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x-ceirios-x · 6 months ago

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you made your bed

with jace missing, andy struggles with blaming herself for her brother's disappearance accepting the family she has around her.

cw: light cursing, andy having depressive thoughts, angst w/ a nice resolution

There were too many people on the same floor, Andromeda had decided, so she decided to scout around elsewhere. Normally, she had a great time in a crowd of people, but the only people she knew were worried about making sure Clary, the Lightwoods, Rowan, and Simon were okay. Maryse tended to her children, Aric disappeared, and Luke ran off to look for both of his kids. She quickly noticed someone missing in the sea of familiar faces: Jace.

Silently, she slipped into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. She paid attention to the conversations around her; Jace had stayed upstairs to protect Sebastian’s body. She realized she hadn’t seen him much in the last few days and kicked herself for not reaching out. He wasn’t at the Institute for a while, then not at Ironworks, and she suspected there was a better reason behind it, but that didn’t help the fact that she wasn’t there. What a wonderful sister she was turning out to be.

What would she say to him when she saw him? What would she do? Hug him; punch him, maybe? Reassure him that he could always call her if he needed backup, just like she’d done for Clary a short while earlier? That had been unintentional, though. She’d tailed her to the Church, killed the Hydra demon when things got too rough for her to handle, and patched her up when they got back. She hadn’t thought to call her—how did she convince these people that she was there to help? Sure, sometimes she was a little arrogant and knew she could tone it down a little, but she’d never been around so many people that were a family like this. Even the little vampire was accepted into their ranks. All her life, she’d only ever had herself to rely on. Even in the few years she had Val, she learned not to trust someone that deeply again, because eventually, they’d leave too, even if it wasn’t willingly.

She didn't get the opportunity to finish her thoughts, because the elevator made a ding noise and the doors opened, revealing the top floor. It was open, dark, and worst of all: empty. She retrieved her witchlight from her pocket and pulled her seraph blade, holding it in front of her and prepared for anything that might come towards her. She walked soundlessly towards the doors opposite her and into the garden outside.

The cold air hit her immediately. She blinked, a few reflexive tears welling in her eyes as the wind blew into her. Once her eyes focused, she looked around, and saw the mass amounts of rubble from a clear fight. Her eyes landed on the glass casket several feet ahead of her; she drew in a quick breath and broke into a run, stopping only a few inches in front of it.

Sebastian Morgenstern’s body was gone, the glass casket broken, and Jace was nowhere to be found.

She fell to her knees, her mouth falling open, as she felt the broken glass dig into her knees. If it weren’t for the shadowhunter gear she’d been wearing, she would have bled, but she didn’t have half a mind to care. All these things were for naught, as Jace was gone. In the last few weeks, she’d done everything she knew how to help him, to help Clary, to show that she cared, and just when she thought they might have time to talk, she might finally find the words to explain all of her complicated thoughts to him, he was gone.

Andromeda slammed her seraph blade into the tiled floor, tip-first, shattering it. Its glow dimmed as the pieces scattered and quickly disappeared. Something flashed in the corner of her eye—a shadow of sorts, and she held up the broken blade. She raised her head, pushing her hair out of her face, and was met with the face of her former lover.

She dropped the blade. “Val,” she said, her voice shaking as she spoke. “How are you—”

“You knew this would happen,” she said, sparing her a bored look, barely glancing up from picking at her nails. “You’re too smart for that. You knew.”

“Knew—knew what?” she stammered. “Val—”

She strode towards her and casually sat on the broken coffin. “Your father left, your mother abandoned you emotionally years ago, I left you—and now your brother. Everyone leaves you, Andromeda, when are you going to see the common thread?”

Her eyebrows furrowed and she sat up on her knees, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders. Val, never in a million years, would have called her Andromeda. That was what her mother called her, and she hated it. “You—Val, what is going on?”

Val picked up the hilt of the seraph blade that she’d discarded in her shock when she saw her for the first time, and pushed the remaining, broken blade into her chin, tilting it upward. “It’s you, Andromeda, and I wonder how long it’s going to take you to realize it.”

Andromeda’s eyes flew open suddenly, and as her mind pulled her back to reality from the cruel dream, she realized how heavily she was breathing. She sat up, bracing herself on her arms as she got herself back under control.

It had been a dream rooted in reality. She remembered finding the broken casket, breaking her seraph blade in a surprising show of angered strength, and returning back to the floor with the rest of the institute. She must have been pale as a ghost because Isabelle, looking suddenly nervous, pointed her mother to her immediately, and she had to explain to Maryse Lightwood that her son was now missing, as was the body of the man the Clave wanted dead the most.

She checked her phone for the time and realized it was only midnight—she’d gone to bed early after a long day of staying cooped up in the training room. No one had been using it recently, as the Lightwoods and Ashfairs had all been too sick with worry about one person or another’s disappearance to even try training. She’d spent a bit of time with Alec and Clave meetings, but their friendship was incredibly shallow. Clary wasn’t up for talking, too worried about Jace, and it left Andy alone. Even in her mother’s house, she’d never felt that alone: surrounded by people that were supposed to be her friends, but she wasn’t important enough to be family.

Silently, she pushed herself out of bed, and pulled on a recently-discarded pair of leggings from the floor, a pair of boots she could easily slide on, and her favorite cardigan—the first thing she’d bought for herself in New York City on her shopping trip with Clary. It seemed so long ago, though it hadn’t even been two months since she’d first arrived there.

Without an end goal in sight, she grabbed her stele and a knife off her nightstand, as well as a few hair pins, and stuffed both into her bra. She fussed with her hair as she walked down the hall, past all the bedrooms with closed doors, and towards the elevator. She paused, suddenly, feeling something pull her back. Her chest tightened and she backtracked a few feet, into Jace’s bedroom. It had sat empty, unchanged other than the occasional rifling through for objects that might possibly be used to track him. Nothing had worked so far.

His bed was still neat, save for the small, Clary-sized indent in the blanket. She’d spent some time there recently and must have fallen asleep there for a while. Not that she’d know, because she barely saw anyone out and about in the Institute these days.

She scanned the room for a moment and found herself gravitating towards the wardrobe. She opened the one door and pulled down a jacket—a black leather one that looked relatively new. If anything, she understood that Shadowhunters couldn’t keep clothes for very long. Demon blood destroyed many a pair of her favorite pants.

She slid the jacket on and realized it fit decently well. It was a little big in the shoulders but it would help save her from the cold, much more than her thin cardigan and tanktop would. She turned to leave the room and caught herself in the window—her reflection startled her. In that light, with the zipped jacket and hair pulled back, she looked shockingly like her father—or, at least, the photos she’d seen of him. She shook her head to wipe away the thought and turned on her heel, continuing her walk from the Institute into the city.

Walking the city late at night was never exactly a good idea, which she understood, but she had a feeling that she would be able to fend off whatever demon or drugged-up perv came after her. Which was worse, she didn’t know. She took a right once she stepped off the steps leading into the church, and set off towards the subway station. As she walked, she carved both a soundless and an invisibility rune into her hip, then dropped her shirt back to where it usually sat. It was cold, too cold for her liking usually, but at least the subway itself had a little heat inside.

She sat on the train silently for what felt like ages. Unable to stop thinking about what she’d seen, even if it was a dream, she spun her stele around her fingers. She felt like something was weighing on her chest and trying to pull it apart at the same time. She’d felt like this before, but never this intense. Part of her felt like punching the wall next to her, but she didn’t want to risk some mundane finding an indent created by no one.

The ride wasn’t long, but it certainly cut down on the time it would take to get into Brooklyn. She and Clary had walked this path so many times she was half sure she could do it in her sleep. The sad part was, she’d never been inside. Andy walked the few extra minutes down the rough sidewalks before she found herself at Luke’s house, standing a few feet in front of the stairs that led to the front door. With her hand tightly gripped around her stele, she forced herself forward and knocked.

She didn’t have to wait long. The door swung open and she could see dim lights behind Jocelyn Fairchild, who stood in the door. “Andromeda,” she said, a hint of surprise in her voice. “Are you alright? Clary is asleep for the night—“

“Actually,” she said, offering her best, parent-charming smile. “Is Lucian—“ she stopped herself, remembering that Lucian Graymark—the former Circle member, Shadowhunter and her mother’s younger brother—and Luke Garroway, New York werewolf pack leader and Jocelyn Fairchild’s fiance, were very different people. If she had a name she wanted to put behind her, she had to respect his, too. “Luke. Is he around?”

She paused for a moment and answered her question by stepping aside. Carefully, she shut the door behind her, standing very close to the outside wall, feeling like she wasn’t exactly invited inside.

Jocelyn leaned over the couch and muttered something to Luke, who kissed her goodnight and let her head off, down the hall. Something between envy and a sense of longing hit her very suddenly—she wondered what it would have been like to grow up with two parents that so obviously loved each other, so evidently so that you could see it in the way they looked at each other. She remembered being that in love, and something in her heart twisted at the idea of it again.

“Nice jacket,” he said, shifting to sit facing her. “Is it new?”

She opened her mouth to say something but found herself unable to form them. It wasn’t worth explaining all of it to him, she decided, and simply said, “Something like that.” She’d never felt so awkward before—even when she was a young teenager, her mother always told her she was too clever for her own good. She had a smart mouth, sure, but she could talk her way out of any situation she needed to. This—facing Luke, after being so cold to him—only deepend the guilt that had been pooling in her stomach for the last few days.

He looked at her curiously, blue eyes only lit by the lamp in the corner and shielded behind his glasses. She knew both her parents had blue eyes, but she inherited the deep, dark blue from her father. Just another thing that reminded her she was the spitting image of him. He looked like he decided on something after a moment, and gestured at the couch next to him. “You look like you need to talk. Come sit.”

Weeks ago, when they met again in Idris, she would have snapped back with something rude and left, but his calming nature convinced her. He was right, she did need to talk to someone—to anyone, really. Even when she was by herself in Idris, she had her lab in the cellar or her bedroom to disappear to. She was still somewhat home. New York didn’t feel like home yet, and she still felt like a guest in her own bedroom. She didn’t know if she’d felt at home anywhere since Val died.

Carefully, she pushed off her shoes and padded over to the couch. She sat on the opposite end of it, facing him, but her knees pulled up to her chest. Even when it was her idea to be here, she guarded herself. “How’s Clary?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper so she didn’t wake anyone in the house.

“As well as can be expected. Torn up about Jace disappearing and frustrated with the Clave,” he said. “But you’re not here to ask about her—you wouldn’t have come so late. What’s wrong?”

The way he spoke was so parental but casual, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. In Idris, it had pissed her off—she’d spent sixteen years without a father and she didn’t need someone showing up and deciding, randomly, that she needed one. Now, it was almost…comforting. Someone cared. Not the professional manner that Maryse and Aric kept with her at all times, or the tired apathy her mother spoke to her with, but someone genuinely asking how she was doing. A wave of emotion took over her and she felt tears well in her eyes; she wasn’t one to cry and she didn’t know why she was suddenly, but she kept her voice as steady as possible.

“Guilty as charged,” she said and cut herself off with a quick sniffle. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to dispose of them before he noticed. When she looked back at him, his expression had softened. Andy frowned and her voice hardened. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” he said, putting his hands up in a nonchalant surrender.

“You are!” She realized quickly that she was much louder than she intended. She took a breath and turned back to him. “I don’t like pity.”

He nodded as if everything she said made something click in his mind, like he understood what he was dealing with now; it only infuriated her, but she had to control her temper. “I’m not pitying you, Andromeda.”

“Andy,” she muttered, bitterness seeping into her tone. “Andromeda’s what my mother calls me, especially when she’s mad at me. Andy is fine.”

“Andy, then.” He looked at her expectantly, and she muttered something about how she shouldn’t even be there at the moment.

She spoke after a moment of debate. She could just leave, actually, but she’d come too far to chicken out now. “I have just felt…so incredibly overwhelmed with everything going on,” she said. She chose her words carefully to not reveal too much, but every bone in her body wanted to break when she glanced at Luke again. There was no clear way to describe this look he had, all the time, but his eyes softened and he looked concerned for her. No one had been concerned for her in a long time. No one worried about the girl who pretended to have all her shit together, not even her own mother. Of course she hadn’t—she’d iced her out years ago. Now, too much time had passed, she felt like if she tried to apologize now, it would just be awkward. She blamed her mother for years, but only after seeing Clary with her mom did she see where they both had gone wrong.

Her throat tightened as she thought more, thinking of the dream with Val, of her mother, of the stress at the Institute, of Jace—she had a few weeks of getting to know him, and now he was gone. He disappeared and no one knew where he was or even if he was alive. She knew he was an incredible warrior, even better than most around their ages.

Her voice got smaller as she realized how ridiculous she sounded. “I just can’t talk about it. The last time I did, I got yelled at because I don’t know Jace like everyone else does. It’s just shitty.”

Luke nodded as she spoke. “I can’t tell you I understand your situation, Andy, but I do think it’s not fair to be told you're not allowed to be upset. You and Jace seemed like you were getting closer, no?”

“I was trying to,” she admitted, pouting. She rested her head on her knees, looking over at him. In all honesty, she felt like a child again, getting so upset over nothing. When she was young and some kids were picking on her over nothing, her mom would make her favorite tea and wrap her in a blanket, and tell her stories of faraway lands with knights and dragons and strong princesses who figured their way out of similar situations to whatever she was upset with at the moment. The memories hurt—even if she wanted to, now, her mom would never do something like that.

“Then it’s perfectly reasonable to be upset about it. He’s still your brother, whether you grew up with him or met him two months ago.” He offered an encouraging smile, though she couldn’t stand looking at him at the moment. Anything might make her snap and send the tears streaming down her face.

Part of the reason she spent so much time out at night was so she didn’t have to deal with all this—all the thinking. Because once she started, she couldn’t stop. She tinkered late at night when things got to be overwhelming, but there was nowhere in the institute for her to do that. All the weapons in the weapons room were perfectly functional; broken ones were thrown out. She enjoyed fixing broken things—Clary saw it in the teacup while in Idris, but she’d been doing it for years. Now if she could fix herself, it would be a great step in the right direction.

“How about this,” he said, noticing her hesitancy to believe him. “It’s late—you can crash here tonight, and maybe spending some time with Clary tomorrow will do you both some good. Get you out of your head a little.”

She smirked. “Why do I feel like you're trying to set up a play date?”

“Who says I’m not?” he said and began to stand. “Go wash up, do whatever you gotta do, and I’ll get the couch set up for you.”

Andy sniffled, though nodded. “Yeah—yeah. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

She stood and walked back the hall, into the bathroom. Really, she could have fallen asleep on the couch the way it was, but Luke wanted to do something nice for her and she should let him. She sat on the counter for a moment, picking at her nails, when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked disheveled at best—her sweater was falling off her shoulder and her hair was a mess. No wonder Jocelyn looked so concerned for her. The dark circles under her eyes had only gotten worse since the day before when she spent twenty minutes applying makeup to make them disappear, and she could see the remains of mascara she missed in the corners of her eyes. She looked like hell, frankly, and glared in the mirror at herself.

Even if it was a dream, Val was right. So much of this was her own fault. If she had left sooner, gotten to the roof fast enough to see Jace, she could have stopped him. Fought Sebastian. She heard from both Clary and Jace how strong he was, but even if it killed her, it wouldn’t have mattered. Jace would have been safe, and life in New York would have gone back to the way it was two months again. Just the way everyone would have liked it, probably. Shadowhunters die and go missing all the time, right? What was another Herondale with a tragic ending?

She turned the sink on and splashed her face with cold water, hoping it would wash away the thoughts. It didn't, to her dismay, but it was enough to get her moving again. She dried her hands and face and walked back out to the living room, trying to fix the rat nest she’d pulled her hair into.

Luke was sitting on the arm of the couch, skimming over some book she didn’t care to know the contents of. The couch had folded out into a bed that didn’t look comfortable in the slightest, but it was a bed, and that was the important part. The throw blanket that had been folded on the back was now laid out for her, and a square pillow was laid on one side. He looked up and smiled warmly; she didn’t have the energy to do so back. He pulled something out from behind him—a mug, she noticed—and handed it to her.

She took it gratefully, holding it with both hands to warm her cold fingers. She took a sip, then very quickly pulled it away from her mouth. “Lemon mint?” she asked.

He looked confused for a moment. “Is that not what you like?”

“It is,” she said, setting the mug down on the coffee table next to her. “How’d you know?”

“It was the only tea in the house when we visited, and Amatis thinks tea tastes like hot brown water,” he chuckled. “Stocked up when you and Clary started hanging out more in case you ever wanted some.”

“I—” She stared at him for a long moment, unsure how to react to that. It had been a long time since someone went out of their way to do something so nice for her, just because they could. Even living at home, her mom did what was necessary and not much more; these days, she didn’t blame her. She stammered for a moment, trying to find the words. She finally managed, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he said and stood. “Sleep well, alright? Kitchen light’s on if you need anything.”

She nodded. He started down the hall, but before he could get too far, she called out, “Hey, Luke?”

He turned. “What’s up?”

Andy’s eyes turned towards the floor and she held her hands behind her back awkwardly. She didn’t know how to ask, but it was better to just rip the bandage off, right? She rocked back and forth on her heels for a moment, then said, “Can I have a hug?”

She stood there for a moment, staring at the carpet. She didn’t know how he’d react to that and she didn’t want to. But then he was in front of her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and she felt like she could cry. She forced the tears back but her breath was shaky. Luke didn’t say anything, just let her lay her head on his shoulder and breathe for a moment. She thought about how he’d been nothing but nice to her since they met in Idris and how she’d been so cold, just because she didn’t trust him. And she thought about how he was with Clary, so worried about her when they’d showed up at her mother’s house in Alicante out of the blue, and realized the reason she didn’t trust him was because she didn’t want to let anyone that cared about her like that in. She didn’t want the heartbreak of getting attached to someone who was either going to die or leave again. And despite her attitude, he was there if she ever needed something, and even when she didn’t.

And hesitantly, she hugged him, too.

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x-ceirios-x · 11 months ago

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warlocks

magnus arrives home from the fight on valentine's ship to unexpected guests.

cw: alcohol consumption

Magnus sighed as he unlocked the door to his apartment, thinking he needed a very strong drink and a several-day-long nap. The shadow world was safe, for now, after Clary’s new-found rune powers destroyed Valentine’s ship. However, his magic was severely depleted after spending so much time holding back the demonic wards. It was all he could do to stay awake in Luke’s truck and keep that above water. Until Alec came, he wasn’t sure how much longer he would last. He borrowed his strength when he offered, though, and it helped him get back to shore safely. Both of them.

When he walked into the living room, he was both shocked and confused to see the lights on. He could have sworn he turned everything off before he left—no, he knew that was true. As he walked through the living room, he noticed the smooth jazz coming from seemingly nowhere and quiet chatter from the kitchen. He armed himself with a small ball of magic, though he knew he wasn’t up for a fight right now. Slowly and silently, he stalked into the kitchen–he turned the corner quickly, arm raised and prepared to attack whoever it was.

He didn’t know what he expected to see when he walked into his kitchen, but it certainly wasn’t two warlocks, one sitting on the stools to his island counter and the other sitting on the counter itself, swinging her feet. He lowered his arm and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Eleanor,” he said with a sigh.

“Magnus!” The girl slid off of the counter and ran to him, embracing him quickly and tightly. Shock wearing off, he relaxed into her arms, happy to see an old friend even if it was in strange circumstances like this. He leaned his head against hers for a moment, enjoying the familiarity after the day he’d had.

She pulled away just as abruptly as she’d embraced him. “Oh, where have you been?” she asked, hands running over his face quickly, inspecting him for injuries. He assumed he didn’t look as extravagant as he did usually when he had company. “You’re not hurt, are you? You look pale, would you like some tea?”

“Eleanor.” The other warlock spoke this time—Eleanor’s twin brother, Desmin. He placed his glass on the counter next to him and shot her a half-hearted glare. “You're smothering him.”

She perked up, processing his words for a moment, then pulled her hands away from him. “Sorry, dear,” she said with a cheery smile, spinning on her heel. She reached under the island, where he kept his alcohol, and pulled out two glasses filled with a shimmery, pink liquid. He liked her drinks when she made them by hand, not by magic, but he wasn’t one to complain. She was one hell of a bartender. “Cosmo?”

He nodded, eyes a little wide at the offer. “Please,” he said, taking a seat next to Desmin. He raised the glass in a small thank-you, then downed half of it. She chuckled and he saw a hint of a smile from Desmin as well, sipping his own drink. He hoped it wasn’t his good whiskey but knew better—both had expensive tastes.

She took a sip of her drink, then broke the silence. “We brought takeout, I hope you still like shrimp lo mein.”

He nodded and she slid a takeout box across the counter at him—after the night he had, the takeout sounded amazing. He wouldn’t have cooked if it would have saved his life, he was too tired. Despite not being up for company, he thought the twins being there was some strange kind of miracle. With them, came a little chaos, some alcohol, but a warm, familial feeling he could never pass up.

“We showed up around nine,” she explained as he ate. “I convinced Desmin to go out clubbing because I heard there was a neat little place called Pandemonium around here. Then you weren’t here, so we just decided to hang out until you got home. I got worried after you didn’t answer your phone.”

Magnus swallowed the bite of food he had in his mouth and gestured to Desmin with his chopsticks. “I think the strangest part of that is the fact you convinced Desmin to go clubbing.”

“I go clubbing,” he said. “I stand in the corner with my one drink of the night and watch people make fools of themselves. Very entertaining.”

She rolled her eyes. “God, Magnus, you should have seen him a few weeks ago. We took a trip to Prague and he met this fae—“

Desmin’s eyes flew wide open and his cheeks reddened. “You promised not to talk about Prague!”

“It’s Magnus!”

“I need to hear about this,” he said, moderately impressed that there was some story he was so embarrassed about he forbade Eleanor from talking about it.

She smirked. “I have never seen so many hickeys on this guy in my life—“

“Eleanor!”

They both broke out into laughter at his embarrassment. It was all out of love, of course, but he heard a few colorful, choice words under his breath. “I need another drink to deal with you two,” he said sarcastically, gesturing for Eleanor to hand him something. She pulled the bottle from under the counter and slid it to him, where he proceeded to pour several shots worth of his good whiskey. He must have noticed his shock and he shrugged. “We’ll pay you back for it. Always do.”

His eyes narrowed, though he couldn’t stop the smile on his face. “You’d better.”

Eleanor sat on his other side, picking a piece of shrimp from his dish and popping it into her mouth. He elbowed her arm for it. “My dinner!” he argued.

“I paid, let me have a little shrimp,” she said, settling next to him. “Where have you been all evening, though?”

He sighed. “It’s a very long, long story. I’d rather talk about that later.” She nodded in agreement, though he could tell she was still worried about him. He gave her an encouraging smile, slowly feeling the energy come back to him as he had something to eat. “Where have you two been? It’s been…what, thirty years?”

She shrugged, glancing past him to Desmin, then back. He noticed the little shimmers of purple in her eyes as she looked around—he always thought it was pretty. He’d never seen either of the twin’s warlock marks, but he assumed that was part of it. “A little bit everywhere. Rome for half the nineties, but we got bored of things there so we tried Barcelona for a little while, that was fun. Back to London in ‘89–“

“Back to London?” he asked. “I thought you said you’d never go back there after the whole…incident.”

Desmin scoffed. “That’s what I said. But no, she insisted on getting on West End.”

Magnus gasped. “That was you? I thought those pictures looked familiar!” he grinned at her. “You put on a hell of a glamor, dear. Who knew the great Allison Everett of West End was going to end up sitting in my living room.”

She gave a small, yet dramatic, bow from her seat and chuckled at his comment. “Let me say, those years of ballet training paid off. I played some good things, though. Maureen, in Rent, for one.”

He nodded. “I remember hearing about that. It sounds amazing.”

“I think if I had to hear her practice La Vie Bohème one more time, my ears would bleed,” Desmin muttered, receiving a slap on the shoulder for it.

“We were up in Flushing until a couple weeks ago. Heard through the grapevine that my favorite little warlock was the High Warlock of Brooklyn,” she said teasingly, pinching at his cheek and shoulder.

He laughed and swatted her hand away, rolling his eyes at her antics. “Alright mom,” he said sarcastically, though he noticed the way her smile softened. In short, Eleanor and Desmin were the closest thing he had to parents, though they were very good friends.

“She wanted to see you more so we decided to move a little closer. Got a nice place a few blocks away,” Desmin said. “When we’re done unpacking, you should come check the place out. Upper west side is pretty nice.”

“Look at you two being all fancy. Living the high life?”

Eleanor chuckled. “Exploiting a couple mundanes here and there, sure. Summoning demons, enchanting things, spells, whatever. And I got very good with investments in the past few years. I do all the money management so Desmin can work on his novel.”

“Still working on the same one?”

“Oh, no.” He shook his head, finding the question almost amusing. That one got published ages ago. I’ve got a pretty good running series. I just don’t do public appearances and no one seems to mind.”

Magnus nodded. That was very like Desmin—public wasn’t his thing anywhere. He preferred to keep to himself and hated speaking in front of large groups of people. It was something that couldn’t have made him and Eleanor more different; she loved to entertain and be the one in the spotlight, sometimes literally.

There were many things like that about them both; Desmin was cold, unmoved, a steady force that never wavered in his actions or motivations. Eleanor wore her heart on her sleeve and cared very deeply for the people she surrounded herself with. Neither were superficial by any means. He believed they were honest. However, he also had a suspicion they were much more complex under it all than they liked to let on. Eleanor always told him not to worry—they had each other, and that’s all that mattered. He wished they were a little more open with him, sometimes, but he understood. He didn’t have an exact age, but he knew they were old, much older than himself; when you spend so much time with one person, they become the only person you trust. He wished he had that level of companionship with someone.

He finished his dinner and pushed the plate away, turning towards Eleanor. “I hate to do this to you since you quite literally moved closer to see me, but I’m incredibly exhausted and in need of sleep.”

She shook her head with a smile. “I will take care of everything, don’t worry your head about it,” she said, taking his hand with both of hers and squeezing gently. “If you’re alright with it, we can crash here and I’ll make you breakfast in the morning. Someone—“ she glanced at Desmin— “is pretending to be much less inebriated than he is. That’s why he’s so quiet.”

“Quit revealing my secrets,” Desmin grumbled, though he didn’t deny it.

“Of course. I told you before, you’re always welcome here.” Magnus stood and gave Desmin a polite nod, then Eleanor another quick hug. She kissed his cheek as he leaned in, squeezing him tight. When he pulled away, she huffed, blowing her bangs out of her face. “You know, I’ll never forgive you for getting taller than me.”

He laughed. “You’ve been on about that for three hundred years.”

“And I will continue to be on about it!”

Magnus rolled his eyes and returned to his room, changing into his pajamas. He looked at himself in the mirror, inspecting his face as he cleared away his makeup with magic. He looked a little better than he assumed he did when he got home—less sickly, at least. The color returned to his cheeks but his tiredness was catching up to him. He got comfortable in bed, about to turn off the lamp next to him when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he said, sitting up.

Eleanor walked in, holding a mug in her hands. She handed it to him and sat on the edge of the bed, closing the door behind her with the wave of her hand. “I put a little spell on it to help you sleep,” she said with a gentle smile. “It’ll help protect you from bad dreams, too.” She was incredibly excited earlier—happy to see him, no doubt—but her expression changed. This was softer, more muted but vulnerable. He rarely saw her like this, but he certainly wouldn’t complain.

“What would I do without you?” he asked, mostly teasing. They both knew he’d made a good life for himself, but he owed a lot of it to the two of them. He struggled as a child and they helped him more than he could ever repay them for. Since then, they randomly appeared, never staying long—he’d noticed they never stayed long anywhere. It was one of the many mysteries of the Rige siblings he never cracked, and there were many. However, while they were here, he always felt more loved than he did at any other time in his life.

He drank a bit of the tea and laid down again, comfortable in quiet between them. She reached out and brushed her fingers through his hair, fingers scratching over his head. This was what she used to do when he was a young child, when they first found him—play with his hair soothingly, sitting with him until he fell asleep. Sometimes she’d sing or tell him a story, but she usually left the stories for Desmin.

“I’ve heard things around—gossip, mostly,” she said softly, fingers raking through his hair. His eyelids felt heavy, but he fought to keep them open as she spoke. “But things are changing. I know they are. I…most of the reason we came was to make sure you were okay,” she said, a combination of fear and happiness on her face. “I don’t know what happened tonight. But if you ever need anything, Magnus, Desmin and I are here.”

He nodded. “I know,” he said, voice half in a whisper as sleep slowly dragged him away. He fell asleep with a faint smile on his face, the last hung he remembered being her leaning in to place a small kiss on his forehead, then the sound of his bedroom door clicking closed.

There were many things about the twins he still didn’t understand, and he wasn’t sure if he ever would. However, he knew that at any time in his life, whenever he needed something, they miraculously appeared and managed to fix it all. He only hoped that would be the case this time, though he had his suspicions things would be much more complicated in the coming weeks.

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