the whole Council, I told both of my parents that I was gay. Then I went on a slight rant, according to Jace, about how ridiculous I thought still having politically arranged marriages was and slipped right into comparing what little I knew of Downworld views on marriage to the Clave’s views. It was not a good night. I think that was what started a lot of the really big issues. The Clave was already unhappy with my parents’ choice to return to Alicante, and then I’d been named Head and I turned out to be. . .not what they expected.” Alec straightened his spine, looking at Magnus. “I’m not ashamed of who I am, and I think they would have let a lot of what I said at that party go. But I meant it all, and it shows in how I run my Institute.”

Magnus was smiling at him.

Alec tried not to blush. They were supposed to meet to talk about the demon activity and instead he’d spilled all of his frustrations and struggles with making ends meet.

“I’ve heard a lot, lately, about you.” Magnus said, “Raphael works with you, he even seems like he might like you. Maia mentions you occasionally. People at the Hunter’s Moon ask her about you, mostly when you’ll be around to play pool. I thought you were putting on a good show for them, but I can see now that you aren’t. You, Alexander Lightwood, are a rare breed it seems. A decent Nephilim. Color me shocked.”

Alec rolled his eyes at the dramatic little pose that Magnus struck. It didn’t hide the concern in the Warlock’s eyes or the banked anger that Alec imagined was at the Clave.

“Not as rare as you’d think. Most of us just don’t have the political pull to make any change. It’s hard to displace Institute Heads, especially when they haven’t done anything wrong and even harder to oust them when their teams are loyal. My team knows the Clave is screwing us. Most of them know why, but most of them have been very clear: they hold the Council responsible.” Alec allowed himself a small smile at that. Even Raj, one of Shadowhunters who had the most difficulty with Alec’s orders at times, stood with him.

“They know who’s fighting for them instead of letting prejudice and petty disagreement get them killed, I’m sure.” Magnus shuffled forward in the dirt and Alec winced at the thought of his ruined pants. “I see why so many demons have been missed though. You simply don’t have the manpower to deal with all of them. I’ll get word out on my side of the Veil to be more careful and advise anyone not able to defend themselves to stay home at night.”

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but having the Downworld more aware and more able to fight off a threat would ease some of the strain on Alec’s conscience. It might buy them a little more time for Alec to make his case, to make the Clave see reason before the situation devolved further and he was forced to step down.

“Please. I can set up a shift to have someone at Pandemonium or the Hunter’s Moon at night if we need, so there’s a Shadowhunter that can reach the rest of us, just in case.”

Magnus flung another weed on his steadily growing pile. “Wouldn’t that strain your patrols even more?”

Alec closed his eyes, “I can send the cadets. They’re nearly ready anyways. We’ve been rotating through training them and trying to keep them sheltered from the worst of it so far, but it’s probably time they got beginners’ assignments. At least something like relay duty would keep them out of the main action, and they’d get acclimated to Downworlders faster.”

Magnus hummed, “That is up to you. Once you’ve decided, please let me know and I’m sure Maia would appreciate a warning before young Shadowhunters start skulking around.”

He sat back on his heels and started tugging off his gloves. “It’s nearly noon, Alexander. I believe our time is up.”

Alec wanted to ask Magnus to stay and keep him company longer. It felt good to talk to someone, about all of the things happening with the Clave, who wasn’t relying on him the way his Shadowhunters were. The flicker of attraction between them and the lingering sense that they could get along very well only made it harder to accept the end of their meeting.

“I’m sorry about your clothes.” Alec said, keeping his thoughts about how easy it had been to spend time working next to Magnus to himself.

“Nothing a little magic can’t fix.” Magnus shot him a wink and stood up. His outfit was pristine and Alec huffed a laugh, though he only felt dirtier now.

He stood himself, aware that there was dirt and sweat all over him.

“Thank you for coming by, Mr. Bane.” He let a thread of amusement color his words and watched Magnus smile, “Maybe next time we could schedule the appointment?”

“This suited me just fine, but I’ll make sure our next meeting doesn’t start out with a letter fresh off a demon attack.”

Alec tried not to let his immediate concern show, he was sure that a man like Magnus could take care of a few demons and he mostly seemed annoyed by them.

“I would prefer that as well.” Alec shifted, he was used to ending meetings with a formal handshake and smiles that were more teeth than politeness.

“I’m sure you have a busy afternoon and a busier evening, but you are welcome to stop by Pandemonium any time. And let me know if I’m to expect any confused young Nephilim around.” Magnus raised his hands, soft wisps of blue gathering around them, and gave Alec a warm smile. “Don’t let the bastards keep you down, Lightwood. I have a feeling you’re just what the Clave needs.”

Alec clasped his hands behind his back and smiled in return, “I’m not much for clubs, but I may take you up on that, if I can find the time. Thank you again, Magnus.”

Magnus winked at him and with a flourish of his hands, vanished from Alec’s view. A moment later so did the pile of weeds they’d pulled and the flowers looked markedly happier than before.

He let himself grin, confident that Magnus was on the other side of the Veil and unable to see him. Taking advantage of the rare moment alone, he let himself spend a moment thinking about how the High Warlock looked. How strong his arms were and how his deep red lipstick had emphasized his smile. How it felt, strangely, like Alec missed his company already.

He sighed, and then laughed slightly at himself for sounding like an idiot.

There was work to do.

—

Magnus was possibly, maybe, a little bit in trouble. Six foot something, dark-haired, half-tilted smile kind of trouble.

He’d been nearing trouble when he had stepped back through the Veil and tripped into it headlong watching Alexander space out and sigh with a flush on his face moments later. It hadn’t been hard to imagine what might’ve put that look on the Shadowhunter’s face and it was exactly the sort of thing that Magnus didn’t need.

He was a leader too, one balancing the growing issues with the Veil, the demon problems, his regular clients, and every finicky, demanding warlock’s complaint in the whole damned state and then some.

Of course, several of his problems might be tied up in the Institute and therefore require more meetings with Alec Lightwood.

Right now, Magnus cursed himself for his stray thoughts as an iridescent bubble floated out of his cauldron, the only warning before the whole thing foamed up and started running over the sides. It was the second batch of prosperity potion he’d bungled since his meeting with Alexander two days ago. He knew he needed to get a grip: on himself and on his potion.

As he dumped the ruined potion into a spelled bucket that would neutralize the ingredients and turn them into somewhat stinky clay, he decided to give up for the day. His client wasn’t expecting the finished product until next week and he was only wasting ingredients.

He left his apothecary in disgust. Chairman Meow watched him with the type of adorable judgment only very tiny cats seemed to manage and Magnus stuck his tongue out at the little cat.

“See if I finish your fabulous little outfit, then.” He told the cat, who simply started licking his leg.

Magnus sniffed and headed for the kitchen. A good glass of juice, something to snack on, and he would be good as new. He was drumming his fingers against the counter, staring at his mostly empty cabinet and thinking of what to summon when he realized his nail-polish was in terrible shape.

Gardening and ruining potions did not a good combination make for manicure maintenance.

Since he wasn’t able to concentrate on anything else, Magnus figured he might as well paint his nails. Forgoing a snack until that was done, he simply poured himself a glass of juice and headed for the dining table.

With a flourish of his empty hand, his supplies and a mat to protect the table were ready for him. He set his juice down, humming as he went through the familiar motions of removing his rings and picking a color.

He settled on a red that brought to mind the fletchings of the arrows that had been making an appearance. He looked at it for a long moment. He should’ve asked Alexander who the archer was, just so he could stop imagining them.

Unbidden, the image of Alec with a bow rose in Magnus’ mind and he was tempted to fan himself at the thought. It was probably wishful thinking; Magnus’ mind wanting to tie together the two Nephilim occupying his thoughts.

He grumbled at himself. The point of doing his nails was not to think about these things. He swapped the red for a deep blue and resolutely didn’t think about Alec Lightwood as he set about removing his chipped polish and pushing his cuticles back.

Magnus’ intense focus on not thinking about anything but his nails was broken when he reached the fourth finger on his left hand.

There was a faint loop of red around the base of his finger.

He tried to lift it away with the small wooden tool in his hand, only for the tool to pass through it like it wasn’t there. He set it down and ran the tips of his fingers over the red. . .string? It reminded him of a thin piece of thread, but even touching it directly he didn’t feel it and it didn’t react to his touch. He brought his left hand up to his eyes, letting his glamour fall as he squinted at it.

Even without the very slight distortion his glamour could cause, the thread was still there. A slim loop of faded red nestled around the base of his fourth finger, one he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been staring at his hands.

He let a spark of his magic run over his hand and sucked in a breath. The little red line shocked him with the intensity of the magical feedback coming from it.

His phone was in his hand with barely a thought as he called Ragnor, all the while staring at the red thread.

True to form, Ragnor didn’t answer. Magnus wondered if it was time to make good on his threat of turning Ragnor into an actual horned cabbage, but decided that was a bit dramatic, even for him.

A fire message would have to do.

Ragnor, answer your blasted phone. What do you know about magic red thread/strings/lines?

Formality and politeness, Magnus decided, were reserved for friends who answered phone calls. He stared into the air impatiently for long enough that Chairman came to sit beside him, looking up into empty air. Magnus liked to think it was a show of solidarity.

He was tempted to simply portal over to Ragnor’s, booby-traps be damned,when a flash of flame signaled the arrival of Ragnor’s reply.

I refuse.

Have you been reading old love myths? What do you want to know about soulmate threads?

Magnus stared at the words, trying to make them fit the shape of the world he was familiar with. He was prepared for a prank, maybe a curse, but soulmates?

He sent a quick reply.

Oh never mind then. Come for drinks soon.

If this red thread was something even remotely like Ragnor’s reply suggested, Magnus would be better off researching it on his own.

Only if you swear-off that awful whisky. Now let me be, I’m very busy. Give Catarina my love.

Magnus didn’t bother answering that. If Ragnor thought he was chasing fool’s fancy he wouldn’t be expecting anything more.

He examined his hand again, impatiently finishing his manicure since he wasn’t going to be able to sit long enough to do it the mundane way. The little thread hadn’t disappeared.

Magnus figured he might as well start his research where Ragnor had pointed him; old soulmate stories. When those, inevitably, proved to be useless he would look for more reasonable explanations.

He promised himself not to put much stock in the whole idea.

—

Eighteen hours and every book he could get his hands on that seemed reliable in the spiral libraries later, and Magnus had broken that promise.

Soulmates were very real and exceedingly rare.

The few documented accounts of them repeated that fact. It wasn’t known how many soulmate pairs there had been in the last millenia, but in the last three centuries no one had come forward, and before that, the last known pair had been bonded for nearly four hundred years.

Everything he found said soulmates would know each other by the red thread that linked them across any distance, but that thread wouldn’t unspool between them until they both had a moment of realization. They didn’t have to be in love, or anything like that, but both halves had to acknowledge their connection in some way.

Magnus had taken his notes straight to Veritas, the High Warlock of Thrace, to verify the information.

The woman had smiled at him, her five eyes glittering with joy, as soon as she opened the door and Magnus was reminded she had the gift of divination. She didn’t even look at his notes, just handed him a cup of tea and pushed him into a chair.

“I thought you didn’t like tea?” he said, aiming for his usual flippant tone and missing by a mile.

“Just because,” she started, her accent strong and her hands settling on her hips, “you and I only see each other at parties where I need wine and spirits to stop myself from making enemies, doesn’t mean I don’t like tea.” She shook her head at him, the fine pearls tangled over her small antlers and draping into her thick, wavy hair catching the light.

Magnus made an apologetic face. Though he liked her a great deal, he hardly ever saw her privately. Maybe because she felt as old as she was, the weight of millenia in her many eyes when she looked at him, and because she had a habit of looking at him like she was now, like she could see his heart. Maybe because he usually went to Catarina and Ragnor for these things.

He’d gone to her this time because of her age, but for once, her ability to see through him didn’t bother him. This was too fragile a hope to take to his dearest friends, yet. Veritas would know to let him find his own way, not push well-meaning advice on him.

“Is it true?” he asked, not bothering with further niceties.

“Absolutely.”

Magnus took a long drink of his tea, glad it was a good chai.

“I met the last ones. Lovely people.” She watched him closely. “I saw their ending and they wanted me to tell them what it was. They thought they could avoid it, like so many wish.”

Doing his best not to sound too desperate, Magnus had to ask, “What happened to them?”

Veritas sighed, “The same thing that happens to us all, eventually. They lived well but when Sirin was lost, Laila followed. Sirin died while she was helping clear a building after a terrible flood, the ceiling fell in on her and Laila joined her when their bond snapped. I warned them that the things I see are only outcomes. I couldn’t tell them what led them to that moment, only the ending.”

Magnus nodded, it was a tragic story, but even immortals were destined to die eventually. He looked at the red thread on his own hand and wondered for a moment if it was easier, better, not to try. Even the thought made him ache. He had amazing friends who loved him and who he loved dearly, but he’d always wanted a romantic love that didn’t leave him shattered when it ended. Soulmates seemed like the best candidate.

That he had a soulmate, somewhere, was a balm in itself. He was worthy of that, despite Asmodeus, despite the years spent with Camille, despite everything in his messy youth.

“Can you tell me— “ He cleared his throat and ignored the wary look Veritas was giving him.

“Can you tell me anything about how to find whoever they are?” He held up his hand to show her the thread and she gave him another small smile.

“Only you can see it, Magnus.”

He dropped his hand with a laugh. Of course.

“I can see the outcomes of choices, you know this. I know what you and he will be, when all is said and done, how the ripples of your love story will affect the future. I knew the moment he was born what you would be together, and that tells me that your future is not one I can interfere with. I’m sorry Magnus, but I can give you this.” She grinned at him, “I am happy for you.”

That was. . . a lot to think about. Still, she had given him two things in her explanation: the indication things would end for the best, and the fact his soulmate was most likely male.

—

Two weeks. Alec’s cadets had been in place for two weeks and things were better. Not good, not fixed, but Alec could breathe.

It wasn’t perfect. Izzy and Jace had spent the first few nights in Pandemonium, running interference as the young idiots they’d split into several small groups got a feel for the place. Most of them had been wary of the Unveiled club, but eventually settled in and tried to be friendly toward the Downworlders there. Only two of them had taken more work, but a few short visits to the Hunter’s Moon instead, and they were sorted. Apparently they too, didn’t care for clubs and needed a good dose of Maia’s unique brand of charm.

Having a relay system in place and more Downworlders willing to handle minor demons when they could had taken some of the weight off the Institute and Alec was able to give his people a rotation of rest. It was all very temporary, of course, but he’d take it.

In his office, he was reviewing their supply requests. More denials, more red tape.

His phone chimed and he tossed his tablet onto the desk to check it instead. Izzy had taken the liberty of giving Magnus Bane his phone number two nights ago and Magnus had immediately texted him. Apparently, being the High Warlock came with the perk of getting to decide when the Veil didn’t affect your communication, because Alec had no problem sending and receiving messages to and from Magnus afterward.

He’d pointed it out quickly but Magnus had brushed it off and Alec wasn’t going to push.

Alexander, for the first time in. . . oh. . . a decade, I find myself in a grocery store.

Alec snorted slightly at the image of Magnus, no doubt dressed similarly to their meeting, in a bread aisle somewhere, looking undoubtedly gorgeous and bemused.

How do you normally get your groceries, then?

Summon them. Now, be a dear and send me the Institutes shopping list. I might as well make it worthwhile.

Alec stared at the text, eyebrows climbing the longer he looked at it.

What?

We have another meeting tomorrow and I have more money than God. Send me the list.

Magnus, we’re supposed to be paying you.

Alec had a feeling that wasn’t a good argument. Magnus knew, after their last conversation, how slim the Institute's resources were.

I suppose I could just buy out the store. I hope Shadowhunters like salad dressing. This aisle has so many kinds, and so many bottles of each kind.

I’ll send you the list. Please don’t buy us a grocery store.

The next message felt smugly satisfied as his phone pinged cheerily at him.

I knew you could be reasoned with. :*

Alec chose, pointedly, to ignore the little emoji, and snapped several photos of the kitchen's supply request and, after a moment of internal debate, the infirmary’s.

I’m going to be there earlier than planned tomorrow. Find a place to park the truck.

That was simply a ridiculous statement and Alec set his phone aside after texting Magnus back a string of emoji’s he hoped conveyed his feelings. Four of them were rolling their eyes.

It was only after he picked his tablet back up to draft another message to the Clave that he stopped to think about how unprofessional his messages to the High Warlock were.

He snatched his phone back up to find Magnus had just sent him back another kissy face and what might’ve been every food emoji possible, all with a tiny truck at the end. Alec worked very hard not to grin at his phone.

—

A few hours later, there was a firm knock on his office door. Alec called his usual “Come” and watched as Underhill, phone in hand and exasperated expression on his face, came in.

“What is it? What’s happening?” Alec knew Andrew well enough to see the stress in his eyes.

“A group of Vampires were attacked tonight.” At the tightening of Alec’s jaw, he hurried to clarify. “They were able to fight the demons off long enough to send someone for help. The group managed to delay the worst of the demons’ attacks until Hei-Sook got the message and called a patrol. The main issue is,” Underhill handed Alec the phone, “one of Santiago’s people was badly hurt.”

Alec grimaced and looked at the phone being offered to him, “He called you?”

“No. He’s with Hei-Sook. She called me and he’s demanding to speak with you.”

With a heavy sigh, Alec took the phone.

“Alec Lightwood.”

Hei-Sook’s uncertain voice answered him, “Sir? Mr. Santiago from the Dumort Clan is here with me and he wants to speak to you?”

Alec reminded himself that she was young, unused to field work and probably very nervous with the leader of the largest New York coven glowering at her. That Raphael was a prickly and often glowering man, wouldn’t be helping her. He tabled the urge to lecture her on proper procedure for after he dealt with Santiago, and Hei-Sook was back in the Institute.

“Put him on, Ms. Choi.”

“Lightwood.”

“Santiago.”

“These half-measures aren’t fixing the problem. My people need better response times, and if they do, you know the wolves are worse off.” Raphael said, curt as ever.

“I believe High Warlock Bane— “

“Magnus told us. The Clave is doing what it always does: crushing those who question it under its heel. I’m not asking for the impossible.”

Alec leaned back in his chair, watching Andrew's face as he spoke, “What are you asking for, Raphael?”

“Lift the Veil over New York. A fire message, with guaranteed receipt, would have saved Elliot a great deal of pain.” Raphael’s voice was flat, but Alec knew he was concerned for the other vampire.

“Requesting fire messages be discluded from the Veil Moratoriums is one thing,” Alec watched Andrew’s blonde eyebrows raise, “petitioning the Clave and Spiral Council to lift the Veil, is political and professional suicide.”

Andrew, not a man of large displays, was making a pointed motion with the flat of his hand, a silent but vehement no. Alec very much agreed.

“I’m not asking you to ask the Clave and Council. If what my people described seeing tonight is accurate, someone is opening rifts. That’s where all the demons are coming from. Don’t ask the Clave about the Veil. Ask Magnus. He doesn’t, technically, need the go-ahead from anyone to cancel his own spellwork. It’s all part of the Veil Accord.”

Alec pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at it even as the call disconnected, Raphael having said his piece.

Magnus Bane was the warlock who created the Veil, the one who cast it over everyone and who had traveled the world, casting it again and again and tying it to chosen High Warlocks.

No wonder his texts to Alec always came through.

“Sir?” Underhill asked.

Alec shook his head. “Santiago’s not angry. He wants me to ask the High Warlock to adjust the Veil so messages can get to us more reliably. He also said that his vampires were attacked by demons coming through a rift.”

Andrew gave him a look and Alec raised an eyebrow in response, not planning on explaining the Veil request further.

“Let the teams know to keep an eye out for signs of summoning activity. I’ll add it to the list to ask High Warlock Bane about. If it’s one of his people, he’ll be able to find out. For now, we’ll consider it likely that someone is acting against New York.” Alec handed Andrew back his phone.

“And making changes to the Veil Moratoriums?” Andrew asked. Alec just gave him a long look. Recognizing the set of Alec’s jaw, Andrew stopped looking for more and stepped back.

“Should I instruct Hei-Sook to request a meeting while she’s at Pandemonium, sir?”

Alec waved a hand, “No. Ma-High Warlock Bane is planning on coming here tomorrow to bring a few things and have another meeting with me.”

“A few things?” Andrew repeated, his eyes bright with curiosity and something that might be a tease, if they weren’t currently in Alec’s office, working.

“Yes. He requested. . .He’s asked that we allow him to assist us with our supply issue. Please clear a loading space with the best access to the kitchen for tomorrow afternoon.” Alec picked his tablet back up, pretending to read over Jace’s most recent report so Andrew wouldn’t ask him anything about that.

“Yes, sir.” Andrew still sounded too knowing for Alec’s liking.

As soon as the office door closed behind him, Alec logged out of the reports and opened the restricted files on the Veil.

The Veil Moratoriums and Accords.

Santiago was right; people were at risk because of the separation.

Alec’s cadets were unprepared to handle interacting with Downworlders, because of the Veil. Messages that could save life and limb were more likely to go ignored or unseen for hours, if not days, because of the Veil. The Nephilim race was becoming more closed-minded than ever, ready to let one of their major Institutes collapse rather than acknowledge the changes the head of that Institute signified, or the person he might want to marry. While that couldn’t be blamed entirely on the Veil, Alec knew the separation from the Downworld, and in part the mundanes, had only exacerbated the problem.

The Veil kept him from having lunch with his friend, stuck meeting Maia only at her work. It kept the Shadowhunters from being able to see Downworlders harmed in demon attacks, even if they were inches away from each other. Alec had no doubt the patrol that responded tonight had no idea that Elliot was injured.

He clicked the Accords folder open. If Raphael had been telling the truth, Magnus could change that.

Magnus, who was stronger than Alec thought possible, if his understanding of the amount of power it had taken to create the Veil was accurate. Alec thought of Magnus in the garden, unconcerned with his designer clothes as he pulled weeds. He thought of the notes in Magnus’ Clave file, and of the texts they’d exchanged over business, and the pictures of his cats Magnus had sent him the day before.

The picture of the man that was coming together for Alec was one that said dangerous and not just because Bane was second only to the Seelie Queen on the Clave’s “risk” list.

—

At one in the afternoon, Alec was standing outside, watching Clary and Simon Lewis, the Daylighter who Alec was perpetually glad wasn’t usually on his side of the Veil, back a box truck up. Magnus, who had Unveiled them both to help, was standing next to him, one hand on his hips and a lemonade in the other. There was even a tiny pink umbrella in the glass.

Alec was doing his best to watch the, frankly terrible, parking job. Magnus was dressed in well-fitted dark jeans and a tank top with a cheery pink and yellow font declaring him Supply Guy, and if Alec let himself he was going to just stare at the man.

When the truck was finally in place, Magnus snapped his lemonade out of existence and went down the few steps to join Clary and Jace in opening the back door. Alec had to give himself a second. Magnus had bounced down the stairs, and not just in his step.

For reasons that Alec would never understand, Simon Lewis popped up next to him. Alec really wished Magnus would’ve left the vampire behind, or at least invisible.

“When Clary said the Shadowhunters were weirdly attractive, I thought she was just swooning over Jace, but damn.” Simon said, sighing dramatically as he looked over at Isabelle, who was in her usual training gear as she joined them. “Seriously man. How do you stand it?”

Alec looked at Simon properly and watched the vampire’s eyes widen under the force of Alec’s “Commander” stare.

“First: That,” He pointed to Izzy, “is my little sister and she could break you like a twig. Second: Some of us have better things to do than drool over other people.”

Simon held up his hands in a peace gesture, but Alec was saved from any attempt to apologize by Magnus calling out.

“Alexander! You’re the Commander, what are my orders?”

Alec willed himself not to blush, especially when Magnus winked at him at the end of his question.

“Andrew’s cleared the path to the kitchens. There’s an old service door he’ll open for us in a minute, then we can just carry everything in. Izzy is only allowed to handle the infirmary supplies.”

Magnus nodded and turned to show Izzy which boxes. Alec was going to have words with him about the sheer volume he’d bought. Despite her pout, Magnus didn’t let Izzy touch a single box of food.

“Ooooh.” Simon said and Alec frowned.

“You’re into the Hot Warlock of Brooklyn. Can’t say I blame you, I’m more into women, but you’d have to be blind not to be into Magnus.” Simon’s head bobbed, “I mean seriously, he’s like an Uncle to Clary, so it should be weird, but he’s just so— “

Alec let a little more ice slip into his gaze, “He’s a fellow leader and a powerful man.”

Simon swallowed and then a light seemed to dawn.

“Alexander. . .Lightwood? The Commander in New York?”

Alec rolled his eyes at the way Lewis’ voice pitched higher, he had better things to do. A thought which was punctuated by Andrew opening the service door.

He ignored the vampire and went to join Magnus, watching the others grab boxes under his direction and file through the door. Clary, thankfully, called Simon to join her.

“Not going to use your magic?” Alec asked, watching Magnus stack two boxes and crouch smoothly.

“And spoil the fun?” Magnus asked, laughing as he picked up both boxes. Alec watched the muscles in his arms work and the way the sunlight glimmered over the gold eyeliner he was wearing.

Alec, glad he was wearing a shirt that fit him well, bent to grab his own boxes. Years of Shadowhunting meant that he carried them easily past Magnus. He watched Magnus’ gaze rake over him in turn.

“Your fun, I take it?” Alec asked, purposely flexing a little.

Magnus blinked at him, “Oh, absolutely.”

As Alec went ahead of him Magnus called after him, “These boxes are blocking the best view though!”

Alec felt his cheeks grow warm, especially as Andrew, holding the door, visibly bit back a laugh.

—

They made short work of the box truck, even with Jace complaining loudly as soon as Simon pointed out that technically Magnus’ magic and his vampire speed could’ve been used. Alec and Magnus left the others putting supplies away after Magnus sent a pouting Simon to return the box truck.

Alec had probably been a little too glad to see the chatty vampire vanish right in front of him.

Still, the two of them had an actual meeting to get to.

As soon as they were in Alec’s office, Magnus held out a hand, his blue magic flaring to life in his palms.

“May I?”

Alec looked at the magic in confusion, and awe. It was beautiful, but he didn’t know what Magnus wanted. He felt his lips part a bit, and licked over them, unsure how to answer when he didn’t know the question.

Magnus smiled faintly. “I thought you might like a quick change.”

Alec glanced down at himself, he was much less sweaty than at their first meeting, but Magnus was right.

“Uh, sure?”

Magnus’ smile brightened and with a quick flourish, his magic swept over Alec. It felt wonderful, a wave of tingling power that was comfortable and left Alec feeling more relaxed. He didn’t notice the outfit change for himself right away, too busy enjoying the lingering feeling of Magnus’ magic and taking in the man himself.

The tight jeans had stayed, but Magnus had traded his more practical shoes for heeled boots and his tank top was replaced with a longer red tunic that still matched the gold around his eyes and the streaks he’d added to his hair.

“Well. I had a suspicion you’d look good in Dolce and Gabbana, but this is better than I’d guessed.” Magnus was looking at him with a spark of something in his eyes that made Alec pleasantly warm.

He glanced down at himself and was surprised to find he was wearing a black suit with deep blue accents. It fit him well enough that he knew Magnus had tailored it with his magic and it was comfortable to roll his shoulders in, something he couldn’t say about most of his suits. Rarely did ready-made designs have archers in mind.

“Thank you.” Alec said, “I thought you were going to summon something from my closet.”

He headed for his desk as Magnus chuckled.

“It seemed rather personal, raiding your closet. Besides, everyone needs at least one well tailored suit.” Magnus was smiling at him, taking a seat smoothly, when Alec turned around.

“I never liked going to the tailor. The one in Alicante always left my jacket too tight in the shoulders anyway.” He pulled out his notes, organizing his thoughts.

“Yes, well they are rather impressive.” Magnus said, a playful curl to his smile.

Alec shrugged, “Years of archery training will do that.”

Magnus seemed lost for words, suddenly and Alec frowned. “Magnus? Are you alright?”

“Fine! Just, imagining you with a bow, darling.” He shifted and though Alec didn’t quite believe him, he let it go. “We’d better get on with our meeting.”

“Right, sorry.” Alec cleared his throat, wrapping himself in command and shoving his personal interest in Magnus aside.

Only for Magnus to huff at him, “I didn’t mean we had to return to stiff formality. It’s just, I could spend all day learning about you, Alexander.”

Alec coughed at that, but couldn’t help a little pleased smile, “Right. Well. . . there are several serious matters I need to discuss with you, Magnus.”

“Oh, I’d imagine there are. Let’s start with whatever had Raphael in such a twist when I called him to borrow Simon.”

—

Magnus forced himself to focus on the moment. He could spend time panicking over the discovery that Alexander was the archer as well. A little whisper in the back of his mind told him that was important, just like the continued draw he felt toward the Institute that only eased when he was in Alec’s company.

Now was hardly the time.

“Raphael believes, and my team's reports from last night back him, that a rift was opened last night. Several vampires were in the area and the demons coming through attacked them. It gives us cause to believe that the sudden spike in demons in the city might have a summoner behind it. Someone who is taking advantage of the weakened Institute, maybe?” Alec said.

Magnus bit back his knee-jerk response to defend his people against the accusation. Alec hadn’t even hinted he thought it was a warlock, though that was the most likely since most of the other races wouldn’t be able to gather the power needed for a summoning.

“I haven’t felt the sort of spikes in magic that would usually accompany multiple summonings. Not to say that no one is behind them, but they may be working over a distance. I can try tapping into the leylines and seeing if there are any residual threads for me to follow.” If someone was attacking New York, Magnus needed to know for his own sake, even if he wasn’t bent on helping Alec.

“It would be appreciated,” Alec said. His tone caught Magnus’ attention.

“You have an idea about it?”

Alec grimaced and glanced at the door behind Magnus. He snapped his fingers impatiently, making sure Alec could see the blue flare of a privacy ward.

“If you think it might be someone acting over distance. . .There are those in Alicante who would do more than deprive us of supplies to force me out. I would never bring that accusation forward without proof, but it is a concern.” Alec looked uncomfortable and Magnus took a moment to absorb the idea.

“You think someone is deliberately summoning demons to your jurisdiction because you were able to adapt to the stranglehold on your supplies?”

Alec’s gaze was heavy, “Yes.”

“Blazes.” Magnus said, with feeling.

“Yeah. And Raphael pointed out our response times were so slow, leading one of his to be harmed, because of the Veil.” Alec said the word carefully. He was looking for something.

“I’ll admit that he’s brought similar concerns to my attention recently.” Magnus said.

Alec gave him a nod, clearly thinking over his next words and Magnus’ attention flicked to his hands. Alec was calm and still, except his hands. His fingers were rubbing and pushing slightly at his skin, not enough that it was distracting, but enough that Magnus could see how it was starting to redden his skin.

“Was there something more about the Veil, Alexander?”

Alec’s hands froze, like he’d forced himself to stop, and he dropped them out of sight behind his desk.

“Yes.” Alec took a deep breath. “He said that you were the one who created the Veil and he said to ask you to dissolve the Veil over New York. I agree that the Veil Moratorium on communications between Nephilim and the Downworld should be re-evaluated, but dissolving the whole thing immediately is. . .”

Magnus waited, but whatever Alec thought it was, he didn’t say. Magnus had worked very hard to keep the Clave from knowing that he’d cast the spell by himself, though plenty of clauses referring to the warlock(s) doing the spell casting had been worked into the Veil Accord. He thought he’d be angry at Raphael for revealing the secret now, but he had a feeling that Alec hadn’t told a soul, and wouldn’t if Magnus asked him not to. Still, he needed to know where they stood.

“Are you? Asking?”

“I’m asking for your thoughts, Magnus. I can give you a list of the ways the Veil has helped us, I can recite the Veil Accords and the reasons for them. I can also point to the ways the Veil is harming the Shadow World on both sides, the changes in Nephilim culture since we’ve been cut off from the Downworld, the way it hinders our ability to respond to threats. I don’t want to make any demands here, but I want to know what you think about it.” Alec was leaning forward, the desk between them hardly registering to Magnus as he looked into the eyes of this Shadowhunter. Alexander, so far, had been everything that Magnus wished for so long the Nephilim would be, and he’d pointed out before, many of them were like him, just lacking the voice in their society.

Magnus fiddled with his rings before standing. He’d never done well sitting still, though he didn’t give into the urge to bounce on the balls of his feets or pace.

“I think there are many valid criticisms. I think that it may be time to re-evaluate the Veil as a whole. I also think the Clave will never go for it. I may have created the Veil and helped to implement it, but the Clave considers it theirs. Their idea and theirs to control. They’ve long believed they controlled the High Warlocks, at least in this. If I choose to dissolve the Veil, we must be ready for the backlash.” Magnus watched Alec relax and his brow furrowed.

“What if we start here? The New York Institute is already being shafted by the Clave in every way that matters and technically they can’t come after me or you for dissolving the Veil. The Accords are clear in the right of the casters,” Alec paused and smirked, “or caster, in regards to the dissolution of the spell.”

Magnus laughed at that, a relieved feeling growing. Since Raphael had brought the unrest in the Shadow World to his attention, Magnus had felt its weight, but this might be the right start. He wouldn’t be able to snap his fingers and dismantle the spell instantly, both sides would need warning, but Alec was right. The Clave couldn’t sweep in, not with how they’d alienated their own Institute. They had been trying, and in some way succeeding, to punish Alec and the New York Shadowhunters, but they had also given them something inadvertently: Independence.

“You may have a very good point, Alexander.” Magnus smiled, “I’ll start spreading the word that things are going to change.”

“We’re doing this?” Alec checked.

“We are. In fact— “ Magnus drew his focus inward, gathering his power and reaching for the intricate spellwork that made up the larger Veil. It was anchored in the leylines, but it was also woven into his very bones. He was the keystone. Moving people from one side to the other on a case-by-case basis and allowing his own communications through was easy. Changing something across a territory was more difficult. It was still only the work of a minute to find and rewrite the magic within to allow everyone to send any written message to either side of the Veil.

“ — I’ve just started.”

As soon as Magnus finished, Alec’s phone lit up with notifications.

Magnus stared at it and then started laughing, only for Alec to join him as it kept buzzing, both of them grinning like idiots over the sound of the phone vibrating against Alec’s desk.

“Oh, by the angel.” Alec managed, swiping at his screen, “They’re all from Maia. This is like, two weeks worth of messages. She’s been texting me everytime the cadets assigned to the Hunter’s Moon annoy her.”

That set them both off again. Magnus imagined there was a text every two minutes, at least.

Alec rolled his eyes fondly, and quickly texted something back to her. He cleared his throat, setting the phone aside, “Sorry, Magnus.”

“No, no, you really had to take those.” Magnus was still grinning. “Were those the pressing matters? The rifts, which I will definitely be looking into, and the Veil?”

A finger was pointed at him across the desk, “Those are the big ones. But you aren’t getting out of talking about how many supplies you brought us, Magnus.”

Magnus couldn’t help himself, he turned away with a little roll of his hips, doing his best in the way he tilted his head and looked around to seem innocent.

“I’m serious.” Alec glared. “That was way too much. I, we, absolutely appreciate it, but I can’t repay you for it, yet.”

Magnus just turned slowly, examining the angel behind Alexander’s desk intensely, “So now’s a bad time to mention that once we had it all inside I doubled everything?”

“Magnus!” Alexander was definitely trying to glare, but it looked more like a pout to Magnus.

“You’re welcome! I’ve got research to be doing.” Magnus raised his hands, magic pooling in them, and ignored the way that Alec had stood up, like he was going to try and grab ahold of Magnus to keep arguing.

“Magn— “

“Text me!” Magnus said, and stepped back through the Veil. He watched Alec stand with his mouth still open, staring where Magnus was invisible to him.

“Rude as fuck.” Alec said and Magnus jolted at the curse, though Alec said it with such fond exasperation, Magnus didn’t mind.

He lowered the privacy wards and opened the door to leave, only to have a terrible idea. He closed the door, still in the room, and turned to look at Alec.

Alexander was rubbing the sleeve of his new suit (and Magnus really did so good) between his fingers with a little smile.

“Hot Warlock of Brooklyn,” he mumbled, and Magnus felt a little thrill at the small smile Alec wore as he shook his head. Magnus couldn’t help it, he pulled out his phone and texted Alec, intentionally leaving the door open behind him this time as he went.

Thank you, Gorgeous Commander of New York. ;)

Chapter 4

Alone is his loft, except for Chairman Meow, of course, Magnus let himself think about it. About Alexander, Head of the Institute, Commander of the New York Shadowhunters, the archer in the shadows on the other side of the Veil. He trailed the fingers of his right hand over the faint band of red on his left and took a deep breath.

Everything he’d read about. . .

The word was hard for him to think, a private hope that had the potential to destroy him, signified by a thin thread only he could see.

Soulmates.

What he’d been able to find out about them, the real ones, told him that there was a pull between them. Even before they acknowledged each other, there was a sense of ease around one another, and a curiosity that led them to each other.

Magnus, while reading, had likened that pull to what he felt near the Institute at times, and to his curiosity about the Nephilim archer he’d seen only hints of. Finding out it was Alec who wielded a bow, a weapon almost no Shadowhunter used, left Magnus feeling unsteady.

He thought it would take ages to figure out who his soulmate might be. To have so many pieces of the puzzle come together in the shape of a Shadowhunter, of Alexander, made him want to turn away from the idea.

With a twist of his hand, he summoned himself a drink.

The urge to run was familiar and he let it settle over him, but he didn’t think he was going to act on it. Not this time.

If he was destined to love a Shadowhunter, to find himself divided from his soulmate by the history of their races, by their differing lifespans, it only seemed fitting he be divided from them by the Veil, too. Though, with Raphael’s push, Alec was already suggesting they remove one of those barriers. Magnus had no doubt that if (and it was hard to think that if, the rightness of Alec filling the role already taking root) Alexander was his soulmate, he would tear down any wall between them.

The little Magnus knew of Commander Lightwood told him that he loved his people, he was willing to put in the hard, unglamorous work for them. After meeting him, Magnus had begun to pay more attention to the people who knew Alec.

Alec’s love for his family was clear too, in the note Isabelle left him inside the book Magnus still had sitting on his coffee table, taken from the Hunter’s moon. It was clear in every memory of Jace, or Isabelle mentioning their Commander, their brother, even in passing; clear in the way that Clary grumbled about him and his overprotectiveness.

Magnus took a long drink. He was looking too deeply into this without any confirmation. It was hard to be patient, hard to tell himself that he couldn’t force anything and that he shouldn’t pin his hopes on Alexander. For all Magnus knew, they just had a lot of chemistry and Alec wasn’t his soulmate.

The thought soured his stomach and he swore the red thread around his finger grew hot. It was far too early in his. . .acquaintance with Alexander to throw himself headfirst into feelings for the man.

Not that his heart seemed to care.

—

Alec had fallen into bed just before dawn. He was exhausted at the end of every working day, yet he often had trouble sleeping. He was balancing the lives and success of his Shadowhunters on a knife edge, the Clave doing their best to force him out, to, almost literally, starve his Institute of support, and the Veil stopping them from seeking allies in the Downworld. At least, in theory.

Laying in bed, breathing slowly to allow his body, at least, to rest, Alec combed over the last few weeks. Magnus Bane, in a surprising show of support, had listened to him talk about how his Shadowhunters were suffering, had been a source of motivation through their texts and had bought supplies for them. Magnus had created the Veil, yet he seemed happy to step through it on a whim and had been receptive to Alec and Raphael’s suggestions.

The High Warlock was an odd character, one the Clave feared even as they tried to disavow him and dismiss him throughout their history. Alec closed his eyes, thinking of Magnus.

He was kind, even when they’d first spoken and he’d been expecting Alec to be more like Robert, he hadn’t been rude or crass toward Alec. He’d flirted before he realized who Alec was, and after they had spent time in the garden, talking about the issues with the Clave, had continued to flirt.

For once, Alec’s thoughts weren’t chasing solutions or arguments for the Clave. He was just thinking about Magnus. The way he moved, graceful and enticing, something about it drawing Alec in; the way he smiled, warmth in his eyes.

Alec might be out, but he’d never dated anyone: too closeted, and then too busy, not to mention too high-profile. He wasn’t used to the feelings that Magnus was drawing out of him.

He could feel his focus slipping, the hazy edges of dreams tangling with his waking thoughts. Musing about Magnus’ kindness bleeding into imagining strong arms under his hands, thinking about his smile shifting to a false sense of pressing his own mouth to the warm skin at the corners of Magnus’ mouth.

Awake, Alec would berate himself for inappropriate thoughts about another leader, and would refocus.

Drifting to sleep, he sighed heavily, unwilling to resist the pleasant imaginings and the faint impression of a warm hand in his own.

—

Nearly a week after Magnus had re-supplied them and New York began to find new footing, a fire message flared to life over Alec’s head in the middle of Ops thirty minutes before sunset.

Leylines are active. Brace yourself.

The brevity of the words, especially considering the paragraph long rants Alec had been treated to, both in person and over text, from Magnus, lit a fire under Alec. He tapped in his emergency codes and sent an alert to every Shadowhunter under his watch, warning them of a sharp increase in activity.

He sent a rapid acknowledgement to Magnus, already turning to his phone by the time the flame from his response vanished.

“Raphael, warn the clans. Magnus is calling for an increase in demons tonight. Keep your people inside and we’ll do what we can.”

He didn’t bother waiting for a text back, already sending another message to Maia.

“Maia, close the bar. If you can, keep the pack from going out. Demon spike tonight. We’re going to be stretched too thin to assist reliably.”

They would both listen. Probably. The bigger issue was getting word to the Seelie. They might answer to the same Queen, but there were a myriad of Seelie factions, and not all of them would be reached by a message to a knight like Meliorn, Izzy’s favorite dance partner at Pandemonium.

Jace appeared at Alec’s side, already reaching to take his phone and handle the Institute.

“She’s going to be a real bitch about it.” He said, pulling up a map of New York's ley lines on the display in front of them.

Alec didn’t ask how Jace knew what he was thinking about. He’d worked out most of their emergency response plans by telling them to Jace and letting him poke holes in them. Alec knew that most people assumed Jace didn’t have the head for strategy, since he so often rushed in, but Jace was his best strategist. He just...didn’t always apply them to himself.

“I know. If I don’t go to the court myself, she’ll dawdle and posture more and it might cost lives.” Alec scrubbed a hand against his cheek, tired just at the thought.

“You being stuck there, with Magnus since he’ll have to part the Veil for you, will too. Don’t give her special treatment, just send her a memo like the others and inform the people on the ground here as best you can.” Jace clapped his shoulder, “Let Iz and I worry about trying to warn the Seelie. We know more of them, they like Pandemonium.”

Alec stared at the map in front of them, watching the first flare of power ripple down a leyline, a burst of red on the map showing him a small rift already opening.

“Alright. You and Izzy warn them. Then I want the two of you taking a support team into the field. I’ll have Underhill running point here.” Alec watched another rift bloom to life, “I’m going to join Magnus. We have to figure this out. Tonight.”

Jace nodded and turned with a hand held out. They clasped forearms, pressing their foreheads together for a shared breath. Neither liked separating to fight, but they had learned how to play their strengths apart when they needed to.

“I’ll call for you, if there’s a fight.” Alec promised.

“You’d better.” Jace grinned, “I can’t let you have all the glory, but I promise to make you look good in front of Magnus.”

Alec groaned, though he was glad for the levity.

“Go.” Jace waved him off, “Let me do my job.”

—

The address Magnus had given him led Alec a brick building that he might have doubted was the right place if it weren’t for the weight of the wards he crossed and the suddenly visible lighted windows near the roof. Magnus’ loft looked inviting, even from the street below and Alec swallowed against the feeling. It was similar to the flash of warmth he felt when Magnus sent him a text or smiled.

It was ridiculous. Alec was a grown man, beyond the flights of fancy he’d had when he was younger.

He tried to focus on their goal as he made his way inside and up to the penthouse loft. It was easier said than done when the black door opened to reveal both Magnus and his home. Magnus gave him a little nod, phone to his ear, and gestured for Alec to come inside. The loft was all warm tones and comfort, eclectic pieces scattered around, all kept with obvious care, though nothing felt untouchable. This was a place that was lived in; that Magnus spent time in for himself. Alec had the sneaking suspicion the loft didn’t always look like this.

Magnus tossed his phone in the general direction of his couch, ignoring the preemptive wince from Alec at the careless motion.

“Alexander! Thank you for coming. Tracking down whoever is summoning the demons is going to take the both of us.”

Alec nodded, falling into parade rest, “I’m ready.”

“Great.” Magnus said, though he didn’t come closer. Instead he turned away with a flourish of his hands and walked out of sight, leaving Alec to stare after him in confusion.

“Magnus?”

He reappeared, holding a small white and gray tabby who looked very put out by the handling.

“We’re going to work from my own summoning room. I just had to make sure Chairman Meow wouldn’t be in there with us. He may think he has the run of the place, but it’s for his own good.” Magnus spoke the last part directly to the little cat, tapping his fingers gently on his head. Alec smiled at that, only to open his mouth in surprise when Magnus strode over and deposited the little cat against his chest, forcing Alec to react fast enough to keep a hold of him.

“Look after him a moment? There are a few things I need to gather and he’s a habit of being exactly where he shouldn’t.” Magnus gave him another quick smile and Alec found himself nodding and petting Chairman.

Standing in the middle of the loft, listening to Magnus in another room and catching sight of him as he flitted between shelves, a frown of concentration on his face, Alec was surprisingly relaxed. Outside demons were swarming the city, but here he was safe, holding a cat that was purring, and about to take steps to help.

“I think you’re a lucky little kitty.” He mumbled to Chairman. The cat headbutted his chin in response.

“Of course. He hisses at most of my friends, but you, you he adores.” Magnus huffed, coming back into the living room, a few vials tucked in his hold and a small bowl in the crook of his elbow.

Alec shrugged, “Animals like me?”

“Well, you can set him on the couch and follow me.” Magnus nodded toward another door, “If he’s using his clever little brain, he’ll stay put long enough for me to secure the room.”

“Is it really that dangerous to be in there with us?”

Magnus scoffed, “It could be. Cat hair wrecks havoc with potions. Believe me.”

—

With the Chairman settled in the living room, and Alec and himself shut into his summoning room, Magnus was nearly ready. Alec was watching him with the sort of focus that Magnus often associated with being interrogated, but the naked curiosity in his expression held no malice. He seemed to honestly just. . .want to see how Magnus combined the ingredients he’d brought.

He started with powdered quartz to amplify the magic, added mint and anise for focus and sharp mind, and demon saliva as a binding agent, since they were looking for a demon summoner. He poured water gathered from Alicante, a precious potion commodity that was nearly irreplaceable since the Veil was erected, and touched it with his magic, willing it all to thicken.

“Since the summoner is most likely a Nephilim we may have some difficulty. This salve is meant to boost our ability to search them out over distance and through any warding they might have. I’ll need to paint a sigil on each of us, it works best close to the eyes, and you’ll need to assist me by letting me filter my magic through you. Hopefully, with your assistance, I can find them.” Magnus didn’t look at Alexander as he explained. He knew it was a long shot, even for someone like Alec. Letting a warlock channel their magic through his body was a lot to ask.

“Alright. Do I need to, I don’t know, keep my mind clear or something?” Alec asked.

The easy acceptance made Magnus turn with more force than he’d intended. He stared at Alec with his lips parted.

“You’re not going to ask if it’s necessary?”

Alec rolled his shoulders, eyes darting around like he was trying to find the answer. Finally, his gaze settled back on Magnus and he set his jaw.

“I trust you, Magnus. If it wasn’t necessary, you wouldn’t ask.”

Magnus was speechless. The conviction shining in Alexander’s eyes was undercut by something vulnerable and Magnus had the terrible feeling that admitting his trust in Magnus was Alec’s way of showing his belly.

“You’re right.” Magnus managed, sucking in a breath and raising the bowl of deep green paste. “It’s ready. I’m going to draw on your temples. Ready?”

Alec nodded and leaned in, closing his eyes and waiting. Magnus dipped his fingers into the cool mixture and carefully marked Alec’s face, trying not to linger. When he finished, Alec straightened up and frowned at the bowl.

“Is it— ?” Magnus wasn’t sure what he was going to ask.

“Do you need me to do yours?” Alec nodded at Magnus’ fingers.

“It would probably be best. Here.” Magnus waved his messy hand, the paste vanishing from his fingers and a drawing of the sigil appearing. If there was anyone he trusted to draw it correctly, a Shadowhunter would be it. It was similar enough to a rune.

Alec reached for the bowl and Magnus watched his hands. When Alec’s green coated fingers moved toward him, he shut his eyes. Against the darkness of his eyelids, the faint red band he’d seen flicker to life around Alexander’s left ring finger burned bright.

When Alec finished, Magnus vanished the ingredients and the bowl, looking at him with a heavy gaze.

“Are you ready?”

Alec took a deep breath and nodded. His shoulders were straight and strong, a steadiness in all of him that Magnus would need as magic flared to life between them, and Magnus pressed his palms to Alec’s cheeks, eyes closing as he focused.

The leylines were there, but first and foremost energy burst into Magnus’ awareness. A pure, protective layer of power that felt like it wanted nothing more than to help Magnus, sink into him and push him to heights he didn’t know he could reach. Unlike the burning magic of Edom, it was like the warmth of his favorite blanket, not a drop of malicious intent. There was a small flicker of something within, but it too was good, golden and cherished and not for him. He was lost to it for a long moment. A pulse of something down the leylines drew him back, made him focus and he realized that the power he was feeling, the strength and support, was Alec.

His own surprise and awe were echoed back in his connection with Alexander. Then, with the practice that came from a lifetime as a Clave soldier, Alec redirected both of them. His focus was all consuming and Magnus let his power be pulled along, flowing through Alec and into the leylines.

Together they reached for the source of the summonings, and though it was clear it was coming from Alicante, they were too removed from the magic to get a proper fix.

Magnus let the spell fade, opening his eyes to see Alec already staring back.

“Magnus?” He was breathless, his pupils dilated and power still arced between them, even as Magnus let him go.

“We need to get closer.” Magnus had barely finished speaking before Alec nodded, in sync with him.

“There’s a rift a few blocks from here.” Alec answered, his eyes unfocused as he gleaned the information from the leylines he was still connected to. “I promised Jace I’d call him, if I went into the field.”

Magnus dipped his head, “Good. We’ll need cover.”

“He’ll be able to see us?” Alec asked and Magnus grinned.

“I’m on your side of the Veil darling.”

—

They stepped out of a portal to find Jace already waiting for them.

He gave a little wave, though he only spared them a glance, his focus on the slowly growing tear in the fabric of their reality.

“I don’t know what you two are up to, but I’ve got enough energy to level the city right now.”

Alec snorted, but it was Magnus who answered, “Advance tracking spell. A lot of energy is being channeled through your parabatai, I’m afraid.”

Jace’s head snapped to Alec, “You’re alright?”

“Great.” Alec said, grinning widely. “Maybe a little. . .intoxicated?”

Magnus had been afraid that might be the case. The sheer amount of magic was likely affecting Alexander like a night of drinking. It would fade quickly enough when they were finished, so he didn’t bother mitigating the effects.

“We won’t be able to fight while we track.” Magnus warned Jace, who just drew his blade with a flourish.

“More for me.”

“Are we doing it again, now?” Alec asked, staring into the growing rift.

“Unfortunately, it has to be opened further to be of use to us.” Magnus waved his hand at Jace, “Plenty of demons for you, blondie.”

“Excellent.”

Magnus would never understand Shadowhunters. Or so he tried to tell himself, ignoring the way his own blood thrilled at the chance to fight.

A black body burst through the rift with no warning, claws out and wicked tail pointed to attack. An adamas arrow caught it midair and Magnus’ heart skipped a beat.

Alec, his bow and quiver materialized, was a sight. The Shadowhunter’s razor focus and his strong shoulders as he pulled back the string, waiting for another demon, did things for Magnus.

Please, let him be my soulmate.

Magnus had tried not to have the thought, but it had been there since he’d started to realize the truth of the red thread.

The next few demons didn’t make it past Alexander’s perfect aim. Eventually though, two came through. Magnus dealt with the second with a quick twitch of his fingers, his magic coming to him with ease.

The three of them stood braced as the rift seemed to inhale, they knew what was coming. With a shockwave of energy they all braced against, it tore to its full size, demons spilling out of it. Jace’s blade was a ringing flash of silver in Magnus’ peripherals, even as his magic turned the red of battle. Alexander’s arrows shot past him, close enough to feel their passage on his skin. The parabatai moved with Magnus like he’d always been with them, Alec moving to fill the space Magnus had just vacated or to kill a demon who slipped under his guard and Jace oriented himself around Alec. It was a dance, and Magnus was leading.

The demons died quickly.

When Jace dispatched the last one, for the moment, Magnus clapped his hands.

“Jace. Alexander and I need to do this. Now. You’ll have to watch our backs.”

Jace just saluted him with the flat of his blade and took up position between them and the rift.

Magnus summoned what was left of the salve and he and Alec worked quickly to refresh the sigils, neither of them speaking.

This time Magnus was prepared for the depth of Alec’s power, the rightness of it. It was still nearly twenty minutes of pouring magic through Alec to find the casters.

A group of Shadowhunters, their names and faces burnt into Magnus’ memory, and by extension, Alec’s. Magnus hadn’t planned on a counterattack but the sharp sting of betrayal that coursed through Alec, the recognition and outrage against people who were supposed to protect the world from demons, against councilors of the Clave who were moving against the angel’s mandate, spurred his magic on. Shared as it was, Magnus didn’t think to stop it.

Instead he twisted the spellwork over on itself, all of the rifts converging to open on top of one another, plugging the original casters into a complex prison of broken time and space.

Given time, Magnus might be able to pull them back out. He didn’t bother to watch them get pulled in.

He opened his eyes and smiled. Alexander’s eyes were still closed, but he was swaying from the sheer amount of power.

“Alexander, we did it.”

Alec’s eyes opened and Magnus gasped. Surrounding them a bright red thread unspooled, looping around them as it floated in the air, vibrant and real.

“What— “ Alec said, breathless as he looked at it.

“Holy shit.” Jace said, registering with Magnus somewhere to his left, “Is that a soul-thread?”

Magnus willed himself to meet Alec’s eyes and felt his legs tremble at the hope, the joy that was in them.

“It is.” Magnus said, staring at his soulmate, his vision blurring as tears started to burn his eyes. He’d been right. Alexander was his soulmate, Magnus really did have one. He really had a soul.

A thought occurred to him, pulling his attention from Alec for a moment. He looked at Jace with a frown, “I didn’t think you’d be able to see it?”

Jace shrugged at him, wiping his blade with a rag like he didn’t have a care in the world. “The old books said they were visible to parabatai when they first unspool. Shared souls.”

“You’ve read about them?” Magnus asked, surprised.

“Yeah? I’ve read everything in the Institute’s library, I don’t know why people are always surprised.” Jace darted a look past Magnus, “Not that it’s important right now. I’ll cover for you, Alec.”

Magnus could agree with Jace, his reading habits weren’t important. Alexander, with his features full of a soft wonder, even as his strong brows drew together in confusion, was important.

“Don’t let the city burn, Blondie.” Magnus said.

He conjured a portal, the Shadowhunters would be able to deal with the few demons that slipped through before he sent the rifts back to their summoners, and pulled it over Alec and himself.

He had a soulmate. He wasn’t going to let Alexander go, not now.

—

Alec felt like someone had pulled him open and poured him full of light. He almost expected to see it glowing under his skin when he looked at his hands. Instead there was a line of scarlet leading from him to Magnus.

He barely registered where he was after the portal swept over them. The warm colors of the loft a blur around him, intent as he was on the soul-thread. He tried to wind it around his fingers, ghosting his hand through it curiously.

He couldn’t touch it properly, though it shifted from his hands when he moved. More than the visible tether, was the feeling. Magnus’ magic still thrumming under his skin from the spell they’d done, Magnus’ presence in his chest. If it was all part and parcel of being soulmates or if some of it would fade, Alec didn’t know. All he knew in the moment was that he felt exhausted and safe.

“Alexander?” Magnus asked, looking worried. Alec didn’t know how long he’d been trying to talk to him.

“Magnus.” Alec felt himself smile. “Your magic felt amazing. Are we done for the night?”

Magnus, seemingly unable to stop himself, cupped Alec’s cheek, “Yes.”

Alec sighed, tension draining out of him at the word. “Good. You’re my soulmate.” He closed his eyes, pressing into the warm touch. There was a slight choking sound and he responded by blindly reaching out to pat at Magnus’...arm?

“We are soulmates. I think we’d better talk about it when you aren’t experiencing conduit overload.” Magnus still sounded worried and Alec frowned.

He was paying too much attention to just Alec. He had been the one to expend all of the magic that had poured through Alec, he had to be at least as tired.

“You need rest,” Alec told him, managing to open his eyes. He tried to give Magnus his best commanding glare, but was sure he just looked grumpy instead. “You used a lot of magic. Go sleep, soulmate.”

Magnus’ eyes softened and Alec only melted further in response to the look and the spike of affection in his chest. He was almost surprised he was still on his feet, with how it felt like he was slowly turning into liquid.

“Bed, for us both.” Magnus patted his cheek lightly.

“We can share.” Alec offered. “You’re warm and—” he held up his hand, showing the red thread curling lazily between them,”don’t want to be far.”

“I can’t help but agree.” Magnus caught his hand, squeezing it even as he looked at it like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Bed.” Alec reminded him.

“Right. I can— “ Magnus waved a hand and Alec followed the gesture, processing what he was trying to say slowly. When it clicked, Alec nodded eagerly.

A wave of magic rolled over them both, leaving them clean, teeth brushed, and dressed for bed.

“Good.” Alec said, losing the battle to stay awake as Magnus pulled him along. He felt the soft guiding hands push him into a bed and the pleasant warmth of Magnus’ arm sliding around him, then he was asleep.

—

When Magnus woke he had a feeling he’d been sleeping much, much longer than normal. It was confirmed when he realized his bed was empty and snatched his phone off his nightstand, fear climbing his throat he’d only dreamed Alec there with him.

He fumbled, trying to unlock the device to call Alexander, and the date finally clicked. He’d slept for two days. He stared at the screen until it went dark, letting himself catch up to that piece of information.

He tossed it onto the duvet and buried his head in his hands, breathing deep. Chairman needed to be fed, he needed coffee, and then he could have a crisis.

When he pushed the blanket back, a crinkling sound caught his attention and he lifted it to find a small note.

Magnus

I have no idea how long it’ll be until you see this. I woke up after twelve hours and waited a while, but you seem like you need to rest a lot longer.

I’m going to the Institute to deal with the Clave, since we know how many council members were actively trying to attack my city. Hopefully I can use that and shame them into doing the right thing here. I hope I finish before you wake up so I can come back.

You and I need to talk about what this means, but I don’t want you to worry.

I never thought I would find someone. I knew I couldn’t have that, first because I never wanted a wife, and then because there were too many eyes on me to be a safe choice for a partner. I don’t know what you’re expecting, and we need to discuss it, but I want this, you.

I’m so glad to know I’m yours.

Also I fed the cat? He was pretty mad.

-Alec

Your soulmate.

Magnus traced the lines of those words with the tips of his fingers. His soulmate. Who was already back to the grind, back to fighting with the Clave, while Magnus had slept.

He wished they were the type of people to table their responsibilities and take time together, but he knew neither of them were. Magnus was a leader and he would never begrudge Alec his responsibilities.

With a deep sigh, he knew he needed to call a meeting of his own.

He closed his eyes, still on the Nephilim side of the Veil. When he opened them he’d crossed through and his own people would be able to see him.

Picking up his phone, he sent a message to Alec first.

“I’m awake. Thank you for leaving a note. Finish what you need to. I’m going to meet with the Downworld leaders here but I’ll be home after, if you can come over?”

Alec’s answer was immediate.

“I hope the rest helped. I’m not going to be finished with my own meetings for hours yet. Good news though, the council isn’t keen on pissing me off any further with everything that’s happened.”

Then a second after another message came.

“Don’t forget to eat.”

Magnus chuckled at that, feeling a buzz of warmth flare to life in his chest. The whisper of Alec’s energy, of his feelings and him in general was still there. Magnus hadn’t been sure how much of it was them being soulmates and how much was the night’s spellwork. He was glad to find it was mostly because they were soulmates.

He brought up his hand, the red thread trailing from his fingers pointing in the direction of the New York Institute.

With an amused smile, Magnus slid out of bed and headed for his balcony. Chairman huffed at being ignored, but Magnus knew he would be forgiven with a few treats. Once he was outside he let his glamor drop, the slight shift in his sight enabling him to see the thread as it stretched out into the open air. He followed it until it disappeared in the distance and the buildings of New York.

He had no doubt where it led and the knowledge he could always follow it to find Alec, in the most literal sense, eased a worry he hadn’t been aware of.

After a minute or two of marveling over it, he headed back inside. There was work to be done.

—

Hours after sunset, Alexander crossed Magnus’ wards. His signature pulled Magnus’ attention from the message he was drafting for the spiral council. He could feel that Alec was tired, but pleased, through their fledgling connection and he hoped that Alec could feel his own joy along the bond.

He heard the loft door open and Magnus headed toward the living room, already beginning to smile.

“Alexander. Welcome back.” He reached for the bottle of wine he’d set out earlier for this. “Can I offer you a glass?”

Alec was shrugging out of his jacket, but he didn’t answer. He hung it carefully and looked around the room with a slight frown.

He raised his left hand, looking at the soulthread.

“Magnus?” He said, louder, his gaze moving right over where Magnus was standing.

Alec was looking for him.

The Veil was between them right now and Alec couldn’t see him. Magnus rolled his eyes at himself for forgetting, and stepped through the Veil with a burst of magic.

Alec startled when he appeared out of thin air, but smiled immediately after gathering himself.

“Hey.”

Magnus let a smirk curl his lips, “Hey yourself, Mr. Lightwood.”

“I, uh, I didn’t think about the Veil.” Alec licked his lips. “That’s going to make this complicated, isn’t it?”

Magnus opened the wine with a hum, turning to pour them both glasses before he answered. He handed one to Alec, who was watching him carefully.

“It would be, if I hadn’t spent today making arrangements to remove it from New York, at least.” He took a sip, enjoying the look on Alexander’s face.

“You’re— “ Alec seemed to be at a loss and Magnus laughed gently.

“It wasn’t just this,” he gestured with his glass, “you and I, but that was a final push. You and Raphael were both right. It might be time to do this, and where better to start than a city whose Commander is already trying to work with the Downworld? If we can make it work, we can show how much better off everyone will be without a dividing line. Besides, you made the good point that isolating the Nephilim was only making them worse, generally.”

“When?” Alec asked, setting his wine glass aside.

“In a fortnight, if the spiral council agrees. Is that enough time to get your people in order?” He assumed that concern was the reason for Alec’s sudden intensity.

“Plenty.” Alec aid, reaching to take Magnus’ glass as well. When he’d set it down, he pulled Magnus to the couch with him, keeping ahold of his hands as they sat. He never looked away from Magnus’ face.

“That also gives us some time.” Alec swallowed. “I said, in my note, I wanted this. I do, and I’m willing to figure out what we are, together. I need to know what you want, Magnus.”

Magnus turned his hands over in Alec’s, fingertips rubbing lightly at the skin of his wrists in a comforting movement.

“I’ve been alive a long time, Alexander.”

Alec searched his face, but stayed quiet while Magnus gathered his thoughts. He needed to say this in a way that impressed upon Alec just how much this meant to him.

“I’m sure you’ve read my file, you know that I’ve spent much of my life seeking out the pleasures the world has to offer me. There’s been plenty of darkness in my life, things I’m not proud of and things I might one day be able to tell you. From that, I’ve learned to appreciate a life well-lived, time spent with friends, drinks, good food. I’ve had many partners, short and long term, but after the first few, I learned that I was not someone who earned lasting love. I thought I would spend my life as a chapter, cherished though it may be, in other’s. This chance, with you, to build something knowing that you’re my soulmate? That I have a soul that still deserves that? I want it more than I know how to tell you.”

Magnus didn’t know what to expect, with the way that Alec was looking at him; it wasn’t to be pulled into the man’s arms. Alec embraced him in a warm hold, a hand coming up to rest against the back of his head, and Magnus found himself burrowing into the hold. It was comfort and warmth and all encompassing safety.

“You’re too kind not to deserve a lasting love, Magnus. I can’t say what we’ll grow into, but I’m happy to have this chance with you,” Alec said in a low voice.

Magnus didn’t say anything to that, just let Alec hold him a while longer.

When they parted, Alec gave him a tilted smile.

“What do we do now?”

Magnus laughed at the question. Two months ago they’d never met, and now they knew they were soulmates. What did they do, indeed?

“Now? We talk. We pull down the Veil and spend time as leaders, yes, but mostly we just. . .get to know each other as people. We date.” Magnus patted his leg with a bright smile.

Alec looked away, tension in his shoulders, “I’ve never done that.”

“That’s alright.” Magnus wasn’t surprised, not after some of the things Alec had said. “This is going to be new for me too, and we have plenty of time to learn each other. How about we go for dinner sometime soon?”

Alec nodded, “After the Veil is down?”

“That sounds like a plan.” Magnus reached for his wine glass again, only for Alec to catch his hand..

“Can we— “ Alec shifted, “before that, can I kiss you?”

Magnus blinked in surprise, but then a spark of familiar want curled in his chest. He nodded, eyes dropping to Alec’s mouth without a thought.

Alec cupped his face, a move that made Magnus feel too many things to name, and carefully leaned forward. Magnus expected a light brush of their lips, a chaste first kiss.

Alexander pressed their mouths together, his lips slightly parted so he could gently draw Magnus’ lower lip between them, dragging them together with a wet heat. Magnus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and his own hand came up to rest over Alec’s.

He leaned into the kiss, their mouths moving together as pleasant, joyful warmth rolled over him.

This was a kiss he wanted again and again, forever.

The thought might have frightened him, before. Cradled in Alec’s hands, he thought it was a safe thing to want.

—

With the approval of the spiral council and kiss for luck from his soulmate, Alec was ready. He held the spell-stone that would link him to Magnus’ magic, the red of their soulthread curling up his arm visible only to him.

Holding a piece of his power, Alec could feel that Magnus’ was just on the other side of the Veil, waiting.

Together they were going to walk the leylines of New York, unweaving the Veil between them. They would finish, conveniently, outside a small restaurant where Magnus had made reservations for them that evening.

He took a step, power in his hands, and with a ripple, the Veil was visible to him. It hung like a thin pane of fogged glass in the air. He could see a shadow on the other side, a familiar silhouette with wisps of red, the only color visible, swirling around his left arm.

Connecting them both, like the Veil didn’t exist, was the thread of their bound souls.

#Shadowhunters #Malec #shrb2022 #Alec Lightwood #Magnus Bane #Fanfiction #jace herondale #Clary Fairchild #tmi #The Clave #Simon Lewis #Soulmates #Writing #My writing #Malec Reverse Bang 2022

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