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The spring air is unpleasantly warm when Magnus exits the apartment building on East 77th at just past eleven o’clock. He jogs down the steps out front, taking off his jacket and folding it over one arm, then makes his way to the nearest alleyway and, about halfway down, snaps his fingers to make a portal.
Magnus had been out early, before six, to see an old friend in Cairo in the early afternoon, and then he’d had a succession of back to back appointments around New York. His duties as High Warlock have been almost non stop, recently, and he’s not had time to catch up with hardly anyone for a good few weeks. The only warlocks he’d seen were a family out in Bay Ridge — the father had called him in a slight panic, having just heard about a warlock who’d been found dead in north east Staten Island a few days earlier.
The loft is quiet when he returns. He’d expected it; a bleary-eyed Alec had stumbled from the bed around the same time Magnus was portaling to Egypt, so he would have been at work for a good few hours now. It’s taken a while for Magnus to get used to the city’s warlocks no longer living under his roof, but he has enjoyed the peace and quiet, lately.
They’ve all started to breathe freely again, now that Valentine’s gone. Not everything has changed, of course — the Clave and the Shadowhunters are still the same as ever, but the Downworld Cabinet meetings are taking steps to change that.
Magnus wanders through to the bedroom and hangs his jacket up in the closet, then goes to check on the potion that’s brewing away in the study. He shuts off the burner under the cauldron so it’s on the lowest heat possible, sprinkles in an exact measure of aconite and a liberal amount of rosemary and replaces the lid, content to let it simmer while he steps out to his next appointment. He can check it when he comes home later this afternoon.
After pausing momentarily to gulp down a tall glass of water, Magnus is literally just about to step through another portal when his phone blares into life. He snaps his fingers to close the portal — keeping them open indefinitely drains his magic more than he needs it to — and picks up the call.
“Luke,” he greets happily — although the timing is bad, he hasn’t spoken to Luke in too long. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Hi, Magnus. It’s two of my pack, Jason and Segan,” Luke says, sounding a little terse. “Maia was supposed to meet them for happy hour at the Hunter’s Moon yesterday, but they didn’t show up. She asked around and no one’s seen them, so I ran some checks at work this morning. It looks like they’ve been missing for just under 48 hours.”
Magnus hums thoughtfully. “I can try tracking them, if you have any of their belongings,” he offers. He doesn’t really have time if he wants to keep to his schedule, but his next client is an insufferably snobby British man who always makes snide comments about Magnus’ appearance, so he doesn’t feel too bad about making him wait. There are other Warlocks in the city who’ll put up with him — possibly even charge him less — but, if he wants the best, he’ll just have to sit tight for half an hour.
Luke’s relieved sigh is a rush of static over the phone. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m not far from your place now, actually. Can I come over?”
The door buzzer goes around ten minutes later, and Magnus waves a hand to let Luke up. He places a bookmark into his book of Amharic spells and stows it on the shelf under the coffee table, then stands to greet Luke.
Luke’s handsome face is downcast, but he still clasps Magnus’ hand when Magnus answers the door.
“Come in,” Magnus says, stepping back to allow Luke to enter. Luke sheds his leather jacket and hangs it on the hook by the door. He waves away Magnus’ offer of a drink, instead placing two shirts down on Magnus’ coffee table.
“One for each of them,” he says, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I hope that’s good enough.”
Magnus nods, striding to the table to pick up the shirts. “Perfect,” he says. He clasps the shirts between his palms and closes his eyes, focussing his energy on drawing out the two werewolves’ locations.
His vision jars, the images rushing in and overlapping. He smells petrol and tastes the tang of blood, and when he looks around in the vision he sees two bodies, slumped on the floor. One has a criss cross of sword marks on his back; one has an ugly gash across his throat.
They could only have been made by seraph blades. Magnus pushes down the bile rising to the back of his throat and opens his eyes.
A cloud of blue hangs in the air over the shirts for a moment before dissipating. However good Magnus thinks he is at hiding things, something of what he’d just seen obviously shows on his face, because Luke’s expression stutters and he buries his face in his hands.
Magnus turns away, allowing Luke time to compose himself. He sends a quick text to his next client, rearranging for the following week on the promise of a 10% discount. He locks his phone and places a hand on Luke’s shoulder.
Luke looks up, sending him a sad smile.
“Not the first friends I’ve lost,” Luke says heavily, and Magnus nods. Both of them are all too familiar with the ashy, bitter taste of loss. It weighs Magnus down like a cloak drenched with water, woven from memories that have started to fray over the centuries.
At least the pack will have bodies to bury.
All the same, Luke stands, shaking his head angrily. “I should have looked harder for them.”
“With the gift of hindsight, every one of us could have done something more,” Magnus says. He looks at his old friend. “You can’t save everyone, Luke.”
Luke’s forehead furrows. “After what happened with the Soul Sword, the war…I hoped I wouldn’t have to lose any more wolves.” He shakes his head bitterly, eyes turning sharp as flint as they flash green. “Whoever did this better hope I don’t get my hands on them.”
Magnus smiles grimly. “I’ll do my best to find them for you.”
∞
By the time they get to the Institute, it’s mid-afternoon. Magnus passes a group of Shadowhunters in the Institute’s canteen and fleetingly longs for food — he hasn’t eaten properly since having take out on his balcony with Alec the night before, but almost before he can even let the thought fully form in his head, Alec’s striding out of his office to meet them.
“Luke, hi,” Alec says, smiling, and then his expression softens a little as his eyes land on Magnus. “Hey, babe,” he says, as he gives Magnus a brief kiss in greeting. Alec turns back to Luke, clearing his throat. “I think Mom’s in the library, if that’s who you’re looking for.” His voice goes up a little at the end, a hint of a question.
Luke smiles slightly, then shakes his head. “Not a social call, I’m afraid,” he says. “Can we talk in your office?”
Alec raises his eyebrows, glancing between the two of them. He nods. “Follow me.”
Instead of sitting behind his desk, Alec settles on one of the couches at the back of the room, allowing Magnus and Luke to take the armchairs. It’s a subtle gesture, but one that holds a lot of weight. Rather than the two Downworld leaders appealing to the Head of the Institute, the three of them are sitting in conversation. If equality is an illusion, it’s a pleasant one to believe in.
“I hoped I’d never have to deliver this kind of news again,” Luke says. “Ironic, for a detective. Two of my pack went missing a couple days ago.”
Alec nods, a slight crease appearing in his brow. “Go on,” he says.
“Well,” Luke says, with a glance at Magnus, “Magnus offered to track them for me earlier.” Luke stops, closes his eyes and draws in a breath. “They’ve been murdered.”
Alec’s face falls and he seems genuinely devastated for his friend. All of them know the grief of war and loss too well. “Luke, I’m sorry.”
“They’d been visiting Jason’s mom in West Brighton,” Luke says heavily. “She’s not well — Segan was there to provide moral support, I think.”
Alec sighs, shaking his head. Behind him, the stained glass window paints an iridescent portrait of the archangel Raguel, taking vengeance on fallen angels. Magnus furrows his eyebrows together in concentration as he looks at it, lost in thought.
The light of the afternoon sun beams hues of red and blue and yellow into the room. Magnus feels like there’s something just floating just out of his grasp — Luke’s words and everything from the past few weeks are all jumbled up, butterfly knowledge that’s flitting in and out of being a fully formed thought.
Alec leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “How can I help?” he asks.
Luke gestures to Magnus. “When Magnus tracked them, he said that their wounds looked like they’d been caused by seraph blades,” Luke tells Alec. “They were murdered by Shadowhunters.”
Alec looks at Magnus and starts to say something, but Magnus holds up a finger, still staring at the archangel.
“West Brighton,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. “Alexander, do you have a map of New York and New Jersey?”
Alec nods uncertainly, then stands. “Let’s go to the Ops Centre.”
Magnus leads the way with Alec and Luke behind him, stopping only to let Alec direct him to the map table. Alec brings the holographic projection of the city up with a sweep of his hands.
“West Brighton is here,” Alec says, dropping a holographic pin down over the town.
Magnus nods. “There was a warlock who died out in Staten Island a couple of weeks ago,” he says. He drops a pin over the location they’d found the warlock, an ancient, wizened old man Magnus had met only a handful of times. “And, Alexander, your Shadowhunter — you mentioned her the other day.”
“Bailey, yeah,” Alec says. “She died near Elizabeth, New Jersey.” Alec drops another pin, then scrubs a hand across his jaw, frowning at the map.
Luke points towards south western Staten Island. “Raphael mentioned a vampire being staked here at a Cabinet meeting,” he says. “You think these killings are linked?”
Magnus sucks his teeth. “I think there’s a fair chance,” he says. “We’ve had relative peace since the war, so a sudden spate of murders centred around one borough? Even if it is only chance —”
“It’s worth investigating,” Alec says decisively. “Whoever’s behind the murders, they clearly don’t discriminate with their victims.” He waves a hand over the map and radiuses expand from each of the pins. The holograms cross over on the north west coast of Staten Island, on the east side of the Staten Island Sound. Alec taps the area with one finger, then looks at Magnus and Luke. “That’s as good a place to start as any, right?”
∞
There are sounds of life in the Howland Hook docks all around them, the beeping of fork lift trucks and the engine growls of larger vehicles. Heavy chains thwack and clink against metal containers. The murky water in the bay below the dock crashes in waves and brings in the smell of the sea, all underneath a dark grey sky hanging above them.
The air around them is muggy and dense, thick with the kind of heat that settles against skin and won’t let up. At the head of the dock, workers are smearing grimy sleeves against foreheads as they unload freight from a cargo ship that’s just made port alongside one of the berths.
Magnus shares a glance with Luke, then with Alec.
“Can we clear the docks?” Alec asks Luke, squinting into the distance at the dockworkers.
Luke’s jaw clenches as he looks around them, eyes darting over the scene. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, when Magnus spends evenings drinking and cooking and talking with Luke, that he was raised a warrior just as much as Alec.
“Not without raising questions,” Luke says. “I could put in some calls at the 121st precinct, but it’ll take at least an hour. Best we stay glamoured and finish this quickly.”
Alec nods. He beckons Jace with his hand and together they round up their team of Shadowhunters, and Luke gathers the pack members who’d accompanied him to the docks.
“Okay, listen up,” Alec says, once Luke gestures for him to speak. “We have two objectives: locate the rogue Shadowhunters, and keep the Mundanes safe. Our intel says the Shadowhunters are hiding out here, close to the water, but we don’t know exactly where, so stay sharp.”
Thunder threatens to roll in from the dark sky, and everything feels on edge, waiting for the spark to ignite. Alec shucks his quiver up onto one shoulder and points to Jace and Maia with his free hand.
“When we find them, you two, take point. Draw them into the fight, but —” here Alec fixes Jace with a look “— don’t do anything stupid.”
Jace grins at him.
“Iz, take Magnus and Clary and attack their left flank once they’ve been drawn out. Luke, you and I will take the right flank.” Alec’s voice rings clear and authoritative, and Magnus can’t help being proud of his boyfriend. “We’re aiming to isolate and surround them, keeping the battle away from the Mundanes. Stay with your teams and don’t let this get messy.”
Alec turns to Luke. “You know your fighters better than I do,” he says. “Please can you split them up into groups you know will work?”
Luke nods and starts dividing up the pack members he’s brought with him — Magnus recognises a few of them from nights he’s spent at the Hunter’s Moon, but he could only put names to one or two faces.
When he’s finished, Luke clears his throat. “These Shadowhunters killed five people just because they could,” he reminds everyone. “They won’t hesitate to do the same to you. Stay safe out there.”
Beside him, Maia nods. “For Jason and Segan,” she says. “Let’s make them pay.”
As the teams depart, Jace and Maia and the other wolves melting into the shadows alongside the shipping containers, Alec catches Magnus’ hand.
“Hey,” he says. “Please be safe.”
“I’m the High Warlock of Brooklyn, Alexander,” Magnus says, though the bite in his words is lessened by his smile. “I’ll be fine. Take care of yourself.” Magnus presses a kiss to Alec’s cheek and turns away, following Isabelle and Clary.
Clary walks on ahead, discussing strategy lowly with two of Luke’s pack. Isabelle hangs back once she sees Magnus walking behind them, linking her arm through his. She holds her staff in the other hand.
“Ready to look good while kicking ass?” she asks, eyes alight.
Magnus smiles down at her. “We always look good,” he reminds her, and she laughs lightly, though her eyes are darting around, calculating, taking in every in of their battlefield.
“We do,” she agrees. She runs her fingertips across the sleeve of Magnus’ shirt. “I love this pattern,” she says. “Red looks good on you.”
“Thank you,” Magnus says graciously. “It does.”
In wordless agreement, they break apart, the conversation stopping as they approach the Shadowhunters’ location close to the waterfront. Clary looks behind to Isabelle, then to Magnus. Izzy gestures with two fingers, pointing for half their team to go one way, half the other.
They settle in position. The docks aren’t quiet — Magnus can hear dockworkers shouting to each other in the distance and the commotion of moving heavy freight around the area — but in their immediate vicinity, just behind a container, it’s almost silent.
He hears the scrape of metal as Clary unsheathes her seraph sword up ahead and the low rumble of a werewolf’s growl. Eyes flash green in the darkness.
His heartbeat is thick in his ears, thudding with anticipation. He’s ready to fight and ready to win — who are these people, coming into his city and killing his friends?
Magnus measures his breathing.
In. Out.
A yell and a clash of swords comes from their left. Isabelle’s shoulders tense in the gloom in front of Magnus and she whispers for everyone to hold their positions. They can hear the ringing clangs of the battle as metal hits metal, shouts of pain and the snapping of teeth.
Isabelle peers around the edge of the container then flattens back against it, her shoulders against the industrial steel.
“On my signal,” she says lowly. Clary crouches into a combat stance and Magnus can see the werewolves around them flexing their joints. Magnus himself calls his magic to his fingertips, feeling the power crackle under his skin. It’s less charged than he would have liked, having been portaling around the city all day and meeting clients, but it’ll do.
Isabelle holds up her hand, showing three fingers, and slowly counts down. As she folds her final finger down their team explode onto the battle scene, charging at the left flank of the Shadowhunters.
Isabelle’s staff cracks one around the back of the head and one of the werewolves takes down a weedy Shadowhunter bringing up the rear of their assault on Jace and Maia’s team.
Magnus bursts forward, offensive orange magic already spinning from his fingers when he pulls up short. There, blazing against the pale skin of one of the Shadowhunters, is a raw, red Circle rune — one he’d hoped never to have to see again in the rest of his immortal life.
He stalks forward and hurls a ball of magic at the Shadowhunter — Circle member — and knocks her off her feet. Her head hits the ground with a resounding crack and she convulses once before falling still, but Magnus has already gone on, moving to the right with Clary to cut off the Circle members at the back and stop them retreating.
Magnus throws masses of magic at several of the Shadowhunters, slowing some of the assault and sending their blades spinning away across the gravel of the dockyard. He pivots to avoid a dagger being tossed at his chest and sends a wall of magic back in reply, but it falters and sputters out quicker than he would have liked.
He’s obviously more tired than he realised.
Gritting his teeth and digging deep inside himself, Magnus pulls up another wave of magic and throws several spheres of magic at the Circle members, making them stumble and allowing the werewolves to tear limbs and throats.
One of the Circle members evades Magnus’ magic and whirls on him, stalking towards him with his seraph sword raised. Magnus just rolls his eyes and gets ready to blast the Shadowhunter backwards when the man staggers forward, an arrow protruding from his forehead.
He drops to the ground and a grinning Alec is revealed behind him.
“Can’t let you have all the fun, can I?” Alec asks, and then he’s away, engaged in a fierce sword battle with another Circle member.
Magnus lets himself breathe for a moment and takes stock; there are more Circle members than any of them realised, and they’re outnumbered — but maybe only three to one. Amongst the mass of bodies fighting, he can see Jace and Maia fighting side by side, and Alec impales a Shadowhunter Luke pushed in his direction on his sword.
At Magnus’ side, Clary is slashing away and parrying hits against a Circle member twice her size. She’s scrappy but unrelenting, and eventually the man drops to one knee. She kicks him in the face and sends him sprawling into the muddy gravel, then she’s off, chasing after a female Circle member with determination on her face. They disappear out of sight as they run down one of the berths, towards the water at their back.
In the space Clary leaves, a pained whimper sounds to Magnus’ left. One of the werewolves has just taken a deep wound from a seraph dagger, and Magnus’ eyes flash dangerously. The Shadowhunter looks him up and down and advances with a sneer, crouching low in a combat stance.
Magnus launches forward, slamming two swirling balls of orange magic at the Shadowhunter. The first hits him in the shins, taking his feet out from under him, and the other crashes down on his chest, pushing him into the ground as Magnus steps forward and crushes his foot on the Shadowhunter’s windpipe.
He gasps for air and Magnus just shakes his head, doubling the force of the magic pushing the man downwards and contorting the ground to literally swallow him up.
“Magnus!”
Isabelle appears in his field of vision, whip snapping and yanking the blade out of a Circle member’s hand. She has blood smeared across her forehead and spattered over her dress.
“There’s a pack of Raveners on the way,” she tells him, panting. “Just so you know.”
Magnus has to resist the urge to laugh. “Wonderful,” he says, flicking two fingers in a Shadowhunter’s direction and causing his throat to close up, “I thought this was too easy.”
Isabelle grins as the demons descend. Magnus loses track of time; everything becomes a mess of glinting metal and demons screeching and, above all, the metallic tang of blood in the air.
Bodies stop falling around him as the allies have to change tactics and fight the demons instead of the Circle members. Alec’s arrows are keeping some of them at bay, but they’re still coming through, and Magnus’ magic is so depleted he doesn’t have the range he normally would to blast them out of the sky.
“Three of the Mundanes are hurt,” Isabelle says, spinning back into sight. “Some of Luke’s pack are hurt and the Circle have got free run at us while we’re taking out these demons. I think we should fall back.”
Magnus sends a ball of magic behind Isabelle, where it crashes into a female Circle member and sends her into a shipping container. She crumples on the ground and doesn’t get up.
Good , he thinks. After four centuries, he’s had enough of the pain inflicted on his people by those with the angel’s blood running through their veins.
Forcing himself back to the matter at hand, he swipes a hand across his forehead. “Isn’t that Alec’s decision?” Magnus asks Isabelle.
Isabelle shrugs. “I can’t find him,” she says, “or Luke.”
Magnus clenches his jaw. He brings his hands to his temples, trying to think, and Isabelle shouts.
“Look out!”
Another hoard of demons are flying towards them, a swirling black mass under a darker sky, and Magnus throws up a bright blue shield around him and Isabelle. Before he can even react again, the demons hit the shield, impaled on an arrow.
“Alec!” Isabelle calls.
“Sorry,” Alec says, casting a dark look towards Jace, “ someone decided to play the hero.”
“We took four of them out, Alec,” Jace retorts irritably. “It’s not my fault they released yet another shit ton of demons.”
Alec rolls his eyes and nocks another arrow from a quiver that looks dangerously empty. “Have we lost anyone?” he asks Isabelle.
She shakes her head. “Injuries, but no deaths yet,” she says, then, smooth as you like, unsheathes a seraph dagger from her thigh holster and hurls it in the gap between Jace and Alec’s heads. The demon it hits disintegrates with a yelp. “But there might be if we don’t end this soon. I’ve lost sight of Luke.”
“Yeah, me too,” Alec says, kicking at the ground in frustration. He slashes at a demon with his seraph sword distractedly and it disappears in a burst of sparks.
“Maia and another wolf were just holding off a couple of Circle members,” Jace says, twirling his blade in his hand, buzzing with restless energy, “but the Mundies were getting a bit close for comfort.”
Magnus absorbs Jace’s words with a wave of anger. He’s tired of the pain that repeats in an endless cycle, tired of the Downworlders that always seem to be collateral, tired of seeing his friends — people he loves — die. His fingers spark with the need to do something — anything. To end this.
“God,” Alec is saying frustratedly beside him, rubbing at his temples. “Okay. Finding and killing the Shadowhunters is still the main priority — one of them obviously released the demons to hold us back. Don’t get yourselves killed, but try and let the demons pass you by as much as you can. Spread the word.”
Isabelle nods and runs back into the fray, stopping only to retrieve her dagger before she’s off, slashing with her whip as she goes.
Magnus’ eyes dart between Isabelle’s departing figure and Alec, who’s having some intense, furtive conversation with Jace.
“Alexander,” he says, immediately gaining Alec’s attention. Magnus grits his teeth and throws back his shoulders. He lets his glamour drop. “Tell everyone to fall back.”
“Magnus —” Alec starts, but his voice dies when Magnus drops to one knee, dragging his palms across the gravelly ground. Magnus is old, so old , born of magic and destruction themselves, forces that are scorched into the ground he’s traversed for centuries.
He barely hears Alec and Jace calling for their allies to move away and get behind shipping containers to safety. The Circle members begin to advance on the retreating Shadowhunters and Downworlders, teeth and blades flashing triumphantly.
Magnus doesn’t pay them any attention. He scrapes his hands over the earth, calling the elemental power from within it, ignoring the burn of the scratches and the dirt collecting under his nails. He draws up his power and stands, slamming his hands forward and forcing an unrelenting wave of magic across the wharf.
Those immediately in its wake are thrown backwards, arching gracelessly through the air like rag dolls. Magnus closes his fingertips to his fists and draws his hands to his chest in a staccato motion, channelling the magic that pulses in his core, a force as unyielding as good and evil, and sucks the energy from almost everything around him.
The Circle members scrabble at their throats as they turn ashen, suffocating, weapons clattering to the ground before disintegrating to dust themselves. The shipping containers nearest to the battle start to sway and topple in on themselves, the thuds of metal falling to the ground clanging throughout the dockyard.
The magic is growing in his hands, a life force of its own, a snarling animal that struggles against being contained. Magnus yells and reasserts his hold on it, taking every last breath from the children of angels who’ve wreaked nothing but death and destruction on his kind.
Clouds thunder overhead. At Magnus’ back, the sea’s waves respond to his power and crashing violently into the swell of the sound, breaking against the dock’s defences.
With a yell, Magnus finally lets his magic free, a pulse of orange that flies across the battlefield, taking out any survivors. Magnus slumps forward, panting heavily, his hands burning hot and red. He holds them up in front of him and watches as his palms heal themselves.
A drop of rain hits his cheek like a teardrop as the storm overhead finally breaks. The heavens open and rain starts to pour, a heavy cascade of water that sluices away the ash and dust Magnus left in his wake.
Magnus stands alone for a moment, gasping in air. He wants Alec to come to him. He wonders if Alec’s afraid.
A hand brushes his shoulder.
“Hey,” Alec says breathlessly. His hand curls around Magnus’ bicep and Magnus looks at him through the rain. His hair is getting plastered to his forehead and his eyelashes are wet. “Are you okay?”
Alec’s eyes are dark and intense, all his attention focussed on Magnus. Concern is written openly over his face, no hint of disgust or blame.
There’s nothing ugly about you , Magnus hears, echoing in his head, and something warm bursts inside him. He wraps his fingers around Alec’s and locks their hands together.
“Jesus Christ,” Jace is saying loudly beside them. Unsteady, Magnus blinks his glamour back on before he turns to Jace.
“Is anyone hurt?” Magnus asks heavily, still drawing in ragged breaths.
Jace looks at him, wide eyed and impressed. “Yeah, only a dozen Shadowhunters and a realm of demons,” he says, staring around the dockyard in awe.
“Obviously he means any of us,” Alec says in annoyance, and Jace looks between the two of them.
“Right. I’ll go and find out,” Jace says, mock saluting. Alec rolls his eyes and steps in front of Magnus to face him properly, hands on Magnus’ shoulders.
“Are you okay?” Alec asks again. Magnus nods, unable to do anything but concentrate on his breathing. He sags a little under Alec’s grip and lets Alec hold him up for just a moment, until Jace returns with his rag tag bunch of followers, Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike peering at Alec and Magnus through the rain. Magnus closes his eyes to centre himself and then stands tall, pushing back his shoulders.
“What happened?” someone yells over the storm. Magnus thinks it might have been Taito, one of Luke’s pack members he’s met a couple of times before.
The crowd stand in front of them, the downpour obscuring a lot of Magnus’ vision. He can see Maia hugging her upper arm and Clary cleaning her seraph sword on the leg of her pants.
Alec glances at Magnus, all gratitude and awe and a lick of pride. “The battle’s over,” he says simply, running a hand through his hair. It sticks up haphazardly and, despite the situation, Magnus finds himself smiling.
Magnus steps forward with more of his usual flair. “I thought you could use a little help,” he says, waggling his fingers in an imitation of his magic.
Luke crosses to him to shake his hand. “Thank you,” he says. A few of the other pack members also move closer, nodding and calling their thanks over the storm.
Clary wraps an arm around Luke’s waist. “I’m glad we got them,” she says. Luke hugs her back, resting his head on hers. “Thank you, Magnus.” She cocks her head, looking Magnus up and down. “Did you have something to do with the rain?”
Alec scoffs beside Magnus, but Magnus just smiles tiredly. He remembers when Clary used to sit in the window seat in his loft and sketch the city while it was raining, her small hands gripping the charcoals and her breath fogging up the window.
He wonders if he should tell her about it sometime.
“Atmospheric disturbance, biscuit. It’s an after effect of using such powerful magic,” Magnus explains, with a wave of his hand. “It should stop soon.”
Clary nods, something like awe sparking in her eyes. Luke disentangles himself from Clary and starts checking his pack over for injuries. Jace knocks into Isabelle, checking she’s okay with brotherly affection. Magnus watches them, and Alec watches Magnus.
“I need to debrief the team,” Alec says, hand curling softly against Magnus’ cheek. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
Magnus nods tiredly. “Do you need a portal?”
Alec gives him a look as if to say, are you insane? .
“We can all take the subway,” he says firmly. Then his shoulders slump a little. “I appreciate the offer, but, I swear, if you use any more magic today, I’m not making you pancakes for a week.”
Magnus snorts a breathy laugh. He leans forward and tucks his head in the crook of Alec’s neck as Alec wraps his arms around the small of Magnus’ back, pressing him close.
“I could just summon them for myself,” Magnus says, lips against the dampness of Alec’s skin. He can’t see Alec’s face, but the eye roll is unmistakable in Alec’s tone as he groans Magnus’ name.
“Are you okay to get home?” Alec asks. His breath tickles the hair at the base of Magnus’ neck and sends a shiver through him.
“I’m fine,” Magnus murmurs. “Go do your job, Shadowhunter.”
Alec breathes a laugh and pulls back. He makes eye contact with someone behind Magnus, and then waves them over, stepping out of Magnus’ embrace.
Isabelle’s bloody and a little beat up. Soaked to the skin, she tosses a strand of wet hair out of her face as Alec pulls her close.
“You okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“Yeah,” she says, closing her eyes as she wraps an arm around his waist. Her eyes flit to Magnus. “You two should go home,” she says, pulling away from Alec and resting a comforting hand on Magnus’ arm.
“I need to —” Alec starts to protest, but Isabelle hushes him.
“Jace and I have got it,” she says. “Get some sleep, big brother.” She smiles, exhausted but kind. “Look after your boyfriend.”
∞
Despite Alec’s arguments that they should take the subway, Magnus waves him away, saying it would take more out of him to trudge to the nearest station. Alec opens his mouth to say something, then snaps it shut and laces their fingers together.
“Take my strength to make a portal,” he says, with a nod at their hands, face perfectly serious. Magnus’ breath catches for a moment and he can’t help leaning forward to kiss Alec, just a gentle press of his lips against Alec’s, whisper soft.
Kissing in the rain , he thinks. How romantic.
Reality ripples around them and in less than a moment they’re back at the loft, still hand in hand. Alec tugs lightly and starts leading Magnus towards their bedroom.
“What do you want me to get for you?” he asks. Magnus breathes in deeply through his nose and allows himself a moment of rest, supported by Alec.
“Alexander,” he says, “I’m older than the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. I can look after myself.” The words lose some impact, smushed as they are against Alec’s shoulder, and Magnus feels Alec’s snort of laughter in reply.
“No one over a thousand looks as good as you do,” Alec says, steadying Magnus with his hands on Magnus’ shoulders. He disappears into the en suite and picks up a couple of massive, baby soft bath towels. “Did you eat today?”
Magnus lets Alec fuss over him, drying him off with one of the towels, something warm fizzing in his chest. He begins unbuttoning his own shirt. “I had breakfast,” he says, then he frowns. “At some point.”
Alec quickly changes into his dry pyjamas and towels off his own hair while Magnus lethargically steps out of his pants. He summons his blue robe with a snap of his fingers, much to Alec’s chagrin, judging by the look of his face, and slips into a pair of loose silk pyjama pants. Alec watches him carefully.
Magnus sinks blissfully into the mound of pillows on his bed, closing his eyes on a bone-deep sigh.
“I know you can do this on your own,” Alec says, when a whisper of silence has passed by, “but you don’t have to anymore.” Alec comes over and perches on the bed beside Magnus, the mattress dipping slightly with his weight. He cups Magnus’ face, running his thumb along Magnus’ cheekbone. “Please let me look after you.”
Magnus revels for a moment in the delight of lying in bed, then peels his eyes open. At some point, he’d given up spending energy on maintaining the glamour, and Alec’s smile brightens as he takes in Magnus’ real eyes.
“Who could resist an offer like that?” Magnus teases sleepily, voice a little rough. Alec licks his lips. “Some tea would be lovely. I think there’s chamomile in the cupboard.”
Alec nods. He leans forward, gathering Magnus’ hands in his own and scattering small kisses to Magnus’ knuckles before departing to the kitchen.
Magnus just lays there for a little while with his eyes closed, feeling his magic seep back into his bones with every passing minute. His fingertips tingle slightly and he rubs them together, a habit he picked up as a child. He can hear Alec clattering around in the kitchen, humming off key, and Magnus’ heart threatens to beat out of his chest.
Eventually, when Magnus is drifting on the fringes of sleep, Alec comes back, carrying a tray with a glass of water, a pot of tea, two cups and a large bowl heaped with pasta.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “Are you still awake?”
Magnus hums and pushes himself up to a sitting position. He smiles at Alec and pats the bed beside him. They eat together in comfortable silence, neither wanting to dissect the evening’s fight or discuss the consequences of it. Right now, Magnus doesn’t want to be the High Warlock of Brooklyn, he just wants to curl up in bed with his boyfriend.
When they’ve finished the food, Magnus warms the tea with a wave of his hand and pours two steaming cupfuls. Alec grumbles half heartedly about Magnus using up his magic, but Magnus shushes him with a kiss. He’s just pulled back, is still gazing into Alec’s beautiful hazel eyes, when he remembers the potion in the study.
“Shit!” he exclaims, sitting upright and throwing his legs over the side of the bed.
Alarmed, Alec hastily places his cup down and gets up. “What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes wide.
Magnus slumps back against the pillows, half laughing, half groaning. “I left a potion in the study this morning, that’s all,” he says, and Alec sits down with a little oh . “It takes a few hours to brew and I was supposed to check on it this afternoon — it’ll be burnt to the bottom of the cauldron by now.”
Alec kicks his legs up on the bed and takes Magnus’ hands in his own. “Is it dangerous?” he asks mildly.
Magnus shakes his head. “Just a pain to clean,” he says, sighing, “and that particular strain of aconite isn’t cheap.” He picks up his tea and takes a long sip. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
Alec starts telling Magnus about bumping into Simon and Maia on a patrol that morning, the low rumble of his voice luring Magnus towards sleep more quickly than he’d like. Without realising, he drops off, and blinks awake to Alec smiling at him, soft and amused.
“Go to sleep,” Alec orders kindly. He holds his hand out to take Magnus’ cup and Magnus acquiesces.
He snuggles down against the pillows as Alec pads out of the room with the dirty dishes. Despite having been fighting off exhaustion for a good hour, he really does mean to stay conscious until Alec comes back, but the temptation of sleep is too great and he drifts off almost immediately.
When he wakes, he wakes slowly, wanting to linger in peaceful slumber for as long as he can. Eventually he opens his eyes, the room lit with a gentle glow peering around the edges of the curtains, and Magnus watches the dust floating in the air.
The loft is quiet, apart from Alec’s gentle snores, but sounds of the city drift in through the window. Magnus likes to sleep with the windows open, a reminder of the world outside still existing — Alec had complained about the chill the first couple of times he’d stayed over, but then he’d taken to burrowing himself against Magnus’ chest and staying warm by clinging to his boyfriend.
Magnus stretches widely and sits up, trying not to jostle Alec too much. He can feel the thrum of his magic under his skin, back at his full power, and he glances down at his hands, flexing his fingers. Just for the delight of doing so, he snaps his fingers and conjures himself up a latte, then takes a long sip.
Alec snuffles beside him, still deeply asleep, if the steady rise and fall of his chest is anything to go by. Magnus watches him with a small smile, reaching out to run a gentle hand down Alec’s back, starting between his shoulder blades. His hair is mussed at the back and his face is pressed into the pillow.
He’s one of the beautiful sights Magnus has ever seen in his long, long life.
While Magnus drinks his latte he plays around with his magic, first rearranging the various moisturisers and lotions he owns that sit on top of the dresser, then settling for something more familiar — something he’s done since he was a boy, learning to control his magic. He waves his left hand and conjures up a bright blue dragon, a wispy thing in the air that flies around for a moment before dispersing into a soft shower of harmless sparks.
It’s still reassuring, even though the invasion of Valentine in his body was all those months ago, to be able to feel the power at his fingertips once more. Magnus creates more animals — a panther, then a hellhound — with a wave of his hand, lighting the room with a faint blue glow, and allows himself to bask in the simplicity of the moment.
Sensing he’s being watched, Magnus glances down and sees Alec blinking sleepily at him, a dopey smile on his face. In Magnus’ personal opinion, Alec is most adorable in the rosy stillness of morning, before he’s moulded himself back into the Head of the Institute and is allowed to just be Alexander.
“Good morning,” Magnus murmurs. Alec shuffles closer and rests his head on Magnus’ chest, slinging an arm across Magnus’ stomach.
“Morning,” Alec replies. His hair tickles Magnus’ skin slightly and Magnus starts running his fingers through it, brushing through the dark brown strands. “You sleep okay?”
Magnus hums. He drains the last of his latte and then places the empty cup on the bedside table before sliding down further under the covers, entwining his legs with Alec’s. He pulls the covers over them and resumes stroking Alec’s hair.
“Very well, actually,” he says. “What time did you get to bed in the end?”
Alec shrugs. “Half past two, maybe?”
“Why so late?” Magnus asks.
Alec doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he starts tracing patterns on Magnus’ bare side.
“I just tidied up a bit,” he says, shrugging. “I wanted to get it done before I went to bed. I like waking up with you.”
Magnus’ heart swells at the comment and he leans in to kiss Alec. Alec makes a quiet noise and trails his fingers across the short hair at the base of Magnus’ neck as he kisses Magnus back, soft but eager.
“Wait,” Magnus says, between kisses, breathless and happy, “what did you tidy up?”
Alec ducks his head to Magnus’ shoulder, kissing along Magnus’ skin like he doesn’t ever want to stop. “It’s not a big deal,” he says. “You said the potion wasn’t dangerous.”
“Alec,” Magnus manages to say, his throat thick with emotion.
And when Alec says, kiss me, Magnus does. They stay wrapped up in each other for a while, trading kisses and gentle touches.
There’s just something about Alec.
“What?” Alec mumbles, pulling his lips away from that spot at the juncture of Magnus’ neck and collarbone that always makes his knees weak. He blinks up at Magnus, lips curved upwards. “I can feel you smiling,” he says, and he’s practically radiating happiness.
Magnus smiles down at him. “I was just thinking,” he says, and then he clears his throat. “Kissing you, it’s like magic.”
Alec’s answering smile is blindingly bright, and he presses himself up on his elbows over Magnus to kiss him, aligning them chest to chest. Magnus’ hands splay out over Alec’s back almost automatically, with so much warm, bare skin to touch.
“Well, you are quite magical,” Alec teases, when he pulls back. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you.”
Magnus sighs, smiling, and closes his eyes. “Once or twice,” he says. Alec hums in response and Magnus opens one eye, wondering what’s got his boyfriend so thoughtful.
Alec is still hovering over him, his gaze curious. “Yesterday,” he starts, a little hesitantly, “that spell, you…”
Magnus swallows and fights the urge to force a laugh, smile and quip his way out of the situation. His every instinct is screaming for him to play it off, but this is Alec.
There’s nothing ugly about you .
“It was incredible,” Alec says finally. “I know I’ve seen you in action before, but —” he breaks off, finding Magnus’ hand and placing their palms together. “Your hands are always so gentle when you touch me,” he adds, blinking at Magnus’ nail polish.
“You should always handle precious things with care,” Magnus says, and it’s half a joke, half the naked truth. Alec’s breath hitches and his eyes dart to meet Magnus’, a beautiful rosy blush settling on the apples of his cheeks. Magnus cradles Alec’s cheek with one hand. “You are very precious to me,” he whispers.
Alec turns his head to press a kiss to the inside of Magnus’ palm. “I love you,” he says, sincere. Adoring.
“Alexander,” Magnus says, tangling his hand through Alec’s hair, “I love you, too.”